Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Susan Roebuck's Perfect Score

Thank you so much for letting me waffle on your blog today, Jadette.

People who have read my novel, “Perfect Score” won’t believe what they’re going to read now so I’d better just clarify: when I’m asked whether I meticulously plot my stories or whether I take it page by page, I reply that I “wing it”.

My inspiration for “Perfect Score” came about when I was staying in the Catskills, Upstate New York. Oh how I loved it – for a Brit, perhaps that’s not unsurprising. I stayed in a Gothic skiing lodge complete with bats in the belfries and the guy from the Munsters who’d open the great creaking wooden door. The whole place was made of wood which heightened the excitement because every room had a fireplace. The nearest village day-dreamed in a pall of dope-smelling smoke and the tiny shops sold hand-made trinkets or insipid food. And the golf pro firmly believed in levitation to improve your swing. But inspiration really hit me at the site of the 1969 Woodstock Festival. I had Alex as a successful singer/songwriter and Sam as a starry-eyed fan. Ahem, a girl fan. I swear this is true! Now you’ll understand why I said I “make it up as I go along”. There are twenty-seven versions of “Perfect Score”.

First to change was Sam. You see, one of the main themes of the book is “dyslexia and stuttering” – issues I’ve been fascinated by ever since I became a teacher. And Sam suffers from both. I wanted to maintain the time-setting (1960s and early 1970s) to show how little was known about the conditions at that time, which, let's face it, wasn't that long ago. And Sam suffered appallingly as a result of it. Because of those traumas, and because he became homeless as a child, I changed his sex! (No operation required and it didn’t hurt, he tells me). Poor Sam was mostly considered a "retard" who should be "locked up", yet as another character says about him: "he's probably the most gifted person I know".

I then changed the location of “Perfect Score” to the West Coast where there is a large farming, ranch belt and where Sam could find work, since he had no qualifications and was an adept handyman. Alex was relocated nearer to Sam and, as they say, the rest is history.

By the way, the title of “Perfect Score” comes from the words of a song Alex writes for Sam early on in the book.


"Perfect Score" is set in mid West USA in the 1960s and is a story about family relationships, corruption, growing up, integrity, responsibility, and being a man of worth in a society of the worthless.

The two main characters are Alex and Sam. Alex, who lives with a wealthy uncle, is a blend of musical genius, stubbornness and firmly believes in his fantasy that his love for Sam is reciprocated. Sam has more direction in his little finger than Alex has in his whole body. He’s strong, yet of small stature and has developed a tough outer-coating after the knocks of a traumatic up-bringing which left him homeless. His one aim in life is to earn enough money to look after his disabled sister. He has no time for a spoiled, rich, guitar player. Sam also stutters and has what is probably a severe form of dyslexia.

When Sam unexpectedly disappears, Alex begins a somewhat bungling quest to find him, only to discover that Sam has a fearsome enemy: Alex's powerful and influential yet sociopathic uncle.

As Alex spirals downwards towards alcoholism, many questions need answering. Just why did Alex's evil uncle adopt him at age eleven yet deny him any affection? And what's the mystery behind Alex's father's death?

Excerpt. Because “Perfect Score” offers two points of view, here’re two short excerpts, one from Alex’s POV and the other from Sam’s.

Here’s a bit of ditzy Alex (from the beginning):

Congo drums. How the hell did a guy like me, with straight As in acoustic guitar and piano studies, end up on a stage playing bongo drumsfor chrissakes? I had a reputation to maintain and being wild, woolly, and wicked just ain't easy with those things wedged between your legs.

“It'll be a blast,” Jamil, who came from Arabia or someplace, had said. “We'll conjure up the spirit of the shifting dunes, the limpid oasis.

We'll sock it to the judging committee—they've never seen anything like this before. We'll be a first in the Academy's history.”

Damn straight. I'd been in half a mind to do something more traditional along the lines of Floatin' Cornflake followed maybe by The Lady Came from Baltimore with some pretty nifty acoustic guitar riffs.

But Jamil had pouted and lifted irresistible soulful eyes.

“You got great rhythm,” Jamil winked at me now, and I flashed a bright grin back.

“If you reckon that's good, wait 'til you see my rhythm when the action really gets started,” I sparkled. He raised his dark eyebrows in reply which made me shiver in expectation.

While I slapped the drums with the knuckly part of my palms in an attempt to sound like a lumbering camel, I admired his dopey, dark beauty and his arm muscles rippling as he picked away at the strings on his oud.

He half closed his eyes and looked sultry. “Come on Alex, you're a nomad, constantly on the move in mesmerizing, undulating, never-ending sand.” He upped the plucking and created a sound like a pebble in a tin can which was anything but mesmerizing. The vibration unhooked the banner hung over the stage and  Verdigris Music Academy—Graduation Talent Contest wafted delicately to the ground where it lay in a heap.

Yeah, we were nomads all right, dressed like fatheads in tunics and towels. We hadn't rehearsed, we weren't in harmony, and we had no idea what either of us was doing. Jamil said improvisation was the name of the
game, that's how they did things where he came from, that's how they captured that special tone. Special tone, my ass.

And here’s a bit of Sam:

“So, what do you want to hear? I can play anything,” Alex said.


“Well, how about something by Simon and Garfunkel?”

“Garfle and...?”

Alex strummed a chord. “Never heard of them? I thought they were as famous as Jesus Christ. Never mind, perhaps you never heard of him neither. Okay. Let's try someone else.”

He tried out a couple of chords, his head down, concentrating and then settled in. The drifting lyrics and melody sent Sam into a dream. He watched Alex's fingers stroke the frets, captivated by his long slim fingers
and neat nails on the strings.

Wasting time.

As the last chord echoed and faded, Sam blinked. “Did you w...write that? It's good. Time w...w...wasting time.”

“Yeah right. And the fact nothing's ever gonna come my way. That's not my song, old buddy, that's by Otis Redding, died a few months ago. You not heard it?” He strummed a lower register. “Now if you want to hear something by me, here's just some music—no lyrics yet. But this is mine. Listen.”

He started out with a lazy scale, descending, tumbling and then swelling. To Sam, who knew as much about music as he knew about the Swedish Royal Family, the sounds that shimmered through the night air
were stunning, a kaleidoscope of notes that rippled rainbow-like, sparkling into his mind.


Sam blinked and realized Alex had stopped with his hand in midair.

He was looking at him curiously.

“What?” Sam replied, his mind a dazed fug.

“You looked like you were focused somewhere between here and there. Like you were watching something. What was it?”

“The pattern in...intri...cate?”

“Intricate pattern?” Alex took his hands from the instrument and sat straighter. “Where?” He looked at the sky.

Sam sighed. He'd goofed up again. “No. I didn't see any...” He started to get to his feet.

There’s another excerpt on the publishers site:

Friday, April 22, 2011

Welcome to AJ Hardcourt and Boys in Blue!

Thank you for the invitation to tell you about the inspiration behind my latest story, Boys In Blue available from

Most of my stories start out the same way. I have a glimmer of an idea for a plot and setting, and a strong sense of who the characters are. I just have to figure out their story. At this time, all my works are short stories, most under 10k words. Hot men with hard bodies—men who love sex. I have an “appreciation” for men with ripped ads, strong shoulders and thick, sculpted thighs. I hope readers see that I write stories to show characters accepting their faults, risking for relationships…and having hot, sweaty sex along the way.

In Boys In Blue, I understood Adrian from the beginning. For me personally, and probably for reasons I’d rather not explore, I relate to characters who want someone they don’t believe they can have. The reasons are never the same from story to story.

In Boys In Blue, Adrian has lusted after Owen for years. The conflict comes into play because Owen and Adrian’s brother, Danny, were best friends. Owen and Danny had been partners on the force, he had been the best man at Danny’s wedding…and been the pall bearer at Danny’s funeral when he was killed in the line of duty.

Now Adrian is following in his brother’s footsteps. He’s joined the Boston PD and tonight, he’s welcomed into the fold. Only Owen has a few secrets of his own. He’s secretly wanted Adrian for years. But how was he supposed to tell his partner on the force, and best friend that he wanted to date his little brother? Now Danny is gone and his feelings for Adrian haven’t lessened. He’s ready to take a chance. He doesn’t just want Adrian for his partner on the force, but also in life.

Adrian O’Rourke is the new rookie in the Boston PD. Tonight he’s buying rounds and bonding with his fellow boys in blue. The only officer Adrian wants to bond with is Owen Murphy.

However, Owen and Adrian have history. Will memories of the past stand between them or will Owen take Adrian as his partner…in and out of the uniform?


“What the fuck are you doing?” Owen leaned against the door, his hands balled into fists at his side.

Should Adrian apologize? Pretend ignorance? “Drinking, celebrating. Buying all my friends a beer. Come on, let me buy you another one.” He took a step toward the door. “I could use another round myself.”

“I think you’ve had enough.”

“I think I can make that decision on my own.” Owen continued to block the door. “Fuck you, Owen.” He didn’t want to be taken care of. He needed Owen to see him as a man, one of the guys on the beat—or nothing. He had to step out of Danny’s shadow. At work and in life. “I’m not Danny’s little brother anymore. You don’t need to babysit me.”

“Is that what you think I want?” Owen pushed Adrian against a stack of crates closing the space between them. “You’ll always be Danny’s little brother, but believe me I’m not looking to babysit you.”

Adrian inhaled sharply. Owen’s breath, carrying the sweet scent of Irish whiskey, warmed Adrian’s lips. Owen braced his palms flat against the crate, framing Adrian within the circumference of his arms.

“I don’t know what you want.”

Owen growled. “Aside from what I’ve always wanted?”

“And what would that be?”

“Christ Adrian, I was always so scared Danny would see through me. If he knew my thoughts, knew what I wanted to do to his little brother he would have kicked my ass.”

“What do you want to do because if you’re about to kiss me, god, please don’t make me wait.” He hesitantly rested his hands on Owen’s hips. The moment was heavy, poignant for both of them. Adrian could barely breathe as he waited for Owen to say…to do something…anything.

“I’ve been waiting for you, hoping you felt the same. The way you’ve spoken to me tonight. The way you look at me. Fuck, do you know what you do to me?” He rocked his pelvis into Adrian’s. His cock was hard, stretching the denim of his jeans. “I need you, but I don’t want to push you into something you don’t want.”

Adrian stared hard at Owen. All the years of longing, of pining for this man. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Owen took a breath to speak, but Adrian cut him off. “Never mind. I don’t care why.”

He crashed his lips onto Owen’s. He kept his eyes open—couldn’t look away, could risk missing a moment of the rapture on Owen’s face—as he guided his mouth over Owen’s, tasting the seam, wanting inside. Owen parted his lips and Adrian dipped in for the first delicious taste. Lips sealed to lips, sending a shiver of awareness, hotter than lightning, streaking down Adrian’s spine, searing a trail into his balls and warming him from cock to buttocks. He shifted his head, opened wider and claimed Owen’s mouth. Tongue rubbed along tongue. Hot. Wet. Passionate.

Owen groaned and at the same time, gripped Adrian’s ass and urged him closer, grinding his cock into Adrian’s rigid erection already leaking pre-cum. Owen’s body was hard beneath Adrian’s fingertips as he navigated his way to Owen’s ass.

Hands were everywhere, stroking, gripping, trying to get closer. Adrian slipped his fingers under Owen’s shirt at his lower back and into the waistband of Owen’s jeans, trekking his fingertips over the curve of Owen’s ass.

Owen growled, pivoted and pinned Adrian to the wall. “I’ve wanted this…wanted you for so long.” With a slow gyration, he swiveled his hips and created an intense erotic friction between their bodies.

Adrian buried his nose against Owen’s flesh, nuzzling him just beneath his ear. The tease of his cologne, the masculine scent of his flesh, left him dizzy with desire. Desire to kiss and touch where they had more privacy. He flicked his tongue against Owen’s neck. “I need you now,” he pleaded. “Does the door lock?” He wedged his hand between them and traced the edge of Owen’s erection, grazing the rounded head through his jeans with his fingertips.

Owen rested his forehead against Adrian’s. Noses touching long the sides. The moment was intimate, promising a deeper connection. “I remember the day Danny introduced us.”

“So do I.” As if it were yesterday. Danny had brought Owen to a family barbecue for the Fourth of July. That night, watching the fireworks, Danny and Julie had kissed as they sat on a blanket. Owen had stared into the sky…and Adrian had stared at Owen.

“You’d just come in from playing basketball with friends. Your shorts hung on your hips.” Owen braced his hands on Adrian’s hips. “You weren’t wearing a shirt. Sweat slicked your chest.” He tugged on the hem of Adrian’s shirt. Adrian lifted his arms and Owen stripped it off. “I watched a drop. Wanted to trace it with my tongue.” He trailed a finger around Adrian’s nipple. Adrian shivered and his stomach clenched. “You were so young.”

He palmed Owen’s cock. “Old enough to know then that I was attracted to you.” A smile played over his mouth remembering how hard his cock had been, and how he’d been so scared that someone would notice. That someone would figure out he was into guys. He’d been in high school. Maybe he had been too young then. He wasn’t now.

Adrian tugged on the snap of Owen’s jeans, peeled opened the denim and slipped his hand into the front, cupping the warm, swollen length of Owen’s cock.

“Oh, yes,” Owen said on a breath, covered Adrian’s hand with his own, and pressed hard into his palm.

Their lips met again as Adrian worked his fingers into the front of Owen’s tight sexy underwear. The kisses were divine. Tongues, lips, teeth. Adrian sucked and nibbled, eating at Owen’s mouth. Finally he had Owen’s hard heated shaft in his palm, his fingers curling around the girth. Pre-cum moistened the crown. With a gentle touch, Adrian traced the flared rim and followed the thick pulsing vein running the underside.

Adrian inched back. “I’m about to commit a lewd act in public.” He smiled as he slowly dropped to his knees.

Friday, April 15, 2011

Amber Green - Inside the Blurb

All right! Today, Amber Green is here talking about the easy way to write a blurb. I've also posted the info about her new release, Turncoat!  If you love Amber's books be sure and grab your copy of Turncoat.


For some markets, you might be allowed only 120 words to engage the potential reader, while the most generous spaces rarely allow more than 200 words. How do you choose, allocate, and arrange these precious few words?

Start with either the SETTING or the PRIMARY PROTAGONIST.


The protagonist is the person who makes the story go; he isn’t necessarily the narrator or point-of-view (POV) character. Watson is not the protagonist of the Sherlock Holmes stories. Normally, you should lay out the protagonist’s full name along with two or three words of description. Each word of the description should have the resonance and relevance of a blog’s keyword, of a library’s subject catalog, of an Amazon tag. Physical descriptions might come to mind, but should be used only to the extent the physical description hints at the story’s conflict or stakes. If you had only six words to describe Spock, would you waste one on his hair? Medusa, on the other hand, cannot be clearly imagined without mention of her hair. If you have a reason not to categorize the protagonist so completely, allocate part of his space to identifying (and characterizing) a second character in terms of his or her relationship to the protagonist. If you have a romance in which two protagonists play equal roles, the primary protagonist for the purpose of the blurb is the character who has the most to lose in the first half of the book.


These lines orient the reader to the reality of the story--to be specific, the reality of the first half of the book. If the reality shifts halfway through that first half, such would happen if the primary protagonist were shipped off to school or enlisted in the military, focus on the second of those realities. Ten to twenty words is necessary and sufficient; at least two of them should be keywords. You can then spend another ten to fifteen words to show how the primary protagonist fits into that reality. Think in terms of sentence fragments instead of sentences, so that you can rearrange them more easily. Choose details carefully to create a mood--which must echo the mood of the story itself--and remember to include keywords. You might combine these bits of sentences with those used for the primary protagonist, but for your first draft, keep the setting in a separate paragraph until you’re satisfied with it.


After having introduced the primary protagonist and the setting, you can describe a second major character. If the second character has POV scenes, and if you have room, introduce him much like the first. If not, give him much less attention. Either way, focus exclusively on details that reflect on his relationship to the primary protagonist or to the primary conflict of the story. A second character is not an essential part of every blurb.


What is the primary protagonist up against? What happens if he fails? If your story has an actual villain as the antagonist, she deserves almost (but not quite) the same level of introduction as the protagonist. If the protagonist got four key words, the villain gets three. An antagonistic force, though, should only be described to the extent you can do so in vivid, concrete terms. One trick here is to focus on the counterforce that the characters actively face in the first half of the book. Do no more than allude to what they must contend with after reaching what they thought would be their goal, after their reality and goals shift in the middle of the book. Whether to focus on the primary protagonist or on the characters as a pair (or group) in this section is a delicate choice; whichever you choose, make the same choice for the counterforce and for the stakes. Sometimes you can leave the stakes implicit, but more often the consequences of failure make your strongest hook. Ending your blurb with a yes-or-no question risks insulting and alienating the potential reader. If the answer is obvious, strike the question.


Highlight your keywords. No more than twelve words should separate any keyword from the next. If you count more, you need to reword, rearrange, or trim out the excess wordage. Echoing a keyword more than once is good, but if you repeat a keyword, make sure the second appearance of the word adds or clarifies a connotation not apparent in the first usage. Do the mood, tone, and vocabulary reflect the essence of the story? If not, reword. Now, count your words. If you’re over your limit but love the blurb as it is, save a copy for use elsewhere (like a loop chat) and cut ruthlessly until you reach your limit. If you’re under your word limit but within 20% of it, such as when you have 164 words and a 200-word limit, you're fine--don’t puff the blurb just to come closer to the size limit.

Sleep on it. Come back to your blurb on a different day, if at all possible. Shorten the sentences where you can. A sentence with multiple commas probably needs trimming or breaking up. Read the blurb out loud. Is the focus where you want it? Does the tone strongly echo your story’s tone? Does the last line entice the potential reader to head for the checkout? Trim and reword and rearrange until the answers are all yes. Then call it good.

Turncoat (Turn and Turner) by Amber Green

Nine months ago, Ken Turner and his lover, FBI agent Turner “Turn” Scott, handed in enough evidence to bring federal charges against KT’s stepfather, but Father escaped to Mexico. When Mexicans kidnap Turn, KT desperately smuggles himself across the country to seek help from a man out of Turn’s past. A man whose photo Turn still cherishes. A man who, KT finds, has crossed the border and now contends with KT’s stepfather and other drug lords for leadership of their cartel.

To survive, the drug lords must know which parts of their networks have been compromised. Turner Scott has that information. One of the drug lords has Turn. Another has KT. The third knows KT might be Turner Scott’s only weakness.

But Turn himself doesn't know whether his hunger for justice is stronger than his taboo love for KT.


Amber's Website

Monday, April 11, 2011

And Now for The Fabulous Ethan Day and Anything for You!!

First let me say thanks to Jadette for kindly having me over to talk a bit about the inside-the-author/ behind-the-scenes skiny that went into the making of my latest release, Anything for You – now available from MLR Press. 

Whenever I start a new book, it usually jumps off with some little kernel of an idea, which in this case sprang from my desire to write a coming out romantic comedy. Not usually the first thought that springs to mind when one thinks about a Rom-Com. But that was the challenge of it for me - to do a story in this sub-genre, while not making fun of the coming out process. I wanted to use the subject matter to set up the barriers which I would then be required to write around. 

Before I could go any further, I then had to figure out who my characters were. I’ve known a lot of closeted guys over the last 20 years, many of whom have had an acidic personality. Obviously some people are just that way naturally – nothing wrong with that as long as it makes you happy. : ) But many of these men were simply nice guys who were, from my own perceptions, a little poisoned by the fact they were either unable or unwilling to come out of the closet. This made them NOT the most positive people to be around. This type of guy was my inspiration for Jason. A good guy trapped in a bad situation. Unfortunately Jason doesn’t handle himself very well, he’s kinda bitter – which has made him a teensy bit snarky…which is where I found the basis for much of the humor. 

Jason wants to be happy for all his friends who are out, and happily co-existing in healthy relationships, but he can’t seem to get himself there. He’s aware that he’s being an asshole much of the time, but as he admits to himself toward the beginning of the story, “It’s difficult to stop doing something when it feels so good.” That makes him unlike the typical romantic hero. He isn’t always so sweet or all that deserving, but that doesn’t mean love won’t come calling all the same. This book was the result of what I imagined a romantic comedy would result in for this type of character.

Jason’s the type of guy who screws things up on a daily basis only to turn around and pull out the grand gesture that inevitably keeps him from getting dumped on his ass. For me, it was in those same grand gestures where I found his truth – the very redeemable real man hiding inside. He was biding his time until the right guy came along and shook him out of his complacency.

While he’s not always so easy to love, I do think he’s very funny and hugely entertaining. I hope everyone else does as well! : ) 

Website Link:

Promotional Blurb:

Jason Miller is still in the closet. He's never found a reason to kick the door open, walk into the light of day, and tell the world he's gay. At least that's what he keeps telling himself -- along with a multitude of other solid arguments. As an ad man, he's used to hawking a bill of goods, he just never imagined he'd fall victim to his own hype.

When ex-activist/coming out guru, Chad Wellington came along, he was the one thing Jason never saw coming. Like a moth to a flame these two opposites ignite leaving Jason to decide if he can handle the heat.


As the two of us walked through the front door, I could smell a unique blend of Thai spices wafting out from the kitchen mixed with the faint aroma of the expensive leather coming from the living room furniture.
“They’re here!” Trent ran over with a cocktail in hand.
He looked a little too monochromatic with his light brown hair, brown corduroy pants, and a cream-colored silk shirt.
I shook my head disapprovingly. That boy will wear silk with anything. You’re supposed to be trying that whole nice thing, remember asshole? I reminded myself.
I glanced down, taking a second to concentrate on the warm hues of the slate tile under my feet. I threw on a forced smile, trying to ignore the fact it felt fake as all hell, before meeting Trent’s gaze. He had that judgy little smirk, like he could see right through me.
Screw it, no one can hear my thoughts anyway… The mere fact I actually have friends is proof of that.
The longer he dated my best friend, the more irritating Trent became to me. Like one of those commercials made more annoying thanks to the cheesy theme song that gets stuck in your head. Even though you hate the commercial, you end up singing along with it anyway.
His blue eyes were a little too blue. I suspected colored lenses, though he denied it. I was totally jealous of his perfect eyebrows. They had that slight Jack Nicholson arch—not too bushy, not too thin. I knew he plucked, but he vehemently denied that, too. 
“Here, drink this quick,” Trent said, thrusting a martini glass at me.
“What?” I asked, beginning to laugh.
“Come on, suck it down,” Trent said. “They don't call you Cumbalina for nothing.”
I decided to let that bit of snark go and took the glass from him. I hadn’t planned to begin anesthetizing myself until well after dinner; that would’ve been rude. My momma raised me right! Even so, I complied joyfully, wondering what I’d done to get so lucky, as I sucked down the delicious appletini.
“Okay, why the rush to get me drunk?” I asked, handing the now empty glass back to Trent. “I’ve already told you I’m not going to be your houseboy.”
“Oh sweetie…you should be so lucky,” he said. “No babe, I invited an old friend of mine from college along for the weekend. His name is Chad and I thought the two of you would be perfect for each other. Knowing you the way I do, I thought you’d take the news better after a nice, cool cocktail.”
“Oh shit,” I said. “Please tell me you didn’t bring me up here for a blind date?”
“He could.” Brent shrugged, grinning from ear to ear. “But he’d be totally lying.”
“And Chad is totally hot.” Trent gave me his evil eye. “You’d better be nice to him!” He turned to Brent. “He’s been so cranky lately.”
Brent shook his head at his boyfriend. “Did you really think one cocktail would have any effect? He’s like one step away from needing twelve.”
“Excuse me!” I smacked Brent in the stomach, hard enough to make him cough.
“Of course not, honey,” Trent said, rolling his eyes. “That’s why I crushed up one of my Valiums and mixed it in with his drink.”
“You did what?” Brent’s eyes widened. “You should have checked with me first. He can’t take Valium. He has an allergic reaction—it makes him stupid.”
“Good Christ!” I reached out to rest my hand on the wall as if it were the only thing holding me upright. “I haven’t been in the damn door five minutes and you’ve ambushed me with a sacrificial man and poisoned me! Why not give me ecstasy? I’d be nice and randy for just about anyone!”
“Well how the fuck was I supposed to know?” Trent shrugged, looking at Brent and completely ignoring me. “If he weren’t such a goddamn freak, I wouldn’t have had to drug the son of a bitch in the first place.”
“Hey!” I scowled at Trent and then shoved him. “Giving me a friggin’ poisoned apple—what are you, my wicked stepmother!?!”
Trent reached over and shoved me back. “I know, go stick your finger down your throat.”
“Hey, what’s going on?” a voice called out from the living room.
The three of us stood up straight, eyes wide like three deer in the forest that just sniffed out a mountain lion. Rick and Jim were standing in the kitchen entryway, peeking around the corner at us, laughing hysterically. Chad turned red, obviously realizing he’d walked in on something.
“Oh…um.” Trent held out his hand for Chad. “I’d like you to meet Brent’s best friend, Jason.”
Chad and his enormous blue eyes made their way over to us. He had sandy brown hair that was slightly disheveled and too long, but in that intentional way. Judging by what I could see of it, he also had a fan-freakin’tastic body to boot. His voice was deep, kind of Clooney, and I knew instantly if I ever heard it in the dark, I’d do whatever it commanded. He wore rumpled khaki cargos, brown leather sandals, and a wife beater.
I could feel that I was grinning like a newly crowned Miss America, but I couldn’t manage to control myself. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
Chad took a few steps toward the three of us and gently wrapped my hand up in both of his. I sort of chuckled like a goofy teenager for a moment before correcting myself and butching things back up.
“I’ve heard so much about you.” I directed a nasty glare at Trent.
“It’s nice to meet you as well.” Chad smiled like he had a secret. “Did I interrupt something here?”
“Oh no,” Brent jumped in, “I was just telling Trent that Jason is super wiped out. Work was hell for the boy this week. He’s exhausted, could barely keep his eyes open on the drive up.”
“Yes,” Trent said, “and I promised to get some food in him and send him directly to bed.”
“Trent,” Jim called out from the kitchen, “don’t forget Chad and Jason are sharing a room, remember? The other two spares are still torn up—mid-renovation and all.”
“I hope that’s okay?” Chad asked. “I’m afraid I may have invited myself last minute.”
Great, I thought, no telling what he’ll hear coming out of my mouth throughout the night.
“Of course I don’t mind, I mean we’re all adults here. Well maybe not all of us.” I glared once more at Trent who sneered back at me this time. “I just hope I don’t keep you awake with all my snoring.” Look at it this way, the drugs will keep me from being a slut, at least for the first night.
“I’d certainly hate for it to be your snoring that kept me awake all night as well.” Chad smiled.

Copyright 2011. Ethan Day.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Is it wrong to have someone to love AND take care of you? ~ Rawiya

First, I’d like to thank Jadette for having me here today. Michael Mandrake is busy at IRM so he asked me to fill in. Of course, I will plug my upcoming story to be released this summer but first, a guest post.

A “Sugar Daddy” – Slang term. A man that provides for his partner financially in exchange for sex.

Is it wrong to want one of those? In a lot of people’s minds, it is. To exchange your affections so a rich man can take care of you? My friends joke about it all the time, wanting a man that provides for them, keeping their bank accounts full at all times so they can do what they want.

We always see this in stories and real life; women with an old man who may be grandpa material. The most unbelievable part is these ladies claim to love that person when all the outsiders say, “oh she only wants his money.” But, here’s a twist, what if that person really DOES want love, affection and money from that person.

All single people crave the love of someone that’s financially secure, not meaning a billionaire but just able to provide for them and a potential family. Yet, this isn’t being a “gold digger” which is the term called a “sugar daddy,” this is just desiring someone that’s gainfully employed and can bring home the bacon. Nothing wrong with that.

So the devil’s advocate in me wants to ask the question. What’s wrong with wanting the love of a millionaire? It’s almost the same thing. The morality issue is, do you love them for ONLY their money. If the answer is no, then you’re no gold digger and he isn’t your sugar daddy but that’s what people will think so get ready.

Give me your thoughts!

Thanks Jadette for having me today. J


The True Meaning of Love by Michael Mandrake

Michael Mandrake -

Its Raining Men Blog -

Coming to STARbooks Press and Amazon this summer.

The Who’s Your Daddy Anthology featuring Rawiya’s first M/M tale, “Sugar Daddy.”

Blurb: A short story of a young man, Matthew Davidson, who’s seeking the love of an older black man. When he goes to an internet dating site, he finds the man he’s looking for, but the ad calls for a black or Hispanic male. Interested, Matthew puts up the picture of his best friend, Devon Peartly who is Black. Now though, his chat buddy would like to meet him in person.

PG Excerpt - “Goddamit Matthew, I wish you would get your own man and stop looking at mine,” Devon said when we left multimedia class. My good friend Devon Hunter was dating the resident hot teacher, Professor Edgar Vincent. All the girls were crazy about him; it’s too bad that they didn’t know he had a desire for ass of the male variety instead of the female.

Rolling my eyes, I shrugged, “Sorry, it’s hard not to gawk at him; he’s really good looking. It’s too bad he saw you first before me.”

Devon put his hand on my chest, lightly shoving me, “What the hell is that supposed to mean? It doesn’t matter anyway; he ain’t into white boys anyhow…”

“His loss,” I replied as we walked to our lockers that were side by side.

Devon chuckled, and then muttered, “Bitch…”

Smiling, I retorted, “You love me though…”

“Yep,” he winked, turning the combo lock.

This conversation was a normality between me, Matthew Davidson and my good friend, Devon Peartley. We’d known each other since grade school and were now attending the Chelsea College of Art and Design in the midst of our second year of the Graphic Design Communication course; both of us inspiring art directors, that desired to work in either television or movies.  We had been close seemingly forever, like brothers. We’d only screwed around once after being drunk at a party after graduating from middle school. The reason why? When you become that insanely tight with someone, where you know every stinking thing about one another, you really don’t want to complicate things by having sex. Moreover, Devon was not really, attracted to white men; he preferred those of his own kind or Hispanic. I liked that as well, but of the older variety.

So, even though I had given Professor Vincent more than a nod, I really wasn’t all that interested; truthfully, I only did it to piss off Devon.

“Devon, I want a man. I’m tired of being alone.” I pouted, leaning against the door.

“So get one, and keep away from Doc Vincent.” He closed the door, glaring at me.

“I don’t want your Professor, Devon. You know I’m into older black men.” I slid my Blackberry out of my pocket, looking at the screen.

“Yeah, and my doc is an older bloke…”

“Uh huh, but not old enough for me…”

Devon’s eyes widened, “What? You mean you’re looking for an elder, a senior citizen…”

“Fuck you, you tosser, hell no; I’m searching for,” I paused glancing upwards, moving my hands. “A man that’s established, in his late forties, early fifties, with intelligence, strength…”

“A libido?”

Rolling my eyes, “Yes, most definitely. Someone that will take care of me, stimulate my mind and my groin, you know?”

Devon sighed, “Uh huh. A sugar daddy…”

“Yes, but a brown. sugar daddy…really dark chocolate, sweet to the core, but rugged, rough…”