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Old 03-29-2014, 02:25 PM   #1851
sr71plt
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Launched on 28 March 2014 by BarbarianSpy, a novella in a GM espionage series, Racing With the Devil, by habu (a pen name of sr71plt).


BLURB:


Espionage and Murder, Terrorists and Betrayal in the Middle East.

Two hunky blonds play dangerous games in a U.S. embassy in this gay male novella of Middle East espionage and terrorism.

Two very similar-looking young, blond men, the first-assignment CIA technical support officer, Christ Carter, and the ambassador’s son, Sean Caldwell, have both arrived in an oil-rich Persian Gulf emirate. Both have been steeped in Muslim studies in their U.S. university studies and both are determined to take dangerous measures—and to prostitute themselves, as needed—to fulfill political objectives.

The emirate embassy seems isolated and insular, but looks prove deceiving as, in narratives by various characters, both of the young blonds and those around them—Arab royals, terrorist masterminds, American diplomats, spies, oil company executives, and even servants—become embroiled in a terrorist plot. A plot that has potentially explosive regional ramifications and more twists and turns than a corkscrew.

Characters become pitted against each other in a race with the devil, in both strategy and threat to life, that challenges the reader on just who is the devil.


EXCERPT:

I had met Penny Haskell in Langley a couple of times during my abbreviated training for this post, where I was to engage in covert tech support while pretending to be a State Department logistics officer. Haskell was the chief of station in this emirate—the top American spy in the country. Each time we had briefly met and spoken at CIA Headquarters across the Potomac River from Washington, D.C., Haskell had been abrupt and cold. She was always seemingly needing to be somewhere else in the next ten minutes and dealing with me only on sufferance—although it had always been a case of me sitting and cooling my heels waiting for an appointment with her that I hadn’t been the one to schedule.

Today was no different—other than that she’d been waiting for me, and wasn’t at all pleased by that fact. At my obvious confusion that I had been met at the nearly deserted airport in this postage-stamp sized emirate on the Persian Gulf by the COS herself rather than by some embassy foreign national, she told me, in clipped tones, that the COS always met her incoming staff members. But she went on to say that my plane had been late and I’d come out of customs late—and she managed to say it in a way the suggested I personally was responsible for the delays—and that she was expected at an event. There wasn’t time to take me to my hotel or the embassy; I’d have to go to the event with her.

Wonderful, I thought. Just what I wanted to do, having traveled a quarter of the distance around the globe without sleep—although I could fall down in a stupor now—with the makings of a hangover and nearly drooping with heat exhaustion.

“Where?” I started to say.

“We’re going to the horse races,” Haskell said.

God, yes, I thought. Just the thing for the condition I’m in—outside at the rails in the heat of the desert day with horses kicking dust into my face. Lovely.

The horse races turned out to be at a fancy track across the city, the emirate’s capital being a compact collection of impossibly tall and wildly shaped skyscrapers set on obviously manmade islands poking out into a harbor on the shores of the Gulf. Haskell told me that, from the air, the whole complex fanned out in the shape of a palm tree. I believed her. She also told me that the city was only for the wealthy rulers—that the lower classes lived in slums hidden on the other side of manmade hills surrounding the central city. I believed that too. I was so tired and hung over I was willing to believe anything she said.

I balked a bit when she told me that the horse race we were going to would feature this year’s winners of the Kentucky Derby and Belmont racing each other—the horses having been shipped here just for a race that would last less than eight minutes. But it turns out she was right about that too. Mercifully, though, the track was too fancy for us to be standing at the rails. We were in some sort of large, air-conditioned skybox overlooking the track. I would have thought that there would be quite a crowd out to see such a race, but it was only those of us in the skybox.

And it was here where I saw him and he perked up and gave me a speculative full-body inspection with his hooded eyes when Penny Haskell introduced me to his father, Prince Sayeed el-Basir, the holder of every vestige of functional power in this small emirate. Haskell emphasized in the terse introduction that I had been an intercollegiate tennis champion. That’s when Amir el-Basir moved out of his father’s shadow and asked her to repeat that.

Within my first hour of arriving in my new country of assignment in the Persian Gulf, I not only got to see Belmont whip the Kentucky Derby in a brief flash, but I also was engaged to play tennis with a prince’s son at the royal palace.

It was only as I was being driven to my hotel in Penny Haskell’s embassy car that she told me that she had preplanned all of this—that she wanted me to get close to and to cultivate the prince’s son and that she had known that my tennis talents would be the station’s entrée to that.

My life of espionage had already begun.



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Old 04-12-2014, 02:21 PM   #1852
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Launched on 12 April 2014 by BarbarianSpy simultaneously in paperback and e-book editions, a compendium of GM short stories with dogs included in the themes (no, not in a bestiality sense), Eleven to the Dogs by habu (a pen name of sr71plt).


BLURB:

The guidance given to men seeking a lasting, caring relationship with another man often is to look for a man with a dog. If the man you are considering to do more than just hook up with briefly and casually owns a dog, he is likely to be a patient, caring, unselfish, loyal person, all good ingredients for a serious long-term relationship. He pretty much would have to be to have and care for a dog. Of course a corollary of this guidance is to look for the type of dog he has. If the man has a pit bull, you’d best be shopping for someone who is dominant and forceful; if a Pekinese, you probably should expect to find a sub—and perhaps a somewhat temperamental one.

Among the stories in Eleven to the Dogs, you will find stories illustrating just such finds in establishing relationships. As the guidance is well known, though, you also will find stories here of men who don’t actually own dogs pretending they do as a subterfuge for finding the man they want—one looking for men with the patience, unselfishness, and loyalty to own a dog. And gay or not, as these stories illustrate, there is no relationship as strong as that between a man and his dog.


EXCERPT:

From the short story “Der Hund”

He could hear the Germans talking, and he knew enough of their lingo to know they’d seen the dog. He waited, in fear, listening for the shots that would indicate that the Germans would use the dog for target practice. But then he breathed easier when he didn’t hear that, but, instead, heard them calling out to the dog, whistling for it, and speaking in tones of encouragement.

He couldn’t let the dog return to the Germans. His goal had been to be nice to the dog to get into James’ pants. But now he knew he cared for the dog too. He reached for his ration box and took out a hunk of what they had been told was meat. He took the chance of raising his head to where he could see the dog and extended his arm, his hand holding the hunk of meat, over the rim. He whistled for the dog too and added his voice of encouragement to that of the German soldiers’. Any second now he knew he’d feel a bullet—not hear it but feel it hit him. Or he’d see the dog trot back to the side she’d started on. Barnes knew that would break James’ heart.

But no bullets came, and the Germans stopped calling for the dog. The dog turned its muzzle toward him and saw the meat. She moved a yard closer to him, but then stopped, in confusion, immobilized by fear.

Es ist meine Hund,” Barnes called out. “Es ist ängstlich. Es ist nur meine Hund.” He hoped he wasn’t speaking German so badly that he wouldn’t be understand. He had tried to convey that it was his dog, that it was scared, and that it only was a dog. He knew it was a risk. If the dog was identified as a British soldier’s pet, there was every chance that would initiate the target practice that hadn’t happened before. But the spattering of German he heard from across the space between the trenches didn’t sound belligerent. And they had stopped whistling for the dog when he had started. And no one had tried to shoot off the hand he had extended over the rim of the trench.

James had crawled back. “What are you doing? Is she out there? You can’t expose yourself like that.”

“Do you have anything that’s white that you can lift on your bayonet?” Barnes asked, ignoring the torrent of concerned words James had unleashed.

James pulled out a handkerchief that had been white as recently as two weeks earlier and, his motions showing he was almost numb with fear and concern, stuck it on the bayonet, and raised his rifle over the rim of the trench.

Ich komme für der Hund. Nur für der Hund,” Barnes called out, trying to let them know that he was coming out of the trench only to retrieve the dog, nothing more. Then, with a gulp and a deep sigh—and shaking off the hand that James tried to restrain him with, he hauled himself up onto the rim of the trench.

“Come, girl, come to me,” he whispered in a shaky voice. “Nice meat. I have this nice meat for you. You come to me and I’ll share my meals with you, fifty-fifty. You want to see James again, don’t you?”

Slowly the dog inched toward him on her haunches. Her whole body was shuddering, but her eyes were on the piece of meat.

The whole world went silent in Barnes’ head. He was waiting to hear or feel the shot, but there was nothing, not even birds singing. The whole world was silent, holding its breath.

When the dog had come close enough, Barnes grabbed her and pulled her quickly down into the trench with him. As he descended, he felt his bladder give way. He was peeing his pants. But he didn’t care. He felt like crying out for joy—the joy of still being alive—and he was noisily gulping in great drafts of air.

He still was listening for the shots, but instead of that he heard clapping and cheering floating over from the German trench—and down the line of the British trench too, where, unbeknownst to him, British soldiers scattered down the line, more thinly scattered than they wanted the Germans to know, had been watching the little drama and were cheering and clapping as well.

He was clutching the dog to his chest, but he felt a weight pushing him down to the ground, covering him, and James’ lips on his.



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Old 04-16-2014, 10:41 PM   #1853
sr71plt
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Just out today, an interview with me as habu on A.B. Gayle's blog. Provides a bit of author background as well as some of my books and short stories--and a discussion of some coming works in the market.

http://www.abgayle.com/1/post/2014/0...-of-spice.html

Lovecraft68 can do his usual nasty jealousy critique of it--and maybe provide a citation of any review of any of his books or blog interviews.
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Old 04-17-2014, 02:01 PM   #1854
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Quote:
Originally Posted by sr71plt View Post
Just out today, an interview with me as habu on A.B. Gayle's blog. Provides a bit of author background as well as some of my books and short stories--and a discussion of some coming works in the market.

http://www.abgayle.com/1/post/2014/0...-of-spice.html

Lovecraft68 can do his usual nasty jealousy critique of it--and maybe provide a citation of any review of any of his books or blog interviews.
I have to admit I am impressed.

A free interview posted on a free site and a free blog is quite an accomplishment.

Not to mention the Interviewer is a fellow gm author publishing on the same hole in the wall micro publishing site as you.

But it does prove one thing. If you found this worth bragging about to this degree then you have obviously never tasted the real success you claim.

One more thing
Please keep your lies consistent. One story is you worked for the press end of the cia the next you were running top secret missions.

Keep your free interview.

Odds are you begged this guy for it in the first place.

Thanks for the laugh.
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Old 04-18-2014, 06:55 AM   #1855
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I could edit my previous post, but this warrants its own post.

So in your free you stroke my ego I stroke yours interview you say your wife does not know you write erotica.

And you add she does not know where the money for those exciting senior cruises you take comes from.

But here you say this.

Quote:
Originally Posted by sr71plt View Post
If you are in a serious committed relationship, does your partner know that you write erotica and what is their opinion or involvement level?

She knows I write mainstream; she doesn't know I write erotica.


Do you post non erotic fiction on other sites?

No, I write nonerotica for the marketplace, not for websites.
So let's see you allegedly write mainstream and for the market place, but you have to figure out how to tell your wife where a couple of thousand dollars every few months comes from?

Doesn't it come from all those main stream market place sales? Aren't you so successful that she wouldn't question where a mere couple of k comes from?

You're so full of shit. All you write is your endless GM clunkers and you're logged in to this place all day long. The only way your wife wouldn't know what you write is if you're locked in a little room 24/7 and she doesn't have anything to do with you(and I could see how that could be an attractive option for her)

If you have to try to explain where that amount of money comes from at all you obviously have no where near the income you want everyone here to think you have.

You're a lying fraud and the more you talk the more you lie and the easier it is to spot.

