Dan Skinner's Blog, page 5
September 27, 2014
September 24, 2014
THE ART OF THE HEART (EXCERPT)
EXCERPT : THE ART OF THE HEART By DAN SKINNER
Zac lived his life in the comic books he collected. His closet shelf was neatly stacked with them. His parents thought the magazines to be a harmless pastime. A hobby. But Zac bought them because of the beautiful men with gorgeous bodies in revealing tights and trunks. They were as close as he could get to what he desired.
He had discovered this desire when he was thirteen. He was riding with his dad into town to buy yeast and flour, baking soda and sugar for his mom to make her homemade bread. There was nothing like bread hot from the oven with fresh sweet butter melting on it. The old ‘59 Ford pickup churned up a trail of beige dust behind it as they bumped their way toward the McHenry farm. The McHenrys had the second largest farm after their own, and grew alfalfa and corn. They also had an apple orchard that they shared with the whole town during apple-picking season. Zac’s mom made apple pies for every farm family. For a couple of months every fall, the house at Cloverfield would smell of apples and cinnamon.
That summer had been scorching during his thirteenth year. But Zac still wore his t-shirts and long jeans. He didn’t like to expose his gangly white limbs to anyone for ridicule. He’d grown accustomed to the heat and sweat.
As they neared the McHenry property, Zac could see their green John Deere tractor parked at the edge of the cornfield. The corn had been harvested and it was now time to mow down the stalks and turn the field. Someone was lying on top of the tractor basking in the white-hot summer blaze. He could just make out the battered cowboy hat covering his face.
The McHenrys had six children. Only two were boys. Rory and Dale were the oldest and youngest respectively. Zac could tell by the long contour of the body stretched across the top of the tractor that it was the elder of the boys. Rory had just turned sixteen, but had been showing the signs of impending manhood two years earlier. He was six feet tall, had muscles where they hadn’t been before, and a smattering V-line of fine blond hair across his chest and stomach. He was shaving. Every two or three days his dark whiskers would outline his square jawline. He lay shirtless on the tractor in a pair of cutoff jeans rolled up to mid-thigh. He was tan and shone like glistening copper in the sun.
As their pickup rattled closer to their farm, he lifted his hat and looked down the road toward them. Even from that distance Zac could count each ridge in the washboard of his abdominal muscles. A long muscled arm poked high in the air and waved the cowboy hat at them. He jumped from the tractor and trotted across the short span of field toward them as they approached. Zac’s dad stopped the truck, and a low, dry cloud of dust swirled its way in through the windows. All hands waved it away as Rory met them at the passenger side and leaned in. His face was walnut brown making his teeth seem an extraordinary shade of white as he smiled at Zac.
“Hey there, Two-Tone! Mr. Weston!” he greeted them.
Zac could smell the heat coming off the older teenager’s skin. He was dotted with perspiration. He tried not to stare, but the irresistible gravity driven by his curiosity made it impossible to fight. He thought Rory was the handsomest boy in all of Sweetwater.
http://www.amazon.com/The-Art-Of-Hear...
Zac lived his life in the comic books he collected. His closet shelf was neatly stacked with them. His parents thought the magazines to be a harmless pastime. A hobby. But Zac bought them because of the beautiful men with gorgeous bodies in revealing tights and trunks. They were as close as he could get to what he desired.
He had discovered this desire when he was thirteen. He was riding with his dad into town to buy yeast and flour, baking soda and sugar for his mom to make her homemade bread. There was nothing like bread hot from the oven with fresh sweet butter melting on it. The old ‘59 Ford pickup churned up a trail of beige dust behind it as they bumped their way toward the McHenry farm. The McHenrys had the second largest farm after their own, and grew alfalfa and corn. They also had an apple orchard that they shared with the whole town during apple-picking season. Zac’s mom made apple pies for every farm family. For a couple of months every fall, the house at Cloverfield would smell of apples and cinnamon.
That summer had been scorching during his thirteenth year. But Zac still wore his t-shirts and long jeans. He didn’t like to expose his gangly white limbs to anyone for ridicule. He’d grown accustomed to the heat and sweat.
As they neared the McHenry property, Zac could see their green John Deere tractor parked at the edge of the cornfield. The corn had been harvested and it was now time to mow down the stalks and turn the field. Someone was lying on top of the tractor basking in the white-hot summer blaze. He could just make out the battered cowboy hat covering his face.
The McHenrys had six children. Only two were boys. Rory and Dale were the oldest and youngest respectively. Zac could tell by the long contour of the body stretched across the top of the tractor that it was the elder of the boys. Rory had just turned sixteen, but had been showing the signs of impending manhood two years earlier. He was six feet tall, had muscles where they hadn’t been before, and a smattering V-line of fine blond hair across his chest and stomach. He was shaving. Every two or three days his dark whiskers would outline his square jawline. He lay shirtless on the tractor in a pair of cutoff jeans rolled up to mid-thigh. He was tan and shone like glistening copper in the sun.
As their pickup rattled closer to their farm, he lifted his hat and looked down the road toward them. Even from that distance Zac could count each ridge in the washboard of his abdominal muscles. A long muscled arm poked high in the air and waved the cowboy hat at them. He jumped from the tractor and trotted across the short span of field toward them as they approached. Zac’s dad stopped the truck, and a low, dry cloud of dust swirled its way in through the windows. All hands waved it away as Rory met them at the passenger side and leaned in. His face was walnut brown making his teeth seem an extraordinary shade of white as he smiled at Zac.
“Hey there, Two-Tone! Mr. Weston!” he greeted them.
Zac could smell the heat coming off the older teenager’s skin. He was dotted with perspiration. He tried not to stare, but the irresistible gravity driven by his curiosity made it impossible to fight. He thought Rory was the handsomest boy in all of Sweetwater.
http://www.amazon.com/The-Art-Of-Hear...
August 31, 2014
Thank ya Thank ya
Some kind souls put all four of my books on this wonderful list and I just had to say thank ya!
https://www.goodreads.com/list/show/7...
https://www.goodreads.com/list/show/7...
August 30, 2014
SALE ON DICK
My gay novel THE PRICE OF DICK is on SALE for this holiday weekend for ONLY $2.99! Grab it before the price goes back!!
http://www.amazon.com/The-Price-Dick-...
http://www.amazon.com/The-Price-Dick-...
August 22, 2014
VIRGINAL LOVE
what's an infatuated virgin farm boy to do...? still ONLY $2.99!
http://www.amazon.com/The-Art-Of-Hear...
http://www.amazon.com/The-Art-Of-Hear...
August 13, 2014
Have HOPE!
My editor and friends have told me I have never shared so much of my private self as I have lately, and I want to say to those of you who have "down" moments or get depressed, please do not shut down or withdraw. I endured the horrible two year experience of dealing with the real "Dick" in my life. I cried, I pity-potted, I despaired. For awhile I lost hope, I didn't know how I could survive having someone daily try to ruin my life... but my friends reached out to me..and comforted me.. and I listened.. AND I realized... This was only today. Tomorrow, next week..and next year would not feel this way. If you reach out... I guarantee you..someone will be there... things will change.. you will rediscover yourself... Don't get depressed..Get DETERMINED! Bless all of you who hurt..Look toward the HOPE!
dan skinner
dan skinner
August 7, 2014
BeautifulMag reshare
Re-sharing this wonderful review BeautifulMag did on my gay romance Memorizing You!!
be advised... Adult Content!!
http://www.beautifulmag.com/beautiful...
be advised... Adult Content!!
http://www.beautifulmag.com/beautiful...
August 5, 2014
August 1, 2014
Some daily DICK
EXCERPT : THE PRICE OF DICK
The next day, during one of my photo shoots, Dick called me from his job. No reason. Bored. Wanted to shoot the breeze. If that didn’t say someone was interested, nothing did. You saw these type of phone calls every day as part of that mating tango performed by most hetero couples. I continued the photo shoot with the phone tucked to my ear, listening. He liked to talk about himself. He liked hockey, baseball, football, fishing, camping, and running. All the typical jock predictables. It would all have been dull if not for that fact that this was a super-hot, virile stud who could be wasting his time talking to any number of women who drooled over him at the gym, and he was choosing to spend it on me. Did I like to run, he asked? I didn’t mind running. But it was a roundabout way of asking, “Do you want to run with me?” So, I lied like any horned-up moron and said, “I love to run!” And so, because the weather was nice, we made a “date” to run that evening rather than go to the gym. He’d pick me up.
I did what any respectable running partner would do. Trimmed my pubes, shaved my crack, flossed and gargled so my breath was minty fresh. I made sure there was plenty of KY in the cabinet and Trojans readily available in every drawer of every table and nightstand of each room. There was a six-pack chilling in the fridge if he needed courage. I was more than ready to run.
http://www.amazon.com/The-Price-Dick-...
The next day, during one of my photo shoots, Dick called me from his job. No reason. Bored. Wanted to shoot the breeze. If that didn’t say someone was interested, nothing did. You saw these type of phone calls every day as part of that mating tango performed by most hetero couples. I continued the photo shoot with the phone tucked to my ear, listening. He liked to talk about himself. He liked hockey, baseball, football, fishing, camping, and running. All the typical jock predictables. It would all have been dull if not for that fact that this was a super-hot, virile stud who could be wasting his time talking to any number of women who drooled over him at the gym, and he was choosing to spend it on me. Did I like to run, he asked? I didn’t mind running. But it was a roundabout way of asking, “Do you want to run with me?” So, I lied like any horned-up moron and said, “I love to run!” And so, because the weather was nice, we made a “date” to run that evening rather than go to the gym. He’d pick me up.
I did what any respectable running partner would do. Trimmed my pubes, shaved my crack, flossed and gargled so my breath was minty fresh. I made sure there was plenty of KY in the cabinet and Trojans readily available in every drawer of every table and nightstand of each room. There was a six-pack chilling in the fridge if he needed courage. I was more than ready to run.
http://www.amazon.com/The-Price-Dick-...
