MORE LIES by J.M. Snyder

MORE LIES by J.M. Snyder

In Beautiful Liar, former childhood television star Johnny Thomas wants to get back into show business. He hires his old manager, Lou, who has heard rumors of Johnny's sexuality. Though he's advised to play it straight, Johnny falls for Brett, a photographer whose candid shots of the lovers almost sinks Johnny's career before it can get off the ground.

More Lies takes place several months after Johnny's landed a coveted role in the upcoming Roxy Greene summer blockbuster. Lou tells him Roxy wants the media to think she and Johnny are a hot item off the set to build buzz for the movie. Now that he's dating Brett, Johnny doesn't feel comfortable lying about his love life, but surprisingly his boyfriend thinks it's a great idea.

But when Johnny and Roxy meet for the first time, it's evident neither of them are keen on the charade.

If Roxy's attitude is any indication, she can't stand Johnny. What happens when she finds out he's lying about his sexuality to keep his role in her film?BUY THE eBOOK *** READ THE EXCERPT

EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.



Lunch is a disaster. Despite the cameras and the fans clamoring for attention mere yards away, Johnny feels invisible. Lou and Becky talk shop, leaving him to entertain Roxy, but she’s more interested in her iPhone than anything he might have to say. The few questions he asks go unanswered -- she’s either playing a game on the phone or texting someone, and it takes all her attention. Even though she sits beside him, she’s a million miles away. She even props her head on her hand, letting her hair fall like a veil to obscure her face from him.

He doesn’t know her and already he hates her.

He could really use that rum and Coke now, but when he tries to signal the waiter, Lou intervenes. “Just soda,” the manager says, staring Johnny down. “Who’s picking up the tab?”

Johnny glares at the salad sitting in front of him, a starter course he isn’t interested in eating.

As if feeling the tension at the table for the first time, Becky glances over at her daughter and clears her throat. Roxy ignores her, and Johnny feels a foot brush his under the table, then Roxy jolts as if kicked. She brushes the hair from her face long enough to frown at her mother. Because he’s watching, Johnny sees Becky mouth the words, “Put that away.”

Who’s idea was this lunch again? Because Johnny doesn’t think anyone at their table is enjoying it.

With a huff, Roxy pockets the iPhone and picks at her salad. She tucks her hair behind her ear and glances at him, still scowling. “Who are you again?”

Her mother hisses, “Roxy.”

“Johnny,” he says, glad to be spoken to at last. “Johnny Thomas. I’m in your movie.”

Roxy stabs at her salad with her fork and grunts. “Oh yeah, right.”

Uneasy silence settles over them again. Johnny watches her eat for a moment before deciding to give his own salad a try. Searching for something to say, anything that might get her talking, he asks, “Who were you texting?”

Her answer is short and clipped, hostile. “Mel.”

He almost chokes on his salad. “Boyfriend?” If so, why is he here again?

The look she gives him could curdle cheese. “Don’t you even watch my show?”

There it is -- the million dollar question. Brett had tried to prep Johnny for the luncheon by bringing him up to date on Roxy’s stardom, but Johnny only half listened at the time. He hadn’t honestly thought she’d ask him anything about her television series. Who was that egotistical?

He could lie. Shrug and say, “Sure,” and hope she doesn’t start asking random trivia questions for him to answer. Or he could be honest with her and face the consequences. Yeah, he thinks, swallowing the lettuce he’s chewed into pulp, because everything about this meeting is honest. Bullshit.

Still, the truth has to start somewhere. Reaching for his soda, he admits, “I’ve never actually seen it.”

Her eyes widen until the whites perfectly frame her irises. It’s a spooky look, dark eyes rimmed with white outlined with black kohl. It gives her a frightened appearance. “What?”

“Your show.” He gulps his drink -- too late to turn back now. “I’ve never watched it. To be honest, I didn’t even know who you were before I auditioned for the movie.”

He tenses his shoulders, waiting for the diva-esque backlash he’s sure will come.

To his surprise, she laughs.

He winces and sort of smiles as he turns toward her, not really sure what she expects. Her face is lit with an open, easy expression he can almost like. Leaning closer, she lowers her voice and admits, “It’s okay. I’ve never really watched it, either.”

With a grin, Johnny thinks, Now we’re getting somewhere. “So who’s Mel? Love interest?”

“Best friend,” Roxy corrects. “Female, I might add. So no.”

