I’ve had this conversation several times with a number of people.. and it concerns the times I get down on myself…as we all do… I’m not rich… I don’t have a home… I live a frugal life… I, of course, want all the things everyone wants and I struggle every day to get a little closer to having a few of them… But on those occasions where I feel defeated I have to remind myself that I’ve accomplished quite a bit… First and foremost, I got “me” back. I can look in the mirror and say.. “I’m good with this man I see now.” It was a lot of hard work, and still is, but it was worth it to not dislike what I’d become. Secondly, my photography is known ’round the world… that’s quite an accomplishment for someone who always considered himself to be a perfectionist pain in the ass always criticizing every piece he’s done. I have a lot of friends who call themselves “fans” of my work… a number of them are well-known celebrities and that makes my heart happy that my work is enjoyed by such a wide selection of people. Thirdly, for years I procrastinated writing the books that were in me wanting to get out… it took a major life crisis to open the flow of words… I’m happy people enjoy them… and I am proud of them… and Memorizing You, the first book born of that crisis will probably always be the book I’m remembered for. I’m okay with that too because it’s a love story and I believe in love because I have all of you because of all of this…smoochers! https://www.amazon.com/Dan-Skinner/e/B00J22KFSE/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1
an Excerpt from my erotic novel, The Price of Dick by Dan Skinner
During what should have been a long, quiet drive home, Dick yammered excitedly. First about the event itself. Then about how great he’d done. And finally about a couple of the other athletes he’d met that morning in the registration tent.
“The ass on the guy in the gray wetsuit, Jesus H. Christ! Ass of death. I could die fucking that ass. He would die from me fucking that ass. Hence, ass of death.” Animated limbs flew everywhere as he talked.
“You okay?” I asked. I was ducking arms.
“He didn’t have much in the coin bag. But you know what they say, the smaller the cock, the quicker the pop. And the last thing I care about is spending time on a front door when the back door is where the action is.” He made a ridiculous thrusting movement with his hips that made me laugh.
“You’re mixing metaphors,” I said, knowing full well he’d ignore me. I was in his periphery during this ride. Just there to listen to what he wanted to say.
The highway ahead of us was seventy miles of blank space. He was in his sweat-cutoffs, and smelled like a barnyard. Instead of being dog-tired, he was bouncing all over the place. I didn’t know if I could tolerate it for the rest of the drive.
“Oh my God, I’m so horny. My nuts feel like sandbags weighing my dick down!” he announced out of the blue like a man unable to restrain any thought that passed through his mind. “I gotta get off! This is crazy. I can’t stand my dick feeling like it’s going to explode. You ever have that?”
I informed him we were still an hour away from the apartment. Small details like that were incidental to him at this point.
An impish giggle burst from him. “Hard cocks don’t wait for anyone or anything,” he said. And with that, he stripped out of his ragged sweat-shorts and briefs. His legs stretched out in the car, filling it with the smell of stale sweat. From my nervous sideways glances at him, I saw his cock release and flip upward to the edge of his shirt. Leaning back and sliding down in his seat, he admired his own hunk of hard flesh as if Michelangelo had personally sculpted it.
“What are you doing?” I asked both thrilled and panicked. “What if we get pulled over, you dipshit? What if a bus drives by, or a guy in a Mack truck?” I was checking my side and rearview mirrors.
That statement appeared to amuse him. “What if I just christen your car?” And with that came another bizarre burst of laughter. “Imagine a priest christening things like that?” He pointed at his dick in three directions as he said, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,” and then he laughed again.
He began stroking himself. I began thinking of excuses I could make to the cops should I get pulled over.
I should have made more of a protest. Each passing vehicle sent a stab of terror in my chest, worrying we might be caught. On the other hand I thought, how many men have the opportunity for a gorgeous stud to strip half naked in their car and jack off?
“Did I tell you about the priests at Saint Jude’s when I was a kid?” Again, asked for no reason in the middle of his masturbatory act. “It’s the church behind my folks’ house. I went to grade school there. I used to mow the rectory lawn every Saturday during summer, from the age of twelve until I was sixteen, because I could walk the mower from my house to the church. They were supposed to pay me ten bucks for each time I mowed.”
When he remarked how old he had been, I recalled seeing the pictures of him as a pre-teen and teenager on the wall going down into the basement of his folks’ house. The same lantern-jawed face, but with lighter blond hair. He wore glasses back then. Big, nerdy glasses that took up a third of his face. And he still had that same jutting bone structure that made him appear older.
“The first time I mowed the lawn I noticed the priests in the rectory windows watching me. They thought I didn’t see them peeking through those curtains, but I saw their beady little eyes.” He talked without missing a stroke on himself. I had to peek.
“So what did you do?” I wondered.
“Oh dude, it gave me the hardest erection knowing they were watching. I grew this monster between my legs starting at eleven years of age. I knew it was there for a reason ‘cause it went from being a peanut to a banana in less than a year. I knew what I had down there and I knew they were looking at it, standing behind their curtains and yanking on their willies. You think I wasn’t gonna show it off?”
He tightened his grip on himself as he said this. He counted this as a salient trophy memory and not something inappropriate.
“I took off my shirt. I wasn’t as built then. Didn’t have any body hair either. But I had a good tan, and I had on a pair of those pleated shorts that rode up my ass crack real tight so they got a good look at my rear junk.” He spit into his palm and continued to work himself more vigorously. “I kept my dick pushed way down in my shorts so they could see the outline when I mowed toward the window. I bet they were just dripping Holy jizz at the sight of a little boy with a big cock.”
I hazarded a quick look at him. He smiled at me, pointed with his eyes for me to look at the dick in his hands. It was huge, like all the blood in his body had pooled in that specific location. The head glowed shiny with pre-cum, was a deep tropical color, like a jungle snake about to strike.
“The Devil wore tennis shoes,” I quipped, reluctantly turning my eyes back to the lanes ahead of me. Several cars passed. I sighed with relief as each one went by.
“When I was fifteen or sixteen years old, Father James used to ask me in so I could shower in the rectory afterwards. Told me it would help me get used to high school showers when I’d have to be naked in front of other boys. But I knew what he was doing. I let him think I was a dummy; him standing there watching me as I soaped myself up, running my hand up and down my hairless little boy crack for him to see; keeping a nice half-woody worked up.”
“You know you’re giving these priests a defense if they need one, don’t you?” I joked.
That gave him some perverse delight. “Just because they put on black robes with a silly little collar doesn’t mean they ain’t ruled by their dicks like the rest of us. We all got the same dirty little secrets. And my mom thought they were all so holier than thou. That was a kick in the ass. Her bending on her knees, sucking the wine out of their cup and munching their dumb little crackers like God picked them out and put them on a pretty little pedestal. And there they were hankering after her boy’s hot little ass.” There was no mistaking the malice heard in his laughter this time.
I was hesitant to ask, but couldn’t live without the information. “Did you ever do anything with the priests?”
I saw the shadow of his shaking head. “Nope. You only get so much for ten bucks and a cold soda,” he said.
AMAZON BUY LINK: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00KIT5RKQ
Seems like GOOD SEX and BAD BOYS both have a price…
An Excerpt from my sizzling erotic Novel, The Price of Dick…
There’s nothing comparable to the knowledge that someone has prepared himself sexually for you completely. It’s an adrenalin surge all by itself. It saves time. No tentative, awkward questions to get in the way or impede the momentum of the heat of first encounter passion. In most male minds, foreplay is a test to see how far one can go in an initial encounter. Later it’s just a delaying technique to slow the way to what needs to get done. For a man, knowledge is as good as foreplay.
This time when they kissed, Dick’s new knowledge set a fire ablaze. He was ready to take it all the way with no more pseudo-protestations.
My camera would be busy under a frantic finger for the next fifteen minutes. A thousand shots. Almost a full card.
Mouths melded in a forceful plunge, noises like souls drowning, then resuscitating as they returned to the surface for air. Gasps of oxygen. Fingers splayed in blurred fury undoing the drawstrings of the swimsuits. A loud smack of hard flesh hitting a belly. There was an exclamation at the size and girth and color of the object of worship. Its head was a royal purple. The sexual fever generated by the two bodies refreshed the chlorine from their pores. The smell filled the room
Mike’s appetite for his ‘straight’ conquest was more than hunger. It was starvation. His mouth opened over the erection not to taste, but to consume. He took him in inch-by-inch, python-like, relaxing so his jaw could stretch to accommodate the width. When he made it to the base, lips grazing the light brown pubic curls, Dick lolled backward into the sofa, at a loss for words; the open O of his mouth exposing his tongue. Hapless fingers found the boy’s dark scalp and clutched the hair as he began to work the huge cock in with suction and warm, wet saliva.
My palms sweated on the camera. I wiped them on my shorts where my own zipper protruded. I had to keep moving and shooting. Climbing up on furniture for a better, more creative shot. Crawling beneath them for an inventive angle. I always hurt like I’d run a marathon after a shoot. It was, in fact, an endurance test in many ways.
The facade of the immutable straight guy was quickly crumbling at the hands of the youth eager to please him. They resembled two mangled bodies sprawled on the sofa. Tan lines demarcated target areas. Large, hair-covered thighs had been pushed upward and out so the boy could suck his sac unobstructed. He stroked him in unison with his sucking, his grip white-knuckled. The suckee was looking more helpless by the moment as the boy expertly coaxed his pleasure from him. His moans were half-formed exclamations and curses.
The lifeguard stood up, and with a sudden determination, peeled himself from the red swimsuit. His dick sprung out from a cleanly shaven crotch as if startled. It jittered with anticipation against his soft, untanned lower belly. He wasn’t large, but long, boyish balls dangled beneath his erection.
The larger man looked up at the bare boy, appraising what was being offered. His cock jerked against him, spreading a web-thin string of pre-cum from itself to his navel like colorless taffy. “You have a gorgeous ass,” Dick said, a telling smile accompanying the words.
It was the concession the younger man was waiting for. Some form of mutual, if limited, attraction.
Dick realized he’d given away some of his power and meant to correct it. “I mean you don’t have a set of tits or a wet hole I can stick my tongue in, but those sweet cheeks… ain’t gonna lie…” That’s as far as he would go with a compliment. There was obviously not going to be any act of oral reciprocation.
I heard my own sexually charged rasps as I moved around them to take more photos. Being a photographer by trade necessitated being part voyeur. I was as aroused as they were.
“You ever fuck a guy?” Mike’s gaze was as direct as the question he asked.
The larger man shook his head. “Nope.”
The not-as-large hand reached into the drawer of one of the end tables and brought out the sealed, silver wrapper of a condom. He knew where I stored everything in the house. He opened it, deftly grabbed the hunk’s hunk, stroked it to assure its firmness, and then attempted to roll it over him. The prophylactic was too small. It barely made it an inch before the lack of dimension stopped him.
“Oops.” The remark came from the man below, rich with self-applause.
BUY LINK: http://www.amazon.com/Price-Dick-Dan-Skinner-ebook/dp/B00KIT5RKQ/
An EXCERPT from Dan Skinner’s GAY YA Novel, “MEMORIZING YOU
Rosemary was good to her word. She forgave me, and we were friends again. Ryan readily embraced her into our select group with open arms. It was nice to have another confidant to our secret. Another accepting soul. What was so intrinsically stupendous about Rosemary’s persona was how normal she made us feel by being so normal around us. It wasn’t like she was hanging with gay guys. It was like she was hanging around with friends who happened to be gay. We could kiss around her and cuddle. She’d just look away and make a humorous quip about razor-‐‑burn, or how she’d never really been into gay porn
She began jogging with us. Went shopping for new school clothes with us. She practically chose everything the two of us would wear the next school year.
I quit track that semester. I just didn’t have time with the work schedule. But Rosemary and I’d make time to sit in and watch Ryan during practice and the pre-‐‑season games. It was like watching a gladiator. Those were her words. Not mine. But I agreed one hundred percent. When he moved across that field, he was an imposing figure. He looked powerful.
It took her a month to ask us any real personal questions. I couldn’t answer them. Ryan did so, unabashed. She lived vicariously through his stories of our sexual experiences. She wasn’t one bit embarrassed by it either. Connor had conspicuously gone by the way-‐‑side with her after the birthday party. He’d seen us sitting together on the bleachers, watching Ryan. It didn’t appear he was pleased.
The three of us studied together. What I wasn’t good at, Rosemary was. She was a whiz at math, and science, and sociology. And between the two of us, Ryan’s scholastics got better. Mine too.
She loved watching us workout. Ryan’s father looked at us like we were the Three Stooges. Like he couldn’t figure out what comedy was going on between the three of us. But it worked for us. When she was there, his periodic visits to check in on us got fewer and fewer. We’d find him later in the living room, passed out in a chair with The Carol Burnett Show on in the background. His mom was indulging in another late night cup of coffee in the kitchen. When her back was turned, three beers disappeared from the refrigerator and reappeared in our hands in the garden.
We learned that Rosemary was not unacquainted with the wonder of weed. She, in fact, had an older sister whose boyfriend dealt, and we occasionally benefited from that relationship. Almost every weekend of September that year, the three of us had a private camping party at the back of Ryan’s family’s lot where the tent was pitched with a campfire. Our sleeping bags were slung together. Ryan and me and then her at my back.
I’d always awake with her arms around the both of us. Ryan and I would kiss first. She would kiss us both last. She’d became an integral part of my and Ryan’s lives.
I’m sure our school couldn’t figure out what was going on between the three of us at all. The speculation had to be insane seeing me hold hands with Rosemary one day, and then she holding Ryan’s the next. Then seeing us all together. I actually think Rosemary took delight in the idea that two men found her attractive and that the three of us were all close. No one ever said anything openly to our faces, and we were never privy to any gossip, but we knew it was there. You could see it in the eyes of those passing by. I know what I would have thought. I still get a private chuckle about this.
The only one appearing to not appreciate this seeming perverse-‐‑relationship was Connor. The self-‐‑ordained sex god of our school manifested the body language of a man in full-‐‑blown jealous disgust and anger. It was only because of his relationship with Ryan on the team that he seemed to be able to control his tongue. Ryan had no difficulty with Connor. He rarely paid much attention to him. But Connor had a bone up his butt about Ryan. And the concurring opinion was that it began and ended with Rosemary.
It was the week right after school started that the thing with Connor came to a strange head. Ryan got starting quarterback. Connor was second-‐‑string. It was unexpected. Even Ryan didn’t anticipate it. Connor was a madman on the field. An unbeatable force. A lot of the members of the team had thought it had been a misstep on the coach’s part.
But they, of course, had been Connor’s friends.
Our team had won a game against Southwest. Or, more succinctly, Ryan had won the game. He’d been unstoppable. The crowd cheered his name and number. His father paced the bleachers, letting everyone know it was his son that was the champion of the game. Rosemary and I were just as pumped.
I met him in the locker room to collect his gear. I knew he had a lot of celebration to still go through. Connor had caught a glimpse of us there. I’d only touched his hand. If I’d been a teammate, it would have meant nothing. But I wasn’t. And that meant a hell of a lot more in Connor’s eyes. When we saw him, he turned away quickly. Was out of the room in a flash. I grabbed the gear and began the walk to Ryan’s dad’s car.
I heard the tromping footfalls behind me all the way from the gymnasium. I knew the heavy body that made that thudding sound. And I knew it was trouble. The bad feeling permeated the early autumn air. The leaves under my feet crunched fast. His crunched faster. I tried to move steadily ahead of him. But as I did, he compensated.
Just as I reached the car, hands gripped my collar and spun me around. No surprise. The hostile face of Connor breathed fire into mine. Lines much older than he owned were etched in his flesh. Flames blew out the whites of his eyes. Teeth ground. There was one undeniable truth in his complexion. He did not like me. His white knuckles glared in my vision. “I got something to say to you, faggot. Don’t try to run away from me.” Spit blasted against my face. “You guys think you’re fooling all of us hanging around with Rosemary and all, but you ain’t fooling nobody. We’ve seen your cutesy-‐‑pie heart necklaces and the way you’re always together, using her to make us think you’re not. But we know. We know.
“You’re nothing but a couple of queers. And I don’t know who alls dick you guys sucked to make him quarterback, but this ain’t gonna stand. Fairies don’t get to suck their way to the top, and your cock-‐‑sucking buddy is gonna go down. You hear that?’
“Hey, sweetie!” It was Rosemary’s voice. Oddly lilting. Strangely menacing.
Connor shifted to look at her. His face crumpled in the next second as I saw the toe of her boot catch his crotch straight on. He tried to keep to his feet, but couldn’t. His knees struck the asphalt of the parking lot. Air expulsed.
She kicked him again. Then, she pushed him to the ground. It all happened in a matter of seconds.
“You bigoted piece of pig-‐‑shit!” she screamed, kneeling beside him. Her face was next to his, looking like a devil Halloween mask. If the devil was a girl.
Veins had popped in relief all over his face. Big and blue and pulsating. He was gagging, sucking air. She smacked him in the face with the back of her hand. The welt was the perfect shape of her fingers.
“You wanna play that queer game, buddy? Do you? Do you really?” She was centimeters from his face. “Here’s what we’ll do if you want to play that game. You open your ugly, sick mouth of yours again, I will tell everyone I left you because you got drunk and I caught you offering to give my guys both a blow job. How’s that sound? And I’ll be graphic. They will believe.”
She grabbed his jaw. “Do you want to play that game?”
He turned to his side, out of her grasp, an earlier dinner of burger and fries spewed suddenly from his mouth. He shook his head repeatedly. He muttered unintelligible words.
“Good,” she said, standing up. “I’m glad we can say we mutually broke up because it just wasn’t working.”
I threw the gear in the car and we left him there. Rosemary walked like a triumphant crusader.
If one ever has had a doubt about what true friendship meant, if there was ever an uncertainty to how a friend should stand against the odds for another, all anyone had to do was witness an episode of courage like this.
I was speechless. For fifteen minutes, I was speechless. We sat at the end of the bleachers, away from all the activities while I tried to absorb what had just transpired. Rosemary bummed a cigarette off a passerby, and we shared a smoke. Her fingers shook as she handed it to me. I could only imagine the adrenalin surge coursing through her veins.
Finally, I said, “Okay. Wow. You’re Wonder Woman. Why did I not know this?”
“I’m not Wonder Woman. I just don’t understand that Neanderthal attitude. The world has enough troubles and lies and pain.” She reached over and touched my leg. The cigarette jittered in her fingers. “Why people would try to hurt people who can actually find love in this mess makes no sense to me at all. You have to be pretty sub-‐‑human to be against what we’re all looking for in life. That’s something to bust your knuckles for.”
My eyes saw her beauty. Completely. “You’re very special, girl.”
“You made me believe, David,” she said, voice just a shadow. “You guys found love inside all these obstacles. That gives hope to all of us with far less to overcome. Do you know how powerful that is?”
“So why did you break up with Connor?” I knew I was prying. But I had to know why.
“Five minutes or five years version?” she asked, a sarcastic edge to her voice. “Okay, five minutes. I experienced my first love with you. You made me see myself differently. Made me want to be something different. I was transported from the boring life I lived to the one I imagined with you. I would have given everything because you became my everything. It was a revelation about myself, David. We all define it differently in our own heads. But it’s a rapturous moment to know how wonderfully strong our feeling can become for someone other than ourselves. How we can become entwined with another.” She stood. “Can we walk?”
We walked out into the football field that was still full of chucks and holes from the game. She suddenly dropped, sat yoga-‐‑style, and pulled me down to join her.
“When what happened with us happened, I felt like shit. Lower than shit…” I deemed it necessary in interject my apology again.
She waved it away. “We know why. There’s no apology needed there. It’s just one of those things that pushes us from here to there. And it pushed me into thinking I needed to prove something about myself. My value, I guess. I don’t know what. But Connor came along, and people made me feel like he was important, and that I’d be something better and different if I was with him. Except…that I wasn’t. I was a number to him like someone waiting in line at the delicatessen to buy some Pastrami.”
Her eyes twinkled. She searched for my hand and found it. “The night of Ryan’s party when I heard you two in the garden, I learned more about myself in five minutes than I’ve ever known. Love doesn’t happen because you find the right bricks and cement to build it. Love really is…pure magic. It comes from”— she gestured toward the heavens—”out there. And it falls like pixie dust wherever it wants. And when it does…you can fly.”
BUY LINK: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00DUXS4Z2
(I opened my email this morning and this was the first thing I saw. I cried. Still am, Wow!)
I want to personally thank you and Dirk for your Misadventure books. Recently my husband and I have endured a series of misfortunes, the last being the loss of his job. We were struggling and both of us being past our middle-aged prime worried about how we could start our lives over. I fell into a depression filled with anxiety. I worried about everything. I couldn’t tell you how long it’d been since I laughed, or even smiled. Then someone told me about your books; about how you had to start life all over again and how it ended up with you meeting this precocious young man who changed your perspective and brought joy back to you. I thought – 99 Cents – I’ll give it a shot. Dan (Doc) I did something I never thought would happen again: I laughed until tears streamed down my face. I belly-laughed. It was a wonderful feeling to know that was still left inside me. I ended up buying all the books and reading them to my husband just so I could see his wonderful smile again. These books are not simply comedy – they’re inspirational. .You’ve proved… no matter what happens to you, starting again is always a great thing. Thank you again!
I’ve been a nice guy all my fucking life… ALL my fucking life…I’ve been the good guy, the guy who turned the other cheek, who bore the brunt of every bad deed done to me with a smile, saying this will make me stronger; not bitter.
Fuck all of that. Fuck it all. I’m done with being the motherfucking football of homophobic, Bible-thumping, illiterate Neanderthals. I grew up with these nutjobs… they were my parents and my parent’s friends and I know how they think and this shit ain’t gonna get any better by turning the other cheek and letting them have their way. That’s what they want because they honestly think we liberals are “all pussies”…and we already know what their Commander-in-Chief said you should do with those.
We’re dealing with people who cannot be reasoned with. There’s no chance of a “rational” conversation with an individual who slobbers every time their troll at the NRA says “it’s time to grab your guns because the liberal scourge is coming to take your rights away!” Their favorite conspiracy theorist is promoting a real-life civil war where they have a “final solution’ for anyone they deem different than them.
Don’t fool yourself into thinking this is all a flight of fancy in their fevered imagination. They’ve been dreaming about this for years… for FUCKING years. I know. I grew up in the middle of them. I heard their conversations. I know what they think. I know their hatred. And it has no limits. Their lives are so empty because of their “God” and their “pseudo-Christianity” that their unhappiness has spilled into their heart to fill where good things should be with nothing but boiling hatred. And they want to make the world as unhappy as they are. Their only joy is the idea that they will actually and finally be able to vent their self-repressed anger on the world with honest-to-goodness bloodshed.
So get a grip folks. Being a nice guy in a world of these people is like walking naked with an open wound in crocodile-infested swamp water. They’re just chomping to eat you alive.
I’ve experienced their vitriol in some form almost every day of my life since I ran away from my Evangelical home. I am gay. I am a gay photographer and gay author. They hunt people like us down on the internet just for the sport of trying to ruin our businesses and our lives and terrorize us. I have to block at least fifty of them a day on twitter. I have to guard my Facebook account and read every profile carefully of anyone who friends me looking for the religious fanatic, the Tea party radical, the homo-hating Republican to make sure they don’t infect my social life with their repressed rage.
They are not like us. We don’t go hunting for them in social media. We don’t purposely try to make their lives miserable. We don’t pointedly stalk people different than us. They do. Get that through your heads. They do. They stalk the liberals, the homosexuals, the atheists… WHY? Because they want to ruin your lives and businesses and bring you down into their own squalid misery….
So if you are thinking of sitting back passively and watching all of this like it’s a reality show…. got news for you…. this is as real as it fucking gets… They are out to win… and winning for them includes that gun in their hand and the freedom to use it as they please….
If order and law isn’t restored in this government…then the crazies will own it…and you will see something that has never been seen before… an Asylum of crazies running rampant over good, law-abiding, turn-the-other cheek people like I was…
So FUCKING resist… vote these motherfuckers out… make sure they never get back in… we have laws to keep things in balance… that’s why there are stop and go lights at every intersection… without them…every thing would be a wreck!!….
Check it out!
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