Monday, 22 June 2015

Affairs of Men's Hearts by Pablo Michaels

These are four stories linked together by the common thread of men striving to love other men. From the playful, anxious times of young men’s infatuations with high school buddies in Growing Up in My Hometown and Then and Now, to experimenting with other men who share the same fantasies of having sex with another man fueled by that strong testosterone driven urge to explore each other’s bodies intimately, as in The Slumber Party.  Seeking a commitment is the common goal with each character in each story. In Pagan Knights of Cambria, the main character strives to find that inner peace forging him ahead to build on the relationship he has with his long-term companion.
The question always arises, “Will he always love me?”
Excerpt from Then and Now
After failing at finding love with other men for many years, I found a comfortable, more content life; attaining a sustained love with Timothy. I reflected on the many times I fell in love as a young man. The memories were more like sentimental journeys. But I also remembered the excessive pain. I wondered what it would’ve been like if I had found lasting love earlier in life with my devoted Timothy.
Like a fallen leaf from a stately tree, Timothy dropped into my burrowed bed, enabling me to mend my disabled ways in love and rekindling the passionate fire of sexuality. We built our love on trust, honesty, and a bond of camaraderie where we rejoiced in fun. We acted out our sexual fantasies we’d both kept suppressed for too many years.
Timothy was a late bloomer- disguising his sexual orientation in a heterosexual relationship and raising a family. As for me, I looked for love in the most forced situations in places most people would never go. I was bent on abusive anonymity in bars like the Capri, Stud, and Toad Hall, bathrooms and glory holes like those at Harmon Gym in Berkeley, the beaches at San Gregorio and Devil’s Slide, and the bushes in parks, like Alta Plaza and Buena Vista. I sought romantic love in the wrong places, receiving instant gratification, and then becoming lost in disappointing loneliness. If only I‘d found love with a man like Timothy in my youth. Why did I, as do so many young men, look for love with each other, so cruelly blind?
Looking back, my sexual urges soared in high school to heights I could barely comprehend.
At seventeen I lived life like I expected; attempting to date the prettiest, most intelligent girls in school. But my real intentions were bent on impressing the guys I desired. Dating these girls made me cool and suave. Then I could be the best buddy of the guys I worshipped. I made a few of them more than best of friends. Feeling challenged by my peers, I dated younger girls to seek the friendship with the boys surrounding them. I dated Shelley, who became bait for building a friendship with a boy she knew. He stimulated my libido. Sadly, I could only enjoy him in my fantasies, alone.
I was, mistakenly enrolled in eighth period in gym, the session reserved for boys on sports teams. When showering, I tried to conceal my new, youthful growth of my chest hair. Most of the guys were smooth-chested, including the older seniors. In gym one day, I befriended Barry. He resembled a young Robert Redford. I smelled his scent afar, not recognizing those arousing male hormones until I became an older, more experienced gay man. He was two years younger, and the star quarterback on the junior varsity football team. I secretly spied on him when we showered, dressed and undressed, inhaling and languishing in his masculine perfume.
One day he confided his romantic interest in another girl, Sue. She was friends with Shelley my current girlfriend. Barry and I met for lunch every chance we had, sharing our romantic pursuits.
Not athletically inclined, I wondered why he wanted to share these intimate stories with me. I assumed he’d rather associate with jocks, than me, as a student enrolled in an advanced academic program. Most friends and acquaintances were quick to categorize me. “You’re so smart; you’re a brain.” That usually implied social ostracism. But Barry admired my intellect, not ridiculing my sole achievement. He made my fantasies leap to voracious heights when we sat together.
Kids in high school attended varsity football games but rarely watched junior varsity. My unwavering intrigue with Barry convinced me to observe the junior varsity practices and games. He was pleased by my attendance.
After football season came to an end and living in close proximity, we walked home together. While walking one day, Barry requested my help to write a poem for Sue, one with romantic flair.
I shared books of literature from the Romantic period, like the works of Emerson, Thoreau, Wordsworth, Shelley, and Poe. Their poetry flowed through my veins, motivating me to create a closer, dangerous relationship with Barry. Late each afternoon, after walking home, we spent time in his bedroom writing poetry while my frustrated desires swelled inside. At times I wished I was able to express, I love you. I want you more of you. Can’t you feel it too?
Many of those afternoons, while composing poetry, he looked at me with those clear, sparkling blue eyes, asking me to respond to his inspiration. When I hoped he’d utter a phrase of affection or attraction, he asked, “Do you think this is too flowery?”
Befuddled I replied, “No but look closer at one of the poems we read. I think it was Byron’s.” While he reread the poem, I studied the masculine bone structure of his face until felt my dick rising beneath the denim of my Levis.
After spending afternoons with Barry, l lay in bed at night imagining his presence. My penis was hard and aroused. Closing my eyes, I imagined his sun bleached, blond tipped brown hair, and his powder blue eyes lighting up the sky like Fourth of July sparklers. I envisioned his well-toned body, his chiseled chest covered with sprouts of darker brown hair, firm buns forming half-moons spotted sparsely with short brown hair, and then his cock. I couldn’t control my visualizations and fantasies any longer. I masturbated, hoping the reality of us making love would be realized and soon.
Lying on my bed, content, I wished he was next to me snuggling his head on my chest and wrapping his legs around my waist. “If we were free enough, we would be happy. I yearn to be close to you. You’re my constant obsession. Do you feel that way about me?” I whispered these words, hoping he was reciprocating similar words while in his own bed.
When spring’s days lengthened into summer vacation, I acquired my driver’s license. I used one of the family’s cars, so we could double date with our girlfriends. But those nights were politely tame. When we went to the drive-in movies, Shelley was in the front with me, while Barry and Sue nestled into the backseat. We pursued the usual petting and foreplay conservatively. Occasionally, my eyes drifted back to Barry. His eyes alertly open. He glanced at me, the sparkle of romance glimmering at me. Then he winked, making me feel extra special.
About the Author:
Pablo Michaels disguised himself as a shy, friendly heterosexual during his adolescence, fantasizing other males. Falling in love with another man his first year in college, he followed him to another university to maintain their platonic love, while he continued in his in studies. When he had his first sexual encounter with another man, just before turning twenty-one, he exploded into gay life with lust and anger. He attempted to live his new life naturally, seeking love, ignoring the statistics of the books he read on homosexuality in high school, and proving what he had read was wrong.
He wrote poetry and stories since third grade. When he turned twenty-one, he moved to San Francisco to work and write, experiencing more of gay life. In the 1980's he wrote every chance he had, trying and failing miserably at publishing mainstream fiction. He published his first story in 1986 in a literary magazine.
After writing plays, short stories, poetry, and two novels, he began writing gay genre stories, since he had more knowledge and experience with gay lifestyle. Trying to publish, he went to a library seminar hosted by two published authors. Inspired by the gay writer, Scott Kemble he connected with him on the Internet site for The San Francisco Bay Area Literary Arts Newsletter and Review, which published four of Pablo's short stories.
Feverishly writing since 2004, he published his first e-book: "Pagan Knights of Cambria "with Life of Riley Productions in London. Soon a mainstream story, "When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again Hooray", published also. In 2012 Pablo self-published his first novel, "Catnip, Rosemary, Rage and Time", combines mystery and humor in a gay, erotic romance. He continues to write more episodes in his next novel, The Deer in the Forest The plot spreads over several decades, about a man's attempts to adapt to the world he lives, all with love, heartache, history and survival at no cost.
His latest article, Why Gay Men Retire to Palm Springs, was just published in the very popular online magazine. You can read the insightful article here.
Favorite Reading:
Catcher in the Rye, The Odyssey, The Man Who Fell in Love with the Moon, Bent, The Fifth of July, The Stranger, The Thin
Author Links:
Website/Blog          Facebook          Twitter          Google+          AmazonAuthor Page
Amazon 5 Star Review 
Amazon 5 Star Review
Amazon 5 Star Review

