FREE Gay Fiction Excerpt: BUDDY’S RAINBOW MOUNTAIN; Naked Chest Pics of Alex Pettyfer; Innocent Gay Photos That Could Have Landed Guys In Jail

Naked Chest Pics of Alex Pettyfer

This article is true clickbait. They titled it to make the reader think that Alex Pettyfer had let himself go, but it’s harmless material and I don’t think it can hurt anyone.

 Alex Pettyfer made hearts flutter and audiences succumb to the vapors with his star turn in 2012’s Magic Mike, but he apparently didn’t trade the chest press for repeated visits to a family-sized crate of Ding Dongs once filming wrapped.

Here’s the rest. And if you’re not jaded, there are photos, too. He’s a nice looking guy and I’m sure he’s very talented. You can’t blame him for doing what he has to do to get attention in Hollywood. It seems to be the way things work there.

Innocent Gay Photos That Could Have Landed Guys In Jail

I’m just finishing up a new book about two young men (excerpt below) who meet and fall in love in the 1940s. I wrote my book in the first person, which I don’t normally do, just to keep on track because things were so different back then. It was a totally different world.

 This picture was taken inside a photo booth in 1953, during a time when police used to target gay and lesbian for being “sexual deviants.” Had these two young men been caught, they likely would have been arrested and thrown in jail.

You can check this out here. 

FREE Gay Fiction Excerpt: BUDDY’S RAINBOW MOUNTAIN

Here’s an excerpt from my newest book, which will be for sale soon. It might become a series, but I’m not totally sure about that yet. I just wanted to write about something set in the 1940s, with real men who might have fallen in love with each other. And it wasn’t all that easy to do. The word gay didn’t even exist with respect to gay men. The only words to describe us were either pejoratives, or homosexual. 


