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Best Gay Erotica 2013

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Overview


Best Gay Erotica 2013 adds another jewel in the crown to what novelist Paul Russell calls an "invaluable series." A straight-acting Italian Stallion has a badly-kept secret in Davem Verne's "The Pasta Closet." Douglas A. Martin's "Other Residences, Other Neighborhoods" follows a young newcomer from Brooklyn to Chelsea as he chases boys and something like love. A physics major gets the hazing of a lifetime (and comes back for more) at the frat house in Geoffrey Knight's "Fight Cub." From gay superheroes to ...
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Overview


Best Gay Erotica 2013 adds another jewel in the crown to what novelist Paul Russell calls an "invaluable series." A straight-acting Italian Stallion has a badly-kept secret in Davem Verne's "The Pasta Closet." Douglas A. Martin's "Other Residences, Other Neighborhoods" follows a young newcomer from Brooklyn to Chelsea as he chases boys and something like love. A physics major gets the hazing of a lifetime (and comes back for more) at the frat house in Geoffrey Knight's "Fight Cub." From gay superheroes to not-so-innocent farm hands, burly bears and fuzzy cubs, Best Gay Erotica 2013 makes a nice and slow one-handed read.
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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher

"Richard Labonté is, among many other wonderful things, America's great gay erotic anthologist, indefatigably collecting and curating our various dreams, desires, unholy deliriums and blessed depravities. He's a national treasure."
—Paul Russell, author of The Unreal Life of Sergey Nabokov

"This stunning collection of erotic stories truly is the best gay erotica. With a diverse selection of tales covering just about all tastes, along with incredibly sizzling sex scenes, this book provides much pleasurable reading."
—BDSM Book Reviews

"The stories are poignant and thought-provoking in many cases, but downright hot in all cases. The variety of stories in this collection is unrivaled."
—AVN

"Richard Labonte's Best Gay Erotica series sets and raises the bar in the 2013 volume. Gathering the hottest, freshest, and most literary fiction for the year, Best Gay Erotica 2013 captures the tenderness and raw energy of man-on-man desire."
Erotica Readers and Writers Association

From the Publisher
"Richard Labonté is, among many other wonderful things, America's great gay erotic anthologist, indefatigably collecting and curating our various dreams, desires, unholy deliriums and blessed depravities. He's a national treasure."
—Paul Russell, author of The Unreal Life of Sergey Nabokov

"The stories are poignant and thought-provoking in many cases, but downright hot in all cases. The variety of stories in this collection is unrivaled."
—AVN

"Richard Labonte's Best Gay Erotica series sets and raises the bar in the 2013 volume. Gathering the hottest, freshest, and most literary fiction for the year, Best Gay Erotica 2013 captures the tenderness and raw energy of man-on-man desire."
Erotica Readers and Writers Association

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781573448956
  • Publisher: Cleis Press
  • Publication date: 12/11/2012
  • Pages: 232
  • Sales rank: 412,437
  • Product dimensions: 5.50 (w) x 7.90 (h) x 0.80 (d)

Meet the Author


Richard Labonté lives on small, friendly Bowen Island, off the coast of British Columbia, Canada. One of the founders of A Different Light Bookstore, he has edited the Best Gay Erotica series since 1996. He reviews 100 books a year for Q Syndicate, which distributes "Book Marks," his fortnightly column; writes the "Books to Watch Out For/Gay Men's Edition" newsletter, where he reviews 100 queer books per year; and writes book reviews for Publishers Weekly. He has coordinated the Lambda Literary Awards for the past two years, and as of 2011 has edited almost 40 books. Husband Asa and canines Percy and Zak are his constant companions.
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Read an Excerpt


"Fight Club," by Geoffrey Knight

I wasn’t looking for a fight. And yet there I was, sitting in the physics end-of-year exam with a cut on my chin and a wrist so swollen that my writing hand had to drag my pen across the page like a slave with a ball and chain strapped to his ankle.
Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t complaining at all, because every time I stole a glance across the examination hall at Mason my cock stirred and pulsed with such pleasure I refused to stifle it.
Heck, I even sat back in my chair, a different person, and let my dick harden with the memories of the night before.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
“Get him!”
This I heard over the rattling pipes of the hot water system in the dilapidated dorm in which I lived. I’m not a member of a fraternity—I’m just not frat material. Sure, I try to look after myself, I have a pair of dumbbells stashed under my bed and when nobody’s looking I do curls and dips and try not to pop a shoulder, and to be honest with myself—which doesn’t happen all that often—my body’s not that bad. Transformation from weedy geek to lean, well-proportioned lad is definitely within my reach. I look okay in the mirror these days—if I take off the glasses and tousle the hair and just relax. But that’s a me the rest of the world simply never sees. Because I can’t do exactly that—I can’t just relax! I’m always on my guard: woolen vests as a shield of armor no matter what the temperature outside;
glasses for a helmet; straight, flat hair because I simply wouldn’t dare to do anything attention getting.
“Get him!”
The hot water was spluttering and pissing in bursts over me as the pipes clanged and shuddered. I was the only guy in the showers at the time. I showered late, when everyone else was at a party or having fun at the college bar or fucking someone in their room. It was supposed to be the safe time to take a shower,
alone, in private, with nobody to size you up and put you down.
But suddenly I heard the cry of their voices.
I opened my eyes to the sting of soap and saw two buff guys in Alpha Gamma Fuckya T-shirts practically sliding across the moldy tiles toward me at top speed. In their hands they held a pillowcase, like park rangers about to bag a snake. Only my snake didn’t lash and hiss and spit. It simply recoiled in terror,
stunned into shrinkage, before an elbow connected with my chin (the now gashed chin). Suddenly the white tiles all around turned into a star-filled night sky, then swirled into complete darkness.
Physics is different from quantum physics.
Physics deals with the things we can see: an aircraft made out of heavy metals and packed with human souls flying through the sky; two cars bouncing off each other when they collide while their occupants sail through the windscreen still full of momentum; an apple falling on Isaac Newton’s head while he sits under a tree reading Shakespeare.
Quantum physics, on the other hand, deals with the things we can’t see: what are atoms and protons and electrons and molecules and particles truly capable of? Metamorphosis? The folding of space? Time travel? What happens when you sleep?
What happens when you’re elbowed in the chin by a quarterback with a buzz cut and arms bigger than my thighs? Where do we really go—what alternate universes do we traverse—as minutes and hours slip by, lose their meaning, and before you know it,
you’re opening your eyes and your thumping head registers the fine cotton weave of the inside of a pillowcase? And the smell of manly sweat. And the sound of jocks laughing at you.
Then suddenly—
—the pillow case is whisked off your head and your flat, wet,
honey hair flips and flops in the air, wanting to free itself and simply relax. But your chin is bleeding and your head is throb-
bing and your sight is blurred and all you can see are twenty
Alpha Gamma Fuckya T-shirts in front of you, all covering thick, muscled college torsos, all begging to be torn to shreds and flung to the ground.
Yes, those T-shirts would be much better off, off!
But then again, my chin was very sore!
“You’re the money!” I heard someone say and looked up to see the gorilla-jawed, buzz-cut quarterback who had elbowed me.
I then looked down to see that I was still completely naked,
my lean body glistening, having been snatched from the dorm showers. My hands were tied behind my back. I was in a rickety, broken chair in what looked like a derelict, rat-infested basement.
“Welcome to the attic,” Buzz Cut screamed in my face.
Now I saw the window with its curtains drawn and the vaulted ceiling. Nobody has secret meetings in basements anymore, duh! This must have been—
“—the attic of Alpha Gamma Fuckya!” I was shouted at.
“You’ve been chosen by the fraternity as tonight’s prize!”
“Prize?” My lip cracked and started bleeding again.
“You heard me, bitch! You’re here to be won.”
“Won by who?” I should have said by whom, but I was bleeding and dizzy.
“By whom, bitch!” shouted Buzz Cut, surprisingly aston-
ished by my mistake. “Jesus, it’s a good thing we don’t need you for your grammar skills! We need you for the end-of-year physics exam! You and your nerdy brain will be the prize for the winner of tonight’s fight, and I for one intend to win. You’re gonna help me pass tomorrow’s test, or else!”
“Or else what?” I asked fearfully.
Buzz Cut didn’t actually have an answer prepared and simply spat one out in straight rage. “Or else we’ll make you wash every one of our jockstraps…with your tongue!”
He glared at me, his eyes and nostrils flaring like those of a demon from hell, but as I looked at the wall of muscled shirts in front of me all I could see were angels from heaven—in tight,
torso-hugging T-shirts, with lats for wings.
I hid my increasing desire. At least that was the plan. Unfor-
tunately my cock was less subtle. It made its way down my thigh like a plane on a runway until it took off, ascending straight up,
defying both gravity and my brave intentions not to make a bad situation worse.
Buzz Cut stared at it in horror and rage, as did everyone else,
including myself. “Are you listening to me, pervert! Or are you too busy having some sort of faggot fantasy!”
I gulped nervously and stammered, feeling the heat of my erection against my belly. “N-n-neither! B-b-both! Yes! No!
Shit!”
My rantings just made him madder. He was pushing the already high, tight sleeves of his T-shirt farther up his bulging biceps, true comic-strip style, and bunching up a fist, ready to beat the pleasure and desire out of me, when suddenly a piercing whistle cut the air.
It was a whistle of confidence, the sexy kind I could never make, the one that hot New York bankers in designer suits conjure up when they need a cab, with two moist fingers probing their mouths and manipulating their tongues as they blow.
Everyone ducked and covered his ears as though a missile had just passed too close overhead. Slowly the crowd of Fuckya frat boys turned then parted to reveal the one man in the room
I hadn’t noticed before, probably because of the wall of testos-
terone blocking my view.
This man—the one with the sexy whistle—was sitting at a bench press that I also hadn’t noticed. He was unforgivably handsome, with a strong jaw and a flash of freckles across his perfect nose, the last sign of something innocent and sweet on his manly face. He looked to be around my age—perhaps twenty,
maybe twenty-one—but his body was that of a man who’d been working out since he was a young boy. The sweat stains around his armpits and down the middle of his pecs suggested he’d just finished lifting, and now his bouldered shoulders and heaving chest looked as though they could rip their own way out of his fraternity T-shirt. Then there was the matter of his gym shorts,
tight and also bulging.
Quickly I blinked away the lure of his crotch and looked once more at his face, his iceberg blue eyes, the generous locks of his raven black hair. Instantly I wanted to run my fingers through those locks, but as though reading my mind he indulged in that privilege himself, using one large hand, fingers splayed, to push bountiful strands away from his beaded forehead, raising his arm high. I could almost smell the scent of his armpit, sweet and dangerous, irresistible.
My cock thumped eagerly against my stomach, an unruly dog pawing at the door. Luckily for me nobody noticed; they were all watching the muscle-bound god, obviously their alpha male. All but one had a look of adoration on his face—Buzz Cut.
His eyes turned to hateful slits as he glared at the man on the bench press, like a tribesman who had been number two for too long. “If you think you can beat me, Mason, then bring it! I need that pass in physics and I’m ready for you!”
Mason, the god, stood. “I need to pass too, Bobby.” Oh,
Jesus, his voice was so calm, so confident. “And if it means getting physical over physics, I’m ready too.”
Despite being slightly larger (and certainly uglier) than Mason,
buzz-cut Bobby’s throat clacked at the response, nervous and mad. But he stood his ground nonetheless. At least he tried. It was a difficult thing to do when Mason threw down the gauntlet by peeling off his shirt. Actually, let me do this scene justice…by replaying it in slow motion…and please forgive me if I embellish a little…but Mason didn’t just peel off his shirt—he teased it off over every last inch of his torso.
First his hands crossed each other in front of his belly before hooking the hem of his body-hugging tee. His fists lifted it just a little at first, hoisting it up three inches to reveal a navel buried deep in muscle and surrounded by a trim forest of stomach hair—so much hair for a man that young, yet so under control,
so beautifully clipped, so admirably well-maintained. He lifted the T-shirt higher to reveal a four-pack, then a six-pack, then a glorious eight-pack, because let’s face it, nature smiles on some guys—as was I. Each pack was blanketed in that neatly manicured young male’s mane, a little matted in areas from sweat, twisting into inky trails here and there. He pulled the shirt higher to reveal nipples. They were small and milky brown, waiting for someone to drink them, begging for someone to suck on the trim fur around them before clenching those hard buds between his teeth.
I swallowed hard and glanced down, noticing the glimmer of precum in the eye of my tortured cock. It was a good thing that nobody was looking my way. Mason still had everyone’s undivided attention…
…as he pulled the T-shirt up to fully reveal his bulking chest…
…as he tugged the shirt over his head, messing up his bouncing black locks…
…as he threw the sweaty tee on the floor and flexed his pecs.
First the left.
Then the right.
He was like a young male lion about to take charge of the pride, giving off so much intensity and testosterone I thought I
was about to cum right then, right there, even with my hands tied behind my back and my legs crossed trying in vain to stifle my stiffy.

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Table of Contents

Table of Contents

Introduction: The Locker Room of My Lonesome Imagination by Paul Russell

The Pasta Closet by Davem Verne

Cruising on Cary Street by J. M. Snyder

Game Boyz by F. A. Pollard

Daddy Draden by Jeff Mann

A Little Night Music by Tom Mendicino

Bareback Rider by Michael Bracken

Missing Daddy by Xan West

Drug Colors by Erastes

Night Visit by Barry Alexander

The Farmer's Son by Karl Taggart

Bigchest: Confessions of a Tit Man by Larry Duplechan

Father and Son Tag Team (That Summer! That Camp! That Cousin!) by Jack Fritscher

Opening Day at the County Fair by J. M. Snyder

Other Residences, Other Neighborhoods by Douglas A. Martin

Fight Cub by Geoffrey Knight

Hot Eats by Kal Cobalt

Red Right by Dominic Santi

Wild Night by Simon Sheppard

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 5
( 4 )
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Sort by: Showing all of 4 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 15, 2013

    This book got me completely hot and bothered! I loved it! The st

    This book got me completely hot and bothered! I loved it! The stories were engaging and interesting, but never took away from the real juice of the book. 

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted May 8, 2013

    With a foreword from Paul Russel, I was already excited to read

    With a foreword from Paul Russel, I was already excited to read this before the "good stuff" even began. There's a great little essay on why gay erotica is important, well worth checking out. But on to the actual stories.... they're incredibly hot, and of course, well-written (this is the BEST gay erotica, after all). Personal favorites of mine include "Bareback Rider" and "Game Boyz."

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted July 24, 2013

    If you're looking for something to read that will get you in the

    If you're looking for something to read that will get you in the mood and maybe spark some interesting games between you and your partner, this is the book you want to read! Each story is well written and tasteful, and features some sexy boy chasing hunks that you won't want to miss out on!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 16, 2013

    Another wonderful addition to the Best Gay Erotica series.  This

    Another wonderful addition to the Best Gay Erotica series.  This book sizzles from page one and the heat doesn't let up until the very last page.  "Opening Day at the County Fair" was my personal favorite, but there is definitely something for everyone within these pages.  I highly recommend this book (and all others in the series, for that matter)!  LOVE it!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
Sort by: Showing all of 4 Customer Reviews

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