Friday, August 23, 2013

Freebie Weekend - Forty-Nine Shades of Pink (Take a peak)

Something different than my typical end of the world death and destruction. This weekend's free book is, Forty-Nine Shades of Pink.

Felix Cramer is a dashing, eccentric and effeminately gay poet who adores his life. That is, until he wakes up in the parking lot of a national chain coffee shop and discovers not only does he have a new identity, his old life has been erased.

Felix hasn’t a clue why it has happened.

Bound and determined to prove who he is, he embarks on a path of danger, mystery and scandalous behavior and will stop at nothing to reclaim his life. That is, of course, if his old life actually did exist.

Forty-Nine Shades of Pink is a comedic story of one man’s struggles. While it contains adult themes, it does not contain any graphic sex. (Sorry about that)

If you enjoy the chapter below, the book is FREE this weekend.

Download at AMAZON


Shade One – Shades of a Dark Pink

Sweet Jesus, what happened?
One moment I was in front of the coffee shop, giggling like a school girl playing with my whipped topping; the next I was on the ground beside my car.
People stood in a circle above me. They stared down at me, not with compassion but with perplexity. I suppose I would do the same. Probably thinking, “Who is this big man in a pleasant yellow shirt lying there?”
            Had I fainted? It was rather hot, but heat never made me faint. Plus, fainting isn’t a very manly thing to do to in public. I reserved that for when I was with friends; even then, it was triggered by a nervous reaction or bad smell.
            But I didn’t recall any of those occurring.
            “Mister, are you okay?” a voice asked.
            Before I answered, before I said anything, I glanced downward to make sure I hadn’t wet myself or done anything else disgusting. That would be embarrassing. Had I done so, I’d close my eyes, be nonresponsive and wait for the paramedics. At least those who hovered would dismiss my bodily misgivings as part of a seizure.
            I inconspicuously peeked down … dry. I clenched my butt checks … nothing there.
            I was good. Possibly a bad pose on the concrete was all I had to contend with.
            “Look, he has sunburn on one side of his face,” someone said. “Wow. How long has he been here?”
            Gasp. No one had seen me fall? How long was I there? Not only was I on the ground but I was lopsided in color. How pathetic.
            Apparently, they were waiting for help, because not a single person offered me assistance.
            Don’t move the man in the yellow shirt, they probably shouted.
            “I’m fine.” I muttered. “I think.”
            “Stay put, don’t try to move,” I was instructed.
            Who said what, I didn’t know; I had more people gathered around me in my fallen state than I had at my last poetry recital. Perhaps with such an engaged audience, it was time to spew forth titles of my poetry books.
            “Fallen leaves. Paperback. 7.99. Amazon.”
            “Someone get him water! He’s speaking nonsense.”
            Great. I sighed and just rested back.
            Really, what did happen? Things were fuzzy on how I had even got to the car.
            I quite clearly remember sitting outside the coffee shop. I brought my own folding chair because their metal ones were not only uncomfortable but wrinkled my pants.
The whipped topping was delightful, I remember that. They made it special for me, adding a dash of mint for the cool tingling feel against my tongue. Perfect on top of my frozen latte. It dazzled my mouth, and I moaned out an ‘mmm’ as I engaged in conversation with my best friend, Cee.
Cee, of course, isn’t her real name. It’s Simone. When I first met her a decade before, I told her that there was absolutely no way I was calling her Simone. It just brought visions of a sloppy tribal woman eating half-raw chicken with her fingers. Grease dribbling everywhere.
Cee was a blessing at the time when I met her, simplistic and fun. The type of woman who always seemed to be in dire need of a makeover, even if she just had one. Mainly because she really didn’t care and let the new look quickly slip back into the plain Jane realm.
Perhaps that was why she didn’t get my pleasure over the whipped topping.
“It can’t be that good,” she said.
“Simply amazing,” I replied. “Would be wonderful on a penis.”
She choked and coughed out my name, “Felix.”
“No, I’m serious. Not a big penis, that would be too much. A small one, it would be like one of those tiny desserts that hit the spot.”
She didn’t reply, she only laughed.
“That’s right,” I told her, “you’re a Catholic girl, you don’t do those things. I used to be a Catholic girl, but they wouldn’t let me wear the skirt so I went to public school.
            That was when I saw him. He brushed into my chair, said excuse me, and kept walking. I don’t know what he looked like but the rear view of his body was divine. His clothes were expensive. I could tell those things; I had designer radar.
“Cee, look at him. He’s a dream,”
She shrugged, not very impressed. “You only see him from behind.”
            “And your point.”
            “Felix, eat your whipped cream.”

            And I did. I finished it all before taking a sip of my drink. But from that moment on, I remember nothing. Nothing until I opened my eyes on the dirty ground.

To read more ... Download your free copy - AMAZON

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