Picture of panties around red shoes

Elust #80: Something Meaningful, THE Process, and More!

Elust 80 Penny's Dirty Thoughts
Photo courtesy of Penny’s Dirty Thoughts

Welcome to Elust #80

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #81 Start with the rules, come back April 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Something Meaningful
The debate goes on
Trim

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

No Take Backsies: Sexual “Politeness”
THE Process

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

He’s not a Tumblr Dom
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Erotic Non-Fiction

She Strips The Boundaries Away The Black Bra
He enjoyed Playing with My Shoes
One… two… ménage à trois!
Doing Mt. Shasta
What’s Behind that First Strike…
Memories
How To Top Off Valentine Weekend Lovemaking
Watching Cunnilingus
Scened All Night
Spoiled in the Sun
The Tennent
01/14 Session With Mistress Claire & Others
THREESOME HEAVEN – extreme sensations
The neighbours don’t learn my name
home

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

I Don’t Date on the First Sex
Meat market

Erotic Fiction

Lines
Who’s the Boss? (She is)
A Little Distraction
Let Me Share
Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies…
a bit of filth
Original Sin
Watching

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

My Day of Punishments Part 1
Filthy girl
Kink Without Sex: What Happens After Orgasms
Dominant roots
Using Our D/s to Get Through Stress

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

First Times
The number of the beast…
Sometimes Love is Not a Pie
Bareback
Looking deep through reflection
Pussy Pics
So I Was Thinking

Events

A Night with Zombies – Cinema l’Amour
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Picture of feet sticking out of car window, parked to watch sunset; Ammentorp ©123RF.com

We [Were] On a Break!

I am the worst at taking a break. I’ve been this way my whole life—relaxation is a thing I enjoy, but most of the time, there has to be something else going on simultaneously. Hell, it wasn’t until recently that I took up watching some TV before bed while needing to talk myself into lying still on the couch (because, sadly, reading revs me up and makes it impossible to pass out). I have a friend who describes me as being incapable of slowing down, but I often correct him to say that I can, I just prefer to have my wheels spinning at all times, if not in person, then at least in the back of my head.

The slowing of the wheels is something I’m actively working on this year. I’ve been going through a lot that I’ve mentioned on the blog, but there’s been other off-site stuff, too, which has made my series-writing ride quite the adventure. Add to this that moderation is a concept lost on me (just give me a pile of candy and I’ll blow your mind, swear), and the fact that I’m still pretty good at pushing past pain…well, put all this together, and you’ve got a flashy sports car that eventually has a major break down and stops working.

Obviously, that, in the middle of a 3-book series, simply will not do.

Picture of feet sticking out of car window, parked to watch sunset

Chillin’. Ammentorp ©123RF.com

Which is why I’ve set up various rewards to honor the need to slow my roll in this already unique process. Since I just typed “The End” and closed off the draft for The Discipline, book 2 in the Lessons in Control series, the one I greet you with today is a deal I made with myself long ago: two full weeks off! This is a time for me to not only not think about the book while it simmers, but to essentially take a mini-writing-pseudo-vacation. Yes, writing is my passion, my sustenance, my love—but revisit that moderation in all things clause, and eventually, one can overdose in love, too.

Plus, a “vacation” always brightens the landscape of pretty much anything, so here I am, taking one!

What does this mean? Save for the potential of my copy edits showing up during this rest time, I’m not doing a lick of writing beyond a blog post or two, and maybe even a little revise of a poem and a piece of flash I wrote a while back, since it’s high time I get some fiction up in this joint. But beyond that? I’m practicing chilling out interspersed with moments of handling a short To Do list I avoided while staying focused on the series. This last weekend, for example, I swapped between bills, taxes, and major social time with friends. I even kicked off Saturday morning with pancakes, bacon, and a coconut milk latte in front of a TV show while still in my robe. Guys, this sort of thing hasn’t happened in years. And you know what? It felt pretty good.

