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Desert Foxes Live in Concert © March 2012 by G.R. Richards

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Desert Foxes Live in Concert

By G.R. Richards

When the label asked them to squeeze in a quick interview before the show, Hrjac was
the first to oblige. He was always anxious for news from the West, not because he had
any vested interest in Western politics or society—only because Andy lived there.

D’way was the only one who could figure out the new holography mechanism, and he
fiddled with the signals until a young white man with short brown hair came into view.
He looked a hell of a lot like Andy, but he wasn’t Andy. There were no substitutes.

Glancing around the group, Hrjac noticed their diva was missing. He leaned toward
Bodgan and asked, “Where’s Zolta?”

Before Bogdan could respond, their Western interviewer said, “I see the whole band’s
here, with the exception of Zolta. Will Xetondra’s lead singer not be joining us?”

As Zolta’s mate, D’way was the only one who ever knew what was up with the prima
donna. “He’s resting up before the concert,” Dway said—code for he chewed too much
betel last night. “I hope you don’t mind if we get started on the interview without him.”

The Westerner made a noise that sounded like hmph before delving into the same
questions they’d answered countless times before. “What does Xetondra mean in your
language?” was everybody’s favourite because it didn’t mean anything. Xetondra was
a made-up word, but they encouraged the Western myth by always providing a
different answer to that question.

“It means tribe of wanderers,” they’d say, or “desert foxes,” or “most popular rock
group in the history of everything.” And, judging by the worldwide attention they’d
attracted, the latter had a good chance of becoming true.

“The Western world loves you guys,” their interviewer told them. “You’re more
popular than any of the American or British bands. What do you perceive as
Xetondra’s appeal?”

Too bad Zolta wasn’t around to answer that one—he was the queen of self-promotion.
But Ven did a pretty good job of replicating his usual answer. “Western bands have
been doing the same thing for over a hundred years. Nothing’s changed since Elvis
Presley, over there. It’s all just more rock and roll, all the same chord structures, all the
same beats. Nothing wrong with that music, but the West is obviously tired of it, or
why would they have turned to us?”

“I think, conceptually, they also want to experience our lifestyle vicariously through our
music,” Bogdan added.

The interviewer made a face, like he found that an unlikely reason. “Really? You think
Westerners are jealous of five nomads who spend their days hauling solar-powered
amps across the desert?”

“And spend their nights rocking out until our batteries run dead,” Ven added. “I
visited the West when I was young, and there’s no way I’d go back now. Cities restrain
their people physically and constrain them mentally. Out here, we’re free. We’re self-
sufficient. We travel with out herds, so we never run out of food, and the sun powers
our equipment. In fact, all the holographic machinery we’re using on our end for
tonight’s concert is powered by the sun.”

The interviewer was quiet for a moment. As he searched his document for the next
question, his facial features contorted in Hrjac’s mind until he looked just like Andy.

Andy—they hadn’t seen one another since the last concert, and even that had been by
hologram. If there was the only thing he truly envied Western rock bands for, it was
live concerts in front of live audiences.

Before he met Andy, Hrjac had envied the Westerners their backstage orgies with
mountains of hot groupies. Now it was only Andy’s flesh he craved. There were days
he wondered if it might not be worth leaving Xetondra just to meet Andy skin-to-skin
in the West. He’d never think of asking Andy to join the band in the desert. Unless one
was born into the nomadic lifestyle, most people couldn’t handle the harsh desert or the
incessant walking. Hrjac’s great loves, the motion and the sun, were seen as
“hardships” in the West.

“Oh, I know what I wanted to ask you,” the interviewer picked up. “The hologram
tickets to your concerts are exceedingly expensive. If you went on conventional tours
through Western cities, the cost per ticket would be considerably lower. Don’t you
think you owe it to your fans to give them an opportunity to see you by non-
technological means?”

