Polygamy gets all sorts of reactions from people. Some consider it to be amoral, some against religion and others consider it to be the best thing that could have happened to man since the discovery of fire.

 The man could just as well be the Pasha of his harem. Two or three women catering to his whims or tired fancies once he is back home could feel like heaven. No one would expect him to do the dishes, baby sit the kids or mow the lawn.

Household chores would be divided amongst the womenfolk and bed time could be the one activity that would be the highlight of the husband’s day.

However life in a polygamous relationship cannot be all that ideal. Women by nature are territorial about their men and hearth especially in the modern times.

Cat fights, jealous rages and long sullen silences would probably be the frequent causes of stress for the husband. Juggling women would not be an easy activity and add visiting in laws to the already smoldering cauldron of simmering resentments would surely be too high a price to pay to satisfy an itch by different women.

Whether we are for or against this sort of marriage the fact is that if we had polygamous neighbors, we’d all be peering out of lace curtains wondering what kind of life they would be leading.

The women would probably call the wives doormats and the men would think of nothing but the polygamist’s sex life!

They’d be the talk of the community for years to come.

HBO seems to think along the same line. Their new show Big Love is about a polygamist living in Utah. Bill Henrickson has three wives living in three adjoining houses. There is a Mormon Prophet, gossiping neighbors, overactive sex lives and catty politics that would probably give Desperate Housewives a run for its money.

For those who do not have HBO subscription would probably have to wait till the DVDs are available next year but the rest of us who are generally disillusioned my mainstream shows and their religious blackmailers this show would probably come as a breath of fresh air especially after the terrible fiasco that Book Of Daniel suffered at the hands of the offended religious groups.

The show will be aired on March12th at 10 pm immediately after the new season of Sopranos.

Sunday evenings will definitely not be the same again for those with cable. We will be seduced away from our old mainstream shows by the new, sexier and far more controversial shows and just as the old wife is discarded in favor of the new bride it will take a while before we would be able to discard the glamour and return to normal viewing.

Posted by swingingpuss at 08:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Come September I will be returning home and will get to hold my long forgotten friends close to my bosom. I will admire their unblemished beauty with ferocious concentration. I will count them slowly in the stillness of a locker room.

Diamond bracelets, necklaces, rings, anklets and my diamond studded Omega that I left behind in the locker to fly to USA will feel the warmth of my body again.

It's been over four years since I wore my jewelry and paraded amongst aunties and their daughters-in-law in parties or at marriages amongst relatives.

My diamonds have been lying neglected and forgotten behind thick steel walls. The desire to wear them has not tempted me even once. Is it because I'm living far away from the high flyers of the Indian society where the women keep an eye on another's jewelry; counting how many necklaces so and so owns, how big are the solitaries are on another's fingers or is it because I have been able to escape the destructive hold by the unease I feel when I look at my engagement ring and wonder if it's a Conflict Diamond smeared with blood?

When I delivered my daughter I asked for a laptop instead of a rock from my husband. When my birthday came I wanted an iPod instead of a bracelet and on our anniversary a trip instead of shiny earrings.

My friends and family members laughed. They wondered whether my husband's love for electronics had rubbed off on me. Where they implying that my fading love for diamonds made me less of a woman and more like a practical man?

These little stones lost their magic on me just as did the Tush shawls and fur coats.

Someone's misery or death to feed an unquenchable thirst for a rich man's status quo is barbaric.

Do we know for sure what we cherish and wear are not Conflict diamonds?

Sure, Diamond stores give us certificates that they legitimate diamonds to appease our wanton souls but does our heart agree to the greed we are perpetuating?

Aren't we whoring ourselves a bit just to wear those trinkets? Batting our eyes at our husbands, becoming hussies to get that little solitaire on our fingers? Or men buying the rocks either to appease for the mischief done behind the little woman's back, or love (duped by shallow preaching by society) or worse still as a symbol of one's bank account?

Diamonds aren't forever. From experience I know that though the diamond stores sells the diamond at a certain value another store will value it less. Thus the value of the diamond is only as good as selling it back from the store bought from.

Or the 'Certified' diamonds for which one has to pay whole amount upfront. While this has been met with approval by the middle class, the rich however are not taken by it.

Most prefer to deal with their family jewelers or friends who sell diamonds of rich families who have fallen through stressful times.

If that doesn't make you smell a racket what would?

Shady deals are known to happen. We pay a certain amount on paper and the rest is hard cash. It is to the advantage of both the seller and buyer to hoodwink the government.

But then again, the government has been hoodwinking us, the tax payers since the independence of India, squeezing us rich folks dry of what we have earned and yet the country remains in a slump.

