As Xcite continue to put cool, contemporary new jackets on some of their old books, so I get the opportunity to revisit some of the favourite stories I’ve written. The classic old motor on the left accompanies the m/m tale Stranded In Paradise, one of those novellas where the title came first and the story followed. I was determined that ‘paradise’ wasn’t going to refer to somewhere tropical, because that would have been just too obvious. (if you’re looking for island paradises, I direct you to Stud To Go or The Taming of Jessica). No, this Paradise is a small town in Nebraska, and one whose best days are definitely long behind it. It’s the town Alfie Crane stumbles into after he’s been thrown out of a car in the middle of nowhere. Luckily, the owner of the local diner, Ray Rendell, is on hand to offer Alfie a job, a place to stay and, in this extract, the chance to kick back and watch a cheesy movie on a Friday night:
While Alfie pulled off his boots and made himself comfortable on the couch, Ray disappeared into the small kitchenette. The sound of cupboards opening and closing was followed by a series of sharp popping noises, as Ray heated up the corn kernels. A couple of minutes later, he came into the living room carrying a tray with two bottles of light beer and a bowl of butter-smothered popcorn. Setting the tray down on the coffee table, he took up a spot on the other end of the couch to Alfie.
‘OK, let’s see what we have.’ Turning on the TV, Ray flicked through the channels till he found the opening credits of a Fifties monster movie. ‘Perfect.‟
The film featured an army of giant crabs laying waste to a small town that looked pretty much how Paradise must have done before people started moving away in search of better prospects. The acting was hammy and the special effects laughable, and when Ray started pointing out the holes in the plot and mocking the terrible dialogue, Alfie couldn’t help joining in. He couldn’t remember when he’d last had such a good time.
During a break for commercials, Ray got up to fetch more beer. Alfie couldn’t be sure, but when Ray settled himself back on the couch, he seemed to be sitting a little closer than he had before. As Ray moved to reach for the remote control, seeking to turn up the volume on the TV, their legs pressed together. Alfie seemed to feel the heat of Ray’s thigh burning him even through his jeans, and he fought against the desire to prolong that brief moment of contact.
Eyes glued to the screen, where a bikini-clad woman was about to be devoured by the cheapest model crustacean in motion picture history, Alfie reached for more popcorn. Dipping his fingers into the bowl, they grazed against Ray’s. This time, the contact – and the electricity that surged through Alfie in its wake – couldn’t be ignored. Ray’s thumb brushed over Alfie’s palm in a subtle but unmistakeable caress. Languid warmth flooded his body, rushing to his groin. He was hard in moments, his cock trapped almost painfully in the tight confines of his jeans.
Now the film was forgotten, the bathing beauty abandoned to her fate, as the two men withdrew their hands from the popcorn bowl. Ray raised Alfie’s fingers to his lips, licking the butter off each one in turn. Alfie moaned, wishing it was his dick engulfed in the wet furnace of Ray’s mouth.