Yesterday was World Mental Health Day and I paused to reflect on that. On any given day I have a tendency to wonder to myself: how have I made it this far and stayed reasonably psychologically okay?
My day started off horribly. Four almost five years now after my “Life Disruption”, I was reminded once again my life is still not my own. I don’t have a home. I’m at the mercy of other people’s whims in trying to continue on with my own existence. I knew that would be the case when I started the new journey, but occasionally you’d like to live in the sound peace of what is comfortable to you and not others.  Every day I wish something will change; that I’ll have someplace I can throw my hat where I want, and rearrange furniture if it so pleases me, or bring someone home for coffee…or a date. My days have a lot of ‘wishes” now, but I’ve become pragmatic about them.
I work very hard. Dirk says people would be surprised to see how much I work to try to get ahead…or maybe a few steps forward and closer to those wishes. My motto has always been: “Don’t worry – work!” But I won’t lie. I’m normal. I worry everyday just like everyone else.
I’ve stripped my life down to basics. But I’ve been private about it. I don’t want sympathy… I feel sympathy incapacitates me. But I feel I need to be honest and upfront with those of you who feel you’re struggling today as well.
I can’t afford to go to restaurants. I told Tina, my editor and friend, my idea of luxury these days would be to walk into a McDonalds and simply order a large fries. My diet is restricted by budget — intensely. But it made me healthy and fit so I don’t throw public tantrums about what I’ve given up. But don’t think I don’t want to walk into a restaurant and just order everything and eat it until I’m gorged. It’s on my wish list too.
It will surprise you that I don’t have television. I haven’t for over a year. I can’t afford it. So I listen to other people tell me about the shows they’re watching. I watch whatever movies I can find for free on YouTube and, thankfully, the gym has television and I can watch movies there. A one hour movie on FX takes three hours… So now you know how I can do cardio so long. lol  I haven’t been to a movie in five years. I miss that a lot. So…add that to the wish list.
I’d hope to get ahead enough to afford doing  photoshoots again. That’s why I began selling my backlog of photo stock, but so far it covers necessities. There hasn’t been any residual. So I work all night into early morning on that. It’s horribly frustrating. Work sometimes literally keeps me from worrying.
The only control I have in my life is with my workouts. They keep me sane. They temper all my human dilemmas – my anger and hurt and sadness. The one thing that is remarkable in my life is that I now look better than I have in the last twenty years… the screams in the gym are truly primal. Their core is what I refuse to speak.
I will not cry. I told myself that five years ago when I couldn’t stop crying. No matter what – no more tears. When I’m alone..in the silence…dealing with the realities of my life… I feel those tears… they’re like red hot cinders behind my eyes, but I will not succumb to them. But if you feel like crying. Do it. Every one has their own way of coping.
I think what has helped me is what a friend of mine (who was a therapist) said to me long ago: “Success is not measured by how many things you’ve acquired in life. Success is measured by how you can deal with Life itself.” We’ve all seen Lotto winners whose lives have become messes… so that gives credence to that.
That, also, helps when your life is pared down to four suitcases every time you move.
A few years ago it would have bothered me immensely for people to know things about my private life. We all want others to have a certain image of us. But what I’ve learned thru my recent experiences is that my trials have made me a more humble person.
I have not dated because, of course, all these reasons… most notably…not having my own home. I kinda miss that because I know people are interested… but add it to my wish list.
I’m telling all of this a day after World Mental Health Day because I know there are others of you, like me, that are out there who feel sadness and depression and anger because of what life has dealt us. I wanted to tell you because you are my friends who have helped me… and maybe this will help you in return. When it gets bad… reach out… talk….tell the truth…ask for help..be willing to accept it… we will all get thru this with each other..
Like the old saying…. when you think you’ve reached the end of your rope…tie and knot and hang on…
Gawd knows I’ve had my hand on that knot for a while now..
Love and Peace


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_1156 copy copy

What You Get For Ten Bucks

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/

2 002 copy


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!

Marge P.



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!!….