Once a month, a bunch of authors get together and post excerpts from published books, contracted work or works in progress, and link to each other. You don’t have to be published to participate just an writer with an excerpt you’d like to share. For more info on how to participate, head over to the Excerpt Monday site! or click on the banner above.

“You ain’t old, Ed. You just need to get laid.”

Ed’s boss seems to think so, anyway.  Don’t let her opinion fool you, though. Ed’s never had a problem getting what he’s wanted. His problem is accepting what he gets, which in May Day, happens to be a sip from the fountain of sordid youth–two youths, to be exact. Young or 39-and-holding, you’ll enjoy my latest gay erotic romance, May Day, available at Changeling Press.

May Day

by Bryl R. Tyne

cover art by Marteeka Karland

ISBN: 978-1-60521-452-8

Book Summary His forty-ninth birthday approaching, Ed is expecting nothing more than his usual stiff drink and an anonymous fuck in the back room of Yancy’s Crossings. What he never expected was to be picked up by two college students and taken for a ride that would change his life forever.

Adult Excerpt (R):

May. For me, it was the worst month of the year.

“I’m taking the rest of the week off, Sue. And no — no emergency calls.” I couldn’t help but notice the look she threw over the rim of her glasses. Of course, every tenant and his or her neighbor would be calling in for AC maintenance before Friday; today was only Wednesday… like I said, it was May. “It’s my birthday tomorrow, for Pete’s sake.”

As she slapped shut the file she was skimming, I hesitated at the door. “Cut an old man some slack, would you?”

“You ain’t old, Ed. You just need to get laid.”

A hundred needles pierced the back of my neck, and from the heat, I was sure the sudden change in color finding its way to my ears was more than noticeable. But that was Sue for you. Great boss, don’t get me wrong. She just never outgrew her tomboy years. From the warmth now filling my face, the flush was nowhere near receding. Damn my Irish complexion. With my back still toward her desk, I asked, “May I have the rest of the week off, Boss?”

Hand on the doorknob, I waited. Her silent deliberations had always irked me, but I’d paid attention enough over the years to know she needed those certain moments to think she was still in control. After all, she was my boss. If she needed something that simple to make her happy, I was more than happy to accommodate.

After clearing her throat, she voiced her decision. “I can hold down the fort until the weekend. Randy’ll take it from there, but you make sure you’re in ship-shape come Monday morning. You hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, opening the office door, after a pause to wonder just what she thought I did in my free time. Lord knows, forty-eight — make that forty-nine come tomorrow — and still eligible meant only one thing. I may as well start shopping for retirement living — with a single bed. I reached over and snagged a couple brochures from the table under the curtained window on my way out. Reading material for later, of course.

“And, Ed — Edwin…!”

Body halfway out the door, I popped my head back inside the office.

“Make sure you leave your keys at the bar.” Her wink told me either I was a fool for thinking I’d pulled the perfect ruse all these years or she was a psychic. “And happy birthday. Now, go on. Get out of here.”

* * *

I liked my life. I liked living alone. And I liked driving the five miles east of town to Yancy’s Crossings every Friday after work. I’d grown up with old Mick, the bartender. With promise of good conversation and Yancy’s mature crowd, I didn’t have to worry about making myself perfectly presentable, either. Once in a blue moon, though, someone would catch my eye and I’d get lucky, getting my rocks off in the back room inside some willing ass or hungry throat… normally, it didn’t matter to me if it happened or if it didn’t, as long as when it did, they were willing. With this in mind, I brushed my teeth and reapplied some fresh deodorant that I’d pulled from the whore bag stashed behind the seat of my truck.

Of course, this wasn’t Friday night, but I’d had this ominous shadow niggling me for the past two weeks reminding me I wasn’t getting any younger. I wasn’t concerned with what special Yancy might be throwing or who the crowd might be. I’d had a hard week, I consoled myself as I pulled into the lot, killed my Ford pickup’s engine, threw my gear behind the seat, exited and locked my truck. I needed to unwind and in the worst way.

From the looks of the parking lot, the place was busier than a hornet’s nest, too. Real quick, I ran my fingers through my normally unkempt hair then replaced my hat, adjusting it as I kicked the dust from my boots on my way inside.

I hadn’t had a chance to get used to the lack of daylight when Mick hollered at me from over the bar. “Ed, my man!” Shoving his dishtowel inside a glass, he grinned as I sidled up and took a seat. “Don’t tell me — is it Friday already?”

