Tuesday, July 7, 2015

Masterpiece Finished: "Brotherly Love" a new paranormal romance gothic novel






~*~*~*Love, Aama*~*~*~

Morgan Worthington-Smythe was presently thirty years old. Her body was slender, her skin smooth, and she had succumbed to the recent trend for dying her hair a silver color even in one's youth. Her own features were gorgeous enough to get away with it. Back when she had worked at a strip club, the Strippery, she'd varied between being one of the most popular dancers and being the most popular. Her undeniable beauty and her all-out pervertedness impressed the right kind of crowd – that was the kind that paid. Eventually she'd retired from the Strippery to become head hostess of a private club called The Abbey, a discreet reference to a location used within a certain story by the Marquis de Sade for staging acts of perversion. It was located a little ways out of Saint Paul, in an old building that had been used by bootleggers in the nineteen twenties and still contained an occasional trapdoor. The place walked the line of legality – technically no one was paying for sexual services, rather they were paying for membership to a club wherein the members had the option of doing such things by their own volition, with other members. It was less than a brothel but more than a nightclub. Morgan, using her nomme de guerre Fata Morgana, was not necessarily expected to participate in anything with the guests, but nonetheless she oft times did.

On this particular evening she had succumbed to temptation and was currently bent over on the floor, surrounded by eager viewers, while she was delighting in being plowed by a dog. A big old Saint Bernard, just to keep everything on par in terms of size. There were about six more roaming around on the floor beside her. Fata Morgana was ever beloved by the sexually deviant because she seemed to have absolutely no shame, and were Messalina still alive to hold a competition with, the empress would would be beat by a mile if paired against the Fata.

The fact was that Morgan had observed within the first portion of her life the limited opportunities available for women, and realized that the sex industry was probably the best shot she had for success and fun in life. And it was so interesting that things which made others so squeamish didn't bother her in the least. 

However, this disconnect was not so strange as it might initially seem. The matter of fact was that Morgan was not really human. In truth, she was not even really Morgan. Shigunden was the name of the fox-spirit which had overtaken the body of the hapless teenaged Morgan, and lived a life in her place. Where the body of Shigunden had ended up, Shigunden's mind and soul didn't care.

As it were, the body of Shigunden, still a fox-spirit but fitted now with a mortal human's mind, was living in a patch of woods in a neighborhood in a suburb of Minneapolis. Humans being social creatures, the mind and soul of the true Morgan had not adapted overly well to her new life as a fox-spirit. She had maintained some power of speech, but the opportunity to talk was irregular. Her view of social skills and fair speech had grown blurry. Meanwhile she'd come to perceive as normal many things which most humans within her culture did not view as such. 

The true Morgan, in the body of Shigunden, had seen the teenage boy Mitch from time to time in her woods, but it did not strike her that he was her own little brother, grown much larger. The years had passed so eventlessly that really the past eleven years seemed like they could have been equally one year or one hundred years. She had no concept at all how much time had passed, how old she was or how old he should be. Her life was spent in roaming a patch of woods, which appeared to provide her sustenance by supernatural means. She could not leave the woods for any length of time; within minutes her body would start to weaken, and just by instinct she could tell that any attempt to leave would mean her death. She was trapped in the forest. She supposed that this was why Shigunden had been obliged to possess her human body in order to go out in the world – nonetheless, Morgan had sworn to herself that she would never do such a thing to anyone else.

At age nineteen Morgan had been a normal and cheerful girl, looking forward to her future. It's funny how a little spring walk through the open space near one's home can be the vehicle for an enormous twist of fate, by sheer badness of luck. Poor Morgan had been spotted by the spirit, who had appeared to her in that same form of a fox-tailed, red-headed girl. But the wicked Shigunden had known what she was doing – she deliberately feigned injury and need for assistance, to lure Morgan over to her. Morgan good-naturedly came to help and was attacked by the spirit. It tore the girl's clothes from her body and used the scraps to tie her to a tree. There, a nude embrace occurred – and through that slight exchange of energy, did the exchange of souls take place. The spirit knew how to harness that sense of “being a part of someone else” which happens during sex, and how to use it to literally become another person. 

