QSFer Kevin Klehr has a new MM paranormal book out:
Adam is dead, but that’s not his only problem. His husband, Wade, is still alive and sleeping with losers. His guardian angel, Guy, has grown fond of the liquor cabinet. And Adam suspects his demise was the result of foul play.
Meanwhile, in the depths of the Afterlife, the devil forces Adam to put on a play for the sinners. If he fails to entertain them, Guy’s parents will spend eternity in the Underworld.
As he gambles with the freedom of the damned angels, Adam comes to terms with infidelity, friendship, and the reason why he was the victim of a double murder.
Actors and Angels Book Three
Nine Star Press | Amazon
Excerpt
Adam’s ghost visits his husband, Wade, back on earth:
I did something I wasn’t supposed to do. I visited Wade without my angel guide. Somehow he looked older. About three years older.
A young dark-haired man was let into our home by my gentle widower. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, but his rebellious jacket and torn jeans looked like he was about to cruise some back room.
“You said your name was James?” Wade asked.
“That’s close enough,” the young man replied.
“And the cost is two hundred dollars?”
“Yes, paid up front.”
My husband had hired a rent boy. What a strange thing to do. So out of character for the man I’d spent eighteen years with. I’m dead for a moment and he’s calling up the candy shop! He led this plaything to our bedroom.
“I’ve never done this sort of thing before,” my old man admitted.
“Neither have I.”
“Seriously?”
“No, I mean I do this all the time. For money, I mean. Not that I don’t do it for no money. But while I’m at work, I do it for money.”
“James, you’re a newbie.”
“Well, it’s not like I haven’t had sex before.”
“Yeah, but I could’ve picked someone from an internet singles site if I wanted just anyone. Today I was going to treat myself.”
“Please don’t send me back to the agency. I’m really good at it.”
“At what in particular?”
“At anything you want, big boy.”
Wade screeched with laughter. So did I. Fortunately no one here could hear me.
“Sir!” James shouted. “I’m ready and willing. At your service one hundred percent.”
Wade laughed louder.
“Mr. James, you’re selling yourself too hard.”
“I always believe that I should give my all.”
“Looking at you, sweetheart, half of what you’ve got on offer is enough for my two hundred dollars.”
“What is it you’d actually like me to do for you, Peter?”
Peter? My Wade had a fake name for this occasion? If he had to have a pseudonym, surely he could have come up with something better than Peter. Trojan, perhaps? Conrad or Miles. But Peter?
“James, I think I need a spit and polish.”
Oh please! He might have given himself a lame name, but his dialogue was straight out of forgotten VHS porn. Long live Jeff Stryker.
James undid Wade’s belt before leisurely unbuttoning his fly. I should have picked my visiting hours more carefully. Maybe when Wade was brushing his teeth or at work. I would have preferred a killer hangover to watching the man of my life “getting it on” with someone earning money to pay his university fees.
“Yes.” James drooled. He lingered on the middle vowel for added effect.
No. I watched him slobber over his lips. I left the vulgar scene and made my way to the lounge room.
A bit shabby. New furniture was scattered here and there, but none of it matched our old lounge suite. My favorite framed movie poster, which usually hung above the armchair, was replaced by some abstract monstrosity.
There was, however, a few Modern Living periodicals in a pile on the characterless coffee table. Featured on the cover of the magazine sitting on top was a kitchen to die for, if that was at all possible in my current circumstance. Dark red cupboard doors with knotted wood benchtops. Divine! I crouched to take a closer look, only to notice the mysterious date. This edition was published a year and a half after I’d died!
From the bedroom, Wade sounded like a soprano aiming for a note he couldn’t reach. I snuck back to have a look. I knew every expression on his face. Bliss. Delight. Ecstasy. He was moving on with his life without me.
“Wade, I know you can’t hear me, but maybe in your mind, you can. I still love you very much. And I miss you.” They kept bonking. “I’m with Guy, and even Mannix is here, but… What’s James doing? Really? Wade, I never knew that was a kink you were into. You should have said something. Anyway, I’ll ignore the riding crop and the leather horse head. No, don’t neigh as well. It’s not the way I want to remember you.”
“Ouch!” my husband shouted.
“Sorry,” said James.
“This was a silly idea.”
“I can leave if you want.”
“No. Stay. I meant the equine paraphernalia was a silly idea.”
“What made you want to use it?”
“I borrowed it from a friend. He’s into all that weird shit. He said I’d like it.”
The rent boy helped my husband take off the ridiculous mask. But soon he was in rhythm again, taking my old man for a spin.
“If I could take back anything, it would be you,” I mumbled. “My week without you has been hard. But here you are more than a year later without me, coming to terms with things a bit too effortlessly for my liking!”
I took a deep breath and turned my back on the sordid scene.
“I miss you. I miss you with me, and how you made me feel. I miss making you the most important human being on the planet. James, stop moaning, I’m trying to have a private moment here. Wade, most of all, I miss the synergy we had together. It’s hard without you. So much harder without you in the Afterlife. Or me here at home with you. I’d give anything to be mortal again.”
I turned to the bedroom door, still not facing their lovemaking.
“What I really want to say, Wade, is that I’m still madly and deeply in love with you. I hope you still love me too.”
Author Bio
Kevin lives with his long-term partner 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 social circumstances changed, giving him no time to write. Concerned, his partner, Warren, snuck the notebook out to a friend who in turn came back and demanded Kevin finish his novel. It wasn’t long before Kevin’s active imagination was let loose again.
Feel free to visit him at his website – http://kevinklehr.com – a cup of tea and a few free stories are waiting for you.
