Tags: anthology, christmas story, gay, lesbian, m/m, short stories
edited by David Laurents
$5.99, 40,900 words
Dyke the Halls
edited by Linda Alvarez
$5.99, 36,000 words
Circlet Press digital titles are also available at the Amazon Kindle Store, B&N.com, Smashwords, Kobo, Apple’s iBookstore, and many independent booksellers via Google ebooks, as well as specialty ebookstores like All Romance eBooks, and Weightless Ebooks, to name just a few! (Please let us know if your favorite source for digital books does not carry this title and you want them to.)
About the Book:
Ten years after their original publication, these two Circlet classics are finally available in digital form–just in time for the holidays!
Who can resist a smorgasbord of delicious holiday treats? Stocking Stuffers is the first ever anthology of gay erotic Christmas stories, filled with hot stories sure to heat up the coldest of winter nights. Meanwhile, Dyke the Halls is full of sexy stories for women both naughty and nice–much better than any mistletoe.
Stocking Stuffers contains stories by Tom Caffrey, M. Christian, Jameson Currier, Lars Eighner, Christopher Marconni, Felice Picano, Matthew Rettenmund, Leigh Rutledge, Lawrence Schimel, and Simon Sheppard. Dyke the Halls contains stories by Susan St. Aubin, Kate Dominic, Lori Selke, Sage Vivant, Andrea Dale, Anya Levin, M. Christian, Shari J. Berman, Karin Kallmaker, Clio Knight, and Zonna.
Both books are on sale for $4.99 until January 1st, 2013!
Look under the cut for a hot excerpt from Stocking Stuffers!
from Season’s Greetings by Lawrence Schimel:
It had been a long time since I could remember snow in November, but it was hardly unheard of for New York City. The weather had been so wonky the past few years, with global warming and El Niño and whatever new causes or theories they were blaming now, that I wasn’t really surprised by anything that fell from the sky any more, no matter the season.
I was surprised, however, as I checked my mailbox while waiting for the elevator, to discover I’d gotten my first Christmas card of the year. I know that traditionally the Christmas sales season starts the day after Thanksgiving and all that, but this was way too early for a card. I briefly contemplated waiting a few weeks before opening it, when Christmas felt like it was in high gear, but I’ve never been good about delayed gratification; even when I was younger, I’d sneak into the living room when no one was looking and pick up my presents under the tree and shake them to try to determine what was inside, even though I knew I’d be in big trouble if I opened them before Christmas day itself. I could, however, wait until I’d gotten upstairs and had warmed up a bit, before opening the card; after all, I knew from the postmark that it was from John.
I stomped my waterproof boots on the mat outside my apartment door, and took them off so I didn’t track snow inside. I took off my hat and gloves and scarf and jacket and one of the sweaters I was wearing, and put a pot of water on to boil for tea. I looked at the AIDS benefit calendar hanging on the fridge, with black and white photos of naked men by Jeff Palmer, and confirmed that it was indeed still the 29th of November—far too early to be getting Christmas cards.
I took the pile of mail and sat down on the cushioned window seat I’d built over the radiator and hence suffused with a delicious warmth. There was a catalog from J. Crew, a bill from AT&T, and two different envelopes filled with coupons from local establishments. I opened both of the latter and rifled through the traditional storage and car service adverts, looking for the coupon for my local grocery store and anything new that caught my eye.
Then I opened John’s Christmas card. It depicted a foil-embossed wreath and had a preprinted greeting inside that read: with all the warmest wishes for joy this holiday season. John had printed my name and signed his own above and below the store-bought sentiment. That was it.
I didn’t quite understand why people bothered to send cards that said so little. Two bucks for the card, thirty seven cents for the stamp… to say absolutely nothing, except maybe “remember I’m alive.” Passive-aggressive blah blah blah.
John was a guy I’d tricked with three years ago in Montana on a business trip held in one of those convention centers so far off the beaten path the rates were dirt cheap, so all sorts of miserly industries liked to hold their trade shows there. John was the stereotypical blond farmboy type, big and beefy and dumb as a post. The sex had been delicious in that purely physical way sex can be, when two bodies are equally aroused by each other and fit together as if by magic. He had one of those cocks that bent kind of funny even when it was hard, and I was sure it would be awkward to find a comfortable position for him to fuck me as a result; but maybe I know less about the insides of my rectum than I thought, since no matter what we tried (and we tried many variations that night) felt great.
John was tender and sweet and affectionate, even if we had absolutely nothing in common to talk about when we were not fucking. I’d given him my address in New York so he could look me up if he ever came for a visit, more than willing to spend another night of blissed out pleasure with him if the opportunity arose. I couldn’t fathom spending time with him with any regularity. And I hardly wanted to maintain a long-distance affair with him—they’re taxing and difficult in the best of circumstances. But I’d be happy to see him again for a fuck.
I tossed John’s card onto the pile of junkmail and wondered if he’d ever come to New York. He obviously still remembered me enough to send me a Christmas greeting, empty though that greeting had been. I thought about his cock and the way it had felt in my mouth as I held it there, waiting for it to get hard for a third time that night…
I unbuttoned my jeans and pulled out my dick, thinking about John and the sex we’d had. It didn’t take long for me to have a full erection. I remembered again the funny bend in John’s dick as I stroked my own, and tried for a moment to twist my cock into that same bent shape. It didn’t quite work, and I quickly gave up and settled in to my usual masturbation stroke, pulling long and hard along the shaft and stopping sometimes near the glans to rub the sensitive skin on the underside just below the crown.
I glanced out the window at the thick white flakes of snow falling from the sky and noticed that my neighbor across the street was watching me jerk off. And not simply watching, he had his dick out as well and was jerking off in time to my own motions.
It’s a bit of a shock to suddenly discover you are having sex with someone else, when you didn’t realize you weren’t alone. And even though we weren’t having what would traditionally be called sex, that’s what it felt like nonetheless, sex with each other even from our separate apartments across an alleyway slowly filling with snow.