Steve Berman has assembled thirteen of his most evocative stories, all of which revolve around the central theme of the 'tryst.' But these passionate hookups and romantic encounters range from the eerie to the horrifying to the wondrous. Trysts offers readers dark and quirky tales from a distinctive new voice in gay fiction.
|Product dimensions:||6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.38(d)|
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Saj lived on the top floor of a not-too-distant building. Zane rested
his head against the elevator wall. The elevator seemed to have too many
buttons, and most of them had weird lettering instead of numbers.
The sliding doors opened on a dim hall. Zane trudged along after Saj, thankful when they stopped at an apartment door. Saj smiled at him as he turned a key in the lock. Inside, a bare bulb hung from the ceiling and flickered annoyingly. A mattress on the floor, layers of colorful blankets, and lots of pillows kept the front room from being empty. Cracks in the graying plaster decorated the bare walls.
Saj pointed across the room at a far door. "There's the bathroom. The rest I wouldn't bother with." He began pulling off clothes: first the sweater, then the shirt underneath. Bare-chested, he hesitated a moment in front of Zane, who blushed deeply and turned his head to stare out the window.
"I'm going to take a shower," he heard Saj call out. A moment later the door closed, and soon the soothing sound of the shower running filled the apartment.
Zane sank to his knees amid all the pillows with a sigh. The memory of a shirtless Saj, with his perfect, smooth, muscular chest, stayed with him, making it even easier to relax in bed. He was asleep soon after laying his head down.
Zane stirred awake when he felt the mattress sag under the other's weight. Saj’s bare skin gave off a cool and fresh aura. "Can I touch you?" he whispered in Zane's ear. Zane struggled to keep his eyes open, and lightly grunted, sleepily rolling over onto his back so his body brushed against Saj. He shivered when a cool hand slipped underneath his T-shirt and began stroking his stomach. But though part of him was stirring, by the time the wet kisses began on his neck, he was falling asleep again.
Table of Contents
|Stormed and Taken in Prague||9|
|His Paper Doll||17|
|Path of Corruption||31|
|Cries Beneath the Plaster||59|
|Tea Time with Corn Dolly||87|
|Hair Like Fire, Blood Like Silk||119|