Lord of the Loins Prologue and Chapter 1

(DISCLAIMER: The following represents the unedited versions of the Prologue and Chapter 1. The publisher may make changes to the text...or they may not.)


The beauty of a continuing story is that it has the potential to go beyond the original tale and achieve entirely new heights. The reality of a continuing story, however, is that it can tend to suck and NOT in the good way. Highlander 2, Galactica 1980, Star Trek V, Jaws: The Revenge...hello??? And then there's me. I'm Andy, just a typical 19–year–old college student from Detroit, Michigan. What's so special about me? Not a thing. Well, nothing until I went to California six months ago during the summer of 1989 and had that whole cliched experience–that–changed–my–life thing and blah blah blah. I've heard it as often as you have, so I won't bore you with the whole sordid story down to the smallest detail. I'm not my mother. Well, maybe I'll tell you some of it just so we're on the same page.

Suffice to say that I met someone in California who I was convinced was the anti–Christ, only he obviously wasn't. He's my cousin and, unfortunately for me, attractive. Okay, hot. I do want to make the distinction that he's my cousin by marriage only. It was California, not one of those other, less progressive states. Anyway, Jordan – that's my cousin – pushed me to come to terms with a major issue in my life. Not only did he finally get me to admit that I'm gay – I am, I double–checked – but he was also my first, which is how I double–checked. Oh, come on! It's not like Jordan and I didn't use protection. I'm kidding. No, we did. We used protection. After all, safety comes first...then hopefully you both do, too. Sorry. Gay humor. Couldn't help myself.

Right, so, I'd rarely left Michigan before and, well, who'd want to? I'd miss the daily season changes, our luxurious family–sized potholes and our colorful state tree – the little orange construction cone. In–state jokes, sorry. Anyway, I left home, went to LA, experienced a little of the beach and nightclub life, and finally learned how to be comfortable just being myself. I also learned that a French Tickler isn't a masseuse who studied in Paris and that ribbed isn't always for her pleasure – very important information there. So, how exactly does one top an experience like that? If this was one of those early '80s family television shows, I'd be living happily ever after in some little Italian villa with Charo as my crazy neighbor or stepmother. It didn't happen like that, though.

To read the rest of the Prologue and Chapter 1, please download as a pdf here.