We-come Inn

I have a horror story I want to write, once I catch up with my other writings. It’s a script, right now, called “We-come” and is set in the desert at an abandoned motel. An alien’s crash-landed and is using the few humans it can find as both energy to send out a distress signal to its own kind…and as food. It’s very dark and yet comical.

What’s fun is, the only people who wind up fighting it are some skater kids who stop at the motel to use the long-empty bean-shaped pool…something the alien also uses as a relay. It goes after them and they figure out how to stop it.

Not sure what I’d do with it, yet, or how far I’d go…but I’m already contemplating using the idea that the human pheromones created in the brain during orgasm are a source of power for the alien…like the Energizer Bunny…so it forces its victims to become sexually aroused in order to heighten the juice, so to speak. Effectively, it’s fastening them to a wall and using their fear and ejaculations to power up its batteries…thus raping them…

…then tearing off limbs to feed upon…

Another project takes over

The Nothing Beast ( new title for the story) is on hold till I’m done with another project…and maybe another after that, since we’re closing in on National Novel Writing Month. Besides, it’s turning into a true Horror-SF novel and I need to sort things out a bit more.

So here’s something pretty to keep in mind as I let my brain plot and plan the next stage in the story…Alex Lederman, who would play nicely in my dreams to own a man and do what I want with him…

“The Nothing Air”

Not a very evocative title, but the novella is up over 21,000 words and threatening to become a short novel. Changes happening, but I’m pleased with it all…and I’ve changed Jamie to Finn and Paul to Rob. I now plan to publish this and have to be careful about copyright infringement. I’ve also added some new guys…

I’m using him as the image for Stu, the first guy this happened to…that they know of. He lives in the North of Scotland and is pretty messed up by it, but he connects with Finn and things begin to look good.
Werner, a cop in Berlin who’s been assaulted in the same fashion as Finn, and who is pissed as hell about it and ready to destroy the person who did it to him…which may not be possible.

I almost wrote myself into a corner, but Finn’s a resourceful little bugger and worked his way out. He’s now at a point where he knows what’s happening but has no way to prevent it because the man behind it is beyond reach.

That’s another aspect that needs Finn to be especially clever about…

Too much work, no time…

Lots going on and no time for blogging…and besides, WordPress is awkward to use compared to Blogger, so I don’t like coming onto it. But…I am working on my slash fiction which has become non-slash because it wants to get published and to do that I have to keep from plagiarizing other people’s work…too much. Here’s the updated first chapter, and I’m still using this guy as the personification of Finn:

DS Finley James Winterborne

1

Finn had no idea where he was or what had happened. One moment he was in the woods searching for poachers; the next, he was lying in a room that was dark…and yet, not dark, for he could see light casting a vague glow off his nose and cheeks. Both silent and not, despite an absence of sound. And it was neither warm nor cool. What’s more, it didn’t really seem like a room; it was more like a massive auditorium stretching hundreds of meters in every direction, so that he was simply unable to see the walls encompassing him…just like he was unable to see any source for the light shining upon him.

But what was worse? Even though he couldn’t see anyone…he knew was not alone.

He was stretched out on a bed…that wasn’t a bed. There was nothing beneath him but air…simple air holding him up. He knew he was still in his clothes — a well-fitted suit in a fine modern cut, with tie and Oxfords, completely inappropriate for tramping through the shrubs and sticks of a forest — but being a police officer, he’d had no choice.

The call had come as he was en route to Greighton-Magna to meet some friends, and the male caller’s tone of voice was panicked…at least, that’s what the call center had said. Strange lights whispering through the forest. Animals scattering away from it in fear. Concern it might be a drug deal going down, or what was worse…yobs poaching. Uniforms were on their way but were at least ten minutes behind him and, since he was a detective sergeant, they felt he was best to at least make contact with the person reporting the incident so as to make a proper beginning to the investigation. He’d agreed to do it because he didn’t feel it would take too long, could hand it over to another DS soon as he arrived, and he knew his friends would be understanding. The life of a cop, sort of thing. He made a hands-free call to Prue, the woman who’d arranged the get-together, to let her know he was running behind then turned down Mid-Greighton Road to double back for Lower Clayton-Merrill.

He gave a soft chuckle. Prue was the reason he’d worn this particular suit. It was snug in all the right places, showing off his trim, well-formed torso and colt-like legs, though it was a bit…well, snug around the derriere and…um…frontal area. However, he felt very male-model in it, and knew she would be impressed. At least, hoped she would be. Especially since she was a biologist, and an unspoken part of that hope was perhaps she’d also now see him as not only a prime specimen of the male figure…but a possible bed partner and eventually, if all went well, wife. He was ready to settle down, having already settled into the area and now being a bit past thirty. Find a nice cottage someplace local, somewhat similar to the Cotswold’s. Not too far from the police center and Blethyn, his superior. Base his new life from there. They were meeting with another couple, married with a child en route, and he was hoping that was another sign she might be considering him as more than a mere boyfriend…and the idea almost felt cozy and warm.

By using a bit more speed than he should have, considering the narrowness of the road, he arrived to the stated location…only to find no one about. No lights. No fresh tracks of car or foot. No animals, either. The forest was still and dark, despite it only beginning to approach dusk. He wondered if he’d gone to the wrong side…but double-checking his GPS showed he was where the center had said.

He tried to go a few meters into the trees, just to get a sense of the place, but the brush was thick and he could see no path to follow. He didn’t want to push in too far because that would mess up his aren’t I hot suit, so he was about to back away when something struck him.

The forest was completely silent.

No sounds whatsoever.

Not even the hint of a breeze to rustle the tree branches. That was decidedly odd, especially being this close to the Channel.

Then he saw a glow, about a hundred meters to his right. Not that of a torch or lamp, just a soft blue circling the trees.

Headed towards him.

He jolted and began to back away, saying, “Hello! Police. I’m Detective Sergeant Winterborne and — ”

And then he was in this room with no idea how he’d got here or what was going on.

“Did I fall?” he wondered. “Knock myself out?”

That had to be the explanation — he’d been struck unconscious and was dreaming. It was the only thing that could make sense.

He tried to sit up…but he couldn’t move. Not his arms. Not his legs. Neither hands nor fingers. Just his eyes. And he could breathe. And speak. He thought.

“Hello?” he called, not so much expecting an answer but only to see if he was capable of speech. He heard no echo in the chamber so figured he probably only thought he was speaking.

Fortunately, he figured out he really was breathing, so let out a massive sigh. Now he was certain he was caught in a dream.

Then he felt a whisper of air around him, like the caressing of fingers…but nothing was there. It traced over his face — his well-formed chin, his full lips, his bright open eyes, a dark blue under light brown lashes. He felt it on the eyebrows he’d trimmed last night in anticipation of his date. Felt it travel through his thick curly hair, cropped close to keep from becoming too unruly. He wasn’t movie-star gorgeous; he knew that, but he also knew his face was well received by most young women…and he felt like the nothing-air was touching every inch of it.

Then it moved down his neck, clean and well-shaved not an hour ago; he had issues with a light five o’clock shadow, which Prue had once mentioned in her flat Belfast brogue, and he wanted nothing that might prevent more kisses. He noticed the nothing-air fingers were also caressing the back of his head and now were crossing the nape of his neck. Whatever it was he was lying upon made no difference; the sensations merely displaced the feeling of support momentarily as the sensations travelled across his shoulders and down his back to his rear, the nothing-air in front pacing them as it drew over his chest and reached under his suit coat to play with his nipples, which startled him, and continued down his fairly taut abs to his groin.

He moaned with discomfort. “Oh…oh, no. This…this isn’t real, Finn,” he said. “It’s all a dream.”

Except it certainly felt real. Especially when the nothing-air traced over his trousers to fondle his crotch and grope his ass, slipping between his legs to almost tickle the back of his balls before feeling all around his thighs, and over his calves down to his feet.

“What is this?!” he cried. Or did he merely think it? He still couldn’t tell. But whatever it was, it had grown to be dreadfully invasive…and deplorably intimate.

But what was worse? He felt the beginning of an erection.

He couldn’t believe it. The nothing-air had become so sensuous and sensual and erotic in its caresses, he was responding! Oh…was he glad he wore tight CK boxer briefs. Those might keep him from becoming too embarrassed.

He tried to move, again, but still was kept immobile. Remained floating in nothingness. But he knew this was nothing like sensory deprivation. He could see the light reflecting off his face. He could feel himself being touched. He swallowed, fear starting to build in him.

Then he felt his shoes being untied and removed!

“Bloody hell, what’re you doing?!”

No response. No echo. No proof of any sound coming from him.

The nothing-air caressed his soles and toes as it removed his socks. A new pair he’d worn because the only other pair that matched this suit had holes in them. Next, his suit coat was unbuttoned and shifted off his shoulders.

“”Stop! What’re you doing?! I’m a police officer! Stop! STOP IT!”

His tie was loosened and pulled away around his collar, then the nothing-air slowly unbuttoned his shirt.

Finn forced himself to not panic. “It’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s a dream,” gasped from his lips. Or maybe he was just thinking it. Hoping it. Wishing it. Because no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he could feel every single solitary thing the nothing-air was doing. Each touch was like a promise of more. Each caress was meant to lead him closer to something…to something deeply carnal and prurient. It didn’t help that he’d been going through a dry spell and was more than hoping Prue would take him to bed, that evening, instead of him being only his date, again. But this? This?

When he’d been a youth living with his grandmother…his Nan…after his mum and dad had left him to follow their own bliss, he’d had a couple of what Nan called Emission Dreams. She’d told him they were completely natural, at his age.

“Both of your uncles went through this,” she’d said, “as did your father. Nothing to be embarrassed about. Just be sure to give yourself a good wash.” Then she’d taken his sheets and pyjamas, without another comment.

He smiled. Nan was always the level-headed one on the family, not typically British in her understanding about sexual needs. She’d been on a commune in Wales and traveled to Monterrey in California and some place in the Himalayas, for spiritual peace, and that still carried with her. He felt he’d taken more after her than either of his still very self-interested parents. Thinking of her helped calm him and let him focus on the reality of the moment.

Only he didn’t actually know what that reality was.

Well, to start with…this could not really happening, except in his mind. So no matter what the nothing-air did, it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

That helped when the nothing-air pulled apart his shirt and slipped it down his immobile arms to reveal his undershirt. Tight, white, just a bit see-through. His well-formed pecs giving it a nice flow, though his nipples barely made a tent against the cotton…until the nothing-air fondled and flicked and twisted them through the fabric. He felt lightning fire into his groin and he yelped in shock at how glorious that felt. How he didn’t want it to stop. How amazingly fantastic it was.

He actually groaned from pleasure.

Then his undershirt was torn in half, revealing his pumped up chest, smooth skin, with a dash of near-blond hair swirling down his abs to his groin, as the nothing-air ran its caresses over his belly and along his sides to guide the shirt’s remains away.

He began to breathe, heavy, and fought to keep one thought in his mind.

“It’s NOT real, Finn, it’s not real, it’s not real…”

But he was losing the battle. The sensations brought on by the nothing-air were too demanding…too insistent…and on top of it, his dick was growing and growing, in response.

Even though he could not move his torso or arms or legs.

Then his trousers were undone.

He cried out then forced himself to picture Prue doing it. Picture how lovely she was, round in all the right places, peaches and cream skin under golden red hair cut just right. That Belfast brogue. He’d been attracted to her the second he met her on a murder case. She’d been a suspect, for a little while, so their beginning was tainted by that, but it was Blethyn who’d made the suggestion, not him. After some stumbling, he’d been able to get her to know her and let him know her, so using her helped make this nightmare into something he could handle. It calmed him more than anything else had. If he was going to be dream-mauled, sexually, at least it would be by someone he wanted and not some random female.

