Unexpectedly brought back from the dead, Philip Young has a lot to sort out. His new body is designed to usher in the next wave of human evolution, but that evolution comes at a price. His alien pheromones have no off switch, no pause button, and permit him absolutely no downtime. When he goes to the mall to buy clothes, frantic desire turns a simple fitting room turns a breeding den.
Contains graphic sex, pregnancy, egg laying, and birth.
As my stories suggest, I live in a large city on America's west coast. I'm gainfully employed at a large, faceless corporation, and live with my wife and several adorable pets. Like any super hero, I write at night and keep my alter ego shielded from the public.
I've been writing science fiction off and on since my teens, but either couldn't finish stories due to writer's block, or they were fan fiction and thus unpublishable. Then one day I picked up the keyboard again, got frustrated with a block, and just wrote a sex scene. It was a spectacular one, and once it was over I learned that this was a genre I could actually write stories in. That was a bit of a tough self-revelation for me.
Eventually though, the two halves of my author persona came to an uneasy truce: the erotica writer in me actually writes, while the more traditional author hovers over his shoulder begging for my stories to have "real" content.\