Oleander Plume has a new MM erotic sci fi comedy book out:
For adults only:
***Horatio Slice is NOT dead.***
Gunner Wilkes knows a secret. Heartthrob rock star Horatio Slice is not dead. Sure, Gunner may turn heads with his big brain, good looks, and gym-built body, but his mind is on one thing only: returning his all-time favorite rocker and secret fanboy crush to Earth.
***Yes, there are VAMPIRE PIRATES***
Fame and stardom were starting to wear thin for Horatio Slice, but when he was sucked through a magical portal while on stage at Madison Square Garden into a jail cell in a strange dimension called Merona, his confusion quickly cleared upon meeting his sexy, dark-haired cellmate, a vampire pirate named Snake Vinter, who filled Horatio in about life in the universe, jumping from dimension to dimension, and craftily avoiding the wrath of gnarly-mask-wearing leather queen King Meridian—a guy nobody wants to cross.
***The metal ship is named Frances.***
And on Snake’s metal ship live eight identical blond Humerians, who proudly display their c***s and a**holes in carefully crafted trousers, as well as a wild assortment of untamable, man-hungry travelers and stowaways. But someone has hacked into Frances’ mainframe, demanding that Snake and crew deliver Horatio Slice to King Meridian, or feel his wrath.
All the zany magical comedy of Mel Brooks, an adventure not dissimilar to Indiana Jones meets Barbarella, and men, men, horny men, of all shapes and sizes, Horatio Slice, Guitar Slayer of the Universe is wild, fun, pornographic fiction for anyone who loves the masculine, the feminine, and all identities in between. Even more so, it’s for cravers—for aficionados—of big, hard, pounding c**k, and anyone who can handle laughs that won’t stop coming.
You Tube Trailer
After a brief rush, accompanied by the sensation of turning inside out, Gunner found himself in a lush forest. Up ahead stood a strange dwelling that could have emerged straight from a Tolkien novel. Topped by a thatched roof dotted with moss and toadstools, its crooked walls were covered in peeling beige stucco that revealed rough-hewn logs underneath. The sagging front porch was home to one empty flowerpot and a weathered rocking chair. Gunner wondered if there were elves inside, baking cookies.
“Good one, Snake, bringing me back to my own damn house.” Horatio threw his hands up. “Why not hand me over to Meridian on a silver platter?”
“This is the last place Meridian would expect you to show up. Besides, you can’t trot around bare-assed all over the galaxy, now can you?” Snake said.
“I guess not. Although, I think I’m pretty damn sexy.” Horatio ran his fingers over his cock and wagged his eyebrows at Gunner. “Ready for another taste, cutie?”
Gunner frowned at Horatio. “Why did you steal my guitar?”
Horatio pointed up. “That’s why.”
From above, Gunner heard flapping wings. Gigantic flapping wings. Glancing skyward, he thought he might crap his pants. “What. The. Fuck. Is. That?”
“Liver bird!” Snake shrieked.
The humongous creature descended, barbed talons exposed as if to strike. It pierced the air with a raucous screech and dove toward Gunner. Closer, the beast smelled of decaying flesh, and its razor-sharp beak dripped with green slime. Eyes glued to the horror, Gunner sank to his knees and prepared to die.
“I got this!” Horatio fiddled with the knobs on Gunner’s guitar and played an earsplitting riff. The flying demon stiffened and crashed to the ground.
“Holy shit,” Gunner said before his vision clouded and went dark.
Oleander Plume writes (mostly gay) erotica while sipping martinis, and, yes, they are dirty martinis. She lives in Chicago.