SUCCESS: the Image

A new indie writer’s image of success looks a lot like the thing in the picture above. Let’s add the year before the two showing:


So, starts out kinda empty. That’s reality for most everyone who doesn’t start with some sort of following.

In case it’s helpful, here’s how I got from the left to the right. The left side I titled Stumbling Onstage with No Script in an Empty Theater. The right is Beginning to Figure it Out.

APRIL 2016

I opened a KDP account and started writing my first novel. I’d been a writer for a long time, but not of prose fiction.

JULY 2016

Sometime in July I published a book titled Surrender to Ecstasy. I know this because I sold a book in July. To myself.AAKISSCOVER300px

I not only no longer have a copy of the cover, I don’t recall what it looked like. Here’s one of the many new ones I created because so many people told me the first one sucked.

In August I sold 6 books and 4 of them weren’t me or my friend. I had 2500ish page reads but didn’t see that because I was busy changing the title and redoing the cover.

I didn’t realize KDP was putting money in my bank account to the tune of $1.17 and not putting in the .09 from Japan or the $2.83 from the U.K. because the bank I picked to handle book business didn’t take foreign deposits.

I didn’t look at the reports page on KDP. I didn’t really know it existed. I was too busy writing book 2 and trying to figure out how to make a cover that didn’t look like shit and trying to separate the total bullshit advice from the makes sense advice.

Four months later I had sold 13 books and had about 5500 page reads. If that seems like a lot, I had one book that was a little over 300 KENP pages which is about 18 books. Some blowhard on Reddit informed me if my book fell below the 100k mark in ranking it was unsalvageable and I should move on. It fell a hell of a lot further than that. I think well below 500k.


I published Desire for Bliss. This also isn’t the actual first cover.BLISSworking3crop

It’s almost impossible not to sell a few books Christmas week and I sold 20 and had 7k page reads. So I did more business in a week than I had done in the previous 4 months. I took Surrender off KDP and republished it as Desire for Touch, book 1/3 of the “Desire for” series.

If there was momentum to take advantage of, I didn’t know how. I was exhausted trying to learn six different professions and still write a book, which was my actual job. I also wanted to explore more aspects of sexuality than were part of Ben and Avia’s relationship.

One of the characters in Bliss I wanted to write about was the homicide detective, Hunter Dane. I also wanted to follow what happened to Talia and do a new adult story using one of the lawyers. Vaguely, the themes were femdom, foot fetish, first time anxiety and PTSD.

Bliss is an exponentially better book than Touch. That’s because we get better. At least we do if we write seriously and not as a hobby or a social club exercise. You want to get better. You know you suck. You also know you have something to offer.

I still hadn’t found the KDP page with the sales and page reads. I didn’t look at the bank statements or balance.

But now I had two books and had discovered free book promotion. Figured out you were supposed to use those hashtags on Twitter. And something happened: I stopped having months where I didn’t sell anything.


I brought out Submitting to Talia and A Thing for Feet. You can read Feet here on my site for free, now.

Talia - Feet combo

I really liked, and still do, both these short stories. Anyway, I discovered Instafreebie and got a Facebook account (no idea what to do with it, but I friended or accepted friendship from everydamnbody). I started a mailing list with four names and put links to it at the end of the titles and was surprised when I got up to 50. Fifty!

Most people don’t join your newsletter so that meant like, maybe a couple hundred people read my books. Still not looking at KDP, still clueless about the bank. I wasn’t going to use any of the few dollars that might be in there, and I was still buried under being a graphic designer, a social media expert and writer.

You remember I was writing, right?  So then this happened:

MARCH 2017


I had this picture and I loved the light/dark. The guy. I loved him. This is the first cover where I didn’t really struggle with anything but the font. I always knew what it would be: him. Hunter Dane.

I’ve spoken before about the writing, how the characters took over, how I could only finish it by telling myself I never had to publish it.

I launched it and did the few things I knew how to do and forgot about it. Except I’d joined GoodReads and some self-styled BDSM “expert” attacked the book and a lot of  his followers …. followed.

So, him being completely FOS didn’t really help me feel better, esp because you aren’t supposed to correct their ignorant asses. But then someone posted this review on Amazon. And it didn’t matter what anyone else ever said. For me, Knees was a success. Because of this:

on March 29, 2017
Its rare to read a m/m BDSM story and find so many truths. I read the book and heard the voices of my peers and my community. For those living in the kink culture, this sweet story of power, control and surrender echo’s our stories. Outstanding writing, I hope the author will continue to explore this genre as she has a gift.

DOUBLECOVERS300I put it behind me and started a novella about Ben Hart’s early relationship with J.J. Johnson. I did put Knees in an Instafreebie giveaway.

I published Writing for Ben, which became Thank You for Your Submission, which I thought was kind of droll.

So, where was I with the money?

Amazon got my attention, finally, about these royalties they couldn’t deposit and I finally looked at the bank account.


There was like, a couple hundred dollars in there. People were reading my books! Sweet!

I started Matchstick Men. Not because I thought Knees was some great success, but because Hunt and Cam were my Sherlock and John and I’d always wanted to write police procedurals. I felt like maybe I should finish the “Desire for” series, but, no one seemed to really care.


An absolutely lovely mm/bdsm author read Knees and liked it and recced it to some book bloggers (I always wondered how you got a book blogger to cover youAAAMMCOVER090517250) and one of the bloggers read it and liked it and put me in all these groups on Facebook (I had no idea there were these kinds of groups on FB) and suddenly I was publishing Matchstick Men and getting reviewed and my newsletter list was in the hundreds.

This, BTW, is the original Matchstick cover. Matchstick Men came out almost exactly twelve months after Desire for Touch. I’d spent a year writing. I’d also learned a crapton about graphics and programs and how to cheat ’cause I’ll never be able to Photoshop.

I learned more about marketing and social media-ing (not so good at that).

NOV-DEC-JAN  2017/2018

$500 A MONTH. And I had hardly any expenses. You ain’t gonna get rich that way, but you could make payments on a new car.

I brought out Dancing Men and the boys insisted I write Snowed-In. Readers were talking to me and I had a group and a brand and a name and almost a thousand people on a mail list.

It scared the living crap out of me.


But then I had an epiphany. I had a series. I was writing Psychic Men, which would be book 5. People liked them. I mean, I liked them, so why did that surprise me?


What I had to do was find my audience. If I had all this support just from Twitter and FB and some amazing book Bloggers, aren’t there more people who’d like Hunter Dane and Camden Snow? So I set out to discover where I could take the money I’d made and invest it in advertising that wouldn’t sell my books to someone, but would tell them what they were.

My Book Bub Ads Experience.

I had 186,000 page reads and sold over 600 ebooks in June. Sylvia Day I’m not. But I am, in my own mind, a successful indie ebook author. Because I’m getting what will be for me a very substantial paycheck? Not exactly.

I produced a set of titles I’m proud of and people like. AT THE SAME TIME.

So I’m beginning to figure it out. I succeeded. Anything more is bonus time.

I wanted to tell you that. You who are new. Maybe it’ll help.


Leaving Facebook

Why isn’t Mark Zuckerberg under arrest for treason?  I get why Trump isn’t, there are unprecedented legal questions so no one knows exactly what to do.  But Zuckerberg also conspired with a foreign government to fix a U.S. Presidential election. The U.S.Attorney General can charge him any time he wants.

‘Course, Trump appointed him.

We all know about how much information FB has collected on us. Sold for many millions to those folks who call your cell to sell you shit or collect an old debt. Pop up their ads everywhere online you go.

They bought your information from Zuckerberg. Your sex, age, location, politics, phone number. The FB Terms of Service everyone accepts gave him our permission to do that.

But now, he’s gone to banks to buy confidential information from them about us. That news caused FB’s stock to go up.

I just deleted my account. They say it takes at least two weeks to unwind all your data and delete it. Except they don’t delete it. They keep it. They say they don’t associate it with your name.


We  let this happen and we continue to allow it, support it, sustain it as long as we don’t want to be bothered leaving, deleting and moving on.

BTW, he owns Instagram, too. In fact, Zuckerberg controls the information that flows to and from 2.5 billion people.

To be or not to …. uh-oh…

Inspired by an article on Dale Cameron Lowry’s excellent writing blog, I decided to check out making an audio version of On His Knees.

Besides the cost, and how daunting and complex it all is, I just can’t imagine anyone but a professional actor I can’t possibly afford being able to do it. And then there’s the fact I’d have to write an audio version. I already have way too many things on my TBW list.

Still. I thought I could at least listen to a few of the sample readings posted on ACX.



Hang on …. yes? Finally! So I check him out. A pro! Won an Emmy at some point and he’s in my projected price range. Aw – he’s from Denver.

Kismet, I tell you!

So I search for his studio on Google—nothing. Search him by name—nothing. ??? He has a bunch of credits. ….

I look him up on IMDB—




Not kidding. Died. A while back.

I’m taking it as a sign. If audio is in Hunt&Cam’s future, they’ll let me know.

Great Advice 1: Hugh Howey

The interview is here:

The excerpts are here:

I planned from the outset to languish in obscurity for ten years before I assessed my progress. This gave me patience. 

I made sure that I enjoyed what I was writing, that I loved the process. This gave me an appreciative audience. 

Finally, I told myself that everything I published would be available for thousands of years, so success and appreciation didn’t have to occur in my lifetime. That gave me hope.

About Kindle Unlimited:

 I tried Kindle Unlimited. Then I pulled out and went wide for a year. 

Then I went back to Kindle Unlimited. I get more readers being in KU than being on all retail outlets. … 

Amazon ebooks are available to every reader on pretty much any device that has a screen. … My books are available in every home, anywhere that there’s a whiff of cellular or WiFi. 

If someone makes a personal decision not to shop with Amazon, then I lose that reader. But in my experience, I’ll have gained nine more.

