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Encounters of Passion by Aaron Blackwood

Greetings book lovers! Today, Aaron Blackwood is back with another book! (Check out his other book, Phat Boi, by clicking here!)

Don’t miss Encounters of Passion!


Blurb:

This bundle of 4 urban erotica short stories tells of the hookups of gay black men out cruising; looking for sex, romance and passion in all the wrong places sometimes with disastrous results.

T-mac

A young brother meets a handsome chiseled thug at a local bathhouse. The attraction between them is immediate and intense, but they are not able to hookup just yet. Hot, horny, and bursting with desire, they desperately search for a way to make it happen.

Taken

At a summer music festival a 40-something year old man meets 29 year old Kavon, who is young, dark and hung. The man invites Kavon back to his home, but as the night winds down he notices some unsettling habits from his new friend. Before the night is over the man gets more than he bargained for.

The Trip Across Town

A community college school student travels fifty miles across town in the middle of the night to meet an established lawyer with a weakness for younger men. They have nothing in common but the obvious. Mark, the lawyer is sensitive yet full of contradictions. He thinks he has the young student under his control, but finds out otherwise.

Just Another Liar

Late at night, in a deserted movie theater parking lot, a young guy named Rod is approached by Sam; a hot and horny thirty-something cruising the lot looking for a good time. Through cautious conversation Sam determines that Rod is not a cop, but makes the foolish mistake of going to Rod’s house.

Buy Your Copy:

Amazon | Draft2Digital | Author Website

Passion2

Excerpt:

T-mac, was a brother I met at the bathhouse, Flexx, Labor Day weekend of 2003 in Atlanta. That night I was hanging out by myself, once again, due to poor planning on my part. I was alone, but not of my own choosing. All of my few friends were occupied that night. So, I ended up here.

The place was crowded with men from out of town. I did my rounds of the dimly lit rooms; going downstairs to tour the sauna, and steam room –lingering for a moment to check out the naked bodies in the showers. After multiple trips around the club, I became bored and tired and wished I had not come. There was little that appealed to me, and the white boys outnumbered the brothers and as usual ignored us. I knew it would take a lot to convince me to stay at this point.

I headed for the coffee machine. Ahead of me stood a tightly muscled brother with a black du-rag on his head. I liked how he looked from the back, now I wanted to see the front. I reached around him to get a cup, intentionally brushing his arm. He quickly turned around to see who had touched him. I looked into eyes that belonged in the bedroom. They were brown and reeked of raw street sexuality. Instantly I knew he was the one.

“Sorry man.” I said.

“It’s all good man.” He said in a southern drawl.

I quickly checked out my prize; all five feet seven inches of swarthy loveliness. His thick eyebrows embedded on a face that was darker than the rest of him. He had the kind of body I loved; Slim, dark, extremely cut with a tiny waist of about 28 inches, a six-pac and no visible body fat. He had the shape of a long distance runner. He was masculine, compared to many of the men in here tonight –most of whom were overweight, feminine, and loudly social. He turned around stirring his coffee while he checked me out. I returned his leer of interest.

“What’s your name man?” I asked.

“T-mac.” He responded simply.

“Does that mean anything?”

“It does but that’s a long story. My mama calls me Chris.”

“I like T-mac.”

“I like the way you say that dawg.”

“Oh! And what way is that?”

“Like we in the middle of sex.”

I wasn’t ready for that comment. But it let me know he was feeling me, and I knew it would only be a matter of time before we did something about it. Standing by the microwave we exchanged small talk, most of which was complementary, yet at the same time we tried to figure each other out. I know that he kept my attention, because he turned me on and I liked the way he kept licking his lips making my dick swell.

I commented on his lip action, which made him self-conscious, as he struggled to control it for a moment, but occasionally glancing south of my chest to see if he had succeeded. We stood there for a long time talking and flirting, competing to see who held the others gaze the longest, apparently the severity of mine was so intense he looked away for a moment as if embarrassed.

A very muscular brother with thick thighs and a handsome face walked up and stood behind him eyeing me suspiciously. T-mac turned and introduced his younger brother Michael, who was adorable. He was Polite and friendly in that southern kind of way. A little coy maybe, or so it seemed. They looked nothing alike, they were complete opposites, maybe they were half brothers?

Michael reminded his brother that their time in the club was almost up. T-mac, still focused on me, gave him the keys to their locker and told him to take money out of his wallet and pay for another six hours. Michael took the keys without protest and headed for the front desk.

Alone again, I looked down at his petite frame, aware that I was not his only admirer. Many other brothers –mostly sissies – would pass and linger with lustful looks in their eyes. One in particular would not go away. A sharp look from me dismissed him. He retreated sucking his teeth, rolling his eyes in a dramatic fashion and throwing an extra switch – for effect, his plumb behind disappearing behind a row of lockers.

My impatience was getting the better of me. All this flirting made me mad horny. I wanted to fuck! Earlier, in my rounds, I noticed an empty room that was under construction. It had been purposely left open with three chairs in it. It was a room that you did not have to pay for, providing some privacy for the locker renters. I suggested to him that we go there.

