Eric Ross: Blog

Lawrence thought his life was destined to be small: bad dates, awkward silences, and forums full of terrible advice shouted by avatars of wolves and swords. Then one night a scratching at the door announced something stranger. A cat in a tuxedo walked into his apartment, demanded to be called Ambassador Whiskers, and informed him that his education was about to begin.

This isn’t your typical romance, and it’s definitely not your typical erotica. Ambassador Whiskers’ Curriculum of Desire is an absurdist erotic tale—equal parts heat and humor, with pratfalls, philosophy, and a smug feline who insists that humiliation, risk, surrender, and connection are the only lessons worth learning. Poor Lawrence has no choice but to stumble forward, often literally.

Chapter 1 is just the threshold: the collapse of his old life and the faint scratching sound of a new one beginning. What follows is lusty, ridiculous, sometimes tender, sometimes sharp—and always watched by a cat who knows too much.

I’ve always loved writing in the overlap where laughter and lust collide, where the absurd doesn’t undercut desire but sharpens it into something memorable. If that sounds like your flavor, give this one a try.

Ambassador Whiskers thanks you for your attention. Comments are considered a form of tribute.

- Eric

It’s that time of year again—the nights come earlier, the streets shine slick with rain, and mystery lingers in the corners of the city. Perfect weather for a good spooky tale… or something close.

My newest short story, The Red Shoe, isn’t exactly horror, but it leans into the territory of the unexplained. Think of it as a steamier Twilight Zone maybe... well, maybe not. But anyway, it begins with an abandoned shoe on a wet street, an alley with a velvet curtain, and the kind of invitation no sensible person should accept. What follows is less ghosts and ghouls, more shadows and seduction—an erotic mystery about curiosity, temptation, and what happens when you step past hesitation.

I’d love for you to give it a read, and as always, I welcome your comments.

—Eric Ross

I’m back from my break—and I’ve brought a new story with me.

The Mirror Knows is gothic, sensual, and a little haunted. It begins at a midnight masquerade in a crumbling hotel, where Sienna meets a stranger in a raven mask. Beyond the velvet curtains, desire mixes with danger, and every reflection seems to whisper secrets.

Although this is a short story, it isn’t a quick-flash piece—it’s a slow burn that lingers in the atmosphere, letting the tension coil until it finally breaks open. Think chandeliers swaying, candle smoke curling, and a mirror that feels almost alive.

If you’ve missed my stories, I hope this one feels worth the wait. And if you’re new to my work, welcome—I’d love to hear what you think. Your comments always help shape what comes next.

Step past the masquerade. See what the mirror remembers.

—Eric Ross

I’m trading my desk for dry stone walls and country lanes—off on a hiking trip along the Cotswold Way in the UK. Rolling hills, crooked pubs, historic villages, pints of English beer and a scone or two (or perhaps more because clotted cream and jam are so lovely). I’ll be offline for a bit, soaking in the landscape and letting the next stories simmer.

But before I vanish into the English countryside, I’ve left you something.

The Minotaur’s Bride is now live.

It’s a story about power, ritual, and desire, told through the eyes of a woman sent into the Labyrinth as a sacrifice and who refuses to play the part. Inside, she finds not a mindless beast, but a silent chained god. What follows is a tale of unexpected seduction, where fear gives way to hunger, and choice.

This isn’t just a story of sex (though there’s plenty of that in the second part). It’s about what happens when we strip away obedience and see what’s left: a woman who won’t kneel. A man who’s been waiting to be touched. And a temple ready to be remade.

Part One is available now. Part Two will post automatically this Sunday while I’m somewhere between hilltops and tea shops.

I’ll read your comments when I return. Until then—thank you for reading, and may your monsters be worthy.

— Eric

The final two segments of Lunara’s Veil are now live:

“Coda: The Firefly’s View” and “Da Capo: The Next Pilgrim.” Together, they complete the cycle.

One is a coda.

One is a return.

Both are part of her rhythm.

While I often write about transformation, Lunara’s Veil is not the neat, empowering kind of transformation. Avery sheds his shame, yes. But he also fades into something larger. His shape softens. His name slips. It's transformation by absorption. What remains is part man, part myth, and fully Lunara's.

And then, another arrives. The gate opens and the pattern repeats—not as a loop, but as a rhythm.

When I was younger, I really enjoyed The Martian Chronicles. Bradbury’s science fiction was more than lasers and spaceships. In several of those stories, people arrive on Mars and slowly become someone—or something—else. Not by force, but by exposure. By proximity. By letting go.

That quiet shift is part of what led me to write Lunara's Veil.

Avery’s journey isn’t about conquering anything. It’s about being changed by contact. About dissolving into something older, more sacred, and maybe even more honest. Whether that’s loss or liberation is left for you, the reader, to decide.

—Eric