Black Leather and Biker Babes – from One Night in Daytona Beach by Dellani

ABC ChallengeLong, dangerous legs, an ass that wouldn’t quit, lush curves clad in skimpy black leather, flaming red hair wafted on the breeze while the rumble of a thousand Harleys filled the air. He couldn’t draw his eyes from the gorgeous redhead, whose hair reminded him of the flames on the side of his bike. Heavy metal music thrummed from gigantic speakers, banging and echoing from the sides of the nearby condos. Cameras snapped, his included, as she draped herself over the motorcycles being raffled off for charity. The line to register wound around the parking lot.

“I’d like to rev her engine,” one man said as he stuffed his tickets into his wallet.

“Full throttle,” the man next to him laughed loudly at their joke.

Every man there was thinking the same thing, which was the entire point of having a sexy, long legged woman straddling the chrome studded leather seat. Leaning on the handle bars, she rocked back, her chest to the sky as she arched her spine. With a quick swing of her legs, she did a shoulder stand on the seat, then lowered her feet with agonizing slowness so that the toes of her high heeled boots pointed directly at the patch of stretched black leather between her thighs.

Draven nearly dropped his phone. The man next to him let his cup of beer slide from his numb fingers. Every man in the line eyed her with fascination. Though disgusted with the behavior of the men, the women couldn’t help but stare too. They were amazed that anyone could do such antics on a motorcycle. The music continued to thrum and pound at them as they watched her routine. In a fleeting moment of coherence, Draven recognized it as Killing Strangers by Marilyn Manson. She was certainly slaying every man in the place with her sexy routine.

“Hey, buddy, your turn!” the man at the cash register called, snapping his fingers.

Draven stumbled forward, his legs having lost the ability to move without conscious thought. He fumbled with his wallet and phone, trying to slide one out and the other into the pockets of suddenly too-tight jeans.

“How many?” the man asked, all business.

“Um, how much are they?”

“Hundred a piece.”

“You take plastic?”

“Everything but American Express.”

“I’ll take five.”

“You got it.” He filled out Draven’s details, rang up the cost and scanned his plastic.

“Does the girl come with it?” the man behind Draven asked. He was old and fat, not the kind of man a girl like her would even look at once. His words might have been said in jest, but coming from his slobby, heavy jowled mouth, it was seriously pervy. The men behind the table and near him in line, gaped at him, horrified.

“That young lady is my daughter,” the man who handled Draven’s transaction growled. “So you watch what you say.”

“How’s a man let his daughter act like a hoor in public,” the fat man yelled, slamming a meaty fist down on the table.

Startled by the noise, the girl lost her balance as she rolled out of the shoulder stand. Toppling, she fell. Draven leaped toward her, covering the ten feet to the cycles, in a superhuman rush. He steadied her, helping her sit up slowly. Getting a good look at her face, he felt a spark of recognition.

“Jamie Humphrey?” He touched her cheek, brushing her hair from the corner of her full, red lips.

“Draven Wick? Oh, my God! Is it really you?” She clung to him, hugging him tightly. “How many years has it been? Ten?”

“About that. God, you look fantastic!”

Clasping his face, she gazed into his golden hazel eyes. “Thank you for catching me.”

“You’re welcome. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

Others had gathered around, watching the scene unfold. When it became apparent that the woman wasn’t hurt, the men at the desk went back to selling tickets.

“That’s not really your dad,” Draven murmured.

“Of course not. He just says that so that men will leave me alone.”

“How about fair time for the women?” a heavyset woman called from the line. “Let’s see the hunk take his shirt off!” she whooped.

Women all over the parking lot cheered and whistled. Draven cast a saucy look at Jamie. The music had changed once more, pounding out Closer by Nine Inch Nails—the unedited version, he noted with a grin. Grabbing the bottom of his shirt, he raised it with agonizing slowness as his hips gyrated to the sexy music. Jamie played it up, running her hands under the shirt, rubbing his abs and tugging on the cloth with her teeth.

More cameras snapped and the women yelled loudly, screaming at him to take it all off. As he did a lecherous bump and grind, Draven strutted around the bike. Between the two cycles, he twirled his shirt, straddling it. Riding it like a hot woman, he continued to dance. Jamie hopped up, standing behind him, she ran her hands up and down his tight abs and hard thighs. Spinning to face her, Draven roped Jamie with his shirt, pulling her close to dirty dance with him. The song ended and he spun her under his arm, dropping her into a low dip, her back arched, breasts high. Red hair tickled the pavement as he raised her with one arm. Faces mere inches apart, they tried to catch their breath. It took some time before they realized that the line was now three times what it had been. Women ringed around them, waving money at Draven.

