Cruising for Bad Boys excerpts by Mykola Dementiuk & Amanda Young

The Cruising for Bad Boys anthology edited by Mickey Erlach leaves the cozy confines of the bedroom to seek out sex in the riskiest of locales. Have you ever seen a man in a suit at a truck stop? A preppy frat boy in a public park after midnight? A nerdy man walking down the street in the wrong part of town? They aren't lost. They're looking for bad boys, and when they find them, the fun begins. The best part is when the suit and glasses come off, and the trick is no longer the wildest one in the room ... or in the park.

The first excerpt, from "My Father's Semen" by Mykola Dementiuk, is the disturbing story of a young man who seeks out his biological father only to be forced to survive the one way he knows how. This story will open your eyes to life on the streets of New York in the 1980s and will surprise you in the end.

The second excerpt is from the story "After Sunset" by Amanda Young.

Cruising for Bad Boys
Publisher: STARbooks Press (June 18, 2009)
ISBN-10: 1934187488

Excerpt from Mykola Dementiuk's "My Father's Semen"

My father lived in New York, ever since I was little, and I haven’t seen him six
or seven years. Every Christmas I’d get a card from him with a check for a
hundred dollars --which I immediately cashed-- I suppose it was his way of
saying, Don’t bother me until next Christmas! My mom I never heard from;
grandmother told me she was in San Francisco with her lesbian lover. Oh, I
said, and shrugged. Grandmother knew a lot more but didn’t say much.

The station was packed with people coming and going, but I had to take a
non-descript seat and keep out of trouble. Wasn’t too long ago --about year--
that I got picked up in the Greyhound men’s room, doing nothing, just standing there, but the cops hauled me in anyway.

Cincinnati has no claim to fame, besides Steve McQueen in Cincinnati Kid which took place in New Orleans, and Loni Anderson in WKRP in Cincinnati, a TV show meant more to show off Loni’s tits than her acting ability. And one time the city was know as Porkapolis, before they changed the name to Cincinnati, in honor to some local Indian chief lord, hell, do you think people like to call their home a sty? Fuck off, Cincinnati, or should I say, Oink! Oink!

I only knew three things about New York: it was big, my father lived there, and
whatever Joey told me about it. He had been there about a year ago; having spent a week there, also running away from the therapy clinic his parents put him in because he was gay. His parents were rich enough to send a bounty hunter after him and he nabbed Joey right in the back of the NYC bus station, on his knees, and sucking cock in between two cars. Getting caught in the act was bad enough, but before he nabbed Joey the bounty hunter snapped a Polaroid of Joey sucking cock and which he used to blackmail Joey into giving him blow jobs all the way back home to Cincinnati, or else he’d give the photo’s to Joey’s mom.

Which he did anyway; an envelope full of photos of Joey, kneeling before men, bending over to a standing man, sometimes sucking off one guy while jerking off two others…And of course Joey’s mom never asked why he hadn’t brought Joey home the first day he spotted him but took an entire week to amass twenty rolls of pornographic photos of her son or why there was a receipt among his bills for the Motel 6 outside of Cincinnati.

She paid him 25 thousand dollars to bring me home so he could fuck me right on her doorstep! Joey told me. No wonder he said it took him six weeks to track down Sheila (our friend) in Reno; he had her in a motel for a month, the bastard!

But my grandmother wasn’t as rich as Joey’s parents were so I knew no bounty hunter or parent would come looking for me; but Ralph? Who knew how the social worker would rat me off to his respectable pig friends? Who knew what kind of all-points-bulletin would be issued on me? Warning! Child Molester on the loose! Beware of dreamy-eyes loners writing poetry! That’s him, he’s the one! Smell the little girl all over him! So that’s why I was headed to New York, instead of Chicago, which I had tried three times before.

http://www.mykoladementiuk.com

Excerpt from "After Sunset" by Amanda Young

Toby sauntered into the park and headed for the wooded area toward the back. Nervous sweat matted a white tank top to his back and sides, making the thin material stick to his skin like a lover’s greedy hands. The full moon peeked from between gauzy clouds, staring down at him like a randy voyeur. It was going to be a damn good night. He could feel it in his bones.

Following along the paved trail, he ignored the deserted swing sets and slides and continued on, keeping an eye out for all the things that went bump in the night. He wasn’t above a little vicarious voyeurism himself.

Up ahead and a little to his right loomed a white cement building that housed the public restrooms; a picturesque reminder of all the fucks and sucks he’d swindled during days gone by. Although he knew he could score some easy ass within those four walls, a sloppy blow at the very least, he’d grown a little choosier about his partners these days.