“No,” Ven replied. “Absolutely not. We are desert nomads. We use Western
instruments to contrast the atonality of our vocal tones, and we use holography and
satellite broadcast to bring our music to all those who enjoy it.”

“Remember,” D’way cut in, “that we sing every night, with or without an audience.
We perform for ourselves, not to make money, not to please a purchasing public. When
Westerners watch us perform, they are observing our ritual. They are watching us live
our lives. We cannot live as nomads in the West.”

“Funny you should say that,” the interviewer chuckled. “Last week I interviewed a
touring band called Backdoor Ivy, and they described themselves as urban nomads
because every day they’re on the move and every night they’re performing in the next
city.”

Hrjac watched D’way’s expression as he considered the interviewer’s offhand remark.
But Hrjac knew the guys would never go for it. They were born in the desert and
they’d die out there.

The Westerner went on, “Many people are still wary of holography. Even I wasn’t sure
about doing this interview. It still hasn’t been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that
the DNA scan leaves your molecular structure unaltered. If you’re so confident in this
new technology, why don’t you guys broadcast holographic performances in U.S. cities
instead of making your fans come to you? That way you wouldn’t have to leave the
desert to tour.”

Ven, Bogdan, and Hrjac all looked to D’way. They knew the real answer to that
question: Zolta didn’t trust hologram scans either. He refused to undergo one himself,
but he was arrogant enough not to care about his fans’ health.

“Our way is better,” D’way covered. “Because anyone anywhere in the world can buy
a ticket for tonight’s concert. Anyway, we like our fans to experience our music in the
acoustic environment of the desert. It’s like greeting them into our home.”

On that note, Bogdan the unofficial timekeeper closed down the interview. Bogdan
seemed to get good press. He came off well to media and fans. They thought he was
“nice,” and, all in all, he was.

Judging by the articles their label broadcasted to them, the West didn’t know what to
make of Hrjac because he was quiet—he hid behind his drum pad and only sang with
the rest of the group. Fans disliked Ven because he seemed radically anti-West.
Everybody knew Zolta was a glamour bitch, but that’s why they loved him, and fans
loved D’way because Zolta loved D’way.

“Morning, girls!” Zolta strutted into the food tent wearing a bright pink sari and gold
earrings. Only an inch of his long dark hair was visible beneath a shimmering
headscarf. He slapped D’way on the ass before pulling him into a deep kiss.

There were days Hrjac had to turn his head from this behaviour. It’s not that he was
jealous of either Zolta or D’way, or even of the love they shared, but he envied their
freedom to express that love physically, without the restriction of place-in-the-world. It
wasn’t easy for Hrjac to be so far away from the guy who meant everything to him.

“It’s afternoon,” D’way said, pulling his body away from Zolta’s. D’way played the
part of the reproachful manager well, but he couldn’t hide the bulge Zolta’s kiss had
inspired beneath his long cotton shift. “And we have a concert tonight. And you
missed an interview.”

Zolta only shrugged and picked cooked meat from the evening lamb. With a small bit
of fat, he smudged his lips until they shone with grease. “There. Now I’m gorgeous.
Just show me to the stage.”

“You don’t take anything seriously, do you?” D’way shot back.

Hrjac enjoyed their loving arguments. Though they were all the same age, Zolta and
D’way played the parental roles for the group. They nattered back and forth even as
they wandered to their private tent. Hrjac’s heart sank as jealousy took over once again.

“Do you think Andy will come tonight?” he asked Bogdan as they ate the last of the
apricot couscous.

“Doesn’t he always?”

“Yeah,” Hrjac said. “It’s just strange, you know, that we don’t have any contact outside
concerts.”

“But he’ll stick around for a while afterwards and the two of you can talk while the rest
of us put the gear away.”

Bogdan really was a nice guy. He always knew just what to say. Ven was less
encouraging of Hrjac’s budding romance with a Westerner, but he’d gone to meditate
on the nearest hill, so at least he was out of earshot.

