Sunday, September 13, 2020
Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Talos by AG Carothers
Title: Talos
Author: AG Carothers
Series: Bloodlines of Fate #1
Genre: M/M Romance, Paranormal, BDSM
Release Date: September 8, 2020
Cover Design: Samantha Santana, Amai Designs
Cover Illustration: Maberan
The Age of Man has passed, and a new age is upon the Earth. An age of magic and technology ruled by the supernatural beings that once hid amongst humanity has begun.
Talos - Vampyr King, Supernatural Council Member, and Despiser of Humans. Fate has a surprise up their sleeve for him.
Bayne - Raised by the human resistance, Would-be Assassin, and Despiser of Supernatural Beings. He's ready to sacrifice himself to kill his enemy.
Bayne is thrust into a world he thinks he knows but quickly discovers his whole life has been built on lies. Talos, perfectly happy ruling his corner of the world, is faced with an unexpected and unwelcome change that comes with the mate chosen by Fate. Together they must discover how to live and, in the end, love one another. But will Fate have more in store for them than just learning to love the species they hate?
Bloodlines of Fate is a new urban fantasy series set in a world destroyed by humans and resurrected by supernatural beings. Fate has many plans for the vampires, fae, unicorns, therianthropes, and humans of this new world. While their mates may be fated, learning to love isn't that easy.
This book contains depictions of gladiatorial combat, snarky fem twinks who will cut you, kings in stilettos, and awkward heats with a pinch of daddy kink.
Talos strode calmly into his office. His skin tingled with pins and needles all over. Odin and Majid were on his heels, and Majid closed the door behind him. Talos leaned on his teak desk as his discovery crashed into him. Claws extended from his fingertips and dug into the dense wood, marring its polished surface.
"Why of all days would this happen today?" Talos asked Fate.
"Brother, what is it?" Odin closed in and put a reassuring hand on Talos' back, but it made his skin crawl. He shrugged Odin off and turned back around.
"It's him." Talos still couldn't believe it. He wanted to race to his bedroom to confirm it, but he had to wait.
Majid cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, it's him?"
Talos looked up at Odin and realization dawned on Odin's face. "Oh, him him?" Talos could only nod. His throat constricted.
"I knew I had to come to you, Brother. And it seems this is why. I was there when our father found his beloved, your pa."
Talos sat on the edge of the desk, crossed his arms, and massaged his temples with one hand. Majid stepped closer, started to put his hand on Talos, then took his hand back with an apologetic smile.
"Congratulations on finding your mate, my old friend."
Talos raised his head with a weary smile. "Thank you, and that was a magnificent display in there. I'll never tire of seeing you get horny." Talos chuckled softly. "Although my new mate called you a horse. Apparently, he's never heard of a black unicorn."
Majid snorted. "He's lucky I can't read his thoughts like you can," he scowled.
Odin's deep booming laugh caused Majid to snort again. Odin cleared his throat nervously, trying to cut off his laughter.
"Your idea to let one of the other resistance members through with him was good. It gave me an idea as to what kind of man my mate is. He was scared but he held his ground. His stubbornness to see his mission through shored him up. It's going to be interesting to see how he reacts to spending an eternity with us leeches."
Majid smirked. "You know how much I like a good impaling."
"I got something you can impale." Odin shook his butt at Majid and Talos snorted out a laugh.
Majid ignored Odin's interruption. "Your mate jumped a little, but you're right. He held steady even when I slowly killed that weakling." He scoffed in disgust. "Like anyone that weak would have made it through the selection process. It's a wonder they survived the games. They were lucky to have been killed by me."
"It is quite an honor. I think it's been a full month since you've impaled someone in the throne room." Talos rubbed his forehead. His skin continued to tingle. "I won't be able to bond with him until his blood is clean."
"Gideon is having the hemodialysis machine brought to your chambers along with a bed he can be properly restrained on. The doctors estimate it'll only take two rounds for his blood to be cleaner than when he was born," Majid reassured Talos.
"He will fight. I have no doubt. And we will most likely have to sedate him," Talos added.
"The sooner you get it done, the better, brother. Your body will not allow you to wait too long."
"It's almost dawn now." Talos looked at the clock on his wall. "Go to bed. Majid will stay up with me to watch over my mate."
"Why of all days would this happen today?" Talos asked Fate.
"Brother, what is it?" Odin closed in and put a reassuring hand on Talos' back, but it made his skin crawl. He shrugged Odin off and turned back around.
"It's him." Talos still couldn't believe it. He wanted to race to his bedroom to confirm it, but he had to wait.
Majid cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, it's him?"
Talos looked up at Odin and realization dawned on Odin's face. "Oh, him him?" Talos could only nod. His throat constricted.
"I knew I had to come to you, Brother. And it seems this is why. I was there when our father found his beloved, your pa."Talos sat on the edge of the desk, crossed his arms, and massaged his temples with one hand. Majid stepped closer, started to put his hand on Talos, then took his hand back with an apologetic smile.
"Congratulations on finding your mate, my old friend."
Talos raised his head with a weary smile. "Thank you, and that was a magnificent display in there. I'll never tire of seeing you get horny." Talos chuckled softly. "Although my new mate called you a horse. Apparently, he's never heard of a black unicorn."
Odin's deep booming laugh caused Majid to snort again. Odin cleared his throat nervously, trying to cut off his laughter.
"Your idea to let one of the other resistance members through with him was good. It gave me an idea as to what kind of man my mate is. He was scared but he held his ground. His stubbornness to see his mission through shored him up. It's going to be interesting to see how he reacts to spending an eternity with us leeches."
Majid smirked. "You know how much I like a good impaling.""I got something you can impale." Odin shook his butt at Majid and Talos snorted out a laugh.
Majid ignored Odin's interruption. "Your mate jumped a little, but you're right. He held steady even when I slowly killed that weakling." He scoffed in disgust. "Like anyone that weak would have made it through the selection process. It's a wonder they survived the games. They were lucky to have been killed by me."
"It is quite an honor. I think it's been a full month since you've impaled someone in the throne room." Talos rubbed his forehead. His skin continued to tingle. "I won't be able to bond with him until his blood is clean."
"Gideon is having the hemodialysis machine brought to your chambers along with a bed he can be properly restrained on. The doctors estimate it'll only take two rounds for his blood to be cleaner than when he was born," Majid reassured Talos.
"The sooner you get it done, the better, brother. Your body will not allow you to wait too long."
"It's almost dawn now." Talos looked at the clock on his wall. "Go to bed. Majid will stay up with me to watch over my mate."
A.G. Carothers is actually a dragon very cleverly disguised as a human. They are a non-binary author of LGBTQIA Romance and Urban Fantasy, who enjoys writing original and entertaining stories. They are very excited to share the worlds they've created with you.
A.G. currently lives in Tennessee with their platonic life partner, who is not a dragon. They yearn to live back in Europe and will some day. In their spare time they are addicted to losing themselves in the lovely worlds created by other authors
A.G. is committed to writing the stories they see in their head without restrictions. Love is blind and doesn't see gender, race, or sexuality.
EMAIL: Info@AGCarothers.com
Saturday, September 12, 2020
Saturday's Series Spotlight: The Blowhole by Helena Stone
Summary:
If she’s not good enough for all of him, she’d rather have none.
Twenty-one-year-old Amber Sommerville has no idea what she’s in for when she enters an exclusive club in Dublin. But she instantly knows the man who rescues her from a predator is someone special.
Forty-one-year-old Hector Kelly has seen it all before, but one look at Amber leaves him enchanted. Because she’s young and inexperienced, he tells himself he needs to hold back, despite Amber’s obvious desire for more.
When Amber discovers exactly how much Hector has been hiding from her, she gives him an ultimatum. Will Hector be brave enough to share his all with Amber, or is their love doomed from the start?
Summary:
Can a second chance at love overcome grief and self-doubt?
Eighteen months after her beloved husband died, Heather is ready to take on the world again. Organizing a party in The Blowhole, an exclusive resort on the Irish west coast, is just the ticket.
Jason should be on top of the world. His resort is a success and about to celebrate its first anniversary during a weekend long extravaganza. So why does he feel as if his life doesn’t fit him anymore?
Twenty years after they first met, Jason and Heather are given an unexpected second chance at love. When a threat to Heather’s independence and Jason’s livelihood imperils their budding relationship, will their bond be strong enough to fight for their happy ever after?
This second edition of Little Rainbows has been partially rewritten and completely re-edited.
Now or Never #3
Summary:
When the past intrudes, can two lost souls forge a future together?
Karl’s carefully erected walls are crumbling. Giving up sex and relationships made perfect sense when he was eighteen. For a decade, he poured all his time and effort into his flourishing career. Doubts crept in the first time Karl met Leo and now, after two years of avoiding him, Karl is in charge of training Leo.
Leo loves his life in The Blowhole. Entertaining the guests during explicit shows under Roger’s guidance meets Leo’s needs and keeps his demons at bay. When Roger leaves, Leo’s job expands but he’s assigned to work with Karl, the General Manager who appears to detest him, and Leo’s anxiety blossoms. It wouldn’t be so bad if Leo hadn’t been attracted to Karl from the first moment he saw him.
Two men. A truck-load of insecurities and an attraction that can’t be denied. When the full horror of Leo’s past comes to light, will their fledgling connection be strong enough to weather the storm?
When the past intrudes, can two lost souls forge a future together?
Karl’s carefully erected walls are crumbling. Giving up sex and relationships made perfect sense when he was eighteen. For a decade, he poured all his time and effort into his flourishing career. Doubts crept in the first time Karl met Leo and now, after two years of avoiding him, Karl is in charge of training Leo.
Leo loves his life in The Blowhole. Entertaining the guests during explicit shows under Roger’s guidance meets Leo’s needs and keeps his demons at bay. When Roger leaves, Leo’s job expands but he’s assigned to work with Karl, the General Manager who appears to detest him, and Leo’s anxiety blossoms. It wouldn’t be so bad if Leo hadn’t been attracted to Karl from the first moment he saw him.
Two men. A truck-load of insecurities and an attraction that can’t be denied. When the full horror of Leo’s past comes to light, will their fledgling connection be strong enough to weather the storm?
I should start off by saying I have not read the first 2 entries in The Blowhole series, I have nothing against M/F pairings, I love any & all well written pairings but over the past 7 years I have primarily read only LGBT genres/pairings. Now as this is a standalone series, I don't feel I was lost or missing something having started with Now or Never. I can also honestly add that knowing and loving Helena Stone's work, one day I will go back and read All or Nothing & Little Rainbows.
On to Now or Never. Karl and Leo are, well simply put: brilliant! Their chemistry smolders off the page/screen, there is no denying that there is a connection between the two men. Whether they let that connection be explored is really not in doubt as Helena Stone enjoys her HEA but the journey they have getting to the end is where the real story is told. Did I want to knock their heads together a few times? Definitely. Did I want to wrap them up in Mama Bear hugs as well? Of course. It's those mutual moments of screaming "Take a chance!" and "It's going to be alright." that really told me I was reading a winner. In my head I have a list that helps me decide where on the "It's a pleasant read to HOLY HANNAH BATMAN!" a book falls and one of those boxes is that kind of warring emotions the characters invoke in me, so when I can tick that box as I did in Now or Never, I knew I had a gem burning up my kindle.
I'll just add that considering the place and type of business Karl manages at The Blowhole club, Now or Never is actually quite mild in the kink department. Even though the kink levels are relatively mild there is never any mistaking the heat between the two leads.
Now or Never is a journey of discovery or perhaps a better word would be acceptance, opening oneself up to the whole you that desires to be free. There is heat, romance, chemistry, drama, angst . . . truth is Karl and Leo's journey is beautifully told running the gauntlet of feels that makes you route for them as a pair but also as individuals from the get go. Wonderful read.
All or Nothing #1
“You’re serious?” Amber knew her laugh sounded nervous, but she couldn’t stop it from escaping her mouth. When the masked man had first walked up to her and told her to kneel, she’d thought it was a joke, orchestrated by her sister. It would have been just like Sinead and her mates to do something like that. Now, she wasn’t so sure. Whoever this was, he clearly expected her to kneel before him. He was in for one hell of a disappointment.
“Very serious. Did you really think you could walk into a BDSM club and not obey the rules?” Anger or something very close to it vibrated off the man, and for the first time since he’d approached her, Amber felt a stab of fear. Not that she’d show him her feelings. She lifted her chin and relished the surprise she thought she recognized on what she could see of his face when she looked him straight in the eye.
“I’ve no intention of kneeling for anyone, least of all you.” It took all her strength not to flinch when he raised his hand. She’d no idea if he planned on striking her or just wanted to force her to her knees.
“That’s enough, Carlos.”
The deep, calm voice coming from behind her startled Amber. She wanted to turn around and discover who it belonged to, but knew she couldn’t afford to take her eyes off the man in front of her.
Said man in front of her—Carlos apparently—frowned for a moment, as if confused, as he glanced over her shoulder. “Hector, this has nothing to do with you. Leave us alone to sort this out.” The masked man returned his steely-eyed attention to Amber.
“It does when you’re determined to give all of us a bad name.” The warm voice touched something deep in Amber. She was no damsel in distress and hated relying on others, but she couldn’t help being grateful for the help. She’d no idea what sort of trouble she’d gotten herself into. Which meant she didn’t know how to get herself out of it either.
The anger Amber’d thought she recognized in Carlos’s eyes transformed into fury, and for the first time since he’d addressed her, he fully focused on somebody other than her.
“Stay out of this. I won’t tell you again. Who do you think you are? You disappear for years, and then you presume you can tell me how to behave. Go back to wherever you’ve been hiding and leave this to us real men.”
“Look at her wrist, Carlos. You’re right. You shouldn’t need me to explain how this works.”
Amber glanced at her wrist and the white armband they’d told her to wear when she’d entered the club with the other girls. Apparently, it wasn’t just proof of admission.
“A white armband. I know. I saw that immediately. Doesn’t mean the girl shouldn’t know how to behave.”
Amber’s temper rose. She didn’t enjoy being the subject of a conversation she didn’t appear to have a role in. She opened her mouth, although she’d no idea what she wanted to say, when the sonorous voice behind her beat her to it.
“That’s exactly what it means, Carlos. I don’t like these open nights either, but that’s what this is, and as a result, most people here right now don’t even know there are rules, never mind what they might be. Leave the girl alone and find yourself an experienced submissive.”
Suddenly, it all came together for Amber. Now, she understood why her sister—the bride to be—and her friends had giggled as much as they had when they’d entered the club. She’d read about submissives. She almost smiled but remembered the dicey situation she found herself in just in time. She enjoyed reading about Doms and those who submitted to them. She’d somehow failed to translate those works of fiction into real possibilities. And she’d been slow on the uptake. After all the books she’d read, she should have recognized this club for what it was—far more than “just” a sexy nightclub.
Lost in her thoughts, it took Amber a moment before she became aware of the staring contest taking place between Carlos and the man behind her. The urge to turn around and find out who he was had grown stronger, but she still didn’t want to turn her back on the Dom in front of her. When Carlos gave a small nod before stalking away, Amber relaxed, her body releasing the tension she hadn’t known she’d been holding.
“Thank you.” Amber turned around as she spoke. Everything else she’d wanted to say disappeared from her mind as she looked straight into the dark brown eyes of the man who’d come to her rescue. She tried to figure out what she saw there. She would have called it kindness except she also detected a note of anger in his gaze.
“What were you thinking, girl? Why didn’t you stay with your friends? There’s safety in numbers.” The anger she’d seen in his eyes didn’t translate to his voice. If anything, he sounded resigned, exasperated.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble.” Amber thought for a moment. It was true; she hadn’t meant to create a problem, hadn’t known she might when she allowed the rest of their party to move on while she’d studied her surroundings. “I didn’t know I shouldn’t be on my own. I mean, they never said anything when we came in.”
“How did you end up here anyway?”
Something bristled inside Amber before subsiding again. She didn’t mind answering his questions, just as she hadn’t been upset when she picked up on his anger. It didn’t make sense, because she wasn’t in the habit of letting others tell her what to do or allowing them to interrogate her, but she didn’t question her instinct.
“It’s my sister’s hen party. One of her friends suggested this club.” As she spoke, she remembered the looks Maeve—the friend in question—had exchanged with Mary, another friend. She hadn’t thought anything about it at the time, but now, she realized they’d known exactly what they would be leading the rest of them into. “Sinead, my sister, was already very drunk by then and appeared to be eager to visit a club...any club. I just tagged along.”
She’d resented that. Sure, she was a few years younger than the rest of the party, but she wasn’t a child anymore. She’d bitten her tongue all through the evening as Maeve and some of the others had belittled her. Sinead had defended her earlier on in the evening, but as people kept on pouring drinks into her, she’d soon lost contact with reality.
“But you didn’t stay with them when they moved to the other side of the club?”
His question took her by surprise. How did he know where the others had gone? She looked around until she spotted them on the far side of the dance floor and nearly groaned out loud. It was impossible to miss her sister. Sinead stood on a table in only her underwear and the veil she’d put on earlier. A blush crept up Amber’s neck and cheeks as she wondered what this man might think of her and her sister.
“Ah, I think I understand.” The man’s low chuckle took her by surprise and allowed her to relax again.
“Yes, well. What can I say? I don’t like getting drunk, and I’m not overly fond of some of my sister’s friends. Letting them go on without me for a while seemed like a good idea. If I’d known I’d cause trouble in the process...” She thought for a moment before deciding she had nothing to lose. “Besides, there’s so much to look at here. I had to stop and take it all in.”
She allowed her gaze to roam the club again and only barely repressed the shiver of excitement threatening to run down her spine as she observed more people kneeling on the floor at the feet of others. A girl she’d noticed getting down to her knees earlier was now on her feet, following the man who, Amber assumed, had to be her Dom toward closed double doors on the far side of the room, her head slightly bowed.
She felt her rescuer’s gaze on her and tore her attention back to him.
“By the way, I’m Amber Sommerville. Thank you for stepping in just now. I had no idea how to deal with that man.” Again, she noticed something in his eyes she couldn’t name.
“Hector Kelly.” He took the hand she offered and held it slightly longer than she’d expected. “You should either join your sister or go home, Amber. This is no place for young women on their own.”
“Oh no.” She laughed. “I’ve no intention of going yet. I want to see more. I’ve only read about places like this. I never believed they really existed, never mind could be found in Dublin. Now that I’m here, I want to discover how much of what I considered fiction is in fact real. And I want to know what’s on the other side of those doors.”
She’d no idea how she knew, but she’d no doubt Hector disapproved of her plans. His expression hadn’t changed, and yet she could almost feel his frustration. Tough. She was grateful he’d helped her out of a tricky situation, but it didn’t give him the right to tell her how to spend the rest of her evening. It was a shame though. She would have loved to get to know him better but not if it meant allowing him to make her decisions for her.
“Thank you again, Hector. I’m just going to have a look around before I join the others again.” She took a few moments to really look at him. The slight stutter in her heartbeat took her by surprise, and she dismissed it. Hector was very attractive—not far removed from her image of the ideal man in fact—and he was bossy, which should have been off-putting but, strangely enough, didn’t actually bother her. It was a shame she’d probably never see him again.
The moment she saw him take a deep breath, she turned and walked toward the half-hidden doors at the back of the club. She didn’t want to hear why he thought she should leave.
Little Rainbows #2
The smell of sweat, leather, and almost tangible lust invaded her senses. The sounds of floggers hitting flesh, moans of pleasure, and shrieks of pain brought back memories. Everything she saw, heard, and smelled filled her with a great sense of loss, as well as an unexpected rush of arousal.
A crowd filled the large space Jason steered her toward. She could feel the anticipation in the air and couldn’t escape the excitement buzzing through the room. A path cleared in front of them, and Heather followed Jason to a spot, just outside the exhibition area, giving her a clear view. Her first instinct was to turn around, close her eyes, do anything in her power not to see the scene in front of her. She couldn’t.
It had been so long she could barely remember the sensations displays like this aroused in her. She knew it would hurt later, but right now, she needed to experience those feelings. She’d dealt with the pain for almost two years. She could deal with it for a while longer.
Her breath caught as she watched a man dressed only in dark denim pants lead a naked and blindfolded woman to a bench. Heather studied it more closely. It wasn’t a standard spanking bench. Not with the big dildo fixed near one end.
The man brought the woman to the purpose-built piece of furniture and made her place one foot on a small step before helping her to straddle it. With her other foot positioned on the step on the far side, the woman’s crotch hovered over the phallus. Of course, deprived of her eyesight, she didn’t know that—yet. When the man took the woman’s hands and pulled them forward to the other end of the bench where two pieces of ribbon were waiting to tie them, her body lowered just enough. Heather recognized the moment the woman became aware of the dildo between her legs. Her face tensed, then relaxed into a lazy smile.
Amazement filled Heather when she felt her own face mirror the girl’s satisfied expression. The full and instant reaction of her body to the scene shocked her. Heather’s nipples tightened, and heat and wetness gathered between her legs. She wanted to shake her head, deny the feelings. But she remained still, suddenly hyperaware of Jason’s hands on her hips. For a second she felt the urge to lean back and find some of that physical contact she’d missed for so long. She couldn’t. It was Jason behind her, not Darren. She wanted it to be Darren. She needed to feel him behind her, pressing his hardening cock into her arse, whispering suggestions in her ear. She could hear his voice in her head, telling her all the things he’d be doing to her later, once they were alone. She felt his hands squeeze her hips.
They’re not Darren’s hands. Disappointment shot through her, and she tensed. The hands squeezed again, and some of the anxiety disappeared. No, those weren’t Darren’s hands, it wasn’t her husband and Dom standing behind her, but she couldn’t deny those hands were grounding her, making it possible for her to watch the scene in front of her instead of running away as fast as she could.
She relaxed further and gave her full attention to the beautiful couple. The woman’s hands had been tied to the bench, and the man walked toward her legs. A resounding slap on her arse had the woman slipping down onto the waiting dildo. Her excited groan almost got lost in the gasps coming from the audience. Heather watched as the man talked to the woman, his voice too low to carry to their audience. Whatever he was saying, the woman must have been reacting according to his expectations. He had a satisfied grin as he rubbed his partner’s shapely bum with languid strokes. The woman squirmed, only to stop as soon as the man murmured something else. He took something from his pocket, looked at it, and pressed with his thumb. Instantly a low buzzing sound filled the room, and the woman started moving again. The man’s hand went back to her arse to keep her in place, victim to the vibrations the dildo sent into her core.
“You’re not to come.” For the first time, the man spoke in a voice loud enough to carry to his audience. Heather could feel the crowd around her tensing in sympathy with the woman’s plight. Her own body stiffened, and her vagina contracted while Heather’s breathing quickened. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew Jason had to be aware of all these reactions. His hands were still on her hips, his thumbs stroking her, his presence only adding to the need running through her veins.
