Tyler Knoll was born one wild, stormy night in April 2013.
Of course, Tyler might tell you he was born twenty years earlier, but should we believe anything he says? That’s for you to decide.
In Tyler’s first adventure—like many a gay man before him—he was SNARED by gay porn, wallowing in tales of bigger, stronger, harder….
Want the whole Tyler Knoll’s Just for Fun series? Check out books two, three, and four, to be released on July 10th: SHREDDED, SLASHED, and SCREWED.
In Tyler’s first adventure, he was SNARED by gay porn….
Then his fickle mind was seduced and SHREDDED by the prospect of BDSM and slavery.
When a Big Misunderstanding SLASHED at Tyler’s sanity, almost costing him his life, he turned to another genre for his salvation. But even this encounter proved potentially hazardous—not from freezing temperatures, but at the hands of irate fans.
Finally, tired and SCREWED by his all his trials and tribulations, he discovers—like many storybook heroes before him—that sometimes Mr. Right is closer than we think.
Everyone who buys SNARED gets a 20% discount at buying the Just for Fun composite from the WIP website! Check the website for details.
Excerpt from Snared:
Seeing you’ve read this far, it’s probably time to let you in on a little secret. I’m into all types of porn, but suit porn hovers near the top of the list, hence my reluctance to betray that fact by having a permanent hard-on while checking out their threads. The other reason was because the guys in these immaculate suits all worked on the upper floors of Whoosit & Whatsit.
Now, before you scoff and say there’s no such place, let me assure you that I may not be the brightest bulb in the room, but I’m not stupid enough to divulge the real name of my employers. You might out me to my boss in the mailroom.
The thing is Mrs. Stringer wouldn’t give two hoots if you did. I was just the lowly guy who hand-delivered important contracts to the upper floors for signing. Nothing special. Just a hopeless idiot who barely made it through high school, thanks to his inability to get the middle letters of words in the correct order, and who still can’t see the connection between hippopotamuses, beasts that lurk in mud pools and triangles. Aren’t they swanky orchestral instruments?
And just in case you’re wondering how a dyslexic ignoramus like me can produce such flawless spelling and wonderful prose, it’s called an editor. I’d tell you her name, but then she might show you the original text, and I’d never live down the embarrassment.
Mind you, she wanted me to delete that last statement, saying no editor would ever be so unprofessional, but seeing she didn’t mind me having a go at readers; she’s fair game.
Holy catfish. Now, I’ve lost the plot and we’re not even half way through the first chapter! I better backtrack over what I’ve told you so far: Bar. Check. Friday night. Check. Suits. Check. Weird feeling. Ah that’s right. I felt someone watching me.
You’d think a classy joint like this would have mirrors around the wall to check out who was cruising who without being obvious. No such luck. This was all stained timber and the occasional out of focus painting. More like a swanky gentleman’s club than a bar.
There was that prickle again. I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat.a Rafflecopter giveaway
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About the Author:
Unlike many authors, A.B. Gayle hasn’t been writing stories all her life. Instead she’s been living life.
Her travels have taken her from the fjords of Norway to the southern tip of New Zealand. In between, she’s worked in so many different towns she’s lost count. A.B. has shoveled shit in cow yards, mustered sheep, been polite to customers, traded insults with politicians. Sometimes she needs to be forgiven as she get confused as to who needs what where.
Now living in Sydney, Australia, A.B. finally has time to allow her real life experiences to morph with her fertile imagination in order to create fiction that she hopes her readers will enjoy.
A.B. values feedback on her writing, both negative and positive.
A.B. Gayle can be found at: