SPRING IS BUSTIN’ OUT ALL OVER: MIRANDA BAKER

April 26, 2011 By 21 Comments

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Seasonal Tension

Spring is a wicked tease in my part of the world. Constant craving. Perpetual longing. Delayed gratification. Is it ever going to come? *giggle* Yes, it is.

Soloplay releases today.

It has to, right? Global warming aside, the seasons are part of the order of the universe. We can count on spring… eventually. Just like we can count on the pay off when we are reading an erotic romance. I don’t know about you, but I will turn the pages of a book indefinitely waiting for the hero and heroine (or hero and hero… hmm… or heroine and heroine… and hero… hmm) to hit the sheets. I love waiting. Sexual tension is great recreation.

Spring tension is different although it is every bit as exciting. Waiting for that first daffodil to bloom fills me with anticipation. I’ll put up with anything – ice, sleet, dry skin, muddy dog paws – because I know relief is on the way. The more I am tortured by the weather, the more I will revel in my ultimate release. Sound dramatic? I love it. I want it. And I like wanting it. I love opening a hot new book knowing I will soon be craving release right along with the characters. Having something to look forward to, whether on the calendar or on my Kindle, gets me through the less thrilling moments of daily life. I lived in New Orleans for two years, where there was no spring, and it drove me batty. No daffodils? No way! In a similar way, I’m never without a book to read. I’m a tension junkie, whether it is sexual or seasonal. When spring rolls through, my focus will shift to summer and the first heirloom tomatoes from the garden. Then I will anticipate fall and the crisp satisfaction of leaves crunching underfoot on the sidewalk. The snow will come, and it will be beautiful, but as the first flakes hit the ground, my craving for spring will begin again. Occasionally the pay off will disappoint, be too short, too rainy, too cold, too easy and BAM, it’s over already. But the build up is always exciting, and there’s always another book or another year on the way. Hurray!

It makes me chuckle to think about all the romantic short stories I wrote in my rather too literary creative writing classes in college. If only one of my professors had steered me toward popular fiction! On the other hand, if I had discovered my calling back then, I wouldn’t have gone to culinary school, I wouldn’t have met my husband, we wouldn’t have had three children and I wouldn’t have turned to erotic romance to get my mojo back during all this hair-raising kid raising. If you would like to chat about romance, writing or recipes, find me at http://www.mirandabaker.com/ or http://mirandabaker.wordpress.com

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SPRING IS BUSTIN’ OUT ALL OVER: LINDA LaROQUE

April 16, 2011 By 59 Comments
Texas Blooms in the Spring

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Have you ever wanted to live in a different time period? Or at least visit and see if you’d like to live there? I have. I guess that’s why I enjoy writing time travels so much. So far, I’ve written five, two full length novels, My Heart Will Find Yours and Flames on the Sky available from The Wild Rose Press and two short stories, A Law of Her Own and Desires of the Heart with the Wild Rose Press.  My latest time travel is a novella, A Way Back, with Champagne Books. 
In my writing, I’ve visited 1880s Waco, Texas, 1000 AD Chaco Canyon, the Texas Panhandle in 1888, the United Kingdom in 1945, and the 1930s oil fields of Texas.  There are so many opportunities to explore in our past. And wow, uncharted territory in our future.
In A Way Back, Wellman and Amber arrive in the East Texas Town of Kilgore, Texas, in March, just in time for the bluebonnets and other wildflowers to bloom. If you’ve been to Texas, you know we Texans are proud of our wildflowers and many tour the countryside each spring to view nature’s paintings and compare it to those of years past. The floral display of blue, red, yellow, and white depends on the amount of rain received the previous fall, not in the spring, something I wasn’t aware of until just recently.  
Because it’s the state of Texas flower, it’s illegal to pick bluebonnets but seeds and seedlings are available at nurseries. People plant the flower in their yards and beds. When they’re in bloom, they’re mowed around until completely dead so the seeds will fall and increase the number of blooms next year.
My aunts, as young girls, all had their pictures taken sitting in a field of bluebonnets while holding a big bouquet. In those days they didn’t have color film, so the photographs were touched up with paints. They’re beautiful keepsakes.  
Imagine Wellman and Amber’s, the hero and heroine of A Way Back, first view of the bluebonnets, Indian paintbrush, and Indian blankets. Then allow your imagination to see those beautiful fields of flowers rutted with tire tracks, dotted with oil field equipment, and a regal oil derrick reaching toward the clouds.  Can you still see the beauty there?
I feel another time travel story coming on. Maybe one set in a 1920s rural community in East Texas or the Texas Hill Country.
Happy Reading and Writing folks!

