Blurb:
Adam’s about to discover
how much drama a mid-life crisis can be. He’s obsessed with Mannix, the nude
model in his art class. But Adam has been married to Wade for nearly two
decades, and they don’t have an open relationship.
Little do they know that
Fabien, a warlock from the Afterlife, has secretly cast a spell of lust on Adam
and his potential toy-boy.
As things begin to heat up, Adam’s guardian
angel, Guy, steps in. But what’s the best way to save the relationship? Should
Guy subdue Adam’s wandering passions or instigate a steamy threesome?
Excerpt:
Kevin Klehr © 2017
All Rights Reserved
Chapter One
Adam
He stood wearing a velvety
white towel and an eager grin. Either could’ve disappeared at my whim. I
smelled the freshly laundered lemon scent of the towel combined with the odor
of his body sweat, which I was dying to lick from his forehead. I’m always a
sucker for a devil-may-care attitude. It makes me weak at the knees in an
instant, but in this case, I was already reclined in my gleaming white tub, so
there was no danger of losing my balance. The water filled to the brim, and I
knew that when he joined me, he would splash the tiles below.
I’d only known him for half
an hour, and already I was under his spell. Was he a young man of style, or was
he a man of simple tastes? Did he have a daytime career that gave him the world
at his fingertips, or did he simply have the freedom of freelance engagements?
Time slowed as his
luxurious towel fell to the floor. His body was not toned like a swimwear
model. His features would never inspire a dozen wet dreams. It was his everyday
physical qualities that were driving me wild. That tuft of silky chest hair
that traced its way to his belly button. He even had a little flab. Not too
much, just a tad. To me, it signaled a man of zero pretense.
But as the towel was now on
the floor, his upper body wasn’t what I was focusing on. He lifted one leg and
eased himself into the water. The other leg followed as instinct lured my face
toward his luscious…
“At some point, Adam, you
do need to put pencil to paper,” said my art teacher. He had crept up behind
me.
My wayward daydream
vanished. Hopefully, I’d find it again before bedtime. I blushed and so did the
nude model. I quickly drew a line, but it wasn’t in keeping with the young
man’s form.
I was startled at my own
behavior. A man of my age wasn’t supposed to act like a starstruck teenager. My
instructor gently gripped my hand and guided my pencil to create a more natural
line.
The model winked at me as
some of the other students chuckled. Another budding male artist with
bleached-blond hair nodded in my direction, smiling slyly.
“Okay, I admit it. My mind
was somewhere else, and I apologize to the model,” I said.
All eyes in the room were
on me.
“I’m flattered,” the model
replied.
“It’s not like me to act
like this, seriously.”
“Can I get you a glass of
water?” asked the teacher.
“Thanks but I’ll get one
myself. I think I need a walk. I’ll catch up on my drawing as soon as I get
back.”
I rushed out of the
classroom. This was all too weird in my situation. I was in my early forties
and still madly in love with the man I’d shared my life with for the last
eighteen years. We had a healthy sex life, even though I fantasized more than
I’d like to admit. In fact, any dreamy man wandering past my view would arouse
my animal instincts faster than a straight guy in a room of lipstick lesbians.
But this young man posing for art class had my tongue dragging so close to the
floor I was licking it clean. I was definitely not ready for a midlife crisis,
or so I thought.
I sat on a seat in the
corridor. Was I capable of having a discreet fling? I lightly slapped myself on
the cheek, waking up to how ridiculous this question was. Why would he want to
have an affair with an old fart like me?
It was the middle of
winter, and I could already feel chilled air on the tip of my nose. I stood up
and headed for the bathroom. I splashed warm water on my face. I stared at the
mirror, giving my reflection some sound advice.
“Adam, get a grip. You
don’t know this guy, but suddenly he’s invaded your thoughts. Yes, I know he
looks really cute up there with nothing but that devilish grin and a pair of
turquoise socks, but come on now, he can’t be more than thirty!”
“Seems like you’re smitten,”
alleged the bleached-blond student.
He had wandered through the
door and was heading for the urinal.
“Were you standing outside
long?”
“I heard you down the
corridor. Nothing to be ashamed of, really. This is my fourth class, and I’ve
had to draw that same model once before. He hasn’t got the perfect body, but
boy has he got the perfect attitude. Alluring, and if there is a god,
available.”
The blond zipped up his fly
and wandered to the sink next to me.
“I agree, but I usually
don’t go around acting like a schoolgirl with a crush.”
“Enjoy it. Not all their
models have that much charisma.”
We escorted each other back
to art class where the other students had made headway on their drawings. I
focused on the model’s socks in an attempt to concentrate on my artwork, rather
than the young man’s prominent feature. Soon the ankles were added before my
pencil carefully outlined his masculine legs.