There are other cool things happening in this two-week break, too. One, I’ve got a slew of awesome social encounters I’ve delayed: karaoke, luncheons, dinners, happy hours, and, hell, I might even take myself dancing and then sleep in this weekend! Whoa! Also, I’m finally reading a book. I know this sounds like a no brainer—but between being all up in this series and not being able to read before bed lest it keep me awake, I’ve pretty much been catching only blog posts here and there, and thus haven’t touched a book since, oh, late August (shameful, I know, but it’s the truth). Oh and extra chill-worthy: I’m rewatching Fringe from start to finish. This is my favorite series of all time, right before the wicked tie for second between The Tudors, Dexter, Friends (bonus points if you caught the show reference in the title of this post), Grey’s Anatomy, and the first six seasons of The Vampire Diaries (don’t even talk to me about the current season). I have tons of other good things planned for this time, too, but let it be said: there will be some real relaxation for me. I’m excited!

On top of that, I’m not going to feel guilty. Not at all. I know my lovely little characters can wait for me, and everything—life, series, etc.—will return to normal when I’m back.

We are, after all, on a break. 🙂

XX,
Jade

B/W still vintage image of typewriter

THE Process

Okay, here’s the deal: I kept fooling myself into believing I have a systemized process, and it’s become abundantly clear I’m full of shit.

As some of you may have noticed, I’ve been fairly quiet on both this site and my poetry site. For the most part, I’ve had my head down working on the Lessons in Control series. I’m getting more and more excited to talk about it as we get closer to launch in December, but for now, I’m tied up (heh) in edits for The Assignment (book one), the drafting of The Discipline (book two)—and later down the line, the drafting of The Reward (book three).

The process has been thrilling, shocking, and terrifying, all at the same time. My editor, Rhonda Stapleton, has been a dream through the work we’re doing on book one—but alongside that, I’ve had a hell of a journey on book two. Whatever “process” I swore I had for writing books has been, well, doctored.

B/W still vintage image of typewriter

Dmitriy Cherevko ©123RF.com

Let me give you a little background. The first real book I wrote (because I’m excluding the fictional biography I wrote at 11 as well the YA horror I wrote at 13) was a romantic fantasy that took me 17 years to complete, and at the end of it, I learned one very important thing: I’m neither a fantasy writer OR a strictly spec fic writer. I love sexual content, and I love dripping that all over the pages of whatever the hell I’m writing. So for my next book, I opted to write a comedic memoir about the year and a half I semi-intentionally stopped having sex. (True story!) Turned out, for a book about not having sex, it actually had a lot of sexual content—but it was also about healing from heartbreak, finding oneself, and a bit of ridiculousness that happened in that period, among other things. Honestly, I haven’t talked a ton about this thing since it’s shelved in lieu of what I currently love writing (that would be erotica in its various forms), but, the point is that it took me about three years to write, the end confirming that (1) I needed to write more because it was my life blood and (2) I was capable of finishing things faster than I thought.

Next came a bunch of short stories. I had a spec fic writing mentor at the time who suggested what I needed was to start and stop over and over again, so I could feel more confident in the process before I took on another book. Whoa nelly, did that turn out to be a boon: I wrote something like two dozen short stories in a few months. Plus, I wrote them fast. 4-6k in a couple hours? No problem! I had become a binge writer who also learned the skill of drafting without backtracking, because one can always chop and revise later. I was pretty sure that nifty trick would carry with me for life.

Flash forward to the recent past, and there came The Assignment. I’d been plotting and stewing about how I might be able to write an erotica series for a couple months, and, meanwhile, had an extremely transformative relationship that sparked all sorts of ideas in my head. Then…we broke up. Okay, in actuality, I had to pry myself away because the entire thing was about to ruin me, but a well-timed vacation and a keen interest in the “do not disturb” function on my phone created utter magic. Even through my devastation, the plot of my story became clear and I proceeded to channel all that breakup energy into writing The Assignment. That book—which I am seriously excited for you to read when it comes out in December—took me a whopping week and a half to outline, and right around one month to draft.

For realsies.

And suddenly—I knew my process: outline, speed draft without editing, let it breathe, go in and proceed to smoothe. Check! Oh yeah. It was that simple, and it would be, forever. Right? So while the final version was off wandering the world for a home, I proceeded to start another book—but the entire time, I couldn’t figure out what had happened to my process because I seemed to be going in circles…for almost eight months.

