Genres: MM Romance
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3.5 - 4 star review
I don't know where to begin with this book, I wanna say I loved it but there is something holding me back. There were some definite hot moments, you can totally feel the chemistry between the characters coming off the pages. Plenty of laugh out moments and the angst was heart stopping but it fell short with the time span - they have a falling out and then boom 10 years later or whatever it was.. yeah you get told what had happened in the time that had past yet I would of liked to experience the changes and growing up that Brandon went through. Plus I really wasn't a fan of the typical girl best friend "gay nicknames", like yeah it might happen in real life with some people but I really can't see myself or anyone I know calling my gay bf "cum bucket, cock sucker" and what not ya know?
I haven't read Moxie's book and To be honest I am not in any rush to. I am all for sassy heroines but she was just too over the top for me.
Ryan Keller has it all: a great supportive family, friends, and no limit to his self-confidence. Coming out of the closet was not as traumatic as he would have thought. In fact, it was glitter, unicorns and rainbows. Navigating through life isn’t easy for any man, let alone a gay one. Rest assured that Ryan has it handled.
Brandon Ford comes from the wrong side of the tracks. With a dark past, he doesn’t have much going for him, no money, no friends, definitely no charisma, and his family makes people on Jerry Springer look like total winners. Life can’t be worse—until it becomes unbearable.
When Ryan helps Brandon out of a bad situation, chemistry sparks between them. Only Brandon has one problem: He’s hiding in the closet with no way of finding his way out.
After years apart, Ryan run’s into Brandon as he has his head in-between his friend’s lady business to deliver her baby. This spells emotional turmoil for both Ryan and Brandon. Can years of resentment and bad feelings pull them apart or force them to work on their relationship so they can end up Tied Together.
No Amazonian Hybrid Anaconda Turtles were harmed in the making of this book.
I was outed by accident when I was seventeen years old. I had a whole elaborate plan how I was going to tell my parents I was gay. I was going to decorate my family’s living room with rainbow-colored flags, cook up some rainbow Jell-O, and have a Cher CD playing. I didn’t even like Cher, but from what I heard, she was a gay idol. My outing was going to be the baddest bitch of a coming-out party known to man. Even though I had the elaborate plan in my head, the other part of my mind had horrible images of my parents sobbing on the couch, holding each other for support. They would ask themselves what they did wrong in raising me to make me want to stick my dick up another guy’s pooper. I imagined my baby sister, Cara, would point and laugh at me, asking if I wanted to wear her high heels to homecoming. The answer would be no, I was a flats only kind of guy. Just because I was gay didn’t mean I dressed in drag.
My folks would then throw me out of the house, and I would be forced to live on the streets and turn tricks for some pimp named Rocco with diamond-studded grills.
I was in my father’s woodshed making out with Peter Collins. We were both seniors but went to different high schools. Peter was the definition of California Valley girl—but the male counterpoint. He was hot, sexy, blond, and built, but as bright as a broken light bulb. His lack of brain cells worked in my favor because, unfortunately, I was a complete moron when it came to anything that had to do with sex. The only relationship my dick had was with my hand and a bunch of gay porn sites. For some miraculous reason, there I was, sticking my tongue down Peter’s throat. I would never forget the conversation we had in that shed.
“You have the sweetest lips,” I said. I tried to sound as romantic as I possibly could because what does one say when one is lying on dirt and concrete. I was also trying to distract Peter with my lack of sexual experience by whispering sweet nothings in his ear. “Peter, I love the way you smell.” Or: “Peter, you have such beautiful eyes; they’re the color of a blooming iris.” And my favorite: “Peter your breath smells so minty sweet. What toothpaste do you use?”
I didn’t get much of a reaction.
“I could kiss you all day.” I was going with the sweet nothings and threw in some dreamy eye action for good measure. I watched a lot of gay porn. Sometimes the actors would say romantic stuff like that to further the mood. Okay, that’s a lie. I had no idea if they did those kinds of things because I was too busy watching them bone and comparing their dick size to my own. Which I have to say, my cock averaged with most of them.
“I have a better idea. Since I don’thave all day; why don’t you get down there and suck me off so I won’t be late for track practice.”
Fuck. I knew I should have never taken lessons from watching Pretty Woman. Julia Roberts had one of the most famous seductions scenes. However, I was picking up vibes Peter didn’t give a rat’s ass about seduction. I was totally naive about these things.
