Done!

I'm done! I did it! I done did it and now I'm done! I don't know why, but novellas demolish me. The length is out of my comfort league, I suppose. Give me 1,500 words. 4,000. Or 88K. I don't have a lot of in between ability. I guess I feel that as soon as I give my characters a background, I want to really dive inside of them. Even now that I've hit "send," there are scenarios I wish I could write, doors left shut that I would have loved to prop open. Or at least, peek through the key hole.

But I'm pleased with this new novella. I like who my characters are, and I enjoyed putting them through different twists and turns.

What's funny is that I started with three characters and ended with five. (And no, they did not procreate.)

Here's a taste...

How many times has he jacked off to images of Hadley over the past twelve months? Too many to count, that’s for fucking sure. He was certain the situation would unfold differently when he saw her again. No, he doesn’t think life is like Hallmark movie of the week, but he’d yearned for a happy ending. He thought she’d remember what they had—what they were like—how it felt to have his dick deep inside her.

When she’d let him, that is.

His hand pumps up and down his shaft. He was hard since before she arrived. Simply knowing she was coming to the gym today gave him an erection. Part of him—the guilty part—is certain she can guess what he’s doing right now. She had him down pat when they were together; she understood what made him tick.

So many times, she forced him to wait for his pleasure. She’d make him to go for a week, two, three, with no release, and he loved it. When she was in her cruelest moods, she’d keep a red pen by the calendar. Each day he survived without an orgasm, she’d draw an X in the little square. There would be a reward waiting for him if he was good, or sweet punishment if he was bad. He enjoyed both situations equally, if he were to be completely honest with himself.

He’d imagined that this year was simply the longest punishment she’d ever meted out. And he’d behaved. He’d been faithful—if “faithful” includes watching an almost endless stream of BDSM porn. He didn’t sink his dick into any other woman. That should count for something, right?

His hand works his cock as he imagines her tying him down to her bed, telling him what a naughty boy he’s been, punishing him with her favorite array of X-rated weapons. He hesitates only long enough to fill his palm with the synthetic-rose scented pink soap. He’s not thinking clearly. He only craves relief. The liquid soap feels like pure sin on his rod. He fucks his slippery palm while he recalls his past with Hadley. She liked to use a wooden paddle first, heating his asscheeks until they were deep cherry-red. Then she’d stripe him with her crop, watching as he worked hard not to fuck the mattress in his desire for mercy. Sometimes being bad feels so fucking good. Guy knows all about that...


It's too early for sake. For champagne. Or tequila. I'm going to have to nudge a friend and see if she'll meet for a celebratory coffee. Lift your mug with me.

XXX,
Alison