You may notice that Helgaleena Healingline looks a lot like a giant hermaphroditic gastropod from a galaxy far, far away.
I chose the ‘bi’ image to reflect my love for erotic romance between all genders, and even between species, muwahaha! My writing started in Star Wars fan-fiction, and though I will never be able to publish and sell those tales of love, they are all online in various places. I would recommend you find them at the Archive at the End of the Universe, and my fanfiction blog ‘helgaleena-slash’ on livejournal.
You can find the links at my editing blog,
But I am here to speak of my official erotic romance work at Dark Roast Press!
I have contributed FF tales to anthologies. One is ‘Paint the Town’ in
Here is a taste from the restaurant scene, where our heroine melts right in front of the seducer’s dad:
She has ordered a dessert, a fantastic construction of dark layers and white froth and swirls of syrup. She insists we taste. Her father takes his forkful by the handle and gravely inserts it beneath his mustache. Mine comes directly at me, homing in on my mouth. I catch her melted caramel eyes. She is smiling wickedly and I am disarmed. The tapering fingers bring the sweet to my parted lips.
As I close my mouth around the explosion of flavors and textures and temperatures—yes, the gateau was warm and the cream was cold-- I see her pointed tongue, impossibly pinker than her lips, lick away the stain of chocolate from her upper lip. Oh. The flavors in my mouth are eclipsed by seeing her enjoyment. I am making an inarticulate noise. My bottom is wriggling against the chair. Tears are filling my eyes and so I shut them as the chill of the fork slides away, warmed by my pursed lips.
Such a non sequitur. What is good is being with her, tipsy and drooling from both ends, with lightning shooting through my belly as this experience engulfs my teeth from the inside and her attention heats me from without. It’s as if I am swallowing her atmosphere, her rivers and oceans. But when I open my eyes, I am still in a predictable chain restaurant, sitting with the beauty and her keeper, and both are looking at me as if I am the floor show.
I can feel the blush heat up my face, how it rises from my chest to my forehead in a tide of blood, making my hairline prickle. Her dad’s mustache barely moves, but his eyes are hot on me. She giggles and soothes. Her hand strokes my fiery cheek. I follow the hand with my eyes as it moves back to her orbit.
I’m lost. I’m speechless. I’m on fire. Why the wait staff don’t come running up with an extinguisher I don’t know. Perhaps they are intimidated by her dad? He seems to think it’s nothing unusual for his daughter to have such an effect.
There is a rumbling coming from his direction. Part of my brain registers it as speech, something about getting me home and good thing I’m not driving. She is nodding and smiling and I can feel her imagination tucking me into slumber-land in the near future. That would be the end. My mind rallies because I cannot let it be over so soon. I summon my ability to speak with my final reserves of will. “Coffee?” I offer. “I have a French press.”
Our second Christmas anthology also has one of my FF tales –it is called ‘Solstice of the Whirled’ and it is out of this world completely, a story of two shaman women from opposite ends of the planet, in the once and future, becoming as one.
Not all of her people can sustain such a state of stillness, even in the season of sleep. But it is her sacred duty to make certain there are creatures of flesh throughout the long season to feed them all. Without them the hunters can do nothing but despair, and lash out at the weak and hungry at home.
Her dreams take her along the trails of the spirits of other creatures even more deeply asleep than she is-- serpents in tumbled masses, fish and frogs cold as ice, bruins and rodents and beetles snug in leaf piles. This is the road to where the sun has hidden itself, far away on the other side of the whirled, never showing itself at all on this longest night.
The mill of the world grinds out powdered ice far above the surface of her land under the far off stars. In my land the obdurate sun has goaded up giant winds to blow us all onto our faces on the longest day. Armies of us abandon ourselves there to fly in spirit, evaporated into mist that freezes as it rises ever higher into clouds. Then the clouds are blown down at our land again, dropping precipitous where the shifting wind bends the trees sideways.
Some, like me, turn and blow down on other lands, such as the land where my twin seeker follows the hibernating herds down, down into the navel of the whirl. I am so thirsty. Like wraiths my fellow ice particles are drawn to the spirit dreamers. In a flash my light goes to her ember and both of us quicken.
We meet. The tiny spaces between our substances comb themselves together and set up a vibration, shivering us, compiling us. …
Truth to tell, this is one of my most personally meaningful stories, and I am proud to share with you the sacred role of love in the circle of living, with this tale of how we are more than ourselves in every way when we touch at every level.
I hope you have enjoyed a look at my fem side. I like it all. And I like big servings, muwahaha.
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