Again she forced her attention away from her own body and back to the scene, now nearing its end. The woman appeared to be reaching her limit, moaning loudly and pleading with the man who continued to keep her from moving with his hand. After a few more minutes of what Heather knew was exquisite torture for the woman, the man gave her arse a light slap and walked around the bench to face her. As the woman took advantage of her freedom and bucked herself to a long and violent orgasm, the man bent forward and took her mouth in a long and deep kiss.
Too much. She couldn’t do this. The heat, the love, the way the man so obviously cared for his sub. Memories rushed through Heather’s head, and lights flashed in front of her eyes. She had to get away; she couldn’t breathe. Turning around, she blindly stared up at the man behind her, the man she didn’t quite recognize.
“Black… Black. Please…black.”
Now or Never #3
“Well?” The humor in Leo’s voice suggested he knew exactly what dilemma Karl faced.
“Half past seven,” Karl said before dropping his phone on the bedside table.
“So we have time.” Leo continued to squeeze and stroke Karl’s arse. “Good. That gives me a chance to appreciate the view.”
“Not that much time,” Karl muttered. “I’ll have to get showered and changed before going to the office.” Not that there were rules against him wearing casual clothes while on duty, but he preferred not to. Still, he could take thirty minutes without leaving himself with a mad rush to get ready. Which was just as well, since Leo’s ministrations had turned Karl’s morning wood into a rock-hard erection.
“Spoilsport,” Leo muttered.
“I’ll give you spoilsport.”
In one flowing move, Karl turned around, captured Leo by the middle, turned him over, and gave him a slap to his backside. He fully expected his action to result in a playful fight and was surprised when Leo stilled. Leo’s arse cheek had a subtle red glow, and Karl couldn’t take his eyes off it. Moments passed while the mark faded, and Leo remained motionless. Had Karl gone too far? He wished he knew how all this worked. Unable to come up with answers and not sure how to frame the question, Karl moved until he could press his lips against the now almost invisible glow.
“That’s nice too.” Leo’s muttered words were barely audible since his mouth was pressed against the pillow.
Too? Maybe his impulsive action hadn’t been wrong. He’d have to think about what, if anything, that meant, but not now. He turned Leo onto his back and was happily surprised to see his erect cock rest heavily on Leo’s belly. Karl’s mouth watered.
“My face is here, you know.” Amusement was clear in Leo’s voice.
“Pretty as you are,” Karl said without changing his focus, “I like what I’m looking at right now.” He saw a drop of precum emerge and licked his lips.
“So I see.” Leo’s voice was filled with heat. “Just looking, are you?”
Karl recognized a challenge when he heard one. Not that he needed the encouragement. He’d been thinking about this ever since Leo had given him a blow job. He closed the distance between his mouth and Leo’s dick and lapped up the glistening pearl. The taste was…unlike anything he’d ever had in his mouth before. Definitely not unpleasant, although Karl wasn’t sure he’d call it tasty.
Curiosity pushed his musings to the back of his mind. Karl took Leo’s cock into his mouth, sucking lightly and swirling his tongue around the head, just because he remembered how much he’d enjoyed it when Leo did the same to him.
“Ohhhh.” The sound Leo made was a mixture of surprise and pleasure. “Move.” Leo shifted on the bed, maneuvering both of them until Leo could get his mouth on Karl’s dick.
When Leo swallowed most of his erection down, the lust coursing through Karl’s veins made him forget to suck on Leo’s cock. Then he tried to copy the move but had to pull back when he almost choked.
“You’re serious?” Amber knew her laugh sounded nervous, but she couldn’t stop it from escaping her mouth. When the masked man had first walked up to her and told her to kneel, she’d thought it was a joke, orchestrated by her sister. It would have been just like Sinead and her mates to do something like that. Now, she wasn’t so sure. Whoever this was, he clearly expected her to kneel before him. He was in for one hell of a disappointment.
“Very serious. Did you really think you could walk into a BDSM club and not obey the rules?” Anger or something very close to it vibrated off the man, and for the first time since he’d approached her, Amber felt a stab of fear. Not that she’d show him her feelings. She lifted her chin and relished the surprise she thought she recognized on what she could see of his face when she looked him straight in the eye.
“I’ve no intention of kneeling for anyone, least of all you.” It took all her strength not to flinch when he raised his hand. She’d no idea if he planned on striking her or just wanted to force her to her knees.
“That’s enough, Carlos.”
The deep, calm voice coming from behind her startled Amber. She wanted to turn around and discover who it belonged to, but knew she couldn’t afford to take her eyes off the man in front of her.
Said man in front of her—Carlos apparently—frowned for a moment, as if confused, as he glanced over her shoulder. “Hector, this has nothing to do with you. Leave us alone to sort this out.” The masked man returned his steely-eyed attention to Amber.
“It does when you’re determined to give all of us a bad name.” The warm voice touched something deep in Amber. She was no damsel in distress and hated relying on others, but she couldn’t help being grateful for the help. She’d no idea what sort of trouble she’d gotten herself into. Which meant she didn’t know how to get herself out of it either.
The anger Amber’d thought she recognized in Carlos’s eyes transformed into fury, and for the first time since he’d addressed her, he fully focused on somebody other than her.
“Stay out of this. I won’t tell you again. Who do you think you are? You disappear for years, and then you presume you can tell me how to behave. Go back to wherever you’ve been hiding and leave this to us real men.”
“Look at her wrist, Carlos. You’re right. You shouldn’t need me to explain how this works.”
Amber glanced at her wrist and the white armband they’d told her to wear when she’d entered the club with the other girls. Apparently, it wasn’t just proof of admission.
“A white armband. I know. I saw that immediately. Doesn’t mean the girl shouldn’t know how to behave.”
Amber’s temper rose. She didn’t enjoy being the subject of a conversation she didn’t appear to have a role in. She opened her mouth, although she’d no idea what she wanted to say, when the sonorous voice behind her beat her to it.
“That’s exactly what it means, Carlos. I don’t like these open nights either, but that’s what this is, and as a result, most people here right now don’t even know there are rules, never mind what they might be. Leave the girl alone and find yourself an experienced submissive.”
Suddenly, it all came together for Amber. Now, she understood why her sister—the bride to be—and her friends had giggled as much as they had when they’d entered the club. She’d read about submissives. She almost smiled but remembered the dicey situation she found herself in just in time. She enjoyed reading about Doms and those who submitted to them. She’d somehow failed to translate those works of fiction into real possibilities. And she’d been slow on the uptake. After all the books she’d read, she should have recognized this club for what it was—far more than “just” a sexy nightclub.
Lost in her thoughts, it took Amber a moment before she became aware of the staring contest taking place between Carlos and the man behind her. The urge to turn around and find out who he was had grown stronger, but she still didn’t want to turn her back on the Dom in front of her. When Carlos gave a small nod before stalking away, Amber relaxed, her body releasing the tension she hadn’t known she’d been holding.
“Thank you.” Amber turned around as she spoke. Everything else she’d wanted to say disappeared from her mind as she looked straight into the dark brown eyes of the man who’d come to her rescue. She tried to figure out what she saw there. She would have called it kindness except she also detected a note of anger in his gaze.
“What were you thinking, girl? Why didn’t you stay with your friends? There’s safety in numbers.” The anger she’d seen in his eyes didn’t translate to his voice. If anything, he sounded resigned, exasperated.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble.” Amber thought for a moment. It was true; she hadn’t meant to create a problem, hadn’t known she might when she allowed the rest of their party to move on while she’d studied her surroundings. “I didn’t know I shouldn’t be on my own. I mean, they never said anything when we came in.”
“How did you end up here anyway?”
Something bristled inside Amber before subsiding again. She didn’t mind answering his questions, just as she hadn’t been upset when she picked up on his anger. It didn’t make sense, because she wasn’t in the habit of letting others tell her what to do or allowing them to interrogate her, but she didn’t question her instinct.
“It’s my sister’s hen party. One of her friends suggested this club.” As she spoke, she remembered the looks Maeve—the friend in question—had exchanged with Mary, another friend. She hadn’t thought anything about it at the time, but now, she realized they’d known exactly what they would be leading the rest of them into. “Sinead, my sister, was already very drunk by then and appeared to be eager to visit a club...any club. I just tagged along.”
She’d resented that. Sure, she was a few years younger than the rest of the party, but she wasn’t a child anymore. She’d bitten her tongue all through the evening as Maeve and some of the others had belittled her. Sinead had defended her earlier on in the evening, but as people kept on pouring drinks into her, she’d soon lost contact with reality.
“But you didn’t stay with them when they moved to the other side of the club?”
His question took her by surprise. How did he know where the others had gone? She looked around until she spotted them on the far side of the dance floor and nearly groaned out loud. It was impossible to miss her sister. Sinead stood on a table in only her underwear and the veil she’d put on earlier. A blush crept up Amber’s neck and cheeks as she wondered what this man might think of her and her sister.
“Ah, I think I understand.” The man’s low chuckle took her by surprise and allowed her to relax again.
“Yes, well. What can I say? I don’t like getting drunk, and I’m not overly fond of some of my sister’s friends. Letting them go on without me for a while seemed like a good idea. If I’d known I’d cause trouble in the process...” She thought for a moment before deciding she had nothing to lose. “Besides, there’s so much to look at here. I had to stop and take it all in.”
She allowed her gaze to roam the club again and only barely repressed the shiver of excitement threatening to run down her spine as she observed more people kneeling on the floor at the feet of others. A girl she’d noticed getting down to her knees earlier was now on her feet, following the man who, Amber assumed, had to be her Dom toward closed double doors on the far side of the room, her head slightly bowed.
She felt her rescuer’s gaze on her and tore her attention back to him.
“By the way, I’m Amber Sommerville. Thank you for stepping in just now. I had no idea how to deal with that man.” Again, she noticed something in his eyes she couldn’t name.
“Hector Kelly.” He took the hand she offered and held it slightly longer than she’d expected. “You should either join your sister or go home, Amber. This is no place for young women on their own.”
“Oh no.” She laughed. “I’ve no intention of going yet. I want to see more. I’ve only read about places like this. I never believed they really existed, never mind could be found in Dublin. Now that I’m here, I want to discover how much of what I considered fiction is in fact real. And I want to know what’s on the other side of those doors.”
She’d no idea how she knew, but she’d no doubt Hector disapproved of her plans. His expression hadn’t changed, and yet she could almost feel his frustration. Tough. She was grateful he’d helped her out of a tricky situation, but it didn’t give him the right to tell her how to spend the rest of her evening. It was a shame though. She would have loved to get to know him better but not if it meant allowing him to make her decisions for her.
“Thank you again, Hector. I’m just going to have a look around before I join the others again.” She took a few moments to really look at him. The slight stutter in her heartbeat took her by surprise, and she dismissed it. Hector was very attractive—not far removed from her image of the ideal man in fact—and he was bossy, which should have been off-putting but, strangely enough, didn’t actually bother her. It was a shame she’d probably never see him again.
The moment she saw him take a deep breath, she turned and walked toward the half-hidden doors at the back of the club. She didn’t want to hear why he thought she should leave.
Little Rainbows #2
The smell of sweat, leather, and almost tangible lust invaded her senses. The sounds of floggers hitting flesh, moans of pleasure, and shrieks of pain brought back memories. Everything she saw, heard, and smelled filled her with a great sense of loss, as well as an unexpected rush of arousal.
A crowd filled the large space Jason steered her toward. She could feel the anticipation in the air and couldn’t escape the excitement buzzing through the room. A path cleared in front of them, and Heather followed Jason to a spot, just outside the exhibition area, giving her a clear view. Her first instinct was to turn around, close her eyes, do anything in her power not to see the scene in front of her. She couldn’t.
It had been so long she could barely remember the sensations displays like this aroused in her. She knew it would hurt later, but right now, she needed to experience those feelings. She’d dealt with the pain for almost two years. She could deal with it for a while longer.
Her breath caught as she watched a man dressed only in dark denim pants lead a naked and blindfolded woman to a bench. Heather studied it more closely. It wasn’t a standard spanking bench. Not with the big dildo fixed near one end.
The man brought the woman to the purpose-built piece of furniture and made her place one foot on a small step before helping her to straddle it. With her other foot positioned on the step on the far side, the woman’s crotch hovered over the phallus. Of course, deprived of her eyesight, she didn’t know that—yet. When the man took the woman’s hands and pulled them forward to the other end of the bench where two pieces of ribbon were waiting to tie them, her body lowered just enough. Heather recognized the moment the woman became aware of the dildo between her legs. Her face tensed, then relaxed into a lazy smile.
Amazement filled Heather when she felt her own face mirror the girl’s satisfied expression. The full and instant reaction of her body to the scene shocked her. Heather’s nipples tightened, and heat and wetness gathered between her legs. She wanted to shake her head, deny the feelings. But she remained still, suddenly hyperaware of Jason’s hands on her hips. For a second she felt the urge to lean back and find some of that physical contact she’d missed for so long. She couldn’t. It was Jason behind her, not Darren. She wanted it to be Darren. She needed to feel him behind her, pressing his hardening cock into her arse, whispering suggestions in her ear. She could hear his voice in her head, telling her all the things he’d be doing to her later, once they were alone. She felt his hands squeeze her hips.
They’re not Darren’s hands. Disappointment shot through her, and she tensed. The hands squeezed again, and some of the anxiety disappeared. No, those weren’t Darren’s hands, it wasn’t her husband and Dom standing behind her, but she couldn’t deny those hands were grounding her, making it possible for her to watch the scene in front of her instead of running away as fast as she could.
She relaxed further and gave her full attention to the beautiful couple. The woman’s hands had been tied to the bench, and the man walked toward her legs. A resounding slap on her arse had the woman slipping down onto the waiting dildo. Her excited groan almost got lost in the gasps coming from the audience. Heather watched as the man talked to the woman, his voice too low to carry to their audience. Whatever he was saying, the woman must have been reacting according to his expectations. He had a satisfied grin as he rubbed his partner’s shapely bum with languid strokes. The woman squirmed, only to stop as soon as the man murmured something else. He took something from his pocket, looked at it, and pressed with his thumb. Instantly a low buzzing sound filled the room, and the woman started moving again. The man’s hand went back to her arse to keep her in place, victim to the vibrations the dildo sent into her core.
“You’re not to come.” For the first time, the man spoke in a voice loud enough to carry to his audience. Heather could feel the crowd around her tensing in sympathy with the woman’s plight. Her own body stiffened, and her vagina contracted while Heather’s breathing quickened. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew Jason had to be aware of all these reactions. His hands were still on her hips, his thumbs stroking her, his presence only adding to the need running through her veins.
Again she forced her attention away from her own body and back to the scene, now nearing its end. The woman appeared to be reaching her limit, moaning loudly and pleading with the man who continued to keep her from moving with his hand. After a few more minutes of what Heather knew was exquisite torture for the woman, the man gave her arse a light slap and walked around the bench to face her. As the woman took advantage of her freedom and bucked herself to a long and violent orgasm, the man bent forward and took her mouth in a long and deep kiss.
Too much. She couldn’t do this. The heat, the love, the way the man so obviously cared for his sub. Memories rushed through Heather’s head, and lights flashed in front of her eyes. She had to get away; she couldn’t breathe. Turning around, she blindly stared up at the man behind her, the man she didn’t quite recognize.
“Black… Black. Please…black.”
Now or Never #3
“Well?” The humor in Leo’s voice suggested he knew exactly what dilemma Karl faced.
“Half past seven,” Karl said before dropping his phone on the bedside table.
“So we have time.” Leo continued to squeeze and stroke Karl’s arse. “Good. That gives me a chance to appreciate the view.”
“Not that much time,” Karl muttered. “I’ll have to get showered and changed before going to the office.” Not that there were rules against him wearing casual clothes while on duty, but he preferred not to. Still, he could take thirty minutes without leaving himself with a mad rush to get ready. Which was just as well, since Leo’s ministrations had turned Karl’s morning wood into a rock-hard erection.
“Spoilsport,” Leo muttered.
“I’ll give you spoilsport.”
In one flowing move, Karl turned around, captured Leo by the middle, turned him over, and gave him a slap to his backside. He fully expected his action to result in a playful fight and was surprised when Leo stilled. Leo’s arse cheek had a subtle red glow, and Karl couldn’t take his eyes off it. Moments passed while the mark faded, and Leo remained motionless. Had Karl gone too far? He wished he knew how all this worked. Unable to come up with answers and not sure how to frame the question, Karl moved until he could press his lips against the now almost invisible glow.
“That’s nice too.” Leo’s muttered words were barely audible since his mouth was pressed against the pillow.
Too? Maybe his impulsive action hadn’t been wrong. He’d have to think about what, if anything, that meant, but not now. He turned Leo onto his back and was happily surprised to see his erect cock rest heavily on Leo’s belly. Karl’s mouth watered.
“My face is here, you know.” Amusement was clear in Leo’s voice.
“Pretty as you are,” Karl said without changing his focus, “I like what I’m looking at right now.” He saw a drop of precum emerge and licked his lips.
“So I see.” Leo’s voice was filled with heat. “Just looking, are you?”
Karl recognized a challenge when he heard one. Not that he needed the encouragement. He’d been thinking about this ever since Leo had given him a blow job. He closed the distance between his mouth and Leo’s dick and lapped up the glistening pearl. The taste was…unlike anything he’d ever had in his mouth before. Definitely not unpleasant, although Karl wasn’t sure he’d call it tasty.
Curiosity pushed his musings to the back of his mind. Karl took Leo’s cock into his mouth, sucking lightly and swirling his tongue around the head, just because he remembered how much he’d enjoyed it when Leo did the same to him.
“Ohhhh.” The sound Leo made was a mixture of surprise and pleasure. “Move.” Leo shifted on the bed, maneuvering both of them until Leo could get his mouth on Karl’s dick.
When Leo swallowed most of his erection down, the lust coursing through Karl’s veins made him forget to suck on Leo’s cock. Then he tried to copy the move but had to pull back when he almost choked.
Helena Stone can’t remember a life before words and reading. After growing up in a household where no holiday or festivity was complete without at least one new book, it’s hardly surprising she now owns more books than shelf space while her Kindle is about to explode.
The urge to write came as a surprise. The realisation that people might enjoy her words was a shock to say the least. Now that the writing bug has well and truly taken hold, Helena can no longer imagine not sharing the characters in her head and heart with the rest of the world.
Having left the hustle and bustle of Amsterdam for the peace and quiet of the Irish Country side she divides her time between reading, writing, long and often wet walks with the dog, her part-time job in a library, a grown-up daughter and her ever loving and patient husband.
EMAIL: helenastoneauthor@gmail.com
All or Nothing #1
Little Rainbows #2
Friday, September 11, 2020
📘🎥Friday's Film Adaptation🎥📘: The Express - The Ernie Davis Story by Robert C Gallagher
“He could do it all, beat every opponent . . . except one.” –plaque honoring Ernie Davis, in the lobby of Elmira Free Academy
Ernie Davis was an All-American on the gridiron, and a man of integrity off the field. A multi-sport high school star in Elmira, New York, Davis went on to Syracuse University, where as a sophomore he led his team to an undefeated season and a national championship in 1959, and earned his nickname, the Elmira Express. Two seasons later, Davis had broken the legendary Jim Brown’s rushing records, and became the first black athlete to be awarded the Heisman Trophy.
The number one pick in the 1962 NFL draft, Davis signed a contract with the Cleveland Browns and appeared to be headed for professional stardom. But Davis never ended up playing in the NFL: He was diagnosed with leukemia during the summer before his rookie season and succumbed to the disease less than a year later. In battling his illness, Davis showed great dignity and courage, inspired the nation, and moved President John F. Kennedy to eulogize him as “ an outstanding man of great character.”An enduring story of a true scholar-athlete, The Express is a touching, impeccably researched, deeply personal portrait of Ernie Davis, and a vivid look at sport in America at the dawn of the Civil Rights era.
BACKGROUND
A young man’s first hero often remains more sharply etched in his memory than his first love. Mine was Ernest R. Davis, who in 1961 became the first black football player to win the Heisman Trophy. He died of leukemia 18 months later without fulfilling his dream of playing professional football. Despite the tragedy of a life cut short, his story is more than a cheers-to-tears heartbreaker. Although fans recall an athlete and his achievements, friends remember a man and his character.
I never met Ernie personally, yet throughout my life by chance, coincidence, or the reminiscence of a mutual acquaintance, I would often recall his memory. I became a fan of his when I was ten years old, playing football in the backyards, fields, and streets of my neighborhood. Like many other boys my age, I dreamed of being an All-American, a Heisman Trophy winner, and even an All-Pro.
I lived in the Northern Virginia suburbs of Washington, D.C. The big college star of that time was Joe Bellino, All-American halfback and Heisman Trophy winner from the United States Naval Academy only 40 miles away in Annapolis, Maryland. We neighborhood boys used to vie for the honor of playing Joe Bellino in our pickup football games. I don’t remember why we wanted to be college players rather than professionals. Possibly the pros hadn’t yet earned the popularity they now enjoy or maybe the college players were closer to our age.
One day when another boy “called” Joe Bellino first, I said, “Okay, I’m going to be Ernie Davis of Syracuse.” A playmate shouted, “You can’t be Ernie Davis, he’s a nigger.” Then to everybody else, “He wants to be a nigger.” I answered, “He’s an All-American,” which to me was a comeback of unassailable logic. I can’t honestly say I was morally indignant. I was embarrassed. I had never experienced bigotry and didn’t understand it. I wondered why a person could dislike someone because of their color. Stubbornly, I stuck with my choice.
Months later I discovered why the boy acted the way he did. In December 1961 we interrupted our football game in that same kid’s yard to watch the Syracuse-Miami Liberty Bowl game on television. Ernie and the Syracuse team played poorly in the first half. As we went out to throw the ball around during halftime, my playmate, remembering my earlier statement, said, “I told you Ernie Davis wasn’t any good. He’s a nigger.” My embarrassment increased when his father said, “None of those niggers are any good.” While we were outside I silently prayed, with the fervor only a youngster praying for a hero can muster, that Ernie play well in the second half. With trepidation I went in to watch the rest of the game.
As if in answer to my prayers, Ernie played magnificently in the second half and rallied Syracuse to victory. At game’s end in righteous indignation I asked, “What do you think of Ernie Davis now?” My friend’s father answered, “He’s still a nigger.” I didn’t respond, but I secretly gloated at the man’s discomfort.
At that time Washington sports fans were eagerly anticipating watching Ernie play with the hometown Redskins, who had ostensibly made him the number one selection in the 1962 National Football League draft. I was disappointed when it was later announced that Ernie, in fact, had been traded by Washington to the Cleveland Browns prior to the draft.
After weighing offers from both the Browns and the Buffalo Bills of the rival American Football League, Ernie signed a then NFL record-setting rookie contract with Cleveland. However, his professional career ended before it began at the College All-Stars training camp.
I remember my disappointment when it was reported Ernie would not play in the annual exhibition game due to illness. Later, the newspapers described his condition as a “blood disorder,” which would prevent Ernie’s playing during the 1962 football season. Although I’m sure that privately he was devastated by the news, publicly Ernie never changed. For months he had been signing autographs, “Ernie Davis, Cleveland Browns, 1962.” Despite the setback, he never gave up hope that he would overcome his illness. Eight weeks later, there was some good news. Ernie Davis had leukemia, but it was in total remission, and as long as the remission held, the doctors said Ernie could play football. According to the newspapers, the Browns’ management was divided over whether he should play. Ultimately Coach Paul Brown chose not to activate him.
During the winter of 1963, Ernie’s leukemia returned and within four months he died. One can imagine the crushing disappointment of the young athlete when he learned that his battle with the disease had not been won. By all accounts his fears and disappointments remained a private agony. To the outside world he “turned his usual confident smiling face, betraying not a hint of concern about his health or his prospects as an athlete. John Brown, Ernie’s teammate at Syracuse University and roommate in Cleveland, scoffed when asked what it was like to watch a young man die. “I don’t know,” he said, “I watched a young man live.”
Ernest R. Davis, 23, died of leukemia on May 18, 1963. The courage and dignity Ernie showed in facing death stirred a city and a country. In one day over 10,000 people filed past Ernie’s coffin, as he lay in state in his hometown of Elmira, New York. Thousands attended the funeral which was sadly one of the biggest events in Elmira history. Certainly anyone who was there will never forget it.
President John F. Kennedy sent Ernie’s mother a telegram of condolence, which read, “I would like to express my sympathy to you on the occasion of the death of your son. I had the privilege of meeting Ernie after he won the Heisman Trophy. He was an outstanding young man of great character who consistently served as an inspiration to the other people of the country.”
I never heard much about Ernie Davis after his death until I enrolled at Syracuse University four years later. There I met people who had known him. I was intrigued listening to their anecdotes about what a great person he was. They rarely talked about him as an athlete. At a freshman orientation lecture, Dr. Michael O. Sawyer, a university vice chancellor, described his last encounter with Ernie Davis. Two weeks before his death, Ernie visited the campus and called Sawyer to arrange a visit. The professor, aware of the gravity of Ernie’s condition, was concerned about how to talk to a young man of such extraordinary ability and potential who had only a short time to live. Sawyer’s concerns proved unwarranted because Ernie controlled the conversation by asking about Sawyer, his plans, and mutual acquaintances. He didn’t allow the professor to feel uncomfortable.
Eighteen years later, Sawyer was still impressed by the “stylish performance.” He said, “In those circumstances, most peoples’ concerns would have been totally centered on their own illness or their own problems, but he was so sensitive to other people. He was always interested in others and their well being. I was always impressed by him.”
Since graduating from Syracuse University, I continued to have unexpected reminders of Ernie Davis. In the fall of 1979, a former classmate invited me to the Syracuse-Penn State football game at the Meadowlands Stadium in East Rutherford, New Jersey. We didn’t know that during halftime ceremonies, Ernie Davis would be inducted into the College Football Hall of Fame. The emotional induction and the subsequent newspaper stories gave me a few more memories. Still more unexpected was a chance encounter with a coworker on that Monday following the induction ceremony. Hearing me speak about Syracuse, the lady volunteered that she was from Elmira, New York. Since that was Ernie’s hometown, I idly asked if she knew who “The Elmira Express” was. She responded, “You mean Ernie?” Incredulously I asked, “Did you know him?” She answered, “Of course, everybody in Elmira knew Ernie. He was a terrific guy.”
I decided to find out if it was true. To satisfy my curiosity, I began reading the old newspaper and magazine stories about him in the local library. It quickly became apparent that Ernie Davis was a young man of extraordinary character and courage as well as athletic skill. I felt his story deserved a wider audience.
“I began contacting those who knew him, some well and others casually. They had similar impressions and used the same descriptive words: “concerned for others,” “self aware,” “modest,” “leader,” and “great sense of humor.” They all willingly took time from their busy schedules to discuss their feelings for Ernie. They often said, “I’m really busy, but I’ll do it for Ernie.”
You might expect such reactions from friends, but hardly from those in athletics where fame is ephemeral and an athlete’s only as good as his last game. Ernie’s last game was 20 years earlier. Although those close to him obviously remember his athletic skill, it is as a person that he is most vividly remembered.
His high school football coach, Marty Harrigan, said, “Ernie Davis was more than a jock. He was something really special. He loved his fellow man and wanted to do things for him. Do them quietly and do them by example.” Tony DeFilippo, his lawyer and advisor emphasized, “It was always what could he do for the other guy. Everyone who knew the truth about him would say the same thing.”
Mention Syracuse University and sports fans invariably recall such football stars as Jim Brown, John Mackey, Jim Nance, Floyd Little, Larry Csonka, and Joe Morris. I always added “Ernie Davis,” and they would nod and reply, “Too bad he died. He would have been great.” That observation missed the point. Obviously his untimely death was tragic, but the “ifs” of Ernie’s life were not as important as the “whats” and “hows.”
Through his concern for others and his self-confidence, particularly as he faced death, Ernie Davis was a greater hero than he ever would have been as a professional football superstar. In his final months Ernie experienced the emotional high points and low points of his life. The personal courage and dignity he demonstrated were remarkable. As in all endeavors, Ernie did his best to overcome leukemia. When he couldn’t, he didn’t curse the fates. He was thankful for what he had attained.
A young man’s first hero often remains more sharply etched in his memory than his first love. Mine was Ernest R. Davis, who in 1961 became the first black football player to win the Heisman Trophy. He died of leukemia 18 months later without fulfilling his dream of playing professional football. Despite the tragedy of a life cut short, his story is more than a cheers-to-tears heartbreaker. Although fans recall an athlete and his achievements, friends remember a man and his character.
I never met Ernie personally, yet throughout my life by chance, coincidence, or the reminiscence of a mutual acquaintance, I would often recall his memory. I became a fan of his when I was ten years old, playing football in the backyards, fields, and streets of my neighborhood. Like many other boys my age, I dreamed of being an All-American, a Heisman Trophy winner, and even an All-Pro.
I lived in the Northern Virginia suburbs of Washington, D.C. The big college star of that time was Joe Bellino, All-American halfback and Heisman Trophy winner from the United States Naval Academy only 40 miles away in Annapolis, Maryland. We neighborhood boys used to vie for the honor of playing Joe Bellino in our pickup football games. I don’t remember why we wanted to be college players rather than professionals. Possibly the pros hadn’t yet earned the popularity they now enjoy or maybe the college players were closer to our age.
One day when another boy “called” Joe Bellino first, I said, “Okay, I’m going to be Ernie Davis of Syracuse.” A playmate shouted, “You can’t be Ernie Davis, he’s a nigger.” Then to everybody else, “He wants to be a nigger.” I answered, “He’s an All-American,” which to me was a comeback of unassailable logic. I can’t honestly say I was morally indignant. I was embarrassed. I had never experienced bigotry and didn’t understand it. I wondered why a person could dislike someone because of their color. Stubbornly, I stuck with my choice.
Months later I discovered why the boy acted the way he did. In December 1961 we interrupted our football game in that same kid’s yard to watch the Syracuse-Miami Liberty Bowl game on television. Ernie and the Syracuse team played poorly in the first half. As we went out to throw the ball around during halftime, my playmate, remembering my earlier statement, said, “I told you Ernie Davis wasn’t any good. He’s a nigger.” My embarrassment increased when his father said, “None of those niggers are any good.” While we were outside I silently prayed, with the fervor only a youngster praying for a hero can muster, that Ernie play well in the second half. With trepidation I went in to watch the rest of the game.
As if in answer to my prayers, Ernie played magnificently in the second half and rallied Syracuse to victory. At game’s end in righteous indignation I asked, “What do you think of Ernie Davis now?” My friend’s father answered, “He’s still a nigger.” I didn’t respond, but I secretly gloated at the man’s discomfort.
At that time Washington sports fans were eagerly anticipating watching Ernie play with the hometown Redskins, who had ostensibly made him the number one selection in the 1962 National Football League draft. I was disappointed when it was later announced that Ernie, in fact, had been traded by Washington to the Cleveland Browns prior to the draft.
After weighing offers from both the Browns and the Buffalo Bills of the rival American Football League, Ernie signed a then NFL record-setting rookie contract with Cleveland. However, his professional career ended before it began at the College All-Stars training camp.
I remember my disappointment when it was reported Ernie would not play in the annual exhibition game due to illness. Later, the newspapers described his condition as a “blood disorder,” which would prevent Ernie’s playing during the 1962 football season. Although I’m sure that privately he was devastated by the news, publicly Ernie never changed. For months he had been signing autographs, “Ernie Davis, Cleveland Browns, 1962.” Despite the setback, he never gave up hope that he would overcome his illness. Eight weeks later, there was some good news. Ernie Davis had leukemia, but it was in total remission, and as long as the remission held, the doctors said Ernie could play football. According to the newspapers, the Browns’ management was divided over whether he should play. Ultimately Coach Paul Brown chose not to activate him.
During the winter of 1963, Ernie’s leukemia returned and within four months he died. One can imagine the crushing disappointment of the young athlete when he learned that his battle with the disease had not been won. By all accounts his fears and disappointments remained a private agony. To the outside world he “turned his usual confident smiling face, betraying not a hint of concern about his health or his prospects as an athlete. John Brown, Ernie’s teammate at Syracuse University and roommate in Cleveland, scoffed when asked what it was like to watch a young man die. “I don’t know,” he said, “I watched a young man live.”
Ernest R. Davis, 23, died of leukemia on May 18, 1963. The courage and dignity Ernie showed in facing death stirred a city and a country. In one day over 10,000 people filed past Ernie’s coffin, as he lay in state in his hometown of Elmira, New York. Thousands attended the funeral which was sadly one of the biggest events in Elmira history. Certainly anyone who was there will never forget it.
President John F. Kennedy sent Ernie’s mother a telegram of condolence, which read, “I would like to express my sympathy to you on the occasion of the death of your son. I had the privilege of meeting Ernie after he won the Heisman Trophy. He was an outstanding young man of great character who consistently served as an inspiration to the other people of the country.”
I never heard much about Ernie Davis after his death until I enrolled at Syracuse University four years later. There I met people who had known him. I was intrigued listening to their anecdotes about what a great person he was. They rarely talked about him as an athlete. At a freshman orientation lecture, Dr. Michael O. Sawyer, a university vice chancellor, described his last encounter with Ernie Davis. Two weeks before his death, Ernie visited the campus and called Sawyer to arrange a visit. The professor, aware of the gravity of Ernie’s condition, was concerned about how to talk to a young man of such extraordinary ability and potential who had only a short time to live. Sawyer’s concerns proved unwarranted because Ernie controlled the conversation by asking about Sawyer, his plans, and mutual acquaintances. He didn’t allow the professor to feel uncomfortable.
Eighteen years later, Sawyer was still impressed by the “stylish performance.” He said, “In those circumstances, most peoples’ concerns would have been totally centered on their own illness or their own problems, but he was so sensitive to other people. He was always interested in others and their well being. I was always impressed by him.”
Since graduating from Syracuse University, I continued to have unexpected reminders of Ernie Davis. In the fall of 1979, a former classmate invited me to the Syracuse-Penn State football game at the Meadowlands Stadium in East Rutherford, New Jersey. We didn’t know that during halftime ceremonies, Ernie Davis would be inducted into the College Football Hall of Fame. The emotional induction and the subsequent newspaper stories gave me a few more memories. Still more unexpected was a chance encounter with a coworker on that Monday following the induction ceremony. Hearing me speak about Syracuse, the lady volunteered that she was from Elmira, New York. Since that was Ernie’s hometown, I idly asked if she knew who “The Elmira Express” was. She responded, “You mean Ernie?” Incredulously I asked, “Did you know him?” She answered, “Of course, everybody in Elmira knew Ernie. He was a terrific guy.”
I decided to find out if it was true. To satisfy my curiosity, I began reading the old newspaper and magazine stories about him in the local library. It quickly became apparent that Ernie Davis was a young man of extraordinary character and courage as well as athletic skill. I felt his story deserved a wider audience.
“I began contacting those who knew him, some well and others casually. They had similar impressions and used the same descriptive words: “concerned for others,” “self aware,” “modest,” “leader,” and “great sense of humor.” They all willingly took time from their busy schedules to discuss their feelings for Ernie. They often said, “I’m really busy, but I’ll do it for Ernie.”
You might expect such reactions from friends, but hardly from those in athletics where fame is ephemeral and an athlete’s only as good as his last game. Ernie’s last game was 20 years earlier. Although those close to him obviously remember his athletic skill, it is as a person that he is most vividly remembered.
His high school football coach, Marty Harrigan, said, “Ernie Davis was more than a jock. He was something really special. He loved his fellow man and wanted to do things for him. Do them quietly and do them by example.” Tony DeFilippo, his lawyer and advisor emphasized, “It was always what could he do for the other guy. Everyone who knew the truth about him would say the same thing.”
Mention Syracuse University and sports fans invariably recall such football stars as Jim Brown, John Mackey, Jim Nance, Floyd Little, Larry Csonka, and Joe Morris. I always added “Ernie Davis,” and they would nod and reply, “Too bad he died. He would have been great.” That observation missed the point. Obviously his untimely death was tragic, but the “ifs” of Ernie’s life were not as important as the “whats” and “hows.”
Through his concern for others and his self-confidence, particularly as he faced death, Ernie Davis was a greater hero than he ever would have been as a professional football superstar. In his final months Ernie experienced the emotional high points and low points of his life. The personal courage and dignity he demonstrated were remarkable. As in all endeavors, Ernie did his best to overcome leukemia. When he couldn’t, he didn’t curse the fates. He was thankful for what he had attained.
Release Date: October 10, 2008
Release Time: 130 minutes
Cast:
Rob Brown as Ernie Davis
Dennis Quaid as Ben Schwartzwalder
Omar Benson Miller as Jack Buckley
Aunjanue Ellis as Marie Davis
Clancy Brown as Roy Simmons
Darrin Dewitt Henson as Jim Brown
Saul Rubinek as Art Modell
Nelsan Ellis as Will Davis, Jr.
Charles S. Dutton as Willie "Pop" Davis
Geoff Stults as Bob Lundy
Evan Jones as Roger "Hound Dog" Davis
Nicole Beharie as Sarah Ward
Chelcie Ross as Lew Andreas
Enver Gjokaj as Dave Sarette
Maximilian Osinski as Gerhard Schwedes
Chadwick Boseman as Floyd Little
Robert C. Gallagher is an alumnus of Syracuse University and a freelance sportswriter. Gallagher is the author of The Express: The Ernie Davis Story, which was turned into a major motion picture. His articles have appeared in Baseball Digest, the Washington Post, the Redskins Report, and other publications. He works for the Fairfax County Public Library in Virginia.
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