Welcome To The BearTalk Blog Hop Kick-Off!

We all know what a bear is. I'm sure you've seen the late 60s television show Gentle Ben. Or maybe you've seen the nearly-silent movie called The Bear? What about Disney's animated features, Brother Bear or the beloved Baloo in the now-classic Jungle Book? They're all cute, cuddly and sometimes unpredictable; at times even ferocious.

But guess what? You know those sexy, furry men in your life? The ones sadly lacking in the m/m genre? Well, they're known as bears, too. Deanna Wadsworth has pulled together a group of writers, readers, and admirers of the hirsute male to open your mind and expose some pelt.


Here to kick off BearTalk, a week-long event devoted to the growling sensuality of bears cavorting in your bed, is the lovely and talented, Louisa Bacio. Be sure you give it up at the end of the post and show her some love in the form of a comment. You'll be entered to win a very special prize, courtesy of Louisa herself.

Okay, bella signorina. Take it away!

*******

From Smooth-Sailing to Fur-Tastic

Shaved, smooth and slick. When I first met my husband, and saw him sans-shirt, not a strand of hair adorned his sculpted chest.

Then the months passed by, and he got prickly, and then outright furry. He confessed that he used to shave, after being influenced by his muscle-building buddies in the military. (Things that make you go, hmmm.) I told him that I liked him au naturel.

The added friction was fine by me. There’s nothing sexier than that love trail that leads directly to a hot treasure package. And, imagine me blushing over here as I admit this turn-on, rubbing against a hairy chest feels pure divine.

As inspiration for this blog, I slaved through photos to illustrate some sexiness. For instance, this specimen definitely doesn’t carry his weapon half-cocked.

What’s your favorite body part? In addition to a steamy stomach and chest, I also like biceps, and rocking calves. But, would you pass up these oh-so-yummy thighs?

Hell to the no. Oh, can you almost feel licking that calf bulge?

Within my own writing, I haven’t directly addressed the bear obsession, and suddenly I’m feeling like a sensory element has been left out. Here’s a teaser on my m/m erotic paranormal, The Vampire & The Werewolf: A New Orleans Christmas.

Vampires and werewolves don’t mix … or do they?

Before there were three, there were two. When a vampire swoops in to save Trevor from a rogue gang’s blood sport, the werewolf must fight his own inhibitions. The magic of New Orleans and the holiday season bring together these two unlikely lovers.

Thanks so much for hosting me, Johnny. It’s been a pleasure dropping in for a chat. So tell me, what’s either the best thing or worst thing about a furry partner? I’m sponsoring a $10 gift certificate to Ravenous Romance for one commenter. Make sure to leave a valid email address so the winner can be contacted. And, please visit the other authors on our tour, check out the full schedule Bear Talk Blog Hop.

For more Bear Talk today, go see Silvia Violet at DC Juris (http://dcjuris.blogspot.com/).

Ciao!

Louisa Bacio

http://www.facebook.com/louisabacio

http://www.twitter.com/louisabacio

http://louisabacio.blogspot.com

For The Love of Bears

If you like your men on the beefy and hairier side, join us February 27 through March 2 for BearTalk, a blog hop for readers, writers, and general enthusiasts in admiration of the hirsute male.

Below is the most recent schedule of the participants. Please note, dates are subject to change. Links to individual blogs will soon follow.

Mon FEB 27
Louisa Bacio will be here at my blog.
Silvia Violet will be at Deanna Wadsworth's blog.

Tues FEB 28
Kayla Jameth will be at Ike Rose's blog.
Johnny Miles will be at Silvia Violet's blog.

Wed FEB 29
Margie Church will be at Damon Suede's blog.
Hank Edwards will be at Kayla Jameth's blog.

Thurs MAR 1
Deanna Wadsworth will be at Hank Edwards' blog.
Tom Webb will be at Louisa Bacio's blog.

Fri MAR 2
Ike Rose will be at Margie Church's blog
Damon Suede will be at Deanna Wadsworth's blog.

We hope you'll come spend time with us and maybe discover a few new things!

New Release: The Rosas of Spanish Harlem

And now, without further ado, The Rosas of Spanish Harlem has been released. So, if you're into dark and smutty, enjoy!

Pre-Release Jitters For The Rosas of Spanish Harlem

In a little over 12 hours, “The Rosas of Spanish Harlem,” my fourth book with Loose Id will be released. I’m nervous about it. Very nervous, in fact. More so than with any of the others. I’m nervous because I don’t know how it will be received.

I know what you might now be thinking.

Weren’t you nervous with the first three? You didn’t know how THEY would be received.

The answer to which is, yes, I was nervous for the first three. But this is a different sort of nervous. It's more like an anxiousness, really. I suspect it has to do with more than just how it will be received. So many thoughts keep running around in my head regarding this particular story. For instance:

Is anyone going to want to read a story about an 18-year-old crossdresser hell bent on losing his virginity? Will people even consider this a romance? What will readers get out of it, if anything? And horror of horrors, what will the reviews be like? If “Learning to Samba” didn’t do well -- which, to me was my best book to date -- what makes me think "Rosas" one will do well?

And then there’s the follow-up question to the last one.

What IF this one does better? What does that say about me? Where does that put my writing? Will anyone take me seriously as a writer moving forward? Am I pigeon-holing myself by writing dark, smutty stories? I mean, this is fun but frankly it’s not the only thing I want to write.

There’s a part of me that says, “Fuck it! Ride the wave if it comes!” But there’s another part of me that quietly screams, “There’s more to this writing thing than erotica, you know!”

As you can see, I’m…anxious. Shit. Do I sound like Woody Allen?

Perhaps it’s my own inner demons struggling to take charge of who, what, where, when, how and why I write.

Dontcha just love insecurity and self-censorship?

Truth be told, I think another reason I’m nervous about “The Rosas of Spanish Harlem” is because it’s darker than my previous work. Much darker. It taps into areas most consider to be taboo. In fact, before accepting the story for publication, Loose Id made it a point to remind me -- and rightfully so -- that the story did not fit the typical romance arc. But “TRoSH” does so much more than just stray from the typical romance arc. It outright deviates and runs in the opposite direction. And yet, in my heart, it IS a love story. A disturbing one, but a love story nonetheless.

Loose Id said they were willing to take the gamble if I was. Naturally, I said yes.

Before I go any further, let me give you a bit of history.

In the mid-80s, Dana -- a photographer friend -- introduced me to one of his models, a street hustler who believe it or not was a shy, extremely handsome young man I would’ve given my left testicle to have sex with. There was something petulant, dark and sexually mysterious about him. It was as if he carried some sort of shameful secret. I found him stimulating in more than just a physical way.

After he started doing his solo thing, the room got quiet, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Then, as the model furiously increased speed and scrunched his face up even more, Dana softly asked what he was thinking. To which the young man replied, without skipping a beat, and almost as if he were in a hypnotic trance.

“My uncle.” A short while later, he added. “My cousin. My brother.” The model then proceeded to tell us snippets of things as he continued to masturbate, none of which made it to the actual video tape Dana eventually released.

When he left, the model collected his money and went on his not-so-merry way. Dana and I were both left to wonder if the young man had shared something that truly happened or if it was something he’d merely fantasized about. Dana was more inclined to believe it than I was and, regardless of whether or not it was true, it stuck with me. It reminded me of the fantasies I’ve had of my own cousins and two of my uncles. In fact, the young man’s story was so appalling, yet titillating and intriguing at the same time, I thought I’d write about it but I never did.

Until now.

Originally, when I first sat down to work on “The Rosas of Spanish Harlem,” it was intended as something to get me out of a long-term funk. It was never meant to see the light of day. At least, not like the previous three. I thought I might self-publish it…someday. This was only supposed to satisfy my need to write something…anything…and hopefully jump start my creative mind. However, after several conversations with other readers and writers where they asked why not, I too began to ask myself, “Why not?”

That I submitted the story was a surprise. That it was accepted for publication, was an even bigger surprise. That it was labeled as porn noir tickled me to the point of sheer delight, despite the fact that I could be “typecast” as that sort of writer. But maybe I already am.

