Fortune Cookie #5: “He was beautiful, and as far as I knew straight; and here I was standing at his feet with my hand slowly stroking my dick.”

Can You Identify These Quotes?

LE FRANKS’ GRL FORTUNE COOKIE GAME

In celebration of my attendance at this year’s Gay Romance Literary Retreat outside of Chicago, IL -I’ve brought swag for everyone in the form of fortune cookies. Inside each cookie is a quote from one of my books. The trick is to identify which book of mine the quote belongs to. Once you have the answer you can come by my swag table, see me at the supporting author signing, or the Thursday edition of the author lounge and fill out your raffle ticket for a chance at walking away with an amazon gift card and some cool swag. 

If you’d like to play along at home comment below and tell me what your favorite fortune cookie moment is. I’ll randomly select one person from all the entries left here. 8 Quotes, 8 chances to win from the comfort of your bunny slippers.

THE ANSWERS

 
 

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I couldn’t bring myself to consider the one last scrap of terrycloth left to me: apparently I’d missed a washcloth, hanging stiff & dry from its perch on the tub faucet. Wrapping it around my member wasn’t going to bring me anything but grief and the clear shower curtain would be the last act of a desperate man – and a useless one, at that.

Throwing my shoulders back, sucking in a breath and running my hand down the skin of my torso in a soothing motion, I opened the door preparing to sneak out and sprint for cover.

“Hey there princess! I made ya coffee!”

The mocking voice had me seeing red. For some unfathomable reason I turned away from the sanctuary of my bedroom with its copious supply of clean boxer briefs; instead, stomping into the living room where Fat Boy was lounging, mug of coffee in hand, propping up his head on the arm of my Italian sofa. He’d moved into a slice of shadow bisecting the room so I could now see him clearly. My squinting glares were all his own.

“God dammit, Fat Boy! You’re the most fuckin’ annoying piece of shi….” My full-on rant, complete with hands on hips, legs splayed, cock swinging against my thigh, dribbled off to a halt as I finally took a good look at him.

He had dressed for comfort, long powerful legs covered in black track pants with the cuffs unzipped so I could see his felted grey socks had the head of Woody Woodpecker on the side. It might have been a different bird or maybe it was some other animal logo, it was hard to tell. His black Nikes lay abandoned, half tucked under the sofa. He wore a painted-on, orange, University of Tennessee “Vol for Life” t-shirt that stretched across his chest and arms, clinging to his flat abs. I had no idea why I’d been calling him Fat Boy.

I remember the first time he walked into the club – a badly cut black suit adding shapeless mass to him. He wore his sunglasses and it struck me that he looked more like a wanna-be white rapper thug, than anything else. When he opened his mouth and the drawl screaming good old boy came out of it, the moniker flashed, and I used it. Funny, he’d never objected to the nickname, just smiled and disappeared back into the shadows whenever I said it to his face.

Now, with him here in my home, lying stretched out in front of me… all those big muscles and the obviously silky skin of his upper arms… I wouldn’t be a gay man if I didn’t take advantage of the opportunity to catalog every inch of the man, from his wool covered feet and up those long, long legs and thighs, all the way to the top of his head of blond hair.

All I wanted now was to stroke my fingers along his strong jaw, cup his cheek. Bite his full lower lip, rub my nose along his; lose myself in those grey blue eyes… the ones now laughing at me…. Shit! He was beautiful, and as far as I knew straight; and here I was standing at his feet with my hand slowly stroking my dick!

Dammit! I wrapped my hand around the head, as if hiding it from shame.

“Well, there! With you caterwaulin’ I thought you weren’t happy to see me, but I can tell by lookin’ at you now, I’d be wrong.”

LE Franks. 6 Days To Valentine Wilde City Press

Buy it At Amazon

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