What You See

Posted on May 26, 2015December 30, 2016 by Jade A. Waters

Ammentorp ©123RF.com

WHAT YOU SEE
by
Jade A. Waters

There is a girl
Beautiful, broken, bruised, smiling
She is all of these things
She’s got a history
You can never fathom
Though you try.
She’s moved mountains
Swum oceans
Run miles
Through thorns and rocky terrain
That
From the looks of her
You’d never imagine she could have faced.
What you see
When you look at her
Is the beautiful
And the smiling;
You don’t see the black and blue
That’s forever imprinted on her soul
You don’t see the scars
On her heart
Or all the battles she’s won.
You only see the beauty, the afterglow
The radiance she’s worked so hard to keep
Despite the scratches running the length
Of each of her veins
Marring her for an eternity.
She doesn’t flash them often—
She doesn’t need to, doesn’t want to
Because she’s earned these smiles
She’s stolen back this beautiful heart
She’s claimed a lifetime of looking forward
After what was.
But sometimes, when you look at her,
You tell her what you see
Like it’s all there is
And anything she could share with you
Is trivial and mundane,
Petty figments of her imagination
That couldn’t possibly be
Because how could a girl
Who looks like this
Have experienced that?

I hear you
I really do
It’s hard to believe something that ugly
So many things that ugly
Could have happened to one single soul,
But the truth of the matter is
They have.
So
Before you tell me it can’t be that bad
Tell me I’m lovely and happy
I’m lucky
And so it could never have happened
That way
For me,
I want you to look at me
Really look at me,
See the beauty, sure, but see the bruises
And the marks deep inside, too
Please.
I ask of you.
I’ve earned them
I’ve fought through them
They are who I am, part of me, always me
My right to feel and have
Not whatever it is you keep telling me
That you see.
That?
She’s a different girl
Who isn’t
And never was
Me.

Flash Fiction: “Kiss of Fate”

Posted on May 20, 2015May 23, 2015 by Jade A. Waters

It was a simple move, really—the sweep of his hand over my hair. Down, then repeat, fingers crawling over wild, tousled strands while he gave me that wistful smile of his. The move shouldn’t have meant anything, but in his eyes, I saw that it did. That all those years of silent communication were leveling out in the beautiful brown irises I’d told myself not to love so long ago.

And so it felt only natural to lean toward him, the whisper of the air around us urging us on, pressing us together like we were in a time-capsule vacuum of space. It didn’t matter that there were people shouting around us, cars whizzing by, stars glistening in the heavens above as though they were trying to tell us that they’d been watching all along, waiting for this very moment. Waiting for both of us to get it, to feel that strange floating sensation between us as his hand met my shoulder and he pitched toward me, too.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, and so did I—but nothing needed to be said. There was no verbal expression to communicate the way we slipped closer, now not two bodies standing there conversing through our buzz over the eternal mysteries of men versus women or how we always poked fun at one another, but two flames coming together, bursting into a giant, scorching fire. Lip to lip, tongue to tongue, we lost ourselves in a kiss that should have taken place so many years ago but never did.

I drifted into him, and he swept into me. We were one, arms wrapping around each other, tongues dancing, fire brimming through our bodies in ways I’m sure we would have known once, had we actually tried. As his hands played up my sides and back into my hair, pulling me closer, he kissed me harder—like he meant it. Like he needed it. Like the press of my body to his wasn’t enough, was never enough, and instead he ached to be with me, part of me, loving me just as I loved him and always had. His fingertips along my scalp sent electric pulses all through me, making me fall into him even more, sending that spark so deep I felt my need, my lust, heavy like the night around us. I was ready for him. For this.

For everything.

When we pulled apart, the air hummed dense with our fervid breaths. Then we smiled, the universe winking its starry eyes, for it knew what happened next.

So did we.

“Come home with me,” he said.

There was no other answer but yes.

Elust #70: A Taste, X is for X, Haunting, and More!

Posted on May 17, 2015May 17, 2015 by Jade A. Waters

Photo courtesy of Exposing 40

Welcome to Elust #70 –

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 #71? Start with the rules, come back June 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Exposed! My Mom Knows!

Flash Fiction: “A Taste”

I am a Sex Blogger & I Reject Pseudonymity

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

‘X’ is for X…
Give my guilt an erotic payoff? Tell me more.

