Monday, February 22, 2010

Dee Dee Day excerpt by Mykola Dementiuk

In this excerpt from Dee Dee Day by Mykola Dementiuk, a young man arrives in NYC - it's a new city, with new dreams…but will he be able to forget the old and start anew? He rents an apartment from Dee Dee Day…who gives him a little bit more than he expected—love, passion, sex with her…or is that with him?

This work is dedicated to Victor Banis and Ann Bannon

Dee Dee Day
Publisher: Extasy Books (February 1, 2010)
ISBN: 978-1-55487-480-4
Cover art by Angela Waters


Like all basements, it was musty and dimly lighted with spider webs in the corners. There was something sinister and evil about the entire cellar, rather like a dungeon meant for someone to be trapped and chained there, not one who came here just to check out the environment. I shook my head. I certainly didn’t want to be here.

“I’ve seen enough,” I said, turning back and wanting to return upstairs.

“But they’re right here,” she said, her hand atop a box that was stacked with other boxes in a corner. She opened the top and a sly smile broke on her lips. “Oh my, I forgot I had these.”

I stopped, turning back. “Have what?”

She pulled one out and then reached for another one, holding a slim paperback in each hand. They were dusty and moldy, but she had a sinister, dreamy look about her. “You know, I read every single word in these, seems like yesterday.”

I picked up a book. Moldy, certainly, made you want to sneeze and cough. Sex in the Shadows read the cover, a half-dressed girl was sitting on the floor as another paced about behind her. I picked up another one, Tutor from Lesbos, and rifled through others. Gay Girl, Gay Wrestlers, Man Hater, S & M Office Girls, on and on it went. I scowled, flipping the books down, “Just girl stuff, not my cup of tea.”

She looked at me, “Yes, I forgot, you’re a man and you like other men, is that right?”

I was about to say something, but decided not too. She winked at me and moved the box her feminine books were in, then was looking into another one. “How about this?” she smiled and handed me another paperback.

The Gay Underworld it read and showed a male figure in garter belt and nylons, the bulge in his crotch a clear indication that he was aroused, and was bare-breasted with a blond wig atop his pretty made up face. I was instantly aroused.

She smirked, “I thought you’d like these.”

I picked up a few more, Naked in the Night, The Greek Affair, The Cruising Class and others. “Some nice titles you have here.” It was too much for me. I started sneezing, but I was able to say, “Bring these upstairs.” I sneezed again and ran up the stairs.

Upstairs the air was cleaner, not so musty or stuffy with old books and withered paper. I had another cup of coffee and reminisced about old times in bus stations around the country. In most every town I was in, I seemed to gravitate to the bus station, where I’d travel via bus most everywhere I went. Of course many times I had to hitchhike and save whatever money I had and get to a town as broke as when I started.

Dee Dee came up the stairs and in each hand, she held two or three paperbacks and was smiling at me.

“I never thought I'd find this,” she said, holding one out. I Am a Woman by Ann Bannon. “I have one for you, too.” She showed me, The Why Not by Victor Banis.

“And the others?” I asked, gesturing to the other books she held.

“Oh, this? Just a reminder to George—it would be interesting if he still remembers.”

I looked at the books for George. Disciplinary Action, Penthouse Maids, Lady Cabbie and it was obvious these were crossdressing books. I blushed again.

“Does George like to get dressed up?”

She smirked. “No matter how feminine he tried to be, he still looked like man dressed in girly clothes. Some guys just can’t do it, you know?”

I knew that very well. With Randy, we played at it, but I looked like a ridiculous sham so I got out of the clothes and let Randy dress as he knew best.

“Gee, I never read this,” I said, flipping over the pages of The Why Not. “What’s it about?”

She laughed. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She winked at me and began to read her book, I Am a Woman.

I looked at the back cover of Why Not and read gay throng of third sex and looked at the front, again. “Victor J. Banis’s scorching excursion through the gay world of the lost and the not-so-sure…” That certainly sounds like me.

“You know what we should do? Start our own bookstore for the connoisseurs.”

I smirked. “With these books? Doubt you’ll sell any.”

“I’m not talking about—” she looked at me. “What’s the name on the place you work?”


“Yeah, not no hoity-toity place like your store.” She winked at me. “Rather, a
place where only the select can enter. That’s because we give them what they’re
looking for. Don’t you think that’s a grand idea?”

