Hi again. Happy Sunday. Good friend Cassandre Dayne has stopped in with a challenge and blog about writing male male. Let's give her our full attention.
I love writing of course and I thought I’d tell you a little why I enjoy writing all things m/m. As many of you who know me realize I love men – in every shape, size and flavor. I’m color blind in this area and also I guess culturally blind. I consider that a fabulous aspect. I think sexy and desirable come in many packages. I also love women. Now, do I prefer men? I honestly do but in my younger days I’ve been adventurous. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I also was married to a great guy years ago who decided to live a gay lifestyle. We’re still friends and I wish him well. I have many male friends who are gay and I’ve enjoyed intelligent conversations with them over the years about many topics including that gay lifestyle or the persona of it.
Living a gay lifestyle for the majority of men is no different. They work and entertain and love in the same way. They have concerns and fears and families and tragedies. I’ve been an advocate for gay rights all my life and when I started writing erotic pieces I think it was just a matter of time before I wrote m/m and I found not only do I love it but my readers respond to it as well. I’m moving in a different direction with my writing and seem to be penning more poignant pieces. Shattered is one that deals with hate crime. DONE – tackles two men who have a family including a child and one man abducts the little girl. Can you only imagine what that must be like? I have one coming out as my other pseudo – DH Black dealing with the horrors of being a gay man in the 50’s. At that time homosexuals were sometimes incarcerated.
I want to bring out pieces that are thought provoking, honest and loving. I was just told by a reviewer that I write porn – and I take great offense to that. I write stories that contain sex and yes – HOT SEX – but it’s not porn. Porn has no story or plot line – just sex. I like to think my pieces will remind you why you love and crave romance and passion. We all do. We want to feel sexy and hot and sassy and wonderful and… Is there any difference if we’re gay? I should hope not. Writing male to male pieces is also no different. We all share the same needs and desires, whether we crave vanilla sex or something kinkier. There’s no right or wrong and the only art to it is remembering there is no difference – and I’m not talking about body parts! I love bringing you stories – just from a different perspective. So I also build collections in my pieces with doing a theme and I love Sizzling Winter Nights. Think about it – a moment of shared passion while the snow if falling – what could be better? So here you go – the next in the collection.
*** Cassandre Dayne has issued a challenge. Name the character in her first m/m piece Game Over and you can win a PDF from her m/m backlist.
SIZZLING WINTER NIGHTS
NEW YORK CITY
For recording artist Chance Crawford, jetting away during the holidays normally means spending time with family and friends, indulging in the finer things in life. This year nothing seems to matter. Burnt out from long days on the road, too many sleepless nights and an over abundance of drugs and alcohol, he finally decides on his own intervention. Leaving behind a series of concert dates, he heads to New York City simply to try and regain control of the most basic understanding of the man he used to be. The location is one place that inspires his creative juices. Strolling the brightly lit streets as the snow softly begins to fall, he happens on a corner bar, one similar to his very beginnings and he ventures inside.
Reporter Zeke Drummond is hard edged and constantly looking for the perfect story, one that will bring his talent to the networks. Pissed off from losing what he considers the perfect story, he shuts down for the holidays, determined to wallow in self-pity. When a friend convinces him to come out for a single night of entertainment, he doesn’t anticipate meeting a man he knows could change his life forever. Hiding behind a fake persona, he gets to know the sexy musician and they finally indulge in sharing more than just stories about the entertainment business. After writing the perfect expose, he shelves the piece, fighting the inner demons longing for success. When the scathing story surfaces across the airwaves, Chance vows to ruin the man and yet one he’s grown fond of. As the rush of Christmas pushes them together for a second chance meeting, will a little holiday magic remind both men of their single sizzling winter night?
I can be someone else. I can find myself again and enjoy what I loved to do. I can fight this battle and win. I can do things I’ve never done before. I can… The mantra practiced, Chance Crawford shivered to the core. The sad truth was he had no clue who he was any longer and even worse, he didn’t know if he wanted to go on living. Despair seemed to blanket his every move, every waking moment. He was barely functioning and certainly not in any methods that would help him grow and prosper. What he knew in his heart was that he was losing the battle within himself.
Walking toward the window, he stared down at the cars moving back and forth, his mind reeling. From where he stood they looked like ants, milling about trying to achieve something in a life that would never matter, not to their friends or family, their peers or their bosses. No one gave a shit about anything any longer and he knew in his heart he was tired of trying. Leaning his head against the glass, he savored the slight warmth, the only warmth he’d had in so very long, and had to clench his eyes shut to force back the tears. God, he was lonely, hungering to share his life with someone special, but trust wasn’t something that came easily, if ever.
Just let go. Allow yourself to take the ultimate step. Then nothing can ever hurt you again. As he opened his eyes, he stood mesmerized by the comings and goings of the little people and wished that he could open a window. There was an intense longing sweeping through his system and one he wasn’t going to be able to control much longer. Chance was going to end his life in his way. His way. The words of his father continued to roll through the back of his mind, something that had been happening more and more lately. Maybe he was just a freak.
“Deck the halls with bells of holly, fa-la-la-la-la la la la la.”
“Fuck!” Shaking his head, Chance hissed through clenched teeth as he took a swig of Coke, realizing his damn hand was shaking like a son of a bitch. He gave the radio a finger and strode toward the stereo to turn off the crap. While he didn’t really hate the holidays, he certainly wasn’t in the mood for the happy and very fake bullshit this year. Feeling burned out and pretty much pissed off at the world, he simply wanted to race to some tropical island and soothe his inner beast with copious frozen drinks and a heated round of sex or ten with a stunning God like lifeguard.
