Confessions of a Gay Curmudgeon recounts the adventures of Viktor, a fifty-year-old gay man in New York City trying to get back into the land of the living after the breakup of a twelve-year relationship. The novel examines the lives of a group of middle-aged gay men, exploring new facets of their sexuality while dealing with all the changes middle age brings.
Well, Dr. S told me to write about the first thing that comes into my mind, so it’s what I’m doing. “Don’t think. Just write,” he said. “Stop censoring yourself, Viktor. This will help you in your therapy too, Viktor.”
Okay, okay. If that’s what the shrink ordered, let’s see if this works. We’re supposed to listen to our shrinks, right? That’s their job, right? They know how to get us out of whatever fucking funk we’re in, right?
So here we go. I’m writing about the first thing that comes to my mind and it’s my erections. Here it is, a lovely Saturday afternoon, sun shining, snow melting, spring a’coming, a perfect time to enjoy life. And what am I doing? Sulking in my apartment obsessing about my cock.
Hell of a problem to have on a day like today, isn’t it? Shit, be honest, Viktor. You’re supposed to be honest with this writing thing, aren’t you? That was Dr. S’s other directive, wasn’t it? Honesty. He was full of directives last session, wasn’t he? Oh well, maybe I need some directives.
So where was I? Oh yes. Gorgeous day, shitty mood, focusing on my cock when I should be enjoying life.
Oh, come on. It’s not just about my cock. I know that. After all, I did my share of screwing around when I was younger. Not that I was the biggest stud around in my heyday, but during those few glorious weeks my sex life got going, I learned how to have a good time. Yes, I did! But then I met Gio and fell in love. And he fell in love with me. And we had twelve years of bliss—more or less—until he left me last year.
About the Author
Andy V Ambrose grew up in the Boston area and moved to New York City after college. He worked in book publishing for many years, wearing many hats: Editorial, Copyediting, Proofreading, and Production. This is his first novel featuring Viktor, a fifty-year-old gay man trying to get back into the world of the living after the end of a twelve-year relationship. To relax, Andy loves to ride his bike, read, watch foreign and independent movies, and travel. He’s only made it to three continents so far but hopes to visit the rest soon. He lives in New York City.
If you’re a huge fan of Harry Potter, if you loved Rainbow Rowell’s Carry On or Ginn Hale’s The Lord of the White Hell, then you MUST read The Killing Spell! An unforgettable tale that takes a magical boarding school and a young adult gay romance to the next level!
The Killing Spell is a new young adult fantasy novel that tells the story of Edward Peach, a fourteen-year-old wizard who gets accepted into a prestigious all-boys boarding school for wizards and falls in love with another boy. Edward and the other boy soon realize their attraction for each other, immediately causing controversy in the academy as the first students from feuding houses to come together, especially in a school where house rivalry can end in murder. Edward’s new relationship puts him to the ultimate test as he must risk being with the boy he loves even at the cost of his own life!
Accepted. That’s what the letter said. At that moment, I felt a sudden chill go up my spine. I pretended to smile as Mum and Dad became so overjoyed that their little wizard was being sent thousands of miles away to study magic at an exclusive boarding school. I swallowed hard. Please don’t make me go, I thought. I took another look at my letter. “Highly prestigious,” “well-accredited,” and “very sought-after” were the different qualifiers used to describe their piss of an academy. There were portraits in a brochure, mostly in sepia-tone black and white, of their most famous students, yet I didn’t recognize any of them. The more I looked at all the rubbish they’d sent me in that big yellow envelope, the more I wanted to vomit. Accepted. Everything had been arranged: the meeting place in the Aradian port-city of Navona, our guide who was to see us at the harbor three days from now and take us to the school, and three free tickets for the next available ship from England to Aradia. The whole lot, including my school uniform, was all-expenses paid. Seeking to break the jovial mood that’d taken over my parents at the breakfast table, I told them that I wasn’t going to that school. “Not going?” Mum asked me wide-eyed. “Why? This is the opportunity of a lifetime! A prestigious school, fancy uniforms, and a better life for all of us! Are you going to sit there and tell us that you don’t want what’s best for your family?” Yes, I was, I told her. I wasn’t going and that was the end of it. My parents then began to lecture me, whilst I kept buttering my toast, about how they never had an opportunity like this when they were my age and how I’d be letting down several generations of our wizard-family if I didn’t go. Dad was especially determined because both he and Granddad got rejected from that school numerous times. Despite my pleas, my constant whinging, and even throwing a teary-eyed wobbly like I used to do when I was a tiny tot, I was going to that ugly academy. Mum said my name, middle name and all, and insisted that I get packed. “We’re leaving tomorrow,” she said. “End of discussion.” And without another word, I stormed into my room, slamming the door after me, and buried my face into my pillow. Accepted. It wasn’t fair! Other kids would be pretty chuffed about going to such a distinguished wizard-school, but not me. This sort of thing should’ve gone to those who needed it or wanted it more. Instead, I was the one who got…accepted. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be part of the “next generation of great sorcerers,” nor follow in my father’s or grandfather’s footsteps like other wizards my age. I just wanted to be me. I didn’t want to leave my mates or live away from home. What’s more, I’d be going to a foreign country where I didn’t know anyone, much less the language they speak. Things were much simpler and I was a lot happier before I got that stupid letter! Accepted. I didn’t want to study in some shite academy, the name of which I couldn’t even pronounce from the brochure and where mobile phones were prohibited. All I really want to do is enjoy life, hang out with my friends, and go to the beach to listen to its lush, serene music. Yet more than anything, I wanted to do nothing. That’s what I desired most. I simply wanted to do nothing, yet my parents, on numerous occasions, would never hear of it. I began thinking about turning Mum and Dad into frogs or making them both disappear, but I really didn’t want to do any of that. Deep down, I don’t believe in using magic to hurt or endanger the lives of others. To me, magic was a beautiful yet mysterious thing that was all about me and always brought happiness to everyone. I loved magic, bloody lived for it, but hated the idea that someone could use it for evil when it could be used for good. Not to mention, the last time I’d made my parents disappear, they simply found their way back afterward.
