2

Couples slow dancing at the pubMusic leaks out of the building as the group of photography students approach the pub.

Liz complains, “I don’t know about this, guys, we’ve got a nine a.m. lecture and I am just not a party girl.”

Boris says, “Aw c’mon, Liz, it’ll be fine. You don’t have to stay late, but you have to go out at least some of the time. You’re supposed to get rounded.”

Natasha gushes, “But Boris, Dahhlink, Liz IS rounded.” Liz feels a blush rise to her cheeks as Jake and Boris laugh.

Natasha gathers her friend in a hug. “Just try it, OK? It isn’t like high school where you have to smoke up or drink yourself cross-eyed to be cool. You might hate it but maybe you’ll have fun. It isn’t a party, so there is no social commitment. You can stay ten minutes or two hours. It’s up to you.”

“It’s hanging out,” says Jake.

“Unwinding,” adds Boris.

Natasha grins. “Socializing”

Liz nods. “Okay, okay.”

They go in and the music is loud, although not as bad as Liz thought it would be. Boris and Natasha lead the way through the crowd to a group of tables at the back. From here Liz can see the dance floor but the speakers aren’t right in her lap either. Looking around, she recognizes a few of the faces.

One of the catchier Beatles songs is blasting; Natasha mimes dancing to Boris, who nods and they head out to the dance floor. As Liz and Jake settle, they watch Boris and Natasha step on the dance floor just as the song ends and the high energy dance number is replaced by the notes of a slow tune as the jukebox changes over. They keep on gamely, although Boris glares darkly at the jukebox, maybe hoping to frighten it into a song with a faster tempo.

Clearly Boris and Natasha have never slow danced together, and Liz knows all too well what that’s like. Still, she can’t help but smile as she sees what a hard time Boris has trying to figure out where to put his hands while Natasha manages to stay just far enough out of range to ensure they don’t accidentally wind up in full body contact.

The pub’s terrible acoustics mean that she only hears snatches of song lyrics over the hubbub. Something about dreams and desires. As if on cue, another couple she recognizes from Fyfield House dance through her view. In stark contrast to Boris and Natasha’s awkward circling, Eric and Elsie are engaged in a sinuous mating dance. As this couple sways in perfect unison it is clear Eric has no trouble knowing where to put his hands. Moving easily together, their synchronous movements appear almost choreographed as they float across the room. It would be a kick to photograph them.

Liz finds herself swaying and tapping her toe to the beat of the music, drawn in so she almost doesn’t register Jake asking her if she wants to dance. Snap.

Liz looks over at him with trepidation; she so hates this. They never believe her when she says, “Sorry, I don’t dance.”

Jake is crestfallen. “But I’m a good dancer.”

Liz smiles. “You probably are but I am not. I don’t dance.”

Jake sucks it up and shrugs pragmatically. “Okay. Want something to drink? I don’t think there’s table service here.”

Liz nods. “Oh sure, just a ginger ale or something.”

Liz digs for money but then realizes Jake’s is already off to the bar. Still, she pulls out a Toonie and sets it on the table for when he gets back. She does not want Jake thinking this is a date. Jake may be a brilliant photographer but he’s too young for her. Well. She’s almost twenty three, and Jake is maybe eighteen.

Sitting back, Liz’s eyes are drawn to a flash of auburn hair as Elsie spins into Eric’s arms like something out of one of those old black and white musicals she likes watching with Mom. Elsie draws Eric in, running her hands over his face then pulling him into a long slow kiss. They seem so secure in their own world, and Liz realizes their dance isn’t so much composed of skill as foreplay.

Maybe that’s what dancing is for, Liz thinks. Like a human mating ritual. It’s getting more erotic by the moment. Liz is starting to feel just a little hot and bothered, even.

Suddenly feeling like a voyeur, Liz turns away, flushed. With a start she realizes it’s not just the make out dance. It’s that the dance made her think about Ethan. Because she’s half hoping Ethan will magically arrive.

Wait a minute. Where did that thought come from? Ethan. Huh. Ethan.

Like that isn’t the last thing she needs. It’s a good thing he isn’t here. Except a bit of reflection makes her realize he’s the real reason she allowed herself to be talked into coming. That she had the idea Ethan spends most evenings here. With the other stoners. Serves her right to be wrong.

But what on earth is she thinking? Well. Apparently she isn’t. Thinking, that is. Well, not with her brain, anyway.

Being back in school isn’t like she thought it would be, that’s for sure. In some ways its a chance to be a kid again, without having to relive the hell that was high school. But everything happens so fast, who has time to think? Hmmm. But Ethan? She knew he made her smile, but, apparently that’s not all he makes her feel.

At least he’s older than Jake. Liz wonders what it would be like to feel the way Elsie and Eric do. Those two are so obviously in love. Wonders how dancing like that feels, wonders how dancing with Ethan like that would feel. Again her eyes are drawn back to the lovers dancing in total disregard of the rest of the world. The world that doesn’t seem to exist for them.

An acrid mix of cold air and smoke gets up her nose, and Liz looks up as Miese leads several smokers in from the cold.  Miese is another Fyfield housemate, inevitably nicknamed “Mouse.” Liz wonders momentarily if it bothers her that no one calls her by her real name. But Mouse is perpetually cheerful, the kind that takes everything in stride.

Liz doesn’t know any of the other smokers settling in at the adjacent table until she sees Ethan bringing up the rear. Liz feels an involuntary tingle at the sight of the guy she’s just been entertaining impure thoughts about. She looks away, afraid he’ll see her telltale blush. Where’s Jake. Or Natasha? She needs distraction.

Liz has no idea why she has a crush on Ethan. It makes no sense. But maybe it’s because he’s so relaxed. Liz herself is anything but. Ethan is a housemate too, and he’s a fine photographer, just not in Jake’s league. But then, no one is. Ethan is Professor Mol’s teaching assistant. Liz doesn’t really know him, just something about Ethan makes her mouth go dry. She’d like to run her fingers through his wild and curly mop of hair.

She glances furtively over but he looks up just as she does and catches her eye. Ethan winks right at her, inspiring another tingle. It occurs to her that part of what makes the wink so great is the sexy dimple it brings out in his cheek.

Doesn’t really matter anyway. Liz has been too tall for most guys since the second grade, and now she’s too old, too. But that’s good though. She doesn’t need complications. She’s not here for romance, she’s here for a degree.

But then Liz is a little surprised to realize that Ethan is sitting over there juggling. Juggling. How cool is that?

Liz pinches herself under the table. She’s got to stop this, it’s getting ridiculous. Any minute now she’s going to haul Ethan onto the dance floor. Which would be nuts because she really can’t dance. It would be fun to be able to do a make out dance except that she has no rhythm. None at all. Maybe she just wants to make out.

Jake sets a glass in front of her and Liz grins in relief.

Sipping innocuous ginger ale, she glances nonchalantly over and sees Ethan has finished juggling and is now listening to one of the computer geeks. What’s so striking about it is that that Adam guy is about as far from being a druggie as you get. Even dressed casually his neck cries out for a power tie. But somehow Ethan puts Adam at ease.

Liz can’t stay. She rubs her eyes; tell her friends the music is giving her a headache. Boris and Natasha come back to the table. Happy because now she can leave, Liz gets up and slips on her jacket. Natasha asks, “Heading home?” Liz nods.

“You want us to come?” asks Natasha.

Liz shakes her head. “No, that’s alright. It’s just a little loud for me. The quiet outside will do me good. See you later.”

“Wait a minute,” says Jake. “Why don’t we blow this pop stand. There’s this guy I want you all to meet, and since it’s so mild, tonight it would be perfect. There might not be another chance for a while.”

“Who is this guy Jake?” asks Boris.

But Jake is already heading for the door. “It’s a surprise.”

Following after, Natasha says, “I love surprises.”

Boris and Liz trail after, Liz is happy they’re using the rear exit because it saves her having to walk past Ethan. As she pulls the door shut behind her, Liz glances back and sees Ethan is still talking with Adam; as oblivious to her departure as he is to the solitary Eric and Elsie dancing slowly through the pools of light. Just as well.

As Liz follows her friends into the night, part of her wishes Ethan was along, while another part is relieved he’s not.

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1

thursday

A stump off the path in the woods.

Given a choice, he’d be anywhere but here.

Although quite close to the street, the thick stand of trees means the road noise is almost nonexistent. A paved pathway meanders through the woods, interspersed every so often with concrete stanchions bearing street lights. The worst of it is all the leaf mold. Tree stink. Fresh air. Cold. Who needs it. At least there’s this stump to sit on.

But there isn’t a choice.

Resting elbows on knees, deep in forest shadow, he takes a deep drag on the cigarette he’s just lit.

He hears giggling and tenses a moment.
False alarm.
Relax.
Too loud, gotta be a pack.

He needs a cull, packs are dangerous. He draws deep on the cigarette and quietly strokes himself as he watches the long limbed college girls sweep past his hidey hole, never once glancing his way. After all, why would they? The world is theirs for the taking. Look at that firm flesh, so casually parading past. Teasing glimpses of breast and buttock make him stiffer than ever. He knows that he’ll never be allowed to touch; so he touches himself as he watches them. On parade. Just for him.

Then that bunch is gone, and he’s left alone again. A smile touches his lips and he drags deeply, watching wisps of smoke curl sensuously in the air above the cigarette. Watching the smoke he luxuriates in the cherished memory of that time in the elevator, the day the ice queen from the seventeenth floor got on the elevator with him.

The unattainable goddess who never registered his existence didn’t see him. They never did. As the car filled up, everyone pressed more tightly in the confines of the corporate box and she brushed her buttocks deliciously against him. Teasing his penis, she swayed with the elevator’s rise. And she smelled so good. He felt his blood rising. He knew it was impossible but he couldn’t stop.

Was it her soap or perfume or her very own girl smell? Whatever it was he tightened his grip on the briefcase and tried to hold his breath, to pull away, but there was nowhere to go.

She leaned back into him and stiffened as his hardness strained into her softness. An unexpected rush of pleasure– he knew she could feel him. She froze in place, tantalizing, connected. He couldn’t breathe … blood was pounding in his ears … pounding. He closed his eyes as she squirmed, rubbing against him deliberately. He couldn’t believe it. Surely this was more than any man should have to bear. He breathed in deeply, more of a shudder as he could feel he was about to …

He bit his tongue to stop from crying out as the elevator stopped. Tasted the blood as she went, waving those buttocks saucily at him as she left the elevator with the others on the seventeenth floor. Had she done it on purpose?

As if nothing had happened. He tried for nonchalance, angled the briefcase in front to hide the painful erection from the other passengers. She’d done it on purpose. Was hurrying off to laugh about it with her friends. He was the last out on nineteen and it was all he could do to make it to the privacy of the bathroom stall to finish up. But the memory of her … it was glorious.

He breathes heavily, warmed by the memory of actual contact. The corners of his mouth twitch as he admires the memory, and savors its … deliciousness.

Footsteps. He snaps out of his reverie into the here and now. Listen. Footfalls clattering. Good. Stupid girl shoes. No giggling, no talking even. That means it’s just one. A cull. Perfect.

He smiles and rubs. Coming into view around the bend, she heads into the zone. A little plump, that’s good. Wavy brown hair, pulled back severely, tendrils escaping around the heavy looking backpack. Straps pull her sweater taut and emphasize juicy squeezable breasts. Cellphone strapped to her waist. Hell, they all have them. Not good, but what can you do. She won’t use it.

Perfect. A quick tug and the pantyhose leg is tight over his head, distorting his features. She won’t be able to recognize him. Best of all, she’ll be scared. This is gonna be so good.

He pulls open his coat, and he’s ready. It’s now or never.

His manhood thrusts forward like a sword, swelling with power as he steps out of the shadow and into the sunshine. He feels like a god.

Startled by his sudden appearance out of the bushes, the girl starts to smile an automatic greeting but she realizes right away that something is wrong. She registers stocking mask, the open coat … then she sees the out-thrust penis. His weapon of love.

He’s breathing harder now. She bites her lip, and he takes a step closer. Is she going to cry out at the sight of his power? He takes another step … she’s shaking now, bowing to his …

Startled by the snorting noise she makes– that’s so unfeminine– peering at her through the distorting fabric– he realizes she isn’t doubled over in fear, she’s … shaking with laughter. She’s snickering, spluttering … guffawing.

What the fuck? He is totally disconcerted. This is not right. He feels his masculine power draining away.

Her laughter gets louder. She lifts up a hand and points directly at his suddenly faltering manhood, still laughing, her other hand rubs the tears of laughter from her eyes and she says, “Is that the best you can do?”

This is wrong, he thinks, wrong, wrong, wrong, as her laughter gets louder and louder. What is the world coming to? He whirls around and sprints back into the safety of the trees, trying to stuff himself back inside his pants. He has to get away from this woman. The bitch. Get away from her laughter. Away. Just away.

He grabs the bicycle from its cover and runs back toward the path, past where she stands and laughs. He heads in the direction she’s just come from to get away. Out of her reach.

He throws a leg over the bike and grunts at the unexpected stab of pain generated by the impact of his sensitive bits with the bike’s cross bar. His back to that dreadful hyena, he rips off the stocking mask and stuffs it in his pocket.

Grimly gripping the handlebars he rides like the hounds of hell are after him.

When, really, it is just a little bit of laughter.

forward arrow

teaser

University Life…

is about standing on your own two feet.
Following your dreams.
Learning about life and love.
It’s supposed to be safe.

But sometimes it’s not.

text reading Inconstant Moon in the Rebel Caps font

Inconstant Moon deals with mature subject matter.
Reader discretion is advised.



Navigation:

“Inconstant Moon” is being serialized in reading order here, at the rate of one chapter each day, until complete. You can read the novel in order beginning here, and advance to the next chapter by clicking the arrow at the bottom of each page.

or

Navigate to a particular chapter via the Contents Page, located in the tab at the top of the page.

or

Use the RSS feed, but please note: although there may be technical difficulties due to reverse order display of the blog.



adventures in self publishing

moi50.jpgtoo many blogs?

 

I already have far too many blogs.   I started with one simple little Personal Blog, which led to a spin-off public service Internet advocacy blog, Stop Usage Based Billing,  and then to my political commentary blog,  Oh! Canada, all of which are very nicely hosted on WordPress.com

moonICON.pngbuilding the “Inconstant Moon” blog

Having just ordered what I am sure will be my final proof from CreateSpace, [more than a year later – ak!]  I am in the process of setting up a new blog, dedicated to my debut novel, Inconstant Moon, which will again use the WordPress blogging software [which works a treat] but will this time will be hosted on my own server (that is to say, a dedicated computer that is always connected to the Internet).

 

The primary purpose of the Inconstant Moon blog is to serialize my debut novel.  I plan to begin serialization to coincide with the public release of the CreateSpace book-book version. It would be nice if I can manage to have the ebook formatting & versions ready to go at the same time, but

book-book?

[digression warning]   I know, I know, it sounds like Jacob Two-Two, but the advent of eBooks it has suddenly made it necessary to use qualifiers to distinguish between physical books printed on paper and electronic books published digitally.

 

Because, after all, both are actually “books.”

 

When you look at it critically, “pbooks” would probably be a better word, falling nicely in line with “ebook,” but as I am only a noob self-publisher with a very small following indeed, any term I coin is unlikely to go viral at this point.

 

[ just wait ’til I’m famous… mwahahah / rofl ]

 

In the meantime, “book-book” gets the idea across with no further ado, so that’s the term I’m going with.

 

InconstantMoon200w.jpgback on topic

The Inconstant Moon blog will also have pages containing special features, introducing the characters and their world, as well as glimpses into my own world, with links to self publishing resources &tc I’ve stumbled across during the process of bringing my first book to market.  Because the novel deals with mature subject matter, I’m contemplating adding a front page with a caution.

 

And of course, all along I’ve been blogging about my adventures in self publishing in my personal blog.

about now you’re wondering why I am here…

It’s as simple as giving back.  CreateSpace is a business that is certainly generating revenue, but dealing with it’s human representatives has been extremely helpful.  The level of customer service I’ve experienced is precisely how brand loyalty is built.

 

I have not yet had time to even look into the CreateSpace community boards yet because of all of the other things I’m involved in, but I expect to at the least check things out.  Just hopping around it is easy to see that there is a wealth of self publishing reference material available here.

 

But it only seems fair that I share my CreateSpace adventures on a CreateSpace blog.

 

cdnpoli150.jpganother digression … politics … ewww

While StopUBB is in kind of a holding pattern at the moment partially due to the Canadian Federal election underway, the election means that both Oh! Canada and my Identi.ca and Twitter feeds need content.  Which naturally comes out of my personal time.  At the same time as I’m readying my novel.   Shouldn’t the novel take precence?  My broblem is that it’s all wrapped up together.

 

The biggest part of my politicization is due to my recent awareness of both digital and copyright issues.  Left unchallenged, changes to the law and locking down the digital and internet tools that make self publishing possible could be a serious detriment to self publishing.  So although my novel launch is very important to me, I feel it is equally important to advocate for real net neutrality, so writers can continue to disseminate our work in whatever way we choose.

 

envisioned for >this< blog

Although there will very likely be crossover content between this and my other blogs, I expect to pass along what I learn during my adventures in self publishing with CreateSpace here.   Sharing is good. 

Mike Slauenwhite Cover

lothlaurien posted a photo:

Mike Slauenwhite Cover

Mike Slauenwhite was one of the best fiddle players Canada has ever produced.

I was happy for the opportunity to assemble this CD cover for Mike when he decided to record this brilliant CD.

The photo shows Mike playing onstage with The Barndance.