Savage: The Introductory Bits

Side note: I do not own this cover image, I just really like it.

In my most recent post (here), I talked about why I went missing for almost exactly a year and about the fact that I want to start posting and writing my stories with a purpose. This book, tentatively named Savage right now — which some of you may remember from my CampNaNoWriMo posts last July — is the one that I’ve been wanting to share for a long while now. It’s one of my more experimental works since I hardly ever develop whole new worlds or time travel, and I don’t know if you guys noticed this or not, but I rarely do lesbian themed stories. I don’t know what it is but when I write them, I tend to think way too seriously about representing girl on girl relationships as realistically as possible, something that makes me re-write and re-write certain scenes to the point that I end up just hating them for the amount of thought and effort they require — well, love-hate really.

Anyways, in case you didn’t hear about this book already. Let me organize the information on it for you here. (Really, I want all of the info/posts I have about this book(s) to be in one place for both your and my convenience.) So here goes!

  1. CampNaNoWriMo intro that I did last year
  2. Insight into characters

The description I’ve been working with so far (like when family and friends ask me what I’m working on), but will probably change later:

Abandoned to the will of time itself, Sophia Andrews, daughter of the world’s most renowned inventor, is thrown into a world without sunlight, teetering on the verge of war. Lost and alone, she finds herself submerged in the heart of a kingdom, ensnared in a deadly battle for power without a single familiar raft to keep her afloat. Completely isolated in a land she doesn’t understand, the young girl has no choice but to blindly rely on a warrior who saves and kills at the drop of a pin.

Now for some information you guys have never seen before!

This might be a trilogy. Yup, you heard me: a trilogy. Three stories. A series of three. Three individual books about one story.

I think you get it. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just too excited. I did have like three cups of coffee in one today (a bowl-sized cup if you will).

But yeah, three books. Possibly two, depending on length, my mood, etc. At first, of course, I assumed I was writing a three part book, but then the first part (or book, whichever you prefer) was nowhere near done and I realized it could very well take more than twenty chapters of work just to get to the conclusion that I originally wanted — or in other words: a book. So I’m rather certain now that this could turn easily from being Savage the book to The Savage Series (Trilogy, maybe). The next two “parts” aren’t really as long as the first, so it could very well be only two, I’m not really sure. I just thought I’d finally let you guys know that it’s going to be more than one for sure, which I think is just incredibly exciting. And terrifying. But mostly exciting, so it’s great!

I believe that’s all I really wanted to put here today? I’m not sure. If I have more, I’ll create a part two of this post, no big deal.

Ciao for Now,

Amelie J. Hyde

P.S.: The first chapter will be available either today or tomorrow, though I am leaning more towards today, so keep your eyes peeled!

Yo, Long Time No See

I went missing.

I confess, I completely and utterly vanished off the face of the web.

And here’s why: my stories were erased.

Yup, you heard me. For the second time, the recovered works were lost. I know, I have the worst luck in the history of worst luck ever.

Anyways, around like I don’t know, a year ago next month, my dad’s computer, which I’d been using to write all my stories, revealed to us that it was indeed old as it proceeded to shut down, reset itself to factory settings, and thereby delete all of my recently recovered works. Now, thankfully, some of my followers had already previously helped me to recover my stuff, which meant that not so much was completely and utterly lost.

But (yes, there’s a but) I kind of lost my love for writing for a long while because at that point it just felt like the world was telling me, “You know that thing you love to do? Yeah, we don’t think you should do that anymore. Like ever.” I lost an entire series that I was working on — for the second time — and with it I lost some of my will to keep typing. Dramatic, I know, but it was rough for me. I had all of this stuff. I had editted chapters. I had new ideas being developed. I had books I was transcribing from pictures that my followers had sent me. And I had hope, ya know?

I thought, okay, Wattpad took me down, but look, look at all the support I have, all the wonderful people to help me get back up. And this time, I had nothing. I had pieces of chapters I’d sent to my editor. I had a broken computer that had broken my heart in the matter of seconds. I had a dad who was telling me I obviously should just give up and write something else. And I had this nagging feeling in the back of my head that this was it, I was done.

I’m not gonna lie. I gave up. I saw the fragmented, broken pieces of stories littered all over my Google account and in my notebooks and I didn’t want to see them. I wanted the stories I’d poured my soul over for hours and hours day in and day out. I wanted to pick up where I had left off and act like nothing had happened.

I’ve tried, repeatedly, on Wattpad to just forget all the work I lost by covering them up with new ones, fresh ideas that were just shining with promise. But it didn’t help. I’d sit down and stare at the words sprawled across my screen, and all I could think about were the characters whose stories I lost and all the feedback I was hoping to get on them. I’ve been pretty haunted this year by the ghosts of characters in my mind and the scenes I’d written giggling to myself about how much my readers would love or hate them.

So yeah, I went missing.

I forgot about writing. I forgot about Wattpad. I forgot about the dozens of stories I’ll no longer be able to read. And I left you all behind. Because honestly, writing was painful for a while there. It just felt like every word would inevitably be erased off the face of the planet, like I was typing into an inevitable future of failure.

I don’t know. I still find it rather disheartening that for the past two years, August has ripped my heart out. Really, I’d like to vote the month off the calendar and formally break up with it so it can stop being such a depressing month for me. But since I can’t, I decided to just say “fuck you, August, I’m waiting for September.”

But then, I graduated from high school in June and I realized, I don’t really have the time to be putting my writing on hold for a month that doesn’t give a shit about me. It’s not alive, Amelie, why are you fighting it? You know, the kind of logical thought process that all normal people would’ve had, I dunno, a year ago? Yeah, I had that.

So here I am. And here, hopefully, you are too.

I don’t have many of the stories I used to. This time, I lost many of the ones that I’d told you guys I had saved and I don’t have the ability to get them back. I don’t have the same drive that I used to, but I try to sit down every day and write something. I don’t have the Recover trilogy anymore which — I don’t know if you guys know or not — I was rather close to finishing and I don’t have the heart to re-start it, unfortunately.

What I do have is more focus. I’m pretty cemented into working on one or two stories at a time because the space on my flash drive is rather limited and I’m terrified of losing more than that by saving something and then finding out it didn’t actually save. And I’m going to start posting one of those — like today — because I’ve been writing it while thinking about how people are going to react and I don’t want this story to haunt me like the others. I want you guys/gals to see it and to know how you feel about what happens. I’m not going to hoard this story to myself because that’s not what I’m writing it for. I want to share so I’m going to.

That being said, I don’t want for you guys to get your hopes up and think, “Oh, Amelie’s back. She’s going to post a whole bunch of stories just like she used to!” Because the truth is, I don’t know if I will. This time, I think I’m only really going to share the stuff that I’m currently writing as I write it only if I feel it’s right. This time, I think I’m going to hold onto certain ones until they’re done and then go the publishing route as opposed to posting them a chapter at a time, because it alleviates some of the pressure for me. I know you guys don’t ask for much, but when I start posting a story, I kind of put unnecessary pressure on myself because I see other people updating so regularly and then there’s me who can disappear for months at a time and I feel bad for the people who like my writing because of my inconsistency. And it’s just a mess that way, so I think this will work out far better.

Displaying FB_IMG_1500786190917.jpg

See, I heard it.

Anyways~ (yes, I’m still boss as fuck at transitions), thanks for sticking around long enough to read all of this. I hope you stay with me even if my inconsistency irritates you as much as it does me. Maybe, that way, we’ll grow together. Or not. I’ve heard some people never get passed the asshole stage of development.




Ciao for Now,

Amelie J. Hyde

No, I’m Not a Writer, I Just Write

It was brought to my attention that people think I’m a writer just because I write, and not in like a “this is a hobby” way either, but in a “this could be your career” way.

That’s freaking terrifying!

Just think about that for a moment. I write and post some of my works, but does that make me a writer? No, the answer is no.

I see how people could get confused, because I do call myself a writer, but I do so in the same fashion as calling someone a rock climber. I say it like I would say, “Oh, hey, look that person occasionally does whatever and it turns out pretty well. Good job, person!”

I do this because a writer, to me, is someone with dedication. A person who calls what they do a “craft.” They’re the type to never be satisfied with what they produce when they look back at it, and try to improve themselves each time they start something new. A writer, I think, is someone who finishes what they started.


Trust me, I do not bleed.

I’m only two of those things and it’s only because I have artistic angst up the yin yang about my past projects, and strive to distance myself from them as much as possible by getting better. In regards to everything else, I get about a 1/10, possibly a 1.5 if the judges are feeling particularly charitable.

The reason I’m so emphatic about this is that I feel oddly guilty when called a writer. Unlike the true writers/authors of the world, I haven’t done anything. I don’t really have obstacles beyond school or chores. I don’t have to wake up hours early just to get some writing in. I don’t have writing competing with earning an income or parenting. I have free time and a handful of hobbies.

I’ve tried explaining this to almost everyone I know (to which a vast majority called me an idiot, but whatever), and I realized a few days ago, when I got a couple of messages from followers, that I haven’t told you guys/gals.

No, I’m not a writer. I just write.

Also, no, this isn’t a cry for someone to praise me, or tell me I’m a beautiful unicorn doing beautiful unicorn things. Mainly because I know I am.

All I want to do with this post, like many others, is convey a message. This one is just more in your face; mostly because I feel really sorry to all the actual writers in the world who genuinely work to do what they do.

I guess, unlike the majority of people on social media, I don’t think that to be a writer all you have to do is write. If that’s all it took, wouldn’t anyone who ever filled in a worksheet or wrote a paragraph for school be a writer? Kind of makes you think doesn’t it?

Perhaps sometime in the future, I’ll make a different post saying that I have finally adopted a new cap labelled “writer,” and then we can celebrate – maybe. Who knows? So, maybe you agree, maybe you don’t, but either way isn’t it wonderful to be alive? I think so.

Ciao for Now,
~ Amelie J. Hyde

Dare of the Day #2

Dare of the Day #1 can be found here.

In case, you didn’t know yet, Dare of the Day is something that Camp NaNoWriMo is doing. They send you a Care Package, and somewhere in it there’s a dare from whoever was in charge of the package that time. The one I got the other day is as follows:

Dare of the Day

Today’s dare comes from @Castiel_Watson on Twitter

Pick out a theme song for each of your characters. Why did you pick that song? Would the character like that song?

Do you have a dare you’d like to see in a future Care Package? Use the #DareNaNo hashtag on Twitter to suggest it! 

So, here it goes. Be forewarned, I have hella characters (okay six), and I’ve been dying to get to know them better, so I may have . . . you know what? I’m just gonna dive right in.

Shall we?

These first three are in order of who’s point of view (POV) comes first since the book is split into three parts and follows each of their perspectives per section. 

Sophia Andrews (Main Character – MC)

Song: Because of You by Kelly Clarkson

Reason: When Sophia was around six, she witnessed her mother being sucked into her father’s time machine. Both herself and her dad blame her for it, and since then, she’s tried to be as cautious as possible, never getting too close to anyone and trying not to get involved in the lives of others. Which, I think, almost perfectly matches with Clarkson’s song.

Would Sophia like the song? Probably not. It emphasizes putting the blame on the other person, but Sophia’s more the type to think that everything is her fault, so she’d hear this song and only feel even more guilty.


L’eodanist (MC – pronounced lee–euu–d-ah-n–ist)

Song: Once Upon A Time (Not long Ago, I Was A Hoe) by Mariahlynn, awesome choreo for it here.

Reason: L’eodanist was born to a family that had fallen form grace and offended the Royal Family by stealing money, so he had to work his way up from there in order to get back into the palace, much like a hoe now turned mostly civilized.  Much like Mariahlynn’s song, he doesn’t try to hide where he came from and he embraces most everything about who he used to be and who he is now. However, he’s not as proud as the song might suggest, so . . .

Would L’eodanist like the song? No. He doesn’t like bragging or over-sharing, and he especially hates loose women, so, y’know most of the song is out of his favor.

Slédaun (MC – pronounced sl-ey-dah-on)

Song: Alright, I cheated here. She’s a cross between Astrid S’s Jump and Zella Day’s Sacrifice.

Reason: Slédaun is a warrior who’s gone numb to the idea of death, and while she’s wholeheartedly dedicated to the lives of the people she cares about or is indebted to, she doesn’t have very much regard for her own. She’s not suicidal, but at the point that the story picks up at, she’s taken to viewing life as temporary, something that only ends one way for everybody. So, I chose Jump. On the other hand, she’s the kind of person to do everything in her power to make it so that other people – *ahem* Sophia *ahem* – can live. She could have internal bleeding and a broken arm, but she would still fight to her last breath if a person she’s in charge of is put in harm’s way.

Would Slédaun like the songs? On a linguistic level, no. She doesn’t speak English, and finds it to be a complete waste of her time to learn any other language besides the one that the people of her time speak. On a sound level, yes. Slédaun has a tendency to favor higher pitched voices and since both artists have them, she’d probably still listen to them for the time that they’re playing and never again. So, all around, maybe . . no, not really.

The next three characters are organized from least to most evil. Enjoy!

Emsamni (em-sah-m-knee)

Song: Towards the Sun by Rihanna

Reason: No matter how bad things seem to get for him or his friends, Emsamni seems to always find the bright side, or a way to make things bright again. He’s not one to linger in the dirty water of plans that fall through or the “what if”s of life. He’s definitely one of my more calm, super positive characters (which is probably why my pessimist self finds it so hard to keep him true to himself when trying out dialogues), and that is definitely one of his strongest points.

Would Emsamni like the song? Oh, heck yes! Not only is Emsamni a linguist who’s fascinated by the ancient language of English, but he’s also very fond of music, something that is greatly interwoven with the language of his people. He’s not a very picky person, so honestly, I could give him that vine about a druggy owl and he’d think it was the best thing ever.

Amradra (ahm-rah-drah)

Song: King by Lauren Aquilina

Reason: Well, first off the most obvious one (to me, not you, you don’t know who this guy is), he’s the king of the Fenza kingdom, so there’s that. But on top of that, he’s constantly trying to protect his throne and his family from the cutthroat atmosphere of the Court. There’re a lot of instances throughout his reign where he’s felt that there’s nothing he can do, that his position is his in title alone, and has felt the restrictions of a man without power trying to choke him of oxygen. In those moments, he visits his children and tries to think of the others who are depending on him to keep them safe. I think this song fits his constant struggle particularly well considering that it talks of gaining back your strength in a time of feeling lost and sad and like nothing you do will ever make a difference.

Does Amradra like the song: Only in secret. He’s a king so he can’t appear too weak or dependent on others without inviting in his enemies in to take a stab at his weaknesses. In the privacy of his room, I could totally see him grabbing all his concubines and interpretative dancing away the night with a sea of food with them.

Draunslé (dr-ah-on-sl-ey)

Song: I Mean It by G-Eazy

Reason: The epitome of self-involved with a touch of overwhelming honesty and holding true to the words that he says. Yeah, that kind of sums up this character. Oh, and you can’t forget the obsession with proving himself to be better and more powerful than anybody else. All of which can be said about either Draunslé or G-Eazy, your choice!

Would he like the song? No, as the lyrics suggest that G-Eazy is more powerful/important and sleeping with the woman that Draunslé is involved with. If he heard it, he’d probably just send out his people to take care of his light work (aka kill him).


Well, that’s it. I’ve finished.

I’m kind of sad. Like, I wish I had more influential characters so that I could go on for a good five pages. Wouldn’t that be fun? Hopefully, more people will suggest dares that have to do with my characters. There’s just so much that I’m dying to say. So. Much!


Ciao for Now,

~Amelie J. Hyde

Next: creating a character that’s the complete opposite of myself

What fun!

5.a) Summertime Madness

This is only part one. The second half is still in the making, but a link to it will be posted at the end once it’s up. Please enjoy at your leisure!

“Seth,” someone calls out.

I groan and try to turn away from them. The person gasps and I frown, hands closing around their bony hips. My eyebrows furrow, all the blood in my body rushing South at the feeling of something hot and soft enfolding my cock. I lift my hips. “Fuck,” I say breathily, leaning forward and pulling them down. The softness clenches, strokes me just right.


“Shut up, Jake, you know how much I love your ass,” I hiss back at him, body lifting to better enjoy the heaven that is my best friend’s plush behind.

He squirms on my lap and I make a show of groaning throatily by his ear. The person sitting next to me gags. “Andrea, Seth and Jake are being gross again!”

I open my eyes, arms curling around Jake’s waist, holding him tight against my morning wood, and rest my head on his shoulder.

Per every other time that I’ve woken up, I still see the same old car full of my lame ass friends. There’s the mama hen in the driver’s seat, also known as Andrea. We call her that mainly because of her reddish-brown hair and tendency to mother us. Beside her is the grouchy Hispanic, Rafael, with his black hair tousled in the most tangled and knotty bedhead I have ever seen. Sitting next to me are the identical twins Kelsy and Matthew. They look like angels with bright blue eyes and soft, flawless porcelain skin, but really only one of them is good – Matty. Kelsy is a twisted little devil who likes tying up her boyfriends and making them wear collars. Terrifying.

Last but not least, there’s Jacob, the big bootied boy sitting on my lap. He’s a cute little thing with big, brown eyes and the best ass I’ve ever seen. It’s perky and perfectly round, and when he walks it looks firm, but it feels so soft when I touch it. His ass is magical. So magical, in fact, that sometimes when I see him bending over from behind – especially when his hairless, toned legs are bare – he looks like a woman. Fortunately, my dear little Jake is a swimmer, so whenever I want to, I can pop into his house and see his fine ass do magic in the clingiest bathing suit I’ve ever seen. I live a blessed life.

Kelsy glares at me, her button nose turned up into the air. I chuckle and flick her the bird from Jake’s lap. “You’re just jealous you’re skinny enough to sit in the middle and Jake isn’t.”

She huffs. “He is though!”

“Really?” I slide my hands between us and grab great big handfuls of his ass. “I don’t think he’d be very comfy having to squeeze all of this into that narrow little place.”

Her twin, Mathew, leans over his sister, his eyes lingering on Jake’s face. “To be fair,” he says with a smirk, “I don’t think he’s all that comfortable having your dick up his backside every time you wake up either, though.”

I scoff and hug myself to him, barely resisting the urge to grind upwards. “Oh please! He loves it! He hasn’t had any action in years.”

He pushes my hands off of him and turns, presents his back to our friends and glares down at me. “You know I can feel your boner, right?”

I smirk and curl one arm around his back, offering my support. “Of course, but that’s not what we’re talking about here. Why don’t you tell them my lap is infinitely better than Kelsy’s seat and I’ll give you a blowjob?”

“You know,” Jake drawls, his tone playful, “most everyone else thinks of the physical act of head, not the alcoholic shot, right?” I nod. “Alright, you owe me a BJ. Kelsy, I’d rather sit on his dick than that seat.”

“Ewww, Andrea, Seth and Jacob are talking about oral sex again!” Kelsey squeals.

The brunette up front sighs heavily. “Kids, I know it’s hard to get along when in a cramped, shitty car for fourteen hours, but if you could just try for like two more hours, we’ll have enough space for everyone to breathe again.”

“Why is it that whenever we annoy her now, she refers to us as her babies?” I ask Jake as seriously as possible.

He shrugs and throws his arms around my shoulders. “I really do not know, darling! Why don’t you tell me more about how unfair it is?”

“I shall,” I exclaim with a smile, “it should be no problem, right? I mean, after all, we’re all the same age.”

“Actually . . . Matt is technically the youngest,” Kelsy says, snickering under her breath when her brother begins to protest but gives up mid-word.

“So what are we going to do when we get there?” Andrea interjects.

I tap my chin thoughtfully and raise my eyebrows at my friends. The twins look right back, their pale blue eyes filling with excitement.

“Alcohol!” They shout in unison.

“Aye, pendejos, someone’s still sleeping!” Rafael grumbles from the passenger seat, pulling his hat down to cover up his eyes from the sun.

“Oops,” Kelsy whispers, smiling brightly, “I forgot Mr. Grouch was still hungover.”

“Hey, chicita, I can still hear you, so unless you want your bartender friend to give you shitty drinks, you should keep that pretty mouth shut.”

“Aww, he called me pretty, guys!” Kelsy gushes, fanning her face and looking towards the roof of the car as if she’s tearing up.

Smirking, I scoot back in my seat and wait for Jake to settle in against me before leaning in, presenting my mouth to his ear. “I bet you twenty bucks, this time they bang,” I tell him in a whisper.

His chest vibrates on a low chuckle and then he’s turning his head towards me and murmuring back, “Do you even have a twenty on you?”

“No,” I flash him a charming smile, “but the better question is: do you?”

He snorts. “You’re so full of it! Every time we go anywhere, you say they’re gonna do it, but they never do. You owe me like one hundred dollars at this point!”

“Hey, hey, are you trying to say my word’s no good?”

He nods, unapologetic. “What were your words when I sat in your lap for this trip again? ‘I won’t hump you after I nap’? Such BS!”

I can’t help but laugh at that one. “Alright, alright, that’s true, but you know how much I like big asses!”

He sways down on me. “Long enough to still be poking me?”

He makes a move like he’s gonna do it again, and I quickly grab onto his waist, pulling him to a stop. “That’s not even fair. I haven’t jerked off in a few days, so it’s taking a while. You moving doesn’t exactly help.”

He ignores me and full out grinds. I curse, cock twitching, but don’t make a move to stop him. “That right? Is this not helping you out?” He teases, finding amusement in giving me blue balls.

“You’re such,” I hesitate, jaw clenching when he rubs down harder, “a dick. At least offer me dinner before trying half-assed to get me off. You gays have no class.”

He laughs in that light way of his, sounding about as merry as Saint Nick. “Please. Like you could come from a guy’s touch.”

“Hey! No flirting in my car!” Andrea shouts, to the unending frustration of Rafael and amusement of Kelsy.

I look between the two and then cast a smirk Jake’s way. “Forget the money, I want a blowjob if they sleep together.” I hold my pinky out and watch amusement overcome my best friend’s face as we lock fingers.

“I get sex on the beach, then.”

“That’s for girls.”

“It’s delicious.”


I laugh and roll my eyes, looking out the window to watch the trees go by.


“Hey, Andrea, when exactly are we gonna get there? I have to piss and I haven’t seen a sign for a pit stop for miles,” I grumble, tired of looking at the same damn wall of green.

Instead of answering, she holds up her phone, presenting me with an image of a map. I look at it dumbly for a minute and then Jake’s pointing to the time printed in the corner.

“Five minutes until you can piss in the woods,” he says.

I sigh dreamily and hug him close. “Oh, honey, you know my needs so well!”

“You two are so gay,” Rafael says from the front, now fully awake and crunching on Cheez-Itz.

Jake gasps and covers my ears, clinging to my head. He tries to make his voice as feminine as possible when he exclaims, “Don’t listen to his words, darling! None of it is true!”

“Exhibit a,” Raf mocks right back.

“No, no, no, only one of them is gay,” Kelsy supplies, “that’s why they’ve only ever done it doggy style.”

The Hispanic twists around and looks mildly offended. “Are you poking fun at an ass lover?”

She nods. “I am.”

“I can respect that,” he says and turns back around.

“Jake,” Matt interjects, “if you get tired of being on your knees, I’m more of a missionary man myself.”


