Blog Tour: Stranger in a Foreign Land by Michael Murphy

Michael Murphy is here today to talk about his new Dreamspun Desires release, Stranger in a Foreign Land. Find out more about this amnesia contemporary romance and read an excerpt below!

Stranger in a Foreign Land

By Michael Murphy

What would you do if one day you “woke up” to find yourself in a catastrophic car crash?  With no memory of how or why you got there, you’re crashing around unrestrained inside an old car as it is hit by several others and then careens off the road and down an embankment, rolling over and over along the way.

As flames lick at the broken body of the cab, your only concern would be to get out!  Get out now!  To hell with anything else, just get out before it explodes. American business traveler Patrick finds himself in this situation, but with one major problem:  he doesn’t know who he is, how he got there, or even where “there” is!

Tearing his clothes, his jacket with his wallet, leaving behind his briefcase with his passport and his cash, Patrick frantically wriggles out through what used to be the back end of the cab.  He might not know who he is, but he knows he has to get away before the fire spreads and it gets worse.

Barely a few hundred yards away from the burning vehicle, Patrick is knocked to the ground when the gas tank of the cab explodes, sending pieces of the vehicle into the air to rain down over the entire area.  Too close, Patrick does all he can think of doing – tucking and making as small a target as possible.  Scalding hot debris, some of it burning, rains down all around him.

When it’s safe, he’s back on his feet and running again, desperate to get away, to get far, far away. Exhausted, terrified, system overwhelmed with adrenaline, his primitive flight response takes over and he runs, regardless of his injuries or condition.  He runs, and runs, and runs until he can’t run anymore – and until he’s even more hopelessly lost than he was before.

Used up, he collapses and tries to pull himself together. Taking a quick inventory of himself and his surroundings, he realizes he doesn’t know who he is, where he is, or why he’s even there.  The road signs are illegible, it is beastly hot, and he could kill for a drink of cold water, or for something to take the pain away from the burns on his hands.

Feeling more fear than he could imagine ever feeling before, Patrick was a very lost man in a Stranger in a Foreign Land.

Blurb:

After an accident stole his memory, the only home former American businessman Patrick knows is Bangkok. He recovers under the tender ministrations of Jack, an Australian ex-pat who works nights at a pineapple cannery. Together they search for clues to Patrick’s identity, but without success, and soon that forgotten past seems less and less important as they build a new life together.

But the past comes crashing in when Patrick’s brother travels to Thailand looking for him… and demanding Patrick returns to Los Angeles, away from Jack and the only world familiar to him. The attention also causes trouble for Jack, and to make their way back to each other, Patrick will need to find not only himself, but Jack as well, before everything is lost….

Bio:

Originally from rural upstate New York, Michael Murphy grew up walking through fields of corn taller than most people, riding horses, and driving on dirt roads. For more than thirty years he has lived in Washington, DC where there aren’t many dirt roads or horses.

His biggest influences when growing up were his two grandmothers. Both were ferociously strong women who were widowed young while they still had children at home.  Neither remarried, but they picked up the shattered pieces of their lives and built new lives for themselves.  They taught him that the underdog could come out on top if he or she just tried. 

Those women loved to read and to tell stories, so it just always seemed a natural thing for him to want to do the same.  When he hit a major milestone birthday he realized that there were fewer years left in which to do things than there had already been. He made a bucket list, which had writing a book at the top of the list.  With his twentieth-third book now in the editorial production process, that dream has been realized and has been one of the high points of his life.

Visit his website at www.gayromancewriter.com to learn more about him and his writing.

Buy link: 

Dreamspinner Press

Excerpt:

Chapter 1—Welcome to Thailand

THE WHEELS of the fully loaded 747 jumbo jet slammed down onto the runway in Bangkok, as rough a landing as the flight had been. Despite the jarring touchdown, Patrick had a sense of overwhelming joy for the fact that this leg of his trip was nearly over. Perhaps it would be more appropriate to say he felt the anticipation of impending great joy, because otherwise he felt like day-old dog crap.

Every time Patrick made this flight, he told himself he would never again subject himself to the ordeal. Surely he would remember before agreeing to another such trip that flights that lasted more than twelve hours were killers. But every time, he forgot and agreed once again to make the long haul halfway around the world.

This time—with God as his witness—this time would be different, he told himself, as the plane that had moments before so gracefully glided through the air, now lumbered across the taxiway, swaying as it made its way slowly to the terminal.

This trip had included the added misery because he’d waited too late to book his ticket. His work in London had taken longer than originally budgeted, so he’d had to postpone his departure for Bangkok. When he’d finally been able to leave London, all the first-class and business-class seats for the flight from London to Bangkok were gone. Although he wanted to pay to sit up front with more room so he could work—maybe lie back and sleep for a while—he was relegated to the back of the bus with the rest of the passengers in coach. If he hadn’t been so pressed for time, he would have waited and taken another flight, one where he could have gotten a seat in first class. But he was due in a meeting first thing the next morning, so flexibility and time were two luxuries he did not have on this leg of the trip. He’d had to suck it up and deal with the situation, but that didn’t stop him from grumbling to himself.

When they had finally parked at the gate, he knew no matter how much he wanted to be off that airplane—and he really, really, really wanted to get off—it would only further the torture to even think about getting out of his seat just yet. Nothing was going to happen right away; no one was going to move anytime soon where he was seated near the back of the plane, so why bother even trying. Standing would only take him from his uncomfortable seat to stand uncomfortably in the overcrowded aisle, assuming he could even squeeze into it.

He had read the reports by the so-called experts on how a fully loaded 747 could be evacuated in something like ninety seconds. He wondered why those same experts didn’t make a report on how long it took to deplane a fully loaded 747 after a twelve-hour flight, when everyone had to get out of their seat, stretch their sore and aching muscles, find their carry-ons, hit someone by accident with luggage that was too large, then have to stop and hold up everyone else while they apologized, and finally make their way off the plane. Deplaning was not a speedy process, especially when one was seated way, way in the back as Patrick was on this flight.

As he waited, he was neither patient nor impatient. He was just sort of numb. When the hordes of humanity closest to him finally started to move, Patrick tried to remember how his legs worked. After collecting his briefcase from under the seat in front of him, he crawled out of his godforsaken middle seat at the back of the coach cabin, grabbed his one small carry-on bag, and then started to move with the herd off the plane.

When the air on the jet bridge touched his face, it felt like someone had thrown a hot, wet, smelly blanket over his head. Ah, yes, a cool day in Bangkok.

He knew that after drinking about a gallon of water, spending about an hour in the shower, followed by ten hours of sleep, then and only then would he start to feel like a real human being again. But he couldn’t let his mind go there just yet. No. There were too many hurdles to get through between where he was and those good feelings.

The walkway from the airplane into the terminal always reminded him of the chutes cattle were forced into on their way to the slaughterhouse. He didn’t know what had originally placed that image into his head, but once there, it would not leave. Now, every time he found himself walking through one of the things, that vision came rushing back to him uninvited.

Patrick had made his first trip to Thailand many years earlier, when flights came into an older airport in a different part of town. For the last several years, all flights arrived at the still relatively new airport. The only problem was the new airport had a lot more capacity, and more capacity brought more planes, which brought more people, which made for a bit of chaos at times getting out of the airport.

In addition to being a ridiculously long flight, this flight had been especially torturous because of bad weather. Huge storms somewhere over Belarus or Kazakhstan had woken up most of the people who had settled in to try to get some sleep. There was something about getting tossed around on a darkened plane in the middle of the night that was especially frightening, even for a road warrior like Patrick.

The flight had left London’s Heathrow Airport pretty much on time a few minutes after ten o’clock on Saturday night. Patrick had hoped to get some sleep, but the experience of filling the plane to capacity and then shaking it vigorously for roughly one-quarter of the distance did not lend itself to rest.

Their pilot had dutifully tried to find better conditions by detouring around the worst of the weather, but in the end, there was only so much he could do.

Patrick had not been able to get much sleep, so with nothing else to do, he had sat in his middle seat and watched the little airplane symbol on the map on the seatback in front of him as it slowly—ever so slowly—inched its way across Belarus, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, China, a sliver of Nepal, and finally, finally over Myanmar before they started their descent into Bangkok, Thailand, where they landed at about three thirty Sunday afternoon. With the time change of six hours and the flight time of twelve, it was only eighteen hours, but to Patrick and everyone else who crawled off the plane that hot, muggy afternoon, it felt like a lifetime had passed since they boarded.

For once, the lines at the various checkpoints were not too ridiculous. Still, Patrick unfailingly picked one of the slower lines, then inched his way through, showing his passport when required, turning in documents he’d completed aboard the plane, and answering questions asked of him.

When he finally had his suitcase in hand and had cleared every checkpoint, he strode through the terminal. The last hurdle was another line, this one for a cab to take him into the city to his hotel. At least inside the airport when he’d stood in line, it had been air-conditioned. But the cab line was outside in the lingering heat and overwhelming humidity of an afternoon in Thailand.

The line moved slowly, with there being more passengers than cabs, for some reason. He didn’t know if it was the convergence of multiple jumbo jets arriving at the same time, but the cab line was interminable. Patrick was exhausted, and the longer he waited, the more he sweat and the more uncomfortable he became. Finally the line moved, and it was his turn.

After the driver had stashed his suitcase in the trunk of the cab, Patrick crawled into the back seat of the small Thai car and closed his eyes for a few minutes. He tried picturing the welcoming grand lobby of his hotel, a place he’d stayed many times and knew rather well. Without intending to do so, he drifted to sleep for a few minutes.

He opened his eyes blearily and looked around. Was he at his hotel already? No. But something had woken him. What the hell was it? Ah. He saw now that his cabdriver was trying to hand him something. Hadn’t he seen Patrick sleeping? Tipping didn’t mean the same thing in Thailand, so Patrick wouldn’t be able to undertip to express his dissatisfaction.

When he had roused himself enough to figure out who he was and where he was, Patrick instinctively reached out and took what the driver was trying to shove his way. One glance, though, told him all he needed to know. The driver was attempting to persuade him to rent a prostitute from him. Patrick didn’t know if the woman was supposed to be the driver’s wife or sister or mother or some random stranger. He didn’t care. He didn’t go for women and certainly wouldn’t willingly sleep with some stranger a cabdriver in a foreign land was pushing on him.

The driver was half turned around, smiling at Patrick. He seemed extraordinarily eager for Patrick to look at the photos, as if looking at them would change his mind. His English was horrible, but Patrick knew what the guy was doing and didn’t want to play that game. He shook his head and shoved the plastic-covered photos back to the man. The driver smiled more and gestured for Patrick to look some more. Patrick caught something about “good deal.” When the guy wouldn’t take the pictures back, Patrick simply dropped them onto the front seat beside the driver.

Thai people can be very gentle, quiet people, but this driver was neither. He wanted to make a sale and was not pleased Patrick wasn’t interested. He was turning back toward Patrick to say something. Patrick was looking at him, dreading the idea of a dispute with a non-English-speaking cabdriver in a foreign country.

