Unreal...

Hey! It could happen! Maybe!

Links to the 2 Youtube Video Book Trailers Repaired

The links to the two book trailers for The 'Dear Roz' series have been repaired. Look under the Alex Bahscot's Books Logo, just to the right of      'Home 1'

The Red Carpet Book Trailer:        http://youtu.be/jkgX4IS5gWM

                                                 and

The 'Dear Roz' Book Trailer:         http://youtu.be/uENi4PM4aDQ

On writing several books at the same time AND explicit topics normally avoided

Contrary to most sage writing advice, I enjoy writing several books/novellas at the same time. What I find is, one of the stories will call to me, and by that I mean that a scenario appropriate for a specific book will pop into my head (even if the topic might be considered inappropriate) Truth be told, the scenario offered immediately below was considered for book 2 in the 'Emergency Hotline' series but might end up as a scene in 'The Idiot Savant of Dating' (a title which Tom Leveen suggested could be either great or terribly offensive) Due to the nature of the participants, it might be suited to YA. Although scenarios concerning young men can be challenging for a female author, my friend (and erotica writer for men) Xaviera, never fails to provide me with plenty of suggestions for salacious topics and tips for writing them, as you will soon see.

Please bear in mind that these were first drafts and each written in about ten minutes.

The priest and widow Smith

(Calvin and Bob were chatting in their shared apartment after inviting in a couple of unexpected visitors as they prepared lunch)

"I knew I shouldn't have opened the door," Calvin said to Bob. "I figured it was too early for Alex."

Bob and Calvin looked over their shoulders. The new village Priest and the widow Smith were seated opposite each other at our kitchen table. Apparently they were making impromptu visits to the wayward. Both Calvin and Bob fitted neatly into that category. Sunday school was the last time Calvin had visited any kind of church and his funeral would be the next, he was pretty sure.

"Would you like some white wine with your soup?" Calvin asked the uninvited duo.

"That would be much appreciated," replied the priest.

"No point in asking widow Smith," Bob observed. "She spends more time in bars than Alex."

Calvin glanced over his shoulder again. "I don't believe that, Bob. She's in charge of bible class, so I'm told."

"Kids will drive you to drink, mate," he replied.

Bob carried the plates filled with vegetable soup and placed them in front of the visitors while Calvin followed suit with the wine glasses. Bob sat down next to the priest but Calvin was in no hurry to perch beside the priest's companion, so he made it look as if he was busy putting stuff away. The priest took a sip of wine.

"A little rough around the edges," the priest remarked, staring into his glass.

"You're getting the good stuff," Bob said, clearly miffed at the priests comment. "That vintage is up to five dollars a gallon, now."

Widow Smith tested the soup and gave every indication that it, at least, passed muster.

"It’s been a while since we entertained any clergy," Bob said.

"The God squad were here before?" Calvin asked, clearly not remembering the incident.

Widow Smith tilted her head back and poured half of the wine into her mouth.

"You remember," Bob said. "I was in the kitchen beating my meat."

Widow Smith pitched forward. Wine exploded from her mouth. Any liquid that failed to drench the priest's upper torso peppered both his soup and the tablecloth either side.

"Tenderizing." Calvin clarified the situation. "He was tenderizing the steak we had for dinner. I remember, now."

"Father, I am so sorry." Widow Smith was mortified.

Bob turned to me. "Did you ever see that scene from the exorcist, where—"

"Not now, Bob, although it was one of my favorite clips."

"Not to worry," said the priest. "I'm sure white wine won't leave a stain."

"Stain?" Bob said. "That stuff melts plastic."

"Perhaps we should reschedule this visit," the priest suggested, getting to his feet.

Widow Smith looked daggers at Bob.

"No rush," Calvin said. "I'm sure there are members of your flock more worthy of your time."

"Can I expect to see you both at Mass, sometime this week?"

"This week? Ooh... not sure about that," Calvin replied.

Bob shook his head. He couldn't squeeze it in either.

"Next week then?"

Calvin emitted a whooshing sound as he mentally searched for time to fit in such plans in the coming week.

It was Bob who laid the corpse to rest.

"We're not very religious, Father."

