(For those of you who are uncomfortable with discussion of menstruation or other uterus-enhanced people’s issues, you might want to skip this. *mwah*)
So, I’m in my mid-fifties, and one of the lovely things about my age is that my reproductive system is on the verge of hanging it up and shutting down shop. Which is fine and dandy with me — I ain’t having kids, monthly periods are both a huge pain AND my fertile periods also make me retain water so I feel like a camel most of the time. Menopause? Bring it on.
My last period was on January 6 (thank you, Cheeto-supporting yahoos, for making it easy to remember), and before that I had a period in September. When nothing happened in February, March, and April, I was starting to hope that this was it, I was done. but you have to go a full year without a period before you’re considered fully in menopause, so I had another eight months to go.
Until last night. The last couple of days I have been irrationally irritable. I knew it was hormonal, PMS without the actual menstruation, so I took a black cohosh each day to calm down and regain some balance. Yeah, except that black cohosh is chemically similar to estrogen, and apparently my body thought, “Oh, wait, there’s some spare estrogen floating around here! Welp, time to shed lining.”
Now, all of my life I’ve had heavy periods, to the point where I normally use Super tampons because my uterus laughs heartily at Regular (and once I discovered Ultra, those became my go-to tampon for overnight use). Which made the September and January periods absolute delights because they were minor. I mean, a little bit of blood over three days, and then I was done.
This time? Right back to the Supers/Ultras, and I went through a Super in less than four hours this morning. I’m really hoping that this is my uterus throwing its “Going Out of Business” party, possibly combined with me getting my COVID vaxes in March and April. But man, it’s annoying as hell right now.
As you may know, Bob, I am one of those invisible ladies in the throes of perimenopause who is very much looking forward to the complete cessation of menstrual periods. However, peri means that I’m pretty much going through a second puberty with all of the accompanying hormonal fluctuations. This, combined with my two autoimmune disorders, means that I take an amusing amount of meds and supplements every day in order to remain functional.
My daily intake is split up into my morning meds, my afternoon supplements, and my evening meds (yes, I rattle when I walk, moving on). Morning is a simple matter of two pills, as is evening, but the afternoon supplement train was always a pain in the butt because I’d have to open 6-7 bottles to get everything I needed. A lot of the time I would blow this off because I was busy doing something else, and I would then pay the price later.
Anyway, we went to NOLA the weekend before last and I decided to pick up some pill organizers for Ramón and myself so that I wouldn’t have to pack fifteen million pill bottles in my suitcase. The organizer is very much like this one, with slots for AM and PM meds (yes, I know I take them three times a day, but I just brought the two bottles for the nighttime meds).
It worked nicely during our stay, and when we came home I unpacked everything and realized that I’d accidentally loaded the Thursday PM section even though I’d already taken those meds at home. Since it was already loaded, I figured what the hell, let’s reload the entire thing with the morning/afternoon meds, and that way I won’t have to fuss with bottles every day for a week.
Oh. My. GOD. You wouldn’t think that something this prosaic would be a gamechanger, but I can tell you that it truly is. Not only have I been remembering to take my morning meds when I’m supposed to take them (usually not a problem but sometimes I’d slip), but I’ve been taking my afternoon meds every afternoon on time. It’s so much easier to pull out the organizer, shake out the supplements and pop them instead of having to open multiple bottles and pull out what I need.
Why is this a big deal? Because as I said, I need these supplements to keep my creaky failing metabolism on course. When I don’t take them, unpleasant things happen. But last week I (CW: digestive issues ahead) pooped regularly and with ease, lost four pounds, remembered to eat, and slept like a log. Writing was much easier, and I even felt like exercising more when I wasn’t fighting off whatever bug I’d picked up in NOLA.
Long story short, if you take a lot of meds/supplements and aren’t already using one of these beauties, pick one up from your local pharmacy or supermarket (and don’t worry about the old fogey connotations. Old fogeys are pretty damned smart). It’ll take you 3-4 minutes to load on Sunday, and then you’re set for the rest of the week. Your body will thank you for thinking ahead.
As you can imagine, 2020 was a hell of a year here in Casa Cameron as it was everywhere else in the world. The last time I went out for recreational purposes was March 13, 2020. By the time the one-year anniversary of that date rolled around, Ramón and I were in gradually crumbling shape. We went out to the store, to medical/dental/vet appointments, and to drop off the taxes. That was it. We hadn’t gone out for a meal, the movies, to see people, or to travel anywhere in over a year.
And then the vaccines became available, God bless the scientists who came up with them. Both of us qualified for Texas’s 1B tier so I scrambled to get both of us vaccination slots. That happened in late March and early April — my second shot was on April 3, and by April 17 we were both fully vaccinated.
That night, I booked a flight to New Orleans. We had been dreaming of going somewhere, anywhere, for months once it was safe for us to do so. Out of the country, however, was unfeasible due to COVID restrictions, so we settled on a long weekend in NOLA, which Ramón had only visited once a couple of years ago. We figured getting out of the house for a whole four days would be one hell of a tonic, and I had money from a contract project I’d done in March and April that would cover air fare, hotel costs, food/drink, and any entertainment. I didn’t mention this to anyone for security reasons, and also because NOLA is my sister’s favorite place in the world and she would set my hair on fire if she found out we were going without her.
Finally, our departure date arrived last Thursday, and I swear to God it was hilarity itself. After fourteen months of every day being like the day before we had forgotten how to get ready for a trip. We wound up running around like headless chickens trying to bring everything that we thought we’d need (and somehow I still managed to leave my melatonin behind), get the house ready for the cat sitter, print off boarding tickets and hotel registration, etc. I have to be honest, it felt like prepping for an Apollo mission.
But Thursday afternoon we got everything loaded into the car, thanked the (fully vaccinated) cat sitter profusely, reassured the J Crew that we loved them, and headed off to DFW. My paycheck had extended itself to business class seats, so the flight to NOLA was comfortable (helped by the Bailey’s on ice I had, since I wouldn’t be driving anywhere once we landed), and getting through security had been a breeze. The other end was something of a different story, as we’d landed out in Ulan Bator and getting to the baggage claim was a challenge for Nick the Gimp whose mask was now soaked with respirated moisture and had to stop twice to pull it away from my face and gasp for breath. By the time we braved the taxi queue and got one to take us to the Four Points Sheraton on Bourbon, I sortakinda wanted to pass out. I mean, I hadn’t moved that much in over a year, and it showed.
Our hotel, however, was a thing of beauty, right on Bourbon Street so we could watch the assorted party people from our balcony on Toulouse. Even better, they’d instituted a policy where housekeeping wouldn’t come into our room unless we requested it. Since we could do towel exchanges at the door and I was perfectly capable of tidying the bathroom and making a bed, this was fantastic — we could sleep in and not worry about the eventual knock on the door and the call of “Housekeeping.” After I requested extra pillows and blankets, the bed became comfortable (remember, I’ve been spoiled rotten by my Purple mattress) and we were ready for the weekend.
Now, there had been some changes to the French Quarter thanks to COVID. The hotel’s restaurant and bar were closed, so we couldn’t eat there. Servers were few and run off their feet, so getting into any restaurant usually required a wait. I made sure to be extremely kind and tip like a rock star, but it helped things in the eating department when we discovered this awesome coffee shop called Cafe Conti (in the Hotel St. Marie on the corner of Toulouse and Dauphin) that made some of the best damn chicken salad sandwiches I have ever tasted, and had a full range of bagels and other breakfast goodies. Those, bags of nuts and trail mix, and slices of pizza from various Bourbon joints pretty much fed us while we were in the Quarter (which also saved on money, so yay).
But Bourbon itself was still the party street it’s been for decades. We had to wear masks into bars, but could take them off once we started drinking, and most people weren’t wearing them outside in any case. And Lord, it was a sheer delight seeing people enjoying themselves again.
That being said, I could tell by Friday morning that I was going to have issues walking due to ShitKnee. Ramón, bless his heart, located a Walgreen’s and brought back the niftiest folding cane, as well as bottles of water and pop. The cane allowed me to get around with a minimum of pain, so we were able to stroll up and down Bourbon, go down to Jackson Square for a carriage ride around the FQ and Marigny, and generally Be Outside With People. Which felt very weird, I’m not gonna lie. We almost undoubtedly came into contact with SARS-CoV-2 at some point, so it’ll be interesting to see if we develop any symptoms by May 23. Me, I’m betting on Pfizer and Moderna kicking its ass, but I’m taking Vitamin D and ashwagandha anyway because they can’t hurt.
But even my new cane could only do so much, so I spent some hours out on the balcony people watching. I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but for me that was a ball (spotting not one but two men rolling down Toulouse on hoverboards with large snakes draped around their necks was notable). Ramón took those opportunities to head out for a few solo walks, do some shopping, and take pictures. When he came back, we’d go for a swim in the hotel pool or hang out on the bed napping or talking (often about socio-economic issues, because we’re wonks like that). To be honest, it was heaven.
By Sunday morning I was ready to go home to my own bed, but my heart and my spirit felt so much better. I could tell because I cranked out a K on The Crimson and the Black while we were at the MSY Lounge at the airport without breaking a sweat, and I know exactly where I’m going with the story from that point onward. Ramón also felt heaps better, and he’s got a slew of projects he wants to do over the Christmas hols. Me, I’m musing on where our next trip will take us.
One thing I noticed — if I had to spend time with someone in fairly close quarters I told them that Ramón and I were fully vaccinated. Almost 99% of the time the response was, “Oh, so am I, it’s okay.” That was from both tourists and locals, so clearly 1) NOLA attracts intelligent tourists, and 2) the city is taking vaccinations a lot more seriously than places like, oh, Texas (40.1% of Orleans Parish residents are fully vaccinated, as opposed to 30.4% of Texas residents). So if you’re vaccinated, you’ve spent the last fourteen months cooped up, and you really need to get out for a bit, I heartily recommend that you head down to NOLA and laissez les bons temps rouler. And if you stop off at Cafe Conti, tell them Miss Nicola sent you.
Under normal circumstances this would be a marvelous Sunday afternoon for writing. It’s 78°F and sunny with a moderate breeze, I have the patio umbrella up, a filter jug of water and a glass by my side, and the only thing I really have to do until 5 PM is write (at which point I have to record a podcast).
Except that as I was lugging everything out to the patio, I noticed a puddle in front of the new massive high-sided litter box in the breakfast nook, and when I lifted it up I saw that the puddle ran under the damn box. JJ, bless his ancient heart, had decided that he didn’t like the condition of the box and watered the tiles. Again. Which I really can’t bitch too much about — it’s tile, his kidneys aren’t concentrating urine anymore and he’s pretty much just passing water these days.
But it’s still something I have to clean up before I can come out here, and in the meantime he’s complaining at me in the most vociferous terms (he has food and water, and I gave him a cuddle and my chair, so I can only assuming he’s yelling, “Staff! Clean up that damn puddle already!” in Cat). Finished that, got out here, and Ramón poked his head out saying that he’d been looking for me, then recounted his latest adventure with the American medical system (his doctor prescribed some kind of new sugar-scrubbing medication, only it’s $1400/month. Yeah, no), and now he’s heading off to the Junky Computer Store to see if there’s any electronic tat he wants to buy and should he bring home anything?
And I have just discovered that my seat cushion was lying to me and was indeed soaking wet in the center. A remote cabin is looking better and better, ideally with a minion who can clean for me and check seat cushions to guarantee that they’re dry.
Yes, I know — first world problems. Still annoying, though. But after going in the house to change my capris and underwear I made myself a toasted bagel, so hopefully that will do something to improve both my blood sugar and my mood.
In writing news, I finally figured out what was blocking me on The Crimson and the Black (note to self: just because a character is Scottish does not mean that the plot has to go racing up to the Highlands) so I expect to chunk out a good 3K this afternoon. What with The Nevers doing so well on HBO I’m hoping to get TCatB finished in the next two weeks and out while I can still ride some promotional coattails. Also, Amalia True is my new patronus, and I still think Pip Torrens is the sexiest thing since sliced bread. Apparently he voices a videogame, and I have never been so tempted to become a gamer in my life.
I have to admit, I’m not doing that well. Which is hardly surprising, seeing as we’re now past the point where we all initially locked down and we’re only just starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Having idiot governors lift mask mandates and throw open business doors doesn’t help (and cases of COVID and deaths from same are going up in my county, so thanks a lot, Abbott). I know that eventually things will get better and I just have to hang on. But to be honest, all I want to do is crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head, and hope that I can get to sleep before one or more of my joints decides to start screaming at me.
Thing is, we’re genuinely in a good position. We have a roof over our heads, all the bills are paid, and we’re even going to New Orleans in May for a long weekend. More importantly, Ramón just got his second shot yesterday (he’s feeling pretty crappy today, but he’s not sure if it’s due to the shot or the fact that we have hella high tree and grass pollen levels today and that’s doing a number on his system). My second shot is scheduled for tomorrow, and we’ll be considered fully vaccinated on April 17th, at which point we’re going out to dinner for the first time in about 15 months.
But. I can tell that my temper is in shreds. I’m definitely showing signs of situational depression, and while I’m trying to mitigate it with exercise, fresh air, and meditation it’s still there in the back of my mind. It feels like I don’t have anything to look forward to but constant unending chores. This house is a fucking disaster area and I need to clean each and every room in it, but between the daily contract work, trying to finish the book, and ShitKnee playing up I rarely have the spoons to do that. Even the New Orleans trip feels like a chore because I have to arrange everything and find stuff for us.
It doesn’t help that the inflammatory response to the pollen is playing merry hell with my joints, so in addition to being depressed I also hurt all the time. God only knows what shape I’ll be in tomorrow after I get the second shot, so today I need to make sure that we have food and other things stocked up in the house so that I can just sleep it off if necessary.
What I really need is one of Ray Bradbury’s Electric Grandmothers who can help me cook and clean, keep an eye on the J Crew, bring me something to drink when I’m working, then tuck me in bed at the end of the day and tell me not to worry, everything will be fine. As that’s not going to happen, however, I’ll just keep muddling through.
On March 13, 2020, I was sitting in a Starbucks off of 121 in the Colony with two friends from my writing group. We met there on Mondays and Fridays to write for a couple of hours (and to get out of the house for a bit).
But that Friday was different. The place was almost empty, as it was becoming clear that the COVID pandemic had reached the US, and cases were popping up in Texas. When I went to the counter to get my drink, the barista confessed that she was terrified of getting it–she couldn’t take time off if she got sick.
When the three of us finished our writing session, we decided that it would be the last time we met at the ‘Bucks until things had improved. At the time I genuinely thought it would maybe be a couple of months at most. I mean, we lived in the United States–the country that came down like a hammer on swine flu and SARS. The CDC had a plan for a pandemic, right? They would be able to get everyone to work together and starve COVID of new victims, no problem.
It’s now one year later, and I haven’t seen either of my friends in person since that day (our writing group started Zoom meetings a few weeks afterwards). In the last year, the universe outside our house has dwindled to five stores, our doctor’s and dentist’s offices, and the vet. We started wearing masks immediately because I had access to a good fitted Fu mask pattern and a shitload of fabric in my quilting stash (wound up making masks for a lot of people until commercial mask production got off the ground). We started washing/sterilizing anything that came in the house from a store, and changed clothes/showered after we got home (I was already a regular handwasher).
We managed to avoid COVID, mainly due to the above actions combined with the facts that we don’t have kids and we both worked from home. Unfortunately, our friends and family weren’t so lucky. Four family members caught it, and we just found out that Ramón’s best friend and his wife caught it in January of this year. Nobody we know in our immediate circle died from it, however, which is a huge blessing.
Finally the vaccines started to become available. As soon as I found out that our county would be offering COVID vaccinations for people in tier 1b (which included us–it’s the first time being fat and having two endocrine disorders worked in my favor), I signed us up. Ramón had his first Moderna vax shot on 3/4/21 while I got my first Pfizer shot on 3/11/21. By mid-April we should both be fully protected. We keep talking about what we want to do after that. Ramón wants to start doing a biweekly date night where we try places we’ve never been to before. First stop will be our favorite Tex Mex restaurant, but after that I’m eyeing some of the Koreatown spots in Carrollton, followed by various Asian restaurants here in Plano.
Me, I want to travel. New Orleans, Cancun, Chicago this summer, maybe even a cruise this winter if it’s safe enough. I want to go on a road trip so badly I can taste it. I daydream about driving to Las Vegas again and enjoying the amazing scenery in New Mexico.
But what I want to do more than anything is just be around people. Sit and people watch, go shopping in a mall, eat in a restaurant–just be around other human beings and settle that primate genetic demand that wants to know where the hell my troop is. I think it may be why I’m having such a hard time writing this year––I’m burned out with being in the house all the time and I need something, anything different. I’m honestly not that much of an extrovert to begin with, but I do enjoy being around people and picking up on the energy of a crowd. I miss that badly, more than I’ve wanted to admit.
By 4/18, both Ramón and I will be fully vaccinated. We’ll still take all necessary precautions when we go out because we know what the vaccine does is make sure we won’t get seriously ill or require hospitalization if we catch COVID. The last thing I want to do right now is be asymptomatic with COVID and pass it on to some poor schmo who isn’t vaccinated. But by God, we will be doing something that week to celebrate. He’s suggested we rent a convertible and go on a day-long ride somewhere. I like that.
First off, we’re okay. I’m a veteran of blizzards so we did a humongous food stock-up for all house residents, we never lost power (we’re three blocks away from a police station and a corner ER so I’m assuming we’re on an essential grid), I shut off the sprinkler system and winterized all the outside taps so they came through without a hitch, and none of the inside pipes burst (although we did have a near miss with the hot water tap upstairs, of all things––luckily Ramón caught it and we left it on stream until the ice clog dissolved. Since that tap is NOT on an outside wall I’m a little confused about what was going on there, but whatever).
The worst thing that happened was spending five days nervous about the possibility of losing power and having a pipe burst, and the fact that our pool vacuum hoses became brittle due to the cold and had to be replaced. Considering how many people I know lost power, or have to replace burst pipes, or wound up with some kind of major residential problem, I will take temporary anxiety and buying new vacuum hoses any day.
Also, I must stress that the fact we came through without any real problems is because we never lost power. If we had, all of the trickling taps in the world wouldn’t have stopped the pipes from freezing due to the extremely cold temperatures. The ironic thing is, the picture in this post shows how much snow we got. Maybe six inches in total? But it wasn’t the snow that wrecked Texas so badly––it was the temperature. Houses down here are simply not set up to handle days of temps below freezing, much less temps that go down to single digits.
On the plus side, I have now ordered a combo tool that will let me unlock the water meter box and shut off the water, so if this ever happens again and we do lose power, we’ll fill up every available jug/tub/bucket/2 liter bottle we have with water, then shut off the sumbitch and drain the pipes. Especially since the Railroad Commission, may the fleas of a thousand camels infest their groin hair, isn’t going to force power companies to winterize their equipment, which would have stopped much of this from happening.
Stores down here are still recovering, but we’re also still eating out of the stock-up I did on 2/10 so we’re good. Ramón picked up some extras on Monday, and I figure I’ll hit the store and the butcher’s tomorrow and do a proper stock-up for the weekend. The stress from the storm cut into my writing because it’s kind of hard to focus on a story when you’re waiting for the power to go out, but the nice weather this week has helped with that. I mean, I spent Tuesday writing on the patio––go figure.
So I have been patiently waiting for science fiction drama The Nevers to come to HBO ever since I learned about it. Superpowered Victorian women in a quasi-steampunk setting? I am so there.
Of course, one of the other draws for me was the fact that Pip Torrens (aka the actor who inspired Shadow of the Swan) would also be in it playing an aloof aristocrat who appears to be aligned against the superpowered women. Hey, I can live with that.
I mentioned this to Ramón, remarking that it was lovely being a romance writer because I could monetize my celebrity crushes. To which Ramón said, “Wait, who is he?”
“Ever watch Preacher?”
“What about the first season of The Crown?”
“Yes, I saw that.”
“Okay, you remember the Queen’s first secretary, Tommy Lascelles? Pip played him.”
“Ah, okay, yes. Him.” He thought for a moment. “You do have a type, don’t you?”
Apparently I do.
Welcome to another edition of Marvelous Monday Reads, darlings! Today I’m featuring E.D. Parr and her wonderful new SF romance Love in Danger, now available from Evernight Publishing and other retailers of fine romance. Take it away, E.D.!
When I wrote Love in Danger, I wanted the story to have a completely different feel to my other stories.
Usually, my stories have the two main characters that are going to fall in love meeting in the first few chapters. Their meeting and falling in love is the story. There is always a happy ending, so often I will give readers a look at their future in a decision to stay together, marry, or a view of how happy they are after being committed partners for some time. I’m a big fan of love at first sight. Readers can blame it on Jane Austen, Shakespeare, and even Dickens to a certain extent.
So what’s different in Love in Danger? The two main romantic heroes are already together as Love in Danger starts. They’re warrior partners and lovers. They’ve been together for some time.
Writing this story with the heroes already in love gave me such pleasure, I might have to write another story where this is the case. (Smiles) The love between Corin and Marcus is obvious, but Corin can’t admit that he loves Marcus by saying the actual words, and that forms the romance ‘conflict’ within the story. This Sci-Fi story has horror themes, and adventure, including events that focus Corin on the need to tell Marcus besides showing him just how much he loves Marcus.
Marcus adores Corin and isn’t afraid to say so. He’s a sweetheart and it shows in how we see him assisting Corin.
Both heroes are special to me. Their origins and courage are epic. Their love is red hot and tender. I don’t know any authors who don’t fall in love with their characters. I always do, so I hope that readers love Corin and Marcus. I hope too, that readers enjoy the inclusion of another warrior in the story, Zeb, who used to be Corin’s lover. He’s a big part of the story without being part of the romance.
I hope readers enjoy Love in Danger as much I loved writing it.
Centuries ago, the planet they cherished was conquered, but now three warriors from an ancient race of gifted beings intend to remedy that.
Lovers, handsome Corin JaKobi and gorgeous Marcus D’Ath are members of an elite planetary squad that rid the city sectors of the mysterious and dangerous Fallen.
When an old friend uncovers the true horrific nature of the elders in the organization they work for, anger at their duplicity drives Corin, Marcus, and rogue squadron hunter Zeb to plan for the ruling group’s demise.
It won’t be easy, and when Marcus is captured and detained at the elders’ pleasure, Corin’s white-hot fury at the thought of losing the man he loves knows no bounds.
Will Corin get to his beloved, Marcus, in time to stop the horror that awaits him?
Can the warriors free the planet and return it to the lovely place it was before the aggressors arrived?
Corin received a call on his communicator just as he and Marcus loaded the crockery from their meal into the dishwasher. He looked over at Marcus as he listened to the order and gave his lover a stare to convey annoyance at the task they’d been given.
Marcus grinned in return at the silent communication and pressed the button on the panel to start the machine.
He leaned on the counter, arms folded, waiting for Corin.
Affection flowed over Corin as he looked at Marcus. He traced the handsome man’s face with appreciative eyes. He walked quickly to his lover, dropped the communicator onto the table as he passed, and slipped his hands around Marcus’s face. He kissed Marcus tenderly, until his lover grabbed his hips and thrust against him with a low moan. Passion surged through Corin and he rained hungry kisses on Marcus’s lips.
He broke to breathe and whisper. “We have a job over in the badlands. Some idiot’s crash landed over there.” Then he kissed Marcus again. He swept his hands along his lover’s shoulders and down his sides to pull off his lover’s soft shirt. Raw sexual need gripped him and he ran his fingers over Marcus’s muscled chest. Little sounds escaped him as Marcus returned his frantic kisses.
Marcus helped pull his shirt off, casting it aside, then resumed kissing Corin. He murmured against Corin’s mouth. “How close are you? I can feel your cock rock hard through your pants.” He bit softly along Corin’s bottom lip and palmed Corin’s erection.
Corin groaned and pushed against Marcus’s hand. The need to come made his voice thick. “Close.” He dotted kisses along Marcus’s bare shoulder breathing in the masculine aura and light rosemary scent of bath soap on his skin. He dropped his hands to between their bodies and opened Marcus’s pants, trembling, hardly able to wait for the feel of his lover’s cock. He dragged the cotton pants down around Marcus’s thighs and curled his fingers around the huge erection that sprang free.
Marcus groaned into his open-mouthed kiss. “Corin … you have no idea what you do to me…” He held the counter edge, leaning back and his dick leaked onto Corin’s thumb.
Corin’s stomach flipped with the feel of the pre-cum on his fingers as he circled the head of Marcus’s cock. He closed his eyes and pumped his lover’s dick, groaning a little at the pleasure that consumed him and pressing his lips to Marcus’s. His own cock leaked and grew so hard he thought he’d come just from the delicious feel of Marcus’s kiss and satin-skinned erection in his hand.
Marcus thrust into his palm. He gripped Corin’s shoulders and rested his forehead on Corin’s as his cum spurted. He moaned and gasped trying to kiss Corin as his hips jerked.
Corin smiled onto Marcus’s lips. He waited for his lover to finish coming and kissed him softly every time he felt a throb run through his lover’s cock.
Marcus slid his hands around Corin’s face and kissed him.
The tenderness in the kiss dropped a blanket of love over Corin. He sighed as Marcus drew away and with a gentle push to move Corin, dropped to his knees.
Where to Buy
About the Author
I write stories that pop into my head and hope that they will resonate with someone. I’d love to think that the love stories I write are what readers want. I don’t think there’s enough love in the world, but even so, my stories are character driven. I always have a happy ending. We all deserve one.
I like to think there’s originality in my work. When I look at the body of my work I see originality within the story plots, but the theme of finding love is always there.
I had to check because for some reason it feels like Sunday to me. My time sense is all screwed up due to the pandemic, and while I usually have the date right I tend to double check on the actual day because Fridays feel like Thursdays and Saturdays feel like Sundays.
In writing news, I’m still working on The Crimson and the Black, finishing up Shifter Woods: Growl, and working on the first chapter of High Tide (Olympic Cove Book 5) because I want to include it as a teaser in the print version of Cross Current. It’s interesting because High Tide is the first and only book in the series where the main protagonist is a woman (Book Six will have Chiron as the main protag), so I’m approaching the story from a different mindset than any of the other books in the series.
Now, don’t worry––there’s still lots of hot guy-on-guy action (I mean, she walks in on her merman and satyr agapetos fooling around in the rental cottage she’s supposed to be getting ready for a renter. I ask you. And yes, she works for the mysterious Marcia Kuttner, which means that she’s going to be thrown into the deep end on page 1). But having a female lead gives me more of a chance to look at Olympic Cove and the events going on there from a woman’s point of view. It’s kind of cool, to be honest. In any case High Tide will be out at the end of April, so you can see then if I did a good job with it.
In personal news I have done my wifely duty (get your mind out the gutter, it’s reserved for me) and cut Ramón’s hair. The last time I did this was in June, so it had gotten to the point where I could have put it in a Viking braid, limed it, and sent him out to sack Frisco.
Which might not have been a bad idea, come to think of it.
But he is now back to his usual high and tight style (I even trimmed his neck and ear lines with the T trimmer), and is happy that he no longer looks like a cross between Doc Brown and the Unabomber.
The J Crew, however, stared at the pile of hair on the floor very accusingly. I’m guessing the English translation is, “And you people complain about the amount of hair WE leave? You could knit a new cat out of what Dad just shed.”
The other new thing in the house is the king-sized Purple mattress which replaced our 8-year-old mattress. Despite being delivered on Thursday, it’s currently sitting in the dining room in a tightly rolled package because neither of us wanted people in the house and assumed we could get it up the stairs ourselves.
Yeah, no. The mattress weighs 206 pounds. We gave it the old college try, but when I was on the verge of blowing out ShitKnee and he started to tear a ab muscle I called it off. A moving company is sending out three husky young men with shoulder straps on Monday to haul it up to the bedroom, and I’m more than happy to pay for the service.
In the meantime we’re sleeping on an air mattress because the delivery guys hauled away our old mattress (that, we carried down ourselves on Thursday) and the difference in sleep quality is notable. I don’t feel like I’ve been beaten all night, and Ramón’s sinuses have cleared up remarkably and he’s waking up feeling much more refreshed. That being said, this is one of those extra thick air mattresses with a built-in pump that are meant to sit on the floor and act as a guest bed. The fact that it’s sitting on our box spring makes getting into bed an adventure (translation: I kinda have to vault up to get onto it), and I find myself sleeping very carefully because if I roll off the edge at that height I will be breaking a hip.
Nevertheless, I’m sleeping well, my pain levels are going down, energy levels are going up, and I’m feeling a lot more compos mentis during the day. If the Purple turns out to be as comfortable as I think it’ll be, I may well wind up getting a lot more done this year.