Hugh Howey’s work is here:


A Thing for Feet

edited by Tanja Ongkiehong

Copyright © 2016, 2017, 2018 Adira August All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either wholly sprung from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Fiction – short story – erotica


That’s what they called me in high school. Girls followed me from class-to-class.  Crowds of them. Like I was some class A Hollywood hunk. They’d surround me, some walking backwards, all talking at once. Touch me. Pull at my clothes.

     It scared the shit out of me. I learned which classrooms were empty when I walked through the halls. I’d duck in and lock the door. Teachers would break up the gaggle of girls and make them go to class. Then I’d be late.

Toupée Tolliver, chemistry, would say, “Ah! The God of Youth has deigned to join us. Detention again, Mr. Shore.” He’d look over the class and tell the girls not to bother acting up, he wasn’t giving any of them detention.

None of this was my fault. I didn’t make us study mythology. None of those girls knew who Adonis was until we all had to research him and Aphrodite and all that crap. The “cult of Adonis belonged to women” Wikipedia says. No shit.

The “archetype of handsome youth.” Fuck my life. It wasn’t just the teachers who hated me, it was the guys. I mean, you can’t bitch, yanno? They would have killed to have girls hanging all over them. Offering what most guy had to beg for. Weird thing is, I think if I’d taken all of it, they’d have been fine.

Only I didn’t, so guys were always trying to pick fights with me. “Mess up yer pretty face.” Like, okay, I was 6’2″ by the time I was a junior, so that meant I had to be some superjock, tough guy?

Hey, I like kicking ass as much as the next guy. In the classroom, in a debate, in a science fair. The gods must have been really pissed to play this cosmic joke—nerd in a stud body.

I didn’t pick my looks. I mean, okay, I worked out, but mostly because they didn’t let girls in the guy’s weightroom. I was born blond. Not that white blond Norway shit. Darker, like beach sand. Only any time I’m in the sun it it gets lighter parts in it.

So then they started saying I got dye jobs because in the winter, it would grow out.  Roots. I took to cutting it super short. Didn’t help.

The face is my face. It’s not lumpy or weird, I guess. Everything’s where it should be. Fucking dimples.  

All that was bad enough, but I have this thing.  This sex thing. And I sure as shit couldn’t tell anybody about that, either.

SENIOR YEAR they started locking the empty classrooms because they caught a couple kids smoking in one. Not cigarettes.

I’d walk down the hall with my head down, looking at the floor. At my feet. The girls were still there, crowding around.

So I looked at their feet.

It was just after Spring break. There were sandals. A lot of sandals. Even in jeans, you could see their toes. Painted, decorated. Hearts, flowers, stripes, stars. Toes with rings or chains or even little bells.

They’d have straps that wrapped around their feet. Ankles. Every step their feet would spread just a little and the straps tighten around their feet. Then loosen. And tighten. Their toes would spread and flatten. Spread and …

My dick turned into lava rock. I learned to walk with books held over it.

English Lit was the worst. And best. Ellie Janes sat on my left. She always wore jeans and a t-shirt with some kinda girl thing. Flowers or unicorns or some shit. And she always wore thongs. Flip-flops, not underwear.

She’d sit back in the chair and stretch out her right foot, and her cuff would pull back and the whole top of her foot would be exposed, and part of her ankle. Sometimes she’d twist around and cross her ankles and I could see her left foot. The inside arch, all pale and smooth and high, swooping down to the mound under her big toe. Her mound was sweet and round and kinda puffy-looking. Pink.

But it was what she did if she got bored. You know how people drum their fingers on a table? She did that. With her toes. I mean, maybe she wasn’t bored, maybe she had to pee or something, but it was just like fingers. Her toes would wriggle and then, one after another, press into her shoe and come back up. A toe wave. Over and over.

Oh, man. I was barely 18. A boner lasts forever when you’re 18. Except for the time I tried to push it to the side when it got caught in a fold of my jeans behind my zipper.

Ellie was drumming her toes and I was thinking what it would be like to have her foot in my lap and take every pink, round toe pad between my fingers and roll and knead them and wondered if she’d like it or be ticklish and then I thought about holding her foot and lightly running my fingers up and down and she’d fight a little but be laughing and I’d grab her other foot, too …

Couldn’t stand it. I tried to lift up slow so no one would notice. Tried to shift when I did it, to look normal. Like I was just getting comfortable. But the second I slid my hand along my dick through the heavy cloth, I blew my load. In English Lit. In my pants.


I kinda jumped and yelped a little. Mrs. Casper asked me if I was okay. She was older. At least she liked me. Most women teachers liked me. I told her I had a foot cramp. She called it growing pains and asked if I needed to take a walk.

Oh hells yeah, I do. Books in front of stain. Not too bad, the underwear caught most of it. So, I got cleaned up in the lav and jerked off again, hoping I’d make it through the rest of class. Down boy. Stay.

I took to piling my books on the top left corner of the desk, so the teacher would  get used to seeing them there. Then I got out my cell phone. Nobody thought anything of holding a cell down under the desk. They just figured you were texting or playing a game. Watching porn.

I recorded Ellie jiggling her feet, drumming her toes, crossing her ankles, wriggling her left foot so the thong slid sideways. You could see everything.

