Wednesday, January 3, 2018

Why Couldn’t I Give My Best Friend A Valentine?

Until my mid-teens in late 1948 my family had moved around a great deal to the extent I attended twelve schools in the same number of years. Initially, the moves were explained by my dad being in the military, then he wanted to be a farmer and we moved to New England and bought a farm. Unfortunately his health−adult onset asthma−became a problem when he chopped wood in the deep snow wearing a tee-shirt. So it was back south for us where he alternated between being a traveling salesman and forming crews and training others in sales. At least yearly, sometimes twice a year, we would move to another region where he would engage in one or the other pursuit and I would attend a new school.
In the seventh grade an unexpected coincidence occurred, one of the neighborhood kids in my class has been a classmate in the first grade; and I hated him! In those days penmanship was a big deal, especially in a parochial school. Many exercises were practiced.
Hours were spent making perfect spirals−an imperfect circle or off center spiral earning a rap on the knuckles with a wooden ruler. How my poor hands survived was a miracle. Brian, not his real name, remembered me from earlier. I, having attended so many schools, only remembered him except as the boy whom the nun always complimented on his perfect penmanship exercises. Mine were always a scrawled mess.
“Do you know how I always had great circles and spirals?” Brian asked me as we walked around the neighborhood reminiscing about good old Saint Cecilia’s.
“No, I thought you were artistic.”
Brian’s snicker annoyed me. “When the nun’s back was turned, I swirled my pencil around the finger holes on my scissors to make the spirals.”
“Son of a gun!” I exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me so my knuckles wouldn’t be bruised?”
“You were the new kid in class, nobody helps out the new kid.” The story of my life. At least once or twice a year I was the new kid in class. Brian and I had a hearty laugh and became good friends after his revelation.
Later in the summer, we were hiking through an undeveloped area near or homes when Brian fell down a sand bank and landed on a cactus. Scores of needles pierced his skin, causing great pain. I helped him home. He leaned on my shoulders to lessen the weight on his painful thorn-covered legs. After his return from the hospital, he was ordered to stay off his feet for several days. I visited him daily, sitting with him on the floor playing various board or card games. All the while we talked about our experiences since the first grade and our plans for the future.
When Brian recuperated, his parents, wanting to keep him closer to home, installed an above ground swimming pool−the rage in those days. Together in the water, Brian and I did the usual antics teenaged boys did: dunking each other, jumping off the pool’s deck cannonball style to splash the other, and even half serious attempts to pull the other’s swim suit down. The last activity often resulted in wrestling-type postures which I found exciting. Each time he snuck up from behind and placed me in a headlock the warmth of his crotch on my butt made my insides tingle. Once I pushed back against Brian and felt a hardness between my ass cheeks. We quickly separated and said nothing about the episode.
My mind, however, would not let the matter go. Whenever I thought about it, I wondered how his “thing” looked when it got hard. One night at bedtime, I was restless, squirming around with visions of what it might look like floating around in my head when, miracle of miracles, my Peter got long and stiff as I rubbed it on the mattress. Two months later, my mattress assault was fruitful and I made a sticky mess on the sheet. It was at that point I think I fell in love with Brian.
Why then couldn’t I give him a card on Valentine’s Day? There were no girls in the eighth grade I wanted to “Be Mine”−nor any other boys for that matter. My secret desires were reserved for Brian, and I wanted him to know he was more than a friend to me. None of the packaged cards worked for Brian, they all assumed a boy and girl pairing. I debated making one myself but, as my penmanship fiasco demonstrated, I was no artist. At home I drafted several declarations: “Be My Special Friend on Valentine’s Day.” “Happy Valentine’s Day to a Special Friend.” “Valentine’s Day Is for Us!” “Me and You, You and Me, on Valentine’s day.” None seemed good enough, plus any sticker I found to decorate my declaration were too much like the cards. I couldn’t bring myself to sprinkle hearts all over my declaration.
I finally settled on a brief, verbally delivered “Happy Valentine’s Day” to Brian during the card exchange in the classroom. When I sat back down at my desk, I found one of those candy hearts with a cutesy phrase on them. Mine had a drawing of a bumblebee and said, “Bee My Valentine” with a red heart where the “A” would be. Looking around the room, I saw Brian staring at me so I mouthed “thank you” and saw him blush before turning away. My heart sang for the rest of the day. We were inseparable for the remainder of the school year and the next summer, trying to compensate for the fact we were going to attend different high schools−me to the local public school, Brian to a military academy his father attended in a distant mid-western city.
Whenever we were in public during the summer, we limited ourselves to handshakes, choreographed hugs of the type now called bro hugs, and comradely pats on the shoulder−never the ass! We occasionally exchanged demure kisses in private and sometimes hugged each other close, letting our hands roam over the other’s chest, back, and−once or twice−one of my palms dropped to Brian’s ass cheeks. Although there was no overt sexual endeavors between us−we being too naïve to fully comprehend what was possible−we were emotionally connected. After going to our separate schools, we remained in contact, exchanging letters on a weekly basis, for several months, after which the letters became less frequent as we made new friends and took up different activities. During the winter break, we were unable to spend time together due to my new circle of friends and his desire to travel and spend time with a couple of classmates who lived in New York City.
By the time we both finished high school I’d come out to my family, friends, and classmates. Brian had never discussed sexual matters at the academy, focusing instead on his successful strategy to be admitted to West Point. We never got together again. Brian became an officer and was deployed to several dangerous locations before retiring from the Army and becoming a military consultant. In the process he married and had there children.

Now, I’m an out gay man in a relationship for five years. Each year, as February rolls around, I give my boyfriend an openly gay Valentine Card and regretfully recall how it wasn’t possible for me to do the same for Brian.

Saturday, September 19, 2015

Coming Soon: Museum Mischief

Museum Mischief by Kenn Dahll


A distinguished gentleman with a sizeable inheritance volunteers as a docent at a Washington, D. C. museum only to find himself perturbed by outrageous comments from a fledgling young artist. The younger man’s comments concern nubile young swimmers in an Impressionist painting leading him to assert the artist might have been a pedophile. Why is James so discombobulated by Kasey assertions? Could he be hiding something?

When Kasey manipulates James into admitting he’s gay and agreeing to take the artist to a club featuring male strippers, James is even more disoriented. Eventually James develops a fondness for the impulsive youth to the extent he becomes concerned about looking foolish to his friends−afraid to be labeled a “dirty old man,” or “cradle robber.”

In desperation, James takes an extended leave of absence from the museum and travels alone to France. While strolling in Montmartre, he decides to end the troubling relationship; a decision he relates to Kasey upon returning from his trip. The perceptive young man delivers a candid tirade before storming away, leaving James to ponder the wisdom of his actions.
Warnings: This title contains graphic language and sex.
Word Count: 8,000

Thursday, September 17, 2015

Sexy South Florida

Sun and sex!

Sand and sex!

Surfers and sex!

Here’s how my first story set in South Florida begins:

“For all its wealth, the main draw for me of the City of Palm Beach, Florida, is the number of surfer dudes that can be found on the city beach. There is something about the positioning of the beach relative to the Gulf Stream that allows for good surfing conditions−particularly when the tropics are acting up. Because of parking restrictions, the surfers usually come to Palm Beach packed into a single vehicle. The thought of being tangled up with those hot boys in baggy shorts gets my balls tingling as I drive my convertible across the bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway to the barrier island that is home to Palm Beach.”
Published in Alyson Books’ “Best Gay Stories of 2009,” the story, “Not Looking for Love,” illustrates my contention that you should “write what you know.” At the time of writing it my job in Palm Beach County required extensive travel throughout the area, so I was familiar with the coast and inland areas that play prominent roles in the story. It’s not a travelogue however, as my alter ego Trent offers college student Chad a ride in his bright red convertible. The ride ends with the duo in Trent’s bed fucking their brains out.
Several torrid sex scenes−including the deflowering of Chad−propel the narrative forward. All of Trent’s efforts to slow the relationship down are futile and the couple are still together ten years later when the story ends.
A word about the title, I saw it as a play on the Johnny Lee country song containing the lyric “looking for love in all the wrong places.” The story sets the place and love is unexpectedly the result.
I used South Florida as the locale for several stories that I will discuss in subsequent blogs.