"Don't hold your breath for our appearance," Calvin agreed. "I attended Catholic school, so as you might guess, my memories aren't all that wonderful. Those nuns were a bit—"

Bob tried to save the situation. "What he's trying to say, Father—"

"I think the picture's pretty clear," widow Smith interrupted, her face a stony mask.

"If you should change your mind?" the priest said.

"You'll be the first to know," Calvin offered. "Thanks for stopping by. Sorry about what happened to you." Calvin looked accusingly at the young priest's companion.

Widow Smith marched to the front door, the priest a step or two behind. Bob closed it behind them.

"When was the last time you went to confession?" Bob asked.

Calvin took a slurp of wine. "I was in high school. The nun I hated the most was called Sister Amelia."

 The scene below might find its way into 'The Idiot Savant of Dating' novella. 

The Handjob scene

Dave leaned back in the chair, leaving it to balance on the two back legs.

"Bessie Wright gave me a handjob behind the village post office when I was in the ninth grade. I was amazed when the load I blew caught me under the chin. Later that night, the police asked my parents if they wished to view the closed circuit TV footage taken by a concealed camera not six feet away from the action. My dad was game, but my mother declined on their behalf."

Ted asked what punishment was attached to the possibility of my encounter going viral.

"My dad gave me a five minute 'dressing down' in front of my mother, before slipping me five bucks for giving him the best laugh he'd had in ages after my mother headed upstairs."

"No doubt that curbed your early foray into teenage masturbation," Ted suggested.

"On the contrary. Spurred on by the thought that there was probably as yet no entry in the Guinness Book of Records for the farthest distance ejaculate could cover, I set out to improve on that effort. For some reason I had become attached to the possibility that my intake of cauliflower was responsible for the velocity of my ejaculate," Dave said.

"Broccoli did it for me," Ted replied. "Eating greens tends to make it thicker, too."

"That's an old wives tale," Dave stated. "I eat a lot of greens and my cock never got any thicker."

"I was referring to jizz consistency."

"Oh! Anyway," Dave continued, "two weeks after that episode, Suzie Marshall was in my bedroom, helping me go for the record, when I made an important discovery."

"You realized that Suzie wasn't actually jacking you off. She just had an advanced case of Parkinson's?"

"No, no. That wasn't it. Getting a fright at the crucial moment can add ten percent to the distance ejaculate can travel."

"What led to that discovery?"

"My mom walking in just as the countdown reached zero."

Ted burst out laughing. "Oh my God. I think I would have died."

"It might not have been so bad if some of the evidence hadn't landed on my mother's shoe. I thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head."

"Go on. I can hardly wait." Ted was clutching his sides by this time.

"Suzie bolted for the door and freedom, leaving me with a red face and an erection that refused to go down as my mother screamed for my father to get-his-ass-in-here and deal with his son."

"Do tell."

"I was ten bucks richer that night, although I did have to listen to a lecture on the merits of locking my bedroom door. Needless to say, I couldn't look my mother in the face for a few days."

"Do you think she's forgotten that incident?" Ted asked.

"Would you?"

Quick links to SOME Dear Roz info

Quick link to the Dear Roz initial promotion

Quick link to the Dear Roz Prequel

(not the finished version, but not too far away)

Cover update for the 'Dear Roz' Serial

The current cover for a physical book due
to be replaced.

                                                    The original Box Set cover as used just now.

My updated cover for the 'Dear Roz' Romantic Comedy Serial

In an effort to improve visibility, I updated my original cover for this book. 'Dear Roz' was supposed to mimic 'Dear Abby' the well known Agony Aunt advice column, but at the time it didn't occur to me that many (or most) might not make that connection. I eliminated that problem with the updated cover, plus I changed the sub-title with (hopefully) better suited keywords.

The updated cover for a physical book

                                                    The updated Boxed Set cover for the Serial:-

When this serial was first promoted as Free, it claimed 1st and 2nd place in its two categories and when it entered the paid ranks it made it into the Top 100 (briefly at #96) of the whole of the kindle store. So I added a couple of Bestseller badges to the eBook boxed set and also to what will be the cover of the physical book (as soon as I can get my procrastinating butt in gear)

Shoot! I've just thought of a way to upgrade the upgrade. (Will it never end???)

Love, Sex and My Ex an introduction to my first attempt at an unusual romance story.

                                                            Love, Sex and My Ex

                                                                     Foreword

The book is written in UK English, Primarily because the scene is set in Bermuda, a British Overseas Territory.

This story will hit a nerve with hundreds of thousands of people who have the same plight as our protagonist, Robert Arden. He wants his ex back, in the most desperate way possible. The focus of his efforts lies in his unending search to achieve OBE's (out of body experiences) to connect with his ex-wife.  Anyone, man or woman, could benefit from Robert's experiences in this tale of love, lust and regret.

Happy reading...

                                                           

                                               

                     

                                                 

Love, Sex and my Ex

                                                               

An Erotic Romance Novella

  

                                                                               

                      

Introduction

How many of us have lost the only person we ever truly loved. That one partner, we now realize we can't live without. The one person whose mere touch can turn a lousy day into a great one. The one true love we desperately want to get back, no matter what.

What if you just wanted to be with the only person you have ever truly loved, but no longer loves you? Such was my dilemma. I wanted my ex back, to fill the void in my life as only she could. This particular story deals with this issue. Perhaps, just perhaps, you could learn from me.

           

My name is Robert Arden and I'm going to take you on a most unusual journey. My story begins shortly after my divorce. Is it a love story? Absolutely. Is there filthy, depraved exhilarating sex? Of course. Humour? Who can live without it? Swearing? A bit, but mostly from a rather unusual 'man of the cloth.’  Travel? Like you wouldn't believe. If the preceding synopsis doesn't pique your interest, check yourself for a pulse. Chances are you're dead, it's simply that nobody told you.

Love... sex... and my ex. The first two words are in the correct order, if you don't want to become the third. Read it again. We men tend to get the first two words in the wrong order, (wrong as far as women are concerned) and that’s my point. That is why we become ex-boyfriends, ex-husbands, ex-lovers.

Women often fall in love with the way we smile, the way we speak, the things we say, and the manners we demonstrate. The key to their heart, however, is the look in our eyes when we see their face. After a while, sex becomes a natural progression.

           

Men on the other hand single out a woman they find physically attractive for whatever reason, initiate sex ASAP, and then fall in love. Both routes can lead to a happy conclusion, but we are going to discuss the ones that may not. Specifically, we are going to journey through my failed relationship (which left me an ex-husband) and the lengths I went to try and win my ex back. Did I succeed? You tell me..........

First, let me ask you a question. How many of you have experienced a lucid dream? A dream so real you couldn't believe it was only a dream? How many of you have killed someone in such a dream, or experienced incredible sex, or met up with people who have been dead for years?

You've dreamt you were flying or being chased by some horrible presence that gained on you as you fled in agonizingly slow motion. I know you have. How do I know? First, let me tell you what was gaining on you. Death, that's what. If it had caught up with you, you wouldn't be reading this right now, so relax. We all dream. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

                                          

THE DREAM

                                                                                                  

Chapter 1 - Robert Arden

As I stretched and began to wake up, the dream started to recede. One of the tricks I had learned to recapturing a fading dream was to imagine myself spinning slowly round and round in an anticlockwise fashion. I employed that technique now and was rewarded with the dream that was slipping away coming back into focus.

She is so incredibly alluring, my wife of five years and ex-wife of one. Eleanor Arden, now Eleanor Wilson once again. She lay naked beside me, the bedclothes pushed off to the side as she did almost every night of our life together. I smiled at the habit that left my ex-wife exposed to my view. My hand gently traced the shape of her face as it slid down the exquisite jaw line and continued slowly down the side of her neck to her shoulder.

I still couldn't remember what had gone wrong. I loved this woman so much, I could never understand how after only five years we had parted ways. As my hand now moved gently over her right breast, the nipple stiffened and tickled the palm of my hand as my fingers continued on their way towards the swell of her perfect stomach. She was older than me by just over a year, and now in her late twenties.

Continuing down past her soft jet-black pubic hair, over the outline of her slender right hip, down her thigh and coming to rest on her knee, the pangs of regret washed over me now causing the dream to once again recede. I let it go and was again for the millionth time left with only hurt and longing.

