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THE GRAVY TRAIN - First Course: In the Soup
Publisher: loveyoudivine Alterotica
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-60054-554-2
Length: 65 pdf Pages / 11345 words
Heat Level: 4 out of 5
Formats Available: pdf, prc, lit, zipped html, lrf, epub, RocketBooks
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"They say good food is the way to a man’s heart, but what if you’re aiming lower? Say, at his ass!" – The Six-Pack Chef | |
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Ingredients: One super sexy hot stud cook, one luxury train, an insatiable bottom, a pinch of jealousy, lashings of sex, a hint of blackmail, a jealous spurned lover, and an on-board cuisine terrorist who is threatening to derail the whole kit and caboose.
Method: Mix a luxury train with a gaggle of foodies who have paid big money for the trip of a lifetime across Europe with the world’s best TV chefs, throw in Masala, the closeted bottom boy son of one of France’s two hysterical identical twin chefs, the Daiquiri Sisters, an unstable Dutch chef with an unrequited passion, top it all off with the stratospherically popular Six-Pack Chef Kaden ‘Buddy’ Reznor. Turn up the heat – then stand well back.
Excerpt:
One of the best views in London was spread out before me. I was close to the top in one of the observation bubbles on the London Eye, that enormous wheel that overlooks the Thames near the Houses of Parliament and the phallic Big Ben, but I wasn’t looking at them. Nope, the best view in London at that precise moment was the arse that was spread invitingly before me. Coincidentally, it also belonged to a Ben.
We were alone in a cabin meant for twenty-five, even I baulked at twenty-four delicious arseholes spread before me, having bribed the attendant with a number of large denomination Sterling notes, a surreptitious grope, and a business card with my private phone number: sometimes it pays to be famous. Now, when I should have been admiring Ye Olde World charms of the English capital I was, in fact, admiring the new world charms of the English rump. And I was about to embed my cock in said beauty, to the delight of the few glass cabins around us that could see everything we were doing. There was absolutely no privacy, but I cared little for that. Ben, though, seemed much less eager to have his arse banged than I was to shag it.
And that, dear reader, is where this adventure began. The how and why are a different matter. For that I have to back up a little – not my usual style.
Maybe if I start this tale the way I was taught by the austere Mrs. Patterson at my state high school in Sydney, Australia. I’m not a writer, you see. It’s not my forte, but we’ll get to that. So, at the top of the page I write my name. Kaden ‘Buddy’ Reznor. I used to hate that name at school because it made me stand out. Joke, right? Now I do everything in my limited box of tricks to stand out. Some people would call that ironic but I guess those sort of folk aren’t likely to be reading this. See, my ‘minders’ told me to act all sort of folksy for the market this book is aimed at.
That’s all bullshit. My real name is Buddy. Bit common, right? But that’s why my program on YouTube was called The Taste Buddy. You ever watch it? Good, right? Until some rather more, shall we say, private home videos began to appear as well, dropping the definite article – the “The” for those of the more grammatically challenged amongst you – under the title Taste Buddy. Some trashy folk whom I’d invited back to my apartment to share a few moments of intimate pleasure thought they could jump on the celebrity bandwagon by making a video of themselves actually tasting me in the flesh, thought it would enhance their desirability while tarnishing mine. In actual fact, it had the reverse effect: my popularity increased in direct proportion to my cock size.
Okay, I’ll admit most of it was my fault. But, gimme a break, what do you expect, I’m gorgeous. Have you seen me? Right. Why be modest? That only comes across as crap. I’m an alpha male with alpha male appetites. Gotta spread my seed around. Distribute the wealth, so to speak. And there’s an awful lot of guys out there want to sub for me. Yep, I’m gay. Right at the very end of the Richter Scale of gayness. I’m not saying ‘no’ if the right woman came along, but there’s so many fuckin’ men to get through before that will ever happen. |
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THE GRAVY TRAIN- SECOND COURSE: Salad Days
Publisher: loveyoudivine Alterotica
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-60054-570-2
Length: 65 pdf Pages / 10168 words
Heat Level:
Formats Available: pdf, prc, lit, zipped html, lrf, epub.
