H.B. Pattskyn's Blog, page 17

B - Being Bisexual

I fell in love (you know the feeling, that fluttery, happy feeling in your gut) for the first time when I was 17. I’d had crushes before that, certainly, and even dated a couple of guys, but my first true love was a wonderful guy named Don. He was…gods, he was IT. The One. We didn’t sit around making “plans” or anything…or rather, he didn’t. I don’t think I did really, either; we talked about getting an apartment together “someday” with a third friend (the guy who introduced us, my very best friend), but that was about it. And I’m pretty sure, in retrospect, it didn’t even last all that long.
               And man, when it fell apart did my wee little heart crumbled into a miserable little mess and it stayed that way for a right long while.
               But then she walked in the door. I’d never looked at a girl the way I looked at this girl before. She wasn’t drop dead gorgeous—in fact, to be honest, she was rather plain. But I did whatever I could to be around her—and it wasn’t hard, we were on color guard together. And of course, she never knew; we were hardly even friends, really, because I kept a careful distance…gods, why am I sensing a novel in here somewhere…
Anyway, maybe I should specify that this was 1987, and while there were a couple of not-so-in-the-closet gay guys in my high school nobody was out and proud, either. It was the kind of thing that everybody knew but nobody talked about too loudly in the halls (except the asshats). The one lesbian in my class (that I’m aware of) was sort of in the same boat, but seemed to get more flack for it than the guys.
               Needless to say I wasn’t about to act overtly on my attraction to the pretty blond underclassman, even if I had thought I had a snowball’s chance in Hell of her returning my (rather confused at time) affections).
               See, before that moment, I had never, ever considered that I might have a thing for girls. I liked guys. I’d just gotten my heart broken by one. I’d had a couple of boyfriends before that, and had a long history of crushes on guys. All guys. No female had ever made my heart go pitter-pat. Was I just suffering from a broken heart or something? Had I gone to sleep a straight woman and woken up a lesbian?
               No. I definitely still liked guys. And I definitely liked this girl. I was soooooo confused!
               And then I realized there was a name for the way I was feeling.  It’s called being  bisexual.
    What a Revolation!!              The actual process of sorting it out took a few (long, difficult, and very confusing) weeks, during which I secretly lusted after this lovely young woman (okay, we were both young), pined for my ex, and ultimately went out with a guy I had NOTHING in common with just because I was lost and confused and maybe a little bit stupid. (Not that he’s not a great guy or anything, it was just a bad match; we didn’t date long.)  But the more time I spent pondering it, the more I realized I'd always been more physically attracted to women than to men. When I was a little kid Barbie spent way more time with Stacie than she did with Ken--I just never made the connection. (That's okay, I hadn't made the connection between how much time Barbie spent tied up and how much I like to be tied up, either!)
Coming out to my immediate circle of friends (mostly those guy guys and the lesbian) was pretty easy, but I soon discovered that being a bisexual person of either gender meant that both straight people and gay people could and would take pot shots at you for “not being able to make up your mind” and “straddling the fence.” It was very easy to be made to feel like you didn’t belong to either community. Bisexual was definitely a dirty word. I ran into a lot of gay women who wouldn’t date me because I also liked men. Straight men were frequently just pigs, I’d say I was bi and their next words were “so how about you and your girlfriend coming over to my place…?” Dude, if I had a girlfriend, I wouldn’t be on a date with your sorry ass! Those dates ended very quickly.
I don’t know what it is about the word bisexual that makes people think you’re loose or easy or just want a threesome. I don’t know what it is that makes people (gay and straight) so insecure, like even though I’m with you, I’m going to see that person over there of the opposite gender and dump you for them. It’s one of a couple of issues I tackled in my third novel, Hanging by the Moment —although I tackled a lot of issues in that one; the biggest one was probably HIV. I would prefer it if that overshadowed the rest.
Bisexuality definitely something I’m going to write about again because although it’s become “cool” to be bi (gods, I don’t get that), it’s still not easy. There are still people who just don’t get the idea that even though I am attracted (fairly equally) to both genders, that doesn’t mean I’m any less faithful to the person I’m with. Sexual orientation and fidelity have absolutely nothing to do with one another .  
Before I close out for the day, I want to repeat to you one of the most awful things someone said to me. Just two, maybe three years ago, I had a gay man tell me that he wished he was bi, like me, so he could marry a woman and have a “normal life”. That rattled me to my very core. Yes, I am married to a man, but that’s because he’s the person I fell in love with—and okay, he’s the person who can tolerate my shit. Point is, being bi doesn’t mean getting to choose who you love or who loves you , it means that you are attracted to both men and woman and have a chance of ending up with either.
 Bisexual awareness day: Sept. 23

  At first when I saw that there is a Bisexual Day of Awareness, I wondered "do we really need one? Isn't there already an LGBTQ day/month?"            But then something happened: I found a blog where authors can promote their LGBT themed books and I thought COOL! I wonder if I can get in, because the books being presented looked totally awesome and several were by fellow Dreamspinner authors. And let's face it, we're always looking for ways to market ourselves, but I admit it, I only want my books to show up in places where I'm proud to be and happy to direct readers and potential readers. So I was really excited to find this place.  But then I noticed the blog description:  "This blog features excerpts from current and forthcoming books by leading gay and lesbian authors..."  Apparnetly bisexual authors need not apply. And yes, of course that's the blog owner's perogative, but I thought that we're supposed to be part of an LGBTQ community. I have a hard enough time being shunned by straight people (except for threesomes), but when the gay and lesbian community makes me feel unwelcome, it really stings.  So yeah. We need a day. 

In fact, I'm going to give us a whole MONTH.
I know this is planning way ahead, but if you're a bisexual author, or an author or any orientation who has a book about a bissexual character, I'd like to invite you to be a guest blogger right here in September!

My goal is to fill up the entire month with posts from bi authors (and artists and other folks with opinions), about bi characters, and generally celebrating what it means to be bi. Helen Pattskyn, Fantasy Artist, Gay Romance Author

A - Astrology for Writers

 Ironically, there's a book (Llewellyn Press) by that title coming out in May...however, glancing at the overview, I'm pretty sure that what I mean isn't the same thing author Corrine Kenner has written about in her book:
 
      The nighttime sky has inspired writers and astrologers alike to spin stories on the strands of starlight. Discover that inspiration for your own creative writing in Astrology for Writers, the essential guide to understanding the core concepts of astrology—the planets, signs, and houses—and discovering how they correspond to the elements of fiction.      Unleash your creativity with a wide range of ideas that help you add astrology to your writing practice. Learn how to use the planets for characters, the signs of the zodiac for plot and themes, and the houses of the horoscope for settings. Develop unique characters based on mythic archetypes, use astrological imagery and symbolism for your descriptions and dialogue, and put theory into practice with writing prompts and examples. Invite the gods and goddesses of astrology to enter your writing and share their stories through you.  
That sounds interesting and I may or may not pick it up when it comes out, but what I'm talking about is actually using astrology to help create and build up characters.  Lately, my stories have started out in my mind as a simple scenario. As an example, the other day at work, someone popped their head in said, "It looks like there are two girls doing drugs out by the dumpster." Blink. I work in a pretty decnet city (Clawson). Okay. Well. Hmm. We told our boss and asked us to call the police. Long story short, eventually a handsome uniformed officer arrived to take our statements and try to sort out what was going on and as I was leaving work, I thought: what an awesome way for characters to meet! Sexy cop in uniform and....well, I can't make the other guy a cook, because even though I doubt any of the guys I work with would likely ever read one of my novels, I still don't want to take the chance that any of them thinks I'm writing about him! Our head bartender is also male and while he's sexy as hell, I don't think it would be a good idea to use him or his job...but we have all female waitstaff, so okay, that's nice and safe. Besides, I know more about waiting tables than tending bar or cooking, anyway  ;-)  So a sexy cop and a waiter, and yes, it's going to be a Mexican restaurant, although I *am* going to change the name. Just, you know, because I work there. I'm going to change the history of the place, too, the only thing that will really remain is the location.  But I believe I've digressed. The point is that in that case, I've started with a scenario and I need to seriously fill out the details of the characters.  That one is on the back burner in a major way and I haven't even started to think about who these men really are (okay, that's not true, I can actually tell you quite a bit about Enrico--yes, that's the Italian spelling, not the Mexian spelling, but I really love it. Besides, it's not like we don't have plenty of Americans running around with names/spellings from other cultures. I can't imagine Mexico is that much different). But as I was saying... yes I'm digressing a lot today.  I'm going to refocus attention to the story I'm actually currently working on: Being Lost, Getting Found  Technically, that's a working title, but so far nothing better has jumped out at me. Lost and Found also started out as a snippet of an idea. Two guys meet at a bar, one is an 18 year old rentboy and the other...the other...the other...hmmm...what would be the worst possible job for that situation...ah ha! An attorney with Oakland County's Family Court. You know, the guys who are supposed to put away people who abuse kids. So there's some major internal conflict right off the bat. But what do I know about either of these guys. Well, Andy's easy (he's the 18 year old). He got kicked out of his family's home when he was...hmmm....let's say 16 and see if that continues to work. Backstory is really malliable, at least until the manuscript is about half way through. Yes, I'm a total "panster"--i.e., I write by the seat of my pants. So, okay, what kind of kid is he? Small. A little feminine. But in order to survive the streets, he needs to be a bit of a smart alec, maybe a little headstrong.   http://www.futuresobright.com/
article/195-aries-horoscope-2013-
astrology-predictions/That's sounding kind of Aries to me. Aries are the "babies" of the Zodiac; they tend to be quick to take risks, which is pretty much how the Lost and Found starts; Andy comes up to a complete stranger (Dillon, the lawyer I mentioned above) in a seedy bar and propositions him. Yes, he's a prostitute, but really, he just wants some company and talks Dillon into taking him home, "no strings attached" (i.e., on money needs to be exchanged, they're just going to fuck for the fun of it). I also wrote a scene where Andy totally looses his temper with Dillon and storms out...yup, that is definitely Fire sign behavior (Aries is Cardinal Fire--Cardinal signs tend to be initiators, Fire is well... hot ).   Okay, that means Andy's birthday is March/April. That means he's only 18 and a half. Barely. Oh poor Dillon--we definitely have some major conflict of interest coming up! Heh. I'm evil. It's funny, the guys in my old critique group seemed to think that nothing bad ever happened to my characters; guess they need to read a full novel and not just an excerpt. Already this one is stacking up to be major angst--which was almost what I wrote about for "A" because I love angst in my novels (just not in real life, thank you!) Having made some basic decisions about Andy's life and personality, I hopped over to Astro.com, and the "birth data entry form". I started by picking a random birth date within the Aries range and plugged in a birth time out of thin air. I already knew that Andy was from Bellville and decided that he was born in Ann Arbor. I got the year by projecting the publication date and subtracting 19 (since I don't expect this to be out until sometime next year). This time, I got lucky on the first try (sometimes I have to adjust the dates and times a bit if details that come up in the character's chart don't mesh with what I had in mind...ahh, if only in real life it were that easy to adjust the traits presented in one's chart!)     I knew straight away that that would be perfect because of the Leo Ascendant. A person's ascendant, or rising sign, is the persona one puts forth to world at large; it's your "public face". Leo is the shining star of the zodiac. They make great actors and public speakers and they tend to be a tick on the vain side. By the time I got around to doing Andy's chart, I'd already written almost 15,000 words, so I already knew that he was a little flamboyant, definitely vain, and loved to be the center of attention. The Aries Moon works quite well also because a person's moon is indicitive of their inner self. If you've got the same sun and moon sign, you're typically a "what you see is what you get" type of personality. (I'm a double Capricorn; Cap sun, Cap moon...and oh yeah, Scorpio is on my Ascendant!)  As I explored Andy's chart, it was almost a little freaky how closely it lined up to what I already had in mind. Saturn in Pisces indicates a softer, more sensitive side, someone who hasn't yet let go of past hurts (and Andy certainly has a lot of them to hang onto. Now I know for sure that he hasn't let go of how much it hurt when he was kicked out of his house a few years ago...and speaking of that, that part of his past falls neatly in line with Andy's Placement of Pluto in the 4th House. (Because Pluto spends so much time in each sign, I don't look at the sign Pluto is in so much as the House it's landed in; likewise with all of the outer planets...or not planets. But that's an arguement for another day!) Having Pluto in the 4th House is indicative of "drama" in family home, particularly revolving around the father. I'd been debating whether or not it was both of Andy's parents who kicked him out, or if his mother wasn't in the picture anymore and it was Dad who gave him the boot. Now I have my answer  :)   I can totally relate to Andy's Venus in Pisces--it's where mine is and it leads to all sorts of trouble when it comes to picking up "lost puppy dogs"--whether they have two feet or four. I'd already planned a real lost puppy (actually cat), but now I think I understand Andy's relationship with his so-called "best friend" Patrick better. Originally, I'd just wanted a best friend who wasn't much of a friend (self centered, not at all looking out for Andy's best interests), now I know how they met. Andy found Patrick on the street, lost and alone, took him in, took care of him, tried to make a home for them, but...well, I just told you what kind of person Patrick is. So yeah.  That's pretty much how I put astrology to work when I write; it helps me fill out the details and the backstory and can help with rounding out my characters so that they're fully formed human beings rather than flat stereotypes (unless of course flat stereotypes are the goal. Right now, Patrick is a stereotype; that may or may not change as the story progresses). I can look at Andy's chart and see where his Mercury falls to get a better handle on how he absorbs information and communicates with others, Aquarius on his Descendant tells me something about his "perfect mate"--both the one he really needs and the one he thinks he needs, which will help in building up Dillon's character. (I already have his backstory handled, but I haven't explored too much of who he is, other than the fact that he's a bit too idealistic for his own good and he's been very bady hurt in the past. The title, Being Lost, Getting Found applies equally to both men. They're both "lost souls" looking for a place to call home.) Thanks for stopping by today... see you tomorrow as the marathon month of blogging continues!   

   Helen Pattskyn, Fantasy Artist, Gay Romance Author

Grace Duncan "hops on by", just in time for the Spring is in the Air Blog Hop!

How's that for timing? So, before I turn the stage over to Grace to talk about BDSM and her book Choices , let me get some business out of the way.

I was asked to write about what spring means for me. That's an easy one! It means I get to start all those seeds that I've been buying since January when the seed catalogues come. The seeds don't just represent all the yummy veggies I'm going to be harvesting come autumn; the seeds represent new hopes, new dreams, new plans and they remind me that hopes and dreams require hard work to bring them to fruition. Nothing worthwhile comes easy, but the harder you work for it, the sweeter the reward!

