Submit

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I was sixteen. You were nineteen and the good friend of a friend.

We spent the night fooling around. First at the party. Then at my house.

You threw the condom onto the roof of the shed outside my window. I cursed, you laughed.

Then at your house, we fucked in your basement. I remember it was pretty great.

The next morning, we sat on either sides of the couch watching The Transfomers: The Movie while we ate overly-sweet cereal.

"Come here," you said, putting your bowl down. I was curious and hopeful. I found you attractive.

You had me lie on the couch next to you, and you took up a pillow and put it over my face. Pressed down. Hard.

I struggled.

You lifted the pillow and looked at me, your dark eyes wide and innocent.

"It's ok," you said. "Don't fight it."

The pillow came down again. I couldn't breathe.

I pushed it away when I got my hands under it.

"Don't you understand?" you said with a gentle smile. "Just... trust me. Don't fight it. Come on..."

This time the pillow pressed harder against my face, and I had to buck with all my strength to be free.

I stood panting in the middle of the living room as you took up your bowl of cereal and turned your attention back to the TV.

I left. Ran down the street. Feet striking the pavement, lungs burning.

...

...

...

It was only when I finally slowed, finally leaned down, hands to knees, gulping in air, that I realized just how excited I felt.

I wasn't afraid.

Not of you.

I was afraid of the desire that coursed through me at the thought of relinquishing control.

Were you trying to kill me?

What if I had stayed and submitted?

Looky… I made a trailer for Caged!

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Sacrificed: Heart Beyond the Spires

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Seven months ago, I sat exactly where I'm sitting now, on my old brown couch, and pressed submit (or... publish? or... whatever it says in Smashwords and KDP) and sent Caged into the world.

Then I walked away.

There was no cover reveal. No excerpt. No ARC reviews. Just a book published on a winter afternoon. It's only that evening that it occurred to me that I might actually want to tell people that I published a book. Maybe get some reviews. Create a site... Total newbie.

This time around, I'm a little more versed in the how-to. I couldn't have done it without the help of my fans and friends.

A big thank you to the bloggers who have supported me and helped me out! You guys are fantastic.

 

openstar Coming October 2014 openstar

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Available now for preorder at Amazon

 

 

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Blurb

Reunited once more, the crew of Baal’s Heart must make the long and treacherous journey south to the towering spires of the Devil’s Isles. The path through the mountain range is fraught with peril; mayhem and tragedy plague the pirate ship, but what the men find beyond the spires is the most shocking of all.

In this sequel to the acclaimed Caged, the pirates are dragged into a dangerous new world by Captain Baltsaros’s all-consuming obsession. In the midst of terror and chaos, Jon learns that the captain and first mate have been keeping secrets from him. But will the truth tear them apart?

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Excerpt

“How are your ribs?” asked Baltsaros, watching Polas descend the stairs.

Jon put a hand to his side.

“Sore as hell. But I’ll live,” he said with a small smile. “Why are you still awake?”

The captain’s brows pinched together, and he looked down at his hands, his lips parted in a slow exhale.

“I could not sleep, Jon,” said Baltsaros softly. “I tried, briefly. But I find my mind unable to rest. Polas woke up, and we came up here not to disturb you.” He raised his head, and Jon was alarmed to see that Baltsaros wore an expression he had never seen on the man before. The captain looked lost. “What have I done by bringing us here, Jon?”

Jon felt a sliver of fear pierce his heart at the captain’s uncertainty; it was disturbing to see the man’s confidence shaken. However, before he could answer Baltsaros, the moment had passed, and the crack in the captain’s mask closed.

“Ah… listen to me. Tonight is a dark night, isn’t it?” chuckled Baltsaros, reaching for Jon. “Come here, I have to take off that silk. You need to breathe deep for a while or else you’ll wind up with congested lungs.”

Jon held up his shirt while the captain swiftly unwound the silk from his ribs. His side hurt when he breathed, but the painkillers in his system dulled the ache. The breeze was cooler up on the quarterdeck, and he could hear it rustling the leaves of the trees on shore. Turning to watch the dark jungle, he wondered what dangers lay beyond for them on the morrow.

When Baltsaros’s hands glided softly up his back, Jon let out a startled gasp. The captain moved close behind him, his chest pressed to Jon’s back, arms wrapped gently around him.

I’m honestly not sure how far it would have gone otherwise.

Baltsaros’s words had hurt, but not as much as he had feared. Jon’s own weakness was that he forgave the man, again and again. He ran his fingers along the captain’s strong forearm as Baltsaros pressed his lips to Jon’s neck. There was a question he wanted to ask.

…only ask me questions you want to know the answers to.

Jon closed his eyes. He would ask it one day, but he feared that he already knew the answer. The captain was fond of him… but love?
Baltsaros murmured something against his skin.

“Min haeken,” whispered the older man, sliding his hands down to the waistband of Jon’s pants and pulling apart the knot on his belt. “I don’t want to hurt you when I take you, but take you I shall.”

5 Stars for Caged – Fangirl Moments and My Two Cents

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Toni says:

"So these three men are on a boat together. The sexual tension is so thick it fogged up my kindle screen. Don't worry all these desires come to fruition several times with the men in groups of two and three. But is there enough room on this ship for these three large personalities?"

Read the review at Fangirl Moments and My Two Cents

Hey, Tough Guy

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I wrote a post a while back about high school. I don't know if it's the bells starting to ring again this fall, ushering the return to school, but I had high school on the mind again this week.

I had a great time in high school, but it's not like it was a complete cakewalk. Not at all. I wasn't popular... I was notorious.

Folks tried to bully me all the time. I once had a whole hallway chanting insults at me. I was in my fair share of fights. I was scorned and teased and had all manner of nasty things done to me. But, it never affected me.  I had plenty of friends, and I knew that the insults and bullying mostly came from fear, ignorance, and their own lack of self-confidence.

Last night I remembered a particular incident. Something I haven't thought about for a long time.

I had numerous groups I hung out with, most of them a grade or two above me. I gravitated towards the shop guys and mechanics because I had more in common with them than I did with the geeky boys (listen, I love D&D. I do. But dude, I cannot listen to you talk about your character's attributes and backstory one more time or I am going to punch something). There were a lot of "greasers" in that category. Guys that called themselves The Rebels, though the ones I hung out with—the ones from a grade higher—were pretty low-key. We mostly hung out in one guy's Studebaker listening to The Big Bopper or Elvis and smoking pot and illegally-imported Marlboros.  We got along great. However, the greasers in my grade thought they were god's gift to the planet. They were hot shit. Bullied the fuck out of everyone. They all walked like they owned the fucking place. We didn't get along.

So, in my school bus, I "owned" the back four seats. I got to say who sat there and who didn't. I can't remember exactly how that came about, but I felt like a fucking mob boss back there. *grin* It was pretty cool, and I was always nice to the other kids.

However, one day some of these fucking young greaser guys from my grade got on the bus and demanded that I and my friends vacate the back of the bus because they wanted to sit there. The ring leader, this fuck that I will call Sil—because he probably looks like Sil from the Sopranos by now *points to picture above*—stood there staring at me in shock when I told him to fuck off. Then he started in with the insults. Finally, he punched me. Hard. Not in the face, mind you, but in the shoulder. When I didn't react and kept my eyes locked on his, he punched me again, harder.

Sil: *drops fist, glares at me* You're not going to move are you.
Me: Would it hurt you to say "please"?
Sil: *blink blink* What?? *confused* Uh. *thinks* Um. Can you uh please move?
Me: No, but you can sit with me if you like. *moves over*
Sil: *nervous laugh and an eventual shrug* Um. Well. Ok.

He sat down next to me, awkwardly. The rest of his crew just found places to sit wherever on the bus. I had won the little battle of wills. After a few minutes, Sil looked at me and said: "You're pretty tough."

*long silence while the bus leaves school*

"Sorry I hit you."

From that day on, it was a weird, shaky, uncomfortable relationship with the greasers from Grade 10, but they no longer insulted me or taunted my friends. At least not as much *laughs*.

So - while I had a great time in high school, I really did, it was filled with a hundred tiny battles like the one in the bus. That sort of sucked. But it helped make me who I am today. I still rarely back down, and I still don't really give a shit about what people think of me - or at least, I don't let it get to me.

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Man, I don't know why I've been so nostalgic lately. Part of it is definitely trying to come up with things to talk about in this blog. I keep thinking about stupid stories about growing up in the 'burbs. But while it's nice to wax nostalgic on my past, it's starting to feel like Gary King in The World's End.

It's not like I've been up to nothing in the last twenty years. I'll think of something more recent to write about.

(Oh fuck - I just looked up "Sil" on Facebook. Yup. He's got the whole Silvio Dante thing going on)

Thanks, Joe Hardy.

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A few months ago when I started talking to my now-editor, I joked that I was Tom Hardy's twin brother Joe (due to my habit of using Hardy as my icon online... not that he has a twin brother for real ). Fast forward to last week when, out of nowhere, I was reminded that my first love just happened to have been named Joe Hardy.

Yup.  Joe Hardy from The Hardy Boys books.

This is how he's described on the wikipedia page:

Joe Hardy is 17 years old, with light blond hair, blue eyes, and a muscular frame.

Dreamy, right? *laughs* That's him and his brother on the spine

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Ah, Joe. I don't think I pined longer for any other fictional character (sorry, Rick Hunter from Robotech and Dusty from GI Joe... and Spiderman). He just seemed so perfect to me. Not as bright as his older brother Frank, certainly... but Joe went with his gut, something I really admired.

I met Joe when my mother's youngest cousin—we'll call him Richard—dropped off a big box of books at my house one day when I was around eight years old. I really idolized Richard. He was the coolest guy I knew... I wanted to grow up to be just like him: he was 6'4, looked a little like David Bowie, had gerbils, read comic books, and had a computer. He even had a really cool fake fur rug in his room. So you can understand my excitement at inheriting a box of his stuff. I looked inside and saw nothing but blue books. They looked sort of dull from the side, a little like a set of encyclopaedias, but the covers were interesting when I pulled them out and, when I cracked open that first musty book... I fell in love.

I had the first 37 books in the series - The Tower Treasure to The Ghost at Skeleton Rock. I must have read them all at least a dozen times.

Now... not only was I in love with Joe, but I discovered something about myself over the course of that first year. And it was due to this cover:

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There was something crazy interesting about this cover for me. It was the look on Joe's face. The fact that the gag pressed into his skin. The way he was restrained. It made me feel... excited.

I would lie in bed and think about Joe tied up a lot.

Eventually fantasies grew out of it.

Joe and I would be alone in the room together. He was tied to the chair just like in the cover, but it was me who had tied him up. I would start to touch him - his face, his neck, his shoulders over his shirt. He would struggle, and his eyes would plead with me. I would laugh and shake my head. Sometimes I would straddle him so I could hold his head steady while I forced him to look into my eyes. I wanted him to know that I was the boss and that he had to do what I said—to let me touch him and maybe even kiss him (hey I was nine)—and I would let him go. I often wanted to punish him for struggling. Sometimes I would take out a knife and start cutting his shirt off. Sometimes I'd cut the gag off too so I could hear him beg and promise to be good... 

It was intoxicating.

Now... looking back, the fantasies were a bit on the abuse/non-con side, but I was just going on what was making me excited. In fact, in my fantasies, Joe always realized that he was in love with me and it would be a mutual happy ending.

It would take another eight years before I made the stunning discovery that there existed people out there that wanted to be tied up. That enjoyed begging. That got off on giving me complete control.

And that, my friends, was a glorious, fan-fuckingtastic day for me.

So... a big thank you to Joe, the first Hardy I obsessed over, for introducing me to my kinky side. *grin*

Sale extended for one more week

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Interviewed by Jamie Lake

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Bey Deckard is new on the scene of writing. His first novel Caged is holding the attention of many of its readers, keeping the pages turning. Readers are eagerly awaiting whatever he has planned next!

—Jamie Lake, author of the The Trainer as well as Boyfriend for Rent.

 

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JL: What started your interest in writing m/m fiction?

BD: My interest in writing fiction came first. I sat down and wrote a few chapters of something with the intention of simply describing a romantic/sexual relationship to see if I could make a story out of it. The fact that the two central protagonists were male wasn’t something that had really occurred to me until someone (who had read it) referred to it as homoerotic.

Read the whole interview at Jamie Lake's blog

Who me?

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I'm ridiculously bad at talking about myself. I am. Always have been. I'm much better at sculpting a conversation... turning it into an interesting discussion on philosophy, religion, art, or science.

I am also good at making people talk about themselves. I'm a good listener. I keep secrets. I give brutally honest advice.

But about me? I feel like there's not much to say. I'm just... me. I do my things.

Was talking to an old friend yesterday who happens to be a writer. They asked me about my writing. Cue my scrabbling to find the right words to explain just the gist.

I look like I'm in pain when I'm trying to explain what I do and quickly manage to shift the conversation to another topic.

Phew.

Am I embarrassed by what I write? Not at all. I think it's great. I just don't have the language to talk about it.

Writing is an intensely personal thing, more so than painting ever was... and I need to learn to write about writing.

 

Baltsaros and Jon

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Baltsaros & Jon
Baltsaros & Jon

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Wondering which retailer pays me the most?

#1 is Payhip. Not a retailer, but an online shop that I've set up myself. This is where I make the most return on my books.

Then after that it gets a little complicated, but these are the three best choices:

At Eden Books*, I make 70% royalties for all titles.

At Smashwords, I make 60% royalties for all titles.

At Amazon, for books OVER $2.99 (USD) I make 70% royalties and for books UNDER $2.99 I make 35%

So... if the book is under $2.99, buy from Eden Books or Smashwords.

If the books is over $2.99, buy from Eden Books or Amazon.

But best of all, buy from my Payhip store :)

Questions? Contact Me!

*Not all my titles are available at Eden yet as of 25/09/23 - I'm working on it.

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