I shook my head and asked for the usual. He got busy getting my Jack and Coke — hold the ice. Highball glasses were for pussies. The place felt odd, with so many empty seats lining the bar, but I paid it no mind. Tonight, two things were all I wanted — a stiff drink in one hand and, if I got lucky, a stiff dick in the other. Either order would do, too. Hank Williams Jr. blared from the speakers as I glanced around the place, noting a much younger crowd than I was used to seeing… about now, I could really use that drink.

“Rough week, eh?” Instead of sliding the glass onto the bar, Mick handed me my whiskey. Good man. He knew me well enough to know I was more than a bit uncomfortable amid tonight’s patrons.

I’d no sooner downed it when a kid no older than one of my nephews wearing all black and with an earring through the corner of his upper lip squeezed up to the bar beside me. “Dude.” As his gaze met mine, he offered a hesitant smile, then motioned for Mick’s attention. “Where’s the can?”

Mick pointed behind the bar and to his right, and the kid was gone.

Harder than intended, I slammed my glass on the counter. “Pour me another.”

After removing my hat, I pulled out my hanky and dabbed the sweat from my forehead. Mick’s turn to shake his head. He handed me a refill, still wearing that shit-eating grin of his.

“Ain’t nothing funny with this old man, Mick.” I downed the glass he’d just handed me in two gulps. I hadn’t caught sight of anyone close to my age yet. Looked like, whether I wanted to admit it or not, if I happened to get lucky tonight, I’d be robbing somebody’s cradle. I set the empty on the bar and motioned for yet another refill.

“Keys.” Mick held out his hand. All traces of his smile had vanished.

I set my hat on the bar, slid from my stool, fought with the pocket of my jeans for a second, but finally produced the keys to my truck. “Here. What do you got going on in here tonight, anyway?”

I must’ve spoken louder than I’d thought, for Mick shushed me as he threw his towel over his shoulder and, elbow on the bar, leaned toward me. “Keep it down. It’s college night. We’re trying to drum up new business.” He set about mixing me another drink, then set it on the bar, sliding a glass of water next to it. “There’re two tech colleges and a university less than twenty miles of this place. Yancy’s wild idea, but I gotta do my job.”

Shania Twain was bellowing her lungs out overhead. I took a deep breath, then picked up the glass of water. Mick offered a wink. Apparently, my senses were already a bit impaired or I might have taken note of the quick motion he made with his eyebrows to the advancing youths over my left shoulder.

Wouldn’t have mattered to me, if I had noticed the young men approaching sooner. They were interested in what the bar had to offer. Not like I really wanted or expected a one of them in here tonight to be the slightest bit interested in me. Let’s be honest, I was no spring chicken, my party-hearty days well behind me.

“How’s it going, old man?” The youth who’d slid onto the stool to my left motioned for Mick, but the young man had addressed me with his question — clear enough from the slap on my back.

I turned his way, offered a semi-polite smile, and then returned to my drink. My quick assessment told me the kid pushed mid-twenties. At least, in newer-looking jeans and a button-down shirt, though he wore the tails untucked, he was dressed more conservatively than Goth-boy from earlier — not that it would matter much who was dressed how in Yancy’s back room. Just guessing at his age gave me the willies, and the neediness radiating from the other kid seated to my right made it easy to keep my focus straight ahead. I’d be damned if I gave either of them the slightest inkling that I was interested. The quiet one said nothing, but the raised hair on the back of my neck told me he continued to stare.

“So, pops, what brings you out?”

At Mr. Talkative’s second reference to my age, I said, “I ain’t that old,” before picking up my drink and swiveling toward the crowd. Alcohol — fuel for the brazenly stupid. And stupid I was, for being here tonight of all nights.

He followed my actions, twisting around on his stool — the other kid, now on my left, likewise. The quiet one’s stare got to me. My dick stirred; I threw back another swig.

“Confidence.” Mr. Talkative tipped his brown bottle my direction. I eyed him with skepticism. “Good to have,” he said, adding a nod.

I resumed my mock scoping of the crowd, my gaze moving from one “out-of-bounds” ass to the next. Not bad, really… Oh, who in the hell was I kidding? These young men weren’t out-of-bounds — they were altogether out of my league. I’d be hard-pressed to keep up with any one of them.

