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The Trelor Sect Killings…

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He was saving them. He was gathering them unto his spiritual flock, and he would shepherd them there. He was protecting them from the evil materialism and godless destruction of nature that had become the modern world. How long would it be until the end of humanity was brought about in nuclear devastation? This was the way to peace and salvation, Warren Trelor reasoned as he depressed the trigger and discharged a bullet into the back of Star’s head.

The woman’s bloodied hand slipped from the door handle, and her body slumped with her head coming to rest against the door frame at an odd angle. Her eyes were wide but life had abandoned them. Her mouth was open, and there was a strained gurgling sound, then her body convulsed softly in a final nervous spasm.

Trelor met the eyes of his daughter as they lifted from the woman’s face. “She’s in a safer place now, Summer,” he said. “Lock the door now and wait till I come for you.”

Summer didn’t quite close the door. She watched through a tiny crack as the woman’s body was dragged away. There had been sounds of fighting and screaming, and there had been other gun shots. She understood that the adults were being executed. She had been told to stay in the room with the children, and they were all huddled on a bed in the corner with tears dripping from their faces and snot dripping from their noses. They were past crying, though. She had soothed them, and they were all calm in their trust of her.

There had been single gun shots at short intervals. The massacre had been in progress for only ten minutes. There had been two more shots in the time since Summer had closed the door. There was another, and then another that sounded like it came from the back of the house.

She peeked from the curtain to see Joel Dixon lying in the doorway and her father stepping over his body and stalking away toward the kombi van.

Summer knew what was planned. She needed to get to her aunt and make her stop her father from killing the children. She snuck from the door, tip-toeing along the edge of the narrow hallway to avoid stepping in the trail of smeared blood. She looked in the living room where the adults were all lined up against the wall, dead. She saw her Aunt May sitting on the floor in the kitchen. Her head was slumped forward, her arms by her side. Her hand moved, and she made a sound with her head lifting a little then rocking forward again.

“Aunty, you have to wake up!” Summer implored. She was on her knees beside the woman. “You have to wake up and stop him! You have to stop Daddy,” the young girl pleaded, crying and trying to hold her aunt’s head upright.

There was a loud yell from outside. Summer recognised the voice of her friend Bert Dixon. She crawled past the prone man lying in the doorway and snuck with her back pressed against the side of the house until she could see around the corner. It was her father fighting with Bert. She watched the two men thumping and trying to strangle each other, hoping and praying Bert would win, but her dad was strong.

***

It had been only a week since Summer’s eleventh birthday. There had been a party where the women had dressed her up. They were all dead now, those women. They were lined up against the wall in the living room covered in blood with their eyes and mouths open. Summer could smell the blood. It was a thick, syrupy smell like sour milk and lemons.

The men had all bathed and combed their hair for her birthday party. They were nice men. They played guitars and sang. They were all dead now too. They were all lined up against the wall with their eyes and mouths open and blood all over their shirts.

“Summer! Now put that down!” Trelor commanded, but Summer depressed the trigger of the rifle she had picked up off the ground and discharged a bullet into her father.

She had been taught how to use the rifle by her aunt. She had been shooting targets since she was eight.

She fed another bullet into the chamber and worked the bolt forward and down. She pulled back the hammer until it caught. Then she lifted the rifle to her right shoulder and looked through the sight on top of the barrel.

Her father was sitting on the ground holding his stomach. He looked up from his bloodied hand and met his daughter’s eyes. Bert Dixon staggered to his feet and swayed there against the kombi van. He held out his hand to Summer, motioning for her to give him the rifle.

“It’s okay now, Summer.”

His voice was strange. He was struggling to breathe, but it was more than that. It was as if he was in another dimension or something, and Summer didn’t believe him—that it was okay now.

She aimed the rifle at her father’s chest, at the left side, imagining where his heart would be, and she depressed the trigger, discharging another bullet that made his eyes pop open and seem to focus on the far off distance.

The rifle was then taken from her grasp and she was led back into the house and into the room with the children. She was told to stay there, and she did. She waited until she heard someone sneaking along the hallway, and she peeped out to see her aunt edging along the wall toward her room. And a while later there were police lights and people everywhere. And Summer made sure to collect her shoulder bag as she was taken out through the back of the house and placed in the police bus.

In her shoulder bag she had her makeup and jewelry, her small beaded purse with her money, and a bone handled hair brush that she took out to brush her hair….

****

The Children’s Room is a romantic suspense novel featuring two of the children who survived that massacre. The setting 35 years later…

Preview The Children’s Room on  Amazon US  Amazon UK  Amazon AU

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Hot hitchhiker horror continued….

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Brad drove on into the scrub and the setting sun. He spotted the Athol Grove turn-off this time, and stuck to the road beyond there. It was getting on dusk when the small grading of gravel became two wheel tracks, then the trees closed in, and there was a huge bump before the 4WD bounced from the scrub to hit a broader, gravel road. They had landed directly across and needed to decide left or right. There was no sign.

“I think left,” Isabel said. She had buttoned her dress fully and was sitting properly in her seat with her seatbelt fastened.

Brad had not gotten it right all afternoon, so he decided her choice of directions was worth a try. The broad, smooth road entered a stand of pines where the shadows were deep and dark. There was a small stream to cross, and when the road emerged from the timber, there was a driveway to what looked like an abandoned service station. The building had a glass front section that could have been a café, and it had a dull, candy-striped awning. There was a house extending from the back. To the side was a large workshop with a faded, brown sign on top: Dalton’s Scrapyard.

“Hey, look—they’ve even got a cabin to rent,” Brad said as he pulled up in front of the awning. There was a large caravan and annex under a sprawling shade tree. It was brightly painted and had a small garden and neatly trimmed lawn.

He looked at Isabel. She still had the puppy eyes. He pulled her close and kissed her. “Should I ask if it’s available for the night?”

“If you want to,” she uttered softly. “You can have me anywhere you want… Or just take me home to keep.”

Brad kissed her again—hard.

An old man appeared, ambling from the side of the service station. There was a huge man behind him who hung back kind of bobbing his head and shoulders, trying to see who had come to visit, it seemed. The guy was massive with narrow shoulders and a barrel shaped abdomen and knees that touched with his boots wide apart and pigeon-toed inward. He was craning his neck, excitedly trying to see in the vehicle.

Brad lowered his window. “I have a tractor part here for Victor Turak of Dalton. Am I in the right place?”

“That’s me,” the old man replied, leaning down to look across at Isabel. He grinned. His breath was like petrol fumes. “You got my new ram? Been waiting long enough,” he went on gruffly.

“Sorry. It took some time to get on order. It was an older model that had to come from overseas apparently.” Brad showed the guy to the back of the 4WD. The part was in a metre-long wooden box that weighed enough that help had been needed to lift it in.

There was a delivery docket that the old man scribbled his signature on. “Boy!” he called out, and the bigger man approached, still bobbing his head and shoulders and eyeing the inside of the vehicle as he got close enough to see through the tinted windows. “Get that, Boy!” the older man commanded, and Boy lifted the box and tipped it up onto his shoulder with ease.

Brad’s height didn’t even reach the guys chin. He was the biggest human he had ever seen in real life. He had buck teeth and a broad, flat forehead. His eyes were small and set too close to his nose and far too deep into his skull. At that, he was also cross-eyed, Brad noticed. He lurched off around the corner of the building carrying the tractor part as if it were nothing.

“Mama’s got hot meatloaf and fresh coffee brewing,” the old man announced, slapping an arm around Brad’s shoulder as if he was suddenly a long-lost relative come to visit.

“No, thanks. We’ve already eaten!” Isabel announced just as forthrightly. She had gotten from the vehicle and stood on the side-step looking over the roof.

“We were wondering if the cabin was available for the night?” Brad asked. “We’re good for food and all, but it’s been a long day driving to find this place.”

The old man rubbed his chin. “That right, Girl? You want to stay the night?”

“Yes,” Isabel replied, kind of meekly that time.

“Just the one night, eh?” The old man included Brad in the question that time. He was grinning between the two of them and nodding his head.

“Yes. For just one night,” Isabel answered him. “That’s all—”

He chuckled. “Well, I suppose our fine cabin here is available for the night.” He had taken Brad by the shoulder again. His grip was of iron, and he was kneading a neck muscle with his thumb. “I think you young folks might find our cabin mighty comfy after a long day out on the road.”

“Very good. Do we sign in somewhere? I have cash,” Brad offered.

They were strolling toward the cabin. Isabel had taken Brad’s hand and was clinging to it. She kept him between her and the weird old man.

“Let’s worry about payment when you check out in the morning, eh?”

“Fine. Thank you.” Brad waved as the old man turned and ambled off. The big guy was back, but the old man turned him away and pushed him through a gate and closed it.

Isabel was already in the cabin somewhere. Brad heard her steps coming from deep within and returning to the open door where she appeared smiling broadly and looking at him with her puppy eyes.

“One second,” Brad said to her, and he quickly moved the 4WD over to the cabin, grabbed his bag and locked up.

The entry to the cabin was the annex section attached to the caravan. There was an open bathroom door with a toilet visible. Isabel was standing in a living area with her arms behind her back and her chest forward, still grinning as she was obviously waiting. Brad pointed to the toilet, and she nodded. He found that room to be surprisingly spotless. It was sparkling clean, and there was a fresh floral aroma in the air. There was a pile of fluffy towels on a stand beside the shower cubicle. There was a vanity with soaps and a mirrored cabinet stocked with a range of toiletries. It was well set up for any female occupants and had items for men as well.

“This is very clean,” he said to Isabel when he approached her sitting on a long blanketed couch. There was a polished wooden dining set and a fully equipped kitchen.

“Yes, it is very clean,” Isabel replied, standing and peering up at him. There were even fresh flowers in a vase on the bench.

Brad took Isabel’s hand and led her to the bedroom. He turned her to face him with her back to the bed. He lifted her chin and kissed her lips. “It’s been years since I’ve been with someone so young and pretty,” he said to her. “Haven’t had much of this at all lately.”

“You can have me now,” she uttered softly. “You can have everything you’ve been thinking about today—however you want me,” she added sensually, looking directly into his eyes.

Brad’s penis firmed instantly. It lifted and hardened almost painfully at the look of her—at the slight parting of her lips and the total submission in her stare.

He claimed her. He lowered her to the bed and dropped on top of her, forcing her legs open with his thighs and grinding his bulge into her crotch during another deep, searching kiss. Her legs had fallen aside, and her arms had flopped above her head. She was twirling hair in her fingers as he knelt and ripped his shirt off. Her eyes widened as they caressed his chest, and she let out a tiny giggle.

Brad undid the buttons of her dress and opened it. He left it parted either side of her on the bed and looked at her breasts. They had goose-bumps, and her nipples were tight. He cupped both mounds and thumbed the firm little raspberries. She was watching his hands. She hummed softly as he bent to one nipple and sucked it into his mouth. He had to move down the bed to get at them, and he worked his jeans and shorts off and pulled her little, chequered panties from her legs while sucking from one nipple to the other.

He moved back to her lips and tasted them. Her legs had fallen open again, and he felt between them to find her very wet. Lowering down fully on top of her, he curled his hips, entering and surging up inside of her. She bit his lip, and her fingernails dug into his back. He withdrew then surged again, lifting her slender body and thrusting deep into it.

Brad kept the pretty young face in his hands so he could kiss those cherry-bomb lips at will. He supported his upper body on his elbows and cradled her head while humping with his lower body, building a steady rhythm. He had been aroused all day, so it was difficult to be controlled and patient. He wanted to just take her selfishly, and he could have. She was clinging to his back with those painted nails, but her legs were limp either side of his, and what he wanted—what he needed—was there for the taking.

Brad lost all control. A frenzy of powerful thrusts ended in a tremendous climax that had him crushing the slender young thing to his body and trying to fill her with the burst of ecstasy that exploded from within him.

When his climax abated, he held her face again, smoothing her hair aside and kissing her clumsily. “Oops—lost it a bit there.”

She took a breath under his weight. “That’s okay. It was nice.”

Brad was still firm inside of her. He withdrew and inserted again. Her eyes closed and slowly opened.

She grinned. “Come shower with me? We’re all sweaty now.”……

***

Hot sex and horror in the Aussie outback. Preview Fresh Meat on  Amazon US  Amazon UK  Amazon AU

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Hot hitchhiker horror…

fresh-meat-1The road rolled beneath the smooth, powerful vehicle. It had been an hour since Kangaroo Flat with a number of small roads branching off left and right. The signpost for Athol Grove was at a crossroad pointing right. It said fifty-five kilometres, which would be about an hour with a short stop to deliver the tractor part factored in.

Isabel had dozed off with her legs swayed toward Brad. Her head had rocked against the door, and her lips were relaxed with a light, contented smile. Brad could see up the skirt of her dress to her chequered panties.

The girl’s half my age. What am I thinking?

He watched the road but kept glancing to have another look at her exposed like that. He looked up from her slender young thighs to meet her well-knowing, slightly animated gaze. He couldn’t help another quick flash down to her open dress as well.

He shook his head. Oh, boy…

“What?” she asked sweetly.

“Nothing. Just—” He looked her over again, glancing sideways. “You’re not like, fifteen or something are you, Isabel? You’re not a runaway?”

“Do I look only fifteen?”

“Damned if I know with you girls. Fifteen, twenty—who can tell?”

She was fixing her hair, plucking at it in the vanity mirror on the sun-visor. With her arms raised, Brad could see her small, white breast and firm little nipple in through her dress. There were actually two buttons undone, he noticed, swallowing hard again.

“Well, how old are you?” she asked.

“Pushing forty.”

Brad let his eyes lower to her thighs again. It had been months since he was last with a woman. It had been twenty years since he was last with a slender girl.

“Well, I’m pushing twenty something. So, is a fifteen year age difference too much?”

Brad looked at her. She was smiling.

“Well, is it?”

“Too much for what?” It was in no way too much for him. She was legal.

“Too much for what you’re obviously thinking,” she shot at him with eyebrows raised.

“You know what I’m thinking?”

“You’re thinking the same thing you men are always thinking,” she said, without meeting his sideways glance that time. “Except, I don’t mind you thinking that.”

“You don’t?”

She glanced. “No.”

Brad had to watch the road—or gravel track as it was—but he managed to find time to look his increasingly interesting travel partner over again. She had moved her legs down from the seat, so he could no longer see her panties, but the short skirt of her sundress was bunched up beneath her and only just concealed them. With the two buttons at the top of her dress undone, the fabric gaped and sagged, allowing him a view of a lot of pure white skin even with her sitting back as she was.

She was wearing a tiny gold leaf pendant on a thin chain. “Do you like it?” she asked, shifting around to face him and fiddling with the pendant.

“It’s pretty,” Brad answered.

With her legs swaying back toward him, her thighs had parted to reveal the crotch of her panties again. He swerved back onto the road after having veered from it momentarily. She giggled and bit her bottom lip then applied some cherry-bomb gloss.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” she asked.

“Sure! Where?”

She pointed to a rocky hill in the distance to the left of the road. “Up there. It’s a really nice view, and we could stop for a while.”

There was a fork in the road. “That way?” Brad asked.

She shrugged. “I forget the exact way. The roads all look the same around here if you ask me.”

The fork looked like it was headed in the general direction of the rocky hill. Brad figured with the country being so flat and open, he would be able to find his way back easily enough.

The girl was looking at him as much as he was checking her out. He flexed his bicep once or twice when he felt her eyes. He had powerful thighs that were nicely defined by his jeans. The vehicle was automatic, so he was able to sit relaxed with his legs open and his package bulging with the state of his arousal. While they chatted, she would be watching his face, and he had no trouble keeping a smile on it.

There were three other intersections and choices of roads to be taken before a short, steep climb up a rocky trail to a promontory overlooking the arid expanse of country they had been travelling. Brad pulled up and turned off the engine. The girl was sitting there with a light smile on her face, uninterested in the scenery, it seemed.

She looked at Brad’s open packet of beef jerky in the centre console. “Have you been eating that?”

“This morning. Before we met,” Brad explained, remembering her aversion to meat.

“Do you have a toothbrush in your bag?” she asked, pleadingly. “Would you mind—before um—?”

Brad got out his toothbrush and quickly complied with the entirely reasonable request, spitting out his open door. The girl watched, kneeling on her seat at that point.

“Thanks,” she uttered sweetly.

Brad tossed his toiletries bag into the back seat and claimed her with a hand around the back of her neck, pulling her to his mouth and kissing her. “You’re welcome,” he said and kissed her again.

For all of her apparent confidence, she was very submissive. Her body relaxed, and she moaned softly as he searched her mouth with his tongue. When he relented and sought her eyes, he found them glazed with willingness.

She was sitting in her seat again with her legs swayed together. The storage section of the car was taken up by the tractor part. The back seat had the cooler and Brad’s overnight bag. He pulled them aside. Isabel just watched as he reached down beside her and released the catch to lay her seat back. She touched his chest, feeling him through his shirt with delicate fingers and long, lightly penetrating nails painted purple. Brad kissed her hand and placed it back on his chest as he lowered to her parted lips again, tasting them and drawing in her sweet young essence as his penis firmed.

It was a roomy vehicle. He put an arm around her and lifted up her dress, her body shuddering as she half giggled and half squealed. Her stomach tensed and quivered, and her bottom lifted as he felt her belly and hips. He was kissing her again, though, and her moan went into his mouth. He kissed her chin and her neck, and he slipped two more buttons open on her dress and parted it to reveal her breasts. Her firm young body then undulated as he kissed his way lower and pulled a tight nipple into his mouth. He sucked on it and held it as he reached back down with his free hand and smoothed over her quivering belly to cup her chequered panties.

“Mmm,” she moaned as she gripped his head and pulled his hair. She ground against his hand and thrust her chest upward. She had arched up off the seat, and Brad slipped more fully beneath her. He moved his arm from the back of the seat and reached around to hold her and feel one breast while sucking on the other one. He kept her in place on his lap and used his fingers to keep pace with her wild lower body gyrations against his hand. He felt into her wetness through the thin fabric, and as she neared her climax, he slipped his hand down the front of the tiny garment and inserted fingers into her. He then just held her as her body convulsed, her legs clamping together and crushing his hand, her arm gripping his head and holding him to her breast.

Brad waited for the girl to come back from wherever her mind had taken her. Her eyes rolled and focused on his. She bit her lip and smile, her cheeks flushed, her body again softly convulsing as he removed his hand from down her panties.

“Um… That was um—”

“That was fun,” Brad finished for her. He was painfully erect but was thinking about where he could take her in order to meet his own desires. He could have her right then and there. The glazed look of submission was still in her eyes. He could sit her on his lap or bend her over the bonnet of the 4WD if he chose to, but he wanted something else. He needed to be pressed fully against her beautiful young body—to be on top of her and between those long, slender legs.

“You can stay with me tonight, yeah? When we get to Athol Grove, you can spend the night with me?”

“Okay,” she uttered softly. “If you want.”

“Oh, I want,” he breathed, taking her lips again and drawing in her exciting young essence. “I say we get back on the road, drop this stupid tractor part off, and find a room.”

She giggled. “Okay. I like that idea.”

Brad took another taste of her lips then extracted himself from beneath her. He helped her lift the seat back up and watched her fix her dress. It was still open, and she looked from her breasts to meet his gaze, waiting a moment until he turned away, smiling and shaking his head, then she tugged her dress closed and refastened two of the buttons.

“Going to need to find that room fast,” Brad declared.

She was smiling. “Okay.” She tucked her legs up on the seat and laid her head against the backrest, her pretty eyes wide and sparkling as she rested there looking at him…..

***

Hot sex and horror in the Aussie outback. Preview Fresh Meat on Amazon US  Amazon UK  Amazon AU

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“Out here, though. Not in bed,” she whispered…

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David grabbed the bag of Chinese food and hurried home. Clair was still in the bath, and he built a fire to take the edge off the evening chill. He set up in the lounge with the food and some beers and turned on the television. The steamy, perfumed air was drifting down the hall, so he figured bath-time was over. He waited, and she emerged from the hall in a short flannel bathrobe and sheepskin slippers. She sat beside him on the lounge.

“That was nice,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a rain-water bath before.”

“Part of the service, ma’am,” David quipped. “That’s special fried rice and that’s boiled,” he added.

She seemed a bit different. He wondered about that as he filled his plate and she filled hers. Everybody Loves Raymond was on the television.

“I can’t believe what you did with Mandy. Brent was gob-smacked,” David started, breaking a silence.

“Mandy’s beautiful. I didn’t have to do much.”

“That’s true—she is beautiful. But that was some dress!”

“It’s not really. It’s just slinky and cut low.”

David chuckled. “I noticed it was cut low. So did Brent.”

“Well, he’s supposed to notice,” Clair shot back, giggling along and seemingly beginning to relax.

They watched that old episode of Everybody Loves Raymond and the next one, sharing some laughs and chatting about what they each liked on television in general, and agreeing on comedy but splitting on sport versus true crime and craft or cooking shows.

The food had been set aside, and Clair had her legs up on the lounge. David was touching a bare knee and edging his way forward and closer to her. She was leaning in a bit too.

He met her lips once, then again, more forcefully. “Is it my turn yet?” he said.

“Hmm—is it your turn,” she repeated calculatingly. “I’m not so sure about this.”

“Not sure about what?” he had taken another kiss. She was responding. He could see where the bathrobe was opening below her waist. She had on a shiny sky-blue negligee beneath it. Maybe it was satin, he thought. It was short.

“I’m not sure about what we’re doing here,” she said. “What do you think we’re doing?”

David drew on his new code. “We’re having fun… No strings.”

“Are we?”

“I’m having fun,” he said, going for her neck and biting it, making her giggle and squirm back against the arm of the leather lounge.

He was then lying beside her and tugging at her robe tie. She allowed that, and he opened her robe to find her body lightly veiled in a thin wisp of satin. He had decided it was satin. He could see the impression of her navel and her nipples, and that of a thin strip of pubic hair. His hand was upon her hip, and there was no under-garment beneath the negligee that he could feel.

He kissed her again, rubbing up from her hip to feel a breast. She moaned into his mouth, and he pinched her nipple, and her warm, slender body undulated against his side as he rolled half on top of her.

She turned her head away, though, and pushed against his chest. David lifted from her, giving her room. She looked at him, calculating again. “No strings, though, right?”

“Yeah, or we could watch more Raymond instead,” David answered, grinning and thumbing back at the television that was running another old episode with the volume turned down.

She frowned at him, but it looked deliberate.

He bent to her lips again and kissed her while holding her eyes. She was still calculating. He could see her mind ticking over. He tilted his head the other way and kissed her again, still holding her eyes in question as to whether or not he should back off. He didn’t want to back off. His hand was upon her hip once more, and he gripped her there as he moved to her neck then her ear. “My turn now?” he whispered.

She had taken hold of his head, hugging it as he squeezed her hip and pulled her upward against his thigh. “Out here, though. Not in bed,” she whispered hotly back into his hair.

She then kept hold of his head as he kissed his way down to her chest, nuzzling between her breasts while he gripped her other hip as well and found the bottom of her negligee. He peered up at her face as he kissed her hot skin, but her head was turned away, so he accepted that and nibbled a nipple through satin. He bit and held it while her body undulated again, and he lifted the satin garment and exposed her breasts. He then closed his eyes and took that nipple into his mouth, claiming it gently between his teeth and softly sucking on it.

