Thursday, November 26, 2009

What truly matters

I’m not necessarily a ‘happy holidays’ sort. My husband was first diagnosed with cancer just before Thanksgiving of 2000. It’s a little hard to be cheery when the future is a black hole. But it’s the holiday season. We are given no choice but to carry on like a good little soldier. So, okay, I’ve sometimes failed miserably at that the last nine years.

Hope springs eternal, though, and this year I approach the dreaded six weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas in a calmer state of mind. My love has been cancer free for over three years now, and while we will never be free of the specter of it recurring, we have learned what is important, and what simply matters not. And all the trappings of the holiday season matter not.

Today we will drive to my sister-in-law’s home for an almost traditional Thanksgiving dinner. I’m sure all her dishes will be on the ‘healthy’ side, but that’s okay. My sweet potato pie has been ‘lightened up’, too. All that really matters is we’ll all be at the table together. Laughter, and wine, will flow.

Tomorrow, Black Friday, I won’t venture out of the house unless my mother calls needing help with something at her home. My hubby and I have been discussing the yearly decorating binge – as in does it really matter? Who do we do it for? Us? Others?

I agree, in principal, that I should cut back a bit. I’d like to think our holiday visitors are here to see us and not the glittering tree. But a strange thing is happening inside me. I’m eager to see those sparkling lights. I want to hang the garland around the room, and line up little snowmen on the windowsills.

It feels like it’s the time for one last blow-out season before we pass the eight-foot tree to someone younger and get a four-footer. So after dinner today, I’ll brave the attic and bring down all my Christmas treasures. They might not all go back up, and that’s okay.

And through it all, we won’t forget that what truly matters is sitting on the sofa next to us, agreeing that once again, we over decorated.

KC Kendricks

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Poseidon's Pleasure by KC Kendricks

November 15, 2009
updated 5/17/2016

Poseidon's Pleasure
contemporary gay romance available at

Brett Houston triumphed over his life. Raised by an abusive father, Brett sacrificed his personal happiness to keep the ones he loved safe. Ready to make big changes in his life, Brett treats himself to a Caribbean vacation. To his surprise, he ends up at a seaside ball, wearing a G-string and presiding over the festivities as Poseidon, the God of the Sea.

Mark Matthews left behind his hometown, and his first love, to put down roots in California. With vacation time to use, or lose, Mark books a holiday on the island of St. Lucia, unaware of the surprise reunion Fate has waiting for him.

Brett cautiously examines the fractured bonds of the past, while questioning the possibility of a future with Mark. It’s simpler for Mark. He won’t settle for anything less than a future tending to Poseidon’s pleasure.


“So how’d you get to be Poseidon, Brett?”

“Wrong place, wrong time, is my best guess. They cornered me.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t tell me you’re not having any fun at all.” Mark offered me some sort of meatball on a toothpick. I accepted it and chewed, its peppery, bourbon-tinged flavor made my mouth water for more.

“I can’t say that. Actually, I’m flattered they asked. How’d you get to be a member of my court?”

“I’ve no clue. When I checked in, there was an envelope waiting for me at the front desk informing me I’d been selected, if I wanted to, so I said why not?”

I looked him in the eye. “That ‘why not’ used to get you in all sorts of trouble.”

Mark nodded, and met my gaze without flinching. “I know, but I’m more careful these days.”

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Sure, you are, Mark. I believe you.”

He leaned in, his green eyes hot and serious. “I am, damn it! I grew up. Now stop trying to make me feel seventeen again.”

Why should he get off the hook? The years dropped away, and I regressed to seventeen again, too. I drilled him with my best stare, and kept my voice down.
“You gave me the clap!”

Mark’s fingers closed around my wrist. “Christ! I didn’t do it on purpose, you know.” He scanned the crowd, and so did I. No one was paying any attention to us.

“And I don’t have it now, for your information. I don’t have anything.”
I really wanted to believe that, but I knew I couldn’t.

“Bully for you. I’m not going to be your fuck buddy for the next few days, so if that’s what this is about, you can get over it.”

“Fuck bu…? Have you lost your mind?”

Yes, I had, and I didn’t care if I got it back. I stared at him as he forged ahead.

“I wouldn’t fuck you again, Brett Houston, if you were the last man on the island! I loved you, man, and you just walked away like I was nothing more than dog shit you needed to clean off your shoes!”

“You told me you weren’t out fucking anyone else. That was a lie, you little twink. You tricked your way across town and back.”

Mark ripped off his mask and glared at me. “You were the older know-it-all, the one in too much of a hurry to put on a fucking rubber!”

