Ike Rose's Blog
March 8, 2011
Work in Progress
I posted this segment of a Work in Progress on my blog Introducing A New Feature
Comments, PLEASE!
TITLE: "Falling"
FORMAT: Novel
The two main characters first meet:
One Saturday morning in May, I was coming home from shopping when I passed a moving van in front of the building. I didn't think much of it until I realized that the movers were bringing heavy wooden furniture and a great leather covered sofa into the empty apartment next to mine. I could hear the shrill voice of a woman issuing orders to the men to place the furniture as I unlocked my door. I grinned, deducing that the masculine furniture was for the husband's den in that two bedroom apartment. I visualized a feminine apartment and a henpecked little man running to obey that piercing shrill voice. It made me wince.
Saturday was my day for my main, heavy workout. I changed my clothes to go down to the building's gym. I worked hard to keep the physique that I had build up in high school as a baseball player. Since leaving Oliver, I'd built myself even bigger and stronger to burn out my sexual frustration. At six foot, I was a pretty well built man approaching maturity with a fuzzy covering of body fur. I wouldn't call me a bear, but perhaps a cub, since I preferred big masculine and hairy man older than me. In good weather, like that morning, I always jogged around the block three times to warm up before heading down to the gym, showering after I'd slowly jogged home to cool down. I did my stretches in my living room, then I left my apartment with my keys around my neck, locking the door, swiveling to start my run, slamming into a solid, unmoving wall of muscle and manfur.
I knew right away that he wasn't one of the movers, since they all wore uniforms. Score one point for the observant artist. This man was dressed in cutoff jeans that showed off hairy legs the size of tree trunks, a wife-beater cut just below his pecs that revealed an eight-pack so fur covered as to be almost hidden, and massively built arms with more hair on them than I had on my body.
My nose had smacked into a thickly fur covered space above the scooped collar of his shirt. As an artist, I understand the proportions of the human body. I'm six foot tall, so this man had to be close to seven feet of solid muscle.
That first hard blow against that solid wall of flesh had caused me to bounce back one step, giving me that quick view of his body I'd described so far. That thick manfur was a rich, deep, flame-like red. I'd always had a fascination for redheads, but I'd never seen a man with red body hair before. I couldn't help but gawp at the sight of all that muscle covered with that beautiful and unusual manfur, popping an instant woody, fortunately secured in my jockstrap.
A deep, rich chuckle snapped my attention back to the corridor and that giant man! I took one more step back to look up. A craggy face grinned at me, sporting a thick, bright red mustache, topped with a bright red hair military buzz-cut. He was holding two very large, beat up suitcases. As I admired this handsome stud, he put them down. Still smiling, he reached out a hand the size of an Easter ham. “I guess you're my new neighbor. I'm Butch Kingston.”
I gulped as I suppressed a desire to say “You sure are butch” or to throw myself in his arms to suck on his lips. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed his hand. “Jerry Mannheim. Welcome to the building, um.. Butch.” I managed to keep my snicker at that name to a minimum, then blushed.
A rich laugh rolled through the hall. “I know. Don't sweat it. I'll bet that you haven't heard the name Butch since elementary school. I have my reasons to keep my childhood nickname. My mother's the only one to call me my real name. Even my bosses call me Butch.”
I stood there admiring him. A tattoo of a tiger peeked over his left shoulder; I was dying to find out if it's body and tail ran down Butch's muscular back. There was a black rose peeking over his belt on the right, and a snake ran around his left thigh, the head aiming towards his well packed crotch. Lucky snake!
I couldn't help myself: I had to lick my lips. Butch just looked so delicious, but I never went after married men, and although he ignored it, his wife's shrill voice screeched orders to the terrified movers. No wedding ring, just a wife with a voice to cut stone. I took a big breath and rolled the muscles of my not exactly unattractive and very masculine body. Doing that made the tattoo of a dragon that twisted around my right bicep seem to writhe, and the hem of my shirt pulled out of my shorts. Butch's eyes focused on the black rose that was part of a tattoo at my waist on my left, a mourning tattoo at the end of my affair with the first man I'd ever loved.
“Nice tats, Jerry. It looks like I got in the way of your workout, neighbor. Where do you go?”
“I use the fitness center downstairs, but on nice days like today I jog to warm up and cool down.”
“You look like a serious athlete. I bet you were a jock in school.”
“Baseball team in High School and College. Been using my workouts to get over a bad breakup. Now you.. I'd bet you were the star of the football team, Butch.”
He laughed. “You'd lose the bet. I was a couch potato and forty pound overweight by my senior year of High School. I got into some trouble with the law, and the judge gave me a choice: the Marines or jail. I may be lazy but I ain't no fool. Four years in the Corp beat six in the State Pen. My Drill Instructor beat the laziness out of me. If you don't mind, I'll be joining you down in that gym, buddy. A workout partner has always made me work harder. That full service gym with an Olympic indoor pool is the reason I picked this building when I needed a new apartment. When's your next workout, buddy?”
Shit. Much as I would love to spend hours looking at this married man half-naked and straining at weights, or better yet, swimming in a Speedo, I'd avoided close friendships so far, and here comes Butch and latches on to me as his best buddy at first sight. Well, he was right: a workout partner DOES make a man work harder, and I hadn't had one since breaking up with Oliver.
Fuck it, I was so fucking lonely, and really need a friend. It wasn't Butch's fault he was the hottest man I'd ever met. I already hated his shrill wife. If he wanted a buddy for workouts, I was ready to risk it. I was adult enough to keep my hands to myself. “I do shorter workouts, usually followed by a swim, after on Mondays and Wednesdays, around five thirty. On Fridays I just swim laps, since I do my really hard workout Saturday afternoons before lunch. I've missed having a workout partner since moving here. Is five thirty on Monday good for you, Butch?
“Could we make it six? I'd just be getting home at five thirty, and would like some time to change.”
“Six it is. I'll ring your bell then, buddy.” We shook hands, and it was a good two minutes before his superior strength made me wince.
Butch winked at me, impressed at my strength. “Well, I'll let you get back to your workout, Jerry.” I jogged off, turning my head back as I reached the stairs. I was shocked to find Butch intently watching my ass as I ran.
I barely missed running into the newel post, and breaking off my rigid dick. “He's fucking MARRIED, you asswipe idiot!” I growled at myself as I headed down the stairs.
*~~~*~~~*~~~*
To drive thoughts of licking every square inch of Butch's body out of my suddenly sex obsessed brain, I worked myself harder than ever before that afternoon. After a gym workout that would have killed some men, I jogged three miles instead of my usual three blocks. I was totally exhausted and drenched with sweat during the last twelve blocks, which I walked to cool down. I was staggering for the last three blocks, my legs rubber, all thoughts of Butch wiped from my mind. I gave up and took the elevator to the fourth floor, knowing my legs would never make it up those stairs. I was wiped out.
Comments, PLEASE!
TITLE: "Falling"
FORMAT: Novel
The two main characters first meet:
One Saturday morning in May, I was coming home from shopping when I passed a moving van in front of the building. I didn't think much of it until I realized that the movers were bringing heavy wooden furniture and a great leather covered sofa into the empty apartment next to mine. I could hear the shrill voice of a woman issuing orders to the men to place the furniture as I unlocked my door. I grinned, deducing that the masculine furniture was for the husband's den in that two bedroom apartment. I visualized a feminine apartment and a henpecked little man running to obey that piercing shrill voice. It made me wince.
Saturday was my day for my main, heavy workout. I changed my clothes to go down to the building's gym. I worked hard to keep the physique that I had build up in high school as a baseball player. Since leaving Oliver, I'd built myself even bigger and stronger to burn out my sexual frustration. At six foot, I was a pretty well built man approaching maturity with a fuzzy covering of body fur. I wouldn't call me a bear, but perhaps a cub, since I preferred big masculine and hairy man older than me. In good weather, like that morning, I always jogged around the block three times to warm up before heading down to the gym, showering after I'd slowly jogged home to cool down. I did my stretches in my living room, then I left my apartment with my keys around my neck, locking the door, swiveling to start my run, slamming into a solid, unmoving wall of muscle and manfur.
I knew right away that he wasn't one of the movers, since they all wore uniforms. Score one point for the observant artist. This man was dressed in cutoff jeans that showed off hairy legs the size of tree trunks, a wife-beater cut just below his pecs that revealed an eight-pack so fur covered as to be almost hidden, and massively built arms with more hair on them than I had on my body.
My nose had smacked into a thickly fur covered space above the scooped collar of his shirt. As an artist, I understand the proportions of the human body. I'm six foot tall, so this man had to be close to seven feet of solid muscle.
That first hard blow against that solid wall of flesh had caused me to bounce back one step, giving me that quick view of his body I'd described so far. That thick manfur was a rich, deep, flame-like red. I'd always had a fascination for redheads, but I'd never seen a man with red body hair before. I couldn't help but gawp at the sight of all that muscle covered with that beautiful and unusual manfur, popping an instant woody, fortunately secured in my jockstrap.
A deep, rich chuckle snapped my attention back to the corridor and that giant man! I took one more step back to look up. A craggy face grinned at me, sporting a thick, bright red mustache, topped with a bright red hair military buzz-cut. He was holding two very large, beat up suitcases. As I admired this handsome stud, he put them down. Still smiling, he reached out a hand the size of an Easter ham. “I guess you're my new neighbor. I'm Butch Kingston.”
I gulped as I suppressed a desire to say “You sure are butch” or to throw myself in his arms to suck on his lips. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed his hand. “Jerry Mannheim. Welcome to the building, um.. Butch.” I managed to keep my snicker at that name to a minimum, then blushed.
A rich laugh rolled through the hall. “I know. Don't sweat it. I'll bet that you haven't heard the name Butch since elementary school. I have my reasons to keep my childhood nickname. My mother's the only one to call me my real name. Even my bosses call me Butch.”
I stood there admiring him. A tattoo of a tiger peeked over his left shoulder; I was dying to find out if it's body and tail ran down Butch's muscular back. There was a black rose peeking over his belt on the right, and a snake ran around his left thigh, the head aiming towards his well packed crotch. Lucky snake!
I couldn't help myself: I had to lick my lips. Butch just looked so delicious, but I never went after married men, and although he ignored it, his wife's shrill voice screeched orders to the terrified movers. No wedding ring, just a wife with a voice to cut stone. I took a big breath and rolled the muscles of my not exactly unattractive and very masculine body. Doing that made the tattoo of a dragon that twisted around my right bicep seem to writhe, and the hem of my shirt pulled out of my shorts. Butch's eyes focused on the black rose that was part of a tattoo at my waist on my left, a mourning tattoo at the end of my affair with the first man I'd ever loved.
“Nice tats, Jerry. It looks like I got in the way of your workout, neighbor. Where do you go?”
“I use the fitness center downstairs, but on nice days like today I jog to warm up and cool down.”
“You look like a serious athlete. I bet you were a jock in school.”
“Baseball team in High School and College. Been using my workouts to get over a bad breakup. Now you.. I'd bet you were the star of the football team, Butch.”
He laughed. “You'd lose the bet. I was a couch potato and forty pound overweight by my senior year of High School. I got into some trouble with the law, and the judge gave me a choice: the Marines or jail. I may be lazy but I ain't no fool. Four years in the Corp beat six in the State Pen. My Drill Instructor beat the laziness out of me. If you don't mind, I'll be joining you down in that gym, buddy. A workout partner has always made me work harder. That full service gym with an Olympic indoor pool is the reason I picked this building when I needed a new apartment. When's your next workout, buddy?”
Shit. Much as I would love to spend hours looking at this married man half-naked and straining at weights, or better yet, swimming in a Speedo, I'd avoided close friendships so far, and here comes Butch and latches on to me as his best buddy at first sight. Well, he was right: a workout partner DOES make a man work harder, and I hadn't had one since breaking up with Oliver.
Fuck it, I was so fucking lonely, and really need a friend. It wasn't Butch's fault he was the hottest man I'd ever met. I already hated his shrill wife. If he wanted a buddy for workouts, I was ready to risk it. I was adult enough to keep my hands to myself. “I do shorter workouts, usually followed by a swim, after on Mondays and Wednesdays, around five thirty. On Fridays I just swim laps, since I do my really hard workout Saturday afternoons before lunch. I've missed having a workout partner since moving here. Is five thirty on Monday good for you, Butch?
“Could we make it six? I'd just be getting home at five thirty, and would like some time to change.”
“Six it is. I'll ring your bell then, buddy.” We shook hands, and it was a good two minutes before his superior strength made me wince.
Butch winked at me, impressed at my strength. “Well, I'll let you get back to your workout, Jerry.” I jogged off, turning my head back as I reached the stairs. I was shocked to find Butch intently watching my ass as I ran.
I barely missed running into the newel post, and breaking off my rigid dick. “He's fucking MARRIED, you asswipe idiot!” I growled at myself as I headed down the stairs.
*~~~*~~~*~~~*
To drive thoughts of licking every square inch of Butch's body out of my suddenly sex obsessed brain, I worked myself harder than ever before that afternoon. After a gym workout that would have killed some men, I jogged three miles instead of my usual three blocks. I was totally exhausted and drenched with sweat during the last twelve blocks, which I walked to cool down. I was staggering for the last three blocks, my legs rubber, all thoughts of Butch wiped from my mind. I gave up and took the elevator to the fourth floor, knowing my legs would never make it up those stairs. I was wiped out.
February 28, 2011
My OTHER Blog is changing - Beware!.
I began my main Blog,Ike Rose - thoughts on Gay Romances & Life as a journal of my transition from an amateur to a professional. Fourteen people seemed interested, mostly friends.
I decided to change the format, since my release in January 2010 made me that professional. I will continue periodically with the tale of getting that novella to Release Date (a horror story), but I want to make it more like the Blogs of other writers.
Yesterday I did a bit of a rant, with humor, on the two most common errors writers make.
A member of the blog sent me a copy of her e-book to review.
I plan to ask some of the writers who I visited when released to come visit me and guest blog on their ideas about writing.
So pay me a visit, and follow by both Networked Blogs and Blogger.
And say hello in the comments.
PS: Contests to follow.
I decided to change the format, since my release in January 2010 made me that professional. I will continue periodically with the tale of getting that novella to Release Date (a horror story), but I want to make it more like the Blogs of other writers.
Yesterday I did a bit of a rant, with humor, on the two most common errors writers make.
A member of the blog sent me a copy of her e-book to review.
I plan to ask some of the writers who I visited when released to come visit me and guest blog on their ideas about writing.
So pay me a visit, and follow by both Networked Blogs and Blogger.
And say hello in the comments.
PS: Contests to follow.
February 14, 2011
Happy Valentine's Day
Being a romance writer, erotic or otherwise, I guess it's appropriate for me to start my Goodreads Blog on the day which for no apparent reason except for a line in Chaucer is associated with Love.
It's been a busy month for me: my first ebook release and all the work at promoting it.
My Sexy Valentine featuring my novella, "My Valentine Prince"
(If any of you read it - PLEASE review it here, and on Amazon and Barnes & Nobles????)
No one told me in advanced how much work an author has to do AFTER the book is released. I find myself with no time to actually WRITE.
I posted an old, somewhat odd story of mine here,, and the only fun I've had in a week was creating a cover for it while teaching myself how to use Paint.Net.
So "Leper" now has a strange looking cover to go with the strange tale of a man's growing love as he faces his personal nightmare. Literally.
Let me know what you think of both the story & the cover.
On the other hand, I've been making new friends by the hands-full.
Now that, too, is a mixed blessing. I love some of these people for their sharp wit and humor and their support of me as a baby writer. But to keep up those relationships I spend a great deal more time on Facebook, in group discussions here, and in email groups when I want to be doing. You've got it: WRITING.
So I selected a Call For Submissions from a publisher and started to write for a 3/1 deadline. A minimum of 5k words. So far I have an idea on the theme requested - which is half the battle in writing one of these things. The last time I had a good idea for a Call of Submissions, I was int he middle of a 20,000 word rewrite from first person to third person while changing the ending of the damned novella totally. So I watched that deadline slip by with only getting some research done for it.
So wish me luck on "Our First Time Together" about a long time couple's first ever three-way. I haven;pt decided on the gender of the third person for these two guys yet; I'm still creating them.
My lover is always puzzled by how passionate I get about my characters, saying "They aren't real people" - missing the point that the only way I can write is for me to create them as living people in my head. They can literally haunt my dreams until I get them on the computer or even paper.
I started off with one piece of Valentine's Day trivia - that non one knows how one of the two or three Saint Valentine's who used to be remembered by the Catholic Church on 2/14 got associated with romance. (They were removed form the Calender in 1968)
Here's another bit of trivia.
Most people know the song "My Funny Valentine" by Rodgers & Hart, which ends with the line "Each day is Valentine's Day". Well, the song had nothing to do with the holiday; it was written for a Broadway show and sung to a character NAMED Valentine - which explains the odd intro and somewhat belligerent tone:
Behold the way our fine feathed friend
His virtue doth parade.
Thou knowest not, my dim-witted friend,
the picture thou hast made.
Thy vacant brow, and thy tousled hair
conceal thy good intent.
Thou noble, upright, truthful, sincere,
and slightly dopey gent.
You're my funny Valentine,
Sweet comic Valentine,
You make me smile with my heart.
Your looks are laughable, unphotographable,
Yet you're my favorite work of art.
Is your figure less than Greek?
Is your mouth a little weak?
When you open it to speak, are you smart?
But don't change a hair for me
Not if you care for me,
Stay, little Valentine, stay!
Each day is Valentine's Day.
###
Fill your days and nights with love. Each day IS then Valentine's Day, even if you're single.
It's been a busy month for me: my first ebook release and all the work at promoting it.
My Sexy Valentine featuring my novella, "My Valentine Prince"
(If any of you read it - PLEASE review it here, and on Amazon and Barnes & Nobles????)
No one told me in advanced how much work an author has to do AFTER the book is released. I find myself with no time to actually WRITE.
I posted an old, somewhat odd story of mine here,, and the only fun I've had in a week was creating a cover for it while teaching myself how to use Paint.Net.
So "Leper" now has a strange looking cover to go with the strange tale of a man's growing love as he faces his personal nightmare. Literally.
Let me know what you think of both the story & the cover.
On the other hand, I've been making new friends by the hands-full.
Now that, too, is a mixed blessing. I love some of these people for their sharp wit and humor and their support of me as a baby writer. But to keep up those relationships I spend a great deal more time on Facebook, in group discussions here, and in email groups when I want to be doing. You've got it: WRITING.
So I selected a Call For Submissions from a publisher and started to write for a 3/1 deadline. A minimum of 5k words. So far I have an idea on the theme requested - which is half the battle in writing one of these things. The last time I had a good idea for a Call of Submissions, I was int he middle of a 20,000 word rewrite from first person to third person while changing the ending of the damned novella totally. So I watched that deadline slip by with only getting some research done for it.
So wish me luck on "Our First Time Together" about a long time couple's first ever three-way. I haven;pt decided on the gender of the third person for these two guys yet; I'm still creating them.
My lover is always puzzled by how passionate I get about my characters, saying "They aren't real people" - missing the point that the only way I can write is for me to create them as living people in my head. They can literally haunt my dreams until I get them on the computer or even paper.
I started off with one piece of Valentine's Day trivia - that non one knows how one of the two or three Saint Valentine's who used to be remembered by the Catholic Church on 2/14 got associated with romance. (They were removed form the Calender in 1968)
Here's another bit of trivia.
Most people know the song "My Funny Valentine" by Rodgers & Hart, which ends with the line "Each day is Valentine's Day". Well, the song had nothing to do with the holiday; it was written for a Broadway show and sung to a character NAMED Valentine - which explains the odd intro and somewhat belligerent tone:
Behold the way our fine feathed friend
His virtue doth parade.
Thou knowest not, my dim-witted friend,
the picture thou hast made.
Thy vacant brow, and thy tousled hair
conceal thy good intent.
Thou noble, upright, truthful, sincere,
and slightly dopey gent.
You're my funny Valentine,
Sweet comic Valentine,
You make me smile with my heart.
Your looks are laughable, unphotographable,
Yet you're my favorite work of art.
Is your figure less than Greek?
Is your mouth a little weak?
When you open it to speak, are you smart?
But don't change a hair for me
Not if you care for me,
Stay, little Valentine, stay!
Each day is Valentine's Day.
###
Fill your days and nights with love. Each day IS then Valentine's Day, even if you're single.
