Monday, April 29, 2013

Beyond Love excerpts by J A Harmon

Sometimes love is stronger than death.

In Beyond Love by J A Harmon, former foster child Gabriel Jacobs is determined to make something of his life. Easygoing and more comfortable in a pair of old sweats than the Brooks Brothers suits he will have to wear when he finishes his law degree, Gabriel is also a naïve romantic looking for love. That turns out to be a problem when the ghost of Adrien Beauchene, the son of a French plantation owner, makes an appearance in the house Gabriel just moved into. Adrien is convinced Gabriel is the reincarnation of his slave turned lover, a man he has spent 160 years waiting for.

Before long, Adrien gains control of Gabriel. He vows not to be parted from his love again, even if that means Gabriel must join him in the spirit world. But Gabriel’s best friend, Scott, won’t give up without a fight. He enlists the help of a gypsy witch and twin warlocks Jaivyn and Jaquan to keep Gabriel safe. As Adrien tightens his grip, Gabriel begins to fade, and Jaivyn grows desperate. He and Gabriel just met—Jaivyn can’t lose him now….

Beyond Love
Dreamspinner Press (February 8, 2013)
ISBN-10: 1623803411
ISBN-13: 978-1623803414

Excerpt 1:

In two weeks, Gabriel still has not ventured upstairs, probably because he believes that is where the ghost spends the majority of its time. Gabriel leaves the bedroom and looks around the front room, trying to decide what he should do. He knows he needs to get back to his old routine of taking a late-afternoon jog. It helps relax him, and he sleeps much better, but he hasn’t quite figured out the best route to take in his new neighborhood. New Orleans’ streets and sidewalks are not known for their easy passage. The sidewalks are uneven at best. In many places, the concrete has been uprooted by the large live oak trees surviving Hurricane Katrina, and the ghosts of those which did not survive. The streets are definitely not conducive to running; also uneven, the traffic is unpredictable at best. A city boasting drive-through daiquiri stands is not the best place to mix automobile and pedestrian traffic.

When he’d lived uptown at the Rat House, he would jog up and down St. Charles Avenue on the neutral ground, the narrow stretch of ground between traffic. Other than having to pause for cross traffic and occasionally moving out of the way of an oncoming streetcar, it was fairly safe. St. Charles is probably the most famous New Orleans neutral ground, because it is also the home of the Saint Charles Streetcar line. The streetcars are still the same green and brown wooden electrical cable cars that have run the tracks for over a hundred years. He has noticed several people jogging up and down the neutral ground on Elysian Fields and Esplanade. Gabriel decides he should go for a walk today and explore a potential jogging route.

He quickly changes into a pair of Ole Miss basketball shorts and T-shirt, puts on his Nike cross-trainers, grabs his keys, and heads out the door. He walks down Dauphine and turns west toward Elysian Fields Avenue. A mixture of Creole cottages and shotgun houses line both sides of the street. Most of them sit directly on the narrow walkway, but a few have small front yards or porches. It is easy to see the vibrant color this street once had, but now it appears faded, muted, and run-down. The sidewalks and streets are pitted, potted, and uneven. Broken shells, used here in addition to the normal gravel, poke through the asphalt and concrete. Some of the buildings, primarily those on the corners, rise to more than two levels. Many of these were once stores, bars, churches, and hotels. New Orleans is a city of bars and churches. Every major intersection seems to house one or the other, sometimes both.

After a few minutes, he arrives at the much wider avenue, Elysian Fields, named for the Champs-Elysées of Paris. He crosses to the neutral ground, which has served as a canal and a railroad during its varied history, and is now an avenue. The neutral ground here is wider than many, and once thickly lined with mature live oak trees, it has now been replanted with newer trees. Even in the coldest months of winter, the live oak wears its blanket of green leaves. Although they may reach great heights, they do not aspire to scrape the heavens like so many other trees. They are content to remain close to the earth. It is a live oak’s desire to cover and canopy those people who seek its shade, listening to their stories and holding their secrets within the thick coarse bark. Occasionally the older ones even reach down and touch the ground, resting their weary limbs upon the cool earth, providing the perfect place for climbing, sitting, courting, laughing, or crying. Katrina wreaked her havoc on these native New Orleanians, but now new growth springs forth as people have replanted many of the lost trees.

The mid-October break in New Orleans’ normally oppressive humidity inspires Gabriel to pick up his pace, and before he knows what has come over him, he’s running freely down the avenue. He feels the tensions of the past few weeks gradually move down his body to his flailing arms. Problems fly from his fingertips. Troubles are crushed under his advancing feet. His muscles, which started to think they were no longer going to be used, realize retirement has not yet come, and start to do their job again. Within moments he feels the old familiar rush of endorphins finding their home within his brain and everything is good with the world. Gabriel travels north along the avenue until he reaches the noise and confusion of Interstate 10, which cuts like a razorblade through many of the old neighborhoods of New Orleans, entombing history in its cold concrete and forcing fast and furious upon slow and easy. He loops around and heads back toward the river, back toward the house on Dauphine.

Excerpt 2:

Gabriel is in the upstairs room of the house on Dauphine, but it looks different. He lies naked and uncovered upon a bed in the attic. He faces an open window at the back of the house. The autumn breeze comes off the river, entering at the front of the house and drafting out the back. The sounds of the city mix with country sounds as cicadas sing their nighttime songs and horses clack along the cobblestone streets. Somewhere in the distance a baby cries, and a man raises his voice in anger.

He can also feel the warmth of lamplight and the presence of someone’s eyes on his bare back. As he rolls over, he meets the gaze of the man who stares at him. Adrien sits at a small table beside the bed, with the journal open and a pen in his hand. Adrien sees Gabriel is awake and closes the journal. His emerald-green eyes look piercingly into Gabriel’s own eyes. Gabriel recognizes the look of lust in those sparkling eyes. He has seen this look before, but he also sees a look of love, much deeper than longing and desire. He has never seen this look in another’s eyes, and has longed for it his entire life. Adrien remains motionless for a few seconds, and Gabriel has the opportunity to look upon his beauty. Adrien’s dark hair is pulled back from his face and tied in a ponytail hanging over his left shoulder, landing slightly above the darkened olive skin surrounding his nipple.

Gabriel is struck by the intensity of those green eyes, made even more lustrous by the long feathery lashes and dark, full eyebrows. Adrien’s brow is high and smooth, matched by strong cheekbones and a long angular jaw and nose. His face is a contrast of gentle smoothness and striking angular symmetry. As he rises from the seat, Gabriel can see Adrien is not only naked from the waist up, but also from the waist down. Gabriel is so taken by the beauty of his body he quickly draws a breath. It is not an overly developed body, but rather sinewy in appearance. The shoulders are broad and taper down to a thin waist. The perfect balance of his face is repeated by his body. The collar bone is somewhat pronounced as it gives rise to muscular pectorals, and is mirrored by the pelvic bones. Other than his head, forearms, and a shadow of a beard, his body is hairless above the waist. His muscular thighs are sparsely covered with hair, which grows denser as it moves down his shapely calves to thin ankles. A patch of darker hair, as dense as the hair upon his head, is gathered at his crotch, out of which rises his already semierect penis. It is an endowment which rivals Gabriel’s own, although Adrien is not circumcised.

Adrien moves to the bed and gently lies down atop Gabriel. They fit together in an almost perfect match. Gabriel feels breath upon his neck, and then tender kisses flutter along his skin like a delicate flower. Both sides of his neck are covered by these kisses, until finally those full, robust lips come to meet his own. He can feel the push of Adrien’s tongue as he parts his lips and explores the inside of his mouth. Gabriel closes his eyes and luxuriates in the feeling of Adrien’s weight upon his body and the invasion of his mouth. Adrien pulls his mouth away, and continues lightly kissing Gabriel’s chest, pausing at each nipple, tenderly nibbling the little mounds of flesh. Tingling radiates throughout Gabriel’s nerves, directly connecting with his groin as he feels himself beginning to rise. Adrien continues his exploration of Gabriel’s body until Gabriel lets out a gasp as Adrien takes him into his mouth. Gabriel tries to move his arms, but Adrien holds each of his hands firmly to the bed. He continues to feel himself grow longer and thicker as Adrien moves faster and tighter, taking all of him then withdrawing until he is almost freed from those lips, then down again. Gabriel can feel the muscles in his abdomen begin to contract and the pressure within him begins to rise. He knows he is close, but Adrien does not relent.

