It’s Sexy Time!

HEY! It’s not ALL weird tentacles and sassy aardvarks and Trump taking it in the ear, yanno. There’s also the Burn the World trilogy. Available now at the risk-free price of zero buckaroos. I’m all about the giving, sweeties.

This is erotica, friends. There are, at present count, two unplanned but very welcomed babies in the world thanks to my sex scenes.

Try’em, ya might like’em.

As always, packaged with a lovely, no-tell bookcover so if someone gets into your tablet/kindle/ipad, no eyebrows will be raised.

Of course, if you’re really in the mood for seeing Trump take it in the ear, sassy aardvarks, revenge gone wild, ghost stories, epic poetry, or anthropomorphic PETS, I got you covered.

GET SOME, DARLINGS.

 

The Edge

The edge is where you finally stop and think

do I care

or do I share?

Have I endured enough to share, and then endure the consequences?

Or do I care more for his reaction? For protecting him?

It builds and builds and builds, I care and care and care

I love him I love him I love him so much so hard but it hurts so much I’m on fire

I’m a slow burn inside out

I hold back and back and back

The Wave of Kunagawa is building behind my eyes my heart my fingers my temper

my paper thin temper

my filmy wet sodden temper

I am tired and cannot go further, the wave has crested and overtaken me

Kurosawa drives me and there are no brakes no airbags no barriers no soft landings

Hokusai overwhelms my heart and the rocket drives my mind and the flames fire under my fingertips and I explode and explode and explode and my feelings drip down down down all over the walls the door the window down down through the floorboards down down drip drip onto the tile on the first floor drip drip down each stair down into the basement

where my soul resides

in the sump hole

my soul collects the remnants of the results the reactions the consequences of my share.

I shared. There will be consequences. My soul will collect them with the others in the dank, dark underside of my home, of my body, of my life.

I love him but there will be consequences. There always are consequences. I chose to absorb them when I chose to share. I still wait for the fallout, the pushback, the aftershocks, the punishment.

Oh. There will be punishment for the share.

There WILL BE PUNISHMENT.

Thous shalt not feel without regard to how those feelings affect those who affected thoust (?) feelings.

I love him, but I shared, because I could not contain the wave, or it will explode my mind my heart my body my future my boys. I physically failed. My floodwalls failed. And I will absorb the flood, the earthquake, the runoff, the pollution, the consequences, which will contaminate the unknown.

I had to save my sanity, without it, I can’t save my boys. I had to save the known. Please understand. I’m sorry you feel bad.

The volcano erupted because I had to save the known. I love you. I love my boys more.

 

So, frankly

All my work is free. For now.

That’s not to say it hasn’t been edited within an inch of its life. It’s not crap. It’s not word vomit.

It’s “I have 2 jobs and 2 kids and I just want someone to read my stuff with an option to donate” free.

It’s “I just want eyeballs for Christmas” free.

It’s “Are you accepting new patients?” free.

Check it out. *CHEESE*

31 Short Horrors!

Darlings! 31 Short Horrors is COMPLETE and READY FOR YOUR EYEHOLES!

Get it for FREE for a limited time at Smashwords with coupon code KU45W

This collection is the result of three years of agony and ecstasy and all the laughs and tears in between. I really hope you check it out because I worked my bazoombas off to put it together for you. Honest to gawd, 31 complete works in one spot? For free?

I’m a giver, that’s what I do.

Save Me

Save me break me need me lead me

You cannot see my eyes

You cannot see my cries

You cannot see these ties

 

Love me take me beat me reap me

You will not hear more lies

You will not hear more cries

You will not hear us fly

 

Trust me hear me see me feel me

I cannot share my fears

I cannot share my jeers

I cannot map these final steps of we three buccaneers

 

My map is hidden from you

Too profound for you to dig

 

This plan I cannot give you

Can’t believe you will forgive

 

My mind the tornado

Coordinates are lost

 

Directions to and fro are only

Obtained at my long cost

 

These open grounds a fireplace

Gas stove open floor plan ours

 

But I can’t give it up because

To you, not real, but sour

 

I can’t give you myself, my own self

To thine own be true

I’m making progress but til I land

Edinburgh due

I cast my lot, my chance, my heart

To my dear love I’m true

But please hear me see me feel me

My own love, all us, for you.

copyright 2017 Shannon Cooper

ETA: I received a heap of derision and criticism on this piece when it was first published. In response, I deleted it. Then I thought, nah, fuck that, nobody gets to tell ME what and how I write. Anway. Hope you enjoyed that tiny backstory.