I looked down at the book I was holding. “Can’t say it doesn’t have its merits,
but you really think anyone will come in for this?” I held out the Banis book.

“And what’s wrong with this?”

“Nothing. Except they just aren’t collector’s material, that’s all.”

She snorted. “As if you know what’s collector’s material?”

I shook my head. I was having enough of this hopeful but hopeless dream of hers.

“I suppose,” I said, flinging the paperback to the coach. “I should get dressed.
The day isn‟t getting any younger.”

“Yes, you do that,” she said as she buried her head in the Ann Bannon book, I Am A Woman.

I looked at her, and imagined that‟s the way I looked reading a paperback in bus stations. I shrugged, then shut the front door and went up to my room.

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Monday, February 15, 2010

Come This Way anthology, excerpt from An Apple a Day by Victor J Banis

Sometimes, a single foot is a journey of discovery....

An Apple a Day in the anthology Come This Way
Publisher: Regal Crest Enterprises, LLC (April 2, 2007)
ISBN-10: 1932300821
ISBN-13: 978-1932300826


Whoever would have thought, Ben had thought often, that feet would matter so much. Clyde's feet, for instance. His gaze shifted to them. Clyde was younger than he was, no more than twenty, twenty-one at the most. He was good looking, in a countrified way, and even in the baggy overalls and the worn work shirt he was wearing, it was evident that he had a lean, hard body, the overalls bunched, his long legs spread wide, and his feet, his—really—enormous feet…

"Don't you think so, Ben?" Clyde's wife, Maude, asked, snapping him back to reality. He looked surprised at her, blushing as if she might know what he had been thinking about her husband. But, what had he been thinking? Now that it was gone, he couldn't remember.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I guess my mind wandered."

"He does that all the time," Angie said in a scolding voice, "I swear, he's the worst husband, he never pays the least attention to anything I say."

"Of course I do," Ben said; but he could not think now what the others had been talking about, Angie's voice droning on and on like the motor of her sewing machine.

"Chickens," he said in a moment of inspiration. They had been talking about chickens. Chicken feed to start, and then chicken recipes and then…but then his attention had wandered.

He glanced at Clyde and found him smiling faintly, as if he knew where Ben's mind had really been—wherever that was.

"Ben's looking peaked," Maude said. She got up from her chair. "I think we'd better head on home, Clyde."

"Oh, no," I'm fine," Ben said quickly, aware of the resentful glance his wife shot him, but Clyde had stood up now, too, and pulled his watch from his pocket to frown at it briefly.

"Ten o'clock," he said. "Didn't know it had got so late."

Everyone stood up. Ben found the couple mostly boring, but he was sorry at the same time to see them go, sorry to have the slight diversion they provided ended. Nothing to do now but call it a day and go to bed.

"How's Ben coming along, Angie," Maude asked her, just as if Ben weren't standing right there. "Is that new doctor doing him any good?"

"Seems to be," Angie said. "Myself, I can't see the sense of running into the city every week just to have some doctor poke around and stick you with a needle, but Ben seems to have perked up some since he's been going."

Maude looked directly at Ben then. "What'd he say the trouble was, anyway, this new doctor? Your glands, was it?"

"Something like that," Ben said. "You know how doctors are, they like to keep everything mysterious."

"Ain't that the truth," Maude said. "Well, Clyde…"

Ben was glad after all when they had gone and Angie had taken the dirty coffee cups into the kitchen to wash them. She detested letting dirty dishes stand, even a quartet of cups.

He made his way upstairs, to the simple bedroom that he and Angie shared, half pausing at the closed door to the room they used now for storage. He had all but stopped wishing for someone to occupy it.

"The doctor says I can't have any," Angie had explained to him time and time again, and she would get sore when he suggested that they might at least try, until he had given up suggesting it. It wasn't the trying that mattered to him. He had never found that as pleasurable as other men seemed to do. It was just that he would have liked to have a son, and that was, after all, how they were gotten. He suspected that Angie's reluctance had more to do with avoiding what she called "that wickedness" and less to do with any doctor's instructions, but he wasn't about to suggest that either.

He undressed quickly and hung his clothes neatly in the closet, the way she insisted, and put on the long woolen nightshirt that hung on the door. He hated it, hated wearing it, hated the feel of the coarse wool on his body. Once, a long time ago, he had tried sleeping without it, but Angie had been furious, calling him a letch and a sinner and so many other vile names that he had sighed wearily and put the nightshirt on after all, and he had worn it nightly since then, summer or winter.

