Ditched

[Today I've got a preview of a new M/M story by Lucy Felthouse. Enjoy! ~ Lisabet]  

Private Damien Stone is living in a nightmare. He’s out on exercise on Salisbury Plain with Lance Corporal Michael Scott—who also happens to be a huge pain in the arse. He’s a teacher’s pet who seems to delight in bossing Stone around. But that’s not the real reason Stone appears to dislike him so much. It’s because Stone—who’s bisexual—is seriously attracted to his superior, but he can’t do anything about it, because Scott is straight. Or is he?

Buy link: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/ditched/

*****

Excerpt

“This can’t be fucking right!” said Lance Corporal Michael Scott, checking his map for the umpteenth time.

“I can assure you, Scott, that it fucking is,” responded his colleague, Private Damien Stone. He nudged the other man, pointed to a place on his own map, then raised his arm and indicated a rise in the ground in the near distance.

“See, that’s that long barrow, so we are in the right place.”

Looking at the barrow—one of the many on Salisbury Plain—then down at the map, and finally at his compass, Scott had to agree.

“So where the fuck are they, then?”

Stone had no answer for that one. He looked up into the lightening sky, which in the distance was being slowly tinged with pink, but saw no sign of their pick-up helicopter. Straining to hear even the faintest sound of rotor blades, Stone remained silent. Hearing nothing, he shrugged.

“Dunno. Perhaps we got the time wrong, or something?”

“I hope not, otherwise they’ve gone without us!”

“Nah. We’re early, if anything. The sun’s only just coming up.”

Sighing, Scott stuffed his map and compass into a pocket, and said, “Well, I guess we’d better find somewhere to shelter. I don’t like the look of that.”

The that he was talking about was an ominous-looking black cloud being buffeted in their direction by the wind, which was picking up rapidly.

“With you on that one.”

On an unspoken command, the two of them immediately split up and started to look around for somewhere they could keep out of the wind and imminent rain. It wasn’t long before Scott shouted out, and Stone immediately turned and headed in the direction of his colleague’s voice.

When Stone arrived, Scott had already removed his backpack and dropped it into the ditch he’d found and was striding down the slope to join it. Luckily, there’d been no rain over the past few days so the ground was dry. If the coming rainstorm ended up being heavy, it was entirely possible they’d get wet arses, but for now at least they’d be reasonably comfortable.

Following his colleague’s example, Stone shrugged off his pack. Turning, he saw that Scott was standing with his arms out, ready to catch it. Tossing it, he gave a curt nod of thanks before heading down into the ditch.

Once there, he saw that some scrub covered a couple of sizeable rocks, meaning that they would at least be able to sit down. It would have to rain pretty damn hard for the water level in the ditch to get as high as the top of the rocks, so they’d be all right until the chopper arrived.

He hoped.

*****

Bio: Lucy is a graduate of the University of Derby, where she studied Creative Writing. During her first year, she was dared to write an erotic story - so she did. It went down a storm and she's never looked back. Lucy has had stories published by Cleis Press, Constable and Robinson, Decadent Publishing, Ellora's Cave, Evernight Publishing, House of Erotica, Ravenous Romance, Resplendence Publishing, Sweetmeats Press and Xcite Books. She is also the editor of Uniform Behaviour, Seducing the Myth, Smut by the Sea and Smut in the City. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

The Reluctant Alpha

By S. Dora (Guest Blogger)

Thank you, Lisabet, for being once again such a wonderful and generous host.

I have a confession to make. Don’t worry, it’s only a small and rather insignificant one, but for a writer of the erotic-romantic genre interesting enough to tell about. I don’t care for the alpha male as fictional character. You know, the one who combines a huge amount of self-confidence with a far above average talent to take the lead and make the decisions. Those traits often go together with an impressively muscled physique and unmistakable masculine facial features. Of course, if he isn’t actually in a leader’s position within his trade, then he will have a high-testosterone job, like soldier, policeman, fire-fighter or adventurer.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I can understand, up to a certain point, why this character is so hugely popular in the erotic-romance stories and why they are a fixed element in so many fantasies of straight women and gay men (and of course of bisexuals of both sexes). He’ll make sure you’ll never have a dull moment and looks good while doing that.

Also, the alpha male is perhaps relatively easy to write. He’s often the one creating the action, the one who has all the adventures, who takes risks and probably doesn’t run away from a fight. Whatever his weaknesses as a character may be, boring isn’t one of them.

And yet, the alpha male has never been a huge inspiration for me as (main) character for my stories. Not that I’ve always been aware of this fact, or that it was ever a conscious decision, it simply didn’t happen. It’s only recently that I started to notice the pattern. It doesn’t matter if it’s the “serious stuff” I write as R.A. Padmos or the erotica by S. Dora, none of my main characters could be described as alpha males by any stretch of the imagination.

My main characters are observers and outsiders. They doubt far beyond simply having initial doubts about something before they make up their minds. They are never quite certain about their own worth, honestly surprised as they are that a beautiful and interesting human being can truly be in love with them.

Take Isaac Newhouse, for instance. He’s the main character of my M/M BDSM series Calling the Shots. He’s close to forty, has a middle-management job at the office of an insurance company and he knows all too well he doesn’t have the makings of a romance hero. No way he could be the dominant in a D/s relationship with his younger lover, Tom. He, the gentle soul, could never order his lover to get on his knees and call him Sir.

But there you have it. What starts as an afternoon of sex with a bit of kink becomes so much more when Isaac finds the courage to admit that his lover’s need to be submissive during sex resonates something inside him that he hadn’t been aware of before. It’s not that he thinks there’s anything intrinsically wrong with BDSM, he just doesn’t believe he has the makings of a good (enough) dominant.

Isaac is an eager student, with lots of questions. He never assumes to be right about anything concerning his role as dominant. This makes him perhaps a bit different from the dominants we often see in romantic-erotica, but if a character like Isaac makes you curious, then I’m happy to tell you that Part One of the series,  Facing the Truth, is available at Total E-Bound and the next one, The Right Direction, will be published on August 24^th. Pre-orders, starting at the 13^th of August, will be rewarded with a 15% discount. (http://www.total-e-bound.com/authordetail.asp?A_ID=203#booklist) I hope to be able to present my publisher with Part Three soon.

A small excerpt from The Right Direction

Isaac had been slightly worried that the package of toys he had ordered from the online adult store would not get there in time, but on Thursday afternoon, right after he returned from work, the doorbell rang and the postman handed it to him.

He walked straight to the bedroom, with Tom in his wake. “Can I take a peek?”

“No.”

Tom pouted. “Not even if I wear my collar? You know, do a trial run?”

“Again, no.” Isaac managed to sound stern, but only just.

“Okay, I get the message. I’ll make supper.” Tom gave in. “It’s not like you can hide it from me, anyway. If I really want to know what’s in that package, I will find it.” He must have seen the look of disappointment on Isaac’s face, because he hastened to say, “That’s not what I meant. You can put everything in the toy drawer and I give you my promise not to peek unless you tell me to. Though if you’ve bought as many toys as I think you have, there won’t be enough space in one drawer, so you might want to use the other one as well.”

Isaac kissed him. “Thanks for being a good sport. What are we having for supper?”

Tom winked. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out.”

Before Isaac could react, his lover was gone. He laughed for a moment, then stared at the box wrapped in brown paper and went very quiet. This was what he had ordered and paid for. He had masturbated thinking about how he was going to use his purchases on his sub. While it was for fun and spicing up sex, he couldn’t help but think it had become so much more. They hadn’t needed any formal rituals to use a cock ring or a string of anal beads, yet Tom had knelt at his feet, called him Sir and had looked so full of joy when Isaac had given him his collar.

With slightly trembling hands, he tore away the paper and opened the box. He quickly unpacked everything and placed the items neatly on the bed. He gazed at the collection for what must have been minutes before he finally picked up the flogger. Starting by admiring the handiwork of the craftsman who had made the object was the safest option. Though he had never before held a flogger in his hands, Isaac recognised the exquisite detailing and perfect balance. According to the description on the website, this particular flogger was perfect for teasing a sub, but also made for a nice thud. Isaac hadn’t been sure what thud meant in relation to sting, but now that he was holding the object, the words came alive. He caressed the inside of his forearm with the suede stripes and smiled. In his mind, he could already see Tom’s shivers of anticipation when he introduced his lover to this fine instrument.

The cane, however, told a very different story. In all its stern simplicity, it spoke of danger. A disconcerting quiver of pleasure shot down his spine. His cock filled. Quickly, he put the cane back.

The whip wasn’t much safer either, though for some reason slightly more emotionally neutral than the cane, so he left it where it was. He assessed that, in order to be able to use it comfortably on his sub, he would have to practise. Preferably in private so Tom wouldn’t see or hear him. His sub deserved the best his Dom had to offer, even if the perfect stroke of the whip was not something his much-admired Sir had been born with. Illusion was as much a part of BDSM play as with any theatrical act.

S. Dora

R.A. Padmos

My S. Dora blog:http://sdora.wordpress.com/

My R.A. Padmos blog: http://rapadmos.wordpress.com/

No Fear in Love

“There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear.” 1 John 4:18

This isn't a blog post about religion, even though I've started it with a quote from the New Testament. No, my topic today is homophobia, as part of a 'net-wide blog hop by authors of gay-oriented fiction to raise awareness about the issue.

These days, any discussion of homosexuality seems to generate a lot of anger and hostility. The typical rhetoric tends to be militant, whether supporting or opposing the rights of people to pursue sexual relationships with individuals of their own gender. When a state votes to legalize gay marriage, GLBT activists celebrate a “battle won”. When a court rules that a gay couple can't adopt children, jubilant anti-gay organizations vow to “continue the fight” against the abomination of homosexuality. Either way, there's a strong tendency to consider people on the other side of this contentious issue as “the enemy”.

Now, I believe that adults should be free to choose their sexual and life partners without any constraints related to gender. I think that two men or two women who are attracted to one another should enjoy the same rights , privileges and protections as a male/female couple, that this equality should be legally guaranteed, and that the relevant laws should be enforced. To me, this position seems rational and fair.

However, I understand that many people on the opposite side of this debate hold positions based not on reason but on emotion – specifically, fear. After all, that's what “homophobia” means, literally – fear of homosexuals. You can't argue away fear. And treating someone who harbors that kind of fear as the enemy won't help change that person's beliefs or feelings – if anything, it's likely to make those feelings more extreme.

What are homophobes afraid of? In some cases, their own sexual curiosity or repressed desires. In many cases the fear is based on misinformation or ignorance. Some homophobes believe that most gays are pedophiles, and thus fear for their children's safety. Some subscribe to the popular but ridiculous theory that homosexuals are more sexually voracious or extreme than heterosexuals, and thus somehow obscene, dirty or dangerous. Some are simply afraid of the unknown. Men who love men (or women who love women) are strange and thus threatening.

Of course many homophobes cite religious arguments for their opposition to homosexuality. Personally, I think this is just a convenient justification, masking the underlying fear. And some people truly hate gays and lesbians, considering them subhuman and worthy of extirpation. Even that kind of hate may be rooted in fear. In any case, that's why legal protections for GLBT people are so important.

I'm not sure what sort of intervention is needed to deal with extreme homophobes, the sort of people who perpetrate hate crimes. However, for less extreme cases, I believe that the solution is love.

Love? Oh come on, Pollyanna! What sort of pastel fantasy world are you living in?

I don't mean love in the romantic or erotic sense, but more in the sense of the Golden Rule. To reduce the amount of homophobia in a society, anti-gay individuals need opportunities to really get to know gay people. Only specific, positive experiences with real homosexuals will be effective in counteracting the stereotypes and myths about homosexuality in general. The more homosexual neighbors you have, the more you enjoy their company, the more you see that they're just people, not some alien, sex-crazed demons, the less strange and “icky” the whole idea of same-sex relations will become.

I'd like to believe that in some small way, my M/M fiction and that of my colleagues can play a small role in helping to diminish the fears of homophobes. Of course, M/M romance has become wildly popular, even in the conservative heartlands. The fact is, there's not much emotional difference between a gay romance and a heterosexual romance. Both deal with the growth of a loving relationship in the face of challenges. The specific problems encountered by M/M couples might be somewhat different, but the emotions are predominantly the same.

Although our characters aren't “real” gay people, they're far more realistic than the stereotypes that feed homophobia. To the extent that people can accept gay lovers in our fiction, they're more likely to be comfortable with homosexuality in real life.

But what do you think? Am I overly optimistic? Leave me a comment and I will enter you in a drawing for a copy of the M/M erotic romance anthology Gaymes, which includes my story Crossed Hearts. Be sure to include your email address in your comment if you want to part of the giveaway. I'll draw a winner on Monday the 21^st of May.

And please visit the blogs of some of the other authors participating in the Hop Against Homophobia. You'll find a full list at: http://hopagainsthomophobia.blogspot.com

Sunday Snog: Tomorrow's Gifts

I'm back from my trip and ready to serve up your Sunday snog. This one's from Tomorrow's Gifts, a M/M holiday tale decorated with paranormal phenomena and BDSM.

Don't forget to visit Victoria Blisse, the inventor of the Sunday Snog, and savor the tasty kiss she has selected for your this Sunday!

“So, Michael. Have you been a good little boy?” Neil loomed over me, one hand against the wall on either side of my head. “Do you deserve the goodies that Santa’s brought for you?” Leaning forward, he trailed a wet tongue up my neck, from my open collar to just below my earlobe. When I squirmed in response, he flattened his pelvis against the lump growing in my jeans and fastened his mouth on mine. The fake beard got in the way. He ripped it off and resumed kissing me, while his hands slipped around me to cup my ass.

I loved the way Neil kissed, with his full body, investing his entire being into the process. I snuggled against his red felt jacket, allowing him to take possession of my mouth. His kisses were deep, wet, full of soul. They made me light-headed. They made me hard. I could taste the beer he had drunk at the party and the peppermint candy cane that we’d shared on the way home, but underneath there was the familiar flavour of Neil, my housemate, friend and lover.

I forced my hand between our bodies and fumbled at his zipper. “Oh, are you being a naughty little boy?” he breathed in my ear. “Santa will have to punish you.”

His words thrilled me. Oh, if only he would make good on his threats! I knew from experience that he was only teasing, though. But maybe tonight would be different. With the holiday high, the post-party buzz, maybe tonight he’d give me what I craved.

I wrenched his fly open and wriggled through the opening in his briefs until I had what I wanted – the silky sensation of his cock-skin under my fingers. My own cock throbbed as I stroked him, marvelling at the contrast between the rock-hard flesh underneath and the satin-smooth layer that enclosed it.

I wanted to sink to my knees and suck him, right there in the hallway. I wanted him to fuck my mouth until I gagged, then drown me in his come. Instead, he extricated my hand from his trousers and squeezed it affectionately. “Let’s go to bed, baby. Let’s get naked.”

Crossed Hearts: Excerpt

For the past six years, Jason Hofstadter has attended the Four States Annual Scrabble Tournament. Jason comes to the Four States for two reasons: to play Scrabble and to get laid. Every year since his first, he has managed to hook up with one of the other players for some sexual fun. This year he has a chance at the grand prize in the tournament. Meanwhile he figures that he has hit the jackpot when he spots handsome, bookish Matt Sawyer, who's competing at the Four States for the first time.

Shy and seemingly innocent, Matt turns out to be full of surprises. First he jumps Jason in the rest room at Starbucks. Then he reveals that he's into BDSM and encourages Jason to experiment with topping him. Finally, despite his lack of experience with tournament play, Matt ends up competing with Jason in the semi-final round. When Matt throws the game he should have won, Jason is forced to confront his own feelings: about winning, about casual sex, and about Matt.

****

The elevator doors had scarcely closed before Matt was on him, arms like steel bands locked around Jason's body. Matt's mouth was hard and demanding, not at all what Jason expected. His tongue pried Jason's lips apart and plunged inside. Hands roamed down Jason's back to grip the swell of his butt. Strong fingers dug into his flesh, pulling his hips against the stony lump in Matt's crotch. Friction sent white-hot jets of pleasure sizzling up his spine.

He tasted the berry-flavoured residue of Matt's wine. He smelled the rich funk of dried sweat from their afternoon jaunt. He clutched at Matt's shirt, pulling it up so he could slide his hands over the contours of the other man's naked back, smooth as sun-warmed marble.

Matt pushed him against the mirrored wall, releasing his mouth to lick a path down his neck to the hollow of his throat. Jason sucked in his breath as Matt pinched his nipple. A star of green pain bloomed then ripened to golden delight. Matt ground his erection against Jason's thigh, his own thigh pressed firmly between Jason's legs. Jason's dick pulsed helplessly against the hard limb that held it captive.

His eyes fluttered open. He glimpsed their reflection in the opposite mirror, over Matt's shoulder. Matt's head bent to Jason's chest, suckling him through his shirt. Jason's hands were buried in Matt's loose jeans, stroking the boy's silky butt. Their bodies squirmed in slow motion as each tortured the other's trapped penis. It was beautiful and obscene.

The lift chimed as it reached Jason's floor. The doors slid open. They tumbled out, hands still tangled in each other's clothing. The corridor appeared to be empty—hopefully, everyone was down in the ballroom, listening to speeches, watching videos of last year's highlights. Matt caught Jason again, halfway down the hall, flattening him against some stranger's door and claiming his mouth.

"Wait--Matt, hold on, just a second..." Matt stole his breath. Jason couldn't talk, couldn't think. He was ready to explode. He struggled out from underneath the younger man's weight and half-dragged Matt down to his room at the end of the hall.

He fumbled for his wallet in the pocket of his tight jeans, every motion transmitted to his aching dick. He managed to extract the key card, while Matt circled Jason's waist from behind and rubbed his cock up and down Jason's crack. Jason's hand trembled as he tried to slide the card into the slot. The light remained red. "Matt, please! I can't do this..." Matt reached down between Jason's legs, stroking then squeezing. "Damn it, Matt!" Jason protested, weak from the pleasure that shimmered through him.

Finally, the LED turned green. Jason wrenched himself from Matt's grasp and pushed the handle. The door swung inward. The two men fell into the room and collapsed onto the bed.

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Details, Details...

So, I've been working, when my job allows me the time, on my M/M scifi novel. (I will be so happy when I can say I've finished the first draft!) I have a fairly detailed scene list, so I know how the story will proceed from where I am (about three quarters through) and how it will end. Of course, I don't know all the details. I tend to discover them - or work them out - as I am writing.

I spent Sunday hammering away at a chapter in which Rafe rescues Dylan, who has been kidnapped to be the sex slave of the rich, powerful, secretly gay mayor of the city. (Bear with me! I know this may sound a bit hokey, but in the context of the plot, I think it's actually plausible.) Dylan's being kept at the mayor's isolated, glass-walled mansion high above the city. Rafe needed to get into the compound, which would obviously have stringent security, get into the house, and get Dylan out.

Most of what I did on Sunday was figure out how!

I already had the notion that Rafe would cut a hole in the glass. He's an ex-gang member and knows about burglary. But how would he get inside the lethal fence that surrounds the house? How would he manage to make it up to the third floor room where Dylan is being held in bondage? I'd already explained that the room was biometrically keyed, so that only the owner could open the door. And how would they flee together, once they'd been reunited?

When I started writing, I didn't have a clue.

I solved these practical problems by putting myself in Rafe's head. He looked around to see what options were available; I looked through his eyes, calculating right along with him. Along with him, I jumped at unexpected opportunities. Like him, I felt frustrated at times at the seeming impossibility of the task. Then I thought about Dylan, how much I (that is, Rafe) cared about him, and steeled myself to try again.

The strategy worked. When I left them, Rafe had successfully entered the house, found his lover, and released him from his bonds. I'm still not 100% sure how they're going to get away -- I had to suspend the action because they insisted on a love scene after they were re-united! -- but I have some ideas.

The experience made me realize how much harder it is to write a novel than a short story. Novels require ten to a hundred times more detail than shorts - and all that detail has to be consistent as well as believable.

In terms of word count, I didn't get much done in that session. However, I think I learned a lesson: the devil is in the details. And I found at least one method for dealing with the issue, although I'll have to wait for my beta reader's comments before I can really say that the approach was a success.

I'm interested in how other writers work out the nitty gritty mechanics of a scene. Maybe I can get some pointers!

What Sells

A few days ago, it being the end of a month and the quarter, I received royalty statements from two of my publishers. All in all, the news was good. My takings from my primary publisher hit a new record (not that I'm about to go quit my day job or anything...!). The fact that I made anything at all from my secondary publisher (with whom I have only three titles, all more than two years old) pleased me since it suggested that the work I've been putting into marketing is slowing starting to pay off. A small number of readers now recognize my name and are willing to check out even the books that are not newly released.

When I scrutinized the numbers, though, I felt somewhat less happy. Practically all my sales were associated with my recent M/M titles, Necessary Madness and Gaymes. The ratio of those sales to the rest of my dozen or so books was something like 80/20.

I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth. I'm proud of those two books and I'm delighted my M/M titles are popular. I just feel a bit uncomfortable being part of the M/M bandwagon.

Gay erotic romance is huge. That's great. I like to write M/M fiction - sometimes! But I also enjoy other genres and gender mixes. The market seems to be telling me that I shouldn't waste my time. I should be focusing exclusively on M/M books if I want to build my readership and my income. I should write what sells.

It feels a bit dishonest to me to deliberately focus on M/M just because it's the latest rage. I know that many of you probably think I'm crazy. If I can do it, I should, right? But... I get bored easily. And I write as much to entertain myself as for the market.

Does that make me unprofessional? Maybe. I'm a bit of a curmudgeon and an outlaw. I've always wanted to be different (and I am). I've never been a slave to fashion in my clothing. I don't much want to be in my writing either.

So what do you think? Should I make my choices based on what sells? Is that being wise, or crassly opportunistic?