Batteries Not Included

Archive for April, 2012

Classic Easter Jello!

Every Year I have to make my mom’s Jello salad. I know it’s gone out of fashion, but if I don’t make it, my brother might not come to dinner. This year Mom will be at my other brother’s so she’ll be making it for them. You know how it is with families, some people like green bean casserole…we need this. But since even my husband is hooked, I thought I’d share it!

Easter Jello
2 packages ‘red’ Jello (Any flavor of red will do) prepared according to package directions…but do not chill yet!
Add 2 small packages frozen strawberries or 2 baskets fresh, smashed up.
3 bananas, also smashed up
and 1 14 ounce can crushed pineapple, drained
Ladle half jello into a 9″x13″ pan and chill until firm. Leave remaining jello at room temp, you don’t want it firming up just yet.
Remove chilled Jello from refrigerator and add 1 8 ounce container of sour cream, smooth into an even layer.
Ladle remaining Jello carefully over sour cream.
This works well with regular or sugar free Jello.

Let me know if your crowd likes it. With a guy in the house who shouldn’t eat sugar, Sugar Free Jello makes my life good when he’s looking for goodies. I think I’ll see how many of those old-time recipes he likes!

Let’s Get Naked With Kate Richards

Today is the Let’s Get Naked Blog Hop with Olivia Starke, D.L. Jackson, Ashlynn Monroe, Stephanie Beck, and more! Leave a comment on this blog between now and April 5 and one lucky commenter will win a $10 Amazon Gift Card and their choice of two of my Decadent Publishing backlist books…because my story for The Edge, The Milkman Cometh, won’t be out til June!

But here is a taste of The Milkman Cometh
Who would it be today? Senora Atkins or Senorita Jones. Either one would be pleased to receive him.
Roberto patted the steering wheel of his faithful Divco delivery van. The logo on the side matched the one embroidered on the pocket of his white shirt. The scent of freshly ironed cotton accompanied him; was that the aphrodisiac that made the women fall one by one at his feet? The only factor limiting his conquests was time. He couldn’t fit more than one…on a good day two…women in or he would be late and his activities questioned. But as a considerate man, he preferred to limit the number rather than short any of his clients. And his boss and coworkers wondered about his excellent Christmas tips. He just smiled and pointed to the six foot high letters on the side of the barn. Excellent Service from Milkmen who Care.
Pleasant thoughts…Senora Atkins, twenty-five years old…her breasts were like creamy scoops of vanilla ice cream with nipples that turned the color of a ripe red cherry when he took them into his mouth and sucked them. She welcomed him into her big, soft bed, and between her softly rounded thighs. Maybe I will go there…But of course….
Senorita Jones. Thirty-five, he’d have to go there early, before she went to her secretarial job in the aerospace plant. He could fit her whole breast in his mouth, and she always wanted to drop to her knees and suck him off. Sometimes he didn’t even fuck her; she seemed satisfied to provide him with pleasure and always drank down his cum like it was the finest cream, with gulping sounds and whimpers that drove him mad and made him want to stay for another round.
He had a little time to consider his choice. His first half dozen stops were homes where the husbands were always home, waiting at the kitchen table or upstairs in the bathroom shaving…and he moved quickly through those, dropping the bottles on the porch or handing them to the bathrobed, curler-haired women and wishing them a good morning. No, his ladies were the ones whose hubands worked odd hours, left early for the office, or were often out of town.
And today, he decided to pay a visit to Senora Atkins of the mouth-watering breasts. She was third from last on his round and he hurried, anxious to leave time to linger. She liked the foreplay and he liked to suckle her until she cried out and bucked against him, begging for his bicho, his cock. He shifted in his high seat, the always open sliding van door providing an excellent view of the bulge in his pants—maybe.
He forced his thoughts to other things, less sexy things and managed to calm his hard-on enough to walk up to the fourth to last house, Senora Alice. Her gossipy neighbor, the elderly Senora Simons had insisted he hear the tale of how Alice’s baboso husband left her for his disgraciada secretary. A shame. She’d been loyal to the bastardo, never once availing herself of Roberto’s services, despite his less than subtle hints.
By far his favorite of all the women on his route, her green eyes, like a gato, a cat, drew him. If she ever put a little effort in to her appearance, men would fall at her feet. But he hadn’t even seen her in weeks, the lights were never on when he made his reduced deliveries.
That’s how milkmen knew when things went bad. More cottage cheese and only half a dozen eggs a week. A single woman’s order.
But today, as he lifted his lightly loaded rack from the truck and started up her concrete pathway, a light flicked on upstairs. He whistled softly, in case she didn’t hear the clanking bottles. Perhaps now that she was single, he would try again. Only once more. Roberto Cruz would not beg.

Stop by Olivia Starke
D.L. Jackson
K.T. Grant
Stephanie Beck
Erykah Wyck
JoAnne Kenrick
Ashlynn Monroe