Monthly Archives: January 2014




it is what

we call dogs

needing sex;

I feel it too, 

does that make 

me a bitch?

I am a woman,

an animal;

I’m many things

and have many

wants and needs,

but when I see you

I only feel 



I Play With Dolls For Free

I am just happy to share that my first story (and there will be many more–some longer, some shorter–I am not a size queen) is on Amazon and I am very proud of it. It was an awesome experience, as writing was something I always loved but got away from it the last couple of years, and I saw I needed to get back to it and write whatever hell I wanted to write. 

My day job is very boring and I guess that is why I want to write erotica which is the opposite of boring.

I saw a documentary about men who liked to dress up as living dolls and I just felt this need to write about it. A story came to me about some of the kinky stuff I hear that happens in my home DC and then I just wrote the story.

I found a good editor and cover designer to do me a little favor (I’m hustler and have every nice eyes 😉 and now it is up and free for today and tomorrow. 

I am already working on my next one but this one I am very proud to share; it is erotica and that includes being artful, sexy, kinky, and has an ending that both my editor and I enjoyed.

I hope you enjoy it too.


Difference Between Erotica and Porn


I am not a girly-girl. I am huge Redskins fan and will admit to enjoying a hardcore porn flick, but I get really mad when people say erotica is porn.

HUGE DIFFERENCE…though it doesn’t hurt if the male protagonist is huge in one area.

The difference is porn really has no story, and erotica is story that happens to be arousing.

Anything can be erotica but if it sex just for sex, like in real life it’s not going to be very satisfying.

I say in the end, porn makes you want to take a cold shower, erotica makes you want to take a warm bath 🙂

A Claustrophobe’s Banquet: Airline Food and The Cuisine Of Helplessness

The Imperial Youth Review


I’m traveling one of those sprawling stretches of New Jersey midland blacktop where the landscape is a never-ending cascade of auto parts stores, tattoo parlors and Radio Shacks — and yes, suddenly, a Stewart’s Drive-In: hamburgers and root beer, the sign declaring I could honk twice (or, in a concession to the 21st century, call a number on my cell phone) and someone – maybe, one could hope, an apple-cheeked teenager wearing satin shorts and roller skates and a deep ignorance of the atomic bomb — would bring me food.

And sure enough, a sandy-ponytailed teenage girl (in sneakers, not skates) took my order and brought it to me. She bore my meal on a heavy, metal-lipped tray with rubberized claw hooks on its bottom: solid, Made In America, its manufacturer probably long defunct. “Wind your window up a little,” she said, and I saw how the tray was built…

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