Tuesday, September 19, 2017

Talk Like a Pirate Day


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Tuesday, September 12, 2017

Feedback Request


Feedback is requested by the author of the query whose most recent version may be seen here.


Dear Agent,

Fred’s abusive father mocked his dream of becoming a famous painter. His straight crush Malek assaulted him, landing him in the hospital. But Fred smirks: he now has Malek right where he wants him. Choosing a contract over prison, Malek becomes legally obliged to pay Fred some “reconciliatory” visits. He’s guilt-ridden after assaulting Fred, but dreads meeting with him.

During the first visit, Malek is shocked when Fred bows, confessing the urge to be his submissive. Fred knows that Malek will enjoy domination, if given a little push, like pampering his feet and preparing shisha’s for him. Fred also paints him as the sexy ruler of fictional worlds. These paintings come to life in a way Fred’s works never have.

Malek finds himself getting hard when Fred adoringly worships his feet and decides to use Fred for his erections. Things get more sexual as Malek explores this knack for domination, but fearing ridicule at university and stigma from his Iraqi family, he orders Fred to trash the paintings. Instead, Fred sells them to pay rent. However, not only do the paintings sell, there is demand for more.

Set in present Washington, D.C., THE GLORIOUS PRINCE is an upmarket LGBT erotic romance complete at 84,800 words. Similar titles are Lucy Lennox’s Borrowing Blue and Eli Eason’s Superhero.

I am a Lebanese gay man. After years of celibacy, I earned my sexual victories through role-playing, giving me first-hand insight to write about my character’s experiences. I have been published by The Gay and Lesbian Review, as well as Penny Fiction.

Thank you for your time and consideration.


Best, 

Monday, September 04, 2017

New Beginning 1073


They have all gone into the Jungle, and have not come back. Their bodies are here, walking, sitting, breathing, staring at nothing because they cannot truly see. But they are gone, and I am alone and afraid.

Hands reach for me, nearly covered in hexagonal patches of black material. I turn, staring up into my mother’s empty black eyes. I duck and scurry out from beneath her hands, running down the stairs to the glass doors that look out on the Jungle.

They all gather here, staring at the Jungle with their empty eyes. Mom, dad, and the three other adults who came with us to Farethraun Jungle. A dark figure emerges from the greenery. They all stand still, tracking the figure with their eyes. As it walks through the door, I see that it is completely covered in the dark, hexagonal scales.

I am no longer afraid. No light reflects off of the figure. The scales on the others begin to spread, creeping out across their faces. Those are little details; I am paying them no attention. Only two things matter: the figure and the Jungle.

I am walking towards the Jungle, with the figure behind me. The others simply stand and watch. I am in the Jungle now, following the dark figure down an old path. The dark figure blends into the shadows under the trees. Dead leaves litter the ground underfoot. Wet brush slaps at my hands as I reach out to the sides of the path, but the leaves beneath my bare feet are surprisingly dry. Behind me, now running, it reaches out as if to touch my shoulder.

But no matter how fast I run, how quickly I dodge, the hands grab me. I am carried, screaming, back, back, back to the Jungle. My parents stand, stone-faced, eyes black as I am forced into a padded chair and a sheet is thrown over me. Angry, frustrated, defeated, I have no choice but to submit.

"Hold still," says my mother. "It won't hurt." 


The figure collects her cutting implement and moves towards me. Snip-snip--and I watch as bits of my glorious hair fall to the floor. 


Opening: Fiona Green.....Continuation: khazarkhum

Friday, September 01, 2017

New Beginning 1072


I woke up suddenly, lying completely still and straining my senses for any hint of what had woken me. Another knock came at the entrance. Jumping up out of the leaves I slept on, I sprinted over to touch the spot in the pulley system that would quickly roll the stone away. Vole was standing outside, looking guilty.

“It’s coming for you.” he said, “The most we can do is warn you. I’m sorry, Snaps.”

He stretched out a hand to me, holding a blue and gold Hope Tree leaf.

“I understand.” I said, taking it.

As he walked away, I let my feet wander while I thought. Hopelessness hardened into resolve as I walked: I can’t make a difference by fighting back, but I can sure as hell try. I found myself at the river, the water reflecting the torn clouds and bloody colors of the sunrise and the dragon-scale dull red of the Blood Flats. Cupping water in my hands, I dropped the Hope Tree leaf in and waited until its color leached into the water before drinking.

As I swallowed the soothing liquid, a mystifying realization crept into my mind: if my hands were cupping water, from what did I drop the leaf into them? My skin flushed and beads of sweat formed on my brow as I looked down, horrified to discover that I had three hands! How had I never noticed the hand growing from the crook of my left elbow, the hand now straining toward my throat as if with a mind of its own?


As the life drained from my body, I couldn't help wondering whether, behind my left knee, there might be a previously unnoticed third foot.


Opening: Fiona Green.....Continuation: EE