Wednesday, 27 August 2014

Poetry in Motion release

My back catalogue is being republished by Totally Bound and eXtasy Books. The first of these, Poetry in Motion, is out now. Read an excerpt then enter the competition to win a copy.


Okay, so Paul was drunk, but seriously, he had to be fifteen years older than every person in this shit hole basement club, with its sticky floors and crap, watered-down beer. God, maybe even twenty. He shivered at the thought, looking around in bemusement at the students and what passed for fashion these days. He glanced at Duncan beside him, his accompanying business colleague on this trip to Lincoln. It had been Duncan’s idea after a few drinks in the hotel bar to stagger past the cathedral and down the sharp gradient into the town centre, looking for more alcohol.
The day had been exhausting—a conference which had seemed to last years, presentations that had been so dull that Paul had got his phone out and started doing his online shopping. There were some great two-for-one offers on at Tesco.
He’d needed a drink badly but was starting to question the wisdom of leaving their hotel. Sure, it might have been nice to cruise the local talent a little, but Paul wasn’t looking for young boys. He sighed, feeling miserable. Out to family and friends but not at work, he lived in a small, closeted little town on the northeast coast of England that hosted not one single gay bar. Paul’s action was limited to his hand most of the time. His last love affair had become a distant memory. If it had been love, of course. Paul wasn’t sure he had ever been in love or if anyone had ever loved him.
Instead of looking for this elusive emotion, he pursued sex instead. He supposed if Duncan hadn’t been here with him, he might have had more chance of getting some company for the evening. If they weren’t in a student bar in Lincoln.
Duncan leaned close to his ear, voice raised above the techno shite which passed for music. “Taking a slash.” He vanished into the throng of scruffy bodies.
Paul thought about hanging himself with his own shoe laces. He felt a gaze on him suddenly and his irritated glance turned to a stare.
A man watched him from the bar, blond-haired with pretty, elfin features and perfect skin. He wore impossibly tight jeans and a white shirt with some sort of glittery scarf. A new romantic thirty years too late. As gay as gay could be.
Paul’s stomach tightened as the man made his way over.
“Buy you a drink?”
Light with a cultured accent, his voice seemed to roll out of him like rich velvet and chocolate. His eyes were a pale blue-grey, his skin virtually translucent. Of average height, he was slender, those sprayed-on jeans clinging to narrow hips.
Despite himself, Paul’s cock stirred. Nonetheless, he wouldn’t make it easy. He curled his lip. “Can you afford it?”
The man smiled, his teeth neat and white, his dark blond hair cropped short to his heart-shaped face. He seemed full of the hope of the young. In twenty years, that would be beaten out of him. “Yes, I’ve got one pound fifty. Vodka mixer is a quid tonight.”
Paul regarded him in amusement. “I wouldn’t want to take your last quid.”
The man shrugged. “I don’t mind. You look like you’d be worth it.” He was persistent if nothing else.
Paul stared. His admirer gave him a cheeky smile.
“How old are you?” Paul asked. “Eighteen?”
The man glowered good-naturedly. “Twenty, actually. Twenty-one in two months.”
Paul shook his head and sighed. “Go away.”
“I said, little boy, go away and play with someone your own age. I like real men.”
The man’s eyes bulged. He looked like he’d been slapped. The hopeful expression fell from his flushing face. He turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Buy here

To win a copy, please leave your name and email address in a comment and answer the following question:
 Why do you want to win this book?
 The most inventive answer will win a copy of the book on Wed 10th September.