Wed Whine and Wine, with Lou Sylvre

Wow! I’m on Cup-o-Porn! It’s an outcome my 8^th grade English teacher, who was adamant that I should write, would never have imagined. And I’m thrilled! Thank you, Marie and Heidi!

Whine and Wine is the Wednesday theme here. I knew I couldn’t do both, so I chose the one I was most likely to have some luck with, “whine.” Mind you, except for these first few sentences, I’m not going to whine at all. I’m going to let my characters, Luki Vasquez and Sonny James, do the whining. You may or may not know, characters are an author’s bread and butter—and/or, the bane of an author’s existence. Luki and Sonny have been an especially sweet thorn in my side. To be honest, I’m not certain that I created them. They may have haunted my keyboard and caused themselves to be produced on my screen as I wrote. They’re that kind. The ones that do what you want them to in the story only if they’re in the mood.  And every time I think I know them, Luki and Sonny reveal another inconvenient fact.  It keeps things interesting, but it gets tricky every time someone asks me to describe them.

So I decided I won’t. I’d let them do the talking. I gave readers, other friends and passersby the opportunity to provide questions, and then, for a switch, I interviewed Luki and Sonny. It was about 9:00 AM and I found Sonny James emerging from the water of the straits, absolutely glowing from the sun on his wet brown skin, wearing nothing. (I like my job.)

These first questions from an anonymous reader:

Sonny, what would you be if you couldn’t be a weaver?

Geez, I don’t know. I am a weaver—been weaving since grade school. My old auntie, Melvern’s wife, wanted to teach me basket weaving in the Salish tradition. She wove beautiful baskets—some are around here in museums and such if you’re ever interested. But me… well, I had a talent for a smooth weave and I enjoyed working with the dyes, but baskets just wasn’t what I wanted to do. Then I saw these old French tapestries on a field trip to SAM—that’s Seattle Art Museum. They had pictures, and a multitude of colors, and some were heavy like rugs but some were rich like soft blankets, and some, the very best, had light. Brought it in through a stained glass window, or through the leaves in a forest and showed it falling on the subjects, light and shadow. That’s what I wanted to do, play with light and color. So I guess, if I suddenly couldn’t weave and I survived that loss, I’d be a watercolorist. Yeah, that’s it, pigments and light. It would work.

I found Luki seated on the drift log on the beach in front of Sonny’s place, ostensibly studying a catalogue of weapons and paraphernalia—cop-like things.  Really, though, he was clearly watching Sonny from behind his shades, and he wasn’t going to stop just because I was there asking him questions.

Luki, what would you be if you couldn’t be a badass security agent?

Why does everybody insist on calling me a badass.  I’m not a badass. I’m a freakin’ good ass, alright? I’m good and kind and I’m in love with Sonny which never should have happened in my badass world, but it did because I’m not a badass. Though, I can occasionally be a jackass. I always thought I’d make a good teacher.

Teacher?

(He tried to look angry here, but I think I hurt his feelings. He really is quite thin-skinned.)

Yeah,  teacher. What’s the problem?

What would you teach?

Like every teacher, I’d teach what I know. I’d teach people how to take care of their selves, believe in their selves, trust and respect their selves. And to take care of and respect others. I’d teach them martial arts. Tai chi, aikido, karate, whatever.

This question from Rhys:

Luki, can you dance? And, when will you take Sonny to a club and work out his moves?

(Luki laughs, almost, and barely smiles. I take that to mean he’s extremely amused by the question.)

I can’t dance, no. Or more accurately I never tried. I did go to clubs when I lived in Chicago, but that’s a whole different story and I’m not going to tell it here. Not my most prized memories, let’s just say. But you know what? I would like to take Sonny to a club. Not for dancing, but so we could be, well, a couple out for a good, easy time. That would be different. Maybe that would erase those other memories. Maybe we’ll do that.

Beatrice had a couple of questions:

What’s your favorite sexual position? (Sonny had walked up from the beach and joined Luki on the drift log. I directed the question to him, first.)

Shit, I don’t know! Kind of bold, aren’t you, Beatrice? Well, let me think. It’s not an easy question. There’s… (Sonny cleared his throat and began to turn a sort of mottled purple, which is apparently how he blushes.)  You know before Luki, I never really had a lot of… experience. Dark corners, mostly. So… when we make love it’s like he’s opening windows in my body and my mind.  Luki… helped me—for the first time ever—have an orgasm during anal sex—I mean when I was the one being penetrated. Oh, god, it was so sweet. But he had me laying kind of on my side and he was like, half under me, you know? And he’s strong enough he can hold my legs up and open. And it just makes me feel wide open for all kinds of touching.  I like that. Maybe it’s my favorite way. But, Ms. Beatrice, you better believe I am never providing you with that kind of personal information again. I’m just not like that.

Okay, Luki , favorite position?

None of your damn business, Beatrice. Besides I don’t have one. I like ‘em all and I’m damn good at every one of ‘em. I’ll tell you this, though, I like seeing Sonny’s face when he’s turned on, when he comes. I like watching him slick the precum off his own penis and lick it off his hand. I like watching Sonny, from any angle, at any moment when we make love. And I like the way he tastes, and smells, and feels under my tongue. Is that personal enough for you? Because I’m ready to move on from this line of questioning.