The zipper was lowered, almost teasing, and his trousers were guided down his hips, away from his ass and crotch, revealing he was pretty damn close to being ripe and ready to go. The nothing-air danced back up to play not only with his dick but his balls, whispering around them and over them and under them and along them, making the taut cotton feel like something alive and indecent. It also groped his ass, massaging his cheeks like they were ripe melons. He didn’t have what others would call a bubble-butt, but it was a nice size and fit him just right. To his uncertain pleasure, apparently the nothing-air agreed…for this went on for what seemed like hours, but probably was only a couple of minutes.

He realized his trousers had been maneuvered down his legs to his ankles, and more of the nothing-air was caressing the soft hair on his thighs and calves, as if inspecting a prize horse.  Then it slipped under the waistband of his CKs and tugged, and in an instant they had joined his trousers, exposing an erection he had often been proud of; not the biggest dick ever but well above average. Not much foreskin to it, but it had done him well and none of the girls he’d been with in the past had complained. He’d even caught a few lads in the gym casting him glances of either envy or interest, or both. But now? Like this? As he was being violated?

The trousers were gently removed, then off went the CKs with a few more caresses over his calves than he expected, and his legs were pushed wider apart to allow even more of the dreadful intimacy being forced upon him. But he was handling it. He was handling it.

Until he felt the nothing-air slip between his cheeks and touch his rectum.

He screamed and his self-control vanished.

“NO! STOP IT! THIS IS RAPE! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME!”

He fought to squirm away but his body would not move. His breath was fast and furious, and while he could look around and move his mouth to speak and now knew damn well he really was yelling and snarling words into the nothingness, he also knew his tits had grown pointy and his balls were happy being juggled and his dick was engorged and ready to be used, while everything else remained still and useless.

The nothing-air manhandled him in earnest, now. Dancing over his nips, sending more lightning into his balls. Caressing down the hair on his abs to dance through his pubes like they were rafting down a river then cascading into rapids. Grabbing his ass and pulling at it, almost as if to see whether it could be separated from his body. Fondling his dick and balls in a way that seemed more like worship than sexual need. Drawing sensations down his thighs and calves, making the hair on them part of their sensuous journey, adding to the build of erotic need within him.

His dick was now as hard as it had ever been, and he was whimpering at the incessant manipulation of it…taking him almost over the edge but never quite.

“No, no, no, no…” was all he could say, now. He knew his cries and screams and pleading would do no good, but they still burst from him at each step in the invasion.

Then a form appeared in the dark space above him, shining so bright he had to jam his eyes closed. He opened them, just barely, to watch the form draw closer and closer. His eyes adjusted to its glow and he slowly realized this was another man. Also naked. Darker hair. Lean build. Tightly muscled with black fans of hair over his body in all the places they should be. Deep, caring eyes under thick lashes. A two-day growth of beard on his strong chin, surrounding full lips. A couple years older than Finn.

And also sporting a full-blooded erection.

His was almost as large as Finn’s…at least, as large as Finn thought his own was. But his shaft was full, his knob was red, his slit glistened with pre-cum, and his circumcision scar gave his dick a two-tone look.

Finn was so taken aback by it all he forgot that he was still being caressed by the nothing-air and thought, “I know him. From where?”

The man seemed to know Finn, as well. His expression was that of near-recognition. And confusion…no, shock. Finn was sure his own face reflected the exact same thoughts. He noticed the hair on the man’s body was also shifting slightly, as if he, too, were being caressed. Then it hit him.

“Joss?” he said. “From Newcastle? You’re DCI — ?”

The man’s expression grew startled then he said, “Yeah. Finn, from down South. Conference a couple years back, in London, New Scotland Yard. What the hell’s going on?”

“You bloody tell me.”

“I…I…I got called out to investigate some lights in Gibbside. Caller said they were…uh…they were…”

“Poachers,” said Finn, then he felt the nothing-air slip up against his anus and he cried out, in shock. “STOP IT!”

“They all over you, too?”

Finn froze. Had to fight a panic building in him. “I…I’m dreaming you, right?”

“No, I…I…bloody fuckin’ hell, DON’T DO THIS!”

The nothing-air was becoming more insistent, pushing harder against Finn’s rectum. He fought to keep from screaming, again. “Joss! What do you feel?”

“Something like fingers touching me and groping me and…and…and nothing’s there.”

“That’s like me…like me, but I can’t move and…and…WHO THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU? WHY’RE YOU DOING THIS?”

Then Finn realized he wasn’t lying down; he was upright, as was Joss. And they were closer together. Growing even closer. And closer…until their erections touched each other…and then slipped side by side…and the nothing-air whisperined over the both of them…fondling them, together…and it felt so good…too good…too damn good.

“STOP! STOP IT!” Finn cried. “This is rape.”

“Oh, Christ,” Joss said, “they’re doing it, again.”

Again? Finn focused on Joss. “Doing what?!”

“Another cop. Detective. Rob — I knew him. From Manchester and…and…no, don’t make me do this! Not to him!”

Finn felt the nothing-air grip his ankles and lift his legs up and up, even as the caresses and the probing continued all over him. He screamed.

“NO! YOU’RE NOT — YOU CAN’T — NO! THIS IS RAPE! THIS IS RAPE!”

“They don’t care!” Joss cried. “They don’t follow our laws! Dammit, don’t make me, not this one…”

“NO, I’VE NEVER DONE THIS!”

The nothing-air rested Finn’s legs on Joss’s broad shoulders, his ass now completely open and vulnerable.

Then he felt Joss’s erection press against him.

“Finn, I’m sorry…”

“NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!”

Joss’s head pushed into Finn.

He screamed in pain.

It kept going in…slowly…slowly…filling him deeper and deeper.

He screamed more. Felt he was being torn in half. And still he could not move to get away from it.

“I’m sorry, Finn, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

It seemed to take forever, but finally Joss’s dick was all the way inside, right to the base. Finn could feel Joss’s pubs against his skin. Then Joss began rocking in, deeper, and back and in and back and in and back.

Joss was fucking him!

Finn cried out. Gasped harsh and fast. Felt the nothing-air pinch his nips and caress his thighs and fondle his balls and stroke his dick, making it even harder and bringing it closer to the brink. It went on and on and on and hurt and he screamed and yelled and cursed and tried to fight but couldn’t move and it kept on and on…and then…slowly, almost lovingly, the pain begin to diminish. His own dick grew even harder. His balls became even more tender. His nips were crazed by each touch. His thighs laughed with joy from the caressing. He couldn’t believe it.

He was…he was liking it?

He was enjoying being fucked by a man he barely knew!?

Being raped?

In and back and in and back, over and over and over. Each thrust taking him closer and closer to nirvana…the sensual pleasures of it enveloping him and making him lose all sense of time or reality as Joss kept going in and back and in and back. It kept going and going and going for hours and hours and Finn didn’t care because he wanted it and needed it and hoped it would never stop…

Until he felt a rush explode from the back of his balls and hiss through every fiber of his being and join with the nothing-air’s caresses to make him groan and howl and cry aloud in a bellowing roar as the rush slammed down his thighs and across his ass and Over his nips and into his dick and he ejaculated. Fired a line of semen straight up into the air, the like of which he had never experienced. It did not splash back onto his belly or chest or face, vanished into the nothing light, then more cum leapt from him, shooting at least a meter up…then he fired, again, going just as far up…and that also vanished. And again he shot, and again and again.

Then he felt Joss explode inside of him. Fill him with his own cum. Grunt and whimper in both pleasure and horror and joy and pain. More and more flooded into Finn…filling him like a faucet fills a jar or bottle. On and on Joss went until he was a quivering, laughing mass and could not make coherent sounds, and Finn was so lost in his own overwhelming sensations and feelings and exultation, he was just as incoherent.

After a few minutes of this, Joss pulled away and Finn drifted back to himself and found he was able to move his head, now. He looked at Joss and saw…saw a man who appeared to be stoned out of his mind. His eyes were half closed and his face slack from overwhelming pleasure. Finn looked down and saw the man’s dick still dripped with semen and had just begun to go limp.

Finn’s own dick was lying back on his belly, looking very pleased with itself. Nothing dribbled from it, despite his explosions. He was even still full and erect…somewhat. He could see how he hadn’t begun to shrink back to normal, yet, not like Joss, and he felt like he was still in control of his thoughts, unlike Joss.

Then his legs were removed from Joss’s shoulders and the man drifted away.

“Oh, God…Joss…”

Joss was able to cast him a sorrowful glance as he said, “They…they made me…do this…to Rob, too. He did the same as you. They all did. I…I’m so sorry.”

“Were you…used…like us?”

“No. Not like that. Not like that.”

“Not your fault,” Finn murmured.

Joss heard him and smiled. “That’s what…Rob said. I’m still sorry.”

Then Joss was gone into the nothing light.

Finn felt the nothing-air still caressing him…fondling him…probing him…tits, balls, dick, thighs, ass…but it was in a manner that almost seemed sweet and caring. Which made no sense. Did whoever had done this to him think he’d been made love to? Did they believe this was a proper sexual coupling? That he wanted it to happen? He was sore as hell from being fucked…but he was also so damn mellow and easy from having cum like he did, he found he didn’t care.

That shocked him more than anything — the idea that he really did not care.

He really had enjoyed being fucked by Joss. He’d not only gotten off on it, he wanted it, again. In his head, he knew this had been a vicious, cruel, manipulative, painful form of rape…but the truth was…he really did want it to happen, again. The unbelievably intense ejaculation at the end of it had overcome the horror of everything else. He felt like a junkie who’s coming down off his first snort of coke and wanted more, just to regain that high. It frightened him, but also put him at ease.

The nothing-air withdrew from caressing him. He sensed he was being drained of Joss’s cum…and was shocked to understand he didn’t want that to happen. He felt his CKs tenderly being slipped back on and up his legs. He felt the tight cotton surround his ass and scrotum, and felt the nothing-air adjust his dick and balls so he was comfortable. Next came his trousers, socks and shirt, followed by his shoes. He felt the tie drape around his neck but remain untied, and the suit coat come on and —

He was lying in the forest, two constables watching over him, one young and fit, the other older and more concerned. The young one was on the phone.

“He’s coming ‘round, sir,” the man said. “Yes, still need a medic. He looks pretty shaky.”

Finn smiled and glanced the fit young constable over in a way that was more than appreciative; he did complete that uniform very nicely, in every way, and his pale blond hair suited his chiseled look. Then Finn made himself sit up.

“How long?” he murmured, his voice shaky.

“We got here ‘bout ten minutes, ago, sir,” said the older constable. “Saw your car and looked around. Couldn’t find you till I saw you here. Undid your tie.”

“You know what happened?” asked the young constable.

Finn shook his head and started to get up. The older man held him down.

“I’d stay put, were I you, sir. That’s a nasty cut over your ear.”

Finn touched a sore spot behind his right ear and his fingers came away with blood on them. He sighed. So it was all just a dream. He was only sore from having fallen or been hit; he wasn’t sure which, yet. What he did know was…he was surprisingly disappointed.

He almost laughed. He’d never even thought of being with a man, before, let alone getting buggered by one, but here he was…sad that what had happened in his head hadn’t happened, in reality. It was madness.

And yet…something didn’t add up. After all, should he be aching all over? And he did ache, in every part of his body. Could that be from just a blow to the head? And should his ass hurt like he’d taken a really hard dump? And his nipples, why were they so tender? And why did he feel so…so different, now, as if his whole world had shifted?

That’s when he realized…his undershirt was gone. He always wore one.

Relief swept over him and he smiled. It really had happened. He felt his balls tingle and his dick shift in agreement…and surprising hunger. An odd sort of confusion filled him. As did need. Followed by a thousand unanswered questions. One moment he’s dreaming of a night with a beautiful woman; the next, he’s casting appreciative eyes over that elegant young constable, focused on his very nice arse and well-formed legs.

Was he gay, now?

It looked like Prue would have to wait, because he needed to sort this out. But he already knew what he had to do, next — track down a fellow officer named Rob, in Manchester. Another Detective Sergeant, it sounded like, and he got the impression it would be someone about the same age and as buff as him and Joss. That should narrow down the possibilities. Then he and Rob could…oh, compare notes. See if Rob had his world shifted as much as him…now felt the same as him.

Finn smirked at the thought. A wicked twist of his lips. Spend as much time as possible together, to see if they could figure out why this happened. Maybe sequester themselves in a B&B he knew, near Whitford Park. For a long leisurely weekend. In a double bed. That thought brought an even more-wicked gleam to Finn’s eye.

Perhaps then he and Rob could go to Newcastle, to meet with Joss. Finn remembered he had a wife and kids. So they would need to guide him away from them for more comparison of notes. In another B&B, maybe. But if they could, his intention — and, hopefully, Rob’s — would be to introduce their unwilling rapist to the joys of being raped. Show him what he’d missed by not being used like them. Which filled him with a sense of wouldn’t that be fun?

Fun!? A detective Sergeant as sensible and sure as Finn, who knew right from wrong, without question, breaking a dozen laws, fun?

What the hell had happened to him? Finn was neither superstitious nor a believer in alien abductions, but something ridiculously confusing and intense had taken hold of him and he had no rational explanation for it. All he knew was, his whole way of viewing sex had been altered, and he now felt rather delightfully dangerous.

He heard sirens approaching. One of them an ambulance. He touched the injury behind his ear. The blood had already coagulated…and he felt no real pain. No headache. Nothing but as soft murmur of an ache, now. Could that have been the cause of his shift in perceptions? Did something like this happen after a concussion? Should he see a specialist to make certain he wasn’t damaged more than he thought?

Yes, that had to be it. He’d been struck unconscious and assaulted, and it had scrambled him brain. He’d probably feel all back to normal once he’d had a checkup and good night’s sleep.

Except…

Except a singular thought insisted on bouncing around in his mind.

“Me and Rob on Joss…yes, that would be fun…”

And not one iota of his being truly disagreed.

So far the story’s at 16000 words, so I may release it as just an ebook through Smashwords. Oh, and this is what Joss looks like…

Joss

Changes in story…

I’m up to more than 4500 words on “Jamie Served” and don’t like the title, anymore. I’ve also worked out a second part to the story, where Jamie goes looking for Paul…and they compare notes to realize this is happening to certain men in both the UK and US. I’ve added another couple of characters, as well…

Elliot Stabler of “Law & Order: SVU”

…and…

Duncan Hunter from “Shetland”

Not sure where this is going, yet…except more sex between them…but sometimes it’s best just to enjoy the ride…

“Jaime Served” —

This is my first draft of some slash fiction for the British side…and maybe…just maybe…part one of three…but we’ll see. (NOTE: I’ve realized I misspelled Jamie throughout the story so corrected it, but left this as is. Shows the process better…)

Jamie Winter from “Midsomer Murders”

Jaime did not know where he was or what had happened. One moment he was in the woods searching for poachers; the next, he was lying in a room that was both dark and not dark. Except it wasn’t a room; it was an open space whose walls were unseen in the darkness. Except it wasn’t darkness; he could see light casting a vague glow off his nose and cheeks. His first thought was, it’s like a massive auditorium stretching hundreds of meters in every direction, so he was unable to see the walls encompassing it. And he sensed he was not alone.

He was stretched out on a bed…but it wasn’t a bed. There was nothing beneath him but air…simple air holding him up. He knew he was still in his clothes — a nicely fitted suit and tie, completely inappropriate for tramping through the shrubs and sticks of a forest. But he’d had no choice.

The call came as he was en route back to Wormley to meet some friends, and the caller had a panicked tone of voice…at least, that’s what the call center said. Strange lights whispering through the forest, with animals scattering away from it in fear. Concern it might be a drug deal going down, or worse…poachers. Uniforms were on their way but were at least ten minutes behind him, and since he was a detective sergeant, they felt he was best to at least make contact with the caller to begin the investigation. He’d agreed to do it because he didn’t feel it would take too long, could hand it over to another DS soon as he arrived, and he knew his friends would be understanding. The life of a cop, sort of thing. He made a hands-free call to Erica to let her know he was running behind then turned down Midsoms Road to head back.

He gave a soft chuckle. Erica was why he’d worn this particular suit. It was snug in all the right places, showing off his trim, well-formed torso and colt-like legs, though it was a bit snug around the derriere. He felt very male-model in it, and knew she would be impressed. Hoped she would be. They were meeting with another couple, married with a child en route, and he was hoping it meant she was seeing him as more than a boyfriend, now…but a possible bed partner and, if all went well, wife. He was ready to settle down, having this promotion and being just past thirty. Find a nice cottage in someplace similar to the Cotswold’s. Not too far from the police center and his superior. Base his new life from there.

Funny how he could remember these thoughts. Could see himself arriving to the stated location. Picture arriving to find no one about. No lights. No fresh tracks of car or foot. No animals, either. The forest was still and ark, from the edge. He wondered if he’d gone to the wrong side…but double-checking his GPS showed he was where the center had said.

He’d decided to go in a few meters, just to get a sense of the place. The brush was thick, no path to follow. He didn’t want to go in too far because that would mess up his aren’t I hot suit…but something struck him. The forest was completely silent. No sounds whatsoever. Totally still. Not even the hint of a breeze rustle the tree branches. That was decidedly odd, being this close to the Channel.

Then he saw a glow, about a hundred meters to his right. Not that of a torch or lamp, just a soft blue whispering through the darkness.

“Hello!” he called. “Police. I’m Detective Sergeant — ”

And now he was in this room with no idea how he’d got here or what was going on.

“Did I pass out?” he wondered. “Am I dreaming?”

