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Sunday, March 18, 2018

Product Review: Butterfly G-Spot Vibrator

Get it from Manshop for $11.99.

The Butterfly G-Spot Vibrator

I gave this one away in March for my Muffin's Change event. That little beauty tortured me from its package for months, so when hubby felt frisky yesterday, he set out to buy this one for me. If you're more patient. (yes, Patient Lee hears the irony) click here to get it from Manshop for $11.99. (I paid more for it on another site for my giveaway, much to my dismay.)


When he got to the store, he found the Platinum Edition, which he purchased. If you have a couple extra bucks, click here to check it out.I think it's worth it. 

Get it from Manshop for $21.95.
#recommendedbypl


Here's what I thought:

The shape is enticing. It's made of "flexible rubber jelly," which made it pleasant to the touch, even just on the fingers. Mine is pink, but all three available colors look great. 
The original Butterfly has three speeds only. The Platinum beats the hell out of the original with six additional settings with different vibration patterns. I'll confess, I didn't use the three original settings. I'm all about the switch up.
I took it into the shower with me, put it in place and washed my hair. It was pleasant and fun. It's a good size, so it stayed put without much trouble. Until I tried to wash my feet. That was comical, but I managed not to drop it. I'd like to try it in the bath sometime. 
After my shower, I positioned myself comfortably on my bed and found some porn. Then I got serious about getting off. It isn't easy for me, and I have a tendency to burn out battery-operated toys. I'm happy to say that the Butterfly still worked after the Big O. (I just got it yesterday. I may change my mind the next time I pick it up. Who knows?)

At one point, I was thinking it was too much because I thought I was losing sensation around my clit. When I investigated, I realized it had twisted around, and it was only the vibrations from the internal part I was feeling on my clit. I laughed at myself, repositioned it, and got back to business.
Not only did it get me off, it got me off HARD. It's a good thing no one was home because I was LOUD. 
I love waterproof toys. I never feel as though I can wash a non-waterproof vibrator thoroughly enough, so I tend to use condoms with those. That's a definite selling point for the Butterfly Kiss.
This is mine. Get your own!
The size is quite nice. My favorite, go-to toy is my Magic Wand, but it's quite heavy, and my hands get tired from holding it. This one stayed in place with no hands when I was lying down. It's much lighter, too, so gravity wasn't pulling it out of position. 
One criticism is the noise, but I guess I could have gagged myself. I'm kidding! The device itself was quieter than the Wand, but I would still worry that someone would hear from the other end of the house. 
There was also no option to use the vibration patterns on a lower setting, and I think it could be too much for some women. That's just a guess though. 
Last criticism, I swear. Perhaps I'm not as smart as I think I am, but I couldn't turn the damn thing off. The on button cycled through the rest Not a problem when you're on dry land. Just twist to open the battery case on the handle. The problem is in the shower. If you decide to turn it off to save your batteries while you shave your legs, you can't open the battery compartment to shut it off without destroying the vibrator. 

Overall Impression: #recommendedbypl


If you have a clitoris, I'm pretty sure you'll like this toy. If you can get a quick orgasm out of other toys, you'll probably like the original model. If you're like me, and you prefer something with variety, shell out the extra ten bucks. And you might want to pick up a gag while you're at it. I'm pretty sure the neighbors knew I was coming. 

Saturday, February 24, 2018

Hexborn: Can a Child of War Fight for Peace?

One of my very favorite authors is A.M. Manay, and she has some incredibly exciting news. Her Young Adult, High Fantasy novel, Hexborn, is in the middle of a Kindle Scout campaign. She needs our help with nominations.

If you haven't read her stuff yet, you should. I don't usually enjoy paranormal or vampires, but her November Snow series is one of the best things I've ever read. Twice. I'm gonna ask you to trust me on this and click here to nominate this book for Kindle Scout. Please. You have nothing to lose, and an excellent author has EVERYTHING to gain. The campaign ends March 9. Please click now. 

Patient Lee and A.M. Manay thank you!

Here are the details:

Author: A.M. Manay
Cover Design: Eeva Lancaster, www.thebookkhaleesi.com
Genre: Young Adult High Fantasy

Kindle Scout link:
https://kindlescout.amazon.com/p/2Q22TVKET6NES

Kindle Scout Campaign: Feb. 8 – March 9, 2018

Tag line: Can a child of war fight for peace?
Mini-blurb: Hexborn. Abomination. Unclean. Young Shiloh knows exactly what she is. Her missing hand and the world at large are ever ready to remind her. Outcast she may be, but her broken body hides great magical power. The king’s servant Silas seeks to use that power to preserve the uneasy peace the kingdom has enjoyed since the end of the Siblings’ War. He'll slit her throat if she threatens it instead. Will Shiloh prove her worth? Or will past sins rise to destroy Shiloh, Silas, and the kingdom of Bryn?

Trailer: https://youtu.be/AC78jhZ5q4Q
Contact info and social media: Email: ammanay@gmail.com
Website: www.ammanay.net
Blog: http://www.ammanaywrites.blogspot.com
Facebook: facebook.com/ammanaywrites
Twitter: @ammanay
Instagram: instagram.com/a.m.manay
Amazon author page: amazon.com/author/ammanay

Tuesday, February 13, 2018

Jars of Dead Things, Bradley

I like to write dreams. Mine are vivid and complex, even though they don't always make sense.

I dream about snakes all the time. Snakes in cages, snakes in baskets, snakes under the couch. Friendly snakes, snakes on the attack, dead snakes. All kinds of snakes.

One summer my family took home the corn snake from the biology class next door. (The same teacher who inspired Mrs. Maitland's SAD Valentine with her idea to mate her pythons for Valentine's Day. Her female snake wasn't a healthy weight for breeding, so she had to scrap her plan, but for Mrs. Maitland, it went much more smoothly.) I enjoyed our temporary pet until the night I dreamt that I sautéed him. I cut him in three and cooked him in garlic and butter. Ralph Scampi, I guess.

After that dream, I was terrified of him. As if he knew I'd had a wicked plan for him.

