Fifty Shades of Curiously Grey by KevaD

Please refrain from any negative comments regarding the book by EL James. That’s not what this post is about.

I sold antiques at a flea market this past Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Naturally, I set a few copies of my suspense/mystery novel Whistle Pass out for sale as well. 

Once ladies learned I had written Whistle Pass, the conversation invariably turned to Fifty Shades of Grey, usually with this line as the icebreaker:

“I’m reading that book I shouldn’t be reading.”

A quirky smile then appeared. 

It didn’t take too many of these conversations for me to realize that the majority of women I spoke with weren’t as interested in the book as they were the idea of doing something edgy, maybe even bordering on taboo, something risqué and a bit devilish, with nothing really at stake. It was the thrill of the bragging rights that they had obtained a copy and were reading a book that they wouldn’t even say the name of in public. Or at least said they were. 

My point is that for a number of these ladies, claiming to be reading the book (not a one of them said they had finished it – they were always “reading” it) set them apart from what had been mediocrity and initiated them into a group of faceless literary daredevils walking the razorblade of the forbidden. It was the “act,” not the book, that sent shivers up their spines, reddened their ears, and provided the courage to share with a complete male stranger the provocative thing they were doing. 

Interestingly, in all of the conversations I had with these ladies in this unique setting, not once did the reader talk about the book at all. Not once. Their focus remained on the act of possessing and reading the novel. After the first couple of ladies, I started asking if the person had plans to go see the movie when it came out. The answer was always “no.” Maybe they were being honest, maybe that was something they didn’t want to answer. I don’t know. 

I do know what one lady gave as her reason for not planning on seeing the film version. She said in effect, ‘I wouldn’t want to watch the movie because it probably wouldn’t be like I’ve imagined.’ Her answer made me smile. What she described is the goal we as storytellers strive for. She said the story took shape in her mind, and she didn’t want to lose that imagery.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is the power and joy of books.

Homophobia is Contagious – Gay Isn’t

To begin, I dislike the term “straight” as it implies the alternative is crooked or deformed. I’m heterosexual. Het. 

I’m old enough I was raised in a society where homosexuality genuinely was considered the deformed alternative to being straight. When I was four, the federal government officially declared homosexuality a mental disorder and began a purge of homosexuals. The churches and public schools I attended embraced that ideology and ensured our young minds were properly educated to the dangers of the predatory insane lurking on every corner for the opportunity to take advantage of a child. 

In my later public school years, no one ever did make a move to refute the idea that homosexuality equated to insanity, including my parents. That is, until a voluntary, pay for it yourself “field trip” took place in my senior year of high school. The school provided bus transportation and chaperones to an evening performance of HAIR. 

For those not familiar with the topics addressed in that musical, I recommend renting a video of the musical, not the movie. At the time, interracial sex, not to mention same-sex sex, and public nudity were the demons sure to plunge our world into the pits of hell. HAIR has all of those and more. 

There were two things in particular that struck me that night at the performance. The first being, how the young lady on the back of the stage during the nude scene had the most beautiful set of tits I’d ever imagined to exist. Yes, I still remember them, and everything else about her. I hope her life without me in her arms turned out well. 

The second was the scene where a white man (fully clothed) had sex with a black man (also fully clothed). Holy hell. They were just actors playing roles, but the scene’s message bore into me. It was the first realization that what had been ingrained into my brain might not be reality. 

When I tried to discuss that scene at school, with my friends, and at home, I was quickly reminded HAIR was a play, not real life, and there was no need for further discussion. 

Wrong. 

Place something in front of my eyes that stimulates my mind to question the ideals implanted in me, and I’m damn sure going to talk about it. 

That was when I understood very few people in my circle of life understood me or the world in general. And, for the first time, I wondered how many homosexuals I had met, maybe even known and hung out with, who felt they had to keep their sexuality hidden from me. The societal beliefs I had grown up with began to disintegrate, but it would be years before I fully understood how much of a hold those beliefs had on my mind. 

A year after high school, fate introduced me to an openly gay couple. Nope. They weren’t insane, and no one they shook hands with developed an obsession for the color pink. In fact, we had a lot of common interests and went to beaches and did a number of things together. Yeah, the evening one of them said how if I ever wanted to explore, they’d be open to a threesome scared the beejezus out of me, but no friendship lines were ever crossed. Note here that I also have and have had female friends who I never had sex with, though the opportunity existed if we chose to cross that line. Friendship is and was far more important to me than the sex that was so readily available during that era. I soon enlisted in the army to break away from the sex, drugs, and rock and roll lifestyle I’d been living and provide for my family. 

In the army, I learned one of my friends I drank and bowled with was gay. He got publicly ‘outed’ during something that happened in the barracks he lived in. I never did know the full details. Within a few days, he’d been transferred (we were in Germany) back to the states, and the few of us who’d been his friends were questioned. 

During the interrogation, I was told my friend had made it beyond clear that I was not gay, nor had any knowledge whatsoever that he was, though in truth, I did know as he’d told me shortly before whatever happened at the barracks happened. He’d protected me with what little he had to offer. You must understand the army at that time. Being gay was akin to being a traitor – those in the “circle” were presumed guilty by being in the circle. I strongly suspect my friend could have lessened whatever punishment he was to receive by sacrificing one or two others. He didn’t do that, opting to stand up for his friends to the very end. He was one hell of a man who happened to be gay. 

