Nick Pageant Quotes

I was on a kick of reading nothing but gay romance because I was in a bit of a sexual slump, unless you count reading one handed, if you do, I was having lots and lots of sex.

As for the dick, sorry, nothing to write home about. It's perfectly average, but looks great since it's attached to an undersized body. These things are all about proportion. Anyway, average all the way, which means, although I would like to get screams of ecstasy from those generous souls who let me stick it in them, I usually end up getting moans of contentment (could be boredom, but let's go with contentment).

One day a little old lady came and asked my name, saying she couldn't read my nametag. I told her and reached for the little slip of paper she held, but she put it behind her back. It seemed she wanted to chat before giving it up. Fine with me. We chatted about our matching cardigans (the fact that I dress like a little old lady was not lost on me) and we chatted about how the Portland weather bothered her bones. We talked for a long while about her husband and how much she'd grown to hate him over the years. Then, since I guessed I'd earned her trust, she handed me her slip of paper. It was for a book on exotic poisons. I got her the book and spent the next few weeks scanning the obituaries for every old man that had died. So, yes, folks I may be an accomplice to murder. Don't say there's no excitement at the library.

Now I was truly offended. "I don't read romance novels," I hissed, "I read gay fiction.

Whatever this guy was about to dish out, I was prepared to respond with, "Thank you, sir, and, may I have another?

I'll read anything since I'm something of a book slut.

I was one sexy, cardigan-clad HoMoFo.

Nothing says I love you like a pre- lubricated butthole.

No one ever spoke above a whisper in the staff lounge, but I felt the need to shush her anyway. I gave her my best librarian frown and put one finger to my lips. It works every time. We librarians are like practitioners of Jedi mind-control when it comes to shushing.

She's a lot more than nice," Gran said with a leer, "after our last date, I came home with my face looking like a glazed donut. That gal's juices are flowing. She must be on some kind of hormone replacement therapy.

There's going to be just a teeny bit of angst (this is a romance book) and then there's going to be a Happily Ever After. And, oh yes, dicks and butts, lots of dicks and butts. Seriously, keep a wet wipe handy, there's some really hot stuff in here.

Thanks for the penis, God. I don't have the balls to be a woman.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped living in the real world. I expected life to be like my books. I expected happily ever after out of every situation and when I didn't get it, I'd just read another book.

It had actually been a year since I'd finally broken up with Glen. I'd moved in with him after two dates (I would have made a great lesbian) and things had gone downhill quickly. How well I remembered our last morning together. He'd woken me early one morning by hitting me in the face with his cock and demanding a before-work blowjob. Since he'd been out all night without me and the dick he'd just assaulted me with smelled of eau de lubricant, I'd refused to open my mouth. I'd given his balls a twist I hoped he was still feeling and headed back to Gran's.

Don't worry, though, I'm sure you're still both tighter than the knots on a tree.

I wouldn't call it performance anxiety exactly, because my dick was so hard I could have let him do pull ups on it. One-handed pull ups, I admit, but still – pull ups.

I like trees, they will someday be books.

Like the fact that he's my twin brother and I know you'll eventually ask us to double-penetrate you."
I tried very hard to look shocked. "I don't even know what that means, Shane."
"And you're never going to find out.

He kissed me and then pulled back, looking very serious. "I love you, Mason."

There it was. The magical phrase. In every book I'd ever read it was accompanied by either tears or long descriptions of deep stirrings in the chest that sounded suspiciously like coronaries. This wasn't like that at all. It was just a simple statement of how things were. "I love you, too."

"Good," he said with an easy smile.