And yeah, I do know I turned into creepy stalker dude, okay? I already felt like a shit pervert. WTF was wrong with me, anyway? But it’s not like I could make it go away. And no way I could pay to find foot porn online without my parents knowing. There was some stuff on forums, pictures. But it just wasn’t Ellie with her perfect little round toe pads doing the wave.

I thought of some ways to approach her. Like say I was thinking pre-med instead of pre-law and I wanted to do an experiment in reflexology and I needed a test subject. I could get a couple posters up of the pressure points and what they stimulated or whatever. Maybe make a form she could mark off where in her body she felt anything from the manipulation of her foot. I’m nerdy enough to get away with it. Science project.

Then I’d be thinking of my erection and her noticing. That fantasy went one of two ways. A, she wanted me and loved that I would use her feet. B, she screamed and ran out and told everybody I was a pervert.

B seemed like the sure thing. And besides, we were two weeks from graduation when I thought of it. No more science projects. So I uploaded the phone vids to the cloud and watched them in my room or in the bathroom or in my car. Travel sizes from the grocery were the trick. Little bottles of baby oil or lotion, little packets of tissues. Just stick ’em in your pocket.

LAST WEEK OF SCHOOL. I’m in English Lit early, lamenting the loss of Ellie’s drumming toes in four more days. She breezes by me to her seat and drops a paper on the floor.

“You dropped something,” she tells me. Then slides into her seat and ignores the paper.

Girls were always giving me notes, sticking them through the vent in my locker door or leaving them on my chair. They were always folded up into weird origami shapes. I threw them all out.

But this was a big sheet of notebook paper. I could see there were a few words on it. So I picked it up.

I need a foot rub.

I look at her. She’s looking straight at me with a little smirk. She cocked an eyebrow like, “Well?”

I nod. Once. I bet it would have looked really cool to anyone watching. But I’d pretty much stopped breathing and my cock stole all the blood from my brain and was searching for an escape route.

A?  It’s gonna be A?

Mrs. Casper is talking, gathering up our final papers and Ellie’s attention is up front.

“You have no more work for me, but I know you have several more finals. So, you can study here, or go to the library, or computer lab if you …”

Ellie got up and walked out. I held my folder over my crotch and joined the thundering herd breaking for the door.

When I got to the hallway, I could see Ellie at the end, turning toward the smoking door that led outside where there was a big ashtray thing. I caught up to her just as she pushed the door open to go out. I reached over her head and flat-palmed it wide for her.

As we walk out she says, “You know the house on Boylston with all the lawn ornaments, flamingos and shit?”


“That’s mine. Be there at six-thirty. Park in the drive by the garage.”

She walked away. I checked my watch. Eight hours. I didn’t know what she really wanted. Maybe I was going to be inside her. Like really all the way inside  … oh shit.

Eight hours. I was eighteen. I had time. I headed for my car.

THE DRIVEWAY went back around the house to this big two-car garage. She was sitting on the steps of her deck and sauntered over when I pulled up. She was wearing sneaks. Damn. And little pink athletic socks with a fuzzy ball at the back.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” she said, reading my face. “Just keeping them clean for you.”


“You want to put them in your mouth, right?  Isn’t that part of it?” she asked, smirking at me again.

OH FUCK YEAH! Is what I did not shout. I didn’t leap out of the car or make a witty rejoinder.

I nodded. Again. Pretty sure if I said anything it would have been “urphlec.”

“Not too talkative for a state debate champ, are you?”

“Parents?” I asked. I had to know what the deal was.

“C’mon. You don’t have to put your books over it, now.”

She turned away and kinda ran up on the deck and inside and came out with a couple beers. And I notice her. Like, the rest of her. She’s wearing some kinda short dress with three big buttons in front. Only not a dress—like a swimsuit cover thing.

Legs. She had really long legs and these thighs I wanted to pet. And squeeze. And her ass kinda stuck out and lifted the back of the short dress-thing.  Her tits weren’t so big, but they jiggled every step—so no bra. Like soft serve ice cream with a cherry on top.

I went up and took one of the beers. She still had her hair up, like in school, wound round and a big plastic clip in it.  I wanted to take that clip out. And she still wasn’t wearing make-up. The other girls always did, but she was just plain. Only now I looked at her close-up … her face?  She was cute. Barely came up to my chin …

“How old are you?”

She drank off half her can, her head tilted back. I never noticed girls’ necks before. But her throat moved when she swallowed.

“Two months older than you, sport,” she said. “Let’s sit. You there.”

She pointed to a deck chair but it was pushed too close to another, face-to-face. I started to pull it back. She put her hand on mine. Her little hand with the slender fingers she could wrap around my – shit.

“Leave it right there,” she said.

I did. I barely had room for my legs. She stepped right over the arm and settled in hers with her feet pulled up to her ass.

“See, it’s better this way,” she said and straightened her legs. She put her feet on top of my thighs, like I was a footrest.

“You can take them off, if you want. We can talk. I have a plan.”

Okey-dokey, yuppers, yeah, I certainly will, you betcha, oh my fucking god, YES!! I reach for one foot.

