Writing Sprints for the Neurotic and Executive Functioning Impaired

February 16, 2023

One of the realities of my executive dysfunction is that I have a horrible working memory, and working memory is important for writing a story. And when writing a long series, it’s basically essential.

Now, thankfully my working memory has improved some with ADHD treatment and cortisol support. I am no longer the person staring blankly at a wall trying to remember wtf I was doing. But that doesn’t mean that I won’t read the paragraphs before I got to where I left off, start typing, and then stop because I forgot what the character was wearing, or if they just said that and am I being repetitive, or wait, is this inside or outside setting wise. Who the hell are these people again?

If I give into finding the answers to these questions — very good, important questions that should eventually be answered — I’m going to have to slog through reading again and find each answer while pissing off my eyes. I won’t be writing. When doing writing sprints, I have to embrace the concept that working memory doesn’t matter, and that all those little details (was that tentacle purple or green?) don’t matter. I can fix it all on the next draft.

Why? Because writing sprints are never the final draft.

If you go into writing sprints as the last version of your story, you’re setting yourself up to crash and burn — you know, if you can get a single word on the page first. If you think you’re rushing to write the last version of your story, that could mentally freeze you into not writing at all — not particularly helpful as a writer.

I like writing sprints for 3 types of drafting:
* the sketch draft stage where you need to flesh out an outline (notice I don’t recommend sprints for the outline phase),
* the rough draft phase where you’re fleshing out that sketch,
* the developmental drafts where you have a few scenes (or even a whole book) written but something is missing, it’s just not there yet. So you go through the process, sprinting paragraphs to entire scenes to get the final shape before the final edits.

Writing sprints bring a freedom to draft writing that other writing styles don’t. It’s not just about discipline and productivity. I can sprint thousands of words a day, but if they’re not the right words, I’m not really showing up to write. Sprints can let your creativity run wild in a very focused way that fits into a story format, focusing your energy at getting the majority of the structure filled out. Writing sprints get a book written — not plotted, not changed, not polished. Writing sprints are when you get that story out with about 90%+ of the right words. Then other aspects of the process come in to make sure you get a finished, polished story out.

So… What Is A Writing Sprint?

Writing sprints are timed bursts of writing. It’s when you focus up, set a timer, and refuse to let anything interrupt your writing until that timer goes off. I make sure I have an outline and/or rough draft written before I reach this stage. Sometimes before I start sprints, I will quickly edit or write a fresh outline up for the scene to ensure I can stay focused on the plot points.

My writing sprints have two different forms depending on what I’m doing at the time. There’s the dictation sprint, which is me talking into a headset with the dragon naturally speaking software on my laptop. Or the writing sprint, which is me typing on the laptop. Dictation is much faster, sort of. The connection between my mouth my brain compared to my fingers and my brain is much faster, which can actually be difficult if I don’t force myself to slow down. As a result, my dictation sprints are usually only 3 minutes, sometimes 5 if I’m feeling less energetic and stupid mouthed — cuz my mouth will get stupid when I’m tired. My writing sprints usually average around 6 minutes.

I make a point to have short writing sprints. I don’t want much more than 200 words by the end of each sprint. Part of this has to do with what I follow-up with, which is the editing sprint, and part of this has to do with understanding the way my brain works and supporting it as needed. I have a bad working memory. I can lose the topic, and the longer I am doing a sprint, the more likely I can stray from my focus. 200 words is more than long enough to get a point across. If that one point surpasses 200 words, it’s probably too long anyways.

Do I sometimes feel frustrated that I’m pulled out of a paragraph? Yes. Do I sometimes want to keep writing and ignore the timer completely? Absolutely. But I don’t. Even though it admittedly makes me slower and can break up my flow. I know that I cannot handle editing for long stretches at a time, so if I fail to stop my writing in a timely manner, I’m the only one to blame for my eyes screaming at me during the editing phase.

Timers

I use the clock app on my phone to time my sprints. I find it important to have something outside of my laptop to time me so that I’m not opening and closing windows all the time. When I first started sprints, I would use the timer on my laptop and I would have arrange all these windows into perfect little slices cutting the screen so that I could see everything and just click and all that, but setting it up was a pain and something would always end up moved during normal use of the laptop. It made me twitchy, focused on the wrong thing, forever fiddling to arrange them perfectly.

Now that my vision situation is worse, I just find it easier to have my work screen be focused on writing, and something off screen focus on timing. This doesn’t mean there aren’t issues with picking up the phone every time I stop a sprint, especially with my ADHD brain that does not want to work but instead wants to play, but it’s rare that I’ll actually allow myself to look at notifications or browse the Internet, etc. I stay in the clock app and only switch from timer to stopwatch depending on the sprint type.

Editing Sprints

I wasn’t joking about editing sprints; they’re absolutely part of my process no matter how asinine it might sound. I started doing editing sprints when I realized that I was spending all this time editing books instead of writing new content. While going through that process of doing the same thing over and over again I was
1) so repetitive that my brain was taking on a shape I couldn’t get out of well enough to do any other kind of writing (aka, the creative kind) and
2) bored out of my fucking skull, which was making me even slower at editing.

I realized the solution for this was to edit as I go. So while writing sprints require a timer to keep me within a set amount of time, I keep my sessions short so I don’t have too many paragraphs to edit immediately after.

My editing sprints are completely different from writing/dictation sprints. I don’t use a timer for editing sprints, but instead the stopwatch. And the only reason I’m actually timing my editing is to keep me on track, and not because I believe there’s a certain amount of time to do this in.

I mean, if I’m honest, I enjoy comparing the metrics I enter into my sprinting spreadsheet after each session, and that gives me an idea of how well I’ve shown up for the day. I find it encouraging, which is the only reason I do it. If I found it discouraging I absolutely wouldn’t. Editing is too important to half ass… Maybe quarter ass.

Sprinting Spreadsheets

If you’re curious, this is how I set up my sprinting spreadsheet. It’s gone through multiple versions over the years, this current version breaking things down by a writing week, with a cumulative total at the top (to encourage me if I miss any days starting out), and in a warmer color palette than the neon blue and pink theme I had before.

I made the functions work so it’s easy to put in the exact time amounts and it converts into minutes and seconds. You might notice that the day’s hours don’t add up to a lot, yet I’m sitting in front of the computer for these writing sprints, on average, 4 hours. Because ADHD. Because human, not robot. Because if we try to measure the productivity of humans based on metrics instead of reality, we don’t let them breathe, or play with cats, or eat, go to the bathroom, stare off into space, look things up, etc.

So to be completely real, it might look like I’m getting a lot done in a short amount of time, and maybe I could be doing more, but this is a day of writing. At least, a 4 hours day set aside for writing sprints. I don’t time the writing I do at the end of the day where I’m not focused and my ADHD meds and caffeine have worn off. I know I’m sitting there just as long, the way I’m currently editing this part of this post at 4am.

So What Is An Editing Sprint?

For me, because this is addressing my executive dysfunctions and the limits of the software I’m using if I’m dictating at the time, editing sprints are a couple of different things. The main one is for clean up.

If I dictated my writing sprints, I will still be reading and typing my editing. Dictation is a very good reason to do an editing sprint. No matter how good the software claims to be and is evolving to be, it’s going to fuck up. A lot. It’s going to need training, and if you have dragon, you will find that the more you train it, the more problems it might adopt as you go along. Editing immediately after the dictation sprints will save you hours of going “what the fuck was that supposed to mean?”

It’s honestly something I should do when dictating these blog posts, but unfortunately these blog posts require a different sort of thinking for me, and I am very bad at stopping that thinking in the middle of the process to edit. I’m not starting with an outline to keep me on track like I do when writing a story, so my poor working memory is making me rush through and keep going before I lose the thread.

Mainly, I find myself typing instead of dictating when I’m writing a story. Part of this is plain old self-consciousness considering what I write, but another big part is how my eyes are doing at the time. Generally, I like to read as I write. It helps me focus, and helps support that very wobbly working memory that I have. I need my notes/outline open next to the text I’m writing to keep me on track, meaning I need clear sight to the screen and my eyes working.

When I’m dictating, the main reason is because either my thoughts are too fast for my fingers, or my eyes are killing me, and looking at the screen just isn’t a priority. Or, in this case, I’m dictating because my back is killing me from sitting and writing yesterday, and I can’t sit in my normal spot, forcing me to stand with a set up that is so difficult lighting wise (and impossible keyboard wise), that it’s causing me eye pain. It’s something I’m going to have to solve, obviously, but not this moment.

When editing a 6 minute writing sprint, I’ll focus on the obvious cleanup that my computer is blaring at me first, such as spelling and all the missing j’s and q’s that my keyboard has decided don’t exist without slamming on them. But I may also do some developmental editing. Sometimes it will just be a different perspective of the same line, trying to stop the repetitiveness of the way I write, or to make it more clear to communicate by breaking up my many run-on sentences (so many). I might move sentences around if it makes more sense, or preserve them because they feel like they’re not on point to the current topic but I know something is coming up where it will suit better.

Sometimes it’s trying to show a scene instead of telling it, and that involves a different way of thinking for me that doesn’t blurt out in an easy flow during a writing sprint. That doesn’t mean I can’t sprint through to sketch that perspective with a rough shape. It just means that those sorts of perspectives usually need more time for me to slow down and make sure the sensory data is communicating well during the editing sprint.

Staying Focused

There is an overwhelming desire to support my working memory during these editing sprints. It usually turns into a compromise of if I’m going to research or not. The main thing is I shouldn’t. I know how it slows me down, and I know that I can get stuck and not move to the next sprint. To avoid that, it’s really important that I stick to not stopping and reading through a bunch of text with strained eyes to get an answer that isn’t necessarily important. Instead, I have to make the habit of writing a note and then highlighting it in a not too obnoxious color — because all my old notes are in colors that scream at my eyes at the moment and I don’t want to look at them — so that I can come back to it later on a more extensive edit.

But I don’t always behave when it comes to things like this because I have OCD. And that’s not a term I throw around lightly, but a diagnosis, and sometimes I just can’t go forward until I have an answer to a question. It’s better to look for that answer during the editing sprints where I have a stopwatch to point out how much time I’m pissing away just to quiet my brain. It’s important to never let those questions be answered during the writing sprint phase, because then it becomes acceptable. And once my brain is like “hey, we can do this” once, it will push to do it every time. So separating these brain triggers out of the writing sprint phase is a must.

Keeping Things Novel

I like pushing my brain to think in a “show, don’t tell way” during the editing sprints phase. I like the results, and I like the challenge. One of the reasons of having the editing sprints phase was to not be bored as fuck, and finding something to keep my brain engaged so that I’ll stay focused really helps in that endeavor.

Editing is a good time to fit description that’s been glossed over, and find ways to really put the character in the scene, in the moment, and the reader with them. That can be through sensory data, having a peek into their emotional world, making sure to filter things through the character and not just the narrative voice.

My ADHD makes reading things that aren’t direct facts and info boring — I’m looking at you recipes — and when writing, I’m forced to repeat over the same scenes again and again and again. I probably exaggerate as a result, just to keep my own attention… and I’m okay with that. I get to call that my style at this point.

Editing Sprints For Works In Progress

If you’re interested in sharing your works in progress, I highly recommend adopting the editing sprint phase. It’s allowed me to have something to show subscribers before a story is complete. For my business, that’s everything. For my OCD, perfectionist vulnerable side who is terrified to put anything out that isn’t exactly what it’s supposed to be by the end, it’s a compromise that allows me to keep going.

I know stories go through drafts. I know that the writing process is a messy chaos of starts and stops where nothing connects until you do the work to make it connect. But for some reason it’s like putting a bunch of uncooked sticks on a plate and calling it a meal when I show my drafting process. Expecting people to pay me for that is just too much for me to handle. I feel like a hack. But with editing sprints, now I feel like I’ve at least cooked the sticks before serving it to people, as if to say “yes, it’s not food, but I am definitely a cook.”

Starting a subscription site not only saved me when my health got so bad that I couldn’t write for years, but it has also helped a lot in fighting the neurotic aspects of my brain. Many of my stories don’t change much past the editing sprints stage — there’s nothing innately wrong with them. The bulk of the writing is fine. But by allowing myself the opportunity to believe the stories could change drastically and still putting them out into the world as is, I’m giving myself an opportunity to let go of finding the perfect words, the perfect story form, and get on to the next writing sprints.

Okay, but when do I actually answer those important story questions I put off?

Usually at the end of my writing and editing sprints sessions, which can last for hours, easily, I will step away from the work. Maybe I’ll have a meal or just move around, feed the cats who have been waiting, see my family if they’re home at this time, and just be a person instead of a writer. This space is important. I don’t think people understand the physical wear writing takes on a body, never mind on brain, and if you don’t refuel and move and do something else, it’s not particularly healthy.

After I had my break which can also last hours — because I set my own hours and my family is a major priority — I will usually come back in the quiet hours of the night and look at my work for the day. I will expect to work for hours on the editing that follows.

I don’t do any kind of sprints at this time; my brain is not here for that shape. Instead, I look at the notes that I left for myself while rereading the work, and add more notes if I see things are missing. I’ll find all my questions and start answering them, at the same time going through and changing little things here and there, stuff I might’ve missed in my editing sprints, or things that have to change now that those questions have been answered.

The only problem I have with this current system is that I am usually tired by this time a day. My ADHD meds have worn off, meaning my focus can only be as good as it can be by the limits of my brain. I will miss things. It also means my neurosis can creep in and want to stay up even later and later, trying to get it right. I have to set hard limits with myself about these things, and when I’m tired, that’s really difficult.

That said, I find this stage is important for the next day of writing. It let’s me get the scene where it needs to be, and to be able to have some creative downtime to develop things and see the work as a whole instead of small 200 word bits that I’m looking at when doing the sprints.

It’s also good to help create a routine of posting at the end of the day, updating the website and keeping myself accountable. Honestly, that’s really what forces me to stop my neurosis at the end of the night even as it wants to flareup and be louder as my brain notices that I’m putting out an imperfect draft.

When I update the website, I’m forced to notice how fucking tired I am. The eyestrain, the many questions that every story forces me to ask again and again of is this the right direction or this, the physical exhaustion on my body from the act of typing and hunching over the screen; I can ignore these things when I in the moments writing, but not so much when I’m struggling to navigate a website with hidden menus, forgetting what tabs I need to open and where I need to go to update things.

Even though a part of me just wants to stop and wait till it’s perfect and not put anything out, updating after every writing day is important. That neurotic voice is not helpful in getting a story written. And honestly, by being tired I have worn that voice down so that it has less power over me so that I can post. Which is great. Fuck that voice.

——————

This ended up being much longer than I was expecting, and I still have things about the writing process I want to share. I think I’ll save it for another post (cuz tired =_=), and leave this one here focused just on the sprinting stuff. Hopefully someone will find it helpful.

?Women Matter. Babies Matter. Stop Killing Us.?

May 25, 2019

Hey babes,

I’ve been reeling a bit. Writing and cleaning up Episode #1 of the PATB Serial. Some random, insignificant health stuff, but nothing worth talking about. There have been a lot of things I just don’t feel like talking about lately. I don’t like drama, I don’t like spreading needless pain. I don’t like having to hear the news and being pissed off and then making others pissed off. But fuck it. Let’s call this cathartic because I gotta talk about this shit.

I want to warn in advance… I’m probably going to say some offensive shit. It may seem like I hate men. I don’t, but I am angry. When you’re trapped in a system where you’re on the side being oppressed, it’s very hard not to yell about the side that’s not being oppressed the same way, the side that appears to have the power to change things if they would only try. I understand all too well that men are allies—I have amazing men, women, and non-binary individuals in my life who are freaking amazing and understand all too well the struggle we are facing.

But I also know not all men are allies. That there are individuals in this fucked up system who are more than happy to crush anyone with a uterus down, and some of those individuals have a uterus too. My anger is directed toward these individuals, but I get it. I cannot speak properly when I’m pissed off. I accept now I will say something wrong, many things, and I apologize to those who think I’m intentionally being insensitive. I am too sensitive right now, I care too much, and I’m being real to that.

I’m going to add some self care links and how to help links at the bottom of this. Check it if you’re not dealing well with the stress or are looking for ways to be proactive during this really shitty time. I feel shitty and I’m sure I’m not the only one.

As for those who are tired of hearing women rant about equal rights because they think everything is ‘perfectly fine:’ too fucking bad. Suck it up, buttercup.

Ready for a long rant?

Anti-women bills

If you haven’t read the details, here’s an article by Vox. (ref #AntiAbortionBillsExplained) It was written the 10th and since then, Alabama’s bill has passed with no exceptions for rape or incest. (ref #UpdatesOnReproductiveRights)

Anti abortion laws are sweeping the US state to state in a planned attack to overturn Roe v. Wade and take away a woman’s right to her body. I knew it was going to happen. We all fucking knew. If you were a women in the US when we watched an alleged serial sexual assaulter get elected into the Supreme Court, you knew this was the next war. And hey, the extreme, religious right knew too and didn’t disappoint.

I mean, if they were coming after our GUNS it would be a different story, right? Every ‘red blooded American’ would be screaming about their constitutional rights being stolen away. We have a right to GUNS! But a women’s constitutional right to own her own body? Crickets. Gas lighting. Bullshit pseudo science. We laugh at flat-earthers being out of touch with reality, but apparently lawmakers still can’t figure out how the hell a uterus works. No, we force our women to leave their jobs and have their bodies change in alarming, dangerous ways (ref #PregnancyChanges) so that they’re punished for having a dick in them. Not only can a man force a dick in a woman, but then she has to be forced to have her entire life and body change because of these bullshit laws.

So here we are with laws in place to imprison a doctor for 99 years if caught giving an abortion. Where the only way you’re allowed to have an abortion is if you don’t know you’re pregnant. Some laws are set to conception as a fetus being ‘alive’ and having a ‘right to live’ over a woman’s right to chose. And the six week mark of a heartbeat (of which it is not an actual heartbeat because a heart has not developed — come on you stupid fucks, open a biology book) is measured not by conception, but through a woman’s last period, so even there, no fairness.

For those who don’t understand basic female anatomy (ref #Ovulation), a woman must be ovulating to become pregnant. Ovulation happens before menstruation, 14 days, approx., meaning if you menstruate after sex, you have no possibility of being pregnant. (Some women experience spotting or a lighter period when first pregnant, meaning they may not even realize they’re pregnant till far later.) But for the majority of women, if she becomes pregnant on the day of ovulation (an egg is only viable 12-24 hours after it leaves the ovary, so the day,) that means she won’t have a period following. She will be measured by her previous period, which was 2 weeks before ovulation and conception. Sometimes women are late on their periods, or lose track of time (cuz hey, busy,) meaning the menstrual cycle she missed is already 4 weeks after her previous cycle. This gives her two weeks to realize she may be pregnant and decide on an abortion before the heartbeat law says she’s out of time.