I’d just upped my speed and written a book in a month. How on earth did this thing take so long?

Then came some real life chaos that fucked with me. It took a while for me to get a clue on how to handle it, but when I did, I opted for a book break. I spent a couple months writing shorts and reworking my confidence, so that when The Assignment found a home at Carina Press and they wanted the entire series, I was both giddy and ready to write book two. Except, not so much. I was still contending with the residual chaos that culminated in the attack of the chronic migraines while also struggling to realize this was in no uncertain terms affecting my process. I drafted about 30k. I got migraine sick. I drafted 10k. I was still migraine sick. I tore up 20k. Edits for book one came. I finished them and then drafted 20k. But again, I was really sick and had to straight up stop. When I was migraine-free and ready to go again, I not only cut out about 15k, but completely replotted the rest of the book.

Ha. Take that, process!

Oh, and my binge writing tendency in that entire time period? M.I.A. 1-2k became a good day! But I plodded along, accepting that I would produce, delete, rewrite, break, etc., until somewhere around December when—while setting my 2016 goals—I took a step back and thought, hmm, maybe I should just write the damn book however it comes out, and stop being an asshole to myself because the process happens to have changed from what it was before.

Amazing concept, right?

I have to say—since then, things have continued to be pretty good over here. I turned in another round of edits on book one, and when I sat down to begin the final chunk of the book two draft this last weekend, I didn’t even bat an eyelash at the fact that the first thing I did was replot the last 20k again.

Go figure.

So, ladies and gentlemen, it’s safe it say: I have discovered the real process! It’s good, and I’m going to share it with you. You should grab a pen. Go ahead, I will wait. *Taps foot.* I know you want the Secret to the Writing Universe I discovered over the last few months, and now, I’m going to give it to you!

Okay, you ready?

Here it is.

The official process is…

Whatever fucking works.

Yep. That’s it. (Did you write that down?) 🙂

I have no idea if my process is “no process” because of life things, or just because that’s the truth of the matter, but I’m pleased to have established this riveting…process. Also, I’m curious about everyone else—what’s your process? I’d love to hear in the comments.

For now, though, time for me to get back to work.

It’s a process. 😉

XX,
Jade

 

Picture of panties around red shoes

Elust #79: The Introduction, Words, and So Much More!

Elust 79 header
Photo courtesy of Marie Opens Up

Welcome to Elust #79

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #80? Start with the rules, come back March 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

The Joy of Sucking Cock

Making Porn

My Valentine

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

The One

Midweek Fantasizing – The Portrait

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

Marionette
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

A kiss is just a kiss
Turning Corners
Another Day, Another Planned Parenthood Visit
My first vanilla date
Want, Need the Power of your Masculinity!
I don’t know how to date.

Erotic Fiction

Soft Lips
The Introduction
Erotic Fiction: “Words”
Darkness and the Rose
Taste
THE SESSION THAT WENT WRONG
Be Careful What You Wish For
Motivation
porn
The Tube

Erotic Non-Fiction

For You, It’s Always Yes
Gawan: Intro to Flogging
The Talker: An Introduction
My wildest fantasy: Ship slut
Marionette
Time for something quick…
Spread Legs and Open Mouth
My Girl in Havana
Let’s Watch some Porn

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

An Artist’s Story: Tails and Portholes
Sleeping With Our Future President
To Dude Who Was Offended By Lack of Escort
Try Love, Not Anger
Risky Sex
Why Cosmo is the worst (again!)

Writing about Writing

Condoms: fictional contraceptive of choice
Writing Fat Characters In Erotica

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Masochistic Mastermind
Take me to where I need to be.

 

ELust Site Badge

B/W image of calligraphic pen resting on handwritten note; Steve Collender ©123RF.com

Erotic Fiction: “Words”

“Your personality is like a raging hill fire, swarming the skies in red-orange intensity as you barrel down to consume the valley below.”

This is what he says to me with a tremor in his voice, his eyes lit up with hope that I will approve.