“You grew up nice, Wick,” Jamie said, taking a step back. Her hand drifted down his chest to the top of his jeans. Eyes wide with delight, she dangled her fingers by his zipper. With tantalizing deliberateness, she touched the fabric that strained across his throbbing member.

“You keep that up, I can’t be responsible,” he whispered.

“You keep that up, I can’t be either,” she replied.

“I really wanna kiss you, Jamie.”

“On the bike,” she suggested. “I get paid a percentage of what they bring in.”

© 2018 Dellani Oakes

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Are You Still Writing Your Book? by Dellani

ABC ChallengeI’m starting the ABC Challenge today and I will continue until I run out. Some posts will be articles, others will be quotes from books. Who knows where this will take me? I think this is going to be a lot of fun. Look for it the next 26 Fridays….

There are a variety of ways to answer this. Some of them are actually polite. I have to remind myself that most people don’t know what is necessary to write a book. They have no concept of how long it takes, but have some nebulous feeling that it should take a while. For some books, this is true. For others, not to much.

Non-writers (and some authors) have no idea that I work on anywhere from two to ten novels at once, bouncing back and forth like a March Hare on speed—400 words here, 1,000 there, until a book is complete. If the mood strikes and the muse cooperates, I can finish a book in as little as four days. Yes, I have done it—twice!

While it’s lovely that they remember that I write, it’s hard to explain that I have no idea what book I was working on the last time I spoke to them, especially if it’s been a few weeks.

I try to be polite and say, “What was I working on when we last spoke?” If they remember, I can tell them the progress I’ve made. Other times, I don’t bother, I just say, “Yes.” Then there are the times I feel like being snarky (usually depends on the person asking me) and I come up with a variety of snotty comments.

Are you still writing your book?”

No, I gave that up for Lent.”

Are you still writing your book?”

I was, but I was attacked by pirates and they stole it.”

Are you still writing your book?”

Yes.”

I suppose that the last isn’t so much snarky as it is definitive. Whatever book I’m working on, I’m still writing it. (Unless I just finished it, they I will say so.)

Not even my family knows how many books I’ve written. I used to try to talk over plots with my husband. He, kindly, asked more than once, “What are you working on?” He quit doing that after I gave him a twenty minute discourse on the plot of some book he had no idea I was even working on. It was complicated and his poor, tired brain couldn’t handle my high speed dissertation. Poor darling.

He does laugh when I tell him I have a new idea for a book. He’s even asked me, “How many is it this time?” Laughter increases when he hears the staggering number has increased by one.

I am proud to day that I managed to reduce the number last year and I am still two behind on the unfinished vs. finished. I had set myself a goal in 2015 of finishing a book a month. So far, I haven’t done that. Instead, I started three new ones. I attribute that to being somewhat tired of my other books. I needed greener pastures. However, the goal of finishing a book a month is still in my mind. We’ll see!

In the meantime, I’ll stop babbling on about this and let you go about your day in peace. Please come back next Friday for Letter B.

© 2017 Dellani Oakes

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Pantera at Panera

dellani photo dark redLooks like I forgot to post a Teacup for today. I apologize. In my defense, I’m combating seasonal allergies, and have had a fever and migraine on and off for weeks. In hopes you will forgive me, I offer you Pantera at Panera – a short piece I wrote several years ago.

A few years ago I was standing in a long, slow moving line at the Panera Bread Company. Ahead of me was a very tall, thin man in his twenties. Quite good looking and broad shouldered, he was wearing a black leather jacket. Across his broad expanse of shoulder, stitched in pale yellow letters was the word Pantera. However, because there was a white skull behind the T, it looked like it said Panera.

The older lady beside me was staring at the jacket with a puzzled expression. She leaned over to her husband, speaking in what she probably considered a confidential tone. “Why do you suppose he’s standing in line if he’s wearing a Panera jacket? Surely if he works here, he doesn’t have to stand in line.”

I couldn’t let the poor old girl suffer under that misconception, could I? No. I had to set it right.

I turned around, smiling pleasantly at her. (So I was eavesdropping, so what!)

“It doesn’t say Panera,” I explained patiently. “It says Pantera. There’s a T in the middle, see?”

They both squinted at the jacket as we took a couple small steps forward.

“Oh,” she said with a grin. “So it does! Well, what’s that? I’ve never heard of that. Have you heard of that?” She asked her husband.

“It’s a band,” I explained, feeling like I was conversing with Miss Emily Lotilla.

“Oh, what kind of music do they play?”

“Heavy metal.”

“Heavy what?”

“Metal. Very hard rock, loud, lots of screaming.”

“Well, fancy you knowing something like that,” she looked very impressed.

“I have teenagers,” I told her with a smile.

I didn’t tell the old girl I had a Pantera CD in my car, and I’d been listening to Cowboys from Hell at top volume, when I arrived.. I probably would have given her an aneurysm.

© 2017 Dellani Oakes

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Chaos in a Teacup – Part 13

dellani photo dark redAs some of you know, I have also written some sci-fi and fantasy novels. My contemporary fantasy, the Miracle, Mississippi Series, is set in a fictional town in western Mississippi. I located it near Natchez, which I have always found rather mysterious and magical itself. The series revolves around a group of teens, who are beginning to find out that there is something not quite normal about them. No, they aren’t vampires or werewolves, they are descended from a select group of druids, who banded together, in Circles of Power, to protect the world.

Their quest begins Halloween of 2012. Remember how everyone was saying that the world was going to end in December of that year? Well, it didn’t, but it did change dramatically. It was saved by Brian and Jordan, and their families and friends. Below is an excerpt from the first book in the series, He Thought He Saw, posted in parts on my blog. 

Chapter OneHe Thought He Saw red

Wind whispered in the trees and dried leaves clattered in its wake. An owl hooted. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. The full moon seemed to follow him as he walked down the road alone. The wind became voices. The leaves, the dry rattle of old bones. The sighing grew louder and Brian was able to pick out words. At least, he thought they were words, but in a language he couldn’t understand.

Picking up his pace, he glanced over his shoulder. Wispy figures gathered in the tree line around the swamp road, moving slowly and steadily toward him. Brian tried to convince himself it was only his imagination, but it felt far too real.

One of the figures approached at a slow, loping run. Brian could hear the heavy, measured footfalls as it lumbered toward him. He completely lost his cool. Roaring loudly, he ran at the figure, dodging away when it grabbed at him. Chilling wind passed as the figure drifted away, dissipating as it headed to the woods on the other side of the road.

Brian ran along the center of the road, frightened by his encounter with the wraith. More of them gathered in the swampy woodland, but no others were bold enough to approach him. Hearing a twig snap to his left, Brian put on a burst of speed. With a cry of fear, he felt a shove at his back and tripped over his own feet. As he fell, he saw the wraiths grow bolder. They moved in unison, swooping toward him. Terrified, Brian lay on his belly, unsure how to combat them.

A solid form burst out of the bushes. A large dog stood over Brian, growling and barking. It took a moment for him to realize that the wraiths halted. Some tried to go a step or two further, but the dog renewed its attack. One by one the ghosts dispersed, melting into the fog once more.

Brian let his breath out slowly. The animal stood over him, but moved aside as he sat up. It was the biggest dog Brian had ever seen, broad through the chest with powerful legs and a ridge of hair down his spine. It looked silver in the moonlight.

Curious, Brian reached slowly toward it, hand out, palm up. The beast’s tongue flicked out, licking his cheek. Her warm breath convinced the boy that the dog was alive and real. She slurped him again, butting his hand so he’d pet her. Laughing, he complied.

“Where did you come from, girl?” Predictably, he got no reply. “Never mind, I’m just glad you’re here.”

He got up, dusting himself off. Leaves stuck to his body, mud caked every inch of him. Twigs and more leaves adorned his closely cropped hair. Getting his bearings, he headed toward home once more. The dog walked with him, her head under his hand. Her tongue lolled and she looked as if she were laughing at his appearance.

“You take a header into a mud puddle and see how good you look.”

The dog barked gleefully. She dashed ahead, sniffed and snorted, before trotting back to his side. She stayed with him until they reached his home. With a yip, she left him, drifting into the woods. The front door fell shut with a comforting bump behind him. Heaving a sigh of relief, Brian locked and bolted the door. He leaned against it, panting. His hands shook and he felt light headed. His heart thumped so hard in his chest, he could hear it in his ears.

Though the setting of this novel is contemporary, and real, the action sets it apart from the norm. Yes, I could have set this anywhere, but I chose a small town in Mississippi, because it felt right. If you’ve ever seen pictures of the Natchez area, it has an Old World charm to it, with the antebellum houses, spreading live oaks covered in Spanish moss, and the ghosts of the Confederacy still lurking in forgotten graveyards.

Confederate Headstone

Photo by Dellani Oakes

© 2018 Dellani Oakes

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Chaos in a Teacup – Part 12

dellani photo dark redI realize this is the third post I’ve written about setting, but you know the old adage Location, Location, Location. Setting can be very important to a story. I’m not very likely to set a story during a hurricane, if my location is the middle of Nebraska. Nor am I going to use a snowstorm if I’m in Central Florida. If these elements are important to the story, I have to have the proper backdrop.

Anyone who has read my books, knows that not only do I have stories set in Florida, Kansas, Nebraska and Mississippi, I also have an unnamed city, somewhere Up North. I don’t specify a state, or an exact location. I allude to it being near the Canadian border, but I don’t say what province is across from it. I do this, because it isn’t important for the story to be in Manhattan, Chicago, or Indianapolis. The important feature is that it’s a large metropolis.

