MASHED: The Culinary Delights of Twisted Erotic Horror by Grivante

MASHED is an anthology of 17 stories culled from over 200 submissions and includes authors from around the world.

Each story is a unique blend of horror, humor, food and sex, resulting in tales that will leave you both scared and slightly turned on, while laughing out loud and contemplating whether or not you should have your next meal.

Stories including

A Woman’s Corn – Two secret lovers with more secrets then either of them knew, brings about a special witches brew while the devil stews.
By J. Donnait

Charlies Chunky Munching Meat – A tale of obsession over a certain pink meat, gone too far.
By Stephen McQuiggan

Halloween Nosh – Two old-world vampires celebrating their love during the holidays with a special feast in the dungeon.
By Brandon Ketchum

Biscuit : A Love Story – A baker’s dreams destroyed by a homeless man with unnatural hungers, leads to super-natural revenge.
By Grivante

Burnt Scrambled Eggs – What happens when your succubus lover stays over for breakfast?
By Devon Widmer

The Disagreeable Dinner – Ever eaten a bad meal? Not like this one. Join us for this strange and hilarious case of food poisoning
By Mark Daponte

Sugar – Honey is sweet, but when a potential sugar daddy turns out to be one of her high school teachers, a night of planned BDSM fun ends in a most unsavory of ways.
By Darla Dimmelle

The Henry Problem – Fruit as an aphrodisiac, exorcisms for dummies? All that and more!
By John Grey

Nibble, Nibble, My Wolf – It’s all the rage to reimagine fairy tales these days and this story gets it right in the most beautifully twisted and erotic way.
By J.L. Boekestein

The Wrath of the Buttery Bastard Taters – GMO’s are out of hand. A couples romantic dinner turns into a nightmare when their frankenfood decides to eat them instead.
By Alex Colvin

Sauce – When cooking lessons lead to a new fetish, narcissistic Bart, takes self-satisfaction to a new level.
By Steven Carr

The Care and Feeding of your Personal Demon – Be careful what you wish for. Sometimes, asking for a little help from down below can come with a lifetime of demented and hilarious torment.
By Maxine Kollar

P.A.C.D. The Kitchen of Tomorrow, Today! – Advancements in technology are often quickly perverted for sexual experimentation. Find out what happens when a couple’s cooling romance heats back up with a new kitchen appliance.
By R.A. Goli

Arabica – Do you like coffee? Maybe a little too much? Here’s a tale of a woman using BDSM aversion therapy to overcome her caffeine addiction.
By Cobalt Jade

Toilet Manners – Marital impropriety leads to the strangest meal of a man’s life after a visit to a glory hole inside a fancy french restaurant.
By Eddie Generous

The Stray – Is the story of a man’s lifelong dedication to helping strays. But, what happens when one gets a little upset when he announces he is moving away.
By Calypso Kane

The Old Man in the Suit – Voodoo and baked goods outside a lesbian bar during Mardi Gras.
By Nicholas Paschall

Do you like food? Sex? Horror? Humor? Then this book is for you!
Guaranteed to leave you scared, aroused and possibly a little hungry.

Targeted Audience: Female and male readers 21+ that like dark humor, kinky sex and horror.

Author Bio:
Grivante is the publisher and author of one of the stories in MASHED. He is also known for his humorous action adventure horror series The Zee Brothers: Zombie Exterminators.

What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I wanted to write something that took something wholesome and twisted it around in both a humorous and horrible way while also having sex appeal. After writing my short story, Biscuit: A Love Story, I realized it needed some company and opened up a call for submissions.

We received over 200 stories and chose the best of the best to titillate, amuse and sometimes, horrify.

Read more, including a sample from the book [Read more…]

Alice-Rose by Caitriona Leslie

Alice-Rose-220x330A new romance with an old fashioned feel. Alice-Rose is a gentle modern day love story with very real feeling and warm characters who you want to befriend.
Libby Finn, widow of 3 years, is just about ready to start facing the real world again and when she discovers that Alice-Rose, a local and somewhat dilapidated house, is up for sale she immediately puts in an offer, for Libby has always been a little in love with Alice-Rose and when the purchase of the house involves meeting Dan the local estate agent, Libby starts to fall a little bit in love with him too!

But true love is not an easy path and between organizing the refurbishment of Alice-Rose, planning best friend Jules’ up and coming wedding and dealing with surly builder Paddy, not to mention Dan’s own family problems, the chances to get romance off to a start are few and far between and just when it looks like there might be a way forward something else happens to throw a spanner in the works…..but sometimes love is where you least expect it…..

