Halloween Blog Hop

Happy Halloween! This is the Bonnie Dee stop on the LSB Halloween blog hop. Drop a line and follow the link at the end of this post to the next stop.

Ah, Halloween, that magical, mysterious, murderous time of year. It was always the high holiday of the year for me when I was a kid, in some ways more than Christmas. I was a child who always chose books which included magic or the paranormal, and as I grew older I read a lot of horror. It was only natural that the night set aside for demons to walk the earth—and children to roam from house to house seeking candy—would win my heart.

I want to share a fun story about a particular Halloween in the mid-seventies when I hosted my annual party and gave some of my friends a good scare. I remember the date only because The Omen was the hot fright flick we’d all seen that year. My co-host and I set up a trail of terror all the way along the creek that meandered across our property. There were trees on either side of the creek, hardly a forest but enough to create a little wilderness to lead our friends through.

That evening, armed with flashlights and wearing robes, we led our targets on a narrated trip. We’d spent several afternoons placing dummies along the way. One hung from a tree with a rope to pull to make the dead man fall just as we led our victims beneath it. There was a pathetic dead baby doll floating in a pool of water. In one spot we’d rigged the bushes to rustle while an angry dog growled, courtesy of a tape player hidden under one of our robes (that was The Omen reference—remember those scary black dogs?). Oh yes, this was an elaborate spook trail—even if all the pranks didn’t work flawlessly. In the dark of a country night it was creepy.

But the highlight was to be the end of the trail where we’d set up a “long abandoned cemetery” (headstones courtesy of a few cinderblocks). At this point we escorts, the only ones with flashlights, would turn them off and abandon our guests. There were plenty of screams and shouts of “come on, you guys” and as any adult can probably guess, the guests didn’t enjoy the prank as much as we thought they should have. In fact some were pretty pissed off and we had to patch things up later. But all was forgiven over cider and doughnuts and the traditional bobbing for apples.

This Halloween I’d like to present a more adult tale featuring that traditional symbol of fall—the scarecrow. The Straw Man is available at Liquid Silver Books. The heroine, Marie is a lonely woman, who lives an isolated life running her family farm. She hasn’t found a special someone among the local men. As she fantasizes a sexual encounter with the man of her dreams, a strong wind comes up from nowhere, stirring the ragged clothing of the scarecrow that guards her fields.

Later that evening, after the last of the trick-or-treaters has gone, there’s a knock on the door. Images from the horror movie she’s been watching whirling in her head, Marie cautiously answers. A handsome stranger with a magnetic gaze waits on her doorstep—and claims he’s come for her.

Magic has brought love in a most unusual package. Logic and common sense evaporate under the spell of the evening and Marie experiences the love of a lifetime all in one night. But in the morning her visitor is gone. What sacrifice will it take to turn her fantasy man back into flesh and blood?

Want to read more about The Straw Man? Click on link.

Hop on to the next stop on the Halloween trail here:
http://booknibbles.com/bloghop Read more!

The Gentleman and the Rogue

The Gentleman and the Rogue available now at Loose Id.

A lad from the streets meets a lord of the manor...

When Crimean war veteran Sir Alan Watleigh goes searching for sex, he never imagines the street rat he brings home for one last bit of pleasure in his darkest hour will be the man who hauls him back from the edge of the grave.

A night of meaningless sex turns into an offer of permanent employment. As Alan’s valet, Jem offers much more than polished boots and starched cravats. He makes Alan smile and warms his bed. Just as the men are adjusting to their new living arrangement, news about a former soldier under his command sends Sir Watleigh and Jem on the road to save a child in danger.