It’s good, I admit, but I have to make him work harder for this. Always, always harder.

I drag the chair across the carpet, centering it in front of him. He’s on his knees, his cock grazing his belly since long before I bade him strip his clothes in the cold air of our bedroom. I told him to kneel, which he did promptly. I didn’t need to cuff him this time because immediately, his hands were behind his back, clutched together in his frenzy. I’d hit the record button on his phone right there in front of his eyes, reminding him in the gesture that I expected him to play all of this back later in preparation.

“Pretty good,” I say. “But you can do better.”

I plop down in the chair, naked save for my boots. I press my knees together. Randall is panting. The head of his shaft swells as I slide my hands down my thighs. I cock my head, then trail my fingers over my stomach and around my nipples.

“You may speak.”

He bites his lip, thinking. He’s so jumbled up in his head. Wordsworth, Coleridge, Eliot, Poe—masters of the language he’s studied for so long, intimidating him in his anticipation.

“Your body is a mystical ice storm, chilling and stunning, freezing me to the core in my—”

“Nope,” I say. I slip my fingertips between my knees, deliberately parting my legs. The vinyl of my boots has tacked together even in that short window of time, and it makes the sexiest unsticking sound as I spread myself in front of his face. Randall stares at my pussy. I am dripping onto the chair. “You just called me an ice queen. Does this look icy to you?”

His eyes widen. I can practically see the words assembling themselves in his mind. We’d scrimped for a while, sending him to retreats and conferences for almost a decade to study this stuff, and I know he has all the words he’s looking for despite his temporary block.

B/W image of calligraphic pen resting on handwritten note; Steve Collender ©123RF.com

Steve Collender ©123RF.com

Randall hesitates.

I move both hands between my thighs, dragging my fingers along my folds. Swiping at my juices so we can both hear the squishing sound.

“Again, Randall.”

His cock leaps.

“Your sex,” he says, gathering steam, “is hot as the ash of a molten volcano.”

I nod. “Oh, I like that.” I glide a finger inside, pushing it all the way in. Randall shudders. I use my other hand to part my lips so he can see each thrust of my finger. When I slip in a second one, he gulps so hard his Adam’s apple bobs up like a flotation device from beneath the water.

I am close to coming, but I can’t tell him that.

I remove my fingers, then scissor them in the air between us. They shine with my dew under the lamplight of our bedroom.

I turn around. I keep close to his face, watching over my shoulder as the beads of sweat break along his hairline.

“Well?”

“Your cheeks are like two glowing orbs of—”

“Tsk. Cliché!” I crawl onto the chair and stick out my ass. The stiletto heels of my boots are less than an inch from his chin. He flinches as he stares at them, but he’s captivated as I grab onto the back of the chair to balance, then shove my finger in my mouth to suck it.

Randall has only two hours until his seminar.

I curve my hand over the round cheek of my ass, cupping it for him. He is mesmerized as I wedge my fingers into my crack, then push the wettest one against my tight opening.

“This?” I ask.

I loosen my muscles and sneak my finger inside. I don’t let him see my excitement, but it’s making it hard to keep a straight face.

In, out, in, out. I pulse my finger in my asshole and Randall squirms on his knees.

“Your ass is a sanctuary. Dark, hot, bliss.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Is it, now?” I waggle my hips, the strokes of my finger making my pussy impossibly wet. I get so into the motion that my breasts slap against the back of the chair.

Randall groans.

“Give me something really good, baby,” I growl. I pull my finger out, smacking my ass. His eyes flutter. My poet and his goddamn stage fright are so incredibly hot for me.

I switch hands to improve my balance on the chair. It’s sturdy, but I’m shaking hard enough I might fall off. I angle my fingers better and slide three of them inside. He stirs again, his dick swelling larger. I moan as I shift my fingers, banging them high and rubbing against my sweet spot so hard my climax is threatening to take over. Randall notices.

“Please, Emily. May I?”

“I’m still waiting,” I say. I clench my teeth. This has to wait.

He grumbles. He can do this. Over one hundred presentations of his award-winning poems and they want him all over the nation to teach his art.