Politicians come to power and empty the coffers; so what difference does it make if my little diamond is not fully legally bought?

Ah, the Indian thinking could excuse just about any sort of behavior. Thinking along those lines what would then stop a diamond importer from buying Conflict diamonds and passing them off as legit?

And we could be closing our eyes to the evil happening right before our eyes. Are those diamonds worn by the rich and famous really legit? How can we be sure that the sparkling beauties aren't the tears and despair of a devastated African child?

Kanye West's song - "Diamonds From Sierra Leone" seems to say it all

    see, a part of me sayin' keep shinin',
    how? when I know of the blood diamonds
    though it's thousands of miles away
    Sierra Leone connect to what we go through today
    over here, its a drug trade, we die from drugs
    over there, they die from what we buy from drugs
    the diamonds, the chains, the bracelets, the charmses
    I thought my Jesus Piece was so harmless
    'til I seen a picture of a shorty armless
    and here's the conflict
    it's in a black person's soul to rock that gold
    spend ya whole life tryna get that ice
    on a polar rugby it look so nice

Posted by swingingpuss at 06:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

"You don't have the balls for it."

"Oh yeah? Let me skip, hop and let the balls roll down my vagina."

Insane conversation like that would generally never take place. It seems kind of silly to think that a couple of metal balls could cause stimulation in the female nether regions. Not that I have tried it but how is it different from a tampon?

Hmmm.....Lets see maybe its got to do with dry friction as the Ben Wa balls rub against each other while being held in place by the vagina walls as opposed to the moist menstual feeling of an expanding tampon.

Imagine doing aerobics and plop the balls would decide to let go. Ping, ping - they would bounce on the floor for all to see with the owner trying to grab the balls as they would roll in different directions.

Or walking down the grocery aisle and feel a sudden orgasm. Right! Now that is a site  I'd like to see; a mom with a wailing kid ,a cart load of groceries suddenly trying to smother a passionate moan and at the same time trying pay an impatient cashier.

If only these balls had a spark that could ignite shivers of pleasure at will then it would be fun to own them. 24/7 orgasms would be akin to achieving universal enlightenment as expounded in Tantricism or Buddhism. It would be a high so good for calming the mind and soul that most medicines like Prozac or Valium would become extinct.

Women would in general be a happier gender, less inclined to make demands on their boyfriends/husbands for attention or sex. A man could easily watch the game as his wife/girlfriend would have a powerful orgasm while sitting next to him.

It would mean liberation from inserting penis shaped objects to attain the 'little death'. Men  would become redundant and there would be a definite reduction in accidental birth rates.

Abstinence would be easier to follow, female masturbation would also be rare, atleast for those who would be able to afford the electric Ben WA balls.

The down side of such a sex toy could be monumental. Men would feel left out, deprived of the familiar feeling of a moist home coming or neglected even in daily life as the bond that comes with a healthy sex life would not be there with their female partner.

The institution of marriage could take a cold meaning and twin beds might make a come back or worse still there might be stipulated conjugal dates when the women would be mandated to take their balls out for dutiful sex with the hubby/boyfriend and they might prefer the Ben wa explosions opposed to good old fashioned humping orgasms.

Ah, something as small and harmless as Ben Wa balls with a little tampering could jolly well change the gender equation and the very structure on which society's based.

If this science fiction fantasy does come true I wonder whether I would invest in these balls. By the time they do come up with these sorts of sex toys I'd probably be in my dotage. Would I want them ? Better still, even if they come up with it within ten years would I want be constantly flushed, dewy-eyed and sex-fried?

Probably not, as it would be a sort of an addictive selfish pleasure, unlike healthy masturbation indulged in once in a while.

It would be instrumental in cutting out the partner from an act that in general keeps a couple bonded.

Since I do have access to the real thing which drowns all the senses in a mass of mingled fleshy sweat why on earth would I want a clinical orgasm no matter how good, would be devoid of the loving touch of another?

Posted by swingingpuss at 06:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

A Story about Incestuous love - Read at your own peril or skip over to less shocking reading material.

--------------------------------------------

Sleeping against a soft female form he nudged his hard cock towards her buttocks. It was an unconscious act, something most brothers and sisters know about when they come of age. For that very reason their mother had protested when they said they were willing to share his bed as there were guests in the house and space was limited.

Mild surprise had registered in their eyes when she had made subtle indications for they had always slept together since they were children and that too naked.

There had never been sexual overtures between the two despite the close proximity as they belonged to a nudist family. They had often seen their parents nude around the house and thought nothing of it.

But now spooned against his form she felt his hard ridge poke her. It was as if someone was pushing a big hard rod into her butt crack. She knew he was asleep as his breathing was slow and even.

Her breathing became shallow as she felt his hand slowly move from her waist to her breast. The nipple rose to meet his fingers through the thin night shirt. Desire began to curl around her clit lips and she massaged her pussy very gently as she didn't want him to pull away.

With his hand resting on her breast he snuggled his head against her nape. His breathing fanned her hair and made her shiver. Blood was rushing through her body and she wanted to grab his hard cock and pull it into her mouth. Wriggling her butt against his dick she gave it access by lifting her night shirt and curling her leg slightly inwards into her chest. He moved closer and she felt his prick at the edge of her arsehole.

She closed her eyes at the sensations that invaded her body and clamored for satisfaction. Rubbing her clit she willed an orgasm but she knew that masturbation was not the answer. She wanted to feel her twin brother's prick pulse in her pussy hard and to drive her to the peak of passion again and again. But she also knew that if he woke up the spell would break and he would move away affronted.

The bond between them had always been strong. Each knew what the other was thinking and even when they were miles apart telepathy let them know if something was wrong. They were one soul driven apart in their mother's womb into two bodies but now the urge to be one with him drove her crazy. It seemed so natural to share carnal delights with her brother but he wouldn't take her due to social taboos.

As she masturbated she imagined them fucking so hard that their parents in the next room would hear the headboard bang. So hard would he nail her that his prick would drill right up to her womb's lips. She imagined them as husband and wife fucking on the kitchen counter, fucking on the living room carpet in front of a roaring fireplace. She imagined taking his eight inch cock deep in her mouth and pleasuring him so much that he would moan and groan against her mouth and shoot his salty wade into her waiting mouth.

As hot images chased through her mind she began to undulate against his cock gently. Slowly she rotated against his prick making it harder as it resided in the tunnel of her butt cheeks and but hadn't checked into the hole. Feeling the hard meat pushing against her hole she wished he would fuck her then and felt the tentacles of frustration curl through her body and soul.

Her cunt drenched with fluids began to quiver with unsuppressed desire and she drove her fingers in faster and faster chasing the elusive climax. Biting her lips she plunged them in hard and found her G-spot. Sparks of pleasure lighted her body and made her gasp. The bed creaked as her body shuddered and she closed her eyes hoping her brother didn't wake up. She loved that man like no other.

Closing her eyes she willed sleep to take her in its fold and forget the complexities of life.

He felt her give in to sleep and ground his teeth in frustration. He had woken up when she had given his dick access to her sweet ass. It had taken a hell lot of control not to take her then and there. And when she had masturbated he had gotten more and more turned on and had to stop himself from reaching over and stroke her pussy till she cried out in pleasure.

The smell of her arousal had heightened his senses and he had nearly groaned out loudly as she shuddered in satisfaction. It would have been so sweet to feel her pulse around him, to bite her lips and to loose himself in her.

But he knew he couldn't give in to the raging passions of the night. He was going to pledge his life to Patricia tomorrow. She was going to be his wife, she was going to be the mother of his unborn children and he didn't want to start something so wrong and yet so pleasurable.

He had wanted his sister from the time he had seen her boobs rise. They had discovered her bodily change together. Laughed at his cracking voice and looked at the growing pubic hair in horror together. They had done everything together except when it came to dating.

She had been sullen about his first crush for the longest time and when he told her about his first kiss, in retaliation she had let the next door boy touch her ample breasts. She had never been comfortable around his girlfriends and now that he was getting married he wondered how she would treat his bride.

Sighing he shifted a bit. His hard penis wanted to have its way with her. His body had always felt a mindless passion for her which he never was able to achieve with other women. Even with Patricia the sex was good but it had never given him a feeling of completion as it would have with his twin. He was sure of that.

Gently he disengaged himself from his sister and tiptoed towards the bathroom. There he began to masturbate and imagined fucking Patricia but the image was replaced with his twin's. Her luscious naked curves were sprawled out on the bed his for the taking. Stroking his cock hard he imagined biting her pink tits as he pounded into her musky hot pussy. He imagined her painted nails racking his back hard and as she came he imagined her screaming out in hot desire.

Harder and harder he stroked his cock and as he came he remembered how her body had trembled against him as climax overtook her.

Once the streaks of pleasure subsided he returned to the bedroom and snuggled against his sister for the last time. He let her scent wash over him and a deep pang resonated in his heart.

A tear slid down his cheek and he tried to sleep. Tomorrow he would put up a happy face and start his life with someone else and would never let his sister know about his forbidden passion for her.

