Flashed! by J.M. Snyder

Now Available from JMS Books LLC!

Flashed!
by J.M. Snyder

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BLURB:
A novel is a love affair, with its ups and downs, but a short story can sometimes be nothing more than a one night stand, a brief date, or a quick kiss in the dark. Flashed! is a collection of 36 very short, "flash fiction" stories and a handful of love poems by J.M. Snyder, best-selling author of gay erotic romance. Each vignette is a glimpse into the lives and loves of very different couples. Some erotic, some bittersweet, every story in this collection celebrates a passion found only between two men.

From drag queens to college hoops players, veterans to rockstars, one time lovers to lifelong companions, men at work to men in tights, there's a little something for everyone in this collection. Some of these stories were once posted to the author's blog or appeared online elsewhere, but fans will find many new stories -- and characters -- to love once they've been Flashed!

EXCERPT:

Can I Just Say?

the taste of you still lingers on my tongue
can i just say
you taste like salt and the sea
and sticky taffy and sand
can i just say
you taste like summer and the rain
and hot pretzels drizzled with honey and mustard
can i just say
you taste like cola and the tears i cried
as you held me close on the beach
after we had sex even though i told you no

* * * *

DJ ‘N’ Mr. Yes

On weekends, the city’s pulse quickens in time with thundering hip-hop beats bleeding from the clubs out into the night. DJ follows the crowd, surfing from one party to the next, looking for the latest music, the trendiest clothes, the hottest bodies. He wants someone hard and tight, muscles barely sheathed by tanned skin, enough of an ass to grind up against in the dark. Someone to please him, someone to tease. Someone to take him in as far as he’ll go and beg for more.

He finds such a guy at a club downtown. Young, blond, hard abs beneath a mesh tank and arms that DJ could barely encircle with both hands. Eyes like the ice in whatever it is he’s drinking, and lips he licks wet when he sees DJ looking. The music moves him closer, each bump of his hips cranking DJ’s lust up another notch, until he’s rubbing his groin against DJ’s in welcome. His eyes ask that eternal question: “Where?”

DJ leads the way to the bathroom. In a cramped stall, DJ’s hands smooth up under the mesh tank, his tongue circling around pert nipples until the guy moans, “Yes.”

DJ works his way into those painted-on jeans, finds a thick erection and thumbs behind it, earning him another “Yes.”

A damp mouth on his, legs spread at his touch, hands fisted in his shirt when he raises those knees to ease inside that puckered hole, yes.

Hot breath in his ear, barely audible here, yes.

DJ pierces into him with rough thrusts, fucks into the warm, willing ass again and again. The skin that sheathes his cock shudders with the music, a fevered heartbeat that races into the night. Yes, and yes, and yes, until they both come in a sticky, heated rush.

Yes.

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Impasto (part of the 'Mine' anthology) by Lydia Nyx

Blurb: Alexander is a vampire and his human lover–and dearest possession–Laurent has finally agreed to be turned. While in London so Laurent can visit his mother one last time as a human, Alexander sits in the darkness of their hotel room contemplating Laurent’s beauty in post-coital slumber. Alexander endeavors to paint a portrait of him in words in his well-weathered notebook, but despite observing all the trappings of their lives together, and Laurent himself, he finds only one word can encapsulate him: mine.

Excerpt: Now came the centerpiece of the painting, the object that would tell the observer exactly what had happened here, if they hadn’t already guessed. Most likely they had, but were wondering with who, and why. The ‘who’ was simple enough, the ‘why’ a bit more complicated, and had been, for nearly two decades.

The sheets on the bed were white cotton. They were soft and had smelled of industrial detergent. They’d been wound around Alexander’s bare legs earlier, before he’d gotten up and pulled his pajama bottoms out of his suitcase. Atop the sheets was a cream-colored blanket, then a green and white comforter with pink flowers printed on it. Both were tangled, twisted. Pillows were scattered at the top of the bed, one on the right propped against the headboard and slumped toward the edge of the mattress. The smell of detergent had been replaced by the scent of sweat and sex, skin and musk, and just a little blood, that sweet, coppery odor. Alexander fancied he could smell it still, even over the damp air and lingering cigarette smoke.

On the left side of the bed, the fire behind his inspiration lie tangled up in the sheet. He was on his stomach, his bare shoulder blades angular and sleek, his arms sprawled out to either side and his right hand lost amongst the mounds of pillows. The left dangled off the bed, fingers curled against the box springs, swaying slightly with his breath. The comforter was draped over one leg and the other rested atop the blanket, long and muscled and bare, the light picking out downy hair on the back of his calf. Across the white pillow beneath his head, sable curls were flung scattered and wild, a few clinging to the back of his neck. One tumbled onto the smooth, pale skin of his back, a dark, tempting ringlet on a bed of creamy velvet. Alexander felt the urge to go over and pluck it up between his fingers, curl it around his knuckles, press it to his lips.

Beneath the sheet, the shape of his lover’s body was exquisite, long and slender, a sloping back and narrow hips, jutting hipbones and slim thighs. The swell of his ass was subtle, the sheet so far up his bare leg Alexander could just see the soft round beauty of one cheek peeking out.

How could anyone capture such glorious beauty on canvas? Michelangelo would have thrown his brushes into the Tiber upon seeing him, knowing he could never replicate such a thing in pigments and oils.

Buy the anthology at Torquere Press!

Lydia Nyx on GLBT Bookshelf