Act 1: Chardonnay And Traces of Lipstick, Available on Amazon

Available On Amazon

             See the city of Knoxville through the eyes of a man of the night. When a male prostitute falls in love after one night of raw emotion and passion, what happens next? What road lies ahead for Sean as he ponders a life of monogamy and peace? When the one real love of his life is out of his grasp, what will he do? How will a man that only knows pleasure and seduction survive? Is love at first sight possible? Can a man trained for one way of life change over night? All of these questions and more are waiting to be answered inside. See the sights and imagine the pleasure with "Chardonnay & Traces of Lipstick." 

Quotes:

"You feel like you are on Market Square."

"I could smell The Old City."

"Raw passion and a pure joy to read."

"Cliffhanger endings done right."

Snippet...Nightmares and Sexuality

Nightmares and Illusions

"That amazing grace, thought it passed you by"
"You wake up every day and you start to cry"
"You wanna die, but you just can't quit"
Let me break it down, it's the fucked up shit"
My Shit's Fucked Up-Warren Zevon

Time passed slower than I thought humanly possible, conciousness came and went, darkness seemed to be my new home, there was no way to tell how long I lay there, body growing cold in the summer heat, the party still going on across the way, Cynthia laid out near me, eyes no longer moving, face looking worse than when I first passed out.  I faded out again, like some cheap movie with bad editing, the images in my mind, her beautiful face shattered and broken, flesh hanging away in some places, bone and pink meat pushing through in others.  The hard concrete became air, then a mattress of sorts, pain was as constant to my body as breathing, images on repeat in my mind, sleepless darkness filled with vivid imagry.  Cynthia laying there, one eye pressed foreward, blood leaking from her mouth and nose, glass peppering the ground around her.
Lights, bright, shinning, pressure on my face, labored breathing made easier, pain receeding, sleep becoming more of an option, faces voered in masks, voices talking, fade to darkness, images of my mother, alive and well, smoking a cigarette, Marlboro Ultra-Light 100, sitting on her fluffy black leather couch, laughing and smiling, light behind her, Bristol bent over me, shaking his head, Essence crying, leaning in, kissing my forehead, fade to darkness.
I awake in a pool of warm water, hints of chlorine and salt in the air, naked, a full moon above me, surrounded by fluffy white clouds looking pregnant with water, ready to spill down in a moments notice,  naked women of all shapes and sizes, swam around me, laying by the sides of the pool.  Skin tones from dark chocolate to faded caramel, nipples the size of pennies and nipples the areolas the size of silver dollars, all beautiful in their own ways.  Asses large and round, the size of a juicy rump roast, some as small as a pair of pineapples, equally beautiful, passed by me in the water, some brushed against my flesh, most just passing me by in a sensual coordinated rhythm.
Slow circles they swam around me, some taking me in their mouths, some kissing my legs and back, my body an underwater easel for their sensual arts and a blank page for their lips and tongues to paint upon.  One of them rose above the waters edge before me, water dripping from her hair and flesh, her eyes as green as gems in the sunlight, looking like a magnificent goddess.  She came to me, her dark chocolate skin looking as melted as the drops of water that dripped from the curve of her chin, the tips of her erect nipples.  She took me into her arms, pulled me close, made me feel alive.
Her jade eyes glowed through the darkness, the rest of her face, hidden in the shadows.  Clouds in the sky began to rumble as she welcomed me into her body, thunder rolled as her hips began to buck against me.  Rain drops, cold and round, pelted my flesh as she arched her back, her hands squeezing her large breasts, moans escaped my lips as she rose, lightning flaring in the sky, illuminating her misshapen face, blood leaking out of her mouth, her nose, her ears.  Cynthia stared back at me through the darkness.
The water began to cool, the warmth gone from the air, the rain started to change into ice pellets and snow flakes, everything around us becoming a blinding white, the other women vanished from sight, one by one, each with a pop, like a balloon.  The water froze around our waists, my arms locked under the ice, still grasping her gracious hips and delicious ass, the only warmth under the water, where our crotches were joined together.  Cynthia's breasts sat above the ice, as did her arms.  She tried to say something, something important through the blood, I could sense the urgency in the way her body gripped mine, only bubbles came forth, popping and splattering my face with warm red dropplets.  She sobbed and bowed her head.
Cynthia ran her fingers over her bloody tongue and wrote two words in a macrabe font of chicken scratch, seeming to glow out of the pristine white ice that had surrounded us.  I didn't want to read them, I wanted to hold her close as long as I could, so that maybe we could live, in this moment forever.  She took my head in her cool hands, chilling me to the bone, turning it slowly towards the ice.  And suddenly, everything seemed to make sense.
WAKE UP was written there in her precious blood, I shook my head and sobbed, the tears freezing to my face almost instantly, my eyes rose and met hers.  Cynthia leaned foreward and kissed my lips, her blood seeping through my lips, warmth in the cold, and then, as if touched by an angel, I woke up.

Goodbye and the Sky

Why, when your time may be nearing its end, does the sky look so different, the stars so close, but the heavens so far away, is it an illusion of hope, or a sign of despair, when a chance to truly change my life is before me, but everything I have ever known will be left behind.  It's almost been a year. And I see my mother at every street I turn onto, see her reflection in every single shop, I am not the dad I was a year ago, not even close, I feed into an illusion of joy to try and please my kids, but am I doing them more harm?  I have known nothing but stress and sorrow and guilt for the past sixteen years, I cannot begin to express my gratitude for the opportunity I have been given, but will it make a difference, will it light the path to redemption?  A year isn't that long, but what happens when the reaper coming knocking at a family members door, am I to miss it, like so many before?

Snippet

I saw fireworks in her eyes and splashes of light in the sky as I came with her, she released the fence and held me tight, her pussy massaging every last drop out of me, her juices running down our thighs.
Cynthia began to cry on my shoulder as I eased out of her and carried her back to the car, setting her down and lifting her face to mine.  I kissed her lips softly once before the first shot rang out, glass shattering, people still partying at the clubs behind the lot.  At first I thought it was a loud radio, or in some place, off in the distance, across the city or across the planet.  The second shot told me it was much closer, too close.  The back window of the Lincoln busted out, spraying Cynthia's back and my face with glass.  The shots were targeted at someone near us, or so I thought.  The third loud bang and flash of light, impact sounded closer still, sparks flew off the trunk of the car.  Cynthia gasped as I pulled her close to me and down onto the hard pavement of the parking lot.  Through the shattered glass of the car windows I could clearly hear the guitar solo of Guns N Roses "Don't Cry" playing on the radio.  A car door was opened, under the car I could see feet, racing in our direction.  Slowing when they reached the car, coming around the side in slow motion.  Shots four and five came from above us, a ski mask, gold teeth, pressure in my stomach.  The seventh and final shot

Bar and Glass...

     What if you only had one more day to see the sun rise in the morning?  What if the next sunset you saw was lost behind bars and glass?  How would you take it all in?  Would you sleep and miss it?  Or would you grasp at everything you knew to be wrong in your life?  How would you accept your fate?  On your knees, cowering in the shadows, or standing tall knowing this is not the end?  Would you be prepared for the outcome?  Or would you allow the beginning to be a final judgement of finality?

Checks and Balances...

Freedom in America is a lie, everything consists of checks and balances, credit cards and late fees.  Who cares if you have depression and you leave a job for a few weeks to try and reevaluate your life, your decisions and your reasons for living?  Who cares when your mother dies and a hole that can never be filled is suddenly in your chest?  The government doesn't, but maybe your friends and family do.  Checks and balances, people, checks and balances, and this guy is about ready to just check out.

Let The Writing Begin...

New erotic stories on the way!  Let's get it going!

All Women Are Unique

Be it the way a woman looks at you, the way she smiles at you or the angle of her hand when she waves, every woman is unique.  Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but what happens when you see beauty in every one?  This one has a dimple in her chin, that one has a extra curve in her booty.  The one over here has a sparkle in her eye, the one over there has a aura of greatness around her like a golden haze.  That big lady you call ugly has the heart of a queen, this skinny girl has the soul of a demon.  We always swear we are not judgemental pricks with surface value desires, at least I know that is true for me.  Even though I have only dated women of color, I have dated all sizes, shapes and shades.  None of us are perfect, if I find the perfect exterior, usually the inside is lacking.  When you find a woman who is soulful and intelligent, usually, she lacks somewhere physically.  Did I say I was perfectly right with my judgements? Hell, no.  But am I being completely honest?  You're ducking right, I am.  And why shouldn't I be?  Life is too short to lie to everyone, about everything.  Why not do our best to show the world they're wrong about us as the fall of mankind with our manish needs and carnal desires?  Why do we find it necessary to paint a picture built on lies and deceit?   Are we that shallow?

Depression & Suicide

Why do we get depressed?

How is it that some of us are effected differently by this source of sorrow?

Picture a beach in your mind, sunny and sandy with clear skies and golden beaches.  Now picture clouds moving in over the horizon,  lightning and thunder blocking out the rays of the golden sun.  This is a pretty exact description of what happens in my mind when the feelings set in.  What happens then?  I see the sparkle in a rusty razor blades edge.  I have the arcane urge to laugh at the most sinister of current world events.  I paint my windows black like it's midnight all day long, I let the crickets roam freely through my home.  Those last two things, I don't really do those things.  Why?  Because I get too depressed to bother.  I sleep all hours I'm not at work, I sit in the bathtub for hours on end, pondering if I should sink to the bottom and open my lungs to the hot water around me, or maybe, cut into the soft flesh of my wrists submerged under the water, a warmer red caress surrounding my body as the world starts to fade to black.  But then, one thing, and one thing alone, stops me.

Thoughts and images of my children, and their reactions, to my final statement of greed and self worth!

A Cheating Society

Why is it so hard to be faithful?  Why are we determined to ruin good relationships with side chicks and emotional chaos?  Why does the life one leads have to appear to be extravagant to pass for important?  I guess a better question would be, why is it so easy for modern civilization to cheat?  Why is being a side chick acceptable and why are so many women okay with it?  One guess, these women have been hurt so many times that they would rather be a side option, where only a little bit of time is required.  These women have no expectations of Prince Charming and the happy ever after, because it has never been placed before them in a plausible manner.  But what of the men, can women truly be expected to take the blame for this trend in society?  More to come as I gather my thoughts, not my thots, they've already all left by now I'm sure.

Easter, Pagan Holiday of Depression

Here we have a holiday invented by the powers that be to make the consumer feel guilty if the basket isn't full enough, the dresses and suits aren't bright enough in color.  Ladies and gentlemen, how do we lie to our children about perverted bunnies and old men that sneak into our houses for years, then wonder why they do not trust us through their teenage years?  Believe in the higher power of choosing, but be smart enough to know when something else is at work.  That is all I ask.  Stop giving whole hearted faith to a mythical being that may in fact be your downfall.  To celebrate the resurrection of chosen Savior is one thing, to hunt eggs like the Roman's hunted through empty tombs is entirely another.  #PEACE

How Do We Move On?

Can I fix these things with a blog?  No, but will a few people take something away from this?  Yes.  Will it lead to them talking?  Hopefully.  Will they act on anything I have said here?  Maybe.  But the important part of the healing process is to talk.  An egg is laid in the mind, only to hatch into an idea.  The institution is collapsing, failing us, failing our children, one day at a time.  The teachers are being paid less, the students are being led by a carrot!  The parents are stuck with super couponing and whimsical purchases on sites like Wish.com.  What's for dinner?  The McRibs are on sale but the new crab cakes at Seafood Shotgun Shack are two for one.  Smash the televisions, send your kids out to play.  But send them out with pepper spray and a shotgun because the perverts are lurking around.  I get so tired of nostalgia but when I was a kid, the sun setting was the house call, the distance I could travel before then, was my limits.  As I grew older, those distances increased.  But now, kids can't go out front of the house for fear of getting shot, raped or kidnapped.  So turn the TV back on and forget this whole epic speech.

Coming Tomorrow!

New blogs about life, love, sex, drugs and Fanboy!

How Did We Get Here?

You want to know what led to this?  I'll tell you, I'll be blunt, I'll be honest.  Goody Powders.  Those little cocaine looking packets of headache medicine in blue boxes, it brought us here.  Goody Powders brought us to this point of digital interaction.  And at this point, it is entirely possible to do everything except purchase a pack of cigarettes without interacting with another human being, be it physically or vocally.  You have stay at home jobs, self check-out registers or even grocery purchases online.  Social interaction is no longer required to exist in the world.  Where was I?  Goody Powder.  My mother had been addicted to them for years, 15 or 20 a day.  Multiple ulcers, countless lesions.  Bleed-outs had happened, but she just couldn't give the things up.  I really don't want to go into the details right now, so I'll just say this.  They killed her, led to a massive rupture and bleed-out when one of those ulcers opened up and within seconds she was gone.  My mother died alone that day last August, and I haven't written a word since then.  Until now, I mean, why should I?  Whose gonna read this shit when they have TV, XBox, YouTube and PornHub to take a gander at all fucking day long?  We live in a society of over-stimulation and under-saturation!

In The Beginning

Blog 1: How Do I Start?
How do I start a blog? Why does it even matter? Nobody is going to read this shit anyway. And if they do, they probably won't come back. We live in a society on the edge of destruction, a self induced wave of stupidity. The problems we have are created by us. We live in a world ruled by technology but the generations are slowly getting dumber. If the so called fact is on the internet, then the photoshopped image and message must be true. Why should anything be remembered if we can use Google and Wikipedia? Bret Easton Ellis wrote of emotional wastelands in the valleys and beaches of 1980s California, but those wastelands void of feeling, purpose and caring about right from wrong have spread across America like a plague. We'll, I guess I answered my own question with this glorious diatribe about the crumbling of modern society. PEACE!!!