But neither of them needed to worry, at least about that. While the driver had been distracted trying to convince Patrick of the great deal he had for him, their car had veered slightly across the lines separating the two lanes of traffic. Before a single word of argument could be uttered, a truck slammed into the front of the driver’s side of the cab with a vicious force, not only stopping their forward momentum but also snapping the car hard as they spun out of control. It all happened so fast the collision pushed the car into the path of another vehicle, which smashed into the front end of the other side of the cab, whipping them around.

Another truck smashed into the second car, which crushed some more of the cab. The third collision somehow loosened the cab from the other vehicles, and it slid sideways over the edge of the road and down a concrete embankment. The angle of descent was enough that the cab started to roll and did three complete rotations before coming to rest upside down in a crumpled heap of twisted metal and plastic.

It was irrelevant to the driver—he’d died almost instantly when the first truck hit the vehicle. But it was very much relevant for Patrick in the back seat, or more properly what was left of the back seat, which now sat where part of the trunk had once rested. Most of the trunk had been sheared off at one stage or another of the various encounters with other vehicles.

No one could come through a massive traumatic crash like that one and walk away without a scratch. Patrick was indeed scratched and scraped, bumped and bruised, and even burned in one place. He’d been thrown around the inside of the cab from one side to the other and back again before the small car had taken its final roll down the embankment. He barely realized it, but his left shoulder was injured and would soon hurt like crazy.

During their crash, Patrick’s head had banged hard into the window, or something else in the car. Even though the cab was no longer moving, he was having a miserable time trying to stop the world from spinning.

Any fatigue Patrick had felt was automatically erased by the adrenaline flooding his bloodstream. As that rush of hormones subsided a bit, Patrick felt an overwhelming urge to simply lie back now that his world had stopped flipping end over end. Blood dripped over one eye from a horrible cut on his forehead. He felt woozy and just wanted to be still for a moment. Whether he was conscious or not didn’t matter; he just wanted his world to stabilize.

But he wasn’t given that choice. A spark from somewhere ignited the gasoline leaking from the car. Patrick was close enough to both the gas and the fire that his primitive fight-or-flight instinct kicked in. He knew without thinking that fire meant danger and he had to get the hell out of there. His bleeding forehead and the dizziness made it difficult for him to see straight, but he managed to feel his way to an opening of some sort. He didn’t know exactly what, nor did it really matter.

As he pulled himself through the opening in the twisted carcass of the vehicle, one leg of his suit pants caught on a jagged piece of metal and tore half of that piece of cloth away. His jacket fared no better. He caught the left sleeve on another piece of metal and left it behind as he struggled to get free. He smelled the smoke and felt the heat of the flames, so he knew getting out, getting away, was all that mattered if he wanted to live for more than the next sixty seconds.

Before Patrick departed from home, first for London and then for Bangkok, he had purchased sufficient British pounds for the first part of his trip and Thai baht for the second. But all his currency was either in the inside pocket of his jacket, in his wallet (which was in his briefcase, which was still inside the cab), or in the pocket of his pants—the pants that had been torn as he crawled from the cab. But none of that mattered to Patrick at the moment. In fact, none of those thoughts were anywhere near the front of his mind. First and foremost was the basic instinct to survive.

When he pulled himself clear of the crumpled cab, he stayed down and just kept scrambling, intent on putting distance between himself and the mangled wreck.

He hadn’t gotten ten feet before a massive explosion ripped through the air. Patrick instinctively threw himself flat onto the concrete, assuming it was his cab that had just blown up. It took him nearly thirty seconds to realize the explosion had come from somewhere else. Looking around he saw his cab still burning and still too close, so he got back onto his hands and knees and kept crawling away.

After he had covered about fifty feet, he ran out of space to move because the concrete platform ended and he could see the river below. But that didn’t matter because Patrick’s attention was ripped away by the sound of his cab exploding. The combination of fire and gasoline had produced the cataclysmic reaction he’d instinctively feared.

When the first explosion had happened, Patrick had dropped to the ground. He didn’t get a choice on this one—the force of the blast knocked him down.

Patrick rolled over onto his back as the fireball of flames engulfed the cab. Pieces of the vehicle blown away by the explosion started to rain down. Instinctively he rolled to his side and attempted to curl into a fetal position so he could shield his body the best he could from the pieces of hot or burning metal and plastic. The blast of heat from the explosion threatened to push him over the edge and into the river below.

Once the initial roar of the flames died back, Patrick knew he had to get the hell out of there. The heat of the flames was licking at him. He had to put some distance between the burning cab and himself.

With the river to one side, flames from the road on the other, and his own burning cab behind him, he fled the only way left open to him. He simply focused on moving away from the heat of the fire. It took some work, but he managed to stand up and walk and to eventually climb out of the concrete valley he was in. He walked a fair distance before he found a spot with a less steep incline that allowed him to climb up, and eventually he made it up to road level.

When he got to the road level, he looked left and then right, but nothing seemed familiar. He didn’t know where he was or which way he should go.

At the very moment Patrick came closest to flat-out screaming panic, he realized not only did he not know where he was, but he also did not know who he was. He was no longer Patrick. He was a stranger in a very foreign land, a man with absolutely no clue about anything.

Review: Stranger in a Foreign Land by Michael Murphy

After an accident stole his memory, the only home American businessman Patrick knows is Bangkok. He recovers under the tender ministrations of Jack, an Australian ex-pat who works nights at a pineapple cannery. Together they search for clues to Patrick’s identity, but without success. Soon that forgotten past seems less and less important as Jack and Patrick—now known as Buddy—build a new life together.

But the past comes crashing in when Patrick’s brother travels to Thailand looking for him… and demands Patrick return to Los Angeles, away from Jack and the only world familiar to him. The attention also causes trouble for Jack, and to make their way back to each other, Patrick will need to find not only himself, but Jack as well, before everything is lost…

DNF @ 42%

I love reading and it takes a lot for me to give up on a book but I couldn’t keep reading with this.

I adore a good amnesia story and the chance to rediscover yourself along with becoming someone totally new because you have no memory of who you were. There is a romanticism about amnesia and I am one who loves the trope but sadly it was used here in the weirdest way.

I couldn’t connect with the writing from the first page. It’s very wooden, pedestrian and to be honest, boring. So many details given and so many things told that I was never given a chance to feel anything for Patrick or even as “the man” when he loses his memory after the car accident. I was confused when Jack shows up because there was no indication of a dual POV until we suddenly hop into Jack’s head and see “the man” through his eyes. The head hopping is a constant and it kept taking me out of the story.

Patrick, aka “the man”, aka Buddy goes from being almost childlike with his amnesia to acting like he doesn’t have it at all with his knowledge. I am no amnesia expert but again this boomerang effect of his personality jarred me so much I couldn’t focus on what was going on even when what was going on was odd.

When Jack starts to perv out on this childlike man with no memory I had to take a moment and while I am no prude, it seemed almost predatory the way Jack basically stalked Buddy and then takes him home. I get people being overly kind and wanting to help but Jack could have given Buddy some clothes rather than let him hang out in a towel all afternoon and then naked and have thoughts about going down on the dude as he washed days of filth and dried blood of his body.
I don’t know. I decided to stop when things became physical and Buddy suddenly runs off to get oil from the kitchen to use as lube. Again, I don’t declare myself to be an amnesia expert but Buddy went from not knowing how to slice pineapple to knowing that peanut oil can be used as lube because he wanted to be fucked.

Um… *scratches head*

This ginger loves the Dreamspun line likes it’s my job, but this story doesn’t fit it at all.

No fluff.

Only frustration.

Review: A More Perfect Union Anthology by Various Authors

On June 26, 2015, the Supreme Court of the United States made a monumental decision, and at long last, marriage equality became the law of the land. That ruling made history, and now gay and lesbian Americans will grow up in a country where they will never be denied the right to marry the person they love.

But what about the gay men who waited and wondered all of their lives if the day would ever come when they could stand beside the person they love and say, “I do?”

Here, four accomplished authors—married gay men—offer their take on that question as they explore same-sex relationships, love, and matrimony. Men who thought legal marriage was a right they would never have. Men who, unbelievably, now stand legally joined with the men they love. With this book, they share the magic and excitement of dreams that came true—in tales of fantasy and romance with a dose of their personal experiences in the mix.

To commemorate the anniversary of full marriage equality in the US, this anthology celebrates the idea of marriage itself, and the universal truth of it that applies to us all, gay or straight.

Average!

Flames by J. Scott Coatsworth


2.5 Hearts


This is difficult. I liked the overall plot of the story, but I didn’t like the execution. I think this is a case of ‘it’s me, not you’ and it has mostly to do with the action that occurred inside Giovanni’s head while he was in the coma. I’m not sure what it was that bothered me, but it’s possible it has a lot to do with the length of time, the scenes, and the message that was conveyed through these coma-dreams. It didn’t work for me. I would put it down to my own personal beliefs.


The scenes where it was about Alex and Gio’s mother, these I felt worked well. Alex’s reflection of his attitude toward marriage, and how he interacted with Gio’s mother was really interesting to me. I liked that Alex really worked through why he felt the way he did, that he challenged his own views, and that of his partner’s mother. Medical emergencies really do bring out the best and worst in people. This is something that scares me the most about bigotry and family. The concept that they make all these decisions based around their own personal beliefs when it may not be what their injured family member would want, is terrifying. This was conveyed very well in this story, and I felt both Alex’s and Gio’s fear surrounding that. This was the strongest part of the story and was written very well.


The plot was focused, and if it wasn’t for my own personal issues around the coma-dreams, this would have been a solid read for me. The writing style was pleasing and the character development was good. I would say give it a try. I think the content is important, and it was communicated very well.

Jeordi and Tom by Michael Murphy


2.5 Hearts


This story was okay for me until the couple set out to get married. Then it sort of fell down.


Jeordi and Tom were sweet together. I liked the setup of the plot. I thought the direction and the message was strong. Especially the uncertainty that comes with not having legal protection when your partner gets injured. This is something that is taken for granted in so much of society, and as I expressed in the previous story review, is one of the most terrifying aspects of bigotry to me. This truly is what tears my heart out, and makes me really fearful for those whose relationship is questioned by people who have an agenda.


Once Jeordi gets out of hospital, this is where I struggled with the story. The rush to get married without a plan, the melodrama of the language used when they were having issues, the ridiculous flight to another state to get married, this wasn’t well plotted out, and I found it a bit off putting. It wasn’t the urgency with which the union needed to happen, but the writing of it that was the problem. The plot wasn’t tight enough, it felt like the writing was as rushed as the intent to get married. As this was an ARC it’s possible this problem was fixed in the final drafting of the published version. But for me, this wasn’t a winner in it’s current form.

Destined by Jamie Fessenden


4 Hearts


This story was a nice ride. I enjoyed getting to know Jay and Wallace in their own elements before they became a couple. The timeline was really well paced, and both got enough time for the reader to get to know them really well before they came together. This spans over a number of years, but doesn’t drag. The writing style ensured there was nothing boring about this story. It travelled along nicely.


This was a heartwarming story, with the slowly developing commitment Jay and Wallace made to each other over the years. They made a life that worked really well, and adapted when it was time for more. Wallace is an introvert and he still put himself out there for Jay. Jay showed appreciation for this and support Wallace in any way he could. A beautiful loving couple.


Without adding anymore spoilers, I’d say this was a very magical story. I enjoyed the way these two men met, connected, and grew together. I enjoyed the journey, and the outcome. I wished nothing but a beautiful and happy life for these two.

Someday by B.G. Thomas


5 Hearts


I’m such a sucker for high school sweethearts. There’s just something especially sweet and beautiful about growing with someone through those awkward angsty years, and surviving with a relationship into adulthood. It’s the sweetest victory to learn to love unconditionally and to still hold onto each other after the angst and development is complete. To me it’s the ultimate in romance. Gah, I’m a mushy mess right now.


Lucas and Dalton are so beautiful together. Even when they were just friends there was something hopeful and intimate in the way they were together. This was an emotional journey, and a deeply felt one. Told from Lucas’ point of view, he loves Dalton unconditionally and even when he is trying to get through high school while Dalton has girlfriends, his jealousy isn’t a wild vicious thing. It is a deep ache of longing, and he never gets spiteful or hateful. He just longs for things to be different.

The entire story is one of development, choices, maturity, and dreams for the future, while enjoying what is there now. The timeline worked really well in this story, and I enjoyed the way each stage was plotted out. I read this straight through. I had big grand plans to clean my house on my day off, and instead I spent the morning with Lucas and Dalton. Cleaning be damned, these two stole my heart, and I don’t regret a minute of it.


A beautiful coming of age story, with a tight writing style that wasted no words, and everything included was an important moment for the plot development.


I loved this. This is the sort of love I wish for everyone. It was mesmerizing, infectious, and heart melting. Perfect. This is definitely one of those stories that will cling to me for days; make me sigh in memory of the preciousness that is the love between these two people.

A copy provided for an honest review.

Buy Links – A More Perfect Union


Dreamspinner eBook: https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/books/a-more-perfect-union-7149-b

Dreamspinner paperback: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=7855


Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/More-Perfect-Union-B-G-Thomas-ebook/dp/B01GMDKIQ4


Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1123882859?ean=2940158105135


Apple/iTunes: https://geo.itunes.apple.com/us/book/a-more-perfect-union/id1121832226?mt=11&at=1l3vtqV


Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/a-more-perfect-union-10


All Romance eBooks: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-amoreperfectunion-2053791-166.html


Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/30304246-a-more-perfect-union

Author Visit: Coin of the Realm by Michael Murphy

We're happy to welcome Michael Murphy to the clubhouse today to talk about his newest, Coin of the Realm!

Guest Post:

Timothy moved to Washington, DC to go to graduate school, and he does quite well. The end is in sight, but unfortunately so is his money. Even though he works several minimum wage campus jobs, Timothy is unable to keep up with expenses. When he gets a lead on a modeling gig, he follows up and is immediately hired, which is great until he learns he has to pose nude. But desperate times call for desperate measures and Timothy sucks it up and shucks his clothes. He’s making some good money until an instructor in one art class gets a little more familiar with him than he likes.  And just like that, his lucrative posing career crashes and burns.

Still needing money, and now with even less time to earn that money before his rent is next due, Timothy tries working as a male stripper.  But if he’d been uncomfortable posing for art students, taking off his clothes on a stage in front of horny strangers is even less appealing. But he tries it and is totally underwhelmed with the tips he earns.  Since tips are his entire income as a dancer, his stripper career starts and ends the same night.  

With only one idea remaining, Timothy creates an online ad and starts working as a male escort. Much to his surprise, this is easier than he had anticipated and he finds he is quite popular and booked every evening. One of his first callers is a man with strange requirements – Timothy cannot see him or know who he is. To drive the point home, Timothy is asked to sign a non-disclosure form in which he swears to never speak of anything he sees or hears while there. 

But Timothy is apparently smarter than some of the other escorts his mystery client had seen before because he has no problem figuring out who he is with. And wow! He had no clue – none – that the man he was with was even gay. But Timothy now had fairly definitive firsthand evidence that the man was gay. On subsequent calls, when it becomes clear Timothy has figured out the game, the two men develop a bond that neither anticipated. But they find their connection growing stronger with every time they get together.

But not everyone shares their happiness. Timothy’s feelings of hopefulness and happiness are smashed when out of the blue he is abducted off the street on his walk home from school one night. Thrown roughly into a car with a hood over his head, Timothy is terrified.  Is this the night he is going to die?  He didn’t want to die.  He finally had too much going his way and was looking forward to the years ahead.  

Blurb:

Timothy Mitchell worked his way from humble beginnings to graduate school in Washington, DC.  The end is in sight — but so are his funds.  Determined not to let his dream slip through his fingers, Timothy goes from part-time jobs, to modeling for art classes, to stripping, and finally to working as an escort to pay his tuition.

The nation’s capital is full of powerful men and secrets, which Timothy learns firsthand when he takes on a client who demands absolute anonymity.  Even though Timothy realizes he’s sleeping with one of the most influential men in the world, he must keep up the façade.  Despite that, their association moves from sex to love.

But power and secrets also mean danger.  When Timothy is violently abducted off the street, all because of what — and who — he knows, his lover must make a decision: risk his power and position or lose the man he loves.

Buy Link:  https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/books/coin-of-the-realm-by-michael-murphy-7358-b

Website:  http://www.gayromancewriter.com

Excerpt:

Chapter 1

“EVERYBODY WANTS to know somebody,” Professor Myerson said enthusiastically as he stood before the graduate students in his political science theory class. “And I don’t mean just anybody. I mean somebody. Everyone wants to know someone who can make things happen.”

One of the things Timothy loved about this class was how into it Professor Myerson got, how passionate about the subject he was. The man’s enthusiasm was infectious as he practically leaped with joy over the topic of the day. He was like an evangelist, only rather than selling religion, he sold knowledge of how things worked behind the scenes.

“Think how great it would be to pick up the phone when there is some problem and say, ‘Hey, Joe. You need to know about what’s going on over here. We need your help to fix it.’ Wouldn’t that be awesome if you could do that and have your problems go away?

“And I don’t care what level of society we’re talking about. It could be something like being buddies with the factory foreman who is in charge of scheduling and can get you preferential treatment when you need time off. It could be a store manager who can extend a sale by a day just for you because you couldn’t make it in before the sale ended. It could be the mayor of a town or village or city who can cut through red tape and do something as simple as getting a pothole fixed.

“It doesn’t matter what part of society you occupy; everyone wants to know somebody with power who can get things done. And people who know somebody have power by association. The higher up the food chain you go, the greater that power by association becomes. And here in Washington, DC, we get to see this play out every day. For those of us geeks who watch such things, we can see people who use their connections to get in to see a member of Congress about some pet issue. We study the visitor logs to the White House and see who comes and goes. The simple truth is that if you’ve got connections to someone powerful, you have a potential leg up on everyone else. Proximity to those in power has always been the coin of the realm.”

Timothy quickly typed notes as his professor talked.

“The odds are that someone here in this room right now has what I’m talking about. Someone in here probably knows someone with some power to get something done.” When he paused, everyone, Timothy included, looked up and glanced around the room, checking the faces of their classmates, people they knew somewhat.

“Don’t look at me,” Timothy said. “I don’t know anybody.”

His self-deprecating remark earned some laughter and allowed Professor Myerson to move the lecture along.

“Those who can flip through their smartphones to the number of someone in the President’s administration have others who want to be close to them—power by association. The depth and breadth of one’s contact list can sometimes guarantee jobs, since those people are presumed to have enhanced value.”

AS A student of political science and of human nature—coupled with his year and a half in Washington—Timothy had some insight into how things worked in the nation’s capital. As a political junkie, he could not have been happier living in DC, because every day in the city seemed to feature some element of political intrigue, sometimes small but sometimes quite large. His position gave him a front-row seat to it all.

But Timothy did not appreciate another aspect of life in Washington. The city was an expensive place to live.

While he’d known the inevitable was coming, when it happened, it hit him hard. He had ignored the obvious for as long as he could, but DC was expensive, and Timothy hadn’t saved enough money. He had exhausted what he had and was faced with a dilemma.

“Tim, I need your rent check,” Jeremy, his roommate, called to him that evening from their apartment kitchen.

“Um, is it that time again already?” he asked, even though he knew the time precisely. He also knew Jeremy had given him an extra day because he understood Timothy was flat broke.

“Yes. I need to drop off the rent checks in the morning. So, fair warning. I need yours when I leave.”

“Um, okay.” Timothy scurried into his room. He rifled through every drawer, book, pants pocket, jacket pocket, and every part of the room for any money he could find. He was forever tossing change onto his desk or leaving it in his pockets. He just prayed that now, when he needed it, he would find enough.

His small pile of cash started to grow over the hour it took him to thoroughly sweep his room. His final hiding place was his backpack that never left his side. He had to go through every single compartment—and there were a lot of them. Using the blanket on his bed as a sack, he carried the money into the dining room and started to count it. It took another twenty minutes, but he was so fucking proud when he had exactly what he needed.

“Will they take cash for the rent?” Timothy asked, which earned him a look from Jeremy. Usually he could read Jeremy, but at that moment, not so much. It only took a moment for Jeremy’s look to morph into one he could read—disbelief.

“Dude, are you that poor? Do I need to start looking for a new roommate?”

“Please! No! I’ll earn more money this month and be ready for the next payment,” he promised, even though he didn’t have a freaking clue how to make that happen.

“Tim, there are pennies here! Were you digging through every pocket to come up with the rent money? Huh?”

When Timothy didn’t answer, Jeremy said, “Oh. My. God! That’s what you’ve been doing. Dude! I didn’t know things were this bad for you. Does this leave you—”

“Broke,” Timothy supplied. “Flat broke.”

“What about food?” Jeremy asked.

“Eating is overrated,” Timothy said, wishing desperately that was true.

The simple fact was that his campus job and his other job didn’t pay him enough to survive. He could either pay his rent or eat, but he couldn’t do both. And God forbid anything unexpected should come up. If it did, he was just plain screwed.

That night as he lay in bed, his mind refusing to shut down so he could sleep, Timothy flashed back on something his mother had said to him before he’d left home.

“I don’t got no money to give you, baby. But I done give you good looks, a strong back, and a sharp mind. You got to use them and take it from there.”

At the time, he hadn’t known what to make of that remark, but now, lying in the dark of his bedroom, he had a thought. Was there something he could do with his good looks, which people were always complimenting him on, and his strong, tight body?

Whatever he did for work had to fit around his classes and his research. School was his first priority. He would not sacrifice his studies to make money, no matter how much he needed it. And that seriously limited the options open to him, not that there were that many to begin with.

That evening, Timothy remembered a friend’s comment from a month earlier. She’d said, “Honey, with your hot face and body, you’d be a natural to model for my art professor and his classes. They’re always looking for guys.” At the time, he’d laughed at the idea and changed the subject.

