THE GIFT (erotic short story) by Jess C Scott

* * *

Praise for Jess C Scott

“[Please] keep up the good work . . . the world can certainly use some more authentic, original work like yours, rather than the same old re-packaged mass-market pulp.”

— TGirl Revelations / Bibrary.com, October 2010

***

“You pack huge volumes of experience and information into your [work]. You’re impressive, I’ll say that, and edgy and interesting. And mildly scary.”

— T. D. / via e-mail, 2010

Other Books by Jess C Scott

EYELEASH: A BLOG NOVEL

(teenage memoir / coming-of-age / sexting)

4:PLAY

(a contemporary cocktail of erotic short stories)

THE DEVILIN FEY | WICKED LOVELY | NEW ORDER

(novellas in 4:Play)

TROUBLE | DIVA | PORCELAIN

(portfolio of written + illustrative work)

1: THE INTERN

(Book #1 [Lust] in the Sins07 series)

TAKE-OUT (PART 1)

(interracial / small town)

THE OTHER SIDE OF LIFE

(upcoming urban fantasy feat. Cyberpunk elves / Early 2011)

THE GIFT

(An Erotic Short Story)

JESS C SCOTT

THE GIFT

Published by Jess C Scott, Smashwords Edition

http://www.jesscscott.com

Copyright © 2010 by Jess C Scott.

Cover Image © 2010 by mugly (Melbourne, Australia).

Jess’s website: http://www.jesscscott.com

mugly’s website: http://www.flickr.com/people/mugley/

All rights reserved.

First Digital Edition: December 2010

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and unintended by the author.

1. Fiction/Erotica

2. Fiction/Contemporary

3. Fiction/Romance/Adult

4. Fiction/Short Stories

Summary: Of a certain proposal/proposition, by a global superstar, to one lucky fan. ‘The Gift’ features in Jess’s multiple-genre-crossing erotic short story collection, 4:Play.

Notes:

Some of Jess’s books are banned on Amazon. Visit her website in 2011 to check which ones!

www.jesscscott.com | www.jessINK.com (launching in 2011)

# # # # #

For the starstruck.

# # # # #

The Gift

Hayashi Yu was running a contest for his 24th birthday. The global multi-talented megastar — a second No. 1 album on the Billboard 200, two box-office hits, launch of a unisex fashion line, and several lucrative endorsement deals in the past year alone — was offering one lucky fan the chance to win a date with him.

To enter, one needed to write a 200-400 word essay. The topic: What birthday present would you get for Hayashi? Explain the reason behind your choice.

I had been a fan of his ever since I saw the music video for his song, “Passion.” It was the opening track of his debut album, “Get This.” I was instantly hooked. His dance moves were fantabulous — I loved it when he did a turn and his shirt went up, showing off a bit of his lower back. He inherited all the good traits of his mixed racial background — the good style of the Chinese, the modesty of the Japanese, and the passion of the Spanish.

“Be humble and hardworking,” was his motto. I thought about it when I was figuring what to write for the essay.

What would be a suitable present, for someone who literally could afford almost anything? Material goods like diamond watches weren’t a good choice. I didn’t think he’d find those things meaningful.

Then I thought of something simple and unfussy. I could even send the actual gift along with my entry form and essay, because it was compact enough to be sent in the mail. Besides, the official rules said nothing about not sending any “extra material.”

I started writing the essay by hand, as a stream-of-consciousness type of letter. I decided to send it that way, in my original handwriting too. It sounded and looked more personal. I took about an hour to come up with the essay:

Dear Hayashi,

I’ve been thinking about the ideal gift for your 24th birthday. It might not be particularly outstanding or extravagant, but I thought you might appreciate receiving a blindfold. Let me explain my choice of this humble gift...

It has a couple of practical uses. I believe a blindfold would:

a) help you rest your eyes, and

b) get a good sleep during the night.

On top of all the things you’re busy with, I’m sure you have to endure an endless bombardment of camera flashes & video cameras being pointed at you from fans, the press, and the paparazzi. Some people don’t realize they could seriously hurt or even kill somebody, when they go overboard with their crazed psycho stalking and/or chasing of celebrities.

You could easily carry around the blindfold with you — to and from your workplace(s), and have it with you when you travel too. A good sleep is imperative for optimum performance — and since you are someone that gives their all in everything they do, I think a daily good night’s rest is the minimum that your body requires and deserves.

You could use the blindfold for some kinky fun action too. I think being blindfolded is exciting, because you’ll be allowing your lover to do whatever they wanted, without you being able to actually see it coming. Also, I believe that with the “shutting out” of one’s sense of sight (temporarily), the other senses are amplified/intensified. A little play goes a long way...

Metaphorically-speaking, the blindfold would be symbolic of looking past external appearances. I read in one of your interviews where you said that a girl’s personality is more important than good looks, and I was very impressed with what you said, because you have killer good looks yourself, and while good looks can be a huge factor in achieving stardom, an increasing level of vanity might be the very thing that leads to one’s downfall as well...which I think won’t happen in your case, because I think you’re smart and you seem to always know exactly what you’re doing...and I think I am reaching the 400-word limit, so I shall stop here.

P.S. Included with this letter is my gift to you. I hope you enjoy it, however you wish. Happy B’day!

P.P.S. I love “Passion” — how can a person not get up and dance to that song?!

Best Regards,

Natalia Nguyen

(Word Count = 400)

I got him a soft, plush-feel zebra print blindfold, from an online store called LoveHoney. Using a silver permanent marker pen, I wrote “I rock” on the blindfold, to personalize the item a little bit more just for him.

I sent it off, expecting a 1% chance of winning. I was sure there’d be many other contenders. It was very similar to playing the lottery.

The announcement of the results was postponed by a week (there were almost 10,000 entries in all), but the date finally arrived. I held my breath as I opened the email with the subject line, Winners of ‘Win a Date with Hayashi Yu’ Contest:

* First Prize (Date with Hayashi Yu):

Anselia Taylor, “Genuine Bruce Lee handwritten & signed letters from 1960s”

* 1st Runner-up ($500 goody bag/HY autographed merchandise):

Jennifer Poon, “Stan Lee Commissioned Comic Book Line”

* 2nd Runner-up ($250 goody bag/HY autographed merchandise):

Lexi Knowles, “Consolidated International Fans’ Scrapbook”

Oh well, I thought. At least I tried.

I clicked on the links to the winning essays — diehard fans knew that Hayashi Yu considered the legendary Stan Lee and Bruce Lee to be huge inspirations, in his pursuit of success. I probably got too carried away with my own “creativity.”

The date with the winner went on ahead as planned on March 11, Hayashi’s birthday. They were at Zero9, a trendy upscale bistro which is famous for its eclectic menus of fine cuisine with modern twists and zingy flavors. I saw some of the uploaded pictures and videos of Hayashi and the contest winner, Anselia, and thought they looked good together. Anselia looked like a model that was going for a photo shoot — Hayashi was suave as always, his medium-length copper-highlighted hair pushed back. He was in a dark blue shirt, layered over with a black jacket, and sleek distressed jeans.

“Are you dating anyone right now?” was one of the questions Anselia asked him. She hardly took her eyes off him. In fact, she looked hungry throughout the entire dinner date, despite the variety of dishes that were served up.

“No,” Hayashi replied in his cool debonair way. “I am just too, too busy.”

I wondered if he was really telling the truth or not. I’d like to maintain my privacy, if I were a celebrity.

The next day, I found a package in my mailbox when I got home from work. It was address to “Miss Natalia Nguyen,” and had no sender address. I didn’t recall making any recent online purchases.

The box’s contents were less discreet than its outer packaging. In it was a Tracey Cox Bondage Kit, which contained a tie blindfold sash, and four wrist and ankle cuffs with Velcro fastenings.

At the bottom of the box was a short note, written in simple handwriting:

I’d like to try this out – I need a partner – Are you game?

Behind it was a cell number.

Good Lord, I wouldn’t dare...would I?

I dialed the number.

“Hello, my name is Natalia,” I said, when someone picked up the phone (though the answerer stayed quiet). “I received a package in the mail today.”

I waited a few tense seconds for a reply. “Are you...” I said, with a slight tremor in my voice.

“Are you kinky, Natalia?”

My cell clattered to the ground because I was so jumpy to hear a response. It was a smooth voice. But anyone could have a smooth voice. The accent sounded American. But good actors are great at changing their voices, are they not?

“Well...”

Should I lie, and say something wild and all-out? Or be honest, like I usually was. “I’ve a kinky...side,” I said. I’d always wanted my sensual side to shine...without letting it take over my life.. “I haven’t explored it with anyone, though.”

I heard the person take a breath. I think he was thinking of what to say next. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. No one’s really...tapped into that side of me. Not that I’m blaming anyone. But it’d be nice if it could be... classy...and exciting...something special.”

I’d just told a complete stranger one of the intimate details of my personal life.

I heard the person breathe again, and sigh slightly this time. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right one.”

“And who’d that be?” I kept my fingers crossed.

“Oh...just someone who’ll make you feel like you want it so bad...that you won’t even think.”

While that didn’t bring me any closer to knowing the stranger’s identity — he did have a point.

“And, might you be, a suitable candidate?’ I asked, in a girlish, sincere, subtle way. There was something about the caller that was irresistible — I felt helplessly drawn in and attracted to his allure and mystery.

“I don’t mind giving it a shot.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

Then he gave an address for me to meet him at. “If you’d like...I’ll be at The Hotel Rocco, 10pm.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes. Don’t forget the package.” And he hung up.

For a few moments, I stared blankly into space. I thought of who it could possibly be. Maybe one of Hayashi Yu’s assistants, who had seen my entry. Maybe somebody online who had somehow discovered my address, along with my secret profile on an adult dating site. Maybe a secret admirer who looked me up.

I sent a text to the number:

(6.12pm): If you don’t mind me asking – who are you?

I had a reply in ten minutes.

(6.23pm): Meet me l8r & you might find out :)

It could be a deranged psychopath for all I knew. The Hotel Rocco was an elegant boutique hotel with a few funky themed rooms, that were inspired by pop culture and artful décor. I decided to trust my intuition — I’d dash out if I entered the place and got bad vibes. I could even bring along some pepper spray, just in case.

The stranger didn’t know that one of my sexual fantasies is to meet with someone at a hotel — no names asked — and we’d have the most mind-blowing sex ever. I already knew what outfit I’d want to appear in for an occasion such as this.

Yet, a part of me still felt like chickening out. These kinds of things just didn’t happen to people like me.

I spent a few minutes thinking of the mysterious caller. Who could it be? What did he look like? What would he do to me?

And what about Hayashi? Did he ever receive my entry for the contest? Did he even read any of the submissions himself? Did he already use eye masks — might one of them be of a particular zebra print I’d be able to recognize?

My thoughts were fixated on Hayashi Yu for a while. What if the caller was him? What if it wasn’t? Anything could happen to me upon my arrival at the hotel — any, damn, thing.

I looked at the clock and it hit me that I’d wasted the entire past hour, getting lost in my own worrisome thoughts.

I spent the next couple of hours freshening up, relaxing, and pondering now and then on who it was I’d be meeting. In my room, I stood in front of my full-length mirror in a light pink sheer thong, with tie-up strings at the sides. I wondered if he’d know that was all I had underneath. I wondered what he’d do, if he’d chosen to meet at my or his place instead.

I wore a trench coat over: a DKNY mocha plaid coat that ended just above the knees. And I matched those with a pair of delectable black satin heels.

I didn’t wear too much make-up, just a little of the basic essentials. I let my kinky, frizzy hair down. I usually had it tied up during the day.

I got to the hotel five minutes early. The package was with me in a simple mini tote bag.

“I’m here,” I text messaged my anonymous tryst partner.

This time, I got a reply in two minutes.

(9.59pm): I’m on the 3rd floor.

In the elevator, I wondered if I’d really end up dead in the hotel room that night. But it was precisely that which gave me an undeniable rush — the thrill of flirting with death, risk and danger. A thrill that felt young and eternal.

I stepped out — another message came in.

(10.02pm): Room – ‘Passion Suite’

For a brief moment, I heard the chorus of my favorite song, “Passion,” blaring in my head. But I re-focused, and followed the arrows and directions on the wall. Passion Suite was the last room at the end of the right corridor.

I stood in front of the door, before lightly knocking three times on it. I got a call this time. I fumbled with the phone before answering it.

“Before you come in...please put on your blindfold.”

Right, the blindfold sash in the package.

“You’re looking at me now...aren’t you?” I said, expecting the person to hang up. I was looking at the peep hole at the door, imagining somebody viewing me from the other side. It was a line of defense, a barrier between what was safe, and what was unknown.

But he gave a reply instead. “I’m leaning back against the door...I can’t see you. I’ve just put on a blindfold too.”

“Why’d you want to do that?”

The stranger gave a soft, gentle sigh. “So that I can feel you better...”

I thought of Hayashi’s catchy song, “Can You Feel Me.”

And I thought of the plush zebra print blindfold — I’d feel it — feel the faux fur — that’d be one indication, wouldn’t it? — so I went along with the request. I opened the box, looked around behind me it was a reflex action to see that I wasn’t alone and even if I wasn’t it wouldn’t have made a difference the blindfold went over my eyes I couldn’t see through it not even a hint of a ray of light and I knocked three times on the door again.

I prepared to bolt — just in case — and took a half-step back when the door opened. I strained to hear the slightest bit of sound — there was a footstep — and a hand took me by the wrist.  I left myself to my fate, whatever it would be.

“Thank you for coming.” Same voice. Same accent. I picked up the person’s nice, sexy, natural scent. It was enough to make me wet.

He pressed me against the door I was dying in agony to know if this was Hayashi Yu, or not — but a part of me suddenly didn’t really care, because this person, whoever he was, obviously knew what he was doing.

“I brought your gift,” I said. “It’s in my bag.”

I handed it over to him — bag, package (cell, pepper-spray) — he placed it on the floor. I think it was somewhere over to the left.

He ran the back of his beautiful slender fingers against my neck, and then down my arms, feeling the fabric of the sleeves. “What are you wearing?” he asked softly, in a voice dripping with anticipation.

I wondered if he could hear my heart pumping. “A...a plaid coat.”

I thought of feeling his blindfold — but not just then — so I felt his lower back instead...he was in a t-shirt that wasn’t too snug...and jeans...I hooked my thumbs into the belt loops at the back, for a few moments. I liked how unafraid I felt with him.

His hands stalled when they reached my thighs — the end of the coat — which he slowly lifted up, and then his hands went underneath — I slipped my hands under his shirt to feel his back and torso, a torso that was taut, lean and supple.

“What’s underneath?...” he asked, in the same tone as before.

I kept quiet. My chest felt tighter — I gave a grin — eager for him to find out for himself soon enough.

“Your coat must be super-cute,” he said, as he skillfully maneuvered the bow on the front, as the belt was tied as such. I mentally counted the number of buttons he undid — 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 — I never knew how many buttons that coat had, ever.

With the coat still on me, his hands went over my exposed skin and body. “Mmm,” he said, upon discovery that I didn’t have anything more underneath, apart from the sheer thong. “Very sexy” — as his fingers dragged across the surface of the tie-up strings at the sides. Then he brought a hand down, lightly massaging between my legs, with my knees feeling completely strength-less, and my legs quivering at the same time too at his mind-blowing touch.

I helped him remove his shirt — I heard him swipe against his face when his shirt was off — he’s making sure the blindfold is secure!, I thought to myself —  my heart was a lump in my mouth as I remembered the faux fur and ran my fingers over his eye mask, in pretense of checking that it was still in place.

To my dismay, the material was satiny and smooth...a different texture from the luxury zebra print piece I got for Mr. Hayashi Yu.

Maybe he has another blindfold, I thought to myself. Before remembering that I still did not know who I was with. Did it really matter anymore? Oh hell.

I kicked off my heels so I could use one foot to go up and down the length of his calf muscle. We felt each other’s hair — his hair wasn’t too long or too short...it was a nice length to tug and lightly pull. I scrunched up the ends — “I’ve gotta do that sometimes,” he said — “Huh?” I uttered, sounding breathless. “When I style my hair,” he replied, and I saw a montage of random current pop stars in my mind’s eye.

His hands were on my collarbone, then shoulders. The trench coat came off and I let it drop to the ground. My lips parted in a faint sigh — I thought he was leaning in to kiss me — but maybe he was stalling for time, as I waited for his next move. I guessed it might be a move that was swift yet soft at the same time, and I was right.

He started kissing me on the lips, alternating with very delicate tongue and mouthwork on my lower lip. Then he explored my neck with feathery light kisses. He moved with me, as I writhed around in agonizing pleasure, my arms draped around his body.

He lifted me, swept me up in his arms (I was thankful for being petite), and it seemed as if he could see where he was going, because he didn’t hesitate or fall over anything. His arms felt so nice on the underside of my thighs and shoulders. Then we were on a huge bed, where I lay, wrapped up in his warm embrace.

He got off the bed and I heard some movement — then the opening of a box — and the sound of Velcro, as he lightly, but firmly, tied my wrists and ankles down.

“Are you going to be...violent?” I asked in a hushed tone. I was having visions of fierce criss-cross whip lash marks against a human back, or being flipped and being hit so hard it’d have left deep, red marks on my ass. I personally would have found being in such a situation quite stressful — theoretically, that is — but I couldn’t really do much then, could I.

I felt his breath, close to the side of my face. “I won’t be rough,” he said.

He untied one side of the strings on my underwear. He treated the material as if it was fragile as glass. I felt even more exposed than just bare naked, but my body cried out for more, more, more, from this lovely, lovely man.

Suddenly, I felt his tongue seeking and tasting me — the feeling was so intense, I gasped and my legs kicked out in reflex — held back by the ankle cuffs from going too far or high up — his hands grabbed my thighs, and then my butt cheeks as he continued working his divine magic, his tongue, hands, fingers, running up and down the surface of my skin all over. Did he know how much I enjoyed being submissive?

I wanted him — I wanted him so badly my whole body was on fire and I’d combust if I didn’t go along with what I was yearning for — “Let me feel you,” I begged I was going to pass out soon if this kept up — the teasing while I was temporarily blind, in the warmth of the darkness...

And then his mouth was on my throat, and he was sliding his smooth body against mine and I kept from screaming at the top of my lungs though I was tugging against the four bonds with full-force — “Please, please, I have to feel you” — “I know, I know” — and he moved up, zeroing in on my breasts, teasing the nipples the same way that I’ve always done on my own solo.

“I’ll die if I don’t feel you...” I muttered, feeling half-conscious, yet all the more conscious of the explosive force being forced to lie dormant in me. I tilted my neck out to the side, the only form of languid compensation I could give myself in my current position, as I breathed through my parted lips...

“Why me?” The question escaped from me.

He moved closer — so, so near my neck and ear. “What did you say?” he whispered back.

Unable to take it any longer, I added, “May I see...who you are now?”

A few tense seconds passed. I felt like my mind and spirit were floating away to some place else, somewhere high up and faraway from Earth. All that was left was me, and him, and everything hung on the last question that came from my mouth.

He acquiesced — removed the bonds from the posts — one arm and a leg on the alternating side released — I grabbed him and wrapped my free limbs around him my life depended on it as I soaked in the music of our breathing and lovemaking...as I used my two lips to feel him...and he kept to his word — he was never rough — pressing back against me, moving like we were one, and not two separate bodies...

Till he slowed down, and his hands were on the side of my face, then untying my blindfold from the back. He removed it, and holy mother of God, I found myself looking straight at The Man himself —

the hottest person on the planet,

the talented, energetic, youthful, accomplished at the grand age of twenty-four,

insanely drop dead gorgeous:

Hayashi Yu.

We looked into each other’s eyes — I felt wide-eyed with amazement, exhilaration, and wonder — he seemed a little subdued, but an intense, smoldering gaze did not belie his passion.

His blindfold was hanging around his neck. He noticed me looking at it.

“I flipped it around...”

He showed me, to demonstrate his point. It was the zebra print plush, on the other side, and I spotted the words, I rock, in silver ink.

“I really liked your birthday gift.” He was speaking in a low voice, and in his natural voice, which has a unique accent and tone all on its own. “You sounded genuine...and caring too.”

I was still simply lying there, thoroughly content, grinning like a five-year old in awe, and enjoying the silence we were in.

“I had to select more...politically correct, essays,” he went on. I realized his natural accent drove me wild for no apparent good reason. “I hope you understand.”

I was more than happy to not have been the official winner of the contest. I just nodded in response.

“I thought that metaphor about the blindfold, was pretty cool...I’ve high standards too. I’m looking for a lover...and you’re a very sweet lover...”

Wow, I thought. He actually received my letter, and read it.

Oh wow.

Wow, wow, wow, wow.

I was hardly able to process anything else.

And as we lay there resting, I started feeling him...because so far he’d been the one who had been doing all the hard work.

“Thank you,” I said, “...for not treating me like a piece of meat.”

I’d made my acquaintance with those types before, and it wasn’t much fun. I’d been holding out because I wanted my first time to be something special. I never would have guessed for the scenario I did find myself in though — not in my wildest daydreams.

“Likewise,” Hayashi said. As I linked his reply to what I’d said, he said, “Would you like to take over?”

He gestured towards the four bonds connected to the bed posts.

Good Lord, I was going to get to be on top.

He was already putting on his blindfold again — this time, the zebra print and I rock text faced outward. All I wanted to do was soothe and caress his polished body...and well, let wherever my curiosity and “appetite” might naturally lead me...

What should I do first...

Zero in on his perfect package?

Fire him up with hot kisses?

Tease him with an ice-cube in my mouth?

“Tell me what you want,” I said softly. I’d proceed from there.

I tied the bonds a little less tightly than I intended to — he could move around more than I could — but he was smiling to himself...

I leaned over him, waiting for his answer.

“I wanna be your boyfriend...” he said. My internal astonishment and the deafening silence that ensued made me feel as if the whole room was literally, physically spinning. “I mean it...your words just melted me...you’re very bright and lucid.”

Did he just say all that, in reference to me?

“Love is sex, sex is love...I think we’d enjoy each other’s company, Miss Natalia.”

Straight from the heart.

That’s how I worked my moves on him, for the rest of our first night together.

# # # # #

Author Q&A

The following interview was originally published on 16 July 2009, courtesy of RCGNTN Magazine.

Q: Who is Jess C Scott and what does she do?

A: Jess identifies herself primarily as a writer. She writes books, and is ever working towards eventual success.

Q: When did your fascination with words start?

A: Long, long ago. I think I stapled a few pieces of paper together, and drew some pictures to a story titled “The Three Robbers” when I was 5 or 6. I liked feeling I could travel to another place, and/or be whoever I wanted to be—anytime, anywhere.

Q: What do words mean to you?

A: DNA. Seriously, because whatever I want to say is all in my work. Writing is more than stringing a bunch of letters/words/sentences to me—the effort and dedication to the craft requires both my time and my life (they’re not really mutually exclusive).

Q: Where is your favorite place to write?

A: Anywhere I can zone out and be left alone, uninterrupted.

Q: I’ve read your pieces you’ve provided on your website, and they mostly seem very provocative and slightly exhibitionistic. Is that part of your personality or are you writing based on pure fantasy?

A: A mixture of the two, I suppose ;)

I enjoy looking at things from different perspectives, particularly if there’s sex + intimacy involved. In such stories, the point-of-view could be from a straight guy/gay male/lesbian. I can’t really be *all* of those at the same time, in real life. However, since Imagination is where I reside a lot of the time…

Q: You also have a book called EyeLeash, which you describe as an experimental coming-of-age novel. What can we expect from it that will surprise us?

A: A sensitivity + awareness of the details, of the blog/IM format.

A raw honesty which is likely to be too “controversial” for mainstream commercial establishments.

A soul-searching component that is universal and unique at the same time.

Oh and there’s a lead Asian guy—Novan Chang. I don’t know of very many Asians in contemporary and young adult literature.

Q: What else are you busy with presently?

A: I’ll be publishing/marketing another book later in the year (as well as “continuing on a degree”). I’ve been fiddling around with Kindle (Amazon’s wireless e-reader). Converting a .doc file to a format supported by Kindle involves more trickery than it sounds. I’m coming up with some concepts for future book trailers (for my next novel)—which means a bunch of illustrations have got to be done!

Q: Some people write based on their life experiences and others write as a form of escapism. Which category do you think you fall under?

A: Again, a combination of the two. There is no greater substitute for experience, ’tis true. However, seeing beyond mundane reality is always nice too.

Q: Do you think doing commercialized writing is equivalent to selling your soul to the devil?

A: I worry about the implications this might have on me financially—but yes, I do think doing commercial writing is equivalent to selling one’s soul (to each their own; I can only speak for myself). I must always have some regard for artistic/literary merit, social value, etc., in a story or book, if I’m going to be writing it.

Q: Any last words?

A: Don’t give up on your dreams. It’s very difficult, but nothing’s better than doing something you really want for yourself, by yourself, and as yourself.

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About the author:

Jess writes edgy/contemporary fiction, and is an English/Business senior at Adams State College.

Jess’s literary work has appeared in a diverse range of publications, such as Word Riot, ITCH Magazine, and The Battered Suitcase. She is currently working on several different projects, including Take-Out (Part 2), the second book (gluttony) in the Sins07 “seven deadly sins” series, and a project featuring cyberpunk elves.

She enjoys the speed and efficiency of indie publishing, and thanks you for your support of indie authors.

Other titles by Jess C Scott:
EyeLeash: A Blog Novel
4:Play (erotic short stories)
Porcelain (portfolio of written + illustrative work)
Business Plan (building brand identity)
1: The Intern (Book #1 in the Sins07 Series)
Take-Out (interracial)
The Other Side of Life
(upcoming cyberpunk/urban fantasy series)

Connect with Jess Online:

Facebook: http://facebook.com/jesscscott
Twitter: http://twitter.com/jesscscott
Website: http://www.jesscscott.com
E-mail: missfey@gmail.com

If you enjoyed The Gift…

Please tell two friends who you think might enjoy it too :)

Thanks!

P.S. And feel free to let me see your thoughts via a review, or by email.

missfey@gmail.com

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Table of Contents

Erotica Romance Short Story (The Gift)