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

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

Dis-moi…

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!

Talk Dirty (Captions) To Me

Posted on May 12, 2015May 12, 2015 by Jade A. Waters

After last week’s seriously nitty-gritty editing post—which, in all truth, resulted in me realizing it was time to take a break from the book and pass it on to betas…now…before I start going nuts—I’ve decided to lighten things up a bit over here.

Occasionally, I like to share a picture. I’m a pretty visual person—both in bed and out—but photos usually don’t do much for me. There’s a very large group of writers who use images as inspiration, and while I don’t seem to have the capacity to do that, I enjoy a good image purely for its own value. Take the image I previously posted of the beautiful built man searching the sand for who knows what or the fabulous ass of the gentleman about to get it on with the Lady of the Perfectly Arched Feet—I could look at these over and over, and while they won’t inspire any words beyond “DAMN” and “HOT,” they still look deliciously good to me.

So today, I’m turning the tables around. Let’s play a little game, shall we? I will post a picture, and I want YOU to tell me what comes to mind. Call it research. Or fun. Or just that I enjoy seeing how different people respond to images. I’m not even about to blast you with a super NSFW image, either; this one is really pretty tame. With images, I think it’s often about the hint of something to come, the promise of what could be. I still haven’t figured out exactly what in this one speaks to me (might be the lean?), but it’s what I’ve got my eye on today.

Does it grab you?

I do hope you’ll play with me—I’m totally inviting you to talk dirty to me! Caption away, or share your thoughts. What do you see here? What does this image inspire in you?

I dare you to share. 😉

XX,
Jade

It’s Time For…Editing Mayhem!

Posted on May 6, 2015June 29, 2015 by Jade A. Waters

After careful consideration, I’m 100% sure I am an over-editing fiend.

This isn’t to say that the editing I do is bad editing, or even that it’s unnecessary. It’s just potentially a little over the top.

“All things in moderation,” one of my parents used to say.

Yeah. Kind of missed that boat, guys.

In all fairness, we all have our methods. We’ve got to do what works for us. I felt as though I’d fine-tuned my novel editing process the last time around, but I’m coming to realize that whatever the process is that I think I have nailed down, it will be sabotaged when, say, I’m in times of great stress. (Perhaps uncoincidentally, this is when my weird urge to check the oven is off at least three times before I leave the house kicks in, too. So fun.)

The last book hit some road bumps before I called the edit done, but somehow it didn’t feel quite as disruptive as what happened this time. My awesome system was all screwed up due to too many “life issues,” and of course there was that whole bout with adding a subplot, removing the subplot, changing the subplot and re-adding it again. What all this basically amounted to was me convincing myself I’d fucked everything up, then laughing hysterically because I started re-editing things I’d already edited. Three times.

I like my plot lines how I like my love life: hot, heavy, and complicated. #amwriting

So about that plot line issue…

At least there was laughing, right? That’s good.

So, anyway. Clearly I’m going tangential today. There will be no fiction, no confessions, no poetry, no pictures of hot men. I have decided to share the editing process that is by no means “in moderation,” but that I used with both my currently shelved comedic memoir and that first erotica novel I finished writing last January. It’s a method I think I like (because I honestly love editing), and that I’ve attempted to use again—I just stress attempted because, well, see the last full paragraph. And yes, it might well be a little nuts. Or, maybe it’s normal. Or maybe it’s indicative of a woman who spent three years of her teens wanting to be a neurosurgeon so there remains a residual urge to meticulously fix things…who knows. Either way, perhaps you will find something of use (or at least a good laugh) from my editing insanity!

Here goes!

Jade’s 10 Steps to Editing Mayhem

Step 1: Mull It Over. Do not touch your first draft for at least three weeks after you type “The End.” Then, and only then, print it out. Read it cover to cover (best in a short, consistent time frame) with all pens and pencils locked somewhere you cannot find them. Once you finish, mull for 2-4 days. Make mental notes of any plot issues that strike you as seriously fucked up, but do not write anything down. Not yet. This is thinking time.

Step 2: Grab the Pen of Destruction. After you’ve sufficiently mulled it over, find your favorite pen (I’m a big fan of blue or green—red makes me crazy). Then, in batches of three or so chapters, edit like a maniac. At the end of the third chapter, enter the changes on the computer. When you finish, go back and read these chapters on the screen, making changes as you see them. Then repeat your chapter bunches to the end of the book.

