Thursday, April 16, 2015

Bedroom Eyes - Killer Eyes

My belt was a classic black Levi, silver one prong buckle, waist 34", soft cowhide. I slowly unbuckled it and pulled it from the loops on my well used Levi jeans. I usually wear Levi's, soft brown leather boots, a blue t-shirt and dark brown leather jacket. You know, one of those soft lambskin zipper front jackets with a Nehru collar? Yeah, it's so comfortable. Oh, and by the way I don't usually carry a weapon.
The assassin's eyes followed each of my fingers as I slipped my belt from the loops. I'm sure he wanted to break all my fingers if not one at once then all at the same time. Some assassins like to torture their victims before they kill them, and other assassins want to kill immediately. This assassin wanted an immediate kill.
We are at St. Ives, a coffee shop on Victoire Boulevard in Paris, a splendid sandwich and coffee shop. The tiny eatery seats 45 customers either sitting on counter stools or standing, and this morning twelve customers were sitting and drinking and conversing while watching streaming Internet deals on their iPads and phones, except for one adorable female. She sits tall  on a stood, legs spread, white jacket with shapely calves highlighted with black heels, her fabulous twinkling bedroom eyes glued to mine, or are they killer eyes?
I liked to drink my deep roast coffee black while standing and that's what I was doing making eye contact with a potential that potential sexual partner, when this fucker came up behind me and pulled a fillet knife. I caught the glint of silver in a sliver of streaming sunlight through the front window.
If he wasn't going to slice me like a fish he should neither have jerked the knife at my neck nor pulled the handgun from underneath his jacket to shoot me like a hoodlum. Sitting on the floor below me after I had kicked his left knee hyperextending it, and consequently stomping on it and breaking it, he'd have been a happy camper with me dead on the floor at his feet, examining my priceless Michelangelo diamond and emerald necklace between his fingers, the exquisite necklace Michelangelo had designed and made. This fucker would have snatched the jewels from underneath my leather jacket pocket.
But now he's cradling his leg and whimpering like a baby. The gal on the stool didn't flinch or scream, of just off her stool, she watched with that unnerving twinkle in her eyes.
Being on the run from big money execs and government officials on the take isn't a fun profession, but I'm not on the run, I'm not afraid and I rather enjoy being in control taking out the best of the best assassins, not actually killing them but incapacitating them for pretty much of the rest of their lives. Most of them know the consequences of losing a fight but don't consider losing since they believe they're the best at what they do. I don't lecture them or lecture anybody else, but situations aren't always in one's favor and you have to be prepared for that special time.
As all the customers in St. Ives watch me as I wrap my Levi belt around this stupid guys neck. They cringe and whistle, a couple applaud and one or two stand to get a better look. The three employees lean against the other side of the main counter and stretch their necks across it to watch the proceedings.
It's not that I'm going to kill the fucker, after all he is the son of somebody, he possibly even has a brother or sister. Maybe he has a wife and child. Perhaps he's a university graduate, or a high-tech entrepreneur trying to make a fast buck by killing me. Whatever he is, I'm not going to end his miserable life, I'll just teach him a lesson or two.
He grabs my belt as I tighten it around his jugular. He pulls against the soft belt trying to loosening the choking leather. I tighten it by twisting it and pulling it up and watch his face turn pink and his fingers whiten underneath the strong leather. He face turns reddish then slightly purple, I release my belt and he falls back smashing his head on the tile floor. With a broken knee and now unconscious, all the customers silently watch me as I unstrap my belt, loop it through my Levi's and buckle it.
Sirens screech in the background and it's time for me to leave with my Michelangelo necklace secured inside the black felt bag that's inside my jacket pocket. Out the front door carrying my black coffee, standing on the sidewalk in front of St. Ives, the pale glow of the morning, such a natural packaged charm, lit some mischief I had on my mind when that young seductive woman who was sitting at the counter took my arm in hers and smiled.
The fug of auto traffic and pedestrians is an excitement I couldn't ignore. This day is going to be wonderful. I gently smiled back at the woman, and we walked up the block. Would I get laid today by a fragile but not helpless straw blonde with a long neck and bedroom eyes? Take a guess.

Monday, April 6, 2015

Violence and Peace

You can change. Everything living changes as it grows and matures, as the season pass, as time dwindles away, as if nothing living has changed, but everything living has changed with the passing of time. You can be a dreamer. You may have insomnia. You may be fragile. You may have thoughtful insights. You may want to go to the moon and back. Childhood dreams have come and gone, but the things we do for love feel so real from afar and close by, and all of it pertains to life lived that is constantly changing.

Peace and violence are pieces of change.

You have changed. You are constantly changing. The life you have lived was real even if your memory is fading. Time passes. Love passes. Life passes. Seasons change but the moon and stars and the earth remain. You were and you are here and now.

Prettyboy: Fabulous Fifties Hollywood.

Saturday, April 4, 2015

Easter - Ressurection - Jesus - Marilyn Monroe

Easter Sunday and Prettyboy has his hand full, not with Easter eggs but with the gorgeous Marilyn Monroe. She is here and now on this Easter Sunday so do not let her get away from you. Love her, take her to your heart, listen to her sweet voice singing I'll always love you. Watch her feminine gestures how elaborate and expressive they are. Prettyboy: Fabulous Fifties Hollywood, love and devotion does not get any better than this.

 http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00OWQ7W68

Killing Jesus - Resurrecting - Alexander Crown

Love, hate, fear, courage!
Alexander Crown.
Emotions!
Alexander Crown Trilogy.
Hell!
Dubrovnik.
Heaven!
"Vitruvian Man"
AI: Artificial Intelligence!
Regeneration.

Ben Campbell

Thursday, March 26, 2015

Love & Magic

Campbell writes like a slumming angel, diverse in the streets of a romantic Hollywood.
The Los Angeles Times


Ben Campbell is the perfect urban romance novelist. He takes us into different worlds, places unlike ours  but intrinsically like ours.
Library Review

Prettyboy explores the underside of the glitter capital of the world, Hollywood, making out with Marilyn Monroe, exchanging punches with Marlon Brando, and kicking James Dean to the ground. What else can a young man do, fall in love?
The Boston Book Review

Prettyboy: Fabulous Fifties Hollywood give you insight of the real world of Hollywood in its Golden Days. Download the eBook today and laugh and cry and kiss and die with the best of Hollywood actors.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00OWQ7W68

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Guilty


Plain, devious, her straw blonde hair, long neck and tired eyes didn't stop me from approaching her. The low lingering voice with a moist caress like a lion licking your face was another one of her special aspects that kept me attuned to her prowl. Was the lady that was dressed from head to toe in blue after my five hundred year old necklace, or did she schedule this appointment to kill me? I would try to find out hoping it wouldn't be too difficult.
 