I am so glad you posted this incredible interview. It is so enlightening.
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Old 04-18-2014, 10:55 PM   #1856
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Okay, since I'm in the same field as pilot, I'm going to clarify something.

A.B. Gayle isn't exactly a nobody in the M/M genre. The author is a Dreamspinner author and also a Rainbow Award winner. The Rainbow Awards have, for the past two years, teamed up with The Rainbow Romance Writers (a chapter of The Romance Writers Of America) to help manage and co-ordinate the competition.

The Rainbow Awards are nothing to sneer at, trust me. And RWA is *really* nothing to sneer at, either.

So, while the interview was indeed free, promo is priceless... especially on a well established blog/site. *shrug* Just sayin'.
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Old 04-18-2014, 11:03 PM   #1857
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What? LC expected me to pay for an interview? (I didn't read his posts). That's dumb. What you strive for is folks writing reviews of your books and wanting to interview you, not you paying for promotion. And, no, respectable blogs and magazines don't pay people for interviews, either. That isn't ethical.

I trust LC was just blowing steam about something he knows nothing about because no one wants to either review or do an interview on his self-published--and probably unedited--stuff.

A.B. Gayle has recently done a couple of reviews of books of mine too (and no I didn't either ask for them for pay for them):

http://www.abgayle.com/1/category/habu/1.html

At some point, folks around here are going to "get" that LC rabidly rags on me just to rag on me--he has no idea what he's talking about and facts and fairness mean nothing to a man who hates this much.
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Old 04-20-2014, 05:44 AM   #1858
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Cool

Man to Man
a stunning collection of Homoerotic stories, some first published on Literotica.

Men In Love
Heterosexual Romance, sex and love, as only Reams can tell it.

"Uncertain Seasons
Non-erotic tales of joy and sorrow and love.

Man to Man II[/b]

Man to Man III]


All are e-books, available on Smashwords and from most e-book retailers

also available at Amazon.com

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Old 04-20-2014, 08:11 AM   #1859
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Quote:
Originally Posted by nomoretears00 View Post
Okay, since I'm in the same field as pilot, I'm going to clarify something.

A.B. Gayle isn't exactly a nobody in the M/M genre. The author is a Dreamspinner author and also a Rainbow Award winner. The Rainbow Awards have, for the past two years, teamed up with The Rainbow Romance Writers (a chapter of The Romance Writers Of America) to help manage and co-ordinate the competition.

The Rainbow Awards are nothing to sneer at, trust me. And RWA is *really* nothing to sneer at, either.

So, while the interview was indeed free, promo is priceless... especially on a well established blog/site. *shrug* Just sayin'.
Well first if the rainbow award is for excellence in the M/M genre then very impressive that Mr Gayle has won them. Good for him. But that is followed by where is Pilot's rainbow award? I mean he is the be all end all in M/M literature, right? If you don't believe me just ask him because he'll tell you that.

My point is-and you would get it if you were an everyday poster on these boards-is this is an asshole who on a daily basis belittles every author and self published author on this site as well as the site itself while touting all his real life accomplishments.


Now ask yourself, if you had truly sold countless books in the mainstream market and edited for mainstream authors and enjoyed decades of "real world" success, this interview would be nothing to be excited about.

If its the best he's got, he's no better than you or anyone else here.

That's the point.

Followed by the point that bragger boy has 50+ titles on smashwords without so much as one review and barely a dozen on 75 amazon titles with rankings that declare barely a hundred dollars a month in sales if that and all that while being published by a person who started out right here on a site he mocks 24/7 and who started as a self publisher whom he also mocks.

That's the point.

He can stick his free interview(which is obviously the highlight of his "illustrious" career. I'll take the money. I know what I make as do a couple of others here who've seen it. I couldn't call it a full time income, but its fairly impressive given my limited time in the field. But I have no need to show or prove it because it doesn't matter to me what people here think. It does to him, because he's a fraud.
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Something "real men" should know.

The queen is the most powerful piece in the game of chess and frequently has to protect the rather weak king.

Just like in real life.

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Old 04-21-2014, 02:18 PM   #1860
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Relaunched by BarbarianSpy on 21 April 2014, a GM novella of art, wine, historical wounds, love, and frustration set in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, Ravens Roost, by habu (a pen name of sr71plt).


BLURB:

Bookended by encounters at the Ravens Roost Lookout on the Blue Ridge Parkway, suave and wealthy Virginia landowner Dabney Belcastle manipulates men to do his will until tragedy strikes and he turns to using his manipulation in atonement.

Having disrupted the lives of the young Italian-American landscape artist Lucio; the mixed-race workman Hank, who holds a dark secret of the Belcastle family past; and the two young University of Virginia English professors Paul and Stuart, Dabney does what he can to give these men their lives and freedom back in a bittersweet romance set in the Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah Valley, and hunt club Piedmont of Central Virginia.



EXCERPT

Yes,” I heard him speak softly from behind me in a well-modulated, educated voice—something foreign in Virginia anywhere but here at the western edge of the Piedmont, where the old families of Central Virginia still did the European tour and brought home British spouses.

I turned and raised my eyebrow. My paint brush, loaded with just the right mix of red and orange and yellow, hovered over the canvas.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. But I stopped at the overlook because the way the sun hit the trees on the slope over there made them shimmer with fiery earth tones. And I see here that you have captured them perfectly on canvas.”

“Thank you,” I said and turned back to the canvas, trying to remember just where I had wanted to apply the paint. I wanted to be irritated by his snapping of my concentration, but I found that my mind was torn between capturing the perfect play of the light before it flitted away and wanting to concentrate on him. I would have thought that a man in a fur coat and a Bentley would be entirely out of his element up here at the top of the Blue Ridge, but he seemed in complete comfort and control, as if he was the proprietor and perhaps it was I who was the interloper. . . .

