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About the author:
I was nominated for a 2014 RONE Award, for Love and the Punk Rock Grrl.
What inspired you to write your book?
The idea popped into my head one night and I couldn’t get it out.
Here is a short sample from the book:
WE TUMBLE INSIDE his apartment—one partially lit from all the stores and restaurants outside—and we land hard on the floor.
I know I should be scared right now, as I’ve only done what we’re about to do once before—and it was not only horrible but the cause of my ongoing nightmare. But I’m not scared, and it’s not just because of all the liquor. It’s because I want to negate that horrible time. I also want to negate me and everything about me.
Slowly, we roll over each other past the tiny foyer, onto the creaky wood flooring of his living room, without even closing the front door. Then we come to a stop, with me mostly on top of him—and he yanks open my jacket. And, after fumbling awhile with my shirt, he rips it apart, tearing it as if the fabric were just a handful of threads.
I gasp at this, and I pull my hands through the sleeves of the jacket so I can unclasp my bra. Which causes the jacket to fall to the floor—along with my backpack.
For some reason, though, I can’t get the bra off, and he can’t wait. So, he just pushes it up and puts my left breast in his mouth. My nipple’s entirely inside him, with his teeth applying just the right pressure—not too hard, not too soft.
This causes me to squeal like some crazed animal—and I keep squealing as I try to tear his shirt. But I just don’t have his strength. So he does it himself. He shreds the cloth in two and I can feel his muscles—on his chest and abs, and they’re like stone—unlike anything I ever touched or thought about touching.
Abruptly, he switches to my right breast. It’s almost down his fucking throat, and I’m in a frenzy. I’m in such a frenzy that I pull down his pants, and reach my hands inside his boxers—and I claw at his cheeks with my nails—cheeks that are almost as hard as his chest.
He responds to this by ripping my jeans and panties below my knees—in one quick thrust. Then, as I frantically remove them and my sneakers, he turns me onto my back, and his head moves slowly downward, with his tongue gliding along my belly—sending shivers I can feel in my fingers and toes. I also whimper, over and over and over, and I whimper even louder when his mouth reaches its target.
Wildly, he’s swishing his tongue inside me—around and around—lapping at me, and my whole body is shaking and spinning out of control. I can barely think. I can only rejoice.
Eimi Xaipe. That’s my name.
I think of this as I make sounds I’ve never made—sounds I’ve never even heard, while clutching his hair, and practically ripping it from his scalp.
He could do anything he wants to me. Anything. I wouldn’t stop him. But all he wants to do is feed.
Suddenly, it hits me. I come—I come so hard that I slam my head back against the floor. But the pain, it simply won’t register. Pleasure’s overriding everything.
“Fuck me!” I scream—words I can’t believe are my own. “Fuck me!”
Magically, I rise into the air. He effortlessly picks me up and we stumble forward. We stumble until we smack into the kitchen table, which falls onto the floor—taking everything on top of it, including a glass, which smashes into pieces. We, too, soon smash—right into a wall. We smash into it so hard that it shakes.
This time I can feel the pain—and I moan a little. But this stops when I feel something else—a warm slab of concrete pressing inside me. It’s so big that I reach down to make sure it’s real—and even then I can’t believe it.
At the same time, he grabs my shoulders and slowly forces me down upon him. He’s splitting me apart, and yet—unlike with Julian—it doesn’t hurt, even though Julian was barely the same species. Maybe it’s because Mark’s not using himself as a weapon—he’s not trying to hurt me. If anything, he’s the one in pain. As I inch my way down to him he’s groaning and squirming and shivering—with his eyes clenched closed.
I’m doing this—me! I’m taking down the mountain—tearing it fucking apart. I’ve never felt so good—so strong and omnipotent.
Suddenly, he falls to his knees—bringing me along with him, and I reach bottom. I feel him everywhere. He’s mine—he belongs to me. Not only his flesh but everything that’s him.
Still, I want more—a lot more, and I try to rise. But I just can’t. I can’t budge off him. Our bodies are welded together. So, he grasps my thighs. He swallows them with his huge hands and gently lifts me up.
This causes both of us to scream and shake the whole way there. Finally, I reach the top and he again grabs my shoulders—and he again pushes me downward. And again I come. I come so hard that my whole body flies around. I can’t control my arms or my legs or my head. Or even my mind.
All this triggers him. I can feel him pouring into me, with the concrete jerking over and over inside me—gutting me out. I don’t think it’ll ever stop.
I don’t want it to stop!
Though it does, and he calms a bit. But only to flip me onto the floor. Then he starts pounding himself into me. Just short thrusts. I don’t think even he has the strength to do more than that.
Loudly, he grunts—and we start bucking on the floor—with my back banging against the wood again and again. But I don’t care. I want more.
“Fuck me harder!” I yell, while wrapping my arms and legs around his muscle as tightly as I can. I also dig my nails into his back. I dig them so deeply I can feel bone. “Fucking harder!”
He listens and starts slamming me against the floor. He’s slamming me so hard that I think we’re gonna go right through it.
Once more I come—and I shriek—and still I want more. I want more and more and more.
At this point, he’s no longer human, but something between animal and machine, ripping my flesh apart as he pistons into it. His thrusts are now longer, too—impossibly so, and he’s thrashing all his weight upon me. I can feel my bones begin to shatter.
Suddenly, he howls—and shudders—and cries like a little boy, while emptying everything he has into me. There’s so much that it flows out of me, and onto both my legs and the floor. It’s everywhere, and it just keeps coming.
But he doesn’t. He doesn’t move, and I’m not even sure he’s still breathing. Which makes me smile. I smile not only because I’ve whipped and beaten the mountain, but because I’m alive, and because this suddenly matters to me.
What’s more, that first time didn’t happen anymore. It’s been negated a million times over.
And so has Julian.