“The Rosas of Spanish Harlem,” in it’s edited and finished format, is nothing like what that handsome young model shared that day in 1985. In fact, as I wrote the story, despite the chapter-by-chapter outline I’d sketched out for myself, everything morphed and became something other than what it was or what I remembered. But all the tiny -- and some not so tiny -- nuances of the taboo are there. Only the grit was sanded down because otherwise I would have felt like I’d never be clean, no matter how many times I showered.

Looking back, I realize the model might have censored himself even as he shared, or told things out of sequence. Not everything made sense and there was a lot of detail missing. Now, as I write this post, it makes me wonder if perhaps he felt he’d be judged; not just by the events in his life, but the fact that he was aroused by them. In turn, I wonder if I might not be feeling the same and perhaps that’s why I’m feeling nervous about the story’s release?

Whatever the reason, I’ll stand by the story as I stand by all of my work. The human psyche, after all, is messy and complex; like life. And since life is messy, so too is art. I think that’s the beauty of creative expression. It doesn’t have to be pretty or clean or safe. It just is. And in the end, I suppose that’s the biggest reason why I allowed myself to say yes to submitting “The Rosas of Spanish Harlem.”

Let The Games Begin!

Well, not yet. Not exactly. But they, or rather…it…will in approximately 9 hours.

I’m speaking, of course, about NaNoWriMo, a 30-day writing competition designed to jumpstart your novel and get those juices flowing. With a word count of 50,000 words looming ever closer, the trick is to sit your ass down in front of the computer and bang away; no self-censoring, no editing, no fretting about “getting it right.”

The man who started it, Chris Baty, was making the point -- at least this is what I got out of it -- that too many of us get bogged down in the minutia of a story. For example, what shade of brown someone's hair is rather than letting it just be brown. Or perhaps turning a phrase that rolls off the tongue effortlessly. We can do all those things later, after we've finished the story. If we do it as we go, unless you're a pro and know what you're doing, most of us who are still fairly new to writing and being published, go back the next day to look over what we've written, decide we don’t like this or that, then get caught up in editing instead of moving forward. We wind up losing momentum and, eventually, interest. It's like falling into quick sand.

I first heard about NaNoWriMo about 10 years ago, after picking up a copy of Baty’s “No Plot? No Problem!” I read the book, found it fascinating, then registered the following year since I’d purchased the book towards the end of November. Unfortunately, after registering, I never did anything beyond that. I blew it off. Looking back, I just don’t think I was ready. I didn’t have the discipline, or a structure that would allow me to get into the mind frame of, “Oh! I have an hour. Let’s fire up this puppy and see what I can spit out.”

With three books under my belt, published by Loose Id, and several others that were self-pubbed, there are still dozens upon dozens -- if not hundreds upon hundreds -- of ideas that continue to roll around inside my brain. And they keep on coming, folks!

Add to this the fact that I’m now 49 and, not to be morbid, time is limited. I want to see if I can figure out a way to write faster before my time comes; whenever that may be.

I don’t know if NaNoWriMo will be for me or not. I have work to do, a partner, pets, friends, sisters and family that call every so often. There are several social obligations thrown into the mix, like birthday celebrations and let's not forget Thanksgiving. Not to mention that it would be nice to take a mental break or I might just have a breakdown. All the same, I’ll let you know in 30 or so days if this was such a good idea.

Meanwhile, I’ve played with Scrivener, a software program that seems versatile and flexible. I think it will come in very handy! I’ve also got my synopsis and some hand-written notes; which really should be entered in Scrivener but I’ll give myself some leeway.

So, off I go. For those who are participating in NaNo, good luck. See you on the other side. For those who aren't, don't be surprised if you don't see a post from me in a while. Except for work, my friends, and my partner, I’m pulling a Timothy Leary. I’m going to turn on, tune in, and drop out until just after November 30.

See you in 30 days!

Taboo Fantasies & Triggers

Disclaimer: This is the first of what I hope will be a small series of posts on controversial sexual fantasies most would consider taboo. Note that the topic discussed is strictly for adults with open minds and might be considered offensive to some. Therefore, if you find such issues to be be a trigger point for you, please leave now and do not read further. It’s a lot like stumbling on a television program you might think has no merit because it shows someone simulating masturbation, orgasm, or because it shows too much ass. Whatever moral struggles you might be battling, it’s usually best to change the channel. The same applies here in this, and any future posts. Right, then. Off we go to talk about…

Twincest

When I was a boy I remember watching something on television with a pair of twins and became obsessed with having an identical twin. Because it was so long ago I really don’t remember if it was "The Parent Trip" with Hayley Mills or "The Patty Duke Show." I can’t imagine it was them because I was into boys and always have been, as far back as I’ve existed and was able to think. Or perhaps it was Patty and Hayley and I simply changed the sex?

Regardless of who it was, my imagination went into overdrive and, yes, even at that age, I remember thinking how cool it would be to have a twin brother. There were dozens of reasons why I wanted one but the biggest reason was so I’d have someone to talk to. Someone with whom I could share my secrets. Someone who would know me so intimately we wouldn’t have to say a word. We’d each know, instantly, what the other was thinking, feeling, and be there to comfort each other.

For a time, instead of an imaginary playmate like most children, I had an imaginary twin brother. I’d stare into the mirror and talk to him, pushing aside all reason and knowledge that I was really only talking to my reflection.

This was around the time that I was discovering I had a penis and that it felt good to touch myself. It wasn’t long before that imaginary twin brother was in bed with me. We would do things to each other that would make adults cringe, had they known what was on my mind.

Eventually, like everyone else, I outgrew the imaginary. I was stuck being just me as I awkwardly stumbled into adolescence and then adulthood.

And yet, at the back of my mind, the fascination with twins persists. Oh, the thought might submerge itself back into my subconscious for a while but it crops up every now and then. Especially when I come across a really hot and handsome man and I wonder if they have a brother. A twin brother. One that's identical to him in every single way. That’s when I go off on tangents and wonder…what do they do together? Have they seen each other naked? Have they played with each other before? Do they still? Do they shower together. Have they lathered the other's back? Have they shampooed each other? Have they swapped boyfriends? Girlfriends? Do they do other things with each other, to each other? Are they into threeways? Would they include me?

Imagine, if you will -- and feel free to take a moment -- a twin Jake Gyllenhaal, George Clooney, Chris Evans, Mario Lopez (from about 13 years ago), Ben Browder (from Farscape) or my personal favorite, the one and only Daddy I would give myself to if I ever needed a Daddy, Daniel Craig. Or, just imagine the hottest man you’ve ever seen, celebrity or non, and double him. Doesn't that drive you insane with unadulterated, wanton lust? The fantasy is pleasurable enough, isn’t it?

Now, show me a real pair of twins and I go into mental paroxysms of near epileptic proportions. Whether they’re celebrities or not, like Chris Evans who has a gay twin brother -- who wouldn’t want to be in the middle of a Johnny Storm sandwich? -- and even James and Oliver Phelps, who played Fred and George Weasley in the Harry Potter movies, have made my mind stray despite the fact that they’re not my type at all. There’s just a certain mystique about twins that fascinates me and I know the same applies to many other people, both straight and gay, as proven by several conversations I’ve had with people in real life, on Facebook -- off Wall -- and the most recent, last night in a group.

The conversation started because of a picture I posted. Identical twins with a third in the middle. They latin men, who I believe are 20 or 21, stood shirtless, looking at the camera. One of them has his arm around the non-twin and a hand flat on his belly in what I thought was a very possessive pose. The twin stood near enough to touch, his crotch against the non-twin's backside.

This isn’t the first time I saw them. There’s a scene with them where they’re by themselves. I don’t know what they do. I can’t seem to bring myself to find out. It’s like I’m afraid of what that might say about me. The pictures seem to imply that it’s mutual, side-by-side masturbation. Reading between the lines of the scene description, on the other hand, tells me a different story.

