Monday, October 7, 2013

Excerpt From My Latest Project

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Chapter 1

Jon returned from his latest food run to find that his modest sized condo was packed to capacity. Dipping his shoulder to squeeze between a couple of partiers, he started walking to his right before veering off to his left a minute later. By the time he was three quarters of the way through the living room with his groceries, he had witnessed about half dozen acts of sexual debauchery as well as an equal amount of hallucinatory meltdowns and alcohol flameouts.

Sweating bullets, Jon saw that he had to perform a one-eighty around a guy giving another guy head in order to reach the safety zone that was the kitchen. However, when he came out of the one eighty, instead of stepping into the kitchen, he crashed into the well endowed and exceptionally plastered girlfriend of his boss, Erica.

"Excuse me," muttered Jon, who was turning red as he knelt down to pick up the groceries.

Erica drunkenly wrapped her tail around Jon's face and stroked his cheek, before taking a seat on a nearby end table. Clearing his throat, it took Jon quite a few minutes to re-bag the groceries as every time he reached for an item, Erica's tail would worm its way under his clothing to caress his body, while at the same time she would innocently rearrange her dress this way and that.

By the time he got everything re-bagged, Jon was positively beaming with embarrassment as Erica was busy caressing her breasts in front of him.

"Ummm…I'm sorry for bumping into you like that."
"That's okay sugar," purred Erica as she finger-stirred her drink. Pulling it out, she slowly sucked it dry and said, "I didn't mind that you felt me up."
Tugging at his collar, he stammered, "I…I wasn't trying to…umm…feel you up." before stepping into the kitchen with his groceries.

Erica sighed lightly for a moment, then stepped into the kitchen and sat down on the counter. While she was watching Jon create another food tray, she began fantasizing about what it would be like to fuck her brains out using him instead of her current boy toy, who wasn't that much of a toy anymore. A few minutes later she pinched her thigh to stop herself from climaxing.
'Holy shit that was close! I think it's time to use this boy the way God has intended him to be used.'

She hopped down from the counter and ambled over to the fridge, where she promptly took out a bottle of rum and a bottle of cola, grabbed a couple of plastic glasses from the counter and made a couple of rum and cokes. For him, she added a couple of drops of GBH, and with hers, a half nickel bag of cocaine. Mixing them thoroughly, she whistled to get his attention.

When he looked up, she offered him the drink and said, "Thirsty?"
"I think not."
"Come on. I've been watching you all night. You've been working like a border collie. You need to relax for a spell and enjoy the fruits of your labor."
Jon was hesitant to drink anything that he didn't touch first. Last time he did, he got so hammered that it cost him almost five thousand to make a few certain people not perform home surgery on him.
"It's one of your faves, rum and coke. C'mon, it'll do you good," she purred.
Jon pursed his lips and furrowed his brow for several seconds. Inhaling sharply, he took the drink and said, "Because it's from you, I accept."

Jon spent the next twenty minutes working on the food tray and sipping his drink. By the time had finished both, he was looking green, feeling lightheaded and on the verge of going nighty night right there in the kitchen. Erica down the rest of hers in one swallow and hopped down from the counter. Fixing her micro dress, she walked over and caught Jon just before he collapsed. Calling over a couple of beefy partygoers, she had them carry Jon to his bedroom.

After they dropped him on the bed, Erica reached under her dress and pulled out a couple of fifties. Paying them off, she quickly shoed them out of the bedroom and locked the door. Untying her shoulder straps, she said very quietly, "School is now in session."


The steady rain that had been falling for much of the day turned into a deluge by the time Bradley had pulled into the funeral home parking lot. Maneuvering the car to a space at the far end of the lot, the first thing that he saw was the parking lot itself was almost filled to capacity.

"Shit. Look at all these cars. You think that someone important had died."
"Well, in their minds, this person was just that important," said his driver.
Bradley raised an eyebrow at that comment. In his world, his person was just another disposable part. If one died or went to jail, another was ready to step up and take their place.

Taking out a mini-cigar, he leaned over for a light from his driver. Taking a hard drag, he held the vodka soaked Connecticut tobacco in until he became lightheaded. Opening the door, he blew out the smoke, and when he'd finished, the second thing that he saw was the long line of people waiting to pay their respects.
Sighing, he checked his appearance one last time while waiting for his driving to come around with the umbrella. Stepping out, he took one last drag and dropped it to the ground.

"Let's go."

Casually strolling to the front entrance, Bradley could feel the multitude of eyes burning a hole through his skin. By the time he had gotten there, he saw nothing but black hatred and bitter contempt in everyone's faces.

Taken aback, Bradley nevertheless turned to the angry crowd and said, "I am here to pay my respects, so I don't have time to waste with any of your fuckin' bullshit. If you got a problem with me, that's fine. I'll be more than happy to deal with you at another time and at another place. In the meantime, go fuck yourselves."

(c) 2013 by G.B. Miller. All rights reserved.

Monday, July 29, 2013


Welcome to the asterisk post. I say "asterisk" because in my post of July 29th over at Cedar's Mountain, I linked up to an asterisk.

This post is simply an explanation as to why I first write out my posts by hand before posting them on my blog. Over the years (five and counting) I've found it was much easier and less aggravating to write out my blog posts by hand in advance. The main reason behind it is that I have a lot of downtime throughout my work day and in order to stay busy and stay out of trouble, I often take out a pad of paper and a pen, and write whatever comes to mind. Makes work life a helluva lot easier, simpler and safer.

However, if you happen to stumble across this particular blog by using "the next blog" feature on the Blogger dashboard and you're pretty much in the dark as to who I am and what I write/blog, please check out the following links so that you might get a better idea on who I am.

The link up on top is to my main blog entitled Cedar's Mountain, now entering its fifth year. I blog about whatever suits my interest, which this year happens to cover a lot about writing, my work life and my general observations about the cyber world.

If pictures are your bag, then please check out my picture/video blog entitled Shooting Suburbia. I've recently resurrected this after a long hiatus and it features pictures taking in and around Newington, Cedar Mountain (real mountain by the way) and wherever else that happens to strike my fancy.

If adult oriented blog writing is your cup of tea, please feel free to check out this blog's archive. In order to not deal with the hassles of censorship with my blog writing, I've posted a few NSFW goodies here that people have found interesting to read.

In addition to being a blogger, I'm also a newbie writer. My commercial debut, of which you saw the banner on the front page, is an adult paranormal/fantasy that is classified by my publisher as erotica. For details about the book, you can check out either my book blog, Books by G.B. Miller or my publisher, Solstice Publishing. Line 21 is available as both an e-book and print.

Also, I have a short story e-book trilogy called "Broken Promises", which is available at Smashwords.

I can also be found on Facebook as well: personal page and my public page.

I would like to sincerely thank you for stopping by my blog today, and please, feel free to peruse those other links at your leisure. Also, if you would a like a sample of my writing, my short story Red Stripe was published back in 2011.

Friday, July 12, 2013

The Tree

companion post here and here

The tree sighed heavily as it stretched its cranky branches as far as they could go so that it caught the morning sun. It knew that if it didn’t move its branches at the sun’s first glimpse, the mountain would look down on him with disdain and say once again, “See? See? That Methuselah has got to go! He’s long outlived his usefulness!”

In fact, it wasn’t that long ago that the mountain tried to do just that. The young buck conspired with Father Nature last winter and Father Nature obliged by sending into the valley an usually harsh snowstorm, the likes of which haven’t been seen in quite sometime.

The snowstorm and accompanying wind tried its best to take him out. Even though he lost a couple of branches here and there, his original owner’s son made sure that no other harm would happen to him. He came out on numerous occasions to brush away the heavy snow from his branches so that they wouldn’t break. He dug around the base so that he wouldn't freeze too much, and most importantly, he laid out some birdseed.

The tree was secretly overjoyed about the birdseed. For most of the past summer and fall, the owner’s son stopped putting out birdseed, which cause his feathered friends to stop visiting. This made the tree very sad, because without his feather friends to keep him company, his days and nights became very lonely.
But, as some of the other trees and plants would often say, hope springs eternal. So the tree began praying to Mother Nature, to ask her if she could give the owner’s son a little nudge to see if he could bring back his feathered friends. Mother Nature, already annoyed with Father Nature for doing an end around and the mountain for being such a self centered brat, said that she would try her very best to nudge things along.

Early one late winter day in which the weather was unusually warm, the owner’s son stepped out on the house to inspect the front yard. He took a couple of steps towards the tree and was very surprised to see a couple of squirrels bothering the tree. Annoyed, the owner’s son grabbed a couple of rocks and threw them at the squirrels. With pinpoint accuracy, the landed just in front of them, for the son didn’t want to harm them, but to simply make them stay away.

Later that week, the owner’s son planted a half dozen bird feeders in and around the old tree. After filling them up, the owner’s son gave the tree a couple of gentle taps on the trunk and said, “Give them a little time to adjust.”

So the tree did.

Every morning he stretched out his branches to catch the morning sun, while at the same time sending out a few S.O.S.’s that said, “Come back, you are truly wanted.” Of course no one heard his S.O.S.’s at first, since the tree had no leaves to speak off yet and no leaves means no S.O.S.’s to be heard.

But as winter turned into spring, something magical happened. The birds started returning at the exact same moment that the tree finally began to sprout leaves. At first only a couple would show up, but before long, as soon as the tree began to sprout more leaves, more of his feathered friends would stop by to visit and chew the fat.

Until finally, one glorious warm early summer day, all of his branches, as well as the front yard, were occupied by not only his wonderful feathered friends, but a few of his plant friends as well.
Life was indeed good, because the tree now knew that he had friends who cared about him very much, and those friends would help him outlast and out-duel the mountain, which if you really think about it, is all that a wizened tree can really ask for.

(c) 2013 by G.B. Miller; All Rights Reserved

Friday, January 11, 2013

Synopsis Draft #1 For "A Shadow Warrior's Redemption"

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After escaping from the bowels of my own personal Hell in Purgatory some two hundred seventy-five years ago, all that I wanted to do in the early afternoon twilight of my earthly existence was to continue living the dual life of the supreme demonic bitch that I really am and the fiercely independent single mom that I portray myself to be.

Instead, I get dragged into a pathetic little plot of revenge concocted by a weaselly human named Kevin, who appeared on my front porch one morning, ringing my doorbell.

I answer the door and ask, "Yes?"
"Good morning, Miss Ashanti! My name is Kevin and I need you to help me get the girl of my dreams."
"No," I say just before slamming the door in his face.

Almost instantly, the doorbell rings yet again. Frowning, I prepare myself to put my fist through his head the second that I open the door. but just as I turn the knob, Kevin says, "If you don't do what I want, I'll tell the authorities where they can find you and your brats."
"Religious authorities."

I pause for a moment so that I can wrap my brain around the threat that little weasel decided to utter. I think very hard at calling his bluff, but quickly realize that if I did and if he did, I wouldn't be able to stand the torture of listening to my children cry out for the next millennium.

So reluctantly, I agree to hep him win the girl of his dreams, by any means necessary. And apparently, "any means necessary" meant that not only would I have to become Keisha, the girl of his dreams and desires, but I would have to turn Keisha into the biggest and easiest lay the world had ever seen.

For the next three days and two nights, I took control of Keisha's body and became every man and women's desirable boy and girl toy.

I flirted, I teased, I put out and ultimately, in one night, brought five hot men to their blessed knees as I allowed them to explore Keisha's body most intimately.

After that particular night, I was beating myself up over what I had done to that poor innocent girl. She didn't deserve to be turned into someone's little boy toy, and she definitely didn't deserve that little weasel Kevin riding to her rescue because I had turned her into that boy toy. I was devastated and destroyed by what I had done to that poor little girl that my eldest child popped in and sent out a rare distress call to all corners of the spiritual world.

In a matter of minutes, two archangels, Michael and Raphael, answered the distress call and came to my rescue. Michael took me away to a secret place, and gave me back not only my true identity, but my true self as well.

With my ego and self-esteem now being fed with a combination of pure adrenaline and vitriolic rage over what Kevin had forced me to do, Michael brought me over to Keisha's condo so that I could make things right.

And making things right is just what I did. With a little help from a trio of sinners and a menagerie of Mother Natures most lethal animals, I turned the tables on Kevin most effectively, and just before sending him to a place where he would never be found, got the answers to a few personal questions that were bugging the crap out of me. With my thirst for vengeance now completely quenched, I turned my attention back to making things right with Keisha.

Prior to vaporizing that little weasel, I gave Keisha back her body. After a good night's sleep was had by all, I explained in vivid detail to Keisha what I had spent the last three days doing to her. During a lull in my monologue, I had an opportunity to gently probe her innermost thoughts and fears, which eventually allowed me to come up with a plan to make things right.

Making it right, was to offer her the chance of reliving those three days all over again, with no one being the wiser. And believe it or not, she did.