That had to be the explanation — he’d been struck unconscious and was dreaming. That was the only thing that could make sense.

He tried to sit up…but he couldn’t move. Not his arms. Not his legs. Neither hands nor fingers. Just his eyes. And he could speak. He thought. He was breathing well enough…and let out a massive sigh. This only confirmed his belief he was caught in a dream.

Then he felt whispers of air around him, like the caressing of fingers…but nothing was there. It traced over his face — his firm chin, his full lips, his bright open eyes, a dark blue under thick lashes, the eyebrows he’d trimmed last night in anticipation of his date, his thick curly hair cropped close to keep from reminding people of a clown. He wasn’t movie-star gorgeous, but he knew his face was well received by most young women. And it seemed like the nothing-air was touching every inch of his visage.

Then it moved down his neck, clean and well-shaved not an hour ago; he had issues with a light five o’clock shadow, which Erica had once mentioned, and he wanted nothing that might prevent kisses. He noticed the nothing-air fingers were also caressing the back of his head and now were crossing the nape of his neck. Whatever it was he was lying upon made no difference, the sensations merely displaced the feeling of support momentarily as the caresses travelled across his shoulders and down his back to his rear, the nothing-air in front pacing them as they drew over his chest and reached under his suit coat the play with his nipples and continued down his nice taut abs to his groin.

He moaned with discomfort. “This isn’t real, Jaime,” he said. “It’s all a dream.”

Except it certainly felt real. Especially when the nothing-air traced over his trousers to fondle his crotch and grope his ass, slipping between his legs to almost tickle the back of his balls and his hole before trailing down his thighs, feeling all around his legs, and over his calves down to his feet.

But what was worse? He felt the beginning of an erection. The whole situation had become so sensuous and sensual and erotic, he was responding, and boy…was he glad he’d worn his tight CK boxer briefs. Those might keep him from being too embarrassed.

“What is this?!” he cried. Or did he merely think it? He couldn’t tell.

He tried to move, again, but still was kept immobile. He was floating in nothingness and he could not move. But this was not sensory deprivation. He could sense light and could feel himself being touched. He swallowed, fear starting to build in him.

And then he felt his shoes being untied and removed!

“Bloody hell, what’re you doing?!”

The nothing-air caressed his soles and toes as they removed his socks. A new pair he’d worn because all of his others had holes in them. Next, his suit coat was unbuttoned and shifted off his shoulders.

“”Stop! What’re you doing?! I’m a police officer! Stop!”

His tie was loosened and pulled away around his collar, and the nothing-air slowly unbuttoned his shirt. toying with the hair on his chest as it went.

Jaime forced himself to not panic. “It’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s a dream,” gasped from his lips. Or maybe he was just thinking it.

The problem was, he could feel everything the nothing-air was doing. Each touch was like a promise of more. Each caress was meant to lead him closer to his needs. He’d been going through a dry spell and was more than hoping Erica would be his partner for the evening instead of his right hand. But this? This?

When he’d been a youth living with his grandmother…his Nan…after his mum and dad had left him to follow their own bliss, he’d had what Nan called Wet Dreams, and she’d told him they were completely natural, at his age.

“Both of your uncles went through this,” she’d said, “as did your father. Nothing to be embarrassed about.

Nan was always the level-headed one on the family, not typically British in her understanding about sexual needs. She’d been on a commune in Wales and traveled to Monterrey in California and some place in the Himalayas, for spiritual peace, and still carried that with her. Thinking of her helped calm him and let him focus on the reality of the moment.

And what was that reality? That this was not really happening except in his mind. So no matter what else the nothing-air fingers did, it wasn’t real.

That helped when the nothing-air pulled apart his shirt and slipped it down his immobile arms to reveal his undershirt. Tight, white, just a bit see-through. His nipples barely making a tent, against the cotton…until they were being fondled and flicked and twisted through the fabric. He felt lightning fire into his groin and he gasped in shock at how glorious that felt. How he didn’t want it to stop.

Then his undershirt was torn in half, revealing his pumped up chest, fan of hair over his pecs swirling down to his groin, and the nothing-air ran its caresses over his abs and along his sides as the shirt’s remains were guided away.

He began to breathe, heavy and fighting to keep in mind this wasn’t real But he was losing the battle. The sensations brought on by the nothing-air were becoming too demanding…too insistent…and his dick was growing, in response.

And still, he could not move.

His belt was unbuckled and pulled away.

He cried out then forced himself to picture Erica doing it. She was lovely, round in all the right places, peaches and cream skin under golden brown hair cut just right. He’d been attracted to her the second he met her on a previous murder case. She’d been a suspect, for a little while, but it was Barnaby who’d made the suggestion, not him, so their beginning wasn’t tainted by that. He’d taken his time getting to know her and let her know him, so using her to help make this nightmare into something he could handle helped calm him more than anything else had. If he was going to be mauled, sexually, at least it would be by someone he wanted and not some random female.

His trousers were undone and unzipped and pulled away from his hips and his ass and his crotch, revealing he was pretty damn close to being ripe and ready to go. The nothing-air played not only with his dick and balls, whispering around them and over them and behind them and along them, but also kneaded his ass, squeezing his cheeks like they were ripe melons. He didn’t have what others would call a bubble-butt, but it was a nice size and fit him just right…and it seemed the nothing-air agreed, for this went on for what seemed like a couple minutes.

He realized his trousers had been maneuvered down his legs to his ankles, and more of the nothing-air was caressing his thighs and calves, as if inspecting a prize horse.  His CKs followed, revealing an erection he had often been proud of; not the biggest dick ever but well above average. Not much foreskin to it, but it had done him well and none of the girls he’d been with in the past had complained. He’d even caught a few lads in the gym casting him glances of either envy or interest, or both. But now? Like this? He felt like he was being violated.

The trousers were removed, as were the CKs, and his legs pushed wider apart to allow even more of the dreadful intimacy being forced upon him. He felt the nothing-air slip between his cheeks and touch his hole and he screamed.

“No! Stop it! This is rape! You can’t do this to me!”

He fought to squirm away but his body would not move. He was breathing, fast and furious, and he could look around and move his mouth to speak and knew his tits had grown pointy and his dick was engorged and ready to be used, but everything else remained still and useless.

The nothing-air began to grope him in earnest, now. Dancing over his nips, sending more lightning to his balls. Caressing down the hair on his abs to his pubes like they were rafting down a river. Grabbing his ass and pulling at it as if to see whether it could be separated from his body. Fondling his dick and balls in a way that seemed more like worship than sexual need. Drawing sensations down his thighs and calves to add to the build of erotic need within him.

His dick was now as hard as it had ever been, and he was whimpering at the incessant manipulation of it…taking him almost over the edge but never quite.

“No, no, no, no…” was all he could say, now. He knew his cries and screams and pleading would do no good.

Then he saw a form appear in the dark space above him, shining so bright he had to jam his eyes closed. He opened them, a little, to watch the form draw closer and closer and slowly reveal itself to be another man. Also naked. Darker hair. Lean build. Tightly muscled with fans of hair over his body in all the places they should be. Dark eyes under thick lashes. A two-day growth of beard on his strong chin, surrounding full lips. And also an erection. His was not as large ass Jaime’s…at least, as large as Jaime thought his own was. And it was obvious the man was circumcised. His head was red and full and glistened with pre-cum, and his circumcision scar gave his shaft a two-tone look.

Jaime was so taken aback by it all, he forgot that he was still being caressed by the nothing-air and thought, “I know him. From where?”

The man seemed to know Jaime, as well. His expression was that of near-recognition. And confusion. And fear. And Jaime was sure his own face reflected the exact same thoughts. He noticed the hair on the man’s body was also shifting slightly, as if it were also being caressed. Then it hit him.

“Joe?” he said. “Newcastle?”

The man’s expression grew startled then he said, “Yeah. Jaime, from down South. Conference a couple years back, in London. What the hell’s going on?”

“You bloody tell me.”

“I…I…I got called out to investigate some lights in Gibbside. Caller said they were…uh…they were…”

“Poachers,” said Jaime, then he felt the nothing-air slip up inside his anus and he cried out, in shock.

“You?”

“Same thing. Same…” Jaime froze. Had to fight a panic building in him. “I…I’m dreaming you, right?”

“No, I’m dreaming you…or am I? Bloody fuckin’ hell, WHAT IS THIS?”

The nothing-air was becoming more insistent, pushing itself deeper into Jaime’s rectum. He fought to keep from screaming. “Joe! What do you feel?”

“Something like fingers touching me and groping me, but nothing’s there.”

“That’s like me…like me, but I can’t move and…and…HEY, WHO THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU? WHY’RE YOU DOING THIS?”

Then Jaime realize he wasn’t lying down; he was upright, as so was Joe. And they were closer together. So close, their erections touched…and the nothing-air began whispering over the both of them…fondling them, together…and it felt too damn good.

“STOP! STOP IT!” Jaime cried. “This is rape.”

“Oh, Christ,” Joe said, “they’re doing it, again.”

“Doing what?!”

“There was another cop — detective — guy named Paul — I knew him from a spell in Manchester and…and…no, don’t make me do this!”

Jaime felt the nothing-air grip his ankles and lift his legs up and up, even as the caresses and the probing continued all over him. He screamed.

“NO! THIS IS RAPE! THIS IS RAPE!”

“They don’t care!” Joe cried. “They don’t follow our laws! Dammit, don’t make me, not again…”

“NO, I’VE NEVER DONE THIS!”

The nothing-air rested Jaime’s legs on Joe’s broad shoulders, his ass now completely vulnerable, then he felt Joe’s erection press against his anus.

“Jaime, I’m sorry, but I can’t stop ‘em…I can’t…”

“NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!”

Joe’s head pushed into Jaime and he screamed in pain. It kept going in, slowly, slowly, filling him deeper and deeper. He screamed more. Felt he was being torn in half. And still he could not move to get away from it.

“I’m sorry, Jaime, they’re pushing me in, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

In what seemed like forever, Joe’s dick was in Jaime, up to the base. He could feel Joe’s pubs against his skin. Then Joe began rocking in, deeper, and back and in and back and in and back.

Jaime cried out. Breathed harsh and fast. Felt the nothing-air groping him all over — pinching his nips and caressing his thighs and fondling his balls and stroking his dick. It went on and on and on…until Jaime felt the pain begin to diminish and his dick grow harder and his balls more tender and his nips crazed to the touch and he couldn’t believe it…he was liking it.

He was enjoying being raped by a man he barely knew.

In and back and in and back, over and over and over. Each thrust began to take him closer and closer to nirvana…the sensual pleasures of it enveloping him and making him lose all sense of time or reality and in and back and in and back, Joe’s dick kept going and going and going until Jaime felt a rush start in the back of his balls and race through every fiber of his being and join with the nothing-air’s caresses to make him groan and howl and cry aloud and fire an ejaculation up into the air, the lie of which he had never experienced. His cum leapt at least a meter up into the nothing light and vanished. It did not splash back onto his belly or chest or face. He fired, again, going just as far up and also vanishing.

Then he felt Joe explode inside of him. Fill him with his own cum. Grunt and whimper in both pleasure and horror and joy and pain. He filled Jaime with more and more of his cum…until he was a quivering mass and could not make coherent sounds.

Joe was finally pulled away from Jaime, his dick now limp and dripping with semen. Jaime’s own dick was lying back on his belly, looking very pleased with itself. Nothing dribbled from it. In fact, the foreskin remained unseen. He hadn’t shriveled up, yet, not like Joe.

Jaime found he was able to move his head, now. And he watched Joe being taken away from him.

Joe cast him a sorrowful glance as he said, “They made me do this to Paul, too. He did the same as you. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Jaime murmured.

Joe heard him and smiled. “That’s what Paul said. I’m still sorry.”

Then Joe was gone.

