A Taste of Shocking Violet

Here is the first excerpt I am going to share from my current work in progress, Shocking Violet, the queer kinky polyamorous erotic romance I am writing for #NaNoWriMo, the tale of a tg stone butch (Jax) and a high femme cis queer woman (Violet) risking connection with each other, and the ways that ripples out and catalyzes change in their polyamory networks, set in NYC amidst the intensity of trans inclusion activism. Find other excerpts and related links here.

This excerpt centers the first spark of attraction for Jax, which incidentally was the first spark of the novel: the moment when Violet takes down her hair.

It all began when she took down her hair. Sure, Jax had noticed her before then. The luscious curve of her neck, the big boots so firmly planted on the floor, the way she radiated calm. It was a pleasure to sit behind her, to focus on the nape of her neck throughout twenty five minutes of community announcements that seemed to begin every dyke-centric gathering of queers Jax had ever been to. It was just part of the culture, that the one who announced things was a rambler, and 17 people in the audience had something they had to tell everyone before anything could get started. Sure it cut into the open cruising time after the demo, but Jax didn’t mind. He preferred the silent kind of cruising he could do from his favorite spot in the back corner of the room, even if it was mostly from behind. This femme sure looked good from behind, her dark hair twisted up, revealing her neck, with just a few tendrils teasing along the back of it. By the time the announcements were over, Jax had memorized every curve of the femme’s neck, felt like he knew it, could close his eyes and trace along it, could imagine wrapping his hands around the femme’s throat, what her pulse would feel like under his fingers.

Oh, Jax had noticed this stranger who dressed like she was from San Francisco. Jax knew almost everyone else in the room, so he let himself linger on this newcomer, who seemed anything but a novice. Just because she hadn’t been to a meeting before did not mean that at all. No wide eyes, no rapid pulse, no nervous twitches on this one. Novices always looked like little ones in the Times Square Toys R Us, mesmerized and intimidated by the hugeness of the possibilities. Jax was sure this femme had been around the block, knew the kink scene well, if only because she was so damn calm. Where had she been spending her time? It’s a small queer kink world, especially when you’re polyamorous, and Jax let himself consider. New to NYC? Part of a tiny pocket of a scene in Brooklyn that Jax didn’t know? Burnt out from the scene and dipping her toe back in?

The room burst into laughter at something the presenter said, and Jax decided to pay attention. Laughter was a good sign. Yup, this dyke from Canada knew her stuff. Funny, insightful, offering a useful framework, and it seemed like a few concrete tools for getting deeper into the psychology of play. She had a great rep, so Jax wasn’t surprised exactly, but sometimes a great rep is more about how hot the demo is than whether someone can actually teach. This class had both going for it, and Jax decided to focus on it, taking out his notebook and writing down a question he wanted to think about later, and a phrase that might come in handy. This was why he kept coming back to LAP, not just the cruising, but because he always found a nugget that made it worth it. Something that invoked new lines of thinking about kink. Or if he was lucky, something that inspired his play.

This presenter was on to something, with her idea that you could mean so many different things when you slapped somebody, that being conscious of what it meant to you was a key to more connected intentional play. Something he wished he’d thought about before getting involved with Dinah. But he wasn’t going to think about her right now. That was done. She was gone from his life, gone from his home, Gone Daddy Gone. Something he was more grateful for every day that passed.

Jax rested the soles of his boots on the floor, and pressed down with his feet, hard. In his head, he named five colors he saw in the room. Mahogany, the femme’s hair. Black, her dress. Burgundy, her lipstick. Cobalt, her glasses. Light blue, the hanky tied round her right wrist. Yum. Light blue and on the right. Wasn’t it lucky that Jax was packing tonight?

Wait a minute. The femme was asking a question. She sounded so stern and nurturing at the same time, as she invited the demo bottom to share her interpretation of what it meant to have the top’s hand on her throat. Her voice was so fucking sexy, and that warm sternness…damn. The whole room went silent to hear what the demo bottom had to say. It was rare that anyone asked demo bottoms real questions. This femme was really something. She had just gently challenged the power dynamic that happened way too often at LAP, where tops are the only ones with voices. And she had done it so gracefully. Jax couldn’t stop looking at her now. That tone as she addressed the bottom…was she a switch? That opened up a range of delightful possibilities.

Then, she took her hair down. First, her hands trailed up her own neck like a lover, teasing her throat from the front as if she was imagining a hand there, then sliding round to the back to rest at the nape solidly. Jax held his breath as he watched. Then dark curls came tumbling down, and with them a shock of dark purple. Jax’s hands fisted in his lap. Damn. That surprise wash of color on the top layer of her hair just flat did it for him. He wanted his hands in her hair, right this fucking second. Wanted to hold on as she begged for an orgasm, to grip it tight as he watched her obey his command to come, to caress it as she sat at his feet. He didn’t just want to hurt her, he wanted to claim her. He wanted her submission. He made himself taste his desire, savor it, for it was new and electric and he was fucking scared of it. No one had drawn out that level of dominance from him in over a year. Not since it went so sour with Dinah.

This felt different, he told himself. This femme was not a big-eyed girl, she was a grown up woman. She wasn’t looking for Daddy to take care of her, or take over her life. She might not be looking at all. She had steel in her core, and would only bend if she needed to, wanted to, ached to. On her own terms.

The littles had come flocking when Jax had first re-emerged from his cave after Dinah moved out. They fluttered their big eyes at him and watched him with awe, hoping. He had gently, respectfully, turned them all away. He was done with that. Daddy had retired. He didn’t want the kind of D/s that would leak into everything, didn’t want to take on the care of anyone full time. He had been considering something else, something different, over the past couple months. A new approach to D/s, one with a hell of a lot more boundaries.

He wanted to see if it made sense to try it with Violet, if she was game. That was her name. Violet. The presenter had called her that, had known her, spoken to her with respect, one femme top to another. Oh yeah. This one was no novice.

If you want more, here is a second taste of this work in progress, a snippet from their first date.

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10 thoughts on “A Taste of Shocking Violet

  1. Pingback: Shocking Violet | Kink Praxis

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