Enlightened Male2000

June 23, 2010

The Setting for “A Song in the Park”

Filed under: Books, Martin Brant Books — Tags: , , — martin @ 5:49 pm

Almost as if it’s one of the characters, Big Bend country in far west Texas is the setting in my novel “A Song in the Park“.  I’ve been there many times. To me it’s one of the most romantic places on earth with its high-country fresh dry air, crystalline skies and captivating sunsets.  They say it’s where the desert and mountains meet the sky, not to mention the mysterious Rio Grande that flows through desert grasslands, breathtaking canyons and creates the  border between Mexico and the United States.

This (above) is Farm to Market Road 170, west of the park, which passes through some of the country’s most incredible scenery as it winds it’s way to Presidio.  Here you can see a glimpse of the Rio Grande to the left of the road.

It’s in country like this Michael Anderson, a California surgeon, and Justin Brooks, a park ranger, meet, form a friendship and ultimately build their future together.

This is the horizon (above), the view from behind Justin’s remote ranch house, where he and Michael spend many of their evenings sipping coffee and contemplating the small gifts in life.

This location (above) is similar to that just south of Justin’s house. The first day they spend skinny-dipping here is the day they realize there may be more than simple friendship between them.

A view like this (above) is typical of many seen when crossing through the park’s southern terrain on a rutted, sixty mile long goat-path called the River Road. It’s this road Justin patrols when he’s wearing his park service uniform.

Stanta Elena Canyon, (above) 2000 foot cliffs cut from the limestone over eons by the Rio Grande. Can you imagine what’s it like to canoe through here?

One of many cliffs along the Rio Grande (above).

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May 30, 2010

A Song in the Park

Filed under: Martin Brant Books — Tags: — martin @ 12:23 pm

Here’s a recent email I received from a reader in Toronto:

Hello Martin,

Just wanted to drop a note to let you know that I enjoyed your novel tremendously over the last couple of days. The novel was like a rollercoaster – an emotional rollercoaster – at times I had to laugh, at times cried. Really got into the book and the characters. Would love to have gone on and on reading more.  A sequel would be nice, don’t you agree?

Thanks again for many hours of great entertainment. I won’t forget this book.

Signed J–

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Here’s an excerpt from Chapter 20. The setting: Justin’s small stone ranch house on a remote desert ranch. Everyone is sitting around the breakfast table, talking about his primitive outdoor shower.

A few minutes later all five were melting butter on their pancakes.

“I was just thinking,” Shannon said, glancing at the others with a slight hint of apprehension, “… maybe we could put a screen of some kind around the shower.”

Justin looked at her with a grin.

“That’d take all the fun out it,” Michael said, stuffing in another bite.

“Just something temporary,” Shannon added.  She woke up that morning feeling gritty, thinking about the unlikely notion of two weeks without a shower.

Michael glanced at Brian. “What do you think, Brian.  Think we need a screen, or do you plan to tough out the next two weeks without a shower?”

Brian looked around at the faces smiling back at him, discomfited.  He lifted his elbow to sniff his armpit.

Jody looked at Michael with suspicion.  “You’re goading him just to get him naked.”

“I doubt that,” Brian said, swallowing a mouthful of pancakes.  “Just be a disappointment.”

“Hardly!” Jody shot back.

Justin joined in.  “You ought to go for it, Brian.  I’d be happy to refill the jug.”

He looked at Shannon, the only one besides himself harboring reservations about outdoor showers.

“Don’t look at her,” said Michael.  “You might have the courage to give it a try, but we’re not gonna see Shannon out there stripping down.  She plans to wait until she gets back to civilization, some two weeks from now.”

“I didn’t exactly say that, Michael.  I can’t go two weeks without a shower.  I thought a screen might …”

“You’d have us stop the stonework to build a screen?” said Michael.

“What a shame,” said Justin.  “And such a lovely creature you are, to deny this barren land such a delightful image.”

“I don’t know why any of you would want to see me nude,” said Shannon.  “You two are gay, Jody’s a woman, and Brian’s obsessed with her body.  I don’t know if anyone’s noticed, but he can’t seem to take his eyes off her.”

“Are you kidding?” said Justin.  “Of course he’d like to see you naked.  So would Jody.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jody retorted.

