Blair Babylon's Blog: Blair Blathers, page 12

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Covid-19 Vaccine Myths, and Covid-19 Disease Reality

Good morning, just a quick note from Dr Blair. I just wanted to address a few things that I have been hearing from people on social media about the vaccine and about Covid-19. Just as a reminder, I hold a PhD in microbiology, in virology, and I did my postdoctoral work in neuroscience at Penn. I did some epidemiology with WHO during the polio outbreak in the Dominican Republic, and I was a scientist for ten years. As such, I was a professor, so I profess. I am not a medical doctor, so I do not prescribe. I'm can tell you what I'm doing, but I cannot tell you what you should do.

If you have any questions about what's best for you, you should always go talk to your own a medical doctor who knows your history.

Also, I dictated this post and didn't have time to go through for typos. There are going to be some weird typos in it.

And now that all the disclaimers are out of the way, here we go.

One thing that I've been hearing that is really worrying is that some people, especially women, don't want to get the vaccine because they have heard that the vaccine can affect your future fertility. This is actually the opposite of what's true. (And to be clear, I have heard this from multiple people. If you've approached me and asked me this question, and several of you have, you're not alone, you are not even rare.)

What is true is that it is possible (and a few studies that have been done and what I would consider second-rate journals), that Covid-19 disease might cause sterility, especially in men.

Yes, you read that right, it is very possible that Covid-19 disease, but not the vaccine, might make guys shoot blanks. Might make their swimmers into floaters. Might make their spunk into junk.

It might also make their balls shrink.

Now, before you tell your husband go walk around without a mask as a method of birth control, let me stress that it is not guaranteed.
So, the proteins on the outside of cells that the virus latches onto in order to penetrate the cells is called ACE2. Your cells in your lungs and in your blood vessels have a lot of ACE2 proteins on them, and that's why it infects those structures.

The cells in the testes also express a lot of ACE2 proteins. There are papers published that show that men who have had moderate to severe Covid-19 disease have problems with the male hormones that they are producing, and those differences in the amount and concentration of the male hormones are often associated with sterility and “hypogonadism” (means “your balls shrink and die”). Other studies showed significant cell death of important cells in the testes.

Some studies of men with mild disease show these changes to a lesser extent, and any change in hormone levels is known to affect fertility in men.

I want to stress that none of these studies have yet been published in first-rate journals, which is where I normally get my information. Often, early studies are published in journals that are considered less good because you can publish in those journals with fewer results. This means that it is more likely that these papers are in error then if they were published in a top-tier journal like Nature, Science, or Cell, but there hasn't been enough time for any researcher to gather enough results to have a significant enough paper to publish in one of those journals.

What I'm saying is, this information is kind of from mid-tier news source. That means that it's not like it was published in the Washington Post, but it's not like it was published on Joe Schmoe, OD's blog, either. These are scientific journals with peer review. There's a better chance that they have found something that's true then it is a total error.

The vaccine has not been found to be associated with any loss of fertility, and so far, there is absolutely no hypothesized mechanism for it to do so. That means that leading scientists, the really good ones, have no information nor even theories about how the vaccine could impact future fertility.

So, the Covid-19 vaccine (especially the Pfizer and Moderna ones, which are the ones I've looked at the most) is very probably completely safe for future fertility.

But Covid-19 disease is definitely impacting the organs and hormones associated with male fertility.

In addition, about twenty percent of men who get Covid-19 disease say that they have “significant scrotal pain.” (If that doesn't make a guy where a mask, nothing will.) So, there are outward symptoms definitely associated with the disease that would suggest that the virus is infecting the testes in clinical disease and is causing this damage.

So far, there have been no studies that I have seen about the impact of Covid-19 disease in women's fertility, but the ACE2 protein that allows the virus to infect cells is expressed in women's reproductive tracts, too. This suggests that, as usual, scientists are studying men's health rather than women's health because institutional patriarchy.
So, the too-long-didn't-read summary is this: there is no evidence that the vaccine will cause sterility, but there is a growing body of research that getting the Covid-19 disease can.

ACE2R and COVID-19 Infection of Testicles

My name is Tryp.

Read Tryp's story in Somebody to Love here!

I was born in a place where little boys were thrown away when they turned thirteen.

Exiled.

Set out on the highway and told to keep walking and not come back.

I've been walking away ever since without knowing where I was going.

When I was set out on the highway, I can barely read and couldn't multiply because education was wasted on boys. Once we were old enough to swing a hammer or use the saw, we were taken out of school to work in the community's construction company. The housing developments and shopping mall construction projects where we worked must have looked odd with so many young boys working instead of going to elementary school, but the developers and even the government didn't ask questions because the price was right.

I was out there with them, sweating in the sun and hauling lumber, but my mother also brought me inside for a few hours in the afternoon to practice piano. In a town with no televisions, a kid who can play the piano like an angel is a valuable commodity.

After I was set out on the highway, it was music that saved me. Getting a job in a music store with a sympathetic owner allowed me to go to school and that allowed me to get a scholarship to the Colburn School, a music conservatory in California, which was where Xan Valentine found me and seduced me away from classical music with his rock ‘n' roll lifestyle to be his drummer in his band.

Oh, if only those kids working construction with me could see me now, rich as a skunk, playing rock concerts to arenas full of screaming fans, and drinking until dawn.

And then one of the roadies has to pour me into bed, and then another one comes with a bucket of ice to get me up for the show the next day.

One of the roadies is different. Her name is Elfie, and she took off my boots before tossing the covers over my sick body.

No one's ever taken care of me like that in my whole life.

I might be in love.

But she's the pyrotechnics technician, and if I make a move on her, she'll put a bomb in my drum kit.

It might be worth it.

Read Tryp's story in Somebody to Love here!

Cover Reveal: COLOR THEORY ANTHOLOGY

A BOOK A DAY PRESENTS:
COLOR THEORY

A.M. Kusi | Anne Welch | Arden Aoide | Blair Babylon | CA Miconi | Danielle Pearl | Eden Butler | Elizabeth Marx | Janet A. Moto | Kenna Rey | Lori Ryan | M. Jane Colette | Piper Rayne | Shannon Bruno | Sierra Hill | Willow Aster | Carmen Cook 

Release Date: February 2

Pre-Order Links HERE! 

If you've read my book One Night in Monaco, you've met Simone, one of the women Max has loved in his life. (SPOILERS FOR ONIM) He got her safely back home to Mauritius, but did you wonder what happened to her after that?

PRE-ORDER NOW to read Simone's HEA in this all-new story in the Color Theory anthology!

17 Exclusive ALL-NEW romance stories by bestselling authors about couples who defy convention and follow their hearts. These stories are all brand new and only available in this box set!

Love is blind, but it’s never easy. A Book a Day Presents: Color Theory is a collection of stories about love that is determined not by the color of one’s skin, but by the connection of two hearts. They face challenges, but together they not only overcome—but soar. These couples know the color of one’s skin can’t determine who a person loves. Love is so much more.

This amazing anthology will only be available for a short time, and all the proceeds will go to the education of Black students.

2020 Recap

2020 wasn't all bad. I got some stuff done.

– 3 new releases + audiobooks
– 2 backlist audiobooks
– 2 free boxed sets
– 7 German translations
– 4 French translations + free French boxed set

All books: https://blairbabylon.com/books/
NEVER MISS A SALE OR A FREEBIE: https://blairbabylon.com/book-boyfrie...

BLAIRS BÜCHER IN DEUTSCHE: https://blairbabylon.com/series/deuts...
DEUTSCHER E-MAIL-NEWSLETTER: https://blairbabylon.com/deutscher-e-...

BLAIR’S LIVRES EN FRANÇAIS: https://blairbabylon.com/series/franc...
FRANÇAIS E-MAIL NEWSLETTER: https://blairbabylon.com/francais-e-m...

ORDER (Max #2) by Blair Babylon NEW RELEASE in ebook, audiobook, and paperback!

NEW RELEASE!
NOW AVAILABLE everywhere in ebook, paperback, and audiobook!

GET IT HERE!

Have you read Book #1, ROGUE, yet? Get ROGUE here.

Dree Clark thought tall, ripped, thoroughly hot Augustine was her knight in shining armor, until she discovered he was her priest.

Where’s the last place in the world murderous drug dealers from Phoenix would look for a girl who owes them money?

Nepal.

Dree is on the run. Her dead ex-boyfriend owes a whole lot of money to some drug dealers, and if they can’t get the cash from Dree, they’ll take it out of her hide. When Catholic Charities offers Dree a mission into the far reaches of Nepal because they need a nurse, Dree jumps at the opportunity and prays she’ll be safe.

Until she meets the Catholic priest who’ll be leading the mission.

It’s Augustine, the sexy guy from Paris.

But he has a new name, Father Maxence Grimaldi.

Well, she’d told him to lie to her.

She just never thought he’d lie about being a priest.

Now, she’s journeying far out into the wilds with the hot priest.

And oh God, they’re riding motorcycles, and he’s wearing black leather with a priest’s collar.

And there aren’t enough darned tents to go around.

She’s not going to be able to keep her hands off him.

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Release Day for Order!

I'm so excited to share more of Maxence's adventures with you in Order, book two of the series, releasing today!



The audiobook, narrated by the fabulous team of Shane East and Lucy Rivers also releases today!



You can find the book at any of the retailers below. Hope you enjoy it!

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08L9WPSWC
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/orde...
iBooks: https://books.apple.com/us/book/order...
GooglePlay: https://play.google.com/store/books/d...
Nook: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/orde...
Audible: https://www.audible.com/pd/Order-Audi...
GR: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/5...
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/order-a...

Chapter One Teaser for Order

With only five days until release, I thought you might enjoy a chapter one teaser for Order...

Preorder links can be found here:

https://blairbabylon.com/books/order/



Chapter One
Disappear

Maxence Grimaldi disappeared.
Maxence Grimaldi disappeared because that’s what he always did.
When he’d left Dree Clark sleeping in the enormous bed in the suite of the Four Seasons George V Hotel in Paris, he’d brushed her blond hair with a kiss, showered and packed in the bathroom, and quickly let himself out without waking her up. The hotel had summoned a car to take him to the Orly airport, where he’d boarded a private plane to take him to Kathmandu, Nepal.
A stewardess wearing a scarlet sheath dress with her black hair carefully smoothed back in a French twist leaned down and asked him, “Would you like scotch or wine, sir? Or something else?”
Maxence glanced at his phone, which was receiving a signal from the plane’s Wi-Fi connection. “It’s seven o’clock in the morning.”
She smiled.
Maxence shrugged. “Scotch.”
Her smile turned conspiratorial. “Yes, sir. And for breakfast?”
“Eggs. Toast. Something substantial. Thank you, Malini.”
She walked back to the plane’s galley, her slim figure swaying as she walked between the white leather reclining seats that lined the narrow fuselage of the aircraft.
The engines whined as the small jet drilled through the air, and Maxence spread his hands on the rich, burled wood of the table where he sat. Three more oversized seats, currently unoccupied, also stood around the table. He stretched his legs underneath, enjoying these last few minutes of luxury.
Not minutes, actually. Hours. The flight from Paris to Nepal, even with a private plane and with only a short refueling and reprovisioning stop in Doha, Qatar, was still nearly fifteen hours.
They raced south and east, toward the encroaching night, so his day would be shortened by several time zones. The plane would land in Nepal in the early morning of the next day.
Maxence Grimaldi ruminated for fifteen long hours upon the choices he had made in his life.
Some of that time, he read to deepen his thoughts. Several meals were brought to him, which were of excellent quality, and he ate. The two air hostesses tag-teamed Max to keep him company, sitting across from him at the table while they ate and indulging in polite small talk. The three of them played cards for a little while.
It wasn’t all charity. Long-haul flights weren’t easy on the flight crews, either. They were going to have to turn around and fly this long route again on the way back with an empty plane the next day. Max planned to be in Nepal for at least a month, perhaps two, so there was no use keeping the plane, the pilots, and these ladies stranded at the Kathmandu airport for such a long stretch. His family would surely utilize it in the interim.
As the hours passed, the air hostesses spent less time with him, as they always did, and Maxence spent more time reading and contemplating.
The plane raced toward midnight and the spot on the horizon where the sun would rise.
When it grew dark, Maxence asked for turndown service, and the air hostesses reclined one of the couches into a double bed and laid sheets on it before closing the window shades.
The turbulence of his thoughts would not allow him to sleep. He didn’t feel regret. He never did after one of those interludes when he slipped sideways and fell into temptation and his life as it might have been. But his lack of discipline and the depths of his own depravity disgusted him. He should not indulge like that. He should not lose discipline.
Although, if he hadn’t met Dree Clark, who had captivated him for those few days, it probably would have been worse.
It certainly would have included a greater number of women.
He probably should have thanked her for keeping him from having to perform even more penance, which was another item he would have to deal with when he reached the rectory in Kathmandu.
Two hours before they arrived in Nepal, Maxence arose from where he had reclined but not slept, and he took a small suitcase from the back of the plane, where it had been stowed for this purpose. He shooed the air hostesses back behind the curtain that shielded the galley for a few minutes of privacy. Malini wouldn’t let the other woman peek, not that Max cared.
Maxence was a large man, six feet four inches, and packed with a generous amount of muscle. For him, trying to change his clothes in a tiny airplane bathroom was an invitation for disaster. He would at least break the mirror when he stretched, if not accidentally tear a cabinet off the wall when he tried to put on a shirt.
He removed a suit of unrelieved black clothes from the suitcase and set them aside. He shrugged off the black Armani suit jacket he wore and unbuttoned the white, silk-blend shirt underneath.
Under his shirt, he wore a slim platinum cross on a thin chain that he didn’t take off. He’d hung it around his neck directly before he’d left the hotel and Dree sleeping like an angel in the crisp, cotton sheets.
As he removed each item of clothing, he folded the clothes neatly and tucked them inside the empty luggage.
After a quick shower in the private plane’s minuscule stall, he donned the other set of clothes, which was just as finely made and also Armani, but tailored in a more subdued style. He tucked the platinum cross inside the shirt, next to his skin.
The shirt’s collar was a high, ecclesiastical band into which he inserted a white tab.
It felt less like a baptism and more like a snake shedding its worthless skin.
When Maxence looked up in the mirror, a Catholic priest—or almost-priest—wearing a Roman collar looked back at him, judging him for the way that he had spent the month since he had last worn ecclesiastical garb.
It was a harsh judgment, as it should be.
Also, his black hair fell in curls over his forehead and around his ears. He really should’ve made time for a haircut while he was in Paris.
When he returned to his seat, he slipped on a suit jacket that matched the slacks, also in sober black and as well-tailored as everything else he owned.
Back at the suitcase, Maxence removed a fine gold crucifix on a string of black rosary beads from a side pouch of the bag and stuffed it in one of his pockets. He looped a different cross around his neck, a slightly larger one made of iron on a matte, metal chain.
As the plane began to descend to Kathmandu’s Tribhuvan International Airport, Maxence took the opportunity to utilize the plane’s Wi-Fi to check his messages.
His cousin Alexandre had texted a long diatribe about their family’s political machinations and how much of his time these intrigues required. Alex also said he was on his way home because a particular errand required his presence, which seemed menacing, and he suggested that if Maxence wanted to attend their dying uncle’s funeral, he might want to start finding his way home because it would happen soon. Alex also mentioned that his wife, Georgie, had been in touch with her college friend who had married the notorious Wulfram von Hannover, and unmentionable plans had swung into progress re: Flicka.
That was even more menacing, but Alexandre had a flair for seeming a bit of a dangerous psychopath. His reputation for the occasional brutal murder had probably kept him alive. The Grimaldi all had their tricks.
Maxence inhaled a steadying breath and, for the first time in days, checked his limited, private social media and the newsfeeds.
He found a picture on his social media feed that stopped his heart.
Max’s ex-girlfriend, Flicka von Hannover, the one who got away, stood beside his older brother, Pierre, and they posed for the cameras as the happily married couple they were purported to be. Her smile was not the joyful grin Maxence had seen directed at himself so many times, but she wore the formal, seamless mask she used for important engagements and when she was weeping inside.
A bump of turbulence jostled the airplane, and Max’s arm swayed with the phone as he tried to compensate.
Queasiness filled his stomach, and he swallowed hard.
Maybe it was an old picture because Pierre was pulling a PR stunt. Anything was possible.
He sent a DM to his cousin Marie-Therese Grimaldi, Is Flicka in Monaco?
He waited only minutes for Marie-Therese’s reply. Yeah, she just showed up out of nowhere. I saw that pic, too. When I asked around, everybody’s hush-hush, but they said she’s in the palace. My dad is *pissed.* He thought she had divorced Pierre. And then, you know.
No, Maxence didn’t know what his Uncle Jules would do in that case, and he sure as hell didn’t want to. Jules Grimaldi was a psychopath of the highest degree and a virulent racist and misogynist. Maxence had expected someone to dox him as an actual Nazi for years, but it hadn’t happened so far. Jules had probably never made the mistake of committing his intent and manifestos to writing or the internet because he was diabolically intelligent. However, Max had heard Jules’s sinister diatribes at suppers and repeated from the mouth of Marie-Therese.
He stared at the picture again.
No matter what, Flicka was out in the open now. Both Alexandre, who was a past and potentially future murderer, and Flicka’s older brother, Wulfram, were en route to her.
Wulfram von Hannover was one of the most powerful people in the world in his own quiet way and employed a startling number of mercenaries.
In this situation, Maxence knew to step aside and allow the reputed serial killer and the mastermind who owned paramilitary units to take care of the problem. He swiped out of the window on his phone and turned off the Wi-Fi and cellular signal, essentially demoting it to a camera and an off-line e-reader.
Max would have little reason to use the phone while he was in Kathmandu on the mission that would take him into the interior of Nepal. There probably wouldn’t be any cellular signal, anyway.
He might as well leave it off.
Plus, turning off his phone was one of his most essential tactics when he disappeared, he’d discovered years ago. Palace security had a much harder time tracking him if he didn’t ping a cellular signal everywhere he went.
But the palace and court intrigues and soft, delicious women were behind him now. He was no longer Maxence of the Grimaldi.
He touched the stiff, white square in the collar near his Adam’s apple, reminding himself of who and what he was.
There was no reason to torture himself with what might have been with Flicka or what he’d had with the buoyant, bubbly Dree Clark, whom his body longed for even as he sat in an airplane speeding away from her.
His palms remembered the satin of her skin, and his fingertips recalled the silk of her hair as he clenched it in his fist at the back of her head. His skin grew sensitive, and the rough fabric of his clothes rubbed his torso and thighs.
Maxence drew a deep breath and settled his soul. It was unlikely that he’d ever see her again, or at least never when they could be together. Those four sensual days had been stolen time, a moment that could never come again. That life was behind Max, and he packed the sensations and desires into the back of his mind where they could not touch him.
Sitting in the seat wearing a Roman collar and his pocket heavy with a rosary, that stolen time was not his life.
Max sought to do good in the world and commune with God instead of indulging his appetites and lusts, which was the usual lifestyle for members of his family. He wasn’t different from them, but he had chosen a different path.
Dawn bloomed like a rising chrysanthemum over the sawtooth horizon, and the irresistible lure of the habits Maxence had cultivated rose within him.
Malini and the other stewardess would be watching, but Maxence would do it anyway. He’d already prayed the Office of Readings in the dark before they’d awakened.
He drew his rosary from his pocket and laid the crucifix so that it dangled over the edge of the table.
In the Liturgy of the Hours—the daily litany of prayers mandatory for Catholic priests, deacons, and religious laypeople—Lauds is the early morning prayer to the rising sun that represents the risen Christ. Praying the Office of the Aurora consecrates the day to Christ.
He consulted the e-book he had stored on his phone months before and scrolled through the text to find the ordained prayer for that morning, Friday, December twelfth.
As always for Lauds, he pressed his palms together, and began, “Lord, open our lips, and we shall praise your name.” He whispered the prayers in his deep baritone voice, and quietly sang the antiphons that buttressed the Psalm, an Old Testament Canticle, and the Psalm of praise for that day. He knew he had a good singing voice. A streak of musicality ran through his family.
The practice rolled through him, knowing that laypeople and priests were facing a crucifix and the rising sun as its light moved across the Earth and repeating the same prayers to dedicate that day and their lives to something greater than themselves.
His arms unfurled to his sides, held to the level of his shoulders, and he lifted his chest and his face to the warmth of the morning sun, breathing in a serenity of spirit he found nowhere else but in prayer.
He recited the Lord’s Prayer, leaning forward with his heart when he said, “Thy will be done,” and finished the praxis with the doxology, “Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever. Amen.”
Maxence was made small and humble by dedicating his time and work to that which was good and holy.
His hunger for all that his family held dear—power, wealth, envy toward each other’s influence and belongings, avarice for more and worse violent delights, and a gluttony of the soul for the entire Earth and everything in it and to consume every person they could reach—receded. Maxence was a damaged man and a dangerous one, but these moments in prayer restored what was lost and broken for a few moments.
When he finished, he stood, brought the crucifix to his lips, and returned the rosary to his pocket.
The morning sun from outside the plane’s porthole window warmed Max’s face, and they flew through clouds of molten gold and silver.
Malini approached him, smiling and holding a tray with a cup of cinnamon-scented chai. The air hostess’s smile was less conspiratorial, kinder, and entirely unsurprised.
He took the cup, grateful. “Thank you.”
“A blessing, Deacon Father?”
Maxence had tried arguing with her that he wasn’t a priest yet, but she always just smiled and said that she wanted a blessing anyway. The Catechism of the Church said that every baptized person is called to be a blessing and to bless, so Maxence drew on that as his guide. He drew a cross in the air over her, intoning, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, may the Lord bless you and keep you safe. Amen.”
She sighed, and her shoulders lowered as if in relief.
“Are you Catholic, Malini?” He’d never asked before.
“No, I’m Hindu, but we believe that all religions are paths to God. I attend many churches because I feel closer to God. I have been to Catholic Mass many times. The singing is very nice.”
Maxence felt compelled to ask, even though it seemed intrusive, “You don’t take communion in Catholic churches, do you?”
“Oh, yes. It is very important to partake of prasadam. The plane is on final approach, Deacon Father. You should probably take your seat. I have to go to the crew seats now.”
“Malini, communion is different than prasadam. There’s an important distinction. You really shouldn’t—”
“The captain has turned on the seatbelt sign, and the crew has to go sit down now. You drink your chai and have a good landing.” She hurried off.
Maxence stood beside the table, shocked and utterly at a loss as to what to do. To take Holy Communion, one must have been baptized in the Church and be in a state of grace. She had to go to confession. There were rules.
He called after her, “Malini, this is important. It’s considered a mortal sin.”
She waved him off and sat next to her friend, belting herself into the seat, while Max was relegated to his table for the landing.
After the plane touched down, Malini dodged Max until he had to get off the plane. She obviously didn’t want to hear what he had to say. He thought he had her phone number, so he could text her a more coherent explanation later.
After Maxence got off the plane and cleared Nepali customs at the airport, he was met by Father Xavier Kocherry, a tall priest with skin the color and texture of worn mahogany leather, whom Maxence had known from a previous project in the state of Tamil Nadu in India. He heartily shook the man’s hand and then hugged him while they laughed.
Maxence hoisted his rucksack onto his back, while Father Xavier picked up the wide cardboard box filled with supplies Maxence had carried off the plane. He said, “Sorry, I could only find one jar of peanut butter in Paris.”
Father Xavier laughed. “I am very glad for the one jar of peanut butter. Next time you come to Nepal, plan ahead and make sure to bring two.”
Maxence asked him, “Is there Mass this evening?”
Father Xavier shook his head. “There is one tomorrow morning over at Our Lady of Perpetual Help. We will attend that one, but I am then called away to minister in other parts of the city for the week and will be staying at the rectory there. Sadly, we do not have much time together.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to need to be reconciled before Mass tomorrow morning.”
“You, Deacon Father? I’m shocked.”
Father Xavier’s absolute earnestness as he said that shamed Maxence even more. Father Xavier had never heard one of Maxence’s confessions after he’d gotten back from Europe. “I’m afraid so, and it’s probably good that I should have sufficient time to do penance before Mass tomorrow morning.”
Father Xavier’s honest confusion forced Max to look away because he could not meet the priest’s eyes. Father Xavier asked, “Have you been having doubts about your vocation? You have wanted to take Holy Orders for years. I would have thought that you would have received that sacrament by now.”
“It’s complicated.”
“God is not complicated. The Divine is not complicated. There is only love.”
Despair left Max’s body with his next breath. “Father Xavier, that was exactly what I needed to hear today. I brought some of the butter crackers you like, too. Let’s go to the rectory and demolish the crackers and peanut butter before I unburden my soul.”
He grinned. “I was hoping very much you would say that.”
As a significant amount of peanut butter was smeared on crackers and Father Xavier rightfully fretted about sodium-sensitive hypertension and his hypothesized, impending stroke, they talked about the project that Maxence would be leading over the next few months.
“A team of five laypeople,” Father Xavier said. “This will be such a blessing, and it is so desperately needed.”
“I received the names in an email this morning,” Maxence told him while scraping a thin layer of peanut butter on his third cracker. He would probably stop after this one, and he reminded himself to send more of Father Xavier’s favorite snack foods once he returned to Europe or the US. “The medical doctor who was slated for this trip dropped out. His mother had a stroke, so he withdrew. Luckily, a nurse practitioner volunteered at the last minute to fill the slot. He’ll be arriving in a few hours. I assume it’s all right if he stays at the rectory tonight?”
“Of course, of course. He can have my room because I’ll stay over at Perpetual Help. Do we know him?”
“I’ve never met him before, but he comes highly recommended by Father Thomas Aquinas at the Church of the Immaculate Conception in the United States. He’s recommended a number of laypeople for projects like this whom I have found to be excellent. Tom is very persuasive at convincing his parishioners and acquaintances to volunteer for missions.”
Father Xavier chuckled. “Yes, we don’t know anyone like that.”
Maxence declined to reply. Yes, he had a knack at persuading people, which was why two of Max’s friends from his exclusive childhood boarding school had “volunteered” their time and resources for this very worthy charitable project.
One of Max’s school friends, Alfonso, had committed a large amount of money and resources to build NICU micro-clinics all across the hinterlands of Nepal, a surprising move. The charity had approved the project while Maxence had been sitting by his uncle’s hospital bed, watching him slowly die, so Max hadn’t been available to consult on it. Undoubtedly, the charity’s board had properly vetted it. They always did.
The other guy, Isaak, was a good man who pretended he wasn’t. He was the diametric opposite of Maxence in so many ways, which was probably why they got along so well.
The whole team would arrive the next morning, the day before the mission officially began.
After Father Xavier had decimated the crackers and peanut butter, he indulgently looped the stole he wore during confession around his neck and, with a crooked smile on his face, asked Maxence what mortal sins he had committed since his last confession.
Maxence couldn’t look at the man’s dark eyes as he stated that it had been five days since his last confession and he had committed an untold number of sins of a sexual nature with a woman as acts of fornication, at least fifteen acts, impure thoughts, wrath, and an act of violence that was in self-defense.
Father Xavier stared at the swollen knuckles of his hands folded in his lap and was silent for a long moment. His black eyebrows twitched, and he breathed to say something at least once, but caught himself and bit his lip instead.
His dismay and disappointment were palpable in the small room in the rear of the rectory.
Finally, Xavier said, “My dear Deacon Maxence, please say one good Act of Contrition in penance, and let us pray together for grace and to know the true will of God in your vocation.”
Losing Father Xavier’s respect hurt, and Maxence prayed with every shred of his soul, holding Father Xavier’s weathered hands, that he would know the will of God and commit himself to it.
Even as Max prayed, soft sparks glimmered at the edges of his vision: satin skin, hair like shredded silk, a joyous laugh, a glance of blue eyes filled with kindness as she listened to him, and a quiet voice speaking gentle words with him that healed instead of wounded.
Not Dree. Don’t think about Dree.
Think about the will of God.
Maxence wrestled with his soul and his thoughts.
Father Xavier sighed, removed the stole from around his neck and kissed the cross in the center, and rose as he wound the small strip of fabric around his hand. “I sense that you have great conflict in your soul, Deacon Maxence. I hope you can reconcile it with God.”
“I hope so, too, Father Xavier.”
Father Xavier pressed his lips together and shook his head, and then said, “I have heard the ladies in the kitchen, cooking. Lunch will be served soon. I hope you can devote yourself to prayer this day before your mission begins in earnest tomorrow.”
After lunch, Father Xavier hurried off to the other church, and Maxence did devote himself to an afternoon of reading and contemplative silence, trying to remedy the trouble in his soul.
His soul did not cooperate.
Maxence slowly conquered his wayward mind. Each time he prayed the hours of the Divine Office, working his way through Sext at midday and None in the midafternoon, he felt stronger in the philosophy and practice of filling his day with prayer.
The clock’s hands slowly spun toward five o’clock in the afternoon, local time, and Maxence began to look forward to the evening prayer of Vespers, a prayer of thanksgiving and gratitude for the day, when there was a knock at the front door of the rectory.
Ah, this would be the new volunteer sent by Father Thomas Aquinas in Phoenix, the one with the same last name as Dree, Clark.
What a coincidence.
She’d said it was a common surname.
Maxence pulled on his suit jacket, ever careful about first impressions, and brushed the front of it for travel dust before he opened the door to the front garden.
Two women stood in the early evening’s fading sunlight.
One was Sister Mariam, a religious sister whom he’d met on a previous mission in India where they had worked together on girls’ education in Kerala. She was a lovely young woman, kind and funny. She had excellent taste in tea shops.
The other woman was facing away from him, looking over the careful landscaping in front of the rectory, and she was a curvy, feminine figure. Her short blond hair swirled around her head in the evening’s cool breeze.
Before she turned, he knew she was Dree Clark, the sweet and lovely woman whom he’d left in Paris in a bed rumpled by their lovemaking just the previous morning.
As she turned, golden sunlight glowed on her creamy skin, and her wary glance told him that she was just as surprised to see him as he was that she was there.
Sister Mariam introduced them, “Andrea Catherine, may I present Deacon Father Maxence Grimaldi. Father Maxence, this is Miss Andrea Catherine Clark, our new nurse practitioner for the premature infant project.”
Dree’s expression changed from wide-eyed wariness to the faint gasp of a gut-punch and downward fall of her eyes and mouth, outward signs that she recognized the depth of his deception. She asked, “Augustine?”
Yes, he was Augustine, praying to God to not yet grant him sobriety and chastity but instead to allow him to resume his life of hedonism and the indulgence of everything he wanted, which at the moment was her, her, her.
Maxence reached his hand forward, palm up, beckoning, beckoning her.
Dree didn’t touch him, and she didn’t smile.
He should welcome her off-handedly, and most of all, he should not reveal to Sister Mariam that they were far more than casually acquainted.
And yet he couldn’t.
His intensity sharpened.
The sight of this beautiful woman shattered the quiet in his soul that came from prayer.
Appetites raged in him: hunger for her skin, her scent, her touch, and the sweetness of her taste in his mouth.
He was a dark thunderstorm, and his desires formed words. “Dree, chérie.”

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Her throat was nearly too tight for words. She forced out, “It’s not safe for me to go back to Phoenix. I told you everything that happened with my ex, Francis. There is some weird stuff going on there with the police and, I think, other drug dealers. So, I called up Sister Annunciata, the principal of my Catholic high school that I went to in New Mexico, and she called up a friend of hers, Father Thomas—”

“Father Thomas Aquinas from Immaculate Conception in Phoenix,” he said with her, in unison. “The Catholic Mafia strikes again.” Augustine shook his head.

Not Augustine, Maxence.

And yet, he was still the astonishingly tall, ripped, beautiful specimen of a man Dree had met in Paris.

But, he was named Maxence. She had to remember that.

Deacon Father Maxence.

The white tab of the Roman collar on his shirt shone in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows, accusing her.

He had not been wearing that in Paris, and he should have been.

“Yeah,” she said. “Father Thomas said he could get me on a plane for somewhere far away from the southwestern US without any questions asked. So, here I am, far away from the southwestern US.”

Augustine nodded. “Nepal is very far away from the southwestern US.”

“Didn’t he or somebody tell you I was coming? Did you know?”

“The Catholic Charities division managing the project emailed me yesterday that a person named ‘Andrea Clark’ had been assigned to us.”

He was pronouncing it wrong, Ahn-DRAY-ah.

She corrected him, “Andrea.” ANN-dree-uh.

“I thought it was amusing because you had mentioned that Clark was a very common name,” he said, “that there was a university and shoes and department store, and other things also named Clark. So, I thought that the person coming must be yet another Clark. It did cross my mind that they might be a cousin or distant relative of yours, but I assumed the person would be male.”

“I can’t believe you thought I was a guy.”

He frowned. “Well, there’s the name, Andrea.”

“There you go again, mispronouncing it. I thought it was weird the way you said it when we were in Paris when you were talking about your cousin. I’ve never heard anybody pronounce it that way, Ahn-DRAY-ah. Who even says that?”

He looked up at her, his eyebrows raised in exasperation. “That’s how you pronounce Andrea. I’ve never heard anyone say it the way that you do, ANN-Dree-uh. Andrea is a boy’s name.”

“Andrea is a girl’s name. It’s always been a girl’s name. It’s how you get Ann, which is a girl’s name.”

“Andrea is one of the most common name for boys in Italy. It’s more common than Marco or Leonardo. My cousin’s name is Andrea Casiraghi, and I assure you, he’s male. Every Andrea I’ve ever known has been a male. Why would I think it was different now?”

“I can’t help the fact that your cousin’s parents gave him a girl’s name.”

“It’s not. Andrea is a male name.”

“Well, I assure you I’m not a male.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“I should say you are. Speaking of which, why are you wearing a Roman Catholic priest’s shirt and people are calling you father? Are you impersonating a priest? That has to be a crime or something. This is weird.”

He flipped his hand in the air toward the door. “As Sister Mariam said, I’ve been ordained as a deacon, not a priest, so I am called Deacon Father Maxence. I have a vocation to be a priest but have not been ordained as one yet.”

After being a nurse in an inner-city hospital for years, Dree had a finely tuned bullshit detector. “Deacons are supposed to be either married or celibate.”

He shrugged. “Not yet.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you are waiting for God to grant you the ability to keep your pants on? It doesn’t work like that.”

He bit his lip, his white, even teeth pressing his full lower lip in a way that Dree had done just two days before.

And wanted to do again.

No. He was a priest.

Or close enough.

And she was detecting some mighty large bullshit.

She said, “Don’t you have to go to confession and enumerate your sins and say penance like the rest of us do, or do deacons get a free pass?”

“Deacons do not get a free pass. I’ve had to do the rite of reconciliation twice for our time together in Paris.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you did.” Something rather stupid in her felt pride at that. “You should’ve told me you were a deacon and supposed to be celibate.”

One side of Maxence’s mouth rose, and the depths of his dark eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’m rather glad I didn’t.” He sighed. “And now I’d better go to confession for that, too.”

Dree snorted at him. “Having some impure thoughts?”

“You have no idea how impure my thoughts are right now.”

“You’ve got to stop doing that, Augustine. Speaking of which, what is your real name? Is it that Maxence thing or something else?”

“I was baptized Maxence Charles Honoré Grimaldi. Because I have been ordained as a deacon, you can call me Deacon Father Maxence or Father Maxence.”

Her tone sharpened. “‘Yeah, it’d be too suspicious if I called you daddy.”

Email & Info about Covid-19 Vax

This is Blair Babylon, your favorite romance author. Thanks again for signing up for my newsletter in the back of one of my books or in a giveaway!
Okay, it's free now! If you haven't read my newest book Rogue and want to try it before you buy it, I have 2 extended samples of the book out, and they're free. See below for links!
If you have read Rogue, pre-order Book #2 Order now! Links below. Now available on Barnes & Noble for Pre-Order, too! YAY!
If you haven't read Rogue, jeez Louise, don't wait! It's available in ebook, audiobook, Audible, and paperback!
Also, as noted, I have a PhD in virology and have some information on the Pfizer Covid-19 vaccine that was submitted for approval today. More information from Dr. Blair on it and Q&A down below.
Do me a solid favor here and click on some link in this email, please? Just anything? Just pick one. It lets me know that you're still reading my emails and want to continue to get them. I put some fun stuff down below for you. Please remember that I only email when I have something new, on sale, free, or awesome just for you! My newsletter-sending service occasionally just says, “These people haven't clicked on your emails lately, so they're gone now.” I then I can't get you back. Don't get gone-d by the email service. Clicky, please.
Love, and as always, stay safe and mask up,
Blair Babylon







Romance readers are the best. Seriously, the best. I love you guys.Romancing the Runoff is an auction by romance authors, and we're auctioning off everything. You will not believe some of the things you can buy. Phone calls with your favorite authors. Other art by your favorite authors. Hang out with Charisma Carpenter from Buffy. I mean, wild stuff.Here's my contribution, and you can win a copy or Order (and ONIM and Rogue,) personalized to you, before you can buy it. Bid on Blair's Books here! Wanna bid on amazing items from all your favorite romance authors, including a bunch of “buy it now” signed books?There are some amazing, amazing items up for auction. Take a look.All 914 Auction Items here!







There's all these books and I don't know what to get.
Oh no! It's math!Hey, folks. Some people were wondering why there are several books of mine with the same description but different covers and names that are on Amazon and the other E-book websites.
The answer is that it gives people a way to try and extended sample of the book of Rogue for free before they buy it. Amazon and the other websites only let you try twenty percent of a book before you have to put up or shut up. I don't know about you, but I used to go to bookstores or Barnes & Noble and sit in the café and sometimes read half of a book before I'd decide whether or not to buy it, especially if it was a new author to me. So, this is a way for people to take a look at the book and have a really meaty sample to try before they buy it.If you have bought Rogue, then you don't need to buy either Indecent Proposal or A Game of Billionaires, though if you want the complete Blair Babylon collection, I suppose you should download them for free. However, there is no new content in there, they are just part of the novel of Rogue.As you can see in Figure 1 to the right, Rogue is the complete novel, where as the other two are extended samples.Get Indecent Proposal for free here.Get A Game of Billionaires for free here.



Please pick something to look at and give it a cleeek.You don't have to buy anything. It's just to tell the Universe that you like my emails. It helps me, and I appreciate it. Thank you!Blair's New Book!Rogue is Maxence #1! It's dirty.  Get it in ebook, paperback, or audiobook!  (Whispersync'd audio, so it's cheaper!)Pre-ORDER Now!Max #2, ORDER, is available for pre-order in ebook! The audiobook will be up soon for p/o, too! It's really dirty.  Pre-ORDER now! Have you read all of Blair's books?So many books! Here they are in the chronological reading order. Many of them are free or cheap! Links to the ebook stores.TAKE A LOOK HERE,
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     Dr. Blair Explains It All For You
Pfizer and Moderna both submitted their NDA's to the FDA this morning to approve their vaccines against Covid-19. This is the beginning of a hopeful new phase in this global pandemic. As always, this is not medical advice. I'm a PhD, not an MD, but I taught medical school, can explain the science, and I'll tell you what I'm doing.

After my last Dr. Blair post, I got hundreds of responses back, and I'm just not able to respond to every one of them individually. I did some of them, but there were just a lot of them. So, I thought I'd answer a few questions about the ongoing pandemic, best practices, and the science behind Pfizer's vaccine. I haven't studied Moderna's, other than I know the science is very similar.

“Is it safe to celebrate Thanksgiving with a family gathering?” No. Not in any way. Not at all. Please don't. Next week is the United States' Thanksgiving holiday, a holiday that is traditionally celebrated by eating a tremendous amount of turkey and pumpkin pie and then watching football. It is not safe at this point to have any sort of gathering with people outside of your immediate household. I'm sorry, I wish it were different too. We're in the home stretch. Don't blow it now.Considering that there is an enormous third wave of this epidemic sweeping across the United States and the world, it is vitally important to return to your most stringent lock down procedures. I understand that this sucks. My dryer hasn't worked for six months, but it's just too dangerous to allow a person to come into my house, upstairs, and repair or replace the stupid thing. This wave of the epidemic is going to be truly terrifying. Chances are, if you don't know somebody who's died yet, you are going to soon. The question really is just how many people you know who will die. A friend of mine was a doctor up in Boston just had to call a 15 year old kid and tell him that his mom had died of Covid-19, and it was less than a month after his dad died of Covid-19. Over a quarter million Americans and over 1.3 million people worldwide have died of this horrible disease. We now know that even if you do survive, it's very possible that you'll end up with heart damage for which you will need surgery to repair valves, blood clots in your lungs that may damage your lungs to the point where you will never play any sports or walk more than ten feet without gasping for breath again, causes significant erectile dysfunction in most men who get it, and can cause dementia in middle-aged or young people, like cutting your IQ in half. Even when I was writing science fiction dystopia, I never thought of anything as evil as this dang virus.

Please, do not gather for Thanksgiving, because you'll spend Christmas in the ICU, and you'll be dead before 2021.“Does the vaccine work?” Yes. A lot. The latest numbers show that it prevents more than 95% of cases, and there is significant evidence that it will reduce the severity of the disease if you do have a breakthrough case. At the very worst, you'll end up sucking a little oxygen instead of dying on a ventilator.

“Is the Pfizer's vaccine safe?” Yes. Pfizer actually started out with four different possible vaccine formulations. They chose the safest one to go to phase 3's. Over 42,000 people have been injected with two doses of this vaccine for the studies, and there were 0 serious side effects. Some people had a sore arm, and few people threw up. But let me say that again, 42,000 people, 0 serious side effects. ZERO. The Nature paper says, “there were no serious adverse events and no withdrawals due to related adverse events for any dose.” It may be the safest product ever developed. At those rates, it is safer than Tylenol, Advil, or Tums.

“Do they thaw the vaccine before injecting it?” Yes. Pfizer's vaccine has to be stored in dry ice, which is -112F, but it is thawed in the refrigerator before injecting. They even warm it up to near room temperature before they suck it up in the syringe. (This is the most common question I am asked.)

“Do they grow it in eggs? I'm allergic to eggs.” You're okay. Get the vaccine. The vaccine is not grown in eggs. It is an entirely genetically engineered product. There are no eggs in the entire process. Eggs do not get near this vaccine. It is totally safe if even if you have an anaphylactic reaction to eggs. As always, check with your own doctor for everything.“Is it vegan?” Yes. The vaccine is “free from materials of animal origin.”“I had an organ transplant and am on immunosuppressant drugs, or are otherwise immunocompromised. Is it safe for me?”  Meaning, is this vaccine made with a live but weakened virus? The Pfizer vaccine is not made with either live or dead virus. It is an entirely genetically engineered product that only has one gene for the one spike protein on the outside of the virus when it infects you. Always consult with your doctor, especially your transplant team, to make sure any vaccine is right for you. However, there is no complete virus in this vaccine, either living or dead. You cannot get sick with Covid-19 from the vaccine. People with controlled HIV were included in the last arm of the Phase 3 study. So, I'd say yes.

“Can you get Covid-19 from getting the vaccine?” No. The vaccine is a genetically engineered product that includes one gene from the virus, but does not contain any complete virus at all, either weakened or dead. There is absolutely 0% chance that you can get Covid-19 from the vaccine.

“Are there any adjuvants or preservatives in the vaccine?” No. That's why they store it at -112F. I read the Nature paper and the phase 3 clinical trials, and there is no mention of any adjuvants or preservatives that are commonly used in vaccines, such as aluminum hydroxide, aluminum phosphate, and aluminum potassium sulfate, nor any mention of preservatives such as Thimerosal. To repeat, none of those are in the vaccine. Again, this is an incredibly safe drug product.

“Dr. Blair, are you going to get the vaccine?” Yes. I will buy winter camping gear and camp in a line for up to a week outside a hospital to get this vaccine. I will absolutely take the vaccine at the very first opportunity. If you see me outside of my local hospital with a mummy bag and a thermal tent, banging away on my laptop with a 3000′ extension cord, you'll know I'm in line.“When is Pfizer going to start making doses of the vaccine?” Pfizer has been making doses of the vaccine for months. Once they decided which one of the four candidate formulations was the best and was the one they were going forward with, Pfizer made their clinical trial stocks and then just kept manufacturing vaccine “at risk,” which means they took the financial risk that if the vaccine didn't work, they would be stuck with millions and millions of dollars worth of vaccine stock they couldn't use. Since it did work, there are warehouses full of vaccine doses right now. As soon as the FDA stamps the application, before the ink is dry, the trucks will leave the warehouses and start delivering vaccine doses to healthcare workers and other priority people. And they are continuing to manufacture it. The current CEO of Pfizer, Dr. Albert Bourla, DVM, Ph.D., is a scientist, not a bean-counter or a lawyer. When he took over Pfizer two years ago, he changed the motto to “Patients First,” and he turned a toxic work environment into an organization that will literally save the world. I'm so proud of them.As always, stay safe, stay home, and mask up,
Love,
Blair