Her Secret Life, Part One

Hey Spanky Friends!

How’s it hangin’? I’m doing great. I’m just totally, utterly, one-hundred-percent SICK of entertaining. Since it’s one of my favorite pastimes, I’m surprised. After my guests left last Sunday, I was a lot happier than I should have been. I couldn’t figure out why I was bummed and then realized I’d spent two solid weekends of cooking, cleaning and serving. I love sharing my house and hanging out with my friends, but I’m done for awhile. Thank God, we’re not entertaining this weekend. This is a picnic-at-the-beach weekend. Yay! Date with the Hubby!

Okay, so that fucktastic marathon my hubby and I were having DIED. We haven’t had sex in a week. We both had sex dreams last night and promised ourselves we’d summon the energy to continue our fun tonight. Problem was we wore ourselves out with entertaining and were too wiped this week to have sex. Which is the number one reason we need to stop entertaining so much. Lesson learned.

So today we start with a new/old story called Her Secret Life, found in Bad Girls 3. This story came from a vanilla novel I wrote a long time ago. The male lead is based on a character I wrote about ten books for and never published. A hardassed FBI agent with a crazy girlfriend. This was before I was purposefully writing spanking fiction. When all my novels ended up with a spanking for the heroine. Which is why they were never published. Thank God, I found Discipline and Desire and a whole audience of people who actually loved the spanking scenes.

Actually nearly ALL of my spanking stories come from my vanilla novels. As I’m writing, spanking ideas will come up and I normally have two story lines going with the same characters. The main story goes into the novel and the side stories go to the spanking fiction. Gerry and Rob are exceptions (the prankster woman) and a few others, but mostly my story ideas and characters come from my novels. Sometimes I split the characters and develop two different people. Like sort of the same person with different aspects of their personalities highlighted. For instance, I work with two Zane Blacks (I need to do something about the names…), Zane Black-The Spanker/Rocker and Zane Black, the special ops guy. Both look the same, talk the same, have the same heart and moral character, but they have very different occupations, backgrounds and…predilections, if you know what I mean. I wonder what will happen when I finally sell a vanilla novel. I’ll have to own those characters or change some names or something. Anyway, no worries for right now.

Okie-dokie. I hope you all have a spiffy weekend.

Hugsnlove,
Michelle



As Heather sat there, smoking a big bomber of a joint with her connection, she finally took in her surroundings. Her friend was a paranoid nutcase. She’d known him since high school, but Melvin had been slipping further and further out into the outer fringes of society. He had newspaper clippings all over the walls of his living room, some with huge red circles around the headlines. The books covering his coffee table ranged from manuals on how to build a trebuchet to getting off the power grid to military manifestos written by South American dictators.

“So when are you building the bunker?” she finally asked the large, pasty-faced man sitting in the recliner next to her.

His large brown eyes practically popped out of his head. “How did you know about the bunker?” he demanded, sitting upright in his chair.

“Dude, dude, calm. I was kidding. I’m just a bit worried about you, man. You… this isn’t good, all this reading of yours,” she said, gesturing towards the coffee table.

“But Heather, the world is coming to an end, soon,” he replied earnestly. “And the government is behind it.”

“Honey, have you thought about therapy?”

“Therapy placates the masses and makes you all comfortable with this commercialized hell the planet has become. I don’t want anything to dull my senses,” he said, taking a huge hit off the joint.

“Nice irony, there,” she replied, taking the joint from him.

“Marijuana sharpens my mind. I can think more clearly, see through all the distractions the government is bombarding me with. The iPod? Do you really think they’re playing all music? Subliminal programming, they all come with subliminal programming that makes us want to buy more stuff. And TV now? They’re sending two programs during most prime time viewing, they send the show or whatever, the Simpsons then in images we can’t even perceive, they are sending us messages to go out and spend ourselves into oblivion.”

“I can see those images. They’re called commercials.”

“You always were a naysayer, Heather. You gotta open up your eyes and your mind, girl. They’re subverting us.”

“Oh, I feel subverted. This stuff is strong. Here, you finish it. I gotta be straight soon. Seeing my new boyfriend later.”

“Are you still lying to him?”

“Of course. He’d bust me. Maybe not, but he could. He doesn’t know about this whole other life of mine. He thinks I go to some cubicle in the city to work, he has no idea I’m one of the most successful erotica writers in the country.”

“I think he started dating you to get to me.”

“He doesn’t even know you. Or know that I know you.”

“I think you’ve lost your mind with this one, Heather. The biker, I understood. The shoe salesman, I understood.”

“He was hot.”

“I even understood when you went out with the hacker.”

“He was cute in a sort of wild-coffee-addict-never-sees-the-light-of-day way.”

