Category Archives: gay romance

Midsummer Madness #Flash #Fiction Blog Hop

blog hop midsum
Happy 4th of July! We’ve got a flash fiction blog hop to celebrate, so I’ve tried for a freedom theme today.

It’s a love letter. I even dipped it in tea, not that you can tell with the assholish way I’m posting this. Eh. You may need to zoom in a bit.

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*441 words with a dash of artistic-license-stretchery in time period and tone (although I did read some flowery letters from the 20’s-40’s, so it all depends on the author). Anyway, I didn’t want the guy to end up with a lobotomy (in the 30’s the use of electric shock aversion therapy was just getting warmed up, but they didn’t start scooping people’s brains out until the 40’s). Also, jail was probably tougher to break out of than an old-school psychiatric facility. Maybe. I hope so for the sake of these two.

Here’s the easier-to-read version:

—————————-

July 2, 1933

My Dearest R,

I hope this note finds you as well as can be. It’s my greatest fear that our final farewell left you in a state of dejection, as it has me. The slurs aimed at you were beyond any I’d imagined when first we began our friendship. I confess here and now to my fear and weakness. I failed you. I hesitated to stand by your side throughout the accusations and vile threats. I’d hoped my tendencies would remain undiscovered as yours were paraded for the masses to ridicule.

I am the worst Judas.

Oh, R, my darling, I’ve regretted my inaction every moment since. My contrition is small consolation, I’m certain, while you languish in your wretched cell and endure all manner of humiliation. Good God! The experimentation the gossips describe! As if our kind are less than animals; senseless beasts deserving of hellish punishment, and the angelic whole of mankind shouldering the burden to rehabilitate us. I know your family intends to help you, but their aid is misguided.

We are not abominations, and we do not decide whom we love. It is thrust upon us like a dagger, or soaks our skin slowly as a spring mist, but no matter, the choice is never ours. It was not mine, but I’d choose you before a tribunal now, my sweet.

Would that I’d been so brave before.

My only peace is that I remain free to aid in your escape.

Mary, my cousin and constant companion, whom you met briefly, warns that a correspondence is far from prudent at this time, but her sources within the hospital reveal the most alarming conditions therein. I’ll not sit idle another moment while your fate lies in the hands of sadists who would break spirit or spine to keep you from loving another man.

If you still do…

Whatever your present mind, I’ll see you free from torture two days hence. Stay steadfast, my love. Ease their suspicion with lies and speak what is in your heart when you are once more in my arms. If your words crush me, it is all I deserve. If they echo the song my soul sings at the memory of your face, the whisper of your name, I swear my heart will take wing and together we will fly from this place.

You’ll know my sign when the bearer of this note makes contact again.

I will come for you, and together we’ll find freedom, no matter how far we must flee. With your hand in mine, I cannot tire.

And I’ll never again leave your side.

Always,

M

_________

Check out all the other flashers! Here’s the original hop call.


Writing Funks #amwriting

I’ve been a total slug lately. Here it is, the first full week of summer “vacation” (I insist on quoting that word because it’s a joke to moms everywhere–stay-at-home or otherwise, it’s not our vacation). I just dropped my youngest two at a 9-12 camp. My oldest is still asleep (I guess the slugginess runs in the family). I need to start cranking out the words. This is my chance, possibly my only chance today.

But, I am not all that inspired lately. Part of it is seeing which books top the MM romance charts on Amazon. They aren’t the sort of books I write, generally speaking. Shifters and BDSM, rehashed Cinderella stories, cops, sports, motorcycle gangs. I get to thinking that maybe I shouldn’t bother with what I’m working on. Maybe I’ll spend months on a book that hardly anyone will read. Not to whine. I freaking hate when authors do that on Facebook. No. I’m not whining. I’m second-guessing, and it makes for a shitty writing mindset.

I have to remind myself that I can’t write anything I’m not interested in. Not only would it be painful to complete, but it would probably suck. It wouldn’t be me.

So, no matter how disheartening it is to not be burning up any charts with my books, I’m not going to try to come up with an alpha-mating-50-shades-of-tiger idea. I’m not going to stare at my current WIP and think I’m just wasting my fucking time.

I’m going to make a goddamn pot of coffee and finish this bitch because I love these characters, and really, their fictitious shit just hit the fan, so what the hell am I waiting for?

Here’s an unedited snippet from Balancing Act: Shooting Stars 3.5 to help rev the engines. I embrace cheerleaders, so feel free to give me a K. Give me an I. Give me an M. You get the idea. 😉

————-

“How many?” The hostess smiled, revealing crooked teeth. Her name tag said Leya.

“Two.” Kyrie held up his fingers.255b733f-0096-4ff1-a0d6-429b8125045d_zpsvqittldm

The girl checked a seating chart. “I should have something for you in five or ten minutes. Unless you’d like to sit at the bar.”

Greg’s attention was frozen in the direction of the bar to his right.

“I’m good with it.” Kyrie tugged on Greg’s arm.

“Great.” Leya slid two menus from a stack behind her.

“Umm. You know what?” Greg swallowed and then looked from Kyrie to the hostess. “Actually, we…I’d much rather…”

A waiter walked up. “I just need to wipe down nine, if you want to put them there.”

“Table then?” The hostess gave them wide eyes.

“Yes, please.”

“Just one minute.” The waiter hustled off.

“What’s up with you?” Kyrie folded his arms over his chest.

“Just didn’t want to have a football game blaring when we’re trying to have…”

A romantic dinner?

“Conversation.” Greg glanced at the hostess who was busy rubbing black grease pen off a laminated seating chart.

They were ushered in a moment later, and Kyrie began scarfing down more white bread, this time with butter, as they waited for their order. The waiter brought them both a beer. Greg sipped his and his shoulders relaxed.

“So, how did the photo shoot go?”

“Ugh. I’ll never make fun of models for taking the easy way out again. It’s actually pretty labor intensive.”

Greg gave him a skeptical look while his foot rubbed Kyrie’s calf under the table. “Poor baby. You need a massage when we get home?”

“Consequence free?”

“What?” Greg thunked his beer glass down on the table. “What’ve you done with the real Kyrie?”

“I’m just saying there’s no guarantee I’ll stay awake during a massage.”

“Then the massage is after.”

“After what?” Kyrie gave him a seductive grin. Beyond Greg’s shoulder he eyed a slim brunette woman walking toward their table with a smile on her face.

“After I’m done with you.” Greg waggled his eyebrows and nudged Kyrie’s foot again.beea33b9-d9ce-49ed-bcdf-4cf462fe763a_zpsupclpajx

“Greg?” The woman touched Greg’s shoulder and he jumped a good five inches while a wingtip nailed Kyrie in the shin. “Oh, my! I didn’t mean to startle you.” She touched her chest in sympathy, and then looked from Greg to Kyrie and back. “I’m so glad you decided to try this place out.”

Greg coughed, seemingly on air, and then gave a weak grin, his eyes watery. “So far so good, Mel. Thanks for the recommendation.”

She smiled wider. “Hi, I’m Melanie Church. Greg and I work at Warner and Hall together.” She waved at Kyrie.

“Nice to meet you.” Kyrie swallowed most of the bread in his mouth before answering, but it still came out stuffy. He reached for his beer.

“Kyrie’s my ex-wife’s brother. I told you about his modeling job.” Greg’s nod was overenthusiastic as if all that action would draw attention away from what he’d just said.

Ex-wife’s brother? Why don’t you rip a huge fart and really throw her off the scent, Greg?

“Yes. How exciting.” Melanie didn’t seem to notice Greg’s odd behavior. Kyrie couldn’t help but glare at him. “Would it be out of line to ask for your autograph?” she added.

Kyrie turned his terse smile from Greg to his coworker. “Why not?”

She dug in her purse and pulled out a note pad.

“Well, aren’t you the Girl Scout?” Kyrie gave a hollow laugh and took the proffered paper and pen.

Greg’s grin looked like a snapshot, frozen and awkward.

Kyrie wrote: Mel—It’s been illuminating meeting you! Thanks much! Love, Greg’s ex-wife’s brother, Kyrie Li.

“Did I forget anything?” He held it up for Greg’s perusal, a saccharin smile on his face. Greg turned beet red. Kyrie slowly shook his head. “Don’t suppose so. Here you are.” He handed the pad back, grinding his teeth, just as the waiter arrived with their plates.

“Well, my husband’s pulling the car up, so I’d better go and let you two enjoy. See you tomorrow, Greg. So nice to meet you, Kyrie.” She slipped the paper and pen back in her bag, tossed the tail of her wayward scarf over her shoulder, and turned with a smile and wave.

“Her husband. How odd. I wonder whose brother he is?” Kyrie huffed and viciously stabbed his eggplant parmesan with a fork.

“Kyr.”

“Don’t Kyr me.”

“Don’t do this.”

“No. Why would I? I’ve sat and watched you pretend I’m your gay friend for the past year.” He slapped both hands on the white tablecloth and gave Greg a flip grin. “Why should anything change now, huh?”

“Stop.” Greg glanced around. “Can’t we just…” He tugged in a breath and then at his tie. “Let’s talk about it later, huh?”

“’Course, babe. We’ll do it later. It’ll probably work then.” Kyrie hated himself for being such a bitch, but goddamn it, he was sick of the same shit over and over. Sick to death of feeling like a dirty secret, no matter how good Greg did dirty when they got home.

“I work with her,” Greg whispered vehemently.

Kyrie just stared, daring him to elaborate and dig himself further. “Yup. Only right you should be able to act accordingly in front of co-workers.” He plugged a forkful of eggplant into his mouth and nodded, cramming the food between a manikin sneer.

“What do you expect?” Greg asked, and then fiddled with his napkin when Kyrie’s piercing gaze narrowed on him.

“Not much, anymore.” He grinned coldly. “Make sure you don’t, either.”


Lead Me to You by Kate Lowell

My online buddy, Kate Lowell, has a new short out today! Here’s her shiny cover and blurb:
Lead Me To You low res
Blurb:
Who takes their claustrophobic boyfriend spelunking for his birthday?Henry can’t say no to Jaime. So, despite his misgivings, he lets Jaime lead him into the bowels of the earth for a surprise. In the intimate dark, he discovers that his love for Jaime is stronger than his fear of imminent death at the hands of Mother Nature.

And Jaime has an ulterior motive that will make all the hyperventilating worth it.

———-
Previous Publications:
     Bite Me Tender: Loose Id   http://www.loose-id.com/bite-me-tender.html
     Christmas Goes Analog: Loose Id   http://www.loose-id.com/christmas-goes-analog.html
     Forgotten Menagerie: Storm Moon Press   http://www.stormmoonpress.com/books/Forgotten-Menagerie.aspx
Bio:
Kate lives on the east coast of Canada, in an old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. She has two horses, both of which have medical issues, and three cats, all of which have mental issues. She refuses to get a dog, because who knows what would be wrong with it?

Kate loves to read and write (and it’s a darn good thing, because she wouldn’t be much of an author if she didn’t, would she?) She also likes playing with computers and is considering going back to school to do a programming degree, just for giggles. Or the opportunity to take over the world. (Oh, who are we kidding? Think of all the work that would mean.) She also likes pictures of pretty men and keeps many of them on her computer. (The pictures, not the men.) She would dearly love a cabana boy to mow her lawn and maybe rub her shoulders after a long day of making men fall in love with each other, then cackling evilly and raining frustration and danger on them.


Sticking It Just Got Better

Well, I finally got it together! My revised and expanded version of Sticking It is up on Amazon and All Romance. For anyone who doesn’t know, I wrote the original for the Goodreads Love Has No Boundaries event two years ago. A number of reviewers mentioned wanting more. I’m don’t mind a good Happy For Now ending, but I guess a lot of readers want the neat and tidy bow. Some people specifically said they wanted to see Dane go to the Olympics…

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So, I did it. Sticking It now has 50% more–more sweaty gymnastics, more sweaty guy nookie, more of that neat and tidy, bow-tied Happily Ever After people love. It’s also more edited and more professionally covered.

Muscular athletic sportsman in training. Winner.

You wanted more? You got it! It’s the total package, baby (drools on computer contemplating the package above. Would you get a load of the come gutters on that guy?).

And here’s a little excerpt from everyone’s favorite drive-through jerk-off scene just for fun:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well, I guess we should head back. I still have to copy a website tonight.”

Dane glanced at his watch. “Yeah. I might even have time for a quick jerk-off before bed.” Why the fuck did I just say that? “Better than counting sheep,” he added, not sure if that made it worse or better. He grabbed his own soda to give his mouth something to do other than talk.

“Feel free to get going on that. The drive-through lady gave us more than enough napkins.” Adam tossed him a fistful of M-stamped paper products with a laugh.

Dane sputtered on soda. “Yeah, right.” His voice was strained by the introduction of cola to his lungs and the surge of blood to his dick.

“What? It’s not like anyone’s gonna see.” Adam shrugged, nonchalant almost. But not quite. His tongue darted out to flick nervously over his lips. Dane’s cock flexed in his pants, eager to accept the challenge.

“Yeah, sure. Like you’d give yourself a low five right here and now.”

“Why not?” Adam appeared to wink, but it was dark and street lamps flashed off his glasses. “I’ll race you. Whoever gets off first wins.”

Oh my God. Keep talking like that and I’ll finish before I get it out all the way.

Dane positioned his cup in the drink holder and clapped his hands together, rubbing them briskly. He forced a cocky grin he didn’t feel. “Game on.”

Adam stared a moment, as if surprised by Dane’s response, but a slow smile twisted his lips up. He dropped his drink and snatched a couple of napkins off Dane’s lap.

Dane willed his hips not to press toward that reaching hand. With a swallow, he pulled at his fly, and realized he was coming out at least half hard and was going to give himself away. But he was already skating trembling fingers over his bulge, pulling his sac up as he lifted his ass off the seat to tug his jeans down enough to free his dick. It was too late to pretend he wasn’t into this.

Adam watched, both hands frozen over his own junk for a moment.

“Hey, Quickdraw, you better get going or you won’t stand a chance.” Dane spit in his palm and rubbed the homemade lube over his cockhead while his other fist cuffed the base. Fuck it. Let him see me hard. It was his idea, anyway.

Adam took a deep breath and wrestled his dick from the gap in his boxers. It was far from soft, and Dane’s shoulders dropped with relief. He wanted to tear his attention away instead of practically drooling at the sight of that six-inches-and-counting. But he couldn’t. Adam was on the thicker side of average, too. He owned a fine piece of pale, cut cock with a pink head that made Dane’s own prick fill to rock-hard. Adam rubbed thumb and forefinger over the tip, smearing a glistening bead over smooth skin. Hot damn. If Satan appeared with the paperwork, Dane would sell his soul to stick his tongue in that slit and know Adam’s taste.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Kimber


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