He heard her footsteps on the stairs and closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. He felt the lights go out. Angie always undressed in the dark. He had never understood how she found her own nightgown, or managed to hang up her clothes so neatly. He wondered briefly what she would do if he just got up and crossed over to her bed. How long had it been since he had done that? He couldn't even remember, except that she had complained bitterly when he did so, and sent him back to his own.

After an astonishingly short time, Angie began to snore softly. Ben opened his eyes and stared into the darkness. Oddly, he found himself thinking about Clyde Akins. He felt pretty sure Clyde and Maude didn't fall asleep right away every night. Once, at their house, he had managed to peek into their bedroom and had seen that they shared one enormous bed. Clyde wouldn't even have to get up and walk across the room if he felt the need. He had only to turn on his side, move closer...

An image of Clyde, in bed, sprang into Ben's mind. He rolled onto his own side. His last thoughts as he drifted off to sleep were of Clyde's big feet. He saw them out of the work boots he usually wore. Bare feet. Naked…


Spring had lingered this year, and the weather was still pleasant. Later, in summer's heat, the walk into town would be more arduous, but for now it was pleasant. The apple trees were in bloom. It would be late summer, early fall, before they began to harvest them; then, the trips into the city would become impossible. He dreaded that prospect.

For now, though, the trip was no more than a little troublesome. Most of the farm was in orchards. The trees needed some attention in the spring, but that he had done already. There were garden crops, but he worked extra hard on those during the other days so that he could have this one day of the week free.

He wore overalls, much like Clyde's except his were older and one knee was patched, and a blue denim work shirt so faded it was nearly white, and he carried his lunch in a brown paper bag under one arm. He glanced up once at the sun and quickened his pace. The last train left at six thirty. If he missed that, he was out of luck.


It was a two hour ride into the city. He got there at eight thirty, and would have to catch the train back at four thirty. Brief, but time enough for his treatment. He passed through the station and was on the street, excitedly aware of the people around him, the cars in the street, the noise, so different from the quiet of the farm.

It was only four blocks to the cheap hotel he had found on his first trip. He went directly there. The man at the desk showed no sign of recognition. He never did, although by this time he was certainly used to seeing the tall farmer in his country clothes come through the swinging door into his diminutive lobby.

They exchanged no more than a half dozen words. Ben paid for the day in advance, and another five dollars for the cheap cardboard suitcase the clerk stored for him. He took that and climbed the narrow stairs to the third floor, to his room.

It was none too clean. Despite the no smoking sign on the wall, someone had smoked there recently and the lingering tobacco scent mingled with the musty odor of a room rarely aired out, and the mattress on the bed sagged alarmingly toward the middle. None of which bothered him in the least. The truth was, he scarcely noticed.

He wasted little time there, just enough to shed his shirt and his overalls, and the long johns he wore under them. He took a skin tight tee shirt from the suitcase and put that on instead, and form fitting levis without nothing between them and his naked flesh, taking a sensual pleasure in the rub of the fabric over his bare genitals. He wore the same boots he had worn on his trip from the farm, but they looked different with the change in costume.

He looked different. It might have been a stranger that gazed back at him from the cracked mirror. He tugged at the bulge of his crotch, pulling himself from left to right, which he had discovered all on his own made everything more prominent. He smiled at himself, trying to feel at ease, but despite the experience of the last several weeks, he still felt nervous each time he descended the stairs, ignoring the clerk who stared at him from behind his shabby desk, going back down to the street.


At lunch time, on a nice day, as he knew from previous visits, the little park would be crowded with loungers, all of the benches taken, but it was only midmorning now, and he found an empty bench and sat down, facing the marble fountain. He did not watch the passersby, but kept his eyes shyly downward. All he saw were their feet, an endless parade of them passing by, some hurrying, some shuffling, some looking like they were about to break into dance.

That was how it had begun, really, with feet. An innocent stroll along the beach. Still early in the season, and in the day, time to kill before his first appointment with that new doctor. He had been alone, or so he thought, until he saw the feet. Bare feet, four of them, two facing two.

