The Indie Author Extraordinaire

New and Reviewed!

2009-10-13T12:11:00.000-07:00

Hello all,

Today is Horror Day and my contribution is The Penance, the first thing
I've published in a couple of years now. You can have it for free,
probably until Halloween ...
http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/the-penance/7778779

Also as a birthday present (no, the irony of Horror Day being on my
birthday is NOT lost on me LOL) I've gotten great reviews on Alienation
Victim and Succulent Slavery!

AV:
http://readinsomethingcrazy.blogspot.com/2009/10/alienation-victim-crystal-brewton.html

SS:
http://readinsomethingcrazy.blogspot.com/2009/10/succulent-slavery-crystal-brewton.html

The books can be found @
http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/alienation-victim/276146 and
http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/succulent-slavery/312057

Enjoy ... I'm also putting up the books as they become available at
http://www.crystalbrewton.biz/

Excerpt from Prologue: The Story of Cassandra Jasmine Houston

2009-10-02T10:47:00.001-07:00

Sebastian won't be Sebastian for much longer ... another name change in the rupublished versions ...... This is one of my faves!!

“I've been meaning to ask why you haven't been writing so much anymore,” she asked, biting her lip.

Sebastion offered her a smile. “Because I can't hold a candle to you.”

Rolling her eyes and hitting him in the arm, she laughed. “Bullshit. Next lie, please.”

He shrugged. “I will make my fortune on the silver screen,” he informed her. “Acting.”

Cass beamed. “You'll make a wonderful actor, Sebby.” She got a mischievous glint in her eye. “You're drama queen enough for it, that's for sure.”

He beamed right back at her. “Do you really think so?” he asked breathlessly.

A flash distracted Cass from her answer. When they both looked, they saw a short man with dark hair and eyes as gray as the sky outside smiling at them.

“I'm sorry...” he apologized. “You two just looked so beautiful together.” He handed Sebastion a photograph, in which he and Cass were beaming at each other. “Your wife is lovely,” he told him before he turned and walked away.

For a moment, they stared after the retreating back. Then Sebastion gasped. “My... wife?” He looked at Cass as he absently tucked the photo into his pocket. “He thinks we're married!”

They laughed richly over the idea for a long time. Finishing their drinks, they returned to their room to spend their last night together.

Once the pizza had been delivered and eaten, they sat on the foot of the bed Cass had not been sleeping in, and tried to find something worth watching on the hotel's television system. Considering themselves too high caliber a hotel to offer pay-per-view pornography, the friends were forced to watch mundane cable programs.

Sebastion's mind was still on the photographer. “My wife...” he murmured. “Ha!”

Cass chuckled. “I could do worse in a husband,” she admitted.

He turned to her. “Let's do it!” he suddenly insisted.

“You want to get married?” Cass could barely keep a straight face.

Sebastion laughed. “Don't be silly! I just want to have sex with you.”

Raising her eyebrows, Cass considered this, then shrugged. “Sure. Why not.”

They looked deeply into each other eyes. Sebastion moved forward for a kiss.

And they both began to giggle. It was not long before the would be lovers were rolling on the bed, and not not in any sort of impassioned frenzy. The fit of giggles had captured them instead.

“I can't do this, Cass,” Sebastion's voice was peppered with laughter and apology.

His wasn't the only one. Cass's laughter melded with it. “I know. I can't either.”

As they laughed, they held each other. At length, the laughter subsided and they began their preparations to return to their homes. Sebastion's flight was the earlier and Cass watched him pack the many bags.

“Why the hell did you pick such and early flight?” she demanded.

Shrugging, Sebastion looked at her with half a grin. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. But now I wish I had more time with you. This meeting has been incredible for me, Cass.” He paused and moved to her.

Cass stood and stepped into his arms. “Me too,” she confessed. “You're my best friend, Sebby.”

“Mine too.” He held her tightly. “I love you, Cass.”

“I love you too, Sebby.”

He held her close to him and they just stood there for a very long time. Finally, Sebastion looked at his watch.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed. “I'm gonna miss my fucking flight!” He turned, grabbed his bags and kissed Cass quickly on the forehead. “Love you, baby!” were the last words she heard before he was out of the hotel room door.

Cass looked at the bed that Sebastion had not slept on. The jacket that he had with him the night before lay there. Sebastion had forgotten it.

She took the jacket in her arms and sighed.

“I love you too, Sebby.”

Excerpt from Kulinary Killers

2009-09-30T11:33:00.001-07:00

OK, I'm hungry ... so this is the snippet I opted to share with you .....

In the ten years since the initial genetic cloud seeding and rain,
millions of people had died. It wasn't just the newly modified plants
and animals. The adoption of corn paper caused millions of unexplained
deaths as well.

Approximately five percent of the world's population died mysteriously
in the first two years after Myra killed herself using corn. Most died
of 'respiratory failure', but several were found near books or
newspapers that were made of corn. Many more were simply found dead at
home. But in this day and age, what home didn't have something in it
made from paper or plastic? Paper and plastic made from corn?

Books, computer cases, pens, drinking straws, television cases,
newspapers, plastic plates and utensils, thread, clothing, children's
toys of incalculable number, radios, the steering wheels in cars,
chairs, car interiors, paints, vacuum cleaners, bed sheets, compact disk
cases, household cleaning products, clocks and watches, remote controls,
napkins, bath towels, cameras, diapers, toothbrushes, hair brushes,
plastic wrap, shoes, plastic bottles, glue, glasses, nail polish,
computer keyboards, gloves, mouthwash, pillows, crayons, yarn,
briefcases, stereo equipment, Styrofoam, staplers, pet flea baths, and
oder removers being only the barest fraction of things that contained
corn or corn derivatives.

It was killing people, and no one seemed to make the connection.

The Indie Authors Public PGP/GPG Key

2009-04-13T13:45:00.000-07:00

Hello all. Sharing my new public key, for those who would like to send encrypted emails my way

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Happy new ... COMPUTER!!!!!!!

2008-01-06T21:44:00.000-08:00

Well, I got my belated Saturnalia present today!!! A new laptop!!! YES YES YES!!!!! I love it already!!! I celebrated with a new desktop as well as writing a bit on "To Serve Unselfishly"!!

HAPPY NEW COMPUTER THIS YEAR!!!!!!

ALL MY EBOOKS NOW IN LIT and PRC!!!!

2007-12-21T10:06:00.000-08:00

NOW AVAILABLE IN .LIT and .PRC!! Buy the PDF eBook, reply to the "Thank you" email reminding me which PDF you bought and that you would like the other eBook formats and they will be sent to you in a reply email!

EXCLUSIVE Deartháireacha excerpt reading in Second Life!

2007-12-19T05:34:00.000-08:00

Join us Wednesday, December 19th @ 6 p.m SLT/PST and Saturday, December 22nd @ 1:30 p.m SLT/PST for a reading of an excerpt from the as yet unpublished "Deartháireacha" by Crystal Ordonez, as read by Cassandra Trialle!

Deartháireacha is Irish Gaelic for brothers born of the same parents. John and Matthew are Irish Twins and in this "Cassandra's Cop" Supplemental we experience a Christmas in the terribly dysfunctional O'Keeffe household!

We look forward to seeing you and sharing this magnificent story with us!

The Staff of Independently Spoken

http://secondlife.com/

More Cassandra's Cops TONIGHT in Within His Castle!!

2007-11-23T15:03:00.000-08:00

Another exciting chapter tonight in JL Foster's Within His Castle, as well as who knows how many other GREAT stories by GREAT authors!!

Remember ... check out Within His Castle @
http://www.jlfoster.biz/weeklynewsletter or subscribe@jlfoster.biz

Putting "SUBSCRIBE" in the subject line will expedite things, I think.

Monitor Cracked

2007-11-19T09:51:00.000-08:00

My monitor cracked. How I can do this is beyond me. sigh. If I can't get it fixed, I will be offline for a while. If I can, I will find someone to post for me, as well as publish my upcoming boks. I will also work at the desktop a little, but ..... no promises....

Talk about being depressed.

Passion With a Badge - Dedication

2007-11-17T17:27:00.000-08:00

The dedication was not part of the serilization of Passion With a Badge:Cassandra's Cops in Within His Castle, and so I am sharing it here, for you...

When I was twenty years old, I was raped repeatedly. Yes, my rapist is depicted in this book as the man who tried to rape Cass. A friend of mine took me to the police and the detectives helped me to file what I needed to file and keep in touch with me throughout the case. The results were terrible, but I have never forgotten the spirit of the Chicago Police Detective who “held my hand” throughout, even if I have forgotten his name.

This book is dedicated to him. I've forgotten his name after eighteen years and more, but I haven't forgotten the support he gave me.

Crystal Ordonez

How a writer takes away Hope.

2007-11-17T09:51:00.000-08:00

How a writer takes away Hope.

by Crystal Ordonez

I first read The Mist, by Stephen King, in the late 1980's. By then, I was no baby. My cynicism was working its way into what 'My Faithful' have come to expect and love about me.

Without giving too much about the story away, let me say that it left me in tears. No easy feat, let me tell you. How did Stephen King manage to leave me, the young and impossible to impress Indie Author in tears?

Hope.

Making me root for anyone in a story isn't easy. To leave me thinking that maybe, just maybe, there will be a happy ending ... to leave me hoping for a happy ending ... is no small feat. I don't think my mind has ever been wired to think positively.

Stephen King gave me hope ...

And made me a loyal, die hard fan. Stephen King and the Chicago Cubs could do no wrong in my eyes. I became a faithful reader, going so far as to buy his books as hard covers, too impatient to wait for the paperbacks.

He inspired me. Made me want to write my own stuff more than anyone had up to that point in my life. And ultimately, I did.

The movies that were adapted from his books were a bit of a disappointment, but I just figured that, as deep a writer as Stephen King was, they (screenwriters and directors) did the best they could. Even he admitted that he wasn't pleased with the way some of his books came off on the Silver Screen. I blamed Hollywood for a while. Directors taking liberties where they oughtn't have.

Alas ... how much I have learned since I was in my later teens.

Writers have a say in how their writing is presented in movies.

Oh! When I learned that, my respect for Stephen King began to wane. How could a writer allow his work to be bastardized the way so much of his writing had been? The very idea stunned me. Yes, I realize that a screenplay must be different from a novel, but .... still! Some things are just sacred and must not, under any circumstances, be touched, never mind the ass rapings that many of Stephen Kings's books underwent in the name of conversion to screenplay.

Stephen King started to piss me off.

There was some good to come of this anger (isn't there always with me?). He made me want to stay true. To myself and to my writing. When I was told to change aspects of my writing in order to be more 'saleable to the mainstream', I refused. Had I not, Silver Brewton would have been heterosexual, but that is another rant entirely.

My only recourse was to 'go Indie', and I have never looked back or regretted that decision.

“Okay, Crystal. What is this really about? You're not ranting for no good reason, are you?” you are now asking yourself.

Nope.

This is about an adaptation that has lost Stephen King every last ounce of respect I had left for him.

Like he gives a flying fuck.

Surely you have seen the commercials for the adaptation of The Mist for the Silver Screen. Yes! They are turning it into a movie! When I first saw the commercial, I hot footed it over to the IMDb message boards to get the gossip. I couldn't wait for the movie to come out! Knowing how great it would be was all that mattered to me!

Then I found out that the ending had been changed.

Worse, I found out that Stephen King loved the new ending!

Again, not to spoil the ending, I found out that the new ending was very different from the original.

Stephen King approved of having my hope taken away.

I will never forgive him for that.

Ever.

You all know me (or should). I am the first to say “If you don't like it, don't watch it.”. Stephen King has every right to allow whatever he wants to be done to adaptations of his work and say “Fuck you if you don't like it, Crystal!” And he has.

But I also have the right not to support this movie and it's nightmarish, hope killing ending. Actually, the movie's ending is more decisive, to be honest about it. You know whether the world has ended or not. Whether or not the day will be saved.

Still sucks for me, and many others who read and loved the story. For us, Stephen King has allowed the unallowable.

Ninety-five percent of this movie will rock out loud, I hear. However, I am wondering if I should give one red cent to Stephen King by seeing this movie, even if I walk out (and if I see it, I will be leaving before the ending!) at the point I know my heart will be crushed.

A friend, Kevin Karstens, also hates the ending. Check out his page – http://www.karcreat.com/. In particular go to http://www.karcreat.com/TheMist.html. Rumor has it, he may give the movie an ending I can live with. If anyone can, it will be Kevin.

Yes! The original story had that large an effect on me. I don't write damn near a thousand words about anything because I'm bored!

Am I telling you not to see The Mist when it is released? Oh, hell no! I'd never do that! What I am telling you is that Stephen King has crossed the line with me. He's lost me as one of his faithful over this movie. The decisions he has made in allowing the ending to be changed was all it took. Stephen King made me cry when he approved this new ending.

Because the ending of the short story The Mist was sacred to me. It changed my life. It gave me hope.

Don't fuck with my hope. I don't forgive that easily.

As you all now know.

Mist and Storms!

2007-11-16T06:57:00.000-08:00

Tonight in Within His Castle, there will be more Cassandra's Cops as well as a rant from yours truly about the new Stephen King movie The Mist.

Remember ... check out Within His Castle @
http://www.jlfoster.biz/weeklynewsletter or subscribe@jlfoster.biz

Putting "SUBSCRIBE" in the subject line will expedite things, I think.

In the meantime, here is a little story from my Rainy Day Confessions book ( http://indie.author.extraordinaire.googlepages.com/rainydayconfessionsanditsindividualstori ). Enjoy the Storm ....

Rainy Day Confessions – Story #20 – the storm

By

Crystal Ordonez

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rainy Day Confessions

Cover Art – “Portrait of the Author” by William Hunter. Cover Design by Crystal Ordonez, William Hunter, and J. L. Foster. Back Cover Design by Crystal Ordonez and J. L. Foster.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without written permission by the author. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Thanks and Dedication

My gracious thanks to the incredibly talented William Hunter for providing the portrait for the Rainy Day Confessions cover. I will leave it up to your other half to thank you in the ways that I cannot! (Hint, Hint!)

Also – to my dear husband, who has helped me realize many of my fantasies!

This book is dedicated to my dear friend J. L. Foster who taught me how to relax, let my hair down, open my legs and let nature take its course...

An Introduction

By the Author

Welcome to my collection of erotic short stories. These were mostly originally written under the pen name "Cassandra Houston" as "Stories of Love and Sex". I must make my own confession that I was slightly ashamed to be writing "dirty" stories. What would my mother think? I have since gotten over the "shame" of being a writer of erotic fiction. My stories involve more than just straight down and dirty sex. They involve romance and deep, abiding emotion. And straight down and dirty sex.

In early 2006 I got over the shame of being a "dirty stories" writer. I came to the realization that I write romantic erotica. My dear friend, editor and agent thought that this would be a good way to "come out of the closet", so to speak. Publishing a collection of my erotica and sharing it with you, the dedicated reader of erotic fantasies.

And so I give you the confessions of Cassandra Houston. I have decided to keep Cassandra's spirit alive through this collection and let her confess to you using her own voice. She choose where and how to confess her sins of the flesh to those who read about them.

Farewell, Cassandra. Wherever you fare, may you remain wet, warm and delicious.

Crystal Ordonez

March 1, 2006

“The Storm”

The weather is dark and cold. The rain comes down in sheets and the thunder booms often, shaking the whole house. It is one hell of a storm.

Storms have always fascinated me. I was the strange child, sitting at the window and watching the storm instead of hiding in my parents’ bed or hiding in the closet or under my bed, quaking in fear. The power that Nature holds.

I stand at the window and I watch the storm. I do not flinch when I feel your arms around me. You rest your chin on the top of my head a moment, watching the street become a river with me.

Neither of us is surprised when we hear the simultaneous sounds that tell us the power has gone from our home. From the whole city, probably. No electricity in the house. But plenty outside. The energy is palpable.

You kiss me behind the ear, murmuring about my scent. Murmuring about wanting me. Now! About making love to me while we watch the storm.

You pull me to you and I feel you. I lean forward slightly, breaking the contact and placing my hands on the windowsill. I hear the whisper of fabric as you pull down your pants and boxers. The sound is under the pounding of the rain on the windows as the wind changes direction.

You bend over me, kissing my ears and the back of my neck. I feel your hands lift my skirt. Your knee between my thighs, parting them. Your cock teasing my ass. Your fingers play between my legs, preparing me for you. I feel my wetness, spread on my thighs and my ass by your fingers.

I begin to wonder where you plan on taking me as I feel a single finger slide into my hole. I gasp. Thunder booms. You part my thighs again and your lips leave my neck as you glance down.

Your knees bend slightly and I feel you slide into me. My pussy is ready for you and you begin to thrust against me. The storm rages, the gusts going from east to south to north to west. My face is pressed against the window and I worry momentarily that you will thrust me right through it.

You thrust and hold. Perhaps you are thinking the same thing. I think about it and decide quickly. I open the window wide and lean out of it. Again the wind changes direction, slamming into the left side of our house and my face.

You again begin to move. The water pounds into my face and you pound into my pussy. My breath is taken away as much by the wind as your pounding into me. I have never had such an experience and I am finding it an extreme turn on!

I feel your hands move from my hips to my ass. I feel you part my cheeks and withdraw your cock from my pussy. You are dripping with my juices. Yes! I can feel you at my anal opening. You slowly push yourself inside me. Slowly.

A sudden crack of thunder startles us both. The result is that I thrust myself backwards as you thrust forward. There is a momentary pain for me as you enter me completely. You freeze and apologize.

But the feeling, while a bit painful, was wonderful, and I tell you that there is no need to apologies. I am out of breath and I move forward again. The rain pounds into my face again, this time dead on. I am forced to close my eyes against the raindrops slamming into my face. No! It is not just rain. The small hailstones are beating me.

You begin sliding in and out of my ass. The energy of the storm has taken you over. I am ravished from both sides. You in my ass and the storm's assault against my face. And when you place two fingers in my clit I cum immediately and at least as violently as the storm my body is half in and half sheltered from.

My body begins to move against you more frantically than just a moment ago and my reaction pushes you over the edge. I feel your heat as you release inside of me. You arch your back and your hips slam against me one final time before you are overcome with almost uncontrollable shuddering.

You collapse against my back, joining my torso outside. Your chest is wet from my soaking shirt and soon your own back is soaking also. We pant together in the storm.

I love storms.

Tomorrow - Passion with a Badge!

2007-11-15T14:54:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow will continue the serialization of Passion With A Badge: Cassandra's Cops! I'm not sharing the excerpts with you here, but I will share the review that it received when it was released.

Passion with a Badge Cassandra’s Cops 2 Crystal Ordonez This story is so incredibly realistic that I found myself reading it with a combination of tears and chills, just as if I was one of the victims {yes, I say that in the plural, because the loved ones are victims of this horrendous crime as well; or at least, ought to be: the empathetic ones are!} I truly felt as I was living the story and even though of course it raised issues for me {as should have been the case and indeed was} the attitudes and determinations of the main characters, Cass and her devoted husband John, empowered me to move through to the completion of the story. Cass and John and many of the secondary characters have become individuals I would be proud to claim I know, and to call my friends. The author is not afraid to “get down and dirty” and explore the details, neither of the crime nor of the healing, and her eroticism is very-very- empowering. I can truthfully say this is one of the rare stories in which I felt I lived through the characters: I felt every pain, every moment of anger, every touch of joy. I experienced nearly constant chills of excitement and empathy. This book is about the horrendous crime of rape {attempted rape}, the victim, the loved ones, and the perpetrator; about the healing which the victim and her loved ones must attempt, if at all possible; and perhaps above and beyond all that, this book is about what it means to wreak creativity out of tragedy, healing from anger, and joy from fury. My hat is off to Crystal Ordonez who continues to demonstrate a talent that is unbeatable! Ms. Ordonez, who clearly began with a great deal of writing talent, is now becoming even more polished and productive with each new work. May she continue to write for many centuries to come! Review by—Montgomery Sword, Author--- 30 Oct 2006

Remember ... check out Within His Castle @
http://www.jlfoster.biz/weeklynewsletter or subscribe@jlfoster.biz

Putting "SUBSCRIBE" in the subject line will expediate things, I think.

Sick, but workin

2007-11-13T07:21:00.000-08:00

Ug! I feel like crap, btuI'm still workin (glutton for punishment). I've put the covers to my books on my GoodReads site

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/167393.Crystal_Ordonez

Also several have free previews, if ya haven't had a peek yet.

For those in my fan club - I will be respnding to the little rumor about what I'm up to as soon as I feel a bit better. I haven't forgotten you guys!!!! Yes, I will tell about the fairy tale LOL.

Off to take care of myself LOL

OMFG!!!! A Fan Club!!

2007-11-12T13:03:00.000-08:00

It's official! I have a fan club!

http://crystalordonezfans.multiply.com/

I joined it. After all, I'm my biggest fan and harshest critic! Plus, I can answer the rumours you guys start LOL. Well, if I can ......

It's going to be interesting to see how this plays out, ultimately! I've been flattered speechless for DAYS now.

Irish Twins TOMORROW

2007-11-08T08:53:00.000-08:00

Double your pleasure and double your fun! Tomorrow, Friday Nov 9th, Irish Twins will be shared with you via Within His Castle, an incredible news magazine owned and operated my none other then J.L. Foster!

Find out where all that innuendo in To Protect, Serve and Love: Cassandra's Cop will lead, when John and Cassandra celebrate the anniversary of the day they met face to face after a year of email correspondance by having a little family get together! Of all of John's brothers, only one is able to attend, Matthew O'Keeffe. John and Cass would be insulted, had they not planned it that way.

