TITLE:
Painful Lessons
AUTHOR:
S.C.Wynne
PUBLISHER:
Dreamspinner
Press
COVER
ARTIST: Anna Sikorska
LENGTH:
200 Pages
RELEASE
DATE: January 01, 2016
BLURB:
As a freshman both in love and in college, sometimes there are painful lessons
to be learned.
Excited to begin his
first year of college, Brett Bridgeworth has just one problem: he sucks at
math. Luckily there’s the sensual and mysterious math tutor, Jeremy Price, to
help him out. It isn't long before Jeremy is tutoring Brett in more than just
pie charts, but it isn’t until they split up that Brett discovers Jeremy’s
twisted, obsessive side.
Sam Hawthorne is two years ahead of Brett, and they share a strong mutual attraction. When Brett breaks it off with Jeremy and gets involved with Sam, disturbing things start happening. It soon becomes obvious that Jeremy isn't willing to let Brett go without a fight.
I definitely don’t want
what I’m about to share to look like I’m bragging. But I think it’s important
to give a glimpse into my first sexual experiences because it has a lot to do
with who I am, or at least who I was, when I went through all of that shit with
Jeremy. Looking back, now I can see so clearly that I was like a sail with the
line sliced, flapping uselessly in the cool sea breeze. Well, maybe I’m getting
ahead of the story a little bit. I tend to do that sometimes.
I’ve always been bad at
math. I mean, like, really awful. But I’d managed to get through high school
because my teachers liked me. Mr. Winter, my algebra teacher, liked me a whole
lot. So much so that, senior year, he made a deal with me; he’d give me an A if
I let him suck me off.
Mr. Winter wasn’t one
of those hot teachers we students fantasized about. He wore a lot of loud
polyester shirts, and he had a pot belly. I went back and forth about his
offer, and I did a bit of research on the Internet so I’d know what I was
getting into. But ultimately I agreed, because if I failed algebra I’d be held
back, and that would be way too embarrassing to me and, more importantly, my
dad.
My dad owns Bridgeworth
Electronics, and if his kid failed high school he’d probably have a heart
attack. So I let Mr. Winter pull the blinds, unzip my jeans, and do his thing.
The sight of him on his knees and the glare off his shiny bald head was all
very surreal. I remember being super nervous because, while I was eighteen and
I knew I liked guys, I’d never been touched by one yet. It was just me and my
faithful hand, up until Mr. Winter introduced me to fellatio.
At his first touch I
was numb inside and grappling with insecurities. Would I come too soon? Would
he be too rough? Or worst of all, was he going to make me suck him off? But the
initial warm slide of his mouth chased those fears away. Old dude or not, my
eyes rolled back in my head, and I’d thrust into his mouth, oblivious to the
world around me. Afterward he’d grinned up at me with a crooked, lecherous
smile, as if we were somehow coconspirators.
For my first time, it
was a little seedy and humiliating. I’d certainly never pictured my initiation
to a BJ happening quite like that. But I had to admit his lips on me still felt
great, so I shoved down the feelings of shame and took my A. I never saw Mr.
Winter again, and I went on toward college still horrible in math but no longer
pure as the driven snow.
I spent my summer
waiting for responses from the colleges I’d applied to, and worried someone
would find out about me and Mr. Winter’s arrangement. Would they be able to
retract my grade if they knew what I’d done to get it? I’ll admit to feeling
guilty about the whole arrangement with Mr. Winter, but the thought of failing
had been too terrifying. When my acceptance letter arrived from UCLA, I put thoughts
of my old math teacher behind me and spent the rest of the break celebrating
with my friends.
I will say, after my
sexual encounter with Mr. Winter, it was as if my hormones woke up for real. I
became a horndog of epic proportions. My dad hired a new pool guy for the
summer, and he was the opposite of Mr. Winter. This guy was probably in his
thirties and hot. I mean smoking, Zac Efron hot. We exchanged lusty looks for a
few weeks before anything actually happened. One day after swimming, I was
showering in the small side building near the garden, and Lex walked in on me.
He set his pool skimmer
against the wall and pulled his shirt off with one yank. I swallowed the lump
forming in my throat and waited for him to make the first move. Soundlessly he
dropped his shorts and underwear and walked up to me. I couldn’t believe what
was happening, but I was excited to think this gorgeous guy wanted to do things
to and with me. I believe I said a breathy, “Hi.”
“How old are you,
Brett?” he’d asked, almost as if it was an afterthought.
“Eighteen,” I responded
right before he pushed me against the slick white tiles and took my mouth
roughly.
He tasted like tobacco
and cinnamon, and his hands were rough on my hips. His cock wasn’t as wide as
mine, but it was longer and it fit next to mine nicely. When the kiss ended, he
began grinding his cock against mine, and the heat that flared in my groin was
like an inferno. I grasped his shoulders and held on as lust rumbled through me
like a steam engine. It wasn’t romantic by any stretch of the imagination. The
ceramic tiles were freezing against my back, and they hurt my shoulder blades,
but I didn’t care. I was young and ready to explore what I needed sexually.
I’d had a growth spurt
toward the end of high school, and I was slightly taller than Lex. I clutched
his damp chestnut curls and panted against the orgasm gathering at the base of
my cock. He was louder than me. He groaned a lot and cussed as he threw his
head back and flexed his hips like a jackhammer. I liked his noises. They were
guttural and dirty, and they made me excited as my need ramped even higher.
When we came the warm water washed the evidence down the drain as if it never
happened.
I remember he stroked
my cheek afterward, as I stared into his golden-flecked brown eyes. “That was
nice,” he panted, and then he washed under the water with me, dried off with my
towel, and got dressed. Right before he left, he turned and asked me, “Are you
a virgin?”
I’m sure my cheeks
turned red. They were warm now, thinking about how embarrassed I’d been to
answer yes. Not to mention I wasn’t even sure if I was answering correctly. Was
I a virgin? Did blow jobs count, or did not having had anal make me a virgin?
But Lex had just smiled and quietly closed the door. I wasn’t a “virgin” much
longer because a week later, Lex took me in that little shower area. I still
remember the smell of the coconut-scented lube and the first burning glide of
his cock in my untouched ass.
I learned a lot from
Lex. The guy had zero inhibitions. We fucked our way through that hot summer,
and when it came time to leave for college, I was thankful I didn’t have to go
there not knowing anything about sex. I’d assumed I’d show up at UCLA horrible
in math and a virgin, but thanks to Lex, only the “bad at math” part was still
true.
My dad didn’t have time
to drive with me to my new school. He said something about a crisis in the
capacitor industry. I didn’t know what he was talking about, and it didn’t
really matter because it wasn’t like it was negotiable or anything. Hey, how
about you come to my college, see my room, and pretend you give a shit about me
for a day? I’ll bake brownies for you?
Yeah, not gonna happen.
I guess at this point,
I should mention the reason it was only me and him was because my mom died when
I was ten. She went in for a routine hysterectomy and never came home. I
remember coming back from school and finding my aunt Rose sobbing in the
kitchen. She’d hugged me and my dad, and stayed for weeks to cook casseroles
and keep the house clean. But after that she’d had to go back to her family in
New York. Aunt Rose called me and my dad “her boys,” and she phoned to check on
us often. But my dad’s never home, and I didn’t want to talk about my mom
dying, so the time between calls had become longer and longer.
So back to my college
experience. My roommate, Ted, was nothing like me. He was boisterous and loud
and straight as a ruler. He was hugely into sports and talked about football
nonstop. I, on the other hand, knew little about that subject, preferring
reading and sketching to getting dirty and running around a field with a
pigskin.
We still found some
common ground since we both enjoyed eating. We always went to the cafeteria
together for all our meals. Generally his jock friends would descend, and I’d
sit mostly in silence, shoveling my cheese macaroni in like a machine. I think
having Ted as my roommate protected me from being picked on by his homophobic
buddies. They gave me hard looks and didn’t sit too close to me, but nobody
ever said a disrespectful word to me.
One of the guys I
didn’t mind so much. He had auburn hair and light green eyes, and he always
smelled like vanilla. His name was Sam Hawthorne, and he was the only one who
would speak to me without looking like he was afraid my gayness would get on
him. I didn’t hide that I was gay, but I also didn’t flaunt it. The “gayest”
thing I did was wear a small diamond stud in my ear that was one half of a pair
of earrings my mom had owned. I didn’t wear the earring to make a statement as
much as it made me feel connected to my mom.
I soon learned I liked
being away from home. When nobody knew me, I could be different and didn’t have
to play the role I’d always felt had been thrust on me: good son. Grieving son.
It had been eight years since my mom died, and while I missed her and her
quirky sense of humor, I wanted to live a little. These were my college years,
and I was expecting to have new and exciting experiences. I wasn’t supposed to
sit around trying to remember what my mom looked like, although sometimes the
fact that I had trouble recalling her features bugged me a lot and made me feel
like a horrible person. So I’d pull out the crinkled picture I kept in my
wallet. The photo was of a family vacation at the beach a year before she died.
She looked happy, and we were both smiling like idiots. My dad wasn’t in the
picture, and I guess I mean that both literally and figuratively.
S.C.
Wynne started writing m/m in 2013 and did look back once. She wanted to say
that because it seems everyone's bio says they never looked back and, well S.C.
Wynne is all about the joke. She loves writing m/m and her characters are
usually a little jaded, funny and ultimately redeemed through love.
S.C
loves red wine, margaritas and Seven and Seven's. Yes, apparently S.C. Wynne is
incredibly thirsty. S.C. Wynne loves the rain and should really live in Seattle
but instead has landed in sunny, sunny, unbelievably sunny California. Writing
is the best profession she could have chosen because S.C. is a little bit of a
control freak. To sit in her pajamas all day and pound the keys of her laptop
controlling the every thought and emotion of the characters she invents is a
dream come true.
If you'd like to contact S.C. Wynne she is amusing herself on Facebook at all hours of the day or you can contact her at scwynne@dslextreme.com
Winner’s
Prize: $10 Amazon GC + E-copy of Painful Lessons
Runners Up Prize: E-copy of Painful Lessons
January 5: The Novel Approach
:: Drops of Ink
January 6: Divine Magazine
January 7: Love Bytes Reviews
:: Wicked Faeries Tales
& Reviews
January 8: Joyfully Jay :: Scattered Thoughts
& Rogue Words
January 11: BFD Book Blog
January 12: Cathy Writes Romance :: Diverse Reader
January 13: Prism Book Alliance :: The Purple Rose Tea
House
January 14: RJ Scott
January 15: Bayou Book Junkie :: Elisa - My reviews
and Ramblings
The blurb creates all sort of yummy thoughts to mind ;-)
ReplyDeleteThank you for tge post!