In fact, that incident which befell poor Mitch in his youth, which he imagined had been some effort by his “sister” to molest him, was in fact the spirit endeavoring to overtake a more preferable male body for its purposes. Alas, Shigunden discovered through this that, in a human body, she'd lost the ability to perform the ritual. The wood spirit's absorbing powers, the same energy that kept it foodlessly nourished by the woods, was evidently the key to the ability. Humans did not have it. Shigunden had to keep what she'd taken, and that was the body of Morgan. 

Of course, when the false Morgan was discovered in a state of confusion and disrobement in the woods, it was assumed she'd been sexually assaulted. Her family attributed the change in behavior and loss of memory she suddenly showed to some kind of sustained brain damage or severe emotional trauma. The false Morgan soon moved away to become Fata Morgana, and her family gave her up as a lost cause. There was little contact between the Worthington-Smythes and the woman who was only biologically their daughter, these days. 

All these events did happen, but it was Fata Morgana alone who was aware of them. Mitch, the true Morgan, and the Worthington-Smythes were all clueless apart from the smallest bits of disconnected data, almost none of which was shared between them. Mitch had been so young at the time of his sister's “sexual assault” that the details were never really given to him; and he certainly had no reason to assume the cosplaying woodland runaway hobo girl near his house was really his sister's mind in a demonic fox-spirit's body. 
Weeks had passed, and per his promise, Mitch had been daily coming to visit the mysterious girl in the woods, so beautiful and sad as she was. He was still ignorant as to her name. He typically had to resort to addressing her as “Hey You” or some other call of the sort.

On this day, a Wednesday, he was bringing along a small plastic bag full of some clothing which had been destined for the Goodwill. He figured the forest girl would be able to make more immediate use of it. 

In the usual spot, he found her – with that tuft of fur still hanging behind her. The addition of his worn old shoes had helped to ground and modernize her outfit a little, but no one wearing a false tail was going to pass for a regular, sane person. He found the nameless girl to be exceptionally sweet, and he felt an odd bond with her, as if he'd known her for much longer than he had, and as if they were meant to be together. He thought of her often, and his teenaged heart grew ever more fond of her each time he met her. At the sight of her, his heart did a little happy dance in his chest. She smiled at him with those ghastly teeth, and he was even beginning to view them as charming in their own way. 

“Hey, you...” he said in greeting.

“And a hey to you,” she replied. Her speech was growing more normal and her conversational skill improving simply from the bit of practice Mitch had allowed her in these weeks.

“I brought you some clothes,” said Mitch. “They're nothing special, but they might fit. They'd at least draw less attention to you than that cosplay getup.” 

“Cosplay getup?” she asked as she accepted the bag.

“Sorry... I'm guessing you didn't have much choice about the outfit you ended up in, but really – that's not how any normal person dresses.”

She looked down at her outfit with a frown. “No, I suppose it isn't.”

“You might be able to go around without drawing so much attention to yourself in one of these new outfits, at least. Or just have a change of clothing.”

The fox girl pulled a few items from the bag and examined them. “Thank you. I will consider wearing them at future times.”

The outfit she was normally seen in was a garment of soft brown suede, like a cheap moccasin might be made from, cut into a pleated skirt and long, baggy sleeved jacket which closed with a bow in a mode that roughly and unintentionally resembled the getup of a Shinto priestess, which was perhaps why Mitch kept thinking it looked like something from an anime. There was also that big tuft of fur he could see hanging from the back, he thought in imitation of a tail, and to him that simply screamed cosplay.

“I also did some research,” Mitch continued. “There's a homeless shelter not too far from here – you can walk to it if you have to  – where you can get things like new clothes and some food. You don't have to give them your real name, they don't check at all.”

