A.M. Arthur's Blog, page 2
March 15, 2017
Perspectives Now in Kindle Unlimited
My three Perspectives series books have been re-published on Amazon through my indie imprint Briggs-King books. The books were not changed in any way, except for the necessary copyright alterations. No additional story content was added, so folks who've already bought the books do not have to buy them again.
They are also available to borrow in Kindle Unlimited for the first time! New buy/borrow links are below.
The Truth As He Knows It
The World As He Sees It
The Heart As He Hears It
March 7, 2017
First NSFW Chapter: Here For Us (Us #1)
Only ten more days before Here For Us lands on your e-readers! I'm so excited for this book to finally come out. To get you revved up for it, here's a very NSFW first chapter of my forthcoming March/May/September menage romance. Enjoy!
Chapter One
I need to fucking get laid.
The thought followed Cris Sable through the heavy industrial door that hid the throbbing interior of Big Dick’s, the most popular gay nightclub in Harrisburg. The place was hard to find if you didn’t know where it was, or if you didn’t know the big muscle bear sitting by the entrance was a bouncer. Cris hadn’t been to the club in over a year, mostly by choice, but tonight he needed something.
Definitely a drink, although he’d have to limit himself now that he was functioning with one kidney. And, if possible, he wanted to leave with a willing ass to fuck. It had been a long dry spell.A dry spell of his own making, but still, a guy had needs, and he wasn’t looking to get his needs met by a woman tonight. Tonight he needed dick.
He eased his way over to the bar and ordered a margarita on the rocks. Something he could work his way through slowly. The club was in full swing, bodies gyrating on the dance floor, men dry humping their way through the evening. Soon early morning. At the rear of the dance floor, six go-go dancers were on risers, each decked out in one color of the rainbow. Barely-there briefs in a solid color, sparkle body paint all over their chests and legs, and some dancers even had colorful streaks in their hair. Monday was theme night for the go-go dancers, which explained why there were so many. On the other nights of the week that Cris had visited, the club usually only had three dancers.
Cris zeroed in on the dancer in blue. He loved the color blue, and this kid was pretty fucking hot in a royal blue thong, with blue swirls across his pecs and shoulders. Something kind of tribal and arty. He spun around to shake his ass, showing off very taut blue-painted cheeks. Even from the distance, he was cute. The kind of cute Cris liked to wrangle around in bed and fuck through the mattress.
Occasionally, a hand would rise from the crowd with money in it, and the blue dancer squatted low enough for the money to be tucked away in their underwear. Very strip club-esque, but Big Dick’s had a strict policy about not touching the dancers for longer than it took to tip them.
He scanned the other dancers’ faces and froze solid at the guy at the end. Despite the yellow paint, Cris knew that nearly naked body intimately enough to see past the costume and recognize Colby. Not his real name, and Cris didn’t know what it was, but they’d filmed together at Mean Green Boys roughly two years ago. Colby was only with the company for a few months before he quit to be with his boyfriend.
Cris had been intensely jealous at the time. At twenty-eight years old, he’d failed to find and maintain a serious relationship for longer than six months. And even that relationship had imploded when she found out he did gay porn. Okay, so he shouldn’t have kept that a secret for so long. He’d been so damned happy to find someone who understood and accepted he was bisexual that he’d been scared to destroy it too soon by admitting to the porn.
But secrets never did a relationship any good, and Lily had dumped his ass hard.
He’d taken a two year hiatus from porn after that, hoping to try and rebuild his flailing love life, before returning to Mean Green. The studio owner, Chet Green, was one of his closest friends—hence the very secret reason for his single remaining kidney.
“Hello, gorgeous.” A slinky number in leather pants and a silver mesh shirt slid up to Cris at the bar. Cute, kohl-lined eyes, plump lips that promised they knew how to suck a dick.
Cris grinned. “Who, me?”
“Oh, honey, we both know you’re the sexiest thing in the club tonight.” A warm arm draped over his shoulders. “Name’s Luke.”
“Cris.”
“Hmm, I think you look more like a Vincent.”
Cris tensed. No fucking way could this random guy know who he was. There was no hint of malice in his easy grin, no sign the name was anything other than a really good guess. Cris came from an Italian family from Long Island, and the genes were pretty strong. He’d rid himself of his identifying accent years ago, though, thank Christ.
“Or Vincenzo, or Anthony,” the kid said, oblivious to Cris’s racing thoughts.
“Well, it’s Cris.” Rude, fine, but he’d lost any interest in Luke. Cristian Sable was his identity now. “See you around.”
Cris pushed away from the bar and eased his way into the crowd occupying the fringes of the dance floor. A few blatant offers came his way, but Cris turned them all down. He didn’t realize he’d inched closer to the risers and his blue dancer until the guy was less than ten feet away.Blue had a face that was both easygoing and sharp. He was enjoying himself without totally letting his guard down. And he was hella cute. Fuckable for sure.
Bodies danced frenetically all around him, allowing Cris to stay close to the wall and shift nearer to Blue. Someone held up a bill between two fingers. Blue wiggled his hips and squatted low so the money could be tucked into his g-string. The triangle of blue material held a very promising package for a smaller guy.
Blue blew a kiss to his patron, then spun in an ass-wiggling circle. His dark gaze roamed the crowd, then paused on Cris. An unexpected thrill shot through him. Some sort of instinctive acknowledgement of the man on the stage, as if they’d been waiting to meet. Blue held eye contact; Cris drew out a long, lazy smile. Blue cocked his head, winked, and then kept dancing. Cris stayed in his spot. Every few minutes, Blue glanced his way. Right into his eyes.
Target acquired.
The dancers came and went from the risers, likely taking breaks in between sets. When Blue winked again and disappeared, Cris had half a mind to try and find him. Except he didn’t work at the club, and he had no real excuse to get backstage. Cris sipped his watered-down margarita and watched the eye candy on display. The gorgeous men, the throbbing music, and the heady scents of sweat and sex worked their magic on Cris, and he was half-hard by the time a brown-haired kid with a smear of blue under both eyes sidled up next to him.
Cris studied the familiar face, now scrubbed clean except for those two very appealing smudges. His hair maintained hints of blue glitter. He’d covered that amazing body with jeans and a white sleeveless tee, but this was Cris’s dancer. Blue.
“You off the clock?” Cris asked.
“Yup.” He grabbed Cris’s glass and finished it off with a smirk that did funny things to Cris’s balls. “Damn, I think I owe you a drink.”
He laughed. “Cris.”
“Jake.” He snagged Cris’s belt and tugged him toward the bar.
The forwardness was a huge fucking turn on, and Cris’s cock was at full mast by the time they reached the bar. An older man in a sparkly vest smiled at them.
“Two margaritas on the rocks,” Jake said. “My tab.”
“On it,” the bartender said.
Cris rested one hand on Jake’s lower back, and he was surprised by the tiny thrill that vibrated up his arm. Jake pressed into his touch, eyelids fluttering as if he’d felt something similar. Cris leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Blue is my favorite color.”
Jake looked up, big brown eyes glimmering with mischief. “Oh yeah?”
“Definitely. It looks good on you.”
“Know what else would look good on me?”
Cris saw the flirty line coming, but he played along. “What’s that?”
“You.”
He nuzzled Jake’s ear with his nose. “I agree.”
The bartender slid their drinks over. Jake gulped his, while Cris only sipped. And studied his future sex partner. A good six inches shorter than him, and slimmer all over. Dance-honed muscles. Tight jeans that did nothing to hide his erection. A very One Direction boyish hotness about him that made Cris want to fuck him senseless.
“I’d ask if you want to dance,” Jake said, “but you didn’t bust a move all night.”
“Not much of a dancer.”
“No good?”
“I’m plenty good.” Cris put a little leer into those words. “But I don’t like using dancing as foreplay. I’d rather play in private.”
Jake pressed his hard dick against Cris’s thigh, amusement dancing in his eyes. His voice was crazy sexy in a way that Cris couldn’t describe, but he liked it. “So I’m guessing you aren’t a fan of the bathroom with the favors?”
Big Dick’s had two bathrooms for its patrons, and rumor had it that the bathroom on the left had a bowl of condoms and lube sachets for patrons. Folks interested in a quick—and safe—fuck with a stranger. The bathroom on the right was for regular business.
“Nope.” Cris slid his hand from Jake’s lower back to grab his ass. “I prefer a nice big bed where I can have my way with someone for a few hours. Upright in a bathroom stall is over too fast.”
Jake swallowed hard, his cheeks pinking up. “Sounds like an adventure.”
“You up for it?”
“What do you think?” He ground his dick into Cris’s thigh. “Think I’m up for it?”
“I might need more convincing.”
Jake grabbed at Cris’s erection and squeezed, the contact sending happy sparklers down Cris’s spine. He really liked Jake touching him. “I’d suck you right here but Richard frowns on public displays of fellatio.”
Cris didn’t know who Richard was, and he didn’t care. Owner or manager, probably. His only priority was getting Jake naked in his bed. He pushed his mostly full glass away. “Then let’s get out of here before you get in trouble with your boss.”
Jake gulped his margarita, then plunked his glass on the bar. “Lead the way.”
He did.
The cool night air did nothing to ease his throbbing dick, nor did the long walk to his car. Jake kept close, their arms brushing, but otherwise not touching. The city was still alive and well all around them, and while Cris was big and imposing enough that few people ever bothered him, Jake walked with purpose. Aware of everyone they passed. He’d danced the exact same way: wary of the world.Cris silently promised to help Jake forget those shadows that made him walk through life like it would turn against him at any moment. Even if only for a few hours.
The instant they were in his car and Cris had it aimed toward his apartment, Jake reached over and undid his fly. Stunned at the kid’s brazenness, Cris didn’t protest. He kept three-quarters of his attention on the road, while the rest watched—and felt—Jake tug his dick out of his boxer-briefs. Jake’s touch felt like a brand on already sensitive skin.
“Uncut,” Jake whispered. “Very nice.”
Cris’s pulse raced at the compliment. Most of the chicks he’d slept with had been initially turned off by his foreskin. They were used to seeing cut dicks. Dudes were way more appreciative.
Jake played with his dick, sliding the foreskin in a slow, lazy way that barely kept Cris from driving them into a telephone pole. Jake kept hold the entire ten minute drive, a long descent into madness that nearly had Cris demanding Jake suck him off already. His orgasm teetered on the edge without getting close enough to tip him over.
He pulled into the underground parking and into a space between two SUV’s. The vehicles would provide great camouflage for a blow job, but Jake proved just how sadistic he was by letting go. He flashed Cris a wicked grin. Wicked and challenging.
This is going to be fun.
Cris tucked himself back in, which was not an easy feat thanks to Jake’s teasing. Even in the privacy of the elevator, Jake stayed hands-off. Cris led him down the corridor to his apartment, unlocked it, and let them inside.
The moment he locked the door behind them, Jake spun and yanked his head down. The faint taste of lime and tequila filled Cris’s mouth. A very insistent tongue stroked past his lips, teasing and seeking. The spark was immediate and dizzying, electric everywhere they touched.
Cris spun them. He pushed Jake against the door, holding him there with a thigh between his legs. Jake humped his thigh while he devoured his mouth with a very talented tongue that Cris couldn’t wait to feel against his dick.
The desperate kiss softened by degrees. Cris dragged his lips along Jake’s jaw, tasting sweat and soap, then down to nibble at his earlobe. Jake shoved his hands past Cris’s belt to grab both cheeks. The small huffs and groans encouraged Cris to play with Jake’s ear some more. Suck the lobe. Lick the delicate shell.
“Fuck,” Jake said.
Cris chuckled. “Soon.”
“Bed.”
That he could do. He untangled them, grabbed Jake’s wrist, and led him across the small living room to the single bedroom. Flipped the light on. Jake gazed around. Cris wasn’t big on useless objects, so the room had furniture and a mirror. A lamp. A TV and blue-ray player. Little else beyond some dirty clothes he hadn’t put in the hamper.
Cris fished a condom and lube out of the nightstand and tossed them up near the pillows. Jake followed their trajectory, then toed off his sneakers. Cris did the same, shucking his clothes as expediently as possible, because hot, cute boy. Near his bed. Also getting naked fast.
This was the fun kind of sex. Chemistry, intent, no cameras or director reminding him not to block the come shot. Cris had every intention of coming inside Jake tonight.
Before Cris could haul Jake in for another kiss, Jake dropped to his knees and licked up the length of Cris’s cock. The slick touch spread a wonderful warmth through his belly and chest, that only intensified when Jake nibbled on his foreskin. He bit and played until Cris almost couldn’t stand it, before sucking him down onto wet heat.
“Fuck.” Cris sifted his fingers through Jake’s soft hair, holding on without hurting, because damn. Jake’s tongue dragged up and down the underside of Cris’s cock, an amazing sensation that made Cris’s eyes want to roll back in his head. Except he couldn’t stop watching Jake. His stretched lips and hollowed cheeks. The intense way Jake went about blowing him. Cris could watch this all day long and never tire of it.
He’d never been so mesmerized by a sex partner sucking him as he was with Jake, and he didn’t ponder the meaning behind that. Only that holy damn, it felt good.
Too much, too fast had Cris’s orgasm teetering too close. He nudged Jake off, then ran a thumb over his glistening lips. “Your turn. On the bed.”
Jake grinned, licked his thumb, and then did as told. He spread out on his back, hands behind his head, so perfectly wanton that Cris wanted to devour him. To lick every inch of skin, tease every curve and plane of muscle. He also desperately wanted in that taut little ass, and that took priority over exploration tonight.
Maybe Jake would be up for a repeat.
Cris knelt between his spread legs, admiring the boy on his bed. He rubbed his palms up Jake’s legs, from calf to thigh, enjoying the perfectly smooth skin. The way muscles jumped beneath his touch. Jake’s cock lay flat against his stomach, long and hard with a lovely mushroom head. Fun to play with and play Cris did. Licking around the glans, nibbling up and down the shaft, nosing at the root. Putting Jake’s scent and taste everywhere.
Jake’s thighs trembled. Hands in Cris’s hair kept trying to direct him, get him to suck already, but Cris was stronger. He flattened Jake’s hands to the bed on either side of Jake’s hips, then returned to his oral assault until Jake started cussing at him.
He looked up into frenzied eyes that dared him to keep teasing. Cris winked, then sucked Jake’s length down. Jake hollered, and Cris nearly crowed at the sound. He loved making his partner fall apart, frenzied with need, long before the fucking began. Hard pulls up and down, sometimes scraping with his teeth. Jake pumped his hips, trying to fuck Cris’s mouth.
“Fuck, please,” Jake said on a gasp.
Cris pulled off. “Not yet.”
He released Jake’s hands so he could push his legs back, tilting Jake’s hips and exposing his hole.
Jake made a desperate noise. “Yes.”
“You like getting your asshole licked?”
“Fuck yes.”
Cris flicked the tip of his tongue against the puckered muscle, the barest touch.
Jake’s hips jerked. “Bastard.”
He bit Jake’s left cheek, earning a surprised yelp that settled into a long moan. A second flicker of his tongue. Another hip jerk. Cris entertained himself with the tease, alternating long swipes with short flicks, playing Jake’s body for all he was worth, because damn, the kid was responsive. Jake never stopped making noise, never stopped thrashing and begging for more, and each little sound made Cris harder. Sent him higher.
Cris snagged the lube without missing a beat. Slicked up a finger while he ate Jake’s hole, softening him for the surprise. He lifted his head to watch Jake’s face as he pressed that finger inside. Jake’s eyes went wide, mouth falling open in a long, desperate gasp. He humped Cris’s finger, so Cris fucked him with it, slow at first. A gentle tease, waiting for a sign from Jake.
The moment Jake lifted his head high enough to meet his gaze, brown eyes simmering with lust and need, Cris fucked him harder. Jake’s eyes rolled back when he added a second finger, fucking him to the last knuckle, driving Jake higher with only his hand. No sounds beyond Jake’s gasps and cries and the slip slap of skin on skin.
Jake raised his head with effort, cheeks stained red, and gasped, “Another one.”
Something inside of Cris twisted up tight at the absolute trust shining in Jake’s eyes. The need for more, to climb higher, believing Cris could take him there. Three fingers took a little work and a lot of patience. He watched Jake’s face for any sign that it was too much, too painful, but Jake panted and gasped and pushed down. Urging him. Precome smeared Jake’s belly where his cock dragged on every thrust.
Cris’s own cock was painfully tight, desperate to relieve the pressure building deep inside.
“Oh fuck,” Jake said. “Oh shit.” He grabbed his dick and hadn’t pulled three strokes before he clamped down hard on Cris’s fingers and shot across his own belly and chest. A blob of white even landed on his chin. Cris stilled his hand while Jake came down from his high, thighs trembling with aftershocks over what looked like a doozy of an orgasm.
Cris gently removed his fingers and wiped them on his thigh, uncertain if he could still—
“Fuck me.” Jake held his legs back, keeping position, sleepy-eyed but determined. “You can.”
Cris didn’t need a second invitation. He gloved up and pushed inside in one smooth stroke that made Jake moan. So good, so loose and ready for him, and it took maybe a dozen hard thrusts for Cris to fall over the edge in a blast of pleasure that lit him up from his toes to his scalp.
He had enough sense to pull out and put Jake’s legs down before collapsing on top of the smaller man. Jake draped loose arms around his waist and tucked his head beneath Cris’s chin. Warm breath tickled Cris’s sweaty chest, cooling the skin. Some guys didn’t like to cuddle after sex, but Cris did; especially if he felt an actual connection to his partner. And boy howdy, he felt something with Jake. And judging by the way Jake had burrowed in close, he felt something, too.
“You can stay,” Cris whispered, the room too quiet for full volume.
“Okay.”
Cris reluctantly left Jake’s embrace. In the bathroom, Cris wiped off, then brought a warm washcloth and clean towel into the bedroom. Jake was still boneless, so he let Cris clean off his chest, then roll him over and gently do the same for his ass. Cris kissed each butt cheek. Then Jake’s mouth, where he lingered for a long time.
Eventually, they ended up under the covers with the light out.
Jake curled up against him, head resting on Cris’s shoulder, one arm slung across Cris’s chest. All kinds of compliments rattled around in Cris’s head, but the easy silence didn’t require them. The sex had been mind-blowing for them both. That much was obvious.
Maybe he could talk Jake into another date over breakfast. He dozed on that happy thought….….only to wake with morning sunshine streaming in through open curtains. The other side of the bed was empty and cold.
Jake was gone.
And an hour later, Cris realized, so was his wallet.
#
Pre-Order Amazon Only
(c) A.M. Arthur 2017
Chapter One
I need to fucking get laid.
The thought followed Cris Sable through the heavy industrial door that hid the throbbing interior of Big Dick’s, the most popular gay nightclub in Harrisburg. The place was hard to find if you didn’t know where it was, or if you didn’t know the big muscle bear sitting by the entrance was a bouncer. Cris hadn’t been to the club in over a year, mostly by choice, but tonight he needed something.
Definitely a drink, although he’d have to limit himself now that he was functioning with one kidney. And, if possible, he wanted to leave with a willing ass to fuck. It had been a long dry spell.A dry spell of his own making, but still, a guy had needs, and he wasn’t looking to get his needs met by a woman tonight. Tonight he needed dick.
He eased his way over to the bar and ordered a margarita on the rocks. Something he could work his way through slowly. The club was in full swing, bodies gyrating on the dance floor, men dry humping their way through the evening. Soon early morning. At the rear of the dance floor, six go-go dancers were on risers, each decked out in one color of the rainbow. Barely-there briefs in a solid color, sparkle body paint all over their chests and legs, and some dancers even had colorful streaks in their hair. Monday was theme night for the go-go dancers, which explained why there were so many. On the other nights of the week that Cris had visited, the club usually only had three dancers.
Cris zeroed in on the dancer in blue. He loved the color blue, and this kid was pretty fucking hot in a royal blue thong, with blue swirls across his pecs and shoulders. Something kind of tribal and arty. He spun around to shake his ass, showing off very taut blue-painted cheeks. Even from the distance, he was cute. The kind of cute Cris liked to wrangle around in bed and fuck through the mattress.
Occasionally, a hand would rise from the crowd with money in it, and the blue dancer squatted low enough for the money to be tucked away in their underwear. Very strip club-esque, but Big Dick’s had a strict policy about not touching the dancers for longer than it took to tip them.
He scanned the other dancers’ faces and froze solid at the guy at the end. Despite the yellow paint, Cris knew that nearly naked body intimately enough to see past the costume and recognize Colby. Not his real name, and Cris didn’t know what it was, but they’d filmed together at Mean Green Boys roughly two years ago. Colby was only with the company for a few months before he quit to be with his boyfriend.
Cris had been intensely jealous at the time. At twenty-eight years old, he’d failed to find and maintain a serious relationship for longer than six months. And even that relationship had imploded when she found out he did gay porn. Okay, so he shouldn’t have kept that a secret for so long. He’d been so damned happy to find someone who understood and accepted he was bisexual that he’d been scared to destroy it too soon by admitting to the porn.
But secrets never did a relationship any good, and Lily had dumped his ass hard.
He’d taken a two year hiatus from porn after that, hoping to try and rebuild his flailing love life, before returning to Mean Green. The studio owner, Chet Green, was one of his closest friends—hence the very secret reason for his single remaining kidney.
“Hello, gorgeous.” A slinky number in leather pants and a silver mesh shirt slid up to Cris at the bar. Cute, kohl-lined eyes, plump lips that promised they knew how to suck a dick.
Cris grinned. “Who, me?”
“Oh, honey, we both know you’re the sexiest thing in the club tonight.” A warm arm draped over his shoulders. “Name’s Luke.”
“Cris.”
“Hmm, I think you look more like a Vincent.”
Cris tensed. No fucking way could this random guy know who he was. There was no hint of malice in his easy grin, no sign the name was anything other than a really good guess. Cris came from an Italian family from Long Island, and the genes were pretty strong. He’d rid himself of his identifying accent years ago, though, thank Christ.
“Or Vincenzo, or Anthony,” the kid said, oblivious to Cris’s racing thoughts.
“Well, it’s Cris.” Rude, fine, but he’d lost any interest in Luke. Cristian Sable was his identity now. “See you around.”
Cris pushed away from the bar and eased his way into the crowd occupying the fringes of the dance floor. A few blatant offers came his way, but Cris turned them all down. He didn’t realize he’d inched closer to the risers and his blue dancer until the guy was less than ten feet away.Blue had a face that was both easygoing and sharp. He was enjoying himself without totally letting his guard down. And he was hella cute. Fuckable for sure.
Bodies danced frenetically all around him, allowing Cris to stay close to the wall and shift nearer to Blue. Someone held up a bill between two fingers. Blue wiggled his hips and squatted low so the money could be tucked into his g-string. The triangle of blue material held a very promising package for a smaller guy.
Blue blew a kiss to his patron, then spun in an ass-wiggling circle. His dark gaze roamed the crowd, then paused on Cris. An unexpected thrill shot through him. Some sort of instinctive acknowledgement of the man on the stage, as if they’d been waiting to meet. Blue held eye contact; Cris drew out a long, lazy smile. Blue cocked his head, winked, and then kept dancing. Cris stayed in his spot. Every few minutes, Blue glanced his way. Right into his eyes.
Target acquired.
The dancers came and went from the risers, likely taking breaks in between sets. When Blue winked again and disappeared, Cris had half a mind to try and find him. Except he didn’t work at the club, and he had no real excuse to get backstage. Cris sipped his watered-down margarita and watched the eye candy on display. The gorgeous men, the throbbing music, and the heady scents of sweat and sex worked their magic on Cris, and he was half-hard by the time a brown-haired kid with a smear of blue under both eyes sidled up next to him.
Cris studied the familiar face, now scrubbed clean except for those two very appealing smudges. His hair maintained hints of blue glitter. He’d covered that amazing body with jeans and a white sleeveless tee, but this was Cris’s dancer. Blue.
“You off the clock?” Cris asked.
“Yup.” He grabbed Cris’s glass and finished it off with a smirk that did funny things to Cris’s balls. “Damn, I think I owe you a drink.”
He laughed. “Cris.”
“Jake.” He snagged Cris’s belt and tugged him toward the bar.
The forwardness was a huge fucking turn on, and Cris’s cock was at full mast by the time they reached the bar. An older man in a sparkly vest smiled at them.
“Two margaritas on the rocks,” Jake said. “My tab.”
“On it,” the bartender said.
Cris rested one hand on Jake’s lower back, and he was surprised by the tiny thrill that vibrated up his arm. Jake pressed into his touch, eyelids fluttering as if he’d felt something similar. Cris leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Blue is my favorite color.”
Jake looked up, big brown eyes glimmering with mischief. “Oh yeah?”
“Definitely. It looks good on you.”
“Know what else would look good on me?”
Cris saw the flirty line coming, but he played along. “What’s that?”
“You.”
He nuzzled Jake’s ear with his nose. “I agree.”
The bartender slid their drinks over. Jake gulped his, while Cris only sipped. And studied his future sex partner. A good six inches shorter than him, and slimmer all over. Dance-honed muscles. Tight jeans that did nothing to hide his erection. A very One Direction boyish hotness about him that made Cris want to fuck him senseless.
“I’d ask if you want to dance,” Jake said, “but you didn’t bust a move all night.”
“Not much of a dancer.”
“No good?”
“I’m plenty good.” Cris put a little leer into those words. “But I don’t like using dancing as foreplay. I’d rather play in private.”
Jake pressed his hard dick against Cris’s thigh, amusement dancing in his eyes. His voice was crazy sexy in a way that Cris couldn’t describe, but he liked it. “So I’m guessing you aren’t a fan of the bathroom with the favors?”
Big Dick’s had two bathrooms for its patrons, and rumor had it that the bathroom on the left had a bowl of condoms and lube sachets for patrons. Folks interested in a quick—and safe—fuck with a stranger. The bathroom on the right was for regular business.
“Nope.” Cris slid his hand from Jake’s lower back to grab his ass. “I prefer a nice big bed where I can have my way with someone for a few hours. Upright in a bathroom stall is over too fast.”
Jake swallowed hard, his cheeks pinking up. “Sounds like an adventure.”
“You up for it?”
“What do you think?” He ground his dick into Cris’s thigh. “Think I’m up for it?”
“I might need more convincing.”
Jake grabbed at Cris’s erection and squeezed, the contact sending happy sparklers down Cris’s spine. He really liked Jake touching him. “I’d suck you right here but Richard frowns on public displays of fellatio.”
Cris didn’t know who Richard was, and he didn’t care. Owner or manager, probably. His only priority was getting Jake naked in his bed. He pushed his mostly full glass away. “Then let’s get out of here before you get in trouble with your boss.”
Jake gulped his margarita, then plunked his glass on the bar. “Lead the way.”
He did.
The cool night air did nothing to ease his throbbing dick, nor did the long walk to his car. Jake kept close, their arms brushing, but otherwise not touching. The city was still alive and well all around them, and while Cris was big and imposing enough that few people ever bothered him, Jake walked with purpose. Aware of everyone they passed. He’d danced the exact same way: wary of the world.Cris silently promised to help Jake forget those shadows that made him walk through life like it would turn against him at any moment. Even if only for a few hours.
The instant they were in his car and Cris had it aimed toward his apartment, Jake reached over and undid his fly. Stunned at the kid’s brazenness, Cris didn’t protest. He kept three-quarters of his attention on the road, while the rest watched—and felt—Jake tug his dick out of his boxer-briefs. Jake’s touch felt like a brand on already sensitive skin.
“Uncut,” Jake whispered. “Very nice.”
Cris’s pulse raced at the compliment. Most of the chicks he’d slept with had been initially turned off by his foreskin. They were used to seeing cut dicks. Dudes were way more appreciative.
Jake played with his dick, sliding the foreskin in a slow, lazy way that barely kept Cris from driving them into a telephone pole. Jake kept hold the entire ten minute drive, a long descent into madness that nearly had Cris demanding Jake suck him off already. His orgasm teetered on the edge without getting close enough to tip him over.
He pulled into the underground parking and into a space between two SUV’s. The vehicles would provide great camouflage for a blow job, but Jake proved just how sadistic he was by letting go. He flashed Cris a wicked grin. Wicked and challenging.
This is going to be fun.
Cris tucked himself back in, which was not an easy feat thanks to Jake’s teasing. Even in the privacy of the elevator, Jake stayed hands-off. Cris led him down the corridor to his apartment, unlocked it, and let them inside.
The moment he locked the door behind them, Jake spun and yanked his head down. The faint taste of lime and tequila filled Cris’s mouth. A very insistent tongue stroked past his lips, teasing and seeking. The spark was immediate and dizzying, electric everywhere they touched.
Cris spun them. He pushed Jake against the door, holding him there with a thigh between his legs. Jake humped his thigh while he devoured his mouth with a very talented tongue that Cris couldn’t wait to feel against his dick.
The desperate kiss softened by degrees. Cris dragged his lips along Jake’s jaw, tasting sweat and soap, then down to nibble at his earlobe. Jake shoved his hands past Cris’s belt to grab both cheeks. The small huffs and groans encouraged Cris to play with Jake’s ear some more. Suck the lobe. Lick the delicate shell.
“Fuck,” Jake said.
Cris chuckled. “Soon.”
“Bed.”
That he could do. He untangled them, grabbed Jake’s wrist, and led him across the small living room to the single bedroom. Flipped the light on. Jake gazed around. Cris wasn’t big on useless objects, so the room had furniture and a mirror. A lamp. A TV and blue-ray player. Little else beyond some dirty clothes he hadn’t put in the hamper.
Cris fished a condom and lube out of the nightstand and tossed them up near the pillows. Jake followed their trajectory, then toed off his sneakers. Cris did the same, shucking his clothes as expediently as possible, because hot, cute boy. Near his bed. Also getting naked fast.
This was the fun kind of sex. Chemistry, intent, no cameras or director reminding him not to block the come shot. Cris had every intention of coming inside Jake tonight.
Before Cris could haul Jake in for another kiss, Jake dropped to his knees and licked up the length of Cris’s cock. The slick touch spread a wonderful warmth through his belly and chest, that only intensified when Jake nibbled on his foreskin. He bit and played until Cris almost couldn’t stand it, before sucking him down onto wet heat.
“Fuck.” Cris sifted his fingers through Jake’s soft hair, holding on without hurting, because damn. Jake’s tongue dragged up and down the underside of Cris’s cock, an amazing sensation that made Cris’s eyes want to roll back in his head. Except he couldn’t stop watching Jake. His stretched lips and hollowed cheeks. The intense way Jake went about blowing him. Cris could watch this all day long and never tire of it.
He’d never been so mesmerized by a sex partner sucking him as he was with Jake, and he didn’t ponder the meaning behind that. Only that holy damn, it felt good.
Too much, too fast had Cris’s orgasm teetering too close. He nudged Jake off, then ran a thumb over his glistening lips. “Your turn. On the bed.”
Jake grinned, licked his thumb, and then did as told. He spread out on his back, hands behind his head, so perfectly wanton that Cris wanted to devour him. To lick every inch of skin, tease every curve and plane of muscle. He also desperately wanted in that taut little ass, and that took priority over exploration tonight.
Maybe Jake would be up for a repeat.
Cris knelt between his spread legs, admiring the boy on his bed. He rubbed his palms up Jake’s legs, from calf to thigh, enjoying the perfectly smooth skin. The way muscles jumped beneath his touch. Jake’s cock lay flat against his stomach, long and hard with a lovely mushroom head. Fun to play with and play Cris did. Licking around the glans, nibbling up and down the shaft, nosing at the root. Putting Jake’s scent and taste everywhere.
Jake’s thighs trembled. Hands in Cris’s hair kept trying to direct him, get him to suck already, but Cris was stronger. He flattened Jake’s hands to the bed on either side of Jake’s hips, then returned to his oral assault until Jake started cussing at him.
He looked up into frenzied eyes that dared him to keep teasing. Cris winked, then sucked Jake’s length down. Jake hollered, and Cris nearly crowed at the sound. He loved making his partner fall apart, frenzied with need, long before the fucking began. Hard pulls up and down, sometimes scraping with his teeth. Jake pumped his hips, trying to fuck Cris’s mouth.
“Fuck, please,” Jake said on a gasp.
Cris pulled off. “Not yet.”
He released Jake’s hands so he could push his legs back, tilting Jake’s hips and exposing his hole.
Jake made a desperate noise. “Yes.”
“You like getting your asshole licked?”
“Fuck yes.”
Cris flicked the tip of his tongue against the puckered muscle, the barest touch.
Jake’s hips jerked. “Bastard.”
He bit Jake’s left cheek, earning a surprised yelp that settled into a long moan. A second flicker of his tongue. Another hip jerk. Cris entertained himself with the tease, alternating long swipes with short flicks, playing Jake’s body for all he was worth, because damn, the kid was responsive. Jake never stopped making noise, never stopped thrashing and begging for more, and each little sound made Cris harder. Sent him higher.
Cris snagged the lube without missing a beat. Slicked up a finger while he ate Jake’s hole, softening him for the surprise. He lifted his head to watch Jake’s face as he pressed that finger inside. Jake’s eyes went wide, mouth falling open in a long, desperate gasp. He humped Cris’s finger, so Cris fucked him with it, slow at first. A gentle tease, waiting for a sign from Jake.
The moment Jake lifted his head high enough to meet his gaze, brown eyes simmering with lust and need, Cris fucked him harder. Jake’s eyes rolled back when he added a second finger, fucking him to the last knuckle, driving Jake higher with only his hand. No sounds beyond Jake’s gasps and cries and the slip slap of skin on skin.
Jake raised his head with effort, cheeks stained red, and gasped, “Another one.”
Something inside of Cris twisted up tight at the absolute trust shining in Jake’s eyes. The need for more, to climb higher, believing Cris could take him there. Three fingers took a little work and a lot of patience. He watched Jake’s face for any sign that it was too much, too painful, but Jake panted and gasped and pushed down. Urging him. Precome smeared Jake’s belly where his cock dragged on every thrust.
Cris’s own cock was painfully tight, desperate to relieve the pressure building deep inside.
“Oh fuck,” Jake said. “Oh shit.” He grabbed his dick and hadn’t pulled three strokes before he clamped down hard on Cris’s fingers and shot across his own belly and chest. A blob of white even landed on his chin. Cris stilled his hand while Jake came down from his high, thighs trembling with aftershocks over what looked like a doozy of an orgasm.
Cris gently removed his fingers and wiped them on his thigh, uncertain if he could still—
“Fuck me.” Jake held his legs back, keeping position, sleepy-eyed but determined. “You can.”
Cris didn’t need a second invitation. He gloved up and pushed inside in one smooth stroke that made Jake moan. So good, so loose and ready for him, and it took maybe a dozen hard thrusts for Cris to fall over the edge in a blast of pleasure that lit him up from his toes to his scalp.
He had enough sense to pull out and put Jake’s legs down before collapsing on top of the smaller man. Jake draped loose arms around his waist and tucked his head beneath Cris’s chin. Warm breath tickled Cris’s sweaty chest, cooling the skin. Some guys didn’t like to cuddle after sex, but Cris did; especially if he felt an actual connection to his partner. And boy howdy, he felt something with Jake. And judging by the way Jake had burrowed in close, he felt something, too.
“You can stay,” Cris whispered, the room too quiet for full volume.
“Okay.”
Cris reluctantly left Jake’s embrace. In the bathroom, Cris wiped off, then brought a warm washcloth and clean towel into the bedroom. Jake was still boneless, so he let Cris clean off his chest, then roll him over and gently do the same for his ass. Cris kissed each butt cheek. Then Jake’s mouth, where he lingered for a long time.
Eventually, they ended up under the covers with the light out.
Jake curled up against him, head resting on Cris’s shoulder, one arm slung across Cris’s chest. All kinds of compliments rattled around in Cris’s head, but the easy silence didn’t require them. The sex had been mind-blowing for them both. That much was obvious.
Maybe he could talk Jake into another date over breakfast. He dozed on that happy thought….….only to wake with morning sunshine streaming in through open curtains. The other side of the bed was empty and cold.
Jake was gone.
And an hour later, Cris realized, so was his wallet.
#
Pre-Order Amazon Only
(c) A.M. Arthur 2017
March 3, 2017
What's Up With My Samhain Books?
By now, the majority of folks have heard the news that Samhain Publishing has closed its doors (for real this time). Ebooks are down from all major retailers, and their site is no longer functioning. Paperback versions are still for sale wherever they have remaining inventory, because the vendors own those books, and those listings will disappear once the books are sold out. Rights reversion letters are supposed to start going out to authors any minute so we can do with our books as we please.
I had eight books with Samhain, spread over two interconnected series (Cost of Repairs and Perspectives).
The good news: I'm going to republish my three Perspectives titles (The Truth As He Knows It, The World As He Sees It, and The Heart As He Hears It) on Amazon with their original cover art as soon as I get the rights back. Like, same day if possible. I'm also going to experiment by having them in Kindle Unlimited for a three-month trial. Hopefully this happens in early march, because these books are entwined with my March 17 release, Here For Us, which will also be in KU.
The less great news: the Cost of Repairs series won't be available again for a brief period of time. Why, you ask? Good question.
First, I want to re-edit them. Mostly a spit-shine, but my writing has improved over the years, so I want to go back through them. Address some errors that have popped up over time, and maybe even add some content. Second, I want to re-cover them. I'm already in contact with my original cover designer with Samhain, and the entire series is going to get an updated look. This means re-releasing them later in the year, probably beginning in the summer. I'm still fluid on that.
On a personal note, I'm sad to see Samhain shut its doors. For many, many years, it was my go-to retailer for quality m/m romances. Some of my favorite authors were published there. Hell, the very first m/m romance I ever read was published by Samhain. The day I received an acceptance email from my editor for Cost of Repairs, I about peed myself with joy. I was sad when that editor left after one book, but my second editor, Christa Soule, was a gift. She made the rest of those books shine, and I miss working with her.
So that's what's what with me right now.
I wish all of my fellow Samhain authors, editors, artists, and other employees the very best as we all pursue new endeavors.
I had eight books with Samhain, spread over two interconnected series (Cost of Repairs and Perspectives).
The good news: I'm going to republish my three Perspectives titles (The Truth As He Knows It, The World As He Sees It, and The Heart As He Hears It) on Amazon with their original cover art as soon as I get the rights back. Like, same day if possible. I'm also going to experiment by having them in Kindle Unlimited for a three-month trial. Hopefully this happens in early march, because these books are entwined with my March 17 release, Here For Us, which will also be in KU.
The less great news: the Cost of Repairs series won't be available again for a brief period of time. Why, you ask? Good question.
First, I want to re-edit them. Mostly a spit-shine, but my writing has improved over the years, so I want to go back through them. Address some errors that have popped up over time, and maybe even add some content. Second, I want to re-cover them. I'm already in contact with my original cover designer with Samhain, and the entire series is going to get an updated look. This means re-releasing them later in the year, probably beginning in the summer. I'm still fluid on that.
On a personal note, I'm sad to see Samhain shut its doors. For many, many years, it was my go-to retailer for quality m/m romances. Some of my favorite authors were published there. Hell, the very first m/m romance I ever read was published by Samhain. The day I received an acceptance email from my editor for Cost of Repairs, I about peed myself with joy. I was sad when that editor left after one book, but my second editor, Christa Soule, was a gift. She made the rest of those books shine, and I miss working with her.
So that's what's what with me right now.
I wish all of my fellow Samhain authors, editors, artists, and other employees the very best as we all pursue new endeavors.
February 13, 2017
As I Am: Release Day Thoughts on Leaving Wilmington for a While
AS I AM, the third All Saints book, releases today, and it's a bittersweet release day. This book was a happy accident and certainly not one I ever expected to write when I first contracted the series. This series was, like all of my other books with Carina Press, set in my fictional Wilmington, DE, and had interconnected characters and locations. So I knew we'd be seeing familiar faces. I just never expected one particular face.
A few years ago, when I was writing GETTING IT RIGHT (Restoration #1), I wanted to show the main character James as more than just the party guy he'd been portrayed as in the Belonging series. He's also a devoted psychiatrist who is damned good at his job. So in walked a broken teenager named Will Madden. Will was a mess, but James did everything in his power to help Will, and to some extent, he succeeded. And later on, months after the book released, a reader asked about Will. No, I hadn't planned on revisiting him again, but thanks for asking.
And then another reader asked. And another. As I began drafting COME WHAT WAY, the first All Saints, I realized that I wanted to know what had happened to Will, too. The passage of fictional time between his first appearance in GIR and his second appearance is CWM meant Will was now legally an adult. So I brought him into CWM in a small, side role that stole readers' attention right away--even readers who didn't remember/know him from GIR. He popped up again in the second All Saints, SAY IT RIGHT, and it was during that book that I knew I could finally tell Will's story. I could give him the happy ending he so deserved.
In AS I AM, three years have passed since he first began working with Dr. Taggert and trying to put his life together. He's still a mess, but he's trying to get better, to make his life into something worthwhile. Finding a worthy hero for him wasn't easy, but Taz is exactly that: worthy and perfect for Will. Taz is reclusive, bordering on agoraphobic, overweight, scarred, and is positive no one will ever want him. Will is skittish, short, too skinny, and is all mixed up about sex and attraction. Together?
Well, I'll let you readers decide how perfect they are for each other. I'm biased.
I've had a lot of fun building this interconnected world through Belonging, Restoration and All Saints. I'm stepping away from Wilmington for a little while to play in some other sandboxes, but I'll be back. There are characters with stories yet to tell, and I'll always have room for ficlets that revisit your (and my) favorite couples.
AMAZON
NOOK
KOBO
A few years ago, when I was writing GETTING IT RIGHT (Restoration #1), I wanted to show the main character James as more than just the party guy he'd been portrayed as in the Belonging series. He's also a devoted psychiatrist who is damned good at his job. So in walked a broken teenager named Will Madden. Will was a mess, but James did everything in his power to help Will, and to some extent, he succeeded. And later on, months after the book released, a reader asked about Will. No, I hadn't planned on revisiting him again, but thanks for asking.
And then another reader asked. And another. As I began drafting COME WHAT WAY, the first All Saints, I realized that I wanted to know what had happened to Will, too. The passage of fictional time between his first appearance in GIR and his second appearance is CWM meant Will was now legally an adult. So I brought him into CWM in a small, side role that stole readers' attention right away--even readers who didn't remember/know him from GIR. He popped up again in the second All Saints, SAY IT RIGHT, and it was during that book that I knew I could finally tell Will's story. I could give him the happy ending he so deserved.
In AS I AM, three years have passed since he first began working with Dr. Taggert and trying to put his life together. He's still a mess, but he's trying to get better, to make his life into something worthwhile. Finding a worthy hero for him wasn't easy, but Taz is exactly that: worthy and perfect for Will. Taz is reclusive, bordering on agoraphobic, overweight, scarred, and is positive no one will ever want him. Will is skittish, short, too skinny, and is all mixed up about sex and attraction. Together?
Well, I'll let you readers decide how perfect they are for each other. I'm biased.
I've had a lot of fun building this interconnected world through Belonging, Restoration and All Saints. I'm stepping away from Wilmington for a little while to play in some other sandboxes, but I'll be back. There are characters with stories yet to tell, and I'll always have room for ficlets that revisit your (and my) favorite couples.
Will Madden is healing.
Thanks to therapy and a growing support system, he’s taking baby steps into a promising future. One of those steps leads him to an online chatroom, where he quickly bonds with fellow PTSD sufferer Taz Zachary.
Despite their virtual connection, Taz is initially freaked out at the idea of meeting Will face-to-face. A sexual relationship may be the last thing on his mind, but his craving for human interaction—and more of the way Will makes him laugh—gives him the courage he needs to take the next step.
In person, the chemistry between them is undeniable. But Will is hurt when Taz doesn’t seem to be in any rush to get him into bed. Still, acceptance, love, and happiness all seem within reach for the first time in forever--until demons from the past threaten the future they both finally believe they deserve.
AMAZON
NOOK
KOBO
February 7, 2017
Hot Licks: Some Thoughts on Release Day
My very first m/m/m romance, HOT LICKS, is out today, and I'm both nervous and excited about it. A little less than two years ago, I was contacted by an editor at St. Martin's to write a series for their new-ish digital imprint Swerve. We brainstormed ideas, and we settled on a series about up-and-coming rock stars. I'd never written rock stars before, but hey, what's life without a challenge? We even came up with titles for all three books ahead of time.
BODY ROCKS was always about Dominic and Trey. I told their story exactly as I'd planned in the proposal: two guys from rival bands begin a secret romance. Book two, STEADY STROKE, was always going to be about Lincoln dealing with the fallout of the end of book one. But in the proposal, his hero was vastly different (an adrenaline junkie, I believe). And HOT LICKS, as per the proposal, was going to be about Tyson and a guy named Jordan (who eventually became Emmett in Steady Stroke).
The story for STEADY STROKE changed about halfway through drafting BODY ROCKS. It made more sense for the character of Jordan/Emmett to end up with Lincoln. The conflict was so much bigger once Emmett's secret came out, and while I was writing STEADY STROKE, I knew that the proposal for HOT LICKS was going out the window. Tyson had disappeared and wasn't speaking, and meanwhile, a side character named Van Holt was stealing the show in every scene he invaded. I needed to tell Van's story, but I wasn't entirely sure how.
Enter some stuff going on in my personal life. I few years ago, I accepted the fact that I was asexual, possibly demisexual, and I'd only recently begun being open about that fact on social media. It's a sexuality that is constantly misunderstood or ignored entirely, and there aren't very many ace characters in romance. Particularly in m/m romance. I'd read a handful, but I didn't see me in any of those characters. And you know what they say: write the book you want to read.
