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:
BLURB:
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?
EXCERPT:
"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.
"Jill Carlotta?"
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.
"Bill Harrison?"
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."
"Brave woman."
The moment arrived in grand glory. My heart tightened
in anticipation. "Marcelino
Moya?"
"Right here."
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.
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