So, I realized I never offered an excerpt for my second release, Sweet Ginger. Gaw! The nerve you say? I thought so too, but before you beat me with a wet noodle I’ve included an excerpt below. If after reading you still feel like whipping out the noodle, email me and let’s talk.

  Excerpt:

Ginger woke in a sweat, panting as if she’d just run a mile, underwater, her hand between her legs, fingers still moving under the edge of her lace trimmed panties. She pulled the covers off and breathed deeply still feeling the throb of her orgasm, the picture of him inside her as fresh as if she were staring right at it, him. She thought it funny how things in dreams were painless like her bare back being rubbed against a brick wall while sitting on his dick, her arms and legs wrapped around him like last night’s Ramen noodles.

“This is getting ridiculous.” She huffed walking to the bathroom. Almost every night for the past six weeks her dreams were those of a school boy. Wet. Not that she didn’t enjoy it, she did. It would just be a whole lot better with an actual man instead of herself.

The actual man causing her morning showers was her ex-boyfriend Mikael. He’d found her on the Internet three months ago and they’d been chatting online ever since. Not a day went by without at least three check-ins between them. Sometimes he was first, but she was beginning to think her end was getting heavier, looking a little too eager.

“Damn computer. Come on!” Ginger hit the space bar repeatedly waiting for her laptop to ‘unsleep’ and load her icons, a ritual she practiced every morning since they reconnected. She didn’t sign out of her messenger for the first two weeks of their chatting not wanting to miss an opportunity to exchange innuendo and faded memories, but she couldn’t take the chance that he’d think she was obsessed so started signing out, but not off.

She noticed his status went idle after they bid each other good night, which made her giddy. Giddy at the thought he may be doing the same thing she was, waiting and watching for the next message, even if it was on her way to the bathroom at midnight. Junior high, she knew, but she couldn’t help it, that’s how he made her feel.

“Finally! Piece of crap.” She’d replaced it once already after the blue screen of death popped up three months ago. Ginger said a prayer of appeasement under her breath and stroked the keyboard for good measure hoping the computer gods knew she was joking .

Her heart skipped a beat. He was already on and not idle. Earlier than usual. She wondered if she should read anything into it, but decided to get over herself. In order to do that, she waited. Waited to start the chat.

“Don’t look so anxious.” Ginger scolded herself walking to the kitchen for hot cocoa. It’s how she started every day since kicking the coffee habit. Not that cocoa was much better, but she’d kicked an addiction. Suffered through the headaches and broke the hold it had on her. She was liberated, the last vice after smoking. It felt good.

Miko: Good morning Ginger!

GingerLee: Good morning Mikael!

Her face lite up at his initiating the chat. She told herself to stop keeping score. He was a friend now and friends didn’t keep track of petty crap like this.

Miko: Watcha doin’?

GingerLee: Wakin’ up.

Miko: How’s your project?

GingerLee: Which project? The one I’m editing or my own smutty piece of lit?

Miko: Either.

GingerLee: Still unfinished.

She wished he’d ask her different questions. Questions that meant something, not the stupid day to day pleasantries you’d read in a Jane Austen book, but it was barely seven a.m.

GingerLee:What are you working on?

Miko: An oil for a guy in NY.

GingerLee: Cool! What’s the subject?

Miko:

He didn’t have to tell her. His smiley emoticon only confirmed what she already knew. A naked, or almost naked, woman posed in a sensual position vagina exposed, bare breasts screaming their size C perfection. Perky, plump, round. She looked down at her own sagging uninspired in her Victoria’s Secret bra. At least it gave the impression she was voluptuous, symmetrical, worthy.

Miko: Are you selling this on your site when you’re finished?

GingerLee: Probably. Why?

Miko: I’m gonna buy it!

GingerLee: You don’t have to. I’ll email you the file.

Ginger was flattered he’d actually buy something she wrote. It was a compliment in disguise, at least that’s how she was taking it. She didn’t dare mention it though given Mikael’s smart-ass sense of humor. He’d made a fool of her on more than one occasion. Granted, it was via text chat, but she still felt like an idiot sharing feelings that were real while he mocked her in a “Who’s on first” banter. Feelings she should have kept to herself, but for the fact she envisioned them as they were ten years ago and ten years ago, she loved him.

Miko: I hate reading on the computer. I want a copy I can hold in my hands. You know, read in bed.

GingerLee: Not sure I’ll have print copies right off the bat. I’ll just mail you a manuscript.

Miko: Have you entered any contests?

GingerLee: Not yet. Just trying to get the story finished.

Miko: Cool.

Changing the subject. Mikael was good at that, did it quite often. Ginger figured it meant he didn’t want to give her any more information, in this case his address. She didn’t understand why. It wasn’t like she was gonna stalk him. He was two states away.

GingerLee: So tell me about the oil?

Miko: Well, it’s pink, blue, white, sometimes greasy and hard to get off.

GingerLee: Sounds like you.

She tried to come up with something witty and sarcastic yet playful. She wanted him to know he was hard to get off her mind without sounding obsessed. Instead, her knee jerk response reeked of innuendo. Innuendo he’d take and run with.

Miko: The greasy and hard part?

Here it was. The innuendo she’d brought on herself. The cheap nine-hundred number talk. A thin veil over the face of wanting. Wanting to know, “Do you still care about me, yearn for me, dream things about me?” She did. He knew it. She knew that he knew and thus the game began.

GingerLee: I wouldn’t know.

Miko: What do you mean? You don’t remember that night?

She remembered. She couldn’t forget. Since they’d started chatting it was fresh in her mind as if it happened yesterday. Ginger debated whether or not to lie. To tell him the truth might make it seem like she still thought about him while saying she didn’t remember might take him down a notch, put his ego in check, make her seem less obsessed.

GingerLee: Maybe.

She used one of his favorite words hoping it smacked of the same irritating tone that drove her crazy.

Miko: So you do. I knew it. Can’t get your mind off me.

“Damn he’s so smug sometimes,” she thought. She wanted to tell his arrogant ass off, to sign off in a huff like slamming a door, but this was the Internet. You can’t force someone’s speakers on or raise their volume, not without remote access. Hell, there could at least be an emoticon slamming the door or giving the finger, but she doubted that would get the point across.

GingerLee: Not sure. Why don’t you refresh my memory?

Ginger decided to play coy or stupid it didn’t matter. She just wasn’t going to admit anything much less discuss it until he recounted his version.

Miko: Seriously. You’re kidding right?

She didn’t respond. Just let him sit there wondering, stewing, hopefully coming to his senses.

Miko: Okay, it started with you taking me home after we met up to play pool at The Sage House. I showed you my most recent drawings and you got all huffy about the nudity. Then you proceeded to kiss me, push me onto the bed and shove your hand down my pants.

Ginger was seething and giggling at the same time. She should have known Mikael wouldn’t be serious, not for one second although the part about playing pool was accurate. She wondered if he remembered anything remotely close to her version, but decided not to ask. It was clear he didn’t want to exchange sappy romance novel dialogue, the kind that ran through her brain all day long, at least where he was concerned.

GingerLee: You left out the part where you screamed, “I can’t! I’m a virgin!” then kicked me out.

Miko: I couldn’t let you take advantage of me. I was so young.

They both were. Eighteen. Of course, at the time Ginger felt old. Old enough to do whatever she wanted, with whomever she wanted, wherever she wanted, which is why she was in Mikael’s room. A room still in his parents house. Not exactly the ideal location for your first time with each other, but it was better than the alternative, her car. A 1979 Triumph Spitfire.

They’d gotten hot and heavy in it more than a few times despite it’s miniature size, one being the first blow job she’d ever given, to anybody. Mikael never pressured her although she’d attempted the act a few times, but settled on jacking him off with the cocoa butter lotion she kept in the glove box. She wanted to pleasure him, especially since he never hesitated to hit her G-spot without her asking. Maybe it was because he liked to touch her, feel her, have something of his inside of her or maybe he cared that much about her, even loved her. Ginger liked to think it was the latter as she sat next him, their seats barely able to lay back, watching his beautiful face as he slid his fingers in and out of her, a certain pleasure on his face. A pleasure she wanted him to experience at her doing.

She remembered how embarrassed she was putting her mouth on his dick. She wanted to look sexy not like a chipmunk choking on a mouthful of acorns. She had no idea what she was doing or if she could get his soda can diameter in her mouth, so first kissed it then licked the length of his shaft already hard from his hand being inside her.

Her vagina pounded as she slid him in her mouth. Ginger had no idea sucking him would make her own juices flow. She closed her eyes making sure to keep her teeth from touching him as she moved her tongue around his tip. He groaned his pleasure and before she’d found her sweet spot he filled her mouth with his cream. It hit the back of throat making it impossible not to swallow, an act she later found out turned him on so much he often pictured it when he was alone.