I don't remember exactly how the pieces came together in my mind. I remembered the scene where Benji flirting with Van at Off Beat in book two, while Benji and Joshua were on a break from each other. I thought about Benji's open relationship with Joshua, and I started wondering why they had that arrangement. And then Van jumped in with his two-cents and the story flowed came together from there. When I emailed my editor to tell her about the change in book three, she was thrilled, so I forged ahead.
There is more of me and my personal journey in Benji Moore than in any character I've ever written. I was in a relationship with an allosexual man--my first sexual relationship--when I finally embraced being in the asexual spectrum. A lot of my own worries and fears went into Benji: Is there something wrong with me? Will I ever be enough for him? Is it better to let him go so he can find someone who can be what he needs?
Is Benji representative of every ace person out there? Absolutely not. We exist on a spectrum, and I'm not going into detail here. That's what Google is for. But if Benji's story rings true for even one fellow ace, then I've done my job. And if this book helps allo readers understand what asexual is a little bit better, then I've done my job.
Oh yeah, and hopefully I've told a fun, engaging, sexy menage romance tale, but that's for you guys to decide.
Cheers and happy reading!
AMAZON
BARNES & NOBLE
KOBO
iBOOKS
BODY ROCKS was always about Dominic and Trey. I told their story exactly as I'd planned in the proposal: two guys from rival bands begin a secret romance. Book two, STEADY STROKE, was always going to be about Lincoln dealing with the fallout of the end of book one. But in the proposal, his hero was vastly different (an adrenaline junkie, I believe). And HOT LICKS, as per the proposal, was going to be about Tyson and a guy named Jordan (who eventually became Emmett in Steady Stroke).
The story for STEADY STROKE changed about halfway through drafting BODY ROCKS. It made more sense for the character of Jordan/Emmett to end up with Lincoln. The conflict was so much bigger once Emmett's secret came out, and while I was writing STEADY STROKE, I knew that the proposal for HOT LICKS was going out the window. Tyson had disappeared and wasn't speaking, and meanwhile, a side character named Van Holt was stealing the show in every scene he invaded. I needed to tell Van's story, but I wasn't entirely sure how.
Enter some stuff going on in my personal life. I few years ago, I accepted the fact that I was asexual, possibly demisexual, and I'd only recently begun being open about that fact on social media. It's a sexuality that is constantly misunderstood or ignored entirely, and there aren't very many ace characters in romance. Particularly in m/m romance. I'd read a handful, but I didn't see me in any of those characters. And you know what they say: write the book you want to read.
I don't remember exactly how the pieces came together in my mind. I remembered the scene where Benji flirting with Van at Off Beat in book two, while Benji and Joshua were on a break from each other. I thought about Benji's open relationship with Joshua, and I started wondering why they had that arrangement. And then Van jumped in with his two-cents and the story flowed came together from there. When I emailed my editor to tell her about the change in book three, she was thrilled, so I forged ahead.
There is more of me and my personal journey in Benji Moore than in any character I've ever written. I was in a relationship with an allosexual man--my first sexual relationship--when I finally embraced being in the asexual spectrum. A lot of my own worries and fears went into Benji: Is there something wrong with me? Will I ever be enough for him? Is it better to let him go so he can find someone who can be what he needs?
Is Benji representative of every ace person out there? Absolutely not. We exist on a spectrum, and I'm not going into detail here. That's what Google is for. But if Benji's story rings true for even one fellow ace, then I've done my job. And if this book helps allo readers understand what asexual is a little bit better, then I've done my job.
Oh yeah, and hopefully I've told a fun, engaging, sexy menage romance tale, but that's for you guys to decide.
Cheers and happy reading!
AMAZON
BARNES & NOBLE
KOBO
iBOOKS
Benji Moore is living his dream traveling as the lead singer of his band. His life would be perfect if he could get his boyfriend, Josh, to commit to an exclusive relationship.
Even though Josh loves Benji, he has good reasons not to trust in long-term relationships. So Josh decides to take some time to himself and sublets a room at a friend’s beach house. But when he walks into the nearby Off Beat bar, he finds a bartender who may be a good distraction from his relationship problems.
Van Holt doesn’t do anything deeper than sweaty one-night stands. But when Josh sets his sights on him, Van is surprised by their connection. Except Van also doesn’t do complicated, and the situation between Josh and Benji defines complicated. But the more time Van spends with them, the more he’s realizing how hard it would be to let Josh and Benji go.
Can the three of them find a way together, or will they all end up going solo?
January 2, 2017
Goodbye 2016, Hello New Year
(Edited.)
Before writing this post, I decided to go back and re-read last year's blog post that summed up 2015 and looked into 2016. It was so full of hope and expectations and joy, because 2016 was going to be my first year as a full-time author. I'd still work one day a week at the former day job, mostly to ensure physical activity and social interaction, but yeah...full-time author.
It definitely didn't go as planned.
2015 remains the best year of my writing career, money-wise. It enabled me to write full-time. Two important things led me to the choice to give up my full-time with benefits day job last year.
1) The royalties I earned over the course of 2015 allowed me to have a savings account for the first time since I was a teenager. For many years, I'd seen a certain piece of advice given to writers about making the leap to full-time: don't do it until you have enough money saved to live at least one year. I had that.
2) Samhain Publishing. At the time, I had seven books out with them and two contracted for 2016. Samhain pays monthly. Those monthly checks, knowing I'd have that solid monthly income, was part of my plan.
So when Samhain announced on February 26, 2016 that they were closing, I had a minor meltdown. This was not part of my plan. I spent several months quietly panicking about how to deal with reissuing all of my titles. I got rights to Fractured Hymns (originally contracted to be published by them in September 2016) back on June 22. And then literally THE NEXT DAY Samhain announced "Just kidding!" We aren't closing after all. Oops.
But trust was lost. Not only from readers, but from authors, editors, artists, and everyone else who'd been burned by the closing announcement. When I first began writing m/m, Samhain was my dream publisher. I was over the moon when Cost of Repairs was accepted by them. But I don't trust them enough to publish with them again. My royalties from them are at an all time low, and it's scary.
Let's not even talk about the sudden, end of the year shutdown of ARe and the money they're stealing from us.
Across the board, my sales are down, and it's difficult to pinpoint why. I wrote something a little off-brand with Off Beat, because my publisher wanted a marketable concept, and rock stars are always marketable, right? Nope. But I'm still super proud of this series and I love the characters to pieces, so I have no regrets. Same with All Saints, which hasn't been as popular as either Belonging or Restoration. New Adult seems to be winding down a bit in popularity, so it could be as simple as a market shift. But All Saints was also my first time being published in mass market paperback, so again, no regrets. No regrets, but doubts abound.
At the end of my first year as a full-time author, I'm doubting myself. Doubting the decision. I don't regret it, and I don't regret any of the books I published in 2016, but I am doubting myself. Doubting every single decision I make. And I'm wondering if I'll be able to pull this full-time author thing off again in 2017.
But I don't want this to be a total gloom-and-doom post, because 2016 had some amazing highlights for me, as well.
I had six books release this past year, which is amazing. I launched two new series with Come What May (All Saints) and Body Rocks (Off Beat). Both series had book two release, as well (Say It Right and Steady Stroke, respectively). The third Perspectives book (The Heart As He Hears It) gave you guys the cutest kitten ever in Bear. And then there was Fractured Hymns, a novel very dear to my heart.
My goal as a full-time author was 40,000 words a month. 10,000 a week didn't seem too scary. Broken down into 5 days, it's only 2000 words a day. I had some super-amazing writing months (69k words in August) and some incredibly terrible months (less than 6k in September. But my monthly average was 41k, and I ended the year having written 500,440 words!!!! Half a million words. WOW. That number doesn't even include dozens of promotional blog posts.
I finished writing Steady Stroke in early January. So in 2016 I completed Say It Right (angst level: expert) Hot Licks (my first menage romance), As I Am (Will's book!), and Here For Us (my second surprise menage). I worked on, but did not complete, my first shifter story, a new Prodigal universe story, a new Cost of Repairs novel, and something I'll call Super Angsty Thing. I wrote two free shorts: Adopting Faith and Do You See What I See?
I also self-published for the first time with Fractured Hymns! It was a fun experience, and I absolutely plan to self-publish more books in 2017.
Maybe the biggest highlight of my year was creating A.M.'s Pot O Gold, a reader group on Facebook for chatting, giveaways, early news, and general fun. It's got a great bunch of people in it, and we're always open to new members.
Maybe best of all, though, is my daily interaction with readers, bloggers and fellow authors through social media. The continued love and support means everything to me.
Looking into 2017, I don't have too much to report as of yet. I'm not under new contract with any of my publishers (yet, fingers crossed), and my last two contracted releases come out in February: Hot Licks on 2/7 and As I Am 2/13. I hope to self-publish Here For Us in March. Beyond that....again...doubts. I am absolutely not going to quit writing m/m romance. I love it too much, and I love this community too much. But I need to figure out how to make that downward slow arch back upward again.
What's that sports term....ah. Rebuilding year. Maybe that's what I'll look at 2017 as: a rebuilding year.
Peace, love and happiness, y'all.
Before writing this post, I decided to go back and re-read last year's blog post that summed up 2015 and looked into 2016. It was so full of hope and expectations and joy, because 2016 was going to be my first year as a full-time author. I'd still work one day a week at the former day job, mostly to ensure physical activity and social interaction, but yeah...full-time author.
It definitely didn't go as planned.
2015 remains the best year of my writing career, money-wise. It enabled me to write full-time. Two important things led me to the choice to give up my full-time with benefits day job last year.
1) The royalties I earned over the course of 2015 allowed me to have a savings account for the first time since I was a teenager. For many years, I'd seen a certain piece of advice given to writers about making the leap to full-time: don't do it until you have enough money saved to live at least one year. I had that.
2) Samhain Publishing. At the time, I had seven books out with them and two contracted for 2016. Samhain pays monthly. Those monthly checks, knowing I'd have that solid monthly income, was part of my plan.
So when Samhain announced on February 26, 2016 that they were closing, I had a minor meltdown. This was not part of my plan. I spent several months quietly panicking about how to deal with reissuing all of my titles. I got rights to Fractured Hymns (originally contracted to be published by them in September 2016) back on June 22. And then literally THE NEXT DAY Samhain announced "Just kidding!" We aren't closing after all. Oops.
But trust was lost. Not only from readers, but from authors, editors, artists, and everyone else who'd been burned by the closing announcement. When I first began writing m/m, Samhain was my dream publisher. I was over the moon when Cost of Repairs was accepted by them. But I don't trust them enough to publish with them again. My royalties from them are at an all time low, and it's scary.
Let's not even talk about the sudden, end of the year shutdown of ARe and the money they're stealing from us.
Across the board, my sales are down, and it's difficult to pinpoint why. I wrote something a little off-brand with Off Beat, because my publisher wanted a marketable concept, and rock stars are always marketable, right? Nope. But I'm still super proud of this series and I love the characters to pieces, so I have no regrets. Same with All Saints, which hasn't been as popular as either Belonging or Restoration. New Adult seems to be winding down a bit in popularity, so it could be as simple as a market shift. But All Saints was also my first time being published in mass market paperback, so again, no regrets. No regrets, but doubts abound.
At the end of my first year as a full-time author, I'm doubting myself. Doubting the decision. I don't regret it, and I don't regret any of the books I published in 2016, but I am doubting myself. Doubting every single decision I make. And I'm wondering if I'll be able to pull this full-time author thing off again in 2017.
But I don't want this to be a total gloom-and-doom post, because 2016 had some amazing highlights for me, as well.
