Disponible en español: Boys Club (Jóvenes Inocentes, libro 1) por David González

Boys Club
Author: David González
Jóvenes Inocentes Book 1
Genre: LGBT, Gay, Suspenso, crimen, problema social
Length: Novela
Word count: 26995
e-book page count: 63
price: 2.99 USD

Cover art: Argentina editorial

Cuando Adrián, un atractivo adolescente de diecisiete años, es testigo del secuestro de su hermano Max y descubre que va a ser sometido a una red de tráfico humano y abusos sexuales, decide infiltrarse en el Boys Club. Esta es la discoteca de chicos guapos másfamosa de Londres, donde encontrará trabajo y se verá inmerso en una complicada y peligrosa red de tráfico humano: pederastas, sexo, corrupción y asesinatos, en la que están implicados altos cargos y de la que le será muy difícil escapar. Con una fuerte e intensa tensión desde el principio, contada en primera persona basándose en sucesos reales y destacando su extremo detalle y violencia, esta novela te atrapará y dejará marcado.

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Extracto:

Me llamo Adrián y tengo diecisiete años. Soy moreno, con el pelo algo largo peinado de punta. Mis ojos son de color azul perla, muy bonitos. Voy a la piscina todos los días laborales, una hora al día, desde hace dos años. Por lo tanto, estoy en buena forma física. No es que esté musculoso, pero tengo brazos fuertes, un buen abdomen ligeramente marcado, y unos pectorales que sí saltan a la vista. No tengo un solo pelo en el cuerpo. Me depilo todas las semanas, y me lo depilo todo. Las axilas, el pecho, el culo, la polla, los brazos y las piernas. Así que en resumen soy, moreno, joven, diecisiete años, fuerte, atractivo y guapo. No es que quiera fardar, en serio, pero realmente tengo una cara bella, soy muy guapo y no me lo tengo creído, pero lo tengo más que reconocido. Desde luego no es un problema para ligar, bueno, según se mire. Si me quiere ligar una chica pues entonces sí, lo tiene bastante difícil, porque soy gay. No soy una locaza de esas chillonas, con pluma, aunque las respeto, pero no soy una. Soy un chico normal y corriente, pero con gustos diferentes. Aunque eso sí, soy un poco salido, de hecho bastante. Me encantan las pollas, lo reconozco. Si el día tiene veinticuatro horas, pues yo pienso en sexo al menos diez horas al día. Me gustaría follar todos los días un par de veces, pero lo tengo complicado, básicamente por el horario. Por las mañanas, de lunes a viernes, voy a la piscina de mi barrio (pequeña y sencilla, pero bonita y acogedora), y hago una hora de natación. Soy rápido, ágil y me como las calles yo solo. Llevo un bañador de lycra de color negro poco más largo que un bóxer, un gorro negro también de lycra y unas gafas de bucear nuevamente negras. Así que entre que todo es negro y yo soy moreno, pues como que voy muy oscuro. Pero a mí me gusta, y nadar.

Me encanta nadar, de hecho el agua es mi segunda casa, me siento muy a gusto cuando estoy en la piscina. Sobre todo si estoy solo. Estoy mejor. Van más chicos de mi edad y más grande pero no me hablo con ninguno. Los saludo por educación pero nada más. Voy mucho a mi bola, siempre he sido así. Bueno, siempre desde hace algún tiempo.
Tras mi hora de natación y pasar por las duchas en las que siempre que puedo miro con disimulo a algún chico, me enrollo la toalla y me seco en la misma ducha. Las duchas son individuales, las compartidas no me gustan, y si lo fueran, no me habría apuntado a esa. Sin embargo, no tiene puerta, están separadas por pequeñas paredes de metal que tapan la mitad del cuerpo.

Cuando ya estoy seco, me enrollo la toalla y entonces salgo. Abro mi taquilla y saco mi ropa. Lo primero que me pongo siempre son los calzoncillos, y después ya la camiseta (tras haberme echado el desodorante) y por último los pantalones. Normalmente llevo vaqueros oscuros, ya sean azules oscuros o directamente negros. Cuando ya estoy vestido por completo y peinado, recojo todo en mi mochila y salgo por la puerta al recibidor. Le digo adiós a la recepcionista que atiende a los clientes, que en ese momento está leyendo algo y empujando la puerta salgo finalmente a la calle.

Me pongo los auriculares y me pongo música mientras camino veinte minutos hasta mi casa. Llego a casa, deshago la mochila, me preparo la comida y como solo en mi habitación, viendo algo en el ordenador, en media hora. Me lavo los dientes, me arreglo un poco, me preparo dos botellas de agua y el bocadillo que me ha hecho mi padrastro en la mochila y salgo de casa. Camino un poco hasta que pasa un autobús, a veces lo cojo hasta el metro y otras veces voy directamente caminando.

Luego cojo el metro hasta Liverpool y a otros diez minutos está mi trabajo. Trabajo como vendedor de seguros telefónicamente desde hace un año, y soy bastante bueno. Somos nueve teleoperadores en total. Y de los chicos, soy el que más vende. Mi horario de trabajo es de tres a nueve de la tarde, con cincuenta minutos de descanso repartidos. Cuando salgo a las nueve, me vengo en metro hablando con los compañeros. Llego a casa sobre las diez y si tengo que hacer algo en la casa (platos o ropa o cena) lo hago, y si no pues directo a cenar. Ceno viendo una serie o una peli y después leo un rato. Normalmente libros de fantasía y aventuras. Actualmente leo Eragon, de Christopher Paolini. Después de leer me conecto un rato al Messenger para hablar con algún amigo y me conecto en general a Internet, buscando fotos de tíos buenos, vídeos de risa, bajándome música y película y viendo tráilers de películas. Relax, básicamente. Y por último, antes de acostarme, me tumbo en la cama, y me quedo escuchando música un rato. Normalmente, tumbado boca arriba o de lado, con los auriculares puestos, la música a nivel medio, en calzoncillos o pantalón corto o como mucho tirante negro; y relajado, suelo quedarme dormido con la música. No es que gaste mucha pasta en ropa, pero cada mes que cobro me compro unos calzoncillos, o vaqueros, o camisas o algo. Así cada mes desde hace un años y poco. Así que tengo bastante ropa de marca: Calvin Klain, Armani, Jeans, Dolce & Gabanna, Mango, Bershka, Zara, Pull and Bear, Stradivarius, Tommy Hilfiger, Lacoste, Nike, Adidas, Puma, Dior, Quick Silver, Lee, Lois, etc.

Ese es mi hacer entre semana.

Los fines de semana, que estoy íntegramente libre hago diferentes cosas. Los sábados me levanto tarde, porque el viernes he estado viendo películas y desayuno, barro y friego el piso con la música puesta. Me queda una hora o así en la que puedo hacer cualquier cosa y a eso de las dos y media me pongo a comer viendo otra película. Después me ducho y depilo en la misma ducha, con cuchilla. Me seco, visto y salgo. Suelo quedar por las tardes con chicos que conozco por chat para conocernos y tomar algo. Alguna vez incluso he llegado a enrollarme con alguno en la primera cita, pero poco más. Solo hubo dos casos que quedamos directamente en su casa y acabamos follando. Insistió en penetrarme y me acabó encantando. Siempre busco chicos de mi edad, o poco más grandes, como máximo de veintitrés años. Nos liamos, nos desnudamos y follamos. Una vez con un rubio, la otra fue con un moreno.
Sobre todo me encanta chupar la polla y que me follen bien follado. Se podría decir que soy un poco ninfómano y encima provocador, me gusta que me den caña. Pero como decía, solo fueron esas dos veces. Normalmente solo quedo en citas para cines, tomar algo o pasear con el único propósito de conocernos bien. Pero la mayoría de las veces no sale bien, el tío busca algo más o simplemente no me acaba de convencer. Yo me digo a mi mismo que quiero novio, pero a la hora de la verdad, soy el primero que no quiere ataduras, así que supongo que no sé exactamente lo que quiero. O sí, no quiero novio, ni tampoco sexo esporádico. A ver, si sale pues vale, pero tampoco se trata de ir de flor en flor. Quiero un folla—amigo. Pero por el momento, como decía, no ha habido suerte. En fin, ya llegará, supongo.

Después, sobre las siete, quedo con una amiga mía que conozco hace años, y que es como mi mejor amiga. Y cuando la dejo por la noche con el novio, pues me voy con otra gran amiga a la que considero mi hermana. Voy con ella y su novio, que también me cae bien. Con ellos dos tengo un pequeño grupo formado, juntos a otros pocos. Hay buen rollo y somos todos muy amigos. Cenamos juntos y después nos vamos por ahí, o vamos a su casa, o al cine, o lo que surja. Improvisamos.

Me vuelvo a casa en metro, o taxi, depende de lo tarde que sea o las ganas que tenga. Y por último, el domingo, me levanto sobre la una de la tarde y como en casa de la ex—mujer de mi tutor, con quien paso la tarde. Mantengo una buena relación de amistad y casi familia. Para mí es como mi madre. Ellos se separaron hace un año, pero yo sigo viéndome con ambos.

Son como mis padres, de hecho, la única familia que tengo. Y ahora estaréis pensando: ¿qué pasa? ¿No tienes padres o qué? Pues no, no tengo. Murieron hace años. Es largo de explicar, así que empezaré del principio.

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Posted in Available books, David Gonzalez, libros en español, Mystery/Suspense | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Now available in Audiobook: The Czar of Wilton Drive by R.P. Andrews

The Czar of Wilton Drive
Author: RP Andrews
Genre: Gay fiction; gay erotic fiction; LGBT fiction
Length: Novel
eISBN: 978-1-937796-70-9
Price: 0.99 USD

Buy e-book from: Amazon Kindle|Bn Nook|Kobo|Google Play

Buy audiobook from Audible|iTunes|ACX

Cover art: Les Byerley

The new boss is in…

In the course of minutes, twenty-one year old Jonathan Antonucci, barely out of the closet gay man from suburban New York, finds himself a multi-millionaire. His great uncle Charlie has unexpectedly died of a heart attack, leaving Jon the sole owner of several of the most successful bars in Wilton Manors, Ft. Lauderdale’s gay ghetto.

Flying down to Lauderdale to claim his bequest, Jon encounters Uncle Charlie’s dubious friends and business associates, and is immediately drawn into Lauderdale’s scene of unbridled sex and heavy drugs. He also discovers his great uncle’s memoirs which reveal truths not only about Jon’s own past but also what may have really happened to his uncle. In the end, Jon is torn between avenging Uncle Charlie’s death or loving the very man responsible for it.

Excerpt:

Chapter One

“C’mon, take it, you hairy motherfucker, take it! yes!” yelped Jon.

Lucky for them, Ernie and he had just shot their loads over the hot cock pics of Aussie Fuzzy Mate on Growl’r when Jon got that crazy, off-the-wall call from Gramps on his Samsung Galaxy.

“Hope the hell you aren’t in some kind of trouble,” roared Gramps so loud Jon didn’t have to put his phone on speaker. “You just got a letter Fed Ex from some lawyer down in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Get your ass home now!”

Jon twirled his nose ring and pulled on his grizzly beard like he always did when he was contemplating what bullshit story to tell Gramps to cover his butt, but this time he was stumped. Not only had he never been in Lauderdale, he didn’t know anybody there either, not even on the gay hookup sites.

Except, that is, for Uncle Charlie, Gramps’s brother, who Gramps hadn’t talked to for over forty years once he found out Charlie was a queer. And Jon hadn’t seen him since Charlie flew up for Mom and Dad’s funeral when he was two and Sally, his sister, was practically in diapers. Christ, that was almost twenty years ago.

Ernie laid the ashtray on Jon’s furry chest as he handed him the roach holder for a last puff of whatever they had left. Ernie, chubby and smooth at five foot eight and already losing his hair at twenty-one, was almost the exact opposite of his six foot two, slim, trim, dark and hairy jerk-off buddy with the blue eyes and the wild mane of black hair.

“So what do you think it’s about?” asked Ernie brushing some ashes from his jeans.

“Fuck if I know,” said Jon, reaching for their cum rag to wipe his cock of Elbow Grease and spunk before pulling up his 501’s.

“You know, that was the fifth time we jerked off over Aussie Fuzzy Mate,” quipped Ernie grabbing the rag from Jon.

“Yea, and probably, the five hundredth time we’ve shot our loads looking at pics since high school.”

Ernie and Jon had known one another since tenth grade, when Ernie moved to Staten Island from Brooklyn, but they stopped trading stamps, their favorite after-school past time, for pics of hot naked men when Ernie, searching for some shit for a school paper on Jon’s laptop, discovered all those dirty pictures of humpy guys with their big dicks hard enough to hang clothes on ‘em. The secret out for both of them, they killed time up in Ernie’s attic apartment, smoking joints and getting stiff over naked men on the web. The phone apps made it even easier.

And unlike some guys he read about who had this compulsion to tell their shitty little world that they were gay, Jon saw no need to tell Gramps or his sister or anyone else for that matter. Not just because of how Gramps felt about his brother, Uncle Charlie. It just wasn’t anybody’s business, and frankly in a twisted way, Gramps might actually be glad Jon wouldn’t be knocking up any girls like Sally’s skivvy boyfriend Robbie did her.

“I’ve also seen that sorry cock of yours all that time, too,” Jon went on. “Don’t you think we should maybe branch out and see if we can get one of these guys for real? Shit, there’s plenty of hot dudes right here on Staten Island. We don’t even have to go into Manhattan.”

Ernie laughed.

“What, and spoil the fantasy? Plus with all the shit goin’ around out there, this isn’t just easier, it’s safer.”

Yea,” Jon answered with a sigh. “Well, we both have to get to work. You don’t want Fat Wallie to yell at us again for being late. This time the fuck might fire us.”

Ernie and Jon had worked at Perkins on Hylan Boulevard, Ernie in the kitchen, Jon as a server, for the last six months, their fifth fast food job since they graduated Tottenville High.

“Listen, you go on your own to work,” said Jon as he grabbed his coat. “I gotta get home first and find out what all this shit’s about.”

Thanksgiving was three weeks away and it was barely thirty degrees outside, but Jon managed to get his banged up ’97 Camry to turn over. He hoped he could wrap up the mystery with Gramps quick.

He had less than a half hour to get to work. He was broke and payday was tomorrow.
~~~~~

Ten minutes later, Jon pulled up to 714 Sharrott Lane in what had once been considered the boonies of Staten Island. The tall, two story house with the peeling brown asphalt siding had been the only home he and Sally had ever known. Apparently, they had both been safely stowed in the back of the car at the time of the accident, but Jon remembered nothing and only learned what had happened from Gramps.

Seems Mom and Dad had been visiting Mom’s parents in Pennsylvania’s Poconos when, in a heavy rainstorm on one of those winding country roads, a deer went through the windshield and killed them both. Gramps, Dad’s dad, and Grannie, his mom, became Jon and Sally’s mom and dad, and when Grannie, a heavy smoker, died of breast cancer two years ago just as Jon was graduating high school, everything fell on Gramps. No wonder he sounded like he needed Ex-Lax most of the time.

At his son and daughter-in-law’s funeral, Gramps promised Grannie he would fix up the house, get new aluminum siding, and maybe even install an above-ground pool in the backyard for Jon and Sally with some of the insurance money from the accident. But here, almost twenty years later, no pool and no siding, and what had once been a quiet country road was now filled with auto body shops and construction yards. Luckily they were on the right side of the Island when Sandy hit, or chances are the house would have been stripped dry.

Gramps was sitting at the kitchen table where he sat most of the time when Jon walked in. Thirty years of driving a truck and delivering cookies for Nabisco had taken its toll on his back and knees, and, last year at sixty, he began collecting disability.

“There it is,” grumbled Gramps, pointing to the large white envelope with the Fed Ex logo on it, sitting on the table. “I didn’t open it. It’s your mail.”

It was from Applebee and Folsom, Attorneys at Law, Fort Lauderdale, Florida. And what was inside was simple and direct.

“Dear Mr. Antonucci:

As the attorney of record for Charles J. Antonucci, a legal resident of Fort Lauderdale, Florida, I am writing to advise you of your great uncle’s unexpected passing last Thursday from a heart attack, and to inform you that he named you in his will as the primary beneficiary of his estate. Since you are of the age of majority, your immediate presence here in Fort Lauderdale is required to complete the necessary paperwork and accept this generous bequest.”

“So, so what does it say?” asked Gramps impatiently, his hand shaking from his morning’s overdose of caffeine.

“Uncle Charlie is dead.”

“From what? AIDS I bet. Well, the fairy deserves it.”

“No, he died of a heart attack, and…”

“And what?”

“He—he left me almost everything.”

Gramps was silent for ten seconds, pretty unusual for him. Then he put down his coffee mug.

“And just exactly what did he have? He probably pissed all his teacher’s salary away on young boys and dope anyway.”

“It doesn’t say but they—they want me down there right away to go over things.”

“And how do you expect to get to Florida? On fairy wings? Your airhead sister’s wedding has already put me in hock.”

Just then, the envelope slipped from Jon’s hand and out fell an airline ticket on Jet Blue and one of those Visa gift cards his neighbor down the street would give him for watching her dog when she was out of town.

“Yea,” laughed Jon. “You might say I am getting down there on fairy wings.”

Jon returned to the letter.

“Enclosed you will find an airline ticket to Fort Lauderdale from Newark Airport, and a prepaid Visa card for two thousand dollars to cover any expenses. I have also arranged to have a cab meet you at the arrival gate to transport you to my office.
Looking forward to meeting you.
Sincerely,
Edward Applebee, Esq.”

“Well, estate or no estate, you’ve gotta be back by Friday for your sister’s wedding before she gets any bigger. That’s just three days away. Christ, today’s Monday already.”

Sally had dropped out of Tottenville High when she learned she was pregnant, and with her skinny frame, she was already beginning to show. Though he claimed he blamed God for the accident that killed his son and daughter-in-law, and had not stepped foot in St. Sylvester’s since the funeral, Gramps had contacted the pastor to perform the wedding vows for Sally and Robbie, who worked at Walmart, and had arranged with his fellow Vietnam vet buddies for a reception at the local VFW. But Gramps was right. Jon had to be back in time. He was best man.

“And what about your job?” asked Gramps.

A call to Ernie, who was already at work, took care of that.

“But what if I tell Wally to shove it like you said, and you find out your uncle left you shit?”

“I don’t care if it’s only five grand. I’ll manage.”

Then he asked Ernie, who was off the next day, if he could drive him to Newark.

The plane ticket on Jet Blue was dated for tomorrow at 9:10 a.m.

Sally was upstairs in her room watching TV when he went up to tell her.

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, expressionless. “Gramps is still in the stone age. This wedding shit was all his idea to make everything look respectable. Like, really, who gives a fuck?”

Then she laughed. “Just promise me you’ll buy Robbie and me a new car if you really strike it big.”

Posted in Available books, Gay fiction, Novel Length, R.P. Andrews | Leave a comment

In very exciting new, Kokoro Press author and filmmaker, David Gonzalez, is gathering a lot of buzz and awards for his upcoming full-length film Boys Club, including Best Short Film at the Besame Tonto Film Festival 2018!
bc poster

Why is this particularly exciting news for Kokoro Press? The film is based on David’s trilogy of anti-human trafficking novellas centered on a corrupt and lascivious den of iniquity, the Boys Club, a place in London where wealthy perverts can fulfill their sexual fantasies with trafficked young men, powerless to prevent their. abuses.
Boys Club news

Written originally in Spanish, Kokoro Press has the honor of publishing the books in English, the first of which is already available here at KP. boysclub_200x300 Filming of the full-length film is scheduled to begin in January 2019.

Posted in Author Spotlight, Exciting News | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Now Available in Trade Paperback: Cries of the Forgotten: A Murder Mystery of Postapartheid South Africa

