It’s here! I’m delighted to say our new anthology Lashings of Sauce is now available in ebook (print coming 31st July). As a new release, it’s at a 20% discount from JMS Books for a limited time only, so get it while it’s hot!
From marriages to reunions, via practical jokes and football matches, to weresloths and possibly the oddest Tarts and Vicars party in the world, join us as we celebrate the 2012 UK Meet in the best way we know: telling the story.
As a follow-up to the critically acclaimed British Flash and Tea and Crumpet anthologies, our talented writers bring you sixteen stories about gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and genderqueer characters enjoying what Britain and mainland Europe have to offer, with their wonderfully diverse range of cultures and landscapes and some incredibly colourful and quirky people.
Contributors include: Tam Ames, Becky Black, Anne Brooke, Charlie Cochrane, Rebecca Cohen, Lillian Francis, Elin Gregory, Clare London, Sandra Lindsey, JL Merrow, Emily Moreton, Josephine Myles, Zahra Owens, Jordan Castillo Price, Elyan Smith and Robbie Whyte.
This anthology is a souvenir of the 2012 UK Meet, an occasion for GLBTQ supporters to get together in a relaxed setting to celebrate and chat about the fiction community they love. Funds from the sale of this anthology will go towards future UK Meets, to which all are welcome. Please visit the website for details, or contact UK MAT through the publisher.
Et Tu, Fishies?
“Right… keys are here, feel free to eat anything you find in the kitchen, but my clothes are off limits—and don’t think I won’t know if you borrow them.” The low, graveled voice ceased its heady rumble through my intoxicated ears, and Bill folded his arms, trying to look stern. I wasn’t falling for it. He’s six foot four of solid marshmallow masquerading (rather well, it must be said) as beefcake.
“Sweetie…” I gave it my best Mae West drawl. “The only reason I’d borrow any of your clothes is if I needed something to camp out in for the weekend. Or perhaps a sail for that yacht I’ll own one day.” I’m only two inches shorter, but around a hundred pounds lighter, for my sins. Which are neither so many nor so varied as I’d like them to be. And so very few of them involving Bill, more’s the pity.
“Fair point. Oh, and if the weirdo upstairs asks you in for a drink, for God’s sake don’t say yes.”
“Ooh, is he likely to murder me and bury me under the floorboards?” I pantomimed a shiver.
“Worse—first he’ll ramble on about the future like Nostradamus’s grandson, then he’ll either cackle insanely or burst into tears, and then he’ll pass out on the sofa. Been there, done that.”
There was a sudden nip in the air. I arched an eyebrow. “Literally?” I looked away, before my eyes could flash so green even Bill, bless his little cotton brain, would notice. Not that he’s dim, my Bill—there just tends to be something of a satellite delay between eyes and intelligence.
“Uh, no. I do have some standards, thanks.”
“Oh? That’s news to me, dearie.” I was not being unkind—that is simply the only possible response when you’re fed a line like that.
He took it in good humour. “True, true—I did you, didn’t I?”
Ouch. I’d have preferred the bad humour. “But only the once.” I pouted exaggeratedly. If you make a joke of these things, people never, ever, see the ravaged, bleeding remnants they’ve left of your poor, battered little heart.