BIO
E. LLEWELLYN is an American-born expatriate writer
living in London and Berlin with her husband and cat, Natasha. She is the
author of the epic multi-volume Hollywood-based bi-erotic M/M series Suicide Ride, including the first two
volumes, The Platinum Man and The Fix, and the third book, forthcoming
in 2014, The Hit.
Books
The
Suicide Ride Series
Blurb
The road to Hell is paved
with PLATINUM …
And Norman Dimond is dying to Ride.
“You, my big beautiful butch boy, are a platinum man, to the core.” ~ Norman Dimond
An older man with no future, and nothing to live for …
A younger man with a past, and a death wish …
Two lives about to collide in a SUICIDE RIDE.
The critically acclaimed SuicideRide series tells the archetypal tale of Johnny Gellis, a beautiful, musically gifted, tormented 29-year-old who flees his traditional roots in Atlanta for L.A., seeking moral and emotional asylum.
Longing to lose himself in the anonymous hedonism of stardom, he meets his match in Norman Dimond, a bisexual, semi-retired owner of a mid-sized independent label, Dimond Records. Right away, Dimond falls hard. But this is one pretty boy who practices the straight religion—and he’s not looking to be converted.
Yet Gellis, too, is in a closet—packed with skeletons. With a haphazardly papered-over history of bipolar disorder and adolescent breakdown, he goes to pieces in Norman’s hands …
Desperate to do whatever he can, Norman vows to fix him. This cross he straps to his back without complaint, and this passion he suffers gladly—because for him, it’s less a burden than a happy task laden with the lightweight labor of love.
But there is one skeleton in Johnny’s closet even he can’t see, one sordid secret his mother has been keeping since the night he came to be. That secret threatens to blow her unstable son’s already fragmented mind to bits.
Norman, on the other hand, despite leaving the closet long ago, is still haunted by it … by a dark day in the white-hot California desert some thirty-one years ago—a fateful day that would forever change his trajectory and thrust him on a vector to collide with the love of his life …
Now that these two lost souls have found each other, they must learn to love each other—or else. When that inevitable day of judgment rolls round—when those closely-guarded closet doors come flying open, ratting out the secrets and lies—they’re going to need the ballast of love to withstand the fallout. They’re going to need each other—to survive.
As author and reviewer Carolyn Giddens puts it, “[In the Suicide Ride series], Llewellyn guides us through the psychological forces that call for a reckoning, not only with these two men, but with their families as well. Will the reckoning bring a true ‘suicide’ ride—or will they be able to bail before it’s too late? Turn on your Kindle and turn on to Johnny and Norman. The Ride is well worth it.”
And Norman Dimond is dying to Ride.
“You, my big beautiful butch boy, are a platinum man, to the core.” ~ Norman Dimond
An older man with no future, and nothing to live for …
A younger man with a past, and a death wish …
Two lives about to collide in a SUICIDE RIDE.
The critically acclaimed SuicideRide series tells the archetypal tale of Johnny Gellis, a beautiful, musically gifted, tormented 29-year-old who flees his traditional roots in Atlanta for L.A., seeking moral and emotional asylum.
Longing to lose himself in the anonymous hedonism of stardom, he meets his match in Norman Dimond, a bisexual, semi-retired owner of a mid-sized independent label, Dimond Records. Right away, Dimond falls hard. But this is one pretty boy who practices the straight religion—and he’s not looking to be converted.
Yet Gellis, too, is in a closet—packed with skeletons. With a haphazardly papered-over history of bipolar disorder and adolescent breakdown, he goes to pieces in Norman’s hands …
Desperate to do whatever he can, Norman vows to fix him. This cross he straps to his back without complaint, and this passion he suffers gladly—because for him, it’s less a burden than a happy task laden with the lightweight labor of love.
But there is one skeleton in Johnny’s closet even he can’t see, one sordid secret his mother has been keeping since the night he came to be. That secret threatens to blow her unstable son’s already fragmented mind to bits.
Norman, on the other hand, despite leaving the closet long ago, is still haunted by it … by a dark day in the white-hot California desert some thirty-one years ago—a fateful day that would forever change his trajectory and thrust him on a vector to collide with the love of his life …
Now that these two lost souls have found each other, they must learn to love each other—or else. When that inevitable day of judgment rolls round—when those closely-guarded closet doors come flying open, ratting out the secrets and lies—they’re going to need the ballast of love to withstand the fallout. They’re going to need each other—to survive.
As author and reviewer Carolyn Giddens puts it, “[In the Suicide Ride series], Llewellyn guides us through the psychological forces that call for a reckoning, not only with these two men, but with their families as well. Will the reckoning bring a true ‘suicide’ ride—or will they be able to bail before it’s too late? Turn on your Kindle and turn on to Johnny and Norman. The Ride is well worth it.”
What Are Reviewers Saying About The Series?
“What is someone supposed to say when they’ve read the best of a genre? Somehow ‘OMG! I LOVED IT!’ feels paltry and weak in comparison to how rich the experience was for me as a reader … Suicide Ride is fiction unleashed. It is lyrical madness. This? This is not a book. This is literature.” ~ Shandra Torbett, Reviewer, This Redhead LOVES Books
“PHENOMENAL! LIKE NOTHING I’VE EVER READ: GRITTY, RAW, CRUDE, CRASS, AND IN YOUR FACE.” ~ Robyn Roze, author of Chain of Title
“E. Llewellyn is a literary force to be reckoned with in this astonishing debut as a novelist. She does for Gay literature what Kubrick did for cinema—redefines and elevates, and constantly undercuts your expectations of the genre, making believers out of blowhards. Unfettered, unflinching, bristling with emotion, she rocks your world. Turning the concept of the Bildungsroman on its head, this literary tour de force explores the nether regions of characters who live on the edge. These are the people your parents used to warn you about.” ~ Mark Peter Krasselt, author of Kubrick: Lessons of a Sentient
“E. Llewellyn does not want her thoughts and ideas to insinuate and suggest; she wants them to strike and batter our hearts … A soul alive cries here. Art can offer us nothing more passionate and spiritual than [the work] of E. Llewellyn. She knows how to ‘break, blow, burn’ us. She knows how to break and move our hearts and minds with sheer love and hate.” ~ Ricardo Mena, author of Ver, Begin
“Some
debut novels are hard-hitting, balls-to-the-wall, no-holds-barred brilliance in
action only for their successors to fall flat on their faces because how does
anyone top what has already come before? If the author has already thrown it
all out there, what else is there to give? There was this hesitance in me to
read The Fix because all I could
think was: there is no way this will be as good as the first one, The Platinum Man. I was wrong … E.
Llewellyn is one of those writers who can decimate all barriers of language to
expose a rich, seedy underlayer of literature no one else has dared to tackle.
She’s fearless. She’s fierce. Her work is a manic masterpiece of lush
descriptions, rich, haunting characterizations where those who are depicted
don’t have to be the good guys all the time! We, the readers, are allowed to
see these characters have flaws! They are not simple ‘nice guys’ or ‘alphas’
who tell their ‘boys’ to get in line. They are men! Tough, rough, sexual,
sensual men who don’t fit into the standard molds because this author doesn’t
feel the need to pigeonhole her characters into generic boxes to satisfy a
generic audience. When I read these books, I don’t feel as if the author is
pandering to a reader base to sell more copies … This series isn’t a book
series for me. It’s an experience. It’s a breath-taking, eye-opening, thrilling
experience which I feel unimaginably grateful to be able to take with the author
and her cast of characters, which only gets more enticing as the series goes
on. ” ~ Shandra Torbett, Reviewer, This
Redhead LOVES Books
Suicide Ride: The Platinum Man
Blurb:
Are you straight? Are you sure? What would you do if you were down-and-out and desperate? What would you do—how far would you go—for FAME?
Find out just how far, and just how low, Johnny Gellis is willing to go in SUICIDE RIDE: THE PLATINUM MAN.
You hitch your lift with this man
You'll have your blood on your hand …
AN OLDER MAN WITH NO FUTURE, AND NOTHING TO LIVE FOR …
Norman Dimond is the Silver Man, an over-the-hill LA-based rock 'n roll record producer who has seen better days. A set-for-life bisexual with a hard spot for younger men, he squanders his nights hustling cash-strapped gay-for-pay desperadoes who swagger into his den on the Sunset Strip, looking for one-off love in all the right places. Lonely and at loose ends, he longs for a worthy dance partner, but despairs of finding him … Until one night, when he least expects it, in waltzes …
A YOUNGER MAN WITH A PAST, AND A DEATH WISH …
Johnny Gellis is the Platinum Man, a beautiful straight wreck who needs fixing—and who wants exactly what Norman Dimond has to give: a platform, a stage. But does he want it badly enough? Desperate to outrun his demons, he's driving himself crazy, and is heading straight for the edge. Can Norman save him, before it's too late?
TWO LIVES ABOUT TO COLLIDE IN A SUICIDE RIDE …
When Norman meets Johnny, their heavy-metal fenders bend, sending the male-on-male sparks flying. Johnny's number-one-with-a-bullet hit "Suicide Ride" blows Norman's mind, while his number-99-with-an-anchor tattoo pricks up more than just his ears. And though this hell-bent, cliff-hanging headbanger is the man-boy of his dreams, keeping him on course turns out to be a waking nightmare. Can Norman do it? Can he put him on top while stopping him from breaking down and destroying them both? The deeper Dimond digs, the darker it gets; and as the secrets and suspense multiply, so, too, do the lies. Johnny is hiding something, that much Norman is sure of; and what's worse, he begins to feel the tug of even darker and ever more violent undertows—sinister, malevolent drags that Gellis himself cannot spin-rinse away.
Teasers:
Excerpt:
Pinching his fag butt between his left thumb and index finger, with his right forefinger he thumped the red-gray ash-mound that had formed on its tip like a tallowed marble and watched it crumble. As if entranced by the spectacle with one part of his mind, with the other Johnny Gellis turned his leftover mental energy toward Norman Dimond, without looking at him.
“What do you want from me, anyway?" he asked, as if bored by the whole business. "I mean, just what is it you’re after? I don’t get it, man. What is it you’re looking to do, exactly?”
The sustained lack of eye contact was telling. So Dimond attacked. From his perspective, the hour of power was at hand. Carpe diem, he thought: seize the gay day.
