Sunday, March 23, 2008

Deer Run Falls - art

Yes, my first cover. No release date yet but I am in edits. So, coming soon from Liquid Silver Books - Deer Run Falls by Roscoe James.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

And now we take a break for our sponsors!

Gone for a week. R and R. See ya all Sunday or Monday. Thanks and have fun.

Other Worlds - Something new for me.

As the result of a Flash Sunday I recently participated in at I became interested in a different type of story. Here's a sample. Let me know what you think. This is a whole new genre for me and feedback would be helpful.

No working title yet - Copyright @ Roscoe James - 2008

Chapter 1

He’d seen her several times on the 3-D. But this was different. This was in person. The Ambassador from the oppressed Meline system was more humanoid than he’d expected and finding her standing in nothing more than a Champaign colored body veil and soft fur speaking with the United News Service reporter was a little disconcerting.

He’d been told she was Pyramese and her svelte build, small breasts and slightly crossed eyes confirmed that.

He understood immediately what his Lieutenant had explained. You couldn’t look at them without wanting to pet; an insult they didn’t take lightly.

Some assignments are hard, others just damned near impossible.

“Ooooooohhhh, aaaand youuuuu muuuuust beeee myyyyy escoooooorrrt.”

He jumped when he realized she was addressing him and stifled a smile when her hand covered her mouth as if she’d hiccupped.

Each word came out in a purr and he recalled something else his Lieutenant had told him, “Don’t get too close, son. Their purr is their deadliest weapon. If their chest is actually touching yours, they can resonate it to your heartbeat and stop it cold.”

He jerked his MR280 up as if the thing could block sound, found his voice, and answered, “Yes, Madame Ambassador, I am. Sergeant Hillsborough at your service, Ma’am.”

“Weeeeeelll, Seeeergeant Hillllllllsborough, youuuuuuu’lllll dooooo niiiiiicccely.”

He gulped.

Her hand came up again and her light blue eyes were as big as saucers.

When she continued to purr softly his eyes involuntarily dropped to her chest. This time he did chuckle. Her small breasts, the tips as white as the rest of her skin, looked completely innocuous. While inviting, he didn’t think they could kill.

When she reached out to hug, the traditional Meline greeting, he almost blew it. A UNS headline flashed in his brain – ‘No Hug Threatens Corporation Meline Peace – and he relented.

Her head nestled into his chest, her small breasts pressed into his hard stomach and he felt it for the first time. It was overpowering. His jaw felt heavy and he couldn’t believe it when his cock stirred.

In a move of self-preservation his free hand came up and pushed her away. He regretted it immediately when her retreating form seemed to suck the strength out of him.

“Oooooooohhh, Iiiii’mm sooooo soooorrry. Iiiiii diiiiiidddn’t meeeeaan toooooo,” and he watched, spellbound, when the white skin of her cheeks flushed … chocolate brown?

“Ah, that’s okay, Ma’am.” Well, he hoped it was okay. His stomach still felt weird.

Stepping away, her fingers graced his chin, the purring became louder and she was smiling, her slightly crossed eyes fixing him firmly.

“Iiii beeelieeeeve youuuu aaaaaaaarre toooo seeeeeee toooo myyyy saaaaafetyyy. Iiiisss thaaaat cooooooorrrrrect?”

She stepped away quickly and he immediately felt a wave of emptiness wash over him.

When Blake Crenshaw stepped into view banishing the haze she’d left his mind in he realized exactly how reckless he’d been. His job was to keep the ambassador safe and that included knowing who was getting close enough to do harm even if it was a corporation member. Less than five minutes and he’d already blown it.

“Madame Ambassador,” and Blake’s hand came out and he watched the Ambassador, countenance frosty, rest hers on top.

“Mr. Crenshaw.”

Hell you say. Where’d the purr go? Taking a step back he was immediately on guard.

“You do us great honor,” Blake’s words dripped with an undercurrent of sarcasm and he recalled why he thought the Diplomatic corpse was full of pantywaists.

“Oh, but not as great as the United Corporation shows the Meline,” her contempt palpable.

He tuned it out and scanned the arriving area. Then his eyes were drawn back to the Ambassador’s shimmering form.