He had me with the truth on that fact. “You weren’t the only one who was younger, Mark.”

“And that makes it all better?” He leaned back and blew out a long breath. “Okay, okay. Can we not do this? We haven’t seen each other in twenty years, and we’re going at it like it’s only been twenty minutes.”

He had me again, because he was right again. Nothing would be served by sniping back and forth. Seeing him thrust me back to an uneasy era in my life. It was time for me to act like the man I was if I wanted to stay in touch with him from now on, maybe even call him friend.

“I’m sorry, Mark.”

He gawked at me, then stuck his pinkie finger in his ear and wiggled it around.
“I’m going deaf. I would swear I heard Brett Houston say he was sorry.”

“Funny. See me laugh? I mean it, Mark. I’m sorry for a lot of things.” But I’m not sorry about those times I had you.

He handed me another meatball. His eyes asked me to accept it as a peace offering.

“I was young, dumb and full of cum, Brett. If it was the wrong thing to do, it came naturally to me. But you know that.”

I accepted the meatball, making sure my fingers stroked his as I grasped the toothpick.

“Yeah, I know. And I forgot what it was like to be young and free. I remember it better now, for some reason.”

Mark’s hand touched my thigh. My whole body tightened, my balls drew up, my cock swelled. I didn’t want to react so strongly to him, but I was glad I did. I’d forgotten what it felt like to make love, to touch more than some man’s hard dick. I ached to feel alive again...

Book Three of the Southern Cross series
Available at Amazon and other online book sellers

Also available:

Book One of the Southern Cross series

Book Two of the Southern Cross series

KC Kendricks
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Saturday, November 7, 2009

Strange Days, Half a Lifetime

November is always a strange time in the yearly cycle of my life. November 8th marks the anniversary of my father’s passing, and this year is particularly significant. This year, I have lived half my life without my dad.

I never know how I’m going to feel when November rolls around. Some years I’ve been melancholy, reflecting about those things in my life I can’t celebrate with him. What he’d say about my writing, I don’t know. He was always proud of me, but his little girl wasn’t supposed to know about, um, you know… sex.

He was a man of few words, unless it was about the speed at which I prefer to drive. It’s not what you might think. Dad drilled it home that if I planned to drive fast, I’d better know how to make the correct split-second decision. He didn’t tell me to slow down, because he didn’t waste words.

My dad is directly responsible for my love of American muscle cars. No, not exotic, for God’s sake, as described by one reviewer. AMERICAN MUSCLE. I know by the sound if it’s got a 283 or a 327 under the hood. I know at a glance if it’s a ’67 or ’68 Camaro, and I know the difference between a big block and small block.

What he thought of having a motorhead for a daughter, I don’t know, but I know he took the time to teach me as much as he could. Very helpful knowledge when dealing with mechanics and used car salesmen. Also very helpful when sizing up a prospective mate.

This year, I find I’m sad to have lived half my live without my dad. He would have had his 80th birthday this past June, and I cannot picture him at that age. For me, he’s frozen in time at the age of 52, my age now. A young man. A handsome man with humor in his steely blue eyes. A strong man standing six feet tall whose arms were always ready with a hug.

I hope he’d still be proud of me, of the choices I’ve made, and how I’ve handled those situations where choices were made for me. I hope he’d tell me it’s okay to love my stepfather, a man who is a true blessing to my mother’s life, and to mine. I know he’d approve of my Mr. Goodwrench certified husband.

So if I’m sad right now, I know it will pass. Something mundane will happen as I go about my days, and Dad’s grin will flash in my memory, and I’ll hear his laughter. And for a moment, he’ll be beside me again.

Life is always good.

KC Kendricks

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Gray Vitamins

So, I went shopping today at the local warehouse club because I needed paper products. Having a few extra dollars, I cruised the vitamin and supplement aisle, and decided it was time I start taking a multi-vitamin a few times a week. I am of a certain age now, you know, so I selected a blend for more mature individuals. Now I just have to remember I have them so I can take them, hence my saying 'a few times a week'. Don't snicker. Your day will come.

I get home and open the bottle to check out the vitamins. You know, give them a sniff and see just how nasty they might really be.

The pills are gray.

I think I'm affronted. Perhaps insulted. Gray, for heaven's sake. Is this some sort of AARP conspiracy? Someone's idea of humor? (Okay, it IS funny, but reminding me I'm more mature is unnecessary.) I'm a boomer. I don't have to take this lying down.

On the other hand, I guess I'll pop those little gray pills and see if help me type faster. I'll just do it with my eyes closed.

KC Kendricks

Coming soon: