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  1. J is for Jump

    June 10, 2014 by Nikki Blue

    You’re probably wondering how Van Halen fits into the A-Z Spanking Challenge, but trust me, it totally does.

    Music is a super huge trigger for me. A certain song can send me spiraling through the vivid memories attached to it or the time that revolved around it. Some of those recollections are good, but others, not so much.

    When Jump hit the airwaves in 1984, I was a fourteen year old wild-child. I drank bourbon, smoked Marlboro Lights and pot, and I fucked– a lot.

    And in the words of the infamous Forrest Gump, that’s all I have to say about that. But if you’re dying for more–and you know you are –you can read all about it in Broken: A Memoir of Sorts.

    Nikki

    *******************************

    Big hair, tight pants, and a lot of jumping around in the back seat of a beat-up Camaro… that would be me, not David Lee Roth–he had a tour bus. OK, so my hair wasn’t very big despite my best efforts and a small fortune in Aquanet. I also lived in the country where cows and pigs were my closest neighbors which didn’t help my social life. I yearned to be cool.  No matter how much I listened to Motley Crue, I was thwarted by an uncommonly wholesome upbringing. Unlike Nikki, I wasn’t an openly rebellious wild child. I was the good girl next door, but I learned that I couldn’t resist a bad boy. Add some Van Halen and a muscle car, and my panties were history. (Yes, smartasses, at one point in my life I wore panties.) Hair Bands will always have a special place in my heart, because they remind me of that time when every boy offered a new sexual frontier to explore. Parked on a dirt lane with only the moonlight as a guide, I began to discover my sexual self.

    ~Heather

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  2. Teaser Tuesday

    August 27, 2013 by Nikki Blue

    Synopsis – the cause of pathetic sobbing, foul language, excessive drinking, and self loathing.

    It’s in the dictionary between dried tears and coffee stains. Swear. Or maybe that’s just my dictionary.

    Now that we’ve cleared that up, you’re probably wondering why I’m talking about my shortcomings as a writer and not about my vagina, Heather’s vagina, or vagina in general. Well, allow me to explain, but be patient with me because I’ve had a ridiculous amount of coffee and my head is on the verge of exploding.

    Oooooh, shiny. 

    I’ve been hard at work on my memoir-fiction-Young Adult-memoir-BDSM erotica-memoir-New Adult-memoir-BDSM-New Adult novel, erm, memoir, Broken, which I plan to publish soon. Or in the next year or so, depending on how many times I decide rewrite it, but whatever.

    Fucking coffee.

    Heather and I had the idea of posting teasers of our works in progress each Tuesday for you, dear vagina readers. Like Titty Tuesday, but with no tits at all.  Anyway, I* *Heather realized we need some sort of synopsis so our excerpts make sense. The word immediately reduced me to a fetal position, but she was right. I anguished over it for at least three hours this morning before it hit me: I’ve already written one, sorta. Okay, so it’s a little unconventional, but if you’ve read Vagina Antics for any length of time, there are mentions throughout of The Bad Boy and how damaging the relationship was. You can find a little here, and here. Oh, and here, too.

    And now that I’ve managed to make a short story unnecessarily wordy– it really was a lot of coffee –here’s a taste of Broken, my work in progress:

     

    Suspicions of cruelty in our relationship were no longer unsupported and flimsy. The rumors had become hard truth, and the whispers on the other side of the bathroom door grew louder as they multiplied. My skeletons were no longer hidden away safely. They were out in the open now, and people I’d known most of my life were waiting for their chance to pick at the bones. They’ll forget, though, once enough time has passed and the bruises have faded. But I won’t. Emotional disfigurement will leave me crippled, and when my wounds have healed, my body will be covered with invisible scars I’ll see every time I look into a mirror. I’ll feel them with every breath I take.

     

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