Step 3: Throw It All Off. Bear in mind, you will need to stop to add scenes where appropriate. This will of course throw off the “[three] chapter bundle” plan, so after typing a new scene, edit it on screen, print and edit it on paper, enter the changes, then continue on with the rest of the chapter bundle.

Picture of woman lying on floor looking reading

Is this step 4? Step 10? A cat nap? I don’t know. You pick.

Step 4: Assess Your Mental Health (Take 1). Recognize this has taken a bizarrely long time already, and that, according to writer friends, this is where many people stop and send the damn thing off to beta readers. Laugh a good laugh and keep going, special snowflake. It’s time to let that freak flag fly.

Step 5: Begin Your Word List Madness. When I read, I’m hypersensitive to echoes—repeated words and phrases—so when I’m on Step 2 I keep a notepad handy, jotting down every word or phrase I swear I’ve repeated too many times. This list can get disturbingly long, and it will turn out that some of the words are not actually echoes but phantom echoes. That’s okay, though; write them down anyway, because you’ll take great pleasure in finding out you’re wrong when you do a “find and replace” for each and every word on this notepad. When you find a true culprit, though, set some random upper limit in your head for the number of times you think it should appear. Proceed to slash and hack to fit that number. This process, while tedious, will allow you whole phrase changes that will make the book read better—you probably didn’t need to say cock that much, even though the word rolls around so well on the tongue. (Heh.) Also check excessive adverbs and your Naughty Words List (the list of words that you tend to overdo).

Step 6 (Optional): Create Post-It Confetti. When feeling particularly Word List sensitive (this happened for me last time), write down the really bothersome word on a Post-It, and make note of what pages it happens. Then make another Post-It with synonyms and their page numbers. Sometimes, you can find an eerie pattern that makes you feel your use of certain words is logically connected to the Universe—but don’t spend too long pondering this. Your next goal is to disperse your abundance of synonyms so that the first half of the book doesn’t have all the cock and the second half get the shaft. (Ha ha. Who said editing isn’t fun?!)

Step 7: Assess Your Mental Health (Take 2). Realize you have synonym lists on Post-Its all over your desk and that this alone may be far more concerning than your browser history. Laugh another good laugh. Is it a math brain that makes one so obsessed with patterns? The OCD? Will you ever know the true answer? Does this have something to do with the meaning of life? Why do you care? This is not the time for an existential musing. Whatever the cause for this madness, regain your focus and set some rewards: a night out when you’re finished and a damn good book to read. I promised myself Alison Tyler’s Wrapped Around Your Finger when this current edit was finished, and while it’s been sitting on my nightstand for almost six months, I am going to get to it soon, goddammit!

Step 8: Sigh and Run Your Spellcheck. Breathe a sigh of relief. The hard work is over. Now, give the whole document a spellcheck. Take this opportunity to spot and change more boring words. You’ll find them. I promise.

Step 9 (Best for post-beta read, but whatever): Go Aural. Read the entire story aloud. No, really. This is the best piece of editing advice I ever got, and I still do it, every time, no matter what the length of the story is. It catches almost every error, swear.

Step 10: Get Your Ass and That Book Out. Send the doc to your beta readers before you find ways to make another pass through. Then, take yourself out to celebrate.

BOOM. You’re done. Easy as pie. Yes?

So, a few notes: First drafts get better as you write more (thank god), so this list, while arduous, goes faster and gets simpler with each new story. The next edit (post-beta or otherwise) won’t require several of these steps, either—so far I’ve stuck with a single read-through, then 2, 3, 8 (sans sighs), 9, and 10 on that round, with 2 and 3 switched. Also, 10 is even more celebratory because it’s more done, which is always a good thing. And once this bad doggie is out the door, you can now move on to all the other projects you’ve avoided save for a random piece of flash or ten.

Until, of course, you get your edits back from your betas/editor/agent again.

🙂

XX,
Jade

Flash Fiction: “A Taste”

Posted on April 29, 2015April 29, 2015 by Jade A. Waters

She’s been waiting her whole life for him, she thinks, and she raises the coffee to her lips.

