Skyping With Alasdair

Here’s a snippet from The Ancient, in which Bruce has a particularly erotic Skype session with Alasdair:

“Did I look like this?” Alasdair said, slipping the robe from his shoulders.  Bruce stared at his nude, muscular torso and he nodded, afraid to speak.

“Did I feel like this?”

Alasdair took those strong hands and started stroking his chest and abdomen with a lazy, sensual motion.  He closed his eyes and let his head fall back, his lips parting, and his hair hanging down.

“Bruce, please,” Alasdair whispered, barely audible.

It was Jeffrey’s voice.

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Porsche’s Anguish

This is from The Merchant Of Venice Beach, my story in the Summer’s Day anthology. Here, Porsche is confessing some of his tortured childhood to Bartholomew:


“You were bullied too, then.”

Porsche nodded.

“It was subtle at that age because they were afraid of my family, but as I got older and I realized I was gay, all bets were off. They would corner me in the bathroom, and one would watch the door while the others would-yank my pants down and-“ he closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again “-taunt me with stuff, I-I don’t want to say what.” He shrugged. “The last year of high school, they weren’t too proud to let me blow them though; it was the only way they would leave me alone.”

Bartholomew looked up to see Porsche’s cheeks flaming, and tears coursing down his cheeks. Anguished, he came out of his chair and knelt at Porsche’s feet, taking his hands in his own.

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Vows Of Heaven

This is from my WIP, Vows Of Heaven. Hamish has just been told that his father’s ghost has been sighted and he’s worried about seeing it on his midnight watch, even though he doesn’t really believe. He’d rather think about his lover Oliver.


As soon as he heard the soft snick of the latch, Hamish uncovered his head and stared at the ceiling; he had a feeling sleep would be a long time coming. He once again threw the sheet back and strode to his closet door, flinging it open.

“There it is,” he breathed, pushing aside his suede play outfits.

Hamish withdrew the leather riding crop and held it to his nose, still smelling the mix of sweat and pain/pleasure that lingered there. He swept it swiftly through the air, enjoying the whistle, imagining it landing squarely on Oliver’s delectable ass.

Maybe I’d better get the ball gag out too,” he mused, letting his father’s ghost fade into the back of his thoughts.

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Evan’s longing

This is a snippet from my first short, Beautiful Lightning, about Evan Llewellyn, a recluse with severe self-esteem issues, and his not-so-small crush on the post lady who brings his mail–one of his only human contacts. He’s left her a note.

“Mr. Evan Llewellyn?” She smiles.

He smiles too. Her voice is like tinkling wind chimes, and she has gotten his name right. He hears her saying his first name, hears her whispering it—

He shakes himself, recovering.


She holds out a small electronic pad.

“I have something you have to sign for, sir.”

“All right, wait just a moment.”

Sighing, he opens the door a little wider, moving his face behind the door, then sticks his hand out to take the pad. He signs his name and gives it back to her, then takes the package and the small pile of mail from her as she holds it out. He’s glad he could avoid touching her fingers, because he can feel his own shaking.

“Thank you, Mr. Llewellyn, have a nice day.” She turns to go and he shuts the door, a little disappointed. He watched her read the note, but she didn’t tell him her name. He had the words picked out and everything. Maybe she has to work up her courage too. He wishes he weren’t so abrupt, so—unreceptive.

He puts the mail on the dining room table, then starts to go to the curtain to watch her leave. He jumps as he sees a small note card come through the mail slot. He picks it up, trembling, then turns it over, reading the one word written there—


He closes his eyes. It’s like a song.

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Carl’s Renfield

This is a snippet from Talk Of The Town, where Carl, Craig, and Oz have left the apartment for the bonding reception at Smokey’s, leaving the cleanup in Barney’s capable hands. We know what’s in Craig’s and Carl’s glasses, now don’t we?

ps I apologize for slightly more than six sentences, but the thought needed to be continued 🙂 and for those who aren’t familiar, Carl IS Dr. Fiorentino…

Barney tipped his hand to them as they got in their taxi, headed for Smokey’s.  He loved Dr. Fiorentino, and now Mr. Hansen.  He smiled as he went inside, down the hallway to the elevator and their apartment, getting out his key.  He wanted to tidy up for them, and he always checked the apartment when Dr. Fiorentino left, anyway.  He was glad to do it.  He would do anything for them, anything at all.

He gathered the glasses they had used and brought them into the kitchen. He rinsed them out carefully, then dried them and put them back on the rack that held them..

…But not before he carefully ran his finger around the inside of Craig’s glass, then Carl’s, greedily licking off what he found.

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Hamish and Oliver

This snippet is from my modern Hamlet adaptation and current WIP, Vows of Heaven. This is in between the “too too solid flesh would melt” speech and Hamlet/Hamish finding out that his late father’s been spotted:

Hamish lounged naked in his room, waiting.

He’d gotten out of that conference room not long after Larry and Oliver had left, and he’d gone right to his suite to take a shower and get ready. Maybe he’d even have Oliver top him, he was in the mood for that. He could sleep after his lover left for his pissy lunch date with his pissy mother, anyway. He tried to keep an image of Oliver in his mind, but that did nothing to chase away the disgusting picture of his own mother rutting with Claude like a bitch in heat.

The soft swish of the panel hidden behind the full-length mirror thankfully blew those away like poisoned smoke.


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Sexy man
One young naked man with sexy strong muscular beautiful wet body holding one hand on genitals and other raised standing on black studio background, square picture

What came after…

This is a continuation of my Rainbow snippet of yesterday, in which Jeffrey used some tough love on Bruce; it’s a little long, but I wanted to show Bruce’s actual breaking point:

One of the nurses gasped, then made to go to Bruce, but Jon put his hand on her arm, shaking his head.

“That—that was an asshole thing to say,” Bruce muttered, his chin pointed toward his chest.

“I had to make you angry enough to want to fight, my love.”

Jeffrey watched, crushed, as Bruce’s face started to twitch, his eyes anguished pools. Jeffrey sat on the edge of the bed and gathered him into his arms, mindful of his medical tethers, and Bruce looked in his eyes.

“I’m in love with YOU, Bruce,” Jeffrey whispered. “Not your legs. Do you hear me?”

Jeffrey took Bruce behind the neck and gently pressed him into his chest, hugging him as tightly as he could, his eyes squeezed shut as he rested his chin on the top of Bruce’s head.

“Don’t ever turn away from me, Bruce. Don’t. Not after all we‘ve been through, apart and together.”

He smiled then.

“Remember what Poppa Lando said when he blessed us? The night I asked you to marry me?”  He leaned down closer, whispering in his ear.

“That night of wild monkey sex?”

Bruce nodded, smiling a little in spite of his own tears threatening to spill over.

“Support each other in the dark times, for it is then that you will need each other the most,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

“You‘re stuck with me then,” Jeffrey said. He looked down at Bruce in his arms, and saw his face twisting in sorrow.

“I–I’m sorry I yelled at you. I love you, Jeffrey, please don’t leave me alone–,” he said, his voice quavering and fragile. Bruce pushed his face into Jeffrey’s chest and started to cry, unmindful of the pain, not caring. Jeffrey rubbed his back, his own tears coming again. He had a fleeting thought, wondering how long it would be until they would both stop crying.

“I want my legs back!”

Bruce screamed the words, the force of it going into Jeffrey, straight to his heart. Bruce’s wall broke then, huge wrenching sobs tearing out of him. Jeffrey murmured to him as he stroked his hair.

“Just let it out, my darling, we’ll get through this, you can bet your sweet little ass.”

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