I broke the kiss and moved down Peter’s body until I came face-to-face with his zipper. Shit, shit, shit. I’ve seen plenty of guys giving blow jobs in porn, and I thought hard to remember some techniques they used. There was the tongue swirl that concentrated just on the tip. The suck and twist, which had some head-bobbing action combined with the wrist-turning work. Oh, I couldn’t forget jingle balls, which included working the guy’s nut sack and sucking at the same time. That was my personal favorite. Finally, there was the dreaded choke. The choke was when a dude stuffed his man meat all the way down your throat, and you choked, gasped for air, and prayed you didn’t upchuck.
I tentatively took his zipper into my fingers and pulled it down. With each click of the zipper, sweat broke out on my forehead and my hands shook like I was a drug addict jonesing for a hit. Click, click, click.
“You’ve done this before, right?” Peter lifted his head from the floor and narrowed his eyes.
“Fuck yeah, I have,” I lied. I tried once to suck my own dick by contorting like a Cirque du Soleil performer. I completely failed, falling off my bed and getting a black eye by slamming into the nightstand in the process. That had been an interesting one to explain to my mother.
Once Peter’s zipper was down all the way, I reached into his jeans and then into his boxers. I felt the velvet, hardening skin and thick veins of his length. I put my hand around him and marveled how it filled my entire palm. Pulling him all the way out, his cock came free from his jeans with a thud, and my eyes went as wide as saucers. This was not a penis but an anaconda. His dick was a weapon of mass destruction and could have had its own area code. To make matters more frightening, Peter was uncut. I was dealing with a hybrid: an anaconda turtle. I eyed the monstrosity with my mouth agape.
“Impressive, isn’t it.” Peter smiled so brightly it lit up the dark shed.
“Umm, y-y-ya,” I stuttered. I froze and my eyes widened. How was I going to fit that monstrosity in my mouth?
“Well, what the fuck are you waiting for?” He put his hand behind my head and pushed me toward the devil hybrid reptile.
I took a deep breath and said a little prayer in my head. Dear God, please don’t let my family find me asphyxiated from this giant purple-headed Amazonian constrictor.
I should have made out a living will. Yes, I was only seventeen, but I had convinced myself I was going to suffocate with this dick in my mouth. I supposed there could be worse ways to die. Such as never having a dick in my mouth, ever. I mulled over my blow job options and thought of a plan of action. First I would swirl my tongue over the head of his penis, which I now named Cockzilla. But what happened if my tongue got caught in the foreskin. There was so much of it, I had no idea if it hid the secrets to life or, you know, maybe his car keys or wallet. Or maybe there was a little kangaroo joey snuggling tightly in its comfy papoose.
“Yeah, that’s it. Lick it.” Peter closed his eyes, and his head fell back on the sooty ground.
I flattened my tongue and ran in up the length of his shaft. I could have sworn it took twenty minutes to get from the base of his cock back to the tip; that’s how fucking long he was.
“Stop teasing, dude. Fucking suck it.”
Oh, baby Christ in the damn manger. I opened my mouth wide, held the bottom of his shaft, and stuck his cock in my mouth.
“Fuck yes!” Peter cried out. I tasted pre-cum leaking from his tip. I already had a familiarity of what come tasted like because I may or may not have licked a little of my own.
Of course, this was for research purposes only. I took Peter in as far as I could and started bobbing my head up and down like a pecking chicken. He placed his hand firmly in my hair, leading me in a rhythm that felt good for him. By that time, I was rock hard and afraid I was going to make a complete ass out of myself by coming in my pants. However, I couldn’t ignore my throbbing dick, so I rubbed myself through my jeans with my free hand. Peter began thrusting into my mouth as he quickened his place, and I knew Mount Cockzilla was about to erupt.
“Oh God, it feels too good. I think I’m going to come.”
My eyes widened at the notion that I was about to get my first load jetted down my throat. I braced myself, hoping to hell I wouldn’t need to have Noah’s Ark rescue me from Peter’s flood. At the same moment, the shed door opened and my dad stood in the doorway. Peter took that opportunity to release his load straight into my eye and the rest of my face before I could stop him.
As a little girl it was always a dream for Z.B. Heller to become She-Ra Princess of Power. Since this dream was unobtainable, she spent what was probably way to long in college trying to “find herself”. Becoming an artist scratched the creative itch until the stories in her head were getting to be to loud for her to get anything else accomplished. She lives in St. Louis with her husband, son and Flemish Giant rabbit Chloe. In her spare time she likes to read, stalk celebrities on Twitter and create the type of art that people scratch their heads about.