They’ve been eyeing one another across this diner for the better part of an hour, all while he’s pretended to read his paper and eat his late night bacon and eggs, and she’s forgotten to finish the soup that grew cold not long after she ordered it. She’s been distracted by the rules skipping through her head—don’t stare too much, cross your legs like a lady, don’t forget to eat with your mouth closed—but with the gazes they keep casting back and forth, she doesn’t think these things are really all that important anymore.

Anna pays her check and rises from her booth. She imagines she’ll be the first to leave. That he’ll follow her outside, giving her a moment to reflect on whether he’s stalking her, and if she’s supposed to run. Or if instead she should give away everything she’s actually feeling—the unsteady ticking of her heart inside the safe housing of her chest, the unusual race of her once regulated breathing, or, more than that, the heat that’s slickened at the peak of her thighs, making all this thought a perilous landscape of impossible, inexplicable desire.

But the man is the first to leave. He walks right by her, deliberately meeting her gaze. The brush of his hand on hers cannot be a coincidence, nor the look in his heavy-lidded eyes. And so it’s Anna who follows him outside, Anna who walks in measured steps behind him, Anna who glances up at the stars, just once, reminding herself how small she is in this world as he turns the corner and she’s left to decide one way or another.

Don’t talk to strangers, her mama said.

But mama’s been dead a long time now.

Anna finds him leaning against the backside of the building, staring beyond the edge of the bluff at the water below, where the waves ebb and flow like the surge in her veins. In her head, as she comes to face him, she anticipates the things he might ask of her. What’s your name? Why have you followed me? What are you looking for tonight?

He asks none of this. What he does is take her wrist and pull her to him, so that her breasts are flush with his chest and he’s breathing down over her face. She believes he’s asking for her approval, which she gives in the one kiss they will share—their lips merging, opening, exchanging the bitter trace of coffee, the hint of greasy bacon, and the sweet, sweet taste of spit. His hands are on her ass, molding her flesh, squeezing her closer. She welcomes this, then the way he swings her round to face the building, sliding behind her so his entire body lines her back. Anna gasps when his fingers slip under her skirt, because now he knows just how anxious she’s been for this. For him. Never show a man how much you care she remembers, but his fingers are in her, riding up and hot in the wet desire she doesn’t know how to hide. His teeth find her neck as he wedges her tight to the wall, and Anna’s open mouth grazes the fading building finish. She tongues the wood as he unfastens his pants, then the salty air that kisses her lips and makes her feel alive when he presses his cock to her ass.

“Okay?”

This is the murmur she’ll remember him by, a quiet, desperate groan that elicits the wild bob of her head. We don’t take risks. Good girls don’t take risks she’d been told, but as he drives inside she wants nothing more than to risk it all, again and again. Every thrust of his cock brings another moan, another moment, another physical expression she held buried so far inside. She spreads her fingers on the building and arches her back, letting him sink deeper, closing her eyes while the waves sing behind them and he moves faster inside her. He bites her neck again, surely tasting the glisten of sweat that’s broken out along her chin. Her body shakes when he slides a finger in her mouth and she closes her lips around it, the taste of her cunt on his skin. She’s only partially surprised she comes before he does, her whimpers preceding the muffled grunts he makes into her hair. He fills her with the honest, heated greeting of a perfect stranger.

For a minute, they stand like this, Anna smashed between his body and the building. His come is seeping out around his slowly softening shaft, dripping onto the panties barely pushed aside before he marked her as who she really is. Who she’s wanted to be.

The man places a kiss on the edge of Anna’s mouth. It’s tender and indifferent all at once, but she understands the intention behind it, what he’s learned, too. Thank you.

She is still standing against the wall after he tucks himself away, pausing like he’s supposed to, waiting to see if she wants to say something, or if there’s anything else she needs. But there isn’t.

When he’s gone, Anna spins around, her back to the building as the chaos of her belly becomes a soothing warmth that brings a smile to her face.

She’s never taken a risk before.

And she’s been waiting her whole life for this one.

“Open” — a Poem, in Audio

Posted on April 22, 2015April 25, 2015 by Jade A. Waters

I think it’s safe to say all writers love words. We love the shape of them, the feel of them, the way they play together on the page. But while most writing is meant to be read in quiet, there are occasions when it’s the sound of the words that really counts.

I make no secret in my bio that I once read synonyms to a lover as foreplay. In that moment I enjoyed not writing the words, but dancing them off my tongue, letting them resonate and seduce in just the right way. And though I’ve read a few stories aloud before, those pieces weren’t written with that intention in mind. Which is why today, I’m trying something different.

I wrote “Open” about seven years ago as a poem to be read aloud. On the page, it reads to me as a series of staccato lines and words—whereas in my head these phrases are better played with in tone, volume, and voice. So with that in mind, I’ve opted not to just post this old poem, but to read it to you, too. It’s quite short, but I’ve read it as I imagined it when I wrote it—not as a string of words, but instead as sounds meant for a lover’s ear.

I hope you enjoy it.

XX,
Jade

OPEN

Jade A. Waters

Come
Inside
Fill me
Take me
Your love
Within
Divine
I ache
I pine
The heat
Engulfs
And burns
Throughout
I feel
You throb
I move
On you
With you
To you
A beat
A pulse
That stirs
That moves
Us on
As one
Together
Push
And rub
We glide
You slide
Deep
In me
You are
You live
I breathe
To feel
This
You
In me
With me
Press on
Once more
And then…

…Come again.

Elust #69 – Erotica and More!

Posted on April 19, 2015April 16, 2015 by Jade A. Waters

Photo courtesy of Sex Is My New Hobby

Welcome to Elust #69 –

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 #70? Start with the rules, come back May 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Bully for you
Watching Me
Red in Tooth and Claw

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

He’s Got Her
Subject/Object/My Desire

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

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

Waiting with Snowdrops

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

Nothing Really Matters
Njoying Myself
He’s beautiful
Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 39
His Beauty Shatters Me
Vacation Got Off To A Slow Start
After Party On My Own
dénouement
My Life Erotic: “The Bad Man”

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Questions We’re Actually Embarrassed to Ask
Distance
Ignorance & Misconception – Scary Combination

Poetry

Laced Up – a Lusty Limerick

Erotic Fiction

Our First Time
The EuphOff
the auction
the conductor
Habla con ella

Writing About Writing

My Filthasaurus

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

On Corsets
Consent: A play in one act
Playing hate: topping in a degradation scene
Corsets and Kink
What I Love About Pinching

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Dancing vs. Sex
Volunteers Needed!
Jewelry N’ Kegels

Blogging

1000 Fucking Blog Post

You Got Turned Out

Posted on April 15, 2015April 15, 2015 by Jade A. Waters

Well over a year ago, a close friend used a term that struck me as profound—so much so it’s been simmering in the back of my head ever since. The truth is that it was said in reference to a relationship I’d experienced, but eventually, I realized how wide the scope of it was, and how very much I needed to write about it.

See, at the time of our conversation, I was wrapping up one of the most painful breakups of my life. I’ve had many relationships in two decades—some of them waking me in one way or another, others serious enough we nearly ended up engaged, and still others breaking me in ways that required many years of lightness to heal—but this was different. It was heavier somehow, more real, more intense. If I were to describe my past relationships as watercolor paintings, this one was made of oil—dense with color, small details, and texture, and labored over not just with brushes, but with rags and carving tools that molded the canvas of us. It started as a casual fling that should have meant practically nothing, but in the mere nine months we lasted—including four breakups, three standoffs, and two attempted months of silence—the impact still coursed through my blood and transformed me.

So on the night we chatted, this friend of mine listened while I cried to him for probably the third or fourth time, dragging myself in circles over this new kind of hurt, and this strange feeling of having had my heart and soul wrenched open in ways I couldn’t understand. And in the midst of it, he said, very sweetly, “Honey, don’t you see? You got turned out.”

This friend has long been special to me for a variety of reasons, but his frankness—paired with his somewhat uncanny understanding of women—has always captivated me. Having never heard the term, I sniffled a few times and asked what the hell he was talking about. I’ll take the liberty of paraphrasing his response, but the basic concept is this: getting “turned out” means someone has fully broken through to you—turned you upside down, cracked you open, and unraveled you completely. Sure, you may have had sex and love before—hell, you could have had endless sex and love, and believed you’d felt the magic—but this experience is not common, and when it happens, you know. It’s more powerful than any love or good fuck or orgasm you’ve had before; it’s like you’ve found that person who can sink right into your soul, delve into your pores, and bring you out into the world as an entirely altered, more phenomenal version of you.

When he said this, it clicked. I’d known love, lust, empathy, closeness, hurt, passion, and all of the feelings that connect us with one another—but this thing, even as short as it was, had me lost in an emotional and sexual haze all the way through and well after it ended. Truth be told, it’s one of the most complicated things I’ve ever experienced, so uplifting and murky and amazing and excruciatingly painful, charging me even beyond the time it took to heal. This is why I strongly believe the last part of what my friend said in that phone call, too—that this type of experience will inevitably end in one of two ways: ideally, you and the person seize the magic and end up together for life, exploring this brilliance discovered together; or, you and the person call it quits, she who got turned out is hurt for a long, long time, and then—once all the pain dissipates and she can see straight again—she’s essentially reborn with so much more sense, emotional power, and feeling than she’d ever dreamed of before.

A phoenix rising from the ash, if you will.

That’s a big concept to pin on a relationship, I know, but I’d venture to guess a few of you know exactly what I’m talking about. Maybe while you’re reading this, your hearts are thumping in your chests, your heads lifting and falling as you whistle to yourselves because you remember what this felt like. It’s that feeling of putting your heart, your love, your soul, your very essence in someone else’s grasp like you could never have fathomed before—and still being unbelievably okay with it.

Sometimes, it works out. Sometimes, it doesn’t. But no matter what, you will never be who you were before.

So, that’s what’s been churning in my head for a while now, seeping into my work, my stories. I don’t mean to do it, and then suddenly I do. The first time I saw it was in the last book I wrote—I’d drafted it early last year and then came back a month later to edit, following my character through her adventure in love and sex while I made my scribbles on the page…and then WHAM. I actually saw it in her character arc, and said it out loud:

“Oh, look at you. You got turned out, baby girl.”

I thought it was just a one-time thing. Then the feelings kept resurfacing in other stories I wrote, essays I penned, and poems I posted, without me ever intending it. It was like in finding myself, my characters had to, as well. Even in the book I’m editing now, I saw it happening all over again—the protagonist shedding her old skin, embracing this new life and awareness she finds with the one who broke through to who she honestly was. It wasn’t that she wasn’t whole or happy before—only that, in a way, she had to set fire to who she was to leap into this vivid new self. In doing so, she’s become richer, more powerful, and eager for every sensation and experience yet to be had.

She’s been turned out.

Sometimes, I wonder if the intersection of my own experience happening shortly after I sent my first erotica story into the world was a coincidence, or if it was the Universe trying to give me a message. That in embracing my writing, I’d opened up a personal door. Or that in releasing the erotica I’d kept quiet for years, I was finally able to bare my heart and soul, even if it was going to hurt like hell. Or that, since I was going to explore so many things in real life, I would need to feed it all into my stories over time.

Honestly, I don’t know the answer to the how or why—and like the phoenix, I don’t think the past matters anymore.

When you get turned out, the only thing you need to do is soar on.

XX,
Jade

“Toys” Joins Molly’s Storytime KissCast!

Posted on April 6, 2015July 20, 2016 by Jade A. Waters

Hello everyone! I’m very excited today for a couple of reasons—namely, the lovely Molly Moore of Molly’s Daily Kiss, and my little ole story, “Toys.”

You may recall that the ever-sweet and charming Molly interviewed me a while back on her new KissCast podcast. The episodes she’s put out since have been so delightful—I’m enjoying getting to learn about a bunch of erotica authors and bloggers, and of course listening to Molly chat with them in her fabulous style. But a little after we had our super fun episode, she asked if I might want to narrate one of my stories as part of a podcast devoted entirely to authors reading their words.

Um, HELL YES.

Well, good news—the episode is out now! I’m so proud to be reading alongside the amazing authors BD Swain, Malin James, and Malfic. And though “Toys” made its debut in Best Women’s Erotica 2014, I’m thrilled to get to share it with you in its entirety here—in your ears! A giant thank you to Molly for including me in this fantastic Storytime episode!

So, please click right here to give the Storytime podcast a listen. I hope you enjoy not only “Toys,” but the whole episode of smokin’ pieces from a wonderful crew.

Thank you for listening!

XX,
Jade