Shapeshifting Reindeer Shaman Santa

It’s too long to be the title of my upcoming Christmas monster erotica story, but you get the point. I’ll tell you here when I arrive at a better title. Till then, enjoy this excerpt.

“Hey, hey, what are you doing? You don’t belong in here,” she said. Of course she didn’t really think that animals could understand human language, but how else should a person talk to an animal? “Outside, that’s where you belong, out in nature,” she said, gesturing toward the door behind the creature. He peered at her with black eyes. How unusual, she thought, for an animal to look a person in the eye. The deer held her gaze. She almost thought he might be trying to tell her something.

His nose twitched. It was black and shiny, moist. He stepped a bit closer. Jane was afraid to move. The animal’s head was close to her face now, sniffing intently. He was examining her, she thought. She wondered if she measured up to the deer’s expectations for a human.

He had white fur at his upper chest, and Jane was strangely reminded of the soft hair on the chest of the man in her dream.

Wind was blowing in through the door. She needed to do something. The deer was already fully in the living room, stamping snow off his legs onto the ratty carpet. Could she call someone, the sheriff, maybe? Her phone was in the kitchen next to the garage door. She edged backwards to the door, then turned around to grab her purse. In three seconds she had the phone in her hand, back in the door between the kitchen and living room. And there was no deer. Where in this little house could such an enormous creature go in three seconds?

Standing where the deer had been was a man.

Taste the Watery World

It’s been half a year since NaNoWriMo, and it’s past time to get back to my romance novel. So I’ve reread it this past week, and I have some ideas for what I want to do next. But I was talking to a friend recently and she wanted to know if all my erotica is hetero. I told her I’d had an idea for a F/F mermaid story, and she loved that, so I promised her I’d dedicate it to her when I write it.

Whenever I think I’m going to take a break from monster erotica, I get an idea for another story.

Maybe I can work on both at the same time . . .

Well, here’s a beginning. It’s not done yet but it’s a taste of the watery world of my upcoming story, which doesn’t even have a name yet.

Falling into the water like a cool embrace, like coming back into the womb. The womb of the earth. It’s where I always come when the sharpness of sound through air becomes unbearable, when taking air into my lungs feels like a violation. When my tender feet are no match for the ubiquitous, unyielding concrete of the city. I need to be in the water.

I sail my little boat far enough from the shore that I won’t be bothered by any unwanted company, and drop an anchor. I drop my clothes on the deck and slip, quiet as an eel, into the ocean. The waves rise and fall relentlessly, and I let myself be a plaything of the water. A school of little fishes rives around me, some brushing my skin as they pass. The fish aren’t afraid of me.

Then I see her. But at the moment I don’t know she’s a her. I don’t know anything, just that there’s a glimmer of light reflected off pearlescent scales, a tail tip disappearing into the water. I duck down to see below the surface, but she’s too fast for my eyes, just a shadow shifting among the waves by the time I’m able to focus. It’s not any kind of fish I’ve ever seen.

Dragon of the Sheela Na Gig: excerpt


Sheela Na Gig in Fethard, Ireland. Photo Mike Searle via Wikimedia Commons

What is the meaning of these carvings set into masonry from the European middle ages? They’re often placed on churches, though the blatant exhibition of genitals certainly isn’t typical of medieval attitudes about the body, particularly the female body. Often the stonework is much older than the walls they are set into, as if they came from another structure altogether.

No one really knows why they’re there. So much of history has been lost, and only snippets of rumors hint at what may have been. One source suggests there may have been a kind of village healer, an old woman, whose methods included the display of her vulva. (I’d link it but I can’t find it now!)

I was captivated by Sheela Na Gigs long before I was an erotica writer. But since there is so little we know, our best source is our imagination, and that’s what I specialize in. In this story, the Sheela is a healer, and there’s also a dragon, because it wouldn’t be monster erotica without a monster, now, would it?

He picked wildflowers as he made his way up the forested mountain path, adding them to the ones he’d gathered in the meadow. It was said that the Sheela liked flowers. It was also said that he should follow the signs, not written in words, but carvings, set atop stone arches that stood over the path at infrequent intervals. The vulgar symbol was unmistakable: A cackling hag, naked and splaying her privates for the world to see. Though he was supposed to look up at the display as he passed under each arch, he found it difficult. The priests in the new church said that modesty was the hallmark of pious femininity; but when some of the elders of the village refused to enter a church without a Sheela Na Gig, the Father had relented and said that one could be set into the masonry, to serve as a reminder of the result of living a life of carnal sin. One would age into sagging flesh; once-youthful breasts would dangle; one would forget to comb her hair and behave decorously.


She knelt and held out her open hand to offer the gift: the yellow stone. She saw a flicker of interest in the eye, more twitching of the nostrils. She bowed her head. For a long moment there was no reaction; she began to wonder whether the stone was adequate. Perhaps it wasn’t big enough, perhaps the dragon (whom she thought of as he, though she’d never had any indication of gender from this beast) wanted something other than brimstone. Perhaps she wasn’t worthy. But she waited, until a long tongue flicked out, faster than she could track with her eyes, and wrapped around the stone. Then back into the slit of a mouth, taking the stone in. She heard the crunching of giant teeth crushing stone. She saw a ripple run down the length of the neck, until it met the torso. She saw the red glow in the belly flare brighter, and smelled the beast’s sulfurous breath. The hot wind blew her hair from her face.

The dragon lifted his great head and roared. She felt the mountain shake around her. Most people would have been terrified; but the old woman reveled in the dragon’s great power. It was power which she served; and which served her. She felt the vibration of the roar move through her body, awakening her senses, sending electricity from the top of her head, down through the neck, along the spine to the tailbone; and further down, to that deepest part of her. She breathed deeply of the hot, smoky air, raised her arms above her head, and keened in response. The two voices rose and blended into a duet. Woman and dragon swayed in rhythm to each other’s music.


I hope to release the full story at amazon by the end of this week.

Update: Here’s the link to buy it now at Amazon!


Ensnare: The Librarian’s Lover, by Mac Flynn

A tentacle story that takes place in a library . . . well, that’s unusual. (If you don’t want unusual, you probably ought to skip the monster erotica genre.) Leslie is a mousy student working in the college library. I found it refreshing that the heroine is a regular girl with some self-esteem issues, unlike the porn trope of every female character being young, hot, and athletic, with perfect breasts. For those who want the hot girl, Flynn gives you one in the beginning, when Leslie watches the hot boy she has a crush on making out in the library with his girl du jour.

But more interesting things are in store for Leslie. There are predatory bullies to contend with, an annoying co-worker, and a stern but kind boss. All Leslie wants to do is look at that strange book that mysteriously appeared in the book return. And she’s not really a risk-taker, but that book might inspire some changes in her, as well as some help for the self-esteem.

Possibly a bit long on set-up, and I didn’t really get why the back of the library seems as big as the stacks, and is laid out like a labyrinth, but neither of those was a big deal.

It’s a really sweet story, with a feel-good ending, and delicious erotica along the way.

In the Arms of the Dark Elf, Willow Nonea Rae

A couple elements kind of piqued my interest. Marla is studying herbology, and she’s a vegetarian. Unfortunately she is apparently not very smart, because she doesn’t seem to be learning the subject, nor does she seem to care about it. I kind of like the way she gets rescued when she’s mysteriously separated from the class and gets pricked by a poisonous thorn.

The romance element of the story, however, falls very much into the conventions of romance/porn. The writer makes a point of telling us how hot Marla is, even as the story is told from her point of view. She knows the hot guy nursing her back to health is an elf, but we don’t know why. All we know is how muscular and hot he is. And yet, the descriptions aren’t vivid enough to make me care about the characters. There’s a lack of imagination in the writing.

For all that, I was surprised how long it took to get to the sex scene, and how uninspiring it was when it took place.

There’s a nice plot twist, when a seemingly unimportant character is revealed to be the villain, but he’s unconvincingly evil, and cartoonishly flat.

I didn’t hate the book, but I wouldn’t read more from this author.