Sunshine and Snakes: The End

This session of “wasting my writing time writing about writing” ought to be backdated.

I finished Draft 2.3 let’s call it, by the deadline and wrote up my synopsis. I was feeling rushed and unhappy about it, but I’d just re-written 15 thousand words in three days, so I wasn’t not going to submit. Though given the unpolished state of the synopsis and the general lack of cooling time for the project I would expect a rejection.

But, praise the Smiling God, the deadline was extended to the 15th.

This brought much joy to El Longo. I plan on combing through it after another couple of days and performing my revisions ritual, more on that on the day. But this extension gives me time to reflect a little more on Sunshine and Snakes and to talk about what changes happened between the first draft and this 2.3 business.

But first! Eye Candy!

Riccardo-Scamarcio This guy is Riccardo Scamarcio, an Italian model and actor. I honestly have no idea who he is; I found his name while I was looking up how to spell Riccardo and spent the next couple of hours just looking at Those Eyes.

He very quickly became my image, not for Rico, but for Burgess because…


Oh My God, Italians are so delicious.

However, this is the image that’s been living on my desktop and getting me dirty looks from people in Starbucks.


I have no idea who this is. I googled ‘Sexy Latino with an Attitude Problem’ and I got this dream.

I wanted Rico to have a quiet intensity; he’s the kind of guy who literally sits in bus stops and thinks about different ways to murder the people around him and get away with it. It’s kinda of his job.

But I also loved how defiant this guy is. He’s probably not big enough to win a fight, especially if he’s pulling punches because he doesn’t want to get caught killing anyone, but he’s going to try. Really though he just wants you to back off. Yeah, you with the camera, fuck off.

Possibly because I set this picture as my desktop and not the reclining beauty above, Draft 2.3 took a turn I didn’t expect. As I was writing through 2, with Sexy Glare in the corner of the screen, I realized I didn’t have room in the word count for two POVs and I knew I could write faster in first person. So right in the middle of the draft, in the middle of a Burgess POV scene in fact, I restarted the project with this:

     The things I know for sure about Bruiser Accorsi couldn’t fill a Chihuahua’s nutsack.
I know his real name is Burgess. He says it’s his mother’s maiden name. He goes conversationally by Bur, sometimes Burg if you go way back.
I know the Accorsi’s are the biggest family in the ‘adult entertainment industry.’ He says they don’t do human trafficking, though he’s quick to say that’s a financial decision not a moral one. Most of the Accorsi prostitutes are for high-end clients.
I know he’s an amateur body-builder. I know his thick black hair is soft not greasy. I know his eyes are the color of sun-shot grapevines.
But I also I know he’s worth 60 thousand dollars dead.
And I can get close enough to kill him.

The next 15k words came fairly easily. There’s old scenes re-filtered through Rico’s POV. So for example this:

     Later on, after light’s out, Bur climbed into his cell-mate’s bed. Rick pressed himself tight against the wall, but that was the most resistance he ever gave. His muscles tightened when Bur reached under his shirt to stroke his chest and he practically vibrated when Bur nibbled his ear. Bur ran his hands through Rick’s neatly trimmed hair, pulling his head back and exposing his neck to little kisses. He smelled like wintergreen gum and he shivered. Bur hoped with arousal.
Rick tolerated the caresses, the kisses, and the slow grind of Bur’s cock, but he grabbed Bur’s arm when he reached into the front of his pants. “You’re not supposed to do that.”
“I do what I want,” Bur said softly and Rick’s hold weakened.
Bur stroked the slick curls at the base of his cell-mate’s cock. He wasn’t doing what he wanted. He wanted dinner dates in nice places and lounging on the couch watching stupid shows. He wanted easy conversation, thoughtless kisses, a lover who didn’t tense up under his touch.
He circled his fingers around Rick’s cock, found him hard. He’d settle for that.

Became this:

     The fantasy came back, unasked for that night when Bur climbed into my bed. Like always, I pressed tight against the wall partly to give him room, but also to make it like I didn’t want him to touch me.
He always touched me.
Every muscle in my body tightened when he reached under my shirt and stroked my chest. I practically vibrated with lust for him when he kissed my exposed neck and ran his hands through my buzzed hair. He smelled like my wintergreen gum tonight and my desire for him quickly moved past the point of toleration.
And still he caressed, kissed, slowly ground his cock against my ass through our clothes. My dick pressed against the cell wall and when he pumped slowly forward it rubbed against the flat surface and offered me a little relief.
Bur reached down into my the front of my pants, sliding his fingers below my abdomen towards the base of my erect cock.
I grabbed his arm and pushed back. “You’re not supposed to do that.”
“I do what I want,” Bur growled and since he was stronger than me, his hand crept forward. He stroked the curls at the base of my cock, maybe afraid of touching it at first. It’s not like he’d tried to jerk another guy off before. Then he circled his fingers around my cock.”
“Jesus Christ, you always get this turned on?”
I did. But I’d go to Hell before I admitted that.

That’s how I always take the advice to ‘kill your darlings.’ I really like Bruiser’s sensitivity in that first one. How concerned he is about Rick’s reactions (he learns at the end of the scene it’s Rico, not Rick) and how he dreams of having a normal boyfriend situation with Rico.

There’s no way to have Rico know about Bruiser’s internal monologue, so I have to rely more on physical gestures to convey Bur’s insecurities and desire for consent and I had to let go of that lovely moment where a convict assaulting his cellmate is dreaming about dating him instead.

Anyways, I got a couple more days with this thanks to that extension and I’m going to go make the most of them!


Happy Birthday Focus on Fantasy Romance!

I love the ladies over at Focus on Fantasy Romance. They are fun and eager to work with anyone. They actually hosted like six of us at once when we were promoting Crazy Spring Called Love and it was a blast.

So, I am of course delighted to celebrate their first birthday!

Go to here to win books, ebooks, hair jewelry and other miscellaneous swag, and whatever their bonus prizes are.  Contest runs until August 25th, but even if you miss the chance to win stuff, do check them out. Focus on Fantasy Romance is a clever, fun podcast talking about one of my favorite genres. Help them grow!

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Sunshine and Snakes: Order! Order!

My session of “wasting my writing time writing about writing” is going to be short so I can go write.

When I sat down to get to the business of writing this thing, I had a mess of notes.  The 11th was the day I turned those into an outline and I discovered something else interesting about the work – the setting. I have a couple predominant locations, the prison cell, the hotel room, and Bur’s house. And the outside world. I noticed I had two deaths occur in the streets (not indoors) and I had several nearly violent encounters that became romantic because of isolation. So I’m going to play with this idea than in the open people get hurt and there’s a comfort of being closed indoors.

I don’t know that this is going to be an overt thing, but I think me thinking about it is going to affect how I write the scenes in Bur’s house where Rico is about to go through with the hit. One thing that’s already changed with this idea is that some off-page violence is now happening outside in the prison (Rico is attacked previously in the showers, now in the yard. Bur starts a fight and it’s not located in the same yard). This also changes the setting of the final confrontation from Bur’s house to a desolate highway in New Jersey that I’ve always wanted to write about.

One addition is in the excerpt below, where Rico encounters Bur again for the first time out of prison (again be gentle. I just wrote it and nothing is polished yet). Anyways. I’m about 4 k in and I’ve got to get to 15 k by the 22nd. Wish me luck!


     Rico had been out of prison for about half an hour, and he’d spent most of it thinking about how to kill the other people at the bus stop. That woman would walk into oncoming traffic if he threatened her screaming baby. That man would smile politely as Rico snapped his neck because he was so friendly and afraid of being racist. The bodybuilder was probably the biggest challenge. She looked tough as needles. She might have been coming from the prison herself. Off duty police. But for the first time in two years and six months, he had shoe laces. He could probably strangle her if he wanted.

He didn’t want to strangle a stranger. His morbid fantasies distracted him from trying to figure out what he wanted to do next. He needed a bike, a laptop, and new clothes. He ought to call his mother in Guerrero, but he’d need to write her first to make sure her number hadn’t changed. First, get to… Wherever the bus was taking him. He was overwhelmed by the flatness of New Jersey and the brightness of the sun. He just wanted to sit on a bus in the back row with his knees on the seat in front of him, and the iPod Bur had left behind blaring in his ears. So Rico put his hands over his eyes and leaned over his knees.

There was no warning when someone touched his shoulder, and Rico reacted before he remembered where he was. He was on his feet, and his hand stung from punching a block of muscle.

But the muscle caved, and a big man folded over. At first, Rico was sure he’d just gut-punched a member of the secret service. The suit was tailored and prim, his shoes shone on the cracked gravel of the sidewalk, and his hair was a coiffed sheen of black.

Then a Brooklyn accent that was as familiar as it was dirty said, “Jesus Fuckin’ Christ, Rico! You trying to kill some body?”

Shame and an unsettled pleasure reddened Rico’s face. “Bur?”






Sunshine and Snakes: First Sex Scene

Here’s me wasting time by writing about writing in real time.

Last week on “Wasting my writing time writing about writing”, I thought maybe I would do the sex scene next and that’s exactly what I did. I find it’s a great exercise for building character. You get to see the people at their most vulnerable and you can learn a lot about a person by considering their sexual backstory.

For example, while I haven’t gotten into Bur’s POV yet, I know he’s an accidentally emotional guy. The scene is in prison, Bur is called Bruiser and he’s going to make Ricky his bitch. I always knew the scene would end up consensual — rape for titillation is not a thing I will ever intentionally write, though I will admit to writing close enough to stumble and backpedal — but I expected the consent to come from the POV character later than it did. Ricky was resigned to the act and because of this Bur sort of… got good. My bad-boy mobster revealed very quickly that he was going to operate more tenderly than I expected and not go through with the entire scene (which disappointed me). It started happening when I started writing ‘he was supposed to’, because literally that’s what I thought the guy would be doing, but he wanted something different, I guess.

What follows is raw L.J. Wrote this in about an hour this afternoon so it will have stupid sentences, [notes], misspellings and monstrous grammar.  The line I like best which I will almost certainly cut is “Ricky considered dropping a comment about how his dick looked like a cucumber tied-up with shoe-laces, carved into the shape of a rocket, and painted red.”  Don’t judge me too harshly, friends. I’m recording a work in progress.


     A hand gripped Ricky’s neck. The man’s weight was on his body, crushing him. Bruiser’s other hand sunk around his face and Ricky shouted into a closed fist.

Bruiser’s grip tightened. “Make another noise. I dare you.”

Ricky kept still. This was inevitable, fighting was pointless. Better to be on the man’s safe side.

Bruiser gripped his ass. “This doesn’t belong to you anymore, does it?”

Ricky’s muscles clenched automatically as if to deny the statement, but Ricky said, “No.”

Bruiser slapped his head, and the impact made Ricky’s brain swim for a dazed moment. “Did you need to make a noise to agree with me, Tic-Tac?”

Ricky shook his head no.

Bruiser stroked his head like a dog. “Good boy.”

Ricky broke out in a cold sweat. The first time would be the worst, and even that wouldn’t be anything like the boys in the shower. They had sent him to the infirmary. The nurse had talked about AIDS and justice, but he’d kept his mouth shut because that was how it was supposed to be. Naw, Bruiser would hurt, but he would be…bearable.

“You understand this deal, Tic-Tac, right?” Bruiser spoke into his neck, his lips close to touching skin, his breath slightly minty. He’d been eating Ricky’s candy. “I fuck you, and no one else touches you without my say-so. Yeah?”

Ricky nodded.

“So, do your job right, and I’ll go easy on you.” His voice was almost gentle, reminded Ricky of sun-drenched beaches and made him shiver a little.

Then the hand crushed harder. “You understand, bitch?”

Ricky nodded again, felt a hot hate in his gut. He liked the weight on top of him, the heat and solidness of a well-muscled body, the way hips ground into his ass, but he hated everything else about the man.

“Start by sucking my cock.”

Bruiser backed off, rising off the bunk. Ricky’s instinct was to stay still and small, but he knew better. He sat up sharply and tilted his head up, looking at the wall behind Bruiser as the Italian peeled down the hem of his loose orange and white striped pants. Just far enough to let his dick spring out.

And it did spring. The man was rock hard, thick, and veiny. Great looking tool; Ricky wished he’d gotten the chance to play with it anywhere except here. Maybe in the backroom at some New York gay club. Or a truck stop in the Midwest. This was business now. It was going to be violent, but at least it would be over quickly.

Ricky looked at Bruiser’s erection then his face. The [unimpressed expression] was the only resistance he was going to give. Just enough to let this fucker know he wasn’t scared. Ricky considered dropping a comment about how his dick looked like a cucumber tied-up with shoe-laces, carved into the shape of a rocket, and painted red. But the man’s face was as stone hard as his cock, his fists were clenched, and that’s not how this transaction worked.

Better to do the job right.

Without ceremony or hesitation, Ricky obediently sucked his cock. He tried not to finesse, not to show that he knew his way around another man’s dick. Just in and out, lips tight, teeth out of the way.

But he knew immediately something was different about Bruiser. He didn’t pump his cock forward or hold Ricky’s head. He didn’t tease or threaten. He draped his big hand in Ricky’s hair, an undemanding pressure.

Ricky tilted his gaze up the man’s solid body and accidentally met his eyes. It was the first time since he’d been in the prison that he’d actually looked someone directly in their face and the intimacy startled him. Bruiser wasn’t supposed to be watching a guy suck him. He was supposed to close his eyes, tip his head back, and fuck Ricky’s mouth.

Then again, Ricky wasn’t supposed to try to see if the man was enjoying it either. It was supposed to be about power, about being demeaned and taking it well.

But Ricky didn’t look away, and neither did Bruiser. The Italian’s eyes were gorgeous, so intense, so surprised. As if he’d been caught doing something scandalous. Ricky felt his cock throb against his tongue.

Understanding he was making a mistake, taking needless risks, being stupid, Ricky swirled his tongue around the shaft, savoring the cock not just servicing it. Licked the cock slipping out of his mouth, lapped at the head, slowly took it all again and fearlessly watched Bruiser’s face.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Bruiser muttered and finally tipped his head back and sank his hips forward. His cock twitched, and Ricky chased it giving into the pleasure of sucking another man’s cock.

His own had hardened. The realization made the rest of his stiffen with fear. What punishment was there for enjoying sex in prison? How badly was Bruiser going to beat him if he noticed?

Well, he wasn’t going to notice. Ricky kept his hands on his own knees and resisted the urge to touch himself or God-forbid the Italian God fucking his face. Even that was unfair- Bruiser didn’t have enough force. There wasn’t the right violence to this.

Bruiser was gentler than anyone in the back of the gay clubs or truck stops had ever been.

The only violence from the man came when he suddenly pushed Ricky back. Forcefully enough that Ricky ended up on his back looking at Bruiser from between his own half-raised legs.

The man stared down at him a moment, trying to compose himself, looking furious and ashamed and desperate. Stopping his orgasm, Ricky realized.

“Take off your pants, Tic-tac.” He said the nickname without confidence or conviction. He wanted to say Ricky’s real name, but he didn’t know it. Or more likely, he didn’t dare say it.

Ricky had hoped ‘going easy’ meant ‘no anal,’ but he wasn’t in a position to complain. If he didn’t obey, if Bruiser had to force his pants off, he’d certainly notice he wasn’t the only stiff cock in the cell.

Against every survival instinct in his body, Ricky stood and turned his back on Bruiser. He pushed down his pants and bent over before his cellmate told him too.

He was shocked by the hand that grazed over his cheeks. First by the pain. His hole was still raw from the boys in the showers. Second, by the softness of it. Not that Bruiser’s hands were soft. His skin was dry and calloused, but the pressure was gentle.

“They fucked you pretty bad, didn’t they?” Bruiser’s tone was anything but tough. That was a voice that belonged anywhere except this dim hellhole, a man who could be kind, maybe even trusted.

Ricky did not answer. Bruiser didn’t want him to talk earlier.

“Guess I want somethin’ different after all.” Then, after a little squeeze, Bruiser’s hand was gone.

The other man collapsed on his own bunk and Ricky glanced over his shoulder. Bruiser sprawled on the narrow mattress, leaning on the wall, dick in his hand. That was an image that was going to haunt him [bring this image up later in the present day].

Ricky dared to pull his pants back up and straighten. He stared forward at the wall, listening to the sounds of the man stroking his own cock. His mouth was dry with want, his cock throbbed, and his asshole twitched anticipating the hard fuck that wasn’t coming.

When Bruiser didn’t respond to him, Ricky glanced over his shoulder again. The man was still staring at him, beating his cock. Ricky pressed his mouth tightly closed to control his expression, though he wasn’t sure how he felt. Not really. By all rights that thing should have been ripping into his ass, reopening his injuries, making him a mewling bitch. And maybe he wanted that. But maybe it was just that he expected it.

That was the deal, wasn’t it? That’s the way it was supposed to go.

Except that nothing about this was going the way it was supposed to.

Bruiser’s eyes were closed, so he didn’t notice when Ricky knelt by the bed. He jolted and pushed away when Ricky tried to take the tip of his cock back into his mouth.

“The fuck are you doing?” Bruiser looked scared and angry.

Ricky answered with ice in his voice. “My job.”

Something in that answer calmed Bruiser, and his scowl relaxed. “Right.”

Bruiser offered his cock. Ricky took it.




Love Across the Universe: Author Interviews

The authors of Love Across the Universe sat down and answered a series of questions about writing, science fiction, romance, and more.
One of the things that new writers are told is “Don’t quit your day job!” Most writers don’t make enough from selling books to do it full time. But needing to have a day job to pay the bills isn’t the same as loving your job. We asked the Love Across the Universe authors what career (other than writing) they would want.

Elsa M. Carruthers—“All B+ut You”

I would probably be some sort of health practitioner like physical therapist/message therapist,etc.

M.T. DeSantis—“The Princess of Sands”

I think I’d take a stab at voice acting. I’m a big Disney buff, and it would be fun to lend my voice to a character, specifically a villain.

Traci Douglass—“A Dream to Build a Kiss On”

When I was in high school, I dreamed of moving to Paris and becoming a world famous fashion designer. I think I’d like that.

A.E. Hayes—“Tristan’s Tryst”

I was trained to be a professional opera singer well before studying writing (I always wrote, since I was a four-year- old kid, but I didn’t think it would be a career—just a hobby with maybe one or two small stories that could end up in a magazine somewhere). With all of my training and performance experience, I would go back into that lifestyle in a heartbeat. I doubt I have the stamina now, but my heart contains two deep passions: musical performance and writing. I’m so grateful I had the chance to pursue the former, and am grateful to currently have the chance to partake in the latter!

Serena Jayne—“You Only Love Once”

Museum acquisitions with a very big checkbook. I’d be dangerous.

L.J. Longo—“Breathless”

I’ve never wanted to do anything besides being a writer. I suppose I would be a professional tour guide, which was my day job for a while. Also, Pirate. I’d do that again in a heartbeat.

Oriana Maret—“Renewal”

I’d be in the vanguard of a settlement ship bound for all points up and out. Imagine all the worlds out there…wow.

Cara McKinnon—“The Pirates and the Pacifist”

The other career I’m trained for is theatre. If I had two of myself, I would still be making costumes and singing in musicals. But there’s only one of me and only so many hours in a day!

Sheri Queen—“Red Sand”

I have absolutely no background in this area, but I’d love to be an antiquities dealer who travels around the world to acquire rare objects.

Mary Rogers—“Breakfast on Pluto”

I was an English teacher, and I loved it. I was inspired by Mr. Rogers, and sometimes consider doing it again.

Emmerite Sundberg—“Fluid”

I am lucky in that I have a job I love. I am a librarian so when I’m not writing books, I am reading books or recommending books. It’s a pretty awesome deal.

K.W. Taylor—“Reprogramming”

I’ve sometimes thought it would be great to run a non-profit organization dedicated to a cause that really matters to me. I’m sure in my retirement, I’ll have more time to devote to things like that, even if not at a directorial level. Volunteerism and fundraising for good causes (in addition to writing) would be how I’d spend my time if money were no concern.

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3D Love Across the Universe

Love Across The Universe: Excerpt from Breathless

Love Across the Universe

Twelve Stories of Science Fiction Romance

Set on Intergalactic Shores

 3D Love Across the Universe


From Stars and Stone Books


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Summer love is summer love, no matter the planet. Climb aboard your spacecraft and travel across the universe with these twelve tales of love on beaches in the future and among the stars.

Breathless: by L.J. Longo

A soldier and a café manager find themselves trapped beneath the surface of a resort by the deadly beasts native to the planet. As they fight to survive, they discover danger is a potent aphrodisiac.


As part of a hidden military outfit protecting rich civilians as they vacation on the resort planet Pangaea, Nathan Oyola planned to keep secrets, fight aliens, and maybe tan under the rays of an artificial sun.  What he did not expect was to fall for his so-called boss, the manager of the café located directly above the aliens’ nest. When the native wildlife starts behaving more aggressive and strange than usual, how will Nathan keep them secret and keep his new-found love safe.



“Mott. Your little girlfriend is early again. Tell him to f— off.”

Sarge marches at the front of the company, but her voice carries over the bloated carcasses of tonight’s kills—about twenty ten-footers. My platoon guards the rear in case their stench attracts more roaches looking for an easy meal.

When I look past the pile of tentacles and blood to the omni-pit’s mouth, the concrete is bleach white. Overhead UVs are on. Tianjin Ki is in the warehouse above.

“10-4, ma’am.”

The company chuckles as I jog by. Even the grunts know I’ve got a thing for our boss, but the idea of Old Iron-Jaw dating the planet resource manager makes them laugh.

And it should. It’s fucking ridiculous. Tianjin Ki can do better than a lead-head.

I hand my ruck to Sarge as she asks, “You got a clean apron?”

“Nope. But I got a dirty one.” I hand her my helmet and head to H.Q.

“Mott!” Sarge barks.

I turn, my Shock-87 raised, radiating heat in my metal hand, ready to roast.

Not exactly civilian attire.

“Oh.” I kill the charge and hand Sarge my gun and my clips. She smiles, wrinkling the scarred skin around her unblinking electric eyes. “Wash-up good, lover-boy. Gotta look cuddly for Mr. Ki.”

There’s nothing cuddly about my face. I see it when I change my BDU for my civvies and Moon Kaa apron in H.Q. Or more accurately, I see the cybernetic gleam of my jaw and right forearm because the shadows have swallowed my dark skin. What’s left of my reflection is a half-metal ox squeezed into a too-tight uniform shirt. Just some asshole cyborg impersonating a civilian. Badly.

My platoon strips the shells and hacks through thoraxes. Ro-Jo, my second-in-command, finds time to tease. “Take one for the team, Iron-Jaw.”

I wave her off and ignore the platoon’s chuckles, until How-Town pipes in. “Yeah, maybe if you treat Ki real nice, we’ll get a raise.”

I scowl at him from the stair and the laughter silences. How-Town, only six months on the roach path, holds a machete like it’s a teddy bear and quivers under my glare.

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to speak out of turn.”

“You better be sorry,” I answer somberly. “I always treat my bitches nice.”

The platoon laughs and returns to liquefying the dead roaches.

There’s a galaxy of tubes and conveyor belts overhead that connect the port to fifty feet of stock shelves. Moon-Kaa Cafe is the largest restaurant on the planet, which isn’t as impressive as it sounds since BABs has only been inhabited for fifteen years. Still, the fresh water ocean, the miles of green beach, the dozens of luxury resorts bring vacationers from all over the galaxy. The visitors outnumber the permanent population by six to one. And nearly all of them will eat at least once at Moon-Kaa Cafe.

Tianjin Ki’s office stands next to the shelves with windows to the warehouse and the backroom. The door’s propped open. Too early for him to do paperwork. He’s in the backroom—I glimpse his milky skin, his red tie through the shelves. Doing our job.

Tianjin can do every job at every resort on this fucking planet with about ten minutes notice. Not only does he open the cafe three or four days a week, I’ve seen him pull shifts at the deli when Graham had the flu and at Quassar’s grill to give Ms. Jessica time off to plan her daughter’s wedding. Once I spotted him at The Boiler Room behind the bar, which still makes my heart flip a little. I don’t think he saw me, though I’d never managed the courage to visit the men’s only club afterward. If he saw me, he recognized me. The crowd was entirely vacationers. Besides, there are precious few cyborgs on BABs. They all work nights at Moon-Kaa Cafe.

Tianjin steps into my full view, pausing before the sliding doors between the kitchen and the shelves. He smiles for himself. That’s the kind of person he is. Sweet, cheerful. Even with all his power, Tianjin says ‘thank you’ to the lead-head who takes out the trash.

Even across the warehouse, I can appreciate the crispness of his white shirt on his slender shoulders, the neatness of his sleek black ponytail, the way his trousers accentuate the curve of his ass.

I’d like to mess up every part of his calm.

About the Author:

L.J. Longo is a queer author, a geek, a feminist, sometime pirate, and is an ARe best-selling author of Erotic Romance. An Evernight author, L.J.’s work appears in The Dishonest LoverDark Captive: Manlove Edition, and Evasive Love. L.J.’s story “The Scarf” appears in Owned by the Alpha: Manlove Edition and the first book of L.J.’s first series, Hiring the Tiger: Heart of the Mountain is now available.

​Find more thoughtful, hot erotica at Graceful Indecency where L.J. offers free erotica and contests to win romance e-books. L.J. also sometimes takes a break from writing and messes around on Twitter and Facebook.

Amazon: L.J. Longo


Love Across the Universe

 Twelve Stories of Science Fiction Romance

Set on Intergalactic Shores

 3D Love Across the Universe


From Stars and Stone Books

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Summer love is summer love, no matter the planet. Climb aboard your spacecraft and travel across the universe with these twelve tales of love on beaches in the future and among the stars. Includes stories by USA Today Bestselling Author Traci Douglass, Cara McKinnon, A.E. Hayes, Sheri Queen, M.T. DeSantis, L.J. Longo, K.W. Taylor, Mary Rogers, Elsa M. Carruthers, Emmerite Sundberg, Serena Jayne, and Oriana Maret.

Traci Douglass – “A Dream to Build a Kiss On”

A Dreamworld Short Novella

Can passion bloom between a bookish botanist and an analytical android?


Cara McKinnon – “The Pirates and the Pacifist”

Kai doesn’t believe in violence. Sam and Dek believe the ends justify the means. Will passion be enough to bridge the gap between the pacifist sent to broker galactic peace and the space pirates hired to keep him away at all costs?

A.E. Hayes – “Tristan’s Tryst”

One mysterious being. Two lovers who find her. Can this threesome handle the heat of this scorching summer?

Sheri Queen – “Red Sand”

If she can only save one thing, which will it be—the red beaches of Mars or a love she can’t imagine living without?

M.T. DeSantis – “The Princess of Sands”

Secrets and lies. Can they be each other’s freedom?

L.J. Longo – “Breathless”

The manager of a resort planet and the head of its secret defense unit team up to save the guests—and discover danger is a potent aphrodisiac.

Serena Jayne – “You Only Love Once”

Carpe diem the hell out of love.

K.W. Taylor – “Reprogramming”

Alex didn’t want to be marooned on an alien planet with a robot, but it may just be exactly what she needs.

Mary Rogers – “Breakfast on Pluto”

A chance meeting of two people unaware of their destiny with each other results in an unbreakable bond, but even duty has its boundaries. Will love help them break free—and will love be enough?

Elsa M. Carruthers – “All B+ut You”

In a world where looks are so important that Genetic Modification is standard procedure, how will those without Genetic Modification cope, let alone find love?

Emmerite Sundberg – “Fluid”

She’s everything she’s ever wanted but with one flaw—they can’t actually touch.

Love Across the Universe 3D Book Closeup sm.jpg

Get your copy of Love Across the Universe now!

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Sunshine and Snakes: Opening

Here’s me wasting time by writing about writing in real time.


I got the opening to ‘Sunshine and Snakes’ today (also the name for Ice which was Ricky. Came out of nowhere since I thought I was going to name him Ignacio and call him Cio. I might go back to this. Don’t know yet. It’s a work in progress. Stop pressuring me!)

Anyways, like in ‘Breathless’, I wanted to start this Action-Adventure Erotica with a good hook. Unlike, ‘Breathless’, the meaningless violence makes sense because this is the story of a hit-man in love (which would make a great band-name).

The scene is Seattle in late fall. Mr. Hank James, a drunk business man on a business trip from the south is on his way back to his hotel. Ricky our POV character, who seems to know more about Mr. James than he should, offers to help him hire an uber and get to his hotel safely. When Mr. James responds with racism and brandishes a hunting knife, Ricky without hesitation murders the man with his own weapon, just like Mrs. James hired him to. The premeditation and professionalism is apparent in how Ricky makes his escape and I hope gives readers a sense of Ricky’s humor and the … I don’t know… ice water in his veins.

I’m a little over 1000 words with that first chapter and I’m not doing an excerpt because it was so short. But I am thinking about the first sex scene so I’ll probably be writing that (and about that) soon. Maybe I’ll write out my outline and post that. Maybe I’ll write Burgess’ opening. You don’t know! I don’t know. My process is wildly unpredictable, so far.



Sunshine and Snakes

So I’ve been writing about how stupidly busy I am and how I want to waste time by writing about writing in real time. I’m going to try that with this:


While I should be working my day job, supporting my massive comic book addiction, or you know, writing the words I need to earn my degree, I will instead be writing about bad boys!

This call seems tailor-made for me. I write a lot about criminals, though I’ve never been one (that you know of). The first novel I wrote, Evasive Love, features a Bounty Hunter falls in love with a drug manufacturer he’s bringing to justice. Second thing is Uninvited Love, about Sal, a prostitute who is not glamorizing his job when he ends up kidnapped. Then came The Dishonest Lover about George, a professional thug who falls for a counterfeiter. This year alone there’s been The Scarf, a criminal shape-shifting fox and Hiring the Tiger, about an ex-bandit tiger.

I have a theme. It’s criminals.

But the one thing about all those guys above is that they are redeemable. Elliot in Evasive Love has stopped making drugs because they’re hurting people, Dimi in The Scarf is hiding refuge animals, so he’s breaking an unjust law. Sal, George, and Roy are all trying to stop being criminals. Nav is a tiger and he’ll do what he wants, bitch.

So yeah, very redeemable guys.

The thing that tickles me about this anthology is that it’s not about good guys. They want anti-heroes. I think it would be really fun to write a love story between two dudes who are unrepentantly bad. One is a hit-man and the other is in the Mafia and I love this idea that they could be criminal together. Not want to escape from crime, or bring anything to justice, just be amoral and in love with each other.

And because I’m experiencing that same spark of excitement I had the beginning of Breathless, I’m going to try this writing about the writing business.

So every day I work on this new story I’ll record thoughts on it and see how it comes together.

The frightening thing about doing with Snakes and Sunshine is that unlike Breathless where the story was contracted before I started writing it, so I knew it was going to be available to readers.  I couldn’t not write Breathless because they had already agreed to publish it.

I don’t know about Sunshine and Snakes. I can submit it and  be rejected. I can implode and stop working on it entirely because I have other writing obligations and nothing forcing me to stick with it.

The bulk of my notes on this story are in this nugget:

“How’s your flight?”

“Good. Sat across the aisle from a little kid. Played cop and robber with him.” Ice [which is not going to be his name, I promise myself] mimicked shooting an imaginary gun around his coat. He looked fucking ridiculous and Burgess had no doubt even the kid’s mom thought the man mockingly shooting her child was totally harmless. “When I got bored, I pretended I was actually dead. Kid spent the rest of the flight crying.”

Burgess laughed. Ice nodded and leaned back, sinking into the couch. That was about as much as anyone ever got from Ice. Even in prison, when he’d ended up in the infirmary with bloody knees and bruised eyes no one in the block could have told what time it had happened. He never made a sound when he got beat down. He never made a sound when he got fucked either.

Bur tapped the beer can. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if he sat around thinking about blow jobs behind bars or the nebulous consent of his cellmate. “So.  How’s Arizona?”

“Full of sunshine and snakes, asshole.” Ice leaned forward. “Listen. Are we gonna kill your Dad or not?”

Hopefully, you won’t hear about this until August when I’ll have a mostly written first draft of my thesis novel and maybe a minute or two to write Sunshine and Snakes.


Longo Out!



Part Two: Break Me by Elyzabeth M. VaLey

Break me is a dark, twisted, erotic romance, which was fascinating to write. Grisha’s and Ayla’s life revolve around ballet and thus, I immersed myself in that world through documentaries, articles and
of course, music.


Although, there were many more,
below are five of the pieces which I listened to the most to help inspire me.



Giselle (From beginning to end. I heard -and watched – this masterpiece.)
A compilation of ballet music for dance classes found on YouTube
As it happens in ballet, behind the beauty there is more than meets the eye. Grisha and Ayla are the same, and I invite you to delve into their story.


The monster lay dormant, until it saw her…
Every few years, the beast within Grisha Vasiliev rouses, clamoring for blood. When he sees Ayla Clark dancing, her movements exuding grace, passion and joy, he knows he must have her.
Grisha kidnaps Ayla expecting the usual: resistance, tears, pleas for mercy. But when Ayla breaks the mold, his whole world spirals out of control and feelings he thought he could never have again resurface.
He thought she was perfect, but she’s the broken doll on the shelf.
The last thing Ayla Clark remembers is celebrating her performance as Giselle and flirting with the handsome Grisha Vasiliev, the owner of one of the most prestigious ballet companies in the country. Now, she’s tied up and at his mercy, begging for more of his attention, while fighting to keep her own secrets buried in the dark.
Be Warned: BDSM, knife play, whipping
Available at:
And More!
About Elyzabeth M. VaLey

Elyzabeth M. VaLey is a writer of sizzling, sexy romance who firmly believes in happy ever after.  From paranormal to contemporary, fantasy, or historical, she enjoys exploring her characters’

darker side and writing stories about tortured heroes, strong heroines, and all

that comes between them and their love.

When she’s not writing, she can be found walking in the Spanish countryside with her black Lab, exploring castles, or enjoying some tapas with her friends.  

Follow her at:





Instagram (@elyzabethm.valey)


Pinterest  (Break Me has its owninspiration board)


We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars. –Oscar Wilde