Cardeno C.'s Blog, page 140

Eric Arvin - Guest Author

Today we get to hear from Eric Arvin about his fun Jasper Lane series, which has been called a gay Desperate Housewives. If you haven’t checked it out yet, now is a great time because until midnight July 15th, if you order SuburbaNights (Book 3) from Dreamspinner Press, you’ll get SubSurdity (Book 1) for free, and Suburbilicious (Book 2) for 25% off. And if you want a little preview, check out the sizzling excerpt below.



http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3090&cPath=199

We asked Eric what inspired him to write this series, and here’s what he said:


I wrote the first book on a dare. A writer friend of mine was a huge Desperate Housewives fan when the series first premiered, but I wasn't sold on the show. I declared that I could write for the program just as well as any of the writers who were working on it. Me and my big mouth. My friend challenged me to prove myself and so, I did. Or at least I tried. My dream neighborhood stars bitter queens and drag queens, porn stars and house moms, murder and sex, and hot gay men. I hadn't even intended on publishing the book until I received encouragement from friends and readers.

Here are some reviews of this series:


“You’ll never look at suburbia in the same way again…like a raunchier and racier Tales of the City, crossed with Augusten Burroughs’ first novel Sellevision with a good dose of Desperate Housewives thrown in… it’s full of life and laughs… Arvin handles the action like a maestro, his prose is fun and light, a complete pleasure to read, and it seems like only a matter of time until SubSurdity makes it to a screen near you.”—Charlotte Cooper, Gaydarnation

 “Anyone wise enough to purchase [SubSurdity] will most certainly enjoy the ride!”—J.L. Foster, author of Straight

“The perfect summer read—it’s light, it’s fun, and it will keep you reading. In fact, I have not had this much fun in a long time… this book should be at the top of your must-read list.” —Amos Lassen, Literary Pride

“Like Knots Landing crossing Tales of the City, this book is a winner in that it puts a humorous spin on the stories of its characters and the bubbly adventures in their lives. The Rest is Illusion was a wonderfully auspicious debut… and SubSurdity gives us a peek at why [Arvin is] here for the long haul.” —Carey Parrish, webdigestweekly.com

“Written with a crisp humorous dialogue that will at times make you laugh out loud you can easily get lost in the antics of these wacky neighbors.” —Nick Strathern, TLA Books






And now, the ADULT excerpt:


“EXCUSE me,” said the burly man as he stood in the open garage doorway. He was dressed in a brown delivery uniform that threatened to cut off circulation to his thick arms and legs. His face had a nicely trimmed dark beard, and he wore a brown hat.

Cliff had been moving boxes in the garage. He was dressed in a tank top and tiny useless blue jean shorts. He realized this was not the weather for such attire (his nipples were deadly from the chill), but the shorts just made him feel so damn sexy. His ass ate them up.

“Can I help you?” Cliff said. “A bit late to be making deliveries, isn’t it?” He looked the bearded man up and down. It was a familiar game. They were muscle men sizing each other up.

“I’m new,” the man said. “I got lost a while back. I was wondering if you might be able to help me.”

Cliff had seen this film before. He had been in this film before. And he loved it. “Sure. I can help.” He didn’t smile. He knew to keep it impersonal.

Cliff reached into the glove department of David’s car and pulled out a road map. He walked to the tool table slowly, letting his mass do the talking, and spread the map over the table as he bent over and spread his legs. He looked over his shoulder and gave the deliveryman admittance.

“What’s your name?” Cliff asked.

The deliveryman approached and stood just behind him. “Rock.”

“Of course it is.”

Cliff arched his ass slightly so that it was just past irresistible.

“Listen, man,” said Rock, “I’m straight. I just want directions.”

“Do you?” Cliff asked, loosening the jean cut-offs and letting them fall to the floor. Rock began breathing harder, looking angry.

Cliff backed his ass into the bulge in Rock’s pants, then moved his prized possession up and down the deliveryman’s package.

“I want that,” Cliff said. “I want that in me.”

“I told you,” said Rock, “I’m straight.”

“That’s not what your cock is saying. Shove it inside me, bitch.”

That tipped it. It made the deliveryman furious. In a frenzy, he began unbuttoning his pants. “You want this?” he said as his cock fell out and hit Cliff’s ass with a smack. “Fine. I’ll give it to you, you filthy whore. I’m gonna tear your goddamn ass apart.”

Rock grabbed Cliff’s shoulders with one hand and played around with Cliff’s hole with the other, pretending more than once as if he was going to relentlessly drive his dick inside, head to balls, only to let it slide between Cliff’s cheeks. Once he went as far as to get the tip of the head in the hole before ducking out. The teasing was driving Cliff crazy.

“Fuck me,” Cliff said. “Just fuck me!”

Finally, Rock pried Cliff open and slowly sank inside him. Cliff’s knees buckled from the force. He let out a cry as Rock—a straight man, no less—pounded his man-pussy like he was a pro in the League of Man-Pussy Pounders. If Rock had a porn name, it would have been Jack Hammer. Cliff could hardly see straight.

“Take it!” Rock said. “Take it all! Your hot man ass will never again tempt an innocent straight man.”

“Yeah. Teach me a lesson!”

“I’m taking one for the team!”

“Me too!”

Rock grabbed the two globes of Cliff’s ass and pulled them apart. He stuck his thumbs into the edges of Cliff’s hole so he could get his dick farther in, and he rutted like a beast, roaring and drooling as he went.

“What the hell is going on in here?”

There was a pause in the fucking. Everything was still. David stood at the garage door.

“Honey,” Cliff said, breathless and sweaty and unable to move from being so heavily penetrated, “I can explain.”

“I don’t want to hear it!” David yelled. He reached over and shut the garage door. “But I am going to teach you a lesson.”

He walked toward Cliff and Rock, undoing his own pants.

“Honey, no!” cried Cliff. “Not the… doublefuck! I’ll never survive!”

“Shut up, bitch!” David said.

He crawled atop the table so that he straddled Cliff. His own ass was a well-toned piece of art.

“Make room for me, deliveryman,” he said. “I’m coming in! Stretch him out.”

“My poor beautiful ass!” Cliff yelled as he was pounded by both men, his asshole being stretched beyond all recognition. Oh, the humanity!

The garage was nearly shaken to the ground by all the commotion happening inside of it. The hollering and savage cursing, the cries of mercy and of more! were punctuated at last by a great caterwaul that caused neighbors to look out their windows and lock their doors. Afterward, Cliff, David, and the deliveryman lay in a heap on the garage floor. There would be quite a clean-up.

Cliff wrapped his arms around David. “Thank you, baby,” he said.

“Happy anniversary,” said David, and he gave Cliff a kiss.

Just then came an obtrusive knock. David rose, pulled on his pants, and hit the button to the garage door. A man dressed in similar fashion as Rock but without the beard stood with a lascivious grin.

“I seem to have lost my way,” this new deliveryman said.

David looked at Cliff, who was grinning.

“You got me one too?” David said. “Aw, baby! You shouldn’t have.”

“Happy anniversary,” Cliff said. “Now, the two of you get in here. Let’s have some fun.”

A Recipe... and a Happy Memory (D.W. Marchwell)

The Happy Memory: As a child growing up in the early 1900s, maple syrup was a rare luxury item - or so Oma used to tell me whenever we made this cheesecake.  It became one of her favorite recipes because it reminded her how lucky she had been to have been born in Canada.  Both of her parents had immigrated to Canada as adults and had had to work very hard to learn to speak English and to keep the farm going.As far as my grandmother was concerned, Canada is the best country in the world.  Perhaps I’m biased, but I happen to agree.My grandmother was an incredible person.  There was nothing that she couldn’t do; cook, bake, sew, knit...  you name it, she could do it better than anyone else.  In my debut novel “Good to Know”, the central character (David) relates stories of the grandmother with whom he’d spent so much time and loved more than anything else in the world.  While the other member's of David's family abandoned him because of his sexual orientation, his Oma had not.Like David’s grandmother, mine did not abandon me.  Was it because she did not know what was actually going on?  Did she know and not care because I was the only family member - out of a possible eleven - who visited her on a regular basis?  I don’t know the answer and I’m not sure I ever wish to know it.  Perhaps it makes me selfish, or naïve, or both, but I would like to keep the memory of all of those visits as they are, untouched by anything other than the incredible joy that she brought to my life.When she passed, unexpectedly, there were many possessions that my siblings and cousins “claimed” for themselves.  The in-fighting and squabbles were endless and made even worse when Oma’s will revealed that most of those possessions were bequeathed to me.  One by one, I let each item go to the squeakiest wheel.  All, that is, except for two:  The two recipe books, one written in my grandmother’s hand, and the other written in her mother’s hand.  The former represented the irreplaceable hours I’d spent with Oma, just the two of us in her kitchen, while we talked and cooked and baked.  The latter represented her most prized possession; as the eldest child, my grandmother had inherited her mother’s recipe book, written in German, when her mother passed unexpectedly, just two weeks before my grandmother was to marry and begin her own journey as a wife and mother.Despite having what Oma always called a “wandering soul”, I stayed in the same apartment and at the same job for 16 years because it meant I would never be far from her.  When she finally did pass away, I found great comfort in sharing some of these recipes with those individuals who, over the years, have become part of my “adopted” family.So, for all of you now, here is one of my favorite recipes...The Recipe:Crust:1 and 1/2 cups graham cracker crumbs(A variation on this is to use Maple Leaf cookies and crush them to make crumbs.)5 tablespoons butter, melted(I prefer to use unsalted butter, but either will work)2 tablespoons brown sugar(You could also use white, I’m sure, but we always used brown)Filling:1 (8-ounce) package of cream cheese, softened(While leaving the foil package unopened, I use a double steamer to get the cream cheese really soft; I don’t like chunks in my cream cheese.)1 (14-ounce) can sweetened condensed milk2 tablespoons maple syrup(I always use the real stuff in a tin, not the stuff most people use for pancakes.)1/3 cup fresh lemon juice(I always leave this out and substitute water instead.  Just personal preference.)Topping:1 cup maple syrup1/2 cup of water1 egg, beaten1 and 1/2 tablespoons cornstarch(- 1/2 cup chopped walnuts)(I hate walnuts, so I never put them in.  I tried pecans one time, but it didn’t turn out as I’d hoped.  But feel free to experiment with your favorite nut.)To make the crust:Combine the crumbs (from whatever source), sugar and butter.  Mix well (I use my KitchenAid stand mixer on low) and then press into 9-inch pie pan.If you have stacking pans (one going inside the other) with enough space in between, you can do what I always do:  I separate the Maple Leaf cookies from the creamy center and stand (maple leaf facing out) the cookies around the edge.  When you pour the filling and release the form, you’ll have a nice vertical crust all the way around made out of maple leaf cookies!   (Of course, you'll have to eat the creamy centers since you don't want to waste them, but such is the sacrifice of the baker.)To make the filling:Once again, I use my KitchenAid mixer to beat the cream cheese until it’s very smooth.  Add the condensed milk, lemon juice (if desired) and maple syrup (2 tablespoons).  Combine well.  You’ll know it’s ready because your arm will feel like it’s going to fall off.  (Which is another reason to use your KitchenAid!)Pour into the chilled pan and return to fridge for several hours.To make the topping:Combine water and (1 cup) maple syrup to a slow boil.  Combine separately the egg and cornstarch.  Add a couple of tablespoons of the boiling syrup mixture to the egg and cornstarch so that the egg does not cook before you can mix everything together.  Slowly add the rest of the boiling syrup and stir until it is thickened.Spread over the chilled cheesecake when you are ready to serve.Of course, one of the great things about recipes online is that you can experiment with ingredients, amounts and even garnishes.  I always garnish this cheesecake with a few plastic pine cones and a couple plastic (brown and orange) maple leaves.Enjoy, and don’t forget to tell all of the special people in your life how lucky you are to know them!

