Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Have you read Angel Over my Shoulder?

He was the presence that was always in her dreams. He was mostly the backdrop but at times he came to the forefront. She never knew a time when he wasn’t somewhere in her dreams, either watching in the distance, or standing just behind her.

For all of her young life, Leslie has lived two realities; the one that happened in ‘real life’ and the other that took place weeks or months before--in her dreams. No matter how bad, Angel was always there to watch over her. He never grew older and she didn’t think to question his presence. And then one fateful day, Angel shows her a series of events that will change her life and send young Leslie into a tailspin that will test her very sanity.

In this multicultural, paranormal romance, Pepper Pace weaves a tale of a tragic and disturbed young girl whose fate is written…or is it? THIS STORY CONTAINS GRAPHIC CONTENT INCLUDING SEX, DRUG USE, SEXUAL ASSUALT, LANGUAGE. THIS IS STORY AND POST IS INTENDED FOR ADULT READERS ONLY.


~1989 Summer~
The telephone was ringing and her hands were covered in black sticky hair gel. “Shit!”  Grandmama was going to have a shit-fit if the phone woke her up. She quickly wiped her hands on her jeans. They needed to be washed anyways. This was her third straight time wearing them. She sprinted out of her bedroom, hurtling over the ottoman until she reached the phone on the end table.
“Hello?!” She said breathlessly. She’d caught it on the third ring and was half listening to the voice over the phone and for her Grandmother’s movements in the other room. 
“Leslie! Girl, April’s mother is spending the night at her boyfriend’s house and April has the place to herself!  I’m on my way over there now, I’m a come pick you up-” 
Leslie scowled. “You know I don’t like April and she don’t like me.” April used to be one of the girls in school that made fun of her when they were both back in elementary—back before she had began talking again. The kids used to pick on her, calling her retarded. April had even gouged her with her sharp nails because she wouldn’t yell out. 
She heard her friend sigh over the telephone. Missy was her best friend, but that didn’t mean she was a good friend. It wasn’t as if Leslie could tell her that April made her feel like the lost little girl that she had once been; a girl that she had fought hard to bury down within herself.
“Come on, bitch! You can steal some of yo Grandmama’s liquor and pain pills.”
“Hey!”  Leslie said in a hushed yet hard voice. “I’m not stealing pain pills for everyone.  She’ll start missing those.” But the liquor was easy. Despite being barely eighteen, Leslie was responsible for managing the household. Grandmama’s check would get deposited into the bank account and Leslie had the ATM card to withdraw the cash when she had to do the shopping or the checkbook when she had to pay a bill. She had celebrated her eighteenth birthday by getting herself a fake ID that said she was twenty-one. And Grandmama had plenty of pills that Leslie stole for herself and Missy when she wanted to share.  Leslie didn’t even really look at it as stealing. Grandmama couldn’t do things now that she was sick. It wasn’t really stealing when Grandmama didn’t use the money.
“Look Leslie, come to the party.  I don’t want to go by myself.” She heard Missy’s voice become sly. “Derrick’s going to be there.” Leslie felt an involuntary chill run down her spine at the mention of his name.
Derrick made her want to keep her eyes downcast and to duck out of sight. Nothing much made her feel that way these days. Most of the boys she knew were hard; into drugs and stealing and skipping school. Derrick wasn’t, and yet he was still cool. 
“I’m not going because Derrick is going to be there, alright?”  She finally consented, “but because I need to get piss drunk!” 
Missy laughed. “I’ll be there in ten!”  Leslie hurried back to her bedroom and looked at her hair. Every black girl in school wanted long hair except her. She had cut her hair short into a boy cut long ago. And before the phone had rang, she had been experimenting with making a faux Mohawk the way she’d seen the punk kids wearing on MTV. Instead of combing it out, she turned to and fro in her mirror and decided to keep it.
Living in a mostly black neighborhood, Leslie knew that others thought of her as the freak—and not just because she had spent several years as a mute. She wore all black; black eye shadow, black nail polish and proudly sported facial piercings and short hair with spiky bangs.  Some kids in white neighborhoods dressed like this, but not in her neighborhood and not in her school. She quickly pulled off her dirty jeans for a pair of black ones that hid the dirt better. 
She sniffed her armpits and then liberally rubbed on deodorant.  She did brush her teeth but mainly because she’d had onions on her burger for dinner. Afterwards she put on black lipstick to match her heavy black mascara. She didn’t have time to put in all of her piercings, but did get in her tragus and replaced her rook, her labret always stayed in below her lip unless Grandmama made her remove it.  She put in the septum because she knew Missy hated it and would call her ‘bone nose’; she was just putting in the lip ring when she heard Missy blow the horn.
She spritzed cologne on her neck and then hurried to Grandmama’s room.  She paused and took several deep breaths before she could enter. The room smelled of sickness. It was almost overwhelming to her. The television emitted the only light and for a moment her Grandmother’s sleeping form looked lifeless.
Leslie felt a moment of panic before she noted the slight rise and fall of Grandmama’s chest. She swallowed back the lump in her throat and looked at anything but her. She tripped over to the bedside table and picked up one of the many bottles of pain pills. She snuck four pills, Grandmama wouldn’t miss four. She checked the label. Fentanyl—the good stuff. She shoved them into her pocket grimly. Just make me numb, she thought as she slipped out of the room as quickly as she could.
