A Carnal Christmas Is UP!

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And Nook!

And Smashwords!

FrankenDom's Monster Revised Playlist

Back by popular demand is my FrankenDom's Monster playlist. Thanks to my 17yo son, I've revised it quite a bit since the last time I posted--he's got great taste in music! See anything you like on this list? :D

1. Monster -- Imagine Dragons
2. Good Man -- Devour the Day
3. Mz. Hyde -- Halestorm
4. Scream -- Avenged Sevenfold
5. Tear Away -- Drowning Pool
6. World So Cold -- Three Days Grace
7. Chalk Outline -- Three Days Grace
8. Freak Like Me -- Halestorm
9. Animal I Have Become -- Three Days Grace
10. Never Too Late -- Three Days Grace
11. Misery Loves My Company -- Three Days Grace
12. Pain -- Three Days Grace
13. Buried Alive -- Avenged Sevenfold
14. Break In -- Hailstorm
15. Nothing Left to Say -- Imagine Dragons
16. Bring Me to Life -- Evanescence
17. Sail -- AWOLNATION
18. Beautiful with You -- Hailstorm
19. Private parts -- Hailstorm
20. So Cold -- Breaking Benjamin
21. Lights Out -- Breaking Benjamin
22. Fade Away -- Breaking Benjamin
23. I Will Not Bow -- Breaking Benjamin
24. Crawl -- Breaking Benjamin
25. Give Me A Sign -- Breaking Benjamin
26. Hopeless -- Breaking Benjamin
27. What Lies Beneath -- Breaking Benjamin
28. Anthem of the Angels -- Breaking Benjamin
29. Dear Agony -- Breaking Benjamin
30. Into the Nothing -- Breaking Benjamin
31. Without You -- Breaking Benjamin
32. If Only You Knew -- Shinedown
33. Breaking Inside -- Shinedown
34. Call Me -- Shinedown
35. Addicted -- Saving Abel
36. Breakdown -- Seether

Yay, it’s finally release day for Amorous Overnight, and I’m thrilled to be here with the lovely and generous Cristal Ryder!

When I wrote Alien Overnight lo these many years ago, I had no idea that Shelley Bonham would have her own book—I just thought she was a nurse (one of my own personal heroes), a great friend and the perfect foil for the heroine of that book, Dr. Monica Teague (aka Monica the Intrepid). Monica was thrilled to be living among the aliens and headed to a distant planet, while Shelley was practically afraid of her own shadow—she only took the job at the alien mating compound for the money and couldn’t wait to get away from the aliens themselves.

It took me a while to dig out the real Shelley, the one who was a heroine rather than a victim—the nurturing protector I’d planted the seeds for in Alien Overnight—but I think it was worth the time and effort. She turned out to be someone I’d really love to hang out and be friends with. I hope you like her, too. :D

And as for the sexy alien heroes of this story…Cecine and Hastion turned absolutely everything I’d originally thought about them upside down. Both of them proved once again that appearances can be deceptive—that strength can cover deep vulnerability and looking meek and mild-mannered doesn’t mean you can’t kick ass and take names later when the need arises.

Blurb:

What's better than one hot alien at your service? Two hot aliens in your bed!

After four months of orbiting Earth in a spaceship bursting with sex-starved aliens, nurse Shelley Bonham will do just about anything to get off. The ship, that is.

Not that the aliens aren’t hot enough to put her hormones on red alert. In fact, the more time she spends with the Garathani leader and his personal guard Hastion, the more she wants them. Knowing what Cecine and Hastion are doing to each other when nobody's looking only makes it harder to keep her hands to herself.

But she’s already been betrayed by one alien—her dead douchebag of a husband. Can she trust her future—and her children—to another?

Reader Advisory: Contains the usual Robin L. Rotham smorgasbord of m/m/f ménage and D/s elements, plus a shipload of alien alphas in outer space.

R-Rated Excerpt:

Cecine’s naked torso streamed with sweat as he ran uphill, using one of the scenic programs Jasmine had designed. It was a challenging course, with steep slopes, panoramic mountain vistas, and an abundance of Terran flora and fauna, but he saw little beyond his upcoming engagement with the ensign. Anticipation had taken a severe enough toll on his own concentration that he’d excused himself from the council’s morning meeting and come to the training center to work off some of his excitement.

After his workout, he might make use of the probe too so that he had all his wits about him in the arena. It wouldn’t do to spook the ensign or betray the intimate nature of their relationship to any warriors who happened to be in attendance.

“Minister Cecine, Shelley Bonham seeks an audience with you.”

Frowning, he slowed to a walk. “End program, Empran, and direct her to come to my quarters in ten minutes.”

“Affirmative.”

