Weather...whether...

It snowed today. Long and hard for over two hours. Unable to see more than a thousand feet. Layered the world around me in white. Soft and pure. Then it passed away...and an hour later it was pouring rain with heavy winds. And now it's all gone.

I stayed in. Thought about things. Slipped into a frame of mind that questioned why I'm writing. Why I've all but stopped sketching, let alone painting. Remembered I planned for years...through high school and after....to be an artist. 

Fell in love with abstract expressionism, but wanted to mix its subconscious non-representational emotion and gesture with the human form. 

Male human form. Everybody was doing women. I'd even begun seeing the Andrew Wyeth paintings of Helga, here and there, and started wondering if I could find some way of combining that precise beauty with the careful freedom of Willem de Kooning and lovely men.

But it never happened. Oh, I did paintings. Male nudes. Single. Double. Groups. Working in acrylics on board. Sold some to collectors. Gave others away. Did some off-beat designs of cityscapes that became t-shirts and posters. Then for some reason turned to writing.

But even in my writing I tried to paint images with words. And still, working on a piece of gay erotica, I'm fighting to build more than a picture in the reader's mind of what is there and happening. Not just the action and emotion, but the blending of background and foreground and colors and styles. A life, not merely a tale.

Then today...after thinking about what I posted yesterday, for Taking Nicky...I suddenly wondered if I've just been wasting my time on something that was counterproductive to my true reason to be. Words cannot take the place of images. Never. You can try and come close...and worlds can be build in one's mind and emotions touched...but nothing supplants actually seeing.

So I feel like I've spent 50 years riding the wrong horse...and now cannot even get myself to do a fucking sketch. To pick up a paint brush, again.

How fitting I'm feeling this way on Friday, the 13th.

Well, back to wondering what I'm doing...

I uploaded chapter seventeen of Taking Nicky and may wind up with three more, depending on how this goes. Rett learns Niko is controlled by Vance, financially and career-wise, and is willing to help him escape that control. How? I have no idea.

The chapter ends with them headed over to Niko's condo in Santa Monica to look over his taxes from last year. Maybe some financial statements. None of which will show a damned thing except Niko gets wayt overcharged for everything so has little money left over.

Rett's also got Ben and Liam back on his side, and he's willing to accept them...and that makes no sense to me. They worked with Vance to hurt him and he's fine with them still helping him out? Realistically, I can't see it...but I have a feeling Rett has his reasons.

That was something I learned a long time ago...that everyone has his good reasons. It's a quote from Jean Renoir's The Rules of the Game. Funny that the English title is in the plural; the original French is singular. La Règle du Jou. 

Perhaps I should take that more into account with my world, a simple change that means everything...and reveals the limitations of the world.

Goodreads...

Well...A Place of Safety-Home Not Home got a 5-star review on Goodreads...

This powerful continuation of the story pulls readers straight into Brendan’s emotional and dangerous journey back to Derry. The author does a remarkable job portraying the tension of the political unrest while also diving deeply into Brendan’s personal struggles with family, betrayal, and painful truths from the past. 

I was especially drawn to the complex relationships, particularly the conflict with his brother Kieran and the revelations about his father and Joanna. The pacing keeps the suspense alive while allowing space for reflection. It’s a gripping and thought-provoking read that blends history, emotion, and suspense beautifully. 

I highly recommend it to readers who enjoy intense, character driven historical drama.

Makes me very happy. And here's my website to locate all three volumes of the story, should anyone want to read it for themselves.

Backtracking...

Well...I let a minor character hijack Chapter Seventeen of Taking Nicky and take it to a place I did NOT like. Then he argued with me when I didn't want to go there. So...I cut all but the first 200 words of what I'd written and will start over, tomorrow.

I have enough brutal sex in the story, god knows I do. Especially Chapter Sixteen, which is nonstop. So I want a pull back to normalcy. Tenderness, even. I'm trying to find a way to have Rett's obsession with Nicko turn positive.

Which is crazy to want because he just raped the guy. So am I going for a Stockholm Syndrome deal between the two of them? That seems awfully fake...and I hate fake, even in erotica.

Unless...Niko turns the tables on Rett and gets him to become...what? His slave? Sugar Daddy? Bondage master? Benefactor? I dunno...

Screw it. I'm taking tomorrow off and giving myself time to think. May have to, anyway. I'm trying to get in to see my doctor about a sore that was healing but is suddenly back to being red and rough. Like it's infected. Nothing I'm doing seems to make a difference, so it's medical alert time.

Oh, and in the world of no good turn goes unpunished...I went to Walgreens for some meds and a homeless guy at the entrance asked for shampoo. I bought him a travel size of Pantene. Gave it to him. Then he asked for the receipt. 

I'd paid for the shampoo at the same time I paid for a couple of prescriptions, so told him I needed it. He tossed a fit, in the store. Screaming, "I said please!" Over and over. I was so startled, I dropped everything...and he grabbed the receipt and stormed off. I didn't chase him; I was glad he was leaving.

But fuck me if I ever do anything decent for another person I don't know.

I can never be a vegan...

Today I ate right. Shredded wheat for breakfast (good fiber). Leftover cheese enchiladas and rice for lunch (home made). Hopped over to Wegmans for their avocado rolls for dinner (had 4 instead of only 2). Got a great reading on my blood sugar (132, which is under the 180 requested in the evening). And my snack was fruit cocktail (in fruit juice, with bananas).

But by 10:30pm I'd have killed for a cheeseburger. Right now, I'm eating some leftover mac and cheese cooked with ground beef and chili powder...and feeling much, much happier.

Now rather than feeling guilty, I'm just going to pay more attention to a guy who goes by The Fitness Chef. His name is Graeme Tomlinson, and has a pretty even-handed approach to diet...and his deadpan discussions are lovely...

I'm not geared to veggies all that much. Broccoli gives me gas like you wouldn't believe, and if I eat more than a couple fronds sends me to the toilet. Salad's fine...a couple days a week. Spaghetti with my own meat sauce is lovely. I even like it reheated. 

Guess I'm just a carnivore, inside out. Raised on the idea your dinner has to have a meat, something green like peas or string beans, potato and bread. It's how I'm configured. So all I can do is try to eat less.

I had one hell of a time doing that in San Antonio, while dealing with my brother's illness and death. I put on about 5 lbs...which is good because I thought it'd be worse. And I've taken them off. This morning I was back to 220. So I'm going back to my old diet, just eating less of it at a time. I'd like to dip below 200, again, but it's been nearly 2 decades since that happened.

So I guess I'll get back to walking, as well...get some exercise.

And try not to be so grumpy doing it...

Evolving...

Chapter Sixteen of Taking Nicky is nothing but Rett finally getting to take Nicky...or Niko, as he's now called...and manipulates Ben and Liam to where they participate in it. And finds he wants more from Niko, now, now, now. Becomes obsessed.

But this is where the story shifts, again. Chapter Seventeen will be Rett finding out Niko had been sex-trafficked by his agent and Vance. The condo he lives in isn't his; it's where he's forced to stay by contract...at an exorbitant rent. That's taken straight out of his modeling fees.

