Lick by Asta Idonea
Jay is unimpressed when his parents drag him on a seaside holiday to Bournemouth. However, the English summer heats up when he meets sexy ice cream seller Aland.
Pacific Rimming by Dale Cameron Lowry
Turning forty makes Mike feel old, so his husband, Ken, helps him recapture his youth in a ménage a trois with a gorgeous younger man. Can what started as a one-night stand transform into a threesome that lasts?
Sea Salt & Chocolate by Lynn Townsend
Marriage is hard work, everyone knows that. Will a summer vacation lead to reigniting sparks between Eric and Temple, or will it tear their family apart?
Weekend Encounter by Jamie Lowe
Jackson may not be looking for romance during a weekend getaway with his friends, but that doesn’t mean romance isn’t looking for him. When Jackson encounters Logan, his plan to third wheel with his buddies is derailed in the best way possible.
Yin and Yang by Rob Rosen
An unexpected early morning encounter between a surfer and California newbie leads to much more than either ever expected along a deserted stretch of pristine beach. Love, it seems, is in the misty sea air!
Lick by Asta Idonea
Jay scrunched the note in his hand and slipped on his flip-flops. Then he turned and strolled up the beach toward the promenade. Despite the dubious weather, the seaside town was packed and he had to pick his way through the crowds. There was a group of squabbling children at the first Teddy Tombola stand he reached, so he gave that one a wide berth and continued on. He’d spotted another stall up ahead and was heading toward it when to a small ice cream truck on his left drew his attention.
The van itself was non-descript; nothing distinguished it from any of the others that graced the beachside streets. However, the man standing at the window was another matter.
Jay’s mouth went dry and he stared at the ice cream seller. The guy’s sandy-blond hair poked out from beneath the white sailor’s cap set at a jaunty angle atop his head, and the way he rested against the counter gave Jay a tantalizing glimpse of firm muscles stretching the fabric of his T-shirt. Heat pooled in the pit of Jay’s stomach, and he was drawn forward without any clear idea of what he was doing, or why.
The young man straightened and flashed a welcoming smile as Jay approached. “Hey there. What can I getcha?”
“Sorry?”
“Which ice cream did you want?” The guy waved a hand toward the board on Jay’s right, and Jay turned to look at it.
The information made no sense to him. The pictures were blurred blobs of color and the words looked like gobbledygook. He swallowed and turned back; only to find himself staring into a pair of beautiful, pale blue eyes.
“What’ll it be then, handsome?”
The man winked, and that brought Jay crashing back to his senses. He returned his attention to the menu board as heat flooded his cheeks. “Uh... a Magnum?”
“You don’t sound too sure about that.”
Jay shuffled. “Well, I wasn’t... I mean, I hadn’t....”
“Better let me choose. Don’t worry; I’m real good at this. I always know what people want.”
Pacific Rimming by Dale Cameron Lowry
He was crouched at the edge of the boardwalk just ten yards ahead of us and peering at something over the side, as still as a great blue heron waiting for prey. A bad metaphor for a bog where no fish live, but that’s how I thought of him, anyway. The periwinkle-grey of his T-shirt and his black, slightly mussed hair only added to the heron-like effect. A cowlick stuck out in the back in approximation of the bird’s feathered crest. His legs were folded like a heron’s too, tight as a pocketknife, his arms as close to his sides as resting wings. Their dark hairs were delicate plumage against his pale skin.
He was more stunning than any other creature I’d spotted that morning—with the exception of my husband, of course. I dropped my binoculars and let them hang against my chest. I nudged Ken’s elbow and pointed in the man’s direction. I knew he’d appreciate the sight as much as I did.
Ken’s breath did a sharp intake—loud enough for me to appreciate, but not loud enough to break the silence of the bog. “You’re a good spotter,” he signed, his hands close to his body like a whisper, then winked.
We both looked. The man must have been flexible to hold that same position for so long, so I guessed he was either younger than us or did a lot of yoga. I envied his flexibility, and I also envied the jeans stretched over his curves and angles like a second skin, highlighting the muscled roundness of his ass. It hovered just inches above the wooden planks of the boardwalk. If the boardwalk had been a human, the position would have been a cruel tease: You’d like to touch me, but you can’t.
Sea Salt & Chocolate by Lynn Townsend
“The carpet’s stainproof,” Eric said, quiet under his breath as Temple stood over the spot while Miriam sobbed on the sofa. “We can just rag it up, not a big deal.”
“This is why we can’t have nice things,” Temple retorted, very quietly. The sentiment was entirely sincere, for that moment in time, but not something he really wanted Miriam to glom on to and drag out as ammunition later in life.
“Ya always did have an uptight streak a mile wide,” Eric said. He had already fetched a washcloth and was blotting up the stain. Astonishingly enough, the white carpet was reporting back clean.
Miriam took advantage of her parents cleaning the carpet to flee the scene. By the time Eric had finished blotting up chocolate milk and carefully drying the spot, she was back from a complete exploration of the house—excluding, of course, her brother’s room, he had locked it against her, and even then, Temple could hear her banging on the door and demanding to be let in, along with A.J.’s crackling baritone denials—and declared “I’m bored.”
“We’ve been here for—” Temple checked his watch “—twenty minutes. You have at least another forty minutes before you’re allowed to be bored.”
“There’s nothin’ to do, Dad,” she complained.
“What would you be doing if you were at home?”
“Watchin’ YouTube.”
“Get me your phone and I’ll hook you up to the wireless,” Eric said. A.J. had registered a number of complaints about Miriam getting a phone so young, since he’d had to wait ’til he was twelve before they’d added his line, whereas Miriam got her phone only a few months back. Temple had gotten tired of Miriam constantly stealing his phone and playing Minecraft on it. It had been much easier, not to mention peaceful, to just let everyone in the house have a device.
Temple sighed, gazing down at his husband, who remained on the floor while he dealt with a six-year-old’s crisis. Eric had gone back to school, pursuing a degree in architecture, but he’d also taken on most of the household duties, including the emotional nurturing of their children, and at the same time, Temple had discovered himself shoved to the side. Their children went to Eric for comfort first, and Temple only when Eric wasn’t available. Oddly, Temple found he missed it. Missed little arms thrown around his neck, missed the trembly smiles after getting a Band-Aid.
And whose fault is that? He asked himself. You were eager enough to give it up, when Eric offered. Your family’s not broken yet, you can still fix it before it gets too far off track. And Eric’s right. I can’t remember the last time we had a lot of time together, without any responsibilities.
Weekend Encounter by Jamie Lowe
Logan went to the counter and hopped up, sitting on the countertop and poking at the keys on the cash register until a number popped up on the screen. “Let’s see. That will be one dollar.”
“One dollar? That’s a heck of a deal.”
“You can pay the balance tonight? By buying me dinner?”
“Are you always so forward?” Jackson asked him. But he was still smiling. He would certainly not say no to an incredibly attractive man’s company. “Fine, I can definitely do dinner. Any place you have in mind?”
“A few. I’ll decide and let you know. Anything you can’t or won’t eat?”
“I avoid beef, but I’m fine otherwise.” Jackson handed Logan a slightly ratty dollar and his cell phone. “We’ll exchange numbers and you can text me where and when to meet for dinner.” This was more than a little bit of a test, of course. If Logan wasn’t comfortable with Jackson having his number, then Jackson knew exactly what he was getting into.
But Logan didn’t hesitate, adding “Logan Peterson” to Jackson’s contacts list. Jackson called to give Logan his number as well—“Norwood,” he added, “my last name”—then took the small bag holding his shirt.
“See you tonight.”
“Mmm.” Logan smirked and turned his attention back to his board.
Jackson left the store to see Brock and Colton picking pieces off the last of a waffle cone. “There you are,” Colton said. “Did you end up getting something, then?”
“Sure did.” Jackson laughed and knocked Colton on the shoulder with his knuckles. “Couldn’t turn down a deal like that.”
Yin and Yang by Rob Rosen
“Boss waves down below. Primo a.m. stuff. You heading down, dude?”
“What? Oh, down below?” I stared over the side of the railing. “No, um, just enjoying the view. I, um, I don’t surf.”
He frowned. “Bummer, dude. Didn’t figure you for a hodad. You had that gleam in your eye. Praying to Kahuna for some killer waves.” He craned his neck out of the car window. “Righteous sets down there, man; shame to waste ‘em.”
I smiled and shrugged. “Sorry, I’m only getting about every third word,” I told him. “I skipped Surf Lingo 101. You got a Webster’s handy?”
He laughed and opened the door, then stood and stretched. Guy was crazy tall, lean and scruffy. With just his sandals and a richly colored pair of baggies on, he left little to the imagination. Needless to say, my eyes devoured him like the breakfast I’d yet to consume. His arms reached for the heavens as he inhaled, his chest filling, expanding, the fine tufts of blond hairs that ran down his torso shimmering in the rays of the new morning light, which added a brilliant gold to his natural bronze. My cock throbbed in my shorts. Good day for it, just like he said.
He looked at my over-stuffed car and grinned. “Ah, moving in, huh?”
“Yep. All the way from Minnesota. Staying with a friend down the coast for now.”
“Rad,” he said, with a bob of his thickly maned head. “That explains the no surfing thing then, I s’pose.”
I nodded. “But I make a mean brick of cheese.”
He laughed, long and deep, his muscle-ripped body quaking as he did so, before he turned and retrieved the gear from his trunk. “Come along and watch then, dude,” he offered, setting his stuff down and unhooking his board. “Can’t live along the coast if you don’t surf, you know.” He looked up, his eyes locking on to mine, laser intense, boring in and through; He winked, and added, “Better than sex. Almost.”
“Almost?” I nearly panted.
“Depends.” He tilted his neck, lifted the giant board above his head, and then he finished his train of thought with, “On who the sex is with. Now grab my gear and let’s go. Save me two trips. My lucky day.”
Jay scrunched the note in his hand and slipped on his flip-flops. Then he turned and strolled up the beach toward the promenade. Despite the dubious weather, the seaside town was packed and he had to pick his way through the crowds. There was a group of squabbling children at the first Teddy Tombola stand he reached, so he gave that one a wide berth and continued on. He’d spotted another stall up ahead and was heading toward it when to a small ice cream truck on his left drew his attention.
The van itself was non-descript; nothing distinguished it from any of the others that graced the beachside streets. However, the man standing at the window was another matter.
Jay’s mouth went dry and he stared at the ice cream seller. The guy’s sandy-blond hair poked out from beneath the white sailor’s cap set at a jaunty angle atop his head, and the way he rested against the counter gave Jay a tantalizing glimpse of firm muscles stretching the fabric of his T-shirt. Heat pooled in the pit of Jay’s stomach, and he was drawn forward without any clear idea of what he was doing, or why.
The young man straightened and flashed a welcoming smile as Jay approached. “Hey there. What can I getcha?”
“Sorry?”
“Which ice cream did you want?” The guy waved a hand toward the board on Jay’s right, and Jay turned to look at it.
The information made no sense to him. The pictures were blurred blobs of color and the words looked like gobbledygook. He swallowed and turned back; only to find himself staring into a pair of beautiful, pale blue eyes.
“What’ll it be then, handsome?”
The man winked, and that brought Jay crashing back to his senses. He returned his attention to the menu board as heat flooded his cheeks. “Uh... a Magnum?”
“You don’t sound too sure about that.”
Jay shuffled. “Well, I wasn’t... I mean, I hadn’t....”
“Better let me choose. Don’t worry; I’m real good at this. I always know what people want.”
Pacific Rimming by Dale Cameron Lowry
He was crouched at the edge of the boardwalk just ten yards ahead of us and peering at something over the side, as still as a great blue heron waiting for prey. A bad metaphor for a bog where no fish live, but that’s how I thought of him, anyway. The periwinkle-grey of his T-shirt and his black, slightly mussed hair only added to the heron-like effect. A cowlick stuck out in the back in approximation of the bird’s feathered crest. His legs were folded like a heron’s too, tight as a pocketknife, his arms as close to his sides as resting wings. Their dark hairs were delicate plumage against his pale skin.
He was more stunning than any other creature I’d spotted that morning—with the exception of my husband, of course. I dropped my binoculars and let them hang against my chest. I nudged Ken’s elbow and pointed in the man’s direction. I knew he’d appreciate the sight as much as I did.
Ken’s breath did a sharp intake—loud enough for me to appreciate, but not loud enough to break the silence of the bog. “You’re a good spotter,” he signed, his hands close to his body like a whisper, then winked.
We both looked. The man must have been flexible to hold that same position for so long, so I guessed he was either younger than us or did a lot of yoga. I envied his flexibility, and I also envied the jeans stretched over his curves and angles like a second skin, highlighting the muscled roundness of his ass. It hovered just inches above the wooden planks of the boardwalk. If the boardwalk had been a human, the position would have been a cruel tease: You’d like to touch me, but you can’t.
Sea Salt & Chocolate by Lynn Townsend
“The carpet’s stainproof,” Eric said, quiet under his breath as Temple stood over the spot while Miriam sobbed on the sofa. “We can just rag it up, not a big deal.”
