Eric Arvin's Blog, page 34
December 29, 2011
This Week's Bullet Points
3. Saw the trailer for the upcoming 80s musical Rock of Ages. It looked awful. Tom Cruise AND hair bands? Blech! But then I caught a glimpse of the fabulous Catherine Zeta-Jones playing a self-righteous crusader and singing "We're Not Gonna Take it." I'm sold.
4. If Joyful Noise were centered around Dolly Parton and Queen Latifah I would be interested in seeing it. But I don't want to sit through a crap teenage romance. Is there an edited version?
5. Woke Up in a Strange Place made its premiere on Daily Kindle Bargains this week. It's my first attempt at paid promo. We'll see how it goes. I've got three more weeks on there.
6. Elisa Rolle gave Woke Up a wonderful review on her site this week.
7. Ricky Gervais is the most annoying man on the planet. I will not be watching the Golden Globes.
December 27, 2011
December 26, 2011
EXCERPT: Simple Men
Simple Men is essentially the story of Foster Lewis - the new chaplain of Verona College -and the school's football coach, Chip. Yet the side story of college ball players Brad & Jason has gotten quite a response from readers, some even suggesting they get their own book. This is the scene where I introduce those two troublemakers.Football is an outside sport. Jason Jordan hated practice in the gym because it might rain. All the guys did. Nobody minded getting wet. They were ball players after all. Still, there was one good thing about practice inside: Coach Arnold wore his skin tight shorts. Any other coach would look like a caricature in those shorts, but Coach Arnold…The man could wear the hell out of those shorts! When they trained outside, the coach wore his usual sweats or pant suit. But on strength-training days, it was the shorts. They were mesh, shone off the fluorescent lights, and hugged tight around the Coach's thick legs like a wrapped ham at Christmas.
Mmm. Ham. Jason suddenly realized he was hungry.
The team sat on the gym floor in designated rows. They had just finished with their calisthenics, the dullest part of strength training, and the Coach was going on about something. Jason really wasn't giving it too much thought. He was caught up in Coach Arnold's thighs. He rested back on his hands, his legs spread out, his mouth salivating at naughty fantasies. He was sure he wasn't the only one. The coach had a bulge in his shorts that couldn't be ignored.
Beside him sat his best friend, Brad Park. Brad was a bit of a troublemaker. In fact, they both were, but Brad looked the part more. He had a goofy grin and carried with him an air of mischief. Jason was a slyer sort of troublemaker. It was his looks that let him get away with most things – the sweet eyes, the mop head of hair – whereas Brad's eyes were dangerously close to wide-eyed shiftiness and his hair was shorn. The two had been best friends since starting college, having connected immediately over B-movies and country music. They were not the most popular guys at school, but they were well-liked enough. Coach Arnold seemed to like them anyway, and that's what mattered. You get in good with the coach and you're set. Brad's dad and half dozen brothers had told him this.
Brad had dated a few different girls, but none seemed willing to take his shtick for long. He wasn't surprised by this, or even particularly hurt when a relationship ended. At the end of a lousy date, he still got to go back to his dorm where his best bud, Jason, was waiting, most likely with a copy of some dark, twisted movie filled with bad special effects and a freshly opened box of Chips Ahoy!
Jason was the type of guy who was invited to all the formals. He cleaned up very well. Yet he was never too interested in anything more than that. He had plenty of girl friends, but no girlfriends. He'd not had a girlfriend his entire time in school, though Brad knew he had been involved with a girl at least once before college. None of that mattered, though. When Jason and Brad were alone in their room, they had a blast watching the movies and pigging out on junk food. (Enjoy it, they were told. Your metabolism betrays you as you get older. And that's just the first thing.)
They wrestled some…Well, a lot. They were, after all, on the wrestling team when football wasn't in season. But some of the guys in the house – especially those in the floor below them – found their late night pinnings quite annoying.
Jason's mind had shifted to one of these late night matches as the coach spoke. It was no longer the coach who was making his mouth water as he sat on the gym floor, but Brad. The coach was only a momentary salivation; Brad had been filling Jason's thoughts for about a year now. By the feel of Brad's pecker last night as they rubbed against one another in a spontaneous match – frotting, he had heard it was called – Brad felt the same. Nothing was said the next morning, though. Jason was a man of few words anyway. Why waste them on embarrassed utterings.
Jason heard Brad snicker. He leaned over Jason's shoulder and pointed at his happy crotch. "Dude!" he said. "Watch the boner."
Sure enough, Jason's dick stood at alert, stretching his own mesh shorts. He owned the moment, shrugging with a smile. "Jealous?"
"Shit! I got that beat and you know it." He reached to his own shorts as if he were going to pull the thing out. Jason loved that cocky grin. Brad was a bulldog, but he was a bulldog with a tender heart. He didn't show that aspect of himself to too many people though.
"Guys!" the coach called from the front. "Something wrong? Am I bothering you?" The coach had one of those voices that could clear a stadium.
"Jason's got a boner, Coach!" Brad blurted out.
Snickers and guffaws from the assembled players.
"Pay attention, guys," Coach Arnold instructed the two troublemakers.
"I am, sir," Jason said with a grin. He nodded at his penis. It was starting to subside.
Coach gave them a You two will never grow up look. "All right, everyone. Hit the showers. Remember, practice tomorrow at four on the field….as long as it doesn't rain."
The gym filled with the squeaking of shoe rubber and relief. Most of the guys were starving.
"You two," he said, pointing at Jason and Brad with the rolled up coaching magazine he always seemed to have in his hand. The boys wondered if he ever actually read it. "I need to speak with you."
"Listen, Coach," Jason said. "I'm sorry. Sometimes I just get distracted. You know how it is. It has a life of its own. I'll start wearing a strap if you want."
"I don't want to talk about your pecker, Jason. I have a favor to ask."
"Anything, Coach," Brad said. "What can we do you for?"
Riley on Marketing
December 23, 2011
Monroe
December 22, 2011
A Bear on Books Reviews 'Woke Up'
There is a small army of endearing readers who have connected so wonderfully to my book Woke Up in a Strange Place that they are taking it upon themselves to spread the word...and I love them for it! Today I received a loving, wonderful review from A Bear on Books, HERE. It touches me deeply to think of people responding to my writing in this way.
This Week's Bullet Points
2. Woke Up in a Strange Place was recently nominated for "Best Title" and "Best World Created" at the M/M Romance Group Choice Awards. I'm on my way, Mama! I'm gonna be a star!
3. The three 2012 CDs I'm most excited about so far: Madonna, Mumford & Sons, & Richard Shindell.
4. Meryl Streep gives the best interviews. Did anyone else see her on 60 Minutes?
5. If Michelle Williams wins the Oscar for imitating Marilyn Monroe I will be disappointed. I like her fine, but against the likes of Streep, Glenn Close, Viola Davis, and Tilda Swinton, all of whom j'adore, Williams' win would seem like the same ol' same ol'. The Academy seems to love to give that award to younger ladies.
6. The Hobbit trailer came out this week. It looks very good. And, damn! There be some mighty fine dwarves in Middleearth. Somebody hand me my battle ax.
7. American Horror Story season finale. I really liked it for the most part. Though, I have to say, the end with Jessica Lange was a bit predictable.
December 21, 2011
Bon Natale with Daniel Garofali
December 20, 2011
Excerpt: Kid Christmas Rides Again
Today's excerpt is from my novella "Kid Christmas Rides Again," a slight piece of erotica illustrated by the wonderful Absolutbleu. The bit I've chosen is right from the start so all will be explained...well, most will be explained. Happy Holidays!
"Kid Christmas Rides Again!"
The idea was simple: change the public perception of Santa Claus. Even if it hadn't been the right thing to do – even if the holiday hadn't become a gluttonous season of tooth-rotting fervor – it was still the only thing that could be done. After all, Santa as the world had known him had just died of a massive coronary. See, he was trying to break up another elf fight (elves are known to be very short-tempered and are not at all stingy with the drink), and after years of stress and binge-eating he just finally collapsed in the tussle. Being that there was not a more jollier fella on Earth nobody could lay claim to the particular image he had trademarked. The era of the "bowl full of jelly" was ended, and the line would have to be retired from lullabies the world over. Besides, Christmas had become a more grown-up holiday of late, and the most recent Claus was looking a bit…um, lazy.
It was decided by those who decide such things that a younger, healthier Claus would he hired. A fit Santa. Trendy. A Santa who didn't get sidetracked by cookies and milk. There had been way too many close calls the last couple of years. The old guy had become clumsy and was nearly caught by the curious on many an occasion while he snacked at their Santa-traps. None of the elves wanted to say it (unless they were drunk), but there was a sigh of relief that Santa wouldn't have to be laid off. He had kindly died instead. That was the thing about Santa: Always thinking of others, right up to the gasping end.
The Committee to Oversee the Christening of Kringle (COCK) named our hero, a young gingerbread cookie house guard, to the task. It was a surprise to everyone, especially Father Time who had been eyeing the position for some…time. (Time was, and is, often wasted and he was woefully underfed.) The new Clause was the handsomest of men: a strong, clean-shaven jaw replaced the white beard, and a body built from years of lifting stubborn reindeer and carrying drunken elves home from pubs replaced…well, the rest. The Santa Suit was altered to fit the new guy as well. The Santa hat remained traditional (there was no need to get all crazy), but the sleeves of the jacket were cut so that the young guard's 22-inch arms could breathe. The pant legs needed to be loosed to accept his thighs and still the thick red velvet barely held them. The consensus was that he looked altogether too bulgy. When fully dressed his chest, his buttocks, and his crotch looked like Christmas candies ready to burst from their wrappings. COCK was a bit concerned at first, but then thought maybe this was the direction they needed to go. The world was a frightening place and the committee eventually convinced itself that people needed a figure that signified impenetrable strength.
The sled was put away, the reindeer were laid off (the economy is a bitch, even at the Poles), and a new flying snowmobile, the Claus 3000, was provided. It was shiny and red and gold, with a flashing beacon on its very tip. (Rudolph's lawsuit is still pending). There would also be no more ho ho ho! Instead, the new Santa would fly across the rooftops and shimmy down the chimney saying Hells yeah!
He called himself The Kid…Kid Christmas, that is. (Clearly, a fan of western films.)
All had gone as planned for the Kid at first. There was a week to go before his first outing as the new Claus and things were clockwork. There were a few minor glitches. There always are in such cases. His pants ripped out a few times (he really liked how he looked in his new suit, and flexed obsessively for anyone who would watch), and there was a tiny revolt from the unemployed reindeer…but they – um, that is to say, it was soon put down. The elves were warming up to him too. Even Father Time came by for a visit, grumbling his grudges. Yes. Everything was going quite smoothly, like a well-lubricated oingy-boingy.
And then the unthinkable happened (again): Kid Christmas was Chris-napped!
The last he remembered he was on a midnight shag and stroll and had stopped to lick one of the large lollipop fence posts outside the Santy-Shanty. (In all his twenty-three years he had been chided for licking the fence posts, but now – woo-hoo!) Then, there was a sudden, sharp pain in the bum and everything went dizzy, then dark. A poison peppermint dart had been shot into his muscular buttocks from afar. Later, in recollection, Kid Christmas had to admit that bending over to lick the lollipop fence post with his musculus bumulus high in the air was an easy red target, something very hard to miss.
When he awoke he was on the floor of a crystal ice cave, stripped of his new threads but wrapped warmly in a wooly throw. Unfettered by the cold surroundings (living in the Poles, one builds a tolerance), Kid Christmas threw off the throw. The reflection from the ice absorbed the absurd over-abundance of muscle. He was excited by what he saw, and could have stood there for a while in self-adoration, but first needed to investigate where exactly he was. As he felt along the walls, leering at his own rude reflection, there seemed to be no way out of the hall of ice. The room was solid, and the holders were too strong to break through. At least the company was pleasant. He made a mental note to have a hall of mirrors added to the Santy-Shanty.
A cool, crisp voice echoed from nowhere and ricocheted from wall to wall. "How do you like your new dwelling, Kid Christmas? I decorated it myself."
"Who is that?" the Kid demanded. "Where are my clothes? Show yourself!"
"You won't be needing your shocking threads any longer," the voice replied calmly. "I'm having them altered." A slender male figure with cool ice skin stepped from behind a wall. "I'm called Snow Globes."
The Kid understood why: Snow Globes' balls were enormous. They were a mesmerizing sheen and hung like ornaments tattooed with perfect blue snowflakes. No wonder the suit had to be altered.
The icy eyes of the chiseled captor wandered down Kid Christmas' physique and rested on the Jolly-man-in-waiting's own delicate area. Kid Christmas covered up with some embarrassment and envy. "It's cold!" he excused himself.
"Well, I suppose certain things are going to look out of proportion with everything around them being so very, very large." Snow Globes chuckled. "Still, I imagine your backside more than makes up for it. Ho, ho, ho…right?" He winked.
"I don't say that anymore…Wait, what?" Poor Kid Christmas was flustered. His cheeks turned bright red. "What am I doing here? Let me out of this place."
"Oh, one day I will let you out. Most definitely. My plan would be pointless otherwise. But you have to stay put for a little while, my strapping snowbunny." Snow Globes walked forward. His balls chimed together in a sweet melody; the Kid couldn't stop staring at them. The collection of reflections around them resembled something like an orgy; The Kid reminded himself again to get a hall of mirrors in the Santy-Shanty.
"You see," continued Snow Globes, "once your suit is altered – which shouldn't take too long – I shall take on the role as the Claus. Only I won't be the creepy sugar-fiend known to the world. No. My plan is to totally destroy the name that has been built up by your predecessors over the years. Grown men will fear the Night of the Claus, and soon they will want nothing to do with you. 'Bring me the balls of Kid Christmas!' they'll shout. Oh, yes! There will soon be a bounty on your bountiful booty."
"But why? I don't understand." But why wait for an explanation? There was a crazy man standing in front of him! A sexy, lusty, boffo-balled, certifiable lunatic. "I won't let you do it!"
Snow Globes wiggled his hips flirtatiously, making his balls sing with clinks and clonks like a captivating Christmas carol. The Kid was baffled at first by the seductive dance, but then felt the cave move under his bare feet. He heard the unmistakable sound of something coming…and coming hard!
"Have fun with Willie," Snow Globes said as he quickly disappeared behind an icy divider. "And watch those pointy stalactites."
"You mean stalagmites?"
"Whatever."
Kid Christmas waited, standing battle-ready and booty-beautiful (by now it should be clear that the Narrator has a thing for the big guy's triple-beeehind). Yet he was unsure as to where to direct his defense. The one called Willie did not have need of any hidden entrance, though. He broke through the floor with a shattering clamor, throwing the muscle-bound merry man across the chamber. Kid Christmas landed on his handsome face with a smash-rattle-oomph, his mighty rear high in the air. He was dazed, but not broken. Behind him, he caught a glimpse (how could he miss it?) of a lengthy and large, growling and snorting, libidinous and fully erect disembodied snow penis. It bowed its massive head, huffed a puff of cool air, and crouched like a bull ready for the charge. Intent and starved, it sped toward our hero's helpless bum.
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