Moving On is a Halloween short that really delivers. Written from Graeme’s point of view, the sense of sadness at the situation is palpable. A heartbreaking situation dealt with sensitivity and maturity. However, the pursuit of happiness is a powerful incentive to move on and I was hooked from start to finish. Well-defined characters that elicited an immediate response and a satisfying ending leaves me with no option but to highly recommend this to any fan of the genre.
Excerpt from a review by Kassa on her Livejournal "3 AM" (from a review of the "Like Magnets, We Attract" anthology)
This has a laugh out loud hilarious introduction with great characters of a fussy corporate lawyer and a bear-like mechanic. The opening scene at the bar sets the fun and light tone that is carried through effortlessly. Their story was delightful and highly entertaining with a heavily romantic ending that is sure to please new and die hard fans alike.
This beautifully written short story is a sweet and funny quick read. Addison Albright has a clever way with words, a subtle sense of humor and a flair for description that makes her stories a joy to read. You'll like this one!
Born to be Wild by Addison Albright is a short story, but it packs a punch that will have readers panting for more. Roland makes you laugh and keeps you wondering what will happen next. Ms.Albright, thank you for writing this wonderful and fantastic short story for readers to enjoy. I will remember Roland and Fisher for a long time. I cannot wait to see what you come up with next.
From the moment Addison mentioned she was writing Trevor's story, I knew I wanted to read it. Trevor is one of those character's that stand out and I desperately wanted to know his story. "Dreaming of You" is sweet, passionate and very uplifting.
On Halloween, Graeme accompanies the love of his life, Brandt, to the annual costume party. This year, though, Brandt isn't dancing with Graeme, he's dancing with a handsome stranger, and Graeme couldn't be happier. On the most mysterious night of the year Graeme has one chance to give his beloved the best gift of all and he makes the most of it, from the first dance to the final farewell.
A collection of three of Addison Albright's favorite short stories: Born to Be Wild, Dropping Quarters, and King Kong vs. The Skinny Pirate. Hot and humorous, don't miss this fun mix of short but sweet reads!
Blaine is a well dressed, high priced attorney, and George is a hairy mountain of an auto mechanic. This odd couple meets up one evening on a slow night at a bar, where the pickings are slim. Slim enough for these opposites to eyeball each other and ask themselves just how bad they want to get laid that night.
Originally published at eXcessica on April 13, 2009 in the "Like Magnets, We Attract" anthology, edited by Jaye Valentine.
Luke's looking for love in all the wrong places. When he meets Cato at an adult video arcade, then again at his softball league game, Luke figures they might have something in common. Can Luke convince Cato that there's more to him than meets the eye?
Roland is always willing to help a neighbor, so when the guys from the fraternity next door ask if he and his gay buddies will play a trick on a new pledge, he happily agrees. When Roland happens to discover that new pledge Fisher is not as uptight as he's been told, he starts to think maybe the joke is on him. Determined to turn the tables, Roland surprises Fisher with more than he bargained for. Will the plan backfire, or work out just like Roland had planned?
Book 3 in the "Dream" series, following "A Dream Come True" and "Another Dream".
Trevor's upset when the man he's been chasing for years chooses another. He'd come to terms with losing Marty, but his hopes had been recently renewed and freshly dashed. While he's trying to drown his sorrows, the man he considers to be the cause of his distress approaches him.
When Quinn startles him with an insightful revelation, will Trevor be able to put aside their differences and give love another chance?
Addison Albright lives in the middle of the USA with her husband, son, and four peculiar cats (and, at any given time, various boomerang children and step-children, along with their assorted children and pets). Her stories are gay erotic romance, and tend to be sweet man-love in contemporary settings. Her education, which pretty much doesn't get used these days, includes a BS in Education with a major in Mathematics and a minor in Chemistry. Addison loves her family, reading, popcorn, boating, french fries, 'open window weather,' cats, math, and anything chocolate. She loves to read pretty much anything and everything, anytime and anywhere.
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Moving On - An Excerpt
Graeme watched from across the room as Brandt danced slowly with a nice-looking man decked out in a purple, crushed-velvet pimp costume. There were some wild costumes at the Halloween dance party tonight and Brandt was looking extra hot in a tight sailor boy costume.
Graeme didn’t remember seeing the man Brandt was with before, but he’d taken notice of the guy tonight. He’d watched the purple pimp checking out Brandt and finally working up the nerve to approach Brandt for a dance. The man was clearly on the prowl for a hookup, and if there was one thing Graeme wanted tonight, it was for Brandt to finally get laid again. Brandt really needed to move on with his life.
The man had been polite and pleasant. He seemed like a nice guy. Not at all predatory -- pimp costume notwithstanding. He’d be a good choice for Brandt tonight. They looked good together.
It had been just over a year since Graeme had left Brandt, and it had been a very hard year on Brandt. Hell, it had been hard on both of them, and if Graeme could fix it, he would, but he didn’t know how.
Brandt had been doing pretty well these past few months, but he still wasn’t getting out like he should. Graeme was glad to see that their friends, Jason and John, had been able to convince Brandt to get out of the house to attend this party with them.
As Graeme watched the couple dance, the purple pimp started putting moves on Brandt, squeezing Brandt’s ass and pressing their hips together. Brandt reacted quickly, placing both hands squarely on the man’s chest and heaving. The man let go immediately.
Shaking his head, Graeme had to stop himself from crossing the floor to try to talk some sense into Brandt. Wouldn't do any good, anyway. Damn it, Brandt. He seemed like a decent guy. Why didn’t you go with it?
The song ended and Brandt stalked to the edge of the dance floor, looking wretched. The purple pimp watched him go, looking confused as hell. Fuck.
Graeme moved closer to Brandt, wanting to be near former lover. He desperately wished there was something, anything, he could do to help Brandt, but what? He'd already tried everything he could think of.
Jason and John came off the dance floor, looking sexy in their matching pirate costumes. Their brows were knit as they approached Brandt. Brandt got a hug from John first, then Jason.
Jason said, “Brandt, you know we love you, right?”
Brandt just nodded his head and stared at the ground.
Jason looked at John for help, and John took over. “Brandt, honey, we know how much you loved Graeme, and I know this probably sounds trite, but it’s time to move on. It’s been over a year. Please, let us help you, hon.”
“Love, John, not ‘loved.’ I love him, now and forever,” was Brandt’s forlorn reply. The look of hopelessness on Brandt’s face was distressing.
Fuck. Graeme would love Brandt forever and it broke his heart, seeing Brandt as miserable as he’d been this past year. Graeme couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to Brandt. “I love you, too, sweetheart, now and forever, but they’re right. I need you to be happy again. Please.”
Brandt looked up sharply. He spun around and looked through Graeme, seeing the crowd behind him.
Brandt hadn’t actually heard him, had he? No, Graeme had spoken to Brandt so many times in the past year, and Brandt had never heard him.
Blaine sat down on an empty barstool between a likely prospect and King-fucking-Kong. He cocked his head, summoning the bartender as he ran his freshly manicured hands over the textured cashmere of his Kilton pinstripe suit, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles.
"A Skinny Pirate, please."
The bartender quirked an eyebrow but otherwise kept his face expressionless. "Coming right up."
His peripheral vision picked up movement to his left. King Kong was looking him over. He turned his head to the right, ignoring the hairy behemoth, to check out his hopeful hookup for the night.
The man was maybe a couple inches taller than himself, casually dressed in freshly pressed khakis and a clean navy polo shirt. His dark wavy hair was neatly trimmed, and his hands, while not professionally manicured, were well maintained.
The man concentrated on a Screwdriver, studiously ignoring him, though. Fuck. The bartender placed the drink in front of him, and he slapped some bills on the bar.
"Why's that called a Skinny Pirate? Looks like rum and Coke to me."
Blaine sighed and turned to the muscle-bound hulk. "Because it's made with Captain Morgan rum and Diet Coke." He picked up his drink and spun on the stool to cast his eyes over the room. Nothing. No singles, anyway. The patrons all appeared to be part of a couple.
Kong turned on his seat and brought a domestic longneck up to his lips. The man was big and hairy—except for his bald head—but basically clean, albeit slightly rumpled, in jeans and a snug t-shirt. His goatee could use a trim and minute traces of grease stained his cuticles.
"Not much hope out there. I've already scoped the place."
Blaine glanced at the guy on his other side. Maybe there was still a chance.
"Preppy there's got someone that's going to be joining him." King Kong shrugged. "I already tried."
Shit. He took another look at King Kong. How bad did he really want to get laid tonight?
King Kong grinned. "Feelin' desperate, are ya?"
Fucker. Maybe not that bad.
King Kong actually wiggled his eyebrows. "I showered and everything."
Christ. The man was laughing at him. Sure he was picky, but he had a right to be, goddammit. He took a sip of his Skinny Pirate and cocked his head. "What's your name? Or should I just call you King Kong?"
The man's laughter reached his eyes. "That depends. You wanna be my Ann Darrow?"
Luke stepped into the crowded, smoky bar with Jake and Aaron. Neon signs hawking various brands of beer decorated the walls. They didn’t see any empty pool tables and wandered up to the bar for some longnecks.
Luke took a long draw on his beer and followed his buddies over to watch some pool. He saw a few Tigers uniforms among the players. He glanced around the room but didn’t notice Cato among them.
Fuck him anyway. Luke had given him two openings and the man had shot them both down. Fine, so he wasn’t Cato’s type -- not the end of the fucking world. He wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t going to make a third play for the man, either.
So why couldn’t he stop thinking about the stuck-up little prick? Why did he keep reliving their shared moans back at the Ninth Street Arcade? The feel of Cato’s hands on him when he was doubled over, holding his forehead?
Why? Probably because of the potential he’d seen there. Cato seemed like a nice enough guy -- basically normal with a sense of humor -- and they at least had some shared interests since they both played in a softball league.
But, for all Luke knew Cato wasn’t even gay. Maybe Cato was bi, or bi-curious. The fact that he’d been in the adult arcade getting off watching gay sex videos wasn’t necessarily proof. Maybe he wasn’t single either. Luke hadn’t felt a need to visit the place while in a relationship, but that didn’t mean others wouldn’t.
Fuck him. He either wasn’t interested or wasn’t eligible. Either way, Luke needed to move on and quit thinking about the man.
Luke needed to figure out where he could meet an eligible man who was interested in more than a casual hookup for the night. He was looking for love in all the wrong places, just like the song.
Luke glanced at the silent jukebox and walked over to look at the selections. He smiled when he saw the Johnny Lee song was one of the options. He pulled three quarters out of his pocket, dropped them into the machine and made his selection.
Roland used a long stick to arrange the hot coals in the ancient grill he and his friends kept on their back patio. He looked around the decrepit backyard. There were more bare spots than grassy spots and the metal shed in the back corner was more rust than anything else. He did enjoy the big, old, shady oak trees, though. He placed the grate back in place on the grill and reached for the package of brats.
He looked up when he heard a loud clanging crash coming from the YKB house. Fisher and Corey were dragging four metal trash cans around to the back of the house.
There was a vine-covered chain link fence separating the houses, but Roland could easily see over it. He watched the two pledges as he placed the brats on the hot grate.
They lined the cans up in a row and Fisher grabbed the coiled up garden hose while Corey picked up a bottle of dish soap and one of the scrub brushes.
Scrubbing out the trash cans? Man, Trey had a mean streak in him. Jesus, you couldn’t pay Roland enough money to pledge a fraternity. Although having a couple of willing slaves for three years after you'd put in your time as a freshman did hold a bit of appeal.
The sound of the hose powering into the metal cans was thunderous. Roland watched as Corey squeezed some of the dish soap onto his brush and reached inside the first can to start scrubbing it out while Fisher hosed out the other three.
What a nasty job. Poor Corey had his head all the way in the can as he scrubbed the bottom.
Roland was surprised when he saw Fisher dial the hose nozzle to “jet” and take aim at Corey’s ass. That was Trey’s idea of reserved? Oh, hell no, there was nothing at all reserved about Fisher. Roland almost laughed out loud when Corey squealed like Ned Beatty in Deliverance at the assault to his backside.
Fisher did laugh. His laughter was natural and untamed. Fisher fit right in with the YKB delinquents already. What was Trey thinking?
Roland watched as Corey grappled with Fisher for control of the hose. Something was up here, because Trey wasn’t that fucking stupid. Roland smelled a double cross. That much was obvious, but what was Trey’s game?
Were they planning to have Fisher throw an out of control snit when he saw the guys making out with each other all over the living room? Or maybe they were planning to have Fisher faint and cause a panic? Roland smiled to himself. Trey was good. He was pure evil genius. Roland wasn’t sure anymore that it was Corey’s idea, as Brad had suggested. That had been to throw them off track. This reeked of Trey.
Trey was a well known practical joker, and Roland was almost ashamed he hadn’t suspected anything. He’d simply thought the joke was on Fisher, but apparently it was supposed to be on himself and his housemates. Roland needed to figure out how to turn it around to be back on Trey and Fisher.
Trevor’d opted to avoid the obvious holiday costuming so many of the revelers dancing at Snayque’s were wearing. A red t-shirt was good enough for him. Ragged jeans and a t-shirt. Jesus, he was practically a bum, but he’d found it hard to get motivated to glam up to his usual degree of immaculate turnout. Hell, he hadn’t even spiked or glittered his bleach-tipped blond hair.
He didn’t feel like cruising after all. He felt like sitting alone at the bar and drinking himself numb. He’d spent the day in lonely introspection and was disheartened by the realization that he was tired. Tired of cruising and tired of being alone.