He frees his tongue.

“My want for you is the silver-tipped crest of a tsunami’s wave, splashing over the world to drown everything out, away. Through this, I swim to you—my shoulders weak, my arms limp, my cock a titanium rod desperate to feel you inside.”

I break into laughter. This is good.

“You can fuck me now, Randall.”

He jumps up from his crouch, positioning himself behind my ass. His hands roam my hips like a whisper. When he guides himself against my slick, damp folds, both of us moan.

“Your cunt…” he mutters.

He plunges deep without finishing.

Because both of us know actions speak louder than words.

*

Man and woman in sensual embrace about to kiss.;Sean Nel ©123RF.com

The Kiss

When I saw the Kink of the Week theme this time around, I knew I had to join in—both because the kiss is one of my favorite acts, and because I’ve been so lucky to have had many wonderful kisses. What I love most about the kiss is its variation; in one moment, it can be soft, sensual, and sweet, a tender caress between lovers. But in the next, it can be rough, wild, and hard, a battle of tongues that signals deep desire, given as easily as it can be taken away. The kiss is as intimate as it is a tease, and as passionate as it can be purposely cold. “It’s all in the kiss” is a phrase that often holds true—if for no other reason than it might, potentially, provide a glimpse of what lay ahead. Sloppy but given with gusto? Rough and taken with a trained gaze? Soft and peppered with whispers of yes, more, yes…? There is certainly much to be drawn from a kiss.

Man and woman in sensual embrace about to kiss.

Yes. This moment. Sean Nel ©123RF.com

Kisses are also as memorable in their fails as they are in their successes—those bad ones have the tendency to stand out all on their own. My first kiss was a silly thing, a peck on the lips I gave a fellow 7-year-old on a dare in the middle of an elementary school field. It was an all eye-open, quick lips, what-the-fuck-is-this-thing-we’re-doing kind of kiss. (Okay, maybe more for surprised him than me.) My first mutual kiss came six years later with my first boyfriend, and it was another awkward, mouth-closed, eye-open (him) disaster that left me pining. Even some of the ones I shared with my high school sweetheart later on live in this funny Bad Kiss Memory Land for his apparent desire to swallow my face whole—which admittedly, was as endearing as it was absurd.

Fortunately, beyond those experiences, I discovered many beautiful kisses. A heavy, sensual kiss that happened in the middle of a rainy afternoon remains the one I consider my real first; it was slow initially, hands slipped into hair, breaths whishes of sound between us as if to signal how closely we were about to connect. Much later, I experienced kisses so heavy and intense they felt stolen in the dark, but so delicious I would have given anything to have them stolen all over again. Later still was an insanely memorable dance floor kiss—a slow-build thing that seemed like it would happen the second we met, and yet didn’t all through the two solid hours we swung ourselves around, lips near and smiles wide…until the kiss itself made it feel like time stopped. There was another kiss with someone else that merged sweet with seductive while we swayed half-clothed in a living room, where curious pecks and nibbles of each other’s lips soon blurred into a meshing of tongues so combustible it was hard to believe we’d done anything more than kiss. And far later, I’d swear I found my kissing soul mate, with whom kisses were desperate, deep, and in sync, sparking almost as much electricity in the tension before our lips met as when they actually did. (Of course, it didn’t hurt that he would turn out to be alarmingly good with his mouth in every other way, too…) 😉 To this day, that lips nearing, eyes locking, breaths speeding come-together is as much one of my favorite moments in fiction as it is in real life—because goddamn, that build has the potential to make an actual kiss so much hotter.

One of the other joys of the kiss is that it is built to travel. It can graze the swoop of a shoulder just as easily as it can tease an inner thigh, and it can also transform into anything: the suck of a nipple, the nibble of a finger, the taste of cunt or cock. But after this transformation, it can always come right back up to where it started—sealing the moment as a quiet end to a beautiful, luscious storm.

So in case it was at all unclear—I’m a big fan of the kiss.

What about you?

XX,
Jade

Want more kisses? Click on the lips… 

Cover of Best Women's Erotica of the Year

“Ophelia the Second” is Out in Best Women’s Erotica!

