Angel Martinez:

The Erotic Romance Scavenger Hunt is a blog hop featuring nineteen authors, a ton of exclusive material and fantastic giveaways, and an amazing grandprize  for one lucky scavenger hunter.

Just joined the hunt? Click here  to start from the beginning.

RULES: Hidden within each post on the hunt will be a single letter  that is red. Jot those letters down because they're part of the following mystery phrase you'll need to unscramble:

_ _ _ _ I _ _    _ _ _ _ __ _    _ _ R   _ _ _ _

At the bottom of each post will be a link to your next stop on the hunt. Once you've completed the hunt, read all the fantastic exclusive material and enter all the individual giveaways, unscramble the letters you collected to reveal the mystery phrase. When you've uncovered the phrase, fill out the entry form  in order to qualify for the grand prize. Grand prize is open internationally. You must be 18 or older to enter.

The hunt will only be open for 72 hours so play fast! Entries sent without the correct phrase or without contact information will not be considered. All entries must be received by  May 28 at noon CentralTime.

On with the hunt!

Hi – Angel here! Today I have the lovely Marie Sexton visiting with me. Marie’s been gracious enough to share some info on her marvelous paranormal romance Song of Oestend…

 Marie Sexton lives in Colorado. She's a fan of just about anything that involves muscular young men piling on top of each other. In particular, she loves the Denver Broncos and enjoys going to the games with her husband. Her imaginary friends often tag along. Marie has one daughter, two cats, and one dog, all of whom seem bent on destroying what remains of her sanity. She loves them anyway.

Visit Marie's website at http://mariesexton.net, or join her for Coffee and Porn in the Morning at http://cupoporn.wordpress.com.

NOW FOR MARIE'S EXCLUSIVE MATERIAL!

First and foremost, I'd like to thank Angel Martinez for hosting me on our Erotic Romance Scavenger Hunt. I'm Marie Sexton,and I write gay romance. Some of it's sweet, and some a bit steamier. My most erotic work to date is probably my old-west paranormal fantasy novel, Song of Oestend.

Yes, you read that right. An old-west paranormal fantasy. You see, I wanted to write about a cowboy and an artist. I also wanted to write about a haunted house and about dark and mysterious things ruling the night. One of my friends said, "Put them all together!"

And that's what I did.

The result was Song of Oestend. Here's the blurb:

Aren Montrell has heard tales of the Oestend wraiths - mysterious creatures which come in the night and kill anyone who's not indoors. Aren's never had reason to believe the stories, but when he takes a job as a bookkeeper on the BarChi, a dusty cattle ranch on the remote Oestend prairie, he soon learns that the wraiths are real. Aren suddenly finds himself living in a supposedly haunted house and depending on wards and generators to protect him from unseen things in the night. As if that's not enough, he has to deal with a crotchety old blind woman, face "cows" that look like nothing he's ever seen before, and try to ignore the fact that he's apparently the most eligible bachelor around.

Aren also finds himself the one and only confidante of Deacon, the BarChi's burly foreman. Deacon runs the BarChi with an iron fist and is obviously relieved to finally have somebody he can talk to. As their relationship grows, Aren learns there's more to Deacon and the BarChi than he'd anticipated. Deacon seems determined to deny both his Oestend heritage and any claim he may have to theBarChi ranch, but if Aren is to survive the perils of Oestend, he'll will have to convince Deacon to stop running from the past and finally claim everything that's his.

Song of Oestend won 1st place in the 2011 Rainbow Awards for Best Gay Fantasy. It also won 1st place for Best Character Development, and received an Honourable Mention for Best Gay Novel. The sequel, Saviours of Oestend will be released on June 25th, so I thought I'd give everybody a quick taste of the first book.

Aren had been planning nothing more than a quick tryst, but as he sat on a bale of hay waiting for Deacon to arrive, his plan began to evolve. For those brief moments at the table, Deacon had felt like putty in his hands. He'd seen a hint of submission in Deacon's eyes, and it thrilled him. He found himself wanting desperately to explore how far that submission went.

"I'm glad you waited," Deacon said when he finally entered the stall, "but I only have a few minutes."

"That's fine." Aren contemplated Deacon's strong, muscular frame and the bulge that was already forming in the cowboy's pants. He knew Deacon only owned three or four pairs of pants, and about as many shirts. The ones he wore now were his nicest ones, kept aside for dinner with the family. "You're not wearing those to work, right?" Aren asked.

"No."

"Good." Aren stood up and closed the door to their stall. They still wouldn't have total privacy—the walls only came up to Aren's shoulder—but it somehow served to underline the point that they were finally alone. He turned to find Deacon watching him. His expression was exactly as it had been at the dinner table—hopeful, aroused, and completely submissive. "Take off your pants," Aren said.

Deacon smiled at him. "Have to take my boots off first." But he didn't argue. He pulled his boots off, tossing them into the corner. Then he slowly took his pants off. He didn't toss those on the floor. He folded them and placed them on a hay bale before turning back to Aren. His shirt hung down past his hips, although the front of it was caught on his rather impressive erection.

Aren stepped up close to him and began to unbutton his shirt. "We don't have enough time to do this right," he said as he worked his way down the front of Deacon's shirt. "But I'm not letting you hide from me anymore."

"I wasn't the one hiding." Of course that was true. Aren hadn't thought of it as hiding, but he could see now that was exactly how it had looked.

"I was trying to give you space if you wanted it."

"Seemed like you didn't want to see me."

"I woke up in the morning and you were gone. I figured that was your way of telling me you didn't want it to happen again."

"No," Deacon said, looking amused. "That was my way of telling you I had chores to do before breakfast."

"You're forgiven," Aren said, even though it hadn't actually been an apology, and he was pleased when Deacon laughed. Aren undid the bottom button and pushed the shirt backwards off Deacon's shoulders.

"You have to undo the cufflinks," Deacon said.

Aren smiled and shook his head. "Not this time." He pulled the shirt down Deacon's arms, and just as he'd planned, the sleeves turned inside out, but stopped before Deacon's big hands escaped from the cuffs. Aren moved behind him. He pulled Deacon's hands together and used the fabric of the shirt to bind Deacon's hands behind his back. It wouldn't be enough to hold him if he really wanted to get free, but Aren was pretty sure Deacon didn't want to escape anyway.

He walked back in front of Deacon, tracing his fingers down the scar that started at Deacon's collarbone and trailed towards his navel. Deacon's eyes were closed, his breathing heavy, his cock hard and tipped with a bead of moisture.

"You don't get to come right now," Aren said. He leant forwards to tease one of Deacon's nipples, flicking his tongue over the bud of flesh. "You're going to have to wait."

"Then what are you doing here?" Deacon asked.

Aren reached down to cup Deacon's heavy sac in his hand, squeezing gently, and Deacon moaned. "I want you to be thinking about me all day."

"That won't be anything new."

Aren smiled, undeniably pleased by the confession. He slid his fingers backwards, towards Deacon's taint, but his access was blocked by Deacon's muscular thighs. "Spread your legs for me."

Deacon did, widening his stance so that Aren's hand slid easily between his legs, and Aren felt that same bolt of excitement lance down his spine. Deacon's ready compliance made him breathless. He massaged the thick cord of flesh between Deacon's legs. "Has anybody ever done this for you?"

"No," Deacon breathed.

"Wait until you feel my tongue on it," he said, and Deacon moaned.

Aren pulled his hand from between Deacon's legs. He slowly moved around Deacon'smuscular, trembling body, trailing his hand over Deacon's hip as he did. "You don't get to jack off today," he said. "I want you feeling desperate all day."

"I'm feeling desperate now."

Aren smacked his flank playfully, and noted the groan it elicited from Deacon."You don't know what desperate is," Aren teased. Deacon's bound hands and the bulk of his shirt hid most of his ass, and Aren crossed slowly behind Deacon until he stood at his other side. His right hand rested on Deacon's firm ass. His left hand fingered his erect nipple. "I want you squirming in your saddle all day." He pinched one of Deacon's nipples, and the cowboy's gasp of pleasure made him moan.

He slid his right hand down Deacon's ass, his fingers probing between his cheeks.He pushed gently when he found what he sought, and he felt Deacon's muscles tighten instinctively. "I won't hurt you," Aren whispered as he nipped at Deacon's shoulder with his teeth. He slid his left hand down Deacon's stomach, skirting his erect penis, and rubbed his fingers back again onto Deacon's taint. "You'll learn to love this," he whispered as he started to move both hands at the same time. He didn't try to gain entrance with the fingers of his right hand. He only rubbed gently, moving in tandem with the fingers between Deacon's legs. "I'll teach you how to relax," he said as he massaged Deacon. "You won't believe how good it can feel."

Deacon made a sound, something close to a whimper. "Please," he said.

"'Please'what?" Aren teased, his fingers still moving together on Deacon's body.

"Please,"Deacon said again. "Let me touch you. Or kiss you. Or…something!"

His desperation made Aren smile. Aren took a step back, taking both of his hands off Deacon's body, and Deacon moaned in frustration.

"Not yet."

-----

Buy links for Song of Oestend:

Ebook at TEB:http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?strParents=&CAT_ID=&P_ID=1331

At ARe: http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-songofoestend-643271-140.html

Kindle edition: http://www.amazon.com/Song-of-Oestend-ebook/dp/B00696J7IU/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1321627292&sr=8-2

Paperbacks at TEB: http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?strParents=&CAT_ID=&P_ID=1416

Paperbacks at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Song-Oestend-Marie-Sexton/dp/0857157477/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1320890000&sr=8-1

You can also learn more about the upcoming sequel, Saviours of Oestend, here.

WAIT, THERE'S MORE!

*fans self* Oh, my, that was a steamy excerpt. For staying with us, you get a reward Comment below for a chance to win Angel’s recent release Vassily the Beautiful, another genre-twisting piece (M/M Science Fiction Romance Fairytale? Absoutely!) Don’t forget to leave me your email address, or I can’t get your copy to you.

Ready to move on? The next stop on the Erotic Romance Scavenger Hunt is...Tara Lain!

Good luck!

Today we have the very brave CR Guiliano visting with us - another relative newcomer on the author scene, CR already has a great selection of stories from which to choose

1. Looks like you started out life in Missouri and ended up in Arizona.Was it a difficult transition and what do you see as the biggest difference?

I actually was born in Colorado (delivered by my grandfather), grew up in Missouri and spent my entire adult life in Arizona. I would say the biggest transition was the dry heat. Missouri is very, very humid; hot during the summer and cold during the winter. I don’t miss the humidity, but I do miss the green and the change of seasons. I think the biggest difference between living in Missouri and living in Arizona is that I grew up in a small town. Phoenix is the 6th largest city in the US. That’s a heck of a change from little Columbia, Missouri.

2. Have to ask this…some of your ID’s/ emails reference Pern. Are you a McCaffrey fan?(And if so, which book was your favorite and who was your fave character –inquiring SF geeks want to know!)

I am absolutely a huge Anne McCaffrey fan. Thanks for noticing. Most people don’t get the correlation with my email address. My serious writing began with fan fiction based onThe Dragonriders of Pern. I was a member of six different fan sites, an admin of two of them and an owner of one. I was obsessed. Loved every moment. Still dabble on occasion when I can find the time. I would say my favorite of hers will always be the Harper Hall Trilogy, Dragonsong, Dragonsinger andDragondrums. I have read those three books so many times, I know them by heart. I profoundly felt the loss of Anne last year, but am thrilled to learn The Dragonriders of Pern will be coming to the big screen in the near future.

3. Do you find that you read the same genres you write? Or do your reading habits differ wildly from your preferred writing grounds?

I do read the same genre I write, though not exclusively. I adore my m/m stories, but I also read/write science fiction, fantasy, paranormal and thrillers. I enjoy historical biographies as well and any books about things that interest me, like genealogy, animals, space, significant events in history, etc.

4. Followup question – what sub-genre haven’t you tried yet that you’re just itching to?

I think the only subgenre I haven’t tried so far is historical. That is a very intimidating thought. I would not be able to brush by or cut corners (not that I cut corners with any of my work) with those kinds of stories. Historical would take a large amount of research to beaccurate. I love researching, but don’t have the time right now. Maybe in the future I’ll tackle such a daunting project.

5. The old standard of erotica/erotic romance was everything in first person. This has changed over the years, certainly – but what’s your POV preference? Or do you like to experiment?

I like to experiment, however I find first person POV to be more difficult than third. It’s hard to put myself into that position, especially with what I write (since I’m not a gay man). I might use first POV with some of my non-m/m projects.

6. What are you working on right this very moment? (And, as a side question, do you work on one thing at a time, or have ever-multiplying projects?)

Ooo, I like that term!! “Ever-multiplying Projects” That’s me!! I have over 35 works in progress at the moment and dip into each one based on how loud the characters are being in my head. I have four almost completed, including books 3 and 4 of the Valley Love series.Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, ideas do not stop coming when I’m in the midst of writing. Everywhere I look has the potential for a story.

7. Tell us about your character process – what do you do to make a character come to life? How do you begin?

Character developing for me began with my fan fiction. I have over 300 characters created for my Pern websites. I got really, really good at it since I started back in 2001. I am all about detail. I begin with looks, from head to foot, and then work on personality. I push my limits to create characters that are unique, flawed and wholly human. Well, unless they are nonhuman. Lol

8. If money, time, and equipment were not issues, what would be included in your perfect meal? (And if you don’t cook – that’s good, too. What would you have out?)

Perfect meal? Totally took me off topic with this one. I can cook and enjoy it, but I’m not that good. I have a few staples,but my signature recipe is Meat Pie. I don’t do fancy. I’m too much of a meat and potato kind of gal. I’ve been making my meat pie for over 30 years and every member of my family (and a few friends) always want me to make it when we get together. My sister even took it and tried a few variations. It’s also called Shepherd’s Pie, so I’m sure many know what I’m talking about.

9.   Fill in the blank: Writing is like___

Writing is like……….my happy place. Take my favorite food, drink, place, love and peace, all rolled up into one and you have writing. Don’t get me wrong, it is hard work. Actually more than I thought possible. But I’m still learning and loving every minute of the journey.

10.  And finally, tell us about your latest release!

I actually haven’t had a recent release; however I have two coming out soon. A paranormal story as part of the IRM summer anthology and It Takes a Village, through Silver Publishing, due out sometime this summer. (Still working on the edits for that one.) I am almost finished with Under Wraps, which will be a self-published novel about undercover cops. It’s also my first ménage (m/m/m) It’s been a challenge because I was working on it when the whole fiasco with PayPal happened, so have been revising it some to accommodate the restrictions.

Coming Soon from Silver Publishing:

It Takes A Village

Blurb:

Skylar Williams thought Jonah Winterswas the most perfect, the sexiest man she’d ever known. And she’d known himsince she was ten. They were best friends. Best friends until the night of hertwenty third birthday. The night a very inebriated Jonah made love to her. Anight she remembered with perfect clarity that Jonah didn’t remember at all.

Then Jonah met Triston Gallant. Triston found out howperfect Jonah was and Skylar was pushed to the side. A pain she figured shedeserved for bedding her gay bestfriend. Then, Skylar met Jonah’s cousin, Aaron Winters. A man that lookedsurprisingly like his cousin…and wasn’t gay. But something happened the nightSkylar was with Jonah and she was reluctant to start a relationship with Aaron,or any other man.

Her future uncertain, Skylar didn’t know if Jonah would everforgive her if he found out the truth, she didn’t want to use Aaron as asubstitute for her best friend, and she was sure Triston would never like hersince he’d made it clear she wasn’t worth Jonah’s time, a sentiment Skysecretly agreed with. Confused and scared, Skylar left and went home to herparents. She stayed long enough for her dad to convince her that Jonah deservedthe truth, that she owed herself a chance with Aaron and that Triston had theright to learn Skylar was worth a whole lot more than he thought.

AND

Coming Soon from CR Guiliano:

Under Wraps

Blurb:

Elijah Grayson was proud thathe was the youngest detective on the Seattleforce in recent history. But that pride was overshadowed by indignation that hewas also the only detective that could pass for a fourteen-year-old boy. A rentboy. For that made him perfect for the Assignment.

An assignment that turnedinto a waking nightmare. Trapped in a whorehouse, Elijah relied on the contacthe had with fellow narcotics detective Jace Atherton. A man he both despisedand loved. A man that had hurt him badly. Then suddenly Jace was gone andElijah was alone. Alone and vulnerable.

Once he’d gained theinformation to put the prostitution kingpin Asher Cravets behind bars for life,Elijah waited. No Jace. But he did get contacted again. By none other than KinseySheridan, the PD Director’s own son. But, still, Elijah was left to continue inthe whorehouse.

Elijah didn’t know what wouldbecome of him. And Cravet’s interest in him was growing again. Elijah didn’twant to be the next in a long line of dead rent boys. But his hope was left ina young, inexperienced detective named Kinsey, and an estranged lover, Jace.

Will Kinsey and Jace be ableto save Elijah before Asher Cravets decides Elijah should be his…again? WillJace want to salvage is love for Elijah and acknowledge his growing attractionto Kinsey? Will Elijah finally get the men he so desperately wants?

Warning: Content may beobjectionable to some readers. M/M sexual practices, rape, murder, adultlanguage, prostitution, underage prostitution.

Excerpt:

Jace’s body was cold when he slipped onto the bed and pulled Elijah against him. He nuzzled Elijah’s neck and spoke in a barely controlled, angry whisper. “What were you thinking? Going to that gravesite?”

Elijah plastered his body closer to Jace’s, let his hands caress down the man’s broad chest, the light smattering of dark hair tickling his fingertips, then leaned up and nibbled on his ear before whispering back. “I was thinking Petey deserved to be remembered.” Jace flipped Elijah to his back, loomed over him and kissed him…hard. A punishing kiss, Elijah thought. Jace broke the kiss, breathe a little harsher, his deep blue eyes, bright with anger, stared down at Elijah.

“Not at the risk of your own life.” Jace whispered. Elijah struggled not to roll his eyes. Like Jace really cared. He spread his legs, letting Jace settle between them, and rocked his hips, rubbing their erections together. He felt Jace’s breathe hitch, but the anger didn’t leave his face.

“Nothing happened. Relax.” Elijah said as he trailed his hands down Jace’s muscular back to cup his perfect ass. Jace ground against Elijah and actual thought was beginning to abandon Elijah. Jace leaned down and sucked on the tender skin above Elijah’s collarbone and Elijah groaned in pleasure.

“I don’t want you taking risks like that.” Jace whispered hoarsely after nipping Elijah’s skin and then licking away the sting.

“You don’t have a say in what I do.” Elijah countered, spreading his legs further and squeezing Jace’s backside to bring them closer. Jace was silent as he reached for the drawer and a bottle of lube. The big man leaned back, slicked his fingers and began to tease the entrance to Elijah’s body.

“Yes I do. I’m your contact.” Jace replied, his voice dropping even lower.

“No, you don’t.” Elijah argued, sentences getting shorter as he squirmed at the sensation of Jace’s fingers. Elijah sucked in a gasp as Jace growled and the first finger breached him. Jace’s touch was gentle, despite the anger in his voice.

“The whole case is a washout if you get yourself killed.” Jace hissed as he added another finger and began to scissor them.

“I’m aware.” Elijah groaned the words out as his hips undulated, trying to draw Jace’s fingers deeper. It occurred to Elijah, with what few brain cells were working now, that Jace’s comment just proved the case was all Jace cared about if Elijah was killed, not Elijah himself.

“Then stop risking yourself.” Jace said right before he captured Elijah’s lips in another hard, brutal kiss. Elijah carded his fingers through Jace’s dark, soft, slightly damp hair and yanked him back.

“Stop…telling…me what to…dooo.” Elijah gasped, the last word ending in a moan as Jace added a third finger to his entrance.

“I wouldn’t have to…” Jace began as he stretched Elijah and lost his train of thought for a second. “…if you’d have…any common sense.” Jace finished and pulled his fingers from Elijah.

“No!” Elijah exclaimed at the loss.

“I got you, babe.” Jace softly whispered as he pushed Elijah’s legs against his chest, opening him up. The ability to speak at all fled Elijah as Jace pushed into him. Elijah groaned at the hot, full sensation, the burn turning to pleasure quickly. Apparently, Jace wasn’t done with his lecture, though, as he pulled out and then glided smoothly back into Elijah’s body.

“I need…you to…focus.” Jace ground out between thrusts.

“Focused!” Elijah gasped, though he knew Jace wasn’t talking about their current activity.

“Graysie!” Jace growled in lust and frustration.

“Sshhh!” Elijah hissed at him to be quiet. The monitor had sound. Besides, he hated that nickname. It brought back too many painful memories. Then all thought dissolved as Jace’s thrusts became fast, hard and concentrated. Elijah couldn’t believe Jace was still talking, even as he tried to listen through the haze of passion fogging his brain.

“Have…to…stop being…foolish, reckless.” Jace was grunting out. “Need you...care too much…” Jace uttered before a long moan escaped him. Elijah didn’t even hear the last words as he felt the fire-licked tingling spreading from his ass into his balls to erupt from his cock.

“Ahhh, Jesus! Fuck!!” Elijah cried out as his orgasm consumed him. Elijah’s legs tightened around Jace’s hips, his fingers digging into the hard muscles of the man’s back as his body spasmed and bucked against Jace’s solid strength. Jace’s thrusts lost their rhythm, hips beginning to grind tightly against Elijah’s ass as Jace roared his completion and emptied his seed deeply into Elijah’s body.

Elijah’s body went limp, legs falling wide, arms dropping boneless to the mattress. He was completely spent, as he always was when Jace fucked him. He considered himself lucky. The first time Jace had initiated contact and bought Elijah’s services from Schuster and the pimp had seen the condition Elijah was in after, he never let another customer have Elijah the same night as Jace had him. That first night, Jace had made Elijah climax no less than four times. Elijah had nearly been in a passion induced coma for the next 24 hours, but it had clinched Jace’s cover with the pimp. Elijah was pretty sure that was the only reason Jace did it, since they hadn’t had sex since Jace dumped him, nearly a year. It wasn’t as if Jace actually missed Elijah or anything, but Jace was never turned away except for the time Elijah had been hurt by a sadistic asshole that had left Elijah with a slight concussion and a lot of dark bruises. Schuster had been livid that the man had marked up one of his boys. Especially since Elijah was popular, looking so young, sweet and being so ‘beautiful’ as Schuster called him. Jace had been just as angry over Elijah’s injuries, which Elijah never did understand.

Elijah stirred from his sleepy thoughts to find Jace still on top of him, still buried deep inside him. “Off, you’re heavy.” Elijah murmured, trying to wiggle out from under Jace’s large body, but without any energy or success. Jace rolled to the side, his softened cock slipping from Elijah, but his arms tightening around Elijah’s small, slim body.

“Please, Graysie, I need you to watch out for yourself. I…” Jace trailed off, and Elijah didn’t really care what Jace had not said. He was too irritated with Jace to begin with..too hurt and angry.

“Let go of me, Jace.” He growled. Jace jerked his arms from around Elijah and rolled the rest of the way to his back.

“Jesus, Eli.” Jace exclaimed angrily. Elijah lifted his head and rested it on his hand and poked Jace hard in the side.

“Listen up, Jace. I’m sorry you have to put yourself out and fuck me, but this is a job. And when it’s all over and we nail the bastard that is behind the killings, you can go back into your denial and forget I exist. It should be no problem since you’ve done it before. Now, get dressed and get the fuck out.” Elijah snarled. Jace left without a word, but Elijah saw the hurt in his blue eyes. Elijah forced himself not to care.

 Thank you so much for coming to visit, CR! Good luck with all your work and the prolific plot bunnies in your head!

All of you who know me know I'm not a Christian. My parents were wise enough to allow us to choose our own spiritual paths, so I was never baptized, never forced to attend service. That said, Christians are very important to me. A huge proportion of my family are Christians - Lutheran, Catholic, Evangelical, Agnostic. I have studied Christianity alongside the other major world religions, have debated, respectfully,  theology with missionaries and nuns, have looked on the teachings of Jesus with empathy and understanding.

So it's distressing to me when I see all Christians labeled as homophobes. Because, my darlings, it's simply not true. Yes, there is a vocal minority who twists the teachings and spouts vitriolic hate. Yes, there are mainstream churches unable to overcome their conservative roots and accept same sex unions. But there are many, oh, so many, Christians and congregations who are open in their hearts and truly understand the teachings.

To be separated from one's faith, told one is an abomination, to be ostracized for traits with which you were born is agony for many young people of faith. What I'd like to offer here are alternatives. Inclusive and welcoming communities and denominations who have not taken the path of hate. Last I heard, Jesus preached love.

Some good resources for finding inclusive Christian communities:

http://www.gaychurch.org/Find_a_Church/Denominations/denominations.htm

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LGBT-affirming_Christian_denominations

http://christiangays.com/links/christian_other.shtml

http://www.welcomingresources.org/links.htm

http://www.rainbowbaptists.org/

http://ourspiritnow.org/lgbtq-whatever/

http://www.truthsetsfree.net/

http://www.mlp.org/

And please, please - Google for LGBT inclusive churches in your area. Don't reject something your heart needs simply because a few ignorant voices are the loudest.

(I am giving away a copy of my SF novel, Vassily the Beautiful, if you'd like to leave a comment, but this is incidental to the message...)

Back to the Hop

Hop Against Homophobia

David Kentner visits with us today - both in his guise as KevaD and his own skin Read on, folks, this is fascinating stuff...

1) Like many writers, you’ve slid from career to career over the years (though I will admit, the variety of professions you’ve tried out is fascinating!) In what respect do you feel this progression of experience has influenced your writing most?

A) I’ve been extremely fortunate. That’s a fact. I went from working as a hospital orderly and part-time carpet installer to being introduced to the Rhodesian Prime Minister who offered me a position as one of his personal bodyguards while we were standing outside Henry Kissinger’s suite in Zurich, Switzerland’s Dolder Grand Hotel. The U.S. Secret Service wrote a letter of commendation for assistance I provided them in Amman, Jordan. I even rode a camel around the pyramids outside of Cairo. I mean, how many of us have those kinds of opportunities and experiences? Later, I was a deputy sheriff, police officer, detective, worked undercover narcotics, and became a police chief. For stress relief, I refinished antiques,which led me to own and operate two antiques shops, which got me interested in auctioneering. Now, I write fulltime.

The people I’ve met in all walks of life, the places I’ve been, and life in general provide me with more inspiration for stories and characters than I should probably be allowed. I really have been very fortunate to live the life I have.

2) The sheer variety of genres and story modes in which you write astounds me, but I do see a thread running through many of your diverse works. You seem to revel in stories about the improbable. What would you say drives this impulse?

A) I wish I had a clear cut answer for you. I wonder sometimes just what really is improbable. Certainly, nothing we can imagine.The magic of storytelling is making the improbable probable, and that’s all I try to do.

That said, let me offer this: On one side of town, an elderly woman is nearly beaten to death in her home. On the other side of town,same night, a truck drives through the picture window of a house, and then drives away into the darkness, leaving a mess and a baseball cap behind. The baseball cap turns out to be sold in only one location in the entire country, and it isn’t in that state - dead end. But then, the elderly victim of the beating identifies that ball cap as one worn by her attacker. A beer distributor sees the ball cap and asks where it came from as he had tried to buy one and mentions the only one he’s ever seen in the area belongs to “X”. “X” is tracked down, victim ID’s him as her attacker, and “X” provides a tearful confession.

Very improbable, yet, it’s a case my detective partner and I worked.

I wondered why Neanderthal man and Homo Sapiens existed at the same time. Two different species of man sharing the planet. One evolved, the other faded into history. Why? In Desire Damned, I used my belief in God to answer that question.

I’m old. I wonder about a lot of things.

3) You mention your wife’s TV habits on your blog, so there are obviously some disagreements regarding entertainment choices – does she read your work?

A) Nope, she doesn’t. I run different scenes past her as she’s my harshest critic, but she’s only ever read one of my stories. She prefers traditional romances, and though I do write some “traditional” romance, mine always contain a twist. She’s not a ‘twist’ fan. I actually let my sister-in-law read my romance stories as she’s an insatiable romance reader (she even reads in between her turns on bowling league nights) and is always totally honest with me.

4) You’ve just met a brand-new, budding writer on an elevator at a convention. Starry-eyes Writerkidlet asks you for advice but you only have time for one piece – what would you tell him? (And “don’t quit your day job” will be considered cheating, lol)

A) I’d tell him my name is Angel Martinez and he shouldconsider investing in some deodorant. (LOL)

I’d suggest he never let anyone dictate what stories he writes. A writer has to tell the story his or her heart and mind believes in. Readers deserve nothing less.

5) Love your author interviews – do you have a method you follow or do you approach each one differently?

A) Thank you! Those interviews are a product of my love for this business. I don’t get paid to do them. My “method” is to research the author for facts I hope my column’s readers will find interesting and enjoy.That can take several hours of reading through blogs, other interviews, profiles, old Facebook posts, assessing their books, etc., just to formulate five questions. The versions I post on my blog are the originals, but the print newspapers limit me to 875 words, so some creative editing comes into play.

6) When asked the tired, absurd question, “where do you get your ideas for stories?” Harlan Ellison used to tell people that he got them from an idea service in Poughkeepsie.What would your answer be?

A) Oh, I follow the standard that inspiration can be found in anything. It works for me. The initial idea or concept isn’t that hard. It’s those two or three hundred pages between the first and last pages that require hours of isolation mixed with a lot of cursing, lack of sleep, and bottles of Pepsi. It takes five hours to mow our five acres. The lawn mower has become one of my favorite places to iron out a story’s details.

7) The Paranormal/ Fantasy fan in me gravitates toward your Demon Affair and Desire Damned stories. (Love the trailers, by the way –exciting stuff!) Tell us about the recurring theme of redemption.

A) Desire Damned is definitely about redemption, as are many of my stories. A Demon Affair is an odd little tale without real closure. That one was designed as the introduction to a series, but few people have read it, so for now, the series is on the backburner. I’d like to see A Demon Affair take life though. Lot of potential there waiting to be tapped into.

As far as redemption…. I root for underdogs and heroes/heroines who haven’t figured out who they are yet. As such, they make mistakes and bad decisions, but, like in real life, those mistakes and decisions don’t define who they are. Their hearts, courage, and determination do that.

And, thank you for your kind words about the video trailers.I enjoy making them. They’re a creative outlet just for the fun of it.

8. How do your stories typically start? (visuals? word? dream?) Take us through a collision with your muse…

A) Wow. Anything really. The Zombie with Flowers in Her Hair was the result of Amber Green asking if I was interested in writing a story that had to include zombies, lesbians,college, and music. Sounded like a 1960s acid trip to me, so that’s the stage I set for the characters. Posters of the era frequently touted making life better for the children. I saw plot in that, and apparently my muse did as well, because the story took off running from there.

One story I haven’t written yet was inspired by a man sitting alone in a cafe, drinking coffee. He was old, haggard, tired, but not beaten. There was a quiet strength of character that emanated from him. The physical feel of his strength flowed all around him, though he looked like he’d had to save his pennies to buy that cup of coffee. He could have easily been a black and white photograph in a magazine that won awards for the photographer. The story of how he came to be there, of where he had to go, and what he had to do before he could rest, fell in place in a matter of minutes. I’m anxious to get through my other projects so I can tell his tale.

A Dance with Bogie and Bacall was a true collision of thoughts. I’d scratched out a few one liner jokes in case I needed them for a story sometime. The more I looked at them, the more I saw song titles. If you have songs, you need singers and bands. How do you present an assortment of songs to a reader? How about a late night radio show? How does a late night DJ find love? Still not sure where that question came from. How about a sultry, sexy voice calling in to request a song? But the song titles I wrote were jokes, so she had to request something not humorous.Why would she do that? How about for her anniversary? But, if it’s her anniversary, why would she be up in the middle of the night requesting that particular song? How about…because she’s dead? But, if she’s dead and celebrating her anniversary, why would the DJ fall in love with her? He wouldn’t. What’s the point then? Well, how about she’s trying to fix the DJ up with her granddaughter who is totally devoted to the ghost’s still living, but dying husband, and has put her life on hold because of that devotion? But, what about the love between the ghost and her husband? Is it still so strong that the ghost has been pulled to him? Yeah, it is, and here’s why…. And that’s how the opening chapters of that book took shape.

9) If you could rewind your writing career and start over, what one thing would you change?

A) I decided to take my writing seriously about five years ago. The courses I’d taken were long behind me, and I was sorely out of step, but didn’t know that. I wasted two years of trial and error before I caught on I didn’t know what the heck I was doing and began looking for help. In hindsight, I allowed presumptions and ego to delay my education of what it takes to write professionally. Ego has no place in this business. Being published is about the readers, not the author. Some authors need a good kick in the pants now and then to remind them of that fact. I’d like those two years back. I’d make much better use of them now.

10) And finally – tell us about your latest work!

A) My latest release is Whistle Pass,an MM suspense novel set in 1955, a dangerous time for gays. Note that I didn’tsay “romance.” This book is mystery and suspense with a budding love story, but it’s not a romance and doesn’t contain any sex. The story is about Charlie and Gabe, two men caught up in events and a time they’d just as soon not be a part of. The bulk of the reviews so far have been very generous in their support of the book. The Historical Novel Society even added their approval. I jumped up and down when I found out about that!

This June, Kantu’s Heart, a romantic paranormal suspense novel, is scheduled for release by Decadent Publishing as part of their Western Escape line.

Short blurb for Kantu's Heart:

When Sandra Harn drove her minivan in to Freewill, Wyoming, she had no idea her life would depend on the skills of a cave-dwelling warrior who died fifty thousand years ago. After all, she just came for the rummage sale.

In July, Eyes to Die For, a romantic suspense novella, is tentatively due out from Decadent as well.

For Dorn Wheeler, Amman, Jordan is just another mission for the explosives expert. Then a woman whose eyes contain ahint of the ancient Orient crosses his path and his life will never be the same. Wherever Haneen is, bombs appear, and the more dangerous the situation, the more erotic she becomes. Still, the exotic enchantress seems to have a plan for Dorn, one beyond his sexual fantasies. All he has to do is try and live long enough to discover what that plan might be.

Angel, thank you so very much for allowing me to be here.I’m sincerely grateful.

http://www.kevad.net/

http://whistlepass.blogspot.com/

Whistle Pass Blurb:

(From Dreamspinner Press, in e-formats and paperback)

On the battlefields of WWII Europe, Charlie Harris fell in love, and after the war, Roger marched home without a glance back. Ten years later, Charlie receives a cryptic summons and quickly departs for his formerlover’s hometown of Whistle Pass.

But Roger Black isn’t the lover of Charlie’s dreams anymore. He’s a married, hard-bitten political schemer who wants to secure his future by destroying evidence of his indiscreet past. Open homosexuality is practically a death sentence, and that photo would ruin Roger and all his wife’s nefarious plans.

Caught up in foggy, tangled events, Charlie turns to hotel manager Gabe Kasper for help, and Gabe is intrigued by the haunted soldier who so desperately desires peace. When helping his new lover places Gabe in danger, the old warrior in Charlie will have to take drastic action to protect him...or condemn them both.

 Thank you so much for sharing a peek into your work and your life, David! Good luck with all your coming work!

We have a lovely guest today, answering the questions in my occasional feture: "10 Questions For..."  No nonsense from me today - let's go right to our guest

10 Questions for Vastine Bondurant

 1. I can’t go a single step farther until you tell me how you picked your fabulous name. It sounds like…a 1940’s starlet, a Jazz Era poet, a doomed French noblewoman. Please tell us the genesis of Vastine.

I love that…the doomed French noblewoman! Our company has a customer—a man—named Vastine. I have always loved his name, thought it was so old fashioned. And the ‘Bondurant’, I stole from one of my favorite bad-guy characters in James Ellroy’s novel, American Tabloid…Big Pete Bondurant. Together, it sounded both vintage and kind of noir. 

2. You’re obviously a fan of classic cinema (hooray!) Bogey, Hepburn, silent era epics – the sheer beauty and imagination of film prior to Technicolor *sigh* Does  (and how does) your fondness for movies influence your writing?

In every way. The characters, the settings, the eras. The whole nine yards. I find my stories either in ‘vintage’ Los Angeles (prior to it even being called Hollywood) or tough streets of New York.  

3. When was the moment that you realized you could write a full-length story? Did you publish that first effort, or will it always be tucked away in a private place?

OMG. My first ‘full length’ story dragged on and twisted and turned into over forty chapters. Never seemed to have an ending. I hadn’t a clue how to construct a story. That story still hasn’t ended. LOL. It’s more like a continuing soap than a book. And, no, I didn’t publish my first story. I may, someday, though. I actually think it is THE story of my writing journey. 

4. Favorite artist, and, as a follow up, are you ever tempted to illustrate your works?

My favorite modern artist is Jack Vettriano. He’s very noir yet contemporary. Very sexy paintings. And every picture is a story, as though it should have a book accompanying it. His paintings, in fact, have inspired many of my story attempts. 

4 (a). Draw sketches of your current characters?

I used to draw—pencil and map colors, believe it or not, were my fancy medium. LOL. And I’ve drawn many characters, used to spend hours as a young girl doing just that. But never for any of my present works. The formatting made me lose this question…or just moved them down or something… 

5. About how long does it take you to complete a work? What’s your biggest struggle during the process?

Haha!! A long, long, long time. My recent release, Purly Gates, was the quickest work I’ve ever done, and yet it took a long time. A few months, and it’s only a 52 page story. My biggest struggle is confidence. Not being able to proceed without a crit partner or beta telling me the work is okay, and giving the signal to go further. I just do not have confidence in my own thoughts when it comes to writing them. It often paralyzes me. 

6. We are, as they say, the sum of our experiences – what experiences do you find creeping into your writing most?

What an interesting question. Wow. As my life is so utterly boring, I have to really think on that one. Okay, yes, I know. My characters will always be listening to music—classical, most often. And—don’t laugh—there will always be coffee percolating somewhere nearby. Oh, how odd. I’d never even realized the connection to my personal life until you asked. 

7. Pick a movie star to go out with, living or dead (no, I’m not suggesting necrophilia. You get a time machine, never fear.) Who would it be and what would you do during your fabulous evening/fling/affair?

Russell Crowe. If he’s not around, then my Italian favorite, Alessando Gassman. Oh, dear. What would we do? Candlelight dinner on the town with Russell. Followed by sex. A romantic night time tour of Rome with Alessandro and a candlelight dinner, Followed by sex. 

8. Tell us about the type of hero you like to write best. Is he considerably different from the types of hero you like as a reader?

Big, strapping men. I try to make them smaller, but they just get big before I can flesh them out. But as far as their personalities, well, I love the rough cut with a soft core. A man who CAN be brought to his knees. And, now that you mention it, I suppose it IS different than what I usually read. But I simply love men, in all shapes, sizes, personalities—and the same applies to heroes I read. As long as the author endears me to them. 

9. Life in the big city or out in the sticks?

My real life? In between. A small semi-rural town. My fantasy life? Back and forth between big city and a cabin in the mountings. 

10. And finally – tell us about your latest release

My latest is a short novella titled Purly Gates. A friend of mine told me about his grandfather whose first name was Purler. I’d never heard anything so unusual and decided to try and use it. It evolved into Purlman in my story, and the Gates part. Well, that was just too easy. LOL. It’s a m/m ‘vintage’ story set on a secluded strip of beach in 1930 where two men—total strangers to each other— who are hiding from dark elements in their lives connect.

Purly Gates

By Vastine Bondurant

Blurb:

A lonely stretch of beach becomes a hiding place for two men who, when their paths cross, are determined not to be ships just passing in the night.

Purlman “Purly” Gates—dark, brooding, mysterious, hiding from his past and the hefty price on his head—is hopelessly attracted to the young man who strolls the beach every morning. At the risk of his own exposure and its deadly consequences, Purly succumbs to his desire and sets out to lure the beautiful enigma into his lair.

Lucky Cleary wants the swarthy stranger who watches him from the shadows of the cottage deck, and his morning promenades finally pay off when the man steps out onto the beach and into Lucky’s life in a move to bring their paths together.

But Lucky has a secret as well—a past mistake following close behind him, promising certain death if it catches up with him.

When each man discovers the other’s identity, the truth forms a powerful bond between them and fans the flame of their passion.

But is the meeting of these two lonely souls a beautiful destiny or merely a cruel twist of fate in which their desire is nothing more than the kiss of death for them both?

Excerpt:

Summer, 1930

Purly

Even to take a long draw on his cigarette, Purly didn’t shift his gaze from the scene just beyond the deck.

It should have been nothing unusual, really, just a young man strolling the beach. Except it was remarkable as Purly had been told this stretch of shore was secluded, that all its inhabitants had left long ago.

The object of Purly’s study cupped a hand over his brow and squinted ahead at two white Siberian huskies—almost camouflaged against the sparkling crystal sand—accompanying him.

His whistle brought the exquisite beasts dashing to his side to zip frenzied circles around him and spray the shimmering powder against his calves.

For a week now, this man and his canine companions walked the shore every morning precisely at ten.

And every morning, precisely at ten, warmth—pleasing, agonizing, relentless—radiated from Purly’s belly to his groin at the sight of the beautiful passerby.

To call the fellow beautiful,though, was an understatement. Or was it an exaggeration? Purly couldn’t decide. The young man wasn’t conventionally handsome; in fact, if analyzing his looks in one big picture, he might even fall just south of ordinary. And yet something about him twisted Purly into a huge, sweet aching knot of longing.

A snug black swimming suit molded to the man’s fluid form—to the elegant slope of his shoulders, his long,lean torso and smooth ass. A nice body, not athletic by any means but delicately toned.

But his face. Goddamn, his face. Features too perfectly imperfect to be real. Dark lashes offsetting sleepy, pale green eyes—green like Purly had never seen before. Full lips parting in a near kiss, offering the promise of a dazzling smile and a glimpse of not-so-straight teeth.

Luxurious curls, the color ofwarm, dark honey crowned his head. As the breeze teased stray locks across his brow, he brushed them back with his fingers.

Yes, Purly concluded, the man could be considered beautiful. And what unusual beauty. Arousing, hypnotic. Yet an odd innocence, only vaguely aware of its own attraction, lurked in those green eyes, in that hinted smile. Angelic, almost.

Attraction for other men was hardly new to Purly but it had only existed until now as a very secret, very tightly capped bottle of potential danger.

He’d always kept company with dames—wining, dining and fucking them—and therefore had no explanation for the lure of men’s bodies or the very private quickening in his gut at how beautiful some of them were. But one thing he did know. The annoying preoccupation did not mean he was queer for he’d never considered acting on the draw of a masculine physique.

Until now…

Into his life walked the first man to ignite the desire to do the forbidden.

Love at first sight belonged only in fairy tales as far as Purly was concerned, so he knew his unexplainable infatuation with this person wasn’t some sort of instantaneous amour. Nonsense. Call it obsession, for maybe it was. But it was not love at first sight or anything resembling it.

Instead of sleeping, he did helplessly drift to erotic imagery of the stranger every night. He did imagine touching him, holding him, burying himself deep inside that gently curved ass.He even sensed the need to protect him. Protect him from what, he hadn’t an inkling, only a strong twist of heart advising him that the young man was vulnerable, very afraid of something.

Yes, the almost-Adonis whose eyes matched the ocean right before a storm did perform a morning promenade every day. Never once, though, did he glance up to meet Purly’s eyes though he surely had to be aware Purly so very intently registered his daily passage.

But today, just as he reached the deck, he tilted his regal head, met Purly’s gaze and offered a brushstroke of a smile—so slight, did it even count as smile?—and his lips moved to form one solitary, inaudible word.

That nod and the whisper of a word on the traveler’s lips—only God read what he’d said, for Purly couldn’t—triggered Purly’s pulse into a riotous but luscious sprint.

Careful not to expose his pleasure or the newborn erection developing in his trousers, Purly leaned into the wooden railing and took a drag on his cigarette.

For Christ’s sake, the guy had probably only said hello or morning. And, yes, Purly knew it was silly to allow his libido to go off half-cocked just because of a smile—a barely-there smile at that—and an indecipherable word.

Just as quickly as the man’s smile had appeared, though, it faded.

The dogs had tarried behind to investigate a crab and their master turned to whistle at them, waving them to keep up with him.

The stunning dogs ran ahead then returned to gallop circles around him.

Throwing back his head, the lustrous curls jostling with his movement, the stranger let out a pleasant laugh while playing with his partners. Then he stretched for a moment and continued on the path he’d begun. His legs—those smooth thighs—moved in perfect rhythm like the wheels of a very pretty locomotive.

Once the fellow passed the deck, Purly tossed his cigarette into the sand and gazed as the orange glow slowly sizzled from the tip.

He cast one last glance at the man’s retreating figure then crossed the gritty wood planks to the cottage door. Never, during this entire week, had he lingered to observe the morning stroller’s return path past the deck. Somehow, Purly figured, to still be watching at that point would appear a bit creepy.

The recording on the portable phonograph had finished playing by the time Purly entered the house. He closed the screen door, cranked the handle to start the machine up once more and gingerly placed the needle arm on the spinning disc.

The strains of Haydn’s 101st symphony—warbling and tinny but still pleasing and soothing—filled the small space.

Purly lit a cigarette, sank onto the wrought iron bed and allowed his mind to drift with the music and the cool breeze from the rattling little fan on the windowsill. Soon, though, he found his thoughts had returned to the stranger. How absurd to spend so much time thinking on this person, but what else was there for Purly to do while here on this beach but…think? And he had no control over the path his muse took, did he? Absolutely not.

One thing was certain, though. He wanted—no, needed—to meet the green-eyed being who so curiously intrigued him, who had to do nothing but parade the shore to touch a match to Purly’s once-dormant lust. Even if it was only to hear a voice from the full lips, then so be it.

Purly would find a way.

Fabulous excerpt, Ms. Vastine! Thank for for the lovely interlude and for being such a good sport about answering the questions!

What makes a man?

Is it bad that I have the end theme from Two and a Half Men stuck in my head while I try to write this blog?

 (Love this vintage ad for Esquire Socks )

(men, men, men, men,men, men, men, men, men, men, men, men, manly men…;))

Yes, probably just another sign that I’m a few ants shy of a full picnic. Oh, well. But what makes a man? A set of balls? No, not really. I’ve known cancer survivors who were no less men without them. That funky little “Y” chromosome received at birth? Often, but not always. Gender identification is a little more complicated than that. Is it how he reacts to women, then? Um, no. Just no. You all know better than that.

Being a man is not the formulaic thing country songs would have you believe, and while we all recognize what’s meant when someone says “be a man!” the reality isn’t as simple as suddenly becoming the strong, silent,I-never-cry-not-even-when-puppies-die stereotype.

Closing in on my fifth decade, I’ve met a hell of a lot of men in my life, dated some, bedded some, adored many, befriended several. Heck, I even married one and gave birth to another. I’ve met big and small, demonstrative and stoic, loquacious and laconic, sarcastic and serene. They’ve been athletic, intellectual, idiotic and wise, dependent, neurotic, aggressive, passive, wild, domestic, selfish and compassionate. Some were born with Y squiggles and some with a pair of X’s. One owned a makeup box with more cosmetics than I’ve purchased in my entire life. One could never be persuaded to throw out a pair of hole-riddled old sneakers.

What makes a man a man? The knowledge that he is one.

Some things, my darlings, are not so complicated.

For this hop (until the end of 5/6)– leave me a comment. I’ll be giving away a copy of the story of how two of my favorite fictional men met – Finn!

https://spsilverpublishing.com/product_book_info/coming-soon-c-2/products_id/820/?zenid=b05f5e0b0f7bd0f624e030ee76147292" target="_blank" rel="nofollow">Finn - Endangered Fae #1

 M/M Fantasy

The story of a pooka lost in New York...

When Diego rescues a naked man from the rail of the Brooklyn Bridge, he just wants to get the poor man out of traffic and to social services. He gets more than he bargained for when Finn turns out to be an ailing pooka, poisoned by the pollution of the city. To help him recover, Diego takes him north to New Brunswick where Finn inadvertently wakes an ancient, evil spirit, the wendigo.

While Diego and Finn struggle to find a way to destroy the wendigo before it can possess Diego or kill nearby innocents, Diego wrestles with his growing feelings for Finn. Can they succeed in killing the monster and in navigating a relationship between a modern man and a centuries-old fairy?

Comment below and return to the Blog Hop!

Men of May

It's May, It's May, the lusty month of May!

(Oh, yeah, you can see my inner queen come out when the showtunes start *shakes head* )

But what it means for you is the Men of May Blog Hop, coming this weekend!

May 4- May 6 - a posse of M/M authors, a parade of lovelies, and, of course, a passel of prizes

Wanna see who's playing? Check out Taboo Indeed

Watch out for details this weekend!!!

Hey cats and kittens! Today we have brand new Dreamspinner Press author, Christianna Spencer gracing us with her presence!

(Hush, in the back - the calls of  'fresh meat'! are going to scare her off.)

Christianna tells me she loves mysteries but also cut her teeth on Anne Rice and Stephen King. While her debut story is a contemporary, she's interested in moving into the fantasy/ paranormal realm, as well - apparently there's a hankering for a Norse mythology story in there somewhere (woohoo! She didn't even laugh at my Loki crush!)

Her short story, Tyler, comes out May 2, 2012 - eeek! That's less than 2 weeks, folks!

You want me to shut up and tell you about the story? *huff* Oh, fine... (this looks like a lot of fun, though :D)

Tyler

By Christianna Spencer

M/M Erotic Short Story

Coming May 2, 2012 from Dreamspinner Press

Blurb:

Being a college student on a road trip means making certain sacrifices, like eating gas station food instead of in decent restaurants and staying in a series of tacky motel rooms. When Aiden leaves his buddy Chase to search for some excitement, he figures the dive bar not far from the motel is as good a place as any to start the night. At least he can get a couple of drinks and hustle some poor sucker out of a few bucks at pool. There’s even the possibility of getting a little action if he plays his cards right—a possibility that quickly becomes reality in the form of a dark and sexy stranger named Tyler.

Excerpt:

NEW town, same damn motel room, every time.

Aiden looked at their new accommodations as he sat on the end of his bed, hearing Chase busy himself with God knows what in the bathroom. He couldn’t figure out why no matter where the road took them, he and Chase always seemed to stay in the same motel room. True, the decor was different for each, bad ’70s porn motif here or a fishing theme there, but somehow they all just seemed to feel the same. It was like the same guy went around designing crappy motel rooms.

Aiden stared at the tacky—and God, were they ever—furnishings as he ran his hands over the legs of his jeans. Being a college student on a road trip meant you made certain sacrifices. Gas station food versus decent restaurants had been the most common, but this mustard-yellow carpeted nightmare was, in his mind, the worst so far. That observation had only been added to when he caught his muscular reflection staring back at him from gold-veined, mirrored tiles.

“You sure about this, Chase?” Aiden called toward the closed door. “What we talked about in the car… you’re sure?”

“Yeah.” Chase’s voice came loud and clear through the sound of running water behind the door. “Just trust me, Aiden.”

Aiden pushed himself up, making his way over to the bathroom. He leaned his six-foot-one frame against the doorjamb and brought a hand to his head, his fingers running absently over his mess of dark blond hair. “If this is about that ‘vanilla’ comment I made—”

The door opened just enough for Chase to stick his shaggy head out, a cloud of steam from the shower inside hitting Aiden full in the face. “Aiden, I’m sure. Just go enjoy yourself.”

Aiden sighed, shaking his head slightly, as he looked at his lover. “Okay.” He turned and headed for the door, grabbing his keys as he passed the TV.

About the Author:

Christianna Spencer began writing as a child, filling page after page with whatever her vivid imagination could come up with. After she placed in a grade school writing contest, her heart was dead-set on becoming an author.

Christianna works part time in retail when she’s not letting her imagination run wild and calls a small town in Southern Michigan home. She has an interest in mythology, genealogy, and the supernatural. She enjoys spending time with her cats and friends as well as reading, cooking, music, and travel.

author email: christiannaspencer@gmail.com

4/21/12 - we're almost there!

In honor of the new release, I'm giving away a copy of Vassily the Beautiful to one lucky commenter this weekend - but not here on my blog.

You have to come visit the nice folks over at the Gay Science Fiction group and join in the Author of the Month discussion. (Oh, come on, it'll be fun :D)

Or, if you'd rather buy a copy for yourself - you can do that, too!

Available at Silver Publishing:

Vassily the Beautiful

https://spsilverpublishing.com/product_book_info/coming-soon-c-2/products_id/830/

M/M Science Fiction

Vassily the Beautiful -

Set in the same universe as Gravitational Attraction, in the city of New Makarov on a far flung planet at the egde of ESTO space...

A young composer suffers neurological damage in the acciddent that killed his father...

An amoral, small-time drug manufacturer brings a dangerous new bio-engineered intoxicant to the city...

Deals gone wrong and subtle shifts in the underworld's dealings have made Baba Yaga sons, who act as her security force, edgy and trigger itchy...

Very few constants populate the equations in this new M/M Science Fiction novel, but when the variables collide? Let the mayhem begin...

Coming 4/21 from Silver Publishing

A sneak peek for my faithful readers

Chapter1: Nyctalopia

Dusk oozed in, choking out the last feeble spots of daylight, the asphyxiation so gradual that Vassily failed to notice until he glanced up from his composition.The room had vanished, leaving his desk an island of light in an inky vacuum. He pulled in a shaky breath, anxiety skittering with spider feet up his back. The room's still there, it's still there…

"Lights,full," he called out and the room obliged, objects leaping back into solidity from one blink to the next. So stupid, so childish, after three years, I should be used to it. He tried to lose himself again in the music, minor fall, a third, a fourth, but his hands shook too much. He could sing the entries, but that always proved tedious, one note at a time instead of whole chords and progressions from his fingers.

The message signal chirped and Vassily gave up with a huff of breath as he tapped the receive code. "Mom? Are you on approach?"

"Hi,sweetie! No, still a couple days out." Her holo image frowned. "You're so pale. Everything okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine. Is Talia there?"

He forced his lungs to push against the tight bands squeezing his chest, hoping to quell the shaking. "I sent her home, Mom. She has her own family to look after."

"Yes, but I pay her to look after you when I'm not there."

"I don't need looking after," Vassily snapped and immediately regretted it. She's worried, you jackass. He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "Sorry. I'm sorry, Mama. It's just… I'm not helpless. Besides, Giorgio's just across the hall if I need any help."

His mother let out an unladylike snort. "Giorgio. A lot of help he'll be if he's drunk again." Her fist-sized image waved a hand. "Never mind, Vasya. Just promise me you're being careful."

He gave her a wry smile. "Because I live so dangerously, right?"

"You know what I mean."

I do, Mama. I do, and that's half the problem. "I'm careful," he reassured her more gently.

"All right." She smiled for him. "I'll have a surprise for you when I get home."

"Oh? What sort of surprise?"

"You'll see. I'll be home soon, sweetie."

They said their goodnights and then the silence rushed back in like a dark tide. He rose from his chair, careful to keep one hand on the back in case his legs wanted to do their occasional rubber band impression. They held. Thank you for small favors.

The house lights followed him as he drifted through the rooms, illuminating each new tableau before him, leaving puddles of black void in his wake. Vassily stopped, head cocked, when he heard footsteps in the hall outside. A moment later, the door speaker chirped.

"Vasya?"

He smiled as he palmed the pad by the living room archway. "I'm here, Giorgio."

"Are you all right? I passed Talia on the way up…"

Vassily snorted. "If Talia was leaving, why would you think something was wrong?"

"Because you're alone, then." Giorgio's deep voice held a trace of offense. "Because you're not at your best alone."

"I get my best work done when I'm alone."

"And you have screaming terrors and an issue with falling and—"

By now, he had reached the door and palmed it open. "Over a year. I haven't had one of those night things in over a year."

His irritation fizzled out when he caught sight of his neighbor. A scarlet-sequined sheath dress wrapped Giorgio's nearly two meter frame, clinging to his corset-cinched waist and rounded, muscular butt, the long mid-thigh slit exposing one depilated, sculpted leg and that evening's silver stilettos. Thick false eyelashes blinked at Vassily as Giorgio pulled off his black, shoulder-length wig with a sigh, his steel-gray buzz cut at odds with the soft fabrics and heavy makeup.

"Going out?" Vassily asked with a smile.

"On my way in, hon. Had a dinner show to do. Dead on my feet. Did you eat? And please tell me it wasn't one of those self-heating Quikmeals."

"Talia made dinner before she went home." Vassily backed a step to let Giorgio in, hands held up to fend off further scolding. "And believe me; she made sure I ate every scrap before she'd go."

"Well, pardon the people who love you for worrying," Giorgio huffed as he leaned against the wall to slide off one shining, spiked heel and then the other. "Come across to my place. You can talk to me while I de-glam."

Vassily trailed the tower of scarlet sequins across the hall. Four penthouses occupied the building's top floor, his mother's, Giorgio's, ancient Ms. Yumik's and the Kassa's, four rambling, obscenely-large-for-the-handful-of-people-who-lived-there apartments.

"Did it go well?"

Giorgio continued down the hall to his dressing room to place his wig on its stand with loving care. "Did what go well?" He turned his back. "Be a doll,Vasya. Unzip me?"

Dutifully, Vassily reached up and pulled the long zipper down, careful not to catch on any threads. "The show, of course."

Giorgio slithered out of his dress, leaving him in corset, tight panties into which he was presumably taped and tucked, and stockings. Above the corset, a good portion of his salt and pepper chest hair peeked out, the one thing Giorgio would not shave for his art. I am a man after all, he had explained rather irritably when Vassily had asked.

"Please.Every show of Ms. Yvette's goes well."

Vassily chuckled and perched on the settee by the door. "I know, Giorgy. I'm not suggesting you've lost your lovely voice."

"It was fabulous, hon. They loved me. Now, why don't you tell me why you sent Talia home while your Mama's away." Giorgio unfastened the last eyehook on his corset with a grateful sigh, tossed the thing across the room, and scratched at his ribs.

With an effort, Vassily fought the angry edge in his tone. His words still came out flat and clipped. "Because I'm twenty-four years old and really don't need a babysitter anymore. Because I'm not an invalid or an idiot and I wanted some quiet, uninterrupted time to work without someone rattling around and asking me if I need anything every five minutes. Does that sound at least a little reasonable?"

The last of Ms. Yvette's clothing discarded, Giorgio had slid into shorts and a black T-shirt, all beef and butch except for the makeup and drop earrings. He had worked construction for years before discovering his more lucrative talents and the hard labor still showed in his physique. "Vasya, we worry for a reason, your mother, Talia, and I. It's not so long ago, you know. And you did just fall again last week."

"My legs gave out. It wasn't precisely a fall."

Hewaved a large hand. "We're still adjusting, all of us."

Vassily opened his mouth to say something resentful and angry, and then shut it. This was Giorgio, who had rushed across the hall every time the night terrors had struck after the accident, who had held him and rocked him until he calmed because his mother couldn't get past his flailing fists to comfort him. Giorgio, who had helped him learn to walk again, had taken him to doctors' appointments when his mother's schedule interfered, who had been his friend and protector since they had first met.

"I know, Giorgy. I'm sorry."

The apology earned him an immediate, though gentle, bear hug. "It's all right,beautiful. Now tell me why you're so snappy."

"Ah. Well. Mother says she's bringing home a surprise."

Giorgio shot him a wink as he began removing his false eyelashes. "And we don't like surprises, do we?"

"No. No, we don't."