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      <title>Irish Cream</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/OEMse_hJbVw/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=314</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=314"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/irishcream.jpg" alt="Irish Cream" title=" Irish Cream " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Erotica • Gay Fiction • Historical&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 3,013 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/2-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 2" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
The fifties were different for us queers. There weren't no Pride parades or DVDs or internet. Back then, if you wanted man-on-man stuff, you had to know where to look for it. Back then, a young man who caught your eye had to be mighty careful about letting things go further. All kinds of risks in those days, on the racetrack and off ...&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;This story appears in the author's print collection, &lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;cPath=8&amp;products_id=226"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Holding the Reins and Other Stories&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;I’m an old man now, one of the hard-core race crowd that hangs around at Tampa Bay Downs most mornings. It’s a small track, runs mostly claiming and low-level stakes races. It’s cheerful-looking, got green and white stripes on the awnings, has that bright green Florida grass on the turf track. Seagulls and ibis and flamingos wing through the pond that’s in the infield. For a New York guy like me, seeing that still gives me a little start sometimes. Weird, ya know? The horses and them fancy, colored birds together in one place.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;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.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;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.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Exercise riders still ride butt up though, just like the old days. Nice.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;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.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Liam.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The strawberry blonde of his hair. The cool green eyes. The muscular chest.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;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.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;What it took was great legs.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;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.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Liam’s legs ...&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=shopping_cart&amp;products_id=314&amp;action=buy_now" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/includes/templates/apple_zen/buttons/english/button_download.gif" alt="Download Now" title=" Download Now " width="86" height="21" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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      <author>jms@jmsnyder.net</author>
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      <pubDate>Thu, 07 Jul 2011 20:26:03 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>1.59</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>314</g:id>
      <g:brand>Vincent Diamond</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781611521443</g:model_number>
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    <item>
      <title>Off Balance</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/zWv8z5NoPtI/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=316</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=316"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/offbalance.jpg" alt="Off Balance" title=" Off Balance " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Contemporary • Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 5,114 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/2-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 2" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
When you're a middle-aged farmer's wife looking at the handsome younger man your son has brought home for Christmas, it's harmless, isn't it? No flirting, no innuendo, just keeping an eye on him. It doesn't mean anything, right?&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Sara wouldn't dream of cheating on her husband, but when David brings home a friend from college, she's faced with a hundred questions she doesn't have the answers to. And it all leaves her feeling &lt;i&gt;Off Balance.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;This story appears in the author's print collection, &lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;cPath=8&amp;products_id=282"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Out of Joint and Other Stories&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;Sara Livingston stepped off her front porch, watching her husband, Stan, pull in the driveway after a three hour trip to the Indianapolis airport. In the front seat, her handsome David swiveled around to talk to the man in the back. He was bulky, bald, a man she would have glanced over at the supermarket or the post office and instinctively pulled away from.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Hey, Mom!” David unfolded from the front seat, his blue eyes bright, his handsome face in a glowing grin. He picked her up to hug her, mussing her dress, but she didn’t care. She tugged his right ear with affection. Her beautiful son, tall and strong and he took her breath away. So grown up and such a man now. He kissed her cheek shyly.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“I want you to meet Marcus,” David said, and held her hand as the stranger came around the door. The man, no college student, was broad and frightening-looking: that bald head and his dark eyebrows. She edged back a little as he shook her hand. Yet she felt the visceral pull of him, a strong man, confident in himself and his body, and what he could do with it.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Pleased to meet you, Miz Livingston,” Marcus’s deep voice warmed the day’s chilly air.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Oh, Sara, please, just Sara.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Stan popped the tailgate of the truck and began handing out luggage. David stepped back to help his father. Sara stared up at Marcus for several seconds, long enough to embarrass herself. “And did you meet David at the University?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Sort of. I host student interns at my farm and he came to work with the group for the January semester.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;She nodded, not really hearing him. The skin on her belly tingled in an unsettling way and she wanted to rub her legs together. He was tall, over six feet, not as tall as her leggy David. Marcus’s lips were full and soft-looking and she was intrigued by his bare scalp. Did he shave it or was he truly bald? He looked too young to be bald, though clearly older than David.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Mom, still in the attic?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“We put the new bunk beds up there for you. The bottom one is a full.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Cool!” David bumped against Michael’s broad shoulder. “Two bags left, old man.” He and Stan slogged up the drive.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Marcus grabbed the two big rollaways out the truck with the ease of someone used to moving horses around, loading saddles and equipment. Sara pushed up the truck’s back gate with both hands and followed him. Their driveway was gravel so Marcus carried both of the bags, Sara behind him, watching his broad back and shoulders as he moved.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <author>jms@jmsnyder.net</author>
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      <pubDate>Thu, 07 Jul 2011 20:33:51 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>2.39</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>316</g:id>
      <g:brand>Belea T. Keeney</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781611521450</g:model_number>
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    <item>
      <title>Scarred</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/_I_oY3IiUkM/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=319</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=319"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/scarred.jpg" alt="Scarred" title=" Scarred " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Erotica • Futuristic • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 44,676 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Biker gangs known as regulators rule the streets of a war-torn city with hate and pain -- their cruelty is etched into every inch of Dae's battered body. He has never known anything but hurt from the hands of men ... until he meets Coby.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;When the new regulator rides into town and takes an interest in him, Dae is unwilling to believe that anyone who is a regulator can be a gentle, caring lover.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Is Coby strong enough to protect Dae and his sister Delia when there's hell to pay in the form of McBane?&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;The only one to stay behind is Coby -- I figured as much. He waits until the door closes on the last of his men before he pushes away from the table and stands, not looking my way. I watch him approach the counter, digging in his pocket for a battered wallet, the leather held together with rubber bands to keep things from falling out. Not that there's much inside -- he opens it up on the counter, riffles through the few bills in there, frowns slightly and asks, "What's it gonna be?"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;I'm surprised he's paying. Most regulators try to talk me into giving them a tab, which I don't want to do because that's an open invite right there to come back and that's the &lt;i&gt;last&lt;/i&gt; thing I want. But it's quiet in here now, the noise from his men trapped outside beyond the window panes, and he hasn't raised his voice at me, hasn't touched me, and there's something to be said for that. Another time and place, he might be just a normal boy on the other side of my counter, paying for a meal.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;This close I see he's about my height, maybe a few inches taller, and he's about my build, too, though more muscle than me, not as filled out in some places, bulkier in others. Those eyes are like silver dollars winking in the lights overhead, and the scars across his nose just add to his boyish air. I wonder who he'd be in a different world, if he'd still be this soft-spoken, this polite. I watch his fingers as he toys with the cash -- he has big hands, with scuffed knuckles and scraped palms, and I wonder if they're as deceiving as the rest of him. If they're as soft, as gentle, as his voice when he prompts, "Sir?"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Sir.&lt;/i&gt; It's the &lt;i&gt;sir&lt;/i&gt; that makes me undercharge him, I decide, not his hands or his voice or his eyes. "Five's fine," I tell him, taking the offered bill and turning away. "Have a good night."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;He doesn't leave. Instead he leans on the counter, stares at my mouth and says, "We need a place to stay."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Here it is then, what I've been expecting since they walked through that door. The proposition. &lt;i&gt;Let me fuck you and I'll keep the men away from your sister,&lt;/i&gt; that's what those words mean. &lt;i&gt;Bend over and we won't trash your place.&lt;/i&gt; I've heard it all before. How could I even think he might be someone different? My voice hardens when I say, "There's a boarding house down the street. Kyla's. She's got extra rooms in the back, don't let her try and tell you she doesn't."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;He watches as I wipe down the counter -- it doesn't need it, it's just something to do to keep from meeting his steady gaze. He's trying to get a bead on me, I know he is, and as long as I don't look at him, he can't really pin me down in his mind. &lt;i&gt;Go on,&lt;/i&gt; I plea silently, feeling him watch my every move, the circular motion of my hand as I rub the counter, the muscles in my arms flexing, I wish I had on long sleeves to hide that pale skin. &lt;i&gt;Go on, don't say another word. You said you weren't like everyone else, remember? So prove it already. Just say goodnight and go.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;I should have known better. So he has pretty eyes, so what? So he has manners and a nice smile and a soft voice. He's still a regulator, he's still one of &lt;i&gt;them,&lt;/i&gt; those men who ride through this war-torn wasteland and control what's left. "You don't get my drift," he says in that damnably quiet voice of his, and then, when I don't reply, he wants to know, "That girl? What did you call her, Delia?" Involuntarily my hand closes into a tight fist, a gesture he doesn't miss. "Who's she to you?"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"My sister," I tell him through clenched teeth. "I'll not have your men stay the night --"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"Just me," he corrects. Yes, that's what I thought.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Now&lt;/i&gt; I look up and I see the hunger in his eyes, the lust, the &lt;i&gt;need,&lt;/i&gt; and dammit the hell, I was right all along. I don't realize there's a part of me that hoped he might prove different until I feel my heart twist angrily in my chest, &lt;i&gt;fuck him.&lt;/i&gt; "I guess I can't really say no, can I?" I ask, bitter.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;He shrugs. &lt;i&gt;No&lt;/i&gt; would be stupid, &lt;i&gt;no&lt;/i&gt; would dissolve this civil discussion into a brutal rape, &lt;i&gt;no&lt;/i&gt; would send Tarn up the back stairs for Delia and Ravid in here with his knife -- I can't say no. That's not even an option. I let this kid have his way, a quick fuck and a bed, and it's over with. He might smack me around a bit but I'm not thinking of me anymore. I've been hit before. I'm thinking of the girls upstairs. I'll get by as long as I think of them.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Touching my hand, he trails one finger down an old scar that's healed crooked along my thumb, more of McBane's handiwork, when I made the mistake once of trying to shield myself from his blows. "I'm gentle," he murmurs, tracing the scar. "I'll not hurt you, I promise."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;That's something I've never heard before, and the faint press of his skin against mine rouses my blood in a way I'm not sure I like. I &lt;i&gt;don't&lt;/i&gt; like it, I tell myself, I &lt;i&gt;won't.&lt;/i&gt; But when he looks at me with those mercurial eyes, I find that I can't look away, and his hand covers mine with an unexpected warmth that surprises me. "One night, sir," he says. There's that &lt;i&gt;sir&lt;/i&gt; again. "That's all I'm asking."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;One night. And he's asking so sweetly, too, like there's nothing else at stake here, we're just two boys looking to find something together, and that's not the way it is, not at all. He's not even asking, not really -- I say no and this whole charade, this whole pretense, is over. He signals to his friends and they come back in, hold me down, he takes what he wants anyway and that gentle crap is just another lie.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;But his hand on mine is softer than I imagined it would be, his touch &lt;i&gt;is&lt;/i&gt; gentle, and he holds his breath as if I might actually say no after all. I stare into his depthless eyes and think I've had worse. A &lt;i&gt;lot&lt;/i&gt; worse. &lt;i&gt;And it keeps Delia safe&lt;/i&gt; ... I pull my hand out from under his and attack the counter with renewed vigor, hating the small part of me that is almost looking forward to a tender touch, sex without pain or blood, sex with &lt;i&gt;him.&lt;/i&gt; "Fine," I say, defeated.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;If it keeps his men away from Delia, then fine.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <pubDate>Thu, 07 Jul 2011 20:28:36 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>3.99</g:price>
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      <g:id>319</g:id>
      <g:brand>J.M. Snyder</g:brand>
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    <item>
      <title>On the Job</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/TethbclR-Dk/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=313</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=313"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/onthejob.jpg" alt="On the Job" title=" On the Job " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Contemporary • Erotica • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 5,944 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Charles is a service technician with the cable company who doesn't usually do new installs. His day is limited to trouble calls and reconnects.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;But an irate customer has called into the office -- he missed the installer and now demands the cable company send someone out to hook up his service. Charles is already in the neighborhood when he gets the call.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;New installs aren't usually in Charles's job description. But when he meets the sexy Billy Jackson, he's more than willing to hook the guy up.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;I get the ladder off the back of the truck and lean it against the telephone pole in front of his house. After jiggling it into a secure position, I climb up to the amplifier and change the fittings, trying not to think about Mr. Jackson inside the house, who's probably now undressed, drying off with that thirsty towel, rubbing it roughly through that wavy hair ...&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;em&gt;Stop it.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;I concentrate on unrolling the cable wrapped around my shoulder. &lt;em&gt;Okay, sure, he's a cute one. Fuck, he's probably the hottest guy I've ever seen in this dead-end town. But I'm the cable man. I'm here to hook up his TV and make sure he has pictures and then if I'm lucky, he'll have no problems and will never call the office again.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Screwing one cable fitting onto the tap, I toss the rest of the coiled black wire down to the ground. I hope I have a long enough drop. When I walked from the house to my truck I counted my steps in an effort to take my mind off the young man inside, and for added measure I pulled out another ten feet of cable before I cut it. I don't want it to be too short. He'll think I'm an idiot if I have to do all this over again.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;I turn to look over my shoulder, mentally measuring the distance from the pole to the side of the house, and I have a clear view into the second story window, where he's standing in that damn towel, digging through a pile of clothes. The curtains are open and I know he knows I'm here, he &lt;em&gt;has&lt;/em&gt; to know, but he turns his back to the window and lets the towel fall away ...&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Sweet Jesus.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;As the towel drops to the floor, it reveals a round, chiseled ass, perfectly shaped, and I have to grab onto the telephone pole because I'm going to fall. I think I've &lt;em&gt;already&lt;/em&gt; fallen, and I can't look away from the window as he tugs on a pair of white boxers followed by jeans, wiggling his hips to settle everything into place before he zips up. My mouth has to be open. My eyes must be bugging and staring and wide. Suddenly &lt;em&gt;my&lt;/em&gt; pants are way too tight and every move I made chafes my cock, sending sweet splinters of pleasure through me. What did I turn around for again? What the hell am I doing here?&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <author>jms@jmsnyder.net</author>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 02 Jul 2011 07:06:50 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>2.99</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>313</g:id>
      <g:brand>J.M. Snyder</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781611521436</g:model_number>
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    <item>
      <title>Tea and Crumpet</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/FUmnDbbhVYE/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=310</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=310"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/teaandcrumpet.jpg" alt="Tea and Crumpet" title=" Tea and Crumpet " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Anthology • Contemporary • Erotica • Historical • Gay Fiction • Lesbian • Transgender&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 63,287 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Raise your rainbow umbrellas high and celebrate!&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Enjoy this enchanting, entertaining and thought-provoking collection, a heartfelt expression of what it means to be queer in Britain, past and present. All these stories reflect the iconic sights and national character of the British Isles: a taste of our idiosyncrasies and eccentricities, but also an unashamed representation of the love, loyalty and laughter of our people.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Including a wide range of style and subject, this is the perfect way to sample different authors and to find both existing and new favourites. Follow the British way of life from historic villages to modern cities, from the countryside to the sea, through history and with a fantasy twist, in gardens, churches, campus and the familiar, much-loved local pub.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The stories cover universal themes of romance, desire, remembrance and reconciliation. The authors range from multi-published to up-and-coming, and they all share a passion for their characters, whether through great drama, erotic excitement, humour -- or a combination of all three!&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Contributors include: Alex Beecroft, Jennie Caldwell, Stevie Carroll, Charlie Cochrane, Lucy Felthouse, Elin Gregory, Mara Ismine, Clare London, Anna Marie May, JL Merrow, Josephine Myles, Zahra Owens, Jay Rookwood, Chris Smith, Stevie Woods, Lisa Worrall, and Serena Yates. Edited by: UK MAT (UK Meet Acquisitions Team).&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;This anthology is a souvenir of the 2011 UK Meet, an occasion for GLBTQ supporters to get together in a relaxed setting to celebrate and chat about the fiction community they love. Funds from the sale of this anthology will go towards future UK Meets, to which all are welcome. Please visit the &lt;a href="http://ukmeet.weebly.com" target="_test"&gt;website&lt;/a&gt; for details, or contact UK MAT through the publisher.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT FROM "Making Camp" by Clare London:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;Saturday morning, I awoke to a trumpet call from Hades itself, or that’s how it sounded: a wailing scream, a shriek of hate and despair, ripping through the dawn.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Heart pounding with shock, I scrabbled out of my (borrowed) sleeping bag, cursing whoever had twisted the zip up between my arse cheeks while I slept. The traffic had been so bad the previous evening, we’d arrived really late at the campsite, and there’d been no time for anything except putting up the tents and crashing out. This morning, I barely remembered where I was, let alone why I wasn’t waking to decent rock music on my digital radio alarm. I blundered into the side of the (also borrowed) tent, breathing harshly, wondering if oxygen were available for those with an allergy to polyester. My elbow thumped the tent pole at the doorway and the whole structure shuddered around me.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;When I lurched outside, the fresh air hit me like chemical warfare, my bare toes curling up with the shock of grass underneath them so early in the morning. There was a sudden flurry of black feathers as birds launched themselves from the nearby trees. I stared at the world through dilated pupils, panting, expecting to see the Four Horsemen charging in on some satanic version of a tractor.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Instead, only Max was there, crouched outside his own tent, his back to me. He was dressed in just his shorts and he looked completely at home, stirring away at something in a pan, its surface bubbling and the sharp tang of its sauce catching in the back of my throat. I peered over at the pan, suspiciously. Was he going to eat that? From what I could see, it looked like it’d been vomited up by the Beast of Exmoor.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;As I groaned and grasped the tent pole for extra support, his head whipped around. “What is it?” He looked concerned. “The crows wake you up?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;I never got time to reply with something witty and face-saving because we were both distracted by a strange creaking sound. Max stood up, abruptly, still clutching the spoon, globules of sauce dripping from its end. His eyes widened. The only other warning I got was the flapping sound of a loosened flysheet, and then the heavy rustle of canvas crumpling down on itself.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;I stood there, staring resolutely and helplessly forward, listening to the dull twang of the poles springing free behind me, bouncing against each other, scraping down the seams of the tent. Then the muffled clang of them hitting the ground.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;I thought I’d knocked each peg securely into the field the night before, but ... maybe I hadn’t.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;There was a final thump and everything went quiet again. I didn’t dare turn around. I coughed from grass seed in my throat. A stray acorn rolled past my foot.  Max’s gaze shifted down from over my shoulder to a point barely six inches from the ground.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Shit,” he said, thoughtfully. “Looks like the guy-ropes weren’t tightened properly.”&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <pubDate>Sat, 02 Jul 2011 07:04:57 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>6.99</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>310</g:id>
