keiko alvarez's Open Salon Blog

God-Omniscient or Voyeur? Part 1

Fri, 1 Jun 2012 06:06:47 -0400

I know some of you have seen this picture before. It is my "let it all hang out" 30th birthday picture. No posing, no inhaling to flatten my tummy. But I thought it conveyed what I was feeling when it was taken and the sensation of heat I describe in the story!

I’ve come to believe that there comes a time in every relationship when you just start to take each other for granted. The passion goes away for a while, you smile a lot less, little things bug you and you look for…well, you look for a change. That change can take many forms, some less destructive than others.

Recently I was in some Midwest place that passes for a city. I was attending a conference at which software vendors tended to rename their offerings in the hope of tricking us into believing that the software did new, wonderful things. In reality, they all performed the same function as the previous release, perhaps not even as well.

I was bored and I decided to give myself one of my guilty pleasures – ordering breakfast for dinner at a Denny’s. As an almost confirmed vegetarian, I have to sneak my bacon and sausage links whenever I have the chance, lest I get the smirk and rolling eyes from my husband. I took a cab to Denny’s and dutifully stood in a short line, a line that consisted mostly of senior citizens and families with unruly children, waiting to be seated. That’s when I saw him – the omniscient stranger who I had met in DC, the stranger with no name who seemed to know everything, the man who, I thought, may or may not have existed. He was partially hidden by the USA Today he was reading, but I recognized him all right! I pushed past the rest of the line, slid onto the seat across the table from him and tapped the table to get his attention.

‘Hey,” I snarled. “Remember me?”

He lowered the paper and looked me up and down. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“The hell I do,” I hissed. “Don’t pretend…”

The waitress interrupted me. “Know what you want, hon?”

“She’ll have the Grand Slam breakfast with OJ and coffee,” the stranger said, “and extra sausage links.”

“How,” I gasped. “How did you know…”

“Lucky guess,” my stranger said. “Anyway, you just think you know me. A lot of people think they know me. I have that kind of face that’s…um…everywhere, you know what I mean?”

“You mean,” I said, “that you’re omnipresent.”

The stranger shrugged and mumbled, “Uh huh.”

“And if I remember correctly, omniscient,” I snorted. “So, if that’s true, why are you reading a newspaper?”

The stranger smiled. “Why do they call these things newspapers anyway,” he laughed. “There’s hardly anything new in them and what passes for fact is, for the most part, an opinionated presentation of information. It’s always been that way, you know, even back in Roman times. Notices would be posted that presented information that was, at times, days or weeks old, and the notices were always slanted in one way or another. Interesting, isn’t it? Anyway, I like the crossword puzzles, although I find them to be very easy to solve.”

He folded the paper in half, and then in half again, and again, and on and on until it disappeared!

The waitress slid my plate in front of me. “Enjoy, hon.”

“How,” I asked in stunned disbelieve, “how did you do that? How did you make the paper disappear?”

The stranger rolled his eyes and sighed. “Did I? Make it disappear, that is. Perhaps it was just a sleight of hand. Mysteries are not necessarily miracles, you know. Goethe said that. You know who he is, right? He wrote Faust. Interesting story about sex, betrayal, murder, the Devil, Heaven – you name it, it was in there. I like Faust – as a story and as a person. Better eat before your dinner before it gets cold.”

I studied his face as I gobbled my pancakes. It seemed to change ever so slightly every time I glanced at him, yet it remained the same. I wanted to ask about the paper again but, for some reason, I kind of became lost in a cloud of thought.

“Let me pay,” he said. “Then I’ll escort you to your hotel room.”

How, I asked myself, did he know I was in a hotel? I don’t know but, just as the other stranger had done, he laid twelve dollars on the table. Then he reached into his wallet, pulled out another twelve dollars, and laid it on the table.

I don’t remember how we got to my room but, there we were, standing face to face. He started to unbutton my blouse. “No,” I whined. “I can’t. I’m married.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you have perfect breasts?”

“Yes. In fact, you…”

He let my blouse flutter to the floor. I stood in front of him, arms at my side, nipples aching with anticipation. “What is it about breasts that excites men so,” he murmured. “In many societies, they have no sexual significance at all. The better question, though, is what is it about breasts that excite women so? Do your breasts excite you? If I were to, for example, touch them, would you feel heat or electricity or…”

“Heat,” I gasped. “A lot of heat.”

He smiled. It wasn’t evil or lascivious, but more benign than anything. “Turn around.”

I trembled as I turned my back to him. Oh, the heat that shot through my body when his hands covered my breasts! He massaged them while I swayed back and forth, moving to the rhythm of his hands. How he could do it without bending over, I don’t know, but soon he was sliding my skirt and panties down to my ankles.

“Now, the vagina,” he whispered. “We understand why that excites us. What do you feel when…”

“Heat,” I cried. “More heat!”

Flames rose up inside me when his fingers entered my body. I threw my hands over my head and wrapped them behind his neck, hanging on for dear life.

FEELING THE HEAT!

He leaned over and, with his hot breath caressing my neck, whispered in my ear, “Do you know what you husband is doing right now? Is he with someone, too?”

“No. He wouldn’t. He…”

The stranger pointed me towards the bed. “Look. See.”

A blonde woman – a naked blonde woman – sat with her back to us. Her long, beautiful hair hung almost to her waist. Her slender shoulders were thrust slightly backward and her hips were moving with extreme urgency. Her moans and the pair of men’s legs sticking out from under her made it clear what was happening. There was something familiar about her dark-skinned body, especially the tan lines around her waist. I knew that she vacillated between bikinis and thongs perhaps, because, she was, like me, beginning to lose confidence in her own being.

“Who,” I moaned. “Who is that? She…she seems…I know her, I think. How…how can she be here?”

“Let’s get closer,” the stranger whispered. As I dangled from his neck, he shuffled closer to the bed.

I moaned, “Oh, no,” when I saw the scene on the bed. I saw my husband sitting up, pressing the blonde’s breasts together and sucking on both of her nipples at the same time. Her hips moved faster and faster and her moans became screams. But, it couldn’t be! That was our special act! I never imagined such a thing was possible until he showed me and now, there he was with a blonde doing it to her. He had promised me that he had never done it before, either, that it was I who brought out in him an animalism that he didn’t try to control, yet there he was with another woman’s nipples in his mouth, with another woman writing uncontrollably on top of him.

“Let’s get closer,” the stranger whispered.

“No, please,” I sobbed. “I don’t want to see her face!”

“I think you do,” he said.

We moved to the side of the bed. The blonde’s hair flew in all directions as her orgasm racked her body. It was beautiful, reflecting what little light there was in the room, a soft haze of yellow. She sighed, shuddered, and then looked at me and smiled. The ground started to fly up from underneath me. I was staring at myself! I was staring at me with blonde hair! The stranger’s arms held me up and, before the room turned black, helped me into bed.

He covered me and caressed my ear with his lips. “Do you know who M. Night Shyamalan is? I don’t particularly care for his movies with all his misplaced religious symbols and all, but I do like his messages. He once said something quite profound - What you have to ask yourself is, what kind of person are you? Are you the kind that sees signs, sees miracles? Or do you believe that people just get lucky? Do you believe in miracles, Keiko?”

No matter how hard I tried that night, no matter how many times I woke up and used my fingers, no matter how large the puddle of my lust-induced slick excretions under my body became, I could not bring myself to orgasm. I wanted to – desperately – because, despite my initial horror at the thought of my husband being with another woman, I could not get the image of me with blonde hair out of my mind, and the image of me with blonde hair on top of him was more than I could handle, especially when we were doing our special thing.

The next morning I surfed the Yellow Pages and the Internet for wig shops in the area. I just had to have one. I just had to!

Sex with God - Part 1

Tue, 29 May 2012 20:05:28 -0400

I originally wrote this about four years ago. There’s a reference in it to my butt in which I declare that I know I have a perfect ass. Back then I thought I did! But, I’ll let you be the judge. Below is a picture I have never posted, a "sneak attack" photo from 3 years ago. Note: Try as hard as you can, but you will not see anything I don’t want you to see! Of course, I want you to concentrate on the story and the religiosity of it.

Anyway, now for part one of my story!

I travel back and forth to DC for my job and one week I was in a surly mood, stuck as I was in a hotel near the Key Bridge in DC. The hotels there are getting a bit worn, the staff tends to be nasty, the food is generally horrible, and the area is not the safest. Bored, I decided to take a cab into Georgetown. Yes, I could have walked, but I didn’t like the idea of some nut throwing me off the bridge into the Potomac. I have a fear of bridges, and that one, given the surrounding area, seems to strike terror in me.

I stopped at a Tapas Bar, ordered some food and wine, and sat wondering if anyone would try to hit on me. It’s not that I would have responded, but every once in a while I need validation. I’d say that about sixty percent of me wanted to be hit on, just to give me an ego boost, and the other forty percent of me wanted to be left alone. It’s true that I like knowing that I’m still attractive to men, but the odds of anything happening were low. This wasn’t a hang out place, after all. Just as my plate of Patatas Bravas arrived, a terribly pale young man sat on the bar stool next to me.

He gave me a weak smile and asked, “Do you mind?”

I found his fragile appearance to be fascinating, but I feigned a lack of interest and shrugged. “Depends,” I said.

Looking a little less fragile, and with a smile a little less weak than his last one, the said, “On?”

I snorted, “Whether you pester me or not.”

His smile grew stronger and broader. “And if I do?”

The guy’s guileless ways amused me and I was actually enjoying myself. Of course, I had to act aloof and, like a little snot, said, “I’ll tell you to get lost.”

He laughed, flagged down the bartender and ordered a Virgin Mary. He took his wallet out of his jacket and laid $12 on the bar. “This is for my drink,” he said to the bartender, “and for her snacks. If this is not enough, let me know.”

Just as he slipped his wallet back into his pocket, the bartender said, “You’re four bucks short.” The young man retrieved his wallet and laid another $12 on the bar. “Keep the change.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I always have $12 in my wallet. Now, they say that opposites attract. You’re very dark and I’m very light, so light that some people think I shine. Because we’re such opposites, I’m attracted to you, and that means I’ll probably pester you. But as far as getting lost, I’ve never understood that phrase. One can become lost, or disoriented, but I’m not sure anyone can get lost. In any event, it’s hard to get lost around here. Either you walk away from the River or you walk downhill. Now, that brings up something I’ve always thought about. You now that song Amazing Grace? Well, the lyrics say I once was lost but now am found. Who found that person? I assume they mean God found him or her, because if you are lost you cannot find yourself. You can become un-lost, if you will, but you cannot find yourself. So, if God is omniscient, and you think that God found you, then you were never lost in the first place because God always knew where you were. On the other hand, if Jesus found you, that’s a different story because Jesus is not omniscient. If he was, he would never have asked God why he was being crucified – he’d already know the plan, right? So, if you pray to Jesus, he probably says – what’s your name?”

I was fascinated by this guy! He was ranting yet I seemed to understand him. “My name? Um…Keiko.”

“Well, I was talking about what Jesus would ask you, but I’m glad to know your name. So, like I was saying, if you pray to Jesus, he would probably follow up to your answer with Keiko who? Then he would consult with God who would fill him in on who you were and how to find you. But, take someone like me – I am truly lost. I have no idea who I am or how I wound up here. I have no idea where I will be tomorrow either. I could be…far, far away.”

“You,” I gasped. “You have amnesia?”

The pale young man laughed. “No,” he said. “I just don’t sure of who I am. My identity is…how do I say this…up to interpretation. Let me get you another glass of wine and I’ll have another Virgin Mary.”

He flagged the bartender again and laid another $12 on the bar. Before he could put his wallet away, I grabbed it and looked inside.

“You said you always have $12,” I said. “This is empty!”

He grinned and took his wallet back. “Watch,” he said. He put his wallet back in his jacket pocket and then took it out again, handing it to me. “Look inside.”

I peeled it open and saw a ten and two ones. I laughed at his trick. “How did you do that?”

“I didn’t do anything,” he said. “That’s just the way it is. I was told that 12 is a perfect number.”

“But…but it isn’t,” I gasped. “It’s divisible by…”

“Not perfect in that sense,” he said. “You see, twelve is ten plus one plus one. Ten is a perfect number because it is three squared plus one. Three is the Holy Trinity and the one is the unity of the Trinity. So, ten is one plus zero, kind of, and therefore ten plus one plus one is also perfect since it adds up to three as well. Anyway, because it is perfect, it can never go away.”