The Password is

Rewind.

up the path, words taken back, habits reattached.

Rewind.

up the scroll, heart on the toll, paid in full.

Rewind.

just an internet person, not a real person, not anymore.

Rewind.

a previous window, a former format, an erstwhile conversation.

Rewind.

Hope floated, mistakes gloated, egos bloated.

Rewind.

Just as far as hope.

Dip into the seafoam and try to trap the bubbles in the webbing of my thumb.

Rewind.

to be kind. to find time. to hold hope.

I Made These For You.

I write lots of things.

LGBTQ, short stories, erotica, poetry, sci-fi, fantasy.

Stories with sassy aardvarks, asshole turtles, tentacles.

Farts.

Miami bangers.

Revenge and torture fantasy featuring Donald Trump. His tongue may have turned into a dildo Under the Pappadome, or maybe it didn’t.

Go find out for yourself, 99% FREE.

Love,

Shan

Burn the World, Volume 1

My first full-length novel is available FREE at Smashwords!

Fiona had a rough start in Kentucky, but she worked her way out and now has everything going for her: a thriving medical spa chain in Miami, great friends, and a hot tub on her rooftop deck. When not one, but two men of her dreams arrive in her life, she must choose between a volatile artist who gave up his entire life in New York City to be with her, and a gentle, intelligent, media writer with a nightmare of a mother and a psycho ex-girlfriend. Chemistry alone won’t be enough to decide between these two! The sex is terrific, but what *is* love, and what *is* absolutely necessary in a partnership?

Look for Burn the World: Changeable Skies (Volume 2) out July 26!

 

The Rope, Sliced Through (a #31ShortHorrors Tale)

The Rope, part 1

(note: this poem is based on Neneh Cherry’s single Love Ghetto, from her album Raw Like Sushi)

I hit a home run on the last stretch of life

Finding you finding me

Seems so long ago

I focused on the rope across the canyon

I focused on the rope across the ocean

I focused on holding on, I searched for your oars

The weather ripped at the rope

We nipped at the rope, others hacked at the rope

Sharks gnashed at the threadbare rope

The rope shivered and shook as I inched across

Tugs from behind shook my grip as I crawled

Halfway there, no longer stuck on my island

You saw the tugs as my receding

I crawled, I lost my grip in the wind

I clawed my way back up the ravine, began again

A puddle of misunderstanding like a sea between us

Come rain come shine, I crawled and I clawed

Leave the love ghetto behind, I crawled and I clawed

I made it partway once more when I saw you take your knife

Convinced I’d fall, what your eyes tell you

Your ears can be deceived

And this chase is haunting me

I focused on the rope as you chiseled with your knife

Just a trim, just a butter knife

It isn’t all that sharp

But dull knives still slice damaged substrate

With enough persistence

The sharks were swimming up for me

As I clung on to the rope

You were calling out to me

As I clung on to the rope

Terrified, I cried out too

And clung on to that rope

Good intentions bad connections

I saved you from saving me

Forever is only like the sky and the sea between us

The winds of time and distance, mangled language not believed

The teacher keeps on crawling but will never be relieved.

The Rope (a #31ShortHorrors tale)

Stolen Paradise

Shouldn’t talk about it

But we have to and we do

What happened to our Paradise?

Stuck in traffic, the traffic of life, the traffic of reality

Suspense controlling my mind

I have to find my way out of here

Maybe I can tunnel out

Or open the front door and just waltz out into the sunshine

The bitter cold air on my free face

Free fall into the void

I know what’s on the other side of the void but I’m scared of the journey

Travel is a necessary part of life and how one learns

I need to learn

I need too much

I need to travel and run and escape

The void is not nothing

The void is everything loud and brash and too much

The route through the void is a tightrope

Not tightly strung

It’s loose and fraying and swaying in the wind

I have one tool for balance and it’s unreliable

I lose my balance so often though my target never changes

It moves

As I move

Creeping, crawling, along the rope, so slowly

It seems I’m not moving at all

Millimeters at a time but forward progress to forward Paradise

I’m halfway there, halfway across

It’s so loud and bright and swirling so fast around me

I focus on the rope

Not on the frayed broken strings

I focus on the rope

Not on the wind that throws me off, hanging on by my raw fingertips

I focus on the rope that will take me to Paradise

My yellow brick road is unsolid, wavering, shuddering but clear

My Oz is real

This rope is real and

I focus on the rope.