Tag Archives: Damian Bloodstone

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Sleight of Heart Review

Sleight of Heart by Aisling Mancy

 

Aisling Mancy draws you into the story with language, scenes, and the characters until you forget to put the book down. The story is easy to read. I found the characters coming to life in my mind as I read their problems and experiences. This does have some sex in it, but the story is done in a way that makes each encounter further the storyline. He wrote a book of love in the greatest sense but also shows the opposite and sometimes dynamic nature of this emotion in people. The characters, with their unique problems, jump from the pages making you bond with them. A vampire, fae, dragon, gypsy and more are discovered and come to life when reading this book.

Taliesin Solitaire, the main character, is mysterious, soulful, and filled with the only type of longing you find from a vampire. Immortality definitely has its problems. But, other things might also stand in the way more powerful than even Solitaire can remove.

Pesha, a gypsy and tarot reader by profession in their company. His life is hard because of turmoil within his family. The problems of love, when faced with bigotry and going against a group’s way, is more than enough for this young man. A heart broken by brothers that wish power over him or to simply sweep him away as the trash they believe.

The Aisling Mancy’s writing makes you forget about the M/M aspects of the book. The love shows through as something pure and genuine between Solitaire and Pesha. As that love grows, you find out more revelations that make you wish them together more.

This was the first adult M/M book where when I read the sex scenes they didn’t turn me off or make me think of them as something other than loving. Aisling Mancy does something I think few others do. He places tenderness, passion, and compassion in those moments between the characters. They are never rough and tumble types of other M/M books I’ve read. He places something unique in each one that makes that time special between the characters. They aren’t sex scenes any longer they are lovemaking and bonding on a level rarely written.

You will laugh, cry and get angry when reading it. Every emotion emotes from the writing to sweep you into the tide of the two main characters. Their emotions become yours. This only happens when a story touches you in a way others haven’t because the author has poured those emotions on the page.

This story is something you want to read slower to catch every little thing placed into a scene. You go back and read a section again just to find something small that helps describe the scene to bring it more to life in your mind. You feel the coldness, smell the sea air, and feel the warmth of the fireplace. Scenes and areas so well detailed that you have to glance up to make certain you are not there.

The additional touches of Romani language were outstanding and you could understand the words because of when and how Mancy used them. The story is written in more of a High English that harkens back to the times when one character would have lived and been brought up. It’s easy to read and understand because of this.

There are two scenes of violence, but they are carefully used to show only the desperate situation of the character in their life. Done in a manner enough to show you the outcomes but not go into gory details that might have lessened the story of the two coming together.

I loved it and can’t say anything more about it, except maybe one thing. Buy the book.

On Sale Now at These Stores

Amazon

Smashwords

Cool Dudes Publishing

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A World of Darkness

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A friend asked me some good questions recently. He asked, “Why is your world so dark?  Why make me shutter to think about the possibility of living there yet wish to read on to find out if thing turn out for the better?

First off, my world has light in it, but even that comes in shades of grey. I show things for what and how they would truly be in a society driven by greed, ego, domination, and sex which can only be balanced by their opposites selflessness, independence, and love. A place where wars were so violent that males have dwindled to smaller numbers and females take the lead in society.

My world makes you shutter because it mirrors the hidden parts of our own. Where we have so many things unspoken but done here, they are in the open in my world. Those hairs that stand up on the back of your head when you read about abuse, assault, and even rape in my stories are all done here in this world. (Trigger Warnings to all those out there.) The only reason they aren’t revealed more is the fact it doesn’t drive the media to create fear in the population like the murders and mass shootings. Slavery is still a reality of life for all but few see the chains and collar of the wage slaves. Corporations try to control everything through their power and wealth just as they do here. The Elite control the Normal masses as the rich control everyone in our world. Species clash due to differences, and here people fight over such a minor thing as skin color. Religions in my world are extreme and sometimes violent and these mirror pieces of our religions now with their failings.

I drive my characters into dark experiences that might shatter the minds of most. Those same characters reveal their strength through overcoming those events. I show them as the shatter and fragmented psychological remains that are slowly put back together through goodness and love of another or torn slowly into pieces and remade in the image of evil itself.

My villains are not the usual types. Their reality is of a world turned into something far from what most could imagine. My villains are shown in detail so that revulsion and horror are felt when even hearing their name whispered in this one.

But things are not black and white. There are constant shades of grey. The evil in my world might help some and destroy others. The good in my world might do things in their name that appear far from moral and virtuous. The light of love mixed with the darkness of seduction and domination. The darkness of cruelty and torture mixed with the light of compassion and love. These things and many others are in my stories to come. Without darkness, you cannot see the light.

Few have the bravery to read any because once you do, it changes you. The horror that creeps into your mind is only an illusion or is it a reflection of the real terrors we have here. Psychological triggers and events abound in my stories because of the truth in those things that make us who we are.

Dark Dystopian Science Fiction mixed with Romance and Horror is my genre. Read it only if you dare.

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A Strange Dream From Her

Cross of Transformation

“When the three pieces of the soul I parted unite. Their spark is once again whole and will become what it once was, First Borne.” – The Mistress


Weird dreams always confound me. The one this morning was very strange.

I was called to an old business to pick up something. When I got there, the big person guarding the door said, “Don’t look at anything inside.”

I went in and didn’t. I kept my eyes above the counters.

Then an old woman from behind the counter asked, “Do you never look at the forbidden?”

“Not usually,” I replied glancing at another person dressed as a biker near the inside of the door.

“Then look at these cases,” she said.

I looked and saw all manners of tiny toy cars in one, different models in another, knives in yet another, but the last and biggest case only contained small trinkets. All of them different. They were little pieces made of silver that I couldn’t stop looking at.

“What are they?” I asked. She took out a velvet pad holding a small number of them.

“They are what you will carry for me,” she replied. “Touch one.”

I looked over the pieces that now looked like broken fragments with ribbons and letters on them. Some were tarnished others bright and polished but none alike. I touched one, felt the emotions and saw the memories. I drew back my hand. “What are they?” I asked her again.

I watched as two came together moving slowly until they linked and formed part of something that didn’t fit. Then it pulled apart after a few seconds remaining apart again. Another three united on the pad, fitting perfectly and disappeared in a burst of light. “What are they?” I asked.

“You know what they are. A piece you carry even now for yourself,” she said looking into my eyes.

At that moment, the things fell away in the dream leaving me and a figure of light alone. I held in my hands the pieces but none fit mine.

“Where are the ones to make me whole?” I asked.

“Tell their stories; remember my lessons,” the Mistress said.

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Primal Embrace

Primal Embrace

By Damian Bloodstone,

Copyright 01/01/2012

A voice that sounds of heaven to the ear,
The voice that makes the soul resonate,
A voice that is so beautiful that only angels could match,
A voice that goes silent and yet silently begs.

The eyes that lock in a single stare.
Eyes that melt the walls and build the ember within.
The stare where everything else ceases to exist.
The eyes that meet and two souls are only seen by each other.

A touch that sparks an ember,
A gentleness that begets the primal,
A touch so innocent that tears might come,
A touch so enlightening that darkness fades.

A form that moves to say more than words can,
A soul’s light, radiant and bright in a single form,
A form of beauty and of art,
A form in the dark brought to the light.

A beckoning that goes unsaid,
A drive that is never openly shown,
A primal force and emotion,
That quickly throws all else away.

A touch that becomes more,
A caress that is felt to the core of one’s being,
A gentle embrace that makes all things cease,
The primal emotions and movements taking hold.

The soft moan, the quick sigh,
the sudden gasp, the soft whimper,
the half-done words, the muted moan,
the held breath, the soft cry,
the mingled scents of two to one.

The softness of the lines,
the smoothness of the skin,
the warmth of the soul,
the primal let lose to play.

The touch of the lips,
the softness of the skin,
the rush of the blood to make fire,
the feeling of the tenderness of the little parts.

The feeling of change,
the swell of the graceful body,
the wondrous softness of the one then two,
the little bumps that tickle the tongue,
the one point of each that stokes the fire within.

