All is good in Helen Perry Towers at the moment.
- A publisher wants to bring one of my stories to the world. It will be the first in a series and is due for publication in October.
- Another of my short stories will hit the virtual amazon bookshelves any day soon in an erotic sci-fi anthology published by House of Erotica.
- A third publisher rejected a story I sent them (sad face) but told me what they did and didn’t like about it, which let me know they had read the whole thing. They positively invited me to submit something else to them. Strangely enough, I have the very thing for them, a WIP that is not far from completion.
I have been rushed off my feet with the day job. This is a good thing as I am 100% self employed and unfortunately writing doesn’t make a big enough contribution to my bills.
And school holidays are almost upon us.
Some parents moan about them going on forever but that is not my experience. There are so many things to do with them and not enough time… Of course, it does interrupt the day job and I think most parents struggle with balancing the finances. If there was a money tree in my garden I could do even more stuff with them!
One of the highlights of our summer is always Broadstairs Folk Week. I experience it as a family event with my children, relatives and friends nothing like the story that I wrote for
Who Thrilled Cock Robin, Erotica Inspired by Folk Songs, edited by Sallyanne Rogers
Who Thrilled Cock Robin? is here.
This is an extract from Broadstairs Bloke Week by Helen J Perry
“I’m going to have to make a move. Sorry, guys, but I have a train to catch in ten minutes.” Amber put down her empty glass to punctuate the announcement.
Goodbyes are often awkward moments. Goodbyes need some kind of physical gesture. Between men, a handshake might do the job but, in this context, it would seem too formal and completely weird. At this point she might have stood up or put on a jacket, a familiar part of the farewell ritual, but we were already standing in the packed pub, and who brings a jacket with them when they go out in August? Moving in for a hug and air-kiss, however, might have been too familiar as we’d only been talking to these guys for an hour.
“I need to leave, too. I’ve an early start at Folk Week tomorrow.” I couldn’t really stay, not with two strangers, no matter how attractive these men were. Kieran and I were the same age and had grown up in the same street but I didn’t know him, I didn’t even recognise him. It was only when we got chatting that we worked out the connection. I went to an independent primary and then grammar school, and he didn’t, so it’s not as if we were old school friends, just neighbours.
The men looked at each other and I was sure I could see an almost telepathic communication going on between them.
“We’ll walk with you.” Blond-haired, blue-eyed Nick looked like he’d walked out of a modelling studio. I wouldn’t have minded seeing him modelling swimwear, I thought. As it was, he’d told us he was unemployed.
“Thanks,” replied Amber, before I could say, you don’t need to. I’m pleased Amber got her words out first, although she really was catching the train from the station across the road, for her five-minute journey to Margate. She had to be up at ridiculous o’clock for her job at the post office.
…“Where to, Emma? Want to join us for another drink or can we walk you home?” asked Kieran. Since when did the boy I vaguely remembered playing in the street turn into such a hot guy? A drink was tempting but, let’s face it, I was not about to get off with the man who grew up two doors away from me and still lived at home with his parents. At our age that just wasn’t not right!
As for his friend, he’d be OK for a one-night stand, in that “what happens in Broadstairs stays in Broadstairs” sort of way but he was staying the night with the boy-now-man, from almost next door. I preferred my one-night stands with the unemployed to be considerably more anonymous, to be guaranteed to not come back to haunt me.
“I’m going home, but you don’t need to walk with me, you know it’s not far.” I shivered. Even in August, any time after nine at night is usually too cold for bare arms, due to the sea breeze.
“Of course we’ll walk with you. After all, it’s not far,” said Nick. “You look cold, how about we cuddle up to keep warm?” Without waiting for a reply, he put his arm around my waist. I must have left the fierce independent feminist that lives within me at my home in Reading, because I practically swooned. Perhaps he was cold, too, and on this very short walk I’d get to feel that body of his. I hooked my arm around his waist.
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