I don’t know about you, but that’s a pretty short timeline to figure out if you want to have a financial, emotional, physical, and social burden that will last for the next 18 years of your life, or if you want to get an expensive abortion (@$350 – $950 for a first trimester abortion) just because a condom may have been faulty. I had to wait 4 months just to get enough money together to pay for car repairs. That is a lot of pressure on an already stressful situation, especially if you’re not financially stable.

Not a lot of banks giving out loans for abortions. Note: If you need funding in the US for an abortion, check here. It was written in 2016, so a possibly outdated. (ref #AbortionFundingByState)

Forcing a serious decision like starting a family into a matter of days is irresponsible for all parties involved. The US has the highest infant and maternal mortality rate of any developed country. Mothers and born babies need help now, but these anti-abortion bills do nothing to address that. Because women don’t matter to pro-lifers. Babies don’t matter to pro-lifers. They don’t care about human lives. They just care about stealing control of a woman’s body while repeating the same old drone bullshit of ‘right to life.’ (ref #JudgeRulesGasLighting) Actions and where they send their money speak truth, and the ProLife movement has shown they’re only about forcing birth.

The blunt reality of the world is not all babies are wanted. Not all humans are suitable parents. Not all women consent to being impregnated. Nothing is sacred, not even life, and overpopulation during an environmental crisis is a shit show. There is no value to preventing abortion, only economic harm and the dehumanization of women into baby makers. So let’s jump into the consequences and realities.

How are women killed from criminalizing abortions?

Illegal Abortions

Women seek unsafe abortions which can lead to their death. In parts of the world where abortion is illegal, botched abortions still cause about 8 to 11 percent of all maternal deaths, or about 30,000 each year. (ref #IllegalAbortionDeaths)

No Medical Help

Women avoid doctors while they’re pregnant, putting themselves in jeopardy if the pregnancy goes wrong. When you fear being forced to follow through with pregnancy or being imprisoned over a miscarriage, you don’t tell anyone you’re pregnant. Plain and simple logic. Doctors are not an ally, but an informant for the government in such a situation.

In a life and death situation where a woman might be mid miscarriage, perhaps through a fall she had no control over, she won’t seek help because she won’t want to go to jail for a miscarriage. And yes, women have gone to jail in the US for miscarriage. (ref #AntiAbortionJailed)

Women may refuse to seek medical help at all if they have received an abortion in the past or miscarried for the same reason. One of the biggest problems in states that restrict abortion is how they also restrict education and support of women’s health. Without knowledge of what a doctor can tell when examining women, or how much you’re allowed to let them examine you, an uniformed woman will avoid it all to protect herself.

Some are only taught about abstinence and have little idea about their bodies and how they work, how to have sex safely, and how to not get pregnant when having sex. (ref #TeenEducationDrop) Few women even know that they don’t pee out of their vaginas! (ref #ThreeHoles) They are kept ignorant of their own bodies, safety, of STIs which they can spread blindly, and of their power to not be pregnant.

When a doctor is the authority of if you’re going to go to jail, you don’t seek medical help, which is exactly what these bills will result in. (ref #PoliticsAndMiscarriage)

Silencing Victims

Let’s not forget the silence around sexual abuse in families.

There are teenage girls being raped by members of their family, by adults, by men in positions of power over them be it financially or materially. These young girls are already at risk of being harmed or killed by their assailant. Now they have to fear being prosecuted if they seek help if they become pregnant, have had a miscarriage in the past, or are in the process of having a miscarriage because they were harmed while pregnant.

What if in being examined for sexual assault, they’re discovered to have miscarried in the past? No police reports would have been filed, and it’s unlikely any teen would dare name her assailant if it’s a family member and, bluntly, even less likely she would be believed because no one believes women when it comes to sexual assault.

These are at risk women who haven’t even gained enough self awareness to understand their situation, now learning that there are laws in place to help keep them silent about the abuse they’re enduring. After her right to say no is stolen from her, her freedom can be too by being imprisoned for feticide for not seeking proper treatment when pregnant. Because, yes, when they suspect a woman lost a fetus from neglect, they have thrown her in prison in the US. (ref #Feticide) (ref #SuicideInPregnancy) This puts these women in a particularly dangerous situations where suicide is the only option left. (ref #SuicideWithoutAbortion)

How are babies killed from criminalizing abortions?

High Infant Mortality

States with the worst anti-abortion laws have the worst infant mortality rates. (ref #InfantMortality)

So for clarification, we’re talking about babies, not fetuses. What is a baby? For starters, it’s born. Babies cannot exist in the uterus (unless one crawls back in. O_O)
(ref #Infant) Newborn infants are the youngest form of life outside of the womb, and if not for a mammalian mother or replacement, that infant will die from lack of nourishment or protection. Without a mother, a newborn will die without intervention.

Without a mother, a fetus will die. It cannot sustain itself.
(ref #Fetus) Nonviable fetuses cannot live outside the womb, and few viable fetuses are ever intentionally aborted unless to save a mother’s life. (ref #AbortionMyths) Viable fetuses who can survive out of the womb can be as young as 24 weeks, but even then, their survival rate is low even with medical intervention. They cannot seek food, can’t protect themselves; they need intervention to live. Many premature births lead to long term health problems for the resulting baby if they manage to survive. (ref #FetalViability)

Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (ref #SIDS) is when an infant suddenly dies without explanation, but not necessarily without natural cause. Not all born infants will pass this stage. We have amazing medical technology, but some life just cannot sustain itself. Not all life lives.

Infanticide

“Infanticide has been practiced on every continent and by people on every level of cultural complexity, from hunter gatherers to high civilizations, including our own ancestors. Rather than being an exception, then, it has been the rule.” (ref #Infanticide)

Women who don’t want to be mothers, and don’t have access to contraceptives or abortions, abandon their newborns. Men who don’t want to be fathers, or family members who don’t want the women to be a mother, may take her baby away and abandon it to prevent social and financial strain. Instead of aborting a fetus, a newborn is left to die.

Child Abandonment

65% of abandoned children (who are recovered) are newborns. (ref #AbandonedKids) We have no idea how many newborns are actually abandoned in the US. The statistics is no better once we started the Safe Haven law because reporting numbers can lead to fear of legislative interference. (ref #AbandonedNewborns)

No one knows how many abandoned babies are unaccounted for. And to put it bluntly, when it’s a crime to have a miscarriage, women are going to stop reporting they’re pregnant at all. They’re going to stop going to doctors to seek help. They’re not going to be abandoning their babies in places where anyone could find out they were pregnant in the first place. Those babies won’t end up in a Safe Haven; they’ll be buried to prevent a woman from having to go to jail.

Babies will not be saved when women are forced to stay pregnant. They will be erased. (ref #ChildAbandonment)

The Cost To Care

Not all families can afford children.

16 million kids in the US are hungry. (ref #ChildHunger) 18 million kids live in single parent households. (ref #SingleParent) This suggests a financial instability that could be obtained with two parents— but not a judgment of if a single parent can raise a kid, just to be clear. Some can and they kick ass at it. Some can’t because of economic and financial realities that can lead to neglect.

Child neglect is a serious problem, one that could be easily avoided if women weren’t forced to have children they don’t want or can’t afford.

What is neglect?

‘Failure to meet a child’s basic needs may take any of the following forms:

Physical or medical neglect. This is the most common type. It includes failing to seek appropriate and timely medical care for your child, failing to provide adequate nutrition, abandoning your child, and leaving him unsupervised at too young an age.
Educational neglect. Allowing your child to skip school frequently is another sort of neglect. Also, if you don’t enroll your child in school when he’s reached the mandatory age, or you don’t seek special educational help if your child needs it, this may be considered neglectful.
Psychological or emotional neglect. Harder to recognize, this type occurs when, for example, parents withhold affection from their children or ignore them. Occasionally, parents withhold affection as a form of discipline, but when indifference and inattention become the norm, over an extended period of time, then it is considered neglect.’ (ref #ChildNeglect)

Are foster care and adoption a solution?

Not really

I’ve been through the foster care system back in the 80’s. I was adopted. To the best of my young, traumatized memory, I was never harmed in foster care. I am very grateful to have been removed from my negligent, abusive biological home where all six of us were abused and starved (you could count the ribs of my brother, who had pulled the majority of his hair out in patches before he was five.) That said, foster care hasn’t really gained much ground.

Funding hasn’t increased to meet the demand of the society, and case workers are overworked and understaffed. Children aren’t being saved, they’re being neglected, tortured, and suffering needlessly. They’re not being removed from unsafe households, and some are dying right under the noses of the case workers. (ref #DhhsReform) Some are placed in dangerous group homes and dying there instead. (ref #FosterDeaths)

The number of foster care cases has increased every year since 2012, a large reason stated being the opioid crisis that has turned parents into addicts. (ref #OpioidCrisis) Most kids with autism will be thrown into the foster care system. (ref #AutismFosters) Same with down syndrome. Up to 80% of kids in foster care have mental health problems. (ref #MentalHealthFosters) 30-40% are in special education or special needs. (ref #SpecialFosters)

I know foster kids who never survived foster care. They died there. I know kids who have never gotten away from their abusive caretakers. Kids go missing from foster care and never found again, sold into sex trafficking or just outright killed. (ref #LostFosterKids) This is not new news; it’s just not talked about.

We like to think there is a net in place, that society has a place for lost children, that people care even if it’s not specifically us. We’re too big. We aren’t villages or families catching those extra mouths to feed. We are a society of millions too large to conceptualize saving everyone.

People may love, but they don’t care

To be painfully blunt, people don’t care. (ref #ApathyInSociety) They don’t care about suffering children. We have children caged at our border, and although we can write a hashtag about it, we don’t act, we don’t do, we don’t care. We have already given up feeling for those we can’t see because we know there is no obvious answer. We are looking at the bystander effect on a society of millions. (ref #BystanderEffect)

We can care about our immediate family, our immediate neighbors and city, but anything more is a stretch on the human psyche. The stress is too much. It’s ugly, but it is real. When we force children to be born to a society that doesn’t care, they will find little empathy or love.

The system is broken, and expecting it to pick up the pieces of shrapnel these anti-abortion bills create is unrealistic. The system can’t support the current population and there is no extra funding/support going into foster care with these bills. These bills don’t care about children, they don’t care about unwanted children, and they don’t care that these kids suffer without love and family and security. They don’t care.

This is not a healthy, caring existence for a human being. It wasn’t until I reached my mid 30’s, crippled with health problems that were exacerbated by the PTSD from my abusive household that I got appropriate therapy and eventual freedom from that child abuse. That’s 30 years of not living but being a creature of fear, reliving a monstrous moment that could have been avoided. As a self aware being now, I enjoy my life, I enjoy being alive, but I can honestly tell you I thought of killing myself many times before healing my PTSD because of that neglect, that lack of love, that failure of my parents to be loving people responsible for the kids they brought into this world.

There was no system in place to catch me, even though I was adopted, one of the ‘lucky’ ones. No psychological healing, no treatment that understood the scope of what was required when the very beginning years of my life were abuse, neglect, and detachment. Even with our knowledge, no system is being built to save and heal children who endured that kind of upbringing.

We are not a compassionate society, and that reality has to be acknowledged when it comes to forcing unwanted pregnancies to term. There is no magic wand to make someone into a good parent, or more, a willing parent. If they don’t want the job, they aren’t going to do it, or they’ll half ass it, leaving children to suffer. This is abuse that can be avoided.

How do women lose their freedom and rights from criminalizing abortions?

Bodily Autonomy

Women lose the right to their bodily autonomy. Their anatomy too, but let’s break it down.

‘Bodily autonomy is defined as the right to self governance over one’s own body without external influence or coercion. It is generally considered to be a fundamental human right.’ (ref #BodilyAutonomy)

When someone — anyone — makes a decision for a person’s body, unless consent is given, that is a breach of bodily autonomy. This goes from rape, to abortion, to forced marriages, to getting a tattoo, piercing, haircut, etc. This is what it means to be free. When you can make choices for yourself, you are free. When the government makes choices over your body, you are not free.

Anti-abortion bills, forced sterilization (ref #Eugenics), rape while under anesthesia in a doctor’s office (ref #DrRape), being imprisoned in asylums for hysteria (ref #Hysteria), forced to marry (ref #ForcedMarriage), date raped where men lie about wearing condoms during intercourse (ref #Stealthing), and child brides being married off to grown men (ref #ChildMarriage) are all ways women have lost their bodily autonomy throughout the years in the US, and this shit is still happening.

It has happened so much throughout our history, we don’t even know where the hell the line is to say THIS BODY IS MINE.

This is a wonderful article (ref #DefenseOfAutonomy) that sums it up well when it comes to bodily autonomy for a mother versus for a fetus. A fetus cannot exist without the host it is being created in. A woman is creating that fetus out of the resources her body takes in, and with pieces of her body. I can’t steal someone’s kidney to live; consent must be given. I can’t hook myself up to another person’s bloodstream to keep me alive; consent must be given. A fetus cannot grow in someone else’s uterus; consent must be given. That fetus is a non entity there on behalf of the woman, and yes, a woman gets to choose if that fetus can stay.

Even dead people have more rights to their body than a woman does when it comes to anti-abortion bills. You can’t legally take the organs of a dead person for transplants, but legislators would give a fetus more rights to a living woman’s uterus than that woman.

Baby Factories

Women are reduced to baby factories by these bills

Women have to have a baby ordered by law once pregnant, and they are penalized if they fail. And once the government has that right, where does it stop? They’re saying a women’s uterus isn’t hers, that someone else gets to decide what happens in her body. Will they outlaw hysterectomies? What about birth control because both will prevent pregnancy? Will they force women to have abortion, because maybe they don’t like the race or the gender of the baby who might to be born? Don’t think for a moment any of these examples haven’t already happened throughout the human race. Once this precedent is set, it opens up all kinds of bodily autonomy violations because a women’s autonomy has been legislated away.

This is the intent of focusing on the ‘right to life’ of a fetus. They are intentionally trying to steal a woman’s right away while pointing in a different direction. While they cry for ‘free speech’ they lie and steal choices away from women. (ref #ProTactics)

This is not about life

This is about restricting women’s rights

‘When Alabama Senator Bobby Singleton, a Democrat, pointed out that Alabama’s new anti-abortion law could punish those who dispose of fertilized eggs at an IVF clinic, Chambliss responded, “The egg in the lab doesn’t apply. It’s not in a woman. She’s not pregnant.”’ (ref #ChamblissIsSexist)

They admitted it themselves; they don’t care about anything like ‘right to life,’ they care about punishing women, controlling their uteruses and forcing them to bear babies. If they cared about fertilized embryos, they’d be trying to protect them. It’s not about life. It’s about control.

When a woman’s legal existence is about her ability to produce children or not, she loses the right to her reproductive organs and to her freedom to not be pregnant. Men aren’t legislated down to their penises, so why should women be treated as walking uteruses? (uteri???) We’re not throwing men in jail for masturbating and ‘wasting’ their semen. They’re not being penalized for having vasectomies because they’re ‘preventing life.’ Who’s to say those little sperms don’t have more rights to stay viable in a man’s body than a man has to not ejaculate? Should we start writing some laws about how masturbation is killing God’s children?

Women are more than a uterus; ask any transwoman, any woman who is sterile, any women who has reached menopause, any women before she hits puberty, any woman with a freaking brain. We Are More.

Gaslighting Women

‘…women’s everyday experiences—and demands that we “prove” these experiences—have shown us the gendered nature of credibility.’ (ref #GasLightingKillsWomen)

Gaslighting is probably the most frustrating part of this situation and our current culture, one that is seen over and over and over and over again when someone who is not a woman thinks they can explain what women really want, what they really mean, what’s good for them, what they feel, how they think, who they are.

This is all the time. Since we have parents who ‘keep girls safe’ by preventing them from living full lives, or making choices, or experimenting and making mistakes, to when we’re adults and we’re still seen as little girls who don’t know how to think. Who need priests or doctors or professors to speak for us. Who can’t walk down a street without a man to protect us. Who can’t get married without daddy’s permission as he gives the bride away, handing her off to another owner. Where the father of the bride pays for the wedding because dowries are passe but we’re still about handing off our women with a price tag to ensure they know they’re a burden on society. We can’t even have sex without someone freaking the fuck out that we’re going to fuck it up somehow. (ref #CulturalSuppressionOfFemaleSexuality)

Why do these people believe women can’t think? Do our vaginas get in the way? For some reason our brains can’t function fully because we have uteruses? The old joke that a guy’s penis ruins his thinking is just that, a joke, while for women, we are legislated around our uteruses.

Women are not being listened to from doctor’s offices to government building to the workplace to the bedroom. And if you’re a woman of color? Forget about. What about a transwoman or lesbian? You already know. We all already know, no matter how much bullshit is said we’re just ‘sensitive’ and ‘imagining things.’ Just walk into an auto body repair shop, ladies. Step into any place where trade is apprenticed to the next generation of men, and you will know 100% that this problem has not gone away. Plumbers, electricians, HVAC, the post office. I have had professional business women looking to throw down money hit a wall the second they stepped into the ‘male’ industry sector.

This shit just doesn’t die. It doesn’t matter how educated we are, how successful, how strong, how supposed ‘equal’ the country has gotten, we are talked down to like foolish little girls who can’t string a sentence together.

Women are talked over and told our opinions don’t matter. That we’re just looking for attention or a payout. That when we’re raped, we don’t matter. That we our the fault of our marginalization because we don’t ‘speak up’ when oppressed, harassed, assaulted, and ignored. And that’s the thing: when the law ignores you, when every seemingly competent, intelligent person ignores you because of your gender in a society used to female marginalization, you don’t speak up. You know it’s a lost cause. Because that’s what being born a woman is. Less than. Nothing. An accessory depending on how pretty your face and body is. We can’t get the same jobs as men, and when we do, we’re paid less for the same (and better) quality of work. Women are still prizes to be won and targets of indignation when we’re not nice, or smiling, or playing mommy for every rando who looks our way.

Women keep having to prove their worth, prove their pain, prove their right to bodily autonomy. No one is asking men to prove rape, but they do of women. I knew a young woman who was told by a cop she wasn’t raped because she let the guy who drugged and raped her into her apartment. The guy was a friend from work who didn’t mention he was going to drug and rape her when he came over, but somehow it was her fault for being in a position where her power was stolen from her. She was supposed to be a mind reader, to assume that every man she knows is going to rape her, to be a victim her entire life because men aren’t held accountable for the things they do with their dicks. She must be accountable because men are never accountable in this society (unless they’re black, then suddenly black men are accountable for the irrational fear in total strangers heads.)

To be a women is to be in a place where you always have to prove your have a right to live. And when you get exhausted, screaming the truth again and again until you’re sobbing at the struggle, you’re called a manipulative bitch for having emotions and showing them.

We shouldn’t have to prove that our bodies are our own, but we do. These laws force us to have to fight to have our own uteruses, while condescending lawmakers shrug about not being doctors while passing bills based on medical lies and bullshit morality.

Being forced to carry a fetus to term is a punishment being placed on women for having sex. In a modern society where contraceptives are prevalent but not covered by insurance, where a male birth control has been made with great success but will likely never make it to the US, the burden is on the woman to not get pregnant, not be raped, not make a mistake with her birth control or have a condom break. And also, when it fails, it’s her burden to ‘be responsible and good’ and have that baby because society says that’s a women’s duty. To sacrifice herself, her body, her future for everyone who has an opinion on how she should live her life. She isn’t allowed to make that choice. No, they literally write laws to take her right to choose away.

You want to know about the power of the uterus?

A story that could easily be reality

So here’s a somewhat wild, totally empowering, absolutely chilling story of possibility. A power only those with a uterus have. What is the quickest, easiest solution women can take everywhere to solve this gender oppression problem? Stop bearing males. Yeah, you heard me. It’s not the close your legs and stop enjoying sex spiel. It’s stop giving birth to boys.

If even half the population stopped birthing males for 20 years, women won’t have to fight to vote for anything. One, because men would get the point by then, and two because there won’t be enough men to stop women in the upcoming generation. It would have no negative effect on future birthrate or our ability to have a stable economy because women can do the same jobs men can. Seriously, name a job only a man can do.

Pee standing up? There’s a tool for that. (ref #GoGirl) Grueling manual labor? Robots already do it better. (ref #DisplacedJobs) Marginalize women and mansplain? AI bots do it better. (ref #TrollBotArmy) Think? Ha. Good try. Really, you wish. Women’s brains are evolutionarily superior to lead. (ref #WebThinking)

And if this seems crazy extreme… eh. It’s a woman’s right to choose. Literally, it’s her uterus. It is her right to decide if she wants to make things ‘fair,’ by continuing a population of oppression where her voice is drowned out by a bunch of out of touch men who are legislating to take away control of her body. Or she could choose a change and see what happens in a women majority world. In a world where women exercise their right to choose, and they choose women first.

This is the power of having a uterus. Without a uterus, an army cannot be created. Without a uterus, population numbers can’t be grown so that states get representation in the government. An economy fails when there aren’t enough bodies to support it. Religions disappear when there is no one to throw money in the coffers— Oh, you were confused as to why religions hate contraceptives and abortion? This is why. Religion ceases to exist if they can’t force women to have kids. They need numbers because indoctrination is easiest when someone is born into it.

Women are essential to the balance of power because women have the power to create humans. With 1000 women and 1 sperm bank, you could have an army, but 1 women and 1000 men is a pathetic birth rate. You need a womb to have a baby, and more importantly, you need eggs. We can clone women, not men. Out of the two, eggs have the power. Something a woman doesn’t ever have to give away in the case of an artificial womb. (ref #ArtificialWomb)

Women have the power, and men don’t, and that’s why they keep trying to convince women to be weak, silent, marginalized, because that’s the only way a man can get any power. They have to crush women down so they forget their uteruses were how men came to exist in the first place.

It doesn’t even have to be bloody

The gene called TDF, aka SRY, is required to have a male human. It’s found on the Y chromosome in Y chromosome carrying sperm. (ref #TDF)

We already know the answer to prevent the birth of males without abortion or murder or anything quite so ugly. It’s basic selective breeding in choice of sperm. That’s it. XY males produce sperm that either have the X chromosome or the Y. Don’t impregnate with the Y chromosome carrying sperm, and you have no fear of having a male child. (ref #ChromosomalSex) Although, to the best of my knowledge, science has yet to be able to identify with much accuracy either type of sperm, I’m sure we’re not far behind on it. All it would take is identifying one male on the planet whose sperm fails to have the TDF on their Y chromosome sperm, and it’s game over.

Welcome to the modern world (or soon to be) of genetic manipulation and selective breeding. The natural genetic mutation already exists; it’s just a matter of if someone is willing to exploit it. Our technology is already here. The question will be how desperate women become when their bodies are taken away from them.

This probably sounds crazy

But isn’t it also just brilliantly delightful? Just a little thrilling? Girls, have you ever honestly realized how powerful your uterus is? We literally have the power to decide if the human race will continue on or stop in extinction. Just with our choices. You wouldn’t need war, wouldn’t need to nod your head at another fucking stupid thing some dumb as fuck old man says about ‘knowing your place.’ The female gender can continue on forever through basic cloning, and men could be left in the evolutionary dumpster because they refused to get their shit together.

This looks like a story of ignoring human morality to choose a gender. Except humans aren’t moral; they are irrational animals like every other mammalian species, and they do things all the time in self serving ways that are just as, if not far more, barbaric. You know why the stop bearing males solution is a wonderfully terrifying option? Because we tried it before in reverse.

China killed all their baby girls and is now at the brink of economic collapse. They now have too many men who have no opportunity to ever find love or have a traditional household. China is importing women in as brides, not caring if these women are willingly there or not, to try to keep from the economic cliff they’re heading for. China’s population when those men die — that big army and workforce they’re so proud of — is going to drop from the face of the planet with no one to replace them. But not before bankrupting the next generation as they age and their health care weighs on China’s economy of far fewer numbers. They better win the AI race, cuz they’re going to need robots to take care of all their elderly.

Men can’t create life — Poof. No power. Game over. Bigotry towards women led China right to that cliff, then pushed them over it because they didn’t respect the value of the uterus. (ref #ChinaFemaleInfantcide)

How to live in an unfair world without getting rid of all the men

Maybe we compromise and learn

If you’re not a fan of deciding which gender should be born, or you’re an individual who doesn’t have a viable uterus or are uninterested in birthing, a less drastic measure would be to vote. Vote for candidates who support women equality and reproductive rights. Protest. Be a voice that is heard until someone listens. Know your line, your body, and don’t let anyone cross it, and speak up when you see someone cross someone else’s.

This goes for everyone. We should all understand bodily autonomy and state our boundaries, that way there is no confusion of who has a right to your body. This oppression has been a part of society just as much as focused on gender. Children are raised extensions of parents, not being allowed to set their boundaries, not being allowed to make choices that reflect them instead of their parents. When a child is crying from being tickled, that’s an infringement of their bodily autonomy, the same as when they’re screaming and kicking to be placed down. (ref #MyBodyMyDecision)

At the earliest stages of life, we are already ignoring that everyone is an individual, and it’s one of the most obvious reasons our society then grows to think a woman is forever a daughter/wife/mother instead of an individual. Men face this same problem, forced into gender roles, expectation of financial success and appearance, all because we fail to see each individual and place nonsense societal standards on people. And everyone in between? Society tries to erase them. You can’t be disabled or elderly without someone somewhere thinking it’s perfectly fine to take away your bodily autonomy. It is not, and we as a society need to address this already.

This is a problem with every person, even if not every person is to blame for how we got here. This is a lesson we as a society are struggling to learn, but it is so important! We are all impacted by others not acknowledging bodily autonomy. When women demand to be treated as equals, it’s a demand that everyone is treated as an equal no matter their gender, social status, race, sexual orientation, ability, religion, culture, etc. This is about everyone even when the focus is on women.

Be genuine, loudly

No one thinks twice about women’s rights when women are silent. And how obnoxious people are in how they try to silence women when we speak up. Telling us our anger is unsightly, that we’re hysterical for caring about the rights to our bodies. How our emotions don’t matter, or are a weakness, or a weapon. Their discomfort in how a woman reacts is their way of shaming us into repressing our natural selves to fit their expectations that we’re supposed to be silent robots who just take abuse. They want us to be meek and polite and ask permission for the rights of our own bodies.

And the gas lighting! The gas lighting bs of how we don’t understand that every human life is precious while our lives are completely disregarded and trampled over and over is infuriating. How they tell us we should listen to those imbecilic tyrants who are trying to steal our rights away—Oh, yeah, I had a man tell me that recently. That I was supposed to listen to a total stranger about who should have rights to my uterus. That I should listen because men are the gatekeepers to work and I can’t make money without making sure I’m likable to men. Seriously, FUCK OFF!

Everybody owns their body. This is no different for women. No legislation has a right to own us, to turn us into slaves of the government and religious extremists who think their religion should be forced onto women’s bodies. (ref #ReligionOnAbortion) This ideology being sold as pseudo science, twisted to pull on your heartstrings, is all about religious based gender oppression forced on our bodies. Church and State are supposed to be separated. Bodily autonomy doesn’t bend to religious ideology, yet here we are seeing legislation being written to do just that. We have a right to be free of religious doctrine— a right to be free! —while they are writing laws oppressing women with someone else’s religion.

An interesting Jewish perspective of a woman who sees her religious freedom infringed by these bills. (ref #AntiJewishWomenBill) A pro-choice, choose-life Christian view, compassionate and educated. (ref #MoreHarmThanGood) Plus an absolutely in depth look at abortion rights in the US. (ref #HistoryProLife) When women had the right to abortion up to 1840, then had the rights taken away, only to have them restored with Roe v Wade in 1973. Then the Catholic led charge ever since to take those rights away, including their strategies to twist science and focus on the fetus’s rights while ignoring the women. How they created a movement of hate that made pregnant women into villains who were slacking their ‘responsibilities’ for daring to have sex, and nurses/doctors were turned into targets of threats and violence and death. Also, so much gas lighting. Telling women they were ‘traumatized’ from having an abortion and didn’t know their own minds, their own will, their own choices. Always, they speak for us while ignoring what we say.

Also, a long, extensive list of all the ways women are treated like imbeciles, and laws are subverted so someone else can tell a woman how to use her body. (ref #23Ways) This shit is so frustrating.

What is reality, and what is the story of reality?

A reality check

This is the main problem with this fight, one that is ignored or exaggerated by those trying to steal rights away from women. This is the problem with pretty much every aspect of the human world. People place concepts of reality over actual reality. Worse, they create ideologies and then twist scientific data to ‘prove’ those ideologies.

‘This can have a particularly pernicious effect when the ideologies that make their way into the science are then claimed to be results derived from the science. Those ideologies, now “naturalized,” have sometimes been granted added credibility because of their supposedly scientific derivation.’ (ref #ScienceAndIdeology)

Some people don’t understand evolution. Some people think we are designed instead of evolved. They force ideas like meaning onto our existence. They think women exist to have babies and to give life. They think women should give up their bodily autonomy to serve this supposed created purpose. They think humans exist to raise families, and that sex exists only to bring forth children. The big fight against LGBTQ(QIAAP) is because some people think our bodies are here to have sex for the purpose to create life, and that anything that goes against that story is an abomination.

This narrative is a fallacy, a fiction, a dream from an imaginative mind that conceptualized reality after observing a pattern and told a story of it. It is not real, and we have to stop making laws based off of these lies.

Human beings are killed every single day because of these backward, painful ideologies that look at a perfectly healthy individual and tell them they are a sin, that they’re destined to burn in Hell, that their very existence means some god in the sky hates them or they’re a crime against nature, and their only way to solve it is to die or never act the very way their bodies were evolved to act. Women are oppressed, marginalized, enslaved in abusive marriages, and castrated because some psycho told the men of their culture that women existed to give them pleasure, bear their children, and serve them on this earth.

This insanity has to stop. When lies take away human freedom, they need to be called out for the harm they cause and our laws need to step in and protect the citizens.

Humans are real, beliefs are not

Humans need to be protected from irrational belief.

We exist because we exist. We have sex because we find it pleasurable. If we didn’t find it pleasurable, we wouldn’t do it. Ask anyone who is asexual— when you don’t enjoy sex, you don’t have it, and it’s perfectly natural. (It you don’t enjoy it, it is fucking NATURAL not to do it! Duh, world. Really.)

Why should an asexual women have to give up the right to her uterus over someone’s belief that she’s supposed to be pregnant and bear children? Why should an asexual man or a gay man breed with a woman because someone said they’re supposed to raise a family? Why should any free thinking woman or man do anything they don’t want to do with their bodies?

We have babies because fertile men and women who have sex together either don’t have birth control, or make a choice to have kids, or aren’t being as safe as they thought and mistakes happened and abortions weren’t available. Or a woman went to a sperm bank, or entered into an agreement for in-vitro insemination. Just because our bodies can be joined to create life does not mean in any way we are obligated to do so.

It is a fantasy to see a uterus and assume it must produce a baby at some point in its existence. Just because an embryo can attach to the uterine wall and eventually develop into a fetus that may or may not turn into a viable infant does not mean a woman is obligated to see that process through. It doesn’t matter if a total stranger who is not that woman has a different opinion; it’s none of their business. That is that woman’s body, her uterus, her egg, her embryo, her fetus, and it’s her choice.

We are headed for an environmental nightmare

In a conscious, self aware society we are painfully failing to reach even in 2019, it makes more sense to not have children as we head toward an environmental crisis that will potentially lead to the extinction of the human race, if not many of the current species on the planet. (ref #It’sHot!) The amount of suffering humanity is headed toward with no stop in sight is so devastating, it would be irresponsible to bring more life into this mess until we clean it up first.

It is only through the advancement and equality of women that the human race can see a stabilization of population in the future as we work to repair the damage humanity has done to the planet. (ref #WomenAndClimate) If we can’t stop overpopulation, there will just be more people to starve, suffer, and die during the ecological nightmare that’s going to hit.

The unborn feel no pain; they do not suffer. It’s a different reality for those who live and gain self awareness. This idea of counting ‘potential’ life while ignoring actual life is offensive to those who have to navigate the trials of existence. No one is obligated/designed/required to create life. No one is even obligated to breathe! We do so because our bodies automatically do, but many have suffocated to death when they have taken means to stop it. Within the lie that we are designed to give life—the story that all life has a right to usurp a woman’s— our freedoms are stolen away to fit the ideologies of those who refuse to see reality.

I don’t bow to someone else’s irrational view of the world. No one should. I’m so tired of dumb, irrational people trying to tell me how to live my life when they can’t even see how much they’re messing up their own.

I’m angry and I’m tired, but I’m not silent

The thing about laws is they only work if society agrees. Society doesn’t agree on this (ref #AbortionPolls) and we won’t be silenced. It’s sickening enough the atrocities happening with the Trump administration and partisanship eroding our democracy at every turn. We’re in the middle of an ethnic cleansing in the US while people squabble over a border wall next to children in cages (because we care so much about life that we cage it and watch it die.) But if we lose the rights to our bodies, it’s game over for freedom.

Women aren’t going back. We have spent centuries being demoralized, fighting for a vote, a wage, for financial independence, to be seen as a person and not a wife or a daughter or an economic burden—for our voices to be heard. There is no going back, not when women all over this globe haven’t gained the rights we are losing now.

We’re done being grabbed, marginalized, and legislated by our pussies. While the zealot Republicans think they have a win, we have corporations who are run by women, who hire women, who survive off the money women spend on products. Events that require celebrity (many who are women) to bring in tourism. (ref #CorporationsReproductiveRights) This can be an economic war as well as a war on women. This can be a population war if it comes to that where women refuse to continue the human race if the human race refuses to treat women as equals.

This is the power of creating life; we don’t have to provide the bodies for another self destructive war. We don’t have to do anything. A sit in for peace can = a sex off for humanity. (I don’t know how to break it to you all but masturbation is awesome. Multiple orgasms without waiting for your partner to figure it all out is super nice. Women don’t need dick to enjoy sex.)

We have a choice no matter what any unconstitutional law states, and I choose to not be silent. Not now, not ever. This country is for all of us, not just an extremist few who would put us back in the dark ages with their draconian, oppressive laws. There is no love of life in these bills, only punishment of women and the babies who are born into a society who can’t see the consequences of their actions, be it in family planning or environmental stewardship.

I get it. Women have evolved to just grin and bear every horrendous atrocity committed against them, to put society first, to make everyone ‘feel good’ about how shitty women are treated. We have been told to utilize the power of our uterus is immoral, unkind, unloving (unless a man tells us to do it. Then it’s ‘God’s will.’) While we can be raped and silenced, we’re taught that fighting back is ‘wrong.’

I’m am sick and tired of being told society must come before my needs when I am part of over 50% of society whose needs are forever ignored. We still can’t get equal pay! How many years do we have to fight just to get an equal paycheck? Fucking seriously, it’s 2019! We are going to be seeing our jobs replaced by automation before we get equal fucking pay between genders.

Fuck society. Fuck being ‘fair.’ Fuck making everyone happy while women have to take a back seat once again. Fuck it all. Until society can see women as equal, women need to put women first. No one else will.

Self care when in a society that doesn’t care enough

Practicing Compassion

For those who are freaking out and need something to do instead of just vent at how fucking stupid the world is, I have a few links you may find useful. I have pointed out some seemingly grim, really terrible things about the world, but I need you all to remember, this too is just a story, a narrative made up of my fear, my anger as I take in information and let my mind and emotions respond.

As much as there is an apathy in humanity, there is a brimming of compassion as well. For as many Pro-Lifers who want to restrict and oppress women, there are those who truly, genuinely love the very first spark of life in a womb and they want to honor and protect it above all else. For those who weaponize their religion against others, there are far more who use their belief to bring their communities together. These are all truths, and as such, there is both so much beauty and pain in these human experiences as a result.

It can be hard to look past our emotions—as someone who had PTSD for 30 years, it can feel completely impossible. But it’s essential if we are going to make important decisions and be the best, intentioned people we can be. To look past, we must first embrace all the feelings that well inside us, every contradiction, every irrationality, every cry and kick of ego.

There is so much pain here, so much oppression. When you see what it is to be a woman, to be a woman of color, to be a woman born with a Y chromosome, to love a woman and to feel her pain and know there is nothing you can do alone to change this unfair world: there is pain. This anger and outrage and fear would not be here if not for all the pain these laws have weighed us down with.

Mindfulness

My way of dealing with pain and anxiety is through mindfulness. It was the bridge that stepped me out of a PTSD narrative and into reality. I truly don’t know any better tool a person can use to help get past huge emotional and psychological pain, and stop the fight or flight stress response.

‘Mindfulness allows us to interrupt automatic, reflexive fight, flight, or freeze reactions—reactions that can lead to anxiety, fear, foreboding, and worry.’ (ref #10Mindful)

(ref #MindfulnessForStress)

‘The essential cause of our suffering and anxiety is ignorance of the nature of reality.’ (ref #HowToCopeWithFear)

Steps you can take to help

For those who want to help, these are recent blogs I found with links to protests and funding sites.

(ref #HelpProtestAbortionBans)

(ref #HelpWomenInStatesBanningAbortion)

I don’t have links for this last one, but my fuck, I gotta mention it. Foster care. Seriously, these kids need help. I don’t have enough knowledge to know what is a reputable funding site at this time—honestly, I’m not even sure if funding is the problem. The whole system is messed up.

