Title: Drama Queens and Adult
Themes
Series: Actors and Angels, book 2
Author: Kevin Klehr
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: May 22, 2017
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male, Male/Male Menage
Length: 62350
Genre: Fantasy, performance arts,
contemporary, established relationship, angels, over 40, open relationship, age
gap, ménage, cheating, drugs, death, romance, fantasy, paranormal, cisgender
Synopsis
Little do they know that Fabien, a warlock from the Afterlife, has secretly cast a spell of lust on Adam and his potential toy-boy.
As things begin to heat up, Adam’s guardian angel, Guy, steps in. But what’s the best way to save the relationship? Should Guy subdue Adam’s wandering passions or instigate a steamy threesome?
Excerpt
Drama Queens and
Adult Themes
Kevin Klehr © 2017
All Rights Reserved
Kevin Klehr © 2017
All Rights Reserved
Chapter One
Adam
He stood wearing
a velvety white towel and an eager grin. Either could’ve disappeared at my
whim. I smelled the freshly laundered lemon scent of the towel combined with
the odor of his body sweat, which I was dying to lick from his forehead. I’m
always a sucker for a devil-may-care attitude. It makes me weak at the knees in
an instant, but in this case, I was already reclined in my gleaming white tub,
so there was no danger of losing my balance. The water filled to the brim, and
I knew that when he joined me, he would splash the tiles below.
I’d only known
him for half an hour, and already I was under his spell. Was he a young man of
style, or was he a man of simple tastes? Did he have a daytime career that gave
him the world at his fingertips, or did he simply have the freedom of freelance
engagements?
Time slowed as
his luxurious towel fell to the floor. His body was not toned like a swimwear
model. His features would never inspire a dozen wet dreams. It was his everyday
physical qualities that were driving me wild. That tuft of silky chest hair
that traced its way to his belly button. He even had a little flab. Not too
much, just a tad. To me, it signaled a man of zero pretense.
But as the towel
was now on the floor, his upper body wasn’t what I was focusing on. He lifted
one leg and eased himself into the water. The other leg followed as instinct
lured my face toward his luscious…
“At some point,
Adam, you do need to put pencil to paper,” said my art teacher. He had crept up
behind me.
My wayward
daydream vanished. Hopefully, I’d find it again before bedtime. I blushed and
so did the nude model. I quickly drew a line, but it wasn’t in keeping with the
young man’s form.
I was startled at
my own behavior. A man of my age wasn’t supposed to act like a starstruck
teenager. My instructor gently gripped my hand and guided my pencil to create a
more natural line.
The model winked
at me as some of the other students chuckled. Another budding male artist with
bleached-blond hair nodded in my direction, smiling slyly.
“Okay, I admit
it. My mind was somewhere else, and I apologize to the model,” I said.
All eyes in the
room were on me.
“I’m flattered,”
the model replied.
“It’s not like me
to act like this, seriously.”
“Can I get you a
glass of water?” asked the teacher.
“Thanks but I’ll
get one myself. I think I need a walk. I’ll catch up on my drawing as soon as I
get back.”
I rushed out of
the classroom. This was all too weird in my situation. I was in my early
forties and still madly in love with the man I’d shared my life with for the
last eighteen years. We had a healthy sex life, even though I fantasized more
than I’d like to admit. In fact, any dreamy man wandering past my view would
arouse my animal instincts faster than a straight guy in a room of lipstick
lesbians. But this young man posing for art class had my tongue dragging so
close to the floor I was licking it clean. I was definitely not ready for a
midlife crisis, or so I thought.
I sat on a seat
in the corridor. Was I capable of having a discreet fling? I lightly slapped
myself on the cheek, waking up to how ridiculous this question was. Why would
he want to have an affair with an old fart like me?
It was the middle
of winter, and I could already feel chilled air on the tip of my nose. I stood
up and headed for the bathroom. I splashed warm water on my face. I stared at
the mirror, giving my reflection some sound advice.
“Adam, get a
grip. You don’t know this guy, but suddenly he’s invaded your thoughts. Yes, I
know he looks really cute up there with nothing but that devilish grin and a
pair of turquoise socks, but come on now, he can’t be more than thirty!”
“Seems like
you’re smitten,” alleged the bleached-blond student.
He had wandered
through the door and was heading for the urinal.
“Were you
standing outside long?”
“I heard you down
the corridor. Nothing to be ashamed of, really. This is my fourth class, and
I’ve had to draw that same model once before. He hasn’t got the perfect body,
but boy has he got the perfect attitude. Alluring, and if there is a god,
available.”
The blond zipped
up his fly and wandered to the sink next to me.
“I agree, but I
usually don’t go around acting like a schoolgirl with a crush.”
“Enjoy it. Not
all their models have that much charisma.”
We escorted each
other back to art class where the other students had made headway on their
drawings. I focused on the model’s socks in an attempt to concentrate on my
artwork, rather than the young man’s prominent feature. Soon the ankles were
added before my pencil carefully outlined his masculine legs.
As I traced up to
the hip, I sighed as I studied his most manly asset. How should I draw it?
Would the teacher fail me if I portrayed it erect? After all, a great artist
should display his own feelings on the sketchpad.
I decided to skip
his crotch and draw his chest. His slightly defined chest. Not too developed,
but not devoid of shape either. The small tuft of dark hair in the center of
the upper body was outlined with great care. Outlining shape was one thing, but
defining the type of chest hair someone had was another. A trail of thick small
lines was carefully added to the picture from the torso to the navel.
“Okay folks,
pencils down.”
The teacher
wandered around the room giving us feedback. The charming model reached for a
pair of frayed blue jeans, which were neatly folded over the back of a chair
just an arm’s length away. He pulled them up and carefully buttoned the fly
around his naked assets, as he clearly hadn’t brought underwear.
“We’ll have him
back in a couple of weeks if you want to complete this particular drawing,”
said the teacher.
He gave me a
cheeky look.
“How far did you
get?” asked the model.
He grabbed his
dusty-pink T-shirt and snuggled into it tightly.
“Not as far as I
would have liked,” I replied.
“Let’s see.”
He strolled over
to my unfinished work. I was anxious by the thought of only a patch of denim
between me and the model’s private bulge. I concentrated on my artwork and
tried not to let the man’s proximity lead me to more wicked thoughts. Who was I
kidding?
I had to divert
my attention to our teacher instead, who was heading my way. He was a funky,
retired chap. Black thick-rimmed glasses, peppered hair, and beard with a
gentle face. The kind of man who’d take long walks with his wife in the park
and watch Sunday arts programs on television.
“For the short
amount of time you spent on this, you did pretty well for a newcomer,” he said.
“But what are these strange lines to his side?”
“Um, I had this
desire to add wings to my subject.”
“Wings?”
“I know it’s odd,
but you did say at the beginning of class not to be constrained by what we see,
and that we all see characteristics differently.”
“Yeah, but wings?
Are you picturing our model as some kind of angel?”
“Why not? I’m
seeing caring characteristics.”
The young man
gave me a saintly smile. The teacher stroked his chin before pointing to the
socks I’d drawn.
“Are my ankles
really that shape?” the model asked.
He bent over to
take a closer look. I wanted to bury my tongue in the nape of his neck and lick
off any imaginary sweat.
“Yes, that’s the
shape of your ankles,” the instructor replied. He gestured toward a student
near the window. “Ian over there did a better job on your ankles, but Adam
really did well on your socks. The way the shape of the feet peep through the
cotton is not something I expect from a first-timer.”
“Thanks,” I
replied. “I used to do a little sketch work last year but only amateur stuff.
Still life from things around the house. A clock, fruit, dirty laundry, that
sort of thing.”
“Bring in your
drawings next week. I’d like to see them.” He spoke up to address the class.
“Now let’s check out Ian’s work, and Carla’s. Ian knows his ankles, and Carla’s
good with faces.”
We walked over to
look at Ian’s sketch as the other students followed. Ian’s careful study of the
model’s feet almost made them look bare. Carla captured the man’s cheeky smirk
skillfully, making that feature alone the highlight of her image. The budding
blond artist did his best work with the chest and hips, although they were
considerably more masculine than they needed to be.
We all made the
rounds, admiring and commenting on the other artworks before ending back at my
attempt. There were unanimous compliments about the socks, sparking the
suspicion that I must have a foot fetish. Like anyone, I had my kinks, but
sucking toes was not one of them. There’s something about a tinea marinade that
just doesn’t float my boat.
“You know, Adam,
maybe you’re onto something with the angel wings,” said Carla. “I would have
put a wry smile and devil horns on him, just because I think he’s cheeky. But
you see him as virtuous.”
“Divine, maybe,
but not virtuous,” I replied.
Everyone strolled
back to their easels to pack away their portraits except for the appealing
model. He stayed to chat. He even helped me roll up the drawing as I studied
the way his skillful hands worked with a cylindrical object.
“I’ll be back
here in a couple of weeks if you want to finish the picture. They use me at
least once a month.”
“Getting naked
doesn’t bother you?”
“I have
open-minded parents. They used to take me to nudist beaches when I was a kid.”
“Only child?”
“Only child.”
“Spoiled?”
“A bit. Still am,
I suppose, even living away from home. Mum’s always dropping off baked dinners
or cookies for me and my flatmate. You’d think we can’t fend for ourselves.”
“I’m Adam,” I
said.
I raised my hand,
and he shook it firmly.
“Mannix. Please
don’t ask what my parents were thinking when they came up with that name. On
marijuana or something.”
“I like it.”
“I want to change
it, eventually.”
“What to?”
“At this stage, I
haven’t a clue.”
“Keep it. It
sounds like the name of a secret agent.”
“Yeah, a pretty
lame one at that.”
Mannix handed me
my picture as I beamed at him, probably resembling a lonely bachelor with a
crush on an enigmatic porn star.
“I’m honored you
were taken with the subject matter,” he teased.
“Between you and
me, Mannix, that’s never happened to me before. I’m sorry if I was staring.”
“Not blowing my
own trumpet or anything, but Adam, you wouldn’t be the first.” He winked, which
kind of made me feel embarrassed. “Do you need a lift somewhere?”
“It’s okay. I
have my car.”
Instantly, I
regretted this admission of car ownership. Could I grab those words from the
air and stuff them back in my mouth? My beautiful partner, Wade, was not going
to be home for at least another hour and a half, and maybe, just maybe? I
snapped back from my adolescent thoughts and sighed.
“Do you want a
nightcap before going home?” he asked.
“Yes!” I replied
with the zeal of a henpecked man about to get a lap dance. “I mean, sure.
That’s a good idea. Whatever you want. Drink. Good suggestion.”
“Is that bar on
Clarence Street on your way home?”
“As a matter of
fact, it is.”
It was actually
in the opposite direction.
“Looks like we’ve
got a date.”
He walked ahead
of me before helping get my pencils and my sketch onto the passenger seat of my
car. It was a ten-year-old modest two-door hatch, which Wade and I had bought
secondhand. We both used to drive it before my partner fell in love with a
flashier sedan he’d found at a dealership.
I thanked Mannix
as he walked to the opposite row of vehicles parked at the neighborhood center.
The beep of the automatic lock made a sporty little mini double blink its
headlights.
The young man
eased into his understated luxury car with unassuming confidence. I was a
sucker for material items I couldn’t afford, especially this type of tasteful
indulgence.
Mannix teased his engine before letting his vehicle make its way
out of the car park.
I sat there for a
minute or two, wondering if I was doing the right thing. After all, I was only
going for a drink. Wasn’t I? Guilt was rising through my body. I could see
Mannix climbing over me into that imaginary bathtub again. His basket of
goodies inviting this old wolf to sample.
I turned the key
and started my engine. As I made my way to the street, my thoughts alternated
between Technicolor adultery and refined G-rated friendship. Did Mannix have an
ulterior motive, or was I full of wishful thinking? It wouldn’t be hard to hide
this fling from Wade, even if we just decided to meet up on another night when
I was supposed to be at art class.
No, bugger it.
Why wait? There was a bathtub waiting at home, and Wade was at his salsa lesson
and wouldn’t be home for at least another hour. The tub would be filled to the
brim, a bottle of champagne, two glasses, and a Northern soul compilation
drifting in from the lounge room.
But then, I
wondered what would happen if Wade’s dancing partner, Tim, didn’t need a lift
home. He’d be home early. How would I have explained my need to bathe? Perhaps
the other students attacked me with their charcoal crayons. Maybe the teacher
hated my work so much that I was berated to the point of needing to soak up the
tension.
I pictured Mannix
on our sofa when Wade came home. I would try several coded words to let my
husband know that a threesome was on my mind.
But this wasn’t
our style. We didn’t invite costars to our bed. In fact, like most long-term
couples we went through phases of being either solely devoted or acting more
like two confident individuals. In recent months, we’d behaved like old souls
who knew we couldn’t live without each other. We’d hold each other before we
fell into slumber and awake needing to possess each other again. But it might
have been fun to share that experience with Mannix.
I pulled up in
front of the pub, still reeling from my own errant imagination. I took one deep
breath to jolt myself back to reality. It didn’t really work. My sense of guilt
magnified while I pictured that bathtub again and Mannix’s soft lips cruising
toward my own.
“Adam, are you
okay?”
My gaze darted to
the person who was knocking on the windscreen. It was Mannix, curious to why I
was taking so long to get out of my car.
Purchase Links
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Meet the Author
Kevin lives with his long-term partner, Warren, in their humble
apartment (affectionately named Sabrina), in Australia’s own ‘Emerald City,’
Sydney.
From an early age, Kevin had a passion for writing, jotting down
stories and plays until it came time to confront puberty. After dealing with
pimple creams and facial hair, Kevin didn’t pick up a pen again until he was in
his thirties. His handwritten manuscript was being committed to paper when his
work commitments changed, giving him no time to write.
Concerned, his partner,
Warren, secretly passed the notebook to a friend who in turn came back and
demanded Kevin finish his story. It wasn’t long before Kevin’s active
imagination was let loose again.
His first novel spawned a secondary character named Guy, an
insecure gay angel, but many readers argue that he is the star of the Actors
and Angels book series. Guy’s popularity surprised the author.
So with his fictional guardian angel guiding him, Kevin hopes to
bring more whimsical tales of love, life and friendship to his readers.
Author Links
Website: http://www.kevinklehr.com/
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/kevinklehr
Giveaway
One lucky winner will receive an ebook of their choice from
NineStar Press
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