Was it her skin? Her coat? Fur? He was having trouble wrapping his head around what to call it other than beautiful. An odd mix of bare milky white skin and small ridges of fur that begged to be touched. A shimmer each time she moved spoke of tipping. She was turned out in full diplomatic regalia.

“As you know, Madame Ambassador, the Director regrets he’s unable to receive you this afternoon. Especially given the urgent nature of the… ah, situation…”

She was already so mad her body trembled when she interrupted, “With all due respect, Mr. Crenshaw, your Director, and your people, have no idea just how serious the situation, as you call it, really is!”

Her anger did something to him. Something he could neither define nor control and, without thinking, the MR280 came up to ready-one and his finger curled lightly around the trigger.

He watched Blake raise his hand, palm flat in a sign of surrender offering it to the Ambassador and he had to stifle an urge to step between them.

“But, Madame Ambassador, let’s not exagera…”

When she leaned close, her nostrils flaring, he felt a pull in his chest and, without thinking, slid the MR280 along his chest to his side until the muzzle was pointing at Blake’s head. Realizing what he’d done, he jerked it back and tried to stifle his feelings.

It came out in a guttural sound, almost a growl, “And I bet you still believe in… Wait, what do you call him?”

Blake, mirroring her stance, face shoved close, was turning red.

“Oh, yes, I recall now,” her voice was lilting when she mocked, “Santa Clause! Yes, that’s it. Santa Clause, Mr. Crenshaw!”

Who is this woman? Wait, he corrected, this Meline? Such fire and spirit. Afraid of nothing and no one.

Suddenly frosty, Blake answered with, “Well, the Director will be sorry to hear of our inadequacy and, if it pleases the Madame Ambassador, let me offer my apologies.”

“What I’d really like, Mr. Crenshaw, is an immediate audience with the Director, which I’m sure could be arranged if he really put his mind to it.”

He almost laughed out loud when Blake’s Adams apple bobbed with discomfort. Damn, this lady is my hero.

“Well, I must apologize again, Madame Ambassador. That simply isn’t possible this evening. But I can assure you tomorrow’s meeting following the board meeting is firm.”

It resolved into a less than polite stare down which Blake lost when he rushed to add, “And I hope this small disagreement doesn’t hinder your presence this evening at the Corporate dinner. I mean, it is in your honor.”

Her response was frosty, “Why of course I’ll be there, Mr. Crenshaw. How on earth could I dare not show up and risk the wrath of the mighty Director and his people.”

He watched Blake’s smarmy smile fade and smiled himself as the twerps back receded in retreat.

“Asshole,” he mumbled.

And she was on the move. Such grace, he thought and, with a start, he realized she had a tail. No, not a tail. A fall of platinum colored hair that matched the mane on her head. It fell from the base of her spine and snapped around her ankles covering her… haunches? Her ass? He didn’t know but the soft swishing with each step was mesmerizing.

“Coooooome aaaaalllooooooonge,” she purred.

His mouth snapped shut and he fell in behind the Madame Ambassador from the Meline system and wanted to purr himself.

A steward pushing a cart of luggage fell in and he guessed they were going to the Ambassador’s suit. He knew she was here to plead for the United Corporation’s help in turning away escalating aggressions on her home planet from the Zandill.

He also knew that the UC putting her off until tomorrow was a diplomatic slap in the face. As a fighting man, he knew exactly how urgent matters of war could be and, at some level, shared her rage.

This time, when it drifted back, he hoped no one was looking while he breathed deep and reveled in it. It was dry and almost dusty; sweet and musky with something like a texture he thought he could touch. Her fragrance was driving him crazy. When his cock stirred and his palms started sweating, he let her get a few steps ahead hoping he could get control of himself.

When she paused at the door to her suit and raised her hand to press on the imprint plate to open it he stopped more than a respectful distance away and swallowed nervously.

The flash of her eyes and a smile drew him and he shifted nervously pressing back against the opposite wall of the corridor while the steward pushed past with her luggage.

“Iiiiiiiii woooooouuld liiiike toooo speeeeak wiiiiiith yoooou, seeeeeargeeaant.” He noticed her expression, disconcerted embarrassment, but her inviting smile held firm.

Her soft purr started at the base of his spine and crawled up to spread out across his back. It was really starting to piss him off.

