Hi everyone! Thanks so much to EM for hosting me here on her blog. I’ve been a fan of EmMs work for quite some time, and when I have spare time and she needs the help, I’ve been known to do some last minute beta reading for her… so it’s good to be here, and nice to meet all of her readers.

One of my favorite writers is quoted as saying, “When a man writes a romance, the woman dies. When a woman writes one, it ends all tidy and sweet.”

The Rainbow Connection, a series of novels I have been writing for the last four years, is a romance. Admittedly, it is a gay romance, and until very recently, the likelihood of it ending in legal wedding was up for debate. But it was always meant to end happily.

The truth is, I was inspired to write what started as a short story and grew into a series of novels (three have been, or will be soon, published. One that’s being written, and one — maybe two? — that are in preliminary planning…) from an event that took place shortly before another wedding, many years ago. I had a tumultuous affair planned, for characters who took on a life of their own, ripped my control right out of my hands, and took me on a ride that I’ll never forget.

So, when I offer forth this little short story, I say to you, this is not a true spoiler. You always knew we were going this way. The road has been long, it has been winding, and it has had a great many bumps in it. But you knew the destination when you got in the car with me…

These books were always meant to be a romance, and a romance often needs a good wedding…

Full list of buy links

From Torquere Press

Catch up with Rainbow Connction 1 and 2: Roll and Blues

http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=97&products_id=4139
http://www.amazon.com/Roll-Lynn-Townsend-ebook/dp/B00IO4JNA2/

http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=196&products_id=4347
http://www.amazon.com/Blues-Rainbow-Connection-Lynn-Townsend-ebook/dp/B00S31I3NE/

Bio

Lynn Townsend is a geek, a dreamer and an inveterate punster. When not reading, writing, or editing, she can usually be found drinking coffee or killing video game villains. Lynn’s interests include geek comedy music, romance novels, octopuses, and movies with more FX than plot.

Social Media Links

Twitter: @tisfan
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LynnTownsendwriter
Website & Blog: http://paidbytheweird.blogspot.com/

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/kthicks3/rainbow-connection-novels-storyboard-inspirations/
Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/tisfan
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/LynnTownsend
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5262501.Lynn_Townsend
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Lynn-Townsend/e/B005OQA0AA/

Part One, Wedding March is hosted at VL Locey’s blog, Thoughts from a Yodeling Goatherder.

* * * *

The basic questions, Vin knew, were going to be the things that he and Beau were most likely to fight about. It was always that way; Beau had this Southern Manly-man hangup about Vin spending money. Like, what the hell else was money good for? Investing, spending, and lighting cigarettes, amiright? He’d already done all the investing — in his future, in Beau’s future. Both businesses were running well; truth be told, Beau’s mixed martial arts gym often cleared a better profit than the art gallery.

On the other hand, Vin thought, eyeing the painting he’d sold Aglaia Sachdeva, when he did make sales, they were fairly robust. Maybe he should contact that artist again, host an event just to showcase her work, which was sensual without edging into indecent…

“I’m sorry, what?” Vin came back to the conversation with an abrupt jerk.

“He gets that way,” Beau said, by way of apology. “He was probably mentally redecorating. Artists, you know.”

Aglaia beamed at them, “Not to worry, gentlemen. This is all about your special day, and I am right here to make sure you get every little thing your hearts desire.”

Beau snorted. “You’re an optimist,” he said.

“Honey,” Aglaia said, taking Beau’s hand and patting it like he was some sort of half-tamed beast, “I am surrounded by happy couples all day long. I do believe in the Happily Ever After. This is what I do. Of course I’m an optimist.”

“You’ll have your work cut out for you,” Vin said. “He’s all for elopement. I’d like something big and festive.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll find something that will make both of you happy.”

“Or both of us equally miserable,” Beau said.

“That’s a form of compromise, yes, but not preferred.”

As expected, Vin’s proposed budget nearly sent Beau into a lower Earth orbit. One might even think, listening to him carry on, that he wanted two attendants, a judge, minimal flowers, and a cake, and that was all. For forty guests. This was not going to fly; not even a little bit. No wings under that idea.

“You are not spending half a million dollars on our wedding,” Beau protested.

“Yes, actually, I am,” Vin said. He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered. “Look, we have well over two hundred friends who will want to come. And that’s not including all our various clients and vendors with whom we have enough of a relationship to invite. We’re successful business men. It would look tacky if we didn’t pull out at least some of the stops.”

Beau muttered something that probably had to do with the differences between what Vin considered successful and what normal people considered successful.

“Besides, if you say half a million, that sounds like a huge amount, but it’s really not. Five hundred thousand dollars. You paid off the loan for your gym in less than three years and that was, what, just under?”

“The original loan was not quite seventy thousand,” Beau continued to mutter. “The improvements, however, after the roof sagged…”

“Whatever. I’m just saying.”

“Vin, I ain’t got even half of half a million.”

“But I do,” Vin said. He cast an apologetic look at the wedding planner, who was very good naturedly not quite watching them argue.”Look, if it makes you feel better, we can have Gerald put together a nice, legally-binding pre-nup that will limit how much of my personal fortune you’re allowed to steal when we get divorced.”

Beau gasped, shocked and hurt. “We ain’t gettin’ a divorce,” he stated, absolute and firm.

“Of course not, darling,” Vin said. “So here’s a thing you’re going to need to come to grips with, and that right soon. Once we get married, my money and your money becomes this strange, hybrid creature called our money. And you know, that means we get to spend it however we like. I’m not going to give you an allowance like you’re a child, and I’m not going to do some weird economy thing where we live in a crappy house so that you can pay half the rent. We’re going to invest in your business and grow it, like any other company, and we’re going to both benefit from everything that both of us bring to this relationship. That’s the whole idea of marriage, right? Two people, sharing a life?”

“So,” Aglaia said, chosing that moment to look up from her tablet. “Five hundred thousand, for a budget, with a conservative estimate of five hundred guests? We can work with that. Let’s talk about how you want the ceremony to look, and then we can see what venues I have that will work with your vision.”

[Part Three to continue on Delilah Devlin’s blog on Thursday.]

COVER REVEAL FOR FORBIDDEN THINGS:

DISSIDENT

by Nikki McCormack

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ascard power can strengthen, heal and create. It also has great potential to destroy, enough to topple entire governments. Indigo’s country places strict limitations on the use of ascard so she must channel her talents into the healing arts or risk severe punishment. An orphan from a disgraced family, trapped by her father’s treason, Indigo struggles reclaim her place in a society that has driven her into an abusive engagement.

Then a mysterious stranger from a neighboring country contacts her using ascard. He needs help escaping his prison so he can bring an end to his emperor’s oppressive rule or die trying. His unshakable devotion to his cause and the passion hidden behind his cool arrogance move her to help him at the risk of being branded a traitor herself.

When the politics of society bring them together a second time, Indigo decides to use her growing powers to help him fight his war. If only she dared fight for her own future with such passion. Perhaps she can find the courage to do so by helping the man she has fallen for win his revolution. She might have exactly the power he needs to succeed.

a

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Online

Part One: Virtually Loved

Rating: xo

By J. P. Barnaby

Today you are in for a real treat. My special guest is J.P. Barnaby who is sharing Part One of her story Online, a very sexy, very NSFW story of what happens when technology connects two men who aren’t interested in talking. Even better you can also listen to an audio version! Make sure to use your headphones, and don’t listen at work. You’ll be far too hot and bothered to concentrate on anything else!

Listen to the audio version!

The laptop shifted on the bed as his back arched against the draw of his impending orgasm. Seeing the lust in Tom’s digital eyes made Eli ache. Skype was such a beautiful thing—especially when you lived at the edge of the world. A tinny moan from the speakers warned him that his virtual lover might beat him to the promise land if he didn’t get on the ball, so to speak.

“Eli, God, I wish it were your hand on my cock,” the slightly blurred image of Tom called from thousands of miles away over the impersonal expanse of wires connecting their computers. The act was so intimate, so personal, but the medium in which they spoke turned out to be anything but. Eli thought that being able to see Tom, to hear him, would make the experience better. It only intensified Eli’s longing to touch the other man. He decided just to play along.

“I wish it were my mouth on your cock,” Eli said, his Spanish heavier and more pronounced in the heady arousal. Part of him wanted to keep his eyes open, to watch even the distorted image of Tom as he jacked off for Eli, but the tingle of his own hand was impossible to resist. He rested back against the pillows, allowing Tom a view of his naked skin from the tiny camera pointed up the length of his torso. When he closed his eyes, a faceless lover pulled Eli’s legs over muscled forearms and thrust powerful hips forward. Careful of the laptop, Eli rolled to the side and pulled a small bottle of lube from the drawer next to his bed. Using it sparingly, he drizzled the thick liquid over the toy and ran a slow finger around his tight hole. Supplementing the lube with spit, he slid one finger gingerly inside, getting himself ready. He loved the sweet stretch and burn as another finger joined the first, teasing him open.

A deep groan from the computer caught his attention and he opened his eyes. Tom was only half stroking himself, but watching Eli with great interest. Self-conscious, Eli let his fingers slip from his body, but his voyeur spoke up in an instant.

“You looked so beautiful. Please don’t stop,” he whispered and even the distance separating them couldn’t hide the desperate need from Tom’s voice. Eli turned the computer so that he couldn’t see Tom’s face, but picked up the dildo from where it had fallen on his chest. The lube stuck lightly to the soft hair on his chest and his hands shook as he pulled one knee up to his chest, the knee farthest from the camera as his favorite porn stars would do. His heart raced with the sheer decadence of fucking himself on camera even before the tip breached his opening.

The harsh moan came from his own lips as his body opened to accommodate the thick toy. He imagined the way the transparent phallus would look if he could see it splitting him open. The lube caused the flared tip of the dildo to slide in his fingers as he drove it deeper and felt every inch filling him. A bead of sweat trickled from his temple as Eli started a slow, deliberate rhythm, fucking himself with hard, even strokes. A small sigh escaped each time it slid home and rubbed against that sweet spot inside him.

Undulating between the fake cock in his ass and the tight grip of his fist, Eli lost himself as he spread his legs wider and drove his hips off the bed. A tingle of excitement shot through his spine and he remembered the camera. Someone watched him as he lay spread, wanton across his bed, fucking himself with abandon. Opening his eyes, he looked right into the camera, incidentally seeing the motion of Tom’s hand. He bit his lip as the feeling rose up in his groin. For what felt like hours, but could only have been a few minutes, Eli teetered on the edge of one of the best orgasms of his life. He loved that he could excite and entice a man in another part of the world by getting off for him.

The power rush made him dizzy and he fell back against the bed as he came in long hot bursts over his tanned stomach with a succession of short quiet cries. Dimly in the background, he heard Tom groan and knew that the other man reached his peak as well. Breathing heavily, he closed the laptop and disconnected the Skype session.

He’d apologize later, but in that moment, Eli felt incredibly alone.

Stay tuned for where to get the next part of the story!

About J.P. Barnaby:

Award winning romance novelist, J. P. Barnaby has penned over a dozen books including the Working Boys series, the Little Boy Lost series, In the Absence of Monsters, 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.
Web site: http://www.JPBarnaby.com

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/JPBarnaby

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/JPBarnaby

Delectable December continues with special guest Gideon Francis, who will strike a chord with anyone who has tried to change their diet to be healthier and found it’s quite a challenge. He’s even got a yummy vegan gingerbread recipe, so it’s an automatic thumbs up from me. He’s also giving away an awesome prize: Your choice of his Christmas e-book or a tarot reading… enter on the Rafflecopter below and leave a comment.

When a friend of mine became vegan, it meant that I pretty much had to relearn how to cook most things. At the time, we lived together in a small two bedroom apartment near our university. The kitchen was cramped enough when the two of use decided to make dinner that we often traded off the responsibility to save on time and leftovers. We also spent a lot of time at one another’s family homes over the Christmas break. While we normally passed most of December trading our favourite dishes back at forth, this particular December (around 2010), we had to spend a little extra time getting used to the adjustment.

There are many reasons to go vegan – health, welfare of animals, political, or even allergies – but what I really think matters is the food. And instead of looking at veganism as an unfortunate chore that had to be done, my roommate and I both began to think of it as a fun new way to “re-write” our favourite meals. When you re-write something, not only do you change specific things to evoke a different reaction, but you get to know the work a little better. Veganizing a recipe is a lot like translation, too. Over the years we lived together, I got so good at making vegan food that I could look at a recipe and know how to replace the eggs or sub out the butter in an instant. I even memorized her specific favourite comfort food and would always have it ready when the time came. When you eat vegan, it means spending a lot of time in the kitchen, since you can’t rely on the quick fixes anymore. Though that classic peanut butter and jelly sandwich from childhood is still okay in a vegan diet and a definite plus.

In my book How to Make a Carrot Cake (MLR Press, forthcoming 2014), the two men find themselves in a similar position to myself and my roommate. Nate wants to get to know Billy and one of the ways to do this is to get him into the kitchen. After meeting in a grocery store, Nate invites Billy back to his apartment where they make an impromptu dinner with stuff around the house (soy sauce and peanut butter make a good base for a stir fry). Later on, as their relationship progresses, the two of them learn how to (obviously) make a carrot cake. That’s the recipe I’ve provided here – along with some really, really great recipes for vegan gingerbread cookies for the holidays as well.

When you get into veganism, you pretty much hear two names over and over: Isa Chandra Moskowitz and Sarah Kramer. They are great chefs, but both tackle very different types of cooking and food preparation. Kramer is all about time, ease of access, and the ability to make meals for two or fewer people. She’s the pragmatist, while Isa is the artisan. I still haven’t touched all the recipes in Isa’s massive book Veganomicon, but the ones I have touched are utterly beautiful and awesome.

Smell is extremely tied to our memories. Marcel Proust (who wrote the seven tome epic Remembrance of Things Past and was a delightful gay man) knew this about our brains and spent most of his literary career devoted to the subject matter. Food also marks a place in our memory through its uses in rites of passage. Laura Esquivel’s Like Water For Chocolate displays this fact by retelling a family history through the dishes they used for weddings, holidays, and birthdays. Cooking is always a process of creation. Veganism, I have always liked to think, is just another type of expression. (Just to note for those who are curious: I am not vegan or vegetarian, but man, I do love tofu.)

With the rising amount of eggs and milk allergies and people becoming more socially conscious (even Bill Clinton, Jay z and Beyonce have all announced vegan diets at some point), it can be good to have some other options. Just don’t look at vegan cooking as giving up something you love. It’s more than health or ideology. Think of it as another chance to make something different and bring some yummy goodies to a vegan or egg-allergic friend who may have to excuse themselves from most holidays’ festivities. And more importantly, enjoy!

Vegan Gingerbread Cut-Out Cookies*

1/3 cup canola oil
3/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup molasses
1/4 cup plain soymilk
2 cups whole wheat pastry flour or all-purpose flour (or a mix of both)
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt

Spice blend:
1/2 teaspoon each ground nutmeg, cloves and cinnamon
1 1/2 teaspoons ground ginger
In a large bowl whisk together oil and sugar for about 3 minutes. Add molasses and soymilk. Sift in all of the other dry ingredients, mixing about half way through. When all of the dry ingredients are added, mix until a stiff dough is formed. Flatten the dough into a disk, wrap in plastic wrap and chill for an hour or up to 3 days in advance. If you chill longer than an hour you may want to let it sit for 10 minutes to warm up a bit before proceeding.

Preheat oven to 350 F. Lightly grease your cookie sheets or line with parchment paper. On a lightly floured surface roll the dough out to a little less than 1/4 inch thick. Cut out your shapes with your cookie cutters and use a thin spatula to gently place on cookie sheets. Bake for 8 minutes. Remove from oven and let them cool for 2 minutes on the baking sheet then move to a cooling rack. Wait until they are completely cool before icing.

Makes about 16 cookies (depending on the size of your cutters).

*Recipe originally from Isa Chandra Moskowitz’s cookbook Veganomicon, with certain instructions and ingredients tweaked.

Vegan Carrot Cake*

• 1 1/2 cups flour
• 3/4 cup sugar
• 2 tsp baking powder
• 1 tsp cinnamon
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 3/4 cup soy milk
• 2 tsp vanilla extract
• 1/4 cup oil
• ¼ cup of applesauce (to be used as an egg replacer)
• 1/2 cup carrot, finely grated
• 1 tsp fresh ginger, grated

Preheat oven to 350F. In a large bowl, stir together the flour, sugar, baking powder, cinnamon, and salt. Add remaining ingredients and mix gently until just mixed. Pour into lightly oiled 9-in cake pan and bake for 25-30 minutes, until a toothpick or knife inserted in the centre comes out clean.

*Recipe originally by Sarah Kramer and in her Vegan A-Go-Go cookbook, with certain items tweaked slightly.

Nate Reid never considered veganism until he meets Billy Lawson, a skinny, quiet kid who works at the local grocery store. With Billy’s help, Nate slowly learns what he can and cannot make during the beginning months of their relationship until a family secret from Billy’s past threatens their bond. Will their conflicting desires in the kitchen make an exciting partnership or will Billy’s refusal continue to isolate him? Nate searches through cookbooks, his best friend Marlee’s advice, and his favourite novels from his college years in order to find answers for both of their futures.

Excerpt:

“I brought you something, too,” Nate finally confesses. He pulls out the container and slides it across the counter. Jake and the man in front of him continue to talk and there is no one else in line. Billy does a quick sweep of the area before he undoes the top.

“It’s carrot cake,” Nate says after a moment. “Well, carrot cupcakes.”

Billy laughs a bit, and then lowers his brows. “I see that. It’s even from the nice bakery around the corner. This friend must be very special.”

Billy slides the treat aside for a moment, as he helps a man who suddenly appears and must obtain a pastrami sandwich before the afternoon is over. Nate waits patiently to the side, his breath knocking around in his lungs. When Billy’s eyes return to him again, his knees wobble. He wonders if he already has a sugar rush from Marlee’s insistence on baked goods before lunch.

“That’s not vegan, you know,” Billy finally says, motioning with his chin towards the package. His tone is not accusatory, not like the way Nate’s old boyfriend would get angry at waitresses for not understanding his dietary requirements. It is clear, from the way that Billy laughs and rolls his eyes after his statement, that he is kidding in the same breath that he’s declining the dessert.

“Really?” Nate says, leaning forward. “But carrots!”

Billy shakes his head. “It’s really nice. But I’ll have to pass.”

“No worries,” Nate says. He takes the package, and his sandwich meat under his arms, tipping from side to side on his nervous toes. “You’ll just have to show me what’s vegan, then.”

“I guess so.”

Billy sweeps his eyes around the aisles again. In a lowered voice, he says over the counter, “My shift is done at ten. Does that work for you?”

“More than you know.”

“Great. See you then.” Billy smiles.

* * * *

Francis Gideon is a fiction writer, essayist, and editor. He has appeared in Microscenes’ Monster Issue, Gay Flash Fiction, and JMS Books. His new novel entitled How to Make a Carrot Cake is due out on MLR Press in 2014. He lives in Canada with his partner and their dog.

On the web: www,thedovekeeper.com and paintitback.tumblr.com

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Here at the Literary Love Shack I’m pleased to host the latest stop on the Boys in the Band blog tour, with authors Paula Coots, L.A. Witt, Rowan Speedwell, and Cecilia Tan. Each of these writers has brought a rock star to life in a recent romance release, so they got together to talk about music, musicians, love, and good old “sex, drugs, and rock and roll.” Today they answer the question: “Which real life rock star would you want to get caught reading your book and why?”

Scroll down for the answer and a chance to win a prize pack of all four books!

You could win:
WITH THE BAND by L.A. Witt
Hard rock band Schadenfreude is finally on the verge of the success that’s eluded them for the last several years. With Aaron McClure as their new lead singer, nothing’s going to stop them…except maybe a steamy, secret relationship between Aaron and bassist Bastian Koehler. Aaron knows all too well what can happen when band members get involved with each other. After all, his last band was a casualty of his last relationship, and Schadenfreude forbids band members from dating for that very reason. But Bastian is too hot to resist, and besides, it’s just sex, so what’s the harm? Their passion in the bedroom is rivaled only by their ambition as musicians, though, and pretty soon, it’s going to tear them, and Schadenfreude apart, if they can’t get back to playing with the band.

ANOTHER ROCK STAR by Paula Coots
Music is the driving force in Reed Lang’s life and he’s hit the jackpot when it comes to signing a major label deal and scoring a hit single or two. It’s never an easy task and certainly not for an out and proud gay man, even in this day and age. Now, it’s time to hire the backing band, shoot the videos, do all the promotion work and get out on the road. But what happens onstage is only half the show. When the wild energy onstage can’t be contained some become more than just hired hands. Friends. Mentors. Tormenters. Lovers. Surviving the circus of the music business, the rigors of the road, staying true to your art and discovering your heart show Reed that maybe there is more to life than being just another rock star.

DARON’S GUITAR CHRONICLES by Cecilia Tan
It’s the 1980s, the era of MTV, AIDS, and Just Say No. Daron Marks is trying to make it as a guitar player in an industry where the whole world is the closet. Keeping his sexuality a secret would be a lot easier if he hadn’t developed a huge crush on his band’s lead singer, Ziggy Ferias. In fact, everything would be a lot easier without his crush on Ziggy… except for fame itself. In the latest volume of Daron’s Guitar Chronicles (volume 5), Moondog 3 are on the road. Is the tour bus the pressure cooker that will meld them together or will the pressure blow them apart?

ILLUMINATION by Rowan Speedwell
Adam Craig is burned out. Lead singer of the hard rock band Black Varen, he’s tired of the empty life of groupies, paparazzi, and hotel rooms. Worse, a life in the closet. Miles Caldwell is a brilliant artist, tied by agoraphobia and social anxiety to his family’s lodge. Alone but for his parrot, he spends his days illuminating manuscripts and hiding from the complexities of life. Somehow, the man who’s never home and the man who never leaves it must find the strength to fight for a future together.

“Which real life rock star would you want to get caught reading your book and why?”

Paula Coots: Probably Tommy Joe Ratliff, the guitarist for Adam Lambert, because I think it would piss him off.

L.A. Witt: Jared Leto from 30 Seconds to Mars. Or really any of the members of 30 Seconds to Mars. Because… 30 Seconds to Mars. I don’t really need more of a reason than that, do I? It’s MARS. ‘nough said.

Rowan Speedwell: Erm… I don’t really know a lot about specific rock stars. I don’t follow contemporary music much! I guess I’d want whoever is the most popular one at any specific moment in time, and I’d want them to RAVE about the book so people would buy it―and I would know that I got the rock and roll stuff right!! Purely commercial. So that would be… I don’t know… One Direction? (ducks)

Cecilia Tan: David Bowie, without question. Some magazine did an article recently that was something like “David Bowie’s 100 favorite books.” The man reads all the time, it sounds like, and my book is fairly well-laced with references to him and his music throughout. I’d hope he’d find the message simpatico and of course that he’d recommend the book to his friends! The book has strong Boston and New Jersey connections, though, because of where significant events take place, so if Bowie wasn’t available there are a lot of great second choices: Joe Perry or Steven Tyler of Aerosmith? Bruce Springsteen? Little Steven Van Zandt? Amanda Palmer?

Don’t forget to enter the giveaway for a prize pack including all four ebooks below!

About the Authors:

Paula Coots: After seeing David Bowie and his lead guitarist, Mick Ronson, when she was eleven, Paula knew what she wanted to do with her life. Her plan was to play lead guitar in a band and hopefully make it big, and then after that focus on writing. Well, she didn’t “make it big” as a rock star, but she has had her share of traveling band adventures as a lead guitarist over the past twenty five years. And now she writes!
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/PaulaCootsBooks | Twitter: @PaulaRCoots

Rowan Speedwell lives in a tarpaper shack in the North Woods, without so much as cable TV to keep her warm. She is allergic to publicity and loathes marketing, so her books only sell one or two copies. If you have one, she thanks you, as your purchase enables her to buy cat food for her diabetic feline companion, Kimball O’Hara.
Webite: www.rowanspeedwell.com | Twitter: @RowanSpeedwell

Cecilia Tan mostly writes erotica and science fiction/fantasy, but she started writing Daron’s Guitar Chronicles back in the eighties and is still writing it today. She is the author of Slow Surrender, The Prince’s Boy, the Magic University books, and many other novels and stories. She was inducted into the Saints & Sinners GLBT Writers Hall of Fame in 2010 and is currently a nominee for the RT Magazine Career Achievement Award in erotic fiction. She lives in the fantasy utopia of Cambridge, Massachusetts with her three cats and her partner of 23 years.
Daron serial website: http://daron.ceciliatan.com | Blog: http://blog.ceciliatan.com | Twitter: @ceciliatan | Facebook: thececiliatan

L.A. Witt is an abnormal M/M romance writer currently living in the glamorous and ultra-futuristic metropolis of Omaha, Nebraska, with her husband, two cats, and a disembodied penguin brain that communicates with her telepathically. In addition to writing smut and disturbing the locals, L.A. is said to be working with the US government to perfect a genetic modification that will allow humans to survive indefinitely on Corn Pops and beef jerky. This is all a cover, though, as her primary leisure activity is hunting down her arch nemesis, erotica author Lauren Gallagher, who is also said to be lurking somewhere in Omaha.
Website: http://www.loriawitt.com | Blog: http://gallagherwitt.blogspot.com | Twitter: @GallagherWitt

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Other stops on the Boys in the Band Tour: Dec 4 Sinfully Sexy Books | Dec 6 MM Good Book Reviews | Dec 10 Pants Off Reviews | Dec 11 Mrs. Condit Reads Books | Dec 12 Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words | Dec 13 3 Chicks After Dark | Dec 14 Sid Love | Dec 16 Em Lynley’s Literary Love Shack | Dec 19 Joyfully Jay | Dec 18 Boys in Our Books | Dec 23 Elisa Rolle’s Reviews and Ramblings

One of my very favourite parts of Christmas dinner is not the food itself. Don’t get me wrong — I love the food, whether it’s a butterflied turkey (so juicy!) or perhaps crown roast of pork, or even quail one year. Not to mention the stuffing and roast potatoes and squash, and all sorts of deliciousness. My mom’s cooking is always amazing no matter what’s on the menu.

But the treats that really tickle me at Christmas dinner are the Christmas crackers. Crackers are a tradition in the UK and many other Commonwealth countries, including mine — Canada. Around the table, everyone holds an end in each hand and on on the count of three, we pull. With a loud — you guessed it — crack (and sometimes a snap and pop), the crackers burst open and spill their goodies.

© Bberry | Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Images

Inside we always find some kind of plastic toy (perhaps a spinning top or little car) and a folded piece of paper containing a terribly punny and therefore wonderful joke that must be read out loud. Of course the crowning glory of the Christmas cracker is the brightly coloured paper crown (modeled by this lovely family that for the record is not mine), which we are constitutionally required to wear until the end of the meal when mom serves plum pudding with fresh cream. (Mmm, I’m getting hungry writing this post!)

I’ll be home for Christmas

In my new Christmas romance, Where the Lovelight Gleams, Hollywood actor Cary learns about the Christmas cracker tradition when he spends the holidays with his co-star Ryan and Ryan’s family at their cabin in rural Ontario. In fact, Cary learns quite a bit this Christmas — especially about himself.

This Christmas, actor Ryan Drake is pining. He may get to kiss gorgeous Cary Holloway on the set of their hit TV show, Space Academy, but he knows it’ll never happen in real life. Charming Cary–the son of Hollywood royalty–is straight, as evidenced by his starlet girlfriend. But Christmas is a time for unexpected gifts, and Cary accepts Ryan’s invitation to leave the palm trees behind and spend the holiday with his family at their cabin in the Great White North.

Amid the snow and mistletoe, Ryan struggles to keep his longing under wraps. Little does he know, Cary wrestles with his own unspoken desires, and his very identity. Surrounded by family and holiday joy, their warm friendship deepens. Will these two co-stars have the courage to brave Hollywood pressures and take their romance offscreen–or will it be only in their dreams?

The Contest

Win a free copy of Where the Lovelight Gleams!

Comment below to enter to win and get extra entries with Rafflecopter. Good luck and happy holidays! What are your favourite December traditions?

After writing for years yet never really finding the right inspiration, Keira discovered her voice in gay romance, which has become a passion. She writes contemporary, historical, fantasy and paranormal fiction, and – although she loves delicious angst along the way – Keira firmly believes in happy endings. For as Oscar Wilde once said, “The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what Fiction means.” You can find out more about Keira and her books online at her website, Facebook and Twitter. Keira’s Amazon Author Page.

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I’m thrilled to kick off Delectable December with my wonderful friend LE Franks. She’s local, though we’ve spent more time together at GRL and Bent-con than in San Francisco, at least so far. She mentioned her mother’s cookie recipe in Atlanta and I immediately asked her to participate in Delectable December, to share her love of food and holidays.

Even better, this year she’s also sharing her new Dreamspinner story, Snow Globe. Keep reading for two delicious recipes and an excerpt. Leave a comment for a chance to win one of the Delectable December prizes–donated by the other authors who will be visiting during December. (I’m still taking sign-ups. Fill in the form here to participate.)

Thank you EM for inviting me on your blog this holiday season to share one of my favorite memories of Christmas and news of my new Christmas short story, Snow Globe, out today from Dreamspinner Press

Here in the San Francisco Bay Area we don’t have the same environmental cues (like snow and ice) that help frame the holiday season–instead I have to draw on my memories of Christmases past to get me in the mood. Growing up, Christmas traditions changed with the venue—Living in the Mojave desert far from family we were always the travelers—we’d drive hours and settle into homes already filled with their own special brand of holiday cheer.  But throughout the years, there’s been one tradition we claimed—my mother’s Christmas sugar cookies.

Back when my parents were newly married, there was no extra money to buy ornaments for their first Christmas tree. Instead, my mother found a rolled cookie recipe on the back of a bag of Gold Medal Flour. Unlike more traditional sugar cookie recipes, this one was something special—an almond flavored shortbread with a delicacy of flavor that shone under a glazing of sugar.

That first year my mother covered the Christmas tree with cookies cut in the shape of bells all decorated with powdered sugar icing, silver dragees, and colored sugar sprinkles. She describes a tree hung all over with the cookies that disappeared one after another from the moment the first one hit an evergreen branch. It was a huge success, one that was repeated on other trees during my childhood. And, while the cookies never lasted all the way to Christmas, the memories linger.

Now every time I make this recipe for my family I think of her, and of Christmas. I remember all the years we made these cookies together. The tin cookie cutters that rattled as I pawed through them looking for just the right shape to use—the Teddy Bear, the angel, the half moon…I loved them all. Even better, no eggs made the scraps of raw dough a child’s dream to eat.

These cookies are truly delicious, subtle and simple. They aren’t cloyingly sweet and bland like so many sugar cookies are. They use almond extract that provides a depth of flavor missing in most rolled dough.

For a festive variation I make a separate batch flavored only with peppermint extract and tinted red to make the red stripes of candy canes that wrap the almond flavored dough in a warm holiday embrace. I hope you try this recipe and make some memories of your own.

Silver Bells Christmas Cookies

1       cup soft butter

½      cup sifted powdered sugar

1       teaspoon almond extract

2 ¼   cup flour

¼      teaspoon salt

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Mix butter sugar, almond extract together

Stir in flour & salt (I incorporate the salt with the flour separately before adding to the butter mixture)

Roll ¼” thick. (I chill at this point. It makes the cookies easier to cut out and retain their shape while baking).

Cut with 2” bell shaped cookie cutter – makes aprox. 40 cookies (yeah, right. I don’t have my mom’s deft precision cutting technique. I double the batch and use whatever cutter strikes my fancy, though silver bells are pretty amazing.)

Bake for 10 minutes (edges should be lightly golden brown, centers pale.)

Cool, Frost with Thin White Icing (eat before someone else gets them.)

Thin White Icing

1       cup sifted powdered sugar

1–1 ½ Tablespoon Water

½      teaspoon vanilla extract (the good stuff, please people.)

Mix sugar and vanilla together, then thin with water until you have a loose consistency. It’s more of a thick glaze than an icing. Spread on cooled cookies then add decorations. Let them dry before eating, if you can. -LE

Snow Globe by LE Franks

My contribution to Dreamspinner’s annual Advent Calender, Snow Globe, is available December 1^st.  For more heartwarming tales, please check out this year’s Dreamspinner Press Advent Calendar selection of Christmas stories

It’s the story of Kris Hamilton, an artist who moves to a small town in Northern Minnesota looking for a home and a studio to create his snow globes.  Kris’ first meeting with blond Viking-come-to-life, Tyr Tollefson is a disaster and it isn’t until Kris rescues Tyr’s mentally challenged older cousin Bun, that the pair start seeing eye-to-eye.

Excerpt from Snow Globe by LE Franks Available December 1st at Dreamspinner Press (and Amazon, other distributors shortly after):

IT WAS the face pressed against his storefront window that first caught his attention.

“Pressed” might have been too delicate a word. “Mashed” is better, Kris thought idly, admiring the spread of pink skin sticking to the glass before his brain latched on to the thought spinning and tumbling at an increasingly alarming rate.

The litany of words shoved their way to the tip of his tongue, rushing to spill over and out of him in a waterfall of frothing adjectives: smushed, squashed, scrunched, crunched, crushed, squished, pushed, flattened, pancaked…. He’d barely been able to throw on the brakes, limiting the torrent to a barely audible whisper until the words dribbled to a halt.

Crap. It had been weeks since the last time he lost control of his own peculiar form of Tourette’s.

He looked around the tiny store to see if anyone had noticed, but was quickly drawn back to the spectacle outside. The little voice teasing at the edges of his mind suggested a few more words that he ruthlessly rejected, fully alert to the insidious nature of his own brain. The person outside was an impossible mélange of old and young, tiny and broad, all brown and pink and white and fluffy red. Was that a scarf and hat?

Pompoms in July seemed off to Kris, and the noise came rushing back—odd, unusual, unexpected, surprising, strange, weird, astonishing, peculiar…. Gasping, he stuttered back a breath, choking in the words and squeezing eyes shut tight.

Twenty-five cleansing breaths. Twenty-four, twenty- three…. His head noise kept pace with his diaphragm until petering out around number twelve. Kris paid attention, waiting to open his eyes again until the countdown reached number one… or was it zero? He felt another tingle of panic try to erupt. Shit. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be off to the races again, and he could feel the happy little ponies inside him bouncing in delight at the thought.

This time when he opened his eyes, his world was still. No strange visions at his window, no customers with pity or contempt in their eyes, no rampaging word strings waiting to torment him. With shaking hands he put up the Out to Lunch sign and locked the front door.

Not for the first time, Kris felt like he was living inside one of his own snow-globe creations—never knowing when something was going to yank him upside down and shake him. At least for now, all the blizzarding shards seemed to have settled back to the bottom.

Find LE Franks Online:

Website: LEFranks.Com 

Facebook: LE Franks Author page

Twitter: @Boxtersushi

Blog: LE Franks

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All the way back in 1983, when Cecilia Tan was a teenager, she began writing about a young guitarist named Daron, a gay rock musician trying to make it in the music industry while staying in the closet. She tried to write Daron’s story numerous times, and in 1992, while getting a masters degree in writing, she started what she thought was a novel about him. The novel quickly grew to the size of three or four books, though, and Tan’s agent urged her to cut the story back. Cutting proved impossible, and Daron languished in a drawer until 2009, when Tan launched Daron’s Guitar Chronicles, a web serial detailing the day by day travails of Daron and, not incidentally, the sexy lead singer he has a secret (or not so secret) crush on. This month marks the fourth anniversary of Daron’s Guitar Chronicles, which continues on, and the release of volume 5 of the collected Chronicles in ebook form.

To celebrate the latest volume, Cecilia has graciously provided the full 5-volume set as a prize. Enter below with Rafflecopter. The contest ends November 16 at her live chat, but you can get additional entries by , commenting, liking Facebook pages and tweeting.

Author bio: Cecilia Tan writes about sex, love, and sexuality for people of all genders and orientations from her home in the Boston area. Tan is the author of many books, including the ground-breaking erotic short story collections Black Feathers (HarperCollins), White Flames (Running Press), and Edge Plays (Circlet Press), and the erotic romances Slow Surrender (Hachette/Forever), Mind Games (Ravenous Romance), The Prince’s Boy (Circlet Press), and the Magic University series (Red Silk/Ravenous). Her short stories have appeared in Ms. Magazine, Nerve, Best American Erotica, Asimov’s Science Fiction, and tons of other places. She was inducted into the Saints & Sinners Hall of Fame for GLBT writers in 2010 and won the inaugural Rose & Bay Awards for crowdfunded fiction in 2010 for Daron’s Guitar Chronicles.

Find Cecilia Tan online: http://daron.ceciliatan.com  Blog: http://blog.ceciliatan.com Twitter: @ceciliatan

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/thececiliatan  Instagram: ctan_writer   Tumblr: ceciliatan

How did you get started writing gay romance?

I’ve always written erotic stories but I always wanted them to have more meaning and more impact than “just porn,” so I’ve been writing love stories for a long time. I always wanted to write about sex that was not only hot, it changed the people having it. And I like to write from all different gender points of view. In the case of Daron’s Guitar Chronicles, I specifically wanted to get at some stuff about how damaging being in the closet can be, and about how hypocritical and weird our culture can be about masculinity and celebrity. Nothing like putting your character in the most difficult environment for coming out that there is!

If you could have a free pass one-night-stand with anyone, who would it be and why? Any details about you would do are welcome!

David Bowie. Forget Robert Pattinson. Bowie was the sexy vampire in the movies of my generation!

What kind of research do you do for your books?

In the case of Daron’s Guitar Chronicles, I put my personal experiences in the music industry to use. I worked at a hit radio station in New York City when I was a teenager. I moved on to a commercial radio station at my college. I managed a band. I was a club d.j. for a while. I worked for a promoter briefly. I was a roadie for the university concert agency. I was never really in a band myself (unless you count the marching band…) but I had all of these various looks at the business from behind the scenes. Most of my other books are more like The Prince’s Boy, with magic and swordfighting, which don’t take so much research as world-building. But for Daron’s story, which really immerses the reader in his world, the world of the 1980s rock music industry, I had to draw on a lot of details. These days, thankfully, I can look stuff up on the Internet when I don’t remember, also. I can find out how many seats the Seattle Coliseum held and stuff like that.

What is the coolest thing that has happened to you as a result of being an author?

The coolest thing by far has been connecting with readers! The life of a writer is very solitary. You sit around alone and talk to your imaginary friends. It’s amazing when readers want to talk to them, too. I’ve had readers send me some of the most amazing gifts, like fan art of my characters, or teddy bears dressed like them, or songs inspired by them. It’s the most incredible thing about publishing DARON’S GUITAR CHRONICLES as a serial, too, is that people leave comments. Unlike a book where I finish writing it, send it to the publisher, and readers read it months or years later, with the serial the readers get to suffer right alongside me and the characters at the same time. It’s validating and liberating in a way I didn’t expect.

Where was the best vacation you ever had?

Seville, Spain. My partner corwin and I had just been through pretty heavy couples counseling after coming close to breaking up. For our 13th anniversary we took a trip to Seville, just the two of us, after our therapist pointed out to us how long it had been since we had taken a REAL vacation, just the two of us, not a group trip, not a family trip, not a business trip. It was a real chance to disconnect from everyone else and connect with each other. We saw all the art, drank all the wine, ate all the tapas, and discovered our bond was still there. We just had our 23rd anniversary last week!

If you could live in the world of one of your books, which would it be?

Magic University. I already practically do, since I set the book in my real life neighborhood next to Harvard. It’s just the magic part that’s elusive…! Then again I feel I get to live a magical life. I experience a bounty of love and creative freedom that not everyone does. I live in a place so liberal it’s a fantasy utopia to others. It’s not a coincidence we were the first place in the USA to legalize gay marriage.

What is the craziest thing you have researched for your writing?

It’s tough to pick one thing. What’s really crazy is how you think you just need one little detail and it leads to hours and hours of research. Like I did a gender-bending story in the book LESBIAN COWBOYS and I wanted a realistic name for a brothel/saloon in the American West. Six hours later… It turns out brothels in the American West were really fascinating. Then there are the things like trying to figure out what the rate of blood loss from a vampire bite would actually be. In Daron’s Guitar Chronicles the band was on tour recently and I had to research what a tour bus in 1989 would have been like, what features it would have, and whether you could park such a thing in Montreal.

Describe the perfect meal? Do you like to cook?

I love to cook. corwin and I take turns cooking and we go all the way into molecular gastronomy. The perfect meal is the one that satisfies both the cook and the guests eating completely. It should be beautiful, delicious, healthy, and make you feel good while and after eating it. I’ve made people euphoric with my food. It’s second only to making them euphoric with my fiction. I make a damn good tongue taco, and no, that’s not a euphemism.

Which of your books do you think hasn’t been discovered by readers?

The Magic University books are overlooked by a lot of readers, I think. The “mistake” I made as a writer was in having so much fluidity of gender and sexuality in the books that I think m/m readers don’t even realize that the main couple in the series is a gay couple. The mistake my publisher made was in not marketing the books as GLBT at all. They made them out to be very het. It’s true, the first book is the “straightest” but, well, it’s a lot like college. When you arrive you haven’t done all the experimenting and finding yourself that you are going to over the next four years. When they were released, the genre “new adult” didn’t exist yet. If I were going to do it all again, I’d market Magic University as GLBT new adult.

How do you challenge yourself in your writing?

I like to challenge myself to discover what a story is about, and I like to make rules to follow. When I wrote THE PRINCE’S BOY, which is a male/male BDSM high fantasy, I wrote it as a serial with the rule that there had to be a sex scene every week. I didn’t outline the plot in advance. I knew the general shape of it (true love conquers evil) but I didn’t know what was going to happen week after week. I got to find out the same time readers did. Looking back on it, though, I have a perfect three-act structure, so I think my subconscious is doing a lot of planning I’m not aware of. That makes it fun. Here I am still writing Daron’s Guitar Chronicles after decades of playing with this character. I know some of where the story is going. I don’t know what is going to happen exactly. I trust myself to get there and I hope my readers trust me enough to enjoy the ride. (If anyone wants to get on the ride, the Chronicles are free to read online, starting from the beginning at http://daron.ceciliatan.com/start-here)

In Volume 5 of Daron’s Guitar Chronicles, Daron and the band are on tour. Everything seems to be going well, with sold-out shows, legions of fans, and positive press wherever they go. But the pressure cooker that is the tour bus has been affecting everyone. Will it ultimately fuse the band together or crack them apart? Daron has never really resolved his crush on Ziggy, the lead singer, even while holding him at arm’s length to try to stay sane enough to perform. Meanwhile, Ziggy may have decided that sanity is over-rated. The final leg of the tour approaches and the pressure is on.

Enjoy an excerpt from Daron’s Guitar Chronicles:

One day, we were in the park outside the subway station, on one of those sunny days that tell you summer is about to arrive. A roasted nut vendor was somewhere downwind of us making the afternoon smell marijuana sweet. The sky was blue with just a slight nip in the wind. A semi-circle of people had gathered around us to listen. If I’m remembering it right, we were playing something upbeat, “Just Like Heaven,” I think. I wasn’t paying much attention at that moment, just kind of grooving on the afternoon and looking at Bart without really making eye contact with him.

Then someone jumped out of the crowd, dancing, an orphan vampire child, dressed in layer upon layer of ancient clothing straight from the rummage bins at Salvation Army and his eyes ringed with heavy black liner. He had on at least three different patterns of plaid. His fingers pointing from fingerless gloves, he waved his hands over our eyes. He struck cat-like poses, sprang into the air, and laughed. He danced around passers-by, miming undecipherable stories, and then, sometimes, singing.

He jigged over to Bart and said something in his ear. I couldn’t hear what, but I saw Bart shrug. The stranger pointed to the amp on the ground and said something more, a wicked smile on his face, and Bart looked bemused. Bart shared a look with me then and started the chorus again.

The stranger dropped to his knees in front of me, cupped his hands to his mouth and began singing into the soundhole of the guitar. Bart watched, incredulous, but never missed a beat, and I never missed a note–not then, not ever. The hollow body picked up his voice, gave it an eerie wooden tone, and pumped it through the amp. He bounced on his knees, keeping his mouth trained on the hole. I wondered when he would stop. We did the whole song like that, with him hollering into my crotch, until his knees gave out.

I stopped playing and gave him a hand up, my eyes on him and not the dispersing crowd. I had made up my mind. We shook hands.

“I’m Daron,” I said, “and this is Bart.”

“Ziggy. Hi, Bart.” He smiled. “You don’t remember me.”

Bart did a double-take. “No, I don’t.”

“The party at Susanna’s. My hair was blond, then. At the end of the summer? At the loft by The Channel. And this must be the guy you were talking about.” Ziggy turned his dark eyes on me, appraising something, I wasn’t sure what. “The bigshot guy from Nomad.” He smiled at me from under his mop of jet black hair. “I thought you’d be taller.” We saw eye to eye.

I smiled back. “Well, I’m not.”

Bart shook his head. “I still don’t remember you, sorry. There were a lot of people at that party.”

“It’s okay.”

“Do you sing a lot?” I put in, trying to keep the subject on him.

“In the shower,” he said. He had to be underexaggerating. He’d known all the words and hadn’t flubbed any.

Bart was looking at me like he wanted my attention, but I kept my eyes fixed on Ziggy. “I mention it for a reason.”

“Daron,” Bart began.

“We’re looking for a singer,” I went ahead, “And I think you’re it.”

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Welcome my very special guest today, Birthday Gal James Buchanan. This time she’s giving us a present. Read on to see what it is:

Hey folks, it’s MY BIRTHDAY! Happy birthday to me, I live in a tree, I look like a monkey, and I smell like one….oh yeah, doesn’t rhyme now. BWHAHAHAHHA.

No, I’m not telling you how old I am. But as my present to you, I thought I’d give you a little snip of Requiem in Leather: Deputy Joe Book 4, which I’m currently working on. It’s unedited, it’s not fully fleshed out, but I think y’all will find it HOT. And Totally Joe!

~James
http://www.James-Buchanan.com

Please leave a Birthday wish for James in the comments!

Excerpt from James Buchanan’s Requiem in Leather: Deputy Joe Book 4 (unedited WIP)

Frank sat on the edge of the bed.  “Bones would have liked you to have them.”

“Are you sure?”

“Look, these things have been collecting dust in my closet for a while.  Here and there I’ve passed on some of Bones’ things that he’d have wanted people to have.  I gave most of his clothes to charity.  This stuff, well it’s not exactly what you put in the donation box at Out of the Closet.  And his leathers, well, they’re more personal, not something I’d want to just hand over to some poser who wants to prance around and look hot.  Bones loved Kabe.  Said the most horrible things about him, but if someone needed to go bail that twink ass out of a bar at three in the morning, Bones would be out the door before I hung up the phone.  Bones loved Kabe like he was his own.  And Kabe loves you.  Bones would have liked you…probably would have shown you the ropes.”

“The ropes?”

“From what Kabe’s told me, what I’ve seen of your personality…you walk in the room, you don’t even have to say anything, and all the subby boiz start to whimper.  You may not ever do clubs or events, but you are one of us.  Everything I really wanted to keep, I already have in my room. So anything you find in there that you want; take it.  Even if you don’t know what to do with it, but you like it…yours.”

Lots and lots of straps, some with studs or chains.  All that flash seemed gaudy, pretentious somehow.  “Kabe just wants me to not stand out, I think.” I muttered it kinda under my breath.  Don’t know, guess that was just me…big ol’ county mouse in the city.  I’da just left it be, were it me, but Kabe wanted it.  I don’t think there was nothing I wouldn’t give that boy if’n he asked.  Scared the daylights outa me every time I realized that.  If he’d said, ‘Joe, go jump of that there building and show me you love me.’ I’da likely done it.  “He’d like me to fit in. You know, with his whole tribe.”

“Joe, no matter where, no matter what you’re wearing, you’ll stand out.  It’s who you are not what’s cupping your package.”

I chewed on that bit for a while as I pawed through all the stuff.  Fred left me at it, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching without watching as I pulled things out and put ‘em back. Most felt like horse tack, thick and kinda raw leather.  Didn’t like those much. Picked a few things out that seemed things Kabe might appreciate, and that I sorta recognized off internet pictures: a harness thing that might serve on a mule, a leather jock strap…not too keen on those or wearing one that’d held some other guys dick… muscle man arm bands.

Mom said sometimes you gotta wear something just ‘cause it makes you smile and that sure did.  ‘Course she was talking about her ol’ pink coat not a black leather arm band near three inches wide with a big ol’ hook lock to keep it together…I don’t know why that one, of all of them amused me, made me smile.  But it did.  Still, I was getting kinda frustrated though, lotsa toys, but nothing I cared for much.

I just didn’t want to disappoint Kabe.

Then down in the bottom of that bag my fingers found something.  Figured I petted it for all of a minute before my brain registered that I wanted it.  Didn’t even know what that smooth fine grain grabbing at the ridges on my finger tips was.  Almost cool, drew out the warmth of my skin as I ran my hand over it.  Nice as any guy’s prick in how it just slid under my palm, warming up as I stroked it.  Finally, I pulled it out of the case, find out what I wanted so bad that it made me want to go find Kabe and bend him over before I even laid eyes on it.

Almost surprised myself there.  A pair of jeans.  Black leather jeans.  Not new shiny leather, but what had all the creases of time and wear etched into ‘em.  Balled ‘em into my hands and brought ‘em up to my face.  That smell.  Lord, nothing smelled quite like leather: heavy, musky, I could almost taste the quality of the hide on my tongue.

“You’d fill those out nice, Joe.”  Fred’s voice startled me.

Plumb forgot he sat there.  “I guess.”  A little embarrassed, I stammered it out.

He smiled, leaned in, and ran his finger down a seam.  A little wishful smile turned up his mouth.  I left him with it, didn’t want to mess with whatever memory the sight of an old, familiar pair of leather jeans brought up.  A moment or two later he blinked and the smile, now directed at me not inward, got bigger.  “That pair was one of Bones’ favorite.”

“Ah, sorry,” shaking out the creases my fists kinked in, I started to fold ‘em up, “I’ll put ‘em back.”  Gotta admit, I suffered a little disappointment.  They felt so nice. “They belonged to your…” I let the question hang, ‘cause I really didn’t know how people round here called themselves.  Guess it came from hiding so long.  I never figured I’d need to know such things.

Fred reached out, stopped my hands with the gentlest touch.  “Bones, my partner.”

“Yeah.”  I swallowed.

He pushed the wadded leather back toward me.  “Put ‘em on, Joe.  Put ‘em to good use. I’ll show you what some of this other shit is for.”  His grin faded into a mocking leer…not mean, just teasing.  “Get this old pervert’s heart revving and make Kabe cum in his shorts.” The panic that thought brought on must’ve writ itself across my face, ‘cause Fred laughed.  “Oh, come on, I haven’t taken my Viagra in months, you’re safe.”

‘Cept for Kabe and locker rooms, I really ain’t never gotten nekkid in front of other guys.  Don’t know why I did then.  Didn’t think on it much as I laid that inky black leather on the bed. Maybe, I just kinda took on Kabe’s feeling…you know, like this guy was one of my uncles or something…in a weird and strange way.  Wasn’t also no fancy stripping or nothing.  Just shucked my shirt and kicked off my boots.  Then I dropped my jeans.

As I reached for the jeans on the bed, Fred’s voice caught me.  “Shorts too.”

“What?”  I looked over.  There I was in my drawers and socks and this old man is telling me to get buck nekkid in his spare bedroom.

“Trust me.” That grin ain’t never left his face.  Just got wider and wider.  “They’re clean.”  Heck I didn’t even consider that when he said it. “I got them cleaned before I stored them.”  Since I just kept staring at him, Fred shook his head and added, “Look, you shouldn’t have anything between you and that.  Plus, they hang low on your hips.  They’re supposed to show things off.  Honestly, I’d say you should just wear chaps and a smile on Sunday, but I don’t think you’re quite ready for that.”

Fred had to be yanking me about wandering round with my junk hanging out.  I’d get arrested for indecent exposure doing that.  The pants, however, I could see what he meant.  If I slid ‘em on over my drawers there’d be an inch and a half of tighty-whiteys rolling over the top.  Felt the heat crawling up my neck as I slid out of my briefs.  Quick as I could I grabbed for the leathers.

“Wait.” Fred’s voice was quite and more commanding for it.  “Do you know how gorgeous you are, Joe?  Let me just look a minute.”  His fingers brushed my hip, pushed me round without any pressure so I was facing him.  I don’t know what I expected to see in his face, but it weren’t there.  I mean, it was like some of the ranchers I knew, how their eyes got all big and kinda misty when they saw a stallion racing cross the paddock.  And not like I was livestock or nothing, but someone seeing something they just think is poetry moving.  “Let me photograph you.”

“Pictures?”  Me?  I weren’t none of that.  Just, Joe Peterson.

“Yeah.  Look, I know you’re a cop.  If you give me a release, I’ll make sure no one can see your face…but really, you’re stunning.” Like he could sense just how cold that made my blood run, he reassured, “You don’t have to say yes right now.  I’ll show you some I did of Kabe a few years back.  You can look through them.  If there’s one you like, I’ll make you a copy.  And you know, the two of you, that would make a dramatic black and white print.”

It hit me.  I mean, I’m standing next to this guy, having a conversation about clothes and photographs and I’m buck ass bare.  Somehow, it just didn’t seem all that odd.  Maybe it was Fred and how he looked at me.  Not a creepy, pervert stare, but like he really looked at something he thought of as art.  “I’ll think on it.”  I actually would.  Then I grabbed the jeans.  Again the leather tickled my skin…even more so as I stepped into the legs and pulled them up my body.  I got hard, everything just rushing down right between my legs.  This time, I didn’t get all embarrassed.  I shivered as the grain of the leather licked my butt.  It took a bit of messing to tuck my stiff dick down my leg.  I cupped my package so I could zip it all in without zipping it into the teeth.  Then I yanked on the belt loops to sort of snug it all where the pants needed to sit.

“Just absolutely stunning.”  Fred’s voice had gone all soft.

I don’t know as I was worth that, but those jeans did look fine.  That leather just sucked up on my legs and ass…Bones and I must’ve been damn near the same size.  He might have been a smidge smaller, or maybe the leather tightened up from not being worn.  Still, in the door mirror, I saw this guy I didn’t half recognize.  Broad chest covered in blond-brown fur and freckles, with a thick neck and buzzed scalp.  My body tapered down to where my hips cut in just above the belt line of the leather.  The jeans rode low enough that you could almost see where my belly fell into my crotch.  I twisted a little just to feel the leather sliding against my skin.

A tap on my bicep made me turn away from my vanity.  Fred smiled and held out the arm band I liked so much.  “For you, Joe, if you’re only going to wear one, put it on the left arm.  What size boot do you wear?”

“‘Bout an eleven and a half.  Why?”

“You need proper boots with that look.  I’ll go get a pair out of my closet.”

“I don’t want to take anything you were keeping as special.”

“We buried Bones in those.  These are mine.  I wear an eleven but I’ve always done these with two pair of socks.  They should fit you.”

“I don’t want to take your boots either.”

“Joe, I haven’t worn these in ages.  My arthritic old knees and lug soles just don’t go to well together anymore.  You’re welcome to them.  It would make me happy to see them put to good use.  Just give me a sec and I’ll be right back.”

Fred disappeared down the hall.  I slid the arm band up and locked it down.  That pinch shot a spark down my spine like I ain’t never felt before.  Since there weren’t nobody there to watch me, I indulged my conceit – rubbing my hands down my thighs and around my own ass.  Like two caresses in one.  I’d feel my palms and then a fraction of a second later the leather would move along my skin.  If’n Kabe didn’t make it back soon, I might have to excuse myself to Fred’s can and beat off.  And darned if that boy’s voice didn’t answer my thoughts.  Heard him and the front door almost at the same time.  Couple of other voices bubbled along with his.  Guessed that were the friends he went to go get.

“Dale! Matt!”  Fred yelled.  “You two keep Kabe in the front room.  Cover his eyes.  Joe and I have a surprise.”  Before they answered, Fred slipped back into the spare bedroom, cradling a pair of big ol’ biker boots.  These were the rounded-toe shorty style, with lugs near an inch thick and steel toed…the metal on the outside of the boot not under the leather.  Fred held them out with one hand and used the other to close the door.  “Here, give the boys a pre Folsom thrill.”

As I took the boots, I sat down on the edge of the bed.  “People don’t dress like this, do they?”  I shoved my big ol’ feet into the boots; little tight, but they’d probably fit better with wearing.

“Most people?”  Fred chuckled.  “Most people don’t wear that much.”  Once I’d stomped down and stood, Fred opened the door.  “Still hiding his eyes?”  Fred called it out through the crack.  Two vaguely positive sounds answered him.  “Come on,” Pulling the door all the way open, he stepped through.  “Time for a runway walk.”

I almost lost the nerve then.  I mean, I didn’t really know Kabe’s friends from Adam – met them all of like twice and neither of those times went down so well.  What would they think of me all like this?  Fred didn’t let me dwell on it, grabbing my arm and pulling me along behind him. With those heavy boots on my feet, I clumped along.  For some reason the sound throbbed in my blood, made me stand a little straighter, pull my shoulders back.  We came round the corner to the front room.

Once again the boy’s took over Fred’s couch. Apparently none of them remembered how to actually sit in a chair. Kabe sat in one corner, looking ornery and put out.  Matt, sat on the arm of the sofa with Kabe pulled between his legs. His hands covered my boy’s eyes.  Dale had his combat-booted feet across Kabe’s lap.  Both of them went wide eyed when they saw me.

I mean, it had to be me, ‘cause Fred was all loafers and Hawaiian shirts and they ain’t never seen me like this.  By the looks on their faces they couldn’t quite draw a bead on things.  A little fear.  A lot of respect without even knowing why.  Strange what a bit of leather and a set of broad shoulders will accomplish.  Course, I usually got near the same reaction when I wore my uniform.  Always thought it was the uniform…now I realized, maybe, who filled it out mattered a skosh more.

“Christ on a fucking crutch.”  Dale sputtered it out.

“Matt, let go.”  Kabe tugged on the wrists of the guy covering his eyes. “Let me see.”

Matt held on.  “No.  Not gonna.”  He leaned in and in too loud of a whisper said, “We’re stealing him.”

“Bend me over,” Dale stretched like a cat: arms out above his head with his back all arched, “and fuck me raw.”

“Down, you rabid little emo.” Fred scolded.  With a scowl he added, “Matt, let Kabe go.”

Matt huffed, rolled his eyes and glared at Fred like the man had told him to piss in a light socket or something.  Throwing his hands up in the air, he slid off the arm and into the couch, managing to push Kabe onto the floor.  “You,” he stuck his tongue out in Fred’s general direction, “are no fun.”  Dale tried to rearrange his feet into Matt’s lap, and got slapped.  “At,” he paused for emphasis, “all.”

“Joe.”  My name outa Kabe’s mouth carried nine-hundred kinds of emotion.  The kind that made me go all weak inside.  Never taking his eyes off me, Kabe ease up from the floor.  Those few steps he had to take to reach me, well they were all predatory.  By the time he touched me, leaned against me, I already shook some.

I mean I ain’t never really touched him in front of other people.  Maybe a quick hug or slap on the ass when Nadia was around…but nothing like this.  Kabe melded into my body.  A raging hard dick pressed into my thigh and my own reared back up again, straining the leather and my nerves.  He fingered the lock on the arm band while his other hand explored the fit of my ass in those leather jeans.  Couldn’t stop myself, didn’t want to stop myself.  Reached round and wrapped my grip behind his head, then I pulled him into a desperate kiss.  My other hand slid down to cup his denim covered butt.  Lord, but he tasted fine, smelled better and felt like heaven.  So good, I lost myself in him.

http://www.James-Buchanan.com

We don’t celebrate Christmas. Mixing up a card-carrying pagan with a die-hard atheist means that we came to an agreement long ago. Celebrations start at the Winter Solstice and go right on through to New Year.

Before you start booking me into your local de-tox clinic, no, we don’t get off our faces every day but my partner goes out weeks before and stocks the house with masses of treats that we don’t normally get during the year and hides them. So every day during our holidays, he brings out another surprise. It might be a special drink or different fancy nibbles to go with our aperitif.

The main feast meal which would probably equate with Thanksgiving or Christmas, is the Solstice when we celebrate the days becoming longer again, the return of the sun, the shorter nights and the hope that the harvest, both agricultural and personal, will be rich this year.

We live in France where the tradition is to get all the family around the table on Christmas Eve and eat… and eat… and eat, starting about 10.30 pm and going right through to the early hours. We don’t have family over here so we play a game – each year we try to have something new for our feast. We go out together and choose. Obviously with only two people a turkey is out of the question, even if the two dogs would help out enthusiastically with any leftovers!

This year we found something fabulous – roti de porc Orloff. Our local butcher, Sebastian, is a wizard. He knocked up this creation which is boned, rolled pork joint, stuffed with ham, cheese and tomato. We’ll have it like all traditional feasts with roast potatoes and all the fresh veg, followed by Yule Log, which is the French version of Christmas cake – heavy, tooth-destroyingly sweet and very, very rich. I never knew a sponge cake could kick me so hard. It’s always decorated with darling little gift parcels, champagne bottles etc and I save those to put on our home made British Christmas Cake …here is this year’s offering. I believe in recycling … my Scottish upbringing rejoices at not wasting things.

MY GIVEAWAY is CANCEL CHRISTMAS – Leave a comment by January 10, 2013 for a chance to win! (contest extended due to technical difficulties.)

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My blog is  http://www.cameron-lawton.com/