A Mini Revival

 I'm back again. All the stories I've been hoarding, editing, restarting…I want to be free of them. Every scenario, every bit of dialogue, every scrap of colorful language that I collect goes somewhere into the plots I've already started. Whether the idea fits or not, I feel like I can't waste time creating new characters; I owe it to myself to finish something that I've started. Sometimes this means I end up re-reading my own work for an hour, scanning it for where I can slot in that thought I had. Mostly I end up cringing at the words I typed years ago, asking myself if anyone is really gonna like this shit.

So. I released The Worst Days as a complete collection on Smashwords. The second chapter of Power Plays, which I retitled Stay Away from Her, the short piece "Olive Juice," the last official chapter of Watching Him Back all went on Literotica within the past week. The little feedback I've received has been mixed, which matches how I feel about this process. However, in the spirit of purging my brain of these stories, even a low rating means that someone took the time to read my bullshit. That ain't nothing.

What all have I been hoarding, you* ask?

1) Power Plays, aka Stay Away from Her, gets into some bizarre territory. When I was outlining the story (it's too fuckin' long, you guys. Word count currently over 34k) I made a list of the "power plays" that each character made and why. Jesse is fun to write because he's kinda dumb, and since the reader is trapped in his head it's my challenge to make him make any sense as a person while making it clear why everybody thinks he's an idiot. Todd has the clearest character development, but he's about to make some very bad choices. To Chrisette: I'm truly sorry for what I'm about to do to your character. Most of the major plot developments have been written by now, but I've really built myself a literary obstacle course of how to get between plot points. How far into the relationship are Jesse and Chrisette when Todd moves in? How old is the baby, again? It's the only story I've ever written that required a timeline.

2) There's a folder on my computer called "The Commencement Series" with seven files inside; the anthology I mentioned in the story "Will." Now that "Olive Juice" has joined "Shouldn't" on Literotica I hope it's easier to find a conclusion for Declan and Will. Am I gonna get trashed if they never make it past third base? Probably, but I genuinely can't decide who would top, and I already have two other stories with major prom night sex scenes. Heather's friend Kenzie is a side character in the story of her older brother, told by the only character who isn't involved at the school. This story has been tough because I posed a question to myself that I can't answer. What if The Graduate was gay, but Mrs. Robinson was your boss and Elaine wasn't as forgiving? I wrote the fucked up parts already, but why would the employee and the boss's son end up together? I don't fucking know.

 "Prom Night" is not the first time I've written porn for the heteros—I had a whole fake account with a well-liked werewolf story—but I don't see it playing well if I release under the Acerbicscribbler account. Josh and Heather will likely hang out, bothering me, for a little bit longer until the series becomes an ebook. Maybe I'll do the full version here.

(As an aside, trying to write good straight porn means either asking my female friends very invasive questions or reading a lot of erotica by and for women. I want my friends to still be my friends, so when I was writing le porno hetero I spent hours and hours combing through books and Literotica and literally taking notes. *Ladies, I still don't really understand what squirting is, or if it's fun for you. Feel free to drop some resources in the comments, I guess.)

3) The neighbor of Strange Bedfellows gets a name in the last chapter and meets Andy's parents. And then…what? I'm stuck on how to up the ante on their sex life as the couple becomes more domestic. Or perhaps the 5th chapter is a good enough button and I need to leave it alone.

4) The trouble with Cooper and Marshall of You're Lucky I'm Drunk is where to stop. Right now I have two more parts: the next chapter from Cooper's perspective when Marshall visits him in return, and then Marshall learning how to feel all his feelings immediately after. I keep writing long dialogues between them about their experiences and feelings, and then deleting them. There's so much that Marshall and Cooper could say to each other, but *y'all aren't coming to me because you enjoy frank conversations about fluid sexuality and coming out later in life. *You're here for the sex, goddammit!

5) Sons of the Underbelly has a happy ending in theory. I've been procrastinating on that one because releasing it involves going back to check for verb tenses, and ugh blech blech blech. That's another one that get light on sex as the relationships develop, so the question is how far do we follow Mario and Alex?

6) Dreams of a Doormat has a part 2 that needs fleshing out, and the whole thing needs a good edit. I wrote that while I was living in Japan, and some stuff that was part of my lived experience looks…ahem…insensitive these years later.

7) Although the high school portion of Watching Him Back is over with, there's an epilogue and spinoff I've been kicking around for years that it's time to release. Here first, most likely, and then a polished version to Smashwords.

And that's just the stuff that I can think of off the top of my mind grapes. I recently saw another author on these sites advertise their ebook links (Amazon, specifically, which doesn't carry my stuff) as a way of supporting their work even though they were releasing the free version on GayDemon or whatever. One of my early ebooks, priced at $0.99, got a bad review specifically mentioning that they read it at no cost elsewhere. I was scared away from publishing much after that, but in this gig economy and under this administration? Sure. Read it for free on a site, then throw me the 40% commission off a $1.99 ebook purchase. The fourteen dollars I make per year from writing is a real motivator.

So that's what's up. Hello again.

*Nobody. Nobody still reads this.

The Worst Days eBook

 I think I first published The Worst Days on Literotica in 2008 or so. Then I disappeared and so did all my stories, and if not for a faithful reader it would have stayed gone. For the record, I used to do that too, back when wifi was scarce. Sitting in the student union in France, feeling guilty that the firewall didn't pick up on English language erotica, copying stories I wanted to read at home into a document. Then I'd delete them and empty the trash, just in case a friend needed to borrow my laptop and stumbled across something I wasn't ready to share.

In retrospect, I don't know if I love the story of Tam and Fen as much as some of the dumbasses I've been writing about in more recent years. They're a product of my youthful hubris—reading overwrought gay erotica by women and plot-less gay erotica by men, and thinking I can do way better than this. Fen was practically flawless, while Tam was too naïve for his age and profession. There's a lot that I would have cut out now (dogs? Really, man?), but I do recall the kind, thoughtful feedback from readers who liked my first and only attempt at queer science fiction. So for the ebook I kept those people in mind, focusing on minor edits and keeping the original flavor intact.

All seven chapters are downloadable through many of your favorite ebook platforms, but the direct link is here: https://books2read.com/u/38NpYO

And I made more terrible cover art. It might be my worst work yet.

Power Plays Pt. 3.1

 "Just let him take you while your car's in the shop."

I can barely hear her over the rush of water coming out of the shower. "Shouldn't you be going with me?"

"I've already seen it," Chrisette says dismissively. "Just look at the main ranch house, and then it's only, like, one minute east to see that barn that the owners said we could rent for half."

"Why not just do that?"

"Because it's kind of in disrepair."

"I don't know why you think Todd will be of any help." I don't want to go anywhere with him.

Chrisette pokes her head around the shower curtain to swat my ass playfully. "Since you don't like it when I hang out with him alone…" she teases, then ducks back out when I reach for her.

Dear god, if only she knew. "Just come with, baby."

"I can't, Jesse," she says sympathetically. "I have to go to work. Todd said he'd be here at ten."

Fuck that. "I'll see if Scotty can take me," I reply. "He doesn't have shit to do."

"Whatever, that's fine. I gave Todd your number just in case," she adds as she sails out the door.

"You did what now? Chrisette? Hello?"

Before I'm even dressed I call Scott. When he answers he sounds completely distracted.

"Sorry, dude," he finally tells me after I wasted my breath explaining the situation. "I actually am driving Hannah's car today, and I have to pick her up for brunch as payment."

This must be how the Little Match Girl felt as the last flame went out. "Are you fucking kidding me?" I ask. "Crazy Pussy Hannah? Fucking brunch? You hate her!"

"And she hates me," Scott replies, "but that makes the sex a-fucking-mazing"

Even though he can't see it I shake my head. "This is going to bite you in the ass, man."

He laughs, "Come on, son. Everybody gotta stick they dick in crazy at some point. I'm pulling up, so I gotta go. If Hannah thinks I'm talking about her I won't get any road head. She loves giving road head."

"Fuck off, Scotty," I reply.

"You too, man. Later."

The beep of the ended call feels more final than usual. I wait for some sort of fucked up text for the next hour. Get naked and blindfold yourself at 9:57. Some shit like that. If any idiot has stuck dick in crazy, that would be me. Just me letting Crazy get my dick in his ass, and then Crazy turning around and dicking me. This is unhealthy as shit.

When Todd finally shows up I'm so tense that my balls are trying to retreat into my body. The son of a bitch just pulls up to the curb and honks the horn. Todd takes one look at me and goes, "I'm just doing this for Chrissy," when I hop in.

"Me, too, dumbass," I mutter, turning my cap around so I can pull the brim over my eyes. We spend the next forty-five minutes in silence. It gives me plenty of time to figure out how to tell the charming property owner that we don't want to rent her house or her barn. At least, I don't. Chrisette likes the idea of the mason jar, rustic, homespun outdoor wedding. I like the idea of my mother not complaining the whole day.  

When we reach the ranch I hop out without waiting for Todd. Neither do I introduce him to the woman who answers the door. Todd catches up to us as she’s taking me through the open living room.

It's a nice home, but it's never going to work for all of Chrisette’s ancient aunties and uncles. 

"Is it normal for houses this style to have all these levels?" I ask as the tour comes to a close. 

The lady shrugs. "As old as it is, back when they couldn't just even things out with a bulldozer…"

"Chrisette said that you guys need wheelchair access," Todd reminds me.