Of course, he knew that the feet were not disembodied. He could see where they joined to ankles, and even a bit of calf, and there beyond the feet were bathing suits that must have earlier encased flesh and blood hips before they were cast discarded upon the ground, and shadows discarded there as well, for who needs shadows when the reality is there for the savoring—shadows of torsos and the merest suggestion, but unmistakable for all that, of other limbs. A shadow hand that moved, stroking, and the feet came closer together then, meshed, until they might have been one foundation to a single column of glued-together legs. The toes moved in the sand, wriggling in time to the ragged breathing he could just hear where he stood frozen beyond the bushes. It occurred to him later: if they had looked, they would probably have seen his feet. Maybe seen the shadow of his hand, moving.


He did not have to wait long. For whatever reason, he never did. He hadn't sat for more than three or four minutes before a pair of feet slowed as they came near, paused briefly before him. Someone sat down beside Ben on the bench. Ben looked at the shoes, neatly polished oxfords, next to his old boots, and waited for the stranger to speak first.
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Monday, February 8, 2010

Daywalker Legacy excerpt by Amanda Young

Included in Daywalker Legacy by Amanda Young are the stories...The Hard Truth: Blackmailed into claiming a birthright he doesn't want, Cadge Johnson is thrust into a world of politics and intrigue. His only ally is old friend and former lover, Red Taylor -- a Nightfeeder he has kept at arm's length for decades. The sordid past they share is nothing compared to the trials ahead. After nearly a century of love, loss, murder, and deception, only the cold, hard truth will finally set them free...and...Secrets and Lies: After the near genocide of his race, Teague Johnson now spends his life hiding in plain sight. In a city populated by humans and Nightfeeders alike, he and his brother are forced to cloak themselves in forged histories in order to blend in among the hierarchy of society.

Teague's weekly trysts with Kyle Drake give him a reason to anticipate the future -- until Kyle unexpectedly disappears. Afterward, Teague's life is thrust under a microscope, endangering everything he holds dear. Allegiances are tested, and the lines of friendship blur in a race to stop an inhuman killer. Kyle's fate hinges on Teague's ability to untangle the intricate web of secrets and lies before it's too late.

Title: Daywalker Legacy by Amanda Young
Publisher: CreateSpace (January 19, 2010)
ISBN: 1449976689
ISBN13: 9781449976682

Excerpt from Secrets and Lies:

Teague Johnson appeared calm and in control at all times. He’d been accused of being a heartless bastard more than he cared to recall. It was a common enough misconception. No one -- save his older brother Cadge -- had ever been able to see beneath the icy veneer he shared with the world. Teague liked it that way. Especially at rare times like now, when his internal thermostat was set to boil, and he felt anything but composed.

The hard-on he’d woken up with that evening refused to go down. It outlasted an argument with Cadge about his endless obsession with the past and then continued unabated through the nightly procedures to prepare the club for business. Even now, as he walked through the crowd and nodded at people, his balls felt tight and heavy; his dick ached for attention from the one man he had no business fraternizing with.

Teague felt sure Kyle would show up tonight, as he had every Saturday for the last few months, but he was torn about how he should respond. If he were a smart man, he’d walk away and find someone else to fuck. There were bona fide reasons for why he shouldn’t form attachments to a human, regardless of what his dick craved.

To further rattle his concentration, the club was crawling with Nightfeeders and varying forms of shifters. Having so many creatures under the same roof made Teague twitchy. He didn’t mind the shifters so much; they could get a little rougher than necessary at times, but discretion seemed to be coded into their genes. Nightfeeders, however, were a different story. Teague’s skin crawled with thoughts of what they were capable of.

After five years of running Club Oasis and a lifetime of trying to blend in among the lesser subspecies of his own race, he should have been accustomed to being around Nightfeeders. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. The blood-sucking fiends caused too much trouble for him not to be wary -- for the kind of danger they posed to him and his human clientele. The last mess he’d been forced to clean up hadn’t been pretty, and he damn sure didn’t want to find himself in that sort of position again. He’d put safeguards in place to protect his members, but where there was a will, there was a way.

Teague broke away from the herd of people skirting the outer edges of the dance floor and headed across the room. The throng of bodies thinned out the further he walked, and he would’ve sworn the temperature dropped ten degrees. The club was hopping, people packed in like sardines as they swilled liquor and fed off the vibe of party favors and sexual conquests yet to come. Heavy metal music piped through the sound system, the guitar riff electric and wild, like the cacophony of human heartbeats echoing in his ears. He stopped outside the lounge -- a separate area cordoned off and insulated with thick, soundproof sliding glass doors for those members who wanted to socialize without having to scream over the music -- and surveyed the mob with all the enthusiasm of a man facing the gallows of yore.

