New Release: First Flight Out

Egad, another story about flight attendants?

Write what you know, right? Well, what I knew. When my airline offered its flight attendants a buyout at the end of last year, I took it, so I’m actually more like Mister Ex-Stewardess at this point, I just don’t think that’s as catchy of a blog name.

unnamed (2)I suppose I was never going to fly forever, but now that my flying career in its entirety is behind me, I got to thinking: should I write a memoir? I mean, it was a funny job, and I do have some stories. I just kind of think the passengers-are-crazy flight attendant tell-all has been done. But it occurred to me, while I have written two books about flight attendants, almost nothing in either one of them actually happens on an airplane, and yet it’s pretty much the whole flying sardine can thing that makes the gig what it is. The interesting, the irritating, the unique, and the unbelievable aspects of flying mostly stem from — get this — the flying part. And while a strictly factual read-through of the day-to-day of my career might be a tad dry in spots (even if it did span two centuries! How’s that for a hook?), I figured funnier, fictionalized versions of some of my stories might have a certain appeal — especially if they happened to sexier people than me who were running around falling in love with each other while they told them. Thus was the idea for the Mile High Club series born, and today marks the release of Book One, courtesy of our friends at JMS Books.

Jesse Cisneros and his best buddy Tanner fly for Mile High Airlines, which is every bit as classy as it sounds. When Dr. Virgil Willis rings his call light on a flight from New York to Denver, Jesse is so taken with his looks and charm he forgets all about the inflight medical crisis that prompted him to call for a doctor in the first place. Willis is handsome. Willis is helpful. And wouldn’t you know it? Willis is someone else’s husband.

Jesse can hardly believe his luck when their paths cross again on the patio of a popular gay bar. It’s been nine months, and Willis has been busy: now he’s single, he’s out, and he’s very interested in getting to know Jesse better. It all seems too good to be true! And you know what they say about that…

It’s even 20% off here in week one, only $3.19, only at JMS Books!

Thanks, JMS Books!

Thanks, JMS Books!

If you love it, and I hope you will, watch for Book Two, all about Tanner, later this year!

If Reading is Sexy, Then This Free E-Book Must Be Downright Erotic!

FABAnd indeed it is. We are recently returned from a fabulous four-day weekend with family and friends in New Orleans, where we listened to live bagpipe music, ate crawfish etouffee on a hot dog, drank gin in our champagne, won a dance contest, and “discovered” (read: meticulously searched the map for the precise location at the behest of our cool guidebook of) Faubourg Marigny Art and Books on Frenchmen Street, which was, as its name suggests, utterly FAB. Jammed with classic and experimental queer fiction and erotic art and rare, yellowing editions of novellas by respected mass-market authors penned under their way-famouser gay sex-lit pen names — the one I really really wanted, by a guy who’s inspired me since early days, was $225, and I just couldn’t bring myself, although I considered it longer than I had any right to — this venerable corner cave even tantalized my husband to select as his souvenir of our trip the first book I’ve ever seen him buy. Granted, it’s one loaded with hot photos of naked guys, but the place that can sell any book to the guy who doesn’t even read most of the text messages I send him is doing a bang-up job at bookselling.

My BuddyWatching the most devoted non-reader I know peruse his new purchase that night in our room — seeing, in other words, with my own two eyes that there really is a book out there for everybody — I was inspired to participate in Read an E-Book Week on Smashwords again this year. Through Saturday, March 7th, my novels are all 50% off on the Smashwords site, and my much beloved (by me) yet widely unheralded (by everyone else) erotic retelling of Hansel and Gretel, The Sugar Shack, is free! (with a promo code, which they give you right on the order page. Note that Smashwords has an adult content filter, which you will need to turn off in order to find anything by me at all!)

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The_Sugar_Shack_400x600Hansel is an aspiring photographer with a greater passion for the half-naked models he works with than for his art. Gretel is a Drag Superstar—or will be, she’s convinced, the moment she’s discovered by…anybody. One night, out in the tony gay-borhood The Woods, they stumble upon The Sugar Shack, a second-story nightclub they’re both delighted to discover, Gretel for the nightly drag shows of which she’d thrill to be a part, Hansel for the vast free buffet. They meet the club’s owner, local drag legend Sugar Rush, who offers Gretel a spot on stage vacated by a last-minute no-show. When she wows the crowd, Sugar offers Gretel a trial spot on the Sugar Shack’s lineup, and invites Hansel to drop in anytime, and to bring his appetite with him.

Gretel is a smash, and jumps at the eventual offer of a permanent gig. Hansel’s a hit, too, at Sugar’s private table upstairs in The Cage, where he lets Sugar flirt with him while he eats everything he can reach. He enjoys the attention almost as much as the loads of free food, but he’s about as gay as they get, and can’t see himself falling for a dude that looks and smells like a chick, even if she is gorgeous. She’s also an inveterate chubby chaser, Gretel points out to him one day, and her apparent mission to fatten Hansel up seems to be proceeding apace. Spending time with Sugar, Hansel’s horizons expand along with his hips, but will he ever see her as more than just his Sugar daddy?

Find out for free between now and March 7th on Smashwords!

New Release: Say Cheese!

Sitcom sensation Felix Medrano, America’s Sweetheart, throws a star-studded surprise party for his sweetheart, beanpole barkeep Grover Shepherd. It’s a smash, save for one detail: Shep is a no-show. Who’d have thought it would be so hard to pop the question?

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saycheeseOK, I’m not just recycling promo posts, I promise. If this all sounds very familiar, it’s because this story originally appeared in the Wayward Ink Publishing anthology Stranded. But one of the cool things about WIP is the way they go on to release the short stories from each antho individually, and we’re kicking off the Stranded stories with mine! Available today direct from Wayward Ink or from one of the buy links below.

Grover Shepherd is the only thing Felix Medrano loves more than being the current darling of Hollywood. He throws a star-studded surprise engagement party to declare that love to the world, and it’s a smash, save for one detail: Shep is a no-show.  Felix knows Shep missed his flight home from New Orleans, but that was fifteen hours ago. What’s the hold up?

Flash back to the start of Shep’s day in New Orleans. By the time his friend Billy’s car is eventually retrieved from the jealous lover who drove off with it, Shep’s missed his flight back to L.A., and he spends the rest of the day on standby, watching flight after flight depart without him. Each time he sends Felix a progress report via text message, Felix replies with a romantic photo from their past, and Shep spends much of his airport odyssey Remembering When. It’s easy to see how these two fell in love, but getting harder to imagine that Shep could possibly make it home in time to celebrate with Felix and their friends.

Amazon USA

Amazon Canada

Amazon UK

Amazon Australia

Amazon Germany

Barnes and Noble

All Romance eBooks

Thanks, Wayward Ink!

Thanks, Wayward Ink!

New Release: “Dude Mama” in A Likely Story

When button-down biracial lawmaker Cassidy Uematsu meets hardscrabble fry cook Buford “Jax” Jackson, it’s lust at first sight. They’re only too happy to jump into the sack, and when Jax loses his condom mid-getting-to-know-you, Cassidy urges him forward, damn the consequences. 

What’s the worst that can happen? 

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Likely Story CoverSuspend rational thought.

Leave logic at the door.

Be ready to roll your eyes and pick your jaw up from your lap.

The tales in A Likely Story don’t let truth get in the way of telling a good yarn.

They might push your buttons or make you laugh.

They may make you scoff or spit out your coffee.

You might even scratch your head in disbelief.

Whatever your reaction, the one thing they are guaranteed to do is entertain you!

Wayward Ink Publishing’s new anthology hits shelves today, and along with it my wildest, sexiest, and most romantic story yet. Dude Mama is all about beer and lust and vegan mac n cheese, about falling in love with the completely wrong guy at the totally wrong time and wiping the smirk off the face of Family Values.

A Likely Story is available straight from Wayward Ink, and also from Amazon in the US, the UK, and Australia. You can be enticed by the video trailer for the book here, and if you are among the first to buy the book, you can enter to win a $20 WIP gift card here.

For an exclusive excerpt from Dude Mama, please read on:  Continue reading

Got a Light?

IcebergWell, I’m having way more fun with NYC Midnight’s Flash Fiction Challenge than I had with the Short Story Challenge earlier this year, which gave me the boot after Round One. I’ve made it to the Final Round of the Flash Fiction one, and submitted my last 990-word story to the judges over the weekend. Rambling writer that I am, I’m surprised to have made it quite this far in a contest that’s all about getting to the point, but actually the ruthless editing (“Aww, what a sweet thing to say…” Delete!) has been kind of fun.

The assigned genre for this final round was Open, meaning any old genre you want, which I saw first as a blessing, in that it wasn’t “Ghost Story” or “Spaghetti Western”, but then saw as a curse, in that it gave me no direction to go in with the no-help-at-all location prompt — An Iceberg — but have ultimately decided to embrace as a blessing because now I don’t have to categorize the story I ended up with. The assigned item was A Lighter, and it eventually set the scene. Participating writers are encouraged to “interpret your genre, location, and object assignment in uniquely creative ways…” so I’ll either get big points or get disqualified for this one. We’ll find out which in January! Herewith my final entry in this year’s challenge: 

Got a Light?

Of course I knew she was a dude. Just cuz I’m not gay doesn’t mean I have no sense of adventure. She had legs for days and a butt you could eat breakfast off of. I figured if I took her home and fucked her, when we were finished she could flip me over and fuck me right back, and you don’t hit that jackpot every day. That’s what we all loved about the Iceberg: you never knew what was gonna happen, but if you kept your wallet handy and your wits about you, you were guaranteed a wild time.

So named because its street-level frosted-glass cocktail lounge façade revealed nothing of the depravity that hulked beneath as you descended the depths from one sub-basement to the next, the Iceberg was the hottest club in Saint Paul. And it was on the Right Wing’s shit list from opening day. Board it up, burn it down—they didn’t care how they were delivered from its scourge, but Wouldn’t somebody think of the children?! Meanwhile, the queers? The fornicators? The sinners-for-sport? We lined up to get in, to hit the spray-painted stairs and see how low we could go.

I had purple hair, tight abs in a tight T-shirt; I got in no sweat. Clomped down the stairs, blew past the first landing—hometown DJs, go-go dancers, big whoop. The second basement got more interesting. Here the hustlers and the gay-for-pay porn stars took off their shirts and licked their lips, enticed daddies and chubs to pop for a beer or a blow job while the drag queens with the highest hair in the Midwest lip-synched Katy Perry until she would have been sick of the sound of her own voice, had she managed to flirt herself past a bouncer. That’s where I saw her: strong freckled shoulders in a sequined tube top, seven feet tall in platforms, whipping that ponytail around the stage like a propeller, she was as white as any Minnesota blizzard I’d ever shoveled my way out of and called herself Vinda Lou Curry. So she got points for creativity on top of the Perfect Ten her body demanded. When I saw her duck up the stairs after her number, I didn’t think about it, I just followed. She cut between two bars to the back door. I bummed a quick cigarette from some underage twink as he scampered by, hung it from my lip, pushed into the alley. She had a fan club; I elbowed in. “Got a light?” Continue reading