As she left the house, Leslie grabbed her leather jacket. She wore a black t-shirt that said simply, ‘YUCK FOU’ written in bold white letters. As she locked the door behind her she could already hear New Edition’s, If It Isn’t Love blaring from the sound system of Missy’s parent’s car. Leslie smirked.  She was listening to The Clash and The Sex Pistols. She shouldn’t have even been born in the United States with her style and likes.  She was in the wrong time and in the wrong place. They would accept her in the UK just the way she was.
Missy paused to stare at her once she was buckled into her seat. “What the fuck did you do to your hair?”  Leslie touched the hardening spikes on top. 
“Faux-hawk.”  Leslie rolled her eyes. “Just drive, bitch and stop gawking at me.” She reached into her pocket and handed her friend a pill. “Fentanyl.”
“Oh. Jackpot!” They both dry swallowed their pills while Missy pulled out of the drive-way and headed to the impromptu house party. Leslie reached into her jacket pocket for a tape.
“Oh fuck no, Leslie! We are not listening to that white-people shit before the party!”
“Just listen to this one song. It’s not rock or anything. It’s kinda soft, a little mellow.”  Missy protested a lot, but Leslie knew that she’d be open minded enough to give it a try.  “Just listen to the words. This group is called The Cure and the song is Pictures of You.”
The two girls drove silently, listening to the lyrics of the song. When it ended Leslie reached over and popped out the tape and then shoved it back into her jacket pocket. 
Missy nodded her head. “It’s cool. Good song.” She glanced at Leslie all joking aside.  “You don’t ever stop missing them, do you?” Leslie suddenly reached for a cigarette and lit it, pausing to take a long drag. 
“When you stopped talking for all of those years…was it because you couldn’t, or because you didn’t want to?”  The two girls had known each other back then when she had been mute. Missy played with her even when Leslie just seemed to be sitting back and letting the world go by. They were long-time friends, but they rarely talked about this.
Leslie took a while before she answered. Finally she spoke the truth. “I don’t know.  I don’t think I even tried. I didn’t care enough to try.” They had never talked about what had brought on her muteness; not in all of these years, only what had stopped it; Uncle Monty. Uncle Monty hadn’t been going to stop what he was doing to her until she spoke; and so she did. 
She came to a sudden decision, perhaps because the pill was working on her, or perhaps old memories had made her vulnerable. She looked out the window. “Sometimes I visit them. We sit around like a real family.”  She paused, staring out the window, waiting for Missy to crack a joke and then she could change the subject and never bring it up again.
“You mean you visit them when you dream?”
“Yes!”  Leslie turned in her seat and looked at Missy in excitement.
“Well, it’s nice that you can dream about them.”
Leslie chewed her lip. “Yeah…but sometimes it’s like they never died and I’m a different person-”
“One without a bone piercing in your nose I hope.”
She took a deep breath. “I don’t have any piercings. It’s like a world where things are different because they never died.” She never thought that it was a real world. She knew it was a dream, or maybe a fantasy. Missy watched her with interest as they stopped at a red light.
“Do they look the same?  Like you remember them?”
“I don’t really remember what they look like until I’m in the dream.” It always gave her a jolt as she thought, ‘That’s my Mama, that’s my Daddy.’ Waking up after was always bittersweet.
“Then it’s a good thing that you can at least see them in your dreams,” Missy said with a conviction that surprised Leslie. She’d never thought to talk about these things with her friend and now wondered why.
“Do you ever dream about stuff that comes true?”
“Sometimes. It’s like, I’ll be doing something and then I’ll say, ‘Damn, that already happened.’”
“Yeah, Déjà vu. But do you ever see the same person in your dreams?”
“What do you mean?”
Leslie shrugged.  “I don’t know.” She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. Then she just plunged forward.  “There’s this guy that’s always in my dreams.”
“What guy?  Is he cute?”
Leslie looked at her curiously. “You don’t dream like that? A dream with the same person who takes you places, shows you things?”
“It sounds like maybe he’s your Dad.”  Missy pulled up along the curb near April’s apartment building and cut off the car, but didn’t move to get out. 
Leslie was shaking her head. “He’s always been there, even before my parents died. And he’s too young to be my Dad. Plus he’s white.”
Missy was blinking. “Is it Jesus?”
“Jesus? No! I mean, I used to think he was my guardian angel. But then he…”
“What?” She prompted. Leslie shrugged, but was squeezing her hand hard into a fist until her short nails dug painfully into her palm. 
“He showed me some bad shit, and didn’t try to help me.”
“Well, Jesus showed people bad shit. And he makes you help yourself, doesn’t he?”
“Jesus doesn’t have a New York accent.  And he doesn’t wear blue jeans and chucks.”  She opened the car door and began walking up the sidewalk with her hands jammed into her jacket. Missy locked the car doors and caught up with her.
“Maybe he’s a hip Jesus.” Missy was joking now and Leslie relaxed a bit. “The new-age Jesus for cool people.”
“He’s too cute to be Jesus. He doesn’t age, either.  He’s like my age now; eighteen, maybe even a little older, but not much.  But he’s always been that same age.”  She pictured Angel in her mind. “He’s got brown curly hair and sky blue eyes. He is really cute, but not like a model or anything. He’s not big, he’s not small, a little skinny but with muscles, you know?  Like an athlete. And he’s got this hair on his face but not much. It’s like he’s too young to grow a beard. I guess that’s how I know he’s younger.”
“You make him sound real.” 
“He’s not,” she said quickly and tossed her cigarette butt to the sidewalk.  

Saturday, March 14, 2015

Have you read Crash?

Many authors can say that there is one book that they've written which holds a special place in their heart. I love the books that I've written but one particular story holds a special place in my heart and it's one of the 'littler' known of my books. That story is Crash. It came from no where. I mean that literally. I was actually writing another story when it came to me and I paused in typing. It was the first two sentences in the story. It began to grow in my mind and I had to make the decision to ignore it or to open up a fresh word document page and write it.

And so I wrote it. The sentences I wrote is how the book opens ... as well as what appears on the front cover. Did you know that the title of the book does not appear on the front cover? Not many books are published without the title appearing on the cover.

There story begins with the description of a terrible event; the rape of a man. And although this happens Crash is not a story about rape, or about overcoming rape. It is a story about trust; trust in yourself which is the first step to trusting others. 

This Novella is available in digital format at, Barnes and Noble and in paper at Createspace.  


Sophie Baxter notices that there is someone sleeping in the alley that runs along the back of her house. Mistaking the individual for a teenager that has evidently been lost to the streets Sophia takes pity on the boy and goes out to offer him some human kindness ...

“Hey … ” She said softly. It was barely a whisper but the boy leaped to his feet in the way that only the youth could do. He spun in her direction ready to bolt; his eyes had that deer-in-the-headlight look. He was tall, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to be sitting while he was standing over her, not that she wouldn’t be able to lift the frail boy and toss him if she was forced to; he was just that small. His eyes scanned her form and he seemed to decide that he was in no imminent jeopardy of being harmed because he relaxed his defensive posture.
Now that she could see his face it was evident that someone had beaten him pretty badly. His lip was split, his eye was swollen and nearly completely closed and his mouth looked like it was packed with cotton.  She squinted and slowly held out her hand to him.
“Can you help me up?”
He looked at her hand for a moment and then slowly offered her hand. His palm was smooth but his grip was strong and then he braced himself and helped her to stand. She thought she might pull him over as she struggled to her feet, but he was stronger than he looked.
Once standing she noted that he was taller than her, maybe six feet but his baby face made him seem very much smaller, especially when his eyes lowered at her scrutiny. He had to have realized that she was examining his bruises.
“I’m Sophie.” His eyes flitted to hers before staring at his feet again. She thought he did it more to conceal his face then out of shyness. He nodded once and mumbled a soft sound that could have been hi. He seemed to be politely waiting for her to tell him to leave so that he could make his getaway.
“Do you want some water?”
He looked at her, his brow gathered in confusion as his eyes searched her face. Sophie gestured to her house.
Lucas was not sure what to make of her. He had just stopped to rest for a minute and then she was there. Now that the initial shock of her appearance had disappeared he realized that his body was just one throbbing nerve ending. Even his hair hurt. And his mouth was bone dry. He had money; a little, and he could buy something to drink, but it was too late in the night for anything to be open. And Lucas had learned long ago, to not look a gift horse in the mouth.
He nodded.
The woman headed across the alleyway and Lucas scooped up his duffel bag and gingerly but quickly followed, even though each move felt like he was being pounded with blunt instruments. Sophie stepped over the low cement partition and stumbled over some large pieces of broken concrete that had been concealed in the weeds.
Lucas reached out and steadied her and the woman gave him a surprised but thankful look. She was tall for a lady, and looked to be in her forties, and she was plump … not plump because plump meant rounded. She was just big, proportionate looking even though she wore baggy P.J. bottoms and a super long shirt partially concealed by a jeans jacket. And she had clogs on her feet, the ones with the chunky heel, which is the reason that she had lost her balance on the crumbled concrete. She had a pleasant face, not really pretty, but nice. Her hair was unkempt as if she had just gotten out of bed. It was pulled back into a ponytail, the ends long enough to reach between her shoulder blades.
She moved up the backstairs of a small, but neat, one story house. It seemed all brick and concrete and had a nicely maintained yard. Lucas became a bit leery. He didn’t much go into people’s homes unless they wanted something from him, and what they wanted was never good. His eyes became guarded as he prepared himself for what was surely to come. Would he fuck her if she asked? His body hurt really bad but if she gave him some food then yeah, he probably would. If she had a guy in there though, he would run.
