London is hosting The Olympics this year – you may have heard. On Monday 2nd July the torch came through Northampton, the town where I live. Of course it was raining, I hate to perpetuate stereotypes, but it was. I went out anyway and stood in the rain and it was quite a feeling of joy as it ran by.
I am pants at sports but if procrastination was an Olympic sport I could get a gold medal in it. I can procrastinate for England. This is why it takes me over a year to write one puny novella.
Half of the problem is coming up with the ideas.
I am a hopeless romantic and Alfred Noyses poem The Highwayman has always got to me. It wasn’t until many years after reading it at school that I saw the possibilities in it. I could clearly see in my mind Jeffrey Dean Morgan as The Highwayman – big, rugged and that twinkle in his eyes. Makes me go weak at the knees. I gave Bess, the landlord’s daughter a sex change and she came out as twinky Ben, based on pale and fey Ben Whishaw, an actor who can never keep his clothing on for a role. I just put the two of them in a room together and watched the sparks fly.
Then I have to kick start myself into writing the darn thing. I have to stand over myself with a whip – which is something Gabriel from “Wolf in the Fold” would really enjoy. Honestly I LOVE to write but I would rather clean out the fridge than settle down and actually do some writing. I can always think of something else to do; tidy my desk; pet the cat; read a book.
I do have two other books in the works. Having done Werewolves and Highwaymen I have been working on a vampire story and to complete the set, yes, a mummy one. I am determined that “Into the Night” will be ready before the end of this year – after I have cleaned the bath; put the washing away etc….
Alfred Noyes (1880-1958)
THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Book Title: The Highwayman
Author: Angela Plowman
Genre: Historical GLBT
Word count: 21,649
Liquid Silver Press 9 July.
Blurb: Romance and adventure are things innocent Ben has only dared to dream about, but the night they come knocking on the door of his father’s inn, they come in the form of a handsome, sexy rogue who is soon showing Ben a thing or two about passion. But Ben’s secret visitor is not as secret as he thought, and danger is following on the stranger’s shiny leather boot heels, and Ben is soon in deeper than he ever dreamed. The moor holds a lot of secrets, but tonight it is going to be giving some of them up. The question is will either of them survive to see the dawn? Dominant dangerous men despoiling very willing innocents. M/M
Alfred Noyes’ much loved poem, The Highwayman, is brought to colorful life in this retelling with a twist.
Romance, historical, M/M, action/adventure, GLBT
If he had been appealing dressed in his finery, he was magnificent now unclothed. Ben took in the whole glorious sight.
Large bare feet were planted square on the floor, muscular legs which spoke of often being on horseback, chest broad and strong and covered with dark hair, arms again muscular and well defined with fists planted upon narrow hips—and the delights displayed… He had never seen another man’s cock before, but he saw one now and knew it would ruin him for all others. He feasted his eyes on the length. His mouth watered as he saw how large it hung, not quite flaccid, from a thick nest of dark curling hair, balls beneath heavy in their sac. He could have fallen to his knees on the spot.
As it was, he took a step backward, bumped into the table, and heard the water slosh in the jug behind him. He was quick to turn, but it righted itself without spilling much. Could he be nothing but clumsy in front of this man—if he were a mere man and not some enchanted being?
Not wanting to miss a moment of the view, he turned again to face the room and found the guest had taken the few steps forward, closing the distance between them. He was head and shoulders taller than Ben and almost twice as broad.
He had to look up to meet the eyes looking down at him, and he became unsettled yet again by the look in them. Hunger.
He gulped. Where before his stare had been transfixed lower, now he could not look away from those purple depths, which seemed fixed upon him, and it started a fire in his lower body. His gaze dropped as a tongue came out and licked the full lips.
“What have we here?” The voice was like velvet over gravel; it suited this vision of his ideal man to perfection.
“Ben, sir. Ben, the landlord’s son.”
“The landlord’s black-eyed son.”
Unable to tear his gaze away, he was still aware of movement below and knew the vision must have taken his own cock in hand, stroking it. Ben’s member pulsed with eagerness within his breaches.
“Were you wanting Bess, sir?” He knew such things happened. Bess was not averse to making a little extra coin on the side, and his father turned a blind eye so long as she did not make a habit of it. For all he knew she might not even charge. Bess was a lively lass with a love of life and all its pleasures, though Tom grumbled often enough that she would not look his way. The ostler thought Bess felt herself too grand for him, but it was probably more on account of Tom’s peaked face and moldy hay-like hair.
“Now why would I want Bess when such a delight is before me?” He reached out to take Ben’s chin in the palm of his hand and tilt his face upward. “You’ve lips red like a cherry and twice the loveliness of your Bess.”
He felt his face suffuse with heat. Was his accoster very drunk? But no, he smelled no liquor on the breath now wafting over his face. The hand cupping his chin was firm and steady with no shake of palsy or drunkenness. The fingers were callused and strong. He felt his knees begin to tremble and was sure they were about to give way. To his shame, he heard himself whimper. The warmth of his blush was quick to spread over his body, and it felt as though a fire had been lit within his flesh. He swayed a little on his feet. The hand moved from his chin to steady his shoulder, and he was guided to the side until he found himself sitting upon the double bed with the man beside him.
Eye contact was broken, and Ben felt a little more free. “I’m sorry sir, was there anything else you’d be wanting?” Oh, please, he thought, let him be wanting me! His member was stiff with wanting, he knew not what.
He felt rather than heard the rumbling chuckle from the big man as though a cat was on his lap enjoying a stroke, and he felt the vibrations of its purr. Though it would have to be a very large cat.
“Well now. How about a kiss from those cherry ripe lips to warm me in my cold and lonely bed?”
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