I first introduced my readers to my city when I published my novel, It Takes a Thief. Though the original story written there hasn’t been published yet, this tale provides the reader with their first glimpse of my metropolis. I also introduce FBI agents and an eccentric, but fair, judge. (The judge, Honoria Walker, appears in several other novels – not yet published.)

Another book set in my city, is So Much It Hurts. Several of the characters in this novel are in other (as yet unpublished) novels. However, anyone following my blog has read some of their stories in my serialized piece: Something New and Undercover Lover 

Below is an excerpt from So Much It Hurts, which came out November 1, 2017. Pia Donovan is a small town Nebraska girl. She’s new to the big city, and has just met Flynn Chancellor. Flynn invites her to dinner, and brings along his roommate, Yancy Fredrick.

“Do you cook?” Yancy asked.SoMuchItHurtsbyDellaniOakes500

“I do. Why?”

“Because we get tired of eating out. If we pitch in on ingredients and assist in the kitchen, will you cook?”

“I’d love to.”

“Sweet. You don’t mind cooking for a crowd, do you?”

“No. Dad runs a restaurant back home. I’ve worked there since I was ten. I can make a vat of chili that will put hair on your chest.”

“As long as it doesn’t put hair on my ass,” Flynn said, shoving the elevator open. “I don’t like waxing.”

Pia snorted. Yancy leaned over, speaking in a stage whisper. “Flynn hasn’t reached puberty yet. His ass is hairless as a baby’s butt.”

Flynn reached around and rapped him on top of the head. “At least I don’t have back hair.”

“I don’t have back hair.”

“Seriously, you should see him at the full moon,” Flynn remarked as they walked out the front door. “Werewolves howl and try to hump his leg.”

Pia looped her arms through theirs, laughing loudly as they crossed the yard. “I’m going to love it here. You guys remind me of my brothers.”

The men smirked, sharing a glance over her head.

“Thai Garden, here we come!” Flynn yelled, waving his cap in the air.

“Is it far?”

“You’ll learn that everything you need is within walking distance. There’s a grocery store two blocks that way,” Flynn pointed south. “A variety of restaurants in every direction. A movie theatre that shows the classics. A bookstore, an art supply, a music store, pharmacy….”

“And a Dollar Tree three blocks west,” Yancy added.

“We’ll be happy to show you around. Do you know how to get to campus from here?”

“No. I don’t have a car and I don’t know the bus schedule. So much to learn.”

“Lucky for you, my friend and I grew up in this city and if we don’t know where to find it, it’s not worth finding,” Flynn bragged.

“You grew up together?”

“Met during our undergrads,” Yancy explained. “We were roommates then, too. So when we transferred here and started our PhDs, it seemed like a good system.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to break in a new one. He’s a putz, but I’m used to him.”

“My roommate got married and moved out. I’ve mostly lived on my own. Except…never mind.”

“Except for Bill,” Flynn said.

“Jerald,” Yancy added.

“Huh?”

“Dwight.”

“Clark.”

“Steven,” she finished her sentence.

“The love of your life who absconded with your virginity, wooed you, then broke your heart, and left you” Flynn stated with certainty.

“Yeah. Something like that. Only I left him. But the rest is right.”

“What did the bastard do?”

“Married my roommate.”

“Dumb ass,” Yancy commented.

“I was gonna say douche bag,” Flynn contributed.

“Yes, to both. How did you guess?”

“We’ve both been in the receiving end of that, too,” Flynn said quietly. “Marsha and Jan. Not Brady.” He smirked down at her. “Yes, they were sisters.”

“Well, they were a couple of dumb ass douche bags to dump you,” she concluded.

They arrived at the restaurant and Flynn opened the door. Yancy held out her chair, helping her sit. Both men were very attentive, charming and friendly. Dinner was full of laughs. The men joked and poked fun at one another. They asked her lots of questions about herself, but were just as forthcoming with their own details. By the time dinner was over, Pia felt as if she’d known them for years.

“I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun,” she said as they were walking home. “I’m so glad I met you guys. It makes it easier being away from home. The big city is sort of intimidating.”

Yancy put his arm around her waist, Flynn around her shoulders. Pia’s arms went around their waists and she gave them each a hug.

“Thank you for such a great time tonight. I can’t tell you how scared I was on the bus, getting lost….”

“We’ll equip you with a GPS,” Flynn suggested.

Pia snorted.

© 2018 Dellani Oakes

This passage not only illustrates how close they are to everything they could possibly need, but it gives some geography for the city. I’ve used several of the locations in this story, in other, as yet unpublished, novels. I feel like I say that a lot. I guess I’ll need to get my butt in gear and get a few more of these out!

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