Saturday, January 30, 2016

Happy Story Orgy (not quite) Monday - Parallels pt.4 #storyorgy #blogstory

Late again…well I’m nothing if not consistent, right? lmao

Again, I will try to play catch up and have Monday’s post on time.

***Now – the troubles with writing a book one chapter a week and sharing it with you guys during the writing process—things change sometimes: dates change, names change, little deets change. Yes, what I’m trying to tell you is all of these have changed with this story already – and I’m only on the 4th chapter and the two main characters haven’t even been introduced yet - *blinks* - I did mention - on my blog post explaining this book - that this would be a difficult story to put to word, remember. Good thing is, I did go back in the previous chapters and tried to fix all the changes I made so new readers won’t see the switches. But if you catch on to any of them, please give me a little leeway…we are going through this journey together…hand in hand. <3

Prompt: That was where he went wrong…

Part 4
copyright © 2016 Havan Fellows

Chapter Four

January 4, 1980

“One more push…come on…you can do it,” the doctor cajoled her.
Maggie jerked her head left then right, sure she didn’t have any more strength in her for another one. The room spun in an assortment of colors, whatever they shot into her back took away most of the pain, but she wished Greg were around to give her something to take away her thoughts.
Even through the pressure ripping her in half, with this baby in her trying to break free, she couldn’t control her random thoughts. She knew once the child was born her problems would escalate. Her parents wanted to be the perfect grandparents—but only in show. They made it perfectly clear she was to bring their grandchild around only when summoned, and they would supply the clothes that both mother and child would wear in front of their friends. But after the performance was over they would be sent back to the ramshackle trailer park that Maggie called home ever since she said I do… Not that she actually muttered the words, but her mother assured the preacher that her tears were ones of joy, her silence a result of hormones and happiness.
Those days would be the easy part of her life…
Chris hadn’t let up on the heavy hand just because her tummy rounded with his child inside her. No, if anything, the daily reminder that he knocked up the wrong girl infuriated him. He kept his punishments to all parts of her body except the belly region. Maggie believed even though he hated that he wasn’t in the manor on the hill were he thought he’d be, the neighborhood her parents stuck them in was still better than the slums he came from. Plus, the fact he was now free from his father’s wrath… Well, it was always better to be the one inflicting the pain instead of receiving it, yes?
Maggie was getting very accustomed to that word…pain. That she could handle, but being in her mind, lucid…
Damn she hated that.
Pleasure and pain didn’t matter in her life anymore. Obliviousness was what she wanted.
Chris doled out plenty of pain. In fact, after the wedding and her parents made good on their promise—threat—to purchase them a dilapidated trailer off The Boulevard—a notorious street on the wrong side of town—Chris’s punishments were more frequent and severe. He’d drink all morning, sleep in the afternoon, then get up and go to his gas station attendant job for the night shift, bitching the whole way about how the world did him wrong.
Greg—on the other hand—thought she kept coming back for the pleasure he physically gave her. That was where he went wrong; she didn’t care about the sex. Sex meant nothing. No matter the position, orgasms eluded her. Not that Greg put much effort toward her needs during their dalliances, which suited her fine. All she cared about was the fix spreading her legs would get her. Not happy with the small amounts he shared, she started sneaking stuff out of her parents’ house whenever she went over. Maggie knew her parents well. The items she stole from them—things ranging from crystal knick knacks to jewelry her mother stowed away and forgot about—convinced Greg to give her his portion of whatever they imbibed in at the time, also. Double portions guaranteed that the numbness would engulf her quickly.
For a blessed afternoon she could forget the hell that her life had become. An escape that in truth, she understood might damage the baby, but this child ruined her life…why shouldn’t she repay the favor?
Soon though she’d run out of stuff she could swipe from her parents. When that happened… Well, Greg hinted that he had some friends who would pay to have a few minutes with her. Perhaps she would…
But that was nothing she could think about while her brain was functioning without the help of the drugs. Decisions like that shouldn’t ever be made while sober
Unfortunately, she’d been stuck in the blasted hospital for the past four days, not able to see Greg, to get a fix. And even though the hospital was good with dampening her pain, it was her mind she needed freedom from.
The rolling pressure surged through her lower abdomen again and she screamed while pushing. Her vaginal muscles stretched to their limits then immediately relaxed as she fell back against the mattress.
The doctor stood, his arms curled upwards as two nurses bent in front of him, one with her palm on Maggie’s stomach, forcibly massaging into the now limp skin.
“Clear,” the nurse murmured, and the doctor immediately hurried to the side of the room, a different nurse joining him.
Those two spoke to each other, but Maggie couldn’t comprehend what they were saying as they messed with something in a clear box.
She blinked heavily, ignoring the pokes and prods from the two nurses between her legs. What was happening?
“There’s no heartbeat,” the doctor shouted.
One of the nurses attending her rushed to the doctor’s side. “I worried about this when she came into the ER completely doped up. The baby is almost eight weeks premature…he never stood a chance.”
Did she lose the baby? Did she want to lose the baby?
A soft, weak cry broke through the tense silence.
“Knowing his future, perhaps it would be more humane to kill him now,” Brother stood next to the doctor, staring down at the pallid baby boy with the withered, tiny body.
Sister stepped up on the other side of the doctor. “Now Brother, were would the fun be in that? Aren’t you curious what is happening on the other side?”
“Dear Sister, curiosity is your realm. Mine is to keep you happy.”
“Which you do splendidly,” she confirmed, running her fingertips up and down the newborn’s head. He twitched, turning toward her touch, the only signs of life he displayed. “Such a bleak path you will take, little man. Try to steal the good times when you may.”
She blew him a kiss then reached for Brother’s hand, which he gladly gave her.


February 29, 1980

“One more push… Come on Mags, you can do it,” the doctor cajoled her.
Mags squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on getting her little boy out of her body and into the world. She couldn’t believe it was happening. Finally. It seemed like a non-ending pregnancy, not that she would change it for the world.
Who knew she would not only welcome this new life, but actually be excited to meet him, get to know the tiny personality that insisted on kicking her constantly from all angles whenever she made the mistake of eating anything spicy. Evidently he didn’t have a taste for the hotter foods. Didn’t seem fair considering she craved all things fiery throughout the pregnancy. She had finally relented to the little booger inside her and ate mellower foods, even though the cravings never stopped. She’d hoped conceding to him would not only put an end to the amazingly strong kicks, but also help the heartburn that assaulted her for the last half of the pregnancy. It didn’t, so Rolaids became her drug of choice. She popped them like candy, thankful that her doctor assured her they wouldn’t hurt the baby.
“You’re doing so well, Mags…the doctor says just one more push,” Rachel leaned over and whispered into her ear. “I’m here with you, you can do this.” She kissed Mags forehead.
Mags weakly turned her head to the right and looked at Rachel. How was it this woman had become her savior?

Ever since that cup of coffee the brunette literally pushed on her over three months ago, things started to seem lighter, more manageable.
Caring with Courage fortuitously had a bedroom that recently opened up, and Rachel immediately assembled all the paperwork needed to get Maggie into that newly available bed.
Maggie fought tooth and nail at first. She swore she wasn’t a battered woman, but a knowing look from Rachel proved the lie fell flat. Even though the astute woman didn’t see the hidden bruises, Maggie felt naked in front of Rachel…like mere clothing couldn’t hide the damage Chris did physically and her parents emotionally.
Terrified of what Chris would do if he found out she came here, but not quite willing to get up and walk out…Maggie tried a different tactic. She was still a minor, only sixteen.
Rachel waved the concern away with a flip of her hand. She stated one last thing before standing and exiting the room, “You have a decision to make, Maggie… Stay with him and die or take a chance here and live.”
Maggie didn’t even ponder the statement, her body answered for her as it stood and followed Rachel up two flights of stairs and down a long corridor. On the third floor all the way to the back of the shelter a door stood open, and Maggie continued to trail Rachel into the corner bedroom.
It was tiny and sparsely furnished—a single dresser, rickety nightstand, a twin size bed—with a narrow shuttered door to the left that probably opened to one of the smallest closets known to man. No other doors in the room verified that there was a communal bathroom. If the chipping paint and slivered furniture was anything to judge by, the bathroom probably didn’t stack up to Maggie’s normal standards either.
“What do you think?” Rachel whispered next to her.
Maggie took one last look around before turning to the pushy brunette with the soft, caring smile. “It’s the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen,” she replied honestly. Because even if her eyes told her brain that the end table was beaten down and closet door dilapidated and about to fall off the hinges… All she saw was safety. There would be no fear of sleeping next to her own personal enemy, he had no power here.
Maggie knew what hope felt like again.
“Yes, Maggie?”
“Call me Mags.”
Good-bye Maggie…
Hello Mags.

Rachel immediately made Mags her ‘project’, not that she would ever rudely term it that way. But she did. She spent hours with Mags, taking her to doctor visits and helping her find a safe place to work.
Just to secure her peace of mind, Mags cut her long flowing mane of chestnut hair and stopped wearing her contact lenses. The pixie hairstyle and glasses dramatically changed her appearance, giving her a sense of elusiveness from her past—helping her from always looking over her shoulder in case someone actually cared enough to search for her.
They didn’t.
She made peace with that. Even said a little thank you prayer to a god she didn’t quite believe in.
“Earth to Mags,” Rachel said, grasping her bare shoulder where her hospital gown slipped down. “It would be real good if you were here right now. Whatever you’re thinking about will have to wait until this little guy joins us.”
Blinking, Mags looked around the room—the hospital room. She must’ve spaced out thinking about her good luck. The best thing she ever did was listen to the voices in her head when she left Chris’s apartment back in November.
“Now…push now…” the doctor announced loudly, penetrating any fog that tried to keep Mags in her thoughts.
Scrunching her eyes, leaning forward with the help of Rachel holding her in a sitting position, Mags gritted loudly through clenched teeth as she pushed with her abdominal muscles. Pressure and pain circulated through her as she gripped the steel bars on the sides of her bed and continued to push, throwing her head back and screaming until her throat felt raw.
A baby’s wail overpowered her hoarse cries and she immediately fell back against a mountain of pillows.
“My baby,” she sighed, trying to look between her legs at what the doctor and nurses were doing to no avail.
But the baby bawled again and again, and she relaxed, knowing that a baby with lungs that strong had to indeed be healthy.
“You’ve got a loud one.” Rachel chuckled, brushing the sweat soaked hair off of Mags forehead.
Mags closed her eyes, enjoying the friendly touch. “He sounds beautiful.”
“That he does.” Sister bubbled, stepping between Mags’s legs and caressing the infant’s cheek. He gurgled before spitting out more shrieks that out-volumed his previous ones.
“I must admit, the difference between the two is quite marvelous. Though the eyes”—Brother followed the doctor to the side table with the scale and swaddling—“the eyes are the same. As dark as his other self.”
Sister bounded over to the. “The eyes are the window to the soul,” she sang. “Perhaps his soul is destined to be dark. Our interference merely a pebble causing ripples in his soul but ultimately doing no change.”
“And isn’t that what interests you? Wondering if we can truly change things.” Brother smiled indulgingly at Sister.

To be cont’d…

Here are the blogs of my fellow orgiasts…see if they’ve got goodies for you. ;)

Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Friday, January 22, 2016

I’ve gone dark and dangerous…a note about Parallels ヅ #storyorgy #promptstory

So, if you’ve been reading my new Story Orgy prompt story for 2016, you’ll notice that it isn’t the bubbly, light, and fluffy stuff I love writing. Oh sure, I’ve done a few more serious books—Judging Jude anyone? Oh, or the Chance at Forever series has a heavier topic mixed in with the laughs. But honestly, I excel at the romcom (romantic comedy).

Well, that’s what I’ve been told

But Parallels is different…it’s a story that came to me a couple years ago. I wrote some notes and put it on the back burner thinking it was too out there, too sci-fi’ish, too strange for me to write. But it was an awful lot of fun to think about writing.

Lately it’s been bouncing around in my head wanting a little more attention than I gave it. But still I fought the idea of actually sitting down and writing it – I mean everyone would call me out on the idea. I could hear it now, “That’s not a plausible story…” “You can’t write that in a readable way…” “No one will buy that plot…”

But I realized that wasn’t what everyone would tell me, it was what I kept telling myself.

Then one night I watched some older flicks—movies I enjoyed 15-20 years ago—and I couldn’t stop thinking about how out there the plots were. The stories weren’t plausible, the plots were completely just down right crazy.

And darn it – if they can do it why can’t I take off the training wheels and attempt it myself?

So yeah, I decided to go for it and write the weird book that floated around in my head for years.

And you know what? It is dark, and unapologetic, and completely fabulous.

Not to mention confusing – it will be a test for me to be able to put this story on page the way it plays out in my head. But I’ve been told many times that a thought I have will be difficult to write, and each time I’m proud to admit I took the challenge and did it, quite successfully some of the time even…lol.

Don’t get me wrong, I still plan to write my romcom and my fluff stories {Flyboy 2 is on the horizon sooner (or later) lol} – but I feel excited about trying different things also…and this is a seriously good story, if I tell it right. *crosses fingers*

So if you have read the first 3 chapters, I hope you’re intrigued and stick around for the rest…but if you haven’t, no better time to catch up like now. :)

Happy Story Orgy Monday - Parallels pt.3 #storyorgy #blogstory

So last week I patted myself on the back for posting my Monday SO story on time…and this week I’m four days late…welcome to my life. LMAO

But at least I’m getting it in the same week – and hopefully in three days I’ll have another one up *crosses fingers*.

This is a continuation of last week’s story…and it just keeps getting weirder. :) Ooooh…and it has a title now too!

**WARNING—this story is out of my comfort zone, but I think that will make it quite interesting…hope it draws you in. :)

Prompt: I can imagine…

Part 3
copyright © 2016 Havan Fellows

Chapter Three

November 15, 1979

“Stupid fucking bitch! Your parents are loaded, what the fuck do you mean they won’t set us up. You’re pregnant with their goddamn grandbaby.” Chris headed for the front door. “You better get your ass home and fix this. I didn’t fuck you just so I could live my life in a trailer park. If I wanted that there were plenty of other bitches I could’ve knocked up.”
He turned around and stared, jabbing his finger in the air at her. “I’m serious. I will make sure your life is a living hell.” He slammed the door on his way out.
“My life already is a living hell,” Maggie whispered as she rubbed her growing belly.
A tear slid down her face, as she pressed against the wall in the sparsely decorated family room of the one-bedroom apartment. This was Chris’s place, well his dad’s and his. It wasn’t much to look at, actually gave her the creeps knowing Chris’s drunken father was asleep in the bedroom with only one warped plywood door standing between them—the man was a slobbery pervert, constantly making rude comments to her and leering at her breasts. But she wasn’t willing to leave the apartment right away either. What if Chris was hanging in the stairway talking to someone?
She gingerly touched her cheek, feeling the heat from his slap on her tender skin. She needn’t worry, Chris never hit her hard enough to leave a mark…where people could see. Was it an inherit trait that abusers knew exactly where to hit and how hard? She touched the underside of her swollen belly, ignoring the pain from the dark purple shoe-shaped bruise on her hip. She knew that if she pulled down her oversized leggings and pulled up her bunchy sweater there would be a yellowing bruise, almost done fading away. He didn’t actually hit the baby, he stated to her when she accused him of trying to hurt their child. No, he said he hit under the baby, no harm done.
That was the night he let it slip that he purposely got her pregnant. It was all part of his master plan to get out of the projects, away from his father, and start a promising life on the other side of town.
What he just found out today, though, was that Maggie’s parents had no intention of letting them live at Talcott Manor. True, Maggie’s house—the only place she ever called home—was big enough with eight bedrooms, seven baths, and over a dozen other various rooms. It also boasted a full time staff including an assistant, cook, and ground’s keeper. Maggie’s father was a well-respected chief of surgery and her mother a highly sought after criminal psychologist and they demanded routine and order in their lives always.
Their only child completely screwed that up for them, and that was why her parents and none of the staff would lift a finger to help her.
The doctor her mother dragged her to—two counties over—estimated the due date as the end of February. Her mother had the idea of wedding her off to Chris before she started showing, then purchasing them a trailer in another town. Unfortunately, she got called enveloped in a particularly heinous murder case that took all of her waking hours—and probably some of her sleeping ones also. For close to two months, Mrs. Talcott was hardly around the house, and since Dr. Talcott hadn’t spoken to his daughter since August, Maggie was able to dodge the marital aspirations.
But now her mother was back and the plans were in overdrive. It was highly important for Mrs. Talcott that the parents-to-be be married before their little bundle of joy entered the world. Maggie wasn’t sure why, it’s not like her friends weren’t smart enough to calculate the dates in their head and figure out that conception happened many months before marriage. But with her mother it was all about appearances, and since Maggie wasn’t showing yet—thanks to baggy pants and oversized sweaters—they could still make this work.
Maggie shook with the realization that this was going to happen. She couldn’t stop it.
A noise came from the bedroom, a cough then a bedspring squeaking. Chris’s father.
She ran out of the apartment and down the first flight of steps. When she rounded the landing she smacked into a solid chest, fingers circling around her upper arms and gripping her firmly.
“Hey, where’s the fire?” A slightly familiar voice asked.
She looked up into the face of Greg something or other—the man who lived next door to Chris.
“Whoa, why’re you crying?”
“I… I don’t…” she stumbled on her words, trying to hold back the real loud sobbing tears that threatened to take over.
He immediately turned her around and led her back up the stairs. “Let me get you a mug of cocoa. You can relax, catch your breath, and maybe let me know exactly why you look like your world just imploded on itself.”
She resisted his direction, but only a little bit. Right now she didn’t want to go home, she didn’t want to be at Chris’s place, and Greg was being so nice to her. She hadn’t received nice from anyone in such a long time. She could really use a little of it now.