“Ryan, over here –” The talker, beer in hand, tanned arm stretching across me and pointing, succeeded in pulling me back to the here and now. “ — is looking for a Daddy. Interested?”

My eyebrows lifted at his boldness. I’d have never spoken so openly to another man, never at this one’s age and not any time recently that I could recall. Maybe he should slow up on the alcohol. “I ain’t nobody’s Daddy,” I told him in no uncertain terms, pushing his arm back to him as I turned around, deposited my glass on the bar, and retrieved my hat. “Keys, Mick.”

Mick eyed the wall clock. To my right, Mr. Talkative had rejoined his buddy; the two seemed engaged in private conversation. I didn’t have time for games. What was it with this new breed of men?

My safe-limit half an hour away, Mick had declined my request for my keys. As my luck went, the louder of the two youths returned to face me head on. Eye-to-eye, neither of us flinched. He rubbed his hand on the thigh of his jeans before shoving it my way. “Name’s Kyle. Think we got off on the wrong foot.”

I accepted the handshake. “Ed.” My mouth seemed to have no trouble answering. Damn him and his persistence. Damn the alcohol, but damn it all to hell. I needed to bust a nut.

“We’d be happy to give you, um… a ride.”

I swallowed hard at the images his just-so spoken words had created. Though I was hornier than a buck in rut, my dick responded much too eagerly for my liking. “I don’t think so.” I’d be damned if I let some whippersnappers take care of me. Besides, truth be known, I didn’t think I could handle the two of them — not together — it’d been a long while since I’d gone down that road.

Wasn’t my custom to be rude but, since Kyle and his spineless companion didn’t seem to have the decency, it was my turn. Without as much as a “nice to have met you,” I walked away, headed for the john. I needed to pee.

Links to other Excerpt Monday writers:

As always, your hostesses Bria Quinlan (PG13) , Alexia Reed (R), Rachel Jameson (PG13) and Kendal Ashby (R) thank you for stopping by!

Joining us this week:

Jaleta Clegg, Science Fiction (PG 13)
Penny Dune, Romantic Suspense (PG 13)
Kaige, Historical Romance (PG 13)
Debbie Mumford, Contemporary YA Fantasy (PG 13)
Jeannie Lin, Historical (PG 13)
Jeanette Murray, Contemporary Romance (PG 13)
Dara Young, Steampunk (PG 13)
Ryan, Mystery (PG 13)

Kendal Ashby, Contemporary Romance (R)
Stephanie Draven, Paranormal Romance (R)
Lauren Fraser, (R)
Cate Hart, Historical Romance (R)
KJ Reed, Erotic Romance (R)
Ali Katz, Contemporary M/M (R)
Cherrie Lynn, Paranormal Romance (R)

Sara Brookes, Urban Fantasy Romance (NC 17)
Carly Carson, Futuristic (NC 17)
Lisa Fox, Paranormal/erotic romance (NC 17)
Bryl R. Tyne, Contemporary M/M/M (NC 17)

Note: I have not personally screened these excerpts. Please heed the ratings and be aware that the links may contain material that is not typical of my site.

Ed’s boss seems to think so, anyway.  Don’t let her opinion fool you, though. Ed’s never had a problem getting what he’s wanted. His problem is accepting what he gets, which in May Day, happens to be a sip from the fountain of sordid youth–two youths, to be exact. Young or 39-and-holding, you’ll enjoy my latest erotic romance, May Day, available at Changeling Press.

May Day

by Bryl R. Tyne

cover art by Marteeka Karland

ISBN: 978-1-60521-452-8

Book Summary His forty-ninth birthday approaching, Ed is expecting nothing more than his usual stiff drink and an anonymous fuck in the back room of Yancy’s Crossings. What he never expected was to be picked up by two college students and taken for a ride that would change his life forever.

Purchase May Day here.

Trey #3

Bryl R. Tyne

(WIP)

Instantly, his body went limp and his hands fell away from his neck, smacking the bed as they hit. I massaged his balls as I licked him clean, kissed my way up his belly to his chest . . . . “Drew?” With my tongue, I teased one of his nipples. “You with me, man?”

His lungs filled with air. He scrunched the sheets in his grip. “Fucking ay, Trey, I love that.” His voice cracked, the more he tried to speak.

“Need a drink, baby?”

“Yeah,” he whispered.

On my way to get him a glass of water, I eyed the clock—two-thirty. I needed to get ready for work. Fuck.

