Author Archive for Sage Whistler


Het Daze

LCHGSContrary to what some folks may believe by my current ‘obsession’, I, Sage, used to read heterosexual romance. Okay, so that isn’t all that far-fetched. About three or four years ago that was all there was to read–excluding bios. Now, with the popularity of gay fiction I consume anywhere from 3-10 books a month. (Mostly ebooks.) TMWOR

Yet, I have never forgotten my romance roots, although I barely dig them up to look at them anymore. I even started off writing m/f fiction, and I have loads of half-finished stories stuffed in closets and drawers or in storage in the attic, but once I got bitten by the gay fiction bug I never turned back.

There are a handful of romance authors that are still on auto-buy for me though I have to be in the mood to read them. I decided to share some of my favorite authors on this post. Perhaps if you are a fan of m/f romance you will find some new authors to check out. KMMSOH

1. Teresa Meideros–extemely talented, exceptional, hilarious, prolific. I have “never” been disappointed with any of her stories. Her heroines are enchanting, and her heroes are ‘swoon-worthy” if a gal were still inclined to swoon. *g* I recommend anything from her. She is THAT good, IMHO.

2. Lisa Cach–severly underated, hilarious, thought provoking, giggle-inducing. I don’t know why Lisa Cach isn’t as big as some authors, but don’t overlook her. Like Teresa, I have never been disappointed by Lisa. Her books transport you to a different world for hours at a time, and you’ll only come back if you’re dragged kicking and screaming.TMYUD

3. Karen Marie Moning–exceptional, blush-inducing, poignant. All I have to say is that I aspire to write my heroes with some semblance of hawtness that she does. If you like the ultimate Alpha hero then you won’t be disappointed. Her heroines are nothing to shake a stick at either. They are all intelligent, resourceful, independent,  and humorous.


The Liar

marcus patrick6Excerpt from The Liar. I realize the first post I made was taken from a portion that could probably not be understood without more detail so here is my second attempt.

Jasha Osei was a rare breed. The kind of man who thought he wanted to run the show when his every action was begging for someone else to take the reins. Jasha seemed startled when Dade asked him to help prepare the chicken salad he had planned for lunch, but the man responded beautifully to direction. Jasha never made objections or hesitated to do what he was told.

Dade also introduced some experimental touches into their interplay. While they worked around each other in the kitchen, Dade made sure he brushed against the other man, or when he was demonstrating the proper way to slice a tomato or peel a cucumber he made sure to hover too close, to crowd Jasha without alarming the man.

Again, Jasha responded in the way he predicted, pressing into his touches, leaning his weight back against Dade without seeming to know what he was doing. Jasha was a hedonist in disguise; his true nature locked away because of fearing generalizations and the dictates of society. Successful men in America were dominant, aggressive, skirtchasers and to be anything else was to be less of a man.

Dade had heard it all, but the difference between him and Jasha was that he knew better.  Men came with all kinds of appetites and there was no right or wrong way to be. Jasha probably thought his desire to be dominated was kinky and outrageous, but really, he’d only just touched the tip of the iceberg.

There is so much that I would teach you.

Cuffs. Collars. Obedience training. Dade could hardly wait to start, but he had a feeling Jasha would fight him all the way. A professional liar could do his job so well that he even began to fool himself.


Sitting down to lunch, Jasha was wary of what Dade wanted from him. He could tell the man wanted something. He could read the anticipation in his body language, could see it in those assessing eyes. And then there were the touches. Jasha couldn’t tell if Dade thought he was being subtle or didn’t care if he knew it was on purpose.

He should probably speak up and tell him to stop. He wasn’t the type to bite his tongue, only now he found that the words wouldn’t come. Truth be told, he liked the touches. They were so unlike the fluttery touches of his ex-fiancee. Dade’s touches were sure, firm, directing his actions— fraying his nerves.

Jasha had chosen to sit in the farthest seat from Dade. He wasn’t thinking properly when Dade was too close. It was confusing and a bit scary to realize Dade went to his head like a shot of Novocain. He wasn’t sure what it was about the man that made him more docile than he was used to. Sure, Dade was handsome, sinfully so, but lots of men were handsome, cocky, self-assured, and bossy.

But none of them were Dade Savage.

*Picture above is what Jasha Osei looks like in my head. He is of mixed ancestry. Irish, Portugese,  and West African.


Doubling the Standards

amantes-1Today I was pondering, as I often do, about what I read in romance/ erotica and how different gay fiction is from heterosexual. Regardless of intention, I see a heavy prevalence of  a standard that is acceptable for men and yet never really tapped into with women.In some instances I wonder why its okay for these things to take place, and why we so readily accept them without  a second thought.

For instance, one of my favorite stories feature two men who are really set on an emotional roller coaster throughout the entire story. During one incident the MC gets so upset that he starts punching the other man out of sheer frustration. Now, as I was reading this my eyebrow went up. I was like hold up. That isn’t the way to solve a problem, and it really wasn’t the other guys fault that this guy was frustrated. And later after I finished the book I thought about all the letters of outrage that would flood the author’s inbox if the male that had been punched was a woman. I’ve never asked that particular author if any upset fans had sent her mail, and if I had to guess I’d say probably no one sent in that kind of email. I myself sent her an email expressing how much I enjoyed the book. Though later, I thought again on the subject of violence. The MC wasn’t a violent character and this was the one and only time he hit the other man, but why was it ‘okay’. The man never even apologized to the other guy for his behavior. It was like some sort of ‘masculine right’, as if saying ‘well, this is what men do sometimes.’toughguys

Another double standard I see often in romance/erotica is prostitution. Honestly, you don’t see it in heterosexual romances, but I find it increasingly more popular in gay fiction. I won’t read it in either(knowing it before I go into the story), but to each his own. I’m sure a lot of people could say the same for my twincest novels.  I wonder is it the novelty of the idea that makes this theme attractive. Or is it the sympathy this character engenders from the reading audience after he ‘overcomes’ the hardships in his life. If so, why aren’t the same techniques used so readily in het fiction. It seems as if a lot of writers are playing topsy turvy with the genders, writing what would have never been acceptable thirty years ago. Women in early romance, especially historical, were often written to be weak, the victims of bodice rippers, arranged marriages, and unwanted pregnancies. Now, women are written as fierce warriors, the head of a harem of men, lithe shapeshifters with deadly promise, and the stuffing in a manwich. Men on the other hand are portrayed as much weaker, more submissive, more helpless, and emotional. Where only a few years back you probably couldn’t crack open a romance where men shed a tear.

Some more double standards I see in writing.

Men can smoke cigars or cigarettes but women 99.9% don’t, despite the fact that the gap between men and women who smoke is steadily decreasing. To be fair, not many men smoke in these stories either. A reflection of what women and men find sexy, methinks.

Men drink a lot more than women, sometimes it’s so prevalent in a ‘short story’ I begin to worry about their liver. Often men douse their anger or sorrow in heavy drinking. Drunkenness also seems to be the rule of thumb for gay admissions or compromising situations. I’ve read plenty of drunk men. I’ve written some myself, but honestly, off the top of my head, I can’t remember reading about a drunk woman.

Well, these are all the DS  I can think of right now. I’m sure there are more. This isn’t an attempt to garner feminist support, its simply my shared thoughts in the hopes that some folks will start thinking too, or perhaps share their take on this. I really would like to know if any of these thoughts have run through someone’s head other than mine. I think that writing gender differences are influenced by what society has decreed is a gender norm. Men can be more violent, more crude, more vulgar than women and no one bats an eyelash.  I think of all the men who are being abused out there who don’t speak up because it isn’t ‘manly’ to cry about a few ‘licks’? And will those men ever have the support groups or awareness ads that women do? Or will this type of thing continue to be accepted by society because its the norm?


Sizzling Sunday

Today I don’t have much to talk about. I mean, I could talk about the guy who stole eleven Speed Stick deodorants from a store and led police on a high speed chase because of it. True story. But I don’t know much more than the minor details. I could discuss my week, but nothing terribly exciting happen. So, I’ve decided to share a portion of my WIP. I’ve never done so on a blog before, and technically, this isn’t even in my WIP anymore. It’s what I call a floater–a scene that I took out of the WIP for sake of continuity or because it just didn’t seem to fit somewhere. Now, this scene might go back into the story if I decide to tweak it a bit. Originally it was my opening scene but since I changed this story from historical western/cowboy to steampunk it just doesn’t fit too well.