“Psst. Hey, mister. Over here, mister.”

A grin spread across Toby’s face as he slowed to a stop and looked around. He knew that voice. It was the one he’d been waiting for. Anticipation sped his pulse and fed a steady supply of blood to the cock rapidly hardening against the inside of his fly. He sped up his pace as he reached down and adjust himself to keep his zipper from biting into his dick. Free-balling could be a pain when he was trapped inside the snug denim, but it saved crucial seconds when time was of the essence. There wasn’t time to dill-dally with underwear when you were fucking around in public.

Toby kept to the path, though it grew dimmer with every step. The voice had sounded like it was coming from up ahead, instead of off in the bordering trees. He rounded a bend in the walkway, traveling beyond the reach of the illumination behind him.

A hand shot out of the murky darkness. Rough fingers latched onto Toby’s forearm and clamped down around his flesh. He jumped, but quickly masked his surprise behind a casual mien of indifference, allowing himself be tugged off the path and into the wooded area beyond. With every step, adrenaline spiked his blood and made his heart race in both excitement and a touch of apprehension. The same rush of mixed emotions always bombarded him when he came out on night’s like this—which was probably why he kept doing it. There was nothing like those first few seconds of uncertain possibilities to get his dick hard and his pulse thundering. He fucking loved it.

A stray beam of moonlight revealed a quick peek at the man in front of him. Loose golden curls topped the head of a man several inches shorter than Toby’s own six feet, three inches. Although the guy appeared slim in the black T-shirt and jeans he wore, his forearms were corded with sinew and hinted at the muscle beneath the clothing. The brief glimpse of a bulge beneath the man’s fly made Toby’s mouth water for a taste. He wasn’t too proud to drop to his knees in the dirt and blow the man’s mind right out of the top of his head, if given the chance. It wasn’t as if it would be the first time.
http://www.amandayoung.org/


http://www.mykoladementiuk.com
http://www.AmandaYoung.org
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The Dragon's Pool excerpt by Edward C Patterson

In The Dragon's Pool by Edward C Patterson, the third book in the Jade Owl Legacy series, a shadow stalks the lanes and streets, from Gui-lin to San Francisco, from Florence to the Dragon’s Pool. In its wake, Rowden Gray and his China Hands follow a course to right the wrongs of time. The relic is hidden, but stirs in the soul and archaic rituals long since forgotten, but never lost. Some books are closed. Others are open, giving up their secrets. In the darkness, ancient terror awaits. A barren field yields up its magic and . . . the comets return to earth.

The Dragon’s Pool, the next installment of an adventure like none other, looms across the landscape giving even the stouthearted pause to reflect. The stalwart characters of The Jade Owl (excerpt posted on 11/17/08) and The Third Peregrination (excerpt Posted on 2/16/09) are back, and joined by new players and helper bees and . . . yes, villains. It is time for the Tien-xin Rite. It is time to close history’s fissure. It is time to complete the prophesy that dwells beneath Her Majesty’s hem. It is time to count the teeth that emerge from the Dragon’s Pool.

The Dragon's Pool
Publisher: CreateSpace (May 7, 2009)
ISBN-10: 1442170999


Excerpt:

Chapter One

Silky

1

The gay kid watched over his shoulder on this dark Castro night, knowing that the men followed him. Anxious, his panic increased along with his pace. No guessing. They were following him. His heart beat double time. His eyes scanned ahead for a safe haven. He hastened. An alleyway was coming up on his right. He could find shelter there, but it could also spell — dead-end. Still, something had to be done. No time for dumb indecision. In the dark alley, he could blend with the trashcans. Perhaps he could discover an unlocked door. Or a fence to leap. His pursuers were hulks — two of them. He, however, was sinewy and young — fifteen in his Nikes. He could outrun them . . . possibly. They were gaining on him, matching his pace. They would bash him . . . no doubt. So he pressed his Nikes to the grayment, and then sprinted into the alley, speed and chance his only hope now.

Darkness could be his friend, except it wasn’t as dark as he supposed. Light threads filtered through the iron slats of the escapement above. Clotheslines hung silhouettes like Spanish moss. Still, he hadn’t shaken the men — thugs grunting threats, probably pissed that their prey had bolted. Why didn’t he leave the club earlier? Too late to wonder now. He always had taken care to avoid the night shadows. This was the Castro, after all. Gay kids were supposed to be safe here, or so he imagined. But when he emerged from the club, he had sensed something amiss. He spied the men across from The Painted Lips . . . and they were waiting. Waiting for something — for someone. But this was the Castro, after all. A gay haven. So he shrugged them off as night revelers tagged up for a tryst. How stupid had he been? These were the night goblins, mongers seeking a gay punching bag. A kid was a perfect mark — young, alone, silky blonde, with a face as smooth as his black leather jacket. The bashers fished — two against one. Coward’s odds. The kid didn’t have a chance. So it was the alley and the filtered light and the cottony Spanish moss.

The kid strained for his night eyes. He assessed the short stretch between this spot and a chain-link fence. That fence would either be a ladder or fly paper. Beyond it was more darkness. However, his pursuers were close behind him. Audible grunts.

"He’s down here."

Now or never. The Nikes pushed toward the fence. Lurch, but then . . . snap. His pants caught on a metallic mass in the shadows — a bicycle. Under different circumstances, this contraption would have served him well, but it twisted his legs with pedals and wheels, spilling him headlong into broken glass and street screed. Dazed. Dizzy. He scarcely heard the grunts now, or the shuffle.

"There. There he is."

The kid inhaled the alley’s urine aroma just as the first blow fell. He couldn’t see his assailants. Blur. Dazed. Dizzy. A sharp knuckle across his cheek. The pain was reminiscent of other pain. He was not a stranger to the pain or to the hatred. However, the last time he had been assaulted, the knuckles were from familiars. Suddenly, boots replaced fists. Kick. Crack. His wind went. His gorge arose, spewing his last beer over his lips. Retch.

"Die, faggot!"

The kid rolled onto his back, meeting another kick.

I must get up, he thought. If he remained a wounded cub, he’d be a headline in the morning. He would beg for his life, but the words wouldn’t form. So he continued to roll, dodging the next kick. He scrambled, crawling like a tadpole. Somewhere in his young spleen, he found his crust, firing his legs out like springs. Pay dirt. The thug tunes changed from mere hatred to unadulterated anger. One of the night goblins doubled-over. Pay dirt.

Good shot, the kid thought. Haul ass, now. He bucked hard, aiming for the chain links. He touched the steel, his fingers laced through the cold strands. He scrambled up, but a clenched claw interrupted his flight. It pressed him into the links.

"That’s the last fucking time you’ll get a chance to shit free," growled the basher.

"Hold him Benny," said the other. "I think this’ll do it."

They pressed the kid’s cheeks against the fence, choking him. So this is how it shall end, he thought. He heard glass break. If he had been the Sunday school going kind, he would have muttered a prayer. If he could have better assessed his situation, he would have known that he was now beyond such things as prayer. The night goblin wielded a broken bottle — a Southern Comfort remnant, long shorn of efficacy.

Hateful slogans. Demonic laughter. The kid heard it and felt a swoon rising. Gasp. They denied him even the urine-bitter air. Suddenly, other sounds. Trembling. Panicky cursing. Hellish screams. Metal pounding — trashcans clashing. Startled, the kid felt air rushing back into his lungs. Dizzy, he slid from the fence, and then tried to whir about, but his legs surrendered. He fell, wondering what had happened to quell the attack.

The kid scanned down the alley.

"Holy shit," he muttered, the words painfully squeezed from his throat.
His pursuers no longer pursued. They had been pelted with a tornado of garbage cans and glass. Benny and his accomplice were sprawled against the graffiti laden wall like the cuss words scrawled illegibly across the bricks. Debris swirled unabated. Still, the kid was mesmerized. The thugs were entwined in bicycle wheels and handlebars. However, what stunned him was a silhouette that loomed over this human trash.

What was this thing? What had wiped the alley clean? What phantom?

The phantom turned, and then moved into the filtered light. It was just a bit taller than the kid, but it appeared to loom to greater heights. It wore a green flowing cape and ruby red tights; and upon its chest emblazoned the silver letter O. The kid knew. He sighed. He trembled.

"The Jade Owl," he whispered.

He had heard the rumors about the crusader of the Castro. Like every gay youngster, he had followed the Jade Owl’s adventures in The Chronicle’s comic section, but . . . here it was in the flesh. The kid raised his eyes to the escapement. Had it come from the fire escape? From the roof? Did it matter? Safety now. Haven true and keen.

The kid took a step toward this green, shadowy phantom, but a silk clad hand stayed him.

"No closer, please."

The kid saw that his hero (for he was his hero now) wore a feathered hood with two tufted ears. And goggles; no, not goggles. Brass spectacles that shimmered blue.

"Who are you?"

"It doesn’t matter." The voice was sweet. The voice was young. "Are you okay?"

The kid glanced at the pile of hate at the base of the wall. He was okay; better than okay.

"I guess so."

"You’re too young to be out this late."

