A Gay Holiday E-Book

G.R. Richards

• Herausgeber: Between the Two
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Grab this great new anthology of six gay Christmas and New Year's romance shorts by G.R. Richards!

Folksy storyteller  Patrick O'Hara is facing another Christmas alone until his favourite cam guy shows up at his lonely hotel room.

Brett's got the world's noisiest neighbors. When he escapes to the stairwell in search of silence, the last thing he expects to find is... Santa?

When  Devon invites his fellow student Shiv to spend Christmas at his family's farm, will they realize there's more to a relationship than sex?

Randy's mom has been so supportive of his transition from female to male he decides to sell some vintage toys to buy her a great gift.   What happens when antiques dealer Max discovers his best-kept secret?

Max is too emotionally attached to a lot of his "junk" to sell it, and  Randy's starting to think material possessions mean more than he does. Can Max convince him otherwise in time for Christmas?

When  Turner shows up on his former teacher's doorstep on New Year's Eve, will Mr. Fairfield be waiting for him… or does Neville have a New Year's date of his own?

Over 40,000 words of heartfelt holiday happiness!

Leseprobe

Gay Holiday Box Set © 2014 by G.R. Richards

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

Cover design © 2014 G.R. Richards

Ivy League, Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys and Junk were originally published by Dreamspinner Press

Absolute Virgin, By Any Other Name and On Top of the World were originally published by Torquere Press.

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.

Table of Contents

Disclaimer

By Any Other Name

On Top of the World

Ivy League

Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys

Junk

Absolute Virgin

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By Any Other Name

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PATRICK NODDED TO GOOD old Trish at the front desk, but he paused when Trish didn't nod back.

She didn't nod because she wasn't Trish. She wasn't even a she, but rather a blond boy dressed in the red shirt and vest hotel staff wore at the holidays. Patrick offered a faint smile before rushing to the elevator.

"Seventh floor, please."

When he was young, almost every elevator had an elevator man. Now this was the only one he knew of. That thought made him feel old. Still, he admired the polished brass buttons on the elderly gentleman's uniform. Age was relative. You’re only as old as you feel.

Patrick ought to write a story about an elevator man. When he got to his room, he'd have to jot the idea down.  He’d probably write the whole damn thing before revving up the laptop. Patrick still couldn't stand the idea of writing a story directly on the computer.

Taking a deep breath, Patrick gazed at the thick gold paint smeared over the ornate fixtures in the elevator.  He’d spent seven Christmases in the same ritzy hotel. His publisher was only willing to shell out for a fancy room once a year—at Christmas. After so many holidays in the same place, it felt like home. Though, without reliable Trish at reception, he wouldn't get his annual Christmas Eve knock at the door with a complimentary gingerbread man and mint hot chocolate. Complimentary, in exchange for his autograph on the new book.

Trish was a fan. All straight middle-aged women seemed to be fans, not that he was complaining. It was nice that they appreciated his work. His homespun tales were about them, after all—folksy, funny, heart-warming tales of suburban family life. No trace of Patrick there at all.

Whispers behind his back—oh, that made him nervous.  Any man with his secret proclivities would be anxious, knowing people were talking about him.  It particularly put Patrick on edge because he hadn’t realized there was anyone else in the elevator, aside from the older gentleman.

A blue-haired woman in her black-sequined best sidled up beside him. "Sorry to disturb you, but I think you must be Patrick O'Hara."

Patrick fixed a false smile to his lips. "Either you're right about that, or I've been cashing another man's royalty cheques for the past twenty years."

The woman chuckled and pulled her middle-aged companion forward. "My daughter and I attend your Christmas show every year. It's a mother-daughter tradition. We just love your stories, don't we, Sheila?"

"Yes, mother." The cigarette-stained woman in a hideously bulky suit offered half a smile.

A wave of relief rushed through Patrick as the elevator stopped at his floor. "That's wonderful to hear," he said, slipping past the old elevator man and into a well-lit hallway. He waved to the women. "Nice meeting you both."

Pulling his room key from his pocket, he slipped the thin computer card through the reader. Red light. He rolled his eyes. "Which way does this damn thing go?" Turning the magnetic strip to the front, he shoved it through the reader again. Red light. He looked up and down the hallway, thanking the heavens nobody was around to watch him struggle with the locking mechanism. What was so wrong with keys? Actual metal keys like humanity had been using for hundreds of years, if not thousands!

Rattling the handle didn't do a speck of good, so he pulled the key through the reader every which-way. He'd all but given up when he made the last-ditch effort of slipping the card in the same way he'd put it in the first place.

Green light.

"Wouldn't you know it!" Patrick pushed the handle down hard and threw open the door.

The room was dark, aside from the city lights glimmering through the windows. Letting the door shut behind him, Patrick walked across the carpet until his nose met the cold glass. He set his palms against the window and stared at the Christmas lights strung on streetlamps below.

No snow on the ground. Too bad. It was never really Christmas without snow. Of course, for Patrick, it was never really Christmas at all. How could it be? He spent every holiday season touring his Christmas show across the country, reading his cute little stories in city after city, town after town, to enrich the Christmases of every man, woman, and child in the audience.

Then he came home to an empty hotel room. Even today, Christmas Eve, he was alone. He had shows every day in December—except tomorrow. Christmas was his one day off and he had no one to spend it with.

Patrick flipped the light on before picking up the hotel pen. Write period piece about the last elevator man. Name: Elroy? Stuck in elevator with passengers. War stories? That was the most Patrick cared to outline at the moment. Most of his stories evolved organically, anyway. He didn't like to plan things out too much.

Cracking open the Merlot his manager had sent up, Patrick poured himself a glass and settled into the stiff chair near the coffee table. He flipped his laptop open and waited for the wifi signal to light up. Before even checking emails, he opened a private browser and typed in GayCamGuyz.com. Yes, it would be easier to bookmark the damn site, but he couldn't take the chance of somebody else using his computer and finding it full of gay porn. Patrick knew how to be discreet, even in this technological age.

Every night, after every show, in whatever city or town Patrick happened to find himself, he returned to his current crush: AsianGiantCock4U.

Was it pathetic for a grown man so established in a successful career to spend his nights prowling the internet? No, not prowling. He wasn't a predator. He was more of a watcher. At least, he'd been nothing more until he came across G. Patrick couldn't bear to call the boy by his screen name. Early on he'd started calling AsianGiantCock4U "G" for "Giant." That suited them both. And it was a fairly accurate description.

Before G, Patrick had never communicated with any of the GayCamGuyz. He signed on and watched them do their thing while he did his. Once he'd come, he was out of there and on to the next task. Masturbation was a just another chore, like brushing his teeth. Only, Patrick could always manage to brush his teeth alone in the privacy of his bathroom. Jerking off? He required a bit more help with that.

What was it about G that made such an impression? His black hair styled into a Japanese wave, his youthfully handsome face and nearly naked body? No, a lot of "Guyz" looked like G. Most of the other Asian boys on the site were skinny twinks—G had a respectably firm body, but even that wasn't the main draw. The boy's sadness? Yes. The look of loneliness in his eyes? Even more so. In a sense, looking into G's cam was like looking in a mirror, except the Patrick reflecting back was young, Asian, and... well, again, young.

Patrick had never sent a message before. He wasn't really sure how to, at that time, but somehow he succeeded in asking, "Why are you so sad?"

He'd watched "AsianGiantCock4U" read the message before leaning forward to type at the keyboard lying on his bed. Patrick found the racecar bedspread amusing and the teeny-tiny blue jockeys arousing. A strange combination of emotions flooded his veins as he watched G type his message. Was the boy going to tell him to "Fuck off, old man" or ask, "Want 2 cum 2nite?" It could go either way.

But G typed that he wasn't sad at all. He was sleepy—he'd just woken up and his dick was throbbing. "Do u want 2 watch me play w myself?"

Patrick had almost said no. Almost. But how could he resist? Anyway, that was the whole reason he'd signed on: watch some random guy jerk off while he stared at the screen and played with his cock.

It really was incredible how hypnotic he found other men's masturbatory efforts, even after watching so many guys on their webcams. And there was such variation from one guy to the next. Some just played with their pricks, others fondled their balls or their boy-tits. Some stuck fingers up their asses, other shoved dildos or beads or... well, a green banana in one instance. Some guys took a while to get up, while others showcased instant rock-solid erections.

Patrick never got hard that fast anymore, but when he did stiffen up his cock was pretty impressive. He kept thinking maybe he should get a webcam of his own.