She finished the beer and burped behind her hand. “But slow. Go slow, okay? One thing at a time. I want to remember this.”

So, lava rock is drooling all over and I can feel the hot sticky mess I am even without blowing my load, but, what if this is my only chance? Slow. Okay. She’s right. Smart girl, yanno?

I pick up one foot. My hand cups her ankle and back of her shoe. My thumb moves over her inner ankle bone. Not pointy. Rounded and smooth. Slopes down. I pick at the laces. I notice she’s talking.

” … Myrtle Beach, so he won’t be back until Monday. My brother’s in the Peace Corps, so he won’t be back until December. My mother’s at my aunt’s college graduation, she’s spending the night. And I’m on the pill and we have to have a deal.”

The laces on the shoe I held were all loose and I slipped it off her foot, holding a finger over the little pink fuzz ball to save the sock. I was totally focused on her foot, sloping down under the edge of the sock. There was a vein … Her other foot came into view. She put it on top of her sock foot.

“Hey – I’m talking here.” She sounded a little pissed.

“I heard. Everybody’s gone. You want a deal,” I said, looking at the little puffs of her toe pads against the stretchy fabric of the sock.

Wait. Deal? I looked up. “Deal?” Articulate, huh?

“We graduate Friday. I start at Cal Tech summer session Monday. You’re going, where for law school? Someplace out east, I bet.”

“N.Y.U. In August.” I didn’t mention the scholarship. I knew her family could afford anything she wanted.

“Yeah, so we’re never going to see each other again,” she said. “I’m … we’re adults, okay? I never—okay, I never did anything with a guy. I want stuff. I’ll let you do what you want with my feet you’ve been drooling over all year, as long as you don’t hurt me. And then you give me what I want.”

I could feel pins and needles all over my skin. fuckfuckfuck “You knew? Does everybody know?”  

“Yeah, of course I knew, you never looked anywhere else,” she said. “I don’t think anyone else knows. Why? You have a girlfriend who doesn’t know?”

“This is all between us, right?”

She nods.

“I never did anything with a girl.”

“With her feet?”

“At all.”

Know how they say somebody’s jaw drops open?  Only it never happens? Hers did. Crap. And I was so close. Kinda took care of the boner, though.

“Where’s your bathroom?”

“Inside, right.” She pointed.

It was a guest bath by the kitchen. You know, toilet, sink, little towels you can’t use.  I turned around to close the door and she was there. With both shoes on. So much for A.

“I want to watch,” she said.

“You’re crazy.” I could feel the heat in my face.

“You have a thing for feet,” she said. Couldn’t argue.

“Why should I let you?”

“That’s the deal,” she shrugged.

Hang on. “We still have a deal?”

“Yeah. This way’s better.”

“Why?” I really needed to get my now cold, sticky, getting itchy dick cleaned up. But I wanted to know.

“We won’t judge each other.”

Yeah, that would be good. Still … “You can’t watch me piss.”

“Okay,” she agreed. She cocked her head. Her eyes were green. Huh. “What else are you going to do?”

Are all girls like this? “Just … you can watch. Tell me what you want.”

I opened my jeans and slid everything down mid-thigh. I used one of the tiny towels you can’t use and put warm water on it and cleaned myself up. I kept my head down. I didn’t want to see her.

Only she was in the mirror. Her mouth was open again. She was staring at my dick. Which was in semi mode.

I felt an immediate longing for my lit book. Feet. Remember her feet. You’re a grown man now, go with it. Get to the prize.

“It’s huge,” she said. Kind of whispered, really. She was killing me, here. My chest went red, not just my face. Shit. And she was a virgin.

“You never saw an erection?”


I started wiping at my underwear, to get the precum off.

“Did you … you know,” she said and now she was all red.

“No, this is precum. You didn’t read about that?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Good. So you can still do it?”

I kicked off my shoes and dropped my pants. Screw it. I wasn’t putting wet, cold whities on. I turned around and gave her a good look. “If I get off now I can do it again like, every twenty minutes, okay? Is that what you want, to not be a virgin?”

“Yes.” She kept staring at me. “I want to have boyfriends at college, you know? And I don’t want to be a clueless loser girl some asshole frat guy thinks he can -”  She looked sad or something.

“But if I have sex with you, you, then I’m not a loser girl. And it’ll show, somehow. And when I find a good guy, it’ll be better.”

She unbuttoned her dress thing and opened it. She was naked under. First thing I saw was the hair. Really dark brown patch of curly shiny hair.

“I never missed a day of school. Never didn’t turn in an assignment. Never got less than an A. I’m a good girl. I don’t want to be done and end up that.” She spit the word out like it tasted bad. “Tell me what you want.”


“Yeah,” she says. “Really.”

“Okay. I want you to go get dressed like for school only leave the shoes and socks you have on. Then I want you to sit next to me and watch TV. That’s what I want.”

“And you’ll do stuff with my feet?” She closed the dress.


“And then you’ll touch me all over and have sex with me?” She asked and licked her lips. Her mouth was small and pretty, her lips all pink and plump.

I nodded.

ELLIE TOLD ME to meet her downstairs in ten. I told her I still had to piss and as soon as she left, I locked the door and pumped it. Ten minutes until I went downstairs. At least twenty more before I’d need to put it in her. I might never get this again, ever. I couldn’t even think about her feet or putting it in her without figuring I’d cum in seconds. So I drained it.  

Besides, she might like it. I wondered if I could make her like it. In the A fantasy, she always liked it.

I went commando under my jeans and threw the jockeys out on the deck to dry. The stairs were off  the front door. It was nice downstairs. Real windows. Regular walls and carpet. TV took up one whole wall, practically.  Matching couch and chair, not some used up crap, like at my house.

Ellie was on the couch with her feet on one of those giant fabric coffee tables. I don’t know what was on the TV. Didn’t care. She had a shopping bag, a green cloth one with a tree on it. She handed it to me.

Inside there were wipes and baby oil and lotion and, believe it or not, a dildo. A pink one. It had a switch on the end like a flashlight. It vibrated.

“You used this on yourself?”

She nodded. “But not, you know, inside. Not all the way. Just a little. Enough so I know I won’t bleed.”

Great. Sex with smart girls. They think of everything.

“I’m just gonna watch TV now,” she said.

I sat next to her for a while. She started to get nervous and her right foot was jiggling. I could see her doing the wave inside her shoe, the knuckles of her toes pushing up against the fabric.

I laid my hand on her thigh. It felt so fucking good. I squeezed a little. She let her legs fall open and relax. Then I was sliding my hand all over inside her thigh and under. I mean, how does half a leg feel that good? How can just that, feel that good?

Up by her pussy I could feel her heat. Was that from me or was it just like that? I slid down and hooked my fingers under her knee and pulled her leg over mine.

She just went with it. I used both hands on her calf, stroking and working my way down. Then I had her foot in my hands again and I was not letting go. I didn’t care if her whole family showed up to binge-watch Elmo’s fuckin’ World, no way was I not doing this.

I took the shoe off and lifted her foot with the little pink sock still on. I was about to rub my face against her instep, I wanted to feel her, smell her. I stopped. Shit, she’ll think I’m too weird. I look. She was looking right at me. Her lips were wet and her eyes shiny and dark.

Screw it. I pulled her around so she laid back on the couch and shoved my nose into her sweet arch and sniffed. Oh fuckfuckfuck it was … jeezus so good. Sweet and dampish and some undertone of sour, it was like people describe tasting wine. She had layers. Fabric softener and sweat and something from the shoe, sort of like rubber.

I moved my nose up over the ball of her foot and pressed it deep into the furrow under her toe pads. The cloth kept me from feeling her, made me wait to taste her. I bit the pads of her toes through the cloth and scraped her with the edges of my teeth. Each toe, each succulent little bud wrapped in fragrant cotton.

She squirmed and made a high sound in her throat, but I didn’t care. I used both hands on her foot, keeping it where I wanted. Slow. Careful. I rolled her sock from her ankle down over her heel. Stopped with just her heel exposed. It was rosy pink. Not flat on the bottom, but kinda rounded.

I kneaded the edges, outer and inner and lifted her foot. Her foot felt so little and delicate in my hand. I scraped my teeth over her fullness there, sucking hard at the pink flesh.

I heard her make another sound.  

And I’m wondering how dumb was it to start with my jeans on, but I don’t want to let go of her foot. I mean, my cock was doing things, but my whole insides, even my asshole was like it had a pulse in it. Everything was tight and hot and the pressure was unbelievable and there were like sparks running up my spine.  

She made that sound again and squirmed and I held her tighter and rolled her sock further toward the ball of her foot, exposing her arch. The rosy part of her heel narrowed at one side to a strip of pink. Her arch was so creamy-looking, smooth and curved.

I nuzzled her there, and the scent of her was more like some lotion, now, the smell of her shoe gone. I rubbed her against my mouth and sucked her arch, eyes closed. She tried to pull back but I held her in place. She squirmed. Then I felt something on my cock.

I came up for air. She’d gotten her other shoe off and was rubbing the bottom of her foot up and down my cock through my jeans. No. Too good. I didn’t want to come, yet. I needed to suck those toes.

I began to see why guys wanted to tie girls down.

I pressed her foot into my crotch really hard but didn’t move it. I could feel him back off a little and I stuck her foot under my thigh, trapping her. It stuck out. She was laying back flat on the couch and kind of panting. Staring at me, her eyes so big and dark and her mouth open. It was so fucking hot.

I had one foot in my hand and her other foot under my thigh. I pulled her sock off the one in my hand with my teeth, and ripped the thing off her foot under my thigh. I ran my fingers lightly up and down and across the bottom of her foot sticking out from under my leg, feeling the dips and rises and curves.

She jerked and started to laugh and tell me no. That was the hottest thing, yet. So I kept tickling her.

She started fighting. Trying to kick both feet. But she was little and I wasn’t. And while I tickled the one foot, I sucked hard at the ball of her other foot, and stuck the tip of my tongue between her toes, like plunging it fast in between them but still going slow and light on her other foot. And she was like writhing and her hair all came loose and she was laugh-screaming, begging me please, please stop.

Then she stopped begging and started panting. Hard. And her she rubbed her thighs together and kind of twisted like a cat stretching.

I did stop then because like I said, I didn’t want to blow my load yet. I was pretty sure if I kept it up, I’d go off without even touching myself.

She laid there gasping and her nipples were really big now under the t-shirt. And I felt something I never did before around any girl. I felt in control. Girls were always like a swarm of octopus. They’d surround me and wave their tentacles around. I never knew what they’d do or which way they’d move.

“Take your shirt off,” I said and my voice sounded like someone else. Thick and hoarse. She did it. I ripped her pants off, then, tossed them across the room. Jeans and panties. Didn’t even notice the panties. I kicked that huge footstool thing out of the way and dragged her to the floor.

“Don’t move,” I told her. And she didn’t.

I got out of my clothes and sat on the edge of the couch with her feet in my hands and then, holding her by the ankles, opened her legs and stared right at her pussy. It was not like any of the pictures online. It was swollen and open and shining wet. It was pretty and pulsing. Holy fuck.

I slid down to sit on the floor, my back against the front of the sofa. Legs crossed, I slowed myself down. I took each toe pad between my thumb and two fingers and rolled them. Kneaded them. Bit them and sucked them. I ran the tip of my tongue under and along the secret valley between them and the balls of her feet.

I drooled. My cock drooled. I didn’t care.

She was laying there with her tits jiggling from me moving her feet and legs and from squirming around. It finally occurred to me she was trying to get her legs together. Her nipples looked like bright red stones. She had her hands around her tits, like she was trying to hold them still. Or up.

“You want me to touch your nipples?” I asked her. She nodded. She looked like she had a fever. “You want me to touch your pussy?” She made that sound in her throat, that high thin sound. She nodded again. “Hand me the bag,” I told her.

Her bag had fallen off the footstool when I kicked it. She reached and snagged the handle and dragged it over.

“First I get what I want,” I said. I tossed her a couple throw pillows from the couch. “So you can watch.”

I didn’t know a look on a girl’s face could be so hot, make me harder, make me want to shove my dick in her, in her mouth. But I wanted her to see me, first.

She put the pillows under her head and I got out the baby oil. I wanted her feet smooth and slick. I leaned forward and pulled her hips toward me. Her feet in my lap made her knees bend, opening her cunt up. I never thought they really got that wet. All puffy and pink with the clit stuck up like that.

The outsides of her legs lay against the insides of mine, bent, with her feet together. I oiled my cock and her feet. Massaged and rubbed.  I took her feet, all slick with the oil and pressed them hard against my throbbing dick and jacked myself. Slow. Go slow. Remember this

She stared like she was starving and I was a cream-filled cannoli.

I squirted the oil on the insides of her thighs and her belly and rubbed it all over her and up to her sweet swollen, mounds. I rubbed my palms over her nipples, they were hot like hard coals against my palms, and she was moaning and squirming and I knew she wanted more. But she’d have to wait.

With her feet back around my dick, I pushed against the tops of her toes and I could feel her toe pads sliding up and down my shaft. I twisted then, a little, and shifted my hips so I could get her big toe against the sweet spot just under my dickhead and fuckfuckfuck I clenched her toes and balls of her feet over the head and then it was fast, so fast and hot and slick and I watched my bright red shiny head between her toes, her toes ….

The cum streamed out and out and out and out. It landed on her pussy hair and her belly and there was more and more—never like this, never like this before. I thrust between her feet hard until it was all the emptiness.

WHAT WAS WEIRD was, after that, I just wanted to worship her. I didn’t even take a minute before I had my hands in her hair, (she had amazing long thick shiny hair in that clip) and my mouth on hers and she was holding my face and making my jaw and lips do what she wanted. She poked her tongue into my mouth and I pushed into her and it was like we already both knew how to do it.

She guided my hands over her nipples and down between her legs and showed me how she wanted my fingers to move and where and used me against her clit to come. That was amazing, that rock-hard nub of fire, like a tiny dickhead in the center of soft pillows of heat and wet.

She put my finger inside her, and she was so soft and slick and then it was three fingers and she was so tight. I could feel the muscles tighten. I could feel it on my dick even though I wasn’t in her, you know?

I was hard again and it wasn’t even twenty minutes. I was still worried because she was so little, but she made it alright. She grabbed my cock with both hands and kind of pulled me into place against her opening and rubbed my cockhead all over her. Holyfuckingshit it felt – I just poured pc all over her.  

I  wanted to pound into her, but she guided me inside a little ways and stopped me and then a little more and more. I didn’t know girls stretched in like guys stretch out.

Her legs wrapped around my waist and everything tilted and I slid way inside, so far I could feel the end of her and she was amazing tight. It was … nothing can explain how good this is. If I pinched her nipples, she clenched around me. It made me crazy. Made her crazy.

And it was all great because she showed me what she wanted and how and all the years of worrying what the fuck I’d ever do for some girl who obviously thought I was a sex god when I was just a guy like any guy and how I’d disappoint her, that all went away.