About the Author
Shane Ulrrein is a life-long storyteller and first-time LGBT author currently living in Orange County, California, USA, who one day dreams of leaving his home in sunny Southern California for the wet, dreary weather of England.
Mr. Ulrrein has a Bachelor of Arts degree in music composition in California State University, Fullerton and is a proud member of the LGBT community. In his spare time, Mr. Ulrrein likes to draw, read, and write music that he hopes someday will be heard in all the great concert halls in the world.
Charlie is torn between two men—one who seems unreachable, the other a superhero who steps out of a poster.
Charlie is the young, handsome writer of The Black Mask superhero adventure series. Recently broken up from his long-term boyfriend, he finds himself developing feelings of lust and love for his editor, the gruff, clearly straight Sam. Charlie’s love life takes an even more unexpected twist when his fantasy creation, The Black Mask, somehow becomes a reality—and his lover.
On the wall above the TV is a poster of my creation, The Black Mask. Sam had a limited number designed by a comic book artist friend of his. He’s sold about a hundred so far and I get royalties on each sale. The Black Mask is crouching, ready to pounce, his tight, muscular body encased in black material. He has bulging biceps, thighs and pecs that threaten to burst through the fabric and more than a hint of something else bulging between those thighs. How can Sam deny The Black Mask is at least a bit gay? And did Sam specify how big to make that bulge?
Although his face is completely covered by his mask, I feel like he is watching me, which I find strangely erotic as I unzip the fly of my jeans and begin massaging my erect cock through the cotton of my white briefs. My cock is big, at least eight inches, and uncut. Its purplish-red head is already poking from above the waistband of my briefs, leaking pre-cum onto my flat stomach. I don’t work out much, but I run and eat healthily, so I have a fit, slim body, even if I do say so myself.
I push my jeans and briefs down to below my waist and begin stroking my cock. It’s hot and so solid. I grip it hard, squeezing out more pre-cum, which forms a weblike string between my stomach and cockhead.
I fantasize about Sam standing behind his desk, massaging his dick through his gray trousers. He’s glaring at me like I’ve really pissed him off, like he resents how horny he’s feeling. Suddenly I feel stupid, masturbating over a guy that will never look at me in that way. I should be out trying to meet other gay guys, not lying in my room jerking off over a straight man.
I’m distracted by a movement across the room. I stop masturbating and stare at the poster of The Black Mask. He is no longer crouching. He is standing and that bulge in his black-clad crotch is definitely a huge, hard cock.
Then he leans forward and his head and shoulders protrude for real out of the poster, solid and three-dimensional. Now the poster is glowing like a TV screen with the brightness level turned up to the max.
He reaches down with a leather-gloved hand and begins to rub his massive boner through the thin fabric of his skin-tight suit. Incredibly, it grows even bigger, and it, too, is now solid and three-dimensional, bursting from the surface of the poster.
Suddenly my bedroom door flies open and Jules is standing there, still naked.
“Sorry,” he says, “but do you have any lube?”
I release a jet of cum, which spatters across my stomach and chest, drenching my T-shirt and barely missing my face. I look from Jules, who seems impressed as much as embarrassed, back to the poster. The Black Mask is crouching again and the poster is just a poster.
“Wow,” says Jules. “Something certainly got you horny. You should have just joined us.”
I’m so shocked by what has just happened that I don’t even bother trying to cover my cum-soaked body, despite the fact that Jules is still standing in my bedroom doorway waiting for a response to his request. When I glance back at him, I notice he is fully hard and tugging on his balls.
About the Author
Samuel King is London born and bred, and spent his twenties and thirties hanging out on the London gay scene, mixing with some true characters and even finding romance on a few occasions. Now more likely to be found eating in a nice restaurant on a Saturday night than clubbing, he also enjoys reading across many genres, and watching films—especially old horror films and romantic comedies. He is also the author of Male Male erotic romance, Hard Lessons, available from Pride Publishing from 1 October.
Immaturity, Jealousy, Envy, Insecurity can Carter and Frank survive them all?
All Carter has ever wanted is the Daddy he craves, someone to love and care for him.
But will his immaturity be the downfall in this relationship or can Frank deal with his tears and tantrums?
Frank’s life is complicated, when he meets Carter, he is still confused by his feelings for his Ex-Partner and dealing with his mum’s deteriorating health.
Carter’s immaturity has always been difficult to handle. However, following an incident at Carter’s flat, Frank made the rash decision to ask him to move into his house, into his life, now Carter is around full-time.
Frank is adjusting to having Carter in his home and enjoying the Daddy \ Boy games they play.
However, when Carter’s jealousy takes hold after seeing Frank with his Ex-Partner his insecurities and jealousy may just be the end of this relationship.
Will this Daddy & Boy make it from that first heated attraction at the swimming pool to a long-term relationship?
We walk down the corridor past the showers into the pool area. Getting into the water, we swim along together, not speaking much, but there still seems to be a connection between us. Once we finish the thirty lengths, we get out of the pool, grab our towels, and head to the showers.
Standing next to each other under the showerheads I can almost feel the heat of his skin against mine. He pushes down on the button and water cascades from the shower onto his body. I do the same, sneaking looks at him when I think he is distracted by the shower. I remove my trunks first today, sliding them down my legs to the floor, I kick them to the side and give my cock and balls a squeeze.
He removes his trunks and his cock is hard, causing mine to stiffen more. Taking a handful of body wash, he rubs his hands over this chest, the soapsuds running over his abs and dripping into his pubic hair. He is only a foot away from me; the thought of feeling his gorgeous hairy body in my hands sends shivers down my spine and my skin tingles. I’m too shy to make a move like that, though, the fear of his reaction if I have misinterpreted things makes me keep my hands to myself.
I watch his hands glide over his chest, then down to his abs as he massages the body wash into his skin. Licking my lips as his cock stiffens, his foreskin pulls back away from the head as it raises towards his body. Lathering up my chest, my hands soon slide down and grasp my cock. I close my eyes and lean my head back as the pleasure of my hand sliding along my shaft flows through me. Opening my eyes, I look back at Frank; he is now massaging his balls and stroking his shaft. His eyes connect with mine.
Time seems to stop as we stare deep into each other, I can see the desire within him as his eyes search mine, trying to read my thoughts. My lips part as my tongue pushes out, licking along my lower lip, giving him the sign he has been searching for.
He moves closer and my body tenses as I feel his hand slide over my arse. I stop stroking my cock and turn to face him, our bodies covered in soap bubbles. My acceptance of his touch gives him a green light. Pulling me into his body I feel his cock slide against mine as they become trapped between us. His other hand grabs my arse and crushes my cheeks with his strong grip. The coarse hair of his beard brushes against my face as I feel his breath warm my lips.
Any thoughts or worries of where we are drain from my mind as his lips meet mine. The thick hair on his chest makes my nipples stiffen as it rubs against them. His mouth, rough and raw, kisses me, my body giving into his strong, muscular hands, his tongue pushes into my mouth, searching for mine. He moves me back onto the shower wall, grinding his rock-hard cock into me as he continues exploring my mouth. I have been yearning for this all week, wanting to be in this daddy’s arms. Sliding my hands over his back, tracing along his spine, down to rest above his arse, I pull him tighter into me as I grind my cock between our wet, soapy bodies. The showers switch off as we lose ourselves within each other. His hands grab my arms as he bites my lower lip, then softly nibbles his way down to the nape of my neck. All the time we continue grinding our cocks together, I can feel my balls tightening, preparing to release the frantic pleasure building inside me. Our thrusting gets faster as we both edge towards the point of no return.
About the Author
B.J. enjoys writing gay romance weaved with hot action to tease and entertain his readers. Having experienced some of the situations in real life he brings these into his books. Preferring to have mature characters in the stories, escaping the cliché of college boy romance. His books have been described by many as short but scorching hot so be warned you may need a cool shower after reading them. Remember the old saying it’s not about the length but what you can do with it lol. I hope you read and enjoy his books as much as he enjoys writing them. If you already enjoy gay romance books or are just curious about gay love. Why not have a browse of the books, you may surprise yourself. Follow the rainbow to your dreams.
Fifteen years ago, Prince Graham of Ardglass barely escaped from the ancestral castle with his young life. Rescued by a magical creature and spirited off to a faraway valley, he grew into a strong, capable man—never shirking his duties on the farm, but forever bitter over his father’s betrayal. But just when he has finally come to terms with being lost and staying lost, a visitor arrives in his valley and changes everything.
After a lifetime spent lost in his beloved books, Prince Emory awakens to find his villainous aunt working to usurp the throne of Fontaine. When she sends him on a dangerous quest, he’s certain the journey is a trap, but he’s not willing to accept defeat without a fight.
But a fight is something Rory is unprepared and untrained for, until he’s saved by a handsome, unassuming farmhand and his snooty, smug, and surprisingly talkative unicorn.
“Hey, watch yourself,” a voice said, and Rory looked, and then kept looking as a very tall man, shirtless, his face and muscular chest smeared with dirt, rose from the middle of a patch of squash.
Marthe was instantly by his side, sword out of her belt, but the man simply looked at her, expression blank and bored. He spread his empty hands in front of him. “If you’re hungry,” he said, “take what you like. If you are lost, you may stay.”
The man’s hair was long and dark, nearly shaggy, but did not obscure the bright blue eyes that gazed out at him. A bead of sweat trickled down his bare and undeniably dirty pectoral muscle. Rory swallowed hard. He had never met anyone like this man before—someone rough and uncouth and utterly, completely compelling. Rory felt his blood sizzle, like a drop of water on a stove that had been stoked with firewood all day. He stared, mesmerized, by the man. Was he a bandit? He certainly did not seem like one, if his offer of food and shelter was any indication.
“Sir,” Rory said, trying to find his voice under Marthe’s accusing stare, “we are in search of some dangerous criminals who have been looting the supply wagons from Fontaine.”
The man gave him a disbelieving look. “Does it look like we’re harboring bandits here?”
Truthfully, it did not. It looked to Rory that all the man was harboring was an excellent crop of vegetables. As well as a physique that made Rory desperate to reach out and place a palm on that firm chest, even though it was smeared with dirt and sweat. Somehow, that made it even more attractive, though Rory did not think that thought could possibly be logical.
But Marthe was clearly not as distracted by such a fine chest as Rory was. Her glare was still fierce. “You will not mind if I do not take your word for it,” she said. “I would like to search the grounds and buildings of your farm.”
The man threw his head back and laughed. Rory did not know what was so amusing, but he discovered that he was desperate to know.
“There is nothing here but my farming implements, the animals I keep here, and the store of food to last us through the winter,” he admitted. “But feel free to search all you like.”
“Do you have any weapons here?” Marthe asked, her hard voice making it clear she did not believe the act. If it was even an act. Rory was strangely inclined to believe his words, but that might have been because of his beautiful eyes.
“A dagger or two,” the man said, leaning against his shovel. “We have no need of weapons here.”
Marthe sniffed. “We will be the judge of that.” After throwing Rory another reprimanding look, she marched away, clearly intending to find the rest of the guard and do a thorough search of the farm. Rory thought she must not have thought the man was a threat, or else she never would’ve left him alone.
The man stared at Rory, who stared back. “Do you always travel with a full complement of lady warriors?” he asked offhandedly.
Rory blushed. It was impossible to admit to this man, who looked eminently capable of dispatching any threat, weapons or no, that Rory had to, because he could not defend himself. “It was very rude of me not to introduce myself,” Rory said, extending a hand, “I am Prince Emory of the kingdom of Fontaine, but you may call me Rory.”
It was as if his words changed everything. The man’s eyes went blank, his face cold and hard, and he turned away, leaving Rory awkwardly standing with his hand out. “Gray,” he said shortly. “Welcome to the valley.”
One of the reasons Rory had always loved reading was that he felt an inescapable compulsion to know things. His curiosity was legendary, and faced with a man such as Gray, couldn’t have been more engaged even if he’d tried.
“How long have you lived here?” Rory asked, as Gray returned to his squash, carefully digging around a plant. “How did you come to be here? I have never seen this valley on a map before.”
Gray did not bother to meet his eyes as he responded, his tone short and hard. “I have been here many years. It’s a haven for those who are lost, a magical place not found on any maps.”
It did not make any sense at all for Sabrina to believe that the bandits stealing their supplies would hide in a magical valley for the lost. They might have little in the way of a moral compass, but they could hardly be lost.
“Are you lost then?” Rory asked.
Gray looked up then, eyes boring into Rory’s own. He said nothing for a long moment. “Aren’t we all lost?” he asked.
About the Author
A lifelong Oregonian, Beth Bolden has just recently moved to North Carolina with her supportive husband and their sweet kitten, Earl Grey. Beth still believes in Keeping Portland Weird, and intends to start a chapter of Keeping Durham Weird. Beth has been writing practically since she learned the alphabet. Unfortunately, her first foray into novel writing, titled Big Bear with Sparkly Earrings, wasn’t a bestseller, but hope springs eternal. She’s published thirteen novels and five short stories. Yours, Forever After is her first fantasy/fairytale re-telling.
Blurb Sequel to Rainbow Award-winning gay romantic thriller The Phisher King and its sequel False Flag.
For years, brainy, charming FBI techie Sam Dupre has helped Hunter Walsh and Cal Riggs solve their cases. He’s also become one of Hunter’s closest friends, someone Hunter counts on when things get tough.
After the events of False Flag, Riggs is no longer the agency’s golden boy, so when Hunter suspects a gay couple has been murdered in a hate crime in an exclusive gated community in Olympia, he takes the tip to Sam instead. While Riggs and Hunter contend with workplace politics and Riggs’s recovery, Sam Dupre drives the case forward, even securing a partner for his undercover field work: handsome, popular recent transfer Rob Crawford.
Crawford’s a seasoned field agent who doesn’t bat an eye at posing as a gay married couple, but Sam can’t help feeling like Crawford’s mocking him. They rub each other in all the wrong ways in private even as they pretend to be a doting married couple in front of the neighbors…at least, until they start rubbing each other the right way.
Sam’s dysphoria-and his HIV status-has held him back, but as he bonds with Crawford, he starts to feel seen for who he truly is. Surrounded by mystery and danger, now is not the time to blur professional lines, but how can Sam help himself?
Featuring: An #ownvoices trans character feeling his oats, a dreamboat foreign terrorism agent trying his hand at a domestic (teehee) case, and a supercute adopted housecat. With a special appearance by Callum Riggs, excessive trolling by Hunter Walsh, and, of course, a happy ending!
Meeting Crawford’s piercing green gaze, Sam steeled himself and said quietly, “We suspect religiously motivated White Nationalists could be involved. Whitewoods Olympia’s mission statement is one big conservative dog whistle for ‘old fashioned family values’ and my insider once toured the area looking for a home only to be given the cold shoulder when introducing a black family member to the mix. You may know Olympia is eighty-plus percent white with a two percent black population. Combined with its status as state capital and a cultural center, it’s an ideal location for racial purists to establish a religious enclave close to the seat of power.”
How Crawford took that news would speak volumes. Often the foreign terrorism agents didn’t take domestic terror as seriously, too wrapped up in their administration-sanctioned Islamophobia to acknowledge the clear and present danger of far-right extremists.
“Sounds like a case for Riggs.” Crawford sat back, brows furrowed again as if assessing the situation. Then he nodded seemingly to himself as if the pieces were coming together. Crawford was sufficiently political to understand why Riggs wouldn’t or couldn’t take the case right now.
“So you think someone in the enclave did away with the Millers? Sounds more like old fashioned neighbor murdering than domestic terror, but we do consult on cases of the murdered or the missing. Could just be some nutjob who somehow thinks queers in the neighborhood could lower property values.”
Sam bristled at Crawford using the word “queers” like it was his word to use. Sure, that was often how Sam described himself, but Crawford was a bro. He had no business using it. He bit back a keep that word out of your mouth and grunted instead, acknowledging the probability.