As I traced up to the hip,
I sighed as I studied his most manly asset. How should I draw it? Would the
teacher fail me if I portrayed it erect? After all, a great artist should
display his own feelings on the sketchpad.
I decided to skip his
crotch and draw his chest. His slightly defined chest. Not too developed, but
not devoid of shape either. The small tuft of dark hair in the center of the
upper body was outlined with great care. Outlining shape was one thing, but
defining the type of chest hair someone had was another. A trail of thick small
lines was carefully added to the picture from the torso to the navel.
“Okay folks, pencils down.”
The teacher wandered around
the room giving us feedback. The charming model reached for a pair of frayed
blue jeans, which were neatly folded over the back of a chair just an arm’s
length away. He pulled them up and carefully buttoned the fly around his naked
assets, as he clearly hadn’t brought underwear.
“We’ll have him back in a
couple of weeks if you want to complete this particular drawing,” said the
teacher.
He gave me a cheeky look.
“How far did you get?”
asked the model.
He grabbed his dusty-pink
T-shirt and snuggled into it tightly.
“Not as far as I would have
liked,” I replied.
“Let’s see.”
He strolled over to my
unfinished work. I was anxious by the thought of only a patch of denim between
me and the model’s private bulge. I concentrated on my artwork and tried not to
let the man’s proximity lead me to more wicked thoughts. Who was I kidding?
I had to divert my
attention to our teacher instead, who was heading my way. He was a funky,
retired chap. Black thick-rimmed glasses, peppered hair, and beard with a
gentle face. The kind of man who’d take long walks with his wife in the park
and watch Sunday arts programs on television.
“For the short amount of
time you spent on this, you did pretty well for a newcomer,” he said. “But what
are these strange lines to his side?”
“Um, I had this desire to
add wings to my subject.”
“Wings?”
“I know it’s odd, but you
did say at the beginning of class not to be constrained by what we see, and
that we all see characteristics differently.”
“Yeah, but wings? Are you
picturing our model as some kind of angel?”
“Why not? I’m seeing caring
characteristics.”
The young man gave me a
saintly smile. The teacher stroked his chin before pointing to the socks I’d
drawn.
“Are my ankles really that
shape?” the model asked.
He bent over to take a
closer look. I wanted to bury my tongue in the nape of his neck and lick off
any imaginary sweat.
“Yes, that’s the shape of
your ankles,” the instructor replied. He gestured toward a student near the
window. “Ian over there did a better job on your ankles, but Adam really did
well on your socks. The way the shape of the feet peep through the cotton is
not something I expect from a first-timer.”
“Thanks,” I replied. “I
used to do a little sketch work last year but only amateur stuff. Still life
from things around the house. A clock, fruit, dirty laundry, that sort of
thing.”
“Bring in your drawings
next week. I’d like to see them.” He spoke up to address the class. “Now let’s
check out Ian’s work, and Carla’s. Ian knows his ankles, and Carla’s good with
faces.”
We walked over to look at
Ian’s sketch as the other students followed. Ian’s careful study of the model’s
feet almost made them look bare. Carla captured the man’s cheeky smirk
skillfully, making that feature alone the highlight of her image. The budding
blond artist did his best work with the chest and hips, although they were
considerably more masculine than they needed to be.
We all made the rounds,
admiring and commenting on the other artworks before ending back at my attempt.
There were unanimous compliments about the socks, sparking the suspicion that I
must have a foot fetish. Like anyone, I had my kinks, but sucking toes was not
one of them. There’s something about a tinea marinade that just doesn’t float
my boat.
“You know, Adam, maybe
you’re onto something with the angel wings,” said Carla. “I would have put a
wry smile and devil horns on him, just because I think he’s cheeky. But you see
him as virtuous.”
“Divine, maybe, but not
virtuous,” I replied.
Everyone strolled back to
their easels to pack away their portraits except for the appealing model. He
stayed to chat. He even helped me roll up the drawing as I studied the way his
skillful hands worked with a cylindrical object.
“I’ll be back here in a couple
of weeks if you want to finish the picture. They use me at least once a month.”
“Getting naked doesn’t
bother you?”
“I have open-minded
parents. They used to take me to nudist beaches when I was a kid.”
“Only child?”
“Only child.”
“Spoiled?”
“A bit. Still am, I
suppose, even living away from home. Mum’s always dropping off baked dinners or
cookies for me and my flatmate. You’d think we can’t fend for ourselves.”
“I’m Adam,” I said.
I raised my hand, and he
shook it firmly.
“Mannix. Please don’t ask
what my parents were thinking when they came up with that name. On marijuana or
something.”
“I like it.”
“I want to change it,
eventually.”
“What to?”
“At this stage, I haven’t a
clue.”
“Keep it. It sounds like
the name of a secret agent.”
“Yeah, a pretty lame one at
that.”
Mannix handed me my picture
as I beamed at him, probably resembling a lonely bachelor with a crush on an
enigmatic porn star.
“I’m honored you were taken
with the subject matter,” he teased.
“Between you and me,
Mannix, that’s never happened to me before. I’m sorry if I was staring.”
“Not blowing my own trumpet
or anything, but Adam, you wouldn’t be the first.” He winked, which kind of
made me feel embarrassed. “Do you need a lift somewhere?”
“It’s okay. I have my car.”
Instantly, I regretted this
admission of car ownership. Could I grab those words from the air and stuff
them back in my mouth? My beautiful partner, Wade, was not going to be home for
at least another hour and a half, and maybe, just maybe? I snapped back from my
adolescent thoughts and sighed.
“Do you want a nightcap
before going home?” he asked.
“Yes!” I replied with the
zeal of a henpecked man about to get a lap dance. “I mean, sure. That’s a good
idea. Whatever you want. Drink. Good suggestion.”
“Is that bar on Clarence
Street on your way home?”
“As a matter of fact, it
is.”
It was actually in the
opposite direction.
“Looks like we’ve got a
date.”
He walked ahead of me
before helping get my pencils and my sketch onto the passenger seat of my car.
It was a ten-year-old modest two-door hatch, which Wade and I had bought
secondhand. We both used to drive it before my partner fell in love with a
flashier sedan he’d found at a dealership.
I thanked Mannix as he
walked to the opposite row of vehicles parked at the neighborhood center. The
beep of the automatic lock made a sporty little mini double blink its
headlights.
The young man eased into
his understated luxury car with unassuming confidence. I was a sucker for
material items I couldn’t afford, especially this type of tasteful indulgence.
Mannix teased his engine before letting his vehicle make its way out of the car
park.
I sat there for a minute or
two, wondering if I was doing the right thing. After all, I was only going for
a drink. Wasn’t I? Guilt was rising through my body. I could see Mannix
climbing over me into that imaginary bathtub again. His basket of goodies
inviting this old wolf to sample.
I turned the key and
started my engine. As I made my way to the street, my thoughts alternated
between Technicolor adultery and refined G-rated friendship. Did Mannix have an
ulterior motive, or was I full of wishful thinking? It wouldn’t be hard to hide
this fling from Wade, even if we just decided to meet up on another night when
I was supposed to be at art class.
No, bugger it. Why wait?
There was a bathtub waiting at home, and Wade was at his salsa lesson and
wouldn’t be home for at least another hour. The tub would be filled to the
brim, a bottle of champagne, two glasses, and a Northern soul compilation
drifting in from the lounge room.
But then, I wondered what
would happen if Wade’s dancing partner, Tim, didn’t need a lift home. He’d be
home early. How would I have explained my need to bathe? Perhaps the other
students attacked me with their charcoal crayons. Maybe the teacher hated my
work so much that I was berated to the point of needing to soak up the tension.
I pictured Mannix on our
sofa when Wade came home. I would try several coded words to let my husband
know that a threesome was on my mind.
But this wasn’t our style.
We didn’t invite costars to our bed. In fact, like most long-term couples we
went through phases of being either solely devoted or acting more like two
confident individuals. In recent months, we’d behaved like old souls who knew
we couldn’t live without each other. We’d hold each other before we fell into
slumber and awake needing to possess each other again. But it might have been
fun to share that experience with Mannix.
I pulled up in front of the
pub, still reeling from my own errant imagination. I took one deep breath to
jolt myself back to reality. It didn’t really work. My sense of guilt magnified
while I pictured that bathtub again and Mannix’s soft lips cruising toward my
own.
“Adam, are you okay?”
My gaze darted to the person who was
knocking on the windscreen. It was Mannix, curious to why I was taking so long
to get out of my car.
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About
the Author:
Kevin lives with his long-term partner,
Warren, in their humble apartment (affectionately named Sabrina), in
Australia’s own ‘Emerald City,’ Sydney.
From an early age, Kevin had a passion for
writing, jotting down stories and plays until it came time to confront puberty.
After dealing with pimple creams and facial hair, Kevin didn’t pick up a pen
again until he was in his thirties. His handwritten manuscript was being
committed to paper when his work commitments changed, giving him no time to write.
Concerned, his partner, Warren, secretly passed the notebook to a friend who in
turn came back and demanded Kevin finish his story. It wasn’t long before
Kevin’s active imagination was let loose again.
His first novel spawned a secondary
character named Guy, an insecure gay angel, but many readers argue that he is
the star of the Actors and Angels book series. Guy’s popularity surprised the
author.
So with his fictional guardian angel
guiding him, Kevin hopes to bring more whimsical tales of love, life and
friendship to his readers.