“Thank you, but I won't be needing their services,” she replied.

“Oh, come on.  You're living in a park in the middle of a suburb. You need some help. You can maybe get back on your feet if --”

“There is no 'getting on my feet.' This is my lot in life.” She spoke with a frown and a deep sadness that was deeper than her normal sadness.

Mitch decided not to press it. He'd noticed through the weeks that his initial guesses about her didn't seem to be holding water, and indeed she had mentioned at their very first meeting that he was making mistaken assumptions about her. Bravely, he decided he should demand to know the truth. “And why is that?”

“It's the situation I've been put into. I had no choice in the matter – I am left here, and must remain here. I cannot stray from this 'park in the middle of a suburb.' It's not by choice.”

“What, are you going to die if you leave or something?” Mitch asked with a note or sarcasm.


Mitch frowned. “That's ridiculous. No one dies from leaving a place. Do you mean – is someone looking for you that you're afraid of?”


“So... is it some kind of reverse agoraphobia, like you're afraid to go inside buildings?”

“I would love to go into a building.”

Mitch smiled anew. “Well! Let me take you to one. My house is really close to here, we can go there...”

She raised an eyebrow. “How close?”

“Super close. It's right up the street a bit, like three blocks.”

“Too far.” 

“No, no. It's totally close – remember, I went back home in my socks after the first time I met you. It's no big deal, it's not far at all.” He could see she was unmoved. He decided to try the tactic of encouraging her by making it sound desirable. “It's a two-storey house... a lot of the houses in this neighborhood are only one storey... and it's got an old swing set in the back yard, it still is in good shape and we could even use it if you want... and it's got this loft above the livingroom where --”

The girl went wide eyed and released a gasp. “The house – ! It couldn't be... it's not... are you Mitch?”

He was a little taken aback. In the weeks of their acquaintance, she had never provided him with a name, and so he didn't offer one up to her. Now she'd just guessed his slightly unusual name out of the blue. There seemed to be something going on. “Er – yes, Mitch is my name.”

The girl looked like she might faint. She already had tears welling up in her eyes. “Mitch – !” She collapsed up against him, falling into his arms. He had not expected that, but in a way was happy for the contact. He hesitated for a moment as she embraced him, then held her in return and began to stroke her hair. He noticed now, touching it, what a strange texture it had. It was more like petting an animal than like touching the head of a person.

“Mitch,” she continued. “Oh, of course you would not recognize me now. But Mitch – it's me – it's Morgan!”
DUH DUH DUHHHHH!!!!!! FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS NEXT BY BUYING THE BOOK (HINT: Mitch falls in love with BOTH his sisters!!!!!)


Thursday, September 30, 2010

Pregnant by the Italian Count from the Future

The first chapter of my newest story! Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1

"He is beautiful, my Countess." said the Count as he walked into her chambers. A midwife bustled out carrying a pile of dirty linens. The countess glowed as she held her newborn son out for her husband to see. 
"Have you decided on a name yet?" Said the Count as he carefully looked over his new child. Although he was just a baby, his features seemed to be perfect. The Count could tell that he wouldn't have to drown this one.
"No, I was waiting for you. I thought maybe we should name him after his father." She smiled.
"No." He replied. "If he is to be in charge of this villa, he will need a strong name. Even stronger than my own. We will name him after greatest Count this villa has ever had - Parslantro." 
"It's perfect." The Countess beamed.

And so began the life of young Parslantro. Born in the year 2350, he was raised by his mother and father, the Count and Countess of La Villa de Carbonara in Italy. As a child, he was taught what was right, but was not taught to correct his temper. He was given good principals, but led to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately, an only son (for the count and countess had decided that, after having such a perfect child, they did not need another one), he was spoiled by his parents, who, though good themselves, allowed, encouraged, almost taught him to be selfish and overbearing. 

By the time he was of a suitable age to take over the family estate, the Viscount Parslantro de Carbonara's character seemed to be set in stone. Those of his own rank knew him to have a charming and friendly personality, while those beneath him were treated as just that. Many women dreamed of being Parslantro's wife, but Parslantro, knowing exactly how handsome, rich, and desirable he was, paid them no mind. Nothing but the deepest love could induce him to marry, and the women of 2350 cared nothing for love. 

The Great LED Laser Wars of 2309 had wiped out over 900 Billion people across the the solar system, leaving very few to continue the human race. After the defeat and imprisonment of Machtar 2000, the evil Cyber-Genetic Robot who had abruptly begun the eradication of the human race while searching the Human History Database one sunny Spring morning, humans began trying to repopulate. Children, especially girls, were taught that nothing was more important than having as many children as possible. However, not wanting to repopulate the solar system with sub-par humans, the government decided that it would take control, forcing all parents to destroy any baby that was not extremely good looking by it's third week, and any child with an IQ below 145 after the age of 12. Because of this, everyone in the future was extremely intelligent and sexy. However, the women, though very good looking, seemed only interested in having rampant sex. 

Though Parslantro certainly planted his seed in many a woman, he eventually grew tired of various females stuffing their panties down his pants as he walked past, rubbing their breasts on his face as he tried to eat dinner, and endlessly humping him while he tried to sleep. 

One night, after falling asleep to the sound of his self-playing laser harp, he was awoken by a terrible scream. He roughly pushed Teresa Bertolli, his best friend's sister, off of him and ran through his automatic door and into the hallway. It was almost pitch black, but Parslantro could have sworn he saw something move just as he had run out. He turned his handsome, chiseled face left and right, trying to determine where the scream had come from. His eyes widened with concern as he gazed at the slightly ajar titanium sliding doors at the end of the hall - the door to his beloved parent's chamber!

He ran to the doorway, pried the doors apart with his strong, bare hands, and stepped inside. What he saw was indescribable.

The next day, the Viscount - now Count - Parslantro began the development of a time machine. He laser locked himself in his study, pouring over holographic diagrams and ebooks. Despite the numerous breasts pressed against the windows, the only person Count Parslantro would see was Fitzwilliam Bertolli, his best friend. Despite his sorrow and mourning, Parslantro always smiled a bit when Fitzwilliam was around. It was difficult not to, what with his optimistic views of life and his cute little jokes.

"Parslantro," he said one day, brushing his bubble gum pink hair out of his eyes, "perhaps, instead of using this time machine to preemptively avenge the death of your mother and father, you can use it to go back in time and find us some suitable, single women. When did you last eat, by the way?" He asked, holding out half of a roasted cockaroach and sand sandwich. Parslantro grabbed the sandwich and greedily took a large bite. 

"Don't forget the vitamins..." smiled Fitzwilliam, holding out a handful of pills. Parslantro shoved the vitamins into his mouth, and after crunching loudly for a moment, he swallowed and said, "Fitzwilliam, even if there were suitable women in the past...a single one? I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. And besides," he continued, "I doubt that any woman, past, present, or future, could live up to my standards."

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Candy Takes a Chance, Chapter 1

Hey guys! Sorry I've been away so long. I had some severe writers block, so decided to just start on a new story. But don't worry, I'm still working on Tall Dark and Hamster, as well as another story that I'll post as soon as I finish the rough draft!

Also, I'm currently trying to revamp my blog to reflect who I am a bit more, so please excuse me if things look a little odd at the moment - This site should be looking way better soon enough!

Anyway, with no further ado......Candy Takes a Chance!

Chapter 1

      It was her first day of work. Candy was so excited about her new job at the Christian Brothers Candy Factory in Oakland California. It had been world-renowned for its confections for the last 400 years, ever since it was founded by Spanish aristocrats looking for sweets to consume between missionary work in Colonial California, back in the days when it was called "New Spain."

      Speaking of new Spain, her new boss was a true Spanishman, descended from generations of Spaniards living by the sunny west coast. His name was Chance Chavez. He had long dark hair with a premature streak of grey in it, wending its path from his scalp to his shoulder, and firey brown eyes. He was 32. He'd taken a big risk hiring Candy at his family's candy factory, since her background was mainly in veterinary medicine – a job she quit, when she realized her main function was to kill the cats and dogs she so desperately loved, for their humane euthanization – and his business was struggling to begin with. The girl had better pull her weight around here, he told himself.
      Candy had long strawberry blonde hair, today neatly tucked up in a ponytail beneath her new bonnet that she wore as part of her uniform. It was an old-style uniform that showed the age of the candy shop – a large ruff-collar, corset, and leg-o-mutton sleeves, all in pristine, virginal white. Chance was donning a black doublet and a sword and flintlock pistol as decreed by the ancient candy-shop charter, hand-scrawled in Latin on a piece of ancient parchement. It hung framed in the front window, so customers could see it.
      "Since today is your first day," said Chance in his deep tenor-saxaphone voice, "I shall give you a tour of my store!"
      "Oh, that sounds wonderful," exclaimed Candy, her eyes unconsciously wandering to his codpiece made of chocolate.
      "Come with me," he said, gesturing his manly muscled arm to have her come with him. Obediently, Candy obeyed. Together they walked into a big white-painted room,with concrete floors and wires across the ceiling. There were large machines in the room, used to manufacture the candy.
      "These machines are used to manufacture the candy," said Chance. He paused like a notion just had stricken him. "Huh. How funny. Your name is Candy, and candy is what we sell here!"
      "My full name is Candissima," Candy helpfully chirped, noticing the heat from the machines was causing the early signs of melting in Chance's codpiece.
      "Candissima. It sounds Spanish?"
      "I don't know, I think it's from a plant that attracts hummingbirds!"
      "You know," said Chance, "Hummingbirds were believed by the ancient Indians of California to be the birds of love. Thank St. Jerome we good Catholic Spaniards beat that heathen bullshit out of them all and then killed them!"
      Candy giggled. "Maybe it's fate that I came to work in your candy store!"
 "Yes. Fate... do you... believe in fate?"

