Karyn hummed to herself as she closed her apartment door.  She wore a pair of old, white running shoes along with her bright pink scrubs.   A light black jacket and small backpack completed her outfit.  She walked down the hallway to the stairs, skipping steps gleefully until she reached the bottom.  The sun lay low on the horizon, half-hidden behind the taller buildings downtown.  Karyn raised her face to the sun with her eyes closed, smiling for no other reason than happiness at being outside.

The walk to the local bus stop was short and Karyn nearly danced the entire way.   A few locals eyed her sideways when she passed and several men turned to stare at the small blond woman.

“I see,” Karyn sang out.  “I see how your eyes light up when I smiiiiiile!  I see how your face blushes when I look your waaaaay!”  She twirled when she reached the enclosed bus stop.  The pop song had gotten stuck in her head before she left and she’d decided she might as well sing with it as it looped over and over in her mind.

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Just, FYI, I *hate* re-reading through previous chapters to catch up on the state of characters and where I left off.  Why?  Because, dear lord, I miss a ton of grammar and spelling mistakes.  It’s embarrassing as hell.

At the moment I’m speaking about The Honeypot chapter 3.  God.  I need to go through and mark it up.  Probably save that for when and if I sell it online.


Hello, hello!

Soooo… I get a surprisingly decent amount of viewers.  I don’t ask for much from ya’ll.  I don’t put ads on the site.  I don’t charge for content.  I don’t suppose I’ll ever do either of those.  I write because I love to write.  However, I appreciate support from my readers and I have a way for y’all to help.

I’ve cleaned up Legal Issues and combined it into one story with some bits of details added in and changed.  I’ve got it submitted to Smashwords but also now at Amazon and B&N!  I’m only charging $1.50 and it would mean a lot if y’all ordered a copy.  But, even more than that, if y’all left a review for it.  Thank you!

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NACF6PY

Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/legal-issues-mark-graham/1119986330?ean=2940150426207

Now what am I doing?  I’m currently working on a non-erotica sci-fi story.  No transformations or sex or anything.  A straight up sci-fi piece.  However, I also have a short TF piece in mind and the next chapter of The Honeypot to write.

So, I’m not dead.

I am enormously thankful for fetishists.

The things I’ve ordered from various websites are mostly harmless but, all together would paint quite a bad picture of me.  Chains.  Metal cuffs – not handcuffs, mind you, actual proper thick metal cuffs.  A little like you’d see in old movies (old England or France or wherever) when they throw a prisoner in the deepest dungeon with his hands chained to the wall until they lead him out to be beheaded.

Which, to be honest, is pretty close to what I’m doing.


The murders started about eight months ago.  Grisly things.  Bad enough that you wouldn’t really call them ‘bodies’ anymore.  I think ‘carcass’ is closer to it.  It started with animals.  Large and small.  The first person to die was the month after that.  Just one person and then more animals.  The third month, five people died.  Although, only one was reported.  The fourth month?  Ten.  Three locals.  And, so on.  It’s getting shorter between killing.

The town is relatively small but we get a lot of drifters.  There’s a big mine about twenty-five miles outside of town so people pass through.  Most of the money in the town is catering to these workers.  The three small hotels here charge premium and the restaurants aren’t far behind.

So you can see why the sheriff isn’t exactly jumping at the chance to advertise what’s happening.  His salary and position depends on the flow of people.  Hell, the entire town depends on it.  You can see the desperate strain in everyone’s eyes.  The hooded, dark-eyed smiles from your waiter or waitress with the owner constantly in ear-shot.

Local hunters were used.  Six ended up dead and the rest swore off from looking.  I’m guessing I wasn’t the first out-of-towner they called in but they won’t say.  I wouldn’t be surprised if the rest were all dead, too.

I came down a month ago.  Got a phone call from a friend who’d heard from a friend about the job.  I’m in the phone book but most of what I get is referrals.  I do good work and that spreads.  Five years out of the military and I don’t have many “real world” skills so I found something I could do once I was out.

It’s not an ideal job.  There’s no pattern.  So, I show up.  I dig.  I talk to a few people that’ll talk about it.  The only common factor is that the killings are taking place in the forest.  Well, they call it national park – Elk Grove National Park – but there’s nothing fancy or special out here.  It’s just a damn big forest.  No specific times of the month.  No specific area.  Although, tracking the various kills, it looks like it’s getting closer to the tree line.  Slowly.  So, it’s widening its area or just getting more bold.  There’s no specific terrain it favors, either.  The only other thing I know is that it’s nocturnal.  That sums everything up.

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A dashing, well-dressed, incredibly handsome young man steps into the frame.  A faint hint of amusement lies beneath his serious expression.  This unbelievably (as in ‘wow, much handsome such suave’ rather than ‘I absolutely don’t buy this for a moment, you hack’) handsome young man, who may or may not be the author addresses the reader.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he says, his voice careful yet rich in tones.  “We have all of us experienced those moments of self-doubt.  Sitting under a remote bus terminal, watching the heavy rain fall around us while thinking, ‘I wish-‘ before stopping yourself.  ‘What if we only get one wish in life and wishing for the rain to stop just happened to be my one wish?’ Our minds are not our friends, dear reader.  Thoughts come unbidden and often unwelcome.  Uncharitable thoughts.  Nightmarish thoughts.  That receptionist may seem pleasant and simple and yet, beneath his cheerful eyes he may be mentally placing you as a victim in an imagined sequel to the latest Saw movie.”

The host pauses for effect, his piercing gaze locked on yours as a small ‘s’ shaped curl dangles above both eyes.

“These thoughts are happily locked away in our minds, forever ours.  But, what if, cherished reader, what if fate were not so simple?  What if our fears were real and some alien mind is listening?  And, worse, what if they have the power to do something about it?”

With a grin that is equal parts humor and sadism, the host finishes.

“The story you are about to read captures one such moment.  Welcome, then,” the author says, his hands raised for dramatic effect.  You’re practically on the edge of your seat, sucked into the narration.  “The Crazy Zone!”

You tremble with anticipation, unable to… wait… the “crazy zone”?!  What kind of nonsensical, Kindergarten name is-

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I took Legal Issues, combined all the chapters, cleaned it up and changed a few things and am currently selling it as an e-book.

I’d super appreciate if y’all took the time and bought a copy:  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/457930

No, there’s not any additional chapters and not any major new content.  Basically I’m just hoping that the people that enjoy my writing will buy the book to give back a little.

Next will (eventually) be a cleaned up version of Layers.


The Worst Muse ( https://twitter.com/worstmuse  – HIGHLY recommended reading, by the way) posted an entry ( https://twitter.com/WorstMuse/status/486180374242811906 ) regarding were-corgis.  I couldn’t help myself.  I had to try writing something.  I mean, when the hook is:  “Corgis are hot these days, right? What about, like, werecorgis? Edgy, urban werecorgis looking for love in all the wrong places.” then what else can you do?

Below is my attempt :)

Credit goes to the lovely, Ms. Payne for pushing me to write this story so all thanks and kudos and awards and Nobel Prizes should go to her.  I just came up with everything else and spent the time writing it.  *She* was the one that said, “Hey, asshole, write a story about that.”  So, I did.  I had the easy part.  Okay, okay, she did help with some of the concepts.  I guess.  *goes away in an overdramatic writer’s huff*

The cool, crisp morning air still held the weight of the storm from the night before.  Steven pedaled idly, his mind wandering over old poetry.  Her smile was as the morning sun, he thought to himself.  Lazy and slow and, as it dawned, it set her cheeks aglow.  He smiled to himself, lips pursing slightly at the corners.  Oh.  That’s good.  I need to remember that one.  It even rhymes.  But, like, in the same sentence.

“Hey, asshole!  Get the fuck off the street!” screamed a driver behind him.  The single lane road wound through the heart of the city.  Fourteen cars crawled slowly behind Steven.  Occasionally a driver would threaten or plead with Steven to move to the side but the young man barely noticed.

What’s another word for cheeks?  It sounds so pedestrian, Steven mused.  The swell of her… face?  No.  That’s worse.  The constant clatter of the hard plastic case attached to the side of his fixed gear bike kept beat with the horns blaring from angry drivers.

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Senator O’Neal stepped lightly into the hallway, her luggage bumping along behind her.  Paul stood to the side of the door.  His hands were loose against his sides and his eyes roamed ceaselessly along the hallway.  The young woman looked up at him and smiled.

“I’m ready!” she chirped and then turned to her right as Paul turned the opposite direction.

“Senator, the elevators are this way,” he told her.

“I knew that,” she answered.  A pretty red blush crept up the senator’s cheeks.  Her smile deepened and the faint hints of dimples appeared.  Turning, she walked toward her aide and continued down the hallway while he followed behind her.  The young woman’s hips swayed in time to her steps as her firm, larger ass worked beneath the skirt.

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A young woman receives a gift that was promised to change her. She learns, however, that one cannot choose their fate.

As part of the ‘Sketch’ series, this is roughly done and experimental. This is my first insect TF and, again, a sketch. Grammar, spelling and editing all suffer for it. As does the actual transformation itself.

The old truck hit a hidden rock on the dirt road and Suzanne’s eyes automatically strayed to her satchel.  Her bag barely moved and she flicked her eyes back to the road. Above and around her the sky drained of color until the edges of the world seemed to be on fire.  She amused herself with the thought of the planet sitting in a massive brazier, flames licking at the edges.  The image was particularly fitting, she thought.

“A dragon,” she said to nobody in particular.  It wasn’t the first time she’d said the word today.  Or thought of it.  Not even the hundredth time.

She’d picked her destination for its remoteness.  And the mountains.  Of course there had to be mountains.  Nobody around for miles and miles.  Dark shapes in the setting sun.  Sharp teeth in the maw of the world.  She smiled and her thoughts were wicked things.

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I’ll probably put out a little “sketch” story late tonight.  Like with “First Contact”, it seems I need a break in between chapters of The Honeypot.

What kind of critter will it be?  Hmmmm…


I’ll tell you this much – not a furry one :)