She went inside and held the door opened for him. He hesitated, trying to peer into the darkened room. She gave him a soft smile.
“It’s okay.”
He entered the room and looked around, his eyes becoming adjusted quickly as there was light coming from the next room so that they were not in total darkness. Sophie moved to the fridge and examined its contents before retrieving a bottled water. He accepted it tentatively but once it was in his possession it was his and he quickly untwisted the top and upended the contents into his mouth. He drank swiftly, too swiftly because his head began to pound with brain freeze. He lowered the bottle. He had just drank half of its contents in seconds. He belched and whispered his apology. He suddenly adjusted his weight from one foot to the next. He had to pee. He wouldn’t ask because it was one thing to be given a bottled water that was completely disposable and wouldn’t have to be scrubbed clean because he had come in contact with something that she would need to use again. It was a totally different thing to use her toilet.
“Do you want something to eat?” She asked in the same way that she had asked if he wanted some water. There was no pity, no cajoling, it was just a simple question.
His stomach growled at the mention of food. “Yes.” Why lie? Gift horse and all …
She turned back to the fridge and Lucas drew in a deep breath.
“Um … may I … ” She looked up at him with dark eyes that seemed too dark to be brown. Do people have black eyes? Luke didn’t know but since his went from blue to violet he figured that anything was possible.
“The bathroom?” The woman prompted.
He nodded nervously, but he really had to pee and didn’t know if he could hold it until after she gave him food.
“I’ll show you where it is.” She led him through a large dining room. It was a shotgun house, which meant that he could see clear through to the front of the house even from the back kitchen. It was nice, small but spacious. She didn’t have a bunch of old lady stuff cluttering the rooms, maybe a few too many plants but her furniture was nice and simple from what he could see. She had some art pieces on her walls and they showed abstract images of mainly black people. She didn’t seem rich, but she didn’t seem poor either.
She led him from the dining room to the left and they were in a short hallway. On either side of the hallway were rooms. One was a darkened bedroom. Lucas could make out the shadowy images of furniture and a portion of an unmade bed. He turned quickly away, not wanting the woman to think that he was a maniac. He glanced in the direction of the other room. It was lit and appeared to be an office. Low, jazzy-like music issued from it. But straight ahead was the room he was concerned with; the bathroom. The lady turned to him and he saw her brow shoot up in surprise. He guessed he looked pretty bad and that she hadn’t been able to tell from the darkness outside.
“Take your time. If you want to wash up there are clean towels and wash cloths in the closet behind the door.” Her brown face hid a grimace. “There are … bandages in the medicine chest.” Her eyes swept his dirty clothes before she turned back to the kitchen.
Lucas felt his face redden and knew that she’d seen his embarrassment. Well at least she didn’t kick him out. “Thank you,” he remembered to call out. He saw the woman hesitate but she didn’t turn and continued on to the kitchen. Lucas sighed and shut the door after him.
This was an old house, the fixtures where ceramic and not metal, and they looked like claws. There was even a claw foot tub. But it was nice; so very clean. When was the last time that he’d been in a toilet that didn’t smell of shit and piss? He smelled the faint aroma of soap and pine cleaner.
Lucas lifted the lid on the toilet and quickly peed. It hurt when the urine moved from his bladder and down his urethra leaving a dull ache in his back. One of the guys had given him a good kidney shot. He closed his eyes. He tried not to think of that. But he could smell himself when he opened his jeans and it made him nauseous again. After he had emptied his bladder, Lucas flushed and reached to turn on the water so that he could wash his hands.
He hesitated when his dirty fingers touched the pristine white ceramic. He pumped the soft soap dispenser and began to scrub his dirty hands under the hot water stream. The basin began to fill with blackened water. He repeated the process before his pale digits looked familiar to him. Then Lucas took a deep breath and looked up into the mirror.
His lip twitched and then the pain flared to life, which often happened to him when he caught sight of his injuries. Sometimes it was better not to even look. His lip was split and a dried crust of blood rested on his chin. His eye was really bad, the worst shiner he’d ever had. He couldn’t even see out of it, there was a filmy haze that he hoped wouldn’t result in the loss of sight. His face was swollen like a chipmunk. Lucas looked down at the water and he splashed his face. Using more soft soap, he gently washed his face and neck. He was appalled that the sink was now smeared with black dirt! He reached for one of the washcloths from the small pantry behind the door and quickly dried his face, neck and hands. The once clean wash cloth was soiled. He looked at it in shame and then quickly wiped the sink clean with it. Then he used the soft soap to scrub the washcloth as clean as he could.
He wished he could hide it. He was so embarrassed. Instead, he spread it out to dry on the tub and picked up his bottled water, leaving the bathroom. He could smell food as soon at the door opened and his stomach began to ache with hunger. He had money for food but he never ate his fill. There was always tomorrow to think about. Lucas swept his damp hair to the side where it had gotten wet from his face washing. It concealed his shiner; at least he hoped it did.
He stunk, he was all-beat up, and he was ashamed. He walked into the dining room where the lady; Sophie had placed a plate piled high with food on the table alongside a tall glass of iced tea.
Sophie saw the hesitancy on the boy’s hungry face. “Come on, sit down. Eat up.”
She watched him pull out the wooden dining room chair and look at it warily. Then he sat down very carefully and looked at her in gratitude. His expression nearly broke her heart. Why did people hurt kids?
“Thank you.” His voice was much deeper than she would have expected. It rumbled from his thin body sounding like it had risen from the soul of an old man.
“Its just leftovers.” Sophie liked food, just because she lived alone didn’t mean that she couldn’t enjoy a pot roast or a nice meatloaf. And she made a pot of greens every few weeks and generally froze the leftovers. Lucas’ plate contained some of the greens that she had thawed earlier that day, cornbread also thawed, meatloaf that she had prepared hours earlier, and the last of the mashed potatoes that she had planned to have as leftovers later today. Yeah, it was no longer last night it was officially today.
Lucas might have been shy but he wasn’t too shy to eat under Sophie’s scrutiny. While he quickly shoveled food into his mouth she watched him curiously.
“What’s your name?”
She saw a blush creep up along his pale skin. He was much whiter now that he had evidently washed his face.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am, My name is Lucas. Lucas Reider.”
“I’m not Ma’am, just Sophie. Sophie Baxter.”
“Nice to meet you. Thank you for…everything.”
Sophie gestured for him to continue eating. “Not a problem Lucas.” He tightened his grip on his fork and continued eating enthusiastically.
“Did you get beat up tonight?”
Sophie saw Lucas’ eyes become guarded. He didn’t answer but he did nod.
“Your eye looks really bad. I think you should see a doctor.” She knew that there were free hospitals and clinics. Lucas swallowed a mouthful of food. “I don’t have my identification.” Even at the free clinic you needed identification. “They stole my wallet.”
“Did they take all of your money?”
He shook his head slowly. “I still have some.”
Some. His food soon disappeared and his plate was scraped clean of every remnant of the meal. Sophie wished that she could offer him seconds but there wasn’t any more. She did go into the kitchen and return with two plates each containing a slice of caramel cake that she had bought from the super market. She didn’t dare bake an entire cake for herself, but her local grocers sold cake by the slice.
Lucas’ eyes widened as she slid the plate in front of him. This time he ate slower.
“Thank you, Ma’am--I mean, Sophie!”
Lucas finished his cake, his iced tea and his bottled water and Sophie thought that if she put the kitchen sink in front of him he’d devour that too. Where was that food going in that little teeny body of his? She stood up and Lucas came to his feet quickly. Sophie reached for his plate and paused. She almost dropped the plate when she looked back at him.
“Lucas … ”
He didn’t understand why she had such a look on her face. He didn’t remember doing anything wrong. He looked towards the kitchen where he’d left his duffel bag. He needed to get his things and go and thank her again-
“Lucas … were you raped?”
His head began to spin. “What … ?”
She glanced at the chair that he had risen from and there was a slight smear of blood.
“Oh, god. Miss Sophie, I’ll clean that-!”
She placed her hands on either of his shoulders and held him gently in place. “Don’t worry about that, it’s just an old wooden chair.” Her voice was soft and gentle but her eyes were squinted. Lucas felt embarrassed heat creeping up his body and he knew that his face flamed.
“I’m going to take you to the hospital, Lucas-”
“I’m okay-” he glanced at the chair and at the smear of fresh blood, he felt dizzy again.
He saw her move past him swiftly. She grabbed her purse and keys.
“Miss—Sophie, you don’t have to-” She held out her hand to him and waited. He took a tentative step toward her waiting hand and though he didn’t take it, he allowed himself to be led out the front door.

