Death brings singer Tessa
Owens home from Nashville to her native Ozarks.
But she’s not planning to stay.
Tessa turned her back on the old ways of life for the modern world long
ago. She didn’t expect to meet her first love, Lucas Rowlands, at the
visitation. Seven years wasn’t long
enough to forget him and sparks ignite when they meet again. Even worse, Tessa
learns Lucas isn’t the simple country farmer she left behind but the sin eater,
an ancient position handed down to him from his grandfather. As she struggles
to understand Lucas’ life and role as a sin eater Tessa admits she loves him
and there’s no doubt what he feels for her.
The devil wants Lucas’ sin-heavy soul and if they don’t come up with
something, Lucas is hell bound on an express ticket. If there’s any chance at a future, it’s up to
Tessa.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Monday, April 15, 2013
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Monday, March 4, 2013
Friday, February 8, 2013
Ruby Slippers: A m/m love story!
Ruby Slippers
by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy
Marcus
always imagined that he would teach in a large suburban high school, one of
those with a sprawling campus and perks like an indoor swimming pool. He had envisioned that perfect classroom so
many times that it seemed real in his mind, complete with a bank of energy
efficient windows and a Smart Board.
Even though he graduated with his teaching degree magna cum laude, he
found out that the good jobs, like the one he dreamed about, were scarce. New teachers, he learned, did not get those
positions. Instead, veteran educators
fought over them, presented resumes with after school activities and additional
classes in their field.
New
teachers were lucky to get a job in one of the inner city schools, the ones
with broken gym windows and crack sales going down in the parking lot. That didn’t appeal to him so he looked for
an alternative and found it, he thought, in the small towns of Middle America.
He
adored the place he settled, a little city called Osage, a town with Norman
Rockwell like streets and a downtown that seemed snatched out of some vintage
movie. In Osage, the 1950’s seemed to be
ongoing and he bought into the entire fantasy.
Marcus
thought the chili suppers held each Friday night in the high school cafeteria
before football games were so retro and thus cute. He found potluck suppers adorable, like
something out of the past and he delighted in the way people really sat out on
their front porches in the evening cool.
Everyone waved all the time with big grins and he felt like he came
home.
Just
one thing bothered him and that was the attitude toward gays. Back home, he’d found not just tolerance but
acceptance but in Osage, he found himself hiding back in the closet, something
he’d thought he would never do. But Marcus
realized that to be himself, to show gay pride, would result in not just
ridicule but possibly the end of his career.
And since he concealed his orientation, it seemed like everyone he met
pimped their younger sister, their unmarried cousin or the girl next door in
his direction.
He
enjoyed evenings out at the little local movie theater, a relic from the heyday
of Hollywood and the meals in the Osage Diner but the dates were not really
dates, just a night out with friendly people.
At the end of each, he forced himself to offer up a single chaste
goodnight kiss and nothing more.
The
school year began early, in mid-August, some rural custom that related to the
local farming in a way he couldn’t fathom.
By mid-year, Marcus still liked the town but he was very unhappy. He hated the way that he lied by not being
openly gay and he missed having a lover who got him, who understood.
He
knew there must be other gays in the community but he had no idea how he might
find them but if he didn’t soon, he would just spiral into a dark, ugly
depression. So when the high school
principal announced that there would be a masquerade ball, Marcus summoned up
what courage he had left and volunteered to chaperone. During his conference hour, between blocks
of teaching English grammar and modern Literature, he planned his costume – one
he hoped would rip open the closet door and reveal his reality with no more
lies. Once outed, if the town hated him,
he’d just resign and go back to civilization.
Marcus’
costume came from one of his favorite classic movies, The Wizard of Oz. He toyed
with the idea of attending dressed as Glenda the Good Witch of the North but he
settled in the end on dressing as Dorothy.
His blue and white checked gingham dress with the white apron, ordered
online, fit like it had been tailor made.
The wig with brown braids fit snug and looked realistic. He even found a wicker basket and a little
stuffed dog that resembled Toto. Once
he bought the ruby slippers, Marcus knew that this costume would be awesome.
He
figured dressing in drag would signal the community his true sexual orientation
and everything would be fine. Maybe
they would just accept him and everything could go on, he could settle into his
new life without hiding and he could find a special person to love.
On
the night of the masquerade, held at the local auditorium, a big and old
building just off the picturesque town square, however, his hopes faded fast
when he realized that dressing up as a woman was apparently acceptable when it
was part of such a ball..
The
principal, a bald middle aged Baptist, arrived dressed as Marilyn Monroe from The Seven Year Itch complete with the
white dress with a billowing skirt. One of the coaches showed up as Hannah
Montana, long blonde wig and guitar in place.
Even some of the students came in drag and no one thought his costume
was anything but cute. No one got that
he wore it because he identified with Dorothy or guessed that he was gay.
As the dance progressed slowly toward midnight,
Marcus felt so discouraged that he slipped outside and stared up at the full
moon. As it rose over the quaint little
town, shimmering everything with silver light he wanted to howl his
frustration. Instead, on impulse, he
tapped the heels of his ruby slippers together but instead of the mantra that
brought Dorothy back to Kansas, he thought There’s
nothing wrong with me, I am who I am, over and over again. He prayed for understanding, acceptance, and
for someone to love.
Eyes
shut, he hoped for a little magic. Maybe
he’d go back inside and someone would realize that he was gay. If they could and then just accept that he
was the same Mr. Manfred they knew, everything would be fine again. When he opened his eyes, he saw a man
standing a few paces away. The bright
moonlight cascaded onto him, highlighting his almost white blonde hair, hair
that fell to his shoulders and reflecting light from his pale blue eyes. He looked like a Nordic god come to life and
since Marcus, dark himself, had always adored blondes, his heart and dick gave
a little quiver of excitement.
He
blinked, wondering if he had conjured up the image of his dream lover but the
man remained, a half-smile teasing his lips as he stared back at Marcus. So Marcus took a step forward, then another,
and a third until he stood just a few feet from the stranger.
“Hello,”
he said, “I’m Marcus. Are you here for
the school dance?”’
“No,
no, not at all,” the beautiful creature said in a voice that reminded him of
soft instrumental music, “I’m here for you, of course. I’m Lucien.”
“I’m
pleased to meet you, Lucien,” Marcus said, “How did you come to be here?”
He
looked about as if there might be something he missed, a different car, a white
steed, a coach made from a pumpkin like Cinderella’s, but he saw nothing out of
the ordinary. Surely someone this
exquisite couldn’t have come by any normal means of transportation, Marcus
thought and then wondered if one of the students had spiked the punch with
hallucinogenic drugs.
“You
conjured me,” Lucien said in the same musical voice. “You called to me and I
came, sweet Marcus.”
“I
conjured you?” he repeated, feeling thick-headed and slow. “I couldn’t
have. I’m not a witch or a warlock or a
wizard. I don’t have any power to
conjure anything at all.”
“It’s
the shoes, darling,” Lucien said with a trill of laughter in his voice. “It’s
all in the shoes.”
“Do
you mean the ruby slippers? They’re just costume shoes. There’s no magic in them.”
“Of
course not,” the blonde beauty said. “But I doubt any heterosexual dudes would
wear ruby slippers. I’ve watched you for
a long time and longed to meet you but I just wasn’t sure if you were gay until
I saw the shoes, sweetie. And I’m right,
aren’t I?”
“You
are,” Marcus said with wonder and growing delight. “But I don’t know you.”
“I’m
a doctor at the local hospital,” Lucien said with a laugh. “And I’ve been just
as shy as you, just as timid to be what I am but I saw you one day and the
attraction almost swallowed me up. I
almost hoped you’d get sick and come see me but you must be very healthy.”
‘I
am,” Marcus replied with wonder.
“So
when I heard about this dance I thought you’d come if you were gay and I’d know
by your costume. I love the Dorothy
motif but the shoes were the kicker. I
laughed when I saw the ruby slippers.
So, would you like to come home and have a drink with me, Marcus? I want
to get acquainted.”
Marcus
smiled. “I’d like nothing better.”
They
departed together, talking back and forth and Marcus decided no more lies. No matter what happened, if he and Lucien got
together or not, he wouldn’t deny himself again.
His
ruby slippers sparkled in the moonlight as he committed himself to a future of
truth, maybe even of love.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Friday, December 14, 2012
Free Christmas Read: Four Collie Birds
It's the season for sharing - here's a little Christmas story pubbed in a small anthology last year and presented here since the rights reverted to me after publication....happy holidays!
by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy
The Wings of
Christmas
Every morning she
watched them, the four collie birds who swooped in to feed on the leavings of
her garden. They ate the seed heads
she’d left them and Anna admired the grace of their motion. Blackbirds, some would call them but she
preferred the old name, collie birds because each appeared as dark as colliers
from the pit, from the old days when they still mined beyond the village. In her girlhood she’d admired the men, so
brawny and strong, never minded their faces grimed with coal dust, their hands
permanently blacked. Anna enjoyed the
ripple of their mighty strength and the aura of manhood each wore. She’d married one, too, a fine man, Willie,
son and grandson of colliers. They’d
been happy, so in love until a pit collapse took his life and left her widowed
at the age of twenty.
She’d never found
another man but now, aged past her prime, hands wrinkled, hair frosted like a
December morning. Anna watched the birds
in the winter dawn and wondered what they’d be like if they could become
men. She dreamed about it in the long
nights, sometimes now, if the birds could fly in, then land to shift into men,
colliers all.
As the days shortened
and moved toward winter solstice, nearer to Christmas, Anna thought more about
the collie birds. They haunted her
dreams and consumed her thoughts by day until one morning she stood at the
window, frosted with cold and stared.
The collie birds came from the east as usual with their wings spread out
wide and landed. Few seeds remained in
the barren winter garden and as they lit each one began to twirl and
swirl. Anna watched with fascination as
each collie bird’s form shifted and changed.
