Episode #8 (of ten) of my gay-erotic science-fantasy serial Commander Jace and the Unsuitable Boys is released today. Below is a preview via Amazon.
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Listen to this.
An interesting interview with CV Hunt, author and publisher (Grindhouse).
https://unnervingpodcast.podbean.com/e/ep040-talking-halloween-fiend-with-cv-hunt/
Listen to this
Elizabeth Hand–that astonishingly good crafter of prose–was interviewed on This is Horror. The link is to the second half of a two-part interview, but once you’re there, you can skip back to part one if you want to hear it in order, though it’s fine to listen to part 2 first.
Read last week; it made me cry and also feel much better
This novella by Nicholas Day is gorgeous work and needs to be read far and wide, especially if you’re not feeling so great right now.
about the The Mad Man (Delany)
I am about halfway through my first reading of Samuel Delany’s engrossing and challenging novel The Mad Man, which I heard someone call the actual sequel to Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand, though it’s not science fiction and does not enter obviously the territory of that earlier novel. Delany shared on Facebook this very interesting dissertation that discusses it alongside Danielewski’s House of Leaves (among my perhaps top three favorite horror novels).
Random drawings of penises
I don’t draw a lot, even though I enjoy it. It’s because I suck at it, and I don’t choose good subject matter. But I figured I’d put these drawings here on my new site since they appear to have fallen afoul of the Tumblr penis-ban. The first three are of someone else’s dick, and the last is mine.
This one was banned also for some reason.
A recovered item from my banned Tumblr posts
Excerpt from …TWINK POPSTAR
A bit of the next episode Commander Jace and the Unsuitable Boys. Episode #8 The Strange Case of the Twink Popstar. Content advisories for explicit sex, recreational drug use and non-consensual telepathy.
From Braden’s diary; he does what Patrick has asked of him…
The kid sulked, slumped in a chair near my bed.
“Why are you so pissed off?” I wondered (though knowing fully well that it was because he’d just learned that he was under house arrest and confined to my quarters, placed under my direct supervision.).
Ian-Adam Dekka, with a great puff of fake dignity: “Because it’s a rude way to treat an honored guest!” I laughed at this. Honored, indeed! Please, bitch, stop!
“And also,” he said, “I know that Jace loves you, and he is our father, and so I guess you are kind of my brother, and I would think that would mean something to you.”
“Adoptive father,” I corrected, “in my case, and merely randomly biological in yours. And so we are not really brothers in any way.”
He raised his chin at me, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. His lower lip actually trembled! What an actor this douchebag wished he was. Did he really expect me to think that I’d truly hurt his feelings by denying our fraternal bond? That I’d apologize and hold him close and give him a wet brother-on-brother kiss of pure quaking love?
That moment passed. “You’re a bitch,” he told me. But I pulled off my shirt and dropped it on the bed. I pulled off my shorts, folded them and set them on top of the shirt. “So, do you want to fuck or what?” I faced him, naked. My dick wasn’t stiff yet, but it started to firm up as he stared at it, his wet mouth hanging open.
“Didn’t you have enough fucking for the day yet,” he said, “with your blond boyfriend?” Somebody must have told him about Patrick. This kid had not seen me with him once. Also this kid has no idea how much fucking and sucking I can do in a day.
“Come on, baby,” I said, stepping closer to him. “I’m sorry I was being a bitch. Please. Come on, baby brother, let’s get these clothes off that pretty body.”
He shed his attire quickly, and I drew him in toward me and held him closely, kissing him for a while, still standing chest to chest. He’s a little shorter than me, so I widened my stance a bit to get truly face-to-face with him. I nibbled at his ears, at the soft fuzzy skin of his long smooth neck. I lowered my mouth to his big pink nipples and I sucked on each of them, and this made him cry out and moan. Then he surprised me my nuzzling his nose for a few long seconds into the hair of my left armpit. I am sure I smell all over like sex with Patrick—from him fucking me, from him sucking the snot out of my dick—which smells like sex only with Patrick and with no one else. I want to tell this Ian-Adam kid about my Patrick, about my “blond boyfriend,” and how our love for each other is as pure and sweet as our sex with each other is wild and fucking filthy, and how our hearts mesh together in the same way that our mouths and rectums are the perfect holsters for each other’s dirty drippy dicks. I kissed Ian-Adam some more and we licked at each other’s necks and chins and nipples and pits, and the kid’s big dong—it looked like Jace’s except uncut, and way too big for his skinny body—stood up and dripped through the tight cowl of its sleeve. I bent low, grabbed it, skinned it back all the way and sucked on it for a few moments, making him cry like a fag in luxury some more. He was really cute: very Jace-like but even younger than Patrick by a couple years.
Then I had this thought, which I expressed to him with great promise of pleasure: “You wanna do a line?”
“Line?”
“Narcowhirl.”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
“Will you snort it off my dick?”
He laughed. “Off your dick?”
“Yeah, kiddo.” I got the little packet of powder out of my underwear drawer, and the straw and the old gift card card from Taikonaut (that Chinese restaurant that Zane gets food from all the time) that I usually use to chop up and scrape together lines. I formed a line of the glitter on the top of my dressing table, slid it carefully onto the edge of the card, and—with even greater care—laid that card edge along the top of my stiff fucking pole and tapped the powder onto my dick-skin from my bush to the collar of my ragged foreskin, crossing over the fat main vein that takes half my blood out of my body and away into my pole when I’m naked with a cute fucking dude. I gave Ian-Adam the short pink straw. He knew what to do. He snorted if off my dong as well as he could but, of course, some dust remained, snowing the brown moist skin of my dirty dick. I told him to get the rest. “With your mouth.” He looked up at me like he didn’t know what I was talking about. A snotty streamer of pre-jac fell from my slit. “You’re a fuckin’ cocksucker, aren’t you?” I said.
He nodded. “I mean, I can be.”
“Then do it. Here’s a cock hanging right in front of your mouth: suck on it. And get all that sweet dust in your mouth, too. It’ll get you even higher.”
His soft tongue was warm and sloppy-wet on the underside of my dong, but he was almost too gentle and tentative with his sucking and so I gripped his neck, fingers pinching his fuzzy nape, and I pushed in a little bit, and he got the fact that I wanted it a little harder, a little rougher, that I don’t really even care if his teeth scrape my shaft a little bit or that he has to repress a gag now and then when I go in too deep, and I let myself enjoy it—but I kept my inner-mind closed to his for now. Instead I daydreamed that he was going to suck my wang until I fucking came like a knotting wolf, pumping out so much fucking white goo and for so fucking long—a cup and then a quart and then another one—until the boy’s belly is fat like a soccer ball with Braden-jizz. And then I imagine that a sperm-raider suddenly showed up and made the kid puke it all up, and the raider steals my sperm and populates a new planet with ten billion of my kids, and every single one of them grows up to be a slutty cocksucking boy like me, like their horny faggot daddy. Thinking this kind of shit was gonna make me cum, so I stopped this thought and I held back, and I let him suck on me for another minute or two, his lips perfect plump cuffs of fuck on my cock. But we had to get to it—I needed to drill him.
He let me guide him onto the bed, onto his back. I knelt at its edge, pushed his knees up, his legs apart and put my mouth to his hole. He whimpered and moaned and said a lot of oh-yeah-oh-fuck-yeah-baby-oh baby stuff as I spit upon and licked his pucker and eventually pushed inside it , tasting its sweet, rank funk. Most dudes dig the sensation of the barbell that pierces my tongue when I am eating their cunts and Ian-Adam liked it, too. Probably more instinctively than deliberately, he kept grabbing his cock and stroking it while I rimmed him.
“No, baby-bro,” I said, momentarily raising my lips and tongue from his asshole, “no cumming for you until I let you.” I drew his hands away from his cock. We continued like this, me eating him out and periodically reaching up to block his hands again from his own hard-on, slapping away his grasping fingers, seizing his wrists, all the while with him crying and begging for more and more sweet sex from me as if I were the greatest fag-lover ever born. I’ll admit that I am pretty fucking good, but probably not at the over-the-top level that Ian-Adam’s keening wails might have suggested. I think I was down on his pussy for at least twenty minutes, to the point where my tongue was starting to feel strained at its base from trying to extend it as far out of my mouth and as deeply into his socket as I possibly could manage. It was time: I had to let my mind open and take his inside it.
Braden has a mindfuck with Ian-Adam…
Of course the first problem I ran into was a fucking psychic blocking trick. Whoever was operating this boy either somehow knew already or had made a very good guess that he might be handled by a touch-telepath while he was among us. Note to self: tell Patrick about this ASAP. If someone—like the Tong Tiphon—knows about my ability, then we could be in a whole new kind of trouble. This psychic block was in the form of a little piece of an insidious song—like a commercial jingle—that replayed continuously just below the first level of his deliberate consciousness. Imagine, if you will, an annoying ear-worm tune that keeps popping into your head all day, but it’s really fucking stuck in there. It went like this:
ReVISE it! said the Revisor…
ReVISE it! said the Revisor…
Revision, indecision, concision…
and reCISion have beGUN!
Over and over again, all day long, that dumb song. To get deeper inside him, I needed to push past it, dismiss it into his brain-aether, but it was a really well-made block. I spent what seemed like hours grappling with this fucking ditty. I saw a fantasia of a dozen Ian-Adam-like dancers performing a jittery dance to it; I saw him gyrating against a background of neon signs singing it; I sang it with him in a roadhouse bar; I discussed it with him in a classroom setting where we listened to remixes of it; I made it the theme song for a science fiction TV series that I was producing and of which he was the star; I commissioned an opera troupe to perform it over Ian-Adam’s grave as his casket was lowered into the dirt; he and I sat naked by a campfire and sang it to each other, clapping our hands against each other’s on each beat…and it went on and fucking on like this until…
SILENCE! I was somehow on the other side of the block, seated so deeply and serenely in Ian-Adam’s consciousness that I couldn’t any longer hear the song, even faintly. In fact, for a beautiful little while, I couldn’t even remember it all.
I knew what I needed to know at this point and made myself disengage from his internal story. But, with the fog of that tale somewhat cleared, I felt a familiar euphoria of actually liking him more than I ever thought I would. And I was also really fucking horny at this point anyway, so I stood, pressed his legs further back, his heels and ankles nearly to his ears. I knelt on the edge of the bed, leaned over him, grabbed my stick in my right hand and aimed it into his hole. He cried out a little bit, sharp little yelps, as I worked my shaft past his ring and into his socket. Then as I settled into a semi-rapid cock-thrusting, focused on getting myself off inside him, basically jacking off with his cocksocket subbing for my right hand, he settled into a soft panting moan that sounded kind of like joy so I let him finally touch his cock again and he jerked it rapidly, spitting a gleaming spray of preek on his belly. Since I was still enjoying myself and he was still enjoying himself, we fucked like this for a few more minutes, me jabbing his chute with my rock-on stiff prick, him beating off in long and fast strokes. Eventually, I sensed that he was past any point of return and was going to cum, so I decided to do the same. He went first, streaks of immaculately white spunk striping his belly and his chest, one little drop landing on his chin just under his fat pouty lips. I pulled out and jetted mine on him, splattering his body from his nuts to his mouth.
“Oh fuck me, bro, that was stupid-hot!” he said. “I haven’t gotten off so fucking good in forever!” I remained standing over him, his legs still raised, my slightly limper cock still dribbling some last clotty curds of cocksnot on his nuts. For some reason, I decided to spank him. His bright eyes, his kid-like smile made me want to do it. I just wanted to hit his fat rump. I slapped an ass cheek quite hard with my right hand, spanking it like his bio-father never got to do. He gazed up at me, eyes wide, mouth agape, surprised. I did it again, and a third time, a bit harder. His cock fully re-stiffened. He liked this. “Oh, my brother,” I said, “we’re nowhere near done playing. What fun we’re going to have…”
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