* * * * *

I didn’t mind my job. At least, I had one—again. Could’ve been worse, Drew reminded me, each afternoon as I slogged out his condo door dragging my dark cloud with me. I shook my head as I crouched to lockup the remaining Rolex cases. At least, I had Drew . . . and yeah, I had the man right where I wanted him most days.

Bells jangled, announcing someone’s entrance. Broom in hand, I met the late customer at the jewelry counter. “We’re getting ready to— Drew?”

Why he wore sunglasses in the dead of night, I’d never understood, but he lifted them off his nose and pushed them to his head as he stared. His mouth opening and closing like a starving goldfish, he managed the one question I never wanted to hear—especially, not here. Not inside Jackie’s Rings and Things. “What are you doing—?”

“I work here.” Duh. I shook my head with a loud exhale. “Don’t rub it in, either.”

I set the broom down and strode to the end of the counter. Lifting the hinged door, I stepped under it and let it slam behind me. Well, I’d had Drew . . . as in, “it’s been a swell” and “see ya later.” Exactly the reason I’d avoided telling him about my new job. He’d never understand.

Drew wasn’t one of those rich boys born with a silver spoon in his mouth. No. From what I knew of his lifestyle—his condo, his 2010 Camaro, his ever-present bankroll—I was pretty sure his mother had birthed him inside a vault. As soon as the—my boyfriend works in a pawnshop—sunk in, I’d be out. There was no doubt in my mind.

Instead of the argument I’d expected though, Drew smiled—a half-hearted, eerie kind of twist to his lips. He glanced behind him at the door, then wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“Just say it,” I said, a little creeped out by his unpredictable reaction.

He wrung his hands together, eying the exit over his shoulder one more time. “I-I’m looking for a ring.”

A ring, less than one minute before ten o’clock . . . ? “Okay. Just let me lockup first.”

“No! I’ll miss my ride . . . I know what I want.” Drew stepped to the display case full of sterling rings and pointed. “Right here, in tray number three.”

Something told me I was a fool for getting my hopes up, but I complied ever hopeful Drew had finally decided to commit, returned behind the counter, unlocked the sliders, and pulled out the third tray of silver rings. “Which one do you have in mind?”

My daydream lasted all of two seconds, for as soon as I set tray number three atop the glass case, the door burst open. Tall, dark, and ski mask kicked it shut after he entered, aiming his pistol straight at me. “Hands in the air!”

I complied immediately, not a heroic bone in my body. He could have the whole fucking store for all I cared.

“Don’t move,” Drew whispered.

I looked to Drew, who had yet to heed the asshole’s order, then back to the rapidly advancing armed robber. “Put your hands up,” I mouthed the words, hoping Drew would hear me.

He stepped between the robber and me, whipped around, reached over the display case, and caught me around the middle. In a flash, he drug me across the counter and onto the floor, shocking me further by manhandling me onto my stomach and binding my wrists behind my back with a large wire-tie. “What the fuck are—?”

“Just keep quiet,” Drew said, “and you won’t get hurt.”

Holy fuck. One side of my face pressed to the floor, I closed me eyes and started to pray. Who in the hell had I been living with these past six months? This sure as fuck wasn’t the man I knew . . . thought I knew. My heart pounded in my ears. I heard soft-soled shoes come to a stop beside me. “Drew?”

“Shut him—oh, shit.”

Oh shit, was right. I recognized that voice. Jackie’s Rings and Things’ would be bandit was none other than Travon Sanders, my mother’s neighbor—my friend and twice a month fuck buddy. Well, soon to be ex-friend, along with Drew, I’d made up my mind with a knee between my shoulders.

“You know him?” Drew asked tall, dark, and dangerous.

I could feel Travon’s stare burn into my upturned cheek. “No, man—You? Just looks like a guy I used to know,” he said, backing away, not waiting for Drew to answer.

That’s right, motherfucker . . . used to know, you sonofabitch. Drew released the pressure on my back and then stood, yanking me to my knees. “Get up.” He pulled me to my feet as Travon helped himself to my keys and the store’s valuables.

“Prick.”

Drew backhanded me across the face; a second later, he winked. “I said, keep your mouth shut.”

Fuck you. I spat at his face, missing by a long shot. He stared at me as if I’d lost my fucking mind. I had, at this point. Who in his right mind would try to build a life with a career criminal while fucking an armed robber on the side?