“I can imagine her going with him is a bad idea. Why is that?” Brother asked Sister as they followed the two into the man’s apartment.
Sister giggled, “Because if it was a good idea we wouldn’t be here, and you are much smarter than the average sociopath’s mom.”
“Oh good, you’re encouraging your sense of humor today,” he replied, glancing around Greg’s ramshackle apartment. It was a mirror image of the one they just left except with marginally better furniture and less pests crawling across the floor. “But I thought he was a psychopath, not sociopath.”
“How does one determine how much conscience a person has?”
“Isn’t that part of this experiment?” Brother asked, sitting on the hassock.
Sister only shook her head as answer.
They watched Greg talk to Maggie, how he gently probed the side of her face, where no bruise showed but the skin puffed out a little.
It didn’t take long for Maggie to open the dam and quickly fill Greg in on the pregnancy and forced marriage. He listened, rolling a joint for them to share, telling her it would take away some of her problems, if only for a short period of time.
Smoke filled the apartment as they laughed together and finished off a bag of chips and pretzels. But as it always happened, Maggie’s buzz couldn’t last forever and soon reality started invading her mind again, bringing even more despair than she originally had. She couldn’t help but cry.
“Shh, honey, don’t do that. I can’t stand when a pretty girl cries…” Greg stood and walked into the tiny kitchenette, with a counter separating it from the family room. “I have something else…something stronger…that can help you forget your problems even better than weed does.” He placed a makeshift cellophane baggie that came off a pack of cigarettes on the counter next to a metal spoon. The baggie had a little yellowish rock in it.
Maggie, who had walked to the opposite side of the counter out of curiosity, took a step back, her hands automatically going to her abdomen. “I don’t think I should,” she whispered.
Brother took notice that she continuously blinked her eyes, her hands shaking uncontrollably pressed against her midsection. “He did something to her,” he unnecessarily stated.
Sister nodded. “I suppose you shouldn’t automatically trust someone who is willing to give you free drugs”—she looked around at the slum apartment—“at least not in this environment.”
Greg now stood next to her, working her sweater up over her head. “I’m gonna make you feel so good…” he cooed in her ear, pinching her breast through her bra before sliding it down over her baby bump. “Damn you really are pregnant. He’ll enjoy it too.” He laughed.
Sister had obviously already done her homework considering none of this surprised her. Brother, on the other hand, didn’t have that luxury, and he felt as defiled as Maggie soon would be, if his assumptions about Greg’s intentions were correct. “Why?” he asked out loud. “What could he possibly gain from this except a quick orgasm. Surely the money he spent on those drugs doesn’t warrant the few moments of bliss he will take from her.”
“Oh Brother, not everyone thinks solely of physical pleasure when in the company of the opposite sex.”
He raised his eyebrow at Sister. “I have no desire to watch this scene.”
Maggie and Greg froze—her with her eyes partially closed, him with her arm in his hands.
“He sees in her the potential to make some quick money. Using her body for his own means is simply a bonus.” Sister surrendered, leaning against the counter next to the frozen two. “If you give a little something away for free, to—let’s say—someone completely desperate to forget their reality who happens to have access to more money than you would normally see…” She waved her arms out in a giving motion, letting her words trail off.
“And anything she can get her hands on at her house would be more than Greg is used to seeing.”
“Precisely, Brother. Sweet words and gentle touches go a long way with someone starved for affection. You and I both know what he’s doing, but she still sees him as the nicer of the available evils.”
“And so it begins?”
“Yes,” Sister agreed, walking around the frozen duo to look at them from a different angle. “We couldn’t do anything at the conception, because without Roane in the womb there is no experiment. Nothing could be done during the argument with her parents because—”
“She hadn’t done anything yet to harm the baby,” Brother completed her sentence.
Again, she nodded. “This is when Roane’s troubles began. Giving birth to an eight week premature addicted infant is not recommended.”
“Okay,” Brother said.
Sister walked through the frozen people to his side, taking his hands. “Yes?”
He removed a hand from hers and cupped her jaw in his palm. “It will make you happy?”
She nodded even more rapidly this time. “Yes…yes it would. I want to know.”
“Then we will learn together.”


They stood in the hallway an hour earlier when Maggie ran down the stairs and swung around the landing to crash into Greg.
“Whoa, why’re you crying?” he asked.
“I… I don’t…” she stumbled on her words.
Brother leaned over, whispering in her ear, “I’m sorry, I must leave now.”
Maggie stopped babbling and looked at Greg with glossy eyes. “I’m sorry, I must leave now.”
Greg shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, why don’t you come up and I’ll make you some hot cocoa.”
“No. I have to go,” Maggie firmly repeated the words murmured to her.
Sister grabbed her upper arm and guided her easily around Greg, and she ran down the next flight of stairs just like she did the first set.
When she exited the slum apartments, she immediately turned to the left—the way she would go to catch the subway to home.
“Go right,” Sister informed her, and Maggie did a one-eighty and headed in the opposite direction.
She followed the directions beautifully, and before she knew it was at the doorstep of Caring Courage—a non-profit organization that helped abused women escape from their lives and start new ones.
“Um…” Maggie took a step back, shaking her head. “No…this isn’t right…”
Brother looked over, but Sister was no longer standing with them. He crossed his arms and waited.
A plain brown haired mousy woman walked out the front door, followed by Sister. She quickly descended the half dozen steps and approached Maggie. “Perfect timing, I just made some coffee, would you like a cup?” She reached her hand out to Maggie.
“I’m not one of those women,” she stated, gesturing to the building in general.
The woman smiled at her, and her plain looks disappeared, her eyes shone and her smile welcomed. “You don’t have to be anyone but who you are to accept coffee, promise.”
Maggie tentatively took the offered hand, and they ascended the steps together, disappearing into the building.

To be cont’d…

Here are the blogs of my fellow orgiasts…see if they’ve got goodies for you. ;)