The flare field vanished and he leapt off the aerobic platform. Slinging his towel around his neck, he picked up his hydration bottle and drained it before exiting the Command training center. When he strode through the door, he nearly collided with Shelley Bonham.

She reeled back with a squeak and would have fallen if he hadn’t seized her flailing arm to yank her upright. Pulling away at once, she stood there gawking at him and rubbing the spot on her bare arm where he’d touched her.

“Ms. Bonham,” he acknowledged with a nod. “I beg your pardon. I’d intended to shower and dress before greeting you.”

Her mouth still slightly ajar, she nodded at him, her eyes flickering up and down between his face and his bare chest, which was still dripping with sweat. Amused, he grabbed the towel and mopped off his face and neck while her gaze ventured all the way down to his bare feet and back up.

“You’re welcome to wait in my sitting area while I make myself more presentable,” he invited, gesturing down the curving corridor.

The rosy hue in her cheeks deepened to a splotchy red. “No! I mean, that’s okay, I…”

Her eyes slid down to his chest again as if drawn by a powerful magnet and Cecine bit the inner skin of his lower lip to keep from grinning. If he’d known she would react this strongly to the sight of his body, he’d have made it a point to accidentally intrude on one of her private sessions in the Ccommand training center weeks ago.

Then the tip of her little pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

Swearing silently, he closed his eyes for a moment and tried to stem the rush of arousal. Peserin, did she truly have no idea what the sight of a wet, healthy tongue did to a horny male?

When he opened them, her gaze had drifted below his waist once more.

So much for stemming the arousal. Against his will, hot blood pounded through his already overwarm body, tightening every muscle and thickening his cock.

He subdued a growl of frustration. As her mate, he had every right to grab her by her lacy tail of yellow hair, claim her pretty tongue and lush pink rosebud lips with his mouth and then pull down his exercise brief and claim them again with his cock. If she had any idea of the restraint he was exercising at the moment, she’d run all the way to her quarters without looking back.

Fortunately for her, his brief constricted all movement of his privates, so the discomfort was all his.

“Ms. Bonham,” he said abruptly, making her jump. “Do you wish to stand here or accompany me to my quarters?”

Contests!

To celebrate the release of Amorous Overnight, I’m giving away a Kindle Fire on the Smutketeers blog. I’m also giving away a $25 gift card to one lucky visitor to Cristal’s blog—just comment on this post, telling me why you like to read alien romance, and you’ll be entered. :D

Thanks for dropping by, and a special thanks to Cristal for hosting me today!

One Stormy Night

I've been posting all over about what a great day I had today. First I got to sleep in (after staying up until 5 a.m. to finish a marvelous historical!), then the girls and I went to see Skyfall, which was AMAZING! When I got home from the movie, there were tear-inducing fan emails waiting for me, and then as I cooked supper, it started to rain. I mean real rain, not just the sprinkles we've had to content ourselves with since last spring.

Right now, there's lightning and thunder and heavy rain outside, and it reminds me of an album that my mother used to play all the time when I was a kid. It's called One Stormy Night by the Mystic Moods Orchestra.

Yes, I can see all you youngsters out there rolling your eyes at anything with the word orchestra in it. And listening to it now, I have to admit it sounds a lot like elevator music. From my childhood.

But back then (40+ years ago) it was so romantic! I wasn't aware of it at the time, since we didn't go to church, but in the 60s and early 70s, some church youth/young adults were admonished not to listen to this album, especially in the presence of the opposite sex, because it was too romantic and might put young persons in a frame of mind to go too far on a date.

I still like to listen to bits of it once in a while because it's so nostalgic. And it really is romantic, and mysterious, and evocative, at least for the 1960s. Listen to a few of the tracks and maybe you'll hear what I mean. ;)

Just thought I'd let you in on that little secret. So what kind of music do you remember from childhood? Any make-out music on the list?

Grandmother's Masterpiece

Here's another one for my Grandmother, one of the few poems I wrote with a smile on my face. She took more pictures of my sister and me when we were children than anyone else -- unfortunately, she was also the worst photographer.
Still, the photographs she took always manage to make me grin.


Grandmother's Masterpiece

I just can't help but smile
at this poorly centered snapshot;
you really couldn't take
a decent picture.

Summer sun beat down
upon our brown impromptu crowns,
two rolled-up paper sacks
a bit askew atop our heads.
Dimpled knees peeked out
from hems of homemade cotton gowns
as we posed, our arms akimbo,
by your net-strewn berry patch.
Bright red sticky smears
on both our fingers and our lips
tell the tale of little girls
who ate as many as we picked.

Your slender shadow sneaked
into the lower right-hand corner
and for once I'm very pleased
to see your total lack of skill.
Whether it was shaky hands
or faulty composition,
you managed to create
our family portrait.