On Crossovers, Lyrics, and Writing What You Know, by T.C. Blue

(There just might be a contest if you read far enough! Ha!)
I never know quite what I'm going to write here until I actually sit down to do it. In this case, I had a few ideas rattling around in the largely empty cavern I like to call my skull and when I finally did sit down (around 12:15 this morning), none of those things came to mind. Instead, I've decided to yet again be overly wordy and address one of my pet peeves, plus ask those of you reading your opinions on two separate, but connected, subjects.
First, I want to address 'writing what you know.'
Now, as a female writing gay romance, I frequently hear "How can you write about gay men when you aren't one?" I have yet to hear a gay author of het romance -- and there are a good number of them -- asked how they can write about heterosexuals falling in love and having sex and getting good and dirty with each other, but that's beside the point. (IMHO, it's a rather silly double standard, but again… so not the point.)
My standard response to the 'how can you write this' question is pretty much that we're all human and thus I do know what it's like to want love, fall in love, and have sex with the person I love. I also -- surprise, surprise -- know exactly what it's like to have sex that's simply fucking, because -- again, surprise, surprise -- straight folk do that too. A lot! Oh, and we even have anal sex from time to time. (That's a whole other topic, possibly for a different post. Haha!)
Sex and gender aside, though, I also contend that I do write what I know.
A little background on Tis: I have a widely varied history of jobs, occupations, and careers. I've been a hairdresser, a motorcycle courier, a singer (which I did badly), an actor (I was equally tragic at this), an accounts receivable manager -- this was actually weird because I suck at math… also a waitress more times than I can list, a retail clerk, chef, pastry chef, accessories designer, and now a writer. And I write about people who do these things.
I also grew up in a very white collar family. My father was a fairly high-ranking lawyer with the federal government for the majority of my growing up years, until he decided to go into corporate law with a private firm. Many of my other family with whom I was close were or became doctors, dentists, and so on. So I also write about people who do those things. Perhaps not as easily as I do with professions I've actually taken part in, but still. I think that counts as writing what I know.
Part of the reason for this is that it requires me to do less research. Haha! (Research is the bane of my existence. There's so much information out there and most of it contradicts what I just read five minutes earlier. It confuses me and that makes me cranky. Cranky Tis is no fun for anyone. Trust me on that.)
So… why does this matter, right? It's sort of a fluffy take on a contentious subject. I know. But there is a method to my madness. I swear. (This is where we get to the other topics in the subject line of this post. Are you ready for it?)
I'm working on a new book. I have a sneaking suspicion it's going to be a novel, which should shock absolutely no one. I tend to write long. I like story. It makes me happy. J
In this book, one of my main characters has appeared in two other of my stories, though not as a primary participant. The two stories in which he appears are not in any way related to each other, aside from this character.
In this new story, the second main character has also appeared in two other books and other characters from those books are either mentioned or have secondary roles. And I'm even confusing myself here. Heh-heh. The point is, these characters do appear in other of my stories but it's not necessary to read those for this one to make sense, as far as I can tell.
Okay, so here's my question (the first of two, actually… the other will follow) and I'd love it if some of you could take just a few seconds out of your days to answer in comments.
Is it off-putting to you, as readers (or reviewers), for a writer to do that? Does it make you feel as though you need to read the other books if you haven't already? Will knowing that a book is basically a crossover between other novels or short stories make you more or less interested in reading the book in question? (I personally like it, but that may just be me.)
Now, in this book I've been talking about, one of the lead characters, Andrew, is a musician. A fairly famous one, at that. As such, he has a couple records out. There may or may not be lyrics included at the beginning of some of the chapters. Is that something that sounds good or weird or what? Does it add or detract from the process of reading? (Again, I like it, but mostly because I think it gives some insight to the character. Opinions will obviously vary.)
I would really love to hear your thoughts, guys, so if you have a moment, please do comment. In fact, I'll even run a wee contest if you like. How about… I'll randomly draw a name from the list of those who comment and that person can choose any of my currently available e-books for their very own. (I only have these in .pdf, by the way. Sorry about that!)
As always, thanks for taking the time to read this. And sorry for making this all about ME. I really do want to know what you guys think, though.Next week… either something about Adam Lambert or something about the societal disdain for sluttery. Or possibly something completely unrelated to either, because… I just don't plan that far ahead. Hahaha!

Welcome to Cafe Risque's Spicy Wednesday with&n...

Welcome to Cafe Risque's 
Spicy Wednesday with Scotty Cade!

Happy Wednesday everyone! Scotty Cade here again welcoming you to Spicy Wednesday at Café Risque where week after week you’ll get to see another side of your favorite authors and some of mine too. And maybe even a few of the other experts in the genre, like reviewers and publishers. (Fingers crossed)
This week we’re chatting with Cardeno C. about the latest novel from the “Home” Series, “Just What the Truth Is.” Please help me welcome CC to Café Risque.
[image error] Scotty:  Hey CC, Good Morning! Thanks for getting up so early to chat with us today from the West Coast. I’ve got to confess, it’s been absolutely crazy here on Martha’s Vineyard this week and I was stressing out trying to find some time to read this book and attempting to come up with some intelligent (roll eyes) questions, but I sat down this afternoon and couldn’t put the damn thing down until I was finished, about fifteen minutes ago. Oh, the hell with Inn guests, I was enjoying some quiet time with a good book, they can get their own ice.
CC: It’s nice to hear that you have ice. I just got back from a trip to San Francisco, were I was visiting friends. As always, I had a great time, but I found myself wondering why nobody served ice in their beverages. So from me to you, here’s a piece of advice – don’t skimp on the ice!
Scotty: So, my first surprise right off the bat was that this was written in first person. Is it hard for you to write in first person? I have to admit, I tried but wasn’t very good at it.
CC: I really enjoy writing in first person, I’d say it’s my favorite point of view though I also write books in third. The first thing I decide when writing a story is the point of view I’ll use. I base that decision on the characters themselves and what I’m trying to convey.
For example, in Just What the Truth Is, Ben is a character who people might be prone to judge. In fact, I introduced him in my book, Home Again, and many readers despised him. So the goal in Just What the Truth Is was for me to stay consistent to Ben and yet do justice to his struggle, and the struggle that so many people go through to find their way and their own truth.
I’ve heard many friends over the years belittle those who have come out later in life, or who have struggled with that process. Sometimes I think we forget that everyone has reasons for their actions, that we’re all layered, complex human beings and we come to decision at different times and in different ways. Similarly, I think each of us tends to think our own issues and worlds are different than everyone else’s, that our own problems are so complex that they can’t possibly be solved easily.
Putting those things together, I felt it was important for the readers to be in Ben’s head, to understand why he made the choices he made in life, what he wanted for himself and for his family, and why he might not have gotten there in a way that seemed to make sense on the surface but makes more sense when you see what lies beneath.
Scotty: This was a really sweet story from beginning to end. Did it progress and end the way you planned it or did it take on a life of its own, like so many novels do?
CC: Ben’s story started, progressed, and ended the way I planned. That isn’t true for most of my novels, usually the characters write themselves and weave me with them. Ben, on the other hand, was a character who occupied a lot of time in my head long before I wrote the first word of his book. His story was personal and important to me so I didn’t start writing it until I had a very strong sense of him, his desires, and how he’d achieve them.
Scotty: Now let’s get to this really enjoyable read. This is the journey of Ben and Micah, partners at a law firm that sort of fall in love, but go through a shitload of turmoil before they actually find their way. I liked Micah immediately and just knew he was a man of character, but I’ve got to tell you, Ben made me a little crazy. OMG, I’ve never seen such a basket case. I remember the coming out days, and hell yeah it was scary, but I’m not sure I could have handled his coming out. Yikes! Did the story come from a friend’s experience or is it completely fictional?
CC: All of my stories have aspects of my friends in them, so they’re not completely fictional, but none of them are so closely tied to any particular person as to have one model. I agree, Ben’s coming out was difficult.
Ben is, at his core, a family man. He was the peacemaker in his family, trying to mend fences between his outspoken younger brother and his parents. He desperately tried to make his parents happy and proud of him. And he longed for a family of his own. It took many years and bumps in the road for him to find his truth and he needed a remarkably strong man to stand by his side as he walked that path. Micah is that man.
But remember that Ben also gave Micah more than what he’d hoped for in life. Through his patience and determination, Micah found in Ben the heart of his own family, a family he’d never even considered to be attainable.
Scotty: And speaking of making me a little crazy, Noah, Ben’s gay brother drove me up a wall. His personality was so in your facethat I hated him in the beginning of the book. But in the end he redeemed himself in my eyes and I really came to respect him. Was it hard to write a character knowing he would be so misunderstood in the beginning of the book, especially with all the family dynamics going on?
CC: It’s funny to hear you ask that question because I think the answer really depends on which of my books you’ve read first. I wrote Noah (and introduced Ben) in Home Again, my first published book. Readers who read Home Again first tend to love Noah and hate Ben. Of course, Home Again is Noah’s story and you read it from his point of view, so you see his take on his family and how he grew up.
The heart of your question is, to me, the heart of these characters and these books. Two people can grow up in the same house, but have markedly different reactions to that upbringing. For Noah and Ben, I wanted to write about a loving, good family – not some vilified caricature of homophobia – because the reality is that some of the deepest wounds are cut by good, loving parents who simply don’t understand. Noah and Ben each suffered those cuts and they reacted to and healed from them differently. Where Noah shut himself off from his family, Ben clung to them.
I’d love to know what you think of Noah if you read Home Again, his story from his point of view. If I’ve done my job well, he’ll surprise you just a bit.
Scotty: For me being the type of author that writes about the boy always getting the boy, angst is really hard for me to write. I would have such a hard time writing Ben saying such nasty things to Micah in a couple of scenes, do you enjoy the angst or do you hate it as much as I do?
CC: I don’t like angst and I’ve never thought of myself as writing angsty books. I aim for sweet and uplifting in my writing. But I’ll tell you that I’m flattered you felt some angst in this story because, let’s face it, Ben was going through a lot of angst. The hardest battles are often the ones we fight within ourselves and that’s what we see in Ben. Unfortunately, Micah took some shrapnel, but he was strong enough to walk away from Ben when he was being mistreated. Of course, he was also strong enough to step back in and stand by Ben’s side.
Scotty: I must say that the scene in the synagogue brought a few tears to my eyes, and trust me, I haven’t cried since 1966. That was such a sweet scene; did you know when you started the book that this was going to happen? (I don’t want to give it away.)
CC: I’m honored that you enjoyed that scene. Yes, I did know it would happen when I started the book. To me, that scene and what it stood for was inevitable. Both Ben and Micah (but especially Ben) are family men. They’re devoted to their parents, sibling, and (in Micah’s case) niece and nephew.
Love of family and a desire for family were the root of Ben’s fear and self-loathing throughout his life. So it only made sense that once he took control of himself and lived his true life, creating his own family with Micah and showing a complete devotion to that family would be front and center.
Scotty: And can we talk about the hot sex for a minute. It is Spicy Wednesday after all. The book is filled with great spicy scenes and Ben picked up that part of being gay very quickly and easily I must say. I always debate on going for it or easing them into it and boy you went for it right away. That must have been fun to just take the plunge. Maybe you can give us an excerpt here with one of those scenes here to back up my words?????
CC: Just What the Truth is by Cardeno C. (adult excerpt) http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=2535
Damn, but he had beautiful eyes. Like a blue ocean with glistening waves. “I haven’t ever done this.” My voice was low, but my heart was speeding. I had surprised myself with that confession. It wasn’t planned, wasn’t thought out, it just sort of sprang from my mouth in an inopportune moment of honesty. I flinched in expectation of his response. Would he laugh at me for essentially being a virgin at thirty-one? Of course I wasn’t actually a virgin. I had slept with women. But it wasn’t the same thing. Or maybe he would be like my brother—disgusted by the fact that I had hidden myself for so long. I didn’t have too much time to stress about it, because Micah moved and put his hands on my hips. He gazed into my eyes.“I’ve never dated anyone from work either. I know it could get awkward, but we’re both partners at the firm, so it’s not like there’s any issue with inappropriate use of authority.” He rested his forehead on mine. “I really like you, Ben. And I think you like me. Can we see where this thing between us can go?”I didn’t correct his misimpression of what I had never done. I didn’t tell him that awkwardness at work was only one of my issues, but the bigger one was being with any man. I didn’t even say that he was right about my feelings for him. In fact, I didn’t say anything at all. My body just took over, and I found myself nodding. Then Micah’s hands stroked up my arms, across my neck, and landed on the sides of my face. He caressed my cheeks, gave me a look that made my stomach flip over, and then he leaned in and kissed me. It was a soft kiss, no tongue. Just his lips brushing against mine with a gentle pressure, backing off, and then doing it again. I felt his beard on my face and his hard, muscular body pressed against mine. There was no way for me to pretend I was kissing a woman. Everything about Micah was unequivocally male. And it seemed that even if my brain hadn’t completely made up its mind about the situation, my body had, because it was the first time in my memory that I got rock hard while making out with somebody from nothing more than a kiss.We stayed in the pool, our lower bodies underwater and our upper bodies pressed together. Our lips kept meeting in tender kisses; Micah’s hands continued petting my face, my neck, my arms, and my back. And somewhere along the way, I forgot to feel cold or anxious or anything other than content. I let myself explore Micah’s skin, let my fingers comb through the hair on his chest and stroke his beard, let my tongue dart out occasionally and taste his lips. Micah took my lower lip between both of his and tugged gently. Then he let go and kissed his way across my jaw and over to my ear. His tongue licked my lobe, and then he sucked it gently into his mouth.“You feel so damn good, Ben,” he murmured.“So do you,” I said with a raspy voice.It was true. He felt amazing. Our bodies seemed to fit together just right, our heads at the perfect height for kissing, our hips lined up together, his leg pushed between both of mine, putting a wonderful pressure on my cock. It was perfect. I leaned in and kissed him again, not wanting the intimate moment to stop. Micah seemed to be of the same mind, because he groaned, curled his hands around the back of my head, and held me still as he increased the intensity of the kisses. It wasn’t long before our tongues tangled, our breathing got heavier, and our hips moved together in an incredibly erotic dance.By the time I realized what was about to happen, it was too late. There was no way for me to stop the runaway orgasm train racing through my body. Micah must have realized it too, because he increased the pressure his thigh was putting on my dick, and put one hand on my ass and the other on the back of my neck, encouraging my thrusting motions. I buried my face in his neck and whimpered as my movements got faster, more desperate.“Come on. Come on,” he whispered into my ear and kissed my temple.It was the tender kiss that pushed me over the edge, and I came with a joyous shout. Then my entire body went limp against Micah. He held me and rubbed circles on my back as I trembled and tried to get air back into my lungs.I had never experienced an orgasm like that. Never. The fact that it had happened from rubbing off on somebody while I was still dressed made that fact all the more startling.“I… I’m sorry.” My words were mumbled because my face was still pressed against Micah’s skin.“Sorry? Why? That was hot as hell.” He removed his hand from its perch on my ass, and pushed it between our stomachs into his suit. “You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, Ben.” He dipped his head so his mouth was right against my neck, his breath hot on my skin. I could feel his hand moving between us as he stroked himself, and I knew that I had to join in. With my hands shaking, I tucked my thumbs into the waistband of his suit and pulled it out and down, letting his dick spring free. Then I took a deep breath and wrapped my fingers around his glans. Oh, God. I was holding his dick in my hand.He thrust up and back a few times, pushing himself through both of our fists, and then he shuddered and called my name as warmth covered my fingers.Neither of us moved after that. We just stood together, each of our heads leaning on the other’s shoulder, both of us breathing hard, and Micah occasionally dropping a kiss on my neck. It was the most wonderful moment of my life. And it terrified me.Scotty: What’s next CC?
CC: Well, I have Wake Me Up Inside, my first paranormal novel, coming out August 15th. It’s a story about two best friends who are so much more to each other. I was, frankly, surprised by how much I enjoyed writing a novel about shifters and I’m incredibly proud of how it turned out.
Here’s the blurb and the cover by the brilliant Reese Dante (stunning right?):


[image error] Zev Hassick is surprised and confused when he finds himself attracted to his best friend. His very human, very male best friend. Zev is the son of the pack Alpha, regarded as the strongest wolf in generations, born to lead. And everyone knows a male shifter has to mate with a female of his own kind to keep his humanity. So shifters can't be gay, right?

Jonah Marvel wants a relationship with Zev, his best friend, the man he has loved since childhood. It wasn’t easy to maintain that relationship over years spent living apart while Jonah studied to become a doctor. And then things grow more difficult when Jonah becomes his own patient. Before he can make a life with Zev, he has to understand his past and cure the unexplained ailments that plague him.
Zev and Jonah know they’re destined for each other, but they’re facing traditions ingrained over generations and long-buried secrets that may threaten any future together.


Speaking of best friends, in November, The One Who Saves Me, the next book in my Home series, is being released. This book tells the story of Caleb Lakes and Andrew Thompson by showing us glimpses into every year of their lives for two decades. Readers see Andrew and Caleb as they grow from boys to men, from friends to lovers, from lovers to platonic roommates, and ultimately realize that what they’ve searched for their entire lives was theirs all along.
Scotty: Thanks darling for spending some time with us this Wednesday and spicing up our day. Will we see you at GayRomLit in New Mexico?
CC: Alas, you will not see me at GayRomLit, work has me too busy to travel. But I can’t wait to hear all the details so I can live vicariously through you!
Scotty: CC, I really loved this sweet story and BTW, you are doing a great job with our new blog. This is really fun, thanks for all you hard work in getting it up and running. 
CC: I’m glad you liked Just What the Truth Is. And all the thanks for this blog go to the ever marvelous Kelly Shorten – web guru extraordinaire. And her you will see at GayRomLit so make sure you say hello and give her a big hug for me.
Link for Just What the Truth Is: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=2535


[image error]CARDENO C. is a hopeless romantic who wants to add a little happiness and a few “awwws” into a reader’s day. Writing is a nice break from real life as a corporate type and volunteer work with gay rights organizations. Cardeno often feels that characters write their own stories and just hopes to find enough time to get those stories on the page. Cardeno loves to hear from readers, so please drop a line to share your thoughts on a story.Visit Cardeno at http://www.cardenoc.com and at Facebook as Cardeno C.

The New Monster-Under-the-Bed?

We all grow up with fear. It's been that way since we first fell out of the trees and realized we had opposable thumbs. It's a survival instinct, and along with ingenuity, part of what helped us flourish as a species. 
First, we were afraid of animals bigger, or faster, or hungrier than we were. Then we were afraid of neighboring tribes with bigger pointy sticks. After that (well, actually, the fear of someone with a bigger pointy stick has never really gone away – it's just that the pointy sticks have become more sophisticated over time) we were afraid of fire, bad harvests, cruel kings, leaky boats, natural disasters, religious deities, the boogeyman, war, disease, terrorist attacks, nuclear arms, and so on and so forth.
The point is that fear is in our genetic makeup, a part of who we are. The cause of our fear changes every so often, but fear itself always remains with us in some shape. It's the reason people like to read scary stories and watch horror movies – because we know they're fake, and hence safe ways to explore our fears. 
Which brings me to the gist of this blog - horror in romance. No, contrary to what a lot of people think, it's not an oxymoron. Yes, Virginia, you can have romance in a horror story, or vice-versa. Albeit there isn't much to choose from because many publishers are leery of publishing it, but it's out there. 
To paraphrase Rule 34: If it exists, there's m/m romance for it. 
I happen to enjoy a good horror story. Since I also happen to adore m/m romance, why wouldn't I enjoy mixing them up? The answer is I do. I like reading it, and I like writing it, but I will say this much -- I am a big proponent for truth in blurbing. I think it should be stated in no uncertain terms in the blurb on the back cover that the story is horror m/m romance. This way, no one is disappointed. 
Speaking of which, I plan on writing a story in answer to a publishing house's call for zombie romances. Yes, ZOMBIE romances. Oh, and before I go any further, may I say that I've been there, done that? 
I already have a zombie m/m romance short story out there, written several years ago, one of the first I believe in which the zombie is the love interest. Before anyone's gag reflex kicks in, the hero was only dead fifteen minutes, and is just as hot as when he had a pulse. The story is called "As Serious As the Grave," and you can find it at Torquere Press Books, or Barnes and Nobel, Amazon, and most of your other favorite book dealers. 
When I wrote that particular story, I went off the premise that, technically speaking, everyone who was ever dead and brought back to life (think CPR, or operating table) is, by definition, a zombie.  "Brought back to life" is key here...no necrophilia, thank you very much. 
Turns out, I was ahead of my time. Zombies are hot now, usually centered around post-zombie-apocalyptic themes. Everywhere you look, the undead are looking back, from movies (Zombieland, Resident Evil franchise) to books (Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, World War Z), to television (Walking Dead, Death Valley).  True, most – if not all – picture zombies in a less-than-friendly-eat-your-face-off sort of light, but that may change. The zombie in television's animated show, "Ugly Americans" is just your normal, average, horny twenty-something-year-old. Except that he's dead. And sloughing off body parts now and then.  But nobody's boyfriend's perfect, right?
Anyway, that's my rambling rant for the day. Horror in m/m romance – it exists, and it ain't half bad. If you like horror, give it a chance. It might surprise you. :)

Inspiration by Cardeno C.

I was having trouble coming up with a topic for today’s blog post so I did what I so often do with my writing – I asked readers what they want to hear about. As always, they came through and asked me to share my inspiration for my writing. Thanks for this week’s topic, Anita. Pamela, favorite childhood books will definitely be the topic for a future post.

Long before I ever put (metaphorical) pen to paper, I had characters roaming in my mind, telling me their stories and looking for an outlet. I wanted to share positive, uplifting stories that would brighten someone’s day and make them feel hopeful, but I didn’t know if anybody would want to read my words or if the characters in my mind would resonate with other people. So when I first started writing, I posted the beginning of a story for free on the internet. The e-mails I received in response were the reason I kept writing that first story and the loyalty of my readers is the reason I keep writing now.
I’ve read an article or three over the years saying the best way to be happy and successful in your career is to choose a job you truly enjoy. Well, writing is that job for me. I love every aspect of it – the creativity, the escape into other people and other worlds, and the ability to reach, touch, and entertain readers. While I’m not able to write full time (at least until my lottery luck changes), I am fortunate enough to share my work and publish my books. As long as people keep wanting to read about my characters, I’ll make sure to find the time to keep writing them.
Speaking of those characters, they’re inspired by a lot things - a story shared by a friend, an incident I experience, and often, a song playing on the radio. Once inspiration strikes, I live with the characters in my head, think about who they are, what drives them, and what they want. I find that I need to absorb the characters and really get to know them before I can write their stories. Some of those characters take more time than others.
For example, Ben Forman (from Just What the Truth Is) spent a lot of time rattling around in my head. He was inspired by an article I read about a behind-the-scenes powerful political operative who came out later in life. I can’t even count the number of conversations I’ve had where people become almost rabidly angry about a closeted (or maybe a not overtly out) public figure. And yet, is it fair to take what is a personal decision, likely borne of many layered, painful reasons, and trivialize it into a stark, black and white, “I’d never be that weak” judgment?  
When I read about that political figure, heard his reasons for spending so many years hiding an important aspect of himself and then listened to what finally inspired him to come out, I didn’t feel like I was learning about a coward. I felt like I was learning about a person - faults, fears, and all. And what better inspiration is there for a writer than sharing a character so complex as to be loved and hated, and yet so simple as to be real? It’s a lofty goal, but it’s my inspiration for writing.
Cardeno C.

Ménage at the Wiccan Haus by Kate Richards

Hello! I’m Punda from An Apple Away, a story in the fabulous Musa Publishing Wiccan Haus series and I’ve come today to represent Kate Richards, our author, who is tied up somewhere. Possibly literally, you know how these erotic authors can be. I try not to ask too many questions.
Anyway, Kate asked me to tell you a bit about our story, and not to make any snarky comments about her being tied up. Oops!


I found myself outside the portal on the island, with no memory of how I got there and my entire pride disappeared from the face of the Earth. Sage Rowan gave me a job as a masseuse, a home, and a new family. I’ll always be grateful to her and her siblings.


But I was still lonely, despite the many shifters and magical beings who make their home there. I had friends, but no one especially mine. Until the day Aislinn and Hugo debarked from the ferry.  Two more troubled individuals I’d never met. Their pain called to me. Aislinn, so pale and sick, looking like she couldn’t live more than a week or two. And Hugo, for all his height and handsome face, appeared to bear the weight of the world on his broad shoulders.


Drawn to both, yearning to help heal them, I was also attracted to them. Even in her illness, Aislinn was lovely, with her long red hair and smooth skin. And Hugo had every woman in the place giving him the eye.
One about to die. The other a doctor, a man of science. Would he be interested in a lion shifter?
I didn’t think he’d believe in me.


A man or a woman? I wanted both, how could that be? Torn, I tried to heal them, with Sage’s help, to give them what they needed from the Haus.


Then I saw the spark between them. How could I get between two people who desired one another so much?


Making love with a woman is so emotional, so engaging to all my senses. Her softness, sweet scents and caressing hands can make me feel cared for, secure, floating in a sea of sensuality.


With a man, especially an alpha like Hugo, his power makes me forget everything  but him and the moment.
But if they wanted each other, then maybe I needed to step away….


That’s the tale, some of it anyway, from my viewpoint. A woman, a lion shifter, and a resident of the Wiccan Haus. I hope you’ll come and read our story, and meet Aislinn and Hugo. Which one would you choose?
Leave a comment and I’ll pick one person to win a copy of An Apple Away.




Huge thanks to the regular authors of Café Risque for hosting me today!


Excerpt from An Apple Away: 


Most of Hugo’s attention remained on Aislinn. Her expressions flitted across her face, happiness, concern when Harvey talked about how he’d nearly lost his love to the evil—Jenny laughed at that, holding her husband’s hand tight—Sam and his “underhanded tactics.” Before he knew it, dinner, whatever it had been, had come and gone and their waiter was placing dessert before them.
“Warm apple crisp, with vanilla whipped cream.” The waiter stepped back. “From our own orchard.” Hugo frowned, but lifted his spoon. Why was the man hovering?
Aislinn, however, dug right in. “Oh, it’s just delicious! You know, my cottage is right in the middle of the orchard. It’s like a fairy tale…I didn’t know apple trees bloomed and fruited at the same time.”
So, this beautiful and intriguing woman was his neighbor—his sole neighbor—in his hilltop retreat. Interesting.
The waiter was going on about the apples. “Oh, a very special variety, miss. Grows only here on the island.”
“Well, it’s lovely.” She spooned up more of the crisp then sighed and set the implement next to her bowl. “But I don’t think I can eat another bite.”
Hugo ate some of the dessert. Good, but he rarely indulged. His focus was still on Aislinn and his medical side became alarmed as she suddenly paled. “Are you all right?”
She drew a deep breath and stood up from the table. “Oh, I’m fine. A little tired, maybe.” Her thready voice worried him.
“Perhaps we should see if a doctor or nurse….”
“No doctors. Never again.” Her vehemence added strength to her tone and sent an unhappy flip to his stomach. “I-I think I’ll be heading back to my cottage now. It’s been a pleasure having dinner with all of you. I’ll see you tomorrow, I’m sure.”
She took a few steps away and he rose, intending to join her, but a dark, graceful woman arrived at her side and led her over to a table where four people sat. They nodded in welcome and chatted for a few moments before one of them reached into a pocket and pulled out a vial. She tapped it, speaking with a serious expression before handing it to Aislinn. Rising, she gave her a quick hug then returned to her seat.
Aislinn left the room with the dark-haired woman’s arm around her waist. She must be very ill. But what had doctors done to make her reject their care and turn to quackery?
And what the hell was in that vial?

Contact info for Kate Richards:
Email: katerichards09@gmail.com
Website: http://katerichards.wordpress.com
Buylink for An Apple Away: http://musapublishing.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=25&products_id=303   

John Simpson - Guest Author

By John Simpson

As many of my readers already know, I've written many stories that have revolved around men in the American military and have been happy to tell their stories. I've written, "Def Con One," a novel, and "The Barracks Affair," "Naval Maneuvers," "Night Patrol," as novellas, along with other stories of men in other countries militaries.

This stems of course from my own service to America. In 1970, when the draft was the scourge of many a young man, I drew my lottery number on my 18th birthday. It was over 300, which meant that I would never have been drafted like so many of my peers.


Instead of rejoicing in my good fortune, I spit fate in the eye. I enlisted in the U.S. Air Force and became a security specialist in nuclear security and law enforcement. From this experience, I drew the knowledge necessary to write accurate fiction as it reflects on military men.


Sadly, the United States is no longer the country that it was when I enlisted. We in my opinion, have gone from a country to be proud of in its reach for equality and freedom, to a nation bitterly divided by class warfare, and cultural differences. Instead of forging forth with equality for the gay community in this country, we have one of the two major parties doing everything it can to destroy the very semblance of the Constitution and the rights granted therein. We are no longer that, "beacon of Democracy," to the world.


I close my thoughts with a quote from my second book in the Condor series. In, "The Talons of the Condor," President Windsor says the following to a group of house members on the hill. If only the "real" members of Congress could see it President Jefferson's way.


“And finally, I wish to address a hot-button issue. The gay
community and their issues are due for attention. There is no basis in
Constitutional law to treat homosexuals any differently from any
other American citizen. Therefore, we need to bring to fruition the
most famous phrase from our Declaration of Independence: All men
are created equal. The term ‘men’ is gender inclusive and certainly
applies to women in every respect. Permit me to repeat the entire line
for clarity. ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are
created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain
unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of
happiness’.

“Thomas Jefferson, the author of that phrase, thought it so
important that he opened the Declaration of Independence with it.
Now, some two hundred and thirty-three years later, we still have not
achieved that goal for all Americans. Gay Americans do not have the
same unalienable rights as non-gay citizens. Why? The answer is
simple: in this case, the majority deems the minority undeserving of
those same rights. Much of the opposition to equality for gay people
comes from the religious right, who use God as their reason for
opposing equality. We have often in these great halls of democracy
heard the term unalienable rights. But what exactly does that mean?
“An ‘unalienable Right’ is a right that is not contingent upon
laws, customs or beliefs of a particular society or polity. Now, the
other definition of rights is one obtained through legislation, or the
granting of said rights by the legislature or codified into laws; these
are deemed legal rights. Please observe where Jefferson placed the
right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness: unalienable rights.
So Jefferson would say that there need be no special laws passed to
allow gay people to marry, for example, for surely that is the pursuit
of happiness which flows from said unalienable right. The same can
be said for liberty: the liberty to marry one who you love. Marriage is
but one issue. We must work towards total inclusion of the gay
community into the life of America by extending the rights of
Americans, both natural and legal, to all citizens."


www.johnsimpsonbooks.com

What would you do?

A friend of mine - we’ll call her Debbie - called me with a moral conundrum she is facing.  It would seem that another friend of ours - we’ll call her Sally - is dating again, and the moral and ethical behavior of this particular gentleman seems to be an issue for Debbie.  First, a little background:Debbie, Sally and I have known each other since kindergarten.  We went all through school together, including university.  As if that weren’t enough, we also ended up teaching together within the same school division, Debbie and Sally at the elementary school and I at the high school.  Debbie always knew she was a lesbian and I always knew that I liked boys.  Sally, ever the free spirit, had several relationships with various men until she met the man she thought would be her life partner.  But, as luck would have it, he turned out to be less than reliable and left Sally - and their two young daughters - after ten (what Sally assumed were “happy”) years.  Being a free spirit, Sally felt no need to marry this gentleman, and to her credit, did not stand in his way when he announced that he was leaving her for another woman.  To his credit, he still maintains contact with his daughters and provides for them in every way.  So, you might be asking, where is the conundrum?About a year ago, Sally began dating a teacher from the high school.  I know this particular gentleman and taught with him for all of the years I was at the high school, although he and I were never friends.  He always struck me as relatively open-minded and my dealings with him were always of the professional variety, with the occasional chat at the photocopier in the morning thrown in for good measure.  Sally, being the free spirit that she is, embraced this new relationship with her usual “Let’s see what happens” attitude.  Fair enough.Debbie, not being a free spirit in any way shape or form, was suspicious of this new romance.  It would seem that Debbie’s suspicions were well-founded because, as she explained the situation to me, Sally confided in her that she’d received an anonymous email from someone warning her that this new gentleman was “not to be trusted”.  The email also provided some very concrete (some of it photographic) proof about how this gentlemen seemed to be involved in every imaginable “scene” from woman to men to groups to kink.  While Debbie was taking this warning rather seriously, it would seem that Sally felt inclined to disregard the warning as “frivolous” and “from some jealous bimbo”.  Fair enough.I have always made it a policy, when friends ask for advice, to turn into Lucy (of the Charlie Brown comics) and become a quasi-psychiatrist-type friend and turn the questions back on them.  So when both Debbie and Sally asked me one evening on the phone, “Would you give any credence to this anonymous email?”, I asked both of them whether that was the central issue.  Instead, I asked Sally whether she felt she needed to show this email to the gentleman himself.  Is he actually involved in all of those scenes?  And if so, is this something he plans on continuing while in a relationship with a woman who has two young, impressionable children?  In other words, will he be truthful about his intentions?  (Honestly, if the man is a player, I don’t think Sally would really care; she’d chalk it up to experience and a fun time and move on.  I have no doubt that Sally would not allow such a man to have any kind of role in her children’s lives.  But if those days of fun and adventure are behind him and he is looking for a family, doesn’t he deserve the chance to prove it?)“As far as I can tell,” I explained, “it would seem that the real issue here is whether you can trust this man around your children.  Your children are both very young and impressionable and if this man becomes a part of their lives, can you ALWAYS trust him to do what’s in their best interest.”  Sally admitted that I had a point, but expressed her usual frustration that I did not actually answer the question.In all honesty, I had to admit to both Debbie and Sally that I didn’t know what to think of the email or how I would actually feel faced with a similar situation.  Personally, I’ve always been the type of person to rely on my gut; if the man I’m interested in is less-than-truthful or if I catch him in a lie, it’s over for me.  Perhaps I’m just a hard marker, but experience has taught me that if a man will lie about one thing - however trivial - he will lie about anything.So, my question now is this:  “Faced with a similar situation, would you give any credence to this anonymous email?  Is it a vindictive strike of revenge or is it a prophecy of heartbreak to come?"

On the Concept of Shame as a Societal Control (or -- Stupid Shit That Freaks Us Out) by T.C. Blue

This is my first day doing this (obviously), and I clearly don't know what's expected of me. Probably not a post title that sounds like a particularly boring thesis for an excruciatingly mind-numbing required course in college, though, right?
So before I dive into this, let me take a moment to introduce myself.
My name is T.C. Blue (for those who might be wondering, the T stands for Tisienne, and the C for Corana), and I'm fortunate enough to have been included in the regular roster for this blog. I am truly honored to be surrounded by (in alphabetical order) Cardeno C, Scotty Cade, Kiernan Kelly, and D.W. Marchwell, all of whom I had read and adored long before this endeavor was even an idea. They amaze me, every single time.
Okay, so enough with the blowing smoke up various orifices, right? Let's get to the meat of the matter (no pun intended… really *heh*).
I came into this with no idea about what I was going to write for my initial post. I still had no clue as of eleven p.m. last night. Then I had a conversation with a friend of mine (not you, Josh!) and realized that I actually do have something to say. This friend isn't someone I speak with every day, either. We talk maybe twice a year, these days.
Now, in order to get to my points and such, I need to give you all a bit of backstory.  (I know, I know. That's boring, right? I'll keep it as short and sweet as I can. Promise! :D)
This friend, who I love dearly, is one of the few people who's known me since my teen years, and as such, he -- surprise, surprise, he's a he -- knows and has experienced things with me that no one else has. We were wild, crazy, completely out of control for many, many years together. We know things about each other that… well, HE would blush at if I ever mentioned them in public. For purposes of this post, we'll call him D. (This in no way correlates to his actual name, by the way; it's because the first time we met, I thought "Damn, that boy is FINE." Thus, D for Damn.)
In any case, as I said, we did some stupid-crazy shit and managed to live through it. Myself? I'm proud of that. D? Not so much.
So we were on the phone and talking about something or other that reminded me of one of our many escapades. Me being me, I said what I was thinking, which was something along the lines of "Hey, remember when you and I fought over that boy who…"
D cut me off. "I don't have any idea what you're talking about."
Me: "You can't have forgotten, D. It was the first time we ever had a real fight and we didn't speak for almost a month because of it!" (Sidenote: This was not the first or last time I had an argument with a friend, over a boy, that resulted in silence for weeks. Sad but true.)
D: "I'm sure you THINK that happened, but it didn't. And even if it did, I don't have any recollection of that event. If I DID remember it, I wouldn't ever say so, so… fuck it. What are you doing this weekend?"
Now, what this actually means is that D doesn't WANT to remember and apparently thinks denying it ever happened means it really didn't. Granted, the situation with the boy I mentioned got sort of filthy and dirty and more than a little bit weird, but whatever. It was what it was. I'm neither bothered nor ashamed.
D, on the other hand, is both. Bothered and ashamed, I mean.  That much was made crystal clear by his reaction to that one tiny mention of something a little bit shady that was also entirely fun, even if it did leave me with the feeling that I was dirty, myself (in the best possible way).
This whole situation got me thinking, of course, and I threw out a few other "remember when we…" comments. Each of them garnered a similar uncomfortable response of "no." (Before you start thinking I'm evil for poking poor D in the morals, please know that while I really AM evil, that's not why. I was honestly trying to figure out what had D so disturbed when I'm not.)
So after the phone call ended with a sudden but deliberate silence -- and y'know, it's nowhere near as satisfying to end a call by pressing a button as it is to slam down the receiver, which I'm sure D would agree with -- I found myself pondering, trying to figure out why D and I have such different reactions to our shared past. I'm still not sure I've really figured it out, but I'm going to go ahead and share what I think I believe right now.
D grew up in a conservative family, meaning they were not only conservative with regards to politics, but religion, as well. My own family was somewhat liberal, though there were definite ideas about gender roles.
D came out to his family when he was fifteen, and it didn't go well. I, on the other hand, had to assure my mother that I wasn't a lesbian, which makes no sense really because when D's folks put him out for COMING out, my family refused to let him stay with us because they thought we were fucking. (Yeah, take a moment to ponder the inherent contradiction there. Bizarre, right?)
And blah-blah-blah… fast forward to today.
D is ashamed of his life. Of the things that led him to become the man he is now. I'm not even sure he LIKES who he is, and that's a damned shame. He's fucking awesome. He's smart, funny, and wittier than pretty much anyone I know. He's also woefully insecure and feels the need to defend himself pretty much any time he opens his mouth, as far as I can tell. (Again, this is a damned shame.)
So what does any of this have to do with the subject line. You're all asking yourselves that, right? Can't say as I blame you. The answer is…
D still cares about what people in general think of him. It bothers him that I could -- never would, but COULD -- tell tales of the things we both did, back in the day. He worries about what 'people' (such a nebulous term, really, because people come in all flavors and there really isn't any 'everyone' as far as I've been able to tell) will think of him if they know.
I'm the opposite, in that I'm not ashamed of anything I've ever done. Do I wish I'd made some different choices over the years? NO. Because I like the me I am today. If I changed even one of the things I did, who can say whether I'd be someone I could like right now? Maybe I'd be miserably unhappy and scared all the time.
The thing is, 'society' tells us we should be THIS and not that. We should LIKE this and not that. We should WANT this, not that. You get the drift. And when we aren't 'this', don't like 'this', want something other than 'this'? We're conditioned to pretend otherwise.
'Society' says we shouldn't be different; that we should blend in and be normal, whatever the fuck that means.
Society shames us, with the simple assumption that we're homogenized and interchangeable. With the idea that we all want and need the same things. With the concept that if we're different, we're somehow lacking or lesser or twisted or wrong.
D, as most others, actually believes this. At least, it seems he does.
Someone asked me the other night about what I believe. In the sexual sense, rather than religiously (that's a whole other subject that none of you want me to get into; trust me on that). We MAY have been talking about kinks at the time, just to be clear. But regardless of the subject, I stand by my words.
"There's no shame in anything that two or more grown men or women or any combination thereof get up to. As long as everyone wants to be there and nobody gets hurt any more than they want to, it's all good. Shame is something we feel because… even though every single person in the world has their own kinks, they're afraid to admit it. That's why so many 'respectable' people keep getting caught propositioning people of the same gender or beating up hookers or whatever. Because they're hiding. If people would just own up to who they are and what they want, they'd be able to find partners who want whatever it is they're offering." (Paraphrasing myself, but that's the gist of it.)
For the record, in case anybody thinks I'm full of shit with this whole 'admit things and move on' platform of mine, if you ask me something, I'll answer. Truthfully. I have no secrets, and therefor? I have no shame. Being shameless is a beautiful thing. It doesn't have to be part of the stupid shit that freaks us out. I reserve that for spiders in my house.
Just saying.