G.B. Hope's Blog

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Exes On The Beach

Nancy Niven is stressed out after a difficult break-up and a massive deal on the New York property market, so her boss sends her to the firm's private Caribbean island for some rest and relaxation. But as the helicopter leaves her alone in paradise, she realises with a shock, and some horror, that she will be sharing the villa with six gorgeous, tattooed exes: Americans, Michael and Ryan. Englishman, Tommy. Italian, Francesco. Indonesian, Eddi. And... English girl, Kelly.
After the initial shock and renewing of relationships, both pleasant and unwanted, Nancy has to relax and try to make the best of her bizarre vacation. Inevitably, circumstances draw Nancy into romantic situations and hot sex. Everything gets steamy and tense, until Nancy finally picks up clues as to the real, sinister nature of the set-up.

Expected publication: April 2016
Let me know if you want to see an arc.

Beta reader required for Exes On The Beach

Chapter 7 sample: Gail Hoffman, an eighteen-year-old girl from Renton, just outside Seattle, sipped from her bottle of Evian water while listening to the Assistant Director screaming at someone through the walkie-talkie on her hip. Actually screaming. That nice Englishman. At least he wasn't shouting at her, she thought. To be fair, her first ever job as a Production Assistant, or Runner, was going brilliantly well. She was loving it to death. Everyone had been helpful, the Actors and the Extras proving to be polite and accommodating. Perhaps the only negative was the inclement weather out on location, somewhere in Northern California, so she pulled her Seahawks hat down further and snuggled into her North Face fleece. It was a shame after spending so much time doing her hair and perfecting her clothes for the assignment - light green camo trousers,which said she wasn't afraid to get stuck it, but also that she had a great ass, and a white shirt that exposed her flat abdomen. She was working hard and being very conscientious, but also hoped to find a new boyfriend through this new work. A cameraman or a stuntman, perhaps.
It had been exciting, that morning, to be instructed to collect five male Extras in the VW van, and the handsome guys had all flirted with her, but the rain and cold had dampened their ardour, and a six hour wait had turned them into sullen, shuffling hulks.
She watched them, sheltering in a farmer's barn, near to where the film set had been constructed, all in their coats, and two with their hoods up, some drinking foul catering coffee, one texting his agent with a complaint, no doubt. She checked their names again on her clipboard, just in case any of them were called for individually; Justin, Ryan, Henry (with the full beard), Jake and Tom, all mid-twenties, all picked from their agency for their firm, six-foot physiques, to play soldiers. Gail grinned, looking at their bare lower legs, all fairly camp in Roman sandals. Before the coats were zipped up tight she had seen their Legionnaire tunics and muscular thighs, all self-conscious to be without trousers. It took an hour at the farm before they stopped joking with each other over the "dresses" they were wearing and relaxed into them. Gail had watched the men talk about everything from their girlfriends' problems to their favourite baseball teams, seeing their mannerisms - a subconscious scratch of the balls from one, a spit from another, some bad language, and one taking a pee against a tree. That had been Jake. The lady in the Make-Up department had needed to cover up a set of numbers on his neck, 21-7-2015, which were a tattoo celebrating the birth of his first son. Gail had been fascinated watching that being done in the Winnebago back at base, as well as watching Tom try to get used to his new e-cigarette after recently quitting smoking, and Ryan having a good stretch after getting out of the van. Not forgetting Henry pulling the legs of his Boxer shorts down his thighs to attain comfort.
Her radio crackled. Lost in her lustful reverie, she didn't realise it was for her.
"Gail!"
"Gail here. Go ahead."
"Bring the Roman soldiers onto set, please. ASAP."
"Will do!"
The rain had stopped, but all the men stepped into their Wellington boots to squelch through the mud, following after Gail. They came through a small wood to be met by a bustling film set of lights and cameras, all protected from the weather, and a film crew getting on with things, despite their own misery. The set was a Roman bath house and stable block. Bedraggled slaves lingered about. The main actors for the scene were there, talking to the Director. Gail held her group back. She looked at the track for the camera dolly which circled the set, and she knew that the main actors were arriving after a battle to soak their battered bodies. Clearly, the Director wanted to make best use of the magnificent bath house, intending to pan right around it as the actors arrived on horseback, then follow them inside, where her guys were to already be.
The Assistant Director approached Gail. He looked about twelve, but he seemed extremely competent to her, and came with a good reputation back in his native England. Although he had been the man shouting earlier, he gave her a warm smile. "Gail, it's bloody awful weather. Would you be so kind as to put your people inside? On action, tell them to let the slave girls undress them, and to only get in the water if they don't hear cut. Important, yes, darling? Don't get them all wet unless we are following through on the shot."
"Yes, sir. Got that."
"Good. You're an absolute darling."
Gail turned to her charges. They were nodding, all clear on what was required of them. A brilliant smile appeared through Henry's beard, and Ryan winked at her. In they trudged, leaving their boots out of camera shot. Jake was clapping his hands on his arms.
"At least the water's hot," pointed out Ryan.
"And the slave girls," said Henry.
One of the scantily clad slave girls grinned at them. It was not a porn movie, but was trying to be authentic and explicit.
"First positions!" called somebody.
The actors mounted their horses and rode off out of shot. Then the rain came again, causing a great deal of vile swearing, but the Director needed to get something in the can.
"Let's try for it!" called the Director. He looked at his Cameraman, "Ready, William?" A hooded form sitting beside the camera nodded at him. "Action!!"
Gail watched through a window from a distance as her men started to undress, with nubile slave girls assisting with their uniforms. But the actors didn't move, the Director's instructions lost in the downpour. Runners had to wave frantically to let the actors know it was time to go.
"Cut!" screamed the Director. "Let's go again. Harrison, get closer to the horses and watch me." A minion trotted off into position.
On the second Action the actors spurred their horses into shot, but Gail's men had missed the call and were still re-dressing and flirting with the slaves. The Director swore foully. The Assistant Director rushed to Gail's side.
"Gail," he shouted inside the hood of her coat. "Get inside there, out of sight. I'll double-click the walkie-talkie and you say action to your people."
"Yes, sir!"
Gail ran into the bath house, to be greeted with cheers by the men.
"Hush, you guys," she said, squatting down out of sight. The rain hammered on the plywood roof. It was hot in there with the steaming bath. Her men were oozing sex appeal in the tight space. Gail was quite overawed. "Listen to me for the action signal. Okay?"
Justin was trying to get a slave girl's number. Jake had wiped off the make-up on his neck and was explaining the significance of the tattoo to another girl. Gail sulked a little, jealous of the raven-haired models flirting with her men. She threw off her hood, tossed her hair a little. Then she reminded herself enough to concentrate, to listen to the radio.
The two clicks came suddenly and she gave the instruction to start. Then, from her position on the floor, Gail watched as all the soldiers were slowly undressed. Gentle female hands assisted with the removal of garments. Everyone was trying not to grin. The "dresses" came down, revealing firm buttocks, hard rib cages and strong manly legs. Only Henry let the side down by having to quickly drop his illicit Boxer shorts, but he was at the back and she was relieved not to be in trouble for that. Her eyes were like saucers. She was all agog. Five naked hunks in front of her. Ryan decided to take his sandals off, so sat right next to her, his solid, slightly hairy, abdomen folding at his hip as he bent forward, his wispy pubes at her eye level, the start of his massive cock going down to be hidden by his thigh. The other men were going into the water with their footwear on. It was Jake who happened to turn sideways first, allowing Gail a full eye-level view of his magnificent manhood. It was so thick, and his balls were hairless. Gail didn't blink. She seemed to have been forgotten down there. She was squatting amid an orgy of testosterone. Good God, she thought, as Henry cupped his scrotum protectively before stepping down into the hot bath, giggling at the temperature.
Then the actors entered the scene, talking and demonstrating sword movements to each other, as other slave girls rushed to deal with them. Ryan stood, with his ass so close to Gail's face that she could see goosebumps on his bare skin. She gasped. Justin went into the water with a splash. Then a nude Tom spotted her down there. He winked, grinned, and took his impossible six-pack into the water. Gail thought, if she worked in film and television for forty years, it would never get any better than her first job.

HARRY STYLES and the New York Apocalypse (a novel)

HARRY STYLES and the New York Apocalypse is now out as an e-book.
To all Directioners, please be gentle with me. I'm a fan, and there is nothing negative about Harry in this story.

When a total black-out hits the world - planes falling down from the sky, cars crashing, cell phones and computers dying - two Englishmen are stranded, separately, on the East Coast of the US. They both try to make their way to their girlfriend and sister, respectively, who is trapped in New York.
As society turns quickly to chaos, the two men encounter violence, tragedy, friendships and adventure, joined along the way by several different characters.
Meanwhile, the girl they are working their way towards is surviving as best she can, all the while terribly worried for her idol; Harry Styles, of the band One Direction, who were performing in New York at the time of the unexplained apocalyptic event.

FINDING HARRY STYLES (a novel)

Finding Harry Styles (in the New York apocalypse) is out now in e-book. Directioners, please be gentle with me, me and Harry were born five miles apart, I'm a fan, and there's nothing negative about him in this story.

When a total power black-out hits the world - planes falling down from the sky, cars crashing, cell phones and computers dying - two Englishmen are stranded, separately, on the east coast of the United States. They both try to make their way to their girlfriend and sister, respectively, who is trapped in New York.
As society turns quickly to chaos, the two men encounter violence, tragedy, friendships and adventure, joined along the way by several different characters.
Meanwhile, the girl they are working their way towards is surviving as best she can, all the while terribly worried for her idol; Harry Styles, of the band One Direction, who were performing in New York at the time of the unexplained apocalyptic event.

SEXTING (a novel)

GOODREADS author, Michael Lincoln, embarks on an internet relationship with a younger fan, Elise McHugh, who comes from Singapore.
Despite her innate shyness, and his concerns over the age gap, things quickly hot up, becoming raunchy and intense. But there is also a touching, natural, soul-mate bond there between them, as they follow each other's successes and troubles in their real lives.
Elise, nineteen years old, is an absolute darling; petite, black-haired, black-eyed, very cheeky - despite being the daughter of a wealthy property developer, she is genuine and sweet, funny and principled - a well brought-up girl in strict Singapore.
Englishman Michael, thirty-seven, is recently divorced, trying to keep up contact with his daughter, while working at selling his crime novels. He instantly adores Elise, but struggles to justify the eighteen years and 9000 miles between them. He finds her to be great company, using his love of words to fulfill her wish to be brought out of her shell. Soon they are enjoying conversation, cheeky banter, sex stories and eventually frantic, explicit sexting.
At the same time, they both explore real-life relationships where they live, while trying to get to a point where they can see about possibly getting together.
Complications to do with friends, and Michael's selfish ex-wife hinder them, and the possibility of tragedy provides the final hurdle.

SEXTING (a novel)

My new novel, Sexting, is all finished and on the way to the publishing powers-that-be.

It is a story of an English writer, Michael Lincoln, who embarks on an internet relationship with a younger fan, Elise McHugh, who comes from Singapore.
Despite her innate shyness, and his concerns about the age gap, things quickly hot up, becoming raunchy and intense. But there is also a touching, natural, soul-mate bond there between them, as they follow each other's successes and troubles in their real lives.
Elise, nineteen years old, is an absolute darling; petite, black haired, black eyed, very cheeky - despite being the daughter of a wealthy property developer, she is genuine and sweet, funny and principled - a well brought-up girl in strict Singapore.
Michael, thirty-seven, is recently divorced, trying to keep up contact with his daughter, while working at selling his crime novels. He instantly adores Elise, but struggles to justify the eighteen years and 9000 miles between them. He finds her to be great company, using his love of words to fulfill her wish to be brought out of her shell. Soon they are enjoying conversation, cheeky banter, sex stories and eventually frantic, explicit sexting.
At the same time, they both explore real-life relationships where they live, while trying to get to a point where they can see about possibly getting together.
Complications to do with friends, and Michael's selfish ex-wife hinder them, and the possibility of tragedy provides the final hurdle.

Fighting Out Of New Milford, USA finally out

My number one fan (no, not you, Ayaka) but the lady in Connecticut, read it in one sitting. It's not that the book is very short, it was that she found herself snowed in and banned from taking to the highways by the state police.

By the way, thank you all for the suggestions for the third book's title. Here are the top three at the moment: Fighting Out Of Olyphant, Pennsylvania. Fighting Out Of Old Leake, England. Fighting Out Of Singapore. Fighting Out Of A Paper Bag was discounted. I know who you are.

Queens Gambit

My mother paid me a visit (Oh, good, laundry). She asked what I was reading and I said I won a book in a giveaway, Queen's Gambit, about one of Henry VIII's wives.
"Can you name his wives?" I asked.
"Err, no."
"The first one, Catherine of..."
"Err, no."
"Catherine of Aragon. They got rid of her for Anne..."
"Boleyn?"
"Yes! Then there was Jane..."
"Seymour?"
"Yes! Then there was Anne..."
"Hathaway?"
"Anne of Cleves. Followed by Catharine..."
"The great?"
"No, let's leave that, mum."

Delay to new zombie book

To whoever it may concern,

There seems to be a couple of weeks delay with publication. I apologise unreservedly. It's not my fault. It's the printers. I'm so sorry! I'll never use them again.
Listen, to keep you entertained, meantime, here's some other things I'll never do.

I'll never support Manchester United.
I'll never stop wanting to live in southern California again.
I'll never like dentists (not because of pain, but because of their greed).
I'll never be Scarlett Johansson's boyfriend (though I did offer).
I'll never be Elton John's boyfriend (though I did offer).
I'll never be a cyclist with one of those orange flags sticking into the road to ward off cars (tossers).
I'll never set foot in Sheffield again if I can help it.
I'll never rush to a millionaire tennis player again to have a sweaty towel thrown in my face.

I'll stop now, even I'm getting bored.