This must be a dream, the kid thought. He shuddered. His savior stretched his hands aloft like a man about to swan dive. He pulled himself through the night air, his blue eyes forming a firefly shower. The kid observed this, his own eyes blinking timed to his heartbeat. He detected an emerald glow at the cape’s edge. Then it, and its owner, disappeared over the roof. The Jade Owl was gone.

"No, don’t go," the kid cried.

He tripped over the bicycle, landing near Benny’s buckled head. He pushed away from the sight, regaining his feet and his momentum. No, don’t leave me. He was saved. He was free, but he had nowhere to go. He wandered in the dark now until he clutched the chain links, and then climbed. At the crest, he tottered, almost losing his balance. He thought he could still see the emerald glow. No, don’t go. He felt the growing bruises on his ribs. They’d be purple by morning. His throat still pained or he would have shouted after the retreating cape. Dizzy. Sharp pain. It hitched him from the top, the ground coming up fast. He thumped over the fence onto the other side. Now his palms and knees would join his ribs competing for the worst color award. He was in another alley, one that opened onto Hartford Street. The kid pushed himself up, the fence a lifeline now. Glancing through it, two crushed thuggish forms confirmed that he had not been dreaming. It did happen. He gazed skyward again.

The kid ran along the thoroughfare, pain chasing him like a fox. He had hope now, but nowhere to go. Time held no consequences for him — or so he thought; the myopic blessing of youth. On Hartford Street, he hobbled, thinking he could still see the glowing cape. Whether it was his imagination or the side effects of the beating, he had convinced himself that he had met his hero. Now, the kid was the pursuer.

At 17th Street, he paused. He squinted at the rooftops. Yes. It was not his imagination. He saw the glow, bouncing like Tinkerbelle. By the time he crossed Noe Street, he knew. The cape had come to rest either on Pond Street or on Prosper. He thought, Prosper. The kid pursued . . . having nowhere to go.

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NEG UB2 excerpt by Rick R. Reed

In NEG UB2 by Rick R. Reed, the sequel to the best-seller VGL Male Seeks Same...(also published by Amber Allure - see excerpt 12/29/08), poor Ethan Schwartz has just had the most shocking news a gay man can get—he’s been diagnosed HIV positive. Up until today, he thought his life was on a perfect course. He had a job he loved and something else he thought he’d never have: Brian, a new man, one whom Ethan thought of as “the one.” The one who would complete him, who would take his life from a lonely existence to a place filled with laughter, hot sex, and romance.

But along with the fateful diagnosis comes another shock—who is this new love? Had Ethan ever really known Brian? And did Brian infect him? As Ethan says, his love history had been more of a haiku than an epic and Brian seems the likely culprit in his new found diagnosis.

The course of true love never runs smoothly, right? And for Ethan and Brian, their new love, once so bright and shining, now appears tinged with darkness and deceit. Can they face this hurdle together with honesty and forgiveness? Or will this revelation tear them apart?

Ethan turns to creating a blog, Off to See the Wizard of Poz, to help him deal with his diagnosis and love troubles, and what he finds there just may be more hope and support in the world than he once believed. And one of his blog readers just might have the key to Ethan’s happily ever after...

NEG UB2 by Rick R. Reed
ISBN: 978-1-60272-516-4 (ebook)
Publisher: Amber Allure (May 10, 2009)

Excerpt

The front door to Brian’s high-rise had never looked more foreboding. Oh, what are you doing, Ethan? Just go home and wait until tomorrow. Sleep on it. You’ll be more prepared come morning. You can think out in advance what you want to say. He hesitated in the shadows of the shrubbery at the front of Brian’s building, uncertain of whether or not he should listen to the voices that were telling him to go home, wait until tomorrow, procrastinate.

But he knew, deep down, these so-called sensible voices were not sensible at all. They were fearful. They were the voices that had Ethan back away in the past from promising relationships, finding fault with every Tom, Dick, and Harry. And Ethan realized now that he was afraid of getting too involved…no, make that he was afraid of being rejected. One way to avoid being rejected was to end things early yourself. You could always take comfort in the fact that you were not the dumpee, but the dumper.

Tell that to the cat you buy to keep you company some cold winter night.

And right now, he knew he was afraid to talk to Brian, to find out where things stood now that Ethan had ended their relationship, told him he was HIV positive, and been just plain mean to him. Maybe now that Ethan was willing to open the door to reconciliation (maybe), he would find that Brian had acquired the good sense to firmly shut it.

It would serve Ethan right.

Tomorrow would be one more night spent in limbo, lost and alone. Tomorrow he might not feel as passionately and may give himself permission to wait one more day and that day might follow another, then another, until Brian was nothing more than a sweet, but flawed, memory, something to think about as he cleaned out a litter box and opened a can of Fancy Feast.

And tomorrow, he would not have the fire that inspired him to leave his apartment, lights burning, computer online, the TV playing in the background. Had he even bothered to lock his door?

He needed the passion that caused him to rush over here to Brian’s.

Several months ago Brian had given him a key to his place. Now, from so many visits, even the doorman knew him by name and Ethan could easily waltz right in, just like any other resident, and go right on up to Brian’s apartment.

But that was before. Now, he didn’t feel right using the key, even if it was in his pocket. Now, he felt demoted to a caller, a guest, and needed to rely on the formality of ringing Brian’s buzzer outside and—hopefully—being let in.

Ethan closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, imagining himself an actor in the wings. He strode up to the intercom box and, without letting himself hesitate, punched in the code that would cause the phone in Brian’s apartment to ring.

“Hello?”

Ethan was surprised when he answered so quickly, his voice sounding slow and sleepy…and unbearably sexy. Memories of early mornings and late nights rushed into his brain and, for a moment, Ethan was speechless.

“Hello?” Brian said again. “Anybody there?”

“Hi. It’s me.”

There was a long pause and for a moment, Ethan was afraid Brian had simply hung up the phone. Wouldn’t that be just what he had deserved after how he had treated him? Ethan thought of a bouquet of beautiful purple irises flung to cold concrete, to wither and die among discarded can, papers, and cigarette butts. But then Brian spoke again, “What are you doing? You’re downstairs? Why didn’t you just use your key?”

A good sign! “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t know if that was appropriate…any more.”

He could hear Brian’s sigh come through the box. “Oh, for God’s sake. Do you have your key?”

“Yes.”

“Then just get up here.”


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Dreaming of You excerpt by Ethan Day

In Dreaming of You by Ethan Day, restaurateur Aden Ingle has been in love with the perfect man since his fourteenth birthday. Unfortunately, his perfect boyfriend only exists in his dreams. But Aden’s always believed it was his destiny to meet his dream man, and he's perfectly content to wait around for him to walk into his real life.

When he meets Logan Price at a Hotel/Restaurant Trade Show, he finds himself drawn to this man who shakes him out of his dream world. Pretty soon, the flesh and blood reality is becoming more appealing than the fantasy. The only problem is Logan lives half way across the country in California.

Aden's going to have to choose whether to give up everything he’s built for himself professionally and uproot his whole life for Logan, or wait for the man from his dreams to become a reality.

Dreaming of You
Publisher: Loose ID (2009)
ISBN: 978-1-59632-922-5

Excerpt:

After we were showered and all shiny and clean, Logan told me he’d already made lunch plans for us. When I asked him where we were going, he told me it was a surprise. We ran by his hotel so he could change clothes, then climbed in yet another cab, and I listened to him give an address to the cabdriver. I resisted the urge to whine until he told me where we were going, and instead, settled into the seat with him. I smiled when he put his arm around me.

“I could really get used to this,” I said teasingly.

He chuckled and pulled me closer to him. “Me too.”

After a twenty-minute ride, the cab pulled up in front of a large three-story house with two-story giant columns. The yard was impeccably manicured, and there were black door-length shutters and French doors along the first and second stories, which opened up onto a two-story porch.

“Um…where are we, Logan?”

“My mother’s house,” he said matter-of-factly, as if telling someone the weather.

“I thought we were going to lunch?” I asked, trying to keep myself from panicking.

“We are, silly boy; we’re having lunch with my mother.”

“Yeah, hi… I’m thinking no!” I started squirming in my seat. “I can’t meet your
mother… I mean… Jesus, Logan, I had your dick in my mouth a few hours ago!”

“Okay.” His eyes widened as he tossed some money over the seat for the driver. “How about we get out of the car and talk?” He grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the cab. I felt the inevitability of what was happening to me sink in. Shutting the cab door, he looked at me and smiled. “Aden, it’s going to be fine. My mother doesn’t know you had my dick in your mouth last night.”

“Last night, try this morning.” I watched the cab drive off, leaving me no escape. “Jesus, I know it. She’ll be able to tell. Mothers know things like this.”

“Aden”—Logan grabbed my already sweaty palm and led me up the driveway—“if it makes you feel any better, she asked me to bring you to lunch yesterday when I was talking about you. That was before we had sex.”

“Okay, you have a point.” I was walking next to him and said, lowering my voice, “An idiotic one, but a point just the same. Why didn’t you tell me about this beforehand?”

“Because you would have said no,” he said with a slightly ornery laugh.

“Um…yeah!” Shit, I’d met parents before, but never on the second day. “Sure…we’ll just waltz in and you can say…‘Hey Mom, here’s the ho I fucked last night.’”

He stopped walking and started laughing. “That would be funny.” He turned and placed his hands on my shoulders. “It’s going to be fine…you’ll love her.” He leaned in and started to kiss me.

“Are you nuts!” I twisted away from him. “I’m not gonna mack on you on her porch!”
The most adorable smile spread over his face. “Damn, if you aren’t the cutest thing I think I’ve ever seen. Come on,” he added, grabbing my hand, “and stop fidgeting.”

Easy for you to say, I thought as he opened the front door, allowing me to go first.

Lamb to the slaughter! Lamb to the slaughter!


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Best Unspoken excerpt by Bryl R. Tyne

In Best Unspoken by Bryl R. Tyne,twenty-five year old social butterfly, Levi Finley couldn't be more mismatched for his middle-aged, introverted counterpart, biomedical tech, Rob Langston. What happens when two so utterly opposite men come together? Besides the hottest sex in Levi's young life? Throw in one opinionated mother, misunderstanding friends, and one hell of a birthday party at the wildest, gentleman's gentlemen club in town, and friction, a notch above wild, is bound to ensue. Will Levi allow doubts to destroy their relationship? Not if Rob has any say in the matter. But that might not be as easy as it sounds, considering Rob's preferred communication is always best unspoken.


Best Unspoken
Noble Romance Publishing (2009)
ISBN: 978-1-60592-034-4

Excerpt:

No matter how I struggled, Rob refused to release me. Without a word, he marched to the valet’s station, demanded his key, and located his car—all with me in tow. After unlocking the passenger door and yanking it open, he shoved me toward the seat. I’d never experienced an angry Rob. Despite wanting to inform him of the bruises he inflicted, or scream about the humiliation he’d brought upon me in front of my friends, for the first time in my life—I was speechless.

As we exited the lot, my insides warred. Hurt? Pissed? Maybe I was in shock. Every inch of my body felt numb. I stared out the window. Never had I seen him like this. I should’ve gotten out when he walked around the car. Why’d I just sit here?

I glanced his way. Jaw tight, his teeth ground a frightening rhythm as he focused on the highway. Had I provoked him to physical rage? “Rob, where—?”

His cool, hazel-green eyes had mutated into a fiery, burnt orange gaze that he cast in my direction. Any moron should’ve recognized the intent behind that glare. He didn’t have to add his thoughts, but he did. “Shut. Your. Mouth.”

I did. And kept it shut throughout the twenty-minute ride.

Under the eve of a shanty, ma and pa roadside motel, Rob slammed the shifter into park and exited the car. Why didn’t I run?

My door whipped open. Rob stood glowering.

“Here.” He slapped a room key into my palm as he hauled me from the car. “You’re a ball of energy tonight. Find the room on foot.”

I stared.

He pointed to the right of the lobby.

I followed the sidewalk in the direction he’d instructed. Maybe I should’ve listened to Mom? I could turn around, bolt for the lobby, call the police. It’d take Rob a good minute to get out of his car and chase me down. I stood before room twenty-five as he pulled the car into the space behind me. Still, plenty of time to make a break. In a daze, I unlocked the door and stepped into the room.

The slamming of the car door and the clunk of the room door registered as my mind reattached to reality. I recognized the dead bolt click. “Rob—”

Air left my lungs, and I dropped the room key to the carpet as he twisted me around and pressed me against the wall. Pinning my arms above my head, he covered my mouth with his.

Tracing the seam of my lips, his tongue enticed my mouth open. He teased just inside my upper lip, retreated, and closed his mouth over mine without entering. Christ, I love when he teases. He backed away, jagged amber outlining a now calmer green in his eyes. His salt and pepper sideburns accentuated high cheekbones, as his gaze followed his hand roaming down the front of my suit pants. He paused, palm over the pulse behind my fly, and his eyes met mine. “You want me to talk more do you?”

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LA Heat excerpt by P A Brown

L.A. Heat has been revised and reissued by MLR Press: Forbidden love, forbidden desire. Fast paced roller coaster ride through the dark underbelly of the city of Angels.

Additional excerpts can be read on the blogs dated July 24th and February 2nd, 2008.


LA Heat
MLR Press (April 9, 2009)
ISBN:978-1-934531-85-3(print)
ISBN:978-0-9817464-4-9(e-book)

Excerpt:

Downstairs he booted up his computer. By the time the coffee was ready and he poured himself a mug, he was logged in and online, ready to launch his queries. First he ran some simple searches on Bobby Starrz that brought back several links of film credits. Bobby had been a busy boy. The videos went back over three years, which meant Bobby had started when he was underage, since Chris doubted he’d been much over twenty-one. He printed off a couple of pages that listed the production company that had done most of the videos. StarFlight Productions. A quick Google search returned a hit for an office on Ventura Boulevard in North Hollywood. Even better, it gave him his first lead. A website. Bingo.

Opening StarFlight’s website landed him on a smarmy page featuring suggestive images without substance and a lengthy list of available titles. They even had a secure site for making online purchases. MasterCard, Visa, Amex or PayPal. Convenient. The videos could be ordered or downloaded as streaming video. Instant porno without leaving home.

StarFlight even sold a line of sex toys for the connoisseur. Dildos, specialty condoms, and the really fun stuff like butt plugs, cock extenders, bondage and S & M gear in every material from silk to leather.

All that merchandise meant a back-end database to store customer information and inventory. Was there also an employee database for the talent? The only way to find out was to gain access to it.

Chris dived into his laptop case and pulled out an unmarked CD binder. Leafing through it he found a page that had not CDs but USB flash drives. He slipped one into his USB port. A screen popped up and demanded a password before it opened. He used 1344 bit military strength disk encryption on the flash drive and only when he issued the pass phrase were the algorithms used to unlock the virtual drive he had created on the device. Until the algorithm ran, all the flash drive revealed were a number of folders containing music files. He played the Red Hot Chili Peppers latest while he launched his hidden files.

He knew if StarFlight paid big bucks to the right people their site would be nearly impregnable. But if, like most businesses, they were cheap with their IT dollars, this was going to be a snap. It took Chris all of ten minutes to determine that StarFlight didn’t invest in IT security. The site was wide open to his snooping.

He needed only one more thing. He wasn’t about to launch this attack from his own PC. If anyone at StarFlight realized they were being hacked he didn’t want them — or the cops — tracing it back to him. He had to find a vulnerable PC he could hijack.

He launched his port-snooping tools from the same CD and left to refresh his coffee while his software went out on the Internet in search of a computer that hadn’t been secured against hackers. He knew it wouldn’t take long. Home users were notorious for not securing their machines. No matter how often the media warned them, their blissful ignorance made them ideal targets for what he needed.

Back with his second coffee, he found his sniffers had discovered opened ports on several vulnerable machines and launched tiny, malformed packets that caused a buffer overflow. The vulnerable machines had no way to handle the overflow, so they allowed the packet in and Chris followed. He looked around his hijacked PC. All it had on it were a few cheesy games, chat software, and several dozen spyware gadgets installed by other unscrupulous netizens. The owner of this machine was a perfect dupe.

Chris launched a second set of tools, dug out of another virtual vault. These would set up the hijacked machine to run the processes he needed in the background, so even if the owner was working on his computer, he’d never know what was happening.

The hidden processes ran flawlessly, and within minutes he had a perfect little zombie machine doing his bidding. That was when he set to work hacking StarFlight’s back-end server.

The tools he used for that were a lot more sophisticated and he was sure the police would be very interested in knowing he had them. He had password-cracking tools and decrypters as well as a whole range of key loggers.

While the crackers and the decrypters ran against the database he refreshed his coffee one more time. Then it was back to check the progress of his hacking job. He was pleased to see that StarFlight most likely had chosen their operating system and their security model on the basis of office politics and management schmoozing, instead of good IT judgment — their system was the easiest one in the world to hack.

In another ten minutes his zombie machine registered success. He was in.

Within minutes Chris had a list of every movie Bobby had participated in — Chris refused to think of it as acting — and something even better. Bobby Starrz’s real name and his social security number.

Just like David had said: his name was Robert “Bobby” Allen Dvorak. Born in Topeka, Kansas, June ninth, twenty-one years ago. Quit high school at sixteen and, like so many before him, took off for granola land to become a star. And like so many before him, he was eaten up by the heartless, insatiable machine.

Best of all, a street address on Western Avenue in the still- ungentrified part of Hollywood. Maybe just ten minutes from Chris’s. He jotted down the full address just in case his memory failed him.

He knew he should call David. Dump what he had found in his lap. Only, how would he explain how he came by it? Admit to hacking StarFlight? Admit to having military grade encryption software? Homeland Security would love that. It wouldn’t help his credibility with the local cops, either.

Could he just give them the information without saying how he got it? No, David would think he’d known it all along.

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The Paper Mirror excerpt by Dorien Grey

In this excerpt from The Paper Mirror, book #10 in the Dick Hardesty Mystery series by Dorien Grey, Dick and Jonathan are attending a party hosted by one of Jonathan's favorite writers, Evan Knight.