      <g:brand>UK MAT</g:brand>
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      <g:model_number>9781611521412</g:model_number>
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      <title>Twelve Hours II</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/Ggb3pfsTe30/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=308</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=308"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/twelvehoursii.jpg" alt="Twelve Hours II" title=" Twelve Hours II " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Contemporary • Erotica • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 6,119 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
It’s fourteen years to the day since Zack Pierce and Sam Patterson declared their love for each other.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The two men’s lives have settled into cozy domesticity. Zack is now the town’s doctor and Sam works as a police officer. However, news that their best friends Billy and Pete’s surrogate baby is due to be born sooner than expected causes the men to put their anniversary celebrations on hold.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Events during the next twelve hours will strengthen the bonds of family, love and loyalty.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;The grandfather clock in the hallway began to chime five. All was on schedule.  The pork tenderloin was just about ready, the water for the baby carrots, snow peas and sweet potatoes was just coming to the boil. Dessert and a tossed salad were chilling in the fridge. Sam took a moment to run a critical eye over the table setting: his dad’s best china, a bunch of roses from Mrs. Jenkins’ garden, the candlesticks Zack had picked up at a yard sale the previous year, and Zack’s special gift safely tucked away in the top drawer of the bureau.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Fourteen years. Who’d have thunk it.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Who’d have thought Sam, big, goofy, easy-going Sam would have been able to attract -- much less keep -- Zackary Pierce. Zack was the most handsome, hell, fuckin’ studliest jock at their high school. Sam knew Zack could have had anyone he’d have wanted, boy or girl. But after that fateful night Zack had been his.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Sure, the two of them had had their challenges. For a long time Zack hadn’t felt comfortable coming out to anyone. However, it didn’t take a genius to work out that something in the normally cocky, pussy-hunting Zack had changed. Zack no longer partied every weekend. He no longer chased after anything in a skirt, and he no longer drank, or smoked dope.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Sam hadn’t had to force Zack into sobriety, Zack had chosen that course all on his own. When they were by themselves Zack was loving, even clingy and needful. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Zack would often say.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Sam knew without a doubt Zack had been the best thing that’d ever happened to him. They would spend hours just lying in each other’s arms, kissing. Heck, even after fourteen years that was still their favorite thing to do.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;College had presented them with their biggest challenge. Zack had gotten a football scholarship and was paranoid that his team mates would find out about him and Sam being a couple. Yes, they’d argued, and more than once one or the other of them had spent the night sleeping on the sofa in their tiny off-campus apartment. But their love for each other had seen them through. After his final game Zack had gathered the team around him and come out. Sam had only learned about this after the event. Zack hadn’t wanted to tell him in advance just in case he’d chickened out.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Turned out most of them knew or at least suspected. Zack had said one or two assholes couldn’t get their heads around the fact their first-string quarterback was queer, but had to admit despite being a fag, Zack was the shit where football was concerned.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Sam had punched Zack on the shoulder at that point and told him he was showing off. Then he’d kissed him passionately, telling his partner he was proud of him.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Zack coming out had meant Sam could do the same, and wasted no opportunity in doing so. Zack and Sam had been a nine-day-wonder, and college life had soon got back to normal for the most part. Except Zack and Sam had occasionally been seen walking across campus holding hands.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The second biggest challenge they’d faced was telling Zack’s parents. It hadn’t gone well. Zack, although he’d never admit it, idolized his dad, constantly seeking his approval. Sam had had to sit up for many nights trying to answer impossible questions posed by an inconsolable Zack. The words and accusations flung around the night of Zack’s coming out had been harsh, hurtful and damaging.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Eventually, after a huge amount of patience and promises to try hard to understand, a kind of agreement had been brokered between father and son. Alas, they’d never managed to recapture what had once been. Sam was always civil and polite to Mr. Pierce, and the old man would grunt, nod and ask Sam if he wanted a glass of Bourbon. Although not liking the stuff -- it reminded Sam too much of the night when he’d come across a drunk and highly distraught Zack—Sam would accept a glass, just to keep the piece. But each time Mr. Pierce offered a refill Sam would decline. Mr. Pierce seemed to judge the worth of a man by how much liquor he could hold. Though it wasn’t easy, Sam always managed to keep his own counsel.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Sam had gotten a job in the local police department, while Zack continued his medical studies, then had done his residency. Zack’s long hours had meant they’d seen little of each other. But all that meant was they had to be more creative in using what time they did have together.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Now -- Sam smiled to himself -- their careers had reached a point where they could afford to relax a little, even take the occasional vacation together.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The past year had seen them visit Massachusetts to attend the same-sex wedding of their friends Pete and Billy. Sam hoped -- one day -- he and Zack would also tie the knot. Part of him had hoped Zack would propose during their visit. But it was okay when he didn’t. Sam knew Zack loved him, because every day in some way or other Zack would tell or show him just how much he was loved.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;A quick straightening of the salad forks, and everything was ready. All Sam needed now was the guest of honor, who should ... The phone in the kitchen began to ring.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Sam approached it, glanced at the caller ID and swore. Picking up, he growled, “Zack, tonight’s our anniversary. You better not be calling to say you --”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Beth’s gone into labor,” Zack interrupted.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“What?” The rest of Sam’s protests died on his lips.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <pubDate>Sat, 02 Jul 2011 07:01:24 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>2.99</g:price>
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      <g:id>308</g:id>
      <g:brand>Drew Hunt</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
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      <title><![CDATA[ My Strange Little Oasis #2: Brotherhood of the Fire [Print] ]]></title>
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      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=291</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=291"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/mystrangelittleoasisbook2.jpg" alt="My Strange Little Oasis #2: Brotherhood of the Fire [Print]" title=" My Strange Little Oasis #2: Brotherhood of the Fire [Print] " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Contemporary • Erotica • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 262 pages&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Book 2 in the My Strange Little Oasis trilogy&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Go,&lt;/i&gt; the voice of the spirit whispers to Ren Gallagher.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Ren fears he will only be rejected at The Oh Aces due to his disfigured face, but yearns for relief from the suicidal depression and social isolation he is sure will kill him in time.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;At The Oh Aces Ren finds its members, The Aces, are like brothers, and share such a blazing sexual bond they happily “eat together and then eat one another.” To his surprise, what he doesn’t find is rejection.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;However, a gifted psychic named Andy wants more than just sex with Ren. He wants to win Ren’s love by helping him out of the abyss of his depression. But Ren soon fears he has a stalker of the worst kind: one who wants his body and invades his mind.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;On his way out of the club Ren said goodnight to Lee, Benjy, and a few of the other Aces sitting at the snack bar, and he wondered if he would ever return.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;As he walked out the door, he glanced at the red light at the entrance. This time, instead of seeming to wink at him, it appeared weak and faded as though its bulb was burning out. Ren drew closer to the light, and it sputtered briefly, then crackled back to life with renewed energy. &lt;i&gt;For all its tacky, artless simplicity it’s somehow perfect,&lt;/i&gt; Ren found himself thinking. In its way it seemed to symbolize so many things at once: sex, lust, heat, the allure of the forbidden ... everything that nearly two decades of disease and death had destroyed or diminished in a community. He then looked at the ivy-covered brick walls of the club’s exterior, telling himself he should never return, yet knowing he probably would, although he definitely needed to avoid Andy.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Quite an odd little outpost, isn’t it?,” a man suddenly said, startling Ren.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“What?” Ren replied. The man stood beside a glistening blue Ford pick-up truck that looked brand new. Ren recognized him as the guy with the amazing muscled chest, the one who never took his shirt off in the club, much to his disappointment.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“It’s just a funky little outpost that’s somehow managed to survive just like we have. Pretty amazing, huh? So are you coming or going?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Oh ... well ...” Ren said, caught like a deer beneath the all too bright security lamp of the small parking lot. He stepped out of its direct glare. “I’m going ... because I already ... came.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The guy laughed. “ I’ll bet you did. Good for you. I like that. That’s what it’s there for, a little bit o’ joy in the wilderness. I was kind of hoping you were just getting here though.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Really?” Ren said, dubious.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Sure. I don’t want you to think I’m a snob. I’m a friendly guy. I’ve seen you in there. I just never had the opportunity to say hi. You’re always ... busy.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Ren shook his head and looked away shyly. “You must be kidding. I have a reserved seat at the far back corner of the patio. I probably look like a mannequin.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Yeah, but that horn dog who thinks he’s Merlin the Magician always seems to dominate your time. I never get a chance. Anyway, if I said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;And he smiled this great, warm smile that made him look super-woofy. Ren was expecting the What’s Wrong With This Picture look by now, especially considering the bright lighting in the lot. &lt;i&gt;Damn&lt;/i&gt;, he thought. &lt;i&gt;Why couldn’t we have met in the club? I feel so fucking naked out here.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Sorry,” the guy said sheepishly. “That was pretty lame, I guess. It’s the title of some country song I heard on KZLA. Anyway, I really have been wanting to talk to you a little in the club. Don’t worry, I don’t bite.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“That’s too bad. I kind of like nasty animals,” Ren said.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The man chuckled. “ Oh well, maybe we can talk sometime soon. I think I’ll be here Friday night if you’re around.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Ren looked at him, not sure whether to feel flattered or confused.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“What’s your name?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Ren.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Hey Ren, I’m Gust. Nice t’ meet you.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Gus?” Ren asked. &lt;i&gt;What’s with all the old geezer names in this place?&lt;/i&gt; he thought. &lt;i&gt;Barney ... Cornell ... Gus ... isn’t anybody named Billy or Josh or “Mikester” like they are in bars or chat rooms?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“No. It’s Gust. Like a ‘gust’ of wind. And please don’t say what that goofy psychic who’s always talking to you on the patio always says to me: ‘Hey Gust, you blowing or wanna get blown tonight?’ And then he cackles like some demented hyena. That guy’s got more tricks up his sleeve than I got in the seventies. He gives me the creeps.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Me too,” Ren replied immediately. “ I thought I was the only one ...”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Hardly. Oh, well, hey, I don’t wanna hang you up out here since you’re leavin’. Maybe I’ll see you on Friday night if you can make it. That would be nice.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Sure” Ren replied. “Maybe I’ll see you.” By now he had gradually scooted well outside the glare of the security lamp and was a little more comfortable.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Gust noticed this, but remained in the light himself, a short distance from Ren, not wanting to seem too aggressive or overbearing. “And maybe I’ll see &lt;i&gt;you&lt;/i&gt;,” he replied, smiling winsomely. “Have a good night.” Gust headed toward the entrance to the club.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;b&gt;NOTE:&lt;/b&gt; Paperbacks can only be shipped to US addresses. 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      <pubDate>Thu, 30 Jun 2011 12:26:31 -0400</pubDate>
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      <g:id>291</g:id>
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      <g:brand>Steven Kerry</g:brand>
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      <title><![CDATA[ Tea and Crumpet [Print] ]]></title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/zGGGeP8jBRU/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=311</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=311"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/teaandcrumpet.jpg" alt="Tea and Crumpet [Print]" title=" Tea and Crumpet [Print] " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Anthology • Contemporary • Erotica • Historical • Gay Fiction • Lesbian • Transgender&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 216 pages&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Raise your rainbow umbrellas high and celebrate!&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Enjoy this enchanting, entertaining and thought-provoking collection, a heartfelt expression of what it means to be queer in Britain, past and present. All these stories reflect the iconic sights and national character of the British Isles: a taste of our idiosyncrasies and eccentricities, but also an unashamed representation of the love, loyalty and laughter of our people.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Including a wide range of style and subject, this is the perfect way to sample different authors and to find both existing and new favourites. Follow the British way of life from historic villages to modern cities, from the countryside to the sea, through history and with a fantasy twist, in gardens, churches, campus and the familiar, much-loved local pub.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The stories cover universal themes of romance, desire, remembrance and reconciliation. The authors range from multi-published to up-and-coming, and they all share a passion for their characters, whether through great drama, erotic excitement, humour -- or a combination of all three!&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Contributors include: Alex Beecroft, Jennie Caldwell, Stevie Carroll, Charlie Cochrane, Lucy Felthouse, Elin Gregory, Mara Ismine, Clare London, Anna Marie May, JL Merrow, Josephine Myles, Zahra Owens, Jay Rookwood, Chris Smith, Stevie Woods, Lisa Worrall, and Serena Yates. Edited by: UK MAT (UK Meet Acquisitions Team).&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;This anthology is a souvenir of the 2011 UK Meet, an occasion for GLBTQ supporters to get together in a relaxed setting to celebrate and chat about the fiction community they love. Funds from the sale of this anthology will go towards future UK Meets, to which all are welcome. Please visit the &lt;a href="http://ukmeet.weebly.com" target="_test"&gt;website&lt;/a&gt; for details, or contact UK MAT through the publisher.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT FROM "Making Camp" by Clare London:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;Saturday morning, I awoke to a trumpet call from Hades itself, or that’s how it sounded: a wailing scream, a shriek of hate and despair, ripping through the dawn.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Heart pounding with shock, I scrabbled out of my (borrowed) sleeping bag, cursing whoever had twisted the zip up between my arse cheeks while I slept. The traffic had been so bad the previous evening, we’d arrived really late at the campsite, and there’d been no time for anything except putting up the tents and crashing out. This morning, I barely remembered where I was, let alone why I wasn’t waking to decent rock music on my digital radio alarm. I blundered into the side of the (also borrowed) tent, breathing harshly, wondering if oxygen were available for those with an allergy to polyester. My elbow thumped the tent pole at the doorway and the whole structure shuddered around me.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;When I lurched outside, the fresh air hit me like chemical warfare, my bare toes curling up with the shock of grass underneath them so early in the morning. There was a sudden flurry of black feathers as birds launched themselves from the nearby trees. I stared at the world through dilated pupils, panting, expecting to see the Four Horsemen charging in on some satanic version of a tractor.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Instead, only Max was there, crouched outside his own tent, his back to me. He was dressed in just his shorts and he looked completely at home, stirring away at something in a pan, its surface bubbling and the sharp tang of its sauce catching in the back of my throat. I peered over at the pan, suspiciously. Was he going to eat that? From what I could see, it looked like it’d been vomited up by the Beast of Exmoor.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;As I groaned and grasped the tent pole for extra support, his head whipped around. “What is it?” He looked concerned. “The crows wake you up?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;I never got time to reply with something witty and face-saving because we were both distracted by a strange creaking sound. Max stood up, abruptly, still clutching the spoon, globules of sauce dripping from its end. His eyes widened. The only other warning I got was the flapping sound of a loosened flysheet, and then the heavy rustle of canvas crumpling down on itself.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;I stood there, staring resolutely and helplessly forward, listening to the dull twang of the poles springing free behind me, bouncing against each other, scraping down the seams of the tent. Then the muffled clang of them hitting the ground.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;I thought I’d knocked each peg securely into the field the night before, but ... maybe I hadn’t.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;There was a final thump and everything went quiet again. I didn’t dare turn around. I coughed from grass seed in my throat. A stray acorn rolled past my foot.  Max’s gaze shifted down from over my shoulder to a point barely six inches from the ground.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Shit,” he said, thoughtfully. “Looks like the guy-ropes weren’t tightened properly.”&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <pubDate>Thu, 30 Jun 2011 12:25:53 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>13.00</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>311</g:id>
      <g:weight>0.25</g:weight>
      <g:brand>UK MAT</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781611521467</g:model_number>
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      <title><![CDATA[ The Regent's Knight [Print] ]]></title>
