Sick and Fucking Tired

I'm done! I've had it! I'm sick and fucking tired of theses misogynistic, female writers glorifying these disgusting, abusive male characters and their goddamn Mary Sue girlfriends! Where is this coming from you ask?

I read Beautiful Disaster by Jamie Mcguire.

I didn't even get this angry reading 50 Shades; the benchmark for shitty male characters.

Abby Abernathy (bear with the names here, they suck) starts her freshman year at Eastern University. She's a transplant from Wichita, Kansas with her best friend America (aka "Mare" for short). The book opens with Abby and America at a "Fight Club" style underground fight. This is where we meet Travis Maddox - The lust factory. After getting blood on her sweater, things snowball from there.

Travis is a character that stepped out of a stereotype catalog with all of the cliche bad boy traits. Tattoos? Check (and tribal no less. This guy is a walking flashart disaster). Motorcycle? Check. Reputation with the ladies? Check and mate. He is a bare knuckle fighter, which is actually kind of cool in an alpha male sort of way... if he kept it in the ring. That is the only bit of cool about this guy. He starts off arrogant and a man-slut. The only growth we see out of this guy is he learns to keep it in his pants.

Abby is a Mary Sue. We get no real description of what she looks like... at all! I read the entire book and have no idea what she's supposed to look like (one review I saw mentioned she had blond hair. I'm gonna have to take their word for it). She's from Kansas and that's about it. It's like Jamie McGuire made her as nondescript and generic as she possibly could so readers could insert themselves right in. Did I mention all the fellas want her? And that she's *gasp* a virgin? She does occasionally show evidence of a backbone so I guess point for that.

Here's where it gets shit-tastic.

The two develop some weird relationship. Abby loses a bet and winds up having to spend a month at Travis's apartment... in his bed. In the meantime she starts dating this poor schmuck named Parker (who is actually kind of likable). This is when Travis shows his true nature. The jealous, dickhead side of his nature. He would sabotage their dates. When Parker would drop her off and go for the good night kiss, Travis would be at the door waiting. They start making out in Parker's car and Travis practically rips the door off of the frame to drag Abby out. She is an adult, they are not in a relationship and what they were doing she completely and willingly consented to. THIS IS PSYCHOTIC BEHAVIOR! Abby told Travis that all of these issues (plus more) were red flags to her. Yet she stills sleeps in his room, in his bed.

They get into a relationship despite him being crazy pants and her being fully aware of his crazy pants-ness.

Lots of drama ensues oh and violence! Let's list the psychotic red flags!

1. Travis intimidates, threatens, and flat-out wails on any guy that looks appreciatively at, speaks lewdly of, or even accidentally touches Abby. He has no self control AT ALL when there is another man anywhere in her vicinity.

2. About a month into the relationship, Travis gets not one, but two tattoos linked to Abby. The first is her nickname "Pigeon" on his wrist. Yes kids, he calls her Pigeon. That was only cute in Lady and the Tramp. The second is some sticky, romantic line in Hebrew on his side... a language I seriously doubts he knows, you know not being evidenced to be Jewish or even multi-lingual. This is a sign of obsession (that's bad). Abby justifiably freaks out and tells him they need to slow down a little. Which doesn't happen.

3. During a breakup, he and his cousin follow Abby and her friends to a nightclub. Whenever a guy would dance with either of them, both jokers would physically remove the guys from the situation. When Abby spots Travis and Shepley (the cousin) and figures out what they're doing she calls them out on the bad behavior. Instead of being even a little chastised about it, Travis asks to buy her a drink instead. He disregards everything Abby has just said and hits on her instead. What a considerate guy.

 4. Abby goes on a date with Parker to grab pizza and a movie. Just when the food part of the date gets underway Travis swoops in tells Abby he has a fight and that she needs to be there. She is on a date! Instead of telling Travis to fuck off, she goes! She bails on Parker during their date and takes off with her ex-boyfriend. This is the part that makes HER awful. The part that is psychotic about what he did is we find out later he went to get her because he couldn't stand to think of her out with another guy. That's right, Abby isn't a person she's the hydrant Travis keeps pissing on to show other dogs she's his.