Her gaze shifts past him to her mother before dropping to what remains of her salad, and something in that worried glance makes Johnny think he’s not the only one playing a part in someone else’s script.

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MY BIG BROTHER by Ike Rose

MY BIG BROTHER by Ike Rose

May 1968. High school bodybuilding champ Ed Green is excited and eager to celebrate his 18th birthday. As a "legal adult" now, he can drink with his older buddies. With graduation just around the corner, he will soon be able to move away from his alcoholic father and Dad’s sluttish young girlfriend, who’s set her sights on Ed.

But the main reason for Ed’s excitement is he’ll be seeing his older step-brother, Johnny, a Marine hero from Vietnam whom he hasn't seen since puberty. The two aren’t related by blood, but they grew up together and Ed has always looked up to his older “brother.” The last time they saw each other, Ed was a shy, short kid with thick glasses. Then Johnny had been Ed’s personal hero and protector, and his move to California devastated his younger “brother.” Now Ed plans to surprise Johnny with muscular changes to his formerly scrawny, weak body.

Only one thing has Ed worried. Though he dates girls, he’s known for a while now that he’s sexually attracted to older men. John will have to share Ed’s bed in the small house for the next few weeks, which makes Ed worry about hiding his lust for the man he's always had a crush on.

How will the hunky Marine react when he learns that not only is his kid brother gay, but that Ed has the hots for him, too? Will sharing a bed with his macho big "brother" lead to Ed's best birthday gift ever?BUY THE eBOOK *** READ THE EXCERPT

EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.



I went into the kitchen, returning with a six-pack of beer, beginning a night of drinking as we renewed our bond. In some ways, it was as if we had never been apart, since we had kept in touch so closely by mail, but in other ways, we were strangers. The last time we had seen each other, John shaved twice a month, while I had no hair on my body. Now, I looked bigger than him because I was more muscular. We established that after three boilermakers, when he stripped to his skivvies so we could stand in the mirror and compare.

John had a great body. There was no question about it; the Marines do know how to build men. But I'd spent the last two years working on my shoulders, legs, arms and chest, so although I was over four years his junior, my hairy chest and body compared to his almost hairless body made me look more mature and larger. We were the same height, but I massed more. We stood there looking at each other in the big mirror in the hall. I admired a small Marine tattoo on his left pec, drunk enough to run my hand over it. My hand touched his nipple, and he moaned.

It was then that I finally noticed two things. Both of my stepbrother’s nipples were erect and the size of erasers, while both of us were sporting hard-ons. Confused, I walked over to the sofa to think. It had to be a coincidence. John was a fucking Marine. A leatherneck couldn’t be queer like me?

John interrupted my bewildered thoughts, “Hey, Squirt, do you get high?” I guess I looked confused. “You know, pot?” He mimed smoking a joint.

“Yeah, sure I do. Why?”

“'Cause I got some excellent shit I smuggled back from ‘Nam upstairs in my trunk. Let’s go up to our room and get wasted, Squirt.”

“Sure, Shrimp-dick.” He stared at me, startled. “I wanted to see how you liked being called a demeaning nickname. I don’t think I qualify as Squirt anymore, do you?”

He grinned. “Hell, Squirt, you can call me anything you want. I can still kick your fucking ass after my leg heals.”

“Do you need me to carry you up the stairs, Baby-balls?” We broke into drunken laughter as he struggled up the stairs in front of me. I stared at his muscular ass moving in the thin cotton skivvies. I realized that this was not only going to be a long night; it was going to be a long visit, with a hell of a lot of cold showers. Suddenly the idea of dating and fucking girls as second best seemed almost acceptable. Maybe I'd get John some double dates so I could get to watch him fucking them. I even started to think of which girls I'd fucked who might agree to being shared, figuring that was as close as I'd ever get to having sex with my stepbrother.

We sat on the bed as we smoked the joint, and a second one. By then, I was so fucking horny that I had to tell Johnny the truth.

“Uh, John, if you’re going to be sleeping in this bed with me for about the next month there’s a tiny detail you gotta know about me.” “What? You snore? I’ve been sleeping in a barracks with a hundred grunts, so I’m used to that. If you’re gonna tell me you jerk off, the same applies. Besides, I do, too.”

He giggled drunkenly as he gave me a punch on the arm that hurt.

