Romance at Gay Days!

May 20th, 2009

Along with fellow m/m romance writers Kiernan Kelly and Kayelle Allen, I’ll be at Gay Days at Disney World this year, with books for sale, chapbooks to give away, promo items with pictures of yummy men (and beasts), and just generally enjoying the vibe of Gay Days. It’s always a scene, always fun, and always upbeat.

Selling romance to gay men can be a challenge sometimes. I remember one year a guy said, “Gay romance? It must be fiction.” Which made us laugh but then feel kinda sad. Everyone *wants* romance in their lives, and some of us only get it on paper it appears.

Along with Animal Attraction 2 and Rough Cut, I’ll have lots of titles from Cleis Press available including Best Gay Romance 2009, Surfer Boys, and a couple of the Best Lesbian Erotica series. After all, women want romance and sex too.

Please do stop by our booth and say hi if you’ll be there!

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Animal Attraction 2 releases!

April 11th, 2009

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From Torquere Press, the long-awaited anthology from some of the best authors Torquere has to offer: Jane Davitt, Kiernan Kelly, Sean Michael, Aaron Michaels, CB Potts, and Julia Talbot.

Like Animal Attraction 1, a portion of my editor’s proceeds are being donated to animal causes. This time, it’s Gentle Giants Draft Horse Rescue and Florida Draft Horse Rescue

Because of their size (and therefore value to the meat dealers  and the PMU trade), draft horses often end up in feedlots around the country. If you can find it in your heart to help them out–even a couple dollars will help–I’d be thrilled for you to do so.

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Feathers

April 3rd, 2009

“Feathers” a long short story I wrote a few years back has recently re-released through Lethe Press and is available exclusively from the fun folks at All Romance E-books. The story combines themes near and dear to my heart: animal rescue, horses, grieving, and manlove, all wrapped up in one heartfelt and juicy package. In honor of the hawk at the story’s center, I’m donating part of my proceeds from this story to the Audubon Birds of Prey Center in Maitland, Florida.

They do rescue and rehab of raptors: hawks, owls, falcons, eagles, and other hunting species. It’s an awesome place to visit and if you can spare some money, the birds and staff will be most appreciative!

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Rough Cut debuts as an e-book!

April 3rd, 2009

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All Romance E-books is now offering the short story collection as a download.

And it already has reviews, smoochy kisses and hearts! For readers who prefer e-books, this is a nice alternative for small presses to offer their works. It’s more financially feasible for a press like Lethe to offer titles through an e-book distributor like All Romance E-books plus it saves on trees and shipping and carbon emissions and all. They’re portable and don’t take up space like hard copies do. Give one a try!

My publisher has given me the okay to sell signed/inscribed copies of Rough Cut privately, so if you’re interested, please shoot me an email: vincent@vincentdiamond.com. If you’re in the U.S., I can manage one for $22. If you’re outside the U.S., let’s talk and work out a shipping and exchange rate, okay?

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Rough Cut reviews

April 3rd, 2009

rough-cut.bmpA few excerpts from reviews that Rough Cut has received:

From Amos Lassen, Amazon, GayWriters, and other sites:

The Florida We Do Not Know
Let me say in the first sentence of this review of “Rough Cut” that I do not know Vincent Diamond but I am in love with him because of the way he writes. This collection of short erotic stories literally took my breath away and that is hard to do as I am an avid reader and I consider myself a rather harsh critic (which I suppose comes from years of teaching college writing courses). I am not particularly fond of short stories–they, to me, are like anonymous sexual escapades; they satisfy short term but leave me empty an hour later. The characters, in both cases, never fully materialize and they are gone in too short a time. Whenever I read short stories I am predetermined to be dissatisfied but that did not happen here. This is probably because all of the stories in “Rough Cut” are connected and deal with the same characters who are now like friends of mine and I kind of feel like I would like to have them over for Thanksgiving or any other time.

I am new to reading Vincent Diamond so I had no idea of what to expect except for what I had read online. He writes about men that are men–three dimensional characters that are physically strong yet flawed and they have a vulnerability about them that makes them delicious. These are men who are above all else are men and who, in their own way, have loveable qualities. There is Byron in “Lions, Tigers and Snares” and “Cold Hands, Warm Hearts”. He is a government agent who works undercover and his relationship with Kendall is electric. Then there are Sandy and Tanner in “Fire” and “A Cold Night’s Sleep”. The two share emotional and physical damage and they also share an affection for each other that is both violent and loving. As they love wounds are healed and worries are put aside.