“Yo, boss man.” Teague glanced at Joe, his right hand man and most trusted bouncer, who stood off to one side grinning like a loon. The flashing lights reflected off his wide forehead as he nodded toward the bar. “Your boy toy is here.”

“What-the-fuck-ever,” Teague scoffed, rolling his eyes. He kept his gaze locked on Joe’s ugly mug, although he yearned to look around for Kyle. The human was quickly becoming an addiction he couldn’t afford.

Joe laughed. “Your boy looks ripe for the pickin’ tonight. You’d better stake your claim before someone sweeps that pretty piece of meat right out from underneath you.”

“Men are not pretty, and he is not my anything.” So what if Teague kept vowing that he would stop fucking the stunning blond. He had yet to follow through with it, although he would have to end things eventually, possibly even later that night. After I have another taste of what Kyle is oh so willing to share. There was no shame in taking advantage of what the other man offered. It wasn’t like Teague had ever promised anything, other than sex.

“Well, you do what you like about the pretty boy, boss, but there are some new members who want to speak to you about reserving the club later this year for a private party. I know it isn’t something you like to do, but they’re waving around cash like it’s Monopoly money.”

Teague sighed. “All right. Go find them and bring them over, but I’m not promising anything.”

“Sure thing, boss. You stay put, and I’ll be right back with them.”

He waited until after Joe walked off before looking for the man who’d consumed his every waking thought and half his dreams to boot. He spotted Kyle leaning against the bar closest to the dance floor; the bright white T-shirt and snug faded jeans made him stand out like a spotlight amid the sea of leather clad partiers.

An aura of innocence clung to Kyle as he gaped at the spectacle around him. With his sandy blond hair, shorn close on the sides and long enough to hang down over his forehead, large expressive eyes reflected his nervousness more than the way he kept a death grip on his beer bottle, he looked like a virgin waiting to be deflowered.

Teague’s intimate knowledge of Kyle belied the man’s appearance. That didn’t prevent the thought of being the one and only to despoil Kyle from making Teague’s dick leak. He reached down and discreetly adjusted his package. I’m definitely getting a piece of that tonight.

Teague spotted Joe approaching, several other men tagging along behind him, and pulled his gaze away from Kyle. There would be plenty of time for dalliances later, after he took care of a little business.
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Monday, February 1, 2010

Paul’s D’Marco excerpt by Leiland Dale

Matt D'Marco has happily settled in his routine for years. Now with a pending divorce, recently promoted Matt's life is about to take an entirely new direction.

Matt's first case as detective turns out to be a challenge. Desperation sets in when all leads in the child serial killer case leave the police department empty handed. Paul Whittington, psychic and medium, may be the only solution in finding a break in the case.

Matt and Paul are forced to work together. But when a work relationship turns into something more, it challenges everything Matt's known about himself, his life, and desires. Then, a turn in the case could put everything at risk.

In the end, can Paul win over Matt's resistance and claim him as his own?

Paul’s D’Marco
Silver Publishing (January 9, 2010)
ASIN: B0036FU1B4


Walking into the terminal of the tiny airport, I don’t get that feeling of coming home. Yes, this is my hometown, but it’s just too much. Tired of people unable to decide if they want to approach me or avoid me, I left for the preferred isolation of Forks a year or two ago. I find people either avoid me because they’re homophobic or approach me because they’re curious to find out if a deceased relative has a message for them.

All the hustle and bustle of the airport reminds me why I left in the first place. Dealing with the residents of the town is difficult enough but still having to deal with spirits of the dearly departed on top of that, is just too much. The crowds are probably the most difficult with so many spirits so close together. It always feels like they are screaming at the top of their lungs directly in my ear.

Collecting my luggage at the carousel I keep an eye out for the police officer my brother-in-law has sent to pick me up. This is just what I need, a babysitter with a badge.

As I step out to the front of the terminal, a police car pulls up to the curb. I wait patiently for the police officer to get out of his car but I’m slowly becoming irate with the spirits talking in my ear.