Clearly this guy was crazy, but there was something about him, something...interesting. “About Jesus,” I said. “Isn’t he…”

“Nope,” the pale stranger said. “He’s just a man, otherwise he would never have had his moment of doubt and pain, as the Stones would say.”

At that moment I had my own moment of doubt and pain, the pain caused by a Jalapeno getting stuck in my throat and the doubt centered on whether or not I would sleep with this man. Yes, I vowed never to cheat on my husband, but I felt compelled to have sex with this stranger.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said.

“About what?”

He took my hand and kissed it. “I’ll get us a cab.”

I didn’t have to tell him where my hotel was – he seemed to know.

We undressed each other one garment at a time. He rolled my nipples between his thumbs and fingers, sending tingles of pleasure racing through my body as he whispered in my ear. “Has anyone ever told you that you have perfect nipples? I mean, they’re so large compared to your breasts and I know that they must be extremely sensitive. Has anyone ever told you that?”

I moaned, feeling twinges of incredible pleasure pulsing through me. All I could muster was a breathy, “Yes.”

I felt a slight pressure on the top of my head, barely a touch, but enough to send me to my knees. I unzipped his pants and inhaled his slightly pink stiff prick. It was the perfect size – not so large that I felt like gagging, but large enough that it tickled that spot at the back of my throat, that spot that was like a second clitoris to me, the spot that started the flow of juices down my thighs. Somehow, although I was massaging his balls and ass, I – or he – managed to get his pants and shoes and socks off.

Another light touch under my arms lifted me up. I felt like I was floating as he removed the rest of my clothing. He caressed me, reaching behind me and between my legs, putting all his fingers in me. “You have a perfect ass,” he said. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

Once again, All I could muster was a stammering, “Y…y…”

I drifted down to the bed and he drifted between my legs. My head began to float into space as he moved in and out of me using circular motions while he sucked on my boobs and spread my juices between my butt cheeks.

“Oh, God,” I moaned.

“No,” he whispered, “but close. Are you ready?”

There was no reason to ask – ready for what? I just rolled onto my stomach and waited for him to take me. I expected pain, but there was none – only a delicious sensation of his cock filling me. “Oh, Jesus!”

“No,” he said. “But close.”

He moved faster and pushed deeper. When he flooded me with his hot cum, an orgasm seized me, a massive orgasm that almost, but not quite, paralyzed me - an orgasm that spread from the tips of my toes to the tips of my fingers. I cried out, “Tell me your name!”

“I have none!”

“I don’t understand.”

“No one does.”

“Have I sinned?”

“That depends.”

“On what?’

“On whether or not,” he said, “you believe your senses.”

I don’t remember his answer. When I awoke, my room was empty. There was no indication that anyone had been in it but me and the wonderful feeling that still permeated my body.

I looked for him the next night and the next, but he could not be found.

I tried my best to understand what had happened but, alas, I’m not omniscient. Anyway, I decided it had been all a fantasy, that my senses had played a trick on me. I thought about what Scrooge said when he saw Marley. Little things affect them and make them cheats.

No, I didn’t cheat. My senses did! As Scrooge might have said, the stranger was probably an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, or a fragment of an underdone potato.

I’m glad I got that figured out!

A Great Review of "The Innocence Machine"!

Tue, 22 May 2012 21:05:30 -0400

Here is the link:

http://lasrsff.blogspot.com/2012/05/innocence-machine-by-keiko-alvarez.html

There’s no such thing as the truth, whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Awakened after being cryogenically frozen for forty years, a death row inmate is cleared of a murder by The Innocence Machine, an infallible piece of machinery that has replaced juries and judges. Set free into a landscape ravaged by disease, he searches for his son, the only witness to the murder. There is only one problem—what if The Innocence Machine was wrong?
He was accused of murdering his wife and sentenced to death. As he faded away, he was still denying his guilt. Why is he waking up now?

Ms. Alvarez has written a very interesting story about the future after the apocalypse has arrived. Her main character is a man who is “dead”, but rises again. He was frozen and is brought back to life. However, life has changed irrevocably. The author gives her main character a quest: To find his only living son and reunite with him. It’s a noble cause, but it doesn’t turn out like he planned.

I liked the way the author used the Innocence Machine to prove he wasn’t the murderer then altered the use later in the story. Just who is telling the truth in this story? Another interesting moral conundrum is the fact that there are few men and women left alive and they must reproduce to provide another generation. There’s no love involved here. If the world as we know it ended, these questions could very well be real ones for the survivors.

Ms. Alvarez uses the trauma of devastating disease and death and the uncertainty of life to create a new world where a doctor likes to play “God”. He uses the Innocence Machine to rid the world of murders (or maybe just liars if he doesn’t like them) and he has his own harem. All these concepts are interesting and even believable given the situation and world she builds for them.

The author gives you just enough hints and ideas to keep you reading this story anxious to see how it all ends. The ending is ironic and made me thoughtful. While the world we have now has problems, just how much better would it be with less people and less government? This story will give you a clue. Get a copy of it and see what you think.

Unititled Sci Fi - Chapter 2

Fri, 18 May 2012 19:05:12 -0400

A geek friend of mine told me that at 16,000,000miles per hour I would only be ten light years from Earth after 200 years and there are no binary suns in that range from Earth. However, he also told me that because I was accelerating away from the sun, I would keep accelerating and suggested that the ship might reach 200 million miles per hour, and, if it did, I would be at least 120 light years from Earth. I’m glad we got that cleared up.

Also, I thought I’d show a picture (modest, of course) of the model for my alien woman, my friend Kath with whom we went on a vaction to a Bahams out island-clothing optional or, more precisley, discouraged. She’s a nice Jewish girl from NY who is a couple of years older than I but absolutely confident in her sexuality. Here she is (she would shoot me if I showed more of her, but give me time):

If you don’t like her, let me offer a fun picture of myself. I actually posed for this and my husband actually told me to post it. He thinks it will drive people crazy! Of course there is a lot more, but this is what I am going to post. After the picture he untied the leather band around my neck!

I'm Bending Over Backwards for You!

Do you like this picture? Yes I'm talking to YOU! Can you seem me looking at you? Do you like it? This is one of the most inocuous pictures I have ever posted but, for some reason, I think it is one of the most arousing! What do you think?

Anyway, the story continues!!

It took me a while to come to grips with the information on the chronometer. Two hundred and twenty years? I never thought we’d last that long, but the bots did their jobs well. The first thing I did was scramble up to the second floor and stuff my face with food and water. The food, even though it was vacuum packed, had spoiled. The water was tasteless and reminded me of olive oil gone bad. Something, I’m not sure what, had managed to survive in it and had turned it slightly opaque, but I was desperate.

While I ate and drank I studied the readings from the planet and viewed the images from the onboard cameras. The atmosphere was perfect, almost identical to Earth’s atmosphere. The planet was the same size, more or less, as Earth so the gravitational pull on our bodies would be the same. Water was plentiful, covering about eighty percent of the surface and, surprisingly, none of it was salt water so it was all potable. The planet revolved around a pair of red dwarves, the arch of the revolution so wide that I wasn’t sure if it was in geosynchronous orbit or not. In any event, the concept of a solar year wasn’t something to even consider.

Because of the dual suns and seemingly motionless orbital pattern, every part of the planet had the same weather conditions. There were no poles and there would be no seasons, so every day was the same-comfortably warm, intermittent sunshine and clouds with light rain at night. Perfect weather for crops.

Which was why, I supposed, the planet had obviously been terraformed. Even from space I could see row upon row of parallel lines of vegetation, most likely trees of some type, punctuated by circular openings. The vegetation was so dense that I couldn’t see what was under it. There could have been houses or huts or anything, but, from space at least, there was no way to know. I also assumed the openings were landing areas for aircraft or even spaceships, but I couldn’t be sure, and there was nothing in any circle to give me a hint about their purpose. I also assumed that the planet was inhabited, but at night I didn’t see any lights from the surface, not even the slightest hint of fires or any other type of illumination. That wasn’t proof conclusive, though. I was thinking like a human, and the inhabitants, if there were any, could be life forms of any type.

The planet’s land surface was made up of one large island and three smaller islands. I studied the images of the surface as closely as possible, blowing up the digital images so I could view an area about two hundred feet across, but I couldn’t find any sign of vessels on the water. I sighed with frustration and focused again on eating. I was engaged in an exercise of futility. After all, there were hundreds of circles and vast miles of water surface, and I had just scanned a few of them. I’d have to wait to hear more from the bots before I could draw any conclusions about the inhabitants, if there were any, that is.

After filling my stomach, I checked on the others’ vital signs. Everyone seemed to be in good shape and that, in turn, would allow me to do my other tasks. I had programmed the bots to keep the ship in orbit for as long as they determined was necessary and, to my surprise, they had kept us in orbit for one Earth year. I took me a while to figure out why, but the answer gradually became apparent.

It seems that the bots concluded that the planet was perfect for human inhabitation, so they decided, on their own, that they would find out more about the other inhabitants. About a thousand miniature hexa-bots, using their gravity and antigravity cells for guidance, descended on the planet, hiding themselves in the vegetation. The vegetation, as I had guessed, was in fact multiple types of fruit-bearing trees, some larger than the others, but all of them large. The fruit varied in size and shape, but appeared to be limited to the primary colors. I wondered if the colors represented some type of code. I’d soon find out.

As I began to study the video the bots sent back, I realized why they kept us in orbit for a year without waking us. All the bots made their way under the vegetation and were able to see the comings and goings of the planet’s inhabitants. They uploaded hours upon hours of videos and, when I studied them, I discovered that I could understand the language of the inhabitants. The bots, realizing that we’d have to coexist with the planet’s indigenous population, performed linguistic analysis and translated their language into English. Over the course of a year they fed the information into my brain so that, when I awoke, I was fully conversant in what seemed to be the planet’s only language.

There was something wonderful and odd about the inhabitants. The wonderful aspect was that they were, for all intent and purposes, human, only… Well, let’s just say they were perfect. Their hair was long, never having been cut, and it was clear that they had never experienced a razor blade. The women, unlike most of the women on Earth, all had underarm hair but it was so fine that it was actually attractive to me. The men were all slightly over six feet tall with lean, muscular bodies, quite like the statues of ancient Greece. The women-my God-the women were spectacular! They were five-ten or so with willowy upper bodies that dove into curvaceous hips that sat upon long shapely legs. All the inhabitants dressed the same-naked except for a small patch of leaves that covered a bare minimum of their pubic areas.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find any words in their language that hinted at the slightest hostility-no words for weapon, or hate, or war or anything like that. Also, some of the inhabitants were paired and others weren’t. They spent their days walking and tending to the tress, doing nothing that I would call exciting, and spending only the briefest moments together when they met on their walks. Let me correct that-the bots, being tiny, had limited fields of vision, so I assumed that when a group of inhabitants met, they only met briefly. It turned out that my assumption was wrong-very wrong.

I made up my mind to visit the planet. After all, if this was to be our new home, we would have to coexist, right? The bots specified where I should land and with whom I should meet-a beautiful female who appeared to be unattached. I had heard her name, but I can hardly pronounce it and I certainly cannot write it. I decided to call her Diana until I could become more masterful of the language, but also because she was as beautiful as a goddess. I mean beautiful! Gorgeous pale blue eyes, long black hair, perfect C-cup breasts topped by just as perfect pink nipples, a slightly dark complexion that showed off her pearly white teeth and a smile that drew you to her. Just seeing her in the videos made my cock ache. The more video of her that I watched, the more convinced I became that the bots were right-she was unattached. I saw video of her meeting couples, exchanging hugs and then moving off out of the field of vision. If there was anyone on the planet to start with, it was Diana. In my fantasies, of course, she would welcome me with open arms and, hopefully, open legs.

I ordered the bots to collect leaves for me and bring them to the ship. I was astonished at how soft they were, like a combination of cotton and silk. I fashioned a patch, decided against bringing a weapon, climbed into a shuttle and, after taking a deep breath, headed out into space and down toward the planet. I was so certain that I and the others would remain that I gave the planet a name-New Earth.

One other thing-there was no sign of children. No sign at all. Perhaps they were hidden away, or perhaps the bots just didn’t see them. That wasn’t important to me at the time-what was important was finding Diana.

The Only Way to Travel

Wed, 16 May 2012 17:05:07 -0400

My book "The Only Way to Travel" was released today. It is an action packed thriller with lots'o bodies. Here's the cover.

Also released today is "No One Home". This a very psycho-sexual novel (but I love psycho-sex, don't you?) In case you forgot, here is the cover to that book.

I don't know about you, but I just love this model and I'm not talking about the guy. He's okay, too. BTW these are not CGI images-they are real people.