Friday, November 26, 2010

Sequel for Treasured and updates

So, this rocks!

My publisher Pink Petal Books informs me that there are enough sales of Treasured to warrant a sequel with them, which is awesome because I loved writing the main characters and am planning on sending them to Venice to get into trouble next.  Ah, Venice.  City of a thousand smells.  I love Venice, really, but last time I went it was summer, and fragrant.  Whoo.  I'm sending them in the wintertime, because I love them more.

To make my life one big ball of bliss, if any of you visiting haven't checked Treasured out, it's one of my few stand-alone pieces, it's inexpensive and it's a really good story. You can find it here: Treasured at PPB. Cover art to tantalize:

So, very cool, fun for me and hopefully fun for you guys.  In other news...

Pandora is coming...hopefully this weekend.

NaNoWriMo will stop hoarding my creative force at the end of the month and I'll let you know what I was working on.

My story Table Topped in I Like To Watch is coming, huzzah.

Also, and unrelated: my little hand is the perfect size to fit up the back end of a turkey when pulling detritus out!  Thanksgiving was awesome, and all of the men present were happy when I offered to give the detail work a go.  Yes...I'm a giver:)

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Thanksgiving is tomorrow...

So, big American holiday Thursday.  My husband and I managed to find a ridiculously expensive turkey (live, naturally) and have taken on the task of being the ones to prepare it for our coalescing American community tomorrow.  And by prepare I mean kill, clean, and cook.  We're learning a lot about fowl right now, in preparation for this momentous occasion.  For example, turkeys might not be the best flyers, but the dudes have a vertical, wing-assisted jump that puts pro basketball players to shame.  When you hobble them to prevent this sort of gymnastic maneuver, they can and will claw you.  Also, they shit incessantly.  Also, neighbors who tolerate the barking of your dog are not all that inclined to tolerate the barking of said dog supplemented by a harmony of turkey gobbling, despite the loudness of their own goats/sheep/pigs/offspring.  Such noise is also not condusive to writing, so I understand their discontent.

I'm trying to do NaNoWriMo, more Pandora and get Shadows and Light beta'd, but at this point I'm shooting for a 33% success rate for the evening.

Happy Thanksgiving to all my American visitors! 

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Table Topped snippet

Hi there!

We've had a week with no electricity, and suddenly tonight it came back on!  It's time for a celebratory post!  In honor of glorious electricity, I give you a snippet from my short story Table Topped, which comes out in December in the anthology I Like To Watch, from Cleis Press.  Voyeurs and exhibitionists, mmm. There will follow a real pimping post complete with links soon.

PS-This post is R-rated and m/m themed, so go no further if you're feeling particularly PG tonight.

Table Topped

by Cari Z

“What, here?” Michaels exclaims, his voice a lot higher than normal.

“What’s wrong with here?” I murmur in his ear as I pull him close to me again, wrapping my arms around his waist and slipping my fingertips beneath his belt.

“It’s…it’s Mr. Brandt’s office,” Michaels manages. His head is whipping from side to side, taking in everything as though he’s never seen it before. Which, come to think of it, perhaps he hasn’t. Matt Michaels works in accounting, has modest aspirations towards middle management, and a desk covered with pictures of his cat. I’m the vice-president of research and development for our corporation. I’ve been in this office plenty of times, but he’s probably never had reason to before. It’s likely a little intimidating. Lord knows I’ve found it to be so in the past.

“We can’t fuck in Mr. Brandt’s office, Jake,” Michaels hisses. “What if someone walks in? What if he comes in? We’ll both be fired!” Michaels and I have had the occasional interlude before in the workplace, but never in a space quite so…lofty.