David’s mind was all-consumed with the sheer beauty of the woman virtually quivering beneath him. Her body was taut yet delicately smooth and tender. Her skin was radiating pure sexual energy and the sweet perfume of the bath-oils she had been soaking in. He wanted to eat her alive and couldn’t contain that notion as he moved to the other breast and sucked and bit on it.

He had worked his way between her legs, or they had parted and were guiding him as he responded to her hands still in his hair and kissed his way down her belly. He peered up again, but her head was still turned away and had flung back as well. She was pushing him lower, impatiently. He kissed her pubic hair. It was short and neatly trimmed. He kissed his way down as her moist scent overpowered the sweet aroma of her bath and tingled the hair on the back of his neck, lifting it and setting off an instinctive surge of animal passion that made him want to growl when he ate into her.

She let out a deep, sensual moan and gripped his hair and ground herself against his mouth. He still held her hips, and he parted her from beneath with his thumbs, holding her up off the lounge and feasting on her. The quivering of her flesh had intensified into spasmodic convulsions as she writhed upward, jamming her head into the cushion to support herself, with one hand still pulling David’s hair and the other arm flung back over the arm of the lounge.

David took his turn. He took it, and didn’t stop taking it until Clair was panting away with an arm over her face and her thighs clamped together, and her hand still in his hair as he kissed her little strip of fur and tasted her belly again.

He kissed his way up to her satin covered breasts and nuzzled beneath her arm to kiss her face. He met her lips, and she felt for his firmness as she kissed him back. “Do you have something?” she asked, squeezing him in her soft little hand.

She slid her hand inside his track-pants, closing her fingers around his erection. He had a condom in his pocket. He had that open as she freed him from his pants. He rolled it on while she turned and pressed back against him. She felt for him and guided him as he moved in behind her. She still had hold of his head, and she gripped the back of his neck and ground herself onto the thrust of his pelvis.

“No strings,” she whispered into his ear, biting it as the animalistic passion surged within his back and thighs, propelling him into her heat and wetness. “No strings,” she uttered again, but her voice ended in a moan, and David was beyond thinking or caring.

He had one arm lowered and his hand pressed to the floor to support his weight. He held her body with his other arm, her breast in his hand as he slapped his body loudly against her until she cried out, writhing and moaning. He thrust into her one last time and cried out too, bucking and grinding against her.

He receded from within but kept hold of her, and she relaxed against his chest, swivelling around to fiddle with his t-shirt.

“Tarzan,” she said, peering up with a smile.

David did a mock Tarzan cry.

She giggled.

“I’m hungry again,” she said……

***

Short excerpt from the romantic suspense novel AKA Candy Weston. Preview on  Amazon US  Amazon UK  Amazon AU

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December 2010: Goran Vale…

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G’day, folks. Stu Magoo reporting for HPCI. It’s pelting down here. I just passed the Goran Vale is a Tidy Town sign. Rolling into the deserted little village now. There’s the Timber Town Motel on the left. Maybe I should check in, but hopefully I can find these characters and get the heck out of here before night.

There’s a parking spot just past the clock tower. Lots of spots in fact. This joint really is a graveyard. I saw someone standing in the doorway of the gift shop back there – probably the old woman Edna, or maybe it was Margaret. She looked nosey, or it could be I’m the first car to pass through town today.

Damn it’s pouring down. I have to make a run for it. Hope my recorder doesn’t get wet. If this comes out crackly you know what happened.

Aw heck. Aw heck… Whew! Made it. The Clock Tower Café. The joint’s empty of customers. This rather attractive middle aged woman would have to be Gwen.

Me: G’day, ma’am. You would be Gwen Harrington?

Gwen, eyebrow raised: Yes. Do you want to dry off?

She hands me the roll of paper towel she was using to wipe the counter.

Me: Ta. You look just like I imagined.

Gwen, eyebrow lifting again: Oh?

Me: From the book Beauty Skin Deep?. Or books actually. I see you get a brief scene or two in The Children’s Room and a short cameo in Ever Since April… I’m Stu Magoo by the way – reporting for HPCI.

Gwen: Oh, of course. Mr. Magoo…

She fixes her hair. Must be thinking the recorder I’m drying off has vision. Being from her future, anything’s possible, but no – no vision, sorry, Gwen. Although, I’m supposed to be interviewing the main characters from this story, but what the heck…

Me: So, Gwen, say hi to all of your readers. Everyone thinks you were one of the coolest characters.

I hold the recorder up.

Gwen speaks into it, blushing a big smile: Hi, readers!

Me: So, Gwen, twenty years as a psych nurse and four husbands – how has that been?

Gwen: All kinds of crazy – that’s how it’s been. And three husbands, not four, thank you very much. There won’t be a number four.

Me: Oh?

Gwen, scoffing: Pfft. Silly men. Who needs one fulltime? I get asked out often enough. Bert’s trying to work up to asking me to go on a cruise to Tahiti. He’s mentioned wanting to go a few times. I’m thinking about my wardrobe – what I’ll need to buy. I’ll need new evening wear.

Me: A cruise is a fine venue for popping a question.

Gwen: Nope. I’ve mentioned never getting married again more times than Bert’s mentioned the cruise.

Me: Hmm. I see. And what about your daughter – how is her marriage going?

Gwen: Kate and her dreamboat policeman are going wonderfully. Now there’s a marriage that will last. There’s a man who knows how to take care of his woman.

Me: Oh yeah?

Gwen, sighing: Oh yes – if only…

Me: If only you had found a man like that, eh?

Gwen, scoffing again: Pfft. Wasn’t to be, and I ain’t complaining. I live with a wonderful man these days. Not romantically, but I get spoiled rotten at home.

Me: Ah yes – Bobby Ray. And how is the big guy getting on after all that drama he went through in the book? Readers are always asking after him.

Gwen: Well, the readers might be happy to know that Bobby Ray now has a steady girlfriend. Veronica is a lovely lady – a few years older than him. She lost her husband in a traffic accident some years ago and was left with a vegetable farm to run. Bobby went to work for her when the Cosgroves retired and sold up last year. Technically, he’s her workman, but he often stays for dinner, and just this week he’s stayed the night twice.

Me: Some would say you were brave to take Bobby in all those years ago. You never doubted him – feared for your safety?

This question causes Gwen some pause. She stirs her tea. I sip the coffee she has placed on the counter in front of me.

Gwen: Yes, I had doubts in the beginning. Bobby had lost a chunk of memory and I never knew what he had been through – what he was capable of. And he was a big man. He was scrawny when he was admitted to the institution, but he got healthy and grew strong. I would be lying if I said I never feared him a little back then. But it was the unknown that was disquieting, not the man himself. The kindness in his heart was always obvious to us. He was like a big lovable puppy – one who had been mistreated.

Me: And you wouldn’t have known the extent of this mistreatment, or what it would have engendered in him?

Gwen: No. Except his doctor believed Kate and I were perfectly safe. And it very quickly became the case that he was not just a puppy – he was a guard dog. Our guard dog.

Me: He became your protector? This was the incident in 1998 when he put those men in hospital protecting Kate?

Gwen: Yes – that was one incident. There were others too. One other in particular when a man I was seeing raised his voice at me and ended up pinned to a wall by his throat. But we never told anyone about that.

Me: I see. And about Kate as a teen – she found out about her medical problem at what age?

Gwen: Fifteen. There were tests, but we knew right away that she would never bear children.

Me: And that changed her? It must have been difficult for a young woman to deal with – to accept.

More cause for pause. Gwen gives the counter a wipe, her jaw set, her eyes a little watery.

Me: Sorry. Forget that question, ma’am. I’m sure readers would have come to appreciate the portent of that from the story.

I click off my recorder and pocket it. My coffee is almost cold. I drink it and reach across the counter to place the empty mug with several others.

Me: So, Gwen, do you know where I might find either your daughter or her husband? Maybe I should check in for the night. Does Bernadette still run the motel?

Gwen: You should talk to Bernadette. She still has her motel. Don’t worry about these young pups. They’re all dreamy in love. You can’t get any sense out of them half the time. Bernadette though – now there’s a lady with a story.

Me: Yes, we know. Drug addict mother who died virtually in her arms when she was six years old. Father was a crazed murderer who she shot dead when she was eleven. Yeah, I guess I could speak with Bernadette while I’m here. Although she’s not scheduled until after the end of the series.

Gwen: Is that your old bomb Volkswagen across the road there? Is that what you get around in?

I join Gwen at the door. The rain is still pouring down outside.

Me: Yep, that’s my transportation, ma’am. It gets me where I need to go.

Gwen: Hmm. They say you can travel through time in it. I don’t believe that.

I shrug: What year is this? It’s on my trip computer but I can’t remember. Is it 2012?

Gwen: 2010. December.

Me: Oh. Well my next appointment is down south – a town called Everly Cove, and in the winter of 2005. It would hardly be possible to get around and interview all of you story book characters without the means to travel through time, don’t you think?

Gwen, shaking her head: So you’re saying you could take me back to 1970 and I’d be young again?

I chuckle: Um – no. It doesn’t work that way. First of all, you would still be the same age you are now. There’s no fountain of youth, I’m afraid. And second of all, no passengers allowed. Sorry.

Gwen: Hmph – figures. But you could go visit yourself?

Me: No, that would be too weird. Plus I’d get in trouble off my boss for wasting company time and resources.

I lift my kit bag and place it on top of my head: I think I’ll make a run for it. This rain isn’t going to let up…  Nice to meet you, Gwen. Thanks for the chat and coffee…

Jilted drunk guy meets the hot new girl in town…

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David was feeling good. He planted his empty beer glass on the bar and did a little air-guitar as his song finished. “Catch-ya Luce!” he called to the barmaid. Lucy was her name. She gave him a high-five, and he spun, strumming his imaginary guitar. “Vic!” he said, shaping up to Victor Turak, a fisherman friend who shaped up in mock readiness to box. The two men shadow-boxed each other but David’s shadow boxing morphed back into an air-guitar solo as he left his friend and spun toward the door of the bar, almost bumping right into his ex-girlfriend, Cassandra.

“Cassie! Oh shit!” He pulled up, grinning and switching his air-guitar to air-drums.

“Hello, David. Had a few, have you?”

A man stopped behind Cassie. It was her boss, Reece Norman, the man she had dumped David for. He placed his hands upon her shoulders. “Hello, David.”

David dropped the air-drumsticks, raising his hands in an exaggerated surrender as he steadied himself. He had had one too many beers. His mind was kind of numb and swaying this way and that.  He tried to focus, though.

“Reece,” he said, shaking his head and waving a finger. “You know, Reecey, you’re looking sharp, man… Looks like a million bucks, eh, Cass?” he slurred. “A million fucking bucks, eh?”

David focused at the last and eyeballed the other man. He then met Cassandra’s eyes, which had watered up a bit. “Sorry, Cassie,” he said to her sincerely. “I’m a bit drunk.”

He passed the two of them, glancing at the other man again, then moving on out the door and across the car-park to the street. He had left his car at home, planning on having a few beers and being over the limit. He sat down for a while, watching the evening strollers along the foreshore and trying to sober up for the walk.

He sat for an hour before moving on and up the street to his house, where he heard laughter emanating from the living room. His mind had sharpened. He was still a bit drunk but was thinking clearly. He walked into the house to find his sister and some other woman laughing hysterically.

They both pointed at him and laughed louder.

“What the hell?” he said. “What’s so bloody funny?”

The other woman was hot. David sort of recognised her. He remembered the new girl at the B&B and had placed her.

“Actually, his shirt is tucked in a bit.” Clair looked at Amanda. “It looks like it was tucked in.”

One side of David’s shirt was secure, the other side had worked its way free of his jeans. It was still tucked in a bit at the back. He walked through the room with the two women still laughing at him, sharing a joke he had no idea of. “Crazy chicks,” he grumbled to himself, and when he got to the kitchen and opened the fridge, he called back to his sister, “Is there anything to eat?”

“In the oven!”

David found his dinner there and sat at the table to eat it. The two women joined him. They had wine.

“David, this is Clair,” Amanda announced. “She’s from the Gold Coast.”

“Hi,” Clair said, smiling.

David nodded. “Hi.”

“Except David’s not like the others,” Amanda said to Clair.

“Oh—how so?” Clair replied.

“He’s more like a girl.”

David frowned but kept eating. He was hungry.

“In that he..?” Clair prompted.

“In that he’s the one who always falls in love.”

David frowned harder. They were too giggly to argue with, though. Plus the other chick was hot, he reasoned again. He wouldn’t want to argue with her.

“Do you?” she said to him.

“Do I what?”

“Do you fall in love?”

He shrugged. “Nope! Love’s bullshit.”

“Oh, you do so!” his sister scolded. “And it is not bullshit.”

“No, I agree with your brother,” Clair said. “Love is for movies and fairy tales. All you need is sex!”

“Yes!” David agreed, cheering. “What’s your name, again?” He examined Clair closely.

“Clair.”

“And how do you two—um..?” he motioned between the two of them.

“We met at the mansion. She’s going to ask the widow who killed her husband,” Amanda clarified as a matter-of-fact.

“Oh? But she killed him, didn’t she?” David queried.

“That’s what I’m hearing,” Clair agreed.

“And you’re..?” David prompted.

“I’m doing a paper for my college course. Oh, and some big old copper is going to show me the file tomorrow. I showed him some boob and he couldn’t say yes quick enough!”

“Clair!” Amanda scolded.

“You showed him some boob?” David questioned with interest.

Clair thrust her boobs forward, showing off her cleavage. “You guys are easy.”

“True,” David agreed, earning a more genuine smile. “Tell her!” He pointed to his sister. “Tell her to show Brent some boob or something.”

“No!” Amanda said. “It’s not like that with him.”

“Bullshit! He can’t get his eyes off the barmaids down at the Grill on a Saturday night. He’s no different to the rest of us.”

“Oh really?” Clair challenged Amanda. “The barmaids..?” she questioned David.

“See-through—boobs on show!” he explained. “And Brent with his tongue hanging out just like the rest of us.”

“Yeah, well, you can hardly blame him for that,” Amanda defended. “If girls are going to go topless!”

“Hey!” Clair exclaimed in mock indignation.

“Oh… Sorry… Not that there’s anything wrong with girls going topless.”

David was confused, looking at the two women for some clarification.

“I’m a stripper,” Clair explained. “You know—pole dancer—lap dancer.”

David grinned.

“Yeah, suck your tongue back in!” his sister said, giggling.

“Private dances?” David queried jokingly.

“A hundred bucks a song,” Clair replied, also jokingly. Although she got up and wiggled around David to get some more wine from the fridge.

“Your food’s getting cold,” his sister informed pointedly, raising her eyebrows at his stupid grin.

Clair brought the wine bottle back. She topped up Amanda’s glass. “Do you want to try it on?”

“Okay.” Amanda stood to go with her new girlfriend.

David questioned them, but was left there alone without explanation. They returned after a while wearing each other’s dress. Clair was wearing Amanda’s house dress and Amanda was in Clair’s slinky little woollen number.

“Well?” Clair said to David, presenting his little sister.

Amanda had a great figure, which was accentuated by the skin-tight dress. She never offered cleavage but was at the moment. “Damn!” David exclaimed. He was taken aback.

“See!” Clair said to Amanda.

David found himself looking Clair over too. The house dress had transformed her just as much, and what it had transformed her into had David’s heart pounding a bit. Although he consciously pushed that notion aside and pictured Clair lap dancing again.

The girls then vanished, and David gravitated toward the television and a rugby game that was on. Amanda came from her room a few times for more wine, but he never saw Clair again before going to bed…..

***

AKA Candy Weston is a steamy love story and a cold case murder mystery. Clair is the link between the mystery and romance. Something has brought her back to the small fishing village she used to visit as a child. The Widow Mulvane’s secret holds the key… On sale this week at   Amazon US  Amazon UK  Amazon AU

1-aka-candy-weston

I’d better go before Daddy comes…

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Lester took a breath and held it. What he had been dreaming about every night and day for the past ten years was about to happen. The girl ran fingers along the inside of the waistband of his underpants. Her eyes widened with interest, and she pulled the elastic out and stretched it over his erection, freeing it to lever almost completely vertical and swollen to the point it felt like it was going to explode.

“Oh my,” she cooed gaily, her smile flashing, her eyes like saucers as she glanced up then looked back at Lester’s penis.

She tilted her head to study it from the side. Her curls cascaded. He could feel her breath against the taut skin. She tilted her head the other way. Her curls rolled over to fall from her neck again. She leaned in closer and blew softly, starting at the base and causing a cool, sweet breath that caressed his length all the way to the blood-filled dome.

“Um… That um—that feels…” Lester couldn’t articulate.

The pretty farmer’s daughter just smiled up at him then soaked her washcloth and dabbed at his groin, lifting his testicles and gently cupping them with the wet fabric. She soaked the cloth again and wrung it out. Her eyes lit up as she looked at his penis purposefully.

“Hmm… Are you sure you’re not scared of my daddy?”

Lester shook his head urgently. “Nope. I’m not scared.” He had found his voice all of a sudden.

She laid the cloth over the palm of her hand then closed it around his penis, squeezing just a little against the flex, containing the surge of delight in the grip of her hand.

“Well, if you’re sure you want to, we could try something…”

“Something?” Lester croaked. His voice failing.

She nodded, biting that lip again. “If you sit down on the stool I could sit on your lap.” She had touched the button on her jean shorts. She popped it open. There was a zipper, and she tugged the pull tab.

Lester watched. He sat down on the stool and looked up to meet her eyes then looked back at what she was doing. His underpants were around his ankles. He kicked them away. She had lowered the zipper, and when she tugged her shorts down, there was only a trimmed patch of hair.

She stepped out of her shorts and straddled his thighs, taking hold of his shoulders and lowering herself to his lap. His penis came to rest against her belly at first. She pressed forward and kissed him, rolling her tummy, with her patch of hair prickly against his testicles and the heat from her sex kind of wet and interesting as it squished over the base of his erection.

“What about—” He was thinking of a condom, but she cut off his question with another kiss. She rolled her lower body, lifting slightly, and the moist heat from her sex slid up the underside of his penis until it kind of hugged the swollen glans. She then rolled her hips forward and captured him, that exquisitely interesting heat and wetness swallowing him up and making him want to thrust into it.

He looked down between their bodies and saw he was inside of her. She squirmed, grinding and making that moist wetness swirl around his penis. Her bra still clung to her nipples, but she tugged it down to reveal them. She then hugged his head and squished her breasts against his chest. That feeling alone was amazing, the feel of being inside of her completely foreign yet entirely natural.

Lester hugged her tight and let her grind and squish down onto him until he couldn’t hold back any longer and ejaculated, then he cuddled her until her body eventually tensed, and she held still, shuddering and moaning into his neck.

Her breathing settled after a few minutes. “I’d better go before Daddy comes.”

She pulled on her clothes. Lester dressed quickly too.

“Wait up in the loft. I’ll bring food, okay?”

Lester nodded. He was tingling all over. He was going to do anything she said right then……

***

WITCH is a light horror, erotic bedtime story for grown-ups. It definitely needs the R-rating…. On special this week from  Amazon US  Amazon UK  Amazon AU

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One hell of a farmer’s daughter…

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Lester opened his eyes to sunlight and the sound of hens clucking. It took him a moment to figure out where he was and what was happening. The dread and horror of his situation rose up to consume him, and he crept over to the edge of the loft to see what was what. A girl’s voice carried to him through the crisp morning air. She was humming a melody. He saw the hens first then her curly dark hair. She was sprinkling grain from a wooden bucket.

Lester craned his neck to see directly below the ledge of the hay loft window. The girl wandered closer to the wall. She placed her bucket on the ground and pulled her long hair back, raking it with both hands, and with the front of her chequered shirt gaping to reveal a lacy, pink bra.

“Ohh!” she cried, her eyes springing wide to fix on Lester’s heating face.  “Hey, is that you again? Didn’t my father catch you last night?”

Lester scurried back against the wall. Panic gripped him. He waited, afraid to breathe. There was no sound from below. The girl hadn’t screamed for her father. Suddenly her dark curls appeared at the top of the ladder to the loft, and then her face. She looked closely at him and smiled. “It is you!”

“No, it’s not,” Lester croaked. “It was some other guy who looks like me.”

She scoffed lightly. “Yeah, sure it was.”

Lester edged back some more until he was in a corner with nowhere to go. The girl crawled toward him, still smiling. Her chequered shirt had a few buttons undone. Her bra was all lace, and he could see her nipples through it. She had a silver pendant: the words FARMER’S DAUGHTER on a thin chain. Her legs were long and slender. There were pockets sticking out the bottom of her frayed jean shorts.

“Aw, what happened to you?” she cooed, edging close and stroking his face. “Does it hurt?”

Lester nodded. Her scent was a light perfume. Her fingers were soft, and her lips were full and plump. She raked her bottom lip with big, white teeth, a faint grin flickering there beneath the look of concern.

“I think we need to clean you up. We need to bathe these wounds and get you something to eat and drink.” She peered from his torn trousers and scraped shins to his face. “Are you hungry?”

Lester nodded again. She was smoothing his hair, like a mother might, but she was in no way motherly. His eyes rolled down to the swell of her chest. The skin there was milky-white. She was up on her knees checking a sore spot on his scalp. Her breasts were right there, almost pressing against his face. Each breath put pressure on the next button of her shirt. Lester noticed it was actually a stud rather than a button, and it was threatening to pop.

“Come on. Daddy’s busy, so it’s safe to climb down and use the wash basin.”

“But I need to go. I need to get back to town. I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, no! You mustn’t try and get away from Daddy. Not in the daylight. The only way to town is past our house, and he’ll see you if you try.”

“But I have to! I need to get back and call my mother. She’ll be worried about me.”

“I’ll call her for you.” The girl was pulling Lester by the hand.

“Do you have a mobile phone I could use?”

“Oh, no—there’s no mobile reception around here, silly.”

“But you’ll call from your house phone?”

“Yes, as soon as Daddy goes to feed his cows.”

She climbed down the ladder first. Lester was staring at her breasts again. She glanced down at her open shirt then smiled up at him. “See, I knew it was you!” She tugged her shirt, but it wouldn’t stretch closed. “Bad boy!”

Lester climbed down with his body turned away to prevent her seeing his erection. His shins were stinging, but that didn’t matter. She sat him on a wooden stool and used a wet cloth to clean the dried blood from his face and hair. There was a wound at the back of his scalp. She leaned over him to tend to it, which pressed her breasts in his face again, so he clutched his jacket in his lap. She tugged his trousers up and bathed his shins.

“Where did you get that?” Lester asked. She had produced a tube of ointment from somewhere.

“Oh, I always carry some ointment. You never know when you’re going to get a scrape doing farm chores.”

She soothed his wounds with the cool paste, blowing softly and making the hair tingle up the back of his neck while his erection throbbed.

“Come on, off with this.” She was tugging at his shirt.

Lester lifted his arms, and she stripped it from him then bathed his chest and shoulders, cleaning his upper body with water that felt warm and with fingers that felt delightful. She washed his back and his neck and under his arms. Her shirt had popped open completely, but she just smiled when he looked up from her breasts.

They were in a small laundry with a toilet in an adjoining room. There was a window that looked out at the house, so Lester felt safe from being surprised.

“You know, all the boys are so scared of my daddy. None of them are brave enough to come visit me, and I get very lonely,” the girl said. “I don’t even know what it’s like to be kissed by a boy yet.”

Lester swallowed. “You don’t?”

Her eyelids batted. She bit a lip. Lester took her hands and stood to face her. She was a little shorter and had to peer up at him. Her lips rubbed wetly together. He looked from them to her eyes—to the brilliant blue depth within them. Her lips parted, and he pressed his to them. She moaned softly into his mouth. He had no idea how to kiss, but when her tongue sought entry, he accepted it and caressed it with his own.

“I’m not scared of your daddy,” he lied, making her grin.

Her eyes lowered to his chest, and she leaned back to inspect what was happening down below. Her grin turned to a smile as she grabbed his belt and tugged at it. “I think we need to do more bathing.”

Lester felt his face heat up. “More bathing?”

She nodded. “Uh huh… Don’t you think?” ………….

***

WITCH is a light horror, erotic bedtime story for grown-ups. It definitely needs the R-rating…. On special this week from  Amazon US  Amazon UK  Amazon AU

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A simple life in the 22nd century…

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Adam follows Rachel from the doctor’s office and catches up. “I want to see the city.”

“I know… There’s a shuttle from here that does a loop through the shopping and social sector. You saw the houses and apartments on the way in and the other side is all boring old factories and warehouses.”

“So, what sort of social stuff is there? Restaurants and clubs?”

“Yep. There’s a huge virtual reality centre for the kids and men who never grow up. Would you like that kind of thing?”

“What sort of virtual reality?”

“Flight simulation with jets and space ships or car or boat racing and that, and sky-diving and zero-gravity things. Or weird adventure games where you become a character and walk through all sorts of animated scenery and fight things or whatever. I don’t know. It all just gives me motion sickness. You can try it all if you like. I can go window shopping.”

“Well, what else is there? What do you like to do?”

“For fun, I like dancing.”

“Dancing? Like, nightclub—pumping music?”

“Sometimes… Or my girlfriends and I usually go to the Friday night ball. We get to wear nice gowns, and the men wear fine cut suits and smell really good. And they take hold of you and sweep you into the music.”

“Oh… I’m not much of a dancer.”

Rachel tosses a smile back over her shoulder as she walks aboard a shuttle. “Too bad, history guy.”

“I mean, it’s probably all changed now. I used to know how to do a couple of basic dances.”

“I don’t think they ever change. It’s really old fashioned.”

The shuttle has 12 seats, 3 of them occupied by normal looking people. Adam doesn’t know what he expects people to look like, but so far there hasn’t been any weird fashion or anything—nothing that would have surprised in the 2020s.

The seats are in doubles either side of an aisle. Rachel sits by the window and he looking across her as the shuttle glides off along a single rail. The movement is smooth and silent, rain spattering the tinted glass, the air clean and warm as it blows from above.

Adam’s shirt is almost dry, as is Rachel’s blouse by the look of it. She looks younger than Adam at 34. He figures she’s probably mid-twenties. The body Adam is in could be late twenties or early thirties, he estimates. He’s stealing glances at Rachel’s womanly curves as the shuttle moves through a city park and enters a street of shops and restaurants. It stops, and the three other passengers disembark while others board and take seats.

“The cinema is in there,” Rachel says, pointing out a broad glassed building with a couple of groups of teenagers sitting on the steps. “I like movies on the big screen—especially the old ones.”

“It would all be 3D now?” Adam asks. He’s looking along the street ahead where there are alfresco cafés and people everywhere.

“Most of the old movies are still in original format,” Rachel tells him. “Do you like movies?”

“Yeah sure. I like any true stories. Don’t mind an action flick on the big screen.”

“Cool.” Rachel glances with a smile but quickly averts her gaze.

“What’s that?” Adam asks about a huge dome shaped building they’re passing as the shuttle does an arc around it.

“Sports centre… Swimming, squash, gymnasiums… There are playing fields over there for all the kids’ sports.”

The shuttle has dropped off and picked up other passengers and is heading back towards the big city park, along another street with lots of people strolling and shops and eateries lining both sides. It reaches the park and stops in front of a large stone building with tall pillars shrouding the entry.

“This is us,” Rachel says and pushes Adam to get up. She slips past and leads him from the shuttle. “Are you hungry again yet?”

“Yeah, I could eat.”

“Do you like Asian?”

“Sure. Satay anything is good. Or a curry.”

Rachel leads past the stone building that appears to be a Town Hall. Across the street is alfresco dining under cover from the rain. “That was where we have our Friday night ball but it’s not for a few hours yet.”

“At the Town Hall?”

“Yep. Do you want to go later? There’s lots of slow dancing music as well as the ballroom stuff.”

“Yes, I want to go. There was a nice dark suit back in the wardrobe.”

“I know… I saw,” Rachel tosses over her shoulder with a smile.

Adam’s chest is warm with tingles of euphoria. The idea of seeing this woman in any kind of ball gown has his imagination sparking. Right now she looks good in business day slacks and sensible shoes. She has their table. He sits opposite. Her brows rise. “Does Cooper have any credit? I’m so broke this week.”

“Credit?” Adam chuckles. “How can I find out?”

“Ask your device.”

Adam addresses the device on his wrist. “Do I have any credit?” The number 3,756 appears.

Rachel is rubber-necking to have a look. “Yes! Can we spend some?”

“I don’t know. Is that a lot?”

“We only get 200 a week. 3000 would pay for our whole America trip easily.”

“What do you mean, we get 200? All of us?”

Rachel nods. “Yep. That’s the basic wage for us adults. Kids get less.”

“What, for all adults?”

“Yes. It’s standard. If you do more than your 20 hours or have a business or some sort of sports or artistic talent you can make more. Or if you just work overtime or have a second job… But I don’t. So, I’m always broke. Plus I’m wasting credit on this stupid apartment, but that’s a long story.”

“Okay. So, that’s all way interesting,” Adam responds curiously.

“Really? No…” Rachel turns around a menu. “That’s a good curry… Your shout, right?”

Adam chuckles. “Cooper’s shout.”

Rachel’s smile lights up and she waves over a young waiter. “We’ll have the curry times two, a white wine and..?”

“Beer?” Adam asks.

“A beer,” Rachel tells the waiter. “And some more bread rolls, please? These won’t do.” She hands one of the two bread rolls to Adam. “Try that.”

“Well, what did you mean by kids getting less, at least? Do kids get paid?”

Rachel swallows her bite of bread roll. “Pocket money credit starts at age 10 and goes up each year until 21. Commitment is 20 hours of school or work until age 60, and optional after that. If you run a business or are a talented sportsperson or actor or something you can do that instead…” She ends with a shrug. “It’s pretty simple. If you don’t like it you can go live off the grid in one of the old cities or whatever. People do, but usually not for long.”

Adam is nodding, taking in the information and imagining it. “Okay… That makes sense… The grid? Everything’s connected?”

“Yep. Government is in Switzerland. We could probably stop there on our way back. It’s a nice trip through Europe and across to China. I’ve only ever been once when I was really young.”

“Government? Like the government? One government?”

Rachel takes a big breath and huffs. “Ask Dad. He’ll talk your head off about all that boring stuff.”

Adam chuckles. “Yeah, but I won’t even be here when I wake up tomorrow, don’t forget.”

“Hmm. Good point.” Rachel grabs Adam’s wrist and turns it to show his device. “Say record message to self.”

Adam complies.

“Now repeat after me… Hi. I’m Adam O’Malley living in this body.”

Adam complies again. “Hi. I’m Adam O’Malley living in this body.”

“And this is my cool new friend, Rachel.” Rachel leans forward to look at the screen and smiles.

Adam chuckles. “And this is my cool new friend, Rachel.”

She goes on, “And in case I remember none of this tomorrow, believe everything she says.”

Adam’s laughing now. He controls that. “And in case I remember none of this tomorrow, don’t believe a word she says.”

