Monday, October 12, 2015

Flyboy takes flight! #newrelease #mustread #StoryOrgy #boyxboy

My Story Orgy’s superhero book is now available… I'm so excited!

Flyboy’s First Misadventure
Secrets? Oh yeah, Dean Wades has a doozy. When he goes up, he doesn’t necessarily come back down. Okay, that’s not true. Dean’s a master at falling, it’s the landing that could use improvement—a lot of improvement. After thirteen years of attempting to conquer this gravity defying mystery, he can no longer live with not knowing what he is anymore. So he heads cross-country to see the two people who just might be able to give him the answers he seeks…his folks.
Easygoing Gavin Trevor is always willing to help his family, even when they have ulterior motives…like forcing him to make up with his annoying older brother. When a simple task at his parent’s house puts him in a position of danger, he’ll need a lot more than luck to avoid a serious injury—he’ll need his very own superhero.
And the fates collide, well sort of. It may not be love at first sight—Gavin was unconscious in Dean’s arms for their initial introduction…but perhaps these two men can make it a relationship at first flight?
A threat against Gavin’s family throws a wrench in their plans, and while Dean gladly offers his amateur talent to help the mission, Gavin doesn’t want to put his rescuer’s life in jeopardy by risking exposure of the greatest secret ever.
This proves to be a rescue adventure for the books. Or is that a rescue misadventure?
 Chapter One

Dean Wades watched the bird fly higher in the late morning sky, his wings spread wide as he soared majestically through the air.
“That’s the way it’s done.” He sighed, lifting his cup and stabbing himself in the nostril with the straw.
“What are you mumbling about now?” Tia Bracker followed his line of sight and snorted. “No kidding. Wouldn’t we all like to fly like that?”
Dean rolled his eyes, knowing his best friend was again trying to annoy the hell out of him. “I do fly,” he hissed through clenched teeth, thankful no one sat close to them in the In-N-Out Burger.
Tia snagged his chocolate milkshake and took a long pull of the thick liquid through the straw. “No. What you do could never be described as flying like that. It’s more like you leap really high before you crash back down to earth.” She giggled around the straw before latching on again.
“You’re a bitch,” he stated as he grabbed her fries. “And that straw went up my nose.” He shoved a handful of the crispy strips of potato into his mouth and chewed noisily.
Tia yanked the cup away from her and stared at the guilty piece of plastic. “Don’t waste your time sweet talking me, precious. Anyway, if you would practice a little more, you wouldn’t kiss the dirt as often as you do.” She shrugged and continued drinking the shake.
“Ewww…and thank you, I would’ve never thought of that before. More practice… Check.”
“Hey, it’s already been in my mouth, no harm anymore.”
Tia continued babbling on about her immune system and how she ate dirt as a baby so her gastric juices could handle just about anything as Dean’s attention drifted back out the window of the fast food joint. The bird—probably a hawk—had since left his line of sight, but a hummingbird farther to Dean’s right captured his attention. The little bird beat its wings a mile a minute as he almost floated in one spot, bobbing up and down.
Dean reminisced over that hummingbird’s easy movements, allowing it to take him back thirteen years to when he had just turned twelve and duplicated those simple actions.
He had celebrated his birthday and he and Tia were climbing the huge oak tree located on the center island in the cul-de-sac. He was like a monkey, climbing higher and faster than his best friend, wearing his new tennis shoes he’d gotten from his grandparents for his birthday. Tia called him names for going so fast but refused to ask him to stop and help her. She never allowed anyone to assist her. Her stubborn streak ran deep.
Then it happened. Dean’s foot slipped on a moss-covered branch and he fell backward. He remembered freaking out and screaming with his eyes tightly closed. He was at that stage in his life that his voice was cracking so the scream kept fluctuating octaves.
The pain never came.
Why was there no kerplunk to the ground? No achy limbs folded at weird angles under his wiry prepubescent torso? No blood dripping in his eye while he moaned—or wailing like a baby, either or—from the hurt radiating from his head, butt, side, and back?
