- Book Title: Guy Guys
- Book Series: Standalone
- Author: RP Andrews
- Publisher: Wilde City Press (December 18, 2015)
- Book Length: 85 pages
- Genre: Contemporary, Erotic, Drama
- Posting Date: January 13, 2015
This is RP Andrews first visit with us here on GGR and I want to extend a warm hand of appreciation to a fellow Lauderdaleite. RP is talking about “Intergenerational Erotic Gay Fiction” in his Author Guest Post today as we spotlight his newest book, Buy Guys.
Ideas for a new book for me are like making old fashion percolated coffee. I let my ideas simmer for a while, sometimes months, even years. Then suddenly my ideas have percolated enough in my head and l’m ready to sit down at my laptop.
I’m not one of these formula writers who churn out a book every three months, mostly to pay the bills. God bless ’em but l like to think my books are unique and that means writing for myself first.
Besides having an image of my main characters fixed in my mind, l’ve already outlined my plot, scene by scene in a more cinegraphic approach, right to the last fade-out. Sure, things may and often do change as l get into my writing – l write my books chronologically so that l am living my story as it happens – but l must know the endpoint for my characters and their story before l commit one word to paper. Okay, to my blank laptop screen.
As a gay man in a long term relationship where sex with one another has disappeared, I’ve lived – and played – in Fort Lauderdale since 2002 and a few years ago wanted to write a book that focused on its dark side as a gay guy who had seen and experienced much of it. I had, at the time, written my memoirs as a hirsute gay man and the dozen or so iconic furry men l had known in my life, thirty years in NYC, mostly in the now gone West Village leather/levi scene, and the last decade in sunny Lauderdale and l wanted to use it somehow in a book.
That’s when l came up with the idea of bringing generations together through a gay nephew and his gay uncle who had been incognito for most of the nephew’s life, the heart and soul of what became my novel, “The Czar of Wilton Drive” published in 2014 by Kokoro Press.
In my original beginnings of a draft l had the nephew growing up on Long Island and, questioning his sexuality, coming down to Fort Lauderdale for college and to distance himself from his well-meaning but overbearing parents. That was exactly what l did when, after graduating from a commuter college in Jersey while living at home and anxious to live my life as newly “out” young gay man, l fled to Los Angeles to complete my master’s degree at the University of Southern California. In reality USC was a G- rated cover story for what became an X-rated flick – my life as a unencumbered gay man in Hollywierd.
In my original draft, uncle just happens to be one of nephew’s professors. In a highly charged scene, the two connect in torrid sex right on the table of the faculty room. The nephew soon after moves into a secluded gay resort the uncle owns where they continue their affair. Then suddenly uncle dies mysteriously, the resort is ransacked by his employees and nephew finds his memoirs on a USB drive.
If you’ve already raised your eyebrows, you know such a story almost glorifying incest would never see the light of day with gay publishers who, perhaps a bit overly sensitive and paranoid about the str8 world that thinks we’re weird, view incest along with child molestation and forced rape as absolute story no-no’s. l soon chucked that storyline.
But that didn’t mean l had to also discard the nephew/uncle angle. What l did instead was distance them time-wise and geographically and have the uncle already dead at the beginning of my story.
I chose Staten Island, the forgotten borough of NYC and so atypical of the rest of City with its suburban and even rural neighborhoods, as the place to start my story and had my nephew character named Jonathan growing but in the same 1920’s vintage home Gerge, my partner, and l owned with our dogs. Jon himself was modeled after a tall, skinny, furry, twenty something guy l had tricked with in Lauderdale. I liked not just his look but also his cocky demeanor and used both in developing my character.
Uncle Charlie, the black sheep of the family who had moved to Lauderdale some years back and, while working as a college prof, bank rolled two bars that would become enormously successful in the burgeoning Lauderdale gay scene was, well, me, kinda, except for the black sheep and bar ownerships, that is. My memoirs of my life as a gay man in NYC and later Lauderdale, were integrated into the book with only minor editing.
The glue l used to bring my two characters together was death, or more specifically Uncle Charlie’s will. When “Czar” opens, twenty something Jon, living with his grandfather, Charles’ brother, who ostracized him from the family decades before when he discovered he was gay, learns the uncle he hardly knew has left him his entire estate.
