Monday, June 3, 2013

Spotlight + Guest Post ~ Raining Men by Rick R. Reed

Sequel to Chaser 

The character you loved to hate in Chaser becomes the character you will simply love in Raining Men.

It’s been raining men for most of Bobby Nelson’s adult life. Normally, he wouldn’t have it any other way, but lately something’s missing. Now, he wants the deluge to slow to a single special drop. But is it even possible for Bobby to find “the one” after endless years of hooking up?

When Bobby’s father passes away, Bobby finally examines his rocky relationship with the man and how it might have contributed to his inability to find the love he yearns for. Guided by a sexy therapist, a Sex Addicts Anonymous group, a well-endowed Chihuahua named Johnny Wadd, and Bobby’s own cache of memories, Bobby takes a spiritual, sexual, and emotional journey to discover that life’s most satisfactory love connections lie in quality, not quantity. And when he’s ready to love not only himself but someone else, sex and love fit, at last, into one perfect package.
 

About the Author

Rick R. Reed is all about exploring the romantic entanglements of gay men in contemporary, realistic settings. While his stories often contain elements of suspense, mystery and the paranormal, his focus ultimately returns to the power of love. He is the author of dozens of published novels, novellas, and short stories. He is a two-time EPIC eBook Award winner (for Orientation and The Blue Moon Cafe). Lambda Literary Review has called him, "a writer that doesn't disappoint." Rick lives in Seattle with his partner and a very spoiled Boston terrier. He is forever "at work on another novel."

Visit Rick's website or follow his blog. You can also like Rick on Facebook or on Twitter.

Quality Versus Quantity

A Guest Blog by Rick R. Reed 

Although the post below was written a while back and it was about my very own life, this post could have well been written by the main character, Bobby, in my latest release, Raining Men. Bobby is a man who has searched for love his whole life and never found it, even though his sexual encounters have been remarkably numerous. And I guess that’s the central theme to the book: it’s easy to do sex, but not so much when it comes to love….

Why, I can remember a time when sex parties and the filthy backrooms of leather bars were the height of sexual euphoria. Coupling with strangers en masse set my heart to racing, my blood to pumping, and my brain to disengage. Out the window went fears of AIDS, STDs, and even the limitations of the human lumbar system as I swam through the darkness like a hungry fish, searching with eyes glazed for the next cock, mouth, or ass.
But all of that stuff seems to have lost its charm, to be replaced by gasp! if not romance, then at least human connection. Maybe it’s not age. Maybe I’m just jaded. Maybe I’ve grown wiser. But these days, sex seems hotter when it’s one on one, with someone I actually know more about than the fact that he’s able to swing that baseball cap around effortlessly, inhale a bottle of poppers, and blow me all at the same time. I get more aroused in my own bed, waiting for someone whose name, occupation, and likes and dislikes I at least have a rudimentary knowledge of, than I used to lining up for a crack at the crack in the sling.
A couple cases in point. Old habits die hard, which is why I readily accepted an invitation to a party held International Mr. Leather (IML) weekend in one of the rooms of the host hotel, the Hyatt. There were to be about fifteen guys gathered. And there would be no chips and salsa, witty repartee, or flirtatious glances across the room. No, we all knew what we were there for. The only party favors supplied were bottles of various lube (even that new sensation J Lube, which bears no relation to J Lo, except that both might or might not have something to do with big asses, but I digress), poppers, a sling set up in one corner of the room, and a portable enema hose in the bathroom’s shower. There was no music. No conversation. Just naked men (and some pretty hot ones), grunts, groans, and the odd operatic aria (Sweet Mystery of Life, I Adore You). After about an hour or so, and making the corporeal acquaintance of at least five other men, the whole thing seemed rather amusing and well, a little boring. So I left, even though the partiers had hours to go before they slept. Trying to get my clothes back on amidst a tableau out of something Fellini might have dreamed up was no easy task. Picking my way to the door through the sweaty bodies almost made me giggle…it was like playing a very grown up game of Twister.
Contrast that with Sunday…and a very nice day at the beach with someone whom I’m getting to know on many levels. Contrast the sex party with just the two of us, in my sun-drenched bedroom, pretty much doing what the guys at the sex party were doing, but instead of looking for who we should fuck next, we stared into each other’s eyes, charting the course of each other’s pleasure.

What’s happened to me? Does this mean I’ve finally grown up? Or am I just getting boring?

2 comments:

  1. It is the eternal question, isn't it? But mindless fornication gets to be as exciting as watching nails dry. And here's the ennui talking--all that work, getting ready, getting there, etc. at some point 15 minutes with toys and a nice glass of wine is preferable.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I often sing a few snatches of that Carly Simon song to myself while looking in the mirror: Nobody does it better...Baby, you're the best.

      Delete