Cries of the Forgotten
A Murder Mystery of Postapartheid South Africa

Author: Percy Makhuba
Genre: Murder mystery; Paranormal
Length: Novella
Price: 0.99 USD

Cover art: Louca Matheo

Buy at Amazon Kindle|Barnes and Noble Nook|Kobo Books

 

Trade Paperback from Amazon

John Burdett, internationally best-selling mystery author of Bangkok 8 (Sonchai Jitpleecheep Series), The Last Six Million Seconds and A Personal History of Thirst calls Cries of the Forgotten, “A moving insight into Zulu shamanism and Christian forgiveness in today’s troubled South Africa.”

From a new, powerful voice in the post-apartheid South African canon of authors, comes Cries of the Forgotten, a murder mystery that explores the scars left by the inner war of a nation.

A seemingly ordinary man with an extraordinary secret…

One day, Tshepo Nonyane, a mild-mannered government statistician walks into the Johannesburg Metro Police Department and confesses to the brutal rapes and murders of several women. He describes his crimes in grisly detail, even as his clean-cut, sincere appearance completely belies the violent man he claims to be.

As Detective Eloff Mueller and her police partner, Joseph Langa, investigate Nonyane’s horrifying confessions, they find themselves pulled into a world where appearance and reality are blurred beyond recognition. They could never have prepared for what is uncovered along with the skeletons of the long-dead and forgotten victims of South Africa’s epidemic violence against women.

Tshepo, the son of one of the country’s most powerful sangomas (medicine men), has long-denied his heritage and believes he has gone mad from refusing to follow his ancestral calling. His madness has led him to murder and brutality…or so he believes. Along with the visions of his unthinkable crimes, the act of confession opens up long-forgotten wounds and secrets he has been keeping from himself. Unlocking the depths of his soul leads to consequences he, and everyone else in his beloved South Africa, could never have imagined in a million lifetimes.

Part murder mystery, part social statement and part spiritual journey, Cries of the Forgotten is one man’s odyssey to protect and heal the nation he loves from its self-inflicted wounds. With a cast of characters who yearn for justice in a nation where men and women have long been at war against themselves and each other, Cries of the Forgotten explores the pressing question of what it will take for the violence to end, once and for all.

Excerpt:

Chapter One

“Tshepo, you’re not a killer. Let’s go home, please.”

Tshepo stopped on the steps of the police station and looked briefly at his wife. The devotion and admiration Nandipha’s eyes reflected for him was unbearable. He’d never deserved her, not after his great act of cowardice had led only to brutality and death. “We’ve discussed this endlessly, Nandi. I’m a killer. I must pay for my crimes. Go home. I promise I will call you. You shouldn’t have got out of the cab.”

Nandipha’s large, beautiful eyes filled. Behind her, the traffic of Johannesburg passed on Main Street. A tear trembled on her lash and rolled down her smooth dark cheek. “You’re not a killer. I know what you are. Why won’t you listen to me?”

“Because you’re prejudiced in my favour. I can do no wrong. You do not see who is in front of you.”

“I do see you. Of all the people in the world, I see you when no one else will. I can’t let you do this. I beg you, Tshepo.”

He turned and went in. There was a line ahead of him. Thankfully, Nandi stopped her tearful begging, but she stood and sniffled endlessly. He could hear her silent pleas, however. When two people had been soulmates since birth, the connection was so deep they could hear each other’s thoughts and finish their sentences. Finally, when he could bear her suffering no longer, he looked at her. He restrained the overpowering urge to wipe the stains of her tears from her cheeks. The near obsidian hue of her skin contrasted with the orange house dress she wore. She’d always worn dresses like that, simple and humble. She wore a matching band to pull back her abundance of perfect, smooth braids. No doubt, she craved his touch after so many years, but he would not mar her beauty with his monster’s hands. She never complained. His beautiful Nandi. “Please, my love,” he murmured. “Go home now. I will call you. I promise.”

“All right. But what you’re doing is wrong.” She turned and walked out of the station.

Tshepo watched her leave. Perhaps there was a time he would have relented and followed her, but he could no longer allow the carnage to continue.

The line crept forward. The clock read well after lunchtime when he finally reached the window and leant slightly inward so that the woman behind the desk would hear him over the din of ringing phones and numerous conflict resolutions happening around them. “I’m here to confess to murder.”

The weary desk sergeant stared at him. Her dark eyes seemed to be assessing whether he was a crackpot she should send away. Of course, she wouldn’t. Anyone who was confessing to murder had to be questioned, at least. Her eyes rested an extra moment on his forehead. Eyes always did rest there, at the crudely fashioned image of a dragon-like snake consuming its own body. The true semiotic of a serial killer. And rapist. “Name?”

He cleared his perpetually dry throat. “Tshepo Nonyane.” Tshepo held out his ID card.

Her round, smooth dark cheeks reminded him of the faces of the women whose lives he had ended. If he looked any longer, he would once again be swimming in a pool of blood; a pool full of the bodies of his victims. “I’m not crazy. I’m telling you the truth.”

“One moment, please.” She picked up a phone and pressed a button. “Yes. Someone has come in named Tshepo Nonyane. He wants to make a confession to murder.” She listened and nodded. Whoever was on the other end was obviously giving her instructions. “Yes, sir,” she answered and replaced the receiver. She signalled to a nearby officer. “Put him in Room Three.”
The officer, young enough to be his son, took his arm. “This way.”

About the author::

Percy Makhuba was born on 18 June 1967 in Honeydew, South Africa. He grew up living on a farm and attended school at Paradise bend School and Witkoppen High School. Percy studied transport management at Rand Afrikaans University qualifying in 2002. He founded a church in 2008 and is currently a Visionary Leader and a Senior Pastor of Percy Healing Word Ministry.

Posted in Available books, Mystery/Suspense, Percy Makhuba, Spirituality, Trade Paperback | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Now Available: Reality Check by Mitch Halper

Reality Check: Brief Reflections on Un-Conditioning the Mind
Genre: Non-fiction; Spirituality, Self-Help, Philosophy
eISBN: 978-1-937796-84-6
Price: 0.99 USD
~
paperback ISBN: 978-1-937796-92-1
Price: 5.99 USD
Available from: Barnes and Noble|Amazon

~
Cover art: Louca Matheo

Buy e-book from Amazon Kindle|BN Nook|Kobo|Google Play

Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, and children of all ages. What we have here is a brief compendium of unconventional viewpoints regarding what is loosely termed “the spiritual path,” but what is, in fact, a return to our fundamental sanity. All this and more for only 99 cents!

Excerpt:

Enlightenment, which is Reality, is self-love and manifests as compassionate non-attachment or liberation through understanding. When you see or understand that you are really good, already really good it brings happiness and a feeling of being completely connected to life., All the strategies to be good and the masks that have been created are seen as superfluous and simply fall away. This removal of the “veils” allows the direct and unclouded perception of what has always been there.

You don’t need to become a good or lovable person. You don’t need to make some herculean effort to become safe or happy or to acquire knowledge or to gain approval. That’s why real life is joyous, because it is effortless.

So much of what is called spiritual work is people trying to be good, to get it right, to succeed, so that the guru or god or mommy or daddy will love them. It is like some weirdly choreographed courtship.

In the first spiritual group I attended, the men were required to wear jackets and ties and the ladies had to wear long skirts no matter what the weather was like. Homosexuality was considered unacceptable. One had to sit in rock hard chairs, perfectly upright, for hours on end and listen to lectures and learn Sanskrit and calligraphy and sewing and had to maintain all the school buildings in immaculate condition as an unpaid service. One had to eat silently, work silently. All these things were required not elective. Oh well, you get the picture. All this to find what we already have. We need to stop denying how dissatisfying, dehumanizing and shitty this kind of coercion is. There is no heart in it at all.

In reality, the person struggling to connect with reality, struggling to find love, is already completely loved and connected but doesn’t recognize it. The old analogy is of a man standing in water up to his neck and complaining that he’s dying of thirst. This is quite literally true.
For many years I’ve been telling people that spiritual work is stopping or more specifically, surrendering. Meditation is non-doing. Surrender is non-doing. Love is non-doing. If you have to do something to get enlightened, then what you’re looking for isn’t freedom or love, for it is just another conditional relationship with life.

Whatever obstacles you may have to loving yourself as you are right now, I can promise you, they are all unreal. You learned them somewhere from someone who didn’t care and didn’t know you.

It doesn’t matter how awful or ugly your secret is, your past actions, your dreadful mistakes, lies or transgressions. One thing is certain, not loving yourself right now isn’t helping anyone, isn’t fixing anything or undoing any harm that may have been done. Seeing the misunderstanding that has been guiding the efforts to acquire love or peace will make you appreciate the uselessness of them.

The most unselfish thing is not to embark on some heroic spiritual journey but to drop or surrender any obstacles, any conditions to love immediately so you can finally make a proper amends. Do you see?

Spirituality is the unclenching of a fist, the unfolding of a heart, the non-becoming, non-forcing, non-attached compassion, which is, and has always been, the Real.

Posted in Mitch Halper, Non-Fiction, Spirituality | Leave a comment

Now Available: Reverse Chronicles by Jonas (Jihyeong) Park

The Unraveling of the Past
Reverse Chronicles, Book One
Author: Jonas Park
Genre: Time Travel/Alternate History/Fantasy
Length: Short novel
Price: 2.99 USD

Cover art: Jonas Park

Buy from: Amazon Kindle|BN Nook|Kobo|Google Play

In a realm between life and death, in a place that human beings have no idea exists, is the Time Continent. Unbeknownst to humankind, the Time Continent is where a select group of disembodied souls spend their afterlife, dictating the course of human events throughout history. It is the inhabitants of the Time Continent who are responsible over much of the lives and deaths on Earth…

One such soul, Pastool Logan, once powerful committee head of Past Events, stands trial. In an act of desperation to find out who he was and where he came from while alive, Logan broke protocol, causing the deaths of hundreds and has been condemned to eternity in a Time Dungeon. When a dear friend visits him in the dungeon, Logan recounts the course of events that led up to his crime and draws his friend into a world of deception, violence, beauty and miraculous connections in his search for identity. Little does he know that one mysterious woman holds the answers he seeks.

Reverse Chronicles is an exploration of the deepest connections between human beings and of the harrowing issue that plagues all humanity, from the mightiest nation down to the smallest individual: the issue of power over weakness and the struggle to define what real strength truly is.

Excerpt:

CHAPTER 01
The Violation against Nature

“He who controls the past controls the future. He who controls the present controls the past.”
-George Orwell, 1984.

The Joseon era, the time period that consisted of a limited number of people in a limited space, was not changed by outer world influence. However, the Joseon I see now is very different from the Joseon that I imagined.
While Neo-Confucianism, emphasized by Confucian scholars, was still to some degree the philosophy of Joseon—the Korean dynasty of the 1600s—contrary to what our history books tell us, various races, cultures, and thought mingled unlike how the Korean dynasty back then was limited and restricted from any communication with outside world.. What had happened to create such an anomaly?

