Monday, October 27, 2014

Trick or Treat excerpt by J L Merrow

The memory of this party could haunt him forever…
In Trick or Treat by JL Merrow, Sam is dragged along to a haunted house by his mates, at the Halloween party from hell—the guy he fancied has turned out to be a bigot, and Sam has just outed himself to  his whole football team.
Escaping to the garden, he meets James, an enigmatic stranger with a mischievous smile, and the evening soon takes a turn for the better. The night may be chilly but the heat between Sam and James is hotter than Hades.
But James has a role to play in the evening’s ghostly entertainment, and it’s a story with a deadly ending. Unless Sam can change the script and stop history repeating itself, “till death do us part” will come sooner than he thinks.
Trick or Treat
JMS Books (October 27, 2014)
IISBN: 9781611526714


Sam had planned to stay in the garden until he’d finished the bottle of vodka, but every drink he took reminded him of the taste of it on James’s tongue. After a while Sam just chucked it in a patch of stinging nettles in disgust.

Then, of course, he wished he hadn’t. Sitting in the garden by himself getting drunk might be a bit sad, but sitting in the garden by himself not getting drunk was just pathetic. Giving up, he heaved himself to his feet. Might as well go back to the house. At least he’d see who James was with. Unless they’d left already? Sam looked at his watch. Twelve fifty-eight.

They should all be there, then. After all, the whole point of coming to this bloody house on Halloween night was to see the ghosts. Some poor bastard from ninety years ago and the jealous gay lover who’d stabbed him and then killed himself.  At exactly one fifteen, if you could believe Kev, they’d both appear to re-enact their last, bloody minutes.

It was the sort of thing that sounded like a right laugh when you were down the pub, but wasn’t so much fun when you were actually there.

You had to hand it to Kev: he might be a bit of a tosser, but he’d gone to a fair bit of trouble to organize the party. He worked at the estate agents that managed the place—which seemed to be a euphemism for hanging onto the keys while the house slowly mouldered away. If his boss ever found out he’d “borrowed” the keys for the weekend, he’d be in deep shit, but Kev was one of those arrogant bastards who thought that having gone to a minor public school meant he was entitled to anything he wanted. Worst of it was, he always seemed to get away with it, too.

He’d invited a shed-load of people, including Sam, who knew him from the pub Sunday football team and had fancied the pants off him ever since they’d met.  Even though he’d known the bloke was a wanker and straight as a bloody goal-post to boot. Funny how easy it was to forget all that when Sam looked at his soft blond hair and tall, muscular figure.

It just served Sam right he’d had to sit there and listen to Kev make nasty little jokes about poofs and their lovers’ tiffs until he couldn’t stand it any longer. Sam winced as he remembered shouting “I’m a bloody poof, all right?” before grabbing his bottle of vodka and storming outside.

It looked like he’d have to find something else to do on a Sunday afternoon from now on. Walking back into the house, Sam wondered if anyone would even speak to him.

A couple of the girls were doing something with plates of half-eaten food in the kitchen. They gave Sam embarrassed looks as he walked in. He took a deep breath.

“Did you see James come this way?”

“James? Don’t think I know him.”

“Me neither. What does he look like?”

Gorgeous. Beautiful. “He’s a bit shorter than me, skinny bloke, blond hair, crap clothes. Braces. On his trousers, not on his teeth.”

“Braces?” They giggled. “Think we’d have remembered that!”

Sam sighed. “I’ll have a look around, then.” He wasn’t even sure why he was doing this, except he seemed to have some deep-seated, masochistic desire to see the bloke James was with. Although how a queer couple had managed to get an invite from that bastard Kev was anyone’s guess. 

Sam smiled wryly to himself. Maybe he wasn’t the only bent footballer on the team, after all. Kev would probably have a heart attack when he realized he’d been getting his kit off in front of two flaming queers on a regular basis.

He pushed his way past snogging couples—all suitably heterosexual—in the hallway and stuck his head in a couple of doors. No James. He did see Kev, though. One look at him told Sam the bloke was completely rat-arsed.

“God, are you still here?” Kev threw at him in obvious disgust. “I thought you’d buggered off hours ago!” He sniggered. “Literally.”  Christ, how had Sam ever thought him good-looking? Face reddened from the booze and twisted in a sneer, Kev just looked like the arrogant bigot he was.

“Stop being such a git, Kev,” the hard-faced girl sitting next to him said irritably. Kev’s sister, Lucy. Sam had never liked her much, but she was starting to grow on him now. “Isn’t it almost time for the show?”