Fully awake now I lay there, thinking about Eleanor, wondering if she ever considered our divorce a mistake. Perhaps even wanting me back, wishing as I did that she could turn back the clock. She had never remarried and for that I was somehow grateful. As long as we were both single, I felt there was still a chance, no matter how slim, of us rekindling the love that for me would never fade.

We had remained casual friends (casual to her, not so casual to me) and bumped into each other from time to time. She had even invited me for lunch at her house on several occasions and I had always accepted, studying her body language as she flitted around the kitchen, trying my best to read more into it than was really there. We had always hugged when the inevitable time came for me to leave, but I had always left feeling empty, wishing I could have poured my heart out to her but scared that rejection would crush my only dream.

I swung my feet out of the king-sized bed and reached for the notepad resting on the bedside table. I stared at the title I had written on it. Dream Diary #12. As I had faithfully done for the last two  years, I opened it up to the newest empty page and wrote the date in the top right corner. After a moments hesitation, I began to write. Slowly at first and then faster, trying to recapture my latest dream in as much graphic detail as I could before it faded forever. This (I was assured) would reveal any common dream thread. The common thread, was always Eleanor.

Satisfied, I had caught and transferred to paper as much of the dream as I could honestly remember, I replaced the note pad to its regular spot and opened up the largest of three drawers that my bedside table possessed. The other eleven volumes were stacked up in two piles inside the drawer alongside several other books. These other books now engaged my attention. I looked at the titles of some of them even though I knew them by heart. The Key to Lucid Dreaming. Easy Solutions for Lucid Dreaming. Astral Projections and You. Out-of-body Experiences (OBE's as they are commonly known) How to Turn a Lucid Dream into an Out-of-body Experience (a step by step guide) I rested these books and another five of similar content back in the drawer and closed it.

Eleanor is the only daughter of an American Diplomat and his wife. Washington, DC was home to the Wilson family. As for myself, my mother was English, and my father Scottish. They had taken up residence in Bermuda, a year before I was born. Tucker’s Town in Bermuda was all I knew. Half of my life revolved around various beach activities at Tucker’s Point, a mere ten minutes from our house. It was there I had first glimpsed the woman who became my wife.

I lay back down and quietly took stock of my life after the divorce. Within no more than three months, Eleanor had returned to Washington, and, to the best of my knowledge, had settled there. As for myself, I had poured my energy over the same period of time into growing a small but profitable local landscaping and maintenance business. More through luck than good judgment, I had secured several large contracts for my company by way of referrals including that of a Persian Prince, who had purchased a second (or was it third) home abroad, this one here, in Bermuda, and who only stayed here for three months of the year, but requested that "Robert and his crew" properly maintain his extensive and beautifully manicured property all year long. This lucrative contract alone allowed me to hire my crew, three brothers and their uncle, on a permanent basis and was responsible for tiding us over during the slower winter months.

The Wilson family, including Eleanor’s grandmother, had vacationed for almost three weeks, at a home belonging to a friend of the family. The house was of medium size, but its claim to fame was its proximity to the beach. I was pretty much relentless in my pursuit of the Wilson’s daughter. She resisted my charms (effortlessly it seemed) for the whole of her vacation. Not so the second time her family visited. Against both her father and her mother’s wishes, we married barely ten months after we first met. Five blissful years in Bermuda, tarnished only by a divorce I never saw coming. How could I be so blind? I lost the very best part of me. I took her for granted, I guess. What else could it have been? What could I do to win her back? She didn’t need me, that was quite plain, but is a relationship based on needs only, or are there other factors which could tip the scales in my favour?

                                                                                               

Chapter 2 - Robert

I bumped into Eleanor unexpectedly at the airport on St David’s Island, where I delivered a much needed suitcase to one of my forgetful friends, going away for a two-week vacation to Florida. That awful longing returned full-force the second I saw my ex. Her gorgeous long black hair swirled about her face in the morning wind. The slightly lopsided smile that accompanied her attempts to keep the hair away from her face made my insides melt... as it always had. She gratefully accepted my invitation for a ride to the house of the women whom she had always considered her best friend. Ashley, an artist, had been pursued by many suitors, but never married. The two women were of similar age and almost identical interests. The good news, Ashley had always liked me, the bad news... just not for Eleanor.