Unique #5
Read the prologue and first chapter of Avery Aster’s upcoming stand-alone, male/male erotic romance Unsaid (The Manhattanites)
For fans who loved the snarky wit of Will & Grace and the epic love drama found in Brokeback Mountain comes Avery Aster's new full-length, standalone contemporary erotic M/M romance novel, Unsaid.
Chelsea’s hottie Blake Morgan III has reemerged from a nasty breakup. His marriage was a frigid disaster beyond repair, and he vows to be single—forever. Bruised, but still hot in Prada, he creates his Seven Desires wish list, his sexiest imaginings. Blake soon realizes there’s only one man he may trust to make these uninhibited intentions come to fruition: his best friend Miguel Santana.
Lower East Side multimedia artist extraordinaire Miguel Santana may be known as the cocky Latin stud in the city, but all he’s wanted since college was Blake’s hand in marriage. He was livid when Blake walked down the aisle with the wrong guy. Miguel has his own list titled the Seven Needs, which are quite contrary to Blake’s dirty-boy deeds. They involve serious commitments, which may leave his new-to-the-singles-scene buddy sprinting for the door, destroying any hopes Miguel has for happiness.
Can these two hunks conquer their intimate fears and love one another as only best friends can? Join the star-studded cast in The Manhattanites series and see for yourself!
Readers Advisory: Pent-up sexual tension between two best friends leads to water sports, BDSM, electricity, and fisting.
Blake Morgan III (29): A gay anal virgin, he graduated from Columbia University with Miguel and works as Managing Partner at Brill, Inc. Coming off a divorce and a long bout of celibacy, he’s keeping secrets and will do anything to put his past behind him.
Miguel Santana (29): Born into Mexican nobility, and raised on the Upper West Side, he’s a relationship virgin. Touted in the press as the next Salvador Dalí, he’s a prominent artist who’s slightly closeted and trying to avoid casual sex.
Lex Easton (30): Owner of Easton Essentials, she’s a fashionista who’s marrying Prince Massimo Tittoni and having a hell of a time balancing motherhood, work and her magnificent Italian lover, Massimo’s libido.
Massimo Tittoni (34): Prince to the royal House of Girasoli, he’s engaged to Lex Easton, dad to their son Massimo Junior and adjusting to living on Park Avenue. He’ll do anything to keep Lex barefoot and pregnant, especially if it means making love.
Taddy Brill (30): A diva millionaire who dates Warner Truman, and is Blake’s lifelong friend and boss at Brill, Inc. She has the largest accessory and hand rifle collection in the United States. Whatever Taddy says, goes!
Vive Farnworth (30): Met Lex, Taddy, and Blake in boarding school. Vive is the editor-in-chief of Debauchery magazine. As a party girl and heiress to Farnworth Firewater liquors, she’s living her life large, one cocktail at a time.
Thor Edwards (31): As a socialite, trust-fund brat, he lunches, meddles and fundraises. He’s Miguel and Blake’s gay bestie and spends his days as an advocate for safe sex and a spokesperson for AIDS Life New York.
Diego Oalo (29): Blake’s ex-husband. Due to his deadly sex games, he’s wanted by the FBI for fifteen counts of attempted murder. He’s taken all of Blake’s money, is on the run and is counting on Blake to keep quiet.
Birdie Easton (52): An eighties glam-metal icon. Widow to Eddie Easton, she’s Lex’s mother who swung with Taddy Brill’s mother, Countess Irma, back in the day. Her past is always a blur, and she wants nothing more than to see her daughter get married.
Jemma Fereti (34): Milan’s most famous supermodel turned fashion designer and photographer. She works at Easton Essentials’ Europe office and is dating Rocco and Luigi. Jemma’s come to NYC to get Lex styled for her big day.
Blake’s Seven Desires
“At eighteen, I fell in love with Blake Morgan. Eleven years later, I’m still in love with him. Does he know? Nope. I’d hoped after a while my feelings for him would stop or I’d be able to find someone else. They didn’t and I haven’t.” —Miguel Santana, Lower East Side
Miguel’s Unwelcomed Invitation
Five Years Ago
Lower East Side
Miguel Santana collected his mail in the lobby of his apartment building.
Something fancy was caught between his invitations to gallery openings and his father’s medical bills. It was an ecru-colored card stock envelope. Embossed in gold by Crane & Co. stationery, the letter was addressed in an eccentric Gothic-styled calligraphy.
The paper felt important in his hands. Who was it from? Mr. & Mrs. Morgan on Meadowcroft Lane in Greenwich, Connecticut. Blake’s parents.
Blake, his best friend since college, had remained his secret crush even after all these years. But what did the Morgans send him? It was too soon for a Christmas card. The knot twisting in his stomach told him this was no holiday greeting.
Tearing the envelope open, he read his attendance was requested by Blake Morgan III as he wed Diego Oalo. Fuck. Diego was Blake’s boyfriend, the asshole-turned-douchebag who their friends, Lex Easton, Taddy Brill and Vive Farnworth, secretly referred to as MLD—Missy Limp Dick—for obvious reasons. Miguel had coined Diego with the nickname when they were freshmen in college. Five years later, it still stuck.
It appeared Blake was serious about marrying MLD. He’d questioned how he could let Blake get away from him. He’d assumed he’d have more time. Miguel never expected Blake to marry the first guy who’d come along. MLD was supposed to be his starter-boyfriendto warm him up for the grand prize, himself. Shit!
His cell phone chimed, so he reached in his back pocket. The glowing screen read ‘Thor Edwards’. “Wasup?” Miguel greeted.
“Eh mah gawd.”
“Huh?”
“O-M-G!” Thor screamed.
“Thor, stop. What’s wrong?” He didn’t have the energy for his friend’s drama that day. Not now.
“Did you get that thing in the mail?”
“Sí, I have it right here.” Miguel paused before forcing, “Hats off to Blake for tying the knot. Maravilloso news, isn’t it?” His eyes rolled even on his own sarcasm.
“You high?”
“Heavens no.”
“Drunk?”
“No…”
“I’m coming over,” Thor demanded.
“Stay put. I’m busy,” he lied. His apartment was a mess. Last thing he needed was Thor Edwards, socialite amongst the foo-foo fabulous, poking fun at his bachelor-could-care-less-about-throw-pillows taste in decorating.
“Why didn’t we learn about this sooner?”
“Blake knows we’d probably kill him.” He also thought he didn’t have anything to do with the wedding planning. It must be Diego’s idea. The bastard was a gold-digging piece of shit who climbed his way to the top of Wall Street and Blake’s bed.
“Whaddya say we head over to Macanudo’s tonight and martini it up. We’ll plan a way for Blake to get out of this.”
“Not up for socializing.”
“Taddy and Vive are going,” Thor persisted.
“Did the girls get their invites?”
“Yup. Looks like Blake’s mother wants us all to be part of the wedding party.”
“Mierda.” Miguel couldn’t imagine how Taddy and Vive would take this. They, of all their outspoken diva friends, were probably ready to tie Blake up to a tree in Central Park and hit him over the head with their Waterford crystal. Maybe the girls could knock some sense into him. “What good will happy hour do us tonight?”
“A few cocktails may lessen the blow.” He pressed on. “Cock being the key word here. Come on, we’ll make a night of it.”
“Nothing’s going to make me feel better.”
“What’re we gonna do?” Thor asked.
“You and I are going to put on our happy faces and support Blake’s dream.” God, he felt sick even saying that.
“Don’t-cha mean our nightmare?”
“Same thing.” Miguel stared at the invitation. The words
on the card blurred into one spot.
“We are so not.” He exaggerated the ‘o’ in ‘so’ and then paused for a second. “My strategy to prevent this from happening is when the officiant asks if anyone objects, you and I will raise our hands.”
“No.”
“Then let’s kidnap Blake before the wedding. Send him to Jersey. Yeah, that’s what we’ll do. No one will find him over there.”
“Thor...”
“Vive and I will drug Blake. Then throw his tight ass on one of those gay cruises, which go outta Bayonne. When the ship arrives in Barcelona a few days later, he’ll have so much Latino cock rammed up his waspy hide, he’ll never think twice about MLD.” Thor spoke as if he had all the solutions.
The only Latin cock Miguel wanted going in Blake’s ass was his own. Not Diego’s, not anyone else’s.