Silly idea. Until it came from G.

After that initial minimal-exchange chat and masturbation session, Patrick avoided AsianGiantCock4U for a few days. He didn't usually watch the same guy twice, but Patrick couldn't shake the memory of G licking his index finger slowly, then running it down his chest, circling it around his flat pink nipple until it rose to a firm point. That image played over and over in Patrick's mind, followed by the recollection of G squeezing his cotton-covered bulge. The boy was a tease, tracing the waistband of his jockeys, nudging them down to reveal a little more of that happy trail.

"Let me see your cock," Patrick had written. He didn't want to come off as commanding, he just really, really wanted to see it.

G had leaned forward, typing with one hand while the other traced the outline of his erection. "U wanna see my cock?"

"YES!" Patrick kneaded his limp dick through his well-worn khakis. It was coming to life. He could feel it coming.

"U sure?" G had replied.

"OH YEAH." Patrick had the caps lock on now as he tore into his trousers and pulled out his prick.

How could a familiar sight always be so exhilarating?

Patrick loved watching his dick stiffen, but he looked past it, to G, who pulled his blue jockeys down just enough to let out his cock. G is for Giant, indeed! That monster was thick as hell, and the tip glistened a perfect shade of pinkish-purple. Patrick's mouth flooded with saliva as he watched G pump that big dick. The guy let his shaved balls spill out of his underwear and rubbed the seam with his thumb. Patrick cradled his own in his left hand while he worked his cockhead with the right. It was all by rote, these motions.

But even after G had beaten his dick into submission and shot cream up his chest—even after the cyber-watcher had done essentially the same thing—Patrick didn't want to sign off right away. In fact, he didn't sign off right away. He stayed to watch G run a lazy finger the length of his shaft as he rested on his bedspread. His gaze seemed focused, like he was rehashing old memories. It was a look of fixation.

Patrick cleaned up and tucked his spent cock back inside his tightie whities. He took off the caps lock before typing, "You sure you're not sad?"

"Not sad," G typed. "I came 2 hard 2 b sad."

"Me 2."

Patrick had felt more gratified than usual when he turned off his computer that night. It wasn't long before he returned to AsianGiantCock4U. Who could resist a puzzle? Especially one with such a forlorn look in his eyes?

When he returned to G, Patrick became less a watcher than a participant. He asked the guy questions:

"How are you?"

Okay.

"Good day today?"

Sure.

"What did you have for dinner?"

Sausage.

They were the most generic questions he could muster, but Patrick wanted to know these things. And the more he went back to G, the more he wanted to know.

"Are you a student?"

Yes.

"Do you have a part-time job?"

Yes.

"Where do you work?"

Hesitation...

The kid must have thought Patrick was a stalker. He wasn't at all.

"No need to respond if you're uncomfortable," Patrick assured the boy.

G looked into his webcam and smiled—a coy smile, like a geisha's.

"Coffee shop," he typed. "Early morning shifts b4 class. That's Y I'm so tired usually."

Now, of course, Patrick felt guilty for keeping the boy up... but not guilty enough to sign off. Anyway, G left his webcam on all night so men could watch him sleep. Some guys put their laptops beside themselves in bed and slept next to G every night. Patrick would never have come up with that idea on his own, but once the seed was planted...

Did G become his addiction? Patrick had to wonder. The beautiful boy fulfilled some deep-rooted need in him, not only for sexual gratification but also for companionship. G was the person he came home to every night, and every night G was there for him.

They began chatting more and more, spending time with their hands on their keyboards instead of on their dicks.  The more they typed, the more receptive G seemed to conversation about "real life."

Patrick, on the other hand... well, he discussed day-to-day thrills and aggravations with G, but never admitted that Saint_PattyO was actually the famous storyteller Patrick O'Hara. Not that a kid like G would know who he was. Patrick's key fan base wasn't exactly "Asian gay men aged eighteen to twenty four."

So Patrick talked about travelling "on business" without revealing he was actually on tour throughout December. Even so, after months of correspondences, he felt there were no secrets between them.

Now, in his lonely hotel room on Christmas Eve, Patrick found G's feed on the GayCamGuyz site and clicked on his image. G was listed as "online" but his webcam broadcasted an empty bed. Patrick's heart sank into his shoes. He clicked back to make sure he'd pulled up the right feed, but of course he had—that was G's bed, after all. G's bed, but no G. Well, he'd probably be back in two shakes. Probably just got up for a snack.

Mind, it was Christmas Eve. And it was nearly midnight. G had mentioned many times he came from a religious family, and, aside from his youngest sister, no one knew he was gay. Where would a religious family be at midnight, as Christmas Eve broke through to Christmas Day? Why, they'd be at church, wouldn't they? Of course they would. That surely explained G's absence.

How long did midnight mass last? Boy, it had been ages since Patrick had been to church. When he was a child, services seemed to go on for hours.

Taking his wine glass with him, Patrick left the laptop open and shuffled into his luxury bedroom with its mountain of golden throw pillows and burgundy bedcover. Most tour nights, he parked his butt in tiny motel rooms. This suite made him feel like royalty.

Placing his wine glass on the tall chest, he opened a drawer and pulled out his Christmas pyjamas. They were flannel, red, with a cartoon reindeer pattern. He felt like a child in them, but that was the way one was meant to feel at Christmas.

G would get a kick out of this get-up. He loved comic books and cartoons as much as Patrick did—maybe more! That was the whole reason Patrick had learned how to use the webcam he hadn't even realized was installed on his laptop: so G could see his face, see his clothes and his surroundings... and, of course, see his dick as they jerked off together. But, in all honesty, the exhibitionist aspect was low down on the list. Really, he’d wanted G to see him. Saint_PattyO. Patrick O'Hara.

Just as Patrick reached for his wine glass, there was a knock at the door. Trish! She hadn't forgotten about him! She’d come with his mint hot chocolate and his gingerbread cookie and a book for him to autograph! He did so enjoy their tradition.

Patrick raced to the door in his reindeer pyjamas, and swung it open. "I thought you'd forgotten about me!"

"How could I? You're always on my mind."

It wasn't Trish.

Patrick stood just inside the threshold, keeping the hotel door wide open. The bright hallway illuminated his guest from behind, giving him the look of an angel. A dark-haired, short but fit Asian angel.

This had to be a dream.

G smiled without showing his teeth. It was more of a smirk, really. "I came all this way and you're not going to invite me in?"

Patrick shook his head, then nodded. He didn't believe this was happening. It was all fantasy. There must have been something in that wine.

"G? Is it really you? How did you..." Patrick stammered and stared and tripped over his words. "How did you find me?"

Standing in a neat pair of grey trousers, a white polo shirt, and a fashionably ratty denim jacket, G stared at the door Patrick still held wide open. "You told me you'd be staying here tonight, remember?"

Had he? Yes, of course. He was excited about his Christmas tradition. Patrick had talked extensively about the holidays, and how he got through them after losing his parents, after his brother moved to Ireland and his sister to Africa. This hotel was his one Christmas constant—aside from his annual reading tour, but he hadn't shared that tidbit with G.

"But my room," Patrick went on. His whole body was a block of disbelief. "How did you know which room I was in?"

G removed his jacket and hung it on the handle of his wheely suitcase. His white golf shirt had an indecipherable insignia on the left pocket, which gave Patrick a sinking feeling.

"I asked at reception," G said. "The guy told me where to find you."

Patrick closed the door and latched it, metal on metal. "But you... how did you... I never told you my name."

With a chuckle, G crossed his strong arms over his chest. "Why would you have to tell me your name?  That's like chatting with... I don't know... Elvis, and not knowing who he was."

Numerous articles, ads, and reviews had been written about Patrick, but he'd never been compared to Elvis. "How long have you known?"

G cocked his head. "I grew up listening to your radio show. When I was in eighth grade, we took a class trip to see your Christmas show in Cranbrook. I wouldn't have guessed it was you, not in a million years, until you booted up your webcam." He smiled big, showing his fine teeth. "I still can't believe it's you. You're Patrick O'Hara and you're standing right in front of me. It's... wild."

Eighth grade? God, the age difference... it hadn’t seemed to matter until the guy arrived in person at his hotel room. And that's when it hit Patrick. He knew why that white golf shirt, why the insignia on it, made him feel so uncomfortable.

"You lied to me." Patrick’s knees felt weak and he stumbled until his back met the wall. "You lied about your age. You did, didn't you? You're no more twenty-one than I am."

The smirk crept back to G's pink lips. "Yeah..."