Because Blogger's "Adult warning" often goes into a perpetual loop (isn't working properly), I will be making all new posts at my WordPress blog. You can follow it even if you do not have a WordPress Account. There're also my Twitter and my Tumblr blog, my Facebook and my Google+ page and my group.
(Update: Blogger hasn't fixed its problem with the "adult warning". Will go back to posting at my WordPress blog)

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Scars of My Stumblings

There is a prejudice amongst some gay men which maintains that women cannot write good gay fiction.  This is piffle.  How they can seriously believe this when one considers just Mary Renault's wonderful gay novels, for example,  I don't know.  (I've previously mentioned her here and here)

Some of the most erotic m2m fiction I have read has been written by women.  And so has some of the most romantic and moving.  In fact, it was a woman, Devil Kat, who taught me to write smut.  I miss her very much.

Anyway, one of the many places you find find quality original slash is Slash Archive.  And I'd like today to draw your attention to just one wonderful tale, Scars of my Stumblings, by GioGio.  Beautifully written, moving, clever, insightful, erotic:

I followed the boy's eyes to the door, nodded in an unmistakable gesture of acquiescence. A matter of moments to disentangle myself from the girl, somebody's sister, mumbling excuses about needing air and stepping outside, trying to become the man I am, not like my father, never like my father, but not entirely unlike him either.
The sun was rising into impossibly blue skies as he pushed me back on the bed and sprinkled long lines on my bare chest. The straw he had taken from god knows which place traced along my skin, making me sigh at the new sensation. Then his tongue followed the straw and kept going, even after the last of the lines had all but disappeared.
His tongue flicked across a nipple that had hardened, I don't recall whether from cold or lust, and traveled all the way down my torso again until it came upon cotton. I suppose I must have moaned again as his fingers struggled with buttons. Then hot breath brushed across unblemished skin and I felt soft, hesitant licks to my dick, and I don't think I've ever again felt so alive.

Interleaved with this memory is the present reality of unbearable loss.  Don't ever say women can't write great romantic and erotic m2m.  Course they can.  And I give thanks all the time that they have and they do. 

[The photo comes from this site]

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