The actions of one particular individual catapulted Joseon’s history two hundred years ahead of its time, giving Joseon an opportunity to meet and communicate with other worlds in advance, long before they should ever even have known of these other worlds.

The individual in question was a westerner.

He was a very tall westerner. He wore a dark green suit of a Scottish plaid, perhaps the tartan of the Abercrombie. At first glance, he seemed meticulously dressed, with his green silk hat and neat suit. His clothing was far from being neat or tidy, in fact. His clothes were soaked by a girl’s bright red blood.
He kneeled on a plain sand valley, where his beloved girl was forever gone.

The man was weeping and trying in vain to wipe off blood from his clothes. The girl’s red blood turned to black rapidly.

An old gentleman with white hair soon appeared out of nowhere and stood before the man at some distance. This man wore a gold silk hat and suit. He was wearing a glass on his right eye and, actually, that glass was a translucent watch with a ticking hour hand and a ticking minute hand and had only one lens attached with small metal chains – something a gentleman from real history could possibly wear. The hour hand and minute hand in the watch were moving at the speed of a regular watch.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

“How pathetic are you?” he shouted. “Why did you not follow the providence of nature sooner? What on earth could make you keep denying the providence of nature even though we warned you several times?”

The man at the crime scene glared at him. The beloved girl just vanished before this man, and this man was about to be arrested now for what happened to her. What was left with him was just a feeling of hatred or disgust. “Providence? Who on earth made that providence? Wasn’t that all made up by your own whims?”

“Hmmm… You still cannot admit what you did.”

More gentlemen in silk hats and suits appeared around the older man. The sound of a clock’s hands in motion emanated from the little group of the organization known as the Time Committee, which started to surround the man at the crime scene.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

“Wouldn’t it be better to execute him right now?” a red suit and red-hatted member of the Time Committee said. “He is a vicious criminal who broke providence, so it will be better for us to execute him.”

“No. He simply may have fallen to a wrong way although he is a talented person.”

“Talented? Nonsense. If he were a talented person, why would he do this brainless thing? His job is to oversee events, not catapult them forward and risk the existence of the entire world!”

“We never know. Let’s ask him again. We have to see if this law-breaker admits his sin.”

“Sinner Pastool Logan! Why did you violate ‘the providence?’ An act that resulted in the pointless vanishing of many coworkers, I might add.”

Pastool Logan stared at the gentlemen with a mournful look. At that moment, an image of an Asian man appeared. The mirage, hung before him by his questioners, as if to torment Pastool’s conscience, was a Joseon prince who, according to proper history, was supposed to die tragically but he had survived because of this incident, so as to be Pastool’s mentor. The prince wore the typical costume of the crown princes after the reign of King Seonjo, a dark blue gonryongpo or dragon robe, ikseongwan a type of crown hat, a jade belt, and mokhwa shoes.

“Are you asking me why I violated the providence? If you insist, I will answer you. Those who died under the name of ‘the providence’ or the ‘cosmic order under the status quo principle’ were very talented people.”
As if in response to Pastool’s statement, the images of recently passed away comrades slid by.

“However,” he went on, “they died even before they could show their talents. Did not they die because we did not want to see a major change? Social stability for the cosmic order? Is that your fair reason? Have you ever thought of a possibility that it has become unstable because we have killed people based on the selfish ‘stability,’ falsely known as the ‘status quo’? Why do you make one country stronger when another country gets weaker and let it destroy the weak country? Do you say that it is the providence of nature? Are you saying that your opportunistic behavior of taking one side then taking the other side is the providence of the nature? If this kind of behavior is what you really mean by the providence of the nature, I believe that someone needs to turn this whole system of ‘status quo’ from upside down.”

“Klaisto!”

As soon as he finished talking, an invisible hand clapped over Pastool’s mouth. It was a restraint magic used by the Time Tribe to stop others from speaking.

“Shut up… you damn sinner!” a man in a black suit shouted at Pastool Logan.

“What should we do, Mr. Chairman?” another man in a black suit interjected.

The old gentleman stared at Pastool for a moment. “Arrest the offender.”

Posted in Available books, Fantasy, Jonas Park | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Now Available: Young Innocents, Boys Club Book One by David Gonzalez

Young Innocents
Author: David Gonzalez
Series: Boys Club, Book One
Genre: Noir, LGBT, Social Issues
Length: Novella
Word count: 46329
e-book page count: 99
price: 2.99 USD

Cover art: Melody Pond

Buy from: Amazon Kindle|BN Nook|Kobo|Google Play

From filmmaker and author, David Gonzalez, director of the award-winning short film, “The Choice is Yours,” comes the first volume in his Boys Club series, now in English.

When Adrian is seventeen, his younger brother Max is kidnapped from their home. A masked stranger knocks Adrian unconscious as he tries to save his brother. Life goes from difficult but relatively normal to nightmarish overnight. Adrian’s only driving need is to find Max who, he learns, has been trafficked. Into the horrors of sex slavery where perverted clients can fulfill their most lurid, exploitive fantasies with beautiful young men who are helpless to stop them. Adrian must find Max before it’s too late. The odyssey into darkness has just begun…

Author’s note: This novel is based on actual events
Unfortunately, it’s a reality that happens all over the world.

Tags: young adult, human trafficking, sexual slavery, lgbt issues, social issues, noir, human trafficking fiction

Excerpt:

I breathe a sigh of relief and close the door. I start to head back to my room when someone grabs my neck and shoves me up against the wall, so hard, my feel lifts off the ground. A black mask hides his face. It looks like leather, with strange symbols painted on it, like ancient symbols. The rest of him is covered in a black suit and boots.

I’m gasping for breath and struggling against him. Instinctively, I knee him in the gut. It works. He releases me and I let out a scream of pain then rush toward Jack’s room.

“Jack! Jack! Help!” his door stays closed so he must be so drunk he can’t hear me or doesn’t care.

The masked intruder has recovered and grabs me again by my hair. He slams my face against the wall, breaking my nose. I fall to the ground and he stands over me. I see the blade of a small knife flash in the light from my room. I kick his leg hard, causing him to lose his balance and fall. Then I scramble to my feet and try to run. Before I can move and inch, he grabs my foot and makes me fall again. I try to drag myself away from him but he holds my foot in an iron grip and makes me fall to the ground. I try to run away, by crawling on the floor, but he pulls me towards him and I end up in his claws. He spins me over and while I fight him off, he grabs me by the hair, lifting my head, and slamming it against the floor. He then lets me go and I stop fighting him, feeling slightly dizzy and lightheaded. The stranger, on top of me, stares at me liking something that he sees because he pulls out a sharp knife and runs it over my neck, in a caressing and threatening manner to the rhythm of my descending and frantic breathing. He reaches for my nipple and punctures it slightly. He continues to move lower and when he reaches my pants, he tries to put his hand inside of them, but before he can go any further, after recovering slightly, I hit him with all my might in the groins. The man screams in pain and falls next to me. I get up, however I can, and run towards my brother’s room. Pretty soon, the masked man, jumps to his feet, cursing at me, and runs behind me. I panic completely. I dash to Max’s bedroom, open the door and lock it shut, immediately realizing that the stranger is only a few steps away. I turn on the light, panicking hysterically with my nerves on edge.

“Max!” I call to my brother who is now fully awake, sitting on the edge of his bed and looking completely petrified. “They broke into our house and they want to hurt us. Quick, go out the window and ask our neighbors for help. Hurry!”

I help him out of bed while the masked intruder begins to pound at the door with all his might. We dash to the window and I barely manage to open it. All of a sudden, the blade of the intruder’s knife goes through the door and we both jump on the spot, feeling terrified. In no time, the door is being torn apart with powerful stabs and deadly blows. Max carefully crawls out the window and jumps into the roof. Unexpectedly, the door swings open and I barely have time to pick up a lamp and throw it at the intruder’s head, but he is fast enough to elude my attack and dodges the projectile. The lamp ends up smashing against the wall behind him, breaking into a thousand pieces. The unknown assailant then grabs me by the arm and violently throws me against the bed. I fly over it and fall on the ground on the ground and on other side of the bed. The masked stranger looks out the window and sees his prey, standing on the roof and looking at him without knowing what to do.

“Max, run and jump! Save yourself!” I shout at Max.

My brother immediately comes to his senses and turns around. After a few seconds of hesitation, he closes his eyes, takes a leap of faith, bounces on the summer awning and rolls down until he finally hits the ground below. Max then lies on the floor, too shocked to move. The man, who saw it all, turns around, leaves the bedroom and runs to the bottom floor. I jump to my feet and look out the window. Outside, Max gets up slowly, too slowly. All of a sudden, the front door swings open and the stranger exists the house, heading straight for Max. Max gets frightened and he jumps to his feet, looking even more petrified than before. The man strides towards him, getting closer with each passing second. When he is a few steps away from Max, to the stranger’s surprise and to mine, I jump on top of him and we land on the floor, next to my brother. I’m completely stunned and I could swear that I have broken my arm or hand because it begins to hurt like hell.

With every bit of strength left, I get up, get a hold of my brother’s hand and kick the stranger in the head, making him twist on the floor. We need to get out of there and fast so we run to Jack’s car which is parked a few yards away. The moment we arrive at Jack’s car, I open the passenger door, sit my brother down, buckling his seatbelt, and close the door shut. I circle the car around, jump into the driver’s seat, closing the door shut and shaking nervously. I flip open the driver’s glove box, on the roof of the car, and the keys fall in my hand. I turn on the engine of the car, but all of a sudden, it goes off and the on. It is then that something hits the hood of the car and Max and I both scream in terror. A second later, I spot the masked man standing in front of us in a threatening manner. Even though he is wearing a mask, I could swear that there is some type of hate and fury behind his evil gaze. I floor the accelerator, and instead of moving forward, we move backwards and hit a tree. From the force of the impact, I hit my head on the steering wheel while Max crashes into the glove compartment, unconscious. Smoke comes out of the car while the windshield is completely shattered into a thousand pieces. The passenger door then swings open and a dark shadow reaches into the car. He grabs Max, takes off his seatbelt, and lifts him off his seat, carrying him away into the night. I stretch my arms out, calling for my brother, but I’m too weak to do anything and my vision begins to blur. My head hurts and I could feel my strength leaving my body. A tingling sensation begins at my feet and moves into my neck. As the tingling sensation makes its way into my face and reaches my eyes, I lose consciousness and everything goes black.

Posted in Available books, David Gonzalez, Gay fiction, Mystery/Suspense | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment