Transgender romances are still romances

The main genre I write is transsgender romances. The reasons for this are because when I started out writing I used to submit to a free-read site called www.literotica.com and on that site there is every genre of story imaginable but the more I read the more I found that transsexual stories weren't about love and romance, they were about sex. All the stories were concerned with were about guys 'trying something different', 'being unsure about their sexuality' or because they were drunk and horny or had been set up by their friends. 

Yet the reality is transsexuals want exactly the same as everyone else. Ordinary guys meeting people they think to be women, falling in love, finding out the truth yet still being happy and transsexuals not afraid to be honest with themselves and their partners, not hiding the truth and the trials and tribulations they go through to get where they get to.

There is not enough transsgender fiction out there. My stories are not all flowers and roses. When people read my books, which are amazing by the way J, I hope they reach the end and see these women in a different light, sees them as exactly the same as any other woman-with just a little extra. Here's a look at Star Search...

Joe is a gay man who prefers to date transsexuals. He begins a journey to find one he just knows he could love. The woman who has captured his desires in only one night. Do you believe in love at first sight? Joe does, and he is determined to find her against all odds. Explore this suspenseful, dangerous and unusual adventure with Joe as he travels to find love with the third sex.

Excerpt

At half past six I locked up the house and, as it was a warm night, started the walk to meet Star before the party. I arrived at the meeting place an hour later, realized that I was a little early and lit up a cigarette. As I waited I started to feel nervous about meeting her for some reason and nearly changed my mind and left.

Star arrived just as I finished my second cigarette. As soon as I saw her I was totally blown away and glad that I hadn’t chickened out. She looked absolutely stunning. She was wearing a knee length black pencil skirt, high heel shoes and a red blouse that showed the curve of her breasts perfectly. Once we had introduced ourselves to each other I led her inside the party venue.

“Would you like a drink?” I asked her.

“Vodka and coke please," Star replied.

I ordered the drinks and as she walked towards an empty table I couldn’t help but stare at her tight ass, moving from side to side, underneath her skirt. We sat down and Star asked me all sorts of questions about my manager and the people I worked with. She told me she always did this as she liked to have some sort of idea about the people that she had never met, so she didn’t look to out of place. Once I had told her all she needed to know, my manager walked through the door and headed towards the back room, where the party was being held.

Star and I finished our drinks and, five minutes later, followed my manager through to the party. As we walked in I saw that most of my work colleagues were already there and having a good time. The music was loud, the big table at the end of the room was full of food and the bar was staffed by a couple of twenty-something year old girls.

Most of my work colleagues were sitting around the room, with their partners, and I thought that seemed like a good idea but Star dragged me straight onto the dance floor. She was a fantastic dancer and I was soon shattered, yet she seemed that she could go on for hours. Telling her to slow down, as the night was still young, Star took me over to the bar and I got us some more drinks. We stood and watched some of my colleagues dancing for a while, when Star turned to face me.

“I know it’s your boss’s party,” she started, “But how about you take me to a club and then back to yours.”

“I’d love to take you to a club,” I replied, “But I best say bye to my boss first.”

“Okay come on then,” she said linking her arm through mine.

“Hello boss,” I said as we finally reached him through the crowd.

“Hello Joe, thank you for coming,” he said. “And who is this pretty thing with you?”

“This is Star,” I said.

“Hello,” Star said.

“Thank you for coming as well Star.”

“I’ve had a really good time,” she said.

“We both have,” I added. “But I’m afraid it’s time for us to go now.”

“I understand Joe,” he said winking at me. “You two go and enjoy the rest of the night.”

“Oh I’m sure we will,” Star said winking back at him.

We then left the party, her arm in mine, and she took me to a nightclub that I had never been to, and we danced and drank for a couple more hours.

“Come on Joe take me back to yours,” she eventually said pulling me off the dance floor.

We walked out of the club, hailed a taxi and twenty minutes later I was unlocking my flat. As soon as we were through the door our lips locked in a passionate embrace, and began to tear each other’s clothes off. I knew the night had gone well but I wasn’t quite expecting this sort of reaction, even though I knew she was an escort and to her the longer she was with me the more she would earn, but I wanted her so badly that I wasn’t about to argue.

She had my top off and my trousers and boxers around my ankles in seconds and then wrapping her slender fingers around my, already hard, cock, she slowly started to stroke me as we continued to kiss passionately

available at here: Star Search

The "T" in GLBTQ!

I was recently on a private author forum on Facebook where a well-meaning blogger was asking for books to review featuring "Tranny" characters. Other well-meaning authors shared the post and my blood began to boil.


It was mind-blowing to me that anyone involved in writing, editing, promoting, publishing, reading, reviewing or discussing romances in the gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender and or queer and or questioning realm would not know how offensive the word tranny is to the transgender community.

I use the word community loosely because I have discovered there really isn't one and people who are transgender have the loneliest battle of all the letters in GLBTQ. I don't know how people can have missed the flap over Kelly Osborne's use of the word or the rising awareness of transgender people.

But using the word tranny seems designed to offend.

In this same forum after I complained, an author commented that her own editor used it as a slur in her edits! Truly!

Rest assured the word is offensive and is mostly used as a slur, not in a kindly way. We need to be mindful of that. We need to respect all the letters in GLBTQ. I am also stunned that so few authors understand the word queer and think it is offensive. If you are going to make a living out of a genre, get to know the letters and what they mean, please.

Queer Culture has its own special issues but I am not going to stray from this topic to address it even though I get many emails from authors asking me about it. Google it!

There are some things I'd like to address regarding transgender and why sensitivity and some knowledge is essential. I have a dear author friend who is undergoing gender reassignment surgery and I know two who already have. For those who dare to think they know all about being transgender - they just. Do. Not.

Chastity Bono has done so much to educate us all about living with being transgendered. Perhaps he said it best here: "Obviously the transgender movement has not progressed in the way that the gay and lesbian movement has. But I'm an activist - that's just the kind of person I am. "
My experience with M to F transgendered people is different from F to M. They are often the targets of slurs. Transgender men live with constant fear and rejection. The two transgender men I know well came out to a group of friends who had no idea they used to be women and the reaction was horrible. Disgusting. And the group was mostly made up of gay men and lesbian women! One of the gay men suddenly didn't want to swim with them and made disparaging remarks about 'girly bits' and 'eunuchs'...

Both these men risked a lot in revealing their truths. Somehow though, little things started to make sense. They are both still afraid to use men's rest rooms. Dinner in a restaurant can prove uncomfortable. One has a penis and it is functional to urinate. The other one does not. He looks and dresses like a man but has no penis. He fears the retribution of being caught in a men's room with no dick. He fears going away on camping weekends with male friends and showering in a communal setting.

He has good reason to.

Here are the most recent statistics of transgender health issues that may give you pause.

 28% had been subjected to harassment in a medical setting

 26% had been physically assaulted in at least one health care setting

 24% had been denied equal treatment at a doctor’s office or hospital

 19% had been refused medical care due to being transgender or gender non-conforming (the rate was higher for transgender people of color)

 13% had been denied equal treatment at an emergency room

 10% had been sexually assaulted in at least one health care setting

I read an awful story where a transgender man said, “I was forced to have a pelvic exam by a doctor when I went in for a sore throat. The doctor invited others to look at me while he examined me and talked to them about my genitals.”
Facts about transgender people and health here

The transgender men I know live with fear, snickers, misunderstanding, rejection, abuse and intolerance in their quest to be who they are, who they want to be. And shouldn't they be allowed to live the lives they want? They were born this way. To marginalize them with offensive slurs, by calling them trannies will not mean they will go away...hopefully.

Because here's another statistic you probably don't know. The suicide rate in the transgender community is higher than any of the other letters in the GLBTQ. That's right.

Are you proud to slur them now?

Still want to snicker and call them trannies?

Remember the next time you want to put them down and call them he/she/it that it is hate speech. It is as offensive as using the N word.

I will conclude with this. We all need to be kinder, gentler and more understanding with one another. We need to learn more about the issue to 'get it' so I am offering up an ebook of my novel The Wine-Dark Sea
which features a transgender character, but he is M to F and is based on my friend's husband. I am proud of this novel and I am glad I met this man who fought to change his life.

My author friend whom I mentioned earlier, who is undergoing reassignment surgery, recently wrote to me. He has been forced to undergo months and months of expensive therapy and all the other things transgender people are forced to go through before they can be even considered for surgery. His last e-mail broke my heart in a million pieces. He wrote, "I've been waiting for the letter from my therapist saying I am accepted into the program...waiting for her to come up with yet another excuse about why I can't."

Gay men get to be gay, lesbians can be lesbians, queer and questioning? Have at it. None of them require a host of hoops through which they are forced to jump, by others, who may or may not have their best interests at heart. We need to be mindful of this. The private pain. Behind closed doors. The whispers, the snickers...the fear...behind whispered words. Perhaps this gives you a tiny glimpse, a start, a spark of understanding about how brave these men and women are. What transgender should stand for is 'Tall'. These people stand tall. I stand right with them. They are my heroes, my friends. Tall, tall friends
Aloha oe,

A.J.
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More of Stud Draqual Mysteries!

 

BISEXUAL STUD “GOES” THAI

(full-August blog (out-of-the-box book)

(2^nd book of the Stud Draqual Mystery Series)

by William Maltese

“Whoever slit Rhee Dulouk’s throat should never have let the victim, second mouth still bubbling blood, reach Jeff Billing. Billing would have gone in another day … or two … or three. As he’d left the Philippines, Borneo, Bali. As he’d left Australia, Cambodia, Burma. As he’d left Spain, France, Germany.

 “For Billing, Thailand was just another stopover on the way to … he never knew where … just somewhere.

 “Rhee Dulouk wasn’t a particularly good lay. He wasn’t even Billing’s type. He was just another wham-bam-thank-you-man someone. One of many. A diversion. An exotic. Another notch on Billing’s belt. One more fuck in Billing’s ongoing fuck of the world. A keeper, beyond the first fuck, only because of a bit of pillow-talk that interested Billing, who knew a little something about Far-East antiquities. But not likely to keep Billing’s interest for long.

 “Therefore, Rhee Dulouk dead on someone else’s doorstep would have been one thing. After all, there had been plenty of other bodies in Billing’s life … in the deserts of the Gulf, in the mountains of Iraq, in the back alleys of Afghanistan. Bodies left behind. Throwaways. Job-product.

 “Rhee Dulouk dead on Billing’s doorstep, though … somehow … made the death personal. Not only to Billing but to me.

 “Though I sure as hell didn’t know it at the time.”

  

Thus begins the second book, written in first person, of my Stud Draqual Mystery Series with its sexually ambiguous protagonist who can’t really decide whether he prefers women or men or both. This time he’s in Thailand for business, looking for silk.  Even though he owns his own silk-producing company, its limited output of very expensive and very unique product doesn’t provide nearly enough textile to satisfy the ravenous demands of the very wealthy clientele who purchases the clothing from his haute-couture fashion house that specializes in women’s lingerie.

This time, Stud is sexually courted by a black-ops agent, Jeff Billing, who sees Stud as the possible key to solving not only the mystery behind the murder of a Thai callboy but insight into the intricacies of a major smuggling operation involving Oriental artifacts.

This time, as in A SLIP TO DIE FOR, the first book of the Stud Draqual Series, Stud is not only faced with the decision of whether or not to succumb to the advances of a hot male out to bed him, but has to decide whether or not he actually wants to father the child of a long-time female friend in the Thai silk industry. Also, even more so than in A SLIP TO DIE FOR, Stud finds himself involved with people within the transgender community.

It was very easy for me to slip transgendered characters into the context of this particular book, because I was in Thailand at the time I was writing it, daily confronted by its he/she transgender community that actively thrives as part of that Oriental culture.

“There was a quick rap on the door, and the door opened. A woman—not the one so recently left—glided in. She had a long and lean model’s body. Her fashionably open-toe shoes had medium-heels. Her long legs were encased within a pair of pale beige hose. Her stylishly plain-black silk slip-dress, with its spaghetti straps, masqueraded as Draqualian, but its silk was less expensive and less-luminescent and was as fake as the Gucci, Armani, and Versace stockpiled within the clutter of the roadside stalls outside. The woman’s breasts weren’t large, but any larger would have looked far less stylish in the dress she wore. Her neck, long and slender, was jewelry-free, as were her arms and fingers. Her face had the right amount of understated makeup: a pale foundation, a touch of blush to accentuate her cheekbones, a minimum of eyeliner and eye-shadow, a veneer of lips gloss to …

“Jesus!” I couldn’t help myself. My surprise was spontaneous and genuine. “Ram?”