Linda LaRoque is a Texas girl, but the first time she got on a horse, it tossed her in the road dislocating her shoulder. Forty years later she got on another, but it was older, slower, and she was wiser. Plus, her students looked on and it was important to save face.

A retired teacher, she loves Texas, its flora, fauna, and its people. Her stories paint pictures of life, love, and learning set against the raw landscape of ranches and rural communities in Texas and the Southwest.
Linda lives near Waco, TX with her husband and dog Molly. Visit her at http://www.lindalaroque.com/

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SPRING IS BUSTIN’ OUT ALL OVER: ANNE KANE

April 12, 2011 By 16 Comments
I’ve always said that spring is my favorite season (and in Canada we truly have four separate seasons!) but this year I am really looking forward to it. Winter has been particularly nasty, and old Jack Frost has broken many long-standing records. Every morning I get up and imagine what it will be like to be able to take my coffee out on the deck and watch the sun come up over the mountains. I  can’t wait to get my hands buried in the mud  of the flowerbeds and to go browse the local garden  center for geraniums and daisies, petunias and marigolds and  all the other colorful flowers that  I plant in the pots on my deck.

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Spring is also Mother Nature’s season of love. The birds sing cheerfully as they pursue their mates and settle down to build their nests among the green foliage. The rabbits, and ground squirrels, bears and turtles all emerge from hibernation to renewed life. The local cats can be heard yowling late into the night in the hopes of attracting members of the opposite sex. Amazingly, that works for them. No accounting for musical taste, I suppose.
Romance is in the air, and even us sophisticated humans are not immune. Spring makes me feel happy, and ready to tackle just about anything. I write my best love scenes sitting out in the spring sunshine with my laptop propped up on my knees and my faithful little dog busy chasing butterflies and grasshoppers in the yard. With months of warmth and sunshine ahead of me, I find it easy to believe in true love and happily ever after.
Anne is a gorgeous supermodel who writes romance in her spare time while jetting around Europe with a string of boytoys in tow.
Hmmm… no one is going to believe that. How about this?
Anne is an undercover agent for a super secret government agency, and when not saving the world for democracy and all the good people, she writes romance one-handed on a special mini computer designed just for her by a mad scientist.
Yeah, that sounds way better. So, ignore the people who tell you she’s just an ordinary person with an extraordinary imagination. They’re just jealous because she gets to play with James Bond and vacation in exotic locations.
Honestly!
When she’s not busy saving the world or writing the next great novel, she likes to kayak, hike, ride motorcycles, swim, skate, practice karate, play her guitar, sing, and of course, read.
You can find her online at:

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SPRING IS BUSTIN’ OUT ALL OVER: WHITE ROSE AUTHORS

April 12, 2011 By 33 Comments

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Sara’s Story
By
Tanya Stowe
            Spring was Sara Hunter’s favorite time of year. She leaned over her kitchen sink and looked out the window of her Southern California home. The pool was littered with leaves. Her garden over grown with weeds and tufts of grass sprouted like cities beneath her small orchard. Her garden was in need of serious tending…much like her life.
            Sara shook her head. How had things come to this? A year ago her catering business was flourishing. So well in fact, they had sent her partner and daughter, Jennifer, to Paris to study pastry for three months under a world-renowned chef. Her son Jerrod and his lovely wife had just presented them with their second grandbaby. Life seemed complete and full, maybe a little too full, but satisfying to Sara.
            Then her husband Jake had come home from work one day to tell her that his company was downsizing. He had two choices, take the severance package or relocate to Atlanta. Sara’s world started spinning. She loved her work and her home. The last thing she wanted was change. She told Jake to take the severance package.
            “Why? So I can stay home while you work twelve hours a day, seven days a week?” he replied.
            It was the spark that set off the explosion. It had been building for a long time. He worked weekdays. Catering took her away night and weekends, when he was home. They had drifted apart.
            They argued about the move for months, right up until she dropped Jake off at the airport with two suitcases. It was almost a relief to have him gone. The constant bickering had worn her down. Once he was gone, she could concentrate on her business again.
             At first, they checked in with each other once a week. Then less and less. There wasn’t anyone else involved, for her or for Jake. She was certain of that. It might have been better if there was. Anything would have been better than just watching her marriage fade away.
            She hung her head. The house was quiet. Too quiet. She could hear the Grandfather clock in the hall ticking. It was going to be even quieter from now on. A week ago she’d sent Jake a letter with an airplane ticket. She’d asked him to come home to discuss their future. She’d told him if he didn’t come, she would know it was over and she would start divorce proceedings. She’d sent the letter certified. She knew he’d received it but he hadn’t answered. The plane was scheduled to arrive at LAX this morning at 9a.m.
            It was two o’clock.
            Time to face the fact that her thirty-year marriage was over. The tears that had come and gone threatened to flood through.  She pushed them back again. Her garden needed tending. She didn’t have time to indulge in tears. She headed out the back door to the potting shed, slipped on her large sun hat and gloves and tackled the weeds with purpose.
            The sun beat down on her back. Sweat trickled down the sides of her neck. The rich smell of the earth and the hard work made her feel alive. She finished the garden and looked up at her small orchard, knowing she’d been avoiding this area. She stood beneath the shade of the peach tree. Peaches for peach pie.
            She and Jake had met in college. They’d dated for almost six months before she knew he was the one. She remembered the exact moment. They were starving students and had just enough money for one piece of pie at their favorite restaurant. They pooled their money and split the pie. She’d told Jake how someday, she’d liked to use her grandmother’s pie recipes and open a business. Jake told her how he planned to be the best human resources manager the planet had ever seen.
            As he talked, his dark, wavy hair fell over his forehead and he pushed the last bite of peaches and crust toward her. He didn’t even think about it, just unselfishly handed her the choicest part. Love flooded through her and she told him so. How had she forgotten the look on his face when she said it?
            To celebrate the one-year anniversary of buying their own home, he’d bought this peach tree. When Jerrod was born, he bought her an apple tree. Jennifer garnered her apricots. A cherry and a pear tree followed. In the years after, she used the fruit to bake her pies. Jake never complained when she quit her job to stay home while the children were little. When she said she wanted to start the catering business, he never questioned her, he just applied for a loan and helped her set up the business plan. In the beginning, he’d even helped her cook and serve. He’d always been there.
            But when he needed her, when he’d asked her to support the career that had given them so much security over the years, she balked. Why hadn’t she even tried to make a concession or meet in the middle? How had her business become more important than her marriage?
             “I’m sorry,” she whispered out loud as she gazed up at the sky through the budding tree branches. “If I could just have another chance….”
            Her only answer was a bird, twittering high in the tree. The tears she’d been holding back burst through. She attacked the tufts of grass as if it were her own foolish mistakes she could dig out and throw in the trash. She sobbed and shoveled. After a while, the weeds were hacked and raked into a pile. Sara pulled off her gloves and wiped at her wet, grimy cheeks with the back of her hands. That’s when she heard the doorbell through the open window.
            She wasn’t expecting anyone and she was a mess with her swollen eyes and mud streaked face. She wasn’t going to answer the door. When it rang a third time, she knew whoever it was wasn’t going to go away. She grabbed a tissue from the potting shed, wiped at her cheeks, plopped her floppy hat back on her sweat flattened hair and headed around the side gate.
            A delivery truck was in the horseshoe shaped driveway and a teenage boy stood at her door. “Can I help you?”
            “Yeah, ummm, I have delivery for you, I think.”
            “You think?”
            “Yeah. There was a glitch. The computer crashed. We got the orders and the addresses but we didn’t get what gift went with what address. The computer’s still down so we thought the best thing would be to make the deliveries and let the customer choose which might be their gift.”
            Sara’s heart jumped. A delivery. Could it be something from Jake? “Let me see what you have,” she said already turning toward the truck. The teenager barely beat her back to the van. He slid open the door and Sara looked at the gifts situated in boxes.
            First he handed her a vellum envelope. She showed him her dirt caked hands so he opened it for her. Inside was beautiful, ornate calligraphy. It was an invitation to a restaurant she’d didn’t recognize.
            “I don’t think this is for me,” she said.
            Next he handed her a beautiful clear box of individually wrapped chocolates in gold paper. The box was tied with a giant, pink silk ribbon.
            She shook her head and he reached behind the seat, pulling out a beautiful, antique bird cage. Sitting inside were two, teal-colored love birds. “They’re beautiful,” Sara murmured, “but I don’t know anyone who would send me those.”
            At last, he pulled out a lovely green, glass vase with a dozen red roses. Sara felt all of the hope drain out of her.
            “I’m sorry but I don’t think any of those gifts were meant for me. You’d better send them on to the next address.” She folded her arms and stepped back. Just as the delivery boy hopped into the back of the van, a small truck pulled into the driveway. The side of the truck said Delectable Edible Arrangements.
            Sara’s heart jumped again. A young woman climbed out of the truck.
            “Hello!” she said as she headed around the side. She took out a beautifully wrapped arrangement of cut, fresh fruit and walked forward. “I have a delivery for Sara Hunter.”
            “That’s me,” Sara said, her gaze fixed on the sliced strawberries, blackberries, apples, peaches and apricots arranged in the shape of a tree. The young woman handed her a card.
            Sara ripped it open. It said: Bad weather. Delayed in Denver. I’ll be home tonight. Keep the pie warm. Jake.
            Clamping the card next to her heart, Sara’s gaze flew up to the bright blue sky. “Thank you,” she said. Then she hugged the young woman. “Thank you!” she said again, as she took the arrangement out of the women’s arms. “And thank you, too!” she called out to the delivery boy as she walked backwards to the house. “You’ll have to excuse me, now. I have some baking to do!”
Photobucket
Tanya Stowe
Paisley’s Story
By
LoRee Peery
            Widow Paisley Robbins rounded the corner of her front walk, ever on the look out for flowers to divide or trim. The transplanted Nebraskan missed specific seasonal changes, but spring was definitely in the air here in southern California.
            The sound of a slamming car door drew her gaze off the slate path. Three houses up, at the curve of the cul-de-sac, Sara Hunter walked toward her front door backward, face almost obscured by…a tree made of fruit? They exchanged a wave.
             Paisley eyed the delivery van parked in front of the edible fruit truck, and wondered what Sara was celebrating. The driver of the van exited the horseshoe drive. Instead of gaining speed, he swung into Paisley’s drive. Curious. She hadn’t ordered anything.
            “Ms. Robbins,” the teenaged driver greeted, “we had a mix-up of orders and one of these is yours.”
            “One of what?”
            He jumped out and opened the slider. “Take your pick. The names are here on the clipboard, but Gramps and I don’t know who gets what ‘cuz the computer’s messed up.”
            The choices were a handwritten restaurant invitation. Her heart hitched at the writing that looked like her deceased father’s. She shook her head.
            Delectable chocolates packaged in gold and pink wouldn’t be for her because she had celiac disease.
            The dozen red roses vased in emerald glass weren’t for her either. She may have awakened that morning with a heightened sense of spring fever, but her love lay in a cemetery across town.
            “How about these?” The delivery boy held up an ornate replica of a Victorian bird cage. Through the resin slats a pair of cuddling, teal love birds cocked their curious heads. Their iridescent feathers reminded her of an Indigo bunting she’d once seen back home.
             She knew who the birds were meant for. “I’ll sign for those.”
            This was the fourth time deliveries or mail had been mixed up with a man named Robin Paisley. The last time was the previous week when a package of organic bird seed had been left on her porch.
            The teenager carried the cage up her steps and set it in the shade. Then he placed the invoice on the top of his clipboard for her to sign. “Thanks, three to go.”
            She thanked the youth for the delivery. It was time she met the bird man.
            Their first contact was when he’d called. Her number was on the invoice for a delivery of calla lilies, left at his door. She’d picked up her package when he was at work. The next two exchanges were over mail left in each others’ box.
            The turquoise love birds were probably fine on the porch. She went inside to get her cell.
For some reason, a flutter of anticipation wiggled through her tummy as she waited for him to answer.
            “Mr. Paisley, Paisley Robbins here.”
            She smiled when he chuckled, low and long. “It happened again?”
            “Right the first time. I think this one calls for a personal retrieval.” That flirtatious tone had come from her mouth?
            “Be right over.”
            What had she done?
            Would Gabe be turning over in his grave?
            She sat without moving, mesmerized by the pair of love birds. They nuzzled and clacked, engrossed in one another as they perched.
            A car soon swished into her driveway. She took a deep breath and turned at the snick of the door. And almost forgot to exhale.
            He wasn’t Hollywood handsome. Separately, features were mismatched, kind of unbalanced. But all together, she approved of the approaching package. When he was close enough, Paisley blinked. Robin’s blue and green eyes matched the feathers of the love birds.
            He extended his hand. “We finally meet.”
            At the touch of their palms, her hungry heart sighed.
            Something beyond attraction was born. Peace. Familiarity. The sense of rightness. And above all, she could almost hear Gabe whisper, “It’s time to let me go.”
            He ignored the steps and leaped onto the porch. “Oh, what lovely blues and greens you are.”
            “Is that what they’re really called?”
            “Generically. The bright green with the target eyes are called Fischers.”
            “Why such a fancy cage?”
            “It’s all for show. They’ll live in a wire cage in the breezeway behind my house.”
            She tipped her head and wondered if she looked too much like his birds. “They seem pretty content here on my front porch. Would you like some lemonade?”
            “I would. And I’d like to get to know more about you.”
             Paisley had no idea what Robin’s life story was. But she knew deep inside she was beginning a new chapter of hers. A part of her would always miss Gabe, yet she was certain he wouldn’t want her to go through life alone.
            She suppressed a giggle at the crazy romantic notion of the name, Paisley Robbins-Paisley. But that sounded a whole lot better than Paisley Paisley.
Photobucket

LoRee Peery

Kinzie’s Story
By
Anne Greene
                                                                                 
                Kenzie Kinkaid moved slightly on the white-cushioned posing couch. The scent of artist’s oils, turpenoid, and drying canvases filled the small studio. Though she tired of holding her back straight and trying to appear relaxed, she never tired of gazing at the artist. His dark chocolate eyes seemed to look right into her soul and enjoy what they found. And the way his wavy black hair fell over his forehead each time he bent to dip his brush into his palette made her toes tingle.  She wanted to jump up and run her fingers through that wavy hair, then smooth it back out of his eyes. The feeling had grown stronger during the five weeks they’d been working together.
            “This is the last sitting, Kenzie, and I think your parents will find the portrait worth waiting for.”
            The deep timbre of his voice sent the kind of delicious shivers to Kenzie’s stomach that she hadn’t experienced in the two years since her fiancé died in a sky-diving accident the week before their wedding. “Did they tell you this was to be my bridal portrait, and that I wanted them to cancel?”
            “Yes. But I was glad to extend you all the time you needed.” He stepped back and chose a new brush. “You’re a remarkable model. Usually I only ask for one sitting and then complete the portrait from photographs I take, but…you’re so stunning, I wanted to make certain I caught the real person beneath the beauty.”
            Heat flooded her face. “You’ve been sniffing turpenoid, Jeffrey Gordon.  I’m not beautiful.”
            He propped a foot on the nearby stool, leaned an elbow on his knee, and dangled the brush from his fingers. “I got the impression from your parents they wanted me to get to know you.” The cleft in his chin stood out when he smiled.
            “Please don’t feel obligated. Mom and Dad have been matchmaking for the past year. I’ve resisted, but they’ve thrown me together with every eligible bachelor they know. And they made no secret of the fact that you are single. The situation is quite awkward.” She smoothed the yellow silk dress where it clung to her thighs and then flared to the floor.
            “Don’t be too tough on them.” His smile made his eyes twinkle. “I named this portrait Daffodils.”
            “Because of my dress.”
            “Partially. But mostly because you have an inner glow that lights up the studio.“
            This was too much. He was coming on to her.  She stood. “You can finish the portrait from the pictures you took of me.”
            “Please don’t get upset. I’m sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut.”
            She settled back down on the couch, but now his constant gaze seemed intrusive. She hadn’t accepted any of the dates her parents had arranged. Instead, she’d dived headlong into her marine biology work using all her energy and loving what she did. When she was ready to date again, God would let her know. She didn’t need matchmakers.
            “Almost finished,” Jeffrey mumbled around the brush handle in his mouth.
             She would miss the concentrated expression that changed the artist’s face from being merely attractive to being a man with purpose and drive and vision. She’d loved watching him work. Loved seeing the magic his hands created. Loved talking with him. Up until a few minutes ago they’d had a comfortable, relaxed relationship.
            “All finished. You can view the portrait now.” He stood back, his usually direct gaze guarded.
            Did he think she wouldn’t like his work? She shot up, almost afraid to look. Her stilettos tapping on the hardwood floor, she glided over to the easel.
            “Well?”
            “It takes my breath away. It’s like looking into a mirror. I…I love the way you captured my skin tones.” She pointed. “And, and do I really look that lovely?” Heat flooded her from her scalp to her ears. “I’m sure my parents will be happy with it.”
****
            The following Saturday morning, Kenzie paced in the tiny garden behind her rented house. The sun shone, the air smelled sweet, and a hummingbird flashed around the nectar of a scarlet bougainvillea bush. She should be happy or at least content. But, now that the portrait hung in her parent’s living room over their ornate mantle, she missed her mornings spent with Jeff. Missed their casual conversations. Missed their spirited discussions about God, and how He works in a believer’s life.
            Probably missed him because spring had come to Southern California in a burst of sunshine and blooming flowers. And probably because daffodils’ ranged up and down her short walkway. Probably because a Blue Jay darted down to lure her away from its nest full of new born chicks. Well, she’d get over it. Her bare feet slid over the smooth stones between the waving daffodils as she sauntered around the house to the front.
            With a screech of brakes, a delivery truck pulled into the horseshoe drive in front of Sara Hunter’s house. Kenzie rested her hands on her hips and watched. Sara walked to the truck while the delivery man slid the side open. Because the truck obscured her view, Kenzie couldn’t see what else Sarah did, but her neighbor soon turned toward her front door. Then a Delectable Edible Arrangements truck pulled up behind the departing delivery truck.
            Another squeal of brakes distracted Kenzie from Sarah’s drive to her other neighbor, Paisley Robbins. Kenzie only had a nod and hello acquaintance with the two older ladies, but she liked them both. Paisley came outside and talked with the delivery driver. Kenzie glimpsed an antique cage with some tiny birds fluttering  inside,  and was about to walk across the street to talk with Paisley, when the delivery truck gunned out of her drive…and right up Kenzie’s.
            Kenzie sucked in a quick breath. What? She hadn’t ordered anything online. Maybe the truck was simply turning around in her drive.
            But the truck pulled up, stopped, and a teenager with spiked hair jumped down. “Kenzie Kinkaid?” The boy carried a clipboard.
            “Yes?”
            He grinned. “Um, Miss. You got a delivery.”
            “Really, I’m not expecting anything.”
            “Yep. Only problem is—um, we got a glitch in our computer. So, Gramps sent me out with these   names on this here clipboard, and I got packages, but I don’t know which deliveries go to which names.”
Kenzie chuckled. “Really?”
Untied sneakers flopping on the drive, he hurried to the side of the white van and Kenzie followed. “Can you look at these orders and see which one is yours?” He opened the slider.
            “Well, yes, but I can’t imagine…” Kenzie let her words fade as the boy took out a huge box of chocolates in a gold package with a fancy pink ribbon. The thought that a man sent candy made her heart race. She remembered the expectation such gifts brought.  “Is there no card?”
            “No card, Miss. Do you think this is for you?”
            She shook her head. “No. I wish they were, but I don’t think so.”
            “These must be for you then.” He pointed to an emerald vase filled with a dozen long-stemmed red roses.
            She bent inside the van, stuck her nose close to a velvet bloom, and inhaled the rich rose scent. How many bouquets had she received and taken for granted? Why had she turned her back on love? She’d been too cautious to risk her heart again. And with that restraint she’d lost the joy and excitement and deep satisfaction of caring about someone else more than about herself.  She inhaled the sweet,   rose fragrance again. And, she’d totally discouraged the one man who’d caught her interest.
            “I’ve got this one more,” the teenaged voice cracked. His expression looked so sympathetic Kenzie knew he must have sensed her regret. He handed her a vellum envelope.
            The envelope felt smooth and rich in her hand. Spring-like yellow paper shown  through the translucent material. She had to peek inside. “This looks as if it’s been opened.”
            “Yes, Miss. Ms. Hunter and Ms. Robbins opened the letter to see if it was for them. But it wasn’t, and I only have two other addresses. And the two other packages. Do you think this one’s for you?”
            She slipped the textured paper out of the envelope. Her heart fluttered. Beautiful inked calligraphy invited the reader to a dinner that evening at the Café Parisian. She knew that Café. It nestled just around the corner from Jeff’s studio. She’d thought some evening she might stop by and have dinner in the romantic spot. Tears pricked her eyelids. This couldn’t be for her either. The restaurant was for lovers. She was about to fold the note and return it to its envelope when she glimpsed a sort of signature in the corner—an artist’s palette.
            “There’s daffodils embossed on the front of the envelope, Miss.”
            Kenzie couldn’t stop smiling. “Yes, thank you; this one is mine.”
            With a hitch of his drooping pants, a slapping of sneakers, and a squeal of burning rubber, the delivery truck drove away.
            Kenzie clasped her hands and gazed at the glorious azure sky. “Thank You, Lord for these three messages. I hear what You’re saying. My parents aren’t the only matchmakers.”
            She would no long turn her back on the promise of love.
Photobucket