 5. (Here is the scene where I finally flipped the fuck out!) There is a Valentine's day dance at a fraternity. Abby goes with America (begrudgingly. Abby doesn't want to be there). Travis says he's not going to show up, but does anyway because he's a stalker like that. Abby rejects his request for a dance, which he does not accept. Instead he proposes a toast to the whole fraternity "To douchebags, and to girls that break your heart." Abby goes off to dance with a guy she met and pretend that did NOT just happen. They start dancing, Travis demands to cut in. Abby tells him, no. Travis proceeds to threaten the guy, calls Abby his girl (she's not they split  up). She rejects his advances AGAIN and goes back to trying to enjoy herself. Instead of taking the hint, he manhandles Abby and kidnaps her from a dance (Mind you they are NOT together at this point). He does everything against her will and ignores the yelling and screaming for help. So does everybody else. No one will help her when Abby is clearly in distress (remind me not to go to that college!). Travis chucks her into the backseat of a waiting car a friend of his is driving. She tries to escape and Travis traps her, telling her he's tired of her shit. Her shit? Really?! He tells her she needs to sober up so they can figure out their relationship. She left him. She has made it clear she doesn't want to be with him. There's nothing to figure out, he just won't take the hint of the humongous neon sign she's been beating him over the head with this entire time. She tells him she doesn't belong to him. He screams that he belongs to her. So I guess Abby's thoughts and feelings and obvious fear of him mean nothing. All that matters is that Travis gets what he wants because he's a codependent mess. Instead of trying to call the cops, Abby caves and they start making out (because he's just like soooo sexy, right?) Who needs a backbone and desires of their own when a man "needs" them?

I can't even go on at this point, folks. This fucking book ruffled my feathers so bad by the end I couldn't take it. The glorification of abuse in this culture is making me crazy. These men being depicted in fiction are being held up as sex symbols. In Young Adult fiction no less (I hate YA. I had no idea Amazon classified this in the YA category. If I'd have known, I'd have skipped it). Why? Their creepy, stalker, and violent behavior is okay simply because the men are hot? If the man was painted to look like a troll, women would have a shit fit about this kind of behavior.

I feel like I'm kicking a dead horse by saying this, but we deserve better. As readers and as women we deserve so much better than to be fed this "love changes" tripe. Any woman that has ever been in an abusive relationship of ANY kind knows this. These men can't be fixed, they don't want to be fixed, and contrary to what pop culture tells us, they are to be left alone. To paraphrase Chuck Palahniuk: You are not special. You are not a unique snowflake. You will not change that jealous bag of dicks into Prince Charming.

Don't tell me "But it's just fiction" that line is bunk; pure bullshit. How many tee shirts, bumper stickers, and coffee mugs do women own saying they want their own Christian Grey, the patron saint of douchebags? There are a million internet memes floating around that are about wanting a guy like Travis Maddox. There are stories of women leaving their husbands because they don't act like these paper doll sex gods. This line of thinking just condones what's these women are writing. The irony of all this is that WOMEN are writing these stories and MEN are somehow the first ones that are pointing out that this behavior is crazy and no woman should be treated like that! So spare me the rhetoric, this shit is seeping into real life and there are men like this walking around out in the world. Get with it.

I have read reviews of Beautiful Disaster that are eerily similar to 50 Shades and other like stories. Women saying they want to be with a guy like Travis Maddox. For those wondering, Travis is a broke version of Grey on steroids. Anytime Abby shows any sort of spine there's no follow through. She gets manipulated and played out of her resolve. Save your time, sanity, and money.

Musings of a Pregnant Mind

My body is not my own

A takeover has occurred.

Things are shifting in my body

For which I have no control

There is no relief for the weary

Nothing to soothe the insides

There is nothing to treat the symptoms

Everything that goes in makes me sick

All food inflates my belly

Combined with the misery of fatigue

Makes me question the formation of life

Lest you think me ungrateful

It's been a long time in the making

The yearn for motherhood abated

As the changes mount

All the discomfort for a miraculous happening

The end justifying the means

The means of which are insufferable

So I'll kick back and ride out the waves

Wait to meet my new addition

The little body changer being the answer to my prayers.

Get your shit together, girl!

Rose keeps getting put off. I know! I'm sorry! I just hadn't thought about how daunting this damn rewatch was going to be. It will be done this week (if it kills me!)

I haven't written anymore for Blood Roses in almost a week. I have been slightly distracted by the fact that I found out I was pregnant last week and have been all but consumed with shock and happy feelings.

I have discovered that creativity gets seriously stunted when anxiety is having its way with the human brain. I have been waking up near panic-land for over a week and my brain just can't bring itself to be thoughtful, or witty, or charming. However, emotional? My brain totally has that record stuck on repeat.

I had a jump drive with original work on it I wanted to load on here for you all. That seems to be hiding in a very good spot. I can't find it anywhere!

A week after discovering the aforementioned pregnancy, I am now TERRIFIED about the prospect of bringing another human life into this world, and what the little nugget will do to mine. I have been preparing for this moment for over a year and had never once considered that the result would scare the shit out of me!

Monsters Inc. Made me cry last night... friggin' Monsters Inc.!

I need to be more socially active on Twitter and tumblr. 

I think I'm done for now with the crazy ramblings. Tune in later for that Doctor Who recap, another sample of Blood Roses, and (assuming I find that damn jump drive) some other short musings of mine.

Just A Whiff of "Blood Roses!"

Hello everyone!

So I pulled "On The Precipice" a few days ago because Tristan had so much more to say than I could put on this blog. He's a demanding fella. So I have been quietly typing away on my word processor, letting his words and thoughts translate through me. I changed the title and started fleshing things out  to hopefully turn this thing into a full length novel (or at least a novella). So here is a sample from Chapter 4! Enjoy!

 

A massive paw swipes down at a girl. She is only just faster than the animal. She narrowly avoids having her arm torn to pieces. The girl dashes to the other side of the room. In her attempt to escape the animal catches the edge of her dressing gown, reeling her in by the flimsy fabric. She’s scrabbling, trying to find purchase in the rug with her nails, screaming all the while. Hot tears run down her cheeks. She’s screaming, kicking at the animal. It grabs her ankle and roughly pulls her toward itself. It has her pinned to the floor by her wrists. Claws like daggers, digging into her flesh. She can feel it’s hot breath on her face, and her blood trickling from the punctures. The animal bares its teeth; it knows it has her. In a desperate move she kicks the animal in the stomach. A whoosh of air escapes its mouth. The jolt loosened its grip just enough for her to get an arm loose. She doesn’t hesitate. She draws back and punches the animal in the eye. It yelps in pain and lets her go, it’s claws tearing a sleeve from her dressing gown in the process. Her opening is a small one. She scrambles to her feet and launches herself away from certain death. The fire has gone out, the room is black as pitch. She can’t find the exit. Instead she tries to find a place to hide. Behind her she can hear furniture being ripped apart in apparent frustration. She picks a direction and runs, hoping to find cover. She doesn’t make it far before the animal is on her again. She lets out a scream as she’s knocked to the floor. The animal is standing over her; poised to kill. She throws an arm out, searching desperately for anything that can be used as a weapon. The animal is tearing at her gown stripping the material from her body. Her collar is buttoned up around her neck, protecting the vulnerable pulse beneath. At last she feels metal under her palm. She gets a firm grip on her club, closes her eyes and swings with all her strength. Her aim is true despite the dark and she connects with the animal’s temple. With a grunt it keels over to the side. She doesn’t wait to see if it’s dead, she just runs full speed in the direction of the door. After a moment of panicked pawing at the wall, she finds the handle. She won’t stop running until she makes it to her bedroom and barricades the door behind her.

OMG You Guys!

I had to pull On The Precipice today. This thing is just becoming a monster. What was supposed to be a simple, streamlined short story is begging me to make it meatier and fuller. What does this mean.? Well, a few things. 1. Bernard is getting an accent. He is going to become an actual French person. It's a small thing, but I feel like it will be a fun addition. 2. The story is getting darker, way darker. Just when you though masturbating with blood wasn't metal enough I'm upping the shock factor. Tristan's backstory is going to be epic. 3. I can now play with more taboo subject matter. This is going to be important to the story, not just for kicks. 4. I am getting more into Tristan's headspace. By immersing myself in the thoughts of such a fucked up man, By doing so my goal is to make him more sympathetic in the end.

So there it is, folks. Oh! That and I'm ditching the title for something a little more gothic. This story is beginning to feel like I'm just a handful of demons away from a Cradle of Filth video (Dani, call me!)

In other news, the first Doctor Who recap will be up by tomorrow night! Come join me as I pick apart "Rose".

I'm currently deciding on what the next fairy tale will be to get a depraved makeover. Your childhoods have been warned!

The next project after Tristan's story will be something that is set in the 21st Century. This will be great for me because, I shouldn't have to bust out a translation dictionary! Hooray for ease! This will be great for you, dear reader, because you won't have to read my barely conversational 6th grade French! We all win! I have been kicking the idea around for a couple of months now and it's almost time to make it real.

Finally, thank you to those that are reading. This blog is still new and trying to find its legs. I hope you are finding as much enjoyment in my ramblings as I have had publishing them here.

Stayed tune in kids. I'll be here nearly everyday; same bat time, same bat channel.

My #NewToWho Story

To kick off my great Doctor Who Rewatch, I'd like to share with you my #NewToWho story. For those wondering about the hash tag, this is what the BBC uses on their website when you post your story, as well as the obvious Twitter post of 140 characters or less. Let's be honest, there is no way to sum up losing your Who virginity in just a few words. Anyway, my Doctor is the Ninth Doctor. I may be in the minority (among all the David Tennant lovers, who by the way I adore, I'll watch anything he's in), but I loved Christopher Eccleston's take on the character. Eccleston made the Doctor sarcastic, and funny. He looked like Abbott but behaved like Costello. His chemistry with Billie Piper was wonderful. I was smitten. However, this is not where I began. I popped my DW cherry with Matt Smith. It was a little over a year ago and I caught a rerun one morning before work. It was "The Pandorica Opens". I was lost as hell. There were Daleks, and Cybermen, and a whole host of the Doctor's other foes running around. The universe was going to end, Rory was a roman, there were two Amy Ponds, and my head hurt. Despite the confusion and eye crossing, I was hooked. I needed to know how they got there, what was happening, and why Alex Kingston was dressed like Cleopatra. Lucky for me, Netflix had my back, and my journey into oblivion began. One day I hope to cover the original series - pending I can get the fundage to buy the DVDs - but for now, I will have a grand old time with our modern Doctor.

What's your #NewToWho story?

Celtic Warrior

A limerick is a poem with the rhyme scheme AABBA. They are meant to be crude and inappropriate. Ironically, my limerick is inappropriate because it has no dirty elements to it.

A brave, savage man downed on the plain

From a war not his own he is slain

I reach out to the stone

Sense his blood and his bone

It's as if there is life again

The wind whispers past with stories esteemed

Of an army cut down to it's knees

A war cry is roared

"Men raise your swords!"

And it's off to racan in the trees

Knelt at the mound of those lost to might

 A people primed for a fight

 With eyes closed see the dead

Staining the fields red

The enemy snuffed out the light

So beat yer bodhran for the erstwhile

For the lonely, fatherless child

Raise a glass to the pain

For those lost in vain

And to a legacy violent and wild

Photo credit: Kariann Rice

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Little Miss Found: A Retelling of Little Red Riding Hood

This is my first attempt at writing with any sort of sex in it. I have written other types of stories before, but this is new for me. I hope you enjoy!

It's dark. My body is curled up so tight I can hardly move. I test my limbs one by one and I can't stretch out. I take stock of where I am. The air is damp and sticky. I can't see any light. My body is sore. I feel as though I have been beaten with clubs and then dragged by a wild horse. I feel a tiny wisp of panic start to unfurl in my belly. What happened to me? As I ask myself this question, small bits of memory start coming back. I'm in the woods. Now, I'm in a cabin. The memory of being bludgeoned. The panic inside me starts growing. I try thinking of other things. The man from the edge of town floats to the front of my mind.

"What brings you out in the cold today, miss? I'd have thought everyone in town would be staying indoors with the snow storm on it's way." The man was easily the largest person I have ever met. He stood tall as timber and looks just as thick. I can't quite make out his build under the fur and leather cape he's wearing. The man has long red hair tied back with a strip of rawhide. A few strands have escaped and are whipping around his face. A strong gust of wind has brought a flush of color to the skin in his face that's showing from under several days beard growth.
"I am making my way home," I said. "I was told I would have a day before the storm hits, and I need to get back to my grandmother. She is ill and needs this medicine I got from the apothecary." The man smiles. It's the only spot of warmth on this other wise frosty morning.
"Do you need any assistance?" he asked me.
"No thank you, sir. I can manage. The trip is not long and I make it frequently enough" I answered. He introduced himself to me and put out his right hand.
"My name is Casper. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss...?"
"Annika. I'm Annika Braun. The pleasure is mine, Casper."
I put my hand in his and he leaned in to kiss it. His hands were work worn, and rough. They drew some of the chill from my fingers.  I looked up into his eyes and they were the most stunning shade of moss green. They projected a sweet, gentle feeling over me. It took me a moment to realize I was staring.
"Have a safe journey home, Miss Annika. I hope we run into each other again on your next visit."
I beamed at him the first genuine smile to have crossed my face in months.
"I would like that very much." Then I set off on the trail home. I need to hurry. I can feel the shift in the air. The storm is on it's way.

It's getting hard to breathe now. I fear the air is going to run out. I squeeze my eyes shut and will my breathing to slow down. The panic is kept at bay, but just barely. How I wish I could change positions. My neck and shoulders are cramping from having my hands holding my ankles. I've been abducted and I'm naked. This realization does nothing for my panic. Okay Annie, keep it together. You gotta find a way to get back to Gran. Just relax and think. The thought of my grandmother pulls my thoughts away.

I haven't been in this good a mood in ages. To think it was a friendly stranger that brightened my day. A strong updraft blows my cloak over my head. The wind is abominable. Even with the hood up I can't manage to keep my long blonde hair from being blown into my eyes. I readjust my cloak and hair and set off again. Despite the break in emotion of meeting someone new, my thoughts travel back to Gran. She's been sick for months. She's weak, hardly eats; whenever she tries she can't really keep much down. No one can figure out what's wrong. She's wasting away before my eyes and the only thing that can be done is to make her as comfortable as possible. The apothecary makes a syrup of opium and honey that I add to some goat's milk. This is the only thing that takes the pain away long enough for her to eat a few bites and keep it down. When we run out, it's excruciating for her. A lone tear escapes from my eye. No. I am not going to cry. I have had enough of crying. I wipe the offending moisture away with my sleeve. Okay, Annie you gotta think of something else. I let my mind wander back to Casper. The man with the friendly smile and kind words. He picked my spirits up considerably in just a few minutes. A part of me wishes I took him up on his offer to be a guide. I'm sure things would have been a lot warmer with company. I find myself envying his cape. All the leather and fur, I wouldn't have to worry about the cold in that. I shake my head and kick myself. Too late now. And those eyes! I feel like I could lose myself in them. Those eyes set into such a striking face. High cheekbones, a square jaw and straight bridge nose. The wind had kicked up and a blast of icy shards hit me in the cheek, pulling me from my daydream. The storm is coming too soon! As I looked around my first thought was to find shelter immediately. There was no way I was going to make it home until the storm passed. I glanced around and spied a small cottage a few yards away.