With a sigh, as a cloud floated across the sun, changing the light on the slope of the Torrey Ridge to something as interesting as what I was painting—but something far different from what I was painting—I lowered the paintbrush and covered the paint-loaded tip with an oil rag.

“I am mortified,” he said in a voice that sounded genuinely contrite. “I have ruined your painting. I see that the light has changed.”

“No matter,” I answered. “It’s in my memory. Some artists work from photographs. I find I need the dimensions of working from real life—and that I can retain that in my mind.”

I surprised myself. I normally would, in fact, have been quite angry with the interruption. I had purposely chosen my day for optimum landscape color and minimum interference. But he intrigued me. I liked men. And he was quite an engaging specimen. He was tall and thin and what anyone would call distinguished looking, patrician even. I may have been swayed toward that from the Bentley and the fur coat anyway, but I imagine he’d convey the same impression in a business suit—although even there I couldn’t think of anything less than Armani—or even jeans and a wool shirt. Ageless in appearance, he could be anything from his mid-to-late fifties, but would be described as very well preserved anywhere in this age range. If I had to peg a career, I’d guess men’s high-fashion clothes designer. It was possible he was from inherited wealth and hadn’t worked a day in his life, but there was something more substantial about his look that belied that assessment.

Then he was moving toward me, to position himself for a closer look at the painting, and the realization hit me by the way that he moved that he liked men. I don’t know why, but that sent a chill of interest up my spine.

“Are you sure you can capture the light still?” he asked. I was touched that he seemed to be worried about that.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I answered. . . .

He smiled. “Tell me, do you paint vineyards too—and large scenes on walls?”

“Yes, I can do that,” I answered.

“Perhaps you can visit me someday, then,” he said. He reached into the pocket of his fur coat and extracted a wallet. “I’ve put in a vineyard and am having a tasting room and event complex built. If you can capture the colors of that vineyard down there against the autumn trees on a large wall mural, I think I know just where that might fit. I’m sure we’d be able to come to an agreement.”

At the moment he said that, our finger met as he gave me a business card, and I knew that he was talking about far more than painting when he said we could come to an agreement.



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Old 04-22-2014, 01:35 AM   #1861
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I have seen ebooks for sale with 6000 words, that is less than a chapte for me.
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Old 04-22-2014, 02:10 AM   #1862
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I have seen ebooks for sale with 6000 words, that is less than a chapte for me.
Yes, that's true. That's short-story length.
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Old 04-23-2014, 09:47 PM   #1863
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Quote:
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I have seen ebooks for sale with 6000 words, that is less than a chapte for me.
I've seen them on smashwords as short as barely over 2k. Seen a ton on amazon in the 4k range.

Most of my stuff is 15k or over so I feel I give people some bang for their buck.

I recently did one that was about 7k and thought of doing a couple of more and putting three short ones together, but seeing how short some things are there I think the 7k still stands alone fine.
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Old 04-26-2014, 12:30 AM   #1864
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My first release

Hi everyone,

Very excited to announce that my first release, "The Most Dangerous of Wolves", is now live on Amazon. This is my first foray into self publishing so I am still finding my way, thank you to all the people who have helped out with advice and encouragement.

You can find the book here, or if you would like a copy to review you can PM me.

BLURB

A fashionable young village woman ventures into the woods and discovers that it is not the four legged wolves that are the most dangerous...a wandering knight meets a beautiful princess and her sentient hair and finds that sometimes princesses don’t know what they want...a daring desert adventurer rubs a lamp and has all his wishes granted...a sleeping beauty is awoken from her slumber in a most unorthodox fashion.

Journey into worlds of fairy tales and magic, where fantasies come true and the only constant is pleasure.

EXCERPT

The climb wasn't that bad, all things considered. There was one bad moment when I made the mistake of looking down and saw the forest far below me and nearly fainted, but I made steady progress, ignoring the biting wind. Finally, after what seemed an age, I reached the end of the rough stone and found myself searching for hand holds on the smooth marble of the topmost platform. The stone had been carved into fantastic shapes, dragons and basilisks and creatures that I did not even want to know the name of cavorted and writhed in ferocious battle. Their frozen suffering was my salvation as I used the hand holds they provided to haul myself around and up over the lip of the window I found.

I collapsed on the smooth floor and caught my breath, looking around. The room I found myself in was quite large, about fifty metres in diameter, with graceful, vaulted ceilings. It was completely empty, aside from what looked like a stone table directly in the centre, and the walls were unbroken except for one dark archway. I walked over to the centre to see what the table was, and suddenly halted in shock. It wasn't a table, it was a bier, and lying in state beneath a lid of shimmering crystal was the enchanted princess of the stories.

She lay on a bed of blue roses with one clasped in her hands, lying between her breasts. That was all that protected her modesty, and what was revealed was enough to make my knees go weak again. Not only was her naked body a vision of perfection, but her face was one of incomparable loveliness. Full lips were slightly parted, and her hair fell in a glorious cascade. She was as pale as the light of the full moon shining in through the windows and no breath moved beneath those exquisite breasts.

As I came closer I noticed a brass plate affixed to the slab of stone. In elegant script it proclaimed, “Svetlana, Printsessa Babochka”. I gazed upon Princess Svetlana for what seemed an age, admiring such beauty that even time's ravages dared not disturb, before a noise behind me caused me to turn. My hand went to the hilt of my sword as I gazed upon another vision, this one from a nightmare.

Out of the dark archway strode a figure of doom, an ogre, standing at least eight foot tall and twice as wide across the shoulders as me. Muscles moved beneath mismatched armor and glowering bloodshot eyes regarded me from beneath a bulging brow. His skin had a yellowish tinge and his lips split in a hideous grin to reveal sharp, unclean teeth. With a single, swift motion I drew my sword, five feet of shimmering steel etched with runes of protection and glory, but it seemed like a child's toy in my hand compared to the monstrous mace he hefted easily in one massive fist. A weapon of maiming I would have struggled to lift it in both hands.