“No. Now, nothing I ever wrote to you is a lie. Every one of the stories about girls is the truth. But ... shit, you’re gonna beat the crap out of me, but I gotta tell you the truth. I’ve never done anything about it, but I’ve known for the last couple of years that I’m ... I’m ...”

“You're what?”

I shouted, “I’m a fucking queer homo faggot!”

John sat and looked at me for a full minute. Then, his lips slowly spread in a huge grin. “So am I, little brother, so am I. And I've done a hell of a lot about it.”

I sat, staring at him dumbly as he grabbed my wrist to pull me towards him.

“I thought I’d dropped dead and went to queer heaven when you came down those stairs almost naked this afternoon. Fuck, you’re so damned hot, Squir ... Ed. I’ve seen a lot of hot men in the last six years, but you’re the hottest I’ve ever seen. Um ... you ... you wouldn’t happen to be ... ?”

His entire beautiful body blushed.

“Hot for you? Johnny, I’ve been fucking horny for you since ... Hell, I suppose since I was six years old. For about three years I beat off sniffing a sweatshirt of yours that I stole before you moved away. When I saw you smoking that cigar on the steps this afternoon, I just about shot a load in my pants, you looked so fucking hot.” I put a hand on his cheek, relishing the feel of a man's beard stubble for the first time. “Johnny, teach me. Show me what to do. I’m told I’m good in bed with chicks. Shouldn't that be a good start?”

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DON'T GO BACK by Terry O'Reilly

YOU DON'T GO BACK by Terry O'Reilly

What do you do when the past comes walking through your front door?

That’s what Rick Jensen and Ed Doherty have to decide when Jerry Taylor, Ed’s former lover, long thought dead, comes knocking on their door the night of their sixth anniversary. Will Jerry’s re-emergence in Ed’s life bring the end to the happiness Rick has found with him? Or will Rick’s love for Ed be strong enough to supersede the memory of what Jerry and Ed shared?

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.



Rick opens his eyes. For a moment he is disoriented. Then he remembers. He looks around the living room of the cabin on the mountain. He and Ed had built this cabin just a year earlier. He sighs deeply and realizes he still holds a glass in his hand as he sits hunched down in the overstuffed chair in which he had fallen asleep. The glass is empty and the stain on his jeans reveals he has spilled his third glass of whiskey probably as he had drifted off. He pushes himself upright, sets the glass on the table next to his chair and puts his head in his hands and rubs his eyes. Rick has to piss. He gets up and walks to the bathroom and relieves himself. He turns and looks at his reflection in the mirror over the sink.

“How did this happen? How could this happen?” he asks himself out loud. “How could this fuckin’ happen?” he says again, pounding his hand on the vanity, causing the mirror to shake.

Rick walks back into the living room and to the big bay window. He looks out on the lake with the sun glistening on the water: 7:23 by his wristwatch. He stares vacantly at the lake and lets the sparkling ripples mesmerize him. Scenes from the previous night come back to him.

* * * *

He and Ed came home to their house in the valley after dinner and were in bed. They turned in early, eager to celebrate their anniversary. They had been together for six years: six happy, fulfilled years. Ed lay on his back smiling up at him. Rick was between his legs, they pressed their lips against each other. Rick was just about to complete their union when the doorbell rang.

“Damn,” he exclaimed.

“Ignore it,” Ed said pulling him down and arching his back.

“What if it’s Becky?”

Ed replied, “Becky would just come on in and yell, ‘Hey Daddy, Rick, ready or not, here I come.'”

Now there was knocking -- not loud but persistent.

Rick sighed. “Don’t go away.” He kissed Ed on the nose, got out of bed, slipped on a pair of pajama bottoms and slippers and padded out of the bedroom.

“Git rid of the son of a bitch whoever it is and git back here.” Ed growled.

Rick switched on a light in the living room that was semi-dark in the summer twilight. “Hold on, hold on I’m coming.” The knocker had continued its persistent pounding. It was getting louder now.

He opened the door and switched on the porch light. “Yeah?”

The man on the porch looked totally perplexed. “Oh,” he stammered, “I must have the wrong house. Sorry I bothered you.” He turned to walk away.

“Who the fuck was that?” came Ed’s gruff voice as he walked up behind Rick.

The man on the porch froze. He turned around.

“Ed?”

Rick looked at the man and then over his shoulder at his partner. Ed’s eyes were wide and the color was draining from his face.