“Christ, yes!” Instantly, Sam was forgotten. Kev stood up. “Right, you lot—quiet—we’ve got ten minutes until haunting time! Get your arses out in the hall and bloody well keep quiet, all right?”

Everyone did as they were told. Kev had presence, no doubt about it—a commanding voice and the physique to back it up. He’d played rugby at school, and to hear him talk had made a bloody good fly half, whatever one of those was. Sam was a state school boy and he preferred his balls spherical, thanks very much.

“Are we going upstairs?” one of the girls from the kitchen asked. Helen, that was her name: one of Lucy’s friends, a bit on the cuddly side but with a pretty face. Sam had a feeling she’d been trying to get together with Kev, and wondered if she’d managed it.

“No! Idiot, I told you the stairs aren’t safe. Probably fall to pieces under your weight,” Kev added with casual cruelty that answered Sam’s question. “We’ll be able to see everything from down here. Just wait in the hall and stop bloody talking, all right?”

Helen’s face twisted, and Lucy glared at her brother as if she’d like to kill him, but nobody said anything. Kev tended to have that effect on people.

Sam kept an eye on the stragglers drifting into the hall from various directions. If James was anywhere in the house, surely he’d be along, too?  Even if he didn’t come, Sam reckoned whatever was about to happen would be worth seeing—whether there really were ghosts or just Kev looking a right plonker when whatever show he was planning fell flat. Either would do for Sam.

Staying as far away from Kev as he could, Sam ended up standing next to Lucy and Helen at the back of the hall. “Does Kev really believe we’re going to see anything?” he whispered.

Lucy shrugged. “He said he does. If it’s a set-up, I don’t know anything about it. Anyway, shh. You know what he’s like.”

“Right,” Kev said, once they were all assembled, his voice seeming to echo in the sudden quiet. “We’ve got five minutes.”

“How do you know?” Dave the goalie asked dubiously. He was a friendly, unimaginative bloke with around six million freckles to go with the prematurely receding ginger hair. Sam liked him. He wondered bitterly if the feeling was still mutual, after tonight’s little revelation.

“It was all in the report given by the last man to spend the night in the house.” Kev fell into story-telling mode, with exaggerated tones and dramatic gestures. “It was a dark, stormy Halloween night, and a power cut had plunged the house into darkness. The man—let’s call him Collins—lit candles and a lantern to fend off the shadows—”

“Like we have,” one of the girls said in an awed whisper, obviously getting into the spirit of it.

Kev sent her a paternal look of approval. “Eventually, Collins fell asleep in his chair in front of the fire. At one fifteen precisely he was woken by the sound of shouting coming from upstairs.” Kev’s voice lowered. Even Sam found himself paying rapt attention. “Of course, Collins was terrified. Nevertheless, he armed himself with a poker, and dragged up the courage to go upstairs and see what the hell was going on. Halfway to the stairs, he heard a crashing sound, as if a violent fight was going on.”

Kev paused dramatically. Suddenly the silence was broken by muffled bumps and cries coming from above them.

Several people jumped, including Sam. Helen giggled nervously.

“Oh, come on, it’s a set-up!” one of the lads said loudly—Mike from the footie team, who was short and dark but pretty nippy in midfield. “He’s got a CD up there playing sound effects.”

“I can’t hear anything,” someone else said, sounding genuinely confused. Sam wondered what they’d been drinking.

“Shut up!” Kev hissed.

Sam couldn’t help anticipation tightening in his gut. It was a put-up job, had to be—but what if it wasn’t? What if they really were about to see some ghosts? Christ, what must that be like? To be doomed to play out your death scene for all eternity?

The sounds grew louder. Someone upstairs shouted, “No!” in a high, panicked voice. Sam cast a look around at his companions. One or two of them looked pale and scared, while others just looked bored or puzzled. Couldn’t they hear it?

Suddenly an upstairs door burst open, and a slender, male figure hurtled onto the landing. He passed the top of the staircase and stopped, clutching at the balustrade. When he turned, the light from the lamps and flickering candles below illuminated his face with eerie shadows. Pale, delicate features were marred by a trickle of dark blood running from a cut on one temple.

It was James.

To purchase from JMS Books, click JMS Books
To purchase from Amazon, click ; to purchase from Amazon UK, click Amazon UK

Monday, October 20, 2014

Stallers: More Tales of Times Square Cuties excerpt by Mykola Dementiuk

Lambda Award winner for Best Bisexual Fiction, Mykola Dementiuk's masterful collection, stories of certain men who used to stand around in certain locations in Times Square in the old days where they knew they could always find another horny man and instant semiprivacy just a door away in which to act out their desires. 

Stallers: Tales of Times Square Cuties
Sizzler Editions (April 20, 2011)



I darted across the empty lounge and quickly stepped through the open door of the ladies' room. I took a deep breath and frowned, disappointed by the faint but ever-present ammonia smell. She'll make it pretty, I smiled, and bustled into a stall, clicking the latch behind me.

Just moments before I had paced the back of the theater, nervously peering out the lounge door and finally saw her enter the movie house, her large bosom thrust out, her walk exaggerated, her legs and thighs strong and thick. There had been some exchange of words at the ticket booth and I was afraid the old crone in the booth would enforce the No Unescorted Ladies policy and not let her in; though I'm sure she wasn't taken in by the lipstick and high-hair and knew quite well what the lady had between her legs.

But I finally heard the turnstile clicking, the crone gesturing, and watched her scraping her heels, wobbling towards the lobby doors.  She wore a loose short skirt and I nodded contentedly at her black nyloned legs and red high heels but blushed, drawing back when she spotted me gaping out the open door. I hurried to the bathroom. I should not have been upstairs; that wasn't part of the scenario; even though she was late I should have been patient and awaited her in the bathroom stall, just as I had done all the weeks before. Would she now be angry and not come down?

I sat on the toilet and clenched my thighs, listening to the faint movie grunts and cries pushing in through the bathroom door. Still, I kept my hands off my cock, willing to be patient now that I knew she was so near; she provided me with enough fantasies to keep me occupied all week; I simply had to be patient a bit longer.

I did not wait long. Her high heels clicked loudly on the marble lounge floor and my cock jumped in my pants as the heel-clicks moved closer and entered the ladies' room. I stooped to the stall door and pressed an eye to the narrow slit between the door and panel frame, watching her shut the bathroom door behind her and click to large clear mirrors above the wash basins. I clenched my thighs and sucked my breath, catching the rising traces of her sweet perfume, each tincture pulsing thicker and sweeter through the door interstice, ridding the air of the too-clean bathroom smell.

She paused at the mirrors and flounced up the back of her beehive, then turned to examine her bosom from the right side and then from the left. Not satisfied with the position of the left side she reached into her blouse at the shoulder and jerked on the limp bra strap. The breast wobbled on her chest as she adjusted the strap until the loose bosom rose into proximate position with the other hovering buoyant one. I fell to my knees off the toilet seat and pressed my face to the stall door as if I could suck in the shaking tit through the narrow door gap. Content with her balanced bosom she smoothed the blouse and brushed at her shirt loose skirt.

Suddenly she bent over and reached down to align a twisted anklet bracelet and what should have driven me into a masturbatory frenzy at the clear view I had of her large fat ass beneath the rising and hiked up loose skirt only made me grimace and curse at the frustrating lurch of my dying cock from the unexpected new-style pantyhose covering her thick thighs and legs and the dimming the slither of panty G-string she wore underneath that inched into her upturned ass.

I thought of pouncing out of the stall and calling the whole thing off. I didn't mind this new fashion style of higher-rising skirts but I did object to the elimination of garter belts and nylons, which she usually wore, that were the crux of my masturbatory dreams. As fashion moguls dictated that skirts rise each season, from ankle bottom to pussy apex, the new look necessitated a utilitarian solution to convince women to purchase and wear the shorter skirts without turning them into porno magazine frumps. Hence the pantyhose, an all-in-one garment of panty and nylon melded together, easily slipped on, easily head up, – Wear it like a ballerina! – eliminating the need for a cumbersome garter belt with its awkward dangling straps and clinching rubber-button clasps. Ladies! No more Embarrassing Situations! Be the New Woman! Discover the Total Freedom of the New Look! (The freedom to open your leg and have hose cover your crotch?) Even the Sunday papers displayed full-page colored advertisement of before and after shots of seated women; porno garters on the left, demure New Look on the right. I cut out the garter left side, jerked off, adding it to my collection of woman/man cutouts from magazines and papers.

Still for a few months, before the short-skirt/pantyhose fashion was fully accepted by skeptical women, and hose moguls turned even richer by adapting and out-besting minis with micros, all you had to do for thrills was ride any street bus or subway and see the fashionable broads in their fashionable short skirts struggling to cover their gartered thighs as the gawkers in opposite seats sat with elbows on knees disbelieving that suddenly life all over the city was even more thrilling and lustful than any Times Square delusions.  And though I never came in my pants on a city bus or subway, I often rode for blocks out of my way, gaping at nervous crossing and re-crossing dark legs, fascinated by the insistence of flustered dames to hide what they must have known would be seen by all. Yet wasn't  the point of the New Look to show all to all? In the argument over the promiscuity of certain women's fashions the point is moot or should I say stiff? It's like pornography and erotica: one makes you go home alone and jerk off in your solitude, the other makes you take home a partner and make love together.

She adjusted her ankle bracelet and slowly straightened up, her short skirt sliding back down over her fat ass and thick hose thighs.  My cock re-stiffened at the sight of her quivering skirt bottom: once more the image of skirt and legs stirred the fantasy of unattainable pornographic sex. I unzipped my pants and pulled out my cock before she surprised me with some other frustrating New Look.  She turned and looked at my knees and jerking cock beneath the stall door then leaned back on the sink, her legs slightly outspread, her heavy aligned bosom pushed out on her chest. I pressed my lips to the door gap and darted my tongue into the narrow slit, running my eyes from her high-heel shoes, up her black leg hose, to her swaying skirt bottom, the tiny folds and creases in her short loose skirt, the wide shiny belt about her waist, onto her smooth blouse belly above the belt, the large high breasts and finally settling on a stitch of a bra strap molded under her tight blouse and rising from a lumped left bra cup across her shoulder.

I looked at her round puffy face: a glistening drop of sweat seeped down her forehead in a thin swift line, leaving a streak of separated makeup which melded into the arch of a black eyebrow. I rubbed my own sweated cheeks on my shoulders and pressed my eye back to the gap.

Every Friday the same scenario: posing, teasing, revealing, and finally, if it all fell in place and at the right moment, mutual orgasms and ejaculation from across the room, – though I sometimes think she faked it. And she looked ready: she licked her red lips and slowly raised the front of her loose skirt, pulling it up her disappointing hose-covered thighs, swaying the hem at the bottom edge of her groin and suddenly lifting the skirt to her waist.

It was an unexpected sight and my torso buckled in surprise as my hard cock lurched out of my hand beneath the stall door as if breaking from my body and surging to attach to hers. The incredible but possible scenarios streaked through my mind as I caught my cock and pulled back under my door.

I had never imagined such a sight: she stood with her skirt around her waist, her high-heeled legs outspread, her hairless hard cock and balls braced up the front of her belly and out of the skimpy panty Gstring, but trapped in the shifting mesh of the dark nylon pantyhose material. If ever a fashion was designed for the wrong gender this was it (at least males had something to show in the hose, whereas women didn't).

I tottered on my knees and struck my head against the door, straining my bulging eyeball into the narrow slit. She leaned further back on the sink and slightly pushed up her groin; the head of her cock peeped out of its uncut fleshy sheath as if probing the unfamiliar restrictive mesh. On one side of the stiff dick a thick nylon seam rose from the bottom of the panty crotch and wove up the center of the belly and disappeared into the folds of the raised skirt.

I settled into a steady even masturbation and watched her slither her fingers around the base of her balls, up the fat cock to the trapped round head. She reached under her rumpled skirt and groped for the pantyhose top.

"No!" I moaned, beating my cock furiously and pounding the door.  She dropped her hand and once more outlined the large cock with her fingers. I screamed and fell back from the door and doubled over against the toilet bowl, my scum spewing over my fingers and onto my shirt and pants. I cursed at the abrupt ejaculation, but my penis remained stiff and I continued squeezing and rapidly stroking my cock as if trying pro-long the too-short masturbation. Would she wait for me to come again?

I heard the clicking of her heels scraping from the sink and towards my stall. I jolted at the raps on my door. Impatient little bitch, I thought, but let go of my cock and reached into my pocket for the money I had set aside every week. I glanced at the two folded bills – this week she was worth more and didn't even know it – then kissed them and rubbed them against my wet cock, lifting them to the door and sticking them into the narrow sweated door gap. They were pulled from my fingers as soon as they poked through the other side.  I heard the heels return to the sink and I fell back against the toilet bowl. There was a splash of water and then the heels clicked to the front door.

A movie female groan drifted in through the opening/closing door; the actress was probably getting fucked in old fashioned nylons and garters. I thought of the New Look – tight panty hose around a hard cock. I began to jerk off.

Monday, October 13, 2014

Amethysts of Wisdom excerpt by Serena Yates

"True love is more precious than the rarest of gemstones." --The Collector

In Amethysts of Wisdom by Serena Yates, Angus loves ancient languages and sharing his knowledge with high school kids, but his true passion is linguistic research. Love doesn't come easy for him, despite the amethyst ring his grandmother gave him to help him heal from the traumatic experience that still haunts him. He desperately wants a loving relationship with Ayden, despite their different temperaments, but cannot seem to overcome his fears. Ayden is not a patient man, and Angus is afraid he'll lose him, so he decides to open up.

Ayden hates the fact he can't seem to get closer to Angus. When he is shot at on a secret mission to free a hostage in Central America, he resolves to find out what is stopping Angus from accepting physical intimacy. Ayden finds him a gift, a mysterious amethyst-covered book, hoping it will show Angus how much he loves him.

But the book has a mind of its own. Mysterious letters appear and disappear. Weird dreams challenge their very understanding of reality. Can they overcome their differences and discover the amethysts' wisdom?

Amethysts of Wisdom
  • Diversity Novels; 2nd edition (January 31, 2013)


Chapter One

Provo, Utah, February this year

"Hey, gorgeous." Ayden Newkirk walked up to Angus's desk, winding his way between the stacks of books gracing the small office's floor. He wasn't quite able to suppress his grin of delight at seeing his secret boyfriend of three months. He knew they had to be careful, this was Mormon country, after all, and some of the most conservative people he'd ever met worked here at the university. But honestly? With the door closed behind them and late on a Friday afternoon, who was even going to notice? "Are you ready to get out of here and start our weekend?"

Angus glanced up from the papers he'd been staring at and blinked. His sky-blue eyes behind the sexy gold-rimmed glasses had that faraway look Ayden loved. It spoke of hidden mysteries to be discovered and even though Ayden had no idea what was so fascinating about teaching foreign languages and correcting students' work, he respected Angus's need to make what the man called 'good use' of the six or seven ancient and modern languages he spoke.

Angus blinked again then visibly pulled himself together before taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger of his left hand. Ayden wanted to kiss the man's discomfort away. When Angus finally took a deep breath that sounded more like a sigh, Ayden got a little worried.

"Angus?" His grin faded. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Angus smiled, finally, and the stress line around his mouth dissolved. He dropped the pen he'd been making notes with and sagged in his chair.

"Come on, let's go." He held out his hand.

Angus rose and walked around his desk to join him. Ayden took his hand and pulled him up against him, locking their joined hands between them, right above his heart. His other arm went around Angus's middle. God, he had craved their physical connection all day. He always did, but the need seemed to get more intense the longer they were together.

He bent his head and touched Angus's lips. The man closed his eyes with a small sigh of bliss. Ayden stayed perfectly still for a few seconds, letting their breaths mingle. Where he was excited from just seeing his boyfriend, already more than half hard, Angus always took a little longer to let go of the tight control he maintained. Ayden had never met a more repressed man. Thing was, once they got going, Angus was always enthusiastic--up to a point. Ayden still hadn't figured out why Angus held back when more than kissing was involved, but he'd decided to wait. Angus was worth the wait.

Ayden licked along Angus's lips until he opened and welcomed him inside. Slowly he reacquainted himself with the flavor and heat of Angus's mouth, caressing and touching anywhere he could reach. Angus reciprocated enthusiastically until they were both moaning with the shared pleasure.

He started stroking Angus's hip, the soft fabric of the dark, conservative pants the man wore to work a somewhat annoying barrier between him and the skin he wanted to touch. He moved lower and squeezed a firm ass cheek, making Angus buck his hips and pull back from their kiss.

"Ayden!" He was breathless. "What if someone comes in?"

"They won't." He showed no remorse. "Nobody's even here anymore, they've all left for the weekend."

"You're impossible." Angus shook his head and attempted to step back, but Ayden wouldn't let him. He needed to touch.

"Yeah, and you like that about me, admit it." His grin returned unbidden and he winked.

"What am I going to do with you?" Angus smiled.

"I have a few ideas..." His grin widened.

Then his damned cell phone rang. Shit, should have switched it off. Not that he ever did, he took his job as hostage rescue support for the small private security company he worked for much too seriously. But he had been tempted, more so recently. Didn't he deserve an occasional weekend off, just like everyone else?
Angus had already pulled back, his happy expression becoming closed. Ayden tried to convey his regret with his eyes, pulled out his phone, and opened it. The caller ID confirmed his suspicion. He took the call, mouthing 

Angus shrugged, walked back around his desk, and started to close down his computer and clean his desk. Ayden turned toward the window for some privacy and listened to what his boss had to say.

As expected, it wasn't good and he had very little time before he needed to be at the airport. He ended the call and stared out of the window, trying to figure out what to say. Talking wasn't exactly his strong suit. His shoulders stiffened with the tension.

"Ayden?" Angus's voice was shaky. "What's wrong?"

He turned around but couldn't look at the man. They'd anticipated this weekend for a while now, and he knew they needed to spend more time together if they were ever going to deal with their differences. But how could he turn down a mission where an innocent life was at stake?

"I'm really sorry, Angus, but something's come up." He still didn't dare look at the man. The disappointment he knew would cloud those amazing eyes would be too much to bear. "I have to go home and pack. They're picking me up in an hour."

"No!" Angus sounded desperate as he jumped up. "Ayden, no. Don't do this to me. You promised we could have the weekend to go hiking."

"Please, sweetheart, don't make this more difficult than it is." He finally looked up, silently pleading with him to understand. "You know I'd keep my promise if I could."

"Don't you 'sweetheart' me." Angus frowned. "I can't believe you're doing this to me again. Why are those 
missions always more important than spending time with me?"

"This mission isn't more important than spending time with you." He raked a hand though his hair. "But I have to go, it's urgent. I can't tell you what it's about..."

"Well, no surprise there." Angus huffed and flopped down into his chair. "It's always urgent and you can never tell me anything. I don't get it. It's not like you're in the Marines anymore. You're working for a private company now. They can't just order you around. But you still jump every time they call."

"I can't tell you anything, Angus. You know that." He bristled at the accusation of being at their beck-and-call, even though he pretty much was. "They're not ordering me around and you know it. But when the team needs me and a life is at stake, I'm not going to ignore them."

"Can't you at least think this through before you jump in?" Angus sounded scared.

"There's no time to think, don't you understand that?" His voice got louder. "My job isn't nice and easy like yours, with lots of time to consider everything for days. There are lives at stake and if we don't act people die. Helpless, innocent people who've done nothing wrong and who've got nobody to protect or help them. Why can't you get that?"

"I do get it." Angus sighed. "I just don't want you to go. I don't see why you have to keep putting your life on the line."

"No, I don't think you get it at all." He hated that Angus always made it so difficult for him. Hell, it was hard enough to leave the man, not knowing when he could see him again. These emotional outbursts only made it worse. Not knowing how to express all of that in a way that Angus could understand, Ayden turned around and walked toward the door.

"Ayden, please don't." Angus sounded close to tears.

Fuck! "You know what?" He turned back to look at him, his mouth a thin line of barely controlled anger. "I don't want to argue with you while you're so emotional. Why don't you cool down and stop being selfish and we'll talk about this when I'm back."

Monday, October 6, 2014

Love on Stage Excerpt by Neil Plakcy

This is the second in Neil Plakcy’s  "Love on" series, which began with last year's "Love on Site." Manny's roommate and fellow FU grad, Gavin Kaczmarek is a golden boy, desired by all. But though he's handsome and talented, Gavin is drifting -- working as a barista at a funky, Fair Trade coffee shop on South Beach and modeling for print ads. But when he sings for music producer Miles Goodwin while serving his coffee, a whole new world of opportunity opens for him.

The obvious attraction between Gavin and Miles takes them to bed, and then on an adventure that leads to performance and YouTube fame--but when insecurity arises on both their parts, can their budding romance survive the summer heat and blossom, or die with the falling autumn leaves? If you liked Love on Site, I hope you'll enjoy Gavin's story -- and there are more stories of these college frat brothers to come.

Love on Stage
Loose ID LLC (September 15, 2014)
  • ASIN: B00NMWBN68

Gavin was relaxing at Java Joe’s, sipping a low-fat fruit smoothie, when he noticed a guy across from him checking him out. The dude was older, at least forty, and wore the kind of suit you couldn’t buy off the shelf. The coal-black jacket was tailored snugly over his shoulders, and the slacks fell perfectly over his black tasseled loafers.

He was on the phone, but his eyes met Gavin’s. In a flash, the guy ended his call and looked at Gavin, with one of those gazes that said to Gavin that he was being stripped naked. Then the man smiled. 

“I’m Ben,” he said.


“You look very familiar to me,” Ben said. “Have I seen you before?”

Gavin shrugged. “I work the morning shift here.”

Ben shook his head. “No, that’s not it.” He reached for the glossy magazine by his side and flipped through it. “There,” he said, pointing at Gavin’s photo in a group bathing suit shot. Gavin was wearing boxer-brief trunks, and his skin glistened with what was supposed to be either perspiration or seawater from the Atlantic Ocean in the background.

His blond hair was longer then, and the hair stylist had sprayed in some glistening highlights. It was a great shot, and in fact the first one in Gavin’s portfolio.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Gavin said.

Ben looked at his watch. “I was just about to get something to eat,” he said. “Honestly, I’ve been delaying because I hate eating alone when I’m on the road. Can I buy you dinner?”

Gavin’s roommates complained that this kind of thing happened to him all the time – getting picked up by handsome, sexy guys. The truth was it didn’t happen that often, and he was delighted whenever it did. “Sure,” Gavin said. “Where would you like to go?”

“What do you recommend?”

That was a touchy question. The guy dressed well, and he’d already mentioned he was traveling on business, which meant expense account. Most of the places Gavin knew wouldn’t be appropriate.
Ben saved the day, though, by mentioning the name of his boutique hotel. “The restaurant there looks pretty good.”

That was an understatement, Gavin thought. He was no gourmet, but he knew that the restaurants in those fancy hotels were beaucoup expensive and therefore had to be beaucoup good at the same time. And there was an unspoken message in Ben’s suggestion: come eat at my hotel, and then we’re just an elevator ride away from continuing the evening together.

He didn’t mind that at all. The guy was rich and handsome, and maybe Gavin could short-circuit the track that was intended to lead him to Mr. Right.

Not that he was jumping ahead of the game or anything.

It was only a few blocks to the hotel, and Ben spent most of the walk on the phone, confirming a business meeting the next day. That was fine with Gavin; he could flirt like mad but wasn’t much for small talk once the deal was sealed. Ben finished his call as they approached the Collins Avenue entrance to the hotel, and even ushered Gavin in ahead of him as the valet opened the door.
Ben led Gavin across the lobby, to the restaurant entrance. He spoke to the maitre d’, who took them to a table with a view of the beach and the ocean beyond. “Kind of like where you were shooting,” Ben said.

“Just down the beach,” Gavin said. He smiled.

The place wasn’t as pricy as Gavin expected, and he was considering what he wanted when Ben said, “I know you guys are always watching your weight. They have some nice salads.”

“I’m more of a carnivore,” Gavin said, arching an eyebrow. “And I’m lucky to have a fast metabolism.”

Ben smiled. “Then order whatever you’d like.”

Since he didn’t have any gigs set up for the next few days, Gavin decided to splurge on the surf and turf – a petit filet mignon which came with “grilled Ivory Coast prawn, whipped potatoes, rapini,” and a bĂ©arnaise sauce. He had no idea why a prawn shipped in from Africa would be better than a lobster from Maine, and he had only the vaguest idea what rapini was, but it wasn’t the most expensive item on the menu. He announced his choice to Ben. “I’ve got a hankering for meat.” He’d have preferred the twenty-two ounce T-bone but that was a few bucks more, and he didn’t want to seem like a pig.

Ben snickered at the double entendre. “I guess I do, too. I’ll have the T-bone.”

Crap, Gavin thought. He could have waited and then tagged onto Ben’s order. When the waiter came over to take their drink orders, Ben ordered a Manhattan and Gavin a Cosmo. The alcohol relaxed him, and they chatted through the meal about Ben’s job – he was in something called “advertising specialties,” which he assumed Gavin knew all about so he never got specific.

Gavin told some funny stories about modeling jobs. The food was great, and Ben had a salesman’s charm.

The waiter cleared their plates, then asked, “Can I tempt you with our chocolate tart?”

Ben said, “We’re good,” then signed the check to his room with a flourish, adding a hefty tip.

“It’s such a beautiful evening,” Ben said, as he stood up. “Would you like to take a walk along the beach?”

“I’ll bet the view from your room is just as good,” Gavin said.

Ben smiled wolfishly. “I like the way you think.”

They rode the elevator up to Ben’s room, and he swiped the card in the door then ushered Gavin in ahead of him. The view was disappointing, miles of dark ocean with the lights of a single freighter off the coast.

“Beautiful, isn’t it,” Ben said, coming up beside him. He put his arm around Gavin’s waist. For the first time Gavin realized the guy was a couple inches shorter than he was.

“It sure is.” Gavin turned toward Ben and leaned down to kiss him. The kiss he received in return was more like a peck, and then Ben backed away.

“Let me get out of my suit.” He stepped back into the hotel room and Gavin watched as he opened the closet door. He took his time, hanging up his suit jacket, removing his dress loafers and lining them up on the closet floor, then unbuttoning his white shirt.

Well, Gavin thought, if my clothes were worth that much money, I’d take good care of them too. He pulled his polo shirt off and toed off his deck shoes. When he turned to go back into the bedroom he saw Ben had put on black leather boxer briefs, and he was fastening a studded leather bandolier over his chest.

Kinky, Gavin thought. And interesting.

He walked back into the room, and Ben looked up at him. “You’re still wearing your pants.”

“Not for long,” Gavin said. He unbuttoned them and they slid down over his waist.

“Shorts, too,” Ben said.

Gavin’s dick was already hard and it bounced against his stomach when he jerked down his briefs. As he looked up, he saw Ben take a pair of leather-lined handcuffs from his backpack. Gavin was surprised he’d been able to get them past the TSA check. Weren’t handcuffs on the prohibited list?

Before Gavin realized it, Ben had locked a cuff on one of Gavin’s wrists, and expertly pulled that arm behind his back. “Hey, hold on,” Gavin said, but Ben already had Gavin’s other wrist in the second cuff.

Ben removed a leather paddle from a backpack and slapped it against his palm. “Bend over.”

Gavin did as he was told, leaning down to grasp the edge of the bed. “Nothing that shows,” he said. 

“I have another shoot in a few days.”

“Like that matters to me,” Ben said, and he smacked Gavin’s butt. It sent electric currents through his dick and the rest of his body. It was kinky, but he thought he could get into it.

“I’m new at this,” Gavin said. “So go easy, all right?”

He felt the edge of the paddle caressing his butt crack, and relaxed. Funny, how the innocent-looking guys turned out to be the weirdest in bed. Ben slipped a leather glove on his right hand, and began fingering Gavin’s hole. He alternated with light slaps of the paddle, and Gavin’s dick began to leak precum. This was getting good.

Ben’s leather-clad finger pushed past Gavin’s anal ring, and he winced. “Take it easy,” he said. 
“That’s not Grand Central Station back there.”

“You know, you’re much better looking with your mouth shut,” Ben said. “But if you won’t shut it yourself, I can take care of that.”

He reached back into his bag of tricks and brought out a ball gag. Gavin had never seen one of those in person, but he’d seen enough videos online to know what happened next. The ball would go in his mouth, with the rubber strap around the back of his head.

“Hey, I’ll shut up,” Gavin said. “You don’t have to use that, honest.”

Ben was surprisingly strong for a little guy. He pried open Gavin’s mouth and stuffed the rubber ball inside, then pulled the strap over his head.

Gavin’s dick had begun to soften. This wasn’t his scene. What had happened to the eager guy who’d wanted to make it with a model? Who’d paid for a great dinner and wanted to take a walk on the beach?

Ben began smacking Gavin’s ass hard. It hurt but he couldn’t cry out, because the ball filled his mouth. Tiny tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.

“Not such a big stud now, are you?” Ben asked. “You model types are all alike. You lord your good looks over normal guys. But when it comes to pain, you’re just a wimp.”

Gavin tried to shake his head, but Ben slapped his cheek. Anything Gavin said turned into a garbled mumble, but Ben wasn’t paying attention. He dug through his pack and found a big black dildo, larger than anything Gavin had ever had up his ass.

That was it. He had had enough. He turned around and caught Ben off guard, then kneed him in the balls. “You fucker!” Ben yelped. “You’re really going to get it now.” He clutched his balls and writhed on the bed.

Gavin grabbed the key to the handcuffs from the bureau in one hand, then stepped into his deck shoes. While Ben was still immobilized, Gavin squatted down and grabbed his shirt, slacks and briefs.

“Don’t go out in the hall like that!” Ben screeched.

Gavin didn’t bother to answer. He used his elbow to knock the door open, and then stalked out into the carpeted hallway, stark naked. He used his elbow again to push the elevator button.

When the door opened, the car was empty. Not my day, Gavin thought. He managed to push the button for the ground floor, though it took some contortions. He rode down alone, and when the door opened to the marble he stalked over to the concierge desk. He dropped his clothes to the floor and then placed the key on the desk. He turned around, presenting his hands to the young woman on duty.

She didn’t say a word, just unlocked the cuffs for him. He immediately removed the ball gag from his mouth and laid it and the cuffs on the concierge desk. “These belong to the asshole in twelve-ten,” he said politely. He pulled on his briefs and his slacks, then tossed his shirt over his shoulders. “Thank you for your help.”

He walked out of the hotel bare-chested, daring anyone to stare at him. He was a fucking model, and they’d just gotten a free show.