All I can say is listen to kids. Help them understand and acknowledge their pain by listening. You may never truly understand what it is like to be discarded for not being whatever ideal of perfect your parents wanted, but you can listen and show that even flawed human beings are worth everything.

My adoptive dad had this cute poster in the garage when he was alive. It was this little saying, and I remember every time I read it how totally wrong the grammar was. (Yeah, my nerdness started early. XD)

This poster wasn’t there for me and my brother, the foster kids in the house. It was there long before us, yellowed and aged, a poster for my dad. My dad wasn’t a foster kid, although my adoptive mom was until she aged out, and she was horribly abused during that time. When you grow up in a society that throws away people like they do trash, it can be hard to find self esteem in all that. My dad knew it personally because he was dyslexic, tormented and abused by the nuns because of it (it was not a compassionate time for learning disabilities,) and didn’t learn to read until late in life through comic books.

Society decides if people are ‘junk’ or not through their disregard and irrational ideas of what a person is supposed to be. We have to be better. In accepting our flaws, we accept us as whole, and it gives us a chance to move forward better, with compassion (and hopefully some wisdom.

There’s hope

A bill in Congress was introduced on the 23rd of May. I’m afraid I can’t trust the government to follow through, but I still hope.

‘The Women’s Health Protection Act: Equal Abortion Access, Everywhere’ (ref #ReproductiveRights)

As insane and intense as this all seems, it’s the same old story we’ve been dealing with since humanity dawned. We seek balance while others seek power. We seek freedom while others seek to use us. Nothing has changed. It doesn’t matter how much our numbers grow or our technology advances; we are still just manifestations of our biology and experiences. Until we can truly break free, the tide of power will keep pushing back and forth, or our lack of foresight will wipe us from the planet completely.

Still, as long as we can tell a story of the future that is worth working toward, there is always hope.

aw-1

September 13, 2018

AWAKENING

THE HIERARCHY
Scene #25 last updated 2/16/19

AWAKENING

LUST CREATURES

Audio Version

SCROLL TO TOP AND DRAG ← SIDEWAYS → TO NAVIGATE THROUGH SCENES

SCENE #An unwelcome letter

“I have a note from Master Collins. He wants to see me.” Evan handed the note over to the sharp-eyed secretary behind her desk. The bell had only just rung and the sounds of kids slamming lockers and shouting as they made their way out the school to their respective buses and cars were still prominent even from the hall of the Administration Offices. Seeing as Evan took the bus home, he was already expecting his day to go poorly if he ended up walking home.

He had only been to the Administration Offices once before during freshman year, when the principle had been called to discipline him after word had gotten out that he’d been fighting. Beverly had been waiting for him then, her hands shaking as they always did, plumb painted mouth thin and angry. He had stopped defending himself after that, instead avoiding the bullies that plagued him as best as he could. A year later he had shot up a good head taller than the rest of the boys in his class and the bullies ignored him for an easier targets.

Why he had been called down today was a mystery. It was the end of his senior year and all his admission letters for college had been sent out under Master Collins’ insistence even though Evan knew that he could never afford to go. The guidance administrator had been very determined, and Evan couldn’t seem to find a way to explain just why he wouldn’t be able to go without revealing more of his home life than he felt comfortable ever revealing to anyone.

Mrs. Higgins picked up the phone and spoke a few words into it. Moments later, Master Collins was standing in the doorway, his normally bored blue eyes alert and intent. “Good, you’re here, Mr. Reed. Come on in. Quickly.” He left before Evan had time to pick up his bag. Mrs. Higgins avoided his questioning gaze as he trotted past the secretary, following the sorcerer into his office.

The Academy of Science and Truth must have sent the rejection notice already. There was no other possible reason for being called down except to pick another school before the deadline passed. Evan sat down when asked to, ignoring how he sank into the buttery leather couch and instead studied the holes in his sneakers. There was no point to it, really. Nothing mattered to him besides the AST. Everything else was a magical based college and he’d determined very quickly that a path to any of those would lead to misery. At least if he had been allowed to study in science—true science—he could have been able to escape.

If Master Collins noticed Evan’s unhappiness, he showed no sign. He grabbed his pipe from his desk and lit it, puffing away while riffling through his filing cabinet. He was still a young man for his office, pudge only just beginning to adhere to his muscled form, grey only misting his temple. Guidance Administrator was a respected and daunting title, with the occupant of said job being of the same. These were the men and women that selected the occupants for the positions of power and labor throughout the world. It was a job that required intelligence, foresight, and an immense degree of manipulation.

Master Collins had one of the largest offices in the Administration hall, second only to the Principal’s. He had almost had the Principal’s until the school board had stepped in. There was no ill will, it was just a sign of a man good at his job. He decorated his office with degrees in Psychology and Higher Perception, awards from prestigious colleges and gifts of thanks from prestigious men. He had one of the largest collections of third eyes in a display on the back wall, most of them so old they were stone. All of them had been plucked from the still living flesh of the Carret Seer as it came into power each decade.

‘The real trick was to get the Carret Seer to pluck it for you,’ Sir Gregory Collins had been quoted to say when he had returned triumphant seven years ago with the most recent one still moist in his grip. Students had been know to lie, beg, and trick their way in to view the collection. On seeing them, Evan found them to be dull and moldy.

Eventually Master Collins found what he was looking for and sat, setting his gaze on the sullen blond. “Mr. Reed, I have some news for you.”

Evan’s heart sank. “Listen, I don’t want to apply to any other schools. If the Academy of Science and Truth doesn’t want me, then I don’t want to go anywhere else. I can’t even pay for this, you know. You’d like to think that my cousin will pay for it, but she won’t. They won’t support science, or me, for that matter.”

A wrinkle appeared on Master Collins’ brow. “Evan, the AST accepted you three weeks ago.”

“What?” Evan had to have misheard. “I, uh, I never got a letter. They’re usually prompt.” He fumbled for something smart to say, but all that he could see was the wide view of freedom. “Do they say the cost of tuition?” He blurted as suddenly as the thought surfaced. “Do they offer scholarships? A work program?” He could hitchhike to Connecticut. It wasn’t that far.

“Evan, you need to listen to me carefully.” As if understanding Evan’s train of thought, which, given his job, was very much the case, Master Collins waited for the teenager to stop his whirring mind. “The Academy has withdrawn their acceptance with the greatest of apologies. They had not known your situation and was troubled to realize the conflict they created with their acceptance of your application.” When Evan didn’t respond, Master Collins leaned forward. “They will not have you.”

Evan gaped, incapable of speech never mind proper thought. It didn’t make sense. The Academy wouldn’t care if he was poor or that he was raised by sorcerers. His grades were perfect, his application was perfect. There had to be a way to make them understand. If he could just get one chance, he would show them. “What can I do?” Evan finally blurted. “What conflict are they talking about?”

The folder that Master Collins had spent so much time to find was opened and pushed towards Evan. A red and gold seal was pressed into the thick parchment, three circles linked together within a larger circle surrounded by magic symbols. “Mr. Reed, you have the distinct honor of being accepted into the esteemed Hierarchy. When discovering this, the Academy had no choice but to withdraw.”

Evan Reed stared at the seal on the parchment, watching it swirl and glitter, a dancing flame that had stolen his only hope in a swift blaze. If ever a chain could be so immense and yet so small, it was held there in that document.

“Your attendance has been requested in their New York university this Saturday at 10:00 a.m. It’s a simple orientation. They’ll show you the school grounds, the dormitories, the labs, etc. It’ll require your best formal dress; it’s all in the packet.” He paused for a moment, dragging on his pipe thoughtfully. “I would be willing to inform your guardians, if you so wish it.”

“No,” Evan responded automatically, his mouth dry. “Please, no.”

They sat there for long minutes, neither speaking. The bus didn’t matter anymore; Evan didn’t want to go home. Eventually Master Collins stood and moved to the bar in the corner of his office. He poured a deep amber liquid into two glasses, one significantly more full than the other. “This does not have to be a sentencing, Evan. Whatever your reasoning for shunning the magical arts, they are strong in you—Too strong, if the Hierarchy is involved. This is something born into you, flowing through your veins. If you cease to resist, you will quickly see what it is to be truly whole.”

The counselor handed the smaller glass to Evan. “Drink it swift. You would have only studied the world around you in your Academy, perhaps discovering something rare and ultimately, inane. Or you could live your life fully, boy, the Hierarchy opening the universe to you.”

Evan remained silent, brooding. He glared at the glass and in a show of defiance, placed it on the table beside him. He didn’t care if he grew up to be a scientist or a doctor or a janitor, for that matter. He just wanted to escape the path set out before him.

“I’m going to give you some choice words of wisdom, Reed.” Master Collins took a swig of his glass as if needing the liquid himself to continue. “The great lump of a beast, the Carret Seer, produces a new eye every ten years during the height of its power. It is not a beast without defenses, but yet it will lose its eye shortly after to the most ambitious of humans. Many have wondered why the Carret Seer, a creature with such great abilities to foresee the future, would not know enough to not be where it ends up being when its eye is plucked from it. There are two theories. One is the truth as science would have us believe: The Carret Seer, along with every other mortal we know of, cannot foresee its own future. It does not know of its fate, so it cannot run from it.”

Evan, who didn’t care why the creature would allow its eye to be plucked out, just wished the man would stop talking. Master Collins continued anyways, rumbling in a way men with magic tended to, his voice low and purring while trying to lull him into some false feeling of security.

“The second theory seems far more true. The Carret Seer has experienced the loss of its eye many times now. It knows what to expect, yet it does nothing to hide. It is only hunted once every ten years, and when the capture is simple, the beast is rarely harmed. When the beast has power, people will seek it, and take it. When it has lost its power, it will be free to be left alone for another ten years. As long as we possess something that another wants, we will be pursued, Evan. It is just the way of things. When we stop struggling against this truth, living grows easier.”

Defeat had crept into Evan’s face, hidden within the sparkle of gold in his dark eyes. “Tell me, sir. Is there anything I can do to fight this? Something forgotten… a ritual even?” He would be willing to try sorcery once if it would tear the ability from him forever.

“No.” Greggory Collins had looked once, ages ago. The answer had been the same disappointment even then. “The Hierarchy will train you to be one of the most powerful men in the realm.”

“That’s not what I want!” Evan snapped, his hands flexing in fists. Just as quickly, he was still again, controlled.

The man noted it with interest and spoke gentler this time. “But that is what it will be.”

They would break him, and use him, and, when he aged and his power was less enticing, they would let him go to finally live his own life. The chain would still be there, but it would be much longer. There were worse things, or at least, that was what the man told himself. Greggory had never lost an eye, and his power had kept him from the manipulations of lesser men. Still, it had never lessened their greed when they looked at him.

“New York will keep you just as far away from Stephan Grock as Connecticut would, further even,” Master Collins added, watching the boy flinch. “He has made many enemies and your acceptance into the Hierarchy won’t change that. This is more a victory for you than running off to dust books in the Academy. You will see, Evan. The world is small to you right now, but if you can endure, you will have an opportunity to see more than many. It is beautiful and vast.”

There was no happiness in Evan Reed when he left, just a quiet simmer of anger and despair that boiled at the boy’s core. There was nothing to be done about it. It was the way of the world, Greggory Collins told himself as he shuffled files off his desk.

Children were schooled in the arts, sciences, histories and mathematics during their first eighteen years of life. Many of them would continue on that path after their birthday, fading away into obscurity in offices and retail jobs, having never touched magic, never knowing greatness. As for the others, they would go off to one of the many Academies, the world knowing there was something special in them even if not very useful. They would learn about magic and nature; some would even be able to perform basic spells. They would have the pick of the jobs once they left, becoming upstanding citizens or the slime of the underground, both manipulating their way through life to get more—more happiness, more money, more attention, more power. They would seek forever to be what they could never be on their own. Never satisfied. Never enough.

Then there were children like Evan Reed.

Master Collins noted the untouched glass on the table. The boy was strong against suggestion. He didn’t show any magical inclinations outright, but he suspected that Evan Reed hid a lot. The boy had no friends within school and word was, none outside as well. Living with who he was living with, it was no surprise. His mother had disappeared when he was newly born and no one even knew the name of the boy’s father. He had been left in the care of his neurotic distant cousin, Beverly Reed and her boyfriend, the formidable warlock Stephan Grock, who was never quite powerful enough but managed to make up for it with an abundance of cruelty and a fascination with the Dark Arts.

Isolated, brilliant, and beaten, it was a wonder the boy wasn’t a serial killer. Depending on what the Hierarchy saw in him, Evan may still have a chance to become one.

That, also, was the way of the world.

SCENE #Preparing for the worst

Evan went to Beverly that night, once Stephan had left for his nocturnal spell work and Edward, Beverly’s son, had gone out to play with friends after dinner. She didn’t say much in response to the news, only glared at Evan as if he had brought this upon himself. Maybe he had.

Strictly speaking, children were not supposed to dabble in sorcery until they had their 18th birthday and came into their power with their exritus. If you were from a high bloodline, though, the opposite was expected. You were to know your potential and flaunt it at every turn, building connections and interested parties that would help get you where you wanted to go in the future. Since Evan had denied his magical potential for so long, he had few connections that could help him in the next steps, leaving more of a burden on his cousin.

The Reed bloodline had once been high, reaching back to powerful beings and great deeds but its descendants were disappointing. At least, Beverly was. She was pushing fifty, her hair grayed prematurely, her frame narrow and stiff like a splintery board. Once she had been strong, trained to kill with her hands or whatever useful part of her body she had available at the time. Now she shook in the stillness, a side effect of abusing elixirs for years on end. Whatever she might have been before, she had taken to blissing out once she was out of Academy and after the war, trying to erase whatever horrors she’d seen so long ago.

Evan had once heard talk that Beverly had been jealous of his mother, who had been picked for the Hierarchy and protected from any fighting when the war started. Evan’s mother had been a great woman in her power, a composer of musical enchantments that no talent had been able to match even seventeen years after her mysterious disappearance. She was still considered a legend even though Cecilia Reed had birthed a bastard son and refused to name his father. Fine for many families but not the magical, who demanded bloodlines to be traced and judged at every turn. Beverly had taken Evan in because it was her duty as family, and she had never been known to shirk responsibility. There had been little love in it, and possibly even less now, after all this time. She had two children of her own; a daughter named Antoinette that had escaped to the AST when she had come of age, and Edward, who still had three years before he had to worry of such things.

Evan told himself he didn’t care when Beverly took him by the arm the next day, dragging him out to get fitted for formal attire. He told himself that a lot, repeating it in his head as if somehow it would make it true. It was not his mother fussing over him, but the stern woman that was his guardian. There was no pride in her eyes, only a measure of never quite acceptable when gazing at him. He wasn’t being dressed for the AST but some magical prison that would drain him dry by the end if they ever decided to be done with him.

Open robes over suit pants, shirt and tie were in fashion, replacing the more traditional dress layers of robes and tall hats of the last decade. Beverly made sure he got the best cut and fit for his suit, his robes made of fine spider silk dyed black and hand embroidered with a dusting of gold stars at the hem and bottom of the sleeves. His tie was a matching gold on a pale cream shirt. It was a simple assemble but one that suited his age and didn’t leave him feeling foolish. Beverly was against him going in elaborately decorative or flamboyant clothing, warning him that making a scene would only draw unwanted attention. It was folly to look like one didn’t know where they belonged when facing the Hierarchy.

They bought him shoes last. For some reason Beverly found this task to be the most important, and possibly the most arduous. She would not look at anything that wasn’t once alive. Synthetic materials were cheep and insulting, plant fibers and cow leather only for commoners. She eventually settled on boots made from the skin of the Rock Boring Dragon. They weren’t so expensive that he would look like he was showing off, but certainly of a quality that would allow him to fit in.

Evan suffered through, telling himself that once it was done it wouldn’t have to be done again. Not with Beverly, anyways. The clothing was wrapped in plain brown paper and hidden in his closet the moment he arrived home. School had given him leave to prepare, but he did not linger in his cousin’s house during the rest of the day, afraid Stephan would come home and discover him there and pry away until his secret was revealed.

Evan wasn’t certain what would happen once Stephan found out. Beverly was going to wait until he was safe in New York to tell her boyfriend, where Stephan’s anger wouldn’t reach. Angry, the man would certainly be. Stephan Grock was a self taught warlock, not for lack of money or bloodline, but because no one would bother to teach someone so talentless. He was bitter for it and spiteful. Stephan had spent many hours throughout the years berating Evan for not having any magical talent, while Edward, his young cousin, showed great potential. It was all the man cared about. That, and gaining more power for himself.

Stephan still lacked talent but had found ways around it. Enchanted instruments were his favorite, giving the man a power that he could never produce on his own. Such instruments were dangerous and usually created and obtained through soul wrenching ways. Something had changed in Stephan as of late, something that had caused Beverly to watch young Edward like a defensive lioness whenever the man was around. Power wasn’t always born from within. Sometimes it was taken from others. Evan had no proof but he had plenty of fear for the man that had tormented him all these years. He was in no rush to disclose to Stephan that power had been revealed in him.

He hid in the park down the street for the rest of the day, only returning to the house when night had fallen and dinner was over. Stephan had never come home. Evan took it as a good omen and slipped into bed and a restless sleep.

SCENE #Saturday morning arrival

Saturday morning arrived in premature warmth, the clinging chill of April in New England thawed by an incoming storm. Evan sat alone in the back seat of the expensive black SUV Stephan had insisted on Beverly buying, peering through dark tinted windows at the scenery gliding by. Beverly drove with the efficiency of a drill sergeant, the trembling in her hands too light to register on the heavy steering wheel. His robe and suit jacket were hanging up behind him to keep them from wrinkling during the four hour drive.

When Evan had called in to explain to his supervisor why he would be missing his Saturday shift, he had inadvertently lost his job. No one was allowed to compete with the Hierarchy for the attention of its students, not even popular fast-food chains. Evan was still trying to mull out how he felt about the loss. He had never been allowed to keep the money he made at his part-time job, instead forced to hand it over to Stephan for his ‘room and board,’ as if the man had ever put a penny towards the household himself. When Evan had come of age, Stephan promised to kick him out if he didn’t contribute in some way, seeing as he would never be worth anything magically in the man’s eyes.

Evan had taken the only job a boy his age could get with short notice and learned to cook grease for the masses. Having a job had allowed him to feel like he could pass in that world, that one day he would escape Stephan and his cruelty and slip away into the mundaneness of humanity. Now that hope had flickered out along with any source of money to keep Stephan content. If Evan wasn’t careful, he would be homeless for the upcoming months before the Hierarchy put him up in their dormitory.

He had gone online at the local library to get a feel for New York Hierarchy. The pictures had been beautiful; expansive, well manicured grounds, orchards to the South, gardens to the East, all in perpetual bloom even with the carpet of snow in one particular photo. The buildings had old money written all over them, at least from the outside. There were no pictures of the interior.

The Hierarchy’s website was even less helpful. There was no mention of curriculum, no teacher list, not even a blurb about dormitories and if they had them. All they had was a page on the Dean, reading along the lines of an overly thorough resume complete with ancestry tracking and ties to financial backers. It went so far as to include a Sandstorm Salamander as a great uncle, which, after some quick research, turned out to be rather terrifying and dusty for any sort of proper relative.

Evan didn’t understand why the Hierarchy would have so odd a webpage when all the other Academy websites were thorough on actually interesting and pertinent information concerning the schools. Maybe it added to the allure of mystery and power surrounding the Hierarchy, or maybe it was another form of manipulation. Perhaps to some people out there, knowing the family and corporate connection of a school’s Dean was of greater interest than the school itself. Apparently for those accepted into the Hierarchy, that was intended to be the case.

Evan brooded while the landscape grew thicker in green blurs whizzing by. The Hierarchy was away from the civilization of New York. There would be no dizzying city or corporate towers where he was going. He could have gotten lost in the city, slipped into the shadows, maybe found a job that didn’t know who he was yet, hidden away by a press of bodies full of normal.

The idea of the city was appealing, but the reality would have been unlivable for him. Evan wasn’t certain but he knew his magic was connected to the land, unblemished and unmarred by foundations and tar. That magic, that part he had hidden away before he could willingly admit that it was there, was just as much his soul as his breath and his blood. He could hide it, he could deny it, but he would never survive long in a place that suffocated with smog and noise. Maybe that was why he longed for the city. In some ways Evan was certain to kill that part of him might offer a better life.

“I will not be allowed through the main gates,” Beverly said abruptly. “You will be forced to walk in alone. You will not be the first to be unescorted. Remember, your mother also attended here even if she is not here to accompany you. Do not allow anyone to make you feel lesser, Evanel. The moment they sense your weakness, they will forever drive at it. Do not give them anything.”

Evan looked up, meeting her eyes reflected in the rearview mirror. Beverly viewed the world like a wounded predator. Someone had hurt her long ago and she kept expecting it to be repeated, be it physically or emotionally. Evan usually felt her advice did not apply to many of his life situations. This was not one of those cases and he nodded at her briefly, then turned back to the window as the trees began to clear, a large wrought iron gate in front of an even taller hedge blocking the landscape from view.

Beverly stopped the car shortly after, parking and turning off the engine. “I will be here Sunday evening, 10pm.”

“About Stephan…”

Turning in her seat, Beverly fixed him with a hard stare. “If you do not find someone greater to fear in that school, then you are truly a fool. Do not waste your thoughts on him now.” She took a deep breath, turning back to stare through the windshield at the seemingly impenetrable green and gate. “This is your future, Evanel. Everything before has already slipped away.”

Jaw tensing at the very suggestion, Evan opened the door, slowly slipping on his suit jacket and then robe. He brought nothing else with him besides a small notebook and pen that he kept opposite his wallet.

He hated when Beverly called him by his full name and she knew it. It was to remind him he wasn’t normal no matter how much he wanted to be. He couldn’t just slip away with the rest of the world. No, he had to be someone, and do something, and someone else was going to make sure it was what they wished it to be. Like being here in front of this gate in the middle of some nondescript forest on a Saturday morning. Evan would not be here if the Heirarchy had not chosen him, and now that he was chosen, he would likely find himself in many places with little choice on the matter.

Glaring at the fence, Evan walked up to where there was a small gate just large enough for a person to fit through. He reached for the handle, flinching back and hissing when something tore his finger open, blood dripping down to the ground. He glanced back at the SUV, Beverly expressionless through the tinted windshield. Glare growing, Evan stuck his bleeding finger in his mouth, kicking at the door cautiously only to have his foot move through as if nothing were there at all.

“Right. Blood activated,” Evan muttered with an eye roll, mentally hearing Stephan cackling in his ear for being so ignorant. Of course they had some sort of guard. How the Hierarchy had managed to get his blood on file and in their gate system when he hadn’t even given his confirmation was beyond him. But hey, magic. For all he knew, Beverly had sent in a damn dna sample. He didn’t bother waving goodbye, stepping through the illusion, magic rippling over his skin like a startling wave as he passed through the barrier.

SCENE #An awkward start

“Evanel Reed?”

Eyes wide, Evan stumbled to a halt, not at all where he had expected to end up when stepping through the hedge.

“Yeah… I’m Evan,” he said, eyes wandering around the large room taking in the light marble floors and tall vaulted ceilings, wide windows trimmed with royal blue drapes. There were statues everywhere of creatures Evan had never imagined before, looking very lifelike and plausible in their stone glory. Realizing he was gawking, he snapped his attention to the young woman smiling at him indulgently from her chair next to him. She was petite with long brown hair, and looked like she spent a lot of her day smiling.

“Hand please,” she said, Evan just looking at her blankly. “Your finger. The bleeding one,” she added. Evan hesitated, knowing from Beverly that giving anyone access to your blood could lead to trouble and even death.

The girl sighed, her eyes sharpening. “Mr. Reed, I am trying to heal you so that you will not attract the attention of the many beings that attend this school and are known to succumb to bloodlust. Until you learn to heal yourself, you will need assistance when coming through the barrier. Hence why I have this lovely desk. Come now, give it up.”

“Umm… Okay.” Evan pulled his finger from his mouth and presented it to her, watching the girl carefully as she hovered her small hands above him. Warmth filled his hand, his finger tingling slightly before the pain immediately left. She went to give him a tissue but he quickly licked the rest of his blood away, not foolish enough to let her just collect it from him. She raised a brow at him but didn’t comment.

“I have a name badge for you and the school pamphlet. Please do not misplace your pamphlet; it is full of everything you will likely ever need to know about the Hierarchy, making it extremely valuable.”

Evan took the thin booklet, feeling the familiar tingle of magic within the cover. It was one of the expanding books, seemingly light and unimportant until the pages were being turned and started multiplying exponentially. He carefully tucked it into his inner robe pocket, frowning as he was then handed his name badge. “Do I have to…?”

“The entire time you are visiting, yes,” the girl said smartly. “It will not be required once you start your term. But for now, this will keep you out of trouble with any of the current students that you may run into, along with the teachers.”

Pinning the silver badge to his robe, his full name on display for everyone to see, Evan suppressed a longsuffering sigh. He did not know what the magical community knew about his mother, Beverly having shut herself away like a hermit many years ago. There had once been a lot of talk surrounding Cecilia Reed’s mysterious disappearance and he feared the potential conversations he might be faced with, walking in as her only child.

“There will be a speaker starting soon down the hall, Mr. Reed. This is the entrance you will find yourself in every time you pass through the school barrier. Eventually you will learn to change which building to arrive in, but for now just remember that you are in the Hall of Beasts. It’s simple enough, given the many statues.”

Evan nodded, glancing behind him for the first time since appearing in the room. There was no doorway, or green, or even gate to show how he had entered. In the middle of the large room there was a sliver of mirror, giant and suspended like a portal hanging in the air. The surface was reflective, his own wide, dark eyes staring back at him beneath shaggy, ash-blond hair.

He schooled his features quickly, trying to get the flush off of his cheeks and surprise from his face. He looked like some sweet faced, excited kid dressed in a suit instead of his miserable, dread filled self. Stern would have been better. Hell, blank and zombified would likely be the best. Maybe if they thought nobody was home, the Hierarchy would give up on him. Glaring in exasperation at his reflection, Evan settled for angry, his wide eyes and pouty lips always making him look too soft and kind.

“Do I need anything special to be able to leave?” He asked the girl at the desk.

“No. Just understand that you’ll be placed outside the barrier at the main entrance. If you try to enter with a vehicle, you will be automatically transferred to the garage. It’s all in the pamphlet. You should get going. The Dean will be speaking soon and being late is not an option.”

Evan took a step away towards the direction she pointed, then stopped, turning back. “Has anyone ever gotten kicked out of here? Expelled? Dropped out?”

Staring at him for a long moment, the girl placed both her hands on the desk, standing. She reached her hand out and hesitatingly Evan shook it. “You may call me Serena, Mr. Reed. I am a student here that watches the desk on weekends, and if you need help, I would be happy to direct you to how you can find it.”

Brow furrowed, Evan had a moment to wonder if maybe the girl was just confused and thought he was trying to get her attention, when she continued, letting his hand go. “The Hierarchy does not let their students go. Even if you are the most dreadful, dullest, talentless slob that has walked through our barrier, we will find a use for you. But believe me, we do not invite such people to our school.”

Realizing she actually thought he was looking for a damn peptalk instead of trying to figure out how to escape the place, Evan just nodded silently. He turned on his heel, heading to where two large doors were wide open, leading to the hall she had pointed to earlier.

As if he wanted assurance that he was good enough for the place—God, at least Master Collins had understood, as useless as the man had been to help. Maybe Serena was happy there. Maybe she was naïve, and dim, and really just wanted to impress others with showing the world she was special because she could do magic. Evan didn’t know. He just wanted out and needed to find someone that knew how to make that happen.

SCROLL TO TOP AND DRAG ← SIDEWAYS → TO NAVIGATE THROUGH SCENES

Awakening Comment Area
A section to comment on the Awakening series. You may find polls here, secrets answered, character bios–I’m not sure exactly yet. Please, if you have suggestions, I’d love to hear them!

LEAVE A COMMENT

Return to the Awakening Comment Area

AWAKENING

LUST CREATURES

StepDaddy

August 27, 2016

StepDaddy

A Stepfather/Son Novella
Exclusive Library
Ethan never expected to fall for his mother’s new love interest. He had never thought he’d ever look at a man that way at all. There’s just something about his caring but controlling stepfather that has everything upside down for the eighteen year old, his crush only getting worse the longer they share space.

Jeff has been doing everything he can to avoid his new stepson. Ethan is sweet, lonely, and absolutely beautiful. And worse, Jeff can’t help but want to protect the boy, especially when Ethan insists on dressing in provocative, hot ways. His stepson might just be trying to bait him, but for what he’s not sure.

When the two finally realize their attraction is mutual, Jeff knows he must leave to keep from crossing the line. Heartbroken, Ethan comes up with a plan. He’s just not sure it will be enough to convince his stepdaddy to stay.

18+ This novella contains explicit m/m sexual content, graphic language, and themes of bondage and discipline between adult men. Over 35,000 words long.

35,000+ wrds, Published August 27, 2016.
Heat level: X

WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT STEPDADDY

P Leslie rated it really liked it

This was a hot, sexy, funny yet dirty read. Ethan can’t help checking out his hot stepdad and his stepdad Jeff has been lusting after his stepson for ages. Whose going to cave into their lust first?
Ethan made me laugh when he dressed to impress, with a provocative flare, to get Jeff’s attention.

The book is written well but I wouldn’t expect any less from Sadie Sins.

Nessa rated it really liked it

This was a fun and naughty read, and also a very provocative guilty pleasure. Jeff is the sexy, hot step, dad who is trying his hardest not to give into the raging lust that he has for his step son, Ethan. Ethan feels the same way and tries many little schemes to get Jeff’s attention. The only thing that bothered me about Jeff was his constant regret when he did give in to him at times, although I don’t want to spoil anything since it was an enjoyable read. Ethan’s mother is never there and they have somewhat of an open marriage, so there’s that. 🙂 The writing, of course, was excellent (as usual) and the characters were very tantalizing. I can’t wait to read about what happens in that home next. Super titillating.

Review by: Kiri Neko on April 03, 2017

Arghh, good, so good! This was kinda tame for Sadie, with the stepfather spending most of the book being a dang upstanding and respectable man *grumbles* I really wish this book had been longer, if for no other reason than to have lots more steamy Daddy kink scenes :p I loved both characters a lot! (cont…)

READ AN EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE

“Damn, kid, don’t you ever go to school?”

Ethan blinked up from his phone screen as his stepfather came into the kitchen, his eyes lingering for a moment on the man’s tattooed arms. “Summer vaca,” Ethan mumbled, ducking his head back down and hiding behind his box of cereal as the man made his way to the stove top and began cooking up a late breakfast. “Don’t you have work?” He asked, not really expecting an answer. Jeff didn’t talk much. The guy had moved in six months ago after a whirlwind engagement and besides hanging out in the adjoining garage painting all day, Ethan rarely saw the man outside of the occasional times Jeff would try and catch up with him.

He was kind of glad the guy was so busy. Jeff unsettled the fuck out of him.

“I’ve actually been up since dawn. Just grabbing something to eat before I get back to the canvas. Got that gallery showing in a week and I need to get some last minute touchups done before framing.”

Ethan nodded to himself, having a bite of his now soggy cereal while sneaking a peek at the man. Jeff was still in his pajamas, wearing a pair of black flannel night pants and a black wifebeater that was flecked with spots of paint. He wasn’t wearing shoes—the man rarely did while around the house. Both of his arms were covered from shoulder to wrist in tattoo’s, his tanned skin colored in elaborate, geometric patterns in blue, gold, and black ink. It was apparently inspired by one of Jeff’s own paintings. A badass painting if he was to go by the man’s bulging biceps.

Ethan’s new stepfather was a lot of eye candy. With his piercing blue eyes and brown, shoulder-length wavy hair, the guy could have been a model. He had the body for it—tall, lean, and buff—as well as the not giving a fuck attitude. Jeff always looked like he was two days late to shave, a light fuzz prickling at his jaw and neck, and he rarely dressed up beyond jeans and a t-shirt. He was also one of those health nuts, having filled their refrigerator with tons of fresh, organic produce when he moved in, his blender heard before any of the alarm clocks went off.

“You looking for a job?”

Ethan ducked his head back down, shaking it silently when the man glanced over at him from the stove. He tried to lose himself in his video game but couldn’t stop from being distracted by Jeff’s presence across the room. The thing was, Ethan didn’t like guys. He was pretty fucking sure. But it was really hard to look away from Jeff whenever the man was around. There was just something about the guy that drew his eye and kept him looking. Like his colorful biceps. Or the way the man’s thin pants clung to his sculpted ass.

It was unsettling. Confusing. Ethan just couldn’t stop getting hot whenever around his stepfather and it had been going on for months now.

“You need a job, kid. An internship. Something. You going to waste your life hanging around the fucking house all the time?”

Ethan looked up when his cereal box was suddenly taken away, watching as Jeff placed a plate with an omelet in front of him, the man nudging his bowl of cereal aside on the kitchen island to make room. “You also need to start eating some actual food. There is no way there are enough calories in that sugary shit to even get you out of your chair. I don’t know how the hell you get through your soccer games on this shit.”

Jeff was damn near intimidating when up close, the man’s face predatorial and eyes stunning as they met his. He was also bisexual, something Ethan’s mom had mentioned in passing and now he couldn’t stop thinking about. Ethan nearly dropped his phone, quickly grabbing the fork that was pushed his way to hide his tremor.

“Your mother ever teach you how to cook?” Jeff asked, cocking his hip and leaning against the island while he waited for Ethan to try the food. The hem of the man’s shirt was stretched over his hips in a way that revealed a flash of tanned abs and a sparse trail of hair leading beneath his pants. It was very distracting.

Ethan really wished the guy would look somewhere else so he could fucking breathe and stop feeling like an idiot already. He shook his head silently, finally giving in to his stepfather and scooping some food onto his fork. “Shit—I mean, this is really good. Uh, sir. T-Thank you.”

Jeff raised a brow at the stuttering boy, silently mouthing the word ‘sir’ to himself. His gaze slid down to where the blond had just nearly dropped his fork. “Well?”

Ethan jolted, looking up, the utensil now caught between his lips. “Um…?”

“Did Leah ever show you how to cook?” Jeff repeated, a slight smile curling the edges of his lips when Ethan began to flush.

“My mom’s not… She doesn’t cook,” Ethan mumbled, reaching for his phone with his other hand in the hopes of ending this absolutely alarming conversation where his stepfather looked at him and kept asking him about stuff.

“You wanna learn how?” Jeff prompted, watching as the blond boy tried to hide behind the small cell phone screen and eat another bite of food at the same time. “Seeing as you’re going to be around all day, and I do try to make it a point to eat.”

Ethan shrugged, grunting something noncommittal.

Jeff was not deterred, the man’s fingers curling around the boy’s wrist to guide his hand away from his face. When Ethan looked up, only blushing brighter now, he added, “And while I’m showing you how to cook, you can fill out some job applications.”

The man’s words sinking in, Ethan scowled, pulling his hand away to rest it on the table instead. His wrist felt like it was tingling where Jeff had touched it, an annoying distraction as he tried to state his case for not needing any job now that he had gotten his last year of high school out of the way.

“I don’t want a job. I’m starting college in a couple of months and I just want to chill for a bit before all that.”

“What, are you ancient? Decrepit? Eat your omelet.” Jeff turned away, going back to the stove and cracking more eggs into a bowl and whisking them with a fork. “You’re going to want money, right? You’re going to want to hang out with your friends. Gas cost money, kid. Concerts, food, the mall—Believe me, you’re going to want a job.”

“Really, I’m not,” Ethan muttered, glaring at his plate. He had only just started to feel the freedom of being out of school. All he wanted to do was hang out with his friends and maybe his house. “My mom will pay for all that shit.”

Jeff snorted, the trash bin rattling as he threw the eggshells into the wastebasket. “Like fuck, she will. Leah does enough without needing to pay for your lazy ass.”

“I’m not lazy,” Ethan said with a growl.

“Oh, did you pay for that $600 phone your face is always glued to? What about the nearly $100 a month it costs so that you can text your friends your every riveting thought as you have them? The motorcycle you’re driving or the insurance that allows you to do so?” Jeff turned, pointing the spatula at him when Ethan stood, the boy getting ready to escape. “What about rent? All that cardboard food you keep eating? Just where do you think the money for all that comes from? Not your schooling.”

Pursing his lips, Ethan crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not lazy. I’m just a kid.”

Jeff scoffed. “Not anymore, you aren’t. I don’t get why Leah didn’t have you working through summers. It’s time to grow the fuck up and start contributing. I’m not painting every day to keep your ass in designer jeans, kid.”

Glaring, a million scathing retorts swirling in his head, Ethan opened his mouth but nothing came out. Jeff’s eyes were blazing, the man unblinking and deceptively calm as he just stared him down. “No one asked you to buy me anything,” Ethan finally muttered, unable to meet the man’s glare any longer. He liked it, though. A part of him liked that Jeff cared enough to lend him money for things. His mother was never around but Jeff was, even if the guy didn’t talk to him as much as he’d like. Ethan had never had a dad before and Jeff was the closest thing to perfect in a lot of ways when it came to things like that.

“Hm.” His eyes narrowed, Jeff turned back to the stove, flipping his omelet before it started browning. “Don’t go running off until you eat. I don’t think you’ve had more than pizza and Cheetos this entire week.”

Sighing in exasperation, Ethan sat, glaring at the man’s back. Only to have his eyes inadvertently slide down, his gaze caught on Jeff’s ass when the man leaned over to grab the salt and pepper shakers. It was a decidedly interesting ass; firm, symmetrical and muscular. He hadn’t really known that he liked muscular asses but he definitely liked Jeff’s.

“You interested in anything in particular?”

Ethan jumped, his eyes snapping up. But the brunette was only looking at the pan, poking it with his spatula. “What?”

“For work. You have anything in mind you’d like to do?”

Ugh. “Play video games,” Ethan said flippantly.

“Cute. I’m sure people just hand you money for that shit.”

“Coming from the artist,” he muttered, stabbing at his omelet. That it was about the best thing he had tasted in as long as he could remember didn’t help his mood at all. “People pay you to hang out around the house painting pictures.”

“Not exactly.” Plating his food, Jeff turned the stove top off and poured himself a glass of fresh juice before sitting across from Ethan at the kitchen island.

“People buy a product from me. Now some pay for a service if they want to hire me to paint as a demonstration, or to design a mural, tattoo, whatever. But for the most part, I create something and people buy a print or the original. That’s how I can get away with hanging around the house all day; I’m selling even when I’m asleep. That doesn’t mean I don’t have to work it for clients at galleries and meetings that get my art on walls where people can see. Renting out one of my paintings to a business requires me to do more than just paint, but it’s worth the money that comes in. Half my income this month was just on rented paintings. They’re not even new pieces but they can pay the bills if you know what you’re doing.”

Ethan really didn’t want to care just how Jeff made his money. Unfortunately, he was finding it interesting and he sighed again, daring to look up at the man. Jeff’s head was ducked, a long lock of wavy hair brushing over one of his eyes, his mouth open as he took a bite of his breakfast. The man had ridiculously lush lips, full and red. Combined with his sharp features and strong jaw, he really was just the epitome of male beauty. Ethan idly wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips. They probably weren’t as soft as they looked. With Jeff’s bristle, it might even be prickly, a little rough.

Glancing up, Jeff caught Ethan staring at him, the boy immediately looking away. “You pick a major yet?”

Ethan shook his head weakly, hating how flustered he felt. “Mom said she was going to help.”

“Yeah, well waiting for Leah to pull herself from her work is like watching paint dry.” Jeff smiled grimly. “I can help you if you want. I’m surprisingly good at that kind of shit.”

Glancing his way a moment, Ethan shrugged. “Okay. Um, maybe tonight? Once I get back from hanging with my friends. I was thinking of something business oriented.”

He couldn’t help but wonder how quickly it had taken for Jeff to figure out just how unavailable his mother really was. It would probably still take the man a good year to realize she wasn’t going to change. And seeing as he married her, he might even stick it out longer trying to make it work. He was young still; he might think it was worth putting the effort in.

Ethan hoped he would. Not because he wanted to see Jeff break his heart but because he really liked having the man as a stepfather. Jeff was cool. Scary, but cool. Ethan had never had anyone actually care about him and even though Jeff breezed in and out most of the day between painting, the man was always saying and doing stuff that made it clear he gave a fuck. He was a calming presence. Sturdy and reliable. Ethan wasn’t used to having something like that and he’d be really pissed if his mother ruined it for him.

His mother had tried this time, he knew that much. Jeff was very different from what Leah usually dated. He was self-driven and had interests outside of just their relationship—Really important seeing as Ethan’s mother lived for her work and her last three relationships had failed because she couldn’t put enough time or energy into them. She was always at the office and when she was home, her head was at the office, planning new ideas, designing new rooms and buildings.

Leah Walde was an architect, a highly sought after one, and she had started her own firm ten years ago. Jeff had actually been commissioned to create a portrait of one of her more famous buildings and that was how they had met. That Jeff could balance his creativity with business savvy had been a good fit for Leah, even if Jeff didn’t have much interest in doing much beyond supporting himself so that he could continue his painting. It was still a step up from the last guy who had thought he was going to be some sort of jobless house husband.

“Any thoughts on what you want to learn how to cook for tonight?” Jeff asked, having a sip of his juice.

Ethan couldn’t help but stare; a droplet of moisture dripping from his stepfather’s mouth to trickle down his chin. God, what was wrong with him? He blinked, finding Jeff staring at him with a raised brow, the man waiting patiently for an answer. Ethan really didn’t have one. “Um, whatever you feel like eating, I guess.”

Grinning wickedly, Jeff put his glass down, leaning close and crooking his finger. “Careful there. I don’t think you could stomach half the things I eat, kid.”

His breath curling hot around his ear, Ethan’s breath hitched. He glanced Jeff’s way, feeling stupid as fuck when he caught the man still smiling. His eyes were sparkling at him, flashing with some hidden laughter that was making him feel hot inside. For a frozen eternity, he was certain the man was flirting with him and he had no idea how to respond.

Thankfully, Jeff seemed oblivious to his panic, the man reaching over and patting Ethan’s shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, kid, I won’t make you eat anything too healthy and green. Seeing the diet you’re coming from, I wouldn’t want to overwhelm your system with anything of substance.”

“Oh.” Gnawing on his bottom lip, Ethan slowly sank back in his seat, hoping his cheeks would stop burning soon. He had a sip of his soda, his gaze inadvertently drawn to his stepfather again. “Um… So, like, when did you know you were bi?” Ethan asked daringly, his heart feeling trapped in his throat once he got the question out.

Moving in a way that seemed just a little too casual, Jeff placed his fork down. “Young. Younger than you are.” He met Ethan’s curious gaze, his head tilting slightly. “Why? Does my sexuality make you uncomfortable?”

“Jesus, only when you say it like that,” Ethan muttered, covering his face with his hand for a moment. He peeked out, combing his fingers through his short blond locks. “Just… Did you know at the same time? Or was it, like, you liked one and then realized you liked the other later?”

Considering the question a moment, Jeff finally answered after having another drink of his juice. “Both. I had at least half a dozen crushes back then and it was pretty easy for me to see that gender was not a barrier for my attraction.”

“So bi people, they all know, like, at the same time, then? Like, if you’re going to be bi, you’re definitely going to know when you start getting crushes. It doesn’t, like, change?” Ethan asked nervously, his fingers twisting at his placemat.

“I’m not sure that would be the way I’d word it,” Jeff said carefully, studying his stepson’s face while Ethan bit his lip and looked at the table. “I think attraction is based on more than just a body, and sometimes when all the right elements come together, you might just find yourself looking at someone you weren’t expecting to be looking at.”

His brows furrowing at the answer, Ethan forced himself to look the man in the eye. “I’m not talking about love or shit. I’m not saying people can’t, like, fall in love and overcome gender or what have you. I just want to know if, you know, you can suddenly be attracted to…” He trailed off, waving his hand nervously.

“Are you worried you’re going to wake up wanting to suck cock?” Jeff asked blandly.

“Now you’re just being an asshole.” Scowling and beyond embarrassed, Ethan stood, more than ready to get away from this man that flustered the fuck out of him on so many different levels. “I don’t think there is anything wrong with gay people. That’s not what I was—”

“Sit your ass down, brat,” Jeff ordered quietly. “Did I say there was anything actually wrong with sucking cock?”

Ethan paused and glared at the man, his brain unfortunately now stuck on the question of if his stepfather had ever sucked cock and what that might look like. A beat later and he sat back down, his leg bouncing nervously. “I just want to know if you can, well… Like a…” He couldn’t say it and was only feeling more upset by the fact because it was Jeff he was trying to explain it to.

“Can you suddenly like someone of the same gender and still like the opposite sex as well?” Jeff supplied when Ethan seemed unable to continue on.

Pursing his lips, Ethan nodded sharply. “But more, can you just, like, suddenly like someone of the same gender. When you never did before. Not ever.”

“Not ever?” Jeff repeated, his eyebrows rising in disbelief.

“Not ever,” Ethan repeated sternly, daring him to call him a liar.

“Well, I’ve only ever had my own experiences to compare to, but if this has happened to someone, I’m pretty sure it’s not the end of the world.” He flashed the boy a comforting smile, placing his elbow on the table so he could lean his chin on his hand. “It’s not like this person would have to act on anything just because he felt something new. People get crushes all the time and don’t act on them.”

Ethan nodded, fairly certain Jeff had no idea just who he was crushing on by the casual air the man was giving off. “But it’s, like, normal?”

“As normal as the huge range of human sexuality can get.”

“But is it bi?” Ethan added, his expression again growing tense.

“It’s whatever that person wants it to be. A fluke. A one-time attraction… Or maybe it’s bi, and they’re just finding out.” Jeff’s smile had only grown, his eyes sparkling, and Ethan was feeling decidedly uncomfortable with just how nice the man looked with his perfectly white teeth.

“Stop smiling at me like that. I never said it was me,” he grumbled, grabbing his plate and jumping up to rinse it in the sink.

“Did I say I thought it was you?” Jeff asked, his smile now beaming. “Shit, are you going to start calling me dad now?”

“Fuck off,” Ethan snapped, grinning despite himself. “You’re lucky I call you sir.”

“Yeah, could you not do that? It’s weird—Children of the Corn weird. That would be a movie you’ve never heard of, by the way.” Jeff stood as well, stepping up behind Ethan at the sink with his empty plate in hand. “Just call me Jeff. ‘Hey you,’ if you’re feeling lazy.”

Ethan was having trouble focusing, Jeff standing far too close for him to notice anything else. God, it might be ‘normal’ but it was still really annoying to feel so fucking hot over someone. “Here, just…” He turned, taking the plate and fork from the man, nearly dropping both when their fingers brushed accidentally. Spinning back, he quickly washed them and put them in the dryer rack, his heart racing too fast in his chest. God, he hated this. Fucking hated it.

Jeff had stepped around the island and was drinking the last of his juice when Ethan finally got up the nerve to turn around. The faucet off, he crossed the kitchen to grab his phone.

“I start cooking around 6:30,” Jeff said, Ethan pausing mid-stride.

“Right. Um, I’m going to meet my friends tonight. Like, eightish.”

“Alright. It’s a plan.”

Nodding, Ethan edged to the door, slipping through with a quick backward glance. Jeff was staring back at him and for a frozen moment their eyes met, Ethan’s heart racing in response.

God, he really needed to get over this thing.

***

Son of a bitch. Bi? Was the kid bi now? Why did Ethan have to tell him he thought he might be bi? What was he trying to do to him?

Groaning inwardly, Jeff pressed both his hands on the kitchen island, leaning heavily over the countertop as he willed his erection down. One fumbling touch from the kid’s hand on his and he had gotten hard. Not good. Really not good.

Talking to Ethan had been a terrible, terrible idea. Sure, he had known he was being too antisocial and that he was worried the kid would start thinking he hated him. Leah hadn’t been around in forever, and he was pretty sure the kid had no adult supervision in his life but fuck… Fuck.

The things he would do to Ethan Walde if he hadn’t married the boy’s mother.

He was too young for him, didn’t know shit about life—And only ten minutes ago, decidedly straight. Many very good reasons Jeff had focused on whenever he found himself in the same room as the young man. But Ethan was also fucking delicious. He had soft, golden hair and wide, clear, green eyes, flawless skin and his average height was already filled out with muscle from his competitive soccer playing. That summer vacation had started and Ethan seemed content to haunt the kitchen and living room most hours of the day, half the time without a shirt on, had become a special type of hell for Jeff.

Cooking lessons? The kid needed to learn how to cook—to eat—but shit, why the fuck had he suggested cooking lessons? Knives and fire and the two of them in the somewhat cramped kitchen? Alone.

Dumb. Really fucking dumb.

He needed to get laid. That was all. He had gone into this thing with Leah with a predefined understanding that he needed sex more than she did and that she was more than happy to let him go out and get it as long as he was safe about it and he was home for the weekends to do family stuff. Of course, it had turned out that he had no problem being home on the weekends while Leah couldn’t seem to find her own house. Jeff hadn’t gotten around to checking out his options in the area. He had moved to a new town for Leah and although he was enjoying his large art studio, he hadn’t done much outside of the house besides grocery shop and jog in the morning. Something that was going to have to change if his sexy-ass stepson was hanging around all summer. And now bi.

The kid needed a job. Like yesterday.

Jeff could only hope that whatever reason Ethan had been looking at him strangely the last few weeks had to do with that conversation and would finally stop. The staring had been the icing on the shit cake of this insane situation. Ethan was probably just curious about the bi thing. More than a few guys were curious about the bi thing. It used to be the quickest way for Jeff to get a straight guy into bed—Just tell him he was bi and let him ask a million questions until he explained how much easier it was just to show than tell.

Not something he could do with Ethan. Not something he should even be fucking thinking about doing with the kid. Stepson. Young, naive, and very much off-limits for anything.

Hot, though. Really fucking hot. He had great nipples, the perfect size, pink spots just begging to be kissed, licked and then nipped sore. And his neck—he wanted to coat the boy’s long throat with his cum until it dripped down his toned torso like a pearly, dirty river. And if Ethan wanted to call him daddy while he was doing it, well, that would be more than fine with him.

“Jesus, get it the fuck together,” Jeff grunted to himself, his body lighting up with heat and his cock again hardening until it was pressed up against the side of the island.

It was time to start checking out his fucking options in the area. There was a bar within walking distance; some pool joint where he’d seen a mix of ages and sexes go in. He just needed to fuck something—preferably a hot twink that could pass for half his age so he could get this out of his system. Until then, he was going to have to settle for his hand and get the fuck back to work. He had a set of three paintings that Leah had commissioned from him for one of her older clients. It was guaranteed money and a potentially lasting connection if he got it all done in time and kissed ass well enough. That on top of his gallery opening in a week had him completely swamped. He couldn’t be wasting his time fantasizing about fucking his sexy-ass stepson.

Wonder what happens next? With a paid membership you can read it all!

Robyn

June 11, 2016

Robyn

Forced To Be Their Sister
Exclusive Library
Rob has had enough of his older brothers teasing him. Just because his mother insisted he was her honorary girl when she was done raising sons didn’t mean he was an actual girl! He’s sick of being treated like a chick and he’s looking for vengeance.

Rob’s three older brother’s are sick of their little brother acting like an angry, spoiled brat. When Rob crosses the lines with another one of his childish pranks, they decide it’s time to teach their little sister a lesson in being a girl the only way three muscular, controlling guys know how.

This story is 17,000+ words long. It contains graphic language, sexually explicit content between brothers, a great corset and leather boots, spanking, and mild humiliation mixed with some tears. 18+ Only

17,000+ wrds, Published June 11, 2016.
Heat level: XX

WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT ROBYN

Lily rated it it was amazing

Shelves: 5-stars, brocest, taboo, polyamorous, roar, cross-dresser, virgin, incest, smexy-times, mmmm, dub-con

Sizzling hot story with four brothers! Loved the characters and the plot. Great job!

Amy rated it really liked it

story warning: contains incest between 4 brothers. Wheew! This was another great story by Sadie. One thing you will always get with her books, is lots of heat! The best Thing about them though, is they have an actual storyline with that sex. If you like taboo books, this one is perfect! Rob and his older brothers heat up the pages.

Michelle rated it it was amazing

Shocking debauchery.

READ AN EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE

Rob had finally had enough. His assholic older brothers had crossed him for the last fucking time. The three jerks had once again—well, Frank had and he totally fucking hated Frank—Frank had said he was a girl. Worse, a cheerleader. This time in front of the entire fucking football team. The bastard had stood in front of everyone and said the reason his little brother couldn’t try out for the team was because he was really a chick and they should have him cheer instead. And then everyone had laughed. Dan, his other asshole of a brother, had laughed the loudest and even Joey, who was usually the nice one out of the three, had joined in. Whenever he was around Frank and Dan, Joey always took their side. It wasn’t fair. Rob had three older, stronger, meaner brothers and they always picked on him.

Today, he was going to show them.

Rob stalked into their family kitchen, his parents still at work and his brothers still at practice. He placed the bag of sugar he had bought at the convenience store on the table, pulling a chair out and standing on it so he could reach the higher cabinet over the fridge. Fucking Frank was always laughing about how he needed to stand on something to reach the cabinet just like their mom. But Frank was a goddamn giant, as was Dan and Joey, and normal people needed a stool to reach that high. He wasn’t short and petite, he was just being compared to fucking giants. Everyone looked like a matchstick compared to his brothers.

Grinning viciously, Rob grabbed the container of whey protein powder out of the cabinet, gasping when he fumbled the large, plastic container and nearly dropped it. Fuck, that would have been a total mess. He cradled the container to his chest as he jumped down from the chair, then headed straight for the sink.

They thought they were so fucking great with their bulging muscles and tall, athletic forms. Just because mom had wanted a girl for the longest time and used to call Rob her baby Robyn didn’t mean he was a girl. Just because she had spent the first five years of his life dressing him in pink and calling him Robyn and telling everyone he was her honorary daughter didn’t mean he was actually a fucking girl. And what the fuck did his brothers do? Did they show sympathy? Did they try and help him bulk up like them or help him practice so he could join a sport? No. They just made fun of him too, teasing him for his slender body and cute face. They were always calling him Robyn, and cutie, and their pretty sis. God, he hated them all.

Just wait until the three of them were fat and slow, then they’d wish they were even close to as skinny as he was.

Rob poured three-fourths of the protein powder straight into the sink, turning the faucet on and running the garbage disposal so it wouldn’t clog. Taking the container with him, he hefted the five-pound bag of sugar and tore at the top of the heavy paper bag. Only to scowl, his fingers not strong enough to actually rip through the thick material. Goddamn, he hated his brothers. He could just hear Dan jeering in his ear about how weak he was. He didn’t have girl’s hands!

Grabbing the nearest knife, Rob stabbed into the bag, tearing the instrument out and pouring the sugar into the nearly empty protein powder container. He didn’t need to be strong; he was fucking smart. Once the plastic jar was filled, he replaced the wide cover and gave the powder a good shake to mix the contents. He got back on the chair, putting the container back where he had found it.

His brothers mixed the stuff into everything. Everything. It wouldn’t take long before they started getting fat, then they’d see how terrible it was to make fun of someone because of their body. Rob couldn’t help that he was short and thin. It was just the way he had been born. Just because his three older brothers had been born looking like Greek gods didn’t give them the right to treat him like shit. Fuck them.

Putting the chair back, Rob had a moment of quiet worry, his gaze sliding up to the cabinet. They always mixed the powder in stuff, usually flavorful stuff because it tasted like crap. He was pretty sure none of his brothers would be able to tell.

He snorted, grabbing the empty bag of sugar and crumpling it between his hands, then stuffing it into his backpack. He’d dump the evidence at school. He didn’t want to risk anyone seeing the bag in the house trash. No, he was fucking brilliant and didn’t have to worry about shit. His older brothers were a bunch of idiot jocks. Like they’d fucking figure it out?

***

It was after five before the once nearly empty house was full, Frank, Dan, and Joey coming home, sweat still clinging to them from their time working out. They all beelined it to the kitchen, crashing through the house like a small herd of animals. Their parents wouldn’t be home till much later seeing as it was their weekly date night, meaning the boys had to fend for themselves for dinner. Rob was nowhere to be found but the sound of the shower could be heard from the downstairs bathroom. Joey’s expression was grim as he scolded the eldest of the three tall, tanned, dark-haired brothers for his earlier comment.

“You know how sensitive Robbie gets, Frank. You really shouldn’t have said that. Not in front of the entire team.” Joey’s hair was longer than the other three, black and shoulder length with a soft curl that was currently dripping sweat while he chugged a bottle of water.

Frank, the tallest and strongest of the three, looked far from apologetic as he reached above the refrigerator and grabbed the protein powder from the cabinet. His hair was short with bangs that teased over his forehead when they weren’t spiked back. “Come on, Joey, the kid gets asthma walking to the fucking mailbox. He can’t join the team. Those guys would break Rob to pieces and you know it.”

Joey flinched, his kind, gray eyes full of worry as he imagined their petite, slim-limbed brother trying to go up against an entire football team. Rob was just too small and delicate even if he was all punk attitude.

“Besides,” Frank continued, taking the glasses Dan handed him and putting the three out on the table. “You know what Johnson would pull if Rob even stepped near a fucking tryout. No way in fuck I’m letting that happen.”

At Frank’s unhelpful lack of explanation, Joey turned with furrowed brows to Dan, the youngest of the three rolling his deep blue eyes back at him.

“Seriously, Joey? Don’t you fucking pay attention? Johnson’s been perving on Robyn for a fucking year now. You really want to let that creep near our little brother?” The glass clinked, Dan stirring milk into his protein shake. “Rob doesn’t know how to handle himself with a guy like that. Johnson would have the kid stripped and on his knees sucking cock in five minutes flat.”

His spoon held in his hand like a knife, Joey pointed it straight at Dan’s face, the brunette’s expression dark. “Could you please not put that mental image in my head, asshole? I will stab that fucker if he touches my Robbie.”

Dan and Frank exchanging a silent look, Frank carefully pulled the spoon from Joey’s hand. “Yeah, well, to save you from a life sentence in prison for murder with spoon, I made sure the kid wouldn’t step near the field,” Frank said flatly, using the spoon to stir his own drink. He dumped a final scoop of powder into Joey’s glass, replacing the lid to the container. “Robyn is too sensitive for sports. Remember when he tried to play kickball, then spent an hour bawling when he stepped on that butterfly?”

“Come on, he was ten,” Joey reminded, unable to stop a small smile from gracing his lips. Robbie had always been ridiculously adorable. It was kind of hard not to pick on him. He had the cutest face and just got so worked up over everything. How could you not want to piss him off until he threw a little hissy fit? Robbie’s beautiful, violet-blue eyes would flash angrily and he’d always try to take a swing at you even though the kid had the scrawniest damn arms. Of course, it always ended in tears, the boy so emotional, he’d be hiccuping by the time the older brothers relented.

Joey admitted to a dark, secret thrill in seeing his little brother cry, especially when Robbie would cling to him for comfort after, burying his face against his chest until he finally calmed.

Joey slowly frowned, growling internally when his mind flashed for a second on Nate Johnson who had started hanging out with the three of them more, always asking to come over to the house. If that fucker so much as looked at Robbie funny, he was going to beat the guy’s face bloody. He’d beaten guys for less when it came to his little brother. All but Frank and Dan, who he shared an unspoken agreement with to back off when things got too rough when picking on their little brother.

Maybe it was time to teach Robbie how to take care of himself. If a creep like Johnson was looking at the kid…

“He asked me to show him how to get strong,” Joey said after a moment, meeting Dan and Frank’s eye as his glass was handed to him. “He wants to learn how to fight.”

“Like fuck,” Frank growled. “The kid would be fighting everyone that looked at him sideways. He’s too mouthy, too undisciplined—Way too angry all the time.”

Dan agreed with a grin, raising his glass. “Besides, if Robyn was strong, then he wouldn’t be our cute little sis anymore.” They each took a sip from their respective drinks, Joey immediately spitting his back into his cup when the overwhelming flavor of sugar hit his tongue. Frank and Dan slowly followed suit, their eyes growing dark.

“Son of a whore—Didn’t we just get this stuff?” Frank tore the lid off the protein mix, scooping the powder up and putting it in front of Joey so his brother could inspect it. It was clearly sugar, the crystals unmistakable, large and nonclumping.

“The little bitch,” Dan growled lowly.

“He must have been really pissed,” Joey muttered, going to the sink and dumping his glass down the drain. He cupped some of the running water into his hand, rinsing his mouth from the teeth-itching sweet flavor.

“Yeah, but sugar? He knows that can kill you, Joey.”

Joey shrugged but his expression was grim as he glared down while the sink drained. Robbie had never tried to get him to eat sugar before. Watching his older brother take daily injections of insulin since the age of seven had set a line none of the Conner brothers had dared to cross before. “You know how he gets when he’s angry. He forgets shit. Says and does things he doesn’t really think out.”

“I’m the one that called him a cheerleader,” Frank said with a growl, tossing the protein powder straight into the garbage bin. “He should have come at me.”

“We all use the powder. Rob knows as much,” Joey reminded reasonably. “He wasn’t just going after me.”

“Fuck, fine, what the fuck are we going to do about it?” Frank fixed his forgiving brother with a hard look. “That shit was expensive and we can’t have Robyn dosing the diabetic with a daily shot of sugar. He’s got to stop with this shit already. It’s getting old, man.”

Joey sighed, slumping against the sink. “Come on, guys, you’re just going to get the kid more upset. You can’t keep picking on him. He’s never going to grow up if you’re always on his case about shit.”

Frank and Dan exchanged another look, Dan stepping up and whispering into his taller brother’s ear. Joey watched them warily, his arms folded over his chest.

“It’s just a punishment, Joey,” Frank assured him. “So Rob won’t do it again. Think of it like training.”

“Like fuck,” Joey said with a scowl. “What are you going to do, duct tape him to the door again? Robbie was pissed for weeks and only acted out more. This prank war hasn’t helped anything.”

Snickering at the memory, Dan shook his head. The boy’s eyes were full of mischief, Joey even more anxious to see. “Nope, I think it’s time our little bro grew into a full-fledged woman.”

“Damn it. You guys know that shit pisses him off the most,” Joey growled in exasperation. “He’s tired of us calling him a girl.”

“He looks like one,” Frank said flatly. “He’s sure underhanded and bitchy like one. And if Rob keeps this shit up, we’re just going to have to treat him like the girl he is.”

Joey inhaled sharply, his stomach tightening against his will. A part of him loved the idea of Rob as a girl. It was the same part that used to love to tease the boy merciless until he’d cry and cling to him, whimpering into his shirt front. For the longest time growing up, Robyn had been their little sister and it was really hard to let go of seeing the boy silky and in pink. But Rob wasn’t a girl, he was a really angry boy who had been a total pain in the ass lately. One that he really wanted to protect from whatever revenge Frank and Dan had up their sleeve. His other brothers knew Joey could take care of himself but because of his illness, they still felt the need to overreact. Something he was pretty sure the two were going to do again as Dan suddenly bounded down the stairs and out of the front door right after flashing Frank a grin.

Fixing his remaining brother with a glare, Joey pushed himself from the sink. “What the fuck did you mean by that? What are you going to do to him?”

“You mean, what are we going to do to him.” Frank wasn’t intimidated by Joey’s scowl, returning it with a tilted chin. “You’re the one babying him, Joey. You let Rob get away with all kinds of shit.”

“I have to,” Joey said reasonably, used to this particular argument. “You guys are total asshats to him. He thinks we all hate him.”

Frank wasn’t impressed. “We just say shit, bro. Robyn’s been a total terror. He poured soda in our beds, put glue in the shampoo and I’m pretty sure he’s the one that left out Dan’s porn for mom to find. He told Jessica that we all have crabs and that—”

Joey sighed heavily, running his hand through his shoulder length hair. “Fine, I get it. He’s been a total dick lately. Just, you freaking out on him isn’t helping shit.”

Frank shrugged, opening the fridge and pouring himself a glass of orange juice instead. “You babying him hasn’t done shit either. You notice when it all started?”

Joey thought back but couldn’t really pinpoint when Rob had started being quite so angry. A few years back he had gotten really defiant about mom pretending he was a girl but it had only been recent that the kid had started pulling these stupid and sometimes dangerous pranks.

“Well, I noticed,” Frank spoke up when Joey didn’t have an answer. “It started when he was passed over for that bit in the school play.”

Blinking, Joey nodded after a moment in agreement. That could have been about the time.

Frank poured him a much smaller glass of juice, handing it over. When Joey went to take the glass, Frank didn’t let go, meeting his brother’s eyes steadily. “The play you prep’d him for like two weeks straight. Where he kept making doe eyes at you until you were wrapped around his finger.”

Huffing in annoyance, Joey rolled his eyes. “Come on, man, he’s a good kid. Annoying at times but he’s—”

“Joey, he’s in love with you,” Frank interrupted curtly. “Head over fucking heels. Absolutely, completely smitten with you.”

Nostrils flaring, Joey put more pressure into his grip until Frank relented the glass. He drank it down like a shot, trying to ignore the way the cold liquid felt like lead in his gut, heat rising over his skin in an anxious wave. “That’s crazy,” he finally said after the silence had stretched on too long, his voice gruff.

Frank was unaffected, looking completely at ease. “It’s pretty obvious. Robyn threw that hissy when you started dating that chick from the next town over. He sulked the entire time, you know, when he wasn’t spreading rumors about the three of us and hiding all our fucking shit. Dan figured it out before I did,” he added as if Dan thinking the same thing confirmed it all. “I was ready to hold the little brat out of a window by his ankles until Dan spoke up.”

“This is crazy,” Joey muttered, turning and rinsing his glass to give him something to do with his hands while his mind reeled. He glared over his shoulder, his expression full of accusation. “You’re just saying this shit to get me to agree to whatever terrible you’re about to do.”

“He loves you, Joe. He was auditioning for the role of a chick—”

“There weren’t any male roles!”

“Yet he still wanted to be in the fucking play,” Frank replied, his eyes narrowed on the way his brother’s face was flushed in anger. “Believe me, Robyn is in need of facing some facts about himself and that is not going to happen if you don’t face the fact that our little bro wants your dick. Bad.”

Glaring stonily out the small window that looked into their backyard, Joey held his tongue. There had been times, glances, sometimes hugs that had gone a little too long that had made him wonder. But that had been a while ago and he had told himself it had all been in his head.

“He doesn’t,” Joey said, sighing softly. “He really doesn’t and you’re going to freak him out if you suggest such a thing. The kid is angry enough, Frank.”

Giving his younger brother a calculating look, Frank tilted his head, indicating Joey should follow. After a moment, Joey did, dragging his feet as they walked down the hall past the bathroom, stopping in front of Rob’s room. There was a pretty pink unicorn superglued to the boy’s door covered in swipes of black sharpie. One of Dan’s jokes after Rob had deliberately erased one of his video game saves. Mom had set aside a room just for the girl she had always wanted. Instead, her Robyn had been born a Rob and the woman had still insisted her youngest get a room of his own. It used to be all pink until Rob had finally put his foot down a few years back.

Frank pushed the door open, stalking immediately to Rob’s backpack. The room was painted a mellow sage green, no remnants of the soft pink and white lace curtains their mother had inadvertently tormented her son with in view.

Maybe it had been all their faults. Just, Rob had never really seemed to mind. He used to like his pink clothes, used to like getting to wear socks with fun patterns and do twirls to show off his latest dress. It was really easy to forget that their little sister was a boy, especially when it was just so easy to make Robyn cry.

“Come on, Frank, don’t go through his stuff…” Joey trailed off, Frank pulling out the empty bag of sugar from Rob’s pack. Gnawing on his lip, Joey didn’t say anything when Frank turned the bag over, searching for whatever evidence he was determined to find. He looked around the room again, taking in the posters on the wall Rob had started putting up. Most were of girls in elaborate, funky clothes from school girl outfits combined with combat boots and crazy, sparkling pigtails to a wall dedicated to leather, gothed out vamp girls. They had a subtle sexuality to them, very subtle when compared to some of the posters Frank kept on his side of their shared room. Rob was young in a lot of ways still, Joey reminded of it at every turn.

Grunting, Frank continued his search, finding what he was looking for deep in the pages of Rob’s math book.

Joey sighed heavily when Frank held up the photo that had been carefully hidden away, his own face staring back in a quiet, easy-smiling pose. Fuck.

Wonder what happens next? With a paid membership you can read it all!

Heat

June 4, 2016

A Mate Of His Own #1

HEAT: Abducted To Be His Mate
Exclusive Library
Ryan Moss is a werewolf long separated from his pack. He has no idea how dangerous his heat is until he finds himself stalking down the closest available bachelor. Unfortunately for Ryan, his wolf finds Shane Cooper, the gay bashing, angry, rich punk that’s been tormenting him for the last ten years.

Even though Ryan hates Shane, his wolf won’t be denied. Against all sanity, he bites the blond and drags him home to mate.

Bound and trapped in Ryan’s basement, Shane plots his escape. He has no interest in being anyone’s mate, especially to his long time rival. If only his body would stop betraying him, seeking out first touch and then pain, things Ryan knows how to gift just right.

Ryan discovers that underneath his lust and resentment, he might just love his angry mate. But after what he’s done, can Shane ever forgive him enough to see him as worthy?

This short story of over 23,000 words contains explicit m/m sexual content, graphic language, violence, and themes of bondage, discipline, and some humiliation. Although featuring mating/breeding with werewolf anatomy that knots and ties, there is no mpreg.

23,000+ wrds, Published June 3, 2016.
Heat level: XXX

<<<

>>>

WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT HEAT

The Courtship of Ryan and Shane.

ByE. Katton July 2, 2016

Best! Abduction! Ever!
Reader beware, this is downright dirty and oh so hot. The writer puts you smack in the middle of that basement and holds you down until the very end.

Perfect.

ByCourtney M. Wendletonon May 16, 2017

For a long time I have been searching for a book like this one and almost gave up hope, thinking it too taboo of a subject. I’m beyond ecstatic to have found this book and will probably read again before the year is out!

Whoooo hhooo

Byaleishaon June 26, 2016

That was steam. I love the dirty talk. This was a great domain book. You get to understand how freeing the sub feels and know his mental issues. Take out that and still hot read. I will definitely b looking at more books from this author.

READ AN EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE

Ryan Moss had just stepped in the door and already regretted coming to school. He could feel the heat coming over him, each wave stronger than the last and threatening to cascade into a fever he wasn’t sure he could contain. He had to, he had exams and classes and needed to keep his fucking shit together. It was just getting surprisingly difficult.

He hadn’t actually expected to actually feel hot but, fuck, he was seriously sweating. His backpack felt attached to his flesh, his thin t-shirt nothing more than a second skin at this point. He had jogged to school like he always did, the morning air a cool contrast to the exercise, but his body wasn’t responding right. He had gotten there in half the time, his first class not starting for another twenty minutes. The muscles of his strong, tanned, six-foot-seven-inch frame were bulging and currently drenched with moisture, his dark bangs dripping into his pale eyes covered by sunglasses. He didn’t dare take the lenses off; his normally deep blue eyes had turned nearly white, his pupils a pinprick and reflecting the torment of his inner wolf.

Fuck, he was feeling really hot. Horny. Had he mentioned horny? Crazy, hot, and horny. He was about ready to hump the library book drop-off slot, he was feeling so crazy. Damn Mr. Menson and his fucking calculus exam.

His older brother Will had warned him, had told him how it hadn’t mattered how determined and focused he was, there was no fighting the heat. But Will wasn’t like him. Will belonged in the woods with the rest of their family while Ryan passed with the humans. No one had pegged him for a werewolf the last twenty years of his life and if he could just make it through this week, he was damn sure he could make it through a lifetime pretending to be two-legged and furless with an actual fucking career.

Being the first werewolf to graduate in his family probably would have been a bigger deal if his family gave a fuck. They didn’t. Ryan was a bit of the laughingstock with his wild relatives who were more than happy to dance under the moon after howling and hunting their dinner first. Not that he had anything against being a wolf. But times were changing—Fuck, they were already so changed that the pack was facing extinction. His family was screwing around in the woods instead of learning how to defend their land from the encroaching companies looking to mine through land and animal alike for dwindling fossil fuels.

Maybe it was unrealistic to hope his wild cousins would skin up and lawyer up after a lifetime of rooting around in the forest. Maybe he was a total tool for thinking he could fix what they had failed to even attempt. Well, besides the murdering. The pack had gotten damn good at killing the poor innocents that trespassed on their land for drilling. It was a problem, one Ryan was hoping to eventually solve no matter how dismissive his family got about him leaving the pack.

And fuck, now he was hard.

What part of needing to become the smartest fucking werewolf out there and get into law was getting him hard?

Growling to himself, Ryan pulled at his shirt, the soaked material stubbornly sticking to his skin even though he was in the air-conditioned hallway that led to his class. It did nothing helpful, his nerve endings tingling from the simple feel of fabric against his flesh, his nipples peaking, cock twitching. His calculus class was right after his first-period history class with Mr. Edwards. He just needed to get through the stupid exam and he could go home and masturbate until he was raw.

This thought hot in the forefront of his mind, Ryan forced himself to walk towards his next class, trying to ignore the way his skin was tingling, his muscles puffed up too large, stature too aggressive and intimidating. He knew he was acting more wolf than man that day and he was having a hard time curbing the beast. It was horny—unbearably horny—and the damn thing kept fixating, staring at every person that dared close, scenting, seeking. Thank fuck the place was nearly deserted. Showing up early had one good advantage. God, he needed sex. Preferably with a drop dead sexy guy with strong thighs and hard abs. Someone strong enough to handle the marathon of fucking his wolf was up for. It would be a marathon. A week at least, if he found a sexy enough body he could convince to spread for him.

“Mr. Cooper, I was clear with you. Take it up with the Administration board if you think you’re being treated unfairly. I don’t care. Just get the hell out of my class.”

“Bullshit! Do you even know how much money my parents donate to this shit joke of a school? I need to pass this course!”

Ryan rolled his eyes as Shane Cooper’s privileged, snobby ass voice reached his super sensitive hearing through the door that led to his first class of the day. Shane and him had gone to grade school together, giving Ryan many a year to hate the obnoxious bully. Shane thought he was better than everyone. More so, that he deserved to be better than everyone just because the kid’s parents were richer than fuck. Ryan had spent the better part of his education finding himself in competition with the rich snob. Not because he was trying to compete with the kid but because Shane hated anyone smarter than him. Ryan was happy to say he was fucking smarter. He was stronger, faster, and had all intentions of beating Shane Cooper at anything the annoying fucker challenged him at. Seeing the blond’s face flushed with anger every time he beat him only made it sweeter.

Professor Edwards seemed even less impressed with Shane’s parents if Ryan guessed by the man’s next words. “I have warned you numerous times what would happen if you continued to be late for my class, Mr. Cooper. If you can’t be bothered to show up on time, I can’t be bothered to teach you.”

Ryan could see where this was going, two other students already kicked out of their history class since the semester started. Shane apparently could too, his tone changing to one of pleading. “I told you, I have swimming practice. I get here as soon as humanly possible and—”

“It is not my fault that you didn’t plan your schedule better. Perhaps dropping my class would be a boon to you.”

“Damn it, please, Professor. I need this class. Can we work something out? I’m sure you could use a little help towards retirement and I’m always happy to donate to education.”

“Fucktard,” Ryan sighed. He counted silently to himself, giving his professor enough credit for not actually slugging the annoying brat.

“Mr. Cooper, I will give you a week to allow you to reconsider your stance on this particular topic.”

“What… what do you mean?”

“I mean I will be informing the Dean of this conversation. If you are seen on school property during the next week, you will be permanently expelled. The next time you arrive for my class in a week’s time you can either be on time or expect to be removed from it. Now leave.”

The door to the class snapped open, Ryan stepping back before Shane could storm into him. The tall blond stopped short on seeing him, his angry scowl only growing. “Get the fuck out of my way, faggot.”

Ryan refused, too busy staring at the angry boy. Shane Cooper was the absolute bane of his existence but today his wolf was at the surface and the animal didn’t seem to give a fuck about that. No, it was too busy howling at the way Shane’s broad shoulders stretched his stupid preppy shirt and his designer jeans clung to his hips and tight, muscular ass. Damn, he could fuck that. Hell, he wouldn’t even have to bag the kid—Shane was hot all around except for his ugly-ass mouth with the stupid shit he was always saying. His dirty blond hair was kept short and spiky, making his nearly black eyes look even more intense when the kid glared at him. All he’d have to do is gag the annoying punk and then he could happily fuck him senseless. Shane would look good in a gag. In a gag and absolutely nothing else.

Closing his eyes, Ryan took a steadying breath and tried to calm his suddenly pounding heart. Fuck, he really shouldn’t have come in today. He had to be fucked in the head to ever think of Shane Cooper as fuckable. He hated Shane. Absolutely hated him.

There had been a time when Shane had been taller than him. The blond had taken huge amounts of joy in it even though Ryan had always been able to outrun the annoying fucker. Now Ryan’s bicep was nearly thicker than Shane’s head. Even though he was well aware of it, the blond who was half a head shorter than him seemed oblivious as he snarled and went to push past him.

Shane hit him square in the chest but Ryan didn’t budge, a soft growl rising up from the brunette as he caught a whiff of the boy’s scent. Holy fuck, yeah, he could totally hit that. Not only did he look like sex, the kid smelled like it too. Ryan’s wolf gave another inner howl, heat rushing over his skin like wildfire.

“I said, get the fuck out of my way, you fudge packing, panty wearing fairy!” Shane went to shove him but Ryan was faster. He grabbed the blond’s wrist, ignoring the hiss it was met with when he squeezed too tight. Shane might have thought he was tough shit, but against a werewolf, the boy’s perfect swimmer’s body might as well have been ornamental. With an angry snarl, Shane went to punch him with his free hand, Ryan easily catching that one as well and pinning it in his larger palm.

Looking into the boy’s dark, wide eyes, Ryan did everything he could to fight the beast inside him that was demanding he push Shane Cooper against the wall, tear his tight jeans down, and fuck him raw.

“Moss, get the fuck off me.”

There was a new tightness to the blond’s voice, something that broke through the hazy heat trying to steal Ryan’s mind completely. Shane was not a werewolf. Fuck, he wasn’t even a potential mate—The kid was an angry, gay hating, rich punk that couldn’t face the real world without his parents’ money to fix all his fuck ups.

God, but he smelled so fucking good. Looked so fucking tight and hard and fucking hot. The stupid fucker could get in his face and talk shit all he liked, just as long as he kept smelling like that. Fuck, he wanted to rape him. Just a little. Just until the blond was begging. He could make Shane beg. He could make him beg like a good bitch. Or just cripple the annoying fucker and do whatever the fuck he wanted to him.

Fuck, he was turning into a total psycho. Ryan dropped Shane’s hands before he could convince himself otherwise, turning and taking two large strides away, his breath loud in his ears. The heat was only getting stronger and the annoying little punk just smelled so good to him. Bullshit—Fucking bullshit. He hated Shane.

“What the fuck is your problem, Moss?” Shane snapped, rubbing his wrist, a red mark threatening to turn purple where the brunette had grabbed him. “Choke on the wrong side of the dick today?”

God, he fucking hated him. Ryan started down the hall, not caring if he missed his history class and failed his calculus exam. He needed to get the fuck out before he did something stupid and potentially dangerous. He should have listened to his brother. Should have never tried to fight his wolf nature and just hid away in the woods until the heat left him. Fuck, he could still smell the annoying fucker!

Ryan whirled, Shane right behind him, the blond’s expression twisted in a wicked smirk suggesting he was about to make another rude, smart-ass remark. “Get the fuck away from me, Cooper.”

“Like fuck, you faggot freak. I think you sprained my wrist. I’m totally going to sue your pansy ass for assault.”

Rolling his eyes, Ryan tried to take a steadying breath. It might have worked on a normal day but today his vision was full of a throbbing red that had never been there before, his blood pounding loud in his ears, muscles tense with restrained force. Every inhale only surrounded him with more of the strange, enticing scent of the blond before him, and it was everything he could do to keep his hands at his sides.

“I’m going to take you for everything you own, Moss. All twenty-five dollars and seventeen cents.”

Asshole. The motherfucking asshole. He went to turn away, growling when he felt Shane move, the blond rushing forward to shove him. Snapping around, he grabbed Shane by the collar, slamming him hard against the wall of lockers no one ever used but the college insisted on having.

“Shit,” Shane hissed, grabbing uselessly at the large hand effortlessly holding him in place. He stilled when Ryan pulled his sunglasses free, nearly white, inhuman eyes staring back at him. “What the fuck?”

“You really don’t want to mess with me right now,” Ryan said, his voice a low, husky growl, strange pale eyes burning into Shane’s. He couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward, inhaling deeply of the blond’s scent and listening to Shane’s breath hitch in surprise. Sexy. So fucking angry and sexy. The things he would do to this kid. Nasty, degrading things and it would be so easy.

“Be good for me, Cooper,” Ryan murmured, letting his lips press to the boy’s jaw for a fleeting second, his dick throbbing from the light contact. “Be good and shut that sexy mouth of yours for one damn minute so I can get the fuck out of here.” He let the blond go abruptly, immediately regretting it as he took a step away, his piercing gaze pinning Shane in place. Fuck, it would be so easy. Shane was weak and he was strong. His wolf knew what that meant. The creature understood all too well what happened to weak things that crossed their path. They were used. Broken. Devoured in all the many ways one could devour a hot, tasty morsel like Shane Cooper.

Daring him on, he flashed the blond a condescending smile, Shane’s eyes widening when he caught sight of Ryan’s elongated fangs. He watched uncertainty flicker on the blond’s face, quickly replaced by hot embarrassment and anger as Shane pushed himself off the wall of lockers and took a stalking step towards him. It felt like slow motion to Ryan’s enhanced wolf senses when the blond pulled his arm back, winding up to punch him like the hotheaded, tasty bitch he was.

Grinning fiercely, Ryan grabbed the boy by the bicep, spun him with a rough wrench, and slammed him chest first against the lockers, pinning him with his chest and hips. Before he could fully understand what he was doing, Ryan’s fangs slid deep into the juncture where Shane’s neck met his shoulder, hot, tangy blood flowing onto his tongue in a gush. Fuck, yeah.

Shane gave a pained howl, his face going pale, body tensing then going limp from the sudden, overwhelming pain. Ryan barely noticed, his senses filled with the scent of the boy’s flesh and sweat, the taste of his perfect blood and feel of his hard body against his. Groaning lowly, he rocked his hips forward, rubbing his aching erection against the strong globes of the blond’s ass, humping him in rough, erratic thrusts while gripping Shane’s hip painfully tight. He came with a grunt, his fangs slicing deeper and flooding more blood, a growl ripping through him as he slammed the boy’s limp body forward and ground his orgasm against Shane’s tight cheeks.

His. Fuck, Shane Cooper was his.

Wonder what happens next? With a paid membership you can read it all!

Bullying Teacher 5

April 16, 2016

Bullying Teacher : Episode #5

Bullying Teacher
Exclusive Library
Picking up where book 4 left off, in the last installment of Bullying Teacher, Darien must find a way to break through Beau’s silence and insecurity to finally get the man to see their connection. He’s been working on his teacher for weeks but Beau just can’t seem to understand just how much he truly cares.

Darien hunts down the man that hurt his teacher but he still faces a dilemma. Frustrated with Beau’s continued refusal to reach out to him in times of need, Darien decides a proper punishment is in order, enlisting three of his very muscular, large friends to help assist in the night’s lesson.

18+ This serial contains explicit m/m sexual content, graphic language, violence, and themes of bondage, discipline, and some humiliation. Each episode is over 10,000 words long and should be read in order to be enjoyed fully.

10,000+ wrds, Published April 15, 2016.
Heat level: XXX

<<<

>>>

WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT BULLYING TEACHER

Don’t miss this incredible series

ByReadingAddict25on April 25, 2016

I have found a new author and I love her writing. This book hits every mark for me in a M/M & BDSM novel. The student dom and the kind of shy, reserved teacher who is the but as well as not gay. The pain that Darien puts Beau through…..OMG, it hurts so good! Loved, loved, loved this series!

Great Series

ByTammyon December 25, 2016

Loved the series and cant wait to read other books.

Theresa rated it it was amazing

Shelves: keepers

4.5 stars Really good humiliation smut. Awesome DP scene. Syrupy sweet ending.

READ AN EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE

Pulling a cigarette free, Darien lit it up in the hall the moment he stepped outside Beau’s classroom. His teach was trying to get some food down and he just needed to get the fuck out and breathe for a second. He wanted to scream. He wanted to break something, and scream, and hunt down and destroy the fucker that had hurt his Beau. Instead, he was going to smoke for a minute then go back in and pretend he wasn’t a fucking mess inside so that the blond could feel safe.

Why the fuck hadn’t Beau called him?

He looked over to where Roland was typing on his phone, the man doing his magic with the guys back at their office to find every bit of information available on Collin Hayward. Darien hadn’t bothered to tell Beau that the business he had started when he was back in high school involved the finding of sensitive information and then the blackmailing of people that gave a fuck about if that information was shared. He had started the company with a few ex-military friends, some he had gone to school with, some who he knew from other connections. Once, he had thought he’d be using them just to find out if his father was looking to fuck with his life again. Now he had a feeling he might have to see if Roland knew how to hide a body depending on how bad the night went.

“Do you want me to call in a doctor?”

Darien shook his head sharply. “Not unless he asks for one.”

“Boss, he was practically catatonic when we got here. For all we know, his brain took a bruising from that hit to his face.”

Blowing a steady stream of smoke, Darien didn’t bother to answer. His teach could take a punch. He had seen him take worse at the hands of Blake and his bitch friends and hadn’t missed a fucking beat. No, his teach had gotten down on his knees, sucked him off like a pro, and then rode his fingers until he came. Pain was not a deterrent for the blond but an aphrodisiac. If Beau wanted a doctor, he’d ask. It was one of the many rules they had set up to make sure the blond wasn’t getting himself in too deep. Except, even with everything Darien had done, Beau had still managed to get hurt the second he was out of his sight.

Beau wouldn’t let him hire a bodyguard. It had been a huge sore spot for Darien, one that he was pretty sure was about to blow up after this. He just wanted to have a familiar guy with his teach, someone he could trust to make sure nothing went down when he couldn’t be there. But Beau thought he was being silly. The man didn’t want people thinking he was someone special or some stupid shit like that. But Beau was special. His teach was his fucking life and today had been a new kind of hell for Darien when the man hadn’t shown up for dinner.

He shouldn’t have let him leave without a bodyguard. He should have locked the man up in the fucking house and made him quit his shitty job. There was just something about Beau, something in his eyes that called to certain individuals to feed his need for pain. It made them want to hurt him, use him, and when his pretty teach was in the right headspace, Beau loved ever second of it and begged for more. But that was only when he was in that headspace and with someone that actually gave a fuck enough to figure out what he liked.

Tears. Fucking tears in those beautiful blue eyes, and not in a sexy way. No, in a fucking helpless way that wrenched Darien’s heart too painful to fathom. Beau could take a fucking punch but this thing, whatever had happened, it had hurt him in a way pain didn’t. He was doing his damndest to not imagine just how exactly that could have been.

“I gotta make some calls,” he finally said, crushing his cigarette beneath his heel and scraping it into the tile. “I want that fucker found, and I want him brought here tonight.”

“Here?” Roland looked up, pulling a second phone out while he continued typing one-handed on the first. “The school?”

Darien nodded, ignoring the questioning look his head of security was sending him. He needed to make sure that whatever had happened hadn’t fucked up his pretty teach forever. Beau had a special kind of wiring, one that demanded the right knowledge and a skilled touch. He knew the longer the problem stretched on and festered, the harder it would be to get Beau feeling like himself again. He wanted things taken care of asap. The fact that part of it involved beating the shit out of the deadman that had touched his Beau was just a total perk.

“We got him,” Roland called out before the boy could leave, pushing off the wall. “He just used his credit card in a restaurant less than twenty minutes away.”

“Danny?”

“Already on the way with Jordan. How do you want this guy brought in, boss?”

Darien considered, eying the picture Roland held up on the screen of his phone. “Keep him pretty. I want to fuck him up myself. Let me know when they get him here, but not in front of the teach.”

Roland nodded, texting as Darien spoke. “The guys dug up some more shit on him. Hayward was in a heavy scene about five years back. Used to frequent an underground club. Few regulations, lots of drugs. They were known for some pretty fucked up doms. A young man ended up dead and the place was shut down. Looks like Hayward’s aunt threw some money at some people and no one is saying shit.” He glanced up when Darien growled, fixing the boy with a look. “Hey, this is good news. With info like this, you have this guy by the balls.”

Darien just grunted, fighting back his anger and the pit of seething emotion beneath it. “You remember that kid I asked you to keep an eye on a few weeks back? Sutor’s brother, Rich? Did he ever get back to us on that thing we discussed?”

Roland nodded, already flipping through his other phone. “He seemed agreeable enough to it. Clean record. Able to listen.”

“I want him down here.” Hopefully, it would fix it.

In that moment, he felt like he was fighting fire with fire while holding onto the foolish hope the place wouldn’t burn down. But that was what Darien did. Every day he pushed forward, demanded the best from himself and everyone around him, and he prayed he wouldn’t trip and be stopped flat. Being with Beau had changed that. He had been allowed to take a beautiful soul and feed it, nurture it and give his teach everything the man could ever desire and he had felt at peace from it. Until someone had tried to take his teach away from him. Now Darien was back to trying to keep ahead of the consequences at breakneck speed while hoping he wouldn’t crash.

He had to suck it up. Push through and keep his eye on the prize along with every other cliche fucking saying that would help him get through this. Not for him but for Beau. His teach needed him strong. Darien didn’t feel strong; he felt absolutely out of control. The one man he gave a fuck about had been assaulted and he hadn’t been able to do a thing. He hadn’t even known until hours later. It didn’t matter what he did to this Hayward dick in retribution, it wouldn’t change the fact that he had failed Beau, that he could fail him again at any time. He could wrap the blond in fucking bubble wrap and order him to stay at his feet but Beau was going to pursue the things that brought him joy even when pain swiftly followed.

Sighing, he lit up another cigarette. He didn’t take pain as well as Beau did. He didn’t like to feel pain; he liked to push past it and let it spur him into action. Watching his pretty teach take pain was an experience unmatched by any other. The man was beautiful—strong in such a way he was never going to be, and so fucking beautiful. The man embraced the good and the bad, the pleasure and pain, and he transformed it into something beyond with his own body. Beau was fucking magic and didn’t even know it.

It didn’t matter how hard Darien pushed himself. Life wasn’t scripted and there was always something waiting in the dark to try and prey on the weak and unlucky. He could only protect his teach to the best of his ability and hope that Beau would be able to take the burden of pain when he failed. He’d be able to carry his teach through after, but he couldn’t change the fucking world that would break the man in the first place.

Search Results for: "discipline"

So… What Is A Writing Sprint?

Timers

Editing Sprints

Sprinting Spreadsheets

So What Is An Editing Sprint?

Staying Focused

Keeping Things Novel

Editing Sprints For Works In Progress

Okay, but when do I actually answer those important story questions I put off?

Hey babes,

Ready for a long rant?

Anti-women bills

How are women killed from criminalizing abortions?

Illegal Abortions

No Medical Help

Silencing Victims

How are babies killed from criminalizing abortions?

High Infant Mortality

Infanticide

Child Abandonment

The Cost To Care

What is neglect?

Are foster care and adoption a solution?

Not really

People may love, but they don’t care

How do women lose their freedom and rights from criminalizing abortions?

Bodily Autonomy

Baby Factories

This is not about life

This is about restricting women’s rights

Gaslighting Women

You want to know about the power of the uterus?

A story that could easily be reality

It doesn’t even have to be bloody

This probably sounds crazy

How to live in an unfair world without getting rid of all the men

Maybe we compromise and learn

Be genuine, loudly

What is reality, and what is the story of reality?

A reality check

Humans are real, beliefs are not

We are headed for an environmental nightmare

I’m angry and I’m tired, but I’m not silent

Self care when in a society that doesn’t care enough

Practicing Compassion

Mindfulness

Steps you can take to help

There’s hope

AWAKENING

THE HIERARCHY Scene #25 last updated 2/16/19

SCENE #An unwelcome letter

SCENE #Preparing for the worst

SCENE #Saturday morning arrival

SCENE #An awkward start

StepDaddy

WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT STEPDADDY

Wonder what happens next? With a paid membership you can read it all!

Robyn

WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT ROBYN

Wonder what happens next? With a paid membership you can read it all!

A Mate Of His Own #1

WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT HEAT

Wonder what happens next? With a paid membership you can read it all!

Bullying Teacher : Episode #5

WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT BULLYING TEACHER

Theresa rated it it was amazing

Wonder what happens next? With a paid membership you can read it all!

THE HIERARCHY
Scene #25 last updated 2/16/19