Trouble in High Boots by Elizabeth Black

Cover Trouble We all know Puss and the Marquis of Carabas, but this is a take on the story which is a breath of fresh air. An arousing twist on a tale that could have been a common piece of smut. Elizabeth knows how to surprise and take this piece erotica into a kinky direction with a little fetish and a lot of heat.

Without giving away too much I would like to say that this puss is a kitten who knows what she wants and how to get it. Clawing her way out off trouble and seducing her way into the life she craves.

I must however be honest and tell you that there was one minor thing that took me out off the story. Less nit picking readers might not even be bothered about it, but I was. The author mentions a sense of feeling in the solar plexus, not once but twice. Since that is a sensitive knot of nerves, no emotions reside there. I think she aimed for a ‘dramatic’ phrasing, but missed the point altogether.

Other than that it was a satisfying read that gave me a few very arousing moments. If you expect to be entertained this story is worth picking up.


It’s available at Amazon for only $5,74

Running in Corridors by Ch. Edwards

Where to begin? Let me start by saying this author has a knack to not only tell a great story of love, deceit, excitement and resolve, but he then takes you right smack into the middle of it. Leaving you to guess how much of it is real and what is made up.

The book is loaded with details but never once those details block out the story or halt the flow. And then there are those references to music, all fitting the moment and the scene. They not only help set the time, but paint a clear picture of who this lively Frankie character really is. It actually made me hear those songs, see the scenes and remember those days. When a book does that to me, it’s a done deal. I’m swept into that world and happily travel the paths on which our Frankie stumbles, falls but always manages to get up from again. A world painted in such striking pictures it’s easy to lose yourself in.

From the first page through the last Mister Edwards has you running with Frankie and not once it feels contrived or fake. Real, or make believe? It doesn’t matter, either way it is cleverly written, full of wit, charm and the occasional breathtaking moment. Where needed there is a serious note to bring you back down to earth and forces you to realise these are matters of life and death Frankie has to deal with.

To whom I would recommend this? To everybody who enjoys reading a slice of life and to those wondering about how real people live real lives out of the ordinary.

Nightsound by Jerry W. McKinney


 I love to be frightened. Freaked Out even. Yes, that is capitalised and on purpose, because these shorts will scare the panties off of you. Get your knickers in a twist and have you looking under the bed, in the closet and double checking the locks on doors and windows. Knowing the things that go bump in the night will not be stopped by such trivial matters as locks or closed doors. But when that is done you’ll happily crawl back in bed to pull the covers over your head and read on.


If you like your fear served in bite-sized portions, ready to be devoured in bed while darkness surrounds you and nightsounds are audible in the house, you should definitely get this collection. It will change your perspective on certain things, and will definitely put you off from certain scents, or even places. I know I’ll not be very comfortable around big orderlies for a long time.


This collection of short and scary stories is certainly a must read if you have a craving for the disturbing horrors of Nightsounds and creatures unknown to you before.

Human Expectations

Lucy stares out her window, no longer the sun shines brightly on her garden. Rain fall as if it feels her mood; a tiny spot of blue appears and she smiles. Her mood lifts as she remembers it isn’t that bad. For hasn’t she already once mused about expectations and why humans feel the need to live up to those?

Ah, yes. Now she remembers. You cannot please the world for it will not let itself be pleased. The world is, as I am. As humans are, only why do they feel the need to own a piece of another? What drives humans to flock together and fight over the right to tell another how to behave, how to be? Isn’t being enough? “Just be and be the best human you can be” Lucy wants to say. Instead she whispers, “I do not want any human to feel sad. Nor should I feel that way.” Lucy thinks and stares and stares and thinks. What if the human was pleased with not being Lucy’s friend, wouldn’t that work for the human as well as Lucy bending over backwards to please?

Yes, Lucy will not please the human any longer and wish that one “God speed. I do hope you find a human friend to please you, for I can no longer.

Once again Lucy stares out into the now desolate garden thinking about how humans create expectations with their behaviour, even when they do not mean for that to happen, it still does. “… expectations and human behaviour …”  Action and reaction. Cause and effect, or should it read affect? “For are it not one humans actions that affect those others surrounding the one? Causing expectations to grow and hopes to blossom?” Lucy sighs and ponders on hope and affect, causality and blame. “Mea culpa …” She shakes her head as she realises that humans are not the rational beings they like to pretend to be. “Humans expect too much and not enough. Some sell themselves short to avoid blame. Take blame and shame to avoid strain, but doesn’t that create expectations those cannot continue to live up to? And will they not break?”


Sylvia Plath once said, “If you expect nothing from anybody, you’re never disappointed.”


“How right she was,” Lucy sighs, but if no human had expectations they would not strive to live up to them and no progress would be made. But neither would wars be waged, or envy felt, consuming rage set free. “Ah, but that would be a perfect world, and perfection is not, only life. As Milan Kundera said.” Lucy smiles and knows that at least she expects nothing and thus cannot be disappointed. She will not let expectations dictate her feelings, nor her behaviour. Lucy sets out to be freed of those, to be truly liberated.

Sinners and Saints

“Ah, Saints,” muses Lucy. “what would they be if not for sinners?”

… what makes a human a Saint? Lucy wonders, while she sits, drinking her espresso. The other day she saw an elderly lady drop her groceries to help the young child that fell off his bicycle. And the vagrant who stole that suit’s wallet. He handed out the money to his friends. They smiled for they could then fill their stomach, with food or beer. Is the human in the suit the Saint for carelessly providing opportunity? Or is the thief a Saint for sharing his new found wealth with the ones he cares about? Or are they both sinners? Isn’t good and evil all a matter of perspective, like beauty lies in the eye of the beholder? What about the old lady? Or the humans who visit the females behind the windows under red lights, so scarcely clothed? What about those females who provide moments of bliss in exchange for cold, hard cash? Or the woman left at home, who’s man bought his blissful moment earlier and returns to his unsuspecting wife, to kiss her and make love to her. The edge taken off his need, taken care of by the female for hire. Is she a Saint? Or a sinner? Or the man? Is he a sinner for being unfaithful to his wife? Or a saint for not demanding from his beloved one what most people call a sin? And why do humans feel the need to judge in this way? Is not every human as valuable as the other? Do they not need them all? Sinners and Saint?

What about lies?

Lucy heard a man say, “I have been known to tell a miniscule white-lie for humor’s sake.

Lucy had to think on that one. A smile played around her lips as she gazed out to the flowers in bloom, luring the insects with their promise of riches, of food. True lies, true for the nectar is there for the taking, lies because the colours are a ruse, meant to lure.

“… aren’t all lies white? What colour would you call a lie that isn’t white? What sense does it make to assign colours to lies? How bad is it to tell a lie? Isn’t the white lie equally misleading as the lie with no colour. Isn’t telling the truth sometimes worse? And would we call the truth black then? Would it not be better to be silent at times? The wasp trap lies when it promises things the little animal wants with the flashing of its colours. It is truth, for in the bottle is the finest nectar, only it won’t be able to carry it home. Instead it will perish in this wealth it found.”

Lucy cannot stand the struggle of the living creature and released it. The lies have to end. The bottle is rinsed and put away. Only truth in nature, even when it lies. And only truth in life, even when it hurts.