Saturday, December 27, 2008

A little bit of winter warmth from CB Potts!

From CB:

I'm feeling all secretive and sneaky -- did you ever have those days when you want to ditch it all and be a secret agent? But then I remember that I don't like to travel all that much, and I live in a very small town, so discovering international intrigue and mystery is going to be a little tricky.
But sometimes intrigue is as close as the computer.
I started writing this little tale, called ISP, just over two years ago, and it's just about done. Here's a little sneak peek: You'll have to let me know what y'all think:

Create a User Name.

"Hmmm." What should he call himself? A quick scan of the other user names on the site returned a range of options. There were the meaningless names, the MxxxJZ and the 12wde. There were conceited names -- SuperStud -- and those that walked a thin line between the incomprehensible and the terrifying, names like Painbacon. "Damn! And I was gonna call myself Pain Prosciutto," he joked, half forgetting his surroundings.

Then he leaned forward and hit a few keys: TheGMan.

The computer blinked at him for a moment, leaving Graham afraid that he'd violated some obscure Homeland Security rule with his user name choice. All he needed was the Feds kicking down the office door, looking for a terror suspect lurking in the heart of the actuarial office. He was just about to shut the system down when the message changed.

Tell us your secrets, TheGMan.


Nobody knows the truth about me, Graham typed. I don't know how I could ever tell anyone: I'd lose my job. I'd lose my friends. I'd lose my family.

He hit the backspace key hard. "That makes me sound like a freaking pedophile," he muttered under his breath. Getting started was harder than he expected.

If you saw me, you'd never suspect what kind of person I am.

I look like I'm in control, but nothing could be further than the truth.

Right now, I'm holding it together. But I need somebody. Somebody to step into my life and take control of me.

Delete, delete, delete. "And that sucks."

I'm laying awake at night, thinking and wishing and dreaming about a guy. I don't know who he is, and I don't know how I'm going to find him -- or even if he really exists.

But I know what I want him to do to me. That's my secret.

Graham took a long, shuddering breath. This was the closest he'd been to his truth in a long, long time.

I want a man. That's kind of a secret in itself, because nobody knows I'm gay. I think they just think I'm a nerd. Or they don't care.

Ok, that was secret number one. Now, Graham thought, it was time for the hard stuff.

This man knows me -- but I don't know him. I can't even see him, in most of my dreams. He's a strong man, a dominant man. His voice is all smoke and gravel and control. It fits him perfectly.

He's a man who will see me and want me and take me as his own. He'll see through the pretense of control and step in and take charge of me. He knows that I don't know what I'm doing and will make me learn. Who has no problem putting his hands on me, without my permission because he knows I need this. He tells me what to do, and I do it, because there's no way that I can't obey him.

It's not rape I'm looking for. It's control. It's dominance. I want to hear the commands in my ear. I want to feel the hands on me, possessive. Strong. Demanding. I want him to take me.

I want him to own me. Is he a master, an owner, a possessor? I don't know. He's someone to belong to, for a few minutes, for an hour, maybe forever.

In my dreams, I don't see him. I don't know him. That doesn't matter. I want to surrender to the mystery. To the darkness. To submit for the sake of submitting, to go down on my knees for a stranger, to offer my ass to the unknown.

He knows this. He wants to push me into submission, to see how far he can go. But he doesn't want to hurt me. Not permanently.

But I don't know how to start. Where do you find someone like this? It's not the type of thing you can ask for. "Please dominate me?" That eliminates the essential element of domination -- that he's seen me and claimed me, knowing what I am without me advertising it. I just wish this man would appear out of nowhere and take me.

If only someone would just put their hands on me…

Graham swallowed. That was it, the short and sweet version of his dreams, condensed into a few paragraphs. The whole set of thoughts that would wake him from a sound sleep night after night after night, desperately clutching at himself. For anyone to read. For everyone to read.

Click here to share your secret.

Graham's finger hovered over the mouse button for a long, long moment. He stared at his words, at his most secret of secrets.

Then he clicked.

Visit CB at and at

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Some free fiction from Chris Owen


By Chris Owen

Philip bounced a little as he walked down the street to his tailor's shop. He was getting a new suit, and nothing made him feel more confident than clothes that fit just perfectly. Clothes that would hang properly, clothes that would feel good on his skin when he moved, clothes with unspoiled lines and neat seams. Sometimes clothes made the man, or at least made the man look trustworthy enough to handle one's money.

But Philip was really bouncing because even more than he loved good clothes he loved getting fitted for them. The entire process of selecting shirt styles, discussing fabrics, talking about colors... and the way that his favorite tailor moved about him, draping swatches over his shoulders to check for tone, the way his hands would brush over his arms and shoulders. Then there was the actual taking of measurements.