He hadn’t wondered why he’d been given the assignment. He was a fuck up and he knew it. He not only knew it, he wore it like a badge and flaunted it in their faces every chance he got. And at twenty-eight, after ten years in the corps, diplomatic detail on a home station was about as far down as you could be knocked.

Everyone knew they were in one of the safest places in galaxy. The Chairman’s flagship – UC-1 was the last place in the galaxy anyone would try and start something. His presence was just for show. The fact a protection detail wasn’t assigned and it was just him said even more. Another slap in the face to the Meline people.

He’d made it to Lieutenant and started his tumble after that little incident. Well, he still thought punching a Corporation Section Chief in the nose on Handrec was a small incident. Even Radd, his lieutenant, liked to laugh about it.

And, he decided, he may be the platoon fuck up but he wasn’t stupid. Other world Ambassador’s didn’t speak with underlings like himself. They gave them orders. Normally barked through interpreters. He really didn’t think, given the way his body reacted every time she got close, he should be speaking with the Madame Ambassador.

He breathed a sigh of relief when she followed the steward through the door leaving him to stare at a blank wall.

When the steward came out and the Ambassador appeared behind him and purred, “Iiiiii saaaaaiid weeeee muuuusssstt speeeaak.”

He dry swallowed, cradled his assault rifle, and openly regarded her incredulously. She stared back, a faint smile on her lips, her powder blue irises closed in tight slits.

“Well, ma’am, I’m not…”

The smile disappeared, “No, I’m sure you’re not.”

What the hell did she mean by that? “Look, Madame…”

And she was gone, the door slid shut and he was left to count the five red stars on the door that signified diplomatic housing.

“What the fuck?”

With a grunt he turned on his heel and, as only a true fuck-up could, fucked up again by abandoning his post in a huff.


She was in a rage when her handmaiden came out of the cleaning room to find her pacing at the foot of the bed muttering in Meline.

“How could he? I mean,” and she looked at the poor confused handmaiden for confirmation, “I’m a princess, am I not?”

There was no opportunity to answer.

“I mean, it was only an invitation to speak! Who does this male, this human no less, think he is anyway?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, Peenzan. What human would that be?”

Stopping in the middle of the room she raised her hand and pointed accusingly to some indiscernible point beyond the bedroom walls, “That… that… that…”

“Should I find your mother, the Queen?”

“Arghhhhh. No. Yes!”

When Pran pulled her communicator from a sleeve where her hands were hidden, Peenzan ran and grabbed it from her, “No! No! I can’t call her. It can’t be true. It’s just some… some… it’s the trip! That’s it! The trip,” and she started pacing again. “yes, Pran, it’s the troubles at home and the long voyage to get here!”

Pran crossed her arms on top of the billowy silk robe bearing the Meline royal crest she wore, cocked her head to one side, and, dripping sarcasm, said, “Oh yeah, I believe that.”

When her mistress kept pacing she added, “Let’s see, the beam to get us here lasted all of two seconds. You must mean all that time I spent with the servants gathering your things together and preparing for the trip. You know, while you were out with Mazzatt dancing the blue moon into the ground.”

Grabbing double hands full of silk royal robe, Peenzan, wild-eyed and agitated, practically groaned in pain screaming in Pran’s face, “But it can’t be! How, in the name of Bast could this be? How, in all the wicked fates served up, could she do this to me?”

Pran was becoming more than a little alarmed. What on Meline could the goddess Bast have done to her mistress?


“How on Meline am I supposed to save our people if… if…”


She watched her mistress, in a fit, tear the sheer vale off her shoulders and try to throw the wispy material to the floor. Her hand came to her mouth when she saw the ridge of silky fur standing along Peenzan’s spine.

“Call my mother! Now!” Peenzan growled and disappeared into the cleaning room.


Yes, grinning at the snifter of blue liquid, nothing like off world booze to get a man, a human he amended, high as a fucking kite. And this was his third.

What the hell happened? He still couldn’t figure it out. It must be the perfume. Yeah, that’s it. Some Meline something or other that puts humans in a state.

He could still see the fire in her eyes, the flare of her nostrils, the swish of her… shit, she has a tail!

“So, off duty early I see.”

He downed his snifter of blue liquid and shoved it toward the bartender. With a sideways glance at Radd, he grunted and went back to his thoughts.

Yeah, you couldn’t see them without wanting to pet them. And he sorely wanted to pet this one. Damn!

“Tough day at the office?”

Picking up the snifter he sort of pointed in the general direction of his lieutenant and ordered another. Looking around the dark lounge to make sure it was corps and diplomat free he tried to invite Radd to join him, “U otta ave un,” and he swayed dangerously, his finger poking at the air before finishing with a goofy grin, “…ieutenant!”

The lieutenant picked up his snifter and, with a sigh of resignation, tipped his sergeant’s glass.

“U know, …ieutenant, u was right!”

“How’s that, Hill?”

“’ell,” and he nearly fell off his barstool, “you, sure can’t ‘ook at em without ‘anting to, well, you know,” and he leaned close and whispered conspiratorially, “You know, ieutenant! Pet em! Yeah, that Ambassador lady sure is one fine pusssssssycat!”

This time, when he started laughing, he did fall off his stool.


He couldn’t figure out where he was at first. Then he got it and jumped up, his boots soggy and his uniform soaked.

“What the hell?”

Then it hit him. It was like a Marjing mind worm drilling through the middle of his brain. He thought it would split like an egg any second.

“So, sunshine, you back with us?”

He wanted to speak but every time he opened his mouth he had this overwhelming desire to spew his guts.

“That’s okay, this too shale pass.”

Shoving his head under the cold spray he seriously doubted the Lieutenant knew what the hell he was talking about.

“I gave you a sober-up.”

That explained that. How many damned drinks did I have?

“Oh, and one more thing, Hill.”

He looked out between his fingers.

“The next time I have to drag your sorry ass back from a bar when you’re on duty, I’ll post you so far out in the Blue system you’ll be sleeping with a light bulb just to keep your gonads from freezing off!”

When the lieutenant left he started pulling his wet uniform off and scowled when he dumped a cup of water out of each of his boots.

“Damn,” he muttered.

“What’s that?” the Lieutenant yelled from his office.

“Nothin’, Lieutenant.”

“Stop mumblin’ and report to duty, seargent!”

“Fuck,” he mumbled.

“What did you say?”

“Nothin’, Lieutenant! Double time, Lieutenant! I’ll be right there, Lieutenant!”

And to top it all off he could still smell her! And his damned cock just wouldn’t settle! What the hell has this she-cat done to me?

Grabbing a towel he wrapped it around his waist letting the tuck hang in front to try and hide the state of his cock and reported to the Lieutenant’s office.

“Sorry, Lieutenant. I can explain, Lieutenant. I just…”

When he ran out of the steam Radd prodded, “Well this ought’a be good. Great, explain away!”

“Well, Lieutenant. I reported for duty. The detail, I mean, and well, then I, well… and then we… I mean the Ambassador, well, then she wanted to… well…and she purred, well…”

“Right,” Radd boomed shutting him up. “Look, Hill, I don’t want to know what happened,” and, given the state of his stomach, Hill was sure he was going to spew right on top of Radd’s desk. “All I know is that the Ambassador has requested your presence for tonight’s Company dinner.”

That was the last thing he wanted, “But, Lieutenant…”

“Do I look like an asshole to you, sergeant?”

Damn, it had been a long time since he’d seen Radd so mad.

“Ah, no,” he said then rushed to add, “Sir!”

“Then don’t butt me, sergeant! Now, you got your orders. Report to the Ambassador’s suit at 2100!”

When he didn’t respond the Lieutenant bellowed, “I can’t hear you!”

“Sir, yes sir!” His hand came up in a sharp salute and he spun on the balls of his bare feet to leave.

He was contemplating the current climactic conditions in the Blue system when Radd barked, “Oh, and dress whites with full diplomatic sash!”

His mouth fell open and he nearly stumbled headfirst into the door frame making his exit.


“This is ridiculous!”

How could this be? It’s unheard of. It hasn’t happened for more than two millennium. How can you do this to me Bast?

Pran smiled wickedly, “Ah, but it is the Queen’s order. You must.”

Turning in a fit of rage she said, “She’s my mother! And I’m old enough to decide these things for myself. She told me so.”

“Then why are you doing so much preening for a Corporation dinner you don’t even want to go to with a man, as in hu--man, you have spent the entire afternoon cursing Bast for sending to you?”

She pulled the thin feather beneath her eye and, forgetting herself, smiled at the results. Just as quickly, she frowned and whined sarcastically, “Well, you’ve been a lot of help.”

With a petulant smirk she watched Pran sulk and went back to fixing her face.

She tried to remember. It had been over two thousand years ago. Somewhere in the family line. Or, more importantly, the royal line. It had been before the humans had even left their planet, much less their solar system. In some place they called Egypt. She couldn’t recall the whole story and made a note to ask her mother.

When Pran poked her in the side she jumped, “What was that for?”

Pran smiled sheepishly, “You were purring.”

“I was not!”

“I heard you, Princess!”

“You did not!” but she knew she had been.

They stared at each other until they both burst into giggles.

Bending back to the mirror, Peenzan admitted, “I was, wasn’t I?”

Her hand came up to her mouth and she nearly shouted, “I did it today too!”

“In public! No!”

“I couldn’t help it. As soon as I smelled him it just happened.”

“Oh my Bast! Did anyone hear you?”

Her face was blank for a beat then she burst into more giggling, “He did!”

Pran ran up and grabbed her arm, “No! He can’t have!”

She felt the blush, “And I leaned into him and...”

“No! In public? What did he do?”

Turning back to the mirror she whispered, “I think I scared him to death.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

She didn’t answer and cursed when she realized she was purring again.

And why now, she wondered, dusting her face with flecks of gold. And why couldn’t it have been Mazzatt? She felt unsettled when his name, one that had always sent a rush through her, no longer had a magic sound to it. Mazzatt. She whispered it out loud, “Mazzatt,” and felt sorry for him.

They’d all been so sure. Even her mother. It was just a matter of time, she’d said. It will happen soon.

Well, she said to herself wickedly, guess what mom, it happened.

When she stepped from the cleaning room she found a full length gown of translucent mijon silk from the Blue system with gold edging lying on her bed.

Pran carried gold slippers with heels high enough to give her a nose bleed in one hand and the Meline state sash in the other.

“Oh, I hate that thing,” pointing at the sash, “I don’t see why I have to wear it.”

“Try to keep in mind that this is a state dinner with the United Corporation and you are here to save our people, my princess.”

She sulked some more fingering the luscious edge of the gown.

When they both heard a light rap on the door she jumped and Pran ran to her side and whispered, “And not some first date with Mr. Right.”


Pran ran back and whispered, “It’s your second.”

When she ran out giggling Peenzan scowled and started dressing.


Aside from feeling stupid he felt more than a little trepidation as he stood staring at the five red stars on her suit door.

What the hell is wrong with me? His palms felt wet in his white dress gloves and he had his dress saber pulled so far to the front of his black slacks to hide his half hard cock he was almost out of regulation.

At 6’8” and two-hundred-and-sixty pounds he was nothing more and nothing less than a finely tuned fighting machine trained to stare down the deadliest of threats no matter what solar system or planet they came from. It’s one of the reasons Diplomatic duty was such an insult to him. Running around in red silk sashes and sabers, tipping fine crystal with the pantywaists that ran the Corporation, was not what he’d had in mind when he’d signed up for the deadliest fighting force in the galaxy.

He cursed himself again as he stood, his thigh quivering beneath his slacks, waiting for someone to open the damn door. Just as he raised his knuckles a second time it slid open.

“Good evening. I’m sergeant Hillsborough, here for the Madame Ambassador.”

When the young woman stood, mouth open, and said nothing, he added, “I believe I’m expected.”

“Oh! Right, come in.”

He had no idea what had just been said. Must be her native tongue. You would think an Ambassador would have multilingual help. But given her step to the side and sweeping hand he decided it was an invitation and strode into the main reception room of the huge suit.

When, eyes as big as saucers, she spoke a second time in the same strange language and disappeared down a hallway still muttering he pulled on his starched collar and fell into parade rest staring at a lavish painting of a Meline that looked surprisingly like the Madame Ambassador.


“Oh my Bast! I forgot to speak his language! Twice!”

Peenzan inspected her nails and smiled wistfully.

Pran insisted, “You can’t!”

“What on Meline are you talking about, Pran?” Turning she pointed at her back and Pran pulled up the two wide falls of cloth from her side and, pulling them behind her princess, tied them into a six sided knot that represented the hallan flower on their home planet.