When the officer steps out of the car and turns to face me, I let out an audible gasp. Never in my life have I ever seen a man this big. A commanding six foot four god towers over me. Muscles like huge irons bars, shoulders wide enough to hinder him from entering a doorway easily. Short light brown tousled hair and those eye…..those brown puppy dog eyes. This was definitely the most beautiful man I have ever seen. I can’t take my eyes off the gorgeous Adonis approaching me. Without realizing it at first, I lick my lips. I can’t move. I stand there, staring, unable to speak.

“Hi. Are you Paul Whittington?” The officer holds out his hand as he approaches me.

“Umm…Yes,” I stammer. I braced myself, knowing I will have a vision the moment we touch. I reach out and shake his hand. Nothing happens. Confused, I pull my hand back. This has never happened to me before.

“The captain sent me to pick you up and bring you to the station before you get settled.” The gravelly voice was giving me goose bumps. Still at a loss for words, I quickly divert my gaze to my luggage. I can’t believe the instant desire I feel when our eyes first connect. I can still feel the trembling of my knees as I try to bring myself under control and shake off the desire surging within me.

“Let’s get your stuff loaded in the back so we can head to the station. The captain wants to speak to you.” I hear the officer mumble something under his breath as he gets into the car but I can’t make out a thing he says.

I turn to the officer. “Are you always this rude, officer? Or is it just part of your charm?”

“Listen, my name is Detective D’Marco not officer. And just so that we understand each other, I’ll make it clear and simple. I don’t believe in the hocus pocus you do and honestly I don’t give a shit. Stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours. I have a case to solve and having you hanging around is just giving me more work than I already have. I don’t have the time to be anyone’s babysitter,” he answers rudely as he pulls away from the curb.

I sit staring at the detective in shocked silence. My God. Detective D’Marco is probably the most insufferable and uncouthly person I have ever met. He might be a breathtakingly beautiful Adonis, but still an insufferable ass.

It looks like my life has just become a bit more complicated.


The silence in the car is a welcome reprieve from the chaotic thoughts going around in my head. What the fuck just happened? The moment I get out of the car and see Paul standing at the curb, I’m overwhelmed with lust like I haven’t experienced since I was a teenager. What the hell?

Paul, with the long brown hair with red and blonde streaks falling just below his shoulders, the greenest eyes and the most luscious lips I’ve ever seen on any human being literally makes my knees weak. Remembering Paul bend over, throwing his suitcase in the back of the car has my cock hard in seconds. The five foot seven man sitting next to me in the confined space inside the car is much more impressive than the picture the captain showed me earlier. Much more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever dated, including my ex-wife.

Never in my life have I thought of a man as beautiful.

What the fuck is happening to me? I’m shocked. I divert my attention back to the road trying to get the uneasiness in my stomach and the hardness of my cock to subside.

“So, are you one of the detectives working on this case?” he asks, interrupting the awkward silence and my uncomfortable thoughts.

“Yes. This is a very delicate case and it looks like there might be a leak somewhere in the department. Since the article hit the front page news a couple of days ago, Petersen and I, and now you, are the only ones assigned to this case. We’re keeping a tight leash on it.” I say as I try to keep my attention off the beauty occupying the passenger seat. What?!? I just thought of a man as a beauty! I try to keep my eyes and mind on the road.

Catching movement out the corner of my eye, I turn my head and glance over at Paul and see him looking out the side window trying to discreetly wipe a stray tear from his cheek. I have the intense urge to pull the car over and hold the man in my arms to soothe him. Turning my attention back to the road ahead I wonder what has upset him to bring tears and the sad look to those beautiful eyes.

After a moment of silence I hear him shift in his seat and I can feel his eyes watching me, intently.

“Well, I’ll help where I can. I can’t promise that I’ll be able to give you any information. We’ll need to see where it goes,” he says. I grip the steering wheel tighter, and my knuckles begin to turn white. The urge to reach out a hand to clasp the one on Paul’s lap is overwhelming. I don’t understand what is happening to me. I’ve never felt this way.

My thoughts go back to the latest crime scene, seeing the bodies of the blonde haired boys bring back an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Yeah, we’ll see.” I grunt. “We’ll be at the precinct soon.”

Focusing on the road again, not another word is spoken. I struggle with my thoughts and try to understand why I feel this way and where these feelings are coming from. This is new and I feel shaken. This is far from anything I’ve ever felt in my life. Why do I feel this attraction to another man? It doesn’t make any sense to me. These thoughts begin to cross my mind at a million miles per hour.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see he’s still lost in thought, looking out the window. I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking about right now.

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