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      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=309</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=309"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/theregentsknight.jpg" alt="The Regent's Knight [Print]" title=" The Regent's Knight [Print] " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt;  Erotica • Fantasy • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 116 pages&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Prince Amery Llewellen is the only son of King Adin of Pharr and heir to the throne. When his father is lost in battle with the barbaric tribes invading the northern Pharrisian border, Amery becomes regent in his father’s stead. The royal advisers pressure him to take the crown and assume the throne, but doing so will force him to take a wife as well. Amery is loathe to do that, because he’s deeply in love with one of his knights, Sir Tovin Raimus, from the southland.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Such a relationship is forbidden -- both because Tovin is another man and because he is a knight, much below the station of a prince. After King Adin forbid their union, Tovin and Amery masked their love with fights and arguments designed to make the servants believe they loathe each other. The whole castle dreads the news that the northern border has been breached, because when Tovin is assigned the position of castellan, that makes him head of castle security. His being stationed so near the regent has the servants believing the two will fight to the death.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;That’s just a farce to keep their love a secret. But Pharr needs a crowned ruler, and Amery must decide whether to take his rightful place on the throne or forsake his kingdom for the love of one man.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;"Gods," Tovin breathed as he crawled onto Amery.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The regent started to speak but Tovin covered  his mouth with his own, silencing him with a hungry kiss as his hands  roamed the smooth body beneath him. His fingers plucked Amery's nipples  erect, eliciting gasps of delight from his lover. Moving lower, he  brushed away the hand at Amery's crotch and grasped the thick length,  massaging it in his fist, working it hard.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"Tovin," Amery managed to murmur between  kisses. When Tovin cupped his balls and tickled one forefinger along the  tender skin behind them, the regent arched into the knight's body and  moaned. "It's been too long."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Straddling Amery's hips, Tovin sat back and pulled off his surcoat. "It has," he agreed with a grin.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The regent reached for him, hands tugging at  the scant hair on his chest, then thumbing over his nipples. Each touch  sent a sliver of pleasure spiking through Tovin like lightning, striking  his overly sensitive nipples and shooting down to stir the blood  already thickening in his dick. He could come from such play -- one of  the first times he and Amery had been together, when they were still  teenagers and kissing was the extent of their lovemaking, Amery had been amused to find that a few minutes' suckling on Tovin's teats was more  than enough to get him off.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Catching Amery's hands in his, Tovin raised  them to his mouth and kissed each fingertip. "Stop that," he admonished, "or I won't be able to pierce that sexy ass of yours with my sword."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Amery laughed and, twisting one hand free from  Tovin's grip, poked at the bulge in the front of the knight's breeches.  "Your sword? Is that what this is? Unsheathe it, knight, and wield it  for me. Let me test its breadth and heft. Let me feel its blade."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Tovin rocked back, his buttocks pressing  Amery's hard cock against his own legs. The regent's mocking words  dissolved in a gasp of delight as his eyes shut against the sensations  caused by Tovin's body against his. The hand at his crotch bunched in  the fabric covering his erection with a gentle squeeze that made him  moan.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Catching that hand again, Tovin raised it to  the other and held both of Amery's wrists against his chest. "I have an  idea," he announced.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;"What's that?" Amery wiggled his hips beneath  Tovin to remind him that he was waiting for something more. "Can you  tell me later?"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Tovin laughed. "I can tell you now," he replied. "I'm still mostly dressed. These pants aren't coming off until I'm ready."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Amery pouted and tried to twist his wrists  free from Tovin's grip. "I think you're ready now," he declared. "I'm  the regent. My word is law. I say you're ready."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Laughing again, Tovin leaned down over the  regent, stretching his lover's hands above his head to keep them out of  reach. Amery's nipples brushed over Tovin's; he had to close his eyes  against the thrill sparked by that touch. Between them, his cock  throbbed in his pants, aching for release.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"I think you're in no position to argue with  me now," he whispered, touching the tip of Amery's nose with his own.  Amery leaned up for a kiss but Tovin pulled away slightly. "Not yet."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Amery sighed, frustrated. "Kiss me now. I demand it."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"You can't make demands here," Tovin told him.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;b&gt;NOTE:&lt;/b&gt; Paperbacks can only be shipped to US addresses. If you live outside the US, please purchase this book at Amazon by clicking on the link below.&lt;div align=center&gt;&lt;iframe src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=jherusalemcom-20&amp;o=1&amp;p=8&amp;l=as1&amp;asins=1463630174&amp;fc1=000000&amp;IS2=1&amp;lt1=_blank&amp;m=amazon&amp;lc1=0000FF&amp;bc1=000000&amp;bg1=FFFFFF&amp;f=ifr&amp;nou=1" style="width:120px;height:240px;" scrolling="no" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" frameborder="0"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <pubDate>Sun, 26 Jun 2011 17:10:11 -0400</pubDate>
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      <title><![CDATA[ Trucker and Pup [Print] ]]></title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/9uG92JRlwig/index.php</link>
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      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=305"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/truckerandpup.jpg" alt="Trucker and Pup [Print]" title=" Trucker and Pup [Print] " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Contemporary • Erotica • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 266 pages&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
For months, office worker Kevin Lawrence has carried a torch for Joey Goldman, head driver at the haulage company where they both work. One rainy night, Kevin slips and falls on a patch of motor oil and Joey is there to catch him.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Despite being damaged both emotionally and physically from previous relationships, Kevin is helplessly drawn to the dominant trucker. Joey’s muscles and rugged good looks means he never has trouble finding men to take to bed. But no man has managed to get under his skin ... until Kevin.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Life for Joey soon becomes complicated. He isn’t out to his family, but feels an increasing need to be Kevin’s Sir -- to love, protect and guide his submissive lover.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Can Joey and Kevin make the journey together, or will outside forces and internal fears cause them to travel in opposite directions?&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;As they stood side-by-side in the rain, Joey’s six feet three inch frame dwarfing that of Kevin’s five feet two inches, Joey couldn’t resist wrapping a protective arm around Kevin’s shoulder. It was the first time he’d ever had any prolonged physical contact with the slightly built man.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Can you walk on that ankle?” he said, staring down at the shorter man.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kevin tried to look away, but Joey held his gaze.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“I think so.” Kevin took a step but would have fallen if Joey hadn’t caught him.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Well, that answers that question, then.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Yes, Sir.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Sir? Did he say sir?&lt;/i&gt; Joey asked himself. “Um, I can take you home on the back of my bike, it’s the least I can do.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Oh, no, honest, I can wait for the next bus, I’ll be all right.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Give over arguing, it’s decided.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The smaller man sagged, seeming to resign himself to his fate.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Come on, lean on me.” Joey wrapped an arm around Kevin, helping to support his weight as he hobbled along. The rain was beginning to creep under Joey’s leather jacket, causing him to shiver. “Shit, this is too slow.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Sorry, I can’t go any faster.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Sor-right, I know you can’t.” Joey picked Kevin up. As he carried him towards his motorcycle Kevin began to squirm. “Stop wriggling!” Joey commanded.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Sorry.” Apart from the occasional shiver, Kevin managed to lie still.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;After gently placing his charge on the pillion seat, Joey got out the spare helmet and made sure it was correctly positioned on Kevin’s head before straddling the bike and kick starting the engine. As usual, the throaty roar and the vibration between his legs gave Joey a thrill.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Put your arms around me, and hold on!” Joey shouted, but Kevin didn’t respond.  Obviously the guy didn’t hear him, or was too panicked to comply. Reaching behind himself, Joey grasped his passenger’s arms and wrapped them round his chest. Letting out the clutch, Joey sped out of the car park.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;As he travelled down the rain-swept streets, Joey realised he hadn’t asked where Kevin lived. Maybe this was a conscious oversight; he’d just have to take the man back to his place. Joey smiled, his dick twitching at the thought.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The evening traffic was light, so it only took ten minutes to get home. Pulling up outside a set of garages, Joey hopped off his bike, unlocked the garage door, then got back on and drove the pair of them into the dark interior. Cutting the engine, Joey waited a few seconds for his ears to stop ringing before he took off his helmet.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Leaning back in the saddle, Joey was certain his passenger was sporting wood. &lt;i&gt;Hmm, interesting.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Okay, time to dismount.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“But, but, I don’t live here.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“I know, I thought I’d get you dried off and everything at my place first, okay?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“But, but ...”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Don’t argue. Come on.” Joey gave a light whack to Kevin’s behind; Kevin shot upwards in shock, and started to shake.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Christ, he’s a timid one. Better go careful.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The two made slow progress towards the back entrance to the block of flats, Kevin needing to lean quite heavily on Joey, the latter finding it strangely appealing.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“It’d be quicker if I carried you up the stairs.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kevin stiffened.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Turning Kevin round to face him, Joey stared down at the smaller man. “It’ll be okay. I don’t bite. Well not often anyway.” Joey laughed, but Kevin didn’t join in. “What’s wrong?” Joey lifted the smaller man’s drooping chin with a finger.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Sorry, Sir,” the man said, still shaking.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;What’s with all this sir shit?&lt;/i&gt; Joey mused as he picked the bloke up. Though he had to admit Kevin’s deference did give him a bit of a thrill. He’d role played with a few of his more adventurous tricks, Joey always taking the role of the master, of course. He wondered what would happen with a man who was naturally submissive.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Finally reaching the third floor, Joey gently set Kevin down as he fished out his key. “Welcome to my humble abode,” Joey said, carrying his human cargo into the hallway.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Joey was about to apologise for the mess which he knew would await them, he wasn’t much into housework, but the place shone like a new pin. Joey could even detect the faint odour of lavender furniture polish. He didn’t think he owned any furniture polish.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;After setting Kevin on a stool in the kitchen, Joey went to the fridge to confirm his suspicions. Not finding what he was after, he depressed the pedal on his waste bin and pulled out an unopened packet of bacon. “For fuck’s sake!”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The harshness of his tone caused Kevin to start in alarm.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Joey noticed it and immediately went to reassure his guest. “Sorry. It’s just when I saw that the place had been cleaned, I knew my mother had been round.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Oh, right.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“She’s Jewish, so’s my dad. Which of course makes me Jewish, too, though I don’t observe.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Okay.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Looking at the clean kitchen, Joey went on, “And like mothers the world over, she can’t help sticking her nose in.” He put a set of flowered tea-towels in the bottom drawer of the cabinet, before fishing out his usual plain white ones. “Trust me, Yiddish mothers are the worst for interfering.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kevin looked sad.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“What’s up?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Nothing.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“It’s okay, Pup, you can tell me.” Joey wondered why he’d used the epithet. It seemed to suit Kevin, those chocolate drop eyes of his looked so much like those of his dog, Bertie.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kevin couldn’t meet Joey’s gaze, even though the latter had made a conscious effort to soften it.  “My parents disowned me, um ... When they --”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“When they found out you were gay.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kevin stared at Joey in absolute terror.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Joey suddenly realised what he’d said. “It’s okay. I’ve known about you and Cal for ages, Cal didn’t exactly keep it a secret.” Joey recalled the many macho boasts Cal had imparted to his mates about how he was able to dominate his submissive partner. Though he’d remained unusually quiet on the subject recently.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“I’m not out to my family, and I’d like to keep it that way.” Joey shuddered at the thought of them knowing. Needing to change the subject, he said, “Listen, we’ll have to get you out of those wet things, otherwise you’ll catch your death. I’ll run you a bath, then I’ll find you something to put on, though none of my stuff will fit you.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kevin’s panic appeared to have lessened. “That’s okay, Sir, please just take me home, I’ll be fine.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Rubbish.” Joey was feeling protective towards his guest. “Come on, I’ll carry you to the bathroom, you can strip off in there.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“No, honestly, I --”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Pup,” Joey held Kevin’s face in his hands, “You’re staying for a bath, and it’s not negotiable.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kevin sagged, obviously giving into the inevitability of it all.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Joey hoisted up his burden and carried him into the bathroom. Putting Kevin down on the closed toilet lid, he began to run the water, making sure he added plenty of bubble bath.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Now strip.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Um, it’s okay, Sir, I can manage, please.” Kevin looked up pleadingly into Joey’s face.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Something inside Joey shifted, making him feel…what? He wasn’t sure he could identify it. “Okay,” Joey said softly, backing out of the room. In the hallway, he slapped the side of his face. ‘You’re turning fucking soft, Joe.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;He walked back to the kitchen to rustle up some food. Deciding it probably wasn’t safe to use the bacon, he opted for his old standby of a couple of frozen TV dinners. Joey knew he was no cook.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Once the foil trays were in the oven, Joey remembered he hadn’t seen any towels in the bathroom. No doubt his mother had taken them back to her house to be washed. Reaching into the airing cupboard, he pulled out a couple of large bath sheets.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Pushing open the bathroom door, Joey said “Here’s some fresh ...” The rest of his statement died on his lips as he stared disbelievingly at the sight that greeted him.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kevin lowered his shaking shoulders, a sob escaping from his lips. This snapped Joey out of his inactivity; he moved into the bathroom and went down on his knees in front of the bath. Reaching out a hand, he began to touch the numerous thin raised scars on Kevin’s exposed back. This only seemed to cause Kevin to weep harder. One of the more obvious marks was in the shape of a belt buckle. Joey battled to suppress his anger.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Did Cal do this?” Joey asked through clenched teeth.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Sorry, Sir. I ... I ... I didn’t want you to see them, I’m sorry, I’m sorry ...” Kevin dissolved totally.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Joey counted to ten, using the time to dig deep into his reserves of strength. Taking a deep breath -- and despite being fully clothed -- he reached for Kevin. Using as much gentleness as he could muster, Joey plucked the little bloke out of the bath. Wrapping a towel round the shaking ball of human misery, Joey sat on the closed toilet lid and seated Kevin on his knee, holding him close.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Hush, Pup. Please hush.” He began to rock the smaller man.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;b&gt;NOTE:&lt;/b&gt; Paperbacks can only be shipped to US addresses. 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      <author>jms@jmsnyder.net</author>
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      <pubDate>Sun, 26 Jun 2011 17:11:00 -0400</pubDate>
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      <g:id>305</g:id>
      <g:brand>Drew Hunt</g:brand>
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    <item>
      <title>British Flash</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/3gC59-Q3ZH0/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=312</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=312"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/britishflash.jpg" alt="British Flash" title=" British Flash " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Anthology • Contemporary • Erotica • Historical • Gay Fiction • Lesbian • Paranormal • Transgender&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 24,660 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Enjoy this entertaining collection of flash fiction stories, each a short but sweet expression of what it means to be queer in Britain, past and present. All these stories reflect the iconic sights and national character of the British Isles: a taste of our idiosyncrasies and eccentricities, but also an unashamed representation of the love, loyalty, and laughter of our people.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Follow the British way of life from historic villages to modern cities, from the countryside to the sea, through history and with a fantasy twist, in gardens, shops, campus, and the familiar, much-loved local pub.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The stories cover universal themes of romance, desire, remembrance and reconciliation. The authors range from multi-published to up-and-coming, and they all share a passion for their characters, whether through great drama, erotic excitement, humour -- or a combination of all three!&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Contributors include: Alex Beecroft, Victoria Blisse, Stevie Carroll, Charlie Cochrane, Sophia Deri-Bowen, Erastes, Lucy Felthouse, Elin Gregory, Mara Ismine, Sandra Lindsey, Clare London, JL Merrow, Josephine Myles, Zahra Owens, Jay Rookwood, Caroline Stephens, Stevie Woods, Lisa Worrall, and Serena Yates. Edited by: UK MAT (UK Meet Acquisitions Team).&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;This anthology is a souvenir of the 2011 UK Meet, an occasion for GLBTQ supporters to get together in a relaxed setting to celebrate and chat about the fiction community they love. Please visit the &lt;a href="http://ukmeet.weebly.com" target="_test"&gt;website&lt;/a&gt; for details, or contact UK MAT through the publisher.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;b&gt;The Worst Pub in London by JL Merrow&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Josh flicked a beer towel at an imaginary cockroach then did it again, harder for good measure. It made a nice slapping sound on the bar. “This is probably the worst ...” &lt;i&gt;snap&lt;/i&gt; “... pub ...” &lt;i&gt;snap&lt;/i&gt; “... in London,” he sang aloud to the tune from &lt;i&gt;Sweeney Todd,&lt;/i&gt; doing a little twirl behind the bar.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Nice voice, but if you want to get mistaken for Helena Bonham Carter you’re going to need bigger tits,” a gravelly voice commented, making Josh drop the Bacardi Breezer he’d been using as a microphone.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Shit! Ouch!” The bottle survived the fall, but Josh wasn’t sure his foot had. “Sorry,” he said, face burning as he tried not to hop too obviously. “I didn’t hear you come in. What can I get you?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The stranger was tall, dark-skinned and way too heavy-set to have moved so silently. He looked Josh up and down with soft brown eyes that crinkled up readily at the corners. “I’m starting to wonder if it’d be safe to have anything here. You don’t serve pies, do you?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Josh grinned back at him, feeling a tiny flutter in the region of his midriff at the sight of that smile. “Wondering what’s happened to all the customers, are you? No, it’s always like this here. They don’t call it the Forlorn Hop for nothing -- all the old customers have died or moved away, and the new lot want something more trendy. We get a couple of old fogies in for a pint most nights -- and I mean &lt;i&gt;a&lt;/i&gt; pint -- but during the day it’s as dead as the filling in one of Mrs Lovett’s finest. Don’t know how the old man keeps it open, to tell the truth.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Maybe it’s just a front. Drug deals in the tap room, prostitution in the lounge. Money-laundering on the side.” The stranger leered. “Maybe it wasn’t just beer you were offering me there?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Josh allowed his eyelashes just a hint of a flutter. “We do have a comprehensive range of spirits and mixers,” he said coyly. “Perhaps if you told me what you like?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Well, I know it when I see it.” That dark smile was suggestion itself. “I’m Devlin, by the way.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Devlin? Sounds kind of naughty. I like that in a man. I’m Josh. So that’ll be ...?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Scotch and soda. And one for yourself,” Devlin added, leaning a well-muscled forearm on the bar. “I hate drinking alone.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“There’s a lot of things that are more fun with two,” Josh purred seductively, turning smartly on his heel and stepping towards the spirits. As he did so, he felt something under his foot. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just the lino. Whatever it was rolled away from him, taking his foot with it. &lt;i&gt;Oh, yes. Should have picked up that Bacardi Breezer,&lt;/i&gt; was Josh’s last thought as the room tilted up and his head crashed into the edge of the bar.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;* * * *&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;When Josh woke up he had a hard time at first deciding whether he was hallucinating from concussion or just plain dead and gone to heaven. There obviously couldn’t be any other explanation for the fact that he was flat on his back with Tall, Dark and Insinuating bending over him, his full lips only inches from Josh’s own. “Wha’ ...”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“You all right there, Josh? Caught that head a nasty knock. I was just about to call 999.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Josh blinked, and rallied. “Oh? It looked more like you were about to give me the kiss of life.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Devlin sat back on his heels, smirking. “Wishful thinking, was it? Now, do you think you can sit up? Or do you want that doctor?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“I’ll be all right,” Josh muttered, starting to push himself up. Strong hands reached out to help him, and Josh leaned into their support possibly just a little more than he really needed to. Devlin’s warm body seemed very close as he reached a sitting position, and Josh swallowed.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Sure about that?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Josh reached up gingerly to feel the back of his head. “Ow. Yeah, I’ll be okay.” He held up his palm to Devlin. “See? No blood.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Just because your brains aren’t actually spilling out of your skull doesn’t mean there might not be a serious injury there. Come on, I’m taking you upstairs for a lie down, at least.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“But I can’t leave the bar!” Josh protested.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Devlin raised an eyebrow and cast a slow look around the pub. The only sign of life was a lost ladybird on a lampshade. A few dust motes twinkled lazily in a sunbeam whilst, in the distance, the slow rumble of traffic underlined the fact that there was a whole city out there teeming with people, none of whom wanted a pint at the Forlorn Hop.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“All right. So maybe it’d be okay if I took an hour or two off. But don’t you have a job to go to?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Devlin answered with a grin that made Josh’s stomach flip over. “Nah. I just got a new job. Manager of this pub, as it happens. I’m your boss’s grandson. He wants me to take this place and turn it around -- make it appeal to a younger crowd. Grab the pink pound.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“You can grab my pink pound any time you like -- well, more like a pound and a half, in fact,” Josh added modestly, if less than truthfully.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Devlin’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, yeah? I might just hold you to that. Course, any staff who want to carry on working under me are going to have to be flexible. Think you can handle that?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The ache in Josh’s head seemed to have magically receded, and even the faded velvet on the barstools was looking brighter. “Oh, I’m pretty good at handling things,” he said, clutching onto Devlin for support as he stood up. “Why don’t I take you up on that offer of a lie down upstairs, &lt;i&gt;Boss&lt;/i&gt;?” He smiled coquettishly, and very carefully didn’t let go of his new manager. “And then I’ll show you just how flexible I can be when I’m under you.”&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <author>jms@jmsnyder.net</author>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 25 Jun 2011 05:59:09 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>312</g:id>
      <g:brand>UK MAT</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>JMS0000000005</g:model_number>
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    <item>
      <title>Cold Hands, Warm Heart</title>
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      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=296</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=296"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/coldhandswarmheart.jpg" alt="Cold Hands, Warm Heart" title=" Cold Hands, Warm Heart " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Contemporary • Erotica • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 2,817 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
When Byron Reese infiltrated a big cat refuge in north Florida, he knew undercover work wasn't all fun and games. But now the case is over, the arrests have been made, and yet ...&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;And yet he's still here at the refuge, working with Kendall, sleeping with Kendall, and maybe, just maybe, falling for Kendall.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;This story appears in the author's print collection, &lt;i&gt;Rough Cut&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;Byron stripped off his gloves and stepped over to the laundry area, stacked with dirty blankets and towels, rank with the odor of various cats’ scent markings. Christmas week had been traditionally cold and they’d put out linens for the animals. Now, in a reversal common to Florida winter weather, the temperature was back to tropical and blankets weren’t needed. Byron grabbed a clean towel from the refuge dryer.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kendall bent low over the sink, running his soapy hands over his shoulders and upper back. The water sluiced off his caramel-colored skin, some into the sink, some onto the tile floor. Byron enjoyed the show: Kendall’s thick chest and sculpted arms, the way his waist narrowed into his khakis, the absurdly cute outie belly button. He rinsed off and Byron scrubbed the towel over Kendall’s face and shoulders, then leaned in for a quick kiss.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;I like taking care of him, I really do.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kendall gazed up at Byron, brown eyes soft, the look that said, “Come here and fuck me, big boy,” the look that made Byron’s knees tremble even after four months together.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;They’d met when the Wildlife and Game Commission had sent Byron in to investigate the refuge. WGC suspected Kendall, the owner, and Ricardo Lopez, a silent partner, were big game dealers, selling endangered and protected species to the canned “hunt” farms where anyone with the cash could shoot a lion, a tiger or a leopard. They were half-right: Ricardo had been dealing out the leopards, lions, tigers, and other big cats. Kendall merely ran the refuge without being involved or even aware of the criminal operations. When Ricardo threatened them both with a shotgun, Byron shot him -- the first time he’d ever used his gun on the job. Ricardo’s death had shaken him -- badly -- and Kendall’s injury during the op bothered him as much. Byron stayed on after, taking a desk duty job up in Tallahassee, commuting the two-hour trip on Friday and Sunday nights, so he could spend weekends in Kendall’s arms -- and bed.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Now, Kendall leaned back against the sink, arms and chest out, posing.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“You want winter? I’ll give you winter.” Byron scooped up some cold water from the rinse water sink and flicked it Kendall’s way.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Anything. As long as it’s cold!”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Babe, if I could change the weather for you, I would,” Byron whispered. He had to push the words past a knot in his throat, unexpected. It jarred him. His heart sped up. “Winter? Step right this way.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;He grabbed Kendall’s hand and dragged him to the walk-in freezer. Two bare bulbs sent a dim light in the small space. Boxes of meat stamped “not for human consumption” were stacked on utility shelving; the flesh showing through the carry holes was dyed blue. A pallet in one corner held five gallon buckets of chicken parts. A row of bloodsicles gleamed with red-brown ice crystals. The door thunked shut behind them, and air filled with frosty condensation as their breath spiraled up to the lights.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kendall grinned and shook his head. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“You ever made love in the snow?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“I’m a Florida boy. It’s you Yankees who hobnob in the cold.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Hobnob, that’s an interesting term for it.” Byron let his gaze drop to Kendall’s shorts. The outline of Kendall’s thick cock pressed against the khaki fabric. “Lose those.”&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <author>jms@jmsnyder.net</author>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 25 Jun 2011 06:19:45 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>1.99</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>296</g:id>
      <g:brand>Vincent Diamond</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781611521382</g:model_number>
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      <title>Gangster Love</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/WJ63-sAf7ss/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=306</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=306"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/gangsterlove.jpg" alt="Gangster Love" title=" Gangster Love " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Poetry&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 24 poems&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/1-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 1" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Short chapbook of 24 poems which center around outlaws, gangsters, robbers, gunslingers, and thieves. On loving criminals in spite of, and sometimes because of, their crimes. Set in the Old West or Small Town America, each poem is a story of love. Think Billy the Kid and Pat Garrett, or Bonnie and Clyde ... these poems celebrate the allure and romance in such doomed relationships.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;b&gt;Cocksure&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Cocksure, you swagger into the cantina,&lt;br&gt;full of yourself, hot from the heat of battle&lt;br&gt;and proud ... unbearably proud.&lt;br&gt;I loathe you and your sureness, your ease&lt;br&gt;as you sidle up to the bar, royalty&lt;br&gt;and not your everyday, common gunslinger.&lt;br&gt;I loathe your boastful voice, your roaming hands,&lt;br&gt;your arrogant eyes.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;I don't know whether to wrap my arms&lt;br&gt;around your neck and strangle the life from you, or&lt;br&gt;sweep you into a strong embrace and never let you go.&lt;br&gt;Your wildness excites me and&lt;br&gt;I loathe myself for that.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Later, in the kitchen, I scrub the pots with angry hands&lt;br&gt;and hate myself as I listen out for the sound of your voice.&lt;br&gt;When it whispers in my ear, a hot breath from the desert,&lt;br&gt;I flush from your closeness, your hands&lt;br&gt;not quite touching my waist, your body&lt;br&gt;not quite pressed against mine.&lt;br&gt;I loathe my reaction.&lt;br&gt;But my brusqueness doesn't put you off for here,&lt;br&gt;at last, stands the one cook's boy&lt;br&gt;who doesn't fall in the wake of your passing,&lt;br&gt;who doesn't stumble over himself to bend over for you.&lt;br&gt;My eyes widen in surprise at your confidence&lt;br&gt;when your smoldering lips close over mine.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;I hate myself for not&lt;br&gt;pulling away.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <author>jms@jmsnyder.net</author>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 25 Jun 2011 06:14:46 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>1.99</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>306</g:id>
      <g:brand>J.T. Marie</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781611521399</g:model_number>
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      <title><![CDATA[ The Regent's Knight ]]></title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/txuKF8pwXxI/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=307</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=307"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/theregentsknight.jpg" alt="The Regent's Knight" title=" The Regent's Knight " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt;  Erotica • Fantasy • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 31,081 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Prince Amery Llewellen is the only son of King Adin of Pharr and heir to the throne. When his father is lost in battle with the barbaric tribes invading the northern Pharrisian border, Amery becomes regent in his father’s stead. The royal advisers pressure him to take the crown and assume the throne, but doing so will force him to take a wife as well. Amery is loathe to do that, because he’s deeply in love with one of his knights, Sir Tovin Raimus, from the southland.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Such a relationship is forbidden -- both because Tovin is another man and because he is a knight, much below the station of a prince. After King Adin forbid their union, Tovin and Amery masked their love with fights and arguments designed to make the servants believe they loathe each other. The whole castle dreads the news that the northern border has been breached, because when Tovin is assigned the position of castellan, that makes him head of castle security. His being stationed so near the regent has the servants believing the two will fight to the death.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;That’s just a farce to keep their love a secret. But Pharr needs a crowned ruler, and Amery must decide whether to take his rightful place on the throne or forsake his kingdom for the love of one man.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;"Gods," Tovin breathed as he crawled onto Amery.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The regent started to speak but Tovin covered  his mouth with his own, silencing him with a hungry kiss as his hands  roamed the smooth body beneath him. His fingers plucked Amery's nipples  erect, eliciting gasps of delight from his lover. Moving lower, he  brushed away the hand at Amery's crotch and grasped the thick length,  massaging it in his fist, working it hard.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"Tovin," Amery managed to murmur between  kisses. When Tovin cupped his balls and tickled one forefinger along the  tender skin behind them, the regent arched into the knight's body and  moaned. "It's been too long."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Straddling Amery's hips, Tovin sat back and pulled off his surcoat. "It has," he agreed with a grin.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The regent reached for him, hands tugging at  the scant hair on his chest, then thumbing over his nipples. Each touch  sent a sliver of pleasure spiking through Tovin like lightning, striking  his overly sensitive nipples and shooting down to stir the blood  already thickening in his dick. He could come from such play -- one of  the first times he and Amery had been together, when they were still  teenagers and kissing was the extent of their lovemaking, Amery had been amused to find that a few minutes' suckling on Tovin's teats was more  than enough to get him off.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Catching Amery's hands in his, Tovin raised  them to his mouth and kissed each fingertip. "Stop that," he admonished, "or I won't be able to pierce that sexy ass of yours with my sword."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Amery laughed and, twisting one hand free from  Tovin's grip, poked at the bulge in the front of the knight's breeches.  "Your sword? Is that what this is? Unsheathe it, knight, and wield it  for me. Let me test its breadth and heft. Let me feel its blade."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Tovin rocked back, his buttocks pressing  Amery's hard cock against his own legs. The regent's mocking words  dissolved in a gasp of delight as his eyes shut against the sensations  caused by Tovin's body against his. The hand at his crotch bunched in  the fabric covering his erection with a gentle squeeze that made him  moan.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Catching that hand again, Tovin raised it to  the other and held both of Amery's wrists against his chest. "I have an  idea," he announced.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;"What's that?" Amery wiggled his hips beneath  Tovin to remind him that he was waiting for something more. "Can you  tell me later?"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Tovin laughed. "I can tell you now," he replied. "I'm still mostly dressed. These pants aren't coming off until I'm ready."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Amery pouted and tried to twist his wrists  free from Tovin's grip. "I think you're ready now," he declared. "I'm  the regent. My word is law. I say you're ready."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Laughing again, Tovin leaned down over the  regent, stretching his lover's hands above his head to keep them out of  reach. Amery's nipples brushed over Tovin's; he had to close his eyes  against the thrill sparked by that touch. Between them, his cock  throbbed in his pants, aching for release.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"I think you're in no position to argue with  me now," he whispered, touching the tip of Amery's nose with his own.  Amery leaned up for a kiss but Tovin pulled away slightly. "Not yet."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Amery sighed, frustrated. "Kiss me now. I demand it."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"You can't make demands here," Tovin told him.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <author>jms@jmsnyder.net</author>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 25 Jun 2011 06:17:20 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>4.99</g:price>
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      <g:id>307</g:id>
      <g:brand>J.M. Snyder</g:brand>
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      <title><![CDATA[ Cracklin' Ginger ]]></title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/QQ9bVQzSNK8/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=297</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=297"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/cracklinginger.jpg" alt="Cracklin' Ginger" title=" Cracklin' Ginger " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Contemporary • Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 1,536 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/no-flame.jpg" alt="no flame rating" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Working for a school project at a horse rescue facility, Nelson falls for the one horse which can’t be found a new home.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Toscana is beautiful, young chestnut mare whose looks attract prospective adopters before her terrible temper puts them off. Nelson forms a bond with the horse, but then has to leave for college, followed by a job in London.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Several years later, he visits the rescue center to see the mare who stole his heart -- only to find that Toscana is gone.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;What does ‘gone’ mean?&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;At the center, the incoming horses’ miserable condition wrenched Nelson’s heart.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Emaciated and terrified of humans, these ghosts of their former equine selves blossomed under proper care. During his three-year stint, every horse found a new home.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Except one.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Nelson noticed the bad-tempered ginger mare biting and cow-kicking her handlers on his first day. She was an unfortunate introduction to horses and he wondered in horror: did such a creature deserve saving?&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Don’t worry, son.” Bob, the manager, laid a hand on his shoulder. “Toscana isn’t typical. She’s young and still has fight.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Nelson asked whether this was a good thing? He rather doubted it.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <author>jms@jmsnyder.net</author>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 18 Jun 2011 07:04:54 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>297</g:id>
      <g:brand>Hilary C.T. Walker</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781611521337</g:model_number>
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      <title>Lunch Break</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/DYsrX5xIKRI/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=301</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=301"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/lunchbreak.jpg" alt="Lunch Break" title=" Lunch Break " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Contemporary • Erotica • Gay Fiction • Interracial&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 6,226 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/2-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 2" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Nick works as a stock boy at a local grocery store. He doesn't mind the work -- it's a way to help pay for college. Still, there are some days when he hates his job ... like when he's trying to flirt with a sexy young businessman named Kevin, and other customers keep interrupting.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;When Kevin returns to the store just to see him, Nick once again finds himself in an embarrassing situation -- this time, cleaning up broken pickle jars on aisle three. But something about him interests Kevin, for whatever reason, and their second encounter leads to a lunch date, and the promise of so much more.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;I glance up and flash him a quick smile before dumping the crap from the dustpan into the trashcan.  "What's on your mind?"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"You."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The way he says it makes me stop and look up at him again.  He's staring at me openly with those piercing eyes.  Now I realize just how close he's standing, his legs just inches from me.  It'd be so easy to just reach out and run my finger down the crease of his pant leg, but I'm sure I smell like pickles and I'm not that bold anyway.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;em&gt;At least he's thinking of me.&lt;/em&gt;  The thought makes me grin like an idiot and he smiles back.  "Are you seeing anyone?"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"As in dating?"  God, I'm a fool, of &lt;em&gt;course&lt;/em&gt; he means as in dating.  "I mean --"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kevin laughs.  "Yeah," he says, "as in dating."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Suddenly I'm dizzy and my head feels like it's swimming, my fingers tremble and I don't think it's just the pickle juice anymore.  Without looking at him I shrug again.  I don't want to get my hopes up here, but who am I kidding?  My heart is already racing like an overeager puppy and any moment now I'll roll over on the ground to wallow in the pickle juice, I'm that excited.  Still, I'm proud that my voice sounds nonchalant when I manage to say, "Not really."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"As in you'd go out with me?" Kevin presses.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;I sweep the handheld broom a little too hard and pickle juice sloshes over the top of the dustpan, splashing my hand and wrist with cold liquid.  &lt;em&gt;Smooth one,&lt;/em&gt; I think, grimacing as I shake the crap off, and Kevin laughs again.  I could just die right now, I'm glad he thinks this is funny ... &lt;em&gt;but he's asking me out,&lt;/em&gt; I remind myself, or at least I &lt;em&gt;think&lt;/em&gt; he is.  "Maybe," I say, wiping my hand on my apron as I stand.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kevin smirks at me.  "Don't be so definite, Nick," he jokes.  "I could wait a lifetime for that maybe to turn into a yes."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;em&gt;You don't have to wait that long.&lt;/em&gt;  "Okay, yes."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Damn, it's the only thing I've been thinking since I first saw him, the two of us together and now he's back here asking me out and when did someone start making my dreams come true?  When he smiles at me, I can't help but grin back, and he's asked me out, we're going out, I don't know when or where or why but it's a date.  I rub my hand over the short cut of my hair ...&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;em&gt;Shit,&lt;/em&gt; I think, suppressing a groan.  &lt;em&gt;Tell me I didn't just smear pickle juice all over my scalp.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;I did.  With a sigh, I toss the dustpan into the trashcan and mutter, "You sure you want to go out with &lt;em&gt;me&lt;/em&gt;?"&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <author>jms@jmsnyder.net</author>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 18 Jun 2011 07:19:08 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>2.99</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>301</g:id>
      <g:brand>J.M. Snyder</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781611521320</g:model_number>
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    <item>
      <title>Out of Joint</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/77XkRG7Q6FA/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=302</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=302"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/outofjoint.jpg" alt="Out of Joint" title=" Out of Joint " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt;  Contemporary • Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 5,618 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/2-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 2" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Mitchell Tanner, an ex-convict struggling to get his life back on track hasn't faced his family in year. Not since his conviction, not since his move to Indiana, not since moving in with his half-sister. When he attends an uncles' funeral in Tampa, old hurts come back to slap him in the face. Take a journey to a tropical paradise ... where sometimes paradise is just an illusion.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;This story was a finalist for the 2010 Florida Review's Editor Choice Award and an Honorable Mention at the 2007 Writers in Paradise competition. It appears in the author's print collection, &lt;i&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;cPath=8&amp;products_id=282"&gt;Out of Joint and Other Stories&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;Mitchell Tanner steered his twelve-year-old Altima into the funeral home parking lot, found a spot beneath a dying magnolia tree, and lit a joint. His frayed shirt sleeves pulled back to reveal barbed wire tattoos curled around each wrist. He left the lugging engine on and ran the AC against a Tampa October that pressed down solid as a slab.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Florida. Fuck.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;In his rearview mirror, groups of people quick-stepped over steaming asphalt. The rain had made his final miles down from Indiana a maddening octopus of slow traffic, back-tracking, three fender-benders, and one street closed because of a sinkhole. Tampa’s northern outskirts had mutated into a clean, shiny exitworld suburbia of Wal-Marts and Starbucks and McDonald’s. But the city’s inner core along Florida Avenue was the same. Peeling paint in vivid shades of turquoise, mustard, and tangerine flaked off shotgun bungalows. Black burglar bars guarded every window; a half dozen kids screamed in yards; old men on front porches smoked home-grown.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;On the street corners lurked the young men: black, Hispanic, mixed, not a blond in sight. Bandanas on their heads, gold grills on their teeth, and cell phones in their hands. Tanner let his gaze drift over them, their chests puffed in their muscle tees. They glared at him as he drove through his old neighborhood, and Tanner wondered if he knew any of them from before.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Probably not. Five years in Raiford and three years in Indiana had wiped away Tanner’s Tampa. These guys were in elementary school when he was last arrested.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Tanner crushed out the joint. He grabbed a pack of Big Red gum from the eight in the center console and stepped into wet air. Sweat popped on his neck and chest. He spent a few seconds struggling with the three-sizes-too-small sports jacket his sister had lent him.  “Tim won’t care. He left it here so it’s mine now.” The navy polyester was darker than his best-kept khakis; it was no suit but it would have to do.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;He tugged down his shirt sleeves, trying to cover the prison-blue tattoos. Tanner wasn’t sure about his shirt collar; should he leave it open or button it all the way up even though he had no tie? He glanced at the people filing into the funeral home. All the other men wore ties.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The shirt collar was too tight around his neck; his hours on the weight bench had sculpted his body. He unbuttoned the collar and walked inside.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <author>jms@jmsnyder.net</author>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 18 Jun 2011 07:08:33 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>2.99</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>302</g:id>
      <g:brand>Belea T. Keeney</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781611521351</g:model_number>
      <g:image_link>http://www.jms-books.com/images/outofjoint.jpg</g:image_link>
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      <title>Trucker and Pup</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/u-9i4tYc1ZY/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=304</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=304"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/truckerandpup.jpg" alt="Trucker and Pup" title=" Trucker and Pup " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Contemporary • Erotica • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 109,190 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
For months, office worker Kevin Lawrence has carried a torch for Joey Goldman, head driver at the haulage company where they both work. One rainy night, Kevin slips and falls on a patch of motor oil and Joey is there to catch him.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Despite being damaged both emotionally and physically from previous relationships, Kevin is helplessly drawn to the dominant trucker. Joey’s muscles and rugged good looks means he never has trouble finding men to take to bed. But no man has managed to get under his skin ... until Kevin.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Life for Joey soon becomes complicated. He isn’t out to his family, but feels an increasing need to be Kevin’s Sir -- to love, protect and guide his submissive lover.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Can Joey and Kevin make the journey together, or will outside forces and internal fears cause them to travel in opposite directions?&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;As they stood side-by-side in the rain, Joey’s six feet three inch frame dwarfing that of Kevin’s five feet two inches, Joey couldn’t resist wrapping a protective arm around Kevin’s shoulder. It was the first time he’d ever had any prolonged physical contact with the slightly built man.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Can you walk on that ankle?” he said, staring down at the shorter man.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kevin tried to look away, but Joey held his gaze.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“I think so.” Kevin took a step but would have fallen if Joey hadn’t caught him.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Well, that answers that question, then.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Yes, Sir.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Sir? Did he say sir?&lt;/i&gt; Joey asked himself. “Um, I can take you home on the back of my bike, it’s the least I can do.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Oh, no, honest, I can wait for the next bus, I’ll be all right.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Give over arguing, it’s decided.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The smaller man sagged, seeming to resign himself to his fate.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Come on, lean on me.” Joey wrapped an arm around Kevin, helping to support his weight as he hobbled along. The rain was beginning to creep under Joey’s leather jacket, causing him to shiver. “Shit, this is too slow.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Sorry, I can’t go any faster.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Sor-right, I know you can’t.” Joey picked Kevin up. As he carried him towards his motorcycle Kevin began to squirm. “Stop wriggling!” Joey commanded.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Sorry.” Apart from the occasional shiver, Kevin managed to lie still.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;After gently placing his charge on the pillion seat, Joey got out the spare helmet and made sure it was correctly positioned on Kevin’s head before straddling the bike and kick starting the engine. As usual, the throaty roar and the vibration between his legs gave Joey a thrill.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Put your arms around me, and hold on!” Joey shouted, but Kevin didn’t respond.  Obviously the guy didn’t hear him, or was too panicked to comply. Reaching behind himself, Joey grasped his passenger’s arms and wrapped them round his chest. Letting out the clutch, Joey sped out of the car park.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;As he travelled down the rain-swept streets, Joey realised he hadn’t asked where Kevin lived. Maybe this was a conscious oversight; he’d just have to take the man back to his place. Joey smiled, his dick twitching at the thought.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The evening traffic was light, so it only took ten minutes to get home. Pulling up outside a set of garages, Joey hopped off his bike, unlocked the garage door, then got back on and drove the pair of them into the dark interior. Cutting the engine, Joey waited a few seconds for his ears to stop ringing before he took off his helmet.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Leaning back in the saddle, Joey was certain his passenger was sporting wood. &lt;i&gt;Hmm, interesting.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Okay, time to dismount.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“But, but, I don’t live here.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“I know, I thought I’d get you dried off and everything at my place first, okay?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“But, but ...”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Don’t argue. Come on.” Joey gave a light whack to Kevin’s behind; Kevin shot upwards in shock, and started to shake.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Christ, he’s a timid one. Better go careful.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The two made slow progress towards the back entrance to the block of flats, Kevin needing to lean quite heavily on Joey, the latter finding it strangely appealing.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“It’d be quicker if I carried you up the stairs.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kevin stiffened.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Turning Kevin round to face him, Joey stared down at the smaller man. “It’ll be okay. I don’t bite. Well not often anyway.” Joey laughed, but Kevin didn’t join in. “What’s wrong?” Joey lifted the smaller man’s drooping chin with a finger.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Sorry, Sir,” the man said, still shaking.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;What’s with all this sir shit?&lt;/i&gt; Joey mused as he picked the bloke up. Though he had to admit Kevin’s deference did give him a bit of a thrill. He’d role played with a few of his more adventurous tricks, Joey always taking the role of the master, of course. He wondered what would happen with a man who was naturally submissive.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Finally reaching the third floor, Joey gently set Kevin down as he fished out his key. “Welcome to my humble abode,” Joey said, carrying his human cargo into the hallway.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Joey was about to apologise for the mess which he knew would await them, he wasn’t much into housework, but the place shone like a new pin. Joey could even detect the faint odour of lavender furniture polish. He didn’t think he owned any furniture polish.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;After setting Kevin on a stool in the kitchen, Joey went to the fridge to confirm his suspicions. Not finding what he was after, he depressed the pedal on his waste bin and pulled out an unopened packet of bacon. “For fuck’s sake!”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The harshness of his tone caused Kevin to start in alarm.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Joey noticed it and immediately went to reassure his guest. “Sorry. It’s just when I saw that the place had been cleaned, I knew my mother had been round.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Oh, right.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“She’s Jewish, so’s my dad. Which of course makes me Jewish, too, though I don’t observe.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Okay.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Looking at the clean kitchen, Joey went on, “And like mothers the world over, she can’t help sticking her nose in.” He put a set of flowered tea-towels in the bottom drawer of the cabinet, before fishing out his usual plain white ones. “Trust me, Yiddish mothers are the worst for interfering.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kevin looked sad.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“What’s up?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Nothing.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“It’s okay, Pup, you can tell me.” Joey wondered why he’d used the epithet. It seemed to suit Kevin, those chocolate drop eyes of his looked so much like those of his dog, Bertie.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kevin couldn’t meet Joey’s gaze, even though the latter had made a conscious effort to soften it.  “My parents disowned me, um ... When they --”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“When they found out you were gay.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kevin stared at Joey in absolute terror.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Joey suddenly realised what he’d said. “It’s okay. I’ve known about you and Cal for ages, Cal didn’t exactly keep it a secret.” Joey recalled the many macho boasts Cal had imparted to his mates about how he was able to dominate his submissive partner. Though he’d remained unusually quiet on the subject recently.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“I’m not out to my family, and I’d like to keep it that way.” Joey shuddered at the thought of them knowing. Needing to change the subject, he said, “Listen, we’ll have to get you out of those wet things, otherwise you’ll catch your death. I’ll run you a bath, then I’ll find you something to put on, though none of my stuff will fit you.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kevin’s panic appeared to have lessened. “That’s okay, Sir, please just take me home, I’ll be fine.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Rubbish.” Joey was feeling protective towards his guest. “Come on, I’ll carry you to the bathroom, you can strip off in there.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“No, honestly, I --”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Pup,” Joey held Kevin’s face in his hands, “You’re staying for a bath, and it’s not negotiable.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kevin sagged, obviously giving into the inevitability of it all.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Joey hoisted up his burden and carried him into the bathroom. Putting Kevin down on the closed toilet lid, he began to run the water, making sure he added plenty of bubble bath.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Now strip.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Um, it’s okay, Sir, I can manage, please.” Kevin looked up pleadingly into Joey’s face.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Something inside Joey shifted, making him feel…what? He wasn’t sure he could identify it. “Okay,” Joey said softly, backing out of the room. In the hallway, he slapped the side of his face. ‘You’re turning fucking soft, Joe.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;He walked back to the kitchen to rustle up some food. Deciding it probably wasn’t safe to use the bacon, he opted for his old standby of a couple of frozen TV dinners. Joey knew he was no cook.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Once the foil trays were in the oven, Joey remembered he hadn’t seen any towels in the bathroom. No doubt his mother had taken them back to her house to be washed. Reaching into the airing cupboard, he pulled out a couple of large bath sheets.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Pushing open the bathroom door, Joey said “Here’s some fresh ...” The rest of his statement died on his lips as he stared disbelievingly at the sight that greeted him.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Kevin lowered his shaking shoulders, a sob escaping from his lips. This snapped Joey out of his inactivity; he moved into the bathroom and went down on his knees in front of the bath. Reaching out a hand, he began to touch the numerous thin raised scars on Kevin’s exposed back. This only seemed to cause Kevin to weep harder. One of the more obvious marks was in the shape of a belt buckle. Joey battled to suppress his anger.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Did Cal do this?” Joey asked through clenched teeth.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Sorry, Sir. I ... I ... I didn’t want you to see them, I’m sorry, I’m sorry ...” Kevin dissolved totally.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Joey counted to ten, using the time to dig deep into his reserves of strength. Taking a deep breath -- and despite being fully clothed -- he reached for Kevin. Using as much gentleness as he could muster, Joey plucked the little bloke out of the bath. Wrapping a towel round the shaking ball of human misery, Joey sat on the closed toilet lid and seated Kevin on his knee, holding him close.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Hush, Pup. Please hush.” He began to rock the smaller man.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <author>jms@jmsnyder.net</author>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 18 Jun 2011 07:21:22 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>6.99</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>304</g:id>
      <g:brand>Drew Hunt</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781611521344</g:model_number>
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    <item>
      <title>Beautiful Liar</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/YuWW8mwvXR8/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=299</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=299"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/beautifulliar.jpg" alt="Beautiful Liar" title=" Beautiful Liar " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Contemporary • Erotica • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 24,795 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
At fifteen, JT Pierce was the star of a hit TV show and had the world in his hands. Every teeny-bopper magazine had his face on it; every teenage girl had his poster on her wall. But then the show went on hiatus, and JT wouldn’t lower himself to bit parts or commercials. Slowly, his star faded from view.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Seven years later, JT is Johnny Thomas, who hopes to jumpstart his career by hiring his former manager, Lou Merrin. He wants to do serious movies, a huge blockbuster or two, and claim one of those coveted Oscars for himself. But Lou cautions Johnny about the paparazzi, who can make or break a star these days, and he’s heard rumors of Johnny’s sexuality that might prevent him from landing those coveted leading roles.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Still, Johnny’s nothing if not persistent, and he swears he’ll play it straight. Until he meets Brett, a photographer who turns his life -- and his heart -- upside down. Suddenly the celebrity gossip website Z-23 seems to have exclusive pictures of Johnny, and someone close to him leaks information about an audition that was supposed to be kept quiet. When photographs surface that Johnny thought were taken in confidence, he realizes he must choose between the career path Lou offers him and the love he wants to share with Brett.
&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;Inside the club, the air is close and smoky. The crowd moves like the tide, flowing from one side of the room to the other, catching Johnny in the undertow and pulling him along until he’s washed up against the side of the bar. He’s seeing stars he only dreams about meeting one day and he stands with his back against the bar, watching them bob past him like ships in the night. All the big names are here, and he feels his own status burn a little brighter just being this close to the others. This is what he’s missed all these years. This is where he should’ve been, where he belongs.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Someone bumps into him. He moves aside to make room but the stranger presses against him, clinging to his side. He feels a strong hand ease around his arm to settle somewhere in the small of his back, and hot breath curls into his ear. A masculine voice sighs into him, “Hey.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Johnny spares a glance and finds himself staring into deep eyes the color of rich chocolate. His gaze flickers to take in short brown hair, lighter than his own, streaked by the sun and standing up from a tanned, sweaty brow. A strong, aquiline nose above too red lips. A small gold hoop earring in one ear and, around a slim neck, a black cord with a handful of white puka shell chips like all the surfer guys wear. The shells fall in the hollow of the stranger’s throat, accenting his dusky skin.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;One thought crosses Johnny’s mind. &lt;i&gt;Fuck Lou.&lt;/i&gt; He isn’t famous yet, right?&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;His grin must be encouraging, because it makes the stranger grin back. Leaning against Johnny, he shouts to be heard over the music and the crowd. “Anyone ever tell you that you should be a model with a smile like that?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Johnny laughs. “Is that your best line?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“I’m serious. Brett Cary.” The stranger holds out a business card for Johnny to read. &lt;i&gt;Freelance Photographer.&lt;/i&gt; “With your looks? I could make you a star.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Taking the card, Johnny jokes, “That seems to be the general consensus today. You do headshots?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“I’ll do whatever you want,” Brett says.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;His suggestive look says he’s not only talking about photos, either. And suddenly Johnny’s evening goes from just alright to hell &lt;i&gt;yeah.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“You come here often?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Johnny shakes his head. “I’m usually at the Den downtown,” he calls out, raising his voice to be heard over the crowd.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The Den, only Hollywood’s hottest gay club. Johnny watches Brett smile, a slow, sexy grin that says he got the hint. Closing the distance between them, he leans down over Johnny’s shoulder, one hand brushing over the soft skin on the inside of Johnny’s elbow. The touch is ticklish but Johnny doesn’t pull away. Instead, he studies those dark eyes and imagines they’re shadows he could disappear into tonight. Brett’s mouth curves into a bemused grin. “Can I buy you a drink?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;His gaze flickers past him and Johnny turns to see the bartender, waiting to take his order. When he moves, his back presses against Brett’s arm -- warm, firm, strong. With a coy glance over his shoulder at Brett, he suggests, “How about some Sex on the Beach?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The photog’s eyes widen at his brazen words, but a moment later, they soften and the smile’s back. One hand drifts to Johnny’s waist, nimble fingers easing into the band of his jeans. “You want to wait that long?” he teases. “I was thinking the VIP Lounge upstairs ...”&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <author>jms@jmsnyder.net</author>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 11 Jun 2011 07:14:48 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>3.99</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>299</g:id>
      <g:brand>J.M. Snyder</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781611521191</g:model_number>
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    <item>
      <title>Friends of Dorothy Monologues Act I</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/VrsglRhGF_g/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=300</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=300"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/fodacti.jpg" alt="Friends of Dorothy Monologues Act I" title=" Friends of Dorothy Monologues Act I " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Anthology • Contemporary • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 7,415 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/no-flame.jpg" alt="no rating" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Friends of Dorothy&lt;/i&gt; -- FOD. I first heard the expression when I was sixteen, and it wasn't until my twenties did I realize what it meant. I became a writer because words and the ways humans used them fascinated me. No matter what language, words are more dynamic than violence, more cohesive than rage, and satirically compelling.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;FOD is a euphemism that originated during the Second World War. New York Socialite Dorothy Parker was an American poet with a close-knit of gay male friends in her social circle. If you were one of those fabulous gay men, you were referred to as a "friend of Dorothy."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Monologues are driven by characters thinking aloud, expressing their inner thoughts. Sometimes dramatic, sometimes humorous, the monologues in this collection are riddled with true situation, expressions, and voices. The monologues are about no one and regarding everyone, but they aren't for the faint of heart. They are gritty and unnerving, a wonderful insight into gay dimensions rarely given voice.
