Currently viewing the tag: "gay fiction"

Last Week I posted in the Hop Against Homophobia, Transphobia, and Biphobia Blog Hop. HAHABT 2015 Today I’m happy to announce that Jewel Johnson is the lucky winner of my prize package: a copy of my print book Trey #3, a coffee mug, hat, various swag, and a copy of my latest ebook Tengo una Pistola. Congratulations! I’ll be contacting you shortly, Jewel, so be on the lookout for an email from me!

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In the face of adversity, sometimes standing your ground feels strange, sometimes downright wrong, like maybe it’d be better to remain quiet, mind your own business. I mean, you wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’re trying to antagonize a situation, start trouble, get in their faces . Right? What if the situation involves you directly though? That always hits a little closer to home, don’t you think? Are you willing to hold all you’re feeling inside, not let anyone know where you stand or worse yet, allow them to believe your silence means you agree with them or condone their behavior?


Today, May 17th, is the International Day against Homophobia, Transphobia, and Biphobia

And today I’m going to share an experience I was subject to when I first began writing. One I didn’t expect, for Who in their right mind would be offended by a character in a book and the life that character lives? I recall thinking at the time because I was momentarily left without words when it happened. It took me letting this person carry on for a few minutes before I regained my mental footing enough to come back with an argument she couldn’t refute.

One of my first published works was a novella called If I Were a Lady…. This story was about a fifth grade English teacher who happened to be a transgender woman. Yes, it had erotic sex in it, but no, that’s not what the story was about. Not ONLY, anyway. Kendra (the main character) happened to live a life that any outsider in her world would consider “normal”–those who didn’t know her secret. And that was the main point of the story, that those of us who embrace the T in the spectrum sometimes end up living double lives, secret lives, lives we feel we must hide from others and live that way for many personal reasons, but many times, because of fear. Fear we’ll lose our friends, our jobs, and the ultimate: our lives.

At the time, a coworker of mine wanted to know about my writing. Acted truly interested. Excuse me for being cynical here–But never let that fool you.

I gave the person a brief synopsis, about as much as I’ve given you above, when her jaw dropped and she began to hyperventilate. “Well, I never!” she said. “I’d remove my children straight out of that school immediately if I found out they had a teacher there like that!” One hand fanned her face, while she pretended to be still her rapidly beating heart with the other. “Who would EVER read a book like that?” she asked me.

I got my bearings and finally answered her with this: If you’d let me finish, you’d realize the main character is a person, just like you or me. She loves teaching and loves children and there’s even a happy ending for her.

From the look on her face, I was either not very convincing or simply not changing her mind. “I just don’t think I could let my children be around someone like that.” Her look of repulsion repulsed me.

At this point in the conversation, I was admittedly pissed, so I decided to end it with this: “To answer your question ‘Who would EVER read a book like that?’ I have to tell you, I wrote it with close-minded people like you in mind, hoping you’d actually pick it up, and read it, and maybe actually learn something.” And then I left her office, never to speak to her again.

Why sometimes it may seem awkward or difficult to stand up for what’s right, it’s really about speaking your mind. Be unafraid to tell others how you feel and why. Just do it. If things go south during a conversation or slightly heated debate, remember: Everyone’s entitled to an opinion. If your adversary is a close-minded jerk, who cares what he/she thinks, you can always walk away; but if the situation sparks a disagreement with a friend, the worse that could happen is he/she agrees to disagree–if he/she is truly a friend, that is. And that’s okay, the discussion is still open at that point and so is your friend’s mind. Isn’t that the least we can hope for?


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  Have you ever had to step in and defend someone? Or yourself, as in my example? If not, what would you do if a situation arose? I’d really like to hear your  stories. Please share, to be entered to win a copy of my print book Trey #3, a coffee mug, hat, various swag, and a copy of my latest ebook Tengo una Pistola.  Entering is simple: go to my Facebook Page here–and leave a comment there–or here, if you don’t Facebook. You can always LIKE my page while you’re there too!


Now, keep on hopping.

**The contest ends next Sunday, May 24th, so Like and Comment for your chance to win!

The Winner will be contacted Monday, May 25th and announced on my Facebook Page.



I’m welcoming Brita Addams today!

Hey there, Brita! Let’s get started, shall we?


Me: What genres do you enjoy reading most?

Brita: I am very into gay fiction at the moment.


Why do you write and when did you start?

Brita: I write because it’s who I am, it’s a part of me and I couldn’t NOT do it if I tried. I’ve written most of my life, but only decided to take the publication step about two years ago. I never thought I’d ever be published and I still have to pinch myself to believe it’s all happened.


Me: Much of your writing is rather erotic, though not all. I’m curious, what your family feels about your writing? Are they supportive?

Brita: I have the best family in the world. They are proud of my writing, though none of them will read my racy stuff. I couldn’t ask for more support.


Me: What’s the most interesting comment you’ve received from a reader?

Brita: At Gay Lit, a reader came up to me at a book signing, and pointed at the cover flats on the table, saying, “I’ve read this one, and this one and this one.” She was one of those readers I didn’t even know, but she’s read my stuff.


Me: Writing can be a lonely venture. Sometimes, sacrifices are required in our lives. Are the sacrifices worth it? What are your continuing career goals?

Brita: I honestly don’t sacrifice. I have my days sorted in such a way that I write during the day, when my husband is doing his own thing. At five, dinner is ready and we spend the rest of the evening together. When we have date day (usually Friday), I’m there, no doubt.

I plan to continue writing until I can’t. I don’t believe I could stop if I tried.


Me: What did you eat for breakfast this morning?

Brita: I had my usual one cup of coffee and a cinnamon raisin bagel with crunchy peanut butter.


Me: What’s your favorite position?

Brita: Sitting up with my laptop on my lap.



Find more about Brita Addams, here:

Email address:

Website URL:

Blog URL:

Twitter: @britaaddams


Goodreads Page:


 Thank you for having me. Please leave your email with your comments to go into the draw for a prize. I’m also giving away a swag-pack (to a random commenter).Then click on the tour logo in the sidebar to go to the next blog in the tour.

I’m welcoming KevaD today!

Hey there, KevaD!

Hi, Bryl.

How courageous of you to allow me some time on your blog.

In celebration of my first appearance… EVER… here, I’ll be giving away a $10.00 gift certificate to a randomly selected commenter.

Now, Readers, after you’re done here, be sure to visit the next blog on the Noble Tour by clicking the tour logo in the sidebar. All commenters get entered into the drawing for a Kindle too!

But most of all, thank you for spending some time with us today, and Bryl and I both hope we leave you with a smile.



And if you happen to buy a copy of “A Dance with Bogie and Bacall” or “Desire Damned,” you’ll certainly leave me with a smile.


Me: Let’s get started, shall we?  What genres do you enjoy reading most?

KevaD: I don’t limit my reading to any one or two genres. I look for skillfully crafted characters and mesmerizing plots. There are just too many great authors for me to minimize my reading boundaries.


Me: Why do you write and when did you start?

KevaD: I used to sit in the yard and tell my tales, but nobody ever stopped to listen, so I decided to write them down in the hope of sharing my stories. The two cops that suggested I quit shouting at passing cars played a part in that decision.

Truth: My first story was in crayon. My mother wrote an episode for a soap opera in the hope of finding work, and I sat on the floor drawing my story while she typed. Neither of our submissions was accepted. I still don’t know why. I used different colored crayons.


Me: Much of your writing is rather erotic, though not all. I’m curious, what your family feels about your writing? Are they supportive?

KevaD: My immediate family has been supportive since day one. They may not always understand what or why I write, but they love me and support my efforts. My mother, now deceased, was never prouder than when my first book was published. I had done what she had given up on decades before. She never read my book as it’s a gay romantic comedy and her religious beliefs couldn’t condone reading it, but she made sure to tell anyone and everyone all about the book. I miss her.

Me: That’s simply the most wonderful way to remember one’s mother. Touching, sir.

Me: What’s the most interesting comment you’ve received from a reader?

KevaD: That her husband stopped the truck they were driving in out of concern for her uncontrollable laughter when she was reading “Out of the Closet.” How can you not appreciate that comment?


Me: Writing can be a lonely venture. Sometimes, sacrifices are required in our lives. Are the sacrifices worth it? What are your continuing career goals?

KevaD: For me the sacrifices aren’t really sacrifices. I love what I do. I’m a storyteller. The only thing I won’t set aside for my craft is my family. I’m fortunate to have a wife who understands that when I’m lost in a story, the fact the house is burning down just makes for another fantastic scene I need to get down before I climb out the window.

My goals? I’m that wandering spinner of tales who will always be searching for one more ear to tell my stories to.


Me: What did you eat for breakfast this morning?

KevaD: A glass of chocolate milk (2% with Hershey’s syrup) and two pieces of buttered white toast. Not healthy, but it sure was good.


Me: What’s your favorite position?

KevaD: In my chair at the keyboard, a blanket over my legs, and one of the cats on my lap. Unfortunately, Supreme Commander of Kentucky wasn’t available, and Angelina Jolie doesn’t appear to be headed for divorce any time soon.


KevaD: Once more, thank you all for dropping by, and I hope we chat again soon.

Me: Thanks for being here today. You are always a pleasure to talk to!


Find more about KevaD, here:






IMMORTAL my love story between a vampire and a bannik for the Timeless Desire Collection of stories came out earlier today!

Found abandoned as a child and taken in by the Nevsky clan, the man Ivis now feels the call of the water, the sea, but Sefton and his family, one of the most influential vampire bloodlines in Russia, isn’t about to let Ivis go. As Ivis’ powers grow stronger—powers unknown to him—Sefton’s instructed to detain Ivis at all costs to tilt in his clan’s favor the balance of power in an endless struggle between the Bogdanov water gods and Nevsky vampires. Sefton’s left with a choice: power or love. Which is the greater desire?

You can purchase it here:



IMMORTAL by Bryl R. Tyne

Genre: paranormal/fantasy/m/m

Noble Romance Publishing

(c) 2011 Bryl R. Tyne


Blurb: Found abandoned as a child and taken in by the Nevsky clan, the man Ivis now feels the call of the water, the sea, but Sefton and his family, one of the most influential vampire bloodlines in Russia, isn’t about to let Ivis go. As Ivis’s powers grow stronger—powers unknown to him—Sefton’s instructed to detain Ivis at all costs to tilt in his clan’s favor the balance of power in an endless struggle between the Bogdanov water gods and Nevsky vampires. Sefton’s left with a choice: power or love. Which is the greater desire?


(unedited) Excerpt:

At the edge of the great forest, wild fields stretched to the south and to the east, ending as they tapered into a great sea. Though I could see only long grasses to the horizon, rumor spoke of such a place, the place where the Nevsky hunters had found me as a child of four seasons, with not a stitch of clothing or clan to lay claim and the letters IVIS scored across the point where my left collarbone met my shoulder. Few from the nearby village had dared venture out that far since, and those with a will to try had never returned. I dreamt of returning there someday. Though to what, or to whom, or precisely where, I had yet to learn.

“Again, I fear I am losing you, Ivis.” Sefton’s breaths cut cold and hard across the dampness between my shoulders.

Tepid skin graced my lips as I kissed the back of his hand. “Unfortunately, glimpses of my past remain with me to this day, as they should. Should they not?” I asked but got no reply at my back. “I can no more forget them than the sight of my own face in the water.”

But no matter how often I uttered those words, in truth, my past reached no farther than the tip of my nose, for how was it possible a child, no taller than waist high, should remember such places or events . . . or names? It was vain for me to try, but even now, as a young man, I continued to do so. More so, the closer Sefton drew to me for the power, though I knew not this power he claimed to seek . . . but his seeking me out for yet another romp in the forests happened more often than not of late.