Matthew is John's Irish Twin. They have shared everything, all their lives. But then John met and married Cass, and Matthew knew his days of sharing with his favorite brother were over.

Silly Matthew!

Read some of this incredible story by subscribing to Within His Castle!!

http://www.jlfoster.biz/weeklynewsletter or subscribe@jlfoster.biz

Putting "SUBSCRIBE" in the subject line will expediate things, I think.

Smoky Butterflies

2007-11-07T04:15:00.000-08:00

Long ago I wrote this tale for a friend. It made it into Rainy Day Confessions. Now I am writing on one short story and one novel about a firefighter, and remembered this tale.

Hope ya like

Crystal

Rainy Day Confessions – Story #27 – smoky butterflies

By

Crystal Ordonez

Rainy Day Confessions

Cover Art – “Portrait of the Author” by William Hunter. Cover Design by Crystal Ordonez, William Hunter, and J. L. Foster. Back Cover Design by Crystal Ordonez and J. L. Foster.

Thanks and Dedication

My gracious thanks to the incredibly talented William Hunter for providing the portrait for the Rainy Day Confessions cover. I will leave it up to your other half to thank you in the ways that I cannot! (Hint, Hint!)

Also – to my dear husband, who has helped me realize many of my fantasies!

This book is dedicated to my dear friend J. L. Foster who taught me how to relax, let my hair down, open my legs and let nature take its course...

An Introduction

By the Author

Welcome to my collection of erotic short stories. These were mostly originally written under the pen name "Cassandra Houston" as "Stories of Love and Sex". I must make my own confession that I was slightly ashamed to be writing "dirty" stories. What would my mother think? I have since gotten over the "shame" of being a writer of erotic fiction. My stories involve more than just straight down and dirty sex. They involve romance and deep, abiding emotion. And straight down and dirty sex.

Farewell, Cassandra. Wherever you fare, may you remain wet, warm and delicious.

Crystal Ordonez

March 1, 2006

“Smoky Butterflies”

The Coleman lamp shines low as I frown slightly over the collection. Alphabetizing butterflies isn’t quite as easy as I’d hoped, but I’ve gotten some beautiful specimens. The wind begins to kick up. I retire to my tent before the canyon becomes littered with dead butterflies once painstakingly sorted alphabetically by genus.

The smell of smoke brings my attention back to earth. Smoke? Where there was smoke...

I clamber out of the tent in time to see the fire that had begun in a bush off to the right of my tent extinguished by a bear of a man. You watch the smoldering bush carefully as I sheepishly come up behind you.

“Looks like I forgot about the campfire,” I say in a cower.

You turn at the sound of my voice and looks at me. “Looks like you did,” you say, sounding very much like my father, chastising me for leaving the lights in my room on all night when I was a kid.

I get a pretty good look at you in the dusk's fading light. You are well over six feet tall I can tell, now that you aren't bent over fighting a single bush brush fire. But your height isn’t what is making my heart skip a beat. It is your red hair. It is as red as the fire you've just put out. I swallow hard. “Thank you. I got distracted, I’m afraid. I should have been thinking.” I stumble a little over my words in my combination of excitement over the fire and over the man who’d just put it out.

You continue to watch the smoldering bush, kicking it with a steel-toed boot. You aren't looking at me when you speak. “I hope whoever distracted you was worth it,” you say, still in that chiding voice. “If this had gotten a good hold, my vacation would have been over.”

“OH! It wasn’t a ‘who’,” I say. “It was a ‘what’.” And then I think and add in a chastised voice, “I didn’t mean to ruin your vacation with a forest fire.”

You begin to chuckle. “I’m a fireman, you know! But I work in Chicago. Not many brush fires there. This one was my first.” You turn completely around to face me, apparently satisfied there is no danger of the fire flaring. “So what was it that kept you so consumed that you missed the bush right outside your tent flap burning so bright I would have expected to see Moses himself standing before it?”

I know I'm turning beet red. “Butterflies,” I say, shrugging.

Your eyebrows rise. “Butterflies? I used to collect those when I was a kid.”

I have captured your interest. “Well, if you’d like to see the collection that almost burned down the state,” I say, leaving the offer for a viewing open to him.

You smile. “Sure, why not? All work and no play, right?”

I precede you into my tent. We sit on our knees beside each other. The wind is still high. The storm picks up its intensity. I show you the butterflies I’d collected earlier that afternoon and the photo album I had filled with small passport sized pictures of the butterflies I’d left at home.

“I was alphabetizing my collection,” I explain, lamely. “I guess I just got caught up.”

You look at the book before us and then lean in a little closer. You reach to take the book in your hand, and you brush my breast. Instead of backing up, as I knew I ought to, I lean forward. You look at me. “Excuse my reach,” you say, although you do not move your arm.

I simply smile at you; our eyes locked. I am getting more and more excited in the presence of you. “Nothing to excuse,” I say.

You turn the pages, looking at my extensive collection. “You’re serious about this, I see,” you say after a moment. “I would have thought only a man could have distracted someone so much as to keep them from noticing a fire right outside.”

I shrug, “The only man in here is you,” I say. “And you haven’t distracted me in the least.”

You don't miss the challenge in my voice. “I’m not a butterfly,” you says, your eyes twinkling. “I’m only a fireman... How could I ever compete?” you add, almost primly.

I never thought myself capable of such blatant behavior. Well, maybe once or twice. I shrug out of my heavy jacket. “I’m sure you could think of something.” I say, the tone in my voice leaving no room for doubt.

Your eyebrows rise as you watches me drop the jacket down beside me and then slowly begin unbuttoning my blouse. “Perhaps there is another fire I could stoke?” You shrug out of your own jacket and lean into me and kiss me. I find myself on the floor of the tent with you on top of me.

You kiss my lips and begin moving slowly down. You kiss the hollow of my throat, then between my breasts. You takes one breast out of the cup of my bra and suck gently on it. My breathing quickens, especially when your hand works its way between the legs of my jeans. As you take out my other breast, I feel your other hand working the button on my jeans.

You pause just long enough to get me out of the jeans. You look at me as you finger me through my panties. You slip your hand inside and slide a single finger down between my nether lips. As your hand withdraws, we both see the trail of wetness your finger leaves behind.

“Firemen like wetness you know,” you says, looking at me with a twinkle in your eye.

You lay me on my back and continue licking your way down my torso. You lick at the wetness your finger has left, following the trail to my mound. You spread my legs wide and my lips even wider, looking at my clit glistening in the pale lamplight.

You give a quick lick to the hard nub and I gasp. The feeling is nice. Very nice. But you are only tasting, I realize. You slowly slip in one broad finger. As it enters, you lick slowly up my clit and take your tongue back as your finger withdraws. You repeat this many times and each time I seem to find a new level of pleasure.

When you add a second finger, my hips began to move involuntarily. I pump your fingers as your fingers pump me and you seem ready to get down to some serious pussy eating.

For each pump of your fingers, you lick my clit twice. You keep my legs apart with a powerful arm, on which you rest your forehead. I barely notice the storm. It is raining now.

You begin to time your finger fucking, licking and sucking with the rain, thunder and lightning. I feel the pressure building inside me. I get a sinking feeling. Now is not the time for my bladder to betray me.

“Oh no!” I moan aloud, half in pleasure and half in shame.

You do not stop the movement of your fingers. Your voice comes to me. “Don’t worry. You are going to cum, m'dear. Don’t fight it. Let it come.” And you go back to licking and sucking.

You build me back up to the edge I was at. Just when I feel I can't stand another thrust of the fingers in my pussy or another lick of your powerful tongue on my clit, I seem to fall over a cliff!

I can feel the orgasm as it crashes over me. My hips buck out of control and I can feel my clit throbbing. I close my eyes against the pleasure, and as it subsides, I look down between my legs to see you, my fireman grinning at me.

“Your first orgasm, I presume,” you say, silkily.

I can barely respond. “Not my first…” I pant, “but definitely one of the best!”

You sigh with the pleasure you've given me. “I had no idea I was going to be so honored.”

Perfect ending, perfect day!

2007-11-06T17:39:00.000-08:00

When you can smile as you prepare for bed, knowing that you have done your absolute best, you know you have had a good day. My evening is like that, as I get ready for my slumber. I've made contacts that will help me in my work, written several thousand words that aren't even remotely shabby, if I do say so myself, and got a sneak peek into a fellow writers dream book.

I think the muses are satisfied, which means they will let me listen to a couple of chapters of Relic (Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child) without haunting me with any of my current writing projects.

Hope springs eternal. I LOVE MY JOB!!!!

Chapter 1 - Michael e Michael: Fantasmi Di Uccisione

2007-10-31T08:20:00.000-07:00

1
New York City, New York

My funeral was the strangest thing I had ever seen. I suppose anyone would say that who has seen their own funeral. I was considered a 'good friend and valued employee' of the Bittetto family. My cooking had made them richer than they already had been. So they did right by me.

The papers carried the story of my death. They said that my car went off the road during one of Los Angeles' rare rainstorms on Pacific Coast Highway. I went out in a blaze of glory.

The truth of the matter was a bit different. After killing every member of a small wannabe crime family, save one, I was shot twice in the chest and once in the eye. I died instantly.

Life is full of ironies. I died at the same age and in the same manner as Michael had.

Once my funeral was over, Michael and I were called to the Don's home. His wife was an incredibly Christian woman. The very idea of the existence of ghosts put her into hysterics. She had no idea that Michael and I existed. I could hear her hysterical crying when Michael and I appeared in Angelo's study.

“Dammit, Little Mikey.” he began, glaring at me. “You were Maria's favorite chef! She's all broken up that you died on her.” He was shaking his head at me as if I had done this on purpose or something.

I shrugged. “Sorry, Angelo,” I replied. “But maybe now she can lose some weight.”

Angelo's wife was almost as wide as she was tall. For a minute, he glared at me, and I knew he was angry. He realized quickly enough that he couldn't very well kill me for insulting his wife and began to chuckle.

“I never thought about it that way,” he admitted as he took a seat behind his gigantic oak desk. He reached for a folder in the middle of his desk, turned it a hundred and sixty degrees then opened it.

I immediately reconsidered my suggestion that Maria Bittetto needed to lose weight. The man in the picture was four hundred pounds if he was an ounce. The full body picture showed him as having three chins, and probably at least two stomach folds as well. He was the personification of 'grossly overweight', although I would not be looking at his picture unless he were about to be 'morbidly obese'.

Michael was looking at the picture with raised eyebrows. “Holy shit...” he breathed his disgust.

Angelo chuckled. “Makes Maria look like a runway model, doesn't he?” He nodded at the picture. “That is Tom Jackson. He has been working to reprogram some cellular phones and,” he paused to find a good word, “reallocate some funds for us.”

Which meant he was illegally reprogramming cell phones and embezzling funds for the Mafia.

“What'd he do?” Michael asked, still looking down at the picture and shaking his head. He knew as well as I did that we weren't looking at this guys picture for no reason. Soon Tom Jackson would be dead. It was only a matter of time, place, and manner of execution.

“He reallocated some of our funds into his own bank account,” Angelo replied.

I winced. That was just plain stupid, and I said so, adding. “So where is he, and when do you want us to take care of him?”

Angelo looked unsure for a moment. “He's one of those damn Wiccan people. A witch or something,” he informed us. “You've had problems with them in the past.”

Michael and I looked at each other. We had assassinated members of a dozen or more known religions. Four were Pagans of one shape, form or fashion. Two of them had caused us problems. Or, I should say, caused Michael problems. I was forced both times to handle the assassination myself, because the victim had made great use of protective circles or talismans.

If Tom Jackson was a true believer and used a protective circle when we went after him, we might not be able to kill him, or even reach him. After all, I was a ghost now, too.

“If we have problems, you call in Giovanni,” Michael suggested with a shrug. “He's mortal.”

Angelo sighed deeply. “But he isn't my best,” he countered. “He isn't my most creative.”

That is when I knew that this wasn't going to be any standard 'two to the back of the head' assassination. I should have known immediately. Michael and I were rarely called in to kill someone in a normal way. Our creativity was legendary.

Angelo called us in when he wanted to know with absolute confidence that the murder would not be traced back to the family. Or when he was particularly pissed off.

“What'd he do?” Michael repeated his earlier question, but now knew we would get another answer. The real answer.

For a minute, it looked like Angelo wasn't going to answer him at all. Then he bit his lip and told us. “Caterina,” he almost whispered.

Caterina Di Meo was a close cousin of Angelo, and so was also related to Michael, as Angelo was his uncle. She was a pretty girl. Young. I didn't know her exact age then, but I didn't think she was older than twenty-one. Legal by most standards, but off limits to everyone as far as her male relatives were concerned.

Michael stiffened at once. “What'd he do to her?” he demanded.

“He took her... what do you think he did?” Angelo snapped, his well controlled anger slipping just a bit. “Took her and a hundred thousand clams over the last six months.”

I nodded, not as angry over the whole situation as Angelo and Michael were. Caterina was no relative of mine, but I could understand, in my own way. Since joining the Bittetto family, I had picked up more than a few of their old world ideas. It didn't make me very politically correct, but I had never been a very politically correct guy.

Regardless of what had actually happened, we had our assignment. Tom Jackson was a dead man. We just had to get our dead hands on him, was all.

Chapter 2 - The Friendly Neighborhood Butcher

2007-10-31T08:09:00.000-07:00

Reuben was waiting for the man when he pulled up in his expensive and fashionable Hummer at ten-forty-five that evening.

“You're fifteen minutes late.” Reuben complained when the man got out of the vehicle.

Slamming the expensive door the man shrugged. “You have my order, right?” his voice had become more imperious since the sun had gone down. “I want to add two legs of lamb to the order.”

The Meat Market never had carried lamb and never would, but Reuben shrugged. “No problem, sir!” he began to walk around the Market building. “This way, sir.”

The man followed. “We aren't going through the front doors?”

Reuben did not look at him. “The owner closed up forty-five minutes ago.” he lied. “I have the keys to the back. We go in that way.” he waited a few more minutes. “You're Chad Winthrop, right?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at his customer.

The man puffed up like a cock among his choice of hens. “I am.”

Reuben smiled. “I thought I recognized you.” he said, taking his keys, rounding a corner and walking to the windowless back door of The Meat Market. He had the door unlocked and opened in only a few seconds, then motioned for Winthrop to enter ahead of him.

“You must have seen one of my movies.” Winthrop said, walking into the dark interior of the storeroom.

Reaching for the bat he had placed behind the door two hours before, when the store had actually closed, Reuben replied mildly. “No. I remember you from the picture Katia sent me when you got married.”

And he swung the bat as if it meant the Series.

New Project - To Serve Unselfishly

2007-10-29T12:41:00.001-07:00

Every once in a while, a story idea hits me and I must write! Large parts of the Cassandra's Cops series were written in that way. Some of my shorter stories were written in a single sitting. The ability is both a blessing and a curse to me.

I woke on Saturday morning (October 27, 2007) about 8:00 a.m and worked a little on this and that. Lived my life. Stuff like that. Around 8 p.m I was hit with the story that I have only played with before now. I wrote from 8 in the morning until 8 in the evening when my wrists started to protest.

Those who follow me and read more than just my books already know the story of John. Great parts of him went into John O'Keeffe. Yet there were great differences as well.

In reality, John was a Chicago Fireman that was hooked on crack. Sometimes people come into your life and make a deep and lasting impression. John was definitely one of those people. He was my friend and my lover for no more than six months. Yet, I have never forgotten him.

What we had couldn't really be called a relationship, I don't think. John was too messed up in the head to have a relationship. Crack is a truly terrible thing. John taught me that, personally, even though I seriously doubt that he realized it.

He had been suspended from the Chicago Fire Department at least once, that I know of. It is how we initially met, in a recovery meeting in Chicago's business district. He supplemented his income from the Fire Department by working as a bike messenger. We became friends, then lovers. I met the man who he lived with. John wasn't gay, but he'd burned a lot of bridges, including the one that connected him to his family. Not even remotely an unusual thing for addicts to do. I've done it myself.

Anyway, John relapsed. His friend and I talked when I went to his office looking for John because I was worried about him. The friend (I forget his name all these years later) told me that John had robbed him and was most likely out smoking crack.

Eventually John showed up at my apartment. It was the middle of the night, and I had work in the morning, but I let him in anyway. After telling me he thought that this time would be different (the addicts mantra), I let him use my shower and sleep it off while I washed his clothes. Knowing how addicts work, I called in sick for two days to keep an eye on him and my belongings. He slept for around 12 hours before he woke and we could talk.

We went to a couple of meetings together, and I hoped they would take with John. Hope springs eternal.

It didn't take.

My friends begged me to cut John lose, before he crashed and took me with him when he did. My feelings for John were pretty deep, for some reason I can't explain, even now. I wanted to fix him. Back then I still had a strong belief that you could fix anybody. Yes, an optimistic Crystal.

He relapsed again. Robbed his friend again. Came to me for sympathy, companionship and help again. I gave it to him, but when he left me, it was after I warned him that if he pulled that shit again, I'd cut him off to save myself. John said he understood, but I don't believe it for a second.

The last time I saw John was around 2 or 3 in the morning. He was coming off another bender and screaming my name in the courtyard of my apartment. I opened the window and we talked very briefly. He said he'd lost my phone number and the number I gave him to replace it had a couple of inverted numbers.

I cut him off.

Before he could drag me down with him.

Now, those of you who think I am a big meanie bitch for what I did most likely don't know me or John, never mind how an addict works. My sobriety meant more to me than anything, because without it I would lose everything.

However, I never forgot him. Maybe I was in love with him. I honestly don't know. What I do know is that since then I have looked for him several times. While I still lived in Chicago, I searched. Not even his friend knew where he had vanished to. After I left Chicago, I made an effort to forget him. All I succeeded in doing was forgetting his last name, which I know was Irish.

Yes, I kept John's red hair, green eyes and Irish background when I created John O'Keeffe. But I made him the man I believed he may have been if crack hadn't gripped him the way it had. John O'Keeffe never did drugs, despite his dysfunctional childhood. I also made him a cop and not a fireman. At the time, I simply could not face my memories of John that closely.

Lately, the real John has been haunting my thoughts. In the story I am currently writing, he is named Niall Isaac (keeping to his real life Irish heritage he is also red haired and green eyed). He is a Chicago Fireman with a long history of drug abuse. Perhaps I am still unable to face some facts, but in this story Niall is addicted to something known on the streets as flamethrowers. It is cocaine and heroin combined into cigarettes. Maybe it's my creative license.

I am in the story as well.

Niall got suspended, got sober, met the girl, relapsed and got cut off, just as John did. But they become reunited, he gets sober and they have a couple of serious challenges to overcome that test the sobriety.

This time John ... I mean Niall ... will come out on top!

Because I believe the real life John has died. I've believed him to be dead for many years. John O'Keeffe is my testimonial to him. Not his memory, but what he should have been.

Oh, the story is called To Serve Unselfishly. The title comes from The Fireman's Pledge, which starts the book.

--
Ordonez Signature

Crystal Ordonez - Best Selling Indie Author Extraordinaire
http://indie.author.extraordinaire.googlepages.com/ and The Indie Author Extraordinaire Group
http://indieauthor.multiply.com/
Read, rate and review my books!! http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/167393.Crystal_Ordonez
Daniachew Ghedi - Coming Soon

Fan Clubs!!

2007-10-25T19:43:00.001-07:00

I am 39 years old and today I became President and CEO of my very own fan club!! Well, actually it's a fan club for JLFoster, but .....

I've been his friend and fan for damn near 10 years now!!! It was the least I could do. And it's OFFICIAL!!! Somehow that's even more thrilling!!!!

--
Ordonez Signature

Crystal Ordonez - Best Selling Indie Author Extraordinaire
http://indie.author.extraordinaire.googlepages.com/ and The Indie Author Extraordinaire Group
When I blog, I blog here http://indieauthorextraordinaire.blogspot.com/ and here http://www.virb.com/indieauthor
Read, rate and review my books!! http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/167393.Crystal_Ordonez
Daniachew Ghedi - Coming Soon

Michael e Michael: Fantasmi di Uccisione and Justice

2007-10-15T15:30:00.001-07:00

October 13 was both Horror Day and my birthday. Last year I celebrated
my first Horror day by releasing my most controversial piece -
Michael. This year, in celebration of my second Horror Day, I give
you Michael e Michael: Fantasmi di Uccisione. Both Michaels are back
and, in many ways, more horrifying than when only one of them was dead.
You can get it for .99 cents at http://www.lulu.com/content/1302496

In addition, I also published Justice. Find out what happens when a man
who tried to give his family everything, instead loses everything! Also
.99 cents at http://www.lulu.com/content/1302525

Both of these stories have met with rave reviews and I am very proud of
them! I do hope you enjoy. Because of Lulu's very interesting rules,
most of my stories are "Direct Access" .. meaning they will not show up
in a Lulu search. So please spread the word. Word of mouth is the best
way to get people reading Independent Authors!!

Happy Reading!!

--
Ordonez Signature

Crystal Ordonez - Best Selling Indie Author
http://indie.author.extraordinaire.googlepages.com/ and The Indie Author Extraordinaire Group
When I blog, I blog here http://indieauthorextraordinaire.blogspot.com/
Join me in IMVU Chat! http://imvu.com/catalog/web_invitation.php?userId=16491097&from=power-email
Independently Spoken IMVU Public Room imvu://room/CrystalOrdonez/Independently+Spoken

Daniachew Ghedi - Coming Soon

Where's a cop when ya need one?

2007-09-06T21:11:00.001-07:00

Once again I am on the search for a cop. Not just any cop, mind ... preferably a Chicago, Seattle, Milwaukee, or Los Angeles cop. In that order and just for starters. I need a consultant for the Cassandra's Cop series, which means that the cop I seek must be of open mind, if not fine body.

Where's a cop when ya need one?

--
Ordonez Signature

Crystal Ordonez - Best Selling Indie Author
http://indie.author.extraordinaire.googlepages.com/ and The Indie Author Extraordinaire Group
eBooks Against Illiteracy
When I blog, I blog here http://indieauthorextraordinaire.blogspot.com/

Daniachew Ghedi - Coming Soon

The Harpist from Rainy Day Confessions

2007-09-01T20:18:00.001-07:00

I understand this is the story in Within His Castle that got the most attention, which thrills me to death, as it is one of my personal favorites.

This is a personal fantasy that I harbored for years about a woman I knew -- and yes -- she played the harp...

Now I give you

The Harpist

<>

You look so beautiful to me. You sit on that stool with your hair pooling behind you because it is so long. I have never envied an inanimate object before, but I envy that harp. What do you call him again? Igor? Ivan? Something like that. I can't think right now. Between your music, your scent and your body I am completely consumed.

I have heard that music soothes the savage beast. It does seem to be doing something for those who are trying to kick their drug and alcohol problems. This place is cavernous, the perfect concert hall. Usually it's filled with the echoes of our past as we share them with each other and they are exorcised from us, hopefully forever. The past is the past. Our new lives have brought us peace. For the most part. I have only one left. And there is something about this holiday party that has me feeling like confessing my one remaining secret.

I'm known by everyone who knows us in Alcoholics Anonymous as an open book. I not only speak the truth but also can back every word of it up. Hell, there are two of my ex-lovers here with us tonight. But they don't know. No one knows the one page in this open book that remains blank.

We've known each other for six years now. Our sobriety dates aren't a month apart. I'm April 6th and you are May 7th. We have watched each other laugh and cry and curse people up and down. We've run through the steps of our sobriety together and more than once we've awakened the other in the middle of the night in tears or fears just to find comfort in the other's voice. We've even canceled dates to comfort each other.

Six years of A.A. hasn't done a damn thing for my overall opinion of Christianity. I still hate Christmas more than anything else. We're slightly different there. You get depressed. But over the years we have held each other up over the holidays and been grateful for each other.

You finish the final song and the meeting begins to break up. People come up to the desk where I sit, having led the evening's meeting and introduced the special music for the Christmas party and hug both of us. A.A. is the touchiest and feeliest place in the known world, I think. We are forever in each other’s arms.

Bob walks up while you are putting Ivan (or Igor?) into his case and while I am slipping the night's collections in the safe. People are also cheap as hell when the holidays come around.

"I wanted to say thanks for the words of support,” he says. "I know Alice would have appreciated it."

I nod. Alice went out, got drunk and ran herself and her car into lake Michigan a week ago. Just another statistic. But I don't say anything. I don't dare. I'm of a much older 'school' of A.A. than Bob is. He went to a rehab. Most of the drunks that hang out in this particular club did. Why I come here is beyond me, but they have some of the best coffee in the whole of Chicagoland A.A. Good coffee counts for a lot with drunks, even those of us who came in off the streets and not escorted by a judge, probation officer, or rehab counselor.

I see it and don't react fast enough. "She should have shut up and listened to her sponsor." the voice is harsh and gruff. It's Sam and he is the oldest old timer I know. He got sober before I was born. "All this goddamned mollycoddling, it's a miracle more of you don't wind up dead."

I couldn't be in less of a mood for Sam. I love him and I agree with him completely, but tonight I don't need it.

Bob walks right up to the trap and settles in. "It was snowing as bad that night as it is now." he defended his dead friend, knowing that she was in and out of here at least as many times as he was. Couldn't get ninety days of sobriety if you tied him to a chair on top of the Sears Tower and left him there. Somehow he'd get drunk. Just like Alice.

Sam was as dry as the Mojave Desert from whence he dried out. "Her blood alcohol level was twice the legal limit." he reminded Bob. "She shouldn't have been walking, let alone driving."

I feel a hand on my arm and there you are, your coat on and mine over your arm. I grab it and head straight for the door with neither a backwards glance or a fare thee well for either Bob or Sam.

Bob is right. It's snowing outside and I decide that about takes the cake. Some people pray to their Higher Power for a White Christmas. I pray for sunny and seventy and am disappointed every single year. Reality in Chicago. I walk with you to my car and open the trunk. You put Igor (or is it Ivan?) inside carefully and back away looking at me carefully. You know me. I close the trunk carefully and look at you with a 'See, I'm a gentle caring person who is in a good mood' look.

You say nothing to me as I unlock the door, throw my coat in the back seat, get in behind the wheel, lean over and unlock the passenger side door for you. You get in and buckle up then look at me for a long time.

"Are you alright?" you ask.

I start the engine and buckle up. "It's Christmas Eve." I say with unmistakable false cheer. "Why wouldn't I be alright?"

You raise your eyebrows at me, telling me not to bullshit you of all people. "Because your sponsee drove into the lake drunk last week. Maybe?" you suggest.

I sigh. I know I picked the wrong person to bullshit. "You know I hate sponsoring people." I remind you.

"You're a control freak." You're smiling as you offer up this most critical of criticisms possible within A.A.

I put the key in the ignition and the car is kind to me and starts without a protest. "I give up control." I said, putting the car into gear. "Just not to unstable drunks that are in and out of A.A. more often than my last boyfriend was in and out of me."

You laugh at me. You have told me you love my open sexuality and I use it to my advantage. "I know. You don't even have a sponsor of your own."

"Connie was the best sponsor I've ever had." I protest, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the street. It's late and the snow has driven all but the very cautious and very stupid off of the street. I don't know which category I fall into. "I can't replace her. But I know she would have told me not to take that idiot on as a sponsee." I stop at the red light. "Too damn unstable."

You sigh. You are much better at sponsors than I am. You've only had two. I've only had one, but she was so good at molding me I refused to replace her just because she married and moved overseas. The light changes and I drive on.

"But you feel like you failed." you are pushing me. You are one of the few people who can do it and have enough self-esteem left over to talk about it afterward.

"My sponsee not only got drunk, but then drove into the lake killing herself and ruining a perfectly good car while she was at it." I grouse. "I'm not going to argue that I failed. That much is obvious."

"But it isn't your fault." you tell me.

"I know that too, Paisley." I know I've snapped. I've also stopped at the next light a little too sharply and my car skids slightly underneath us. I curse it and you at the same time.

I doubt it was the minuscule skid that made you drop the subject. It was calling you 'Paisley'. Usually it's "Pais" or nothing at all. Using your full name lets you know I'm not in a mood to continue and you should back off or be ready to tussle with me.

You live in a walk-up on a side street on the north side of Chicago. Normally not a big deal, but tonight it's a nightmare. It takes me almost forty-five minutes to get to your apartment in weather that has gone from heavy snowfall to near blizzard conditions from the club to your place. I renew my vow to sell my car and use the money to buy buss passes for life when I turn onto your street and realize that it hasn't been plowed and probably won't be. The only good news is that I have my choice of parking places and choose one directly in front of your building.

I park and thank any god that will listen that we're alive and not sitting beside my dead sponsee's car at the bottom of the lake. You get out and I lean over after the door is closed and open the glove compartment. There is an open pack of cigarettes in there that I have been ignoring in my attempt to quit. I grab the lighter that I have also been trying to ignore and light up.

I get out of the car in a puff of smoke and turn towards the trunk. You see the cigarette, but say nothing to me. I've smoked ever since I've known you and for a lifetime before that. One of the things that I've always loved about you is that you don't nag me about my smoking, which I find refreshing in a non-smoker. I open the trunk, careful to keep any cigarette smoke away from the harp. I actually step back as you remove it from the trunk and start walking towards the curb. I step back and slam the trunk closed. I turn and lean against the trunk, taking another deep drag off of my cigarette. I hold the smoke for a long moment before exhaling through my nose. A holdover from my pot smoking days I just cannot beat.

"Come on." You call over your shoulder as you trudge through the snow towards the door. "You can sleep here tonight."

I raise my eyebrows. While this is a fantasy I have often, my pride kicks in automatically. "I don't know, Pais." I hedge.

You turn and look at me. "Come on. It's cold out here and you'll never make it home in this weather."

I take a deep and final drag of my cigarette and pitch it into the snow. I glance up and flakes fall into my eyes. It's snowing harder still. A gust of wind makes up my mind for me. I reach into my pocket and press the button that activates the burglar alarm on the car and follow you in. You struggle with the door and I help you. "Age before beauty." I say, using a line I use a lot whenever I get to a door before you do. When you get to a door before me it is always "Youth before wisdom." which is what you say as you get through the inner doors before I do. You are ten years older than I am, although it never seems like it to me.

Your building is old. The halls are tiled and the building just feels empty. You confirm my thoughts with a casual comment that the other three tenants are all out of town. I realize that you don't want to be in this building alone in any event. A blizzard stranding me is probably a dream come true for both of us, albeit for different reasons.

You are on the second and top floor. You set the harp down carefully, fish your keys out of your pocket, unlock and open the door and bring the harp inside. "Come in." you invite me and I oblige.

I find the living room on my own, as you're putting the harp away. The place is huge and probably much more expensive than my own little apartment further north of here. I've seen it before, but I'm looking at it like it's the first time. We are both feminine women. We were both dressed in ankle length skirts and cowl neck sweaters. And we were the only ones in skirts at the meeting/concert tonight. And your apartment shows that femininity more than mine does. It's very soft and sweet. Like it's occupant.

I walk to the window and look down at my car. The windshield has been covered in just a few minutes. Not a good sign. It's also snowing at an angle I don't like one bit. Not even born and bred Chicagoans like myself like a blizzard. But at least I wasn't out in it. That was definitely something.

I can hear you coming down the long hallway. You haven't even taken your heels off yet. You betray your origins, I think, as I remember you wore high-heeled shoes. I wore high-heeled boots and my feet are freezing. It's warm in here, but I'm still suffering for my two minutes in a wannabe blizzard. As if on cue I hear the radiator hiss into action.

"I'm making tea,” you say and I almost laugh. "That should warm us."

"Do you have any ginger?" I ask, turning to look at you. You are leaning against the loveseat and taking off your shoes. I notice that you've folded your hair in a ponytail holder, halving its mid calf length.

You drop the other shoe and nod slowly. "That's right. How could I have forgotten?" you laugh lightly. "Your ginger tea saved me last winter." You straighten and head back to the kitchen, I assume to get some ginger for the tea.

I take my boots off and consider following you, but I don't. I stay by the window and I watch the storm instead. I can still hear you as you come back, even though you are in your stocking feet.

I accept a huge mug of tea from you. "Thanks." I say and turn to the window. I can see my car being slowly buried through the steam on the windowpane and blow on my tea before I sip it. "For the couch and the tea."