Anne Greene

Tomorrow, look for a new installment of Love is Blooming!
             

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SPRING IS BUSTIN’ OUT ALL OVER: XAVIER AXELSON

April 10, 2011 By 21 Comments

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A Voodoo Spring
By
I woke up this morning with the realization of how fragile the season of spring is; nestled between languid summer and the robust chill of winter.  The poor thing barely stands a chance and yet here we are again.  Spring is the underdog for sure and yet the one who has the most work to do.  Passions stir, buds swell, and ones mind does turn to other things.  I am reminded of satyrs, Bacchus and Pan perhaps all one and the same…or maybe not. 
This year, spring arrived while I was away cavorting (quite satyr-like) in New Orleans.  What better or bigger Harbinger of Spring is there than Mardi Gras?  I drove from Dallas into New Orleans and delighted in every mile.  The first words that came into my head when I crossed the Mississippi river were strange, mysterious, and beautiful.  The swamps that lined either side of the roads leading into New Orleans struck the timbre deep inside.  I couldn’t help but stare at the trees that grew like long skeletal fingers from the swamps.  Great bird’s nests clung precariously to finger-like branches and great swathes of moss draped the bone white trees as if trying to soften the blow of the stark landscape.  I was entranced and felt as if I had truly returned to somewhere I had been before.  Rain and wind; two forces not to be misjudged or ignored followed me quite closely and while there I soon discovered it is indeed possible to be both warm and cold at the same time.
Spring is also temperamental and with good cause.  It is during this season when things are waking up from the long sleep of winter.  Moody, anxious, excited this is Nature’s most instrumental cycle and will not be ignored.  Mardi Gras literally means “Fat Tuesday” and when one does decide to embark on celebrating this Holiday one soon discovers the definition is apt.
Food is copious, drink is ever flowing, and sexual romps of every nature are being enacted; it is a feast and festival that Bacchus would indeed be proud of.  In fact, it is no small coincidence that many of the ornate, noisy floats that roll down the crowded streets of New Orleans are in fact decorated with this wine loving deity.  This is a time to celebrate life; new lovers, old lovers, lovers, lovers, lovers…it doesn’t matter!  The streets team with life and good cheer, and the over indulgent.  This is a time for abandon and even as a collective roar arises from the booze soaked denizens on Bourbon, I am immediately reminded of the penalty of the Lenten holiday that will serve as a sobering taskmaster the following week.
However, Bacchus is not concerned with next week…and neither are his followers.  They are concerned with NOW, TODAY…
When Spring casts a mighty rainstorm down upon the French Quarter and we all run nymph-like into waiting pubs and cafes where roasted oysters and bloody Mary’s await, I wonder if there is truly anything more wonderful or beautiful then sitting in a sidewalk café as the nasty little spring shower has its way with the streets where only minutes before the satyrs played.
Look for my erotica at:

Xavier Axelson is a writer of erotica who has worked in the adult industry for over 15 years.  During this time, he has assisted countless people with exploring their healthy sexual needs, questions, and lifestyles.  He first lectured at a college regarding sexual health at the age of 19.

He has trained as a dungeon master, worked for a notorious Hollywood Madame as a consultant and as a talent agent for the adult film industry. 

Presently he works for a leader in the sexual technology industry where he helps people daily with tips, advice, and guidance on how to have a more satisfying sexual life, no matter what the preference, kink, or interest. 
He has several degrees in fields such as communications, library technology, and literature.

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