Book Preview: Lust of the Damned

The first chapter of my upcoming novel, a horror erotica that I must reiterate: this one is not for children! I am not going to be friendly to any parent who sends me an e-mail saying their kid is reading smut produced by yours truly. It was an interesting challenge putting out this particular style of my genre, one that I may do again in the future. As of now, this is a story of a college girl and her adventures into the world of the living dead.

No Necrophilia or oddness like that, I promise. Part mystery, part humor, and a lot of "heated" moments for those who like them. There's even a bit of action tossed in to make the suspense be a big payoff.

Anyway, I think that's enough rambling. Enjoy the first chapter and be sure to keep an eye out for this to be released early October!

Chapter One: Date Fright

I couldn’t believe my luck! Just as I was walking from the biology labs here across the Rotunda near the fountain, keys in hand for my junker of a car, I was approached by none other than Oliver White. Yes, the Olive White… the first-string center for the football team! Looking rugged in his denim jacket and shining black boots, he asked me if I had plans for tonight, “seeing as its Friday and all,” hitting me with that panty-drenching sideways grin of his.

Of course, I didn’t have any real plans, outside of lying around in my room watching Passion Runway re-runs until Sunday, when I would cram all of my homework into one anxiety-riddled evening. But now I had actual plans for once in my life! I could barely keep my cool when I accepted, giggling behind my hand to control my urge to just throw my arms in the air and scream out to God a thousand thank-you’s. Oliver said we’d go out to the carnival, the one just outside of town near Canyon Lake.

Going out to the carnival with Oliver White, I just couldn’t believe my luck! He was a nice guy, with a nice car, and amazing grades.

Plus, I thought to myself with a smile I knew would send my Father into a raging tantrum, Oliver has the cutest eyes and the most amazing ass I’ve seen on a person not in a movie.

Whenever he wore jeans, all the girls at the university felt a little warm under the collar. Even a few of the teachers had been caught giving him the eye.

Not all of them were women either, I giggled almost drunkenly as I drove home. Briefly signaling at the stop sign just to get old man Higgins, a local auto-mechanic in his rusty old truck riding my bumper, angry. This was a routine thing I did, so I just smiled and waved as he cursed at me from his window, watching as he drove past me and into the Spider Grove Woods. That’s where he owned and operated the local junkyard and garage, while also maintaining a healthy sanctuary for some kind of endangered species of spider. Rumor had it that his house was covered top to bottom in cobwebs.

Ok, I think to myself, suppressing a shudder, back to my future husband Oliver. Oh! What am I going to wear?

He’d invited me to the carnival that came to town every year around September, just when the leaves began to fall and the weather began to cool. They’d always been in the same spot, just south of Canyon Lake proper, just across the city limits and to the right by the Lazy John River. People said it was because they wouldn’t have to pay any local taxes, but everyone knew it was just because our town had a ban against fireworks because of the dry summers.

They held a fireworks display every night as the carnival closed down.

The drive home was a reasonably short one, passing by a few larger homes that had once been ranches, their land now quartered off from the rest of their properties. Every summer college boys would come offering their services, and all the girls would get a show as they would slowly but surely beat back the wild grass and weeds dominating some old woman’s fields.

They usually did this without shirts, knowing we were watching. It was a delightful game of cat-and-mouse, with neither side really knew who was what. It suited me just fin during the long, boring days of Texas summer. Hell, I might’ve gotten a few dates under my belt (or shirt) if it weren’t for Daddy and his incessant need to scare away all the boys that showed even the slightest interest in me.

Slowing down just enough for my turn not to be a disaster, I zipped into my neighborhood. Oldest neighborhood in the town, the first set of homes to be built in a central area sometime back before World War Two, supposedly due to the rising urbanization sweeping across the nation. My grandparents live two streets down from us, and my uncle lives near the entrance of the subdivision. We’re a close knit family, who’d originally come here to take advantage of that broad urbanization.

Well, that broom missed us on a few strokes, leaving us with jobs that were local and didn’t pay well. Most people had to drive to San Marcos to earn their keep. San Marcos was only half an hour’s drive, but as a college town they always had jobs a plenty. Whether you’re in construction or teaching, business or babysitting (my job), you could always find work in San Marcos if you tried hard enough. Dad works construction while Mom is a nurse at the local hospital. They’re great parents if you don’t count my Dad’s paranoia about me going out with boys (and the government) and my mother’s insistent nagging about Church and God.

How they got together, my tiny little black-haired mouse of a mother with my titanic bulldog of a father, nobody could rightly say. My father’s arms are bigger than my mom is at the waist, and his heavy slung gut probably weighs as much as she does. His lack of a neck isn’t from fat, but from muscles earned from years of heavy lifting, hammering, and using whatever tool was needed to get the job done. He never complained about his work, and hated those that did. Every day he’d leave at the crack of dawn and come home at dusk, smelling of tar and sweat, while Mom would already be home making dinner, or reading a book while I slaved over the stove.

Mom insisted I learn how to cook and clean, seeing as I’ll have a family of my own one day.

“A proper wife knows how to have dinner ready when her man comes home after a hard day’s work.” She would tell me.

I’ve rolled my eyes so many times I can’t even do it at her old, nineteen-fifties mindset. I often wondered how Mom expected me to find a boyfriend, one I would intend on marrying, with Dad’s bulldog approach to me dating? Quite the question, but then again, so is my parents’ marriage.