Anyway. Here is a snakey excerpt from Mrs. Maitland's SAD Valentine.
 
 
While others dreamt of roses and lovers and sex on that Valentine’s Night, Brad dreamt of snakes and dead things in jars.

In his dream, he stood in Mrs. Maitland’s classroom, staring at the Jars of Dead Things. The lights weren’t on, and the sun had dropped below the horizon, but the last vestiges of daylight allowed him to see the contents of the glass-paneled cabinet. As he looked from jar to jar, he felt the familiar mix of revulsion and shame he knew so well when he was in high school.

Just like he always had, he started at the bottom shelf, looking at the tapeworms and the starfish and the other faceless creatures, swimming in formaldehyde ponds. The second shelf held the kinds of creepy-crawlies you wouldn’t want to see up close, but were fascinating from the safety of a tightly closed jar—a hornet, a scorpion, a brown recluse spider.

Movement on the third shelf caught his eye. Before he could even lift his gaze, the snake’s head hit the glass with a single knock. Brad tried to jump back, but his shoes were bolted to the floor. The snake was thin and about three feet long. He didn’t know what kind it was, but it wasn’t one of Mrs. Maitland’s pythons. It disappeared behind the jars.

Brad turned his head to look over his shoulder, which he wouldn’t have risked during biology class. The room was three times its usual length, and even in the dream, he was overwhelmed by the amount of cleaning it would require. The desks stretched in long, crooked rows which would take half his night to straighten.

Mrs. Maitland’s animal cages had been replaced by tall stacks of papers on every available surface. Her posters and skeletons and drawings and photographs had disappeared. The walls were bare except for the Emergency Eye Wash instruction poster and the fire exit sign. 

“Look at the Jars of Dead Things, Bradley,” he heard behind him. “Maybe they’ll remind you to come to class prepared.”

Mr. Morgan? He retired last year. What the fuck was he doing here?

A projection screen the size of the front wall had been pulled down in front of the chalkboard, and Brad’s stomach lurched when he smelled the almost-but-not-quite banana scent of dry erase marker. His palms were sweating as he searched his pockets for a pencil. He was falling behind, and he hadn’t even taken out his notebook yet. Mr. Morgan was about to erase the screen and fill it with another page of nonsense words, and he hadn’t found anything to write with.

He heard Morgan’s voice again. “Jars of Dead Things, Bradley. If you can’t participate in class, at least educate yourself with the Jars of Dead Things. Look on the third shelf. Learn something.”

Third shelf. Animals with faces. He hated the third shelf. 

He felt the second snake slithering across his ankles before he saw it. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he remained frozen in place. After circling his shoes twice, it slithered toward the teacher’s desk. This one was much longer, maybe five or six feet. Brad wondered if it was poisonous. It wasn’t a python, but he had no idea what it was.

“Third shelf, Bradley,” Mr. Morgan said again. Third shelf. A miniature shark. A frog. A chick. All bleached white. 

And then his eyes rested on the fetal pig. His stomach lurched as it always did. So tiny. Its features frozen forever. So sad. Shame and revulsion. If he could just be prepared for class, he wouldn’t have to look at this poor little piggy.

Another snake dropped from the ceiling, dangling right in front of him. This one was yellow with huge fangs that dripped venom.

He was suddenly aware of the scent of liquor and breath spray.

He tried to take a step only to find that his feet weren’t bolted to the floor. They stuck to the floor, held tight by some kind of adhesive. He could bring his foot up a couple of inches from the floor, but the glue immediately pulled it back to the ground, like in a cartoon.

A drop of poison fell from the snake’s mouth, landing on the tip of his nose. Brad tried to scream, but no sound came out. 

As he looked up at the monster hanging before him, snakes of all sizes and markings came out of the room’s cracks and crevices. They came from every direction, all converging on Brad. Their long bodies knocked over the piles of photocopies, scattering the papers to the floor in the slow motion only seen in nightmares. It would take all night to clean this room.

And he still couldn’t find his pencil.

The snake from the ceiling stretched toward him; its head touched his skin right below his ear. Again he tried to scream. He felt the snake’s scales on the back of his neck as it moved across him. It was still attached to the ceiling, and it seemed to get longer and longer. 

He felt it brush his other ear, and then he heard it speak. “Look at the Jarsss of Dead Thingsss, Bradley,” it hissed in his ear.

His bladder let go, and he woke up.

Now he could scream.

Friday, December 1, 2017

Sexual Assault in the Workplace

Click here for a free copy of She's My Reference.

The second piece of fiction I ever wrote started out as a rant about those in my workplace who receive special treatment because they're tight with administration. Where I work, people walk into opportunities because they went to high school with the boss or because they make extra coffee and invite only those in charge.

In my story, it happens to be a man losing out to a woman because she and the boss went to high school together. (I wanted to try writing from the male perspective, and I felt less whiny since I wasn't writing about myself.) The man and his friends go to a bar and lament the inequality in hiring, and the cute, younger (female) bartender overhears and makes an outrageous offer--to be his reference because the boss needed some *ahem* oral persuasion.

What follows is a scorcher of a date between the younger bartender and the older teacher with steamy fantasizing and  super-hot sex.

And then I went and ruined it with a Patient Lee Tittie Twister Ending. (I can't resist the twist at the end of a short story.) The ending resulted in my lowest scores ever on Literotica (vote for MST while you're there!) and most hateful comments I've ever received (and believe it or not, I've gotten some doozies. Literotica is not always a friendly place.), including threats to maim and kill me, all because I horrified the straight, macho readers at the very last minute.

After the sting of the comments eased, I realized that I had struck a nerve. Hard. They didn't hate my story because I hadn't written well. They hated it because I lured them in with the heat of the rest of the story and then poured a bucket of ice water on their *ahem* Johnsons by putting a man in a position usually "reserved" for women in the workplace--on his knees.

This week, my story feels particularly relevant. If you read this story and feel revulsion at the end, good. Women are not any more comfortable performing *ahem* oral things on a man they don't choose and more than a man feels. If it revolts you, it means you understand how these women who are finally coming forward to tell their stories felt. Choosing between your career and performing a coerced sexual act should not ever happen again to a man or a woman.

(This didn't happen to me or anyone I know, BTW. It's fiction. And the inequities in my workplace are greater than ever. Preferred parking, bathroom in a classroom, missing meetings, and a host of other perks--offered to one, but not the rest.)

Thanks for reading. If you'd like to read the story for free, click here. Usually I ask readers to subscribe to my newsletter, and I give the book in return. This week it feels important to get as many readers on it as possible.

Thank you,

PL

Friday, July 21, 2017

Flash Fiction: Alex and the Intern


Last weekend, I participated in the WritersWeekly.com 24 Hour Short Story Contest. In this contest, we had 24 hours to write an 850 word story following the prompt below.

It was supposed to be the summer job of a lifetime, working as a chef at an upscale "summer camp" for adults. But, the air conditioner was broken again. After closing, the stale outdoor air brought little relief. The path to the cabins housing seasonal employees was dark but short. She stopped in her tracks when she came across one of the windows. With her pupils dilating, she couldn't look away...

 I was traveling with my parents and my three children when the contest started, so between sleeping in the car and unpacking, I wasted about six hours dancing around the first thing that popped into my head: octopus. For a less-than-two-minute education on octopuses (yes octopuses,not octopi), click here for a clip from Animal Planet's show Tanked (one of the few shows my family watches together with no grumbling).

Since the key to winning the heart of the judges (according to the recommendations in the materials they sent to participants) was a surprise ending, I took the advice seriously. (If you've read my erotic shorts, you've read some Patient Lee Titty Twister Endings. This one's just a Twister.) I didn't want to use a plot twist I've seen on TV, so I stayed away from the horribly venomous Blue Ringed Octopus.

After struggling and sketching and trying to pull the story together, I was beginning to lose hope of bringing it together. But then the clouds opened up, the sun shone down on me, and Tool came on. Schism is my writing song. "I know the pieces fit." (See the video below.)

My parents took the kids to the beach, and by the time they returned, the story was half-written. I finished twelve hours early. Amazing what a little quiet time can do for the creative brain.

Here it is, for your enjoyment.

Alex and the Intern

© 2017 Patient Lee

On the third day of Tanisha’s internship at Camp Wine and Sea, the octopus escapeyd, as though he thought by dinnertime, Chef Roscoe would be arranging his tentacles on a bed of rice pilaf.

It wasn’t true, of course. Alex, the Great Pacific Octopus, had been a dining-room fixture at the camp since it opened. Octopus was Chef Roscoe’s specialty, and it was on the menu every Saturday night, but Alex wasn’t dinner. He was the camp mascot, and he provided conversation fodder for the uncomfortable adults sharing tables with strangers on the first night of camp. Until the wine started flowing, Alex kept the party going.

Peter, the sommelier, discovered Alex’s absence minutes before the first dinner seating. He raced to kitchen. “Chef, where’s Alex?”

“The octopus?”

“Yes, the octopus. He’s not in his tank.”

"Again?” The chef groaned. “One of these days, I’m going to serve that monster in a tomato confit, I swear. Get the intern to look for him.”
Peter raised his eyebrow. “You want to leave that to her? She’s made a dozen mistakes since she got here. Besides, don’t you need her in the kitchen?”
“Would you rather she pour wine tonight?” The chef dismissed him without another word. Instead, Peter performed a cursory search of the kitchen and dining room himself, and when the first guests entered the dining room, peering into Alex’s tank, he distracted them with Sauvignon Blanc.

A misogynist, Chef Roscoe resented the management’s choice of intern for the summer. Tanisha Jones didn’t care what Chef thought. She’d earned her place in his kitchen with her 4.0 at the university and three wins in prestigious cooking contests. Even though he’d blamed every error in the kitchen on her since she arrived at camp, she was ready to stand tall against his pompous attitude.

While Chef was in the dining room announcing the evening’s menu—octopus braised in red-wine with Kalamata olives—Tanisha tended to the pots and pans on the stove. When he returned to the kitchen, he barked three orders in a row to her, and before she could do any of them, he said, “And put that octopus over there in the big pot for the third seating.”

Tanisha followed his instructions to the letter, knowing it didn’t matter. Chef set her up for failure every time she turned around, but she did her best for the sake of the diners who were paying a small fortune for a week at the adult summer camp.

The air conditioner quit halfway through the second seating, and by the end of the third, heat exhaustion threatened to knock out the staff. Tanisha and Chef Roscoe cleaned the kitchen as quickly as they could, and just when she thought she’d get some relief from the heat, her nose detected the odor of spoiling food. She scanned the kitchen, looking for the forgotten piece of fish or scrap of meat.


Sniffing the air, she followed her nose to the corner of the kitchen where she found a metal bowl containing an octopus, ready for the cooking pot if it hadn’t begun to rot from the intense heat in the cooking area. Swallowing the urge to vomit, she called, “Chef. You have to see this.”

“What the hell?” His eyes narrowed in anger. “You were supposed to cook the octopus. What did you cook?” His voice rose in pitch as his anger increased.

“The octopus in the jar over there!” She pointed to the counter next to the stove. “It was right next to the pot. I assumed that was the one you meant!”

Chef shook his head and chuckled without humor. “You idiot. You know Alex got out today, right?”

“Alex from the dining room?” Her face fell as it dawned on her. An octopus could open a jar to hide in it. “Did I cook Alex?” Her voice was a whisper, punctuated by projectile vomit as she accepted the truth. She’d cooked the camp mascot.

After cleaning her mess and the putrefying octopus, she stepped into the dark, wishing for relief from the heat. Instead, the stale air knocked her back a step, nauseating her again.

Regaining her balance, she started down the dark path to the employees’ cabins. Worry ran circles in her head. Would the camp administration fire her? Would animal rights activists call for her head on a pike? Could she live with herself after making such a horrific mistake?

She heard Chef Roscoe’s voice, stopping her short. She turned and found herself at his cabin, his open sitting-area window providing her a view of his kitchen. He sounded as if he was speaking to a puppy. “I got that uppity bitch. Yes, I did, Alex.”

Her eyes flew open, pupils dilating, when he stepped into view. Any thought that he’d stolen Alex to keep as a pet vanished as he placed the platter on the table, the octopus moving listlessly as it languished out of water.

Tanisha’s scream couldn’t save the octopus as Chef brought the cleaver down on Alex’s bulbous head.


Friday, July 14, 2017

WIP: Pittsburgh- Coming in August

The Facebook challenge was to post a one-word story title and a brief synopsis. I looked up from my spot in the passenger seat and saw the sign for Pittsburgh. Three minutes later, this little story was sketched out in my head. 


Here's a flirtatious excerpt about two men who meet in a Philadelphia sports bar watching a 76ers (basketball) game. 


This sexy, MM short story makes its debut on August 19 at Patient Lee's Saturday Takeover on Queeromance Ink's Facebook Page


(And check out Queeromance Ink's website to search for your particular favorite type of queer romance and erotica. Sign up for their weekly newsletter and receive FIVE FREE BOOKS!)




Pittsburgh

The warm blast of heat as I opened the door of Tommy’s, the sports bar down the street from my office, hit me like a hug from my mother. It was frickin’ freezing in Philadelphia this week, and it didn’t look like it was gonna warm up any time soon. I was late getting out of work, again, and I’d already missed the first quarter of the Sixers game. It didn’t help that the bar was packed. I looked around for people I knew, but I could hardly walk, never mind see. I pushed my way to the bar, just as an older guy pulled his overcoat off the back of his chair and yelled a thank you to the bartender.

“You leaving, man?” I asked as I put my hand on the stool before somebody else grabbed it.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just stopped for a beer. Basketball ain’t my thing.” He pushed his way through the crowd, and I bellied up to the bar. I arranged my coat on my chair and loosened my tie, checking the back on my Flyers tie tack to make sure it was secure.

“Stella Bella,” I called, flagging the bartender over. Her name was Stella, but that didn’t stop me from adding on the Bella. I’d been coming to this bar for four years, ever since I moved out of my parents’ house in King of Prussia to my townhouse in Rittenhouse Square. Stella was gorgeous. Long, brown, wavy hair, and an ass that filled her jeans to a level that most men would find delicious.

Most men. Not me. I came out in high school and took all the shit that came along with it, but I graduated and went to Penn State Main Campus. I got my degree in business, and right after graduation, I got a job at PNC bank in Philly. It was a good job, not my dream job or anything, but I had a nice place to live and I was pretty happy with my life. All that was missing was a guy who filled his jeans like Stella did. A nice package in the front wouldn’t hurt either.

Stella put the pitcher of Yuengling and a frosted glass in front of me. “How ya doing, Clarke?”

“Better now that I’m in here,” I said. “It’s fucking cold out there.”

She filled my glass, clucking her tongue and smiling. “It’s January in Philadelphia. What the hell did you expect?” The State Farm commercial on the giant TV in front of me ended, and the second quarter of the game started.

I didn’t notice the guy next to me until I finished my burger. I was so fucking hungry, and so focused on the game, I wouldn’t have noticed if a bomb went off. The Sixers were down by four for most of the second quarter, and I didn’t want to have to depend on the replay when they turned the tables on the Bulls.

He actually hit me when the Sixers caught up. His arms flew up in the air when Robinson tied the game up. His hand clipped my head, and his head snapped toward me. The shocked look on his face was hilarious.

“I am so sorry,” he said. His eyes were wide, and I could see that he hadn’t even realized I was there.

“Quite a game, huh?”

“Yeah. Great game, now that we’re tied up.”

Stella leaned in between the two of us, looked at me, and said just loudly enough to hear over the noise in the bar, “I know for a fact he enjoys that.”

He blushed an adorable shade of red, but I did, too. “How does she know that for a fact, huh? Did Stella Bella tie you up?” I tried not to grin too widely. I didn’t want him to think I was coming on to him. I was coming on to him, but I’d been shot down in an embarrassing blaze of dismay enough times to stay cool.

“NO!” He said it loud enough for our whole side of the bar to hear. “I drank too much one night, and she—”

“She tied you up?” I laughed, mostly from discomfort. Bondage wasn’t in my bag of tricks. Neither was hetero sex.

“No.” He snorted out loud. “She coaxed the story out of me. This bachelorette party was discussing Fifty Shades of Grey. I made a comment, and she didn’t let it go until I told the story.” He took a long drink, draining his beer. “I am so freaking embarrassed right now.”

The game resumed, and I let it go for a few minutes. Stella brought another round, and this time, she spoke to him. “Did you tell him all about it? I bet he’d love to know. I think he’s your type.” She looked at me and gestured to him with her head. “He’s gorgeous, isn’t he, Clarke?”

I cocked an eyebrow. Was she trying to fix us up?

“Clarke, this is Joe. Joe, this is Clarke. I can’t believe you guys haven’t met here before.”

He had the same confused look as I did. “I usually work second shift, so I’m not usually here until midnight,” he said. “They got me on first shift this week.”

“What do you do?”

“Paramedic. I live around the corner, so I stop in a lot on the way home. Tonight I just came to watch the game with someone other than my cat.”

“Ha! Same. I work during the day, but neither of my cats appreciate my obnoxious cheering. I’m in banking. Less exciting, but then again, so am I.”

The Sixers got a three-pointer, pushing them into the lead. Joe and I jumped up and cheered, along with the rest of the bar. He turned to me and gave me a deliberate high-five. Our eyes met for a moment, and a shiver ran through me. I tried to shake it off, but he was hot. And it had been a long time since I met someone. But was he gay? I wasn’t sure enough to risk it. Yet.

We returned our attention to the game, and I was grateful for the distraction. This guy was making me hard, and until I knew whether he was gay or straight, I didn’t want him to. The momentum had shifted to the Sixers, and they were up by eight points.

Stella came around with refills. She put them down on the bar and stood there, looking from Joe to me and back to Joe. “What’s the matter with you?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “We’re watching the game.”

“I’ve done all the work for you two. If you blow this, it’s your own fault.” She snorted. “I mean, blowing would indicate success, but . . .”

My heart was pounding. He had to be gay. She had to be setting us up. He turned to me with raised eyebrows.

I grinned as the lump in my pants returned. “So then you . . .”

“Oh, thank goodness,” he said, grinning back.

The buzzer ending the game echoed through the bar, and everyone jumped up, cheering. Without thinking, I leapt from my chair and hugged him. I was almost embarrassed, but before I had a chance to blush, his erection poked my thigh. Thank goodness is right.

We pulled back and locked eyes. “Did you say you live around the corner?” I asked. I couldn't resist. He was adorable, and I hadn't had sex in ages.

Stella raised her glass of ginger ale to us as we grabbed our coats and left in a rush. The blast of cold air did nothing to cool my ardor, but the snow had picked up.

“I think the meteorological term is snowing like a son-of-a-bitch!” He pulled his black-and-gold watch cap over his ears. “It’s just down there.” He gestured with his gloved fingers to the gift shop down the block. “I live upstairs.”

Three steps later, and my toes were frozen through my wingtips. Joe was much better prepared for the cold than I. Better prepared for the snow, too. I’d lived my entire life in Philadelphia, and I still didn’t think to put my damn boots on in the winter. My heel slid right through the snow, and I fell to the sidewalk, my skull smashing into the snow-cushioned pavement.

My rational mind knew it was Joe’s paramedic training which pushed him to cradle my head with such care, but my rational mind was on break. I gazed into his eyes, and serenity engulfed me. He shifted his head, and the snow and the streetlight formed a perfect halo around his heavenly face. I heard horns—the angels, I guessed, but Joe’s head snapped up, his eyes went wide, and everything went dark.

* * * *

The blackout affected a big chunk of the city, but the accident which caused the horns I heard happened right in front of Tommy’s, the sports bar we’d just left. We couldn't tell if anyone was injured, and it was freaking dark. No streetlights, no neon, no LED signs flashing open, and now that the accident blocked the one-way street, no headlights. 

While I was still lying on the sidewalk, I encouraged Joe to go to the accident. I could tell he was itching to help.

“I already have a patient. I can’t abandon one patient for another without transferring care,” he said, his voice all business. He helped me to my feet once he’d finished his assessment and determined I was okay. “Besides, I can’t show up on scene with a boner like this.” He held my arm after that, which was just dandy with me. We were close in height, and the traces of his aftershave drew me in.

He fumbled with the key in the dark entrance to his apartment. “Jesus. It’s so dark I won’t even need to blindfold you.”

“Blindfold?” I choked on spit as I said it. 

To be continued . . .

Want More Patient Lee? 

Visit my page on Queeromance Ink!  (If you like MM, I recommend OUT: Five Erotic Stories of Gay Self-Discovery)


Sunday, May 28, 2017

Happy Birthday to Patient Lee (No. It's not my birthday today.)

https://www.patientlee.net/radio-challenge


My friend, Ellie, wrote this story for me for my birthday in 2015. She took the Patient Lee Radio Challenge, and the song she got was "Trouble" by Iggy Azalea and Jennifer Hudson. She gave me her permission to share the story, but it is her property. Don't steal it. Enjoy.

Trouble by Ella Wilding (a.k.a. xelliebabex on Literotica.)
©Ella Wilding


“Don’t just stand there. Run!” Cheney yelled at the frozen woman. Then she kicked out at the nearest would-be mugger, who stepped back with his hands up before him.


“Whoa, whoa, whoa, lady! We were just trying to help her,” he said in a startled voice, furtively looking down at his companion who was moaning and holding his blood covered hands to his nose.

“Yeah help her with the weight of her purse no doubt,” she spat at the man. Grabbing the younger woman’s arm, she dragged her further up the street to the corner of the main road. “I told you to run, you deaf or something?” she asked impatiently.

“I… I just…” the woman stammered and gave up trying to talk as she stared at her saviour. Not the heroic muscled man she had been expecting but a gorgeous tall, athletic woman.

“Okay let’s start simple, I’m Cheney and you are?” she had lowered her voice and tried to keep a pleasant tone. This chick was obviously out of her territory here. Girls from around here didn’t have designer labels in the price range that this chick obviously did.

“Brielle, I’m Brielle,” she said, finally coming out of her stupor. “Thank you so much for helping me. Let me buy you a coffee or something to thank you properly.” She swivelled her head around looking for a café or a bar of some kind.

“Look I don’t know where you’re from but this isn’t exactly the café district,” Cheney laughed and shook her head. The girl was cute in a lost lamb sort of way, so she made a suggestion of her own. “I know a bar not far from here. You can buy me a drink instead.”

“That’s a good idea, I could use a drink,” Brielle said enthusiastically. “You’re my hero now,” she trilled happily and linked arms with the taller woman. “I could have been in trouble there if you hadn’t come along. I mean I knew this part of town had a bad reputation, but I just didn’t think anyone would try to mug me.”

“What are you doing in this part of town in the first place? You don’t exactly seem like you fit in around here,” Cheney asked. She had tuned out most of the incessant babble that came out of the girl’s mouth as the answer came in a torrent of inane reasons. One drink then she would send the spoilt brat on her way. She obviously had no idea how the working class lived and the more she talked, the more annoying she became.

“… Anyway, after that, I was delivering a package for a friend. It’s something special and had to be hand delivered. I guess I was lucky that I dropped it off before those men found me,” she stopped her rapid chatter to take a breath, realising her new friend was opening a door for her. “Oh sorry,” she giggled and went through the doorway into the dimly lit bar.

Standing next to the bar as Cheney took her seat, Brielle fumbled in her oversized tote bag for her wallet. Placing a hundred dollar note on the bar she said, “Order whatever you like. I’ll have whatever you’re having, but I need to go and find the bathroom first.” She pulled a face and hurried off toward the back where Cheney had helpfully pointed.

The bartender, a statuesque, muscled woman with long multi coloured hair named, Vix, made her way over after a few minutes. She jerked her head in the direction Brielle has gone. “Who’s your new friend?” she asked with the familiarity of an old friend.

“Lost lamb that wandered into the wrong part of town and found herself in trouble,” Cheney shrugged. “She owes me a drink for being a Good Samaritan, so I’ll have a Crown with a Corzo shooter. Wait. You better make that two and hope she’s not expecting a chardonnay to be waiting for her.”

Vix gave a derisive half laugh and grabbed the Crowns from the chiller. Opening the small bottles and placing a wedge of lime into the neck of each, she then set up the shooters. “She doesn’t look like any lost lamb I’ve ever seen. She looks like trouble to me.” Once again, she jerked her head in the direction of the bathrooms.

Cheney turned her head, and her breath caught as she saw what the bartender had meant. Brielle had removed her coat revealing a tight red leather dress that was so tight it may as well have been painted onto the lush figure it barely covered. The plunging neckline displayed at least a third of each well-rounded breast, and Cheney had to admit that she had been wrong when she had called her a lost lamb. This chick had been she-wolf in a lamb’s wool coat. Everything she knew about women who dressed like that sent alarm bells ringing through her mind. Still it had been some time since she had been on a wild ride, and a little trouble can make for a good time now and then. If this woman was even the slightest bit inclined, Cheney reckoned she might be worth the test drive.

Brielle took the barstool beside Cheney and downed the shooter in one noisy gulp. Grabbing the lime from the neck of the Crown beer, she bit into it, closing one eye as the bitter warming alcohol slid down her throat. “Tequila!” she said loudly in the rhythm of the song. “Nice! Set ‘em up again please,” she called to Vix and pushed the change from the hundred that had been left on the bar back towards her.

“Whatever you say, Trouble,” Vix gave a full, throaty laugh and reached for the bottle of Corzo.

“Delivering a package for your friend?” Cheney deflected Brielle’s attention away from Vix. She may as well check the story out while she was here. It seemed odd that the girl had been attacked right in front of the place she had been staking out.

“Oh, yeah, no big deal. I had already dropped it off before those guys grabbed me,” Brielle shrugged, seemly unconcerned. “I was lucky you happened to be there. It’s such a strange little laneway. Honestly, I was surprised anyone else was down there beside me.” She raised a questioning eyebrow at Cheney.

“Just a lucky coincidence I guess,” Cheney replied, revealing nothing about why she had been there. She’d been stalking that laneway for over six months trying to get something on Peter Hickman, a pawnbroker who was suspected of involvement in an organised crime syndicate. Up until this point, she had thought this woman was nothing more than a silly uptown girl in the wrong place at the wrong time, but now she wasn’t so sure.

“Well, here’s to lady luck,” Brielle giggled and downed the second shot with a large gulp.

They made small talk while sipping their beers. Cheney gave the cover story that she had spent the last six months setting up a dojo that specialised in self-defence for women. She offered a discounted rate for Brielle, who seemed to seriously consider the proposition. In her turn, Brielle confided that she was between jobs, but received a more than generous allowance from her trust fund set up by a grandfather who lived in Port Moresby and owned several mines and businesses there.

“That’s a dangerous part of the world,” Cheney said, surprise showing in her voice. She knew that some of the evidence trails they had been following had led them in that direction.

“Yeah, he’s what my mother liked to refer to as a hard man. I think it suits him up there, not so many laws and taxes to get in his way,” she giggled. “Every family has a black sheep and if he wasn’t stinkin’ rich we probably would’ve disowned him years ago.” Changing the subject, she looked around and said with a smirk, “This place is great, didn’t have you pegged as a lipstick bar kind of woman. My radar is usually pretty good for that kind of thing.” She reached out and placed a hand on Cheney’s leg. She seemed to purse her lips while licking her teeth making a small sucking noise that sounded oddly seductive.

“We don’t often see lipstick lesbians in here. People around here are a bit more real, not just satisfying a curiosity while waiting for Mr. Right to come along,” Cheney brushed Brielle’s hand from her leg. She tried to remain disinterested in anything further than the drink they had come here for, despite being on her second beer and third shot. In truth, the fact that the sexy goddess of a woman sitting beside her had offered more tempted her more than she wanted to admit. “I should probably be going, it’s one of my few nights off, so I have stuff to do,” she said, trying to take the sting out of her previous words. She needed to get out of this situation while she still had the willpower to say no to Brielle’s advances.

“Oh come on, have just one more drink with me. You’re my hero, and I just want to thank you properly,” Brielle put her hand over Cheney’s and stroked the skin lightly with her thumb. Cheney looked at her hand and then back at Brielle before letting her eyes travel down over the exposed cleavage. “Please, I will even come and then help you with the stuff you have to do if you like,” her voice was soft and almost wheedling.

Everything about this woman screamed trouble at her, yet it had been so long since she had indulged her needs because of her career. The last six months of living like a nun had made her unbelievably horny, and this chick was so very tempting. She heard the lyrics of a song that had been on the radio lately run through her head. “And baby trouble only makes for a good time, so all the red flags be a good sign.”

“Yeah, okay. One more and then I’ll have to go,” Cheney gave in half-heartedly. “You order, I’ll be back in a few.” She slid from the barstool and walked towards the bathroom shaking her head at how easy she was being. Still, as she looked back at Brielle she admitted, it could be a wild ride if she could just let herself go and enjoy the moment.

Cheney walked into a stall and pulled her phone out of her bra. “Won’t be there tonight, following a lead,” she typed and smiled. It was a stretch to imagine that this vapid young woman was a lead, but she had been outside the pawnbrokers when the muggers had attacked her. She admitted she was more than interested in getting to know her better and why she had been there in the first place. If she could have some fun along the way, all the better. It was a weak argument she was having with herself, but one she could live with she decided.

She waited for the reply as she sat in the cubicle. It was rare she had a night off that she didn’t check in with or meet one of the team she worked with for debriefing, but her excuse should hold them over until later tonight or the morning for that matter. The phone in her hand vibrated and she smiled as she read the response.

*****

Brielle signalled Vix for more drinks and smiled to herself, she’d lucked out this time. She had been saved by a gorgeous woman who seemed more than interested in her. This day just couldn’t be any better. Who knew her plans would work out so well.

“Here you go Trouble,” Vix slid the beers across the bar to her and replaced the shot glasses with fresh ones.

“Trouble?” Brielle inquired, cocking her head.

“Lady, that dress screams trouble. Add to that the fact that my friend had to save you from being mugged earlier,” Vix shook her head. “I think I can tell when trouble walks into my bar and that you are probably more trouble than Cheney needs in her life,” Vix said with a tone that said she didn’t approve.

“Cheney looks like she can hold her own to me,” Brielle said as if insulted by the innuendo that she would cause trouble for Cheney.

“She can,” Vix agreed, “but why make life harder than it has to be.” She shrugged and went to serve another customer as Cheney came back from the bathroom.

Taking her seat, she picked up the shot and threw her head back, downing it quickly and chasing it with the crown. “What were we talking about?” Cheney asked.

“You were saying you don’t see too many girls like me who wear lipstick around this place,” Brielle said with a smirk. “Personally I like it that way. Natural beauty is very alluring,” her eyes raked over Cheney’s features. “I look like a troll without makeup. I just can’t pull off the natural look.”

“I find that very hard to believe, I am sure you wake up every morning looking exactly as you are now, not a hair out of place,” Cheney laughed.

“I wish, but if you’re interested in finding out, I don’t have plans tonight.” Once again, her hand strayed onto Cheney’s thigh, and her voice lowered to a sultry tone. “Maybe we could discuss it over dinner? We could go somewhere close by and get an intimate table for two perhaps?” She seemed to consider Cheney for a moment. “Or we could just go back to your place and fuck like bunnies,” she giggled as Cheney picked up her beer and chugged it, listening to the proposition.

“Okay,” she stated, abruptly putting her beer down heavily on the bar as if challenging Brielle to put up or shut up.

“A woman who knows what she wants. I like that,” Brielle moved closer until their faces were less than an inch apart. Placing her hand against her cheek and neck, she pulled Cheney closer still until their lips met. “Let’s go then,” she whispered and pressed her lips against the willing lips of the woman she planned to kiss all night or at least for the next few hours.

“I imagine you live close enough to walk?” she asked and took Cheney’s hand to lead her out of the bar. Smiling Cheney took the lead and headed down the street toward her small temporary apartment. She had walked less than half a block when Brielle grabbed her and pushed her into a small dark alcove between buildings. Pressing her body up against the other woman’s, she kissed her deeply. There was a heat and passion to it that Chaney hadn’t expected from the soft kiss in the bar. Her leg moved between Cheney’s thighs, and her hands worked their way down her back to her ass.

Her mind spun as Brielle’s insistent tongue wormed its way into her mouth and began a duel with her own. She wrapped her arms around the sexy woman pressed against her and let the feelings of lustful desire overcome her senses. Brielle broke the kiss and looked into Cheney’s eyes with a knowing smile and took her hand, once again pulling her from the alcove to continue the journey home.

They walked closely side by side to the apartment, their hands often straying to each other’s waists and asses as they bumped hips and separated again. The climb up two floors of stairs became excruciatingly long as they stopped after each of the four flights to kiss and rub up against each other with growing heat and anticipation.

As soon as Brielle entered the small apartment, she began taking off her clothes. Past the point of being shy with this woman, Cheney followed her lead and had barely taken her shirt off and unbuttoned her jeans when Brielle pushed her against the wall. Locked in a deep kiss, they pushed the jeans down her legs together. Brielle’s hands caressing the soft skin as Cheney's hands began their exploration of the naked woman holding her captive by their locked lips.

“I just knew you were the sensible underwear type,” Brielle murmured and brought her hand up to Cheney’s damp panties and rubbed at her soft lips through the cotton fabric. She probed deeper, pressing the cotton between the soft lips and smiled in satisfaction when she felt Cheney shudder against her as she found her already swelling clit. Removing her teasing fingers, she bit the soft lip of the mouth kissing her and began to push the panties down Cheney’s thighs.

Cheney shuddered again as Brielle thrust her tongue into her mouth as she simultaneously thrust two fingers into her pussy. She couldn’t believe how the sexy blonde stranger was making her feel. She had no inhibitions about the fact that Brielle’s hand was now covered with her juices, and she moaned into that deep kiss. The fingers kept working in and out of her as a thumb found her clit and began to rub at it with increasing pressure. She felt her knees buckle and her body quiver as she began to come from the sheer pleasure Brielle’s aggressive sexuality was giving her.

Brielle felt Cheney slump against her and withdrew her fingers, licking at them like the most delicious ice cream. She helped Cheney to the nearby couch and dispensed with her bra as she sat and lay back into the soft leather with a rosy afterglow colouring her face. Having enjoyed the taste from her fingers, Brielle began to kiss her way up Cheney’s legs to seek the source.

The tremors of her orgasm continued to run through her body as she watched the aggressive blonde running her hot tongue up her legs between soft, feather-like kisses. She was enjoying being passive for a change, and she felt her inner muscles contract in need as the feather light kisses and tongue touched the soft lips of her pussy. Brielle kept looking up at her through long mascara thick eyelashes with a smouldering glance that made her that much hotter.

Cheney relaxed back into the soft cushions of the couch and lifted her hands to her neglected breasts, letting her fingers trail lightly over the turgid pink buds that sat atop them like dainty berries. Her breath shortened once again as she felt the tongue and teeth of Brielle whip at her clit and fingers delved into her for a second time tonight. Her eyes widened as she felt more fingers trail down into the cleft of her ass cheeks and prod at the tiny puckering dark star there. “Oh god, she wouldn’t!” Cheney thought a second before she felt a small finger worm its way into her ass, giving her sensations she had never felt before. Working in tandem with the fingers already fucking her and the whipping of her clit, Cheney soon lost all focus.

It started from the core of her being and rushed out in a burst of tingling sensation and then crushed back into her again as if lightning jolted her. Her body was shuddering with spasm after spasm until her cries turned into hoarse whispers, and her breath became ragged and strained. When she finally opened her eyes again, she saw Brielle’s shiny face was resting on her thigh, breathing warm air over her sensitive clit with a sexy smile on her lips.

“Oh yeah, that was amazing,” Cheney said slowly with a satisfied purr to her voice. She pulled Brielle’s hand up to her face and breathed in her scent from the fingers, letting her tongue swipe at the long digits. Brielle followed her hand up and was rewarded with a strong embrace and Cheney taking her mouth in a long soft, passionate kiss.

They kissed for some time as Cheney regained all of her senses. She pressed her leg between the long, lithe legs of her lover who began to undulate, humping at her leg almost immediately. To her great pleasure, Cheney found the pussy humping her leg to be as wet as her own. She rolled Brielle over and began kissing her way down her body. She made a point to kiss and lick over her firm round breasts before gnawing softly at the nipples and sucking them deeply into the warm cavern of her mouth. She swapped between the two mounds of flesh, using her fingers to work on the other while she sucked at each swollen bud in turn.

Finally having her fill, she moved down, kissing over the flat stomach. She breathed in the scent of pussy mixed with the heady perfume of her body lotion, creating an intoxicating blend of sweetness. Brielle widened her thighs and bent her legs at the knees, making room for Cheney as she kissed down over her pubic bone to her inner thighs, teasing her all the more before getting to the final destination.

Cheney looked at Brielle’s pussy. It was beautiful, and she pushed on the thighs she had just been kissing, opening her pussy wider. The lips were perfectly shaped, and she watched avidly as Brielle’s pussy opened like a butterfly before her eyes. Soft wisps of blond hair made a perfect path to her clit. Her inner lips were very pink and the flesh seemed puffy with lust. She looked up to see that Brielle had her eyes closed and was breathing deeply. Cheney took a deep breath, enjoying the sight and smell before lowering her head to touch the sweetly swollen bud that was Brielle’s clit with her tongue. Brielle’s hips bucked as if begging for more, but Cheney held back slightly, enjoying the teasing that was turning her on as much as the woman she was about to make love to.

She ran her tongue slowly from clit to vagina, sliding it inside to savour the tantalising nectar there. Her fingers strummed over the clit until the soft whimpers became urgent cries to be fucked. “Please stick them in. I need to feel them in me!” she had panted again and again. Feeling Brielle arch up against her, Cheney lost all pretence of the tease and dove in using both her fingers and her mouth to bring the sexy blonde rapidly to boiling point. Her free hand strayed to the warm, soft flesh of her ass beneath the hot wet pussy she was plundering and, guided by what Brielle had done to her, she pushed her little finger into her tightest hole.

Brielle felt her body explode and grabbed Cheney’s head, mashing her pussy against it, riding her face into the blissful high she was experiencing. Her world became centred solely on the sensations that radiated from her pussy into her body as she arched and bucked wildly before throwing the other woman backwards when she could handle no more. She lay back breathing raggedly, barely aware of her surroundings as her whole body quivered and tingled in ecstasy.

Cheney slithered up Brielle’s body and rested her head on her breast, lapping at the nipple with her tongue as her lover recovered from an earth shattering orgasm. Content for the moment, she closed her eyes and let the effects of the alcohol and several orgasms lead her into a light doze as she snuggled close to Brielle.

*****

Coming awake to the sound of her phone, Cheney rolled off the couch and crawled over to where her jeans lay crumpled against the wall. Her voice was thick with the residue of sleep as she answered. The voice on the other end was urgent. She became immediately awake and got up, walking into the bedroom where she wouldn’t be overheard.

“An explosion? Was he there?” she shook her head unbelievingly. “The one night I wasn’t watching. Oh God,” she groaned. “Yeah, I’m on my way, be there in ten.” It was a five-minute walk, but she had a naked girl in the next room to get rid of first.

She stepped into the bathroom and cleaned herself up quickly and put on new underwear. In the living room, she began putting on the clothes she had worn earlier. She picked up the red leather dress and tossed it to Brielle who had sat up and was watching her with a bemused expression.

“Who was that, the boyfriend?” she asked teasingly, “Will I have to climb out of the window now?”

“No, but you will have to go,” Cheney said with a laugh and indicated the dress that lay across her lap. She watched as Brielle wrapped that luscious body in red leather and briefly wished that she had the time to enjoy it again.

“It’s okay I have to get to the airport anyway. It’s a shame really; I could have kept you occupied all night rather than just a few hours. Still it was a far more enjoyable afternoon than I expected,” Brielle chattered as the preoccupied Cheney gathered her coat and led them from the apartment.

“I’d love to see you again if you’re in the neighbourhood,” Cheney said distractedly as she flagged down a passing taxi and bundled Brielle into it kissing her chastely. “I’ll call you,” she said almost automatically.

“Sure. Maybe you could save me again, or I could save you… again,” Brielle said with a wink, knowing that Cheney wasn’t listening to her because even as she spoke the tall brunette had turned and run towards the sirens she could hear close by.

Cheney slowed as she saw the blast area bathed in the flashing lights of police, fire and ambulance. She made her way through the debris towards the members of her team who had been working on the case. It was only as she got closer she saw the expressions on their faces. Relief that she was unharmed tinged with sadness she couldn’t place. She nodded at them and turned to the detective in charge, Hansen.

“I got here as soon as I could. Sorry, I wasn’t here to see what happened. Did Frankie see anything?” Cheney gushed her apologies.

“The dojo copped the force of the blast. Frankie’s been taken to the hospital for superficial cuts and bruises. She could possibly have a mild concussion. She was lucky she was in the back room at the time,” Hansen informed her abruptly. “Surveillance shows you assisted a woman in front of the store this afternoon,” he stated.

“Yeah she said she was dropping off a package before the two guys tried to mug her,” she said, alarm bells ringing in her head. “Fuck!” Cheney swore out loud as everything Brielle had said as they had left her apartment went back through her head, and she knew she was in trouble.

“You better get back to base and file a complete report, she could be anywhere by now,” Hansen gripped her shoulder, believing the horror on Cheney’s face was caused by the situation surrounding them. Her mind though was singing to her…