“Really?” I lean forward and look Matty up and down, “I always took you for a closet lesbian.”

“A pillow princess,” Jake supplies with an agreeing nod.

“Kelsy stop screaming. This is a small, tight space,” Raf scolds. I look towards Jake, eyebrows wiggling. He gives a short chuckle and returns to playing on his phone.

“Alright, children, we’re here. Mi cabin es su cabin!” Andrea announces as the car comes to a stop.

“Mi cabina es su cabina. Chingate,” Rafael mutters as he throws his door open and practically leaps free.

Andrea leans on the roof, arms crossed over the chipped blue paint. “You got something to say, Chicano?”

“Yeah, gringa,” Raf calls right back, his body stretched out towards the sky, “learn the language already!”

Jake taps on the glass of our window, hoping to get Andrea’s attention before she starts lecturing about how hard it is to learn Spanish. Unfortunately for all us little folk in the back, she’s already switching languages, diving head first into polyglot rant land. Without batting an eyelash, Jake and I look towards Kelsy.

She meets our gazes evenly. “I hate you all,” she says, but leans forward anyways, getting on her knees between the driver and passenger seat and crawling forward. Before I can get a good look up her mini skirt, both Matty and Jake are blocking the view with their hands.

“The fuck? Why does Jake get to see?!” I demand, swatting them aside.

The girl herself swings open her brother’s door, leans in and says, “He’s gay, Seth. What is he gonna do with a peak at my panties?”

“Sell it on eBay?” I supply innocently. Jake swats at my chest and gets off me, following Matt out the opposite door. I exit after him, breathing in deep once my feet touch solid ground. “Oh, sweet freedom, how I’ve missed you!”

“He knows we’re still in America, right?” Matt asks, head buried in the trunk.

I ignore him and stretch out my aching legs, feeling the sweet, sweet relief of unrestrained blood flow for the first time in hours. Satisfied, I walk around behind the car and clap a hand down on Jake’s shoulder. “On the way up, we either leave someone behind or strap you to the roof.”

“What? You’re over my sweet cheeks already? Darling, we just arrived!”

“Aw, honey, I’d like your ass five hundred times more if it were to walk away and come back with a couple beers,” I coo, my hand coasting down to the small of his back to nudge him forward.

“Would you like a sandwich too or should I just lay down in our bed and wait for you to come get some?” He teases, smiling like a smug little bastard.

“More importantly, our bed? Since when are we doubling up this year?” I look towards Andrea as she reaches into the pile Matt erected in his search for his stuff.

She looks at me, then at Jake, and then back again. “Forty bucks says they fuck this time,” she says as she yanks her blue backpack free, “I gotta good feeling this year!”

“I’m not betting anything,” Matt calls, one arm outstretched, phone stuck high into the air, “didn’t Seth just name his new target like three days ago? The cute little waitress with the massive back shelf?”

I sigh fondly. “Ah, Linda. Her ass was kind of lumpy, though . . .”

The whole group freezes. Jake stiffens beside me. And suddenly we’re all circled up around the back of the car.

“When did you even get her number?” Matty.

“Forget that! The tits, man! How were the tits?!” Raf.

“That was so fast . . . They grow up so fast. My baby’s a player like his mama!” Andrea.

“Men are disgusting. Was she a virgin? On a scale of Angelina Jolie to Kristen Stewart how were her responses?” Kelsy.

“That’s a fucking stupid scale, Kelsy.” Raf.

“Yeah, shouldn’t they be listed differently? Like least to greatest?” Matty.

“Did you just ask about her v-card status?” Andrea.

The three of them seem to fold in on Kelsy, hounding her with questions, so I leave it alone. Glancing into the trunk, I see my dark gray duffel bag and black backpack, so I release my hold on Jake and step forward, grabbing my stuff.

“Hey, are you–,” I cut off, eyes going wide at the hurt expression on his face. “Are you okay?” I drop my bags and step up to him, hands grabbing at his face and tilting it up towards me. “Are you hurt? Where? Show me,” I demand, one hand reaching out and pushing his hair up and off his forehead.

His eyes narrow all at once, all the pain clearing away to be replaced by anger. The fuck? Before I can even react, he’s shoving away my hands and moving around me. I turn with him, brows furrowing as he dips, grabs his monstrous backpacking bag and jogs up the front steps, disappearing inside.

Confused, I look towards the rest of my friends, genuinely feeling mindfucked as to what just happened. They all eye me sideways.

“Oo, you just pissed off your honey boo, bitch,” Andrea says, “better go smooth things over before he decides to lock you out of your guys’s room. None of us are saving your nasty ass from that couch.”

“What are you still standing here for?” Raf drawls lowly, bending over and picking up my bags, “we got your shit so go.”

“Fucking Hell,” I groan and run for the front steps, taking them two at a time, and hurrying into the cabin. Ducking through the entryway with the busted up ceiling, I take a sharp right and hurry up the stairs. Thankfully, our room is the first on the left, so I get to grab onto the handle and burst into our unlocked room. “Fuck!” I gasp, stumbling forward onto our bed.

Jake leans against the wall to my left, looking about as happy as my lungs right now. He doesn’t say a word, but I can already tell he’s royally pissed off. He’s doing that thing with his face where his lips are pinched together but everything else is relaxed. Well, except his eyes, his eyes are definitely trying to fry my face off.

I push up on my palms and roll into a sitting position on the end of the bed, torso turned to face him. “You’re mad. Why? You know I’m dense, I promise you I won’t be able to figure it out on my own,” I tell him honestly.

He doesn’t say a word.

Guessing it is, then. “The waitress, right?” His fingers twitch. Bingo. “That I slept with her?” He shifts his weight. Almost. “Something I and the waitress did?” He leans back even further, almost slouching, eyes lowering to the floor. Closer. I move forward without thinking, sliding my legs around until I’m on the left side of the bed, arms tensed beside me. “She . . .” his nose wrinkles, “no, no, I. I did something.”

I push up off the bed, my eyes looking him up and down as I take a slow, cautious step towards him. He doesn’t tense or fidget so I approach him normally, reaching out and grabbing hold of his chin. I tilt his head back and he looks back at me, annoyed.

“I did something,” I tell him again, this time slower, unsure, “tell me.”

His jaw clenches and then he’s swatting at me, making me drop my hands to the wall beside him instead. “We’re best friends, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation, wanting nothing more than to touch him, reassure him. He reacts best to touch.

“So, why didn’t you tell me?!” He pushes me, makes me stumble back, and steps forward so we’re chest to chest.

“Tell you?” I frown down at him, “Tell you what?”

“Any of it! That you were interested in her. That you had her number. That you met up with her! That you fucked her!” His volume raises with each new thing I forgot to do until he’s practically yelling at me.

Without thinking, I hug him, wrap my arms around his waist and pull him against my chest. He wedges his hands between us, attempts to pry me off, but I just pull him in tighter and turn my head in towards his ear, lowering my voice since the others are probably listening. “Weren’t you the one who said it was painful hearing me talk about fucking random chicks?” He shivers and this time, I can’t even pretend he’s laughing because I can see it up close and personal — him reacting to me. I move us backwards, sandwich him between me and the wall, and cage him in with my hands pressed against it. “Didn’t you tell me that if I talked about it in front of you, you’d hate me? I could’ve sworn you were the one who didn’t speak to me for two weeks because I let it slip one time that I had my eye on some tight piece of–”

“Shut up,” he says weakly, and then stronger, “shut up! You talk about people like they’re nothing more than meat!”

I almost groan in frustration and lean back, bring us eye to eye. “What do you want from me, Jacob?” He bites at his lip, sucks it into his mouth and looks at me through his lashes, and suddenly all I can remember is the feeling of his ass on my cock in the car. The softness, the warmth. How good it felt to slide up between them. And this time, I do groan because fuck it if my friend doesn’t have the ideal ass. “Jacob,” I breathe his name, hands sliding onto his hips, my body instinctively inching closer. I can remember it clearly, then: the first time Jake kissed me.

We were still in high school and I was wasted, had just been dumped by who, I thought, was the girl of my dreams. One minute I was wallowing in self-pity, and the next my best friend was straddling me, his tongue in my mouth and my hands on his ass. He was so soft and small, so similar to a girl that I didn’t mind kissing him. So I kissed him again and again; every time one of my relationships ends, there he is, waiting for a kiss. But this time, I haven’t been dating in months. I have no excuse for why I want to swap saliva with my best friend. And he knows it.

His eyes flutter partially closed, his lower half straining against my hold. I let him move against me, let him bury his fingers in my hair and pull me closer. I press him back with my chest and breathe in his breath, lips parting. “I want you to kiss me,” he tells me.

“Fuck,” I say breathily. I meld my mouth to his and almost moan it feels so good to have him.

Oh, fucking Hell.

I have him.

Apology Poem, Courtesy of NaNoWriMo Care Package

In case you didn’t know: Camp NaNoWriMo – which you can learn more about here – sent me a care package ( . . . like two days ago, but whatever)! So, I’ve decided to actually do one of their suggestions, because it sounded super neat. The dare went pretty much like this – actually, exactly like this, I just copied and pasted it – so here it is!

Dare of the Day

Today’s dare is from our Camp Counselor, Ibi: 

I dare you to write a long-ass poem—a never-ending poem. No rhyme or reason. Don’t focus on paragraphs or quotation marks, or even capitalizing. Throw words on the page in the most minimalist way possible. Focus on nouns and verbs and beautiful adjectives. Play with onomatopoeia and metaphor and alliteration. Don’t end your poem to begin another. Simply continue it, add to it. And I promise you, you’ll see your writing evolve.

Do you have a dare you’d like to see in a future Care Package? Use the #DareNaNo hashtag on Twitter to suggest it!

So, yeah, first things first, I tried in the beginning to do that whole “minimalist” thing, but I couldn’t. I’m way too used to punctuation since I write so much, but I tried and it shows, and no, it does not go on forever (I mean, obviously). Also, somehow I ended up making like a mini story out of this . . . so, really I didn’t end up doing anything that they said to do, and I suck at dares.

Lesson learned. Let’s go!



they always seem to flow freely from me

like a burst of sewage from a broken pipe

it’s almost funny, really

I’m not even remotely apologetic

On the inside, if you could see that deep,

I’m not at all sorry

but since all you’re hearing is my voice

it’s not that hard to mistake me


They stink

Much like the trash when I forget to take it out

I apologize afterwards

But I don’t really mean it

I love doing nothing and doing chores is not


Never mind

I’m sorry, this came out all wrong.

Let me start over.


Are about as valuable to me as

A seventy-five year old prostitute

A man who abandoned his country in its time of need


A person who would rape another just for giggles


Are something we throw at one another like toys

And somewhere along the way we thought it was okay

That no one really needs to believe in what we say.

But I say nay, nay.

If your words do not match your actions,

what am I to listen to?

The beating of your heart when it races for me

And her

And her

And her

And every other girl you’ve thrown that phrase at?

Should I get in line and wait my turn, forcing my lips to conform

To the smiles of the idiots around me?


This didn’t come out quite the way I was expecting.

What I meant to say, what I’ve been dying to tell you is:

I love you.

So, go on, say your “sorry.”

I get it. I do. Apologizing is second nature to you.

Even when you’re crying and upset, and I can see the fractures

Splintering through your chest, you force a grimace

That, I suppose, resembles a smile.

And then, you


Like clockwork, like a never ending tape set to replay,

You say those two – sometimes three if you’re feeling particularly motivated –

words to me.

Or do you throw them?

Like scraps of meat to starving dogs.

So that you may call on them another day,

You ask for their forgiveness as you starve them to


Who will apologize to me when you let us die?

Will you write it in your will?

May I see your will already?

Both of us are still functioning, yes,

But barely.

You’re more like a robot, going through the motions,

and I’m that life-like doll you keep around as arm candy

Perhaps, one day, you’ll glue wings to my back,

but much like you’re meaningless apologies

I doubt they’ll actually work.


Lately, you’ve taken to calling me a snarky female dog

That’s not very nice, you know.

You should apologize, but of course we both know

Lying to my face never really did work out well for you

did it?

I suppose you faking who you really are worked in your favor

I was fooled

Sometimes I still am.

I look back on that man you used to be

The one with the wit and the charm and all the manners

And I think to myself, “huh, guess I should’ve fallen for that guy.”

Snarky, you say? Who?  Me?


Continue on with your day, leave me be

I have no interest in your games or your toys you wave around in my face

I’ve found something even better than you

His name is


A device I once discussed with you,

But it went right over your head, sloshed around in the empty


you call a brain

And seemed to slide right out your ears,

Reminding me of that time I asked you


Anything of particular that I say to you,

You seem to promptly forget,

Like the scarecrow that shoved all his straw and hay out as soon as it was put in

I stuff you full of information

About me

About us

About the others

The “side dishes”

Yet it all seems to come right back to


I didn’t hear you

Over the sound of my own ego.

Yes, yes, I know, darling,

You’re terribly frightened of me,

A woman with actual brains,

Not the tiny nut you have stashed away for winter,

and it scares you so, but

Don’t fret, honey,


Are our way of saying, I love you

Aren’t they?

Or is it the other way around?

Do we say I love you as if it, in some way,

Can undo the damage of sticking together without actually being together

Like all our sorries and plays at forgiveness are all just a cover up,

A screen we erected to hide what we truly mean?


I don’t care enough about you to actually argue.


I told you I loved you once, but it was like an acidic reflex,

Completely out of my control.


Are spewed from a string of other “not really listening” phrases,

and this is the one that shuts you up the fastest.


Ignore me.

I’m not really here


I’ve found someone else.

And I guess that’s all you need to know, so


That I’m leaving you for someone who doesn’t actually talk to me

For someone who never seems to have time for me

I seem to have a “type,” but you have a sick, twisted dependency on that

So, don’t you worry, darling,

I’ll be back,

And, surely, this time, I’ll


In My Dreams

In my dreams

She’s not nearly so cold

In my dreams

She’s really quite bold

In my dreams

She never has clothes

In my dreams

She’s really quite bold

In my dreams

She’s never gone cold


I look forward to that class more than most would deem healthy. All they see is a bunch of students packed into uneven groups and working on homework, talking or sitting on their phones. All I see is the girl who sits next to me.

She’s not very talkative and has hardly anything on her phone and sometimes gets so bored she does homework that isn’t due for another week. Sometimes she’ll smile, but only faintly, and the others have begun to think of her as the silent ghost of the room. But I know better. The quiet beauty beside me, the same girl with a body like a Goddess, is terribly, terribly shy.

On occasion, I’ve gotten her to talk to me, so I know she’s not dumb or has nothing of value to say. It’s just not her nature to be loud when surrounded by strangers. I know. I’ve seen her in the hall, with an open path of gawking boys trailing behind her, just chatting away with a close girl friend, so I know she’s not like she is in class all the time. And maybe it’s because I know this that I started fantasizing about her in the first place.

It all started sometime in December, just before Christmas Break. I took a picture of her. It wasn’t on purpose, she just happened to be in the background. But I saw her there once the break had started, and I had been entranced. She was smiling. Not that small curl of the lips that she’d typically do, but an honest to God smile. The kind that plumped up her high cheekbones and exposed the glistening pearls of her teeth. It was beautiful.

Whenever my thoughts would stray from preparing for the holidays or work, there she would be, sitting in her own little world, smiling. I wondered about what made her so happy, what might amuse her. And slowly, I started thinking about all types of things, like her worries, her doubts, her pimple-less skin, even the freckles that were hidden away by the rim of her glasses. I wanted to know why she never wore makeup or seemed to favor her three most baggy sweatshirts when her body was as slender and beautiful as a dancer. By the time Christmas came and went, I was curious, wanted to know more about her.

And then she started appearing in my dreams.

The first time, I was lost and confused, surrounded by a bunch of old friends, and had no idea what was going on. Out of the crowd, she surfaced. In her own little impenetrable bubble, she literally floated up out of the crowd and knelt down above them. She reached her hand out towards me, a little secretive smile playing at her lips, and suddenly I understood why Jasmine would go out with Aladdin for a carpet ride.

As soon as her long, slender fingers met mine, I was with her, in her world of blissful peace and quiet, the noise of the outside blocked from entering by her touch alone. I realized, then, that unlike before when I’d been with my friends and my surroundings had looked like school, now everything was green. There was grass that sprang up beneath her feet, trees that would grow just to shield her from the sun. When she laid down, a checkered blanket appeared below her. And with a small smile, she invited me down to lay with her.

After that, every time I closed my eyes, I could see her. With eyes and hair as deep and rich as the finest chocolate, and skin the shade of supple caramel, she would smile that real, unabashed smile for me. The feeling was indescribable. It honestly felt like I had been let into her sacred place, that she trusted me. It didn’t matter to me that it was a dream. It felt real.

A few days before school was to start up again during the new year, my dream got better. She was waiting for me on her little picnic blanket, in a shoulder-less, white sundress, looking as happy as any pure, innocent child. Per usual, I laid next to her, I listened to her sing with the voice of a bird, and then I felt her dainty fingers on my chin. I let her turn my head away from the clouds, and I watched as her hand moved beneath her skirt, the ruffled layers raised high up her thighs to reveal the creamy softness of her legs. She tilted my head up even further and closed her eyes, lips parting, silently asking me for a kiss.

The feeling of kissing her was indescribable, like my body was hooked up to an electrical outlet and set to charge. I felt her free hand lightly touch down on the back of one of mine, and let her guide it with feather soft touches between her legs. I was greedy. I rubbed my fingers on her soaked lips and slid them into her, rolled up into a sitting position and pushed her legs wide. She gave me another smile and arched her back, hands slipping away to give me free reign. I used it well.

I watched her dance from my fingers, felt her get closer and closer, and then I took them away. I was beyond greedy. I was ravenous. I moved her skirt all the way up and out of the way and tugged open my pants. And just like that, I was in her, wrapped up in her arms and legs, and listening to her breathless cries. I could feel her still on my cock when I awoke. Could taste her lips on my tongue and feel her warmth on my fingers.

I was addicted.

I daydreamed more. I went to sleep earlier and slept in later. I buried myself in the idea of fucking the hottest girl I’d ever seen. I had her everywhere — in my room, in a classroom, at my job, anywhere. I friend requested her on Facebook and invited her out to coffee, but when I met her something was different.

She didn’t like it nearly so much when I followed her into the bathroom and her cries weren’t remotely as sweet no matter how hard or long I tried.

And by the time school started up again, the girl who sits next to me no longer smiled and no one was curious why.


Sorry, I really thought this was going to turn out sweet . . . It didn’t.

Touch Me: Chapter One (Rewritten)

Here’s the run down:
1) I edited chapter one
2) I finished chapter two
3) I went back to edit chapter two
4) I realized “chapter two” should really be chapter four
5) I wallowed in sorrow for about thirty minutes
6) I wrote out the plans for the new chapter two (God help me if it turns out to be chapter five or seven, I’ll cry)

So, here’s chapter one. I swear this is chapter one. Please don’t kill me for breaking my promise of updating this \>.</ I tried so hard!


“We’re lost aren’t we?” Toby whines beside me, his big brown eyes filled with worry.

I suck my teeth in response, unwilling to associate with him for even the second it would take to tell him that yes, we are indeed lost. It’d be better if he wasn’t beside me in the first place, but I can’t exactly force him to go back in time and stay with the two women who adopted him.

My eyes drift towards his in disgust, lips curling at his appearance. The kid looks like a miniature angel, and it ticks me off beyond reason. Until they decided to adopt Toby, I was always the good kid who they loved more than anyone else, and yet here he is – my replacement. Now I’m lucky if I go two hours without being reprimanded. I jam my hands into my pockets to keep from shoving him again and shake some of my bangs out of my eyes.

When people see us together now they automatically assume I’m the adopted one. Unlike me who has black hair and green eyes, Toby looks like our adoptive parents with his blonde hair and brown eyes. Being out in public with them is much more stifling than before because of him. If I didn’t absolutely despise the very idea of violence, I’d probably push him down a hole and leave him there. He’s really small so there’s no way he can climb his way out.

For the first time in months, I find myself smiling.

“]-James, can we go back to the t-trail now? I think there’s-.”

“Just shut up. Jesus! You talk so much for someone who’s supposed to be quiet!” I hiss venomously, eyes narrowed on him. He shies away from me, bottom lip trembling faintly as he wraps his arms around himself. My eyes roll at his dramatics as I pick up the pace, using my much longer legs to get ahead of him.

He scrambles around behind me, struggling to keep up. I huff and am about to turn around and tell him to bug off when a white archway appears just a few feet to our right. I jolt to a stop, making Toby collide into my back. Beyond is a perfectly maintained garden with a light brown walkway that diverges a few meters in to go around a thick circle. Both the raised circle and the greenery around the path are littered with rows of dark red roses. The scent of fresh flowers drifts towards me the longer I stare, my gaze lifting to the height of the circle where the most vibrant rose I’ve ever seen stands engulfed in a fountain of sunlight.

Toby makes a soft sound of awe behind me. And then he’s running towards the little sanctuary.

“Hey!” I shout after him, eyes widening in horror as he enters somebody’s property, giggling happily. “You fucking idiot,” I hiss under my breath, glancing around quickly before trailing after him. A faint chill slides down my spine as soon as I pass into the area, and I find myself looking back at the forest beyond without thought. Heaving a sigh of relief when it’s still there, I take my hand out of my pocket and stroll toward the giant flower.

Toby scampers around somewhere beyond it in the field of flowers, so I pay him no mind. Leaning on the white stone platform, I hesitantly reach out to touch one of the enchanting rose petals.

A drop of water slowly slips down the side of one, its depths filled with the glint of vivid yellow sunlight mixed with the rosiness of the flower. Just as my fingertips brush at the stray drop, I feel a burst of warm air against the side of my neck.

“Careful, little one, if you touch me too long, I’ll think you like me,” A very deep male voice fills my ears, making my stomach and cheeks heat at how sinfully smooth he sounds. Like the embodiment of chocolate, my mind supplies as fingers coast along my hip, their soft touch managing to sear my skin.

I gasp and try to twist around, but his firm hand pressing low on my stomach easily traps me against him. I shiver despite the fear sliding like ice into my veins. He’s so much bigger than me. His body exudes waves of power without me even having to look back at him. His front swells and dips against me, proudly displaying the bulging muscles that make up his broad chest and tapers down into his trim waist. I swallow hard in a mixture of emotions I really don’t want to address right now.

Instead, I force myself to speak. “I wasn’t touching any–.” I cut off on a gasp, body jerking forward and catching myself on the stone in front of me as his abnormally hot palm cups me between my legs. He’s not applying any pressure or grabbing at me like some sort of barbarian. His hand is just there, enveloping my balls and dick in a thick, warm blanket, a phantom of a touch. If I close my eyes, I can almost feel his skin on mine, the feel of him stroking me, holding me in his palm. What the Hell?!

His chest vibrates on a deep chuckle. He gives me a slight, barely there squeeze. My breath leaves me in a single gush, my length tingling happily as he massages me with his thick fingers. “Pardon me, but I haven’t laid eyes on such a stunning human like yourself in such a long time,” the man purrs behind me, his voice wrapping around me in sweet, hypnotizing waves, “being touched by you, even for such a brief moment, seems to have been too much for me.”

I groan softly as something hard and big presses against the dip between my ass, sliding upwards until it’s nestled against my back. I shiver, my eyes drooping in unthinking surrender as his fingers find my zipper. He teases it down. My dick swells, my breath quickening at the idea of being touched long before he reaches into my pants, the excitement of being out in the open doing crazy things to my hormones.

The hand on my stomach slides up as he wiggles his fingers into the opening of my boxers. The back of his fingernails trace the outline of my abs, trailing along the slight swells and dips before continuing on their way. The pads of his fingers ghost along my sternum, drag across my collarbone, and slip back. I feel his fingers bury themselves in my hair and then tighten, grab onto a handful of strands. I make a soft, very unmanly noise as my head is tipped back, my eyes drifting open. A gasp leaves me at the sight of the man behind me.

He’s huge, yes, but his skin is a light, stunning violet in some places and hazy in others, as if covered by a thin layer of fog. I stare, enchanted by his exotic coloring. Most everything about him is decidedly not human, from his green irises and pupils to the vibrant, unnatural red of his hair. His lips, I can’t help but notice, are a normal, moist-looking pink. I find myself shivering against him, not in fear but something much more deadly to my sanity.

His lips curl around a satisfied smirk, his other hand wrapping around my lightly pulsing dick. My lips part in wonder at how unbelievably warm he is, the firmness of his touch mixed with the addictive heat filling my stomach with knots and making my shaft twitch with the desire to come.

He chuckles, his grip on my hair firming up. “That’s it, little one. Let me see your face when you come.” I shiver against him, a rush of arousal going between my legs at his words.

He rubs my tip in circles against the heel of his palm, taking my pre-come onto his skin before he smears it down my length. My breathing quickens as he jerks me off, strokes me faster and faster until my legs quake and I have to lean forward and grab onto the stone slab to stay standing. He follows me, melds his front to my back and lets me feel him throbbing angrily against me, his cock flooding me with its searing intensity the closer I get to coming.

A soft whimper of a sound leaves me as someone else’s hand comes up underneath his.They push my pants down just enough to get their hand in my pants and cup my balls. My fingers scratch at the concrete as they roll them in their fingers, giving a weak tug and making me groan. The one behind me makes a low growling sound. The hand falters and falls away, making me cry out at the loss.

His fingers coming around my head and dipping into my mouth silence me easily. I feel myself jump in his hand, my eyes drifting closed as he begins grinding on me, his hips undulating in one smooth, hypnotic motion over and over. I can’t help but move back against him, listen to his sharp intake of air, and grin to myself at the small victory. “No one else is to touch you,” he says lowly, sharp teeth nipping the shell of my ear, “your pleasure will be from me alone. Remember this, little one: your orgasms belong solely to me once I get inside you. I will accept no less for answering your call.”

Even if I could process what he’s saying, I probably wouldn’t respond. I’m far too busy watching Toby on his knees between two twin males.

They each have a hand in his hair, talking as they guide his mouth to one of their dark shafts, the tip rubbing its white juices against his lips. Both men watch ravenously from above as his lips open, cheeks flushing as he licks at the large head presented to him. The one being licked at tips his head back on a moan, the one beside him looking jealous as Toby sucks up and down his cock, his expression blissful.

The one behind me chuckles darkly. “The child seems to have dark desires of his own.”

I watch on stunned, barely hearing his words as the little, innocent boy rubs at his own crotch and slurps at the juices dripping from the man. Both men tighten their grip on his head and push. “Desires?” I question hesitantly, feeling my body grow uncomfortably hot from watching Toby being pushed down the thick cock, his lips stretched wide around it.

There’s a firm squeeze on my shaft. My hips buck as his fingers guide me by the chin to look back at him. “Humans call us out with their wicked desires. Your touch was so full of exquisite sin that I had to come out and taste you for myself,” his eyes darken with his own desires, his thumb rubbing back and forth over my tip as he speaks, “I can see it in you, little one, the craving you try to hide deep inside,” He purrs down at me, his eyes flashing a deep, startling red. His voice is as thick as honey as he whispers against me, “To be pushed down and controlled by another man. To feel him force his way into you and have all your pride stolen away.”

I cry out softly in a mixture of distress and need. My skin is coated in goosebumps as he gives me a slow roll of his hips, lets me feel the proof that he can give my wish to me. His hand tightens on my dick, sliding down slowly as he draws out the sweet torture of anticipation.

“I want it, little one,” he says softly by my ear, his tongue flicking out to taste my earlobe, ‘‘I want the pleasure of seeing you become no better than a female on my cock. I want to hear it in your voice when I take you, hear the cries only a woman can make being driven from your lips.” I shudder and pant for air, my lungs momentarily forgetting how to work. He smiles against the side of my neck. “And what I want, I take.”

My pants drop to the ground.

“Now, bend over and spread those pretty cheeks for a real man,” he whispers, wracking my body with shivers as I eagerly lay my chest flat on the thick platform. “Come now, little one, follow instructions. Show me that hungry ass hole of yours.”

My hands unsteadily reach behind me and grab onto my soft skin. I can hardly contain the need pounding through my veins as I open myself up to him, my teeth biting into my lip as one of his wet digits from my mouth appears at my entrance.

He coos to himself, “Such a pretty shade of pink for such a lewd position.” He presses it against me, lets me feel it pause on the verge of coming in, just waiting to stretch me wide for his cock. I shiver, my hole twitching, grabbing at the offered finger. “Can you feel that? The way you’re already trying to suck me into you?” His voice is anything but amused, the husky, velvety words full of something far more carnal in nature.

I cry out softly at the feeling of something thick and angrily throbbing coming up under his finger. He lets me feel his wide head against me, teasing my quivering entrance with it. Without thought, I move myself back.

He hisses, hands grabbing on tight to my hips as I feel the beginning of his tip against my insides, his pre-come bubbling down its sleek head and sliding into my opening. I try to push back on him some more, but his hands firm up, preventing the action. “Little one, you’re playing with the wrong nymph. I have not felt such a tight heat on my cock in far too long. If you provoke me, I can’t guarantee your safety,” He grunts even as he begins sliding the thick head into me, groaning under his breath as he slowly makes my un-prepped hole accept it.

I moan loudly, back arching as I tighten up around the large bulbous head being fed into me, my eyes fluttering closed as it widens out even further; my hole stretching around the beginnings of his shaft. He groans even deeper than before, slicking his length with one hand and flexing the other on my hip as he gives me inch after inch, each one getting thicker and thicker until my ass starts heating at the work out he’s giving it and my stomach begins to ache faintly. Still, the hot rod goes in and in and in, reaching up deep inside me and rendering me breathless.

His hands slide up onto my cheeks, brushing mine aside as he grabs onto giant handfuls and tilts my rear up into the push of his hips. I whimper pitifully as he picks up the pace, sinking into me faster and faster. He groans about how good it feels to be in such a small human and I finally feel his knotted base press up against my twitching opening. I squirm, only realizing when be fully stops that he’s impaled me on a monstrously large dick. It reaches deep into my stomach, making it bulge out unnaturally with how much he’s stuffed into it. But it feels good. God, does it feel nice and warm buried way up inside me. He gives me a nice full feeling like I’ve just taken a large gourmet meal instead of a magnificent cock. My hands reach out above me, fingers digging into the dirt as I hesitantly tighten up on him, try to judge just how deep he goes.

His hands massage my cheeks, kneading them in his large palms as he begins sliding out. “Don’t worry, little one, my come is a very potent aphrodisiac,” he breathes out above me, his voice very obviously lost in pleasure as he slides himself around inside my stomach, “being full of my cock will give you nothing but pleasure.”

He proceeds to prove it by pulling out a few inches and shoving back in. My eyes pop wide open, back bowing as I cry out sharply, my lower half flooding with warm tingles. His thickness pulsates inside me, its sleek length feeling like a second heart when it’s so deep inside me. I tighten up around it, fingers arcing through the dirt as I intimately feel every inch of him. He’s throbbing inside me like a rapid beating heart, flooding me with excitement and making my hole spasm around his girth.

His abnormal manhood at least has a normal, prominent vein going down from just under his tip to his base. The bump it forms on his skin, making it hard not to notice as it rubs against my prostate teasingly. My eyes slip back closed as I enjoy the slow way he rocks himself into me, unhurriedly taking out more and more each time.

Then I remember Toby and I’m lifting onto my hands to see around the roses. My mouth goes dry at the sight. He’s completely naked and covered in bite marks. He moans loudly as the one behind him goes harder, matching the hard pounding of the one buried in his throat. Their hands are holding onto him hard, making sharp indents in his pale skin, a few bruises popping up already along his body. Still, his expression looks more than content, his cries only of raw need as they take what they want from his small body.

The one behind me growls and yanks me down hard on his cock, his tip knocking hard against my prostate, making fireworks go off behind my eyes. “The darkness in you is growing. Do you want to be inside the tiny human too?” He wonders, one of his hands grabbing onto my hair and using it to jerk me up and down his angry shaft. I bite into my lip to no avail, sweet little noises still bursting through. He groans and thrusts up harder and harder, meeting me halfway as he seems to lose himself in me. “So tight,” He says, his voice thick with awe and fingers fisting at my hair.

I moan and writhe against him, my body on fire with the need to finally come. My dick can hardly take it anymore. It’s leaking hot and heavy between my legs, twitching about wildly for his attention with every hard push in. As if sensing my growing frustrations, the man chuckles and rams up against my sweet spot.

“Oh God!” I practically scream, back bowing as I go hurtling to the edge, shaft jerking sporadically as little gushes of pre-come spill from my tip.

His palm appears at my tip, pressing against it firmly as he drives himself into it again and again. I whine like a lowly mutt and squirm my hips, trying to break free of his hand. He rubs my prostate back and forth on his fat length, sending sharp waves of tingles down my own. My dick fills with come but there’s nowhere for it to go.

“Please!” I gasp at last, toes curling in my sneakers.

His chest slides against my back, shoving more of himself into me as he nibbles at my ear. My mouth drips with soft, feminine noises as he slowly grinds himself against the sensitive bundle of nerves, teasing me as he blocks me from coming. “I told you, didn’t I? Every orgasm you get belongs to me once I get inside you,” he practically coos in satisfaction, “why should I let you come before I do?”

I fist handfuls of dirt, my nails biting into my palms as he pulls out to rub his head on my prostate over and over again. My eyes roll back in my skull, tip weeping big fat tears against his hand. “Please let me come,” I pant at last, eyes pricking with mortified tears. “I-I can’t take much m-more of– ohh, please!” I beg openly, unabashed as he begins rocking himself in and out, in and out. My body trembles beneath his, my knees weakening as I feel him taking what he wants from me, chasing his pleasure deep in my walls.

“’Fraid not,” he whispers against the side of my face, “look how close you are to tears. Makes me want to see you cry and beg even more than I already do.” His free hand slides up and down my back as if to soothe me before he presses down firmly on my lower back. “I’ve never made a little boy cry before,” he muses to himself, “I wonder if it can make me come. I so want to see this tight ass dripping with my seed . . . “ he trails off and leaves the thought hanging in the air.

And then I’m really screaming, throat aching as he fucks himself hard and fast against my prostate. My body burns with the orgasm being denied to it, every one of my nerve endings sizzling as he abuses my hole, rubs it raw on his mammoth cock.

Then I feel it, the hard jets of his come as it spills from his tip, pelting my sweet spot. He hardly wastes a second before he’s moving in me again, jumping right into the flow of things even as he drops the last few globs into me. I cry freely then, great big tears of frustration rolling down my cheeks.

“W-want i-it,” I stutter pathetically, throat hoarse and my face on fire at having to resort to begging again.

He chuckles. “Finally giving in?” I nod weekly, shoulders drooping low as he comes to a stop inside me. His wet hand disappears from my shaft, appearing right after on my hip. “Good boy. Now then, who do you belong to?”

I whine under my breath, my eyes squeezing shut even as my mouth freely says what he wants to hear, “You.”

I shriek in surprise as he lifts me up, spins me around to face him, and shoves me down his colossal cock. “Come for me, my little one.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice.

Hello, How Are You?


Yes, that was a song joke. And yes, it’s staying there forever. You’re welcome.

Sorry to break your heart, but I have news. The good/bad kind. Well, it’s not all that bad. It just means I won’t be updating as frequently as I would like. Next week marks the beginning of Camp National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), the July session, and I’ve decided to take a break from editing my NaNoWriMo from November, Recover, and take a month-long breather.

Next week, I’m going to pick up one of my older ideas from my Wattpad days and completely re-vamp it to the point that practically no one will be able to recognize it. The concept is pretty much summed up in my brief synopsis on my Camp NaNoWriMo profile (here), but in a more in-depth look it’s a story that goes pretty much like this:

Savage (working title) is essentially about defining yourself in a society that sets rigid expectations about who and what you’re going to be in your lifetime by the time you’re five years old. It’s about a warrior drowning in the blood on her hands,  and a girl from the past who thinks that the only thing she’s good at is messing everything up. It’s about how no matter how perfect and strong a person may appear on the outside, they could always use a shoulder to lean on when everyone else only offers an “you’ve got this.” It’s about an unlikely pair with nowhere to go but to each other and a bond that withstands the test of time and the darkest parts of the human mind.

Savage, although full of overlapping layers, will not consume most of my time. For Camp, I’ve set myself a low bar of only 30,000, so I’ll have time to pack on top of writing my other projects. Mid-July, I’ll be moving back up North on a two-day trip, so it might be a bit hard to get the things I want to work on done, but I have faith that I’ll at least be able to update a few of the projects on here that I’ve left alone for a while.

So, to sum it up: I’m planning to get stuff done, and I’m feeling pretty hopeful about it. Also, keep your eyes peeled for some new updates heading your way! I should have them done pretty soon, and then I’ll scan ’em over once or twice more before posting.

Anyways, “it’s so typical of me to talk about myself, I’m sorry. I hope that you’re well.” Maybe you’re also preparing for the coming Camp session. If you are, shoot me a message or comment or something! My cabin is a silent mash-up of strangers, and I love hearing about the stuff that my readers are getting up to.

Ciao for Now,

~ Amelie J. Hyde \^.^

Thinking in Poems

Lately, I’ve done something amazing:
I’ve started thinking in poems.
Which can only mean one thing:
She’s back, and I never actually let go.
After all my talk of “goodbye”s and “carry on”s,
here I am again,
Thinking in poems
In broken fragments
And jagged edges full of old emotional scabs,
I try to breathe life
Into the dog I’ve beat to death.

By now, my family can tell.
It’s been three days and all my words are starting to fall together
Like planets drifting out of orbit
Like paper planes being taught to fly
The words are overflowing,
Going every which way they can to get as far out of my chest as possible
To be spoken, to be heard,
They betray me.

I open my mouth
And there they are.
I’m thinking in poems
And speaking in tongues
Tongues of love and lust and
So much fear
Fear that she’s no longer single
Fear that she’ll hear my words
Fear that she’ll tell me again, “I loved you before”
And from this fear stems soul-crushing, debilitating
Anticipation that she’s not single
That she’ll hear my words and tell me sweetly, gingerly, longingly
“I loved you before.”

I’m thinking in poems
And star-crossed hearts
And my words are spilling out
When it comes to her
I’m speaking in whispers
And high-pitched, nervous tones
And my words are spilling out
To anywhere that she is not.

Sorry, this poem is all over the place with syllables, but I did this more as a “spoken word” kind of thing. Either way though, I think the disorganized aspect fits pretty well (or at least, I hope so).