QSFer A.L. Williams has a new queer paranormal book out: “The Baron.”
Marcus has everything, a good education and a job he worked hard for, but there’s something missing. In hopes of finding peace he decides to track down his father. Little did he know he was walking into a world of old magic and emotions he can’t have. The question is can he ignore it?
Note: This book may contain subjects of a forbidden nature. See Author notes for details.
As I’d predicted there was still time to go out after my nap. I walked down the street with my hands in my pockets, watching the people that moved about. They didn’t seem phased as I was by the rich culture around them. Everything had so much personality in comparison to L.A. It did have culture, but not in the same way. Where California was liberal and varied, New Orleans was old and wise.
The sky was still overcast as I continued on my way until I reached Jackson Square. I stopped, bombarded by laughter and loud music. The square was packed with people, some tourists and others locals. The square was lined with displays of art in every medium and on every subject.
People walked by me as I meandered through the crowd, examining the artwork. My nerves were on edge from the space—I’d never liked crowds—and it took everything in me not to run away. I wanted to see the art. I was a designer after all, and I could learn from the locals about what made the city what it was. Plus, if I was honest with myself, there was something about it all that felt…comfortable.
Noise invaded my senses from every direction, but some of it was laughter. The quality of it tugged on me. It was jovial in a way that felt like life was worth living. My stomach fluttered as I followed the pleasant sound. How could someone sound so…inviting?
When I found the man it came from, I stopped in my tracks. He was beautiful. His shoulders were broad, and his face square in a dominating way that made my cock perk. I liked my men big and alpha. So much so that my friends in high school would call me an ‘eager twink’. I was average height for a man, standing around five foot eleven inches with scruff. I was almost as broad as he was. I was far from a twink, but compared to him, I could very well be one. I stared, internally scolding my body for being so easy, as I moved closer.
The man had short hair that was buzzed close to his scalp with neat lines that said he’d been to a barber recently. He spoke with his hands to the people gazing at his paintings. I followed their gaze and froze. The paintings that hung from flooding display walls were of beautiful black men and women dressed in what looked like traditional tribal clothes from Africa. Some were portraits and others among the trees and grasslands of the Old World.
Other paintings were of American slaves with scars etched into their bodies. My heart hurt at the sight; the emotion intense. It was hard to find art that I could feel as if it was coming off the canvas, but his work did. I wiped away a tear that had gathered in my eye and looked back at the man, finding him watching me.
He approached and smiled, sending a jolt straight to my cock and a flutter through my stomach. I licked my lips, which I promptly stopped when I realized he was watching the movement, and I cleared my throat. “These are breathtaking,” I said, gesturing at the artwork.
“Thank you, son.”
I arched a brow. “Son?”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t assume. Even if you look like jail bait.” He smirked.
My name is Alec Lee Williams, a trans #ownvoices artist. My pronouns are He/him/his. I have loved creating things ever since I can remember. My art is the visual and written expression of what is in my heart and mind. Show the world what social expectation and stigma it has created in regards to mental health. Mental illness and discrimination are a part of our history and it’s time the world sees it. The beautiful and the dirty.
With my art, I want to show those who don’t have mental illness what it’s like. I want those that do have a mental illness, specifically queer POC, to relate and maybe even letting go of their trauma and triggers by seeing it displayed. I want them to know they are not alone. Now that I have decided to pursue writing my novels I hope will do the same.