He looked at her, grinning.  “You wouldn’t admit it if you did.”

“I would, too!” she protested.

“Well then, given the opportunity, would you look at a naked woman or not?  Yes or no.”

She hesitated, then said: “Okay, I admit it, yes.  I think all women secretly compare themselves to other women.”

“What about you, Shannon?”  Justin asked.  “Wouldn’t you snatch a glimpse of a naked women?”

“Good Lord!”  Shannon couldn’t believe they were talking about this.

Justin didn’t let up.  “Come on, girl.  Would you … go ahead and admit it.”

“Fine!  I admit it.  Jody’s right.  So we’re curious about other women.  Doesn’t mean anything.”

(more…)

May 9, 2010

A Song in the Park

Filed under: Erotic Stories & Excerpts, Martin Brant Books — Tags: , — martin @ 7:55 am

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Two men, haunted by their past, cross paths where the desert meets the sky in Big Bend National Park …

He turned and watched Michael pull the sleeping bag from behind the chair and fumble with the knot that held it rolled tight.  He wanted to invite Michael to share his bed, which he had been thinking about most of the day.  The proposal caught in his throat as the ramifications of sleeping with another man took hold of him.  Make the suggestion, or keep going, get in bed alone, then likely face a night of regret, wondering what it would be like.  He drew a breath … “It’s warmer in the bedroom.”  Then a dry swallow: “I mean … well, the electric heater in there doesn’t do much good all the way out here.”

Michael looked up from the knotted string.

“There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

“You want me to sleep with you?”

“That’s not how I put it.  Share the bed is what I had in mind.”

“Yeah.  That’s what I meant.  I just wasn’t expecting …”

Justin felt like a man about to cross a rickety bridge.  “You won’t get so cold in there.”

“Okay.”  Somewhat astonished, Michael tossed the sleeping bag on the couch.

They walked together into the bedroom.  Justin turned on the small table lamp next to the bed, then the small electric heater.  He sat on the edge of the bed and watched Michael pull off his jeans.  “I remember you saying you don’t like wearing underwear.”

“No.  Too confining,” Michael said, standing nude in the soft light.

Justin stood and stepped out of his jeans, leaving on the cotton briefs.  “I usually sleep nude.”

“Me, too,” Michael replied.

Justin looked down at his briefs, debating, wondering what difference it would make since they had been naked together all day, hooking his thumbs in the waistband.

Michael watched him slide the briefs down his legs, then step out of them and walk to the other side of the bed, intrigued by his companion’s conflicts.

Lifting the crumpled sheet, Justin got in the bed and pulled the sheet up to his belly.  Michael reclined on the other side of the bed.  They laid on their backs staring at the aged wooden ceiling.  The electric heater provided just enough heat to take the chill out of the room.

“Beats the couch, doesn’t it?”

Available at Amazon.

April 14, 2010

The Passion of Johnny Feelwater

Filed under: Martin Brant Books — Tags: , — martin @ 6:04 pm

Okay…so I’m trying to tempt you to read this book.  What can I say, I’m a writer.  If you like passion, read this excerpt and see if you can resist.

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He stood and looked down at her.  Her legs drew together, squeezing the sensations within her thighs up into her body.  Chills raced across her forearms when he reached down to touch the side of her face.  She took a long account of his masculinity, another stride toward recognizing the wonders of her own body, to see him nude in the sunlight, to be this close, to see his penis swollen with need.  When she came to her feet, his hands closed on the sides of her face and he drew her head closer to his.

Their lips came together, their mouths open, a kiss as warm as the sun-warmed room, a lingering reaffirmation of their bond, evolving finally into a fury of tongues and wet lips.  He found the buttons of her blouse and in seconds it fell to the floor, joined seconds later by her bra.  On his knees, breathing the scent of her belly, he unfastened her jeans.  Down her legs they went, along with her panties, her legs warm on his palms, her scent bewitching.  She stepped out of what had become a jumble of denim and nylon encircling her feet.  He took up her panties, fresh as they were with the bouquet between her legs, pressed them to his face and drew the scent into his nose.