© 2004 Robin L. Rotham

When Canada's Gone

This is a poem I wrote when I was into those creative writing classes a few years ago, before I started writing romance. I belonged to a different sort of online writers' group then, a literary group, and members tended to be very polarized in their political beliefs and very vocal about them within the group -- which is one reason I'm no longer there. It was during the last presidential election, during which I kept hearing the comment, "If Bush is re-elected, I'm moving to Canada!" This hit my funny bone pretty hard because I'd heard the exact same comment from the other side ("If Gore wins, I'm moving to Canada!") many times in the previous election.
Obviously not too many people actually followed through on that threat, and I'll bet the Canadians heaved a collective sigh of relief that a buttload of intolerant Americans didn't head for the border.

So this poem isn't written from the POV of either the Left or the Right, because it could be from either. It has two titles because I can never seem to pick one.

When Canada's Gone
(or Heaven On Mars)

Where will we go when Canada's gone,
When the last frontier is our front lawn
And all the world's arable acres are taken,
Leaving us only the lands forsaken?

How will we find a place to be
Just what we want in society,
But free of society's bothersome rules
That govern our homes and jobs and schools?

How can they even say with pride,
"I'm an American on right's side!"
When all they ever do for me
Is hinder my individuality?

Can't they see how narrow their view,
Allowing no room for different or new,
Condemning my instincts as base or wrong
Just because I'm not singing their song?

Curtailing my freedoms, promoting their laws,
Is leaving me feeling angry and raw.
I'm about ready to leave this place,
But the only land vacant's in outer space.

I'd better get cracking on manned space flight
If I want a new place to live tonight.
Since no one here agrees with me,
I'll fly away and soon be free

To carry on just as I'd rather
Without a thought for whom I'll bother,
Escaping hate and rules and wars
To make my own little heaven on Mars.

But uh-oh, wait--I just remembered,
I won't get there 'til next September.
That's too long before I arrive,
with no guarantee I'll make it alive.

Perhaps there's nothing for me there,
No water, no food, oh yeah, no air.
At home, these things are always near--
Guess I should learn to get along here.

© 2004 Robin L. Rotham

The Stuff of Dreams

Today's poem is another exercise in catharsis for me. Back in the late '80s and early '90s, I worked for a man who just about gave me a nervous breakdown -- Angela Knight would call him a Bosshole. (Wish I'd known that term back then, LOL!)

His name was Will, and he was a "recovering" alcoholic and a diagnosed bipolar who regularly went off his meds because he didn't like the way they made him feel. It was a Jekyll and Hyde story -- Will was a very intelligent man, an innovative risk-taker, and he could be quite generous with his employees. Hell, sometimes he was even loving -- he'd break down into tears of gratitude for all of us and tell us how much we meant to him. We were his family, since he didn't have a family of his own. But when he got into Hyde mode, he was condescending, manipulative, vindictive, and paranoid.

Meanwhile I was the child of an alcoholic, so my reaction to him was predictably codependent -- I thought if I could just be more perfect, he'd be happy.

God, what a horrendous six years that was! I dreamed about him periodically for ten years afterward, dreamed that I was back at work for him and wondering how the hell that had happened. It wasn't until I wrote this poem that the dreams finally stopped.

But before I show you the poem, I have to tell you about the dream I woke up to on Mother's Day. It was a nightmare, actually. I dreamed that the kids and I were driving down the road in the Suburban, and when we came over a hill, we saw that the road was covered with water at the bottom. I crept closer, wondering how deep the water might be -- I couldn't tell because it was kind of around a curve -- when suddenly the road gave way beneath us.

I saw that the Suburban was about to be swept away in a torrent of water, so I yelled at the kids to jump out. I saw Randy and Erin jump to safety, but Jana wasn't with them. I searched the Suburban frantically but couldn't find her. In a strange twist, the Suburban changed, growing smaller and gradually morphing into a long piece of woven material that used to be a boat. I picked it up and shook it, hoping to find her, but she wasn't there. I was standing on the shore and Randy and Erin were still there...and I looked at the huge river of muddy brown water roaring by and realized Jana was in there somewhere. She was gone. I only had two children left, and it was my fault -- I shouldn't have driven so close to the water. I doubled over with the pain and started screaming her name over and over...

And that's when I woke up. Of course, I burst into tears. OMG, I've NEVER been so glad to wake up and discover I'd been dreaming! (Not even after the agent dream.) I tried to tell Mr. Robin about it, but I was crying too hard.