“We have to support this. It’s what Blake wants.” He would find a way to respect his friend’s decision.
“You’re gonna have to duct-tape me to the pew during their ceremony. I, for one, want no part in supporting this union. I can’t stand MLD, and I know the girls can’t either.”
“That’s nice, considering we’re not the ones marrying Diego.”
“Miguel?” His voice became serious.
“Sí?”
“I’m sorry. I know how much you loved Blake.”
“Right.” He noted Thor spoke about his love in the past tense, as if it was behind him and over with. It wasn’t.
“I don’t know what else to say…” His voice rose an octave.
The cell phone chimed as his screen read ‘Lex Easton’.
“Another drama queen is calling in. I’ll meet you at the club in a few, okay?”
“See you soon, buddy.”
“Adios.” He clicked over. “Hola.”
“I don’t…I won’t…I can’t…effin’ believe this.” Lex sounded as if she could barely speak, but she still, as always, managed to curse. “Did you get—?”
“Sí,” he replied, hearing the sadness in her voice. It appeared he wasn’t the only one with selfish thoughts; others felt the same way he and Thor did. But it didn’t really matter because the marriage was going to happen. “Thor and I are going to the club. Can you meet us and we’ll talk about it?”
“Sure. I’ll ring my driver and pick you up in, say, thirty minutes.”
“Bueno.”
He hoped fresh air would calm his unease as he stepped outside. Could he risk not going to the wedding and stand his ground? Knowing Blake, if his friends didn’t support the wedding, he’d most likely cut them off for good. Miguel’s friendship to Blake was too important for that. Saying farewell to the hopes of making Blake his would be a lot harder than he thought.
Vive’s Power Bottoms
Present Day
Upper East Side
Blake Morgan III often poked jokes at himself by saying, if CBS TV executives produced a spin-off show from Julianna Margulies’s smash hit The Good Wife with a unique twist turning the iconic Alicia Florrick role into a gay male—they’d be sure to cast him.
He was always good—too good, in fact. At age ten, he’d given his Boy Scouts pledge to do his best, to do his duty to God and his country, and to obey Scout Law. At twelve, he’d attended Sunday services as an altar boy helping Reverend Robinson at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church in Greenwich, Connecticut, spreading word from the Book of Common Prayer.
At fourteen, he along with his friend, Thor Edwards, were the first boys admitted into the recently-converted-to-coed Avon Porter Academy in Cheshire, Connecticut. He’d blended right in with the other girls, and became fast friends with rock-n-roll royalty Lex Easton, European nobility Taddy Brill, and Scandinavian liquor heiress Vive Farnworth. The year he’d turned sixteen, he came out of the closet. His dream was to get married and be a dad one day. With no boyfriend in sight, he’d rallied his entire state into a mammoth fundraiser aiding to legalize gay marriage; an action Senator Taft coined The Land of Steady Habits Equality Movement.
Then he was accepted, with Senator Taft’s recommendations, into the prestigious Ivy League Columbia University. He’d majored in marketing and met his good friends Miguel Santana and Diego Oalo. Diego and Blake had dated and at twenty-four, they’d married in an expensive wedding attended by New England’s most elite.
Earlier in the year, his friend, Taddy, who he’d helped launch her eminent PR firm back in college, Brill, Inc., had promoted him from EVP to Managing Partner.
That day, all things appeared to be quite great in Blake’s world. Except things weren’t even good, and he wasn’t either. At nearly thirty, Blake was divorced and eager to be bad, very, very bad. Tonight, drinks and cock talk were in order.
Blake felt the pale yellow liquid slide down his throat. His nostrils flared for relief from the burning sensation. Macallan’s single malt scotch proved to be mother’s milk for this Friday night.
“It’s been six months since my ex-husband moved out. Time to put myself out there again.” He sighed at his two friends, Thor and Vive, then sank his small fork into a mussel and ate it off the half-shell. The cilantro relieved his intoxicated palette.
Before cocktails, the three of them had shot off their steam at the Lipstick & Lead Rifle Range. Some people did Yoga or smoked pot to relax, but the Manhattanites preferred to shoot guns. He was getting better at hitting the bull’s-eye.