Marilee heard men did such things—she had held such acts in contempt; but seeing her husband’s face buried in the panties she had been wearing inflamed her even more.  Then his hands came up the back of her legs, a firm grasp of her buttocks, and he pulled her close enough to bury his tongue.

Together they went to the floor, a tight embrace on the soft oval rug, bodies joined by virtue of instincts that refused to abide further delay.  Engulfed in heat and sweat and motion, confirming their desire had finally escaped nine years of prison, they locked themselves together as if this were to be their last coupling.  Marilee tossed her head from side-to-side, her neck taut, and from her came a scream, eliminating her husband’s ability to hold back.  He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her close as their bodies shuddered and pulsed.  Then, their passion spent, they melted into a useless heap, their arms and legs entwined.  Their love, weighted and put to the test, expanded and filled the room.

(more…)

April 5, 2010

The Strange Haunting of Johnny Feelwater

Filed under: Books, Erotic Stories & Excerpts — Tags: , , — martin @ 4:27 pm

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The Strange Haunting Of Johnny Feelwater

An excerpt from chapter 19 . . .

Johnny was aware that Brian was looking at him.

“Shame you’re not bisexual,” said Brian, a sudden and unexpected whispering of his thoughts.

Johnny turned his head and their eyes met.

“Forgive me, my friend, but I’m no longer inclined toward the fairer sex, even to these frequently available young girls.  I would consider myself inappropriate for them anyway.  But now I’m in bed next to a man, quite an attractive man I might add, and it occurred to me that a little mutual affection is nourishing for the soul.”  Brian shifted to his side and faced Johnny, bracing himself up on an elbow.

Caught off guard, Johnny glanced down at his companion’s torso, a candlelit display of shoulders and a chest thick with muscle, of dark hairs mixed with gray that curled about a pair of nipples and ran a wide path toward a sunken navel.  The glance ventured downward, over strong hairy legs, then upward, fixing on genitals flaccid in the warm air, dropping with generous weight from a dense swath of salted pubic hair, fleshy and splayed atop a muscular thigh.  It was no more than a glance, the entirety of which lasted the bat of an eye, though it sparked the fires of adrenaline.

Oh, the power of such a visual to set one’s imagination stirring, Johnny realized, not much to his surprise as he twisted his head upward and returned his gaze to the shadows.  It all came rushing back as if the image had opened a floodgate of memories from his confused youth.  Those fleshy organs—were they not an anomaly of the male form, peculiar in shape and so much darker than the rest of the body?  Were they not an inconsistency in the fluid contours of muscle and limb, hanging from the body at the apex of one’s legs like something alien by virtue of their odd design?  Perhaps it might seem, but for that inborn consciousness of their purpose, and in being male with the same fragile effects, accompanied always with that sublime awareness of their ever changing weight.  Oh, those daunting colors, dark and purposeful, like magnets drawing one’s eyes, like streaking meteors that suddenly exclude all other thoughts.  And those masculine odors lingering in the air with his own, born of errant drops of urine and yesterday’s sweat and last night’s involuntary seepages from that tiny hole, mingled with those living with aromatic vibrancy between damp gluteal cheeks.  He was thinking about all of this as he stared at the ceiling, his face fixed with a dreamlike gaze, thinking there was even more to resist: the warmth of a man lying so close, the warmth he could feel on his face, the feel of that same man’s breath on his ear.  What was it, but a universe of two men, a symphony of maleness within the parameters of a small space, offensive perhaps to some, though more akin to euphoria for two certain men on a warm Kenyan night.

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March 21, 2010

Erotic Tales for Enlightened Minds

Filed under: Books, Erotic Stories & Excerpts — Tags: , , , — martin @ 9:35 am

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March 5, 2010

Review of THE PARTISANS

Filed under: Books — Tags: — martin @ 7:43 pm

The Partisans: A review on Amazon by R. Herron

I just finished ready this novel and it was the most enjoyable reading experience I’ve had in a long time. It was brilliant the way Mr. Brant weaved an interracial gay love story and a war. As an African American gay man, it was great to find characters that embraced each other’s diversity and found they were more alike than not. This could be a great movie if someone was courageous enough to make it. The Partisans is truly a treasure. I’m recommending it to all of my friends. I’m looking forward to reading other books by this author.