They had climbed an awfully large tree, and he had really scurried high up it pretty fast…but no matter how big and tall the massive tree appeared, he still should’ve hit the ground by then.
So where was his boom?
That was the first time Tia cussed—but definitely not the last time she let out an f-bomb.
He slowly unclenched his eyelids and screamed again. He floated—there really was no other way to describe it—in the air about ten feet from the ground…upside down.
It didn’t take him long to realize he could right himself and fly back up to the slippery limb he’d fallen off of…though he quickly learned he didn’t have to kick his feet and stroke with his arms as if he was swimming in a pool. Tia got a good laugh from that sight.
Soon, he learned how to lift off from the ground, without the need to climb to higher places and throw himself over the edge. But without having someone else who also had this ability, it was darn hard to train in the art of flying. Not something you could run to your science teacher and ask for a private tutorial on.
Tia—the only other person who knew about his gift—tried to teach him how to practice, but without being able to do it herself, the lessons fell flat. Much like Dean did on a regular basis. Tia’s description of him jumping high before face-planting in the ground really wasn’t too far off the mark.
He got fairly decent at the take off and the actual flight, but that damn landing eluded him every time.
And that was why they were now sitting in a greasy fast food joint eating damn good burgers and fries while making silly small talk about birds, nose goop, and stomach acids. They were on a road trip to find answers about Dean’s past.
It would help if they had an idea where to start looking…


Gavin Trevor grumbled under his breath as he threw his Jeep into gear and squealed out of the police station parking lot. He’d had it up to his eyeballs with his older brother—Deputy Melvin Trevor—and his brother’s damn idiot cop friends.
Not just friends…old high school buddies. Melvin was three years older than Gavin and hung with the rowdy bros in school. They were always the ones getting busted for underage drinking, or tearing up Mrs. Macenally’s front yard with their dirt bikes, and sneaking girls in their houses while their parents were away. Well, all the other friends were caught doing that last one, poor Mel never got away with that thanks to his pipsqueak, tattletale younger brother.
And damn, did Mel and his cohorts delight in making Gav pay for his decade old sins. No one in this town was pulled over more than Gavin was. Damn assholes.
He wouldn’t have even come to the station today if he didn’t need to get the money Mel owed him. Didn’t that set Gav up for a word of unsolicited advice.
“You know, li’l bro, if you got a steady job you wouldn’t have to ask for money like this.”
Gav gritted his teeth while responding. “I’m not asking for money, I’m getting the money owed to me for when I bought that ticket for you…remember…you forgot your credit card.”
“But if you had a real job, you wouldn’t have to race over here for money, period.”
No matter how many times Gav explained his job to his brother, Mel never listened. All Mel heard was the word apprenticeship and equated that with something less than real work. Truth was, Gav made better money apprenticing than he’d ever made at any of his other jobs. But when he reminded Mel about that little fact, he would switch gears and claim being a tattoo artist wasn’t a real job. In his mind, it amounted to nothing more than grown people playing connect the dots. Who cared if the state of Florida forced a person to jump through all kinds of fucking hoops just to be certified and licensed, that didn’t prove you needed skill to ink someone’s skin. Mel constantly berated him for wasting time on a mindless hobby that would never be a true career.
Like law enforcement.
That was what he and his friends had harassed Gav about today, signing up at the police academy. Gavin actually wanted to give the assholes props. They simultaneously dissed his choice in career while attempting to stroke his ego to enroll and follow his big bro’s footsteps. Really, it was poetic to listen to.
And completely irritating and frustrating. He swore he didn’t grow up with just one older brother. Naw, that would’ve been too easy on him. He got a whole fucking group of older brothers who all knew what was best for Gavin Trevor…and it was a good thing too since Gav was obviously screwing up his life something fierce.
Didn’t matter that he had a prestigious apprenticeship with Gunnar—one of the most sought after ink masters in the southeastern region. Not only did Gunnar have an appointment book filled out six months in advance, he also had a clientele of A-class celebrities and big bucks wealthy people who requested his services.
A part of Gavin couldn’t blame his brother for his opinions—a severely small part of him, that was. Before this job, Gav was doing absolutely nothing with his life, jumping from pathetic job to pathetic job to pay the bills on his ramshackle one bedroom apartment on the wrong side of the tracks. He had no aspirations and never thought about the future.
One day just over two years ago, he happened on a bad situation. This little bit of a girl was being really roughed up by a couple of greasy jerks. The girl—who couldn’t have been older than sixteen—tried to defend herself with some wild swings and pretty strong kicks, but it was no use. No matter how much she wanted to get away, she really wasn’t much taller than five foot and the two guys outweighed her by at least fifty pounds each.
Gav didn’t have a choice. He wasn’t an asshole and he had a sister. Even though she was older, if something like this had happened to her… He couldn’t even contemplate it. Not to mention he had a tendency to always act first, worry about the consequences last.
So Gav headed into the alley and thoroughly got his ass handed to him on a silver platter. Oh yeah, he got his butt whooped good. He wasn’t a fighter per se, just a kid that grew up roughhousing with his older brother and his friends. So he did manage to get some good shots in, but again…it was him against two formidable opponents, the odds weren’t in his favor. While he distracted the guys by blocking their access to the girl with his face, the little twerp disappeared. At least she was safe, now all he had to do was get his own self the fuck outta there.
That was about when a badass mother walked around the corner with a baseball bat. Gavin seriously figured his time was up. The man was tall and built, but not so much bulky as streamlined. This had to be the man in charge of this little ragtag gangbang Gav had broken up…thank god the girl was long gone.
When she stuck her head around the badass, Gav realized she wasn’t long enough gone. He yelled at her to get the fuck out of there, right before another fist pounded against the side of his neck. Jesus F. Christ, was the jerk aiming for his face or shoulder and drastically missed? He teetered to the side, spitting blood. The girl screamed as she ran around the monster with the wood—not the type Gav liked, either. Completely ignoring the three threats in the alley, she ran straight to Gavin, dropping to her knees next to him and throwing her body over his torso as a human shield.
God, she was crazier than he was. He wrapped his hand around her slim body and whispered in her ear, “Honey, you need to get the hell outta here.” But before any of the thugs got a chance to harm her, the baseball bat wielding psycho started…well, he started wielding the baseball bat. Three thunks and the two guys were down for the count, Gav wasn’t even sure if they were breathing anymore, and honestly, he didn’t care either way at that point. He fucking hurt.
When the guy stalked over to him, Gav couldn’t hide his cringe. He was on the ground in a dirty alley already bloodied up and this over six foot guy loomed over him preparing for batting practice. Yeah, wincing was the least of Gav’s worries.
“This him?” a really low growly tone asked.
The girl nodded continuously as she cried, wiping her runny nose on her shirtsleeve.
“Damn, they got you good.” He chuckled as he reached down and hooked his free hand under Gav’s armpit, hoisting him up with just the strength in his back and shoulder.
And that was when Gav met Gunnar and his niece, Sabbie. In appreciation of Gav protecting Sabbie, Gunnar offered him a janitorial position in his tattoo parlor, paying way more than any mop and bucket person ever made. It wasn’t a prestigious job, but the paychecks were double his norm and the talk around the shop about him doing something more with his life, well, it was infectious. Nothing like when Mel and his friends belittled Gav into thinking he was hopeless. The people at the tattoo parlor really liked Gav, and not just because he saved the boss’s only niece from god knew what.
Then one day Gav did a little drawing on one of the many sketchpads found around the place. It was no big deal; he was on a break and bored. When a walk-in client saw it and loved it, asking to purchase the original design so Detra, one of the artists, could ink it on his bicep, that stirred something deep down in Gav. It motivated him to doodle even more and share his work. The rest was pretty much history. Gunnar saw raw talent in Gav’s designs and encouraged him to explore it, taking him under wing and leading him through the not so easy steps of becoming first a licensed tattoo artist…and maybe someday an ink master like Gunnar himself.
Two years later and Gavin had achieved the first half of that goal. He even had a few regular customers, slowly building up his own clientele list. Plus, lots of the artists in the shop came to him for artwork. Gav excelled at life-like features. He was a work in progress, Gunnar said.
His phone buzzed on the passenger seat as he took the next turn a bit too fast. A quick glance showed his mother calling. His damn brother narced him out to Mama? What the fuck? Well, wasn’t that a mature thing for a twenty-nine-year-old adult to do?
Gavin entertained the thought of not answering, but he’d been raised better than that. Certain rules you followed to your grave: no cussing in the family home, take out the trash on Monday, always stand up for your siblings, and if Mama calls, you answer.
Sighing loudly to abso-fucking-lutely no one, Gavin slowed his roll as he reached for the phone. A quick glance away from the road allowed him to properly swipe the screen and he lodged the phone between his ear and shoulder, keeping an eye out for a side street or parking lot he could pull over in.
“Mama, don’t listen to anything that crag-faced brother of mine said.” He hurriedly stated his case to his mother.
“You watch your language, young man. You’re not too old for your mama to use the board on you.”
The Board of Education—those were the words engraved in the side of a three-fourths inch thick, roughly one and a half foot long, highly lacquered piece of verawood. Before its many coats of polish were applied, Papa engraved the special play on words name into one side of the paddle right above a very vague classroom scene of two boys and a single girl sitting at those old-style school desks with a stern-looking man standing behind them. The scene was obviously sketched on the wood by an amateur with minimal detail, but Gavin and his siblings—Melvin and Olive—didn’t find anything lacking with that board growing up.
Hell, truth be told, that board probably kept them out of trouble more than any other punishment his parents could’ve handed out.
“Crag-faced isn’t—”
His mother cleared her throat.
“Sorry, Mama.” Gavin pulled into a convenience store driveway and quickly parked the Jeep. “He’s just busting my ba— He started up with me again about work. Can’t you or Papa talk to him?”
“You come home tonight and eat. We’ll discuss it with dinner. But no more disrespecting your brother at the station…you undermine his authority and he’s sensitive.”
A snort escaped through Gavin’s nose. His asshole brother was sensitive? He loved Mama, but damn, she was out of touch with reality sometimes. If she weren’t so, well, her…he’d think she was hitting the hooch.
“Don’t you make that noise with me, young man. You may be an adult, but you’re still the baby.”
And there was the rub. He would always be the baby. A freaking twenty-six-year-old baby. Olive was the oldest, Melvin was the snotty fucking middle kid, and then there was baby Gavin with the pinchable cheeks and three dimples—two on the right side and one on the left. Thank god he didn’t inherit Papa’s curly hair or else his humiliating life would know no bounds.
“Sorry, Mama.” He ate crow and apologized again to his mother.
“Tonight. I’ll make ziti. You love my ziti.”
Gavin couldn’t help but smile. Damn it, he did love her ziti. She baked it in the oven with plenty of ricotta and mozzarella until the top was brown and bubbly. Even though she didn’t make her own noodles anymore, she still insisted on making her own sauce from scratch, and damn, did it make a difference. For Mama’s ziti, he’d watch his mouth and listen to Papa lecture him on the pecking order of the kids.
“Yes, Mama, I love your ziti. I’ll be there at six. Yes?”
“Yes. Your brother and sister will be here by then. Be a good boy and don’t be late. Mama loves you.” And she hung up, not giving him a chance to even show any annoyance about being duped into dinner with the shithead of the family.
Some people would think that Martha Trevor was perhaps a bit naïve to the goings on around her. Maybe she lived in her own little world thanks to old age. But ask any one of her children and they’d tell you that that woman was a shrewd and cunning adversary who knew exactly what she was doing…and would do it with a smile on her face and a pasta in the oven.
Well, it looked like he’d be taking a drive to The Countrysides—a community that grew from a small subdivision back in the fifties to a full-fledged town all their own with a grid pattern of roads for the residence and the outskirts housing all kinds of retail outlets. They were completely self-contained with their own shopping centers, post offices, and police station. He couldn’t wait to drive there tonight and engage in witless conversation with his asshole brother while dodging his parent’s attempts to put him to work fixing something that shockingly just broke.
God, he needed a drink.


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