The rise and falls of the swells,
the valley that softly speaks of parting,
the softness yet lower,
the place which goes in nor out,
where muscles surround and a gem can be found,
the sudden moan as the warmth is touched.

The warmth turns to fire,
the scent turns to odd sweetness,
the softest down unmatched,
the velvet forest that leads to a flower on fire.

The flower opens slowly,
the beauty of nature unmatched,
the softest of petals,
the most sensitive of places,
the moans and cries beckon more,
as Primal is ignited.

The fire becomes blaze,
the opening rimmed,
the tunnel gently explored,
the warm, wetness yet unsatisfied.

The eyes once more meet,
the stem meets flower,
the sounds of the brief silence,
the flower and stem unite.

The sudden cry,
the soft moans now louder,
the quick sigh unending,
the whimper turned to the moan,
the words need not said,
the moans and sounds of the primal.

The sighs turned to cries,
the moans turned to breaths held,
The sudden gasp of life united,
the explosion of the lower heart,
the warmth of the stem’s and flower’s release,
the sudden quite in the garden.

The cries turns to sweet sighs,
the eyes united once more,
the touch felt as if almost pain,
the blaze slows to fire.

The words unsaid yet felt,
the whimper and moan,
the held breath, soft moan,
the flower and stem united no more.

The soft caresses of tenderness,
the mingled scents of flower and stem,
the sweet scent of the two being one,
the memory that is always remembered by the Primal.

The primal yet never dies,
the embers always lit,
the flower waiting to blossom,
the stem waiting to grow to meet,
The roots that lay of each in the heart.

The eyes that beckon,
the eyes that want,
the eyes that wish for touch,
the eyes that cry for love.

The sweet memories of togetherness
the tenderness, the warmth,
the caring, the compassion,
ignited by the primal fires
in souls’ lives long ago united.

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I’m different?

I’m different, and you know this how?

Well, I believe we are all a little different. Everyone has some problems, quirks, or even kinks. If you didn’t you wouldn’t be you but only a copy of everyone else.

Since this is Autism Awareness Month, I thought I might share my story.

I realized I was different early in my childhood. Where most kids could read simple things by five, I had trouble. I had difficulty with sounding words, and putting htem (not a typo) together.

Yes, “htem” is how I normally saw the word “them.” It takes a great deal of concentration to type some days. I don’t hate my unique dyslexia or my backward speech patterns when I get mentally tired. I do hate people making fun of me or looking at me strangely when I make those mistakes. I don’t do it as often anymore, but when I get tired or upset, my mind freaks and then reading back words, numbers or even street signs becomes a crap shoot.

I was taught reading from having them read to me. If I couldn’t hear the word, I couldn’t read. No matter how many times I tried sounding words out few things worked. Phonetically, by syllable, or even having someone sound it out with me, my brain didn’t register the word in its usual form.  After I had seen and had the word read to me a number of times, I could understand my visually seeing htem as them. Single letters and numbers weren’t a problem.

By the time 2nd grade came. I could do these things for most simple words but it took two long years of study. I could write the letters in the right order after I had seen them enough, but if I came to a new word, forget it. It baffled the teachers and back in the early seventies, the only things the doctors knew was mental retardation as a prognosis.

I would play for hours alone, away from others or play with only one other child. Socializing for me was extremely hard. I preferred to be alone. My mind ran at a hundred miles a minute with the sensory info I was getting. Complicate that by adding someone else and things get weird fast. They classified me as an introvert and tried to break me out of my shell, so to speak, at school but that never worked.

I rarely talked as I do today with others. When I did my speech was a jumble of words. at times. I would get physically or mentally tired and my speech would come out like this: ” I want drink to get.” I couldn’t make sense all the time. Trouble is, I still do this when exhausted or overstimulated.

Things slowly got better for me until around 6th grade. Due to an abusive teacher and other kids being bullies, I withdrew big time. My speech went crazy at times, reading was next to impossible and spelling took total concentration. Long story short, they put me in a special ed class for the year. My problems settled but never went away.

When 7th grade finally happened the same problems surfaced again. The school system wanted me in a special ed class again. My parents knew I was intelligent. Socializing was my biggest problem, they thought. After that was home schooled.  I did the work and my parents graded it.

I excelled in my homeschool lessons and my parents like the idea I wasn’t getting sick constantly or having my speech and writing problems.

It wasn’t that the work was easy. It was actually harder than in regular school. The main reason I could do better was fewer distractions and people around me. I was safe and comfortable in my own place and my mind could work.

When 8th grade came up, the homeschool I had been going to didn’t have a high school for materials. I actually went to correspondence school for my high school years and one that was super hard. We didn’t know it until later that the books and lessons were actually college courses from the college and not high school courses.

I did the work and got good grades. I also learned a lot on my own from researching ideas and studying nature. I read every medical book I could get my hands onto on my father’s highest shelves. I also read a lot of books. All kinds of books. Everything from fantasy and sci-fi to the romance novels of my mother’s favorites.

All that time I was also learning to type and how to spell the words easier than ever. My fingers hit the keys in the right order from memory even if my brain told me otherwise when looking at them. I got my first computer and word processor. Then I started writing.

Things that take all my concentration are cathartic for me. Typing,  writing, driving, doing physical things, and problem-solving are things that ground me.

Doctors today wouldn’t have told my parents I was probably “mentally retarded.” They would have diagnosed me as autistic with dyslexia. Psychologists would have diagnosed me as an introvert type personality with social disabilities in interacting with others. Psychiatrists would have told them I had a vivid imagination and liked to dwell in my own world rather than the real one or jump into a different projected personality when problems arise because my own personality was fragmented from family situations.

It would be more than twenty years later before they realized I was autistic and those other things. By that time, I was through college. I had learned how to cope with things on my own, but that doesn’t mean I always can.

Sirens, flashing lights, loud music, scents, and groups of people can overload me. They make me crawl back into my shell for days or create processes that make me wish to flee them. Loud shouting or fighting brings out the hermit crab in me.

Combine this with a constant and varying migraine with a ringing in my ears and you have a bad list for a day out if they happen. That’s a subject for another post.

Then there is something I don’t talk about that bothers me even more. I finally found a way around that. I wear gloves but tend to get frantic without them now. That is for another post too, I think.

Some days are harder for me than others. Most days I would rather shut out the world than expose myself to the myriad of sounds, smells, and experiences that assault my senses. I am most at home and at ease when in front of a computer with only my pet around me. I guess I’m still that little hermit crab.

I write my stories and explore new worlds, places, characters, and experiences all while trapped in my own little world.

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Another Wednesday, Another Post

I know I should post something so my readers will keep coming, but some days things simply keep me from thoughts worthy of writing in a blog. I’ll probably just ramble through this.

My dog kept me up most of the night. I’d fall asleep and she’d wake me. I’m not certain what was bothering her either. I maybe got three hours sleep last night interrupted. (I still wouldn’t take the world for her.)

Writing is coming along on the last story featuring Edyn and Ciar. Their second story is with the betas. Revisions after that then another read through and finished.

As for me, my head is pounding with a migraine. I’ve gotten used to that most of the time since mine never goes away.

Someone asked me about my religion of the Mistress. and I created a place for it on my website. I’ll share things as She allows.

Now the question I was asked this week that threw me.

“Are you gay? I mean because of your stories, is the reason,” asked a coworker.

I answered, “I write LGBTQIA or Quiltbag, but I don’t consider what I write to be me. So, no. I’m not gay.”

The truth of it is I can’t really be anything but Questioning. I love females and their beauty but can also see the beauty in the male form too. I prefer females to males, but neither hold much of a true sexual turn on for me.

Okay, at the young age of thirteen, I was allowed to see my first rated-R movie, Conan The Barbarian. My parents took me. Sure, I admired the muscles of Arnie playing the role and Sandal playing the female lead and seeing her topless during the love scenes. (Even when having to try to look through a “wanting an innocent son” mother’s hand close to my eyes. If only they had known I knew everything by then.) I liked both characters in the movie. For me, the sex scenes were beautiful between them.