Philip shivered.

He went into the tiny store front and smiled as the man at the counter looked up. "Good afternoon, George."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Thorne. How are you today?"

"Fine, thank you." Philip moved into the store, looking about for George's assistant. "Peter's not in?"

"I'm afraid not. Did you wish to see him?"

Philip did not. In fact, he knew in advance that Peter would not be there at all; he'd called the day before to make sure. "No, no. It's not important."

George moved to the door and locked it, flipping the sign to closed. "I hope you don't mind. I find it distracting to have people walking in when I'm with a client. Please, come into the back and I can show you the new worsted weights for winter."

Philip smiled and followed the tailor into the back room. He loved this room, with its comfortable chairs and bolts of fabric; the dark wood on the walls made it feel more like a study than a fitting room. The large ornate mirror was fitting to a castle's dressing room, he'd always thought.

George moved around him, showing him new fabrics, new shirts. They looked at sketches of suits, selected one that had trim lines and slightly narrow lapels. Briefly, they discussed color and seasonal preferences, finally deciding that it was late enough in the year to go with a slate colour, with a hint of green.

Philip could smell George. He could smell the aftershave George wore, so light that at first he wasn't sure if he was just making it up for himself to enjoy. He could smell the mint of toothpaste or mints when George leaned over Philip's chair, pointing to subtleties in the design they had chosen. Philip could feel the man's body heat and he wanted to feel the man himself.

George wrote on a pad of paper for a while, noting the colors and designs, the small refinements they would make, then he glanced up at Philip. "I have all your measurements on file," he said, and Philip felt a pain of longing and disappointment. "If you are in a rush, I have all I need. But I would really rather measure you again, just in case. One never knows how a client's measurements can change."

Philip almost sighed with relief. Yes. He wanted his measurements taken. Yes. He wanted George's hands on him. And no, he was not particularly troubled by the obviousness of his erection. Subtlety was a waste of time in a busy world.

He stood and George moved around him again, this time with the tape measure. Neck first. Arms, from shoulder to wrist. Back, from nape to tail bone. Was that George's hand trailing over his ass? Chest. Waist. Hip. Oh, that was very smooth. Neatly avoided Philip's cock, but just barely. Legs, hip to ankle, and then hip to floor. Waist to ankle. Waist to floor. Far more measurements than were really needed.

George was making note of everything on the little pad on the floor. Philip looked down at him and studied George as he wrote, concentration in his face. And then George turned to face his body again. Inseam.

Philip was so hard. He closed his eyes as George touched him high on the inside of his thigh. He felt one hand hold the tape to his leg, just below his groin and the other hand move down to his foot. A pause. Then the hands were gone. George would be making notes. Thirty-one inch inseam.

Except George couldn't be making a note if he were nuzzling at Philip that way. Philip moaned and moved slightly, felt George's cheek moving against him, through Philip's trousers. And then the nimble fingers of his favourite tailor were opening the trousers and gently pushing his boxer shorts out of the way. George's breath on him, warm and moist. George's fingers on him, quick and light, sampling the texture of his skin. George's cheek against his hip. Philip rocked his hips slightly and kept his eyes closed.

Hot, wet heat around him. Oh God, yes.

Soft mouth, gently taking him in, a strong tongue tasting him. Fingers on his balls, weighing their heaviness as George's mouth started to move, began to slide up and down his length.

Tongue lapping at him, almost tickling his over-sensitive skin. Lips surrounding him. Hands on his hips, holding him steady and George sucked and moved and moaned.

Philip came with a sharp cry of release, trusting George's strong hands on his hips to keep him upright. George was licking at him, cleaning him before pulling the boxer shorts back up and refastening Philip's trousers.

He looked down at George and smiled. Then he fell to the floor and laughed, gathering George into his arms and kissing him soundly. George was laughing too, so hard that Philip feared he might start to choke.

"Phil, that's fun. How come we don't do this more often?"

Phil kissed his lover again. "Because you always have Peter here, and I never get an afternoon free from crisis."

He reached for George's pants, but his love just brushed his hand away. "It'll keep until I get home. We can play chef and chef in training when we make supper."

"And how will that lead to us getting naked?"

"We'll find a way. Hey, you want that suit? I mean you have tons, but that one would be real nice on you."

Phil nodded. "Yeah. I'll need it when I go to London."

George sighed. "I hate it when you go away."

"Come with me then; it's only a week. You can see the sights while I'm in meetings. Come to the stupid formal dinners with me and keep me from going mad."