“Riggs is still recovering from the white nationalist attack from the group Weisse Drache, or I’m sure he’d be all over this. It’s definitely his wheelhouse.” Sam kept his voice as even and authoritative as he could, despite his urge to lash out. It was that self-control that had allowed him to climb so high in the Seattle office. “Even if it’s not White Nationalistic domestic terror—which I’m not theorizing; it’s what my anon suggested—it sounds very much like a hate crime. But…”
Sam trailed off, studying Crawford and doing his best to mask his irritation. Then he asked, “The other disappearances… What’s behind those?”
“Inconclusive.” Crawford stared, almost seeming to challenge Sam. “At least per the local PD. We could go in, see if we can draw some conclusions. If you really think it’s a hate crime, we could go in undercover. Either way, if we infiltrate the community, we can see what’s what.”
“We go in undercover,” Sam echoed, disbelieving. “We ‘infiltrate the community’.” Really, that was Crawford’s go-to?
After a beat, Sam grimaced, letting it all sink in. “That would be one way to access their information infrastructure and surveil the environs. The family is maintaining the house for the missing Millers, and from what I’ve heard they’d cooperate and let us use it as a base of operations for our efforts. You’ve got the green light to pursue this?”
“I was told to check it out, so that’s what I’m doing. Checking it out.” Crawford turned to his computer and put in his password along with the security dongle code. “Doesn’t need to be really deep cover. We could claim to be part of the family, housesitting, but make ourselves really at home. See what we can see.”
“Have you tapped someone to partner with you in the field?” Sam pulled out his phone, ready to plug in their third’s data, and looked up to meet Crawford’s eyes expectantly.
“We,” Crawford gestured between the two of them. “Can check this out. I really just need you there to give the appearance of a gay family. You can come in to work as usual if you need. The rest of my crew’s still in Turkey. It could take weeks to get another agent—if they’d assign another at all right now. By then, I may be off again.”
“You want to pretend we’re a gay couple?” Sam’s voice came out much squeakier than usual, and he cursed internally, hating how pubescent he sounded. “You want to replicate the Millers’ situation and see if there’s a bite?”
Technically Sam could do most of his work remotely, but pretending to adore Crawford was not a viable career choice. What the shit?
Then he thought of Hunter’s worried face, remembered how hollow Riggs seemed at Sunday dinner. They weren’t in any place to investigate this, even if Riggs could get the go-ahead, and the last thing Hunter needed was to be separated from Riggs right now. Or rather, the last thing Hunter needed was to go undercover himself, because he’d done enough of that, and Sam was over it, officially.
“Is that coffee done yet?” It sounded more plaintive than Sam had hoped, like he was in desperate need of caffeination, but he was. God, he really was.
“Sure.” Crawford turned and moved the press closer and pushed the plunger down steadily, big meaty hand on the top. “Listen, as a field agent who often works undercover, it’s not my first gay rodeo. Though, I’ll admit, it’s why I can’t just call just anybody in to help. You know, some people around here…”
Crawford leaned in as if taking Sam into his confidence, also implying that he was a cool kid somehow for not being squeamish about doing his job. “Particularly lately. We can just go in say we’re more or less housesitting until the Millers come back, leave it open ended but make ourselves at home, if you know what I mean. See what the mood is. If it’s nothing, we’ll just leave, no need to make a big deal of it until there’s something actionable.”
He pushed the finished coffee closer. “Sound like a plan?”
About the Authors
The Thursday Euclid is a strange and elusive creature dwelling in the Texas Gulf Coast region. Frequently mistaken for Bigfoot, Chupacabra, or the monster of the week, he is, in fact, a 30-something black sheep with a penchant for K-pop, geekery, and hot and sour soup. When he’s not playing Dragon Age or SWTOR, he’s probably watching B-movies or talking to his best friend and frequent collaborator Clancy Nacht. You can find him on Facebook, Twitter, or email him at thursdayeuclid at gmail dot com.
Clancy Nacht is a bisexual genderqueer person who lives in Austin. Clancy has published several bestselling romances. Many of her books have been honored with Rainbow Awards; Le Jazz Hot won for Best Bisexual/Transgender Romance & Erotic Romance. In 2013, Black Gold: Double Black was a runner-up for a Rainbow Award. In 2015, Gemini won an Honorable Mention for Gay Erotic Romance and in 2016, Strange Times won an Honorable Mention for Science Fiction. Wyatt’s Recipes for Wooing Rock Stars was a finalist in the highly competitive William Neale Award for Best Gay Contemporary Romance. The Phisher King won second place in the Rainbow Award for Romantic Suspense, 16th for Gay Book of the Year.
Eighteen Moons is the extraordinary and moving story of Andi and John and how they set out to have the family they longed for. Not many people noticed the end of a multi-billion-pound industry that touched many, many thousands of lives… but this devoted couple lived through the final wave of International Surrogacy in both India and Thailand, then finally (before it had barely begun) in Nepal on the roof of the world.
In their quest to become fathers, they come up against seemingly impossible challenges. From the very start they are overwhelmed with both bureaucracy and prejudice. The story of how this very special family comes together is filled with heartache and frustration, determination and courage. It’s a story full of humour, human frailty and, above all their determination to become the loving family they are today.
‘Touching, insightful, funny and shocking. You won’t be able to put it down.’ Zap Magazine
Andi Webb is the author of the unmissable blog ‘Diary of a Gay Dad’
Eighteen Moons is the extraordinary and moving story of Andi and John and how they brought together, against huge odds, the family they had longed for. Today they are loving fathers to five beautiful children including two sets of twins, all of them under the age of six. But the story of how this very special family came together is a tale filled with heartache and frustration, determination and courage. It’s also a story full of humour, human frailty and, above all, love. Their quest for children took them across the world and brought them up against seemingly impossible challenges. But as the whims of officials and government directives thwarted their every move and sent them on a wild adventure which took them from India to Thailand and on to Nepal, Andi and John refused to give up. Extraordinarily, Andi and John’s first twins were the last British surrogate babies to leave India (post new rules), their son was the last to leave Thailand and their second twins were the first British children to be born through surrogacy in Nepal. Happily together for twenty years and the besotted owners of two daft but loveable Dalmatians, Andi and John longed for children to complete their family. Two, they thought, would be perfect, ideally one fathered by each of them. After looking at surrogacy options worldwide, India seemed to offer everything they hoped for and in 2012 they went to India to begin the surrogacy process. A few months later, they heard that their surrogate was expecting twins. Andi went to India for the birth; the plan was that John would join them and together they would bring the babies home. When two gorgeous daughters were born they couldn’t have been happier. But what followed was a nightmare of bureaucracy and obfuscation, as John, the twins’ natural father, was refused a visa and the Indian Government refused to let Andi leave with the babies. For month after month Andi lived in India, caring for the girls, while he and John struggled to find a way to bring them home. At every turn they were thwarted until they became so desperate they considered smuggling the girls out of the country by boat. Their daughters were eight months old when, finally, John was able to go and bring them home. Same-sex surrogacy had been banned in India, so Andi, still longing to father a child, turned next to Thailand. With the news of a successful pregnancy everything looked rosy – until the Thai government also clamped down on surrogacy, the clinic was closed. For several heart-stopping days they didn’t know what had happened to their surrogate, or their baby. Finally they heard that all was well and Andi said goodbye to John and the girls and went to Thailand to be with his child. A son was born and a delighted Andi hoped to take him home within weeks. But what followed was an extraordinary saga of delays, denials and, eventually, Andi’s arrest on trumped up drug charges. Given the option by the arresting officers of waiting three months for a court date and a guaranteed three, month sentence, a second option was put on the table. No criminal record and the chance to be the first westerner to serve in the Royal Thai Army. This would take him to an army barrack’s deep in the Thai jungle, he had just one phone call, to tell John what had happened. On the day he was freed Andi found John, and their son, waiting for him. Days later, after five long months of waiting, they flew home, to introduce the girls to their new baby brother.When the surrogacy clinic in Thailand had closed Andi and John’s remaining embryos had been transferred, with the help of an Israeli agency, to Nepal, where surrogacy was still possible. At that stage, unsure of the outcome in Thailand, they had given the go-ahead for a surrogacy attempt. Now they heard that once again twins were expected, this time on the roof of the world. Andi arrived just after the massive 2015 earthquake in Nepal. The final five full moons of this story would be set in Kathmandu.
About the Author
Andi Webb is the writer of diaryofagaydad.net and author of the book Eighteen Moons (available through Amazon.com). Andi is a gay, stay at home dad to five young children under the age of six, living in ‘The Shires’ of England. The daily blog of family life both illuminates and amuses. Eighteen Moons is the memoir of how two men set out on the journey to becoming fathers to five young children, not an easy feat.
Winning the welterweight championship was everything Rake had worked for. Now it’s all come crashing down, and he has no choice but to flee his hometown of Las Vegas.
When he stops in a small town in Utah, Rake meets a man who makes him forget all about the danger he’s in.
Rio has a good life. He loves his family and career, but when Rake blows into town, something stirs in his blood.
Something like desire.
Rio doesn’t do relationships, not since the last disaster, but Rake makes it impossible for him to say no.
When Rake comes clean about what he’s running from, Rio just might have a way to help.
Now the two of them must fight to free Rake from the man who took everything…and stay alive until the end.
The Artist’s Boxer is the first book in the Yours to Protect series.
Reality crashed in as he lay down, and he didn’t like what it brought. He’d run away. Cowardly? Maybe. But what else was he supposed to do? People didn’t say no to Damian Corsetti, and that was exactly what Rake had done.
Now, there he was, in Rio Danvers’s home, his bed, after getting off twice with the man. The man who’d built the bar where he’d sat and laughed with Hunter for years.
Maybe it would all be okay. Deep inside, where he seldom looked, something told him it would be. He was solid and safe. Untouchable. But was that arrogance?
What had that figure in the road said? Love came in many forms, accept help…or something like that. Well, he sure as hell was. Rio had taken him in, fed him, kissed him, and invited him into his bed.
Rio came out of the bathroom and slid in next to him.
“Thanks for everything,” Rake said as they got under the covers. Rio wore sleep pants while he remained naked.
“Bringing me here, feeding me, letting me stay. You don’t know anything about me.”
Rio stared at him until a soft expression came and went in his dark eyes. “You’re welcome.”
He got comfortable, and oh God, the bed was so nice. Rake burrowed deeper.
“About what happened in there,” Rio began.
His heart thudded, and Rake stilled. “What?”
“You kissed me. You know what this means?”
“What?” Rake asked again, his voice going up an octave.
“We have to go on at least two dates before we do anything else.”
Rake sprang up, taking the covers with him. “Are you serious?”
“Very. I told you, I have a rule.”
Rake pursed his lips. “So, if we’re going on a date, that means I can kiss you again.”
He leaned over to do just that, but Rio stopped him. “Not until after the first date.”
“Dude, seriously, what’s with all these rules? Don’t you ever go with the flow?”
“Go with the flow?”
“You mean like meeting a stranger in town and bringing him to my home?” Rio asked, amused.
“Well…kind of—not really.” Rake scowled. “You know what I mean.”
Rio chuckled and pulled Rake down beside him. “Get some sleep. I’m always up early.”
He snapped off the light, but there was no bedside lamp.
“How did you do that?”
“There’s a button on the side of the bed. There’s one on your side too.”
“Oh, cool.” Rake searched around until he found it and pressed it on and off a few times.
He settled back and got comfortable again. His leg bumped Rio’s, and he threw it over him, hugging a pillow to his chest.
“ ’Nite,” he said around a big yawn.
He liked not knowing what the hell time it was, or when he had to get up to train in the morning. He lived on a tight schedule Luis and Hunter set for him. When had his life become so rigid? He never had any free time. Even his downtime at Hunter’s bar had to be scheduled in.
“I like kissing you,” he whispered into the dark.
He wasn’t sure if Rio had already fallen asleep, but he didn’t answer
About the Author
Este Holland is a writer and reader of all things romance. She’s also a treasure hunter, a word wizard, a lover, and a fighter. She was born in southern WV, and is a reader and writer. She lives in Virginia now, and works in marketing. Her favorite book is impossible to name. Her favorite movie are Romancing the Stone and Some Like it Hot. She began writing her first novel in 2012 and has practiced and studied ever since to get better. She’s still learning.
My sister Julia manipulated my life into a prison to keep me silent about our dirty family secret. Her greed made me a slave and circumstance left me with no way to escape.
Trapped, the only way I could silence the nightmares driving me to insanity was to wrap them in color, hold them with shadow, and stitch them to negative space with line.
But no matter how bright the pigments, no one could see my confession.
Except for Roy Callahan.
I thought he was just another nameless one-night stand in a long line of many.
But I was wrong. Roy could see past the façade of my life and through the veil color over the canvas. He could see what the world couldn’t.
And with him I’d find the courage to tell the truth about the boy.
The boy who kissed me.
The boy who loved me.
The boy whose name I couldn’t remember.
I knew he didn’t belong the moment I saw him.
He wasn’t cut by money or shaped by political interests, and the rental he wore was a bad joke in the ocean of Versace suits and Chanel ball gowns, fitting him tight across the shoulders and short in the arms. A belt held up his pants, and the waves of extra fabric did nothing to accentuate the ass I knew was just as perfect as the rest of him.
I drank my champagne while the stranger picked his way through the clumps of people gathered in front of the hideous paintings I had on display.
“Paris, darling, Mr. Darcy was asking you about one of your works.” Julia put her hand on my arm. I ignored my sister and Mr. Darcy. Whatever it was he wanted to say to me, I’d heard it before; Mind-blowing, so unique, see the passion, the fire, and my favorite, it speaks to me.
Only one person could see the dirty secret hidden within the lines, the color, the violence.
I handed Julia my empty glass.
She tightened her grip on my arm. “These people came a long way to meet you.”
They always came a long way to meet me. Even if it was a block away.
“Bathroom,” I said. Julia frowned. I think she knew I was lying but didn’t want to call me out on it in front of her friends. I peeled away her fingers. “If you don’t mind, of course.” I slipped into the crowd.
Julia would give Mr. Darcy and his flavor-of-the-year wife some excuse on my behalf. Then she’d slay them with her silver tongue, and by the end of the night, they’d write a check for some ungodly amount and buy a piece of hell I’d spewed out into the world.
They’d hang it in their country home or put it in their yacht. They’d smile and laugh and remain deaf to the confession screaming to be told.
Heat from the track lighting pressed down on my shoulders. Greetings cast out by guests floated in shades of black and gray.
I followed the stranger’s trail of color all the way to the back of the gallery. He disappeared around a partition and through a door. I checked to see if anyone was watching before I went in.
Cold fluorescents replaced track lighting, and the hum of the ventilation system snuffed out a burst of laughter. There were only two doors in the maintenance hall, besides the one that shut behind me.
A deep mechanical sound chugged from behind the one left open. I slipped inside and turned the knob so I could control the catch.
The man crouched beside an opening in one of the large metal units. Even on his knees, I could tell he was about my height, but his shoulders were wide, and his limbs were thick.
I hoped that trait didn’t stop at his legs and arms.
After a few minutes, he seemed satisfied and replaced the panel. When he stood, I had a brief glimpse of the curve of his ass when his slacks tightened.
He turned and dropped the tools he held. His hip hit the metal hull of the unit, and it boomed.
“Jesus Christ. You scared the shit out of me.”
A five o’clock shadow dusted his jaw, hardening his features enough to make him look dangerous. And there was already no doubt left in my mind that he could kill me if he wanted to.
He wiped his hands with a rag from his pocket. Scars crossed the knuckles of his callused fingers. The thought of his rough grip on my body left me hard.
“I replaced the coil.” The sound of his voice wrapped me in red and tied me up with gold. “That should relieve some of the strain on the unit. It’s pretty old, though.” He put his tools into a toolbox. “You might want to consider replacing it.”
I engaged the lock on the door.
He followed me with his eyes as I made a half circle around him. His physical appearance didn’t make him alluring. It was how he carried himself. Like a man who was one with the world and not above it. I grazed a look up and down his body.
“I’ll send you a bill.” He reached for his toolbox.
I got in the way, trapping him against the air-conditioning unit.
“Is there something else you ne—” He cleared his throat. “Need?”
“Are you afraid of me?”
He pulled himself to his full height. “Do I have a reason to be?”
“On how much the idea of fucking me appeals to you.”
About the Author
I am a writer of contemporary and speculative fiction and artist of all things monster. I live to create new worlds and the people in them. Several of my books have been best sellers both nationally and internationally. I have also been a finalist in the LAMDA awards, the “Oscars” of gay literary works.