I lifted my sword to him in a knight's salute to a foe, though he didn't seem the type to care about such niceties. Certain forms must be honoured, after all. As I closed on him, I tried to remember all I had heard from older knights of ogres and how to defeat them, or at least survive an encounter. Their tales spoke of cumbersome opponents, all brawn and no brains, with clumsy technique built on overpowering their prey and easily countered by a skilled swordsman. I had no reason to disbelieve their stories and that is probably why the fight nearly ended then and there. It was only through sheer luck I avoided that first swipe of the mace and having my brains spattered everywhere. The ogre moved fast! As I jerked back, the head of the mace filled my vision, seemingly enormous. My sense went into overdrive and I could make out every spike of its vicious head, every pockmark and rust stain, the blood and gore of its previous victims. As it whistled past the tip of my nose, the stench of putrefaction filled my nostrils and I knew that if I was not careful it would soon be my blood and brains anointing the cruel, black steel.
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Old 05-01-2014, 10:52 AM   #1865
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And the first review (don't worry, I won't be posting every single one, but excited by this a wonderful start)!!

This collection of erotic fairy tales includes sexy twists on Little Red Riding Hood, Rapunzel (she has sentient hair in this version), a female genie, and a teaser for Sleeping Beauty.

My favorite by far was "Hair Apparent," which reminds me of Rapunzel. It's the longest and there's SO MUCH tension I could hardly stand it. The state of my soaked underwear are testament to that.

I really enjoyed the other fairy tales as well, especially Little Blue Riding Hood, which has a clever take on the original story. My only complaint is how short they were! I could have spent more sexy time with any of the other characters and their steamy, tension-riddled stories.

Looking forward to more fairy tales from Cyrano!
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Old 05-03-2014, 04:12 AM   #1866
Frank Noir
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Ebooks by Frank Noir

So far, I've released four ebooks on various platforms, available on Amazon, iTunes and Smashwords: The short novella "Lusting after Michiko" and three collections of short stories in a series entitled "Tales of Lust".

List of all books with store links can be found at franknoir.com.
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If you enjoyed this post, just imagine how hot my stories must be. If you didn't, well - check them out anyway.

My ebooks (out now: "Tales of Lust - Vol. 3):
On Amazon (Kindle)
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Official Frank Noir website
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My latest story: Little Thief (What happens when a girl is caught stealing a vibrator from a sex shop)
> Read my other stories (Reluctant women at the mercy of dominant men, that kind of thing...)


My avatar: "Slave Market" or "For Sale" by Jean-Léon Gérôme (1824-1904).
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Old 05-04-2014, 02:54 PM   #1867
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Launched on 4 May 2014 by BarbarianSpy, a GM novella, Caribbean Cruise Top to Bottom, by habu (a pen name of sr71plt):


BLURB:

Cruising the gay Caribbean for more than the sun.

In this parallel view of a slice of cruising life from two different perspectives, two men, forty-seven-year old jeweler Doug and nineteen-year-old college student Chet, take the same five-day Caribbean cruise in search of a relationship.

Well-off Doug is definitely cruising to find a young man to “do” for him into his old age. Chet is somewhat hazily interested in finding the flip side of this arrangement. Doug knows he’s looking for a top. Chet, with little experience and only a desire, hasn’t decided what he’s looking for yet and his virginity is a hot topic with his straight fraternity buddies. The two searching men are taken in hand by a sexy, experienced Brazilian, who helps them both find satisfaction.

The question remains whether it will be with each other?


EXCERPT:

I went up to the lounge at the top of the ship after dinner, the one where drinks were double priced, so that the riff raff who had saved all of their money in life to go on this one five-day cruise were kept away. I was hiding out from Margaret and Sheila, who thought I’d gone to my cabin. Not that the two of them weren’t well heeled enough to come up here, but they’d agreed, with a sigh, to go to the late floor show in the theater with each other since they’d reached a stalemate with me.

“Are you drinking alone?” the Brazilian-Argentinian, who said his name was Julio, asked when he came over to where I was sitting, nearly twenty minutes after we’d begun eyeing each other across the room. He wasn’t what I was looking for. He was several years older than I was. But he was handsome and well built and was a real smooth talker. He seemed to be a man of the world, and I imagined the he would be good in bed. He had confidence and he didn’t try to hide his interest when he looked at me.

When I told him that, yes, I was alone, he said, “A man shouldn’t have to drink alone. Especially a man as good looking as you. May I join you?”

“For saying I was good looking, you can do anything you want,” I answered. Later I wondered whether I would have answered that way if I hadn’t had several drinks. But I’ll never know the answer to that.

“I was hoping that would be the case,” he answered with a smile.
There weren’t any young men in the lounge who seemed to be flying solo, let alone ones who might be interested in what I was looking for. I had half hoped that the young man I’d seen at dinner would be up here, but of course he wasn’t. There was no reason why he should be. The older man he’d been with didn’t look like his walker would carry him this high in the ship.

While I was drinking my third vodka Collins, I admitted to Julio that I indeed was looking for a man to hook up with, but that I was interested in much younger men than I was. I didn’t mention that Julio obviously was older than I was, but the inference was there and he wasn’t a stupid man.

I vaguely remember him answering that young men were good to f*** but that older men were much more experienced in doing the f***ing—and he asked me what role I was interested in taking. I also remember telling him what I was looking for from a young man. I somehow felt safe with Julio, because he wasn’t younger than I was—he was several years older. It didn’t escape me, however, that he was sexy as hell too and that chills went up my spine when he touched my forearm with long, sensuous fingers.

I remember ordering a fourth vodka Collins, or, rather, Julio ordering one for me and paying for it with his cruise card when it arrived, but I don’t remember drinking it all. I don’t remember anything that transpired between the fourth drink arriving and when I was bent over my bed, supporting my weight off the surface of the bed on my elbows and forearms, with Julio draped over my back.


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Old 05-16-2014, 11:56 PM   #1868
sr71plt
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Published by BarbarianSpy on 15 May 2014, a WWII GM romance novella, War Letters, by habu (a pen name of sr71plt).


BLURB:

Hal Collins’ war hero grandfather, Henry, always shied away from talking of his experiences in World War Two. Henry was on the long trek from the Anzio landing in Italy, through France, and to Germany, during which he was a survivor of the “lost battalion” at Monte Cassino and was wounded on the France-Alsace border.

While growing up Hal had to find out what all of Granddad’s medals were about from reading old magazine articles or sneaking peeks in his grandfather’s study. When his own father died Hal inherited his Grandfather’s cigar box full of notes and letters along with the request that he track down a certain private Henry had served with, or the man’s descendents. A now-grown man and a soldier himself, Hal discovers not only that the private kept his side of the correspondence, but also why Henry had been so reticent about his experiences in WWII.

Hal is in for yet another surprise when he finds the long-ago private’s grandson, Bud Montgomery.


EXCERPT:

Now that he’d gotten this far—contacting the man and driving all the way up to Gettysburg from Washington, D.C.—Hal Collins was having second thoughts. He arrived at the house fifteen minutes early but drove right by it and pulled over to the curb two blocks farther on. Several minutes later, the pain in his hands registered in his brain, and he realized he’d had a death grip on the steering wheel. He took his hands away and popped his knuckles.
The old wooden cigar box was sitting on the passenger seat beside him. He remembered seeing it in the bottom drawer of his grandfather’s desk in his study when he was a boy and the family was visiting The General, his grandfather. His grandfather had had a first name, of course. It was Henry. But Hal rarely had heard him called that. He was called The General by everyone Hal knew. Hal had been told his grandmother called her husband Henry, but she had died before Hal was born.

While the older folks sat out on the porch and talked, Hal would sneak into his grandfather’s study, which was stuffed with memorabilia from the three wars his grandfather had fought in: World War II, the Korean Conflict—as it was called until recent decades when it was finally given the respect of having been a war—and Vietnam, which his grandfather had fought from the Pentagon, having been called back into duty from retirement. Generals were always subject to being recalled, and Hal’s grandfather was a symbol of extraordinary bravery, honor, and service. He was so respected that his son and Hal, himself, had followed him into the service.

But The General only rarely would talk to his family about his war service. Hal’s father—and later Hal—had to find out about The General’s war service and the stories behind all of his medals and citations through old magazines or, like Hal did, by surreptitiously going through his grandfather’s study while his parents and The General chatted on the porch.
For some reason, although Hal always checked that the wooden cigar box, closed by two rubber bands, was in the bottom drawer of the desk, he never, while his grandfather was alive, had had the courage to open it.

After his grandfather’s death—ironically from lung cancer contracted by chain smoking the same cigar brand once held by what Hal thought of as The General’s secret box—Hal’s father had quickly packed up all of the memorabilia and sent it off to The General’s regimental museum, the 157th regiment of the Thunderbird Division, the 45th infantry.

For years Hal had kept thinking about the box and wishing he’d had the courage to open it to see what was inside when he was a child. When his own father died, Hal was surprised to find the box—the same one; he’d memorized every torn scrap on its sides and top—tucked away in his dad’s attic along with other things Hal knew were very private to his father.
The rubber bands no longer were on the box. Now it was closed with thick string. His father must have opened the box and seen what was inside. He must have read the few notes that Hal himself had eventually found inside, crudely penciled on yellowed paper and secured with a black ribbon.

And when Hal read those notes, he was glad he hadn’t read them until now, when he’d been through his own struggles with reality, and he knew why both his grandfather and his father had kept them secret—and, most of all, why his father hadn’t sent them off to the regimental museum with everything else.



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Old 05-17-2014, 06:48 PM   #1869
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First book in my new series...

Nicole X

About a writer and his muse.

Won't bore you with an excerpt.... just f***ing...

"Slowly Mushroom starts to grow. He throbs inside of her mouth each time her tongue flicks at the underside of his c*** head. Pink never takes her mouth from him. Her strokes become longer. Her head rocks back and forth ever so slightly as her lips glide along his growing shaft. In and out she moves with flashes of her tongue stroking his throbbing vein. Saliva runs down her chin, over Mushroom's patch of hair, and coats his b***."

http://www.amazon.com/NicoleX-Erotic...dp/B00KBK4PJ6/

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Old 05-31-2014, 12:58 PM   #1870
sr71plt
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Relaunched on 31 May by BarbarianSpy, a GM spy novella, Last Call, by habu (a pen name of sr71plt)

This novella will be featured in the blog of Gaydemon sometime in the coming week, which will include the offer of a free e-book, chosen from the recent habu spy novellas Last Call and Racing With the Devil or Shabbu’s (coauthored by Lit. authors sr71pt and Sabb) Velvet Interrogation. The first ten people to respond after notification appears on the Gaydemon’s blog will be sent a free download of one of these novellas (their choice).


BLURB:

Last Call is a glimpse into the secret world of Middle East intrigue by an author who has “been there/done that.”

Intelligence agent “Jack” reaches the heights of pleasure, including sexually, when he is dominated by the senses of danger and fear. This is why he is what he is—not only a spy working in the Middle East, being used as candy to suborn foreign men of intelligence interest, but also a seeker of experienced, mature, forceful men who will dominate him and push him to the edge of sensuality.

On the last night of his assignment to Cyprus, Jack has come to the picturesque Turkish Cypriot harbor castle town of Kyrenia to give himself to Tahir, an in-place asset he has been running. This last act is in fulfillment of what Tahir has been slipping him secrets from the Turkish Cypriot prime minister’s office to attain. But at the café Jack is introduced to Tahir’s even more compelling and arousing uncle, Fazil, an international arms smuggler of great interest to Jack’s government.

In a whirlwind sail around the Mediterranean, Jack and Fazil engage in a cat and mouse game that not only fulfills the sexual fantasies of both, but also brings Jack repeatedly to the fine edge separating supreme pleasure from pain . . . and death . . . and challenges Fazil to choose between safety and his primeval urges.

This is an expanded relaunch of the eXcessica novella by the same title.


EXCERPT

The magic of the night started at 10:00 in Kyrenia, the dinner hour of the Mediterranean culture, and I had arrived at the restaurant at the height of the evening.

Tahir had been waiting for me, the look of longing on his face, hopeful in the opportunity to bed me at last—the possibility that I had held over his head for months while he was feeding his government’s secrets to me.

Tahir was very nice to look at—slim but well muscled, hirsute in a way that I liked. Black curly hair, swirling around his nipples as well as haloing his head and trailing down to his pubes. I had always enjoyed meeting with him at the seaside, where he was shirtless and I could enjoy his hairy chest—the hair not thick, possibly groomed. He certainly was vain about his looks that way. Even on a night like this, with his shirt open almost down to his navel, and a gold medallion on a chain around his neck, he looked sexy. He had a handsome, swarthy face, with a very nice smile, and a perpetual five-o’clock shadow that I found arousing. But even with all that, he paled against the other man at the table.

Everything should have been just fine. But I liked my men appreciably older than me, experienced, controlling, and slightly cruel. A touch of danger went with why I was in this business at all. Tahir was younger than I was, and he gave me the impression that I would have to be the aggressor. As badly as he obviously wanted me, I felt like he would want me to dominate—but not much. Tahir wanted romance. And that wasn’t what aroused me. Still, it was probably what made Tahir so easy to run as an in-place asset. And he had earned his reward.

I knew I had to try to please him—not only so he could be passed on, but also because he had done well by me. I owed him. If I left him unsatisfied, I wasn’t being fair to the agent who replaced me. Tahir would know we were leading him on, soaking him for as much useful information as we could before cutting him off—or if he had been valuable enough to us, before we extracted him and gave him a new life somewhere far less exotic and friendly than Turkish Cyprus.

When I walked up to the table, I smiled suggestively at Tahir, opening up the signaling that tonight was the night. And all of that time I was telling myself that somehow I had to become aroused enough to satisfy him.

But then my smile froze and I became genuinely aroused as a figure passed between Tahir and me. It was the restaurant host, asking me if I wanted a table, hearing Tahir call out that I was with him, and then giving me a broad, knowing smile.

A smile that melted me, that gave me a flash of a vision of him topping me—aggressively, roughly.

He was Tahir twenty years from now, given years of experience and hard taking. Dark, much more substantial than Tahir. The same handsome face and melting smile. But older, more in control. The same dark hair, but streaked with gray and longer than Tahir’s, banded into a ponytail. Not fat but solid, heavily muscled. Substantial. This stood out in stark contrast with Tahir’s youth, puppy-dog diffidence, and hesitancy. He was the older, more world-wise, form of Tahir, giving me a knowing look as he escorted me to the table. He was guiding me with a beefy palm to the small of my back. And with that he was branding me as his—if he wanted me. Somehow he knew the decision was his; that I would have no choice.

“This is my Uncle Fazil, Jack,” Tahir said—almost unnecessarily, as we reached the table.


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Old 06-09-2014, 10:00 PM   #1871
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The free giveaway of GM spy books by habu through the Gaydemon Web site was delayed, but is now up, and books are being requested. You might be able to get on at the Gaydemon blog: http://www.gaydemon.com/blogs/
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Old 06-10-2014, 11:49 AM   #1872
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King of Hearts

King of Hearts was released today. I hope y'all will check it. It's released under my pen name.e of Wendy Stone. Thanks! Just in case you can't remember what it's about...
Caitlyn Summers was a loner long before she started working for Hart Investigations. Since taking a position in the company, she's become more than just a regular investigator: now she heads up King of Hearts. That part of the company is hush hush and is only known by word of mouth from those who had used it to those who might find need of their specific talents.

Cat ruled the roost at King of Hearts. She brought in her own people, three women who could kick ass and take names and then she trained them into a crew that could do almost anything. Never had she thought her boss, Joseph Hart, would bring anyone new into the team. That he had was bad enough but that he brought in Erich Radner, a man who'd broken Cat's heart, was even worse.

Would she be able to see the truth or would false conclusions wreck their chance at something that would make Erich her King of Hearts?
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Old 06-14-2014, 03:07 AM   #1873
sr71plt
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Released by BarbarianSpy on 14 June, the fifth in the series of GM short story anthologies, Grab Bag 5, by habu (a pen name of sr71plt).


BLURB:

The fifth volume of habu’s Grab Bag series is a collection of sixteen stories never before released to the market.

It is the latest in a series of standalone stories with eclectic gay male settings and plotlines presented in the order in which they were delivered to habu by his muse, within the period since the previous Grab Bag collection was assembled. In addition to stories streaming down from habu’s muse, this collection includes stories written for themed contests and ones specifically requested to be written by habu’s readers. Setting is always important in habu’s stories, and, as usual, the settings of these stories span the globe, from the United States, with the South heavily represented, to Europe, the Mediterranean, and East Asia. And, as always, there are unusual stories that take fresh approaches to men taking their pleasure with other men.

As is always the case with habu’s Grab Bag anthologies, any reader interested in reading a fresh and stimulating perspective of one man taking his enjoyment with another man will find much to be pleased with and satisfied by the stories in this collection.


EXCERPT:

From “Enticingly Unnaked”

When I arrived, I was ushered upstairs to a room that had a bed in it but was mostly a study, I thought. Lots of bookshelves and books. Guys were leaving their clothes in there on a studio couch. I stripped and left my gym clothes there too. Open double doors led into a large bedroom on the back of the house. Beyond that was a balcony overlooking the beach, and the noise from there led me through the bedroom and out onto the balcony.

There were a couple of dozen guys down there, all naked, and most of them well muscled and cut. A few horses too, including a couple of black guys talking with George Garnett. They were real bodybuilders and both were covered in tattoos. I didn’t recognize them as students and guessed that they were from the city. They certainly were hung, both of them. There were several down there, as a matter of fact, that I didn’t recognize as students.

The beach was quite private, which I suppose was why we were permitted to do this here. . . . What I could see from the balcony was that, although there was a volleyball game going, some tanning on towels on the beach, and a few guys out in the water, the more private areas already were being put to use by couples copulating. It wasn’t just going to be a Nude Day celebration, it was going to be an action party. That was just fine with me if Chad Simmons was here.

I looked carefully at those down there, but I didn’t see him. I paused to contemplate what I did see—what the party was supposed to be about. Did I find it more arousing, more sexy, to see guys nude rather than clothed? It helped in the shopping, I guess. I could see what was hanging and how fluid they actually were in movement, how comfortable they were with their bodies. It certainly stirred me to see what those two black dudes were packing—and how their tattoos flowed across their bodies and undulated as they used their muscles. I admit I wouldn’t mind a private meeting with either one of them. But did I really see the nude guys down there as more sexy without Speedos? There was something to be said about the mystery of anticipation and hidden possibilities, I thought.

When I turned to walk back through the bedroom and down the stairs, I noticed the décor of the room for the first time. It was a man’s room. The walls were a dark green in a suede texture and the other color accents were brown and gold. The walls were covered with prints, lit up by track lighting. They seemed to be Oriental studies of ornately clothed figures in ancient costumes. The Oriental motif was followed elsewhere in the room as well. I was surprised about the artwork. This seemed to be the master bedroom. I expected that Chad’s bedroom would have nude male figures on the wall—most of them probably painted by him.

Maybe, though, this bedroom had been decorated by his lover and Chad had decided not to change anything.

I approached one of the walls closer and saw that they were all Japanese wood block prints. And further, that they were Shunga pillow book art from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. I had been exposed to these in a class at SCAD. Pillow books were essentially sex manuals. These were distinctive in that the figures in the wood block prints all appeared to be males—in couples. And they all were having sex of some sort. In keeping with the technique, the figures mostly were clothed, with just bits of flesh here and there exposed—rather more than less in some of the prints. But it was clear that they were all having sex and that, walking around the walls, I could get a clear picture of the various sexual positions for male-on-male sex that were practiced at that time. I also “got” that the arousal of sex could be conveyed with just the expressions on their faces and the entwining of their clothed bodies. I didn’t have to see naked cock in hole to “get” it.



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Old 06-17-2014, 07:00 PM   #1874
JayCuck
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First Book! SHATTERED CRYSTAL

Hi All.

I just published my first book to Amazon. I'm still working to get it up on Smashwords and related sites.

Synopsis:
What happens when fantasy becomes reality?

When does a friend, become an enemy?

When does a harmless fantasy, lead to a dark and dangerous reality?

Tim is a quiet, introverted young man, currently out of work and in desperate need of a job.

Crystal is a former wild-child, party girl, drifting from guy to guy, until she met Tim.

Tim and Crystal married right out of high school and immediately struggle to make a living. Crystal is working double shifts at a restaurant, while Tim is unemployed and unable to find work. Their lives change however, when Tim gets a new job that offers more than an income, it offers a career and a chance at a better life for Tim and Crystal.

Shane is a handsome and mysterious, former outlaw biker, just released from prison and trying to put his life back together.

Tim, Crystal meet and befriend Shane. Crystal finds a match in Shane, someone who can restore her former party-girl habits and Tim finds a friend and a mentor. While Shane struggles hard to put his life back together, his former life won’t let him go. Tim, Crystal and Shane grow closer and the attraction between Shane and Crystal proves too powerful to deny.

Tim and Crystal’s path takes a dark and dangerous turn, when Shane rejoins his outlaw biker gang and entices Crystal into the outlaw biker lifestyle. Crystal’s world explodes open when, at Shane’s encouragement, she becomes a stripper and gets directly involved in the Lone Star Blades drug operations. Drugs, stripping and parties become Crystal’s new world and Crystal slowly sinks into the dark world of Outlaw Bikers.

While working for the Lone Star Blades, Crystal meets a handsome club owner and begins to question her life with Tim. The club owner lures Crystal into working at his club and seduces her into his life with drugs and sex. Crystal is unaware of the dark, secret plans the club owner and the Lone Star Blades are making for her future. When Tim realizes how far Crystal has sunk into the lifestyle of drugs and stripping, he makes a desperate attempt to save his wife. Tim’s efforts at rescuing Crystal, represent a direct threat to Shane, The Lone Star Blades and the club owner, putting Tim’s life at risk.

Outlaw Bikers, Drugs and Human Trafficking. One man’s herculean struggle to save his marriage and the woman he loves. Shattered Crystal is a story of good intentions and bad choices, friendship and betrayal, and love, regret and redemption.

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Old 06-26-2014, 10:55 AM   #1875
Kurokami
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First Book!

Hi guys, remember me? I'm very excited to announce the release of my very first work, via Twisted E Publishing: "Suit, Tie, & Chains"! It's a BDSM novella, available on Amazon, Smashwords, AllRomanceEbooks, and Bookstrand.

Synopsis:

Aurora Bespoke Housekeeping and Estate Management, where the word bespoke was very flexible indeed…

Dana Grayling’s family has served as butlers for the richest families through many generations, but her curse of being born female keeps her from being welcomed into the family business. Taking matters into her own hands, she wishes to prove she’s just as good as any Grayling male.

Forced by circumstance into an atypical contract, she ultimately barters her body for an education, not realizing what she’s offered up.

Once under the employ of a brash, young millionaire, she can’t help but be attracted to the dominant man, nor can she ignore the desire he builds within her flesh...

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