New release: “The House of Doom, Dreams & Desire”

Cover art and design by Red Haircrow

Cover art and design by Red Haircrow

Description: “John Jones believed himself the most proper and enlightened of gay men. Professional, well read and boyishly handsome despite his age, he also believed himself open-minded, tolerant and devoid of vice.

Yet in the end he cannot resist the temptation of the latest tech gadget called, “The House”, a computer generated environment where one could explore their own subconscious in a safe environment….Safe except for the darkness you bring with you.”

Note: This was a dream I had in it’s entirety. Yes, I sometimes dream in full colour, surround sound, with all the extras. After waking I spent over two hours typing, nearly non-stop to record this dream, which was beyond anything I’d had before, in exact detail.

An erotic allegorical tale of a “John in Hellish Wonderland”….

Published 1 January 2011 at Smashwords, and soon to be at other distributors.


“‘The House of Dreams, Doom and Desire’ John read in silvery grey letters stencilled in medieval style letters on the glass door. He doubted that. He doubted the famous ability of this room’s program to sense and show an individual’s deepest sexual psyche whether they were aware of it not. He’d laughed at and gently mocked his co-workers who urged him to try this amazing place. He had declared he definitely didn’t need it. He was gay. He loved other men, found them dizzyingly attractive. He was proud of the fact he had never hid this from anyone, not parents, employers or himself.

Just the same, his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and John found himself in front of these double doors, so spotless and clear he could see himself neatly reflected: a quietly dressed man of average height and weight, neatly cut hair, neither blonde nor brown. He was clearly forgettable, yet often propositioned simply for the wholesome boyish appearance he naturally retained at the age of thirty-two.
Greatly sought after, this tour was expensive but he had the money to spare. He had been assured of his privacy by the representative handling the business side of the adventure, and following his “cruise”, all records of his coming would be expunged.

When will it begin? John was anxious to get inside, out of the waiting area, although he knew no one else would have been allowed nearby during his time slot. He looked at his watch. It was already one minute after the hour. He was a punctual, conscientious person and expected it from others.

John stepped forward, squinting, trying to see through the glass. No one moved on the other side. Only grey walls bare of adornment could be seen. Consequently, he nearly leapt a foot in the air, and backwards two or three in wide eyed shock when a dainty doll of a woman suddenly appeared on the other side pulling the doors inward with a smile.

John blinked rapidly, trying to slow his heartbeat as the girl-woman dimpled sweetly, head tilted to one side a merry mischievous light in her large eyes. She could have been a dead ringer for Betty Boop except the hair was pale lavender styled into a perfect ear length page boy.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Jones. We’re sure you’ll enjoy your stay. Please, finish this drink quickly and we will begin your tour.” She held out a single offering on a clear platter, viscous pink liquid lurking in a faceted glass.

“Go on with you now,” she urged, glittered lashes fluttering coyly. Her accent had gone from standard American to a soft Irish lilt at odds with her French maid’s outfit still so popular at Halloween parties.
John laughed suddenly at her transparent flirtation. They had it wrong already.

“Why not?” he asked no one in particular. Reaching out, he tossed the liquid back quickly. Likely it was some hallucinogen, normally not his style, but he was in a controlled environment after all. It flooded his mouth with more volume than he expected. He gulped twice feeling the warmth of it spread down his throat and belly.

“That’s the spirit!” She beamed at him, giving an approving nod. “Follow me please!”

She turned pertly, flouncing her micro mini skirt, white lace barely covering the heart shaped cheeks of her derrieré. Ultra high heels, black like the dress, clicked sharply on the white marble floor, white stockings, a single black line arrow straight up the back of her legs. John found he could not lift his eyes from her buttocks, the rhythmic motion of them uncharacteristically intriguing.

And his hearing seemed to be going, for now, when she spoke, no doubt describing the things that would take place, John could no longer understand her words, they seemed to drift in and out of his ears, lower pitched at times and distorted, then higher and painfully drawn out. He could almost see them colourfully floating back to him. Yet the tick-tick-ticking of her heels went on as regular as clockwork along with the swishing of her ass.

Whatever she had given him had taken affect with a vengeance, but he wasn’t alarmed for somehow it felt right. John smiled dreamily, trailing behind in a warm haze. They came to another set of doors. Her soft brown eyes met his as with a flourish, she opened them, ushering him into yet another unadorned room.

“Enjoy yourself, dearie.” That, he heard clearly enough, issuing between full, pouty lips. Dearie, dearie, dearie, dearie, echoed in his brain.

She slipped back through, gave him a jaunty wave, and as soon as doors met jambs, they disappeared, colours changed. He found himself in a huge hall, wood-panelled and spacious. All the glass and chrome, silver, grey and white were replaced by what seemed to be an Old English home of enormous proportion: towering suits of armour, tapestries of family heraldry, floor to ceiling portraits of horse-faced women or glowering men.

Rated mature for sexually explicit descriptions and language. Not my usual, but hey :-) it was a dream…..