Posted by swingingpuss at 06:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (17) | TrackBacks (0)

What You Wear Can Change Your Life is a book that husbands need to make sure their wives never lay their hands on. The book is authored by the famous twosome - Trinny Woodall and Susannah Constantine, who have a thriving BBC show, What Not To Wear where they have successfully turned dowdy dowagers and frumpy maidens into queens of affordable fashion.

While their show has been a hit in Britain, they were also featured in the Oprah Winfrey show where they did miraculous makeovers of guests and women off the street. Their perky personalities seemed to overshadow the media diva herself.
<img src="http://tinypic.com/den129.jpg" width="400" hspace="5" vspace="5" alt="wear"/>
Being mothers, their books deal with the wear and tear a woman's body goes through  due to age and child birth. Using their own less than perfect bodies as examples (brave of them to do so) they give tips on the do's and don'ts of dressing.

"Most pear-shaped women suffer from big thighs and saddlebags,and most pear-shaped women also possess far too many bikini briefs (bought in packs of three)in their underwear drawer,some with extra tight piping that grabs hold of their flesh and further enhances what they are trying to hide. Encased in a pair of too tight trousers (with no pockets to disguise the area) the entire display reveals bodily defects in all their glory, leaving little to the imagination. Only supermodels look good in bikini briefs."

Change, as rightfully pointed out by them, begins not only with fresh clean underwear but with one which supports a saggy arse or gives that extra oomph to a skinny butt. Lingerie is the foundation of an average woman's wardrobe. Gone are the lacy bras and thong panties, not only do these scanty pieces do little to hide the bodily defects but they also highlight unwanted jiggles and rolls which spoil the effect of even the most expensive clothes.

The authors insist on certain kinds of practical lingerie for the cellulite arse, the big thighs and saddlebag etc. They talk about bra sizes, stressing the need to wear the correct size so as to give the appearance of a youthful thrust to even the most deflated breasts and at the same time showcasing a waist that would make any man look up from his paper and coffee.

As they delve into our wardrobes, discussing the types of clothes best suited for certain shaped, they talk about the types of colors to be worn with different complexions, providing comparative visual images to make the examples more compelling.

The book is truly a woman's best friend while she goes out shoe shopping. Heels and shape of the legs play an important role in the kind of shoes one should buy for themesleves. Practicality and money do have their role to play but there is absolutely no reason why one should compromise when it comes to taking care of oneself.

A couple of pages are also devoted to accessories, types of jewelery to be worn, angles one should pose infront of the camera to look one's best etc.

The book has been a thoroughly enjoyable experience which has made me dig into my limited pocket to make certain crucial changes in my wardrobe thereby negating the need for drastic nips and tucks so as to show the figure minus the love handles and uplifting the butt and breasts to their heydays of youthful wonder and glory ;).

Though the title of the book makes it seem as just another superficial fashion or makeover book to be browsed at a book store, yet there is a lot to be read in between the lines which suggests the need for women of all ages to empower their lives by first taking care of the most important yet the frequently neglected person in their lives - themselves.

It is a book that I recommend for average women like us, who need to understand that to be a femme fatale one doesn't need a perfect body but the right sense of affordable fashion and an investment in the right kind of lingerie.

Posted by swingingpuss at 06:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

He hid behind a tree and hoped that she wouldn’t be able to spot him. His comrades would find it hilarious that he was being stalked by a human and that too by a female. But then again they were not in his situation; in an inhospitable environment being chased by an irate being armed to the hilt.

Steamy breaths evaporated in the chilly air of an unusually silent forest as he shivered and looked around trying to locate the hunter. He tried to remain inconspicuous in case he was spotted; he didn’t want to become shish kabob or what ever humans ate.

As she moved closer towards his hiding spot he moved back and closed his eyes. If only he had checked his mini-pod before boarding it, but he was in a hurry to finish a mission he had thought was a babe’s play. How long would it take to pick up a few soil samples and go back to the headquarters?

Now he was stuck with a crashed craft and without a survival kit. How long would it be before he was missed and a rescue squad was sent to search for him? He could be dead by then.

A twig snapped under her feet. They both cringed. He didn’t want to be caught and she didn’t want to lose track of him..

The wretched weather reflected her mood. She would have preferred to remain back home with her boisterous brothers rather than brave this chilly sullen forest that gave her the creeps. She had been camping for three wet miserable days waiting for something to happen.

It had been rumored that alien activity was the strongest around this area, making it fertile grounds for an easy hunt, at least for seasoned hunters; her brothers had smirked and said to her.  

Being the seventh born, the only daughter, she had taken the bait. She was as good as they were, if not better. She had to prove them wrong but the wait was proving to be tiresome. Time seemed to tick by at an excruciatingly slow pace.

Early in the morning on the fourth day, she heard a sonic boom just a few miles away from her campsite. She grabbed her rifle and felt the heady rush of adrenaline rush through her lithe body. The hunt had begun.

Reaching the crash site, she found the pod to be empty. Small footprints the size of a toddler’s feet led into the forest. The pilot had survived and she was glad; a dead alien was worth no more than road kill - she was no armchair hunter.

A feverish smile twisted her face, giving it an ugly, predatory grimace. She was on the scent of an alien and she had never felt more alive.

He felt his fur stand on its end. She was so close that he could almost hear her breathe. He didn’t want to die or land up in some sterile enclosure with humans in white smocks poking at him. What was taking them so long? He wondered frantically and felt his two hearts pump blood rather frantically causing him to feel dizzy. Without his group he was helpless. Where were they?

She couldn’t believe how easy it was. She felt a passing twinge of regret. This was not a hunt – even a dog would have given her better chase. The footprints stopped in front of a tree and she saw little eyes and a fluff of fur bob up and down.

Putting her rifle away, she took out a stun gun and waited for the creature to come out. She would be heading back home soon.

Put the gun down human a voice spoke in her head. She shook her head and wondered if she had gone mad.

“This is a last warning -, surrender, human and nothing will happen to you” the voice was louder this time. She saw a batch of small white furry bodies head in her direction. They were no more than three feet in height and looked like white teddy bears.

She grinned and trained her guns on them. This was hilarious.

The voice buzzed again “We don’t want to hurt you.”

She laughed and replied “Oh yeah? I’m going to take you all back home with me. Dead and skinned, you’d make good trophies on my wall.”

A collective sigh heaved from their small bodies. Closing their eyes they sent a wave of combustible energy towards the human.

She felt a warm feeling, and then a hot spot grow within her body. Her skin seemed to be on fire. It was getting too hot to bear and before she could cry out in pain, her body exploded.

Silence seemed to shriek loudly through the forest. Regret passed through the little bodies. This is not how they wanted things to end. This was the fourth human they had destroyed. They would continue to kill to protect their kind and their home planet from these cruel aliens who merely killed for the sport if it.

This was not going to be a congenial hunting planet for the humans - they would make sure of that.

Posted by swingingpuss at 06:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Chapter 1

Meaty palms grabbed the scrawny white ass, balls slapped against Elvish flanks. Breaths puffed in the cold, making tiny steamy reindeers that galloped weakly towards the barn door but then melded with the North Pole wind which howled and sneaked through the little nicks and corners of structure.

“We can’t carry..ahh…on like this….Santa” Frank’s voice broke the pleasure trot Santa’s big dick was performing in his arse.

Santa reached over and grabbed Frank’s swollen dick and muttered “I know how you feel Frank, we can’t carry on like this, we need women around here.”

Frank gulped and tried to speak up despite being drowned in the vortex of pleasure “Every year on Christmas Eve you get the chance to fuck a woman but you seem to pass the chance. You have been passing it for hundreds of years.”

Santa grunted and pulled out of Frank’s little crack. He picked up Frank’s five feet body, held it up and put his elfish dick in his mouth and gave it a hard suck. Frank felt a hot rod of pleasure course through his balls and brand his body with pulsing sparks of unfulfilled desire.

He was addicted to the big fat man. His lips were magical more like cursed actually. One peck from those ripe red lips could turn that person into a Santa sex starved creature.

Adjusting his tights over his cherry underwear he spoke over his shoulder to the big hulk who was stuffing his twelve inch dick back into his pants “You’ve been using me as your fuck puppy for over four hundred years. You have to come out of the barn so to speak.”

The white giant knelt down and gently pulled the elf’s green pant up and said “The closet you mean.”

Frank rolled his eyes and replied “ It isn’t about sex , its about doing the right thing.”

St Lawrence smiled wryly, “A bisexual Santa Clause? The Christian world would rock on it heels.”

Frank hugged his lover’s girth as they walked out of the barn toward the toy sweat shop and laughed “It will be just another grouse against you. The probability of you losing your Coca-la contract would be 99.9% along with thousands of legal notices that would restrict you from approaching Christian homes with kids. You would lose all this.”

He pointed towards the huge factory that was producing massive black smoke from its chimney and dumping toxic wastes into the ocean, then shrugged and continued “But it wouldn’t be all that bad. You would be an instant hit in the rainbow quarters. Imagine a bloody Mary in one hand and naked butts lined next to you to spill your seeds in whenever , where ever you’d want.”

Santa barked a loud laugh and opened the Factory door where the elves were working at a frantic pace.

He gently pushed Frank in replied “Not a bad idea. Maybe for Christmas I should ask Santa for Angelina Jolie in one stocking and Brad Pitt in another. Oh, wait a minute I am Santa; a man far more popular than Jesus himself. Why would I want to give that up? Bad idea,  Frank, too much to loose. I rather fuck your ass for eternity if you don’t mind.”

With that he closed the door on Frank’s smirking face, light a cigar, belched and decided go back to his cabin and spend a quiet evening watching porn.

Chapter 2

Alisha pushed an errant strawberry colored tendril off her face. The hum of a silent office grated her nerves. Taking a sip of her hot coffee she stared at the piles of files moodily. Her boss Mark had been acting like a SOB ever since she had refused his advances. He couldn’t believe that a nobody like her could reject a handsome executive like him.

That was a month ago and he still kept giving her extra work, needling her privately but praising her in public. That was his way of ensuring against a sexual harassment lawsuit.

Sighing she took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose and picked up the snow globe and watched the tiny flakes fall on a tiny cabin. It had been over three years since she had taken a vacation.

“Ole Senora, working late again?” Alisha looked up and smiled the cleaning lady. Maryanne and she had become friends as they got to see each other just about every night. Initially they had smiled at each other and gotten back to their work- Alisha to her darn files and Maryanne to her vacuum cleaner.

On the fourth night of working late Alisha offered her a choice between a muffin and cigarettes.

Maryanne had eagerly accepted the latter and they both had felt naughty smoking at her cubical. It was an act which would have had them both thrown out on their ample butts if they had been caught smoking within the office building during work hours.

“Got any more cigarettes?” Maryanne asked her hopefully.

Alisha dug into her purse and pulled out a packet of Marlboros.  

Taking a cigarette from Alisha Maryanne asked “Do you have a taser in there?”

Alisha looked at down at  her frumpy mud colored bag that was lying liply against the leg of her chair and laughed “I have everything in there except a knife, taser etc.”

Maryanne sighed and shook her head “A beautiful senora like you should be careful. This city is full of gamberros. I carry a taser in my bag all the time.”

Alisha coughed out the smoke and was teary eyed “Beautiful? Who me? I’m plainer than a church mouse.  No wait -I’m a plain, fat tabby cat.”

Maryanne frowned at Alisha and pulled the clip off her hair. The cascading mass of liquid amber surrounded her heart –shaped face and emphasized her big brown eyes.

There, you see? If you would keep your hair open and wear some contacts you would be a beauty. Also open up few of those buttons on your blouse, Chiquita, let the world peek in a little”

Alisha felt her spirits rise. Maryanne was always fun to talk to “Open up my buttons? Maryanne, do you see those files which seem to keep mounting instead of descending? They are there because I refused to become my boss’s lunch break.”

“Food? he wanted you to get lunch for him?” Maryanne looked puzzled.

Alisha started to laugh “No, honey, he wanted me to be lunch.”

“You to be…Oh ! that nasty man. You should have given him something to remember.”

Alisha twisted her cigarette butt in a plastic cup and replied “Oh I gave him something to remember – right on his tinsy winsy little jewels.”

Maryanne let out a hearty laugh that had Alisha grinning from ear to ear. She was too intelligent to be a cleaning lady. She had curves that refused to be disciplined by a pink cleaning uniform. In the looks department she could be considered to be above average but her sparkling eyes and sex appeal had men eating out of her hand. Well, at least that is what she let Alisha know

Despite being a single mother of three teenagers she always wore delicate lingerie and reeked of cheap perfume.

‘You never know when you might hit the jackpot. Some millionaire might be working late and may take shiner at me’ She let Alisha know with a wink as she had dusted the tidy little cubicle.

Her luscious lips and jauntily placed cap could make her the fantasy of any hot blooded man.

Alisha felt a few twinges of envy; here was a woman living in project homes, trying to provide a good home to her kids single handedly and still had a positive outlook towards life and she on the other hand had no problems what so ever and yet getting more and more morose.

Taking a drag she shook her head. She always became depressed during Christmas. No friends or family to go back to and be holly and jolly with. No boyfriend to kiss under the mistletoe.

All she had was a tabby cat, Christopher, to go back home to. She knew how she would be spending Christmas Eve- smokes, chocolates and porn. Her calorie ridden backside already testified to the level of depression she had sunk under.

“I have to go. The restrooms won’t clean themselves. Sometimes I wonder whether I did the right thing by jumping into Juan’s car. I wouldn’t have gotten pregnant, left school and become a toilet cleaner” Maryanne smirked.

Alisha shook her head sympathetically and moved aside to let Maryanne and her trolley to pass through.


Chapter 3

Maryanne stared at the brown turd that was floating in the toilet.

“You will be the fourth to go down you evil piece of shit!” She pulled out her plunger and rammed it down the toilet bowl.

Pulling the flush she wondered how her life had come to flushing down other people’s leavings. She had been an average student, a good Christian daughter, then the hormones had kicked in and she had strayed thanks to the tight buns that Juan had sported.

Sighing, she pulled off the latex gloves and gently exercised her neck muscles. It was time to go home – time to go back to her babies. Her apple cheeked kids who would already be in bed and will miss their mama yet again. That was the price she paid for working two jobs and as her mother put it not keeping the two men away from her legs.

She could have given a piece of her mind to her mother but a doting grandmother for a baby sitter and having a roof over her children’s head kept her quiet whenever her mother went off on her ‘where did I go wrong rants’.

Laughing dryly she blessed her mother for taking her family  in and despite the verbal ranting leaving a warm coat and slippers on the couch for her to slip into when she returned home.

At least she had a family to go back to unlike Alisha. She had wondered whether to invite her over for Christmas but wasn’t sure how Alisha would respond. Spending Christmas with the janitor’s family couldn’t be all that exciting.


But Alisha had looked so forlorn that her heart had melted. Taking a deep breath she decided to invite her for Christmas dinner.

Walking down the aisle that lit up a step before her, she rehearsed her lines.

“Senora, since you don’t seem to be doing much this Christmas would you like to come over? No, I can’t say that…” She straightened her back and patted her hair and muttered “Why am I worried? Its not a date.” But her heart began to pump faster and her mouth felt dry.

Her palms felt sweaty, mouth went dry.

‘She hadn’t felt like this since she asked her first husband Juan out. That SOB deserved thousands deaths and million plagues and his putta-’ her thoughts were interrupted when she found the cubicle to be empty.

Relief coursed through her body. Alisha had gone home. She would invite her tomorrow.

Taking the taser out of her bag she went down the elevators. Though the office building was in an up market area but she still felt unsafe in the empty parking lot. The lighting was kind of low and there was too much greenery hugging the parking area where anti-social elements could hang around.

As she stepped out of the heavy doors she heard a scream. Her first instinct was to run back into the safety of the building but the cry sounded familiar. Realization dawned; fear stung her senses – Alisha!

Maryanne ran towards a rusty old Cadillac where two beefy men were shoving a screaming kicking Alisha into the trunk of the car.

“Stop” she screamed “Somebody help us” she panted but they were nearly half a block away.

One of the men turned and stared at her. He said something to his partner and began to run towards her.

Realizing the danger she was in , Maryanne ran back to her building and fumbled with the entry card that was hanging on her neck.

“Please Jesus” she muttered and with trembling fingers she opened the door as the light turned green and let herself in.

The thug smashed against the closed door. His green eyes burned into her soul. His sock covered face looked distorted and his monstrous hulky six foot frame continued to threaten Maryanne despite the security of the fortified door between them.

He banged against the door hard –once , twice and then pulled the sock half way till his lips and mouthed “You are next.”

Maryanne stared like a mesmerized rabbit in front of hungry fox. She couldn’t move away even though the hulk had left. ‘Alisha’, she thought ‘Oh lord, my poor dear.’

She ran towards the empty booth where the security guard sat during day time.

“911” she kept muttering to herself as she punched the numbers-

“Hello- please, please you have to help me…” she shouted into the phone

“Madam, where are you?” a calm voice replied.

Posted by swingingpuss at 06:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

What do Apple Jack Frosted Kelloggs and the book Undead and Unwed have in common? They both taste good, well initially, but then as you progress through the meal and book the desire to gag seems eminent.

Today, on a cold afternoon I curled up on the couch with this girlie book about a designer shoe-crazy vampire queen and a bowl of frosted Kelloggs that my palette was getting to taste for the first time.

As the sweet taste coated my mouth the beginning lines of the novel teased my mind and engaged my interest. I was instantly reminded me of a Showtime show called Dead like Me. Both the heroines were a pain in the neck who refused to accept the fact they were dead (initially) and their whine-y behavior had those who were trying to help them exasperated beyond the point of human endurance.

 The book is about a rich spoilt brat who loves her designer shoes, hates her job, her home-wrecking step mother but is overall a nice person with a zest for life which she refuses to give up despite being dead and sporting fangs.

She is a Paris Hilton-style Vampire Queen living an undead life in Minneapolis yet her lifestyle and that of the hero’s is akin to that of Charlotte’s from Sex and the City.   

Expensive shoes, Armani suits, mansions and witty dialogues fall stale as the story lacks depth and suspense. A rich girl dies, becomes a vampire who is impervious to stereotypical defenses against the undead like crosses, holy water and has Arnold like strength which we are reminded of chapter after chapter where her gentle shoves cause humans and vampire alike to sail across the room.

She is a foretold queen who has had finally arisen after being bitten by the lowest in the vampire order. No explanation is given as to why she is ‘God’s beloved’ nor as to why. Vampires can drink blood and have simultaneous orgasms with their victims (Was the author trying to promote consensual sex or was she trying to be politically correct? One can only postulate)

The hero, Eric Sinclair is the regular romantic type- tall, dark and handsome . He has the clichéd charismatic Rhett Butler personality and tries to protect the frisky vampire brat from the half hearted clutches of an offended villain whom she had dared to trill at.

The villain, a shabby some four hundred year old fat-ass lacks all the qualities of a sinister anti-Christ. He is the tribal chief who declares an empty fatwa on the Paris Hilton queen, barely features in the book and dies a death far less dramatic than that of a domestic mouse under the broom of a housewife.

As I flipped through the book, the chemical taste of the sweetened cornflakes had me staring at the trash bin wondering whether I should throw the newly opened box in the bin along with the brand new book.

They both deserved the same fate and yet I had spent good money on them. Both were on their way to giving me diabetes - one physical and the other mental.

While the  author has a upbeat style of writing,  uses all the trendy lingo, knows about shoes,  writes hot sex scenes yet she lacks flare when it comes to giving depth to her characters and story line.

The book had come highly recommended to me by my younger sister along with the Apple Jacks and they both sucked.  Unfortunately I cannot return either but I can definitely show my fangs to my sister the next time I meet her and then discuss our favorite designer footwear.

Posted by swingingpuss at 02:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

This story was inspired by Anne RIce and is a tribute to the victims of Tsunami and New Orleans disaster.



Falling in love with humanity was no way to live. It was a wrenching pain that wouldn’t subside but grow with every sip, every taste and the unsatiable thirst that quenched the body but burned the soul with secrets not owned but borrowed for the love of blood.

A moonlit night on Bourbon Street would never be the same. The Saxophone would play a soulful elegy for those dead and gone. It would play for those who were left behind, the neglected that were loved less by the mortals but more so by the gods that wished their lives be cut short by the raging forces of nature.

It could be New Orleans or a forgotten island somewhere thousands of miles apart what difference did it make? The drowned helpless cries of thousands that wailed under the deluge set forth by Titan himself were the same.

A mother holding the limp body of a drowned child or a father walking with eyes as dead as the family he had just laid rest to. The drama was too painful to watch. The misery, the untold horrors were too much to bear. Centuries may have passed faster than the blink of an eyelid yet the pain of recurring devastations impaled his heart harder than the one before.

Nature treated the white, black and browns the same. The blood that followed in their veins was his to love and yet he died a bit each time he saw them die a death caused by poverty and not sickness.

How could mortals love their own so little where as he, their killer, loved them more than the blood he craved?

New Orleans, his beautiful woman was no longer the same. She had been ravaged for far too long, left to rot in the stench of stupidity and indifference. And now, they wanted to resurrect her as if no wrong had been done to her.

Humans with their wanton love for riches and power had taken lives too many times through wars, disease and indifference. And yet he continued to love these spoilt children of a God, loved far more than the fair angles themselves.

The French Quarters may have survived but the spirit of New Orleans had died. Walking down the empty streets Lestate heard the echoes of lives cut short and was no longer remembered by the many.

He wondered whether humans could really stop grieving for those they had lost or did they keep the memories live in their hearts and moved on.

Maybe that was what he had to learn from these fragile beings, to rise up despite the blows, laugh a little and hope for a brighter tomorrow.

Posted by swingingpuss at 02:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Most writers have burn outs or writers' block but I start falling asleep at a drop of a hat. Written three pages? Time to take a snooze. Have to write the climax? How about a hot cup of chocolate and a snuggle in the bed with the kids for five minutes that turn into the next morning?

I barely managed to write a chapter during the weekend though I was supposed to finish three.

What am I to do? How do I keep myself from falling asleep? I'm yawning as I type. There is lot to be done.

If I manage to finish my novel then it has good chances of being published by the end of March or else it means waiting for another six months.

Unfortunately I don't seem to be losing much sleep over this conundrum.

Posted by swingingpuss at 01:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)