Do You Take It…?

Enjoy this quick, before YouTube notices it…

Hoot Island returns! Kinda.


Guess it’s been a while,. huh.

You know, I totally meant to call. Really. But with one thing and another, and, well, you know…

Anyway, I’m back up and working on rebuilding the Island from scratch, more or less, so please bear with me while I figure this out. There’s gonna be a short period of messiness, I suspect, while I get everything back online.

But in the meantime, you can go read my short story collection “Giggling Into the Pillow” for free! It’s over at Smashwords, in several different formats for your portable reading pleasure. Not that I’d ever stop you from buying a print copy for yourself, of course…

Thanks for checking back, and I hope to hang around another 10 years.

Flasher: Storyteller

“Are you sure?”

“You promised,” she said, smiling underneath the blindfold, “to tell me a dirty story about your buddy Mitch. Tell me how he’s been dying to fuck me silly.” She arched her back. “Tell me about Mitch licking me for hours, and not letting me finish until I beg for it.” She reached and found hard flesh, grinned at capturing me. “Tell me!”

Her blindfold slipped and she blinked in surprise at seeing, and holding, a very happy Mitch.

“I’m sorry, babe,” I said, sitting across the room. “I’m afraid I just don’t have a very good imagination.”

Flasher: Patrons of the Arts

Eve grabbed Jim’s arm hard enough to knock the pancake off his fork. “Look over there!”

Jim looked over to see a pretty blonde sitting with a dark-haired man, laughing together. Something about them–

“We masturbated to them!”


“Remember? Last week, the amateur tape? Oh my God…”

Jim remembered and was instantly aroused. It had been incredible, and seeing them clothed and casual was weird and exciting.

Eve smirked. “Waitress?”

“Yes ma’am?”

“I’d like to pay for that couple’s breakfast, anonymously.”


“Please. And tell them…” Eve and Jim smiled at each other. “Tell them we admire their work.”

Flasher: Be Careful What You Ask For

“Close your eyes and guess your present.”

“A pony?”

“Nope.” My legs goosepimpled in the cool Christmas morning air when she pulled off the blanket.

“A plastic rocket?”

“Last chance,” she murmured. I heard her sip something.


Without warning she took me deep into her wet and unreasonably hot mouth. I opened my eyes to see her bent over my waist with a cup of tea in one hand and me in the other.

“Just what I wanted!” I exclaimed happily. She smiled around me and began a slow, insistent motion. “Tea!”

And that’s where this scar came from.

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