Since I make our novels and short stories Amazon exclusive, I have to delete them from my blog when I’m finished with them. They can’t exist anywhere but there or I get in major trouble. And, you haven’t seen trouble until you’ve been in Amazon Jail. Those people don’t play and there is no appealing their decisions. So, my stories will disappear from here when I get around to publishing them.
I’ve been working on an erotic superhero/villain novel for a while. It’s all plotted and over half written, but–well, life and shit. I’m going to start putting it here, one chapter at a time and would love, love, love feedback. Hopefully that will push me to finish the goddamned thing. Please let me know what you think… love you all.
Oh, and these chapters haven’t been to my editor yet, so they will be messy… Also, I’ll keep going with the Construction Worker short story.
So here’s chapter one of Supers (title still up in the air). Btw… this is an origin story, and I have to name this guy in the last chapter. Maybe if enough people are reading by then, I’ll run a contest or something…
The tiny plane was so small we were almost sitting in each other’s laps. I glanced around at the beautiful people. Some of them were in each other’s laps.
The jump from Hawaii to the resort island could only be made by plane. And because of the size of the island’s airstrip, only a small plane. I would have preferred a boat, but was told by my magazine that it wasn’t possible. Not only were no boats allowed, the island was on the southern side of the equator, and the trip would have taken too long.
As the travel writer for the Out Examiner, Capital City’s largest gay magazine, I’d been sent all over the world. Our little magazine had almost folded with the slow dying of print, but the owners had hired a brilliant publicist. Now, our website was the destination site for gay news and travel reviews for most of the English speaking world. Oh, and apparently the publicist had an in with Capital City’s biggest, most popular superhero, Captain Powers. Or, Captain Homo, as many of the less cultured called him. Not only did he reside in Capital City, but he was just about the best looking, most far out of the closet hero on the planet. There wasn’t a gay man in the universe who didn’t dream about getting saved by him, myself included.
That was the first time I was visiting an entire island that was nothing but resorts. No other sources of income. I wasn’t sure how that worked, but looked forward to finding out.
On the plane, couples and groups, chatted and laughed, met their neighbors, and did the general I’m-on-vacation excitement things everyone does. Everyone except me. Not that time.
Some of the guys were incredibly sexy. I sighed and turned back to the window.
Any other time.
Three days before, I had come home early to surprise my boyfriend. The manager of the resort had set up this trip, wanting me to review their facilities. They were trying to make their name known as a gay destination.
Seeing an opportunity, I’d had the editor call and wrangle an extra ticket. It would have been a great vacation for us.
I’d walked in with wine, the tickets, and a huge smile to find a room reeking of poppers and a bed covered in writhing flesh. Hunter had spit out the dick in his mouth and attempted to apologize, but the two cocks lodged in his ass made it seem insincere.
I dropped my smile. I ordered the men out. There may have been some brandishing of the wine bottle and the words, “cut a bitch” may or may not have been yelled.
They left. I gave Hunter until the time I got back from the island to get his stuff out of my house. He protested, but hell, I had some self-respect. Or, at least I used to.
The island came into view. A dormant volcano took up one side of the small dot. Enough eons had passed that what had once been boiling lava had morphed into a lush, topless mountain that trailed a small crescent of flat, dense forests and pristine beaches. From the air, it looked ideal. Hunter would have loved it.
I shook that thought out of my head. Fuck him. It was my vacation now, and besides, his ticket wouldn’t go to waste.
My best friend, Trent, couldn’t get off work for the entire week, but had promised to join me on day three.
I figured my wallowing would be done by then and he and I could enjoy everything, and everyone, the resort had to offer.
Finally, the captain asked that everyone return to their seats, stopping their preamble to debauchery. Okay, I added that last part.
Who, me bitter? Nah.
The plane set down smoothly and we taxied to a small building with a thatch roof and fake bamboo walls. It had been done up to look like it belonged on a beach in Fiji, but was obviously modern and stable.
I whipped out my phone. A voice message from Hunter. Erase. My email was full of things that could definitely wait. So I swiped over to the news feed.
Panic about the economy, superheroes triumphing over super-villains. That kind of stuff had been exciting when I’d first started writing for the magazine, but the bloom was off the rose.
I closed all the apps and powered my phone off. Anyone who needed to reach me knew where I was and could just call the resort. I needed me-time.
We disembarked down a rolling stairway. Everyone stumbled toward the makeshift terminal because it was impossible not to look around and admire the beauty of the island. Huge trees surrounded the one half of the airport that was cut into a clearing. The other half was beach.
I’d never seen a place that could waste prime beach-space on something as utilitarian as an airport. That obviously spoke to how much coastline the island had, or possibly, how little actual flat land.
I didn’t care about the land, I was there for the beach.
I breathed in the ocean breeze, trying to ignore the chatter and laughter of my fellow vacationers. Maybe I would catch a shuttle back to the airport and hang out on this beach if the one at the resort was too crowded.
It wouldn’t be fair to the piece I ‘d write, but I could do all the resort stuff when Trent got there. Besides, most of the people who would consider going there would be with someone. Writing about a solitary experience was useless anyway.
I can talk myself into just about anything.
A line of multicolored Mitsubishi mini-vans lined the gravel road beside the terminal. I was a little shocked. I hadn’t seen vehicles like that since my last trip to Mumbai. As far as I knew, they weren’t even sold outside of India.
Beside each van was a perfectly-postured, over-groomed resort employee. Their blue polos matched the blue of the surrounding ocean and had “Volcanic Resorts” stitched in bold letters across the breasts. And they were big breasts—on the men and the women.
All the men were built like working out two hours a day was in their contracts. If management wanted to make a good impression on arriving homos, that had definitely been the way to go.
Mouths dropped and everyone’s eyes switched from amazed to sexy-flirty, even the couples. I couldn’t blame them. It was impressive. Again, the thought, Any other time, passed through my head.
I found a van with room for a single and climbed in. Blocking everything out, I took in the island, determined to write a non-biased report of my first few minutes.
The volcano towered above us. If it weren’t on the south side of the island, it would have blocked out the sun. The foliage-covered base started angling up from the flat terrain about two miles from the beach and rose more than half a mile into the air. I squinted up and could have sworn it looked like a glass dome sat over the top. Maybe it was some sort of thermal generator that powered everything on the island. I made a mental note to find out.
Not many places I’d been asked to review actually looked like the picture in the brochure. People could manipulate photos into anything. You don’t want the medical waste on your beach to show up, a few clicks and it’s gone. Clear the smog from around your high-rise hotel? Don’t worry about the long process of cleaning up the city—just a few clicks will take care of it.
That place though—the glossy photos hadn’t done it justice. The stark white and reflective glass of the three story hotel somehow added to the natural beauty of the surroundings instead of looking like a cinderblock plunked down in paradise.
The only thing I didn’t like about the design was the long concrete covered breezeway in the front where passengers loaded and unloaded. But, if it had been raining instead of sunning, I would have been more forgiving. One blemish was hardly worth mentioning.
The vans lined up under the breezeway and our ludicrously beautiful drivers got out to help the bellmen take our luggage out of the back.
The people who I still saw as nameless, faceless blurs, swarmed behind the vans to gather their luggage and continue their reveling in style.
I really was usually more of a people person. Maybe when Trent got there—if everyone didn’t have me pegged for an antisocial asshole by then. Even so, Trent could make friends with anyone. If I screwed things up, he’d fix them.
When the crowd dwindled and everyone loped into the lobby, most burdened under the weight of overpacked luggage, I stepped up and took the handle of the lone suitcase left.
By that time, I was a master of shaving off the unimportant. A week at a resort where the daily mode of dress was a Speedo? Hell, I didn’t even need the tiny carry-on. I could have put a weeks worth of supplies in a fanny-pack. Of course, I’d never worn a fanny-pack—and never would. Thus, the carry-on.
Before I could pick it up, a smooth, brown hand rested on mine.
The voice was deep and smooth. The resonance vibrated my chest. I looked up, and then it was my racing heart vibrating my chest.
“Yes,” I said, staring into the deep brown eyes of the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on. His straight black hair was perfect, like he’d just stepped out of the salon ten minutes before.
The straight nose, immaculate eyebrows, and the lips. The full, cocked-to-the-side in confusion, slightly-parted lips. When they opened again to speak, I couldn’t look away.
“The reviewer from the Out Examiner?” The confusion and amusement in his voice snapped me back to reality.
Lips like that were not why I was there… yet. Alone time. Grieving time. I chanted that in my head like a mantra.
I let go of my suitcase and held out my hand. “Please, just Zach.”
“Nice to meet you, Just Zach. My name is Hector.” He grasped my hand and shook it. It was a cheesy fucking line, but under the circumstances, I was very forgiving. I held his hand a fraction too long. Fuck it.
A smile brightened his face and he reached down to pick up my luggage. “You’ve already been checked in, and I’ve been assigned to make sure you get settled.”
He waved his arm toward the entrance.
“Thank you, Hector.” I bowed slightly and walked toward the sliding glass doors and into the lobby. See, I can be a cheesy moron too.
Inside, we bypassed the desk and the milling guests waiting for their room assignments and keys. Being a travel writer had its advantages.
I looked back at the way Hector’s polo hugged his back, the way his resort-issued cargo shorts hugged his bubble butt, and the powerful tanned legs that carried all that around. It was very, very good to be a travel writer. I wondered if I got to keep Hector for the week and almost laughed.
I reminded myself that I was in mourning and would ogle Hector later. Jumping off one horse, or man, and immediately onto another had never worked out for me.
“You’re room is on the third floor. You have a large balcony on the west side of the hotel. That way, you have a good view of the ocean and the mountain.” He led me to a set of stairs. I’d noticed an elevator in the lobby, but definitely never minded stairs, especially when a flexing ass like Hector’s was in front of me. I could have climbed the Empire State building that way.
When we stepped out of the stairwell on the third floor, my door was right across the hall. With a flourish, Hector slipped a keycard into the detector on the door knob. It beeped and the green light flashed. He pushed it open and stepped back.
“Thank you.” I nodded and stepped into a huge room with two glass walls, one faced the beach and the other the coastline.
A large flatscreen television hung on another wall. A king sized bed with the sheets and a thin comforter pulled so tight I could have used it as a trampoline was situated against the east wall. It was incredible.
Usually I didn’t care about televisions in the room when there was so much to do or such beautiful scenery. But, my planned wallow-fest sort of called for one. Alone on the beach and alone in my room.
“Does everything look good?” Hector asked, pulling me back to the real world.
“Of course. The room is beautiful.” I didn’t even want to think about what the room would cost if I hadn’t come on the resort’s dime. I turned back to Hector.
He stood by the door beaming. The room wasn’t the only beautiful thing.
“Well, Zach.” I could tell it took a concerted effort to use my first name instead of the “Mister” that had probably been drilled into all the hotel staff. “I have been assigned to you for the duration of your stay. If you need anything, please just ask for me.”
I didn’t want to know what that would cost a regular guest either.
“The manager will be up later to introduce himself,” Hector said, laying my suitcase on top of a fold-out luggage rack.
I sighed. “Do you think he would mind waiting until tomorrow?” I wasn’t in the mood for being around a kiss-ass right then. And hotel and resort managers always were when I showed up.
Hector straightened and cocked an eyebrow. “You had a long trip,” he said, nodding. “He will be disappointed, but I’m sure he’ll understand.” The firmness in his voice let me know that he’d make sure the manager understood.
“Thank you, Hector.” I handed him a ridiculously large tip. I always over-tipped when I was comped a vacation. It just seemed like the right thing to do.
He didn’t even look at it before he slipped it into his pocket. A true professional.
“Thank you,” he said, reaching for the door. “Remember. Anything.” He pulled his metal name tag out from his chest, pulling the other side of the polo tighter across his firm chest. “Hector.”
“Hector Velozo” was engraved in the shiny surface.
Zach Velozo… had a nice ring to it. I laughed, both at my own stupidity and at his thinking I’d ever forget his name.
“Thanks, Hector. I’ll probably see you in the morning.” Plans of hibernating slowly evaporated. Damn him.
He winked and walked out the door, shutting it. I turned to the sliding doors, ready to take in the view from the balcony. Quiet ocean watching, a little Lifetime television, and bed. Not the most raucous night, but it sounded good.