Tonya Muir, T.N. Novan and XWP Fanatic

(Man, is that a mouthful, or what?)


Heh. Yeah, you know, I was thinking the same thing. But, since I am the Queen of Redundancy, I will still tell you all about how great this series was. Just cause it's my damn web site, and I can do what I please (but I will *not* give in to the urge to start humming "It's my party...")

And, noooo, smart-ass, I am fully aware that I said was in relation to the story. It was not a slip of the tongue (don't even...), nor was it an unintentional grammatical error on my part. I am conscious of the fact that this series is still, as we speak, on this 18th day of our Lord, in the year 2001 (June, I forgot that part), being written… I think.

So, to get back on the subject, why did I use the verb "to be" in the past tense when relating to this little gem? Cause, my dear reader, though I shall gush prolific accolades about this work, it shall be limited to a certain time frame. In short, much like in real life, once Harper and Kelsey got hitched in the story (as in, got in the sack, practiced in-vitro, got kids, all that grown-up stuff), the whole thing went down the drain.

But, yet again, I digress. Maybe I'll have to expand my queendom, and claim the title of Your Digression as well. Or I could just try the fine art of focusing and staying within the proverbial lines of conversation...



Ok - I shall do the review. The writer ladies have turned an excellent, excellent idea into an excellent, excellent (until they got hitched, I say!) Uber. This is a story of Harper and Kelsey, who happen to be reporters, and - at the opening of the story - partners in the non-sexual sense.

Ah, who cares, you already know all this stuff. What I wanted to talk about here is the Twinkie scene.


I hate sugary filling.

I hate cakes.

I really can't stand the thought of icing (liquid chocolate, hell yes!, but again - digressing), but
- oh, my lordy-loo -
after reading about the whole deal of sucking and nibbling and whatnot, alleluia, you got yourself a Twinkie convert!

Or, or - I could tell you about the constant banter and such wonderfully tantalizing, frustratingly teasing, drawn out and yet you-can-never-get-enough-of-all-that sexual tension between the two characters!!! My God! I have never, ever read a story that raised the levels of frustration in such a maddeningly excellent manner. I really didn't want the two characters to get together (I lie, I did, I did, week after week, I did!) because that would mean the end of that lurid stretch of hormonal torture. I think that was by far one of the best things about this story. Sadly - I shall say it again - once the relationship got consummated (damn that Twinkie!), it all went to hell.

You just have to go read it (again) to believe it. Heh. I had brought a couple of printed out pages to my dentist's appointment (to remind myself of the matter I would be discussing in front of such educated audience - okay, so I read the story when I was still in college, and - like most of my time there - it was a bit blurry around the edges), and found myself giggling and drooling in turns. It was so bad that the hygienist (what a wonderful oxymoron, but when you say it like that, doesn't that word just sound so dirty? The Hygienist! Heh. I think I'll have to call my new Uber character that. So much catchier than The Piercer) - anyway, she actually had to make sure I didn't somehow get to those pills they keep locked in the cupboard. Sadly, the door *was* locked, so - no, I did not.

You know, speaking of hygienists (heh), all the one's that have had the pleasure of poking around in my mouth before tended to be my mother's age or male. This one, however, was young, beautiful, and kept telling me to turn towards her which, u-hum, brought my face reaaaaallly close to her, er, bosom. Now, mind you, I am not a teenage boy, but a grown (I shall not say 'mature') woman, and I was able to resist the urge to admire the view provided by her v-neck scrub-top. Of course, the only way to avoid doing that was to keep my eyes shut. Tight.
Which in turn, of course, prompted her to ask me repeatedly if there was something in my eye.

I am thankful that what I've tried to say to her with my mouth wide open and stuffed with cotton was not very intelligible.

In retrospect, I think she did it on purpose. Stuffed my face in between her breasts, that is. And then proceeded to poke fun at me… So, anyone agree with me that there are serious benefits to having your teeth cleaned twice in a same week?

And you know what was the thought running through my head as I tried not to be blinded by the glistening of her... jewels (as in, on her engagement ring, pervert!)?

"Straight. My ass..."


Which, in turn, brings us back to "Exposure"(Ha! I bet you think that was me going off on a tangent up there, but it was all a part of the plan! It was!).

Go read "Exposure", but - seriously - beware of the fall in the quality after the relationship gets consummated. Art imitating life? Sadly. But until then, this is as campy and as fun as you'll ever find it.