I think that was the incident that shattered the hold my childhood indoctrination had on me. I became a man who happened to be het, others happened to be gay. That was how life worked, and, in my mind, still works. 

Eventually, I began writing professionally. How my first published book was about two gay men is something I’ve discussed other times, other places. Whether the characters are het, gay, or lesbian isn’t an issue for me. For some folks, though, it is. I’ve heard from hets who wonder what the hell I’m doing writing books with gay men in them. I’ve heard from gays asking the same question. And then, there are some female readers who get upset because my stories in which the characters are gay men, don’t always have sex, because as one very nice lady asked, if the men don’t have sex, “What’s the point?”. 

So, while I offend idealists, bigots, and an occasional reader, I’ll continue telling my stories without worrying about the sexuality of the characters. For you see, that’s how I live my life now. Why should I be concerned what sexuality my fictional characters are, when I couldn’t care less what sexuality my real life friends are? 

“Oh, so you’re one of those heterosexuals who likes to say how he has gay friends.” 

No, I’m saying my friends’ sexuality isn’t any more of your damn business than it is mine. 

A gay person is born gay. A homophobe is trained to be homophobic.

That’s right…homophobia is a disease born of ignorance. Fortunately, there’s a cure. It’s called education. Be smart and get smart. 

‘Nuff said.

Courage & Vassily the Beautiful - Angel Martinez

What makes the Hottentot so hot? What puts the "ape" in apricot? What have they got that I ain't got? ...Courage – The Cowardly Lion, Wizard of Oz, MGM, 1942

That’s the thing, isn’t it? What is it that compromises courage? The Lion is told at the end, and rightly so, that he has as much courage as the next person, even when he reacts with fear. Yet, when someone says “a man of courage,” we don’t picture the Cowardly Lion, we picture a traditional hero, steadfast and fearless.

Courage – the firefighter rescuing the mom and baby from the blazing third floor. The helicopter pilot who braves enemy fire to rescue downed comrades. The Coast Guard captain braving the storm to reach the crippled fishing boat in time. All very rousing and heart-in-mouth inspiring, but this sort of courage, powered by adrenaline and endorphins and often an odd sort of eye of the storm calm, is only one very narrow type of courage.  

At its heart, courage is doing when you are afraid and fear comes in all flavors, not all of them born of physical peril. It’s often doing the hard things, the right things, the things the make you uncomfortable. Sometimes it’s the things that make others uncomfortable. Sometimes it’s as simple as admitting you were wrong, or admitting things have to change.  

Courage is standing by a parent sinking into Alzheimer’s. It’s hearing the diagnosis that will change your life and forcing yourself to ask “what steps do we take now?” instead of falling apart. It’s taking the walk down the red carpet with your lover. It’s admitting to addiction. It’s recognizing you have dreams and finding the strength to chase them.  

The big, brash, loud flavors of courage are fine for the big screen, but most of the time, courage soldiers on quietly, without fanfare or recognition, without explosions or gunfire, evident in a thousand small choices and a thousand mindful acts.  

Courage, as Baba Yaga says, is not a thing you have, but a thing you do.  

Which brings me to Vassily the Beautiful, which, while a story about a number of things, is largely a story about courage. And that, my dears, is all I’ll say on that. 

Vassily the Beautiful 

New M/M Science Fiction from Angel Martinez

Serena at QMO Books says: “The impact and depth of their feelings captivated me. If you like stories about flawed and damaged characters thrown together in a challenging situation, if you enjoy watching men battle both exterior and interior demons and if emotions are just as important as physical attraction for you, this is a books you shouldn’t miss.” 

Bobby at BookWenches says: “This could have been just another “damsel in distress” story, but it’s not. Vassily begins the story a victim….I enjoyed witnessing this change take place as he transitions from spoiled and pouting boy into a stronger, more self-reliant man.”

Vassily the Beautiful – a fairytale hurled through space and turned on its axis…

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

A young composer suffers neurological damage in the accident 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...

Midnight Melody by Kate Devlin

Here's a brief look at my friend Kate Devlin's debut book, and the next installment of the Lesbians vs Zombies: The Musical Review line. Enjoy!

Overriding the misgivings of her pregnant lover Gillian, Francesca braves the zombie-infested Texas hill country with Gillian at her side and a floorboard full of zombie-repelling spray canisters. Their goal: to spend a weekend with famed composer and director, Sidney Foster--who is also Gillian’s ex. Francesca, a lyric soprano, sees Sidney as her express ticket to the New York world of music. With, of course, her pianist Gillian. Although the notoriously manipulative Miss Foster might still see Gillian as an express ticket to the bedroom, Francesca is confident she can handle whatever comes.

But why did the master composer turn her isolated home into an absolute beacon for every hungry zombie around?

Buy Link

Excerpt:

Chapter One

I drove out of Austin in the fading sunset translating the light to an ever-softer melody, with Gillian in the passenger seat beside me. Oscar, our new white and tan terrier mix, rested on the console between us. Until the zombie rising, Gillian and I had kept our relationship secret. But now, with half the world zombied or just dead, hiding our truth no longer seemed important.

Night fell all too fast. As we drove farther from civilization, my aged Kia did little to keep out the foreign symphony of sounds in that ominously darkening song. Locusts droned in harmony with my engine, accompanied by the crickets' frantic descant. A wolf’s lonely cry rose, and another answered. In the city, we only had coyotes to worry about. The zombie packs and the feral dog packs harried each other more than either hunted people.