Fluffing the long strands out over Peenzan’s back fall that was still showing beneath her gown, Pran explained excitedly, “He’ll crush you! He’s huge! He’s a walking wall!”

She flushed at the thought and fanned her neck with her open palm. Yes, he is huge isn’t he?

“Don’t be silly, Pran.”

“I mean it, Princess; we must call your mother at once!”

Standing in front of the tall mirror she inspected the front of her dress noting the small line of soft champagne colored hair that ran delicately between her breasts in a ridge to stop at the nape of her neck. Turning to her side she inspected Pran’s work and smiled with satisfaction.

When she looked up she jumped to grab the communicator from Pran and threw it on the bed, “What are you doing?”

“I swear, Princess, it isn’t physically possible! We must stop this right now! He will kill you!”

She fixed her handmaiden with a benevolent smile and said, “Well, Pran, if that is how I am to die, if that is Bast’s will, then so be it.”

“Forgive me, Princess, but you are completely mad.”

“I know,” her inflection was gentle, a soft lilt, “mad in love. Now please, Pran, bring me the sash and send me out to meet my executioner.”

Pran swatted her princess on the shoulder, “And stop purring!”

She brought her hand to her chest and blushed.

“Stark raving mad,” and Pran shook her head as she complied.


Crenshaw sat waiting for the Chairman to speak first. He watched impassively as another leather bound document was signed, sealed, and carried away by the Chairman’s assistant.

“So, Blake. Is everything in place?”

“Yes, it is, Mr. Chairman.”

“And how will it happen?” and the Chairman picked up a cup of coffee before adding, “Or do I want to know?”

It was a task like any other. One of hundreds he’d performed for the current board of directors. There’d been a proposition, a vote and a resolution. And he was the go to man that would make sure that resolution was carried out. He had no idea why the Meline had been earmarked for eradication and, frankly, he didn’t care. His only concern was how to make it happen.

“Well, Mr. Chairman, without going into all the details I’ll give you the high points. You may recall Lieutenant Hillsborough.”

“Right. Some incident. Wasn’t he demoted?”

“Yes, he was. It’s now sergeant Hillsborough. Well, he’s been assigned as the Ambassador’s personal protector while on the station. That should give us credible deniability when the time comes. We’ll just blame it all on him.”

“That’s too bad. I knew his father. Good man.”

“Well, it’s a small sacrifice for the good of the Corporation. Or so I thought.”

He watched the Chairman take another sip of coffee and run his finger through the small silver plate of Rangdon spice, an officially illegal substance that, as always happened, meant it was actually reserved for the rich and powerful.

“Right you are, Blake,” the Chairman said smacking his lips, his eyes going blank for a beat.

“And I’ve arranged things for this evening at the Corporate dinner.”

“Very good, Blake. At least I won’t have to listen to her whining tomorrow.”

Blake watched the Chairman’s finger return for a second dip and wanted to leave. How on earth, or anyplace else in the galaxy, could such a disgusting man rise to such a great place of power?

Pushing up from his chair he asked, “I assume you don’t really want to know exactly how it will happen.”

The Chairman’s face was a blank, his eyes vacant, his finger still stuck in his mouth where he sucked like a babe in mother’s arms.

When no answer came Crenshaw retreated quietly from the Chairman’s office and pulled the door closed with a soft click. Turning to the Chairman’s assistant, he said, “He asked not to be disturbed for at least an hour.”


No matter how much resolve he’d mustered standing in the middle of the room staring at the painting, no matter how many times he’d reminded himself of his calling and the fact many men and creatures had died in his bare hands, his knees almost gave way when she swept into the room.

“Iiiiiiiiii’m sooooooo soooooorrrry, seeeergeaaant.”

He didn’t think to smile until the same young woman that had greeted him at the door stepped close to the Madame Ambassador and whispered something in her ear.

He almost laughed instead of smiling at the reaction the whispered words brought when the Madame Ambassador balled her fist, hit her chest and coughed.

He knew the protocol but, oddly, it wasn’t needed as the compliment rolled off his tongue, “Madame Ambassador, you are lovely this evening.”

“Iiiiiiiiii….” And he watched the fist come up again and listened to another cough.

His concern was real when he asked, “Are you all right? Did a doctor come with you? Should I call one?”

She blushed.

His knees trembled.

She smiled.

He cursed himself.

“Noooo…,” one last cough and she finally said something, “Thank you for your concern, sergeant. How nice of you. I think it may be the air. I keep getting something caught in my chest, ah, throat. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

She was a vision. Her body shimmered softly beneath her white gown and her pale blue eyes smiled. Noting how hard his heart was pounding he cleared his own throat, stepped forward and raised his arm, saying, “Yes, you may be right. My chest has felt funny all day.”

As they left he noticed the young woman had started giggling and wondered if there was a rip in the back of his trousers somewhere.


She tried it again. Yes, the purring subsided. Swallowing definitely seemed to help. Why didn’t her mother explain these things to her?

His arm is so big. It feels like a tree. Her thoughts immediately went to another part of his anatomy and she squelched another purring fit. Oh my, what if he really does kill me?

“This is the entrance. I believe you’re supposed to enter alone as the representative of your world.”

She clutched his arm and hesitated. His voice was soft and gentle, not at all what one might expect from such a big being. And she didn’t want to let go. It felt so good. She felt so good. And safe.

Then another voice invaded, one she’d just as soon forget.

“That’s alright, sergeant, I believe that as the senior diplomatic officer present, the Madame Ambassador would enter on my arm. You will enter through that door there,” and she watched Mr. Crenshaw raise his hand and point, “and find your place and be seated.”

She felt dizzy as the tree she’d been clinging to disappeared and was replaced by a mere branch. Looking around quickly, she managed to catch his eye and smiled. She felt her purring start again when he smiled back crookedly. Swallowing hard she looked ahead and stepped into the room on Crenshaw’s arm.

A small fanfare from an orchestra at the front of the room, talking stopped, and she was announced by an odd looking man with a long gold staff that he beat repeatedly against the floor.

“The Madame Ambassador Princess Peenzan Fanston of the planet Meline!”

As Crenshaw dragged her to the center of the room she searched the crowd on her right for her tree. She finally found him walking along the wall, his head well above everyone else, and she felt her chest flutter when she saw him smile yet again.

More swallowing and she smiled at the crowd of onlookers when Crenshaw abandoned her in the center of the room under a spotlight so she could present her formal greeting.


He wanted someone to punch him in the nose and wake him up. He was sure this was a bad dream and all he had to do was take a cold shower and it would all go away. Of course, he thought, I’ve already done that and it didn’t work.

It has to be something in her perfume and he made a mental note to check with germ warfare in R&D the next day and see what they could tell him about the Meline.

Her gentle fragrance persisted as, never taking his eyes off her; he found her place card and took up station behind her chair.

Like a guilty child he visibly cringed when he recalled his real duty and quickly scanned the crowd, the waiters and the perimeter of the room for any visible threat to the Madame Ambassador. No. Peenzan. And he whispered it, “Peenzan.”

He huffed when he realized his mind had locked up again.

The light made her dress completely transparent and he cursed his cock as his scan of the room was interrupted once more while he stared.

Her legs were beautiful and, he noted with a man’s eye, very very long. Her shoulders were as broad as her hips and her oval face intelligent and noble. Well, except for the little wisps of Champaign colored fur that outlined her cheeks and faded into sideburns that disappeared into platinum hair that was pulled up tightly on top of her head where it fell down her back in silky ringlets. A true vision of beauty.

When he caught himself reaching for her he pulled his hand back to his side and looked quickly at the people standing around him to see if he’d been caught. Dammit all to hell! What has she done to me?

The crowded room burst into applause and he tugged at the collar of his dress shirt once more. What the hell happened to the air-conditioning in this place? It’s hot as hell in here.

And there she was. Smiling. His chest puffed when he realized her eyes were searching for him.

And then Crenshaw appeared at her side and he had a sudden urge to pull his dress saber from its sheath and see how sharp it was.

Pulling her chair away from the ornately set table, he smiled and marveled as the Madame Ambassador sat, her shoulder brushing his fingers as he pushed forward.

“Thank you, sergeant. How thoughtful.”

Sitting on her right he pulled the linen napkin into his lap and cursed himself again when he saw his hand shake.

“So, Madame Ambassador, I hope your stay has been pleasant,” Crenshaw managed to make even small talk sound like a sarcastic barb.

He caught a flash of anger in the Ambassador’s eyes before she looked away to answer.

Something’s wrong. He was sure of it. His hands shook, his knees trembled like an old woman’s, he felt flushed and he was sure his brow was sweating. As much as the thought bothered him, which bothered him even more, he was going to have to leave and report to the infirmary.

Resolve set in and, pushing on his knees to stand, he leaned toward the Ambassador, a mistake in itself, and whispered, “I must apologize, Madame Ambassador, but I’m not feeling quite myself. I think I should go find a doctor.”

It was overwhelming and he thought he’d pass out. The warm musky smell behind her ear nearly did him in.

Her smile and concern were both genuine when she disengaged Crenshaw and turned on him to whisper urgently, “Please, sergeant. I think I can explain if you’ll please sit back down.”

Her hand fell gently, soothingly, on his and it wasn’t a question of willingness. It was a question of not breaking the finely carved piece of wooden furniture when he fell back with a grunt into his chair.

He felt dizzy and tried to clear the cobwebs while, her hand still resting on his, she turned back to Crenshaw and continued to speak. The chatter in the room had turned to an annoying roar and he noted something green had been put into his soup dish.

He was unable to follow the conversation and had no idea why. He could only discern that the Madame Ambassador was not only angry, she was pissed as hell.

Music began and he slumped back into his chair and tried to stop the spinning. The word poison floated to the top of what little consciousness he still clung to and he struggled to sit up straight.

Her face appeared in the haze the room had become and he heard, “Be still, my darling. I will make it well soon.”

My darling? She will make it well? A part of him struggled to gain his freedom from the small delicate hand that, still resting on his, seemed to have penned him to his chair.

Another part smiled and felt comforted.

His last coherent thought was, “Death by she-cat,” and he engaged in a very uncorpsly and unmanly activity. He tried to stop it. The struggle became the center of his universe but no matter how hard he tried he could not stop giggling.



What am I to do with you? She looked at her tree propped in the doorway of her suit, his black dress uniform askew, a crooked grin on his face and his cock raging in his slacks. Oh, my Bast!


She couldn’t help it. There was no way to stop the purring and it was entirely too pleasant to worry about anyway.


“You have to help me. Be quick. We must get him inside before Crenshaw discovers I’ve left the dinner.”

“But what have you done, Peenzan? What are we to…” Pran stopped and stared.

“Yeeeeeessss,” she purred contentedly, “Isn’t it amazing?”

The entire time Pran pulled and prodded the giant she protested, “But, Princess, it will kill you! It isn’t physically possible!”

She swallowed several times and shot back, “Nonsense, Pran. We’re all made the same. I’m not made any different,” and she rethought that, “well, much different from the women of his own planet.”

They both watched the sergeant stagger along mumbling.

She pulled on his big hand while Pran went back to close and lock the suit door.

“Oh,” and he smiled. “there you are.”

“Yes, my darling. I’m right here. But you must follow me. You must keep walking.”

When one of his hands came up to trap her she ducked and giggled, “Praaaaaannnnn!”

“You must stop purring! It only makes it worse!”

She swallowed and managed, “I know. You’re right. Let me go prepare and you bring him to me.”

Monday, March 17, 2008

Poetry Train Monday

Okay, not a finished work. Something I'm working on for a project. Thought I throw it out there.

Copyright @ Roscoe James 2008

A little bit you
A little bit me
A little bit love
A little bit we

A little bit time
A little bit place
A little bit us
A little bit space

Like a river we will run
Like a song we will be sung
Like a bell that must be rung
Like a morning in the sun

A kiss on my lips
A touch on my cheek
A sigh in my ear
I hope it’s for keeps

A little bit you
A little bit me
A little bit love
A little bit we

A little bit time
A little bit place
A little bit us
A little bit space

Thursday, March 13, 2008

More Great News!

The White Swan - second in the Mississippi River Tales series - has been picked up by LSB. Just thought I'd let everyone know. More later.

Sunday, March 2, 2008

Volcano Watch

A sunrise from my balcony a few weeks back. This is an active volcano about 30 miles (as the crow flies) south and east of Mexico City.