Published Work > Sex, Lies, and Celluloid

Sex, Lies, and Celluloid available at Torquere Press.

Sex, Lies, and Celluloid is the sixth novel co-authored by me and the talented Chris Owen. It's very exciting to have such a broad repertoire with a co-writer.

It's about Daniel Brint, a politician, who has been working a lot of odd hours and spending money erratically, and Shane Mullen, a private ~~dick~~ investigator, who is hired by Daniel's wife to tail him. Shane spends a good deal of time on the case, watching Daniel and taking ~~revealing~~ enlightening photographs as he learns precisely what Daniel is up to. Shane isn't usually one to draw out an investigation, he has bills to pay not to mention a salary for Celia, his sassy assistant, but he finds that the more he learns about Daniel, the more he is undeniably drawn to the man.

Excerpt

I've always loved my job, but some days were better than others.

I could just see them through the half-open curtains that framed the window of the dimly lit front room, nearly naked and crashing together like teenagers in heat.

Swallowing, I adjusted the focus of my binoculars, hoping for a closer view. I'd been following Daniel, and the shorter man with him, since they met up at the Starbucks down the street half an hour ago. I'd watched them walk together, their steps brisk and purposeful; their bodies close enough to touch, but not quite doing it. Their conversation was minimal from what I could tell, but then what was there to talk about, really, aside from determining who had the latex and negotiating which one of them would be on top?

"Nuts," I swore out loud, but just above a whisper, as if there were any way they could hear me. I was disappointed as Daniel fell back on the couch and that full, straining cock was hidden behind over-stuffed upholstery. I wanted to see it again. Needed to.

I could see the other man clearly, though, and a jealousy I shouldn't have felt welled up into my throat as he sank to his knees between Daniel's thighs. He leaned forward, his bare hip and ass lit just well enough to keep my interest as the guy's head, covered in thick blonde curls, began bobbing up and down in Daniel's lap. The guy, whom I knew to be named Michael, gripped his own wood with one hand and stroked it lazily as he swallowed Daniel down his throat. The look on Daniel's face -- oh, God, that look -- piqued more than just my interest and I quickly dropped the binoculars into my lap, trading them for my camera. With the push of a button, I recorded Daniel's face and Michael's perfectly round ass in all of their full-color, high resolution, incriminating glory, though I had no intention of turning these pictures over to anyone.

I started to switch back to my binoculars again but something stopped me. A twinge of conscience? A nagging sense of moral indignation? I was too far gone for that, now. I made a half-hearted reach for my keys, which were dangling from the ignition, but the little devil on my shoulder was saying, "Come on, Shane, you want him, and they don't even know you're here." I found that devil to be very persuasive and I pulled my hand back again.

I picked up my binoculars just in time to catch Daniel's orgasm, and I watched intently as his eyes squinted closed, his mouth fell open wide and his hips bucked up off the couch. God, he was beautiful.

Purchase Sex, Lies, and Celluloid HERE

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