Diamond’s range is extraordinary and he writes about whatever he wants and from this I am able to ascertain that he has lived a life which has had few borders. He has experienced what many of us have not but even more than that, he can write about things with no apparent effort. I do not often give a great deal of praise to an author I have only read once but here is where I defer to what I see in Vincent Diamond’s prose. He is eloquent, he is erudite and he is damned erotic but without sacrificing any of the elements of style in writing. There is a lot of sex but when written well it is a pleasure to read. There is erotica that is little more than smut disguised as literature and there is Vincent Diamond who gives us literature with sex. Even more interesting is that the stories stay with you even after you close the book, something that does not usually happen when there is a lot of sex. I am not sure that Diamond will agree with my assessment but I won’t let that bother me as I attempt to find other pieces that he has written. If you know Vincent Diamond, tell him that if he ever gets to Little Rock that I am buying him dinner but he will have to tell me a good night story.


Reviewed By: Jean Roberta, Erotica Revealed, October 2008.
The central characters in Vincent Diamond’s stories are all men who are often attracted to each other despite cultural differences and emotional baggage. These are men with intense jobs as undercover cops, animal handlers, jockeys or firefighters. Some are honest employees of unethical bosses. Sexual attraction is an unexpected spark that complicates their lives, but it also gives them joy and hope.

In a clear, unadorned style, Diamond describes a world in which men are often pitted against other men, but the desire that can lead to understanding and even love is a saving grace. Several of these stories show lonely, wounded men responding almost against their wills to other men who are equally complicated.

In “A Cold Night’s Sleep,” Sandy is an ex-cop who lives alone as a Florida park ranger and draws pictures of wild birds. A stranger arrives at his door during a storm that has knocked out the electricity. Sandy offers him shelter for the night and a hot shower. The stranger accepts:

“Thanks, man, I am fuckin’ freezing.” Tanner tugged off his wet clothing with the casual aplomb of a man used to locker rooms and barracks.

The sight of Tanner grasped Sandy by the throat, as if it were a beast. He stepped back into the shadows for a moment, his gaze moving over Tanner’s body, fine as a sculpture in a museum.

The two men have every reason to distrust each other, but they both need sexual relief and they are both attracted to each other. They enjoy what they each believe to be a one-night stand, but in the morning, they find that they can’t go their separate ways and simply forget each other.

The author, like the characters themselves, seems reluctant to walk away after one hot scene. Several of these stories are in groups that follow the same characters through several phases of their relationships, creating the effect of novellas. “A Cold Night’s Sleep” is followed by “Fire,” in which Sandy and Tanner join a group of Fire Academy trainees to cope with a practice fire which gets out of control in the wilderness park where Sandy lives. The fire is a clear metaphor for the excitement of a new relationship…

…These stories include most of the conventions of the romance genre: the occasional presence of rivals and other saboteurs, injury and illness as catalysts that draw lovers together as one nurtures the other back to health, Romeo-and-Juliet lovers from different sides of the tracks or the law who are both in danger, attraction between innocent newbies and older men with secret sorrows. The conventions are handled so smoothly that they don’t conflict with the apparent realism of the plots.

The dialogue in these stories seems just right. It comes from men of action whose expressions of desire usually make up in sincerity what they lack in poetry. Here Steven the undercover cop must tell Conrad the raver what he wants in order to get it:
Conrad turned me in the chair so he could straddle my legs. He kissed my forehead, my cheeks, my nose.”Say it.”

“Your mouth on me. On my cock.”

“Mmm,” the moan eased into a throaty growl from him. He held my face with both hands, the way he’d just held Jason. His eyes were dark, his pupils huge. He thumbed my eyebrows and nose, gentle. “What else?”

My cock burned, ached. A wet splotch of my pre-seed oozed out of me. I grabbed him hard, my fingers digging into his ribs, pulling him down onto my lap, grinding against him. He was heavy—over two hundred pounds. There was something unsettling about the size of him, how he could hold me down, how he could control me through sheer weight and force.
Unsettling and arousing.

“What else?” he repeated.

“I want you to fuck me.” I said it too fast, afraid that I’d swallow the words if I didn’t ratchet them out before my brain reeled them back in.

