CRUISING FOR BAD BOYS, edited by MICKEY ERLACH, features the bonus novella, MY FATHER'S SEMEN by MYKOLA DEMENTIUK, the disturbing story of a young man who seeks out his biological father only to be forced to survive the one way he knows how. This story will open your eyes to life on the streets of New York in the 1980s and will surprise you in the end.
Cruising for Bad Boys edited by Mickey Erlach
In his third STARbooks Press anthology, CRUISING FOR BAD BOYS, Mickey Erlach leaves the cozy confines of the bedroom to seek out sex in the riskiest of locales. Have you ever seen a man in a suit at a truck stop? A preppy frat boy in a public park after midnight? A nerdy man walking down the street in the wrong part of town? They aren't lost. They're looking for bad boys, and when they find them, the fun begins. The best part is when the suit and glasses come off, and the trick is no longer the wildest one in the room … or in the park.
CRUISING FOR BAD BOYS includes contributions from the hottest authors in world of erotica, including Amanda Young, Barry Lowe, Christopher Pierce, David C. Muller, David Holly, Derrick Della Giorgia, Jamie Freeman, Jay Starre, Martin Delacroix, Owen Keehnen, Rob Rosen, Ryan Field, Stephen Osborne, and Xan West.
excerpt:
Then I saw it: Mata Hari, Art Deco Antiques, my father’s shop. I stood and looked at it, biting my lower lip. He was cozy and warm sleeping snuggled into a warm bed upstairs never knowing his son was damp and cold on the street outside. I looked at the shuttered windows of the three story building and wondered which was his. The shop was enclosed by a gate but I could make out its smallness and antique decorated window display. A lamp with a colored-glass shade stood in one corner of the window, an old radio stood in the middle, and a tall elegant female mannequin dressed in a long gown and holding gloves stood at the other end.
I never understood what people saw in these old things; it would make sense if they had been alive when these objects were used, but some of them were fifty or hundred years old. In Mrs. Gillette’s house, one room was devoted to just such a display: a Biedermeyer sofa reclined next to a Tiffany lamp which stood atop a little table, which I’m sure had a name to it too. To me they looked like simple old couches, lamps and tables. I immediately hated my father’s shop. If Mrs. Gillette was a bitch because she possessed such expensive objects and always suspected everyone for trying to steal them, what was my father like for supplying those objects? Would he accuse me of robbing from him too?
I glanced at a handwritten sign in the doorway: Special Xmas hours: open Xmas eve 9 to 9, and underneath that a gold leaf etched sign in the glass:Mitch Lescoux, prop., and underneath that, Josh Rankling, asst. I frowned; my father was such a fake. Josh Rankling was the name, along with his, that appeared this year on his Christmas cards, but every year the name was a different one. I sneered in disgust. I wondered how much he had to dish out each year for a new gold sign to be etched in his window; he probably had more money than my grandmother suspected.
I crossed the street and looked up at the small building. It was nestled in between two tenements and looked very old compared to most of the other buildings on the street. That’s what my father would do, live in the oldest building there was. I wondered which room he and Josh slept in; no matter how many times I got picked up and went to bed I never ended up staying the night with some stranger. The idea of waking up next to some stubbled-faced asshole was always repulsive, and I always fled in the morning, disgusted and hating myself for having spent the night with a stranger. I know I always did it for money, being nothing but a whore, and afterwards it would be some time before I tried going with a guy again…yet I always did…
I turned away from my father’s building and felt as much as I did those Cincinnati mornings when I walked out of some stranger’s arms and bed: disgusted, hating myself, hating the world for what I had become: a male whore. Still, didn’t I resent the strangers name below my fathers? Did I want to lie underneath my father as well?
via STARbook Press