Buy Your Copy:

Amazon | Draft2Digital | Author Website


About Aaron Blackwood:

Paris face pix2I am a passionate writer of gay short stories that touch on real social issues and inner conflict that confront gay black man. While sex is an important part of the content, its use to titillate is not abused but based on character choices and the consequences of that.

My aim is to engage the reader; entertain, arouse, move and think. I hope that my stories stimulate and leave an aftertaste for more.

My stories touch on a variety of topics that include: love, dating, sex, health, homophobia, aging, depression, religion, politics and much more.

I live in Atlanta GA and have lived in London, New York and the Caribbean. When I’m not writing or working (still have a day job…yawn), I work out, and haunt coffee shops till they throw me out. I am a night owl and write best at night when it’s quiet and the spirits are out (I’m kidding). I love to laugh and appreciate anything that’s creative.

AUTHOR LINKS
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Phat Boi by Aaron Blackwood

Hi book lovers!

Today we’ve got Aaron Blackwood here with his newest novel, Phat Boi! Check it out!


Phat Boi

Cedric is a gay, overweight black man with self-esteem issues, which he hides behind his sense of humor. He has a smart mouth but is vulnerable when it comes to love. At a spiritual retreat, he meets Walter, who is attractive, masculine, intelligent and entirely out of his league. Cedric is immediately infatuated. To his surprise, Walter responds favorably. As their friendship develops, so do Cedric’s feelings for Walter. When unsettling secrets about Walter emerge, Cedric chooses to overlook them. A devastating event takes Cedric by surprise and forces him to confront the truth about Walter—his life will never be the same again.

Buy Your Copy:

Amazon | Draft2Digital | Author Website

phat-boi---final-book-cover-web

Excerpt

I’d met Walter at one of those spiritual retreats meant to rejuvenate your spirit and put you more in touch with yourself. Ant had suggested I go to replace a friend of his,who’d fallen sick; Ant said I needed it more than him. Maybe it would help with my self-esteem. I refused at first, of course. I didn’t need any damn course. I already knew my self-esteem was in the toilet, and didn’t need a therapist or yogi to tell me that. And for me to go by myself, without my sistah—no way. But when Ant showed me the brochure, and I saw it was a wonderful hideaway in the mountains with manicured lawns, a huge pool–which I wouldn’t be caught dead in–with lovely chalets and an all-you-can-eat buffet, I was sold.

Two weeks later, when the Metro-North train finally arrived at a deserted country station called Rhinebeck, I was glad to get off. Stiff and hungry, I was bored of seeing green fields and grazing cows, with not a Checkers or Chick-fil-A in sight. The old, hard-cushioned train seat had made my butt sore. Shoving my way down the narrow corridor of the train, I picked up my two-piece Louis Viton luggage,which I’d bought ‘bootleg’ from an African guy off Canal Street. When I stepped off the train,there was a woman in a blue dress holding up a homemade sign that said, ‘Shady Pines Retreat’. She looked like Mary Ellen from the old TV show The Waltons,but older. That blue dress is not your color, gurl; not with that pale skin. I and other passengers who got off the train approached her. The woman in the blue dress announced herself as Mary Lou, which was no goddamn surprise to me. She looked like a Mary Lou something. There were about ten of us listening to her frenzied gibberish about what a good time we’d have this weekend,and we’d come to the right place and all that. All I kept thinking was,gurl, take me to that buffet; I’m famished.

I looked around at the crew with whom I was to spend the weekend. They were mostly women. I ignored them at first to see if there was any prospective eye candy to hold my interest while doing yoga or something. Unfortunately, the pickings were poor. Two middle-aged men who seemed like uptight business types. A young hippie-looking fella with the darkest tan,long hair,and a guitar on his back. A big boy like myself, who was white, gay, and eyed me with suspicion and contempt. I guessed I’d just be buddies with the women for the weekend. Some certainly looked more fun than the men. Like Candy—named appropriately—who had big breasts, blonde hair, and a big booty, for a white woman. She was checking out our hippie friend, then smiled and winked at me when I caught her.I knew she would be my drinking partner and a good girlfriend for the rest of this trip. We clambered into the two mini-vans there to pick us up. The drivers were as cheery and effervescent as Mary Lou. Lord! I thought, I’m gonna need a drink. You’d think I was in Tennessee or Alabama, not Duchess County, New York.

I sat in the first bus, pressed up against an uptight businessman named Burt. He started to sweat. I eased off him a little, thinking I was the cause of his rapid perspiration. He was stuck next to a big black gay man, and it was probably making him crazy. I planned to do other things to wreck his homophobic nerves on this trip. Mary Lou sat in the front passenger seat next to the driver and continued to gush with pleasure, repeating what a good time we were in for. She laid out our immediate itinerary, which did not include eating. I was dying for a sandwich. Cramped and frustrated, we rode through the entrance gates of the retreat, past a big sign which read, Welcome to Shady Pines.

The van curved around a long driveway lined with tall, majestic pine trees, and stopped at the main building. Shady Pines did look as beautiful as the brochures. I stumbled out and followed my pack of fellow travelers to the banquet hall, where others were already waiting, which surprised me, because I thought the motley crew I’d arrived with was all I had to deal with for the weekend. But no, there was a diverse assortment of people waiting, some younger and more vibrant, around my age—in their early thirties. People were chatting and getting to know each other. Mary Lou told our group to leave our luggage at the back of the hall. We could collect it after the introduction ceremony and then assigned to our rooms. We were given bright yellow name tags with bold black lettering. I noticed the people already there had plastic cups in their hands and little matching plates with sandwiches on them. I looked around and saw the table with treats on the west wall of the hall. Naturally, I went over and loaded up my little plate with six sandwiches, but became conscious of Burt watching me, so I put back two.

We were all told to be seated. On the dais was the director of the program at the podium,various instructors seated behind him. They all looked trim, healthy, tanned, eager, and fucking happy. I was only one of three people of color in the room,including a Hispanic couple.But I didn’t get that uncomfortable vibe you sometimes get from white people,when they  feel you’re someplace you don’t belong—except from Burt, who was both anxious and curious around me. We were introduced to all the instructors. Each one got up to tell their story and talk about their specialty. There was the yoga instructor named Sven from Sweden—of course. He was unusually tall, with all the characteristics of a typical Swede; thin, with tanned skin and blond hair. There was Natasha the Russian masseuse. Another stereotype, she was big and burly. Her arms were larger than mine, and I suspected she was a dyke. Gloria the Reiki Master looked like she’d just had a hit of Ecstasy, and Vincent, the meditation guru, looked like he’d joined her. Frankie the lifeguard was the only normal-looking one. He was just beefy. Then there was Gerald,who would conduct various interactive workshops. I didn’t know what to make of him.

The introductions dragged on a bit too long, to the point of making me sleepy. I wanted a nap. I headed over to the table and got myself a cup of coffee.

“You’re bored already, too, I see.”

After putting my fifth lump of sugar in my coffee, I turned around to see a tall man. I hadn’t noticed him before. How could I have missed him? I’d already scoped out all the men. This delightful creature was about six-foot-two; not athletically built, but thick and solid. His massive hands looked strong, with veins running all over the back of them. His shoe size hinted at confirmation of a certain myth. His powerful cheekbones sat under expressive eyes, like a narrow ledge on a mountain. Generous lips opened to invite a beautiful smile, with almost perfect teeth.Oh! And did I mention that he was black? Nice mocha brown skin that looked like worn suede.

“No, not really,” I lied.

“I saw you yawning.”

“Oh. You caught that, huh?”

Then we both started to laugh. His laughter was high spirited and loud.

“Yes…Cedric.”He squinted to see the name tag I had been given stuck on my shirt.

“And you are Walter. Please to meet you.”

I wasn’t sure if this man was hitting on me, because he appeared straight, but I was loving the attention.

“Have you been to one of these before?” I asked.

“Yes, but not here. Shady Pines is my first time.I come to retreats to regroup and get away from the city and certain people.” I wondered who those certain people were…family, girlfriend, boyfriend…wife?

“This is your first time, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Is it that obvious?”

“Yes,” he responded quickly. “I can always tell the rookies.”

“How?”

“There’s always resistance to this sort of thing in their body language. Why are you here?” The question was bold,and took me by surprise.

“My best friend suggested it,” I blurted out.

“And where is he?”

“Home.”

“So you came alone.”

“Yes.”

“Well, Cedric, we’ll see what we can do to make you more comfortable for the next couple of days.”

At that moment, he was called away to handle sleeping arrangements. Mary Lou was beckoning me to do the same. I walked over to her and listened while she cautioned me on the rules of the sleeping arrangements. I would have a roommate; a wake-up call was given at six for those who wished to jog or do yoga, which would be at six-thirty, until breakfast at eight. As she went on and on, I only half-listened, turning to look for Walter, but he had already gone. Retrieving my luggage, I was pointed to my chalet and headed there with a light swing to my step. I had met a man. I grinned all the way to my chalet.

 

Buy Your Copy:

Amazon | Draft2Digital | Author Website


About the Author

Paris face pix2I am a passionate writer of gay short stories that touch on real social issues and inner conflict that confront gay black man. While sex is an important part of the content, its use to titillate is not abused but based on character choices and the consequences of that.
My aim is to engage the reader; entertain, arouse, move and think. I hope that my stories stimulate and leave an aftertaste for more.

My stories touch on a variety of topics that include: love, dating, sex, health, homophobia, aging, depression, religion, politics and much more.

I live in Atlanta GA and have lived in London, New York and the Caribbean. When I’m not writing or working (still have a day job…yawn), I work out, and haunt coffee shops till they throw me out. I am a night owl and write best at night when it’s quiet and the spirits are out (I’m kidding). I love to laugh and appreciate anything that’s creative.

AUTHOR LINKS

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