Saturday, October 15, 2016

“There’s enough here to kill everybody..." The Case of the Dead #Dowager @JudithLucci #RPBP #IARTG


The Michaela McPherson Mystery Series
by Best Selling Author 


Get this new series for just 99 cents!
The Case of Dr. Dude 
&
The Case of The Dead Dowager 
Both available for the special price of 99c/99p!
The Case of the Dead Dowager: 
A Michaela McPherson Mystery Book II 
(Michaela McPherson Crime Thrillers 2)




The Case of Dr Dude: 

A Michaela McPherson Mystery 

(Michaela McPherson Mysteries Book 1)

Get this new series starter for just 99 cents!

About The Books
A young woman disappears after a job interview at a 

well-known dentist’s office in Richmond, Virginia and retired homicide detective Michaela McPherson, along with her close friend, the aging Countess Dorothy Borghase, and Richmond police join forces to solve the crime. This case pits them against evil and greed armed with tentacles that span continents and generations.

http://bit.ly/ViewDrDude


What Price Must a City Pay to Keep its Citizen's Safe?
A lunch gathering of old friends at Richmond’s historic Hotel Jefferson finds Countess Dottie Borghase dialing 911 to report the sudden collapse of her dear friend, Camilla. The subsequent death of Camilla Rothrock, the mother of decorated U.S. Army General Stuart Rothrock, has authorities buzzing with concerns about international safety and retaliation.

When other restaurants have patrons succumb to similar illnesses and death, the Richmond Police, local FBI and their Washington profilers assist Michaela and Dottie in the chase of two nefarious and heinous mass murderers without souls or conscious.


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The Case of the Dead Dowager 

A Michela McPherson Mystery 



Chapter 1 
“Perfecto, this stuff looks flawless,” Boris said in his thickly accented voice as he held a test tube to the light. The Russian smiled broadly, his thin lips stretched across his decayed teeth and skeletal face. The light from the window outlined his permanently crushed, but healed anterior skull that gave him the look of the monster he truly was. He agitated the test tube between his fingers and re-examined its contents. It was a masterpiece. “There’s enough here to kill everybody in Yankee Stadium and all the cops in Richmond,” he predicted from his tall, though stooped height of six feet, five inches. He reached for a small glass container and transferred a portion of the five gallons to a laboratory beaker. He held the larger quantity up to the window and examined the liquid. “And look, there’s no residue in the bottom and the fluid is perfectly clear.” He turned around to his partner and gushed, “Perfecto, my tovarich, perfecto!”

Snake laughed and clapped his partner on the back. “Way to go, tall guy. Good deal. You know we gotta maximize our efforts. Neither one of us wants to work hard or take extra chances, especially now since they’re lookin’ for me anyway.” Snake moved closer to the glass carboy and smiled as he saw the colorless, odorless and tasteless five gallon drum of liquid. “Man, that looks good. Does it have a smell?”

Boris bent his shiny, bald head forward and sniffed deeply. “No, not that I can tell. I can’t smell anything, but I haven’t got a good nose anyway. “You give it a sniff and see what you think,” he said as he gestured towards the liquid.

Snake moved next to the large glass container and noticed additional small beakers and test tubes of fluid sitting to the side. Each container was labeled and numbered. “You must’ve been a hell of a chemist back in the day,” he remarked as he finger-combed his greasy black hair off his face. Sometimes he wore it in a ponytail but he hadn’t pulled it back today. He bent over and sniffed the carboy. “Nah. Nothing.” He shook his head and said, “I can’t smell nuthin’ either. Good job, my man,” he said enthusiastically, a slow smile spreading across his swarthy, pockmarked face. “You’re a real scientist.”

Boris lit a cigarette, coughed and said, “Man, you have no idea of the stuff I can do. You ain’t seen nothing. I got more killing recipes than Carter’s got little liver pills.” He smiled ominously and showed his rotten teeth. Snake felt a tinge run up his spine. This guy even looked like the monster his reputation claimed he was. He decided to watch himself carefully around Boris and never give him the upper hand.

Snake nodded, “Yeah. Well, I got plenty of chances to see your talents this week!” Once again he checked out his partner and sized him up. He was a dangerous, unpredictable, scary dude.

“Yeah, but I’m never tellin’ you much,” Boris assured him. “There’ll most likely be one day I’ll wanna kill you,” he admitted, the broad grin again slicing through his pale, skeletal face. This guy’s serious. He is crazy.

Snake ignored him and brushed invisible lint off the front of his blue scrubs. “Shut-up man. No need for talk like that.” He knew Boris was a madman, totally wacko. His handlers had told him to be careful. But the money had been too good to pass up and besides, he could take good care of himself. His reputation spoke for him. He had no idea who his bosses were and little was known about the Russian scientist. Rumor suggested he’d long been a mortal enemy of the United States and other stories suggested he was an assassin. Snake didn’t want to push the point. He picked up the container of fluid and placed it in front of him, his face a mask of evil.

“You know what, Boris, old man, I’m thinking we can wipe out an army… or at least a police force with this stuff. Whatdaya think?” He gave him a half smile.

Boris stared at him, his cold grey eyes, bony face and crushed skull glistened in the low light from the barred windows. His eyes roamed the room to the large aquarium that housed all kinds of prickly fish and marine life. The huge tank glowed eerily in the fading light. Boris stared at his fish fondly and gave Snake a strange look and said in a quiet voice, “Of course we can. I already said that. What do you think the plan is?”

Chapter 2 

“Dottie, where did you get that marvelous Italian leather bag? I’d die for one like that,” Camilla Rothrock gushed in her drawn out Alabama accent. “I’ve just gotta have one.”

Dottie held up her newest leather pocketbook so all of her best friends could ooh and ah over it. “I had it made especially for me in Italy,” she bragged. The bag was beautiful, soft and buttery between her fingers. “I really love it. Look, it has a special gun pocket stitched in so I can carry my very own Glock,” she said proudly as she pulled her gun holster out of her purse and swiftly returned it before anyone noticed.

Margaret Massie glared from her from across the round table. “Oh for heaven’s sake, Dottie! Give it a rest! Whatever do you need to carry a gun around for? We’re a bunch of old ladies. No one is gonna mess with us,” she admonished as she rolled her eyes and batted her false eyelashes at her best friend of many years. “We’re hardly ever left on our own.” She glowered as her friend.

“Margaret Massie, how can you possibly be so short-sighted?” The Countess Dorothy Borghase exclaimed, disgust evident on her aging, but still lovely face. She flipped her head and a long piece of silver-white hair escaped from her elegant chignon. “After all you’ve been through?” She stared at her friend in disbelief and continued, “That’s precisely the reason we need to pack some heat. Because we are old and weak and can’t run as fast. We’re sitting ducks for most of the bad guys out there.”

Margaret squinted her eyes and frowned at her. “Pack some heat? Really. You sound like you’re in a …” Margaret paused for a moment and looked at her friends, “what do they call it, a gang. What is it? Gangsta talk, or however you say it?” she added sarcastically. As the wife of one of the wealthiest men in Virginia and a blueblood from birth, Margaret didn’t know much about gangs or crime. “But still, Dottie… really, a handmade purse… from Italy, nonetheless, especially designed for your gun? Puhleeze. That’s ridiculous, a bit over the top, wouldn’t you agree, Kathryn?” Margaret asked as she glanced over at Kathryn Lee who was watching her friends an amused look on her face.

Kathryn Lee of Wyndley Farm in Hanover County laughed, her blue eyes crinkling in the corners as she smiled over her water goblet at her friends of many years. Kathryn was the wife of law and order politician Congressman Adam Patrick Lee of Virginia and she clearly had an opinion. She was one of the best target shooters around and could shoot better than most men. She opened her mouth to respond when Dottie interrupted her.

Dottie rearranged one of the intricate wire combs holding her classic up do in place. Her silver hair gleamed under the brass and crystal chandelier in Lamaire Restaurant at Richmond’s historical Hotel Jefferson. “I didn’t design it just for my gun,” she said defensively. “I designed it for my cell phone, my makeup, for the color of the leather, the intricate stitching, the design, and beyond that, the label,” she replied in a snarky voice. Dottie paused for a moment and added, “Besides Vitrio Lanbrucci has been designing fine leather for the Borghase family for over a hundred years.”

Margaret rolled her eyes and turned to Kathryn. “So, Kathryn, what do you think? I know you’d tried to answer my question a few minutes ago,” she said pointedly as she turned to stare at Dottie, “but the Countess forgot her manners. Don’t you think Dottie’s gun purse is a little over the top?” Really,” she opined, a smirk on her face.

Kathryn opened her mouth to answer when Dottie interrupted again, her vivid blue eyes wide with concern. She stared at Camilla who looked strange, frightened, actually. Her pupils were wide and she seemed unable to speak.

“Camilla, whatever is the matter with you? Your face is flushed and your eyes are enormous. Are you ill?” Dottie asked as she rose from her seat.

Kathryn was alarmed as well since Camilla was unable to respond. Her eyes stared wildly at them and she opened her mouth but no words came out. Suddenly, she fell forward, and her head lolled on the table.

“Kathryn, call 911 on your phone. She must’ve had a stroke of something,” Dottie commanded as her heart raced with fear. It could be my head lying on the table and not Camilla’s. Life seemed very precious to Dottie at that second. I sure don’t wanna die in Lamaire restaurant in the Hotel Jefferson. What a spectacle that would be! Of course, she knew Camilla’s didn’t either and as she stood by her friend, tears popped into her eyes. I’ll have to call General Rothrock and tell him something dreadful has happened to his mother.

Kathryn flagged a waiter and moved closer to Camilla’s chair and checked her pulse. She could barely feel it as it was weak and irregular. Kathryn looked into Camilla’s eyes and her pupils that were huge and dark, liquids pools of fluid that saw nothing. Her face was flushed and red.

A moment later, a young waitress carrying a huge serving tray staggered forward and then fell to the floor, spilling food, water and wine all over the oriental carpet. She lay prone and unresponsive.

“Make that two ambulances,” Dottie motioned to the maitre’d who was on his way over.
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Friday, October 14, 2016

"The crowd went berserk."~'Every Single Part Of You' by @LSJRomance #Audio #Sample #RPBP


~Every Single Part of You~
Cinder, Book 1 Unchained Chaos Tour
Written by London Saint James
Narrated by La Petite Mort and Ruby Rivers 
Listening time: 7 hrs and 56 mins 
Genre: Contemporary Erotic Romance, M/F/M Ménage, Rockers
Please Note: This book contains mature themes, includes explicit language and sexual scenes.


Our choices are rarely cut and dry.
Sara: As the daughter of Senator and presidential hopeful Jentsen Holbrook, I spent a good deal of my life under public scrutiny. What I wore. Where I went. Who I dated. It was just the way of things. I’d become what was expected of me, until I ran from my obligations and woke up one morning in Cross de Raven’s and Eryk Hale’s world, two hot guitarists from the mega-famous metal band, Cinder. For the first time, freedom to be myself was within my reach. And along with that? Inevitable scandal.

Eryk: True beauty walked into my life, more beauty than I ever deserved. I partied hard. Rocked harder. I wasn’t good enough to touch Sara’s petal-soft skin, hold on tight, or love her, but regardless of my bad boy ways, no one was going to stop me from trying.

Cross: Sometimes, no matter how hard we fight for what we want, love won't save the day, and truth doesn't always set you free. Then again… Maybe, just maybe, when you find the one you’ve been searching for, love can find a way.

Listen To A Sample
Direct Link: https://soundcloud.com/londonsj/every-single-part-of-you-audio-sample

BUY THE AUDIO BOOK HERE: 



Download for free when you sign up for an Audible 30-day free trial

Direct Links:
Audible: http://www.audible.com/pd/Erotica-Sexuality/Every-Single-Part-of-You-Unchained-Chaos-Tour-Audiobook/B01LYVW9AN/
Audible UK: http://www.audible.co.uk/pd/Erotica/Every-Single-Part-of-You-Unchained-Chaos-Tour-Audiobook/B01LWY2EUG/
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Every-Single-Part-You-Unchained/dp/B01M15X69V/
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Every-Single-Part-You-Unchained/dp/B01LZ80LDQ/
iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/audiobook/every-single-part-you-unchained/id1157108131


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Holy cow. The energy swirling through the dimly lit Tacoma Dome was a living, pulsing entity unlike anything I’d experienced before. Twenty thousand-plus people packed the space, chanting, “Cinder! Cinder!” while holding lighters and cellphones in the air, so many it was as if millions of fireflies took flight.

Briar and I stood in the VIP section with our after party passes—the wide logoed bracelets on our wrists—completely surrounded by warm bodies. Our bellies were being pressed into the barrier separating us from the security personnel outlining the front of the stage. Cobalt blue laser lights danced and smoke rolled like fog, making the details of the stage hard to see, even from our close vantage point.

Leaning into me, Briar placed her forehead to mine and smiled wide. “Isn’t this fucking awesome?”

“It is,” I agreed.

“You two going to slip each other the tongue?” some guy hollered from behind us.

Briar turned, giving him her signature hip cock—are you serious?—lift of brow. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Hell yes.”

She flipped him a not so elegant bird. “Kiss this, asshat.”

“Bri,” I admonished, ready to throw myself in front of her if the guy went ballistic, but he laughed and turned his attention to the stage.

In front of us, shadows moved. The whine of a discordant guitar, followed by a “Ba-bump. Ba-bump,” reverberated from the domed ceiling.

“Oh my God!” Briar screeched in my ear as she latched on to my blouse, practically jumping in place, and almost removing the short, fluttery sleeve in the process. “This is it, babe.”

An unbelievably deep voice bellowed out a war cry that mixed into the sound of rumbling thunder and vibrated the floor beneath me.

Multiple LED screens lit up the entire backstage with a picture show of a churning fire, followed by devastating nuclear explosions. Along the side of the stage, real flames and sparks shot into the air as a shirtless man, half-surrounded by a massive set of drums, lowered from above on a lit platform—muscled arms working, leg tapping.

The crowd went wild.

“That’s Sayer Adler,” Bri yelled near my ear. “Isn’t he gorgeous?”

I looked at the man pounding out a wicked beat, and decided—with his mussed, dark hair with platinum blond tips, sporting long sideburns highlighting a strong jaw, and a sculpted upper body covered in colorful tattoos—he was striking.

A huge flash of light and perfectly timed kaboom went off, drawing my gaze. As the smoke cleared, another member of the band came into view. “That’s Kris Kline. The bassist,” my bestie informed. Then two more men, with fingers flying over their respective guitars appeared together, leaning back to back within their own light show. “The hottie with the mirrored sunglasses and black tour beanie on his head is Cross de Raven. He’s lead guitar. And the other, Mr. I’d-do-him-in-a-heartbeat, is Eryk Hale, rhythm guitarist.”

The two of them had this inexplicable sensuality about them in the way they swayed together, which pretty much kept my attention trained on them until the last guy rose up from an opening in the floor, reminiscent of a leather-clad gladiator stopping center stage, causing the two guitarists to break apart—one going left, the other right.

Beside me, Briar wolf-whistled.

“Shit, yeah! I love you, Fade,” she screamed at the top of her lungs. Then my friend, never one to mince words, flashed sparkling eyes at me. “I so want to have that man’s baby!”

With a saucy wink, she returned her attention back to the action, threw her arm in the air, her fingers making devil horns, and started rocking her head, long hair swishing about her face.

The vocalist curled his ring-covered fingers around a freestanding microphone that looked like a burnt, twisted twig of a tree sprouting up in front of him, which he uprooted. I tried to soak in the experience as he did this combination of singing and screaming about annihilation. The lights, the sound, the penetrating vibrations, the feel of bodies in motion, and the way the members of Cinder worked every square inch of the stage was mesmerizing. I didn’t know much if anything about metal music, but it was clear they were talented.

Cross ground out an amazing sound on his guitar, palm sliding across the neck, fingers on the frets—his instrument dropping down between his muscular thighs as he lunged. Pure, euphoric pleasure emanated from his handsome face, and a vivid image of him having hot, sweaty, sheet-clawing sex came to mind.

What in the heck is wrong with me?

I pushed the naughty thoughts aside and tore my gaze away from the guitar god, focusing on Eryk, only to find him making love to his guitar. Gah! I needed to get my mind out of the gutter.

Focus on something else.

I watched the drummer again. Slipped my attention to Fade. Moved my gaze over to the bassist. I also returned to watching Cross and Eryk. If they kept up their current high-powered pace of stomping, jumping, and leg lunges throughout the duration of the concert, they’d never need to darken a gym, because they were doing some killer cardio.

When the song ended, Fade bellowed, “How are you tonight, Tacoma?” in a gravelly voice.

The crowd went berserk.


You can find the ebook here:


You can find the paperback here:
Add on Goodreads


Direct Links:Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01FOHLNOA
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01FOHLNOA
Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B01FOHLNOA
ARe: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-everysinglepartofyou-2040631-340.html
Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/every-single-part-of-you
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/30089858-every-single-part-of-you
Coming Soon from London http://www.londonsaintjames.com/coming-soon.html


AUTHOR CHAT
I had the pleasure of being able to do an 'Author Chat' with the two people who made this audiobook happen and brought all my colorful characters to life; La Petite Mort & Ruby Rivers.
You can listen to that chat by clicking here.

Direct Link to the author chat: https://soundcloud.com/londonsj/lsj-author-chat-with-la-petite-mort-ruby-rivers


***Giveaway***

Giveaway runs from 9/26/16 to 10/26/16



London will be giving away a $20 Amazon GC & a signed paperback copy of Every Single Part of you to one lucky winner. To be eligible to win, enter the Rafflecopter below. 



Tell us about London
I love: Coca-Cola, anything chocolate, reading, writing, singing, dancing, movies, listening to thunder storms, watching it rain, the mountains, the ocean, orchids, great smiles, and guys with brooding eyes and great scowls. Oh. I should probably mention I write erotic romance (mostly) although I have one or two sweet romances bopping around out there in the great big world of published books.

If you want to know a little bit more about me, you can find me on social media, you know, Facebook, Twitter and such.

Here’s a few of my stalking links:
Website: http://www.londonsaintjames.com
Blog: http://londonsj.blogspot.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/LSJRomance
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LSJRomance/
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/LSJRomance
Slip Between the Pages with London Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/6P2on

"A seductive and magnificent read! Loved it!"~Final Installment of the #RPBP character Series~A Harem Boys Saga~#Memoir by Young~#LGBTQ @aharemboysaga

Welcome to the final post of our four week character development blog series! 
Who's Your Favorite Character???
'Turpitude'~Book IV from 
~A Harem Boy's Saga~
A Memoir by Young


Praise for 'Turpitude'

"A seductive and magnificent read! Loved it!"

~Mandus

"The sizzling and sordid journey of a young man becoming exposed to the forbidden. I see the young man confront these challenges with an unwavering perseverance. Not typically my genre but enjoyed it."

~Marc

"Sensual awakening and adventure in exotic lands...

Quite a delightful addition to the series and definitely the best one yet! They keep getting better. Can't wait for book five. If you like insightful memoir, a trip down history lane, sensual awakening and adventure in exotic lands, then this is definitely the series for you. Best to read these books in order, though. Highly recommended."

~Jacintha Topaz


"An Exotic~Erotic Life Described in Brilliant Rich Detail...


Close your eyes and imagine a world vibrant with color, a banquet for the senses, exotic, erotic, a sumptuous indulgence fulfilling your every desire. Imagine it draped in beauty: beautiful fabrics, opulent jewelry, romantic locales from around the world where whatever you desire can be yours if you are a beautiful boy. Do that and you have entered the world of Bernard Foong who has chronicled his life in a series of books titled A Harem Boy’s Saga, an other-worldly lavish diary of a young boy indoctrinated into the world of a underground sexual society. As Westerners, we will be shocked by the revelations, the peek behind the secret veils, which would normally strike us as inappropriate, bordering abusive but quickly striped of our predisposed notions, we slip luxuriously into the world of lavish opulence and a love story of exciting proportions which is the author’s life. A very accomplished and talented designer, Mr. Foong uses his complete design palette to describe his life in elegant, flowing words richly and artistically strung together like opulent jewels to describe the canvas of his life in rich, vibrant, magnificent palatable color. Oh, to have lived such a life. The sheer read of Turpitude, the fourth book in the series, is a spectacular indulgence in the series you dare not deny yourself."

~PA Jiuditta

Turpitude is the fourth book to A Harem Boy’s Saga, a provocative story about a young man who was initiated into a clandestine sexual society through his UK boarding school. From there, he was spirited to the Middle East to attend the Bahriji (Oasis) School in The United Arab Emirates in preparation for Harem services for the wealthy elite.

It is also a love story between the young man, his ‘Big Brother,’ and his ‘Valet,’ who served as his chaperones and mentors.

This book follows the teenagers’ erotic and exotic adventures and experiences at their fourth Arabian Household, the Assalamu Alaikum (Peace Be with You) Harem. There, they became confidants to a sheik, assistants to his numerous international ventures, especially that of a film production: “Kāmasūtra - Lover’s Tale.” The teenagers continue to apprentice and model in a controversial photography project, “Sacred Sex in Sacred Places.”

This story is an account of the author’s experiences. Through these truths, often demonized by contemporary societies that deem such behaviors inappropriate, the author hopes to dispel condemnation and negativity related to sexuality, love, and personal freedom.

A Harem Boy’s Saga series - Film Contract has been secured with an independent UK Producer, operating in Hollywood.

Get Your Copy of 'Turpitude' Today! getBook.at/Turpitude

Learn More About Young: Click Here


~Episode Four~
Who Is Victor?
The Spaniard Señor Victor Angel Triqueros, my private tutor at the Assalamu Alaikum household was quick of wit, agile of mind and lithe of physique. An enlightened man in the art of spirituality, sensuality and sexuality, this handsome specimen was my mentor while stationed at Sheik Fahrib and Tad’s (5th household) residences. A quiet man of a few words, yet when he spoke, valuable lessons were heeded by those that acknowledged his wise locutions.

I continue to hold this noble professor in the highest esteem and his deliveries with unabated reverence. Victor was a beautiful man both in and out. He amassed much respect from me and my Valet during the 6 months we spent together. I could easily fall head-over-heals in love with the Señor but alas, our relationship was that of pupil and educator, even-though there were occasions when the lines blurred as we partook in orgiastic fest such as that described in this excerpt: “Norway of Arabia”.

“Remember, Young, we are here to serve, not to fall in love.” This was one of his many advice that remained etched in my mind to this day:
~"Norway Of Arabia"~
“Sex is emotion in motion.”
Mae West
Our helicopter flew towards the picturesque Musandam Dibba Al Hisn, a hidden pene exclave that belonged to Sharjah but was located within the Sultanate of Oman (and which the Omanis referred to as the ‘Norway of Arabia’). I was awed by the imposing mountains and the rugged coastline that surrounded the fertile Gulf of Oman, where colorful marine life swam placidly within this aquamarine sanctuary.
It was of little wonder that Fahrib chose this haven to dock his competitive vessel in readiness for his upcoming Acapulco race. His luxury sailboat was primed and ready for us when we arrived at the marina.
In normal circumstances, Fahrib’s crew would be at the ready to set sail as soon as their commander-in-chief gave them a thumb up. In this instance, the crew members consisted of Jabril, Victor, Andy, me, and a handsome Arabian compadre of the sheik whom I had not met before. When our host introduced him as Tad, he said, “My sailing buddy here is a ‘gift from Allah.’”
The man riposted jestingly. “Are you referring to yourself, Fahrib?” before he gave our captain a fraternal hug. The Arabs laughed at their insider’s joke while we looked on with befuddlement, though I would soon discover that this man was indeed a gift to any who had the opportunity to experience his sexual prowess.
As I stood watching our attractive crew get the boat in motion, a sense of freedom overcame me. Suddenly, it dawned on me why my Master kept coming to the “Norway of Arabia” – not only to get away from his nagging wives, but most importantly, to disappear from the madding crowd and from his public identity.
This narrow entryway that protrudes into the Strait of Hormuz and into the Persian Gulf from the Arabian Peninsula had given rise to a hidden paradise, a place for the unsolicitous to rediscover equilibrium within their harrowed souls. It was a safe haven for the next in line to the throne to set aside what was expected of him and to simply be a man whose carnal desire happens to be for his own sex. In us he’d found valiant camaraderie, a roborant masculinity as old as ancient Hellenism and as new as contemporary bromance.
As soon as we were out of sight of dry land, Tad advocated we strip bare to enhance our seafaring experience. Jabril seconded his motion, followed by our commander-in-chief. We E.R.O.S. recruits had no qualms being naked, and neither did Victor, who was an ex Enlightened Royal Oracle Society member.
As each of us revealed our nakedness, Sharjah’s cover-ups and pretexts seemed to tumble away. I felt liberated from society’s constraints as my last item of clothing was discarded.
The sheik’s playful bon mot with his pal certainly proved true when he revealed all of himself. Tad’s and Fahrib’s imposing looks, combined with their formidable endowments, were impressive to behold. I couldn’t help but steal secret glances at their ‘Allah’s gifts to mankind.’ They were not just majestic in girth but resplendent in length, even when flaccid. Any hot-blooded male or female to witness such plumpness would undoubtedly deem my perception accurate. It was of little wonder our captain’s wives craved their husband’s attention.
Comfortable in our skins, we cruised along the majestic mountains, the sweltering sun beating upon the fjords of Oman. The steamy crew had fuelled my heightened libido as my erection bobbed to the rhythmic motion of the rocking boat. We made no effort to hide our arousal as we worked tirelessly at our assigned chores.
Captain Fahrib had assigned me as an assistant steerage to Tad, the red-hot Arabian helmsman. My job was to help him keep the boat’s wheel in check so wind wouldn’t steer the vessel off course. He said jokingly while studying a map, “Ready about… hard-a-lee?”
I stared at him, befuddled. He laughed at my nautical ignorance.
“What? What did you say?” I queried in all seriousness.
He smiled wryly at my erection before answering, “Don’t be embarrassed by your excitement. We sailors are in tune with nature’s wonders.” He made no effort not to look at my length. He resumed, “Even though we take japes at nautical idioms when sailing in the buff.” He gave me a cursory look.
Up until this juncture, I’d had no idea that the helmsman was an accomplished member of the sheik’s sailing team, bound for the 1968 Summer Olympics, not to mention being a champion polo player and a titlist camel racer.
I gave the man a comely smile before inquiring, “What’s hard-a-lee?”
Instead of responding, he tapped my erection, which bounced uncontrollably. His hardness had grown during our flirtatious intercourse, its bulbaceous size stirring my concupiscence to flutter as his sturdy hand stroked me into a dizzying spell. He pulled me to him, French kissing me passionately. Spellbound by his erotic expertise, I lost all sense of propriety. The feel of his bearded chin and hairy chest spawned my stiffness to drum incessantly against his furry torso.
I had desired this sinewy helmsman from the moment we met. When he gave me the traditional nose-to-nose greeting, he’d stared at me unflinchingly. He had claimed my person with his assertive eyes then; now, thrills of chilling excitement coursed through my body as he cupped and squeezed my buttocks, teasing my tenderness with his manly hands. He inserted his fingers into my opening, claiming my cloven his.
As we continued our alluring foreplay, the boat had drifted into an aquiline cove. It was then that I noticed my beloved Andy observing us by the doorway. My Valet gave me his approval to continue appeasing the beguiling athlete as he stared, mesmerized, at our erotic performance. He, like me, was entranced by Tad’s virility. He was witnessing a reflective manifestation of our intimate moments together in which I had surrendered myself fully to his maleness, as I did now to the helmsman.
My chaperone needed no invitation. He knelt to suckle our thumping palpitations simultaneously as we jabbed into his craving throat. This hallowed ecstasy intensified my hunger for both men. Just then, I felt a pair of hairy arms pinching my bristled nipples from behind. The sheik’s sultry lips caressed my tender neck, seducing me into his web of libidinous captivity. While his jouncing member knocked at my doorway to paradise, I couldn’t help but succumb to this jubilant exultation, when another stimulation seized my searing soul, propelling me into an inferno of pleasurable jouissance.
Jabril’s epicurean tongue rimmed at my anal receptacle before jabbing into my tunnel of love with abandon. His commanding lividity drove my tilting pelvis to receive slivers of his dripping saliva. He was preparing me for the feast of the gods. And I was delighted to suffice.
Much like my Valet relishing the helmsman’s mightiness, Victor devoured the captain’s prowess with avid ferocity. Spittle of beaming wetness coated their organs.
Tad led me above deck while the men followed suit. Pulling me atop a comfortable mattress, I straddled the athlete with aplomb, kissing his succulent mouth with wanton fervency. Quivers of euphoric rhapsody surged through my body when his tumid avidity eased into my passageway of forbidden love. His bouncing gyrations commingled with my lustful kisses brought our hankering spirits into a unified entity. Just as this newfound vivacity took hold, I felt another force in my core. This elevated double entry catapulted me into an uncharted and blissful realm.
The captain and the champion tantalized my tightness with symmetrical cadences as we tangoed to the rhythm of the lapping waves. Tad’s provocative expertise, coalescing with Fahrib’s rousing mastery, hurled my frenzied soul to an intensified crescendo of erotic gratification.
Rainbows of aesthetic enthusiasm flashed before me as Andy and Victor mirrored one another as the Levantine lowered himself onto their throbbing hardness simultaneously. He was at once in agony and ecstasy before his misshapen expression transformed into gleeful entrancement. Heaving sighs of euphoric relief, he accommodated both obelisks with pride.
It was within this circle of debauchery, we effectuated our erotic dance, answering only to the call of the wild. When our prurient desires took hold, we exchanged partners until we had our fill of proliferated succor.
As I rode their ferocities with tumultuous savagery, fanatical flashes of electrifying potencies crashed within me, launching my deliverance over and above my partner’s head. The smashing waves of their burgeoning cogency coated my inner walls, stuffing my core to overflowing capacity.
Before I could attain equilibrium, their relinquishing appetites had triggered another round of firing deposits - Tad’s unrelenting kisses brought on my second cumming while their stiffness continued to rock me into oblivion. Squirts of their molten love burst into the hub of my fervent mortality as I surrendered to this heavenly joyance with blissful contentment.
While the helmsman and the captain took turns lapping up the brimming remnants they had lodged within my willing burrow, I swathed their leaking appendages with ardent gusto before sharing our fill in a three-way kiss.
When I finally looked over at our adjoining trio, they too were apportioning their feed, as we had a moment ago.
At last, we plunged into the cooling aqua, cleansing all traces of our man-to-man love before heading back whence we came.



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Monday, October 10, 2016

A Journey With An Artist~Inspiration to make her life her own~@pamporos #RPBP #Bookworm #ASMSG

In case you missed it!
GREEKSCAPES: An Illustrated Journey with an Artist
by 
Pamela Jane Rogers


As her marriage in the U.S. dissolves into puddles of remorse, the author's paintings impregnate the seed of her most creative self. The rebirth leads to her brilliant painting mentor, and then by a twist of fate, on a flight to Greece, asking herself, "What can I paint here?" After a swim in the Aegean Sea and an extraordinary epiphany in an olive grove, Pamela is inspired to relaunch her life's journey. But to leave family and friends, move to a foreign country, and face possible failure? Yes, it might be tempting the Fates for a middle-aged woman on her own with minimal resources to believe that she can still realize her dreams, yet it's certainly worth a try.
CHAPTER 9
Epiphany

As soon as I’m on the path, the soft beat of a drum brush is audible. It’s the rustling together of the silver-green leaves and tiny fruits of the olive trees, I realize, as I stop to listen more carefully to the sound while focusing on the tree before me. My gaze follows the limbs reaching up and up, looking ever so much like silver-tipped paintbrushes dipping into the palette of a dense cobalt blue of the sky, then back down, down to the olive clusters.It’s so powerful and simply beautiful!

Mentally painting it all, I crouch under the lowest branches to lean my portfolio against the tree. With both hands I caress the gnarled trunk, scarred with many seasons of growing, pruning and more growth until its fruit is ready to be picked to make olive oil. That’s all I know about olive trees, other than the myth of Athena planting the first one at the Acropolis. I must learn more!

Walking further into the grove, I move slowly around each tree. They’ve been planted in a haphazard way and each olive, each limb, each leaf, is completely unique. How long ago were they planted, and which was the first? Every small thing appears miraculous to me today,like seeing again after wearing blinders for years. The sound of the rustling leaves is intoxicating. The sky is a cerulean comforter softly tossed from above to warm the resting earth; a rich and musky earth becoming a luscious and tempting mattress.

Before logic battles sensation to its death, I kneel easily and unselfconsciously stretch out on the ground. My eyes explore the sky as my body lies comfortably on the bare, sensual earth. After some quietness it seems perfectly acceptable to close my eyes andbask in the moment. I breathe deeply.

I’m moving into the earth, earthworms existing below me, exchanging my human body for one of the eyeless creatures burrowing into the soil, satisfied to be in the quiet darkness, digesting slowly all that comes, moving from that space slowly on and on to digest more and there is always more, feeling the way through the moist earth into a brilliant lightness now. It’s all the same, dark and light, and there is no fear, no danger. Time is irrelevant. All is now!

Eternity stretches on and on, not as a dream but in another consciousness, a meditation on the possibilities in this realm of pure contentment and divine serenity. Inching through the soil, an earthworm with many hearts, able to grow many more hearts in the timelessness of eternal space. This simplicity where each creature is exactly as it must be. What it is and where it is—not right or wrong—there is increasing entropy and then there is balance, all reflected in life, minute parts of a never-ceasing oneness with all that lives. It is all happening at once and it is all perfect, with compassion for and awareness of everything living and everything that has lived, pure gratefulness for the intrinsic munificence of every tiny creature resting in this place, sublime transcendence to the acceptance of life in all its variety, feeling completely devoted to and intimate with the universe, giving in to whatever it brings, with no fear of living and at the same moment, total acceptance of death.

I sense the joy increasing in this void and my understanding is complete: death is the opposite side of life as well as the beginning,with a blissful acceptance of all major opposites as the only natural balance. Lost outside myself, I’m linked to another place of primordial existence outside of any time and space I’ve known!

Only images remain from this most joyous and powerful experience of being transcended to complete peace; a total trust that all is as it must be, beyond words, beyond life and death and into eternity. I have been aware of nothing other than the inexplicable sensationof feeling profoundly and completely enveloped in this spirit of love and gratefulness as my body lies on the earth—until I feel a hot, moist breath on my face.

An amazing odyssey
By Phil Hellene on 7 Oct. 2016


"Talented American artist Pamela Jane Rogers wears her heart on her sleeve in this excellent memoir. It’s A PERSONAL ODYSSEY FROM HEARTACHE TO HAPPINESS, as the author bravely escapes from a claustrophobic marriage in North Carolina and begins a new life on the Greek island of Poros. The paperback edition is a beautiful book, sprinkled with Pamela’s exquisite watercolour paintings of Greece. Highly recommended."


Deep insight to not only her contagious and courageous love of life and Greece
By Sue MacDougall on 9 August 2016



"Pamela has gave me a deep insight to not only her contagious and courageous love of life and Greece, which I relate to myself. Just a wonderful read about life on a Greek Island and about her art work too. I have gone back to reading it a second time..."
Get Your Copy of GREEKSCAPES Today!