New year, new sexy…and today I’m delighted to share that Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1 is out! Woo hoo!

To celebrate, I have some news for you.

Cover of Best Women's Erotica of the Year

First, just look at that sexy cover. *Swoon!*

Then, our wonderful editor Rachel Kramer Bussel has been hosting some behind-the-scenes Q&A’s about our stories in the anthology. My story, “Ophelia the Second,” is a sweet little erotic romance set in the theatre world—specifically, the Hamlet backstage theatre world—and since I have my own past theatre experiences, I thought I’d put them to use for some inspiration. I hope you’ll head over to the book’s Tumblr page to find out more about what sparked this story.

I’m also thrilled to tell you that we’ll be having a live free reading of a few stories in Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1 in San Francisco on Tuesday, January 19th. It will be in the Antique Vibrator Museum in the Good Vibrations on Polk Street—which, I have to tell you, is a fabulous space for a reading! I do hope you’ll join us, since I’ll be reading alongside Rose Caraway, Amy Butcher, Dorothy Freed, and Rachel Kramer Bussel herself! Be sure to find out more about this event right here.

And finally, what more to whet your appetite for this book than an excerpt?

Here’s a taste of “Ophelia the Second”:

“We always end up on a couch together, have you noticed?”

I laughed, trying to ignore the delicious smell of his post-show sweat, and the way the couch dipped under his sturdy, muscular body, almost pulling me into his side. He’d changed after curtain into jeans and a button-up shirt with the fanciest of shoes, and he looked even more impressive in his modern garb than he did in his lace-up leather doublet and boots.

“Guess so,” I said.

I sipped the bourbon. It was hot going down, warming me more than I already was sitting in Philip’s apartment with him staring at me with those heavy Hamlet eyes. I attempted to ignore the fight of my heart. I was usually so strong at resisting these terribly silly impulses around him, but it was impossible not to want him, not to imagine Hamlet speaking to me, or Philip taking my hand, pining for my love like his character did later on for Ophelia.

I suddenly felt like her—a naïve girl caught in the throes of some wild vision. It wasn’t madness, though it felt like it as he surveyed me.

“Good show tonight, huh?” I asked, needing yet again to get out of my head.

“Yeah. Tammy was on fire.”

I propped my elbow on the back of the couch and frowned. He knew I didn’t want to hear about Tammy or her wonderful efforts playing Ophelia—I’d confessed it over brews a month ago when he took me out to celebrate a five-star review from one of the most critical journalists in the business. For some reason, Philip had been more surprised at the review than my frustrated comments with Tammy’s rude backstage behavior.

“But it makes sense—whenever she’s a maniac off stage, she’s prepped for the role.”

I snickered, a loose spiral of my hair falling in my face. Philip caught it in his fingers and brushed it back, and I stared at him, surprised.

“We should have been on stage together,” he murmured.

I shrugged.

“Robert’s going to come around, Nat. Hopefully with the next show. You’ve got the talent.”

“You’re sweet,” I said. I took another swallow of my drink and placed the glass on his coffee table. Philip caught my hand.

“I saw you in the wings tonight.”

I froze. I’d been subtle, and he’d been so into his role I couldn’t imagine how he’d seen me.

“You know I see you there, right? Mouthing the lines, both mine and Ophelia’s.”

He clasped my hand in his and a fire sparked deep in my belly. Had the bourbon gone to his head?

Had it gone to mine?

“I’m convinced my best moments on stage are with you watching.”

“That’s silly,” I said, but Philip nodded enthusiastically.

“You should have been Ophelia. You’re perfect for the part. Your hair, your face. Everything about you, Nat—so charming and lovely.”

I trembled in his grasp. Like Ophelia, I had to be going mad. Philip brushed back my curls, lifting the hair on the nape of my neck.

“Let’s run lines for you.”

“Why? Tammy is Ophelia, and she’s never going to miss a performance. Remember?”

“Tammy is a terrible Ophelia. And one night, she will.” He tapped my nose. “Come on. Let’s practice.”