Then I tried to go back to sleep because it was still pretty early, but I was too shaken up. And wonder of wonders, Jana came down early, while everyone else was still asleep, and crawled in with me. We snuggled for a while and then she wanted to play one of her old favorite games; she likes to crawl up inside my nightgown and pretend she's a baby in my tummy again. Normally I'm not fond of this game -- she's about to turn six and it's a pretty tight fit -- but this time I was more than willing. She tucked her little body inside the front of my nightie, her head just under my chin, and asked, "Mommy, can I suck my thumb?"

"Sure, baby," I told her.

So she sucked her thumb and made gurgling baby sounds while I held her close to my naked breast, and it was so incredibly wonderful, I thought my heart would burst.

Then she started giggling and squishing my breasts and the moment passed. I laughed and told her to quit that and she giggled some more and said, "But Mommy, I like jiggling your boobies!"

That was when I decided it was time to get up and make breakfast. I discovered to my dismay that there were only six strips of bacon left, but Erin doesn't like bacon, so I figured I'd give two to Mr. Robin, two to Randy and two to Jana. I cooked them up and then scrambled some eggs before getting down paper plates. As usual, I went to make Mr. Robin's plate first, and when I reached for the bacon, there were only two pieces on the paper towel.

"Who ate all the..." I turned around and there was Jana, clutching the tail end of a piece of bacon and giving me a guilty grin.

"I just love bacon so much, Mommy," she said earnestly.

Any other day, I'd have been annoyed with her, but all I could do was laugh. Randy, the little sweetie, gave up his two pieces so that his dad could have some, and we all had a nice morning.

It was, indeed, the stuff of dreams.

So here's today's contribution to the Poetry Train.

Way Overdue Purging Acrostic

Mystical swirling dispatched by a scream.
Yesterday's drama is this night's dream;
Sweating the truth of a job gone wrong,
Trembling with anger I've swallowed too long,
Eyes dripping hopelessness stare in the dark,
Realize crawling is leaving its mark
In a psyche too precious to squander on Will;
Only in nightmares of him do I kill--
Until now, I recall, lying back with a yawn,
Sunrise will find my boss stabbed on his lawn.

(Oh, I needed that!)

© 2003 Robin L. Rotham

(I'm still using the same old Mr. Linky, so if you've signed in once, you don't need to do it again.)

Mathe-Manic Monday

No clever or insightful lead-in this week. I'm just too tired! But here's another egghead poem of mine. In high school, when I was deep into algebra, geometry, and trig classes, I did actually dream in mathematical symbols and equations, which was very freaky. My writing instructor told me that one day, this would be plastered on the doors of mathematics departments everywhere, but that day hasn't arrived yet.

Mathe-Manic Dreams

Triangle burns
with abstraction keen,
grappling with theory
and searching for mean.

Add me to tangent,
divide me by pi--
must be obtuse,
'cause I can't figure why

all these symbols are people
and functions, relations.
What's the solution
to all these equations?

Wake with a start,
wipe the drool from my desk--
yawn and keep cramming
for algebra test.

© 2003 Robin L. Rotham

My Poetry Monday

I know, I know -- I shared a silly limerick on my last post, which probably led you to expect more of the same today. Sorry to disappoint, but this is my favorite of my poems and I really wanted to share it. It's for someone I've blogged about before. If you need a refresher, here's the post.

Don't forget to leave a link if you're posting something of yours today!

Grandmother

More than thirty years have flown
since fate first found me
dreaming in your nest.

You, all wrapped in cotton
shuffling slippered down the hall,
still tuck me in.

Bathroom lights reveal the pins
in curls that always envied mine,
and tissues in your sleeve.

Rings not ever parted from you
spin upon your sparrow’s hand
as diamonds pat my cheek.

Balm of favored lotion
soothes my heart and it’s as if
I’ve never gone.

Eyes in hollows forged by age
and illness ever present
smile and know me.

Bending down, you offer one last kiss
without a word
and I am eager.

Toothpaste and a hint of you
speak comfort always found
beneath your wing.

I wake and know the stone that bears
your name is all my lips
can ever touch.

Still, I sleep within your walls
and hoard your kisses
till we’re home again.

© 2003 Robin L. Rotham


Mr. Linky is acting up in the dead of night, so if he's still on the fritz, just leave a comment and I'll hunt you down. :D

Jump Aboard the Poetry Train

The Creative Goddess and I are feeling the urge to bare our innermost souls (I mean even more than usual), so we're going to begin posting our poetry on Mondays, and we'd like to encourage all of you to join us.

Of course, it doesn't have to be poetry. Any sort of creative expression you've indulged in -- an anecdote, short story, cartoon, etc. -- would be great.

Just to get everyone in the mood, here's a little gem I wrote for Mr. Robin:


Romance (a limerick)

I knew that romance had departed,
Though the honeymoon barely had started--
As we flew down the road
My dear prince, now a toad,
Left the window rolled up when he farted.

Now, you've got to be able to come up with something better than that!