I can see your reflection smile. "I can't let you drive home in this,” you say. "It looks bad out there."

"It's a blizzard." I say simply. "Or it will be." I turn to you and look up. Without heels you are still several inches taller than I am. "You can probably catch it on the news." I tell you.

You leave me at the window and sit on your love seat, which is directly in front of the television. You pick up the remote and soon the room is filled with reports of what is predicted to be the worst blizzard the city of Chicago has ever seen. You groan.

"There go my weekend plans." I lie from my position at the window.

You look at me. "You had plans?" You sound like you are sorry for personally ruining them.

I shrug and chuckle. "I was going to wash the cat. Maybe." I lie again. I didn't have that much planned.

You understand that and laugh. "Same here." you tell me. I would almost believe that except that you don't have a cat. I do, but he wouldn't mind if I didn't come home. He had enough food to last him a week in the hopper in my far away kitchen. You move over and pat the space beside you. "Sit down. Stay a while. Like all weekend."

I laugh and bring my mug and myself over to your love seat. When I sit I understand why it's called that. I can feel your hip against mine. More importantly, I can feel my body's reaction to your hip against mine. I adjust myself so that I am at an angle and bring one leg up. The feeling of your hip on my calf isn't as distracting to me as us hip to hip.

The weatherman drones on and on about the snow. We watch as we drink our tea and soon we are both warm. You are home and with the woman you have often called one of your dearest friends. And you are just as modest as I am. That is to say we aren't. We've seen each other in as little as a bra and panties. So I shouldn't be in the least bit surprised when you stand long enough to get out of your pantyhose and sweater. Your excuse is very valid. "It's getting hot in here,” you explain.

I don't argue. I simply nod. You have the sweater in your hand and walk off, towards your bedroom I imagine. When you return you are still in your long skirt and bra, but the sweater in your hand has been replaced with a scrunchie, which you hand to me. "I know your hair is driving you insane."

Your right and I take it with mumbled thanks. My hair only reaches the middle of my back, but it's much fuller than your straight hair. I put my hair up automatically with relief. I tell myself that I'm much cooler now. The radiator hisses mockingly at my thought.

You sigh. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but it's eighty-three degrees in here. And this is the coolest room in the place." you look at me. "You aren't roasting?"

I'm tempted to lie, but the sweat on my forehead is also caused by the heat in your apartment. "Actually, I am." I confess. I know the look your giving me. You gave it to me last winter and the winter before last when I stayed here for more than twenty minutes in this little corner of the tropics your apartment becomes in the winter. I sigh and stand. I lose the heavy stockings and sweater, just as you did. I know my panties are wet, because my black stockings are. I begin to contemplate the moral implications of masturbating in my friend’s apartment to fantasies of her once she's gone to bed.

"Cass." I look down at you on the couch. "Can we talk about tonight?"

I sigh, glad that you didn't call me 'Cassandra'. I shrug and sit down. "Listen, Pais." I say. "Yes. I'm upset that Alice got drunk and for all intents and purposes killed herself. But I'm mad more than anything. I know I couldn't do anything. I know that her will is her own and her sobriety is her own and." I stop, realizing that I am rambling like some idiot with a week of sobriety.

You're looking at me with a half a smile. "Actually I was talking about earlier tonight. And not just tonight." you say softly. "There is something else going on with you." you swallow and I notice your anxiety. "I was wondering if it had anything to do with me?" you ask so quietly that I almost miss it.

It hits me with the strength of the blizzard winds screaming outside. I suddenly remember conversations over the last six years. I've been attracted to you from the moment I met you, but had never acted on it. Six years ago it was because I was new to sobriety and Connie, my first and best sponsor had told me in no uncertain terms not to get emotionally involved with anyone for any reason. That wasn't a problem. But after a year I had no excuses. What confused me then was that I was still attracted to you. That struck me as odd considering I am heterosexual, at least as far as I know.

So I dated men. Some who were 'Program' and some who weren't. Some who I had great sex with and some who I didn't have great sex with. And I know you dated too. You'd called me more than once in the middle of the night after a disaster of a date just as I had done with you.

No other woman had ever caught my eye. I've watched lesbian porn during the last few years and found it very exciting and learned more than one way to please women, but I have never felt any sort of emotional attachment to any woman before.

Just you. Paisley.

It couldn't be that you were also entertaining the same thoughts as I was. Fear of misunderstanding and rejection grip me. But I didn't stay sober as long as I have by being a coward. I look at you while these thoughts fly through my mind at high speed.

I lick my lips, which suddenly feel dry. "Actually." I begin and I see you begin to crumble as if I had slapped you. We are so much alike. Your hearing rejection without a single hint of it's being there. I have to get to the point. "It does." I drop to the couch beside you and grab your head before it can fall completely into its rejection fantasy. "Let me finish." I say, forcing you to look at me.

Our eyes connect and I can see the fear in your eyes. How could I have been so blind? I know drunks are self-absorbed, but what I am seeing in your eyes is so obvious I couldn't imagine how I hadn't seen it long before now. Words fail me. Me! The great writer! I can't think of a single thing to say that doesn't sound as if it were coming from one of my cheesy but miraculously profitable books.

So I just kiss you as gently as I can.

At first you don't respond at all, but then I feel you begin to respond to me. My thoughts are in chaos but I like kissing you and it beats having nothing to say to you.

I do finally break the kiss. "I've been wanting to do that for six years." I breathed. "But I couldn't. I didn't." I take a deep breath. "I'm not gay." I finished lamely.

You bite your lip. "Neither am I." You say, looking at me with something in your eyes that is mixed with confusion. "But I." you swallow and I get the feeling you are about to take the chance of a lifetime. "I love you, Cassandra,” you say in a rush. "I have for a long time now."

I swallow. Yes. It all makes sense now. Our failed relationships. Our running into each other’s arms after those relationships collapsed. I nod, slowly. "Yea." I whisper. "I thought I just wanted." I shrug. "I love you too, Paisley." I sigh my final confession. The one that completes my open book. "But how?"

I've always been an over-analyzing fool. Connie warned me about it more times than I could count. I know the dangers of it. Your face is still in my hands. "Never mind. It doesn't matter." I announce before I kiss you again.

It is hot in the apartment and there is a blizzard going on outside, but suddenly I didn't care. The analyst in me noted only that the roller coaster in my chest that usually accompanied the first few kisses that would inevitably lead up to lovemaking were missing. I am completely sure of what I want. You. Now. Completely.

I am a writer. My imagination is rich. But nothing I've ever written prepared me for the feeling of your breast under my hand, nor of your hand on my breast. My breasts have never been overly sensitive, probably because they are so large. Yours are smaller, but still respectable. You moan slightly under my hand.

I am also aggressive. Not mean or cruel, but aggressive once I set my mind to what I want and get over my fears I just go ahead and pursue it. Sometimes I need a little push, like the woman of my fantasies telling me that she loves me, but then I'm fine. Nothing will get in the way of my getting what I want.

Your bra is the perfect example. I pull you close and while we embrace I can feel that your goal is the same as mine. We don't fumble, and are free of our bras in a matter of moments. Now you surprise me with your aggressiveness. You push me to the couch and hover over me. I'm a bit taken aback. You have never shown this side of you, at least not to me.

I like it immediately.

My nipple is in your mouth and I sigh at the feel, while I caress your long hair. But I am both more aggressive and more impatient than you are. I don't have to roll much to get us off of the small loveseat and onto the floor. I hit the edge of your coffee table as I land lightly on top of you. I reach up onto the table and with a little groping I find the remote and finally shut up the talk about the blizzard of the century.

In the silence I can hear that both of us are breathing heavily. I have never wanted anyone the way I want you. But I spare you that tired line and opt for an older and probably worse one.

"Age before beauty." I say with a half smile and raised eyebrows. I want you before you have me.

You chuckle in the moment before I kiss you again. We smile against each other’s lips. I caress your breast with one hand as the other wanders lower. Your skin is warm, but you have goosebumps. Nerves? I know I have them. Your skin is soft beneath my fingers, as I always thought it would be.

I move to put my knee between your legs, but your skirt is seriously impeding me. So is my skirt, for that matter. I break the long, passionate and searching kiss and rise to my knees.

You look slightly panicky when I do this. I know you have many of the same fears of rejection that I do. I smile at you and reach behind me. I stand and lower my skirt and my panties at the same time. I see you swallow and my own uncertainty wells up. I kill it. I won't have it tonight. I return to my knees and put my hands on your hips. Your skirt has a wide elastic waistband that I grab and begin to pull over your hips. You raise up for me and as I pass them, I hook your panties as well, removing both articles of clothing.

You are naked before me. I can't stop staring. Neither of us is clean-shaven, like the women in the porno movies I have watched over the years. Your hair is as thick as mine is and it makes you more real to me.

I begin to crawl over you, allowing my own nipples to brush your skin. There is a tingle as our nipples touch and they press together as I bend to kiss you again, coming into contact with your skin as I lay lightly on you. I feel your arms wrap around me. You pull the scrunchie from my hair and it falls free.

I renew my exploration of your body. Your legs are spread, with one of mine between them. Again I feel the soft skin beneath my hand and there is no skirt in my way now. My tongue battles with yours a moment before I break the kiss and raise my head to see you better in the light. I want to see your reaction to my touch.

Your pubic hair is not rough. Knowing my own I expect a slight resistance, which I ignore. I slide a single finger between your folds as I lock my eyes with yours. You gasp and moan at the first contact of my finger and that pleasure button I know you have. Your eyes half close and I do not mistake your pleasure at my touch for anything else. You are very wet and my finger moves smoothly over your folds. I tease you as I would tease myself.

Your eyes close and another moan escapes you. I nuzzle your neck and your caresses on my back become more insistent. I shake out my mane of hair and use it as additional stimuli as I work my way down your body, which was never unattractive, but becomes more beautiful to me with each contact of my lips on it.

I've heard many names for a woman's genitalia, from the asinine to the purely hateful. For me it is our womanhood. And yours is beautiful to me. I have to force myself to be patient. I open you slightly as I settle in. Your excitement shows. You are very wet. I can smell your excitement and it encourages me. I spread you open wider and I can see the very button my finger slid over only a few minutes ago. I open my mouth and take my first taste of you or any other woman.

I hear you hiss in a breath and call my name in almost a whisper. "Cass." it sounds like a beautiful hiss to me. Your taste is different from my own. I'm tempted to say that it is better. I know that I want another taste of you and I take it. And soon I have lost count. I pause only long enough to shove the coffee table out of our way and I settle in again for some more long, slow licks.

Your moans are like a sort of music to me. I think it more beautiful than your harp has ever made. I nudge you with my elbow and you raise your feet onto my shoulders and spread your knees wide. The sight before me brings a moan from my own lips. I take another lick and then I suck your most sensitive part into my mouth and suck it gently.

You reaction is immediate. Your hips arch and you call out "Oh Cass! Oh God, Cass! Yes!"

I glance up as I suck you and your looking down at me in pleasure. I feel your hand on my head as I alternate between licks and sucks. I know this is driving you crazy, but I cannot help but tease you. I don't do it long. I want to feel your button in my mouth again.

I suck you into my mouth again and roll my tongue over your button. Your breathing is very erratic now and you’re moaning and crying out. I can imagine the pleasure that you are feeling.

You scream when your orgasm comes and your hips buck. I release your button immediately, but continue to lick and suck you gently; I wonder what I could have done to give you even more pleasure and promise myself to find out as soon as I can. I crawl up your body and your legs leave my shoulders. You pull me towards you roughly and we kiss. You lick all of your moisture off of my face. I know I am smiling and I love the fact that you are as well.

"I love you, Cass,” you whisper between kisses. "I love you, I love you, I love you!"

"I love you too, Pais." I reply, placing as many kisses as I am getting.

I feel a chill and realize that I've made love to you for the first time during the worst blizzard in history. The radiator hasn't hissed in a while and I realize it may actually have quit for the night. The building is getting colder. The windows are drafty.

You notice this as well. "Come on,” you say to me. "Let's go into the bedroom." I help you stand and hide my pleasure that you are weak in the knees. You pull me into an embrace. You incline your head and we kiss. "Cass." your eyes are searching mine.

"Yes." I reply.

"I wasn't talking just out of that mind blowing orgasm I've just had." you tell me, your voice holding the same intensity that your beautiful brown eyes do.

I reach up and caress your face. "I know." I tell you. "You said it because it's true. I'm just sorry it's taken us this long to realize it."

You take my hand and lead me into the bedroom, which looks somehow different to me than it did the last time I saw it. It is much warmer in here and you close the door behind us, to keep the heat in. You lead me the few steps to the bed and sit me on its edge. You reach behind me for a pillow and place it behind you. You stand and look down at me.

"I think we watch the same movies,” you say to me with a smile. "But this is better than any movie." you pause and then add "Youth before wisdom."

You kiss me and I respond to you. I can still taste you in my mouth and I know you can too. You kiss my neck in that area that makes me moan. I feel your lips shape a smile when you to it again. Then you move on, lifting one of my heavy breasts and taking my nipple in your mouth. I can feel your hand on my thigh moving closer to my mound.

Your finger separating the hairs and taking that first feel makes me gasp. I know I am already wet and your fingers sliding on my own button is all I ever dreamed it would be. I caress your hair and take it down. I know it is piled on the floor behind you.

You release my nipple and caress my thighs with both of your hands, encouraging me to open them wider for you. I do and I watch your head lower to my leg. You kiss and caress your way across my thighs and I find my button pulse in anticipation. I have wanted this for years.

Your first lick makes me cry out to a god I barely believe in. "Pais." your tongue on me is beyond anything I could imagine. No man has ever pleased me the way you are. I spread my legs as wide as I can, lifting them and following your example by putting my feet on your shoulders.

I lean back and I try to relax, but the pleasure is so incredible and intense I know I cannot last much longer. When you suck my button into your mouth I cry out your name again. With just that one suck you have brought me right to the brink. The feeling of your tongue playing within the suction brings me that pressure of impending orgasm. And I hear my panting scream as my orgasm overwhelms me.

"Pais! Pais! Oh my Pais!" I cry over and over again, my hips bucking and you riding out my orgasm like you've been doing it all your life.

You crawl onto the bed beside me, laying with your feet over the edge. I reach for your face and get my first taste of myself on your lips. I cannot get enough of it. I cannot get enough of you. I am amazed and humbled in the presence of my sexual match.

The blizzard was historic, but we didn't find that out until Sunday afternoon, when the snow finally stopped. We spent that weekend in your bed. I played with you. You played with me. We played with the toys you own. We found a comfort in our newfound love.

--
Ordonez Signature

The excerpt that was in Within His Castle

2007-08-27T13:46:00.001-07:00

Here's the excerpt from On The Beat of Passion: Cassandra's Cops 3 that was shared in Within His Castle

For anyone who knows Qui Qui from Cold Cocked, you already know this is going to be an interesting read .....

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We made it back up to the suite without being seen by any of the fans who were most likely hoping to get Sebastion and Cassandra to reenact their stories about each other, finally released by them in one large collection. Sebastion was still popular, even though he had abandoned his writing for the silver screen. I unlocked the door and once we were all inside I closed it behind us.

I wasn't surprised when Mona fell on Cass like a starved woman. The two of them had flirted heavily with each other and no doubt had whispered all manner of promises to each other which they were now free to fulfill. Sebastion and I watched from our position in front of the closed door as the women wasted no time undressing each other and falling onto the couch. Mona slid to her knees and lifted Cass's legs. Soon I could hear the sound of my wife's moans as Mona went straight for Cass's clit.

Sebastion turned to me. "Women." he scoffed. "Always so eager."

And he pushed me against the door and kissed me.

Before meeting Sebastion the idea of being with another man hadn't even crossed my mind, but since than I had a change of heart. It was the reverse of the situation that Cass had with Mona. The only man I wanted was Sebastion. Something about him made me crave him, just as Cass craved Mona.

The memory of the morning came back to me with a physical force. Our tongues collided at the same time and our moans melded. He pressed me against the door and I felt him press against me. We began undressing each other. Ties flew left and right and soon our shirts were beside is in a careless heap.

“Oh, John.” he whispered and began to kiss his way down my chest. Somehow that told me everything. He explored my chest as I caressed his head. His lips on my scars somehow as sensual as when Cass's lips touched them.

He got my pants off and soon I was in his mouth, moaning because his tongue felt so damn good. I leaned my head back and tried to think of other thoughts. Any other thoughts besides my dick being in another man's mouth. I opened my eyes and saw Cass looking at me, even as she writhed under Mona's talented tongue. I could see and hear how wet she was and I could smell both women as Sebastion's finger slipped behind me and into my ass.

I cried out. He was going to make me cum and not for the first time. I banged my head against the door as I came in his mouth with a shout and he swallowed every drop I offered him.

I vaguely heard Cass as she came. When I opened my eyes, she and Mona were deep in an embrace. I glanced at Sebastion, and he had a grin on his face not much different then the one Cass got when she made me cum with as much intensity as Sebastion just had.

I didn't call him 'Cheshire'. That name was just for Cass and I wouldn't use it for anyone else, no matter how good the orgasm had been. But I did grab him by the armpits and pull him up as I toed off my shoes. I pulled him right up to my face and kissed him with every ounce of passion I was feeling. I didn't say a word to him, but I stepped out of my pants as I dragged him to one of the elegant chairs and bent him double over it.

I fumbled with his pants for a moment and they were soon around his ankles. He was like me and didn't bother with underwear. They only got in the way. But tonight he'd worn a thong and I ripped it from him easily. I spread his cheeks and ran a finger around his hole. He moaned in anticipation of whatever it was I had in mind for him. We had not seen each other in years and had time to make up for.

As I slipped a finger inside of him I looked over at Cass and Mona. Cass was now the one on her knees, but instead of licking Mona she manipulated the older woman's clit with the hard nipple of her breast. Mona whimpered as she was tit fucked. Cass had her Cheshire smile firmly in place as she watched her lover in the throws of pleasure.

While I watched I inserted another finger into Sebastion and he mewled in pleasure, begging me for more. He wanted me inside of him. I lubricated myself with my own spit using my free hand, then removed my fingers from his ass. I lined myself up and entered him slowly, trying not to hurt him. But he backed up to meet me and we both moaned as I went in to the hilt.

I pulled out most of the way, then slid back in. Soon I was fucking him with smooth strokes while he grabbed himself and started pumping his meat, moaning and grunting with each of my strong and even thrusts.

I moved my eyes back to the couch, and saw Mona now looking between me and the top of Cass's head. Cass had finally started eating her out and Mona's mouth was open and panting as her hips rode my wife's tongue. The sight was mesmerizing and exciting to me. My own pace began to quicken.

I was fucking Sebastion hard now, and he seemed to love every hard stroke I gave him. I wasn't going to last much longer. I tried a homophobic thought to delay my orgasm, but none of them turned me off anymore. I loved fucking this man. I couldn't deny it. I came with a hard thrust and I was still. He got himself off a minute later and I slipped out of him.

We watched as Cass finger fucked and licked Mona to orgasm. Then the four of us moved on shaky legs to the shower, where we cleaned each other in preparation for round two.

In the morning, we discovered that in my enthusiasm to get him naked I had ripped the delicate lace pants. Mona was gone when we woke, so we were one short for breakfast. Sebastion and I dressed casually in jeans and t-shirts while Cass chose a long skirt and shirt.

Sebastion had expensive and exotic tastes. The breakfast was rich; literally and figuratively. Sebastion loved it, but Cass and I stuck to coffee and scones.

I was surprised to hear the three sharp knocks on the door of our suites. It screamed 'police'. When I opened the door I was doubly surprised to see my brother Matthew standing there.

Matthew raised his eyebrows at me as I opened the door wider for him to enter. I saw several cops outside and realized this was no social visit. Matthew's new partner, Ricky LeStage was not in my sight, but I knew he was around someplace.

As my brother walked in, I knew he was taking in the entire scene. It would be force of habit, especially if he was in work mode. I was glad that we had cleaned the place so thoroughly before Mona had left us. To my own trained police eye, there was no sign that there had been an orgy in the suite in the night, especially one involving me and another man, but my brother knew me better than anyone on the planet, excepting maybe Cass. Matthew knew I shared Cass with more men than just he, but he did not know that I had a male lover...

“Sebastion Knight.” Sebastion stood and approached Matthew with his hand outstretched and his most charming smile on his face. “You have got to be one of John's brothers.” his voice was very friendly. “I'll just be damned if I know which one.”

Matthew took it, firmly. “Matthew O'Keeffe.” he introduced himself, but did not return the smile.

“My Irish Twin. The homicide detective. He's Cass's editor now, too.” I added, and turned to him.

Sebastion realized what was going on immediately. His smile vanished. “Homicide?” he breathed, softly. “Something's happened?”

Matthew's eyes moved from me to Cass and back to Sebastion. “Do any of you know Mertyl Steffenheimer?”

I raised my eyebrows, but both Cass and Sebastion's eyes widened with horror. “That's Alex Sable's real name, John.” Cass reminded me, standing and moving to my elbow. She took it and looked up at Matthew. “What happened to her, Matthew?” she demanded.

For a minute it looked as if Matthew would not speak. Sometimes he wanted to protect Cass, and I didn't blame him. He caught my nod, however and sighed. “She was killed in the night.” he explained, softening his voice more than he may have with anyone else. “Strangled and stabbed.”

Cass groaned and I remembered the kiss the two had shared on stage.

Sebastion looked devastated. “Who did it?”

Matthew frowned, and I knew he had no leads. He was canvassing the floor to see if anyone had seen or heard anything to help him in the investigation. He had an almost perfect record for solving his cases.

“I'm still trying to find that out.” he growled, softly. He looked at us all again. “Did you see or hear anything? Either at the awards ceremony or afterwards?”

I knew what he wanted to know, but couldn't help him. “I wish I did, bro.” I shook my head. “We didn't hear a thing.”

Matthew looked at Sebastion. “And you?”

Sebastion shook his head. “No. We didn't hear a thing.” his voice was lowered in sorrow.

Matthew nodded and took a deep breath. “Thanks.” he turned to go.

The scream was so high pitched, I thought at first it belonged to a little girl. Then the voice came, and I realized who it was before he came racing into our suite, followed by a uniformed officer and Ricky LeStage, who looked absolutely infuriated.

“Sebby! Sebby!” Qui Qui screamed, racing into the room and placing himself between Cass and Sebastion. “She dead! She dead! She stabbed and all her fat and blood is all over everywhere!”

Matthew intercepted the officer and his partner. “What the fuck is going on?” he demanded, and I knew he was not going to be happy about it, whatever it was.

Ricky rolled his eyes, but the uniformed officer looked mad enough to shoot someone. Glaring at him, Ricky growled. “Fucking scene got compromised. Goddamned uni let...” he looked at Qui Qui as if trying to figure out what he was.

“You can't blame me!” The officer growled. “He came out of nowhere!”

Qui Qui was one of the shortest human beings I had ever seen, male or female. He was under five feet tall, and so thin I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd gotten into the crime scene through a standing officers legs.

“I comed from my suite.” Qui Qui defended himself. “You loud radios wake me up.” and he wailed again. “She dead! Cass,” he clung to her long skirt. “Who kill de nice fatty?” he opened his mouth to say something else, when he spotted Matthew. His eyes got wide. “Oh! Who are you?” he beamed and straightened, all dead fatties forgotten in the face of my brother.

Matthew raised his eyebrows, having little choice but to look down his nose at Qui Qui. At first, he ignored the little Asian man, turning to his partner. “It probably isn't compromised.” he tried to calm his partner. “Take the Uni there.” he motioned to the officer. “And find out exactly what happened.” he glared at the uniformed officer. “You better hope you haven't compromised my crime scene or I will personally pin your fucking badge on your liver after I have it taken off your fucking chest!”

He was angry, and I understood why. Murders were hard enough to solve with no witnesses, but if the scene had been compromised, and they did find a suspect, Qui Qui and the uni may ultimately be the reason the killer went free. And Matthew could be a sore loser, especially where his damn near perfect record of solving cases was concerned.

Ricky motioned for the officer to follow him, looking easily as angry as Matthew had. My brother then turned his attention to Qui Qui, took his credentials out of his suit pocket and presented them to the little Asian.

“Matthew O'Keeffe. Homicide.” he introduced himself.

Qui Qui almost melted right there. “O'Keeffe?” he looked at Matthew with big eyes, then at me. “You brother.” when I nodded, he smiled. “He look good in a suit. You would look good in a suit.” somehow he looked at both of us through his limited vision behind Cass's skirt. “You both look good out of a suit.” he suddenly smiled. “I can suck myself, you know.”

Cass picked him up by the scruff of his neck. “This is serious, Qui Qui.” she explained to him, even though he had managed to insert humor into a very tense situation.

“I 'tory.” Qui Qui apolgized. “But brothers, Cass. Tall, red headed, sexy, naked brothers...”

Sighing, Cass put Qui Qui down. “You go tell Ricky and that uniformed officer what you touched, and you do it now, or I will take Qui Qui's Café off the market the second I get home.”

Qui Qui looked at Matthew. “Can I tell him?” he almost pleaded.

“No!” Cass and I snapped in unison. Matthew would break Qui Qui without breaking a sweat. Literally.

“The moment I get home.” Cass threatened again. “I won't even unpack.”

His eyes widening in alarm, Qui Qui ran after Ricky and the uni, slamming the door behind him. Cass's threat was empty. She never took books off the market. But it made him move, which was what she wanted to happen.

Matthew stared after him. “What,” he demanded, looking back at us. “Was that?”

Sebastion shrugged. “That was Qui Qui.” he tried to explain. “He used to be my landlord.”

Pursing his lips, Matthew nodded, and I know he was putting two and two together. Sebastion was playing straight, but Qui Qui was so blatantly homosexual... I sighed.

I walked with him to the door and opened it for him. He turned and looked at Cass. “Congratulations on your awards, sis.” he smiled at her. Then he looked at me. “You and me.” he pointed to me and then to himself. “We'll talk later.” he whispered so only I would hear him. Then he left, and I closed the door behind him. I sighed as I did, knowing that my secret about Sebastion was out. But, I found I was comfortable now with the idea of Matthew knowing.

Sebastion but a hand to his chest. “So that was a police interrogation.” he breathed, sounding excited and breathless.

I snorted. “Matthew wasn't even trying.” I scoffed. “He knows I would have told him everything the second he opened the door if there were anything to tell.”

“But he's so ...” Sebastion grinned dreamily. “Forceful.”

I rolled my eyes again. “You just have a thing for red headed cops, don't you?”

He smiled at me. “I love red headed cops. But you already knew that, didn't you, Officer?”

--
Ordonez Signature

"The penalty for insubordination or refusing to carry out the orders of your superiors,

in this case the Unanimis, is the immediate removal of your rank and execution."

Daniachew Ghedi - COMING SOON

His cousin finally stopped his struggles and stood motionless as his restraints were handed over to the Daniachew. Adwin looked straight into Fela's eyes and watched as they seemed to drain of their anger only to be replaced with the resignation of the doomed. The look was not unknown to Adwin. Fela's was not his first execution.

From the new chapter in Caeli's Danicahew

Why I hate traveling

2007-08-25T18:32:00.001-07:00

I am back from my trip to Illinois. On the way to the airport, Rose (3 years old) said she doesn't like it when I leave the house. I should learn to listen, even to 3 year olds LOL

The trip there wasn't bad at all, really. Getting off the plane at O'Hare was like walking into a wall of water. My lungs didn't want to play nice, and I really have no allergies or anything like that. Living in the desert for the last 5 years has me acclimated to a hot and dry climate. I was born and raised in Chicago, but what I grew up in isn't what my body is used to NOW LOL.

It has been a rainy nightmare in Illinois this last week, at least for me LOL. By the next morning, between the air conditioning, my exhaustion and humidity, I had post nasal drip. That ALWAYS means I'm about to get sick!!! However, I was visiting friends and didn't want to ruin the WHOLE trip.

Turns out I did have a great visit, despite being sick. The PROBLEM was LEAVING.

First of all, I was torn about leaving. Rose is right, I don't get out much LOL. Having a good time can be difficult when I am balancing that good time against being away from my babies.

Friday morning finally came and I could return to my babies! Then I get a call that Chicago had NASTY storms and my flight may have been among the 500 that got canceled. *groan*

Sure enough, I call United and find out that my 6pm flight from Peoria to O'Hare has been canceled, BUT I can get a flight at 2pm. My first thought was "If the 6PM is canceled, how is the 2pm still available?" Then I decided that ignorance is sometimes bliss, like when dealing with the airlines @@, so I didn't ask, I just made a few more phone calls to cover my tracks and make sure I wouldn't HAVE to spend the night in Chicago, but if I DID have to I could crash at my Mom's house.

Anyhoo... I get to the airport and am told the flight has been delayed until 4pm. OK. Whatever. I'm hanging out at the airport. Works for me LOL. But the plane wasn't as late as they thought it would be, so I was on the plane and in the air around 3:30pm or so. O'Hare was 5 hours of waiting and talking to strangers, which is always interesting. In the end I went to the gate to wait for my plane to find they changed the gate without sharing the info with me, so I would up taking a nice hike from one concourse to another to get to the right gate. After THAT I was alright to fly, almost. Forget not that I have a head cold. Take off and landing were pure hell, despite having gum aplenty to chew.

Getting home I was greeted by Rose, who told me I need to stay home next time.

"Yes, ma'am!"

--
Ordonez Signature

"The penalty for insubordination or refusing to carry out the orders of your superiors,

in this case the Unanimis, is the immediate removal of your rank and execution."

Daniachew Ghedi - COMING SOON

>From the new chapter in Caeli's Danicahew

Sick, tired and quiet

2007-08-23T19:19:00.001-07:00

I'm sick. Traveled to Illinois and that old Midwestern weather has me sick as a dog. But I'm still having fun here! Haven't gotten a lot of writing done, but .... hey! I'm having fun, even if my nose is running and my head is full of cotton.

I have an excerpt coming out tomorrow. A snippet of On the Beat of Passion: Cassandra's Cops 3 will be featured in J.L. Fosters Within His Castle news magazine!

My head is full of cotton, so I'm not thinkin a whole lot tonight. Summer colds suck!

--
Ordonez Signature

"The penalty for insubordination or refusing to carry out the orders of your superiors, in this case the Unanimis, is the immediate removal of your rank and execution."

Daniachew Ghedi - COMING SOON

From the new chapter in Caeli's Danicahew

Prologue: The Story of Cassandra Jasmine Houston

2007-08-18T11:54:00.001-07:00

Hey guys!! It's READY!!! All set up at my NEW website, which is @ http://indie.author.extraordinaire.googlepages.com/

Prologue: The Story of Cassandra Jasmine Houston can be found at
http://indie.author.extraordinaire.googlepages.com/prologue-thestoryofcassandrajasminehoust
or
http://www.lulu.com/content/1108679

In J.L. Foster's NewsMag he said "This story truly is the best piece of fiction that Crystal Ordonez
has ever penned." I'm quite proud of it!

Discover the story behind the story in this fascinating epic tale of Cassandra Jasmine Houston and the road that led her to her beloved Cassandra's Cops. When her grandparents' die and Raymond Houston transplants his daughter from the comfort of small-town Texas life into the bustling, crime-ridden metropolis of Chicago, pre-pubescent Cassandra must learn to deal with a bitter, if fateful, road ahead. Stepping back in time to the moments of Cass's hysterectomy, loss of virginity, the beginnings of her writing career, her introduction to long-time friend Sebastion Knight, and the ever-memorable first ever contact with her future husband, “Prologue: The Story of Cassandra Jasmine Houston” is a dramatic thrill-ride from the tense, gripping opening line to the classic, sexually-charged end.

Enjoy!!!

--
Ordonez Signature

Crystal Ordonez - Best Selling Indie Author
http://indie.author.extraordinaire.googlepages.com/ and The Indie Author Extraordinaire Group
eBooks Against Illiteracy

Cass noticed it was almost one in the morning. “Are you telling me,” she began, allowing ice to enter her voice. “That when you need someone to watch your ass when you go off fucking strangers that I am supposed to just grab a pen and start writing, but when I need someone, you have to sleep?”

Sebastion coughed. “Well, since you put it that way...” she heard him groan as he sat up. “What can I help you with?”

Prologue - The Story of Cassandra Jasmine Houston COMING SOON!!!