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"It’s the human side salads we pick at throughout life that make sex so infinitely appealing and prevent our palates from becoming jaded.” –The Six-Pack Chef | |
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The London to Paris express finally arrives in the French capital where the police are waiting to question Kaden ‘Buddy’ Reznor, the famed Six-Pack Chef, who was enjoying a tryst in the First-Class toilet with one of the passengers when he was attacked from behind. When he regains consciousness, he discovers his partner slumped over the toilet - dead. Kaden is suspicious of everyone from his new assistant, Danny, through to Ben, who purports to be the tour organiser. Even Delphine, his agent, is keeping things from him. Or is he just being paranoid? An evening at the fleshpots of Paris should straighten things out. Or make matters much, much worse. |
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EXCERPT:
“I must get back, monsieur, before I am missed.” He turned me around and deposited a kiss on the end of my nose. “Wait until I tell my friends I fucked the Six-Pack Chef.”
I began to wonder then whether there would be a return bout.
Cleaned up and as good as new, if somewhat sore in the posterior, I returned to my table and Gilles removed the Reserved card with a satisfied smirk. Just then Ben entered the restaurant. With a woman holding his arm. I was impressed that he’d managed to conjure up a fiancée whom I had believed to be merely a figment of his closeted imagination.
I waved to them and they wended their way over following Gilles who smiled so familiarly it attracted Ben’s attention. Unfortunately, I saw no signs of jealousy on his chiselled features.
Standing to be introduced, I took his partner’s hand, kissing it in the continental manner. Harriet was a beguiling woman. Pretty? Definitely. Okay, I’m gay, not blind. I know what pretty looks like. My dick doesn’t have to get hard to know something or someone is pleasant on the eye. Besides I just had to count the number of heads that turned when she emerged from the elevator.
“So, I hear you and my Benny had a little bet about my existence.” Her seductive voice was as smoky as Lauren Bacall after a full pack of unfiltered cigarettes. She and Ben sat much too close together. I wasn’t buying their body language.
I smiled politely across the table. “I lose, it seems.”
She smiled back. “Seems?”
“That’s been the whole problem with this cooks’ tour from the beginning. Nothing is as it appears. Take Ben, for example.”
“You already have, apparently,” she said, flummoxing me for a moment.
I bowed my head in her direction. “Had I known he was betrothed to such a captivating woman I would have restrained myself.”
“No need of that. Benny and I have no secrets from each other.”
Every time she called him Benny she set my teeth on edge. He was a man not a child.
“So he told you about our bet? And its payout?”
“Let me see. If I didn’t exist you got to top my Benny. If I do exist, and, as you can see, I most certainly do, he gets to top you. Am I right?”
That knocked the wind out of my sails. Not that she knew the word ‘top’ but that she knew what was at stake in the bet.
“No need to look so concerned, Mr. Reznor, he fully intends to collect his winnings. Just as I fully intend being there when he does.”
Oh, this woman had nerve. I matched her grin as I turned to Benny, oops, Ben. Now she had me doing it. He was grinning from ear to ear.
“I couldn’t be happier,” I lied. I was hoping to have Ben to myself when he porked me and that I would prove so superior to anything he had previously experienced that he would remain with me. For a few months at least. I wasn’t looking for anything too permanent. “How about right here in the restaurant?”
Ben’s smile faded faster than the bloodline of European royalty. “I thought your one little interrogation by the French police would have been enough for one day. I think they’re probably looking for any excuse to run you in at the moment.”
He was right. The police interrogation hadn’t gone well. They’d been waiting for the train as it pulled into the Gare du Nord. Ben was with them and smoothed the way for me to get expert medical attention before they grilled me. It transpired that I would be all right in the long term, that I had suffered a minor bump on the head and had only to be monitored for concussion. |
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THE GRAVY TRAIN- THIRD COURSE: Whores d'oeuvres
Publisher: loveyoudivine Alterotica
Ebook ISBN:
Length:
Heat Level:
Formats Available: pdf, prc, lit, zipped html, lrf, epub.
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“Prostitution is to sex what eating out is to dining.”– The Six-Pack Chef | |
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Kaden Buddy Reznor intervenes to save his assistant from almost certain death by strangulation and, in so doing, meets the blond bombshell to whom he loses his heart. Unfortunately, Marsala, the blond in question, is otherwise taken. Once The Gravy Train leaves Paris, Buddy’s life quietens until he reaches Brussels where he intends giving up his arse to Ben as the prize in a bet he lost. But the situation is headed for a deadly twist in the pool beneath Manneken Piss.
Excerpt:
I moved toward the door which he held open for me. Turning sideways to get through so as not to bump Danny, my cock sat up and took notice as my hand brushed blondie’s hard abdomen and a jolt of desire shot through me. He knew the effect he had on people, men, and the effect he was having on me. I could see why people would kill for him.
He tagged along behind me uninvited and, I thought, much too provocatively considering what Jan had done to my straight assistant. I shuddered to think what he might try on me who genuinely lusted after his boy toy. Not that I was concerned for my physical safety, I could take Jan down with one arm in a sling, but we had to work together. The tour had barely begun and already disaster loomed. So for the harmony of the chefs on board I would leave well enough alone, although the blond obviously had other ideas.
I tossed him the keys when we reached my private compartment and he unlocked the door for me so I could lay Danny on the bench seat.
“How convenient,” the blond said, licking his lips like the cat that got the ice cream. “I’m right next door.”
“I thought...” I stumbled over what I was going to say next.
“Yes, I suppose I should introduce myself, Marsala; Marsala Daiquiri.” He held out his hand and I shook it in something of a daze.
“You’re Strawberry’s son?”
He nodded. “Adopted, of course.”
“Of course.” It went without saying really. He was blond, his complexion like blotting paper, while his mum was darker, more olive than pink.
“I’m the entertainment,” he went on.
“Pardon?” I shook my head to rid it of the totally salacious vision of Marsala, flat out on his back, entertaining the men on the train.
I knew he understood what I was thinking when he said, “Not that sort of entertaining, Mr. Reznor, although with the right man...” His eyes grazed over me until he was eyeballing me again, then licked his lips.
“Does your mother know?” I ventured to ask.
“That I’m on the tour? I should hope so. As galloping as she is toward senility it was still dear sweet mama who got me the job.”
“Doing what exactly? Apart from being the cause of a near death experience to my assistant, Danny.”
“I am sorry about that incident. But Jan is just so jealous. It’s a sickness with him.”
“He has no reason to be jealous of Danny. The boy is straight,” I said.
“Really?” His voice was arch. “What a waste. The working classes have so much to offer.” He nodded in the direction of Danny’s crotch which seemed to be well packed. “If only they would bathe more often.” He addressed the last supercilious remark to me and from the corner of my eye I noticed Danny tense.
“You haven’t told me if your mother knows.” I tried to bring him back to the point.
“Ah, yes. She knows. It’s rather obvious don’t you think? “
I wasn’t going to go there. But I did want to know her reaction to his obvious sexuality.
“Ah, I am a bitter disappointment to my mother.”
I was surprised. I’d believed Strawberry more open than that.
I changed the subject. “You haven’t told me how you intend to entertain us on the tour.”
“I sing a little, I play a little.” He emphasised the ‘play.’ His constant double entendre was wearing thin although it probably got him a tumult of sexual offerings. I found it as tedious as a late night Carry On movie marathon on the telly. “Do come and join me in the VIP car this evening. I think you’ll like my repertoire.” |
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THE GRAVY TRAIN FOUTH COURSE: Beefed Up and Porked
Publisher: loveyoudivine Alterotica
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-60054-588-7
Length: 78 pdf Pages / 11311 words
Heat Level:
Formats Available: pdf, prc, lit, zipped html, lrf, epub. |
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“Seasoning is an important facet of good cuisine, as it is in good lovemaking. Just don’t mistake the paprika for the lube.” – The Six-Pack Chef
As The Gravy Train tour steams on to Prague, Buddy Reznor, The Six-pack Chef, realises someone really is out to get him and he doesn’t know who to trust. He is surrounded by people who aren’t what they seem, people who have lied to him, and the police seem even more venal than the criminals. As the body count climbs, the police move in to arrest the murderer.
Excerpt:
Barzun was impatient. “What was the prize?”
There was dead silence for what seemed an interminable moment, broken by Harriet. “Inspecteur, they’re too proud to tell you they bet their arses over my existence.”
“Arses?”
“All you need to know is that Mr. Reznor consented to allow Ben to penetrate his arse if I existed. As you see, I do exist; therefore Ben went to club to claim his prize.”
Jan was delighted. “You fucked him in the arse?” Ben nodded, and Jan was quick to shake his hand. “So many people have wanted to do that. May I be the first to congratulate you.”
The inspecteur was chagrined at being upstaged. “And you didn’t mind that your husband-to-be did this thing?”
“I’m a modern woman, inspecteur. In fact, I wanted to join in, Or, at the very least, watch.”
That was too much for Rhu, who spat, “Trollop.”
Turning to Ben, Barzun asked. “Is this the truth?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”
“So, you went to this bar and...” Barzun was encouraging details.
“For god’s sake! I fucked him! I fucked his arrogant smug arse!”
“Did anyone see you?” Barzun could scarcely contain himself.
“As a matter of fact, another man at the bar joined in. Satisfied?”
Ben was talking to Barzun but I answered, “Very.”
Harriet looked amused, while Ben huffed in disgust.
“Is there any proof of this...this encounter?”
“I have all the proof right here,” I said, patting my butt.
I noticed a few members of The Gravy Train entourage turned quite pale at my announcement.
“Well, we will have to see for ourselves in a moment. You have everything you need, doctor?”
He nodded his head.
“Now, mademoiselle, as you have been so candid up until now, perhaps you could tell me where you were earlier this evening.”
Harriet suddenly looked less sure of herself. “I was with Ben, of course.”
“Ah, there is no ‘of course’ about it. Where were you while he was at the club with M. Reznor and the stranger?”
She looked to Ben for help. “You don’t believe she cut Peter’s throat, do you?”
“Anything is possible until proven otherwise,” Barzun said. “Where were you?”
Harriet said quietly, “I was in my cabin.”
Corinda butted in. “No, you weren’t. I knocked on your door to ask you to join us in the club car but there was no answer. We knocked for positively ages, didn’t we, Cwm?”
“Indeed, we did.”
All eyes were on Harriet, who appeared flustered. Ben squeezed her hand tightly.
Danny sighed theatrically. “Inspecteur, you put the lady in an invidious situation. As well as myself. To protect her from the accusation of murder I must tarnish her reputation as a woman. Yes, Miss Cumshaw we heard you knocking on the door of the cabin, it was about...”
“8.30...”
“Yes, around 8.30. I remember looking at my watch in case it was Ben returned early. The truth is, Barzun, I was in the berth with Harriet.”
We all waited for her to deny it. She didn’t. Ben’s mouth was open.
“Close your mouth, Ben. Darling, if it was good enough for you to go off and bugger the bum off Kaden then surely you should have no complaints if young and virile Daniel here did the same to me.”
Strawberry high-fived her. “Right on, sister!”
Ben still hadn’t found his tongue and kept looking between Harriet and Danny in amazement.
“That’s everyone accounted for then,” Barzun said closing his little notebook. M. Reznor, if you would be so good as to accompany the doctor and myself to your compartment.” |
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THE GRAVY TRAIN
FIFTH COURSE: Torte a Lesson
Publisher: loveyoudivine Alterotica
Length: 76 pdf Pages / 11326 words
Formats Available: pdf, prc, lit, zipped html, lrf, epub. |
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“Seasoning is an important facet of good cuisine, as it is in good lovemaking. Just don’t mistake the paprika for the lube.” – The Six-Pack Chef
“Just as cake is more than the sum of its parts - after all it’s just flour, milk and eggs - so it is with a relationship. It’s not so much what you put into it, it’s the way you mix the ingredients to make them personal, that’s the secret.” – The Six-Pack Chef
With the killer’s identity finally exposed, it means the party of intrepid chefs can finally enjoy their all-expenses paid train tour of Europe. But jealousy threatens Kaden’s peace of mind, and he’s forced to rethink his knee-jerk reaction to Danny’s revelation. Then there’s the added distraction of the Hooded Stranger who overpowers him at the Alcatraz leather bar. Will Vienna be the end of the road or just the start of another journey?
Excerpt:
As I took my leave of Jan’s room, I heard Strawberry ask, “Jan, dear, would you mind if I borrow my son for a few hours, we haven’t had much of a chance to catch up on this train ride from hell and there are a few things I need to discuss with him?”
I turned and Strawberry winked. The only discussion she would be doing was the address of the Alcatraz bar. Jan was less than thrilled at the prospect, but I heard him acquiesce gracelessly as I closed the door. That meant Marsala would be joining me for a little adventure. I adjusted my cock which had hardened at the thought and hummed as I waited for the lift. Things were looking up.
In the lift’s mirrored wall, I looked myself over. There was no doubt the past week had left its unwelcome mark on my face. It was lined and slightly puffy, but still gorgeous. In the dark basement area of the club, no one would notice. I ran my hands over the front of my skin tight jeans, prodding my bulge to prominence. The white T-shirt I wore under my leather jacket I’d remove once I hit the club, so revealing the sculpted body that was my trademark. I ran my tongue across my teeth and my fingers through my hair. Yeah, I’d fuck me.
It seemed that there was quite a line up of guys who’d fuck me. Word had got around, don’t ask me how. I found myself naked, cuffed to the sling, my arse exposed to all comers, in the club’s hell-red cellar, surrounded by adoring and horny fans of the Six-Pack Chef. I even noticed a few faces from the train entourage.
The cellar, downstairs and through some authentic jail bars, was adorned with the usual SM paraphernalia including bare stone and brick walls, leather sling, chains, and the tub for piss parties – now cordoned off because of Barzun’s bashing. It was a great place to meet for hot and sweaty mansex. It was also a great place to meet people you least wanted to run into either dressed or naked. I just hoped Jan wouldn’t turn up and stick his dick in my butt.
How did I come to find myself in this predicament? My own stupidity, naturally. I’d been sitting waiting for Marsala in the bar when I thought I noticed a figure I recognised duck through the doorway to the dungeon area. Someone who really shouldn’t have been there. My mind weighed up the odds and came down with two alternatives: the guy was stalking me, or he was on The Gravy Train and I hadn’t noticed him. I’m usually observant when it comes to cute men but what was most cute about this guy was his mammoth cock which he’d used to very good effect in Brussels when he and Ben had worked me over at Le Duq. I suppose I could have overlooked him on the train while I was cruising the more superficially gorgeous.
Or, I could be mistaken and the guy just looked a little like him. I’d removed my T-shirt so I was showing major body muscle, plus I’d been rubbing my dick through my jeans while I sipped a beer, so I was showing major bulge. I got admiring looks as I made my way down the steps to the cellar, and a number of hot men followed. I rejected the numerous advances I encountered on my search, smiling but adding ‘later’ in case I needed further stimulation if Marsala didn’t show. |
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THE GRAVY TRAIN
SIXTH COURSE: cafe or lay
Publisher: loveyoudivine Alterotica
Length: 74 pdf Pages / 12105 words
Formats Available: pdf, prc, lit, zipped html, lrf, epub. |
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Masturbation is like dinner for one, okay on those odd occasions you find yourself alone. But nothing beats a banquet, a smorgasbord of tastes from which to choose a nibble here, a guzzle there, until the appetite is sated. Food, like sex, is best shared with a group of like-minded individuals.” – The Six-Pack Chef
To put the past two weeks of life-threatening danger behind him, and to thank Danny for saving his life, Kaden takes Danny to one of his favourite European haunts, Lake Bled, to sample the famed kremna rezina. But Marsala tags along, all part of Kaden’s slut’s honeymoon. The Six-Pack Chef is torn between friendship with his straight assistant and the insatiable butt of the piano man. Can the three of them make the lopsided relationship work?
Excerpt:
I was glad to put it all behind me. The trauma, the hospital stay, the Agatha Christie-style explanations, the enforced gratitude, the enforced comforting, the well wishing of friends, the book deadline...I just wanted to be left alone. Well, maybe not totally. How about a slutty week in an idyllic setting as I recuperated from my near death experience?
That wasn’t going to happen either considering that too many people had fallen under the spell of my recommendation that Slovenia was the new Eden. Some of them were even staying at the same hotel. Not my doing. But it’s difficult to argue with an increasingly hysterical boyfriend who wants his mother to tag along. When the fuck did I inherit a boyfriend? I don’t remember asking. He just moved in, affection and all, even though my feelings were never consulted. Sure he gets my dick pumping, and my brain whirling, but that other part of my anatomy so essential to love simply wasn’t buying the relationship as anything other than a series of rolling one-night stands.
So I found myself at Lake Bled, sheltering under a rock overhang in picturesque Vintgar Gorge, cuddling a sobbing Marsala while an afternoon thunderstorm threw lightning and sound effects against the canyon wall, startling the tourists caught in its downpour, as rocks the size of fists rained down around us.
“It is him, I tell you,” Marsala was wailing. “He’s trying to kill us.”
Time to back up because you’re probably thoroughly confused, especially if you bought this book for something other than the recipes. You may have bought it for the actual scoop on the inside story of what led to a string of bodies cursing my brief journey across parts of Europe on my Gravy Train tour. Or you may have just indulged in a little bit of impulse buying because of the gorgeous photo of me on the front cover. Any which way, it doesn’t really matter, because I left me, in the last chapter, perched precariously on the struts of the famed Vienna Ferris Wheel after Jan Flotz, the Dutch Oven chef, had attempted to kill me. One of many who had tried it on my tour, it seems.
I had been saved by my loyal, but heterosexual, assistant, Danny. I had wanted to thank him with an all-expense paid holiday, accompanying Marsala and myself on our honeymoon. My use of the word is sarcastic. My wanting to thank Danny was not. Besides, he was the only person who had ever managed to organise the logjam that is my wonderful, but messy, life. No Danny, much to my disappointment, although my agent, Delphine, was staying in a chalet on the beautiful lake, and Marsala’s mum, Strawberry, plus Ben and his bride-to-be, Harriet, all suddenly decided that they loved my advice, something they’d never had any regard for previously. They wanted to seek out the area’s famed indigenous kremna rezina: not some furry underwater mammal from the pristine lake, or even a local wise man from the tiny church situated almost too perfectly on the island in the middle of the waterway.
The kremna rezina is a pastry; but we’ll get to that shortly. I need to backtrack now to fill you in on what happened after my Viennese near-death experience, as opposed to the one in the London to Paris train, on the Eiffel Tower, in Brussels, well, you get the picture. I was hoping Slovenia would prove the exception rather than the rule. |
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