Unwilling to Be Yours

It’s Me Me Monday! A day to strut, promote, and celebrate your Me-ness!

Only for Christopher, it’s all about Him, Him, Him, Alas, for Peter, it’s not him. It’s still Damian.

Picking up where the boys left off on Saturday (during Rainbow Snippets) in Unwilling to Be Yours…


“You’re hurting me.” My voice came out in a childish murmur. I wasn’t sure why. Those small fingers weren’t doing that much damage.

Christopher looked down at his hand, blinking at his fingers in confusion.

“I’m sorry,” he said, dropping his arm as if it burned him. “Please tell me. It’s very important. Do the objects glow?”

“I’m not sure,” I said with complete honesty.

What I remembered was the menace each of those objects held. It was like the picture was threatening me.

“They were sharp and distinct.” I chose each word with care, considering it carefully. “I’m not sure if they glowed.”

“I see,” Christopher said. His head dropped, his bangs falling forward to cover his eyes. His shoulders slumped. “We still don’t know, if it’s him.”

The way he said ‘him’ was reverential. There was only one ‘him’ Christopher could be talking about.

“Damian,” I said. I looked from Gabrielle to Christopher. “He’s the one who painted that picture, isn’t he?”

There hadn’t been any small card, naming the painting or the artist. This was just one of many strange things about it.


Unwilling to Be Yours

Welcome to Rainbow Snippets! Every Saturday, six sentences of LGBTQ+ fiction is posted and shared. It can be your own. It can be someone else’s. It just needs to be LGBTQ+.

To read a wide variety of samples of LGBTQ+ samples, go here https://www.facebook.com/groups/RainbowSnippets/?ref=group_header

Peter picks up where he left off on Wednesday (#QueerBlogWed) in facing a crazed Christopher at the fact that he (Peter) saw something in the painting…

Can anyone guess now what painting this is? 🙂

Big clue, it played a major part in ‘Waiting for Rebirth’.  🙂


“Silvery white things.” I blurted out the truth before I could think better of it. “Skulls, turning knives, other menacing objects.”

“Silvery white,” Christopher murmured, savoring each word. “These silvery white things, do they glow with light?” His fingers dug a little deeper, reaching my skin.

What will Fairest Change Into?

It’s Promo Friday, a habit I’m trying to get back into the groove of celebrating. Especially since I’ve found homes for one of my former stories, orphaned by a lack of payment from Torquere Press. 🙂

Fairest will be reborn in a new edition within Once Upon a Rainbow, Nine Star Press’s LGBTQ+ fairy tale anthology on November 20, 2017! Whoo hoo!

I’ve already been through two rounds of edits for this new version of my f/f fantasy fairy tale. While I don’t have buy links yet, or cover art, I’ve got a blurb. Here it is…

All of my life, I’ve been haunted by her dark eyes. At birth, she cursed me to prick my finger on the spindle and sleep for a century. She appears in my dreams, my reflections, shaping my desires. Who is she? My guardian has only revealed a few enigmatic words as to her identity, the fairest of them all. Follow me into the lonely Forest of Tears where the dwarves dwell, walking where she once walked. Gaze into the depths of the magic mirror which reveals her secrets. For I refuse to fear her, even if I should.

Unwilling to Be Yours

Welcome to #QueerBlogWed, which Tales of the Navel/The Shadow Forest is happy and honored to participate in.

Peter will pick up where he left off on Monday in facing the menace of the painting on the wall in his place of employment.


“That’s the most suggestively aggressive abstract I’ve ever seen!” I grumbled to Gabrielle and Christopher. “The shapes I see in it are all threatening!”

The reaction I got took me completely aback.

Gabrielle stared at me, for the first time at a complete loss for words. Her mouth open and closed.

Christopher’s eyes blazed, fixing upon me with a furious intensity I might have delighted in, if not for the glistening madness glittering within his pupils.

“You can see things in his painting?” He seized my arm, his fingers digging into my shirt sleeve. “What do you see?”

Unwilling to Be Yours

It’s Me Me Monday! A day to promote, strut, and celebrate your Me-ness! Only Peter isn’t feeling much like celebrating in the Navel. He’s certain the painting on the wall is out to get him…


If I lingered in front of the canvas for too long, the bone would change. It was shift, smile, turning into a skull. The skinless focused its empty eye sockets on me, grinning in mockery.

Nor was that the only detail that shifted. The knife, originally pointed downward would turn. The blade would seek me out, jutting out in aggressive accusation.

The spider web, contained in one segment would start to spread its tendrils across the painting. Each strand waited to catch me.

Unwilling to Be Yours

Welcome to Rainbow Snippets! Every Saturday, six sentences of LGBTQ+ fiction are posted and shared. They can be your own. They can be someone else’s. They just need to be LGBTQ+.

To read a wide variety of samples of LGBTQ+ fiction, go to https://www.facebook.com/groups/RainbowSnippets/?ref=group_header

For mine, Peter is picking off where he left off on Wednesday (QueerBlogWed) in Unwilling to Be Yours. Dealing with an unseen hostile presence, which seems to emit from a painting on the Navel’s wall…

It was hard to say what its subject matter was. Sometimes, I could make out the faint form of a boy, or was it a man?

Whomever he was, he got lost in all the colors in the painting.

The most dominant hue was a cold, whitish silver. I reminded me of bone, a knife, or a spider web, intermingling, yet somehow separate. Somehow hinting at sinister secrets the artist chose to taunt and terrify the viewer with.

None of these objects remained still or static.


Unwilling to Be Yours

It’s QueerBlogWed! A perfect day for the next part of Unwilling to Be Yours, my second prelude to Tales of the Navel to emerge from this Cauldron.

Peter picks up right where he left off on Monday, learning about his new place of employment…only he’s having inexplicable problems.


Not all of the customers were as easy to please, but I could usually find what they wanted. As jobs went, it wasn’t bad.

If only the accidents didn’t keep happening. They were enough to bring on a permanent scowl, much as I try to avoid such ugly frown lines. These marks wrinkle a man’s soul, inside and out. All they do is increase his frustration.

Alas, there was a lot to be frustrated about.

I kept dropping things. Not intentionally, but my fingers would spasm. My reflexes were quick enough that I could catch whatever I dropped. It kept happening, almost like some invisible presence was harassing me.

Other times, things would fall off the shelves. Not too often, but whenever I was in range of anything that was close to a ledge.

These incidents happened, whenever I was close to a certain picture on the wall.