This is a very warm and genuinely romantic book with likable characters and lovely descriptions of the Irish countryside and the residents in the small country town. I loved the details of Alice-Rose and could see it being put back together in my minds eye. Plenty of humour and a bit of ‘will they, won’t you’ make for a very enjoyable and feel good read.
A great start for a new author.

Targeted Audience: 15yrs to 115yrs old

Author Bio:
I grew up in County Westmeath, Ireland. I have a Master’s Degree in Biomedical Sciences and I work part-time in the field of solid organ transplantation. I now live on a farm in County Longford with my husband and our three children.

What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I initially thought (absent-mindedly) about the possibility of writing women’s fiction about ten years ago – I love a good old-fashioned love story, but there has to be more to the story than a gallop to the end. I want to enjoy the journey along the way and I want a book where every sentence is worth reading. If I feel the urge to start skimming through the pages then I know that the end is nigh.
I got married in 2000 and continued to work fulltime in Dublin for another two years; my husband and I ‘enjoyed’ a weekend marriage – no thought nor time for writing during this period. In 2002 I finally went job-sharing and moved to live full-time with my farmer husband in County Longford. Sadly, both my parents-in-law had passed away the same year that we married and so Timmy’s family home, which was a 1970’s bungalow, became our ‘new’ home. The next year saw me undertaking a lot of DIY and having our first child, but no pen was put to paper; I was far too busy doing other things.
Four years and three children later, and the idea of trying to write something even vaguely interesting was beginning to take shape in my mind again. By that point, I was beginning to realise, and more importantly to fervently hope, that in time, there would be more to my life in the home than ‘worrying’ about the housework and what was ‘for the dinner’. I also knew that I wasn’t the type of woman who would enjoy ‘frittering’ my time away in the long term by meeting ‘the girls’ for coffee and lunch. And besides, my country sisters were far busier that I was – they were not accustomed to a life of idle either.
I eventually started writing about five years ago with little success, I found the demands of three young children incompatible with the task…I could never get a good run at it! When our youngest child started school in September 2010, I was then able to apply myself. I discovered that the more I wrote, the more I enjoyed it – escapism is a wonderful practise! It became less a case of “I should really sit down and try to write something” and much more a case of prying myself away from the laptop to make the aforementioned dinner before the kids came home from school. Towards the end, I was constantly roping in my ever-supportive husband to pick up the kids and to cook the dinner!
The story of ‘Alice-Rose’ evolved naturally over time and changed its course quite dramatically from the one I had in mind initially! This was mainly due to the realisation that I needed to add more meat to the bones of the story; otherwise it would have ended up being “a boring old gallop to the end.” And for that I needed to change the storyline quite a bit.
Personally, I think it is very important to write about what you know, and secondly, that it is something that is close to your heart and that you can be passionate about. I think that you must love your characters even if they themselves are hateful individuals – again, you have to feel passionately about them and you have to believe in them.
I suppose I’ve discovered that writing is a bit like gardening, of which I am an avid fan; you can’t stick a plant, or a plot, where you want it to go and expect it to grow if the ‘setting’ is wrong – it will never work! A plot has to feel right and give you options, in other words be in the right setting, in order to work. I feel that the plot should feel fairly right in one’s head before one should proceed, otherwise persisting with a storyline that is not gelling in your mind will just lead to frustration and probably leave you wanting to give up on the whole ‘writing idea’ altogether.
On the whole, I found the subject matter of ‘Alice-Rose’ very easy to work with for a number of reasons – I am passionate about old houses, I value family highly and I was lucky enough to have a number of close friendships to draw upon for inspiration when it came to writing about the dynamics, and the rewards, of a long-lasting one.

Read more, including a sample from the book

Sample from Book:
It was one of those special, crisp, golden days of autumn. The air was heavy with promise, and I felt the knot of anxious excitement tighten in my stomach. I pushed open the tall cast-iron gates and began the long walk upwards, entirely alone except for bramble, brush, and briar.
I wondered about all the changes that I was sure to find and whether or not that day would deliver Alice-Rose into my future or consign her to the past forever. When courage almost failed me, one thing drove me onwards—the knowledge that a single glimpse of the old house would be enough to reveal whether or not we belonged together.
At last, I rounded the head of the avenue, and I saw it again, dignified and largely unchanged. Time and neglect had not prevailed; the heart of Alice-Rose was waiting for me. It was our time.
Alice-Rose, named after the daughter of the estate’s original owner, was the place of my dreams, and on that morning two years ago, I felt a sense of belonging as strong as if I had been returning to my childhood home. It was the twenty-fifth of October. I remember the date clearly because it was my twenty-ninth birthday, and I was coming from my parents’ house, having started the day there with a family breakfast.
While driving along the boundary wall of the Alice-Rose estate, heading in the direction of Ballyedmond, I saw a man preparing to erect a sign at the entrance up ahead. I was transfixed by the scene. Instinctively, I jammed on the brakes, giving no consideration to safety, my own or anybody else’s. Luckily, the road behind me was clear, and I ground the car safely to a halt some six inches away from the man’s shins. My near victim turned out to be Dan Bryant, a well-known estate agent from the locality.
Although Mr Bryant wasn’t in the first flush of youth by any stretch of the imagination, he was still handsome. Besides his distinguished good looks, Dan Bryant was tall and solid and had all the appearance of someone who was doing well for himself. On that particular day, even while undertaking an exercise that involved no small amount of effort, he was flawlessly turned out in a pinstriped suit and a wool overcoat. I did, at the time, privately question the wisdom of his attire, but ultimately, I was more fascinated by the significance of his task than I was in his choice of clothing. Could it be that Alice-Rose was finally for sale?

‘Is he selling it?’ I asked abruptly, my thoughts spilling out in a way that managed to state the obvious and convey an attitude of absolute rudeness in one simple sentence.
I wasn’t usually so blunt or so unfriendly, and I immediately regretted my approach.
‘Hello,’ Dan Bryant grunted, landing a blow of a sledgehammer to the post. ‘Yes, she’s on the market as of today, and she’s a beauty!’
Despite his exertion, there was fervour in his voice and a little wistfulness, if I hadn’t imagined it.
‘I know,’ I agreed, a little more warmly but with an assurance intended to convey to him that I knew ‘her’ worth.
‘If I was a young man starting out,’ he continued undeterred, ‘I would do all in my power to buy her.’ He spoke with conviction as he prepared to land the post another blow. ‘But,’ he added, ‘she’s a place that needs a young family to bring her back to life.’
He looked directly at me as he said this, and his expression caused me to wonder what exactly he was thinking. Although I felt a momentary twinge of irritation at the personal nature of his comment, I was far too interested in the sale of Alice-Rose, to allow his unsolicited opinions to distract me from my quest.
‘I must see her again,’ I said, leaving Dan Bryant to his own assessment of what Alice-Rose might, or might not, need.
My heart was beating fast, and my head was buzzing as I tried to do the math, but deep down I felt certain that I was in a position to buy the place. I marched with determination up the curving avenue, diligently ignoring the butterflies dancing in my stomach. The lawns on either side were overgrown and tangled with grass and brambles so that the tall and ancient oaks appeared to scarcely have trunks. The very course that I stood on was growing narrower by the day as its borders threatened to engulf it. The post and rail fencing beyond the knotted mass of vegetation was broken and sagging and had the verdant hue of moss and mould. It was difficult to reconcile the shabbiness and neglect that lay before me then with the Alice-Rose of my childhood.
As I walked on and witnessed further the prevalence of nature that without intervention would eventually return Alice-Rose to an uncombed wilderness, I became filled with an even greater determination to succeed in my mission to buy it. When, at last, I rounded the curve of the avenue that brought face-to-face with the limestone beauty of the great house, I stood and looked for all of two seconds before turning on my heel to beat a hasty retreat.
Dan Bryant was about to get into his car just as I reached the gates, and I hesitated for an instant, slightly embarrassed by my earlier brusqueness. Then steeling myself, I called out, ‘Mr Bryant!’ He looked up, his surprise at seeing me so soon again quite evident. It occurred to me then that he had probably been trying to ‘beat a hasty retreat’ of his own. After all, who, given half a chance, wouldn’t try to avoid a rude, crazy