Turning onto our street I wave to old Stew in his garage, set-up to watch some football game only he got via his expensive satellite dish. Every night his garage/bar would fill up with his friends, all ready to watch some game or something equally as boring. Stew’s wife Charlene is a dear thing, and always lets him stay up as late as the old red-nosed drunk wants, just so long as he gets up every morning at six to go and take on his job of being the local mailman.

How he can do it, after every night of essentially binge-drinking, I’ll never know.

Mom and Dad would often offer up my services as a baby sitter to the neighbors on game nights, allowing me to rake in some cash while they got to go over and watch the game with Stew. They’d all drink (Mom and Charlene sticking with wine) and cheer, which could be heard down the entire block. You’d think someone would complain, but seeing as everyone save for me and the half-dozen children I’d been watching were there, it was never an issue.

My Oldsmobile spat and hissed as I pulled into the driveway, the old white pavement stained with oil spots and cracked. I’m the first to get home, thank God, and I hurry into the house, book bag in tow. The house is clean, as always, and our cat yawned as I entered, looking at me with either love or disdain, as all cats do.

I kicked open the front door, taking only a second to lock it behind me (Dad always seemed to think I didn’t!) before running upstairs, hugging my bag to my chest. My room is the room on the left, with my parents’ bedroom at the end of the hall and my bathroom just across from my room. Once I turned eighteen and began doing my own shopping online (with babysitter money on a rechargeable card) Dad swore he’d never entre my bathroom again after he walked into my very intimate intimates hanging from the shower rod. He and mom had fought over allowing me to keep them before I pointed out I had them because they made me feel good, not because I was showing off for some nonexistent boyfriend.

That had calmed him down, a little. The fact that I saw them as an investment for the right man to get to see them was better left unsaid.

Mom had just tortured me with “The Talk” after that, telling me that “God wanted me to save myself for marriage.”

Hard thing to sell to an Atheist, but then again, she doesn’t know I’m one.

Yet.

I sometimes think that coming out of the closet as a lesbian would be easier for my mother than me coming out a freethinker. Shame I’m into men... that’s why I’m waiting for my sophomore year of college to tell her, give her something to blame other than herself. My uncle Steve, her brother of forty-seven years, is an Atheist and had secretly been sending me electronic books by Christopher Hitchens and Richard Dawkins for years. I finally “converted” about two years ago, after sitting in church during Mass and realizing that it was just ridiculous.

When I come out as one I know Mom will go ballistic.

“Those damn liberal colleges,” she’d declare that day, “Corrupting the minds of our young’uns, making them all Atheists and Communists!”

I dropped my book bag to the floor and closed the blinds as I began stripping out of my school clothes, a pair of jeans and a sleeveless top (a jacket in my bag for those freezing classes in the History building), leaving me in my school underwear: a strapless bra and *gasp* a thong! Another little change in wardrobe Daddy didn’t like thinking about on his little girl, but panties were for those horrible few days a month when men’s opinions don’t matter and for Church (i.e. Christmas Eve and Easter Sunday).

Walking over to my closet, a sheer piece of vanity I’d all but demanded for my fourteenth birthday that my Father had just rolled his eyes over, my sliding door to my closet is a full-length mirror when closed. I stand there, striking a few poses as I looked myself over. Other than a few pounds here and there (namely my thighs and my hips) I thought I looked great. I know whenever I wore my swimsuit I always seemed to get the attention from the boys around town.

During the summers I always go by the local pond with some friends and sunbathed, and reveled in the attention I get from the boys from around town. Some came up to see my friends, which was fine, but I had my own fan club of tasty boys that I got to “sample” a bit. With wet hair and sleek muscles, Zack Green was a boy I’d made out with plenty of times, even going so far as to go down on him. The way he’d moaned and groaned…

Made a girl feel pretty!

My sophomore year in high school year has been the year I finally grew into myself, losing the last of my baby fat and going up three cup sizes to my all but daring C-cup status I now proudly bear. My father’s side of the family, all of the women were built like him, only in a more… feminine way. I thank the God I didn’t believe in that I never had to suffer like my Aunts did over their DD-cup breasts and the back pain that went along with them.

While Jennifer said boys like ‘em bigger, I just think boys like them in general.

Jennifer is my best friend in the whole world, and normally the girl telling me how her dates always go. I couldn’t see her outside of school for another two weeks because her mother had found out about her giving Brandon Martinez a blowjob at school, courtesy of a very embarrassed Mr. Shoemaker, the Dean of Medicine.

I thought it was only natural, seeing as they’d been seeing each other for like three months and were still declaring their undying love for each other. For college, anything that lasts beyond a semester practically means marriage in the eyes of the socialites.

Like Jennifer and me.

I tugged at my hair, still loving the short page-boy cut I went with earlier this week. My brown hair is sleek and shiny, and very easy to manage thanks to the products I’d gotten after splurging my savings. Dad noticed after only two days that I’d had it cut, so it must look good! It took him two years to notice we had a cat, which sometimes made me worry about his mental health. Mom kept on telling me he’d always been like that.

I pull out a half dozen outfits, throwing them about my room as I look for the perfect one to wow Oliver tonight, doing my best to keep my girlish squeals of delight to a minimum, all the while coming up with reasons that I should be allowed to go out with him (“My grades are good, I’m caught up on my required reading, AND Dad knows his Dad!”)

Oliver White was not going to stand a chance once I got through with him!