“Matthew,” I say evenly as I let one hand drift up to undo his tie, “It’s the evening of the company holiday party. People are probably fucking everywhere right now. In the storage rooms, in the bathrooms, in the goddamn cafeteria…this is the one place we can be sure we’ll be alone. Mr. Brandt has been away on business all week and his secretary doesn’t work nights. We’ll be fine.” I slip his tie off and let it fall to the floor, then start in on his buttons. “Unless you’d prefer waiting in line for the broom closet…”

“No,” Michaels says quickly, leaning his chest into my touch even as his eyes rove over the furniture. I can tell it appeals to him. His nipples are pebble-hard beneath my fingertips and his breathing is fast and shallow. He’s looking at the table. Everyone looks at the table. It’s a goddamn fifteen-foot, lacquered, polished oak phallic symbol. When Henry first put it in I almost laughed myself unconscious.

I get our feet moving in the direction of that table, mindful of providing just the right view. “Do you want me to fuck you here, Matthew?” I purr, stopping my hand after the top few buttons of his shirt are undone. I want to keep some clothes between us, but I love touching his skin as well. Michaels has an incredibly smooth chest, almost certainly the result of careful attention, but so what? I like a man who takes care of himself. He’s a little smaller than I am, a little more slender and ten years younger, but when my hand finally presses against his erection I’m not disappointed. Michaels is just as ready as I am. “Is that what you want? Is this—” I pause and grind my hard-on against his ass, getting a groan out of him, “what you want?”

Monday, November 15, 2010

Blogging and balls

This is a bit of a random post, so please forgive me in advance. 

Guest blogging on Lisabet Sarai's site was very fun, even though I wasn't able to give her my stuff until a day before the post was supposed to go up.  In my defense, the top half of the country had no email access for 5 days, which was maddening but what can you do?  Call someone to complain?  That presumes your phone works.  Still...she was very understanding.  Thanks to whomever visited me there, uber thanks to the commenters (yeah, I'm looking at you, T:) and hopefully next time I'll be more focused.

I got accepted to another antho coming out in January with Torquere, which is lovely...I'll get promo stuff up soon.

And now, not that there are many men who read this blog in all likelihood, but if there are: thank you guys for being the ones to carry the testicles around.  What a pain that must be.  It's on my mind of late because a friend in another village was telling us how they castrate sheep around here, and all the men present were groaning and turning green, and all I could do was think, "I'm so happy that's not me."  And I am.  Kudos to dudes.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Pandora Post #5

Well, at least I did something productive while I couldn't access the internet...

Title: Pandora

Part Five: Subtle and Overt

Notes: This is the next part of a spin-off story of a series I posted on Literotica (titled Bonded, as Carizabeth) and the subject matter is m/m sci fi. This particular part does have graphic depictions of sex, making it an NC-17 rating, I suppose. The first parts can be found a few posts down. I’ll put them all in the same place soon. Don’t read it if you don’t want to, people. See the above rating! If you do read though, enjoy! If you enjoy, let me know:)

Garrett Caractacus didn’t believe in making decisions in a vacuum. He might habitually radiate inconstancy and caprice, but when it came to the important things he was entirely a scientist, putting far more stock in rationality and research than he did in gut impulses. Garrett weighed facts, tested hypotheses and explored all the available avenues before deciding on one. It was a method that had only failed him once in the past, and that had been less of an abject failure and more of a lose/lose situation.

One the one hand, there was the prospect of going to Pandora. Garrett had prevaricated with his father out loud, but internally he agreed with Miles. Odds were good that he’d be offered the position as the expedition’s climatologist again. Pandora meant a lot of new challenges, which would keep his brain from careening into self-indulgent atrophy. It meant travel, probably not in style but you couldn’t have everything. It meant another nice tag for his résumé, and another chance for him to demonstrate that he was more than a parasite clinging to his father’s career. It meant a good, objective opportunity to assess his life and figure out what had propelled him into his interminable brown study.

On the other hand, he could decline the offer. That opened up a lot of different options, from staying here on Paradise doing nothing to heading back to the central worlds, to finding an exciting lover and cruising for a while, to…Garrett ran out of things. Those things he’d listed were big things, but they didn’t seem very enticing at the moment. After all, he’d had the opportunity to pursue those options for months, and he’d fallen into the first one by dint of sheer ennui. The others just weren’t motivational enough, not even the prospect of new and interesting sex.

Experimentations followed, subtle and overt tests of the malaise that had settled over his life. Garrett spent a lot of time with Wyl, working on his ship. The designs Wyl was engraving into the engine casing, surprisingly fanciful ones for a man who made his living as a mechanic, were beautiful. They were of strange, elegant spires and masques and faces hiding in the patterns. Wyl talked a lot, often about nothing and more often about Robbie, and Garrett listened and responded appropriately and enjoyed the cheerful, often lewd flow of words as the friendly distraction it was. He spent time with Robbie and Wyl together, cooking dinner for the couple and listening to them bicker and play. He occasionally spent time with Robbie alone, not often because the man had almost as much to do as Garrett’s father, but it was always good.

Robbie, who was always honest about what he saw, was nevertheless a little hesitant to bring it up with Garrett, who had politely stonewalled Wyl with general reassurances multiple times. Garrett saw his ex’s hesitation and gave in over a shared slice of cheesecake one night as they watched Wyl work, so deep into his creative space that he wouldn’t stop to sleep if someone wasn’t there to make him.

“I’m working some things out,” Garrett offered abruptly, licking the creamy cake off his fork.

“And how’s that going for you?”

Garrett started to shrug, then sat back and sighed. “I’m afraid I’m growing up. Or growing old. Something like that.”

“The fallback pleasures are really starting to pall, huh.”

“Yeah. Which is quite sad, because if you can’t take refuge in hedonism and live a happy life, what hope is there for the universe?”

“Happy and fulfilled aren’t necessarily the same,” Robbie pointed out, stealing the strawberry off the top of the cake slice.

“Well, they’ve always been synonymous before.”

“Then are you going to take the job on Pandora, and see if you can find a new way to be happy?”

“Maybe,” Garrett replied. “Probably. But first I need to get laid.”

Robbie rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Seriously. Maybe my angst is part of a vicious, celibate circle. Maybe finding some pretty young thing to fuck is just what I need.” Garrett grinned at Robbie. “I don’t suppose you and Wyl…”


“Of course not. Stick, meet mud. Square peg, here’s your square hole.”

“At least we fit together.” Robbie’s voice was mildly reproving.

“I know you do,” Garrett agreed. “I know you’re good for each other. You’re so disgustingly good for each other that you give Miles and Claudia a run for their money. Do you think you guys will settle here eventually, once the military doesn’t own you body and soul?”

“We’ll see,” Robbie said. “I’ve dragged Wyl around for the past three years; I figure when this tour is over we’ll go wherever he wants.”


The moment stretched with a strange discomfort, until Robbie reached over and laid his hand across Garrett’s. “You’re going to be all right,” he said seriously. “You’re gifted, Garrett, and you’ve got a lot to give. You’re going to find a place that deserves everything you’ve got and everything you are. I know it.”

Garrett turned his hand over and held on to his former lover’s for a moment, unable to find words but unpressured to come up with any. Robbie, like Miles, was good with silences. After a moment they let each other go and finished the cake. Wyl joined them a few minutes later, having finally hit an acceptable stopping point.

“You ate it all?” he exclaimed. “I’m slaving over your damn ship and you can’t even save me a bite of cheesecake? That stuff came all the way from T’s restaurant!”

“There’s more in the apartment,” Robbie reminded him.

“Will you feed it to me?” Wyl asked with a suggestive grin.

“I might be persuaded,” Robbie agreed.

“God damn you both to hell,” Garrett moaned, visions of cheesecake and naked men swimming in front of his eyes. It was a welcome kick to his libido. “Go have your two-man cheesecake orgy, and then please never tell me any of the details, ever. Not even if I beg.” He stood up. “I’m going out.”

“Happy hunting,” Wyl said, grabbing Robbie by the hand and pulling him away from the table. Garrett walked back into his ship alone, but determined not to stay that way. Not tonight.

Sex was another test of his mood, another experiment to analyze. Garrett dressed in skin-tight, dramatically cut clothes of different shades of sapphire and took himself out onto the town. There were a few decent nightclubs in Rapture and Garrett breezed into one of his old haunts like he’d never left, dazzling the bouncer and attendants with smiles as he went inside.

