Below is a scene based on a world I created for a paranormal action book. Sadly, no editor or publisher has yet expressed an interest in a bunch of kinky/queer sexual transgressives fighting monsters like gay werebears. *sigh*
The one rule of the Cordon Sanitaire observed more in theory than in practice was to not foul the nest with extraneous passions not related to the prime mission. And yet, there was always someone waking in the armory with a runaway circus performer, a partner in a clandestine affair of enormous complications, twin trans hookers with a service dog - all manner of decadence and oddity, needing a quiet exit after hushed tiptoeing through the corridors or a loud and exuberant morning orgy send-off.
The morning after the vampire debacle in Westchester, there were no extra partners to consider except for Roland’s ghost, who ruled the morning communing held in the west tower. Not that he would have wanted this; being a devout Christian, no doubt he wanted to move on to his suitable divine reward, but he needed to be debriefed, and calling him back was the only way to confirm the details of the raid and why they had been so unprepared.
What wasn’t in the plan, however, was his annoyed spirit waking every other sensitive and even the psiblind, who had been trying, desperately, to forget the tragedy of his death in the one guaranteed way to send a mind into timeless thoughtlessness – orgasms. And so it was when Dare, his cock hard as a bayonet in slave Vera’s mouth, heard Roland saying the rosary and lost, simultaneously, his erection, his grip in her silky hair and his temper.
“Jesus Chris Roland, you died yesterday!” he shouted at the ceiling. “Give a brother a fucking break, eh?”
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