A few hours later, when the sun was up and it was a reasonable hour to contact her, he pulled out his phone and hesitantly got the name and contact information for her professor. Another call had him scheduled to meet the man in twenty minutes. It looked as though his friend was right—they were desperate for models.

THE BUILDING where Timothy was to meet the professor was one he passed every day on his way to class. While he knew the outside, he’d never actually set foot inside. Finding the room he needed, though, was not difficult. The door was open, revealing a large space with lots of windows, all with the blinds mostly drawn shut. A small, raised platform stood as the centerpiece, surrounded by a dozen easels with canvases.

He knocked hesitantly.

“Timothy?” someone said from his left, and with his nerves on edge, Timothy jumped.

“Yes,” he said, his voice slightly higher than usual. He cleared his throat and tried to get better control of his nerves. “Yes, I’m Timothy.” He confidently stepped forward and extended his hand to the man who’d spoken.

“Thank you for calling, and thank you for coming in so quickly. I’m Professor Isaacs, and I’m delighted that Rebecca mentioned posing as an option for you.” He walked all around Timothy, checking him out from all angles. “From what I can see, I have to agree. You’ve got precisely what my students want with that jet-black hair, your chiseled jaw, and your runway-model good looks. They are going to positively drool over you.”

“Um, okay,” Timothy said. “Can you tell me what’s involved? And what does this pay?”

“Pay is simple. We pay you fifty dollars an hour, cash at the end of each class. The fees for the model are paid by the students separate from their tuition for the class. So if you pose for two hours, you leave with one hundred dollars.”

Finally, something to put a smile on his face.

“Oh, and dimples too,” Isaacs cooed. “They are going to adore you.”

“So, two hours you said?”

“Yes. Provided it works out well, we’d need you for two hours twice a week.”

“So that’s two hundred dollars?” Timothy asked to make sure he understood.

“That’s correct.”

“And all I do is stand up there?” he said, gesturing toward the platform.

“Yes, that’s it. You come in, take off your clothes, and we position you in a series of poses.”

“Wait,” Timothy said sharply. “Take off my clothes?”

“Yes, this is a drawing class. The students draw nude models to learn the human anatomy.”

Timothy’s face burned with embarrassment.

“Is something wrong?” Isaacs asked. “You did know this was a nude modeling gig, didn’t you?”

“No. I didn’t.”

“Well, it is. And assuming you work out well, which I’m sure you will, I can spread the word to my colleagues in the department, and you will easily be picking up some other modeling gigs for other classes. We have a very large program with a record number of classes this semester, so we desperately need models.”

Timothy stood silently, stoically, for a moment, thinking. One hundred dollars for standing around for two hours sounded great. No other job he’d heard of paid anything remotely close to that. And he was desperate. But the thought of standing nude in front of a room full of people freaked him out.

“Um, I need to think about it,” he said.

“You do that.” Isaacs handed him a business card. “But I hope you will do it. We need you, and I’m guessing you need the money.”

“Um, yeah, I do.”

“How much do you need?” Isaacs asked.

When Timothy told him the amount of his rent, Isaacs didn’t bat an eye.

“If you have what it takes and you work out, I think we could guarantee you earning that much each month.”

“All in cash,” Timothy said, salivating at the thought. “Okay.”

“You’ll do it?”

“Um, uh, yeah, I guess, when you put it like that.”

“Excellent.” The little man beamed at him. “Come,” he ordered, walking toward his desk. He pulled a single sheet from a file in his desk drawer, handed it to Timothy, and gestured to a chair. “This is our standard model release form that outlines what you are agreeing to do and how much you will be paid. I’ve found it useful to put everything in writing so neither of us are surprised by anything.”

“Good,” Timothy said, quickly reading through the solid page of small print, text clearly written by a lawyer.

After reading the document, Timothy picked up the click pen Isaacs had laid out for him. But rather than sign, he chewed on his lip, furrowed his brow, and clicked the pen, nearly incessantly for a full minute. He wasn’t aware of doing it until Isaacs put his hand on Timothy’s and said, “Please, stop. That is… grating.”

“What?” Timothy asked, completely oblivious. Automatically he apologized and put down the pen.

His hand was suddenly wet with sweat, as was his brow, and just about everywhere on his body. Remembering the previous night and the desperation of going through every nook and cranny of his room for money, Timothy wiped his wet hand on his pants, grabbed the pen, and signed his name. He added the rest of the requested information and provided his ID for age verification.

“Excellent.” Isaacs grabbed a blank piece of paper and started writing out dates and times. “These are when we will need you.”

The times did not conflict with any of his classes; most of them appeared to be afternoon sessions. The first one listed was that afternoon at two o’clock.

Pointing at the paper, Timothy said, “Today?”

“Yes. I recommend you dive in and get your first experience under your belt.”

“Except I won’t be wearing a belt, will I?”

“No, it’s just a figure of speech. Nonetheless, the sentiment is the same. Get your first experience out of the way quickly and see how easy the work is.”

“All right. I’ll be back here at two,” Timothy said.

“Actually, come fifteen minutes early at one forty-five so you can get changed and get ready to pose. The class begins at two, and I like to have everything set to go when the students are ready.”

“All right, I’ll be here.” As he walked out, Timothy muttered to himself, “I must be freaking insane.”

It didn’t matter that he had no money for food that day. His stomach was so twisted into such knots that he couldn’t have handled food even if that had been an option.

At one forty-five precisely, Timothy knocked on the classroom door. Professor Isaacs directed Timothy to a small adjacent room, more of an office than anything else, and instructed him to undress and slip on a small, cheap, cotton robe that barely covered anything.

