Blame it on Valentine’s Day

I opened the door and there he was holding a heart-shaped box of chocolates and a fistful of roses, beaming proudly, “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“Damnit! Not you, too!” I blasted him and shut the door as I turned on my heel.

He opened the door and followed behind me. “What? It’s Valentine’s Day. I brought you gifts,” he whined.

I spun around to face him and snapped, “No. You brought you gifts. Those aren’t for me.”

His brows furrowed as we stood there staring at one another in an awkward silence. I folded my arms over my chest, not budging. Finally, his shoulders slumped and his arms dropped to his side, still holding the offerings in his hands. He eventually just looked down at the floor.

He was crestfallen, but I kept at him. It was for his own good, “I get it. You got all caught up in momentum of the day. But, that’s just not me and I thought it wasn’t you either. You were quite clear about that last year after that girl broke your heart,” I reminded him.

No more stupid, messy, useless love for me,‘ you said.

I drove the point home, “Remember? We…you and I…both of us…we were crystal clear about that.”

He shrugged and looked back up to me with that sheepish smile of his and those big, soft puppy dog eyes. “Well, it’s also our anniversary today.” He said. “One year since we met. I wanted to make that special at least.”

That’s when I felt it.


I thought I’d sensed it for some time, now. Those all too familiar angsty pangs were hitting my heart. The butterflies were fluttering in my stomach. Tendrils of aching need began to slither along my flesh. My mouth went so dry that I could barely speak. Somehow I managed to croak out, “Leave.”

But, he didn’t leave. He began walking towards me, his arms wide. I stumbled backwards trying to get away from him and his gifts and, mostly, his Love – that all consuming human emotion that wraps its hungry, suffocating tentacles around you squeezing until you gasp your last breath. Then he uttered that phrase, those three cursed words.

I tried to make him stop – to make it stop. Truly, I did. I demanded that he go away. I pleaded with him to just go outside and walk it off. By then, he was too far gone, I think. That damnable holiday pushed him over the edge. And, by the way, how they co-opted cupid into that commercialized mess is disgusting.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, so you can just spare me the disapproving look. I’m immune to it by now. It’s all my fault, right? I should know better. Blah, blah, blah. I’ve heard it all before. So, you can save the lecture.

In any case, I didn’t do away with this one altogether. Surprised, huh?

That’s right. While he was unable to maintain his self control, I kept my head and let him keep his…sort of. Let’s just say that he’s not the man he used to be and leave it at that, okay?

In all sincerity, I’m going to miss him. I really thought this one was a keeper. I thought he’d be able to resist the urges, the compulsion. Silly, weak mortals.

It’s a pity. Things were going great for almost a year. A year! Instead of blaming me this time, I say that we blame it on Valentine’s Day.

Fifty Shades of Beige

No. I’ve not written a knock off of the E.L. James’ series. I’ve been painting -The living room. The dining room.  The hallway. The office. Whew! Who knew there were so many shades of beige?

While standing atop my ladder, inhaling paint fumes, it occurred to me that the painting process is similar to the writing process.  It starts out messy; at times the stench is pungent enough to clear a room; few can appreciate what the final outcome will be, including the creator and the only way to get to the end is to keep working at it. Then suddenly, miraculously, it’s done and you realize that all of the work was worth the effort.  

Speaking of writing, I’ve managed to put the final edits on Unlocked Diaries – to be published soon! And, I’ve made a serious dent on my second novel, The Call.  Also, a micro-flash fiction I submitted was selected to be included in Serious Flash Fiction: Volume 4. Woohoo!

I’ll do my best to blog more frequently, between home improvement and writing projects, but we can also keep up with each other on twitter and Facebook. You can find me at @MsMoxieMalone.



Big Kiss in the Big Easy

Photo courtesy of Christian Schulze

If I’m right, in about a half an hour I’ll be recuperating from la petite mort. If she’s right, I’m five minutes away from the big sleep. Either way, I’m a goner. Never fall for a client. It’s bad for business and may be bad for your health.

I’m the guy on the left with the ruggedly handsome jaw who’s about to lay a lip lock on that pouty mouth. Maxwell Princeton; Most call me Max; she called me Prince. I’m a dick. A private dick.

That’s Belle on the right. She’s my client. Well, officially, she’s now just another beautiful dame.The case is closed and she’s paid me the two g’s. But, there’s still the matter of the curse.

And those lips.

You don’t live in this town and ignore curses whether you believe in them or not. My grandmother told me, “curses have as much power as you give them.” Too many here believe in that power. Belle is one of those believers.

It doesn’t help that her godmother is a well known Voodoo priestess – Marie LeFaerie. It helps less that she’s the one who put the curse on Belle. It’s a sordid tale of love, betrayal, the death of a lover and a witchy woman. We call that Wednesday, here, in the Big Easy. Let’s just say that Belle’s mother played with fire and Belle got burned.

Belle had reason to be afraid. Her last two beaus are now pushing up daisies in Lafayette Cemetery No. 1. That’s why she came to me. That’s the case that I cracked.

Baiser de la mort is what it’s called. That’s the kiss of death.

It wasn’t a curse, though. It was a cheap hood who had the hots for Belle and bumped off the competition. That scum is now making license plates and clinging to his soap in the shower.

She was grateful that I’d put the bum behind bars but wasn’t convinced that it wasn’t the curse at work, “They are still dead,” she told me as she looked at me with those big baby blues.

The doll had a point. Two of them. It’s chilly in here. I pulled her into my arms.

She trembled and her lips quivered as she spoke, “But, I – I’m cursed, Prince. I’m cursed.”

I had to taste those lips.

“It’s okay, beautiful. I’ve got a lucky charm. Now let’s go back to my place and I’ll show it to ya.”

“My prince charming,” she whispered as her lips met mine.

This little flash fiction was a #Submission to the #DailyChallenge for #EroticReaders utilizing the photo featured here.

All Souls Day

October 31, 2013

Dear Diary,
       Everything is set to check off #17 on my fuckit list. I think it’s especially appropriate that I’ll be nailing this one down on Halloween! I mean, what could be more appropriate than graveyard sex on the spookiest night of the year? I’m dressing as a sexay vampire. He’ll be my victim. He’s going to be there in about an hour. I’m going to “sneak” up and “attack” him and then the fun begins.
       I picked out the perfect spot, too. It’s the crypt of a Madam who died nearly 100 years ago. Her name? Josie, of course – I couldn’t resist! And, get this – her grave site is believed to be haunted. They say that the statue of the woman in front of the tomb comes to life and walks the cemetery grounds at night.
       Well, off to get lucky – lucky 17. I’ll report back on my adventure. Until then, Happy Halloween.
–Love, Josie

November 2, 2013

A diary. How quaint. I suppose I should honor the girl by reporting back on her Halloween adventure.She certainly chose a nice specimen to complete her dirty deed; I have no complaints. He was well endowed and eager to accommodate. It was a delightful awakening and with that last, delicious final thrust, Josie experienced a moment of true ecstasy. I do believe I shall allow him to call on me again.

I am impressed with her creativity. This little journal contains some titillating details of her exploits and an intriguing list of adventures yet to be experienced. I will endeavor to complete her list and I have many ideas of my own to add to it.
It is a pity that she could not stay, but there simply was not enough room for both of us.
And now, dearest diary, I am closing out this chapter of Josie’s short but adventurous life.— Miss Josie
(This excerpt is modified into flash fiction. The original will be found in the novel Unlocked Diaries – Dirty Little Secrets that is being written right now during NaNoWriMo)

Inta Girls

It had been a long day of shopping – unsuccessful shopping. They’d been to nearly every store and boutique in the area and even spent a few unproductive hours at the mall, yet neither of them found a single thing to wear.

This is the wrong color. That one is too tight. Oh, puhleeze, that is sooo out of style. Do you seriously expect me to go out in public in this?” Nothing quite satisfied or suited either of them.

Tired and disheartened, they agreed that it was time to pop into the local watering hole for drinks and diversion.

The bell over the entry tinkled, announcing their arrival as they pushed through the large oak and stained glass door. A few bar flies took notice and glanced up for a moment before returning to their drinks and conversations. Pausing at the doorway they surveyed the room. Yes, they decided. This would do just fine.

The pair drifted through the pre-dinner time crowd casually taking in the eye candy that gathered in intimate little groups of twos, threes and fours around the tall highboy tables. Long legged girls in short skirts or too tight jeans leaned nonchalantly on the table tops that supported their drinks, elbows and sometimes their ample chests, much to the keen interest of admirers who worked hard to appear disinterested.

Over there in the corner, “ one nudged the other. “That’s a handsome couple. Maybe they’d be up for a little fun.”

Nah. Ya know I’m not inta guys. Whoah, hey, check out the two hotties at three o’clock. Let’s loosen ‘em up a bit with a little…um…lubrication.”

Are you thinking ‘panty removers’?”

They snickered conspiratorially.

Peach Bellinis it is, then. I’ll take care of ordering the drinks. You find us a spot nearby.

The bartender dutifully mixed up two double Peach Bellini’s as instructed then called over a  waiter. Placing the over sized drinks on the tray, the bartender leaned in and pointed, “See the little blonde and busty brunette right over there? These are for them compliments of a couple of admirers who are…what was it?” he paused. “Oh yeah…tell ‘em the drinks are from admirers who are really inta you girls.”

The waiter looked at the bartender quizzically for a moment then half nodded, “Got it.”

Surprised and delighted, the girls giggled excitedly as the drinks and the message were delivered. Curious, they scanned the room then looked up to the waiter asking in unison “Who sent these?”

“Dunno,” he replied with a shrug then added as walked away, “Enjoy your drinks, ladies.”

Clinking their glasses together, the girls giggled again then downed the sugary beverages as if they were drinking sodas.

Their greatly amused benefactors hovered nearby allowing enough time for the drinks to work their magic. Soon satisfied that the girls were indeed pliable, they sidled up to the girls’ table and made their move.

Good evening, cuties. I see you’ve been enjoying the drinks we sent you.”

The now very tipsy blonde blinked with confusion as she looked each way then back to the buxom brunette who was draining the last of her drink from the over sized glass, “Huh?” she slurred. “Whatdidju say…wait…how didju do that?”

“Hmm?” her friend gurgled as she swallowed, “How did I do what?”

She struggled to focus her vision, “How didju?” She shook her head and began again, speaking each word deliberately, “How. did. you. jusss talk while drinking? Omagod, that wassss so cool!”

The brunette stared blankly as she listened to her girlfriend babble then startled suddenly at the warm, velvet voice in her ear, “You don’t mind if we join you, do you?”

“Join…?” she repeated absently as she looked around for the source of the voice.  Stunned, she looked back at her friend.

The girls grew quiet as the world swayed and blurred around them. They stared in awe as the amber bar light began to drip down in long sinewy strands that stretched from the ceiling then puddled on top of the bar patrons gradually covering them and muffling their noisy chatter. The melted mixture slowly swirled around the pair like a glistening pool of peach and honey nectar gently drawing them into its endless vortex of light and sound where they found themselves blissfully floating along.

Moments later, a sardonic smile slowly spread across the blonde’s face as she looked across the table, “Now, this is much better. She really looks good on you. Brunette is definitely your color.

Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself,” her companion replied as she picked up and looked into the empty glass then signaled to the server for another round. Turning back to her friend she winked, “We need to celebrate a successful day of shopping!”

Looking down, the blonde smiled broadly and nodded approval as she ran her hands over the swell of her new found breasts. She laughed merrily, “See? This is why I’m inta girls.”


Her mother was delighted with the news, initially. 

She always knew that her daughter would be a writer – a journalist, perhaps. Finally, the girl would do what she had long envisioned. Yes, her daughter would do what she had the talent to do herself, but never had the time; the opportunity; or, more likely, the nerve to do.

“What are you writing?” she asked as she perched her chin in her hand, elbowing the dining room table where they sat sipping lukewarm coffee.

“Fiction,” her daughter replied evasively, half hoping to share the news without going into details.

“Oh? what kind of fiction?” the mother pushed, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“Adult fiction,” she answered succinctly, hoping to end it right there while her mind raced to find another topic of conversation. How’s Aunt Betty? Have you heard from Angie, lately? Or, the sure-fire conversation derailment, “Have you lost weight?”

“Adult fiction? What is that?” her mother prodded with that all-too-familiar tinge of disapproval coloring the question.

The older woman knew the answer even as she asked the question. Still, she always pushed, poked, and prodded until she got her answers – answers that she most often disapproved of. This would be no exception.

Crap. Too slow.” she thought. Cutting to the chase, the girl said matter-of-factually, “Erotica, Mom. I write smut.” She then took a long swig of her too weak coffee and watched her mother’s reaction over the rim of the mug.

Predictably, the woman half-gasped, rolled her eyes and tsked as she shook her head, evoking the unspoken, “Where did I go wrong?”

It’s never good enough. Is it, Mother?” she shouted in her head, “No matter how hard I try, no matter how successful I am, it’s just never quite up to your standards. There’s always something wrong. At least, I try. What have you ever written that you had the courage to show anyone? Oh, and by the way, did you not hear the part where I am being published? It was the advance that paid for this little trip, here, to share the news with you. But, could you be happy for me? Nooooo. There is no pleasing you, is there?

The words raged in her head and she trembled with the effort to keep them from spilling from her mouth.

It was then that her father, a retired musician and talented artist in his own right, lowered the newspaper and folded it on the table. He looked first at his wife then back to his daughter. “Never apologize for your art.” he said simply.

The mother opened her mouth, prepared to voice her objections, but it was his voice that was heard instead.  “Never,” he repeated.

And there it was. Crystal clarity.

In the end, it didn’t matter what her mother, father or anyone else in the world – save only one – thought about what she did with her talents. They were her gifts to give. In truth, it was all that she truly had to offer: herself. Every word that spilled onto a page was a piece of her – her heart, her thoughts, her truth, her soul. Apologize for that?


She smiled as she drained the last of the now-cold coffee from the heavy ceramic cup and stood up from the table then leaned down to kiss first her mother then her father, “You’ll have to excuse me, now. I have some writing to do.”

A Side of Reality

With childlike wonder, she marveled at the Rockwellian surroundings never recalling the sky being that particular color before. (127)

The purple and emerald rains had washed the city making it vaguely unfamiliar though she thought she knew where she was. (120)

In awe, strangers reverently heaped praise, adoration and promises of eternal service on her to her growing discomfort and confusion. (133)

Others spoke to her with conspiratorial familiarity, pressing her for information and secrets that weren’t hers to give. (120)

Worried, she disappeared into the night to protect those she loved hiding in unlikely places as she waited for dawn. (116)

Voices whispered suggestions from the shadows – “drink that, hide here, cut off that lovely hair or better yet, cut off that finger.” (133)

Daylight came and went and peculiar people gave and took what they wanted as her heart and mind called for rescue from this strange place. (137)

While she waited for her hero, she danced on the fringe of her own sanity beneath the Sirius moonlight. Or, was it just a dream? (128)

“I’ll have the peach milk,” she told the server days later as she fingered the remains of her once long hair, “with a side of reality.” (135)

(Note: This is a compilation of individual tweets – 140 characters or less – woven together into a micro-flash fiction.)

Fire Dance

Leaves crackled underfoot as I crept near, drawn by the flickering glow of a camp fire that cast wavering shadows across the small clearing.

Watching secretly from the bushes, I saw a raven-haired girl dance to the throbbing earth-beat that pulsed up through her bare feet.

Bejeweled toes flexed, digging deeply into the coarse sand of the pit – talons holding prey.

Snaking arms glinted with golden bangles and coin bracelets clattered a cadence as her body pitched forward stretching…reaching.

Undulating hips rocked sinuously from side to side – honey trapped in an hour glass – Looping-Dipping-Lifting. Inviting men and their money.

A moan escaped my throat; my belly beckoned me to sway to the primal drum – to join her fire dance.

Startled, I gasped as another coin hit the ground at her feet tossed by an invisible hand. Who else watched from the shadows?

(Note: This is a compilation of individual tweets (140 characters or less) woven together into a single moment in time.

The Trip

“Hello you. How was your trip?” he asked her as she entered.

“Fun. Marvelous. Interesting. It was everything you said it would be,” she beamed as she dashed in. “Still, it’s good to be back,” she added and wrapped herself around him.

He chuckled as he drew her close, “It’s good to have you back.”

“Ummmhmm,” she purred as she wallowed in his loving embrace. “Next time we should go together.”

“We’ll have to plan that. So, tell me all about it. Did you get to do everything we talked about?”

“Yup. I sure did,” she told him excitedly. “Some things more than once!”

“Food?” he asked.

“Yum!” she exclaimed.

“Dancing?” he queried.

“Oh, I danced until I dropped from exhaustion,” she told him, giggling.


She flushed. “Well, sure. There was plenty of opportunity for that,” she laughed. “It would have been better with you there, though.”

He flexed and squeezed her.

She sighed a bit, “It’s…it’s…just so hard to get close to anyone, you know?”

“I know. It’s such a short time. It seems like you just get there and get the hang of things and it’s time to come home.”

“There is that, but…,” she paused as she pressed into him, simply luxuriating in the feel of him.

“But? He asked as he held and stroked her.

She drew back a moment as she collected her thoughts, “I just don’t see how anyone can ever get close to anyone else, there. Things get in the way.”

“Things,” he repeated as he considered what she was saying. “Ah,” he said as he pulled her back to him, “You mean the bodies.”

She felt herself happily, blissfully melting into him, “Exactly. You can’t do this with bodies. They just get in the way.”