Wednesday, January 21, 2009

MANamorphosis Gets New Cover!

I just got up this morning to find an e-mail with the cover (by the talented Trace Edward Zaber) for my next release from Amber Allure (the GLBT arm of Amber Quill Press) and I am thrilled with it on so many levels. Not to mention that it's a delicious piece of eye-candy, but it also perfectly encapsulates what the story is about (and it is a short story, published in e-book form.

The story begins:

I awoke one morning from uneasy dreams to find my penis had transformed itself into a vagina…

And here's basically what it's about (which is why the cover is so clever and thoughtful):

Thus begins the story of a very unusual day in the life of Rick, one utterly baffled gay man. After the shock wears off about his new, compelling, and completely different genitalia, this promiscuous, fun-loving gay man wonders how he can take advantage of his bizarre new gift.

Bagging a straight man is the first thing that comes to mind. Well, actually bagging whole battalions of straight men spring to mind.

There's only one problem: while he now has his very own love taco, he has none of the customary toppings to go with it. Enter Pete Thickwhistle, friend and drag artist extraordinaire. Pete quickly sets about making his friend's appearance go from butch man to convincing female as fast as you can say “Max Factor.”

Rick, now Rickie, sets off on his quest for yards and yards of straight man flesh. Little did he know that what awaited him was not his lust’s desire, but his heart’s. Rickie finds that when you got out looking just for sex, you may end up with something a lot more substantial…

And finally, here's a little taste to whet your appetite. Although the cover man might be a lot more tempting when you think about taste, I hope you'll give the book a try when it comes out around Valentine's Day.

It wasn’t long before my doorbell was ringing. And no, that’s not a euphemism for another orgasm, although I did linger over my new toy for a while longer lying in bed, managing to come a couple more times before arising. That was just one of the attributes of my glorious acquisition: I could come again and again without worrying about silly notions like erections and refractory periods. I had also showered. Under the pulsating spray, I experienced yet another orgasm as I loofahed myself down there; the marriage of a rough sponge and clitoris would have had me climbing the tiled walls of my tub enclosure, had they not been as slippery as my now spanking clean pleasure portal. And who knew the “massage” setting on my showerhead could produce such divine results? What had I done without this portal to pleasure before? It seemed like with each passing moment, it revealed yet another wonder to me.

I reluctantly dragged myself from the shower and dressed in T-shirt and jeans that were now curiously flat in the crotch. Barefoot, I padded out of my room to answer the door.

Awaiting me downstairs was my friend, and sometimes woman, Pete Thickwhistle. The masculine sounding moniker, with its allusions to penises and girth, belied his given name. Pete, with his willowy frame, and mane of blond tresses, didn’t need much to look like a female, but that didn’t stop him from gilding the lily. That sissy could layer on so much make-up it took a sandblaster to get it all off. I had no intentions of letting him go Tammy Faye Baker—God rest her soul—on my face.

“Good morning, Miss Mary Sunshine!” Pete chirped and I thought, you don’t know the half of it, sister. I stepped back to admit Pete, who was wearing pin striped bell bottoms, platform shoes, a satin blouse unbuttoned almost the naval and a tasteful Hermes scarf wound around his Audrey Hepburn neck in the fashion of a cravat. Behind him trailed the scent of Chanel No. 5.

I led him to the living room, made sure he was sitting, and explained what had happened overnight.

“You’re shittin’ me?” Pete said, suddenly not sounding very feminine at all. He cocked his head at me, an incredulous smirk affixed to a face so closely shaved I wondered for a moment if he waxed it.

So I dropped my jeans and showed him.

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