The stories about cops, criminals, bystanders in the middle, and convicted prisoners show a side of life that is rarely covered this well outside of crime and mystery writing. One of the most moving stories in this collection is named “Shepherd” for the central character, a man who was convicted of killing the gang member who murdered his father and who is confronted in the joint with the question: “Wolf or sheep?” He decides that becoming a sexual predator is as unacceptable as becoming a victim, so he decides to be a “shepherd,” a protector of the “sheep.”

Another set of stories in this book deals with racehorses, the farm where they are bred and trained, and the men who train, ride and tend them as veterinary students. Here the author is still on firm footing, so to speak, in creating a particular atmosphere. An actual mating scene between a stallion and a mare reminds the human handlers (as well as the reader) of the sexual potential in every encounter between humans, as well as other members of the same species.

The last story in the book, “Irish Cream,” is a poignant tribute to a time before the Stonewall Riots, when sex between men had to be as furtive as other illegal activities. The narrator introduces himself: “I’m an old man now, one of the hard-core race crowd that hangs around at Tampa Bay Downs most mornings.” The narrator, whose surviving cronies all seem to be small-time crooks and ex-convicts, remembers meeting a handsome jockey named Liam, whose “voice was warm, with a lilt of Irish brogue in it.”

The chemistry between Liam and the narrator as a young man in the 1950s is so strong that a knowing look between them speaks louder than words. They check into a motel room under false names where they “did things that night I’d only seen on the pages of smut books.” They repeat the fun as often as they can, but make no promises.

The narrator has never forgotten Liam, although he has not seen him in years. The strength of his feelings after half a century shows that perhaps there is no such thing as casual sex between two men who understand each other.

Vincent Diamond has a knack for telling the stories of men who would probably laugh at the notion of writing about their sexual relationships. Whether or not you are into “rough trade,” this world is well worth a visit.
Two thumbs up!


From Edge Boston by Ken Tasho, July 28, 2008.

Despite its ironic title, Vincent Diamond’s Rough Cut, a collection of erotic gay short stories, has more in common with a romance novel than with your typical collection of gay erotica. This is the selling point of what could have been an otherwise stale and tepid anthology.

Diamond’s characters in these 16 stories are flawed, masculine, and sometimes allegedly straight. They are men that long for sex, but also long for love — mostly of the unrequited kind. Most stories take place in the heat of Florida, giving the reader a feeling of scorching lust. Diamond’s description of the sex act puts one right in the action. Even so, the author could have upped the ante ever so slightly.

The two best characters in Rough Cut are Conrad and Steven, who appear in four of the tales. Steven has always slept with women and Conrad is his first homosexual attraction. How Diamond deals with their relationship is a fine example of his talent for storytelling. Most of the tales in this collection segue into others and feature the same men, another good thing about Rough Cut.

In this day and age of instant gay sex and ubiquitous DVD’s depicting same,”Rough Cut” is a welcome return of gay erotica in print.


From Coffee Time Romance, by Cherokee.

Rough Cut is loaded with in-depth stories and rich dialogue. Each tale surrounds the characters, bringing them into real situations, not only outside the home, but behind closed doors as well. Bryon, Kendall, Conrad, Sandy, Steven, and Tanner take the reader on an incredible journey as their love lives ignite. Every time I tried to put the book down, to take a break, the stories screamed for me to turn the pages. From handcuffs, to being locked away in a freezer, to riding on horses, each one generates a fusion of heat. These men bring on limitless excitement, thrills and infatuation. Vincent Diamond creates stories that show the depth of his concern and passion. While he touches upon things that may be considered forbidden to some, he does it with style and grace.
Cherokee


From Reviews by Jesse Wave, June, 2008.
Rating: ***** (out of 5)
This eclectic collection of stories is aimed at the connoisseur of the m/m reading public. Being my first experience with Vincent Diamond’s books I didn’t know what to expect and the stories included in this collection gave me a great appreciation of his work and his writing. Most of the background is set in Florida where Mr. Diamond lives and you can feel the sultry, hot, humid heat and air almost like a slow drumbeat in the background.

