I have to admit, I didn’t appreciate the “back to school” concept until I went to art college. Before then, I was one of those kids who hated going back to school, no matter if it meant new clothes. Until I rebelled, my mom usually made my back to school clothes. Yeah, thrifty but not cool. Back to school also meant getting up early every day and, worst of all, gym classes. All bookish geeks regard gym classes as hell on earth.
I swore that’s why I attended art college. No damned gym classes, no math… none of that pesky brain-and body hurtin’ nonsense for me, no way.
Art college was an eye-opener for this shy geek. Everyone wandered about discussing ideas for projects and possibilities. If the grad students liked you, you ended up in their studio smoking pot while attending private critiques. Back in the day before computers, everything was done by hand, including the typesetting. Does anyone even use Letraset press type anymore? Yeah, try spelling out a headline at 1:00 AM after having been up since 6:00 AM.
The experience taught me so much. It was all about art and working in fun with the art. We lived with art while exploring the far horizons.
I always wanted to write about my art college experience using a M/M twist. All these personalities I remembered lurked around in my head, which is why I started “Cupid Knows Best” quite a few years ago. Carl Conrad, the novel’s main character, is a composite using a few different professors. I won’t name names. I’m sure someone like Carl exists in the world, only I haven’t met him yet, at least not in real life. Hell, I spent plenty of time with him as he poured out his story.
As he created his story, Carl’s obsessive nature almost drove me crazy. Marcelino Moya—the hot, sexy Argentinean wild child and object of Carl’s obsession— was crazy to write in a different way. He kept me guessing the entire time. He was out there, waaay out in the stratosphere. Marcelino kept both Carl and I guessing until the truth was revealed which cleared up the romantic uncertain to allow a happing ending.
Writing about their budding romance made the concept of back to school into a sexy something I could support one-hundred percent. I wish my college days had been that spicy.
Want to join them as they go back to school? Here’s the excerpt where Carl first sees his new obsession:
When it comes to his professional life, photographer Carl Conrad is at the top of his game. He molds impressionable minds at university by day and jets off to Paris for gallery showings on long weekends. Unfortunately, he pays for it with his disastrous personal life: Carl kicked his boyfriend to the curb after one too many punches, so now it’s just him and his hamsters, one of which he suspects may be a space alien.
Then Cupid takes pity on Carl and hits him where it hurts. It takes Carl all of three seconds to fall head over heels in lust with set design student Marcelino Moya, despite the man’s questionable—okay, deplorable—fashion sense. Convincing Marcelino to give him a chance is the hard part, but Carl is up for the challenge, pun definitely intended.
Marcelino plays hard to get, but he isn't immune to Carl's charms. Carl talks him around to dinner, dating, and eventually moving in. There's just one tiny word standing between Carl and perfect happiness. Why won't Marcelino say it?
"Hello, everyone, sorry to be late. As you know, I'm Professor Carl Conrad. Wow, is everyone here for this class?" Their enthusiastic nods told me yes. Groan. "Really? Wow again. Well, let's see what's going on here."
Someone had neglected to study the student list before arriving in class. The document had resided in my e-mail in-box for weeks, but as I planned my escape from Martin, reading the names lurked low on my priority list. Usually I enjoyed examining the names and trying to imagine what a student looked like ahead of time. To my surprise, my random guesses often rang true.
Had I brought the list with me? Whoops. I fumbled through my notes and papers. Amused little smiles aimed at me. I smiled back and took the time to examine faces. A lame joke about setting a bad example by being late almost emerged when the most amazing sensation hit me.
Great googly moogly on hot buttered cinnamon raisin toast, this wild feeling felt nothing like Martin's hard fist hitting my cheek. Damn, I shouldn't have skipped lunch.
I mentally aimed my inner camera lens and focused directly on achingly delicious subject matter. My lens zoomed in and ignored everyone else in the room. Buzz, click, frame, and drool. The wild scene lasted for a split second. Everything moved in slow motion. Fascinating how the world transformed into a weird fantasy.
Yes, I had been hit in the head too many times.
Today the new lust of my messed-up life sat before me in masculine perfection.
Okay, aside from his outrageous outfit, complete with magenta socks and orange Keds, the vision embraced masculine perfection.
Boom, done. My heart's quick decision made sense to me. My cock and brain deliberated for a few seconds until they signed off on the magical contract. Master Lust stepped forward and turned Heart, Brain, and Cock into a strange version of the Supremes backing the divine Diana. They crooned in romantic urgency.
Did the manly subject matter at the other end of my lusting mental lens accept my desire? Falling in lust never seemed hard, but convincing the unaware victim he needed me as much as I desired him would provide the true challenge.
I located the wrinkled list. My waking brain operated on autopilot. My mouth opened and closed while I spoke to the students. The advanced class's basic concepts filled the air. The new students learned what I expected from their creativity over the upcoming semester.
In the background, oozing lust kept shrieking in joy while turning cartwheels in my mind. Damn, lust needed to cut its jagged toenails.
The time came to scare certain students into dropping the class before they found themselves in serious trouble. Nothing upset me more than a heartbroken student wailing in distress when I smacked a dreaded "incomplete" on them. Well, lately Martin had upset me more, but—
Lust kicked and stomped me into focus. It controlled my primitive urges. The panting ooze admired the tasty man sitting a mere five feet away from my twitching right hand. Ooo-la-la, two simple steps would allow my happy fingers to caress his tea-hued cheek. Touching his tempting flesh might be worth dismissal.
Eager lust battered my senses into mush. My opening blather concluded. I needed to begin the roll call. The desire to attach a name to the appealing man ruled me.
The alpha-ordered list refused to cooperate. The sixth name jumped out at me. The letters danced, waved, and wiggled their taut asses at me before they calmed down and resumed spelling his name. I sensed the reality. The seductive man looked like his name in a luscious manner far beyond my lust-fried comprehension.
I clapped my hands in decision. Expectant young faces regarded me with varying emotions. "Before I call the roll, time for one last reality check. Is there anyone here who wants to drop the class? If you have any, and I mean any doubt about this class, please make it easy on everyone, especially me, and bail now. Remember this is an advanced class. We'll mainly focus—hey, a little photo humor there—on learning the digital process, but if anyone is interested, we may play in the darkroom a few times. Don't let my cuddly reputation fool you; I am a stickler about deadlines. Once a project is a week late, I lop off ten grade points, which means after a month you have an F. Above all, I expect performance, dedication, and drive." I hoped that the students didn't expect the same responsible trio from me.
No one screamed, "Please, you wicked, cruel bastard, let me leave now!" I hated turning away eager students, but a seventeen-person class meant mayhem in the critique situation.
Please, mayhem in an empty classroom with a classically muscled dark body pressed close in passion suited me.
Agggh. I needed to cease waffling. Sanity slapped me to move along and finally call the roll. In a minute I'd obtain a name for the exquisite face. Excitement flushed me until I feared my pores might spring lust leaks.
I shrugged and cast my special evil grin over the poor young dears. "Okay, everyone wants to stick around for the torment? You have been warned. Time to establish who belongs before I make my decisions. Jeremy Atkinson?"
A tall slender guy with long red dreads tossed me a friendly wave.
A Goth brunette sporting too much eyeliner and enough piercings to threaten a weather balloon managed a bored nod. There sat a potential attitude problem.
I tried not to grin. "Ralph Digglestaff?"
Not the name I expected to match with the burly, bald dark-skinned dude waving at me. What a great porn star handle.
A man who looked like James Dean’s long-lost love child nodded in lazy regard.
"Hello, Rachel. I guess I didn't scare you away last time."
The petite blonde woman snapped her gum and grinned. "Nope, Prof C, I am back for more."
The moment arrived in grand glory. My heart tightened in anticipation. "Marcelino Moya?"
Bull’s-eye. Hold on, did I hear a faint accent? My desperate-for-more-words lust pushed me. I raised a curious eyebrow toward my new erotic partner. "I guess your parents wanted to give you a memorable name." The seductive man looked like his name in a luscious manner far beyond my lust-fried comprehension.
Possibly the most sensual grin ever to grace human lips appeared. "It is a memorable name, which is helpful in the performing arts. I can't wait to see the words 'set designs by Marcelino Moya' appear for real on the silver screen." The way he rolled his name off his tongue threatened my tattered reason. His cock-stiffening grin grew wider and sexier. Now how was such a miracle possible? The man's generous mouth shape needed a "proceed with caution" warning flashing beneath the succulent skin.
Yum, my dream was a performing arts hunk possessing a subtle Hispanic accent. Deeee-licious. Yippee on high, mark me smitten to the skies. Ha, if I walked back out onto Broadway and let the mad cabbie plow me down, I wouldn't even feel the pain. Instead I'd float right over the problem held aloft by Cupid's blessed wings. The blind bow boy's arrows had pierced my heart. Now I needed to bribe him to aim at luscious Marcelino's masculine bounty.
Mmm, Marcelino. The rare name tasted fine on my tongue. I wonder what he uses for a nickname? I wonder how his full lips taste?
An alarm rang in my mind. Lust scowled in annoyance. I wondered if he was gay. Yeeeeah, sigh, my heated lust always overlooked the crucial details.a Rafflecopter giveaway