Am I a sick fucked-up freak?

Okay…I’m not interested in kids. Any guy under the age of 23 is not my thing. Even when I was 19, I preferred men about the age of 27. But tonight something creepy happened to me, inside.

I was watching Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets for the third time…and Daniel Radcliffe started looking good to me. To be fair, I think he’s currently a damn fine-looking man, and I would love to find some way of getting him interested in playing Adam in the film version of The Alice ’65, but as a boy actor he wasn’t all that great.

Then tonight…I caught myself thinking about him in that way. And it startled the shit out of me. I don’t know if it’s because I know he turns out gorgeous. I don’t know if I’m in a weird mood due to self-isolating over COVID 19. I do know it’s not because of Dair’s Window, the book I’m writing, right now, because that’s about a 33 year old stained glass artist trying to get his life in order after the death of his lover and 5 years of lawsuits by the man’s estranged family. Got no kids in that.

So what the fuck? How old is he in this thing – 12/13? Am I channeling some long-dead priest who sucked off altar boys in 19th Century Ireland or buggered them in Italy? Am I turning into a dirty old man in reality and not just in my mind? I don’t feel that for any of the other boys in the movie.

This is not acceptable. It’s not me. I like men along the lines of Chris Evans and Ryan Gosling and Henry Cavill. Adult men with muscles and hair on their chests, legs and arms. Not a smooth child who’s yet to be completely formed. I mean, I would LOVE to have him like this.

So this shit makes no sense.

Finished a 1st draft of APoS

A novel set in Ireland has been taking my full and complete attention, but now I have a first draft of it and can work on a MM romans set just outside Seattle. Nothing dark about this one, except emotionally.

Five years after his lover, Alain, died in an avalanche, Dair is ready to restart his career as a stained glass artist. A civil action filed by the dead man’s homophobic mother has finally been thrown out, and he’s about to marry the lawyer who handled his case, Wallace. But memories of Alain continue to jolt Dair’s calm facade, then the arrival of Wallace’s Best Man, Jackson, and his pregnant wife sends things spinning into chaos.

Kyle Krieger is how I picture Dair…

I’m pushing to get it done in time for the UK GLBTQ Meet Up in Southampton, UK on Labor Day weekend. Use that to launch it.

It’s finally arriving…

After a lot of work and focus of the maniacal sort, with the story leading me places I did NOT want to go, The Beast in the Nothing Room is about to be completed. I’m working on formatting the ebook, first, which will be available through; then comes a paperback version.

I’m thinking of working up a special illustrated edition in hardcover, just for the hell of it. Quick pen & ink drawings of certain events in the book, nothing truly hardcore…maybe…but still not decided. Make it a limited run — about a hundred copies only, signed and numbered.

I’m still freaked over some of the things I put into it, but I know better than to take them out or try to minimize them. I’ve already been told I’m overreacting, a bit…so maybe it’s not as dark as I think. Maybe I’m just too sheltered. But so far it’s got incest, sadism, bondage, rape, kidnapping, water sports, domination, torture, rip-n-strip, straight-to-gay and murder.

Just a light summer read…

Potential cover for BNR

The Layout’s still a bit off, and the red is crappy, but this is the basic idea for the paperback cover of the book. Should be out before Christmas…

I have to say…this book is even darker than HTRASG. It has a time-traveling human beast who captures attractive men on the verge of being killed in an accident, rapes and brutalizes them, then puts them back in time to die.

Its overlords allow this to happen because it’s located a strain of DNA they need and is tracking it to its best source — my MC, a British Detective Sergeant named Finley Winterbourne…Finn…a decent man being groomed to become one with the beast.

Erotic SF/Horror story

I finished a first draft of the book. 62,000 words and parts of it freaked me out, just like How To Rape A Straight Guy did, when I was writing that. The tag line is good — How do you stop a serial killer who never kills anyone, and doesn’t exist?

Next is the rewrite…then the editor gets a shot…

Update on my latest vicious work…

Nick Hendrix as Jamie Winter in Midsomer Murders is the epitome of my MC, Finn…

The Nothing Beast has become The Beast in the Nothing Room, and this is how it starts out…

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 because he was unable to see any walls encompassing him…just like he was unable to see any source for the light shining upon him.

But what was worse? He sensed he 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, neat 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 Clayton-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’d 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-Clayton 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, husband. He was ready to start a family, having already settled into the area and now being just past thirty. Find a nice cottage someplace local, somewhat similar to the Cotswold’s. Not too far from the police center and DCI Blethyn, his superior. Base his new life from there. They were meeting with another couple, married with a child en route, and he was also 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’d arrived to the stated location…only to find no one about. No lights. No fresh tracks from car or foot. No animals, either. The forest was still and dark, despite it only beginning to approach dusk. He’d wondered if he’d gone to the wrong side…but double-checking his GPS showed he was where the center had said.

He’d 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 hadn’t wanted 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’d seen a glow, about a hundred meters to his right. Not like that of a torch or lamp, just a soft blue circling the trees.

Surrounding a lone figure.

Headed towards him.

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

And then he was here, with no idea how he got here or what was going on.

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

That had to be the explanation — the lights and figure hadn’t been close enough to reach him, and there was no notice of a weapon firing, so he’d stumbled, hit something, been struck unconscious, and now 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. He was also able to figure out he really was breathing by letting 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 clean chin, his full lips, his bright open eyes, a cool 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, 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 any 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 become 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 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 insistent. Each movement over him was a promise of more. Each caress was meant to lead him closer to something…well, it was certainly trying to be something deeply carnal and prurient. It didn’t help that he’d been going through a dry spell and had been 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…long 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 pajamas, without another comment.

He smiled. Nan was 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 temple in the Himalayas, for some form of awareness, 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 amazingly fantastic it was. How he didn’t want it to stop. He actually groaned from pleasure.

Until 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. He cried out as the nothing-air ran its caresses across his belly and over his shoulders and along his arms 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 consistent…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 unbuttoned.

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 him 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 grasp the cotton, playing not only with his dick but his balls, whispering around them and over them and under them and along them, making the taut material 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 certainly above average. Well, 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.


He fought to squirm away but his body would not move. His breath was fast and furious, and while he could shift his eyes to look around and move his mouth to speak and 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, solid 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.

And also sporting a full-blooded erection.

His shaft was full, his knob was red, his slit glistened with pre-cum, and his foreskin was completely pulled back from the head.

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 first that of near-recognition…then confusion…then shock. Finn was sure his own face reflected the exact same thoughts. He noticed the hair on the man’s body was shifting slightly, as if he, too, were being caressed.

“Him?” the man said, in a Geordy accent. “It’s him?! No!”

Finn jolted. “Newcastle!” he said. “You’re Hallsworth! DS…Joss?”

The man’s expression grew pained he said, “Yeah. I know you. Winterborne, from down South. Conference a couple years back, at New Scotland Yard. You’d just gained Detective Sergeant…”

“What the hell’s going on?”

Joss almost laughed. “If I could explain it, I would. How’d you wind up here?”

“I…I…I got called out to investigate some lights. Caller said…well, he thought  they were…uh…they were…”

“Poachers,” said Joss. “Bloody hell.”

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

“They’re all over you…”

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

“No, you’re not. I thought that’s all it was but I…I…bloody fuckin’ hell, not him! Not with him!”

Not with him? The nothing-air pushed harder against Finn’s rectum. He fought to keep from screaming. “What do you mean? Are they messing with you, too?”

“Something 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 whispered 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?!”

“They use me. Against you. Against Rob. Fellow cop. From Manchester. Others. I’m outside, alone, then I’m here, then I wake up and I thought it was a dream, at first, but now it’s too often….no…no, don’t make me do it, again! 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, please, not him…”


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 in and Finn felt every bit of it and 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 erection was all the way inside, right to the base. Finn could feel the man’s pubs against his skin. Then it 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 toy with the hair on his legs and fondle his balls and stroke his dick, making it harder and harder and bringing it closer and closer to the brink and it went on and on and on and every push in hurt and every pull back was like fire and he screamed and yelled and cursed and tried to fight but couldn’t move as he was groped and felt all over and it kept on and on and on and then…then slowly,  oh so slowly, almost exquisitely, the pain begin to diminish. Each thrust began to feel like something exquisite filling him with pleasure. 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 nothing-air traveling over him. He couldn’t believe it.

He was…he was liking this!?

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 demands 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, and 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 behind his balls and hiss through every fiber of his being as every muscle in him clenched and joined with the nothing-air’s caresses to make him grunt 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 up into his dick and massive line of semen screamed from him, firing 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, just vanished into the nothing light as more cum leapt from him, shooting at least a meter up…and he fired, again, going just as far up…and that also vanished. And again he shot, and again and again.

Then he felt Joss slam harder and harder against him jolt and shudder and stop deep within and cry out…and fill him with his own cum. Gasping and whimpering in both pleasure and horror and joy and pain. He rammed against Finn, harder and harder, sending more and more flooding into him…filling him like a faucet fills a jar or bottle with water. On and on Joss went until he was a quivering, laughing mass and could not make coherent sounds. Finn was so lost in his own overwhelming sensations and feelings and exultation, he was just as incoherent.

After a few minutes more of this, Joss pulled away and Finn slowly…slowly…slowly drifted back to himself. He found he was able to move his head, now. He looked at Joss and saw…well, what he saw was a man who appeared to be drunk out of his mind. His eyes were half closed and his face slack from the 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 erect…somewhat. Just beginning to shrink back to normal, like Joss. But unlike Joss, he felt like he was still in control of his thoughts.

Then his legs were removed from Joss’s shoulders and the man drifted away.  He cast Finn a vague, sorrowful glance as he murmured, “They…they made me…do this…to Rob, too. Till he…till he let loose, same as you. They all did.”

“Were you…too…?”

“No, not that. I…I’m so sorry. Didn’t want this. For you.  Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Finn murmured.

Joss heard him and smiled. “That’s what…Rob said. 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? Had this been some fucked up alien abduction and the little bastards believed this was a proper sexual coupling? That he’d wanted it to happen? Despite his screams and struggles? It had hurt like hell, and he was brutally sore from being fucked…but something he had to admit was…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 coming down off his first snort of coke, who wanted more, just to regain that high. It frightened him, but also put him at ease.

Which made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

The nothing-air withdrew from caressing him. He sensed he was being drained of Joss’s cum…and cleansed, in some way. Not with soap and water but still, he was being dry-washed somehow. Then he felt his CKs tenderly being slipped back on and up his legs. The tight, white cotton surrounded his ass and scrotum, and the nothing-air adjusted 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 a mobile phone.

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

Finn smiled then made himself sit up and even though it made him dizzy, he glanced the fit young constable over in a way that was more than appreciative, to his vague surprise; The lad did complete that uniform very nicely, in every way, and his pale blond hair suited his chiseled features and tanned forearms.

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

“We got here ‘bout twenty minutes, ago, sir,” said the older constable. “Saw your car and looked around. Couldn’t find you till I noticed you here. Dunno why we didn’t see you earlier. 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, as though he’d been straining hard against something. 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 queer, now? Had those aliens made him a poof?

No…the very idea was ridiculous. One doesn’t go gay from a smack to the head, and you can’t rape a man into changing his sexual orientation. The whole process would be too traumatic.

And yet…he didn’t feel traumatized. Which made even less sense.

It looked like Prue would have to wait, because he needed to sort this out. And the first step towards doing that would be to track down Joss to find out what he knew about this whole mess. Then would come finding a fellow officer named Rob, in Manchester. Finn needed to see if he really had been used like Joss said he’d been. See if his reactions had been the same. If his world had been shifted as much as Finn’s. 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.

Finn smirked at the thought. A wicked twist of his lips. For some reason, he wanted to spend as much time as possible with Rob, 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.

Then he and Rob could go to Newcastle and face Joss together.  Find out more about why he was part of what had happened. Finn remembered he had a wife and kids, so they would need to guide him away from them. To another B&B, maybe. Where they could pick his brain and drag more about the other rapes from him. He had indicated there were others, hadn’t he? Other men brutalized like him. Which sent a shiver into his scrotum. Finn hoped he’d be forthcoming…cute choice of words…about the other men. Give Rob and himself justification to introduce their unwilling rapist to the joys of being raped. Show him what he’d missed by not being used like them. Get some of their own back. Which filled him with a billowing sense of wouldn’t that be fun?


Finn jolted. A detective Sergeant as sensible and sure as he was, who knew right from wrong, without question, considering breaking a dozen sexual assault laws, fun?

What the hell had happened to him? Finn was not a real believer in alien abductions, but something ridiculously confusing and intense had taken hold of him and he had no other rational explanation for it. All he knew for certain was, his whole way of viewing sex had been altered, and he now felt not only different and confused but also 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 a throb. 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 assaulted and struck unconscious, and it had scrambled his brain. He’d probably feel all back to normal once he’d had a checkup and good night’s sleep.


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 even considered rejecting the idea.

I yearn to return…

To working on The Nothing Beast, because the lad in the towel is Finn…

…AKA: Nick Hendrix playing Jamie Winter in Midsomer Murders. Since writing Underground Guy, I’ve been obsessing over British men. Dunno why…I just am. Maybe it’s because of the cover I used…