As an author who has, over the years, had a hard time convincing publishers that there is such a thing as a bisexual, as well as a viable market for books that include them and the transgender community as prime players, this out-of-the-box book of mine was surprisingly easy to get into publication; even though I’d surrendered, by that time, as too much bother, my imprint (Lambert III Library) for Brit publishing powerhouse Prowler Books, which I’d used shamelessly to sneak book one of the series, A SLIP TO DIE FOR, into the marketplace. The fact that I ended up with eager offers to publish the Stud Draqual THAI DIED sequel from several publishers, interestingly all mainstream, probably has to do with the first book of the series having been such a success in the mainstream market, as well as it having been picked up by mainstream German publisher, Rotbuch Krimi, along with rave reviews for that German-language edition, DESSOUS ZUM STERBEN. 
For whatever the reason, straight readers remain far more accepting of bisexuality and transgender characters than do gay publishers and gay readers; although, I do give major kudos to Laura Baumbach of MLR Press for having not only provided a THAI DIED ebook for her publishing house’s mainly gay readership, but for having allowed me, on more than one occasion, in the past, to publish, through her company, some of my books even more out-of-the-box than this one. Hopefully, some day, we’ll have more publishers of gay literature as open as Laura to widening the gay genre beyond what’s the norm today.

 

THAI DIED is presently available at:  Manlove Romance Press:  Amazon Kindle:  Nook:  

Hankering for a sci-fi? Here ya go!

Sometimes it called crossing genres, sometimes genre mashing, either way, guilty as charged. Heck, yeah. I’ve always loved a story that wasn’t afraid to go where it needed to go, regardless of traditional genre lines and boxes. So, yes, I’ve written Science Fiction Romance (Gravitational Attraction) and yes, I’ve written Science Fiction Fairytales (Vassily the Beautiful) and now we have… (small handheld drum roll, please)

The Science Fiction Mystery! I’ve always felt there needed to be more of these.

The next installment in the ESTO/ Altairian Universe, Sub Zero takes place on a planet near the edge of Eridani Sector space, in the hinterlands of the Treaty planets. Shall we let the book speak for itself? Fair enough:

Blurb:

Major Aren Dalsgaard's newest assignment is to investigate a series of murders on the frigid planet, Drass, where relations between the Treaty settlers and the natives have taken a nasty turn. A linguist and trained xenologist, Aren should be the ideal Special Investigations officer for the assignment. So what's the problem? Drass is where he died, more than a hundred and twenty years ago.
Sent by his family to the chigyel city, Nyachung finds himself confronted with a murder charge, racial prejudice, and an investigating officer who claims to be a hero from his grandmother’s generation. Major Dalsgaard could be crazy or he could be lying, but the sincerity in his spring-green eyes disturbs Nyachung more than anything else he encounters in the foreigners’ city.
Now, confronted with mysterious black boxes and a beautiful yet evasive young man as a prime suspect, Aren hopes he can solve the murders before his fierce sexual attraction to Nyachung gets the better of him...

Excerpt:
Thuds and muffled screams came from the lab up ahead, only serving to underscore the sergeant’s anxiety. Aren bulled through the door and skidded to a stop, speechless in shock. Nyachung lay on his back on the gurney, stripped to the waist, arms stretched out to either side and strapped down to extensions. The staff had shoved something soft between his teeth, either to keep him from breaking them or to keep him from screaming too loud, and they had electro-pulse leads attached to his forearms, directly over the venom sacs and spur pads. The shocks from the hookup came in pairs, the first forcibly extending his arm spurs and the second zapping the sac in an attempt to force the venom out.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Aren bellowed.

The tech stared at him, nonplussed. “Getting your venom sample, sir.”

“By torturing him?”

“It’s standard operating procedure, sir.”

“Since when is physical abuse standard procedure in any branch of the service?”

Sergeant Wickstrom gave him a little nudge. “Sir, use of force in the obtaining of information or cooperation is up to the discretion of the facility commander. It’s in the manuals.”

“In the—you must be joking.”

“Afraid not, sir.”

Aren rubbed both hands over his face. “God. Barbaric century.” Then he stalked over to the tech. “Unhook him, please. Not only is this inefficient, it’s inhumane. Do you have any idea, Corporal, how sensitive those venom sacs are?”

The hapless corporal gulped a breath. “I…don’t know, sir.”

“Imagine hooking one of those damn things up to your testicles and then shoving another up your urethra. That should give you some idea.”

“Yes, sir.”

The poor tech had turned green. Aren patted his shoulder, not wanting the boy to pass out. “Just turn it off. Unhook him. There’s a better way to do this. Several, actually. You could have just asked him for a sample, but now that he’s a shuddering mess, he’ll need some help.”

While the tech unhooked the leads, Aren went around the gurney undoing straps.

“Sir, you know he’s a murder suspect, right?”

“Oh, yes. Terribly dangerous, I’m sure. Maybe you should stand back. Safety first.” Aren perched hipshot on the edge of the gurney and gathered Nyachung into his arms as he switched to dangpo. “Are you with me, little one?”

“Why are they doing this?” Nyachung tangled both fists in the front of Aren’s jacket, shaking uncontrollably.

“Sh, sh, they want some of your venom. To compare it to the venom in the woman you found. If it’s not your venom, then you didn’t kill her.”
A hoarse sound, more sob than laugh came from the little tale-singer. “They could have said so.”

“Yes, they should have.” Aren help up a collection tube. “Can you do it on your own?”

Nyachung held out one shaking arm, well away from Aren. He curled his fingers, forearm muscles contracting. “I can’t,” he gasped out.
Gently, Aren placed his hand under Nyachung’s elbow. “Will you let me help you? I know we’re strangers and this is in front of others, but it would be better than their way.”

Black eyes gazed up at him, wet with unshed tears of pain. “All right. Do you… Have you done this?”

“I have.” Aren massaged his thumb over the tense forearm muscles a moment. Then he reached around, encircling Nyachung with his arms, partially hiding him from prying eyes. He pressed gently on the pad with his thumb, pushing the arm spur out as one would a cat’s claw. Keeping the pressure constant and the collection tube held over the spur in two fingers, he turned his attention to the venom sac. Besides the obvious places, this was the most sensitive spot on a dangpo male’s body. 

