Archive for 2012 | Yearly archive page
Much thanks goes out to Gef Fox of Wag The Fox blog for his recent Old School review. Keep checking Gef’s blog for his Summer of Short Fiction posts, which will have more Old School goodness included. We Old School authors are thrilled he enjoyed the anthology.
Check out the full review of Old School here:
Why not grab a copy of Old School while you’re at it? Fourteen short tales offered by David Dunwoody, Jackie Gamber, R. Scott McCoy,Natalie L. Sin, Horace James, Gregory L. Hall, and Louise Bohmer, all tied together by selected poems from Zombie Zak – Old School reminds one of terrors best not forgotten.
Within these pages, evil children terrorize, witches gather the teeth of the young, cosmic blobs eat the world, while creepy crawlies ruin a man’s life and a headless ghost seeks revenge. Wander down this spooky path with poems and stories that revive our nightmares about golems, harpies, and other creatures.
This review is part of The Werewolf Run to help promote the release of K.H Koehler’s werewolf novel, A Werewolf in Time (Mrs. McGillicuddy #2). Please visit Amazon and Barnes & Noble online for information on ordering a copy of the book for your Kindle or Nook. To see where she’ll be in the next month, visit: http://www.khkoehler.com/the-werewolf-run/
CURSE OF THE WEREWOLF (1961)
Hammer Films. The words evoke bright, eye-watering images of blood-slathered damsels in distress, evil Counts and Barons, strained corsets, and hapless villagers being victimized—and often slaughtered—en masse. In the early 1960’s, the Hammer Film studio wanted to crank out films that undermined—or, at the very least, made fun of—the sometimes ridiculously puritanical films being shoveled out by Universal Pictures under the misnomer of “horror.” Universal, like all American film studios from 1930 until 1968, was shackled by the Motion Picture Production Code, which forbid a formidably long laundry list of “indecent” or “immoral” behavior in motion pictures. But the UK, Italy and other countries which were heavily influencing films during the 1960’s, weren’t restricted by such guidelines and so were free to produce films like Curse of the Werewolf, a film that, with its subtle sexuality and not-so-subtle violence, would never have passed approval in America until at least the late 1960’s, when the Motion Picture Production Code began to fail.
Curse of the Werewolf was another film that made the popular circuit of Saturday afternoon matinee channels in my time. I remember it fondly as the “Oliver Reed werewolf movie.” I’d had, and still have, an ongoing crush on the young Oliver Reed, and his moody, almost manic-depressive performance in the movie makes me wish he’d done more Hammer films. But I can only guess that in some ways, Reed, who was a fairly popular leading man at the time, was kind of slumming it a bit by doing the movie. That or someone got him very drunk. I should like to thank that man.
Curse of the Werewolf is roughly based on the novel The Werewolf of Paris by Guy Endor. Following a more literary path toward its storytelling than most werewolf films, it actually starts decades before the real story even begins, with an old beggar being taken in by a cruel marques in 18th Century Spain. He’s used as entertainment for some festivities, and then tossed into a prison and quickly forgotten. During that time, his only contact with the outside world is the jailer and his beautiful, mute (and nameless) daughter. Some fifteen years later, the evil, decrepit marques makes advances on the now adult daughter, but when she rejects him, he throws her to the old, mad beggar, a recipe for disaster. The beggar rapes her and dies.
The girl is released and sent back to entertain the marques (who, frankly, has a few nuts and bolts rolling around his head himself) but manages to kill him before fleeing the castle. Eventually she is found in the forest by the scholar Don Alfredo Corledo and is nursed back to healthy by the kind Don and his housekeeper Theresa. And yet, despite their care, the girls dies some time later while giving birth to a baby on Christmas Day, something Theresa feels is a bad omen. Her fears are quickly realized when the child, adopted by Don Alfredo, cannot even be christened without the somber cry of some hellborn beast ringing out over the village.
The real story starts as the boy, Leon, grows from a child to a man and slowly becomes overwhelmed by his own bloodlust and the curse that has followed him from his birth. He learns that the love of a good woman could theoretically save and redeem him, but it just might not be enough as the man and the wolf battle for dominance over Leon’s body. The interesting twist here is that Leon is cursed through violent circumstances not of his own doing. He was cursed, and damned, before he was ever born. Not many werewolf movies today make use of the older methods of contracting lycanthropy, such as being a child of rape, committing a great act of evil, finding a belt of wolf fur, or drinking water from the paw print of a wolf. The film is unique in that it calls back to the older legends, many of which were long ago mixed-up and confused with similar tropes of witchcraft and vampirism.
Curse of the Werewolf remains one of my favorite Hammer films, and one of my favorite werewolf movies of all time. The complexity of its storytelling and the beautiful, almost garish (and very Hammeresque) sets and filming alone are worth the price of admission.
4 pentacles out of 5.
Agree or disagree? Share your opinion below.
Click the cover to grab a copy of A Werewolf In Time for your Kindle.
It’s June, so I figured it’s time for a summer sizzler sale for Passion Plays. Now you can grab a copy of Passion Plays for only $1.99 at Amazon and Smashwords! Sale ends July 4, so you’ve got one month to take advantage of this deal. Click the links in this paragraph, or the cover, to grab your copy now.
Passion Plays takes you on a variety of steamy journeys. Female P.I.s seduce a rival detective to score a high-paying case. David, the rebellious print-out prostitute, comes to kill his maker, but his cloned Madame has other plans. A female tattoo artist teaches her apprentice some sexy lessons, while a fiery redhead enchants a young farm boy. A loving partner sets up a surprise ménage for his lady, complete with paddles and handcuffs. Best friends take their relationship to a different level, while the movie theater gets hot for one bored and horny couple. And love gets complicated by family commitments mixed with mob rules. All this and more packed into nine sizzling stories.
This collection is intended for a mature readership over 18 years of age.
Be sure to come back tomorrow for a very special guest! Can you hear that wolf howling at the moon? The forest fae are all excited.
Today’s free erotic read gives you a peek at every story in Passion Plays. You can get these, and three free stories, in the Passion Plays Teaser. Download it from Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/123334 Or click the book cover below to download it free from my site.
If you’re not into erotic romance, or if you’re under 18, you may want to skip this entry and check out the horror / speculative fare the site has to offer.
Bio-Ink and Blueprint Whores
David is determined to stop Dr. Valentine’s black market, clone prostitute racket. However, he should’ve factored in Mistress Nadine. She’s all that stands in his way of putting the cloned whores out of commission. With a newly produced lady of the night, she intends to distract David enough to gain the upper hand. Who will win in this erotic duel for life or death?
A hot soak had stirred a dehydrated vixen. She now broke free of her silicone cocoon. Long hair stuck to her wet body in a slick, ebony sheet, as she shed her protective shell and rose from the bathtub.
Nadine’s free arm encircled his chest. “I designed her with you in mind.” Her fingers tugged at his thick, titanium zipper. “I knew you’d return soon.”
“You hoped.” He tried to freeze against her touch. Nadine’s hand slid down his wide pectorals, and then lower, across his stomach.
“Am I forgiven then?” Her metallic tongue slid into his ear as the newborn clone whore drew nearer to them.
The raven-haired beauty pushed her fingertips beneath his protective rubber armor, and the shield-clothing slipped down his corded arms.
“You’re forgiven.” David swallowed as hard nipples brushed his naked back.
“Our Dahlia needs a shower.” Nadine’s cool touch coiled around his erection. “Will you help me clean her up? You always liked that.” She worked his growing thickness with her expert touch.
David closed his eyes and groaned. “Yes.”
He let the made-to-order ladies lead him to a large, open shower area across from the bathroom.
Katrina never realized taking on a tattoo apprentice could have such sexy potential! But when Daniel walks into her shop looking for a job, she finds much more tempting thoughts invading her mind—and work goes out the window.
“Close your eyes.”
She coiled the second section of chain around his other ankle then fastened it. Katrina slid herself up the length of his body, and then cupped his crotch, squeezing and massaging for a moment before she walked behind the chair. Daniel moaned at the loss of her touch.
She snapped the handcuffs around his wrists, restraining his hands at the back of the seat. He gasped as she tightened them. Moving to the front of him once more, she slipped into his lap. Kat could feel his erection pressing against her butt. Turning so she straddled him, she rubbed her groin against the sizeable bump in his faded jeans. Back and forth until Daniel jerked forward in the chair, obviously forgetting he was tied as he tried to move his arms.
He moaned, murmuring thickly, “Can I at least open my eyes now?”
She took her shirt off. “Go ahead.”
His eyelashes fluttered as he focused on her now bare breasts. Kat twined her arms around his neck and brought her large, taut nipples closer to his mouth. Daniel jerked forward and tried to catch one dark bud with his lips. She moved too fast for him, yanking back before he could nip her.
Roberta’s Younger Man
Farrah Lebrecque runs an upscale club for her friends both in and out of the adult entertainment industry. Roberta is her long-time friend, and Paul is Farrah’s ex-lover. Two years ago tonight, Farrah introduced Paul and Roberta in her exclusive sex club. The couple return to the club, on this eve, for some surprising fun. Not one to usually date younger men, Roberta finds out that her Paul can match any older man with the pleasures he has in store for her.
“See anything else you like in there?” he whispered, as he lifted the paddle from the bed and slid the soft-covered surface over her buttocks.
Robbie sighed as his tongue flitted into her ear, and Paul nibbled on her lobe. Her eyes fell on a cluster of indigo feathers laying on the bottom edge of the armoire’s inner chamber.
“How about a couple of feathers?”
“Whatever you want tonight, hon.” Paul moved back to the dresser. He plucked the blue-black plumes from the base of the cupboard.
The light click of a door opening came from behind Roberta. Her gaze moved to Paul, and he returned her curious smile with a smirk.
Warm hands slid around her waist and up her abdomen to cup her breasts. Womanly hands that possessed familiar, well-manicured nails. Fingers pinched her nipples, squeezed Robbie’s soft, rounded mounds.
“Mind if I join you?” Farrah’s exotic perfume enveloped Robbie’s senses. Her skin tingled with growing excitement, and her throat thickened with lust.
Paul joined the two women and slipped a feather into Farrah’s now outstretched hand.
“Excuse me, sir.” The voice of her sultry friend fanned Roberta’s ear, and she shivered. “But why are you still partially dressed?”
Ben, a male escort with unsavory connections, hesitates on taking his long-time friendship with Sara to the next level. Can there be anything between them when he lives an underground life? After an impromptu call on his birthday, Sara decides to dash away his fears, and takes Ben into her bed. What follows is a night of raw, sensual passion, as the two let their long held chemistry explode.
Lighting a cigarette, she turned her head toward the dusty window and deserted highway. She let her blue silk robe fall open, and trailed a lazy hand down her stomach. Sara traced light, absent fingers around her trimmed thatch of dark gold hair. Her strokes slid lower, caressing the length of her inner thigh.
Closing her eyes, she sighed deeply, thoughts drifting. Taking another drag, she let her head fall back, releasing tension from her shoulders as she slid a finger up her labia and rubbed her clit. She moaned, and her muscles relaxed.
They’d met in high school, her and Ben, after Sara had moved to this dying metropolis. Both outcasts, too comfortable with their rebel nature to conform, they’d found each other in a sea of cut-out, perfect faces.
She left the remains of her cigarette burning in the ashtray on the nightstand, and spread her legs wider as she slid two fingers inside. The delicious tingling built quickly, and she shuddered as she climaxed.
The bedroom lit with the yellow eyes of an approaching car, and Sara padded across the hardwood floor to the window. The vehicle passed by as she pushed back the curtains to watch the warm, clear night.
Bernadette and Richard are bored with the movie they picked out. It’s a terrible flick, so they decide to find other ways to pass the time in a darkened movie theatre. With the thrill of exhibition, they heat each other up for a finale that’s guaranteed to be better than the film they’ve forgotten about.
Bernadette giggled and bit her bottom lip. “Who says we have to leave just because the movie is bad? We can entertain ourselves in other ways.” She massaged his cock.
Richard groaned as he stopped her hand, albeit reluctantly. “What about the ushers?”
Bernadette rolled her eyes again. “We’re in the balcony, hon. We can see the entrance from here.” She pointed to the burgundy double doors, with a small round window carved in the center of each. “We’ll see them before they see us. Just a bit of fooling around, that’s all I want.” She continued to play with him through the tightening material. “We can save the sex for home.”
She watched his face tense and twitch as she unzipped him and freed his cock. Taking a hasty glance at the door, she dipped her head to the exposed tip and licked it slowly, swirling her tongue beneath the glans–finding that sensitive spot of flesh just beneath the head that made his erection jump and harden further.
“All right,” he said, voice thick with growing lust. “You win.” Richard unbuttoned the top snap on his waistband and let his penis bob freely in her skilled grip.
The Other Woman
What was meant to be a brief fling has turned into a tempestuous affair; but can it really blossom into something deeper?
Robert Dibassio is a tall dark Italian, with the temper his Latin heritage is famous for. His family is both respected and feared in the gritty, industrial city of Castle Grove. Robert keeps at arm’s length with his family’s mob ties, yet he can’t exert such skilled control over his feelings for spitfire, redhead Amelia Hatten.
Amy Hatten is a savvy, cynical financial planner. She’s not the settling down kind, and few men have been able to hold her attention beyond the six month mark. But with Robert, her emotions run wild, and the loss of control he conjures within both thrills and terrifies her.
Robert kissed her, gently sucking on her bottom lip. As the hunger of his mouth deepened, his teeth grazed over her cupid’s bow, and his tongue played with her own.
Amy sighed and leaned into him, pushing his damp raincoat back from his shoulders. His growing hardness pressed into her thigh, and she shifted, straddling him so her mound brushed against him through their clothing. Robert made a half grunt, half growl low in his throat, and buried his large, long fingers in her hair.
He tugged her head back, planting quick, teasing bites down her neck and along her collarbone. Amy’s hands slid up his chest, and she worked open the buttons on his shirt.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she protested through clenched teeth. Her brow furrowed and her breathing hastened as Robert’s caress traveled up her leg, beneath the hem of her skirt. “Not right now. Not here.”
With weak effort, Amy tried to peel herself away from his burly form. His other hand left her hair, coiling about her back and locking her in place.
“I’m sure as hell not letting you leave.” His touch slipped beneath her wisp of scarlet thong.
Under The Weather
Jeanette and Danny had a wonderful trip planned, but Jeanette comes down with a terrible cold. The couple decide to postpone their holiday, much to their disappointment. But Danny offers to soothe away some of the disappointment with a massage. Jeanette takes the offer to alleviate her aches and pains, but Danny’s sensual touch soon makes the session less than innocent.
He snickered as he straddled her just below the knees. “I thought a massage might help. I know how stiff and sore you are. And you haven’t been sleeping very well, lately.”
Ok.” She smiled and felt a bit guilty for questioning his motives. “But no funny stuff.” Jeanette closed her eyes.
Danny feigned a sigh of disgust. “Give me some credit.”
As his large hands curled around her shoulders, Jeanette let her aching body seep into the mattress beneath her.
“Ummm, that does feel good,” she murmured into the plush cushion against her cheek.
His gentle kneading moved to the middle of her back, and the combination of the earlier hot soak, her cold, and the soothing rubdown made her feel drugged. So sleepy that she didn’t protest when Danny whispered, “Turn over.”
He rested his wide palms against her clavicle, and worked the tender muscles in her chest. Jeanette let a small moan escape as she shifted on the bed.
“Feel good?” His warm breath, scented with a sweet and spicy hint of cinnamon, brushed over her face.
One hand stopped its fondling, and dropped to untie the fuzzy belt at her waist. He pushed the comforting terrycloth away from her body.
Copyright © 2012 Louise Bohmer. All rights reserved. No part of this short story may be distributed, shared, or posted online without the author’s written permission.
If you enjoyed what you read here, grab Passion Plays for your Kindle. It’s only $0.99 until August 4!
Once upon a time, I walked the streets of New Bedlam with many of my friends. I’m sure some of you will remember those cold, dark streets, where anything could be creeping around the next corner. Here’s a story from those times. In fact it was my first New Bedlam tale. Hope you enjoy today’s free read.
The following account was found in a journal discovered at a New Bedlam heritage site. According to town archives, the original homestead that stood on the property was gutted by fire in 1895. Somehow this journal survived, with all its pages intact.
* * *
Hillary helped me arrange my iron tools in a circle just outside the front door. No clouds in the sky means no threat of rain tonight, so they’ll be safe. I pray the spring storms don’t come anytime soon. We forgot to lay some iron out before the barn, so I fear what it might do to the cows. How I hope we don’t find a mess in the morning.
We could hear it last night, laughing and shouting threats from underneath our bedroom window. I was terrified it would try to get in through the back entrance, but the lock on that door is made of iron so that should keep it out. It hasn’t yet tried the two windows at the front of our cabin.
Its racket woke up our little Mary. She came down from her tiny room in the loft and asked to sleep with us. She could hear it scratching at her wall. I assume it must’ve climbed up to the roof to try our chimney.
I still cannot discern what we have done to make it so angry with us. Hillary and I always left payment for its hard work around our home and farm. We left it bread and honey, milk and some fresh baked biscuits—every night it had a feast, as requested. How did we insult the creature?
Mind you, we are in New Bedlam, and strange occurrences are frequent in this town. I thought moving here would be a fresh start for Hillary, Mary, and I, after we lost so much back in Alberta. Now, I’m not so sure.
Speaking with Rose Trotten—who some townsfolk fear and avoid, as she’s rumored to be a witch in trade with Satan—I learned this area has a history of tragedy. I fear we made a grave mistake coming here. Rose offered me advice on dealing with the creature, so I can at least be thankful for that. She believes something in the town could be warping its intent, corrupting it. This place is starting to stink with a festering malevolence.
I can’t completely blame the town, though. My grave mistake came when I met it at the crossroads and offered it passage in my wagon. I let it in my home and gave it food. It wasn’t until it took off its hat and brushed back its shaggy hair that I noticed its face. The creature—then posing as a man—looked exactly like me. This gave me quite a shock.
It revealed itself as a Fetch—a co-walker to my spirit, a double of my soul. A denizen of Fey, it claimed to be. Was I naïve to take it at its word? In truth, I was afraid of it by then, afraid not to. When it offered work in exchange for a place to stay and some food, I chose not to deny it. My next fatal mistake came there. I gave it too much will over my home and hearth.
I can see it now, from my bedroom window. I watch it as Hillary and I prepare for sleep. It still resembles me somewhat, but its appearance is more akin to animal than human now. Its pug-nosed face has taken on a piggish appearance. Its yellow eyes remind me of a wolf. When I catch a glimpse of it by daylight, its skin shines an odd, light blue. At this moment, it sits in a looming willow and peers in at me. I clutch the iron spike, one of a few I’ve stolen from the railway yard. Should it decide to try the windows tonight, I will be ready.
Copyright © 2012 Louise Bohmer. All rights reserved. No part of this short story may be distributed, shared, or posted online without the author’s written permission.