Ann Selects ANYTHING BUT EVERYTHING & FIVE MORE GAY EROTIC STORIES as One of Her Favorite Books of 2014

“Unexpected treasures really are the best surprises.” - Ann at Boy Meets Boy Reviews

I’m delighted Ann at Boy Meets Boy Reviews has selected as one of her favorite books of 2014 my book, Anything But Everything & Five More Gay Erotic Stories.

Here’s my book available on Amazon. (It's free when you have Kindle Unlimited.)

This is her post where she writes about why she selected my book.

And be sure to go here to read her original review of my book.

Excerpt from my gay erotic short story, "Stakeout"

This is the first 500 or so words of my short story, “Stakeout,” which appears in my collection of six gay erotic stories available here on Amazon. It's free with Kindle Unlimited.

“How do you tell your partner you’re jerking off night and day thinking about him?” I wondered aloud to my reflection in the cheap hotel room’s bathroom mirror.

I had just yanked my trousers and boxers past my knees and was now standing with my tie, dress shirt, and undershirt pulled up around my chest, as I watched myself make a fist around my stiffening cock.

I squeezed it hard, my arrowhead-shaped cockhead suddenly very shiny and swelling hugely. I imagined far from the first time that it was my partner and best friend, Detective Brian McAnally, who was gripping me by the cock.

I liked to think the burly, dark-haired man would make a tight fist around my member exactly how I liked it, since I’d found myself struggling against my partner’s legendary grip more nights than I cared to remember during the drunken roughhousing he was fond of initiating at the cop bar on East Twenty-Fourth.

I had little doubt Mac would pump me dry with the steady, unerring precision of a machine, as he himself had told me innumerable times he’d had more experience beating off during our three years of surveillance work than most guys got in a lifetime.

Grunting between clenched teeth, I jerked off furiously and thrust my hips at my reflection, my cock getting harder by the stroke. I eyed my swollen cockhead for the first signs of pre-cum drooling from its puckered piss slit, as my hairy balls jiggled wildly between my muscular thighs.

“Job-related stress. That’s why I jerk off so much,” Mac had said to me earlier tonight during a stakeout.

I turned in my bucket seat to make some wisecrack, but instead gulped nervously at him grinning back at me in the neon lights of the all-night convenience store we were parked across the street from.

My heart skipped a beat, when I marveled for the thousandth time he had the long nose, perfect lips, and strong jaw of a Thirties movie star. He had bright blue eyes I swear turned silvery and startlingly clear at night. He always had a quick smile for me and the other guys at the precinct. During interrogations, I was constantly amazed such an easygoing fellow could flick on the ugliest bad-cop glare I ever saw at precisely the right moment to extract a confession from the punk slumped across the table from us.

I squirmed in my seat, helpless to stop my cock from stiffening down one leg of my trousers the second I imagined Mac sitting naked and hard beside me in our beat-up sedan.

“Yeah. Sure,” I mumbled, clearing my throat, and feigned boredom as best I could by pretending we were in the office doing paperwork. “Cop’s life.”

For several seconds, I stared blankly through the windshield and, gulping dryly, became increasingly aware of our shoulders pressed together in the cramped car.

“Good thing you wear boxers, huh?”

“What?” I asked, looking over my shoulder at him, and wondered deliriously for a split second if our physical contact had somehow enabled him to detect my sudden erection.

He waved a hand at my cock tenting up my trousers.

I was speechless.

This is the first 500 or so words of my short story, “Stakeout,” which appears in my collection of six gay erotic stories available here on Amazon. It's free with Kindle Unlimited.

Excerpt from my gay erotic short story, "Brother North Star"

This is the first 500 or so words of my short story, “Brother North Star,” which appears in my collection of six gay erotic stories available here on Amazon. It's free with Kindle Unlimited.

“Mitch. Mitch. Wake up.”

I opened my eyes to find Nathan Hopper leaning over my bed, his lips so close to my ear I could feel his warm breath washing down my neck.

“What?” I breathed, my heart skipping a beat, when I realized Nathan was wearing nothing but his long underwear bottoms. His broad chest reflected the pale moonlight. “It’s freezing, Nathan. Why’d you wake me up?”