I’ve only watched the scene where the brothers are with a friend and you have no idea how long I sat there, just staring, drooling. All I could think of was, “Lucky fuckers!”

And I longed to be one of them. To be between them.

I've seen others in the past, as well. Falcon had a scene with twins in the 70s. I don't remember their names but they were in the back of the pick-up truck. I came across pictures of them and was stunned by how beautiful they looked together. It seemed so natural and perfect.

In the privacy of my own home, in the security of my lonely brain, I didn’t feel guilty. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I’d like to think that it’s simply me, being a sensual creature, aroused by two sexy young men with hot bodies, coy smiles, and beautiful in their nakedness.

Being aroused by twins, to me, is different than watching say, Aitor Crash going at it by himself, with toys, or even with someone else. It just hits a different part of the brain, some primordial spot we’ve all perhaps locked away and don’t bother to look except for in the darkest moments of our lives or when we’re alone. And even then, we probably slink back out of that place hoping there isn’t anyone near who can read our minds or see our thoughts. If that were the case, I think a good portion of the world’s population just might be locked up.

The conversation we had yesterday on FB made me wonder: what is it about twins that becomes a trigger point and sets some of us off while others go, “Eeeew! That’s disgusting and wrong!” Are they secretly as turned by twins but feeling guilty? Are they being judgmental or are we simply perverted? Is there a need within us, some kind of hunger we’re not aware of, that hasn’t been satisfied? Does the taboo-ness of it make the subject more titillating? Is it some bizarre offshoot of narcicism? Or is it as simple as wanting something we’ve never had and probably never will? It would be entirely too easy to say it’s the last so I’m going to say that’s it’s a multitude of things. More than likely, it’s probably also different for each person though I’d be willing to bet there are similarities in our romanticism and sexualization of twincest.

I find it interesting that so many of us have -- and still continue to do so -- the fantasy of either wishing we had a twin, being in the middle of twins, or watching them together. My fascination was such that I wrote twin characters into my first book, “Casa Rodrigo.” Fernando and Alonso de Rodrigo are there as children but as adults, I only dealt with Alonso; I left Fernando in Spain though I do mention him in a scene where Alonso misses him greatly after finding out about their father’s indiscretions with a family nemesis.

Because of my fascination with twins, and now my discovery that so many others share in the same -- would this be considered a fetish? -- a multitude of things are running around in my head. Among them, is a sequel to “Casa Rodrigo” where I bring in Fernando, though not for sex; at least, not among themselves.

There’s also a different story, one sparked by a conversation I had with two FB friends while I was at GRL in New Orleans. I see the twins and know what they look like clothed and naked. I have the location, the time period and even their names; okay, so it’s just their last name. I just don’t have the conflict yet. The trouble is, what does one do with such a story? Even if I had the conflict and mapped out the entire story, what’s to say it will get ever get published when so many won’t touch what is considered to be taboo?

I don’t know the specifics about the scene I saw yesterday. I only know where it was filmed and I can tell you that it definitely wasn’t here in the States. Our 2257 laws are very strict and I believe twincest, fantasy or not, would be considered illegal if produced here. I don’t know about the distribution.

And yet, within those boundaries, twincest continues to prevail. Whether right or wrong, natural or un, it’s not for me to judge. You see twins together -- alone or with someone else -- and they continue to titillate us in ways that sometimes no one person can do.

I’d like to think that if I actually had a twin there would be nothing more between us other than a very strong bond; very unlike conventional brothers where that bond is either there, or not. But the truth of the matter is that if I did have a twin, knowing me, and if we were identical in every way, well…let’s just say experimenting would have been very interesting indeed!

In conclusion, I ask, what about you? Do you have a twincest fantasy? If it’s a celebrity, whom would you like to be ravaged by? Whom do you want to devour until you’re all absorbed into one another’s spirits? Do porn twins turn you on? If so, who? Why?

But most importantly, if given the opportunity to have sex with real-life twins who got it on because they enjoyed it would you participate?

Gay Rom Lit: Final Thoughts

As I start this post, I’m sitting before my computer, coffee in hand. I’m surrounded by ghosts. It’s the memories of New Orleans and Gay Rom Lit that are haunting me, dancing in my mind like the ghosts in The Haunted Mansion, at Walt Disney World’s Magic Kingdom.

When I first heard about GRL being held in New Orleans, I thought, oh no. Not there. Any where but there. And not because of spirits. Most of you reading might know why; I’ve either told you in person or you read about it in a former post. For those who might not know, I had a very bad experience in New Orleans the first time I went and vowed never to return.

There were other reasons why I was concerned about going; money worries and the belief that I’m still too new a writer being at the top of the list. Yes, I still doubt myself after three books under my belt and will probably always continue to do so, though I’m trying to get past that.

Up until the very last week before leaving for New Orleans, I still wasn’t sure I would go. In fact, when I purchased the plane ticket, I added travel insurance, just in case. I was even counting down the days on the calendar, knowing I could cancel the hotel a few days prior without being charged. I kept telling my partner I wasn’t sure about the trip, that it was a bad time for me. He just patiently continued to put up with me and point out all the reasons why I should go. As did Treva, Michele and a handful of others.

Then the day finally arrived and I found that what I feared most wasn’t that I’d experience a bad time, or fall, or who knows what; it was that I was going alone.

I should have guess it would be a great experience when, at the Atlanta airport, I found my connecting flight to NOLA to be in the same terminal. How many times does that happen, if ever? In fact, even upon my return home, I never left the terminal. My connecting flight to Fort Lauderdale was at the next gate!

Oh, me of little faith who doesn’t dare to hope or dream. And yet, somewhere along the way I must have dared. I must have dreamed. I must have hoped.

The experience at GRL was truly amazing. I met some wonderful people, both writers and readers alike, who were not only warm and welcoming; they were passionate about the genre we were all there to celebrate. Getting to connect the face with the names of people I’ve chatted with on Facebook and Goodreads was great. Getting to know them -- if only for a short while -- was even better.

While chatting with a few of the writers one night, it occurred to me that we, as writers, have a very unique opportunity. We have the opportunity to help change the way people think and feel about m/m relationships. Yes, what we’re doing is telling stories that entertain and allow the reader to escape or resolve their own issues as they see themselves reflected in made-up characters and plots. At the same time, it’s also a form of protest. Even if it is, as Belinda McBride put it -- at least I think it was her -- protest at it’s most subversive.

Looking back, the French Quarter of New Orleans was probably the most perfect place for the first Gay Romance Lit conference. Just like the m/m stories we write, the city is full of mystery, danger, and allure. Just about anything can happen there, some of it frightening. If you don’t believe me, just ask Treva about her experience overlooking Bourbon Street where someone asked if one man was dead while another demanded that he take off his pants.

Or better yet, think back to that moment when you were walking alone. You turned a corner then looked over your shoulder because you thought someone was there. Tell me you didn’t suddenly pick up speed without realizing, just so you could get to the other side of the street.

And weren’t you just the slightest bit aroused when the breeze came in off the river to caress your skin and laugh softly in your ear?

To me, the Quarter is a 98-year-old whore who dares to go out in daylight. She’s dressed in faux diamonds and garish make-up because she doesn’t give a crap what people think. She’s coy, full of charm, sexy, and quite dangerous. She’s a gritty ole gal who sometimes smells bad and thinks she’s still the glittering belle of the ball. But she's also full of passion and high spirits as she shows off the beauty she once possessed, with the hope of unconditional and requited love she still needs. In the end, isn't that what keeps us all going?

Because I had such a great experience and enjoyed the conference so much, the last day was full of bittersweet moments. I shared a few tears with several people, made some wonderful contacts and gained new friends.

Looking back I realize I spent an awful lot of energy focusing on a past, negative experience that I almost didn’t enjoy the present that unfolded before me while I was at GRL. I had been so concerned with the “what ifs” that I almost missed some wonderful memories. Memories of all the people I met. Memories of their warmth, their hugs, their laughter. Memories that will last me a lifetime. And when I stop to think about it, missing all that truly would have been haunting indeed.

See you all again next year.