Jaime felt the nothing-air still caressing him…fondling him…probing him…tits, balls, dick, thighs, ass…but it was in a manner that almost seemed sweet and caring. Which made no sense. Did whoever had done this to him think he’d been made love to? Did they believe this was a proper sexual coupling? That he wanted it to happen? He was sore as hell from being fucked…but he was also so damn mellow and easy from having cum like he did, he didn’t care.

He had really enjoyed being fucked by Joe. He’d not only gotten off on it, he wanted it, again. He knew this time had been a vicious, cruel, painful, manipulative form of rape…but the truth was…he also wanted it to happen, again. The ejaculation at the end of it had overcome everything else. He felt like a junkie who’d just had his first snort of coke and wanted more, just to regain that high. It frightened him, but also put him at ease.

He felt his CKs being slipped back on and up his legs. He felt the tight cotton surround his ass and crotch, and felt the nothing-air adjust his dick so he was comfortable. Next came his trousers, socks and shirt, followed by his shoes. He felt the tie drape around his neck and the suit coat come on and —

He was lying in the forest, two constables watching over him, one young and fit, the other older and more concerned. The young one was on the phone.

“He’s coming ‘round, sir,” the man said. “Yes, still need a medic. He looks pretty shaky.”

Jaime smiled, glanced the fit young constable over in a way that was more than appreciative — he did fit that uniform very nicely, in every way, and his pale blond hair suited his look — then made himself sit up.

“How long?” he murmured, his voice shaky.

“We got here ‘bout ten minutes, ago, sir,” said the older constable. “Saw your car and looked around. Found you here. Undid your tie.”

Jaime nodded and started to get up. The older man held him down.

“I’d stay put, sir. That’s a nasty cut to your head.”

Jaime touched a sore spot on his scalp and his fingers came away with blood on them. He sighed. So it was all just a dream. He was sore from having fallen or been hit, he wasn’t sure which, yet. But should he be aching all over? Even his ass?

Then he realized, his undershirt was gone. He always wore one. And his belt was nowhere to be seen. And he smiled, knowing it had really happened…and already knew what he planned to do.

Track down a fellow officer named Paul, in Manchester, if he’d been returned, as well…and..oh, compare notes. See if they could figure out why this happened. Then maybe he and Paul could go to Newcastle to meet with Joe, guide him away from his wife and kids for a weekend together…again, if he’d been returned…and introduce their rapist to the joys of being raped.

Wouldn’t that be fun…

Joe Ashworth from “Vera”
Paul Hopkins from “In The Dark”

The Missing…

An idea for a graphic novel that would be very graphic…

  1. Guy wearing jacket w/Confederate flag shopping with girlfriend.
  2. Girlfriend goes to bathroom, passes poster of man who is missing.
  3. Guy checks out poster of man who is missing.
  4. Guy kidnapped by 2 men. Fights.
  5. Guy dragged into nearby minivan, driver waiting.
  6. Drive away as guy struggles.
  7. Bound and gagged.
  8. Blindfolded.
  9. Guy half-stripped.
  10. Guy exposed and fondled.
  11. Guy raped by one of men.
  12. Guy carried into garage behind house.
  13. Rest of guy’s clothes torn off.
  14. Guy raped by other man.
  15. Guy tortured and raped by driver.
  16. Guy forced to suck off first man.
  17. Guy forced to suck off second man.
  18. Guy covered in cum and lying on floor as naked driver holds shovel.
  19. Looks like they’re about to strangle him with rope.
  20. Guy gets free and runs away. It’s night.
  21. Guy sneaks through suburbia.
  22. Guy finds box of old clothes at donation hamper.
  23. Guy dresses.
  24. Guy finds police station.
  25. Guy tells cops what happened.
  26. Points out board with missing guys on it.
  27. Sees one of rapists in photo, showing the man is friends with cops.
  28. Cops kick guy out of police station.
  29. Guy walks away, bereft, as minivan approaches him, from behind.
  30. Minivan drives away on now-empty street; posters on telephone pole of missing men.

Obsession…

I saw the man I wanted. He responded not in kind. He was trim, so fit, not slim. Now he won’t leave my mind.

So it was he I haunted, and through it he was blind to my stares and focused airs. But I knew he would find…

My plans would not be daunted, because his great behind let me know he’d be a show, especially as I grind…

Into those mounds that jaunted atop two legs. I pined for them both. I swore an oath soon my rope would him bind…

Reading and sketching…

I’ve been trying to read other M/M authors’ work to get an idea of what’s sellable in the gay community…and they are such crap I can’t finish them. Even when the storyline is interesting, the writing is so stiff or arch or at such a high-school level when it comes to characterization and situation, I get angry I’ve wasted my time and money.

Of course, that might be my problem. I write books that are rough and tumble and have real people in them in situations that are not always nice, proper, correct, decent. In The Vanishing of Owen Taylor, my MC, Jake, accuses a teenage boy who just lost his last surviving relative of having helped kill the guy, blurting this out before knowing it for certain, nearly crushing the kid. What’s positive about that hateful moment is, once Jake realizes his error, he makes the kid part of his pack and protects him like he would his own child…to the extent of hiding the boy’s participation in another death.

And Curt, the ex-con MC in How To Rape a Straight Guy, helps kidnap and brutalize an undercover cop, nearly destroying the man’s emotional stability…but saves the man’s life even though it means he’ll return to prison. And Devlin, the MC of Underground Guy, nearly gets himself killed trying to protect a British cop he raped. And Eric, the MC of Bobby Carapisi, brings on the suicide of another man by refusing to let go of how he was raped and the cops did nothing about it, not realizing what he’s done until it’s too late, so spends the rest of the book making up for it.

Maybe I should write books like Nicholas Sparks, albeit M/M instead of bland BS, all sweet and goupy with someone dying at the end to bring about a “life-lesson.” Or fake SM in a M/M vein, like those indescribable Gray’s books.

Or fuck it — I write what I fucking want to write and that is all there is to it.