Category Archives: Writing

Read a litte something from the book….

Staying open late can be a risk, with the thought of being robbed always a threat at the end of the day.

If the guy standing at the door, glancing around the shop, was a thief, then Dio mio, I wanted to be held up.

About six foot, he had hair the color of a deer’s pelt, with autumnal golds and browns shot together in a glorious patchwork that grazed the collar of his jacket and curled a little at the ends. He wore a faded brown bomber jacket over a shirt, and he had shoulders almost as wide as my doorway. A pair of well-worn jeans covered his mile-long legs, and the fabric on the stress points at his knees was practically white.

“We’re about to close,” I heard myself say. “Can I help you?”

It was at that moment he looked over at me.

His face could have been sculpted by Da Vinci or Michelangelo. A broad, smooth forehead housed naturally arched eyebrows I knew some of my gay guy friends would have paid a fortune to have on their own faces. His cheeks were carved from marble, high, smooth, and deep. And his mouth—mother of God—his mouth. Full, thick, beautiful lips sat perfectly over a chin with a dent you could shove a button into and have it stay put.

“Sorry,” he said. Those fabulous lips pulled up a little shyly at the corners. “I got stuck at work and couldn’t get here until now. I’ll be quick. Promise.”

So here’s the thing: the guy was gorgeous. But even if he’d looked like a frog with raw antipasto smothering his face, I would have dropped to my knees when he opened his mouth. Warm honey, a shot of raw whiskey, and a little hot puff of smoke wafted from his mouth like a fine and rare brandy being decanted.

Intrigued? Here ya go: 3 Wishes

It’s also available in Audio: