The Big Gay Love Story: Ring My Bells by Ryan Field
I have a new release out today titled, Ring My Bells. The Big Gay Love Story part is something I may continue with all future stories as a subtitle. And this is a story. It’s not a full length novel. I’m hoping all the product descriptions are clear on retail web sites where e-books are sold so no one gets confused. It’s also priced at .99, which I’m trying to continue for as long as I can.
Here the link for allromanceebooks.com. And I’ll post more links as I get them.
Here’s the blurb:
When the phone goes dead and a handsome young gay man with serious needs can’t figure out how to fix it, he calls a repairman to get the job done. But the young man soon discovers the broken phone isn’t the only thing the big strong repairman is eager to work on, and he’s glad he answered the door without his shirt. It may not be true love at first sight, or the kind of story that will make a person weep with those unyielding, proverbial floods of emotion. But it is the kind of sexy, cheeky, happily-ever-after gay ending that might make a few people smile on a cold winter’s night.
I think I made it clear in the blurb this isn’t a romance in the traditional m/m sense. But I also want to make it clear there is a happy ending and it’s one of my lighter stories that run more along the lines of traditional gay erotic fiction, with respect to gay culture. In other words, it’s a sexy little story about real gay guys.
Here’s an excerpt, and please remember this part of the post is fiction (smile):
About a year ago the telephone wasn’t working. I keep a landline because cell phones still don’t get great signals around here. There was no dial tone at all that morning; just a soft beep sound when I pressed the talk button, and the small screen lighting up pale green for a couple of seconds.
There had been severe thunderstorms the night before, but the electricity hadn’t gone out and there didn’t seem to be any lines down on the property. Maybe it just had to be re-set, I thought. Unplug the cord and plug it back in a half hour later. I remembered that had happened once before, after I’d left the phone off the hook for a while.
After leaving it unplugged for a half hour, it still wasn’t working when I re-set it. So with the telephone in my hand, I went down to the basement to see if everything was connected correctly. Attached to wooden beams, I found red, blue, white and black wires all screwed tightly to where they should be screwed. Everything seemed fine. And then I noticed a phone line going to the burglar alarm system, with phone jack at the base of a one square foot, locked metal box. I hesitantly unplugged the phone cord from the alarm box (I hate to touch things I don’t understand), pushed the talk button on the phone and I immediately had a dial tone. The problem, evidently, was with the alarm system; not the telephone.
It only took one phone call to the alarm company for them to tell me they knew the problem well and they’d send someone out to fix it that day. A surge protector, so they said, had burned out during the severe thunderstorms. Not a big deal was how they’d put it, and as long as I didn’t plug the phone back into the alarm it would work perfectly normal. The same thing had happened to several other homes in my area, so they’d said.
This all happened very early in the morning, before I’d had time for my ritual workout routine. Though I work at home for the most part, I’m usually up at five thirty or six every day so I can cram an hour workout into the day with weights and cardio. I’m usually dressed, showered and shaved by eight and seated in front of the computer no later than eight-thirty. I’d assumed the alarm guy wouldn’t show up until sometime that afternoon; they usually make you wait all day. So I ran a half hour on the treadmill and then did another half hour with free weights. This routine was strenuous, and often dull, but the workouts kept my waist at size thirty, my chest popping at forty-two inches, and my ass hard and firm. The small of my back, which is deeply curved (more so when I arch my back on purpose), is what guys always said they liked most about my body. At twenty-five years old, I like to think that what I do now as exercise will benefit me in the future when things begin change with age.
That’s also the ironic part about me: I don’t have issues with age. I’m usually more attracted to men with silver in their hair, a few lines on their faces, and mature looks. I’ve been known to go down on my knees for men who have slight middle age paunches. I think men reach their sexiest point around age forty and it keeps getting better as they approach their late fifties. Why I once jumped in between a couple of men in their sixties just to see what it would be like for both of them to fuck me. And those two horse hung daddies fucked me so long and so hard they left bruises on the backs of my legs and I walked with a slight limp for the next twenty-four hours.
I’m not sure why, but if there is a good looking guy in his twenties or thirties in the room, and a good looking guy in his forties or fifties in the same room, I go out of my way to make eye contact with the older instead of the younger. And it’s always been that way, ever since I was three years old and I used to sit on Uncle Joe’s lap. He was a neighbor, and not related to me, so there was nothing pervy going on there. He would bounce me up and down, innocently, thinking nothing of it. And I would get a thrill deep in my body I couldn’t explain at the time. When I kissed him hello or good-bye, I made sure I rubbed my cheek against his rough beard on purpose.