woman? Nevertheless, Dan Bryant was nothing if not professional, and he did not allow any trace of disappointment to show as he turned towards me, smiling openly.
‘Yes, Miss… ,’ he said, hesitating.
‘Libby Finn, Mr Bryant,’ I said, making no pretence at not knowing his name and extending my hand to shake his. ‘But please call me Libby.’
We shook hands as he acknowledged that he had in fact recognised me. His handshake was dry and firm.
‘I know your father well, Libby,’ he said pleasantly. I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t elaborate.
‘I’m sorry I was so rude earlier,’ I apologised, by then genuinely repentant for my earlier manner. ‘I’m not usually so abrupt.’
Dan Bryant waved aside my concerns, but I felt obliged to explain myself.
‘My only justification I’m afraid, is that I got a shock when I saw you putting Alice-Rose on the market.’ The excuse sounded lame, even to my own ears.
Dan nodded in a gesture of understanding, but I knew that he couldn’t possibly guess at the depth of my passion for Alice-Rose. I also imagined that he must have been thinking how easy it was to ‘shock’ me, and that I needed to get better control of my emotions if an everyday occurrence such as that one elicited such rudeness in me!
‘I’ve always loved Alice-Rose, and I want to ask you some questions if I may?’ I said, before thinking better of my presumption that Dan Bryant would stoop to be at my immediate disposal. ‘I mean I need to make an appointment to see you.’
So far, the man had done nothing to offend me, and I had been abrupt to the point of insolence, not to mention having almost run him over!
‘That won’t be necessary, Libby, and please call me Dan,’ he said, smiling at me in a way that could only be described as heart-stopping. I did actually think of Dan Bryant and heart-stopping in the same sentence despite the fact that the man was old enough to be my father!
‘I could give you a tour now if you like,’ he continued, ‘even though it sounds like you already know the place very well. We can talk as we go.’
‘That would be fantastic, Dan!’ I shrilled, before he could change his mind.
I was overjoyed at being able to avail of an immediate tour of Alice-Rose, and I was hopeful that by the end of it I would know a lot more about a number of things, including what the owner’s expectations were in terms of a price. At that point, I didn’t even know how much of the property was for sale.
‘I spent a lot of time up here with my father when I was a child,’ I went on, attempting to shed some light on my personal interest in the estate.
‘I see,’ Dan said solemnly, but I could tell that he had some doubts. ‘I hope you won’t be disappointed, Libby. I’m sure some changes have taken place since then.’

Maybe, but I intend to buy Alice-Rose if I can,’ I said firmly. I didn’t want Dan Bryant in any doubt as to what my intentions were.
‘Not just the house,’ I insisted, ‘but all of it. Do you understand what I mean?’
‘Yes,’ he acknowledged earnestly. ‘I think I do.’
I wasn’t sure whether or not he was mocking me, but I didn’t care; my only concern at that point was for Alice-Rose. As I watched Dan Bryant fetch a pair of wellington boots from his car, I found myself wondering if I could actually go out with a man who drove a Mercedes. I had always equated the make with the older generation, but suddenly I found myself reconsidering my long held view. These thoughts were followed by others that raised even more improbable questions. Did Dan Bryant wear pyjamas to bed? Was Dan Bryant still interested in sex? Just how old was Dan Bryant anyway?
My imagination was brought into check by the realisation that this man was in all probability married. I allowed myself a discreet glance at his left hand. Yes, there it was in all its glory, one large gold wedding band. I wasn’t at all surprised, but, nevertheless, I had to admit to feeling more than a little disappointed. The aphorism ‘the good ones are always taken’ came to mind, and I was left feeling slightly deflated as I tried to remember who I had last heard quoting those particular words of wisdom. Probably Jules, I decided finally. Jules Mahon was my best friend and a reliable harbinger of all tales cautionary and wise.
‘Hello? Libby?’ Dan’s voice broke deliberately into my thoughts. I had fallen into a state of reverie, the likes of which had become unfamiliar to me. I couldn’t recall the last time I had speculated romantically about a man, but I knew that I hadn’t done it since Max’s death. I had to admit that it felt pretty good, and I felt alive in a way that I hadn’t been sure I ever would again. I inhaled deeply and smiled unashamedly.
‘Sorry, Libby. I thought you were miles away,’ he apologised. ‘I didn’t mean to shout.’
Dan Bryant looked at me with a mixture of concern and slight bewilderment, and I realised that I had never before, in my whole life, felt such an instant attraction to a man.
‘You didn’t shout, Dan,’ I said. ‘I was miles away. But I’m back now. I’m finally back in the land of the living.’
An indisputable look of realisation crossed his face, and it became clear that, despite our very different appearances, Dan Bryant had mistaken me for my younger sister.
Starting up towards the house again with Dan Bryant by my side, I anticipated viewing Alice-Rose with renewed hope. I observed undeterred the neglect and decay that had befallen her with the passing of time. These things paled into insignificance when compared to the brilliance of sheer blue sunshine filtered through the branches of a giant oak or the glimpse of a perfectly rounded porthole on the gable end of a cut-stone barn.

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