“I want you to drop those goddamn pants. I wanna see what you’re hiding. All of it. Every last hard fucking inch. Front and back. Full disclosure.”
Matter-of-factly, Gellis’s eyes narrowed. “What then?”
Dimond’s narrowed back. “We’ll let nature take its course.”
This time he blew smoke in Dimond’s face. Curdling, it got in his eyes … “Yeah, well, one man’s nature is another’s nurture.”
This was a first for Norman Dimond: he actually had to stand on his toes. “Hey, if it’s nurturing you need, look no further. You’ve come to the right party.”
But Gellis wasn’t—looking. Seemingly heedless, he watched another red ash-heap mount. This one he nine-ironed off the tee.
Nurturing his own occult mirth, Dimond buoyed his shoulders, half-smiling. “Anyway. Nature, nurture; trash, treasure—it’s all the same, when you get right down to it. Whether you’re born wanting it, or you acquire a taste for it along the way—same difference. In the end, it all tastes alike.”
“Which is?” Still Johnny held his cig erect, steadily eyeballing its cindering tip.
Dimond’s voice limboed. “Mighty fuckin’ good. Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, Casanova. Carnivore, herbivore; snails, oysters—I’ve been both; I’ve had both. And take it from me—I should know: I’ve been around the butcher block, more than a few times. A steady diet of meat is much more satisfying.”
“How you figure that? Why you want what you already got?” Finally the boy’s barmy eyes drifted back toward his, blinkering as he sucked on his stick.
“I don’t. What I want is what I don’t got, at least not yet, anyway—and that’s what you got. And just because it looks the same doesn’t mean it tastes the same. It’s all in how you season it. Trust me—you have no clue.”
But this time, Gellis jabbed back. “No. You have no clue. I don’t know if Barbie told you or not, but I’m not about to bend over—for you, or any man. You can fucking forget that, right now.”
“Who said anything about bending over? I got your number, boy. I know you’re not the type to roll over or grab your ankles.”
“So what, then? You just want me to drop my drawers? Just like that? And I’m sure it’s not just an eyeful you’re after, either. You wanna cop a feel, I suppose.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
Now Gellis was beginning to get the hang. “And what do you get out of it?”
“I get what you give. I like to get.”
Second-guessing his understanding, he bolted upright, his eyes crisscrossing. “Hold on a minute. Blondie Doll said you don’t play catcher.”
“I don’t. I pitch—always. Hard and fast. Right in the strike zone. Every time.”
“Well, then, how you mean you like to get?”
“Orally.”
When Gellis still could not grasp his rope, he threw him a line so thick it was impossible to miss.
“I wanna drool on that tool, boy; lap up that baby batter; lick the whole goddamn delicious-ass bowl!”
“Oh.” Even the air around him shrank a little.
Disappointed with that answer, or discomfited, one, he slumped back in his seat. As if he were choosing between steak or fish for dinner, Gellis weighed his options.
“So … you don’t expect me to do anything—just stand there?”
“Oh, believe me, you won’t be just standing there. When I get through with you, you’ll be in a puddle. On that goddamn floor.”
He did sound convincing.
“Yeah, but still—I don’t get it. What do you get out of it?”
“That’s not your problem. I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”
Where had he heard those words before? Somewhere recently …
Forgetting it, he went on. “Whatever floats your boat. Although I gotta say, I don’t get it. I mean, what then?”
“Then we’ll both smoke those Luckies of yours. And if I like it, you get to sing.”
Gellis humphed. “Hell, if you’re as good as you say you are, I should be singing before you’re done.”
Dimond leered. “A different fucking tune, you will.”
The kid sat there for a few minutes, legs half-crossed, ponderously smoking, appearing to give that proposition serious consideration. But still he wore that same expression of jaded testiness he had walked in with.
All at once he stood up—and Norman Dimond could not believe how much of him there was. His double-wide shoulders consumed the sorry, mundane room, from wall to door.
Then a miracle occurred: gaping up at him, this secular Jew got religion. In his eyes, this beatified boy’s face assumed its rightful place amongst those stippled asbestos clouds, his haloed head drifting above him like some deranged mystic’s vision of the beautiful St. Sebastian—except this marvelous martyr had only one arrow sticking out of his torso.
And it was aimed straight at Norman’s heart …
Yet, for all that, from the waist down, Johnny Gellis was a matchstick. His eye-boggling, mind-blowing body made a capital Y.
Still, he had not yet privileged Dimond with the anterior view, which he ached to see. Having previewed that pleasing prospect in blue jeans the night before, he could only imagine how magnificent those chiseled hind quarters must look in those lewd leather skin-huggers.
So he determined to see for himself. “Show me that ass, boy.”
But Johnny Gellis was no Marcus Johnson. To prove it, he eased back down, unbearably solid and never-ending. Keeping his seat, idly he towed the scratched black plastic ashtray on the other corner of Dimond’s desk by the index finger, dragging it all the way over to his side, to the edge. Madly, he screwed his cigarette to death with a few grinding twists and turns.
Finally, he gave this hanging man his last mouthful of smoke. “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”
Norman Dimond nickered. “Aw, what do you wanna see mine for? You’re the Beauty. I’m the Beast.”
Gellis smirked. “Fair is fair.”
“What’s fair got to do with it, any more than love? You think life is fair? If it was, I’d look like you. Or put another way, you’d never be allowed to walk the streets looking like that. Besides, for every transaction, there’s a buyer and a seller. Caveat emptor. Buyer beware. The buyer has the right—the obligation—to inspect the merchandise. I’m just looking out for my own interests. Before I commit, I wanna see the goods.”
All of a sudden, the livid delinquent in Johnny Gellis broke water—only this youthful rebel had a cause: his manly pride.
“Wrong answer, old man. You just talked yourself right out of your one and only chance to chow down on my long, thick dick. It—I—am not for sale.”
Momentarily thrown, Dimond buttressed himself, as his own creamy pride welled to the top.
“Oh, you’re not? You come in here in that outfit, flaunting that shit, and tell me you’re not for sale? And yet what you really want me to put in your mouth is a microphone? And you think I’d do that for nothing? You fucking prick-tease! What kind of hard-up old fool do you take me for?”
If Gellis was shaken, he showed no sign. Still sulking, he was doing his best James Dean.
“No. Not for nothing. If you’d hear me out, you’d realize there’s a helluva lot in it for you. And again, I'm talkin’ business, not sex. What the fuck you want me to say to you, man? I’m straight. I don’t want your BJ’s. What I want—what I wanted—was to see if you’d give me a chance, without all that.”
Gellis spat. “Fuck. I’d rather grovel in front of Simon Cowell than take a thing from you, now, man. You’ve pissed me off. Shit. You think you’re my only shot? Hell, for all you know, I could be the next Chris Daughtry. There must be at least a coupla dozen decent indie labels in this town. All I gotta do is walk in the right door, and I’ll get my chance.”
“And if I’m lucky," he grumped, swiping his pack of Luckies, “I’ll get a female and not some she-male next time. Then, I’ll be glad to fuck my way to the top.”
At long last, Norman Dimond got to see his deliciously dense ass—as it cock-strutted out his door.
Buy Links:
Are you straight? Are you sure? What would you do if you were down-and-out and desperate? What would you do—how far would you go—for FAME?
Find out just how far, and just how low, Johnny Gellis is willing to go in SUICIDE RIDE: THE PLATINUM MAN.
You hitch your lift with this man
You'll have your blood on your hand …
AN OLDER MAN WITH NO FUTURE, AND NOTHING TO LIVE FOR …
Norman Dimond is the Silver Man, an over-the-hill LA-based rock 'n roll record producer who has seen better days. A set-for-life bisexual with a hard spot for younger men, he squanders his nights hustling cash-strapped gay-for-pay desperadoes who swagger into his den on the Sunset Strip, looking for one-off love in all the right places. Lonely and at loose ends, he longs for a worthy dance partner, but despairs of finding him … Until one night, when he least expects it, in waltzes …
A YOUNGER MAN WITH A PAST, AND A DEATH WISH …
Johnny Gellis is the Platinum Man, a beautiful straight wreck who needs fixing—and who wants exactly what Norman Dimond has to give: a platform, a stage. But does he want it badly enough? Desperate to outrun his demons, he's driving himself crazy, and is heading straight for the edge. Can Norman save him, before it's too late?
TWO LIVES ABOUT TO COLLIDE IN A SUICIDE RIDE …
When Norman meets Johnny, their heavy-metal fenders bend, sending the male-on-male sparks flying. Johnny's number-one-with-a-bullet hit "Suicide Ride" blows Norman's mind, while his number-99-with-an-anchor tattoo pricks up more than just his ears. And though this hell-bent, cliff-hanging headbanger is the man-boy of his dreams, keeping him on course turns out to be a waking nightmare. Can Norman do it? Can he put him on top while stopping him from breaking down and destroying them both? The deeper Dimond digs, the darker it gets; and as the secrets and suspense multiply, so, too, do the lies. Johnny is hiding something, that much Norman is sure of; and what's worse, he begins to feel the tug of even darker and ever more violent undertows—sinister, malevolent drags that Gellis himself cannot spin-rinse away.
Teasers:
Excerpt:
Pinching his fag butt between his left thumb and index finger, with his right forefinger he thumped the red-gray ash-mound that had formed on its tip like a tallowed marble and watched it crumble. As if entranced by the spectacle with one part of his mind, with the other Johnny Gellis turned his leftover mental energy toward Norman Dimond, without looking at him.
“What do you want from me, anyway?" he asked, as if bored by the whole business. "I mean, just what is it you’re after? I don’t get it, man. What is it you’re looking to do, exactly?”
The sustained lack of eye contact was telling. So Dimond attacked. From his perspective, the hour of power was at hand. Carpe diem, he thought: seize the gay day.
“I want you to drop those goddamn pants. I wanna see what you’re hiding. All of it. Every last hard fucking inch. Front and back. Full disclosure.”
Matter-of-factly, Gellis’s eyes narrowed. “What then?”
Dimond’s narrowed back. “We’ll let nature take its course.”
This time he blew smoke in Dimond’s face. Curdling, it got in his eyes … “Yeah, well, one man’s nature is another’s nurture.”
This was a first for Norman Dimond: he actually had to stand on his toes. “Hey, if it’s nurturing you need, look no further. You’ve come to the right party.”
