Homo-Promo

All New and Releasing September 25th!!!

NorthernStar_cvr

 

 

Northern Star

Ethan Day

Available September 25th from

Wilde City Press

Click Here to Purchase

Promotional Blurb: Deacon Miller never had it all—he never really believed he could. Growing up in a broken home with an alcoholic mother and a revolving door of truly pathetic father figures taught him to keep his expectations low. Now at twenty-seven, on the night before Christmas Eve, his life is turned upside down yet again; his boyfriend has dumped him, he just fled the holiday family reunion from hell, and now to top it all off, a blizzard has left him stranded in an airport hotel.

Steve Steele has spent the better part of his forty-four years living a lie, ignoring his attraction to other men in an attempt to fit into the mold of the man he thought he should be, instead of living life as the man he knew himself to be. Recently divorced after coming home from work one day and coming out to his wife, Steve has floundered over the past year, desperately attempting to wade through the guilt and find the courage to start again.

That’s when a chance meeting in a hotel bar brings two lonely men together… and what should’ve been a one night stand turns into something much more than either one ever expected.

Excerpt:

Chapter One

December

 

Staring at the screen on his phone, Deacon Miller periodically tapped it with his thumb each time the back light began the process of going dark in an attempt to save the life of his battery. His email was open and the words were staring back at him in stark black and white, yet he could also hear them playing over and over on a loop inside his head—the voice of his boyfriend for the past year and a half cutting into his chest like a hatchet.

 

I can’t be with you anymore, Deacon, you’re boring. There’s no passion here, the sex has gotten really lame, and if I’m being totally honest, I’m not sure I ever even loved you. Either way, I’m pretty sure I don’t particularly like you, at least not anymore.

 

Hollow—that was how it felt, like he’d been gutted. His insides had been ripped out and tossed aside like waste.

Placing his phone down on the bar, Deacon picked up the rocks glass, sucking down the rest of his Sapphire and tonic before signaling the bartender that he’d be having another. On the emotional scale of totally-horrific-life-lessons-learned, he was currently sitting somewhere between desperation and completely numb. He didn’t intend to stop sucking down booze until he was safely situated completely on the numb side.

Alcohol had never really been his go-to solution for disappointment or disillusionment, having grown up with a raging alcoholic for a mother, but Seth’s email had been particularly harsh. Some train wrecks were simply too horrible to stare down without a filter, and on this night, Deacon had buckled under the pressure and gin had become the filter of choice.

He’d always known deep down what a prick Seth could be—completely conceited and selfish. When they’d first met, his attraction to the man had actually embarrassed him. How could he have ever been into someone who had such a capacity for cruelty? What did that say about him?

Of course, Deacon had never been good when it came to paying attention to warning signs.

Winding Road Ahead? Curves keep life interesting, right?

Road Narrows!?! I’ll go on a diet!

Dead End!!! Too little…too late.

He’d always been a bit of a ‘village idiot’ when it came to men. It didn’t help matters that Seth had a rakish charm, which made the awful things he sometimes said seem like a slightly destructive form of foreplay. Seth had always tested the boundaries to see how far he could push before breaking them, and loving him had felt dangerous as a result.

Living life on the edge.

Glancing back down at his phone, Deacon read the words once again, and another wave of emptiness came over him. “I’d consider us…shattered.”

“On your tab?” The bartender asked, setting down the freshly made cocktail.

“Yup,” Deacon said, smiling slightly when his lips made a faint popping sound, like a cork being violently liberated from a wine bottle.

He did his best to ignore the judgmental expression on the bartender’s face. Glancing down at the name tag, he shook his head, disgusted anyone named Clifford would be casting stones. The pious pity of Cliffy wasn’t what Deacon needed at the moment, and he said as much with the dirty look he offered as a thank you for the drink.

They both turned, hearing a loud group of twenty-something’s come stumbling into the hotel bar. They were all visibly wasted, and from what he could make out from their rather gregarious bitching, they’d each been bumped from their flight as a result of their intoxication.

More rejected casualties, redirected to purgatory via this airport adjacent, cheesy-ass hotel bar that hadn’t been updated since the early nineties.

The burgundy and blue commercial grade fabric was rough to the touch, as if designed to ensure you didn’t make yourself comfortable. That combined with the brass railings that ran along the bar and atop the booths located along the far wall, all the mirrors and glassware dangling from above, the entire room screamed Loser-ville.

“And I am right at home with my fellow loser-residents,” he muttered.

Deacon could practically smell the sweaty desperation of yester-year that hung in the air like the scent of stale smoke, from what had no doubt been the scene of many a one-night hookup over the years. Chewing on a chunk of ice, he took a moment to glance around the room at the rest of the poor schlubs.

Two gray-haired business men types were huddled at the far end of the bar. One was a bit of a chunk but had an abundance of snow on the roof. His business-bud was more fit but had little roof left at all. The lights above the bar reflected off the top of the shiny bald-headed portion of his receding hairline, and it dawned on Deacon that perhaps no man was allowed to have it all.

“Fat man, tall man, big dick, small, ain’t nobody gonna have it all,” he mumbled, snickering to himself.

He was certainly beginning to feel less pain thanks to the alcohol.

Perusing the rest of the room, attendance was pretty sparse. There were only a few other random couples and a handful of singles like himself of various ages and sexes nursing cocktails. All making an attempt to avoid the solitude of a lonely hotel room on the eve of Christmas Eve.

They all looked as tragic as he felt, save the older guy who just walked in. He was kinda hot. Deacon watched the man shake the snow off his coat before hanging it on a peg just inside the entrance. He smiled warmly at Deacon as he made a beeline for the bar, taking a seat on the stool next to him.

“Guess I shoulda asked,” the guy said, waving at the bartender. “Was anyone sitting here?”

“Nope,” Deacon said. “Seat’s all yours, pal.”

Mr. Smiley was hunky, in that hetero, somebody’s-father kinda way. Late thirties, he guessed. Very athletic looking, the drool-worthy type you’d expect to find coaching his son’s little league team.

Deacon imagined all the other mommies spent more time watching the coach than they did their kiddies—probably a few of the daddies too, for that matter.

For some reason, that thought made him chuckle.

His new neighbor was dressed more casually in jeans, a black thin cotton sweater and a pair of well-worn leather snow boots.

Very butch.

