So I suppose my powers of self-preservation are a little lacking. Case-in-point, I was walking home after a wine tasting with a couple of girlfriends. It was a crowded night in downtown Toronto as the Raptors game just got out. I know what you’re wondering and, yes, people actually go to Raptors games in Toronto. A drunk guy behind me was talking loudly to his friend over the cell phone.
“Yes,” he slurred. “I know where I am! I’m behind a girl in a blue jacket.”
“I’m on a fucking sidewalk. I see a bus. Do you see a bus? Do you see this chick in the blue jacket?”
“I TOLD YOU. I’M WALKING BY A BUS AND I’M FOLLOWING A GIRL IN A BLUE JACKET!!! HOW CAN I BE MORE CLEAR ABOUT WHERE I AM?”
“Yeah, I’m probably creeping her out but how will you find me if I stop following her?”
This is where I, the girl in the blue jacket, stop and turn to the drunk guy.
“Hand me your phone, please?”
He gives me the phone.
“Hi, this is the girl in the blue jacket. Do you see the Real Sports Bar?
“Yeah, it’s across the street from the Air Canada Centre.”
“Okay stand in front of it and I’ll bring your friend to you.”
I turned to drunk guy.
“Dude, your friends are on the other side of the ACC. I’ll walk you over.”
“There’s an other side? How the fuck did they get over there?”
The guy stumbled behind me as I walked him to his friends. He tried putting his arm around me at one point but I’m pretty sure it was just to steady himself. When we reached his friend’s I could immediately tell which one was his girlfriend because her face was so red and she looked like she was about to murder him. She was also the only one who did not thank me for helping out. I couldn’t help but wonder how long he had been wandering around following random girls in bright jackets before I took pity on him.
Anyway, yes. Apparently when a drunk guy starts to follow me home, I turn around and walk him to where he’s going instead of kicking him in the nuts and running like hell. How have I survived up to this point?
Now, if you think that nothing sexy can happen at a bowling alley, well, you’re not the only one who feels this way. In fact, Karen Valentine can’t help but wonder how and why she keeps hooking up with Allen in these less than perfect places. Last month was a (ugh) stuffy wedding, and now this. Here’s the rest of the info, folks.
The Alley – blurb
Karen is not exactly pleased when her company ropes her into organizing a charity bowling event. And just when she thinks that used shoes, tacky shirts, and fake pledges are the worst of her problems, her landlord Allen—a guy she’s slept with a couple of times—decides that Karen Valentine in a bowling alley is a sight he simply cannot miss. Karen has always been known to make her own fun but even she doubts her ability to turn this night around. Luckily Allen has a few tricks up his sleeve—and a hotel room just around the corner.
The Alley – short excerpt
He looked entirely too sexy in a thin, creamy cashmere sweater, dark blue jeans and tan shoes. A navy blue gym back hung from his hand.
Without breaking eye contact, Allen weaved and ducked around kids on sugar highs and the adults enabling them until he stood in front of me. His eyes trailed up and down my body, tackily clad in a hideous, powder blue and black bowling shirt, black skinny jeans. The bowling shoes I purchased to match the company issued shirt because there was no way in hell I was going to subject my feet to rented shoes. His grin expanded until it threatened to consume the rest of his face.
My eyes narrowed. “Not a word, Stone,” I seethed.
The Alley is the third story in what has now been dubbed “The Valentine Series”. If you have read The Rental and The Wedding, you already know all about Karen and Allen. I promise you that the chemistry these two share is still in overdrive in The Alley. If you have not yet met this seemingly mismatched couple, don’t worry, you do not have to pick up the first two in the series first. I warn you, though, that you will probably want to get more of Karen and Allen after reading this new release.
I thought I had an interesting job. Then I met one of my good friends for a midday glass of wine.
“Not that I’m complaining but why are we meeting so early?” I asked.
“I have a new job. It’s night shift.”
“Night shift? You know drug dealing is not a real job, no matter how real the income, right?”
“I’m not dealing drugs, I’m guarding them.”
“You’re what now?”
“I’m a security guard. I guard medical marijuana.”
“Awesome! Do you get a gun?”
“A billy club?”
“No, no weapon.”
“What the fuck do you guard the marijuana with? A bag of Doritos? Do you coax the stoned criminals away by scattering corn chips out the gate and down the street?”
“Doritos could work, now that you mention it.”
“At least tell me you get a heavy flashlight. After you distract them with your lunch you club them over the head, right?”
“No, my flashlight is pretty small.”
“You know, a lot of security guards would be ashamed to admit that. I’m proud of you.”
“Proud enough to buy me a bag of Doritos?”
“Yeah, why not.”
I met one of my friends for drinks the other night. She just got off shift and she was exhausted.
“What did you do at work today?” I asked.
“I had to pillow fight kids for six hours.”
“You did what now?”
“Yeah, as part of this event, the organizers had all of these stations set up to distract the children of the attendees. If the kids get bored with one station, they can move on to another. My station was pillow fighting.”
“That sounds horrible.”
“Only if you hate kids.”
“Do you hate kids?”
I disliked kids before today. After today, yes, I hate them.”
I had lunch with one of my friends this afternoon.
“Anything interesting happen at the office this morning?” I asked.
“I spent a lot of time trying to make a cat video that has the potential to go viral.”
“I see. Can I view it online yet?”
“Not really. My cat was being a bitch. I don’t think she likes being dragged out of the house to spend the day at my work.”
“Not everyone is cut out for the office life, I guess.”
“Hey, your cat’s pretty stoned and crazy, right? Can I borrow her for a video?”
“Sorry, she get’s pissed off when she has to watch me work from my home office.”
Yup, up until this week, I was under the impression that my life was kind of interesting. At least I can live vicariously through my friends.
Yep, I’m one of those people. The nightmare dinner guest. The most annoying restaurant patron. The person who ticks off more foods she cannot eat than foods she can on meal request cards. The lady who carries around healthy snacks and a drug store’s worth of pills in her purse in the event she accidentally ingests something that doesn’t agree with her.
On the bright side, after years of hospital visits and dealing with dismissive, condescending doctors, I finally have an answer to what ails me. On the dark side, it’s pretty much everything that one can masticate.
The tests are in and they show some interesting results. I am allergic to eggs, gluten, dairy and whey, oh my. Couple that with my inability and unwillingness to digest meat and I’m fucked.
I will admit, I spent some time mourning the personal loss of beer (okay, a LOT of time) but I still feel pretty relieved. See, I have spent more days feeling shitty than well this summer. Much of this beautiful weather was wasted with me curled in a fetal position on the cool surface of the washroom tiles. And at least the stuff that I’m allergic to is all shit that one should not stuff into their body any way, right? Right?
Hey, there is always the option of living on sushi (with gluten-free soy sauce, of course) and wine. And on those days when I just have to gorge on something greasy and terrible, I can always turn to my favourite; French fries with vegetarian gravy. As long as there is no flour in that gravy.
All-in-all, it’s not that bad, really. Except for my friends who are brave (stupid) enough to invite me to dinner. Those are the people I feel sorry for.
Yeah, I know I’ve been gone a while. I’ve honestly had nothing cool, fun, funny, entertaining, interesting or sexually charged to write about. It’s been a boring, difficult summer, and as my mom always said, “If you can’t say something nice…” Or was that Bambi’s mom?
Anyway, today I did come across something kind of cool. An article that educates us about old-school euphemisms for sex. How old school? Try the 1800’s, bitches! Below are the euphemisms they listed. If you want the actual explanation behind each expression, please visit Mental Flosses’ original article. If you want a completely, ridiculously falsified explanation, read mine. I made them up so you know they’re better. Or they’re worse. Either way, they can’t possibly be on par. Man, I’m tired.
1. Amorous congress
This saying comes from the fact that after every congressional hearing, all parties were not allowed to leave the room until they had set they’re differences aside, or, kissed and made up.
When women in the 1800’s were sent to prison, they were forced to spend sixteen hours per day weaving baskets. This work was tedious, depressing and often lopsided. To even out the pathetically woven creations while at the same time adding some levity to the task at hand, prisoners would use their bare asses as a mold. Of course, with so many luscious bottoms hanging out, this often led to many a old timey lesbian orgy to celebrate day’s end.
3. Bread and butter
Partly from disgust but mostly from jealousy, when women on the outside learned that their baskets were perfectly shaped from the asses of lesbian prisoners, they boycotted said vessels. Unfortunately they no longer had any thing to carry their bread in and this led to an simultaneous abundance of household butter and lack shit to slather it on. Being the resourceful sort, one thing led to another and, well, hence this tasty euphemism.
Women in the1800’s did not shave their downstairs. ‘Nuff said.
Due to a lack of instructional videos, grade school level sex ed and informative rap lyrics, virginal newlywed husbands were pretty terrible at oral sex. Fortunately their butlers were on hand to share the “clicket method”, which involves pressing one’s tongue against the clitoris while trying to say this word.
It is reasonable for you to assume that this is the 1800’s version of the modern slang sucking face. Of course, you would be wrong, stupid. This is the 1800’s version of the modern slang O-face.
7. Blanket hornpipe
This one’s a little obscure but I’ll try to connect the dots. See, the hornpipe is a man’s erect penis, or his cock, if you will. His hard cock is under a blanket and is likely to be inserted between a willing woman’s legs. Hence Blanket Hornpipe. Man, people sure were into verbal subterfuge in those days.
8. Blow the grounsils
Did you know Gremlins was a remake? Well it was. In the 1800’s version of the film, Gremlins were actually called Grounsils, and they grew three times their size when the were caught in a stiff (stiff, hah!) breeze or some stupid woman blew on them for luck. And not only would they get big and mean, those little bastards would spit at you.
9. Convivial society
So ask anyone from the 1800’s and they will tell you that the only people who were truly convivial were those privileged enough to slurp champagne from the belly buttons of imported ladyboys. Yup, you hadn’t just hadn’t made it in life until you could boast waking up in daze, your face between the smooth golden legs of champagne soaked Thai person.
10. Take a flyer
Party goers would utilize scarlet coloured flyers as a super-twisted, grown up version of a dance card. Interesting side note: scarlet flyers were actually the origin of 1970’s era “key” parties.
11. Green gown
Yeah, I’m going to take a pass on this one. The actual explanation for this is that women rolling around on the grass and staining their dresses. Awesome.
12. Lobster kettle
To understand lobster kettle, you have to first get two things. The first is number three on this list, Bread & Butter. The second is the concept of warm utter melting into every crevice it slips through.
13. Melting moments
See number twelve. They were really hung up on this butter thing. Can you blame them? Astroglide, one of the first personal lubricants, wasn’t invented until the 1970’s.
14. Pully hawly
Obviously a euphemism for a hand job on a very well-endowed man.
15. St. George
Despite the implied holiness of his name, this perv got more tail than a modern day Jason Statham. If a man was a player or, at the very least, highly desirable to women, he was known as St. George.
16. A stitch
A stitch was the 1800’s terminology for a quickie. A stitch in time – a quickie in a hurry.
A tiff was the name given to what was promised to be luxurious, languishing, lazy Sunday afternoon kind of sex but ended up being just a stitch.
I’m very excited about my new release, His Passion, Her Temptation, which is the fourth book in the Dominating BDSM Billionaires Series. His Need, Her Desire (Book 1) is currently free at most online retailers. His Desire, Her Surrender (Book 2) hit bestseller lists in the United States, United Kingdom, Canada and Australia. Her Wish, His Command (Book 3) released in June.
His Need, Her Desire (Book 1) is currently FREE at most retail outlets.
His Passion, Her Temptation Blurb
Granger Pharma executive Monica Granger is hiding her relationship from her family. She has to. Her lover is the son of her father’s biggest business rival. Ben Coron is more than Monica can resist; he’s everything she’s ever wanted—including dominant in bed.
But when Coron Health makes a play for Granger Pharma, Monica’s relationship—and her life—blow wide open. She loses her job, and her family rejects her. Someone’s stealing Granger’s vital trade secrets, and worse, Monica’s brother is dodging attempts on his life.
Their passion is too strong to keep Monica and Ben apart for long. They must thwart the takeover and heal the rift between their families. If they don’t, they’ll never trust one another enough to pursue the dominance and submission they both need.
“So, do you want to eat now … or later?” Monica’s smile turned seductive.
“Well, I think I might need you first.” His hand reached to touch the silkiness of her hair.
“I agree. Food can wait.” Monica pulled his head down and kissed him, greedy to taste his lips.
Without breaking the kiss, Ben guided her out of the hallway into the living room.
Monica slipped her finger under the edge of his collar. “You know, it doesn’t seem fair that you get to call all the shots.”
“Oh? I call all the shots?” Ben’s hands roamed to her rear and squeezed.
“Yes … you decide when and how …” Monica licked the edge of his lip.
“One, that isn’t quite true, and two, I haven’t heard you complaining.” He gave her a playful pinch on the ass.
“Oh no, I’m not complaining.” Her hand moved to the front of his pants, cupping him.
“Then what?” His hands slid down to the back of her thighs.
“I thought it might be fun to … try a little something else.” She rubbed him through the fabric of his pants.
“What did you have in mind?” Ben swept his hands up her back and tangled his fingers in her hair.
Monica tilted her head back. “Do you recall that night before I left for Hawaii?”
“I do believe it is burned into my memory.”
“Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t be interesting to reverse things.” Monica observed his face for a reaction.
“Oh yes.” Her finger laid a trail down the front of his chest. “You,” she poked him gently, “would do as I say.”
“I see. Are you finding you have a dominant streak?” he teased.
“I’m not sure, but I have a desire to find out.” The thought of taking charge appealed to Monica, not all the time, but perhaps occasionally.
Ben smiled. “That sounds … enticing.”
“I hoped you’d think so.” Monica walked around him, patting his ass with her palm.
“How would you start?”
“I’d tell you to disrobe for my viewing pleasure.” Monica enjoyed looking at the hard planes of Ben’s body, so different from her own curves.
“Oh, yes.” Monica crossed the few steps to the seating area and settled herself into an upholstered chair.
Ben approached Monica and then turned his back toward her. He loosened his tie and pulled it free, tossing it over his shoulder in Monica’s direction before unbuttoning his shirt and letting the fabric fall to the floor. He turned slightly and caught her eye. Monica flushed under his wicked gaze.
His Passion, Her Temptation is available for preview and purchase at the following online retailers.
Malia Mallory Biography
Malia Mallory lives in Hawaii with her husband and daughter. She’s been working with words since alphabet blocks rolled into her crib, not only writing her own work but copy editing and proofreading the work of others. She has loved to read about relationships since she first sneaked off with her mother’s Harlequin.
Malia Mallory is the best-selling author of The ABCs of Erotica series, which covers the erotic spectrum from BDSM to ménage and everything in between. More releases in the series are on the way. She has also released the Mia’s Cop Craving series and Santa’s Backdoor Baby. Malia’s books have hit the bestselling erotica lists at both Amazon and iTunes. Her books are available in electronic format at major retailers like Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes, Kobo, Sony, Diesel, Smashwords and AllRomance Books.
For a free copy of B is for Beach from The ABCs of Erotica, head to her website and sign up for the newsletter at http://www.maliamallory.com/Join_My_Mailing_List.php.
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I chose to walk home, rather than take the subway so close to rush hour. I immediately regretted my decision when I was stuck behind an annoying girl and a guy for about three city blocks. The assholes were walking at just the right clip that I couldn’t comfortably go any faster to outpace them or any slower without making me late for my swim date. The girl just went on and on and on in an amazing combination of nasal and sing-song voice. I managed to drown her out with my usual trick – singing the Oscar Meyer wiener theme song in my head – until, every once in a while, the guy would try to get a word in edge-wise only to be verbally plowed over by the girl’s unending enthusiasm in whatever it was she had to say. Eventually the Oscar Meyer theme song became just as annoying as her and I couldn’t help but tune in. This is when I realized she was making fun of her boyfriend or date’s impotence.
Apparently her guy had trouble getting it up and she thought this was fucking hilarious. She recounted the scenario to her male friend in great detail and with much biting mirth. He appeared to know the guy she was talking about. I barely fought the urge to tell her that her date might have had an easier time getting a hard on if she would just shut the fuck up for three and a half minutes. I decided then that speed walking home might be a good idea after all and I zoomed past them.
Unfortunately I was still hell bent on going at a pace just less than jogging when I overheard the following interaction religious zealot and a big, fun, sloppy looking guy:
Religious Zealout: Have you hear about the power of Allah?
Big, Fun, Sloppy Looking Guy: Have you heard about the drag show tonight?
Religious Zealout: I will teach you about the almighty Allah if you will give me the chance!
Big, Fun,Sloppy Looking Guy: I’ll take you to see some fantastic drag queens if you give me the chance!
Religious Zealout: Allah loves all, Allah knows all, Allah will help you.
Big, Fun, Sloppy Looking Guy: Sure but these drag queens know their shit, too.
Religious Zealout: Let me teach you about the powers of Allah!
Big, Fun, Sloppy Looking Guy: Look, do you want to go see some drag queens or not?
Unfortunately I was already half a block away when it occurred to me that I might like to see a drag queen show tonight. Fuck, why didn’t I offer to go with him? I probably could have helped him bark up a few more suitable trees while I was at it.
My musings were cut short when I spied a couple of frustrated tourists puzzling over a map. While I couldn’t hear what they were saying exactly, I could tell by their tones that they were starting to get snippy with each other as they attempted to piece together where they were. I stopped and asked if I could help them and the stress disappeared from their faces as I showed them exactly how to get to the C.N. Tower from where they stood. As added measure, I then pulled out a pen and drew an X where their hotel was and pointed out a brewery they could stop at for a free beer on their way to their destination. They were profusely thanking me, as if I had just performed some massive public service instead of simply offering a few directions, when a guy interrupted to ask if I had a light.
“Sure,” I answered fishing one from my purse and handing it to him. He took the light and pulled a massive joint from his pocket. He lit it and offered me a puff.
“No thanks, I have to swim in twenty minutes.” I responded while retrieving my lighter. I turned back to the couple. Their eyes were huge and round.
“Is that guy smoking marijuana on the street?” the lady wondered aloud. “In broad daylight?”
“Welcome to Toronto,” I smiled. “I hope you have a nice vacation.”
“Well, the people seem…fun,” the husband replied. I wondered then, if a guy smoking a joint blew their minds, what might they have thought of two conversations I had just overheard. For some reason my mind then conjured an image of this couple sitting at a drag show, surrounded in a plume of marijuana smoke, their expressions exactly the same as they are now. I tried to keep my amusement from showing as I waved goodbye.
Hey, now that I think about it, that would make a great flash fiction piece. Shit, maybe all three conversations could be used as flash fiction inspiration.
’til next time, folks, I’m off to update my TBW (To Be Written) list.