“O ma God.” Ed staggered backward and lost his balance on the ottoman behind him. Rick turned and grabbed his arm to steady him. “O ma God!” he said again. “Jerry ... Jerry ... you’re supposed to be dead!"

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SUSAN SLUTT, GIRL SHAMUS by Kate Emburg

SUSAN SLUTT, GIRL SHAMUS
by Kate Emburg

Read an excerpt or buy your copy today!

BLURB:
Book 2 in the Susan Slutt series

Who's the world-famous girl sleuth who solves all sorts of queer mysteries with the help of a butch tomboy, her feminine friend, and two boy detectives named Frank and Joe?

If you guessed "Nancy Drew," you're wrong! Meet Susan Slutt, the hottest schoolgirl shamus since the invention of jalapeno-flavored edible underwear. In this collection of cases, Susan gets down and dirty while investigating a messy "Fracas at the Fudge Factory." She travels to Switzerland to join "The Search for the World's Biggest Icehole," where she faces another puzzle: Is that a snake in Frank Baccardi's pants or is he happy to see her? But Susan's greatest challenge confronts her in Hawaii when she discovers "The Secret of the Golden Dildo." Among the baffling riddles: Is it possible to find an eighteen-year-old virgin in Hawaii? What is the life of one girl, even one with really great knockers, compared to all the riches of the universe? More important, if Susan dies, can Butch have her room and finally stop sleeping in the yard and eating from a dog dish?

The excitement builds to a volcanic climax as Susan's life is threatened, Butch's sanity is threatened, and Susan's bra straps are threatened by the weight of her massive mammaries. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll get turned on by these timeless tales of dazzling detectives, female friendship, and male bondage ... uh, bonding. Contains the stories:

• The Case of the Borrowed Bungalow
• The Unfinished Beer
• The Password to Delphinium Drive
• The Search for the World’s Biggest Icehole
• The Dreadful Revenge
• Secret of the Golden Dildo
• The Mystery at Honey Suckle’s Manor
• In the Shadow of the Hunchback
• The Crooked Boner
• The Floating Saucer Mystery
• Fracas at the Fudge Factory
• The Phantom of the Porkerville Public Library
• The Clue in the Cracking Wall
• The Secret of Red Gateless Farm

Read an excerpt or buy your copy today!


EXCERPT FROM "The Crooked Boner" by Kate Emburg

“What is this mystery about?” asked Beverly Francis Bold. He was a slender, feminine young man with tousled blond hair and a single gold earring.

“We’re looking for a Crooked Boner,” Susan explained.

“I knew a guy with a crooked boner once,” said Beverly eagerly. “He used to act in porn flicks. I think I still have his number somewhere.”

“Was it twisted like a corkscrew?” asked Ashleigh Nettleson, a blonde with a Southern accent whose intimate friends included males as well as females. “Because if it was, I think I know him, too.”

But when Susan described Rawley Boner, her chums decided their acquaintance was not the same man after all.

“When did you last see Raw Boner?” asked Dave Stevens. The young man had a rangy build, ranging from five-foot-one and one-hundred pounds to six-foot-five and two-hundred fifty pounds. Today he was in the average range: medium height, medium weight, and medium-length, medium brown hair.

Susan described how Raw, posing as his own twin, had served an inferior breakfast and then fled. “We must catch him and bring him to justice.”

In the back seat, Butch Hawkins and Rodd Turgood exchanged glances. Both wondered if the slim chance of scoring with Susan was really worth the hell she put them through.

“Why are we bringing Rawley to justice?” Butch queried. “As far as I know, selling an Indian Reservation isn’t illegal, if Raw was the legitimate owner. As for the bad breakfast --”

“Not only bad, but very bad,” Susan corrected her sister. “Rawley Boner is guilty of operating a bed and breakfast without a license, not to mention impersonating his twin, which is identity theft and fraud. Besides, he’s just plain weird. Anyone who lives in a house like Rawley’s deserves to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

If her friends had any doubt as to the legality of arresting Boner, they vanished at first glimpse of his house. All agreed that only a criminal would build such a crooked structure.

As they walked up the driveway, Susan was astonished to see the normally-bold Butch hanging back. Inquiring as to the cause of her sister’s mysterious cowardice, Susan learned that the Boner house made Butch feel uncomfortable.