“This is why we can’t have nice things,” Temple retorted, very quietly. The sentiment was entirely sincere, for that moment in time, but not something he really wanted Miriam to glom on to and drag out as ammunition later in life.
“Ya always did have an uptight streak a mile wide,” Eric said. He had already fetched a washcloth and was blotting up the stain. Astonishingly enough, the white carpet was reporting back clean.
Miriam took advantage of her parents cleaning the carpet to flee the scene. By the time Eric had finished blotting up chocolate milk and carefully drying the spot, she was back from a complete exploration of the house—excluding, of course, her brother’s room, he had locked it against her, and even then, Temple could hear her banging on the door and demanding to be let in, along with A.J.’s crackling baritone denials—and declared “I’m bored.”
“We’ve been here for—” Temple checked his watch “—twenty minutes. You have at least another forty minutes before you’re allowed to be bored.”
“There’s nothin’ to do, Dad,” she complained.
“What would you be doing if you were at home?”
“Watchin’ YouTube.”
“Get me your phone and I’ll hook you up to the wireless,” Eric said. A.J. had registered a number of complaints about Miriam getting a phone so young, since he’d had to wait ’til he was twelve before they’d added his line, whereas Miriam got her phone only a few months back. Temple had gotten tired of Miriam constantly stealing his phone and playing Minecraft on it. It had been much easier, not to mention peaceful, to just let everyone in the house have a device.
Temple sighed, gazing down at his husband, who remained on the floor while he dealt with a six-year-old’s crisis. Eric had gone back to school, pursuing a degree in architecture, but he’d also taken on most of the household duties, including the emotional nurturing of their children, and at the same time, Temple had discovered himself shoved to the side. Their children went to Eric for comfort first, and Temple only when Eric wasn’t available. Oddly, Temple found he missed it. Missed little arms thrown around his neck, missed the trembly smiles after getting a Band-Aid.
And whose fault is that? He asked himself. You were eager enough to give it up, when Eric offered. Your family’s not broken yet, you can still fix it before it gets too far off track. And Eric’s right. I can’t remember the last time we had a lot of time together, without any responsibilities.
Weekend Encounter by Jamie Lowe
Logan went to the counter and hopped up, sitting on the countertop and poking at the keys on the cash register until a number popped up on the screen. “Let’s see. That will be one dollar.”
“One dollar? That’s a heck of a deal.”
“You can pay the balance tonight? By buying me dinner?”
“Are you always so forward?” Jackson asked him. But he was still smiling. He would certainly not say no to an incredibly attractive man’s company. “Fine, I can definitely do dinner. Any place you have in mind?”
“A few. I’ll decide and let you know. Anything you can’t or won’t eat?”
“I avoid beef, but I’m fine otherwise.” Jackson handed Logan a slightly ratty dollar and his cell phone. “We’ll exchange numbers and you can text me where and when to meet for dinner.” This was more than a little bit of a test, of course. If Logan wasn’t comfortable with Jackson having his number, then Jackson knew exactly what he was getting into.
But Logan didn’t hesitate, adding “Logan Peterson” to Jackson’s contacts list. Jackson called to give Logan his number as well—“Norwood,” he added, “my last name”—then took the small bag holding his shirt.
“See you tonight.”
“Mmm.” Logan smirked and turned his attention back to his board.
Jackson left the store to see Brock and Colton picking pieces off the last of a waffle cone. “There you are,” Colton said. “Did you end up getting something, then?”
“Sure did.” Jackson laughed and knocked Colton on the shoulder with his knuckles. “Couldn’t turn down a deal like that.”
Yin and Yang by Rob Rosen
“Boss waves down below. Primo a.m. stuff. You heading down, dude?”
“What? Oh, down below?” I stared over the side of the railing. “No, um, just enjoying the view. I, um, I don’t surf.”
He frowned. “Bummer, dude. Didn’t figure you for a hodad. You had that gleam in your eye. Praying to Kahuna for some killer waves.” He craned his neck out of the car window. “Righteous sets down there, man; shame to waste ‘em.”
I smiled and shrugged. “Sorry, I’m only getting about every third word,” I told him. “I skipped Surf Lingo 101. You got a Webster’s handy?”
He laughed and opened the door, then stood and stretched. Guy was crazy tall, lean and scruffy. With just his sandals and a richly colored pair of baggies on, he left little to the imagination. Needless to say, my eyes devoured him like the breakfast I’d yet to consume. His arms reached for the heavens as he inhaled, his chest filling, expanding, the fine tufts of blond hairs that ran down his torso shimmering in the rays of the new morning light, which added a brilliant gold to his natural bronze. My cock throbbed in my shorts. Good day for it, just like he said.
He looked at my over-stuffed car and grinned. “Ah, moving in, huh?”
“Yep. All the way from Minnesota. Staying with a friend down the coast for now.”
“Rad,” he said, with a bob of his thickly maned head. “That explains the no surfing thing then, I s’pose.”
I nodded. “But I make a mean brick of cheese.”
He laughed, long and deep, his muscle-ripped body quaking as he did so, before he turned and retrieved the gear from his trunk. “Come along and watch then, dude,” he offered, setting his stuff down and unhooking his board. “Can’t live along the coast if you don’t surf, you know.” He looked up, his eyes locking on to mine, laser intense, boring in and through; He winked, and added, “Better than sex. Almost.”
“Almost?” I nearly panted.
“Depends.” He tilted his neck, lifted the giant board above his head, and then he finished his train of thought with, “On who the sex is with. Now grab my gear and let’s go. Save me two trips. My lucky day.”
Asta Idonea is an alternate pen name of author Nicki J Markus.
Nicki was born in England in 1982, but now lives in Adelaide, South Australia with her husband. She has loved both reading and writing from a young age and is also a keen linguist, having studied several foreign languages.
Nicki launched her writing career in 2011 when she released several short stories with Wicked Nights Publishing. She then had two novellas published with Silver Publishing, prior to the company’s closure.
At present, she has several new projects on the go. As well as branching out into the exciting world of M/M under the pen name Asta Idonea, Nicki is working on the first book in a fantasy-mythology trilogy and hopes to find a publisher for it in 2015.
Nicki currently works as a freelance editor and proofreader, and in her spare time she enjoys completing MOOCs and pursuing other interests, including: reading; music; theatre; cinema; photography; sketching; and cross stitch. She also loves history, folklore and mythology, pen-palling and travel
Dale Cameron Lowry lives in the Upper Midwest with a partner and three cats, one of whom enjoys eating dish towels, quilts, and wool socks. It’s up to you to guess whether the fabric eater is one of the cats or the partner. When not busy mending items destroyed by the aforementioned fabric eater, Dale writes m/m romantic and erotic fiction, and for fun enjoys wasting time on Tumblr, listening to Mormon-related podcasts, studying anatomy and neurophysiology, getting annoyed at Duolingo, and reading fairy tales.
Lynn Townsend is a geek, a dreamer and an inveterate punster. When not reading, writing, or editing, she can usually be found drinking coffee or killing video game villains. Lynn's interests include filk music, romance novels, and movies with more FX than plot.
Jamie Lowe is the pen name for a full-time student/part-time writer with plenty to say and only limited creative outlets. Though writing will always be her first love, Jamie’s career interest is in teaching college-level composition and creative writing courses, which she hopes to start with a TA position following the completion of her undergraduate degree in May 2012.
Jamie loves to read, and her bookshelves are overflowing; she considers reading to be the only thing in the world better than writing. Other interests include music (particularly the French horn, which she fell in love with during high school band) and anything having to do with her historical idol, Alexander the Great. Jamie currently resides in Arkansas but is looking forward to making a world changing move to Seattle next fall, following a trip to Germany.
Rob Rosen is the author of the critically acclaimed novels, Sparkle: The Queerest Book You'll Ever Love, the Lambda Literary Award Nominated Divas Las Vegas, which was the winner of the 2010 TLA Gaybies for Best Gay Fiction, Hot Lava, Southern Fried, the Lambda Literary Award Nominated Queerwolf, Vamp, Queens of the Apocalypse, Creature Comfort and the Lambda Literary nominated Fate. His short stories have appeared in more than 200 anthologies. You can find 20 of them in his erotic romance anthology, Good & Hot. He is also the editor of Lust in Time: Erotic Romance Through the Ages, Men of the Manor, Best Gay Erotica 2015 and Best Gay Erotica of the Year, Volume 1.
Asta Idonea
KOBO / GOOGLE PLAY / WIP
SMASHWORDS / B&N / TORQUERE
EMAIL: nickijmarkus@y7mail.com
Dale Cameron Lowry
Lynn Townsend
Jamie Lowe
EMAIL: jamie-lowe@live.com
Rob Rosen
KOBO / DREAMSPINNER / AMAZON
EMAIL: robrosen@therobrosen.com
iTUNES / GOOGLE PLAY / ARe
