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Wow, this is such fantastic news that just came across the wire: Alison Tyler’s collection, Hurts So Good: Unrestrained Erotica, just won best anthology from the National Leather Association: International. Alison is a fantastic editor, an incredibly writer, an amazing friend and person, and an advocate for all things small press, erotic and sensual. I’m so excited to see her work rewarded.

Richard Labonte’s collection, Best Gay Bondage Erotica, took honorable mention in that category. I don’t know Richard that well, but I always love his collections — he has an impeccable eye and ear for great gay romance and erotica.

I’m proud to say that I have stories in both collections — my game-turned-on-its-head story, “Rock Paper Scissors” in Hurts So Good and my snake bondage story (yes, truly), “And Serpent Became Rod” in Best Gay Bondage. I’m honored to be in such great company of editors and fellow writers.

Congrats to all the winner, which you can read about here.

To celebrate, I thought I’d share the opening snippet of “Rock Paper Scissors” with you all:

ROCK PAPER SCISSORS

Rock, paper, scissors. That’s what I’ve always called it.

Shim-sham-bo. His name for the game. Maybe he made it up, maybe he didn’t.

Whatever we call it, it’s how we play.

“Shim,” he says, and our closed fists slap into our open palms. I watch his hands. Not because they might help me win, but because I like to watch his hands. I know where they’ve been, where they will be. I know the short nails, cut down to the quick for Sunday mornings on the guitar. I know the blue veins that pulse from arm to wrist to fingers, the half-moon scar that outlines his knuckle.

“Sham.” The ring he always wears—wide silver circle on his ring finger—flashes when he brings his fist down. Beneath that band of silver, the word that I know is traced into his flesh. Red ink. Blood ink. A name. Mine.

“Bo,” he says.

Our hands go out at the same time. I throw paper first. I always do. So does he. You can look it up online, what it says about your personality if you throw paper more than rock or scissors. Quietly powerful. Strongly submissive. Topping from the bottom.
We keep our hands out, flat hands with the palms down. He has the best hands. Spanking hands. But it’s a tie. We play best out of three and ties don’t count.

“Again,” he says.

“Shim-sham-bo,” he says, faster, and he throws a rock. The fist. Loose enough that it could unfurl into something else. Tight enough that it is all power.

I throw paper again. I’m sending mixed signals. My hand in the spanking form, when really, it’s his hand that I want, spanking.

“Your win,” he says, sliding his rock hand under my paper hand. Paper covers rock. Curve of ass beneath flat of palm.

“Damn,” I say. Neither of us wants to win this game. I’m a sub. So is he. Two subs in the same relationship. This game is how we make it work. Loser takes all. Winner is the one who must wield the power. We could alternate, I guess, be fair. But that’s not our style. It’s not near as much fun.

“Go,” he says, impatient. I grin and flash my eyes to the crotch of his jeans. Already, the wide outline of his cock is visible through the fabric. I want to rub myself up against it, like a cat, sniff it like a dog.

“Rock,” I say. Our fists make small noises against our palms. I inhale the sound, imagine it’s his hand against my skin instead of his own.

“Paper.” Somewhere, in my mind, I am already bent over, beneath his hand. I am already feeling the slide of my panties down my ass, across my thighs. In my mind, the small calluses in his palm scrape my skin…

“Scissors,” I say.

And that’s what he throws. Two fingers out, two fingers that will enter me if I can find a way to lose. Two fingers that will tweak my nipples. That will slap my clit with the same precision with which he slaps his guitar. The thump of rhythm. The heat-strum.

Me, I fall back on paper. I can see by his eyes that he didn’t expect it. Three anythings in a row is risky, paper especially so. Chances are good I won’t throw it again—it’s human nature to mix things up, to tweak a pattern if we can. I’ve just given him an advantage. Maybe.

*

Kiss kiss bang bang, s.

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