Hyper Erotic Electronic

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Jasper Time Again

Little by little, I'm refocusing attention to the long-neglected Jasper side of my writing.

First order of business was to make this book, The Crux of It, Erotic Tales of Men on the Cross and the Women Who Put Them There, previously available in print paperback only, into a Kindle offering at Amazon. Three stories totaling approximately 41,000 words tell tales of male crucifixion, the erotic kind, one set in ancient Rome, one in the American West of 1880, and one just some place and time I made up so I could hang men and women on crosses for their tongue baths.

Oh, the pain and pleasure of it!

You can see the Kindle version at Amazon HERE The Crux of It

There are text excerpts and audio readings by Jasper himself at the Jardonn's Erotic Tales.com web site HERE

Want another taste? Try this snippet from The Banquet, and read of a retired Roman gladiator who knows how to entertain his master's guests.

With a violent yank of my arms I break free the grasps of my guards. I charge toward the tables where terrified and clueless guests scramble to escape my path. My eyes are wild with madness, the look of a killer. My fists are clenched, muscles flexed, as I kick a table and send all of its contents flying through the air. I move to another, kicking and screaming, but as I streak toward my third targeted table, the goblet of Tacitus conks the back of my head. I stop in my tracks. I wobble, and I fall to the floor face down and unconscious.

"Tacitus! Tacitus! Hail, the mighty Tacitus!" they exhalt. "You saved us all from certain death."

Certainly, he did. Our script says so. Brass to skull produces a convincing thud, followed by an harmonious ringing. On and on they praise him, as I lay motionless, pretending not to hear. Once again, the guards take hold my arms, drag my limp carcass toward the mouth of Scipio, where nearby lays the cross, waiting for me.


"Bind him!" sneers Livilla, and her guards sprawl me atop the wooden t. My arms are stretched as I continue my feigned slumber, each of my wrists roped to the patibulum crossbeam. Nothing is done with my ankles, my heels rest on the floor at either side of the stipes. Livilla's trick, perfected with me as her experimental subject, her clever design coming into play once I become vertical. But for now, "Come, ladies," she invites. "We must torment him before his real torture can begin."

Torment, torture, my cue for responding to tongues. I awaken, look to my left and right where ropes bind wrists. I raise my head, observe my chest, my bondage causing its expansion. Two females here, licking me, kissing me on my ribs, my sternum, into my stretched-wide-open arm pits. Beyond them are two more, working my stomach, working my belly. Past them are two more, working my thighs, knees and shins. Guards grasp my ankles, pin them to the floor while stretching my legs, and I groan, I resist, I make attempts to break free. Every muscle is flexed, arms straining, chest rising, belly flattening. I arch my back, growl and grunt in low-toned, masculine sounds of defiance. My exhibition heightens their pleasure. Six females froth at the mouths, their frenzied tongues licking and hungry lips sucking and manipulating hands rubbing me will drive me to madness, drive me to the brink of orgasm, an under-the-loincloth and unattended waste of my seed. But Livilla knows me well. She knows my limits. Knows my nuts are on the verge of ignoring my brain and she shouts, "Enough!"

Get the picture? Gladiator's all riled up and they haven't even raised the cross... yet.
 
At the end of this three-story book there's an added bonus called Uncle Jasper's Quick Guide to Proper Bedroom Etiquette, a how-to on femdom / hero worship action without all the high-priced equipment.
 
That's enough of my Jasper McCutcheon ass-kissing for now.
 
Yours truly,
Jack McCutcheon

National Leather Association

WINNERS ANNOUNCED FOR NLA-I WRITING AWARDS

Because SM-BD excites Jardonn and Jasper, and because one of our frothing authors, James Buchanan, got a nod from this high-profile organization, I'm spreading the news.

(Columbus, OH) -- National Leather Association: International, a leading organization for activists in the pansexual leather community, announced the 2009 winners of its annual awards for excellence in SM/leather/fetish writing at its Annual General Meeting at Tribal Fire in Oklahoma City, OK on 2 May 2010.

The winner of the Cynthia Slater Non-fiction Article Award is Gloria Brame, "Transformation and Transcendence in BDSM," which appeared in *Filthy Gorgeous Things, *July 2009, the "Force" issue (available at: http://filthygorgeousthings.com/) in which Brame presented fresh insights on an old topic. Jeff Mann's "How to be a Country Leather Bear," which appeared in Richard Labonté and Lawrence Schimel (eds.), *Second Person Queer: Who You Are (So Far),* published by* *Arsenal Pulp Press, received the honorable mention.

The winner of the Geoff Mains Non-fiction Book Award is *Ask the Man Who Owns Him: The Real Lives of Gay Masters and slaves *(Perfectbound Press), in which david stein and collaborator David Schachter explore Master/slave relationships through the experiences of several successful couples. The honorable mention went to The Two Knotty Boys for *Two Knotty Boys Back on the Ropes* (Green Candy), a superb follow-up to their previous book on rope bondage, *Two Knotty Boys Showing You the Ropes* (Green Candy, 2006).

The winner of the Pauline Reage Novel Award is Claire Thompson for *Submission Times Two *(Romance Unbound), which chronicles the search by two submissive men for a shared master and the three-way relationship that ensues.

The honorable mention went to James Buchanan for *Hard Fall *(MLR Press),* *which explores a man's struggle to reconcile his religious faith with his sexual identity and interest in SM activities while he investigates a mysterious death.



The winner of the Anthology Award is *Like a Thorn: An Anthology of BDSM Fairy Tales* (Circlet Press)*,* a superb collection of stories assembled by editors Cecilia Tan and Sarah Desautels. Each story revisits an old fairy tale and retells it with a dark, erotic twist. The honorable mention went to Rachel Kramer Bussel for *Bottoms Up: Spanking Good Stories* (Cleis Press), a diverse collection of twenty stories that approach spanking from every conceivable angle.

The winner of the John Preston Short Fiction Award is Kieran Wyn Dewhurst for "The Last Mistress of the Chatelaine," which appeared in Cecilia Tan and Sarah Desautels (eds.), *Like a Thorn: An Anthology of BDSM Fairy Tales*(Circlet Press). A dark, erotic story like the others in the collection, it presents a delightful twist in a hot, engaging SM story. The honorable mention went to Jack Fritscher's "Goodbye Saigon," a great tale of rough trade that appeared in Phillip Mackenzie, Jr. (ed.), *Special Forces: Gay
Military Erotica* (Cleis Press).

Nominations for the 2010 awards will open later this year.

Congratulations to all the authors, and particularly to James Buchanan.

NEW Release! SLUGGO SNARES A VAMPIRE

My latest e-book short, the funny, eerie, creepy, and slightly romantic Sluggo Snares a Vampire has just hit the shelves! This week only, my publisher is offering it at 35% off...so here's your chance to have a small taste of my work for only $1.95.

Buy Sluggo Snares a Vampire here.

Synopsis
When Sluggo cruises online chat rooms, he isn’t looking for a hook-up, he’s looking for love. But love has a way of being elusive, especially when you’re not being honest. Presenting himself as “Sir Raven,” Sluggo promises his chat room cohorts he is the “master of the night.”

And then he meets someone who challenges him—someone who claims the title, “master of the night” as his own. TepesAllure’s enigmatic and flirtatious messages to Sluggo start out as fun banter, but quickly turn to eerie disquiet.

How does TepesAllure know so much about Sluggo life? How can he know—without even a picture to go on—what Sluggo looks like? And what’s all this about an age numbering in the centuries and a curious taste for blood?

Has Sluggo snared a vampire? Or has the vampire snared him? As the night unfolds, so do the advances of TepesAllure...and even when Sluggo tries to escape, he finds that getting out is not nearly as easy as getting in.

But to make their online connection real, TepesAllure needs Sluggo to invite him in. Will Sluggo succumb to Tepes’ allure? And will the man of his dreams turn out to be a nightmare?

Excerpt
...“Honesty is my strong suit, my little lamb. I think you’d agree I look pretty good for my age, which happens to number in the centuries. Think Brad Pitt in Interview with the Vampire. Think elegance and grace. And don’t worry about gym-toned bodies and steroid-enhanced pecs, thank you very much.”

Sluggo’s hungry mind conjured up the image: this fabulous creature at his keyboard, alone in some city apartment (a high rise, where the lights of Chicago’s skyscrapers were interrupted only by the dark void that was Lake Michigan). He realized suddenly how easy it had been to sucker in these online men who found themselves one hand between their legs while the other caressed the keyboard, as Sluggo played up to their fantasies, becoming God’s gift to homos and the devil’s Tantalus to straight women. He wanted to believe it was some strange and evilly alluring Brad Pitt at the other end of their electronic connection. But what was this strange business about being centuries old?

He typed: “Methinks you’re a little too enraptured with horror cinema.”

“Horror cinema has got nothing on me, my little bespectacled piglet. Horror cinema has managed to get so few of my traditions right as to be truly laughable. But there has been one tradition, rule if you will, they’ve always succeeded in getting correct.”

Sluggo rubbed his arms. There seemed to be a sudden, odd chill in the room. He glanced at the window and saw the black night pressing against it, almost as if it was something solid and alive. He shook his head, realizing he was being silly, and made a note to check the thermostat. He returned to the keyboard, wondering about the “horror movie tradition” Tepes had mentioned. “And what would that be?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

Sluggo rolled his eyes. Of course, you can’t. That’s because there is no such tradition. “You’re quite the mystery man, aren’t you?”

“You couldn’t even begin to guess.”

Suddenly, Sluggo’s spine stiffened as another shiver washed over him. But this was no chill as the result of the temperature in the apartment lowering because of a thermostat. No, this one—Sluggo could swear—had the feel of icy fingers caressing, just barely grazing the raised bumps of his spine, like long fingernails moving down his back...

Buy Sluggo Snares a Vampire here.

Forsaken

Thought about suicide. Again.

Not of my own . . . not that the thought's never crossed my mind, but no. I got news that my short story, Forsaken, was accepted by Untreed Reads Publishing. Naturally, I beamed but then recalled the story's subject and again, I remembered the suicide of a young man barely out of his teenage years. When this youth's untimely death came back to me all these years later, I fashioned a story from the memories. This was months ago.

The incident, actually, happened eleven and a half years ago. Such terrible loss . . .

Couldn't help but think, maybe all it would've taken to change the course of history, to talk that boy off that high-rise ledge, to even know he was heading up there in the first place, may have been as simple as picking up the phone when you recognized the young man's number on the caller I. D. Maybe. What ifs suck, sometimes.

Sadly, suicide is one of the most common issues GLBT youth deal with. I have a friend who, as a tender youth, discovered she was Lesbian . . . Being raised Southern Baptist and being Lesbian didn't play out in her mind. Out came the pills, the razor blades, and the booze. If I recall correctly, she was stopped only by a vision of her younger sister crying in agony. Unfortunately, the young man, who I also knew, didn't have anyone or anything to stop him from carrying out his most desperate plea.

He tried to reach out, seek help, seek some sort of comfort, after realizing he was gay. But he was shunned by family, friends, and even a few in the GLBT community he approached. "I-I thought he was coming on to--I didn't realize, he just needed someone to listen, affirm. . ." That was the reasoning, I was told.

Would've, should've, could've--not trying to push the blame on anyone. Hell, I'm probably just as guilty for I too didn't recognize the signs, when around him. We can't change what's done.

Wouldn't it be awesome though, if each one of us had someone there, a guardian angel perhaps, to help us in such a time of need? But that's wishful thinking. Though times have changed and people are far more accepting of the GLBT community, still, more often than not, GLBT youth succumb to suicidal thoughts. And more often than not, it is because they are forsaken by everyone around them . . . or at least, they feel as if they are.

In fiction, well, that's a whole different story. Literally. Having the incident come back to me during the Winter holidays, I chose to tackle the issue . . . but from a different angle, through the eyes of a guardian angel; and as with fiction, I gave my story a fairytale ending. Forsaken will be out this month at Untreed Reads Publishing. I invite you to check it out.

Bryl R. Tyne is a wrangler by nature and a writer by choice, published with Noble Romance Publishing, Ravenous Romance, Dreamspinner Press, STARbooks Press, and Untreed Reads Publishing. You can find out more about Bryl at: bryltyne.com

This post is X-posted to The Rainbow Studio, Bryl R Tyne's Blog, and Defying Description.

DRAQUAL Vampyres

COMING SOON TO YOUR NEAREST BOOKSTORE
From THE VAMPYRE, VLAD DRAQUAL (writing as William Maltese),
AND MLR PRESS —

BLOOD ON THE BIAS
Vampyres in Fashion
Second Book of the Draqual Vampyre Chronicles

A LOVE PROFANE …

…unnatural … obscene … taboo … forbidden … condemned …

… between Vlad Draqual, vampyre, and Roman Bonton, vampire killer ….

…convention defied! Blood shed! Disaster and heart-break in the making?

—From the Journal of Vlad Draqual, February 2010.

My Darkness Walks the Light moment is a long time in coming. I’ve beenkept from it twice. Once in being held captive by the vampire-hunters Familia Polinsturau in their mountain-crest citadel at Bolungova. Once by the Vampire Stephen Maru who wished to extract from me the secret of Ecstaçē Melange.

Therefore,I’ve had sufficient time to prepare and make sure all the necessary pieces are in place to make this happen, now, according to prescribed formulae.

I’ve commissioned from the wax artisan Jfay the Darkness Walks the Light candle, scented with chocolate, vanilla, amber, and with the other “secret” ingredients given her from my long-gathered cache.

I have Montezuma’s golden goblet stolen from Spain’s Prado museum andused in the Darkness Walks the Light incantation by Taxtla Draqual, during the Great Conflict that required the Trogolodyte be summoned from his deep and light-starved cave to slay the conquistador Romero Candiz.

I have the estate-bottled DRAQUAL 2005BV Cabernet Sauvignon whose grapes, in that year, were of just the right acidity and have been jealously hoarded by Family Draqual for just such a moment.

I have the chocolate wafers, easier made these days with Xoçai® than they were in other times when I would have had to traipse South American jungles and slow-cook the cocao on my own.

I have Guardellico Guardellian’s text, Astron/Astrol Primo Factoro, which confirms that all the planets and constellations are properly aligned.

Finally, from the bookshelf, I have the all-important last-but-not-least Grimoire Xylenona, its pages opened to the Darkness Walks the Light ritual recitation.

I begin the incantation: “Nosferatu illume…”

I eat the chocolate wafer; my sudden ability to retain solids not to be sustained beyond the ceremony.

I drink the wine; my sudden ability to imbibe liquid, other than blood, not to be retained beyond the ceremony.

I light the wick of the candle.

And, as a result, I, Vlad Draqual, vampyre, after many centuries of existing only within the darkness, am finally able, at least for awhile, to stalk the daylight hours without the usual disastrous consequences.

DARKNESS WALKS THE LIGHT CANDLE

Created by Candle Artist Jfay as per the specific instructions given to her
from Vlad Draqul as written in the Grimoire of Xlyenona, the DARKNESS
WALKS THE LIGHT CANDLE is a spell-binding vision to behold. Layered in
Red, Black, White, and Brown waxes with the inside filled with pieces
in White, the candle must be burned in order for the light to escape
and for the Vampyre to be able to walk in the light of day.

The Scent is also a spell from the Grimoire of Xlyenona, called NOSFERATU
ILLUME, and is a special blend of Chocolate, Vanilla, Amber and other
Secret Essential Oils and Spices.

You too can have your very own DARKNESS WALKS THE LIGHT CANDLE, which can
only be made by Jfay with permission from the Vampyres DRAQUAL.

http://www.wickdreads.com/bloodonthebias.htm

XOCAI CHOCOLATE ~ CHOCOLATE OF THE GODS

Used by Vlad Draqual in his DARKNESS WALKS THE LIGHT Secret Ritual

Xoçai™ X Power Squares™

The Xoçai™ X Power Squares use cacao that is blanched, unfermented,
sun-dried, non-roasted and cold-pressed, which means it boasts eight
times the levels of epicatechins and catechins, and four times the
levels of procyandins than cacao produced with standard processing. X
Power Squares are loaded with antioxidants and have an unparalleled
ORAC Value of 3,582 per 6g Square. The Xoçai™ X Power Squares are the
most powerful, health-promoting, decadent chocolate ever produced.

Exotic Xocai Chocolates Available Directly From Author William Maltese:

http://www.wickdreads.com/bloodonthebias.htm

Don’t miss reading SUCKS! BOOK #1 OF THE DRAQUAL VAMPYRE CHRONICLES by William Maltese now in bookstores everywhere, and online at bn.com

Draqual SUCK! Boxers!

Get a pair for yourself, directly from the author, William Maltese!

http://www.wickdreads.com/bloodonthebias.htm


To Experience All Things DRAQUAL, Visit: www.myspace.com/draqual

Vote in the annual LRC Awards

Voting for the LRC's "Best of 2009" Awards begins on FEBRUARY 15th and ends on FEBRUARY 22nd.

I’m up for three

Best Sci Fi/Futuristic Book:

The Edge of Desperation (Jason Edding and James Buchanan-MLR)

 

Best GBLT author 2009

James Buchanan

 

Best Mystery/Suspense 2009

Personal Demons (James Buchanan-MLR)

To vote:
Email  dawn_roberto AT yahoo DOT com with "LRC's "BEST OF 2009" Awards" in subject. If this is not in the subject it will not be counted. You are to vote from the nominee list on your pick. The list will be up in our loop files under "LRC Best of award nominees 2009".

All entries are to be in by 2/23/2010. Any entries received after that will NOT be counted and automatically deleted.

Here’s a NWS Excerpt from Beyond Duty in Edge of Desperation

Excerpt:

Qc4, Pc7, P1, D2

04:28hr

Alad woke smelling guy. Actually one guy, right up in his face. A deep breath drew in scents of the previous night's horizontal calisthenics. He yawned and felt a soft prick slide against his cheek. That rated opening his eyes. Oh yeah, right there, Hirah's cock lay soft against Hirah's furry thigh. Of course, pisk, how did he end up crammed down at the bottom of the bunk? These racks weren't made with his bulk in mind. At least his bulk plus a lean lieutenant.

With a quick glance, Alad checked the chrono panel. He had about twenty clicks before he and Ninda sprang their little surprise on the troops. Just enough time for a real reveille. Alad blew across Hirah's prick. Hirah mumbled something and shifted.

Alad moved in closer, sucked that soft, warm skin into his mouth. He heard Hirah grunt and felt his leg go tense. Alad kept sucking. Nothing equaled feeling Hirah's prick swelling between his lips. Hirah's hands ran over his skull, pushing him down. Alad took him deep, licking and sucking the meat in his mouth, until Hirah's cock was at attention.

"Seppe!" Hips bucking into the kiss, Hirah groaned out, "Swing that aft end over here. That's an order."

No way would he ignore a direct order—especially not one that promised what Hirah's did. Still swallowing Hirah's prick, Alad got up on his hands and knees. Hirah tugged on his legs as Alad shuffled over. Then it was Alad's turn to moan as Hirah sucked Alad's aching prick into his mouth. They worked each other hard, almost like it was a race to see who could make who blow first. The back of Alad's thighs frosted over with chills.

Hirah broke off a moment. Alad groaned again when a spit slick thumb pressed against his hole. He shuddered under the dual sensation of getting finger fucked while Hirah nuzzled his balls.

Alad sucked harder. He reveled in the feel of Hirah's prick sliding over his tongue. The musky taste rated higher than any wakeup juice on the market. Heat built in his gut as Hirah pumped his ass and started sucking on his cock again. The whole thing melded together into one massive ball of pleasure sparking through him. It didn't take long, not that early in the morning. Alad shook. He pulled off Hirah's prick and groaned. Hirah swallowed him as Alad's balls let loose.

A few quick breaths and Alad recovered his wits. He sucked Hirah down with determination. Bracing himself of his elbows, with one hand Alad massaged Hirah's sac. The other matched the pace of his mouth along Hirah's thick cock. Arching his back, Hirah jerked off the mattress. He hissed out, "Fuck!" as cum boiled out of his cock. Alad gagged for a second and then caught his breath. He swallowed all that thick, bitter spunk.

Panting, Alad dropped onto his side and then rolled onto his back. Give him that kind of wakeup juice every morning and Alad'd die happy. ‘Course, he couldn't stay there and revel. Alad looked over at the chrono again. Three clicks before Ninda came looking for his ass. Alad grunted and sat up. Yawning, he ran one hand over the fuzz carpeting his scalp. That he followed with a spine popping stretch.

As he swung out of the bunk, Hirah slapped his ass and asked, "What's the roster for the morning look like?"

Alad scrounged for his gray short-sleeved tee and light-weight fatigues. He'd stashed a set in Hirah's quarters the night before. "Ninda and I—" He found the fatigues first, stepped into them and yanked the pants up over his ass before continuing. "Scheduled a physical training endurance-formation run."

"Sounds like a walk in the park." Hirah swung his legs over the bunk and rolled his neck. "Time to rattle and wake 'em?"

As he jerked the shirt over his head, Alad asked, "You're coming?"

"Wouldn't miss it." Hirah slapped Alad's thigh and then hit the button popping his rack back up into the ceiling recess. "Need to keep fit."

Holiday of Love . . . Unrequited

Unrequited love, oh yes, we've all felt its sting.

When your friends point out that you're crushing on your straight neighbor or co-worker, do you deny it? Worse yet, do you inwardly swoon from that celebratory slap on the ass that gets you all worked up, when your obviously heterosexual tennis buddy just can't seem to contain his excitement in the win. What if the tables were turned?

I'm uncertain how the majority of heterosexuals would react if their Gay or Bi friend made a pass or let a fragment of what one was feeling slip. I could only hope it would be favorably . . . indifferent, at best, though I have my own experiences to prove otherwise.

I think my self-proclaimed "straight boy" is the exception. At least, I'm proud of his actions and reactions in the face of such advances. One recent event had me a bit troubled for the "other guy," though. Seems our Zack is quite the charmer.

Out of three adult boys . . . I guess, that would be, young men . . . Zack ended up straight (poor thing). But that hasn't slowed the onslaught of wanna-be beaus. I just didn't realize he was so desirable to such a wide array of candidates, until I discovered "the love letter". Seems, one of his best friends from high school has taken a liking to Zack, and unlike me (and I'm sure, many of you), this friend is far from, shall we say . . . shy about his intentions.

"You have a boyfriend?!" It's not every day that your straight son shows you a love letter from a guy; I had to ask.

"Another wanna-be," he told me.

"You have more than one chasing you?"

"Well . . . yeah. Just not all guys."

"Oh."

To speed things up, Zack informed me that he wanted to let the guy down easy, because he didn't want to hurt his feelings. I thought that was kind of lame, but to each his own way. Come to find out, the young man in question is one of Zack's best friends and Zack did not want to stop being friends, just wasn't sexually interested in the guy.

"What are you going to do, then?"

"Dunno," he told me, matter of factly.

"So . . . think maybe you're--"

"No. He's just a really nice guy. I'm straight."

"Okay."

Anyway, Zack spent the good part of the last month and a half on the phone every night with his friend/wanna-be more-than-friend. I did question whether or not he thought he was doing the right thing by not being straightforward as I'd hate for him to lead the guy on only to crush his feelings in the end. Zack assured me he was handling the situation the best way he saw fit.

In the end, Zack's friend came out of the ordeal unscathed--almost. "I'll just have to get over you, I guess" were his friend's words--or so Zack informed me later.

"Still friends?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"You handled that well," I told him. "Weirded out by it or anything?" My curiosity to know what was going on inside got to me.

"Nah," he said. "I look at it like this: I got both girls and guys chasing me."

"Yeah?"

"I must be that good."

My only thought: Well, the apple certainly didn't fall far from the tree there.

Anyway, here's a little candy I snagged online (can't remember where, but if you recognize it, give me a shout so I can credit you).

Have a wonderful Valentine's Day!

Bryl R. Tyne is a wrangler by nature and a writer by choice, published with Noble Romance Publishing, Ravenous Romance, Dreamspinner Press, and STARbooks Press. You can find out more about Bryl at: bryltyne.com

This post is X-posted to The Rainbow Studio and Defying Description.

NEW COVER for TALES FROM THE SEXUAL UNDERGROUND

Tales from the Underground, my new collection of erotic fiction and non-fiction from MLR Press, is getting close to coming out...fingers crossed for March, but for sure in April. Check out the wonderful cover from artist Deana Jamroz.

FROM THE BACK COVER

I wanted to write about people who were not just out, but out there, people who lived their sexual lives in ways most of us could only imagine…and for whom the flavor vanilla had absolutely no appeal. I interviewed porn stars, prostitutes, self-proclaimed sex pigs, and delved into bizarre sexual practices. It was eye-opening, arousing, and a lot of fun (but never, never good clean fun). I also include here my favorite dirty stories. They all explore a side of life that exists not in the twilight zone, but in my favorite destination…the sexual underground.

EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT
Fill it to the Rim…
Ask your mother, or any of your straight friends, to use the word “rim” in a sentence as a verb and they may be hard pressed to come up with a response. Oh sure, Mom might say, “Grandma’s lovely mixing bowl was rimmed in fleur-de-lis.” But for the most part, your straight friends probably think of the word rim as a noun.
 
But ask your gay brethren and you’ll come up with an entirely different response. The rim of their favorite coffee cup is probably the last thing to come to their filthy little minds when that particular three-letter word arises in conversation. “Rimming” or “tossing a salad” are just a couple of metaphors for the act known less delicately as “eating butt” or for those of a more clinical semantic bent, analingus.
 
But how safe is putting your tongue where the sun don’t shine? Once again, I will reiterate my claim, before I go any further, that I am not a doctor, nor have I ever even played one on TV, so what I say here should not be construed as medical advice. It’s only the results of my own feeble research into the topic that I present here, so take it with a grain of salt…or a shot of penicillin…or a hepatitis vaccination. Which brings me to my first point: hepatitis. Other than winding up with a shit-eating grin, your biggest risk when it comes to rimming is contracting hepatitis, A or B, maybe even C. Face it, butt munchers, the easiest way to get hepatitis is through fecal matter and you’re bound to come into contact with some if you go sticking your nose (and your mouth) in a loved one’s butthole, however tight, pink, hairy or beautiful that little rosebud may be. The good news here is that you can allay many of your worries by visiting your doctor and getting yourself vaccinated against the dreaded virus(es). Then you can munch away with abandon, bearing in mind that you have not been vaccinated against other nasty little critters you could pick up this way, like parasites. As with most any gestures of affection, you must weigh the risks and benefits of any such display and decide what is right for you. Keeping your nose out of others’ business is your decision, as an educated consumer. 
 
You may be wondering about that old bugaboo we hear so much about these days: HIV. From what I’ve learned, rimming is not all that likely to give you the dreaded virus, provided you have a healthy mouth (no cuts, sores, blisters, icky gums, etc.) and he has a clean ass free from any sores, rips or cuts. We won’t even get into felching here. 
 
I guess when it comes to tossing a salad, cleaning the kitchen, or whatever fanciful term you choose to dress up your taste for butt with, the key words are common sense and caution.
 
So, dear ones, I close with two clichés: bottoms up! And bon appetit!

NOTES ON DEBAUCHERY from I, DEBAUCHEE author William Maltese

Upon first contracting with MLR Press for its publication of my “I” series of m/m books, it was always my intention that my I, DEBAUCHEE (just released) should be the first in the line-up, if just because of my long-time fascination with the subject matter: Extreme indulgence in sensual pleasures; dissipation.

My initial fascination revolved around my early penchant for all things “Roman Empire”; that time frame one of extreme indulgences wherein debauchery was, more often than not, synonymous with lust and gluttony that included banquets with courses of humming-bird tongues, dormice … of carp fattened on the human flesh of murdered slaves … of wild boars stuffed with live thrushes that took wing when the beast’s belly was sliced open … of rabbits with swan wings attached to resemble Pegasus … with special rooms (vomitoria) for periodic purging that allowed the feasting to continue, non-stop, for days on end … all accompanied by marathon fornication among the diners.

Later, of course, I learned of libertines, during all periods of history, who used food as if it somehow signified sexual prowess. The infamous Marquise de Sade, renowned for his debauchery, fed prostitutes chocolate laced with the dangerous aphrodisiac Spanish fly before masochistically and sexually making short use of them.

Excessive dining, of course, not always needed to definite the term that, likewise, can include … being led morally astray or into dishonesty and vicious practices; corruption leading to loss of chastity; excessive indulgences; licentiousness, drunkenness, bad habits; promiscuity…

My first inclination was to write I, DEBAUCHEE as a period piece, set in ancient Rome, or in some decadent royal court of pre-revolutionary France. And while hot and heavy sex in my novel occurs in such places as an Italian island grotto, the French Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, even in the dungeon of a Rumanian lodge, and in the inner-sanctum of the ruined Transylvanian castle of Count Dracula, I decided that there was already so much written about the debauchery of past times, but so little written about the ongoing debauchees of the present.

While true debauchery requires great deals of money to back it up, purchase its pleasures, grease the wheels to make it happen (who dares be a great debauchee if he or she needs always be fearful of being caught, reprimanded, even arrested, and jailed?) … and while the present world economy is presently flushed so far down the proverbial toilet bowl that it has many mistakenly believing that great wealth, and the excesses that go with it, are possibly things of the past … I know for a fact that there are people out there, still, with so much money, power, and influence, that they make the debauchees of earlier times, including mere emperors, kings, marquises, and counts, look mere novices in comparison.

However, with the inclination of today’s readers of m/m fiction to be so romantically inclined, and more likely to prefer their reading material, even of debauchees, not so far off the scale as to have stomachs turned by the kind of excesses that are not only still possible but can, and do, occur, daily, within a segment of today’s populations that can afford them, I’ve concentrated on contemporary characters who are a tad more sympathetic than many of their counterparts, and whose appetites are not so far different from yours and mine as to seem totally alien. I’ve even, hopefully, instilled within them a sensibility about love that has them yearn to experience it, even as they realize that their ability to indulge every conceivable sensation, can, and does, make true love for them far more difficult to achieve than pleasures more easily and quickly purchased by merely opening their pocketbooks.

Of course, by way of supplementing, this tale … of all that money can buy … I’ve once again called upon the creative genius of wax-artisan Jfay, to provide me with an “I, DEBAUCHEE CANDLE” to not only be included within the story-line but to personify, universally, the kind of money-is-no-object excesses that this story and its characters are all about. Once again, she has come through, this time with the visual epitome of an object one merely needs look at to conjure all sorts of candle-lit orgies of sheer debauchery in palaces, castles, mansions, and within island grottos, where food and wine flow in abundance, and where the naked and near naked super-wealthy cavort in sheer licentiousness and amusement, while the rest of the world, and its less fortunate, are pretty much ignored..

William Maltese Websites:

www.williammaltese.com

www.myspace.com/williammaltese

www.facebook.com/williammaltese

www.myspace.com/draqual

www.myspace.com/maltesecandlegallery

Author William Maltese, Cover Model

Of Love and Music

Music, few things in this world are so transcendent and eternal. From the first time humans put their hands together and found rhythm, to the complexities of a Beethoven symphony, music has existed as long as we have. It’s one of the few forces that’s unstoppable, endless. It crosses cultures with the ease of the wind to remind us we all share the connection of being human regardless of who we are or where we come from.

Music has always been in the background of my life. Memories of my early childhood are filled with listening to my father play rock on his Les Paul or Fender Stratocaster, and as I write this now a Mozart compilation CD is playing. It was while listening to the Queen II album I realized I wanted to pursue writing seriously. With always having a love of music, melding it with my love for writing in crafting my novel, CONQUEST, was the ultimate combination.



In the time since CONQUEST has been released, I’ve been asked many times who are my favorite musicians, are Jesse and Evan based off any real life singers, what band does Conquest sound like. While in my mind I have a clear vision for what the band Conquest as a whole sounds like, and I can clearly hear the tenor of Jesse, the baritone of Evan, there isn’t any one particular band or singer who I know of that’d sound exactly like them, which is perhaps the best thing about them. As people read about Jesse and Evan, they can make their sound their own.

For me, there’s nothing more wonderful than when a reader tells me they hear my characters in the music they love. I’ve come to learn and appreciate how valuable music is to people, how if there’s one topic many are eager to discuss, it’s their favorite musicians. Music binds us all. Different cultures, different ages, different social classes, different genders, we can all be touched by that one chord, that one beautiful voice.

And it’s here that the cliché follows as I say that love is the same way. Like the first notes of a song that resonates instantly within the heart, so does love. Can anyone of us really say why we like the music we do? Sure we can say it’s the singer, it’s the beat, but what strikes you doesn’t always strike another. Can any of us say why we love who we do? Certainly we can say because they’re attractive, they have a great sense of humor. But we don’t fall in love with every attractive person we see. We don’t want to enter a relationship with everyone who makes us laugh. So when it comes down to it, what music we listen to, who we share our lives with, from our souls to our physical bodies, it’s simply who we are.

Am I thinking too deeply on it, or perhaps too simply? Just like music, that’s for you to interpret. All I know is there’s a reason why love songs are so popular, why so many couples have a song and how others turn to music for comfort when a breakup occurs. Just like how we live our lives by the relationships we have, romantic and otherwise, many of us mark the moments in our lives by songs. I’ve used music make happy times richer, sad times easier to bear. I’ve heard my exact emotions in the lyrics of a person I’ve never and will never meet, felt my mood reflected in the notes of a piano.

Years ago, I worked as a manager in a large multi-media store. I was standing at a cash register one day and saw a woman about to leave empty handed. She looked upset, and so I asked if she had found everything okay. She glanced at me, her face holding so much sadness.

“No,” she said. “I was looking for a song, but your associate couldn’t find it. But it’s not his fault. I don’t know the name or who sings it.”


I stepped around the counter to stand by her. “Do you know any of the lyrics? Was it a man or woman singing?”

“It was a man, and his voice was just so beautiful. The song, it’s about knowing someone is still close to you.”