What turned me on in the movie?  The swords.

Yes, the riddle of steel had me. I’ve always loved weaponry. When I hold a sword, I don’t get the sexual turn on one might expect but hold a certain respect and reverance for something that could easily kill the untrained wielder as much as his foe. It’s as if the sword is a holy weapon, but I feel the same about a good knife or axe too.

I’ve had knives since I was seven and got my first katana as a high school graduation present from my parents. I have collected many stage value or hanger type swords and a few kata functional ones.

My first love was the blade of steel and always will be. It is the reason that swords and blades hold unique places in my stories.

But, firearms also do this. It isn’t so much the feeling of power that comes from them but my respect of them. When twenty-one, I got my first pistol. I still target shoot today.

This is the reason why some firearms hold a special place in my stories. They like the swords, blades, and knives are only tools in the end used by the character. The item/tool isn’t the bad thing but the person wielding it can be.

Enough of this for today. I need to get back to writing.

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How Did I Get Started Writing? – Part 2

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Where were we? I remember I had gotten my first computer just received GEOS for it.

 Well, GEOS came with a word processor, graphics, and some other programs. My first crude stories took shape on that and later another better word processor program. From the information I had acquired, I began to flesh out these alien beings called the First Borne.

 I made detailed medical notes on them while creating the stories. The race began to take shape as all things do in life. My biggest problem was they were not like humans but were in other ways.

 I used the graphic programs to draw up their body, then their internal organ arrangement. I drew on medical knowledge from books and studied various animals with traits similar to this race.

 Everything came to a halt after I was sixteen. Family health problems and deaths had me living in two places. I set all of this aside to concentrate on my parents and grandparents.

 I still wrote small stories. I wanted to pursue writing, but the only local college that offered such a program was way too expensive. I was given the chance to go to college for Electronics Technology. I went but found the market saturated with military coming out with more knowledge than I possessed with an Associates of Applied Science. I got another job using my art abilities and computer skills in drafting and design.

 Still, I wrote my little stories. I also read so many books I couldn’t count them all. It was through reading other authors that I decided to set writing aside for later. Once I became disabled, later became now.

 I started on one story. It detailed the second great war of my races. I still haven’t finished it, but it led me to a new place, Erde. From this place stories grew unlike I had written before. I wrote over one million words before trying to do my first book in a two-year period. Now I’m published, and my first story is out there in the world.

 This isn’t a long post because it didn’t need to be.

 Oh, the Hourglass. Well, that was a little story I wrote while in the ERWA (Erotica Readers and Writers Association). If it weren’t for those people there teaching me and pushing me, I would have kept with it. The other group is Writer’s World, that I need to thank. The lessons the head person gives in files and on posts proved of immense value in making my writing lean and never giving up my voice.

 The only way to succeed is to help others succeed, and from their blessings, we are all so blessed. – The Mistress

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Happy Easter/Day of Morning

© Roman Milert | Dreamstime Stock Photos
© Roman Milert | Dreamstime Stock Photos

Happy Easter, my friends.

Yes, I do believe there was Jesus Christ person, but I have a different opinion on the story from my religion. Everything the person did was real, but it was only a person blessed with divine gifts from the highest power in an attempt to bring us back to Her.

I see the Bible as a book of stories written by those wishing for the control of the people. Because of the nature of the stories mostly placing males at the forefront, I see them skewed by the political and social views of others. Evidence may prove the events happened from these stories. Nothing truly shows us an honest picture of the events of the past. Archaeology can only determine events happened then read what was set down by those in power. Everything else is only a theory.

The Mistress has shown me the path and the failures of those not listening to her ways of communication, love, tolerance, understanding, and compassion. Worshiped since time began, She was cast aside through the destruction of Her stories by patriarchal societies bent on the control of all people for the reverse of the ideals and codes She gave to us all. Even today they try to rid the world of Her symbols, the life-giving trees. The Mistress is the root of all religion and creator of all things. So many have retold the stories to suit their goals that many have forgotten Her and Her ways. (This is not a Wicca, New Age or Pagan religion. It is the ancient one we all have in our hearts from the first spark to the time we are judged.)

So, on these days of worshiping what man created, I worship Her and give thanks for my blessings and things I have received from Her.Blessed be the Mistress and those who hear Her calling to return to Her in these coming days.

Why do I call it the Day of Morning?

Morning comes from the sadness of what we leave behind with the passing of the night and sleep. It also shows and gives us the ability to start new and fresh, to look at the world through Her teachings. It was during this time that Her blessed person left us because of the greed, hatred, and lust for power of humankind who did not follow Her Ways.

Blessed be the Mistress and those who hear Her calling to return to Her in these coming days.

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How Did I Get Started Writing?

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© Paleka | Dreamstime.com

The Hourglass?

Time is something that seems to go by too quickly for me. Some of my life events that shaped me are as if they happened yesterday. Others are more distant and remote. Writing is my solace and my conduit into my worlds where both friends and enemies dwell.

The above photo is relevant to the topic, I promise.

I guess most of you wonder how did I start writing. That’s a long story but I’ll try to make it concise.

Some people talk of science fiction and horror stories. Sometimes, I think, I lived it.

I started writing in third grade with a small horror story for English. I will always remember the title, Closet Monsters.  It was the only thing I ever wrote in first-person until much later. I received an A on it. I was discouraged to write about such things again by the teachers, principle, and my parents. So, I turned back to art and drawing, my first love.

I guess I was eight or nine when I wrote my second story. The teachers hated it. It had me in the principle’s office and carrying a note to my mother. They graded it an A because of the technique, the grammar used and the shocking ending. The school confiscated the short story because it went opposite their religious ideas.

It wasn’t until I found Role Playing Games (AD&D) that I started becoming truly interested in writing at about ten. I wanted to learn more about my character’s backgrounds and history of where they were from. I wrote in little flip-top spiral notebooks.  I also began reading on my own but this I found a dangerous addiction. There went homework some days.

Then sci-fi hit me big time with the release of Battlestar Galactica and other movies. I joined the Science Fiction Book Club and began picking out books that appeared interesting. Gaming went in this direction too with my first game Star Fleet Battles, based on Star Trek. Then FASA came out with Star Trek: The Role Playing Game. Well, long story short, I learned how to create my own races through those games. The races were simple and only two-dimensional compared to what I wished for them.

I moved from playing the games to writing stories about the first races I created. These were normal RPG races that were still cookie cutter ones from the games. I knew there had to be more.

It wasn’t until I was thirteen that something happened. I heard her voice for the first time. (I know you will think I was going crazy. I did too, but I wasn’t.) My Muse began to tell me and instruct me on her galaxy, planets, ships, her race of beings, and things you couldn’t imagine.

Now at this time, I was being homeschooled with a totally Christian upbringing. The things my Muse told me were contradicting of the bible and most of what humans thought of as evolutionary history. Even the one she worshiped was different. A being called simply Mistress in our tongue.

My Muse had my curiosity peaked and in an adolescent thirteen-year-old, this was a highly dangerous thing. I studied the encyclopedias on various subjects, science and space books from the library, and history books. When she began telling me weird things about their species, I had to move to medical books. (I had lacked any sex ed until then, so everything was eye opening and confusing.)

I wrote down everything but sometimes things were still at a distance or fogged in her words and my mind. Still, I cataloged all the data she imparted and studied further. I don’t even know how I was able to check out or read and understand some of the things I did from the library. My father’s bookshelf also contained books that were of science, biology, and religion. I climbed on many a piece of furniture to get to those high bookshelves.

Since I could draw, I drew things about them. First their buildings and homes, then I drew their two planets in detail. I lost almost all of those drawings in our move to a new house.

When I got my first computer, I didn’t ask for games. I asked for a word processor.  This surprised my parents, but they got it. Then a program came out call GEOS for my computer. (Kind of like a very simple windows but made for a Commodore computer.) My interest grew and the information on the race expanded to computer files and art.

Well, that is all for today.  See me next week when I tell more.

Explore my website until then.

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