He caressed the tender, abused skin, barely holding back the urge to curl forward and kiss the spot where the electro-pulse had been. Nyachung made a sweet, whimpering sound that shot straight to his balls and Aren hoped he was holding the stone-faced expression he was trying for. He began to massage the sac, his thumb describing slow, gentle circles. Nyachung twitched in his arms.
“Easy, little one, easy. As soon as you’re able.” 

With a soft cry, Nyachung hid his face against Aren’s chest, his body shuddering with pain as he released his venom. His poor sacs would most likely be tender for days but he had managed enough to fill the tube... 

Available from Amber Allure:

Where can you find Angel?
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Transgender romance is what I do!

Why I write transsgender Romances.

As you will see my main genre of writing is transsgender romances. The reasons for this are because when I started out writing I used to submit to a free-read site called www.literotica.com and on that site there is every genre of story imaginable but the more I read the more I found that transsexual stories weren't about love and romance, they were about sex. All the stories were concerned with were about guys 'trying something different', 'being unsure about their sexuality' or because they were drunk and horny or had been set up by their friends. 

Yet the reality is transsexuals want exactly the same as everyone else. They want to be happy, accepted, allowed to live their lives without fear or ridicule, find love, settle down and maybe even have a family, whether through adoption or with a partner who already has children. They don't all live their lives to be fucked, used and abused, they aren't all pornstars cam-girls or escorts. They can, and a lot do, live normal everyday lives and most of them look exactly like they feel they are, female. Each week on my blog I bring selections of transsexual women, fully clothed, just to show the uninitiated how gorgeous the girls can be and to try and bring acceptance to their community, just as gays, lesbians and bisexuals are all being more and more accepted by society and that is just what I try to show in my stories.

Ordinary guys meeting people they think to be women, falling in love, finding out the truth yet still being happy and transsexuals not afraid to be honest with themselves and their partners, not hiding the truth and the trials and tribulations they go through to get where they get to.

There is not enough transsgender fiction out there and I am just one man trying to address the balance and bring the few that are still bigoted into 2012. My stories are not all flowers and roses, Addicted to Charlie features underworld crime, the seedy side of escorting, violence and ridicule but still the two main characters overcome all the odds and when people read my books, which are amazing by the way, I hope they reach the end and see these women in a different light, sees them as exactly the same as any other woman-with just a little extra.

 

 Synopsis:

Karl, a single man, meets and begins to date Charlie, a pre-op transsexual woman. Never having been gay in his life Karl journeys through confusion and lust, experiencing the delights of transsexual sex along the way, before realizing that Charlie is the perfect woman for him.

Excerpt:

Charlotte, or Charlie as I called her, was the best thing that had ever happened to me. We met one night while I was out clubbing, getting over my third divorce, and we have been inseparable ever since. She was everything I wanted in a woman. When we first met she had been slightly overweight, nothing too drastic, but she had insisted on slimming down for me even though I didn't mind what she looked like. After all, my previous wives had all been – how should I say – curvaceous?

Her body was absolutely perfect. She was five feet, seven inches tall, had an incredible thirty-six C chest and an all-over tan. She had gorgeous brunette hair that draped around her shoulders, finishing halfway down her back. Her teeth sparkled when she smiled as she had never smoked or had any work done on them. Her eyes were a gorgeous green that always seemed to catch the light. Oh, and I nearly forgot to mention that between her legs, where she should have had a neatly trimmed pussy, she had a magnificent eight inch cock. You see my Charlie was a transsexual, and if anybody had ever said I would have ended up in this kind of relationship I would have laughed.

I never set out to end up in a relationship with a transsexual. I didn't even know she was one until we had been dating for a couple of weeks, as the most we had done was kiss. It was her that insisted on sitting me down and telling me, totally out of the blue one night when we had gone out for dinner. If I am going to be honest – and that would be the best way to be – I very nearly walked out of the restaurant there and then. Let me explain how it all came about.

For no other reason than I felt like it, I secretly booked a table at the restaurant. We had been getting on so well that I felt that maybe, instead of pubs and clubs, a nice quiet meal would make something of a nice change. As we sat eating I could sense that something was not quite right.

Normally Charlie was a bright and bubbly person, always laughing and joking, yet tonight she just sat quietly. She wasn't even eating her meal as she normally had when we were at either of our homes. She just picked and nibbled, not really making any attempt to actually finish her food. Eventually she put her cutlery down and pushed her plate away, looking at me almost apologetically.

"Is everything alright darling?" I asked her, slightly worried.

"Yes, the food's fine but I need to tell you something Karl." Charlie replied.

"That sounds ominous." I responded.

"It is something big and I don't know how you will react." Was all she said quietly, almost nervously.

"Come on darling, nothing can be that bad, just tell me."

"Just promise you won't get angry and start screaming and shouting please." She said fearfully, her voice a barely audible whisper.

"You are married aren't you?" I asked nervously, unsure what her reply would be.

"Please Karl, just promise." She pleaded.

"Okay, I promise baby."

Charlie sat there showing no emotion as she started to explain about her secret, but the more she spoke the more her eyes filled with tears. I too started to get a lump in my throat as she explained how, all her life, she had been ridiculed for being different. She told me all about the bullying she went through at school when – as a male – she felt so out of place having to change with the other boys. The things she told me no animal – let alone human being – should ever have to go through. The name calling, physical assaults and – on one occasion – being very nearly sexually assaulted.

Charlie told me that she had never felt the way she did about me with anyone else. Yes, she admitted, she had slept with men and even women before, but that was just sex. She told me she had even gone through a stage where she was selling her body to all different sorts of people just to get the money for the operation she so desperately craved, not even caring about the dangers. Charlie admitted that she would have done anything just to feel like a complete woman. I sat and listened intently and never said a word until she finally ended with the words that every man loves to hear, six little words that mean so much.

"I am in love with you."

It was then that the tears began to flow freely.

 buy here: Amber Allure

Find JS Morbius here:

A BOOK THAT WON’T BE PIGEONHOLED!

Just because my literary output and I came to prominence in the halcyon days of gay paperback erotica, to the extent that you can find us in reference books like the LONG ROAD TO FREEDOM, “THE ADVOCATE” HISTORY OF THE GAY AND LESBIAN MOVEMENT…and THE GOLDEN AGE OF GAY FICTION…and DRAQUALIAN SILK: A COLLECTOR’S AND BIBLIOGRAPHICAL GUIDE TO THE BOOKS OF WILLIAM MALTESE 1969-2010…

Just because the 60s and 70s allowed us writers of gay erotica more leeway than many writers have today—what with today’s narrowed parameters afforded by straight female publishers wanting female-skewed perspective male romances for straight female readers as written by straight female authors; I started out when the gay market had only just been realized as lucrative and was new territory to be explored …

Just because my longevity in the field of writing gay literature has afforded me, and still affords me, more leeway, by way of what I choose to write, than would likely be allowed any newcomer to the profession… …doesn’t mean that I’ve always gotten my way, or always continue to do so, by way of characters and plot-lines in the books I’ve written and continue to write.

Even in the early days, as a practicing bisexual, it was hard for me to persuade publishers to allow me any bisexual protagonists or transgender characters in my works of fiction. The ongoing consensus of the straight male publishers, back in the day, who controlled the porn industry, was the same as that had by the straight male military establishment of that time (back before “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” when frequent witch hunts expelled queers from the service); that being that any man who had sex with a woman couldn’t possibly have sex with another man. That misconception was what allowed me to serve my complete three years of U.S. Army enlistment to emerge at the end with an honorable discharge. While it was reluctantly admitted that, yes, there was a group of men who liked to dress up in women’s clothing, or—gasp!—undergo sex change procedures, like Christine Jorgensen, that group was such a minority of the book-buying public that there was little financial advantage to be had in catering to any such miniscule demographic.

While I was always trying to slip bisexuals and transgendered characters in unawares — a lot of my books back then, receiving very little editorial oversight—those clandestine machinations, whenever they were discovered, always elicited finger-shaking and vehement reminders that m/f sex was great, f/f sex was great, m/m sex was fine, but on no account should I include the impossible and totally unlikely m/m/f sexual combination. And, certainly, no one was really interested in reading about femme men dressed up like ladies.

Over the years, that die-hard stance on exclusion has ebbed and flowed to the extent that some publishers have, on occasion, conceded the point that I’m not the lone bisexual in the world, and that men in female clothing can, also, be of interest to readers. What’s fascinating, however, is that this liberalization of thought has been more prevalent with the publishers of my mainstream than with the publishers of my gay fiction.

While straight readers seem to be more and more accepting of the idea that there are all sorts of people out there, interested in participating in all sorts of sexual combinations, including dress-up (proof of that glaringly evident by the sudden interest of straight females in reading and writing m/m fiction), I’m constantly surprised by how so many gays remain so steadfast in their inability to be nearly as flexible.

Let’s take the case of my novel A SLIP TO DIE FOR, the first of two novels presently in my Stud Draqual Mystery series. I wrote it, when, after having written several successful gay books for British publisher Prowler Press, by way of helping them expand their erotic magazine empire into book-publishing, I was offered my own imprint from them, LAMBERT III LIBRARY, to do with as I pleased. I pleased to launch my mystery series with a bisexual protagonist, while sprinkling throughout some transgender characters since there were so little of those, too, existing within the reading material of the day.

I devised a main character, Stud Draqual, head of a silk-producing empire and the head of a haute-couture fashion house that, in book one, is primarily known for its exquisite ladies’ lingerie. Initially, I make Stud sexually ambiguous in that I figure I have a whole series wherein his bisexuality can become more obvious. I begin the book with a Prologue wherein one man is found murdered, decked out in a Draqualian silk slip, and follow-up in Chapter One with another murdered man in another Draqualian silk creation. During the course of the book, a sympathetic transgender prostitute plays a key role in helping to solve the mysteries of why and how the two men turned up dead, dressed as they were dressed.

The book plays exceedingly well to the straight market, to such an extent that it was American mainstream publisher Wildside/Borgo Press that brought the book out in its present second edition, with supplemental ebook. And it was mainstream GREEN CANDY PRESS that contracted with me to bring out book two in the series, THAI DIED (more about that 2^nd book in another blog).

As far as gays, I still get the occasional long-winded negative feedback indignant as to how I can possibly, in this day and age, provide, as a hero, and as a role model, someone who is so obviously gay but so obviously still in the closet. Not to mention … gasp … sexually attracted, at times, to—ta-dah!—women. It seems that there are still a good many gay readers who are still thoroughly convinced of the archaic notion that there is still no such “thing” as a bona-fide bisexual. To whom I say … Get real!

A SLIP TO DIE

By William Maltese

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Transgender in romance? Yup!

Transgender characters in romance books? How far have we come in our ‘open-minded’ society to include these individuals? I personally have not read many books nor seen many movies (that are fictional based) about transgender men and women. They are out there- mostly in the indie film circuit and European films. This got me thinking- which I do too much of. Why not?

Enter Delanie Desmond. Delanie who used to be Dexter, was a family man with children, now having completed the transition from man to woman, is no longer married. Delanie first appears in Living Dangerously. She is the land-lady for my cross-dressing character Andy Hornsby AKA Anita Honey.

In the first book we overhear Delanie’s struggle to continue her surgeries by asking her mother for money. We come to learn Delanie, or ‘Lanie’ is still very insecure and struggling with her life as a woman. And seeing a man, Andy, become a woman so easily simply by wearing make-up and a mini skirt, does not make Delanie happy.

That character touched my heart so much, I brought her back in Taking Ryan. After Andy moves out, Ryan Davis moves into the same home Delanie rents out: her space on a couch in a den. Ryan is the opposite of Andy, so Delanie’s guard becomes let down and she and Ryan develop a close relationship. Close enough for the two housemates to share some of their intimate fears. Delanie begins to gain confidence with Ryan’s kind reassurance, and even ventures out on a date. 

I suppose my goal, as in all my novels, is to remove the mystique, the negative images, and the lack of compassion for all individuals who don’t fit society’s strict ‘norm’. Since in reality, none of us do. 

We are all frail, and need love and understanding.

Delanie Desmond begins to flourish by the end of Taking Ryan, because the young man has showed her compassion. Wouldn’t it be nice if my novels weren’t fiction, and people who are transgender or gay could simply be loved and accepted as the unique individual they are.
Go, Delanie! We are all routing for your happiness!

Thank you, Carson for allowing me to share my views on your blog.

Ways to reach GA Hauser:

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Please stop by my blog as I am documenting the making of the film version of Capital Games: blog   

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A bit of real history added to sci-fi.