“When I am with you, I am alive as never before.” Sefton tugged me against his chest, as he had done each night and many a carefree afternoon for as far back as I could recall. His lips found the juncture at my neck and shoulder, while he fondled me with the most skilled of touches. “You are the very air I breathe.” His words danced across my skin, graceful and confident. With his other hand, he found and teased my entrance, and pushed into me with a whisper, “You are mine, now and for always.”

“Yes.” I barely recognized my own voice under his assault. Yet, I wanted him as totally as he claimed to want me. “Always.”

He stroked my manhood and plowed into me relentlessly, over and again. “Tell me you are mine.”

By the goddess, I wanted to. I wanted nothing more than to accept his invitation to stay forever. But to do so would be a lie.

“Do not speak, my love,” he said, entering me again and again, working himself, faster and faster, until I could not tell where his body ended and mine began. “My love is enough to carry us both.” And he sank his sharp bite into my neck, took from me as much as he gave me elsewhere, and sending me into the bright abyss that only a lover can do.

“Sefton . . . .”

He withdrew his fangs, sealed the tiny wounds with a loving touch of his tongue. My body quivered in his embrace as he brought me back to earth with his sure caress. Yet, I lay there in his arms, fully aware of my plans to leave. How could I tell him that I could not stay, no matter how promising, how tempting . . . how pleasurable his touch.

“I am troubled, not understanding how each time can be better than the last, yet it is a truth I cannot deny,” he said and kissed the top of my head, then my shoulder; his hips pressed firmly to my backside. “Ivis? Promise me. Tell me that every day will be like today only better. Promise to never leave my side.”

His words were at once as a thick plume of smoke, suffocating, no matter how quickly I maneuvered through them. How could he promise me what was not his to give? I removed his less than reassuring arm and pulled myself up to stand. The rocky ground outside our grassy circle of body-warmed foliage stung the soles of my feet. “For the Lady’s sake, I am no Nevsky, and I belong to no one in your villages. To this day, I know not even my family name.” I leaned, one hand clinging, toying with a low-hanging branch. “Until I know who I am, I cannot make such promises. You know that I would die for you if I could.”

I turned and found the ever-present doubt his gaze increasingly held.

“I love you, Sefton Nevsky, like no other. Is knowing that not enough for you?”

For the briefest of seconds, his eyes flashed the color of fresh-spilled blood, and I looked away. He shot to his feet and with a firm grip, carried my face nose to nose with his own in a move that left me panting with fright. Yet I did not retreat, nor show the fear he had instigated and likely craved. Instead, I met his sternness with my own. “You are neither my keeper nor my brother.”

“I am a Nevsky and you—a bastard son found amongst the reeds. Do not push me, lower than low.” He pounded his chest with a knuckled fist. “You will not defy my wishes.”

Against my knotted gut, I stepped around him and retrieved my tunic and breeches. Oxen more stubborn, I had never witnessed in my supposed twenty-some years—I kept that knowledge loosely, also, for I had as much recollection of my true age as I had of the day I was born. Despite Sefton’s stance and his curses to the contrary, I dressed, slipping my tunic over my head. “Your proclaimed ‘two years’ on me makes you no wiser than I, though, with each passing day, you do resemble more and more a donkey’s behind.”

His reaction came swift and sure as he backed me against the nearest stone birch; Sefton tightened his grasp on my tunic with a shove surely meant to meld his fist to my chest. My still-naked buttocks encountered rough bark. His gaze remained locked with mine. “One day”—he wiped the spittle from his bottom lip—”one day I will make you know how infuriating a man you can be, Ivis Bogdanov.”

Sefton’s mouth covered mine, leaving me forgotten moments better used for breathing, but I could no more deny his needs for all the talk in the forest. He pulled away, as breathless as I. “Curse our lives,” he said, grimacing in obvious disgust. “Were I not born the ass that I am—were you . . . had we met under different circumstances—”

“But we have not. That is the hand the Fates have dealt us.”

Sefton pulled me into his arms. “Do not do this. No good can come of your curiosity. Are you so unhappy that I cannot expect you to share this life we have?”

“Life?” I wrenched free, backed out of his embrace. “You call this a life? I roam your fathers’ countryside by day and your castle by night as if in search of something, though I know not what.”

The look Sefton bore frustrated me further.

“You do not understand. I am a man. Do you not see that I have no need to be by your side both day and night? Can you not see your constant concern is smothering? I turn a corner; you are there. I close my eyes only to open them to your face. Is it I you do not trust, or is it yourself?”

Sefton’s steely eyes flared to deep crimson, and in that flash of color, he stood a hair’s breadth before me. “Rue the day I found you among the marshes bordering the eastern fields.” His nostrils flared as he turned away. “I need you beside me, or you would not remain . . . .” His stance turned aloof, and his stare grew cold. “You are no one special. No one would have you but I; no man is as accoutered as I to keep a—a man, such as yourself.”

Heat pooled in my chest, and a chill, the likes of which I had never experienced, consumed my shaking limbs. “A burden you claim, then I fear a burden I shall become.”

“Do not speak the words, Bogdanov”—he bore his elongated teeth in anger, a rarity in my presence—”or feel my wrath!”

In a move unseen, he was upon me, the sting of his bite upon my flesh, and I hardened instantly, despite my struggle.

“Damn you, son of Nevsky.”

But my words came on a fleeting breath, for my body could not mask my desire, and I pressed into his touch, his bite . . . his embrace, wanting him near with the same ferocity I wanted him to stay away, the same longing I had felt the first time we had coupled. And he reciprocated, penetrating my flesh deeper as he rolled his hips, revealing his desire, even as he assuaged his anger with the blood drawn from my shoulder.

“Damn you.”

He pulled away, withdrawing his fangs. His gaze, obscured by a haze of lust, met mine, and it was my blood that trickled from his lips as he said, “Too late.”

His expression told of his pain—decades, centuries, an eternity—for how long, I had no knowledge. So much had passed between us, years of growing—more, I’d grown from boy to man; Sefton had remained as youthful and handsome as ever—still, I knew few details of his life or circumstance. Uneasiness swallowed me whole with one look into his eyes. In spite of his protests to the contrary, I could never be what he desired. It hurt to love him as I did, but it hurt more to know not who I was, where I had come from, to whom I might belong.

“You belong with me, Ivis.” His voice was but a whisper as he wiped the blood from his chin.

“Get out of my head.”

“Your own thoughts betray you, for freely they gave themselves to me. I had no need to pry my way in.”

“You are an insatiable and arrogant man.”

“I’m no more a man than you—” He stopped abruptly and turned his back to me.

“What is this you once again allude to?” He removed himself from my reach. No man could keep one such as me . . . . Had he not meant riches, for admittedly, I had wants, and Sefton seemed always to have the need to fulfill each and every one of them? Before my next breath, Sefton had dressed.

“Son of Nevsky, what are you hiding from—?” But before I could finish my question, he was gone. And hence, so was I.



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Crazy busy week I’ve had so far! And today’s no calmer.

In the midst of getting ready for my roadtrip to New Orleans for GayRomLit next week, I’m over at Babes in Boyland today talking about my upcoming release, DIVINITY, with Riptide. Of course, the topic involves sex or erotica or pR0n (whichever trips your trigger).

On top of all that, I stopped over at Kari Gregg’s blog and shared my support for her FUCKFEST! (See the shiny new badge in the sidebar here!)

Apparently, some people still don’t get it! I’d love to have your thoughts over at Babes in Boyland and if you’re inclined to agree with Kari’s SMUT LOVERS’ MANIFESTO, please, by all means, stop by her blog and tell her so! Snag the shiny badge and wear it proudly on YOUR blogs and sites!




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