Well, anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this snippet. Heed the ‘sizzling’ Sunday warning. This scene is for an audience of 18yrs or older and features explicit sex  between two consenting ‘male’ adults (for those of you thinking it is Het) The WIP still maintains the same title, despite the big changes elsewhere. It’s called Fair Trade And its my first menage a trois. The following introduces the soon-to-be outlaw/bandits Zee and Braze.

The following picture is how I see Zee in my mind.Cowboy01

Guaranteed there are some errors in here, but don’t squint to find them or your  face will get stuck like that. 😀

Zee Calhoun leaned against the hewn log fence that separated the cattle from the open land. They’d just come back from a seven hour haul, rounding cattle up for the count. He was damned tired, sweaty and sore. He hadn’t eaten more than a piece of jerky and a stale biscuit for lunch so his stomach was sticking to his ribs, and the bruise he’d taken from an ornery sow was starting to kick up a fuss—letting the pain be known, but it was his habit to watch the sun touch the land each day as it sunk beyond the horizon.

Settling his hat on a post, Zee braced his elbow on a wooden slat and leaned over, taking some of the pressure off his spine, which was sore too from taking a beating in the saddle. He’d picked up a strand of grass somewhere along his ride during the day and now he twisted the long strand between forefinger and thumb, releasing the musky earthy scent of the blade of grass into the air.

A few pebbles crunched underfoot, warning him of the presence of someone else. Zee didn’t bother to turn around, instead popping the blade of grass in his mouth, he sucked on the bitter root. “I’ll be along in a minute, Braze.”

His friend said nothing. Braze drifted over to Zee’s right, bumping hips on purpose as he settled along the fence next to Zee. A finger curled in Zee’s back pocket, tugging playfully. “You sore.”

Zee shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah. Not too bad though.” He’d had worse. After a pause he added, “You shouldn’t. Not out here where anybody could see.”

Ignoring him, Braze shoved his entire hand into Zee’s back pocket, fingers curling to frame one hard buttock. Zee sucked in a breath, shifted, but didn’t make any move to dislodge Braze. “There’s an empty stall in the barn, Zee. Ain’t nobody in there but the horses. I just came outta there helping Roger out and he’s belly up by now in his own bunk. Everyone’s flat out tired, ain’t nobody gonna know.”

Despite being tired enough to drift off once his head hit a pillow, Zee was still young, and not immune to the suggestions his best friend was making. It had been a long time since he and Braze had managed a moment alone to take care of business. The job they had at the Westonia ranch was only temporary. Otis Cape was known for keeping a tight leash on his boys. He wasn’t fond of paying folks for entertaining themselves and he was as about as ornery as the sow that had butted Braze earlier. They’d been very careful in the past two months. Hell, in that time Zee and Braze had barely stolen a moment for a quick hand-job while making camp on the range.

Braze’s hand felt incredibly hot even though the denim of his jeans. And Zee’s cock reared inside his jeans, hot and aching, and pearling at the tip, eager for Braze’s callous-roughened fingers to wrap around it.

Braze had to know what effect he was having on Zee, how else could he have known enough to reach around with his free hand and cup the hard bulge between Zee’s legs. Zee groaned, pushing into that hot hand.

“Come on Zee, I’ll suck you off good.”

Zee spit out the blade of grass and nodded his head. “O si gwu.” Switching to his native tongue he agreed to come with Braze.

Grinning like the cat that had caught the canary, Braze tugged Zee along by his belt loops. Zee laughed, swatting Braze’s hands away and holding him at bay until he reached the relative safety of the barn’s big doors. No sooner had the couple disappeared into the barn’s shadow when Braze grabbed two handfuls of Zee’s shirt and pushed the more slender man up against a stall door. The horse occupying the stall behind Zee snorted and shuffled nosily but soon settled down.

The noise didn’t slow Braze up one bit. Like Zee, he knew there was no way the mare could bust loose from behind the big sturdy doors that were higher than the men were tall. Braze, the same height as Zee, didn’t have to search far for what he wanted. Leaning most of his weight to pin Zee against the stall door, Braze crushed their lips together. His tongue flicked over Zee’s lips, hot and agile, demanding entrance.

Zee moaned, body shivering as Braze’s hot tongue pushed into his mouth, exploring every inch with greedy swipes of his tongue. Pulling back a bit, Zee managed to say, “U sga no li.” Slow down.

“Tla.” No. Braze licked and nibbled at Zee’s chin, one big callused hand came up to cup the back of Zee’s neck. His thumb pushed under Zee’s chin urging him to tilt his head up. Braze blazed sucking kisses down his throat, pausing to lave his tongue along Zee’s Adam’s apple. “Hungry for you, Zee.”

Zee moaned, shaking for him. Pushing his hard cock into Braze’s equally hard bulge. His fingers bit into Braze’s broad shoulders, kneading the more muscular man with his long fingers. Braze’s hand refused to be still, plucking at buttons until Zee’s shirt parted, heated lips closed around a tiny brown nipple, sucking hard enough to make Zee arch and cry out. Braze’s hands were already on his jeans, working the zipper down enough for one big hand to push into the denim, wrap around Zee’s uncircumcised cock.

“Braze, yes, please.” Zee squirmed, pleaded. His aches and pains buried beneath a spike of adrenaline and a cloud of lust.

“Want to taste you. Miss this,” Braze murmured sinking down to his knees on the hard concrete, tugging his bronze prize from the confines of Zee’s jeans.  Zee’s cock had barely seen daylight before it disappeared into the moist, tight heat of Braze’s mouth.

Zee’s fingers slid into the dark silk of Braze’s hair, his torso nearly curling over Braze’s bowed head as he struggled to keep his feet. He’d missed this too. Before coming to the Westonia ranch Braze had woke him up daily and put him to bed with a blowjob. The man loved nothing better than a hard cock to nurse. Zee liked the feel and power of a having a man’s cock in his mouth, but Braze was purely into it because it got him off.

There was no doubt his friend was making up for lost time. Zee wasn’t going to last long, not with Braze sucking at him like a wind storm. That wicked tongue flicking and teasing every spare inch of his shaft. Braze moans of appreciation mingled with his. Zee combed through Braze’s black hair, undoing his braid with shaky fingers. He was unable to quell the snap of his hips. The feel of the head of his cock bumping into the back of Braze’s throat drove him insane. “Yes,yes! Braze its good.” Zee whimpered. “Uhn Uhn.”

Braze had pity on his dick, drawing off of it long enough to bury his mouth against Zee’s balls. He toyed with them first, licking and sucking, not quite giving Zee the pressure he needed, until finally Zee had had enough. Fisting a handful of his hair, Zee pulled him in close. “Suck them, Braze. I want to feel your mouth on me. Make me come.”

This time it was Braze who whimpered. Zee’s eyes rolled with amazement at the shiver that passed through Braze. The man on his knees had just come in his pants. Braze opened up wide, sucking his balls into his hot mouth, punishing him with his tongue. Zee’s cock twitched, the reddened crown mingling with white pearls of precum.

Bucking his hips, Zee gasped out, “I’m coming!”

Braze planted those big hands on Zee’s thighs, pinning him once again as he lifted his head and swallowed Zee’s cock, taking him just in time to taste the first spurt of cum. Braze took all he had to give, and sucked for several moments after he’d come, tongue flicking over his slit to get every last drop.

(CASE YOUR WONDERING: The men are speaking Cherokee. Chose that tribe because its in my blood and the research would be more interesting. Hell of a time finding the right words. Good times.)

Heh, and don’t ask why they didn’t make it to the stall and just did their stuff barely inside the barn door. Stuff happens, Okay? 😛


The Good Stuff

Since Jambrea is pretty steady with recommended reads I thought I’d include some of my own favorite books. I shall try and do them justice in a brief explanation.

First, I have to give props to my favorite author. You might have heard me say I want to be her when I grow up. This lady has a way with words. Her characters are always well rounded, intensively captivating, and the storyline is always intriguing. Not to mention the sex is hawt enough to melt my monitor. Cameron Dane is awesomeness personified. My favorite book, to date, by her is Knowing Caleb. However, this is the third book in the Demon/cowboy Hawkin’s Ranch Series.CD_KnowingCaleb_coverlg The books don’t have to be read in order and can stand on their own, but for full enjoyment I would read Demon Moon first. However, DM is a m/f read, fair warning to people only interested in m/m. As I said, KC is my favorite book of hers. I’d been waiting for Caleb’s story–not that very long, because Cameron is an enigma at writing prowess. She writes so fast its scary. Her books are so thorough that I re-read them over and over again, hoping to absorb a bit of her technique, whilst making sure I never unconsciously copy her ideas. Caleb is surprise to me because of how much he evolved throughout the story. There is a liberal amount of angst in this book because Jake, another MC and Caleb’s light o’ love, is still mourning for his wife and Caleb is burdened for other reasons that I’ll not explain for fear of ruining the story. The story is at times tender, harsh, and starkly realistic. I like my men to be men, even when they are vulnerable and Cameron Dane, at least for me, keeps it real. Caleb and Jake are two rough and tumble cowboys with heads as hard as their hides. Anyone looking for an awesome male read will love this story, if for no other reason than its well written.

Considering all the flak Elloras Cave is taking for writing an official statement about not wanting more m/m submissions, I wish Jez Morrow would branch out elsewhere, because I’m afraid she’ll stop writing in this genre. But for now I quickly gobble up any read I can get my hands on as long as her name is on it. There is a tie between Shadow of a Wolf and Lover and Commander as my favorite books by her. In a pinch I’d squeal and say Shadow is my favorite. It was the first story I’d read by her, and I never regretted a dollar of my money spent on it.

shadowofawolfAgain, I must warn readers that Jez’s way of writing is uniquely left field from most writers. At this point I don’t think I need to see her name on the cover to know she wrote a story. It might not mesh well with other readers, but for me it was a win-win, and I like  to think I’m a good judge of  reading material,  but who doesn’t heh. Anyway, I’m rambling.  I fell in ‘like’ with one of the MC’s Martin Winter. I have a soft spot for hard-boiled eggs, who once you crack their shell are really very fragile on the inside.  I also like the idea of subdued strength. Nothing is sexier to me than a man strong enough to bottom and real enough to admit that’s where he loves to be. Jack Reed was a close runner up for my affection as well. I think I liked the characters even more than the story, and I liked the story A LOT! So that is saying something. I wish I could see more of Jack and Martin, just to see how they are getting along. Shadow of a Wolf is paranormal. Both men are wereshifters, the only two of their kind so far as they know. Martin and Jack are employed by the goverment and Martin endures some capture and torment that preys on his state of well-being. Jack, the gallant hero of old, rides in on his …car and saves the day. Its a tender love story, and Martin’s blossoming was awesome to see.


The Beginning

littlemeI won’t be on the internet for at least five or six days starting tomorrow night, steadily anyway. So I decided to post today instead of Sunday. If I can get to a library or visit a relative with the internet I will.

I chose to name this post the beginning. A new chapter of my life is about to open up. I’ve made the decision to move to North Carolina from Connecticut. Several reasons influenced this decision, but I won’t bore you with facts you probably don’t care to know.

As I got to thinking about beginnings, I started thinking on the way things were when I just got to college, when I wrote for free and published on Adult Fan Fiction. I wrote all originals except for one limp chapter based on 300 characters that never went anywhere. I started thinking about my first post, on my first blog. Turns out its still there and here is what it says:

The Pains of Writing

Stephen King says in one of his books, and I can’t recall which one, if you want to write then write. So I write. It is far from easy, and I would challenge anyone who says it is to write a chapter or two. I’ve never been a planning type of person so I write off the top of my head, but frequently I get writers block. You’re like ready to rip your hair out when you’re typing along and your mind goes blank. Anyway, I’ve recently joined this site called The reader response is very welcome and I’m excited that people actually seem to like my work. It makes me write more, and well, I’m getting over my writers block a lot faster these days.


My first post was short and sweet, and even then I knew this writing gig would be an uphill battle. The thrill of writing hasn’t worn off, though some days the interest in writing is virtually nonexistent. I still am elated to have reader feedback, although I’m not quite sure if the audience reading my books are shy because of the subject matter, or what. I’ve said before, and I’ll say it again. If there is a line in the sand I’ll be the one to poke and prod it and see if I can cross it without losing a finger.

