Baby, I?m Not A Monster

Gay erotica you can really sink your teeth into. If around 10 per cent of the male population is gay then it stands to reason 10 per cent of vampires, werewolves, ghosts, and other paranormals must lean toward a predilection for their own gender. This volume of erotica explores the world of gay male 'monsters': from a dentist who treats a vampire with a fang problem, through a young man who has the annoying ghost of his favorite gay porn star living in his wardrobe, to an Icelandic troll who finds a new career on a gay cruise ship as a Viking stripper. These and other stories, told with Barry Lowe's infectious good humor, will give you shivers of hot pleasure. Baby, I'm Not A Monster was originally published by loveyoudivine Alterotica and includes - The Vampire's Guide to Dental Hygiene, Stupid Cupid, Pride & Joy, My Dad's a Vampire, Gadigal, Guys & Trolls and Seeing Things - All originally published as individual eBooks by loveyoudivine Alterotica. Excerpt: From The Vampire's Guide to Dental Hygiene There was something spooky about the above-ground car park, the lights barely illuminating the gloom. I locked the car, striding quickly toward the darkened mouth of the arcade where my dental surgery lay. There was enough light pulsing from Video asty, the proprietor had never bothered to fix the N after it burned out, for me to see my way to the reinforced door of my shopfront. The plate glass bore the declaration that this was a DENTAL SURGERY, in large bold capitals, below which my name and qualifications were tastefully inscribed in gold lettering using a clean modern typeface. I'd escaped the more outrageous vandalism inflicted on the mall, having replaced the glass frontage only once after a break-in, and the only graffiti was the spray painted Jameel is a wanker down the tiles on the wall dividing my premises from those next door. Some of the lettering had splashed over onto my glass frontage but my attitude was that if it upset Jameel, let him clean it up. Inside I was rifling through the desk in my consultation room when I heard the bell above the front door jingle. I could have kicked myself. In the hurry to get in and out, the security was such a complicated bugger I didn't want to have to go through it twice, I had left the door unlocked. I'd also left the waiting room light blazing which must have been an open invitation to Rob Me. Quickly picking up the cricket bat that I kept handy for such eventualities, I summoned up the courage to confront my would-be tormentors. Having the element of surprise in my favor, I switched off the desk light and crept toward the door, wrenching it open and launching myself into the waiting room with a loud and, I hoped, fearsome cry. I guessed I looked more like a frightened dickhead than a formidable opponent. I did succeed in my intention, however, as the young man sitting patiently in one of the uncomfortable molded plastic waiting room chairs dropped the magazine he was flipping through to raise his hands to his face. He had that startled expression of a chook with its head cut off. In the split second or so it took me to appraise the situation I realized he was actually a patient who had mistaken my surgery hours because the light was on. It was an easy surmise as his mouth was covered in blood which was still bubbling from between his lips. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like terror and shot to his feet ready to bolt. I dropped the bat, my eyes glued to his wound. The poor chap must have noticed my preoccupation and that I had dropped my weapon for he sat down with a look of utter defeat in his eyes. Hoping I was conveying sympathy after my look of horror, I mumbled, "You poor bastard, what have they done to you?" I led him back to the surgery. This time I did remember to lock the door in case his attackers were still in the neighborhood. I helped him into the chair and donned gloves and glasses before turning my attention to his plight.