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258 pages, Paperback
First published January 27, 2014
** WARNING:Yes, that would have definitely been appreciated.
This story contains several scenes where an angry little bunny dresses up in Victoria's Secret lingerie, while getting stretched in preparation to be FISTED.










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The fraternity thing was just the latest idea out of Jim’s Top One Hundred Ways to Get Mark a Friend or Die Trying. Copyright Jim, 2013.
Angry bunny.
The guy, drunk, stumbled and went face-first into a bale of hay.
Everyone cheered. It was that sort of party.
At what point in your life did you decide you were the sort of guy who wanted to be fisted?
It was fine to be mocked or disliked on his own terms. But his sexual orientation was such a naked target, unfortified by nonchalance and lacking the benefit of being a persona he’d constructed. Gay Mark wasn’t sheddable like Smart-Ass Mark or Bitter-About-the-Move Mark.
Deacon smiled. He was pretty sure he was just the latest in a long line of people who had no idea what Mark Cooper was thinking.










, and the sex they have together is HAWT. The downside is that Deacon is in Phi Sigma Kappa house (don't ask me to explain, I can't!!) and Mark is in Alpha Delta....fierce rivals, and practically enemies!! These guys weren't only dickheads; they were proud of it.



"Fuck's sake, Mark was eighteen. He was supposed to be a slut. Then at twenty-five he was supposed to regret it. Then at thirty he was supposed to settle down. And then from forty through to the grave he was supposed to get nostalgic for his slutty salad days. That was the pattern."

"So thanks for everything, Alpha Delts. It's been a fucking pleasure. Next time you extend a bid to a pledge, you might want to warn him it'll be about as much fun as masturbating vigorously with sandpaper."



"How did someone like you fall accidentally on to my lap?"
"I think I fell accidentally on your dick, accidentally repeatedly."
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How this country had won a world war was beyond Mark. How shall we go about becoming the greatest empire on earth? Say, I know. Let's have our manliest sport involve butt-slapping, shoulder pads, and prancing.
Mark jammed his stockinged feet back into this sneakers and stared at himself in the mirror. He didn't look like a girl. He didn't even look like a drag queen. He looked like a guy in a dumb outfit. Masculinity: not undermined at all. Sexuality: no more questionable than before. Not even with the hat.

"I can't promise you much. I'm not a hopeless romantic, and sometimes I forget that people generally like it when you do nice things for them. I've never been anyone's boyfriend...But you don't have to be afraid to tell me anything. Because I won't judge you for it. And you don't have to worry about not seeming like a good guy in front of me. Because I guarantee I've been a worse guy. And if you need anything from me, just ask. I'm not the best at figuring out what people need on my own. But if you tell me, I'll try to give it. That's what I can promise you.

Angry little bunny, Deacon knew, had a very brittle shell.
Mark marched to the beat of his own drum, and you fell into step with him. And that was okay. Deacon had always wanted to be one of those people-the ones who didn't give a fuck what anyone thought-but he wasn't. And neither was Mark, exactly. They were a good fit. Mark could be fun and reckless, and Deacon could make sure he didn't go too far.


“In a country where they let embryos drive cars, I have to wait until I’m twenty-one to buy alcohol. What sort of place lets you drive and vote and fuck before it lets you drink a beer?”