What’s a blog hop without prizes? A lot less fun, for one thing! Comment on my blog and answer the question for an entry in the Grand Prize drawing, and throw your name in the hat (okay, random number generator) for my prize—a $10 gift certificate to Dreamspinner Press!
I’m the bi mother of a trans lesbian.
Try saying that three times fast! 🙂 In all seriousness, it’s not easy coming out—not for anyone I’ve ever discussed it with, anyway—you never really know how someone will react until the moment they have to. I’ve done it many times over the years, and in many different ways, but the one thing that hasn’t changed is that coming out as a bisexual instantly turns you into a teacher. The same goes for having a child who’s trans. Even a casual reference at an LGBTQ workshop can turn into an extended Q&A session. I guess it’s not surprising, when even respected activists don’t understand what it means to be bi.
While I don’t claim to be speaking for everyone who identifies as bisexual, I’ve talked to quite a few over the years and there are some things we agree on. So here goes—
Bisexuals are not monosexual, meaning we’re emotionally and physically attracted to more than one gender. Sounds simple, but a lot of crazy ideas have been attached to that very simple concept—none of which I’ll repeat here. I’ll just say that someone’s gender identity or expression usually has as much to do with who I’m attracted to as which public washroom their mother told them to use when they were five.
And there you go—this is the only thing that’s different about us. In every other way we’re the same as lesbians and gay men and straight allies. Some of us are kind and some of us are jerks; some of us are faithful to our partners and others aren’t; some of us experience fluidity in our orientation at some point in our lives and just as many don’t. We’re all individuals—some of us are freaky and some are so normal it’ll make your teeth hurt (because of all the cookies they bake for their kids—what did you think I meant?).
I’ve been writing fiction with queer characters either in starring or supporting roles since the 1980s. I didn’t start seeking publication until the mid-90s, but that was still too early for mainstream publishers so most of it was rejected. Some of those stories found homes once I changed or deleted the “objectionable” bits (first as an experiment and later with resignation and not a little bit of rage). I don’t have to do that anymore, and am over the moon with the way attitudes have changed. The internet is home to an amazing and accepting community, and I appreciate all of you who make it that way. We still have a long way to go, but every baby step gives me hope.
One more piece of business—the question. Answer this in one word or less: What part of the LGBTQ alphabet soup applies to me?
Okay, now I’ve finished with the serious part—on to the fun part! I’ve already celebrated one release this summer, and on July 7th I get to do it again. My Amber Allure release A Sunday Kind of Love is the story of Jake, and how his life opens up when he reconnects with his past.
A Sunday Kind of Love, by Charley Descoteaux
How many second chances can one man expect?
Jake McKynnie, middle-aged jazz musician, has the chops to solo—in every sense of the word. He’s living a lonely life in LA, convinced that’s the best he can expect. DJ, the boy who calls him Dad, turns up the day after his high school graduation like a sucker punch from the past. Could their celebratory trip to the salon be the catalyst for Jake’s duet with the enigmatic stylist, Mason?
Excerpt (Rated R):
Jake ducked back into the salon and almost ran into Antonio. “Thanks for taking care of him on such short notice. You’re the best.”
“You’re right about that.” Antonio kissed Jake’s cheek and leaned back to look at him. “And it was no notice, but who’s counting. You okay?”
Jake ran a shaky hand through his own short hair which, if he were completely honest, felt just that side of shaggy. “Will be. Didn’t expect to see him today.”
“If you need someone to talk to you just call me, honey.” Antonio hugged Jake hard for a short moment and then released him and gave him a significant look. “We’ll get coffee.”
“Hope I didn’t tick off your neighbor by monopolizing his chair.”
Antonio grinned so loudly Jake had to turn away.
“I’m sure Mase didn’t mind. You know he gets all drooly over hard-bodied men with tattoos.” He traced the Celtic braid encircling Jake’s left biceps. “And you have tattoos. Mase! Mason, come over here and tell Jake you don’t mind he grabbed your seat.”
Jake watched Mason stalk across the room and pass Antonio going the other way. Antonio must’ve winked or signaled him somehow because Mason’s step turned slinky as soon as he saw past him to Jake. Mason looked hot all in black, leather pants and a sleeveless shirt that wasn’t quite see-through. He could’ve lost the leather bands around his biceps as far as Jake was concerned, but that was the only fault he could find without more time.
“I don’t remember you grabbing anything.” Mason shamelessly looked Jake over.
They’d met before but Jake didn’t think the other man remembered him from the jazz club. Jake could name the month Mason had started at the salon, but for no reason he wanted to name he’d kept his distance.
Jake shook his head slowly and started walking toward the hall without thinking about it.
“Refresh my memory.” Mason took Jake’s hand and pulled him down the short hallway to the Men’s Room. Just inside the door he turned and pressed Jake against the wall, trapping him there with his body. His mouth began to work on Jake’s neck as his hands kneaded the muscles in his arms and shoulders. “You can grab my hair while you’re fucking my face.”
Thanks for reading, and for visiting my spot on the hop! Don’t forget to answer my question, and then click here or the hop button up top to return to the list and hop on!
Answer in one word or less: What part of the LGBTQ alphabet soup applies to me?