      "I do."
      Chance took a small comfort in the notion that perhaps, just perhaps, Candy was meant to work here. "This is the syrup-shooter" he said, pointing to a device that shot jets of hot liquid over chocolate bases. "And this here," he said while indicating a different machine, "is the chocolate making machine."
      "Oooh," Candy said, delighted by the smell which arose from the gears.
      "And this is the nut mixer. And this here is our taffy machine – we've been making taffy here at Christian Brothers since before it was even invented!"
      "Yes! See, it all happened when some monks at one of the old missions was boiling honey to make meade and cooked it for too long, so it got all hard and then he tried to squeeze it to wring the remaining liquid out."
      "Oh, I would love to try that," said Candy, imagining the wringing, and the liquid squeezing motion in her hands, and how good it felt to squeeze out that sweetness.
      "He wrung it and wrung it, and soon he made the sweetest toffee ever known to man."
      "Someday," said Candy, breathless, "I will have to try it."
      "Indeed," said Chance. "I encourage my employees to sample the candy here to familiarize themselves with our unique confections. Try some of the toffee."
      Candy took a piece of the taffy from the machine and crunched it loudly in her teeth. "It is good," she said. But, in her heart, she knew she could never be satisfied by this. No, never by this alone.
      "Too bad my customers don't think so. My sales have been on the decline ever since I took charge of this business! I should hate to see this factory, in my family for 400 years, be lost! Lost!"
      "Don't worry," said Candy with a grin, "With my help, we'll be back on our feet in no time!"
      "Yes – I enjoy the company of women who have minds of their own and can think independantly, so please don't hesitate to tell me any new ideas you might have for how to run my business!"
      "Yay!" said Candy. She could tell this was the job of her dreams. Perhaps she had made the right decision to come here.
      "Now excuse me," said Chance, "But my codpiece seems to have melted. I will go get a replacement. Feel free to wander around unsupervised – afterall, this is to be your job from now on!"
      Candy screamed in delight and, waving her arms like a child, began to run back and forth around the production room floor. After about twenty minutes she grew bored with this, and decided to invstigate the rest of the building.
      There was a long, straight corridor made of brick and adobe. She decided to enter it, even though she was not totally sure it was even part of the Christian Brothers Candy property.
      At the end of the hall was a small office marked with the word OFFICE on the door in an Elizabethian font. A sigh of relief escaped her lips on entering, for she could tell by the manly decor and photographs that this was Chance's office. Photographs of him on vacations and with large torpedo sandwiches covered all the walls. He was out of his work uniform in the pictures, instead dressed casually in a speedo and Prada men's sandals. Candy couldn't help but think his figure much better flattered without the large yellow-starched ruff collar she'd always seen him in before.
      Suddenly something caught her eye – a picture of Chance with a beautiful woman in his arms. A pang of jealousy shot through Candy's heart – But why? – and she imagined tackling the woman to the floor, ripping her intestines from her abdomen and running them through the syrup shooter to be filled with scalding liquid as they were still attached and full of feeling, and the pretty woman would just scream, and scream, and scream...
      "What are you thinking about?" said that handsome throat of Chance's.
      "Oh, holy fuck, you scared me!!!" cried Candy. "I was thinking of murdering this skanky whore in the photos with you!"
      Chance laughed. "Ha ha. That girl is my sister."
      "Oh," said Candy as she calmed some. She could see Chance had a new codpiece, and she remarked on it.
      "Ah, yes. It's troublesome, these codpieces of chocolate, but the ancient charter demands a strict dress-code, and this includes the 'bragueta del cocoa.'"
      "So you have a sister?" asked Candy, trying to steer the chat away from Chance's crotch.

      "She is dead."
      "Oh!" Now Candy felt embarrassed for bringing up such a surely-painful memory into Chance's head.
      "It is a fact, and, in tribute to her – I have sworn I shall never have another family, like having kids or getting married or those things. But nevermind, nevermind that! Let us tour further this confectionary place, and I shall show you how to operate the cash register."
      Candy attempted to walk beside Chance, but the combined width of their collars could not bypass the narrow hall. And she considered his words about family with unease.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Tall Dark and Hamster, Chapter 1

OMG Hi everyone! It's me, Aama! I'm really excited to announce that I have finished chapter 1 of my newest novel: Tall, Dark, and Hamster. I hope you like it, because my editor hated it for some reason! But I'm an artist, I must go my own way, follow my own path, beat my own drum. Please leave comments and keep checking for the newest chapter!

It was a dark and sultry night in the city of New York. A beautiful young woman with hair that flowed like a black waterfall on a starry night in an African jungle, and amber raven colored eyes that could see deep into the souls of those daring enough to trust her, was walking down the street. Her long strapless red sequined dress was flowing in the wind of the night. As she took a moment to pull her hair back into a messy but elegant bun, she heard the sound of muffled j-pop emanating from her cute, green and purple polka-dot Gucci purse with silver lace. After rummaging momentarily, she pulled out her sleek, gold, rhinestone encrusted iPhone and saw that she had a new text message from her boyfriend Kryss:

Hay hun sry I hvnt called u bak in a wihle but i thot u shud no I m seing sum1 else. I no ur a modle n all but she a modle 4 nike n thatz way betr then vic secret imo. Ill stop bi 2moro 2 get my stuff.

