Got a rejection fron fishnet mag yesterday for my story, The Evolution Of A Stalker. I was a little disappointed but I do realize I hadn’t done much research on the publication before firing off my submission. I probably could have done more tweaking to the story as well.
When I told hubby about the rejection, he mentioned that I could just include the story in my own collection, which was what I had been thinking. Then he said why not put all the rejected stories in there, but I wouldn’t do that. First of all, how could I put a story intended for Hustler next to a story intended for an anhtology of cowboy erotica? It could be an eclectic collection he said, but I still say no. It would be too all over the place and I don’t want to just throw the reected stories in there just to have somewhere to put them. After all, stories do get rejected for a reason. Even the ones that would fit with my others as a collection, I would want to go through them again to make sure they are the best I can make them before putting them out there. Meanwhile, here’s a sexy snippet of The Evolution of A Stalker:
This excerpt contains sexually explicit material. If you are under the age of 18, or if you are offended by such material, please do not continue reading.
I wrote this. This is mine. Ask before reprinting.
Her phone rang and she grabbed the cordless that sat on the counter. I watched her expression go from breezy and cheerful to tense and angry. She muttered sharp words through clenched teeth and slammed down the phone.
“That’s how I treat my bill collectors, too.” I put it out there to break the tension, to act like I wasn’t quite all up in her business, that I understood we just met and it was none of my fucking business.
“No. That was my stalker.”
And she said it as simply as if she were describing her brother or her cousin. I swallowed hard and glanced toward the door, sliding my shoes closer to me with my feet.
“You want some iced tea with your sandwich, Caesar?”
“Uh,” I began, bending over to put my shoes back on, “you got anything harder than that?”
“Harder, harder…” I heard her mutter as she opened and shut cabinet doors in the kitchen. “I have a little vodka,” she said finally.
“Yeah, yeah, that’ll work,” I said. “Two shots on the rocks, please.”
‘Wow, that’s a mighty strong cocktail for the middle of the afternoon, Caesar,” she said, pulling down two tumblers.
“Yeah, well, I’m on vacation.”
I heard the clink of ice against thick glass and the splash of liquid making contact with it. She came into the living room and placed both glasses on the coffee table.
She sucked her teeth. “I thought I told you to get comfortable.”
“Well, I was, but then I figured I better not in case I gotta get out of here real quick.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you tripping about that phone call? Because if you are, then you shouldn’t be.”
“You mention casually that you have a stalker and then you tell me not to worry about it? I don’t think so.”
“Oh, calm down, Caesar. He’s not coming over here. He stopped coming by after I told him I bought a gun.”
I spit the mouthful of vodka clear across the table, spraying the carpet and curtains. “You own a gun?”
“No, I don’t really have a gun. I just told him that so he would stop bothering me.” She sucked her teeth and went into the kitchen and snatched a towel off the counter and handed it to me.
“I see that worked out well,” I said while wiping up my mess.
“Oh, you have no idea. But I don’t want to talk about him.”
She reached for my crotch and rubbed. And while I thought there was no way I could achieve a reasonable hard on with the thought of some dude sitting outside her apartment with a gun in his lap, I felt myself rising and the sweat started pouring from my temples.
“See, isn’t that better, Caesar? Um… Caesar, Caesar, Caesar,” she whispered in my ear. “I just love saying your name.”
She nibbled the lobe of my ear, all the time rubbing my crotch and pulling her hand along the length of my dick through my pants. And, no longer satisfied with that she unzipped my trousers and pulled it out. It lay against my thigh throbbing and she watched it, mesmerized.
“Um, um, um,” she said.
I reached for her like a child wanting to touch a shiny toy but she stopped me with her own hand and grabbed mine in her own, guiding me the way she wanted me to go. She straightened my middle finger and turned my hand palm side up and guided me to her slightly hairy box. She ran my finger up and down her clit, folding her lips and squeezing her eyes tight against the pleasure she was creating for herself with my hand.
My wrist was limp and she used my hand as a dildo pushing my fingers in an out, up and around until she was slick with anticipation. Then she pushed my hand aside and straddled me, sliding onto my dick slowly and precisely, kissing me fiercely whenever I opened my mouth to speak.
With her knees pressed into the cushion of the couch and her arms wrapped tightly around my neck she rode me like I was a mechanical horse and whenever I moved she pressed down harder until I was still and she could do with me as she pleased.
She pushed my head back with a finger against my forehead and her tongue wet my neck from side to side. She flicked it like a snake against my Adam’s apple and sucked it like a nectarine. A swift swerve of her pelvis rendered me speechless and I sat starry eyed with my mouth wide open. She bent her head and grabbed my chin and slipped her tongue inside, sliding it over my teeth, brushing against the insides of my cheeks, sucking on my tongue.
She gently bit my bottom lip and she lowered her hands down my chest where she pinched my nipple, to my belly button and finally to my balls where she caressed them in her palms until my ass rose two inches off the couch and my toes curled enough to grab a patch of the carpet and I exploded inside her and nuzzled my head between her breasts.
She roused me from my lethargic state by tapping the back of my head.
“Hmm?” I managed, my eyes still closed.
“Call me when you want to hook up again,” she said.
I reached for her hips. “But I’m already here and I want to hook up right now. Do I still have to call?”
“No, but I have a job to get back to. I’m not the one on vacation. Besides, I want to take a little nap before I go back to work.”
“Napping is cool. I just need ten minutes and I’ll be ready to go again.”
She tilted her head as if pondering this proposition. “Nah. Maybe in a few days, though. Come by the library if you miss me. I’ll read you some more T. S. Elliot.”
And she lifted herself off me so swiftly and suddenly that my dick fell out of her and landed with a wet thud against my thigh. I watched in utter amazement as she bent to retrieve her clothes and walked naked to her bathroom and turned on the shower.
“Can I join you?” I called from the living room.
“What did I say?” she returned.
“I know, I know,” I said more to myself than to her and pulled my boxers and my trousers back over my hips.
I picked up my wallet and keys that had fallen out of my pocket and headed toward the door.
“So, I’ll call you then?”
She was in the shower now and I imagined the hot water beating against her breasts and belly, her hair curly and wet and I was hard again, my dick pulling tight against my trousers. I hurried out the door and into my car, the taste of her lips on my lips, the feel of her skin on my fingertips, the warmth of her insides all over me.
“Damn,” I said out loud, and turned the music up.
Excerpt, The Evolution Of A Stalker, Copyright 2004