Hrjac smiled when he thought about seeing Andy again. While Bodgan rose to pack
away the rest of the lamb, Hrjac prepared new topics of conversation in his mind. They
could talk about Andy’s job, which seemed very boring but, as Andy says, “It pays the
rent.” They would obviously discuss the new song Hrjac had a hand in writing—the
lyrics were yearning and desirous, so obviously intended for Andy’s ears.

And then they would talk about sex.

Andy had never gone all the way with anybody. He’d been waiting for the right guy,
he said, and Hrjac was that guy. They would talk about how badly they wanted to
meet skin-to-skin, though they never would. Just thinking about this part of the
conversation made Hrjac instantly mournful.

Bogdan had obviously been watching Hrjac’s expression, because he said, “I know it’s
rough, but seeing Andy’s hologram is better than not seeing him at all.”

With a deep sigh, Hrjac shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, but we can’t touch. We can’t
kiss or fuck or hold each other. I’d give anything to get close with Andy. I love him. I
want to be with him every day, and instead I’m stuck wandering the desert.”

“Uhh…” Bogdan chuckled and gave him a playful punch in the shoulder. “You’re also
a rock star, don’t forget. The whole world knows you. Imagine what your life would
be like if you lived in the West! You’d never get a moment’s peace.”

“I know,” Hrjac said with a shrug. “Andy and I talked about that before.” He sighed
again, and his heart felt heavier than ever. “There is no solution. We’ll never be
together for good.”

* * * *

The label had flown in overhead lighting so the audience could get a good look at them,
but the hovering lamps were so damn bright Hrjac could barely get a glimpse of their
fans as they popped in. It was strange to think this was the same desert they’d been
alone in last night, and now it was filled with the holograms of a whole bunch of
strangers who loved their music.

While Bodgan and Ven tuned their instruments and D’way gave Zolta his last-minute
backstage pep talk, Hrjac crept to the edge of their makeshift stage. The crowd went
wild, but Hrjac barely noticed their screams and requests. His one and only task right
now was to catch sight of Andy somewhere in that crowd. It was less than a minute to
posted start time, and Andy was nowhere to be seen. Were latecomers admitted?
Would Andy be able to see if he was in the back row?

There was so much Hrjac didn’t know about all this damned technology. And the
bright lights weren’t helping. He could see arms waving in the air, and the arms looked
real, but he knew they weren’t. All those times he’d spend with Andy after past
concerts, Hrjac could see but not touch his sweet love.

But where was Andy now?

An announcer’s voice came through the satellite speakers—must have been someone
from the label—announcing, “This is the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Let’s
hear it for Xetondra!”

Zolta ran to the front of the stage and was greeted by thunderous applause. With
D’way hot on his heels, he picked up his microphone. He was shirtless now that the
sun had set, but he’d decorated his chest with metallic dust that shimmered in the
strong lights. His sheep’s leather pants were skin-tight and fringed, and D’way had
done his long hair up in a bun with offshoots of multicoloured fabrics.

The crowd went wild, even as Zolta mocked them for spending their life’s savings on
hologram tickets. Zolta was a bitch, and the masochistic crowd ate it up. Even Andy
had said he loved being teased and tormented at concerts. It turned him on.

After deriding the crowd, Zolta started right in to their first tribal number without
warning the band. Not that this was a surprise. Zolta was an arrogant little bitch, and
everybody, even Hrjac, loved him for it. They picked up the tune where they could, but
Hrjac felt off. He felt off in every song up to the break, and when it was his turn to
chant with the group, he knew his voice wasn’t meshing with theirs.

“Sorry,” he said to Bogdan at the break. “I’m so scattered. All I can think about is
Andy. I wonder if something bad happened to him, and I get worried. Then I wonder
if he met someone else and I get angry. It’s back and forth.”

Bogdan set a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “You’re doing just fine. If you were
off at all, I didn’t notice.”

Hrjac lowered his eyes to stare at Bogdan’s elderly electric bass. The holographic crowd
was out there screaming for more of Zolta’s abuse. They had to go back on soon.

“For the rest of the show, just imagine Andy’s out there,” Bogdan suggested. “Maybe
he is.”

And Hrjac tried, but it didn’t work. By the end of the show, he’d pounded the shit out
of his drums to the point where he’d have to repair the second quadrant of the right
pad. He watched the audience disappear as the label’s new ticketing agency flipped the
switch on their holograms. For a passing moment, he reflected on the amount of money
he’d earned other people by doing this show. Very little of it found its way to them.
Not that they needed money, not with their lifestyle.

He didn’t normally chew betel—it tasted horrible and left his teeth all red—but Zolta
had a sufficient supply and Hrjac needed the escape. When he’d chewed enough leaves
to feel good and buzzed, he remembered his drum pad needed to be repaired. Hrjac
wandered up to the stage, but when he lifted the leather from the electronic pads, he felt
like his hands were too big to fix anything.

Wandering downstage, Hrjac looked out into the night. It really was beautiful. Under
the nearby mount, their animals grazed on desert grasses. No winds tonight, and the
weather was mild. Everything was so quiet and peaceful. He could never leave this
place.

As he gazed out into the darkness, a figure appeared on the horizon. The figure glowed
blue between the sand and the sky. Hrjac’s heart jumped in his chest. He knew who it

was. It had to be...

Jumping down from the makeshift stage, Hrjac landed running. He coursed across the
sand in bare feet, wondering if he was perhaps hallucinating. Sometimes betel made
Zolta do funny things, but he didn’t seem to hallucinate. Hrjac’s feet seemed to move in
slow motion, but his mind soared across the sands until he arrived close enough to see
the figure’s face.

“Andy!”

Dressed in a dirty undershirt and khaki pants, Andy smiled and dropped his sullied
luggage, his Western shirt, and his jacket. “Oh thank God I finally found you!” he
cried. “Tell me, am I too early or too late for the concert?”

“Late,” Hrjac replied.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Andy said, though he didn’t seem terribly disappointed.

“Are you…?” Hrjac stammered. “You’re not a hologram?” His heart beat anxiously as
the breath rustled from his lungs. His feet were lead.

Andy smiled and shook his head.

“And you’re not a hallucination?”

With a nasal laugh, Hrjac said, “I hope not.”

He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe any of this was true. “You’re really here?”

Andy’s smile grew so wide his pink lips early touched his earlobes. “I sold everything
back home—my condo and all my furniture. I packed up what I could carry, flew over
here, and I’ve been wandering the desert for…well, I don’t know how long.”

He chuckled and coughed, then took a sip of water from his canteen. His skin wasn’t
half as white as it had been. It was tan now—almost as dark as Hrjac’s. And Andy had
a beard that he’d obviously tried to keep in check with manicure scissors. “I really have

no idea what day it is anymore. Would you believe it? I can do the nomad thing after
all.”

Though he wanted to move, Hrjac couldn’t. He was stuck. His lungs and his heart held
fast to his ribs. “You want to roam the desert with Xetondra?”

Another quick nod before his expression fell. “Oh…if that’s okay with you and the
guys. I never asked if it would be okay.”

Now Hrjac’s lungs inflated. His heart leapt, and his feet raced to greet the love he never
thought he’d meet skin-to-skin. He didn’t even stop running when he arrived where
Andy stood. Hrjac simply wrapped both arms around him and barreled forward until
they tumbled into the warm sand together.

Hrjac wanted to tell Andy how happy he was, how overjoyed, how ecstatic, but his lips
could do nothing except kiss the boy. Andy’s tongue was hot and strong, and his
mouth tasted like the desert. He’d made such effort, such incredible effort, to come to
this place! How could Hrjac ever repay the honour?

“Your body,” Hrjac stammered between sharp pecks at Andy’s bristly cheeks and neck.
“Your body is here. It’s not just your mind. I’ve met your mind. I fell in love with your
mind…”

“And now you can finally make love to my body,” Andy replied.

Hovering over the courageous man who loved him to an intoxicating degree, Hrjac
gazed with lustful fondness into Andy’s eyes. “Blue,” his lips pronounced. “I’ve never
seen blue eyes live and in person, only on holograms.”

“Well, mine are here just for you,” Andy said as he ran his hands along Hrjac’s back.

In one stealth motion, Hrjac stood and pulled off his shift to reveal his proud tan body.
At least, he tried to do it in one stealth motion. The betel made him clumsy and he
fiddled with the fabric. It stuck underneath his knee, and he nearly fell over when
Andy pulled on it to help him out. Andy laughed and pulled off his own undershirt
with no trouble at all.

Finally, Hrjac managed to struggle out of his clothing, and when he lingered over his
mate’s supine body, Andy stopped laughing. In fact, he gasped as his gaze shot straight
down to Hrjac’s hard cock. It didn’t take much to get him started, and Andy’s
adoration only encouraged his erection.

As Andy looked him up and down, he ran his fingers down the subtle fuzz of his white
stomach. When he unbuttoned his safari-style pants, Hrjac’s heart leapt in time with his
unbridled prick. Was this really happening?

“Here, lie on this,” Hrjac offered, laying his cotton shift alongside Andy in the sand.
“Don’t want to get your crack full of sand.”

Andy leaned his shoulders over on Hrjac’s clothing as he raised his ass from the desert
floor. Writhing out of his pants with Hrjac’s help, Andy shot him a keen smirk. “What
do you want to fill my crack with, hmm?”

Nothing could have kept Hrjac from diving at Andy’s lips. As Hrjac kneeled between
those fine open legs, Andy reached for his stiff prick with both hands. Andy’s touch felt
so fresh and new that Hrjac cried out to the night sky. He plunged his mouth down to
Andy’s neck and sucked it while those sweet Western hands stroked his shaft.
Everything felt so good, and so real. This was reality, right here in the desert. Andy
had given up everything to join him a world away from home.

Hrjac’s heart grew too large for his chest. All he could do to express his deep
satisfaction was take back control of his cock and set its tip against Andy’s puckering
asshole.

“Wait!” Andy cried.

Though every bone in Hrjac’s body screamed to fuck the beautiful boy who’d come to
him from so far away, he halted his action. “I’m sorry,” Hrjac said. “Am I going too
fast?”

But Andy only laughed and dug into the pocket of his disheveled travel bag. “No, but I
brought along some lube for just such an occasion.” He pulled a small tube of gel from
his bag and squirted the slippery stuff into his palm.

When he touched Hrjac’s waiting shaft with that slick hand, Hrjac felt like he was
melting and hardening simultaneously. The sensation blew him away, and for a
moment he didn’t know what to do. Should he thrust his hips, driving his cock through
Andy’s slippery fist, or should he just lean back and let Andy polish his shaft?

“Well?” Andy chuckled as he stroked with a firm and loving hand. “I came all this
way. Aren’t you going to fuck me?”

With a deep laugh, Hrjac shook his head. He’d been so overwhelmed by the sensation
of the lubricant, he’d almost forgotten what it was in preparation for. “Oh, I’ll fuck
you,” he teased, letting his cockhead drizzle precum along Andy’s curved white prick.

It was a proud thing, Andy’s prick, jumping and calling out for attention. Hrjac grabbed
it with one hand while the other forced his cock against Andy’s hot hole. “I’ll fuck the
West right out of you. You won’t remember where you came from, and you’ll never
think of going back.”

Andy watched in silence as Hrjac thrust his engorged cockhead against the boy’s tight
ass ring. Even with the gel easing his entry, it was a squeeze.

Andy whimpered.

Hrjac held his cock just inside Andy’s ass so he could get used to the bigness filling him
up. Andy’s tight hole clenched and compressed, milking Hrjac’s tip. It felt incredible to
be inside Andy, if only just a little bit.

As Andy gazed up at him with that familiar look of adoration in his eyes, Hrjac moved
his hips almost imperceptibly. “Tell me if it hurts,” he said. “Tell me if I should stop.”

Hrjac knew how special this event was in Andy’s life, and the last thing he wanted to
do was harm the guy.

“It’s okay,” Andy said, closing his eyes for a moment as he sank his feet into the sand.
Hrjac pumped the boy’s shaft, and that seemed to open the floodgates of Andy’s desire.
His eyes sprang wide open and he hissed, “Yessssss!” Wrapping his feet around
Hrjac’s calves, Andy bucked gently toward his shaft.

Little by little, Andy’s asshole devoured Hrjac’s cock. The sense of communion was
overwhelming, and as he got further inside that tight body, Andy tossed him the tube
of gel. “Fuck me,” he pleaded. “I know I can take it. Fuck me, Hrjac.”

His name on his lover’s lips was the sweetest word in the desert. Hrjac pulled his shaft
slowly from Andy’s hole and gave it a slick coat of lube before hurdling back inside.
Andy shrieked, but he didn’t cringe.

“Was that good?” Hrjac asked.

“Yeah,” Andy said. “Yeah, do it again.”

Squeezing Andy’s curved cock in his fist, Hrjac penetrated the boy fast. His motion
drove Andy to writhe and squirm on top of their makeshift blanket. He drove his bony
little ass up and at Hrjac’s cock, forcing him to thrust harder and faster all the time.

Hrjac lifted Andy’s ass far off the ground. He didn’t know where his strength came
from, and he didn’t care. The look of pleasure and fascination in Andy’s eyes was all he
needed, though the sight of his cock reaming that tight asshole was a welcome vista.

Andy dug his hands into the sand as Hrjac reamed him. Suspended in mid-air, Andy
rocked back and forth, clinging to Hrjac’s prick with the tightest ass ring known to man.
That didn’t stop Hrjac from pummeling him with the biggest erection he’d ever had.
He felt huge inside Andy, and huger with every thrust.

His orgasm came on so fast he barely sensed its imminence. But there it was—every
sensation he’d ever felt in relation to great desire congregating in his groin. The
muscles in his thighs seized so tightly, he thought he’d topple on Andy. When he felt
that telltale quake in his balls, he knew the wave would soon overtake him.

Hrjac held tight to Andy’s prick as he filled his lover’s ass with cream. He could almost
see it shooting from his cockhead in hot spurts. Andy panted and shrieked and
bounced against Hrjac’s spent cock. All Hrjac wanted to do now was bring Andy
around—in part to see the look of bliss on the boy’s face, and in part so they could relax
and sleep together in the desert darkness.

Tugging hard on Andy’s curved cock, Hrjac cupped his lover’s balls. When Andy
gasped, Hrjac squeezed. Maybe it could be that easy. He squeezed harder, running
Andy’s prick fast through his fist, and Andy leapt forward onto his elbows. He lifted
most of his torso off the ground and bucked his whole body against Hrjac’s.

It didn’t take long before he froze mid-thrust.

Andy’s eyes rolled and his lids closed. His mouth hung open, but no sound came out.
And then his throat clicked and a torrent of jizz exploded off to the right, coating the
desert floor. Subsequent squirts soaked Andy’s stomach and Hrjac’s fingers, and when
Andy settled back on the cotton shift, Hrjac laid beside him and was soon overtaken by
heavy sleep.

The nights weren’t as cold as they used to be, and Hrjac was glad of that, for Andy’s
sake. When he woke up, he couldn’t remember his dream, but that didn’t matter
anymore. No need to live in a world of dreams with Andy at his side.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Hrjac said as the morning sun arose. “I was worried
you’d turn out to be a dream or wish or hallucination.”

“Nope,” Andy said with a smile. “I’m here, and I’m yours. I’ve left it all behind.” He
sat up and looked to the barren stage and the nomadic tents. His expression

plummeted. “What about the band? What if they don’t want me around? Then what’ll
I do?”

Wrapping Andy in a huge hug, Hrjac kissed his neck and said, “We’ve never had a
roadie. And, like you just said, you’re here and you’re mine.” Hrjac gave his thigh an
encouraging squeeze. “No matter what Ven and all them say about it, you’re staying
with me for as long as you can take the heat, the motion, and the hard rock.”

The End

ABOUT G.R. RICHARDS

There's a reason guys growl for G.R. Richards Erotica. You would never know it by the
love of public television documentaries and great food in high-end restaurants, but
G.R. Richards pens some of the world's steamiest guy-on-guy stories.

Be on the lookout for Richards’ hot Christmas stories, Ivy League, Junk, and Vintage
Toys for Lucky Boys from Dreamspinner Press, Behind the Scenes, We the Bus
People, Behind the Scenes and Devil's Eyes from JMS Books, The Brothers of Hogg's
Hollow, Birds of a Feather, Camp, The Long Way Home, Captain Fluke and Profound
in his Silence from Amber Allure, Sick Fancies from Xcite ebooks, Sacred Stone and
the Singing Bone and A Descent into the Mailroom, a gritty BDSM office menage tale
from eXcessica Publishing.

Richards is also a contributor to Rainy Days and Mondays, Toy Box: Cages, Toy Box:
Public Places, Cherry on Top, Someplace in the World (Torquere Press), Men at Noon,
Monsters at Midnight (STARbooks), Skater Boys (Cleis Press), When a Man Loves a
Man and Boy Fun (Xcite Books), and a variety of e-anthologies from Constable and
Robinson.

Visit G.R. Richards online at http://www.grrichards.webs.com/

If you enjoyed Desert Foxes Live in Concert, you might also enjoy:

Sacred Stone and the Singing Bone
By G.R. Richards

In Sacred Stone and the Singing Bone, G.R. Richards weaves tales of humor, horror, and
white-hot paranormal guy-on-guy sex. This mini-anthology consists of three works of
fiction specifically assembled for readers who love a good horror story as much as they
love sweaty male/male erotica. If you can’t get enough shudders, shocks, and
shapeshifters, Sacred Stone and the Singing Bone is for you!

In Sacred Stone, Tuul is acting like a total asshole. Why do Alex Wood, Alex Knudson,
and Bear hang out with him? Mostly, it's a matter of keeping friends close and enemies
closer. The last straw comes when Tuul gets drunk in the cemetery and starts smashing
monuments. The group can't possibly forgive his behavior. When the rock spirit living
within a stone angel awakens from his slumber, Tuul and the gang discovers hard
stone's incredible ability to uncover soft spots.

The Singing Bone is an erotic adaptation of a Grimm tale. When two brothers set out to
capture a wild boar, the king is rooting for the younger of the pair. After all, the reward
is his daughter’s hand in marriage, and Ardent is sweet and giving, while Mirrus has a

reputation for being a vain prick. Before long, Ardent comes across Bruce the
gentlemanly boar. They fall for each other and Ardent promises no harm will come to
him. Mirrus has other ideas. As he prepares to slaughter the boar and claim his prized
princess, Bruce discovers he has no problem sticking it to the prick...

The third story in our collection is The Wishing Wall. What is a Wishing Wall? Jesse
soon finds out when he snaps up a tiny three-euro hotel room. In the small bed between
two narrow walls, four hands arouse his naked body. When he opens his eyes, there's a
marble man on either side of him! They are Nostou and Ven, two mystic masons whose
souls live on in the wall, and they're ready to fulfill Jesse's every wish.

Excerpt from Sacred Stone and the Singing Bone:

From “Sacred Stone”

The guys gasped in unison as Tuul leaped down from the Celtic Cross. He landed in a
crouching position, sending up the heavy scent of decomposing autumn leaves. If it had
been any other guy, the fall would have killed his ankle. Tuul had the luck of the devil.
That, or he was so perpetually wasted he couldn’t feel pain. The ground was muddy
and wet beneath the leaf layer. He slid as he ran up the hill, but seemed to consider the
journey worth the effort. “I’ve found her, guys—the girl of my dreams!”

“That’s a dude,” Alex Wood called. Though the angel’s robe fell down his androgynous
form like a woman’s dress, his hair was slightly shorter than the average female angel’s.
A dead giveaway. Plus, “Look at the chest. No tits.”

Tuul halted on the spot to stare up at the statue. With a shrug, he finally said,
“Whatever. Chick, dude, I don’t care. Cemetery angels are hot.”

Wandering in the statue’s direction, Wood chuckled, “Yes, but does he realize it’s made
of stone?”

“I used to think he’d fuck anything with a pulse,” Bear replied, following Wood up the
hill. “I think he’s reached a new low.”

Alex Knudson almost tripped over an orb as he focused his attention up the hill. He ran
to catch up. “I don’t know. Cemetery angels are pretty hot,” he said. “At least, I think
they are.”

Following the kid’s gaze, Bear had to wonder if his doe eyes were more set on the angel
or on Tuul. As much as Knudson joined in the banter, Bear always saw a flicker of awe
in those young eyes when the idiot was around. They soldiered on up the hill. By the

time they’d reached the top, Tull had an arm and a leg around the statue. “Don’t we
make just the prettiest little couple?” he asked in a drunken falsetto.

The Alexes looked on in disbelief as he dry-humped the angel’s thigh. “Come on, get
down from there,” Bear called.

“Yeah,” Wood joined in. “If you need to act like all crazy, do it at home. Bear doesn’t
want to get haunted because of you.”

A grin broke across Tuul’s lips, and Alex Knudson followed suit. “Give it to him!” the
kid laughed. It broke Bear’s heart to see a sweet young guy so taken with an asshole,
but what could he do? They’d all been down that road at one time or another. It was the
fate of every young person to fall for a bad boy. Bear only hoped the kid wouldn’t get
hurt too badly.

As the idiot on the monument licked the stone figure’s cheek, Knudson egged him on.
“Show him Tuul’s tool!”

Wood shook his head, lowering his eyes. “We’re all going to get haunted for this.”

“Hey, yeah!” Tuul shouted. Laughing like a drunken monkey, he unwrapped his leg
from the stone angel’s body. He undid his jeans and let them drop to his ankles. Against
the dark night sky, his tightie-whities glowed blue. He squirmed out of them. When
they fell nearly to his ankles, his limp dick hung down almost that far. Bear half
understood why a kid like Knudson would appreciate Tuul. His cock made frequent
and random appearances. If he didn’t act like such an assface, Bear might even find
himself interested.

Tuul’s cock pulsed as he ran his palm along the underside of his shaft. His flesh, which
usually seemed darker than theirs, appeared almost as white as the stone sculpture.
Bear didn’t have to look at the other guys to know they were mesmerized by dick. Tuul
was pretty awe-inspiring. In fact, they were caught in such rapture they didn’t notice
the greater miracle. Beside Tuul, the angel awoke. Bear noticed first. His movement was
slow. Maybe that’s why they missed it. His head inched upright and turned to the guy
jacking it—or, at least, drunkenly attempting to.

The stone angel rolled his shoulders. A thunderous crack resounded across the
cemetery grounds as his carved wings broke from his back. They fell down to earth,
planting themselves like giant lilies in the ground.

Bear’s feet planted themselves every bit as firmly. If fear could turn a man white, he
was sure his skin would be forever pale after this insanity. A sense of awe overtook him
as the folds of the angel’s robe rippled in the wind. His chest felt very warm and full,

but he still would have run if he could. It was no use. He was paralyzed with terror.

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