Gabriel opens his eyes and realizes he is no longer in the upstairs room, but back in his bedroom downstairs. He is disoriented because he can still feel Adrien devouring him, and knows he is approaching orgasm. He finally gives into the pressure building within him, and looks down his body at the same time. The covers are pulled off the bed. In the faint light from the open bathroom door, he can make out at the thin outline of a man lying between his legs. As he erupts in orgasm, he clearly sees the face from his dream looking up toward him. The face slowly fades like a picture developing in reverse, until only the faint glow of the negative remains, but the eyes are the last to fade. In those eyes, Gabriel sees the same longing and love he witnessed in his dream.

He lies there, unsure of what he is feeling. His mind tells him the experience should terrify him. He should feel somehow violated, but does not. He only feels exhausted and drained, but he also feels… loved.

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J.A. Harmon has always immersed himself in a spiritual and magical world. The son of a preacher man, he often found himself moving to new places. His only constant friends were the characters in the books he read and the stories he would write. J.A.’s creative writing took a side trip as he travelled down a road of self-discovery, which led him to religious education and law. He finally reunited with the friends of his childhood when life presented an opportunity to create stories once again. New friends emerged and old friends returned, taking new life in historic New Orleans, where J.A. lived for ten years.

J.A. currently lives in Louisville, Kentucky, the city of his birth, with a roommate and three cats (Momow, Bubby, Mikey and Ally—you decide who is whom). He currently supports his writing as an attorney, insurance agent, marketing consultant, and copy editor

Monday, April 22, 2013

Switch Hitter excerpt by Alex Morgan & Jon Michaelsen

In baseball, a switch-hitter is a player who bats both right-handed and left-handed.

In this excerpt from Switch Hitter by Alex Morgan and Jon Michaelsen, top ranked MLB player, Jase Dockery, was having a record-breaking year until a sluggish bat threatens to derail his streak. To the world, Jase is a national hero, but the handsome MVP has a deep secret.

To rid his inner turmoil, Jase agrees to a tryst with a dominant S.W.A.T captain in a discreet location arranged by an enigmatic madam. Despite his apprehension, Jase releases himself to Cap for a night of unbridled revelry.

His mood elevated the next day at practice, all Jase can think of is another rendezvous with Cap, but a stalking fan derails the ball player’s anticipation and hides him in a lake cabin outside Atlanta.

Jase wakes gagged and bound with no idea what he’s in for. His captor, Daniel, has plans to keep the slugger that have nothing to do with money. Sure his handlers are out searching for him along with police; Jase hopes they are able to locate him in time.

Can the smitten S.W.A.T captain rescue Jase from humiliation via live webcam without risking coming out to his comrades? Or will Jase help breach that wall for him?

Switch Hitter
loveyoudivine Alterotica (April 18, 2013)


Jase swallowed hard and counted to ten before taking a breath. Jesus Christ! He expected his subjugator to bust him over the head, take his wallet and bike, but nothing happened.

“I…look, I’m sorry, man,” Jase said. “Just forget it, all right? I made a mistake.” He flinched as an arm slipped higher around his chest. “I really need to go now.”

The man leaned in close to his ear, breathing against his neck. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay? I’m horny as hell tonight and you’re precisely what I need. Lady Velvet has never disappointed me. Anonymity is as important to me as it is to you, she assured.”

Jase didn’t answer with his lips as much as in the thickening of cock. Tendrils of lusciousness rose from the base of his balls and surged through his abdomen. He glanced down at the hand covering his left, at the thick fingers that clamped over his own. Lady Velvet had said the man was a cop, a S.W.A.T. officer at that. What luck!

Fighting off fear, Jase found his voice. “I-I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he said, still feeling uneasy. The man’s hand moved up to caress his chest, fingers tweaking his hard tits. Jase held his breath, ready to drop his load right there on the bike without shedding his clothes.

“My friends call me Cap.” The tip of a moist tongue slid up the base of Jase’s neck as the man’s hand settled on his crotch and squeezed hard. “I hear you’ve been a real dick lately and need some attitude adjustment.”

Those final words sealed the deal. Concern and fear evaporated in the hotness churning between them. Jase wanted nothing more than to lose himself in the arms of this beast, captain of a S.W.A.T team.

Jase dismounted his motorcycle and faced Cap. His heart skipped and his breath caught in his throat. The mustachioed face, more handsome than any professional athlete or model, stared back at him. The brown eyes seemed to draw him in, engulfing his vision. He couldn’t look away, didn’t want to look away. Cap's torso seemed to explode out of his narrow waist. His T-shirt stretched across a huge muscular chest.

The gorgeous specter smiled and Jase’s legs nearly buckled.

“Let’s see what Lady Velvet has in store for us.” Cap draped an arm around Jase’s shoulders and led him to the elevator.

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Monday, April 15, 2013

A World Ago: Letters Home, 1954-1956 excerpt by Dorien Grey

It's not often one has the chance to become 20 again...

A World Ago by Dorien Grey chronicles, through one young man's journal and vivid letters to his parents, his life, adventures, and experiences at a magical time. It follows him from being a Naval Aviation Cadet to becoming a “regular” sailor aboard the aircraft carrier USS Ticonderoga on an eight-month tour of duty in the politically tense Mediterranean Sea.

Learn to fly a plane, to soar, alone, through a valley of clouds, experience a narrow escape from death on a night training flight, and receive the continent of Europe as a 21st birthday gift. Climb down into the crater of Mt. Vesuvius, visit Paris, Cannes, Athens, Beirut, Valencia, Istanbul and places in-between; wander the streets of Pompeii, have your picture taken on a fallen column on the Acropolis, ride bicycles on the Island of Rhodes, experience daily life aboard an aircraft carrier during the height of the cold war—all in the company and through the eyes of a young will-be-writer coming of age with the help of the United States Navy.

A World Ago is a rare glimpse into the personal and private world of a young man on the verge of experiencing everything the world has to offer—and discovering a lot about himself in the process.

A World Ago: Letters Home, 1954-1956
Untreed Reads (April 8, 2013)
ISBN: 9781611875416


21 November 1955

Several entries in this journal have begun “Nothing new today,” or words to that effect—I would rather have every day like that than one like tonight!

The movie on the mess deck was Houdini—the story of the great magician. I was sitting crouched on my chair, the better to see over the heads of the guys in front of me. About two hundred other guys were seated on benches, chairs, or the hard steel deck, or standing in the back. The movie was approaching its climax when suddenly the squawk box blared: “Man Overboard—Port Side!” The ship swung so sharply and suddenly to starboard that benches and chairs toppled and everyone was forced to the side of the hall. The lights came on almost immediately, and everyone began filing from the room, with much confusion. I saw one of the cooks and asked where we were to go—he said we had to muster on the hanger deck; that is the only way they could tell who it was who had gone over.

The scene on the hanger deck was one of mass confusion. Many planes were parked about, and guys were running every which way, getting to their stations. A jet was on the number two elevator, evidently just being lowered—I noticed it was a very dark night—the kind of blackness found only on the ocean. An officer came running across the hanger deck, yelling for guys to push the jet off the elevator and onto the hanger deck.

Since only cooks muster on the hanger deck and mess cooks muster on the mess decks, I went below. A few moments later Nick came down, looking very pale. I asked him what was wrong. He said “You can’t walk on the flight deck without slipping.”

A jet, coming in for a landing, had missed all the barriers and smashed into a group of guys preparing to launch planes—no one knew how many were dead, or how many had been thrown over the side. The bodies were scattered all over the flight deck, all dismembered. They’d started bringing them down on the elevator just after I’d left.

No one knows yet how many are gone—we’re missing two mess cooks (guys sometimes go up to the flight deck to watch operations). Six bodies were brought down, with God knows how many injured.

Sick Bay has been calling for blood donors; there is blood in the passageways leading to Sick Bay. As I am writing this, a call came to the Commissary Office to open the Garbage Disposal room so that the stretchers can be washed. The Reefers (Refrigeration Rooms) have been opened to receive the bodies. As the muster was called, I looked at the faces around me—all silent, some very pale; a few smoked cigarettes, others looked around as each name was called, wondering who would not answer. Something I will not soon forget.

Rumors and scuttlebutt will sweep the ship for days, but we will never be told how many went over the side, or how many more died. It may be in the stateside papers, but I doubt it.

And just a few moments ago, the squawk box announced, as it has hundreds of times during flight operations: “The smoking lamp is out while fueling aircraft.”

The doctor was just in, asking for keys to the Reefers again—“We found some more gear belonging to one of them—we don’t know which one.” A destroyer just came alongside with the pilot of the plane—other destroyers are busy searching for others. Let’s hope they are all found.

I could go on, but somehow I just don’t feel like it….

Another call just came for O-blood; at least thirty guys are standing in line, from seamen to Commanders. People can be marvelous beings….   To purchase, click  


Monday, April 8, 2013

Garnets of Destiny excerpt by Serena Yates

"Good stories are as rare as flawless, high carat gemstones." - The Collector

In the Garnets of Destiny 1, the first volume in the Gemstone Chronicles by Serena Yates, Zachary, abused for years by his adoptive parents, finally runs away. He knows he's safer on his own than in their so-called care. Homeless and desperate for money so he can put down a deposit for an apartment, he decides to sell the antique garnet ring his parents received from the mysterious Messenger at Zachary's birth.

Zohar Zyngold is crown prince of Zelaria, a world very similar to Earth in a parallel dimension. On his twenty-fifth birthday, during the traditional ceremony, the antique garnet ring his father passed on to him starts emitting an intense red light. Only finding the bearer of the matching ring that has been located on Earth will allow him to fully control his new paranormal powers. Using some of them to cross into Earth's dimension, he masquerades as a jeweler, hoping to attract the ring's owner.

Zachary and Zohar are not only attracted to each other when they first meet, their rings emit a deep red light when they touch. Zachary gets scared and runs, but criminals attack him...and Zohar when he tries to help. They flee to Zelaria to discover that their problems have only just begun…

Garnets of Destiny 1 (Gemstone Chronicles 1)
Diversity Novels (January 30, 2013)

Chapter One

Tulsa, Oklahoma, four years ago...

Zachary Brown watched the Chinese vase he'd been dusting fall toward the floor in mute horror. As if in slow motion, the colorful piece of valuable porcelain tumbled off the edge of the hallway table. Too late he attempted to catch it before it could crash on the unforgiving marble tiles gracing the entryway.

It broke into a thousand pieces with a clattering, crunching sound that accelerated his heartbeat and set his nerves on edge. The chunks seemed to chase each other as they spread across the floor, stretching the vase's material into a huge stain on the ground.

I'm in for it now.

Cringing, he raced into the kitchen to get the dustpan and brush, as well as a garbage bag. At least he had to make an attempt to clean up after himself. There was no hiding the mishap from his bossy adoptive mother, who kept assigning him household tasks because she enjoyed his discomfort. A cleaner came to the house twice a week, but Priscilla always found something for him to do anyway. She left all of the quite frequent punishments to his cruel adoptive father, who seemed to enjoy beating Zachary at every opportunity. Whether the man had an excuse or not didn't seem to matter.

Zachary ran back into the hallway and frantically started collecting the bigger pieces first. Once he'd put them into the bag, he started sweeping up the smaller ones and the fine dust. No way was he going to leave a mess; things would only be worse for him. They always did anyway so he sometimes wondered why he even kept trying. It was pathetic, but he wanted some sort of approval and recognition that he was what they wanted. He had done his best over the years, especially when he was younger, but nothing was ever enough.

"What was that?" Priscilla's voice always sounded a little slurred. She liked to indulge in the odd cocktail--except she was at it most of the day. If she didn't manage to be drunk by lunchtime, her mood became really bad.

"I'm sorry." He'd finished stage one of the cleanup and was about to get up to deposit the bag in the kitchen for inspection by his adoptive father.

"What did you do now?" Priscilla left the living room and walked up to him, her high heels click-clacking on the hard floor. Her eyes widened when she saw the now worthless shards. "You didn't!"

"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to, I was dusting like you told me and it just... happened." He wanted to get up, feeling odd kneeling at her feet, but her angry stare told him he'd better stay where he was.

"You do know that this was one of the most valuable pieces in your father's collection, don't you?" Her lips curled up in a sneer as she brushed imaginary lint off her tight-fitting black suit. "Just this morning Raymond asked me to put it there so our guests at the dinner party tonight would be able to appreciate its beauty. Now your incompetence and clumsiness have ruined that idea. You deserve all the punishment you'll get, you little moron."

"But I didn't mean to." Zachary tried to swallow back the rising bile. His ass still hurt from last night's spanking. He wouldn't be able to stand another one. And Raymond was likely to use more than his hand for this severe a fuck-up.

"You never do. Even you couldn't be that stupid." Priscilla shook her head. "You better leave that on the kitchen table then go to your room. You'll have time to contemplate your sins before he gets home in about an hour."

God, he hated being locked up in there, but it was better than the dark closet they'd sent him to when they'd first adopted him seven years ago, a year after his real parents died. He'd been terrified to be left alone after that. To his seven-year-old mind they had died and left him behind, so isolation was the worst punishment for him. How Raymond and Priscilla had figured that out he'd never know. But then, he didn't understand why they'd adopted him in the first place. All they did was yell at him, use him as cheap labor in the house, and treat him as a punching bag for Raymond when the man flew into one of his rages. Maybe that was what they thought kids were for, but he hated it.

He'd try to run away once, when he was twelve. They'd caught him within hours and he'd spent the next two weeks in the hospital because he had 'fallen down the stairs'. The police had believed Raymond because he was some bigwig in Tulsa's Mayor's office. Zachary had learned his lesson. Next time he'd be better prepared. Now, at fifteen, he had a solid plan and was old enough to make a run for it.

"Yes, Mother." He hated that they made him pretend they were his real parents. But he had no way of fighting back. Not physically, since he wasn't exactly tall or built like the ex-linebacker Raymond was.

He did as he was told, making sure none of the hope for his future escape showed on his face. New determination coursed through him. Why hadn't he seen it before? The time had come for him to leave these people behind. When Priscilla had locked his door, he walked to his desk and got the laptop ready for transportation. He emptied his backpack of school books and stuffed some basic clothes in it, followed by a map of where he was going. He didn't dare open his secret hiding place under one of his floorboards yet. When it was time he'd get his fake ID--the one with his real last name--the money he had stashed there, and the garnet ring, the one thing he'd kept from before his parents' death. The risk of Raymond finding out what he was up to was too big. But he'd be quick once the man had left his room.

When he was done he flopped onto the bed and covered his head with a pillow in a futile attempt to hide from the world. At least his so-called mother's screeching opera didn't reach him this way.

Much less than an hour seemed to have passed when his lock turned and the door banged against the wall.

"What the fuck were you doing touching my vase? You know how valuable it was. The damned centerpiece to the entire collection and now you've ruined it." His father shut the door with another loud bang and stomped into the room. "Look at me when I talk to you, stupid boy."

Giving up his hiding place under the pillow was hard. He turned his head but didn't get up. What was the point? Raymond was still wearing his suit from work, and his face was red with anger. If looks could kill, Zachary would be dead right now. He lowered his gaze, not willing to face the fury.

Then he saw it. His father held one of the horse-whips in his shaking right hand, and that became all he could focus on. He must have gotten it from the stables. Paralyzed with dread for the repercussions of his latest transgression and his father's intentions, he stared at the whip and focused on breathing.

Whatever happened here today, this was the last time he'd submit to this man's violence. He did not deserve this, and it was not the life he wanted to live. The dinner party would keep his so-called parents busy and distracted and give him more time to get away.

This was it. After today, he was gone.

* * * *

Fargo, North Dakota, this year...

Zachary shivered in the icy January wind as he walked down Seventh Street South in Fargo, North Dakota, his secondhand boots barely keeping the snow at bay and his clothes too threadbare for real protection against the freezing temperatures. The city was no place to be in winter, but he'd fled here four years ago because his abusive adoptive parents would never look for him farther north than Tulsa. They knew how much he disliked the cold, so he'd hoped he would be safe. So far, they had not found him and though his life hadn't been easy, it was better than what he had endured in their so-called care.

Emily hadn't had much herself, but the old woman had found him begging for a job a few days after he'd stepped off the Greyhound bus. She'd taken him in because he reminded her of the grandson she'd lost to the war in Afghanistan. She had died six months ago and he had become homeless when her family mercilessly kicked him out, saying he had no right to live there.

Now he was at the end of his rope and looking for a jeweler to sell his ring, the last thing of value in his possession. He'd checked several of the downtown establishments but hadn't approached any of them yet. The one he planned to visit today was a little out of the way, but he'd had a good feeling about the place when he came around the first time.

He arrived at the quaint store with its huge windows and wooden shutters. The shop looked like an antique and seemed to specialize in older jewelry. No two pieces were alike and, like last time, he ended up staring at the beautifully crafted ankh ring in its dark green case situated front and center. The narrow gold band held an inlaid red garnet ankh that seemed to glow with life and the promise of a better world.

He snorted. Yeah, right!

He'd been surprised, not to say shocked, to find such an exact match to the one he wore on a golden chain around his neck. He'd stopped wearing it on his finger after several people had eyed it with obvious greed. He didn't want anyone to take it from him, and not just because of its monetary value.

The matching garnet ring in the window seemed to call to him with increasing intensity. Each time he came here the quiet appeal grew stronger. At the same time he could feel its loneliness; it matched his own lifelong understanding that he was an outcast. His so-called parents had set the tone, but none of the other people he had encountered were any different. Maybe initially, but not in the end.

He reached for the thin gold chain under his threadbare jacket, making sure the ring was still there. It had been his as long as he could remember. The mysterious stranger who had given it to his parents just after he was born had told them that it would protect Zachary. One day it was even supposed to reveal his destiny.

He snorted. The protection part hadn't really worked or else his life wouldn't be such a mess. He was going to do something about that. He was no longer going to live in some shelter for the homeless. Finding a job was essential, but first he needed somewhere to live so he'd have an address to put on his application forms.

Unfortunately, the only way that he was going to get any money for a rental deposit was to sell the ring. He didn't like that thought; a headache followed every time he pictured having to hand it over to some salesperson, never to see it again. But it had never protected him very well. So the second part of the stranger's promise, about the ring revealing his destiny, was surely equally untrue. Anyway, how could a ring, even a beautiful antique one, show him anything? On the other hand, it might just help him find his feet to start a new life--if he managed to sell it.

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Monday, April 1, 2013

The Witness excerpt by P A Brown

Hi Eric,

I'm doing something different. I found some really old stories -- the very first ones that had Chris and David in them -- and I decided to put them out as books. They're short, and I'm only selling them on my web site. I think they show quite a different Chris and David. I make no claims on how good they are, but they were among the first things other people read. I've done no revisions on them.

In The Witness, the very first story with Chris and David of the L.A. Heat series, you will see where the two characters began. When I first thought of teaming a cop and a playboy together I wanted a sharp contrast between the cop, who I named David Eric Laine, and a golden boy, who became Christopher Bellamere. Those things haven't changed since their creation. At least their names haven't. I think you'll find the characters themselves have changed. Martinez, David's partner doesn't exist, neither does Des, Chris's best friend.

I hope you find this new look at some familiar characters interesting. Warning, this excerpt is definitely NSFW ("Not Safe For Work")



The pager went off roughly two second before my cell did. I rolled away from the warm body I'd been cuddling in my sleep and fumbled for the cell. At the same time I focused my eyes on the bedside clock.

Three-fifteen. Shit, this had better be good.

"Yeah," I grunted into the cell.

No problem recognizing the panicked voice of my boss Peter McGill. Petey put away two packs a day and his rasping voice reflected the abuse.

"Chris, you better tell me you are not busy right now," Petey growled. "We got an emergency over at Pharmaden. They need you ASAP."

Petey loved jargon almost as much as he hated being called Petey. He could ASAP AFD - all fucking day - if you didn't tell him to shut up and speak English.


"Well what, Petey?"

"Tell me you're on your way."

I looked over at the shape under the sheet. One hairy leg stuck out and I longed to reach over and follow it to the blue-ribbon set of jewels I knew lay hidden there. Bobby No-Last- Name claimed he was an actor. Of course this was L.A. They were all actors. All the fine looking meat with that hungry look in their star struck eyes came to town with the hopes of being the next Mel Gibson.

But he'd done a fine bit of acting last night and I'd been all set for an encore this morning before heading back for the daily grind at DataTEK. Now it looked like I was going to have to not only forgo that repeat, but get this actor out of my house without alienating him completely.

"ASAP. Oh, and Petey?"

"Yes, Chris?"

"When I pull your nuts out of this particular fire there had better be a fat bonus in my next pay envelope. We both know how the Pharmaden systems got screwed up in the first place, don't we?"

"Just go and fix things," Peter growled. "There's no need to get into finger pointing. Blame is the weak man's tool."

Especially since the damning finger would be pointing right back at Petey. He'd assigned the new whiz kid, his personal protege, to the Pharmaden account even though the kid was fresh out of college and dripping behind the ears. Well it takes more than a couple of years in school and a handful of certificates to set up and run a computer network as complex as the one Pharmaden had been upgrading at the time. I tried to tell Petey that, but when I'm not saving his ass I'm nothing more than the company faggot and not privy to the ear of the president.

So the fresh prince got the contract and now I was getting late night phone calls to come to the rescue. Just call me the white fucking knight.

I grabbed a pair of clean shorts, found my jeans where I had tossed them in my fever to get the actor's hard seven inches inside me and slipped them on. Barefoot I went around to the other side of the bed and flipped the sheets aside.

"Wakey-wakey, sleepy head." I slapped Bobby's butt. "You have no idea how sorry I am to do this, but we got to move 'em out."

Bobby grunted and tried to roll away, but I grabbed his ankle and hauled him back. I looked at him sprawled on his back, glaring at me and I deeply regretted answering my cell. Why the hell couldn't Pharmaden have waited until morning to have a crisis?

Bobby was gorgeous. A hunk. He wasn't big, maybe five eight, well muscled without being too jocky. Round pecs and a six pack to die for over a set of buns that were perfectly fuckable if you were into that scene. I'm more of a bottom but that was okay, he had the equipment for that too. A nice seven inch cock surrounded by shaved balls and a completely hairless pube.

I had my suspicions that little Bobby did some porn when he wasn't trying to break down the gates of Hollywood but he'd never admitted as much and I hadn't asked. I didn't care whose casting couch he spent his days on. I'd only known I wanted him in my ass the minute I spotted his chiseled face and bright baby blues last night at the Railhouse.

I'm graced with a nice enough physique myself - six foot with dirty blond hair I keep short and a lean swimmer's body. I don't usually have much trouble competing with the younger guys for hot hunks like Bobby. If the bod doesn't impress them the designer duds and the black on black chromed out Cadillac Escalade I tool around in does. Hey, you use what you got.

I'm not bragging, but the nights I spend alone are usually the nights I want to.

Right now Bobby was flashing those baby blues at me and stroking his boner, a sly smile on his handsome face.

"Come on, man. You really want to kick this out?" Stroke. Stroke. Pre-cum dribbled out of the slit in his helmet and he scooped some up with his finger, stuck it in his mouth. "It's hot for you."

I knelt on the bed and bent down until our lips almost touched. He licked his and stroked himself harder. More pre-cum. Another taste.

Five minutes. I'd give him five... I lowered my mouth to his cock, wrapping my lips around that gorgeous piece of meat. He sighed and twined his fingers through my short hair, shoving my head down until I swallowed his entire cock.

"Oh yeah, baby. Suck me dry."

I complied and in less than two minutes he groaned and flexed his hips up in release. His dick spurted a copious load of salty cum down my throat. I pulled off his softening tool, kissed his belly, his chest, then his mouth.

"How 'bout you meet me back at the Railhouse tonight. We can pick up where we left off."

Bobby swung his legs over the side of the bed and began gathering up his clothes. His fuck me smile was gone and he looked preoccupied.

"I don't know, man. Audition. Maybe I can get away. Maybe not."

Audition. Probably shooting a porn loop. Ah well, my loss was filmdom's gain. Hi-ho, Long Dong Silver.

"Whatever," was all I said. I slid on a U2 Excavation Tour T-shirt and slipped desert boots over my sockless feet.

From the bedside chair I grabbed my laptop case, made sure my line monitoring tools were inside too and clipped my cell phone and pager onto my belt. I made a quick trip to the bathroom where I ran a comb through my hair and slid my hand over the stubble on my face. Pharmaden was in a hurry to get me, they could take the unshaved version. After all when servers are down no one cares what the onsite technician looks like. Not as long as he could fix the problem. And I was an expert at fixing problems.

At least the kind that occurred inside computers.

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