The sweater looked new, but the man was slightly weathered in the best sense of the word with a bit of gray speckled throughout his sideburns. His face had the slightest hint of stubble, which suited the masculine jawline and chin dimple.

Salesman, Deacon figured, already turned off by that thought. Of course, if he promised not to speak, Deacon would definitely be willing to work the bod.

Smiley’s light brown hair was well manicured, longer on top and combed back with enough product to keep everything in its place. Deacon had just begun to imagine what he looked like naked when Mr. Smiley gave him a sideways glance and began to grin once more.

Deacon turned away, unsure if he was embarrassed or if he’d had too many cocktails to care. He was aware that he should’ve been, though, staring at a total stranger for that length of time, as if he’d actually been considering the possibility.

The stir of activity between his legs was evidence that he had been.

Why not? Nothing like random sex with a stranger to make a boy feel better about himself. Not like I’m in a relationship anymore.

He cringed through the sharp pain in his chest and sucked down the rest of his drink, once again, signaling the barkeep with the clinking sound of ice against glass as he gently shook it.

Again with Clifford’s judgey sigh?

The rat bastard.

Get a different job if you can’t handle the sight of intoxication in process. He glanced over at Smiley to see the man was staring at the television hanging on the wall behind the bar. A basketball game was on, but the volume was muted so it didn’t interfere with the nauseating vocals-with-jazz being piped in through the sound system.

Like that wouldn’t be enough to require one or two extra cocktails.

The current selection was some bastardized-rapage of a Carpenters’ tune, Top of the World, he thought, which seemed a little insensitive considering his current situation—having been dumped and all.

Probably Clifford’s doing—the little weasel had it out for him.

Deacon sneered, glancing up at the speaker in the ceiling above his head.

The crappy song choice aside, they’d apparently hired the horrifically off-key singers featured on Dancing with the Stars, adding insult to injury. What asshole gave those tone-deaf fuckers a recording contract?

Stupid show.

Seth never missed an episode. Perhaps that was the silver lining to the knowledge Deacon was apparently an un-passionate, cold-dead-fish-fuck in the sack? He’d never have to sit through another episode of DWTS.

In an attempt to be a little stealthier, Deacon took to further examining Mr. Smiley utilizing the mirror behind the bar.

Definitely a hot dad type. A real man, no doubt. Bet he doesn’t watch totally gay reality television. Of course he unfortunately probably fucks like a straight man too—just shoves it on in and starts pounding away. Deacon hated that.

He sure was sexy, though, like the older male models featured in the back of his mother’s JC Penney catalog, which Deacon used to jack off to as a teenager—the ones posing in their Jockeys.

He smiled at the memory while attempting to ignore the wood growing in his trousers.

The guy’s probably married.

Clifford reluctantly placed Deacon’s fourth cocktail onto the bar.

“Tab it,” Deacon said, not giving Clifford the opportunity to recommend any other alternatives. “I’m staying in the hotel, dude. Not driving, so tab it.”

Clifford held up his hands like he was shocked by the insinuation that he gave a good goddamn either way, which made Deacon wonder if he hadn’t been imagining the whole thing. Perhaps he was mildly sensitive at the moment? The knockdown, drag-out with his mother followed by having been ruthlessly dumped by his boyfriend via email had caused a mental breakdown, and as a result, he’d been forced to invent someone who cared about his well-being?

That was a particularly sad and wretched thought. Poor Cliffy’s getting the raw end of that imaginary deal.

Need to try thinking about something else.

Deacon glanced back into the mirror behind the bar, deciding his new neighbor on the stool to his left would do in a pinch.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, should I fuck Smiley in a bathroom stall?

He grinned to himself, deciding one thing was certain. Deacon was seldom wrong when it came to sniffing out the gay, regardless of the married-het vibe the man exuded. That meant Mr. Smiley was either bi or a gay man who’d gotten married back in the day and now trolled bars looking for cock while on business trips.

It was a particular breed of gay that Deacon didn’t like thinking about—the self-loathers. They depressed him. Fortunately, thanks to Seth, he was already depressed, so fuck it if he gave a shit at this point.

Taking in his own reflection in an attempt to ascertain his physical state, he smirked, deciding while he might not be the hottest piece of ass out there, he was indeed attractive in that cloned-gay-way. Deacon wasn’t overtly fem, or at least he didn’t think so, but he had the look—over-primped and manscaped down to the nearest centimeter. Too tan, despite the fact it was the dead of winter and he wasn’t visiting from Florida or southern California.

All he was missing was some glitter.

With well-gelled, dark hair and sharp blue eyes, he was borderline pretty, but Deacon spent enough time in the gym to keep his body tight. He’d been a fat kid and teased to the point he was now overly sensitive about his waistline as a result. It had become an unhealthy obsession.

Deacon utilized the mirror to glance back over at Smiley only to discover he was being watched. He wondered how Seth would feel if he took Mr. Faux-het up to his room and cold-dead-fish fucked him.

That’d learn him.

His attention was diverted back to the loud lot now laughing hysterically at their friend who was so drunk she’d limply slipped out of the booth and onto the floor underneath their table. He couldn’t imagine how they’d managed to find their gate in the first place, but that, no doubt, made not being allowed to board even more upsetting.

Deacon had been bumped from his flight too. Though in his case, it had been self-inflicted. By the time they began announcing his flight was overbooked, he’d been staring at his Dear John email for a good forty minutes in disbelief. When they asked for volunteers to opt for a later flight, Seth’s evil words finally sank in…he no longer had anyone to rush home to. Then his later flight got cancelled due to the blizzard.

This had been his first trip home to Detroit since he’d left six years before.

If you could call it home.

His mother, Patricia, was pretty bad off, facing real jail time after her third DUI in too many years. Patty’s latest piece of shit trailer-trash boyfriend had run off to boot, leaving he and his half-sister, Ashley, to deal with the fallout. It was difficult to feel bad for his mother considering the last time he’d seen her, Patty had told him she’d rather have a dead son than a gay one.

Yeah, a real sweetheart, proof that some people shouldn’t be allowed to breed.

Were it not for Ashley, pleading for him to come home for Christmas in the first place, Deacon wouldn’t have bothered. He’d lasted a day and a half and was now departing two days before Christmas due to the incessant fighting.

Patty drank so much and so often that Deacon was never sure what was the booze and what was truly Patty, and though he decided to blame the booze for her general evilness, he’d made the decision to leave Detroit years before and had never looked back…until now.

So he’d gone from family drama to boyfriend drama and now found himself all alone in the world once again. The fact Seth had sent an email should have been Deacon’s first clue that something was up, the man was addicted to texting. Perhaps Seth decided a breakup message of I hate you was too harsh for a text?

From where Deacon sat, fewer words could’ve been utilized.

The apartment they’d shared back in Chicago was Seth’s, and he’d sweetly mentioned that he’d be on a cruise over the next week and could Deacon please have all his shit moved out by the time he got back.

Nice to know Seth was worried enough about his well-being to give him so much time to find a new place to live. The entire day had pretty much sucked ass, and he’d been in a daze since getting out of bed that morning. He couldn’t even remember walking up to the counter at the gate and throwing himself onto his sword for the rest of the poor schmucks who were attempting to make it home for the holidays to their so-called loved ones.

People were entirely too horrible to one another in general, Deacon wasn’t sure why he kept trying to connect with anyone at all. It inevitably brought him nothing but heartache.

“From boyfriend to bitterness in…” He glanced down at his watch. “Three hours and forty-two minutes. Impressive.”

Deacon sighed, chuckling sarcastically over his disappointment, taking another quick sip. He became aware that someone else was snickering right along with him. There was no one sitting on his right, so that only left one other option, Mr. Smiley.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your little rant there,” Smiley said, though the expression on his face said otherwise.

“You look real torn up about it.” Deacon smirked, shaking his head when Smiley began laughing harder.

The bartender had placed a Bud Light long neck on the bar in front of Smiley. Deacon was fairly certain he’d never actually ordered it, which meant his neighbor was somewhat of a regular.

Probably trolls for trade here a lot.

“From boyfriend to bitter, huh? Sounds like trouble. He dump you or the other way around?”

“He eviscerated me, if you must know.” Deacon took a sip from his glass and scooped up his phone with his free hand. He tapped on the screen, bringing it to life once more before reading the same horrible paragraph aloud so Smiley could be brought up to speed.

“Jeez,” Smiley said. “That was…wow.” He held up his beer bottle to toast, clinking it against Deacon’s glass. “I’m impressed you’re in as good a shape as you appear to be. Did you love him?”

“It hurts, so I musta, right?” Deacon shrugged, not waiting for an answer before asking, “Say, what’s your name anyway? Can’t keep calling you Mr. Smiley in my head, it’s distracting.”

“Names Steve, Steven actually, but most people call me Steve.”

“I’m Deacon Miller,” he said, before adding flatly, “nice to meet you, Steven Actually.”

“Funny,” he said.

“Hey just ’cause I’m gay and newly eviscerated doesn’t mean I’m tacky. If we end up doing it later, I wanna know your last name.”

One of Smi—Steve…one of Steve’s eyebrows arched as he took a swig off his beer bottle. “It’s Steele. Steven Steele is my name.”

Before he could manage further comment, Deacon interrupted, “Your name is Steve Steele?”

“Um…yeah?” Steve seemed confused. “Have we met before?”

“What are you, porn star or car salesman?”

Steve laughed, blushed slightly as well. “Car salesman, though I’m surprisingly flattered you thought I could pass for a porn star.”

“I’ll admit that porn seemed less likely in Detroit, but hey, who am I to judge, you know?”

“Um…okay,” Steve grinned.

Deacon cringed. “That made sense in my head. Too much liquor, I guess.”

“Considering the day you’ve had, I’d say you’re entitled.”

“Very kind of you, considering you’re a car salesman.”

“Ouch,” Steve said. “I own the dealership if that helps raise my likability quotient.”

“Might be worse, but I’m not really thinking clearly at this point. Sorry. I’m not usually this rude.”

“It’s okay, I am kind of a dick, too.” Steve grinned as Deacon stared back at him in shock over the admission. “What is it you do? Cure nuns with cancer?”

Deacon laughed over the sarcastic delivery. “I’m a nobody, one of those cashier drones, I work at a Target.”

Steve smiled, turning on his stool to face Deacon. “Bet you look awfully cute in those red shirts and khakis. Though I could offer a few suggestions for where they place that bull’s eye.”

Deacon laughed. “Knew I wasn’t wrong about your proclivities.”

He wiggled his eyebrows and took another swig off his beer. “How’d you manage to get time off working retail this close to Christmas?”

“Had a family emergency kinda-thing.”

“Everything okay, I hope? Aside from the ex dumping you, I mean. You know with your family?”

“Just peachy.” Deacon faced Steve, propping up his elbow on the bar for support. “Say, you can’t be too much of a dick, you at least asked how I’m doing, right?”

“Well, you did mention doing me before. I became infinitely more invested at that point.”

Deacon started laughing.

“We’ll blame your evil ex for your rude behavior.” Steve said. “I take it he neglected to mention what a fucking asshole he was.”

It wasn’t a question, more of an assumption.

“No, I apparently suffer from low self-esteem and have an unfortunate attraction to loose-moraled men with little to no character.”

“Sweet, so my chances of getting lucky just skyrocketed.”

Deacon laughed but could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks. “Oh yeah, nothing short of you turning out to be a cannibalistic serial killer could spoil that, buddy.”

Steve looked at him sideways. “At some point, I’ll be inquiring about the fact your statement leaves the door open for non-cannibalistic serial killers, but at the moment. I’m too distracted by the possibility of sex to offer any further judgments.”

“Makes sense.” Deacon nodded. “Though as you heard before, I’m apparently not very passionate in the sack, so I wouldn’t get overly excited if I were you.”

“I don’t buy that for one minute,” he said.

“I’m not selling it, dude, so we’re all good.”

“Still don’t believe it.” Steve’s voice lowered, getting slightly huskier in the process as he leaned closer and said, “Lips like yours were made for sucking cock, baby.”

Steve’s warm breath brushed across Deacon’s face as he said the words, resulting in a positive reaction between his legs. He took a drink, using it as an excuse to break eye contact.

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s said to me all day.”

“I’d be more impressed with myself were I not aware your ex shit all over you earlier today.”

“So there’s nowhere to go but up…up to my room…up to your room if you prefer…either way I can feel myself getting up as we speak so…whenever you’re ready.”

Steve smiled, showing off his pearly whites and the slash-like dimples in his cheeks. “I’m not actually staying here, so it will have to be your room if that’s all right?”

“Christ, why would anyone come to this shit-hole if they weren’t staying in the hotel?”

Clifford coughed, making sure Deacon was aware he’d overheard that. The guy was hacking into a lime with a paring knife, which made him seem slightly more menacing.

“My bad.” Deacon shrugged an apology. “Put down the knife and step away from the fruit, buddy.”

Clifford sighed, shaking his head and further signaling his disapproval.

“Let’s just say that tonight is sort of an anniversary of mine and leave it at that,” Steve said, picking at the label on his beer bottle. “I’m here…not celebrating so much as commiserating?”

Deacon opened his mouth to demand more info but was interrupted by the drunkards in the booth.

“Hey, barkeep! It’s almost Santa-fucking-Claus time already! How ’bout you be playin’ some Christmas music? Let’s cheer it up in here with a little Ho, Ho, Ho-ing!”

All the other idiots in his little group began clapping and cheering him on by heckling right along with him. Clifford rolled his eyes, reluctantly heading to the other end of the bar where he began fiddling with a remote. Magically the sound of sleigh bells filled the bar as Tony Bennett crooned ‘Winter Wonderland’.

“Yeah, man, that’s the stuff!” the guy screamed, before he began singing along…badly. “Come on, Scroogies, time to go caroling!”

Before anyone could manage to stop it, the table of women sitting in the next booth began singing, then it bled over into the next booth, and the next, like a virus that couldn’t be neutralized. By the time Frosty the Snowman came on, the entire bar had joined in, even the sadistically judgey Clifford who kindly brought Steve and Deacon another round of drinks and some sort of Irish-creamy peppermint shots.

Deacon couldn’t carry a tune to save his life, so he mainly mouthed along while trying not to laugh. Steven-Actually-Steele had quite the nice voice, however, deep and soothing in an odd way, which somehow made him seem completely un-dick-like, despite having claimed otherwise. Maybe it was the older guy thing, but he put off a disturbingly comforting protective-Dad-like vibe, and Deacon found himself wholly disarmed by it—though the booze likely helped.

They’d run through five or six songs and were both laughing hysterically when Deacon finally reached over, giving Steve’s leg a squeeze. His laughing slowly subsided when Deacon didn’t remove it.

Steve nodded, swigging the rest of his beer in one long gulp before hopping up off his bar stool, signaling he was ready to go. Deacon did the same, waving down the bartender so he could finally settle that tab. Steve tossed a couple of fifties on the bar and winked at Deacon before making sure Clifford had seen him leave the money.

‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’ was being sung/screamed as they walked out. Deacon could hear Steve singing softly from behind him. They paused long enough for Steve to collect his coat, and Deacon realized he was already having trouble catching his breath, knowing what they were about to do. He was drunk enough to not overthink things, and his body was screaming for naked friction, yearning for the comfort that came from the heat of a hard body pressing into his.

Deacon wanted it so much he could feel the heat of his need burning his skin. Nothing else seemed quite as important to him in that moment. He was aware of the questions buzzing around in the back of his mind, most prominently dealing with Steve Steele’s marital status. He pushed all that away. The man wasn’t wearing a ring and as far as he could tell, didn’t appear to have been wearing one recently.

Deacon was determined to let that be enough.

He needed this, if for no other reason than being wanted by someone, hell, anyone at this point. It was paramount to boosting his will to move forward into tomorrow.

There’d be time enough for sadness and heartache later, but tonight he wanted to be the object of someone else’s desire, the object of Steven Steele’s hard, wet affection.

They were staring at one another as the elevator doors closed. The younger couple with the whiney, cranky toddler was likely the only thing that kept them from attacking one another right then. The father was doing his best to soothe the spawn, but somehow, the young mother was aware of the animalistic lusty heat between Steve and himself. Perhaps it was some sort of pheromone thing that only gay men and women were genetically attuned to sniff out, but she was blushing with a slight grin and doing her best to avoid making eye contact.

Deacon, on the other hand, was barely able to tear his gaze away from Steve’s—tension building with each and every ding as the elevator passed another floor. He could practically taste the anticipation—that sensation of the familiarly-unknown that came from a one-night stand with a total stranger.

Christmas was coming early, and Deacon was anxious to unwrap the package standing before him, ready to see what the universe had laid at his feet. He wanted to forget—was ready to have Steve fuck any lingering memories of the past twelve hours away, if only for a little while.

That’s what Deacon needed most in that moment, and Steven-Actually-Steele was willing to help.

Wilde City Press 4th of July Sale !!!

wcp_4julysale_fbk

Help Wilde City Press celebrate the start of summer and July 4th. Enjoy 25% of your entire cart from Wednesday July 3rd through Sunday July 7th with the coupon code: WildeFreedom.

To use the code, all you have to do is go through the normal purchasing process on our website (www.wildecity.com). When you get to the check-out it will ask if you have a code.

The 25% off code is: WildeFreedom

Type that in, hit "place order" and the total amount will convert to reflect the discounted price!

And since summer is all about fun, adventure and making great holiday memories. What do the Wilde City authors get up to?

Find out below!!!

We asked our authors to share some of their favorite summer traditions … past, present, and future.

Question #1:

What is your favorite July 4th / Independence Day memory or tradition?

Shae Connor

My favorite July 4th tradition is putting the watermelon in the pool.

See, my extensive extended family mostly lives in and around a small Georgia town, and the main gathering place for as long as I can remember has been the house of one of my grandmother’s sisters. (Both my grandmother and her sister are gone now, but some things just don’t change.)

Every year on the 4th of July, everyone who’s in town gathers at that house for a cookout. There’s a big grill out back, where the manly men types cook the meat. There’s also a pool, and every year, there’s a watermelon that goes in the pool. The kids play with it in the water most of the day, and then after everyone eats, the watermelon gets fished out, washed off, and sliced for everyone to dig in. The water in the pool chills it perfectly, not too cold like it would be from the fridge.

Now I want some pool-cooled watermelon!

I’ve been making up stories for as long as I can remember, but it took me a long time to figure out that maybe I should start writing them down. I started out writing fanfic well over a decade ago, and in 2010, I moved into original fiction. (Though I do still get waylaid by a fanfiction plotbunny now and then.)

Shae is new to Wilde City. Look for Fringes, her Charlie Harding Presents erotic sci-fi short due out later this summer. Visit her at: shaeconnorwrites.com

 

Owen Keehnen

I am not sure if it was the exactly the 4th of July, but I do recall the fireworks. I was probably 20 or so andFallingAwake_200x300_cvr felt very grown up. I was in my first real apartment with my first real boyfriend. It was night and to escape the heat we climbed out my bedroom window onto the roof. We spread a sheet on the graveled tar and were lying there just holding hands and watching the stars. There was heat lightning to the south. The small town fireworks began about a half hour after dusk and probably lasted a total of five minutes. When they ended, I turned to him and said, “I love you.” I didn’t know exactly what those words entailed, but I knew how I felt and at that moment there wasn’t a doubt in my mind. It was such a feeling of complete contentment. We ended up falling asleep out there on the roof and climbed back inside around 3 a.m. He’s gone now, but whenever I see fireworks I think of him and that rooftop and that moment. It always brings a smile.

In addition to the four poems he contributed to Falling Awake, Owen has two other projects coming soon to Wilde City. The LGBT Book of Days is a fun and comprehensive guide to thousands of the most important dates in LGBT history – it’s great for reference and trivia and a real treat to compile. The second is a humorous novel called Young Digby Swank, a gay coming of age story about growing up Catholic which is hilarious and heartbreaking and heroic all at the same time. Visit Owen on facebook.

Hank Edwards

COWBOYS&VAMPIRES_200x300pxMeet Josh Stanton, orphaned at a young age in the mid-1800s, he has always been considered an outcast in Belkin’s Pass. Now he’s grown into a quiet, well-educated young man full of secrets, the least of which is his love for his best friend, town deputy Dex Wells. But when the ancient vampire Balthazar begins feeding on the residents of Belkin’s Pass, Josh’s secrets prove to be the turning point in a battle for the souls of the townspeople—but at what personal cost? —- Cowboys & Vampires, available now at Wilde City Press.

Visit Hank at hankedwardsbooks.com

 

Question #2:

What is your favorite Summer memory or tradition?

Geoffrey Knight

My favourite Independence Day moment has to be when Will Smith socks that mean old alien in the chops after they have the dogfight in the canyon and he says something bad-ass like, “You aliens just wrecked my July 4 barbecue and now I’m gonna have me some E.T. burgers because you guys suck!” Oh … you mean a real Independence Day memory, not a scene from the movie! I guess I’ll answer the Best Summer Memory or Tradition question instead.

I don’t think I have one particular memory or tradition that stands out because I love everything about Summer. Being Australian, Summer means lots of public holidays: Christmas, Boxing Day, New Year’s Day and Australia all happen in the space of a month or so, so January pretty much means lots of delicious seafood and days at the beach and your skin feels dusty with sea-salt the whole time, which is a feeling I love. Now that I’ve moved to an island it’s even better; Sydney beaches can get really crowded but up here I can walk from one end of the beach to the other with my dogs and not see a soul. And yes, of course I go in for a skinny dip! ;)

CH_CairoCurse_200x300px_cvr“I want to see.” … “Nash, we’re in Egypt, in the ruins of an ancient city, standing in front of a secret door! Aren’t you curious?”
“Curiosity killed the – ” … “No, I’m not curious.”
The lie was unconvincing enough to give Ryan the confidence to sway him.
Sway him with a kiss. …
“Curious yet?”

You can read Nash’s answer in Cairo Curse, book two in the Vampire Lair series. Visit Geoff at www.geoffreyknightbooks.com

 

Lloyd Meeker

My favorite summer tradition is honoring the solstice. In one old tradition, Midsummer Night was the time to leave a small dish of brandy in the garden as a gift to the fairies, which I’ve always thought was charming. Inviting the goodwill of nature is always a sensible idea!

I mark the solstice by honoring extremes – the dark of winter in the southern hemisphere and the light of summer in the northern – and the inevitable swing of the one toward the other. It is the wisdom of the Tao, the dance of light and dark, each with the spark of the other in its core.

This idea may seem pretty dry, but try this little experiment: sit on a playground swing and build momentum. Make the point furthest back winter solstice, when movement forward begins, and make the point farthest forward summer solstice, when graceful retreat begins. Feel the delicious centrifugal force as you move, your weightlessness at both far points – and remember the earth, held in her arc by the sun.

Gay PI Russ Morgan doesn’t mind being fifty but hates being single. He’s made peace with being a psychic empath, and he’s managed to build a decent life since getting sober. As he uncovers obscene secrets shrouded in seeming righteousness, he might have to make peace with a sword of justice that cuts the innocent as deeply as the guilty. —- Enigma, coming soon to Wilde City Press.

Visit Lloyd at lloydmeeker.com

 

Clare London

I wish the UK had July 4 celebrations as well! This summer so far, we’ve had sleet, flood rains, gale force winds and then occasionally a sunny, hot day. I think this is the reason most of our sentimental celebrations take place in the latter half of the year. Or why the British talk constantly about the weather.

Freeman_200x300px_cvrIt seemed sunnier in The Old Days, when I was young(er). One happy memory is of an annual trip with friends to Henley-on-Thames, for a barbeque/picnic beside the river. This was the irresponsible time before kids and mortgages! We always arranged a game of rounders (like baseball, but not), competing with way more enthusiasm than skill, and helped along (or hindered?) by huge amounts of alcohol.

We still have photographic evidence of the fun. A gal sitting in her bikini, draining the last cupful of fruit punch from a litre-sized jug. A chap with his younger brother hauled over his shoulder, running towards the river to throw him in. Various self-inflicted rounders-bat injuries on sunburned shins. Clare, clutching river weeds to her chest because she lost her tube top when she dived in…

Oh those lazy, hazy afternoons of summer!

Meet Freeman, a quiet man who’s not used to sharing his plans, his history, or his emotions. He’s returned to the city on business, a case that has nothing to do with the people he once left behind: his ex-wife, his male ex-lover, and his ex-business partner. He has no plans to engage with any of them again – until he meets Kit, the provocative young man who’s going to pull Freeman from the safety of his shell, whether he wants to or not. —- Freeman, coming soon to Wilde City Press.

Visit Clare at www.clarelondon.co.uk

 

Eric Arvin

I’m a big music slut any time of the year, but I especially love summer music or music that makes me think of summer. Every spring I make an awesome playlist for the warmer months. There be lots of frivolity and even some slower tunes in the mix. Here are a few from this year’s playlist:

MingledDestinies_200x300px_cvrBoys on the Radio by Hole
Mad About You by Belinda Carlisle
Love This by Cosmo Jarvis
Love Profusion by Madonna (Madonna has a lot of great summer tunes)
Car Wheels on A Gravel Road by Lucinda Williams

Midnight City by M83 (they’re last album was a summer spectacular)
I’m Like a Bird by Nelly Furtado
Soak Up the Sun by Sheryl Crow
Summer Fling by kd lang (from her album Invincible Summer)
Summertime Clothes by Animal Collective

Wicked Game by Chris Isaak
Spaceman by The Killers (again, they’ve got a lot of great summery songs)
Boys of Summer by Eric Himan (a great version of the Don Henley classic)
For the Summer by Ray LaMontagne
Summer Days by Norah Jones

Summertime by Ella Fitzgerald
Summer Moved On by A-ha
Freeway by Aimee Mann (Mann’s voice just sounds like summer to me, other Mann Summer songs include 4th of July and Fifty Years After the Fair)
Free Falling by Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
End of the Innocence by Don Henley

If I Ever Feel Better by Phoenix
Birmingham by Shovels & Rope
Ramona by Night Beds
Singing in My Sleep by Semisonic
Lightning Bolt by Jake Bugg

Eric Arvin resides in the same sleepy Indiana river town where he grew up. He graduated from Hanover College with a Bachelors in History. He has lived, for brief periods, in Italy and Australia. He has survived brain surgery and his own loud-mouthed personal demons. Eric is the author of The Mingled destinies of Crocodiles and Men, and various other sundry and not-so-sundry writings. He intends to live the rest of his days with tongue in cheek and eyes set to roam.

Visit Eric at ericarvin.blogspot.com

 

Patrick Darcy

Without a doubt, on a cold summer night in Dublin, I dream of being naked on an Ibizan beach. Preferably Playa Es Cavallet, the gay nudist beach. It’s a bit of a trek; you have to get past the German and Dutch naturalist before getting to the promised land of sexy, naked homos. I see it now, hot muscled hunks, with tattoos and great big…….

ConfGayRugbyPlayer2_200x300px_cvrThe beach is all white sand lined with cool beach bars, and the sound of funky music fills the air. Such a great relaxed vibe and beautiful people cruising each other. To say it’s sexual would be an understatement.

Summer is all about being naked, however, there are occasional problems. As a weak and feeble man, I am constantly being shown up by my hardon. I want to be dignified and European. But I’m Irish, I see a hot naked guy and, well, my cock just has to show its appreciation. Total nude beach faux pas. Oh the shame of it! The only saving grace is that my buns are rather pert. So I spend most of the day laying on my front, peaking through my Roy Orbison shades at all the beach talent.

OK. now I’m horny!

Hi! I’m Patrick Darcy. Rugby player, Irishman and writer of full strength gay erotica. Follow me at patrickdarcybooks.com, as I comment on life in Dublin, hot men and all the things that make me tick. There are two big passions in my life: great sex and rugby. Quite often, these are combined! I love the thrill of competition, the power, the intensity, the brotherhood of rugby.

Oh, and I love being naked!

Anne Brooke

My favourite summer memory is my mother’s homemade lemonade. She only ever made it in summer as she said it was an outdoor drink and needed a big dose of sunshine to make the bubbles pop. Apparently winter would make the whole drink go grey and flat, and as I was young I believed her – and in a way I still do. Homemade lemonade only ever appeared about three or four times a year and only when we were very good and she was pleased with us. It wasn’t ever something she prepared for either but, in our CH_BeginningOfKn_200x300px_cvrfamily group, she would slip away quietly and after a while one or another of us would realise she was missing. From then on the excitement would mount and then – at last! – half an hour or so later she would reappear with a huge jug of lovely lemony-yellow bubbly drink and a selection of glasses. Drinking it meant you had enough sugar in your system to last you well into the next month, but it was like a blast of sunshine and citrus in the mouth, I can tell you. Sheer bliss!

The night I met Luke Milton, the last thing I was looking for was any kind of relationship …

“What the hell are you doing?” …
“Waiting for you …”
“You’ve not covered up your mark.” … “You must have taken some stick for it from the office.”
“Why should I cover it up? You gave it to me. That’s worth all the stick in the world.”

Read the rest of Luke and Alan’s interactions in The Beginning of Knowledge, available now at Wilde City Press. Visit Anne at www.annebrooke.com

 

Ewan Creed

CH_LeatherbarMural_200x300_cvrI’ll set the scene for you – a rowboat, a bottle of wine, a low moon, and a good man. We had met on the beach that morning and clicked, so after hanging out all day I invited him out to dinner and then for a ride on the lake. There was just something about him. It was so easy to talk to him. I told him more about myself than I told my best friends and he shared just as much about himself. That evening was nothing special in the scheme of things, and yet perfect at the same time. It was one of those connections you just don’t forget. He was the first person I ever told that I wanted to be a writer.

Meet Alex, a man caught up in the leather bar scene of 1975, a man consumed by the feeling of sexual abandon and freedom. One night Alex gets more than he bargained for and is transported into a dark carnal wonderland of sexual abandon and perpetual desire, a world that can trap a man for all eternity. —- The Leather Bar Mural, available now from Wilde City Press.

Follow all of Ewan’s release dates HERE.

Question #3:

If you could escape to anywhere in the world this summer, where would it be?

J.P. Barnaby

J. P. Barnaby, an award-winning gay romance novelist, is the author of over a dozen books including the Little Boy Lost series, the Forbidden Room series, and Aaron. As a bisexual woman, J.P. is a proud member of the GLBT community both online and in her small town on the outskirts of Chicago. A member of Mensa, she is described as brilliant but troubled, sweet but introverted, and talented but deviant. She spends her days writing software and her nights writing erotica, which is, of course, far more interesting. The spare time that she carves out between her career and her novels is spent reading about the concept of love, which, like some of her characters, she has never quite figured out for herself.

J.P.’s new Rentboy series is coming to Wilde City press later this year. Visit J.P. at www.JPBarnaby.com

 

Pelaam

I live in New Zealand and summer here starts in December. For someone born in the UK, seeing bikinis and sun lotion next to Christmas trees and decorations just isn’t right. A holiday somewhere hot and sultry with exotic cocktails might be most people’s idea of summer bliss. However, I’d like to escape to celebrate my summer Christmas in Canada with snow, caribou, and lots of mulled wine.

Living in clean, green New Zealand, I am an author, foodie, wine buff and Art Historian. I write M/M romance, particularly paranormal, sci-fi and fantasy, and like to add passion, and a twist, to my tales. I grew up on Dr Who, Star Trek and The Night Stalker. I never leave the house without at least one notebook, ready to jot down anything the muse may whisper. Visit me on facebook.

Charlie HardingCHP_EdwinPabon_1

I would scoop up my partner Scotty Rage and we’d meet up with our 10 closest friends at a beach somewhere. Seafood, cocktails, sand, sun and the people we care about… Our favorite combination!

Charlie Harding joined the ranks of adult performers in February 2012. He has won multiple awards including "Best New Cummer," "Best Daddy," "Best Ass Eater 2012" and “Manly Man”. Charlie has also put his multiple college degrees to work building network of business ventures including launching his own line of personally selected gay erotica at www.charliehardingpresents.com. Charlie lives in Atlanta, Georgia with his partner and fiance, Scotty Rage.

Ethan Stone

I would love to go on a cruise to somewhere warm but not too hot. I want a place with a beach, cool clear water and some hot cabana boys. The hot cabana boys are not just for eye candy, they’d be there for inspiration. The whole trip would be for inspiration since I’ve been having a hard time with writing lately. PastTense_200x300_cvrBeing in a relaxing environment with pretty eye candy all around me could really help with my writing block. Additionally, it would benefit my health as well. If I were to lay shirtless in the sun, soaking up all that vitamin D, I’d have all the energy I need for anything that happened to come up. :-)

Anyone wanting to contribute to the "Save Ethan’s Mental and Physical Health" Cruise feel free to use Paypal.

“Did you like what you saw out there?” …
“You’re a very … talented dancer.” …
“Anything else you liked?”
“You fishing for a compliment, Holt? You don’t seem the type to need your ego stroked.”
“Maybe it’s not my ego I want s…”

See if Jason Holt ever gets around to telling Quinn what he wants stroked, Past Tense available now at Wilde City Press. Visit Ethan at www.ethanjstone.com.

New Interview at Top2Bottom Reviews!

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SecondTimeLucky_432An awesome 5 Star review review for Second Time Lucky and a brand new interview are up at Top2Bottom Reviews where they’ve been featuring the authors of MLR Press all month long.

The Interview:

Put your hands together for the one and only: Ethan Day!!

Ethan, thank you for taking some down time and spending it with us. Let’s start this off with a beverage. We have coffee, tea, some sort of juice (I think it’s been in here a few weeks) and soda. What would you like?

I brought my own vat of Diet Coke, but thank you anyway. : )

Well that’s being prepared now isn’t it? Charles, stand by please. Ethan, can you tell us a little bit about yourself?

I could, but then I’d have to kill you – which wouldn’t go well as I’ve been known to pass-out at the sight of blood. I’d be incarcerated for sure, just lying there for the police to find once they arrived on the scene. I’d be the laughing stock of Cell-block D! Plus, I’m pretty sure that whole gang-bang in the shower scenario is really best experienced through the safety of porn. It is fun to say though! Seriously…say Gang-Bang over and over and you’ll see! Even funnier if you use that Little Caesar’s Pizza-Pizza voice. Of course, it’s not like I’ve ever taken part in an actual gang-bang, so I can’t speak from experience, but lots of things you’d think would be sexy in theory actually aren’t  in reality – being stranded on a deserted island immediately comes to mind. Have you seen Survivor lately? When it looks like someone wiped their ass with Blair Warner, you know it’s not pretty. Those people look exceedingly unsexy. Talk about some Facts of Life! It’s TV, people…give those bitches a brush and a bar of soap for crying out loud!

Click Here to Read More!!!

A New Interview all about To Catch a Fox!

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Lisa from The Novel Approach interviews Geoff Knight and myself about what went into the making of To Catch a Fox!

Fox_Final_V2 - smallLisa. Knight and Day—hm, seems a bit karmic that the two of you would eventually collaborate on a novel, don’t you think? Who came up with the idea, and how long did it take to make it happen?
 
ED: It was all Geoff’s doing! I still think he only asked me because of the name thing, though he refuses to admit to it!! The basic idea of the Betty Black character walking into a private investigators office and hiring the P.I. to teach her how to find the man she wants to murder was what Geoff brought to me when he so kindly asked if I’d be interested in writing a book with him. Once I got over the initial disappointment that ‘writing a book together’ wasn’t his way of trying to get into my pants, I decided it was still an awesomely fun idea. I love reading mysteries, and was a fan of his Fathoms Five books. Saying yes to working with him was easy.
 
Getting the book finished was not so easy. Life and time zones played havoc with each of us, but I think we were both happy with the end result. I personally love the first book and I’m really excited for the way it has set up books two and three. I think Jon and Tucker are going to make for a very satisfying relationship arc over the course of the series.
 
GK: Yes, coming up with the idea and then playing with the plot outline was a lot of fun. It was almost too much fun. We had to keep pulling ourselves back because we just wanted to cram so much into this alreadyme and lisa 2 big baby! But then when it came to writing it…wow, that was a mammoth task. We spent so much time plotting, that when it came to the actual writing it took us ages to build up some momentum, which was probably more my fault than Ethan’s. Plus we approach writing very differently – Ethan is REALLY fast! He can pound out word counts that would make my head spin, filled with pages and pages of the most hilarious dialogue! On the flipside of that, I’m a bit slower and like to spend time blocking action scenes and trying to get the tension right. It worked out in the end, but it did take longer than we first anticipated. I think getting the characters all set up was a bigger task than we realized. But now that there are established – with all their wonderful flaws and messed-up pasts – we should be able to power through Book 2 without dragging our heels.

 

To read the rest of the interview, visit Lisa’s Review Blog, The Novel Approach by Clicking Here!!!

LOVE IN LA TERRAZA is NOW AVAILABLE!!!

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Love-in-La-Terraza_thumb1

LOVE IN LA TERRAZA

Now Available from

Resplendence Publishing

Click Here to Purchase

Promotional Blurb:

Cain Elliott is a desperate man – on the brink of losing La Terraza, the 1920’s Spanish style courtyard apartment complex his grandmother left him in her will, he’s faced with the option of selling to a real estate developer or losing the building outright, due to the costs of upkeep that have now left him teetering on the brink of bankruptcy. One setback after another has slowly whittled away any hope he’d been harboring to turn the tides. Having time for little else in life, Cain’s guilt over his failure to protect the home of those who reside within the walls of La Terraza has crippled his spirit.

On the partnership fast-track at the flashy architectural firm of Hamilton-Bach, Henry Abrams is new in town, a little lonely and looking for inspiration. Tired of games and longing for something real, Henry discovers the road to happiness could lie in the arms of the sad, uncomplicated Cain Elliott.

Discovering that Hamilton-Bach represents the mysterious entrepreneur attempting to purchase La Terraza, combined with the self-doubt and mistrust over a love that develops too fast, leave both men struggling to decide whether or not they can truly find…Love in La Terraza.

Click Here to Purchase

Excerpt:

Cain took another long gulp from his beer, feeling as if he were slowly sinking into quicksand. He felt panic building in his chest, the utter sense of hopelessness threatening to take him over. He was just about to hop out of his chair and run for the nearest exit when Eddie interrupted his fretting.

“Who’s staring at us?” Eddie’s shoulders and back writhed as if he physically felt someone’s gaze upon his back.

“How does he do that?” Cain asked, flabbergasted by what the blind man could see that the rest of them had been oblivious to.

Everyone except Eddie turned to look about the room. Cain somehow knew there was only one direction in which to concentrate his efforts.

Yep, there he is, still holding up the bar.

Cain started to grin the instant their gazes met. Mr. Preppy did indeed still seem to have his heart set on conquering Cain’s wild unknown. In truth, the guy was a little slice of heaven, perhaps someplace warm and safe where Cain might rest his weary head for the evening…well…after all the spirited fucking and sucking, of course.

“Mrs. Madrigal has a gentleman caller,” Matt said to Eddie out of the corner of his mouth.

Cain took a cue from Nic and smacked Matt in the arm for his trouble. “I hate it when you call me that.”

“What’s he like?” Eddie asked, now grinning as well.

“Damn!” Nic hissed under her breath.

“That good?” Eddie asked,

Cain scowled over the implied insult. “I’m going to try forgetting you sounded that surprised by the fact.”

“I’m hotter than him.” Stu smirked as he nodded his head in confidence.

“Sorry, Cain,” Eddie mumbled. “Didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“Since you won’t be fucking me tonight, that’s sort of a moot point, Stu.” Cain shook his head before reaching across the table to give Eddie a reassuring squeeze of forgiveness.

“The wife does frown upon any extracurricular activities.” Stu winked at Cain while nudging Nic in case she may have thought him serious for even a moment.

“Are you all still staring at him?” Eddie asked.

They glanced between one another, quickly turning back to face the table in shame.

“Way to drive him away there, people,” Eddie said.

“Shit, I—” Nic glanced up quickly then looked back down at the tabletop like a child who’d just been scolded. “I think he’s coming over!”

Cain sat up straight, eyes wide, more frightened by the high-pitched squeal of Nic’s voice than surprised over the fact he was about to land himself a hook-up for the evening.

Eddie shook his head as if he were attempting to get his hearing back. “Good god, woman, another octave or two higher and only dogs would’ve been able to hear that.”

“Pardon me for interrupting,” a deep, sexy southern voice came from behind Cain. “I couldn’t help but notice the entire table staring at me.”

Cain turned, looking upward at the man in question and trying his best to not laugh. “Hiya.”

“No pardon needed.” Eddie stood up from the table while yanking on Matt’s arm. “We were just leaving.”

Cain felt the heat flush his cheeks the instant Eddie had said it.

Not at all obvious.

Matt stood, clumsily. “Please take a seat, though. Cain was planning to hang.”

Cain rolled his eyes. “And I’m just dying to keep you company, sir. In exchange for taking me off their hands my daddies can offer you two goats, a head of cattle and a skillet.”

Eddie was already shaking his head in disgust. “Please try and stick around long enough to make it through the first act, Mr…?”

“Abrams. Henry Abrams,” he said, extending his hand before noticing the white folding cane in Eddie’s hand.

Cain thought he was kinda cute, standing there slightly awkward for a moment as he tried to decide what to do with his hand now that it was already out there. He tossed Henry a lifeline by taking it instead, shaking his hand.

“The second act does have a bitchin’ musical number you don’t wanna miss, Mr. Abrams. My name is Cain Elliott.”

“May I sit?” Henry asked as everyone said their goodbyes to Eddie and Matt who scurried off into the crowd, whispering to one another.

“Please,” Nic said, smiling as if she were Cain’s self-appointed social director, having completely missed the cues Eddie had thrown down like gas on an already flaming forest fire.

Cain could tell Stu had not but wasn’t quite able to figure out a subtle way to tell his wife they were now intruding upon and likely impeding the sacred homo mating dance.

“So what is it you do, Henry?” Nic asked.

Cain could tell she was wired up and ready to play Debbie Drill Sergeant, already commencing with the interrogation.

Henry started to answer, but Cain dreamily placed two fingertips over the man’s lips.

He laughed to himself, realizing he’d had just enough alcohol to make him fearless. “Let’s not do the whole, this is me and that is you shakedown, gorgeous. I’m feeling like a little mystery might do me some good. How about you?”

Henry’s forehead crinkled, as if he were thinking real hard about whether or not he liked where this was going. His playful half smile told Cain he was still amused if nothing else.

“We can always have share-time later, you know, after—if the sex is hot, that is.”

Henry blushed, but he started to laugh. Cain could tell the man knew he was at least half joking for the benefit of their audience across the table.

“Well, what if he’s a serial killer or something?” Nic asked, visibly disgusted with Cain.

“He most likely wouldn’t come out and say so just because you asked him, dear.”

Nic started to object then must’ve realized Cain had a point.

“You aren’t a serial killer, right?” Cain muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

“No, sir, I am not.” He smiled at Nic, pouring on the charm. “I hereby solemnly swear to inflict no pain or suffering upon your good friend.”

“Not even if I beg you to?” Cain asked.

Click Here to Purchase