I’ve been having problems working out the second half of the second act of my latest novel. (It’s all Thomas’s fault, of course, all he wants to do is fool around with Hadrian when they have a killer to catch.) Anyway, I wrote a weird, kinky short story, so I decided to publish it.
So, here’s Gut Punched: An Erotic M/M Gut Punching Short Story. Gut punching is a fetish, and this story is a celebration of it. You can find it on Amazon here.
In this erotic M/M romance short story, two lonely gay men amid the Covid pandemic find meaning and love through the fetish of gut punching.
Ben wants someone to punch his abs, so Zack has agreed to give him the stomachache he’s always wanted. Ben still hasn’t fully recovered from his ex leaving him three years ago. He tries to punish himself but can’t get the release he needs. Zack loves to punch men in the gut, but he’s never had a boyfriend who enjoyed it.
Can a good, hard gut punching session bring these two together?
When I write, I’ve noticed I’m often sifting through my baggage. Writing is fun, it’s my vocation, and it’s also therapy. I usually don’t realize how a work symbolizes some part of my life, either something I’m working on or something I need to work on, until I’m already into it. This time, I’m about midway through my current story, Carillon’s Curse, and starting to tease out its theme. (I start out with some vague idea of a novel’s theme, then zero in on it as I write.)
I’m still piecing it together, but a component of it slapped me right upside the head.
I’ve always been a people pleaser. I gush over strangers, have few boundaries, and put the wants of others ahead of my own. I shrink in unfamiliar—and sometimes in familiar environments—trying to take up as little room as possible. A friend once said, “Do you realize how many times you say you’re sorry? Why are you so sorry?”
Basically, I’m sorry I’m alive. I’m sorry for the space I take up on this planet. I think this stems from growing up with a physically and emotionally abusive parent. I always thought if I was good—if I could be oh, so very, very good—I wouldn’t be hurt. I guess I also internalized her anger and resentment toward me.
Three months ago I started transitioning from female to male. After saying I was genderqueer for a long time, I finally realized that I had been saying that because I didn’t think transitioning was a real option. The pandemic hit, and my shell cracked wide open. To my surprise, my husband was fully supportive. We’re closer now than ever before. (And we were pretty obnoxiously close before.)
I don’t know if it’s the testosterone, the pandemic, or my age, but I free and alive and valid. I’m not putting up with crap anymore. I’m not going back to that person who has to smile even when I’m feeling shitty. I don’t need to go out of my way to make everyone comfortable. I’m not sorry for being here. For the first time, when I celebrated Pride Month, I felt truly proud. I actually, maybe for the first time ever, really like myself.
Okay, so what does this have to do with a gay Western paranormal romance? Both of the main characters, in different ways and for different reasons, feel flawed and unworthy of love. These two good men, tied to their pasts and unable to attain true happiness, are chasing a serial killer who thinks he’s freaking awesome. This guy believes he’s helping his victims and society. He’s a narcissistic creep who, in his arrogance, is sure he has all of the answers.
My job, as the writer of this story, is to send these two good guys down the paths they need to stop this killer and find the love of their lives. Sometimes writers feel like gods. So often, as with this book, I feel more like a shepherd, guiding my heroes to a happily ever after.
Who knew shepherds sometimes learned from their lambs?
Know Thy Demons, a paranormal M/M romance, is now available on Amazon! It’s on sale for 99 cents until Wed., August 26, 2020. After that it will be $3.99.
It’s 1985, but different….
Frank Hope is a troubled high school senior. Being gay in a small Texas town in the eighties is hard enough, but Frank’s also fighting to win back his ex-boyfriend, trying to graduate while hating school, and struggling to care for his sick mom. Despite his cynical nature, he tries to remain, well, hopeful. Everything he desires seems beyond his reach—until a newfound ability promises financial success and prestige. But success always comes with a price. What is Frank willing to sacrifice?
Kasimir is—humans would call Kasimir a demon. Kasimir’s people refer to themselves as the Eternals, who are engaged in a centuries’ long conflict with the mortals from another world. But Kasimir, sensitive and idealistic, can’t hate humans because he fell in love with a human boy named Frank while watching him through an interdimensional window when they were children. Now, as a priest scholar specializing in the study of humans, he’s set on finding his old crush. However, his boy has grown into something feared by all beings of the Eternal Realm.
Taking place in an alternative 1985 where demon essence fuels everything from mopeds to the space shuttle, this story of star-crossed lovers combines elements of fantasy and dystopian genres with gay romance while weaving together themes of surviving past trauma, breaking obsessions, and the transformative power of love.
Warning: period homophobia, hate speech, suicidal ideation, past suicide, explicit language, sex, violence, child abuse, drug abuse, smoking
When I downloadedHis Boy: A Gay Romantic Comedy by Dean Cole into my Kindle, I thought it would be a cute comedic romance. Its narrator is quite hilarious, and there is a romance, but His Boy is so much more than a simple love story—it’s the tumultuous journey of a young man’s search for success, self-empowerment, and happiness. The key phrase that spawned the title is not what my dirty little mind expected; it comes from a place I think many people will find powerful and relatable.
Twenty-five year old Charlie tells us his story in his own words. Warning: if you read this book in public, be prepared to laugh out loud at some of this guy’s observations and antics. He’s a bit on the prissy side, humorously vain, and always strives to look his best. (From his designer threads to his intimate wax job.) He has been the kept man of a wealthy cheater since he was twenty-two and is used to a posh lifestyle. He wants to break free of his faithless boyfriend once and for all, but that’s easier said than done when one is afraid of being homeless. It’s even harder when said boyfriend is a controlling, manipulative hypocrite.
In his quest for freedom, Charlie leaves the big city for a humble English village. He encounters a rugged, scruffy, instantly likable bookstore owner named Nathan. If you don’t fall in love with this character, something is seriously wrong with you, and I hope our paths never cross.
In the quaint village, Charlie meets a cavalcade of interesting locals, some endearing, some I wanted to throttle. All of the supporting characters, from Charlie’s beauty shop bestie and her gay dog, to an absolutely horrid director, are well drawn. I felt like I’ve met some of these people before in real life.
Readers who aren’t writers probably don’t realize how difficult it is to craft detailed descriptions in first person point of view—where the main character tells his own story. Cole makes this difficult task seem effortless. Readers who aren’t writers might not appreciate this feat, but they’ll definitely appreciate the vivid images Cole paints with words. The places and people Charlie encounters can be imagined clearly—and those images are often delightfully funny. The way Cole describes Charlie’s fur babies shows he has spent a considerable amount of time observing cats, and like the rest of the imagery, it’s spot on.
I’m giving His Boy five out of five stars. If you’re looking for a truly entertaining story about the struggles of gay man told in a style that will push all of your emotional buttons, you must read His Boy: A Gay Romantic Comedy.
Welcome to the first installment of Represent!—a blog feature that introduces readers to books that highlight good causes, celebrate diverse characters, or simply make the world a better place. In honor of World Autism Awareness Week (April 1-7), let’s take a look at some indie books featuring autistic characters.
Through Fisher’s Eyes: An Autism Adventure, is a magical YA fantasy by Paul Nelson. This is the first book of Fisher’s Autism Trilogy, and introduces us to Fisher, a seventeen-year-old boy with autism. Although Fisher doesn’t speak, the story is told from his point of view, allowing the reader to experience Fisher’s world as he does. In writing Through Fisher’s Eyes, author Paul Nelson says he drew from his experiences as the father of his autistic son, Michael.
This is also a great time to check out Nelson’s paranormal time-travel novel, Burning Bridges along the Susquehanna. The book, written for adults, follows the adventures of a teen girl, Lilly, and her autistic little brother. It features ethnically diverse characters.
What We Want, is a charming contemporary gay romance by Eliott Griffen, a non-binary author with Asperger”s Syndrome. As one of the characters in What We Want is also an Aspie, this is an #ownvoices book. (It also features a pet cat named Meow!)
My detailed reviews of these books are coming soon! In the meantime, treat yourself to one or all of them. Happy reading!
My contemporary M/M romance, Zen Alpha, is now an audiobook vibrantly narrated by voice actor, Hugh Bradley! You can buy it on Amazon and Audible. If you subscribe to Audible, you can get it for free.
Although ‘alpha’ is in the title, it’s not an Omegaverse story. (No MPREG, no shifters—not that there’s anything wrong with those.) Zen Alpha is a contemporary romantic comedy. I wrote this story shortly after Trump won the U.S. presidential election. I was appalled to hear people around me describe him as ‘strong.’ He’s a chest-thumping, bullying, bellowing idiot. Narcissism isn’t strength. Cruelty isn’t strength. Willful indifference isn’t strength. I don’t know how, or exactly when, Americans started thinking personality defects were virtues, but it makes me sick.
So, I wrote Zen Alpha. No, it’s not a political diatribe or anything. It’s a sweet love story with gay characters and erotic sex scenes, but there’s an allegorical thread running through it. It’s about a young, somewhat insecure, man who keeps insisting that his obnoxious, emotionally abusive boyfriend is the man of his dreams. Even as he begins to develop feelings for his kindhearted, helpful neighbor, he wonders how he can love someone who isn’t an alpha male—the sort of self-centered, uncouth silverback society seems to think is so desirable.
Because a good romantic comedy needs a few teary scenes, Zen Alpha has some drama. But it’s a romance, so, of course, there’s an HEA (happily ever after.) If you hate Trump like I do and want to escape the toxicity of our current age, or if you just love steamy M/M romance, give Zen Alpha a listen. I hope it makes you smile and takes your mind off your problems for a bit. We all need more joy in our lives.
So, I’ve been doing some other things besides wanting to strangle Facebook and WordPress for their horrible lack of support regarding GDPR. (They could really learn a thing or two from MailChimp, who provided tools and easy to follow instructions for their users. I LOVE MailChimp!) But I’ve actually been focused on more than just GDPR. I’m creating an audio book!
Soon, my M/M contemporary romance Zen Alpha will be available as an audio book. I found a wonderful voice actor to narrate it, Hugh Bradley.
This is my first audio book, so I’m really excited! Working with Hugh has been fabulous. If you’re an author looking for someone to narrate your book, you should check him out. He not only has an attractive voice, he has a great sense of timing and seems very versatile.
(You can tell I’m between books, because here’s another blog post.)
This morning, I received an email from a friend asking me to blog about being genderqueer. First, let’s get some taxonomy out of the way. Genderqueer is a blanket term for having a gender identity that doesn’t fall neatly into either male or female. I believe the scientific term for this is non-binary. Other types of genderqueer are genderfluid, gender***, gender-neutral, third gender, and probably some others that I can’t remember at the moment, but I’ve only had one cup of tea today, so please forgive me. Genderqueer falls within the trans community. Basically, the trans community encompasses trans women, trans men, and non-binary people. Here’s a link to a wonderful diagram that explains the difference between gender identity, gender expression, biological identity, and sexuality.
Genderqueer is my preferred term to describe myself. Non-binary seems too sterile. Genderfluid, from what I understand, is where a person feels more masculine sometimes and more feminine at others. This doesn’t describe my experience. I’m pretty much blended all of the time. My perception of myself could probably best be defined as intersex. Intersex used to be called hermaphroditism, and describes a person born with both male and female sexual characteristics. Biologically, I’m female. In my head, I’m both male and female. I lack male sex organs. We’ll get back to that.
As a kid, I always felt different. I didn’t like dolls. I played with plastic or stuffed animals. Later, I liked boy’s action figures. I wasn’t really a tomboy. I wasn’t athletic or outdoorsy. My friends were usually soft, nerdy boys, and we meshed beautifully. Middle school and high school were absolute hell. I didn’t fit in anywhere. I wasn’t attracted to most men. Straight (the fun term now is cis sexual) men actually turned me off and sometimes angered me. The more alpha male a guy was, the more I wanted to punch his sack. I loved lesbians, but I wasn’t really sexually attracted to them. I loved gay men, but they weren’t sexually attracted to me. My teen and young adult years were confusing and lonely.
In my early twenties, before I met my husband, I worked as a stripper. I did all of the glitter and high heels and whatnot for work. During the day, however, I often dressed as a boy. When I went out with my guy friends, I sometimes passed as a boy. I don’t know that I was fluid then, because the stripper garb felt like playing dress up. It was a role, not something I was.
I met my husband when I was twenty-six. He looked like a perfectly normal straight guy, but I could smell the weird on him. I knew something was up. At this point, I had never heard of all of these terms. I didn’t know what I was. I knew what I wasn’t—a ‘normal’ heterosexual woman. So, here comes L., all six foot three of him, tall and broad and looking like a young Colin Firth. And he was deliciously strange. We clicked immediately and have been inseparable ever since. I always scoff when I hear people criticizing “insta love” in romances; it totally happens.
A snapshot of our relationship dynamic could be a time when we went to an antique mall. We stood in the checkout line, me with an armful of Incredible Hulk action figures, him with a Depression glass candy dish and a decidedly feminine Victorian desk set. We were getting things for our home offices.
These days, I basically look female. I dress female—more or less—sometimes I pack, but under skirts and dresses, so no one knows but me. I sound female. I use feminine pronouns. All of these things are mainly because I’m lazy, somewhat cowardly, and don’t want to upset the people who are used to seeing me as female. In the bedroom, however, I wear a strap-on. The first time I wore one, I felt whole for the first time ever. Finally, my body made sense. There’s a fetish called pegging where straight women wear strap-ons and have sex with straight guys. I don’t peg. I use a prosthetic. I make love. I’m not using a toy; I’m making my body look and function more the way I feel like it should. That is my preferred way to have sex and has been for about twenty years.
That’s one of the reasons I enjoy writing m/m romances. Romantically, I have more in common with a gay man than with a straight woman. I’ve written one erotic romance with a straight couple and struggled with the erotic parts. I don’t think it’s a bad book, but I think my gay romances have a more natural feel.
In a perfect world, where surgery was free, painless, and carried no risks, I would get surgery to correct my body and make it fit my mental image of it. I’m okay with things not being perfect. I’ve found love and happiness, I more or less accept and like who I am. I didn’t hear the term ‘genderqueer’ until maybe ten years ago. I immediately loved it and embraced it. I didn’t realize that made me part of the trans community until a few years ago when I went to protest the bathroom bill in Texas and a trans male doctor explained the trans spectrum. The information moved me to tears. I wasn’t a complete weirdo. I was part of a community.
As I said, genderqueer is a blanket term. It’s rather nebulous. It means different things to different people. This is what it means to me. I guess I’m rather nebulous, so I like it.