So I’m thinking pretty seriously about trying to find a publisher for these guys. Self pubbing is wearing me down. I’m exhausted by this whole worldwide witch hunt for naughty prose…Prose! that’s being blocked, by the way, in case we forget. Not movies or pictures we’re banning here, but WORDS. No actual real human people are being abused or exploited, or even pretending to be in those situations. Scary, right?
A lot of us erotica writers are now self-censoring, frantically taking titles down before the ‘zon bans them for us, in case (rumors flying) they decide to delete authors or even accounts, instead of taking the time to delete titles. None of us can afford to be blacklisted on Amazon. (As for the universal takedown of all authors on Kobo, I made maybe a nickel on Kobo ever, so fuck them 🙂 )
So, it may be time to line myself up with a bigger entity, a “real” publisher, even if it’s a smaller house. Dreamspinner Press seems to have a lock on the top of the gayfic/gayrotica bestseller list, and they’re able to get their titles to the top within days of publication, along with a ton of positive customer reviews. It’s a decent advance, especially compared with what I’m managing to pull in on my own, and holy fuckballs, if they can get THOUSANDS of copies sold, well, that beats what I can do for myself…
Anyway. I’m really happiest doing what I do best – WRITING. Creating. Concentrating 100% on putting 100% into my work. Everything that isn’t this blog or a book or an email to a fan, everything outside my words, is a distraction, an aggravation, a pain in the ass. Just this morning, I was trying to get another title on Google Play – I was 90% complete and I clicked on a help link…it opened in the same window. So I used the browser’s back button…and everything I’d done was gone…all the book info, gone. And for some stupid reason, Play Store makes you not only recalibrate your price upwards so they can recalibrate it down 75%, which you have to do to price match so that Amazon doesn’t block you for undercutting, but you have to enter the price for every country, which you have to calculate yourself…and that was all gone, too. Sigh. See? A waste of my time and energy.
Okay! /rant! Here’s another piece of Roger and Brian. I’m still in slo-mo on the productivity but I think now that I’ve got clarity on what I’m doing next career-wise, things will pick up. (BTW, that “do you like girls” question really did come up at the 2013 Combine!)
CHAPTER SEVEN – NO HOMO!
If there was one thing Roger never anticipated would be the hardest part of the NFL Combine experience, this was it.
“What’s the drug of choice on your campus?”
The 15-minute team interviews were more grueling than the workouts. Roger had done exceedingly well at the dashes and jumps and shuttles and throws, and had delivered sterling banalities in the Media Day interviews. His draft stock was rising every minute. And then there was this.
Roger blinked. The Richmond Rebels’ staff maintained poker faces throughout the interview. Other teams had been far more friendly, at least on the surface. These guys, well, Roger already hoped they wouldn’t be his new bosses.
“Well,” he smiled, “it’s Berkeley, so I’m going to guess it’s marijuana.”
They made notes, still unsmiling.
One of them finally made eye contact. “Do you like girls?”
“I beg your pardon?” Roger’s blood froze – did they know?
“Do you have a girlfriend? Are you in a relationship?”
“No, I’m not. I don’t. Have a girlfriend.”
Fear was quickly replaced with anger. He noticed the absence of a ring on the man’s finger. “Are you married? Divorced?”
“We’re asking the questions here.”
“Does your marital status impact your ability to do your job?” Roger’s steel showed in his voice, the steel he normally kept sheathed beneath his mild-mannered, off the field exterior.
Now they were all looking at him. Suspiciously. Because why wouldn’t a star QB, a total campus stud, have a girlfriend? If he didn’t have a high school sweetheart he was going to marry the day after graduation, then he should have a national reputation as a cocksman/party animal.
The man put down his clipboard. “Thank you for your time.”
Fuckers! Roger fumed outside, no chance to burn off the stress with a fast run before the next interview. How dare they!
He knew the NFL wasn’t going to be an easy place to be gay. He knew that he’d have to hide it. But he’d figured on a “don’t ask don’t tell” environment.
“Yeah, but that’s Richmond, dude,” Brian said on the phone that night. “Deep South. Capitol of the Confederacy.”
“Well, I know I won’t be their draft pick now.”
“Right? Fuck them. You should have told them about your girlfriend, who lives in Canada.”
Roger laughed. They’d gone to see “Avenue Q,” the twisted puppet musical, when they’d been in New York for the Heisman ceremony. One of the songs was “My Girlfriend, Who Lives in Canada,” sung by a closeted gay puppet.
“I know I’m going to have to be discreet, you know? I know that. But to be asked that question out loud? Man.” He blew out a sigh. “Anyway. How’s it going with you?”
“Great. I’m doing great. Feeling great. Nice and warm here, too.” Brian had stayed off the booze, and his own game had already benefited. He’d signed a pro contract with the Portland Loggers, and their farm team was part of the Cactus League, so spring training had just started in sunny Arizona.
“It’s freezing here.” Indianapolis in February was no picnic, Roger thought, looking out the hotel window at the snowy ground below.
“You need a big fat cock up your ass to warm you up,” Brian growled.
Roger’s eyelids fluttered. “Yeah…”
“Lot of hot young studs there right now, huh? In those tight shirts, those shorts, their hot bods gettin’ you all hot and bothered…”
“You know I’m thinking about you.” He grinned. “I’m only gay for you, you know.”
Brian laughed. “Oh yeah? What a coincidence. I’m only gay for you too.”
Roger sobered. “I miss you already.”
“Yeah, man. I miss you too. But we’ll find a way. We’ll find a time. When we can get together. Maybe you can get to Arizona soon.”
“I’m gonna find a way to do that.”
But Roger’s calendar was already starting to look like a Rubik’s Cube, as he turned and twisted it to try and get even two colored blocks next to each other. There was his new agent to meet with, new endorsement deals to consider, decisions he’d have to make about buying or renting a place to live in whatever town he ended up in (renting would be the most practical but buying made the fans think you were there to stay), and of course keeping his fitness up, possibly flying to various cities for more interviews…
I’m going to have to make this work, he thought. Brian was in one place for a while, the last time he would be once the baseball season started. And by the time that season was over, Roger would be traveling with whatever pro team he was with.
That night he booked a flight to Scottsdale and a hotel room, leaving right after the Combine. And all the next day, through all the bullshit questions and answers, his smile never left his face.
“Hey man!” Brian answered the phone. “What’s up!”
“Me. In a hotel room. With a fantasy. About a major league ball player.” Roger’s own daring shocked him. Well, this had been Cherish’s idea.
“You need to keep him interested,” she’d told him, practical as always. “Sex, the promise of more sex, sure, that’s nice. But he’s a man, hon. You need to make sure he knows you’ve got something he can’t get anywhere else.”
“What do you know about keeping men, Your Lesbianness?”
“Ha. You don’t have to move to Russia to learn to speak Russian.”
Now he could hear Brian’s pause on the other line. “Yeah? What kind of fantasy?”
“That we’re teammates, sharing a room on the road. And he comes back to the room, still in uniform, hot and sweaty, because the showers were broken at the stadium.”
“Go on,” Brian whispered, and Roger smiled, knowing he was hooked.
“And his arm’s real sore. So he needs some help getting undressed.” Roger could feel his own cock stiffening at the thought.
“So it’s a good thing I’m here, in the Scottsdale Hilton, room 1280, waiting for him.”
“On my way.” Brian hung up.
“Hey, dude,” Roger said, greeting Brian at the door. Sure enough, Brian was in his uniform, which he’d probably put back on after Roger’s call.
“What are you doing still dressed out?”
“Showers are broken at the stadium.”
“Damn, you smell ripe, too. Take a shower, buddy.”
“You know,” Brian said casually, “I’d like to. My fucking arm is stiff as hell though, I can’t even unbutton my jersey.”
Roger shrugged. “I can help you out.”
Neither man made eye contact, as if that would ruin the fantasy. Roger stood in front of Brian, unbuttoning his jersey. “No t-shirt today?”
“No, it’s too hot out there.”
Brian’s chest was glistening with sweat. “What did you do, run up the stairs?” Roger asked casually.
“Yeah. I couldn’t wait for the elevator.”
Roger nearly smiled at that. He could see Brian, horny, excited, impatient, standing in the lobby watching the numbers ticking above the elevator door, thinking about the marshmallows upstairs.
Roger drew in towards Brian as he helped him pull his “sore” arm through his sleeve. Brian’s breath was hot on his neck. “Getting a little close there, buddy.”
“No homo, man,” Roger said.
That blew it. Brian busted out laughing. “Shit. Sorry.”
But Roger stayed in character. “Sorry for what?”
Brian sobered. The game wasn’t over… He knew his huge hardon was tenting out the fabric of his white pants. “Nothing.” Brian got his jersey off and grimaced as he rolled his shoulder. “Man, that’s sore.”
“You need a massage.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Lay down on the bed,” Roger said lightly, his own fever spiking.
Brian did as he was told, throwing himself face down on the bed. Roger straddled him, his hands slowly working Brian’s shoulders and back, strong, deep motions.
“Wow, you’re good at that.”
“Thanks.” Roger wondered why he’d never massaged Brian before. Because you always went straight to the fucking, he realized with a smile.
“Dude,” Brian said at last. “Is that your cock?”
Roger’s own erection was pressing against the small of Brian’s back. “Yeah…” One of Roger’s hands slipped under Brian, trusting it would find exactly what it did find – Brian’s own fat stiffie.
“Is that yours?”
“Are you queer?” Brian asked, still face down on the bed.
“What if I was?”
Brian turned his head. “I’d say you should give me a blow job, then.”
“Yeah.” Brian rolled over, throwing Roger off. He propped himself up on the pillows, put his hands behind his head. He looked at Roger with cold cruel eyes. “Suck my dick.”
Brian, bare-chested, still in his team pants, his dark eyes full of lust, a stranger to him, a straight stranger who wanted a blow job… Roger couldn’t believe how exciting it was. To have both, to have the thrill of the stranger’s eyes in the face of his lover…
He undid Brian’s pants, pulled them down, revealing his jock strap, all stretched out by Brian’s massive tool. Brian’s big hand grabbed him by the back of his head, pressed his face down between those massive legs. The smell of him, the crotchy muskiness, was like an aphrodisiac…
Roger began to chew lightly on Brian’s cock through the fabric of the jock strap. Brian sighed, both hands on Roger’s head now, holding it like a punter would hold a football. His hips began to grind into Roger’s face, smearing his features, Roger’s mouth twisted about, until he managed to get his lips around the shaft again.
Finally the head popped out over the elastic waistband, and Roger tongued it, lapping at it like a cat to cream. Brian yanked the jock strap down, letting the whole of him out. Roger’s tongue ran up and down the shaft, and he looked up to see Brian’s eyes rolling back in his head. He smiled to himself as he put a hand on the base of it, pulled it down and took it in his mouth.
“Oh shit…” Brian hissed.
Then there was a knock at the door.
“Fuck,” Roger whispered. They both jumped up, Brian tucking himself back in. “Go to the bathroom. Hurry.” Roger was still in his shorts and t-shirt, so he didn’t have to worry, but he smoothed himself down anyway.
He went to the door, peeped through the hole. It looked like an employee. He opened the door a crack. “Can I help you?”
It was a bellboy. The young man grinned. “I’m sorry, sir. I know I could get fired for this. But…I’m a huge fan. My whole family are dyed in the wool Barbarians. My dad would kill me if I didn’t get your autograph.”
Roger smiled. “Sure, let me get a pen and paper.”
“Oh, I have my book,” he said, holding out his autograph book and pen. Roger signed it with his best wishes.
“Thank you sir, thanks so much!”
“My pleasure. Have a good one.”
Roger shut the door.
Brian came out laughing. “Why didn’t you invite him in?”
“For a three way. Come on. The quarterback and the bellboy. ‘I’m a huge fan…’ Doesn’t that sound like a hot dirty story to you?”
Roger laughed. “Right, especially when the hunky outfielder comes in and catches us. I wonder which one of us gets punished with a spanking?”
Brian grinned. “That’s why I have two hands.” He tackled Roger, landing on top of him on the protesting bed.
Roger surrendered eagerly, but in the back of his mind, that little voice reminded him, That’s the future, you know. That’s fame. That’s everything that will keep him and you apart, for more than just a minute next time…
But then Brian’s big hands were under his shorts, cupping his ass, and the voice was drowned out.