continued from previous page

The following entries can be found on the first page

A Worthy Hero by Emma Gads
A Previously Undiscovered Adventure of Winnie the Pooh by Marianne McA
The Wild, the Innocent, & the Bow Street Shuffle by Larry Rogers

The following entries can be found on the second page

The Monday Night Book Club by Cindy Wiser
The Red Stiletto Sisterhood by jmc
Wickedly Good by Laurel Osterkamp
Romeo and Juliet Wear Prada by Nana Massie

The following entries can be found on the third page

Brassy Belle's Breakout! Texas Shady Ladies Trilogy #1 by Varina Martindale
Application for Employment as Romance Novel Heroine by Karen Franks
A Tumble in the Hay by Emilie J. Conroy
The Blue Line To Love by LinnieGayl

The following entries can be found on this page

Generic Erotic Paranormal by Summer Devon aka Kate Rothwell
Love and Domino's by Lauren Young
The Romance of Romeo & Juliet, a Regency by Elizabeth V.
A Lover's Flame: Awakened & Eternal by Lynda Tisdell

Who won this year's contest, as well as how the voting played out, can be found on this page


Generic Erotic Paranormal by author Summer Devon aka Kate Rothwell

They met in a dark spot. Never mind where or which planet. It doesn't matter. The only dark spot that matters was hers. Dark and moist. Longing, waiting to be filled.

"Hello," she whispered and brushed his arm. Sparks of electricity danced where she touched him, allowing her to make out his craggy features for a brief moment. She saw his endless lust and it kindled hers faster than a greedy goddess accepts an offering from a supplicant, sucking need in. Dark and moist and aching and empty.

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"Yes," he murmured, understanding the deep yawning need in her single word of greeting and in her eyes that he could barely make out in the dark. Two of them, he was almost certain.

He seized her. "Mine" he growled.
"But I . . ." but his mouth covered hers.
She moaned as he pushed her against the wall. And then on the floor. Cream and pistoning. More cream. His. Hers. So much. From him. And then her. Screams swallowed. Groans allowed to escape into the dark. Rich scents of bodies in full, utter lust.

And then they dragged themselves to a softer surface. Doggy style. And then in what could have been her excretory canal. He only knew it was so tight. So tight. He exploded with an oath.

When he awoke from the coma, she was gone. And he did not know her name--only that he was not sated. Not by a long shot. He seized himself and thought of her. Dark and moist. "Mine," he groaned at the instant of his release. "Forever." Better, but he needed to find her. Again. And take her. His. Again.

Was she blonde? brunette? lizard? vampire? Nothing mattered except his ramrod certainty that she belonged to him. His.

He sniffed the ground, the walls, until he caught traces of her feminine scent and he set off, nose to the ground, in search of his property. He'd only heard three words total from her mouth, did not know so much as the color of her smooth skin--yes, good, he recalled smooth skin. A start. And sure as the four moons rise on Qu'derk, and he'd regain his kingdom from the villains who'd overthrown him, he'd find her.

He'd find her, whoever or whatever the hell she was.

Love and Domino's by Lauren Young

Grace lie in bed, dressed in only her bubble-gum colored teddy. The sound of the Food Network played softly as Grace's eyes blinked and darted, wondering what was happening to her.

"Eat," her lover, Dan, whispered.

Before Grace can react, a hot tip pushed past her cherry red lips. She resisted at first, but once she recognized the flavor, she began chowing down like a starving junkyard hound. Grace drew her lips out to suck in more of the taste that was driving her mad like the mildly funny magazine she would see at the grocery store-with that dorky, gap-toothed grin and vacant eyes, God, she hated it!

But her mind wasn't on teenaged literature at this moment. Her tongue was roving over the hot, gooey piece that was invading her mouth. Once Grace hit the distinct taste of sausage, Dan then jerked it away. Grace shrieked as the cheesy goodness oozed onto the valley between her ripened tomatoes.

With a devilish grin and a twinkle in his bell-pepper green eyes, Dan lowered his head to lap up the mess that stained her otherwise doughy-white skin. Grace threw her head up and over, half-laughing and half-groaning.

"That's it, my sweet pepperoni," Dan whispered, making Grace squirm and sigh.

"Your taste!" Grace cried urgently, "I want to taste you!"

Dan sucked the goodness through his lips, fully aware that Grace was enjoying this, but knew that she wasn't done just yet-not until her timers popped through the sheer nightie and she was gooey on the inside.

Dan then peeled off the rest of the cheese from his piece and nestled it in his mouth. Grace could feel her breathing become chopped like garlic, but not as smelly, as Dan leaned forward, pressing the cheese-flesh against her lips and his meat-lovers' special against her oven of femininity. Grace's hunger escalated as she partook in more of Dan's basil-flavored lips. Her eyes widened like dough bubbles in an oven as his meat-lovers' special roasted inside her, sizzling and growing. It wasn't long before the passion timer went, "Ding!" and Dan and Grace were shaken like mozzerella over a fresh pizza pie and drawing breaths harder than day-old crusts.

The couple were still fat and happy from their feast thirty minutes later. Dan turned to Grace, still dazed and licking the sauce from her lips. When she became aware of her surroundings, she sat up and stared down at the pizza box. Dan slid an arm around her shoulders.

"Next time, let's order Chinese."

The Romance of Romeo & Juliet, a Regency (with apologies to Shakespeare) by Elizabeth V.

Two households, both alike in dignity,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
A quite nude virgin, deflowered is seen.
Star-cross'd lovers, the children of these foes,
Their lovers' lust will end their parents' rows.
Their scand-lus love, their parents' rightful rage,
Are now these lines on this parody page;
The which if you with patient eyes attend,
What here shall miss, my toil shall strive to mend.

{Juliet is speaking with her nurse, as she dresses for the masquerade ball her parents are hosting for her introduction to society.}

Oh nurse, pray tell which suitors come for me.
What anticipation. Tonight, I dance;
I flirt. Then he and I, will finally,
Lock eyes, and I will know what true love is.
Dear mother, she has chosen the top three.
Which one, of hers, will be my love for life?
Who will it be? A handsome young viscount?
An old prestigious duke? A dutchess, me?!!
Fate will surely smile upon me tonight.
I am a Capulet; all will be right.

{At the ball, Romeo and friends look out over the ballroom from a balcony.}

Look there - that girl! Her smiling eyes, my heart!

Ho Romeo. What eyes do you now see.
Tonight the mask'd ladies display their fine,
Fine attributes, all seen below their necks.
God Bless the wanton-ness the masks unmask.

No look, my friend. That light down yonder shines;
That is the East and she must be the sun.
I go to warm myself in her presence.

{Romeo weaves through the crowds towards Juliet who is flirting with several men. When he's ten yards away, their eyes meet and lock. A waltz is beginning. Juliet offers Romeo her hand. He kisses it, then tucks it under his arm and leads her to the dance floor.}

Bold sir, my dances were all spoken for.

My lady, you ask'd me from 'cross the room.
Your goss'mer hair, your sweet ripe flesh, call'd me.
Your lilting laugh demanded me to come.
You clearly can not blame me now, surely,
You see, obey your plea was all I did?

Bold sir, you claim too much. You say too much.
But oh, I like it. So, please do, go on!

{As they dance by the open doors leading to the garden, Romeo twirls them right out into the night.}

I think we need some air. To cool me off.
To hide your blush, as I tell of my lust.
Will you, with me, wander the garden path?

Good sir, I know this garden well. It's mine.
But I would like meandering with you,
If you, your promise keep and talk of lust.
I have so much to learn, such as the words.
So much I want to say; how to begin?

My dear, just say what you would like to say.

Okay, I felt, while dancing, --- your shaft!
It was --- burgeoning, then quite rigid.
Look now, you are --- bulging --- down there.

Mmmmm, yes. And no, those words don't quite suite you.
But lust is more action than dialogue.

Your apt student I'll be, if you teach me.

Sweet girl, so sweet. You can't know what you ask.
No matter, though. We'll start your first lesson.
But we should not complete this course tonight.
Stop here in this alcove. Come close, look up,
That's right, press your proud peaks against my chest.
Now let me taste those sweet, sweet lips, and then
Maybe our tongues can mate, as I've dreamt of.

{They are swept away with passion until Romeo pulls his face away from her swollen, well suckled breasts. Trying to ignore his throbbing member, he says:}

My dear, did you say this was your garden?

Why yes, you surely knew that I am she,
Whose home this is. And too, whose ball this is.
I am Miss Juliet Capulet. And you?

Oh no, you said, Miss Juliet Capulet?
What fate is this? I am a Montague.
I, Romeo, am your sworn enemy.
Blue balls! What should we do? What can we do?

A Montague? Yes, fate indeed. I dreamt
A viscount or a duke - you've more pow'r still.
But it can't be. Dear Father's great malice.
Oh shilly-shally. This lesson was fun.
Why I might die, if we do not keep on.

A tragedy, I could and should prevent.
For now, pretend only we two exist.
Come here, sit down, let's put this bench to use.
No on my lap, I want to hold you close.
We'll stoke our passion to a fire-y blaze.
I'll touch you to make your love juices flow.

{And he did - until Juliet called out in quivering ecstasy. Then he adjusted his breeches, lifted her up, shifted her legs and lowered her back down inch by slow inch upon him.}

Oh, my. May I --- move?

Yes, please. Do move.

{After quite a lot of moving, he held her hips down as he finally sheathed himself to the hilt and then shuddered greatly as his hot seed flooded into her. He muttered:}

Violent delights have violent ends.

Oh my! What name could do that end justice?

Climax, release, orgasm, completion,
Satisfaction, peaking, coming, but well,
What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.

Oh, Ju-li-et! Are you out here cousin?

Tybalt. My fierce cousin, he's coming near!

{Tybalt rounds a corner in the garden and sees Juliet sitting astride Romeo with her dress bunched entirely around her waist.}

What's this? Oh Juliet, no! What have you done?
A Montague?!! Unhand her now you fiend,
Or I by God do swear, I will kill you.

Tybalt, slow down. Let's act like gentlemen.

You are no gentleman. Look what you've done.
Get dress'd, cousin. Go now. Leave this to me.

No, Tybalt.

Tybalt, my man your voice does carry so.
This is a ball. Did you forget our guests?
Amuse yourself with dancing, not snarling.

{Juliet's father rounds the corner in the garden and takes in the scene before him. Romeo is helping Juliet with her dress which is much worse for wear. Capulet struggles to maintain control of his rage. He nods at Tybalt and moves towards Juliet.}

You'll honor me with your presence at dawn.
Justice will be serv'd on the dueling lawn.

{Capulet grabs Juliet and starts dragging her away.}

You're dead to me. I have no child. A nun...

Good sirs, do wait and think, please hear me out.
A better way exists, another route.
Great merchant houses, both, our families,
Less feuding, and more revenue would please.
I love my Juliet and Juliet loves me;
I know the perfect ending that should be.
A great monopoly we could create,
If we could just set quick a wedding date!
Why, think how very glad we all could be;
A love match, a merger, one empire, see?!!

{And, of course, they did see.}

And so, this Juliet and her Romeo,
End happily, as it should have been so.

The Lover's Flame: Awakened & Eternal (Dedicated to J.R. Ward) by Lynda Tisdell

"Damned vampires," Angwish roared in silent telepathy to his adopted brother, nee Jules, now called Aannoyyyancce, his were-name. Angwish growled, "Vampires can increase their numbers just by attack. Not us. No. We need to reproduce, and there are damned few women who are entranced by those of us who feed by the dark of the moonless night." Angwish felt a responsibility to his flock, and he had tried his best to find mates for them all. His enemies snidely accused him of procuring, but Angwish knew that was one sin of which he was innocent. The others, however, weighed heavily on his mind and soul, if he still had one.

Sympathetic to his brother, Aannoyyyancce listened, but then he trotted away, waving over his shoulder, relieved that he wasn't the Laird of the Llamas, like Angwish. No, Aannoyyyancce thought, I have enough to worry about--just finding my own rare mate. "They're writing songs of love, but not for me" looped around Aannoyyyancce's brain. Other were-llamas listened to rap, but Aannoyyyancce knew every Cole Porter and George Gershwin song by heart. Sometimes they fought with the Village People and Queen's "We Are the Champions," but Porter and Gershwin usually won, as they did tonight. Aannoyyyancce sighed as he scampered into the television studio to film the Tell-a-Tubbies Return Special.

Angwish felt as if he weighed a thousand pounds--all of it responsibility for his flock, his brothers. Every day after 40 years, a single were-llama weakened until he melted if water was thrown on him. (Were-Llamas took only sponge baths). The Predators, searching in their desperate hatred for unmated 40 year old were-llamas, lugged hoses into Central Park on moonless nights, indiscriminately spraying. When they succeeded, the victims sometimes were heard to cry out, "Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh--what a world--what a world! Who would have thought a Predator like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness? Ohhh. Ohhh."

At 39 and 29/30, Angwish supposed his time was running out. It didn't matter that so many of his brothers were jealous of him, the famous inventor of the chia-pet (inspired by distant memories of his mother). No, even if one is rich, one will die, he mused. Death held no sting to Angwish; in fact, sometimes he welcomed it. But he was not free to unshoulder this increasing burden of his brothers, united by their blood oath of pricking their fingers, mingling their blood, and crossing their hearts--in defiance of AIDS, so many years ago. Angwish knew that some whispered that he--an unmated were-llama-- was not fit to govern. Influenced by Aannoyyyancce's love of Rogers and Hart, Angwish would break out in song if he just IMAGINED meeting his mate. He now softly sang, "While I sit around, my love can scrub the floor / She'll kiss me every hour or she'll get the sack / and when I take a shower she can scrub my back / Isn't it romantic?" Yes, it was romantic.

However, he also knew it was his own fault that he was single. Ever since his governess had slapped his hand when he had reached for the hot stove, he did not trust women. It had worsened when his younger sister had beaten him at hide-and-seek when he was 15, taunting, "Naaah, Naash, Naah, Naaah Naaah, Naaaah. Angwish can't hhiiiddde." He could still hear her disdain, even after all these years. But his most traumatic event, he knew after years of therapy, had been his first grade teacher, Miss Havisham, correcting him when he read. Corrected him aloud, in front of all the other children! He had worked decades to erase her voice, "It's through, not though, Nigel," his name so long ago.

Angwish shook his head. He could not go on in the past. He jerked himself forward, ambling along Wall Street at 5:00.

Suddenly, an scent broke through Angwish's dark thoughts, an scent he had been looking for for a long, long time. Decades. The scent of peach, with a tad unwashed dog, a touch of garlic, and a hint of Mr. Clean. Where? Where? Where did that scent come from?

She was one woman who would save him from death. Who would help him rule. Who would have his little llamas. She, who would pack his lunches, iron his shirts, vacuum his rugs, cook his grass, run his Savile suits to the dry-cleansers, hand-wash his cashmere socks, dust the priceless Hummels in his spacious three-room apartment in the Dakota, shop for his organic fruits and vegetables at NoChemicalsForUs, re-grout the bathroom tile, and oh, yes, grace his bed. Angwish grinned at that. Now, where was she? He looked around, trying to spot her in this crowd of thousands, all going home at the end of a long day.

"Close your eyes. Let Hera guide you," he told himself. Again, he smelled HER scent faintly, as he was bumped, eyes closed, guided by his faith. He careened off stockbrokers, collided into CEOs, ricocheted into police officers, until he caught HER scent again. He opened his eyes. And saw her. Hera, that fickle goddess, be praised! For the first time in months, Angwish smiled.

Annika was bent down, scratching her ankle. Pesky mosquitoes. And ticks. And gnats. Pesky, pesky, pesky. She took her giant bottle of Calamine lotion and dabbed another splat on her leg, over the pantyhose. Ahhh, instant relief, relief that allowed her to go on to the next bite. She really, really should stop running through Central Park grass. She supposed that was one reason for the "Stay Off the Grass" signs, but she needed to see and touch and smell and hear and taste nature. Looking up, after pulling up her bra strap back from her arm, she became riveted at the man, staring, smiling at her as he stood totally still, the cursing crowd still elbowing around him. He was looking at her? Don't be silly, she told herself. She looked behind her. But no. He WAS looking at her. Really. Her, with her blue and green hair (her attempt to mix red and blonde highlights backfired), with her yellow yarn, replacing the bows on her broken glasses. (She really had not had time to go to Glasses-R-Us). Hoping that her latest creation, from her very own needle--her dress with the height-enhancing shoulder pads--would distract him from her mismatched sneaker and high heel, she smiled back. She knew she had looked a little better on other days. Just her luck. However, it could have been worse, she resolutely told herself. Her luck didn't matter. He did.

He smiled back, bulldozed by the crowd, as he manfully stood, resolute, in front of her. He came closer. "I'm Angwish. I have been searching my whole life for you."

"Angwish? The. . . inventor of . . . .the Chia-pet?" she breathed.

"Yes, but that's not important now. You are," he sighed with masculine intonation.

"But I . . . love . . . Chia-pets," she burbled.

"And I love you," he murmured. "I've been looking for you my whole life, sweetheart," he repeated, manfully.

"Have . . . you?"

"Yes. But I knew you were the one, once I scented you."

Annika demurely lowered her lashes, peering through them up at him. "Scented . . . me?
I . . . don't. . . . understand. . . " Angwish noticed that her intense emotion had changed the color of her eyes, from deep blue to brown. He didn't know that she could smell him too. Smell his clean, clean bouquet, not of soap, but of the man himself. Clean, clean, she thought, that was it. Clean!

"You don't need to understand, little one. You just need to come with me. Will you, sweetheart?"

As Annika licked her lower lip three times, Angwish tamped down his lusty response. It was too soon, damn it.

Annika smiled up at him. "Yes." But then she hesitated. Angwish's heart sank, yet he was fascinated and entranced, as she scratched under the yarn on the side of her face, and then on her leg, and then harder on her calf, and finally on her arm. "But . . . you . . . don't . . . know. . . " she trailed off.

"I know all I have to, Sweetheart. I know you are my true mate, my wife, my lover, my helpmate, by better-half, my psychologist, my housecleaner, my cook, my everything. Tell me, sweetheart."

"I,. . . am . . . not . . . worthy . . . of you. I am . . . just a . . . little . . . CPA. . . with a double doctorate . . . in applied science . . . and . . . astrology. But you are. . . you are. . . the famous . . . and. . . powerful. . . inventor. I am. . . not . . . worthy."

Sadly, Angwish smiled, touched by her lack of self-esteem. "That may be true, little one, but it doesn't matter. You will marry me, then I will tell you my dreaded secret, and then we will live happily ever after."

Annika smiled up at him, took his hand, and they started on their new life together. And Angwish's prognostication was accurate. They did live happily ever after. After a few years.

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