General Blog Posts
This blog is going to be a bit quiet for a while because I’m traveling in Turkey and Jordan. I’ll be in Istanbul until the 13th of June, then going to Petra in Jordan for 3 days. I had read a lot about ancient Constantinople – I knew the history of the region –...
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On the cracked benches of dusty railway stations, in the populated sterility of airport lounges, termini or sanctuary, in motion or static, you are always with me, love. In the secret crevices of time that wind the hours fast or slow, in the geometry of the metropolis, on flood plains and seared tarmac. Nestled...
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Ghostly shadow mice nibble away at the edges of my perception. Their scurrying sounds bitten off consonants of words once important now so much detritus used for bedding. Gradually the picture window of my world becomes a narrowing view framed in tiny teeth marks. Like a man going slowly blind. Tweet
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My name is Kitty Thomas and I write what I classify as “dark literary erotica.†I appreciate Remittance Girl giving me the opportunity to talk a little about my recently released ebook, Comfort Food. Comfort Food is told in first person and is about a woman who is taken prisoner by a very wealthy...
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Through the branches of the tamarind trees, the light played dappled games with the surface of the pool at the Cercle Sportif. Children paddled in the shallow end, supervised by nervous nannies who were hardly old enough to bear children themselves and certainly could not swim. The French denizens of Saigon reclined in their...
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I should tell you that I resisted, shouldn’t I? That when Etienne pushed me to the foot of the bed and pressed my body into the mattress with his own, I struggled or fought or at least protested? I wish I could say I did, but I won’t allow myself that dishonesty. The caress...
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An unfamiliar sound dragged me from my oblivion. Like the bark of a dog or a piece of wood being split. When it came again, I knew that it was a cry, louder and longer than before. My head was a sluggish river of thoughts as I slid off the bed, snatched my dressing...
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We played a few hands of gin rummy on the terrace. At eight the wind foretelling an evening thunderstorm came up and, although it was cooler, the gusts threatened to blow the playing cards off the table. I suggested that perhaps Etienne was tired after all his traveling and the heat, but the brandy...
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Supine beneath the onslaught of your shower’s cool benevolence, the floor hard and frigid below my back, sharp against the ridge of my spine. Eager goosebumps rise across my chilling skin until I am a landscape of moist texture. Nipples as tight as Gordian knots, breathing laboured against the storm. The droplets bead and...
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Dominique Grimaldi was propped up against his own bar when Heraud walked in. Of course, no one ever called him Dominique, or even Monsieur Grimaldi; the Corsican owner of the La Perle Noire was generally referred to as The Pirate. Not because he had spent any significant amount of time at sea, but because...
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