"It's called the Dance of the Ravishers," Dr. Emory said to me as we watched nine male dancers swirling around two small bonfires. "I can certainly see why," I responded with a big grin. Dr. Emory gave me a sour look. I'd been warned about that look. In fact, my partner, Steve, had bet me I wouldn't last two months out here in the upper Nile area of Sudan w...
A storm raged in my gut as I climbed the stairs. No denying I was aroused and eager to see him. He'd set me on edge with his first scavenger hunt command, and every errand since had only made me hornier. Major lines had been crossed with the full-monty-waxing and the girly-panty-wearing, and god help me, there was still the not insignificant matter of the...
Before bed and after an evening spent in mostly worthless reflection only half-interrupted by a trip to the gym and the resulting takeout meal, I made a promise to myself. I would never pressure Mikey. Whether out of fear or discretion, or some measure of both, he had arrested our quickly intensifying moment together. He'd done it with poise and certainty. H...
This story is based on true facts which were related in a BBC2 TV documentary though I have elaborated on these for my story. * "Holy One," whispers the voice, low and deferential from out of the darkness. Dreaming. The Goddess Nut, gigantic face, features spread over the sky, eyes the size of galaxies, expressionless, open mouth, waiting patiently, teeth...
"They are still going to be there in the morning, Willy. Come back to the bed." "Do you think that Roxburgh can be saved if I just walk out there and surrender to them?" the young William Howard mused. It was the year 1314 in the northeast of Scotland, and Robert the Bruce had been king of Scots for eight years. He had been using that time to cajole or bur...
Thanks everyone, for all the nice comments, I really love hearing from you. If you want to check GA, I have an anthology story up on there That I'll be posting to my blog in a week or so as well. It's called The Strength of Love. ****** Fuck. Where was he? I'd been searching for hours. Up and down the long metal encased hallways. I asked the tram-valets...
"Tell me where we are going, Shun." The servant, Shun, looked about him to make sure that no one who would report back to the zhaoguzhe—the manager—had followed them from the nanleshijia—the male pleasure house. They were at the first rest lookout point on Langshan Mountain—Wolf Hill—that rose at the edge of Nantung and was almost encircled by a snake-like...
For earlier stories in this series, see "Bite of the Schlange" and "Siren Song Symphony" * The black ship glided up the Italian coast and hove to in Laguna Venita. The Venetians were a strange and decadent lot; only they would sustain a tradition of a two-day annual festival "celebrating" the twelfth-century visitation of the Black Plague to their canal ci...
The familiar, ominous image materializes before him of a narrow track in the woods opening toward him from a convergence of stark, bare-branched trees in the distance with a swirl of choking ground mist. Derek feels his heart racing and the essences inside him rising as, from the far end of the track, where the trees converge, the whirling figures form—white...
When I turned thirty, I decided to treat myself to a month in Thailand. Bangkok is like Third World Asia on steroids. A wild clash of dusty streets jammed with taxis and tuk tuks that veer off into tranquil and immaculate temple compounds. On scorching hot days I visited the Royal Palace, Wat Pho with its massive, reclining Buddha, and the ancient, stone...