“Why, Butch, I didn’t know you were superstitious,” said Susan with a merry laugh. “I assure you, the house isn’t haunted.”

“It’s not a ghost I’m afraid of,” Butch muttered. Her eyes darted nervously from the various chimneys, towers, and fence posts to the many long, thick, tilted porch railing spindles. “All these phallic symbols give me the willies.”

Susan’s forehead wrinkled, though even with a wrinkled forehead she still looked prettier than Butch. “What are phallic symbols?”

“Crooked boners,” Butch explained. “Seeing all these crooked boners makes me nervous.”

“Then you needn’t worry,” Susan comforted her. “There’s only one crooked Boner, Rawley, and he’s disappeared.”

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CONVERSATIONS WITH SWISHY PETE VOLUME II by A. Scott Boddie

CONVERSATIONS WITH SWISHY PETE VOLUME II by A. Scott Boddie

In this second collection of stories, the fabulous Swishy Pete and his cohorts double the funny. Don't worry, dolls -- each episode is better than the last. Revisit Delicious, Minnie, and Char as they delve deeper into their lives and the unique friendship they share. Join them in celebrating Chars' birthday as wackiness ensues and the comical Aunt Bessie is introduced.

Conversations with Swishy Pete Volume II gathers together twelve flash fiction "episodes" featuring Swishy Pete and his friends as they dish on life in the Big Apple. Sometimes deep, often humorous, these short stories bring a fresh perspective that redefines GLBT stereotypes.

So, honey, come listen in as Pete tells it like it is.

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EXCERPT:


Episode 14: Laundry Day

“Delicious, I have a question, honey. Why are so many gay men afraid of their femininity?”

“Girl, where did that come from? Fold them clothes.”

“I'm doing it, but seriously, what’s that all about?”

“Minnie, gay men are the most affected of all God's creatures.”

“You're a big queen -- how did you deal with it?”

“I was termed F.Q.O.A. by my mother's best friend when I was six.”

“What?”

“Future queen of America, and I've held that crown proudly since 1974.”

“Did you get teased in school?”

“Girl, yeah, but no one put their hands on me.”

“You were a butch Queen.”

“Yes, ma'am, and I knew how to fight.”

“Your clothes are done.”

“Thanks, Minnie. Give me a quarter for the other dryer.”

“D, all this stuff about gay teen suicides and transphobia is crazy.”

“Why's this happening so much now? Bullying fags ain't new.”

“Did you hear about the two teenagers who went into the bathroom of a gay bar?”

“... And they beat up some little gay boy,” D added.

“Yeah, what was that all about?”

“Girl, beating up gays won't stop you from becoming one.”

“I heard that,” Minnie said.

“What else is going on, Ma?” D asked.

“My psychic told me to steer clear of water.”

“Is that why you smell like baby-farts?” D laughed.

“No, fool, she told me not to break anything.”

“Like what?”

“She's the psychic, not me, hello,” Minnie jeered.

“Are you done yet, Minnie?”

“No, I still have towels to fold.”

“Honey boo, why is you eating so much?” D asked.

“’Cause it’s mine, bitch.”

“Let me get this garbage together.”

“Finish this soda,” D told Minnie.

Minnie belched. “Excuse me.”

“I can see why the boys are knocking down your door,” Delicious said.

“What a stupid thing to say to someone.”

“Who should I be talking to?”

“Me,” Minnie admitted.

“Umm hum,” D hummed.

“Oh, D -- I know what I was going to say.”

“It better be about me.”

“Have you ever tried those geosocial apps?”

“Oh, please, I'm so sick of those apps, you can't meet anyone.”

“Why, D?”

“Girl, every other ad says not into gay lifestyle, not out, and the racist rant, no whites or fems.”

“With all the prejudice against the community, you would think gays were more open,” Minnie went on.

“Transphobia, too -- we can't expect them to embrace us if we can't embrace ourselves,” Delicious lectured.

“I love drag queens, they're the most honest.”

“Refold that fitted sheet. Why do you love them so much?”

“They live their lives out loud.”

“Trust, honey, they do,” D said.

“I've seen lesbian friends pull back when another morphs into male --”

“Minnie, is that dryer done?”

“Why do you keep cutting me off?”

“I'm bored.”

“That’s on you. My stories are fierce.”

“Minnie, you are so needy. Hit it, bitch,” Delicious hissed.

“Moes and lesbians, who are uncomfortable with Transwomen, are riddled with issues themselves.”

“Girl, some hedonistic gay men can't help it. I can't speak for lesbians,” D speculated.

“Why do gay men get a pass?”

“It's the same as slave mentality,” D argued.

“Don't do that.”

“What?”

“Go on. You know what I mean,” Minnie asserted.

“Back in the day, men who had sex with men weren't exclusively gay. They were married with kids,” Delicious explained.

“I'm waiting to jump in.”

“Minnie, almost all of them had to sneak out and find whatever hotspots to have sex with other men. There was no time for relationships.”

“I hope you're making a point soon,” Minnie hinted.

“I believe gay men still sneak out in the night to have sex with other men fearing relationships.”

“Why do they get a free pass?” Minnie repeated.

“Because it's not our fault. From the time we realized we were gay, we had to become the masters of hiding it and lying about it.”

“Okay, boo, it's starting to make sense.”

“Even in today's free world, we're still slaves.”

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THE OBSIDIAN MAN by Jon Wilson

THE OBSIDIAN MAN by Jon Wilson

All his life, Holt has dreamed of leaving his life of drudgery to join the legendary Danann, a mysterious race of rangers and magicians. When trolls threaten his village, he sees his chance in the arrival of Kawika, a handsome ranger sent for protection. But things take a deadly turn when a demon appears, leading an army of horrible creatures. The village goes up in flames, Kawika vanishes, and Holt finds himself wandering lost and alone in the wilderness.

Rescued by the Danann, Holt suffers both physical and psychic scars. However, Kawika’s lover, Keone, hopes to use that connection to track and destroy the demon responsible for the attack.

Unfortunately, the link works both ways -- Keone can track through it, and the demon can use it to invade Holt’s mind. As the pursuit continues, Holt’s sanity begins to slip away. Gradually the realization dawns that instead of helping Keone defeat the demon, he may be leading them both into the demon’s deadly trap.

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EXCERPT:

He skidded to a halt at the foot of the open doors, staring down into the darkness. The angle and the moonlight showed him nothing but one of the ranger's feet, lying motionless, pale, just inches from the bottom of the stair. He began to tremble.

Maybe it was more villagers. Maybe they had come in the interval between his two visits. Maybe they were down there cowering in the darkness, too afraid even to greet a fellow human when he stumbled onto them. Or maybe it was a troll. After fighting the great black creature, even a troll did not seem unconquerable.

How ridiculously arrogant he found himself. How could he, Holt, a thirteen-year-old boy, fight a troll? Trolls had killed Varley and Roef and Baton. A troll had killed his mother. And even staring at Kawika's foot, he knew all of that didn't even begin to matter because there were no other footprints around but his own.

He heard a dull slosh he realized was the hoe falling to the snow. He was stepping into the cellar, descending the stairs, continuing to gaze only at the foot. He had to get Kawika out. He could not leave him there, sitting helplessly in the dark with that awful thing. Crouching on the lowest step, he reached gently toward Kawika's ankle. He realized the ranger must have fallen because he could no longer make out the man’s shape against the shelving. He grasped the ankle, felt another cold wallop against his diaphragm -- so cold. So cold and something else. He tugged the ankle and immediately knew. Even before he saw the tattered flesh and the jagged, splintered bone -- the tattered flesh and the jagged, splintered bone -- white as white in the moonlight -- and nothing more.

The darkness seemed to swell between the shelves. A great rustling sound and the horrible, black face was stretching toward him. "Looking for this?"

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CONVERSATIONS WITH SWISHY PETE VOLUME I by A. Scott Boddie

CONVERSATIONS WITH SWISHY PETE VOLUME ONE by A. Scott Boddie

The fabulous Swishy Pete lives in upper Manhattan with his brassy, sassy friends, Minnie, Char, and Delicious. You’ll recognize him the minute he opens his mouth. He’s out and proud, overly talkative, and in your face. A typical New Yorker, but as soon as you meet him, you will never forget him.

Conversations with Swishy Pete Volume I gathers together twelve flash fiction “episodes” featuring Swishy Pete and his friends as they dish on life in the Big Apple. Sometimes deep, often humorous, these short stories bring a fresh perspective that redefines GLBT stereotypes.

So, honey, come listen in as Pete tells it like it is.

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EXCERPT:


Episode 1: Introducing Swishy Pete

“If you want to know about me and my life,” Pete said as he blew dry the final coat of clear nail polish on his right hand, “please do not ask me what I do for a living.”

“If a man is interested in making your acquaintance, how should he proceed?” Minnie asked.

“Girl, Minnie, boo-boo, let me break it down to you. Suppose some hot ‘n’ sexy man walks up to you, right?”

“I ain’t feeling any men these days,” Minnie muttered, as she rolled her eyes.

“Alrighty then, say it’s Ms. Janet Jackson,” Pete sighed.

“She’s caught up with Ali Baba, so bump her, too,” Minnie replied.

“His name is Wissam Al Mana.”

“Whatever.”

“Girl,” Pete blew up, “if you don’t let me get this story out ...”

“I’m sorry, Swishy Pete,” Minnie said, sarcastic. “Get on with it, bitch.”

“When they ask what you do for a living, professionally, they’re summing you up based on your job title. Baby, I prefer to let them make something up and save me the worry. And don’t call me Swishy -- if I wanted to be insulted, I would call my father.”

“Hello, it’s a joke.” Minnie smirked. “If they don’t ask what you do for a living, how are they supposed to pass judgment and determine whether they like you?”

“Minnie, you can be so simple sometimes.” Pete stood. “Look at me, honey. Anyone worth knowing can see I’m fabulously complex.”

“Are you saying you’re transparent?” Minnie asked.

Pete folded his hands together in prayer. “See God in everyone. Okay -- let me come at this from a different direction. If you saw a homeless man, you wouldn’t need to know his professional occupation to know at least the obvious part of his story.”

“What if he’s not homeless but just a bad dresser?” Minnie asked.

“Don’t breathe, girl, or I’ll lose you,” Pete said crudely. “Instead of asking me what I do for a living, why not ask where I was born. Hello? Ask me, bitch.”

“Hey, Swishy Pete, where are you from, girlfriend?” Minnie laughed, barely able to get it all out. “Pardon me, sir, where y’all from?”

“Where am I from? How nice of you to ask.” Pete clutched his pearls. “I’m from Oklahoma. Now, Minnie -- what does that say to you about me?”

“Umm, growing up you we were not allowed to walk backward while eating a hamburger.”

“No, fool!” Pete yelled. “That’s only true in Oklahoma City. Oklahoma is a great Broadway musical, and it speaks of my yearning to be a stage actress. Next, I was born in the small city of Cherokee -- what do you think that says about me?”

“Oh, I know -- that you are an afro-descendant of Cherokee extraction, like Beyoncé,” Minnie raved.

“No, that I performed the Cher song, ‘Half Breed,’ in drag back in the day at the club. Ho!”

“Donny and Marie,” their manager called, “your lunch breaks are over. Time to get back to work.”

“He ain’t all that just cause he’s the manager, and I don’t appreciate his tone,” Pete headed toward the back door of the restaurant after putting out his cigarette. “I could’ve been manager if I had finished college.”

“Is that why you don’t tell folks what you do for a living?” Minnie asked.

“Yep.” Pete held the door open for Minnie.

“Oh, cool. I just wanted to be clear on your process.”

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DEGRANON by Duane Simolke

DEGRANON: A SCIENCE FICTION ADVENTURE

Duane Simolke's gay-themed novel involves a family trapped between two oppressive worlds.
On the planet Valchondria, no illness exists, gay marriage is legal, and everyone is a person of color. However, a group called "the Maintainers" carefully monitors everyone's speech, actions, and weight; the Maintainers also force so-called "colorsighted" people to hide their ability to see in color.

The brilliant scientist Taldra loves her twin gay sons and thinks of them as the hope for Valchondria's future, but one of them becomes entangled in the cult of Degranon, while the other becomes stranded on the other side of a doorway through time. Can they find their way home and help Taldra save their world?

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Excerpt:

The planet Valchondria seems advanced and remarkably humane in many ways. But the government regulates people's weight, reproduction, theology, actions, and speech; the government also forbids travel and contact beyond Valchondria's atmosphere. A charismatic leader called "Gazer" leads the cult of Degranon; he promises change, but at a violent and oppressive cost. In between these two dystopias (failed Utopias), we find Taldra and Hachen, striving to make a better world for their twin sons. Obviously, the book raises many social issues, but it often does so in humorous or exciting ways. This scene obviously pokes fun at the ridiculous Earth tradition known as "homophobia," but it still has some scary overtones. (The Valchondrians use "same-gendered" in place of the words “gay” or “homosexual.”)