In celebration of Spring (and flying in the face of snow storms!) I'm giving away the following fantastic prizes: TWO Second Place Winners will recieve $7 gift certifcates good for any book from Dreamspinner Press (purchase must be made through the DSP website ), where, you know, you could go buy Grace's book Choices if you don't have it already! ONE First Place Winner will recieve a $14 gift certifacate good for any book from Dreamspinner Press (purchase must be made through the DSP website ) AND a signed copy of one OR both of my novels ( Bound: Forget Me Knot and Heart's Home ). Entering is simple:
       Just leave a comment below and tell me what's your favorite thing about spring. There is no wrong or right answers, I just like to see who's paying attention  ;-) Please make sure you leave me a way to contact you.        If anyone happens to want to help girl out, I just found out that my second novel, Bound: Forget Me Knot  is up for an a Romance Reviews award and if you want to take a second and vote for a juicy BDSM novel click here . You have to register with the site, but you can do that with Facebook (and it's a really awesome site, anyway).  You really don't have to vote for me to get in on the goodies here (I wouldn't be able to check anyway), but it's probably good karma  ;-) International entries ARE welcome--but you have to eighteen or otherwise a legal adult in your home country to win.        And remember that you're still eligible for the GRAND PRIZE, an eBook package from XOXO publishing. (You absolutely must include your email to be entered for the Grand Prize). You can return to the blog hop by clicking HERE  -- but before you do, check out my very special guest for the day!

And now without further ado,
here's my guest,
the talented Grace Duncan 

Thanks to the huge success of a certain to-remain-unnamed series, BDSM (for those that followed me here, that's bondage & discipline/Domination & submission/sadism & masochism) has a flood of new books and fiction. Some of those are quite good, and accurate to the lifestyle, such as my lovely hostess's Bound: Forget Me Knot . Some...aren't.
 When I set out to write Choices , I knew right off that there would be BDSM elements in the book. Teman was, after all, a pleasure slave. So, that was a given. But I'd had no idea how much would be there, to what degree I'd go… much less how much of myself would be reflected in Teman.
If there's one thing I've learned since I discovered the world of BDSM, it's that no two people approach the lifestyle the same way. There are, of course, plenty of similarities, but BDSM is a very individualized experience. How much someone wants to get tied up or how much pain they can take - or give, all of these can vary greatly from one person to the next. So when I decided to write about it, I knew my best bet was simply to go from my own experiences. What happened when I was given pain? How did I handle it? Did I like being tied? What parts of submission were most important to me?
The problem with many of the… less than stellar stories with BDSM is that many people who write it have never experienced it. They do a cursory bit of research (if they do any at all) and call themselves experts. Yet most of the people I know in the Scene would insist that none of them are experts… even people who've been involved in it for years. Why?
Because BDSM is, as I said before, very individualistic. There are common pieces, don't get me wrong. The basic credo that anyone with a real understanding of the lifestyle adheres to is “safe, sane and consensual” along with its sister, “risk aware consensual kink.” But the thing is, once you get past that, what one person likes, another can't stand. I might be what we lovingly refer to as a “pain slut” - i.e. masochist but another submissive may not be interested in it at all.
So when I set out to write Choices , I had to figure out where in the spectrum Teman was. The problem was, he'dnever experienced any of this, so he had no idea. So, again, I drew on my own experiences. Bondage was easy, I'd certainly felt my share of rope and there was no doubt that they'd have to get tied up. I liked pain and realized pretty quickly that it would be in important part of the story for a number of reasons. I also knew that Teman would need a submissive side, which would surprise Teman quite a bit (though not as much as liking pain).
And really, those weren't the difficult parts of writing the story. What I thought the real challenge would be is that I'd never before put down the idea of how pain went from pain to pleasure for me. I'd never written that aspect of it. In the fanfiction I've penned, it's focused on the psychological side of D/s more than the physical. I've used the physical, but not concentrated on it.
So as I wrote the training that Teman went through, I had my own Sir help me remember what it was about pain, how it all worked for me. A big part of it is my submissive tendencies. As I have an innate need to please, the last thing I am going to want to do is use a safeword unless I need to - even if I'm not entirely enjoying pain yet. So when I start out, it hurts and not always in a good way. It's not always bad, either, just to be clear. I do like pain, but how I get from “ow, that hurts!” to “Oh, give me more!” was what I needed to know.
So, my Sir set up a Scene and I did my level best to stay out of subspace so I could pay attention. Well, that didn't happen, but it told me what I needed to know. See… it did hurt, a lot at first. But I knew that I was pleasing my Sir by taking it, so I keep going, determined to take more. Then, at some point I have never been able to know, it switches. Almost like a light going on. And I like it.
Here is a short excerpt where Teman discovers the switch during one of his training sessions:

But before he could think too much about it, Cyrus's hand became more insistent and Teman found himself fighting yet again to work through the pain to find the pleasure. He gripped the peg tightly, his jaw clenched, caught between the two. His body was as confused as his mind until finally, at some indefinable moment, it switched. He liked the feel of the stings, he wantedmore.

A moment after that, the command was given. Teman had no idea that Cyrus's hand had stopped moving, didn't realize it was the painthat sent him over the edge--the pain and the command, not the stimulation to his cock. He shouted as his orgasm hit him, body shuddering, the strikes continuing through it. As he came down from his climax, he began to realize the pleasure had been amplified by the pain, rather than diminished by it. Finally Teman went limp, hanging from the peg.

So it turned out that pain wasn't all that difficult, after all. The training also helped me build Teman's submissive side up and being with Bathasar and hearing praise from him brought the rest of it out.

Now the really difficult part of writing the BDSM into Choices wasn't this. After doing this bit of research and working out the pain and submission, I realized what was going to be much more difficult: actually showing the safe, sane and consensual side of BDSM. See, I have a problem in that I refuse to write it unless I can put it in there.

But Teman's a slave who doesn't have a choice, right? So… how do I give him one? And what about this cruelty that is hinted at in the blurb?

Well, the second was a bit more difficult. To be perfectly honest, the scenes with Mukesh were very difficult to write because I do not like to write cruelty. It was a necessary evil in this story, both to show what Mukesh was capable of as well as to contrast what Teman's service should be like. I had to sit down and think of the exact opposite of what I would want my Sir to do with me, then amplify that. My beta, the poor thing, went through nearly as much hell as I did over these scenes. I was grateful that they came out as close to complete as they did the first time. I would not have wanted to dwell on them.

So, then, where is this choice? By definition, as a slave, he shouldn't have one. I also didn't feel that it was historically accurate to actually use a safeword (or the terminology of “safeword”), but I still wanted it to be consensual and wanted the good side of Teman's service to be safe.

But the answer ended up being surprisingly simple, in the end. While Teman didn't have a safeword, per se, Bathasar
BDSM is a tricky thing to write, in my opinion and one of the few things that I believe requires actual experience to write well. Many of my friends in the lifestyle use the phrase “get it” in that when you read a story about it, you can tell if the author “gets it” or not. That's not to say you have to be able to wear a cock cage to write about it, but at the very least, the psychology behind it is something very difficult to understand enough to write about if you've never experienced it even a little.

Thanks to the lovely Helen for hosting me! I really appreciate it! Do leave your thoughts behind for a chance to win a bag of swag and be entered for a signed paperback that I'll award at the end of the month!

Thanks for reading!
***

Blurb:


Born and raised a gypsy in the late eleventh century, Teman values freedom over everything. He and his best friend, Jasim, are thieves for hire--until one night they're caught and their precious freedom is revoked. Given the choice between the dungeons or palace pleasure slavery, they become slaves, but Teman vows to escape someday.

Bathasar doesn't want the throne. He supports his brother instead, which suits their sadistic father, Mukesh. When Teman, the handsome slave Bathasar has secretly been watching, saves his life, Bathasar requests a slave for the first time. Before long, Bathasar and Teman fall in love. But all is not well. One day Mukesh brutalizes Teman before the court, angering the empress of a neighboring nation. To appease her, he then offers her Jasim as a gift, and Teman decides to stay with Bathasar for now--despite the abuse he may suffer.

The peace doesn't last. Mukesh plans to invade Jasim's new country, and Bathasar must find a way to stop the destruction. But if he succeeds, he'll ascend to the throne and have the power to grant Teman his liberty. Then Teman will surely leave him. What other choice could a gypsy make?
Buy link: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3611
Grace's Blog Helen Pattskyn, Fantasy Artist, Gay Romance Author

A little late, but awesome news!

Grace had a case of "life happens" last week and isn't here today, but we're rescheduling. In the meantime, I have some freaking awesome news to share! My second novel, Bound: Forget Me Knot has been nominated for a Romance Reviews "Best of 2012" award, in the GLBT BDSM catagory! I am so giddy right now!  And of course I'm asking everyone who liked the book (or maybe who just likes me!) to vote for Bound . It's up against a couple of pretty awesome books, so I'm super honored to have nominated--but of course I want to win!   Helen Pattskyn, Fantasy Artist, Gay Romance Author

Book Review: Brute by Kim Fielding

Now, I have to confess, I'm only about half way through with Brute by Kim Fielding, so I can't truly rate it...but assuming the last half of the book is as good as the first half of the book (and I have absolutely no doubt that it will be!), I'd have to rate Brute at a solid 4.85 Stars. Brute pulled me in from the very first sentence; I started it the day before yesterday because sometimes I'm a little ADD when it comes to reading and if what I'm officially reading doesn't suit my mood (or isn't holding my attention), I'll switch to something else.

After kind of a sucky day at work on Thursday, I just needed something different to read, and I decided on  Brute. I was instantly in love, but only had time for a few chapters.

Last night I picked it up again after dinner and didn't put it down until almost midnight when it was time to go to bed. I'd be reading more today but I need to work on my own book. Well, I probably still will read more today, because I ended at one of those places (and there are lots of them in this one) where I'm just dying to find out what happens next. I mean, yes, I can take some guesses, because Brute ends in a Happily Ever After (hard to imagine with that cover, huh?), but it's the HOW of that HEA that has me hanging on the edge of my seat. How will a one handed man--a great big giant of a man no less--save a blind (blind because his eyes have been plucked out) prisoner? (What doesn't show on the cover is that the prisoner is in irons as well as behind bars). Where will they go? How will they get there? And even though I have confidence that there is a Happily Ever After, I'm still wondering if it's really possible. I like that in a book.   Brute isn't really your typical romance. It's not just boy meets boy, boy and boy deal with the issues of life and buy a house togther somewhere. We spend several chapters simply getting to know the title character, learing about his life and him as a man. Brute is likable right off the bat. He's sympathetic and kind, and even though he has a miserable life, he's good natured and doesn't feel sorry for himself. He realizes his limitations and what they mean: his giagantic size and less than pretty face mean he's never going to fit in or find someone to love him because no one can get past his appearance. Most people assume assume he's stupid, little more than an ox with hands. His father was a thief and his mother is at least assumed to have been a whore; he was raised by an uncle who was far from kind.  The first time Brute is shown a shred of real kindness, it comes from the most unlikely of places: Prince...okay, withouth the book in front of me I'm not going to try to spell his name. His friends call him Friddy and that really works for me  :)  Friddy is the first person to who treats Brute like a human being.  Without going overly much into the plot, Friddy is a bit careless (or so everyone keeps saying, I think he's just the king's younger son, not destined to become king himself so really not important and he knows it) and ends up taking a tumble off the side of a cliff. While the entire village stands around gawping like idiots, Brute (the village idiot) springs into action--but saving the prince comes at a terrible price. In fact, much of the story is about the price we all pay for things we want--or think we want at the time. It reminded me of Anne Bishop's Black Jewels series: everything comes at a price. The price for saving the prince was the loss of Brute's hand, which is badly injured; withouth his hand, he is no longer fit for manual labor (the only thing he's good for). But the reward for saving the prince is to be offered a new, albeit unusual, job in the palace. And at least, we get to meet the other "boy" in "boy meets boy". He's a miserable blind prisoner locked up in irons, living behind bars, not even allowed the simple pleasure of being able to bathe himself or given more than a thin blanket for warmth or comfort. He's been beaten, abused, and abandonded, his only use the prophetic dreams he has about people's deaths, some of which are avoidable--at least when the person is important enough for the king to decide to intervene. When it's a beggar or a nobody, the crown quietly ignores the prophesy. Brute is told that the prisoner is a traitor and a witch and that no one has lasted more than a few months guarding him--but Brute is as loyal as he is stubborn. If he's given a job, he does it.  The prisoner is both more and less than he appears...but you should read it for yourself and let him tell you his story in his own words. It's a heartbreaking tale.   Brute is set in an imagnary fantasy world (although it's not high fantasy; wizards and witches seem to exist but the average everyday person isn't likely to ever meet one). There are Gods and healers, and a medieval sort of setting that is brougth beautifully and clearly to life in little details. Fielding engages all five sense regularly, telling us how things look and sound and smell and taste and feel. Although told exclusively from Brute's POV, we get a clear sense of other character's thoughts and feelings (and there is an amazing cast of wonderful secondary characters). Although the world is imaginary, it feels real--it's not some cushy Renn Faire fantasy, there are chamber pots and wretchedly poor people living in squalid conditions. (It really annoys me when medieval settings look more like a Renn Festival than historical Europe, so huge kudos to Kim!)  The dialoge us spot on. It is neither an attempt (usually handled badly) at "olde English" full of thees and thous (more bad Renn Faire memories), nor is it wholly modern; people simply sound like people, end of story (and yet, not always so common!) Anyone who knows me knows what a stickler I am for dialogue.  For all their seeming simple-ness (is that a word?), the characters were rich and complex; they had histories. They were born, lived before we met them, and will continue to live on after I close the book. I'm  very certain that Brute will end up on my list of favorite books for 2013 (my fave list has nothing to do with publication date, it's about when I read a book).  While some might say that the plot is slow, I found it to be a steady slow build that kept me turning virtual pages until I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer last night; I seriously can't wait to finish it, probably sometime today or tomorrow--and I have the sneaking suspicion I'm going to need to have some tissues handy!  Brute   is available from Dreampsinner Press .  I highly recommend it, especially to those of you who, like me, like a little (okay maybe more than a little) bit of angst and a lot of real story in your romance.  You can find Kim's website HERE  and her Facebook HERE .   Helen Pattskyn, Fantasy Artist, Gay Romance Author

Self Publishing

Okay, so I was off on a number of tangents on Monday.  Let’s keep the trend going, shall we? (Although I only actually have one tangent for today).
Let’s talk a little bit about publishing.
There are some crazy things going on at the “Big Six” (the big name, New York publishers—of which there are actually more than six). Although I hear Random House was pressured into making changes, for a while, their Hydra Imprint’s contract looked way too much like a vanity press scam: no advance, YOU pay for editing, art, layout, etc.—the only discernible difference was that instead of being paid for up front, you paid them out of your royalty checks (such as those were going to be, given the percentage most big publishers pay). (Source: http://whatever.scalzi.com/2013/03/06/note-to-sff-writers-random-houses-hydra-imprint-has-appallingly-bad-contract-terms/)
And I suppose before I go any further, I should define vanity press, even though truthfully, I don’t like the term—which is why I’m going to tell you exactly how I’m using it. iUniverse (http://www.iuniverse.com/Packages/PackageCompare.aspx)  is a vanity press. They charge authors between $900 and $5000 to “publish” your book.
What do you get for that? Not much. You get an ISBN (you can buy ten for about $300—which is probably more than you need, but through folks like Lulu, you can get one for under $50. More about Lulu in a minute). You get a book, of course. Well, each book will also cost X number of dollars to print. You get copyright registration (costs about $30 to do it yourself). You get a “custom cover”—i.e. you get a stock photo image with some words slapped overtop. You get “worldwide” distribution. Please do not for one instant think you’ll get any kind of promotion or advertising, your book will simply be available on the world wide web through retailers like Amazon.
What you don’t get is any kind of editing, even copy editing (someone to look for typos, misused homonyms, bad punctuation). Some of the upper end packages offer copy editing, bookmarks, and other promotional material. You don’t really want to know how little I pay for bookmarks (which I hardly ever use, by the way) from Overnight Prints.
Some vanity presses don’t even tell you how much it will cost until you give them your contact information.  
Others, like Dog Ear Press, try to make themselves look good by comparing themselves to the competition—when in reality, they offer the same set of high priced “packages” and in return give you… well, not much.  (http://dogearpublishing.net/the-competition.php).
So in my world, Vanity Presses are printers that pass themselves the answer to every author’s prayer. They’re snake oil salesmen. For just $1999, you too can be a published author (and you, and you, and you!) AND, you, good citizen, will get to keep 100% of your royalty check, unlike those other chumps who get their books published the old fashioned way!
Right. Grandma always said: if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. The chances of ever recouping that kind of money on a self-published book are slim. The average self-published book sells fewer than 200 copies—and that’s including the three your Aunt Jenny will buy. (http://reviews.cnet.com/8301-18438_7-10119891-82/self-publishing-a-book-25-things-you-need-to-know/). And before you start multiplying $15.95 by 200 and thinking that’s not such a bad deal, you need to remember that you still have to pay for the actual COST OF THE BOOK. Ergo, your “royalty” is going to be retail sans printing cost (which can be as much as $12, depending on the length of your book and trim size). Ebooks have made things better, but remember, for $1999 you’re not getting any kind of editorial service of which to speak.
So let’s break it down. Say you have a book that you’re having a hard time finding a publisher for. There are lots of reasons to be declined that have nothing to do with how good or bad your book is. Let’s say you have a "general fiction" novel (notoriously hard to sell without an agent) or maybe you’re a well-respected short story writer who just can’t seem to get her foot in the door with that novel (I met one such woman at Dragon*Con--but see, her agent kept telling her to "hang in there, we'll get it published someday. Right. If you've already got fans, for crying out loud, self-publish!) Maybe you’re writing for a market that is closed to new authors unless they have an agent (and getting an agent can be just as frustrating and difficult as getting a publisher). So you decide to publish the thing yourself. You know you’re going to have to do a lot of legwork to even sell 200 copies, but you’re committed.
First, you need a good beta reader. You can find one or two of those for the cost of beta reading their manuscripts. You also need to take their critiques and put them to good use.
You need professional editing. This can run from $200-$600 (or more, but that’s about as much as I’d be willing to pay).
You need a copy editor—someone to go through and look for typos. Often a friend or family member (maybe Aunt Jenny who just happens to teach high school English will help). This person is just looking for all those last minute mistakes.
You need professional cover art. I found a professional artist who will make a kick ass cover for about $250.  (She happens to be one of the artists my publisher uses. Remember a lot of artists work freelance. You don't have to be a big company to hire somebody!)
You can hire people through Elance, by asking around, through Craigslist, etc. At this point, remember, you’re doing the hiring—YOU set the standards (and the budget) and you have the freedom to hire the best talent you can afford. Remember: you get what you pay for.
So at this point, let’s say you’ve hired an awesome editor for $600 and an artist for $175, because you found a graphic arts major at the local college who really needs a few bucks, but isn’t up to charging truly professional prices. Aunt Jenny has agreed to copy edit when it’s done—and of course you’re busy reading Mary Sue’s dreadful D&D adventure turned novel because she gave you a surprisingly insightful beta read, and you’re returning the favor.
Next step, getting the thing published. With just a little bit of computer savvy (of which I have none, but managed to do it anyway), you can go to Lulu.com. and upload your entire manuscript plus cover for FREE. You still have to pay for printed books, but there is exactly ZERO cost for the initial setup. Lulu makes its money when you buy books or when other people buy them from the Lulu’s website.
Same with Amazon’s Create Space.
All you have to buy is that ISBN we talked about earlier and to register your book with the copyright office. And of course market the snot out fo the thing, but no matter what, you're going to have to do that, anyway.
So why exactly does anybody go to iUniverse, Outskirts, Dog Ear, Tate and the rest?
I have no clue.
Bottom line, friends: don’t buy the snake oil pitch. Don’t get ripped off. Do your research. And don’t think you’re going to get rich (quick OR slow) self-publishing…come to that, don’t think you’re going to get rich publishing, period! There is absolutely no way to predict what the reading public will glom onto. Just write the best story you can, polish it to within an inch of its life and send it out into the world. 
 
 Helen Pattskyn, Fantasy Artist, Gay Romance Author

Monday Morning Smorgasbord

So it's Monday morning, the start of anothe work week--for me more so than usual, I took a part time waitressing job and I start on the floor this week :D  Yes, I'm still a full time writer, but we had a few big bills over the winter and I *really* want a new fridge and stove sooner rather than later. And let's not forget some of the fun stuff I want to do! I'm signed up as an author for Rainbow Con next year in Tampa, Florida. Yes, it's a long way away, but still, it would be nice to have some extra cash to play with! I'd like to try and add another couple of events to the calendar for 2014 as well.

And there are at least six new books that I want...and that's just last week's wish list!  Truthfully, I don't have a lot to say today. Or rather, there are a lot of things I could say, but I'm trying not to, because I'm trying to remain polite (at least in public) because there are a number of things ticking me off.

I'm sick of the pro-gun/anti-gun fight. Mostly, it's the pro-gun folks who scare teh bejeezus out of me--and yet I know not all gun owners are freaky bazooka toting loud mouths. All of the gun owners I know personally are responsible people who just don't want to have their Constitutional rights taken away. I can get behind that, I don't want my rights taken away, either. I'm just frustrated by people who are unable to put things into context. When the U.S. Constititution was written, military technology was muskets and cannons. Today, we have guns that can decimate a crowd of mall shoppers, the employees at a post office, or a classroom full of children in a matter of minutes. It's obvious we need some kind of control over the kinds of people who are allowed to possess those kinds of weapons--BUT that control needs to A) be sensible and B) actually be enforced (i.e., close the damned loopholes in the laws).

But like everything else in the U.S. right now there seem to be only extreme voices; no one is in the middle anymore.

I've never been overly involved in politics. I vote, I keep up with who my representitives are, I educate myself on the people and policies on the polls, but otherwise, I just try to muddle through my life as best as I can. Up until a few years ago if anybody asked me whether I was a Democrat or a Republican, I would have said only that I tend to vote Democrat.

These days, however, the Republican Party scares the snot out of me. I know that not every Republican out there has a Bible in one hand and an assault riffle in the other, that they'er not ALL out to regulate what I and can't do with my own vigina...opps, saying that word out loud could be grounds for sancture. Good thing I'm not a congresswoman! I know that not all Republicans want to tax the poor to death in order to give bigger breaks to their rich buddies or undermine the very bedrock of local politics the way Michigan's Governor has done. I'm sure that there are still moderates left in the party, people who don't actually care who you go to bed with, who you wake up with, who you love or how. But these days, it's hard to remember that Dwight Eisenhower was a Republican. So was Theodore Roosevelt. So was Abraham Lincoln. I'm not sure what any of these men would have said about the gun control issue or the idea that the right to marry should apply to all couples, but I do believe that if we had more Republicans like them, the party wouldn't scare me so much.

My last "rant" of the day is, in some ways, more personal.

Recently there was an article published on Jessewave about the decline in quality m/m romance (I disagree, by the way). I'm not saying that I love every book I've read in the genre--some have been real dogs. But I used to say the same thing about some of the fantasy books I've read (which is the genre I read most up until a few years ago). For a while I stopped buying books unless I already knew I loved the author. Yes, advances in POD technologies and Ebook publishing have made it easier to get published--and let's not forget the new ease of self publishing--but overall, I believe that to be a good thing. It means that good writers who might otherwise not have been able to get a foot in the door are also coming into the market. Unfortunately, the sheer number of authors coming in means that, yes, there are also a fair number of bad writers--or at least writers writing bad books.

But here's my biggest problem with the Jessewave article: with only one exception I can think of, those publishers in question ALSO PUBLISH HET TITLES. Yes, of course Jesseewave's focus is solely on m/m, but those het books are just as bad as the m/m titles  (and just as plentiful!) The problem isn't poor quality in m/m books, it's poor qulity, PERIOD. On way too many of these books (het, m/m, and menage combinations alike), the cover art is shoddy as hell, the writing is awful, and the "plot" is ridiculous. It makes me feel like a couple of publishers out to cash in (and a couple of authors along for the ride) are dragging the rest of us down.

On the other hand, somebody must be buying it, right? It's frustrating. As long as people are writing it, publishing it, AND buying it, the cycle will continue.

Maybe I need to meditate this morning, clear my head a little, and embrace the warmth of spring and new posibilities planted. I can't do much about the economy or the government (other than continuing to vote, sign petitions, and speak out, which I plan to keep doing), and I can't do anything about anyone else's writing--but I CAN continue to write the very best books possible, stories that come from heart and nurture my soul about characters I love and care about. Not everyone will love my stories, but at the end of the day I will always be able to hold my head up and say "yes, I wrote that!"

  
Helen Pattskyn, Fantasy Artist, Gay Romance Author

Henry and Jason Ch. 2, pt. 2.

Henry didn’t look happy. For several of the longest seconds of Jason’s life, he just sat there, staring straight ahead, looking like he was wrestling with something and all Jason could imagine was that
Probably how to send me back home. Eight days was a long time, but if he could just get through it somehow, if he could come up with some way to take back what he’d just said, maybe Henry would give him anohter chance—
“Come over here,” Henry’s words cut through the mounting panic.
Jason obeyed at once, going to stand directly in front of him.
“Feet apart, shoulders squared, hands behind your back… a little higher,” he corrected, and Jason obeyed, moving his hands up to almost the small of his back. “Elbows out. Good. Chin up, eyes down.”
Jason lifted his chin a little, but kept his gaze focused on Henry’s feet. He was struggling to keep his mouth shut as overwhelming emotions that welled up inside, threatening to sweep him under like some kind of tidal wave. If he’d known his father had a problem with his sexual orientation, he would have kept it quieter; if he’d known it bothered Alicia, he wouldn’t told her.
Dad probably would have.
Still, it wasn’t fair that they hadn’t told him until it was too late for him to do anything about it. Maybe he would have still made out with Terry in front of the house, but at least he’d have known what it would mean for him later on. Dad never even gave him a chance.
Henry had told Jason exactly what he expected. He’d told him what the punishment would be for breaking the rules.
And I broke them anyway.
The whole world felt it was crashing down around him and Jason was powerless to stop it. What if he wasn’t cut out for the whole D/s—M/s—thing after all? What if it was a failed experiment, a giant waste of Henry’s time? A mistake? What if I can never be what he wants me to be?
Maybe Henry should send him back to Michigan. It wasn’t like he didn’t have anywhere to go, he could call Kendra, sleep on her couch. Hell—heck—Melissa might even take him in.
“You done?”
Jason blinked, startled by the question.
“I can practically see the gears turning, boy. I’m wondering if you’re done thinking and ready to listen or if I should let you stew a little longer.”
Jason swallowed hard; he didn’t trust his voice, but he answered anyway. “No, Sir. I mean, yes, Sir. I’m ready to listen.”
“I have never lied to any of my subs or to the one slave I had before you. But I’m told by no few people that I don’t always say as much as maybe I ought to. I’m not sure I agree with that. But given my track record, I’m willing to give talking more a try. I’m just not the kind of guy who wears his heart on his sleeve. Maybe I just got burned one time too many.” He shrugged. “Thing is, this isn’t how I wanted to start off with a visit and it sure as hell isn’t how I wanted to start off with you living here. I don't like punishing you or anybody else for that matter. But as a Dominant—a Master—I have to be consistent. You need to know that there are rules and that when you break them there will be consequences—and you need to have a real clear idea of what those will be. If I start letting you off the hook or being inconsistent, it’s not gonna be good for either of us. You’ll end up hurt and confused and me… if I had my way I’d never punish you for anything because I don’t get any kinda kicks outa making you as miserable as you look now.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.” Jason’s voice came out a hoarse, raspy whisper. It was all he could do to keep from breaking down into tears. He’d disappointed Henry even more than he realized and it was killing him.
“You don’t have to apologize for being miserable. I knew putting you in that thing wouldn’t make you happy—but I didn’t realize how unhappy it would make you.”
“I can wear it, honest,” Jason interrupted him. “I—”
“Enough.”
The harshness of Henry’s tone made him jump.
“You said you were ready to listen. That means you stand there with your mouth shut unless I ask you a question. Clear?”
“Yes, Master,” he said miserably.
“Chastity devices are about control—mine and yours.  I know I can control you without it. I know you’ve never come without permission and you’ve never cheated and jerked off when I told you not to.”
“No, Sir.” He bit his lip—but Henry nodded. Apparently “yes” and “no” didn’t really count as talking.
“And I know that because you’d tell me if you had, just like you told me about swearing. You’re honest and eager and I know you want to make me happy. I want to make you happy too. The reason I didn’t say anything to you before, when you said you loved me, is that I don’t… I’ve heard things said in the heat of the moment that the other person didn’t mean. I’ve said things in the heat of things I didn’t mean. I don’t like saying important stuff when I’m riding high—or crashing low—on emotion. But I don’t want you to think for one second that I don’t love you, Jason. You got right up under my skin and damn if I could shake you. Truth is, I’m not sure I tried real hard. I haven’t been interested in any kind of serious play with anybody since I met you.”
Jason’s heart hammered in his ears and he had to clutch his hands together to keep from throwing his arms around Henry’s neck.
“If you’ve got anything to say, you can say it,” Henry told him.
Jason nodded. Shook his head. “I…I’m sorry I disappointed you. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep from swearing. I guess I didn’t understand why it was such a big deal and maybe I was mad because I didn’t…I’m still figuring all this out. I’ll get through the next eight days, Sir.”
“I’m sure you will. But I think—if you agree with me—that under extraordinary circumstances, it might be all right for me to change your punishment. I don't intend to make a habit of it. Consistancy is important. But your wellbeing is more important. I don't think you need to be miserable to learn a lesson.”
Jason was torn; he hated the chastity device, but he hated it even more that his being miserable was making Henry feel like he had to let him off easy. Finally, he opted for the simple truth. “Whatever you want, Sir.”
“What I want is to take you in the bedroom, lay you down on my bed and fuck you senseless.”
Jason winced as his dick started to harden. “I’d like that.”
“Then that’s what we’re going to do. And I’m going to take the chastity device off—but you’re not going to come. You’re not going to come for the next eight days. If you feel like you need the device back on to obey that order, you’ll come to me and ask for it. And you’ll learn to have as much control outside the bedroom as you do inside it—as much control over your mouth as you’ve already got over your dick.”
“Sir, I…if you…” if Henry fucked him there was no way he’d be able to keep from coming.
“I won’t go out of my way to make you come, and you’ll tell me if you get too close. I’m not trying to set you up to fail.”
“No, Sir. I mean… I know you wouldn’t do that.”
“Good. Now come here….” ................................................

And yes, next time you do indeed get that sex scene!Helen Pattskyn, Fantasy Artist, Gay Romance Author

Have the tissues handy...

This is an excerpt from my official Work In Progress, Being Lost, Getting Found , in which I am once again tackling more than I'd planned to tackle when the idea presented itself in my head.  Some of you may have caught the 7/7/7 challenge for this one on Facebook... but for those who didn't here's a few more than seven lines from p. 7 (since I'm no where near p. 77):  “Everybody dances! Come on! Please? Pretty please? We’re missing the best part!” Laughing, Dillon followed his exuberant new friend toward the dance floor. “Just one song,” he cautioned. But he wasn’t surprised when one song turned into two and then three. By the fourth song, Andy had undone two more of Dillon’s buttons and Andy was rubbing his whole body up and down Dillon’s, the most exquisitely rapt look on his face. Dillon grasped the boy’s slender hips and laid his mouth against Andy’s neck, kissing, nipping, caressing his tender flesh hungrily with his lips. Andy tasted of salty sweat and vanilla—Dillon had no idea what he was wearing, but he liked it. He snaked his hands over Andy’s chest and found himself trying to imagine Andy lying naked underneath him. It was wrong. God it was so wrong, Andy was just barely legal! But he didn’t want to stop. “You can bite harder,” Andy told him, leaning up so he could whisper right into Dillon’s ear. “I like it rough.” Dillon’s cock responded with a surprising surge forward—Dillon had never been turned on by rough play. But when his hands slid under Andy’s T-shirt and found the hard nubs of the boy’s nipples, he found himself rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. The harder he pinched, the more Andy arched into him, pressing his crotch against Dillon’s thigh, allowing Dillon to feel for himself exactly how turned on Andy was too. Dillon’s own cock was threatening to rip right out of his pants, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so turned on… .................................. And then from Chapter 3... Walking past the burned out, boarded up houses toward Jace’s place, Andy thought his luck might be holding; Jace’s pickup wasn’t anywhere in sight. But when he got up to the front door, he discovered that his key didn’t work. He pulled it out and shoved it back in again, but it still didn’t turn. The bastard had changed the lock on him. He huffed out a breath and tried to stay calm. It wasn’t the prospect of being temporarily homeless that made Andy’s stomach tie itself up into knots, it was the fact that everything he owned was inside. If Jace didn’t throw it out. Andy ran around the side of the house—but the only things he found in the big plastic trashcan were pizza boxes and paper plates. He leaned back against the cold brick house, frustration threatening to bring tears to his eyes. This couldn’t be happening. He beat his fists against the wall behind him to keep from crying. If it was just his clothes, he wouldn’t care, but there were things in his backpack he couldn’t replace. Maybe if he waited for Jace…but Jace had to be really fucking pissed to have changed the locks, if he came home in a bad mood…Andy swallowed hard. There was only one option. He had to break in and get his stuff and pray he was gone by the time Jace got back. Surveying his options, he realized the only way in would be through a second story window; all the windows on the first floor had bars on them. Hoping he wouldn’t need it, Andy picked up a good sized rock from the yard and tucked it into his pocket before making his way over to the side of the house where several big trees grew. Only he couldn’t get into any of them without first climbing the fence, and even then it was a painful stretch. Sharp pain lanced through his side as he hauled himself into the lowest branches of the neighbor’s pine tree and he had to sit for several seconds catching his breath while it subsided. He just prayed that Jace didn’t come home anytime soon; if he did, a stitch in his side would be the least of his troubles. The bark was rough against Andy’s hands as he climbed, and sticky and gross where golden resin oozed out. Pine needles dug into his arms; looking up made the task seemed impossible; looking down made him feel dizzy. All he could do was look at the branch ahead of him as he made his way up. By the time he reached his goal, Andy’s heart was pounding; he’d almost slipped and fallen twice and now he had to scoot forward on the limb to get close enough to the window to see if it would open, or if he’d have to break it. For half a second, he considered just going back down, getting the hell out of there, but the only picture of Manda and Nanna he had—the only picture he would ever have of either of them—was in his backpack. He swallowed hard and prayed Jace hadn’t gone through his stuff, hadn’t done anything…Andy closed his eyes. Jace had no reason to go through his backpack, he knew Andy didn’t keep any money in there, not after the first time Jace stole from him. Even if he did go through Andy’s stuff, he wouldn’t touch a couple of old photographs. They weren’t worth anything to anyone but Andy, which was why he promised himself that if he did get his stuff back, he’d find a safer place to keep them. Except there was no safer place. He hadn’t had a home since he left Ann Arbor two years ago. Swallowing back the last of his fear, Andy forced himself to crawl out onto the limb and to keep crawling until he reached the window—of course it was Jace’s bedroom window. Clinging to the branch with both legs and one hand, he reached out with the other to see if he could get it to open. No such luck. That only him with one option he could think of. Andy pulled the rock out of his pocket and used it to smash in the glass, then knock free the shards that hung ominously in the frame like teeth. As carefully as he could, Andy shimmied in, right onto Jace’s bed. He rolled off it as fast as he could as much to avoid the broken glass as to avoid the memories of every other time he’d found himself in the other man’s bed. Andy hurried to down the hall to his own room; his backpack was under the mattress, right where he’d left it, lain carefully flat so as not to damage the photos. The relief was short lived. He heard the front door swing open and knew he would barely have time to get away if he made a dash for it—but maybe if he was quiet, Jace wouldn’t realize anyone was in the house. If Jace stayed downstairs, Andy could make it back to the window and get out of there—or if Jace stayed downstairs, he might just be able to make it down the steps and out the front door without Jace catching him. With his heart hammering in his ears, Andy tiptoed to the closet to get his denim jacket and an armload of clothes and stuff them into his bag. When he heard Jace’s heave footsteps coming up the stairs he braced himself to make a run for it. He just had to get down the hall and down the steps. If Jace went into the bathroom…but instead, he heard Jace heading into his bedroom. Shit. A second later, he heard Jace swearing up a blue streak and sprinted as fast as he could to get out of there. He made it as far as the base of the steps before a big hand grabbed him from behind. “You little fucktard!” Jace’s voice boomed in Andy’s ears. He could barely react before was slammed face first onto the hardwood floor so hard all the air was knocked out of his lungs. Andy clung to the straps of his backpack. All he had to do was get out of there, he just had to get into the streets, Jace would never hurt him where there were witnesses. Andy got onto all fours, but Jace’s foot connected toe first with his ribs, bringing him back down again. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing breaking into my goddamned house!” Jace roared. “I just wanted my stuff.” “What about the fucking money you owe me?” “I have eighty—” he cried out as Jace grabbed a fist full of hair. “You owe me a hundred—plus a fucking window!” “I’ll get it to you, I promise. I’ll go out tonight. I’ll pay you double—” “How about I just take it out in trade?” Helen Pattskyn, Fantasy Artist, Gay Romance Author

Bound to Please Chapter 2

actually, it's Chapter 2 pt. 1 because I got behind over the weekend and don't have any more proofread than this. The rest of Ch. 2 will be up either Wed. or Sat., depending on where I am with my WIP (work in progress), which I'd also like to share part of with you later in the week because I am totally loving the way it's shaping up!  :D     Chapter Two  The chastity device wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t the sort of thing Jason could just forget he was wearing either; amongst other things, there was no way he’d be able to get hard with the metal cup around his dick. Henry cautioned that it would probably hurt like hell if—when—his body tried to have an erection and that sleeping would be the worst, but no, he wouldn’t take it off just to go to bed. If Jason had any real problems they’d talk about it, and he’d let Jason out of it to take a shower, but otherwise, he was stuck for the next eight days—and he was miserable. Fifty strokes with the crop would have been easier to take than this! For the last two hours, he’d been following behind Henry’s ugly green pickup, winding his way south and east on progressively smaller highways into the Appalachian foothills. Even before flat farmland gave way toward the “foothills” (really small mountains as far as Jason was concerned), Jason felt completely lost. The farthest he’d ever gone outside of Michigan had been a trip to Cedar Point with some friends, back before he moved in with his dad. A stab of…something… lanced through his gut. He wasn’t sure if it was guilt or just unhappiness, but he wondered if his dad had gotten home yet, if he’d found the keys Jason left behind. If he wondered where Jason had gone. But why would he? When Jason first came to live with him, his father hadn’t even picked him up from the bus station. He hadn’t been home with Jason got there, either. He’d left word with a neighbor to be on the lookout for Jason, to let him in, to make sure he got dinner, to explain that Dad had gotten caught up in a meeting at work… The bright red flash of Henry’s turn signal caught Jason’s attention; they were getting off the highway. They’d passed the signs for Athens and Ohio University as well as for Hocking Hills Community College a while back, leaving Jason to wonder exactly where they were headed. He figured they’d gotten there when there when he saw a row of small houses. A bank. A veterinary clinic. More houses lay beyond and for a second, Henry seemed to be leading the way through a quiet little neighborhood—but then the next turn put them back onto a two-lane highway, and in seconds they were passing through alternating stretches of farmland and forest. Henry slowed for a couple of deer who were crossing the road. He slowed again when he seemed to realize that Jason wasn’t at all comfortable taking the snowy, hilly, twisted road at fifty miles an hour, even when another car came up behind him and practically rode on his bumper until the driver finally got fed up and passed them both. Several miles later, Henry turned again, this time onto a dirt road that was even hillier, snowier, and curvier than the paved highway. Where in the hell were they going? For the next several miles, Henry led the way through dense forest on a road that was so narrow in some places Jason didn’t think two cars could actually pass each other. They had to stop twice more for deer crossing the road and once for some big ugly bird that Jason couldn’t identify. Finally, the woods gave way to a stretch of farmland, and Henry again. At first Jason had thought it was another road, but then he realized it was a driveway because it dead ended in front of a small red brick house with familiar white cargo van parked out front. Behind the house rose a steep tree covered hill; next to it was a little stream with what looked like a garden on the other side of it. A wide wooden bridge spanned the water. But the place looked nothing like a Thomas Kinkade painting; the bridge appeared to have constructed piecemeal out of leftover scraps of wood from other projects, and while smoke did drift lazily out of the tiny house’s chimney, Jason couldn’t help thinking how bleak that made the house looked. The knots in his gut wound themselves tighter and tighter and he had to fight the urge to turn around and try to find his way back to civilization—but when Henry pulled in next to the van, Jason parked next to him and got out of his car and realized it had started to snow. “Welcome to Chez Durand!” Henry announced with a broad smile as he hopped out of his truck. Jason’s gut bottomed out—there wasn’t another house or any signs of human habitation anywhere in sight. Henry lived truly and completely in the middle of nowhere and suddenly all Jason could think about was The Story of O. He shivered. “Come on, let’s get you in out of the cold,” Henry said, reaching for Jason’s duffle bag. Jason just stood there. It took Henry several moments to realize he wasn’t following and turn back around. He held out his hand. “I know it’s not much to look at on the outside,” he said apologetically. “No…I…,” Jason closed his eyes. He took a breath. “I’m okay,” he lied as opened his eyes back up again and put his hand in Henry’s. It was either this or go back to Michigan, go sleep on Kendra’s couch. He didn’t want that. He wanted Henry. But that didn’t stop his legs from feeling like they were made from rubber bands as he followed Henry up the back steps and into the house. Jason stopped dead in his tracks when he got inside. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but a cozy, very normal looking house decorated in warm shades of gold, olive green and brown wasn’t it. Where were the whips and chains? Where was the leather, the bondage gear? “I’d offer you the ten cent tour, but it’s not even worth a nickel,” Henry joked. Jason just nodded. It definitely wasn’t the kind of house he was in any danger of getting lost in, that was for sure. And okay, so maybe bondage gear wasn’t the first thing Henry wanted visitors to see, but he’d still expected something a little less…ordinary out of a guy who made his living selling collars and leather corsets. The house had an open floor plan; from the backdoor, Jason could see the small living room (there was a wraparound sofa in one corner, two leather chairs in another and a television on the far wall), a neat little kitchen and the dining area. A wide, curved staircase was the centerpiece of the main part of the house; it opened up into the kitchen, and from there led down into the basement. Two more steps into the house and Jason could see the short hall with three doors, two closed and one he couldn’t quite see into from where he was standing.   “My room’s the one to the right, across from the bathroom,” Henry explained. “My sister’s room is at the end of the hall. Everything else is pretty straightforward. There’s a family room downstairs as well as a laundry room. It sort of doubles as an office and guest room.” He shrugged. “My work room’s downstairs too. So’s the play room.” Jason swallowed back the lump in his throat and nodded. Henry had said “mine” in reference to the bedroom. Maybe slaves didn’t get to sleep with their Masters. “So um….where do you want me to put my stuff, Sir?” Suddenly the word “Master” was as uncomfortable as it had been a few months ago. Henry hesitated longer than Jason would have liked. He wanted Henry to say “put it in our room”, but he didn’t. “Just set it down in the bedroom and then come on back into the living room. I think there’s some things we need to talk about.” “Yes, Sir.” At least Henry hadn’t told him to put in the office/laundry room/guest room. Maybe Jason was just overreacting. Henry’s bedroom was as simple and unassuming as the rest of the house. No whips. No chains. Just a gorgeous four post bed…hello. Metal eyehooks were attached to those posts in fairly strategic locations. Tops of the posts. Bottoms of the posts. Middles of the posts. Headboard. Footboard. Shit. Henry could tie someone up to his bed in just about any position he wanted! Jason’s dick began to stiffen in response to mental images of him being that someone—and he immediately winced in pain when it hit against the hard metal. Jason took several deep breaths and tried to not to think about something else. Anything else. But he was still in pain when he came out of the bedroom to find Henry sitting in one of the big leather chairs in the living room. Henry looked so perfectsitting there. Even though he was just wearing jeans and a T-shirt, he looked like a Dom, a Master. Jason swallowed hard as he stepped into the room. “I don’t think I can do this.” Henry’s expression was impossible to read. “Care to elaborate?” Jason took a step closer. “I don’t want to disappoint you, but I don’t think I can wear this thing for eight days, Sir.”   Helen Pattskyn, Fantasy Artist, Gay Romance Author