“I need a script.”

“No you don’t,” he said. He shoved back the table and crawled to his knees, ushering his husky off to his bed along the wall.

And then he started running lines, beginning with Act III, Scene 1, right when Ophelia meets Hamlet. He said his first line seriously, as if we were actually on stage, and I shook my head at him.

“You’re crazy.”

Philip frowned. “I’m trying to prove a point. You’re an actress, let’s go. Play along.”

I’d been on the stage many times. I’d graduated with a theatre degree, after all, but my parts at Esquire had been minimal with Tammy being the star she was. Sometimes, her rants backstage and constant insults made it easy to forget that I was once a big part of productions, too.

“Well?” Philip nudged my leg and took my hand again, and I tried to ignore the peal of my heart.

“Fine,” I said.

We ran through this scene, Philip’s hand clasped around my shaking fingers the entire time. He was theatrical and gorgeous, his brow furrowing and his nostrils flaring at all the appropriate moments. When he peered into my face, I witnessed the same brooding depth he cast over the audience each night, except this time, it was directed at me.

This time, he was Hamlet—and I was Ophelia.

It was easy to fall into the part. I knew the lines, and he was brilliant, drawing emotion and depth into my voice that I could never do when I practiced on my own in my apartment. Not without someone acting against me, getting as into the role as he did. He was magnificent. When we finished the scene, he stroked his fingertips across my palm with an encouraging nod. Then his lips turned up to form the incredibly charming grin the audience never got to see.

“Lady, shall I lie in your lap?”

I giggled. “Okay, I get it. Great scene. We can stop, though, I know the lines.”

“See,” he said. “You are the perfect Ophelia.”

I rolled my eyes and Philip leaned closer, the movement catching my breath in my throat. Both of us were quiet as he crouched on the carpet. For some reason, the way he’d touched my cheek at his front door crossed my mind. Then the way he’d grinned at me at intermission, and all the times we’d hung out backstage when he’d told me he loved talking to me. My pulse raced a little quicker.

Had I missed something in my Ophelia obsession?

Philip curved his hands around my knees, increasing the pace of my heartbeat.

“And what a fair thought to lie between this maid’s legs.”

“That’s not the line,” I whispered. The look on his face was different—not Hamlet. Not Philip. It was sweet and smitten, like the one I’d seen him wear as Romeo last year. I swallowed the lump in my throat as he inched his mouth closer to mine.

“You’re right. It’s not.”

*

Intrigued?

Please be sure to check out the book’s Tumblr page and order your copy now on Amazon. Thanks for checking out the inspiration for “Ophelia the Second,” and I hope to see you at the reading!

XX,
Jade

Picture of gold bow

Happy Holidays…

Wishing you the brightest of holidays full of love, sexiness, and warmth…

And here’s to a fabulous 2016!

XX,
Jade

My personal optimist motto pencils, a gift from Alison Tyler

Looking Up

Up until about a month ago, things over here were—oh, how to put this?—really fucking cray-cray in the brain department. There was a lot of good going on (and more I’ll get to shortly), and I tried to center my online attention to that—but offline, I was a wreck. This has all passed now, thank god, but things were pretty dark for a bit there.

I talked in a previous post about the sensory migraines that took over my life—but what I stayed pretty quiet on was the adjustment to the medication my doctor prescribed. Once it kicked in, it helped tremendously—but the month-long adjustment period was torture. My brain was definitely not my own for that wild ride, and, honestly, if you and I had a conversation anywhere in that month, I probably have no solid recollection of what we talked about. On top of that, other than one flash piece inspired by my migraines and a couple poems I scribbled in brief moments of clarity, I wrote little (coherently, anyway). It wasn’t until after I signed off of Skype from my interview with the wonderful Rose Caraway about my story in Libidinous Zombie that I realized how wildly out of my head I felt. Yikes!