The journey brings them closer together as they travel from lust toward love. But is Alan's love strong enough to risk society discovering the truth about him?

see excerpt below It was a hanging offense if he got caught. Jem knew that. But he also knew he could get half a crown for the act and sleep with a full belly tonight. Now he just had to decide if the gent in the fancy waistcoat was a real customer or a troublemaker setting him up to take a fall. Another glance at the expensive carriage waiting on the street convinced him the dark-haired man was the former. A beak wouldn't get that elaborate in his attempt to set up a whore. He might approach him in a tavern or on the street and whisper a furtive request, but wouldn't hire a rich man's carriage to complete the ruse. Would he?
Jem looked into the man's eyes, trying to read them, but it was a dark night. The fog rose along with the stench from the rubbish in the alleys and crept out to claim the London streets. A man could hardly see his own hand, let alone a stranger's face, in the swirling gray.
“Will you take a ride?” the man asked again. Street slang decoded the words to mean the cove wasn't just seeking fast relief. This wouldn't be a quick tour around a couple of streets and back again. The man wanted a full ride.
Jem decided he'd give it to him. He shrugged. “Cold night. Aye, I'll take a ride with you.”
The gentry cove nodded and gestured for Jem to go first into the carriage. He climbed the step and slid across the seat, breathing in the delicious aroma of leather, tobacco, and wealth. He'd wished for shelter from the frigid wind, and it appeared his wish had been granted for now. No fool, he'd take a little warmth while he could get it.
He looked out the small window at the street he knew so well—or what he could see of it through the fog and the night. The buildings looked different from this high perch, more squalid and decrepit than he'd realized. His heart beat faster; Jem was both excited and nervous at the prospect of an evening spent somewhere better. Sure, it was only for a few hours and only because this man wanted to bugger his rear. But for a few fleeting moments he'd be out of this hell and in a warm place. Maybe even a plush hotel room.
Jem studied his temporary employer as the man climbed into the carriage and sat across from him. It was as dark as the inside of a slut's cunny, but Jem could make out a few details of the man's face and figure. He was of medium height and build, not too old, but no youth either. His dark hair was cut short and brushed straight back from his high forehead. The style wasn't the high pompadour currently in fashion for society fops, nor was his cravat so elaborate that it forced his chin up. In fact, if Jem had to guess the man's status or profession, he might have said the clergy from the plainness of his dress.
“What's your name?” The low voice floated to him in the intimate darkness of the carriage like a seductive caress. Jem's cock hardened in his breeches. Tonight would be no chore at all. He'd enjoy being fucked for his supper.
“You call me whatever you like” was his stock answer.
There was a long pause before the man spoke again. “I'd like to know your name.”
“Jem.” He didn't ask for the man's name. It wasn't his place. Jem patted the seat beside him. “Do you want to come over here? I can make it a pleasant ride to wherever you're taking me.”
The movement of the man's head shaking was almost indiscernible in the shadow. “No. I'd prefer…to take some time and learn a little about you.”
“Fair enough.” Jem bobbed his chin. “I'm a working lad. Live in Southwark, will probably die here. I've tried my hand at a number of different business ventures and found my current occupation the most lucrative.”
He grinned, enjoying the sound of his own voice. He loved to mimic the swells' speech and mannerisms—his way of taunting them and showing his disdain.
“How old are you?” was the next question.
Knowing most customers liked to at least pretend they were plowing virgin territory, Jem subtracted half a dozen years from his age. “Thirteen.”
His host chuckled softly, clearly not fooled into thinking week-old haddock was freshly caught. “Is that so?”
“All right. Fifteen,” Jem lied again. Nineteen wasn't nearly as attractive to prospective customers. “But those extra years bring experience from which you'll greatly benefit, sir.”
Another breathless laugh. Not actual amusement, and Jem wondered what the man's problem was that he had to talk and laugh instead of getting straight to work. To the good part.
“What's funny, then, sir?” Jem didn't like the frisson of fear that ghostly laugh gave him.
“Nothing at all, I expect.” The voice was soft yet clipped, the voice of authority. The dark figure in the corner shifted. The gent added, almost silently, “I am quite glad one of us has some experience.”
Jem wanted to laugh, make a ribald comment, but he wouldn't because he wasn't supposed to have heard.
The carriage jolted, and he grabbed for a hold. He was thrown toward the other man, knocked against the hard warmth of him. The gentleman grabbed him easily and hauled him upright, then almost threw Jem back onto the seat—away from his corner. A swell though he was—no doubt about that—the man had some muscle on him, and he moved fast for one who'd been drinking. For the instant he'd been against him, Jem dragged in a lungful of air and caught the scent of brandy.
“Didn't mean to launch myself at you, sir. Not unless invited,” he said and waited for the man's laugh, which didn't come.
Jem wondered if he should mention money now or suggest the man might be hungry, because he sure as hell was gutfoundered and wouldn't mind stopping for a bite. He wasn't fool enough to bring up the matter. It was up to the gentleman to set their course. Jem repressed a sigh.
“Have you ever been out of London?”
Not a moment of his life, but why did the gent care? What was his game? “Naturally I got the country estate,” Jem said. “Hunting, shooting, and what have you, all the livelong day. Cows,” he added. “Sheep.”
“Jem.” The voice was softer than ever. “Is that short for Jeremy?”
Fine, there wouldn't be jesting, and a well-developed sense of self-preservation told Jem to stick to the truth as much as possible. “Naw. Just Jem.” No last names shared between men like them.
Near the middle of the night, rumbling through the streets muffled in fog, the dark interior of the carriage—anything might happen. They slowed. Over the thud of the horses' hooves and rumble of the wheels, Jem heard his own breathing coming fast. And he felt the slight rise of fear in his gut. He was no coward, but something about the unknown, very still gentleman in the corner of the carriage touched nerves in the most unlikely places. For instance, his cock was growing even harder.
The peculiar etiquette of the situation said he shouldn't ask, but he did anyway. “Where're we off to, then, sir?” He was pleased by his attempt at cheery nonchalance.
“My home. We're nearly there.”
Not married, then. Or the cat was away and the mouse was playing. Only this was no mouse. The carriage stopped, the door opened, and for the first time, Jem saw the coachman. His smile froze. “Gawd,” he whispered.
The devil had been driving them. A huge, hulking devil with a great scar down his face. Two great scars. Part of an ear was gone. Jem had seen plenty of mangled and scarred souls in his time—who hadn't?—but this one would have sent the children running and screaming even before he'd lost chunks of his face. He loomed over them.
“Badgeman.” Jem's host ignored Jem as he spoke to the coachman. “Take my…guest round to the kitchen. I think it best that he bathe. Some of Jonathan's clothes will fit him, I believe.”
The devil driver grunted and stood back. The gent stepped out. He nodded at the hideous coachman. Their faces were easy to make out by the oil lantern. They wore the same grim expression. Blank. Dark. Jem could read nothing warm or good in those two.
Jem swallowed hard and wondered if this was the moment he jumped out and ran to freedom. But curiosity, an empty stomach, and the knowledge that he carried a handy little knife kept him still. And desire. Don't forget that, he mocked himself. He'd been in a state of semiarousal since getting into the big rattling carriage.
Before he could slide out of the carriage, the driver ordered “wait.” The door slammed shut. Jem clutched the knife and sat forward in the dark. He didn't have to wait long. The carriage lurched. The horses walked forward for less than thirty seconds.
When the door opened again, the monster stood outside, haloed by fog, his boots and the bottom of his long black greatcoat surrounded by the stuff so he looked as if he were rising from the swirling smoke of hell.
Jem tucked away the blade and stepped out as if he were royalty exiting a coach in front of a cheering crowd. He had an unfortunate method for facing fear: annoy whoever provoked it. At the moment it felt as if he had no choice. “Mr. Badger,” he drawled and bowed.
“Badgeman,” the man rumbled. “Come, then.” He turned on his heel and strode toward a door.
Jem looked the building up and down. Large, granite, imposing. And this was the servants' entrance. “So, Badger.” He did a passable imitation of cheeriness. “How many men have you two lured into this den of yers? Regular activity, is it? Once a week you two go out, pick up an unsuspecting young cove, and bathe him?”
The groom turned and stared at him. “Never before.”
Jem believed him. Poor Badger fretted over his employer for good reason, then. “Ah, that's why you're worried? You're the monster, not me. I ain't out to harm your master.”
“Worried about you?” For the first time something like a smile twisted the man's face. Only one side. The other side of his mouth was cut by a scar that ran from his cheek to his chin. The cut must have hit something that made it impossible to smile.
“Then you always look like you lost your best friend? You and your master?”
The single eyebrow went up. Badgeman didn't move for a moment, and then he said, “Badajoz. 'Tis the anniversary.”
“Oh.” Jem had no idea who or what a Badajoz was, although the word sounded familiar. “Anniversaries are the devil, ain't they? Hardly bear it when that date rolls round again. All them bad memories. Or do I mean good ones?”
“Shut it,” Badgeman said without heat. “Wait out here.” He went inside the building, and Jem leaned against the wall. He shoved his trembling hands into his tattered waistcoat pockets.
Softly, so none of the neighbor houses could hear, he began to whistle a bawdy song. Quality didn't usually bring a man like him home. Didn't want to shit where they lived, so to speak. It was a dangerous proposition to let a street lad in. The servants might gossip about what their master was up to, or the dirty rascal might nick the best silver. Lord Muckety-muck was either a naive fool or confident that Jem wouldn't dare cross him.
A chill breeze cut through his coat, and Jem hunched his shoulders, shivering. One more minute; that's all he'd give, and then he was leaving, even though it meant hoofing it all the way back to Crowder Street.
The back door opened, and the mountain filling its frame beckoned him. “Come in. Your bath's ready.”
Jem made a show of sniffing himself. “What, am I a little too rank for his lordship?”
“In here.” The Badger directed him through the entryway to the kitchen. A fire burned low on the hearth, and a copper tub filled with steaming water stood before it. Jem had never had more than a quick scrub in a basin of water in his entire life, unless one counted an occasional swim in the Thames on a hot summer's day.
He stared at the water, then at the coachman or manservant, whichever he was. “You want me to get in that?”
The big man had taken off his coat and wore only his shirtsleeves and braces. He folded his arms over his chest. “Strip.”
“With you watchin'? Are you gonna scrub me too, while the master looks on? I'd have to charge extra for that.”
It was like talking to a rock. The man showed no expression. “Take off your clothes, and wash yourself. There's soap and a rag on the stand by the tub and a towel to dry off with after.”
Jem considered for a moment, but just then, the wind rattled the windowpane, and he knew he didn't want to go back out into the cold just yet. He'd see how this played out and hope he didn't find himself later with his throat cut, dead in an alley. He shrugged off his coat, let it drop to the floor, and began to unbutton his shirt.
Old Badger gazed off into space, not watching him. He was there to guard the silver, no doubt. Wise decision.
Jem took off his shoes and breeches, and when he was completely naked, he padded across the cold flagstones to the bath and tested it with one hand. The water was deliciously warm. He glanced over his shoulder at the servant, but the man was still giving him privacy by ignoring him completely.
Gingerly Jem stepped over the edge of the tub, and his leg sank into the water. He paused for a moment, almost afraid to take his other foot off the floor. But he couldn't hang there forever, so he took the plunge.
As he sank into the water, the level rose until he was covered nearly to his neck. Once he'd adjusted to the heat and the odd sensation of floating, he found it heavenly. He reached for the flannel, wet it, and rubbed it over the soap. He scrubbed his face and rinsed it with a quick dip, the suds stinging his eyes. Then he washed the rest of his body leisurely, resuming his whistling as he soaped and splashed.
“The hair too. Master don't want your fleas hopping through his house.”
Jem kept his mouth shut for once and did as he was told, submerging his head completely underwater and scrubbing his hair with the soap. Wasn't his place to argue if his customer wanted him clean, and truth to tell, the bath wasn't so bad. The heated water relaxed his muscles till they felt like jelly and warmed him to his very bones.
“Hurry along now,” Badger urged as the water grew colder.
Jem reluctantly rose, toweled off his torso, then stepped out of the water, leaving a puddle on the floor, and dried his legs. He slung the towel around his hips and stared at Badgeman. “Now what?”
“Clothes are there. Put 'em on.”
Jem picked up the trousers from the pile on the wooden chair. They were smooth broadcloth, finer than any fabric that had ever touched his body. The shirt was soft linen, white and as clean as snow before chimney soot got mixed up in it. So he was playing a role, then, maybe the part of someone Lord Fancy had loved and lost, which would explain all the talk about anniversaries. He'd give the gentleman his money's worth, put on his best impression of gentry, talk high-class, and pretend the bath had washed the stink of the gutter from him.
When Jem had dressed from his skin out, including slipping his feet into high, buckled shoes that were a bit too tight, he turned to Badgeman and drawled in a nasal tone, “Very well, then. I'm ready to meet his lordship. Lead on, sirrah.”
. Read more!

Mirror Image

Double your pleasure, double your fun. What’s better than one amazing lover? A matched set.

When Agent Mara Brannigan struts into a low-rent bar on a mission to seduce and apprehend a pair of fugitives from the government, she doesn’t count on being the one caught in the snare of seduction.

Captains Derrick and “Red” Ravenscraft are a duplicate pair, which the Galactic Ministry of Science wants to study. Mara is there to strongly suggest they respond to that summons, but a bar brawl winds up with her unconscious and waking up on board the captains’ ship.

Powerful, undeniable attraction binds the three together. The squabbling men must learn to overcome their issues when the ship, and Mara, are endangered by an outer space menace. But when the danger is past, can they make a permanent reconciliation, and can the three find a happy balance together?

Excerpt:
Double your pleasure.

Her gaze magnetically sealed to the matched pair across the bar. Most everyone in the place kept stealing glances at them, so it wasn’t like she’d reveal they were her targets. The tall, auburn-haired, leather-jacketed, testosterone-laden specimens of manhood were speaking intensely and occasionally jabbing a finger into each other’s heavy shoulders.

Crossing her long, bare legs, she swung them idly from the tall barstool. It was nearly impossible not to gawk, to study them and search for some tiny differences between the arguing men. Hard to tell in the dim light, but it appeared as if Captain A had a scar marking the side of his face while Captain B’s hair was definitely longer, falling past the upturned collar of his jacket. What must it be like? Two of her would be weird.

Double your fun.

The words of the nonsensical nursery rhyme passed down from the Old Days revolved incessantly in Mara’s mind. She drew a deep breath and shifted on the faux-wood bar stool, trying to relieve the tension building between her legs. Her pussy felt as soft and pliable as plastique and just as likely to explode given the right igniter.

Focus. She was here on the small moon of Bonmim to apprehend her quarry, not get turned on by them. She didn’t want to be here, all dressed up for sex she wouldn’t get. Alone as usual. She loved her job, and was proud of it, but lately the pace had been getting to her. She needed a vacation. She wanted someone to talk to, and someone to have sex with, and the isolation hollowing her ribs was pathetic. Seducing these hardheads into leaving the bar with her was part of the plan, but she mustn’t be taken in by her own performance. They were double cute, double interesting, and she was double lonely.

No, the seduction was for show. The men were likely to fight if cornered so she couldn’t apprehend them in a room full of people. But it shouldn’t be too difficult to get one or preferably both of them to follow her outside where she could politely read them their rights then escort them to Rasedule where the Capitol Science Headquarters of Theory and Energy were located.

Not difficult at all, especially as both men simultaneously noticed her and stared with smoldering, dark eyes that peeled off her I-wanna-have-fun clothes from across the room. Mara longed to slip off the confining little black dress that lifted her sensitive breasts and rubbed too roughly against her feverish skin. Damn, it was like she’d been caught in a radiation shower, as if her very bones were melting. If the men’s mere scrutiny could do that, think of what their roaming hands or mouths could do.

Double your pleasure.

She turned her attention back to her drink, sucking deeply on the straw impaling the icy blue confection. The slush cooled her throat but the alcohol warmed her blood even more. Mara waited, gazing around the bar at other people, making eye contact with other men. A young blond was notable for the return heat he sent her. Here she was, just an ordinary woman on the make. She ignored the empty cavern of her echoing heart. Here she was, just an ordinary agent who hadn’t even seen her friends face-to-face in over a year.

A moment later, two blue Molten Icecaps plunked down on the bar in front of her. The one she’d ordered for herself had been virgin. She could tell by the dense cobalt at the base these were fully loaded. Drinking on a job was against her rules. It was common sense.

“Courtesy of the gentlemen over there,” the bartender said. He paused before turning away. “I’d watch out for those two, miss. Lot of trouble.”

“Really?” She looked at her quarry again, nodding her acknowledgement of the drinks, meeting the two pairs of sizzling eyes. “Happens to be I’m looking for trouble. You can let them know that for me if you’d like.”

The Moltens were her favorite. How lucky for her. She pulled one closer and took a deep drag of the spicy slush.

The tender shrugged. “All right, lady, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

After he walked away, the blond man she’d smiled at came up beside her. “Hello. I see I moved too slow and somebody’s already bought you drinks. How about I break tradition and buy you a bag of pretzels instead?”

The man flashed a charming grin. If she hadn’t been on a mission, Mara might have taken him up on the offer and taken him home later that evening. He was the kind of young, obedient and energetic partner she liked. But of course she was on a mission same as she had been for the last ten years.

He angled his shoulders, blocking her view. Then again, the captains eclipsed every other man in the room. If she really was on the make, maybe she’d take a gamble on a less dependable date. Maybe she’d truly hit on her targets, if she was feeling really frisky. Which she was. The blond was in the way. She needed the stools beside her left empty.

“You’re very sweet. Thanks, but sorry, I’m expecting someone.” She smiled her firm, polite smile then let him know with her eyes that she meant it.

With a nod, the guy retreated back to his buddies at a nearby table.

Mara took another long pull on her straw, draining her glass, and an ice headache threatened. What the hell was taking them so long to move in? Restlessly, she stretched her neck and checked out the décor. This bar was the latest in historical reproductions. The synth walls were uneven brown slabs, supposedly like massive plants that had been cut and nailed together. Old names written in glowing tube lighting were scattered behind the bar. Her favorite was one the same color as her Molten drink. It read “Miller Time.” Whatever that was. Maybe it was the frustrating amount of time between the Copied Captains giving her yummy drinks and getting their big firm bodies over here. She stole a look at the men.

The scarred guy was looking back at her, fucking her with his gaze, while his longer-haired twin berated him with an angry scowl furrowing his brows. Mara could guess what they were fighting about now. She angled her crossed legs higher, revealing more toned thigh, and draped her arm along the back of the tall chair, exposing her generous breasts. She stared at the bottles lining the wall behind the counter, licked her lips with lazy confidence, and waited some more. Unfortunately, the wait began to feel less predatory agent-in-waiting, and more flat-out sexual anticipation. The Molten Blue sizzled down her throat.

She felt them before she saw them, two hot bodies bracketing her on either side. Standing as tall as she did, she appreciated large men. The scarred captain slid onto the stool on her left.

His shaggy-haired mate asked permission. “Is this seat taken?”

She inclined her head. “Please, sit.”

The very vibration of the air changed with their commanding presences surrounding her. Her nipples tingled and her sex clenched in response to their proximity. Mara sat up straighter on her stool, squeezing her thighs tight.

Double your fun. Read more!

Valentine Freebie

Please check out my sexy Valentine short at the Samhellion blog
A BEATING HEART is about a vampire who has an unexpected erotic encounter with a stranger one evening. It's available at the Samhain blog. I think you’ll enjoy it.





28 Days of Heart continues at All Romance Ebooks. Participating authors are giving away all proceeds from the sales to the American Heart Association.
LIBERATING LUCIUS is the story I've donated to the cause. Some of you may have read it in the past either at Venus Press or on my blog. I donated the story to this worthwhile program to prevent heart disease. Read more!

Seducing Stephen Available Now

Seducing Stephen by Bonnie Dee and Summer Devon is available at Loose Id. Check out this sexy historical which takes the trope of the jaded rake and the virginal miss in an entirely new direction.

Stephen is visiting the home of a friend during holiday from university when his bed is invaded by a late arriving, drunken houseguest stumbling into the wrong bedroom. From this dubious beginning, a romance slowly develops.

At first Lord Peter Northrup is only interested in the young man as a lusty diversion. He tutors him in the ways of most homosexual liaisons of the time—brief, light, and always temporary. But after he leaves, breaking young Stephen’s heart, he can’t forget him.

Both men grow during their time apart and when they meet again, their affair flames hotter than ever. Is there any possibility for a real relationship between a peer of the realm and a middle-class young man with heavy responsibilities on his shoulders? Will Peter accept the possibility of true love in his shallow life, and will Stephen risk everything and trust a man who’s already hurt him once?

Excerpt:
When they returned to the house in midafternoon of the hot, sunny day, it was to find the place quiet. The butler informed them Mrs. Pratt was napping and the young men had gone off on a walk. Peter was ridiculously disappointed by the news.
Edward took his leave, saying he wouldn’t mind a rest himself during the heat of the day, and Peter was left at loose ends. He sat in the library for a bit, flipping absently through the pages of books. But the day was too fine for a man to be caged indoors, and he felt too restless to slip into a comfortable doze.
He abandoned his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves like a workingman before leaving the relatively cool house to stroll through the gardens. Mrs. Pratt’s rose garden was at peak bloom, the sweet fragrance almost overpowering. The cloying scent was cut by the sharp tang of evergreen as he left the rose garden and entered the verdant green of the maze.
A bad idea. The tall walls of yew trapped the heat, and Peter’s shirt was damp with sweat by the time he finally approached the center of the maze. He made the last turn and came to an abrupt halt, arrested by the vision before him.
Stephen was sitting on the grass, reading a book in the shade cast by the wall of evergreen. His boots were off and his shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a white undershirt beneath. He looked up, startled, his light gray eyes reflecting the bright sunlight and appearing even more luminous than they had in the firelight’s glow last night.
The young man scrambled to his feet and bowed toward Peter, the appropriate response to a man of higher rank, but hardly necessary under the casual circumstances.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Peter said. “Please, sit. I plan to do the same myself.”
Ignoring the stone bench, he crossed the small clearing and dropped down onto the grass in the small bit of shade. He looked up at Stephen, who still stood over him. “Won’t you sit down?”
“Y-yes.” The youth began to button his shirt as he folded his long legs and resumed his seat on the ground.
Peter fanned his face with his hand. “Don’t know what I was thinking of, walking in this heat. Where’s Brian?”
“He’s much cleverer than I. He stayed indoors.” A smile flickered over Stephen’s mouth. “The idea of exploring the maze was too tempting. I’ve always wanted to walk one and never had the opportunity. But I guess waiting until evening would’ve been better.”
“At least you brought rations. Smart boy.” Peter gestured to the corked bottle leaning against the hedge.
“Oh. Please.” Stephen offered it to him.
Peter drank deeply of the tepid water with the slight tang of citrus, then poured a little into his cupped hand and splashed it on his face. After he recapped the bottle and handed it back, they sat in strained silence for several aching moments. The events of the previous night hung in the air between them like a rock balloon.
Peter studied the pale gold sweep of Stephen’s lashes against his flushed cheeks -- pink from either embarrassment or heat. Someone must break the awkward mood, and since he was older and more experienced, it seemed it would have to be him.
“About last night.” The two spoke in unison, the words tumbling against one another.
Stephen smiled. Peter chuckled. “Do go on. What did you want to say about last night?”
The young man licked his lips, and the flash of tongue sent a frisson of lust shimmering through Peter. “I’m sure you could guess I’ve never done anything like that. B-but I’ve wanted to. I would like to learn more…from you…while we’re both here.” He added a codicil. “If that’s possible.”
Was it possible? Peter had spent all morning trying to convince himself it wasn’t. A dalliance with his friends’ son’s university chum was out of the question. But with Stephen expressing an equal interest in and attraction to him, Peter couldn’t for the life of him remember why such a liaison was impossible.
He pursed his lips as he considered. “We would have to be extremely circumspect.”
Stephen nodded. “Of course.”
“And I will only be here through the weekend.”
“I understand.”
Peter smiled slowly. “Long enough to get up to some trouble.”
Stephen seemed to have used up his store of words and courage, because he merely nodded again.
“If you’re very sure about this,” Peter added, giving the young man every opportunity to change his mind. “I wouldn’t want to be corrupting an innocent. Any more than I already have, I mean.”
The youth stared at the bottle in his hands, corking and uncorking it over and over. “Can you tell me, sir, how you first knew you were…different from other men? You seem so comfortable with your desires. Unafraid. I want to be like that.”
“You’re young. It takes time, and some never are able to accept themselves. I know many men with wives and children who only rarely dare to satisfy their secret need. Others who never do, although one can see that need in their eyes.”
“Why?” The word was a gusting sigh. “Why do some of us have these perverted desires? Is it really the devil who’s touched us? I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want it. I want to be normal.” His voice picked up volume and ended nearly as an angry cry, all trace of hesitation and stuttering gone.
Peter waited, giving Stephen the opportunity to let out more of his feelings while he worked out how he was going to answer.
“I’ve looked at girls, at women, and tried to feel what I’m supposed to,” Stephen continued. “They look very pretty in their beautiful gowns, with their hair in curls and ribbons, but they don’t move me. Not in the s-slightest. I can’t…feel anything about them. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes.” He reached out and touched the other man’s bare forearm, the skin warm and slightly moist beneath his hand. “I understand completely.”
Peter knew what the poor, confused lad needed most right now was to be able to voice what he’d had to keep hidden for so long. He remembered what it had been like for him before he’d finally admitted to his needs and at long last accepted them. Only years later had he found broad-minded people like the Pratts who would remain his friends despite his proclivities.
Stephen gazed at Peter’s hand on his arm before looking slowly up to his face. “How did you do it?”
Peter shook his head slightly. The journey was different for every man. He didn’t know if he could give an answer that would help Stephen’s particular situation. “I just did it. Stopped trying to please society and started pleasing myself.”
“Show me how.”
The husky whisper raised gooseflesh on Peter’s arms and made his cock stiffen. Oh God, how he wanted to show him, to tutor him in the ways of the flesh, but he wasn’t certain if a kind ear wasn’t more what Stephen needed right now.
Peter stroked his hand from the smooth, strong forearm down to Stephen’s hand and curled his fingers around it.
“Tell me a little more about yourself first.” He brought the younger man’s hand to his own lap and cupped it between both his hands. “We have all afternoon. No one else would be fool enough to tackle the maze in this heat. Let us take a little time to get to know each other first.” Read more!

My Yorkie

All right, this isn't really my Yorkie, Buttons. But it's cute and I can't think of anything to write about today so here's a cute Yorkie picture.



Also, my story LIBERATING LUCIUS is included in ARE's 28 Days of Heart campaign. Buy any of the titles in this seies from ARE and your purchase will go to support the American Heart Association.
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Loving Sophia Up

Well, the day has arrived. Loving Sophia is up at Liquid Silver. Can I get a woot woot? Drop by LSB and read the first chapter. Whet your desires. Pun intended. Read more!