The Prince and the Program (ISBN 1613725701, Dreamspinner Press) is a romance between an immortal Prince of Hel and one of the greatest mathematical minds of the 20th century. If it sounds rather strange, well, I guess it is. A little bit of background on our characters:

Mordred Pendragon, bastard son of Arthur and Morgan Le Fay, was granted the gift (curse?) of immortality over a thousand years ago by a sentient mutagenic virus. As such, he has power—Magical and secular—in Hel, the Underworld, which its inhabitants call "The Sunless Planes". But three months ago—May 2012 by Earth’s calendar—Mordred royally (how else) Fucks Up. Now, exiled to Canada for seven years, he has to find a job, and a way to clear his name so he can go back home.

As for Alan Turing (the real, historical Turing), the book’s prologue is sufficient introduction, I think, along with the fact that Turing’s groundbreaking concept of “Artificial Intelligence” remains the stuff of Science Fiction and idle speculation.

Until, in The Prince and the Program, on the other side of the Atlantic, something interesting happens....
Prince Mordred finds a job at a tech startup founded, in part, by the ghost of Alan Turing. Or a Demon, pretending to be Alan. Or an AI calling itself “Alan”. In part because of a recognition that goes far deeper than conscious memory, and in part because of an inescapable intellectual fascination with Alan's mind, Mordred finds himself falling in love. And the dark prince is no shrinking violet, to let events take their course—he goes for what he wants with all the intensity at his command, and damn the consequences. Except that in this case, the consequences are far more severe than a broken heart. For if Mordred gives his body to the wrong entity, it will enslave Mordred’s soul, along with the souls of all mankind.

The book explores the mating of Magic and Science(fiction). This, of course, requires a lot of out-of-the-box thinking, which is precisely the theme this month on Guys Like Romance, Too! And a lot of times this out-of-the-box thinking leads me to take a simple premise, like Vampires, to their most logical and most absurd conclusion. The nature of the “immortality” virus causes it—and any creature Symbiotically bound to it, like Mordred is—to be ever hungry for new genetic material. Given its teratogenic properties, the virus will even supply its host with useful things, like fangs, to harvest new genetic material. But blood is not the only carrier of DNA.... So, to avoid uncontrolled, violent mutations (which have a tendency to occur in the most god-awfully awkward circumstances) most of the Symbiot-ridden immortals are very, very careful of what they eat. Or sleep with.

There's also the Cyborgs, originally manufactured as sex-toys by House Kamigawa, the Japanease consortium of immortals in the Sunless Planes. And the Securitates Arcanarum—the "Inquisition"—a group of Amazonian women that police Magical activity on Earth. And all the trials and pitfalls of being part of a startup—strange bosses, bounced cheques, shoestring budgets and tech that might just get stolen by the big kid on the block. And Faerie Ambassadors of the Unseelie Court that happen to be relatives. Relatives that keep trying to get certain Princes laid….

Oh, there’s also the Easter Eggs—the book contains a number of codes, cyphers and puzzles that require some basic arithmetic and knowledge of programming (or pencil, paper, and patience) to decode. A $1000 award is waiting for the first person to find the Golden Egg, now, or ten years from now.

And at the end of the book, when one takes away all the drama and the Sci-Fi and the Magic, Prince Mordred is left with the core of an idea that moves him deeply: Alan Turing. I wrote The Prince and The Program because I was furious, and furious in the worst way possible—helplessly. So many more people know about Alan’s contributions today—they didn’t when I started writing—but certain wrongs cannot be righted for all the wishing in the world. In the end, Mordred and Alan’s story—regardless of what they may build together—is one more wish in the ocean of regret we call history. Still, somewhere, somehow, a Faerie might be listening. So won’t you come a-wishing with me?

A native of Toronto, Aldous Mercer enjoys martinis and relaxing on the beac-ha! No. Aldous Mercer is a workaholic with a penchant for numerical mind games and caffeinated beverages. He uses his degree in Engineering to ensure that none of the spaceships in his books have cubic pressure-vessels. In real life - and much to his manager's chagrin - he always annotates serious engineering drawings in iambic tetrameter.

 

Visit Aldous at his web site: technomance.com

Out the Box, indeed!

Hi! Raine and Kelly here with many thanks to Carson for hosting us on his blog. We're here with out latest book, Winter's Knight.

The book's set in New Amsterdam, a city that blends the NYC landscape, Chicago's political machine, and Gotham's darkness. Murder, mayhem, intrigue, and intimacy are the stock in trade on these city streets, and rarely is anything exactly what it seems.

Winter's Knight doesn't fit neatly into one specific genre box. It's action-murder-mystery, blended with a touch of BDSM, mobster mayhem, and an unconventional romance. We've got an assault team, chains and paddles, and bodies to be avenged. It's been compared to comic books and graphic novels, and we hope it'll appeal to anyone who, as the dedication says, likes their beautiful men to kick ass.
Lucian Gray first appeared in Hearts Under Fire, and he is the son of the corrupt city mayor. Lucian has created his own power base to combat his father and cronies, and is doing his level best to clean up the city.

Lucian has also grown up with Shea Ollivander, his best friend and keenest rival since they were six years old. Shea's been out and loud about being gay since his teens, and he has a huge, supportive family who welcomed Lucian with open arms.

And thank goodness they did, as something needed to soften Lucian's edges. He grew up eating political power plays for breakfast. Everything is a game to be played or a triumph to be had. Lucian's bedded dozens of women, met and schmoozed hundreds of people, and played nice to his father's face, all in the name of his power base.

After seeing Clark find Daniel in HUF, however, Lucian realizes after all the years of strategy and struggle that he might have to make his move for his one chance at the love of his life. He just has to figure out a way to con Shea into going out with him... A task that is far harder than garnering public favors from well-connected mobsters, as Shea's got a brain to rival Lucian's, and Shea knows all Lucian's secrets.

Meanwhile, Lucian is also chasing a series of murders that are getting covered up by his father's people, and when the romance runs headlong into the mystery, Lucian's life gets complicated even by his standards.

You can find the book here at the publisher's or on Amazon, which has a print version as well as the ebook.

Cheers and best wishes!
Kelly Wyre & H.J. Raine
Find Kelly on Goodreads, LiveJournal, and Facebook.
Find H.J. Raine on Goodreads, LiveJournal, and Facebook

How about some Virtual Love...well, sort of.

I totally admit it:  I sometimes watch gay porn on line.  There.  Got that one out of the way.  I love to say it’s for “inspiration.”  And partly it is!  Partly, I’m just curious.  For those of you who are uninitiated, there’s a ton of “virtual sex” for sale on the web.  From the “virtual girls” who will inhabit your PC for a price, popping up from time to time to strut their stuff (okay, if they were hunky guys, I might actually consider it!), to the 3D sex vids with monsters attacking tiny elf-girls (eww!) or hunks battling it out in 3D animation (amazing how you can… er… play up some physical attributes when the sex is animated).  So when Venona and I were writing our upcoming release, “The Trust,” which is the story of a secret agent, Jake Anders, and the virtual man, Trace Michelson, who inhabits his brain, I have to admit my thoughts strayed to cybersex. It is a romance, after all.

I’ve never been one to write “tame” stories.  Modern men have sex.  Romantic love involves sex for most people.  But what do you do when you’ve got one hero who’s supposed to be dead, but who is part of the other hero’s life on a daily basis, talking to him, arguing with him in his mind?  And what happens if the real, live man is in love with the SIM chip who is physically a part of him?  Yep.  You got it.  Cyber sex.

There is a “real” HEA for Jake, although I won’t tell you just how that works since it would spoil the story.  But you’ll have to read just about to the end of the book to figure it out.  That’s an awful long time to wait for some real physical interaction between my two protagonists.  So what better than virtual sex on a beach?  No sand to get in all the wrong places, no circling seagulls to dive bomb you.  And what better than a virtual man who knows your inner thoughts and desires?  Well, in the end, Jake decides he’d much prefer the “real” Trace Michelson over the SIM version, and he risks everything to find out if Trace really died, six years before.

I’ll leave you with an excerpt from “The Trust,” which was released on June 18th.  Sex on the beach.  Cyber style.  Enjoy! –Shira

Blurb:   

Eight years ago, Jake Anders was a college kid from the wrong side of the tracks. Then Trace Michelson recruited him into The Trust, a CIA-backed agency whose “executives” eliminate rogue biotechnology operations. Trace was everything Jake ever wanted in a man: powerful, brilliant, and gorgeous. But Jake never admitted his attraction to his mentor, and Trace always kept Jake at arm’s length.

Now Trace is dead and Jake is one of The Trust’s best operatives, highly skilled and loyal to the organization. But the secret agent has his own secret: six years ago, before he was assassinated, Trace designed a Sim chip containing his memories and experiences—and now that chip is part of Jake. It’s just data, designed to augment Jake’s knowledge, but when Sim becomes reality, Jake wonders if Trace is still alive or if Jake really is going crazy like everyone claims. He doesn’t know if he can trust himself, let alone anyone else.

To learn the truth about Trace and the chip, Jake embarks on a dangerous mission—except he’s not the only one looking for the information. Some of the answers are locked in his head, and unless he finds the key, he’ll be killed for the technology that’s become a part of him.

Now, more than ever, Jake wishes Trace were here to guide him. Too bad he’s dead... right?

Excerpt from Chapter Eleven:

He closed his eyes and imagined himself on a beach overlooking blue-green water. He could hear the sound of the surf hitting the sand; he felt the spray on his face and the warmth of the sun. He took a deep breath and followed the Sim’s instructions.

He felt a strong pair of hands on his shoulders, digging into the tense muscles there from above him, kneading at the stiffness. The surf pounded the shore, and a drop of salt water hit his cheek. For the first time during a meditation, he realized he could smell—the tangy scent of seaweed washed up on the sand, the salt on the breeze, and something else—the citrus aftershave he remembered from years before. Trace’s aftershave. It was deeply unnerving. It was as though Trace were there with him, beside him. The real Trace and not a simulation. He fought the urge to stand up and start pacing again.

“Relax.” Trace Michelson’s resonant voice was a surprising balm for the stress Jake could not seem to release. The voice was also different than before: warmer, perhaps. No longer in his mind, but right there, next to him. Real. Much like the difference between a painting of a beautiful sunset and the sunset as it paints the world with vibrant color, because you are there to experience it.

“You’ve never touched me before.” Jake marveled at the strength in those long, graceful fingers. He could almost hear the other man’s breath in his ear as he imagined Trace’s face above his own, looking down. He didn’t open his eyes for fear that the scene would disappear and he’d be back in his own apartment once more, alone.

“You’ve never let me touch you, not in this way,” the Sim responded. “Until now, you haven’t been comfortable letting me get this close to you.”

“Hell.” Jake sighed and gave in to the need to believe that it was Trace Michelson touching him, and not just a simulation. “It’s all in my head, anyhow. Why should I care what you do?” He began to relax into the warm sand, and all thoughts of what Grey might say if he told him his Sim massaged his shoulders on a Caribbean beach vanished.

“You will find the answers.” Trace began to work his way down Jake’s arm, kneading the muscles. “But you must be patient.”

“Easy for you to say,” said Jake with a laugh. Trace worked his fingers up Jake's arms and lingered briefly at his shoulders, working through the tension, reaching around his neck to work the muscles of his upper back. Painful bliss.

“Relax,” Trace commanded after a few more minutes. Jake obliged as his head sank back further into the soft sand.

“God, that feels so good.”

“You’re fighting it,” Trace said, his face again close to Jake’s.

“Hell no. It’s just that I’m starting to feel like Jell-O.”

“I’m not talking about your body,” the Sim replied. “I’m talking about your mind, your spirit.”

“My mind?”

“You must open your mind, Jake, and see the infinite possibilities.”

A flash of color hovered on the periphery of Jake’s consciousness: the mandala. “What am I supposed to see in it?” he asked as Trace caressed his chest. “What am I missing?”

“The future. Your future is there.”

“Right now, I’m just seein’ myself dead,” Jake answered acerbically. “And that’s what I see, no matter which way I look.”

“You’re better than that—stronger. You’re capable of so much more than you’re willing to admit. This is no different from any mission you’ve been sent on in the past. Only perhaps there is more to be gained in the end.”

“Will you be waiting there?” Jake asked.

There was no answer. Trace followed a line to the sensitive skin under Jake's ear, and he felt gooseflesh rise on his body.

“God, Trace,” he whispered, “what are you doing?”

“I’m merely responding to your wishes, to your desires.” Jake imagined Trace’s lips close to his ear. “It’s what I’m programmed to do.”

“My… desires?” Jake wondered aloud. “Trace… he programmed you to…?”