It’s been over two years since I started my first fumbling attempts at writing seriously. I have grown so much. I have brought honor to my grammar teacher, who would have winced if she could see what I was doing in 2007.

When asked what was my greatest achievement in life, I always say that it was my writing. So far, as I have no kids, my stories are my babies. I’ve been telling stories since I was a tot. My Beginning was storytelling and it will very likely be with me in the end. So what fond memory of first times come to you? What are you most proud of? What memorabilia have you saved to remind you of that special moment when you began?


Rage for the Road

fastlaneI’ve talked to people from other states and an abundance of bad/careless drivers seem to be national in the USA. I haven’t discussed drivers in other countries. but I’m betting they have their share too.

Now I’m not an easy person to make angry. I have a pretty high tolerance for stupidity, but my only weakness for temper flaring is driving. Why that is, has not fully come to light. Perhaps it is that driving really is a dangerous situation. It’s so easy to do something reckless and endanger the lives of other  drivers or pedestrians. I also seem to have a low tolerance for cowardliness, and being a jerk behind the wheel screams coward. I can understand unintentional mistakes (which, by the way are really hard to determine while driving) but when someone cuts you off, races ahead to take off from a stop sign when you were ‘clearly’ there first, or darts out in front of you of you, forces you to break down to half your speed then proceeds at a crawl. Woo hoo! Stop the freaking press.

I could happily get out of the car at this moment and break a windshield or side mirror.  As with all things that I do, I shall break down the type of road offenders into a list.

1. Power Rangers: These are the folks that think they are superheroes racing to save the day. They criss cross traffic at dangerous distances on the highway, run red lights excessively, do rolling stops at stop signs, and dart out in front of you when CLEARLY you will have to break just not to hit their vehicle.


2. Strollers: Half the time these people have cataracts. Sorry, that was harsh. What I meant to say is that they are very ‘mature’. They are just dandy driving five to ten miles under the speed limit. They also seem oblivious that anyone at all could possibly be coming down their lane when they are backing out of parking spaces. No, no, you go! I was just sitting here staring at the sky. Strollers also come to a near stop when they have to make a turn, because WHOA those turns can be tricky. 😀

3. Frogs: These folks have no freaking idea where they are going. They like to hop in your lane, then back in the next lane. Hold, on, wait for it…they signal for a left turn, slow down and…nope, not that street. They just keep on going. God forbid their lane ends and they are in the turning lane. Well, they’ll fix that mistake by half running you off the road and going straight instead of turning. Make sure to leave a change of underwear in the glove compartment when dealing with frogs.

4. Mystery Men: Ever been behind someone who is cruising along at a nice speed, then they slow down and you find yourself breaking? Then you see this ‘huge’ gap opening up between you and the car, so you speed up. Then they slow down for a leaf that skitters across the road, and then they speed up again. Well I have. I call these folks mystery men because you have no clue what they are going to do next. MM also make sudden turns without signaling. Cuz who the hell knows what that flashy light does? Could be a bomb.

5. ED: Ed stands for easily distracted. This is the category to clump the phone talkers, conversation holders, bacon cheeseburger eaters, and too-busy-staring-at-girl-in-bikini people. They are liable to do anything.

6.Precipitation Phenom: the PP is the as yet unstudied event that occurs naturally in nature every time it rains, snows, or the wind blows too fast. What happens to people’s brains when we have bad weather? I’ve no clue.  Somehow the driving gets more reckless when there is bad weather. I try and stay off the roads at this time.

I should probably add, that despite my foaming-at-the-mouth fits I do not think its a smart idea to antagonize these people. Folks have been killed because they pulled over and got out of their cars and started waving guns around. People have been sent to the hospital because they took baseball bats out of their trunks and beat the snot out of each other. I learned that horns should only be used in the case of an emergency. It’s a bad idea to be a chronic horn-tooter. Not only could an unnecessary beep startle someone into flooring the gas or running a light, but if the driver is craning their head around to see ‘who’ is beeping at him/her then that distracts them from the road. So, please, never beep at a friend you see driving past you. Horns are not the cars way of saying hello. It’s more like saying ‘Move out of the way!”

And that’s all for Rage for the Road!

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