Book Title: Genie in a Vodka Bottle
Release Date: November 6,
Genre: Speculative M/M Romance, Mystery, Adventure
Tropes: Genie, Enemy to Friend, Magic
Themes: Searching for love, forgiveness
Heat Rating: 4 flames
Length: 139 pages/56 000
It is a standalone story and
does not end on a cliffhanger.
A funny, frisky, and
frequently heart-pounding genie romance and adventure novel!
Mysterious forces are at play when Paul’s vacation to Spain
unexpectedly detours to Gibraltar and then Morocco, to a vodka bottle in a hole in the wall
bar, to a handsome genie with a slew of secrets, plus almost limitless powers, virtually no
memory, and a keen desire to be freed from his curse. Along the way, Paul is reunited with
his ex-lover and the genie’s previous master as fate draws them ever deeper into a murky,
On our heroes travel, from the frigid north of Russia to a
magic carpet ride across China, ultimately finding themselves in the deserts of ancient
Jordan. Here, they encounter another of the genie’s previous masters and a power far
greater than they could’ve ever imagined, all within a massive temple carved into a
mountainside. Can our intrepid foursome uncover the truth before the curse takes them all
and possibly the entire world down? Will love win out in the end? Or is the genie forever
doomed to a life foretold in fairy tales?
In this funny, frisky, and frequently heart-pounding
adventure, only one thing is for certain: magic can happen even without three
The bottle was still in my hand. I reached for the cork. I
gave it a pull. It didn’t budge. I pulled again, harder this time. Nope, nothing. That cork
must’ve been in there a long, long time, I figured. I stood up, placed the bottle between my
knees, wiped the sweat from my palms and grabbed on tightly to the cork. Then, seeing as
where I was, grunted, “Open sesame,” and gave one final, massive yank.
“Oh fuck,” went I.
I mean sure, the bottle was open, but, um, well, time was
suddenly standing still. Like totally still. Nothing was moving, not the fans, the waitress, not
Omar, who was pouring a drink that was suspended in midair. Though me, yeah, me I was
moving. Or least my heart was. Super-fast, in fact. Energizer Bunny fast.
“Oh fuck,” went I, yet again.
Because now the vodka bottle was pouring, only, it wasn’t
pouring vodka. And the pouring wasn’t obeying the laws of gravity because what was being
poured went out and up as opposed down and down some more. Plus, the vodka bottle
should have been pouring liquid but appeared to be pouring gas, a massive white cloud of it
tinged with swirls of various shades of blue and, if I wasn’t mistaken, which I wasn’t,
lightning. I mean, I knew lightning when I saw it, it’s just I’d never seen it being poured from
a vodka bottle before.
The cloud spread, the blue becoming purple, then red, then
all the colors of the rainbow at once. It looked like what you saw in an oil slick, greasy and
blending and bleeding. And then the room I was in was all cloud, and it was just me in the
cloud, me and the vodka bottle and the cloud of smoke and lightning and rainbow. The hairs
on my neck stood on end as I tried to take it all in, but how do you take in a cloud, especially
when it’s all around you, choking you, engulfing you completely as if it were a living,
breathing thing? And you could feel it, too. The power of it.
“Oh fuck,” went I for the third time. Because now I was not
alone in the cloud, and the eyes that had been staring back at me from the label on the
bottle were no longer on the bottle and were no longer the same eyes. And the face on the
bottle had a body, a different body, a new body, and the body was big, and the body was
torso on top and cloudy solidness down below, and the face was above mine, and the eyes
were staring down upon me, boring through me, piercing what felt like my very soul. Or
maybe that was me being a bit overdramatic, but how can you not be overdramatic at a
time such as that?
“Master,” boomed the voice that erupted forth from the
mouth in the face, the cloud all at once swept from the still-stagnant room. The half torso,
half solid cloud still floated above me, still churning in color and lightning and a slight
tremble of thunder that reminded me of our drive through Spain, me and Omar number
“Paul,” I managed to squeak out.
The face tilted ever so slightly. “Paul? What is a Paul? I do
not know this word.” The voice again boomed, rattled my bones, shook the fillings in my
mouth. The voice was deep as the ocean, heavy as a boulder, pressing down upon me with
each vowel and syllable that was uttered.
“Paul,” I said, sitting back down in my chair. Or falling back
down in my chair. Probably the latter. “That is my name. Paul.”
The cloud-man craned down, the eyes barely a foot away.
“Paul,” came the voice in a whoosh that washed over me like a tidal wave, the exhale
smelling of spices and earth and incense. If you bottled it, it’d sell well. I had a bottle in
hand, but, like the room around me, I was sort of also frozen to the spot, and so bottling, at
least for the time being, seemed out of the question. “You have freed me, Master
I blinked. He did not. He had eyes the color of fresh moss,
skin the color of The Rock back in Gibraltar, perhaps a shade darker. He was shirtless, dense
with smooth muscle from chest to arms to hands to fingers. And despite the obvious power
of him, he looked young, my age, give or take. And as for the cloud below him, it swirled like
a cyclone, shooting off sparks as he hovered there. He was beautiful. He was fearsome. I
needed to pee. Badly.
About the Author
Rob Rosen is the author of
the award-winning novels Sparkle: The Queerest Book You’ll Ever Love, Divas Las Vegas, Hot Lava,
Southern Fried, Queerwolf, Vamp, Queens of the Apocalypse, Creature Comfort, Fate,
Midlife Crisis, Fierce, And God Belched, Mary, Queen of Scotch, Ted of the d’Urbervilles, Sort
of Dead, and Genie in a Vodka Bottle, and editor of the anthologies Lust in
Time, Men of the Manor, Best Gay Erotica 2015, and Best Gay Erotica of the Year, Volumes
1, 2, 3 and 4.
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