“Come on,” he whispered, pulling back the heavy covers to expose me curled up in a ball against the cold. “Let’s go to the sauna and warm up.”

I groaned, struggling to draw the blankets back over me, but Nathan was stronger and apparently determined tonight I accompany him across the ski resort’s courtyard to its sauna, as he easily wrestled the covers away from me and, grinning devilishly, yanked them beyond my reach over the foot of the bed.

I glowered at him, thinking he might go away, if I made myself into a very tiny ball in the center of the bed, then refused to budge.

“Come on, Mitch. Get outta bed.” He wriggled his fingers under one of my arms to tickle my armpit. “No one else is up. I just wanna get warm. I’ve—I’ve been north-starring all night. I can’t sleep. Come on.”

“Dude, you woke me up from a great dream,” I lied, suddenly throwing a full erection up the front of my boxers, as I giggled and writhed violently across the bed, desperate to elude his fingers at the same time I was thrilled he’d woken me to say he’d been sporting a hard-on all night. “I wasn’t having a problem sleeping.”

We both suddenly froze in mid-battle, gaping at one another, when someone in a nearby room muttered incoherently, then coughed two or three times in his sleep.

“Come on, Mitch.” Nathan swallowed noisily, his eyes lingering on my hard-on tenting up my underwear, as I lay very still on my back and tried to catch my breath as quietly as I could. “I don’t wanna be around the other guys. They’re all drunk and stupid right now.”

“All right,” I breathed, pushing his hands away.

I sat up, then scooted on my butt across the mattress toward him, even in the pale moonlight able to see him throw an erection up the front of his long johns.

“Move,” I murmured, “so I can stand up.”

I slid off the bed, wincing at the frosty floor numbing my feet, and stood shivering in front of my best friend grinning happily at me.

“You are north-starring,” he breathed, swallowing noisily, as his gaze flickered between my eyes and my boner jutting out the crotch of my boxers.

“I told you I was having a great dream,” I growled, hoping I sounded indignant, but suspected I only sounded horny, as I glanced down at his erection poking out the front of his long underwear. “You are, too.”

“I know,” Nathan said, smiling toothily. “That’s why I woke you.”

“How—How we gonna get to the sauna?” I asked, my eyes growing wide, when he gathered the elastic waistband of his underwear in his fists, then peeled his long johns down his hips.

I watched him bend forward, his rigid dick, then his hairy balls popping into view.

Without a word, Nathan slid his underwear down his muscular legs. He looked up at me gaping at him, as he pulled them past his calves and freed a foot at a time.

“We’ll streak!”

This is the first 500 or so words of my short story, “Brother North Star,” which appears in my collection of six gay erotic stories available here on Amazon. It's free with Kindle Unlimited.

Excerpt from my gay erotic short story, "The Glass Pond"

This is the first 500 or so words of my short story, “The Glass Pond,” which appears in my collection of six gay erotic stories available here on Amazon. It's free with Kindle Unlimited.

I broke up with my boyfriend after nearly twenty years of monogamy, and happily moved back to our hometown, where both sets of our parents still lived and worked at the town’s only bank. Anthony preferred the restless, even chaotic energy of New York City over the gentle predictability of our small town in Oklahoma, this fundamental difference in our temperaments creating a greater gulf between us than our dawning comprehension I could no longer endure the staid domesticity of coupledom so many of our gay friends espoused to with a fervor I found downright suffocating.

I first saw Kevin Adler buying apples at the fruit stalls lining the dusty state road outside of town, and knew right away he was Trey’s son, as I’d gotten to know Trey and his wife pretty well during the years after high school when he and I had worked the rodeo circuit together.

I’m not sure what Anthony would make of Kevin, who’s about twenty years our junior.

Nor do I give a damn, truth be told.

The second time I saw Kevin, he was swimming in the Glass Pond. I was delighted to discover he was wearing nothing but a huge grin and a Cherokee arrowhead on a black cord around his neck.

“Kevin!” I called, tilting my broad-brimmed hat down my brow to shade my eyes, as I reined Sadie to a stop. I twisted a little in the saddle to better look at the dark-haired man’s long, lean frame, as he slowly straightened up in the shallows. “What’re you doing down here? Trying to give Missus Glass a stroke?”

“No, she never comes here. Too long a walk for such an old lady,” he said, closing one eye against the sun to look up at me on the filly. “I’m takin’ a break. It’s gotta be at least ninety degrees already. I gotta drive both of Mister White’s tractors up to my granddad’s garage this mornin,’ so they can get worked on.”

My heart was hammering wildly in my chest. I hardly heard a word he said, as I eagerly memorized every detail of his nakedness shimmering in the morning sunlight.

He was well over six feet tall, with long, long arms and legs, relatively narrow shoulders, and a flat chest dominated by huge, deep red nipples. He had an impressively lean midriff bisected by a dense line of hair that curled past his navel and thickened before it met the surprisingly small triangle of dark pubes fanning over his pale lower groin.

I marveled at his muscular, white ass, while he turned a quick circle, wordlessly scanning the horizon for anyone else on horseback.

I had a hard time swallowing, as I eyed his flaccid dick and plump, hairless scrotum made taut by the cold pond water. His dick was circumcised like mine, his plump dickhead the shiny, fiery red of young men subject to frequent, unbidden erections.

“You down here a lot?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t betray my arousal, as my cock fully erected in the tight confines of my blue jeans.

This is the first 500 or so words of my short story, “The Glass Pond,” which appears in my collection of six gay erotic stories available here on Amazon. It's free with Kindle Unlimited.

Ann's Review of ANYTHING BUT EVERYTHING & FIVE MORE GAY EROTIC STORIES

The first blog review came out on my collection, Anything But Everything & Five More Gay Erotic Stories:

“Erotica done right….These aren’t stories of hearts and flowers but that doesn’t mean they aren’t romantic. They are masculinized romance and have that unapologetic edge making them more deliciously filthy than your typical MM love story. What makes these better, though, is that they also have fully fleshed-out characters and an actual story to go with the sex.” - Ann, unicorn at Boy Meets Boy Reviews

Go here for the full review.

Here for the book on Amazon. (It's free when you have Kindle Unlimited.)

And here for more entertaining and thoughtful book reviews by the unicorn collective known as Boy Meets Boy Reviews.

Excerpt from my gay erotic short story, "Hat Trick"

This is the first 500 or so words of my short story, “Hat Trick,” which appears in my collection of six gay erotic stories available here on Amazon. It's free with Kindle Unlimited.

Looking back on that blustery summer afternoon on Dead Man’s Pan, I now clearly see that our getting trapped by a sudden thunderstorm while skinny-dipping near the abandoned miners’ cabin was the perfect excuse the four of us needed to stroke each other off in our first circle jerk.

My granddad’s ranch, locked away high in the Rocky Mountains, extended over much of the broad plateau named Dead Man’s Pan back in the gold-rush days by tenacious miners and legions of pioneers migrating West.

With a waterfall cascading down a jagged outcrop of rocks and a deep pool only yards from its sagging porch, the dilapidated cabin unceremoniously called The Rocks by us was my favorite of several weather-splintered wrecks listing forlornly across the rugged landscape–each having endured for nearly a century and a half, with varying degrees of success, innumerable vermin infestations and Colorado’s long, harsh winters and warping summer heat waves.

“When’re you gonna lose that fricking hat?” Charlie Oleznik asked me, his face forever screwed up in a scowl that marred his handsome features.

“Leave him alone,” my buddy George Vaicek came to my rescue. He bumped into Charlie as we wound our way along a cattle trail through a thicket of trees and dense brambles toward the pool. The jolt slowed Charlie down just enough that he missed when he swatted at my canvas derby. “You’re just pissed he didn’t bring you one back from Chicago.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s all I wanna show off to the guys at the shop,” Charlie scoffed, grimacing when Vaicek suddenly turned around to face him and, walking backwards, pretended to pummel him with several quick blows to his bare, muscular chest and belly. “Knock it off, Vaicek. You’re gonna fall and crack your head open, and no one’s gonna care. Knock it off, man.”

“Vaicek, stop bugging him. We’re almost there,” I said, distracted by the fourth member of our group walking ahead of us.

Peter Gatford had graduated from high school that spring with me and, like me, planned on attending the local community college for two years before applying to one of the big state schools. Neither of us knew what we wanted to do with our lives. I didn’t want to work on the ranch, and I knew I didn’t want to drudge away my days as a suit, crunching numbers in some stuffy office building. Peter was thinking about taking Computer Programming to better his odds of landing a good job in California. He’d told me this plan earlier that week, as we lay exhausted on his bedroom floor, both of us stripped to our briefs, slick with sweat, and out of breath from the kind of wrestling we had engaged in most afternoons since becoming best buds. This time, in our haste to pin the other first, we’d knocked over his nightstand lamp, its bulb flickering bright blue before popping out with a hiss.

“I kicked your ass again!” I didn’t want to talk about his moving away. “And you’re the pud who was on the wresting team!”

“You weigh more,” he retorted, rolling his blue eyes when I mouthed the words at the same time he said them.

This is the first 500 or so words of my short story, “Hat Trick,” which appears in my collection of six gay erotic stories available here on Amazon. It's free with Kindle Unlimited.

Excerpt from my gay erotic short story, "The First of the Month"

This is the first 500 or so words of my short story, “The First of the Month,” which appears in my collection of six gay erotic stories available here on Amazon. It's free with Kindle Unlimited.

Jason Morgan meant more to me than all of the autographed photos, shiny boxing statues, Global Middleweight Championship belts, and stacks upon stacks of memorabilia that crammed the dusty shelves of my trophy cabinet, its warped glass doors shimmering across one wall of the back-front room I seldom entered except to entertain exuberant, reminiscing relatives and former trainers.

He was beautiful and fragile-looking when he slept curled beside me at night, snoring softly, sometimes whimpering at the occasional daemon marauding through his dreams. 

His hand always slipped around my waist or shoulder, his hairy chest wriggling against mine, whenever I awoke just before dawn and, irresistibly, my hand crept across his pillow to lightly scratch his thick, cropped hair.

He was unmistakably a man not to rouse recklessly, his face flushed and the sinews in his neck writhing, when he was caught up in a heated argument with another bicycle messenger or, more likely, was earnestly negotiating a truce between rival bike services about to come to blows in the broad public square at Sansome and Sutter streets, its long, curving parapet the turf of dozens of handsomely disheveled, thick-calved messengers swaggering and lounging between dispatches.

Still asleep this morning, he lay naked on his belly in front of me, his muscular, hairy legs slightly spread, the sheet jumbled around his feet in the stifling heat rare even in late fall for San Francisco.

Peeling off my sweat-soaked gym shorts and jockstrap, I marveled at his massive calves and thighs. I straightened and flicked my clothes toward the overflowing hamper in one corner, as his astonishingly pale ass drew my attention, its powerful, twin globes covered by a dense forest of curly, brown hair that also climbed up his lower back in a fading triangle along his spine.

Taking my balls in one hand and gently pulling them out from between my muscular thighs, I swallowed dryly, enjoying the sensation of stretching my sweaty scrotum confined all morning in the tight pouch of my jock.

I recalled with growing excitement the previous night when I’d carefully turned him over to face away from me on the bed, my rigid cock sheathed in the velvety, tight warmth of his ass, and we’d finished fucking on our knees.

Grunting and careful to move as little as possible inside him, I was kneading his narrow, brown waist for some time, desperate not to ejaculate first, when he groaned loudly, rearing up to clutch the headboard with one hand, and slammed his hips back into mine.

Like most serious bike riders’ torsos, his upper body wasn’t nearly as developed as his legs. I massaged his lean back and kissed his wide, square shoulders surprisingly powerful from daily pulling at handlebars made grueling by the City’s steep hills.

When he suddenly bellowed at the headboard, I felt the walls of his ass clench around my hard-on, and I knew he was coming.

I flung my broad, hairy chest across his back and grabbed his fist firing up and down his erection, his pungent semen spurting like buckshot over the tangled bedspread.

I came listening to the heavy splattering of his load, excitedly extending my chin over his neck to bite his earlobe, as my stomach muscles contracted hard and held my hips firmly against his creamy white ass. The rippling ferocity of my orgasm nearly overwhelmed me. I was convinced, as my nuts unloaded round after round, that I’d later discover the finger-like tip of my condom bulging to the bursting point with my semen.

This is the first 500 or so words of my short story, “The First of the Month,” which appears in my collection of six gay erotic stories available here on Amazon. It's free with Kindle Unlimited.

Excerpt from my gay erotic short story, "Anything But Everything"

This is the first 500 or so words of my short story, “Anything But Everything,” which appears in my collection of six gay erotic stories available here on Amazon. It's free with Kindle Unlimited.

Ted Vanhagen was naked and sporting a full erection the first time I saw him. He was holding a complicated-looking tripod in one hand, as he strutted around the furnitureless room set ablaze by a network of long-legged lights strategically arranged around him.

He was leanly muscular and a head taller than me. He had a broad back, pale ass and hairy chest and abdomen. His brown hair was cut almost as short as his well-groomed beard. He wore wireless glasses. His brown triangle of pubic hair looked luxuriant and untrimmed, his pale scrotum nearly lost in the thicket. His cock was straight and longer than mine. It waved tight circles in front of his pale hips, as he paced the room.

I was rock hard by the time I slipped out of bed. I always sleep naked, so there we were: two naked, horny men separated by two windows and a narrow alley of overgrown weeds.

He put the tripod on the floor, kicked wide its legs and raised its neck a few feet so it was even with his chest.

He looked around him some more, then dragged the tripod this way and that until he liked where it stood.

I walked up to my window, my fist firing up and down my throbbing cock, and was still a bit stunned a handsome man was naked and aroused in a room that had until now been vacant the ten or so years I’d rented my studio off Valencia Street.

I’d expected some hipster younger than me to eventually buy the neighboring Victorian.

This man was probably twenty years older and hotter than hell. He pinched one of his nipples and used his other hand to pull on his scrotum, as he stepped around the tripod and stood sideways to me.

My heart was pounding wildly in my chest. My load was rising fast.

When he released his nipple and took hold of his rigid cock, I let out a loud moan.

I knew what I had to do.

“Oh, my god!” I moaned, furiously jerking off, as I whirled away from the window, nearly trampled a floor lamp, switched it on, and jumped back to the window.

He was frozen, one hand still cupping his balls while the other gripped his member.

He slowly turned to face me.

I pressed my forehead to the window.

“Oh! Oh!” I cried at him, my stomach muscles contracting hard, as I shot my load all over the glass.

It was an amazing orgasm.

At first, I didn’t realize he’d dropped his hands to his sides.

He still had a full erection, but something had changed in his face.

He was a statue until I’d fully unloaded. Then, he walked out of the room.

His lights went out a second later.

I was more than surprised: I was offended. How dare he not think our encounter was as hot as I did!

“Wait. I just came in front of a straight dude,” I said aloud, still holding my softening dick, and looked at my semen oozing down the window.

I felt weird.

I turned off the lamp and got in bed.

The studio was always freezing in December.

The bed was still warm. I lay back and pulled the covers up to my chin. I pulled on my member to get out all my sperm.

“Huh,” I said to myself, massaging the cum like lotion over my belly. “That was weird. And hot.”

If I’d known how much hotter it got after that, I probably wouldn’t have fallen asleep so fast.

This is the first 500 or so words of my short story, “Anything But Everything,” which appears in my collection of six gay erotic stories available here on Amazon. It's free with Kindle Unlimited.

ANYTHING BUT EVERYTHING & FIVE MORE GAY EROTIC STORIES

This is my collection of gay erotica, Anything But Everything & Five More Gay Erotic Stories, available here on Amazon.

Here's the blurb:

Anything But Everything & Five More Gay Erotic Stories is six short stories about men lusting for and loving other men. Here you will read about college fraternity bothers, a mechanic, police detectives, a former boxing champ, a famous photographer and others in such varied locales as San Francisco, a Colorado ranch, a ski resort and a small town in Oklahoma. Two of these stories were previously published on a gay website and in anthologies. Approximately, 33,530 words or 113 pages.

Read it for free here with Kindle Unlimited.