I could feel my body being shifted. It's as if I've been tied up in sack. I want to scream, but I don't have enough air in my lungs to do it. Almost as soon as the movement started, it finished. I feel the tears start as I realize, I'm not getting out of this. I will never see my grandmother again.

It really isn't fair to call this building a cottage. It's a rather small space. But it's dry and keeping the wind away so it's more than enough for me. I take in my surroundings. There's a crumbling fireplace on a far wall with small remnants of dried logs and kindling piled next to it. There are tattered skins half hanging off the window. I make my way over to those to put the skins back up to keep the draft out. As I look over the rest of my temporary dwelling I see another room. I figure it must be the bedroom and decide to check it out after I get the fire lit. I make my way over to the fireplace. The hearth is chipped and crumbling, the mantle is gone, and the chimney looks like it's about to cave in. I need to make a fire so I set to it and pray I don't burn the place down. After a few misses with the flint I found, a small fire gets burning in the kindling. I start adding the larger pieces of wood when I hear a crack behind me. I spin around and scream just in time to get clubbed in the head. I see clawed hands reaching for me before my world goes black.

Where did he take me? I still can't figure out where I am, but at least I remembered where this splitting headache came from. It doesn't matter now anyway. Reality is starting to blur around the edges and I'm getting drowsy. I feel like I'm being jostled around pretty hard. The movement is picking up again. It feels jarring. Do I keep losing consciousness?  I hardly notice the pain in my muscles anymore. I need to sleep. If I fall asleep now, I won't ever wake up. I welcomed the relief. I can't seem to get a full lungful of air anymore. My breathing is coming in shallow, gasping breaths. I think I see a light in front of me.

I'm getting pounded on the back.
"Annika! Annika, wake up! Please, wake up!"
That voice sounds familiar.
The pounding continues. My eyelids fly open and I begin to heave. Slime, and bile are being coughed up all over the floor beneath me. I feel myself being let down on the floor and I curl up on my side shivering.
"Thank the gods you're alive." A blanket is getting draped over me. Did the blanket say that? I hear the sound of something large getting dragged over towards me and the sound of liquid being poured into whatever it is. I lay there in a daze, my eyes shifting in and out of focus. I hear a ripping sound from across the room. Suddenly my blanket is gone. I whimper in protest, and that's all I can do. I can hardly move my arms to grab for it. I get scooped up and put into... Is this a tub? Reality starts coming back to me. I'm not dead? I'm not dead! As that clarity sinks in, I open my eyes and look around. The fire is roaring with a pot of water on to boil. I smell blood. I look down at my legs wondering if it's me.
"Annika?"
I turn toward the sound of the voice.
"Casper? What happened to me? What are you doing here?" I'm trying to push the hair from my eyes.
"I heard a scream. I was nearby packing up after hunting when it happened. So, I ran in the direction of the sound trying to find the source. The snow made it really hard to get over to this place. When I broke in I saw your cloak."
My eyes were finally adjusting to being open again. His face looked hard. Fear flickered over him for just a moment. I blinked and it was gone.
"I pulled out my knife and checked every corner of this place and found nothing. Just outside behind the cottage I stumbled on a huge beast sleeping under some brush. I went over to it saw it's teeth covered in blood, and it's belly huge and distended."
I wanted to sink down into the water and disappear then. The events of the night came crashing down around me. The clawed hand, huge and furry. The beast walked on it's hind legs, like a man. This was no man. There isn't a man alive with teeth or hands that big. Casper made his way back to the tub with more hot water. He drained the pot around me. The heat felt delicious on my stiff muscles.
"So, I was eaten? By this hideous man beast?"
Casper knelt down on the floor, picked up a wet cloth from the tub, and started to wash the filth off of me. I have never felt anything so amazing in my life and doubt I will ever again.
"It swallowed you whole. The blood in it's teeth must have come from the gash on your forehead."
I reached up and touched the wound with two trembling fingers. They came back sticky with blood and fluid. I glanced behind me to see that he had left the beast's skin in a heap on the floor.
"We fought hard. I may have bested him, but he got a few good swipes in." He grinned.
Casper had scratches on his arms and an open cut on his cheek. I reached out to examine the wound on his face.
"When I finally got him down, I cut open his belly and pulled you out. I was so scared I was too late and you..." the grin was gone.
My hand may contact with his cheek. I put my palm against his face and felt the soft growth of beard underneath it. He looked up at me with pain and fear in his eyes. Without this man, I would have been dead. Casper continued to wash my body. I took my hand away as he moved around to my back. I gathered my hair out of the way for him. His strong fingers went to work on massaging the soreness out of my muscles. When he came back around to face me I caught one of his hands in mine.
"You saved me. Thank you."
I picked his hand up and examined it. It was large and calloused. As I turned it over I noticed his knuckles were scraped up. I was so overcome with emotion just then I bent forward and kissed the tiny cuts. I brushed his fingers against my cheek then looked up at him. He had stopped moving and just watched. His face became clouded with longing.
"Have we met before?" I asked.
"No. I have seen you in town. The first time I saw you I was struck. Every time I would try to drum up the courage to talk to you, and whenever I finally managed you would have already left. I was lucky we ran into each other today."
I put his hand over my heart.
"Not as lucky as I was."
I don't know what came over me just then. I raised up and kissed him. It started chaste enough; just a soft press of my mouth. But as the events of the day came back I had a surge of energy. The kiss became deeper. Our mouths came alive, pressing harder. I moaned as his tongue swept into my mouth. I ran my hands up Casper's back to his neck to untie the rawhide from his hair. He pulled me in closer to him. My breasts flattened against his chest. I wound my hands through his hair in a desperate need. The kiss brought something to life in me just then. I had been dead for months. The grief of my grandmother's illness shut down the fire in me. No wonder I welcomed death. My fingers began to work at the ties on his shirt when he grabbed my wrists in his and pulled his face away. He didn't say anything just looked into my eyes for a moment. There was a question there. I need to let him know I want this. I match his gaze with mine and nod. We both stand up then. He lets me undress him. Without the layers of animal skin he is still a big man. He has a broad, well muscled chest, covered with a dusting of copper hair. His whole body is work hardened and tough. I can't help but want to touch him. My hands reach up and snake around his neck. I pull him in for another kiss. His arms wrap around under my backside and he lifts me out of the tub; my body trembling from the chill at my back. He lays me down across the beast's fur; I feel his erection pressing into my belly. I reach my hand between us grip him. As I stroke he moans softly in my ear. Something in Casper takes over and the next thing I know his mouth is on mine, hungry, probing. He kisses his way down my neck, nipping the soft skin where my neck meets my shoulder. His hands are on my breasts, massaging and pinching until my nipples are hard little peaks until his mouth catches up. I let out a little gasp as his mouth closes over one of the little buds. He's sucking and pulling, culling small sounds of pleasure from me. His hand moves to between my legs, opening the soft lips to my clit. His fingers are moving in slow circles building the pressure. He kisses a trail down to between my legs while slowly pushing one finger in then another to start teasing me inside. His mouth is licking, sucking, drawing out the pleasure. His fingers thrusting in and out of me. The pressure is growing, spreading; my head rocks back and my hands dig into Casper's hair as I am overtaken by the orgasm. He climbs back up my body then. I feel the head of him rubbing against me, testing before he takes me. Then inch by torturous inch he enters me. I'm gripping his arms as hard as I can. I am so sensitive, almost too sensitive to take it. Finally, he's taken me and starts moving slowly. His mouth is on mine. I can taste me on his lips. As he starts to thrust faster, I feel another orgasm is building.
""Annika, oh gods look at me." I look up and our eyes meet just as we are both driven over the edge of the little death.