It has been quite a year for me and my writer buddies. What started as a friendly dabble into the erotica pool, has led us down some pretty interesting paths this year. To step back a little, sometime in 2012, three writing buddies and myself decided to pull together a small erotic anthology. The founding members of the writing group were A C Masterson, Jill Glass, A T Quinn, and me, P J Perryman. It was meant to be nothing more than a little bit of fun really, kind of an aside to the other genres we each were individually writing. Nevertheless – the result was the works of Blushing Mischief. Our first book, Thrill of the Hunt, was delayed on the publishing floor, and the book above, A Spank In Time, though written later, became our first release.
The production of A Spank in Time saw the addition of two new members to the fold; Sadie Dane and Sara Peal. The group remained unchanged for the publication of our third release, The Spanks You Missed.
They say the proof of the acorn is in the tree. From that small beginning, four of the group have gone on to publish full novellas and novels, and in time, I suspect, every one in the group will have done the same. Its amazing what a little project can lead to. And not one of us can say where this adventure will end. Personally, I have enjoyed the journey…so far. Between you, me, and the goal posts, I’m still traveling…
A PARISIAN DANCE
by P J Perryman
I knew him during those hot bohemian days before the war. Pleasure was our sole pastime then, for the sound of jack
boots on the Champs Elysees had yet to pollute the air. Elegant women in bonnets
and tweed strolled through the cobbled streets by day, drinking wine in the
street cafes, idly passing the hours in the midst of gossip and scandal.
By night we floated gracefully through the ballrooms of Paris, dressed
in fine silk and satin, spinning in merry circles on highly-polished marble
floors. Night after night we waltzed while dreaming of passion and falling in
One night in particular, drunk with youth and more than a little
champagne, I slipped away from the ballroom and headed for the great library,
the promise of a little quiet, and a large, comfortable chair. The music faded
as I closed the great oak door. Once it was shut, I lowered my head to its great
panels and breathed in the scent of the aged wood. A tiny giggle escaped my lips
as I thought of the young men who tried to woo me, who sought me and badgered me
for my attention. Thus far, I’d succumbed to none of them.
A familiar voice startled me out of my girlish fantasies. “Ah, Gabrielle. There I was,
thinking about you. Now, here you are.”
I turned to see Enri sitting in the very chair I sought. The owner of the house was dressed formerly in a dinner
jacket, which he wore well, having a natural ease and certain je ne sais quoi.
He smoked a cigar, which he held loosely in one hand propped on the arm of the
chair, careless of where the ash fell. I lowered my eyes and stared at the dense
weave of the patterned carpet and felt the blood rush to my cheeks which burned
hotter than any fire. I never knew why he affected me so, but my mouth was so
dry that I was unable to greet him as a well-bred lady should.
Enri studied me, and I was helpless under his gaze. “I watched you in the ballroom,”
Enri said. The edge of his mouth curled slightly — was he laughing at me? “You
have a lot of admirers.”
Thank you for reading;
AKA P J Perryman