The Paper Mirror
GLB Publishers (September 12, 2005)
ISBN: 1879194570


Excerpt:

“So how did it go with Evan’s writing friends?” I asked.
“Great!” Jonathan said, his face brightening. “That tall one is Phillip Tanner―he writes the Grant Moss detective series. I’ve read them all. The other is Charles Beeman…he won a couple of awards for his last book…The Ghost of Years,it’s called. I was embarrassed that I haven’t read it, and told him I would pick up a copy as soon as I could. They were both very nice guys. I’ll try to introduce you later, if you’d like. I was really impressed.”
Again, though, I knew full well Evan Knight’s attentions to Jonathan were based on more than his being a nice guy. But I was happy for Jonathan’s opportunity to meet people he admired.
We went back out to the patio for another drink before, as Jonathan suggested, hitting the buffet table. Jake, Jared, and the guy Jake had been talking to in the pool were nowhere to be seen, and there seemed to be several more guys wandering around without their clothes. Evan was just walking away from the bar, his shirt unbuttoned to display a very nice set of pecs and a forest of chest hair.
Watch it, Hardesty, a mind voice cautioned. You don’t even like the guy.
Yeah, well, my crotch responded, paraphrasing an old standard gay joke, I didn’t come here to fuck personality.
“You about ready to come in the pool?” Evan asked as he passed.
“In a minute,” I said.
“Shall we?” Jonathan asked. I noticed that he’d given Knight’s impressive torso a rather lingering glance.
“If you want,” I said.
I saw that there were several chairs around the pool with clothes on them.
“Don’t you want something to eat first?” I asked.
“Not if we’re going swimming,” Jonathan replied. “It can wait.”
Very un-Jonahan, I thought, but we detoured to one of the few still empty chairs and began taking our clothes off. Odd, I’d done this a hundred times in the past without a second thought, but now that I was with Jonathan…
You don’t want other guys to see him naked, a mind voice observed casually.
Well, damn it, I realized it was right. I didn’t.
But you don’t mind them seeing you? the voice asked.
That’s different, I thought defensively.
Oh, yeah? Like how, for example?
Get over it, Hardesty, the voice said. You are Tarzan. Jonathan is Boy. He’s your possession. You don’t own him.
It was right again, of course.
We undressed and walked over to the edge of the pool, where seven or eight guys were splashing around, or doing underwater laps, or floating on their backs. Jonathan stuck one foot in. “Nice,” he said. “Come on!” and he dived in. I followed.
I must admit, it was a lot of fun. Jonathan insisted on ducking me every chance he got, and we got into a couple underwater scuffles. We weren’t even aware of the other guys around us until all of a sudden we came up for air, laughing, and Evan Knight was there right in front of us.
“Enjoying yourselves?” He asked. He was able to touch bottom, and was standing right in front of Jonathan. I saw him staring at Jonathan…and not at his face. “Ah,” he said with a big smile, “very nice! Just as I remember it.”

* * *

It was as if somebody had just kicked me in the gut…hard.
“What the…?” I heard myself say.
Jonathan looked quickly toward me, his face a study in mortification. “I…” he started to say.
“Oh, oh…sorry,” Knight said, his tone making it perfectly clear that he was no such thing. “No offense. But I knew knew you from somewhere. It wasn’t until after you’d left the other day that I remembered from where. We met at Hughie’s quite a while ago…you’ve changed so much I didn’t recognize you at first. You’ve really filled out nicely. Dick must be treating you right.” He reached out his hand under the water, and Jonathan stumbled quickly backwards.
He still looked stunned, and then I was afraid he might start to cry.
Knight looked at me, his face a mask of fake concern. “Hey, I’m really sorry if I opened any closet doors,” he said, his eyes shifting back to Jonathan. “I rather thought that might have been how you met Dick, too. No shame in being a hustler, especially if it pays off.”
I’m not sure quite what happened next. All I know is that there were little clouds of red in the water and Evan Knight was holding both hands to his face and a trickle of blood was running down one arm and dripping from his elbow into the water. I grabbed Jonathan by the arm and we waded to the steps at the end of the pool and got out of the water. There wasn’t a sound to be heard, except music coming from the house. I wasn’t aware of anyone or anything―just a bunch of statues standing around as if frozen in time.
I grabbed our clothes and we padded through the house, dripping water across the carpet, and walked out the door, stark naked.

* * *

And look for the June release of Aaron’s Wait, Book #2 of the Elliott Smith Mystery series, and for the July release of Roger/Dorien’s non-fiction Navy memoir, A World Ago.

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