“Hey you!” She addresses the screen again. “Believe everything, because I’m honest…” She smiles. “See? I’m a teacher. You can trust me.”

They both have a laugh, eyes connecting. Adam’s feeling intense attraction now. He senses it in Rachel too……..

***

Memory Span is a scifi novella with a light romance and a trip around the future world on bullet trains. This fast-paced little story is an original take on the future and time travel. You might be surprised!

On special this week. Last days! Preview on  Amazon US  Amazon UK  Amazon AU

the-menangle-virus

Waking in an abandoned city 100 years in the future…

memory-1

Adam follows the walkway along the wharf and approaches the ferry terminal. There are stalls there where he often buys lunch. The first one has the shutter pulled down and locked. The next one has a timber counter that’s flaked and warped. The glass display cabinet below has plastic sandwich packets that look like they’ve been pecked open and small foil dishes that were probably for cakes. There are shelves at the back of the stall with bleached white cardboard boxes and faded candy bar wrappers. There’s a display case of cigarettes that looks okay, although caked in a thick film of dust. There’s a fridge with a sealed glass door with cans and plastic bottles of juice, water and soft drinks. The water is clear and appears reasonably safe. Adam cracks open a bottle and has a drink. It tastes fine.

Inside the ferry terminal is a stall with newspapers and magazines on display. Adam pulls a paper from underneath the faded one on top. The headlines are about a plane crash in India and a sex scandal involving the Australian Foreign Minister. The date reads October 27th, 2063—2063 being thirty-five years in the future.

Adam looks at his hand and notices the absence of his tattoo. As a drunken youth he had let a buddy tattoo the word GAME across the knuckles of his left hand. It’s gone and his hand is bigger than it should be. Adam’s arm is more muscular too. He flexes, and squeezes and feels his bicep and shoulder.

What the hell?

There’s a glassed poster on the wall of the ferry terminal. Adam approaches and looks at his reflection to find a stranger looking back at him. He’s blond and his face is too narrow. The reflection is not Adam at all.

Adam feels his face—pinching at this point to prove the dream.

He backs away from the stranger and turns to the city again. He walks. He has no idea what he’s supposed to be doing, but he walks up a street, sticking to the middle of the road and gazing into the abandoned shops and up at the towering buildings. Most shops are empty. Adam considers they have been more so closed down than abandoned. The buildings are intact. They haven’t been bombed or anything. There are no broken windows that Adam can see. There are just big cracks in the pavement and road with grass and weeds growing everywhere.

There’s a distant humming sound. It’s high-pitched and quickly approaching. It pierces the air, and suddenly a train flashes across the road ahead of Adam. It had appeared from between buildings and is gone. Adam runs and sees it vanishing into the distance. It’s fully tinted glass, sleek and hugging a single rail, and it’s moving at an incredible speed.

Adam enters a building and finds stairs. He leaps upward, gaining the tenth storey with his lungs clenching and his legs numb. He kicks open a door marked with a no entry sign and stumbles out onto a roof-top. The train is gone. The rail spears off between buildings, some having been roughly knocked down to accommodate it.

Adam turns and looks the other way, out at the ocean. The rail is suspended above. It swings in a broad arc and follows the coastline with massive steel pillars jutting up out of the sand and the water, and it disappears beyond a headland.

Adam slumps back onto a concrete ledge and sucks in some breaths. He’s fitter and stronger than he used to be. He couldn’t have bounded those ten flights of stairs in his own body.

He looks himself over again, feeling his legs and genitals. He has a look down the front of his pants and finds no appreciable difference. He has less hair, though. It looks trimmed. Adam is thirsty again. He still has the bottle of water. There’s a kind of metallic taste in his mouth but he’s thirsty enough to ignore it.

The distance in all directions reveals no further sign of human life. There are birds and bugs, and more kangaroos and some goats. There’s a boundless silence, so stark and crisp that it’s ringing in Adam’s ears. The air is thin and clean and alive with the sweetness of spring or early summer. It had been winter an hour earlier—when Adam was himself and in the real world.

This can’t be real. If I jump off here I’m going to glide to the ground or wake up on a bus.

Adam’s looking over the edge of the building. He considers testing that theory but has never been big on heights. He suddenly thinks to check the pockets of the jeans he’s wearing and finds what looks like a watch. It’s an oddly thin device with a large square screen and a black plastic band. The screen is blank, as if turned off or with a dead battery. There are no buttons of any kind. Adam taps the screen to no effect. He tries pressing and the words VOICE PROMT flash. He presses again and says, “Hello”.

“Good afternoon, Cooper, who can I get you?”

Adam gulps. “Home, please?”

The screen shows a jingling bell icon. It lasts for a minute.

“Sorry, no answer,” the device says. “Would you like to record a message?”

Adam sniffs and clears his throat. “No message, thanks… Contacts list, please?”

The smiling face of a middle-aged woman appears. It’s a still image. Adam swipes across the screen and the face of a middle-aged man is next. It looks like him—the face he currently has. Adam assumes it to be his father. He swipes again and gets a logo AFP. The next image is another face—that of a guy about his age, completely unfamiliar. There are twenty or so contacts in all before the woman in the first image appears again.

Adam takes a breath and taps the screen. The ringing bell appears. The screen then flashes to an image of the woman, obviously live now.

“Cooper! Darling, how are you?” The woman looks to her side. “Hanson, it’s Cooper.”

A man’s voice replies, “Put him on screen, love.”

The screen flashes to a broader shot with the man who Adam assumes to be his father looking over the woman’s shoulder.

“How are you, son? What’s up?”

“Um… I’m not sure… I’m…” Adam stammers.

“Are you okay, son?”

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know who you are. You’re on my phone thingy… I don’t know who I am or what’s happening.”

“Wait… What?” the man asks. “You don’t know who we are?”

“Cooper, are you hurt? Are you okay?” the woman adds.

“I’m not hurt. I’m fine… Just—what the hell’s going on? I’m not who you think I am. I’m not this Cooper.”

The two faces on screen are staring blankly. The man speaks again after a moment. His demeanour shows confusion and concern. “Who do you think you are, son? Is there something wrong with your mind or memory or something? Do you have a head injury?”

“My name is Adam O’Malley. As far as I can remember, this is the year 2028… I’m going to wake up from this any minute now.”

The man and woman look to each other, their faces streaked in concern—horror. They turn back. The man speaks again. “Son, where are you right now?”

Adam glances around. “Standing on top of a building in Sydney… Where are you?”

The couple confer once more, their faces unchanged as they turn back to the screen. The woman answers, “We’re on our cruise in the middle of the Pacific, darling.”

The man adds, his tone measured, “Son, I want you to stay where you are. I’ll get the clinic at Oakdale to send someone for you… Are you right in the old city?”

“I’m near Circular Quay,” Adam replies. “I can go back to where I woke up a while ago.”

“No, that’s fine. Just wait somewhere safe. The clinic will GPS your device. It’ll probably take them an hour to get there.”

“I don’t know why you have to go exploring that silly old city all the time, darling,” the woman adds. “You must have fallen and hurt yourself. It’s just not safe there with everything crumbling down.”

“Now, Lola, just…” the man says to the woman, cuddling and patting her arm.

“Oh, but he shouldn’t even be going down there!”

The man addresses Adam again. “Are you safe right now, son? Will you be okay to wait?”

“I’m fine. I’ll wait,” Adam tells him. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on but I’ll wait for whoever.”

“Alright, son, I’ll check in with you again in ten minutes… We’ll sort this out.”

Adam’s device screen flashes back to the still picture of the woman smiling. He puts it on his wrist and fastens the catch. He has another drink of his metallic water. The clinic is sending someone, huh? Think I might need a frigging clinic.

***

Memory Span is a scifi novella with a light romance and a trip around the future world on bullet trains. This fast-paced little story is an original take on the future and time travel. You might be surprised!

On special this week. Preview on  Amazon US  Amazon UK  Amazon AU

the-menangle-virus