A cautionary holiday tale

When the fiendishly handsome meets the terminally plain…

The holidays are here, and Wally is alone, as usual. But tonight is different. A devilishly sexy waiter from a local Tex-Mex restaurant has invited him to dinner. The man’s eyes, and the blatant outline of his growing interest, promise the fulfillment of his most ardent wish—to enjoy the greatest sex ever.

Forgetting he’d jokingly promised his soul in exchange for just such an opportunity, Wally accepts the dinner date. What happens next is a Christmas Eve he’ll never forget.

Excerpt…

A very young man—Wally guessed from his stained shirt he was probably a bus-boy—guided him to a table right next to the kitchen. He wanted a booth, and he wanted a quiet corner. And he wanted a certain waiter. But he stifled his objections and sat, squirming on the hard chair, absently playing with the plastic menu.

“You have come. I am happy.”

Wally looked up into black-on-black glimmers of fire, inviting him inside to explore the deep unknown. The mustache wore a slight smile with just a hint of sensual sneer.

devil:tatts copy“Um, gracias.”

Damn!

Wally felt like a twelve-year-old at a porn film festival.

“I think I shall take you for myself. Come to my station.”

He followed the server’s dark silk shirt that seemed to be made of almost invisible sparkles. Like the Power Hi-Lights in his hair, they promised secrets yet to be whispered. He sank into the deep cushions of a large round booth, clearly a space for half a dozen people.

“May I bring you a margarita?”

Wally was not a drinker, but tonight was different. It was an occasion. “Please. Easy on the salt.” He giggled and then felt embarrassed for giggling.

After the man left, Wally tried to peer into the surrounding darkness. The hot salsa coming from the ceiling speakers was even louder than usual, and the beat seemed to make the table throb. The only close light came from an often-lit candle inside a slender golden orb set in the center of the table. He could barely see the writing on the menu.

Mister Mustache was back, sliding a tall glass in front of him, the rim pierced by a single wedge of lemon. Drops of condensation ran down the side, pooling on the polished table.

“Very easy salt,” he said in a tone that suggested he could have made it even easier, if only Wally had asked. “If you have not decided, I will come back. I will not rush you. Ever.”

It took a few long moments before he trusted his voice.

“What do—um, what do you suggest?” He tried very hard to read the small name badge on his shirt.

“The Dos Muchachos is a favorite.”

“I’ll have that…ah, what did you say your name was?”

“Pablo.” The way he said it, the way the “b” and the “l” slid together in his mouth, made it sound more like “Paolo.”

Wally liked that name. He practiced it. “Thank you—Paolo.” His lips formed a suggestive pout trying to say it right, and for the first time he saw a real smile steal across the man’s face.

“You sound like a native. Perhaps you will say my name often this evening.”

Before Wally could react to that, Pablo disappeared into the darkness embracing the table.

Oh, shit. His dick stirred. Feeling the pearly precum seeping into his brand-new Snug ’Ems, Wally unfolded a paper napkin and set it over his rowdy crotch.

Wally cover zon logo

99c #gay #holiday #humor #naughtybutnice #cautionarytale #fantasy #shortstory

Kindle US https://amzn.to/2Ric81u

Kindle UK https://amzn.to/37ZT66h

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From the demon’s penis…a trilogy is born

Ac´cent Gay Lit Authors

Aidan Undercover is now a trilogy!

Several months ago, I wrote a novella titled Where There’s Smoke, about a rookie undercover dick. The young Aidan Williamson, on the trail of a killer, finds a unique “mountain man” at the base of the demon’s penis, aka Devil’s Point in Scotland’s Highlands.

In a crude stone hut, he and Logan find something about each other that rises beyond a passing fascination. The meeting also sparks an author to continue the men’s story… One novella becomes three… A fascination becomes the focus of a real love story.

Amazon has just published the Aidan Undercover trilogy on its own unique page. Check it out! Each novella is around 30K words (70 pages), fast and furious and full of unusual action.

From the current promo:

AU with hearts promo

🌈🕵️‍♂️🔥 Under the skirts of her majesty: AIDAN UNDERCOVER is a three-novella series about mystery, mayhem, and romance.

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Spilled Passion runneth over

A rookie detective and a mountain man make a unique team, as Aidan confrots his demons, and his angels too.

Ac´cent Gay Lit Authors

Spilled Passion is now published!

In this concluding novella of the Aidan Undercover series, the adventures of a young constable-turned-detective take him closer to home than ever before. From the blurb:

sp 2 hearts promo 2

Aidan Williamson has been plucked from his routine constable life to the harrowing existence of an undercover detective, damn near under the skirts of Her Majesty the Queen. His first two cases have taken him to places close to Balmoral Castle, where she and her retinue are set to stay for the summer.

This case is no different.

From a bothy—a stone hut—below Devil’s Point to Queen Vic’s old “Widow’s House,” the killing field seems to grow closer to home as the Queen’s holiday grows nearer. Now a hidden crime has been uncovered in the same place the royal party is set to visit soon. And Police Scotland is not amused.

Enter Aidan, rookie dick, who’s struggling to confront…

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Spilled Passion: a beginning

I’m just beginning the third of a triplet of novellas. My muse, damn her, insisted that I start with an iconic dream: the archetypal craving for flight.

These few words begin the story told in Spilled Passion.

Aidan Williamson lay basking in a dream, the kind of fantasy he used to have, back when he was a boy just discovering the pubic nest, the fledgling cock, the joy of release.

He was flying, he was soaring, higher and higher. Some ache far inside his ass was propelling him upward, to the sun, dick first…

Except this time the dream was real. Logan curled next to him, a careless leg hitched over his own spent body, warm breath fanning his cheek.

Aidan’s cock grow heavy again with remembered passion.

icarus gold

This is a free stock photo from the web…Icarus, the iconic dreamer.

 

In this (probably final) series work, Aidan tries to burst the bounds of heavy earth. But first, he has to confront his demons—and his angels too.

Here’s a mashup of the three novellas, and a link to the first two.

aidan series tryptich 2

https://amzn.to/2XKxIR2

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Celebration of woman

Here’s another fragment of a longer poem by my friend, author Lou Sylvestre.  The poem, from “Winter Down, Spring Dreams,”  appears in an antho called Love Notes (Vagabondage Press 2012).

The image captures only part of the poem, but to me the entire work is a celebration of love and womanhood.

woman for lou s. 2

Sometime

In summer new,

Having the freedom to love,

We’ll find the ocean when seeking respite from the too-hot sun.

We’ll go down to water’s edge among shore birds,

Strip clothes,

And lay them on a rock,

Colors singing in the sun,

Dancing in the breeze, our bright flag.

Our bare skins

We’ll lay on cool wet sand, beneath which perhaps

Clams await the new tide.

Our love like

Ocean hands

Tender wash of blood and salt

Sleeking our skins like seal fur.

flourish red

The image has been used multiple time by many people. The first seems to be this:

my.desktopnexus.com

ramyadevims/ – First found on Feb 12, 2016

 

 

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Of flesh and summer love…

Back by popular demand! Here is a fragment of a longer poem by my friend, author Lou Sylvestre.  The poem, from “Winter Down, Spring Dreams,”  appears in an antho called Love Notes (Vagabondage Press 2012).

horses dappled

Image is from wallpaper web art, photographer unknown.

Sometime

In August blaze,

Having the freedom to love,

We’ll hike the cool woods. On our backs we’ll carry ripe pink peaches

And a soft-worn hand-stitched quilt. We’ll know our place,

Where pines

Stand tall guard, and maples

Coax from sunlight gilded rays,

Bowls of yellow heat. Liquid light

Will dapple

Our wild skins like spotted flanks of plains horses.

We’ll eat peaches, hungry.

Like horses,

Lick salt skin.

Like birds, make of love a song.

And sleep replete with peach flesh.

peaches 2 JB Marketer

Photo by J.B. Marketer

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Doorway to the sea: flashfic

I’ve never before been drawn to the sea. But after writing UNBROKEN, a historical novel about a sea voyage and its unique destination, everything changed for me. Everything.

One day I saw this image on a Facebook page called Everlasting Beauty…and the poem simply came.

I don’t expect to draw readers from this little essay. But after all, the blog you’re reading is close to being my personal journal…reflections and prismatic faces of a writer.

Could my doorway open to the sea

its hinges would be stopped with clots of sand

and lintel given no toe hold

in grass-grown dunes

to stop me from throwing all myself one day

into the sounding waves.

doorway to the sea

 

The island is Okracoke, off the coast of North Carolina. Here’s an actual photo from the remote place where Blackbeard met his doom and where I ended the novel:

ocracoke dunes & grass jerry deter

Dunes and grass of Ocracoke Island, photo by Jerry Deter [Google Maps]

The two-novel series is here, for those who’d like a rousing read about a moody Scot and a wide-eyed Yankee Quaker in 1772.

R&R yellow ribbon

“The Renegade and the Runaway” series

https://amzn.to/2JXjDcv

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From the ashes…a new title is born

Readers who’ve followed Erin O’Quinn’s *Nevada Highlander series may remember a certain constable from the most recent novel **Sleeping with Danger…a tousle-haired young man named Aidan Williamson out of Ballater’s small Police Scotland office.

ballater ps

A Google Maps image of the Ballater PS office where Aidan works with a midnight-shift colleague. Small, but not unattractive.

I keep wondering about Aidan… Why does a Scot have a name like Williamson? What keeps a vigorous, inquisitive young man behind a desk in a tiny hamlet in the Highlands? Was he telling Rory the truth when he admitted to loving his unnamed mate—and if so, who’s the lucky partner? Male, or female?

Recently I sat at my keyboard and began to wonder with my fingers. Here’s the result: about 800 words of a new work. Novel, or novella? Not sure. Probably a novella, with a new love interest who may (or may not) show up in another book. We’ll see.

Here’s a make-believe promo, using models whose images  I’ll need to purchase if I decide to use them.

wts smoky coll

Chapter 1
From the Ashes

Pain rode like a surly hitch-hiker in the small of his back.

Aidan leaned back in the creaky swivel chair, his long legs crossed on the splintered desk, trying to ease a distant ache.

Almost five o’clock. Time for the night shift to appear in the form of Michael Murphy. He lifted his reluctant feet off the scarred surface, careful not to scrape the shine off his PS-issued brogans, pretending he wasn’t bored to fucking death and in desperate need of a cigar and a bed, in any order at all.

His reports were complete. Check. He’d scanned the latest Police Scotland bulletins on his desktop computer. Check. He’d gone to the rescue of a tabby cat on a roof and an elderly man who’d lost his way in Ballater’s only bus station. Check. He’d answered the phone fifty times, at least, and only half of them wrong numbers.

Now what?

He tried not to think about the four walls waiting for him in his bland flat, or saying goodbye to Justin. Not “see you later,” or “be good, man.” Saying goodbye, farewell, sayonara.

The parting had been a year in the making. Justin’s work day getting longer…his own shift needing more scrupulous attention…their days off never seeming to coincide…their sex life  as routine as the Ballater Community W.A.T.C.H. he wrote up each week for the website.

We Are The Community Helpers.

Ha.

So. Justin was now a clerk in the Aberdeen office of the Regional Judge. 

He sighed. Not exactly a life filled with excitement and danger, like his own—the thrill-a-minute existence of an underpaid Sergeant Constable in the tiny Ballater office of Police Scotland.

At the sound of a vehicle pulling into the cramped concrete parking lot, he stood and pretended to scan the bulletins pinned to the cork board. Lost pets, alerts on suspected stalkers, a lonely man reported lurking in petrol stations, reminders to report any sighting of a 2009 gray grocery getter, commendations of model citizens, and even a few random constables in other towns who’d earned a promotion…

He turned to greet his office mate, and found another man altogether.

Chief Inspector Grant McDowell was no longer young, but he was a match for any officer on the force. Aidan didn’t know him, except to stand straighter and make eye contact on the few occasions their paths had crossed—one commemorative dinner, two funerals, and a parking lot somewhere, maybe a year ago.

It was either a talent or a curse that Aiden could read character in someone’s eyes and body language. That hidden skill had served him well during the four years he’d toiled for Police Scotland. It had won a few friends…he thought about his ex, of course, and his recent acquaintance with the faux-Constables Alex and Rory…and the same ability had also earned more than his share of arrests.

Even with his cap under his arm, the inspector stood over six feet, a shade under his own height. The sandy-gray hair, worn straight back from his forehead, lent him an almost leonine air, a feral animal trapped in a cage. His eyes, pale blue, hinted at an ancestry well beyond the Highlands and Islands. Behind the black-rimmed glasses they were steel-hard, intelligent, restless, hungry…

CI

McDowell didn’t wait for Aidan to approach him. He strode the few paces to the bulletin board and held out his bear’s paw of a hand.

“Sergeant Williamson. Nice to see you again.”

Since his superior had chosen to see him here, in his own tiny office late on a Friday afternoon, Aidan ungraciously thought it was hardly nice, but a surprise nonetheless. He liked McDowell, but he hated rude awakenings.

What had he done wrong?

Fuck, Aidan, think positive. What have you done right?

He shook the proffered hand and smiled with his mouth and his eyes too. The man’s grasp was strong and honest.

“The pleasure is mine, sir. Um, have a seat? Or…”

“Or not, Sergeant. I’ve come to whisk you away for an hour, tops. Your second-shift man Murphy should be here—” he glanced at his watch—“any minute now.”

How did someone from the echelons of power know the name of his five-to-dawn partner? He’d done his homework, obviously. “Yes, sir. So you want to…”

“To take you somewhere with a bar top and a nodding acquaintance with a wee dram. Know any place close by?” The ironic tone was not even necessary. The inspector wasn’t testing him. He already knew Aidan liked his whisky and cigar. 

aidan cigar h:s

He grinned at the older man. “I recommend the Black Boar. Five minutes from here—but isn’t every place in Ballater?”

McDowell laughed outright. “This burg is a favorite of mine, but yes, ’tis not over-populated with pubs. I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”

 

Stay tuned for the rest of chapter one, if I decide to write this new one, Where there’s Smoke.

 

NEV HI 4 correx

 

 

*The Nevada Highlander Series (4 novels) is here: http://amzn.to/2kZE8VU

**Sleeping with Danger is the fourth of the series

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First meeting: Grier & David

flame on whte

What was the spark that started the fire?

This is the first of a series of short articles/excerpts showing the meeting of main characters from Erin O’Quinn’s M/M work.

I’ll begin with my latest work, a series called “The Renegade and the Runaway.”

Grier Black (Gregory MacGregor) is a Highland outlaw, one of the clan whose name has been forbidden by royal law…and one who’s been stripped of his tartan and weapon too.

David Campbell is a young Quaker-trained lad from Philadelphia who’s been drugged and kidnapped.

Chapter One (Unkilted) is from the pov of the Scot. Here’s their first meeting. The grabbing of the hand is repeated, subtly, in the next installment of this two-novel series, when (ironically) it’s Grier who lies in a drugged state, awakened by David.

From Chapter One:

hands wheat

Grier knelt, letting his eyes grow accustomed to the almost-darkness. Needing to see the figure better, he grasped the candle-holder and brought it close to the pallet.

He saw a pale face under a massive woolen cap…a man of eighteen or twenty…eyelids closed, long dark lashes…high cheeks and a full mouth…a lad dressed in a strange over-shirt that seemed to conceal some kind of flat bundle…

He was immediately captivated. Why would a young man lie in foul-smelling and stained clothing, yet arrive in a coach-and-four? Was he, like the old man, a prisoner—or a poppet? His slender body and handsome face hinted at stories he wanted to hear. And what was he protecting under the tunic?

He reached to lift the shirt. A swift, strong hand burst from the darkness like a thunderclap and grasped his wrist.

“Kill me now. Or if it please Christ, do not touch me at all.”

In the next and last novel of the series (Unbroken), Grier is the victim of a knife attack. He finally wakes from the opium-based laudanum the ship’s doctor has given him. From Chapter Eleven:

hands oblivion

The devil that was never far away told him to reach out and grasp the speaker, in the way this same stranger had seized his own arm…verra long ago, in another place and another time.

“Ye’ve taken it from me.”

A halting voice came, nearer now. “Taken what, Gregory MacGregor?”

“My heart, damn ye. Sit me upright.”

“Then release my arm. And do not curse me.”

Strangely, it took no effort at all to smile. He loosed his grip, letting his arm drop back onto the surface of the bluidy hard bed.

“How long?”

“Not quite a week.”

“Someone stood me up to take a piss. Someone…tore me from the hard stone.”

“The doctor, mostly.”

He opened his eyes and looked up at David. “Liar.”

The series is here, on Amazon’s series page. You may click one or both to buy!

 THE RENEGADE AND THE RUNAWAY (2 novels)

  Slow Burn Gay Romance

  Slow Reveal

  Family Secrets

  Action and Adventure

  Humor

https://amzn.to/2JXjDcv

 

 

 

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Waterfalls are sexy as hell

I’ve recently published two novels in which a waterfall is one of the central symbols in the story.

The first one, Unkilted, takes a reader to an actual waterfall, where a cave lies hidden beneath the rushing water. The Reekie Linn on the River Isla near Alyth, Scotland is at “full spate” when the main characters arrive. Of course, that phrase means more than the spring-flood capacity of the river. It’s my way of expressing the pent-up passions that erupt between the two main characters, and of course the overflow that results.

If you’re a reader of MM romance, you may be interested in an excerpt published on this blog, here: https://tinyurl.com/yyf4ccgl

The Reekie Linn image below was taken from Wikipedia:

reekie linn image wiki

Reekie Linn even has its own legend, of a outlaw who—oops, TMI. Read the novel.

The other waterfall…ah, it truly becomes the crux and the climax of another novel, MF romance in ancient Ireland called Fire & Silk, *released just days ago. 

Flann is a cranky bachelor whose “mistress” is Mt. Errigal in Co. Donegal, Ireland.

At the time the story is set, that area of Ireland was called Tyrconall, named after a real historical high king, 300 years before the Viking invasions in the 8th century . The takeover of Norsemen led to the area being called “Donegal,” Fort of the Foreigners.

errigalpink 400

Mt. Errigal takes on a rosy glow when the sunlight is just right…

The waterfall on Errigal is one I imagined as I wrote this part of the story, and the ending too…a cascade leaping from a high gorge on the rose-quartz mountain.

They sat cross-legged before a cheerful fire, the last morsel of squirrel sucked off their thumbs. After a while, he brought out the bone whistle and played to her, telling her all about his most secret desires.

“Flaaawn,” she said.

“What, a chuisle?”

“Describe your favorite place.”

He looked around at the spot they were sitting. “Ah, well, there is a great rocky ledge, senhorita, all shaded by a grand oak…”

“But that is the place we are sitting.”

“It is, lass. Me favorite place. The place ye’re sitting with me.”

She laughed, and he loved the sound of its lovely cadence. “Tá go maith. Then describe the place in the great northern expanse you remember most fondly.”

He threw his head back, and his eyes sought the uppermost branches of the oak that he could see from his lowly spot on the ground. The leaves seemed to be miles deep, the sky very far above them. He did not have to remember, because he knew the spot like the palm of his own hand.

“There is a mountain, Mariana. Na cnoc named Errigal. It stands higher than any peak in the Seven Sisters. Indeed, higher than any in Tyrconnell. It is the most southern mountain in that lovely group of hills, all rounded like breasts of a woman. If ye stand at a distance looking toward her in the rays of the sunset, she blushes pink, like a maiden emerging from her bath.” He was silent for a while, letting the image of Errigal play through his mind.

“In her foothills, from high on a bluff…deep between the crack of her lovely loins, there springs a waterfall. Fed in the spring by the snows, she sings an’ calls like a very siren, cailín. Every spring, I fulfill me promise to her, an’ I return.”

She said nothing, watching him remember. “Years back, I built a small shieling near the bottom of the falls, against the face of the cliff. Almost a lean-to, just a place to shield me from the rain, a place to return to like a home. To lie there, Mariana, to hear her sing while I play to her on me bone whistle—ah, ’tis like honey to a bear.”

He sat straight and looked at her closely. “I would like—someday it would be—I know ye’d like her—” He stopped, confused by his own words. What am I saying? he wondered. The reality of her short visit seemed to crash upon him like a rockfall. By the time he got to Errigal, she would be home somewhere in Galicia. “But…Let us enjoy this night together, a chuisle. I need not use me memory when I have a vision in front of me to treasure.”

“Flaaawn. I would go there with you someday. Do you think we might?”

He leaned to her and gently took her face in his hand. “We might, lass. If the Lord smiles on us. Let us glory in this night, this place. All right? Tá go maith?

Está bien. Jo te quiero.

Was she really telling him, “ye make me happy”…or something beyond? He wondered why, in spite of his joy, he felt tears rise in his throat and threaten to choke him.

waterfall inishowen

Although not on Errigal, the Glenevin Waterfall in Clonmany, Co. Donegal, is geographically close to the one in my story!

The waterfall is important to Flann, and the story finally ends at his place of healing. But not before all hell breaks loose, and heaven too.

F&S quote

Fire & Silk, just published, is here:

~MFRomance  ~SteamyErotic ~VirginAndBachelor ~AncientIreland ~Rescue ~FemaleWarrior

Kindle US https://amzn.to/2TPTTOx 

Kindle UK  https://amzn.to/2OFSmd1 

SeaToSky (pdf or epub)  https://bit.ly/2UbWuYg

Smashwords (epub format) https://bit.ly/2I6j39N 

Note: the image at the top of this blog is called “Colours of Jungle” by Arun K. Mishra, for me a deeply sensuous image.

*This novel was previously published and held in contractual captivity. I re-wrote it, re-formatted it, and designed a new cover. So in my mind, it’s really a new release, freed at last from the restraints placed on me by the Editor from Dante’s Fifth Circle of Hell.

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