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From Chapter Three

“I understand,” said Jhan, producing a sympathetic smile.  He looked back at Ethan.  “My father’s an SS officer.  He’s always been ruthlessly autocratic.  Now he’s a brutal tyrant.  My older brother is an ambitious bureaucrat, callously ambitious, and far removed from the intellectual he thinks he is.  My lifelong best friend is a Jew, or should I say was a Jew, I wouldn’t know.  Our friendship goes back to grade school, where we practiced the art of mischief together.  My own brother turned him in to further his career.  He laughed at me when I attacked him because of it.  My mother is a nervous rabbit, ruined by an abusive husband and the effects of the Reich.  So to answer your question, I’m not motivated by my moral objections—I’m driven.”

From Chapter Seven

Golden brown in the soft light, powerful and muscular, Jhan wondered how a man like Ethan managed to look submissive.  But he did, with his hands up behind his head, body exposed, legs parted.  It struck Jhan that something not so easily found would have seemed impossible just a week earlier; but right here in this remote barn, two men’s lives were changing.  His gaze lingered, just to assure himself that this was for him, that it was real, that just now nothing else mattered.  A gaze—quiet, contemplative, though more than enough to set the urges welling.  How like a summer storm these things come over a man.  Now, after so many years of loneliness, here was a man willing and waiting for his touch, someone like himself who understands the ache.

Available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle versions.

September 9, 2009

The Male Nurse

Filed under: Erotic Stories & Excerpts — Tags: , — martin @ 6:50 pm


male-nurse

My Male Nurse

No serious permanent damage.

That’s what I’ve pieced together, fragments here and there, never straight out with exactly how my body will mend.  No burns or paralysis; that much is certain.  Just broken bones, scars and muscular trauma, damage that’ll heal.  An arm and a leg in traction, bound in casts.  The upper part of the bed is cranked up thirty degrees, my head propped on a pillow.  Under the sheet I’m naked, at least the parts of my body not covered with casts or bandages.

Days on end with no privacy; it’s funny how quickly you lose your old inhibitions when you’re utterly dependant on people you’ve never seen before.  Bathing, peeing, bowel movements, personal hygiene of any kind; two weeks now, I haven’t been able to do any of it without someone’s help.  All because a roadside bomb had my name on it.

Six months into a one year tour in Iraq, two days after reading a gut-wrenching letter from my fiancé, I drove over a landmine on a dirt road outside of Mosul.  They tell me my vehicle jumped five feet into the air.  Shrapnel did most of the damage.  Flying through the air broke a few bones.  A day in a field hospital before they air lifted me to Germany, then the long flight to the states, where I’m at now, not more than five hundred miles from my hometown.  Maybe I shouldn’t expect her to come this far to see me, not after what she had to say in the letter.  I’m not too doped up to care.

7:00 A.M.  I feel rested.  The pills they gave me worked; I slept through the night.  Woke up hungry, thinking about Patricia, wondering if she’s had a change of heart.  I had dreamed she showed up at the hospital in tears.  I forgave her.  I woke up rested, but empty.  At least my parents make the drive to see me on weekends.

Kirkland, my nurse, approaches pushing a cart with various supplies and a breakfast tray, stands looking at me for a moment, then releases a sigh.
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August 20, 2009

The Jew and the German

Filed under: Erotic Stories & Excerpts — Tags: , — martin @ 6:15 pm

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The Jew and the German

We rounded up one hundred and sixty Jews today.  The rifle shots that ended their lives had stopped less than an hour ago.  I had witnessed it all, standing among my German comrades, not twenty meters from the edge of the trench that served as a mass grave.

Men, women, children; it didn’t matter as long as they were Jews, or gypsies, or suspected Bolshevik sympathizers.  I had seen the increasingly higher pile of naked bodies at the bottom of the trench, watched the officer go down among them and blow out the brains of those still moving.  I had listened to them moan and beg and pray, and watched as they somberly removed their clothes, then stood shivering at the edge of the trench, not allowing their eyes to fall below the eastern horizon.  I had felt my stomach roil with bitter acid, felt my teeth hurt from clenching them so tightly.  I had been part of it, me, a draftsman just out of college.  I had been conscripted into the SS, assigned to the ranks of Sonderkommando 4a, one of the outfits designated to address the Jewish question, currently operating in Ukraine.  My group had been ordered to clean out the surrounding villages around Kiev.  The day would come I would be chosen to man one of the rifles.  I still could not comprehend why we were doing this.  I had not figured out what had happened to my homeland.  My breathing had been labored since my first day in Ukraine.  I could not imagine pulling the trigger.

Now, as the gloom of night cast the first shadows over the long weary day, I stood a few yards outside of camp, leaning against a tree, taking long draws off my third consecutive cigarette, staring absently across the vast steppe.  Sonderkommando 4a was following the wehrmacht as it plowed through Russia.  Setting up command centers in the cities and villages behind the front line, our objective was to round up and eliminate German enemies.  Of course this included the Jews.  My small group, part of the central group in Kiev, had been sent southeast to clean out the small villages.  It was horrifying, merciless, carried out with ruthless detachment.  I would never adjust to this manner of thinking.  I had known many Jews in my hometown in Germany, neighbors, chums I had gone to school with.  Why were we killing them?

From the corner of my eye, I saw an approaching prisoner, a young man in tattered peasant clothes assigned the chore of picking up the trash and cigarette butts littering our camp.  I watched him, his cautiousness as he got down on his knees to scour the ground, glancing at me, most likely fretting over every tiny scrap and every last cigarette butt, trying to avoid a beating.  I felt ashamed of my uniform.

Eventually he stared at me, the look in his eye chilling; more than hostility, analytical perhaps, a look that almost seemed to suggest pity, though not quite masking his hatred and contempt.  Moving forward on his knees, likely resigned to his fate, his courage seemed to gather, reflected in the expression of defiance on his face.  When he got to his feet, he glanced behind and saw we were alone, then fixed his arrogant, scornful eyes on me.  “You think you’ll get away with this, with what’s going on here,” he said bitterly, staring fearlessly like a man with nothing to lose.

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July 7, 2009

A Day on the River

Filed under: Bisexuality, Erotic Stories & Excerpts — Tags: , — martin @ 1:10 pm

A Day on the River

Have you ever had something happen that surprised you, something unexpected that changed your life, that energized every fiber in your body?  An event or incident that captured your imagination and altered your perception of life’s predictability?  Such an event happened to me, on a five day cross-country bike ride through the desert with an old friend from college, who had contacted me a couple of months before.  That day we spent on the river took me from the routine trials of life into a mysterious, wondrous, confusing new reality.

Paul had been living in California, where he had taken a job after getting his degree, working for a large accounting firm, making good money and recently transferred back here to Dallas.  We had parted ways when he went off to graduate school.  It had been nearly twenty years.  Pleasantly surprised when he called, we arranged to meet over a couple of beers.

I recognized him when he walked in, waved him over.  He had aged well—the first thing I noticed as he approached the booth.  Twenty years had vanished in the blink of an eye.  Seeing him again, all the old memories came flooding back.  We shook hands, then hugged, glad to have an opportunity to catch up on each other’s lives.

A dimly lit half-bar, half-restaurant, it was a crowded place: live music, lot of drinking and camaraderie.  After moving to the quietest booth we could find, we had been talking about the old days a half hour by the time we finished the first beer.  I was secretly relieved his hair had thinned more than mine.

“Things don’t turn out exactly the way you thought they would, do they?” he said after the waiter delivered the second round.  He shrugged and looked around the dining room.  “I don’t know.  Can’t say I haven’t been happy.  Successful career, terrific wife.”  He shrugged again.  “You hit forty, then wonder where all the time went, what you’ve done with your life.  Sometimes it seems like there should’ve been more, like something’s missing.”

Some of those same thoughts had occurred to me.  “I know what you mean,” I said.  “You think about all the things you haven’t done, but you have your job, your family to think about.”

“What did you end up getting into?” he asked.

“Electrical engineering.  We design and oversee the installation of electrical systems in high-rises.”

Suddenly he seemed distant, like his mind had wandered to something else.  I wasn’t sure he was listening.  He was staring at my forearm, resting on the table, my hand wrapped around a nearly full glass of beer.  His eyes lifted and met mine.  “Sounds exciting.”

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