The woman nods. "Then in that case I do recommend that you check out the old barn. It's a fair-weather-only location, but the whole thing is flat."

I grit my teeth. I knew all that, which is why I asked about all the levels. Todd is just rubbing my face into how much time he spends with the woman I'm about to marry. I get it; you're besties. "Can I poke around there for a bit?"

"Sure thing, sweetheart," the woman says. "I gotta go feed the horses, but it's just two minutes east of here. Keep going down the road; you'll find it."

“We’ll give you a call,” says Todd, shaking her hand. 

We will not do a fucking thing, I don't say as I follow Todd back out to the car. Instead I shut the door a little harder than necessary and make a dumb comment.

"I'm still waiting for you to be useful, bro." It sounds like I'm trying to start a conversation, which is not the case.

Todd raises his eyebrows. "I'm a building contractor for high-end offices and fancy homes, with a background in structural engineering. Did Chrissy never tell you?"

"I have never asked," I respond with pride. Fuck Todd if he thinks I have any interest in him beyond how to legally remove him from this earth. But still, no wonder he can afford such nice shit.

"What do you do?" Todd asks like we're at a Christmas party. How come Chrisette never told him? I know she talks about me, because if her mom or sister don’t answer their phones and Chrisette’s mad at me, Todd is who she calls next.

"Graphic design and a little animation," I respond shortly. It sounds cooler if I don’t add that it’s for a microstock firm and corporate app developers. I've been getting into the graphic novel game a little, cleaning pencil sketches and doing coloration on a freelance basis, but I hate explaining what that means so I don't talk about it.

Todd makes a huh face. "I never would have pegged you as an artist," he comments. “You seem like such a frat boy.”

Chrisette thought the same thing until she got to know me. She and Todd both use frat boy as code for idiot. I wear t-shirts and shorts all the time because I work from home. "I never would have pegged you as a functioning adult. So, we're both surprised."

He looks like he's about to laugh but thinks better of it. “You'd be pretty funny if you weren't such a dick.”

“Nobody’s perfect.”

More Bad Cover Art

It's ya boi. I got a new app, so instead of finishing the stories I've been kicking around for years I've been playing with ebook covers. Have I become a better writer since I was last active on this blog? Unlikely. Have I gotten better at graphic design? Worse, if anything!

Terrible!

Very bad!

HAHAHAHAHA

Anyway, these will all be showing up on Smashwords at some point. You're Lucky I'm Drunk is due for release August  18, so I am furiously polishing the second and third parts and am definitely not procrastinating on Literotica or anything.

Smug Little Bastard

If you didn't grow up with country relatives, this grammar might not make a lick of sense. 

Bless your heart.

“You like me, don’t you.”

I looked over at the man standing in the kitchen doorway, his arms folded and his feet apart.

“What?”

He tilted his head. “You like me; I can tell,” he said.

I was dumbstruck for a moment while all the blood in my body rushed to my face. “J.D., where the hell’s this coming from?”

The Worst Days 3.6

I can't look at this anymore without taking a red pen to it. I'm posting the version that a kind fan sent to me, but know that when this finally shows up in ebook form (in 2027? I've set a precedent) it will be less…cringey.

I woke up slowly, comfortable in a warm tangle of flesh and linens. I didn't fully awaken until I realized that I was wrapped around my large bedmate instead of the other way around. The sun was barely cresting the horizon, and purple shadows threw themselves across the room.

Someone knocked on the door, and Fen stirred in my arms. I snatched them away from him and he rolled onto his back.

"Who is up at this ungodly hour?" he groaned.

As if reading his mind, a voice came from the other side of the door. "Fenton, old boy, are you in there?" Almus Tobergus.

Fenton sighed, and looked over at me. "Pull the sheets down a little and moan like you're disappointed."

I raised my eyebrows. "Have you been drinking already?"

"Just do it. I don't want to deal with him this early," he grumbled, getting out of bed. He took his pants off and wrapped a robe around himself and held it like he was hiding an erection. I got the idea.

"But Mr. White, please," I whined loud enough for Tobergus to hear, smacked my palm against my bare stomach, then squealed. I might have been overdoing it.

Watching Him Back 4.6

I remembered my login.

The couch is just large enough that I can straddle my boyfriend’s lap. Crispin’s hands wander over my skin as I kiss his mouth, pull me closer when I grind against him. Our skin burns where it touches. I’m on fire, I’m so hard it hurts. Crispin’s cock curves up against the cleft of my ass. It’s still scary, but that portion of my brain shouting, This will really hurt! gets smaller and more garbled with every taste of Crispin’s tongue.

With lips still pressed to mine Crispin fumbles for the lube. “You ready?”

“I’m still ready,” I respond, lying less this time.

"Then take off your underwear."

"You take it off," I respond. It's kind of fun to be a brat.