Best Gay Romance 2011
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Richard Labonté is a self-confessed true romantic and it shows — Best Gay Romance 2011 covers every romantic possibility with first love, true love, wake-up sex, makeup sex, and everything in between. Labonté has gathered a sensational collection of stories about finding love at home, at work, at any age, and often in the most unexpected places. Sometimes rowdy, always randy, and surprisingly tender, these tales celebrate the uniting of souls as well as bodies. Each story revels in romance, great sex, and characters who are fully fleshed out (in more ways than one). Whether happily ever after or a happy ending, Labonté continues to raise the bar on gay love stories with compulsively readable great writing on true romance.
as he speared a sausage. “What happened after I passed out?” “I put you to bed.” “Is that all?” “What d’you mean?” “Where did you sleep?” “In the armchair.” “Couldn’t have been very comfortable.” “I’ve dossed down in worse places.” “Your conscience didn’t keep you awake, then?” He paused, then said slowly: “I never touched you last night.” He picked up the last piece of fried bread, and held it out to me. “Are you certain I can’t tempt you?” I shook my head and then coughed loudly as my
made my ears so hot I wasn’t sure I heard him right. I put one leg carefully through the space between the bench and the table and then the other. I lowered myself into the seat across from him, making sure my knees did not touch his. I noticed them, though; his thin legs leaned sideways against the bench, clad in jeans despite the heat. Kilway turned the board so the ebony pieces were in front of me. They were made of wood, and the grain shone through in the necks and heads of the horses.
piercing the downpour. Another lightning bolt flashed, revealing a powerboat I didn’t recognize. Tied to the end of my dock, it pitched and rolled in the froth. A fellow in a ball cap and rain poncho made his way toward my cottage, ascending the slope with some difficulty. Twice he slipped and fell. I greeted my visitor on my covered front porch. I’d left the cottage door open, and the propane lantern’s glow cast a yellow rhombus onto the planks. He climbed my porch steps, then removed his cap
ask… “Why not stay here tonight? We can kill a case of beer and I’ll make us dinner.” He glanced at the lake, then returned his gaze to me. “Sounds great,” he said. “You’re sure I’m not intruding?” “Oh, hell no.” Gordon went inside and called O’Connor’s, then we sat on the edge of my dock, our legs dangling while we sipped from beer bottles, watching light drain from the sky. Already a few stars appeared in the east and the only sound was crickets chirping. The air was still, the lake’s
Seafood, right. So we’re eating and all of a sudden, Len reaches out with his napkin and wipes my face. Seems I had tartar sauce running down my chin.” Baxter giggled and tried to spin a joke about cum facials, but I interrupted him. “I felt like I was his old grandpa, drooling into my oatmeal.” “Is that all? That’s what you call fucked-up beyond belief, Zef?” “Oh, the tartar sauce was nothing but a SNAFU. You know how FishCats has that step up before you reach the host’s desk?” “Sure.” I