Monday, December 9, 2013

Three sets of Story Orgy Singles

We've got goodies for you this week...whoop whoop :)

Last year we asked for holiday prompt suggestions from our freaking awesome readers and with them put together 3 short it was these were the last things we posted on Monday before we took a bow and some much needed time off...

Well, it's been a year and we thought what a good way to celebrate this holiday combining those 3 short flashes into our own Story Orgy Singles!

Let me tell you, it was a blast going over those shorts again and remembering the good times and some of the amazingly eye-popping holiday prompts that were sent in...*cough cough* escapee from a psychiatric facility *cough cough*...putting them together and behind one of the best covers available! *kisses on Startled Monkeys Media <3*

So, join us in celebrating the holiday season and pick yourself up some tempting flashes from your Story Orgy.

Hank Edwards knows how to put you in the mood...and not just the holiday mood *winks*

A Gift for Greg
Stew Brannigan Rides Again
Stripper Claus
Light your yuletide log and spike your eggnog, Hank Edwards has three Holiday themed flash fiction stories that will put some Christmas in your carols this season. Take a seat by the fire and read about unexpected reunions, cowboys getting back in the saddle... with each other, and a hot—and flexible—mall Santa!
Available @ ARe & Amazon

And Lee Brazil is a must have year round...but when the weather turns cooler and the mistletoe is in abundance I especially can't help reaching for him to keep me warm and toasty...*sighs*

By Design
A ghostly visit on Christmas Eve points grieving Kyle in a new direction.

For All Eternity
When a shopping mall elf is touched by a joyless child, a connection is forged that lasts a lifetime.

Wearing His Ring
Detective Grant Hammond spends Christmas at a hot springs hotel with his lover, JT, who is determined to celebrate the old fashioned way, popcorn garland and all.
 Available @ ARe & Amazon

And then there is lil ol' moi...*curtsies*
um...*whispers* Havan Fellows ;)

Melting Jack Frost
When Jack Frost is not happy that means no white Christmas for anyone. Parker Pendle, Jack's lover and Santa's head elf, is determined to put the snowflakes back in the air, and more importantly, back in his lover's eyes.

Meds N' Mistletoe
Michel's life was stolen from him when his boyfriend fraudulently committed him to a mental institution with aspirations of stealing his trust fund. Now, Michel is on the run after breaking out. A twig of mistletoe and a kiss from a stranger might be the key to showing Michel that he didn't lose the best things in his life this holiday season.

Secret Needs
When you step through the doors of the Sanctuary, your desires are never truly hidden. Brant learns this lesson when the sexy man in the corner decides to be his personal secret Santa and prove he can satisfy those secret needs.
Available @ ARe & Amazon

Monday, November 4, 2013

Finding that hour

Good Monday morning friends! Hank here, wishing you a happy November!

Did you all set your clocks back an hour? Did you enjoy some extra sleep, or did you stay up even later trying to squeeze in just a little bit more of whatever you needed to do before the Sandman came around?

Yeah, me too.

Either way, it's the beginning of November (holy crap!) and we're on that slippery slope that leads straight into the holiday season.

So before all that crazy starts up, I'm going to share with you a love poem.

Oh, wipe that shocked look off your faces. Yes, I'm not all paranormal and terrifying and clumsy slap-stick humor, I can be sweet and loving as well. Sometimes. Well, now and then.

Anyway... This is a poem I wrote many, many years ago. It's a love poem, yes, but a different kind of love poem (yeah, okay, I can be sweet and loving, but, hey, it's me, so you knew there'd be a catch, right?). I've posted it before on Facebook and my own blog, and I'm going to share it here with our Story Orgy friends.

Happy November, don't forget to vote tomorrow, and set your sights on Thanksgiving, it's only a month away. Yeeehaw!

Counting Days

Ah, my love, I miss you so.

I am lethargic and dull

since you last left my side.

It feels as if you have been gone for years

and I wonder where you spend your time.

I spend mine counting the days until you return

And we can linger in bed,

reacquainting ourselves as old loves do.

I know you will be back,

you always return to blow the

breath of life through me,

awaken my body, sharpen my mind.

Oh, how I pine for you, love,

wait impatiently for your arrival.

I look forward to falling back

into our old, comfortable rhythms.

Return to me, my dearest,

my one true love,

my Eastern Standard Time.

-Hank Edwards
October 2002

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Samhain Reflections & Author's Pride...

Happy Samhain...Happy Hallow's Eve...Happy Halloween!
 (yes, that is one of my kiddos' pumpkins. lol)

Have you all carved your pumpkins? Bought your candy? Decorated your windows and primed your porch light?

Good! Me too.  ;)

**serious blog transition alert**

And if that doesn't surprise you, maybe this will: 

While I was doing all the busy-bee things this week like party planning, karate classes and traveling for work...I took a few minutes to contemplate the season and its meaning. 

Samhain is a Pagan holiday celebrated with as much reverence as Christmas is for Christians. We look around us, taking in the sights and smells of Fall turning to Winter, enjoying the reminder that the goddess is both the supplier of life and bringer of death. We understand that the Samhain is the beginning of shorter days, longer nights. And we understand that it doesn't only apply to the trees and flowers. It applies to us as well.

So, I looked back over the previous year at what I had accomplished, how I had grown. Turns out not much, writing wise. I had a couple of releases with my publisher but I haven't been consistent, and I haven't kept on top of promo like I should have. However, even despite my quiet year as an author, my big achievement came in my personal life when I finally admitted this year that since my youngest was born, I've had issues with controlling my moods. PMDD they call it. (Think PMS x's 10). I'm on medication for that, and now my family is back in the forefront of my existence as they should be.

I admit I have struggled to gain perspective in other areas - I have let down my friends and fans, my fellow writers, those who are aspiring writers and asked for help. I have let myself down. Not completely. But enough. I developed what I think of as "Author's Pride" - that frame of mind where you are a wonder in your own eye, can only go up (ha!), and have lost sight of what else is important.

Like learning about the craft of writing. Becoming a better author, person, friend, mentor. Apologizing for those letdowns. Receiving inspiration. Giving back.

As a result, the storytelling in my head went quiet for a while. A long while. Only now is it beginning to rumble back to life, now that I've settled some and can see that I was my own obstacle. Once again I have projects in the "pot", simmering, coming to a a great recipe, waiting for the moment for all the components to gel together into one amazing dish. Into a great story that people can't wait to read.

It's close. I can feel it.

Because on Samhain it is always best to remember that though the goddess has ushered in the final season, has shown her willingness to wither the beautiful things we see during Spring and Summer...she also is a wonderful deity who shows her power with regeneration and rebirth. Resilience and fortitude. Love and hope.

And, after all, isn't that the perfect recipe for romance?

*Hugs* to all. Have a safe Halloween and save the Dots for me. ;)

Monday, October 21, 2013

No flashing or dirt this time, but a new release on the horizon...

So I wasn't sure what I should blog about today – Hank wanted me to do a flash and a whole buncha people wanted the dirt on my fellow SO writers...hehe...but then a most wise and handsome person (um...that would be Lee *winks*) reminded me that *head thumps* Duh! You have a release coming out this week by the name of Judging Jude!

Not sure if ya'll remember a little story I did with the Monday prompts...started it in January of 2012...and now it is finally finished and coming to you hopefully *crosses fingers...toes...and legs* wow—that's a new experience for me...hopefully coming out this week!

So here is a snippet (hey is close to a and I promise the next time I'm up on the blog I will bring you updates on all your fave writers...I love digging around in their drawers for*looks around and winks* oh yeah... :)

So without any further delay
...for your reading pleasure...
Judging Jude

"Happy fucking New Year to me," Judas mumbled to the empty apartment. He plopped down on his leather sofa, a rip in the material stabbing at his skin, again. "Son of a bitch!" He popped back up and grabbed the dark green duct tape from a water-warped hutch's drawer. He had bought the durable tape specifically for this purpose.
Judas put the roll on his wrist like a bracelet and ripped a length off, mending the dilapidated furniture. When finished, he tossed the roll to the ground and surveyed his work. The duct tape was becoming more prominent on the couch than the leather.
Sighing, he took his place back on the sofa and reached under it for the flat, sandwich-shaped plastic container he kept his smoking accessories in. He should probably grab the want ads and circle job offers with his trusty red pen, but what for? He wasn't qualified for anything, and his present job, though shitty as it was, at least kept his pipe filled with spice and, oh yeah, a leaky roof over his head.
You would think working at a doctor's office would be cool and profitable. Yeah, not if you cleaned the exam rooms and toted out the garbage. Sure, they let him keep his piercings in—both ears and an eyebrow—and they didn't give him a hard time about his tats—namely because they were good tats, not that shit that people get from a hack or when they're drunk...but, he only made a whole two bucks over minimum wage. At just under thirty hours a week, Jude smoked that up faster than his checks got cashed. No, the real money landed in the job's fringe benefits. It amazed Jude how much people would pay for a few blank prescription papers with the doc's signature stamp on them. He never took a whole pad; they were always locked up anyway. But between the three doctors, Jude could walk out of there on a good day with at least a couple dozen ripped off pages. Getting them stamped proved the easy part, none of the doctors locked their desk drawers during the business day, and it was his job to clean the offices.
That plus the free samples he pocketed on the rare occasion those cabinets weren't shut down tight and he just barely got by. He might have been a thief, but he played it cool and careful like. He never went after anything they kept strict count on; the records for the free samples were never up-to-date. The pads were inventoried, but once a doctor pulled one out, the papers on that pad were fair game.
He packed his pipe with the last of his Mr. Swell Guy spice and took a hit, grimacing when it burned going down. He still preferred the real deal to this crap, but at least this crap was legal right now and didn't show up on drug tests. Well, legal to buy, but illegal to smoke—he never understood how that worked.
Placing the pipe to his lips, he flicked his lighter and inhaled deeply. A banging on his apartment door caused him to jump while simultaneously hacking on the smoke as he dropped the pipe.
"What the fuck?" he mumbled, then coughed out as loud as he could, "Go the fuck away!" Not a person on this planet existed that he wanted to see right now. Hell, there wasn't anyone he wanted to see later either.
"Open the fucking door, or I'll knock it in. And, Jude, you know I will!"
The universe hated him, he realized as he listened to his ex-best friend's voice growling on the other side of the door.
"Go the fuck away, Wally! I thought I told you I didn't want to fucking see you around here anymore!"
Louder banging this time. Jude could actually see the door bowing in its frame. "Damn cheap-ass building." He quickly threw everything back in the plastic container, cringing at the last of his spice that spilled out of his pipe to imbed itself in the stained old carpet. He wouldn't be able to make any money for another four days to get more, and even then only if he could snag some script papers from work and contact his buyer.
"I'm not leaving, so you might as well open this door, or you could let your neighbors call the cops on me and deal with that mess," Wally shouted to him.
"I'm coming, you big oaf!" He snapped the container shut and tossed it under the couch, then placed a dingy throw pillow on the spice dusted carpet with plans to pick it out after he got rid of his unwanted guest.
"Don't try to sweet talk me. Now, open this damn door!"
"Hardy har har, asshole." Judas unbolted the door and swung it open. "Didn't I tell you to take a fucking hike the last time you sniffed around here?"
His back slammed against the wall as Wally pushed past him and surveyed the room, inhaling deeply. "Christ's sake, Jude. You work in a doctor's office, you should know better than to smoke that shit."
"You ain't my mother. What the fuck you doing here anyway? It's New Year's Eve, don't you have a party to go to or something?" Jude noted the flat-front chinos, blue pin dot button down shirt, and leather bomber jacket. Oh yeah, this would be a short visit. Wally definitely had his prowling clothes on tonight.
"Yep, so that's what you're wearing?"
Jude shook his head. "Huh? I ain't going nowhere with you." To cement his point, he walked to the fridge in his studio apartment and grabbed a can of beer, popping the top then drinking half of it down in one swig. "Ahh."
"That's impressive; you gonna flex and belch next? You have two choices here. You either get changed into what you want to wear or you go with me in those stained, frayed jeans and tank. Do I need to remind you that it's forty degrees outside and those jeans passed sexy five holes ago?"
Wally walked his way. At six feet three inches, he beat Jude's own five-nine on the formidability scale.
"You want to test my word, Judas? Give your neighbors a show while I drag your ass out to my car? Twenty bucks says not a one of them will interfere because that would mean they would have to talk to the cops. We both know no one who lives here would openly volunteer for that."
Jude backed up until his ass hit the counter. "You just said they would call the cops if you kept banging on my door." He pointed out Wally's contradiction.
Wally shrugged and stopped only inches from him. "You opened the door, didn't you? Sue me for lying. Now, what's your choice?"
"Why's it so important to you? We aren't even friends anymore."
Wally grabbed him by his shoulders, jerked him around, and pushed him toward his closet. "Much to your dismay, dipshit, I'll always be your best friend. I'm not the type to just ditch someone because he wants to flush his life away. Now change into something nice; it's New Year’s! Tonight's the beginning of the rest of your life."
"Whatever. But I was just gonna hang out here for New Year’s and bum around."
"And that is why you need to get your ass out of this godforsaken place."

Monday, October 7, 2013

Ready for a tease?

Good morning Story Orgy readers! Lee here today.  Hope this Monday finds you all well and warding off the chill! Brr. It's a nippy out there today! I've got a fresh pot of coffee and a newly baked batch of muffins, sit down and stay a spell. The good news is, our latest anthology is up on the coming soon page at Total E Bound! Check it out HERE. These are five awesome stories based on songs that readers suggested to us back in November, about a year ago. We're all really excited to see what you think of our efforts, and this time around, as you can see, we've mixed it up some by adding Silvia Violet and Angel Martinez to join us.

This morning I've got  bit of a flash for you- or really, probably I'd best call it a tease, since it might just grow into something more.

copyright 2013 Lee Brazil

           "I can't sleep." Zeke yawned and belatedly covered his mouth with his hand as he noticed his host's eyes narrowing. Of course, his modesty would have been better served clutching his shirt closed over his thong underwear, but since he couldn't sleep…
"Maybe," Frosty disapproval echoed in Jordan's voice and his eyes were cold enough Zeke had to resist the urge to shiver. "You're just used to having someone else in bed with you."
And now he was fighting the urge to roll his eyes at his best friend's big brother's prudish attitude. "I don't think that's the problem, Jordy. I sleep alone plenty." Where the hell had Jordan McIntosh gotten the idea he was some sort of slut anyway? "I"m not a slut; I just play one on tv." The insouciance of his tone pleased him.
"You forget I had the pleasure of being your next door neighbor for three years," Jordan's lips curled in a sneer. "The parade of men in and out of your door…"
Blinking, Zeke sipped the whisky in his tumbler and remembered those days. During college, he and Perry had lived in a duplex that Perry's parents owned. The unit next to theirs had been occupied by Perry's older brother Jordan, who had been ordered by his father to keep an eye on the young boys and keep them out of trouble. "That wasn't just my door." He pointed out calmly. He could say more, but the truth of the matter was that if Perry hadn't told his brother about his gay adventures during their years of schooling, then it certainly wasn't Zeke's place to do it.
"Oh, right. Perry is straight, or have you forgotten he's getting married next weekend? Which is why you," This was accompanied by a derisive, assessing glance that left Zeke's skin tingling, "are sleeping, alone, in my guest room."
"Whatever. I can't sleep because I'm too keyed up. It's been a hell of a week. I thought a drink might help, but you're right. A good fuck might turn the same trick. Are you offering?" He threw the last bit in just for shits and grins, and because he was annoyed with his friend's brother's judgmental attitude. Not like he didn't know damn well that Jordan McIntosh had been promiscuity itself until an HIV scare in his last year of college had reformed his habits.
""I'll pass. I’m not desperate enough for release to fuck just anyone." His distaste was clear in the way his head lifted and his nostrils flared. Or was it?
Zeke set his tumbler down and stretched his arms over his head, relishing the relief to his tense muscles as much as the flutter of Jordan's nostrils and the white line that bracketed his mouth. Smiling the sexy smile that made a million hearts throb on his daytime soap opera, he couldn’t resist teasing a little more. "But Jordy, Perry swore you'd take care of me." He let his lashes flutter, peeked at the six foot mountain of stoke broker in front of him from under them.
And found himself crushed between the marble counter top and what had to be at least two hundred pounds of hot, hard muscle. This time his eyes closed for real and he dragged in a breath, trying to jumpstart his heart after the foolish organ stalled with the contact. "Fuck." He breathed, feeling a branding iron of steely cock rubbing against his groin.
"That's all it would be, movie star." Hard hands closed on his shoulders. Jordan bent forward, and Zeke retreated, leaning back, struggling to unpin his arms. The movement brought their grins into even closer contact, and Zeke's cock made its own preference for resolving the sleep issue with sex instead of alcohol clear.
"Who needs anything else?" He wormed his arms out of Jordan's embrace and made the most of his freedom by wind his fingers in Jordan's thick, dark hair and dragging his mouth down for a kiss.
Jordan jerked his head back with a wordless snarl. "No kissing. Kissing is for lovers, and this is most definitely not going to be any of that romantic drivel you put on for the world."
The nearly hysterical urge to laugh at that little bit of prunes and prisms was overcome by dwelling on the fact that it made it sound like Jordan actually watched his show. "That's not me, it's script writers. I can give up on the kissing, as long as it's only mouth to mouth you're saying no to." He let his gaze drop, inventorying places on that hard body he'd like to kiss. The man wore pajamas, for Christ sake, silky green fabric that matched his eyes, clung to his body and did absolutely nothing to conceal the length and breadth of his shoulders, the flatness of his belly, or the mouthwatering stretch of cock tenting the fabric.
"Yes…you can kiss me anywhere else you like…" The sentence ended on a groan as Zeke took immediate advantage of the permission, latching his lips onto the fabric that covered Jordan's nipple. Dampening it with his tongue, he fancied he could taste the man through the silk, and twisted his hips. His cock pulsed, and he shuddered, liking the feel of the silk.
"It would be better…" Zeke pulled away, breathing hard, "naked." He finished, sliding his hands under the silk and lifting. Jordan took over, stripping the shirt over his head and tossing in on the black marble counter top. He stepped back and holding Zeke's gaze, hooked his thumbs in the waist band of the pajama pants.
"Go on," Jordan's voice had lowered, roughened, and the husky new tones conveyed a desire that encouraged Zeke to shake off any doubts. Shaking his head, he shrugged his shoulders and let his own shirt fall, leaving him standing in his thong while Jordan looked him over hotly.
Pouting slightly, he lifted a brow. "I'm still ahead of you here, McIntosh."
The pajama pants fell to a silken swirl around Jordan's feet and Zeke's gaze followed them. He kept his glance there, trained on the pool while he got his breathing under control. He was suave, debonair, a heart throb. He was experienced, this wasn't his first time at the rodeo, or on stage, or up to bat or whatever fucking metaphor you wanted to fill in the blank with.
Just because Jordan McIntosh had always been the unattainable fantasy, the image he'd jerked off to for the first time at thirteen, the crush who'd never known he was alive, was no reason to act like a virginal idiot. And he knew he'd waited too long to look back up, because  Jordon was forcing his chin up, searching his eyes and all Zeke could do was swallow and close his lids against the intrusion of that pale gold gaze, to hide everything he shouldn't be feeling.
The kitchen door slammed, and Zeke crossed his arms protectively over his chest.  Fucking whisky. Now he'd never sleep. And, he'd be lucky if he didn't find himself shuffled off to some hotel in the morning despite the way the press hounded him at every sighting.
Sighing, he tossed back the last of the whisky and returned to his guest room, lying on the bed and feigning sleep when he heard footsteps in the hall outside his door. The sound stopped, as though someone stood outside the door, then continued, fading into the darkness, leaving him alone in a strange bed, with the fear that had originally sent him to the kitchen, and a healthy dose of humiliation in case that jittery someone's watching you feeling ever faded enough.

Hope you liked Jordan and Zeke- you might just be seeing more of them at a future date. 

Meanwhile, have you checked out my latest release? You can find Centurion, the latest in Pulp Friction's Heated Exchange line, at All Romance eBooks and other fine ebook retailers. 

 "Can I be yours?"
Centurion Gaius Priscus has had his fill of war and death but knows no other life. When he meets the captive Salicar's gaze after battle, months of stringent self-denial catch up to him in a blazing rush of need.
Salicar is a healer, an educated man unused to battle but with his own experience of death. He should prefer death to captivity, but cannot find the courage to make it happen.

Will the hardened warrior, tired of death and destruction, deny his captive's plea?

Thanks for dropping by! you all have a fabulous day, and we'll see you next week! Take care and stay warm!  

Monday, September 30, 2013

A Spooky Little Treat From Hank...

Hi all!
Hank Edwards here, wishing you a happy Monday and happy end of September. Ah, can you smell the crisp autumn air? See the leaves turning and dropping to the ground. Hear the quiet crunch of them underfoot as someone (something?) creeps among the trees at night...

It's my turn here at the Story Orgy blog, and I decided to write up a
new Flash Fiction sexy/spooky story for you. I'm currently reworking my very first Story Orgy story, Wicked Reflection, for the fine folks at Loose Id Publishing. It's going to be quite a bit different from its original form, so be sure to watch for a release date and all that on my Facebook page.

Also, for you Venom Valley fans, I submitted Blood & Stone, the third book in the series, a couple weeks ago and am awaiting the edits from Wilde City Press. No idea of a release date, yet, but I'm hoping it will be available before the end of the year. This series has been one wild ride and I think this book ties up lots of loose ends, but leaves it open for some return visits in the future.

Okay, so here's your flash fiction for today, inspired by the insanely huge and creepy nocturnal spider that has built a web in the (thankfully) outside corner of my office window. I don't have a title yet, leave a comment if you think of one. And don't forget to call your mother.... you'll see what I mean once you read the story. Be good... leave the lights on.

Untitled Flash Fiction

Hank Edwards

Copyright 2013

"It's huge!" Dallas leaned closer and squinted. "Ugh! It's, like, bloated and filled with poison or something."

Rolf looked away from his laptop screen. "Don't get too close!"

Dallas glanced at him. "You scared of it?"

Rolf rolled his eyes as a blush burned across his cheeks. "What? No. It's just a spider."

Dallas looked back at the web. "Yeah, but it's the biggest spider I've ever seen. When did it show up?"

"It's always been there," Rolf muttered, and turned away. "Are we going to work on this project or not?"

Dallas stepped up behind Rolf and leaned in over his shoulder, reading what Rolf had written. "I like it. But it's a little stiff, don't you think?"

"Stiff?" Rolf repeated. He blinked rapidly, his heart rate accelerating at Dallas's proximity. "What do you mean stiff?"

"You know." Dallas straightened up. "Stiff. Like this."

He pressed the hardened bulge of his crotch against Rolf's shoulder. Rolf jumped and looked up at him, eyes wide behind his glasses. "What are you doing?"

"Come on, Rolf," Dallas said with a sly grin. "I know you like me. Let's take a break. I can't focus with a hard on."

"You… like me?" Rolf asked.

Dallas leaned down and kissed him. "Does that answer your question?" He took Rolf by the hand and led him to the single bed tucked into the corner. Another kiss stole Rolf's breath and he watched as Dallas unbuttoned his shirt. The man's chest was muscular and smooth, and Rolf ran his hands over the soft skin as they kissed. He pushed Dallas down onto the bed and dropped to his knees between his legs, fumbling with the button on Dallas's jeans.

"Easy there, Rolf," Dallas said with a chuckle. "You're all thumbs. Let me help."

Dallas's jeans hit the floor and Rolf stroked the thick shaft. He smiled up at Dallas before leaning in to run his tongue up the hot, salty length, then took it into his mouth. Rolf worked his mouth up and down Dallas's cock, picking up speed until, with a gasp, Dallas shot into his throat. Rolf slowed down then lifted his head to smile at Dallas who stared down at him with a dreamy expression.

"You were hungry," Dallas said.

"Mother's hungry, too," Rolf replied with a shrug. "Sorry."

Dallas frowned. "What?"

Rolf pushed up from his knees and stepped back from the bed, groping himself through his jeans. "Mother's hungry, too."

Dallas sat up and looked around the room, empty except for the two of them. "Why do you keep talking about your Mom? You're freaking me out."

Something brushed Dallas's shoulder and he jerked away, eyes widening as he saw the big spider hanging from the ceiling on a strand of web.

"Shit!" Dallas swung his hand around to swat the spider, but it clambered out of the way and jumped onto his shoulder, driving its fangs into the soft flesh.

As Dallas fell across the bed and lay shaking and foaming at the mouth, the spider crawled back and forth over him, leaving behind soft, strong silk. Rolf sat in his chair and watched his Mother at work, removing his glasses a moment to rub at his eyes, the four pupils in each iris clearly visible in his reflected image before he put the glasses back on and the lenses brought the pupils together.

"He was a nice one, wasn't he, Mother?" Rolf asked in a quiet voice. "He seemed like a nice one. Maybe one day I'll meet one I can keep for my own."

Rolf turned back to his laptop and resumed typing as his Mother went about her work.

~~ END ~~

I hope you enjoyed the story and your Monday treats you well. See you next time!
-- Hank

Monday, September 16, 2013

Guess who's babbling...

*runs in and slumps on the very stylish loveseat out of breath* eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek...I forgot it was my turn! That's okay...I'm's all I think...

Now what was I gonna talk about? *pats my pockets down looking for notecards...pats Hank and Em down too...just for shits and giggles*

hehe...any excuse to grope right?

Okay, back to business...what is happening on the Story Orgy front?

New Releases! Em and I just had releases on Friday the 13th...oooooooooh *does spooky hands* But I don't think our releases are necessarily

And not to be outdone...Jade has been busy doing something very sexy in French for us *looks left then right* it's a secret that has to do with one of our anthologies and her native tongue...hehe...and JR is busy busy being all brilliant and smoking hot like only he can do (did you catch that awesome poem he did last week? Well scroll down and love it!)...Hank and Lee have been crazy busy themselves...

Hank is putting the finishing touches on his never ending 3rd book in the Venom Valley series—Blood & Stone—and yeah, he can make me pull my legs under me and hide under the blanket (well the monsters can't get you while you're under the blanket right?). He's put twists and turns in that bad boy that *looks behind me and over armrest of loveseat down at floor* did I mention I'm safe under the blanket?

And Lee...oh boy can I tell you guys a secret? *leans forward and stage whispers* He's finally getting us the sequel to Loving Eden...Loving Bailey is due out in October and not to brag or anything...*looks around quickly*...but OMG OMG OMG is it freaking fantabulous! I'm telling with plenty of ice on hand...the things Lee can do with words...*fans face*

When Harper finally sees the light and dumps his cheating boyfriend, can Pitt convince Harper to trust him enough to let it all go?

When Harper Evans discovers his boyfriend in yet another bar with yet another Joe, he makes the final break and kicks him out. More relieved than heartbroken, Harper turns his attention to the letter burning a hole in his pocket that could mean a fresh start across the country…if he has the nerve to pull the trigger.

Pitt Mullen has been looking for exactly this opportunity with Harper. He doesn’t hesitate a second to pounce on it--and Harper--when it shows up. But not everything is as it appears. Harper is keeping secrets. Ones that make a closet submissive crazy with the need to let go.

When Pitt gets a late night call and rushes to another, Harper is towed along in the wake of his hyperactive lover. He discovers that not all secrets are the cheating kind...and Pitt isn't the only male who can melt Harper's heart.

A man from Wick's past knows Ned's secrets and is after their future…wicked truths are coming…

Wick Templeton is not dating Ned. At least that's his story—period. But when someone decides that Ned's time on earth is over, Wick doesn't bother with the semantics of it…his boyfriend is in danger and that's unacceptable.

What happens when the person targeting Ned just may be the only person Wick can't defend against?

Secrets are revealed, people are hurt, and a very shaky relationship is tested. When the dust clears nothing in Wick's life will be the same.

Caution: This is the fifth in the series, and while you can read this by know what? Forget you can't read this one by itself and miss out on all the stuff that makes Wick so darn awesome, go back and start with the first one.

I take no responsibility for Wick's mouth...just saying *winks*...okay my friends...until next time make sure you keep up with the Orgy, because we just like when you do. ;)

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

JR's Here with a "Spirited Heart"

Hello all! JR here; trying to get back in the saddle after some rough times. I thought I'd share a poem inspired by various events in my life. The poem is actually published in an anthology and can be found in the following book - In My Lifetime: Sentiments . I hope you enjoy the poem and have a great week.

Much love to you all,

JR Boyd

"Spirited Heart"


JR Boyd

Far beyond where the mind can reach
There's a place so close you can hear it speak.
It speaks proportions unlike many have ever heard;
And, yet, you'll never hear a word.

Some build walls around it to protect it,
And some will merely neglect it.
People abuse it
Rattle it and break it.

Few will rarely take it; but,
The ones who do will make it...
Make it smile, make it sweet.
Make it melt in a heavenly treat.

Far beyond where the mind can reach
Is a place so close you can hear it speak.
It speaks volumes some of you may have heard;
And, yet, you never heard a word. 

Monday, August 26, 2013

Jade's turn!

Hello dear friends! How was your week-end? Mine was very relaxing… until I realized it was my turn to post on the blog.  But no worries, I found something for you. You know that I wouldn’t leave you hanging with nothing. Not my style! Lol
Well, after thinking really hard (yes, I can think when I put my mind to it!), I decided to post the first chapter of each stories of the Road Trip Anthology. I hope you’ll like it!

You can find it at All Romance Ebooks

Cross Country Foreplay
Hank Edwards

Chapter One

"Brady? You awake?"
The voice drilled into Brady's dream, chasing away the image of the nude, hot, hung guy Brady had been about to suck off. He rubbed his eyes, squinted against the bright white sun, and looked around. Yep, it was all as he left it before drifting off to sleep -- trapped in a van driving cross country with none other than Preston Brissett, otherwise known as Bald Spot Brissett, or BSB to the rest of the guys Brady worked with at Techmagine.

Brady yawned and sat up higher in the passenger seat. His mouth tasted like sand, which was hardly a surprise, seeing as how they were driving through the desert. He rubbed his eyes some more and then made himself turn his head toward the driver's side, trying to force the graphic images of his dream out of his mind.

Preston glanced over and grinned at him. The man's dark blond hair was kind of long for such a prominent bald spot in back, and he was a little heavier than he should be. A neatly trimmed goatee surrounded his mouth, and the sunlight through the windshield sparkled in his blue eyes.

"Welcome back to the land of the wakeful," Preston said. "Gas station up ahead. Need a pee break?"

Brady looked away and nodded. Preston was a cheerful driver, and Brady was still trying to wake up from his nap. "Yeah. A break would be good."

The gas station was the typical highway rest stop: an acre of concrete, rows of pumps huddling from the sun beneath an aluminum overhang, and tackily dressed tourists wandering bleary-eyed through the heat from the air conditioned interiors of their cars to the air conditioned interior of the building.

Preston eased the van up alongside a pump and flashed Brady a tentative smile. "I'll pay for the gas. Think you might want to drive for a while?"

Brady shrugged. "Sure. Where are we?"

"Just crossed the state line into Arizona." Preston held up his cell phone, the exact same model as Brady's. "I thought we'd take I-40 through Arizona and New Mexico, if that's okay with you? You were asleep and I just made the decision. Better to beg for forgiveness rather than ask for permission, right?"

"Yeah, sure," Brady said, "whatever." He opened the door and the dry heat sucked the moisture from his mouth. It was like stepping into a blast furnace. Brady let out a gasp and hurried to the doors of the station.

After using the restroom, Brady opened a cooler door and grabbed a few Red Bulls for himself. He started for the register, but caught a glimpse of Preston cleaning the bugs off the windshield, a line of sweat staining the back of his shirt, and he stopped. It was still tough for Brady to realize that just two days ago he and Preston had been lured into the office of Cameron Rooke, founder and CEO of Techmagine. Cameron had talked to them about the importance of flexibility for start-up companies, especially tech companies, and how positive word of mouth was the fastest path to true growth.

Brady had nodded along, tried to look invested in the conversation, but his mind was darting around like a hummingbird on crack. He was in the CEO's office, having a conversation with Cameron Rooke himself! Brady managed to get his thoughts under control and zoned in on Cameron's words again. He didn't know what Cameron was leading up to, he just knew the CEO had selected him out of the entire, hungry office staff for a special project, and he was going to jump at it no matter how many late nights it took.

Then Cameron had dropped the bomb about the client in Boston, as in Massachusetts – as in across the fucking country – and their request for personal training on the Techmagine system.

It was a great opportunity, and he knew that Brady and Preston were the right team to get it done and get it done right. Because they would need to set up an entire classroom of equipment for training, they needed to drive a van loaded down with computers. It was going to take three days to drive there, a week to complete the training, and three more days to drive home.

All that time spent with Preston right at his side. Brady didn't know if he should be excited or annoyed at the opportunity. He had always thought Preston was sexy in his own way, a fact he would never tell any of the other coders he worked with, especially not Phillip Holt, who had coined the nickname BSB. It was a mean name, and Phillip was a mean person through and through, but Brady didn't want the guy to know his thoughts about Preston, good or bad. Truth was, Brady had never really considered Preston as a sexual person. The guy wore baggy khakis and button-down shirts to the office with a few ties that he changed up every now and then.

Brady turned back to the cooler and stood looking at the drink selection. Preston liked a specific flavor of Vitamin Water, but what was it? Brady let his gaze roam the bottles and colors, then finally remembered. He had been watching porn on his computer while he waited for Preston to show up, and when he had gotten in the van the name of the drink had made him think of the scene he'd just watched and he blushed: Vitamin Water XXX.

He grabbed three bottles of XXX out of the cooler, paid for the drinks, then crossed the blazing heat of the concrete lot to the van where Preston was just grabbing the gas receipt out of the pump.

"Grabbed you some drinks," Brady said, and reached in the bag to pull one out. "This the right flavor?"

Preston looked at him and, if Brady wasn't seeing things, he actually blushed.

"Oh, that was nice. Yeah... Yes, that's the flavor I like." Preston stood looking at him for a moment, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the gas station. "I'll just go in and use the restroom, then we can go. Gas is paid for."

"Yeah, okay, sounds good." Brady gestured. "I'll pull over here to free up the pump."

"Good idea," Preston said and nodded a few times before turning to hurry to the station.

Brady watched him go, smirked at the sunlight that gleamed off the sheen of sweat coating his bald spot. BSB was a mean name, but it did fit. Had to give Phillip props for creativity. Then Brady's gaze automatically dropped to check out BSB's ass, surprised to find it a meaty, high, rounded swell beneath his jeans.
Looked like BSB worked out, something Brady and the other young guys at the office never imagined for the guy since they couldn't tell it beneath his baggy khakis. Brady watched a moment longer, then got in the van, and pulled off to the side to wait for his passenger.

Storm Warning

Em Woods

Chapter One
The vase was almost finished.

Sweat rolled down his back, soaking into the waistband of his jeans, as the coals in his kiln glowed red and the air rippled with heat. It was his pride and joy, but his oven was one of the older models that earned Bailey Fletcher some ribbing from his friends when he allowed them into his workshop. Its dark stone was rough around the outside, molded in the shape of an igloo with a wide chimneystack. The door sat on well-oiled hinges though he rarely closed it.

He glanced at the clock to the right of his oven, and then sighed. Ten pm. Bailey stretched his neck to one side, then the other, careful to keep his work level. Every muscle in his back ached from holding the rod steady while he turned the glass into the shape he wanted. Years of practice had steadied his hand, regardless of the distraction.

Another twist of his wrist and a short puff of air into his blowpipe had the base of his project ballooning to just where he wanted it. The burnt orange he'd chosen for the bottom of the vase blended perfectly with the swirls of sage and sunflower. It was earthy, masculine. Real.

His arms protested at the prolonged labor as he pulled the vase from the heat one last time. A small bobble of his hand widened his eyes and caught his breath. He would break down and cry if he dropped the thing now after hours of work and sweat.

The design of the vase had come to him during the night, while he'd tossed and turned, looking for sleep.

At the end of each day, his footsteps echoed alone on the stairs as he had climbed them, the loft too quiet when he entered. It ate at him. He hated the loneliness. More than that, he despised the need to make it tangible...touchable.

When he tried to talk his restlessness over with his family, his mother said he spent too much time alone. His dad said she needed to leave him be and let him live his life - that things would change when the time was right.

In the dark of night, he agreed with them both.

Bailey scored the bottom edge of the vase where it met his working handle, and then he placed it just over a table pad to pop it free. He couldn't hold it yet, couldn't run his fingers over the swirling yellow teardrop. But it took his breath away just seeing it there on his bench.

The colors melded, forming darker versions of them where they touched. Shadows cast their magic over the piece as the tear rippled along its surface. He allowed himself to stare a moment, then he slid the pad to the center of the table to rest.

Bailey assessed his workroom. Tools, glass rod and bins of frit were scattered everywhere. Organized chaos his mother called it but he knew it was just plain sloppy. He rubbed his eyes, sleep pulling at his tired mind as he wished he was already climbing the stairs from the studio to his loft.

Shutting down his kiln and sliding a simple mesh screen across the open front, Bailey tried to clear his mind of his worries. He wasn't normally so maudlin and the self-pity binge he was on lately freaked him out.

Shit, if he was meant to have a boyfriend, one would show up when the time was right. In the meantime, he had work to do. He flipped off the light on his way up to bed. It was going to be an early start in the morning if he wanted to be set up to catch the tailgaters at the stadium.


Rayne Chandler glared at more storm clouds coming in from the west.

It figured.

The drive from Detroit to Boston had been uneventful - a first for him - if he didn't count the deluge of rain from the storm front he'd ridden on his drive to the coast. He usually got lost on long drives despite having both a map and a GPS system in his rental car.

It was one of the things his colleagues teased him about most. Whenever he came back to the office from vacation, they always gathered around to hear what disaster had befallen him while he'd been gone.

He glanced skyward again and sighed. Maybe the clouds would blow over. Or turn north. Maybe. He wasn't going to bank on it though. It looked like the weathermen had it right this time and the game was going to be played in the rain. He should have brought the damn umbrella.

Rayne could handle the cool air on his legs so his shorts weren't a problem, but his thin cotton Lion's shirt wouldn't give him much protection from the rain and wind. Any warmth he'd absorbed from the hotel evaporated into the cooler temperatures preceding the storm front. He stuffed his hands in his pockets to hopefully keep some part of his body warm.

Goosebumps raised on his exposed forearms as another gust of wind swept across the parking lot. All of the traveling for work was starting to get to him. He was only thirty, but he felt like he'd walked headfirst into being an old man.

He closed his eyes briefly. Who was he kidding?

His last dig, a tomb in Egypt, had ended in a pile of rubble. Trapped for six hours, he'd been saved by a statue of Anubis that had lodged just over his head, giving him a shelter from the crushing rock. Rayne hadn't fancied himself claustrophobic until then.

A ten-year-old boy danced by him, tugging his father along in his wake and chattering on about Tom Brady's last pass. Rayne smiled. People milled around everywhere. Some lounged on tailgates; others grabbed food at the concession stalls, or browsed the shops nearby. Rayne mulled over his choices.

Ahead was the ten-story lighthouse spiking out of the entrance at the north end zone of the Patriot's stadium. A small twist of homesickness pulled at his gut for his Lions' Ford Field.

He couldn't bring himself to go inside there just yet. He needed something else.

Before he'd left, a coworker had mentioned there was an obscure artist's open-air market somewhere in the area and he decided he wanted to hit there first. Digging up old artifacts for a living had given him an appreciation for the modern artists' work. He loved scouting local art galleries for unique pieces to add to his place back home.

The surging tide of people pushed and pulled at him, but he managed to weave his way through the cars and busses to reach the back of the parking lot. Large hand-drawn signs flapped in the breeze, pointing the way down a side street to a weekender's artist fair. Rayne grinned at the stroke of luck.

Tables covered by three-sided canopies lined up on either side of the tiny street; each decorated with handmade goods. Oil paintings, charcoal sketches, crystals, handmade glass pieces, and woodcarvings - the selection seemed endless.

The vendors were as varied as their items for sale. Some wore jeans and t-shirts, others wore dress clothes. And the customers attracted to the market were just as eclectic. Some were in Sunday best, browsing after church, and others were fans coming to the game. Patriots jerseys were everywhere.

The noise level held at a steady rumbling as customers bargained, laughed, and chatted with the vendors. Most were respectful but Rayne's attention followed three men moving from booth to booth at the other end of the alley. They laughed and heckled the artists on their way past each booth.

Rayne rolled his eyes and moved to the first artist on his right. A Lions fan in Pats territory had enough troubles without trying to stick his nose in an already crappy situation.


The drive into town wasn't fun. It never was on a game day, but in the middle of a storm was even worse. Everybody and their brother went to these games - not that he would have passed up the chance to see his Pats play if someone offered - and traffic into the stadium area sucked. When he finally pulled into the lot reserved for the vendors that weekend, he breathed a sigh of relief.

It was short work from there to unload his display table and boxes onto his folding cart, and then make his way to his assigned spot in the long line of artist booths.

Bailey kept a close eye on the sky and the dark clouds moving closer. He had hoped to have a good sale today and now the heavens were conspiring against him. Making quick work of sorting out his table, attaching the display cases to the top, he began unpacking the boxes of their prizes. Christmas ornaments and sun catchers hung to the left, one or two he even clipped to the booth frame. Plates and bottles belonged in the center of the table. Most people gravitated to the brightly colored items, imagining them on their own tables and desks.

His favorites, though, were the vases. He got the most joy from those, filling them with delicate glass roses and lilies.

He pulled out the last set of flowers just before a sharp breath of wind caught the edge of the box, flipping it to the back of his tent. Closing his eyes briefly, he thanked any god who was listening that it was empty. With slightly shaking hands, he slipped the blue and red roses into its holder, double-checked the others to ensure they wouldn't topple in the wind, and then tucked the remaining boxes into the far corner of the tent with their wayward counterpart.

Reassessing his handiwork, he smiled. They were secure. He would have no trouble staying as long as there were shoppers. On cue, a couple stopped to chat for a minute about how lovely his work looked, purchased a bowl for her china cabinet and moved on to the next table.

From there, the pace became steady. Bailey enjoyed the compliments and smiles as people came and went - some buying, some not.

"Bailes!" A pretty brunette across from him waved like she wasn't ten feet away.

He smiled and lifted his hand to wave back at Janie as a customer moved to her table of charcoal sketches. Bailey let his gaze roam over the man. He had a lanky frame, muscled but smooth under the khaki shorts hugging his ass, and brown hair that lay straight to his shoulders.

He moved with ease though he had to be a good head taller than the rest of the crowd.

And he was wearing blue and gray.

Bailey grinned. Well, everyone had a fault.


A Guy Like Grant

Havan Fellows

 Chapter One

As soon as Casey climbed off his bike, he noticed. How could he not? It looked as though the man was a couple inches over six feet, carrying lots of meat on him. Not too bulky, which Casey appreciated, but not a scrawny man either. Oh far from it. This guy had some strength to him. His salt and pepper hair placed him in his forties at least, older than Casey normally sought out, but damn this guy deserved the time of day. He was gassing up a huge dually that had seen better days. A plain white enclosed trailer was hitched to the battered truck.

A closer look was called for. Casey finished topping off his bike's tank and glanced around. His buddies were still in the convenience store, probably hitting on the clerk if she was a D cup or larger. Good, a few minutes to spare. He replaced the nozzle, shoved the receipt in his front jeans pocket and strolled over to the dually on the far side of the pumps.

"My what a huge truck you got there, mister."

The man turned around and raised a questioning eyebrow to him.

He cringed to himself and thanked god his buddies weren't there to hear that come-on line. "I mean your actual truck." Not better. "The one you're gassing up." Getting worse. "You know what, have a good day and I'm sorry for bothering you." Casey turned to walk away.

"Should I say the better to pick you up with?"

That deep voice demanded that Casey stop mid-turn. He looked back at the stranger and they both laughed. His might've been a bit more high strung, but it was good.

"A cheesy retort like that should be followed by something in the way can pick me up with that beast but can you handle me?"

The stranger chuckled again, lower this time. "My retorts match the lines they follow."

He stopped and appraised Casey up and down. Casey did his best not to puff out his chest or god forbid pose for the man. "So tell me, who am I following in this conversation?"

He offered his hand and his best genuine smile. "My name's Casey Bunker."

The older man's hand engulfed his, calloused and sprinkled with fine salt and pepper hair that matched the thick waves brushing his forehead. It was a hand that got Casey's interest popping, specifically in one area. He matched the strength the man was giving him in the shake but didn't try to one-up him. He had a feeling there were few areas in which he could one-up this guy.

Just like all good things, the touch ended sooner than he wanted.

"And who might be picking me up?"

"Well now, my birth name is Grant Faustito. My friends seem to prefer calling me Faus."

He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture when Casey opened his mouth to question him. "They use last names most of the time, and got tired of saying mine completely. Lazy bucks, if you ask me."

"Ah. Well, Grant, it's nice to meet you." He stood there and tried not to literally twirl his thumbs. When the seconds of silence seemed too long, he tried to fill them. "So those duallies use diesel fuel, right?" And flunked yet again.

Grant finished with the nozzle and hung it back on its cradle. He turned his back to Casey slightly when he recapped his gas tank. "And here I thought your next question would be if I came here often."

"That question wouldn't do me any good considering I'm just driving through. I'm heading to Daytona Beach and Biketoberfest. Finally got my bike up and running" Casey gestured to where he left his bike and blushed again. He couldn't remember the last time he had this much trouble talking to someone. Then again he couldn't remember the last time he wanted to talk to someone so bad.

"Biketoberfest, huh?" Grant chin nodded to Casey's motorcycle. "That's a Ninja, right?

What was wrong with it that you had to get it up and running?"

"Yeah, 2002 Ninja 250EX. Not a flashy type of bike to be going to Daytona with, but it's mine and, well, yeah. The clutch cable went out on it. I took it to the shop, just to be laughed at. Thank god the mechanic was an honest sort, he told me that I could just buy a cable and DIY the job myself and save a pretty penny."

Casey rubbed the back of his neck with his sweaty palm, not sure how to continue the conversation at this point.

"A mechanic that doesn't try to bleed you dry? Lucky you."

Casey looked at Grant's clear blue eyes and smiled again. "Getting luckier by the moment."

"You don't say?"

"Yo, Casey, whatcha doing over there? You ready to roll? We've been shut out by the clerk and her bouncy friend, already filled up on gasoline and caffeine. Time to ride, bro!"

Maybe Casey spoke to soon. He turned to see his buddies slapping each other and laughing as they headed toward him and Grant. It was too late to head them off, too. He saw the sparkle in Sean's eyes when he glimpsed Grant.

"Hey, who's the pops you made friends with?" Sean laughed as they reached him.

"Dude, Casey, you and me have gots to talk."

Casey glared at Frankie, the last man on the planet he would willingly talk to. The only reason Frankie was even with them this week was because Sean was dating his younger sister, Lita. "Yeah, I highly doubt that, Frankie."

He turned to Grant and prayed that his face conveyed his unhappiness for the interruption. Best to put feet between them now though, before these two made complete asses of themselves and him.

"It was really good talking shop with you, hope to see you around." In front of Frankie

and Sean and against his better judgment he leaned over and squeezed Grant's arm a quick goodbye. It might have been a stupid move that would definitely get him razzed on, but it was well worth it to feel the muscle there. Did he imagine it flex a little under his grip? If so, that was fine with him.

"Come on, guys." He said quickly and hurried back to his Ninja.

"Don't forget the roads are dangerous with Biketoberfest going on. Helmets are a smart idea."

Grant's concern for his safety, or safety in general, made him smile. But he didn't dare turn around and answer.

"Hey, old timer! This is fucking Florida, no helmet law! You worry about controlling that thing you're driving and we'll worry about what's between our legs." Frankie lowered his voice for just Sean and Casey as he added, "I hate it when four-wheel drivers feel the need to protect us bikers."

"Technically his truck has six wheels, Frankie."

"Fuck you, Sean." Casey heard both of them mucking it up and growled under his breath.
He picked up his pace and was straddling his bike before he knew it. He looked over at Frankie, who was putting his sunglasses on, flicked him off and revved his throttle. He didn't even wait to see if the other two were ready. He peeled out of the gas station heading east.

Saving Mickey

JR Boyd


Wind lashed his face and the driving rain stung his eyes, but Tristan kept moving. The murky creek water was over his knees, and he knew that the ground beneath his feet was shaky at best, but Marty Grenninger was only six years old and it would be waist deep on the kid. His feet slipped over the smooth stones of the creek bottom as he struggled to keep his balance while straining to catch a glimpse of the boy's red jacket.

The ground leached away under his feet and something heavy nudged Tristan sharply in the back of his knee. Choking back a cry, he flung out both arms to grab onto something. He was going down, and in these flood waters, that was not a good thing. "Brian!" He cried out. His lover was there somewhere nearby leading the search for the boy who had been swept overboard from his cousin's fishing boat.

The wind and rain seemed to capture his words and throw them into a void where no one heard them. None of the other men recognized the danger he was in. All of them were intently focused on that red jacket…

And Tristan couldn't catch himself on anything, couldn't force his body upright as the rushing water swept him downstream. He was dragged under, fighting to hold his breath until the force of the water's movement pushed him upward again, ignoring the knocks and scrapes as he was dashed against loosened rocks and floating branches.

When he surfaced again he was shocked to see how far downstream he'd traveled.

Gathering as much strength as he could, he screamed again, "Help! Brian!"

"Tristan!" His lover's voice calling his name in shock was the last thing he heard as the water pulled him down again and his head struck something unseen on the bottom of the creek bed.

Chapter One
K-thunk. K-thunk.

The unmistakable sound of cowboy boots striking the hardwood floor brought the rustling of paper and casual chatter in Professor Wilkins' senior year botany class to an end. A striking man approached the front of the room. Everyone turned to watch him climb the steps to the teacher's podium.

Professor Cecil Simmons. Mickey Dodd's gaze followed the professor. A shudder rippled through his body and he smiled.

There was something extraordinary about the professor that had attracted Mickey since his freshman year at the University of Northern Texas, UNT. Professor Simmons had addressed a group of incoming freshmen about choosing a major, and Mickey had been hooked. Sure, there was a lot of eye candy on campus, but nobody caught Mickey's eye like Professor Simmons.

Mickey always had a taste for the older, more distinguished men. Crazily, he'd poured over every course directory and signed up for as many of Simmons' courses as he'd been permitted each semester, including one completely off the wall course in aquatic toxicology that had kept him on campus all summer last year. After the many classroom hours where Mickey had spent his time squirming in his chair, hiding his hard on and his fantasies, his desire for the handsome Professor Simmons only grew stronger. Even now, in front of all his classmates, his breath came a little faster as his flared nostrils picked up the faintest scent of outdoors wafted from the professor. It wasn't cologne…it wasn't anything man made, it was the scent of a man, who despite his time in the classroom, enjoyed life outdoors. And it made Mickey want.

"You all are probably wondering why Professor Wilkins was so kind to let me take up a moment of his lecture time to speak with you." Professor Simmons' husky voice grabbed Mickey right in the gut, stirring his cock.

A few heads nodded and students muttered acknowledgements. Mickey couldn't let the moment pass. His previous encounters with the professor he'd only ever managed a few tonguetied questions about subject matter. Never had a personal word crossed his lips. Now, he'd endured all he could handle. It was his last year in college and he wasn't about to let Professor Simmons come and go without getting himself noticed. He put his best smile on, and spoke loud enough to be heard by the professor. "You're always welcome here, Professor Simmons."

Memories flicked through his mind like an old reel-to-reel movie, recalling the special projects he had worked on in Professor Simmons' ecology class a couple of summers before.

Does he even remember me?

A few chuckles from the other students were brought to a halt by the Professor's response. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, Mickey."

Mickey blushed. Simmons remembered him. Oh God. Simmons remembered him.

Professor Simmons waved his hand in Mickey's direction, but spoke to the class in general. "His grades are outstanding, top of the roster." He focused his dark brown eyes on Mickey again. "And don't think your assistance over the past few years has gone unnoticed. Come on up here and join me, Mickey."

A million butterflies took flight in Mickey's stomach. He pried himself from the hard plastic student's desk and ascended the carpeted steps to stand beside the other man. He kept his gaze on Simmons, forcing himself not to react to the snickers and wolf calls from his fellow students. Sometimes, like now, he wished that he'd packed himself away in the proverbial closet.

Almost. What is Professor Simmons up to?

Professor Wilkins cleared his throat and silence descended on the room. Mickey's skin prickled and a bead of sweat formed on his brow under the many stares of his colleagues. It was a sickly sweet moment he'd remember for a long time to come. The only thing preventing him from bolting off the stage was the sexy smile gracing Professor Simmons's lips. He'd do anything to keep that smile directed at him.

"I'm setting out on a personal mission this summer and find myself in need of an assistant. A botanist to be exact." Simmons slowly paced the platform from one end to the other, eyeing Mickey as he paused in front of him.

Shit. The potential for ridicule struck him and he dismissed it immediately. Simmons wasn't like that. Sure, he was a stickler for exact science, but he wasn't a dick. Mickey would have caught on to that. Could it be that he'd called Mickey up here to offer him the position? "I'd like to apply." Mickey extended a shaky hand toward the professor, knees threatening to buckle.

"Splendid. No need to be nervous, then." Simmons's baritone vibrated in Mickey's ears.

One large, calloused hand engulfed Mickey's, while the other gave Mickey's shoulder a firm squeeze. His eyes already held a familiar, distant look that told Mickey his mind was already on the road to their destination. As always, the familiar glance fired a response in Mickey—a desire to be the focus of that intensity…to be noticed by this man…to make an impression so strong that they couldn't stand two feet apart like this and the man's mind wander. Fuck. He had it bad.

"I'm not nervous, Professor Simmons. I'm thrilled! It'd be an honor to accompany you. But, I'll need details before I can fully commit. Itinerary, dates, expenses…" Mickey's stomach soured at his own words, but it was true. Mickey would kill for a chance to work side by side with his former professor, but he couldn't just make a decision like that at the drop of a hat, could he?

Professor Simmons's attention snapped back to Mickey, and he chuckled. "I've got all the information we need to work out the details together. Don't you fret none."

"I can go if he can't." A busty brunette in the front row sounded off and Mickey had to suppress the urge to tip her out of her chair. Screw it. Mickey was going. Daisy fucking Duke was not shoving her tits under his professor's nose, not while he had…all of three hundred dollars in his checking account to last until his financial aid came through in the fall. Oh well, maybe he'd get finished with the project in time to find a summer job. Maybe he could just swallow his pride and ask his grandpa for the money the old guy kept trying to give him.

Professor Simmons raised his hand as others chimed in to take his spot. "There are comprehensive brochures and a sign-up list on a table in the vestibule outside the doors in the back of the room for anybody interested. Only one student will go. I specifically chose Mickey here as my prime candidate because of his grades, attendance, and overall proven dedication to his botany studies. Any of you who feel you fit the bill, by all means, sign up. As Mickey here has so wisely stated, there are a few things you might want to consider tossing into your personal list of criteria."
Unmistakable warmth spread through Mickey's cheeks. He never could accept a compliment or reward without fighting back a flood of emotions. No wonder he gravitated toward botany as a career field. The plants didn't trigger his emotional side like this. He had decided long ago to let his spirit guide him. If only he could muster up a little more courage in the personal department.

Going Home

Lee Brazil

Chapter One
"Where the fuck are you?" The furious voice spat out.

Evan Malone stared at his cell phone in disgust. The rage he'd suppressed since his third quarter fuck–up surged to the surface. "You never fucking change, do you, Gil? Millions of people know exactly where I am, but you can't be bothered. I just lost a fucking playoff game in front of half the country. I'm in fucking Dallas. Where the fuck are you?" His eyes burned as acrid sweat dripped from his lashes. He toweled moisture from his brow and rubbed at his damp hair. It didn't do any good. The locker room stunk of sweat and defeat.
"I'm where you should be, jack ass. Egocentric fucker. He needs you, and I'm a poor goddamn substitute. Come home."

The snarl raised hackles on the back of his neck. He bit his cheek to stem the flow of obscenities. Coach would fine him if the press overheard him. "I can't leave until tomorrow. Then I'm filming some credit card commercials in Aruba, taking a few days of break. I'll be home the third week of February, the same as always. Just make sure your ass isn't there when I arrive."

Silence. Then a deep sigh came over the line. "I never quite expect how low you'll sink. Even for you, this is unbelievable."

"I live to amaze you." The weak sarcasm was the best he could muster. His team had made the play-offs for the first time in the five years he'd played for them. Within five minutes of the first quarter, the slaughter had been inevitable. He'd watched from the sidelines as player after player had fumbled, faltered, and fucked up their chance at the Super Bowl. His heart pounded, the blood rushed in his ears, and he pleaded with an un-answering God, Let him put me in. He'd thought he could do better, even with the strange aches he'd been experiencing.

Then, he'd gotten his wish and fucked it up. Instead of saving the day as he'd imagined, he took their minimal chance of not being humiliated with a complete wipe out and blew it up.

The only thing that could have made losing today worse was if his twin, Ethan had accepted his offer to fly him out and seen him screw up in person.

As it was, "Did he watch the game?" He couldn't help asking. He knew the answer. Ethan wouldn't watch him play. He hated football.

"You know the answer to that. Fuck it, Evan. Have a nice time in Aruba." Gil's silence echoed in his ear and he slowly pushed the phone in his pocket. He hated when Gil called, the guilt and longing that warred in the aftermath of each conversation left him torn to shreds. At least this time he could pretend the ache in his gut was from the bitter words he swallowed when a reporter shoved a microphone in his face after the end of the game. Instead of telling the guy to fuck off, he'd spouted the usual stilted barely literate, team management approved lines. 'We played our best. We'll do better next year. It was an honor to play.' Fuck it. He wanted to scream and deride the fate that just kept screwing over every good thing in his life.

Even now, in a locker room full of long faces and dispirited teammates, each absorbed in his own role in the defeat of the century as the broadcasters were already calling it, his body responded to the voice of the man he loved. One of them anyway. He slammed his locker door shut with sudden violence. His cock thickened under the towel at his illicit thoughts.

Clutching the towel to his middle, guts churning with the agony of defeat, remorse for his misbegotten lust, jealousy for a relationship he could never have, and sheer loss, he stalked to the shower. Sharp pain lanced his heart and he shuddered. He was nearly running the last few steps to hide the trickle of tears in the spray of the shower. Fuck them both.

Neither Gil nor Ethan appreciated what it cost him to stay away. Neither knew that he'd gladly give up football and fame and even the fortune that went along with them to be able to stay, to spend his days and nights waking and sleeping with them. Their little love triangle was a Goddamn disaster of such epic proportions it made his team's loss on the field today look like Christmas.

He lifted his face into the hot spray, and the salty tears mingled with the heat of the water, purifying him. He let the emotions roll, face reddening, heating, body flushing with the steam of the water. Ethan and Gil were better together without him around to fuck things up for them. He couldn't even explain why to them, so he made a big show of how much he enjoyed the game, and the travel, the life style of a player.

He loathed it to the very core of his being. But he needed it like a junkie needed his next fix.

The game filled the gap left in his heart when he'd realized at graduation five years earlier that what Evan felt for Gil was real. He'd seen that love reflected back for Ethan in Gil's eyes as well. They were good together. They would be good together, if Ethan weren't so attached to Evan.

In all their lives, it was the first time that Ethan had been physically attracted to someone else. Someone attainable that is. The movie star posters and sports heroes, which he'd papered the walls of their childhood bedroom, hadn't really counted. He might have a crush on an actor, but he didn't stand a chance of hooking up with one. The one real person Ethan had wanted was Evan. He'd loved that. Ethan was the center of his world, and they'd done everything together. At first, they'd been messing around. Sharing a room had its risks and benefits. Innocent playing at twelve and thirteen had led to mutual jacking off that escalated to far more by the time they'd graduated high school. Moving into an apartment together miles from home to attend college changed things even further.

Still, though Ethan could be open about his preferences, Evan couldn't. He was on the team. He wanted a career in sports. A gay accountant was fine. A gay quarterback was not. So, their relationship continued, in secret, in the privacy of their own home.

Then Ethan brought Gil home. And Evan realized he only thought he knew what hell was. Gil was everything Evan wasn't. Academic, intelligent, handsome, openly gay, and more important, not Ethan's brother. And as the year passed, he got a front row seat to Ethan falling in love with Gil, and Gil falling in love with Ethan.

So he'd done it. He'd taken the first offer that would take him out of state, and he'd left Ethan to Gil, left Gil to Ethan. As he'd expected, without him standing between them, Gil and Ethan had moved forward.

He moved to Sungrove to play football, and Gil moved into his room to get his doctorate in Archeology. With Ethan studying for his MBA, the two had been roommates for two years, and then shocked the family by getting engaged.

Evan survived by limiting his contact. It was the only thing he could do for the men he loved. Of course, they didn't fucking get that.

He pounded his fist on the gritty tile. Fuckers. Pulling himself back together, he shut off the taps and slung his towel around his hips again. In the locker room he noticed that his weren't the only red-rimmed eyes.

"There's always next year." He muttered to Austin James, who leaned dejectedly on the locker next to his.

"Not for me." Austin sighed. "I'm done. The doc says my knee has maybe another season before I have to have surgery, but I don't want that. Living surgery to surgery and dreading the next injury. I'm going home to Winterburn and take that job in the family bank my dad's been holding for me."

"Giving up?"

"Making an informed decision. I'm tired of hiding who I am from the world. One day, I'm going to fuck up and find it splashed all over the newspapers. Byron and I talked, and we're ready to settle down and do the picket fence thing."

Wincing, Evan forced his own ball of pain back inside. "Good for you. I'll miss you guys.

You're ditching me. I'll be alone here in a bastion of rampant heterosexuality." He forced a smile, wanting to be encouraging.

"He didn't come, did he?" Austin's sympathy lit the fuse of disappointment and anger again.

"No." He said shortly. "He hates football. I knew he wouldn't."

"You're his brother. It's the play-offs. He should have come just to support you. If I ever meet this guy I'm kicking his ass. What a sorry ass fucking excuse for a brother." Austin wrapped a comforting arm around Evan's shoulder in a brief hug. "Wanna come out with us to commiserate? We're getting drunk and driving home tomorrow."

"Ethan thinks he has reason. I can understand it, I guess."

"He's a selfish prick. Football took my brother. I will never watch it again." He mimicked a falsetto voice.

Ethan shoved him, laughing a little. "Cut it out. It's not exactly like that. Okay, I'll go.

You gonna turn around so I can put my pants on or you want a show?"

Chuckling, Austin turned away. His restless gaze traveled from player to player, in various poses of frustration, disappointment and sorrow. "You ever think about giving it all up?"

Evan pulled faded jeans on, fastening the button fly deftly. "No. I have nothing to live for except the game. You've got Byron. It's different for you."

He pulled the Oxford he'd worn to the game off the hook and shrugged into it. Shoving his feet into leather sandals, he fastened a few buttons. "Hustle. Let's get out of here and hit the bar." Finger-combing his damp hair, he shoved the rest of his stuff into a small duffle and slung it over his shoulder.

An agreeable Austin followed him in thoughtful silence through the labyrinth of corridors leading to a secure exit. The door opened into the parking lot, and he blinked in the bright afternoon sunlight.
A hard grasp closed on his arm and he spun in shock. Goddamn reporters!

A Reminder Of His Shame

Jade Baiser

He was running, blinded by his tears. The other students watched him pass, some sympathetic, others clearly mocking. He vaguely heard someone calling his name, but he was too angry and hurt to pay attention. Only one thing mattered: going home to try to forget it ever happened.

His parents watched him in stunned silence as he stormed into the little house they were renting and slammed the door of his room behind him. He threw himself on his bed and cried for what seemed hours. When the tears finally dried up, he rose and paced around his room, going over the scene in his head. How could he have been so stupid? He was always rushing head down, never taking the time to think about the risks.

He stopped in front of the full-length mirror that stood in a corner of his room and lifted his shirt’s sleeve. Yep, it was still there, seeming to mock him. What on earth went through him to do something that insane? There was no coming back now, was there? He was stuck with it for his whole life, a reminder of his foolishness and his shame.

Chapter One

Four years later.

“Josh! Josh, wait! Dammit!”

Josh stopped in his track and turned around as much as he could on his skis, wondering who would call him. He was new to Colorado and he hadn’t had time to make any friends yet, but that was fine with him. He wasn’t a big fan of friendship. He was a loner, and had been for almost four years now.

The sun was high and the luminosity on the snow prevented him from seeing anything but a blurry form skiing to meet him. The slope was one of the hardest in the resort and whoever it was, he—yes, it was a man, that was all Josh was sure about—was pretty talented; not to mention the fact that he was a real hothead and taking unnecessary risks considering the instability of the snow. It was the first sunny day in a long time but it had snowed all week long.

Josh sighed. As a ski instructor, it was his duty to chastise the guy. That was one of the aspects of the job that he really didn’t enjoy.

As the skier approached, Josh was able to distinguish his features more clearly. The first thing he was able to make out was the other man’s hair golden curls that shone under the sun’s rays. It reminded him of someone, someone very special who had hurt him badly in the past.

Someone he was never able to totally erase from his mind, much to his despair. But it couldn’t be him. He wouldn’t want anything to do with Josh; he made that very clear the last time they’d seen each other. But the closer the skier came, the more he resembled the man he dreaded to see.

No, it can’t be! It all came back to him with a precision that left him breathless.


“Josh, you should wait a little more. I’m not sure about it,” Penelope said. “You have no proof that’s the truth.”

Josh looked at his best friend. He knew she was trying to protect him, but he was pretty sure of himself. He’d heard them talking in the shower after the last football game. He hadn’t been hiding, but they hadn’t seen him so he’d stayed where he was, listening to a conversation that was about to change his life. They’d said it; Aidan was gay; or at least he was bi. Josh had almost fainted when he’d heard it. He’d been in love with Aidan since they’d begun high school, almost four years ago. But he’d never approached the other boy because he was the captain of the football team and had dated every girl he could put his hands on.

Aidan was Josh’s dream and every parent’s idea of the perfect son-in-law. Tall, well built, with curly golden hair, shining blue eyes, and an unfailing self confidence. The opposite of Josh, who was African American, somewhat sickly, very shy, and openly gay. The revelation of Aidan’s sexual inclination had been a shock to Josh, but also the sign he’d been waiting for so long. In a crazy moment, he’d even gone to a tattoo parlor after he’d pleaded with his parents for almost three hours and had a small stylized “A” tattooed inside his left wrist. It was totally insane and the kind of thing he’d never thought he was capable of doing. And to be honest, he regretted it now, but it was done and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Josh,” Penelope pressed him, “think of what you’re about to do. Aidan never showed any inclination for men. He could be pissed if you just go and tell him you love him. Look at him… and look at you. I’m not saying that to hurt you, but if he decides to hit you, you’re dead meat.”

“Don’t worry, Pen,” said Josh with an indulgent smile. “You weren’t there. I was. I heard them. I know what I heard. Nothing will happen to me. Besides, tomorrow is the last day of school. We’ll all be in college next year. This could be my last chance to talk to him. I don’t want to just do nothing and wonder ‘what if’ all my life. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. I made up my mind, and there’s nothing you can say to change it.” He leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the cheek.


The skier stopped close to Josh, sending him a lot of snow in his face. Josh was so deep in his memories that he forgot where he was and tried to step back. He remembered at the last moment that he was wearing his skis but still fell miserably on his butt. In a matter of seconds, he once again became the clumsy and unsure boy he was after the ‘Aidan incident’, instead of the savvy ski instructor he’d grown into. Blinded by the snow that sprayed in his eyes, he couldn’t see the other man, but the laughter he heard made him shudder. He knew that laughter. He’d heard it in his nightmares for a long time. He rubbed his eyes to remove the snow and looked up at the shape that was leaning over him, only to close them immediately when he recognized the man who still haunted most of his nights.

“It’s you. It’s really you,” said the voice he’d come to love and hate at the same time. “I wasn’t sure at first, because… well, look at you. You changed. Where did you get these muscles? Look how big you are now! Hey, Josh, do you hear me? Are you alright?”

Josh opened his eyes again and just stared at him, unable to say a word. Why? Why is this happening to me? He asked himself in despair. He’d moved here after college, wanting a new life, a new start. He’d found the job of his dreams: ski instructor. His life seemed rather beautiful if you forgot his loneliness, but he was used to it now and he kind of liked it. If he didn’t get close to anybody, he wouldn’t get hurt. That was his motto since he’d left high school. And now, seeing Aidan, here of all places… He thought he had finally forgotten about him. But it was a lie, wasn’t it? Jesus, the boy had always been gorgeous, but now the man was stunning. And if the expression on his face was any indication, Aidan was beginning to really freak out.

“Josh? Can you hear me? Did you hurt yourself? Come on, man, answer me!” Aidan said in an almost pleading voice.

Josh came out of his stupor and repressed a wry chuckle. Of course! He’d never had any luck in his life, why would he have some now?

“I’m fine,” he grumbled. “Don’t just stand there, help me get up. It seems that I’ve lost my strength,” he added sarcastically.


Aidan was aware of Josh’s anger. He knew he deserved it, but he had hoped that somehow Josh would have forgotten everything that happened four years ago. He wasn’t proud of himself.

He never could really forgive himself for what he’d done to the other man.

He leaned over and took Josh’s hand. The grip was firm and strong, nothing like the boy he remembered from high school. In fact, nothing at all was like he remembered from high school.

Josh was now taller than him, with broader shoulders and a mouth that didn’t seem to smile as often as it once had. Aidan felt his chest tighten at the knowledge that he might have had something to do with the sadness and the distrust he could see in Josh's eyes.

Aidan pulled Josh’s hand and they found themselves face to face, almost nose to mouth as Josh was a few inches taller and a little too close for Aidan’s comfort. He had a lot to say to Josh, but he realized now that it wasn’t going to be easy. He’d been looking for Josh for some time now.

Josh was one of his biggest regrets, and he wanted to make amends. He’d realized that if he didn’t find the man and apologize for his past actions, he wouldn’t be able to look at himself in the mirror without remembering Josh’s face on that particular day. He needed to apologize for his actions like someone in AA. While in that program, a person had to go to see all the people they’d hurt in the past and tell them they were sorry. Josh was his salvation. He had waited until college was over and then went to Josh’s home. He’d found Josh’s mother there and she’d told him where he could find Josh. So here he was, a little uncomfortable about what he had to do.


Why in hell does he look at me like that? Josh was puzzled by Aidan’s attitude. He looked uncomfortable, which was incomprehensible. If anyone should feel uncomfortable, it should be Josh. He was the one who’d made a fool out of himself four years ago, after all. Hell, he was the one who made a fool out of himself four minutes ago too…

Josh looked at Aidan without saying a word, waiting for the other ma to give him a clue about his presence here. After what seemed an eternity, Aidan sighed and looked away.

“Is there a place where we could talk?” Aidan murmured. “I really need to talk to you.”

Josh didn’t want to talk to Aidan at all, but he realized it was childish to say no.

“Can’t we talk here?” he said with hope in his voice.

“I’d rather go some place where we could be alone. And comfortable.”

Comfortable? What did Aidan mean by it? Josh knew that anywhere with Aidan would be uncomfortable for him. There was no way he could relax in the other man’s presence. He blinked and looked around him. What was wrong with here and now? It wasn’t like there were a lot of people on the slope.

“Please?” Aidan begged.

Josh sighed heavily and nodded.

“Okay. I know a cabin not far from here. There’s a porch where we can sit and talk, if

that’s what you want.”

Aidan seemed relieved, which made Josh more uncomfortable than before.

“Follow me, then,” he said as he darted down the slope.