Tuesday, December 10, 2013

WIVES OF NASHVILLE by @DestinyBlaine

AVAILABLE December 11th!!!

The Wives of Nashville by Destiny Blaine

Meet Alison Nichols, Renee Forsythe, Melissa McKnight, and Kristy Fowler. Wearing their trophy wife badge like a medal of honor, these ladies are married to the wealthiest men in Nashville. They have money to burn and two common threads that will keep them bound to one another. They’re the young wives of rich and powerful men and they share a very guarded secret- high priced gigolos.

 Dubbed the city’s Trophy Club, these women are having the time of their lives, but all good things must come to an end. When one husband’s suspicions ignite the other men’s curiosity, the scandal awaiting them threatens to destroy friendships, and maybe even lives.

A private investigator reveals illicit news destined to tear marriages apart. Can any of the couples rise above their infidelities? Will these prominent businessmen keep their wives’ unfaithfulness private or will they expose them?

 Four women face harrowing consequences as they come to terms with what they’ve done. And when the news of their behavior hits the tabloids, Nashville may never be the same! Mainstream - Contemporary - Menage/Multiple Partners

Monday, October 7, 2013

Featured Author @DakotaRebel!

Fans of hot fiction and Stiff Rain Press, please welcome to the blog Dakota Rebel! Dakota is our premiere author this month at SRP. She’s relatively new with us, so it’s time we got to know her a little better.

Dakota, you may be newer to SRP, but you aren’t new. Where have you been all our lives?
Oh, I’ve been around the block a time or two. Wait…that didn’t come out the way I intended. I just meant that I’ve been writing for a couple different publishing houses and I am so excited to have found another wonderful company I get to call home.

It's a sexy, dysfunctional family but we're happy you're one of us. ;) When did you start writing and what brought you to it?
Typical author answer – I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t writing. From my early beginnings with imaginary friends I was making up stories and creating characters. As I grew up so did my creativity and now I’m thrilled to be able to share the voices in my head with the rest of the world.

And we're really glad you are! Among some of the Twitter-savvy fans, you’re known to write in huge chunks, accomplishing a ton of writing all at once. How do you do it?
Well, the trick is to not write for weeks at a time. Then when you finally sit down you’ve been stewing over your scene for a month and all you can do is type it out. That is terrible advice by the way, in fact it’s not even advice at all. It is more of a cautionary tale. I would never recommend this way of writing to anyone. If you look at my Twitter feed, yes you will see 2-3k hours. But you only see them about once a month because that is about the only time I get to work on my books. I am forced into a corner by the time I take to #wordwar with my author friends. If I could work every day and be consistent, my hour counts would be less astronomical I assure you.

They're very impressive... envy-worthy even if they do come in spurts! So would you say that your best writing time is early or late?
Late for sure. I don’t do early. I have a day job in addition to writing and being a wife and a mom and a chauffeur and a therapist and a dry cleaner and a maid and…anyway, I get up in time to go to work and that is it. Not one minute earlier if I can help it. Night time is just as chaotic, obviously, but I manage to work better then if I get to work at all.

What brought you to kink/taboo writing? What do you like about it?
I like the freedom it affords me with my characters. Sometimes my boys are just a little naughtier than other houses are happy with. At SRP I can stay true to my story and to myself and I appreciate that so much.

That sounds like a provocative promise. What are you working on now?
I am ‘actively’ working on Reagan, the second book in the Baine Family series. But unofficially I have been spending a lot of time writing dialogue for a book that I was not planning to write. Things are coming in clips and partial scenes so I write them out in One Note so I can come back to them later. But Reagan is next up in my schedule. Considering it releases next month I really should get it to my editor soon.

Can you give us a sneak peak?
Reagan Baine works for a special forces unit of the US Army. Her first kill was at the tender age of eighteen when she took a contract on her boyfriend, who had turned out to be a serial killer half werewolf, half vampire.
When the object of her current manhunt discovers that she’s after him, he draws her back to Detroit Michigan, where she will have to face her past again, but this time she won’t be alone.
Though she has worked for years to distance herself from relationships, she finds that she is drawn to the two men escorting her back home. And they aren’t about to let her go without a fight.
With a vicious arms dealer on her trail, she finds herself having to learn to trust the monsters she’s spent years fighting and discover that opening her heart again may not be as painful as she’d always believed it would be.

Wow! That sounds great. You probably have a writer-friendly place to do all your daydreaming, huh? Tell us a little about your writing environment and how you set yourself up?
I have a beautiful glass top desk with the word love in many different languages etched into it. It is currently buried under a mountain of notebooks and craft supplies though, so I’m usually writing on a barstool at my kitchen counter or, if I’m really lucky, in bed with a closed door. But that doesn’t happen very often. As long as I have my laptop and a glass of tea I can usually write anywhere when I’m in the mood to do so.

Is there one thing that will trip you up and keep you from the keyboard? How do you avoid it?
My family sidetracks me constantly. I am always being pulled in a hundred different directions and don’t seem to have much time to work. Hence the large bursts of writing every so often rather than the steady stream that others are able to produce. Obviously there is no avoiding it, so I make do with what I can get and use my free time to hang out with my loved ones. It’s a pretty awesome trade off so I can’t really complain.

Dakota Rebel thanks for taking a few minutes to give us the inside scoop on how you tick! We’re so glad you joined us on the blog today.

Sunday, October 6, 2013


      Kiss Me You Animal by Dakota Rebel

      Learn More About Our
      Featured Author
     Dakota Rebel
Dakota Rebel
Now Available! Kiss Me You Animal
Cole Grayson and his younger brother, Bryce, own a private investigation firm…or at least that’s what it says on their taxes. Actually, they are exterminators who hunt the preternatural bad guys of the world. One night, on the way home from a case, they find a man by the name of Sebastian Reaux lying in a bloody heap on the side of the road.

When they learn that Sebastian was attacked and infected by a werepanther, they are reluctant to bring him home, but the injured man and Cole find a quick attraction to each other that leads the oldest Grayson man to think there is a lot more to the future shifter than he realizes.

The three men find themselves quickly pulled into a vicious battle. Cole soon realizes that it is not just his humanity he has to fear for, but he also stands to lose the only two men who have ever been welcomed into his heart.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Meet Matt Kerwin

To all you sexy readers out there: meet Matt. Matt Kerwin is Stiff Rain’s latest hot new author guaranteed to sizzle your socks off. Please welcome him to the SRP family. 

1.     Matt, your bio isn’t up on the site yet. Tell us a little about yourself.
Thanks for the opportunity to rap with you. Um, apart from being young, gorgeous, well-hung, insatiable, totally versatile, into all fetishes, taboos, ready at any time and…uh…gay, there’s not much to tell. Oh, and I’m a terrible liar. Only one of the above is true.

2.     I’m sure you know where I’m headed next… Please, please tell us about your new release, Catching the Son. What were you doing when the idea first took hold? What inspired you to write this book?
I was probably playing with myself, as usual, because I can’t get anyone else to do it. Inspiration? The money? I’m lucky, my mind never stops churning out ideas and I just choose from a card index (how old fashioned) which story I’m in the mood for at the moment. Catching the Son just happened to be it.

3.     How would you describe your writing style?
It’s been described as anything from hot, gutter, rubbish, disgusting, ewww. I don’t think anyone is likely to compare my style with J.K. Rowling or John Steinbeck.

4.     So you have another book in the works for SRP, right? Yes, that’s a hint. A blatant, unadulterated un-hinty hint. What’s next for you at SRP?
It’s a matter of diving in the deep end of my imagination where all the fetish and steamy stuff is, and choosing something appropriate. How about Bukkake Beach Boys, or a sequel to Catching the Son – Following the Son?

5.     Were there any surprises that you faced as you wrote Catching the Son? And on that note, are you a plotter or a pantser?
I introduced a last-minute character to give the story a happier ending and carol Lynne suggested a tweak which made it happier. I start a story with a title and a rough outline in my head but it doesn’t always go where I thought it would.

6.     What does your writing space look like?
Cluttered, but I’m in the process of chucking out decades of accumulated junk to give me more breathing space to write.

7.     Take us through a day-in-the-life of Matt Kerwin from the time you swing your feet out of bed to the time you hit the lights off at night.
I’m awakened by my personal muscle slave to proceeds to drain my morning woodie, then I’m carried downstairs by a bevy of gorgeous naked twinks who drop to their knees to help me out or else bend me over the table to have their way with me. This gets a little monotonous after five or six hours, so I adjourn to my office where I have a specially constructed chair into which I seat myself on one of the rampant muscle guys and while I type another is under the desk doing things with his mouth that inspires me to…um…write better. For afternoon tea I take a bukkake shower from the naked guys lounging about the house and they finish it off with a nice hot watersports shower. I’m nice and refreshed for when the boyfriend comes home. We have a light dinner served by our naked slaves. They tend to my boyfriend’s sexual needs while I watch. There’s a bit of television, then we shut the slaves out and go to bed at which point my boyfriend bangs my brains out. It’s an exhausting day but someone has to do it. J

8.     Do the people in your life know you’re a writer? How did they react when you told them?
I’ve been a writer one way or another all my life: journalism, critic, newspaper editor, short stories, celebrity interviews, etc. The advent of eBooks has given me the opportunity to write what I’m best at writing: sex.

9.     Who is your biggest support in your personal life?
My boyfriend.

10.  Do you have an author that inspires you most?
Not really. I read widely and have a few favorites such as Josh Lanyon, Cain Berlinger, but I tend to be more of a sponge and soak ideas and inspiration from all sorts of sources.

11. What are the last few books in your genre you’ve read recently?North of Nowhere (Liz Kessler); Appearances Matter (Jeff Erno); Male to Order (Cain Berlinger); Clockwork Romance (Skye Dragen); Mr. Average (Parker Williams); The Best (Tinnean). I’m a pretty voracious reader.

Now how about we have a little fun? In as few words as possible, answer the following short-fire questions your readers just might love to know about you:
Few words? I don’t understand the concept. J

1.     Tim Tams or Oreos? (flavor?)
Neither. I don’t eat biscuits. Now if they made them sperm flavored. (Hmm, you think I might have a bit of a fetish?)

2.     Vegemite, Marmite or peanut butter?
No contest. Peanut butter. Vegemite and Marmite taste disgusting.

3.     Favorite drink?
Can I say, spunk?

4.     Favorite food?
Spicy salt Tofu from the Noodle Star eatery.

5.     Favorite travel destination?
I love London, New York and Reykjavik. I keep returning to those cities. But there’s still a lot of the world I haven’t visited yet.

6.     Number of words you average a day writing?
On a good day 5000-7000. On a bad day 0.

7.     Dog or cat person?
Wombat. I’m a vegetarian.

8.     Beach or Outback?
More a river or a lake person.

9.     Music that relaxes you?
John Adams, Steve Reich, Arvo Part. For pleasure I love Korean boy bands, especially Big Bang (Taeyang and G-Dragon are to die for), and Shinee.

10. This one might not be so short. Favorite daydream?
See question 7 above. J

Would you share a few excerpts from some of your work and where we can find them?
My father woke me early—to him any man with the determination to succeed rose early enough to beat his competition. It seems I would never be top of my game because I loved sleeping until seven or eight o’clock. I had no corporate throats to cut so I slept easy. My dad sighed when he saw the outfit I’d chosen to meet the builders: all color coordinated in pastel shades. I thought it looked smart and screamed good taste; he merely thought it screamed. He sent me back to change, swearing vehemently about my intransigence, even going so far as to use the F word because my provocative behavior was making him late.
Provocative? I’d give him fuckin’ provocative. I changed into my tightest pair of cut-off jeans that I never wore in public as they left no doubt at all that I’d been circumcised at birth. They threatened to strangle my balls and clung to my ass and crack like glue so that I’m sure if I bent over you’d see an outline of my butt hole. The bottom of my ass cheeks could not be contained in the flimsy material and jutted from the rough hem of the seat. I wore a clingy T-shirt, two sizes too small, that threatened to rip apart every time I flexed a muscle. They also showed off my hard pecs and their pert little nipples that, if I’d had time, I would have had pierced as one final ‘fuck you’ to the family who found any sort of body modification repellent.
When I stormed out of my bedroom to confront my dad, I shouted, “If you want to see faggot, then get a load of this.”
Obviously, dad had got sick of waiting and headed off to his important meeting while I’d been busy choosing my outfit. I’d probably been too angry to hear his shouted goodbyes—if he’d even bothered. What I hadn’t counted on was the builders having their own key for they’d let themselves into the house and were standing in the doorway gaping at my getup, smirking like a gang of adolescents.

Second excerpt
An hour later my dad called to check on the builder’s progress. I lied and told him everything was going well. “Don’t take any shit from them, son. They’re working for us. We’re paying them good money. So stand up to them if you have to.”
He’d already disconnected the call before I could ask him how his day was going. Typical.
I went back downstairs, determined the workmen wouldn’t embarrass me this time. When I got to the bottom of the stairs,  Kareem, one of the Arab men, whistled and grabbed a handful of his cock through his overalls. “Look, he’s blushing like a virgin,” he yelled.
“Bet he’s anything but a virgin,” Roy snickered. “You see the way he’s been looking at my crotch.”
“I have not!” I yelled. “Anyway, my dad just rang and he wants to see results when he gets back, otherwise…”
“Otherwise what?” Tony said ominously.
“Just otherwise,” I mumbled.
“Coffee break,” yelled Ali. In unison, the guys all dropped their tools.
“Hey,” I shouted weakly. “You’ve hardly even started.”
“Yeah,” said Ali, “but unless we get taken care of every few hours, we get sort of stressed and our work suffers.”
“You wouldn’t want that, would you?” smirked Tony. “What will Daddy say if he gets home and finds the work’s not up to his standards?”
“He won’t be happy,” I mumbled.
“And what does he do when he’s not happy?” Tony asked.
“He yells at…” and I stopped a little too late.
They all burst out laughing.
“Hey, Jack,” Ali called to the Aussie kid, “come and get it,” and he unclipped his overalls and flopped out a huge semi-hard cock that he started to milk. Jack ambled over and sank to his knees, engulfing the cock in one mouthful. Ali held the back of his head and face-fucked him until gag and drool started to ooze over Jack’s chin.
“Stop it!” I yelled. “My dad doesn’t like faggots.”
“Oh, you mean like Jack there?”
“Yeah,” I replied, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.
“You never jerked off with your buddies?” Ali asked.
“Yeah,” I admitted reluctantly.
“Well, that’s faggot stuff,” Tony said.
“But I don’t put it in my mouth.”

Matt, thank you so much for taking the time to visit with us on the blog today. Please tell us where we can find out more about you, or where your fans can contact/locate you on the web.
(To come)

Any parting thoughts for your new Stiff Rain fans?

I hope you enjoy Catching the Son. I’m always happy to hear from readers via my website who enjoy my work. And remember, eww, gross, and disgusting are compliments in my world. 

You can see more of Matt and his alter egos on his website:

Saturday, August 17, 2013

Kiss Me You Animal by Dakota Rebel

Now Available!

Cole Grayson and his younger brother, Bryce, own a private investigation firm…or at least that’s what it says on their taxes. Actually, they are exterminators who hunt the preternatural bad guys of the world. One night, on the way home from a case, they find a man by the name of Sebastian Reaux lying in a bloody heap on the side of the road.

When they learn that Sebastian was attacked and infected by a werepanther, they are reluctant to bring him home, but the injured man and Cole find a quick attraction to each other that leads the oldest Grayson man to think there is a lot more to the future shifter than he realizes.

The three men find themselves quickly pulled into a vicious battle. Cole soon realizes that it is not just his humanity he has to fear for, but he also stands to lose the only two men who have ever been welcomed into his heart.

“I hate when people throw their trash on the side of the road like that,” Bryce said, disgust evident in his tone.
We were driving back to the office, having finished yet another cheating husband case for the detective agency we own, Touch of Gray. The headlights had beamed over a shiny black object on the shoulder of the highway. But as the car sped past it, I could have sworn I’d seen a hand twitch against the ground.
I slammed on the brakes and couldn’t help laughing when my brother was thrown forward into his seatbelt.
“Dude!” he yelled, flopping back against the seat. “What the hell?”
“I don’t think that’s a garbage bag,” I said as I backed the car up. I pulled the vehicle to the side and pointed the headlights toward the crumpled object on the ground.
I left the engine running in case I needed to make a quick getaway and stepped out onto the deserted highway. Checking my gun in the light from the overhead lamp, I clicked the safety off and held it low as I crept toward the thing in front of the car.
Bryce met me in front of the hood, his gun out as well. With cautious steps we walked together until we were standing over what was definitely a person, bent in a horrific position in a puddle of blood just off the blacktop.
“Hey,” I said as I gently tapped the body with my foot. “Can you hear me?”
“Seriously, Cole?” Bryce hissed. “You just fucking kicked him.”
“I nudged him,” I whispered.
“With your foot.”
“What would you like me to do, Bry? Bend over and whisper in his ear?”
Bryce shrugged and I rolled my eyes. Typical. He hated pretty much every suggestion I ever had but never offered up one of his own. Shifting the safety back on my pistol, I shoved it in the back waistband of my jeans. I crouched down with a quick look at Bryce to make sure he had me covered. Taking a deep breath I reached out and shook the man at my feet.
“Hey!” I yelled louder.
The guy jumped and he turned his head to look at me. What I could see of his face was covered in bloody scratches. He tried to move his arms but I could see the pain in the swollen blue eye that stared up at me.
“We should call the cops,” Bryce said. I looked up to see his face bathed in white LCD light, the cell already in his hand.
“No,” the man croaked. “Please, no police.”
I shook my head at Bryce, who looked pissed but put his phone back in his pocket.
“Dude, I’m afraid to move you,” I said as I turned back to the man. “Were you hit by a car?”
My fear was that he had been hitchhiking or something, got blasted, and was all kinds of busted. If I moved him he could end up paralyzed…or worse. Though, we’d been on this highway for hours and hadn’t seen a single other vehicle. It’d been nothing but woods and dark for miles, so if he’d been hit it could have been hours earlier.
“No, I was… I was attacked.” He was trying to move again. I glanced up at Bryce, who shrugged again. With a heavy sigh I reached out to help the man roll over. It was awkward on the gravel and my foot slipped underneath us. We both ended up on our asses, his back resting against my chest. But at least he was sitting up.
“What the fuck attacked you?” Bryce asked, dropping to his knees in front of us.
I couldn’t see the man’s face, but from the concern and fear in my brother’s eyes I knew it wasn’t good.
“It was…can we go?” he asked abruptly, turning to look into the woods. I followed his gaze, but couldn’t see anything through the dense trees.
“Can you just get me to the next town?” the man asked, his voice edged with panic. “I’ll be fine, I promise. I just… I don’t want to stay here.”
“Yeah,” Bryce said. “Of course. Do you think you can stand?”
The man nodded and raised shaking hands up to my brother. Bryce pulled and I pushed until the man stumbled to his feet. He kept his fists clenched around Bryce’s fingers as if he knew he would collapse again if he wasn’t held steady.
I rolled to my feet, turning to face him. Before I could get a good look at him the man threw himself into my arms. With raised eyebrows at Bryce I found myself folding the stranger into my chest, patting his back gently.
Bryce’s shoulders shook with silent laughter that became stronger when I shot him an angry look. I’m sure I looked pretty funny standing on the side of the road holding a bleeding and beaten stranger in my arms. But Bry really wasn’t helping the situation at all.
“Ok, dude,” I said softly. “Let’s get you to the car.”
He wouldn’t let go of me so I had to half walk, half carry him to the Mustang. I opened the back door and he let me help him into the seat as if I were putting him into a police cruiser. I tried to close the door but his hand shot out faster than I could have believed him capable of and gripped the hem of my jacket.
“Please,” he said, his blue eyes shining through a layer of grit and blood that covered his features. “Will you sit with me?”
A sharp cough came from Bryce, who was standing at the passenger-side door. I straightened up and flipped him the finger.
“Can you slide over?” I asked the man. He nodded and shifted across the seat, making room for me. It was awkward to climb into the back seat; I’d never actually sat there before.
Bryce revved the engine and took off down the highway like we were being chased. I shot him a dirty look in the rearview mirror, but he kept his gaze staring out the windshield. I saw the corner of his eye twitch up though and knew he was aware of my glare.
Bry very rarely got behind the wheel, and this was why. He drove too fast and too erratically. The Mustang was my favorite possession, not to mention our only mode of transportation. His driving scared the shit out of me.
“What’s your name?” I asked, turning to look at the beaten stranger sitting next to me.
“Sebastian,” he said, his voice hoarse as if he’d been screaming. And judging from the look of him that was very likely. It was too dark to get a good view, but he certainly wasn’t going to win any beauty pageants tonight.
“I’m Bryce and that’s Cole. Do you want to tell us what the hell happened to you?” Bryce asked, his gaze flicking to the rearview to glimpse our new passenger.
“I will,” Sebastian said slowly. “Later. But for now, I’d really like to rest if that’s all right with you.”
“Of course,” I said, nodding at him. “Just lie back. We’ll get you to a hospital.”
“No hospital,” he said as he lay down, his head resting in my lap as if we’d known each other longer than ten minutes. “No hospital, no police. Please. I need to rest. I’m sorry. I never should have been there… I’m so sorry. Just…just take me with you. Wherever you’re going, that’s where I want to be.”
I was too stunned to do anything but let him lie there. His eyes fluttered closed and within minutes his breathing evened out and he was asleep.
“You’re new boyfriend is kind of hot,” Bryce teased from the front seat. “You should take better care of him though. Domestic violence is no joke, Cole.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I said, punching his seat hard enough to rock him forward.
“So what do we do?” Bryce asked with a sigh. “He needs a doctor.”
“When’s the last time we went to a doctor after a fight?” I asked him pointedly. “Let’s take him home. We’ll figure it out.”
“Cole,” Bryce said, his tone full of warning. “Those scratches on his face. You know what they look like, right?”
I did know. I hadn’t gotten a great look at Sebastian yet, but from what I could tell he looked like he’d been on the bad end of a shifter’s claws. Probably a wolf or a panther since they were the most common in the area.
“Just get us home, Bry,” I said, my hand moving to Sebastian’s head automatically. I ran my fingers through his hair, the still-tacky blood on his scalp sticking to my skin. “We’ll figure it out.”

***To buy this book, click the title at the top of this blog entry***

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

BLANK CANVAS by Melinda Barron

Hot new read, available TODAY at StiffRainPress.com

Snow Storm, like her namesake, is a free spirit blowing blindly through life in search of her next great adventure, whatever it might be. However, physically-speaking, she’s about to be left out in the cold, unless she can earn enough cash to pay her rent. Snow's four-night contract as a waitress for a catering company won’t secure her a place to live, but it does provide her an opportunity to work a local exhibit opening, if only for a little pocket money.

While serving cocktails to the attending patrons, Snow is invited to view a private art exhibit: a collection of BDSM paintings created by a mysterious artist named Sir. Shocked and titillated, she is offered an employment opportunity that guarantees her an exorbitant amount of money...if she can abide by Sir’s rules.

As Sir’s new model and muse, Snow must always obey Sir without question and allow him, and anyone he deems worthy, access to her body. She is, in essence, a blank canvas for him to paint all of his desires. Snow soon discovers that whips, chains and being on her knees does not hinder her free spirit, but rather allows her to soar to new heights unimaginable where only intense pleasure resides. Snow only has a year to experience whatever Sir can devise for her, and she wants to savor every stroke.

Fetish - Contemporary - BDSM

Wednesday, May 8, 2013


Blood Lust 
(A Chance Encounter with a Vampire) 
Now Available!

Selu Harjo is a strong woman, but even the strongest can stumble under the weight of tragedy. Still reeling from the disappearance of her husband, she finds herself forced into a life of slavery. What she doesn’t realize is that her husband, Kanati, is still alive—or at least undead. Will the fledgling vampire be able to find her before it’s too late, or will she become another just another victim of the slave trade?


PRICE: $4.99
RELEASE DATE: 05/08/13
ISBN: 978-1-62344-013-8
CATEGORY: Erotica, Paranormal, Vampires
ELEMENTS: Paranormal Erotic Romance featuring vampires and Native Americans.
LENGTH: 32,363

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

James Goodman revisited...

I don't know about you, but I didn't get enough of James when we featured him a few weeks ago. I know I'm not the only one, either. So here's what I did for you (because doing this for someone else sounds infinitely less selfish than doing this for myself): I interviewed him! Check it out and then check HIM out at Stiff Rain Press.

What started you down the road to writing?
Well, to some extent, I’ve been writing in some form or another since around the time I hit puberty. Whether it was poetry, short stories, poor attempts at novellas, I was always trying to capture the whirlwind of emotions events I experienced to paper. Over the years writing has served to help me deal with unrequited love and other times to help expel the demons, by giving them shape and then killing them, lol. Having said that, it was never something that I ever considered as a career.  My works were an outlet and meant only to be seen by my friends or whichever lady I was trying to catch the attention of at the time.

Then my freshman year of college, I attended a book signing. Anne Rice was one of my favorite authors at the time and I had greedily read everything from her I could get my hands on. At that point in my life, so much of what she wrote really paralleled some of my own sentiments (I’m speaking of the emotions and view of her characters not the actual content of course), that I found myself almost star struck as I waited to meet the woman whose works touched me so dearly.

By the time I actually worked my way through the line and stood before her, I was for all intents and purposes tongue tied as I couldn’t seem to form the beginnings of any of the clever conversation starters I had played out in my mind. Instead, I mutely handed her my book to be signed, managed to get my name right when prompted and mumbled a thank you as I backed away.

As I drove home from the event, I realized that I really wanted to have that effect on someone someday.  Even if I could only touch one person as deeply as I had been, I could die a happy man. So, I set about learning the craft, attending seminars, and of course writing as much as possible to help hone my skills.
I don’t think my writing has reached the point yet where it has as powerful an impact as some of the greats have had on me, but I’m still striving to reach that goal someday.

And how did that lead you to Stiff Rain Press?
Well, a mere ten years after the encounter that sent me down this path, a pair of amazing ladies thought some of my work had potential. They informed me if I was willing to add some more romance and could take some constructive criticism, we could do great things together. Those ladies were Jessica Berry and Leigh Collett of Resplendence Publishing. Shortly thereafter I was assigned my first editor, Tiffany Mason.

I published several books through RP and though most of them picked up some decent steam, the overall feeling was that my works were just too gritty, raw and perhaps even a little too dark, to be very successful among the traditional romance readers (even after valiant efforts by the RP staff to help conform some of my more horrific nature into something less shocking).

Tiffany called me up one day and told me about Stiff Rain and felt that I could really express myself more freely and my writing style would be better received with them.  So, I took the plunge and here I am. :D
Stiff Rain focuses on Taboo romances. What taboo do you tend to favor—you know, for publication purposes?

Whew, I’m glad you through in the latter part, I thought I was going to have to oust some of my darkest pleasures for all the world to see.  It really depends on my mood, but I really enjoy writing about threesomes and lesbian love.  Wait I’m a guy, what do I know about being a lesbian?  Admittedly, not nearly as much as all of my lesbian (or at least bi) friends who help me out with research in that department, but it is something I still enjoy writing about.

Are you open about your identity around your hometown?
Oh, absolutely. In fact, some of my earlier works used to have a picture of me on the back page as well. I’m proud of every piece I’ve ever submitted. If my peers and neighbors don’t like what I write, they are more than welcome not to read it.

Will we be seeing other trends from you at Stiff Rain?
Oh, surely hope so.  I have several books submitted for editing (the Blood series has seven installments so far),  and I’m working on a new “Fairytale” inspired novel, which is a bit of a new direction for me.
What does your average day look like?

Well, I also run my own company, so my average day looks pretty hectic.  I am usually at work by 6 am, whether working from home or travelling to one of my client sites. I coordinate efforts of the various personnel who work for me and help solve any problems that seem to arise in at least one site on a daily basis. I knock off work as soon as I can find a suitable stopping spot (which is sometimes not until late in the evening), cook dinner for the family, settle in to write for at least an hour and then read for an hour or so before I go to sleep (which is often not before midnight).

What about the place where you write? What does your writing cave look like?
More often than not, I am kicked back on my favorite spot on the couch, my feet propped up and the laptop on my lap. Depending on where I am in the research process, sometimes I have printouts scattered around me for quick reference.  But I’ve been known to write in airports, hotels and even occasionally while lounging poolside.

Some authors use a vivid imagination. Some use action figures. Others employ the services of their spouses. What’s your “positioning technique” and why?
I would have to say I use a bit of all of them, if truth be told. Though I rely most heavily on my imagination, my spouse has often volunteered to be my not only my sounding board but my living model when trying to figure out if the mechanics of a given scene would really arouse the sensations I was hoping to portray for my characters.

What’s the most embarrassing memory you’ll admit to?
Let’s see… perhaps we should hop in the way back machine to prevent incriminating anyone but myself, lol.  When I was living in Germany, I met a girl at a dance club in Frankfurt. One thing led to another and she invited me to come back to her house which was a short train ride from the Sachsenhausen district where the club was located and considerable closer than the train ride back to where I was living in Babenhausen.   We were already making out as we hit the door and it continued all the way until we arrived at her house, needless to say I was not paying very close attention to my environment at that point. She ushered me quickly to her bedroom and we tossed around clothes around the room with reckless abandon as we undressed each other. We had been going at it for quite awhile when suddenly I hear an enraged male voice screaming form the door in German. I tried to leap from the bed, got tangled in some covers and fell to the floor as he disappeared. I not so calmly asked her what the hell was going on and she also not so calmly explained that it was her boyfriend and we were in the house she shared with him.  I jumped up and started searching for my clothes. I had just picked up my jacket (one of those ridiculous waist jackets of the 90s with the flared shoulders and tapered waist, ala Vanilla Ice, when the man reappeared… with a gun.  He pointed the gun and proceeded a long diatribe that can be summed up as basically get out. I proceeded to reach for my pants and he pulled the trigger.  The bullet it the floor near my pants and a bit too close to my outstretched hand for comfort. He then made it clear if I was leaving without being strapped to a gurney, I was leaving immediately. So, I bolted for the front door and out in the street, where I was promptly faced with the prospect of trying to make it all the way back to Babenhausen with no clothes.  I tried to fashion the jacket into a makeshift kilt, but no matter how I tied it, either my ass or my junk was exposed.

My only saving grace was that at the time, I carried my wallet in the inside jacket pocket (a safeguard against pickpockets when hanging out in Frankfurt), so I had ID and cash, but this was before the time of the cellphone. It was well past closing time for any place where I could buy clothes, so I cinched down the jacket as best I could and trekked down to the closest train station for the ride home with as much dignity as I could muster in my airy outfit.  Though I received lots of attention, I eventually made it home safely.

How about some fun? Let’s do a rapid fire question. Answer the following in one or two words:
Laptop or Desktop?  Laptop
Coffee or Tea?  Coffee
Favorite TV show?   Game of Thrones
Music genre you listen to?  Alternative
Favorite mode of transportation?  My Harley
Chocolate or Salt snacks?  Chocolate
A day on the couch, or a day exploring?  Exploring
Vampires or Zombies? Vampires

James, thank you so much for joining us today! Is there anything else about you we should know? Anything you want to tell your readers?
It was my pleasure and I hope you have enjoyed this little insight into my life.  To my readers, I would like to give a very big thanks. No matter how much I enjoy writing, at the end of the day, without your interest, none of this would be possible.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

NEW RELEASE: Brothers With Benefits by William Cooper

Visive Encounters, Book One

Now Available!   http://tinyurl.com/d6g5sbx
Josh is secretly in love with Erick. How could he not be? Erick is sweet, funny, smart, and as wonderful as he is handsome. He's simply everything Josh could ever want in a man. Plus, there's no one in the world that knows or understands him better. After all, Josh and Erick have been friends and companions for as long as either can remember.

But Josh is sure that he'll never find the right opportunity to share his feelings with Erick.

However, everything changes when Josh creates a profile on the popular online social network, Visive Encounters, a video chat website that randomly arranges face-to-face meetings with strangers via webcam. One night, in a collision of fate and software algorithms, Josh is more than surprised when his monitor reflects a mirror image...his random connection is none other than the object of his desire, his twin brother Erick.

With only a screen of pixels separating them, will Josh finally be able to confess his more-than-brotherly feelings to his twin? Will a lifetime of memories be enough to hold the brothers together?

PRICE: $3.99
RELEASE DATE: 04/10/13
ISBN: 978-1-62344-011-4
CATEGORY: Erotica, Contemporary, Taboo, Twincest, Visive Encounters Series
ELEMENTS: Incest between Gay Brothers, Taboo Romance and Ménage Relationship, Anal Sex and Oral Sex, Internet Video Chat
LENGTH: 22,377

BUY NOW!   http://tinyurl.com/d6g5sbx

Wednesday, April 3, 2013


The Trials and Tribulations of Writing Twincest, by William Cooper

Writing a twincest story can be a hard thing to accomplish. Hehehe. Okay, so maybe it’s not that hard, but it’s different than writing a regular romance. Twincest and incest in general is one of society’s most profound taboos.  Not only does it go against most people’s morals, but it is downright illegal in a lot of places.

So when writing twincest, I have to create characters and a situation where my readers can really connect with them. To overcome the incest taboo, readers need to be able to bond with the characters, they need to empathize with them. For some readers, nothing will make them look past the fact that they’re related. For others, the fact that they’re brothers can add even more depth to their love.

One thing that I have to be careful with is to keep the characters on even footing. I don’t want this to be an abusive relationship. I don’t want one brother taking advantage of the other. This is one of the reasons most of my stories are about twins rather than regular brothers. With twins, they’re the same age and are in the same points in their lives. There isn’t the feeling of the elder brother using his influence to get sex from his younger brother. I don’t want my readers to pick up the book and feel like the younger brother is only going through with it to please his elder brother.

When a reader picks up my book, they should feel a sense of mutual love and respect. Both characters want this, both characters need this. This isn’t a story about one person forcing themselves on another. This is a story about two people who are madly in love and are brothers.

When I do write a story with regular brothers, I tend to lean toward the younger brother instigating things and the older brother being a bit reluctant. I feel like one, it makes it more realistic since the older brother would want to protect his younger brother, and two, it avoids the feeling of one brother taking advantage of the other. I emphasize that they’re both adults and capable of making their own decisions.

When writing twincest you’ve basically hit the backstory goldmine. You don’t have the issue of “instalove” that’s prevalent in a lot of books. You don’t have to spend chapters on your characters getting to know each other. When the characters are twins or even just brothers, they’ve been together their entire lives. They know each other, inside and out. They know what they have in common and what they don’t have in common.
This means I can start the story right in the middle of the action. I don’t have to figure out where they meet. I know where the met. I can start the story right at the spark that brings them together, the point where they finally acknowledge their feelings for each other. And the ride can really begin.

So writing twincest or brocest isn’t too difficult, but publishing it can be pretty challenging. Most self-publishing outlets have an outright ban on incest books. Amazon is one of the biggest sources of income for most authors, traditionally published and self-published, and they’ve got strict guidelines against books with incest and psuedo-incest that prohibit authors from publishing those stories there.

There are also very few publishers that will accept incest books. Most of the major houses in the M/M genre have “no incest” policies in their submission guidelines. Some of the ones that do accept incest stories have questionable business practices. You have to dig through to find a good, strong house that will accept it (like Stiff Rain). So while there are a few good houses that take it, instead of having a list of twenty publishers you can submit to, you’re down to around three.

Publishing twincest or brocest isn’t totally impossible, it just takes a bit more time and effort to find a good home for your book. But once to do find that home, it all pays off in the end. Big time.

James Goodman: A sampling

I suppose the logical place to start a post of this nature is to tell you a little bit about myself.  I was born in a galaxy far far away… oh, wait, wrong genre. Please, allow me to start again.  I was born in Dover, Delaware, but I’ve lived in several states over the years and even a few different countries. I had a rather interesting upbringing, often living in one place for a school year, moving for the summer and moving yet again to begin the next school year. I guess you might say I get around, lol. One good thing about moving around so much is it gave me a lot of exposure to many different cultures and lifestyles.  I’ve made many friends in my travels, some of which, I still keep in contact to this day.

I graduated from Peach County Georgia before joining the Army during Operation Desert Shield. Probably not the smartest move to sign up when we were on the verge of war, but by the time Desert Storm rolled around at least I was well trained. I have both good memories and bad about my time in the service, but if I had it to do all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.

After my discharge (quite honorable I might add), I attended Oklahoma State University and eventually earned a BS in Engineering. I used the degree to work a few different jobs (and a few more moves around the country), before deciding to strike out on my own.  I decided to settle down in Oklahoma and see what growing roots feels like. I live here with my beautiful wife, adoring teenage son and three rambunctious dogs.

I am also a founding member of the Highway Rollers, a great group of motorcycle enthusiasts who raise money for various charities throughout the year.  Oh, yeah, and we also like to ride… a lot. Get your motor running. Head out on the highway!  

There’s more, of course, but I think that at least gives you a pretty good glimpse.  I don’t suppose you really came here to listen to me ramble on about myself anyway now did you?  Let’s move on to something a bit more interesting (hopefully). Perhaps a short story to give you a little taste of the working of my twisted mind would be a good way to end the post. So without further ado, I give you In sickness and Health

“Talk to me.”  Marcus pleaded with his wife’s rigid back.  “What have I done to deserve this?”
He stepped closer, letting his breath move her hair.  His hand hovered near her shoulder, the warmth of her skin wafting across his palm, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch her. She didn’t want him to, he was sure of it. He would only touch her, comfort her if she let him.
“I know you’re upset, Sabrina, but I can’t fix this, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
Her shoulders slumped, dropping away from his near touch.  She crumpled, knees giving way, nearly dropping her to the floor.  He cupped her elbows, guiding her to the sofa.  She fell into the cushions.  Her gaze fell to the picture on the end table.  He watched her intently as she picked up their wedding picture, tracing the curve of his cheek with her finger.
Twin trails of mascara washed over her cheeks, pooled and finally stopped near the corners of her mouth. The center of the stream was still fluid, but the outer edges already dried and flaked.  She looked like she wore a painted mask.  A mask of sorrow. A mask he never saw her wear before. A mask he never wanted to see again.
He reached to caress her cheek, but something in her eyes stopped him.  He withdrew his fingers. His heart wretched, threatened to burst.
“How could you do this to me?” she pleaded, staring straight through him, through his soul.
He drew his fingers back further, clenching them, remorse transforming to trepidation, then to anger.  “What has gotten into you?”
“It’s not good for me to talk to you anymore.”  The muscles of her throat contracted and expanded as she swallowed hard.  “I need get better.  I need to be strong.”
“That’s ridiculous.  The doctor said there was nothing wrong with you,” he said, flabbergasted by her implications.
“Why did you have to take me to that place?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
Her eyes unfocused, stared at the wall behind him. He turned to see a picture of her and her best friend, framed and hung from a nail.
“It was for your friend, remember?”
He wanted to help her, needed to soothe her, but her words frightened him. He was on the verge of losing her and he knew it.
She kissed the picture. “We were at the party and you had such a good time, but then, you always knew how to have a good time, didn’t you?”
“I’m not talking about the party, goddamn it!”  Why is she doing this? Why does she want to hurt me?
“Oh, Marcus.” She sobbed, clutching the picture to her chest.  “That other car, the red light-- I can still hear the scream of our brakes.  That sound…the sound of glass breaking and metal bending. The sound of our lives being torn apart.”
“I know it scared you and I said I’m sorry.  So, I had a few too many glasses of wine.  It couldn’t have been that bad or they would have thrown my ass in jail.” She was acting like he was a drunk, but he rarely drank and even when he did it was never to excess.
“I don’t think you ever even saw that other car.  We just plowed right into it.” She let herself fall to her side on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.
“But you’re alright.  You came out of it with nothing more than a few scratches,” he said, moving to sit beside her.
“I can’t believe it’s over,” she managed before becoming overcome with sobs.
“What do you mean over?  I love you, baby. I would do anything for you. Please, don’t say it’s over,” he pleaded, dropping from the couch to his knees in front of her. “Whatever’s wrong, we can fix it. Please don’t throw everything we have away like this.”
She pulled the picture from her chest; held it at arms length above her face.
“Why did you leave me?”
“I didn’t leave you. What are you talking about?  I would never--”
His words died in his throat as she slung the picture across the room, smashing it against the wall.
“Oh God, why?” she cried out.  “Why did you have to let him die?”
The End

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Please Welcome New To SRP Author: James Goodman!

James' new book: Blood Bond released today!

About James

James Goodman began life in Dover Delaware, but has lived in several states throughout the nation as well as several places abroad. Some of his gypsy ways were in service to his country, others in service to his family, but most in service to his heart.

He graduated from Peach County Georgia before joining the Army during Operation Desert Shield. Upon completion of his duty, he attended college at Oklahoma State University and earned a BS in Electronics Engineering Technology.

In addition to being a word slinger, James is now the owner of an engineering and construction company. He is also one of the founding members of the Highway Rollers, a group of motorcycle enthusiasts who raise funds for various charities.

He now calls Owasso, Oklahoma home and resides there with his beautiful wife, teenage son and their three dogs. They spend a lot of time in the great outdoors, riding motorcycles, wakeboarding, hiking, hunting and just generally enjoying each other’s company.

To find out more, visit his website. http://www.goodysworld.com. Or contact him directly at jgoodman@goodysworld.com. He would love to hear from you.

A storm brews in the Indian Territory. Nightfall is coming and there is something lurking in the darkness that is as beautiful as it is terrifying. There is a new hunter on the plains and his prey is… human. When a Native American man collides with the world of vampires, the fate of an entire tribe could hang in the balance.


Kanati peeked from under his blanket, watching the lantern as it faded down the hall. He spared a quick glance at the other beds lining the wall. Five on his left, four on his right. He and the others were guests at the Chesterfield Academy for Boys, Injun School to those who worked there.

Should I wake any of them? Who else is crazy enough to try this?

He pulled a crumpled paper from beneath his pillow and ran a finger over it in the darkness. A map, stolen from the library, ripped from a book earlier in the day. It marked his Talwa, Tahlonteeskee. Home.

The harsh bite of winter was gone, but the air still carried a chill. At least that’s why he told himself his entire body trembled.

Sliding from beneath the covers, he willed his breath to come. He listened for movement in the hall, cringing when the boards creaked beneath his feet. Grabbing his boots from beside the bed, he crept in stocking feet to the edge of the room and crouched to eye the shadows in the dimly lit hall. He could barely make out the shape of a door at the end of the hallway, but it was enough. By then, he knew the route by heart, having walked it every day for the last eleven years.

Forty steps to freedom. Ocasta, please make my feet light and their dreams heavy.

He could feel sweat pool as it ran down his back. Fear threatened to consume his resolve.

If they beat me for speaking in my own tongue, what will they do to me for trying to escape?

A board groaned beneath his feet. He held his breath. He froze at the halfway point, certain he heard breathing behind him. He whirled, ready to spout an explanation. The hall was empty.

Keep it steady. One foot in front of the other. You’re almost there—

Holding his breath, he reached for the knob. The gods are smiling on you.

“Joseph, what are you doing out of bed?” a voice rumbled behind him.

Kanati jumped, spun and glared at the man with the lantern. Jack Barnes, teacher extraordinaire. He was one of the most vile human beings he had ever had the misfortune of meeting. Between the beatings, the leering during bathing time and the lingering touches while helping some of the younger boys get dressed in the mornings, it was a wonder Kanati made it to near adult hood with his virtue and most of his bones intact. Over a decade of torment and regret crashed over him in waves. So many times, he wanted to stand up to the man, but he had been conditioned for so long with fear, pain and humiliation, he didn’t dare. Besides, the rest of the teachers at the school were only marginally better.

“My name’s not Joseph,” he growled.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” The man stepped forward, face puckered, though it wasn’t clear if it was from confusion or anger.

“I’m going home.” He reached for the knob again.

“Don’t push me, boy.” The man jabbed a finger at the air between them. “You touch that door and I’ll—”

“What?” He cast a glance at him over his shoulder. “You’ll give me another beating?”

The man reached for his hip and snarled when he realized his holster wasn’t there. “I don’t think beating is a strong enough word for what I’m about to do to you.” He began his advance, fists clenched.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” he said with a nervous chuckle and slung open the door.

He leapt from the porch, cursing as the rough earth dug into his feet. A full moon colored the sloping hills an eerie shade of blue. Nothing on the windswept plain provided him cover. The nearest tree line was over a mile away.

It’s not far. You can make it. He stopped just long enough to stomp into his boots.

Gunfire exploded, kicking up wisps of dust and dirt from the ground around his feet.

Kanati scurried in a zigzag motion, breathing in gulps. Hickory trees raced to greet him. He ran faster, throwing himself into their arms. The branches fought him as he pushed his way through, slowing his escape. He could no longer run, but squirm and push his way through the thick foliage that marked the beginning of the tree line. A few steps further, and then screams reached his ears. What happened? He turned and took a step back the way he came, but hesitated.

It wasn’t just the voices of his friends screaming in the night; something was happening to the teachers as well. He cursed his own cowardice as he turned again and pushed deeper into the woods.

Wind whistled through the trees, their mighty limbs moaning beneath its touch. He was thankful for the relief against the warm night air. Screams followed him, filling his ears, filling his mind with visions of his friends’ faces contorted in agony. Bile rose in his throat and he fought the urge to vomit. He wasn’t alone. Something moved through the branches beside him. He tried to run faster, but the branches snapped at his face, pulled at his shirt. Laughter bounced from the trunks; surrounding him. He turned to look for his tormentor and tripped over an exposed root. His breath left him in a rush as his body crashed into the ground.

Don’t let me die… not here, not like this. He scrambled to his feet, spinning in circles, trying to find the source of the laughter. Why are you doing this to me?

“You are a willful one,” a deep, angelic voice rode on the night air. “What will you do with your newfound freedom?”

“Who are you?” he sobbed. “What are you gonna do to me?”

“If you were a little older,” the voice fell to a whisper. “I would answer that question in explicit detail.”

“What did you do to my friends?”

“What makes you think I did anything?”

“The screams—” He couldn’t bring himself to elaborate.

“Let’s just say your journey home should be unhindered.”

“You killed them, didn’t you?”

The whisper of branches moving with the breeze was his only answer. Kanati was once again alone with his fears.

* * * *

The stranger slipped further into the shadows, eyeing the young man with interest. Everything happens for a reason. We were destined to meet, you and I, he thought before returning to finish what he started.

Welcome, James! We're glad to have you as part of the SRP family!

Thursday, March 14, 2013

BOY SCOUT, book 2 in the Boys of Perfection series

Geoffrey Knight has done it again! He's brought us yet another kinky, hot tale from the Boys of Perfection series. And what could be more perfect than BOY SCOUT?

Check it out! See "Books" tab for purchasing information.


Welcome to Perfection, California. The year is 1961. The picket fences are white, the lawns are green, and the sprinklers are shiny and new… and Benji the 18-year-old Boy Scout is about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime.

Yes, Benji dreams of getting his hands on the coveted Happy Beaver Badge, a challenge that requires him to hike up to Mount Pleasant, venture through the Rainbow Forest, cross Lake Serenity and reach the old abandoned Forestfire Station.

But as Benji sets off, looking forward to experiencing the beauty of nature… nature isn’t exactly as welcoming as Benji had hoped. From evil chipmunks to stinky skunks, Benji’s adventure quickly turns into a quest for survival. Luckily for Benji, he meets handsome Mack the Lumberjack who’s willing to give the Boy Scout a helping hand—

—in more ways than one!


It was a good thing the people of Perfection had sprinklers, thought eighteen-year-old Benji the Boy Scout as he strolled down the street whistling in tune with the blue jays. After all, how else could the townsfolk keep their lawns so green, their roses so red, and their bird baths so full when there’s never a cloud in the sky?

“What a wonderful day for a mountain hike.” Benji smiled to himself.

But this was no ordinary day, and the hike he was about to do was no ordinary hike. No sir, Benji was about to undergo one of the greatest challenges in his Scout career—to hike up Mount Pleasant, venture through Rainbow Forest, cross Lake Serenity and reach the old Forest Fire Lookout in order to receive the coveted Happy Beaver Badge. It would take all his strength and stamina, all his courage and problem-solving skills, and all his resourcefulness, but Benji knew he was up to it.

As he walked down the street, he adjusted his backpack with a snap of a strap and tilted his hat back to get a better view of that sky so blue, which allowed a tuft of short blond hair to pop out from under the wide rim. Benji straightened his scarf and thought about how much he loved wearing his uniform, even though a recent growth spurt had made his short-sleeved shirt and khaki shorts rather snug. Still, every time he pulled his socks high and tightened his woggle, Benji felt a certain rush of pride that only Boy Scouts know.

That’s when he heard it—the distressed cry of a neighbor.

“Somebody please help me! Please help!”

Benji raced along a row of white picket fences, heading in the direction of the voice until he reached the front gate to Mrs. Delaney’s house.

Mrs. Delaney was standing under her Crab Apple tree, gazing frantically up into its blossoming branches, her white-knuckled hands clutching at her Jackie Kennedy hairdo. As Benji opened the gate, she turned and let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh Benji, thank goodness you heard me! Snuffles is stuck up the tree and can’t get down.”

At the mention of his name, Mrs. Delaney’s fluffy white cat Snuffles let out a frightened meow from a branch. Benji hurried up to the tree, took off his hat and looked up at the cat.

“Don’t worry, Snuffles! I’ll get you down.”

Mrs. Delaney let out a thrilled quiver. “Oh thank you, Benji.” She eyed his strapping young body up and down, pleasantly surprised. “My goodness. When did you become so… heroic?”

Benji blushed a little. “I’m a Boy Scout, Mrs. Delaney. I’m not heroic. I’m just prepared.”

“For what?”

“Anything,” he winked.

With all his strength, he hoisted himself up, gripping onto a lower branch and digging the toe of his hiking boots into the trunk. Mrs. Delaney noticed his snug shorts become even snugger as he stretched his legs and clenched his buttocks.

“Oh, here, let me give you a hand,” she offered, placing both palms flat on his ass cheeks in a token effort to give him a boost.


“My pleasure,” Mrs. Delaney said. And there was that quiver again.

As Benji climbed up through the tree, Snuffles excitedly paced up and down his branch, purring. “Hey there, Snuffles! Time to get you down, huh?”

Taking the cat into his caring yet confident grip, Benji began to descend to the applause of Mrs. Delaney.

“Oh, Benji! Thank you so much.”

“You’re more than welcome,” Benji said after jumping down onto the ground and handing the purring cat back to his owner. “I love all animals. Speaking of which, I’d better hurry. I expect to see lots of cute little critters on my hike up Mount Pleasant.”

“Oh my, yes,” Mrs. Delaney agreed. “And what a lovely day for it. Just be careful you don’t trip on a log and sprain an ankle.”

Benji scooped up his hat. “Oh don’t you worry, Mrs. Delaney, I’ll keep my wits about me. I’m determined to come home to another Scout badge.” With an optimistic grin and a Boy Scout salute, he turned to leave, calling over his shoulder, “I’m gonna make that Happy Beaver mine, just you wait and see.”

Mrs. Delaney clutched her pussy tighter. “Oh, I wish,” she breathed with one last sigh.

A few houses down the street, Benji heard the whimper of a puppy and the cry of a panicked woman. “Somebody please help! Come quick, somebody help!”

Benji raced along the street to find Mrs. Winden in her gardening clothes and rubber gloves trying desperately to fight off her out-of-control hose that had managed to tangle her white Labrador. The young dog was whimpering and howling as the hose continued to wrap itself around the poor pooch.

“Oh my!” Benji exclaimed, leaping the picket fence and dashing across the yard.

He pulled off his backpack and hurled his hat across the yard, and with all his courage, he dived onto the wet lawn, sliding up to the distressed dog and tackling the squirting hose.

“Jeepers!” He shouted as water sprayed in his face. “Golly!” He shrieked as it doused his shirt and drenched his tight little shorts. “Goodness gracious!” He coughed and spluttered as the jetting water rushed up his nose.

Nevertheless, he continued to wrestle with the swirling, snaking hose, at the same time using all his problem-solving skills to figure out how to free the tangled dog. He unlooped a slithering coil from around the Lab’s hind leg. He unraveled the gushing hose from around the dog’s waist. He threaded a length of it through a twisting spiral and suddenly the delighted pooch bounded free, barking and jumping and shaking off the water.

“Oh Rex, you’re all right!” Mrs. Winden cried excitedly, only now thinking to turn the hose off at the tap before gazing admiringly at the soaked scout on her lawn.

Wet from head to toe, Benji climbed to his feet while Rex ran happy circles around him.

“Oh my,” Mrs. Winden breathed, her hands distractedly fumbling with the buttons on her summer dress as she stared absently at the young man’s dripping crotch. “Thank you so much, Benji. I had no idea how tall you’ve grown… or how gallant you’ve become.”

Benji fought off another blush. “Oh, I’m not gallant, Mrs. Winden. Just prepared.”

“For what?”


“Oh, that’s good to hear,” Mrs. Winden smiled. “Would you like to come inside and I’ll help you off with those wet clothes before you catch cold?”

“Gosh, thanks for the offer, but I’m in a rush to get my hands on that Happy Beaver.”

“You want to do it with your clothes on?” Mrs. Winden let out with a nervous shudder, touching her hand to her hair to make sure it was perfectly in place… for now. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

“Thanks,” Benji said. And with that he slid on his backpack, put on his hat and continued on his way down the street, leaving Mrs. Winden to utter a single, disappointed—


It wasn’t long before Benji heard another upset cry. Although this time there was no fear or panic in the voice, but rather sadness and grief.

“Why, Mommy? Why did they have to die?”

Benji turned the corner of the street to see little Jimmy Johnson sitting on the curb outside his parents’ house, his mom sitting beside him with her arm around his shoulders. Jimmy had a fishbowl in his lap and was quickly increasing the water level with his tears.

“Hey there, little guy,” Benji said, sitting on the other side of Jimmy in his damp uniform. “What’s the matter?”

Mrs. Johnson looked over the top of her son to Benji and whispered, “Jimmy’s Sea Monkeys have all gone to sleep.”

“They’re not sleeping,” Jimmy wept. “They’re dead! They’re not moving!”

“Jeepers, that doesn’t sound very good,” Benji said. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

Jimmy sniffed and handed the bowl to Benji with a pout. “See for yourself.”

Benji held the fishbowl up to the light and looked into the sloshing water, unable to see anything but the pebbles on the bottom of the bowl and a little miniature shipwreck inside. He looked over at Mrs. Johnson and said in a barely audible hush, “I don’t see anything.”

Mrs. Johnson shook her head, covered her son’s ears and said in an even softer voice, “They’re Sea Monkeys. He bought them with a comic book coupon. Everyone knows they don’t actually exist.”

“Oh, I see,” Benji replied before digging deep into his resourceful mind and tapping Jimmy on the shoulder as his mother took her hands away from the boy’s ears.

“They’re dead, aren’t they?” Jimmy asked, looking up at Benji, his eyes big blue pools of tears.

“Are you kidding? Take a look!”

Benji pointed to the bowl and began tracing the underwater acrobatics of an invisible swimming creature. His eyes lit up, and so did Jimmy’s.

“I see them now. Look at ‘em go!”

“You betcha, kiddo,” Benji nodded, eyes darting between Jimmy and the nothing inside the fishbowl. “They’re doing little loop-de-loops through tiny hula-hoops!”

“I see them! I really do! I thought they were dead!”

Benji shook his head. “No, they weren’t dead. They were just sad.”

“Sad?” Jimmy’s smile faded. “How come?”

“Because they’re out-growing their fishbowl so fast. They need something bigger to swim in.”

“Like the kitchen sink?” Jimmy asked hopefully.

“Bigger,” Benji said.

“Maybe the bath tub?” Jimmy turned to his mother and added, “You won’t get any trouble getting me in the bath if my Sea Monkeys are with me!”

“Bigger,” Benji shook his head.

“What’s bigger than a bath?” Jimmy asked, scratching his head.

“If we set them free, I promise they’ll find a home big enough for all them to swim and play and grow up big and strong, some place where they’ll all live happily ever after.”

“I’ll miss them,” little Jimmy sighed. “But if you say it’ll make them happy… then that makes me happy.”

“I promise,” Benji said. And without another word he tipped the fishbowl upside-down and let the water gush along the gutter and down a nearby drain.

“Bye-bye Sea Monkeys,” Jimmy waved, a little sadly, before excitedly turning to his mother and asking, “Can I get a pet snake?”

“Why don’t you ask your father when he gets home,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Now go play with your toys in the backyard.”

Jimmy nodded and raced away, leaving Mrs. Johnson smiling at Benji. “He’s out playing tennis at the club till noon,” she said, adding by way of explanation, “Mr. Johnson, that is.”

“I love tennis!

“Yes. I imagine you’re rather… athletic.”

“I hope so. I’m after a Happy Beaver.”