The Author

People often ask me where I get my ideas from. I'm a romance novelist. Yep, I write those cheap and tawdry little paperbacks that fly off the shelves at the supermarket or the book store for $7.95 a pop; my books fill the afternoons -- and the shopping carts -- of America's housewives, fueling afternoon fantasies that their husbands can never fulfill.

Oops. My bad!

But seriously, I do write those stories. The tales of some hapless heroine and the persnickety problem she finds herself in and the hunky, wholesome hero that saves her skin, saves the day, and gets the girl. Hey, it's not the most glamorous job in the world; but it pays the bills. Yes, it pays the bills nicely.

You've probably never heard of me. Well, you've heard of "me", but that's not the real me. I mean, you've probably read one of my books -- or know somebody who has -- but you've never heard my name. I'm Michael Finnegan Brewster. But my books are published as "Roark Flaherty". Him, you've probably heard of. You've probably read.

Of course, you also may have read some of my ... lesser known ... works. Tales that have never been read by the "typical American housewife" or that lonely single girl; instead they've been read by hundreds and thousands of horny gay boys and men, filling the pages of "Hot Men" and "Studs" and "Hunks" magazines -- filling the space between the photo shoots of all the gay and gay-for-pay porn models, showing us their cocks and asses, teasing your mind and body until you have a deliriously delicious explosion of man juice in the privacy of your own home.

But there, it's "Mickey Lassiter" that writes those couple of pages of "friction fiction", providing another source of pleasure and release for you libido.

But when asked that question -- about where my ideas come from -- I used to have a hard time with that. I'd found a secret of writing early on -- making a story about two guys and then turning one into a girl -- and the words -- and the books -- flowed. So did the cash -- right into my bank account.

A few years ago, I met my man -- my own "hunky hero lothario" -- a guy by the name of Rand. I bumped into him -- literally -- at the bar and we've been together ever since. Our first night together -- I'd love to say it was all romance and passion and making love -- but it wasn't. It was pure, animalistic and hot sex. Sex between two men; cocks invading asses, tongues licking cocks, mouths swallowing cocks and lots of hot, creamy cum sprayed across hot and satisfied flesh.

Now? Well, now Rand is the source of my stories. Oh, don't get me wrong, it's still all fantasies in my head, but Rand and I sometimes find ways to make them a bit more real -- playing "The Pirate and the Governor" (instead of "The Governor's Daughter") and "Bad Punk, Good Cop" and "Mechanic and the Stranded Motorist". So many of those fantasies now find life -- and lust -- through our relationship.

Lately, however, I've been ... stuck ... for new material. I mean, I can only write the story about the Pirate so many times before he's, well, boring. My source -- Rand -- hasn't become boring, but the stories now are just... Well, I'm running out of new ideas and characters and concepts.

The "Lueitenant Peter Johnson" series has sold well, but how much crime can this guy actually take care of in between his moments of passion and lust with Officer Candy Jones or the Simone Sentry, the former model and now crime victim? How many drivers can Mike, the mechanic seduce while servicing their cars. There is a limit.

I need to think ... outside the box ... and get some new ideas; some new scenes, some new plots. I can't use gay porn. It's too obvious. I mean, the typical plot of a gay porn works well for guys:

The doorbell rings and the plumber (appliance repairman, cable guy, package delivery driver) is invited into the house by some guy just out of the shower or sunbathing on his patio or sleeping. Then in just minutes of tortured and badly delivered dialogue, both guys are naked, cocks are getting sucked, asses are being eaten, fucking ensues.

But those lonely women need ... more. They need to have Polly swept off her feet with flowers and dramatic acts of chivalry by Marco, winning her heart as he wins the race and keeping her for eternity as his one and only prize.

Ugh, what crap! But still, as I said, it pays the bills.

I just need new situations! I've tried a few, but I keep hitting blocks. I'm wired for gay porn, but need to turn out "TV for Women" slow romance. Maybe the issue is with Rand and me. We've been together for a few years, as I'd said, and we've settled into comfort. Don't get me wrong -- we still have great and hot sex all the time, but it's becoming the norm.

Like I should be complaining!

I'm sitting at the computer, trying to think of something, when Rand comes back home from the gym. I was supposed to go with him -- we often work out together -- but I'm running behind. He comes up to me and kisses the top of my head, his hands on my shoulders. I lean my head back and look up into his face -- flush with the heat of his work-out, his eyes still sparking from the adrenaline rush. His smile still melts my heart and his body still gets my cock rock hard in seconds -- like now.

I think back to when we first started going to the gym. We'd spend some time on the treadmills, getting our heart-rate up and getting a burn started. Then we'd head to the machines -- lifting weights, pushing our arms, our legs, our backs through all the repetitions -- pushing the muscles almost to the breaking point. We'd swim and then maybe shower and soak in the Jacuzzi.

But watching his body work, the muscles flex, contracting, building, growing, always made one of my own muscles grow. I had to watch what I wore because within minutes of starting our routines, my cock would be thick, hard and throbbing, wanting to be rubbed against Rand's fit body; or burying my tongue in his hot ass, letting him bury his cock in mine. More often than not, we'd get back from the gym and go through our own work out -- fucking -- and finish up exhausted and fully satisfied after our much more fun exercise program in bed.

My mind flashed back to one of the first times we'd been at the gym. We'd done our work out and we were both feeling the push of the adrenaline; the endorphin rush was flooding our bodies. After we'd pushed that final weight, we hit the showers.

The showers were paired along each side of a small room -- 6 to a side. The first two showers, left and right, were slightly bigger with handicap grab rails on each wall. The face of each shower space was half covered with etched glass -- allowing some privacy for each user. The last two showers, however, were different, with the privacy glass open to the wall, so that by standing in front of the shower head, you could look directly across and see your shower partner, with a complete unobstructed view of his body.

As I said before, Rand's body always gets my attention. So when he was standing in the shower across from me, rinsing the sweat from his body and washing down, I was transfixed. My cock was hard and throbbing; I just stared at his magnificent body. At some point early on, he figured out what was happening because his actions became far more sexual. He spent a lot of time rubbing soap across his ass, massaging each cheek and running his fingers in his crack; his nipples would have sparkled with how much attention and washing his muscular chest got.

Oh, but his cock. Now THAT body part he gave super special attention to. He washed, he rinsed, he shook; he stroked his cock, getting it fully hard; all I could do was watch the show. He ran his hands over his chest, his torso, each pass making his cock jump and flick water and soap in the air. My own body raged to be in the stall with him, at his feet, feeling that water flick on my face, trying to capture that cock in my mouth. I could still hear the other sounds of the locker room -- other guys in the shower, jokes by the sink, the slam of a locker door, talk of completed work outs and comparisons of body size and shape. But my eyes could see nothing but that glorious cock.

Rand continued to work on his cock, his body, turning every once in a while to slip a finger in his ass crack; maybe even in the tight hole I loved so much. But he spent most of his time working his nipples and his cock, working himself closer and closer to cumming. My own cock throbbed and ached to be touched; I absentmindedly stroked my cock, but it wasn't really needed.

Soon, by Rand's body contractions, I could tell he was about ready to cum. He moved to the glass partition and rubbed his cock hard against the glass. I could see the cum shoot out, pooling between his body and the glass panel. My own cock exploded, cum shooting out of the shower. Cum continued to ooze from his cock, smearing white juice on his body and on the glass. With almost all of his cum spent, he squatted down and began to lick his own cum from the glass wall. My own cock still twitched and spurted cum, splattering on the floor and rinsing down the drain with the flow of the shower. I pulled a few more times on my cock, pulling the last drops of cum from deep inside, as my body convulsed in spasms of climactic orgasm. Rand stood, his cock still mostly hard, having swallowed much of his load, cleaning the glass of his cum.

We began to wash our bodies again, showering away the remnants of our shared moments. We quickly dried off, dressed and headed to the car. Of course, my mind kept flashing back to the scene and soon my cock stiffened again in the shorts I was wearing. Rand was driving, but he kept glancing at the hard cock in my shorts; his own massive dick hardening in reaction. Soon, my cock was out and I was stroking it as I leaned across the seat, my head sandwiched between his rippling abs and the steering wheel; I was sucking his cock as he drove us home.

Luckily, we lived only minutes from the gym and soon we were home and stripping naked; our cocks and bodies longing and lusting for the other. We put our workout gear in the washing machine and started it. Rand bent me over the machine and stuffed his cock in my ass. I was in heaven. The feeling of this man, this sexy hunk of male flesh, sticking his cock in my ass, filled my mind with pleasure, but the motions of the washing machine drove that pleasure higher as it bumped and thumped and vibrated against my hard cock. Soon I was cumming, silently gasping as Rand continued to fill my hole; my cock painting the machine with cum.

Rand slammed his cock harder into my ass, my body still trembling from the orgasm; a half dozen thrusts and he cried out, burying his cock as deep inside as he could get, filling my ass with his flesh and his cum. He pulled his cock out, drove it deep back in -- pushing a gasp of pleasure from my lips -- pushing some of his cum down his cock and out of my hole. He pulled his cock out and began to eat from my ass, licking and swallowing his load. His hands spread my cheeks as his tongue probed deep into my recently fucked hole. My head swam with delight as he ate my ass; my body trembled with rapture. My cock continued to be tingled by the movements of the washer and slicked by my spent cum.

We cleaned up and showered again and headed to dinner.

But, as you can see, my life with Rand is not boring. But there's no way I'd be able to recount that tale in a romance novel. Sure, I could have a personal trainer work with a woman, taking her from unhealthy and overweight, falling in love with her as she transforms and them living happily ever after.

But the shower sex and the washing machine would NEVER fly for the lonely gal that reads my books. Rand stepped back from me and said he was heading for a shower. I nodded as I tried to focus back on my writing and less on my cum soaked and lust filled memories. That was not going to work as memories played across my mind and my cock raged in my shorts.

There was the time that Rand and I headed out to the park, taking the beautiful weather and the great temperature and jogging the hills and paths of the hillside park area. Of course, my cock was rubbing in the snug jock strap I wore and Rand's body glistened with sweat, a dark spot accentuating the butt cleavage his shorts exemplified. Watching as his ass bounced atop his legs and that friction from my jock had my cock hard and leaking pre-cum; this fact was not lost on Rand.

As we were passing a small stand of trees, Rand grabbed my hand and pulled me into the trees. Soon we were in a small clearing, shaded by the trees, surrounded by the leaves and branches. His lips soon locked on mine as his hands yanked my shorts and jock to my ankles. Quickly he was squatting in front of my dick, licking slowly up and down the shaft, flicking his tongue into the slit, tasting the pre-cum still within. His own shorts strained against his cock, and another wet spot -- this time not from his sweet perspiration but from his own pre-cum. He quickly stood, stripped his shorts and stuffed them in my mouth; the aroma of his sweat filling my nose and the taste of his body filling my mouth. Just as quickly, he was down again, my throbbing cock in his mouth.

My balls began to harden and swell with each passing moment. I looked down to see Rand furiously yanking on his own cock, whimpers and moans vibrated through my cock in his mouth. I couldn't hold back anymore and his shorts muffled my cry as the first shots of juice filled his mouth; his own grunts and primal sounds muffled by the cock in his mouth as his own cum spurted from his dick, covering my shoes and the fallen leaves with his fluid.

Yet another time that my reality couldn't fuel my fiction and the fantasy of my readers; sex in the bushes wasn't something most women thought about; maybe if it had been Tarzan and Jane with the romantic sounds of the river nearby, the lush jungle surrounded them; but never on the spur of the moment in the park.

I heard the water running above my head, and I thought back to the man in the shower. Fuck, I was never going to get anything written today. I closed out the program, pushed back my chair and headed upstairs.

At the top of the stairs, Rand's shoes were placed by the small bench on the landing, his socks piled at the end of the cushion. A few feet down the hall lay his damp and crumpled shirt. I picked it up, heading towards the bedroom at the end of the hall.

Just outside the open door, his orange shorts lay, and just inside, his damp jock was left. I picked up both of them, the scent of my man rising to my nose. My cock throbbed lustily in my shorts; a plan formed in my mind. I stripped naked and put on his jock. The warm damp cloth felt good against my body; my cock stuck out of the top, my balls stuffed into the pouch, my ass felt the cool air caressing the skin; I nearly broke out in goose-bumps.

I headed towards the partially open door to the bathroom and peered in. Light flooded the space from the walls of glass block that surrounded the tub and the shower. I could see the shower reflected in the mirror, steam and water droplets clinging to the clear glass. Within the shower was Rand, standing with his head down, water cascading down his body from one showerhead; massaging spray beating on his neck from the other. His body was glistening all over, the tan colored skin in sharp contrast to the white light shining from outside. He looked like a Roman or Greek God -- a body of perfection and primal strength and lust.

I pushed the door open all the way; it tapped against the wall, startling Rand. He looked up to see me standing there, his yellow jock against my white skin, my hard and red cock sticking from the top. A smile crossed his face as I walked in the room.

"Did you forget something?" I asked, opening the glass shower door. "I found this on the floor." I slid the jock from my body and put it to my nose. I inhaled deeply of his scent and his sweat. "I can't imagine why this was just left lying about." I saw his smile had never wavered, his eyes roved over my body; his cock began to swell and stiffen.

I stepped into the shower space and felt the heat from the water and put my hands on his body; the heat from the flesh was nearly hotter than the steam surrounding us. I leaned forward and kissed his chest, licking water from his fur. My tongue slid over to one nipple, then the other, as my hand slid downward and grasped his cock. I could feel it throb and pulse in my hand; the swell and stiffness increased.

"I was hoping you'd join me," he said, dropping his mouth to my face, covering it with kisses.

I pulled back and held up the wet jock, smiling. "With an invitation such as this, how could I refuse?" I dropped the jock onto the shelf built into the wall. My hand squeezed his cock "and how could I refuse this offer, right here?" A devious smile crossed my lips as wicked thoughts crammed my head.

I dropped to the bench, sitting in front of his body; his cock was at just the right level to slip into my mouth. It tasted of sweat and water and him; it tasted better than just about anything I'd ever had. I slid my mouth over the head and down the shaft, easily swallowing all of his cock. Thick and meaty, it filled my mouth and my senses. I began a slow easy rhythm, swirling my tongue along the shaft and over the head, slipping forward and back and he began thrusting his cock in my mouth. My hands grabbed as his legs, his ass, his body, as my lips grabbed at his cock.

Soon, we were slipping deeper and deeper into each other's passions. I loved stuffing my mouth with his cock and he loved feeding me every glorious inch of skin. I could suck cock -- especially his -- for hours; on many occasions, I had.

He pulled me to my feet and kissed my lips, his tongue tasting his own cock in my mouth. He turned me around and slowly pushed on my shoulders, bending me over; his hands played across my ass and fingers slipped in my crack. A moan of pleasure slipped from my mouth, followed by an "oh, fuck yes!" His fingers were soon replaced by his tongue, the stubble on his chin tickling my ass; his fingers and hands spreading my ass wide, his tongue probing deep inside.

"Oh, fuck, yes... Oh, fuck... Rand, I want you to fuck me!" I gasped as his tongue slid in and out of my ass. He slowly stood, grabbing the jock from the bench. He slipped the jock to my face, between the glass block and my nose. I inhaled, hoping for a remnant of his scent; it was there, not completely washed from the yellow fabric. His cock slipped into my waiting hole, sliding nearly all the way in on the first press.

We let the water beat on our bodies, slipping between us, creating moisture and slickness for our actions. He pulled his cock from my hole and then slipped it back in. He continued pulling his cock from my ass, only to push it back in, deeply, all of his length filling my ass. I grunted with each assault on my ass, pleasure spreading through my body.

His pace quickened and he reached for my cock. As hard and as ready as my dick was, his touch nearly spilled my seed across the tiled space. I rode on his cock, slipping like a piston in and out of my ass, a finely tuned engine of lust and raw sex. His hand slid over my cock, pulling and driving me closer and closer to the edge. Just as I began to cum, ropes of sticky white cream flying, he pulled the jock from near my face and caught roped of cum as they exploded from my cock.

With a final thrust and primal grunt, he pulled his cock from my ass -- the first stream of cum flying to my back -- and then used the jock to catch more and more of his spilling seed; mixing his cum with my own. With a final shudder of release, the last drops of cum spilling from his cock, he brought the jock to his lips. I turned around, the jock inches from his lips and mine; we began to lick the cum from the rough cotton fabric; our eyes locked, never wavering from the other.