cane in hand

This latest Gaslight Mystery is rife with humor and suppressed sexual drive, as a changed Simon finds his randy partner just out of reach—an ironic reversal of their usual “pursuit of the very private eye.” Following is the offiicial blurb for the novel:

There is something evil afoot in the growing city of Dun Linden, Ireland (1924) where private dicks Michael McCree and Simon Hart have a PI agency. No one has hired them this time, as they find their neighbors and their own tiny spy network in grave danger from a group of thieves who would rather slit a throat than pick an honest pocket; and an old nemesis who has a score to settle with both of them.

When the peril grows too grave for two men to handle, they call on a few trusted friends and some unusual weaponry to help in a case where they are outnumbered—but never outwitted.

The always-edgy partnership of the two investigators also undergoes some twists and turns—of fate and canes alike.

This article appeared earlier, in the “pages” section of the blog. I’m reprinting it here, for those who might like to begin the odyssey…or, having read the others, would like to see what happens “the day after the night before” (Thin as Smoke).

Here are the opening words of MASTERS OF CANE. Spoiler alert: This novel is set immediately following  its prequel THIN AS SMOKE, and this preview may give away parts of the ending.


From Chapter 1: A Whole New Dawn

’Tis not possible. And yet, here I am. In Simon’s bed. With me prick lying all along his crack.

Michael hardly dared breathe, lest the man slumbering in his arms should stir, waken, and bolt from the room. He could control the air he took in slowly, sipping it like fine wine before allowing it to leave his deep gut and then his lungs … letting it escape without disturbing a dust mote, nor even a fine tendril of dark hair on the nape of this man’s neck.

But he could not control his boisterous cock.

The intuitive part of his finely tuned lover’s brain told him Simon had deeply needed to be here. He’d asked his flat-mate to lay him in this Victorian monstrosity of a bed. And at one point —Michael didn’t dare try to remember the details, for fear his cock would jolt his bedmate from sleep—some time during the night, Simon had begged him: Suck my ass. Then fuck me.

Raw, urgent. Words of one syllable.

And afterward, they’d slept cocooned like this, belly to back, waiting for a new dawn.

The rational part of his analytic mind reminded Michael his business partner would no doubt reject last night altogether, as though they’d never kissed. As though his tongue had not awakened the secret love tunnel in Simon’s ear, and then inside his very ass. As though their thunderous climax had been only a madman’s dream.

But until his bed mate woke, Michael could still claim his prize. And so the brawny Irishman lay cursing the brick he’d laid into Simon’s soft buttocks, letting his smile move slightly between his shoulder blades.

file000118153910.tiff lampThe high-ceilinged chamber was lit by a sole gas lamp on the bedside table. Michael lay watching the burning wick cast shadows on the far wall and across the window casement. Outside the open second-story window he heard the rousing of feathers as the pigeon colony prepared for sunrise.

The claw-footed bathtub in the flat’s tiny privy would be theirs—singly, of course—for precious few minutes. The stringent landlady Mrs. McGregor seemed to stand over them with a pocket-watch while each tenant used his allotted quarter-hour each morning. Simon’s turn was first, five sharp, followed by his own.

Michael sighed, a hitch in the steady flow of his breath, pondering the implacable rules of Mrs. McGregor’s universe. It must be close to five now. Time for this dream to end.

If he was lucky, the camaraderie he and Simon had shared last night would linger in a quirk of the man’s sulky lip or a certain glint in his impossibly turquoise eyes. After one year of up-and-down, in-and-out, he was used to starting over again every goddamn bloody day with the man he’d chosen as his own.pigeons flip

And yet … and yet something different about their gossamer relationship, a kind of awakening, had begun a few days ago with the arrival of Samuel Dashiell Hammett. Forced to work apart in their investigations, he and Simon had lost each other for more than a day. His partner had been in peril of death, while he, Michael, had blundered about trying to find and help the man he desperately needed. Might as well face it—the man he loved, to the deepest core of his soul.

clothing=retro pantsThe presence of the skinny, brooding Hammett had somehow been the catalyst which changed everything. Working again with his former partner Sam, then remembering their old covert op work in America—both had landed crashing blows to his brain. ’Tis time to understand what the sodding hell friendship is, what love really is.

And Sam had changed Simon too, in a way. He suspected his partner had felt some kind of jealousy for the slender, secretive agent who called himself “Dashiell” to Simon, yet only “Sam” to his old friend Mike. And maybe that possessiveness had begun to change their elusive love life.

He recalled Simon’s masterful handling of the crooks who’d held him captive. His complicated lover had talents Michael had just begun to discover—or he’d finally decided to reveal. And maybe, just maybe, Simon was beginning to accept his midnight cravings in the harsh light of full day.

Aye, if only the last thirty-some hours, and especially last night, had truly signaled a new beginning…

His truant thought about midnight cravings awakened his half-dozing prick. Now, instead of lying in Simon’s butt crack, it had begun to hammer at the gates, demanding entrance.

Simon’s breathing changed, and he moved, fluid as water, in Michael’s arms. Still pretending sleep, his mouth sought Michael’s tongue before suckling, soft and slow.

“Mee-sha-el.” The sleep-roughened word spoken straight into his mouth was an electric surge to his entire body. Simon was not fleeing from him.

Fucking impossible.

“Love.” He let Simon’s mouth work its magic, cupping then stroking the man’s raspy cheeks, allowing his cock to bloom fully against his bed-mate’s iron groin.

“It’s almost five of the morning.” Simon pulled away a little, looked at his own bare legs and exposed loins, and actually smiled.

Michael, still thunderstruck, eyed Simon’s erection, risen like a sea stack jutting from its dark ocean of pubic hair. “Aye, lad. May Mrs. McGregor be buried in pigeon shit.” He bent to taste the cowled penis whose marbled veins his eyes could trace even in the lamplight.

man:towelSimon sat up all the way and fluidly swung his legs over the side of the bed. His clipped accent bore not a trace of the lust-torn syllables Michael had heard last night. “And yet, how could we function without her clockwork ruling of our bodily needs? I will see you in fifteen minutes.”

Simon stood and walked to the lumpy chair next to the bed. His buttocks, rounded yet defined by hard muscle, moved and shifted in the gaslight. Before Michael could react, he slid his discarded silken robe over his slender muscled frame and seized a bath towel from a bureau drawer before leaving the bedroom door, and Michael’s mouth, gaping open.

[chapter to be continued, in the novel]

MofC collage correx=pizap.com14521147989862

The cover I designed is here.  It holds a subtle secret, for those who compare it to all the others. If you figure it out, you just might smile and one-click the novel.

GL 5 logoThe Gaslight Mysteries
New Kindle Series page: 


The eternal tango…

From early in MASTERS OF CANE, the 5th Gaslight Mystery…

Michael is standing at his bureau, bending a little, trying to shave by looking into a small mirror.

He was still a little rattled over his last sight of Simon standing rigid on the opposite side of his large, crisply-made bed. The look in the man’s soul-filled aqua eyes had cried out louder than a moan.

I need you, Michael.

His right hand trembled slightly as he aimed the straight razor, still absorbed in thoughts of Simon…

Shit criminy. Michael had almost leapt onto the bed and strode across its surface to reach his partner, to seize both shoulders, to force the words from his mouth. And then, as usual, he’d stopped himself.

Anything he did, almost anything he said, might drive Simon back into the shadows. Best to give his sometime-lover a little room to maneuver. Let him think through what had happened in the last few days.

’Twas no use kicking his own arse over the way he’d damned near raped the man when they first came together a year ago. Somehow they’d both survived Michael’s exuberant dick and Simon’s desperate self-denials. He’d promised himself he would never go back to being a maddened bullock, horns out, ready to attack any red cape in front of his one-eyed charge.

tangoAnd so for twelve months he’d danced the provocative tango, subtly leading, then allowing Simon to close the embrace and change the tempo for a few beats … back and forth, in and out. They dipped and swayed to music Michael was certain both of them could hear. Just that he heard a complete fantasia, while Simon was still responding to the opening bars.

The wanna-be—the thick sexual tension that runs throughout the first four Gaslight Mysteries—all that changes in this fifth novel. It’s subtle. Outwardly, Simon still seems petulant and aloof. But inside, where his heart and his very manhood lie deep, a crucial change has begun.

It all started with that damn interloper Samuel Dashiell Hammett. [Thin as Smoke]  But I’m dancing shead of the beat…


Explicit excerpt from MASTERS OF CANE:

si robe paradise=pizap.com14288493572001Michael saw the silk-robed figure standing behind him, reflected in the small shaving mirror. He stood rock-still, waiting for Simon to speak.

“McCree. Do not turn around.”

Those words, whether studied or not, forced his cock to instant attention. They were the same ones Simon had uttered a year ago when he’d knelt behind him and stroked his ass, parted the cheeks and licked the honey-hole, then turned him around so he could bury his need inside this man’s hot, unskilled mouth.

And so Michael stood straight as a sentinel, heart slamming against his ribs, tongue thick with surprise. 

Simon’s warm fingers slid over the skin of his hips and tugged on the towel. The voice in his right ear was husky, hesitant—


#gay #erotic #romance #mystery #humor #retro #Ireland

The series:

~The Gaslight Mysteries, gay retro with a twist

Each novel can be bought singly at this Kindle Series site on Amazon.

Heat level high 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

The final two novels form a natural pair…

tas & moc promo


tango film by Carlos SauraThis image is from the film Tango by Carlos Saura. I just wrote an article in another blog about the queer tango.  Take a look!