There wasn’t a single soul in whom he’d feel comfortable confiding the fears that had nagged him all day. That, in and of itself, was near the top of the list of scary things he’d admitted to himself that day.
He had more acquaintances than he could count and more hookups in his history than he wanted to tally. There were several he called friends, but were they really? If he didn’t feel comfortable opening up and really talking about his hopes, dreams, and fears with someone, were they really a friend? Hell, he felt more comfortable talking with his co-workers than his so-called friends.
The pilsner in front of him was empty, and he signaled the barkeeper for another beer. A fresh glass was placed in front of him, but he didn’t get the chance to pick it up before his thoughts were interrupted by a voice that reflexively got his back up.
“Hey there.” The voice was irritatingly cheerful. “Trevor, isn’t it?”
“Fuck you, Quinn.”
Trevor didn’t bother turning to look at the man but could sense his continued presence. Fuck. Most men would know enough to leave someone the hell alone after a greeting like that, but not Quinn. Fuck no. Fucking cowboy just stood there.
Scratch that. He sat down on the next barstool.
“Well now, I guess I could take it as a good sign that you know my name.”
Christ. Trevor turned to level a scorching look at his new arch enemy. “And do you take the ‘fuck you’ as a good sign too—Quinn?”
Quinn had the audacity to look puzzled but grinned through it. “Was it a request?”
Trevor choked. And sputtered. Was Quinn obtuse? He certainly had some big hairy balls. “What are you, insane as well as a liar? Leave me the hell alone. You’ve done enough damage.”
Trevor turned back to his beer, determined to simply ignore Quinn until the man left. Except Quinn didn’t leave. He settled in with a beer of his own and then had the nerve to bring up the issue himself.
“So you have a thing for that Marty fella, don’t you?”
“Fuck off.”
“What, you don’t want to fuck me anymore?”
Christ. “Leave me the hell alone, Quinn.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Trevor, but Marty loves that Larry dude. Larry’s a nice enough little guy. They seem like a pretty sweet couple to me.”
That was too much. Trevor spun to face Quinn. “That why you made out with the little cheater in the restroom then lied to Marty about it?” Trevor felt his face heating up as his temper rose. “I accept now that Marty will never care for me like that, but he still deserves someone who’ll be true to him.” Trevor wanted that last sentence back as soon as it was out. What in the world had possessed him to admit that to fucking Quinn, of all people?
“I don’t lie, Trevor.” Quinn remained maddeningly calm. “I told Marty the truth about what happened with Larry.”
Yeah, right. That comment wasn’t even worth acknowledging. Trevor rolled his eyes and turned back to his beer.
“You wanna know what happened?”
No, just go away.
“I was cruisin’ last night and thought that little dude, Larry, was kinda sweet lookin’. I also thought he was alone. Ran into him on the way to the bathroom and put a move on him. Thought he was interested, but he’s just kinda green—inexperienced in the cruising scene. He didn’t realize I was gonna kiss him ’til I did. He pushed me away as soon as I started, but you walked in right at that moment.”
Shit. The little mouse did seem pretty naïve. Trevor didn’t say anything, still hoping Quinn would take the hint and leave him alone.
No such luck. Quinn continued. “So your timing sucked. I can see why you thought what you did, but it wasn’t like that. Poor little guy was practically hysterical and thought he’d get dumped. Figured the least I could do was explain things to his boyfriend and hope I wouldn’t get punched out for my efforts.”
Jesus, Quinn did have some big hairy balls. Trevor couldn’t think of a single one of his ‘friends’ who would have made that right. They’d have thought it was funny and left Larry to deal with the fallout himself.
Trevor sighed and stared at his glass as if the amber liquid in it was the most interesting thing he’d seen in years. “Guess that was nice of you then.”
“You thought you were doing the right thing too. You were wrong, but you thought you were saving your friend from a bad relationship choice.”
Had that been his motivation? Most people who knew him would’ve come up with a more selfish reason for his actions. Quinn was right, though. He’d already begun to accept that Marty had finally fallen for someone and that it wasn’t him.
There might have been a glimmer of hope Marty’d switch his affections to Trevor after ditching Larry, but mostly? Yeah, Trevor’d just wanted to make sure Marty didn’t get hurt more in the long run by continuing a relationship with someone who’d cheat on him.
Trevor shrugged his shoulders in reply. Something about Quinn made it easy to confide things he’d regret later, so he kept his mouth shut.
“You’re going about it all wrong, you know.”
Going about what all wrong? “Mind your own business, Quinn.”
“How’re you going to attract someone who loves you if you hide who you really are behind all that phony attitude?”
That was all Trevor could stand. He pushed his beer away, pissed because he was nowhere near numb yet, slapped some bills down on the bar, and left.