“But what I cannot fathom is this new flirtation with the dark side,” Melvin said.

“He’s cute as hell and an awesome lay. What more could I need?”

“Someone who didn’t have the power to arrest you,” he responded acidly.

“He wouldn’t,” Heather scoffed. “Besides, he’ll never find out about me. Or you. Or anything I don’t want him to. We’ve been going out for three months and he still doesn’t know anything about me. And I’m gonna keep it that way.”

“A relationship made in heaven. The guy doesn’t even know you. And this doesn’t say anything to you? Trust in a relationship? Mutual respect? How can you say he loves you when he doesn’t even know you?”

“Oh, he knows all the important parts.”

Melvin snorted. “I’ll bet.”

“No, not those parts. Its not like I change personalities around him. He knows I like cartoons and I collect weird action figures. He knows I ride a motorcycle and I like to hike. He’s met my parents.”

“That’s not saying much, they haven’t known anything about you since you were twelve.”

“I couldn’t tell them I was dealing. Or that’s how I worked my way through college. Or that I write erotica. They think I’m a computer programmer.”

“What does he think you do?”

“He thinks I’m a technical writer.”

Melvin burst out laughing. “You don’t know the first thing about technology.”

“I can use my computer.”

“Only because I keep updating everything for you.”

“Yeah, well.”

“I don’t know. So what kind of cop is he again?”

“FBI, baby.”

“Damn, girl. When you travel on the dark side, you go all the way.”

“Don’t I know it. If he weren’t so cute, I would have dumped him by now. And he’s so nice. It’s actually frightening what a goody two shoes the man is. I hope he never finds out about me.”

“What if it gets serious?”

“Serious. Who, me?” Heather asked.

“Yeah. You.”

“Never occurred to me.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“Hell yeah.”

“And he loves you.”

“He says so. He acts like it. I’ve met his parents and everything.”

“So? Doesn’t this say anything to you? What if he wants to marry you?”

“Marry me? Me?” She laughed. “No man has ever dared to tread that path with me. I think he’ll come to his senses eventually and leave me. That’s what they all do. Well, either that or I leave them. Marriage, ha. I’ve never even been proposed to yet.

“What about Mike? And Jack? And Daniel?” Melvin corrected.

Heather waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, those didn’t count.”

“Why not? They were marriage proposals.”

“They didn’t count because I didn’t love them.”

“So what if this guy asks you to marry him?”

This stumped Heather. “I don’t know. Never gave it any serious thought. I just figured he’d dump me. I don’t know.”

“How old are you now?”

“Don’t ask,” Heather said.

“You have to be my age, like, thirty-three.”

“I don’t want to think about it. It makes me think that I have to be serious about my life and I don’t like being serious. So, no, I’m not gonna think about it. Besides, I like him too much. That’s always a sure sign they’re gonna dump me.”

“I hope you’re right. FBI. Just gives me the willies thinkin’ about it. Oh, have I told you about my new blog?”

“No, what one is this about?”

“About assassinating the president.”

The words reverberated through her head.

She stared over at her pasty-faced friend. “Are you nuts?”

“I want those bastards to wake up and realize that there are some of us who just won’t take their crap anymore.”

“Melvin, when did you start this blog?”

“About three days ago. Man, did it take off. Thousands of people commented on it. I’m finally getting the attention I’ve been needing. Now that I’ve got a platform, I’m gonna be tackling all the big subjects. How Russia is still controlling the planet, how antiperspirant causes brain damage—“

“I was wondering why you smelled so funky—“

“How those black helicopters are starting to follow major corridors of traffic, a sure sign the government is planning to implement martial law. Then I’m gonna launch into how our money is poisoned with a secret toxin that makes us want to eat junk food. You know the biggest threat we’re facing on our planet?”

“Trans fatty acids?” Heather guessed.

“No, Chinese fast food joints. Think about it. They start in, they’ve got tons more people than the US does. If they start shoving their food down our throats, we’ll be slaves to them and their ideals. It will all go down hill from there.”

“You’re making me hungry. Man, some Kung Pao Chicken would be really good about now.”

“You are hopeless.”

Heather laughed. “Melvin, you gotta get out more, man. You spend too much time cooped up in…” A man outside the house caught Heather’s attention.

“What?” Melvin asked.

“That guy getting out of that car across the street. He looks just like Gary.”

“Where?” Melvin asked. He turned around to look.

Heather pointed. “See that guy with that other suit? I swear, he looks just like…”

It suddenly slammed her. Melvin’s blog.

“Holy Moly! Melvin! It is Gary! He’s coming here to question you! I have to get out of here!” she cried, leaping to her feet. She grabbed her bag of pot, shoved it in her pocket and headed for the back door.

©2010, Michelle Carlyle