Note: This story was reissued with Excessica Publishers as “Subtropical Trilogy 2: Not Looking for Love”: 

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

How I Got into Writing Gay Erotica

I can’t remember the title of the first story I wrote for publication, but I do remember the setting−a government office building in New York City where I worked. The characters also remain with me. The POV was first person; besides the stand in for myself the other character was an extremely sexy custodial worker who ended up naked on my office couch. In the late 1980s it was accepted for publication in a “one-hand magazine” and I received a free one year’s subscription as payment for putting my fantasy in writing.

Not until late in the first decade of this century did I make another attempt at being published. My newly created pseudonym in hand, I submitted “South Sea Sex” to Alyson Books for inclusion in “Island Boys: Tropical Gay Erotica.” I used the Internet to research an exotic locale, creating a nameless island somewhere in the region of “Tonga, Papeete, Tuamotu” where the red-haired protagonist ventures away from the cruise ship tour group and encounters a scantily clad young man of the local tribe. From there my imagination took the story to the paranormal as the youth was a specter. The hero’s subsequent sexual encounter with the dead aboriginal and then with his brother and the involvement of the tribe’s shaman resulted in a very satisfying, erotic yet romantic resolution.

Being selected for inclusion in the anthology prompted me to consider writing more stories; but of what, with whom, and set where? These questions guided me to a basic principle: “Write what you know.” In spite of the purely fantastical nature of the first story, I made a conscious decision to write a story set where I lived−South Florida. “Not Looking for Love,” set in Palm Beach County, was included in “Best Gay Love Stories of 2009” again from Alyson Books.

In addition to locale, that story was the first in which I encountered a situation that quickly grew into a story. As I drove along A1A I saw a young man carrying a surfboard from the beach to the mainland. While we were both stopped at a drawbridge I fantasized about inviting him to ride in my convertible. My imagination constructed an erotic May/December romance−well, maybe May/August.

Subsequently “Soaring with a Hawk” was in “Best Gay Stories of 2010.” That was the first installment in what eventually became “Frontier Brothers,” set before, during, and after the Civil War. The four stories separately and the compilation into a print book can be found at and remain among my best selling titles.

I moved to Excessica in 2011 with another story set in South Florida: “Getting Wet in the Mall.” It was relatively successful and I followed quickly with more stories in that locale. In future blogs, I plan to discuss further the South Florida stories I released through Excessica.

Monday, August 3, 2015

The Hostage

I'm back with more time on my hands so I'm reviving my blog. This Friday, August 7, my new book The Hostage is being published by

Harems, eunuchs, torture, battles, love, and lust all converge in Reid’s experience as a hostage in the Balkans. After the fall of Rome, tribes ruled by local warlords are the norm and Reid’s father was a local king. The young prince is dispatched to a neighboring potentate to be retained as a token of his father’s submission to the warlord’s might. Reid soon realizes his attraction to the ruler’s older son, Enzo, a handsome and strong but gentle nobleman; but is repelled by the younger Galtero, a brutish youth enamored of the rough and tumble of a warrior. Galtero mercilessly teases Reid, encouraging other males in the entourage to also verbally harass the young hostage. After several years in which all three turn into young men, Galtero’s proposal for a sexual encounter with Reid is rebuffed, the resulting enmity turns out to be perilous for Reid. Enzo’s betrothal to Reid’s sister provided the opportunity for a coup d’état in which Reid’s family is captured, along with Enzo and his parents, by Galtero’s henchmen. Reid’s rescue and discovery of true love end this medieval tale.

“Will you be ready for another lesson in the morning?” Emil asked as we prepared to leave the Great Hall.
“Can it not be delayed until the afternoon as the hour is rather late and I partook of too much wine?” I attempted to stand and found my legs wobbly. “Let me assist you.” Emil offered his shoulder for me to lean on as we made our way to my chambers. In the room Phanes and Ryland were conspicuously absent as Emil led me to the four-poster bed and tenderly lowered me onto the pallet. My stupor dispersed when he unloosened my cravat and began unfastening my doublet. I vainly struggled to sit up, thwarted by both my inebriated condition and the pressure he applied to my shoulders.
“Please, do not rebuff me.” Emil moved his face close to mine clearly intending to kiss me. “You are so handsome, so intelligent, and well respected while I am an ugly brute of a soldier. Can you not find some fondness for me in your heart?” Tears streamed from his eyes as his face hovered above mine.
“I am very fond of you and do not think you are unattractive or unintelligent; but it would not be right for us to proceed as you wish. We are related and if anything became known, there would be a great scandal, embarrassing our father as well as ourselves.”
“I do not care, my need for your company and affection is so great I ache from desire.” My stepbrother startled me by ripping his pantaloons open to reveal a hard cock with an angry crimson head. “I have been like this for days, please do not turn me away.”
“I am truly sorry I can not relieve your pain. We have been alone in here for a perilously long time. Please leave immediately, knowing I value our friendship.” With effort I pulled my eyes from his enticing shaft pondering: How easy it would be to give us both great pleasure and succumb to his wishes. I too have long been denied the warmth of another body in my bed; and he is both comely and physically impressive. Emil surrendered to my pleas, pecking me quickly on the forehead before departing.
Hearing Emil leave, Phanes and Ryland approached me and assisted me to disrobe as usual. One of them procured a damp cloth and soothed my forehead with it. “Master Reid, surely a brief tryst with the handsome soldier would not have been unpleasant,” Ryland suggested as his lover moved the cool cloth to my chest.
“Can we not provide the solace he would have given you?” Phanes reached into my undergarment and grasped my half-hard member gently sliding his palm up and down, eliciting low groans from deep in my chest as my shaft hardened. When I did not protest, the tall, olive-hued eunuch bent down and took my rigid pole into his mouth, enveloping it in sensually wet warmth. Ryland bent over and kissed me on the lips while caressing my breast with his left hand. Unable to resist, I lost total control and filled Phanes’ mouth with my warm, white cream.
When normal breathing resumed, I discovered the pair had removed the remainder of my clothing and their tunics. Lying in the bed on either side of me they snuggled against me slumbering peacefully. Responding to my stirring, Phanes draped an arm over my torso and whispered in my ear: “Sshh, lie still. Let us bring you to even greater heights of pleasure.” The warmth and firmness of his shaft pressing against my hip precluded any protestation I might have wanted to make. Instead, I sighed and leaned closer to the well-developed young man.
Ryland felt our movements on the bed and rose up on his elbow. Reaching out he grasped my already hard member. “I want you to take me with this,” he muttered and turned away from me. Phanes assisted me in turning toward Ryland’s back then he moved his groin against my buttocks. I felt his hardness slip between my thighs as his lover’s ass cheeks trapped my pole between the curved mounds.
I knew our position was a prelude to what would soon follow; a mimicry of what we were about to do. Nevertheless, I savored the tenderness. Wrapping my arms around Ryland, I massaged his bare chest with my palms, relishing the comfort of Phanes’ arms pulling us all closer.
“I cannot!” I leapt out of the bed and gathered my tunic around me. “You are most kind and I appreciate your efforts; but this is not right. You love each other and will risk that to provide me temporal relief when I most need sincere intimacy.”
“Your contentment is our sole concern.” Phanes sat up on the mattress, a look of fear on his visage. “Please do not hate us.”
“I have no hate for you, only appreciation and fondness. Yet I must request you leave me alone for now.” They exited my chamber, leaving me to ponder my situation: I have rejected both Emil and Sigimer when my body wanted either. Emil is related and it would be proscribed for me to submit to my carnal impulses. The prince, however, inflames my spirit yet I refuse because of my position. How do I end this quandary? My only option is to maintain my distance from both, return to Eugenei, and busy myself with my new position. Hopefully, Emil will establish himself in Clunia supervising preparations for the nuptials.