Quitting his nowhere job at a fast food joint, Jon flies down to Lauderdale to take possession of Uncle Charlie’s beachfront condo and the two gay bars he owns, one of which is the town’s leather bar. And it is in the beachfront condo that Jon stumbles upon Charlie’s memoirs, stowed on his laptop, and becomes fascinated by the life he had led and increasingly suspicious about the story that he had died of a heart attack.
Having played the leather scene most of my gay life, l wanted to use my book to bring home the reality that the scene is on life support as more and more members of my generation, the Baby Boomers, are hanging up their jock straps. Uncle Charlie is determined to hold onto a strict leather dress code for his bar, the Gearshaft, modelled after Lauderdale’s Ramrod, in an era where such a tradition is almost impossible to maintain and still stay in business. The Celebration of Life that Charlie’s leather buddies hold in his memory tells the sad tale of the aging of Leather America.
And while some readers criticized the use of drugs in my book, l could not write a story of the contemporary Lauderdale gay scene without incorporating the current meth scourge which, like it or not, has taken hold of our sub-culture.
In an example of art imitating life, l learned much later that the twenty something kid l had used as the model for Jon had, indeed, been a hard core meth addict.
In the end, “Czar” is more a docudrama than a piece of fiction. Its characters are men l’ve known, its story largely one l’ve lived.
Pete, a young, gay handsome drifter, is convinced by his roommate Blaze to join him and leave dreary Jersey for sunny, sex-drenched Fort Lauderdale. Their mission is simple: make a free and easy living as male prostitutes on the escort site, Buy Guys. For a while things seem to go their way, but as Pete falls deeper in love with Blaze, he is drawn into a much more sinister scheme that eventually threatens to destroy them both.
It was just after seven in the morning when Pete got back to the house from his graveyard shift sweeping the factory floor at Brewers Screw and Fastener Company. After making himself a cup of coffee, Pete tiptoed into Blaze’s room and took a seat in the corner, quietly staring at his roommate asleep in all his naked glory, his smooth, melon butt jutting out from under the covers. Pete knew Bruno had been there tonight. The big brute was allergic to latex and the box of lamb skin condoms Blaze used when he fucked him was still on the bed stand.
It had been three months since Pete saw Blaze’s ad for a roommate – “masculine gay preferred” – on Craig’s List, and for Pete the timing couldn’t have been better. They hit it off over coffee at Starbucks, Blaze, the tall, slim, smooth, clean-shaven dirty blond, Pete, short, burly, bearded, dark and furry just about everywhere. Though they were both total tops, Pete felt an immediate attraction to his new surfer boy buddy and was happy when Blaze suggested that three-ways might be fun and set one up that same night with an old fuck buddy of his. Pete never let on the real fun for him was watching Blaze in action.
When he was sixteen, Pete’s crazy dad, who had beaten him up since he was a kid, suffocated his pill-popping mother with a Walmart plastic bag in a drunken rage and was now rotting for the rest of his life in Trenton State Prison. No foster home for him, Pete hitched rides with truckers he blew for food till he got to San Francisco where, grabbing a room off Harrison, South of Market, he worked the window at Blow Buddies, played bouncer at the Lone Star Saloon, was a sometime-escort to rich old fucks on the hills, and drifted in and out of a meth habit—twice. The last time he slammed was that weekend in Seattle. After what happened there, he stopped cold turkey and swore to himself that he would never touch the stuff again.
Then last August, out of the blue he heard from his father’s brother, twice-divorced Uncle Walt, who lived in Lyndhurst, New Jersey in a small clapboard house not far from where Pete had grown up. Seems Walt, a three-pack-a-day man, was dying of lung cancer and wanted Pete to come back and take care of him, wipe his ass, change his piss-stained sheets, and feed him like a baby, and for that, Pete would get the old man’s house, a fifty-thousand-dollar life insurance payout, and his 2004 Ford Bronco.
Only, after Walt kicked, Pete learned the house had a reverse mortgage on it and the bank owned it now, and the insurance policy was as real as his last trick on meth back in San Francisco.
At least the Bronco worked.
At Walt’s funeral, Pete ran into one of his old Garfield High chums, a security guard at Brewer’s who got him the job, and a week after that, just as he was being kicked out of his uncle’s house, along came Blaze’s ad.
Pete had been sitting in Blaze’s room for about twenty minutes when the dirty blond woke up. It was time to tell him the bad news.
“The fuckin’ rumor’s true.”
“Whatya mean?” said Blaze, turning over to show off his morning woody. Pete had seen it dozens of times before, but it was still, well, pretty. A nice seven inches, cut. Just like his.
“The rumor about Walmart buying up the factory to build a supercenter. They posted the notice at the time clock. The place is shutting up the end of the month, which means Friday.”
Blaze rolled out of bed and walked over to the bathroom a few yards away to take his overdue piss. “Well, then, it’s time,” he yelled as he relieved himself, “I mean, that is, if you wanna come with me.”
“Come with you where?” said Pete, still sitting in the corner of Blaze’s room.
Blaze walked back in. “To warm, sunny Lauderdale where we can play whores for hire.” He grabbed his silver and gold ID bracelet with his initials, BET for Blaze Eliot Talbot, from on top of his dresser and put it on his left wrist. “The place is loaded with lonely old retired gay guys with dough who’ll just eat us up.”
“You’re— You’re nuts—no, delusional,” said Pete, thinking this was all a joke.
“Hey, I checked it out on the web,” replied Blaze, scratching his pubes. “There’s even a site and a phone app called Buy Guys where we can sell what we got.”
“But, I—I don’t know…”
“You told me you fucked guys for money back in SF, didn’t you?”
“And I had a guy keep me in Manhattan for almost five years.”
“Till you said he kicked you out on the street for some younger blond bimbo.”
“His fuckin’ loss. Hope the shits get AIDS,” said Blaze, grabbing his Samsung from the bed stand.
“So we were both pay boys, so?”
“So, we both know nothing makes the cock harder than a stack of twenties on the bureau. Or keys to his Lexus.”
Then he moved in closer and stared at Pete, straight on.
“Listen, I was meaning to talk to you about this for a while, but now your little setback is the kick in the ass we both need to make it happen. You think I wanna keep fuckin’ Lardass forever just to save a few bucks on the rent?”
After Sydney kicked Blaze out of his Upper West Side condo, Blaze, who grew up in Totowa, decided to come back to his roots and grabbed a job as a driver and catch-all man for Bruno and his Forest Rest Funeral Home in upscale Fair Lawn. Married with three kids, Bruno took a liking to his dirty blond assistant, gave him a place to live in the lower apartment of the two-family house in Garfield he inherited from his mother, and took half off the rent if Blaze would fuck his fat, furry ass whenever Bruno felt like it.
“Let me show you what I’m fuckin’ talkin’ about,” said Blaze, pulling up the Buy Guys app on his phone and handing it over to Pete, who began flipping through profile after profile of the young, hung, and beautiful.
“And we’re gonna compete against all these pretty boys?” said Pete, laughing.
“Take your fuckin’ clothes off and come over here,” instructed Blaze with a dare in his voice as he walked over to his dresser with the large mirror. Blaze was two years younger than Pete, twenty-five versus twenty-seven, but Pete felt he was always the one who needed somebody to show him the way. Right then, that somebody was Blaze.
“Now, did you ever see two hotter dudes in your life?” laughed Blaze. Both their dicks were getting hard.
Pete smirked back at the two of them in the mirror.
“And we got a gimmick the rest of those little boys ain’t got,” said Blaze. “We can bill ourselves as a team. The dynamic duo!”
RP Andrews spent most of his life in New York City as a public relations executive before relocating to Fort Lauderdale in 2002, where he enjoyed a brief second career teaching writing at a local university.
All his works of erotic gay fiction and non-fiction are available at amazon.com and barnesandnoble.com and selected publisher websites.
His first work of erotic gay fiction, a collection of edgy short stories called Basic Butch, was originally published by San Francisco-based GLBT Publishers in 2008. Basic Butch features characters who go down life paths that, in the end, they wish they had never explored.
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