“My programming has never been completely static,” Trace replied as he ghosted a pair of silken palms over the muscles of Jake’s chest, and Jake’s body arched instinctively upward. “I’m only responding to your needs, your desires.”

“Have I desired this?” Jake mused. He was a sexual being, although he’d never found a man who could completely satisfy him. And yet, this man whom he’d worshipped from afar….

“You hesitate because you do not know what to believe of your unspoken need,” Trace explained calmly.

“I….”

“It's your desire that guides me. And it's your fear that holds you back.”

“I’m afraid,” Jake admitted.

“You’re afraid of being with me.” Jake knew Trace was right. Was it so unreasonable to be afraid of Trace? He was nothing more than a ghost.

“How did you know,” Jake asked, uncomprehending, “when I didn’t understand it myself?”

“I’m a part of you. I can’t be separated from you, nor can I fail to hear what's in your heart.”

Jake moaned again. The feel of Trace’s fingers on his scalp made him want to….

“Open your eyes, Jake Anders,” that glorious voice now commanded. “Open your eyes.”

Jake obeyed, looking into the most stunning eyes he’d ever known, their deep blue now appearing almost gray in the bright sunlight. It was as if he were seeing those eyes for the first time—they were no longer the cold, controlled eyes of the man who had mentored him but the eyes of a lover, warm and deep. Trace was naked, his hair wet from the water. Jake realized that he was naked, as well.

“Trace,” he whispered as their lips met. He ran his fingers over the well-defined chest, the smooth pale skin that seemed to glow in the sunlight. “You’re so goddamn beautiful. I never knew….” His voice trailed off as he felt Trace run his hands through his hair with its ends now painted in sand. Trace licked his ear, and Jake gasped. Why did this all seem so real? And how hadn’t he understood what he’d felt all along? He smiled for a moment at the realization that Grey had correctly guessed at his heart, then silently cursed the man for it.

“Do you understand, now, what you’ve denied yourself all these years?” Trace whispered, biting the lobe of Jake’s ear and sucking it for a moment. “Do you understand why I always kept you at arm’s length?”

“You didn’t want to hurt me.” Jake was momentarily stricken by the thought that the real man behind the Sim might not have desired him in the same way. To Trace, he’d been just a kid, eager, willing, and yet unable to comprehend the adult whispers of his soul.

Jake couldn't deny it any longer: after years spent with the Sim as his constant companion, he’d grown to love Trace. It was utterly absurd. But as he lay on the beach with the water lapping at his toes, the absurdity of falling in love with the ghost who inhabited his mind didn't matter. Here, in this place, that love felt real.

“I wanted you to make your own choices.”

I want this now. I want him.

Jake pulled Trace on top of him, raking his back with his nails until he heard a low groan in response. Then, roughly, he drew Trace's face back to his and found his lips once again, probing Trace’s mouth with an insistent and demanding tongue, relishing the warmth as it opened to him. He had never tasted anything as sinfully sweet.

“Jake, what do you want?” Trace wrapped his arms around Jake and pulled him closer.

“I want you,” moaned Jake, his hands grasping at the tensed muscles of Trace’s shoulders, feeling the power there.

Trace pushed Jake back onto the sand, his eyes hooded with lust. He sucked hard at the base of Jake’s neck, then moved lower, biting a nipple and laving the outline of it with his tongue. Jake growled as Trace took the pebbled flesh between his teeth and rolled it there, biting it again, just enough to sting.

“Oh, fuck… Trace!” he cried out. Where did a Sim chip learn to do that? The thought was quickly replaced by thrumming need. He went to push Trace over, to dominate him as he was being dominated, but Trace was far stronger than he remembered, and he remained pinned beneath the smaller man.

Trace’s eyes grew darker still as he pushed Jake’s wrists into the sand at his sides. Jake ceased his struggle, surrendering to his companion until he felt Trace’s hard cock against his. But the blissful pressure of that contact was quickly gone as Trace leaned down, then drew lazy circles on his abdomen with his pink tongue, making his way slowly downward to the point that Jake thought he might lose his sanity in the pleasure of the other man’s touch.

“God, Trace.” The sun-heated water lapped at Jake’s feet as Trace’s lips parted and he felt the warmth of Trace’s mouth, exploring the length of him, tasting and sucking there.

Now I’ve really lost my mind.

“Hardly,” murmured Trace, circling his tongue around the sensitive tip before swallowing it down until his mouth met the reddish curls at the base of Jake’s cock. “You’ve just found it.”

He could barely breathe to feel that warm heat. And that tongue! God, that tongue was at once both heavenly and sinful. Trace sucked in his cheeks, increasing the pressure—that incredible, perfect pressure that made Jake forget everything. Teeth, lips, and tongue combined in the most exquisite way.

Jake realized his lover no longer held his wrists when he felt lithe fingers scrape the sensitive skin of his perineum and a firm hand cup his balls, then roll them about. “Shit!” he cried out, the sound of his voice lost on the crashing waves. “Shit, shit, shit!” A finger pressed against his tight opening, and it was just too much for him. He came hard in Trace’s mouth, shuddering and clutching Trace's hair in his hands.

The cell phone alarm buzzed, and Jake awoke with a start, panting. He was still on the couch, wearing the same pair of pants as before. The apartment was dark. He was soaked in sweat. He felt the sticky warmth of his release on his abdomen. He was half-hard just remembering.

“Helluva dream,” he muttered to himself. He got up and headed for the shower, stripped off his pants, and set the temperature as cold as he could stand it. “You are one fucked-up SOB,” he added, shaking his head and grabbing the shampoo.

That was a dream, wasn’t it? he wondered as he rinsed the shampoo from his long hair.

About Shira:

In her last incarnation, Shira Anthony was a professional opera singer, performing roles in such operas as Tosca, Pagliacci, and La Traviata, among others. She’s given up TV for evenings spent with her laptop, and she never goes anywhere without a pile of unread M/M romance on her Kindle.

Shira is married with two children and two insane dogs, and when she’s not writing, she is usually in a courtroom trying to make the world safer for children. When she’s not working, she can be found aboard a 30’ catamaran at the Carolina coast with her favorite sexy captain at the wheel.

Shira has written three books for Dreamspinner Press, including the "Blue Notes" series of classical music themed gay romances.  The second book in that series, The Melody Thief, will be released on August 24, 2012.

 Shira can be found on Facebook, Goodreads, or on her web site, http://www.shiraanthony.com. You can also contact her at shiraanthony@hotmail.com.