Well, Bea’s next question is for Sonny. Do you have any tips to help her, in her words, get her hair as pretty as yours?

Um, well, geez, I don’t—

Luki forcefully interrupted: I need a freakin’ cigarette! (He didn’t leave, though, so I was bewildered. I looked to Sonny for answers.)

He’s pissed because he’s vain about his hair, and I’m not vain about mine—I mean, basically a wash, run some crème rinse through so I can get a brush through it, since it’s so thick, and that’s it. But he spends lots of time and money getting his curls just perfect—and they are. They’re beautiful and I can never get enough of running my hands through them. They always smell good too, some kind of coconut stuff he uses. But look, see for yourself. (He leaned down so his hair fell over his shoulder where I could easily reach it.)  Feel. It’s thick, coarse, but not particularly soft or silky, right? Now feel Luki’s curls. (I was a little afraid, and as I approached, Luki looked none too happy about Sonny’s suggestion. But when I ask if I may, he gave a terse nod. When I touched it I know I looked surprised, and Sonny laughed.) See, it’s amazing isn’t it? Luki’s the most beautiful man on the planet—his hair’s only part of that.

Beatrice wants to know about your favorite foods, guys?

Fry bread! (Sonny)

Hamburgers. (Luki)

Donuts! (Sonny)

Meatloaf. (Luki)

Bananas! Snickers! Potato Chips! (Sonny)

Stir fry. Rice, Edamame. (Luki)

Eda-who? (Sonny)

They had me laughing, so I pushed ahead. This is the second part of Beatrice’s question: Have you two ever used food during sex?

(Both of them were very quiet for a long moment, then they looked at each other, then looked back at me. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable when they spoke up, almost simultaneously.)

Potato Chips? (Sonny)

Meatloaf? (Luki)

A few questions from Elizabeth:

Luki, do you have a real thing for Sonny’s hair? I know we talked bef—

The answer is yes. It’s beautiful. I get lost in it. When he walks outside it competes with the sun. Sonny’s a freaking god and I worship every inch. Except he has a crooked toe, did you know that?

Sonny, is it Luki’s guns and tough guy image that makes your heart beat faster for him?

How does a person put their finger on what makes someone else right for them? I mean, you just know it, don’t you? It’s just something you can’t deny. I love that Luki is hella strong, that he’s the ultimate protector, that he can keep me safe—and I love knowing that even when I don’t need safekeeping. I love it when he uses a fairly badass approach and takes control during sex—which is almost always, but never when I don’t want it that way. But I love what is gentle and kind and almost childlike inside him. He will never let you see that, you know, but he gives it to me. It’s part of what he offered, silently, when he entered my life. And I cherish it. But, on the other hand, yes. Watching him kick ass, shit even watching him clean his weapons, I could practically have an orgasm from ten feet away.

Who does the cooking?

We do. (Both)

Sonny cooks more often. (Luki)

Luki cooks better. (Sonny)

Sometimes we— (Sonny)

—cook together.  (Luki)

They both nodded to wrap that up.

This last question was asked by RM, and then seconded by Rhys:

Which one of you is bigger? (They looked confused.) I mean, in terms of sexual equipment, genitalia. How do you measure up? (Let me tell you, asking a guy like Luki Vasquez such a question feels very, very dangerous. During the long silence that followed, I was wishing I had taken the time to put my affairs in order. But finally he chuckled.)

Those are some truly bold and nosy people. Just so you know my opinion. But the answer is, Sonny. See how Sonny stands tall and strong? Well, his penis is the same. I’m not going to guess inches, but I’ve seen a lot of penises and while not freakish, Sonny’s is a very nice length, very nice altogether.”

Sonny? Do you have something to add? (He’s blotchy purple with embarrassment, again.

I, um—

(Luki spoke up, looking a little grim). Sonny, sweetie, you don’t have to talk. We can end this right here. And I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. You want me to tell the lady to leave?

Sonny looked very lovingly at his man, and the two of them came together for a crushing embrace, smashing lips and the whole thing.  I’m no fool. I could see my welcome had worn far too thin. I turned around and took a step as if to make my exit. Sonny spoke up, sounding perhaps winded, pressured even.

Luki’s is thicker!

I knew I shouldn’t turn back around but I just had to. I pivoted. My eyes widened, my mouth made the proverbial ‘O’ of surprise. There it was, Luki’s hard penis in all its thick, juicy glory, Sonny’s hand cradling and stroking with familiarity and love.

And, oh, he said. It has the sweetest, most delicious curve!

***

Lou Sylvre lives in the narrow strip of rainy land in the northwest corner of the USA. Her home gets some sunshine, but not enough to interfere with her writing, which she does in front of a big window that lets her look out at the rain whenever her cat is not in the way.  She loves romance (with all its ups and downs), and she loves writing it. The lovers on her pages are men. They end up loving each other, and it’s all pretty sexy. How cool is that?

 

Links:

http://www.sylvre.com – Lou’s WordPress blog

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4873260.Lou_Sylvre/blog – Lou’s Goodreads blog

http://www.facebook.com/#!/ – facebook

@sylvre on Twitter

Lou’s author page at Dreamspinner Press, where readers can also find links to the book Sonny and Luki star in: Loving Luki Vasquez. Coming up in January or February, their next adventure will also be available: Delsyn’s Blues.