On Buddy’s Mountain we didn’t feel the early stages of the Second World War until around 1940, and even then it wasn’t as intense as the rest of the world. In our blameless isolation, protected by the mountains of Western North Carolina and our own quiet code of ethics, those of us who were too young to remember the First World War listened closely to the radio for updates on the most recent German invasions, while those who were old enough to remember shuddered and looked the other way. I had no idea in the summer of 1940 I was about to lose more innocence than I ever knew I had.
1940 was also the year I graduated from high school and started working longer hours in my family’s general store. On Buddy’s Mountain, Buddy’s Mercantile was the only retail establishment at that time where locals could shop for anything from basic food staples to hammers. Women could buy fabric for curtains or homemade dresses and men could fill their tanks with gas and buy fishing gear. Children would stop in for penny candies on the way home from school. And almost everyone on the mountain stopped in to use our telephone, which hung on a wall in the back near a large round pickle barrel and a shelf filled with canned goods. We were the kind of old time family owned and operated general store that was beginning to vanish as each year passed, and my family, though limited in number as we were, wanted to hold on to it for as long as we could.
There was something coming that summer I hadn’t anticipated, something I never could have predicted in my wildest clichéd dreams. When my Aunt Matilda appeared from the main house behind the mercantile one warm afternoon in late July and said, “Joe Buddy, I can’t find the tomatoes I left on the back porch last night,” I had no way to predict the magnitude of it all.
I was on my way to the barn to work on an old car I’d recently purchased with my graduation money. I turned fast and said, “I haven’t seen them. You know I don’t eat tomatoes.” Everyone called me Joe Buddy back then and I embraced it. It was short for Joseph Buddy Barnes. Buddy…my legal middle name…was actually my mother’s maiden name. I never knew her, though. I never knew my father either. I was raised on Buddy’s Mountain by my mother’s two siblings, Aunt Matilda and Aunt Ted. They were both Buddys, too, and neither of them ever married.
I used to wonder sometimes why Aunt Matilda never married. She knew the meaning of discretion and spoke with a genteel southern accent, not a country drawl. She wasn’t a bad looking woman either, with thick red hair, a medium frame, and an eye for simple, conservative fashion trends. She could cook and keep house better than anyone I’d ever known. She’d even gone away to college and she’d had a steady boyfriend for a while, whom she spoke about often later in life.
I could, however, understand why Aunt Ted had never married. Times were different and Aunt Ted was considered “peculiar” in those days. Although she had a slim body and a soft delicate voice, she had broad shoulders, size 12 feet, long legs, and she shaved every morning. If she hadn’t decided to start wearing exaggerated, flamboyant women’s clothes when she was in her early 20s, she would have been my Uncle Ted. Aunt Ted rarely ventured off the mountain and we all understood why. In her own isolated world on Buddy’s Mountain no one questioned her or threatened her. Everyone considered her a harmless soul and treated her with a sense of respect she wouldn’t have found anywhere else at the time.
“Well if you see anything unusual, Joe Buddy, let me know,” Aunt Matilda said. “It’s the strangest thing. As I live and breathe, I know I set those tomatoes out on the back porch last night for today’s lunch. Your Aunt Ted is not going to like this. She was planning on stuffed tomatoes for lunch today and you know how she gets when things don’t go just right. And what’s even stranger is I went into the barn early this morning and found a huge pile of messed up hay as if someone had been sleeping there. I don’t know what’s been going on around here. I’m starting to think this place is haunted.”
I sent her a backhanded wave and continued toward the barn. “Okay, if I see anything I’ll let you know.” I really wasn’t too concerned about tomatoes or messed up hay that day, and Aunt Ted could eat a cheese sandwich for lunch for all I cared. I’d recently purchased a 1930 Plymouth coupe and I wanted to get it running perfectly that summer. It had been kept in a barn at a neighboring farm for years and the blue exterior paint looked almost new. The beige interior wasn’t bad either. It’s just that after years of not being driven at all the engine needed work, and I wasn’t totally sure about what I was doing.
“Can you take care of the store this afternoon?” Aunt Matilda asked. “Your Aunt Ted and I have a meeting with the church women today. We can’t miss it, and Aunt Ted made herself a brand new dress just for the occasion, white lace and a hat with long white feathers to match. I’m afraid it’s quite awful just like most of her clothes, but she likes it and that’s all that matters.”
“Sure, no problem,” I said. “Just let me know when you’re leaving. I’ll be right here working on the car.” I knew Aunt Ted was working in the store that morning. She usually worked most of the hours, without complaint. I couldn’t refuse the request. I still hadn’t decided what I wanted to do with the rest of my life and my aunts weren’t pushing me to do anything yet. They told me that as long as I continued to help out at the store and take care of things around the house I didn’t have to rush into anything. 
Of course I knew it was their way of letting me know they wanted me to take over the mercantile eventually. And I wasn’t sure I didn’t want to do that. At the time, it was all I had ever known, and in our small world on Buddy’s Mountain it gave our family a certain amount of prestige I never would have had anywhere else. I’d never been the book leaning type, and I had to use all of my appendages to count change in the store. I knew how to run the store because it’s all I’d ever known, I knew how to work on cars and machines without trying too hard, and I knew I could turn a head or two with a smile and a wink just walking down the street in town. Aunt Ted used to tell me that good looks wouldn’t get me too far in life if I didn’t study in school, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to go that far in life.

I worked on the old car for about an hour and a half and finally reached a point where it almost started to run smoothly when I tried turning over the engine a few times. I knew I was getting close to getting that knock in the engine out. It wasn’t something I could explain or describe in words, but I was something I knew in my gut. Even though it was the first time I’d ever worked on a car, I had put together bicycles, and whenever Aunt Matilda’s washing machine needed fixing she called me first.
There’s a rhyme and reason to fixing machines that always follows a pattern that’s hard to describe. It’s as if one part fits into another, and then another, and when all of those parts are moving correctly at the same time the machines work the way they’re supposed to work. As I grew older I realized that life’s a lot like that, too, but back then the only thing I knew about life was getting that car running to perfection.
So I made a face and sighed the moment I heard Aunt Ted calling from the other side of the mercantile. “Yoo-hoo, Joe Buddy, we’re leaving for the church meeting now. We need you in the store this instant, sweetie.”
I set down my wrench and wiped my grease-stained hands on an old rag and said, “I’ll be right there, Aunt Ted.” I’d lost track of time and didn’t even realize where the last hour and a half had gone. It felt as if I’d just started working. When you’re doing something you love, time can run away fast.

Before I headed out, I walked to a corner of the barn and took a good long pee. I thought I heard something rustle, but I figured it was a mouse. I smiled the whole time I peed because I knew Aunt Ted would have had a conniption fit if she’d seen my peeing in the barn. As far as I knew, even though I’d never actually asked outright, Aunt Ted had been born a man until she decided to be a woman, and the ironic twist was that she always seemed to frown upon the things men did.


Said With Care


A PG Rated Gay Romance



Not All Gay Books Have Sex
In Their Prime by Ryan Field



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