Friday, March 13, 2015

Have you read Adaptation?

 Carmella was still a teen when the Motherships first appeared dotting the skies over the Earth. For years the world tried to normalize while the silent Motherships hovered. And then THEY arrived, promising that they meant no harm. But within ten years eighty percent of the world’s population would be wiped out.

Including everyone that Carmella loved.

The ‘blobs’ took those that survived to another planet called Earth Two. But Carmella was an Earthling and she would kill the hated monsters that had destroyed her world before she would allow them to take her.

Carmella settled into a lonely existence on the now desolate earth—all alone except for her wolf. And then she sees it hiding, watching her—maybe to capture her and remove her from the only thing that she can still call her own--her world.

But Bilal is not like the other Centaurians. He is fully aware that he will never be like the humans that he’s grown up with. Earth is the only home he knows and he feels that he is just as much an Earthling as any human. Shunned by his own kind, Bilal travels the Earth trying to capture an essence of the life that he could never be a part of and a world that would never accept him.

When he sees the black woman living all alone his curiosity gets the best of him. He can not stop himself from watching her, and secretly growing more attached to the human. Bilal’s quest to become human brings him to a decision that will forever change the course of human-kind. In an attempt to ease the woman's loneliness--or perhaps a need to recreate himself, Bilal impregnates the woman with his Alien DNA.

Carmella picked at her meal listlessly. She had no appetite these days but kept eating anyway. She had to. When the food had magically disappeared, she looked at her empty plate and poked at her swollen stomach with her finger.
“Happy now?” she asked.
She used the slop bucket and then carried it outside to dump. She walked across her front porch and watched the fall leaves as they swirled around her feet. Later she would sweep. Soon it would be winter, and then what would she do? She sighed and walked down the porch stairs.
She nearly walked right up to the man standing in her front yard. She stopped in her tracks and stumbled backwards, nearly falling on her ass.
The man reached out and righted her.
“What the? Where did you come from?” Her hands flew to her mouth. Oh God, what was it? She thought he was a man, but … Carmella backed away. “What are you?”
“Please,” he said. “I just want to make sure that you’re okay.”
She threw the bucket of slop at him.
Bilal ducked, the slop flying harmlessly over his head.
Carmella stumbled up her stairs and into her home where she slammed the door shut and locked it. She backed away from the door and darted for the front window.
The man still stood in the front yard.
From a distance he looked like a man, but up close she had seen that his eyes were black orbs with no whites. His skin also had a strange translucent quality. It reminded her of Dr. Manhattan from that Watchmen movie. His skin didn’t glow blue, but an undercurrent of color moved subtly from darks to reds to yellows.
The man seemed to know where she was located within the house because he looked right at the window. She ducked out of sight and peeked from behind the curtain.
He appeared to be Asian with long, sleek black hair that hung past his shoulders. He was quite tall with a toned physique and broad shoulders. He wore a white long-sleeved tunic and loose fitting pants, but she could tell that he was fit.
She knew—she had no doubt. It was that Blob, the one that kept coming back. But how? How did he make himself … human?
She took a deep breath before standing in front of the window. “What are you?”
He heard her clearly through the window though she spoke in a normal voice.
Carmella saw his lips move but was unable to hear him. She unlatched the window and opened it.
“I am Bilal Ayunkili, and I am a Centaurian, human hybrid,” he said.
She closed her eyes and swallowed. Remembering that Centaurians moved fast, she opened her eyes and found that he hadn’t budged. “Why are you here? Haven’t you done enough? Can’t you just leave me alone?”
Bilal clasped his hands in front of him. “I cannot.”
She was too tired for this confrontation. “Why did you do this to me?” She pressed her head against the windowsill and closed her eyes. “I know what you did. You raped me that night I thought I was having a nightmare. When my stomach kept getting bigger I figured it out. I’ve been pregnant before. Then I found the bullet from where I had shot at you.”
“No. There was no sex. But I did place a baby inside you.”
Hearing it made it more real and made her feel less crazy. “Why? Why would you do this?”
His skin color shifted subtly to an undercurrent of green. “Because I felt bad for you. I felt bad for your loneliness. I felt bad for your loss.”
“Really?” she snarled. “You did this for me?”
“Yes! But I had no right to do that, and I understand that. But that night when you told me to leave, I saw how much you hurt. I just thought maybe I could make your pain go away a little.”
“By impregnating me with an alien creature?”
“The sperm I used was of a man who looks like I do. He is human and my friend.” Bilal took a deep breath. “But yes, my DNA is there as well.”
Carmella’s hand tightened on the windowsill. “My baby has two fathers?”
She felt sick and angry and afraid. She couldn’t find the words to tell the alien in her yard how devastating this was to her and how much she hated it for what it had done to her. This was no favor. This was no gift. This was only a monster growing in her belly.
“How much longer before it’s born? It’s not like a normal pregnancy. Everything is moving faster.” She calculated that she should only be five months along, but she was already huge.
“You are correct. A Centaurian gestation is only about thirty weeks.”
Carmella knew she was twenty-two weeks. She had two more months to carry it. She stared at the alien. Would he leave when the baby was born? He said he wanted to make sure she was okay. Would he try to take her to the ship to have the child?
“I’m not going to your ship or back to your fake Earth.”
“No, you won’t. You may remain here.” His gaze was intense. It would have rendered her a nervous wreck if she wasn’t so angry. “But I will remain here with you.”
Her body stiffened. “I don’t want you here.”
“You won’t be able to do this alone.”
“Don’t you touch me again! Do you understand me? Don’t you ever touch me!”
“I understand,” he said. “What do I call you?”
“You don’t call me anything.” She shut and locked the window.
The next morning the human did not come outside to tend to her animals. Bilal knew her routine. He had watched her often enough. After returning to her home to eat, she would then do a wide variety of chores outdoors. Sometimes she washed her laundry, sometimes she mowed her grass or took care of her garden, and sometimes she repaired fences and cleaned the barn.
It was obvious that she hadn’t taken care of her chores in several days. Bilal felt guilty for not being here. That night he slept in the barn, but sleep would not come. The smells assaulted his nose. The animal waste in the barn was in piles knee high! He had not processed smell in the same way in his old body. His belly was also becoming empty, and hunger was not a pleasant sensation. His skin itched, and he felt cold.
Yes, humans needed more in order to keep their bodies comfortable. Luckily he had human friends and knew much about human needs.
When the sun rose, he went to the woman’s garden and ate lettuce, cucumbers, and onions. They were good, and soon he felt strong again. Being human took some getting used to. He didn’t understand the pressure building in his belly until he realized he had to urinate. Urinating was nice, though. He liked having a penis and liked the way it felt in his hands.
After finishing his business, he went back to the yard and stared at the house, locating the woman’s whereabouts easily. She was awake and in one of the lower levels. She was preparing food. Good. As long as she ate then things should progress nicely.
Bilal returned to the barn and retrieved a clean pail. He had seen the woman doing this several times and had even tried it once when she wasn’t around. Milking the cow was not an easy feat since the cow’s udders were full and she was skittish and kept stepping away. He used soothing words to coax her into stillness and soon began filling the pail with fresh warm milk.
Carmella darted from window to window in order to see what the alien was doing. He came from the barn and had done something in her garden. She closed the curtain and scrubbed her hands across her face.
She could run away—
No, stupid!
She looked at her swollen belly and peeked out of the curtain. Carmella spent most of the morning spying on the alien, and when she saw him come up on the porch, she ran to the stairs as fast as her wobbly body would allow. She could lock herself in the bunker, but he never came inside. After half an hour, she moved to the front window and carefully peeked out.
He wasn’t there.
But on the porch sat a basket of eggs, a pail of milk, and a puny green tomato. 

Monday, March 9, 2015

A Wrong Turn Towards Love-an erotic short story teaser

This teaser post is for adult readers only.

A darkly comedic adventure befalls a lone black woman that takes a wrong turn, which leads to murder, the Klan and a big sexy mountain man named Bodie. This story was initially published in Seduction: An Interracial Romance Anthology Vol.1 *Warning: graphic sexual descriptions, strong racist language.