Sunday, 21 June 2015

Weekend Writing Warriors #117


Hi and welcome to this week's eight sentences. 
I'm continuing with the next eight from 'Dancing for the Boys' enjoy!:                                           

It was just another gig, she told herself as she stretched her body and breathed in the beautiful contours that were shown in all their glory by the tight, tight Lycra. Tanya knew she was sexy; she wiggled her butt and pouted at the mirror psyching herself up to feel sexually uninhibited until she was  ready. Bring it on, she told herself. The thud of a baseline told her James had provided the music and she waited for the knock she knew was seconds away. When it came she strolled deliberately slowly through the door and up onto the stage. There were around eight men seated as far as she could see but Tanya was in the zone, closing her mind to all of them, feeling the beat through her body and eyeing the pole as if it were a lover.
She recognised the song, dirty and explicit just how she felt right now. ‘Play’ by David Banner filled the small room.                                                                                               *************
David Banner Play
Thank you for stopping by, please leave a comment. To visit the other authors taking part today, please click on the link below:

Who doesn’t love to dance? Who doesn’t love to tease the men watching, willing them to notice and lust after your body? What would you do if you were given the chance to perform before a group of appreciative gentlemen for a large amount of money? The latest release from the pen of Gemma Parkes combines two stories of exotic dancing and what it means to two women when they truly perform.

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Saturday, 20 June 2015

Saturday snippet 'A Wicked Game'


 A clandestine encounter between lecturers at Keywood upper college campus is witnessed by second year psychology student Lucinda White. Determined to make the most of this opportunity Lucinda embarks on a little blackmail, convincing senior lecturer Mr. Peter Caine that she will keep quiet about her discovery in exchange for a series of after college tuition.
Peter, bemused and flattered by the attention she pays him and worried about the power she holds over him, then embarks on a dangerous liaison with Lucinda. Peter finds himself drawn to the student as she teases and entices him, playing games with his desire.
As their illicit relationship deepens however, Peter’s long time girlfriend and fellow lecturer, Miss. Amy Price becomes increasingly suspicious. Annoyed by the attention her partner is paying to Lucinda, Amy becomes determined to uncover the truth. Peter and Amy’s world is turned upside down as Lucinda’s demands increase in their intensity. But what does Lucinda really want? Is there more to this enigmatic girl than meets the eye? 

Hidden away by Amazon 'A Wicked Game' will take you on a tense, erotic journey that will keep you guessing right up to its climatic end.
* Please note, my story does not contain characters who are under age. But does contain sexually explicit content intended for 18 + only.


The drive to Peter’s house was not an easy one. He hadn’t planned on ever taking Lucinda there. This was against the rules, risky to both his relationship with Amy and his career. He sighed as he stared blankly at the familiar road ahead. What choice did he have? The office wasn’t suitable for what he was trying to achieve and he was damned if he would pay for a hotel room. He glanced across at Lucinda sitting excitedly in the passenger seat of his plush BMW. He knew she was hyped up, so was he, but at the back of his mind the doubts persisted. Lucinda must not be allowed to call the shots, he knew that. But somehow these sessions with her were no longer about keeping the girl quiet. He smiled as he thought about the excitement she was stirring in his body, passion he had almost forgotten. He realised with grudging acceptance that these few stolen encounters were becoming too important to him. He wanted this as much as Lucinda, he longed to tease her until she broke before him. He knew he could do it too. Lucinda was so na├»ve, so inexperienced, whereas Peter had years of seduction behind him, years of tantric experience at the hands of an older woman when he was in his early twenties. Admittedly he was rusty; Amy wasn’t too willing to experiment. This was Peter’s chance to prove to himself that he still had it in him and he relished the opportunity to make Lucinda beg.
Peter glanced up at his house anxiously as he drove slowly up the long drive hidden from the neighbours view by tall shrubbery. Amy wouldn’t be here, she didn’t live with him and she wasn’t one for surprises. Even so, it felt strange bringing Lucinda here, devious and unsettling.
But so very exciting.
For the first time since he had met her Lucinda seemed nervous as she walked through the front door Peter was holding open for her. She nibbled her fingers and pulled her oversize cardigan tighter around her as she glanced around at the opulence of Peter’s charming home.
It was beautiful. Peter had exquisite taste and the income to indulge it. Grand paintings hung along the large hallway, shown to their best advantage by subtle lighting and a background of pale lemon walls. Beneath their feet were expensive, cushioned floor tiles of black and white.
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Sunday, 14 June 2015

Weekend Writing Warriors #116


Hi and welcome to this week's eight sentences. 
I'm continuing with the next eight from 'Dancing for the Boys' enjoy!:                                           

Tanya removed her raincoat and stared at herself in the thoughtfully placed full length mirror. She looked superb! All that was missing were the spider gloves, a last minute touch that would give a fishnet effect all the way up to her elbows, leaving her palms free of course. Slowly she began to apply the cream. Tanya wasn’t sure whether James would provide the music so she had brought her own just in case, her track list included ‘Shake That’ by Eminem and her own personal favourite ‘Just a Lil Bit’ by 50 Cent’.
Sounds from the adjoining room caused her heart to beat wildly. They were arriving! Tanya swayed in front of the mirror, warming up and trying to dispel her nerves.
Shake That - Eminem 
Thank you for stopping by, please leave a comment. To visit the other authors taking part today, please click on the link below:

Who doesn’t love to dance? Who doesn’t love to tease the men watching, willing them to notice and lust after your body? What would you do if you were given the chance to perform before a group of appreciative gentlemen for a large amount of money? The latest release from the pen of Gemma Parkes combines two stories of exotic dancing and what it means to two women when they truly perform.