I swear, for that one day I was in love with Ellie Janes.

Anyway. I fucked her. I mean, you know, nice. Hard, but nice. And she liked it. And then at one point she put her hand between us and got herself off while I was inside her and I just exploded in her again.

It was so cool she did that. She used me, you know?  Just like I used her feet. It kinda made me feel like I was what all the girls thought I was.

We kept thanking each other. It was bizarre and perfect. We took a shower and raided the freezer and had pizza rolls and really did watch TV.  She kept playing with my balls with her toes. So, yeah, we very definitely did it again.

What Ellie really gave me, well, she gave me a lot, but mostly she made me feel like I wasn’t a freak.

Now I just tell women I have a thing for feet. Some are ok with it, some aren’t. Assistant District Attorney Natalie Denholm is. If I’m against her in a courtroom, she’ll wear a pair of those heels to distract me. Ones I’ve seen when we’re alone.

She likes to start naked but with a garter belt on. Stockings. Heels that make me want to crawl on my belly just to lick them. I have to get her off with whatever toy she hands me before she’ll let me take the heels off. Then the stockings. After a while. After an orgasm or two. Hers, not mine.  She likes to Domme. It’s all good with me.

Sex with smart girls. The best.

Interviewing Addi:


Can you tell us a bit about yourself and your writing?
I’m an overeducated ex-hippie chick who ended up on the cops. I did a lot of things, but I always wrote. For money and for free.

How long have you been writing for, and what inspired you to start writing?
I was 8 years old when I wrote my first poem and book. The book was plagiarized! (Anna Sewell’s Black Beauty.) I write because I can’t figure out how not to. I once heard it called “the midnight disease.” The thing that has you scribbling away when you should be asleep because whatever is in your head won’t wait.

Can you tell us about your new release? What inspired you to write it?
Dancing Men is the 3rd in the Hunt and Cam 4Ever series that started with the short storyOn His Knees. Dancing the second police procedural murder mystery following Matchstick Men. Hunter Dane, bisexual switch and homicide detective teams up with Camden Snow, extreme Dom and Olympic champion, to solve a murder at the natural history museum involving a fresh body in a 3000-year old burial urn.

They also negotiate their relationship after the mess left at the end of Matchstick. I made sure to include quite enough backstory for this book to be read stand-alone. Most of my readers will be shouting “NO! Go back and read the first two!” But I promise, it’s not necessary.

New readers should know that the sex is explicit. I don’t think it’s dark, but it is at times pretty intense.

How did you come up with the title? 
It’s the title of a classic Sherlock Holmes story and originally, I’d intended to use elements from that story in this one. But—since I’m actually not in control here, the boys are—that went by the wayside. In this book, “Dancing” refers to the state of Hunt and Cam’s relationship. I don’t really write romance, I write love stories. And love can be incredibly challenging.

What was the hardest part of writing your book?
The multi-generational nature of the story. It’s all set in November of 2016, but to understand how things happened, they had to go back to the origin of the urn – who found it and how it got to America. It’s not a simple whodunnit, it’s twisty and turny and … okay, to me it’s all fascinating, but I’m a nerd girl, yanno? Still, a lot of readers seem to enjoy it.

Why M/M?
Hunter made me. He was a character in Desire for Bliss, an m/f bdsm, billionaire romance novel. It had a bit of mystery, also. Detective Sergeant Hunter Dane was introduced there. I wrote a series of short stories about peripheral characters in the Desire for … books. I knew Hunter was a Dom/sub switch and was going to write femdom.

I literally, in the old meaning of the word, had no idea it was going to be m/m until he got to the club and announced he was looking for Camden Snow. Who? Oh, man – a full metal Dom. They took me for a wild ride.

Are there any characters that you write, that are based on you, or people you know?
Sorta-kinda, but not really. The BDSM club Scene and Not Heard is based on a real place. Hunt and Cam are both physically based on real men I knew. But who they are, their complex personalities, I’m not sure where all that came from. I do use real people for peripheral characters, quite often, just for the physicality and voice, the cadence of speech.

Do you have a favourite character and/or book you’ve written? 
No. That’s like asking which of my children I love the most. I really like almost all my characters. They are so interesting and flawed and strong and wonderful. I write from 10 to 14 hours a day so they have to be people I enjoy spending time with.

Are there people in your life that annoy you, and you write into your books?
No. That would be bringing my personal life and feelings into the story. The stories belong to the characters. And they’d never let me get away with that. Hunter’s over here rolling his eyes at just the idea of it.

Do you write often? Is it on a schedule, or whenever you feel like it?
It’s my job. I get up, get dressed, get my coffee and go to work. But unlike a regular job, I take breaks as I wish, which is mostly about getting laundry done.

What are your writing goals for 2018?
I’m going to bring the different elements and characters in the RiverHart universe, including Hunt and Cam, together in the last Desire for … novel. I want to bridge the divide between m/f and m/m so all the characters move freely in and out of the stories.

I’d like to write more titles, get the Hunter Dane Investigation novels down to a standard 50k-ish. Write more relationship stories about other characters as well as Hunt and Cam.