Who would give a law to lovers? Love is unto itself a higher law. ~Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy, A.D. 524
Over the years, I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut on so many subjects. Not because I have no opinions on them, or that I have no feelings about them, but because I’m a poor ‘speaker’. Sometimes I dare to voice my thoughts on an issue, only to embarrass myself with my bumbling sentiment that seems to form itself in my head in one shape, only to spill from my lips in quite another, more twisted form.
Recently on an authors’ loop, the subject of same-sex marriage surfaced. I listened and listened, and felt the need to comment, to rise up in support of what I think is a social injustice. I DID speak up, but I wasn’t sure the sentiment that issued from my brain made any sense to anyone else.
That frustrated me. This emotion roiling in my head, no way to voice it adequately, not even in the written word.
But someone else—quite unwittingly—painted EXACTLY the picture I wanted to convey, simply by his random comments about his personal life—the LOVE of his personal life, to be precise.
I won’t divulge his name. But I WILL tell you that he talks often of his long-time lover, his husband, and that every time he mentions him, my heart hurts—literally hurts, but in a beautiful way—to hear the passion in his ‘voice’ for this man.
The funny part? He says very little, actually. It’s not his words that strike such a chord in my heart, it’s the depth of love in his tone. It rings so loud and crystal-clear, so deep, so true, so lovely.
I’d be one to say that marriage would not be my cup of tea; but, when I hear this man talk of his husband, I very much think how marriage WOULD be a blessed union if I were lucky enough to find a man who loved me as much as this man loves his husband.
It’s achingly beautiful, it’s poignant, it’s poetry, it’s Shakespeare, E.E. Cummings and The Song of David all mixed into one luscious melody of passion and care.
I’m not fooled for a minute into thinking this man and his husband don’t experience the same angst and marital trials that all couple face. I’m sure he does. But, even within the limited bounds of my knowledge of him, I know—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that he and his love see it through, they tough it out together. I just know they do.
If marriage could be like that? Oh, yes, oh, yes, sign me up for holy matrimony! IF, I say IF it can be like that.
The sad thing? According to this fellow author, his marriage is not legal in his state. So, in the eyes of the law, he is not really married.
A man and his lover who share more genuine passion, more true companionship, than most straight couples I know, and THEY aren’t considered ‘marriageable’ in their state. That’s a tragedy. A true tragedy.
When he writes tidbits about his lover, I soak up his words and roll in them like a cat in warm grass. They’re that full of love and devotion.
So, although I can’t verbalize my feelings very well, not in a strong political voice, I can at least use this man as an example to express MY confusion and frustration about a law that would prohibit him from marrying his lover.
My wish to you, this man with the beautiful heart who deserves the same privilege in the law’s eyes as any other couple—hell, maybe even more so—I wish I had the power to change the public eye for you. And for others in your situation. I can’t single-handedly, but I can at least use my lame voice.
Wishing you an eternity of happiness to you and your partner. Your husband.
Friday, 25 February 2011
Who would give a law to lovers? Love is unto itself a higher law. ~Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy, A.D. 524
Posted by C. Zampa at 09:26
Friday, 11 February 2011
Posted by C. Zampa at 17:25
Wednesday, 9 February 2011
My m/m novel, Candy G., is now on the ‘Coming Soon’ list with Dreamspinner Press. Next to the thrill of receiving the contract from the publisher, I think this has been the next-most-exciting milestone of my writing journey. To see my baby, my novella, on the publisher’s site with the cover and blurb. I still sort of get teary-eyed just thinking about it.
So, without further fanfare, let me introduce you to my boy, my Candy G, who will be released on March 2.
Candelario Gonzalez is an alpha male on the outside, dubbed Mas Chingon (the Baddest) by the community—in the beginning, because he was the exclusive legal counsel for San Antonio’s most powerful drug lord, then later he retains the formidable title and reputation when he risks his own life to walk away from the corruption.
On the inside, though? Candy is a softy, a hopeless romantic who’s been raised in a culture steeped in old-world Latino customs, romance and superstition. Underneath the Mas Chingon persona, he’s gentle and sensual, but has a fiery dual side—moody, possessive of those he loves.
Candy’s been drawn from real-life Hispanic men who’ve crossed my life’s path—men who’ve made an impact on the romantic woman in me, who’ve added their own individual spice to my memories.
So, that being said, here’s a blurb for Candy G., and an expert.
What kind of man drives a bulletproof Mercedes and carries a high-powered pistol in the glove compartment along with his boyhood teddy bear? Candy G does, that's who. Once the exclusive attorney for the most powerful drug lord in San Antonio, he turned his back on Teirso Flores and walked away. But at what price?
Moving on with his life despite the threat of Teirso’s revenge, Candy meets gorgeous, street-wise Carlos Alvarez, and thus begins a passionate love affair rife with secrets, danger and specters from the past that just won’t let go. When truths are revealed, will the one thing that brought their worlds together be the test that strengthens their love or the knife that severs their bond forever?
And an Excerpt:
Even amidst the crowded nightlife on the riverwalk, people trained admiring gazes on Carlos. How could they not? Clad—much dressier than usual—in white linen pants and a black silk shirt that highlighted his glistening platinum hair, he was stunning. In a rare act of grudging capitulation, only to make me happy, he’d allowed me to buy the outfit, and I’d chosen well.
His extraordinary appearance combined with the romantic atmosphere—twinkling lights and mariachi music wafting on the gentle evening breeze—brought a swell to my chest, not to mention my cock. I, like the admiring passersby, couldn’t take my eyes from him. My Carlos, an elegant, dark panther prowling the San Antonio night scene.
The last time I’d been to the riverwalk had been with Jorge. Remembering that had been the night Carlos returned to my life, the date that marked this anniversary, the thought sparked an inward grin. Maybe Jesse was right. Maybe it was silly to celebrate the occasion. I didn’t care. I was happy.
The waiter seated us near the river’s edge, and Carlos eased into his chair, carefully placing a Walmart sack he’d been carrying on the table. He stared dreamily into the reflection of hundreds of lights dancing off the gently moving water.
I stared at Carlos.
Sensing he was being watched, he raised his gaze to me. He should have been used to my admiring him, but he blushed anyway. “You’re making me self-conscious. You know I don’t like dressing up.”
My fingers toyed along the thin line of grout between the tabletop tiles. “I’m sorry. You look very good, chico.”
He tugged at the cuff of the shirt. “All dolled up, I feel so—”
“It pleases me.” The sincerity, the pleasure in my voice surprised me. “You’re so beautiful. My heart is happy tonight, bebé.”
Apparently it touched him. A tender smile filled his eyes, and he rested his elbows on the table, propping his chin on clasped hands. “You look pretty fucking good yourself, Candy.”
“You draw so much attention wherever you go.” He glanced around the busy sidewalk, the restaurant’s multicolored lights sparkling in his dark eyes. Returning his focus to me, he said, “That makes me proud.”
“If anybody’s looking, it’s at you, mi amor.”
“Sure. Whatever.” He blushed again.
Leaning forward, I murmured, “Can you not see how beautiful you are?” Every detail of his face, his body, which I’d memorized since I’d first seen him, sent wonderful palpitations to my heart and warmth to my groin. “All day, every day, all I can see, whether you’re with me or not, is your face in my mind. And then all I can think of is touching you, making love to you. Me vuelves loco. You make me crazy.”
The smoldering brown gaze pierced me, roamed every inch of my face. “How crazy?”
Burning up under the intensity of his stare, I pulled back in the chair. “Crazy enough to think about forgetting dinner and… well…. There’s all the time in the world.”
Excitement flashed in his eyes, and he picked up the sack. “I have something for you.” He slid his hand into the bag and pulled out a CD. Holding it to his lips for a moment, he handed it to me, and the happiness in his face, so simple and boyish, melted my heart.
La Paloma. He’d bought a new La Paloma CD. Love swept through me, bringing tears to my eyes.
“Bebé.” My fingers lovingly brushed over the case. “Thank you, mi querido. After my baby-ass tantrum, breaking the other one, I don’t deserve this.”
Tucking his chin, he winked over the rim of his glass. “No, you don’t.” He paused as the waitress placed menus in our hands.
The very pretty girl, her hands clasped behind her back, rested a genial—though somewhat coy—smile on Carlos and asked what we wanted to drink. I told her two Coronas. Nodding and throwing another bold, appreciative glance at my lover, the young lady thanked us and sauntered away.
Carlos hadn’t seemed to notice the flirty employee. He picked up the conversation where he’d left off. “Like I said, you don’t deserve a new CD. But you’re the only man who’s ever played music for me when he fucked me.”
