Tis’ The Season…

by SS Hampton Sr.

Ahhh, no. Not elves and reindeer and “ho ho ho.” More like black cats, flaming eyed pumpkins, haunted graveyards, and “BOO!!!”

About three hours northwest of Las Vegas, Nevada, on the road to Reno, is the small town of Tonopah. Founded around 1900 it was once a prosperous silver mining town; now it is a quiet, friendly little town where travelers can still find an old time hospitality.

The Nevada Camera Club of Las Vegas, of which I am a member, conducted a field trip to the nearby International Car Forest of the Last Church, located outside of Goldfield, Nevada, south of Tonopah. Participants could spend the night in Tonopah, but the high point would be night photography at the Car Forest. I thought this would be a great field trip to take my son, his wife, and the three little grandchildren on.

So, I discovered that on the north side of Tonopah is the famous Clown Motel. There are some 600 clown dolls in the motel office. The motel rooms are decorated with framed prints of clowns. These are not the clowns of “It” fame, but smiling, happy clowns. Nonetheless, according to the front office, sometimes there are paranormal activities in the office and the rooms. It seems to depend on how many people traipse through the haunted graveyard next door—a lot of visitors seems to trigger paranormal activity.

The haunted graveyard, formally known as the Old Tonopah Cemetery, was established in May 1901. The cemetery was active until April 1911 when the number of dead became greater than the plot of land, due in some part to the Belmont Mine Fire, and a mysterious, unidentified plague.


And then, about 25 miles south of Tonopah is Goldfield, Nevada. In the early 20th century Goldfield was a booming gold mining town, a status that continued into the 1940s in spite of a fire that devastated the town and surrounding area in the 1920s. Today there is a small population remaining, along with the reputedly haunted Goldfield Hotel. But most interesting is just south of Goldfield, off to the eastern side of Highway 95, is the International Car Forest of the Last Church.

The International Car Forest is an artistic endeavor involving the partial burying of some 40 old cars and buses and vans that are decorated by various artists known and unknown. It is free and open to the public. The Car Forest is a different artistic concept, but I enjoyed it, as did my grandkids especially. Not only did we have fun, but I learned quite a bit about night photography. Previously, it was a hit or miss affair for me; but I made sure to take plenty of notes, I know I’ll do much better at night photography in the future.

That night at the Clown Motel my 9-year old grandson turned on all of the room lights and the bathroom light. I had also told my grandkids that if they felt like looking out the window at night, make sure their mom or dad looked first—no telling what might be looking back. Their eyes grew wide. My son gave me a look of disbelief and I felt kind of guilty. Sort of. Maybe.

My son had also made a comment about whether we’d have to take some sort of protective measures in the rooms if too many tourists wandered through the Haunted Graveyard that day. I told him not to bother. We only had to worry if something followed us back from Tonopah. His eyes grew wide and I felt kind of—actually, no I didn’t. I laughed.

Here's a little from one of my erotica books. I hope you enjoy it.

Sometimes people choose to live life to the fullest…

Burt and Rachel Markham are ordinary small business owners of a seed & feed store in a small Kansas farming and ranching community. Many years before, as young university graduates eagerly anticipating exciting overseas employment, a lifetime in Kansas was the furthest thing from their minds, particularly Rachel who was raised overseas and dreamed of going back.

By July 2013 their twin 18-year old daughters, having graduated high school several months before, go east to attend a university. Burt and Rachel settle into their new life of an empty house and a predictable and unchanging routine that threatens to stretch far into the future.

One summer evening Burt has an idea—but will Rachel accept the idea? If she does, will the idea add new excitement to their marriage, or destroy it?

EXCERPT
A song of reserved exuberance began; the feminine voice rolled the sound of many of the French words. Rachel tilted her head to listen to the music.

“Edith Piaf, France’s premier singer back in the ‘60s,” she announced fondly. “She died of cancer. This song, it’s “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien,” or “No, I Regret Nothing.” It’s one of her most famous.”

She put her elbows on the table, folded her hands and rested her chin on them. She looked at Burt.

He listened. Maybe it was the title—the voice and music had a slow almost melancholy, and yet proud and defiant feel to it. The music and words added an authentic touch to the dim bistrot. If he closed his eyes for a moment he might be able to imagine a rainy night in Paris, sitting in a French bistrot with his wife in the shadow of Notre Dame Cathedral, overlooking the Seine River. Paris was a city he always wanted to visit; he knew Rachel and her parents had visited when stationed overseas.

“I’m not really hungry yet,” he said.

She nodded. “Like I said, after.”

Burt looked at the empty foyer. There was “After” again.

Rachel followed his gaze and touched his hand. “I don’t think he’s late yet.”
“I have a feeling he’s about as punctual as you always are,” Burt said with a small smile.
“Any last minute thoughts or rules?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Just feel him out and make a common sense decision. If he doesn’t ask to fuck you, how do you let me know you’re interested or not?”

She chuckled. “If I’m interested I’ll touch your foot with mine. If I’m not, I’ll kick you.”
Burt lowered his head and gave her a sarcastic look. “Got it.”

He looked at the foyer again. Saturday night, 7:00 p.m. They were really sitting in a French-style bistrot waiting on a man who wanted to fuck Rachel with Burt’s permission. Would it really happen? Maybe GentlemanNate was a jerk in real life—Rachel didn’t like jerks. She didn’t like men who were loud and pushy, profane or who spoke badly.

The waitress returned with their drinks.

“There’s not a wide variety of food because we follow the old European tradition of few selections, but each one is of loving preparation and excellent taste. Would you like to order something? The figs wrapped with grilled bacon is really good. So are the marinated mushrooms. Both are authentic French recipes.”

“Perhaps a little later,” Rachel answered. “We’re waiting on someone.”

“Of course,” the waitress said. “Just catch my attention when you’re ready to order.”

Burt took a drink of his beer and glanced at the TVs. Sports and news. She took his hand in hers, tilted her head and continued smiling at him.

Maybe GentlemanNate wouldn’t show...

BUY LINKS

Amazon - MuseItHot

See more books by S.S. Hampton Sr. on Amazon.

SS Hampton, Sr. is a full-blood Choctaw of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma and grandfather to 13 wonderful grandchildren. He is a published photographer and photojournalist. Hampton retired from the Nevada Army National Guard with the rank of Sergeant First Class; he previously served in the active duty Army, the Army Individual Ready Reserve and was mobilized for the Persian Gulf War. He enlisted in the Nevada Army National Guard after which he was mobilized for Federal active duty for almost three years. He is a veteran of Operations Noble Eagle and Iraqi Freedom with deployment to northern Kuwait and several convoy security missions into Iraq.

Hampton has had two solo photographic exhibitions and curated a multi-media exhibit. His writings have appeared as stand-alone stories and in anthologies from Dark Opus Press, Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy, Melange Books, MuseItUp Publishing, Ravenous Romance, and in Horror Bound Magazine, The Harrow, and River Walk Journal, among others.

He graduated from the College of Southern Nevada with an Associate of Applied Science Degree in Photography – Commercial Photography Emphasis. He has been studying at the University of Nevada-Las Vegas with in a double major in Art and English.

Hampton can be found at:
Dark Opus Press - Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy Publishing - Melange Books - MuseItUp Publishing - Goodreads Author Page - Amazon Author Page - Amazon UK

THE MUSE WHO ALMOST WAS

by SS Hampton Sr.

What is a Muse to a photographer, painter, sculptor, writer, or poet? By the way, I use the generic term “artist” though I am a writer and photographer (and if I find my well-hidden skills, someday I will paint and sculpt). A Muse is a person who has the innate ability to spur the artist on to greater heights of creativity. A Muse cannot be hired or made, she just is. Looking for a Muse is no good either; she will appear in her own time when you least expect it.

Why is a Muse important to the supposedly creative soul? There is something special to the Muse. She inspires the artist. Maybe it is her form, the way she moves, her eyes, her smile, or the sound of her voice. The Muse understands what the artist is trying to accomplish, she encourages him, makes suggestions, and even provides criticism. The Muse becomes part of the creative process.

Of course, one wonders if the Muse can be important to the human heart as well. Of course! And why not? After all, at some inner level there is already a connection between the Muse and the artist. It may take no more than a whisper of a breeze for them to become intimate for a little while, a long time, or even to marry. Or go their separate ways.

I have been fortunate to encounter several Muses in my life. Each brought something special to my photography (sometimes even my writing), and each, in her own way, encouraged me to create. The first Muse was willing to wander around the Pikes Peak Region (we lived in Colorado Springs), the high and wide mountain basin of South Park, and even make a trip to southern Colorado’s Sand Dunes. It was through her that I learned the importance of a Muse. A little over a year ago I encountered a young lady who has become the second Muse of some note. Beautiful, easy to work with, and patient (such as the time we were close to Death Valley where we were going to photograph, and I discovered that I forgot to pack the camera), she has reminded me of the importance of the Muse to the artist.

So, what compels me to address this subject again?

I recently met a young lady when I studied for a semester in France. When I stepped off the plane and saw her, I knew I had to photograph her. If my painting or drawing skills had been sufficient, I would have painted and drawn her as well. Everything about her was compelling, like a siren’s song. She was perfection. When I finally broached the subject of photographing her, she readily agreed. She even suggested, based on my photographic vision, a suitable location that would draw all of the elements together. Immediate planning began.

Alas, circumstance intervened, and this “Muse who almost was” receded into the distance like a beautiful spirit fading into a Camargue morning fog.

My creativity is not ended for I remember everything about her, especially her eyes and smile, even the sound of her voice.


To read more about artists and muses, consider these links The 10 Most Iconic Muses in the Art World - The 30 Most Famous Muses in Art - Famous Muses

Here is a brief introduction to my latest release for your reading pleasure.

Sergeant Jerry Stanton is a young soldier serving in the War in Iraq. He is a gunner on a gun truck nicknamed “Lucky Bear,” one of those tireless workhorses that escort supply convoys from camps in Kuwait to destinations scattered throughout the war-torn country. In the early morning hours before a scheduled mission, a dust storm howls across his camp and threatens to bring convoy operations to a halt. Worse, the camp receives word that a gunner from his company was killed by an IED while on a convoy mission.

Unlike most soldiers, Jerry doesn’t carry a lucky charm, but upon receiving news of the death of the gunner, he begins to mull over/ponder the merit/virtue of a good luck charm—only, what would work for him? Perhaps mail call will provide the answer.


EXCERPT
“People like a happy ending.”

Sergeant Jerry Stanton, an M4 Carbine slung across his chest, glanced at the dark form that trudged alongside him in the hot, early morning darkness. It was all the darker for the dust storm howling across the small camp, a dusty and sandy convoy support center, CSC, a mile south of the Iraqi border. He placed his hand over the tall Styrofoam coffee cup from the messhall that was open at all hours to serve those about to head out on a mission. He felt the itchy dust filtering down his back, along his arms, and coating his fingers.

In spite of his short time deployed to Kuwait, he had learned that dust storms were worse than sand storms; they were hot and itchy while the sand storms stung exposed skin and chilled the air. Breakfast was good but tasted flat, more due to the question of whether their mission would be a go or no-go because of the storm that roared out of the midnight darkness hours before.

“What?”

“People like a happy ending,” the soldier repeated. He was a gunner from another gun truck as the squat, venerable M1114 HMMWVs, which were never meant to be combat vehicles, were called. He held up a rabbit foot that spun frantically in the wind and added, “I like a happy ending. Especially now.” They rounded the corner of a small building, actually a renovated mobile home trailer with a covered wooden porch lit by a bare electric bulb. The gunner pointed to a small black flag, suspended from a log overhang, flapping furiously in the wind.

“Oh shit.” Jerry sighed as a cold chill raced through him.

“It’s been there for an hour or so,” the soldier said as he enclosed the rabbit’s foot within both hands and brought it up to his lips as if to kiss it. He glanced at Jerry. “I’m not superstitious, but still, I mean, there’s nothing wrong with having a lucky charm. You know?”

“Yeah.” Jerry nodded as he watched the twisting flag. “I know.”

BUY LINKS
MuseItUp Publishing - Amazon

See more books by S.S. Hampton Sr. on Amazon.

SS Hampton, Sr. is a full-blood Choctaw of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma and grandfather to 13 wonderful grandchildren. He is a published photographer and photojournalist. Hampton retired from the Nevada Army National Guard with the rank of Sergeant First Class; he previously served in the active duty Army, the Army Individual Ready Reserve and was mobilized for the Persian Gulf War. He enlisted in the Nevada Army National Guard after which he was mobilized for Federal active duty for almost three years. He is a veteran of Operations Noble Eagle and Iraqi Freedom with deployment to northern Kuwait and several convoy security missions into Iraq.

Hampton has had two solo photographic exhibitions and curated a multi-media exhibit. His writings have appeared as stand-alone stories and in anthologies from Dark Opus Press, Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy, Melange Books, Musa Publishing, MuseItUp Publishing, Ravenous Romance, and in Horror Bound Magazine, The Harrow, and River Walk Journal, among others.

He graduated from the College of Southern Nevada with an Associate of Applied Science Degree in Photography – Commercial Photography Emphasis. He has been studying at the University of Nevada-Las Vegas with in a double major in Art and English. However, he is presently spending a cold, rainy Spring 2017 semester studying at a university in southwestern France in the shadow of the Pyrenees Mountains.

Hampton can be found at:
Dark Opus Press - Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy Publishing - Melange Books - MuseItUp Publishing - Goodreads Author Page - Amazon Author Page - Amazon UK

PAYING RESPECT

by S.S. Hampton, Sr.

How long does it take for the rain to cleanse the sand of blood?

How long does it take for the wind to cleanse the air of the screams of the wounded and dying?

How long does it take before the sunlight heals a war-torn land?

Recently I was privileged to visit the Normandy American Cemetery, Omaha Beach, and Utah Beach, in Normandy, France. I am a student at the University of Nevada-Las Vegas (UNLV), but this past spring semester I studied at a university in Pau, France, courtesy of the Universities Study Abroad Consortium (USAC), University of Nevada-Reno (UNR). At the end of the semester many of us were on an optional tour of the Normandy region.

At a peaceful, sunlit Omaha Beach I picked up a handful of damp sand where, 73 years ago this June 6, tens of thousands of young men charged out of landing craft into minefields, artillery, mortar, and machine gun fire. Though many fell on the ramps of the landing craft, disappeared from sight in the cold waters, or collapsed on the beach, others continued to move forward, encouraged by each other, encouraged by their NCOs, and officers. So much courage, so much dedication among those that our country sent into an apocalyptic fight against tyranny and evil, in order to free other nations.

At the American Cemetery, dressed in a suit and tie and cowboy boots, I paid my respects to those who came before me. And I remembered the names of comrades killed in the Iraq War, as well as the names of those I never met but who my fellow Soldiers knew, and those who have died since our return home, including by suicide. I chose a spot where I could see the American flags and, facing in the direction of Omaha Beach, I stood at attention and saluted. I was alone because I did not tell anyone of my intent. In a sense, this solitary action was rather symbolic because the civilian world is often unaware of what happens in the military world.

I had read about D-Day and the Normandy Campaign since I was a young boy. Service in the Army brought a feeling of belonging to something greater than I, along with the sense of obligation that comes with choosing the Profession of Arms.

Now, words on paper have become a personal memory of white crosses in rows in a grassy landscape, the nearby trees rustling in the wind, the sound of ocean waters on a tranquil beach, and my face caressed by a sea breeze. I remember the cold, gritty feel of the sand trickling between my fingers, wind surfers in the distance, and fellow USAC students, all much younger than I, walking along the beach. Due to some personal or familial connection, they did not hesitate to hurry from the Cemetery parking lot down to the cliffs, and then down the slopes to Omaha Beach, even though they only had 30 minutes to make such a lengthy round-trip journey.

I remember one young girl told me, as we walked toward the slopes above Omaha Beach, that she had gathered sand from the beach to take home to lay on her grandfather’s grave. I later saw a photograph of the vial of sand on his gravestone – her grandfather was a Veteran. This girl, this young woman, accomplished her goal for her grandfather.

Rest in peace my brothers and sisters in arms who made the ultimate sacrifice. Know that for each one of you who fell, another stepped forward to take your place. Like you, these new generations who choose the Profession of Arms may be required to make the ultimate sacrifice. Like you, they will do so if needed. And like you, these new generations stand between us and the evil loose in this world.

Rest In Peace…

SS Hampton, Sr. is a full-blood Choctaw of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma and grandfather to 13 wonderful grandchildren. He is a published author, photographer and photojournalist. Hampton retired from the Nevada Army National Guard with the rank of Sergeant First Class; he previously served in the active duty Army, the Army Individual Ready Reserve and was mobilized for the Persian Gulf War. He enlisted in the Nevada Army National Guard after which he was mobilized for Federal active duty for almost three years. He is a veteran of Operations Noble Eagle and Iraqi Freedom with deployment to northern Kuwait and several convoy security missions into Iraq.

Hampton has had two solo photographic exhibitions and curated a multi-media exhibit. His writings have appeared as stand-alone stories and in anthologies from Dark Opus Press, Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy, Melange Books, Musa Publishing, MuseItUp Publishing, Ravenous Romance, and in Horror Bound Magazine, The Harrow, and River Walk Journal, among others.

He graduated from the College of Southern Nevada with an Associate of Applied Science Degree in Photography – Commercial Photography Emphasis. He has been studying at the University of Nevada-Las Vegas with in a double major in Art and English. However, he recently returned from spending a cold, rainy Spring 2017 semester studying at a university in southwestern France in the shadow of the Pyrenees Mountains.

Hampton can be found at:
Dark Opus Press - Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy Publishing - Melange Books - MuseItUp Publishing - Goodreads Author Page - Amazon Author Page - Amazon UK

What a Piece of Work…

by SS Hampton Sr.

In an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, Captain Jean-Luc Picard (Sir Patrick Stewart) paraphrased a monologue from Shakespeare’s Hamlet when engaged in a verbal dispute with the character Q (John de Lancie).

I offer a portion of the original monologue from Hamlet, Act II, Scene 2, though not with a male centrist point of view as prevailed in Shakespeare’s time:

“What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an Angel! In apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world!”

Truer words were never spoken.

As a photographer and a would-be painter (fascinated with egg-based tempera paints on vellum, which I was fortunate to experience once), I am drawn to the female form more than any other subject. In the grace of movement whether walking or dancing, in the curve of a smile below sparkling eyes, or sitting for a traditional portrait, there is very little comparable to the beauty of a woman.

However, I also see beauty in the lines and fierce strength of military equipment, in the natural ebb and flow of mountainous landscapes, the flat yet rugged desert (the desert might be pushing it a little after 16 years in the Southwest and Kuwait/Iraq) or the solitary expanse of the grassy plains. I am fascinated by the reshaping of drifting clouds – wind sculptures I call them (and yes, sculpting is something I would like to try someday).

But, add a woman to these subjects and something miraculous can result.

Sometimes a woman or a photograph of a woman, much like a Muse, inspires me to write. It may be her overall, perhaps striking Gothic appearance (Burning, 2002), the intense color of her eyes (Ice (Inspired by Erica), 2004), or simply who she is (Carnivale Promised (Inspired by Cydney), 2002).

In my decades of photographing – yes, I am kind of up there in years – I have been fortunate to work with a number of women. Though only three would be considered as a Muse due to working with them frequently, any one of these women could be viewed as a Muse because in one way or another they inspired my photography and writing.

Yes, I freely admit that I am biased. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Stan~

Sometimes people choose to live life to the fullest…

Burt and Rachel Markham are ordinary small business owners of a seed & feed store in a small Kansas farming and ranching community. Many years before, as young university graduates eagerly anticipating exciting overseas employment, a lifetime in Kansas was the furthest thing from their minds, particularly Rachel who was raised overseas and dreamed of going back.

By July 2013 their twin 18-year old daughters, having graduated high school several months before, go east to attend a university. Burt and Rachel settle into their new life of an empty house and a predictable and unchanging routine that threatens to stretch far into the future.

One summer evening Burt has an idea—but will Rachel accept the idea? If she does, will the idea add new excitement to their marriage, or destroy it?

EXCERPT
She stood and grasped his hand. “It’s a little windy out, but it looks like there’s only a slight drizzle. We won’t get too wet walking home.”

Burt glanced at the steaming dancers again and smiled. “It’s been a long time since we walked in the rain.”

“It has been,” she said and leaned against him.

“I always liked walking in the rain. A light rain that is. A slight drizzle is better.” They stepped into the cool twilight. “Anyway, when your blouse is soaked your nipples really stand out.”

“Oh God,” Rachel giggled. Silent lightning lit the wet road as if showing the way home.

Burt slipped his arms around her and kissed her cheek.

“Hi,” he whispered in her ear. She responded with a little sigh and reached back to place her hands on his hips.

The greeting was their signal when in public that one or the other was horny. They began whispering “hi” to each other shortly after they became lovers; now they also whispered it after he slipped into her or when she seated herself on him and they were looking into each other’s eyes.

The storms passed and the humid summer heat returned. The feed store remained busy. The trains rumbled past Four Corners, past their home, as they had done for the past two decades. Burt always thought that the late night train whistle that echoed across the moonlit prairie was one of the loneliest sounds he ever heard.

One night during their dinner walk they passed by the dark school. Rachel paused and stared at the small wooden building. Twinkling fireflies floated through the schoolyard.

“Are you going to volunteer this year?” he asked. Classes would start in a few days.

She was silent for a few moments before shaking her head. “No. I enjoyed being a volunteer teacher’s aide, but with the girls gone…” Her voice trailed into silence. “It wouldn’t be the same.”
Burt brushed her long hair away from her face. “What about soccer?”

“They asked me and I said I’d help on special occasions, like the end of season awards banquet.” She folded her arms around herself as if she were cold, though a warm breeze blew across the moonlit prairie. “But otherwise, no.”

“It wouldn’t be the same?”

“Jah, jah,” she whispered.

“Well, okay. I mean, there’s been a big change in our lives, but it doesn’t have to mean cutting most ties.”

When they returned to the farmhouse Rachel announced she was going for a swim. She poured a glass of Sauvignon Blanc for herself and picked up a CD player. She usually listened to classical music, waltzes, and operas when floating in the pool. There was a chakra wind chime hanging near the pool for the times when she felt like floating in near silence except for the chimes and the sound of the prairie wind.