&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;b&gt;Scene 3: An Unfinished Letter&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;My mother traded me. She gave me to her dealer for a bag of crystal meth when I was fourteen. He took me to get ice cream afterward and gave me three hundred dollars cash. My mother didn’t return home for three days, and when she did, I left for good. It took me five years to realize my mother had pimped me, and to this very day, she dictated how I would live my life. I gave in far too easily.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;I lay in a New York City hospital bed in a dark, dank room reeking of Lysol, vomit and desperation, suffering from the many setbacks of full-blown AIDS, drug abuse, and the many side effects of the medications, but I’m only thinking of my mother. I laugh under my breath each time the nurse calls me Christopher or Mr. Johnson; I hardly recognize that name or person. I would’ve easily responded to a car honk or a head nod before my birth name.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;When I flew away, I landed in Manhattan. On the first night, in the bus terminal of the Port Authority, I met a boy about my age who explained how I could get a good night’s sleep, food, and some cash. We walked down to the West Village and stood in front of a deli on the corner of Bleecker and Christopher Street, and my new friend taught me how to pick up men for money. My friend was an expert and taught me I didn’t have to like having sex with old men; I merely needed to be good at it. I tagged along on his first date to see what it required, and at the end of my first night, I had made five hundred dollars.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;On the streets of New York, I quickly learned a good-looking, tall, and well-built young boy with beautiful black, curly hair and sparkling eyes could go far on little. My competitors were fair-haired young boys with cheeks of tan, but my exotic look melted the heart of every dirty old man that stopped to talk to me. For five years, I received many gifts from my patrons and some of them have metamorphosed into Pneumocystis Jiroveci Pneumonia, lesions, and Kaposi Sarcoma.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;For the last two days, which I’m positive are my last, I have been thinking of my mother and the choices that have displaced me from her. The letter I’m attempting to write so far reads, &lt;i&gt;Sorry.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;My choices appear childlike, but they are mine and have shaped the person I am today. My single regret is not having a second chance to make things right with my mother.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;For the first time I feel I could forgive her, tell her I hated her and she ruined my life. It’s time I accept my part of the shame. As the tears roll down my face and the familiar feeling of loneliness and anxiety all but consume me, I begin the letter to my mother again, I write one sentence and for the last time I give in, easily.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Hello Mother,&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;I’m sorry for all the tears I must’ve caused you, now and in the future; I blame you for nothing and forgive you for everything ...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <author>jms@jmsnyder.net</author>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 11 Jun 2011 07:17:05 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>2.99</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>300</g:id>
      <g:brand>A. Scott Boddie</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781611521313</g:model_number>
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    <item>
      <title>Other Lands</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/7A6GR6XRyOg/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=298</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=298"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/otherlands.jpg" alt="Other Lands" title=" Other Lands " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Contemporary • Erotica • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 8,826 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/3-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 3" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Jack Mitchell is troubled by dark memories of his past, unable to accept his own sexuality. Skeptical of help offered through religion and psychology, he rejects the love of his partner, Peter, and scorns any attempts to alter his situation.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Then he returns to the country where he grew up, the source of his haunting troubles, where an unexpected encounter points him toward a resolution.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;This story appears in the author's print collection, &lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;cPath=38&amp;products_id=246"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Attractions&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;Jack moved Peter’s arm away from his knee, stood up and walked to the window.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Fuck it, Peter, I’m not here to be helped by you. You make me feel as if I’m one of your maladjusted students who are doing badly at school. I don’t want to be dependent on you, or anyone for that matter. I know I should have been more open with you, but I want to do it in my own time. I thought that going there would help. And now I know I’m just as closed up and pissed off as ever.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“I can see that, and I’m getting the brunt of it.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Sometimes you just seem like fucking perfect, Peter.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“And not perfect enough for you, obviously.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“What do you want of me? You took me as I am now. You knew how screwed up I was when we met. I never hid anything from you. Now it’s like you’ve got some missionary zeal to convert me -- to what? To who? To someone you want me to be?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“You’ve got it all wrong. I just want you to be a happy guy, regardless of who you are.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Very noble, Peter. Selfless and saintly.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Now you’re trying your own brand of sarcasm to get to me. At times I don’t think you want this relationship, and you just want to find a way out of it. You think that if you get me pissed off enough with you, maybe I’ll surrender you up. You also knew what I wanted when we met. I wanted to get close to you. I needed a guy who would give me that. I’m not succeeding.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Obviously not. I wonder why you keep on trying.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“I keep hoping that as long as you keep trying to deal with your demons, we’ll make it. I can’t fight them; I don’t even know what they are. I just hope that you won’t give up.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“So now you don’t believe I finish what I start?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“That’s not fair. No, I don’t believe that. I’m just hoping you can see it through once and for all. I keep hoping we may reach a point where our relationship can really work. But I’m beginning to wonder if that’s ever going to happen.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“So all this is just hard on you.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“I’m not saying that. I don’t think of it in that way.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Outside, a pigeon was building a nest on a neighbour’s balcony. Jack envied its solitude, its single-mindedness. Will it be left there in peace?&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Jack leaned his forehead against the glass. “I don’t know where all this leads, or even what I want.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“You will know when you get there. Your heart will tell you.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Straight from the pages of &lt;i&gt;Boy’s Own Psychology&lt;/i&gt;,” he said, turning to look at Peter. “What’s in the next issue?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“I can’t win here, can I, Jack?"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Probably not.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Why do I love you?” Peter asked.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“I don’t know. I always wonder.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Peter laughed.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Jack turned from the window. “I love you, too.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;So easily said, so automatic, thought Jack, and so untrue, for he knew he had never been in love with Peter.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <author>jms@jmsnyder.net</author>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 11 Jun 2011 07:19:02 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>2.99</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>298</g:id>
      <g:brand>Steve Nugent</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781611521306</g:model_number>
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    <item>
      <title>Haunted</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/akQfBb0UGdk/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=294</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=294"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/hauntedvd.jpg" alt="Haunted" title=" Haunted " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Contemporary • Erotica • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 3,314 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Steven and Conrad have a weird relationship, one Steven can't figure out no matter how many times he looks at it. After weeks of hot sex and sweaty grappling Steven finds himself taking a romantic stroll on the beach with a woman, and the confusion he feels about his life overwhelms him.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;This story appears in the author's print collection, &lt;i&gt;Rough Cut&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;Steven grabbed her hand and ran his thumb over hers. Her nails were short and her hands had strength, strength enough to put a suspect down, handcuff him and haul him into a squad car. She was smart and fun to boot.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Steven needed the laughs. The botched undercover op two months before still bothered him. He woke up some nights, gasping, halfway between frightened and hard.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;He realized he’d drifted away when she nudged him and said, “Hey, Pershing, you still with me? You ever do any undercover?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Yeah, sorry.” His half-smile felt false to him. And he couldn’t bear the thought of starting off with someone new based on lies -- again. “I did a couple of pot busts at the college last year. You know, getting in the dorms, then calling in for a bust. The only real undercover I ever did was in March. It went bad. Real bad.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“The meth ring, am I remembering right? And two civvies dead. That was your team?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Yeah.” Steven nodded. It hit the media, of course, but quicker than the news was the cop’s communications system. “We didn’t shoot the kids, that was the Feds.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Was one of them your contact?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“No, but I knew the one of kids who got popped.” Popped. Tough-guy cop talk as if dying were just another brightly colored party favor. “Jason. I tracked a blood trail up the stairs and found him -- dying.” Steven shut his eyes, afraid that his thoughts would somehow spill onto the beach, afraid the sand would turn crimson.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Jason was one of the rave crew who had hero-worshipped its leader, Conrad, the most. Or maybe it was something more than that -- Steven never knew. Jason must have crawled up the stairs, like a wounded animal. Sixteen years old and gone.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“So now, I’m back on the streets. To tell you the truth, I’m surprised they let me attend this seminar. It’s not like I’m gonna make detective any time soon,” Steven said.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Maybe. But you can always use the info on the streets. Question someone the right way and he might confess right there.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Maybe so. I just know my sargent has been taking a lot of heat for sending in 'that surfer dude.'”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Did you tell him what happened?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;I haven’t told anybody what happened.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Not everything.  He’s the one who let me go in so now management is riding his ass,” Steven said. “It feels like I let him down.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Things don’t always go as planned when you’re under. You just have to do the best you can.” Lupe clasped his fingers in hers and eased closer. Her breasts pressed against his arm, soft and full. An invitation for more. Or a promise.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The scent of her grassy perfume wafted up him. Steven imagined himself nuzzling in her soft cleavage, her mocha skin against his tongue. Salty or sugary?&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Lupe spoke. “You look so sad. What’s wrong?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Can I ask you something? About your undercover work with Hunter’s crew?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Sure. I guess.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Did you sleep with him? Was that part of the deal?” The questions pinballed in his brain; he knew it was too much to ask, but he couldn’t stop. To reassure himself?&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Lupe looked off, tried to pull away. Steven kept her hand in his, kept her close to him. She took a shaky breath and looked at the ocean’s ceaseless waves, gray now in the twilight. “I did what I had to in order to survive -- and do my job.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Her dark eyes met his, stormy now, full of fire and anger and hurt.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“I’m not judging you. Believe me, I’m not,” he said.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;There was so much he didn’t say during the Internal Affairs investigation about his work on the Stalton crew’s undercover operation. So much he kept secret, hidden.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Even from himself.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <pubDate>Sat, 04 Jun 2011 06:26:57 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>1.99</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>294</g:id>
      <g:brand>Vincent Diamond</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781611521290</g:model_number>
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      <title>My Strange Little Oasis #2: Brotherhood of the Fire</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/Qmj0Mek5Ls4/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=287</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=287"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/mystrangelittleoasisbook2.jpg" alt="My Strange Little Oasis #2: Brotherhood of the Fire" title=" My Strange Little Oasis #2: Brotherhood of the Fire " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Contemporary • Erotica • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 83,951 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Book 2 in the My Strange Little Oasis trilogy&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Go,&lt;/i&gt; the voice of the spirit whispers to Ren Gallagher.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Ren fears he will only be rejected at The Oh Aces due to his disfigured face, but yearns for relief from the suicidal depression and social isolation he is sure will kill him in time.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;At The Oh Aces Ren finds its members, The Aces, are like brothers, and share such a blazing sexual bond they happily “eat together and then eat one another.” To his surprise, what he doesn’t find is rejection.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;However, a gifted psychic named Andy wants more than just sex with Ren. He wants to win Ren’s love by helping him out of the abyss of his depression. But Ren soon fears he has a stalker of the worst kind: one who wants his body and invades his mind.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;On his way out of the club Ren said goodnight to Lee, Benjy, and a few of the other Aces sitting at the snack bar, and he wondered if he would ever return.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;As he walked out the door, he glanced at the red light at the entrance. This time, instead of seeming to wink at him, it appeared weak and faded as though its bulb was burning out. Ren drew closer to the light, and it sputtered briefly, then crackled back to life with renewed energy. &lt;i&gt;For all its tacky, artless simplicity it’s somehow perfect,&lt;/i&gt; Ren found himself thinking. In its way it seemed to symbolize so many things at once: sex, lust, heat, the allure of the forbidden ... everything that nearly two decades of disease and death had destroyed or diminished in a community. He then looked at the ivy-covered brick walls of the club’s exterior, telling himself he should never return, yet knowing he probably would, although he definitely needed to avoid Andy.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Quite an odd little outpost, isn’t it?,” a man suddenly said, startling Ren.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“What?” Ren replied. The man stood beside a glistening blue Ford pick-up truck that looked brand new. Ren recognized him as the guy with the amazing muscled chest, the one who never took his shirt off in the club, much to his disappointment.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“It’s just a funky little outpost that’s somehow managed to survive just like we have. Pretty amazing, huh? So are you coming or going?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Oh ... well ...” Ren said, caught like a deer beneath the all too bright security lamp of the small parking lot. He stepped out of its direct glare. “I’m going ... because I already ... came.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The guy laughed. “ I’ll bet you did. Good for you. I like that. That’s what it’s there for, a little bit o’ joy in the wilderness. I was kind of hoping you were just getting here though.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Really?” Ren said, dubious.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Sure. I don’t want you to think I’m a snob. I’m a friendly guy. I’ve seen you in there. I just never had the opportunity to say hi. You’re always ... busy.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Ren shook his head and looked away shyly. “You must be kidding. I have a reserved seat at the far back corner of the patio. I probably look like a mannequin.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Yeah, but that horn dog who thinks he’s Merlin the Magician always seems to dominate your time. I never get a chance. Anyway, if I said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;And he smiled this great, warm smile that made him look super-woofy. Ren was expecting the What’s Wrong With This Picture look by now, especially considering the bright lighting in the lot. &lt;i&gt;Damn&lt;/i&gt;, he thought. &lt;i&gt;Why couldn’t we have met in the club? I feel so fucking naked out here.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Sorry,” the guy said sheepishly. “That was pretty lame, I guess. It’s the title of some country song I heard on KZLA. Anyway, I really have been wanting to talk to you a little in the club. Don’t worry, I don’t bite.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“That’s too bad. I kind of like nasty animals,” Ren said.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The man chuckled. “ Oh well, maybe we can talk sometime soon. I think I’ll be here Friday night if you’re around.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Ren looked at him, not sure whether to feel flattered or confused.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“What’s your name?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Ren.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Hey Ren, I’m Gust. Nice t’ meet you.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Gus?” Ren asked. &lt;i&gt;What’s with all the old geezer names in this place?&lt;/i&gt; he thought. &lt;i&gt;Barney ... Cornell ... Gus ... isn’t anybody named Billy or Josh or “Mikester” like they are in bars or chat rooms?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“No. It’s Gust. Like a ‘gust’ of wind. And please don’t say what that goofy psychic who’s always talking to you on the patio always says to me: ‘Hey Gust, you blowing or wanna get blown tonight?’ And then he cackles like some demented hyena. That guy’s got more tricks up his sleeve than I got in the seventies. He gives me the creeps.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Me too,” Ren replied immediately. “ I thought I was the only one ...”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Hardly. Oh, well, hey, I don’t wanna hang you up out here since you’re leavin’. Maybe I’ll see you on Friday night if you can make it. That would be nice.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Sure” Ren replied. “Maybe I’ll see you.” By now he had gradually scooted well outside the glare of the security lamp and was a little more comfortable.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Gust noticed this, but remained in the light himself, a short distance from Ren, not wanting to seem too aggressive or overbearing. “And maybe I’ll see &lt;i&gt;you&lt;/i&gt;,” he replied, smiling winsomely. “Have a good night.” Gust headed toward the entrance to the club.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <author>jms@jmsnyder.net</author>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 04 Jun 2011 06:33:45 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>6.99</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>287</g:id>
      <g:brand>Steven Kerry</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781611521221</g:model_number>
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      <title>Worst. Power. Ever.</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/yEr8sTnHeuc/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=295</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=295"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/worstpowerever.jpg" alt="Worst. Power. Ever." title=" Worst. Power. Ever. " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Contemporary • Erotica • Fantasy • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 2,188 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
&lt;i&gt;A Vic and Matt Story&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Vic Braunson shares a very sexy secret with his lover, Matt diLorenzo -- something in Matt's semen gives Vic superhuman powers. While the powers fade over time, most of them come in handy. But every now and then, he draws a doozy ...&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;This short, erotic romp was originally written as part of the series, &lt;i&gt;The Positions of Love&lt;/i&gt;. In the end, it was a bit depressing, really, because Vic doesn't really save the day or anything, so I scrapped it for a different power. But I thought I'd rework it into a stand-alone story for Vic and Matt fans.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;On his birthday Vic worked an earlier shift so he and Matt could go out for dinner. Instead of rolling in around eight in the evening, Vic would be home shortly after four. Matt left his own job early, stopping at the grocery store on the way home to pick up a dozen mini cheesecakes, rich, decadent cupcakes coated with a stiff, white icing. When Vic finally stumbled home, exhausted, Matt helped him undress, kissing each part of his lover’s body as it was bared -- his arms, his chest, his legs, and when he stepped out of his briefs, his cock and balls and both ass cheeks. Guiding Vic to bed, Matt tucked him in, then brought out the cupcakes.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Matt made his lover wait as he stripped and climbed into bed before Vic could have the first taste. Laying above the covers nude, Matt fed Vic the succulent cupcakes one by one. After a handful, Vic growled low in the back of his throat. “Every time I open my mouth,” he grumbled, “you shove another cupcake in. They’re awesome, don’t get me wrong, but there’s so much more on this bed I’m hungry for, if you get my drift.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;With a grin, Matt rolled onto his back and placed the next cupcake on his own chest. Another one followed, a little lower, and a third, lower still, covering his navel. When a fourth cupcake was set on his hairy pubic mound, Vic threw the covers aside and straddled Matt’s legs. “Now we’re talking. This is what I call a birthday spread.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Vic ate his way from Matt’s throat down to his cock. Once there, Vic repositioned himself to stretch out beside Matt, his head between Matt’s legs and his feet on the pillows beside his lover’s head. His hard dick prodded Matt’s lips as Vic took Matt’s own length into his mouth. When their bodies pressed together, their skin stuck where the cupcakes had been.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Propping a knee onto Vic’s shoulder, Matt spread his legs to let his lover nuzzle his balls while he took Vic’s stiff cock into his mouth, suckling it, savoring it, licking down the length to nip at the tender flesh between Vic’s legs. The strong musk of his lover’s scent filled his senses, and Matt buried his nose in the folds of skin as he took Vic’s balls into his mouth to suck on them. At this angle, Vic’s dick rubbed beneath Matt’s chin, and Matt’s nose was pressed between Vic’s buttocks, tickling him, rimming him, as he massaged his lover’s balls with his tongue.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Vic grasped the tip of Matt’s cock in one gently closed fist, using his lips to knead Matt’s thick length. Vic’s tongue traced the thin veins covering Matt’s dick, then licked around beneath his shaft to lap at his balls with short, quick strokes like a cat. His fist flexed and pulled at Matt’s cockhead, working it between his fingers, milking Matt. Through the mental link they shared, Matt could hear Vic’s thoughts over their heavy breaths and eager pants. &lt;i&gt;::Mmm,::&lt;/i&gt; Vic moaned, his mouth closing around the base of Matt’s dick. &lt;i&gt;::You taste a million times better than those cupcakes, Matty. And those were good.::&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <pubDate>Sat, 04 Jun 2011 06:37:12 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>1.99</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>295</g:id>
      <g:brand>J.M. Snyder</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781611521283</g:model_number>
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      <title><![CDATA[ Flashed! [Print] ]]></title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/mwOuKmPG6AI/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=284</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=284"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/flashed.jpg" alt="Flashed! [Print]" title=" Flashed! [Print] " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Anthology • Contemporary • Erotica • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 148 pages&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
A novel is a love affair, with its ups and downs, but a short story can sometimes be nothing more than a one night stand, a brief date, or a quick kiss in the dark. &lt;em&gt;Flashed!&lt;/em&gt; is a collection of 36 very short, "flash fiction" stories and a handful of love poems by J.M. Snyder, best-selling author of gay erotic romance. Each vignette is a glimpse into the lives and loves of very different couples. Some erotic, some bittersweet, every story in this collection celebrates a passion found only between two men.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;From drag queens to college hoops players, veterans to rockstars, one time lovers to lifelong companions, men at work to men in tights, there's a little something for everyone in this collection. Some of these stories were once posted to the author's blog or appeared online elsewhere, but fans will find many new stories -- and characters -- to love once they've been &lt;em&gt;Flashed!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;b&gt;Can I Just Say?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;the taste of you still lingers on my tongue&lt;br&gt;can i just say&lt;br&gt;you taste like salt and the sea&lt;br&gt;and sticky taffy and sand&lt;br&gt;can i just say&lt;br&gt;you taste like summer and the rain&lt;br&gt;and hot pretzels drizzled with honey and mustard&lt;br&gt;can i just say&lt;br&gt;you taste like cola and the tears i cried&lt;br&gt;as you held me close on the beach&lt;br&gt;after we had sex even though i told you no&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;* * * *&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;DJ ‘N’ Mr. Yes&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;On weekends, the city’s pulse quickens in time with thundering hip-hop beats bleeding from the clubs out into the night. DJ follows the crowd, surfing from one party to the next, looking for the latest music, the trendiest clothes, the hottest bodies. He wants someone hard and tight, muscles barely sheathed by tanned skin, enough of an ass to grind up against in the dark. Someone to please him, someone to tease. Someone to take him in as far as he’ll go and beg for more.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;He finds such a guy at a club downtown. Young, blond, hard abs beneath a mesh tank and arms that DJ could barely encircle with both hands. Eyes like the ice in whatever it is he’s drinking, and lips he licks wet when he sees DJ looking. The music moves him closer, each bump of his hips cranking DJ’s lust up another notch, until he’s rubbing his groin against DJ’s in welcome. His eyes ask that eternal question: “Where?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;DJ leads the way to the bathroom. In a cramped stall, DJ’s hands smooth up under the mesh tank, his tongue circling around pert nipples until the guy moans, &lt;i&gt;“Yes.”&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;DJ works his way into those painted-on jeans, finds a thick erection and thumbs behind it, earning him another &lt;i&gt;“Yes.”&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;A damp mouth on his, legs spread at his touch, hands fisted in his shirt when he raises those knees to ease inside that puckered hole, &lt;i&gt;yes.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Hot breath in his ear, barely audible here, &lt;i&gt;yes.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;DJ pierces into him with rough thrusts, fucks into the warm, willing ass again and again. The skin that sheathes his cock shudders with the music, a fevered heartbeat that races into the night. &lt;i&gt;Yes,&lt;/i&gt; and &lt;i&gt;yes,&lt;/i&gt; and &lt;i&gt;yes,&lt;/i&gt; until they both come in a sticky, heated rush.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Yes.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;b&gt;NOTE:&lt;/b&gt; Paperbacks can only be shipped to US addresses. If you live outside the US, please purchase this book at Amazon by clicking on the link below.&lt;div align=center&gt;&lt;iframe src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=jherusalemcom-20&amp;o=1&amp;p=8&amp;l=as1&amp;asins=146106449X&amp;fc1=000000&amp;IS2=1&amp;lt1=_blank&amp;m=amazon&amp;lc1=0000FF&amp;bc1=000000&amp;bg1=FFFFFF&amp;f=ifr&amp;nou=1" style="width:120px;height:240px;" scrolling="no" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" frameborder="0"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <pubDate>Sun, 15 May 2011 15:07:35 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>11.00</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>284</g:id>
      <g:weight>0.25</g:weight>
      <g:brand>J.M. Snyder</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781461064497</g:model_number>
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      <title><![CDATA[ Out of Joint and Other Stories [Print] ]]></title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/8bRGpMMuyfQ/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=282</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=282"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/outofjointprint.jpg" alt="Out of Joint and Other Stories [Print]" title=" Out of Joint and Other Stories [Print] " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Anthology • Contemporary • Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 148 pages&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/2-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 2" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Sunny Florida often has a dark side, and it shows in this story collection by award-winning author, Belea T. Keeney. These stories come alive with voices, characters, and life in the lush tropics. Walk along with Mitchell Tanner, an ex-convict struggling to get his life back on track, or feel a divorced father's pain and confusion, or visit a Thoroughbred rescue barn, or weather the unfriendly woods of north Tampa. Take a journey to a tropical paradise ... where sometimes paradise is just an illusion.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Contains the stories:&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Stag&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Something in Their Eyes&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Caged&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Lure of the Wolf&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Off Balance&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Boxes&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Making the Jump&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Tale of Trapper Tommy&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Out of Joint&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT FROM "Out of Joint"&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;Mitchell Tanner steered his twelve-year-old Altima into the funeral home parking lot, found a spot beneath a dying magnolia tree, and lit a joint. His frayed shirt sleeves pulled back to reveal barbed wire tattoos curled around each wrist. He left the lugging engine on and ran the AC against a Tampa October that pressed down solid as a slab.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Florida. Fuck.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;In his rearview mirror, groups of people quick-stepped over steaming asphalt. The rain had made his final miles down from Indiana a maddening octopus of slow traffic, back-tracking, three fender-benders, and one street closed because of a sinkhole. Tampa’s northern outskirts had mutated into a clean, shiny exitworld suburbia of Wal-Marts and Starbucks and McDonald’s. But the city’s inner core along Florida Avenue was the same. Peeling paint in vivid shades of turquoise, mustard, and tangerine flaked off shotgun bungalows. Black burglar bars guarded every window; a half dozen kids screamed in yards; old men on front porches smoked home-grown.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;On the street corners lurked the young men: black, Hispanic, mixed, not a blond in sight. Bandanas on their heads, gold grills on their teeth, and cell phones in their hands. Tanner let his gaze drift over them, their chests puffed in their muscle tees. They glared at him as he drove through his old neighborhood, and Tanner wondered if he knew any of them from before.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Probably not. Five years in Raiford and three years in Indiana had wiped away Tanner’s Tampa. These guys were in elementary school when he was last arrested.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Tanner crushed out the joint. He grabbed a pack of Big Red gum from the eight in the center console and stepped into wet air. Sweat popped on his neck and chest. He spent a few seconds struggling with the three-sizes-too-small sports jacket his sister had lent him.  “Tim won’t care. He left it here so it’s mine now.” The navy polyester was darker than his best-kept khakis; it was no suit but it would have to do.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;He tugged down his shirt sleeves, trying to cover the prison-blue tattoos. Tanner wasn’t sure about his shirt collar; should he leave it open or button it all the way up even though he had no tie? He glanced at the people filing into the funeral home. All the other men wore ties.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The shirt collar was too tight around his neck; his hours on the weight bench had sculpted his body. He unbuttoned the collar and walked inside.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;b&gt;NOTE:&lt;/b&gt; Paperbacks can only be shipped to US addresses. If you live outside the US, please purchase this book at Amazon by clicking on the link below.&lt;div align=center&gt;&lt;iframe src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=jherusalemcom-20&amp;o=1&amp;p=8&amp;l=as1&amp;asins=1461152860&amp;fc1=000000&amp;IS2=1&amp;lt1=_blank&amp;m=amazon&amp;lc1=0000FF&amp;bc1=000000&amp;bg1=FFFFFF&amp;f=ifr&amp;nou=1" style="width:120px;height:240px;" scrolling="no" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" frameborder="0"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <pubDate>Sat, 07 May 2011 07:41:13 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>11.00</g:price>
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      <g:id>282</g:id>
      <g:weight>0.25</g:weight>
      <g:brand>Belea T. Keeney</g:brand>
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      <title><![CDATA[ Susan Slutt, Girl Shamus [Print] ]]></title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/VbKv_-VI-VQ/index.php</link>
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      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=290"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/susansluttgirlshamus.jpg" alt="Susan Slutt, Girl Shamus [Print]" title=" Susan Slutt, Girl Shamus [Print] " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Adult Humor • Contemporary • Mystery/Detective • Queer Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 294 pages&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/1-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 1" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Book 2 in the Susan Slutt series&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Who's the world-famous girl sleuth who solves all sorts of queer mysteries with the help of a butch tomboy, her feminine friend, and two boy detectives named Frank and Joe?&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;If you guessed "Nancy Drew," you're wrong! Meet Susan Slutt, the hottest schoolgirl shamus since the invention of jalapeno-flavored edible underwear. In this collection of cases, Susan gets down and dirty while investigating a messy "Fracas at the Fudge Factory." She travels to Switzerland to join "The Search for the World's Biggest Icehole," where she faces another puzzle: Is that a snake in Frank Baccardi's pants or is he happy to see her? But Susan's greatest challenge confronts her in Hawaii when she discovers "The Secret of the Golden Dildo." Among the baffling riddles: Is it possible to find an eighteen-year-old virgin in Hawaii? What is the life of one girl, even one with really great knockers, compared to all the riches of the universe? More important, if Susan dies, can Butch have her room and finally stop sleeping in the yard and eating from a dog dish?&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The excitement builds to a volcanic climax as Susan's life is threatened, Butch's sanity is threatened, and Susan's bra straps are threatened by the weight of her massive mammaries. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll get turned on by these timeless tales of dazzling detectives, female friendship, and male bondage ... uh, bonding. Contains the stories:&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
&lt;ul&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Case of the Borrowed Bungalow&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Unfinished Beer&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Password to Delphinium Drive&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Search for the World’s Biggest Icehole&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Dreadful Revenge&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Secret of the Golden Dildo&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Mystery at Honey Suckle’s Manor&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;In the Shadow of the Hunchback&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Crooked Boner&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Floating Saucer Mystery&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Fracas at the Fudge Factory&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Phantom of the Porkerville Public Library&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Clue in the Cracking Wall&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Secret of Red Gateless Farm&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT FROM "The Crooked Boner" by Kate Emburg&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;“What is this mystery about?” asked Beverly Francis Bold. He was a slender, feminine young man with tousled blond hair and a single gold earring.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“We’re looking for a Crooked Boner,” Susan explained.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“I knew a guy with a crooked boner once,” said Beverly eagerly. “He used to act in porn flicks. I think I still have his number somewhere.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Was it twisted like a corkscrew?” asked Ashleigh Nettleson, a blonde with a Southern accent whose intimate friends included males as well as females. “Because if it was, I think I know him, too.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;But when Susan described Rawley Boner, her chums decided their acquaintance was not the same man after all.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“When did you last see Raw Boner?” asked Dave Stevens. The young man had a rangy build, ranging from five-foot-one and one-hundred pounds to six-foot-five and two-hundred fifty pounds. Today he was in the average range: medium height, medium weight, and medium-length, medium brown hair.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Susan described how Raw, posing as his own twin, had served an inferior breakfast and then fled. “We must catch him and bring him to justice.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;In the back seat, Butch Hawkins and Rodd Turgood exchanged glances. Both wondered if the slim chance of scoring with Susan was really worth the hell she put them through.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Why are we bringing Rawley to justice?” Butch queried. “As far as I know, selling an Indian Reservation isn’t illegal, if Raw was the legitimate owner. As for the bad breakfast --”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Not only bad, but very bad,” Susan corrected her sister. “Rawley Boner is guilty of operating a bed and breakfast without a license, not to mention impersonating his twin, which is identity theft and fraud. Besides, he’s just plain weird. Anyone who lives in a house like Rawley’s deserves to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;If her friends had any doubt as to the legality of arresting Boner, they vanished at first glimpse of his house. All agreed that only a criminal would build such a crooked structure.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;As they walked up the driveway, Susan was astonished to see the normally-bold Butch hanging back. Inquiring as to the cause of her sister’s mysterious cowardice, Susan learned that the Boner house made Butch feel uncomfortable.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Why, Butch, I didn’t know you were superstitious,” said Susan with a merry laugh. “I assure you, the house isn’t haunted.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“It’s not a ghost I’m afraid of,” Butch muttered. Her eyes darted nervously from the various chimneys, towers, and fence posts to the many long, thick, tilted porch railing spindles. “All these phallic symbols give me the willies.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Susan’s forehead wrinkled, though even with a wrinkled forehead she still looked prettier than Butch. “What are phallic symbols?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Crooked boners,” Butch explained. “Seeing all these crooked boners makes me nervous.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Then you needn’t worry,” Susan comforted her. “There’s only one crooked Boner, Rawley, and he’s disappeared.”&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;b&gt;NOTE:&lt;/b&gt; Paperbacks can only be shipped to US addresses. If you live outside the US, please purchase this book at Amazon by clicking on the link below.&lt;div align=center&gt;&lt;iframe src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=jherusalemcom-20&amp;o=1&amp;p=8&amp;l=as1&amp;asins=1461184312&amp;fc1=000000&amp;IS2=1&amp;lt1=_blank&amp;m=amazon&amp;lc1=0000FF&amp;bc1=000000&amp;bg1=FFFFFF&amp;f=ifr&amp;nou=1" style="width:120px;height:240px;" scrolling="no" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" frameborder="0"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <pubDate>Sat, 28 May 2011 13:11:54 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>14.00</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>290</g:id>
      <g:weight>0.5</g:weight>
      <g:brand>Kate Emburg</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781461184317</g:model_number>
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      <title><![CDATA[ Vic and Matt Book II: Everyday Hero [Print] ]]></title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/X1HXtz92CGI/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=288</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=288"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/everydayhero.jpg" alt="Vic and Matt Book II: Everyday Hero [Print]" title=" Vic and Matt Book II: Everyday Hero [Print] " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Anthology • Contemporary • Erotica • Fantasy • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 192 pages&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Vic Braunson is a city bus driver who falls in love with Matt diLorenzo, a swimmer he meets at the gym. When they finally hook up, there's no denying the energy between them.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Something about Matt brings out the best in Vic -- literally. Every time they have sex, Vic gains new superhuman powers from his lover. Can they learn to live with these abilities without losing each other?&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The stories in this collection are available separately as e-books, but are only available in print in this single-author paperback collection. Contains the stories:&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
&lt;ul&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;cPath=26&amp;products_id=285"&gt;Outage&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;cPath=26&amp;products_id=292"&gt;An Evening with the Rush Hour Hero&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;cPath=26&amp;products_id=285"&gt;Seventh Inning Stretch&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;cPath=26&amp;products_id=295"&gt;Worst. Power. Ever.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT FROM "Seventh Inning Stretch"&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;One kiss led to another, and they distracted Matt from the bothersome thought that buzzed through his head like an annoying insect. But Vic picked up on the distraction, and turned his face from Matt's to interrupt the moment. "So you're thinking of the game.  What about it?"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Resting his head on Vic's shoulder, Matt sighed. He wasn't sure how to say what was on his mind without coming off sounding ... well, &lt;em&gt;bad&lt;/em&gt;. "You know," he said, his voice low between them, "I just thought, &lt;em&gt;maybe&lt;/em&gt;, it might be ... I don't know, wrong? For you to have such an advantage over everyone else on the other teams just because of me."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Vic glanced at him sharply. "What are you saying?"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"These powers," Matt explained. "They give you an edge, you know? And maybe that's not right."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"They come from you," Vic said. His brow furrowed, darkening. "From our love. What's not right about that?"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"Just for the game." Matt sighed and ran a hand over Vic's bald head, savoring the touch of smooth skin beneath his fingertips. "I'm not saying they're wrong -- hey're not. I love you, you love me, and the powers come out of that, I know. But maybe we shouldn't ... you know ..."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Vic prompted, "Fuck?"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Matt grinned. "Just until the game's over. It wouldn't be the first time we've held out for a week, right? And it'll put us on a more even playing field, that's all I'm saying."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Vic stared at him, silent. Matt met his gaze, but for once, he couldn't read what went on behind those baby blue eyes he loved so much. After a long minute, he prodded his lover's thoughts and in a small voice, whispered, "Don't be mad."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"I'm not." Vic's arms tightened around Matt's waist, hugging him close. He kissed the tip of Matt's nose, and his eyes softened as he stared into Matt's. "Look, I think you're right. Not because I'd use the powers to win or anything --"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"I know you wouldn't," Matt said quickly.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Vic continued, "But because sometimes I can't control them. And the last thing I need is some freaky power the day before the final game that blows it for my team."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"Or &lt;em&gt;my&lt;/em&gt; team," Matt reminded him. "&lt;em&gt;We&lt;/em&gt; might win."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Vic gave him an indulgent grin. "Why am I thinking if we were on the same team, we wouldn't be having this little talk?"&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;b&gt;NOTE:&lt;/b&gt; Paperbacks can only be shipped to US addresses. If you live outside the US, please purchase this book at Amazon by clicking on the link below.&lt;div align=center&gt;&lt;iframe src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=jherusalemcom-20&amp;o=1&amp;p=8&amp;l=as1&amp;asins=1461176255&amp;fc1=000000&amp;IS2=1&amp;lt1=_blank&amp;m=amazon&amp;lc1=0000FF&amp;bc1=000000&amp;bg1=FFFFFF&amp;f=ifr&amp;nou=1" style="width:120px;height:240px;" scrolling="no" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" frameborder="0"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <pubDate>Sat, 28 May 2011 13:15:02 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>12.00</g:price>
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      <g:brand>J.M. Snyder</g:brand>
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      <title>An Evening with the Rush Hour Hero</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/UKDaZNp_6Y8/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=292</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=292"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/aneveningwiththerushhourhero.jpg" alt="An Evening with the Rush Hour Hero" title=" An Evening with the Rush Hour Hero " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Contemporary • Erotica • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 5,635 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
&lt;i&gt;A Vic and Matt Story&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Vic Braunson has little say over the superpowers he has-they come from his lover, Matt diLorenzo. In the time the men have been together, the powers have become such an integral part of Vic that he doesn't hesitate to use them when his help is needed. One evening on his way home from work, he witnesses a traffic accident that ties up the interstate and responds without thinking.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;But when Matt hears about the accident on the evening news, Vic has a lot of explaining to do.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;Vic considered his options, his mind ticking through them quickly. There weren't many. Push the bus back a bit, just enough to get the door open -- he could do it, he felt the strength still flooding his system but didn't know what traffic might be lining up behind the bus and didn't want to take the chance of involving other vehicles. He could move the car -- the truck that clipped the front bumper when the woman switched lanes had finally rolled to a stop a few hundred yards ahead, and between it and the city bus, they had blocked off the entire left lane. Or he could just wait, an ambulance was on the way, he heard the sirens. Didn't they say not to move someone from the scene of an accident? Or was that the scene of a crime ...&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Suddenly he caught a pungent whiff of gasoline that decided him. Setting one shoulder against the car frame between the front and back doors, Vic gave an experimental shove. Energy swirled through him, spiraling out from the center of his being to flash through his veins, dousing them with strength. The car rocked grudgingly beneath him, then skidded a couple feet. He put his shoulder to it again, gave another hard push, felt the car shudder under him and move further away.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The truck driver ran up to the other side of the car. "Hey man," he started, but when Vic gave the car a third hard shove his way, he danced back. "Whoa. How'd you do that?"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Ignoring him, Vic banged on the driver's side window. "Lady! Can you hear me?"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;No reply. Turning his attention to the children, Vic spoke to the little boy closest to the door. "Open this." The boy stared at him with large eyes as if he didn't understand. Vic pointed at the door, mimed pulling up the handle, then realized the car probably had power locks. &lt;em&gt;Fuck.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;As if he had spoken aloud, the little boy's eyes grew wider, his mouth opening in a perfect O of shock. "Sorry," Vic muttered.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Someone touched his arm and Vic whirled to find the truck driver beside him. "I smell gas," the guy announced.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"Thank you," Vic said, elbowing him aside. "You're such a help. Stand back, will you? Unless you can tear the doors off this thing --"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"Man, not me." The truck driver shook his head, his mousy gray ponytail bouncing from shoulder to shoulder for emphasis. "You need that jaws of life shit."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Vic said again, "Then stand back."&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <author>jms@jmsnyder.net</author>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 28 May 2011 13:03:08 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>2.99</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>292</g:id>
      <g:brand>J.M. Snyder</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781611521238</g:model_number>
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      <title>Syncopation</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/12x6RztV15U/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=280</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=280"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/syncopation.jpg" alt="Syncopation" title=" Syncopation " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Contemporary • Erotica • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 10,123 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/3-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 3" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Sam believes that his life is out of control. In his relationship with John, he feels powerless and impotent. Intolerant of his psychologist's help, he abruptly breaks with John and embarks on a distrustful and defensive liaison with Richard, a man he meets at a music recital. Each man sees himself in the other, creating a dynamic that prevents them from getting too intimate. Can they risk their budding relationship and finally allow themselves to love?&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;This story appears in the author's print collection, &lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;cPath=38&amp;products_id=246"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Attractions&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;During the interval at the Glenn Gould Studio, the guy sitting on the other side of a vacant seat from Sam leaned across and asked to borrow his programme. This led to a conversation Sam would have normally avoided due to a natural stand-offishness, but he found himself responding to an intensity of gaze and dark good looks that never failed to get him hooked. He agreed, with enthusiasm, that the baritone’s voice was well suited to the programme choice, and it was absolutely essential to a singer’s career to very carefully choose his material, and so on. They commented on how interesting it was that boy sopranos, as this one had been, often matured into competent baritones. At this point Sam recognised, with a freezing anxiety that sometimes gripped him, that he was beginning to flounder in a sea of musical ignorance, having played out his repertoire of appropriate remarks. He now lacked any substantive facts to contribute further to the discussion but couldn’t cut his gaze loose, and by the time John returned, he was lost in a fantasy of what might happen if he could ever get this guy into bed.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;While standing to applaud, the guy returned the program, thanking him, maintaining a hold on it for a shade more time than Sam thought necessary. Filing out, John asked, from the corner of his mouth, “Who was the guy coming on to you?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“He wasn’t coming on to me. That’s in your mind.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;At home Sam found a business card tucked into the programme -- Richard Jones, financial analyst with a Bay Street firm. He put the card in the back of a drawer classifying it as a “perhaps sometime.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;* * * *&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The next morning John was reading aloud the review of the concert at breakfast and, on finishing, casually said, “I wonder what your friend thought of it?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“What friend?” Sam knew who was meant.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“The one who fancies you at music recitals.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“But only at intervals,” Sam added with a mock sigh, and spooned in his cereal.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;John fidgeted with the paper for a while, then got up and left, tight-lipped, obviously not trusting himself to make a reply. Sam looked at the paper in a heap on the table, continuing to sip his coffee, reflected on how effective sarcasm could be when used sparingly, and decided to call Richard Jones sometime during the day.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Richard answered on the second ring and sounded as if he was expecting the call. “Actually I’m known as Rick to my friends. You must have thought I was either irresponsible or desperate or both, to do what I did, giving you my business card like that. If we meet, I can explain what it’s about.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Following more unproductive tiresome chit-chat about the concert, Richard (Sam never got around to calling him Rick) quickly ended it by suggesting drinks at Byzantium a few days later. Putting the phone down, Sam thought it all sounded more like a business appointment than a social meeting -- certainly unlike his first encounter with John.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;* * * *&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Sam had picked up John about two years previously at the crosswalk at Balmuto and Charles when driving home around 2 A.M. on a Sunday, feeling horny and pissed off with a guy who had taken up the whole evening at Sailors, looking certain to work out, then suddenly taking off to the washroom not to be seen again.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;John, black haired and deep eyed in the tightest jeans and tank top, looked slightly drunk. He lurched a bit while staring at Sam as he crossed, which was enough for Sam to turn the car into a lane off Balmuto and leave it running. John took his cue, followed, got in and straight away shoved his tongue in Sam’s mouth. With a smell of booze mixed with cologne, he unzipped Sam’s fly and then his own. In cramped conditions it was a hit-and-miss session, but afterwards John said he’d like to see him again, and Sam reluctantly gave his cell phone number; post-sexually he tended to want to quickly forget those designated as “casuals off the street.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
“I may be hard to get. I’m pretty busy at work just now.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Don’t worry, I’ll get you.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;And he did.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <pubDate>Sat, 28 May 2011 13:03:45 -0400</pubDate>
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      <g:id>280</g:id>
      <g:brand>Steve Nugent</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781611521245</g:model_number>
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      <title><![CDATA[ Who's Watching Whom? ]]></title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/2Dpdgoh2Fqw/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=293</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=293"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/whoswatchingwhom.jpg" alt="Who's Watching Whom?" title=" Who's Watching Whom? " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Contemporary • Gay Fiction • Romance • Young Adult&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 4,773 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/1-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 1" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
It's the first Saturday of summer vacation. But upcoming high school senior Logan Bradley can't celebrate -- he has to watch his younger brother Dylan while their mother attends her monthly book club meeting. She even forbids him from inviting his boyfriend Chad Adams over when she isn't home!&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Logan's only consolation is his cell phone, which connects him to Chad. Now, if Dylan will just leave him alone long enough to chat up his boy, the evening might be salvaged ...
&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;ul&gt;“Logan, are you listening to me?” His mother jingled her keys as she shouldered her purse. “Dylan has to be in bed by nine.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Logan sighed. “Mom, it’s summer --"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“And we’re not arguing about this. Your brother already tried. Nine.” She tried to kiss his forehead but Logan stepped out of reach. “Spend some time with him before he goes down, will you? Don’t hole up in your room all night.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Logan followed her to the door. “Can Chad come over?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;She shook her head. “You know my rule on that. No one in the house if I’m not here.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Mom,” Logan moaned. “It’s not like we’re going to have sex.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Over her shoulder, she threw him a stern look. “Not in my house you’re not.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Only half-joking, Logan said, “See, that’s why we need to go out riding tonight.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;His mother didn’t laugh. “No one in the house, you hear me?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Logan sighed. “Yes, ma’am.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Dylan in bed by nine. You can stay up until I get home --"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Mom!’ Logan cried. “I’m seventeen.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Which is why you can stay up.” She smirked, pleased she had won this round. “I should be in before midnight. I have my cell with me if you need to call.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“If I’m calling anyone, it’ll be Chad,” Logan groused.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Do not spend all night on the phone,” his mother warned. “When I call later, you better answer, mister. Now give me a kiss.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Grudgingly Logan leaned forward, but he kissed the air in front of her face instead of landing a peck on her cheek. “Have fun. I sure won’t.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;His mother sighed. “Not with that attitude.”&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <author>jms@jmsnyder.net</author>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 28 May 2011 13:11:11 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>1.99</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>293</g:id>
      <g:brand>J. Tomas</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781611521276</g:model_number>
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      <title>Boxes</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/tz2kJXhztrU/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=281</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=281"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/boxes.jpg" alt="Boxes" title=" Boxes " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Contemporary • Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 1,704 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/no-flame.jpg" alt="no flame rating" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
After being in a prison cell for two years, Hector hopes to get home and breathe easy. But he can't. His dead father's things wait for his attention, and his sister can't help with much of anything. Getting back to civilian life is always tough for ex-cons, and it's no different for Hector. Seems that he's boxed in. Again.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;His mother died when he was six, just before Christmas, not long after Juliana was born. He could still remember her but it was a strain after twenty years. He could see the thick black hair she always wore in a French-twist, feel the rough cotton of her skirts. Mumaw. He remembered hours with her in the kitchen downstairs as she baked. Her brown sugar cookies were his favorite.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Dad got quiet after she died. He changed. No more Batman games.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Hector had loved the re-runs of Batman he watched on TV. After his bath at night, sometimes his father would let him wear one of his clean T-shirts. “Grown up clothes for my grown up boy.” The shirt dangled like a dress from Hector’s toddler body but it felt like a cape. The cape of a super hero, a fighter, a protector. He would hum the silly show’s theme song, run from the bed’s headboard and leap, flying into the air.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;All those years, he never dropped me.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Hector opened the dresser drawers and tugged out the clothes. He stacked a half dozen piles on the bed before noticing how stained and worn the cotton shirts were, that the pants were ragged.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;I can’t give these away, they look terrible.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;He unfolded one faded shirt with a Lugo’s Market logo on its breast. The once-wine shirt had bleached to a sickly brown-red, like blood.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;It looks so small.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;But it couldn’t be. It was his father’s size, he remembered his Dad wearing it the week before ... And his father was a big guy.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Hector turned and looked in the dresser’s mirror. He held up the shirt to his own chest. The sleeves dangled just past his shoulders, the outline of his body clearly visible beyond the fabric. He could never wear it.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Dad wasn’t a big guy, I just thought he was.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Clear-headed beyond his grief, he could see his father now. A man of average height, a tad too much belly, hairline receding, hands always dirty and rough. A man who worked hard to keep things together, with too little education. A fierce economy always nipping at his heels, and two children to raise alone.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Hector pulled the shirt up to his face and breathed in. He couldn’t smell anything beyond the musty scent of the dresser drawers.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The tears came anyway.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <pubDate>Sat, 21 May 2011 18:40:40 -0400</pubDate>
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      <g:id>281</g:id>
      <g:brand>Belea T. Keeney</g:brand>
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      <title>Seventh Inning Stretch</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/NfTNkzib4wM/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=277</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=277"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/seventhinningstretch.jpg" alt="Seventh Inning Stretch" title=" Seventh Inning Stretch " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Contemporary • Erotica • Fantasy • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 26,316 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
&lt;i&gt;A Vic and Matt Story&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Every year, a local hospice hosts a charity baseball tournament played by four gyms in the Richmond area. This year, the gym where Matt diLorenzo works is chosen to compete. When Matt misses another staff meeting because he's "busy in bed," his coworker Roxie signs him up to captain one of the gym's two baseball teams. The first person Matt plans to recruit is his lover Vic Braunson, whose super powers will definitely help out on the field.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Unfortunately, the gym has segregated their teams into staff and members. Matt works at the gym; he heads the staff team. Vic, a member, is asked to play on the members' team.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Disappointed, Matt suggests they abstain from sex for the next week to avoid giving Vic any powers that might help his team win the ballgame. But before long, Matt discovers that keeping his hands to himself is easier said than done. And when the two teams face off against each other, he finds it almost impossible to keep his mind on the game.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Through the mental connection they share, Vic picks up on Matt's lustful thoughts. They ruin his concentration, and threaten to throw the game. Matt wants him, bad. So he corners his lover in the locker room during the seventh inning stretch to find out just what Matt has in mind.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;One kiss led to another, and they distracted Matt from the bothersome thought that buzzed through his head like an annoying insect. But Vic picked up on the distraction, and turned his face from Matt's to interrupt the moment. "So you're thinking of the game.  What about it?"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Resting his head on Vic's shoulder, Matt sighed. He wasn't sure how to say what was on his mind without coming off sounding ... well, &lt;em&gt;bad&lt;/em&gt;. "You know," he said, his voice low between them, "I just thought, &lt;em&gt;maybe&lt;/em&gt;, it might be ... I don't know, wrong? For you to have such an advantage over everyone else on the other teams just because of me."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Vic glanced at him sharply. "What are you saying?"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"These powers," Matt explained. "They give you an edge, you know? And maybe that's not right."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"They come from you," Vic said. His brow furrowed, darkening. "From our love. What's not right about that?"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"Just for the game." Matt sighed and ran a hand over Vic's bald head, savoring the touch of smooth skin beneath his fingertips. "I'm not saying they're wrong -- hey're not. I love you, you love me, and the powers come out of that, I know. But maybe we shouldn't ... you know ..."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Vic prompted, "Fuck?"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Matt grinned. "Just until the game's over. It wouldn't be the first time we've held out for a week, right? And it'll put us on a more even playing field, that's all I'm saying."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Vic stared at him, silent. Matt met his gaze, but for once, he couldn't read what went on behind those baby blue eyes he loved so much. After a long minute, he prodded his lover's thoughts and in a small voice, whispered, "Don't be mad."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"I'm not." Vic's arms tightened around Matt's waist, hugging him close. He kissed the tip of Matt's nose, and his eyes softened as he stared into Matt's. "Look, I think you're right. Not because I'd use the powers to win or anything --"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"I know you wouldn't," Matt said quickly.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Vic continued, "But because sometimes I can't control them. And the last thing I need is some freaky power the day before the final game that blows it for my team."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;"Or &lt;em&gt;my&lt;/em&gt; team," Matt reminded him. "&lt;em&gt;We&lt;/em&gt; might win."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Vic gave him an indulgent grin. "Why am I thinking if we were on the same team, we wouldn't be having this little talk?"&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=shopping_cart&amp;products_id=277&amp;action=buy_now" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/includes/templates/apple_zen/buttons/english/button_download.gif" alt="Download Now" title=" Download Now " width="86" height="21" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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      <author>jms@jmsnyder.net</author>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 21 May 2011 18:26:43 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>4.99</g:price>
      <g:currency>USD</g:currency>
      <g:id>277</g:id>
      <g:brand>J.M. Snyder</g:brand>
      <g:quantity>1</g:quantity>
      <g:model_number>9781611521139</g:model_number>
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    <item>
      <title>Shepherd</title>
      <link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/jmsbooksllc-new/~3/E5LQd2G2uZM/index.php</link>
      <comments>http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_reviews&amp;products_id=286</comments>
      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=286"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/shepherd.jpg" alt="Shepherd" title=" Shepherd " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Contemporary • Erotica • Gay Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 4,556 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/4-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 4" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Felipe Lugo made a bad mistake, and now he's starting two years of prison time to pay for it. He says goodbye to a girlfriend and faces life inside with men. Men tougher than he is maybe. Men with their own idea of how Felipe should be. And now he has to make a choice: to be a wolf or a shepherd?&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;This story appears in the author's print collection, &lt;i&gt;Rough Cut&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;Once inside three more security gates, Felipe looked around the prison yard. Everything looked gray, washed out, dirty. Crappy netless basketball hoops leaned at both ends of the court, scruffy benches on the sidelines attested to years of use and abuse. The court itself was a faded pink with its foul lines barely visible.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The ball game slowed as the parade of fresh meat walked by, chains clanking in the hot afternoon sun.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;A lanky redhead with blotchy skin hooked the basketball over his hip and hooted, “Oooh, baby baby! Virgins.” Men swarmed to the chain link fence between them. A chorus of lewd comments and gestures followed the chained men. It looked absurdly like the wave at a sporting event but beneath it was cruelty and dominance, not the froth of entertainment.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;A couple of the new guys flinched as one of the ball players clambered onto the chain link fence to scream at them. “Come here, honey, suck my cock!”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Chickie, chickie, chickie.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Gonna plug your ass, babycakes, plug you hard!”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The prison guards stood still, arms crossed, eyes dark.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Felipe kept his face impassive, not making eye contact, wide shoulders rigid beneath his orange jumpsuit. A trickle of sweat eased down his neck into the itchy stiff cotton.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;em&gt;Two years. Twenty four months, 104 weeks 730 days.&lt;/em&gt; The numbers throbbed in his head like a sore tooth.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Something was off but Felipe couldn’t pin it down. The yard, the guards in their tan uniforms, their wide-brimmed hats to protect their faces from the sun. The gleam of the rifles in the towers at all four corners. It wasn’t until he was led into a cell on the third floor and the door banged shut behind him so hard he bit his tongue that he figured it out.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Marion was an old prison, built in the 20s, concrete block construction with an inner yard, classic prison format. Everything was beat-up, worn and tired looking. Except ...&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The twelve-foot-tall chain link fence with its ugly, curling razor wire at the top was brand new.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <pubDate>Sat, 21 May 2011 18:27:03 -0400</pubDate>
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      <g:brand>Vincent Diamond</g:brand>
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      <title>Susan Slutt, Girl Shamus</title>
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      <description>&lt;a href="http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=289"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.jms-books.com/images/susansluttgirlshamus.jpg" alt="Susan Slutt, Girl Shamus" title=" Susan Slutt, Girl Shamus " width="120" height="180" style="float: left; margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;GENRE:&lt;/b&gt; Adult Humor • Contemporary • Mystery/Detective • Queer Fiction&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;LENGTH:&lt;/b&gt; 100,824 words&lt;br&gt;
&lt;b&gt;RATING:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;img src="/images/1-flame.jpg" alt="flame rating 1" class="texttop"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Book 2 in the Susan Slutt series&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
Who's the world-famous girl sleuth who solves all sorts of queer mysteries with the help of a butch tomboy, her feminine friend, and two boy detectives named Frank and Joe?&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;If you guessed "Nancy Drew," you're wrong! Meet Susan Slutt, the hottest schoolgirl shamus since the invention of jalapeno-flavored edible underwear. In this collection of cases, Susan gets down and dirty while investigating a messy "Fracas at the Fudge Factory." She travels to Switzerland to join "The Search for the World's Biggest Icehole," where she faces another puzzle: Is that a snake in Frank Baccardi's pants or is he happy to see her? But Susan's greatest challenge confronts her in Hawaii when she discovers "The Secret of the Golden Dildo." Among the baffling riddles: Is it possible to find an eighteen-year-old virgin in Hawaii? What is the life of one girl, even one with really great knockers, compared to all the riches of the universe? More important, if Susan dies, can Butch have her room and finally stop sleeping in the yard and eating from a dog dish?&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The excitement builds to a volcanic climax as Susan's life is threatened, Butch's sanity is threatened, and Susan's bra straps are threatened by the weight of her massive mammaries. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll get turned on by these timeless tales of dazzling detectives, female friendship, and male bondage ... uh, bonding. Contains the stories:&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
&lt;ul&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Case of the Borrowed Bungalow&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Unfinished Beer&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Password to Delphinium Drive&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Search for the World’s Biggest Icehole&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Dreadful Revenge&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Secret of the Golden Dildo&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Mystery at Honey Suckle’s Manor&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;In the Shadow of the Hunchback&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Crooked Boner&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Floating Saucer Mystery&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Fracas at the Fudge Factory&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Phantom of the Porkerville Public Library&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Clue in the Cracking Wall&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Secret of Red Gateless Farm&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;EXCERPT FROM "The Crooked Boner" by Kate Emburg&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;ul&gt;“What is this mystery about?” asked Beverly Francis Bold. He was a slender, feminine young man with tousled blond hair and a single gold earring.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“We’re looking for a Crooked Boner,” Susan explained.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“I knew a guy with a crooked boner once,” said Beverly eagerly. “He used to act in porn flicks. I think I still have his number somewhere.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Was it twisted like a corkscrew?” asked Ashleigh Nettleson, a blonde with a Southern accent whose intimate friends included males as well as females. “Because if it was, I think I know him, too.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;But when Susan described Rawley Boner, her chums decided their acquaintance was not the same man after all.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“When did you last see Raw Boner?” asked Dave Stevens. The young man had a rangy build, ranging from five-foot-one and one-hundred pounds to six-foot-five and two-hundred fifty pounds. Today he was in the average range: medium height, medium weight, and medium-length, medium brown hair.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Susan described how Raw, posing as his own twin, had served an inferior breakfast and then fled. “We must catch him and bring him to justice.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;In the back seat, Butch Hawkins and Rodd Turgood exchanged glances. Both wondered if the slim chance of scoring with Susan was really worth the hell she put them through.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Why are we bringing Rawley to justice?” Butch queried. “As far as I know, selling an Indian Reservation isn’t illegal, if Raw was the legitimate owner. As for the bad breakfast --”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Not only bad, but very bad,” Susan corrected her sister. “Rawley Boner is guilty of operating a bed and breakfast without a license, not to mention impersonating his twin, which is identity theft and fraud. Besides, he’s just plain weird. Anyone who lives in a house like Rawley’s deserves to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;If her friends had any doubt as to the legality of arresting Boner, they vanished at first glimpse of his house. All agreed that only a criminal would build such a crooked structure.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;As they walked up the driveway, Susan was astonished to see the normally-bold Butch hanging back. Inquiring as to the cause of her sister’s mysterious cowardice, Susan learned that the Boner house made Butch feel uncomfortable.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Why, Butch, I didn’t know you were superstitious,” said Susan with a merry laugh. “I assure you, the house isn’t haunted.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“It’s not a ghost I’m afraid of,” Butch muttered. Her eyes darted nervously from the various chimneys, towers, and fence posts to the many long, thick, tilted porch railing spindles. “All these phallic symbols give me the willies.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Susan’s forehead wrinkled, though even with a wrinkled forehead she still looked prettier than Butch. “What are phallic symbols?”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Crooked boners,” Butch explained. “Seeing all these crooked boners makes me nervous.”&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;“Then you needn’t worry,” Susan comforted her. “There’s only one crooked Boner, Rawley, and he’s disappeared.”&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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      <author>jms@jmsnyder.net</author>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 21 May 2011 18:26:20 -0400</pubDate>
      <g:price>6.99</g:price>
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      <g:id>289</g:id>
      <g:brand>Kate Emburg</g:brand>
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