Paris is a funny city, a place so old I felt out of place, a city steeped in history its age meant nothing. But the Eiffel Tower, that's another story. The blonde kept me on edge as I circled around her table at the Le Bonaparte street café then sat down opposite her. She had two coffees waiting, one for her and one for someone else. I hoped that someone else wasn't me.
'You called my office in Venice and asked for a meeting?'
'I did,' her growl was spicy, her uneven face a makeup of deceit. How did I know that. I didn't, but the sneer in her voice and the twitching of her eyes said she was lying. Or was the twitching because of he piercing sunlight.
'I'm here now. Where is my expense money?'
She pushed a tiny paper bag my way. I lifted the corner and peeked inside. One thousand U.S. currency. I liked that but left it on the table in front of me.
'I may have something for you,' I said. 'Where are you from?'
'What does it matter? I would love to see what you have for me.' 
'What is it you want?' 
'You,' she said flatteringly, 'and a special kind of necklace. I was told Michelangelo, the famous Italian sculptor and painter, had designed and crafted it many centuries ago.' 
Sitting back in my hard, metal folding chair I spied on the hard woman. She relaxed in her chair as if her life was molded by cold, unforgiving metal. How could I not like this well-structured business woman full of anxiety and insincerity? She practical and she’s half-pretty in cobalt blue, short leather jacket, blue sweater, blue pants and blue fingernails. 
‘Your accent sounds Bulgarian,’ I whispered, ‘but you could be Romanian or Hungarian.’
Scrutinizing tired scanned over me. ‘What does it matter? Drink you coffee.’
I decided to trust her. ‘No thank you. What’s your name?’
‘Forget names, how much do you want for the necklace?’
‘You could give me a fake name?’
“Angelina,’ her laugh was real something like a happy child, ‘Angelina Jolie.’
‘Perfect,’ I joined her laughter. ‘You are Czech from Městská čast Praha 3, the Municipal District which is socioeconomically diverse, has a high concentration of brothels, strip clubs and cheap bars and it’s a short distance away from nice apartments and a new shopping mall with expensive stores. The National Monument, with its giant equestrian statue of Jan Žižka is in Prague 3 as is the 216 metre-high Žižkov Tower, Prague's tallest structure.’
Her posture tensed. Her face twitched and her lips formed words she didn’t want to say. ‘How do you know all that?’
‘It’s part of my DNA,’ I said. ‘Drink your coffee.’
‘No thank you.’ She copied my reply to her. ‘What is your name?’
I decided to come clean with her. ‘Alexander Crown. The necklace is not for sale. I had given it to the Italian Historical Society in Florence and three months later they gave it back to me.’
‘Why would they do that?’
‘They said it was too dangerous to possess.’
Her half-pretty face shot sideways suddenly aware she was with a dangerous man. I didn’t consider myself as dangerous since I had lived a life in danger. Had she looked sideway to signal someone, or was I being paranoid?
‘In that case,’ she looked back at me, ‘if I don’t want to purchase the necklace will you tell me how much you want to sell it for?’
‘It’s not for sale,’ I revealed. “I use the necklace as a coy to rip buyers off. They put their money up front and I merely snatch it from them and disappear.’
‘Disappear?’
‘Where are your operatives?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Your people, your co-conspirators, are they across the street, behind me, inside the Le Bonaparte?’
‘I don’t have co-conspirators.’
‘Are they carrying guns, knives, sharp tongues, perhaps one or two of them have sharp fingernails like yours.’
‘You’re funny, Alexander Crown. Why do you suspect that?’
‘One secret will change everything,’ I said, ‘I’m suspicious of everyone.’
‘I have no secrets. Is your profession that dangerous?’
‘Everybody had at least one secret, and yes, when people are trying to kill you everything and everybody reeks with danger.’
‘I’m not here to try and kill you, Alexander Crown. I set the meeting on the premise to purchase the necklace. Since you won’t sell it then we have no business together.’
‘I agree. I’ll keep the two thousand expense money and take you out to dinner.’
‘My two thousand was a down payment. You must return it.’
‘I would return it if my children’s orphanage in Cape Town, South Africa didn’t need it for clothing and food. What about dinner?’
‘Children’s orphanage is news to me.’ her lips pursed. ‘Keep the money, feed and clothe your children. Is that why you rip-off the necklace buyers to finance your orphanage.’
‘You are smart and intuitive, Angelina Jolie,’ I said. ‘What about dinner? You see, when everything is possible, possibilities are endless.’
 
Infectious and stubborn, her smile was acceptable. A long time has passed since I had come clean with anyone about my profession. More time has passed since I had propositional an average looking woman, a person of substance, a lady of integrity, a female that didn’t turn me on and try to kill me simultaneously.

'Alright, dinner then,' she said and stood. 'My name if Brigita Brabec. Be here at Le Bonaparte at seven. I expect you to be on your best behavior. And, you are correct, I am Czech but I am from Prague 4 and not 3. I have one last statement for you; when love conquers all you must enjoy the moments.'
 
I stood with her, shook her hand and thanked her for the coffee, which we didn’t drink. She released my hand and winked at me with her tired, spicy eyes. I smiled knowing that getting to know her wouldn't be too difficult.

Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Love in Paris

Tessa Blade's upcoming erotic publication Love in Paris, Christian Love, book 3, has Christian Love adrift in the City of Lights, Paris. Seduced by gorgeous Parisian women, two ballerinas, an aggressive business woman, any woman who inhales his constant scent, as well as continuously being pursued by his ex-fiancé from Boston, Christian must find relevance within his hormonal and exquisite pheromones fragrance to survive the onslaught of love and hate, adornment and resentment.

If you don't find love in Paris then where else will you find it?

New Adult genre:
For love of women and sex, will Christian Love sacrifice his morality? With his law profession on hold, in order to proceed with his pheromone fragrance to satisfy women, can he protect himself from excess? Can he shield himself from becoming a monotonous, sexual drone? He discovers how much of his soul his scent has devoured when he finds love in Paris with a woman he thought wasn't the one. Choosing her, means choosing the monster he'd become, making him even more sexually desirable to every woman that inhales his pheromone fragrance.

Christian Love is magical, if only he could believe that himself.

Meanwhile, don't miss our on Tessa Blade's first two Christian Love novels: Love in Malawi and Love in Rio. BTW, Love in Rio is a FREE download right now on amazon.com. This new adult erotic literature genre has Hollywood directors and producers going crazy.