Gillian sat pretzel-legged, with a reading light reflecting off her metallic NASA suit onto the music score nestled in her lap. Her fingers played in the splintery triangles of light, using the score as a keyboard. Mental practice, she called it. Like most pianists, she put in eight to ten hours of practice a day. That schedule would be impossible for me; the voice tired more quickly than the hands.

On her model, I'd learned to touch the marks on paper while mentally passing from note to note, controlling my breath and posture, hearing the sound I needed to produce, training that mental singer in my head. Thanks to Gillian's secret, I'd become Sidney Foster's favorite soprano.

A working composer, Sidney divided her time between Austin and New York, both teaching and composing. Gillian and I belonged to her ensemble here in Austin: Troupe at the Edge of Sound. Every fall, we performed a one-act opera. This year's would happen at Halloween. The odd scheduling cut deeply into rehearsal time, hence this impromptu weekend at Sidney's remote mansion.

We slowed at a railroad crossing. I caught movement in the empty field out Gillian’s window. So did Oscar, who barked wildly. Ragged bodies hunched like screwing dogs over some unfortunate creature. The rank odor of rot instantly filled the car, and their discomforting huff-huffs of pleasure as they ate made me want to pull a two-wheeled turn and race back home.

"Oscar, hush," Gillian said, never once looking up. "I can't concentrate."

"Zombies, six or seven of them, feeding already," I told her.

She glanced up briefly. "But it isn't full dark yet."

She was right; the sky was still purple at the edge. Experts had warned this might happen, but to see it firsthand terrified me.

Gillian shuddered. "One stuck her hand through the glass of my practice room door last night. I called campus security and they came to get her. Drive faster, Francesca. I can't die yet. I'm not done learning this opera. God, Sidney's going to have my head."

Every time Gillian said her name, I fought a twinge of jealousy. They'd been involved the year before I came to Texas, and compared to Sidney I looked like an ungainly cow. I had voice, but I had a singer's body to go with it. More than once I'd caught Sidney staring at Gillian with a wistful hunger on her face, but thus far, Gillian didn't seem to respond. I worried this weekend might change things.

Hoping to ease the tension, I teased her. "You need musical perfection before you die? Don't kill me yet; I can't play the Liszt B minor."

"Don't make fun. I haven't touched my actual part in the score since September, and tomorrow, the whole ensemble might be there."

Probably not. Although none of the troupe members had refused to show up tomorrow, only the two of us had committed to come. I smoothed a comforting hand over her thigh, pressing wrinkles out of the scent-masking, heat-masking suit. "The worst Sidney can do is yell. She has to appreciate all the juggling we did."

Tonight would be just the three of us, so we could work through my two arias. Sidney was less than pleased with my interpretation of the music thus far.

Hands moving over the score again, Gillian spoke softly. "You're about to meet Sidney on her own turf. She's on her best behavior at school. There's a side to her—watch out!"

I swerved to avoid the figure stumbling across the road. The ragtag woman lurched toward the car, but I'd already snatched my foot off the brake and jabbed the gas pedal.

Gillian turned to look behind us. "One of her breasts was flapping, did you see? This is why I hate being out at night. In case you wondered, I won't be able to sleep a wink unless you're in touching distance."

"I wouldn't sleep anywhere else." Funny, I'd been worried that I'd be the one without a bed partner.

Gillian's hand smoothed down my arm, raising goose bumps under the crinkly NASA suit. She added, "Thanks. I lean on you too much."

Gillian wore her emotions wrapped around her like an antique shawl, fragile and delicate. Now that she was pregnant, as part of the Repopulate Earth project, she seemed even more vulnerable. In music, she found solace and peace, and pure, unadulterated feeling. But during our last few rehearsals, Sidney had reduced her to tears with little effort.

In retrospect, Sidney's ill-hidden glee gave me a good clue as to what we were up against this weekend. It also made me wonder about my part in Repopulate Earth. Once Gillian's child turned a year old, I was to take a turn—or not, depending on my career. I knew several excellent singers who'd lost their voices during pregnancy. And also depending on whether Gillian was then emotionally strong enough to handle my pregnant-lady hormone swings, assuming I'd have them.

I caught her hand and pressed it briefly to my cheek. "I'll tell you when you lean too much. Okay?"

"Perfect. Now I'm going to try to work through the rest of this piece."

My cue to shut the hell up. Chances were good we'd see more zombies, so I concentrated on my driving. The closer we drew to the house, the tighter my nerves wound. For Gillian's sake, I had to keep control of things.

Sidney—there was no one like her. She stood like a sorceress, molding the world by her will. How such a short, gamine woman wielded so much power, I still didn't know.

Night closed in as we pulled into the long, narrow driveway. Sidney out here alone was relatively safe, so long as she didn't use the oven or the clothes dryer or—heaven forbid—a heater. But three of us gathering in an old, unprotected house would radiate enough life signs to pose a greater risk. Zombies seemed to sense us through smell and as heat sources. If we all stayed tomorrow night, we'd draw them like moths to a flame.

Austin had been one of the hardest-hit cities in Texas. The papers blamed the city's fatefully timed experiment allowing everyone free use of the public transportation system. Contact with any body fluid could transmit the disease. Infected sweat on a bus seat was more than adequate exposure.

I parked in front of the house. Come daylight, I'd move my little Kia wherever Sidney wanted it. For now, the goal was to get safely indoors. We both reached around to gather our things from the back, sounding like women rustling around in paper bags with the invaluable suits. The thin, silver material masked both scent and heat.

"Want your helmet?"

I hated the helmets. "No, Sidney should be waiting for us. We won't be outside for long."

"I'm carrying Oscar so nothing happens to him," Gillian said.

"I know you love him, but he'll only make you that much more vulnerable. Put him on the leash."

Gillian gave a harsh sigh. "How many dogs have we lost? Four at last count, I believe."

"Without them, we'd be the dead ones, sweetie, and they have a good life with us. Better than getting gassed at the pound."

"Until they get eaten, sure. You can't rationalize the torture these poor creatures endure at the end. I can still hear them ripping sweet, little Charlie apart."

Me too. I hid my flinch and sighed. "Okay, look. I don't want to be here either, but we didn't have a valid excuse not to show up. With thirty-six hours of intensive work, we might actually be able to perform this opera without looking like idiots."

This was my chance, my big break. Being naked for my big aria should garner me some sort of attention. Even my zaftig body had its charms. In my fantasies, agents and critics rushed to the performance in droves.

"You won't leave me alone with her," she said, more a statement than a question. She tucked Oscar under her arm, protectively. So much for on the leash.

"Pinkie swear," I promised.

"Then, let's do this."

A Not So Random Musing

North Korea’s goal to have nuclear weapons capable of reaching the U.S. has me really wondering if, given our recent history of structuring our military efforts to avoid civilian deaths and doling out dollars to families of civilians we kill in war… if we would actually retaliate in kind should our country be attacked with a nuclear missile. Or would we invade, establish a new government, and then go home when the new government and our own citizens got tired of us being there so the cycle could begin all over again?

If I’m wondering, our enemies certainly have to be wondering.

Here’s what I know:

The Korean War proved we could be battled to a stalemate.

Vietnam proved we could be beaten.

Kuwait proved we will come to an ally’s defense.

Afghanistan and Iraq haven’t proven anything other than to once again affirm that warfare designed to win “the hearts and minds” of our enemy doesn’t work.

I grew up believing an enemy would be obliterated if they were ever stupid enough to attack us. Now, I’m not so sure, and I don’t like that feeling. I’m concerned the term “paper tiger” has more relevance today than ever before.

If North Korea fired a nuclear missile into South Korea, what would we do? I doubt we would respond with our own nukes. Would we pull out and go home, offering up South Korea as a sacrifice to avoid further U.S. blood being shed on foreign soil? Or invade, knowing we didn’t beat North Korea in war the first time.

What if Juneau, Alaska, was wiped out in a nuclear attack? For those who don’t know, Juneau is the capital of Alaska. Would Juneau be worth nuclear retaliation?

What about Seattle? Portland? Or would it take Los Angeles or San Francisco to rattle our plutonium sabers? Or, as I said before, would we choose to invade, change governments, give them billions and billions of dollars, and hope they didn’t attack us again until someone did attack us again?

That’s just it. I don’t know anymore.

To date, the nuclear poker game has been played by semi-rational governments not willing to risk total destruction. Now, there are new players preparing to sit down and call our hand. Do we lay our cards on the table, or do we fold and walk away, leaving a trail of concessions in our wake?

It would appear we may soon find out.

Author Lee Brazil on Reality and Romance Fiction #3

Ladies and gentleman:

My friend, author Lee Brazil.

How do you it's not? Hmm? I mean, seriously.... how many of you have seen him naked?

Good morning all!  Thanks for having me over DaveK, KevaD. *sips coffee*  Nice to see all of you. For those who don't know me, I'm Lee Brazil, author of m/m romance for Breathless Press and Story Orgy.  I'm a coffee addict, a music lover, and a cynic on days that contain the letter a. This causes me some conflict, as I'm a romantic on days that end in Y.

So my answer to this question depends on when you ask it.  Do you believe in love at first sight?  Some readers are adamantly opposed to what they call insta-love.  Others like it just fine. Some people like love at first sight only when it involves shifters.  *eyes widen* Because that makes it more believable? That mythical creatures fall in love instantly is more believable than that human beings do?

*sips coffee*  Today I'm a believer.  I read the sweetest book last night. It was indeed a love at first sight story.  Green eyes met blue across a crowded room.  The earth stood still.  The main character forgot to breathe; he was so entranced with the vision of loveliness gazing back at him. Hearts beat and stall, skip and throb, mouths go dry or wet, and the physiological symptoms are all there. They make their way across the room, with remarkable ease, blindly guided by love itself as neither breaks eye contact. Without a word these two men are locked in one another's arms and kissing passionately.

Then a dead body falls from the sky or some such and they must solve a crime together before they can actually be together, but it's all just a minor inconvenience...because they have love, and they know it.

Okay.  That's a great bit. I love stories like that. Recognizing that you love someone is almost as huge a commitment as marriage itself. Anyone who thinks that's it- I said I love you and that's the end of it, is crazy. *sips coffee* But that's a post for another day. Time to let the cynic play.

Yeah. Okay, so that guy whose gaze you met across the room? He's not looking at you. There's a TV monitor directly over your head and the highlights of Monday's game are playing. You just think he's looking deeply into your eyes and smiling. The truth is his team scored a miracle play in the fourth quarter and he won $50 from the scowly guy standing next to him.

Or maybe he is looking at you.  Because your face is turning blue and your eyes are bugging out because you forgot to breathe. *Snort* Okay, okay...he is looking at you, and he really sees you.  But what then? The crowd parts and leaves a shining path between the two of you as though Moses approved of your union?  Yeah right. 

In my experience what happens next is more like, you take a sip of your drink trying to look all cool, and the toothpick with the garnish stabs you in the cheek, or the eye, or the nose.  Or you swallow too much and choke. Or my personal favorite, you're so busy staring that you misjudge the distance between lips and glass and pour Midori down your shirt. (because this NEVER happens when you're drinking something that is NOT neon colored)            

Then his smile gets bigger and your cheeks burn brighter and you smile weakly. You stumble away from the wall that's been anchoring your "throbbing, soaring heart" to earth and dash for the bathroom before your silk "on the prowl" shirt gets permanently stained...

If you're really lucky- or not- he meets you at the bathroom door with an offer to help you clean up.

And you know what? Even then, I'm not sure it's love at first sight, or love of a good joke.

But, if you make it through that, and all the other pitfalls, then you're going to need a sense of humor, because long term relationships are not for the faint of heart.

Now, remember, this is just a tongue in cheek look at why romantic fiction is better than reality...I did a bit of research...not too much, because I'm retired, damn it, and I'm lazy like that. Seems 60% of people surveyed in Psychology Today believe in love at first sight, and a whopping 50% of those surveyed have experienced it. 

So there you have it...Love at first sight, reason #3 why romantic fiction beats reality! *looks to the side* What?  I didn't?  *Shakes head* I've just been reminded that I didn't tell you whether I really believe in love at first sight or not.  Who am I to judge? I fell in love with a voice on the phone...And we celebrate our fifteenth anniversary this year! So, yes...I believe with love all things are possible.

Got a love at first sight story to tell? Funny or touching, real or imaginary...share it here and be entered to win a copy of my latest short novella, Loving Eden.

Loving Eden is not a love at first sight story- It's a "recognize that there might be something between us if we take the time to find out" story.  Which is kind of what happens a lot of the time, isn't it? You meet someone, and if things line up right, you could have a great relationship.  If he leaves on the next bus and you never hear form him again, you aren't going to be devastated, because even though the potential was there, the seed wasn't watered, and nothing grew...Wait...I wasn't going to talk about that in this post... Anyway, here's a bit of Loving Eden to entice you to share you stories with us today.

Title: Loving Eden

Genre: m/m contemporary romance

BLURB:

Eden St. Cyr wants to let the boy who's crushing on him down easy. Drew Harris wants to protect his son from what he considers a disastrous relationship. Neither of them counted on being attracted to the other.

Eden St. Cyr has wandering feet.  He shuffles around the country from place to place and college to college, changing majors and lovers at whim. When Bailey Harris starts following him home, mooning around and showing signs of affection, Eden hatches a plan to let the kid down lightly before he leaves for the next semester, the next college, and the next lover.

Drew Harris is stunned at the changes in his son.  His responsible dependable, cheerful boy has become a moody despondent, irresponsible teenager. Drew knows exactly who to blame, too.  When Eden doesn’t' return his phone calls, he's forced to be a little more devious in his plans to get the bad influence out of his son's life.

An unexpected attraction derails both men from their plans, but when Bailey walks in at the least appropriate time, can things be put right?

EXCERPT:

Eden stepped up to the doorway inadvertently brushing against that hard muscled body as he did so. Heat seared through his thin T-shirt and gooseflesh prickled his arms. He bit his lip to keep the moan inside, just nodding his head, too afraid that his arousal would show to speak. He ducked his head and made to move into the room, when a hard warm hand closed around his upper arm. He found himself turned to face Bailey's dad, and looked up into puzzled blue eyes.

"We'll talk later, yes?" The man asserted. Eden was trapped in the depths of those deep blue eyes and unable to utter a response. A big, calloused hand came up to cup Eden's jaw, thumb rubbing gently over the two-day growth of beard he hadn't bothered to shave. Shaking his head, Drew began to speak again but then his head tilted slightly to the side and his lips came down. Eden caught his breath in surprise. Surely Bailey's dad wasn't going to kiss him?

But he was. Warm dry lips pressed to his own briefly, sliding a little to the side, nipping lightly at his own lower lip. The gentle kiss swept right across his mouth in a brief warm touch that left him craving more. It had barely begun before Drew pulled away.

Buy Link: http://www.breathlesspress.com/loving-eden

Author Contact: http://leebrazilauthor.blogspot.com/

Ginny's Capture - by Ellie Heller

Ellie Heller is a new old author. By that I mean she has been helping other writers hone their craft while putting her own dream on hold. Now, "Ginny's Capture," Ellie's debut story, has been released by Noble Romance Publishing as part of their Lesbians vs Zombies: The Musical Revue line.

Take a look, then buy the book.
https://www.nobleromance.com/Authors/216/Ellie-Heller

Two years ago, Deidra Montague royally screwed up with Guinevere. Now, Dee secretly works for the fae council, breaking up potential zombie swarms, while Ginny—a mortal—attends grad school, preparing for a career helping survivors of zombie attacks.

Even apart, Dee still watches over Ginny. How could she not, after learning that the woman she betrayed has been blessed as her mate?

Now, students from Ginny's school are dropping out in alarming numbers and turning up infected with the zombie virus. When Dee finds out, she decides it's time to extract her mate from the mounting peril. Only she arrives to find Ginny in the thick of things, trying to solve the problem herself. Just like old times.

With drugged-up zombies everywhere, casket sales on the rise, and saccharine bubblegum pop music constantly playing in the background, Dee decides it's time to lay her heart on the line. Because she's the only one who's going to capture Ginny.

When you're fae and your ordained mate is a former mortal lover, rescuing her from zombies is the easy part . . . .

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Deidra silently ran up the concrete stairs in the rear of the library. Last time she'd been on a university campus, the story behind the zombie virus had just broken and anti-military sentiment ran high. After a hellish day fending off protestors and the media instead of recruiting for ROTC, she'd sworn up and down she'd not set foot on campus again. But that was before students at this school—Ginny's school—began dropping out to become zombies, voluntarily. She'd had no choice but to go back on her word.

Her old army buddies would have ribbed her mercilessly. Good thing she now worked for the fae council instead.

Regardless of the ribbing, Dee would have come. Guinevere took her MSW courses here. She lived on campus, in one of the dorms, for who knows what reason. With the school a powder keg waiting to blow, naturally Ginny stood right in the middle.

Deidra couldn't sit by and watch the explosion. She needed to get Ginny out of there.

Huey, a hulking Viking of a man with a Were's leadership tattoos on his temples, waited on the landing. Four of his packmates flanked him.

"You want me to go ahead and secure the area?" he asked.

Deidra nodded. "Stay out of sight of our target. I'll disable the floor's sound system, then join you."

Unlike some of the fae and fully turned zombies, she could survive the subsonic waves piped along with the music. She didn't want the constant distraction, though, not tonight. In the service stairs, she quickly located the recently added wires and cut them. The students here were lucky the school could afford to rewire the building and install the special speakers. State schools did not fare so well.

The insistent buzz across her bones ceased.

Huey stuck his head out the door. "We're set. Just a heads up: she has company."

"Who?"

"Some leggy blonde who looks like the suburban idea of a rock whore."

Crap, the description fit Lilah Dantowitz to a tee. Deidra needed to get Guinevere away from her before the shit hit the fan. Behind Huey, the sound of the women's voices drifted.

"Make sure you detail someone to fix the wires when we leave," she whispered, before heading into the maze of bookshelves.

She followed the chatter, halting the moment Guinevere's voice became clear. The soft alto brought back too many memories. A shiver of desire raced through Deidra, leaving her flushed.

"I have a bunch of stuff I need to get done so I can spend tomorrow with you. Why don't you text me the time? I promise I'll be there," Ginny said. "Besides, I see Brad on his way, and I'm pretty sure he's going to want your attention for the rest of the night."

What was Ginny getting into? Deidra took a deep breath, her heart racing. Then she took another. Faint but distinct, the fetid odor of a zombie permeated the air. She moved closer, to get a good view and a better scent.

The blonde bimbo sauntered away, tucked under the arm of a brute. The rotting-flesh smell emanated from one of them, and she'd bet that meant Lilah. She had to be close to fully turned to smell like death, but she didn't look it, and none of the reports or videos had shown her acting like it.

Papa Dantowitz could afford drugs strong enough to keep his daughter "normal," even at this stage.

In spite of all their surveillance of the Dantowitz crime family, she'd seen nothing to indicate one of the children was infected. Having a family member with the virus was an interesting development, especially if the family actually was recruiting students.

Guinevere shut her laptop, then slid the slim rectangle into her bag. Ready to leave? That wouldn't do at all.

Deidra settled herself atop a desk out of Guinevere's sightline and away from the rancid smell.
"Still hanging out with young'uns, I see."

Guinevere froze in place. Then, slowly, she turned her face to Deidra. Those eyes, those impossibly cornflower blue eyes, gave her a thorough once over. "I've kept worse company."

Deidra tried in vain to stop the blush heating her cheeks. Seeing Guinevere redden as well didn't help her feel any less pricked by the jab. The Goddess had given her a hard task, to repair the breach between them. She bit her tongue to keep from saying anything, knowing Guinevere's Southern charm would impel her to fill the silence.

But Deidra caved first. She heard herself say, "Ilona explained to me what you were doing."

Shit, she hadn't meant to blurt that out.

Guinevere closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "As I recall, I did too."

"You certainly tried, but I wasn't listening." Stupid, stupid to bring this up now. Her group likely hung on every word.

Guinevere lifted her head and glared at Deidra. "And whose fault was that?"

"Mine."

They held each other's gaze, but Guinevere didn't respond.

Deidra knew this wasn't the time to explain herself. She looked away first. "I didn't come here for that. Well, I did, but there are more pressing reasons."

"Which are?"

"We have had a security breach, and your father's unit has been targeted. Zombies are being used en masse to break into homes and kidnap families."

With an oddly pensive look, Guinevere flipped her blond hair out of the way before sliding on her backpack. "How long do I have?"

"Give me a couple of days, and I'll text you the time and location." Deidra gave her a hard look.
"Don't do anything foolish this weekend. Stay on campus until we can extract you."

Guinevere raised her eyebrows. "Do I do foolish things?"

"All the damn time," Deidra said, with an exasperated sigh. "Will you stay on campus?"

Guinevere nodded.

Deidra lifted her wrist to her face, still keeping an eye on Guinevere. Entirely for show, as the Weres could hear every word, she pressed a button on her large wristband. "Amazon Two, we're out of here."

"Congrats on the group," Guinevere said.

Surprising. Oh, wait, she didn't know what kind of group Deidra ran, just that she was giving orders.

"Thank you," Deidra replied, and then, because she couldn't help it. "This group's okay, but I've had better."

The surprise in Guinevere's eyes counterbalanced the snort of a Were behind her. Good thing Guinevere couldn't hear the muffled laugh. Time to go. Stepping back, Deidra ducked behind the nearest set of shelves and then hurried to the rear stairs. On the way, she pulled out her phone and typed in the text message that would carry the spy program for Ginny's cell.

"You're looking great." Definitely the truth. Two years of grad school had been good to Guinevere. No longer on the thin side of lean and with her glorious blonde hair down past her shoulders, Guinevere looked content. Unfortunately, her contentment was about to be shot. Deidra couldn't keep her safe here anymore. She needed to get Ginny off campus.

Not to mention being without her mate led Dee to make poor decisions. Not safe for herself, much less for the men she now commanded.

"So that's her," Huey commented.

"Yep. Hands off," Deidra said, flinching as they hit the stairs and the humming music resumed. "The tall, leggy one you can have."

The Weres made various retching sounds. They'd smelled the decay caused by the zombie virus too. They staggered out the rear door of the building, holding their noses and throats and bellies.
Laughing, she shushed them, not wanting their group to draw attention in the frozen tundra of the parking lot.

Once everyone had settled in the van, with Huey at the wheel, one of the Weres grinned toothily at her. "Next time, boss, remember we like them when they don't smell like maggot-food."

"And we like them stacked."

"Nah, more than a handful is a waste. Me, I like a nice, round ass."

Traveling across town, Deidra listened to their increasingly ribald qualifications, wondering if she'd become one of the boys or if they were simply testing her limits. Finally, her phone vibrated, letting her know Guinevere's recent messages had downloaded. She checked them over, carefully shielding the light to protect the Weres' night vision.

"Guys." Her sharp voice stilled the discussion on how to tell if a woman might give good head. "We need to go over and stake out Smithbrook Coffin Company."

She looked over the group, their faces now serious; these days, caskets and zombies went hand in hand. "Looks like the Dantowitz kid and Ginny will be heading over there in the morning. I want to check it out before they arrive."

A series of grunts acknowledged they understood.

"Food first?" one of the recruits asked, as they pulled into the Were-owned strip mall where they'd left their cars.

Goddess save her from young Weres and their grocery bills. "Food first. We'll need to pick up extra munitions as well. Plan to meet back here at oh-two-hundred hours."

Huey turned off the engine and cracked open a window. They all took a deep sniff of the freezing air from the early March night. No zombie stench—they were clear. The Weres exited the side doors en masse before scattering to their rides.

"You heading back with me? Ezzy would love to see you," Huey offered.

Ah, she didn't think so. Given the pheromones he shot off right now, he'd prefer to be alone with his wife. "No, thanks, I need to make a report and get some specialized weapons. Tell Ezzy I'll catch up with her later."

As soon as she closed the door, the van took off. She ran to her car and headed out too. She had just enough time to get to her private stash of weapons and back before they were to meet up again.

By then, hopefully, she'd have figured out how to convince Guinevere she was sorry and that they should be together. Forever. The Goddess clearly didn't believe in easy paths.

Babs Martin "Whiskey and Water"

Babs Martin performs in-your-face music born of small clubs and life on the road. She's fresh, talented, and well worth a listen.

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Under the Gun - Michael Mandrake -- AND a chat with Sharita Lira!!

Sharita Lira is the living host to several talented voices, including Michael Mandrake. She generously agreed to spend some time here today. So, allow me to introduce Sharita to those of you who may not be familiar with her:

Sharita lives east of me in the remote community of Chicago...

...where she gets along well with her neighbors.

She enjoys quiet time...

...and recycling shopping bags.

Please welcome my friend, Sharita Lira.

Q) What inspired you to write professionally?

SL: Something in my head went off and said, hey you need to do something you love to do and maybe try making a little money off it. Oh and the friends encouraged me as well.

Q) Writing fiction, erotic or otherwise, takes a writer out of their everyday life and comfort zone. To go there, writers usually insert themselves in one familiar place. I know one author who actually does his best writing in Starbucks. Another rented a room above a garage two blocks from her house. Where do you write?

SL: I write at the kitchen table most of the time only because there really isn’t room anywhere else in the house at the moment. We’re looking to create a writing space now. J

Q) As a writer, what is your ultimate goal?

SL: My ultimate goal is to satisfy my readers with stories that evoke emotion, engage and teach. I strive to get better at this everyday. I read all I can from other experienced authors, I research topics, articles on writing. I take classes as well.

Q) How do you juggle home, career, family, and writing?

SL: I really suck at it. It seems I never have enough time in the day especially now that I work outside my house but I still sucked at it when I was home all day. My family needs more attention. Just ask them. *giggles*

Q) Why did you choose to write under a pen name, and how did you decide what name to use?

SL: Well I technically have 4. 3 professional pennames. Michael Mandrake, Rawiya, and BLMorticia and then my fanfic name SaharaDuran. Michael is the gay male muse. I wanted something different and I thought Mandrake fit. Also, I recently learnd Mandrake had something to do with gay males. *laughs* Rawiya is Indian for storyteller. Rawiya ia the sensual muse that tells contemporary romances regardless of orientation. Then, BLMorticia ia my original writing muse. At 19, I begun writing under this name when posting at ERWA. She’s my oldest muse and the snarky one who is the rebel of the group. They’re all facets of my personality.

Q) Briefs or boxers on your men? Why?

SL: Boxer briefs? IK, I just like them. I prefer none at all.

Q) Silk or satin sheets? What color? Why?

SL: Black satin sheets are sexy!

Q) What have you had to sacrifice to become a writer?

SL: The rest of my sanity. *laughs* Oh like I had some. *giggles* Erm, I’d say time with my friends. They don’t get that I don’t like to go out as much anymore.

Q) When the day arrives you have to stop writing, what's the one thing you hope your readers will remember?

SL: I hope that never happens. I wanna write till I die! But if it did, I want the readers to remember how I write with an open mind and try to engage and inspire my readers.

Thanks David, here is my gay male muses new book, Under the Gun!

No Boundaries

Amazon

All Romance

Barnes and Noble

Camdyn Hardy is a former cop who has his own private investigator business. Due to a misunderstanding from a client, he gets into an argument with his lover Tay. Right after, they breakup Camdyn is left alone to think about his future as a PI and his love life.

                                  

Malik Day was recently discharged under the DADT policy and is looking to get his life on track The main reason he joined was because he dreamed of being a ranking officer. Now that it’s been taken away, he desires to start his life anew and find someone to share it with.

After two weeks the men meet at a shooting range and find out they have a lot in common. Once they engage in a one on one match, they proceed to a bar to have drinks and get to know one another better.  They both discover their affinity for guns as well as Camdyn’s need for a new partner at Camdyn & Associates. Malik is intrigued but afraid to ask him and decides to wait till they are closer. Camdyn is excited about this prospect as well but waits for Malik to say the word. Finally, in an erotic encounter, true feelings are revealed.

In subsequent books, the story continues where the twosome begin their work and love relationship. Together they’ll take on cases investigating cheating husbands or wives, companies with defector employees all the while trying to maintain their newfound commitment to one another as well as having a little fun in the process.

When he made it to the office, he signed the necessary papers and waited as the man finished his transaction. Lazily, he leaned on the counter and nonchalantly glanced at a hot looking man that stood less than twenty feet away. Malik grinned and moistened his lips in the gorgeous stranger’s direction.

Damn.

The attractive guy gave him more than an eye and winked. Obviously, he plays on my team. His lush brown-and-blond hair barely kissed his shoulders. Beautiful azure eyes the same color as the Pacific. Lips so slim and kissable, Malik knew he could enjoy them for hours. Wicked visions crossed his mind as he eyed the scruff on the man’s cheeks. He liked a little roughness when making love.

The snug, black shirt fit well, hugging his bulging muscles. Malik eyed the ink that peeked from under one sleeve and salivated. His skinny, black jeans clung to his taut buttocks; Malik’s own trousers felt a little tight in the crotch. “Mhmmm.” Malik tried to keep his stares from being obvious to the clerk. 

Would the hot man like to play with him a little? Malik sure hoped so.

It had been a long while since his last fuck. He’d spent the time searching for employment, going to job fairs, and not getting any call backs. Malik had remained so focused on getting a job; he’d ignored the signals of his groin needing a release from other than his own hand. Too long. He headed for the door and wished the handsome man would follow.

Maybe it’s time to stop looking for work and attempt to find a man.

Just when he stepped out, a voice stopped him. 

“Hey.”

Malik slowly turned around. It was indeed him, the hottie he’d been eyeing. It shocked Malik to see the guy was actually speaking to him. “Hello.” Malik was taken aback by the guy speaking to him, but he guessed he warranted a greeting when they exchanged more than a passing glance.

The man stepped closer to him and held out his hand. “Name’s Camdyn. And you are?”

“Malik.” He accepted the handshake and returned it firmly. “Nice to meet you.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Same here.” Malik noticed Camdyn continued to hold on to his palm. Of course he didn’t mind; it felt unexpectedly soft and warm. “Um, you been comin’ here a while?”

“Yeah, I um…” Malik stopped short and bit his lip. He tried not to sound too excited. This was the last place he’d expected to be picked up at. The shooting range? Malik would’ve never thought of this place to meet other gay men. 

“I been around, but I just got back in town.”

“Yeah? I’m guessin’ from the getup you served in the Army.”

“Uh huh… I um… yeah, let’s go outside.” Quickly, he pulled his hands away, even though he didn’t want to. Surely, he wanted to talk with Camdyn some more, but away from others coming in and out of the shop. He felt a little uncomfortable being picked up at some place so manly, but in a way, he liked it.

The Literary Triad - http://www.thelitriad.com/#!

Michael Mandrake – http://tabooindeed.blogspot.com/

BLMorticia - http://blrawiyaerotica.blogspot.com/

Rawiya - http://rawiyaerotica.wordpress.com/

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