He wasn’t hunting yet; Garrett just wanted to move and be moved against, to be adored and admired like he was accustomed to. The club was filled with people, men and women and others, and the rapid-paced music was simple and primal and easy to dance to. No intimidating waltzes here to put off his plebian friends. Garrett simply melted into the crowd and let go.

More than a few people knew who he was, and more than that saw him and wanted to know him. For the next few hours Garrett drank his fill of the heated press of flesh on flesh, subconsciously assessing each new dance partner before turning to the next. There were those people who came onto him hard, who promised without words control, domination and mindless ecstasy. Garrett had had that before, and it wasn’t what he was looking for now. There were people who begged for domination as well, needy, sultry, sensuous as they ground against him and swayed lower and lower, offering him a tantalizing preview of what they’d look like on their knees. They were fun to play with, but not what he wanted either. Garrett wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he knew he’d recognize it when he found it.

After a couple hours Garrett went over to the bar, and surprisingly there he found the elusive “it,” because the bartender was possibly the cutest thing he’d seen in months. The young man had very few of the decorations that most of the crowd did, and no visible external enhancements, another thing a lot of people were sporting these days. Personally Garrett considered advertising ones’ preferences like that a little too light on the subtle, but it did make certain hookups easier. This boy didn’t have any buttons or wings or protrusions to stroke, just simple silver makeup on a cute, average face and typical darkly-minded dress sense, all imitation leather and netting. His skin was dusky and his eyes were black, with small silver insets to make them glow in the dim light. Right now those eyes were wide with desire and more than a little astonishment as Garrett singled him out.

He didn’t even have to speak. He just lifted one pale, winged eyebrow in appraisal and smiled, and the young man melted like sugar in a storm. “You…haven’t been in for a long time,” the boy said, a little haltingly.

“Busy times,” Garrett lied easily. “I don’t remember you being back there before.”

“I just got the job a few days ago.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Garrett mimed a pout. “Then you haven’t worked enough to build up leave. And here I was going to ask you to leave with me.”

The young man’s expression turned a little desperate, and openly longing. “I get off shift in less than an hour…or I could ask Philemon to cover me, he’d say yes—”

“No, no,” Garrett said airily, watching the bartender’s face fall and immediately feeling guilty, another thing that so wasn’t him. He liked playing people’s emotions…didn’t he? “I’m happy to wait. One hour?”

“Yes.” Desperation gave way to amazement. “Really? You’ll wait?”

“I said so. What’s your name?”

“Isidore Cain.”

“Isidore. Lovely. I’m Garrett.”

“Oh, I know,” the young man breathed.

Ah, the joys of a reputation. “I’ll be back in one hour, Isidore. I’m going to dance.”

“But…you haven’t ordered a drink yet.”

Garrett smiled charmingly. “I didn’t come over here to order a drink, I came over to talk to you. I’ll be back in an hour.” He swanned back onto the dance floor, pleased with his choice of take-out even though shy Isidore wasn’t normally the sort of guy he went for. Garrett didn’t do shy, he did bold, he did someone who could match him move for move. Isidore, comparatively, seemed too easy.

When Garrett did a one night stand, though, he did it right. As soon as Isidore’s shift ended he was there, and instead of inviting the young man to his ship or inquiring about what was no doubt a less-than-spacious situation on the boy’s end, Garrett got them a room at the best hotel in Rapture, the Carousel. He held Isidore’s hand all the way up the lift, amused at the battle within his date between uncertainty and need. Usually if Garrett hadn’t made a move, at this point his date would be all over him. Isidore clearly wanted it, but just as clearly he didn’t want to do something Garrett might conceive of as wrong. He was so…innocent, and it was completely enchanting.

Garrett thought about that for a moment, considered his game plan and then as soon as their room’s door was shut, he took the young man into his arms and began to kiss him. These were slow, languorous kisses, kisses that fueled the need and the desire without forcing it into explosion. For some reason, that was enough for Garrett tonight. It seemed to surprise Isidore but he got into it, the tension in his shoulders relaxing as he melted into the touch.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked finally, breathlessly, after they’d been standing there kissing for several minutes.

“I want you to enjoy,” Garrett said, flicking his tongue across the hollow of Isidore’s throat, feeling his moan reverberate there. “Tell me what you like.”

“I like everything about you,” Isidore replied with complete honesty. “You’re so…”

Garrett stopped Isidore’s mouth with a kiss. He knew what he was: so…beautiful, gorgeous, sexy, brilliant, selfish, conceited, shallow, shameless. He didn’t want to hear any of that tonight. Garrett was sick of himself. He was sick of people like himself. He wanted to focus on someone nice, someone who he could drive so out of his mind that he’d have to respond honestly to what they did together, rather than putting on a show. He pulled back and pulled his new man with him, over to the large, softly-cushioned bed. He turned the density setting up a little so it wouldn’t fold like feathers beneath them, then moved back to Isidore.

“Tell me what you like,” Garrett husked in the young man’s ear, nipping briefly at his earlobe. “Do you want me to touch you here…” He let his fingers drift over the tight seat of Isidore’s smooth black pants. “Do you want my mouth here…” He brushed Isidore’s cock this time, which was pressed so hard against the confining material of his pants that Garrett almost worried. “Or under here…” He slipped his hand between Isidore’s legs, and captured his lover’s groan with a sudden kiss. “Here, then.”

Garrett took his time undressing his new man, ignoring the blush that flooded his cheeks when some imperfection was exposed. A little bit of a tummy. A scar on his abdomen. Pants that literally needed to be peeled off, which had them both laughing. Garrett pulled himself off of his newly-naked date and went to remove his own clothes, but Isidore stopped him. “Can I?”

“If you want to.” Garrett didn’t want this to be about himself, but after a few moments he realized that getting to undress Garrett was a thrill for his companion. Every golden inch he revealed had the young man captivated, and for the first time in a while Garrett remembered to be grateful he was so beautiful, because it was making someone else happy.

Eventually they were naked and lying down facing each other on the bed, and Garrett took some more time to bring his lover down from the edge, stroking and kissing him without aggression before working him back up. By the time Isidore was trembling with need, Garrett’s own libido was making heat rise in his chest. They hadn’t been at it long, but Isidore didn’t have any implants to shut off an impending orgasm and Garrett didn’t have any toys with him, so he just decided that they’d have a few more rounds that evening and slid his sweat-slick fingertips down Isidore’s cock, past his balls and onto the smooth, tender skin that was his perineum.

“Oh, f—” Isidore’s hands clenched on Garrett’s shoulders, and he threw his top leg over Garrett’s hip, to give his hand more space. “That’s really---god---I like that…”

“Good,” Garrett murmured around a kiss. “Just wait…” He pushed his middle finger gently against Isidore’s hole, reassured when it accepted him easily. He pressed one finger, then two inside the velvety, clinging channel, not to thrust but with just enough reach to massage Isidore’s prostate, and then rubbed his thumb firmly across his lover’s perineum, as though he were trying to join his fingertips together.

Fuck!” Isidore came apart at the seams, bucking forward and bearing down all at once, his limbs clinging desperately to Garrett as he came all over them both. Garrett pulsed his fingertips against the tiny gland, milking it for every ounce of sensation. Just before Isidore’s moans turned painful Garrett eased off, removing his hand once his lover’s grip on him relaxed. Garrett rolled the young man onto his back and kept kissing him, easing Isidore back into the world with a sigh and a smile.

“Oh my god…”

“I’m listening,” Garrett teased.

“You haven’t…you can do anything you want,” Isidore offered earnestly. “I swear I won’t freak out.”

“I did do what I wanted to do,” Garrett replied. “I plan to continue doing what I want to do. As long as you keep wanting it.”

“I can’t imagine not wanting anything you do.”

Either Isidore was very naive or he had an extremely high tolerance for the bizarre. “Don’t say that before you get to know me,” Garrett advised before settling in between the young man’s legs. “Speaking of which…” He rubbed the snub, slick head of his cock against Isidore’s entrance, asking for permission to fuck him.

“God, yes…”

Isidore came two more times before the night was over. Garrett only came once, but it was a long, sweet orgasm, sucked out of his body into Isidore’s tightness and heat to the accompaniment of his name, cried over and over in pleasure before diminishing to breathy whispers.

They had room service sent up breakfast in bed, and when Garrett decided to use Isidore as his plate and suck him off once he was done eating, the young man just laughed and agreed. They showered, dressed and walked back down into the world. Garrett looked fairly normal if flashy in his clinging blue suit, but Isidore’s clubbing clothes seemed a little garish in the light of day. “Next time pack a change of clothes,” Garrett advised with a smile.

“Will there be a next time?” Isidore asked hopefully.

“I’m not going to be here much longer,” Garrett replied honestly, knowing as soon as he said it that it was true. Last night had been wonderful and Isidore was a sweetheart, but he still felt that soul-deep ache that left him unsettled. “I’m taking a contract in the Fringe. But I may come by again before I leave.” Jezria was due back in five more days. Things would get resolved then one way or another,

“Oh.” Garrett watched disappointment and a little hurt flitter over Isidore’s face before it settled into expected resignation. “Well, if you come in I’d love to…see you.”

“If I come in you definitely will “see” me,” Garrett replied, grinning and leaning in for a quick kiss. He made his way back to the governor’s mansion in a good mood and a much more decided frame of mind, heading into his ship to change and relax for a while. Despite his inquietude, Garrett felt good, physically and mentally. Now that he’d made the decision to go, he seemed to have more energy. Of course, that could have been a byproduct of fucking around with Isidore all night, but man could not live on fucking alone. It had been good, really good, just what he needed from that part of his life, but not in and of itself enough. It was time for a total change.

Blogging on Lisabet Sarai's site

But first...

The upper half of the country was without internet/some cell phone service from Sunday until just now.  It's been one of those weeks when work is tough, heat is setting in and you don't want to eat anything, and all you can think it, "Goddammit, I wanna go back to America!"  Land of the cold, home of the wireless.  I know, bitch bitch, Cari, you asked to go to Africa.  You applied to go there, so don't whine now about how tough widdle you is finding it.

Well, fine.  Moving on then.

I'm guest blogging on Lisabet Sarai's blog this Saturday, on the concept of feast or famine in writing and in life.  We're really sprinting towards the famine times chez moi, and it's been on my mind.  Here's a link:  Please visit me there, I'd love to get some comments from my friends and I will respond to you.

Thanks to Lisabet for letting me post!  Even if I am two days late getting it in!  Don't kill me!

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Pimping my friends...

What, you have friends? *snort*  Yeah, who are they?

Shut up, I so have friends.  Lots of them.  It's just that most of them aren't erotica authors.  Their loss, or possibly our gain if their interests/talents don't run that way.  I don't know for sure.  I haven't spoken about the exciting world of erotica with most of them; it's just not a hot topic here in Togo.

But I do have some writer buddies, and I was updating my links today and thought, "I should mention these people.  Why?  Because they write beautifully, and make me green with envy and ridiculously hot and bothered.  That's the sort of talent that needs to be spread around."  And so.  Just the two of them today, but these people rock.  Our conversations might be only occasional, but they are always enjoyable.

There's Damon Shaw, who not only writes beautifully but also lives in Africa (technically speaking, although he's on a tropical island as opposed to my sub-Saharan savannah).  Find him here:  He published a story in the Myths and Magic anthology from Dreamspinner with co-author Rod Santos that's absolutely gorgeous.

Aaaand there's JL Merrow, who's work is witty, intruiging and occasionally freaking hilarious, completely on purpose too!  She's prolific, so check her site for more of her stuff, but she had pieces in the Making Contact antho from Dreamspinner as well as the Mine anthology just out from Torquere:

Alrighty then.  Gold star for me!  As for getting my rear in gear, I'm working on Shadows and Light, another installment of Pandora and, because it's NaNoWriMo, my alter ego is writing 1667 words a day of something that isn't necessarily destined to be erotica, but will probably end up that way.  I'm blogging on Lisabet Sarai's website next week; a link will be forthcoming.