Anne Cain - Guest Blogger - Day 2

Thanks so much for having me on the DIK blog, everyone! It’s exciting to be here, especially when I see a lot of my favorite authors have stopped by or will be making a visit soon. (*Insert brief fangirl interlude here: Kelly Armstrong, squeeeeeee!*)

But talking about “Desert Island Keepers”, I was reminded of a series of ‘what if’ conversations I’ve had with my sister and friends over the years. What if you were leaving Earth forever on a space shuttle and you could only take five of your favorite movies—what would they be? What if you were stuck on a desert island, what would be the three sweets you wish you could take with you? Yes, we end up with some pretty goofy lists while playing this game, but it’s a lot of fun and you never know what someone is going to say.

5 Dessert Island Keepers

If one is going to be stuck on an island where coconuts and pineapples may potentially be the staples of your diet for the rest of your life, make sure you grab some treats out of cooler as reach for the life preserver before jumping ship! Life without Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream would be bland, and Dilettante’s Champagne Truffles are essential for survival. I’d also try to make off with some Milano cookies and, hell, anything chocolate for that matter. Let’s not forget to reach for some drink mixers, too—might as well make some piña coladas while lazing on a pristine, abandoned beach.

5 Books to Carry Ashore

All-time faves are the books you can read and re-read, and it’s like revisiting a favorite haunt or chatting with an old, dear friend. There’s something about these stories that really sparkles to me, and I can’t go more than a year or so without picking them up. Some people have comfort food—these are comfort reads. “The Lives of Christopher Chant”, “Comfort & Joy”, “Phantom”, “Jurassic Park” (whoever laughs at this point just doesn’t get the power of chaos theory!) and the good, ole Bible (food for the soul, ‘ya know). Eclectic tastes, no?

5 Must-Not-Be-Without DVDs

I don’t know how in the hell I’d manage to get a DVD player and a large screen, High-Def LCD TV off the boat, but somehow I would. And I’d also manage to take these must-have DVDs too: “The Lord of the Rings” trilogy, “The Matrix”, Torchwood season 2, Buffy:TVS Season 2, and the Cowboy Bebop collection. I wonder if I could manage to salvage a home theater audio system while doggy paddling to shore while I’m at…

These lists could go on and on: 5 favorite manga, 5 must-have salty food items, 5 electronics you can’t live without (my laptop!!!!). Please share some of your faves here! I’ll be randomly picking winners for some goodies:

· A “Pawprints” Tshirt (featuring this artwork: http://annecain.deviantart.com/art/Cover-Art-Pawprints-69242303)

· Choice of a download from my backlist

· Loose Id $5 Gift Certificate

But I guess the really interesting part about a stay on a desert island is that you have no idea what can happen and what sort of adventures you might get swept away in. Every writer gets caught up in imagining the possibilities at one point in their career, and sometimes the resulting stories are fun or dramatic or just plain naughty. *wicked grin* For those whose ears perked up at the latter prospect, I have an excerpt from an m/m story of mine entitled, “Getaway”:

Warnings: contains adult language & situations.

Dean raked a hand through his close-cropped, sweat-soaked hair. He raised a hand to block the glare of sunlight on the pristine bone-white sand and scanned the ocean. There was no sign of the rented catamaran anywhere near the beach, no flicker of red, blue and white sails on the razor-straight horizon line. The only sign of human life anywhere around him was the trail of oblong footprints his water shoes had left over all two miles of shoreline wrapping around the edge of the island in his pointless search for the boat. Dean had consciously kept the lush jungle on his left, the crystal aqua blue waters on his right, and he’d covered the entire tiny island. He was sure of it.

Stephen had dumped him here. The fucker.

“Son of a…” Dean swallowed, saving his spit for the next time he caught up with his ex-lover. He could imagine the man was probably tucked behind a cove on one of the dozens of nearby smaller islands doting the ocean a couple of miles off coast, laughing his ass off at Dean’s expense. Dean’s younger brother had been right.

Two weeks ago, Neil tried to warn him. “It’s not a smart idea to go on vacation with your ex, Dean. He’s either going to screw you over or screw you. Either way, you told me you never wanted to deal with his shit again.”

“The trip is paid for,” Dean argued over the phone. “I’m not squandering a chance to enjoy a Mediterranean getaway just because Stephen will be there.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s no possible way to enjoy a vacation with an ex. It’s a law of nature or something.”

Dean rolled his eyes, knowing his brother couldn’t see him miles away in Austin. Neil proceeded to give him more than a dozen more reasons not to take the joint vacation, and Dean filed them away in the back of his mind under the label, “Irrelevant”.

Stubborn, proud, and a whole mess of other things besides that officially classified Dean as a dumb-ass, he’d already convinced himself that he was going to have the fucking time of his life in Greece. He wouldn’t care what Stephen did and who Stephen did it with because Dean would be there for his own pleasure. He’d go. Enjoy. Have fun. Maybe find a nice piece of European cock in a club somewhere and not think twice about his ex-lover.

What he’d never expected was for the sexual tension to be so damned potent. As soon as they boarded the flight out of Houston, the old emotions and desires were there to drive him goddamn crazy. Stephen knew exactly all the right buttons to push, and boy, he liked banging at them. Dean hadn’t looked to hook up with another man since their breakup, and now it seemed so obvious that he’d worn the need for sex on his body like a second skin.

Stephen noticed the frustration right away. Two days after landing in Greece, he’d made sure to flaunt his ass as much as possible. If Dean didn’t already have an erection before Stephen ‘accidentally’ brushed against him during a hike or dropped a hand into his lap during dinner, Dean found himself with a hard-on that tented the front of even the most loose piece of clothing he had. A fucking muumuu wouldn’t have been able to hide his stiff rod.

This morning, they’d set out for a private sail around the dozens of islands along the coast. Stephen was a skilled boatman, and he looked good in shorts and a cotton shirt unbuttoned all the way down the front of those nicely shaped pectoral muscles and abs. Ex or not, Dean would’ve ended up taking him in the boat, on the sand, anywhere. At least twice.

When they landed on the beach, Dean took off for a jog to loosen up after the tense sail. The jog was supposed to tame the boner in Dean’s swimming briefs and keep his cock safely tucked in under the nylon. He never imagined Stephen would abandon him here, with nothing but a water bottle.

Dean found a weatherworn, black rock near the shade of clustered, swaying palm trees. He took a seat on the span of warm, smooth stone and sighed.

“Am I moron or what?” Dean shook his head. He swallowed a mouthful of water and set the bottle down on the ground, pressed his hands against his eyes. Spots of light dotted the back of his lids, leaving an impression of the gleaming sand. Tired, pissed, sexually frustrated, Dean leaned back across the flat rock and resolved himself to wait until Stephen decided the joke was over.

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. The pink underside of a thick, erect cock blocked the view of the palm fronds overhead and the cloudless sky beyond. Sunlight glowed through the slip of foreskin peaking over the rounded head. A skilled hand cupped the heavy sac at the base of the erection, massaging the tightening mounds.

Heat exhaustion had set in worse than Dean thought. He rubbed his eyes with the flat of his palms, not that he minded such a great hallucination. Wondering if the rest of this dream man looked as good as that cock, Dean tore his gaze away from the hardening shaft.

The stranger was younger, maybe twenty or twenty-two-years-old to Dean’s thirty. Hazel eyes, chocolate colored hair with golden streaks, full lips. Tan skin seemed to run for naked mile after mile over the man’s beautiful body. Brown nipples were already formed into peaks and a trail of light brown hair dusted the inside of his legs, leading toward that fat, beautifully arched cock. One hand rested at his side while the other continued to work over his ball sac.

Fuck…Dean could almost feel that expert stroking on his own package. He sucked in his breath, his cock lifting from sheer thought alone.

He rolled in to a sitting position. His mouth leveled dangerously close to the tip of the luscious-looking dick, he licked his lips. Wanting to suck that cock off so badly, Dean fondled the throbbing bulge at his groin and swallowed a mouthful of spit along with a groan.

Beads of water trailed all over the mystery man’s body, as if he’d been swimming. The droplets traced the rounded edge of his shoulders and pecs, every sharp cut of muscle at his abdomen and groin. He shook off his head, splattering Dean’s face in a cool spray.

The water tasted sweet.

This was no hallucination.

“Getaway” ©2008, Anne Cain. http://www.annecain-art.com

Previously published in “Island Boys: Tropical Gay Erotica” from Alyson Books