Monday, June 30, 2014


In celebration of Gay Pride Month, the Wednesday Briefers have come together to write a series of Flash Fiction stories set on a gay cruise on the Queen Bee. Each of us have our own characters, plus a host of secondary characters and settings that will be shared among the various stories. All of these will be posted throughout the day on the Beth Wylde's Yahoo Group.

Check it out. There you can chat with the Wednesday Briefers (most of whom have multiple best-sellers published...M.A. Church, Rob Colton, Julie Lynn Hayes, Alicia (Cia) Nordwell, Jon Keys and many others). There will also be contests and giveaways.

Many thanks to Cia and Julie for their awesome editing on my flash fic. That being said, please enjoy my flash fic, Handi-capable which, at some point in the not-too-distant future will be expanded into a full length short-story.

Here is a brief look at the story. The complete story can be found here.


Eric Jones cursed as he looked at himself in the mirror, trying to decide whether to shave the forest of red hair off his torso or not. Damn this complexion of mine. I can never get a decent tan. All I ever do is burn. Fucking red-headed, green-eyed bastard! Since all he was going to do was go to the lounge for a few drinks and listen to the entertainment, he decided against shaving and simply got dressed in a pair of snug dress jeans and a cobalt-blue button-down shirt. Combing his hair, he declared himself ready and headed out.

The lounge was crowded, but he managed to snag a table in the corner next to a small stage. “Can I get a vodka cranberry with a splash of orange juice please?” he asked the perky, attractive cocktail waitress. As he sipped his drink, he turned his mind inward. Why did I let those idiots I call friends talk me into taking a cruise on the gay version of the Love Boat? What a waste of time. Looking around the lounge at all of the happy couples, his thoughts turned bitter. How can I get over breaking up with Chad when all I see are happy couples? Three years. Three fucking years. I thought he loved me for me, not my wealth. Obviously he didn’t, since he demanded I buy him a Porsche or he was going to leave me.

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