I do my best to write original stories with powerful characters and emotion as well as a fast-paced plot. My goal isn’t just to deliver a good story but to take the reader into the story and let them experience the characters as if they are right there with them.
While almost all my books have a romantic element, I will be the first to admit, they are not traditional romance. In fact, I’d like to think there is nothing traditional about them. And the stories I paint are done so way outside the lines of traditional genres.
One of my favorite things to do as a writer is push the boundaries of what makes a story and to deliver the unexpected and maybe even change the perspective of the reader.
My characters are more often than not, beautifully flawed, not always the good guy, and make mistakes. Their stories will take dark turns which, in the end, make the light at the end of the tunnel all the brighter.
If you’re looking for something different, exciting, and unique, my books are for you.
Check out my website for updates and how to contact me. I love hearing from fans.
For the last ten years, Benji and Diego have not only been members of Star Shadow, one of the biggest boy bands in the world, but best friends. During the years of fame and fortune they’ve also held a front row seat to the callous cruelty of the music industry. As much as they’ve both wanted more from their relationship, it never felt worth it to trade what they have for something hot, heady and completely impossible. But is it really? After welcoming back their long lost member and making it through their reunion tour with a new lease on fame, life suddenly seems too short to continue settling for safety. Benji and Diego could have everything they’ve ever wanted, but can they figure out how to choose each other? Despite every impossible thing the world intends to throw at them? It’s never the end . . . it’s only the beginning.
“Are you okay?”
Benji glanced up and of course it was Diego. Of course it would be him who’d know that something was wrong.
He cleared his throat, his tongue suddenly thick in his mouth. The panic hadn’t faded entirely yet, and he felt too close to the edge still, but Diego reached out and cupped his shoulder with his hand. The fear retreated a little more.
If he couldn’t be honest with Diego, could he be honest with anyone?
“I was just thinking of the last bow, the one we took when we didn’t know it was the last one,” Benji admitted.
After a moment of hesitation—which Benji understood entirely, their friendship sometimes seemed like a walk through a minefield—Diego pulled him into a hug. His hands hovered over Diego’s shoulders before giving in and gripping him tightly.
They stood there together for a long moment, holding on to each other. Benji let his head fall down to Diego’s shoulder, but otherwise they didn’t move.
“It was hard, because we didn’t know it was over, but it was over,” Diego finally said, the sound of the stagehands beginning to take down the stage around them punctuating his words. “But it turns out that it’s not really over after all.”
Benji didn’t want to say that some mornings he woke up and for a split second he still thought it was over. That he sometimes had to remind himself that he wasn’t on his own again, that he wasn’t struggling with a career that didn’t fit quite right, that he didn’t miss his boys so much he ached, that he hadn’t ultimately crashed and burned.
“It’s hard to forget, sometimes,” he said, even though he hadn’t really meant to say anything at all.
Diego pulled back, and even in the dim of backstage, Benji could see the empathy in his eyes. “You know, you’re more than your achievements,” Diego pointed out softly.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t been told that before, but something about the earnest belief in Diego’s voice made him want to believe this time. The problem was knowing, with crystal clear clarity, what he was capable of. And never being able to settle for less than that, without that ugly voice yelling in his ear that he’d failed again.
“I know.” Benji’s smile was wry. “Theoretically.” Reluctantly, he let go of Diego. Too long holding him, too long of them holding each other, and he was going to want even more than he already did.
Diego laughed. “Yeah, that’s the whole problem. Theoretically. You’re rich and famous. You don’t need to work so hard all the damn time. You’ve made it, Benji.”
All theoretically true.
If only that voice would shut the fuck up sometimes.
“Yeah,” Benji said, rolling his eyes. “I know.” He paused. He and Diego had been practically inseparable this tour, but it was ending tonight, and they had two weeks in LA before the recording sessions on the new album started. Even though they’d spent so much time together already, the idea of a two-week break from Diego hurt. It had never hurt before. Somehow, Benji knew, they’d crossed that point of no return. Friendship alone would never be enough again. Had it been the kiss? He could barely remember it, it had been so short and brief. Nothing like he’d always imagined. He’d wanted a do-over for the last six months, but maybe they needed more privacy for that.
“Hey,” he started again hesitantly, “we should get together when we get back to LA.”
Diego was leading the way back to the green room and didn’t look at Benji. “I’m not sure. I’ll probably be busy with Ana.”
Benji knew how much he loved his daughter, and how much he’d missed her on this tour, even though his ex, Vicky, had brought her to as many tour stops as she could. So he didn’t know what to say to that. Even though it was probably true, it was hard not to see it as a brush-off. Diego was good with people; he wouldn’t give a brush-off that felt like one. He’d make it sound legit, all to spare Benji’s feelings.
The question was why was he brushing him off, right after hugging and reassuring him? Benji didn’t know, and didn’t know how to bring it up, because they were walking into the green room, and Max was spraying the walls with a bottle of sparkling apple juice and Leo and Caleb were dancing to the Black Eyed Peas, their favorite post-show soundtrack.
About the Author
A lifelong Oregonian, Beth Bolden has just recently moved to North Carolina with her supportive husband. She still believes in Keeping Portland Weird, and intends to start a chapter of Keeping Durham Weird. Beth has been writing practically since she learned the alphabet. Unfortunately, her first foray into novel writing, titled Big Bear with Sparkly Earrings, wasn’t a bestseller, but hope springs eternal. She’s published eleven novels and four short stories, with Impossible Things, the next book of the Star Shadow series, releasing in June 2019.