Out of the spinning she saw four men emerge, one by one, colliers all,
dressed in their work clothes but they didn’t head toward the long closed pit
but walked in unison toward the house.
Anna smoothed down her
hair and sighed. If she could, she’d
wipe away the years to be young so maybe they’d desire her. Maybe, she thought, if she could borrow a
little scrap of the Christmas magic the collie birds used to become men, her
face might smooth away the wrinkles and her hair might regain color again. She put on the kettle and opened the door to
them.
“Morning to you,
Missus,” they said as one.
“Come
out of the cold,” she said, “I’ve put the kettle on for tea if you’d like.”
Before long her table
loomed full with the men and she loved their presence. As she poured another round of tea, Anna
caught sight of her reflection in the mirror above the kitchen dresser and
gasped.
“What’s the matter,
love?” one asked, the man reminding her most of her lost Willie.
“Naught,” Anna
said. Her face no longer looked old, her
hair renewed to burnished copper. She
looked prettier than she remembered from youth. “I’m just surprised.”
“Well you might be,” the
same collier said, “It’s not every day a bird becomes a man now is it?”
“No,” Anna answered with
care. “I’ve never seen it before and I certainly can’t understand why.”
“It’s a gift,” he
said. He turned his head from side to
side and the others nodded. One by one
they rose from the table and moved as if in flight out the door, back into the
garden. Anna didn’t look after that,
afraid she’d see them shift back into collie birds. “It’s a Christmas time gift
for you. You’ve been kind to us and we
know it so we wanted to give you something back, Missus.”
“Anna,” she said, “Call
me Anna. What’s your name?”
“Call me as you like,”
he said, “Willie will do.”
“I will,” she said, “but
what will you give me?”
He smiled, the happiness
behind it lighting his eyes and softening his face. Now he looked enough like her own Willie to
be his twin. “I’m here to give you what you want, what you need, Anna.”
Her body quickened at
that. Before she could protest or agree,
Willie kissed her, his mouth as rich as her remembered husband’s, his lips warm
and soft. Her mouth answered his
kiss. She’d almost forgotten the kind of
sweet fire such a kiss sent scurrying through the veins and the way her body
readied, eager for something more.
Hunger for what she’d long been denied, yearning for what she lost as a
young widow encouraged her to put her arms first on his shoulders, then around
his neck. One hand strayed upward into
his hair, locks as dark and fine as her man’s were once.
This Willie’s hands
touched her without any shyness at all.
His big fingers caressed her breasts through the fabric of her dress and
then undid the buttons with deft skill.
As he fingered her nipples, they rose to his touch with the speed of
rising bread dough but hardened like biscuits.
His touch made them tender and Anna moaned with the delightful torture
he delivered. When Willie reached inside
her dress she adored the feel of his work worn hands against her flesh and
before she could think, they moved out of the kitchen and into the bedroom
where she’d sleep alone for decades.
In one swift motion she
stripped off the dress, removed her camisole and her drawers so she stood naked
before Willie, her collie bird, her body restored to youth, to the beauty she
once offered her husband. Anna never saw
him undress but Willie stood nude, proud and erect before her, his body like
chiseled marble in the morning light.
Like her husband’s, the coal dust blackening stopped at his hands, at
his neck, and his body glistened white as fresh milk.
Anna raked over his body
with her eyes, afraid she’d forgotten just what to do but instinct replaced
doubt. Because he stood taller, she
barely had to bend her head to take his nipple into her mouth and did. Anna suckled it, his groans of pleasure
fueling her growing desire and when she stopped, he buried his face against her
bosoms. His tongue laved over each
breast with a combination of adoration and desire she enjoyed and then he
nibbled, his mouth sharp as a bird’s beak, leaving little purple love bites
over the soft tits. As he did that Anna
grasped his cock in her hand and stroked the shaft of it. Although it already felt hard in her hand, it
tensed tighter as she caressed him. His need stirred hers and without words
they reached her bed.
He took her there, his
proud erect cock plunging deep into her depths and filling the emptiness of
years. Anna took him, tightened her
passage to caress him and drive him deeper still. Willie, this Willie, worked in and out of
her, powerful as a river surging through her body and she gloried in it. Her first spirals of physical delight morphed
into an urgent need for release and he delivered it. They climaxed, body to body, with a wild rush
of delight and she came back to earth, moon struck and sated.
“Merry Christmas, love,”
Willie said and when she looked, he was
her own Willie, her first and sole love she’d lost too soon. A wild joy erased the lonely years, leached
out the bitterness of widowhood but still, Anna asked, “How, Willie? How?”
“Don’t question
Christmas miracles,” he said, his voice as familiar and fond to her ears as it
ever was. “Just accept them, love.”
Her young arms embraced
him, stroked his dear face and Anna no longer cared if this might be real, a
dream, illusion or fantasy. Whether or
not they’d been restored to youth didn’t matter and should they be dead, this
heaven, it didn’t make any difference at all.
They were together and she celebrated it with all the joy of the season.
MY LINKS
Twitter: leeannwriter
From Sweet to Heat: The Romance of Lee Ann
Sontheimer Murphy
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