The Sex Ring
Author: AJ Llewellyn
Genre: Gay romance; M/M; Paranormal, Ghost
Length: Novella
eISBN: 978-1-937796-56-3
MSRP: 5.99
You pay: 2.99
Cover art: Les Byerley
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Publisher’s note: The Sex Ring was previously published. It has been re-edited for release with Ai Press.
Edan doesn’t believe in ghosts…so why does he feel compelled to believe the second he’s in possession of THE SEX RING?
Struggling filmmaker Kristofer Edan accepts a cash pay day to model the leather ensembles owned by recently deceased, celebrated artist Rafael Ortiz at an auction. Kristofer soon finds himself coveting one jacket in particular that has an unusual addition: a sex ring dangling from its epaulette.
When Kristofer wins the jacket in a second-chance bid, he’s in for a big surprise…the sex ring seems to have an intense energy, that when in use, conjures up sexual dreams and powers that Kristofer never had before. He soon becomes obsessed with the ring and the dead artist…painting huge canvasses that people say resemble those of Ortiz himself. Kristofer starts to feel the dead man’s presence and senses that Rafael is just as obsessed with him….or…is Kristofer possessed by him?
Excerpt:
Chapter One
I stared at my computer screen. I still couldn’t believe I’d sat around all day hoping to nab a copywriting assignment. And what did I get? The crappiest one yet.
How to Book Train Travel to Estonia.
I did a mental eye roll and accepted the assignment. Now I had to come up with sixteen pages of stuff…about Estonia. Where the hell was the place? I Googled it. Yep, just as I thought. Eastern Europe. I read the Wikipedia notes. Allegedly, it was the hub of social activity in medieval times. Groovy.
Holy crap. It sure didn’t have much going for it now. Including train travel. Ninety percent of travel through Estonia is done by road, although many highways are still being rebuilt since being demolished in World War II.
World War II?
I could feel a giant headache coming on, and it had Estonia written all over it. I cursed my luck. Some of my co-workers had nabbed the plum assignments. It was supposed to be a first come, first serve deal, but how come the same guys got the best gigs week after week?
I swallowed down some cold coffee and eyed the assignments. How to Book Train Travel to France, Italy, Spain…but not me. Nope. No siree. I got me Estonia.
Many Estonians choose bicycles over cars.
I wondered briefly about the suicide rate in Estonia as I picked up my new sexual wonder toy, my Tenga. My Tenga could cure all my anxieties, all my stresses. I’d never had sex like it, on my own or with another human being.
My part-time job as a copywriter for a major ehow website was damned stressful. I needed that Tenga. People like me sit in our homes and bid on jobs online. We then grab them and put our best, most creative feet forward creating how to articles. Trust me to get a how to guide for train travel in a country that had none. It was a tricky assignment, and not one I could toss back to the sea. I kept reading as I stuck my finger in the Tenga’s cock port. The message mechanism pulled gently on my fingertip. Man, my cock was getting hard.
Concentrate, Kristofer.
Okay, you could get in and out of the country by train, but despite its new prominence as the spa capital of the world for canny Finnish and Russian travelers, Estonia was still a backwards country. Only in the last couple of years had restoration been made to the Tallinn-Tartu, its major highway and pride and joy. And, oops, fifty-six people had already died in reckless car crashes on it.
That was not a selling point. Heck, maybe it was.
Since my assignment was being paid for by Eurail, I had to emphasize train travel. I also had to make good use of the keywords that had to pop up at least twelve times each in your report. In fact, the company I worked for had a terrific program that counted down the keywords and removed them from your target list each time you used them.
I’d snatched the assignment after weeks of painful insurance and medical how to guides. There isn’t anything I don’t know about chemotherapy, and I hope I never have to use this information. My attention strayed out the window.
My IM pinged on the computer. My editor congratulated me on finally catching an assignment. This one at least was a little more interesting than the last one. How to open a stuck jar. Seriously. I had to compose sixteen pages of step-by-step instructions on how to open a bloody jar. I wondered if they had jars in Estonia or if they ate stones.
Well la-di-fucking dah. How the hell was I supposed to come up with sixteen pages on non-existent train travel to and through Estonia?
My Tenga felt nice and warm in my hands. It wanted me. I could feel it. The space-age looking rectangular box with three speeds and an interior the average hooker would die for was a lot more interesting than train travel. Or jars.
There was a knock at my door and I hastily stashed my Tenga under my desk.
My brother Kiel crashed into the room.
“Thank God you’re home.” He shook his head. “What am I saying? You’re always home. Listen, I need you.”
“Me? What for?”
“I need you to model for me.”
“Model for you?”
“Are you having a case of stupiditis? Why are you repeating everything I’m saying? Yes, model. I want you to come tonight to my big, fancy AIDS benefit and model some groovy clothes.”
“At the risk of pissing you off, why do you want me of all people to model for you?”
“You’re skinny.”
“Oookay.”
“Seriously. These clothes used to belong to Rafael Ortiz. You know, Joshua’s former lover.”
“The artist? But he died…what? Twenty years ago?”
“C’mon, Kris. Do it for me. Do it for our people.”
The waves crashed outside my bedroom window and all I wanted to do was write, listen to some music and contemplate the ocean. Modeling a dead artist’s clothing? Joshua, my brother’s boyfriend had been good to me. Both of them had. But I just didn’t want to do it.
“I really, really, really don’t want to. I have so much work to do. I just got a big assignment.”
“That is such crap, Kris. I know exactly what you were doing. You were playing with your Tenga. That thing’ll break off your wiener. How many times have you used it, anyway? It’s only good for fifty loads, you know.”
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