In the high hill country the ancient teff grain grew in abundance, cotton was soft as a breeze, gold pebbled every creek bottom, spices flourished in the fields, and cows’ butter was sweetened by the thin mountain air. People ate well, lived well, and prospered. Safe in its mountain stronghold, the land of Sheba gathered wealth the way teff plants gather morning dew. With wealth came leisure and learning; Makeda, the Queen of Sheba, spent her riches liberally to recruit the wisest scholars of the world to her court. And, as everyone knew, it was a court of beauty.
It was common knowledge that the women of Sheba were the world’s most beautiful. With their dark skin, black eyes, and wavy hair, they naturally drew men’s gazes even without adornment. But Sheba’s maidens were richly adorned, clad in white cotton robes so fine they seemed to float with every movement. Their hair, demurely draped in white veils, was braided with golden beads that clicked as they walked, drawing a man’s ear as well as his eye, for nothing is more seductive than a woman’s hair but half-concealed. The ladies of the court wore gold and precious stones, rings upon their fingers and bangles in their ears, bracelets on their wrists, and heavy necklaces across their shoulders.
Of them all, however, none was finer than Queen Makeda. Her white robes were embroidered with gold and silver, jewels flashed from her hair and ears, hands and throat, and she walked heavily beneath the extravagant wealth of her kingdom. She was fabulously wealthy, yes, and also beautiful, for her skin was dark like royal ebony, as smooth as polished wood. Her eyes were dark too, lined with kohl to make them shine, and her curly hair was thick with perfume, combed and braided and glimmering in the light. Her lush figure, always draped in regal costume, was abundant – the envy of every woman and the desire of every man.
Indeed, there was no greater beauty in the known world, but her loveliness was exceeded by a treasure far more precious: intellect surpassing that of all others. Makeda was learned, eloquent, and wise. Fair in all her decisions, careful and poised, she understood the intricacies of both gods and men. It was a point of pride for her people that no other land had a ruler to match their Queen of Sheba.
Therefore it became a problem of some import when the name of a new king, increasingly renowned for wisdom and learning, trickled into Sheba’s court.
“Who is this Solomon?” Makeda demanded, eyes narrow with displeasure.
“Hamish, for the love of God, get your fingers out and fuck me,” Caroline cries as I bring her to the edge.
Performing moves that would have made an acrobat proud, I grab a condom from the nightstand and rip it open with my teeth. The whole time I’m finger fucking her. Enough to keep her wet but not enough to have her come.
I withdraw my fingers from her pussy, lick the sweet juices dripping from my fingers and sheath myself.
After flipping her onto her belly and pulling her up onto all fours, I slam into her cunt. She squeals as I penetrate her with an almighty thrust. She likes it rough which is good, I’ve never been gentle. Girls know what to expect from the bad boy chef when they join me in bed. Let’s get something else clear. I fuck. I don’t make love.
Her hands fist in the sheets as I push her toward that worshiped edge.
Chapter 1 – A Bloody Attack
Sinja gazed intently over the Tenebraes steppe; something was in the air, even the yakutas were standing still, the herd normally going from one corner of the pasture to the other, eating the bright pink grass. These animals provided furs, leather, meat and milk, and were the most highly prized things in the life of a nomad. She looked again up to the heavens and the gradual transition to azure blue, the first sign of the coming dawn, her royal blue eyes scanning the horizon; she could see nothing, but could feel the threat hanging heavily in the air. The Iron Mountains framing the steppe were only visible through a white haze, but Sinja knew the great cities lay there.
They had shunned the cities until now and traded their wares with small settlements or travelling merchants, the people in the cities looking down on the nomads as an inferior race. A heavy hand laid on Sinja’s shoulder brought her back from her thoughts. Smiling, she looked into the beloved face of her father, who had come up from behind her. He too could sense the threat, and frowned. “What’s going on?” his daughter wanted to know. “I have no idea my child, but it’s nothing good” he replied evasively with an intent glance. Sinja nodded thoughtfully, half open-mouthed to ask another question as he interrupted her; “go to the yurt, this is no place for you right now.”
A low rumbling made any reply stick in her throat and she turned her mesmerized gaze to the horizon from where an enormous black cloud was approaching, covering everything in its path. She recognised silver horses within the cloud, and her heart missed a beat with fear. Such horses were only ridden by the zjertas, vicious semi-demons, who took anything they wanted. “Go, now” shouted her father with an urgent push as he ran into the camp to raise the alarm. Frightened but curious, Sinja took refuge with her aunt and mother in the largest yurt. She would have liked to help the men, but none of them was any match for these devils.
It was not long until the first battle cries rang out, hissing, growling and howling accompanying the fight. It was pitch black inside the yurt and the three women clung anxiously together listening to the noises from outside. The minutes seemed like hours, and Sinja’s heart pounded up to her throat, fear holding her firmly in its grip as the dark sense of foreboding was transformed into certainty, her aunt screaming in panic as the yurt was ripped through and the interior lit up with a flaming torch. Three zjertas approached, eyes glowing brightly red in the half-darkness as their faces turned to grimaces. The semi-demons were wrapped in dark cloaks, sparing the women the sight of what lay beneath, but their faces resembled charred flesh, with noses flat as if burnt away.
My name is Laurel Lynn Burke, but I prefer just Lynn. I’m a small town country girl, who is now living with my roommate and best friend. I’m in a new city with a new set of rules, but one thing is stopping me from living a normal life: I’m a nerd, a giant nerd that sits with her face in a book all the time. I don’t wear contacts or make up. Just Plain Jane with the dirty librarian glasses. Almost twenty-five years old and I have never been looked at twice. My grandparents raised me, and saying that I lived a sheltered life is the understatement of the year. I had not enjoyed a simple sleep over until I was in college. I’ve still never been bowling, have no clue how to dance and I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t know the smell of weed if it was being smoked right next to me. I really want to be a romance author, but that is pretty hard to write about if you have never had sex. I am currently in school getting my Creative Writing Degree and I have oh about five hundred work in progresses started.
All I do is read and write, pretty sad and lonely life, but at least I have my first and best friend, Jess, to keep me entertained. Jess is the opposite of me, for real! She has long blonde hair, I have short brown hair. I have hazel eyes, she has blue green. Boobs, she has twice as much as I do. Ass, I got like double. I’m almost six foot, she is like five foot five. Not only appearance but personality, she is, for lack of a better description, a blonde. By that I mean she likes to have fun, enjoys hot guys and really likes sex. Nothing wrong with it, I just haven’t gotten to enjoy it. I want to be more like Jess, carefree and happy, but something stops me every time. She once got in the amateur cage at the local strip club.
Me, yeah I had a panic attack in the bathroom at the mere thought. So we have made a pact, help the lonely book nerd find her muse. I am hoping to come out of my shell and figure out the romance world I read so many books about. In the following pages I will write my journey. I’m naming it the ‘Sexy Nerd Chronicles’, hopefully meaning lots of sexy time and not so much nerd time. I plan to write, explore and live for the first time in twenty-five years. And by my twenty-sixth birthday, which is in exactly one year, I plan to be the person I feel I have always been meant to be.
Kelly nervously glanced at her watch while waiting for her best friend, Jackie, to arrive at the restaurant where, she and two other friends, Tiffany and Sarah were patiently seated.
“She must be running late,” said Tiffany.
“Or she got hung back on a meeting,” answered Kelly. She had one eye on
“You don’t think she forgot, do you?” said Sarah.
Kelly took her eye off the entrance at Sarah’s words and looked at the table.
“I just spoke to her last night,” replied Kelly, glancing at her watch then at the door.
The waitress walked by looking at the trio of friends with a questioning expression.
“Shall we order in the mean time?” asked Tiffany.
“No, if she comes late, then our food won’t be ready at the same time,” she said. She whipped out her cell phone and examined it one more time for missed calls and checked the ringer’s volume setting.
“Nothing, huh?” said Sarah.
Kelly shook her head.
“Let’s give her five more minutes,” she said.
“Now that sounds like a plan,” said Tiffany in a cheerful tone.
The five minutes came and went, but still there was no sign of Jackie. A nostalgic song played. It was one that reminded Kelly of Sandy, her deceased lover, and how they first met:
It’s All About Me
I think that it is best to start this story with an overview of the lead character.
That would be me, Randi Michaels.
My parents thought I was going to be a boy due to a misread sonogram. I was to be named Randal after my grandfather. When I arrived with no man parts, and my parents hadn’t even considered a girl name, they shortened Randal and threw an ‘i’ at the end.
It’s important that you know first and foremost that, in present day, I am not a model. The only thing about me that resembles a model-like quality is that I am six feet tall. I have been this height since I was twelve, which lent itself to an interesting middle and high school experience.
There isn’t a single thing wrong with a person being happy with who they are and how they look. I am proud of how I look and have no shame in flaunting it.
Confidence is a million times more important than appearance. If you spend your time thinking that you are not good enough, then that is how you will be perceived. So, my advice – realize that you are amazing and make sure everyone you meet knows it.
In the spirit of full disclosure, here are a few more of the details about what I see when I look in the mirror; I am well-endowed in the breast department, I have curves, and what I am told is an “Anna Nicole Smith Ass”, which one of my closest friends chooses to point out to me whenever he can.
Although I wear the same size, twelve, as she did at the peak of her modeling career, I regret to tell you that I think he was speaking of her more plump years. You have to love your friends. I know I do.