“I’m not saying I want a relationship. Quite the opposite, actually.” His fantasy of matrimony was over. The straights could keep the marriage thing as far as he was concerned. He’d thrown in the towel at trying to adopt kids, too.
“Gotcha, gorgeous. So, what do ya want then?” Vive inquired and leaned back in her chair. As founding editor-in-chief for Debauchery magazine, she tended to interview even her friends. Her knack for asking point-blank questions kept conversations moving at warp speed.
For a minute, he thought about what she’d asked, but nothing came to mind. Instead he glanced down at Hedda Hopper, Vive’s Lhasa Apso, asleep on her lap. Though her days as Best in Show at Westminster Kennel Club had long passed, Hedda appeared brushed and in first place.
“I can tell you what Blake needs.” Thor Edwards, the mouth of Manhattan, who often spoke on his behalf and everyone else’s because he had nothing better to do, encouraged him to finally say it.
“What?” He didn’t know what those two had in mind.
“Sex,” Thor said.
“Mind-blowing, ass-ripping, butt-fucking sex,” Vive added.
“No way!” He wasn’t ready.
“Yes way.” Thor argued. “Say it. Say it like you have to have it. Just fucking say it already. Say, ‘I need sex’.”
“I, ahhh...I would need a date in order to have sex. But I imagine sex would be nice.” A true declaration. It felt good to say those words; he’d been holding out, holding back for far too long.
“What kind of sex, Blake?”
He hadn’t thought about it much. “My new romantic life should be casual, but safe. Yes, nothing risky, just fun.”
“Casual?” Flabbergasted, Thor’s hazel eyes widened. “Now we’re talking. I’ve never heard you be so cavalier before. It’s about effin’ time.” Thor slid a piece of Bruschetta in his mouth, then licked the sauce off his manicured hand.
“Call it a date or sex, but either way, boys, it’ll be here soon enough. Taddy bragged she hooked you up with a shit-load of dates. Tomorrow night starts with Nello Lamas.”
The thought of going out with that Argentinean playboy made him nervous. “I won’t know what to do with myself.” Blake felt like a teenager all over again.
“Nello is hawt!” Thor took another bite, then said, “You were married to MLD for five years and he never gave your tight ass a hard pounding?”
“No.” Thank the heavens.
“Not even once?”
“Thor, I said no, didn’t I?” He shook his head, confirming his failure.
“I just can’t fathom. I mean, really.”
Jerking his head back with great dramatics, Thor slammed down Scotland’s finest. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
His ex-husband was incapable. Blake had made an effort over the years to let his partner take the lead, an interest, be a star. But Diego had come out on the bottom in every aspect. “I was in a relationship with a blowup doll.”
A month into the marriage, Blake had realized they were headed for frigid ruin. Diego had refused to embrace real intimacy, let alone untamed intercourse, at least with him anyway. He couldn’t speak for the others. Oh, and there had been several.
The marriage was history, the divorce papers freshly inked with their signatures. Blake Morgan III was unattached once again. Look out, New York City!
“You should’ve never gotten married to him. Even your parents said so.”
Vive rubbed his face in it. She also never said Diego’s name. She’d call him Blake’s It, Needle Dick, and of course the group’s pet name for him, MLD. Vive usually sang the acronym in a mock operative voice, even to Diego’s face.
“I’m well aware of who my folks rooted for me to partner up with, thank you very much.” His parents had urged him to marry their clique’s Latin stud.
“M-I-G-U-E-L.” Thor chanted the name as Vive toasted yet another drink, which woke up Hedda.
“Caliente.” He loved mimicking Miguel’s sexy Mexican accent when he wasn’t around to flex his muscles, defending his Latino pride. “Speaking of the devil...” Blake glanced down at his cell phone. No text messages. “Where are Miguel and the girls?” he asked, worried he wouldn’t show. Ever since Blake became single, it appeared Miguel avoided seeing him one-on-one. He couldn’t figure out why. “He should be here by now.”
Thor swigged and then commented, “Perhaps he’s working on some painting or got inspired by something—”
“I bet his driver is stuck in traffic,” Vive interrupted. “Christ, I don’t get why anyone lives that far downtown. Below Forty-Second Street is uncivilized, let alone below Fourteenth Street. Isn’t that right, Hedda?”