Fortunately, my doctor turned out to be a genius. After that month of adjustment—and practically overnight—everything turned…well, normal. My migraines damn near disappeared, and all the side effects I was experiencing completely vanished. I keeMy personal optimist motto pencils, a gift from Alison Tylerp describing it as the way the sky looks after a storm, when the clouds pull back to reveal a clear blue world—but I kid you not, it’s what my head felt like after that period passed. My spirits soared, and my usual optimist Fuck half full, I have a glass! self was ready to go screaming from the rooftops about how damn amazing I felt.

And that’s where I’ve been cruising for almost a month now—appreciating all the awesome things going on, and enjoying having my brain back to participate in them! Woo hoo!

So, let’s move along to the good department, shall we? First, some book news—I’ve been cruising away on edits for The Assignment, book one in my forthcoming Lessons in Control series. We had to do a few schedule adjustments, but I’m pleased to announce that it will be released in December 2016—and hey, you can already pre-order it on Amazon! 🙂 There’s no cover or blurb up yet, and I believe it might still say it’s coming out in June, but that’s soon to be fixed. I have much more to tell you about this book and the entire series as we get closer to publication, but let’s just say that as I’m working on edits, I’m getting really excited. It doesn’t hurt that I landed Rhonda Helms on this project, who is possibly the most enthusiastic editor on the planet and making me squeal. A lot. (Okay, and I admit—I’m one of those weird authors who loves editing almost as much as I love writing, so I’m having fun in this process either way.) A picture of Jade's manuscript

Meanwhile, I’ve still been keeping up on my poetry, and even wrote a piece loosely inspired by a scene in The Assignment. In the short story world, I got confirmation there will be a San Francisco reading for Best Women’s Erotica, Volume 1 on January 19th at 6:30pm at the Good Vibrations Polk Street location (mark your calendars!). My BWE story “Ophelia the Second” is one I’m rather fond of, and I can’t wait to tell you more about the it and to hopefully meet you at the reading!Cover of Best Women's Erotica of the Year

Speaking of reading…back in July, Rose asked me in my first KMQ’s interview what I’d be doing if I wasn’t a writer—and I told her I was looking into voice over as a future day job. Since then, I’ve taken a couple weekend workshops and learned all sorts of intriguing things, and decided this little dream will need to become a reality over the coming years. I even set up a recording space, which I officially used for the first time to record “Longing” in honor of the release of Coming Together: In Verse (a smokin’ erotic poetry anthology)! This voice over adventure is on hold while I work on books 2 and 3 in the Lessons in Control series…but it’s on my radar!

Finally, since it’s nearly Christmas, I couldn’t possibly skip mentioning my always free holiday short story, “Office Santa.” It’s about an office superstar named Kristi who has a major thing for the Santa suit—especially when it’s worn by one of her very favorite colleagues. Kristi was a character I had way too much fun writing, so I hope you’ll please check out her adventures. Also free for the holidays is a new flash piece called “Missing You,” hosted over at Tamsin’s Superotica as part of her hot annual advent calendar—please be sure to check out both my story and the others on this holiday countdown!

So, all in all, I’m thrilled to say things are looking up. WAY up.

Just in time for the start of a brand new (and super exciting) year, don’t you think?

XX,
Jade

Black and white photo of Jade A. Waters

“Missing You” is Part of Tamsin’s Superotica Advent Calendar!

It’s a very special time of year—and for those of you not in the know, Tamsin Flowers hosts the hottest advent calendar in town. Each day until Christmas, she features stories from a bevy of fabulous authors that will definitely get your pulse racing. This year she kicked off with part one of a beautiful piece of her own called “Fallen,” and she’s featured so many other delicious stories too, from the likes of Lana FoxRachel Kramer BusselKatya Harris, and many more. Man and woman in the dark sharing sexual moment.

Today, Tamsin has kindly asked me over! She’s featuring a short and sweet flash piece of mine called “Missing You,” one I wrote a couple months back with an image of that achy feeling you get when the one you love is just too, too far away. So, with that in mind, I hope you’ll head over to Tamsin’s place to give this new release a read…

Once you do, be sure to keep an eye not only on all the other advent calendar stories, but Tamsin’s site, too. It’s a smokin’ hot destination!

Special thanks to Tamsin for hosting, and to you, readers, for checking out “Missing You“! 🙂

XX,
Jade