Category Archives: Writing Exercises

Yes, I’m still around. Sorta…

About the time I got the nod from Loose Id to republish Fallen I was offered a job I’d been eyeing for some time. I certainly won’t complain. I love the role. Unfortunately, it takes more mental energy and more outright work than the other jobs I’ve had over the past two decades, and so writing has fallen to the wayside.

It’s not permanent. Or so I’ve been telling myself. I still have ideas for new stories. I still play upcoming scenes between Crank and Mike in my head while driving to the office. What I haven’t done is figure out when to sit and type.

Sure, I’m doing so now, but even as I do I can feel the muscles in my left forearm twitch. One muscle in particular. Of course, it’s the one that gets aggravated when the palm is turned down. You know, as in typing position, for example.

I won’t give it up however. The job, or the activity that caused the muscle strain. Writing, too. I’m not giving that up. I will figure out how to fit it in once again. This is not a promise to you, dear Readers, but to myself.

While I’m trying to figure this out – or perhaps to help me figure this out – I’ve set a goal to post to the blog each Sunday. With football season in full swing, I figure I can at least find the time during half-time to post something. There probably won’t be much for writing updates, and CRANK take a little longer than a half-time show, but something. Perhaps some healthy living updates, or flash fiction, or mini-dissertations on the conflict of feelings between my love for the Patriots and my loathing for Roger Goodell. I’ll write something.

With that goal, I hope to have the need to write re-blossom. Even now, I’m wondering if I have it in me to write one more – I’m very much overdue to post to Slash & Burn, and to CRANK, and to the story that I’m co-writing with the lovely and talented Dorothy Shaw. I want to. I do. But can I do it?


Change of Skin (Quoting Fiction)

It’s time for me to share another free flash story with you, dear Readers. This one was inspired by a song that is a must have on my workout playlist, by a band I absolutely adore: Kitty Litter, by Placebo.

“I need a change / I need a change of skin.”

Lucas sat on his bed, his hands on his thighs, his feet flat on the floor, and his gaze focused entirely on the closed bedroom door. He had a bag packed, but he refused to remove it from its hiding place beneath the bed. He wouldn’t need it.

Doubt crept into his thoughts. Maybe he would. Maybe if he didn’t take it out now — hold it in his hands, ready to run – he wouldn’t have a chance to stoop down and grab it before all hell broke loose.

No. Damn it, Lucas. Have faith. He’s a smart man. Even if he doesn’t understand at first, he won’t hate you. He can’t.

Can he?

Lucas squeezed his thighs, digging fingers in to keep from chewing his nails. There wasn’t much left to them to chew, and his cuticles hurt from the gnawing, yet he couldn’t stop his hand from drifting to his lips, catching his ring finger between his teeth.

No. Stupid nervous habit.

He slammed his palm down on his leg, and then rubbed the spot he hit too hard. “It’ll all work out,” he whispered to the empty room. He repeated it, like a mantra, weaving a spell of confidence in the man pacing the living room a flight of stairs away. Now that the truth was out there, it had to work out. Lucas hated the lying, the hiding, the pretending. He had had to put an end to it… and he did. One way or another, his life was about to change. And drastically.

Lucas nearly jumped out of his skin when a knock sounded at the door. He didn’t have time to respond, to force his mouth to form the words ‘come in’, before the door swung open and a formidable man stood just outside looking very, very uneasy.

Never one to use silence to his benefit – unable to, really — Lucas blurted out, “Dad, I’m sorry–”

His father silenced his words with a single raised hand.

Patience. Let him speak.

At least it wasn’t fisted, Lucas thought. He immediately blushed, and averted his gaze. His dad had never hit him. It may have been a shock, but even with this truth, Lucas didn’t truly believe his life was in danger. He only hoped his dad would understand.

Please understand.

“I’ve been turning this over in my head all morning,” his dad said, “and I just don’t understand.”

Lucas’s heart fell; his stomach became a churning void. He opened his mouth to fight for what he wanted – no, needed – but he had no more words. He’d had his say… and he’d failed.

“I’m trying to understand, Karen, I really am.”

“Lucas,” Lucas said softly. He glanced up, frowned at the puzzled look on his father’s face, and then explained. “I prefer Lucas, dad. Karen was someone I could never be.”

“A therapist,” dad suggested. “I’ll go with you too. Whatever you need.”

“Yes, dad, that would be good for us both. But not to fix me. Please don’t try to fix me. I found one up in Bow who is transgender herself. I’d like to make an appointment to meet with her. Our insurance would cover most of it.”

“You’ve done your research.” He still sounded uncertain and confused, but not angry, not fighting, not quite denying… much.

Lucas tried a small, brief smile. “Yeah, just like you always taught me. I had to be sure, but dad…” He raised a finger to his lips, but before his teeth could close on the ragged nail nibbled down to the quick, he lowered his hand, forcing courage to the surface. “I’ve always known. I’ve never been comfortable in dresses.” Lucas laughed. His best friend, and private moral support to the decision to come out was a guy who was perfectly happy in a dress. “I always knew,” he whispered almost reverently. “I wanted to play with the boys all the time. I stole their boy toys. I melted the head off my Barbi on purpose. I… If I could go to the prom, I’d wear a three-piece suit and a fedora.”

“A boy,” dad said, as if still not sure he’d heard any of it correctly.

“Yes, dad.”

“A boy who’s stuck back a few decades.” His dad smiled. “No one wears three-piece suits if they don’t have to. Hell, I only wear a tie because my boss somehow believes that a tie symbolizes a hard working day.”

His dad chuckled. A real one, not a forced, trying to cope sound. Then his expression sobered, and with a stoic, serious gaze, he fixed an intimidating stare on Lucas. “So this isn’t a maybe, huh? Not just something you stumbled across online, or wondered about?”

Lucas held his dad’s gaze, willing him to understand, to accept his answer. “No. I’ve always known I wasn’t normal. I didn’t know the term for it right away, but I figured it out even before I learned there were others like me. Stuck.” He sucked in a breath. Only temporarily stuck; if he wanted, if he was brave enough, he could get fixed.

Dad nodded. “I’m trying to understand.”

“I can’t ask for anything more.” Lucas’s voice broke. His eyes itched. Boys didn’t cry, damn it. He wouldn’t.

His rocky emotions forgotten, he stood as his dad strode quickly across the room. A heartbeat of fear appeared and then dissipated in the span of a half a second as his dad wrapped big, strong arms around Lucas and pulled him close. He felt his father’s tears, though the man made no sounds at all.

He returned the embrace and, after several silent but damp seconds, whispered, “Dad?”

“L-Lucas, is it?” Lucas nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice that you felt so alone and different.”

It was Lucas’s turn to be confused. Sorry? This wasn’t his fault. “I was afraid to tell you.”

“You shouldn’t. Never be afraid to tell me if something is upsetting you. You’re my dau—“ He took a deep breath, and then stood back, not retreating, but only to look down at Lucas. “You’re my son, and I love you. No matter what. Give me some time to figure all of this out, but I will. I’ll find a way to understand.”

That was all Lucas needed to hear. His own tears spilled down his cheeks. “Thank you dad. That’s all I need right now.”

“And we’ll visit your therapist.”

“Together?”

Dad nodded. Lucas smiled. The last remnants of faked girl within him died. Lucas was reborn. His body still didn’t fit, but his family did, and the rest they’d work on together.

~~ For Vy. Love you, girlfriend.


Quoting Fiction: The Perfect Run

Free short story for you, dear Readers. Inspired by an ad for my favorite running shoes…

“We’re building you the perfect run.” (Newton Running ad)

~*~

Inevitable. February in New England had always mocked Josue, and today was no different. He loved to run, and New England loved to be warm and sunny and in the mid-40s during the work week when he could never get away from the office early enough, and then below 30, with freezing rain, mountains of snow banks, or blustery, icy winds on the weekends when he had all the time in the world to don his favorite sneakers and get lost in the rhythm of his feet on the pavement.

Josue stood on his front stoop stomping his feet and rubbing his arms. Maybe he should have put on one more layer before heading out. He knew better, of course. When it was chilly, he tended to overdress. He had purposely left the warmer jacket in the closet this time. The first half mile would be bitterly cold. After that, he’d warm up. He hoped so anyway. The wind cut through his thin running tights, and licked frost across his nose and cheeks. The thermometer read thirty-three, and yet it felt more like twenty-three with the wind whipping around him, teasing and taunting, as if Mother Nature wanted to scold him for daring to step out the door.

“Okay, let’s do this,” he said. Gulliver snorted, and then trotted toward the road. The golden retriever had been snuffling around a bush, but running beat out the scent of the neighbor’s cat paws down. With his thick reddish blond coat, Josue was jealous of Gulliver during weather like this. Gulliver didn’t seem to ever mind the weather, even during the last snowstorm where the drifts came up to the dog’s shoulder. He’d plow right through, or when stuck, bound up and down like a rabbit, leaping over the snow.

At the mailbox, Gulliver looked back at Josue with his big, dark eyes, questioning Josue’s delay. “I’m coming,” Josue muttered. He jogged down the short driveway and turned left down the road. Gulliver fell in beside him, his claws tapping faintly on the asphalt. “You need your nails trimmed, bud.” Gulliver ignored him. Had Gulliver understood, he’d probably bolt down the road at full speed. He could be such a big baby about his paws.

As if thinking it made it happen, Gulliver let out a sharp, deep bark and ran at a forty-five degree angle onto the neighbor’s lawn. Josue spotted the U-Haul van the moment Gulliver darted for the two men unloading it. He lunged for the dog but knew it to be a lost cause. He ran faster, following Gulliver, calling his name despite knowing it was useless to stop his overly-social pet. He never worried about Gulliver biting anyway. Gulliver loved everyone – even kids who pulled his tail and stuck toys in his ears. Josue did, however, worry about Gulliver tripping someone with their arms full of boxes or furniture as he exuberantly bounced around them, demanding the love and adoration golden retrievers seemed to receive worldwide.

Josue ran around the back of the van. When he jumped up the narrow loading ramp, he stopped short at the top. One man sprawled on his back on the floor of the van, Josue’s very large dog, straddling him, shoving his muzzle around the man’s arms, his long tongue darting out, bathing the man’s face despite what seemed to be his best effort at warding off the canine kisses. Another man was laughing so hard he leaned against the wall of the truck, doubled over, holding his stomach.