Yeah, like that was going to happen. Chance glanced at his watch and had to resist simply leaving for parts unknown. For some reason his manager was always late, preferring to cuddle with buxom blonds at coffee shops in the guise of searching for new talent. Charging into the man’s very posh office had made him feel better, for about thirty seconds. As he began to pace the floor, he contemplated the thoughts that had been racing in the back of his mind for a solid two months. Time on the road with his band had grown wearisome. Between the bitter battles he had with his bass player to the reporters hounding the band at every turn, he was cooked. No, he was toast in more than one way. Little didn’t frustrate him lately. Snorting, he rubbed his eyes as a flash from the morning news dragged him straight into hell. Yep, thinking about the latest headlines made him enraged. He should say more enraged. Everything made him one pissed off man.
“Washed up at forty.”
“The man needs to go into rehab.”
“Anger management needed.”
“A fallen star. What’s going to happen to Chance Crawford now?”
Wrinkling his nose in disdain, Chance knew the drinking and sometimes recreational drug use had gotten out of hand – at least at times. Perhaps that had added to his despair. Who the fuck cared about his behavior? Evidently one too many people. That’s why he’d been called to the carpet and not just requested to come to his manager’s office but told in no certain terms if he didn’t arrive the rest of the shows were going to be cancelled. Fuck the jerk-off. Who the hell needed some sniveling little asshole telling him what to do anyway? Huffing, he glared out the window and then closed his eyes, remembering the ugly night. Sadly he had to admit to himself that smashing his guitar wasn’t his damn finest hour in the entertainment business, but fucking Jesus to think that Sky Best was given more time on the stage, cutting smack into their time was fucking ridiculous. Hell, that wasn’t the word for the crap his band had endured.
World Without End had been requested via multiple emails and posterings by the Chairman of the Board handling the Out of Touch rock event to be the main star, the coveted spot all the bands longed for. He’d even pushed back on a half dozen occasions, making the press go nuts with questions and speculations. Chuckling, he brushed his hand through his hair and polished off his soft drink, slamming the can down on top of the very expensive mahogany desk, belonging to the highly acclaimed talent scout and agent, Sylvester Horowitz. Yeah, the man was more like a brutal taskmaster if you asked him.
Chance had to admit Sylvester wasn’t a bad guy, but the slick man was well paid for what he did and in his opinion did very little for the hefty salary. Maybe Chance was just jaded as well as freaking burned out. Right now anything was possible. He thought about the start of the night and the beautiful weather, the intense partying crowd of nearly thirty thousand people and the fact the band was in top form. And then they’d received the news their set was being cut by a full twenty minutes to accommodate Sky Best, a boy band wanna be.
So, he’d been incensed at first, trying to grab Sylvester out of the wings where he was smoozing with some female reporter. And then when no one seemed to give a shit about the fact his band was being shafted, he went freaking ballistic. Now he groaned. The morning papers had crucified not only his horrible behavior but the entire band as well, citing the fact they’d been no shows at more than one concert venue. The brutal truth was he was to blame. Period. His band had looked the other way, allowing his bad behavior to continue. Chance brushed a bead of sweat from his forehead. What was wrong with him? He knew. Damn it, he knew.
Now it was time to face the piper, or maybe the devil himself. Walking toward the window, he thought about the almost twenty years he and his band mates had been in the business and was saddened by the way everything had been going lately. They were tired of the road, exhausted from the long hours and honestly not creating any fucking thing that actually sounded half assed. The music was canned in his opinion and they had all made a promise to themselves to keep the music fresh. If relying on a heavy drum beat and acid sounding guitar licks was fresh, then they were a basic fruit stand. No, nothing sounded good. The fans were still there but waning in love and attention. They simply needed a kick in the tail, or maybe he needed fire stick up his ass. Either way, Chance was the single member of the group weighing down the others.
He stared at his reflection and groused. The stringy long blond hair was so not him. Everyone said the look was perfect, accentuating his green eyes and giving him the hot rock star sizzle, wrapped up in a bad boy persona. As he dragged his fingers through the strands, he heard ripping noises and for a minute thought about shaving his head. Oh yeah, that would grab their attention.
Hearing the door open and then close softly, he sucked in his breath and could tell instantly there was tension in the room. Being crucified as a washed up band with a looser for a lead singer and guitar player was something he took to heart. Right now he hated himself.
“So, I understand you had an interesting night. Interesting indeed.”
He could hear more than just angst in the man’s voice. Sylvester was pissed, something he never really showed. The fifty-five year old man had been more like a buddy to all of them over the past eighteen years, serving up coffee as needed during long nights and doling out encouragement when the critics spouted hatred. “Yeah. The asshole promoters deserved what they got. Jerk off son’s of bitches.” He knew why he always behaved badly and yet the fears he couldn’t control any longer. And he certainly couldn’t talk about them with anyone. No one would ever understand why the great rock star was a sniveling baby, afraid of his own shadow.
“Uh-huh. That’s the attitude I know and hate.”
Glaring at Sylvester, he could see nothing but frustration on the man’s face. “Yeah well that was bullshit we were dealt!”
“They own the venue and the event and you were to abide by their rules, something you signed off on yourself. Jesus, Chance! The last report I heard was that you single handedly did about twenty-five thousand dollars in damage to their set, let alone what the fuck you did to half the damn instruments. You know I get why you were pissed off, I really do but couldn’t you let me do my job and try and figure it out?”
Turning quickly he pointed his finger. “You mean before or after you were going to fuck the damn blond in the dressing room?”
Narrowing his eyes Sylvester exhaled slowly. “I’m going to let this one go. I know you’re not you right now. I know you’re been having some personal issues and I respect that you are…”
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