A few moments later Burt followed with beer in hand. Maggie trotted behind him, rawhide bone in her jaws. Classical music floated through the night; fireflies played hide and seek among the neatly trimmed hedges along the perimeter of the yard. Others drifted in and out of the nearby cornfield, while the insects of the night droned on in disharmony.

He saw Rachel drop a dark robe to her feet. In the silvery light of the moon her nude fleshy form had a ghostly white sheen to it. She glanced over her shoulder, flashed a lusty smile at him, and dove into the pool. He stood by the edge of the pool and watched her gliding beneath the sparkling moonlit water. Then she surfaced, rolled and floated on her back with closed eyes. A pair of fireflies circled above her face.

It was the second time she was skinny dipping. It was like she was shedding the older, busy exterior of motherhood so that her younger carefree personality could reassert itself.

He sipped his beer and watched her face with Bettie Page bangs plastered to her forehead, surrounded by a fan of long hair and the glimmering water. She looked so content.

A thought was born.

A surprising thought.

A thought he never entertained before about his wife of 21 years—and the mother of his children. He walked unsteadily to a wooden chair with thick cushions and sat down heavily. He gulped his beer. A warm breeze flowed through the night; the trees rustled and the field of corn swayed like watery currents. Fireflies sailed past him.

“Dammit,” Burt whispered to himself in disbelief…disbelief and excitement. And trepidation. What would her reaction be? What would she say? Could he even find a way to suggest it?

“Burt?”

He returned to the poolside. Her eyes were open. Moonlit water droplets on her beautiful face sparkled like tiny diamonds.

The thought wouldn’t let go. It took root…

BUY LINKS
Amazon - Muse It Hot Publishing

See more books by S.S. Hampton Sr. on Amazon.

SS Hampton, Sr. is a full-blood Choctaw of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma and grandfather to 13 wonderful grandchildren. He is a published photographer and photojournalist. Hampton retired from the Nevada Army National Guard with the rank of Sergeant First Class; he previously served in the active duty Army, the Army Individual Ready Reserve and was mobilized for the Persian Gulf War. He enlisted in the Nevada Army National Guard after which he was mobilized for Federal active duty for almost three years. He is a veteran of Operations Noble Eagle and Iraqi Freedom with deployment to northern Kuwait and several convoy security missions into Iraq.

Hampton has had two solo photographic exhibitions and curated a multi-media exhibit. His writings have appeared as stand-alone stories and in anthologies from Dark Opus Press, Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy, Melange Books, Musa Publishing, MuseItUp Publishing, Ravenous Romance, and in Horror Bound Magazine, The Harrow, and River Walk Journal, among others.

He graduated from the College of Southern Nevada with an Associate of Applied Science Degree in Photography – Commercial Photography Emphasis. He has been studying at the University of Nevada-Las Vegas with in a double major in Art and English. However, he is presently spending a cold, rainy Spring 2017 semester studying at a university in southwestern France in the shadow of the Pyrenees Mountains.

Hampton can be found at:
Dark Opus Press - Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy Publishing - Melange Books - MuseItUp Publishing - Goodreads Author Page - Amazon Author Page - Amazon UK

Whence Washing Away?

by SS Hampton Sr.

Hello!

I have been aware of Steampunk for some years now, found the premise interesting, and always thought I should try writing Steampunk someday. But what does an older guy like me know about Steampunk? Not much, actually. But it sounded interesting.

Anyway, while researching a story I once came across mention of a 1778 treaty at Fort Pitt in which American Indians, if assisting the Continental Army against the British during the Revolutionary War, were offered the possibility of their own state and representation in Congress. Once the war was over, of course. The idea of an American Indian state intrigued me, and I thought I should try writing an alternative history someday.

Of course, just like tomorrow, “someday” never comes.

Then I saw Nicole Gestalt’s Call for Submissions for Valves & Vixens, Volume 3 (House of Erotica). The sub-title Steampunk Erotica clinched the idea. So, “someday” finally became “now.”

And the idea hit me—why not write about West Delaware, the American Indian state (the 14th State, or the Treaty State) in a Steampunk world? Of course, that meant research in order to gain a better understanding of Steampunk, and to develop a believable timeline from the 1778 Treaty of Fort Pitt to New Year’s Eve, 31 December 1900. Especially important was what the Steampunk world of West Delaware was like on the eve of the 20th century.

Sooo…as midnight approaches, West Delaware is a populous state with the descendants of survivors from Eastern tribes, as well as tribal refugees who made their way out of the West, through watchful US Army picket lines. There are descendants of white colonists who elected to live under American Indian authority rather than be removed by the fledgling American government and lose their land; descendants of runaway slaves, and still arriving European immigrants. It is a state in a flux of change where the people are blending ancient cultural and social customs with new ways, all against a background of a rapidly evolving computer-based technology.

The people in this world include Carlton Snow, Chief of West Delaware; Solomon Prophet, Director of West Delaware’s powerful state police; Kyrie Sosoni, Executive Assistant to Chief Snow, and who serves both a master and mistress; the influential Senator Walker Diamond who, along with others in the Federal government, wishes to do away with West Delaware; Lord Gallatin Andover, a member of the British Parliament and envious enemy of West Delaware’s computer technology superiority; Lady Elysia Delacroix Stuart, successful Washington madam with ties to West Delaware and Lord Andover, and her sister Lady Cassandra Delacroix Gordon, a member of Elysia’s brothel.

I suppose a last question would be, “How will this all end?” Who knows? Answering that question might deserve another story, or perhaps a novel. We will have to see.

Here's a peek into my story Washing Away.

December 31, 1900, New Year’s Eve. A murder of a prominent British politician, an opportunistic computer technology entrepreneur in a seedy hotel in Washington, D.C. Is the murder nothing more than a sleazy robbery, maybe industrial espionage, or perhaps revenge?

Lady Elysia Delacroix Stuart, a brothel owner in Washington, and her sister Lady Cassandra Delacroix Gordon, a member of the brothel, are on their way to Chestertown, West Delaware—the American Indian state, created after the Revolutionary War—for a New Year’s Eve celebration. The American Indian state leads the world in early computer technology and Lady Elysia’s family played a role in developing the technology. She also had a secret and less than pleasing history with the politician, and finds herself suspect in his murder.

EXCERPT
The solitary gaslight swayed in the strong, wintry wind. Snowflakes spun through the cone of light that swung back and forth across the sidewalk to the side of a wood framed hotel that saw better days. Large snowflakes stuck to a window for long seconds before reluctantly losing their shape and becoming thin rivulets that trickled downward.

Within the dark room the feeble light filtered through curtains that also saw better days. The solitary room was warmer than the winter night outside, but not by much.

“Why this place?” a masculine voice asked. “Why a seedy, dirty little place like this?”

His answer was the squeak of the bed as a feminine form outlined by the curtained window light giggled and crawled forward. The woman turned at the head of the bed and lowered her hips.

“Taste me,” she whispered and tilted her head forward so that her long hair dangled back and forth across his hips. A deep, masculine groan answered her, and beefy hands rubbed and squeezed her hips, then her ass cheeks. She giggled again and lowered her hips further. The groan became muffled. “Do you like my scent,” she asked and reached between the man’s legs. The excited reply was muffled as she rolled her hips back and forth, and her head rose and dipped in a slow rhythm. The man groaned again.

After a few moments she stopped and rose on her knees. His voice rose in protest.

She turned and straddled his chest. The light barely lit the long face framed by long dark hair and decorated with a bushy mustache. His hands resumed their rubbing of her hips and ass cheeks.

“You like?”

“Always have,” he replied in a low voice and squeezed, hard. “You were the best. Especially your first time. That belly dancing in Egypt did wonders for you.”

The woman leaned forward and kissed his forehead. He slipped a hand between her thighs. She gasped and sighed.

“I know.”

“I should have married you back then,” he added.

“I know.”

“You should have married me when we met in London.”

“Really?” A hint of sarcasm was in her voice.

“Yes.”

“But then, we wouldn’t be here.”

She reached behind the pillows, between the headboard and the end of the sheet covered mattress.

“What are you doing?”

“Sshhhh,” the woman replied and placed a finger against his lips.

He chuckled and trailed thick fingers through her pubic hair while he curled her long hair around his other hand.

She pulled her hair free and sat on his stomach. The light from the window shone briefly on a polished, thin round stiletto blade. The woman clapped a strong hand across his mouth and the blade disappeared into the shadow of his left temple. His eyes opened wide, the whites easily visible in the near darkness. A less than lustful gasp and groan filtered through her fingers. His body jerked, his feet kicked, and then he went limp though his limbs shuddered spasmodically.

The woman sighed, placed a pillow against the side of his head and withdrew the stiletto, now darkly stained and dripping.

She remained seated on his stomach, slowly tilting her head from side to side as if studying the now motionless body. She turned the head so that his lifeless eyes gazed at her.

“I wasn’t sure I could do this,” the woman told him in an emotionless voice. “But, it was so easy.”

The window rattled from a strong gust of wind.

“Everything could have been so different,” she said later in a matter-of-fact voice while standing by the bed, shrouded in a winter cloak, and pulling on a pair of gloves. “I’m glad things worked out the way they have.” She paused at the door and listened. At that time of the morning no one was up. Odds were, even the night clerk was asleep. The woman cast a final look at the body followed by a whispered, “Someone really should have told you, hell hath no fury like a girl scorned…or…ill-used.”

The gas lamp lit hallway decorated with a faded, frayed carpet, was empty. She hurried to a door at the rear of the hotel and plunged into the frigid night. Only a horse carriage, and a hissing steam carriage were out and about. With a final look up and down the street, she left the hotel grounds and disappeared into the snowy darkness that was Pennsylvania Avenue.

AMAZON BUY LINK

See more books by S.S. Hampton Sr. on Amazon.

SS Hampton, Sr. is a full-blood Choctaw of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma, a divorced grandfather to 13 wonderful grandchildren, and a published photographer and photojournalist. He retired on 1 July 2013 from the Army National Guard with the rank of Sergeant First Class; he previously served in the active duty Army (1974-1985), the Army Individual Ready Reserve (1985-1995) (mobilized for the Persian Gulf War), and enlisted in the Nevada Army National Guard in October 2004, after which he was mobilized for Federal active duty for almost three years. Hampton is a veteran of Operations Noble Eagle (2004-2006) and Iraqi Freedom (2006-2007) with deployment to northern Kuwait and several convoy security missions into Iraq.

He has had two solo photographic exhibitions and curated a third. His writings have appeared as stand-alone stories and in anthologies from Dark Opus Press, Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy, Melange Books, Musa Publishing, MuseItUp Publishing, Ravenous Romance, and as stand-alone stories in Horror Bound Magazine, The Harrow, and River Walk Journal, among others.

In May 2014 he graduated from the College of Southern Nevada with an Associate of Applied Science Degree in Photography – Commercial Photography Emphasis. A future goal is to study for a degree in archaeology—hopefully to someday work in and photograph underwater archaeology (and also learning to paint). He is currently enrolled as an art student at University of Nevada-Las Vegas.

As of April 2014, after being in a 2-year Veterans Administration program for Homeless Veterans, Hampton is officially no longer a homeless Iraq War veteran.

Hampton can be found at:
Dark Opus Press - Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy Publishing - Melange Books - MuseItUp Publishing - Goodreads Author Page - Amazon Author Page - Amazon UK

Batten the Hatches, S.S. Hampton Sr. Is Cooking!

by S.S. Hampton, Sr.

Monday afternoon I received an urgent request from Sloane Taylor to send one recipe that I’ve adapted—other than dessert or chicken. I immediately sensed either a blog of some sort or perhaps a sultry scented trap. Maybe sultry scented food?

There’s an old saying that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Well, this is a family blog so, yes, I’ll agree with that. After all, many years ago my future wife made a steak dinner for me…well, truthfully, that was only part of the evening… But anyway, yes people, ahem, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.

Anyway, back on track—a recipe that I’ve adapted. Well, there isn’t. Not really. I mean, regarding Dijon-Deviled Eggs (About.com Southern Food), I don’t add green onion because near-by family members don’t like it. But I don’t think that’s what Sloane has in mind. I don’t think there is a recipe for cheeseburger or steak or French fries or fried hot dogs or ham sandwiches with potato chips.

And then I thought of one. My generation-long staple: milk gravy and biscuits!

So, here’s my recipe:

Milk Gravy and Biscuits
Open a can of biscuits and pop into the oven.

Buy 1-pound ground beef; tear off a handful and break up into small chunks for the skillet.

Salt and pepper to anticipated/desired taste.

Put the burner on medium.

Chop up a small chunk of onion (about the size of a small plastic container of whole cloves) for flavoring and add to the skillet.

Stir occasionally.

When the meat is browned, turn the burner almost to high. Wait until the grease starts to explode everywhere.

Shake a decent amount of flour out of the bag into the skillet. Just eyeball it. Stir the flour and hamburger and onion together.

Add a lot of milk, but not so much that when it boils, it will spill over the sides of the skillet. Makes a big mess when it does.

Start stirring until the milk gravy begins an excited and energetic bubbling (boiling). After a minute or two (sort of) reduce the heat a little, but not quite to medium. The milk gravy has to keep bubbling.

After 2-3 more minutes (if you’ve eyeballed the ingredients properly), the milk gravy—with hamburger and onion—will start to thicken. Keep stirring. Reduce the heat to medium.

Maybe 3-4 minutes later when the milk gravy has thickened more, put the burner on low.

Take the biscuits out of the oven and you’re ready to go! (You can also use toast instead of biscuits, if you like.)

Oh, yeah—the original recipe. I don’t know. I’m sure there is one somewhere, but I’ve never looked one up. This is basically how I saw my grandparents make milk gravy, and so it’s how I’ve always made milk gravy and biscuits for breakfast, or lunch, or dinner.

I wonder if this recipe adaptation is what Sloane had in mind?

Note from the Blog Mistress: Absolutely, Stan. And your recipe made the perfect breakfast this morning while I worked my way to a man's heart. wink

Here are teasers into SS Hampton's terrific anthology, Intimate Journeys, for your reading pleasure.

Rose Cliffs
Archaeologists accidentally set free survivors of an ancient race, who require sexual sacrifices to bring back more of their kind.

The Christmas Queen
A young man returning home for Christmas encounters a legendary succubus who wants him for her lover.

No. 55 Cherry Apple Court
Believe it or not, sometimes within a gated community there are worse things than a home owners association.

The Whisper of Ereshkigal
An immortal Sumerian in love with a human woman is finally discovered by pursuing goddesses determined to take him to the underworld.

Imnachar
A frustrated incubus has a young woman cornered in a small country church, and he attempts to entice her to leave her sanctuary.

Galleria Millennia
An unusual group of female artist-collectors descend on a city at the edge of the Rocky Mountains before Y2K.

The Samar Café
On the eve of joining his combat ship during an interstellar war, a young sailor spends the night with a prostitute, with surprising results.

A Harsh Lesson
A female military officer dons a haunted Waffen SS jacket and attends a costume party, where she intends to kill a Senator.

Aztec Ridge
An Aztec goddess claims a lover from the same family line every 52 years, and now it is time for her to take a new lover.

Dawn at Khabari Crossing
As the US combat role in Iraq ends, a middle-aged soldier faces the uncertainty of demobilization and returning to Ground Zero of the Great Recession.

Between Flagstaff and Gallup
They say curiosity killed the cat, but what happens if it didn’t, and the cat is still alive?

The Ledger
A married sutler, unhappily retired and in ill health, remembers the example of the love of a young 7th Cavalry trooper for an Irish laundress.

Grandpa’s Bon Qui Qui
While deployed to Afghanistan, an older soldier in a May/December relationship must decide if the young woman really loves him, and if he really loves her.

Buy Link

See more books by S.S. Hampton Sr. on Amazon.

SS Hampton, Sr. is a full-blood Choctaw of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma, a divorced grandfather to 13 wonderful grandchildren, and a published photographer and photojournalist. He retired on 1 July 2013 from the Army National Guard with the rank of Sergeant First Class; he previously served in the active duty Army (1974-1985), the Army Individual Ready Reserve (1985-1995) (mobilized for the Persian Gulf War), and enlisted in the Nevada Army National Guard in October 2004, after which he was mobilized for Federal active duty for almost three years. Hampton is a veteran of Operations Noble Eagle (2004-2006) and Iraqi Freedom (2006-2007) with deployment to northern Kuwait and several convoy security missions into Iraq.

He has had two solo photographic exhibitions and curated a third. His writings have appeared as stand-alone stories and in anthologies from Dark Opus Press, Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy, Melange Books, Musa Publishing, MuseItUp Publishing, Ravenous Romance, and as stand-alone stories in Horror Bound Magazine, The Harrow, and River Walk Journal, among others.

In May 2014 he graduated from the College of Southern Nevada with an Associate of Applied Science Degree in Photography – Commercial Photography Emphasis. A future goal is to study for a degree in archaeology—hopefully to someday work in and photograph underwater archaeology (and also learning to paint). He is currently enrolled as an art student at University of Nevada-Las Vegas.

As of April 2014, after being in a 2-year Veterans Administration program for Homeless Veterans, Hampton is officially no longer a homeless Iraq War veteran.

Hampton can be found at:
Dark Opus Press - Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy Publishing - Melange Books - MuseItUp Publishing - Goodreads Author Page - Amazon Author Page - Amazon UK

REMEMBER

by SS Hampton, Sr.

Today is Memorial Day. It is a 3-day weekend for much of the country—a weekend of family get-togethers, BBQs, and great sales. That is fine.

But please do not forget the real meaning of Memorial Day. Though there had been several local observances, a national Decoration Day was created by “an organization of Union veterans” on 5 May 1868, to be observed on 30 May of that year by the nation in “decorating the graves of war dead with flowers.”

It was after World War I that Memorial Day came to recognize all of those who fought and died in America’s wars. From the American Revolution (1775-1783) to Desert Shield/Desert Storm (1990-1991), the total American combat deaths number 651,031; the greatest number of war dead was 291,557 suffered by the Greatest Generation during World War II (1941-1945) .

As for the Global War On Terrorism (2001-), or the Long War as some may call it, according to the Defense Casualty Analysis System, 5,363 men and women have died in combat.

Unfortunately, the world is not a safe and secure place. Yet, we know that in our nation there will never be a shortage of uniformed volunteers willing to stand between unarmed men, women, and innocent children, and the senseless evil in the world.

On Memorial Day this year remember the “National Moment of Remembrance”—at 3:00 PM local time across the country, everyone is encouraged to take a moment to reflect on those who have given their lives for our country. Whatever war they fought in, all of those who made the ultimate sacrifice have names, whether those names loom large in history books or are known only to their families.

And some of us know the names of comrades who made that sacrifice during the GWOT.

Finally, if you have never heard Taps, the final farewell to fallen comrades, take a moment to listen. Take a moment to remember, and to whisper, “Good bye. And thank you.”

~Stan

SS Hampton, Sr. is a full-blood Choctaw of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma, a divorced grandfather to 13 wonderful grandchildren, and a published photographer and photojournalist. He retired on 1 July 2013 from the Army National Guard with the rank of Sergeant First Class; he previously served in the active duty Army (1974-1985), the Army Individual Ready Reserve (1985-1995) (mobilized for the Persian Gulf War), and enlisted in the Nevada Army National Guard in October 2004, after which he was mobilized for Federal active duty for almost three years. Hampton is a veteran of Operations Noble Eagle (2004-2006) and Iraqi Freedom (2006-2007) with deployment to northern Kuwait and several convoy security missions into Iraq.

He has had two solo photographic exhibitions and curated a third. His writings have appeared as stand-alone stories and in anthologies from Dark Opus Press, Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy, Melange Books, Musa Publishing, MuseItUp Publishing, Ravenous Romance, and as stand-alone stories in Horror Bound Magazine, The Harrow, and River Walk Journal, among others.

In May 2014 he graduated from the College of Southern Nevada with an Associate of Applied Science Degree in Photography – Commercial Photography Emphasis. A future goal is to study for a degree in archaeology—hopefully to someday work in and photograph underwater archaeology (and also learning to paint). He is currently enrolled as an art student at University of Nevada-Las Vegas.

As of April 2014, after being in a 2-year Veterans Administration program for Homeless Veterans, Hampton is officially no longer a homeless Iraq War veteran.

Hampton can be found at:
Dark Opus Press - Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy Publishing - Melange Books -
Musa Publishing - MuseItUp Publishing - Goodreads Author Page
Amazon Author Page - Amazon UK

Me? Erotic Romance?

by SS Hampton Sr

Hello! Spring greetings!

Okay, that is a little too cheery for my usual nature.

But then, it is April. Winter is basically over, though here in Las Vegas (Sin City) winter usually means just a dip in the usual 100+ degree weather. If someone wants to see snow up close they have to drive out to nearby Mount Charleston.

Anyway, I am meandering.

My first novel, SHARING RACHEL, was released in October 2014 by MuseItUp Publishing, MuseItHOT Imprint. It will be followed by the sequel, PRAIRIE MUSE, in the summer of 2015. Both are erotic romances and are about a happily married couple and small business owners, Burt and Rachel Markham, who decide to explore their personal boundaries. Okay. Make that sexual boundaries.

And that brings about the question of how did I go from writing short stories and novellas about, oh, a ghost returned from the Ho Chi Minh Trail (The 24th of December, Journeys, 1992), ghosts and the Battle of the Little Bighorn (Gold Nugget, Dark Fire Magazine, 2004), a frustrated incubus trying to entice a young woman to leave a sheltering church (Imnachar, Intimate Journeys collection, Melange Books, 2011), and a young woman who agrees to become Death’s consort in exchange for the safety of her family (The Mistress of the Fourth Seal, Horror Bound Magazine, 2009), to writing Erotic Romance?

Welll, first, there is a difference between Porn, Erotica, and Erotic Romance. Or so I’ve been told (and read).

Broadly and simply speaking, Porn is for readers who do not need someone with them to have, ah, a good time, so to speak. Erotica has a plot and characters, and many times leaves the bedroom door open for readers to peek through. And Erotica does not require Happily Ever After (HEA). Erotic Romance has a plot and characters, and also leaves the bedroom door open at times, but most importantly, HEA is practically mandatory.

So, again, how did I go from writing about wars, ghosts, demons, and star ships (if sex was involved, it was more of a furtive sidelong glance as if to verify, “Yep, IT happened”) to writing Erotic Romance?

Somewhere along the way I probably encountered a writing and thought, “I can do better than that.” And the research began. Then the outlining. And throwing my hands up in the air. Then another start. And a completed short story that went nowhere except in a manila folder in my filing cabinet. And throwing my hands up in the air.

Then the idea of combining the two, then developing an outline, and Sharing Rachel was born.

It was during a 6-month writer’s block that I accomplished the research that helped provide a foundation for the novel. To tell the truth, the research was quite interesting. Here was a world I had come across before on the Internet, but never gave much thought to until I combined the two stories into one novel.

However, my confidence had been shaken by the writer’s block, so I asked a writer friend, Charmaine Pauls (The Winemaker, The Book Exchange, and Pryomancist, among others) to take a look. I wanted to know if the novel sounded believable or if it came across as some sort of middle-aged fantasy (more or less).

To my relief, she told me Sharing Rachel was believable. And she liked it. And Charmaine was the first to describe the novel as an Erotic Romance.

Okay. I have to admit, by then 50 Shades of Grey was big news and big bucks to boot. I discovered that Romance, and various sub-categories including Erotic Romance, enjoyed a huge readership. I am not sure why, but there is definitely an audience for Romances.

So, after SHARING RACHEL, I wrote PRAIRIE MUSE, and there is a third novel to write (after I get a couple more fantasies, horror, boomer story, and even a Christmas story out of the way).

It is not just the subject matter that is interesting, but I genuinely like Burt and Rachel Markham, an ordinary married couple in the heartland of Kansas. Yep, you heard me—no corporate CEOs and university girls and jet setting across the world. Just an ordinary in their 40s husband and wife driving an SUV who decide to explore their personal and sexual boundaries in the Midwest.

It is a story that any couple—rich, poor, or middle class—can truly experience if they want to explore their boundaries.

And that is how I came to write Erotic Romance.

Enjoy the spring weather and have a great week!

~Stan

Sometimes people choose to live life to the fullest…

Burt and Rachel Markham are ordinary small business owners of a seed & feed store in a small Kansas farming and ranching community. Many years before, as young university graduates eagerly anticipating exciting overseas employment, a lifetime in Kansas was the furthest thing from their minds, particularly Rachel who was raised overseas and dreamed of going back. By July 2013 their twin 18-year old daughters, having graduated high school several months before, go east to attend a university. Burt and Rachel settle into their new life of an empty house and a predictable and unchanging routine that threatens to stretch far into the future. One summer evening Burt has an idea—but will Rachel accept the idea? If she does, will the idea add new excitement to their marriage, or destroy it?

EXCERPT
A song of reserved exuberance began; the feminine voice rolled the sound of many of the French words. Rachel tilted her head to listen to the music.

“Edith Piaf, France’s premier singer back in the ‘60s,” she announced fondly. “She died of cancer. This song, it’s “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien,” or “No, I Regret Nothing.” It’s one of her most famous.”

She put her elbows on the table, folded her hands and rested her chin on them. She looked at Burt.

He listened. Maybe it was the title—the voice and music had a slow almost melancholy, and yet proud and defiant feel to it. The music and words added an authentic touch to the dim bistro. If he closed his eyes for a moment he might be able to imagine a rainy night in Paris, sitting in a French bistro with his wife in the shadow of Notre Dame Cathedral, overlooking the Seine River. Paris was a city he always wanted to visit; he knew Rachel and her parents had visited when stationed overseas.

“I’m not really hungry yet,” he said.

She nodded. “Like I said, after.”

Burt looked at the empty foyer. There was “After” again.

Rachel followed his gaze and touched his hand. “I don’t think he’s late yet.”

“I have a feeling he’s about as punctual as you always are,” Burt said with a small smile.
“Any last minute thoughts or rules?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Just feel him out and make a common sense decision. If he doesn’t ask to fuck you, how do you let me know you’re interested or not?”

She chuckled. “If I’m interested I’ll touch your foot with mine. If I’m not, I’ll kick you.”

Burt lowered his head and gave her a sarcastic look. “Got it.”

He looked at the foyer again. Saturday night, 7:00 p.m. They were really sitting in a French-style bistro waiting on a man who wanted to fuck Rachel with Burt’s permission. Would it really happen? Maybe Gentleman Nate was a jerk in real life—Rachel didn’t like jerks. She didn’t like men who were loud and pushy, profane or who spoke badly.

The waitress returned with their drinks.

“There’s not a wide variety of food because we follow the old European tradition of few selections, but each one is of loving preparation and excellent taste. Would you like to order something? The figs wrapped with grilled bacon is really good. So are the marinated mushrooms. Both are authentic French recipes.”

“Perhaps a little later,” Rachel answered. “We’re waiting on someone.”

“Of course,” the waitress said. “Just catch my attention when you’re ready to order.”

Burt took a drink of his beer and glanced at the TVs. Sports and news. She took his hand in hers, tilted her head and continued smiling at him.

Maybe Gentleman Nate wouldn’t show...

Click a vendor's name to read more of Sharing Rachel and other books by SS Hampton, Sr
MuseItHot Publishing - Amazon

SS Hampton, Sr. is a full-blood Choctaw of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma, a divorced grandfather to 13 wonderful grandchildren, and a published photographer and photojournalist. He retired on 1 July 2013 from the Army National Guard with the rank of Sergeant First Class; he previously served in the active duty Army (1974-1985), the Army Individual Ready Reserve (1985-1995) (mobilized for the Persian Gulf War), and enlisted in the Nevada Army National Guard in October 2004, after which he was mobilized for Federal active duty for almost three years. Hampton is a veteran of Operations Noble Eagle (2004-2006) and Iraqi Freedom (2006-2007) with deployment to northern Kuwait and several convoy security missions into Iraq.

He has had two solo photographic exhibitions and curated a third. His writings have appeared as stand-alone stories and in anthologies from Dark Opus Press, Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy, Melange Books, Musa Publishing, MuseItUp Publishing, Ravenous Romance, and as stand-alone stories in Horror Bound Magazine, The Harrow, and River Walk Journal, among others.

In May 2014 he graduated from the College of Southern Nevada with an Associate of Applied Science Degree in Photography – Commercial Photography Emphasis. A future goal is to study for a degree in archaeology—hopefully to someday work in and photograph underwater archaeology (and also learning to paint). He is currently enrolled as an art student at University of Nevada-Las Vegas.

As of April 2014, after being in a 2-year Veterans Administration program for Homeless Veterans, Hampton is officially no longer a homeless Iraq War veteran.

Hampton can be found at:
Dark Opus Press - Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy Publishing - Melange Books -
Musa Publishing - MuseItUp Publishing - Goodreads Author Page
Amazon Author Page - Amazon UK

Thoughts Running Through My Mind

by SS Hampton, Sr.

Hello. Yes, it is me again.

I am just doing a little musing, as usual. As a writer that is what I do—and watching people, the way they speak, their mannerisms, the way they dress, and even how fast they walk. Regarding females, there is the scent of perfume that lingers in the air from their passing (my favorite, by the way, is Patchouli). All of that is a big part of fiction writing especially as it applies to developing characters. People-watching, in addition to sometimes sparking an idea for a story, can also lead to questions.

Sometimes I wonder what secrets people have—either because of a real wrong-doing or because they have interests and experiences that society might condemn them for.

Granted, a murderer or stalker is rightly condemned, but, oh, say, a husband and wife who add a third person to their bed?

In my humble opinion this is the lesser of many evils; though this is not for everyone, particularly those in weak or shaky relationships, or consumed by jealousy, I am sure there is a small minority who enjoy having a third person in their bed. Or the wife (or significant other) being in another man’s bed.

And unlike fiction or even real life, you do not have to be rich, handsome or beautiful, or a psychological mess, a university student or corporate tycoon living in New York City or Paris or Rome, to enjoy such forbidden pleasures. Ordinary people in Nebraska or Kansas can enjoy such pleasures like the high and mighty. It might even be that ordinary, everyday people have more fun doing that.

Then too, as someone once remarked (paraphrased), “It’s not the destination, but the journey.”

Oh sure, the destination can be wonderfully lusty and fun and satisfying. But perhaps the journey can be fun too.

After all, when a man puts on his best suit in preparing to a meet a husband and wife for the first time, is he excited and filled with anticipation? Imagine yourself as that man.

When a husband puts on his suit, and his wife (or significant other) her finest dress with high heels and unforgettable favorite perfume, in preparing to meet another man for the first time, are they excited and filled with anticipation? Imagine yourselves as that husband and wife (or significant other).

Imagine your journey to a meeting at a bar or restaurant. Can you feel the excitement and anticipation building toward that moment when all lay eyes on one another? Maybe your hands are a little clammy. Maybe you feel too warm. Perhaps time and the car are moving too slow; you wish everything would speed up. And the moment arrives—everyone meets! There are friendly yet cautious greetings with appraising looks. And if, over a few drinks and appetizers, or dinner, everyone “clicks” and all of you agree to a private drink…

Yet there are those who would condemn you for your carnal pleasures.

But, do you really care? After all, no one is hurt in the process, society does not come apart at the seams, and world peace is not threatened.

Yes, the journey counts, but it is the destination that promises the richest reward.

So tell us, when might your imagination become an unforgettable reality unknown to the rest of the world, if only for one time?

Stan Hampton, Sr. is a full-blood Choctaw of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma, a divorced grandfather to 13 wonderful grandchildren, and a published photographer and photojournalist. He retired on 1 July 2013 from the Army National Guard with the rank of Sergeant First Class; he previously served in the active duty Army (1974-1985), the Army Individual Ready Reserve (1985-1995) (mobilized for the Persian Gulf War), and enlisted in the Nevada Army National Guard in October 2004, after which he was mobilized for Federal active duty for almost three years. Hampton is a veteran of Operations Noble Eagle (2004-2006) and Iraqi Freedom (2006-2007) with deployment to northern Kuwait and several convoy security missions into Iraq.

His writings have appeared as stand-alone stories and in anthologies from Dark Opus Press, Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy, Melange Books, Musa Publishing, MuseItUp Publishing, Ravenous Romance, and as stand-alone stories in Horror Bound Magazine, The Harrow, and River Walk Journal, among others.

In May 2014 he graduated from the College of Southern Nevada with an Associate of Applied Science Degree in Photography – Commercial Photography Emphasis. A future goal is to study for a degree in archaeology—hopefully to someday work in and photograph underwater archaeology (and also learning to paint).

Hampton can be found at:
Dark Opus Press - Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy Publishing - Melange Books -
Musa Publishing - MuseItUp Publishing - Goodreads Author Page
Amazon Author Page - Amazon UK

HOT DAMN and EVERYTHING SEXY!

SS Hampton, Sr. is a longtime friend and respected author. I'm excited to tell you Stan has a HOT new release. SHARING Rachel is an erotic romance that's sure to clench your thighs and curl your toes. Our bad boy SS Hampton, Sr. has hit a delicious new high!

Sometimes people choose to live life to the fullest...

Burt and Rachel Markham are ordinary small business owners of a feed & seed store in a small Kansas farming and ranching community. Many years before, as young university graduates eagerly anticipating exciting overseas employment, a lifetime in Kansas was the furthest thing from their minds, particularly Rachel who was raised overseas and dreamed of going back. By July 2013 their twin 18-year old daughters, having graduated high school several months before, go east to attend a university. Burt and Rachel settle into their new life of an empty house and a predictable and unchanging routine that threatens to stretch far into the future. One summer evening Burt has an idea—but will Rachel accept the idea? If she does, will the idea add new excitement to their marriage or destroy it?

EXCERPT
Life—the sum of many parts gathered into a raw and uninhibited whole and unashamedly and breathlessly lived to the fullest…

One part trapped heat and humidity, a thick, heavy embrace that fills the air and envelopes the flesh like a thing alive.

One part pungent scents swirling through the air and becoming a powerful, intoxicating aphrodisiac. Each provocative scent with its own story. The hot musky scent of feminine wetness and the stronger scent of masculine sex blended into its own particular smell. The individual smells of feminine sweat and perfume mingled with masculine sweat and cologne. And all of the resulting mixtures blended into a strong overpowering fragrance of consuming lust and pleasure.

One part sound for sound gives unseen life and strength to the spoken and unspoken. A female voice that moans “Ohhhh shit!” or screams “OH MY GOD!” followed by lengthy, rising whimpers that end in pleasure-filled shrieks needs no explanation; nor does feminine unintelligible babbling answered by a deep chuckle when accompanied by the rapid, endless slapping of wet flesh against wet flesh. In between the voices are long periods of silence broken only by the whisper of classical music, the rustle of bed sheets, the creak of bedsprings, and the sound of joined, intimate sticky wetness. Finally, deep grunts followed by much satisfied long, drawn out sighs from the feminine and masculine says it all.

One part sight for the visual binds the many parts together; blue-hued shadows and pale highlights playing across writhing shadowy forms, one smaller, curvaceous and feminine, the other bulkier and masculine, pantomimes an unspoken story. The feminine raised on elbows, head hung back, long hair brushing against damp bed sheets, a leg draped over the masculine with trembling pointed foot and toes curled tight. The masculine, resting on arms with hands placed on the bed, head lowered to a pale, blue-tinted breast, while hips move with a rhythmic passion between spread legs. The shadows joined together speak silently of lust, pleasure, domination, and submission.

All of the sums gathered together and witnessed, for without a witness there is no remembrance of a moment lived to the fullest. Against the far wall of a bedroom loft, beside a glowing nightstand lamp, brown eyes watched and took in every detail.

Sometimes the feminine looked with dazed blue eyes at the glazed brown eyes of the watcher seated in a large brown recliner.

For a brief moment their eyes meet. For a brief moment, without touching, the feminine and the watcher share the heavy humid heat of the room, the incredible smells, and the sounds of endless pleasure from the feminine and masculine joined together.

And then the feminine returned to the private universe within that would always be unseen by and unshared with anyone…

BUY LINKS: MuseItHot, a division of MuseItUp Publishing - Amazon

Stan Hampton, Sr. is a full-blood Choctaw of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma, a divorced grandfather to 13 wonderful grandchildren, and a published photographer and photojournalist. He retired on 1 July 2013 from the Army National Guard with the rank of Sergeant First Class; he previously served in the active duty Army (1974-1985), the Army Individual Ready Reserve (1985-1995) (mobilized for the Persian Gulf War), and enlisted in the Nevada Army National Guard in October 2004, after which he was mobilized for Federal active duty for almost three years. Hampton is a veteran of Operations Noble Eagle (2004-2006) and Iraqi Freedom (2006-2007) with deployment to northern Kuwait and several convoy security missions into Iraq.

His writings have appeared as stand-alone stories and in anthologies from Dark Opus Press, Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy, Melange Books, Musa Publishing, MuseItUp Publishing, Ravenous Romance, and as stand-alone stories in Horror Bound Magazine, The Harrow, and River Walk Journal, among others.

In May 2014 he graduated from the College of Southern Nevada with an Associate of Applied Science Degree in Photography – Commercial Photography Emphasis. A future goal is to study for a degree in archaeology—hopefully to someday work in and photograph underwater archaeology (and also learning to paint).

Hampton can be found at:
Dark Opus Press - Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy Publishing - Melange Books -
Musa Publishing - MuseItUp Publishing - Goodreads Author Page
Amazon Author Page - Amazon UK