Josue leaped forward and grabbed Gulliver’s collar. “Stop it, Gulliver. Geez, I’m so sorry. Come on.” He tugged, but Gulliver stretched his neck forward, pushing the man’s arm aside for another tongue bath. “Gull, stop. Get off him. Really, I’m sorry.” Josue, glanced up as he rambled at and begged the dog to listen. The man who was laughing, kept laughing. Okay, not mad, but not helpful either.

Borne of frustration, Josue tried a desperate attempt to curb his happy dog. He stepped back and used the tone and command he used when Gulliver got carried away with one of his nieces stuffed animals. “Gulliver! Drop it!”

The sharp command brought the dog out of his licking frenzy. Gulliver’s head snapped up, and he carefully backed away, paws always hitting the floor of the van and not what turned out to be a very handsome man beneath him.

Josue told Gulliver to sit and stay, and then crouched down beside Gulliver’s victim. “I am so sorry. He really means well, I assure you. Are you okay? Did you hit your head? What can I do?” Great, a cute guy is moving into the neighborhood and Gulliver ruined any hope of a casual meeting, maybe a friendship. “I promise he’ll be leashed next time.”

The man slowly moved his arms away from his face. He ignored Josue to tip his head back and glare at the laughing man who’d now subsided to chuckles. “Thanks for the help, asshole,” he said.

Josue looked up at the laughing man and apologized again.

The man stepped forward and then crouched down beside his friend. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “That’s the most attention he’s gotten from another male in a long time. Ain’t that right, little brother?”

Male. Brother. Oh boy! It was an “Oh boy” of both excitement and of disappointment. A potentially gay man… that his dog just mauled with joy.

“Bullshit,” said the little brother waving away the other man. He started to sit up. Josue grabbed an arm and helped him. Once upright, the little brother looked at Josue and stared.

“Speak, Brax,” said the laughing man. He chuckled again and slapped the back of his little brother’s –Brax’s — head. He looked at Josue. “See what I mean. The boy needs a man.” He rolled his eyes. “I hope he’s not offending you with his drooling.”

Josue blinked a couple of times, banishing the feeling of being stuck in a dream. “Uh, no.” He looked at Brax. Interesting name, and yes, that gaze was definitely an I-want-to-fuck-like-bunnies gaze. “Not at all,” Josue said.

“I’m really sorry about Gulliver.”

“Who’s Gulliver?” Brax asked.

“Maybe he did hit his head,” Brax’s brother said. “I’m gonna grab a beer.” He walked around them and out of the van without looking back, and without acknowledging the plaintive whine Gulliver gave him as he skirted the dog. Josue wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard the man chuckling on his way out. Only a brother could be so casual about a potential concussion.

“My dog. He… He likes people.” Josue looked away. He mentally kicked himself for sounding like such a dork.

Brax laughed, bringing Josue’s gaze back to him. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Your head?”

“Fine. It was the barrage of doggie breath that almost killed me.” He smiled, and it outshined his brother’s warm laughter. “But if it’d make you feel better, you can apologize with dinner so I don’t have to unpack my kitchen tonight.”

“Oh, sure, of course. It’s the least I could do.”

“And to be straight–” he smirked briefly “—I’m not. I mean…if you invite my brother, I’ll be really disappointed.”

Josue relaxed. The man really wasn’t hurt. Though he didn’t need to worry, his heartbeat still raced. He hadn’t been hit on since he gave up the club scene six months ago. It felt good. It felt better than the best run he ever had.

“I think he would be too.” They laughed together, and then Josue offered his hand, helping the man to his feet. Their hands lingered, warm and inviting. “I’m Josue. I live two houses up the hill.”

“I’m Braxton. And my brother is…” He glanced at the open front door of the house. “Not here, so fuck him.”

A small smile curved Josue’s lips as he thought about who he’d really like to fuck. Sure, the brother was cute – it definitely ran in the family — but Braxton made his heart flutter. Gulliver had chosen well.


Quoting Fiction: Introverted

I did have a quote exercise yesterday, but I was having such fun with it, I set it aside to expand further. I almost did that again today, but I could easily overwhelm myself with such actions. I love all of my characters. It’s so hard to say one will survive — live a longer, fuller life in a manuscript — while another will languish in a flash piece, used only to get the writing floon flowing, to be heard no more.

Today’s exercise is inspired by Placebo’s Scared of Girls. The song starts like this:

“An introverted kind of soul, the earth did open and swallow whole.”

Reminder: raw, unedited, as a flash writing exercise should be. Please ignore typos, run-on sentences, and other oddities my lovely, hard-working editor would find should we make this a sellable copy.

~*~

What was I thinking? I’m a freak – introvert doesn’t begin to describe me, not well enough anyway. Did I actually believe I could just walk into a gay bar and pick up a date? Sadly, for a brief moment or three, I did. I actually jumped on my bike and drove to the Springfield Prince. According to the internet, it was a medieval dining experience taken over by the geekier side of the GLBT community a few months back. Me? Geek? Check. Double check. Triple check. I was so geeky, I wore my cute little leather forest girl outfit. Little being the operative word. Leather barely covered my ass, leaving my thighs very bare, and it definitely didn’t cover my stomach, shoulders, or arms. It was teasing and it advertised my proclivity for cross-dressing in a safe fashion. After all, those that cosplay tended to be more tolerant of men in women’s clothing.

Looking around the room, I scratched under my left knee. There were a lot of guys waiting in the bar for the show to start. A lot. An intimidating amount. I scratched some more, letting it distract me from my goal of actually saying “hi” to someone. The knee-high suede boots I bought just for this outfit itched my freshly shaven legs. Hey, I championed the swim team to the top in high school. Shaving was normal. But, yeah, I kept right on shaving after graduation despite only swimming for fun and exercise. When I leaned over to reach that itch, my horns slipped down my forehead. Mumbling a curse, I ripped them off, untied the shoelace threaded through the ceramic black and brown horns, and quickly tucked the string under my hair and behind my ears. It wasn’t easy to tie without tangling strands of my matching brown locks in the knot, but the effect was – if I do say so myself, and I do because heaven forbid I talk to a guy who likes the look – playful and naughty, part demon, part sprite.

As I ran my fingers through my unruly wavy bangs, combing them over the shoelace, between the horns, so I looked like horns actually did spout from my head, I looked around again. This time the multitude of bodies didn’t blur into a daunting mess. This time my gaze fell on a single man – a man who, in one glance up from his beer stein – took my breath away. Now I’ve always been a romantic, but I never believed in love at first sight, or that any person could literally take my breath away, but I gasped, and then forgot to exhale. For several seconds I just stared. He’d already returned his attention to his drink, but I couldn’t do the same. He was beautiful. So handsome, and pretty, and sexy, and…

I licked my lips and then realized how foolish that might’ve looked if anyone deigned to give me a look at all. I squeezed my eyes shut, tugged at the short hem of my skirt, and took a deep, slow breath. Focus. Focus. Focus. Calm the heck down already. When I opened my eyes, he still looked amazing. He had black, razor-straight hair falling over his eyes, hiding them from me except in that moment he’d looked up – he’d looked right at me. At me! He had sharp cheekbones and full lips all of which I wanted to lick thoroughly, and from what I could see – the table at which he sat blocked some of my view – he looked lithe, slender, and athletic. He looked like the type of guy I liked. A lot. I realized I was gay while on the swim team. All those guys in very revealing “team uniforms” set my type like stone sinks in a pool. Hard and fast. Mm, yes, hard and fast.

I watched the man who was most definitely my “type” for another few moments as I reminded myself how to breathe. Then I fooled myself into thinking I had a chance by reminding myself I’d come to the Springfield Prince to break out of my introverted shell.

I will talk to him. I will walk right up to his table and say hello. I will do this. There is no reason to be so afraid.

Yeah right, there wasn’t. He was a dark-haired Adonis, and I was, well, plain ole me. A woodland character, scared shitless, even behind his mask.


Quoting Fiction: Like a Child

I’ve been in a bit of a dry spell lately. My last novel was released last May, and I’ve written very little since then. Book two of the Personal Demons series is an on again off again love affair, and we’re currently ignoring each other. I have a couple of ideas bouncing around in my head, but nothing I’m dying to write just yet.

So until I dig my teeth into that next manuscript, I hope to tempt and tease the Muse with some writing exercises. I’ll share those tidbits with you, dear Readers, and if there’s one you particularly like, perhaps it’ll inspire me to expand it further.

Note: these exercises will be raw and unedited. Please overlook typos, and other stream of consciousness oversights.

Without further ado, my first attempt is inspired by a random entry from a book of quotes:

“Authors are easy to get on with – if you like children” (Michael Joseph)

~*~

 “You can be such a child!” Garrison snapped.

Brian stuck his tongue out while Garrison picked tiny glittery stars out of his hair.

“As I said–”

“Maybe you don’t cater to your inner child enough. I think you’ve killed him.”

“Brian–”

“Garrison.” Brian grinned. He combed his fingers through Garrison’s unruly curls, shaking more little stars onto the floor. His smile faded as he asked, “Too much?”

With some reluctance, Garrison seemed to relax. Brian deflated; he started to apologize, but before he could get the words out, Garrison shook his head. “You’re too much.” Then he smiled. “Always, too much.”

Brian struggled between frowning and returning the smile, confused. “I’m. Sorry?”

“Don’t be.” Garrison kissed Brian’s nose, and wrapped his arms around Brian in a loose embrace. “I fell in love with too much.”

“I can tone it down.”

“No.” Garrison pulled Brian closer. “Don’t you dare change one bit.”

“Um, Gar?”

Garrison nuzzled Brian’s neck before meeting his gaze again. “Yes?”

“How did you get a purple star on your front tooth?”


Free fiction: Camp Out

Today’s free fiction is a flashback from one of the characters of my regular online fiction story, CRANK. This flash piece is designed to be read on its own, so don’t worry if you haven’t been reading CRANK, but if you like Mike here, then take a peek at the ongoing story HERE.

~*~

Steve held the bottle in front of Mike’s face and shook it. Mike watched the amber fluid slosh around for several seconds before he remembered to raise a hand to take it from his friend. Mike’s stomach churned and his head bobbed with his swimming vision. They’d bought the cheap malt liquor before, but it, combined with the joint Steve stole from his brother, and Mike felt his body sinking while his mind floated ten feet above them.

Mike finished off the rest of the liquor and tossed the bottle out the open flap of the tent. As he stretched out, folding his hand behind his head, Steve crawled forward, and said, “Hey, we can’t let my mom find that.”

On his hands and knees, Steve reached through the opening to grab the bottle. Still floating and feeling both great and queasy, Mike watched his friend as Steve sat back on his heels and tucked the bottle in a black plastic bag he’d brought for their garbage.

When Steve turned around he cocked his head to one side and asked, “Whatta you lookin’ at?”

With a shrug, Mike shook his head. “Not much, man.”

“Bull.” Steve laughed and flopped down on his sleeping bag. He rested his head on one hand and stared at Mike until Mike looked away and rolled to a sitting position.

“I’m hungry,” Mike said. He grabbed a grocery bag full of junk food. “Corn chips or minty chocolate things?” He glanced over his shoulder, but quickly returned his attention to the bag between his knees. “Or, um…”

He tensed when Steve’s long, strong fingers gripped his shoulder and tugged at him, daring him to turn around.

“Mint chocolate,” Steve said near Mike’s ear.

Mike suppressed a shiver and squeezed his eyes closed. The tent really was too small for them now. They’d been camping out in Steve’s back yard since they were kids, but he doubted many high school guys actually still did such a thing. They should, he figured, be watching porn in the basement, comparing their female classmates, and talking about other guy stuff.

Without looking back at his friend, Mike lifted a cellophane-wrapped package of little green-foiled chocolates. Steve reached around him to take it, the warmth of his chest penetrating Mike’s thin T-shirt, and heating his flesh up and down his spine.

Mike remained frozen in place while Steve peeled the wrapper off the box, and then inched forward to tuck the cellophane in the garbage bag. He turned and sat cross-legged near the entrance flap of the tent, and then held the box out, offering Mike a piece.

Without looking up, Mike took two pieces of chocolate. As he unwrapped and stuffed them in his mouth, he relaxed. His body and thoughts wandered too frequently lately, and an all night camp out with his best friend suddenly seemed as extremely dangerous as it usually was fun.

“You okay, Mike?” Steve leaned forward, bracing his weight on his hands and tilting his head to peer up at Mike. “You’re doing that thing where you hide behind all that hair.” Steve reached out. From the corner of his eye, Mike tensed, and Steve hesitated.

“I’m fine,” Mike said his words hissed out through a clenched jaw.

Steve scooted forward. He sat in front of Mike – in his personal space – in cross-legged Indian fashion. He brushed his fingers under Mike’s long, dark hair, and pushed it up and back off of his face. His fingers lingered, tracing down his cheek and brushing lightly along his neck.

Flinching away, Mike said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He meant to growl out the words, intimidate his friend into backing off, but instead his words whispered out over his lips with a trembling cadence betraying his mix of confused emotions.

“This…” Steve clenched his fingers, twisting them in Mike’s hair and holding him still. He leaned forward, hesitating just long enough for his gaze to flicker from Mike’s lips to his eyes and back down again. The pause felt like an eternity and a heartbeat, and then their lips met, soft and testing at first, followed by and urgent tasting of needs found and conquered.

When a soft whimper escaped Mike’s throat, Steve pulled away, his gaze downcast. “Don’t hit me, Mike.” His gaze flipped up, pleading. “Please? I needed to know.”

“Hit you?” Mike licked his lips. “Why would I…” It couldn’t be a joke. Steve kidded around, but not cruelly. He looked away. “Shit.”

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long, but I kept convincing myself you weren’t really checking me out.”

Mike’s head snapped up and he grabbed Steve’s arms, holding him still as he stared into Steve’s eyes, hopeful. “For how long?”

Steve slowly smiled. “You’re not mad?” He paused, and in seeing nothing angry in Mike’s expression, he added, “For, like…quite a while anyway.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t know that about you.” Mike loosened his grip and punched Steve’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He rubbed his arm. “You could’ve told me too, you know.”

“Shit, man, how could I? You’re not… I’m not… What do you mean you thought I was checking you out?”

“Weren’t you?” Steve smirked; his expression heated with lust now that the secret stretched out between them.

“Yeah, but…”

“I know you,” Steve said. “We’ve been best buds for, like, ever.”

“Yeah,” Mike said. He licked his lips and his gaze drifted down to Steve’s warm mouth, watching as Steve’s tongue sneaked out to moisten his lips with a quick, teasing swipe.

“But–”

Before Mike could respond, Steve lunged at him, pushing him down to his worn, tattered sleeping bag. Steve licked the seam of Mike’s lips and hummed quietly as Mike granted access. Steve lifted his head and said, “You taste like chocolate mints.”

“Enough talk,” Mike said. “We have catching up to do.”

“It’s about ti—” Mike’s kiss swallowed Steve’s last words.

~*~

I haven’t been writing much for the Silver Flash project. I have my own reasons, none of which need to be publicly decreed, but I do want to let you, dear Readers, know where to find free flash fiction from the other participants. I recommend following Ryssa Edwards’s blog, as she is the queen of prompts and the brave soul that organizes the writing sprees. From her blog, you can find links to any and all other participants every Wednesday.

Happy Reading!

Ciao,
Pia Veleno


Caterwaul

This morning the cat followed me around, and any time I ditched him, he’d caterwaul through the halls until he found me. Usually his crying is reserved for spotting the neighbor’s tom in our yard, but today, it was all for me. He wanted attention, and as any feline lover will know, it doesn’t matter one bit that I was already running late for The Job That Pays The Bills.

He finally caught me as I stood by the ledge over the stairwell. With the charger plugged into that wall, I stopped there to grab my phone and check my messages. He hopped up on the ledge and headbutted me.

Yes, I talk to my cat, and yes, I rambled away as I scratched his cheeks to prevent another headbutt. I told him he should’ve visited me last night, when I wasn’t doing anything at all, no writing, no reading, just lounging around. Perfect cat cuddling time!

My husband overheard this “conversation” and stopped to look at me like I had four heads. “If you didn’t read and you didn’t write,” he said, “what did you do all night?”

Damn, I guess I’ve been working extra hard lately. He’s right though. The reason I mostly blog about writing is because that’s what I do. Mostly. I’ve been running more lately, working through some muscle issues. I watch a couple of TV programs, but mostly it’s just background noise while he’s watching his favorites. I work at the Job That Pays The Bills forty-ish hours a week, and I certainly don’t intend to talk or blog about that.

What else do I do?

We game once a week. We sometimes share walks. I avoid housework like the plague, so I can’t even say that’s been consuming my time. No, he’s right. I’m writing or reading in most of my free time, and squeezing in a run here and there as my body (or the weather) permits.

I’m boring. I’m not blog material. Now, my characters on the other hand, are much more interesting. Wouldn’t you rather read about the struggles of a man whore when love drags him down kicking and screaming? Wouldn’t it be more fun to read about a young man’s eye opening summer where he learns being twinkish is sexy?

I know I would. Get out of here and go enjoy some fiction, dear readers. I have nothing interesting to say.

Ciao,
Pia Veleno

PS I hope to do a brief blog tour next month to celebrate the release of my first Loose Id story, Make You Sweat. Do you have a topic you’d like to see? Do you want to challenge me with an odd or unusual question? Leave it here, or find my email on this site, and let me know what you want to know. I’ll fit in as many as I can, dear Readers, because I love a good challenge.


Lovely Lingerie (free fiction)

Trey stretched, feeling like a feline, relaxing for a day-long nap. The sound of the shower lulled him toward that goal, but then the image of Jonathan in the shower popped into his head, and he no longer wanted to snooze.

With one last languid stretch, Trey grinned and decided to follow his thoughts. He rolled to a sitting position, dangling his feet over the edge of the bed to slip them into fluffy purple slippers. He ran his fingers through long hair, the sun catching auburn highlights hidden amongst the dark locks the color of Jamaican coffee beans. He needed to wash it, and hated that morning after feel of little snarls created by his head thrashing about during a good fuck.

He dragged his fingers through his hair, and then parted it down the back. He pulled open a bedside drawer and, after shoving around sex toys, lube, and condoms, found two red elastics to wrap around the pig tails. He shut the drawer and opened the bottom one. He pressed a finger to his lips while rooting through its contents.

He yanked a lilac baby doll out of a tangled pile of lingerie. With satin panels that parted just above his navel to drape open over his hips, leaving his cock free and uncovered to stand and salute, it was his favorite. He wiggled it over his head. In front of the mirror beside the dresser, he struck a pose. Very pretty. Yummy even. He blew his reflection a kiss, and then strode through the bathroom door and into the walk-in shower.

Jonathan stood in the middle of the tiled floor, his head tipped back under the spray from the showerhead descending from the ceiling. Water raced over his closed eyes, stretched neck, broad shoulders, and slender waist and hips. Trey’s gaze stopped there, just below Jonathan’s waist, watching water run over the soft patch of brunet curls and down his long uncut cock, to cascade past slender but muscular legs and down the drain between his long toes. His fingers dug through his hair, usually shaggy with its choppy layers, now sleek, slicked back with the steamy shower water.

“Hot damn,” Trey said. He struck a pose, pushing out one hip and putting a fist on it. His free hand tugged at one ponytail playfully.

Jonathan flinched, but when he opened his eyes, he smiled and let his gaze drift down Trey’s body just as Trey had just done to him. He hummed his approval, but then a wide grin split his lips and he laughed. “Baby, I love the slippers, but you might’ve left those in the bedroom.”

Trey grinned and looked down at his feet. The water splashing off of Jonathan’s body speckled his slippers, leaving dark spots in the soft faux velvet surface. “Oops.” He pouted and kicked them out the shower door. They skittered across the stone tiles and came to a rest against the toilet. “Next time stilettos,” he said, fixing Jonathan with a look that gave no quarter.

“I can’t wait.” Jonathan spread his arms and Trey stepped into them.

In Jonathan’s warm embrace, Trey pressed his satin-covered body against his lover and purred deep in his throat. He knew that sound would get Jonathan’s motor running just as much as the sexy feminine clothing. A man that embraced his cross-dressing nature; Trey still couldn’t believe it some days. Sure, he’d met guys who tried to accept it, some even thinking it an interesting “sometimes” kink, but Jonathan couldn’t get enough of Trey in lingerie. And thigh high stocking! When Trey wore those, Jonathan would forget his own name.

Trey’s heart swelled with the warm thoughts, and his body with the hot shower and hotter naked boyfriend. He pushed his cock against Jonathan’s thigh and nipped at his neck with gentle teasing bites. Jonathan’s hands raced up Trey’s back, and then down to cup his ass, pulling him closer.

“Baby…” Jonathan paused, moaned as Trey’s hand found his stiff prick and squeezed. Once he caught his breath, he said, “Don’t ruin your outfit.”

“It’s machine washable, so the shower won’t hurt it none.”

“It’s hurting me.” He pushed Trey against the tiles and, despite the heat of the water, the wall still held the shocking cold of stone. “I can’t stand to have anything between us.”

“Are you ever satisfied?” Trey lifted his arms to comply as Jonathan pulled the nightie over his head.

“I am,” Jonathan said. “You are very, very satisfying.”

Trey shivered at the growl in Jonathan’s voice.

You wouldn’t be in here if you were satisfied,” Jonathan added.

“True.” Trey tangled his fingers in Jonathan’s hair as the man kissed and nipped his way down Trey’s neck. His body had warmed the wall, but shivers skated through his body, from every point Jonathan touched with fingers, lips, hips, and every other bit of his flesh.

“I was satisfied.” Jonathan rubbed his palm along Trey’s cock, his touch soapy and slick in the most exquisite way. “And then you strut into my shower in this tempting little ensemble.”

“Ensemble?” Trey laughed.

“Hush, baby. I’m going to be late for work, and it’s going to be so worth it, I might have to tell my boss to expect me late every day.”

“Why are you going to be late?” Trey’s voice dropped with each word, Jonathan’s hand on his crotch slowly stroking him to the height of desire and lust.

“I’m going to fuck you until you’re too satisfied to interrupt my shower.”

Trey’s laughter faded into a soft purr. “Please do, Jonathan. I love driving you to such language.”

“Language isn’t the half of it. You drive my cock… and my heart.”

Trey’s breath caught in his throat and his exhale left his lips in a strangled moan.

“My sexy baby. Pretty when he wants to be and manly when he needs a change. Trey, you are everything I want and more.”

“Oh, oh, oh.” Trey’s panted monosyllabic words served as the moans of impending orgasm, but also defined his eagerness to hear the confession on the tip of Jonathan’s tongue. Jonathan slipped his free hand behind Trey, holding him close as he bucked his own hardness against Trey’s hip in time with Trey’s moans and thrusts into his fist.

Jonathan pinched Trey’s chin and gazed deep into his eyes. “I love you, baby,” he said.

“Oh, I…I…” Trey cried out, unable to form proper words. His warm spunk shot up between them, splashing Jonathan’s stomach and hand. Jonathan kept working Trey’s cock until he began to soften and Jonathan’s body tensed with his own release. Jonathan leaned against Trey, preventing them both from tumbling to the stone shower floor as they swam in the aftermath of their love.

“Satisfied now?” Jonathan grinned wickedly.

“Very,” Trey whispered. He leaned against his lover, trailing his lips over Jonathan’s collarbone. “I love you too, Jonathan. Now go to work. I’m satisfied.” His eyes drooped, but his smile remained plastered on his face as Trey’s strong arms guided him back to his bed.

—–

For other free Silver flash stories, visit these authors:

Pender Mackie
Ryssa Edwards
Julie Hayes
Lily Sawyer

Lindsay Klug (m/f)
Heather Lin (m/f)


Six Sentence Sunday: CRANK

I add to the story of Crandall “Crank” Jacobsen and Mike Vranken every Sunday evening. Here’s a snippet of a recent chapter.

He laughed again and shook his head. As he turned toward the door he said, “Damn, I’m good.”

Turned out I’d agreed to go the the store, and then to IHOP for breakfast. I hadn’t intended to go with him to a sex shop, but that’s what he does to me. I shot my brains through the roof with that orgasm and suddenly I was highly vulnerable to his suggestions. If he starts using this power for evil we’d have big problems.

To start at the beginning, visit Crank’s page HERE.


Free Fiction: Man Whore #1.1

Welcome dear Readers, 

Today’s free flash fiction features Morgan Desrosier and Adam Medina from Man Whore, book one of the Personal Demons series. This is a sneak peak of my favorite man whore twink and his sexy Latino lover, plus a brief appearance from The Twins.

Enjoy!


~*~*~*~

When Adam left the restaurant, he found Morgan lounging against a car flirting with the twins. Exactly where he’d left him. Morgan glanced up, holding Adam’s eyes for a heartbeat, and then smiled. The twins crowded close to him, their thin, twink bodies pressed against Morgan on either side, and their long fingers wandering restlessly over his chest as they talked. Adam took a moment to reign in his annoyance. Morgan loved him. The man would flirt up a storm, but when push came to shove, Morgan would go home with Adam. Some nights, Morgan would drag Adam to a back room, a dark alley, or into the passenger seat of the car, not wanting to wait until they returned to his apartment. Morgan had his heart, and Adam knew he had Morgan’s too.

Besides, the twins were just as flirtatious as Morgan. “Hey guys,” Adam said. He walked forward, and stopped a pace away from his lover. He forced himself to meet each set of eyes, keeping his gaze off the hands of the twins and where they rested on Morgan’s abdomen. Morgan, after all, demanded attention. From his bleached hair, with roots intentionally darkened, to thick green and black eyeliner, to the wild and sexy clothing he gathered at elite shops and thrift stores, he drew more than stares. He commanded attention. He could also, with the same casual charm, rebuked unwanted advances without a second thought.

“Hello, sexy,” Cayne said with a purr. He dipped his chin, fixing Adam with a seductive stare.

Layne grinned and abandoned Morgan to loop and arm around Adam’s waist and pull him close. His brother circled Adam’s shoulder from the other side, and soon Adam had twin human ornaments just as Morgan had a moment ago. Each twin kissed a cheek, but Adam’s attention focused on Morgan who watched the exchange with an amused smirk.

“What am I now? Chopped liver?” Morgan laughed, and then snuggled into the group. He put an arm around each twin, but leaned between them to nip at Adam’s lips.

Adam drew him into a deeper kiss with an elusive flicker of the tongue. As Morgan chased the kiss, his hands left the twins and found Adam’s ass, pulling their hips together with a moan and a grind.

When their lips parted, Morgan said, “Did you decide to skip dinner and take me to the back seat of your car?”

With a laugh, Adam shook his head. “No, culo, they’re full with reservations. We can’t get a seat for at least four hours.”

“There’s always room.” Morgan ran a finger over Adam’s lips. “I’ll get us a seat.” He turned towards Cayne. “You two want to join us?”

Cayne waved off the invitation, while Layne stepped to his brother’s side and put an arm around his waist. “We have business to attend to, but we’ll be at HIM later tonight.”

As the twins sauntered down the street together, Morgan ran a tongue up Adam’s neck. Adam chuckled and tore his attention off the twins. “So now where? Thai?” He chuckled. “Sushi?”

Morgan wrinkled his nose. “Stop suggesting raw fish. I like my food cooked, as in a lot.” He twined his fingers with Adam’s and smiled. “Besides, we’re eating here.”

“I just told you–”

“I know, but I can get us a table.”

“Oh really? How do you plan to do that? Blow the host?”

Morgan grinned wickedly. “No, but a little flirting can go a long way, baby.”

“Your ego is outrageous,” Adam said as Morgan dragged him back towards the door.

Adam hung back, watching, and doing his best not to be obvious about it. Morgan had strutted through the crowd and stopped less than six inches from the broad-shouldered host who’d shut him down just minutes before. The host’s eyes narrowed under the assault of Morgan’s cocky grin, and then he stepped around Morgan and behind his podium. Adam resisted a satisfied smirk. He wanted to eat at CJ’s, but so did half of the city, and the host couldn’t be bribed; he’d tried. Besides, the man appeared impervious to Morgan’s bedroom eyes. Maybe he was straight.

Morgan laughed suddenly. He hopped up on the counter separated the host and his seating plan from the patrons waiting for a seat. He twisted to look over his shoulder, fixing the man with a look that could be called anything but coy. He couldn’t be more obvious with a sticker stuck to his chest that read: Hi, I’m Morgan and I’m Easy.

The host frowned and made a shooing motion, but Morgan caught his hand between his two and fixed the man with a penetrating stare. Adam’s smirk of self-satisfaction turned to incredulity; the host’s scowl softened. Adam’s gaze dropped to their hands. Of course, Morgan had used that trick on Adam too. His thumb rubbed little circles along the soft, sensitive skin of the host’s wrist. The man probably didn’t even realize Morgan was doing it, and yet, it worked like a magic spell. The host glanced over his shoulder at the crowded restaurant, and then down to his seating chart and reservation book propped on the podium. The nod was brief and sharp, and the host leaned forward to whisper something in Morgan’s ear.

Morgan turned his head to meet Adam’s gaze. He grinned and winked. When he twisted to face the host again, Morgan lifted the man’s hand to his lips and kissed his wrist, and then released his magical hold. As Morgan slid off of the counter, Adam moved forward to stand by his side. The host stared at Adam until Adam wondered if only Morgan would be allowed to dine tonight. Finally, the host said, “Lucky man.” He smiled and then added, “Follow me.”

When the man turned to lead them into the dining room, Morgan threaded his fingers through Adam’s and leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“Do I want to know what you said to him?” Adam asked.

“It was nothing.” Morgan tugged his hand, following the host. He glanced back once with a smoldering smile that promised much more than words later.

#

Morgan stumbled into Adam as they pushed open the restaurant door. With his arm around Adam’s waist, he managed to keep his balance. “That was delicious!” Morgan announced with a wide sweep of his free arm.

“You look like you’re addressing an audience,” Adam said laughing. His lips tingled just enough to warn him away from crawling into his car. The only crawling he intended for the next couple of hours would be into Morgan’s bed anyway.

“I am.” Morgan stopped, pulling Adam to face him. “You.”

Adam shook his head and snickered. “We’re drunk.” He snorted and then added, “That waiter didn’t charge us for the second bottle of wine.”

“Is that why you gave him a fifty buck tip?”

“I didn’t want him to have to pay for it himself.”

“My sweet, generous Adam.” Morgan kissed him, missing his mouth, but managing to catch the corner, his lips brushing along Adam’s neatly trimmed goatee.

“I am, aren’t I?”

“Now who has the crazy ego?” Morgan laughed.

Adam winced and caught Morgan as he swayed, but his lover’s amusement caught on and, as they resumed their walk down the sidewalk, Adam broke out in a snicker. Together, they laughed so hard, they had to stop, clinging to each other, until the tremors passed.

“Damn, culo,” Adam said. He took a deep breath and trailed a tender caress down Morgan’s cheek. “I love your ego.”

~*~*~*~

Man Whore is available from Silver Publishing, and your favorite romance ebook distributors. It will be available in print format June 4th.

~*~*~*~


For additional free flash fiction today, visit these authors’ blogs: