Bøger udgivet af Lydian Press

In an era when same-sex love is a crime, what is an ex- army major to do when he falls for a sexy young coalminer?Run out of the country town because of his illicit relationship, former army major Dr. Damien Bouton flees to the relative anonymity of a poor, inner-city suburb where he deals with the loss of his lover, Josh, ministering to the needs of a startlingly eccentric mix of supportive characters. Josh, his eyes and his heart newly opened to love, chases after his lover but, in his innocence, falls prey to con men and the razor gangs that abound in Depression-era Sydney. When Damien and Josh's paths finally cross again, they are almost strangers and their social circumstances make any sort of relationship impossible. Until fate steps in. But is it too late for them to rekindle their love?EXCERPTI went to lock the surgery door to discover a young man reading an outdated magazine. What I noticed immediately was not that his lips mouthed the words he was reading, but his beauty surpassed even that of the surrounding coastal landscape: his hair was the color of the fine sand on the beach, and his eyes bluer than the waters in the bay. My breath caught in my throat. I must have given an audible gasp because the young man smiled. "Hello, doc. You got a moment?" I ushered him into my office too dazzled to speak. He stood in front of my desk rather than taking the comfortable leather chair meant for patients. A few inches shorter than I, he was fit, tanned and wore the cap and rough clothes of the villagers. But I'd never seen him before. I would certainly have to remedy that even though one of the reasons for taking on this job was to avoid the temptations that the city offered. Here I expected the temptations to be much less."I won't take up too much of your time," he said. "My mum told me I should ask you to supper this evening." He blushed. "What?""Mum said as you being a bachelor gentleman and having no one to look after you then you probably need a proper feed every now and then 'cause gentlemen don't know how to cook good, wholesome grub.""Don't expect nothing fancy," he said. "I said to mum that Dr. Button is no snob even though he's from the big city and has probably et at all the fancy cafés, but he knows you can't beat good home cooking." He paused and smiled expectantly. "Please, sir, say you'll come. It's to show our appreciation for all what you done for us. Me."He stumbled over the word appreciation as if he'd rehearsed his little speech, but it just made him all the more endearing. However, I was at a loss. I didn't recall him. "What exactly is it you think I've done for you?"Disappointment clouded his face. I looked again at those eyes.Suddenly, it struck me. "Joshua?" "Yes, sir. Did you not recognise Joshua, sir?""I should have known you. Why, those eyes, lad. They must drive the local girls crazy."He blushed again and fidgeted with his cap. "Take a seat while I lock up."I quickly set about closing the surgery for the day hoping that no one would disturb us. As I did so I remembered the awful circumstances under which we had met. At the caterwauling siren I grabbed my medical bag and ran outside, along with most of the people above ground in Seaspray Bay. I tore up the dirt road surrounded by womenfolk in dread for their sons and husbands, but they gave me space because a few seconds delay on my part could mean the difference between life and death.Only one man had been hurt. They carried him on a stretcher, blackened from the coal except for a red slash across his leg where his trousers had been cut open as had the leg itself. He was conscious, barely, the pain excruciating. I leaned over and whispered words of comfort to him, but his face was so covered with soot and coal he scarcely looked human. Apart from his eyes. They were astonishingly blue. I just stared into them until his groan of pain interrupted my preoccupation.

Mind if we borrow your boyfriend?Gay Cuckold Erotica: This follow-up to the best-selling Your Boyfriend is Hot contains four steamy gangbang cuckold stories that explore the world of guys who get their excitement watching their boyfriend take on a gang of admirers. In A Six-Pack for Samson, Samson has a special way of greeting his boyfriend after a hard day at the office but this time he's caught with his pants down by his boyfriend's work mates. In Sold by My Stepdad, a timid young man is shown what life is all about by a gang of construction workers and gains a boyfriend from the experience. Valentine's Way ups the heat level when Valentine decides to humiliate his boyfriend for forgetting Valentine's Day by taking on anyone who wants him until the tables are turned and things get even raunchier. That perennial question, What Time Does Your Boyfriend Get Home? is answered in the novella of the same name when the whole neighborhood gets hard for a young fashion model. Excerpt: The sound of loud voices cursing and the thud of something banging against the walls woke me. For a moment I was disoriented until I realized I'd fallen asleep on the couch in my home office. I struggled to recall what happened when I got in last night. I remember coming upstairs to dump my laptop bag and sitting down to take off my shoes, then... That was it. Lights out. I hadn't even contacted Paris, my gorgeous young boyfriend to let him know I would be back a day early I was in such a state when I left my overseas conference for the airport. He hadn't been home when I arrived and I wanted to surprise him and make up for my neglect of late. Jumping up to seek him out now, as well as the new day, was a mistake. My head hurt like buggery - well buggery when you don't do it right - and I tripped over a rug that was puddled at my feet. I must have had enough sense to cover myself before I fell asleep. I was still bushed from too many long corporate meetings followed by too many celebratory drinks and too much back slapping, then more drinks on the plane coming back because I hate flying.There had been a reason for the rush home but I couldn't for the life of me..."Watch the mirror, guys," I heard Paris shout in horror. He can be a bit of a drama queen. Still, the thump of furniture hitting a wall or a door brought it all back to me. Of course, Paris was moving in today. After our 'whirlwind' romance of three years, he'd finally consented to give up his tawdry inner-city bedsit and move into my more spacious home - an upmarket mansion complete with manicured grounds and an outdoor pool, more in keeping with his career as an up-and-coming print and catwalk model. If that makes me sound like a prat, so be it. I work bloody hard for the bells and whistles in my life.Perhaps not enough to keep Paris happy though. "You work too hard," he'd moaned before I left for my latest overseas trip. "I never get to see you." The anthem of neglected spouses the world over. Not that Paris and I were spouses. Yet. He'd baulked at marrying me because of the disparity in our incomes. He didn't want to be seen as my boy toy, and I certainly didn't want to be seen as his sugar daddy. Besides, there is only nine years difference in our ages. He's twenty-two. A very mature twenty-two. I'm a career focused thirty-one.That all changed when I met him. It was the most boring party I'd ever been to. I'd been impressed by Paris's opening gambit. I was fiddling with my fifth Scotch on the rocks wondering what I had to do to escape the tedium when a young man whose assets weren't in the rather unprepossessing clothes he wore but in his smile, his model-handsome face, and in the body which his obviously second-hand suit did little to hide. He leaned in to whisper, "What's say you and I escape this dirge and go fuck in one of the rooms?

These guys are putting the bang into gang. BREEDING MY BOYFRIEND Costa and Jesse have sworn undying fidelity to each other, so when Costa discovers his boyfriend is cheating, he plans a diabolical revenge that involves a bit of discipline, a sling, wrist and ankle cuffs-and a lot of pain. I WAS A MALE NYMPHO FOR THE FBI Vic Tulsa is a sex addict who works undercover for the FBI, but his homophobic boss wants to get rid of him - permanently. The result is that Vic finds himself strung up in an SM club, to be sold to the highest bidder. NEW JOCK IN TOWN Straight College jock, Sammy Jackson, is forced to miss Spring Break with his girlfriend because his finances are so dire until, that is, he accepts a special delivery for his dad, and the delivery man has a few ideas on how the hot jock can get his hands on a lot of cash in a hurry. WANNA SHARE YOUR HUSBAND? When the richest man in the city is rebuffed by the hottest construction worker on the site of a new luxury development for gay men, he wants revenge - and money is no object. Excerpt from: I Was a Male Nympho for the FBI Casebook Log #369 You know how humiliating it is to assume the position against a cop car, your shorts down around your ankles, your tackle flapping in the breeze, while a deputy gives you the once over before fat Sheriff Tucker covers his podgy fingers in a rubber glove to inspect your anal area for drugs? It was such a fuckin' buzz, and I loved it. Plus, I had them right where I wanted them. I'd been hitchhiking along the interstate A380, stripped to the waist to show off my hot abs and ceps; my pecs and back awash with perspiration, my shorts barely hiding my fat sausage of a cock. See, I get turned on when I display myself like this. I'm an exhibitionist at heart. Hell, there ain't much that I'm not when it comes to things sexual. My ass is my best asset, so my cut-off jeans were way too revealing - cut so that half my ass cheeks were on display. I was - I am - hot, hot, hot! I attracted attention just the way I like it. A couple of guys drove around in circles to get a gander at me to make sure I was for real. You seldom saw what I was offering outside a porn movie. A couple of the more adventurous, or more horny, guys pulled over to see if I wanted a lift. Any driver who looked as if he was packing got my attention. And my ass or my mouth later, if he wanted them. Who am I kidding? They always wanted them. It was the only reason they picked me up. I didn't need a lift and their concern for my comfort and welfare was anything but altruistic. Like I'm complaining? I could have made a fortune because most of my pick-ups thought I was on the game and their first question after "You need a lift?" and my response, "Nah, I need a fuck" once I'd hopped in their car, was usually, "How much?" When I told them it was all free they couldn't believe their luck, especially the guys sporting wedding rings. I knew I'd eventually attract the attention of the authorities. I was causing all sorts of traffic infringements as guys, and an almost equal number of women, slowed down to ogle the booty. The ladies were out of luck. I noticed the cop car trailing me just far enough back they thought they were invisible, and stepped up my slutty behavior, wiggling my luscious buns even more blatantly at the passing parade. My training meant I had a second sense when it came to being followed. I was encouraging it. I wanted to provoke the cops but it seems I'd have to be more outrageous. I stopped and flexed, showing off my body even more blatantly, bending over to open my knapsack to retrieve my water bottle so that my ass spread invitingly for speeding voyeurs, the thin strip of fabric between my cheeks barely covering my twitching hole. If passers-by looked closely enough they'd probably see the sun reflected off the snail trail of dried spunk glistening in and around my butt hole. Does it get any better than that?

Four pairs of lovers get their Happily Ever After. THE DAY OF THE CLIFFORDS Can a teenage crush ever develop into the 'real thing'? When the teenage Clifford brothers, Jerry and Matt, spend their summer holidays next door, fellow teen, Sam Dempsey, develops a romantic crush on Jerry, although the guilty secret they share will eventually tear their friendship apart. When Sam and the Cliffords meet up again ten years later, can anything be salvaged? CHRISTMAS IN JULY Kauko Sallinen has fled his native Finland for the warmer climes of Australia, where he hopes to find himself a bronzed Aussie to complete the picture. But he slips during a bush walk, injuring his foot and confining his movements. But things aren't all bad when the doctor who calls to attend his injury is exactly what Kauko ordered, except the doc has a secret that could bring their budding relationship to its knees. THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE CUDDLY Sheriff Haskell keeps the itinerant cowboys and the girls of Miss Kitty's cathouse away from the god-fearing families of Headstone, but the fragile peace is threatened with the arrival of a handsome, young Italian by the name of Benedetto, who the cowboys take to calling Bernadette. HE WON'T SEND ROSES Christopher runs a florist shop on the dangerous side of town, so he knows he's about to die when a loud motorbike pulls up outside and a behemoth of man, heavily tattooed and muscled like a steroid freak, strides through the front door. Excerpt from: He Won't Send Roses Just when I thought the day couldn't get any worse, the door to my florist shop opened and I knew I was going to die: stabbed, strangled, knifed, or shot. At that precise moment I wasn't sure which method he'd use, I only knew I was taking the last few breaths of my short and miserable life. Thirty years old and afraid of my own shadow. Qualified for nothing, although I'd taken my uncle's florist shop, Petals to the Metal, from near bankruptcy to a thriving business. I don't have a head for big business; my life comes in smaller portions. I don't really have a body for small business either. Those long hours on your feet, fighting with pushy sales people, screaming about missing deliveries, trying to keep an eye on the shady shop assistants - mainly drunks and drug addicts - the sort of people who respected my uncle but who see me as an easy mark. I knew he was trouble the moment he entered the shop. I was preparing the Valentine's Day floral tributes, cursing that the delivery man or woman was running late, totally alone as it was still too early in the morning even for my caffeine regulars. I was too trusting; I should have locked the door, not that the glass panels in the entrance would keep out a determined thief - or killer. The door had one of those old-fashioned bells that jangled to let me know when someone came in. Looking up I was confronted with my worst nightmare. A giant of a man, a bandana wrapped around his forehead, otherwise dressed only in tight leather pants and biker boots. He was pierced and inked. He was a formidable fucker and my knees buckled. He glanced around the shop as if to scope out the enemy. I stood up from where I had been sorting dozens of red roses as I consulted my order list, and backed up against the counter keeping my hands where he could see them. He eyed me up and down, his lips curling in a smirk that said he knew I was no threat. My life may be a little on the dull and uneventful side, but there was no way I wanted to die for the miserable few bucks in the till at the hands of some junkie who just wanted enough for his next fix. Shit, to save my neck I was prepared to go to the nearest ATM and take out as much as he needed. "Just take the cash and go," I squeaked in a voice so terrified it barely carried. "There's not much but it's all yours. Don't hurt me, just take it and go."

Three tales of men who've played both sides of the blanket until they fall in love. THE GROOM CLOSET Richard Flanagan receives an invitation to his estranged daughter's wedding while he still pines for his dead lover. He hopes that when he gets back to his old home town, he can reignite a passion with one of his old college jock mates-if they're still amenable. SUMMER AT RAINBOW COVE Ty Cody is one of the hottest straight studs in town, and no one knows that more than his girlfriend, Tina. She also knows he has a wandering eye. When her father decides that she spend the ten-week summer break with the family in Europe-no boyfriends allowed-she hatches a scheme that will stop Ty from playing around while she's away. She gets him a job at a gay resort. LOVE WITH A SIDE ORDER OF PELICANS Single dad, Travis Black, takes his young daughter, Penny, to see the feeding of the pelicans, where they are befriended by town vet, Spike Donovan. While it's love at first sight between Penny and the pelicans, it's Travis who feels a strange attraction to the Pelican Whisperer. Excerpt from: The Groom Closet We'd met in a bar. I was going stir crazy at home and thought a little friendly bar chatter would help ease me back into the gay gene pool. It was five months since the big event and I had mentally given myself a year to shake off the blues. Not that I would ever forget Jake, but life did have to go on and I didn't want to be a miserable moping bastard to my friends. I'd neglected them of late because there was always that inevitable question, "How are you coping?" Much less now because you've made me think about it, thanks for asking. They, and their questions, were a constant reminder, and a constant irritation, of what I was missing. I preferred the company of strangers who had no knowledge and even less interest in my past. The contact was momentary: all we cared about was achieving orgasm. The fleeting physical intimacy was one step up from masturbation. The young man said his name was John, but he was obviously lying. I told him truthfully my name was Richard. On the few occasions I used his name he looked at me as if he had no idea to whom I was referring. After that, I skipped using his pseudonym. He was going to be just another short-lived substitute for Jake; one that I could hug and kiss for warmth and that gooey feeling that comes with holding another human being close. He said he was in town for a weekend conference. From where he came I had no idea. He was skimpy on detail and I was not about to question him as he became skittish if my curiosity got the better of me. He obviously had something to hide, although he was not wearing a wedding ring. I guessed he was so far in the back of the closet he was in Narnia. Perhaps he escaped to the city from wherever he came on a regular basis to quench his gay desire. I didn't mind being one in a line of however many or few. His conference, however, seemed the farthest thing from his mind when we awoke on Saturday morning. He was the first man who had stayed the night. Normally, they blew a load (or two) and left. John stayed. In fact, John stayed the entire weekend. We never left the house. I made breakfast and dinner when we felt peckish, but most of the time we screwed: in the bedroom, in the living room, in the kitchen, in the bathroom - in fact, the only room I think we missed was the garage and that only because there was no room to maneuver around my SUV. I'd never felt as comfortable around another man as I did around John. Except around Jake.

Excerpt from: Carbon Dating The Bear I'm as embarrassed as hell. Normally, I wouldn't even consider appearing in public like this. Naked, except for handkerchief-sized red Speedos strung up between my ass cheeks like those Aussie lifesavers. I hope none of the neighbors is watching as I knock on the door to my best mate Robbie's house, hoping he won't answer the door. I'm praying it's his dad. You see, I have a problem. I'm 19, pretty good looking, not an ounce of body fat on my slim, okay, skinny frame. Long, black hair, which hangs seductively across my face. My dick is average size, between 61/2 and 7", depending on which porn movie is in the DVD player when you measure. My body is twink hairless except for a clump of pubic seaweed, and my ass is smooth as butter and as bubbly as a balloon. Okay, what's the problem, you're asking? The problem is I just can't get laid. Let me rephrase that. I can't get laid by the guys I fancy. I suppose two telling points I should mention here: I'm a bit on the, shall we say, less than macho side, nothing flaming, but you'd never mistake me for Russell Crowe. Plus, I'm a top. Sure, I'd love to reciprocate, but just the idea of a cock entering my butt hole sends my body into shutdown and sphincter central locks all entrances to the building. Oh, did I mention my homme (yes, I'm studying French at college) of choice is a delicious, mature daddy with just a fleck of grey through his temples highlighting his desirability. Hair on his head is not essential. Hair on his chunky body is. The more fuzz that covers his body, the better I like it. The better I like it, the harder my cock gets. Alas, most men of that age either find it too arduous to douche or simply only have time to stick their dick in any available cubhole and squirt before racing home to the wife, husband or spouse of unspecified gender. I usually satisfy myself with a quick fumble in a borrowed bedroom, a suburban shithouse, or a noirish alleyway, only occasionally going upmarket for a quick blowjob in someone's Ute or family sedan with baby seat attached. Once I encountered a truckie, who was everything I ever dreamed of, until he took off his trousers and revealed he was wearing white stockings and a suspender belt. No wonder then that last night I was running off at the mouth on meeting a gentleman of such proportion and charm that I was practically drooling. It was the occasion of a charmless party that I'd attended with mates Robbie and Viz. Unusually, none of us scored that night. "There was no one there over 35." I moaned dramatically. Robbie and Viz in the back seat were indulging me, though not without a certain amount of eyes heavenward.

Some guys simply can't get enough! Whether it's an impecunious male stripper doing it at the behest of his ambitious boyfriend, a Victorian-era working class lad doing it to get information, a guy in drag for Halloween whose boyfriend can't get it up anymore, or a guy who wants to teach his boyfriend a lesson, some men love the excitement of multiple partners where they are the focus of attention. Here are ten stories of the raunchiest gangbang erotica available from one of the best writers of the genre. The More The Merrier was originally published by loveyoudivine Alterotica and includes - Marine Biology, Flesh for Fantasy, Sluts & Satyrs, Buck's Night, Four On The Floor, Framing the Picture of Dorian Gray, Fuck Buddy, Seven Card Studs, Dude, Where's The Bar? and New Year's Steve - All previously published as individual eBooks by loveyoudivine Alterotica. Flesh for Fantasy was first published in a slightly different form in Cargo #11 (BlackWattle Press, 1991) Excerpt from: Buck's Night "Suck it, slut," Walsh demanded none too pleasantly. I didn't want to, and I sure wasn't going to without permission. It was six months to my final exams, and I had no intention of spending them on the street. I glanced over at my boyfriend Rhys. He shrugged, but smiled encouragement. I noticed, too, that he was hard as stone in his jeans. I didn't like this change in the schedule, but I had to admit my socks were bulging with cash, so a quick mouth job on the wedding boy, and then out of there. I'd kept my identity secret, coincidentally making enough in tips to see me through next semester. I'd actually be able to contribute to the household budget for a change. It had all begun when Rhys had that fucking whine in his voice again. "What else can I do? I'll have to resign from the faculty. My career is over." "Don't be such a drama queen," I admonished. I'd been putting up with this all morning since the stripper had canceled. "Just ring and get another one." He exploded. "You don't think I've already tried that? It's Saturday, for fuck's sake. They're all busy. And most of them don't do gay. This same-sex wedding shit is all uncharted territory. Who knew there would be a demand for gay bachelor parties?" "Some enterprising gay stud with more sense than money," I said. Sadly, I hadn't seen the trap coming. "Someone like you, Cal?" In a way it was my fault. I was doing a major in Small Business at a medium-sized liberal arts university and I'd facetiously suggested as a subject for my end-of-year paper, emergent small business in the gay wedding industry. Not the catering, reception, photography, or all that pomp and paraphernalia that goes with any gender's wedding, but small businesses that were intrinsically gay. Gay men catering to bachelor parties, for example. I wasn't surprised to discover a few of the local gay male sex workers had taken to advertising their services to this burgeoning field of endeavor, those of the get-rich-quick mind set, showing how little they knew about the inherently stingy nature of gay men when it came to sex. With the rush to gay marriage before the law could be overturned by a fundamentalist backlash, there was a scarcity of the raw commodity-strippers. Considering the reputation that hetero buck's nights had attained, I was surprised any monogamous gay man would allow his partner the opportunity to indulge. Rhys and I had been together almost eighteen months, all of them filled with constant whingeing when he didn't get his way. I was trying to make our liaison work as best I could, but I was green. This was my first relationship of any duration, a weekend being my previous longest. At twenty-one, I suppose I was too young to put down roots. Plus, and I say this in all modesty, I'm quite a catch. In fact, Rhys couldn't believe his luck when I said 'yes' to his offer of a place to live.

Putting the muscle into marriage. Morrie is about to marry his boyfriend of three years, although his friends don't think Chet is good enough for him and organize one last ditch attempt to split up the monogamous couple. What better way to do it than aim for Morrie's one weak point - his love of muscle men. So they hire the sexiest muscle stripper for his bachelor party, and then sit back to watch the fireworks when Morrie can't resist a little extra-curricular activity. Excerpt: My best friend, Tristan, insisted we just had to have separate bachelor parties; the Chet suggested communal bash was 'so not done.' Tristan had a tendency to add superfluous words to his sentences, speaking with a tone and inflection as if what he said was a decree from a higher authority. Unfortunately, Tristan and his best buddy, Piers, thought of themselves as that higher authority; there was no further appeal to an even higher arbiter. They had enough good taste, style, and wit that there was no room for disagreement. Very early on they'd decided it was their duty as my nearest and dearest to take responsibility for our nuptials. There was no point arguing, they always got their way, so, apart from mild disagreement over napkin colors, invitation fonts and some minor discord over the invitation list, everything followed their grand plan . Chet and I wanted intimate, they wanted a Steven Spielberg epic. "You can't just sneak away and get married," Piers lectured. "You have to make a bold statement. Your wedding is one in the eye for social conservatives who used to say gay men can't have long-term relationships." "You make us sound like the rental on a holiday cottage," Chet groaned as he put a line through more than half the names on the invite list. "I don't even know most of these people. Gwyneth Paltrow? Are you serious?" The biggest bugbear to the arrangements was that Chet loathed Tristan and Piers. For more than three years he'd loathed them and the feeling, which originated on their side, was mutual. "I don't trust them," I said when we were alone. "They've been trying to split us up since before we met." "Apart from that little blip in our first year when you didn't totally trust me, we've been fine. They're harmless," he said while knowing full well it was a lie. "At least their machinations taught me to trust you." "See," he said, and kissed my nose for taking the high road. I still couldn't believe it. I was getting married. To a man. I loved him dearly, more than life itself. Well...I wasn't totally sure that if push came to shove I would do the manly Charlton Heston thing and plunge to my death in a heroic but ill-judged attempt to save him like Chuck did Ava Gardner when she was swept away to almost certain death in Earthquake. I was pretty sure I would do just about anything short of sacrificing myself for Chet. I was also pretty confident he would do as much for me. Why wouldn't we? We'd been contentedly in love for longer than anyone had ever given us credit for, and he was still the same beautiful man I'd met when he was twenty-seven. Well, maybe his face was craggier, and the muscle mass of his body had plummeted from his impressive chest to settle somewhere around his thickening waist... We met at one of those parties you go along to expecting little because life seems to have kicked you in the cobblers, you know what I mean? Back then I was wrapped in existential angst at the ripe old age of twenty-three. I was burned out (so I believed), my love life a series of tattered relationships that unthreaded even faster than a knitted cardigan caught on a nail, especially since I was an avid believer in that old love-at-first-sight adage. I think it was mainly my cock talking rather than my heart.

Is voyeurism such a crime - especially if watching your own boyfriend in action with strangers turns you on big time? Steve and Billy's monogamous relationship has gone stale until Billy, ever the exhibitionist, shows them a way to spice up their sex life. Billy has the most coveted ass in the city and Steve loves to watch him secretly spread it open for strangers. But can their relationship survive when Billy goes too far and offers himself to Steve's worst enemies. Busting Billy's Butt was originally published by loveyoudivine Alterotica and includes the first eight adventures of Steve and Billy in the Four on the Floor series - Four on the Floor, Jolly Rogering, The Devil His Due, Never Take Candy from Strangers, Done Like a Dinner, In the Family Way, Right Up His Alley, and Group Therapy. - all previously published as individual eBooks by loveyoudivine Alterotica. Excerpt "Holy shit, man, get a load of that ass." Jerry focused the binoculars on the fourth floor apartment across the street. With the magnification of those suckers, he could see straight into the living room through the wide-open balcony doors. As wide open as the guy's butthole, if I had my guess. "Here, let me see." Mike snatched the glasses from him. "I told you he was something out of the box," I said from the corner bar where I was topping up our drinks. I threw the empty Bourbon bottle in the trash to join the earlier one we'd already polished off. Jerry, my sleazy boss at Klassic Kars where I worked as a detailer, came back to get his glass. He's chunky, in his early forties, shaven head and a splash of body hair across his chest; definitely a daddy type, but not exactly "attractive" to go with it. "You weren't kidding, Steve. That guy has it all. I could fuck that." I knew for a fact that Jerry wasn't fucking anything at the moment. He was always at me to set him up with one of my single friends. It wasn't gonna happen. Billy sneered. "I don't think there's anything special about him." He hated it when he wasn't the centre of attention. "You're kidding, right?" Mike relinquished the glasses to Jerry, who definitely wanted another look. We'd met Mike at the showroom a few weeks earlier, when he'd come in to give a newly arrived 1956 Buick Century Riviera Four-Door Hardtop the once over. He'd bought it on the spot, counting out the price from a huge wad of high value banknotes he said he always carried in case of emergencies. This guy was seriously wealthy-or a braggart. Maybe both. And dumb as shit to carry around that much cash. Both Jerry and I had pegged him as gay, and Jerry had pegged him as available, something I wasn't, and flirted accordingly. Mike wore baggy blue jeans, navy sneakers and a black cotton T-shirt that hugged his chest so tight his hard nipples could have poked your eye out if you got too close. He looked to be around thirty with shaggy, black hair that he flicked with his fingers to keep it out of his hazel bedroom eyes. I would have been flirting as well, if I hadn't already been in a relationship, although said relationship was as rocky as a row boat in the North Atlantic at the moment. However, we liked to give the outward impression we were the perfect couple. We had been when we first started out five years before. Billy was the five-feet-eight, tanned skinned, blond haired, blue-eyed beauty with the snug little body that had only gotten better and more defined when he'd 'discovered' the gym. I would have said 'obsessed' with the gym since his retrenchment as a sous-chef in a restaurant that didn't survive the economic downturn. That was just one of the problems. I was the other. I'm slightly taller, thinner and two years older at twenty-eight, with dirty blond hair matched with dirty blond eyes. That's what Billy called them when we first met at a bar that was so humid inside we didn't know whether the air conditioning had failed or whether we were so hot for each other we were prod

Come on in and taste the love! Dom has worked hard pursuing his dreams of delighting the masses with his tasty treats. Indeed his cream has been eagerly eaten all about the town. Now he has almost everything he ever dreamed of-a successful business, loving friends and a beautiful beau. There's just one more thing he needs to make his life complete...to finally marry the man of his dreams. There's so much to do before the big day but luckily, they encounter more than a few friendly helping hands along the way. Follow the adventures of Dom and his merry band of lusty lads as they help him overcome pesky obstacles and prepare for the most important day of his life. Everyone deserves a good old-fashioned happy ending, after all. Dominique's brow creased in concentration as he squeezed the last drops of thick, white cream out of his sac and onto the top. It looked good enough to eat but he resisted the urge, which was a good thing, seeing as he'd been working on these cupcakes all afternoon. He wanted to make sure everything was absolutely flawless and that included having impeccably frosted blue velvet cupcakes - the perfect shade of Tardis blue to appeal to Ben's geeky side. He'd been planning this night for months now. To say he was nervous was an understatement, but he hadn't gone wrong following his heart so far and hoped tonight would be no different. Being the proud owner of a successful patisserie café was not something you'd expect on first glance at this handsome, thirty-one year old Greek god of a man, with his jet-black hair and striking green eyes. Preferring to remain neatly clipped elsewhere, his only concession to his more hirsute heritage was a rather hairy chest. Truth be told, he was more of a Greek/French hybrid; the French spelling of his name, down to the influence of his mother, was a rather telling clue. That being said, he much preferred being called Dom, given that hearing his full name tended to remind him of being in trouble as a little boy. He didn't begrudge his French legacy in the slightest, and even appreciated being forced to learn the language as a child - it had proved more than useful when picking up lovers and whispering sweet nothings with his foreign tongue while slowly grinding into their willing asses. Admittedly, he never had much trouble attracting the attention of men and women alike, despite not being interested a great deal by the latter. Ben had been his best friend since childhood and was now his trusted partner in business and life. His pale skin contrasted wonderfully against Dom's darker hue, and with a silky-smooth, ripped body that belied his geeky accountant exterior, it was hardly surprising that Dom found him irresistible. Then there was his beautifully proportioned bubble butt, which begged to be grabbed, licked and generally ravished. Ben was happily versatile but much preferred to bottom if Dom's eight inches of juicy, uncut meat was on offer. Ben had been a constant companion going through all their firsts together; school, puberty, and mutual masturbation... working their way up from playing with toys to each other. Their feelings had always been there in the background simmering away, but the timing had never been right. That aside, they often spent a late night together going over the finances, followed by vigorous de-stressing sessions that left them both truly exhausted, but sated. Eventually they'd realized they both wanted to be more than friends, as their encounters had taken on a definite romantic tone... a look across the counter, a lingering gaze in the office. Dom loved every inch of Ben, from his curly brown hair to his big, thick feet and everything in between. It wasn't long after that realization that they'd taken the big step of moving in together; seeing as they already spent so much time together it wasn't too big an adjustment. Dom remembered clearly the moment, about three months earlier, when he'd known he wanted to marry t

Is there any such thing as too many gay sex stories? There are so many themed gay erotica anthologies these days from gay pastry cook erotica to gay Centurion erotica it's hard to squeeze another one on to the market, especially when there is little or no commonality of themes. Sure, some of the stories in this collection involve mythological beings like Santa and Satan - notice the characters names are anagrams of the other - while four stories involve dads, uncles or dads-in-law. The seventh story involves that biggest cliché in all gay erotica: the college jock. The subject matter encompasses obsessions with male strippers, gender reassignment, gay comic book heroes, fallen angels, college nerds and jocks, skateboarders, and police 'brutality.' There's even a happy ending or five. The stories also range from short and sweet to longer than a donkey's dick and sleazy as fuck, all written in Barry Lowe's inimitable style. The only thing the stories have in common, apart from the same author, is the inclusion of OMG! in each of the titles. Justification enough to call the collection OMG! Not Another Gay Erotica Anthology? OMG! Not Another Gay Erotica Anthology? was originally published by loveyoudivine Alterotica and includes - OMG! My Dad's a Stripper!, OMG! Santa's Got a Six-Pack!, OMG! My Dad's Got Tits!, OMG! Satan Wants a Blow Job!, OMG! My Uncle's a Fairy!, OMG! Put Some Clothes On!, and OMG! The College Jock's a Nudist! all previously published as individual eBooks by loveyoudivine Alterotica. Excerpt from: OMG! My Dad's a Stripper! The man himself was making his way toward me. Well, toward the table at which I was seated with mates, Dazza, Franco, and Tick. I was so excited I almost shit myself. As always, he had me wriggling like a worm on the end of a hook. This special man. The man I'd had the most enormous crush on since I hit puberty. Gage. Just the sound of his name made my cock so hard you could hammer nails with it. His body was incredible. He was obviously past his twink years - that was a plus for me as I like older men - but he kept his body honed to perfection. Not steroid perfect, but gym toned; the sort of body that takes dedication, still a turn-on for a muscle worshipping freak like me. As it came toward me, okay us, the body was part-hidden by an intricate crisscross of leather straps and metals rings that highlighted its pecs and its biceps. A man could die happy cradled in those powerful arms. This man certainly could. Tick nudged me. "You're drooling, mate. Put your tongue away." How are you gentlemen today? Enjoying yourselves?" I couldn't speak. The deep masculine tone was just perfect. Not too educated, not too working class, and not so deep as would be the envy of James Earl Jones. That was too deep; I never found it arousing. "You're doing it again," Franco hissed. He, my he, was standing so close I could have reached out and run my fingers across his lightly haired chest, the oil glinting under the subdued lighting of the club, his nipples perfectly erect and just begging to be tweaked and chewed on. His biceps had that divine vein running the length of his arm. I wanted to lick it, to feel the pulse of blood beneath. Oh, those abs; his washboard stomach, again with a slight mat of hair that trailed down, down, down until disappearing under his leather pouch. Oh, dear God, did it ever get any better than this?

Someone on the train has an appetite for murder! Kaden 'Buddy' Reznor is gorgeous, hung like an elephant, built like a brick shithouse, and the host of the world's top-rating television cooking program, The Six-Pack Chef. So why is someone trying to kill him? As The Gravy Train wends its way from London to Vienna, with stops in some of the hottest cuisine capitals of Europe, Kaden Reznor is the 'icing on the cake' among the chefs on board, employed to create extravagant dishes and present classes to the foodie audiences aboard the luxury train. But his sexual partners keep dropping dead until even he realises his life is in danger. Who can he trust? All that stands between him and certain annihilation is a mysterious young man who has been sent as his assistant and the CEO of the train tour company whom he ravaged on the London Eye. The Gravy Train includes - In The Soup, Salad Days, Whores d'Oeuvres, Beefed Up And Porked, Torte a Lesson, and Café Or Lay - All previously published as individual eBooks by loveyoudivine Alterotica. Excerpt from: In the Soup One of the best views in London was spread out before me. I was close to the top in one of the observation bubbles on the London Eye, that enormous wheel that overlooks the Thames near the Houses of Parliament and the phallic Big Ben, but I wasn't looking at them. Nope, the best view in London at that precise moment was the arse that was spread invitingly before me. Coincidentally, it also belonged to a Ben. We were alone in a cabin meant for twenty-five, even I baulked at twenty-four delicious arseholes spread before me, having bribed the attendant with a number of large denomination Sterling notes, a surreptitious grope, and a business card with my private phone number: sometimes it pays to be famous. Now, when I should have been admiring Ye Olde World charms of the English capital I was, in fact, admiring the new world charms of the English rump. And I was about to embed my cock in said beauty, to the delight of the few glass cabins around us that could see everything we were doing. There was absolutely no privacy, but I cared little for that. Ben, though, seemed much less eager to have his arse banged than I was to shag it. And that, dear reader, is where this adventure began. The how and why are a different matter. For that I have to back up a little - not my usual style. Maybe if I start this tale the way I was taught by the austere Mrs. Patterson at my state high school in Sydney, Australia. I'm not a writer, you see. It's not my forte, but we'll get to that. So, at the top of the page I write my name. Kaden 'Buddy' Reznor. I used to hate that name at school because it made me stand out. Joke, right? Now I do everything in my limited box of tricks to stand out. Some people would call that ironic but I guess those sort of folk aren't likely to be reading this. See, my 'minders' told me to act all sort of folksy for the market this book is aimed at. That's all bullshit. My real name is Buddy. Bit common, right? But that's why my program on YouTube was called The Taste Buddy. You ever watch it? Good, right? Until some rather more, shall we say, private home videos began to appear as well, dropping the definite article - the "The" for those of the more grammatically challenged amongst you - under the title Taste Buddy. Some trashy folk whom I'd invited back to my apartment to share a few moments of intimate pleasure thought they could jump on the celebrity bandwagon by making a video of themselves actually tasting me in the flesh, thought it would enhance their desirability while tarnishing mine. In actual fact, it had the reverse effect: my popularity increased in direct proportion to my cock size. That's what I was doing in the lead up to this adventure. Stretching Ben's limits, as well as his hole. He saw himself as strictly top, I saw him as mainly bottom. And that's what we were negotiating at that moment.

What makes gay men so attractive to straight women? It's a story as old as time itself: hot gay guys are great in bed, have good grooming, gym-toned bods and are as handsome as fuck. All they need is a bad woman to show them the joys of the 'other' side. The conversion may not be permanent, it may last no more than a night but oh, what a night! In some cases it may just be the experience they need to explore their bi side. This edition collects one to five of Jazmin Starr's hot selling Gay Dick for the Straight Chick series, plus Christmas Carol, the one that started the ball rolling. - all previously published as individual eBooks by loveyoudivine Alterotica. It may not be an instruction manual, but it just might give you a few ideas. Excerpt from Gay Dick for the Straight Chick 1: Straight guys! God's contraceptive. I guess I fell in love with Cree the day he stopped a gang of older girls from picking on me in the schoolyard over, you guessed it, my name. I was in tears, screaming at the girls to shut up. He gave them such a bollocking over their bullying that they ran off in tears as well. He smiled at me, his job well done. It was that moment I fell in love with him. I followed him around the school like a lovelorn puppy even as he and his friends attempted to shoo me away. I hung around the edges of their conversation for almost a month until one day they were discussing my favorite rock group. Cree and his best mate, Dion, were arguing over the lyrics of one of their songs and neither would give ground. From a few yards away I told them they were both wrong and quoted the correct version of the lyrics they were arguing about. The group looked over at me, probably shocked that I could speak or that I actually had an opinion. Cree beckoned me over. "I suppose if she's right we'd better let her join the group." There was a bit of grizzling from one or two of the boys but Cree prevailed - he usually did. When they discovered I was correct and had a love of many of the things they did I was more heartily welcomed although Dion seemed somewhat jealous of my sway over his best friend. I suspected, without knowing how or why, the two of them were also fuck buddies. That's how I became the official fag hag to Cree and his group. It helped me get through high school. I was still an outcast but an outcast with the coolest friends. Once they got used to me in their midst they tried shocking me with explicit stories of their sexual shenanigans but when I didn't rise to the bait they backed off. They weren't to know I used the images their tales brought to mind as masturbatory fantasy material for years, especially when they involved Cree. It was a given we'd all apply to the same college if not the same courses and, in time, we all turned up on campus. We went to parties together, bars together, dancing together, movies together, although I tended to go home alone. Cree and his mates were always picking up or buddy fucking while I learned everything there was to know about my vibrator. It really didn't hack it as someone to talk to or share experiences with and the satisfaction was only fleeting. One night in a dark, crowded club, watching Cree and Dion snogging and more in a corner, I lost it. I screamed, "Why can't I get fucking laid?" I thought all eyes turned to me but, in reality, the music was so loud that only the people in the immediate vicinity heard me. I stormed off to the bar to get plastered. It didn't help. Later, on the street after the club closed and while Dion was getting his car, Cree wrapped his arm around me. "Is it really that bad, Une? You not getting any?" I pouted. "Less than zero." "Aw, that's awful." He held me close while I sobbed my frustration away. "Hey, you up for an adventure?" he asked. "Does it involve me getting laid?" "Big time," he laughed. "Hell, yeah." That's how a nice girl like me found herself at an adult book shop the next night with a horny gay

Love is a Many-Gendered Thing Gay love is no longer 'the love that dare not speak its name' and from the Vatican to Malta to lands Downunder twinks are falling for daddies, middle aged men are explaining the intricacies of the emotion to toy dinosaurs, men are pining for their schoolboy heroes, and straight men are discovering their gay side while strapped in a sling in a dungeon. Here are eleven hot, horny and sometimes humorous stories exploring the variety that is gay romance. Romancing The Bone was originally published by loveyoudivine Alterotica and includes - Carbon Dating, Let the Games Begin, Taking the Bait, Party Whip, Team Player, Davy Jones' Locker, Here's to You, Mr Robinson, Gay Dungeon for the Straight Boy, OMG! Santa's Got a Six-Pack, and Vlad the Impaler - All previously published as individual eBooks by loveyoudivine Alterotica. Also - Meta-Analysis of the Effects of Love on Tofu - which appeared in - Best Date Ever: True Stories That Celebrate Gay Relationships, Edited by Lawrence Schimel (Alyson, 2007) Excerpt I'm as embarrassed as hell. Normally, I wouldn't even consider appearing in public like this. Naked, except for handkerchief-sized red Speedos strung up between my ass cheeks like those Aussie lifesavers. I hope none of the neighbors is watching as I knock on the door to my best mate Robbie's house, hoping he won't answer the door. I'm praying it's his dad. You see, I have a problem. I'm 19, pretty good looking, not an ounce of body fat on my slim, okay skinny, frame. Long, black hair, which hangs seductively across my face. My dick is average size, between 63/4"-7", depending on which porn movie is in the DVD player when you measure. My body is twink hairless except for a clump of pubic seaweed, and my ass is smooth as butter and as bubbly as a balloon. Okay, what's the problem, you're asking? The problem is I just can't get laid. Let me rephrase that. I can't get laid by the guys I fancy. I suppose two telling points I should mention here: I'm a bit on the, shall we say, less than macho side, nothing flaming, but you'd never mistake me for Russell Crowe. Plus, I'm a top. Sure, I'd love to reciprocate, but just the idea of a cock entering my butt hole sends my body into shutdown and sphincter central locks all entrances to the building. I had been flirting outrageously with Mr. Wardrop since he turned up in response to our mayday message when we came out of the world's most boring party to find our transport missing. Not stolen, but gone. Our driver, Gene, was notorious for dumping whoever he was with if a stray fuck presented itself. Obviously, it had and regardless of his protestations that he would not, he had stranded us. Problem: Too far out of town for a taxi, too early to get a lift with anyone else, and too close to curfew to take a chance. Solution: Call Robbie's dad. What a miserable party bunch we must have looked when he turned up. I was so pissed off I yanked the back door open and was clambering inside when his voice made me look up. "Let me guess. You must be Vincent." He half-turned in the driver's seat holding out a strong, masculine hand. His face was tanned and fit, and fucking gorgeous. I wanted to see more of him. So I elbowed Robbie out of the front seat and grabbed it myself. And that's why I was knocking at his front door.

Two women, a lovely old house, and an ancient family feud, come together in this lesbian romance set in and around the picturesque seaside town of Whitby, North Yorkshire. When Jaime Fyre inherits Rykesby from her uncle, James, the unexpected bequest proves increasingly problematic. The sudden arrival of Kimberly Marshall, who lays claim to the property, adds to Jaime's troubles. Why is Kimberly so convinced that Jaime is both a liar and a fraud? The mystery deepens when Jaime finds a photograph of her mother amongst her uncle's possessions. Why is it there? Did her mother and her uncle have a relationship? Jaime's search for answers draws a blank. With nobody left to ask, the list of unanswered questions grows, matching the tension between Kimberly and Jaime. As Jaime's future happiness, and her relationship with Kimberly, hang in the balance will what Jaime discovers behind a locked door in the library help or hinder her quest for truth and reconciliation? Excerpt: From the outset, Jaime had experienced a weird sense of déjà vu as though the house knew her and was welcoming her home with a big cozy hug. Her puzzlement and sense of unreality mounted as she moved from room to room, finding familiarity at every turn, while knowing that she'd never set foot inside the place before. In fact, she hadn't even known the house existed until a couple of hours ago and in turn had spent little more than a brief half hour exploring the amazing rooms. There was a lot to see and Jaime had been so intent on her quest that she'd initially dismissed the faint scrunching sound, like tires on gravel, as a figment of an over active imagination. Not until she heard the unmistakable solid clunk of a car door had she accepted it wasn't her mind playing tricks. Reluctantly abandoning her exploration to check out the unexpected caller she hurried along the upstairs hallway. After a couple of wrong turns she'd found her way back to the top of the main staircase. A brief glance out the large arched window and her first sight of the visitor stopped Jaime dead. A frisson of excitement trickled down her spine. She knew this woman, intimately. No, not literally, but she was the perfect embodiment of Granby. Jaime couldn't believe her fictitious hero was a real person, here, in the flesh, and looking so perfect. Good enough to eat. Jaime's heart missed several beats as she feasted her eyes on the tall stranger who was clearly in no hurry to announce her presence. Instead the woman leant casually against an expensive looking black SUV while she scrutinized the house giving Jaime ample time to study her. Every detail fitted Granby to a tee, exactly as Jaime had defined her lead character all those years ago. Early forties, short cropped hair, graying slightly, and naturally tanned skin that spoke of a life spent mainly outdoors. Stone washed denims, worn with a red plaid shirt over a white vest, completed the picture and emphasized her rugged good looks. Strong, sexy, and unmistakably butch. A tingling awareness radiated through Jaime's body and ignited a flame deep inside her core. She couldn't wait to discover if the woman matched the other qualities she'd bestowed upon her hero. Anticipation propelled her swiftly down the wide staircase to arrive at the bottom step breathless, and excited, just as the stranger burst through the inner doors into the hall. Whatever Jaime had expected, an ugly confrontation was the last thing on her mind. "I asked you a question." The curt, authoritative, tone a clear indication that this woman was used to giving orders rather than taking them. "And I want a straight-forward answer. What are you doing in my house?" She advanced several paces toward Jaime, as she spoke, reinforcing her air of authority. Slowly, small fragments of clarity began to emerge from the jumble of unintelligible white noise jamming Jaime's brain. What the hell is going on?

Some guys will go all the way to get to the top. In some cultures it's still seen as 'unmanly' to take a cock up your ass, although it's hard to associate the image of someone supposedly 'less than a man' with some of the muscle studs who grunt like a pig to get dicked. Let's face it, oft times it's the bottom who's the power behind the fuck, using his sphincter in such a way that a whole universe of pleasure resides in one tight black hole. In these eleven stories you'll meet power bottoms from Victorian England and the Renaissance, vampires, marines, men at the top of the world, an elf who discovers humans make the best tops, a group who take out their frustration on a mate's boyfriend's ass, a straight boy who'll do anything to get ahead, a net date who's horny for Satan's dick, and a student aching for hard Arab cock. The Boy Is A Bottom includes, Marine Biology, Marine Animals, Attack of the Ass Bandits, The Arab Downstairs, The Extraordinary Victorian Clockwork Derriere, Creaming the Party Dip, Top of the World, Route 666: Signal Driver, The Butler Did Him, Fifty Shades of Fey, and Spinning the Bottom, all previously published as individual eBooks by loveyoudivine Alterotica. Excerpt from Marine Biology: The sight that greeted me as I opened my bedroom door was the hairy butt crack and dangling scrotum of my beefy big bro, Karl. There wasn't time for it to register as erotic as I watched him slide the entire length of his substantial cock into his girlfriend du jour before he screamed, "Get the fuck outa here!" That he'd glanced over his shoulder to see who the intruder was meant that he didn't mind sharing. Just not with his kid pro bro. If I hadn't forgotten my key, of course, none of it would have happened. But I was in such a hurry to surprise my parents for their thirtieth wedding anniversary, I pretty well floored the Toyota Camry for two hundred miles from my uni campus in the capitol to Redneck Central, as I not-so-fondly called my home town. It didn't feel much like a home town any longer. I was particularly out of favor with the populace, as I'd become an outspoken opponent of the country's military policy. Perhaps not a good idea in a town that supplied a rather large contingent to the Marine Corps. They were heroes. I was a traitor. They'd seen action in a war zone. I'd been on the receiving end of a police baton charge at an anti-war demo. I had a cabinet full of swimming medals. Karl had a chestful of bravery awards. It was a no brainer. My brother and his marine buddies are all big gorillas of men. Karl is 6'4" of almost solid muscle and, I'm pleased to say, an increasing amount of fat, and weighs in at 240lbs. Cropped dark hair and an attitude so belligerent that it would feed the messianic zealotry of any medium level dictator. Naturally, he attracts chicks like horse manure attracts flies. Me, I take after mom. She's petite, dwarfed by my dad, with blonde hair and the friendliest disposition you'd ever care to meet. I take after her-except for the disposition. Like my brother, I get that from my dad. And, of course, like my dad, I have a dick. Besides that, I have blond hair, a slim pro swimmer's body that weighs in at 120lbs, and a face that's much too pretty for its own good. Got me beat up a few times. And it's a constant source of friction between me and my bro and his buddies who call me 'Pretty Boy' to my face, as well as behind my back. It's not meant as a compliment. Our parents discourage mutual homecomings, and we're both happy to oblige. This, however, was one occasion where there was a scheduling error. Now the 'wrong' son was crashing the party. I could have turned around and driven away to a hotel or back to the college, but I was simply too stinking tired. And too stinking poor. I banged loudly on the door and there was a whoop from inside. "The chicks are here at last!" The door was yanked open. The smile of expectation became a snarl of reco

Is it cheating if it excites your boyfriend? In this collection of gay cuckold erotica you'll meet men who are complicit in their own 'betrayal' and those to whom it is a wake-up call. Whatever your taste you'll find a story here, from a man at a college reunion who watches as his boyfriend cuckolds him with the bully from his former frat house; a young toy boy whose sexual favors are part of a takeover bid for his lover's company, a callous actor who will hawk his virginal ass to his boyfriend's employer for a chance at the big time, a young man who resorts to tarot in order to experience a threesome, a world famous television chef who enjoys watching his lover put out for fans, and a boyfriend who loves to secretly watch the humiliation of his lover at the hands of his friends and enemies alike. Your Boyfriend is Hot includes: From Here to Fraternity, Stripping His Assets, Indecent Exposure, Middle Man for Madame Blavatsky, A Cook's Tour, and Topping the Pizza Delivery Boy (originally titled Christmas on the Rocks) - all previously published as individual eBooks by loveyoudivine Alterotica. Excerpt This whole affair had been a mistake. A disaster waiting to happen. But how can you turn down your hot-as-a-pizza oven blond boyfriend with a body straight out of Men's Health when he comes in waving an invitation to your college fraternity's golden anniversary? I'd relegated it to the bin where it should have stayed but where Cory found it. That's why he was waving it in my face excitedly. I wished now that I'd burned the bloody thing. "This would be so cool, Otis," he was jumping up and down with excitement. "I've never met any of your buddies from college." There was a good reason for that. Even though I was a bona fide boxing champion, I was one of the un-cool guys albeit I belonged to the top cock frat house. I scraped in on my ability to win medals at boxing, something the brothers had never been good at. They were better than good in a brawl but the 'real' jocks, as they liked to think of themselves, played team sports: football, hockey, basketball, gay bashing. Most of the campus thought they were homophobic assholes, though few had the guts to say it out loud. Except Bobby, and they beat him up for it. Well, to be precise, Brick and his two best mates roughed him up. Just enough that he needed stitches but not enough for the college authorities to become involved. They didn't want to rock the boat. Brick was a top athlete and he brought prestige to the campus. Still did. What with his Used Car lot sponsoring one of the top sporting prizes. "It's not like it's a school reunion," Cory sulked when I told him there was no way I was going. "It's even worse than a high school reunion." It would be all the people I most detested about college life. Sure, I'd been a member of the frat house but most of the time I'd avoided the jocks socially. It'd been a different matter when it came to sporting events. I was expected to attend their games and they, of course, turned out for mine, particularly when it looked as if the frat would finally get its elusive boxing trophy, thus completing a full set of the sports in which it participated. When Cory doesn't get his own way it's painful, he sulks for days on end. He even went as far as dragging out my old yearbook which had embarrassingly youthful photos of us all sprouting platitudes about the future which most of us would now disown. The photos were taken less than a decade ago but it seemed a lifetime away. Except... "Who's that?" Cory pointed at Brick. Shane Butler. Football. Frat brother. Nick Name: Brick. Reason: Thick as a...although he thought it was because he was built like a brick shithouse. No one was game enough to contradict him, so the name stuck. "He's the reason for not revisiting the past," Cory looked at me for clarification. I sighed. "We have history." Cory was gob smacked. "He's gay?" "Anything but. Homophobe of the hi

To fall in love, really in love, would be an awfully big adventure. Renowned Scottish playwright, James Matthew Barrie, lies abed, unable to sleep, dreading the anniversary of one of the most tragic moments of his life. Lulled by the persuasive power of the syringe, he falls into a fitful sleep as the events play out in his mind. It's Armistice Night in London and Michael Llewelyn Davies, one of Barrie's adopted sons and one of the models for Peter Pan, celebrates with friends when he runs into the mysterious Rupert Buxton. They meet again in Paris, and later at Barrie's retreat on the Scottish island of Eilean Shona where the relationship between the two men becomes passionate. Will their love survive the censure of 1920s England, and will it destroy James Barrie's reputation? Love sometimes has tragic consequences. Based on a true story. Excerpt: BARRIE: (addresses the audience) I miss them, my poor dead boys. I should like to see them one more time but I know that no one should come back no matter how much he is loved. But I did dream that Michael came back to me. I dreamed we had an extra year together and during that time we lived quite ordinarily though strangely close to each other. I did some things that I had wanted to do before but until then had not dared do. I had fears of spoiling him and struggled not to do it. In agony I let him go away sometimes, to live the ordinary life of youth. The sound of fireworks and merriment. Eton. Armistice night: November, 1918. BASSETT, SENHOUSE and MICHAEL LLEWELYN DAVIES stagger on slightly drunk, banging tin bath tubs. Other sounds of celebration off. BASSETT: Righto, Davies, down on your knees and thank your own particular gods the war is over just one day before your call-up. SENHOUSE: I don't really think James Barrie had anything to do with it, Bassett. MICHAEL: I should not be a bit surprised if old Uncle Jim did have something to do with ending the war. BASSETT: Confound his interference! And just as we were winning, too. They all laugh. SENHOUSE: And where is the gentleman who is the topic of our conversation? MICHAEL: In Paris. In the thick of it. BASSETT: Heaven help our fighting men. SENHOUSE: You can be a frightful bounder sometimes, Bassett. MICHAEL: He set up a hospital and nursing home in memory of my brother George. BASSETT: I say, Davies, I am awfully sorry. I was only teasing. Sound of fireworks. MICHAEL: Let's go and watch the fireworks. BASSETT: You know what the Housemaster said about being back in our rooms by curfew. SENHOUSE: Don't be such a wet blanket, Bassett. Nobody is taking any notice of the rules tonight. I'll wager even the Housemaster himself will be at the fireworks. I'm game if you are, Davies. MICHAEL: I'm game. What about you, Bassett? BASSETT: Oh, all right. But we mustn't be too late back. They whoop and rush about. Michael accidentally bumps into a stranger who has appeared. RUPERT BUXTON is dressed as an aesthete. Michael has run into Buxton but it is Buxton who apologises. BUXTON: I do beg your pardon, that was most careless of me. He smiles and moves on as Michael and the others glare at him. BASSETT: Did you see the way he dresses? SENHOUSE: And that hair! BASSETT: I should like to give the scoundrel a good thrashing. He brings Eton into disrepute. Buxton turns to address them. BUXTON: Ah, but I do not attend Eton, my good sirs. I come from Harrow. SENHOUSE: Come on, Davies. We'll miss the best part of the fireworks. MICHAEL: You go ahead. I'll be along presently.

Love is just around the corner... But if you have your head in your Smartphone or your eBook reader, you might just miss it. While you're waiting, what better way to pass the time than a collection of Barry Lowe's romance erotica in which you'll discover the myriad ways m/m romance runs its course. In this anthology you'll meet a young student from the 1960s who discovers during a front seat quickie hook-up that love between two men is not only possible, it's plausible; a man on the anniversary of his lover's death who may just have found a replacement with his deceased lover's blessing; a country boy who returns to town after four years to lay claim to the man he loves - in a frock; a straight surfer dude who discovers the joys of the 'other side' during a thunderstorm at a nude beach; a guy who can't decide between his three lovers so he invites them all to dinner; a young gay dad who discovers a secret sexual underbelly at the local park; a tour guide who may just have found the love of his life in a rainforest; and a young man who returns to Greece on a promise. Cock-Eyed Optimists includes: A Red Rose Before Crying, Too Frocked to Care, The Three Spooges, Love and the Odor of Red Leatherette, The New Dad's Club, Hard on His Heels, It's All Greek to Me, and Salted Mixed Sluts - all previously published as individual eBooks by loveyoudivine Alterotica. Excerpt: Valentine's Day tradition meant little to me as I neither sent nor received anonymous cards or small gifts, so while the office was abuzz with secret admirers, I went on with my work. That is until around 10.30 when a delivery of the most beautiful bunch of wildflowers stopped the office. When I ventured out because of the excited buzz that infiltrated even my sluggish brain, I discovered a young female courier clutching the blooms at the front counter, obviously seeking directions to the lucky recipient. There was something familiar about the arrangement but it wasn't until the young women approached and asked, "Ryan Brodie?" and I'd nodded my head that I realized the flowers were for me. I gave a startled cry which was covered by the round of applause from my office colleagues. "You're a lucky man, someone loves you very much," the courier prattled as I signed her electronic chit. Before any of the other staff members could descend on me with their inane questions or snide references to secret admirers, I fled to my office and closed the door hoping I would be left alone. I was trembling, anguish flooding from every pore. I should have known better, for a few moments later there was a knock and the door and Denise stuck her head in. "Come in," I said. "Close the door." "Who on earth sent you such beautiful flowers?" she asked as she came over to take a closer look at the delivery. "If you don't want him, I'll take him off your hands. Ryan? Whatever is the matter, you look like you've seen a ghost?" I could scarcely bring myself to speak in case I burst into tears. "That's...that's the exact combination of native plants that Jesse always sent me on Valentine's Day. I always told him it was a waste of money but he insisted I was worth it." Denise attempted to be reassuring, "That's just a coincidence." "I would probably agree with you. The combination of flowers could be a fortuitous accident, but the arrangement is identical, the way the package is wrapped; everything is the way Jesse sent me flowers every year for the five years we were together." "Is there a card? Anything at all to identify who sent them?" "Not a thing. Only the florist they came from. And, yes, it's the one Jesse always used." "There's your answer then," she said. "He must have ordered in advance. Maybe even years ahead. You know what a control freak he was." I sniffed. "I prefer to call it 'organized.' I don't mind admitting, it spooked me."

From Scotland to London, Amsterdam, and New York, two women struggle to build an enduring relationship in the face of adversity. Danger haunts fashion photographer, Bryana Austin, at every turn. Her ex is seeking revenge and will do anything to achieve her aim. Bryana needs a safe haven. Cassie offers her healing and protection but is the price too high? Cassie Stuart is a Mistress in every sense of the word. Her Scottish castle boasts its own fully equipped dungeon. She is searching for the perfect submissive to make her life complete but she finds love instead. Will it be enough? A chance meeting offers both Bryana and Cassie hope for the future if they can overcome the obstacles of the present. Bound by Consent was originally published by loveyoudivine Alterotica and includes - Taming Bryana, Slave to Lust, Night Games, Meeting of Minds, and Full Circle - All previously published as individual eBooks by loveyoudivine Alterotica Excerpt: "You expect me to get up on that?" I eyed the horse and wrinkled my nose with distaste at the unpleasant odor emanating from the stained gray blanket covering its back before switching my gaze back to the butch dyke who'd ridden to my rescue. She had appeared out of the mist, mounted on an enormous, dark brown beast with evil eyes, with the other horse on a leading rein behind. The woman, who'd introduced herself as Cassie Stuart, sat astride her mount with the easy confidence of someone who shared a close affinity with horses. With cropped dark hair and androgynous clothing, I had almost mistaken her for a man. Only the soft lilt of her voice betrayed her sex. "It's your choice, Ms. Austin." Cassie glanced down to my feet then shrugged. "You either ride Tavish or face a five-mile walk to Auchtercairn." Some choice. My day had started badly and then rapidly nose dived into a total disaster. Leaving me at a loss to understand how I'd ended up in this predicament. One minute I was driving along a discernible mountain road in early evening sunshine and the next... Nothing. Both the view and the road had suddenly disappeared, obscured by a blanket of white mist. I hit the brakes; expecting the car to slow and eventually stop but nothing of the sort happened. Instead Jazzy skidded off the road, gathering speed until it felt like she was flying, before eventually coming to a rest buried up to her axles in a sticky gooey mess of water and mud. I had no idea what damage had been done or how I was going to get her out and back on the road. I shivered as the mist swirled around us. Although barely evening and still daylight, it might easily have been the middle of the night for all I could see. I momentarily regretted abandoning my shoes to the peat bog, but Jimmy Choo's were never designed for a five-mile hike in rough terrain and neither were stocking-clad feet. If I wanted the promised hot bath, some food, and a bed for the night, I'd have to grit my teeth and do it. I nodded agreement and edged closer to the fetid beast, my sense of unreality growing with every step. How the hell does one mount something this tall without a ladder, especially dressed as I am in a tight skirt? "Let me help you up, Bryana." Before I had the opportunity to protest that I'd changed my mind, Cassie freed her feet from the stirrups and sprang from her horse in one graceful movement. Then, in the blink of an eye, she had manipulated me into a position where, with no apparent effort, she hoisted me onto the horse. Without a saddle or stirrups, I was forced to wrap my legs around Tavish and hang onto his long, silky mane as Cassie led the way along the narrow mountain track.

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.

Sex, drugs, and insatiable bottoms. Who doesn't love a good bottom boy? The men in these stories are better than good...they're totally insatiable, they simply can't get enough of what keeps them happy. Whether it's the guy who misses his stop on the last train of the night and ends up with three hunky workman repairing the tracks, a bottom who falls, literally, at the feet of three hot workers putting in a speed hump outside his door, a sex shop worker who goes to the aid of his favorite porn star bottom, a straight boy who bets his ass on a sure thing in a card game, a top man who finds his real calling at a private sex club, or the lead singer in a Korean boy band, these boys give new meaning to Entry at the Rear. Excerpt: I'm such a fuckwit. How else would you explain my predicament? The facts speak for themselves; it's two o'clock in the morning, it's the middle of winter, and I'm pissed off my brain - at least I think I'm pissed because it could be drugs - wearing nothing but a T-shirt, and jeans, with bare feet. I lost my sneakers somewhere during the night. Where am I? Your guess is as good as mine. Godknowswhereville, attempting to hitch a ride outa here. The whole thing is my own fault. There, I freely admit it. Are you laughing yet? Why are gay men so fuckin' boring? They'd rather sit around discussing the latest Lady Gaga clip or gay rights for Antarctic penguins than get down to the nitty gritty. Where are the real men? Gay guys who like it rough and ready at the click of their fingers, who want nothing better than to ram a moderately hot just-past-twink-years bottom like me? I spent the night bored off my brain at a gay pub where a group of gay swingers thought they were on to a good thing by inviting me on a date. Better that they had just thrown me on the ground and had their way with me. A fuckin' date! Do I look like someone who wants to go on a date? Fuck me. My filthy mouth always gets me into trouble. I'm too direct. There, I managed to restrain myself. I was gonna put the F word before at least three or four more of those words in those couple of sentences but I've learned too much of a foul mouth and you sound like one of those wussy porn movies where the actors sprout bad dialogue while looking as bored as I'd felt all fuckin' night. After the pub almost sent me catatonic I headed to a disco where the music almost burst my ear drums and the only action in the Men's was of the snorting or injecting kind and I don't mean injecting in my ass. Somewhere between when I'd paid to go into the disco and leaving the leather den, I lost my wallet - or else it'd been lifted by some skanky fag - and I no longer had taxi fare home. Proof enough that I must have been in a bad way, it took me some time to realize I'd left my shoes inside the leather den but when I went back the door was closed and no amount of banging got me an answer. Plus for the first fuckin' time in living memory the weather bureau got it right and the cold front had moved in: a bitterly cold wind that froze my balls off. Only thing in its favor was it made my nipples hard as icicles. Problem was, no one was sucking. My lack of mates, the sort who'd allow me to sleep on their living room floor let alone share their bed, sank any chance of a warm place to kip. I guess I must have looked the worse for wear because guys were giving me a wide berth as I walked up the street. In frustration, I shouted at one pissy bunch who giggled like high school girls at the fact I had no shoes. "Have I got two fuckin' heads or something?" No cash for a cab meant sleeping in a park or a shop doorway for the night. I glanced up at the clock on top of the gay pub on the corner. Shit! If I hurried, I might just make the subway. Last train was due to leave in about fifteen minutes. I'd have to jump the turnstiles but that wouldn't be the first time.

It's time to be homo for the holidays. Ebenezer Spooge has nothing on the heroes and anti-heroes of these four tales of holiday cheer. In Jazmin Starr's Christmas Carol, the heroine decides to spend the holiday break with her trusty vibrator and a collection of gay porn. Things go horribly wrong and she finds herself inveigled into pretending to be the girlfriend of one side of a hunky gay couple. The price for her compliance is high: she wants to watch the two men make love. Barry Lowe's three stories complete the set. In Fifty Shades of Fey, one of Santa's elves gets himself into all sorts of trouble when he attempts to break into a house to read the Naughty or Nice Meter. He gets a lot more than he bargained for when he falls asleep in the dungeon's leather sling. OMG! Santa's Got a Six-Pack! is a holiday romance in which a twink comic designer falls for Mr. Perfect, an older man whom he believes to be married. This story's happy ending will have you reaching for the tissues. In Christmas on the Rocks, Steve and Billy continue their incredible adventures of raw, hard sex. Billy takes on a pre-Christmas job as a pizza delivery boy but, much to Steve's chagrin, it isn't just pizza that Billy delivers. Will their relationship survive? This one will also have you reaching for the tissues - but for a very different reason. Excerpt from: Fifty Shades of Fey "What am I going to do with you?" he asked as he paced the office. It was a rhetorical question. He wasn't asking my opinion because he would have already made up his mind what punishment was my due. The United Nations talks a lot about Democracy but what we have here is a dictatorship. Nick's an immortal so there's no chance we'll ever be ruled by anyone more benevolent, or that we'll ever get to vote on anything. Hell, we make the Vatican and the Dalai Lama look positively benign politically in comparison. Nick may have believed that his punishment fitted the crime; I found it harsh and unnecessary. Perhaps not unnecessary - someone had to do it. But it was a shit job usually reserved for the intransigent, the criminal or the insane. To give the old miser credit, he was slowly implementing new technology but some areas were still in the grip of the old-fashioned meters which required on-site readings, much like the gas and electricity meters of yore. Most of the world was now hooked up to Santa's mainframe computer that automatically registered each and every human's naughty or nice quotient until, at midnight on December 24, it spat out a list of those who were deemed worthy of Santa's largesse. I pulled my thin coat tighter around my body, fluffed up my wet scarf around my mouth and nose to prevent the cold from penetrating, and yanked my colorful beanie down over my head to protect the pointy tips of my ears. Sighing loudly, I put my head down to strike out against the buffeting flurry of snow. Why the fuck couldn't he have sent me somewhere warm, like Australia? I knew why. This was punishment. Only the worst suburb in the worst city in the world was good enough for me. While my older brother, Rudolph, sat back home in centrally heated comfort sipping his cinnamon-flavored heated red wine in preparation for the wearying Christmas haul, I put my head down to butt against the snow and wind that stung my face, making the fine hairs bristle on my chin. I cursed again, knowing that by the time I got back having send my readings electronically - if only I could transport my body in such a fashion - I'd be so buggered that when the alarm went off the following morning I'd have so much difficulty shifting, Nick would whip me to hurry along my transformation.

How can anyone resist those eyes? Leon has a way with animals as well as a way to use them to help ease the suffering of those with long-term illness or injury. He's loved by patients and nurses alike until, that is, he's asked to drop in on reclusive old codger, Ralph Esseltine, who has a reputation of reducing health workers to tears. Instead of tears, Esseltine goads the placid Leon to anger by kicking the frisky puppy Leon has brought along as therapy. Expecting the worst, Leon submits his resignation only to discover that Esseltine has requested he visit again. What sort of revenge does the old recluse have in mind? And what of Esseltine's estranged grandson and his obnoxious boyfriend who turn up to count the family silver? Excerpt: I knew of him by reputation although I don't believe I had ever set eyes on him before that first weekend. He was as far outside my circle of friends and business dealings as I was his. I'm the town's veterinarian and, from what I'd heard, it was as likely that Esseltine would have a pet of any description as that pigs might suddenly gain the ability to become airborne. To him, animals, like humans, had to pay their way. The only good thing to be said about furred, hoofed and feathered creatures was they were good on his table at meal time. Having the emotional life of the chronically unappreciated, I spent my weekends at the local hospital cheering up long-stay and terminally ill patients. In case I've given you totally the wrong impression, I have no skills whatsoever as a stand-up comic, singer, magician, entertainer or player of a musical instrument. I'm rather shy around people. Oh, I don't dislike them, it's just I'm more comfortable around animals. It was my original idea that I bring a few of the dogs from my shelter every weekend to help cheer up the patients. It's amazing what the unconditional love of a small furry bundle yipping and frolicking around the wide expanse of lawn can do for the well-being of patients. And of nursing staff. I mainly brought puppies and kittens that had been abandoned on the front step to my office by anonymous people who had neither the heart nor the cash to care for them properly, or else the various animals delivered to me by welfare groups when they were discovered battered and injured and close to death. What can I say? I'm a soft touch. I was lucky that I was supported by Trish Nolan, the nurse-administrator who ran the hospital/nursing home with a steely professionalism when it came to dealing with doctors and anesthetists but which she leavened with an acute sense of humanity when dealing with the patients. That's why she threw her support behind my ideas in the face of indifference or else outright hostility of some members of the Board who ran the hospital. "They'll come around, Leon," she said when she relayed the provisional okay to my scheme. "They're always conservative when it comes to something new. They'll be your biggest fans when they see the efficacy of your idea." Indeed, most of them had in time. There were a few conservative elements that were hold-outs but I had little to fear from them as my experiment in animal therapy got results: a happier atmosphere and a vast improvement in the mental and emotional well-being of the patients, even among those whose condition was terminal. Always careful to choose the most placid of animals because I knew they would be petted and prodded and sometimes handled a little more roughly than usual, albeit unintentionally, by youngsters with more enthusiasm than experience, or older patients with hands deformed by arthritis who mainly clasped one of the fur balls in their laps or against their breasts much too tightly. It was always sad when I had to collect the animals at the end of each Saturday or Sunday as the patients bid goodbye to their weekend companions.

Rough as guts, tough as nails - and twice as horny. Alpha males are top of the fantasy fodder food chain. Guys with scars, tattoos and piercings, tough working-class men who aren't afraid to get down and dirty, ex-cons and skinheads who reek of danger and hard, crude sex. These guys are always ready to pop a load: anywhere, anytime, anyhow. In this hot collection of Barry Lowe's hardest erotica you'll meet a cross section of tough guys, such as the former prison inmate who breaks into a young student's room expecting to find his girlfriend who has long since departed. Or the guy, brutally robbed, who runs into his mugger in a supermarket; the intimidating skinhead who lives in the apartment above a frightened gay couple; the razor gang thug who is forced to fight for his life among the debris of the Depression; the graffiti artist who lives by his wits on the streets but whose secret life is discovered by his brother's violent gang; the plumber who is greeted at the door by a writer dressed in ludicrous drag because he works under a woman's name; the top notch businessman who resorts to bondage to wreak his revenge on the co-worker he fancies; the builder who tries subterfuge to seduce his workmate and also the man whose house he is repairing; and, the ex-con who will do anything to turn his sister's boyfriend. Some of these tough guys are the stuff of nightmares, but they'll get you good and hard while you read of their adventures. Rough & Ready was originally published by loveyoudivine Alterotica and includes - Stocks & Shared, Scarface, Ceps Mad about Muscle, The Plumber's Mate, Climbing Up the Wall, Little Red Rides da Hood, The Dex Factor, Jailhouse Cock, and The Skinhead Upstairs, all previously published as individual eBook by loveyoudivine Alterotica. Climbing up the Wall was first published in Hard Hats: Gay Erotic Stories, edited by Neil Plakcy (Cleis Press, 2008) in a slightly shorter version Excerpt: He was demonically handsome. Envy had it that he'd had commissioned a well known artist to paint his portrait and the result was stored in his attic. His thick, burnished russet hair reflected his fiery personality, and his piercing green eyes could see through weakness, scams and bullshit like Superman through brick. To make it even more unfair on the rest of us mere mortals who had to sweat for a living, Mitch Badham was athletic, good at social sports, tennis, golf and squash, aided immeasurably by powerful tanned legs with a dusting of light hair like icing sugar on a cake, and had a package that his tight carefully tailored Armani slacks hugged like cling wrap does to beef in the freezer. Wealth, adoration, and success stalked him. And so did I. What attracted me and got me instantly hard was his incredible sculpted ass. Perfectly round cheeks, full but not flabby, encased tightly enough that you couldn't help but notice them, especially if you were behind him as, inevitably, I was. I could not compete with the fucker, either in looks, physique, or economic ability. I hated the bastard. I believed I had more reason than most. Perhaps I should explain how Mitch came to be at my mercy. Well, my obsession...there I've said it, and I don't feel any great sense of relief in my admission...caused my stocks at the firm to plummet. While Mitch was in ascendancy, I was very definitely in descendency. In fact, I suspected that the meeting called for 11a.m. Monday in the boardroom was to seal my dismissal. Basically, I was past caring. With my dismissal imminent, I was unlikely to find another job in my area of expertise, so why not wreak revenge on my nemesis.