The poor guardian angel Zagzagel. Every time he thinks he’s making progress getting his charges to accept who they are and what they want out of life one of them goes off the deep end.

In this, the third Diary entry, Zagzagel’s got his hands full again. This time around, his charge is having to deal with an overly-religious father, fears of going to Hell and his growing attraction to his roommate. All of this can add up to a lot of pressure on a person, and Zagzagel soon finds his charge is looking to fix the situation in a manner that’s sure to make Big Papa mighty upset. Things are looking desperate indeed…

If you’re new to the world of Zagzagel the Guardian Angel, you couldn’t have picked a better time to read. In honor of the release of the third short story in the series, Untreed Reads is offering a 20% discount on the first two Diary entries. You can pick up either “Forsaken” or “Denial” at the discounted price from The Untreed Reads Store, CoffeeTimeRomance.com, AllRomance.com, OmniLit.com and 1RomanceEbooks.com

You can also get the discounts at Smashwords. Use coupon code LX83V for “Forsaken” and EH67W for “Denial.” Offer expires at midnight PST on June 30th.

The Diary Entries don’t need to be read in any specific order, so enjoy them all. All titles in the series are available from most ebook retailers in the most popular formats, including the Kindle.

Yay me! This one came out sooner than I thought it would, caught me off guard, but I’m happy to announce The Zagzagel Diaries: DESPERATE is now available from the publisher, Untreed Reads!

Here’s a little info on the 3rd story in the series:

The Zagzagel Diaries: Desperate
Coming to terms with who you are can sometimes make you take desperate measures. The angel Zagzagel returns in this third entry to the series to help his charge choose love over murder.

Excerpt:

Nick yanked on the bolt, dropped in the cartridge, shoved the bolt forward, and somehow managed to drop it into place. His finger trembled beside the trigger.

The man had matured into quite an idiot, sorry to say. Though in reality, I didn’t feel as sorry as I probably should have. None of this was my fault, you see, and that’s what irked me. Had I the freedom I needed to perform my duties without interference, without adhering to Big Papa’s guidelines to the letter, I wouldn’t be here watching Nick toy with making the worst mistake of his life.

Sadly, Nick appeared beyond toying at this point. If only I could have been there for him—really been there, and not just as a watchful guardian but as a friend, someone he could talk to, fall back on when needed. I swear Big Papa thrived on making my job as difficult as possible. Game playing is what this boiled down to, and I abhorred playing games. You’re not to interfere, Papa forever reminded me. I’ll not warn you again, Zag. Allow the humans to make their own choices. Right, the one time I heed His advice and look where the grandiose plan landed my charge. I added Big Papa’s wonderful idea—instilling these beings with the power to choose—to my arguing points as I struggled to adjust to this too-natural locale.

Other than the occasional train, which ran along a set of railroad tracks to the east, and the noises from the campus, which sat easily a hundred-plus yards past the field, silence shrouded us but for a random birdsong, the buzz of bees, or the near undetectable flutter of a butterfly. Give me the hustle of an urban environment any day. I scoffed at my surroundings as I turned to view Nick’s target—his roommate, and possibly more if my charge wasn’t so uptight about his sexuality. Moving about the far end of the otherwise lonely practice field, Cody volleyed a black-and-white ball from one side to the other with ease . . . . Those tight white shorts of his are easy on the eyes too. With a resigned sigh, I forced my attention back to Nick.

Get your copy for just $1.50!

Changeling Press accepted my story May Day! Not only that, I shared the winner’s circle with Author Selena Blake in a contest I wasn’t even aware of when I submitted. So it looks like I, along with Selena, have won a years worth of advertising at The Romance Studio also. A contract, free advertising, and one more publisher to add to my ever-expanding list . . . I’m tired just thinking about it.

Though I intended to write a more humorous story when I set out to write May Day, this one’s ended up being my most angst-filled story. Not sure where this one even came from, but it will take you through a gamut of emotions, that’s for sure. Here’s a little teaser and excerpt to tide you over until July when May Day will be published:

May Day by Bryl R. Tyne

ISBN: 978-1-60521-452-8

(unedited teaser)

His forty-ninth birthday approaching, Ed is expecting nothing more than his usual stiff drink and an anonymous fuck in the back room of Yancy’s Crossings. What he never expected was to be picked up by two college students and taken for a ride that would change his life forever.

“You ain’t old, Ed. You just need to get laid.”

(unedited excerpt)

May. For me, was the worst month of the year.

“I’m taking the rest of the week off, Sue. And no—no emergency calls.” I couldn’t help but notice the look she threw over the rim of her glasses. Of course, every tenant and his or her neighbor would be calling in for AC maintenance before Friday; today was only Wednesday . . . like I said, it was May. “It’s my birthday tomorrow, for Pete’s sake.”

As the file she’d been skimming was slapped shut, I hesitated at the door. “Cut an old man some slack, would you?”

“You ain’t old, Ed. You just need to get laid.”

A hundred needles pierced the back of my neck and I was sure from the heat, the sudden change in color finding its way to my ears was more than noticeable. But that was Sue for you. Great boss, don’t get me wrong. She just never outgrew her tomboy years. From the warmth now, filling my face, the flush was nowhere near receding. Damn my Irish complexion. With my back still toward her desk, I asked, “May I have the rest of the week off, Boss?”

Hand on the doorknob, I waited. Her silent deliberations had always irked me, but I’d paid attention enough over the years to know she needed those certain moments to think she was still in control. After all, she was my boss. If she needed something that simple to make her happy, I was more than happy to accommodate.

After clearing her throat, she voiced her decision. “I can hold down the fort until the weekend. Randy’ll take it from there, but you make sure you’re in ship-shape come Monday morning. You hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, opening the office door, after a pause to wonder just what she thought I did on my free time. Lord knows, forty-eight—make that forty-nine, come tomorrow—and still eligible meant only one thing. I may as well start shopping for retirement living—with a single bed. I reached over and snagged a couple brochures from the table under the curtained window on my way out. Reading material for later, of course.

“And, Ed—Edwin . . . !”

Body halfway out the door, I popped my head back inside the office. “Make sure you leave your keys at the bar.” Her wink told me, either I was a fool for thinking I’d pulled the perfect ruse all these years or she was a psychic. “And, happy birthday. Now, go on. Get out of here.”

* * * * *

I liked my life. I liked living alone. And I liked driving the five miles east of town to Yancy’s Crossings every Friday after work. I’d grown up with old Mick, the bartender. With promise of good conversation and Yancy’s mature crowd, I didn’t have to worry about making myself perfectly presentable either. Once in a blue moon, though, someone would catch my eye and I’d get lucky, getting my rocks off in the back room inside some willing ass or hungry throat . . . normally, it didn’t matter to me if it happened or if it didn’t, as long as when it did, they were willing. With this in mind, I brushed my teeth and reapplied some fresh deodorant that I’d pulled from the whore bag stashed behind the seat of my truck.

Of course, this wasn’t Friday night, but I’d had this ominous shadow niggling me for the past two weeks reminding me, I wasn’t getting any younger. I wasn’t concerned with what special Yancy may be throwing or who the crowd may be; I’d had a hard week, I consoled myself, as I pulled into the lot, killed my Ford pickup’s engine, threw my gear behind the seat, exited and locked my truck. I needed to unwind and in the worst way.

From the looks of the parking lot, the place was busier than a hornet’s nest too. Real quick, I ran my fingers through my normally unkempt hair then replaced my hat adjusting it as I kicked the dust from my boots on my way inside.

Hadn’t had a chance to get used to the lack of daylight when Mick hollered at me from over the bar. “Ed, my man!” Shoving his dishtowel inside a glass, he grinned as I sidled up and took a seat. “Don’t tell me, is it Friday already?”

I shook my head and asked for the usual. He got busy getting my Jack and Coke—hold the ice. Highball glasses were for pussies. The place felt odd, with so many empty seats lining the bar, but I paid it no mind. Tonight, two things were all I wanted—a stiff drink in one hand and, if I got lucky, a stiff dick in the other. Either order would do too . . . Hank Williams blared from the speakers as I glanced around the place noting a much younger crowd than I was used to seeing . . . about now, I could really use that drink.

“Rough week, eh?” Instead of sliding the glass onto the bar, Mick handed me my whiskey. Good man. He knew me well enough to know I was more than a bit uncomfortable amongst tonight’s patrons.

I no sooner downed it when a kid no older than one of my nephews wearing all black and with an earring through the corner of his upper lip squeezed up to the bar beside me. “Dude.” His gaze meeting mine, he offered a hesitant smile, then motioned for Mick’s attention. “Where’s the can?”

Mick pointed behind the bar and to his right, and the kid was gone.

Harder than intended, I slammed my glass on the counter. “Pour me another.”

After removing my hat, I pulled out my hanky and dabbed the sweat from my forehead. Mick’s turn to shake his head. He handed me a refill, still wearing that shit-eating grin of his. “Ain’t nothing funny with this old man, Mick.” I downed the glass he’d just handed me in two gulps. I hadn’t caught sight of anyone close to my age yet. Looked like, whether I wanted to admit it or not, if I happened to get lucky tonight, I’d be robbing somebody’s cradle. I set the empty on the bar and motioned for yet another refill.

Link to May Day at Changeling Press coming soon page

Book 2 in The Zagzagel Diaries – Denial – is live today!

The Zagzagel Diaries: Denial by Bryl R. Tyne

Cover Photo by Ilja Wanka, Fonts by Dara England, Copyright 2010

Untreed Reads Publishing

The guardian angel Zagzagel returns to save another of his charges, this time a young woman selling herself on the streets instead of saving herself for love. This is Book 2 of The Zagzagel Diaries series.

Available in multiple ebook formats – get your copy of The Zagzagel Diaries: Denial by clicking on this link:

http://www.untreedreads.com/?page_id=1322

Untreed Reads Publishing officially announced that my first story in The Zagzagel Diaries: Forsaken has been released! I’m excited about this series. Focuses on GLBT issues with more seriousness than my other fiction, but of course I couldn’t leave out the sarcasm.

Check Forsaken out! Here’s the link: http://www.untreedreads.com/?page_id=1322

Rated 4 Delightful Divas by Kathy!

“One thing that I’ve noticed in this and other stories by this author is that Bryl takes readers on a journey of emotional self-discovery along with the characters. As readers we are not only entertained but find for ourselves a nugget of truth in our lives.

If you’ve not read anything by Bryl R. Tyne and you enjoy stories that are beyond the everyday, then Coin Operated Boy may be just the vehicle for discovering the talent of this author.” ~ Read the full review here!

Thank you, Kathy! 

Thought about suicide. Again.

Not of my own . . . not that the thought’s never crossed my mind, but no. I got news that my short story, Forsaken, was accepted by Untreed Reads Publishing. Naturally, I beamed but then recalled the story’s subject and again, I remembered the suicide of a young man barely out of his teenage years. When this youth’s untimely death came back to me all these years later, I fashioned a story from the memories. This was months ago.

The incident, actually, happened eleven and a half years ago. Such terrible loss . . .

Couldn’t help but think, maybe all it would’ve taken to change the course of history, to talk that boy off that high-rise ledge, to even know he was heading up there in the first place, may have been as simple as picking up the phone when you recognized the young man’s number on the caller I. D. Maybe. What ifs suck, sometimes.

Sadly, suicide is one of the most common issues GLBT youth deal with. I have a friend who, as a tender youth, discovered she was Lesbian . . . Being raised Southern Baptist and being Lesbian didn’t play out in her mind. Out came the pills, the razor blades, and the booze. If I recall correctly, she was stopped only by a vision of her younger sister crying in agony. Unfortunately, the young man, who I also knew, didn’t have anyone or anything to stop him from carrying out his most desperate plea.

He tried to reach out, seek help, seek some sort of comfort, after realizing he was gay. But he was shunned by family, friends, and even a few in the GLBT community he approached. “I-I thought he was coming on to–I didn’t realize, he just needed someone to listen, affirm. . .” That was the reasoning, I was told.

Would’ve, should’ve, could’ve–not trying to push the blame on anyone. Hell, I’m probably just as guilty for I too didn’t recognize the signs, when around him. We can’t change what’s done.

Wouldn’t it be awesome though, if each one of us had someone there, a guardian angel perhaps, to help us in such a time of need? But that’s wishful thinking. Though times have changed and people are far more accepting of the GLBT community, still, more often than not, GLBT youth succumb to suicidal thoughts. And more often than not, it is because they are forsaken by everyone around them . . . or at least, they feel as if they are.

In fiction, well, that’s a whole different story. Literally. Having the incident come back to me during the Winter holidays, I chose to tackle the issue . . . but from a different angle, through the eyes of a guardian angel; and as with fiction, I gave my story a fairytale ending. Forsaken will be out this month at Untreed Reads Publishing. I invite you to check it out.

This post is X-posted to Frothing Authors, The Rainbow Studio, and Defying Description.