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PleasureBound

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How can you not love a slogan like that? Kinky stories from real life… I read that on the back of this book jacket, and I nearly had a heart attack. It’s just so… yum.

News is that contributor’s copies of Pleasure Bound: True Bondage Stories are on their way, which means that the book has hit the shelves! Hurah!

The TOC is … holy crap. Hot stuff. Nikki M’s gorgeous short “Handfast.” Kristina Wright. Sommer Marsden. Teresa Noelle Roberts. Donna George Storey. Kristina Lloyd. Thomas S. Roche. Alison Tyler. Stephen Elliot. And a bunch of other new authors that I’m sure Alison has hand-picked for their amazing stories. I can’t wait to get my hands on this hot little collection.

My story, “Deal,” is about high school and those learning moments that happen in the classroom. Not from some teacher or some lesson, but in the in-between spaces. Here’s the opening section. Hope you enjoy!

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Hearts

Slap, slap, slap go the cards across the big wooden tables. The wood’s so old and used you can’t see the grain anymore. Just the layers of acrylic in primary colors, the dark stains, the etched promises of eternal love and hate. Below the hand I’m being dealt, Sherri True Love Forever’s Bobby in black sharpie, her TLA interwoven as though that alone would make it true. Andy carved his name in ’98, or maybe earlier and was merely scratching his hope that by ’98 he would be allowed to leave this place.

This place was once an art room. For the underclassmen, it still is, I’d guess. Earlier in the year, it was for us too. We’d walk around with our cameras hung from our necks, snapping shots for the darkroom, our fingers smelling always of chemicals, our pupils dilated from the constant change of light. But now it’s April and our cameras sit forgotten beside our elbows. Graduation is upon us like wild dogs, and we can’t think, much less be creative. Our teacher merely watches us from his desk, reading art magazines with half-naked women on the covers. He’s been through this before. He knows that for us seniors, 18, some 19 although they don’t want to say it, it’s no longer about brushing gesso over canvas to prepare a proper medium or pounding clay into the table until the grey chunks become part of the grain.

Now, it’s about this. Euchre. I don’t know where we learned it. Someone moved here and brought it and now we all know the rules. Fast cards. Jack’s high. Bower. Follow suit. Trump. Shoot the moon. Winning Tricks. It’s the language of the space in between.

We play Euchre in school, and we fuck out of school. Our obsessive brains ignoring classes, college fears, hopes for the future in exchange for something quick and unthinking. I dream of cards and cocks, of plays and ploys. I hear the shuffle in my sleep and wake with a start, fingers itching to curl a hand around them. The sworded queen inching across my sheets. The one-eyed Jack come to fuck me and make me his….


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Kiss kiss bang bang, s.

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