For a moment, she stood in shock, not able to believe that Kryss would just leave her like that. Sure, their relationship had only been going on for a couple of months before she decided to start her new life in New York City, and sure, he had hit on her mom at Thanksgiving, and yeah, he did send pictures of her in the shower to all of his coworkers at Domino's, but he had explained that “that's just how guys are, Babe.” Kryss must have really cared about her, or he wouldn't have sent her flowers after every modeling shoot, or left cute little notes around her apartment while she was out, or stolen her panties and hair in order to make a realistic replica of herself...

She was startled back into reality by approaching footsteps. She began walking again, assuming that the footsteps would turn off onto one of manhattans cold and ruthless streets, harder and rougher than concrete and meaner than Jennifer Lopez and Perez Hilton combined. But after two blocks, the footsteps were still just a few feet behind her. She didn't dare look back. "It could be a rapist coming to rape me!" she thought to herself. She began to walk faster. The footsteps behind her sped up. She quickly ran into an alley and pressed her slender yet curvaceous body against a wall. She closed her eyes and waited for the footsteps to pass. After a moment, she heard only silence. As she calmed herself, she felt the cool night air blow across her perfectly proportioned and symmetrical face gently, like a sensual woman blowing on a man's ear sensually with the intent to give him a sensual massage and then spend the sensual evening sensually caressing each other's bodies until all of their sensual desires are fulfilled. Sensually. As she began to leave the alley, she was stopped by a young sexy latino man. 

"Oooh, hey baby. Where do you think you're going? We've got a job to do." He said with a malicious wink. He and the thirteen other men who were now behind him cackled gleefully. Then they made coyote noises. "Please don't rape me!" She yelled as she flung herself onto an old mattress. "Ooh, Chica, we're going to do more than that to you..." said the young man. 

"The only person who's going to touch that woman is me..." Said a man who was standing far back in the alley. "Because I'll be saving her." 

"Oooh, you think you're a big man?" Said the latino man. 

"You're mom's a big man." Said the stranger.

The latino man angrily ripped off his tight, white, wife-beater tank top to reveal his large, glistening brown muscles. His gang followed suit, tearing off their shirts and angrily rubbing their hands up and down their heaving, slippery pecks and their rippling washboard stomachs. All of them had treasure trails. Suddenly, a nearby fire hydrant exploded, showering all the men in cool droplets of water. Some of the longer haired latino men threw back their heads to shake their wavy jet black hair out of their eyes, sending a cascade of water onto the other latino men behind them, the beads of water making their way down each curve and valley of their hard, throbbing six packs, and disappearing into the loose fitting waistband of their low-rise jeans.  

The stranger took this opportunity to attack. Suddenly, all that could be seen in the glittering beads of light were hard bodies pressed together, rippling biceps rubbing against each other, the yells and moans of attractive young men being overtaken. In the end, all that remained was a pile of shirtless latinos, heaving in the night breeze. 

The stranger alone was standing. He held his hand out to the woman, who still lay sprawled on the old mattress, and for the first time, she saw his face. His eyes were blue like a waterfall in the Amazon jungle in the spring, and though kind, they had a haunted, troubled look buried deep within. He carelessly brushed a stray piece of sandy blonde hair out of his face and said to her, "My name is Jack. Jack Ironstag." He helped her up.

"Well it's nice to meet you, Jack. My name is Amelia Alliumson. Thank you for saving my life. How can I ever repay you?"

Jack looked long and hard into Amelia's beautiful, amber raven colored eyes which were framed by long voluptuous lashes, and as he did so, he sensed something beneath them that was calling to him, like a lost blue whale calling to it's mate as it swims endlessly through all the oceans that we call the chambers of one's heart. "Well," he said finally, "I do need some help at the pet shop that I own. You wouldn't happen to be looking for work, would you?" Amelia was amazed. "I am! I just moved here today - I don't even have a place to live yet!" "Well, you'll just have to stay in my charming apartment over the shop until you find somewhere more suitable for a classy lady such as yourself." Jack held out his arm, and Amelia took it, and together, they walked off into the night.