HIS69-103 The Hairy Throne
The Hairy Throne
HIS69
(same as MOA-118)
HIS69-103
Jeff Kincaid
(HIS69103)
$1.95
Foreword
A new book by Jeff Kincaid is always an event. Jeff’s record for hard-driving, butch novels designed to turn even the squishiest hard as marble is unsurpassed. From the first, with the two-fisted story of Officer Dick, right down to the last, Brownbucker, the rough and raunchy, sweat-smelling classic about the punk Puerto Rican life in the ghettos of Spanish Harlem.
Jeff’s subjects are always hard-muscled, hard-driving studs in leather and denim. Cops and juvenile delinquents, horny swimming teams (Deep End) and now, hornier motorcycle studs tearing up the roads from San Francisco into the phallic rocky mountains.
The world of The Hairy Throne. A town—Crowe’s Corners. One of those out-of-the-way by waters where life can be deceptively simple, but where the bucolic atmosphere hides a marsh full of evils. A world full of devils, where the good aren’t at all good, and where the bad are something else.
Meet Sheriff Dirk Spencer, a man who bulges his uniform in all the appropriate places. Dirk is the law in Crowe’s Corners and if you’re ever up that way, it’d be a piece of good advice worth taking to just ride on, stranger, ride on.
Especially if the wheels you’re riding on are two, not four. Especially if you sit astride it and it throbs and splutters between your loins. Especially if you haven’t shaved in a day or so and your face is dark and stubbly and rough looking.
Because this sheriff and his deputy Blackie, they get hard when they see broad-chested jocks like you ripping up the countryside on Harleys. They don’t take too kindly to your kind of freedom around Crowe’s Corners. They’re likely to try to take some of it away from you.
With their peckers.
As Biff Jenkins was bound to find out. They called Biff “Hercules” when they saw him, because Biff was built big—all over. His flesh just rippled with bulging, sweat-slick muscles—muscles Sheriff Spencer and Blackie planned to tie down.
Because Biff was there just when they needed him—Biff and his equally hard-riding gang of biker boys. Because a couple of husky rocky mountain studs had been getting their asses handed to them up in the hills. Their bodies were being found all over the place, stripped naked and beaten bruised. And smeared with dirt and spunk.
Who would do something so funky to these upstanding straight-arrows if it wasn’t a bunch of warped motorcyclists like Biff and his pals? It was good enough reason for the law in Crowe’s Corners to get ready for a long night’s interrogation.
Only things are never what they seem in Crowe’s Corners, as Biff would discover, almost too late. As Sheriff Spencer would find out, in the end.
Jeff Kincaid has done it again—The Hairy Throne might just turn out to be even more classic a novel of homo-erotic fiction than all his other candidates for the title to date.
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