They hadn’t gone two miles before they heard a shot. Shaun screamed and ducked even before Bodie told her to.
In his rearview mirror he saw a Corvette coming up on him fast.
“You mutha fucker!” He growled. He’d play the killing game if he had to—because it was a certainty that whoever shot at his car was a dead mutha fucker!
Shaun was crouched on the floor praying. “Craig, I’m so sorry I was mad at you for sleeping with my friend. All I want to do is come back home to Chicago. I don’t want anything to do with Kentucky anymore. I don’t even want to visit Grandma.” Dear Lord…if she got killed here today nobody would be the wiser.
The Corvette tried coming up alongside of them. Bodie saw Derrick driving, nose flattened and bloodied. Sully was on the passenger side with a shotgun.
“You fool! Are you shootin’ at me?!” Bodie screamed.
“Pull over!” Derrick yelled. Or I’ll run this big muther fucker off the road!”
“Yeah? Try it, bitch!”
Sully pointed the rifle but Derrick knocked it out of the way. “What are you doing?! Who told you to shoot?”
The Corvette side-swiped them. Bodie countered with a swipe of his own, pushing the smaller car almost off the narrow road.
They played that game for a few miles before Derrick realized that he couldn’t force the larger truck off the road.
“Pull over or I’m going to shoot out your tires!”
“Tell him to throw that rifle out the window and I’ll pull over!”
Shaun began to protest in her crouched position on the floor. These people were insane!
Sully complained about how much money he’d paid for the rifle but Derrick snatched it from his hands and tossed it out the window. “Pull over!” He yelled.
Bodie slowed his truck and spoke to the frightened woman crouched on the floor. “I’m going to pull into the woods. When I do you slide out and start running. Hide. I’ll find you.”
“Bodie…” she began doubtfully.
“Trust me. Derrick wants to know who killed his brother more than he wants to kill you or me. And I have a feeling that Sully Pranger has the key to that.” He pulled into the woods. Shaun didn’t want to leave Bodie but as soon as the car stopped she intended to run for her life. There was no way that a black woman and a half-white, half-Indian was going to reason with the Klan and someone had to live to tell this to the authorities! This was Deliverance and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre wrapped in one!

If you like what you read than purchase your copy on and Barnes and Noble.

Sunday, March 8, 2015

Hi. My name is Pepper Pace and I am an IR author

My Special Friend teaser

Adult Readers only. Mature content.

I allowed my fingers to trace the path to his waiting cock and Todd paused in his suckling until my fingers gently grasped what I had been admiring all evening.
”Ohh ... ” He moaned in a rush of breath then threw his head back suddenly while his hand squeezed over mine, forcing me to jerk him quickly. Alarmed I made to pull back. “I’m going to cum, Kia!” He yelled as he forced my hand to quicken its manipulation. No no no! It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I felt his body grow taut and without thinking I squeezed his shaft hard.
”Owww!” His body jerked and he was in a sitting position gripping my wrist. “Let me go!” He yelled. I yanked away from the firm grip he had on my wrist and slid backwards on my ass until I was out of his reach.
He cupped his injured appendage and then looked at me. “Why did you do that?”
”I-I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to cum-“
He shook his head. “No, not that. Why did you back away like that?”
”I ... thought you’d be mad at me.”
He huffed humorlessly. “Gee, what would make you think that?” He met my eyes calmly. “You flinched like you thought I was going to hit you. I would never hit you. Is that what you thought?” I didn’t answer. “Come here, Kia.” I hesitated and moved towards him. He reached out and cradled my face gently. He looked deeply into my eyes.
”Did your ex hit you?” Quickly I shook my head. I was so embarrassed that he could see the lie. Truth was that he had hit me once or twice. To my shame, I had accepted it.
”Aww, Kia. Your ex was a real piece of shit. But you don’t ever have to worry about that with me.” He stood up and started putting on his clothes. I slipped on my sundress, speechless, and still embarrassed.
”Sorry about squeezing you.”
”It’s ok. You were right to do that. It’s not the way it was supposed to be.” He walked over to me and touched me lightly and then he kissed me softly. “Can I see you tomorrow, after you get home from work?”
He inhaled deeply. “Tonight was … amazing. I never said that to a woman after a sexless evening.” We both laughed. He kissed me good night but I stopped him before he could go.
”Todd, I don’t want you to think less of me because you think I was an abused wife. Tony hit me on two occasions and I’m ashamed that I stayed. But I think I’m equally ashamed that I allowed him to cheat; that I stayed in a loveless marriage. You asked me why I didn’t meet men. That’s why.”
He nodded. “I have not lost an ounce of respect for you. I’ve just gained a hatred for your ex.” He turned away abruptly and left.

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