Monday, November 16, 2015

My response to Anon article

Hope—it’s such a small word. In our house there’s a lot of hope because of our grandson. It’s easy to have hope because the future is broad, filled with all sorts of of possibilities. I’m not saying everything is perfect, far from it. There have been things that have happened in the last few weeks that have devastated our entire family, but we still have that tiny bundle of joy that is hope.

Many of us lose our hope early in life. So much stuff goes wrong. There will always be someone stronger, prettier, smarter, lovelier, braver, kinder, and just plain better that we are. Life goes awry when we realize we’re not good enough. The evidence is out there in little whispers, on billboards, in movies, books, TV, at the mall, at work—You’re Not Good Enough! It shouts in the night, enveloping your mind, stealing your hope. The words conquer your peace, take your future, and leave you staring at yourself in the mirror, knowing that you will never measure up to the hope that was placed on you when you were younger. You were supposed to be the beauty queen, the athlete, the president, the CEO, the banker, the best chef in the world, beautiful beyond measure, or just plain better than you are. It eats at you, consuming you from the inside out, taking your life one second at a time, drilling into you that you should abandon hope, leave behind your future, and just die.

But all of that is a lie. You are good enough. Yes, we all have issues, and if you do have something you need to work on, then work on it. We make mistakes, but you can overcome your mistakes, you don’t have to believe the lies. You are good enough!

The issue I have with the article that has been making the rounds is that gay men have bought into the lie. Women have been living the lie forever, but two wrongs don’t make a right. What I mean by that is just because women have been told this lie from day one, doesn’t mean men should have to live this lie too. Yes, books with covers that have sexy models sell better. Just like commercials usually feature attractive women and recently the slovenly male figure in commercials has started to fade and be replaced by the hunky young, perfectly chiseled male figure to sell products. But it’s a lie. People come in all shapes and sizes, skin colors, hair styles and lengths. We are unique and we were meant to be unique. I wish it would be as easy as saying love the you that you are. Love your body, if you want to change something, then work on it, but know that you’re never going to be perfect. We don’t have teams of airbrushers following behind us, fixing every little flaw and I’m glad we don’t.

It has taken me years to move past the lies my father repeatedly told me. One of those lies was that no one would ever love me because I was too ugly to find a husband who would stick with me. He started telling me that when I was around 12 years old. It’s a lie, but it was my truth for a long time. Not all gay men are perfectly chiseled. Life hurts and people have hang-ups, but you don’t have to be your hang-up.

Learn to hope. I know it’s hard. Trust me, crushing things happen to us all, but don’t believe the lie. You are good enough! People who tell you that you aren’t good enough shouldn’t be given the power to dictate your life. The media shouldn’t be given that power ever. Be unique! Be yourself! Love yourself! This is the only life you have, live it to your full potential and stop allowing others to dictate your feelings.

Wednesday, November 4, 2015

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

The Holeshot by Lynn Michaels

In the world of Supercross, taking the holeshot means one racer leaps ahead of the crowd and into first place, leaving the rest of the pack behind. If Supercross racer Davey McAllister knows anything, it's how to take the holeshot. When the hot rising-star mechanic, Tyler Whitmore, shows up in his bed, Davey does just that.

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Goodreads Link.

The Point Excerpt

She was a beautiful thing, this girl, all rosy and bright and full of the kind of curves a man could enjoy getting lost in. She would taste fabulous, he could tell. She had a lot of life in her, and if he were to drain her, he’d not need another meal for a month. But no, he must not even think like that. His brows wrinkled as he mentally scolded himself. He did not feed on random girls. No, he only sucked those who wanted to be sucked at the club. No one else, nowhere else. It was the rules. His rules and he would not break them.

He opened the wardrobe and took a moment to steady himself. All of his mother’s clothes hung there, as pristine as they’d always been with only the dust of ages to sully them. He pulled out the first that came to hand, shook it then laid it across his arm. His mother would not mind him using her clothes. She had always been a charitable soul. Thinking about his mother made his heart ache, so he shook his head and purposefully strode down the landing to the stairs.

When he walked back into the warm sitting room, the girl did not look immediately to him. He walked closer and realised as he glanced down that she was sleeping. Her face was peaceful, and he wished he could leave her like that, but she was still a little damp and a lot cold. He would have to disturb her.

“Erm, hello?” he called, and her eyes fluttered open.

“Oh, yes, sorry. I must have dozed off.” She smiled in her disorientation then took the towel he proffered for her use.

“I’m sorry I had to wake you, dear lady, but I do not want you to catch your death of cold.”

He laid the dress down over a single chair close to the fire and went to help her with the towel.

“Oh, gosh, I couldn’t possibly wear that, I mean, it’s antique, isn’t it? It’s like that beautiful dress in the portrait, and I really don’t think I’d fit in it anyway.” She flustered, waving her hands, her cheeks flushed red.

“It will fit you perfectly,” he replied, “and you could not wear any clothes of mine. This is all I have in the way of suitable clothing for a lady. Now we need to get you out of those wet things.” He knelt at her feet and started to untie the one trainer she still had on.

“I can undress myself,” she screeched.

“I know you can, dear woman, but you have a twisted ankle. You cannot do this without aid today. Do not worry for I will not force myself upon you. I will aid you and nothing more.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I know. I’m a little sensitive about anyone seeing me, you know, unclothed. I’m not particularly beautiful with my clothes on, and with them off, I look considerably worse.”

“I cannot believe that is true,” he said. “You are more than pretty as you are.”

He put the trainer to one side and delicately plucked off her sock, gently smoothing his hands down her soft skin. “Do you need help with your top?”

Before she could answer, he stood and reached down to her waist. Her hand hovered just around  her stomach for a moment then she raised her arms. Hugh lifted the clinging, damp material up and over her head.

“What’s your name?” she blurted out. “I mean, you’re undressing me, and I don’t even know who you are.”

“I am Hugh Jacobson,” he replied then picked up the towel and draped it around her shoulders, his gaze concentrated on the luscious mounds of her breasts as he did so. They were like scoops of cold, tempting ice cream in their lacy shells.

“And I’m Elizabeth Chapman,” she said. “Doctor Elizabeth Chapman.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” he said as he rubbed the towel up and down her arms. “Although, I am sorry our meeting was under such circumstances.”

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Author Bio:
Victoria Blisse is a mother, wife, Christian, Manchester United fan and award winning erotica author.
She is also the editor of several Bigger Briefs collections, and the co-editor of the fabulous Smut
Alfresco, Smut in the City and Smut by the Sea Anthologies.
Victoria is also one of the brains behind the fabulous Smut events, days and nights dedicated to
erotica, fun and prizes. Check out  for more details.

She is equally at home behind a laptop or a cooker and she loves to create stories, poems, cakes and
biscuits that make people happy. She was born near Manchester, England and her northern English
quirkiness shows through in all of her stories.

Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her busy life.

You can find often find Victoria procrastinating on Facebook ,
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