I laughed hard. “Ah, chico, I think you’re trying to be romantic. But you make me sound very pathetic.” Funny thing, though. Carlos, in sharp contrast to his streetwise persona, was the most romantic man I’d ever known. His drawings, his poetic talk, just his pure sensuality. Everything about him painted a picture of beauty, idyllic eroticism.
Fire blazed behind his wide eyes, and he lurched to touch my hand. “No. No. I… I love that you play your… song for me.”
“Thank you, then, bebé, for La Paloma.” I laid the CD on the table. “I can play it every night for you now,” I playfully threatened.
His tongue swiped, languorous, seductive, across his bottom lip. “And that means you have to fuck me every night.”
The little tease. The silky touch of his finger sent pleasure coursing through my veins like a powerful opiate. “You think you can stand being fucked every night, chico?”
A brow shot up. “I’d give it my best shot.”
The cute waitress returned to place our beers on the table and take our orders. At the sight of Carlos’s hand on mine, the sex in both our eyes, she cooled considerably as she listened to our selections. When she headed back to the interior of the restaurant, I sucked in a deep breath and pulled the jeweler’s box from my pocket.
“I have something for you, chico.” Reaching across the table, I handed the box to him. How clumsy I felt. Romance ruled my heart but never showed itself very well in my actions. I felt I was too old-world for a contemporary man such as Carlos. Just as his fingers touched the lid to open it, I blurted, “You’ll probably laugh, Carlos. It’s… it’s…. You might think it’s silly.”
Upon opening the box, his hand shot to his chest, and he swallowed hard. “Candy….”
“It is silly, isn’t it?”
“Oh, no, no.” His mouth gaped open, and he brushed a hand through his hair. Shaking his head slowly, he whispered, “It’s… it’s… a dove. It’s the most—”
“Listen, you don’t have to—”
Carlos bounded from his chair and cornered the table so fast I didn’t have time to react. With his arms wrapped around my neck, he pulled me close, and I breathed in his spicy, earthy scent.
“You like it, then?” I wanted to cry, I was so happy that he was pleased.
Pulling back, his arms still circling my neck, he sighed. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life, Candy.” His voice, so low, caressing, whispered close to my ear, “I love you so fucking much, Candelario Gonzalez. I love you so goddamn much.”
The sidewalk was crowded with customers, and they surely gawked at us, but I didn’t care. Love for Carlos gushed from my heart, and all I wanted to do, needed to do, was hold him, touch his lips. Although the thoughts that swirled in my soul were passionate and lyrical, the words that spilled from my mouth were idiotic. “So I don’t need to take it back? Well, it was custom made, and—”
“I love it, cariño.” Oblivious to curious gazes, he pressed his lips, which tasted of salty tears, to mine. “I love it so much.” He straightened and leaned back against the table.
“Then you’ll wear it for me tonight?” I rested my hand on his waist.
“I’ll wear it for you tonight.” Hunger darkened his eyes, softened his voice. “Let’s eat fast, then, so we can—”
“No?” He cocked his head to the side.
“Nah. I reserved a room at Mansion Del Rio.”
Excitement sparked in his eyes. “Ah.”
My sexual juices were stirring, my cock swelling, at the vision of making love to Carlos high above the river with the nightlife pulsing below us. “Would you like that?”
Squinting, he eyed me. “Can I order a banana split from room service in the middle of the night?”
How could he turn even the word banana split into an aphrodisiac? Dios, how my dick ached.
“You can order anything you want in the middle of the night.”
“Can I order you to fuck me in the middle of the night?”
“You can.” Resisting the urge to pull him onto my lap, I growled, “But by the middle of the night, mi amor, you may be begging me to stop fucking you.”
For a moment our gazes locked, and we said nothing, fucking each other with our gazes. As though coming out of a trance, he lowered to his haunches, resting his hand on the table to steady himself. “Put it in now.”
“Put… what… in now?” My mind lagged behind his, still writhing with him on an imaginary bed.
“The earring.” He reached to remove a silver stud from his earlobe. “I want you to put it on me.” Laying the discarded earring on the table, he snorted. “Sort of like getting engaged.”
“Getting engaged, eh?” I pulled the diamond dove out of the box, removed the back from the post, and bent to insert the earring. Each time I touched Carlos was like the first time, and the light stubble on his cheek, his smooth skin against my fingers, sent shivers through me. “You realize, bebé, in my old-fashioned world, that means I own you.”
As I put the earring on his lobe, he nuzzled into my hand and purred, “You already own me, Más Chingon.” His hand covered mine.
Posted by C. Zampa at 11:43