 Buy Links:

Video link:


Monday, 8 June 2015

Moonbeams of Intended Consequences by Muffy Wilson

Moonbeams of Unintended Consequences by @SexyMuffyWilson ~ Cover Reveal and Teaser
Moonbeams of Unintended Consequences
Muffy Wilson
Yellow Silk Dreams Publishing
THAT night…

SHE wore a flowing, form fitted white spaghetti strapped gown that cascaded in tumbled silken folds to her abdomen and revealed her breath in the soft rise of her alabaster breasts. Her eyes reflected an emerald depth with gold flecks that edged to hazel and were framed by neat, arched brows that narrowed to her temples where her heartbeat announced the rhythm of her life. Her only adornment was a starkly white gardenia nestled in the curves of her auburn. The heavy floral fragrance of the corsage announced her arrival as she glided elegantly to her aisle and settled, like a dove, into her center seat. She was alone…but not for long.

Would she regret her indulgence?

HE was a towering, self-assured giant of a black man, chest broad and arms outstretched in opulent black leather. His intense black eyes locked irresistibly onto her and declared his hunger. The opera house erupted with his full bass-baritone harmony. His musical seduction began, and his hypnotic gaze was met by her eager response as she answered his desire with a blush.

But, was his desire enough?

THEY spent an insatiable night together in Room 457 of the Historic Whitcomb Hotel locked in a magnetic embrace riding moonbeams of passion and ribbons of desire that wove them irretrievably together in ways that only the future would disclose—a future neither of them ever anticipated. Would the secrets of the past, of that one night, prove too much to bear as the future unfolds the truth and the depths of her desperate need?

Would the life and death struggle she faced overshadow the seeds of love planted a decade earlier?


The orchestra warmed up in a disconnected, faltering collection of notes, strings and horns as the wealthy patrons filed into the theatre and were settled. She wore a flowing yet form fitted white spaghetti strapped gown with a backline to the small of her back above the well-rounded cheeks of her ass. The cascading neckline tumbled in silken folds to her abdomen which revealed her breath in the soft rise of her alabaster breasts.
She was of medium height with an envious rubenesque shape most men admired: long, shapely legs nipped tightly at the ankle tapering to narrow, small demi-feet elegantly adorned in satin heeled slippers with scarlet, well-pedicured peek-a-boo toes, full breasted bosom with pert erect nipples stretched against the fabric of her gown, round hips that accentuated a narrow waist and a lovely pleasing back that joined all her sumptuous qualities. Her eyes reflected an emerald depth with gold flecks that edged to hazel and were framed by neat, arched brows that narrowed to her temples where her heartbeat announced the rhythm of her life. Her rounded cheekbones accentuated the graceful curve of her jaw line as it narrowed to a slightly dimpled chin below heart-shaped ruby lips. Her only adornment was a starkly white gardenia nestled in the curves of her auburn curls that caressed the pale white opaque flesh of her face. The heavy floral fragrance of the corsage announced her arrival. She glided elegantly to her aisle and settled, like a dove, into her center seat. She was alone.
The house lights dimmed yet she glowed, demurely, in the white gown as if she were unmistakably the main attraction.
She stared as he walked onstage: a towering, self-assured giant of a black man, arms outstretched in black opulent leather to embrace the audience, she felt to embrace her. His piercing gaze locked irresistibly onto her, in all her radiant purity. His intense black eyes seemed to declare his hunger.
The opera house erupted with his full bass-baritone harmony. He sang, it seemed to Jordan, to no one but her as she smiled quite involuntarily. Each throaty, reverberating note he released strummed every nerve to her very foundation.  His musical seduction began, and would surely end she thought, with her in his outstretched arms. 
Her petulant feminine petals nestled in the protective mound where her thighs joined. They slowly filled with her eager response and unfolded the protection of the essential pearl of her existence as she answered his desire with a blush.
She sat through the entire performance tethered to his gaze. The magnetism she could not resist overtook her fully and her responses were involuntary yet welcome. She felt his gaze through her gown caress her, push her, tease her and excite her with every deep vibrato he released into the hall.
She was, therefore, completely surprised when the lights raised and the fluid embrace of his voice was gradually replaced by the swelling bustle of movement from the exiting audience. She looked to her left and right, then up to the stage beautifully shrouded by long red opulent velvet curtains separating her from the object of the gathered passion in her belly.
Her reverie broken, she returned to the moment at hand. As she rose, the romantic trance invoked by his voice broke, the hold eased, and dropped shard by shard from her body so that she could move. She gathered her wits, shook off the spell and seemed to float in the afterglow with the others to the atrium. She exited the main entrance to the broad threshold above the street below.
She took a few steps outside and shocked by the damp San Francisco night, drew her wrap ever tighter to her heaving breast, her nipples still erect from the seduction of the opera star. She paused a moment, enjoyed the remains of her trance, and proceeded down the steps to hail a cab.
The after symphony reception was held at the home of one of San Francisco’s most prominent elite, a huge supporter and member of the Symphony Board of Directors, Drake Morrison. Drake and his wife Amelia were friends of Jordan’s parents who were absent because of a holiday in the Orient. Jordan’s parents were regular supporters of the Symphony and met the Morrisons frequently during intermission on most opening nights for a glass of champagne. She had been invited as a distraction from her solitude to join them on opening night at the reception in their home. She agreed to attend eagerly as she often attended the symphony with her Mother when her Father was unable.
She felt her low-belly tighten; her heart pounded and her palms tingled with perspiration in anticipation. The main opera lead and cast always came to the receptions. The non-profit organization relied upon their attendance to boost donations so she knew she would see him here and she wondered if he would even recognize her or if the reverie of connection had been hers alone.
When he entered with his entourage, he towered over everyone with his black elegance. He was beautiful, a stunning black onyx statue carved to magnificent perfection. When she saw him, only feet away, she staggered slightly as he turned to her with an outstretched hand in greeting, eyes locked in a magnetic embrace. She lost her breath and her heart in one moment as she touched his fingertips with hers.
He clasped her hand with the both of his and pulled her close to his body with a knowing smile curled on the curve of his chiseled jaw line. She felt his heat, was hypnotized by his aroma. She knew then that he remembered her in the audience; he had sung to her, he had sent his words in musical notes on foils to surround her, lift and seduce her.
The moment was suspended when he was directed to further introductions. He bowed ever so slightly with his departure and barely whispered, a bientot, mem’selle, his breath searing her necklineShe weakened in his presence and felt ill-balanced on a passionate precipice as he moved away. Their arms outstretched unwilling to be parted, her hand slid from his as their fingertips relinquished an electric hold.
A bientot, mem’selle,” he had said. She hung on every word with rapt expectation for their next meeting as he moved into the crowd of admirers.
She watched as he worked the room, seducing male and female alike with his charisma and brilliance. He was a master in the simple ministration of his charm. He spoke with confidence, smiled at nonsensical nervous banter and made everyone most relaxed in his presence with an effortless touch.
The night edged on and she resigned she was like all the others, seduced by the sheer presence of the man. She sought out the Morrisons and bid them a grateful goodnight. She went into the library where her wrap was hung. A manly black hand extended and took it from her grip and as she spun, he curled her into his embrace as well as the shawl.
            “My room key at the Hotel Whitcomb. The town car service I called to take you there is waiting outside. Room 457. Have I presumed too much?” as he pressed himself to her body and the key card into her hand. The low melodious tone of his voice melted any thought of resistance.
           “I, ah…No, you have not presumed beyond expectation. I ache to feel you inside me, truly, and I thank you for your discretion. The Morrisons are long time friends of my parents who don’t yet consider me a grown woman,” she smiled into his down-turned eyes and smelled his heat.

Muffy Wilson ~ Author Bio, Contacts and Propaganda
Author Bio and Links:

Muffy, author of erotic, romantic stories about love, sex, hope and passion, was born in San Antonio, Texas, to traditional parents. With two older brothers, she was the youngest, the family "princess," indulged and pampered. She adored her older brothers, following them everywhere and was surrounded by love, stimulation, and pets. Her father was a career Colonel and pilot in the U.S. Air Force which required the family to travel extensively. The family lived in most points between Alaska and France. Muffy spent her formative years in Europe and came of age in France.
Returning from France with her family, Muffy finished high school in Northern California and attended the University of California, Davis, and majored in Business Management. Muffy entered the work force, independent with a fierce work ethic, and retired at 39 from IBM as a Mid-West Regional Director in the Real Estate and Construction Division. She and her husband moved to a small Island in northern Wisconsin where they owned a historic tavern, restaurant and resort business which they since have sold. They now live a charmed life by the water in SW Florida. Muffy pretends to be a serious real estate business person but, in real life, indulges her private interest in writing sexy short stories and sensual literotica ~ Live, Laugh, Love with Passion.
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Previously Published:
Secret Cravings Publishing, Oysters & Chocolate, Decadent Publishing, Ravenous Romance, Yellow Silk Dreams Publishing

Coming Soon:
Cheerleaders in Heat ~ TBA Summer 2015

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