Timothy forced himself to quickly pull on the robe and cinch it tightly about his waist.

“I can do this,” he said softly to himself as he paced the small space. “I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. Mama gave me a great body, and it’s time to use it to make some money. I can do this.”

By the time two o’clock rolled around, Timothy almost believed it. But it only took one step into the room for him to nearly freak out. There were so many faces, so many people, so many women! God, he didn’t know if he could get naked in front of women. Guys, sure, no problem. But women? Why hadn’t he thought about that?

Sweating profusely, he stopped in his tracks.

“Timothy,” Isaacs said softly, “it’s time.” He gestured to the platform.

Timothy forced his feet to move again and ascended the steps to stand on the raised platform in front of the assembled students. He barely focused on the reactions of the students around the room as two or three mouths dropped open and a couple of students smiled appreciatively at his handsome appearance—at least as much of it as they had seen.

Isaacs was explaining something about what the students were supposed to do or focus on, but Timothy was too freaked to hear anything but noise until the professor stood beside him. “Timothy, it’s time.”

“Huh?”

“Lose the robe. I’ll get you posed for the first segment.”

And much to his surprise, Timothy did it. He put his freak-out aside, and with his back to the students, he shed the robe and then reclined on the posing couch Isaacs had set up for him. They started with him looking at something on the wall, not at the students. One of his hands was resting above his head and one of his legs was raised, effectively blocking anyone from seeing his tender bits.

“I can do this,” Timothy said softly to himself.

It shocked him, but he did it. Even when Isaacs had him turn onto his side, facing the students, his flaccid penis flopping into view and his loose balls not far behind, he was directed to close his eyes and act as though he was asleep. He did it. He did not look at the students, and very nearly fell asleep.

At the end of the session, Timothy quickly slipped the robe back on and wanted to make a fast exit to get dressed again. He was surprised, though, when a number of students wanted to talk with him. Both men and women complimented him on his face and his physique, and one of the guys even asked about his exercise routine.

Timothy was surprised by the gushing praise. He could do this.

And for the remainder of that month Timothy did it, and he earned the money he needed to pay his rent on time. He even had enough to eat occasionally.

Author Bio:

Who am I? I really wish I knew the answer to this question. One of these days I need to decide what I want to be when I grow up.

I am a middle-aged man, born in the far reaches of upstate New York – parts that give the word "rural" meaning. I used to walk the fields, ride in trucks full of hay, ride horses, and drive on dirt roads.  Now I live in Washington, DC where there are no hay trucks and no dirt roads, but I do see the occasional horse.

Recently, when I came upon one of those frightening milestone birthdays (and no, I'm not telling you which one), I realized something that scared the crap out of me: there were more years behind me than there were in front of me. My mortality hit me that day like someone dropping a load of bricks on me.

With my realization, I constructed a bucket list of things I absolutely had to do in the years (hopefully many) that I have left. Writing a book was one of them and was near the top.

My biggest influences when growing up were my two grandmothers. Both were ferociously strong women who were widowed way too young and had to pick up the shattered pieces of their lives and try to put them back together again. And they did! They were incredible women and I adored them both.

These women loved to read and to tell stories, so it just always seemed a natural thing for me to want to do the same. One Christmas when I had a break from work for a few days I had an idea – just a simple single flash of an idea. I sat down at my computer and thought for a minute. And then I started writing – and like magic this story started to pour out of me. I hadn't planned to write a story.  I was amazed, in awe, floored.

It was like the characters were coming to life and telling their story and I was just tagging along for the ride. I typed as fast as my fingers would fly across the keys (I used to earn money by typing so I'm a pretty fast typist). I couldn't wait to see what happened next. It was the most amazing experience I think I've ever had. Okay, maybe not THE most amazing, but it ranks right up there near the top.

My husband finally came to me a couple of days into this, sat down, looked so serious, and asked, "Are you mad at me?" I assured him that no, I was not mad; I had just been kidnapped by my two characters who refused to let me go. He sort of believed me. When I handed him a printout of the entire book he really believed me, although he wasn't all that thrilled about the book. What can I say? He is a biomedical scientist who primarily reads non-fiction. The fact that I got him to read any fiction was a huge step.

I sent it in to Dreamspinner. Much to my shock and surprise they accepted it. Out of the hundreds of unsolicited manuscripts that they receive every year they only accept a tiny fraction from new, unknown authors – and I was part of that tiny fraction.

When I got the news I was riding on the subway to work one morning. I screamed and hugged the man sitting next to me – I don't have a clue who he was and I'm sure I scared the crap out of him, even though I tried to explain why I was so happy. When I got to work, a co-worker joined me in doing a happy dance (yes, we really danced in a wild and crazy fashion).

Once I started writing, the spirit of my departed grandmothers started taking over and story after story started to come out. Dreamspinner and Harmony Ink Press have published a total of five books so far, with the next one due out in two weeks. Two additional books are under contract and I am working with a fellow writer (a big time famous writer) on a young adult story.

When I'm not writing, I'm editing and proofing, proofing and editing. When not doing that I work for a small organization in downtown DC located a few hundred yards from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. My work is primarily IT project management which can be thrilling and at other times drive me to distraction.

All in all, I'd rather be writing full time.  I could spend my days writing about hot guys rather than listening to people tell me that their quarter million dollar software project absolutely had to be rejected because the third button on the fourth screen wasn't blue!  It's always been blue!  It's got to be blue!  Yes, this happens, all too often.

When I can I love to travel. I know others have done far more than me, but I'm proud of the fact that I've visited 46 of the 50 states in the US and 29 countries outside the US.