I saw her eyes moisten, it seemed to take more effort for her to speak. I smiled, because I knew the artist and song. “You’re looking for Josh Groban.”

Hope filled her expression. “Do you think that’s who it is?”

I nodded. “Come with me.”

I took her back to the music section and Josh Groban’s self-titled debut CD, which had only recently been released at that time. I picked it up from the rack and held it toward her. “This is it. The song is, ‘To Where You Are’.”

She held the CD, staring down at the cover. “I wish I could be sure before I bought it.” She looked up, instantly apologetic. “I’m not saying you don’t know, I just wish I could hear it first.”


I didn’t know the meaning this song held for her, but knew whatever it was, it held great importance. “No, it’s alright. Let’s go over here.”

We walked over to the displayed stereos and I took the CD back from her. I tore away the plastic wrap to the brand new, not-yet-purchased CD.

She looked at me with wide eyes. “Should you be doing that?”

“No,” I laughed. “But it’s okay.”

I popped the CD in the player, skipped to the right song, and as the first notes sounded with Josh’s rich baritone floating over them, the woman’s expression became a mix of joy and sadness.


She turned to me. “That’s the one. That’s it.” Then before I knew it, she wrapped her arms around me in a gentle hug and softly said, “Thank you.”

I had never seen her before, and never saw her again, but in that brief moment, music brought us together. It didn’t matter who either of us were, where we came from, what beliefs we held. In that moment, music made us nothing more than two people sharing in its beauty.

In writing CONQUEST, my passion for music grew to a new height, as did my understanding about it and love. Now I wonder, what musicians have touched you? Who is your favorite artist? Is there one special song that brings you back to a moment in your life? I would love to know, but I also understand that music can be very private and personal, just like love. So as you finish reading this, take a moment and think of all the harmonies that have played in the background of your life and how music has touched you.

The Allure of the Tattoo

Some tattoos are worn to symbolize the individual, some to boast, label, or revere individual characteristics, circumstances, or people in the person's life. And I'd venture (though not speaking with expertise on the subject) some are even used by gangs.

But what is the allure? What do we find so intriguing about a faded anchor, entwined with a thorny rose, inscribed with the name, Lulu? Or any of the elaborate tribal bands that encircle biceps or calves, the Kanji symbols adorning the backs of necks, or the assortment of colorful spreads of flowery designs and mythical creatures spread shoulder-to-shoulder or hip-to-hip that we must inquire their origins from the owners?

In one of my current WIPS, my surfer turned P.I. sports quite a number of distinctive tats himself, because that is who he is, at least according to him. I never stopped to ask him why, though I know how and when, he got them. If I think about it, I've never inquired but simply admired quite a number of beautiful tattoos in my life, never questioning any owner . . . until now.

Now . . . well, last week to be more precise, when an eight year old little boy came crying off the school bus, rushed into the house—then into the bathroom to furiously scrub away at his face, neck, hands and arms with some funky concoction of rubbing alcohol and baby oil. When I inquired to the reason for his behavior, he simply replied through the tears that he didn't want to get kicked out of school and . . . "I think we need more baby oil."

Apparently, his four packages of child's vanity tattoos that he so proudly pulled from his Christmas stocking and later splayed over and across nearly every inch of available skin, trying in vain to impersonate a number of characters at once from the Anime, Naruto, didn't go over well with the teachers. He had violated "dress code," his teacher had told him. The tats had to go or he'd be suspended.

Cut the kid some slack, I thought. For Christ's sake, he's a child—a little boy ecstatic about a simple (and cheap) gift, who wanted nothing more than to enjoy it. They'd gotten my attention. My hackles were raised. I couldn't recall reading anything about tattoos in the school's dress code. I sat down with David and we looked it up.

Never mind that tattoos of any kind are not addressed in the code, and never mind that the code does not apply to Third graders or younger, the disclaimers were obvious and clear. "An item of dress, article of clothing, or accessory should not be deemed 'approved' simply because it is not listed herein" . . . and "The administration reserves the right to address inappropriate clothing on an individual basis in all grades."

According to the teacher, David was being disruptive, drawing attention to himself, distracting class.

Oh, the mystical allure of the tattoo . . . .

Such power to command every gaze in a room. I think next year, I'll have Santa put ten packages of those "apply-with-a-damp-rag" tats inside the boys' stockings.

Bryl R. Tyne is a wrangler by nature and a writer by choice, published with Noble Romance Publishing, Ravenous Romance, Dreamspinner Press, and STARbooks Press. You can find out more about Bryl at: bryltyne.com

This post is X-posted to The Rainbow Studio, Defying Description, and Bryl R. Tyne's author blogs.

THE BLUE MOON CAFE Gets a New Cover

It's always with some trepidation that I approach what a cover artist has come up with for a book of mine. After all, this is the face of my baby. I want it to be beautiful. I also want it to be compelling because I know it's a big, fat lie when people say, "Don't judge a book by its cover." In whatever context they mean it, they can and do. The cover helps sell a book almost, if not as much, as what's on the interior.

With the cover artist I work with at Amber Quill Press, Trace Edward Zaber, I am not as afraid when I get that e-mail telling me a cover design is ready. Trace is a great cover artist and I am usually over the moon with what he comes up with for my work. We've worked together on enough books that I hardly have to give him much suggestion or direction on what I hope to see. We're in sync.

The cover for my upcoming novel, The Blue Moon Cafe, is no exception. Trace managed to encapsulate exactly what I wanted to get across: that this was a horror story, yes, but at its heart, it's a love story. It's a book that I hope will make a reader's heart race for many reasons.

And it's appropriate that I'm sharing this with you today, because tonight is a blue moon, the first in a decade.

I'd love to know what you think of the cover. Please feel free to let me know your thoughts in the comments section below.

The Blue Moon Café releases on March 7, 2010 in ebook format, with the paperback version to follow approximately two weeks later. To read the first chapter, e-mail me at jimmyfels@gmail.com and I will send it to you.

What The Blue Moon Cafe is about:

Someone—or something—is killing Seattle’s gay men.

A creature moves through the darkest night, lit only by the full moon, taking them, one by one, from the rain city’s gay gathering areas.

Someone—or something—is falling in love with Thad Matthews.

Against a backdrop of horror and fear, young Thad finds his first true love in the most unlikely of places—a new Italian restaurant called The Blue Moon Café. Sam is everything Thad has ever dreamed of in a man: compassionate, giving, handsome, and with brown eyes Thad feels he could sink into…and he can cook! But as the pair’s love begins to grow, so do the questions and uncertainties, the main one being: Why do Sam’s unexplained disappearances always coincide with the full moon?

Prepare yourself for a unique blend of horror and erotic romance with The Blue Moon Café, written by the author Unzipped magazine called, “the Stephen King of gay horror.” You’re guaranteed an unforgettable reading experience, one that skillfully blends the hottest romance with the most chilling terror…

THE GREAT MALTESE CANDLE ADVENTURES

Vlad walkie-talkie cues the light man; in the main room, the lights go out; the plethora of Jfay candles simultaneously go on to appreciative gasps from the audience bathed suddenly in what seems purely candlelight but cleverly includes artificial glow emanating from the ice bales stacked around the room.

Cascades of blood-like liquid flow are projected on all empty wall space, accompanied by the amplified pulse of an actual heartbeat.

(Excerpt from SUCKS! Book 1 of the DRAQUAL VAMPYRE CHRONICLES)

And so the adventure begins for Jfay and her candles -- Whisked away by the Great Maltese (better known as Author William Maltese of International Fame) to far away places and on fantastical, and many times erotic and paranormal adventures!

Since the onslaught of the DRAQUAL VAMPYRE CHRONICLES and the candles that were designed for the entire theme and story-line, I have been very fortunate to have had the opportunity to work further with Mr. Maltese on other exciting projects and have had the honor of my candles as well as myself, in my Jfay persona, make appearances in subsequent story-lines.

I'd like to share this candle and story-line adventure with you as we have traveled with Mr. Maltese thus far........

I’m expecting an old crone, candle-making seeming to insinuate black-magic or even witchery. I’m pleasantly surprised by Jfay, wax artisan, who is an attractive woman, late thirties, with an absolutely charming southern accent, “Y’all come on in.” Her brown hair is perfectly coiffed. Her eyes are dark chocolate. Her lips are colored with just a hint of pale red. “I thought we could have cold Coronas and jalapeño snacks while we discuss the candle in question.

Our chairs are grouped around a round coffee table upon which sits opened beer bottles punctuating a bed of ice cupped within a large punch bowl parenthesized by two smaller bowls almost overflowing with spicy home-made chips.

“You’ve a candle color definitely in mind?” she asks and drinks some of her beer straight from the bottle.

“I’m thinking black, maybe representing the dark and the unknown but, to be quite candid, I’m not quite sure why I think it should be black; just that it should be,” Kenneth says. “If you can, please, include at least some brown, since I have an unmistakable feeling that those we seek are buried in the ground. You might slip in a bit of white by way of insinuating my hoped-for enlightenment.”

(Excerpt from BLACK CANDLE READER, in MLR Press' anthology LOVE ME DEAD)

Now, you have to know how excited I was to have the chance to interact with the characters in this story, to meet with them and design a candle for them intended for Candle-Reading, a power that Mr. Maltese has included in this story as well as his teen warrior saga, Flicker Warriors, which I will share with you in detail as well. But the Black Candle Reader Candle was designed for the characters in the story and also in real life as you will see here:

And next, for our adventures in FLICKER: The Teen Warrior Saga, as promised ~ FLICKER has been an on-going adventure traveled with Mr. Maltese that is set in Washington in the town of Flicker and centers around teenagers who possess many powers, one of which is Candle-Reading, and there are candles that are written into the story that possess certain powers and hold the keys to answers sought by the Flicker heroes and heroines. There have been a total of 5 candles designed and brought to life for Book 1, now ready to go into print after a nearly year long run of free chapter postings on the Flicker Warrior Myspace page. It has been a tremendous treat to have the opportunity to bring these special candles to life --

It all began in the past........

Uxana hurriedly handmolds a candle made of scraps of wax from other candles being careful to choose mainly the purple wax in which to contact Melissa, a Candle Reader, in the future.....

Uxana and Melissa make contact through their candles, one living far in the distant past, the other now in the future, breaking beyond the boundaries of time.

Their two candles, Uxana's crudely made purple candle, and Melissa's blue candle fuse into one spectacular candle and their scents combine in a BERRY SPICE FUSION, a magickal blend of Blueberries, Mulberry, Black Cherry and Clove....

(Flicker Warriors)

And from FLICKER to "Ludus Scaenicus Mortis Rubrae", which is a short story featured in MLR Press' Anthology, RED, a clever homage to Edgar Allen Poe’s infamous The Masque of the Red Death, which puts two handsome and horny aristocratic young male lovers among a company of ill-fated revelers locked within the castellated walls of Prince Prospero’s fortified abbey … the latter with rooms a-flicker with Mistress Jfay’s candles:

The progress of each and every is impeded by the many twists and turns of the Abbey’s rabbit-warren maze of rooms, tiny and big … corridors, wide and narrow … between us and the Imperial Suite. The lighting that accompanies our journey is just as erratic as the interior landscape we traverse. Some spaces have so little that they require either a familiarity or an actual dragging of a hand along one wall to make a successful crossing from one side to the other. In bizarre counterpoint, one of the smallest has seven very impressively large deep-red candles, each a-droll with red-orange wax, and smelling — to my surprise at Mistress Jfay, Candle-maker to the Prince, and me possibly sharing a similar passion — of blood-red oranges; the septet’s combined candle power is sufficient to illuminate a whole auditorium.


So, where shall our adventures take us next?

Well, I've designed a Mysterious and Magical Candle which possesses the captured soul of an avenging warrior meant to be a beautiful, yet deadly wedding gift for an evil king, as well as numerous other candle renderings designed to accompany many other Maltese works of genius.

Just recently I've learned that Jfay candles will be making yet another appearance soon in a new Maltese work in progress titled, I DEBAUCHEE -- So be sure to stay tuned for this one -- And it is not to be for the faint of heart from what I've been privileged to see. It is going to be a stunning Maltese no holds barred masterpiece, I'm sure!

To take a tour of all of the Maltese/Jfay Book and Candle pairings, be sure to visit the MALTESE CANDLE GALLERY: http://www.studio3bonline.com/maltesecandlegallery.htm

You can also visit the fabulous Mr. Maltese online at http://www.williammaltese.com

Join us for all of the excitement of FLICKER WARRIORS at http://www.myspace.com/flickerwarriors

Author William Maltese

Thank you William for all of the fun and excitement! Jfay xxoo

The Lot

A little holiday treat for you all

© 2008 James Buchanan

If Kyle heard one more go round of “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas,” he would step out into traffic. Sorry, no, Southern California…it didn’t look anything at all like Christmas. No snow except for the blown on fake shit in the flocking tent. With midday highs hitting eighty degrees, the only gloves in evidence were Kyle’s cheap canvas and leather work gloves. A hazy brown evening sky hovered around the tops of bone dry mountains. It made the Christmas trees and twinkling lights seem like a cheap hooker’s overwrought make-up…no matter how you looked at it, how well it was done, you just knew it covered something pretty trashy.

Kyle gritted his teeth and went after the bottom branches on the Noble Fir with a vengeance. Nothing like a four foot long set of loppers to get the I’m-not-in-the-holiday-spirit aggression out.

“Wait!” His customer’s cartoon feminine voice cut down his spine. It had only been, maximum, twenty minutes that he’d been subjected to the helium wonder of her words and Kyle already ached to use the loppers on her vocal cords.

Kyle plastered on the cheery customer service smile he’d perfected waiting tables before he turned. “Yes, ma’am?”

She pouted with an aging Valley Girl hip cock and a finger pressed to her bottom lip. “Do you have to take so much off the bottom?”

Fighting to keep the smile from slipping, Kyle stared over her shoulder and sang a refrain of “Hey Santa” in his head. The only song ever to combine Santa and cunt in the same sentence usually managed to keep Kyle from slipping into a postal wig-out.

Beyond Miss Annoying Voice, among the rows of Pines, Spruces, and Cedars roamed a man. Given that the guy wandered among the five-footers and still stood close to a head taller, he probably neared six foot. He stepped into a space between the trees. Kyle sucked in an appreciative hiss. Damn, shaved skull and a t-shirt so tight it could have been painted on, complemented a tight ass tucked into deep indigo jeans.

Absently, Kyle answered her question, “You, ah, won’t be able to fit it in the base you bought if we don’t.” What he wouldn’t have given to be those jeans.

“Ah, excuse me,” the cartoon voice jerked Kyle’s attention away from his mental drooling, “are you going to finish my tree?”

Kyle took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, just a second.” Then he called out toward the other customer. “Be with you in a bit, sir!” Be on my knees in front of you in a second if I had my wish. “Just finishing up here.”

A deep, throaty, “No problem,” answered him and Kyle had to turn before the chick caught him sprouting more wood than the artificial forest surrounding them.

As quick as he could manage, Kyle stripped the bottom two branches then manhandled the tree to her steroid-ridden SUV. He had to re-do the tie downs twice because she fretted that Kyle hadn’t strapped it down tight enough. Each second Kyle wasted with her was one lost investigating him.

Finally she roared out of the parking lot and Kyle jogged back into the rows of trees. Kyle found him nosing around the mini-me trees that didn’t hit higher than the guy’s knees. Leg’s splayed out, arms folded across his chest, the man drummed thick fingers against a bulging bicep. Kyle’s boots crunched over the packed dirt lot, announcing his presence. The customer looked over at Kyle. The deepest brown eyes Kyle had ever seen made a slow up and down tour of Kyle’s body.

“Hi,” Kyle tried not to sound desperate…for either a sale or a blow-job. Although he’d much rather have the blow-job, Kyle’d settle for having the guy walk out with a tree. “My name’s Kyle. See anything you like, Mr.—“

Another head to toe crawl ended in an amused smirk. “Mike.” The smirk widened into a grin. “I just might have.”

“Well,” Kyle swallowed, “What kind of tree are you looking for. You like the small ones?”

“As long as it’s good and thick.”

Kyle couldn’t resist the tease. “I got one more in the mid sized range and pretty thick.”

“Didn’t see any of those out here on the lot. Is it hidden back there?” Mike jerked his head toward the big red and white tent. Through the open flap, stacks of still bundled trees created a maze. “I’d appreciate you showing me one like that.”

Kyle reminded himself that he needed this job. A quickie in the storage tent could get him canned five days before Christmas. Mike, as though he sensed the hesitation, smiled and stepped close. God, Mike smelled like he’d been working in the sun, all musky and male. Kyle decided to hell with working the tree lot, half the stores in town sported help wanted signs. “I could show you one in the back.”

“Great,” Mike sauntered off toward the tent, “show me what you got.” Pausing at the entrance, Mike looked back over his shoulder. “You expecting any help anytime soon?”

Kyle stopped next to Mike and wracked his brain for time. Marco and Jeff left about half an hour ago and they had three deliveries and a drive-thru run to make. “The other guys’ll be back in maybe fifteen minutes.”

Mike stepped into the tent, snagged Kyle’s belt loop and used it as a leash to pull him inside. “I’ll be quick then.” Still steering Kyle by the grip on his jeans, Mike led them back between the rows of trees. When they were out of plain view, he shoved Kyle against a pile of firs. Mike dropped to his knees. Before Kyle could do much of anything, Mike had the button popped and the zipper down. Kyle groaned as Mike fished his aching prick out of its denim prison. “You weren’t lying,” Mike grinned up at him, “nice size, just how I like it.”

Slowly, Mike ran his tongue along the underside of Kyle’s half-hard cock. He traced the flare of the head and then blew across the wet trail. Kyle stifled a moan. Mike snorted, twisting Kyle’s prick to full glory in his fist. “Yeah, really thick.” Mike muttered. Still jacking the cock in his hand, Mike wrapped his lips over the head. Mike’s free hand wormed into the gap of Kyle’s jeans. Using the back of his wrist, Mike forced Kyle’s jeans lower.

Holy shit! Kyle shuddered as Mike’s searching fingers moved behind his balls and tickled his hole. His hips bucked into the delicious combination of fist and mouth. Mike released his cock and moved to squeeze Kyle’s sac. This time, Kyle didn’t suppress his groan. He could almost feel Mike’s smile around his cock. As Mike sucked Kyle down to the root, he shoved a finger up Kyle’s ass. Kyle squirmed at the rawness of it, forcing his prick deeper into Mike’s throat.

Mike took it, barely gagging. The suction he managed, combined with the finger probing his hole and Mike’s massaging his balls, lit up Kyle’s nerves like a string of flashing Christmas lights. He slid his hand over Mike’s sweat slicked skull. He was so off balance. The trees behind him didn’t offer any support and he couldn’t get a grip on Mike. Pine needles stuck Kyle’s bare ass adding a hint of pain. Kyle thrashed. Mike kept sucking and fucking until Kyle lost it. One moment he was just flailing and the next he was pumping his load into Mike’s hot mouth. Swallow after swallow, Mike took it all.

When Kyle was dry, Mike pulled his hands out of Kyle’s jeans. Mike licked his lips and grinned. “I’d say you got a few minutes to spare.” He stood and held out his hand to help Kyle stand. It took a moment for Kyle to get his knees back under him. It’d been a while since he’d gotten off like that.

“Oh, wow,” Kyle caught his breath, “thanks.” He hadn’t been this mellow since before Thanksgiving. Kyle yanked up his pants and tucked himself away. Christmas didn’t seem so bad after all.

“My pleasure.” Mike fished in his back pocket, pulled out a money clip and began pulling off twenties. “Sixty bucks, right?”

Suddenly, Kyle’s mood shifted from happy and sated to supremely pissed off. He may have been easy and horny, but he wasn’t that desperate. Jeans still unzipped and gaping, Kyle tried to back away. His retreat was blocked by the infernal pile of trees. “Hey look, that’s not what this was…” He sputtered.

“Kyle.” Mike grabbed his jaw and forced Kyle to look him in the eyes. “The sign outside says, ‘we deliver any tree over sixty dollars free’.” With a wicked grin, Mike used his other hand to shove three bills down the front of Kyle’s open jeans, right next to Kyle’s prick. Before drawing back Mike gave it a squeeze. “Sixty bucks, pick any fucking tree, and bring it by my house as soon as the other guys get back.” He chuckled. “I think I have the perfect present to open under it.”

~Happy Holidays~