Besides that 'bloody book', as I affectionately call it, I write the occasional erotic short story. Sometimes these take over, incorporate stuff I'm reading at the time, factual scientific or paranormal stuff, and take on a life of their own. I often don't know where they are leading, but trust them enough to follow, trust in the characters enough to know there will be a resolution. And, incredibly - so far at least - there always is.
Here's an extract from one such story, 'The snowgirl', a haunting tale of love on a snowy piste. Hope you are tempted enough to look up the full version, found shivering gently amongst similar spooky tales in my 'Sensual Ghosts' anthology which is available from Amazon.
Extract from 'The snowgirl'.
Inspired, I began to shape her. My gloved hands, tensed like blades, carved away any excess; my cupped hands scooped up snow and added to her curves. I pictured Janis, held her lovely image in my mind's eye while I sculpted. She knelt on the frozen ground, her calves and feet extending behind her. I shaped her ankles and dainty soles, gave her a semblance of toes. I chipped away at her waist then exaggerated her hourglass hips. Two large snowballs were lovingly affixed and kneaded into frozen milky tits. Between her thighs, I shaped a crude pudendum then parted her legs with saw-like motions of my right hand. I slapped handfuls onto tight buttocks that she shamelessly offered to me. I sank my nose playfully between them before reaching around and massaging her tits, ribcage and belly. Then I danced around her torso, fine-tuning. I burrowed a belly button, pinched icy nipples, knelt down and licked her slit into existence, my hot tongue melting her intimate frosty flesh.
The arms were difficult. It seemed impossible to recreate such slender elegance in that crude medium. The first ones I shaped were distastefully clumsy. I amputated them with swift karate chops and tried again. This time she rested her hands on her hips, elbows out, like a sexy vase with handles. Not perfect by any means, but much better than before.
After taking off my gloves, I closed my eyes and traced every inch of her. My fingers grasped and gouged her, scored and shaped her till they were numb and my poor hands ached with the cold. Only the head to do. Only! I sighed. That would surely be the hardest part.
I rolled another ball and carefully crowned the cold corpse with it. I strangled the throat, broke and fixed the jaw; tried to do justice to her chin, nose, ears and delicate cheekbones. Her icy lips kissed my frozen fingers. Two deep black holes were her warm brown eyes. I ran my fingers through her long hair; parted it, trimmed it.
I stood back and grimaced. I'd produced a parody of Janis and a poor one at that. Still, I was proud of what I'd done. An hour had flown by as I'd moulded her into existence. I was her maker. A modern Prometheus. I scrutinised every feature, constantly trimming and adding, trying to recreate Janis's lithe athletic symmetry. Another evaluation, and this time I nodded my approval. There. Finished. At last I was happy.
Reluctantly leaving her in her element, I stomped the snow from my boots and returned to the welcome warmth of the log cabin. I made hot chocolate then slumped by the blazing fire and sank into a haze of satisfied drowsiness.
Tap tap tap.
In my dream, Janis came back alone, rapped her long red nails on the glass and begged to be let in. My friendship for Mark could not compete with my love for her, but somehow I resisted opening the door. I pleaded with her to go away, knew my resolve was melting. She called to me. A thin, disconnected wail that scraped down the blackboard of my brain.
'Jaaaaackkkkkk. Jaaaaaacckkkkk.'
Tap tap tap.
I opened my eyes. It took me a few moments to remember where I was.
The dying fire licked soothing tongues of orange flame across my retinae. It was evening. It was dark.
Tap tap tap.
They were back. Groggy with sleep, I got to my feet and shuffled to the front door. At the catch's release, a bitter draught sped past me, breathed life into the fire. Crackling embers spat sparks up the chimney. I peered out into the darkness. No one.
Tap tap tap.
Ah! The back door.
Carefully, by the meagre light of the fire, I crossed the cabin's wooden floor. I stubbed my toe on a discarded boot, cursed the idiot who...
Tap tap tap.
I unlatched and opened the back door, squinted into the inky blackness. Clouds suddenly parted. Pale moonlight turned black shadows to soft shades of blue and cast an eerie glow across the sparkling rolling hills and soaring peaks beyond. It was unspeakably beautiful. No one there. No one. Except...
My sculpture, my snowgirl, kneeling silently in the shadows. I squinted again. Something had changed. She was different. I tiptoed barefoot into the snow. As I neared her, the change became obvious. Around her neck was Janis's white silk scarf. I laughed and looked around.
'Okay, come out. Very funny!'
No reply. I strained my ears, held my breath, but my pounding heart was the only sound.
I gazed up at the moon and twinkling stars. What a night. Beautiful, magical... then sensed I was not alone. A creak. A crunch. Cracking ice. Behind me. I turned. The snowgirl stood. She spoke.
'Help... me.'
I leapt back in terror and cried out.
'Oh, God! What the...?'
'Please... Jack...' Again the scratchy, grating voice. 'I'm cold. So fucking cold.'
She staggered forward in jerky stop-motion. I turned and fled. Up the stony steps. Heart banging. Through the door. Breath rasping. I slammed it. Faced it. Stepped backwards. Listened. Footsteps climbed. I shivered with fear. Blood froze.
'Jaaaaacckkkk.'
The catch lifted. Rusty creaks. The door swung open. Silhouetted by the moonlight, stood the girl I'd made from snow. Reaching out. Crying. Begging.
'Help... me!'
As the reaching hand crossed the threshold, it grew nails, red nails. Fingers separated and stretched. The hand was suddenly smooth, translucent, and glowed a ghostly blue. Tendons moved beneath the surface. Wrist, forearm, smoothed and gained definition. I was horrified, but transfixed by the metamorphosis.
It stepped over the threshold and stumbled, collapsed into the cabin. The falling snow was flesh before it hit the ground. Cold, blue flesh. It smacked against the wooden floor, a heap of shivering skin and bones. Hair was black, flecked with ice. Eyes were brown, wide, and terrified. Janis. It was Janis.
'Jack, help me... so... cold!'
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