Really, I should know better.
I forgot that there is a reason I avoid paranormals unless I really love the author writing them. I am the sort of woefully literal person who reads vampire sex and gets distracted by thoughts like, "Wait, if you don't have a beating heart and blood flowing through your body, how did you get an erection?" (A shameful waste of perfectly hot vampire sex, I know. No one regrets this more than I.) When reading, I can mostly set these things aside for the sake of the story. Trying to write a paranormal, on the other hand, was a whole other ballgame. By the time I finished the rough draft, I was practically twitching from all of the self-correcting thoughts of "delete this--a ghost can't sigh, because he doesn't have breath; oh, erase that too--he can't blush if he doesn't have blood."
Over-think much? -_~
But now that the hard part is over, revisions are done, and I get to just enjoy the finished product, I must admit to a definite fondness for my poor dead rentboy, trapped forever in his work clothes from 1987, tethered to a teddy bear named Mr. Snuffles, and totally dependent on the man he's in love with to set up his tricks.
Three hundred sixty-four days a year, the average john is just looking for a hot little ass to stick his horny dick in. That's why I usually wind up with the criers, the ones desperate enough to pay somebody to nod along as they pour out the woes of their conflicted, closeted souls, but who aren't quite sure they're up for the physical deed. I swear death has turned me into more of a shrink than an escort.
That three hundred sixty-fifth day, though, I suddenly get all the business...
Halloween Trick is currently available for preorder at 15% off, along with nine other Halloween Rentboy stories.