"Seriously?" George's eyes were comically wide.

"Sure. Do you think you can arrange for time off?" Phil said with a grin.

"I'm the boss. I think I can, yeah." Beaming at him, Philip pounced.

There were still there on the floor when Peter returned from his lunch, once more earning himself a free meal to make up for his embarrassment at walking in on his boss. It was worth it.


Chris Owen is the author of Bareback, 911, and most recently contributed to The 5 O'Clock Bar, along with Sean Michael, Julia Talbot, and BA Tortuga. Find Chris at and at Torquere at her author page

Friday, December 12, 2008

Submissions Calls - general

What We're Reading For - December 2008

Sips - These are short stories, 3000 to 8000 words. We have openings as early as the end of January 2009 and throughout the year. Stories should be romantic, GLBT. Standard royalty rates of 35% on all Torquere sales and 25% on distributors sales, on the cover price, apply.

High Balls - this is our novella length line - 20,000 to 40,000 words. We have openings for late spring 2009 and later. Romance a necessity, GLBT. MMF Menage welcomed for the BBA imprint. Standard royalty rates apply. One story published per month.

Spurs and Saddles - This line is all about cowboys and the great American west, novella length, 20-40K words. Contemporary or historical. GLBT. Standard royalty rates apply. One story published per quarter. reading for early 09

Everyday Spectres - This is a paranormal line, specifically about the everyday lives of paranormal creatures. Tone tends to be urban fantasy or magical realism. GLBT. Reading for summer 09. Novella length, 20-30K Standard royalty rates apply. One story per quarter.

Games People Play - reading for early 09. Like Spurs and Spectres, this is a novella line. We call this one BDSM light, and encourage light-hearted, romantic explorations of the games people play in their bedrooms. GLBT. Standard royalty rates apply. One story per quarter.

Top Shelf novels This is our novel length line, and it's always fast to fill up. Novels should be GLBT, 45K to 90K - We're reading for autumn 2009. Top Shelf novels with good sales will be considered for paperback release.

Prizm YA novels - We're reading for summer 2009. Especially looking for series, paranormals. Prizm Young Adult novels are GLBTQ books, and our focus is on young adult stories about gay characters, rather than coming out stories, or stories focused on the negative aspects of being a gay teenager. All Prizm titles are released in paperback, with an 8% royalty on paperback sales, and 35% on Prizm site ebook sales.

Turn of the Screw serial fiction - reading for early 2009. Turn of the Screw is novel length fiction, serialized for 10-12 months, with a split royalty. Then your book becomes an ebook for 2 years, with standard rates applying. Very popular with the readers.

Chasers - reading for second half 2009. Chasers are sets of 3 10-20K stories about the same characters. All 3 stories are contracted at the same time, and come out consecutively over a 6 month period. Standard rates apply.

Toy Boxes - need storied. Themes: Vibrators, due Dec. 15; Beads, due Jan. 15; Biting, due Feb. 15; Guiche, due Mar. 15; Silk, due Apr. 15; Body Paint, due May 15; Prince Albert, due June 15; Costumes, due July 15. Editor is looking for sexy, but also romantic. Shared royalties among all authors.

Keep an eye out for more calls! Please see our submissions page for more information or email submissions @ with any questions!

Sunday, December 7, 2008

Happy Holidays from Tory Temple!

Hey y'all!

Tory Temple says happy holidays! Tory is the author of Tabula Rasa, Tinder, and Heat. Find her at Torquere Books, here!


1. A Christmas tree is always erect.
2. Even small ones give satisfaction.
3. A Christmas tree stays up for 12 days and nights.
4. A Christmas tree always looks good - even with the lights on.
5. A Christmas tree is always happy with its size.
6. A Christmas tree has cute balls.
7. A Christmas tree doesn't get mad if you break one of its balls.
8. You can throw a Christmas tree out when it's past its 'sell by' date.
9. You don't have to put up with a Christmas tree all year.


10. Did you get any under the tree?
9. I think your balls are hanging too low.
8. Check out Rudolph's Honker!
7. Santa's sack is really bulging.
6. Lift up the skirt so I can get a clean breath.
5. Did you get a piece of the fruitcake?
4. I love licking the end till it's really sharp and pointy.
3. From here you can't tell if they're artificial or real.
2. Can I interest you in some dark meat?
1. To get it to stand up straight, try propping it against the wall.

A little naughty! Clickity!

Stems and Petals

Thursday, December 4, 2008

been a little remiss

but never fear! I have a bunch of stuff from some of TQ's favorite authors and some wonderful newcomers as well!

Keep an eye out for new content, coming soon!