Her gray eyes sparkled like no eyes Hachen had ever seen. Actually, she had broken the law by secretly telling him that her eyes were light brown, but, unlike his gifted spouse, he couldn’t see in color. He couldn’t even see the redness of her skin, though he knew from history class that most people on Valchondria have red, brown, or black skin, and some of the people who had once lived there had yellow or white skin. To him, everyone simply looked white or black.


During history classes, before the Maintainers expunged certain anti-glory facts from the school curriculum, Hachen had learned about how white-skinned people and yellow-skinned people faded from existence. After the Supreme Science Council realized that those two races contracted certain illnesses that no one else contracted, they worked with the Maintainers to pass a constitutional amendment, banning any two members of those races from marrying. The measure supposedly protected Valchondria’s families and stability. Within three generations, both races ceased to exist; only the red, black, and brown races remained obvious, or some mixture of the three.


That time in Valchondria’s history brought outcries of shame, and the government vowed to never again use the law to promote bigotry. But then, little more than a hundred years later, the SSC found that obesity caused many illnesses, adding to increased national healthcare costs. So another constitutional amendment passed, this one allowing the Maintainers to fine people for not keeping a healthy height-to-weight ratio.


And after the virus came, the Maintainers and the SSC passed yet another constitutional amendment that promoted discrimination. That one made the ridiculous assertion that discussing colorsightedness posed a heavy hazard threat to traditional values, and that claiming to be colorsighted was nothing more than a plea for so-called “special rights.” It amazed Hachen that a civilized culture could keep taking away people’s civil rights. It also hurt him, because the woman he loved was the target of that bigotry.


And the new forms of bigotry kept emerging. Next came legally permitted language, initially called “socially recommended rhetoric,” creeping slowly into schools and the media and then into the law. And then Maintainer cameras came. And freedom left. All in the names of preserving traditional Valchondrian values. All suffocating Valchondrian creativity, thought, and progress.


Hachen clasped the slender hand that reached toward the tiny person in the infant pod that was attached to the bed.


“I’ll get him,” said Hachen. He gently lifted the pale infant, who was wrapped in a white cloth as soft and warm as his skin.


“I was hoping to be able to say ‘them.’” She accepted the crying child into her arms, and he grew quiet as she rocked him back and forth.


“We had to work quickly. It’s bad enough we’re violating the codes. We can’t jeopardize Geln’s career as well as our own.”


“I know, Hachen. I just wanted a chance to see them both. I can’t believe I passed out during the birth.”


“I think those mind relaxants had something to do with it. I’m just glad no other healers came in. No one knows except for you, me, and Geln.”


“Wouldn’t the gossip masters love this story? ‘Leading scientists discover a rift in time and transport illegal twin into the past. Check your collector for details.’” She rubbed the tiny infant’s red face, and he seemed to smile. “Is this Argen, or Telius?”


“Argen,” said Hachen, sitting down on the edge of the bed. They had agreed on given names for the twins long before Taldra even started showing. “They’re identical. I performed a genetic scan; they’re both healthy and of potentially high intellect. Telius will need that to survive in his primitive environment.”


“But you said the village is peaceful. Hachen, where are we sending our baby?”


“Someplace where he at least has a chance.” Hachen had never seen her look so vulnerable before, like anyone could crush her with a touch. Before, she always projected herself as brave and outspoken, sometimes even reckless, but he could tell becoming a mother would change her. Somehow, she seemed less courageous but more protective. He tried to think of words to reassure her. “The village is peaceful. I just meant that he won’t have all the luxuries and protections we have. He’ll be like…well, like a colonist.”


The look of worry gave way to one of wonder. “I like that analogy.” She smiled at the baby who slept in her arms. “Maybe one day, we’ll all be on one colony together, the four of us.”


“That sounds nice. To the side, the genetic scan also showed that they’re both same-gendered.” Hachen used the term with pride, and Taldra smiled with the same pride. At least no one ever came up with the crumbled idea of discriminating against people who identified romantically and emotionally with members of their own gender. No culture could ever be that rusted, he told himself, but then thought again of how utterly ridiculous he saw all other forms of bigotry; none of it made sense. Discrimination and prejudice never made any sense at all to Hachen.

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