I had six books release this past year, which is amazing. I launched two new series with Come What May (All Saints) and Body Rocks (Off Beat). Both series had book two release, as well (Say It Right and Steady Stroke, respectively). The third Perspectives book (The Heart As He Hears It) gave you guys the cutest kitten ever in Bear. And then there was Fractured Hymns, a novel very dear to my heart.
My goal as a full-time author was 40,000 words a month. 10,000 a week didn't seem too scary. Broken down into 5 days, it's only 2000 words a day. I had some super-amazing writing months (69k words in August) and some incredibly terrible months (less than 6k in September. But my monthly average was 41k, and I ended the year having written 500,440 words!!!! Half a million words. WOW. That number doesn't even include dozens of promotional blog posts.
I finished writing Steady Stroke in early January. So in 2016 I completed Say It Right (angst level: expert) Hot Licks (my first menage romance), As I Am (Will's book!), and Here For Us (my second surprise menage). I worked on, but did not complete, my first shifter story, a new Prodigal universe story, a new Cost of Repairs novel, and something I'll call Super Angsty Thing. I wrote two free shorts: Adopting Faith and Do You See What I See?
I also self-published for the first time with Fractured Hymns! It was a fun experience, and I absolutely plan to self-publish more books in 2017.
Maybe the biggest highlight of my year was creating A.M.'s Pot O Gold, a reader group on Facebook for chatting, giveaways, early news, and general fun. It's got a great bunch of people in it, and we're always open to new members.
Maybe best of all, though, is my daily interaction with readers, bloggers and fellow authors through social media. The continued love and support means everything to me.
Looking into 2017, I don't have too much to report as of yet. I'm not under new contract with any of my publishers (yet, fingers crossed), and my last two contracted releases come out in February: Hot Licks on 2/7 and As I Am 2/13. I hope to self-publish Here For Us in March. Beyond that....again...doubts. I am absolutely not going to quit writing m/m romance. I love it too much, and I love this community too much. But I need to figure out how to make that downward slow arch back upward again.
What's that sports term....ah. Rebuilding year. Maybe that's what I'll look at 2017 as: a rebuilding year.
Peace, love and happiness, y'all.
December 21, 2016
Free Read: Do You See What I See?
The Perspectives Holiday short story that I wrote for my Facebook readers group and newsletter subscribers is now available for all to read. There are two links below, one to read directly from my site, and the other to download from Dropbox. Enjoy!
"It's their first Christmas together in their own apartment, so Tristan Lavalle wants to start his own tradition with boyfriend Gabe Henson, involving a very naughty Elf on the Shelf. But the joy of the holidays begin to remind Tristan of the past...and of the parents he never really said goodbye to."
Site Link
Dropbox Link
November 20, 2016
The Big Gay Fiction Giveaway, November 20-27
The Big Gay Fiction Giveaway is underway, November 20-27. Eighty authors are involved, offering free novels, novellas and short stories to readers. My own novel, Fractured Hymns, is included in the giveaway, along with some other amazing looking stories.
Many authors are asking, in return for your free download, that you sign up for their mailing list. Since not all of us who are offering books use the mailing list system linked to Instafreebie, you can also thank the author by liking their Facebook page, following them on Twitter, leaving a review somewhere, or just reaching out and saying "thank you!"
Happy reading!
Giveaway: http://www.michaeljensen.com/free-books/
Direct link to Fractured Hymns: https://www.instafreebie.com/free/aklJy
My Newsletter: https://vr2.verticalresponse.com/s/si...
October 31, 2016
Free Halloween Ficlet: RolePlay
Elliott Quinn tried to catch his boyfriend at the door and issue a fair warning, but the front door slammed shut in the same moment that Eliza Grace let out a terrific laughing screech—the eardrum piercing kind that only truly joyful babies can create. He was tickling his one year-old honorary niece with the feather in his costume cap, earning those wonderful peals of laughter, and he’d totally lost track of time.
“Oopsie,” Elliott said to Eliza Grace. “I think Uncle Auggie is going to be surprised to see you.”
“El?” Augustus’s deep voice boomed up the stairs to the second floor. “Do you have Tori’s kid again?”
Elliott turned his head to shout out the bedroom door, instead of into the baby’s face. “Maybe. Come upstairs and say hi.”
Heavy footsteps trod up the carpeted steps, moving steadily closer. Elliott fluffed the gauzy wings attached to the back of Eliza Grace’s dress, then stepped aside so his boyfriend could get the full effect.
Augustus Rhinehart filled the doorway to their bedroom, fatigue weighing down his broad frame. His dark eyes widened as he took them in, and then he started laughing.
Like, really laughing.
“What?” Elliott couldn’t help his affronted squawk. “You’re supposed to say how adorable we both look.”
“I’m sorry, I just--” He coughed like he always did when trying to control himself. “Didn’t expect this, and I should have, because it’s so you.”
Since Augustus didn’t know that Elliott had impulsively planned their entire evening in the last forty-five minutes, the “so you” wasn’t his love of last minute preparations and parties. The “so you” was the fact that he’d raided a pop-up costume store so he could take Eliza Grace trick-or-treating in the most perfect costumes: he’d dressed up as a blond Peter Pan, while she was decked out in the cutest (and age appropriate) Tinkerbell dress possible.
“Here’s an obvious question, though,” Augustus said. “Why do you have the baby, instead of her parents?”
“Because Tori called me less than an hour ago, super upset, because Allen is uber-sick with the flu and still blowing chunks, and she didn’t want to leave him alone, but she didn’t want Eliza Grace to miss her first Halloween out.”
Last year, Eliza Grace had only been sixteen days old on Halloween, the weather had been cold and rainy, and her parents decided not to risk their newborn’s health for candy she couldn’t even eat. She still couldn’t eat much of it this year, but Uncle Elliott was ready to help out in that department. Ever since meeting and falling in love with Augustus over two years ago, Elliott had embraced soft belly, so gorging on sweets was not out of the question.
And maybe Elliott was the only one out of his trio of very best friends who didn’t still have at least a four-pack, but whatever. Augustus loved his body and nothing else mattered.
Augustus stepped over to the bed, his mouth quirking in the adoring smile he reserved for two people: Eliza Grace and his nephew Jack. “She does make an adorable Tinkerbell. But Peter Pan?”
“What?” Elliott twirled, showing off the green tights and tunic. “You don’t like?”
“Don’t ever change, El.” Augustus planted a loving kiss on his lips. “Does this mean I get to follow along in the car for when you inevitably get tired of holding both her and the candy?”
“Oh hell—I mean, heck no.” He reached behind the bedroom door where he’d stashed the other costume, revealing it with a flourish. “You, my love, are going to join us on our candy hunt. Say hello to Wilmington’s hottest Captain Hook.”
Augustus stared at the costume, which Elliott might have paid a little too much for, but now that he owned it, he was pretty sure he’d soon be developing a pirate fetish. Black, bloused trousers, a white shirt that only buttoned up halfway, and a beautiful red velvet jacket with all the trimmings. He’d even gotten a hat with long, black curls sewn in, since Augustus kept his hair cut short.
“Peter Pan and Captain Hook, huh?” Augustus said.
“I know, I know, there’s an argument to be made about daddy issues, but I promise you mine are long since resolved. Besides, I should get creativity points for pulling all this together in less than an hour.”
“And you do get points. One question, though?”
Elliott crossed his arms. “Yeah?”
“Did James and Boxer each already have plans?”
He let out an exasperated grunt. “Maybe. So?” His two best friends, Boxer and James, were a lot less flighty and way more down to earth than Elliott—their significant others, too—so yeah, they’d made more sense to take Eliza Grace out. Elliott hadn’t been offended that he’d been Tori’s third call for a sitter, especially when most of his attempts at babysitting solo consisted of many frantic phone calls to his various friends for advice. He still hadn’t figured out her “I’m hungry” cries from her “I shit my diaper” cries.
“Only asking, babe,” Augustus said. “Let me grab something to eat, and then I’ll get changed.”
Elliott bounced up on his toes. “So you’re coming with us?”
“Watching you trick-or-treat with a baby in your arms? I wouldn’t miss it.”
“And you get to be a pirate.”
Augustus eyeballed him in a less-than subtle way. “Do we have her the entire night?”
“I offered but Tori didn’t trust me with her all night, even with you here.” Elliott shrugged, not put off in the least. It meant he could strip Augustus out of his costume one piece at a time, so sexy Captain Hook could fuck Peter Pan senseless. “I’m not sad about that. And there’s food already in the microwave. Go heat it up, then get dressed, Cap’n.”
“Aye, aye.”
Elliott carried Eliza Grace downstairs behind Augustus, careful of her dress’s wings. He didn’t want to crush them before they’d visited one house. She seemed content to sit on a blanket in the middle of the living room floor, so Elliott grabbed a piece of paper out of a kitchen drawer. He’d bought candy, expecting to be home to pass it out, but now that they were going out he planned to leave it on the porch in a bowl. The handmade “One piece please” sign probably wouldn’t do any good, but he’d feel better knowing he tried.
Augustus ate quickly, then dashed back upstairs. Elliott amused himself by re-enacting bits of the Disney version of Peter Pan that he remembered, much to Eliza Grace’s ear shattering delight. That kid had the most amazing laugh. Mostly he jumped around and acted the fool, and she ate it up.
The sun was starting to set, sending small pockets of children into the streets, when Augustus finally descended the stairs. Elliott resisted the urge to cover Eliza Grace’s eyes with his hand; she was too young to understand how smoking hot her Uncle Auggie was in his Captain Hook costume.
More for Elliott to ogle. The trousers were almost too small, hugging Augustus in all the right places. The unbuttoned shirt showed off miles of dark chest and wiry black hair. And the hat and wig? Elliott checked his chin for drool because HELLO. Then he pinched himself hard on the thigh, because his own tights were not going to hide a hard-on if he kept staring.
“Holy damn. Um, darn.” Elliott shook himself all over. “Why didn’t we try costume role play before now?”
Augustus gave him an innocent smile, then lifted the tail of his jacket to show off his ass. “Why? Something look good?”
“You’re killing me here, Auggie, seriously killing me.”
“Hey, you bought the costume, Peter Pan.”
“Yes, I did, and I have no regrets whatsoever. None. Nope.” Okay, so maybe he sort of, kind of regretted needing to leave the house to trick-or-treat with a one year-old, but not really. He’d never get this chance again with Eliza Grace. Sex could definitely wait a few more hours.
Augustus stalked over slowly, intently, like a real pirate about to take his conquest. “You do realize that later on, when we’re alone, nothing comes off. Not even the hat.”
“Same for you, Cap’n. I want to feel those curls on the back of my neck.”
He growled softly. “You’d have loved my dreads. Sometimes I think about letting them grow out again.”
“I think that would be sexy as hell—heck.”
“Hmmm.” Augustus palmed his ass, and dear God, they needed to leave before Elliott did pop wood. “Have I mentioned lately how much I’m starting to love Halloween?”
“Not lately.”
“I love Halloween. And I love you, Elliott Quinn.”
Elliott’s heart turned over hard. No matter how many times Augustus said it, it meant everything to Elliott. He’d fought so hard to be a man worth loving. His relationship with Augustus hadn’t been without its own difficulties, but they’d found a way to forgive and move on as a committed couple. “I love you more, Augustus Rhinehart.”
He squatted to pick his Tinkerbell up off the floor. “And I love you too, little niece of mine.” She tried to grab his feather cap again and succeeded in knocking it to the ground. “It’s going to be like that, is it?”
Augustus snatched the hat up with a chuff of laughter, then plunked it back down on Elliott’s head. “You know, for all your insecurities, you really are amazing with her. You’d make a great dad.”
Elliott shrugged. “It’s easier when it’s someone else’s kid. I can give her back at the end of the day, let her parents do all the hard work.” He leveled Augustus with a suspicious look. “Why? You just turned forty, don’t tell me you want to start a family now?”
“Forty isn’t all that old, thank you. And no, I’m not saying that. We’ve had this discussion. Your cat is high maintenance enough, and we like our life as is. I’m just saying you’re better at this than you give yourself credit for. Plus Dawn, Beverly and Billy adore you.”
And he adored the three kids of Augustus’s best friend right back. Plus, now that Dawn was in high school, she regularly texted Elliott for boy advice, which was ten kinds of awesome. Elliott was officially the Cool Uncle. “Like I’ve always said, I like other people’s kids.” He grinned. “But if you really want someone new in your life, running around your ankles, Schtump could always use a sibling.”
Augustus surprised him by not turning down the idea of a second cat. “How about we discuss the idea of visiting a rescue shelter while we’re getting this pretty little pixie some Halloween candy?”
“Yeah?” They’d never talked about adopting another pet, mostly because Schtump was seriously picky about the humans she liked. Mixing in a second feline might be asking for trouble—and serious flesh wounds.
“Yeah.” Augustus grinned. “If it’s what you want.”
“Cool.” He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted another cat, but he loved knowing the option was absolutely on the table.
Augustus grabbed his keys and the glittery bucket Elliott bought as their candy pail. He held the front door open. “After you, Mr. Pan.”
“Why thank you, Captain.”
They didn’t have to leave the neighborhood to trick-or-treat, so he and Augustus walked down the sidewalk to the first house with a light on, elbows touching, Eliza Grace perched on Elliott’s hip. Groups of kids and parents were already wandering the street, laughing and pointing out costumes.
Elliott ignored the occasional glare from disapproving parents, because he was happy, dammit, and he didn’t need anyone else to approve of his life. One little girl dressed as a fairy squealed and insisted her mom take a picture with their trio. Peter Pan was apparently her favorite Disney movie, and she seemed in complete awe of “Captain Hook.” Augustus ate it up as much as Elliott did.
And later on that night, after delivering Eliza Grace and her bucket of candy home to her parents—minus a mini candy bar or five—Elliott and Augustus removed the minimal amount of clothing necessary in order for Augustus to bend him over the kitchen counter and fuck him senseless.
Twice.
Best. Halloween. Ever.
© A.M. Arthur 2016
Do Not Redistribute Without Permission
October 27, 2016
Lines On My Wrist -- Or Why Labels Matter
I've thought about writing this blog post for almost four years.
Every time LGBT history month rolls around, I think about this post.
Every time awareness week rolls around, I think about this post.
Every time Pride month rolls around, I think about this post.
I thought about this post on June 1 of this year.
I thought about it again on June 12, the morning after the Orlando massacre, when I first sat down to watch the news and mourn so many innocent lives lost.
I've thought about it every week since, while small battles played out on the internet, and I knew it was time to stop being silent.
There are four small, pale lines on my wrist that I want to talk about.
Buckle up, this is a long one, and it gets pretty personal.
My entire life, from adolescence to now, I haven't been quite like the others. I liked boys, but I had no burning desire to date, couple up, or to have sex. I was curious about sex, sure, and if it actually felt as good as masturbating, but actually getting it on? Being with a guy? No thanks.
I've also always been the girl that guys are friends with, but don't actually want to date--at least, until I hit my thirties.
In high school, one guy ever asked me out, and that was to his sophomore Homecoming dance. He didn’t even go to my school; we met in church youth group. He might have kissed my cheek when the dance was over, I don’t remember. It was our only date.
In college, no one asked me out, not in four years, and while I felt awkward and excluded, I also felt relieved that there would be no pressure to fool around. I had crushes on boys, but looking back they were aesthetic crushes. “You’re cute” crushes, not “I want to jump your bones” crushes. And they always tended to be on guys I was around repeatedly, whether for extra-curriculars, or class assignments.
It wasn't until my mid-twenties, when relatives stopped asking when I'd bring a nice boy around and started to ask if I was a lesbian, that I thought something was wrong with me.
What was wrong with me?
Turns out, nothing is wrong with me. But it took me several years to fully understand and embrace that.
Growing up, watching my peers begin dating, knowing they were having sex, I felt disconnected and awkward. I was curious to know what the hubbub was all about, but had no driving need to actually explore it. I masturbated because it felt good, but the idea of being naked with a guy, of doing naked things with a guy, was terrifying. I felt safe around my guy friends because none of them ever treated me as a sexual object--maybe if someone had, I might have figured all of this out sooner. I don't know.
I was 26 when I had my first kiss, and I learned something that day: kissing is awesome. The guy kissed me after our first date, an unexpected surprise after walking me to my car. He was a great kisser, but we only dated a few weeks and never moved beyond that. For me, that was cool. Whatever. I’ve gotten used to this single thing, anyway.
I did kind of miss kissing, though.
I was 30-31 the first time I “saw” someone come out as asexual. It was on a writing forum, and I’d never heard the term asexual used as anything other than a science term for cell reproduction. But her story sounded so familiar and it made me wonder. So I did some research, and this was the first time I found AVEN (Asexual Visibility and Education Network). At first, I was confused because “asexual” seemed to contradict itself sometimes. I mean, how could someone not feel sexual attraction and still like sex? What?
But the more I read about the personal experiences of others, the more I read about the asexual spectrum and the various other identities within, it became less confusing. It began to make sense.
Around that same time, a new guy asked me out. We met for coffee and hung out for a few hours. We got along really well, loved the same movies, had similar senses of humor. Making out was fun because it felt good, but there was no urgency on my part to go further, to be naked, etc…. We dated a few months, but I knew in my heart that it wasn’t going to last. I enjoyed our time together but sometimes a date felt more like a chore than fun, so I ended it as gently as possible. He’s a sweetheart and we’re still in contact on social media.
But after that breakup, I started to wonder….really, really wonder. Could I be asexual? Maybe I just hadn't found the right guy--it wasn't as if I'd tried that hard. And somehow that old, acephobic chestnut got stuck in my head: how could I be sure I didn't feel sexual attraction if I've never had sex? I couldn't right? (Note: wrong, I could know)
And since I wasn’t dating anyone at the time, I convinced myself the label no longer mattered.
I was 32 when I started dating an amazing guy. Only the third guy I've dated in my entire 36 years on earth. We had everything in common, from movies to TV shows, to the things we enjoyed doing. The same raunchy, sarcastic sense of humor. Our first lunch date turned into eight hours of conversation. I really connected to this guy, whom I’ll call Pete. Pete was everything I’d been looking for in a guy. The emotional and mental attraction was there from the start, but....BUT...
Something wasn’t there. By this point in my life, I knew for absolute sure that I enjoyed the physical pleasure aspects of sexual activity. I am in no way sex repulsed, as some aces are. I experience arousal, because that's biology. But the idea of being with someone so intimately was terrifying.
Pete seemed to pick up on that, and he was patient, even when I finally, tearfully, admitted I was a virgin. I was horribly embarrassed to be the age I was and admit I’d never had sex. But the better I got to know Pete, the more comfortable I got with the idea of maybe, finally, seeing what it was all about. Hell, maybe we’d do it, it would be all the magical rainbows people said it was, and I’d realize I wasn’t actually ace at all!
It was good. Intense but immensely enjoyable. The physical release? Awesome! I liked sex. Cool.
But afterward I didn't feel more connected to him, like I've read about in romance novels. I didn’t have this sudden, urgent need to be with him all the time. I didn't want to cuddle and bask in the afterglow; I wanted to clean up and go do something else. Each time we had sex after that, I hoped I’d feel something new for him. That thing I’d never felt before; that nebulous thing everyone else seemed to feel for other people: sexual attraction.
I went back to AVEN and started to wonder. And realize. And accept. As a writer, I’m better putting words down on paper than saying them out loud, so four months after we began seeing each other, I wrote Pete a letter explaining what I’d finally realized and was trying to accept about myself.
I'm asexual.
The letter was two pages, single spaced. I wanted to be clear. I wanted to be gentle. I wanted to help him understand my new truth. A truth I was still struggling to understand myself. But most of all, I wanted acceptance. Maybe if he accepted me, I could finally accept myself.
Pete’s first reaction after finishing the letter: Are you breaking up with me?
It’s more devastating looking back than it was in that moment, because I have a clearer perspective. In the moment, me being me, I tried to make Pete feel better. Tried to insist it wasn't him, it was me (which was true). He tried the “yeah, but you enjoyed sex” argument, to which I tried to explain that sexual attraction and arousal are not the same thing (I have a much clearer understanding of this difference now, but back then it still confused me a little too).
I don’t think he truly understood what I was trying to tell him, and maybe we should have broken up then, I don't know. But I hated upsetting him, I reassured him.
I made it better for him. Not for myself.
We stayed together for several more months, and I have some outstanding memories of being with him. But sex is why I eventually broke up with him.
We lived several hours apart, so we didn’t see each other all the time. I tried my best to understand his needs as an allosexual person to have sex in order to be close to me, to express his feelings, and I don’t know if he ever truly tried to see our relationship from my point of view—from the point of view of someone happy to spend six hours making 80’s movies jokes, and then go to bed and sleep.
We're still friends, bless him, and he's now happily married, while I'm still happily single.
But at the time I felt guilty for breaking his heart. I didn't want to be ace. I wanted to be "normal." I wanted to be a person who was sexually attracted to others, and who desired a committed relationship, dammit.
But I don't, and I'm not.
After that I drank a lot.
I drank because I didn’t want to be ace, and I drank because one of my careers was falling apart piece by piece. I was angry, worried, depressed, anxious, and also resigned to being “less than.” To always being fourth of fifth best. Never at the head of the class. Never truly successful in life or in relationships. It was a very scary couple of months for me, and no one in my real life knew a thing was wrong.
I'd drink to get numb, but then I'd get upset and want to feel something, so I'd take a nice, sharp pair of nail scissors and cut the underside of my wrist with them. Shallow, horizontal cuts, because I wanted the pain, not to die.
Only one co-worker ever noticed or asked about the bandage I hid beneath my watch band. I said it was an accident in the kitchen.
She bought it.
And then a funny thing happened.
I started getting more active within the LGBTQIA community, thanks to my slowly building career as an m/m romance author. I met other aces online. I began to embrace the fact that yes, I was different, but I wasn't alone. I was other, but I was part of something bigger than me. I silently embraced the label that other people seem to think shouldn’t matter, because labels don’t matter to them.
The ace label matters to me.
I got better. Happier. Healthier.
Last summer, I told my best friend. She told me she loved me no matter what. We both cried happy tears.
But I've still been scared. In the past, when fellow m/m authors asked for an ace perspective on something they wrote, I considered speaking up, and then stayed silent. I've shown support to fellow aces, but not solidarity. Not in the ways that I think matter. Not in the ways that have me shoulder to shoulder with my community, saying we are valid. We deserve a spot at the fucking table.
And I'm ashamed of myself for taking so long to stand up, even while understanding that I had to do it when I was ready.
My family and co-workers don't know I'm ace. They don’t know I’m part of the full acronym they hate so much. They don't know I write gay romance. I'm terrified to tell them. I live in Bumfuck, USA, surrounded by Trump supporters. You can’t throw a stick without hitting a Trump lawn sign.
A.M. Arthur isn't the name on my birth certificate, but everything I’ve written today is part of who I am. It’s all me, from the jokes I tell online to the personality, to the movies and TV shows I watch. The opinions I have. Me. I have felt more free to be me here as A.M. Arthur than I’ve ever felt under my birth name.
Mostly.
A few weeks ago, there was a Facebook thread that devolved into a lot of acephobic rhetoric that hurt. A lot. We were told asexuality isn’t actually a sexual orientation (newsflash, YES, it is). We were belittled for wanting equal and accurate representation, for asking for others to listen to ace people when we speak. We were punched down on for existing, period.
And every time someone else, especially fellow m/m authors, said we weren’t valid, I looked at the scars on my wrist. Those lines are still there.
Four small, pale lines that I will carry for the rest of my life.
Four small, pale lines that I created out of emotional pain that had nowhere else to go except into my skin.
Four small, pale lines that remind me every single day of the struggle other people are going through right now. Trying to accept that asexuality isn’t a curse, that they aren’t broken, that their identity is just as valid as anyone else.
Four small, pale lines that prove I can love myself for all of my uniqueness, even if other people choose to remain ignorant, instead of listening and understanding.
Four small, pale lines that silently tell my story. Silently, until now.
Respect. Listen. Learn.
Someone in your life that you know and love might be trying to accept their asexuality right now—don’t let your ignorance and unwillingness to educate yourself be the reason they live the rest of their lives with lines on their wrists.
For those who do listen, do respect, and want to learn: Thank you.
Embracing my label, embracing myself, means those four lines will never become five.
Every time LGBT history month rolls around, I think about this post.
Every time awareness week rolls around, I think about this post.
Every time Pride month rolls around, I think about this post.
I thought about this post on June 1 of this year.
I thought about it again on June 12, the morning after the Orlando massacre, when I first sat down to watch the news and mourn so many innocent lives lost.
I've thought about it every week since, while small battles played out on the internet, and I knew it was time to stop being silent.
There are four small, pale lines on my wrist that I want to talk about.
Buckle up, this is a long one, and it gets pretty personal.
My entire life, from adolescence to now, I haven't been quite like the others. I liked boys, but I had no burning desire to date, couple up, or to have sex. I was curious about sex, sure, and if it actually felt as good as masturbating, but actually getting it on? Being with a guy? No thanks.
I've also always been the girl that guys are friends with, but don't actually want to date--at least, until I hit my thirties.
In high school, one guy ever asked me out, and that was to his sophomore Homecoming dance. He didn’t even go to my school; we met in church youth group. He might have kissed my cheek when the dance was over, I don’t remember. It was our only date.
In college, no one asked me out, not in four years, and while I felt awkward and excluded, I also felt relieved that there would be no pressure to fool around. I had crushes on boys, but looking back they were aesthetic crushes. “You’re cute” crushes, not “I want to jump your bones” crushes. And they always tended to be on guys I was around repeatedly, whether for extra-curriculars, or class assignments.
It wasn't until my mid-twenties, when relatives stopped asking when I'd bring a nice boy around and started to ask if I was a lesbian, that I thought something was wrong with me.
What was wrong with me?
Turns out, nothing is wrong with me. But it took me several years to fully understand and embrace that.
Growing up, watching my peers begin dating, knowing they were having sex, I felt disconnected and awkward. I was curious to know what the hubbub was all about, but had no driving need to actually explore it. I masturbated because it felt good, but the idea of being naked with a guy, of doing naked things with a guy, was terrifying. I felt safe around my guy friends because none of them ever treated me as a sexual object--maybe if someone had, I might have figured all of this out sooner. I don't know.
I was 26 when I had my first kiss, and I learned something that day: kissing is awesome. The guy kissed me after our first date, an unexpected surprise after walking me to my car. He was a great kisser, but we only dated a few weeks and never moved beyond that. For me, that was cool. Whatever. I’ve gotten used to this single thing, anyway.
I did kind of miss kissing, though.
I was 30-31 the first time I “saw” someone come out as asexual. It was on a writing forum, and I’d never heard the term asexual used as anything other than a science term for cell reproduction. But her story sounded so familiar and it made me wonder. So I did some research, and this was the first time I found AVEN (Asexual Visibility and Education Network). At first, I was confused because “asexual” seemed to contradict itself sometimes. I mean, how could someone not feel sexual attraction and still like sex? What?
But the more I read about the personal experiences of others, the more I read about the asexual spectrum and the various other identities within, it became less confusing. It began to make sense.
Around that same time, a new guy asked me out. We met for coffee and hung out for a few hours. We got along really well, loved the same movies, had similar senses of humor. Making out was fun because it felt good, but there was no urgency on my part to go further, to be naked, etc…. We dated a few months, but I knew in my heart that it wasn’t going to last. I enjoyed our time together but sometimes a date felt more like a chore than fun, so I ended it as gently as possible. He’s a sweetheart and we’re still in contact on social media.
But after that breakup, I started to wonder….really, really wonder. Could I be asexual? Maybe I just hadn't found the right guy--it wasn't as if I'd tried that hard. And somehow that old, acephobic chestnut got stuck in my head: how could I be sure I didn't feel sexual attraction if I've never had sex? I couldn't right? (Note: wrong, I could know)
And since I wasn’t dating anyone at the time, I convinced myself the label no longer mattered.
I was 32 when I started dating an amazing guy. Only the third guy I've dated in my entire 36 years on earth. We had everything in common, from movies to TV shows, to the things we enjoyed doing. The same raunchy, sarcastic sense of humor. Our first lunch date turned into eight hours of conversation. I really connected to this guy, whom I’ll call Pete. Pete was everything I’d been looking for in a guy. The emotional and mental attraction was there from the start, but....BUT...
Something wasn’t there. By this point in my life, I knew for absolute sure that I enjoyed the physical pleasure aspects of sexual activity. I am in no way sex repulsed, as some aces are. I experience arousal, because that's biology. But the idea of being with someone so intimately was terrifying.
Pete seemed to pick up on that, and he was patient, even when I finally, tearfully, admitted I was a virgin. I was horribly embarrassed to be the age I was and admit I’d never had sex. But the better I got to know Pete, the more comfortable I got with the idea of maybe, finally, seeing what it was all about. Hell, maybe we’d do it, it would be all the magical rainbows people said it was, and I’d realize I wasn’t actually ace at all!
It was good. Intense but immensely enjoyable. The physical release? Awesome! I liked sex. Cool.
But afterward I didn't feel more connected to him, like I've read about in romance novels. I didn’t have this sudden, urgent need to be with him all the time. I didn't want to cuddle and bask in the afterglow; I wanted to clean up and go do something else. Each time we had sex after that, I hoped I’d feel something new for him. That thing I’d never felt before; that nebulous thing everyone else seemed to feel for other people: sexual attraction.
I went back to AVEN and started to wonder. And realize. And accept. As a writer, I’m better putting words down on paper than saying them out loud, so four months after we began seeing each other, I wrote Pete a letter explaining what I’d finally realized and was trying to accept about myself.
I'm asexual.
The letter was two pages, single spaced. I wanted to be clear. I wanted to be gentle. I wanted to help him understand my new truth. A truth I was still struggling to understand myself. But most of all, I wanted acceptance. Maybe if he accepted me, I could finally accept myself.
Pete’s first reaction after finishing the letter: Are you breaking up with me?
It’s more devastating looking back than it was in that moment, because I have a clearer perspective. In the moment, me being me, I tried to make Pete feel better. Tried to insist it wasn't him, it was me (which was true). He tried the “yeah, but you enjoyed sex” argument, to which I tried to explain that sexual attraction and arousal are not the same thing (I have a much clearer understanding of this difference now, but back then it still confused me a little too).
I don’t think he truly understood what I was trying to tell him, and maybe we should have broken up then, I don't know. But I hated upsetting him, I reassured him.
I made it better for him. Not for myself.
We stayed together for several more months, and I have some outstanding memories of being with him. But sex is why I eventually broke up with him.
We lived several hours apart, so we didn’t see each other all the time. I tried my best to understand his needs as an allosexual person to have sex in order to be close to me, to express his feelings, and I don’t know if he ever truly tried to see our relationship from my point of view—from the point of view of someone happy to spend six hours making 80’s movies jokes, and then go to bed and sleep.
We're still friends, bless him, and he's now happily married, while I'm still happily single.
But at the time I felt guilty for breaking his heart. I didn't want to be ace. I wanted to be "normal." I wanted to be a person who was sexually attracted to others, and who desired a committed relationship, dammit.
But I don't, and I'm not.
After that I drank a lot.
I drank because I didn’t want to be ace, and I drank because one of my careers was falling apart piece by piece. I was angry, worried, depressed, anxious, and also resigned to being “less than.” To always being fourth of fifth best. Never at the head of the class. Never truly successful in life or in relationships. It was a very scary couple of months for me, and no one in my real life knew a thing was wrong.
I'd drink to get numb, but then I'd get upset and want to feel something, so I'd take a nice, sharp pair of nail scissors and cut the underside of my wrist with them. Shallow, horizontal cuts, because I wanted the pain, not to die.
Only one co-worker ever noticed or asked about the bandage I hid beneath my watch band. I said it was an accident in the kitchen.
She bought it.
And then a funny thing happened.
I started getting more active within the LGBTQIA community, thanks to my slowly building career as an m/m romance author. I met other aces online. I began to embrace the fact that yes, I was different, but I wasn't alone. I was other, but I was part of something bigger than me. I silently embraced the label that other people seem to think shouldn’t matter, because labels don’t matter to them.
The ace label matters to me.
I got better. Happier. Healthier.
Last summer, I told my best friend. She told me she loved me no matter what. We both cried happy tears.
But I've still been scared. In the past, when fellow m/m authors asked for an ace perspective on something they wrote, I considered speaking up, and then stayed silent. I've shown support to fellow aces, but not solidarity. Not in the ways that I think matter. Not in the ways that have me shoulder to shoulder with my community, saying we are valid. We deserve a spot at the fucking table.
And I'm ashamed of myself for taking so long to stand up, even while understanding that I had to do it when I was ready.
My family and co-workers don't know I'm ace. They don’t know I’m part of the full acronym they hate so much. They don't know I write gay romance. I'm terrified to tell them. I live in Bumfuck, USA, surrounded by Trump supporters. You can’t throw a stick without hitting a Trump lawn sign.
A.M. Arthur isn't the name on my birth certificate, but everything I’ve written today is part of who I am. It’s all me, from the jokes I tell online to the personality, to the movies and TV shows I watch. The opinions I have. Me. I have felt more free to be me here as A.M. Arthur than I’ve ever felt under my birth name.
Mostly.
A few weeks ago, there was a Facebook thread that devolved into a lot of acephobic rhetoric that hurt. A lot. We were told asexuality isn’t actually a sexual orientation (newsflash, YES, it is). We were belittled for wanting equal and accurate representation, for asking for others to listen to ace people when we speak. We were punched down on for existing, period.
And every time someone else, especially fellow m/m authors, said we weren’t valid, I looked at the scars on my wrist. Those lines are still there.
Four small, pale lines that I will carry for the rest of my life.
Four small, pale lines that I created out of emotional pain that had nowhere else to go except into my skin.
Four small, pale lines that remind me every single day of the struggle other people are going through right now. Trying to accept that asexuality isn’t a curse, that they aren’t broken, that their identity is just as valid as anyone else.
Four small, pale lines that prove I can love myself for all of my uniqueness, even if other people choose to remain ignorant, instead of listening and understanding.
Four small, pale lines that silently tell my story. Silently, until now.
Respect. Listen. Learn.
Someone in your life that you know and love might be trying to accept their asexuality right now—don’t let your ignorance and unwillingness to educate yourself be the reason they live the rest of their lives with lines on their wrists.
For those who do listen, do respect, and want to learn: Thank you.
Embracing my label, embracing myself, means those four lines will never become five.
