Hello my favorites,

It is a special day and my pseudo birthday (I was born on a Friday the 13th) and I felt as if I should come bearing gifts. I’m currently awash with creativity and shall have lovely little stories to release into the world very soon. I’m trying to keep this influx of coherent ramblings going so I can finish my most epic of writing projects, a collection of 31 stories for the 31 days of October in celebration of my most holiest of high holy days, Halloween.

I’ve been playing with ideas and wondering just how scary I should be and quite a few have found themselves on the cutting room floor. But as today is such a special day I thought one idea that didn’t move me beyond these short little sentences should get a chance at life. Therefore my lovelies I wish you a most splendid Friday the 13th and give you a little something to make it that much brighter.

Janet

Do you have to go?
Unedited and copyrighted by Janet Eckford

“Do you have to go?”

“You know I do.”

“Why does it always come so soon?”

He gathered her in his arms and placed a gentle kiss upon her head. It was too soon but time was never on their side. Instead they took what they could when they can.

“When will you be back,” she whispers softly with her head pressed against his heart.

“Not until the time is just right,” he replied in a dejected tone.

“You could stay if you wanted.”

He’d become accustomed to this argument that had no real end. She knew that he couldn’t stay and their special kind of forever was never guaranteed. Releasing her from his tight hold he watched as her mournful expression transformed into one of resignation. He didn’t have to tell her what she already knew.

“You have to go,” she sighed and gently cupped his chin with her icy fingers.

“And so do you,” he replied.

There was no grief as her touch became the faintest of caresses. His heart had long ago learned to wall itself away from sadness as she slowly faded away. He didn’t shed a tear as he stared at her silent grave in the cold night because he’d learned long ago it was wasted for those that love the dead.

Good Day Lovelies,

It is Sunday Funday and I just want to stay curled in bed and sleep with the cats. But alas, errands must be run and things Sig Other has deemed important gotten to. I even have a few items on my list to check off, mainly writing a story for the sweetest cover my publisher Beautiful Trouble Publishing has given me. I have a title, which is often the hardest part, but unfortunately no plot, characters, or direction.

I have been scribbling little bits of stories all over the place but I can’t make any of those fit. So while lying in bed, faking sleep in order to ward off Sig Other and his “rise and shine” demeanor, I started thinking about this sweet little couple and what their story should be and I was struck with the thought, “what is it like when it isn’t so sweet” and “how do they get the sweetness back”.

Well I rolled over and jotted down the briefest of a scene in my notes app, the receptacle of unfinished ideas, and decided instead of it living its life in obscurity why not share. Who knows, now that I’ve put it out into the universe maybe it will grow up to be a real story one day…ummm

Unedited and copyrighted by Janet Eckford

The warmth of his hand slipping between my thighs is my only indication that he is awake. It is slow, almost lazy in it’s exploration of my softly smooth skin, and I keep my eyes tightly clasped in order to better experience the sensation. He drifts higher and higher and it seems that with every inch he gains my body becomes increasingly anxious. This caress in the darkest heart of night is unexpected after an intense quarrel that had me falling asleep with hurt feelings and murderous thoughts. My pain from harsh words spoken in anger coaxes my pride to resist, squeeze my legs tightly closed and bar the intruder admission, but I feel the lightest brush of fingertips against the softest part of my body and I submit.

Pride is no match for desire and I do not think I can desire any man more. He knows I am his even with harsh words and hurt feelings.

“When we are done, I promise we’ll talk and I’ll apologize, but let me say I’m sorry this way first,” he whispers in my ear.

And I let him.

Hello My Little Rascals!

I’ve been working really hard to finish a few projects but alas my muse hasn’t been cooperating. Until the wee small hours of the morning when this picture I’ve had in my Pinterest account sparked a little flame of something for me. So what could I do but share with you.

Janet

Naughty Thoughts and Naughty Deeds
Unedited and Copyrighted by Janet Eckford

I watch as he puts his gloves on. Those lovely hands, strong and well formed, with just a hint of roughness brushed along his palms and the pads of his fingers. Those lovely hands placed inside the softest of leather. I love those hands, particularly when they are upon me. Looking away as the last digit of the last finger is tucked away from my view, I shiver thinking of the feel of them.

“What are you thinking of?” He asks softly in ear.

I haven’t noticed him get close, so very close in a room with so much space. I feel the heat of his words travel across the surface of my skin, caressing, teasing, and I blush with pleasure.

“Nothing.”

The lie is ill formed and sticks as it comes out of my mouth. He will know there is a something. Several something’s that involve him and those lovely hands that have now found their way to my arm and hip.

“I think not.”

His voice is husky as he leans so much closer to me. Pressed softly against my back. One of those lovely leathered clad hands has found its way from my hip to the small of my back, at the edge of the deep V of my dress, where my skin is exposed. The cool smooth texture of the leather slides gently across me and I still, like one of Pavlov’s dogs waiting for a treat.

“Are you thinking naughty thoughts?”

There is humor in the deep timber of his voice that causes my breath to hitch. When he is amused is when he is at his most dangerous. His mind becomes sharp and focused, arrowed to all the subtle nuisances of my body and its responses.

“Naughty thoughts and naught deeds,” I whisper back.

I feel a slight tremor in the hand now splayed discreetly across my lower back. I am not without my own arsenal and smile as I look into the thinly dispersed crowd of diners. I wonder if they know what is happening. That as he grows slightly harder behind me, I become slightly softer, warmer and moist.

“Let’s go,” he says helping me with my coat, “I want to hear more about this in the car.”

His words have a hint of urgency and his smile a bit of mischief. I know what will happen when he gets me to that car parked in the darkest part of the lot. Those lovely hands in tight confines of the softest leather will push me ever so gently against the cool metal of the door. One will find its way to my hip as the other lifts up my dress, fingers skimming across sensitive skin until they reach the very edge of my panties. There won’t be time for gallant gestures and instead he will push the delicate lace aside, as he spreads me wider.

I am not a passive spectator of course and will have taken my own liberties to free him from his pants. As he lifts me up, just enough to anchor me on the door of the car, the last thing I will feel before he pushes himself inside of me will be the warm texture of his favored gloves pressed against my skin, and I will have to bite my lip to prevent my scream.

Naughty thoughts and naughty deeds indeed.

But you need to go to InterracialErotica.net to find out what it is.

Oh go on, you know you want to.

http://www.interracialerotica.net/erotica/articles/361/1/I-Need-You-Once-More-Before-I-Go/Page1.html

Janet

Hello my little chickadees,

Last night I was talking with sig other about my most recent post and he had some very interesting insight, well once we got past the fact the story had nothing to do with us;) He brought up a very valid point when we were discussing the narrators belief that both parties felt the relationship was over. He questioned how did she know he felt the same way if they never talked about dissatisfaction. Maybe she was done but he thought though things were tense it didn’t mean they were through. Sig other is a firm believer in the idea that two people are not usually done with a relationship at the same time, there is almost always one of the two holding out hope. Well of course this got my muse all hot and bothered thinking about how to tell the story of the other half of this duo. So here it goes.

Unedited and Copyrighted by Janet Eckford

     I look up from my plate to see her staring at me and I smile. She is lovely tonight as she is always lovey. I place my steak into my mouth and moan my appreciation at the tenderness of the meat. I love this place, always have, and they never seem to disappoint. With my mouth full I point to her soup that she has been swirling absently for some time and not eating. She takes a spoonful and smiles in appreciation. There is something off about her smile and I open my mouth to ask if she enjoys it but decide against it.
     Things have been tense lately and tonight, our special night, I don’t want to have one of our arguments. I look back at my plate because I don’t want her to see that I’m thinking of that tension that has begun to permeate our life. I feel it like a great bleak fog that clouds my words and actions, making little things I say distorted and complex. I want tonight to be good like it was in the past. A past that had us eating and laughing at this very restaurant, at this very table, until the place closed down around us.
     “I love this place,” I smile at her, hoping the memory of that love will infuse a joy in the evening I’m starting to feel lacking.
     “It’s the best,” she replies with a smile that is lacking the luster she once had.
     I don’t know what to say now as that fog grows thicker around us. I can see her but it is only the vague outline of what she used to be, of what we used to mean to each other. I feel a ball of frustration form in my chest because it doesn’t seem fair that it has become so hard. She is still so lovely to me but there is something happening that I don’t understand.
     “Do you think we should plant roses this year?”
     I want to shout that I don’t give a fuck about roses. I want to ask her what’s going on and why won’t she talk to me. I want to say whatever I need to say to not have us fighting but to clear up this pallor of gloom that has taken us into its cold embrace but instead I breath deeply and say, “That’s something to think about.”
     It isn’t something to think about but I have no other thoughts left. I can’t help a small sigh of frustration escaping from my lips as I fork more food into my mouth. Food that has lost it’s initial vibrancy and tang.
     “Yes, something to think about,” she murmurs as she catches my eye.
     As I look into the face of this person I love, the person I have given and taken from in equal parts, I see something there that shouldn’t be. It is as if the fog has cleared for this briefest of moments and I have to look away at what clarity has brought.
     “I love this place,” I say, trying desperately to get back to what we once had.
     “It’s the best,” she replies.
     The sight of her small sad smile is too much for me and I go back to my food and listening to the sounds of this place that used to be so safe and realize I’m okay with the fog for now.

Hello my little romantics,

I’m sitting here all by my lonesome at work, trying desperately to finish tasks off my To Do List, and listening to sad songs. I of course am having no success checking off those important boxes on my list and have instead immersed myself in enjoying my sad songs and contemplating love that is lost and POOF a little ditty popped in my head. I think that we should always remember that as great as love is, the loss of it is even more poignent because when we find it again it makes us appreciate that new love that much more. As sharing is caring here’s a little treat for everyone.

Cheers!

Janet

Unedited and Copyrighted by Janet Eckford

Hello Guys and Gals!

I’ve been pretty busy lately with all things not writing and today I finally had time to put to paper the ideas that have been floating around in my head. As always I find myself quite fascinated with short stories that are both sensual and mysterious. I’m completely intrigued with this idea of telling a story that has no real beginning, middle, and end, but is instead a snapshot in time. The barest glimpse of a story that could be or never was. I think it might have something to do with my subconscious tapping into a more voyeuristic aspect of my nature. Not being a huge fan of reality T.V. living in a culture that is completely saturated with it may have some influence on my new literary hobby as well. I’m not inundated with the great minutia of living (or the artfully crafted concept of it) that most people are fed as viewing pleasure and quite possibly have tried to fill that void through a new exploration of writing.

My newest story, At That Hour, for which I have been threatened with great bodily harm by a dearest friend if I don’t finish it, is the perfect example of this new direction I’m taking. I want to introduce characters in a moment in time, in which there is no history and no future, where they exist solely in that moment to…well to do what ever I tell them to do. There is a fantastical element to this knew direction that I find myself in, which is no surprise because I adore Fantastic Literature*. I like the tingle of suspense, the idea of what would happen if, and mostly I like this all with a little sex.

Therefore, I’ve got a story to tell you my dears, if you take the time to listen.

Janet

*One of my favorite books of shorts is called Black Water: The Book of Fantastic Literature Ed. by Alberto Manguel. Here’s one of the stories that has stuck with me the most and influences me today as a writer.
http://thenostalgialeague.com/olmag/climax.html

Hello Lovers,

I’m utilizing the blogger app on my phone as I lounge in my bed contemplating starting my day. I have stuff to do. Work and errands, the everyday clutter of living that causes the day to pass into another. The dog has a scrape on his paw from his great escape through a window last night that requires attention. We may make a trip to Costco because doesn’t that lamp need a light? The same little inconsequential things that make up life. Yet what makes them all tolerable, enjoyable and at times slightly bearable is the person who does them with me. Here’s to 10 years of the spectacular, the mundane, and all the madness that entails you being mine and me being yours. Looking forward to many more decades.

Happy Anniversary Sig Other.

Janet

I’m sitting in my training trying desperately to pay attention because…well I’m kinda in charge and people will have eight thousand questions for me after the trainer is done but I can’t. Instead my brain has wondered off to the land of nod. While there this dream/story I had several weeks ago has set up residence and plays on repeat but I’m resistant to give it voice because it basically kind of scares me. Which is saying something. Instead I’ve tried to focus on the story I need to write for this great cover I have but alas nothing. So I continue to flap listlessly in the mental winds of my mind until BAM this came to me. In a desperate need to capture it, place it in a capsule, I’ve come to my blog in hopes that releasing it into the universe of this little community a snippet of this “something” may become SOMETHING.

He looked at the soft slope of her hip resting against the door frame. She was lovely standing there unaware of his eyes soaking in her radiance, her life. He could feel the pulse of he energy, sparkling like the brightest star, drawing him from the depth of darkness he had sunk. The spicy sweet scent of her skin drifted across the room and he could taste her on his tongue and he smiled. The familiar pinprick of his fangs slipping through his gums signaled his heightened desire. Locking his eyes with hers he saw a flicker of fear and need register in her eyes and he flashed her a smile with a hint of fang and thought, “Let the games begin.”

Hello Lovers,

It’s that time of year again and I feel I would be remiss if I didn’t take time to blog, considering a great deal of my beer money is derived from all that hot sweaty love I write about. To be honest, aside from the anxious pitter patter of anticipation I received as a grade-schooler when Valentine’s were passed out, I’m not big on the holiday. A great deal of it most likely stems from the fact that my Birthday is the day before and, well, quite frankly what could be more important than my Birthday, seriously. So it isn’t with a heavy heart that I sit here surfing the net while my cat purrs away in my lap and the Wonder Dog barks to his hearts content outside as I wait for Sig Other to get home. I have health, happiness, prosperity, and someone that loves me whether we are snuggled up under the covers discussing the dangers of raccoon’s or whispering I love yous into the phone while I’m on yet another business trip.

To me that is what love is and my wish for all you lovely, lovely people out there is the same.

Janet