In fact, his agency and others charge so much to him, he's lucky if he keeps 10% of his income. He's so broke, he can't even afford to have a dog, not that the owner of his condo would let him. The only thing he truly owns is his old Chevy Blazer.

He goes skating down the bike path to blow off steam when things get to be too much. And he knows he's been an asshole to people, but sometimes it's his only way to keep his sanity.

Funny, but I think Niko and Rett will wind up lovers living in Rett's condo. Maybe Niko will set up a social media platform about the true life of a model. Or go into business with Steve/Smoke making skates. No idea, yet.

But then, I had no idea this would go in many of the directions it did and still wind up here. I should stop worrying about how Dair's Window will turn out and just let it happen. Drop the structure I currently have. See where Adam and Dair take me.

Finally trusting Brendan to lead me right worked for A Place of Safety...

Lightning strikes...

One more pass through Taking Nicky's Chapter 15 to polish and check for typos...after having editor do a check...and up it goes onto GayDemon. I've also set up for chapter 16...and probably 17...and maybe 18. We shall see.

But by underestimating Rett, Ben and Liam have put themselves into a dangerous position...both physically and emotionally. Because Rett is out to teach them a lesson in not fucking around with people. Same for Niko.

Sixteen is that lesson being taught. Seventeen is emphasizing he is not to be trifled with. Eighteen, if there is one, is everything coming together with an HEA...so far...

Of course, reality is none of the people fucking around with Rett ever truly bothered to know or understand him. If they had, they'd have left him the hell alone.

Helps to have had a good sleep, overnight, and nice nap in the afternoon. And to be told you've got a 5-Star review for A Place of Safety-Home Not Home. I don't know where it's posted, but I'm told I have it.

One of the things I like most about writing, even when I don't, is how it keeps me from knowing too much about how the world is going...in real time. The evil of Felon47's administration just keeps getting worse, as does his defense by the MAGAt Cult...and it rips me apart.

I actually posted a comment on Xitter that I never thought I'd live to see America commit suicide, but here we are.

Yeah...here we are...

Change in direction, again...

The beginning of chapter 15 for Taking Nicky:

 
Okay, something people seem to forget is that just because I’m horny or obsessed over a guy...and just because that guy is kissing the shit out of me...and just because I’m enjoying the shit out of him doing it...I’ll get all stupid. Blind. Or maybe a better way of putting that would be, unable to pay attention to reality.

Which is really insulting. 

I mean, yeah...Niko’s kisses were the epitome of perfection, and him molding his body against mine was breathtaking in so many fucking ways...except for this one weird little issue. 

No hint of his dick pressing against me. 

He wasn’t hard. 

Not erect. 

My dick’s as solid as a John Holmes dildo, raging in my briefs and really obnoxiously so...but he’s got nothing. To the extent I’m beginning to wonder if he’s trans. 

Of course, I knew better, all the research I’d done on him. But that wasn’t the only thing bothering me. 

The sliding glass doors to the yard are still open, and you don’t let something like those stay open overnight. You’ll wind up with some homeless person sleeping on your couch or, as once happened to me, taking a dump on your coffee table while zonked out of his mind. 

So I tried to move him back so I could shift around to close it, saying, “C’mon, Niko, lemme lock the front...” 

But he grabbed my wrists and held my hands over my head while crushing me against the wall, pinning me. Shutting my words off. 

That’s when I chuckled, “Niko, come on, I...I need to close the door.” 

He silenced me with another kiss. 

Which was beginning to piss me off. So I yanked my hands away and pushed at him but he had braced himself against me by propping his legs at an angle and barely moved...and that’s when I noticed... 

Ben and Liam entering at the sliding glass door. Looking sneaky. And holding rope. 

Bam, inner wildcat took over. I kneed Niko in the balls...and it turned out he does have them. And a dick. Because he howled and dropped and I scampered back into the kitchen, where I grabbed a knife, and held it in my best serial killer way. Which stopped the boys at the kitchen door. 

“All right, boys,” I growled, “who’s going to explain this?”

Dammit...

I had my burger...actually, a small cheeseburger, small fries and a regular drink...at a 5 Guys simply because they're easy and on the way home and acceptable enough. But it was $20!!! Twenty fucking dollars! This is why I'm cooking at home, more and more. I just need to better prepare for my cravings.

I also tried out making a chocolate cake from an apple, egg, cocoa powder and dash of baking powder. Saw the recipe at Corey B's Facebook page. Smelled good. Looked good. Tasted pretty good. But the consistency was so wrong...like a cross between muerange and souffle. I ate it. Made my lonely mouth happy enough due to the choco-love. But no more; too weird.

One note about this -- if you're going to try it yourself, chop the apple up before you try to blend it. I've got a Rocket blender and it did not like big slices.

Worked another 5 hours today and maybe as much, tomorrow, then I'll return focus to Taking Nicky. I've got a solid idea of how to handle it and give the readers what they're expecting, thanks to a dumb move by Ben and Liam.

Those two join forces with Vance to teach Rett a lesson, but they don't so much bumble it as underestimate him. His comment is, They thought I was so locked in on my obsession with Nicky, they could take me, shake me, fuck me, and quake me... or something to that effect.

He turns the tables on them, all. Because something they did not take into account was his absolute unwillingness to be controlled. And how hard it would be to force him to do anything he didn't want to do. 

If all that makes any sense. Suffice to say, Rett achieves his goal and no one can do anything about it. Which makes him top dog in that little group.

Something Vance will not like.

Stupid...

Did you ever get hungry for something and talk yourself out of getting it because you have food at home and can make something but wind up not being able to and then kicking yourself for not just getting what you fucking wanted? That was me, tonight.

I got hungry for a really good, solid cheeseburger. But there's no place in my area of town that offers one. 5 Guys is okay...but not sloppy enough. Opposite of a place called Jim's Steak Out. Last time I got a burger there only half of it remained inside the bun; the rest slid out and around and I had to get a fork to eat it. 

I didn't want McDonald's, Wendy's or Burger King; theirs are so processed. And the nearest Chili's is 5 miles away in evening traffic. I was grumpy driving from the office and didn't want to deal with that. I'd have killed for an In-n-Out #2 meal, animal style, but they aren't in the mid-Atlantic states. So I came home.

Of course, all my hamburger meat is frozen and would have taken too long to thaw. I tried slaking my hunger with half a cantaloupe...but that only made me hungrier. I almost went out again just to hit the Chili's. Their burgers aren't the greatest but they're decent enough. Instead, I wound up making chili mac and cheese. And that was okay.

But I still fucking want a burger.

Maybe I'm pregnant...which would be a miracle in more ways than one...

Worked today...

Helping get paperwork set for dealers to return home in the US and abroad. Hopefully before the end of the world comes. I was only half joking when I referred to Felon47 as the antichrist. Apparently he took it as a challenge to outdo the devil and his spawn.

The positive thing for me is, I was busy till nearly 6 and bought dinner en route home. Same thing for tomorrow. Tonight, I had an avocado roll at Wegman's, which is tasty and held me okay, but after a couple hours I got hungry, again. It's better for lunch. Maybe I'll do Indian, tomorrow.

I don't really want to work, but I need the money to pay for all the trips to and time spent in San Antonio, not to mention helping pay for my brother's cremation and funeral. I cut costs as much as I could, but I'm still $1500 in the hole on my Visa. 

I've got an idea for the remainder of Taking Nicky. It has to do with Rett not being as stupid or gullible or desperate as someone else thinks he is. A double cross doesn't work on him. Once I have the time, I'll write it up and get it posted. I think three more chapters and the story is done.

I hope I can be as clever and smooth in my writing when I'm working on Dair's Window as I have been in my MM erotica. It's going to be a real challenge.

Of course...

I'm going through all the docs to be used to reformat my books into EPubs and finding not only typos but mistakes in attributions and inconsistencies in how they're laid out. I've gone through Hunter, Curt, the Blood Angel volumes, Rape in Holding Cell 6, Porno Manifesto, and Underground Guy...

And I've caught myself really liking how I wrote them. The way I phrased things and, in my mind, made the dialogue like something two or three people would actually be saying. 

I was especially pleased with a conversation between Devlin and his sister in law, Diana, in Underground Guy. When she tells him how she met his brother. Devlin knew the basics; she gives him the full story...and I think it's very well done.

-------

After another minute of watching me and sipping her tea and nibbling at her food she said, “Dev, you know how Colin and I met, right?” 

I had to nod. “He ... he got lost and you ... uh, you found him. Brought him home.” 

“You know where I found him?” 

I shrugged a yes. 

She smiled. “I always thought it interesting you never said anything.” 

I sighed and glanced at her, my mind beginning to focus. “I didn’t need to.” 

Her smile widened. “Y’know, the only reason I approached him was I’d heard my usual connection got busted and that I should assume the new guy’s a cop. So when I saw Colin — no way did he belong in that neighborhood. Fuckin’ rookie, was my first thought so I went over to play. Be a real bitch. But he looked at me with those lost dark lovely eyes and the first words he said were, Oh my God, you’re so beautiful.” 

She sighed. “I wasn’t. I was at the tail of a party weekend. But his attitude ... his whole manner ... it was so simple and straight and honest and sweet ... I fell apart. Sobbed. He said he was sorry and gave me a handkerchief. Cheap white cotton. Buy ‘em by the half-dozen. I still have it. Wouldn’t part with it for anything.” 

I turned to her. “You’re good for him. For both of us.” 

“Thank you for that.” She smiled and pulled out a tissue to dab her eyes. “It took me ten minutes to find out he’d met with a client and parked his car in a cheap lot to save a few bucks, but couldn’t remember which one and was close to falling apart. I offered to call someone but he panicked and said you were at school and your father off on business and no one could know how he’d screwed up. So we went to every lot I knew — and found it at the fifth one. By that point, he was shaking so badly he couldn’t drive so I got behind the wheel. And I stayed. And we have three beautiful perfect sons.” 

Then she looked straight at me to add with a near growl, “And I will never, never, never let anyone — anyone at all — hurt him or them. So if you don’t give me the complete and absolute truth, I’m here to have fun at a baby shower for an old friend, and then back to New York.” 

Where they would build walls to protect the business and I would be fucked.

Quotes...

I'm still working up info for the website. Finding quotes to use from the stories, to increase interest in them. I guess. Use this image for the header or banner or whatever it's called.

They might be a bit long, but the person handling the building of it is better are making them fit than I am, so I'm just giving samples...

Like the following, from Underground Guy, when Devlin is being interrogated by Reg:

“Would you call a lion who takes down an injured gazelle evil?” I growled, fighting to keep it low. “Does that word even apply to a hawk snatchin’ a field mouse that’s just a little too slow in gettin’ back to its hole?” ...

“Those other men. The dead ones. Is that how you excuse what happened to them?” 

I shook my head. “That’s a waste. Only a fool does that. You never know when you might want to — ” 

I stopped. I didn’t want to say what I was about to say. 

His look grew wary. “Want to what? Want to what?!” 

Dear God, I looked into his eyes, fought myself ... but I couldn’t lie to him so the words came out. “Feed, again.”

And this one from Curt as he's walking home: 

I followed him. 

I dunno why I did, I have to admit. Nothin’ hit me in th’ form of a thought as to what I was gonna do. I just saw how happy he looked, an’ how easy his life’d been an’ how perfect it would be from then on. So I followed him. Watched him jaunt towards this three year old Dodge parked halfway between two street lights. Watched his ass move under those jeans. Even th’ way he walked screamed at me how happy he was... 

An’ I knew I had to kill that walk.

Sometimes I wonder where this stuff comes from...because I know it's from within me...but still I wonder.

BTW, the painting behind me is one I did a few years ago.

Proper labeling is not work...

Today was spent pulling together files to go onto the MM website I'm having developed...and me realizing I've got all my shit everywhere except where I can find it. Eventually, I'll need to go through the dozen or so thumb drives and an external hard drive to sort everything into some form of order.

So I have 12 titles I want to post on the new site, for adults only. We're talking about me offering ebooks direct from the site instead of linking to D2D, meaning I'd need to send the developer Word docs to reformat. But I was only able to find 9 of the files I needed. 

Had to dig through everything post 2014...and discovered the last three by chance. I'd mislabeled them...no, not mis-labeled. Incompletely labeled so I didn't know exactly what they were. For example, I'd named one file RIHC6-corrected...but didn't note it's the ebook edition. So I overlooked it, twice. Only found it by opening every Word doc and seeing what they were. 

So far, I've gone over three of the files to remove Smashwords info from them and make them consistent in format. They weren't bad, just not exact. Then came using Editor to check spelling and grammar, and found a couple more typos. 

Of course.

I still need to dig up quotes from my books to add to the site. That's going to be fun...

And now we have a war on our hands, where Iranian schools filled with children are the targets. Just like Putin's and Netanyahu's method of getting their way. Focusing on my books helps me minimize my awareness of the horrors running rampant in the world.

For now...

Me? A poet?

I'm fighting hard to become one. Not of the rhyming sort, and maybe a cut above prose poetry. But still, I want Rett's time with Niko to be elegant and flowing and working from one lovely series of thoughts to another in the most sensuous of ways.

There's going to be so much to this, I'm using visuals to help. 

Going from dressed to undressing to nearly naked to ready for a shower...post coital. 

But nothing brutal or vile about it. 

I want the progression to end here...so that when Rett is betrayed, it hits twice as hard...

Post party for TN...

Rett and Vance have been talking about working with Nicky on a reality series, so Rett throws a party and has Vance bring the guy, to show he's not interested in him, anymore...

-------

Finally, it was past midnight and only a few people were left. Stevie and wife had gone home to their kids. Vance had vanished somewhere, hopefully not onto my bed with someone male or female. And Ben and Liam were in the kitchen, each with a beer and nibbling at the last of the food, talking so softly it felt secretive. 

I made my way over to them and said, “Did you have fun?” 

They both tensed and cast me a look of uncertainty. 

“It’s okay, Rett,” said Ben. “We were here.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Liam added, nodding. “Nice party. Nothin’ like Georgie’s.” 

“Yeah, his were usually screaming queens everywhere.” 

“He had way more furniture, too.” 

“But not as many people showing up.” 

Liam nodded. 

I looked at Ben and said, “Party’s pretty much broke up. You drive here?” 

He shook his head, absently. “Walked. I’m crashing at Liam’s.” 

“He close by?” 

“Just a block...over...” Then he cut himself off, as if he’d said too much. 

Which he had. I now had an idea of Liam’s proximity, and if that wire still worked, it was probably broadcasting to his residence. 

I acted like I hadn’t noticed. “Guys...are we on good terms?”

Ben frowned. “You’re kidding, right?” 

“If you’re still unhappy with me, why’d you come?” 

Liam sighed and said, “Vance asked us to.” 

“As backup,” said Ben. 

Shit, I’d been double-teamed by sk8ter boy security. 

I made myself chuckle. “You think I’m going to rape Nicky?” 

Ben looked straight at me. “The way you’ve been talking about him? And what you did with us? Yeah.” 

“That’d be stupid of me,” I replied, smiling. “If we’re gonna work together, I can’t do anything that’d put him off me.” 

“Work together?” 

I nodded. “Didn’t Vance tell you? He’s working with Nick on a new program. Needs a writer. He likes what I did for Stevie’s project.” 

“Stevie?” asked Liam. 

I chuckled. “Smoke. Stephen Marlon Kratorski.” 

“Oh, right. Right. Saw him here.” 

“He didn’t know us,” said Ben. 

Us? I’d only seen videos of Liam messing with the guy. None with Ben, even after going through all Georgie’s DVDs. So there were other projects out there? Some I hadn’t seen? 

I just said, “The videos I saw he was blindfolded. Might not have known who was doing it to him.” 

The boys just shrugged to each other. They still seemed nervous. 

That’s when Vance appeared and said, “Valet asked me to let you know they were done for the night. Everyone who used them is gone.” 

“What about you?” I asked. 

“Last car. Parked in your garage.” 

I nodded. The caterer had cleaned up and cleared out half an hour ago. 

“So...party’s over,” said Liam. 

Ben nodded then he and Liam headed for the garage door. 

“This was a good idea,” Vance said as he and I followed them. “People got to see each other. A couple more jobs got set up. How do you feel about Nicholas?” 

“I’d like to work with him.” 

“I bet you would.” 

I sighed. “You really have no respect for me, have you?” 

That made him blink. “I never said that.” 

“No, you just show it in the way you act around me. The way you manipulate me.” 

That brought a cool careful expression to his face. “Careful, Rett.” 

I smiled. “I will be.” 

He smiled back, but only in a professional way. “Good. Let’s talk next week about the job. Tuesday work for you? About one? My office?” 

“You have an office?” 

“Oh, Rett, stop trying to be clever. It doesn’t suit you.” 

Then he went into the garage, got in his car, and drove away...with Ben and Liam as passengers. Of course. See that the boys got home all right. Gotta be careful about big bad Rett. 

I closed the garage and locked the door then headed to the front to check on that and... 

Nicky was there. Leaning against the sliding glass door in a way that made him seem like sex incarnate. Looking straight at me. 

I jolted to a halt. “Sorry, Nicky, I thought you’d left.” 

He said nothing. Did not move. Just kept his amazing eyes locked on me. 

I finally said, “Do you mind me calling you Nicky?” 

No response. 

“Would you prefer Nicholas?” 

Still no response. He was almost like a statue. 

My breath was growing shallow at the picture he made, and I started wondering if I still had that roll of packing tape in a kitchen drawer. 

“How about Nick?” That brought an impossibly gorgeous smile to his face. Then he straightened up, casually came over to me in a cat-like stroll, took my face in his elegant hands and kissed me. 

He fucking kissed me! 

Holy fucking shit, he fucking kissed me!!!!! 

And what a fucking kiss. Just lips to lips, no tongue. Only the slightest of touch but...but... 

The kind that reminds you of all that is good and pure and lovely and desired in the world.

Nothing vile or base or animalistic, just the beauty of existence. 

The joy of giving and receiving. 

 Of joining with another human being in all that is holy and meaningful in life. 

A connection that demanded permanence and reverence and love eternal. 

It couldn’t end. It never could end. Please never let it end. 

So when he pulled away, even though it was only the slightest bit, I nearly wept until... 

Until he whispered, “I like Niko. Call me Niko.” 

And he kissed me, again. This time caressing my lips with his tongue. Parting then gently. Oh so gently. Until his met mine with the barest of touches and my heart all but stopped and my breath nearly ended and...and...I could not think because I...I... 

I was lost in that glorious world.

Demands by the audience or the story?

I'm gearing towards a kinder, gentler ending to Taking Nicky, it seems...but the readers I'm hearing from seem to be expecting something truly vicious and cruel. And to be honest, that is what I was suggesting throughout the story, so far. 

So...do I follow the story's demands? Give the characters buttercups and Sunday brunch? Or do I impose explosions and fireworks? I'm torn between the two.

The former would be a surprise. A twist in the story's structure, but workable. In fact, it would give me the opportunity to show two men making pure, sensuous love with no limits. Which is appealing. I could write it to be as erotic as I wanted maybe even over a couple of chapters...

The latter would be a bit on the predictable side. Bam! Crush, kill, destroy. Which I have done in other work. Hell, the ending to Dirc and the Dyarvos Cafe has both, but that book was SF/Fantasy/Horror...

Thing is, when I tried to do a happy ending in Underground Guy and The Beast in the Nothing Room, response was they weren't as strong as could have been. Same for Porno Manifesto. So maybe happy endings aren't my forté.

The ending to A Place of Safety's 3 volumes wound up a lot quieter than I expected, and far gentler, but I would hardly call it a happy ending. Just the right one. And Bobby Carapisi needed a gentle ending of hope, so that fit.

I dunno. I may try it both ways and see with feels best.

I always know what I'm doing...

...Except when I don't. Which is most of the time. I know that sounds backwards or inconsistent, but I can't help it. Somewhere deep within me, the stories work themselves out and my obligation is merely to transcribe them from my subconscious.

Or unconscious. Whichever. I think the two are far more aligned than psychologists like to believe. If not in everyone, at least in me.

Psycho Kyle. Qu'est-ce que c'est?

Fortunately, I'd been learning French long before that song came out, so I can't claim any influence from it on me. And I've lost a lot of my knowledge of the language. I can still decipher reading it, to an extent, but I was never going to be bilingual. I can barely handle English.

Anyway, Rett just revealed another side to himself, in Taking Nicky. He did some revenge rapes of cheating husbands for friends of a friend of his. All out of nowhere. Starting with a guy named Ryan Orriagio. It was a rough one...and I just posted it to GayDemon.

It started due to a misunderstanding of a quote in Marilyn Frye's The Politics of Reality: Essays in Feminist Theory "Heterosexual male culture is homoerotic; it is man-loving..." Which means men seek validation from men and sex from women.

But...that gets extrapolated into men really wanting sex with men and all men being available for it. And Rett basically proves it by making Ryan get off on effectively being raped. And records it.

He's a sick little fuck...which means, so am I. But such is life...and it's time I accepted that aspect of myself, in full.

So, again...Psycho Kyle, qu'est-ce que c'est? Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha...

Way out?

I've had an idea for TN that might actually not include violence or the usual illegal activities. I don't want to talk about it, really...not yet. It's still forming in my head and seems almost a bit too easy around my predicament with this story. But I like the feel of it.

My one real fear is I'm backing away from the violent sexual encounter that's been promised in this story. Or led to. Or something. So I'm not sure about it.

But...and this is a major one...I like the images coming to me. How I can see it playing out. Almost gentle. Nearly kind. Maybe sad...

Would that be wrong to do? Take the expectations of viciously taking Nicky and turn it around to something quiet and calm and tender?

Or is this really, seriously just a case of me copping out? As I've done, before...

Shit, I don't know...

Will this never end?

Swear to God, the second I think I know what Taking Nicky is up to, it takes a turn and doubles back...and I'm lost in the chatter between all the characters. It's so fucking irritating. It's not like I'm writing a great novel here. It's a step up from porn, for crying out loud.

Nicky has had this insane idea that he's really setting himself up to die. He's been diagnosed with cancer or something deadly and saw how it ravaged his father, and doesn't want to go through that. With no insurance, he's screwed. Hell, even with a lot of money, he might not have enough.

Apparently, when Eric Dane was diagnosed with ALS he had insurance. But even with fine coverage he and his ex-wife, Rebecca Gayheart, had to fight with the company to get coverage for 24/7 home care. Johnny Depp wound up letting him stay at his LA home rent free to lessen his financial burden.

I'm leery of going this direction. I feel like it's ghoulish to build it into a story like this. Same for the growing awareness of young male models being sex-trafficked by agencies and the CEOs of major brands and how devastating that can be. Some of those kids, male and female, have killed themselves.

But another part of me says it's the reality of the world. The rich fuck everybody over, not just for sex. For money. For power. For the fun of it. I've begun to believe half the reason Felon47 causes so much chaos is just for the hell of it. So I've stopped hating him. He's a sick, perverted piece of shit.

Those I hate now are the people who help him do it...so could adding this into the story help channel some of that hate?

I dunno...maybe...

Barrier broken...

I know how Rett is going to try and get Nicky...at a party he throws. He'll invite the guy and find a way to keep him from leaving when it's over.

Maybe.

Because he's also inviting Vance, Ben and Liam, who are tacitly opposed to his dangerous focus on Nicky, so they might prevent it. Or...join with Nicky and take Rett, instead.

I've flirted many times with the whole thing being a setup for Vance to get Rett. He was turned down by my MC the one time he made a pass at him, and Vance has a long memory and lots of contacts. And always has to be the one in control.

The one thing I have to keep in mind is the long buildup I've got aiming towards Rett taking Nicky. 12 chapters, so far, all free to read on GayDemon. So I don't know how it will turn out, yet.

But Rett's already revealed he's very knowledgable when it comes to gay serial killers like Dean Corll, John Wayne Gacy, William Bonin and Randy Kraft. And he has a glitch in his psyche that makes him willing to do anything to protect himself or get what he wants...maybe even murder...

It's possible I've made him too close to crazy. Maybe I'll go for a double whammy and have Vance being the go-between to get both Rett and Nicky for a billionaire buyer in some unnamed country. You have to be a bit on the sociopathic side to be one of them...and even if only 5% of the world's billionaires fit that mold and 10% of those are nuts enough to want to own humans for sexual sport.

I mean, the owner of a certain electronic defense contractor comes to mind...

Hmmm...that might be an interesting end...if I can figure out how to do it with Rett, since he's telling the story in first person.

Hardest of all...

Stole this from Tumbler's winterandwords.tumblr.com:

I'm not sure I can express this sentiment strongly enough, but I'm going to try via the medium of large bolded text. 

Write what the fuck you want. 

Write what makes you happy. Write what makes your soul sing. Write what fucks you up and makes you cry. Write what comforts you. Write what distracts you. Write what you want to read. Write what you want to watch. 

 Write what you want to dream about tonight. 

Write what you can't get enough of. Write what you're completely obsessed with. Write what wakes you up at 4am and drags you out of bed because you can't stop thinking about what your characters are going to do next. Write what turns you on, if that's your vibe. 

Write characters you're in love with and characters who inspire you and characters you want to be friends with and characters you fucking hate but oh my god they're so much fun. 

Write about things you would sell your soul to do in real life and things you would never do in real life. Write about things that are happening right now and things that happened a thousand years ago and things that might happen in the future and things you wish could happen. 

Write to get a publishing deal or to sell your books yourself or not to sell your books at all. Write for your friends or for strangers or for the people who reblog your posts on Tumblr and send you songs that remind them of your characters. 

Write for yourself. 

Fuck any system that tells you there's only one right way to create or one valid way to share your writing. Your story, the way you tell it, has so much value. Make people smile or piss people off or do both of those things because art is divisive and fascinating and beautiful. 

Start writing.

Keep writing.

And write what the fuck you want.

To add my part...that last sentence is the hardest to do, of all...because it's the most dangerous...

Bonfire...

God, it's all going up in flames. I really do not want to finish writing Taking Nicky. It's a fight to keep myself working on it. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I started it as a distraction from what was going on with my brother, and now that he's gone, it reminds me too much of that horrible few weeks.

I just know I've said I'd finish it and I really try to keep my promises, even to my characters...but this bitch ain't happening. 

I mean, it's working that way in the story, too. Rett's at a point where he's slapped with some truth when Vance asks him the following question:

“Okay...and what did you plan to do with him once you were done with him?” 

That question hit hard. Having it so bluntly asked shut my brain down, for a moment. I’d planned to keep Nicky blindfolded, sure, so he wouldn't see me. And didn't know me. And I figured I was well-versed enough in handling...oh...men who were uncertain about their own possibilities to get him off and fuck him. 

But Vance had very casually alluded to the reality that there would still be a huge risk involved. That Nicky might still recognize me, thanks to all the times I’ve taken photos of him. And even video of him getting hard and cumming would be only slight protection from accusations of kidnapping and rape. 

Just because Ben and Liam had gone to Vance instead of the cops didn’t mean Nicky would follow suit. Nor did I have the impression he held the same casual attitude towards sex with men that Smoke did. 

So what the fuck was I thinking of doing? Keeping him? Killing him? Dumping his body along a freeway like William Bonin and Randy Kraft had done? No, do that to someone as beautiful as him? That's not my way.

At least, I don't think it is. But something I had learned from my research on various screenplays was the fact that at the right place and the right time, anyone is capable of anything. 

Even murder.

Did I really want to put myself in that position? Just for a fuck?

Was I that controlled by the beast within?

Updating

Today I spent updating the information I want on my adult books webpage. I've withdrawn the paperback edition of How to Rape a Straight Guy from distribution and am just going with the Curt version. Ingram did another little trick in refusing to let me update anything on it.

You see, I was checking to make certain my books are properly priced. Working through Ingram, I have to maintain a certain value in the face of rising printing costs, so I can get something of a royalty, and a couple of my books were down to pennies above the cut-off.

I also need to work up new versions of the dust jackets on the hardcover editions of The Vanishing of Owen Taylor and The Alice '65. I used to put the price on the book jackets, so what I'm charging for those is underwater. If I sell one, I have to pay for Ingram to supply it instead of making any money.

So I've gone digging for the original Photoshop files of those two...which means going through dozens of thumb drives seeking them out. Talk about tedious.

I've finally come to an understanding as to where Taking Nicky is going. Rett is going to take him, with the covert assistance of Vance. And I'll let Rett go as far as he wants. I don't think he'll do real physical damage to Nicky or kill him; he just wants to have sex...but I won't know till the end.

Still not sure what that will be, but I have to let the characters do what they want. If I try to stop them, they get pissy.

I've been sleeping till near noon, lately. Not sure why. I normally get up between 9 and 10 am, even when I stay up till 2 am.

Slowly...slowly...the world regains me...

 Just not doing...and finding lovely messages like this...are inspiring a form of peace and beauty within.

I can only dream of writing something so lovely and pure...so poetic without the artifice of poetry...

Not up to it...

Just want to vege...and watch videos like this...

Smooth voice (reminding me of Sade), lovely moves, elegant clothing designs, and feeding my need for a gentle world in the face of all the evil and hate. She has a series of them, and they help lead me to a place of zen...

Because the world is truly fuckkked up, and I'm dumbshit enough to think what I'm writing is as wicked as that. At my darkest, I'm vanilla ice cream in an existence of boiling blood-based gravy marinating human flesh...

Continuing from yesterday...

I was not up to writing, today, so here's the continuation of the lunch between Rett and Vance:

-----

I still needed info before I could counterattack. So I asked, “You knew Georgie?” 

“All my life. I was the only part of his family that didn’t turn on him.” 

“And this is the first I’m hearing of it?” 

“Need-to-know basis, only.” 

“C’mon, Vance, the guy I saw in those videos was way older than you.” 

“So? He’s my mother’s cousin. Helped make me who I am.” 

Oh, shit. I did not want to ask this, but...”Did you have anything to do with me buying that condo?” 

He leaned back, still smiling. “You said you were looking for a place. Maybe I gave the agent handling the sale a bit of a nudge...” 

“But I still almost didn’t go for it. It was expensive and I wasn’t all that crazy about being right there with the bike path and...and...” 

Oh, wait one fucking minute. Ben and Liam...dissing Nicky tipped me over. “Vance...did you know Ben and Liam before I introduced you?” 

He sighed and pulled back his hoodie...and I finally saw his eyes without shadows...one green, one a silvery blue, both cutting into me with his cold stare. 

“Rett, you’re not as worldly as you like to think you are. Or as smart. Of course I knew them. Through Georgie. And they’ve told me everything. You’ve spooked them. They don’t want to be criminals, and you think a little rape colored with blackmail will outweigh that? It’s stupid.” 

“I didn’t rape them. I showed them what they really wanted.” 

“Don’t try and justify what you did to those sweet boys.” 

“Sweet boys? They lied to me about everything, even their ages, so...” 

“They didn’t lie. They just didn’t correct your assumptions. And those assumptions were very much off the mark.” 

Our main courses came, then, and more wine was poured. 

This was not going the way I planned. Whenever that happens to me, I shut up...which is what I did. Let Vance speak as I tried to understand what the fuck had happened. 

“To start,” he said, “Georgie never used anyone underage. They had to have an ID to even talk to him. He would pay them well, and they knew he would do whatever he wanted with whatever he shot. That was in the waiver, of which every guy was given a copy.” 

“Made his living off them, huh?” I asked, just to break up his comments. 

He nodded. “Two or three a week. Posted them on his own site till the San Francisco crowd invited him to do some...oh...more intensive ones for them.” 

“Yeah, saw some of those.” 

His grin grew almost feral. “Including...?” 

It was time to stop playing ignorant. “A couple of Smoke’s.” 

He nodded. “Oh, yes...he was one of Georgie’s staples. And I helped get him his cable show.” 

I'll bet. “He came across very well, in the ones I saw.” 

“Camera loves him. But as I said, the current project's construction is clunky. I want you to help me make it better.” 

“Why?” 

“His attitude. He’s very So I did that? So what? I used the money to start a business. What’s the big deal?” 

“So a lot of the country’s assholes will get pissy about it.” 

“But a lot won’t. And this, if done well...if done right...will help lessen the stigma behind doing the kinds of videos Georgie did.” 

I had to laugh. “You’re way more optimistic than I am, about people.” 

“I can’t argue there. But c’mon, Rett, you like him. He’s got that lovely bear cub presence that enthralls you. I think enough people will love him. And it will be one more step away from the right wing’s hatefulness about the gay community.” 

“Don’t you meant LGBTQ+ Community?” He chuckled. I had to add, “They’ll find Georgie’s clips online and rip Smoke apart, Vance.” 

“Don’t bet on it,” he continued. “I’ve known Stevie since before he was married. He’s been on several of the kink sites. Sucked off. Jacked off. Light bondage. Gagged. Blindfolded. Dressed. Undressed. Captain America undies. Lots of struggling. No fucking him or him sucking, but some of him being sucked. All under different names, of course. Shall I point you to some of the studios he’s worked?” 

“No need.” 

“I tell you this because he really is not the least bit ashamed of it. Paid his bills. Bought him a house. In Culver City! He’s so up front, in fact, we made it an important part of the cable show. Building yourself from porn god to custom-designer of skateboards to the stars.” 

“I see.” 

“Do you?” 

“What am I getting paid to help you?” 

That made him blink. I’d never discussed money with Vance, before, so this bluntness caught him slightly off-guard. But only slightly. “More than you can dream.” 

“I can dream of a lot.” 

“Does that include setting Nicky up to be taken by you?” 

What the actual fuck?

I leaned back, keeping my face frozen in a nondescript expression, and quietly asked, “Can you?” 

He nodded. “But Smoke is off-limits. So are the boys, from now on.” He was serious. Like a papa bear. 

I hesitated then asked, “Would you answer me if I asked you how you knew what I was planning?” 

He shook his head. “I don’t give away my secrets, only those of others." 

“When you need to.” 

“That’s where power comes from. Do we have a deal?”  He offered up a pair of USB memory sticks. “Everything’s on here. You want to look?” 

I took them. Put them in my pocket. And finished my meal, making nothing but chit-chat the rest of lunch. Vance knew he had me...and to be honest, I wasn’t sure I cared. If he could get me Nicky, I’d give up anything. 

And he knew it. 

What he didn’t know was I’d make goddamned fucking sure it all came back to me.

I wrote, today....

Did a couple thousand words and don't like the direction it took me...but I'm changing nothing. Here's some of the more palatable part, when Vance coerces Rett into meeting him for lunch:

-----

Wesson’s was in one of those faux-Spanish buildings that had a courtyard in the back, done up in a plastic Italian vineyard style. Very comfortable, and I’d heard the pasta was good. 

Vance was still lost in his look at me but don’t look at me mode. Meaning people looked at him while trying not to look like they were looking. A crowd was waiting to get in but we were ushered straight to a table. Lots of irritated stares from them. 

He slid into a chair across from me, his face still half-hidden by a thousand-dollar hoodie and he took such a casual pose, I knew something more than a writing job was up. 

“Rett, it’s been months,” he purred. “What’ve you been doing with yourself?” 

Chit-chat? From Vance? This was a big deal. 

“Working on a new script,” I said. It’s the expected response from a screenwriter. No details needed. “Doing research. You?” 

“You ready for this? I’m associate producer on a new project that’s going to use AI renditions of Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh to do an honest sequel to Gone With the Wind. Unlike that made-for-TV thing with...what was his name? Timothy Dalton as Rhett? No Timothy should EVER be a Clark Gable character.” 

Is that what he wanted me to work on? “Is that even legal? What about copyrights? Trademarks?” 

“The lawyers have an okay from those who matter. Script was worked up by ChatGPT and made semi-believable by some real writers. It’s not Shakespeare, but what is, anymore? They have it storyboarded out and I’m picking clips from their films to generate from.” 

I huffed. “But you want me to rewrite the script?” 

“Rett, Rett, Rett, please, you’re too modern to make the story suit its time.” 

“Ouch. So was that the reason for this tete-a-tete?” 

“Tete-a-tete? Oh, my God, you’re reading the dictionary, again.”

“What the fuck, Vance!?” 

“Now, Rett, don’t get too loud. You’ll get thrown out and embarrassed and you can’t do that at Wesson’s; no one will ever hire you again.” 

Fortunately, a waiter came up and cut me off before I said anything stupid. Give me a chance to remind myself that while Van could be a dick, he also had those connections that mattered. And when he said no one would ever hire me, again, he meant he’d see to it. So shut the fuck up, Rett. 

I ordered a Caprese Salad and Pasta Pomodoro while he did an antipasti and eggplant parmigiana with a nice Chianti. I almost asked for fava beans, but I don’t think the joke would have played well, here. If at all. 

I stayed quiet till we had our wine, as did Vance. Making me a bit nervous. Which was his intent, I’m sure. 

Finally, as we began our salads, he said, “Okay, the job I’m referring to is a reality program I helped produce. The script is kind of clunky, and what we need is a smoother through line. Not merely bouncing back and forth between events we recorded and talking heads. Sort of a filmic touch.” 

“I’ve never done that.” 

He shrugged. “You’re a writer, Rett. I’d like you to look over the program as it’s currently done. See the footage we excluded. Make it into more of a story than just boring facts and actions.” 

“Give it a film feel? Really?” 

He nodded. “I have a lot invested in this project, and not just money. In fact, no money. If it flops, I lose nothing...well...maybe a hit to my untarnished reputation. But it’s an important work, and I really, really cannot emphasize enough that it must succeed. I think you can help with that. You have a fairly good understanding of one part of it.” 

I was actually getting intrigued. “What is it?” 

He took a sip of wine, looked me dead in the eye and said, “It’s the story of a skater boi who wound up being misused by an older man, but who built a reputation as a skateboard designer, and who is unashamed of who he once was.” 

The way he looked at me, with that Don’t trying try fucking with me, baby, I’ll fuck you up, expression he had. Making it obvious who he was referring to. 

The son-of-a-bitch knew about my interest in Smoke.

You see, Instagram had been my friend, about him. His actual name was Stephen Marlon Kratorski. He’d done the pro-sk8ter circuit and made it to the top ten. Been at it since he was eleven. Fifteen years. Now he was just a weekender and made his living designing specialty skateboards in Culver City.

Sk8ter to the stars... 

An image from a few weeks ago showed he’d beefed up a little, which actually looked really good on him. He still had those lovely pecs, partially hidden by a cut-out t-shirt, and fine legs, made even lovelier by cargo shorts that were a size too small for him, now. His face filled in some, but with scruff on it he was almost beautiful...especially now that I got a good look at his eyes and mouth. He’d also added another tattoo to his left arm...a sk8ter boy on his sled, probably him from an earlier time. 

The next thing I found was podcasts he was doing on YouTube and other platforms about making specialty skateboards. The why this way was better than that sort of thing...and he had a lovely screen presence. Open and warm and a bit jokey, with a smile that promised heaven. During those clips, he wore an old LA Rams cap, backward, holding his longish russet hair out of his face. 

I had to check a previous video and saw that his hair had been a plain brown, so he'd colored it. Or washed it. Whichever. I’d been close to falling in more than lust for him and his best buddy looks, which would make him a serious rival to my need for sleek little Nicky. 

There was little more than a vague mention of his wife and kids on the web; just that they were part of his life. I got a bit more info about his current career. There’d been chatter about one of the cable networks bringing him on board as another of their reality shows. 

But I’d thought that would only be so long as no one connected him to the molestation clips I’d seen. Enough of his face was hidden by the blindfold and gag, and his body was different enough now, so that he had plausible deniability. And there was also the additional tattoo...and it looked like he’d altered the one he already had. With Georgie dead and the documents vanished...at least, I think they were vanished...then he would have been safe. 

But it sounded like that was not even a consideration, since Vance was involved. It was time to up my game.

I swallowed what I’d been eating, took a sip of wine to chase it down, and looked straight back at Vance.

“Oh? You mean Georgie?” I can fake ignorance really well.

Vance leaned forward, still very casually, and I think I saw a hint of a smirk on his face. “I hear you found his editing suite. Copies of his DVDs.” 

Okay, we were now in battle...and I was outmanned, since Ben and Liam were obviously on his side. 

“People don’t do DVDs, anymore,” I said. “Porn’s all online.” 

He nodded. “Yet still he burned some. Over a hundred.” 

“Do you have his paperwork?” I asked. “Title 18 section 2257 shit?” 

Vance leaned forward like a cat eyeing its prey. “I have everything. I was executor of his estate.”

Oh, fuck...paranoid writer kicked in and the only reason I didn't run screaming out of Wesson's was...my Pasta Pomodoro was killer.

I'm getting TN Done...

...ASAP. I've lost real interest in it and am fighting to keep going. Adding in a shower scene that turns out to be a dream is helping...yet still not grabbing my interest like it should.

But I started it, so I'm going to finish it. And I'm freeing myself to do whatever the fuck it wants...even if that includes madness or murder.

I'm up to chapter 11 and it's at 25K in wordage. Lots of sex, most of it non-con, and I'm posting for free on GayDemon because I don't want to go through the hassle of proofing and prepping it for publication.

I mean, I've done light proofing, so it's not too bad, but there are still a few typos. I don't care. It's being read for the sex, not precise English. And I've provided some pretty intense moments.

I've said my next project would be Blood Angel, but Dair's Window is knocking at my brain. It's set mainly in 2009 and 2010, in and around Seattle. The state had passed a domestic partner act in 2007 that many in the gay community felt was a cop-out, and Wallace, a man Dair is involved with, is helping push for same-sex marriage.

It also takes place 3-4 years after Adam, whom Dair loved, deeply, was killed in an avalanche. Lawsuits by Adam's estranged parents have kept Dair from really mourning him, but now Wallace has helped end those...and Dair's emotional state is getting to be rough.

I'm hearing a growl in my core that this needs to be finished, now. Preferably by the end of the year...if not sooner. Because if we can't overcome the fascistic crap Felon47 and the MAGAt Cult are pulling before the election in November, we're dead as a country...and hate of anything non-white or queer will prevail.

I want Dair's Window available by then. 

Odd realization...

Rett has forced  Liam to reveal just how deep he and Ben were into working with Georgie. They made money off supplying the man with guys to make use of, sexually. And they knew he recorded it. And their explanation is, the guys knew what they were doing and signed off on it.

-----

And all of a sudden, I was sad. And felt hollow. Like I’d just seen a truth I didn’t want to know about. There was nothing unusual about what they’d done. Nothing scary. You could find something like it in any town, any state, any country. 

Just some younger guys letting an older gay man buy some secret pleasure from them. Fill a life he felt was empty, if only for a moment. Maybe build a business to live off of, in the best way he could. No one would be hurt or killed... 

Well...not always. 

Not this time, anyway. 

This time was just a situation that, by being so commonplace...it was actually pretty natural. It had been happening for thousands of years. Yet too fucking many people in the world were demanding it be seen as wrong.

Ben and Liam had bought into that mentality, so were ashamed of participating in it. Fought to convince themselves they weren’t part of it...even as they used it for their own ends... 

The little hypocrites. That made me even more determined to show them they were a part of this world. 

I lifted Liam up and put him back on the couch. His shirt was still shoved up above his tits with his dick still lolling out of his briefs. He looked so young and vulnerable, I began to think he was underage, again. 

I touched his nips then pulled his shirt down his abs to trail my fingers along his treasure trail to his dick. I fondled him, for a moment, then slipped his dick back into his briefs. It was only the ass of them I’d torn. His cum was still drying on him, as was mine. 

I rubbed it. Spread it thinner. Then let my fingers drift down to tickle his basket, making him squirm. 

“Why is having sex with a man instead of a woman so bad?” I asked. “It’s just a connection between two people. Why do you think it’s okay to get other guys to offer themselves up to an older man, even help get them off...then act like you’re not that way?” 

“What you talkin’ about?” 

“The way you and Ben played me. Kept teasing me as i held back from trying anything with either of you. Let me believe you were underage. Then started acting like I was just some stupid, desperate faggot who’d do anything to have a pretty boy’s dick in my mouth. Joking like it’s a game. Getting pissy because I didn’t go along with it, in full. Thinking of me as a queer there for you to use.” 

“Rett...dude...you go it all wrong...” 

“Do I? So tell me, Liam, if I offered you six-fifty to help me get Ben off, would you say no?” 

“Don’t understand.” 

“I’m talking six-hundred and fifty dollars to just kiss Ben’s shoulders and neck, from behind, and pinch his tits. Like you did on Smoke’s video. Help me get him hard, again, so I can sit on his dick and get fucked. Isn’t that what you want me to do? Get fucked?” 

“That...that don’t make sense.” 

“You want the money, or not?” 

He shifted his gaze between me and Ben, and I could just see the gears whirling in his head. Thinking he might be able to get the upper hand if I got lost in being fucked by Ben. 

Except...why would he want to? I was offering him decent money to just play around with Ben as I fucked myself on him. Like his best buddy was a blow-up doll with a cool dildo. Split the cash with Ben. Not even, of course. He’d been fucked, so he was worthy of more. But it’s still a decent payout...and what if... 

“Make it a thousand?” he asked. His eyes sharp and cool. 

I had to chuckle, then I smacked his thighs and rose, my dick even with his face. “Seven-fifty,” I said. 

“Nine.” 

“Eight.” 

“Eight-fifty.” 

“Okay,” I said. And I cut off the tape that bound him.

I'm a writer...

But you wouldn't know it from how poorly I promote my work. I write mainstream books as well as MM erotica, but you wouldn't know it from how quiet I am about it. Friends and family are aware, as are some people on Facebook...but for the most part I do nothing to make anyone aware of what I've done.

I have a website for my mainstream books and I need to start talking about it. My books have something to say, and I need to start saying it out loud. Not worry that they might not be received or be misunderstood. I've had plenty of that with my MM books...and with The Lyons' Den.

This one, I think the dissing I got for it stemmed from people who couldn't get into the crazy writing style. Ace Shostakovich is telling the story, but he is a fictional detective developed by the main character, Daniel Bettancourt, and he's got a patois that is very off the wall. Plus, he's referencing Daniel's real-time thoughts, fears and concerns as well as memories. If you don't get into it by the third chapter, you never will.

It was an experiment in style that didn't really come together enough for just anyone to get into, and one I almost started to repeat with Dair's Window. But taking space from that story helped me see I was going about it all wrong. I want it accessible to any reader, not just a few.

I'll still have Adam telling Dair's story but not his own until much later in the book. We'll see what happens, there.

Meanwhile, I'm going to finish Taking Nicky as soon as I can. I'm probably halfway done with it, at 20,000 words. And it gets rough, in parts. Makes me uncomfortable.

Which is good.

I don't want to people...

After a lot of work at removing the smell of cigarettes from my clothes and things I brought back from San Antonio, I determined using Febreeze Air worked best at masking it. So I laundered everything after layering that on...and wouldn't you know everyone in the building wanted to do laundry, today.

I ran into other tenants left and right, and had to be pleasant when I just wanted to be left alone. But reality is, I wanted the smell of cigarettes out of my apartment more. So I tolerated them. Stayed polite. Did my thing and scurried back to my room. And life is back to normal.

Tomorrow, I am not leaving my space.

I did work more on Taking Nicky. Chapter Ten. And Rett is fucking with Ben in a different way...literal, but not...and I can see where this is heading. Vance is going to get involved, after all, and shut Rett's plans down, hard. I may even do the thing where Rett disappears and someone finds a video of him being used and abused and sold to a sheik in Saudi Arabia.

I don't know. The UAE might work better. Nobody really thinks about them. Or I might do nothing and have Rett pull back from his evil. I dunno...both seem like cop-outs.

I watched another Midsomer Murders on Acorn, and also saw the newest episode of My Life is Murder.

Cozy murder mysteries...just what one needs in a time of turmoil and travail...

Consistency is alien to me...

As if it hasn't been obvious from how all over the place my posts have been. This direction. That direction. Doing this. Doing that. Nevermind this. Nevermind that. All jumbled together in a meaningless goulash of thoughts and intentions and nothings.

I've always had a problem sticking with things to the end. I lose interest quickly and the only reason I've been able to get anything done is I get mad at myself. I look at how many times I tried to give up on A Place of Safety over the space of more than twenty-five years, and it took me finally being disgusted at my inaction that I finally wrote it all the way through.

Oh, and as whined about in my posts throughout, it was not an easy task.

I sometimes wonder if the reason I like writing MM noncon stories is because I can find some shift in them to keep me interested enough to complete them. Screenplays I would write because they were easy, really. Dialogue, action, story, three acts, nothing really too demanding. Let the actors and director find the interior bullshit. But even toi complete them, I had to fight myself, at times.

Of course, screenwriting was something I was never very good at, and even had a writer refuse to let me into a writing group she moderated because she felt I would be a detriment to the others. But wouldn't explain what that meant.

I feel like I've been flying blind my whole life, even when I had information and direction from my characters. That's the worst kind of blindness...trusting in the people in your head, not knowing their true intentions.

I just got a slap of that with Rett's rape of Liam and his threat to do the same to Ben. Not planned. Just came out. And TBH, the next step would be making those two disappear into a grave or something.

Which makes me very uncomfortable.