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Friday, 23 January 2015

Just a Little Unwell by Iyana Jenna






Author Bio:

Iyana writes M/M short stories and novellas. Her works have been published by Evernight Publishing, JMS Books, Books to Go Now, Torquere Press, Bitten Press, Leap of Faith Publishing, Breathless Press, and Alfie Dog Fiction.

Iyana lives in Jakarta, a city famous for its traffic jams, a lot of cars and motorcycles, and people selling stuff on the roads. 
You can spend two hours on the road going to a place you can reach in half an hour in a normal situation. Thanks to the traffic jams, though, Iyana can come up with a lot of stories, mostly shorties, as she prefers to spend the time during her trips writing into her cell phone rather than sleeping.

Another thing Iyana loves is kitties. Right now she has three of them. Their names are Cil, Horus, and Betsy, and one kitten. When she doesn’t write, she plays with them, or they would play with her when she writes.

Where can you find Iyana?

Twitter: @IyanaJenna





Excerpt:

Patrick floats through the following day. When Damien shows up, Patrick takes him immediately to near the TV, sets the video cassette into place, and clutches Damien's hands as they dance. He offers coffee and cookies this time and finally brings his guitar out to the sitting room. Patrick feels a bit uneasy when Damien keeps looking at him instead of his guitar.

"Do you like it?"

"Huh?"

"My guitar."

Confusion flashes across Damien's good-looking face for a second.

"Oh, absolutely." His smile cracks. He shifts on the couch to make space for Patrick. Patrick plops down next to him and begins to sing. It's "More Than Words," one of his favorite songs. Damien listens carefully.

Damien is silent, even after Patrick has stopped singing. His eyes turn soft.

"So, what do you say? What do you think of my voice?" Patrick asks impatiently.

Damien's still quiet. Then he closes his eyes and reaches out a hand. He touches the side of Patrick's face.
Patrick holds his breath and closes his eyes too. He doesn't dare to move. Damien's hand feels so warm and good on his skin.

He lets out a heavy sigh when the hand is gone and opens his eyes.

"That's the most beautiful voice I've ever heard," Damien says.

Patrick doesn't know what to do. He puts aside his guitar -- grabs it back -- lays it down on the table -- takes it back again and holds it close to him. He rocks slowly on the couch.

"Thank you," he murmurs -- not sure whether he is expressing gratitude for the compliment or the touch.

Damien stands up.

"You're leaving?" Patrick asks, disappointed.

"I have other things I need to do, Patrick."

Patrick swallows deep. He turns away. "Okay. It's almost dark anyway and I haven't been to the garden."

"Yeah."

"Will you come again?"

"Do you want me to?"

"I'd love you to."

"So I'll come."

Damien waves and walks away.

As if to remind Patrick he's there, Chad crawls up Patrick's shirt front. Patrick palms him up and puts him on the table.
"Do you like him, too?" Patrick asks.

Chad only chirps.


Review
This is an absolutely delightful little book. I can’t say I’ve read much first person, present tense. It was a little strange to get used to at first, but it grew on me.

Patrick lives alone and spends his life tending his garden and chatting to his best friend, Chad. He’s not sure about Damien at first, when Damian appears in his garden, but his new friend grows on him, over coffee and dancing.

It’s hard to say too much without giving away the plot, although it’s clear from quite near the start that things are not as they seem – for us or Patrick.

The story flowed easily and the rapport between Damian and Patrick came through. It was easy to smile and to be sad when the need arose.
There were one or two parts that got me slightly confused, but Patrick is a real sweetie, and Damien’s a charmer. Both characters are well rounded and quirky, as is the entire story. If you want hot steamy sex or something deep and intense, I’d stay away, but if you want something sweet and easy to read then I’d heartily recommend this darling little book. 

Pages or Words: 5,600 words



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Wednesday, 21 January 2015

Pat Hershaw - What's in a Name





Author Bio:

Born in the Heartland of Nebraska, Pat Henshaw has made America hers by living in Texas, Colorado, Northern Virginia, and Northern California.  She has found joy in visiting Mexico, Canada, Europe, Nicaragua, Thailand, and Egypt, and relishes trips to Rome, Italy, and Eugene, Oregon, to see family. 

Pat has spent her life surrounded by words:  Teaching English composition at the junior college level; writing book reviews for newspapers, magazines, and websites; helping students find information as a librarian; and promoting PBS television programs.

Two of her fondest memories are touching time when she put her hands on the pyramids and experiencing pure whimsy when she interviewed Caroll Spinney (Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch).  Her triumphs are raising two incredible daughters who daily amaze her with their power and compassion.  Her supportive husband keeps her grounded in reality when she threatens to drift away writing fiction.

Where can you find the author?:


Publisher: Dreamspinner Press

Cover Artist: AngstyD



Categories: Contemporary, Fiction, Gay Fiction, M/M Romance, Romance

Excerpt:
Stonewall [Saloon] was chaos when I got there. Guy and another bartender were mixing drinks as fast as they could. I squeezed in at the end of the bar near the hatchway and sat on an abandoned stool there.

I didn’t think Guy had seen me come in, so when there was a lull in the frenetic pace and he was nearly within arm’s reach, I called out, “What’s a guy gotta do to get a drink in this place?”

Guy looked up, grinned at me, and yelled back, “Fuck the bartender.”

A slim man sitting next to me perked up, gave Guy the once-over, and yelled, “Okay!”

Guy’s startled gaze met mine, and we broke out laughing.

The man next to me sighed and slumped over his beer. “I knew it was too good to be true,” he mumbled.

I patted him on the shoulder.

“Maybe next time,” I commiserated with him.

“Right,” he answered glumly.

Tour Dates: January 21, 2015



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Tuesday, 20 January 2015

Wednesday Briefs - Ari and Benji What's Gender Anyway?



For some reason, Cyan isn't talking to me at the moment, so I'm treating you all to a snippet from my WIP. some of you might know my story Ari from the Stranded Anthology. I'm working on expanding it into a full novel and here is one of the added scenes. Hope you like it.

Ari is the sweetest little thing. He's intersex and extremely gender fluid. For now, he's a boy, and he's fallen in love with Benji, who is transgender and also identifies as male. To a very real extent gender has no meaning for these two.

They met at the UK national LGBTQ writers' meet, and find themselves in Ari's hotel room.

The prompt I used was There's much more to come.


Ari gave me a hesitant smile, and moved his hands away. He wriggled a little, and the movement totally inflamed me. First, I ran my hands over his chest and stomach, then caressed the silky softness of his panties. Ari moaned, and his eyes fluttered closed. He kept his eyes shut when I slowly slipped his underwear over his hips and down his legs. As soon as he could, he kicked them off.

I didn’t pause, although I wanted to. I wanted to gaze at him, to drink in the sheer beauty that was laid open, so vulnerable and exposed to me, but somehow I knew if I hesitated Ari would think it was because I didn’t like what I saw, and I did.

Sure, it was strange. I’d never seen anything like it, or even knew it was possible, but it was Ari, so it was beautiful. Ari’s pubis was smooth and hairless. He had no penis, no balls, no labia, no vagina, nothing but a smooth mound with a little nub, about the size of the top knuckle of my finger that looked like either a tiny penis or enlarged clitoris.

I gently stroked the smooth skin of Ari’s inner thighs, moving slowly over his pubis, and down to his buttocks, then back around the other side, slowly circling the nub, which was leaking clear fluid.

“Oh,” Ari squeaked. “Oh, that feels good.”

“What does it feel like?” A thought occurred to me. “Please don’t get upset at this, Ari. I’m asking because I want to make things good for you.”

Ari opened his eyes and gazed at me, completely open. “Okay.”

“What does it feel like? I mean does it work like…. you know, a clitoris, or the head of a penis? Is it sensitive? Can you come?”

“Oh yes, yes I can come. I can definitely come, and I’m going to if you keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Does it feel nice when I touch it?”

“Yes,” Ari moaned. His eyes rolled and fluttered closed again when I ran my fingers lightly over it. 

“Oh,” he gasped.

“I like it when you do that,” I whispered, kissing his stomach, which contracted sharply under my lips.”

“What?”

“I like making you moan.”

“Oh. Oohh.” His sigh turned into a moan, as I stroked his groin, open-handed, from anus to stomach. 
“That feels—Oh. Oh!”

Ari squeaked when I licked his stomach then, unable to resist, licked a trail downward, to take him into my mouth. During my lesbian stage, I’d sucked enough clit to know my way around, but I didn’t expect Ari to go quite so wild.

“Oh. My God,” he cried, tangling his hands in my hair and thrusting his hips. “My God, Benji. Do more. Do more.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” I murmured against his stomach. There’s much more to come.”

“Like me.” Ari giggled.

Ari became more and more vocal as I flicked, sucked, and nibbled.

“Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh.” Ari became less and less coherent in his comments and commands, and his hands slipped from my hair to bunch in the bedding as he continued to thrust in my face.

“Easy, tiger,” I murmured against his belly. “You’re going to break my face.”

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop,” he moaned, so I went back to work. Ari started to pant heavily and thrust faster, seemingly unable to keep still. It was quite hard to keep him in my mouth, but I was determined to take this all the way. I wanted to taste him so badly.

Ari began to chant my name, then shuddered deeply and wailed as he came. A quick spurt of sweetness hit my tongue, more like the rush I’d tasted from a woman than the thick, saltiness of sperm, but more than I was used to. Nevertheless I swallowed, sucked, and licked every drop.

When I raised my head, Ari’s eyes were closed, his hair a tangle of inky blackness over the pillows, his lips red and puffy from biting. I’d never seen a mouth that begged more to be kissed. So I did.

Ari moaned and wound his arms around me, kissing me back enthusiastically. But then something changed. It was gradual, but somehow we went from clinging together, kissing passionately, to Ari clinging to me, sobbing.

“What’s wrong? What’s the matter?” I asked, rubbing his back and combing my fingers through his hair.

“Hold me,” Ari whispered through the tears, and I did. I held on as if my life depended on it, although I had no idea what was going on in his head.  How could someone go from elated to destroyed so fast? Was it something I did? Had I pressed him too hard? Maybe we shouldn’t have gone that far so fast.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered into his hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Ari hiccupped and raised his face. His beautiful green eyes were even more intense through the tears. “Why are you sorry?”

“For making you cry. I never meant to make you cry. I wanted it to be beautiful for you, to show you how much I feel for you. I don’t know how I screwed it up—”

“You didn’t.” Ari pushed away, gazing at me with a stricken expression. “It was. It was beautiful. That’s why…. I can’t…. Oh God, it was wonderful. I never knew it could be like that. I’ve never felt like that, nothing like it. It was…. I was….”

Ari’s mercurial expression transformed from tortured to wondrous and he gently cupped my face. 
“Thank you,” he whispered. “That was really amazing. Thank you.”


The sincerity of his words washed over me like warm surf on a sunny beach. A smile flowed across my face, and I stroked his hair away from his face.

Now go read the fabulous stories presented to you by the other flashers

Sunday, 18 January 2015

Bond of Three by K C Wells



























Book Name: A Bond of Three

Release Date: January 19, 2015


Author Bio:

Born and raised in the north-west of England, K.C.Wells always loved writing. Words were important. Full stop. However, when childhood gave way to adulthood, the writing ceased, as life got in the way.

K.C. discovered erotic fiction in 2009, where the purchase of a m̩nage storyline led to the startling discovery that reading about men in love was damn hot. In 2012, arriving at a really low point in life led to the desperate need to do something creative. An even bigger discovery waited in the wings Рwriting about men in love was even hotter...

K.C. now writes full-time and is loving every minute of her new career.

The laptop still has no idea of what hit it... it only knows that it wants a rest, please. And it now has to get used to the idea that where K.C goes, it goes.

Where to find K.C. Wells:

K.C. can be reached via email (k.c.wells@btinternet.com), on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/KCWellsWorld), on Twitter (@IslandTalesPres or through comments at the K.C.Wells website (www.kcwellsworld.com ) K.C. loves to hear from readers.

Publisher: Dreamspinner Press

Cover Artist: Photography by R.J. Sebastian, designed by Alexander Tsopanakis, with exclusive cockboys.com models: Levi Karter, Duncan Black & Tayte Hanson






Interesting Questions

43 – Guilty indulgence? Chocolate – GOOD chocolate.

44 – Best moment of your school career? Hmmm. Playing lead clarinet in the school orchestra.

Excerpt:
 “We are alone,” Sorran said after a few minutes. “Tell me of the cashor. You have intrigued me.”
Tanish thought for a moment how best to begin. “It is worn by the Seruani.” Sorran’s furrowed brow told him what he needed to know.  He sighed. “The Seruani are those men and women who provide a special service. They instruct us in the pleasures of the flesh. A husband whose wife no longer wishes to share her bed with him, those who have lost their partners, youths who seek their first experience to be with someone knowledgeable—all these people can pay for their services.”
Sorran’s forehead smoothed out. “Ah, I understand. We have such people in Vencor.” That frown was back suddenly. “But I am still confused. Why would someone not pay us heed if we wear the cashor?”
Tanish stared at him. “Because Seruani are considered the lowest of the low. When a youth is taken to be trained as a Seruan, he or she loses all contact with his or her family. If a Seruan was to be seen in the street by a family member, they would not be acknowledged. In truth, they would be shunned.”
Sorran pulled at Forena’s reins, bringing the stallion to a dead stop.
Tanish halted Nerita and twisted in his saddle to regard Sorran. “What is the matter?”
 Sorran shook his head, his expression pained. “In Vancor, such people are revered. They are viewed as mystical.”
Tanish was astonished. “But why?” He could not believe such a difference in attitude could exist.
Sorran tilted his head. “My teachers tell me that when two people make love, their joy can be such that they almost touch the heavens. Surely one who can help you reach such levels is a person to be cherished, valued, revered.”
His description brought tears to Tanish’s eyes. To think that but for an accident of geography, Feyar could have been born into a land where his gifts would have had worth, where he would have been treasured. Tanish bowed his head, eyes closed, overwhelmed with emotion.
A soft hand came to rest on his arm. “What ails you, Tanish?” Sorran’s voice was low and lilting, his concern audible.
Tanish opened his eyes and gave Sorran a feeble smile. “For many years I have wept at the thought of those chosen to be Seruani, shunned by their families and society. I have wished for change.”
Sorran smiled, his dark eyes flashing. “But you are to be king one day, just as I will be. A king wields so much power.” He leaned closer, his gaze fixed on Tanish. “If a king does not like a law, he has the power to change it.”
Tanish shook his head. “To do so would be to insult those who drew up the laws in the first place.”
Sorran quirked his eyebrows. “Who created those laws? And when?”
“I do not know. It has always been so.” Tanish had reflected upon that many times.
Sorran frowned. “That does not mean it must remain so. And laws can be changed a little at a time. Take small steps, but always be sure of your goal.” He patted Tanish’s arm. “Win the people’s hearts first, and then lead them where you will go. If you act justly, your motives clear, they will follow you.”
Sorran’s earnest expression seemed older than his years. Tanish gazed at the prince in wonder. Sorran’s words resonated deep within him, sparking a flame of hope—and something else. For the first time in a long while, Tanish felt at peace with his destiny.





Tour Dates: January 19th, 2015

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