Herr Zug and “Night Shift”

Like every story I’ve ever written there is a strong aspect of myself in “Night Shift”. A situation I experienced, and even more specifically, someone whom I’ve met, who became a character. In this case it was Derrik Lehmann.

It was my first time in Berlin, I was riding the S-bahn having pulled out of Zoologischer Garten bahnhof a couple of stations before. I then noticed a man looking at me. In the way of most Germans, he was not shy or surreptitious in his glance. Even seated I could tell he was tall and long-limbed. He was no more than 25 or 26, but that could be hard to tell for he had a classically handsome face which would age well: very clean, strong lines, a firm mouth, and those kind of blue eyes also common in a certain ethnicity of Germans, deep and dark. You will think them dark brown or black even, until you’re close up. (I learned that later passionately attentive). From his hairstyle, slicked back except for a few long strands loose around his cleanly shaven cheeks, I could tell it was long even before, while still watching me, he reached up, unfastened then refastened it tighter. Near to black was his hair, very straight.

By that time I couldn’t help but smile a bit, because of his intentness, and he gave a small smile also, finally looking back down at the textbook which was across his lap. Now it was my turn to look at him all I wanted. I pulled out a sketch book to make a drawing of his shoes (I still have it). They particularly caught my eye. Although his clothing was all dark: fatigue trousers of a kind you can zip the bottom pant legs off in warmer weather and a matching coat, ironically his socks were short and white showing a measure of black haired leg, and those shoes with big loopy bows.

Gleaned: A student who shopped in second hand clothing stores, was perhaps on his way to class, and despite his outfit had a whimsical twist to his personality exhibited in his footwear.

The calm automated female voice announced the next stop, and with a practiced motion he closed his book and slipped it into his rucksack and stood, glancing at me boldly again as he walked past and turned towards the soon-to-open door giving me an excellent view of his well-muscled rear end. He must have felt the gaze. He turned just before the little bell sounded, looked down at me and asked, “Ein tasse kaffee?” in a dark, melodious voice. That means in German: “a cup of coffee?”, and in the evening, it might have been “ein bier?” (a beer) or if he were particularly direct, “ein fick?” (A fuck?). Yes, Berlin can be as easy as that.

“Ja, warum nicht?” I replied, standing, though this was no where near my own stop and I’d never been in the area, yet I had nothing to do anyway and he was infinitely interesting. This man I met on the train and got to know to the full extent I desired, I titled “Herr Zug”. (Mr. Train).

I created “Night Shift” around Herr Zug, named him Derrik and settled him into a past work experience I had. A romantic interest had developed between myself and another employee, but not as nearly satisfying as the one shared by Derrik and the other main character, little Jamie Holloway.

The title was first published on November 7, 2010 by JMS Books, LLC. (Update 29 March 2012, after rights reversion, this title was re-released by Flying With Red Haircrow on 6 March 2012.)


“To escape a troubled home, Jamie works the night shift at a department store, among a rag-tag group of punks, war veterans and bickering couples, unsure what direction he wants to take in life until a mysterious new co-worker arrives. With a long ponytail, faint accent, and quiet manner, Derrick manages to disturb or fascinate everyone, not just one pint-sized Southern boy who wants to escape from his boring life.”


“Third shift trailed in by ones and twos. The rather young supervisor, Jason, and his loud-mouthed assistant, Rick, awaited the full crew before giving the nightly schedule. So far, Arnold was there, the quiet Vietnam veteran who went about his work seldom speaking to anyone; the young couple who’d met on the job and spent at least a few hours of every night unaccounted for though everyone knew they were making out in the upstairs stockroom, and Jamie who sat atop a pallet loaded with boxes of soda.

Excluding the supervisors, the full complement was usually around sixteen people if no one called in sick. Being sick usually meant “too drunk to work”. Everyone was locked in from ten p.m. to seven a.m., come what may, which occasionally included heated arguments, emotional break-ups, and hangovers. Everyone had a job to do, and in the end, each made sure the other pulled their weight so everyone could go home on time when the sun rose.

The majority of graveyard employees were college students signed on to make extra money for tuition and fees. They worked the night, caught a few hours of sleep before going to class, and when that was finished, headed back to the store. Jamie was a sub-type of that group. Although he was attending school, he came from an affluent family and thus didn’t really need the job, but liked to make his own money and stay away from the stuffy upper middle class peers with whom his parents encouraged association.

He’d disappointed them when he’d chosen to take a few basic classes at a local college instead of attending an Ivy League university out of state, but his secret dream was go to Europe. His parents had vetoed that idea immediately refusing to fund what they considered a wild idea, so Jamie had quietly decided to make it happen on his own. This job was a huge part of reaching that goal.

There was supposed to be a new guy supposed joining the team tonight Jamie remembered, looking around. Well, not exactly new, but transferred in from another store. Seems the guy’d had some problems with a co-worker whom he happened to be going through a divorce with, so said Cindy, the local gossipmonger.

Loser, Jamie automatically thought, but revised his hasty judgement a few minutes later when the “new guy” walked into the receiving area. He looked to be in his late twenties, was tall and long-limbed, clean shaven with a narrow quiet face, and black hair pulled back into a ponytail. He wore khaki cargo shorts, sneakers with low socks, and a faded band t-shirt. His eyes seemed to meet no one’s in particular before they fastened on Jamie’s a long moment before sliding away. They were grey and curiously bright beneath strongly marked eyebrows….”

My Herr Zug is in the past now, funny to think seven years gone. I remain eternally grateful for what we shared, what memories he gave me, perhaps I gave him some also. Derrik will always be with me in a similar way.

Ah, and btw, I’m currently working on a sequel to this international love story. Derrik and Jamie have more to tell everyone.

New Release “Boys Getting Ahead” now available at!

Now available for general sale at, “Boys Getting Ahead”, a gay erotica anthology from StarBooks Press, edited by Mickey Erlach. My short story, “Convenience Store Romance”, is included.


“Beautiful, directionless young Darren was a casualty waiting to happen. Rob, his strong-minded co-worker, welcomes the opportunity to show him all he knows. In the end, they discover each has many things to teach the other about life and love.”

Shipping from the UK, it’s easier and less expensive to buy your copy directly from Amazon, or from a distributer on their .com site, but it appears sellers other than Amazon are all shipped from the UK.

Boys Getting Ahead cover

Boys Getting Ahead cover

Boys Getting Ahead from Starbooks PressYes, I must say again: “THIS COVER IS SO SEXY!”

From StarBooks Press

website, where you can also order it directly:

” STARbooks Press is proud to release the latest in the series of Mickey Erlach anthologies that carries on the tradition of STARbooks Press founder, John Patrick, with Boys Getting Ahead – erotic stories of hot young men climbing the corporate ladder.

Everyone has heard of the casting couch, but did you know it stretches far beyond Hollywood? Many a stud has used his “talents” to get ahead, whether in an office, a loading dock, a store, or especially in politics. After all, to get ahead in life, you sometimes have to take it like a man – or give as good as you get! Some boys will do what it takes as often as necessary to grab the brass ring or at least wear it. There are no limits to what some of these guys will do. If the boss wants it rough, that’s cool. If the boss wants romance, that’s perfectly acceptable. And, if the boss wants to throw you to the curb and treat you like a whore, that’s the chance you take when you use your body to get ahead.

Who said achieving success was going to be easy?

Boys Getting Ahead features the erotic writings of David Holly, Derrick Della Giorgia, Jay Starre, John Stewart, Landon Dixon, Logan Zachary, Mark Apoapsis, Michael Roberts, R.W. Clinger, Red Haircrow, Rob Rosen, Stephen Osborne, and Wayne Mansfield, just to name a few.

Do you have what it takes to get ahead? Or, do you want to know what it will take to get ahead? These stories will help you achieve success the hottest way possible!

ISBN 13: 978-1-934187-66-1
275 pages”

Review for “As Meat Loves Salt” by Maria McCann

“On the morning we dragged the pond for Patience White, I bent so far down trying to see beneath the surface that my own face peered up at me, twisting and frowning.”

Courbet's The Wounded Man painting, Cover for As Meat Loves Salt

Courbet's The Wounded Man painting, Cover for As Meat Loves Salt

The intro sentence: immediately you are drawn into the world of Jacob Cullen, a darkly charismatic former servant turned soldier whose sincere cravings for love and understanding are too often marred by his jealous and suspicious nature which creates a mystery, as the reader, you discover in well-timed increments.

After seeming to escape a troubled past, he falls in love with a fellow warrior, who passionately accepts and teaches him of the love between men, yet their own obsessive behavior threatens to destory everything they hoped to build.

Although written in first person, which so many people tend to be biased against because it has been lamentably done so many times, this author does it well. So well in fact, you forget your self and literally are drawn into the emotional conundrum which is Jacob. At times you can hate his viciousness but somehow you never lose empathy for his struggle to find out who he really is, and what he really wants.

For myself, I love history, I love food and I love good descriptions and an in-depth yet not overly heavy tone. Maria strikes the perfect balance with her extensive knowledge of the customs and lifestyles of the people in that era of England. Yet not only that, but the dynamics of politics and societal class are conveyed to her readers without being boring or academic.

This novel is proof positive a woman can very well write not only a good book involving gay or bisexual male characters, but do an outstanding job of capturing and revealing some of the unique dynamics such relationships have, plus heart pounding sensual scenes which are seared into your imagination long after you’ve turned the last page. The power struggles, the twists of love and hate which reflects one’s own personal doubts and biases: this novel has everything.

The Economist reviewer was not exaggerating when they proclaimed the novel: “Absorbing and historically meticulous….A fat, juicy masterpiece. An exceptional offering especially so in that it is Maria McCann’s debut novel.”

The Independent, “An electrifying erotic thriller….Part historical yarn, part picaresque tale, part poignant fable of same-sex love and taboo-breaking. Forbidden sensuality is searingly described by candlelight. Rich in secrets and surprises, this novel has its own fierce poetry.”