Every protagonist in his stories would be considered by most to be a man’s man - physically strong, sometimes flawed, at times vulnerable and always three dimensional. Almost all of the stories are told in two and three segments making for a much richer experience with the characters that is not typically afforded the reader of short stories. The author makes no apologies for his characters and at times the writing is almost ‘in your face’ because the stories are of people in situations that are harsh and uncompromising. What I’ll try to do in this review of ROUGH CUT: VINCENT DIAMOND COLLECTED is give the reader a sense of the stories without being a spoiler…

The other stories – SHEPHERD, BRUISED, BACK IN THE SADDLE, HORSING AROUND and IRISH CREAM are all excellent but space will not permit me to expand on them. What impressed me the most is the incredible writing style of Vincent Diamond and the wide range of subjects explored in the book which demonstrates his experience, skill and eloquent voice. Mr. Diamond does not avoid any topic in this book and goes boldly where most authors do not tread. He tackles previously taboo topics and many of the stories are about making choices. From a paroled prisoner in a liaison with a former police officer to an investigator at a big cat reserve getting ‘jiggy’ with his potential mark, to another officer deep undercover in more ways than one with his target and loving it, this book explores the seamy and sensual sides of the Sunshine State.

Fans of Mr. Diamond’s work and first time readers will love this book and I have no hesitation giving it 5 stars.

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Interviews

February 3rd, 2009

A  general note of preface; I’m always honest in interviews. Sure, I try to be entertaining, if I can, but ultimately I say how I really feel. No offense intended but if you are, well, I ain’t changin’.

  • I do give good interview. Here, on the Rainbow Reviews site with the fabulous Emily.
  • And instead of privately kvetching about how authors screw up physical beats I decided to just write an article about it. Erastes, who runs the Erotica Authors Association, accepted it.
  • Eros Monthly
  • GLBT Promo (check the archives on this site; 10/16/08.)
  • And Coffee Time Romance
  • Velvet Mafia has one in the works for me; I’m looking forward to that one, too.

They’ve all been surprisingly fun, in fact!

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Heated

August 11th, 2008

Best Gay Erotica 2009 - Cleis Press

“Heated” appears in Best Gay Erotica 2009, from Cleis Press, edited by Richard Labonte. The book is a finalist for the Lambda Literary Awards in the Gay Erotica category.

A few steps beyond the barn, my boot knocked into something heavy. One of our oxygen canisters, probably discarded by one of our guys in the middle of firefighting and forgotten. I tucked it under one arm.

It was dark behind the barn but a little glow from the security light back by the manure pile made the walk navigable. Passing the corral, I heard a grunt or groan or something. I stood still for a few seconds, wondering if it were an escaped horse. But it didn’t sound like a horse.

There it was again. A throaty groan. Definitely human. I peeked through the boards of the round corral. A figure crouched near the gate, hanging onto the sides, bent over.

“Hey, are you okay in there?” I kept my voice quiet.

No answer.

I stepped around the boards and found the gate. The latch had some kind of weird clip on it; it took me a few seconds to open it. The figure rose and turned away from me.

“Are you all right?” Now I could see his slender build and the tank top I’d given back to him hours earlier.

“I’m fine, man, I’m okay.” His voice was thick, teary.

I let the gate close behind me. Crickets chirped and an owl hooted from the woods on the north side. His breathing was still harsh. Shook up and showing it.

“You ever been in an emergency before?” I asked.

“No,” he said, still facing away from me. “Well, we had a horse break down at a show once. Does that count?” He gave a shaky laugh and turned to look at me.

I could see his face in the dim glow. His eyes were wide and face and neck were smudged with grime and ash. He raked a trembling hand through his gritty hair.

“You did a stupid thing going back into that barn.”

“But at least Stacy’s safe. And the baby.” He put one palm on his forehead, eyebrows crunched together. “God, we lost two horses! Fuck!”

“But you saved most of them,” I said quietly.

“Yeah, I guess we did.”

“Do you have any idea how much worse it could have been? If your whole barn had been wood?”

“I guess you’re right.” He stuck out one hand. “And thanks to you.”

I took his hand, gave it a manly shake. “What you’re feeling is just adrenaline wearing off. Tomorrow morning you’ll probably feel like you got run over.”

He moved closer to me, keeping hold of my hand. “Maybe not just adrenaline.

The eye contact is what tells you first. A full, direct gaze that says he’s interested. A smoky, come-hither look that say he’s horny. A heated stare that says come here and fuck me.

In the dimness, his hand on my neck startled me at first. Then his fingers moved down my arm, the heavy coat protecting me from any real touch. I moved to slide it off but he shook his head. “Leave it on.”

His jeans were loose over his hips. He leaned on the fence and planted his hands on the rough boards. I tugged his slender arms up higher and pressed him closer to the fencing. His back arched as I stroked down his torso. I went from his fingertips to his neck then down to his waist. With each stroke I pressed harder and harder until I was scratching down him. He groaned.

“More.”

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Irish Cream

May 11th, 2008

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Lethe Press published Rough Cut: Vincent Diamond Collected in June, 2008. I’ve got a couple of new stories in the book and this excerpt is from “Irish Cream”.

Most mornings I’m here with Jerry Sputmeir and Steve the Sleeve. Steve did some time back in the day, and well, we just like using the names from the old days. Makes it kinda homey. None of us were made guys but we worked the game. Jerry was into the numbers up in Brooklyn, and Steve did some loan sharking in addition to his regular burglary gigs. Me? I’m not spillin’. Suffice to say that the horses and me, we go way back.

Anyway, this one morning, I’m on the rail. It’s mid-January, cold for Florida, about forty, and misty. The horses come onto the track at the west end, skittering around like hockey pucks, cantering sideways, all antsy. These days, exercise riders wear vests and helmets. Some wear gloves to grip the reins. A spooked thoroughbred can take off and hit forty miles an hour, so if one starts to run away with you, you’d better have gloves to help you haul his ass in.

Exercise riders still ride butt up though, just like the old days. Nice.

This gray jogs by, tossing his head, kicking up dirt, being feisty, ya know? And when I see the kid on him, it arrows right through me.

Liam.

The strawberry blonde of his hair. The cool green eyes. The muscular chest.

It wasn’t just that this kid looked like Liam, it was the way he sat the horse. Some exercise riders use brute strength that’s where they get those fabulous arms but some use finesse and sweet talk with their charges. That’s what this kid was doing. I saw him leaning over the gray’s withers, stroking the horse’s neck, even its chest. That took some doing with the way this horse antsed around.

What it took was great legs.

I closed my eyes and remembered Liam’s legs. Their strength tight around me, so tight I couldn’t move or breathe or think. And didn’t want to.

Liam’s legs

Back in the fifties, things was different, and not just at the track. Men wore hats and suits everyday, and the only guys wearing jeans were the boys mucking out stalls. You tipped your hat to women, you were polite, you took care of business without a lot of drama.

That also meant if you walked the other way around the track, you didn’t advertise it. Sure, there were queer guys back in the fifties; we just didn’t make a big deal about it. I never saw guys living together like they do nowadays, least not in the tri-state area. Not in my crowd. My guys learned not to make jokes about women with me, and by the time I was in my thirties and running my own crew, it wasn’t a matter of discussion. Not in my earshot.

I wasn’t even at the track when I met Liam. It was at Leprechaun Farms down to Ocala. I was visiting the trainer””on certain uh, collections business, let’s just say””and he was giving me the tour of the barns. Horses never really did much for me, beyond what they could earn for me at the betting windows, but even I knew these were special animals. They gleamed. They had the look of conditioned athletes: the bulging muscle, the thick veins just beneath their smooth pelts. Healthy as, well, horses. It was May and the barn had fans running in all four corners. It was still warm, though, and I sweated beneath my pinstriped suit. I fanned myself with my hat.

Jimmy, the trainer guy, was talking my ear off about bloodlines and race cards and numbers. After ten minutes of this, I kinda tuned him out. Some splashing and whinnying came from the north side of the barn so I edged over, just to see what I can see, ya know? And hoping to catch a breeze.

What I caught was an eyeful.

There was a stallion on the padded area with the hose set-up. Tied on both sides of his head but he tried to rear up, front legs pawing at the air. He bellowed and I’ve never heard a sound like that “deeper than a regular whinny” more of a groaning. The way people might groan in bed.

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Bruised

April 12th, 2008

bruised_backinthesaddleAs David angled his little truck up the curving drive, he saw Marcus Denton, the farm’s owner, riding a jump course in the west arena. He rode Smarty Pants, a big bay gelding from Smarty Jones lineage. The two of them arced up and over the jumps, porpoising against the twilight.

David slowed the truck to admire Marcus’s broad-shouldered form over the course: a simple-looking fold at the waist, hands up to the gelding’s crest, legs long and steady in the stirrups. It looked easy; David knew better. He’d fallen off twice while cantering the ring, the scanty English saddle a wobbly-feeling affair after growing up on a cattle farm and riding Western all his life.

David saw one of the farm’s senior grooms, standing at the gate. “Hola, Ramon!” he called.

“Buenos noches, senor. Como esta?” Ramon had emigrated from South America as a teenager and his accent was luscious, redolent with tones of coffee and chiles and sunsets.

“I’m fine,” David said. He nodded to Marcus. “He’s out there again.”

“Every night, senor, every night.” Ramon shook his head. “He ride ’til his legs shake. Two, three hours sometimes.”

“But he doesn’t compete?”

“Nunca.”

They watched Marcus figure eight through the jump course, guiding Smarty Pants with gentle reining, head turns and weight shift in the saddle. They took a corner, too sharply; Smarty Pants balked at a four-foot fence and sent Marcus crashing into the standard, knocking the first pole down. He pinwheeled over the horse’s neck, one arm out, the other over his head. David heard the thwock! of Marcus’s back on the PVC pole and Smarty’s nervous whinny. Marcus lay still in the sand between the jump standards.

Whoa, that looked bad.

David leaped out of his truck, and ran over the gravel of the drive, his long legs kicking up rock. He climbed through the ring’s fencing, four steps behind Ramon. David kept his eyes on Marcus, who hadn’t moved. Smarty Pants stood still near the jump, ears flicking anxiously about, popping his tail in agitation.
Ramon got to Marcus first.

“Don’t move him!” David shouted.

The gelding snorted and moved away as David tore through the arena. Ramon knelt down, one hand grasping Marcus’s wrist. “Boss? Boss, esta bien?”

Marcus lay on his back, damp arena sand clumped on his neck and face where he had fallen. His eyes were open, their soft brown filled with pain. He breathed through clenched teeth.

© 2006. Vincent Diamond. Reprint and sub rights available.

Read “Bruised” and “Back in the Saddle” for just 49 cents at the Amazon Shorts website.

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Walking the Blue Line

April 11th, 2008

 

hot-cops-cover.jpgFrom Hot Cops, Cleis Press and edited by Shane Allison.

You never know what you’re gonna hear when you’re eavesdropping. It could be anything: the innocuous plans of a domestic duo, a hushed confession, a quick make-out session.

A low-voiced threat.

A Sunday morning, probably six o’clock or so. The rave was over, the partiers taking off in loud cars, their engines gunning and tires squealing as they left the warehouse in downtown Jacksonville. Up in the warehouse office, I heard the thump of equipment cases being slammed shut, imagined some of the guys squatting and hefting the big speakers from the four corners of the room. I should have been down there; it was my job to be humping some of that weight but I was SO tired.

Tired of doing these damned all-nighters. At twenty-eight, I looked young, all blonde hair and boyish features that let me get away with infiltrating a college dorm or a ravemaster’s street crew. But I was in over my head on this undercover op and floundering.

That morning, I was on the sofa in the warehouse office and I heard the door rattle open. Jason’s voice, a little breathless and high-pitched and then Conrad’s murmuring, low as a foghorn, sexy as hell.

Jason was one of the kids who hung around the crew. Barely out of high school, with a kid’s swash of acne across his forehead and a wispy goatee. He had a crush on Conrad that was nearly painful to watch. Fixing Conrad’s cranberry juice drinks, making sure the DJ booth was swept clean, rubbing Conrad’s shoulders and neck if Donalita wasn’t around, and sometimes, even if she was.

I lifted my head and could see them through the tangle on the equipment table and boxes stacked around the room. Jason grabbed Conrad’s hand and did a twirl under his arm, giggling, off-balance.

Conrad spoke, his deep voice solemn. “Jason, you are stoned, my man.”

“I’m not!”

“Did you have a little party tonight with Marcos?”

“Maybe.” Jason stumbled against Conrad’s broad chest, laughing. “Maybe not.”

Conrad put both hands on Jason’s head and held him still. “I told you about that shit. You shouldn’t be messing with Marcos and his supplies.”

“Screw Marcos.”

“No thanks.” Conrad smiled.

“Then how about me?” Jason surged upwards and planted his mouth against Conrad’s. “Please, I love you so much, Conrad. I just wanna be with you.”

Conrad elbowed him back. “Whoa, whoa. Jason, stop.” He forced Jason away.

© 2006. Vincent Diamond. Reprint rights available.

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