New Cover Art!
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Just saw the cover for
~James
Gothic Gay Erotic Stories
http://eroticjames.livejournal.com/
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/eroticjames/
My Publishers
Just got a great review for Twice the Cowboy, Twice the Ride
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.
Read more...Today's my Advent Calendar Day
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
A little fun at the Christmas tree lot: http://www.torquerepress.com/advent/1219.html
~James
Gothic Gay Erotic Stories
http://eroticjames.livejournal.com/
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/eroticjames/
My Publishers
Review of Men in Uniform II
Joyfully Reviewed: “Men in Uniform II is an awesome anthology that has hot men in all sorts of uniforms. From fast-food to soldiers we get to see different uniforms and the men who get turned on by them. Get yourself Men in Uniform II today – you won’t regret it!”
Full Review here: http://joyfullyreviewed.com/reviews/December07/MenInUniformII.Antho.html
I'm stunned
Monday, December 10, 2007
Well as of 6pm PAC Twice the Cowboy, Twice the Ride is #2 on AmazonCA for Western Romances: http://www.amazon.ca/s?ie=UTF8&rh=n%3A274723011&page=1
It probably won’t last long, I’ve got the PDF screenshot, but I’m just not tech savvy enough to generate a JPG of the damn thing.
~James
Gothic Gay Erotic Stories
http://eroticjames.livejournal.com/
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/eroticjames/
My Publishers
Interview with DoorQ
Monday, December 03, 2007
Trying this mobile. We’ll see how it goes. 
So the interview with DoorQ is up and running.
You can find it here: http://doorq.com/Blog.aspx?b=292
test
Just ignore me, trying my mobile posting option
~James
Gothic Gay Erotic Stories
http://eroticjames.livejournal.com/
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/eroticjames/
My Publishers
Arresting Developments
Friday, November 09, 2007
ISBN: 978-1-60168-070-9
Genre: M/M
Publisher: Aspen Mountain Press
Publication Date: 11/09/2007
Sexual Content: Erotic M/M
Price: $5.99
Product Options: Format Adobe Acrobat (.pdf) HTML (.exe) HTML (.zip) Product Code: 978-1-60168-070-9
Synopsis:
Coyotes, human escorts for illegal aliens, are a problem on the border. This particular coyote is even more problematic when it turns out to be the younger brother of a close friend. In this story by James Buchanan, not everything is as it appears in this Coyote Crossing, especially when the leader of the pack winds up with his head bashed in.
Josh Lanyon entertains readers with In A Dark Wood. Being lost in the woods isn't a fun first date, especially when the forrest is the very one in which a teenage boy finds a human skull.
Escaping your past is hard when you're a former porn star. In L. Picaro's Gamble Everything one man is trying to do just that, but someone else is intent on making him remember all that he'd rather forget.
Read more...
Men in Uniform II
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Release Date: September 14, 2007
Length: Anthology
Price: $5.95
Purchase Link: http://www.torquerebooks.com/zencart/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=598
Soldiers and firemen. Roleplayers and delivery men. They all have one thing in common. Hot threads. From high boots to Musketeer tabards, from a familiar brown uniform to brown shoe armies, the boys of Men in Uniform II will knock your socks off with the way they wear it well!
Familiar faces like Sean Michael, James Buchanan and BA Tortuga abound, as well as newer authors who are sure to become enduring favorites. From racy and dangerous to sweet and loving, these men are ready to take your world by storm, and look good doing it! Wrap yourself in Men in Uniform II today!
Vincent Diamond, editor of Animal Attraction, writes:A worthy successor to its predecessor, this anthology offers up a variety of sexy tales focused on that sexual icon: the man in uniform. From Star Fleet uniforms to soldiers to a fast-food servers in embarrassing overalls, the stories here offer readers a great mix of voices.
Editor M. Rode has assembled a terrific set of stories. Ranging from humorous and sexily silly to futuristic post-apocalyptic tales, the characters in these stories all take a chance. By stepping out of uniform, literally and figuratively, these men find affection, romance and erotic encounters.
On the lighter side, Kiernan Kelly's "Ballz" is a cute tale of Parker Jennings and his journey from fast food geek to a busboy and waiter-in-training. Ballz is a restaurant concept familiar to any reader who has eaten at a Hooters. Parker's change from a pig uniform to the red thong required at Ballz is a hoot.
James Buchanan offers up a smoking take on the future in "The Red Jungle". Bristling with taut action, snappy dialogue, and hard sex, Sergeant Ferizzie finds out that a quiet break on the night shift can turn into something hotter and more dangerous than his regular patrol.
Another of my favorites from this book is "Captain's Orders" by Angelia Sparrow, a hilarious homage to scifi conventions. Using a costume masquerade as its centerpiece, Dave and Chris appear as Kirk and Spock, an inside joke to fannish types everywhere. Sparrow's affection for this fantasy world is clear as this couple have a fun -and sexy-weekend together. The last five paragraphs of this one are laugh out loud funny.Stephanie Vaughn gives readers a lovely segue in her Off World series. In "Off World: Negotiation", lovers Caleb and Sarhaan face a challenge that seems quieter than the space pirates they dealt with in the first novel of the series. But the threat to their relationship is just as real as any blaster wound. Coupled with hot, possessive sex scenes, this story is another memorable one.
From UPS drivers to Musketeers to motorcycle cops, these Men in Uniform are sure to get your pulse racing and your imagination soaring.
Read more...
Two new Releases: Coming Together for the Cure and Sweat
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Coming Together for the Cure
Edited by Alessia Brio
Author: With Angel on the Wall by James Buchanan
Publisher: Phaze Books
Release Date: August 14, 2007
Length: Anthology
Price: $7.00
Purchase: www.phaze.com
At some point, virtually everyone's life is touched in some way by breast cancer. Whether it's a friend or family member, or even yourself, the journey is one of courage and compassion. Phaze continues its tradition of fundraising for this cause with Coming Together: For the Cure, an anthology of erotic romance edited by Alessia Brio. Royalties from the sale of this edition of Coming Together will be donated to the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation. Coming Together has never felt this good!
Sweat
Edited by Rob Knight
Author: with Touché by James Buchanan
Publisher: Torquere Press
Release Date: August 15, 2007
Length: Mini Anthology
Price: $1.95
Buy: http://www.torquerepress.com/cart/cart.php?m=product_list&c=546
Sports. Sweaty men grappling with each other for the ball or plying blades with dramatic precision. The Sweat Taste Test tantalizes us with three stories about men and the games they play.
AJ Wilde’s Twenty-Four takes on a physical trainer who needs his lover to do a little more to climb out of depression, before he does something he’ll regret. Anfernee Williamson brings us a story of just how much two football buddies care about each other, and what they’ll do to show it. James Buchanan’s fencing story takes on what happens when two adversaries come together after a match and admire each others’ skills. Among other things.
Don’t drop the ball! Read Sweat today!
http://www.torquerepress.com/cart/cart.php?m=product_list&c=1950
Cry Melusine
Monday, July 02, 2007
Cry Melusine
Book 2 in the River of Time series (book 1 – Lord Carabas)
by James Buchanan
July 2, 2007Work Safe
Buy it: http://www.phaze.com/
Jules LaRousse’s adventures continue in this sequel to Lord Carabas. Every child wants to believe their family can be salvaged. Family secrets, adulterous liaisons and long born grudges threaten to destroy them all. Jules has to use his wits and burgeoning abilities to save himself and his son when he follows Keiko to the seat of her Scottish Clan.
Excerpt:
"Come, Père, come." Jean-Paul was leading me by the hand through one of the myriad of passages. My son had insisted upon showing me a secret place this morning. Secret places to children his age could be anything, a recess behind a curtain, an empty cabinet, a hollow at the base of a tree. I loved his secret places. I loved that he wanted to share them with me. We would discuss all sorts of things of import while we hid; why dog's noses were cold, whether angels cried rain drops, and if bees liked the taste of honey as much as he.
I was entertaining him this day as his nurse was otherwise occupied. Really it was an excuse for the other adults who thought it odd I attended my son so much. He'd had a small mishap during the night. Not that it was unusual for a child his age, but still the bed had to be righted. Given everything that had happened recently I couldn't believe it hadn't been happening more often. And I felt for him. I had suffered the embarrassment of that problem long after I should have grown out of it. That may have been due to the fathers' supposed cure for my lack of control. They beat me each and every time it happened.
So we'd taken breakfast together. After a game of hide and seek, in which we'd managed to distress practically every servant in the manse, the floor of my room had become a battle ground for an army of chess men. We must have captured the high ground of the bed half a dozen times before Jean-Paul had wearied of that game. Once we quitted the war he had taken me into his confidence about the secret place. Confederates, you understand, share things like that.
Stopping before a large wooden door, he giggled. What wondrous things his giggles were. Bright, eager eyes looked up at me. With both hands he beckoned and I leaned down close. Conspiring with me he whispered, "It's in there."
I knelt beside him and put my arm around his shoulder, drawing him into my body. "What is in there?" I whispered back as I tickled his belly through his vented doublet. We were conspiring after all.
He brushed my hand away. Tickles were not meant for Chevaliers on such important business as secret places. "A maze." Awe dripped in his voice. I was not sure he knew what a maze was, but he was certainly impressed by the thought of it.
"Really? Shall we see it?" He nodded. "Okay then." I stood and grasped the latch. It was one of those heavy iron pieces, the type that took keys the size of a normal man's cock to lock them. Old and cranky as it was, I had to put most of my weight on the lever before it gave.
A few seconds were wasted while I determined that the door opened outwards instead of into the room. Had I but looked at the hinges…thankfully only my son was there to see that. He'd forgive me most any idiocy. Odd, there were brackets for a bar on this side of the door. Why would someone need to bar an interior door in that manner? My palm itched and I rubbed it against my leg. Iron always affects me so. No matter, old buildings such as this were not built to any plan.
A cavernous, empty, circular hall greeted us. It was a dim place of dancing shadows. Indistinct shapes flitted around the darker recesses. A mosaic of red stone tiles wound in and out of the debris littering the floor. A shame the Laird let a room like this go to waste. I supposed it would be hard to heat. It was chill enough now in the midst of summer. With such little windows, up so high, the only light would have to be brought in by torch or candle. I'd become accustomed to the brighter, airier spaces of La Florida.
"Père," Jean-Paul pulled at my sleeve, "Where is it, where is the maze?"
I went down on one knee and swept away some of the dirt and grime. There'd been a floor like this in the Abbaye where I was raised. "See here, on the floor. The labyrinth should start somewhere here, by the door." I pointed to the paving at our feet. "You follow the pattern. When you are all the way through you should be back where you started."
Only a four-year-old could look that disappointed. There was precious little for him to do in this dismal keep. The rain kept him indoors most days. There were no children of his age to play with. The Tacksmen's sons were all young men and his mother claimed it was unseemly to mingle with the crofters' broods, even when they had time away from their chores. At home he often ran wild with Temecuas boys. Adults just weren't much company.
"No, truly, it is fun." I tried to put some enthusiasm in my voice. Taking him by the hand, "Now don't step off the line," I began to walk the pattern, then I turned and caught him by the waist, "don't fall!" He screeched in delight.
We were halfway across the room when I caught the whiff of something not right. Something evil and wrong slid its unseen hands up the back of my legs. A sickly sweet, charnel house smell rose from the tessellate pavement. The room turned bitterly cold.
Jean-Paul whimpered. He'd caught it, too, the sense that we were where we shouldn't have been. A whisper rose in my mind. Disembodied voices engaged in an indecipherable conversation surrounded me. I swept my son into my arms, crushing him against my chest. No words to understand, but the whispers were hateful. They did not want us here. Frozen in fear I could move neither forward nor back. A movement at the limits of my vision caught my attention.
In the fringes of the grey light the shadow of a skeleton slunk up the wall. The outlines of bony fingers and toes sought holds in the stone. Like a bloated spider crawling along its web it crept out onto the ceiling, clinging to the beams radiating from the center. Jean-Paul hissed, "Père?" and I shushed him. Maybe if we didn't move it wouldn't notice we were here.
When it reached the center of the room the foul thing whitened, solidified. I could see the bones and count its ribs. Hours of moments went by as it dangled by its hands and feet above us. With a hideous shriek, echoed in the screams of Jean-Paul and I, it burst into pieces. First the skull, then the other bits of bones rained down upon us. The ossified downpour vanished as it touched the stone.
Stillness, absolute stillness reigned. My son was too scared to cry. His breath came in dry little hiccups. Putain, I was too scared to cry. Speaking more for my own comfort than his, "Shhh, Jean-Paul, it just wanted to frighten us." I began to back towards the door. My boot heels echoed in the empty hall.
And then something else echoed. The heavy sound of the door as it shut behind us. I swung around. A grinding crunch as a key turned the lock. We were locked in. Someone had locked us in. Mon Dieu! Why?
Two breaths and then a low groaning answered me. The whimpers and whines of starving children echoed unseen. Whispered prayers floated about the room. Moans and coughs and vows of revenge, the last solace of the condemned, slipped about me as eager and as deadly as any viper. The invisible dying host pressed against us, robbing the breath from our lungs. Ailpein's ghost story, it wasn't a story. Mère Marie, it wasn't a story.
Buy it July 2 at www.Phaze.com
Read more...
Book 2 in the River of Time series (book 1 – Lord Carabas)
by James Buchanan
July 2, 2007Work Safe
Buy it: http://www.phaze.com/
Jules LaRousse’s adventures continue in this sequel to Lord Carabas. Every child wants to believe their family can be salvaged. Family secrets, adulterous liaisons and long born grudges threaten to destroy them all. Jules has to use his wits and burgeoning abilities to save himself and his son when he follows Keiko to the seat of her Scottish Clan.
Excerpt:
"Come, Père, come." Jean-Paul was leading me by the hand through one of the myriad of passages. My son had insisted upon showing me a secret place this morning. Secret places to children his age could be anything, a recess behind a curtain, an empty cabinet, a hollow at the base of a tree. I loved his secret places. I loved that he wanted to share them with me. We would discuss all sorts of things of import while we hid; why dog's noses were cold, whether angels cried rain drops, and if bees liked the taste of honey as much as he.
I was entertaining him this day as his nurse was otherwise occupied. Really it was an excuse for the other adults who thought it odd I attended my son so much. He'd had a small mishap during the night. Not that it was unusual for a child his age, but still the bed had to be righted. Given everything that had happened recently I couldn't believe it hadn't been happening more often. And I felt for him. I had suffered the embarrassment of that problem long after I should have grown out of it. That may have been due to the fathers' supposed cure for my lack of control. They beat me each and every time it happened.
So we'd taken breakfast together. After a game of hide and seek, in which we'd managed to distress practically every servant in the manse, the floor of my room had become a battle ground for an army of chess men. We must have captured the high ground of the bed half a dozen times before Jean-Paul had wearied of that game. Once we quitted the war he had taken me into his confidence about the secret place. Confederates, you understand, share things like that.
Stopping before a large wooden door, he giggled. What wondrous things his giggles were. Bright, eager eyes looked up at me. With both hands he beckoned and I leaned down close. Conspiring with me he whispered, "It's in there."
I knelt beside him and put my arm around his shoulder, drawing him into my body. "What is in there?" I whispered back as I tickled his belly through his vented doublet. We were conspiring after all.
He brushed my hand away. Tickles were not meant for Chevaliers on such important business as secret places. "A maze." Awe dripped in his voice. I was not sure he knew what a maze was, but he was certainly impressed by the thought of it.
"Really? Shall we see it?" He nodded. "Okay then." I stood and grasped the latch. It was one of those heavy iron pieces, the type that took keys the size of a normal man's cock to lock them. Old and cranky as it was, I had to put most of my weight on the lever before it gave.
A few seconds were wasted while I determined that the door opened outwards instead of into the room. Had I but looked at the hinges…thankfully only my son was there to see that. He'd forgive me most any idiocy. Odd, there were brackets for a bar on this side of the door. Why would someone need to bar an interior door in that manner? My palm itched and I rubbed it against my leg. Iron always affects me so. No matter, old buildings such as this were not built to any plan.
A cavernous, empty, circular hall greeted us. It was a dim place of dancing shadows. Indistinct shapes flitted around the darker recesses. A mosaic of red stone tiles wound in and out of the debris littering the floor. A shame the Laird let a room like this go to waste. I supposed it would be hard to heat. It was chill enough now in the midst of summer. With such little windows, up so high, the only light would have to be brought in by torch or candle. I'd become accustomed to the brighter, airier spaces of La Florida.
"Père," Jean-Paul pulled at my sleeve, "Where is it, where is the maze?"
I went down on one knee and swept away some of the dirt and grime. There'd been a floor like this in the Abbaye where I was raised. "See here, on the floor. The labyrinth should start somewhere here, by the door." I pointed to the paving at our feet. "You follow the pattern. When you are all the way through you should be back where you started."
Only a four-year-old could look that disappointed. There was precious little for him to do in this dismal keep. The rain kept him indoors most days. There were no children of his age to play with. The Tacksmen's sons were all young men and his mother claimed it was unseemly to mingle with the crofters' broods, even when they had time away from their chores. At home he often ran wild with Temecuas boys. Adults just weren't much company.
"No, truly, it is fun." I tried to put some enthusiasm in my voice. Taking him by the hand, "Now don't step off the line," I began to walk the pattern, then I turned and caught him by the waist, "don't fall!" He screeched in delight.
We were halfway across the room when I caught the whiff of something not right. Something evil and wrong slid its unseen hands up the back of my legs. A sickly sweet, charnel house smell rose from the tessellate pavement. The room turned bitterly cold.
Jean-Paul whimpered. He'd caught it, too, the sense that we were where we shouldn't have been. A whisper rose in my mind. Disembodied voices engaged in an indecipherable conversation surrounded me. I swept my son into my arms, crushing him against my chest. No words to understand, but the whispers were hateful. They did not want us here. Frozen in fear I could move neither forward nor back. A movement at the limits of my vision caught my attention.
In the fringes of the grey light the shadow of a skeleton slunk up the wall. The outlines of bony fingers and toes sought holds in the stone. Like a bloated spider crawling along its web it crept out onto the ceiling, clinging to the beams radiating from the center. Jean-Paul hissed, "Père?" and I shushed him. Maybe if we didn't move it wouldn't notice we were here.
When it reached the center of the room the foul thing whitened, solidified. I could see the bones and count its ribs. Hours of moments went by as it dangled by its hands and feet above us. With a hideous shriek, echoed in the screams of Jean-Paul and I, it burst into pieces. First the skull, then the other bits of bones rained down upon us. The ossified downpour vanished as it touched the stone.
Stillness, absolute stillness reigned. My son was too scared to cry. His breath came in dry little hiccups. Putain, I was too scared to cry. Speaking more for my own comfort than his, "Shhh, Jean-Paul, it just wanted to frighten us." I began to back towards the door. My boot heels echoed in the empty hall.
And then something else echoed. The heavy sound of the door as it shut behind us. I swung around. A grinding crunch as a key turned the lock. We were locked in. Someone had locked us in. Mon Dieu! Why?
Two breaths and then a low groaning answered me. The whimpers and whines of starving children echoed unseen. Whispered prayers floated about the room. Moans and coughs and vows of revenge, the last solace of the condemned, slipped about me as eager and as deadly as any viper. The invisible dying host pressed against us, robbing the breath from our lungs. Ailpein's ghost story, it wasn't a story. Mère Marie, it wasn't a story.
Buy it July 2 at www.Phaze.com
Fantasies Vol III
Phaze Fantasies III
with Mask
by James Buchanan
July 2, 2007
Buy it: http://www.phaze.com/
Can we have an "a-MEN", times six? Volume Three of our popular Fantasies series is all about the guys, with six hot stories of manlove from Phaze favorites and a few new faces. Whether tracking down criminals or training each other on the finer points of submission, engaged in a fashionable charade or conflicted by their feelings, you will fall in love with these hunky men who love men.
In James’ Mask, Don Hecto Luz Aritza and his mayordomo y compañero Martín have been lovers since they were boys. Now that the Don is to wed a Frenchwoman, Martín must use magic and love to fight of the woman who wants to tear the lovers apart. Set in Colonial Mexico, Mask weaves the mysticism, suppression and magic of legends of the old southwest into a tale of two men who must fight to be together.
Excerpt:
Horses always ran faster when headed towards their manger, and Fiel was no exception. A wild ride through the bosque brought them to the edge of town where Hector reined him back to fast walk. Not more than a single lane, bordered by loose rock paths, drifted through the pueblo. Whitewashed adobes faced a zocalo filled with scraggly trees and beaten dirt. Holding tight to Hector's waist, they bounced through at a decent clip. When they hit the edge of the small cluster of buildings, Hector spurred the bay into a gallop, heading for home.
Stands of knife leafed agaves wove among saguaro and prickly-pear. Cactus ringed the perimeter of the hacienda, its red clay roof visible as the horse made a rise in the road. It kept all but the most determined marauder out. That, and the thick adobe wall with its broad grease wood gate and broken glass set into the top. Normally, the gates would be shut tight, only a little inset door left open for callers. Today, however, the entry stood open.
Rocks dropped one by one into Martín's stomach. That could only mean one thing. Even Fiel sensed it and, snorting, broke the pace himself. Slowing to a walk, they entered the hacienda courtyard.
As Hector reined their mount to a stop, Martín slid from the back of the animal, adjusting his vest and stamping tight-legged trousers back over his boot tops. He stepped aside as Hector swung out of the saddle and jumped to the ground. When standing together people joked they could hardly tell the men apart, although Hector's fair skin had not been browned by working in the sun, and he cropped his hair short as was the style among important men. Martín carried a few years that the Don did not. But their smiles and the light in their eyes hinted at an unspoken shared lineage.
A young boy, his loose white pants and open shirt billowing, ran to grab the bridle and led Fiel off to the stable. Martín tousled the boy's black hair as he passed, heading toward the crowd that had gathered around the perimeter of the courtyard. Under the eves of the outdoor kitchen, women in Indian blanket skirts, calico tops, and shawls thrown over their heads whispered to each other as they shushed their babies with bounces. Their husbands stood off in tight knots, trying not to look interested. At the center of their attention a carriage rested, its sides covered in tan dust, and a team of horses stood lathered from their pull. In front of that a woman they'd all been waiting months to catch a glimpse of paced. In her wake trailed a dowdy, older matron, fussing and fretting like a mother hen.
Fine, embroidered linen covered the young woman's head and draped about her shoulders. A fringe of ginger curls framed her high forehead. The traveling dress she wore was a demure dark brown, with a high collar for modesty and a cinched waist. Her face could have been beautiful if her expression had not been half so haughty. Lolita Moreau, the soon to be mistress of the hacienda, surveyed her tiny fiefdom as though the peasants might crawl forth and bite her. She snapped a command and her attendant jerked as though whipped.
Off to one side another woman watched. Doña Aritza, Hector's mother, pursed her lips and seemed to be almost in prayer. When she caught sight of Hector and Martín an honest smile broke over her face. Señora Aritza gathered her skirts and headed across the small court toward her son.
"Hector," Martín hissed out of the side of his mouth, "that's your bride?" It was both a question and a show of sympathy. They could only hope the long trip soured her and that it was not her normal disposition.
Hector swallowed. "The painting made her prettier."
"Artists will do that." He nodded, fussing with the scarf at his neck. "If she didn't seem like such a shrew she might fit the image."
With a sigh, Hector held out his hands for his mother, cupping her frail fingers into his palms. "I see the Señorita arrived safely." His tone indicated he rather wished she hadn't.
"Sí, mi'jo, she is here." Señora Aritza's voice echoed agreement with her son's. After a heavy pause, she continued. "Come, let me introduce you." Turning, she led them across the yard, her arm laced through Hector's, Martín following a respectful distance behind.
At their approach, Doña Lolita looked up and smiled. Martín shook off a vision of too many teeth, and reminded himself that Hector was liable to incite smiles in almost anyone. However, when the lady caught sight of Martín standing behind Hector, her dark eyes narrowed and her lips went tight. Apparently, she was not overly fond of the common Mexican. With a final glare in his general direction, Doña Lolita gave her attention back to Señora Aritza.
"My dear," the Señora began, pushing her son slightly forward, "my son, Hector Luz Aritza."
Hector dropped his eyes and stared at his boots. "Muy amable, Señorita. Welcome, I trust your journey was pleasant?"
"Is that any way for a groom to greet his future bride?" The words poured forth like rancid honey. "Staring at the dirt and unwilling to look her in the eye?"
Hector snorted and looked up. "No, you are correct." Turning slightly to catch Martín's eye, Hector raised his eyebrows in question. Martín shrugged. He did not like this woman. It went beyond her demeanor. It went beyond the irrational resentment he had for her…no woman could take Hector from him. Still, something cold slithered down his spine each time she breathed. For a moment the men held each other's gazes: Martín tried to cover his unease and Hector seemed to offer reassurance. Both broke the link at near the same time. Hector's smile tightened as he returned his attention to his bride-to-be. "Welcome to your new home. I hope you will be happy here."
Ignoring the pleasantry, Lolita called, "Tante!" Fingers curled, almost pulling the older woman towards her as with strings, "bring me the gift."
"Gift?" Startled, Hector shifted. His mother patted his arm. Martín stood, suspicion gnawing at his insides.
The wedding gifts had been exchanged months before between the families. Again he shrugged the unquiet off. It was not out of the ordinary for small presents to be exchanged between betrothed. He should have thought to have one prepared in this event. Such things went with his duties as Hector's mayordomo y compañero. Fingering the small, etched coin hung about his neck on a cord, Martín's brain scrambled for an answer. Hector gave him the trinket years ago as a token of his love. Absently, Martín's fingers traced the pattern of a hand holding a heart carved into the surface of the metal.
Ah, well, they hadn't known exactly when the Señorita would arrive. Martín would insure they procured something appropriate before dinner; maybe the crucifix which had belonged to Hector's great-grandmother might be proper.
A soft snick jerked Martín's attention back. The Señorita held the lapel of Hector's jacket with one thin hand. In the other she held a broach, with the pin back sprung. Two open witches' hearts, their tails turned to the left, were crowned in gold. Garnets glittered red. Lolita smiled and leaned in to pin the charm.
"Aye!" Hector jumped back, hand on his chest. Martín stepped to his side, glaring at the woman.
Fox-like eyes narrowed, Lolita stood and watched as a single drop of blood fell from the tip of the pin. Her gaze tracked it as it tumbled to the earth. Then she looked up. "How clumsy of me," she purred, "to stick my husband like that. I must be tired." She folded her hand over the broach. "Perhaps someone could show me to my room."
Read more...
with Mask
by James Buchanan
July 2, 2007
Buy it: http://www.phaze.com/
Can we have an "a-MEN", times six? Volume Three of our popular Fantasies series is all about the guys, with six hot stories of manlove from Phaze favorites and a few new faces. Whether tracking down criminals or training each other on the finer points of submission, engaged in a fashionable charade or conflicted by their feelings, you will fall in love with these hunky men who love men.
In James’ Mask, Don Hecto Luz Aritza and his mayordomo y compañero Martín have been lovers since they were boys. Now that the Don is to wed a Frenchwoman, Martín must use magic and love to fight of the woman who wants to tear the lovers apart. Set in Colonial Mexico, Mask weaves the mysticism, suppression and magic of legends of the old southwest into a tale of two men who must fight to be together.
Excerpt:
Horses always ran faster when headed towards their manger, and Fiel was no exception. A wild ride through the bosque brought them to the edge of town where Hector reined him back to fast walk. Not more than a single lane, bordered by loose rock paths, drifted through the pueblo. Whitewashed adobes faced a zocalo filled with scraggly trees and beaten dirt. Holding tight to Hector's waist, they bounced through at a decent clip. When they hit the edge of the small cluster of buildings, Hector spurred the bay into a gallop, heading for home.
Stands of knife leafed agaves wove among saguaro and prickly-pear. Cactus ringed the perimeter of the hacienda, its red clay roof visible as the horse made a rise in the road. It kept all but the most determined marauder out. That, and the thick adobe wall with its broad grease wood gate and broken glass set into the top. Normally, the gates would be shut tight, only a little inset door left open for callers. Today, however, the entry stood open.
Rocks dropped one by one into Martín's stomach. That could only mean one thing. Even Fiel sensed it and, snorting, broke the pace himself. Slowing to a walk, they entered the hacienda courtyard.
As Hector reined their mount to a stop, Martín slid from the back of the animal, adjusting his vest and stamping tight-legged trousers back over his boot tops. He stepped aside as Hector swung out of the saddle and jumped to the ground. When standing together people joked they could hardly tell the men apart, although Hector's fair skin had not been browned by working in the sun, and he cropped his hair short as was the style among important men. Martín carried a few years that the Don did not. But their smiles and the light in their eyes hinted at an unspoken shared lineage.
A young boy, his loose white pants and open shirt billowing, ran to grab the bridle and led Fiel off to the stable. Martín tousled the boy's black hair as he passed, heading toward the crowd that had gathered around the perimeter of the courtyard. Under the eves of the outdoor kitchen, women in Indian blanket skirts, calico tops, and shawls thrown over their heads whispered to each other as they shushed their babies with bounces. Their husbands stood off in tight knots, trying not to look interested. At the center of their attention a carriage rested, its sides covered in tan dust, and a team of horses stood lathered from their pull. In front of that a woman they'd all been waiting months to catch a glimpse of paced. In her wake trailed a dowdy, older matron, fussing and fretting like a mother hen.
Fine, embroidered linen covered the young woman's head and draped about her shoulders. A fringe of ginger curls framed her high forehead. The traveling dress she wore was a demure dark brown, with a high collar for modesty and a cinched waist. Her face could have been beautiful if her expression had not been half so haughty. Lolita Moreau, the soon to be mistress of the hacienda, surveyed her tiny fiefdom as though the peasants might crawl forth and bite her. She snapped a command and her attendant jerked as though whipped.
Off to one side another woman watched. Doña Aritza, Hector's mother, pursed her lips and seemed to be almost in prayer. When she caught sight of Hector and Martín an honest smile broke over her face. Señora Aritza gathered her skirts and headed across the small court toward her son.
"Hector," Martín hissed out of the side of his mouth, "that's your bride?" It was both a question and a show of sympathy. They could only hope the long trip soured her and that it was not her normal disposition.
Hector swallowed. "The painting made her prettier."
"Artists will do that." He nodded, fussing with the scarf at his neck. "If she didn't seem like such a shrew she might fit the image."
With a sigh, Hector held out his hands for his mother, cupping her frail fingers into his palms. "I see the Señorita arrived safely." His tone indicated he rather wished she hadn't.
"Sí, mi'jo, she is here." Señora Aritza's voice echoed agreement with her son's. After a heavy pause, she continued. "Come, let me introduce you." Turning, she led them across the yard, her arm laced through Hector's, Martín following a respectful distance behind.
At their approach, Doña Lolita looked up and smiled. Martín shook off a vision of too many teeth, and reminded himself that Hector was liable to incite smiles in almost anyone. However, when the lady caught sight of Martín standing behind Hector, her dark eyes narrowed and her lips went tight. Apparently, she was not overly fond of the common Mexican. With a final glare in his general direction, Doña Lolita gave her attention back to Señora Aritza.
"My dear," the Señora began, pushing her son slightly forward, "my son, Hector Luz Aritza."
Hector dropped his eyes and stared at his boots. "Muy amable, Señorita. Welcome, I trust your journey was pleasant?"
"Is that any way for a groom to greet his future bride?" The words poured forth like rancid honey. "Staring at the dirt and unwilling to look her in the eye?"
Hector snorted and looked up. "No, you are correct." Turning slightly to catch Martín's eye, Hector raised his eyebrows in question. Martín shrugged. He did not like this woman. It went beyond her demeanor. It went beyond the irrational resentment he had for her…no woman could take Hector from him. Still, something cold slithered down his spine each time she breathed. For a moment the men held each other's gazes: Martín tried to cover his unease and Hector seemed to offer reassurance. Both broke the link at near the same time. Hector's smile tightened as he returned his attention to his bride-to-be. "Welcome to your new home. I hope you will be happy here."
Ignoring the pleasantry, Lolita called, "Tante!" Fingers curled, almost pulling the older woman towards her as with strings, "bring me the gift."
"Gift?" Startled, Hector shifted. His mother patted his arm. Martín stood, suspicion gnawing at his insides.
The wedding gifts had been exchanged months before between the families. Again he shrugged the unquiet off. It was not out of the ordinary for small presents to be exchanged between betrothed. He should have thought to have one prepared in this event. Such things went with his duties as Hector's mayordomo y compañero. Fingering the small, etched coin hung about his neck on a cord, Martín's brain scrambled for an answer. Hector gave him the trinket years ago as a token of his love. Absently, Martín's fingers traced the pattern of a hand holding a heart carved into the surface of the metal.
Ah, well, they hadn't known exactly when the Señorita would arrive. Martín would insure they procured something appropriate before dinner; maybe the crucifix which had belonged to Hector's great-grandmother might be proper.
A soft snick jerked Martín's attention back. The Señorita held the lapel of Hector's jacket with one thin hand. In the other she held a broach, with the pin back sprung. Two open witches' hearts, their tails turned to the left, were crowned in gold. Garnets glittered red. Lolita smiled and leaned in to pin the charm.
"Aye!" Hector jumped back, hand on his chest. Martín stepped to his side, glaring at the woman.
Fox-like eyes narrowed, Lolita stood and watched as a single drop of blood fell from the tip of the pin. Her gaze tracked it as it tumbled to the earth. Then she looked up. "How clumsy of me," she purred, "to stick my husband like that. I must be tired." She folded her hand over the broach. "Perhaps someone could show me to my room."
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Toy Box: Handcuffs
edited by M. Rode
Want a little bondage? Then handcuffs are for you. This toy box is all about what happens when a bunch of hot boys tie it up with a pair of cuffs.
Ratchet from Jodi Payne and Chris Owen features the boys from the Deviations series, Tobias and Noah. Tobias is ready to play. Will Noah be ready when he comes home?
In Technique, by James Buchanan, Nicholas and Brandon from Cheating Chance decide to give the regulation cuffs a try, with melting hot results.
And in The Dare, by Lorne Rodman, the boys from Bullriders are back, proving that not everyone is fit to be tied. Familiar character, hot loving. That's the key to these hot stories.
Taste Test: Under Arrest Is Out
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
You have the right to read about sexy cops!
That's right, cuff 'em and take them home. These cops are hot, tough, and looking for love. From CB Potts comes a small town cop with a big town problem on its hands. He's got a grumpy grandma, a pack of criminals, and the hottest man he's ever seen to deal with. Vincent Diamond brings along a retired cop with a terrible need to be touched. And from James Buchanan, we get a tale from the other side of the law, with a bad boy who has a real thing for the lawman.
Lock this one up in your bedroom today!
An Excerpt from Pat Down by James Buchanan
Jeff was a fuck up. He knew he was a fuck up. He knew it because he was running hell bent across the back side of Doniphan Drive. Sprinting along the boarder between Texas and New Mexico somewhere past two in the morning, the slap of hard soles on the asphalt drove him. His jaw ached. Throbbed was more like it. Stupid moron in the bar had decided to swing a punch and then everyone got mad because he threw one back. Life was just unfair.
What was even more unfair was being hauled out of the pile of arms and legs by Chris Mathers. High school hunk, all around jock: the good boy who went off to college and was going to be someone. Jeff couldn’t even allow himself the luxury of hating Chris. Chris had been nice in a way that the popular kids weren’t supposed to be.
Easy and confident Chris strode through life. In gym, Jeff watched without watching, memorizing how Chris moved. Jeff longed for the odd, off-the-cuff blessing of a smile, and hated himself for doing so. Chris’ voice seeped through his frame during science class. Hidden behind those big ceramic slab counters, Jeff would jack-off in the back row of the lab. No matter how much Jeff tried, oblivious Chris never saw anything, never noticed. What did he expect? Straight arrow described Chris Mathers, in more than one sense. Jeff had always been, and always would be, among the not quite good enough crowd.
Plus he didn’t have tits. Giggling herds of girls swarmed the jock everywhere he went. That’s where Chris’ attention lay.
After graduation, Chris had gone on and up. Everyone expected him to become a banker, lawyer, or doctor. Jeff headed to the State University. He’d graduated. That was the best that could be said for it. Well, and he’d finally accepted himself, which helped him move beyond much of his angsting high school past. Put it all behind and move forward was his motto. So his job was crap, at least he liked himself now. His bosses liked him. Guys at the plant liked him. Sometimes, like tonight, he and a bunch of his co-workers would head out for a beer. Jeff would relax, hang out and for once be part of “the crowd.”
Then some jerk had said the wrong thing in the parking lot. The instigator had been massively ploughed. Jeff hadn’t been feeling much pain either. Enough people egging them on and words went to blows. Jeff happily pounded the assholes face into the gravel until a hard, lean set of arms wrapped around his chest and hauled him off.
He’d spun around, ready to come out swinging, and found himself staring into set of dark brown eyes. Eyes he hadn’t seen in seven years. All the hell Jeff though he’d left behind pushed its way into his not-quite-sober brain. Like an idiot he’d sputtered out, “Hey, Chris, long time, no see.”
Chris hadn’t said anything. He just stared with narrowed eyes and a hard set mouth. Then Jeff’s gaze drifted down over a hard muscled chest. Jeff remembered that chest getting a lot of behind the eyes time in his teenaged stroke fantasies. Whispering sweet nothings, Jeff would ease Chris out of his lettermen’s jacket. He’d watch those dark nipples get hard under a thin t-shirt and then he’d just lick every inch of skin. That chest had gotten him through many a one-handed date.
Unfortunately that chest was now covered in a black uniform shirt. Storm-grey pocket flaps, epaulets and placket under the buttons jarred against the dark background. Gold accents came off as gaudy not military. Silver patches were stitched to straining short sleeves. A thin leather belt crossed from his left shoulder to right hip, sliding under his badge. It all looked like some military dictator’s idea of a joke. And cowboy boots; only in New Mexico could a State Patrol officer get away with cowboy boots.
Read more...
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Lord Carabas is out
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Lord Carabas
by James Buchanan
February, 2007ISBN 1-59426-638-7
In a Seventeenth Century that never quite was, Julius Montclair LaRousse lives out a slightly off center fairy tale. A half-fé orphan, raised by Jesuits and turned brigand, he shares his adventures across France and into the New World as he tries to get the girl, the boy, and maybe save the French outpost in La Florida along the way.
Length: Novel
Rating: Nova (for M/M, MMF content)
Price $7.00
Buy It Here: http://tinyurl.com/28flbf
Read more...
by James Buchanan
February, 2007ISBN 1-59426-638-7
In a Seventeenth Century that never quite was, Julius Montclair LaRousse lives out a slightly off center fairy tale. A half-fé orphan, raised by Jesuits and turned brigand, he shares his adventures across France and into the New World as he tries to get the girl, the boy, and maybe save the French outpost in La Florida along the way.
Length: Novel
Rating: Nova (for M/M, MMF content)
Price $7.00
Buy It Here: http://tinyurl.com/28flbf
Bittersweets
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Taste Test – Bittersweets: A Taste of Halloween by James Buchanan Things that go bump in the night abound in this Taste Test from James Buchanan. From summoning an ancient spirit to magical spells that go awry, these fours stories will chill and thrill you.
Capturing folktales from Mexico to Russia, these steamy tales will have you jumping at every sound, and wishing you had more. Be careful what you wish for, though, for like the characters in these stories, you might get more than you bargained for! Give yourself a treat today!
Buy It Now!
Twice the Cowboy
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Twice the Cowboy is on Sale Now!
Publisher: Phaze Books
Price: $5.00
Manuel Santos Fuentes was not the type of cowboy Jess Graff was used to. From the moment they met during the El Paso International Rodeo, Jess wanted the Charro. When Manuel is injured during El Paso de la Muerte, Jess seizes the opportunity to get his vaquero into bed. But cross-cultural misunderstandings and family feuds threaten to destroy their relationship before it really starts. Can two men from wildly different backgrounds overcome hatred and jealousy and learn to trust in each other?
Buy it here!
Announcing: Manloveromance News!
Monday, October 02, 2006
The new monthly newsletter for thirty (plus) of the hottest authors of male/male erotica and romances worldwide.
Each month we will update you on members' new releases, reviews, appearances and other tidbits. Our first newsletter will be going out on October 15th. Subscribe now and keep updated on the latest in the sensual world of M/M erotic romance and fiction by some of THE best authors you'll find anywhere in print and on the Net.
This is an announcements only list… you will not be hit with 30,000 emails.
To subscribe: http://www.manloveromancenews-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
Our authors include: Kayelle Allen ~ Evangeline Anderson ~ Lena Austin ~ Mardi Ballou ~ Laura Baumbach ~ Ally Blue ~ James Buchanan ~ Kirby Crow ~Vincent Diamond ~ Marguerite Labbe ~ Fae Sutherld ~ Leigh Ellwood ~ Erastes ~ Renee George ~ Fiona Glass ~ Sedonia Guillone ~ Timothy D. Kelley ~ Jourdan Lane ~ JL Langley ~ William Maltese ~ Renee Manley ~ DJ Manly ~ Sean Michael ~ Willa Okati ~ Sarah Payne ~ CB Potts ~ Luisa Prieto ~ M.L. Rhodes ~ Kira Stone ~ Julia Talbot
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