But Gellis wasn’t—looking. Seemingly heedless, he watched another red ash-heap mount. This one he nine-ironed off the tee.
Nurturing his own occult mirth, Dimond buoyed his shoulders, half-smiling. “Anyway. Nature, nurture; trash, treasure—it’s all the same, when you get right down to it. Whether you’re born wanting it, or you acquire a taste for it along the way—same difference. In the end, it all tastes alike.”
“Which is?” Still Johnny held his cig erect, steadily eyeballing its cindering tip.
Dimond’s voice limboed. “Mighty fuckin’ good. Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, Casanova. Carnivore, herbivore; snails, oysters—I’ve been both; I’ve had both. And take it from me—I should know: I’ve been around the butcher block, more than a few times. A steady diet of meat is much more satisfying.”
“How you figure that? Why you want what you already got?” Finally the boy’s barmy eyes drifted back toward his, blinkering as he sucked on his stick.
“I don’t. What I want is what I don’t got, at least not yet, anyway—and that’s what you got. And just because it looks the same doesn’t mean it tastes the same. It’s all in how you season it. Trust me—you have no clue.”
But this time, Gellis jabbed back. “No. You have no clue. I don’t know if Barbie told you or not, but I’m not about to bend over—for you, or any man. You can fucking forget that, right now.”
“Who said anything about bending over? I got your number, boy. I know you’re not the type to roll over or grab your ankles.”
“So what, then? You just want me to drop my drawers? Just like that? And I’m sure it’s not just an eyeful you’re after, either. You wanna cop a feel, I suppose.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
Now Gellis was beginning to get the hang. “And what do you get out of it?”
“I get what you give. I like to get.”
Second-guessing his understanding, he bolted upright, his eyes crisscrossing. “Hold on a minute. Blondie Doll said you don’t play catcher.”
“I don’t. I pitch—always. Hard and fast. Right in the strike zone. Every time.”
“Well, then, how you mean you like to get?”
“Orally.”
When Gellis still could not grasp his rope, he threw him a line so thick it was impossible to miss.
“I wanna drool on that tool, boy; lap up that baby batter; lick the whole goddamn delicious-ass bowl!”
“Oh.” Even the air around him shrank a little.
Disappointed with that answer, or discomfited, one, he slumped back in his seat. As if he were choosing between steak or fish for dinner, Gellis weighed his options.
“So … you don’t expect me to do anything—just stand there?”
“Oh, believe me, you won’t be just standing there. When I get through with you, you’ll be in a puddle. On that goddamn floor.”
He did sound convincing.
“Yeah, but still—I don’t get it. What do you get out of it?”
“That’s not your problem. I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”
Where had he heard those words before? Somewhere recently …
Forgetting it, he went on. “Whatever floats your boat. Although I gotta say, I don’t get it. I mean, what then?”
“Then we’ll both smoke those Luckies of yours. And if I like it, you get to sing.”
Gellis humphed. “Hell, if you’re as good as you say you are, I should be singing before you’re done.”
Dimond leered. “A different fucking tune, you will.”
The kid sat there for a few minutes, legs half-crossed, ponderously smoking, appearing to give that proposition serious consideration. But still he wore that same expression of jaded testiness he had walked in with.
All at once he stood up—and Norman Dimond could not believe how much of him there was. His double-wide shoulders consumed the sorry, mundane room, from wall to door.
Then a miracle occurred: gaping up at him, this secular Jew got religion. In his eyes, this beatified boy’s face assumed its rightful place amongst those stippled asbestos clouds, his haloed head drifting above him like some deranged mystic’s vision of the beautiful St. Sebastian—except this marvelous martyr had only one arrow sticking out of his torso.
And it was aimed straight at Norman’s heart …
Yet, for all that, from the waist down, Johnny Gellis was a matchstick. His eye-boggling, mind-blowing body made a capital Y.
Still, he had not yet privileged Dimond with the anterior view, which he ached to see. Having previewed that pleasing prospect in blue jeans the night before, he could only imagine how magnificent those chiseled hind quarters must look in those lewd leather skin-huggers.
So he determined to see for himself. “Show me that ass, boy.”
But Johnny Gellis was no Marcus Johnson. To prove it, he eased back down, unbearably solid and never-ending. Keeping his seat, idly he towed the scratched black plastic ashtray on the other corner of Dimond’s desk by the index finger, dragging it all the way over to his side, to the edge. Madly, he screwed his cigarette to death with a few grinding twists and turns.
Finally, he gave this hanging man his last mouthful of smoke. “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”
Norman Dimond nickered. “Aw, what do you wanna see mine for? You’re the Beauty. I’m the Beast.”
Gellis smirked. “Fair is fair.”
“What’s fair got to do with it, any more than love? You think life is fair? If it was, I’d look like you. Or put another way, you’d never be allowed to walk the streets looking like that. Besides, for every transaction, there’s a buyer and a seller. Caveat emptor. Buyer beware. The buyer has the right—the obligation—to inspect the merchandise. I’m just looking out for my own interests. Before I commit, I wanna see the goods.”
All of a sudden, the livid delinquent in Johnny Gellis broke water—only this youthful rebel had a cause: his manly pride.
“Wrong answer, old man. You just talked yourself right out of your one and only chance to chow down on my long, thick dick. It—I—am not for sale.”
Momentarily thrown, Dimond buttressed himself, as his own creamy pride welled to the top.
“Oh, you’re not? You come in here in that outfit, flaunting that shit, and tell me you’re not for sale? And yet what you really want me to put in your mouth is a microphone? And you think I’d do that for nothing? You fucking prick-tease! What kind of hard-up old fool do you take me for?”
If Gellis was shaken, he showed no sign. Still sulking, he was doing his best James Dean.
“No. Not for nothing. If you’d hear me out, you’d realize there’s a helluva lot in it for you. And again, I'm talkin’ business, not sex. What the fuck you want me to say to you, man? I’m straight. I don’t want your BJ’s. What I want—what I wanted—was to see if you’d give me a chance, without all that.”
Gellis spat. “Fuck. I’d rather grovel in front of Simon Cowell than take a thing from you, now, man. You’ve pissed me off. Shit. You think you’re my only shot? Hell, for all you know, I could be the next Chris Daughtry. There must be at least a coupla dozen decent indie labels in this town. All I gotta do is walk in the right door, and I’ll get my chance.”
“And if I’m lucky," he grumped, swiping his pack of Luckies, “I’ll get a female and not some she-male next time. Then, I’ll be glad to fuck my way to the top.”
At long last, Norman Dimond got to see his deliciously dense ass—as it cock-strutted out his door.
Buy Links:
US Link: http://amzn.to/1fgZrGp
UK
Link: http://amzn.to/1erRHQZ
Suicide Ride: The Fix
Blurb:
SUICIDE RIDE: THE FIX continues the saga of Johnny Gellis and Norman Dimond begun in the first book in the SUICIDE RIDE series, THE PLATINUM MAN. The basic premise remains the same. If you enjoyed THE PLATINUM MAN, you’ll love THE FIX!
Teasers:
Excerpt:
With him, he knew he could be a lover like no other. Besides, things between them physically—emotionally, psychologically—had already progressed far beyond the usual gamut of gay tricks. And honestly, typical queer sex—top to bottom—had already begun to grow more than a little stale, as attested by his late Viagra dependence. Had it not been for Johnny’s bedazzling second self—the one now permanently engraved on his eyelids—he doubted he could have gotten it up for Drew this afternoon. Nowadays, Norman’s most vital organ lived and died, thrived and withered, by that winsome erotic image—by its presence or absence, either in the flesh or in his imagination.
The hard truth was, to be whole, to be a man, in the fullest sense of the word, he needed him, as a plant needed water, to keep from wilting.
For some time now, he had been reading about a reviving type of male-on-male bonding called frottage—frot, for short—and the concept had increasingly captured his fancy; but he had despaired of finding a worthy partner. Not that frotting—which was basically just the Princeton Rub glorified—was anything new, in and of itself. What was new, though, was the insistence, in some partitions of the bi-gay phalanx, of going “g0y”—i.e., of abjuring anal intercourse in favor of full-frontal sexual contact—or, in a nutshell, caressing, kissing, and humping.
But that was an exercise he could not long endure with just anybody, with his inferior. As much as he relished taking Drew from behind, he could never imagine lying on top of him for more than a few minutes—not while they were face-to-face. Although he had practiced the missionary position with him on the odd whim, he mostly rejected that degree of feminization, much less of intimacy.
But now, at last, before his eyes, lay a man—less a man than a brute force of nature—completely deserving of that eye-to-eye manly combat, without the penetration. After all, physically, he and Johnny were perfectly paired: practically the same height, similarly built, and grossly endowed, they each looked and acted masculine.
And for a long time now—maybe for his entire homosexual lifespan—Norman Dimond had longed for a man he could love as a peer, as an analogue and parallel to himself, and love deeply, with a zeal that offered at least the hope, the promise, of fidelity, as a noble goal to be pursued in the abstract, if not achieved in the practice.
As he sat there, watching his sleeping beauty breathing softly, he knew: finally he had found his ideal mate. This one, and this one alone, he would put in his bed.
Buy Links:
SUICIDE RIDE: THE FIX continues the saga of Johnny Gellis and Norman Dimond begun in the first book in the SUICIDE RIDE series, THE PLATINUM MAN. The basic premise remains the same. If you enjoyed THE PLATINUM MAN, you’ll love THE FIX!
Teasers:
Excerpt:
With him, he knew he could be a lover like no other. Besides, things between them physically—emotionally, psychologically—had already progressed far beyond the usual gamut of gay tricks. And honestly, typical queer sex—top to bottom—had already begun to grow more than a little stale, as attested by his late Viagra dependence. Had it not been for Johnny’s bedazzling second self—the one now permanently engraved on his eyelids—he doubted he could have gotten it up for Drew this afternoon. Nowadays, Norman’s most vital organ lived and died, thrived and withered, by that winsome erotic image—by its presence or absence, either in the flesh or in his imagination.
The hard truth was, to be whole, to be a man, in the fullest sense of the word, he needed him, as a plant needed water, to keep from wilting.
For some time now, he had been reading about a reviving type of male-on-male bonding called frottage—frot, for short—and the concept had increasingly captured his fancy; but he had despaired of finding a worthy partner. Not that frotting—which was basically just the Princeton Rub glorified—was anything new, in and of itself. What was new, though, was the insistence, in some partitions of the bi-gay phalanx, of going “g0y”—i.e., of abjuring anal intercourse in favor of full-frontal sexual contact—or, in a nutshell, caressing, kissing, and humping.
But that was an exercise he could not long endure with just anybody, with his inferior. As much as he relished taking Drew from behind, he could never imagine lying on top of him for more than a few minutes—not while they were face-to-face. Although he had practiced the missionary position with him on the odd whim, he mostly rejected that degree of feminization, much less of intimacy.
But now, at last, before his eyes, lay a man—less a man than a brute force of nature—completely deserving of that eye-to-eye manly combat, without the penetration. After all, physically, he and Johnny were perfectly paired: practically the same height, similarly built, and grossly endowed, they each looked and acted masculine.
And for a long time now—maybe for his entire homosexual lifespan—Norman Dimond had longed for a man he could love as a peer, as an analogue and parallel to himself, and love deeply, with a zeal that offered at least the hope, the promise, of fidelity, as a noble goal to be pursued in the abstract, if not achieved in the practice.
As he sat there, watching his sleeping beauty breathing softly, he knew: finally he had found his ideal mate. This one, and this one alone, he would put in his bed.
Buy Links:
US Link: http://amzn.to/1eUsmUp
UK Link: http://amzn.to/MLrC9x
★ KINDLE COUNTDOWN SALE ~ 99 cents each! ★
Hurry! Grab BOTH books in the bestselling, critically acclaimed SUICIDE RIDE series ~ THE PLATINUM MAN & THE FIX ~ for just $0.99 each! Regularly $3.99! LIMITED TIME ONLY!
This is the FIRST time these books have ever been reduced to less than $2.99! You know the drill ...
An older man with no future, and nothing to live for ...
A younger man with a past, and a death wish ...
Two lives about to collide in a #SuicideRide.
#JohnnyGellis is #HellOnWheels. He's straight, obscenely beautiful, and musically gifted. But he's made a shambles of his life in Atlanta, and has landed in L.A., where he hopes to make a fresh start in the music business.
There, he meets the charismatically sexy #AlphaDom #NormanDimond, a mostly gay, semi-retired, record label owner. In spite of some initial antagonism, the two hit it off. Right away, Norman wants to sign him to a record deal. But before he can, Gellis falls apart in his hands.
By now, Norman has fallen hopelessly, lopsidedly, in love. But Johnny is hiding something, running from a past so dark even he isn't fully in touch with its peaty, macabre underbelly. Norman's task is to save him—from himself and the black web of Southern Gothic intrigue woven into his DNA long before he was born. And beyond that, he must school him in the byzantine art of homoerotic love: daunting tasks all.
But if Norman Dimond isn't up to the challenge, no mortal man is. What Johnny Gellis lacks in homosexual inclination, Norman more than makes up for in love—and determination.
Find out what secrets lie buried in the spook yard of Johnny's past—and whether Norman can restore his foundling's soul. Will his unconditional love be enough to bring this lost boy home? And will it win his heart? And where his heart goes, can his body follow?
#PrepareToTakeTheHit. #HitchYourRide and #GetYourFix. #OneClick this #MustRead #MM #RockRomance #series now.
SUICIDE RIDE: The Platinum Man
US Link: http://amzn.to/1fgZrGp
UK Link: http://amzn.to/1erRHQZ
SUICIDE RIDE: The Fix
US Link: http://amzn.to/1eUsmUp
UK Link: http://amzn.to/MLrC9x
PRAISE FOR SUICIDE RIDE ...
"What is someone supposed to say when they've read the best of a genre? Somehow 'OMG! I LOVED IT!' feels paltry and weak in comparison to how rich the experience was for me as a reader ... [SUICIDE RIDE] is fiction unleashed. It is lyrical madness. This? This is not a book. This is literature." ~ Shandra Torbett, Reviewer, This Redhead LOVES Books
"I was enthralled with Elizabeth Llewellyn's first offering, SUICIDE RIDE: THE PLATINUM MAN. I didn't think it could get any better. I was wrong. From the beginning of SUICIDE RIDE: THE FIX, the reader is treated to the emotional turmoil of a man who knows what he wants and knows he can't have it—at that moment anyway. We're allowed inside Norman Dimond's head, and what a head it is. Norman's desire short circuits his common sense at every turn, and we see the beautiful culmination and subsequent ruination it creates through the eyes of a superb storyteller. I can smell their sweat, hear their groans, and feel their frustration with the turn of every page." ~ Deanndra Hall, author of the Love Under Construction series
"PHENOMENAL! Like nothing I've ever read: gritty, raw, crude, crass, and in your face." ~ Robyn Roze, author of "Chain of Title"
#ThePlatinumMan #KingofCock #CockRock #DaddyNorman #PicassoOfFellatio #MayDecember #LiteraryFiction #GayErotica #GayLiterature #GayRomance #SunsetBoulevard #NoirFiction #Novel #Readers #KindleEbooks #KOLL #KindleUnlimited
Hurry! Grab BOTH books in the bestselling, critically acclaimed SUICIDE RIDE series ~ THE PLATINUM MAN & THE FIX ~ for just $0.99 each! Regularly $3.99! LIMITED TIME ONLY!
This is the FIRST time these books have ever been reduced to less than $2.99! You know the drill ...
An older man with no future, and nothing to live for ...
A younger man with a past, and a death wish ...
Two lives about to collide in a #SuicideRide.
#JohnnyGellis is #HellOnWheels. He's straight, obscenely beautiful, and musically gifted. But he's made a shambles of his life in Atlanta, and has landed in L.A., where he hopes to make a fresh start in the music business.
There, he meets the charismatically sexy #AlphaDom #NormanDimond, a mostly gay, semi-retired, record label owner. In spite of some initial antagonism, the two hit it off. Right away, Norman wants to sign him to a record deal. But before he can, Gellis falls apart in his hands.
By now, Norman has fallen hopelessly, lopsidedly, in love. But Johnny is hiding something, running from a past so dark even he isn't fully in touch with its peaty, macabre underbelly. Norman's task is to save him—from himself and the black web of Southern Gothic intrigue woven into his DNA long before he was born. And beyond that, he must school him in the byzantine art of homoerotic love: daunting tasks all.
But if Norman Dimond isn't up to the challenge, no mortal man is. What Johnny Gellis lacks in homosexual inclination, Norman more than makes up for in love—and determination.
Find out what secrets lie buried in the spook yard of Johnny's past—and whether Norman can restore his foundling's soul. Will his unconditional love be enough to bring this lost boy home? And will it win his heart? And where his heart goes, can his body follow?
#PrepareToTakeTheHit. #HitchYourRide and #GetYourFix. #OneClick this #MustRead #MM #RockRomance #series now.
SUICIDE RIDE: The Platinum Man
US Link: http://amzn.to/1fgZrGp
UK Link: http://amzn.to/1erRHQZ
SUICIDE RIDE: The Fix
US Link: http://amzn.to/1eUsmUp
UK Link: http://amzn.to/MLrC9x
PRAISE FOR SUICIDE RIDE ...
"What is someone supposed to say when they've read the best of a genre? Somehow 'OMG! I LOVED IT!' feels paltry and weak in comparison to how rich the experience was for me as a reader ... [SUICIDE RIDE] is fiction unleashed. It is lyrical madness. This? This is not a book. This is literature." ~ Shandra Torbett, Reviewer, This Redhead LOVES Books
"I was enthralled with Elizabeth Llewellyn's first offering, SUICIDE RIDE: THE PLATINUM MAN. I didn't think it could get any better. I was wrong. From the beginning of SUICIDE RIDE: THE FIX, the reader is treated to the emotional turmoil of a man who knows what he wants and knows he can't have it—at that moment anyway. We're allowed inside Norman Dimond's head, and what a head it is. Norman's desire short circuits his common sense at every turn, and we see the beautiful culmination and subsequent ruination it creates through the eyes of a superb storyteller. I can smell their sweat, hear their groans, and feel their frustration with the turn of every page." ~ Deanndra Hall, author of the Love Under Construction series
"PHENOMENAL! Like nothing I've ever read: gritty, raw, crude, crass, and in your face." ~ Robyn Roze, author of "Chain of Title"
#ThePlatinumMan #KingofCock #CockRock #DaddyNorman #PicassoOfFellatio #MayDecember #LiteraryFiction #GayErotica #GayLiterature #GayRomance #SunsetBoulevard #NoirFiction #Novel #Readers #KindleEbooks #KOLL #KindleUnlimited
Author Contact Information
Email: Suicide.Ride@live.co.uk
FB Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/elizabeth.llewellyn.71
FB Suicide Ride Series Page: www.facebook.com/E.Llewellyn.SuicideRide
Suicide Ride Blog: http://ellewellyn.blogspot.co.uk
Thanks so much for the opportunity to shine on your Facebook page and blog! I've enjoyed it immensely. And thanks to all my Riders who turned out to support me! My best, Elle
ReplyDeleteThis is such a great series (my first and only M/M) and ultimately a love story at heart. The writing is deep and emotional and has hooked me on riding along with Johnny and Norman on their tumultuous journey.
ReplyDeleteI am looking so forward to the third book, The Hit. :)
Thank you, Robyn! I can always count on you ...
DeleteI was a "virgin" for the M/M genre before i read this series but they made my first time unforgettable and i love to read in those books now and then. I so can't wait to read on with THE HIT! You have to read this great books. The characters are amazing and just have to fall for them. Each of them is unique, sexy and crawl under your Skin like the whole Story. You just have to read this series!
ReplyDeleteBless you, Anne, thanks! I'm hard at work on THE HIT now ... And in the meantime, I hope readers of this blog will take advantage of their chance to grab the first two book in the series for just 99 cents each! Hitch your Ride and get your Fix!
Deleteand i am sure if they do they won't regret one Minute or word of this books!!!
DeleteThank you, Anne! :-)
DeleteThis spotlight for Elizabeth was really nice--She is a very sweet lady from GA and this has not left her.
ReplyDeleteCheck out her social sights and the Suicide Ride books--Hugs to all
God bless, Melissa! Thank you! :-)
Delete