Coming Together: At Last, Volume One
Page 1
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Phaze
www.phaze.com
Copyright ©2009 by Alessia Brio
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
Introduction
The Colors of Us
At First
Matilda's Touch
Changes
Undercover Lovers
Proud Is the Dancer, Pride Is the Dance
Francine's Kid
The Pleasure Healing
Tattoos
If Only You Knew
Independence Day
Refuge
Shot at Love
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Love Slave
About Coming Together
With Special Thanks
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Also published by Phaze Books in the Coming Together series:
Coming Together:
Special Hurricane Relief Edition
Coming Together: For the Cure
Coming Together: Under Fire
Coming Together: With Pride
This is an explicit and erotic anthology
intended for the enjoyment of adult readers.
Please keep out of the hands of children.
www.Phaze.com
Coming Together
at last
volume 1
edited by
Alessia Brio
Coming Together: At Last, Vol. 1 © 2008 by Alessia Brio, ed. and contributing authors.
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A Phaze Production
Phaze Books
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Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222
Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC.
To order additional copies of this book, contact:
books@phaze.com
www.Phaze.com
Cover art © 2007, Debi Lewis
Edited by Alessia Brio
eBook Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-59426-670-6
First Edition—January 2009
Printed in the United States of America
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Coming Together: At Last
is dedicated to the memory of
Mildred Loving
1939-2008
Loving vs. Virginia
[N]ot a day goes by that I don't think of Richard and our love, our right to marry, and how much it meant to me to have that freedom to marry the person precious to me, even if others thought he was the “wrong kind of person” for me to marry. I believe all Americans, no matter their race, no matter their sex, no matter their sexual orientation, should have that same freedom to marry. Government has no business imposing some people's religious beliefs over others. Especially if it denies people's civil rights.
I am still not a political person, but I am proud that Richard's and my name is on a court case that can help reinforce the love, the commitment, the fairness, and the family that so many people, black or white, young or old, gay or straight seek in life. I support the freedom to marry for all. That's what Loving, and loving, are all about.
~ Mildred Loving
June 2007
Introduction
© L.A. Banks
What is the color of the most powerful force in the universe, love? When we look at hope and freedom and change and passion, do these words conjure a race or ethnicity, or are they values and ideals that cross the boundaries of form?
These are the questions I ask myself as I watch the world news. Surely a mother down on her knees wailing at the sight of a collapsed school building in earthquake-ravaged China is no different than the aggrieved father searching desperately for his children in cyclone-stricken Myanmar, who cannot in my mind be distinguished from the traumatized grandmother clutching pictures of her grandchildren to her breast as rescue workers look for survivors in the tornado-ripped heartland of America, any more than those people's cries are different than those of a mother in Darfur lifting her child up to a UN truck begging for mercy ... or Baghdad's suicide bomber-embattled children wondering where their parents are after an explosion.
Then is there any difference between the people mentioned above and their losses than that of the inner city mom standing over her shot teenager calling on the Lord for mercy, than there would be for the suburban mother who has just learned that her teen has tragically wrapped their car around a tree on prom night and didn't make it? Images, images ... oh, we have all seen them, paused, and held our palms against our hearts when we have. Maybe we've said a silent prayer for those people caught in the grip of tragedy because we can identify with their pain. For that glimmer in time, we don't see differences; we see the feelings and emotions of our fellow man and woman.
If we are really thinking, feeling members of humanity, we are called upon to reach down into our souls to ask fundamental questions. Can one deny that the waters of Katrina or those of the dreadful tsunami refused to delineate between religion, ethnic heritage, age, or gender? Did helpers who scrambled to assist survivors weep less for an orphaned child because of that child's hue? That's not what we saw during and after the 9-11 disaster. We saw people of all races and origins rushing in to help, some even giving their lives for strangers. We saw love sublime, strangers helping strangers, just because it was the right thing to do.
Therefore, it seems that the only logical conclusion one can come to is that love, hope, passion, pain, suffering ... all these things are a condition of being human, and are not conditional upon what type of human one happens to be according to labels. A baby crying pulls at one's core, no matter what ethnic group that child was born into by the accident of birth ... laughing children have that same effect. Tears shed for a profound loss also move us and break down walls. But if tragedies are so compelling, then let's step back for a moment and peel away the layers to consider one additional level of awareness. If we can understand the cries that follow a bridge collapse in Minnesota, and/or any number of horrific events that have happened, why can't we understand the colorblind nature of love?
It is one of the greatest conundrums in the world, in my opinion—because if people are laid prostrate from a loss of a loved one, doesn't that mean that they had to love whomever the tragedy befell? Doesn't that mean they loved their child just as you would love your child ... that they loved their parent or spouse or friend or partner just as you would have loved yours? If we accept that as truth, then how can we regulate love to an artifi
cial parameter like race, when we've just gone around the globe in this small exercise of recalling current events to show that all people have been touched by loss (which means they have also all been touched by love)?
For how can you have loved deeply and not weep when you have lost? It wouldn't matter, then. You'd remain dry-eyed and stoic. But that's just it. We've seen communities and families devastated and the pain of that spread out in roiling waves that effect us, even a half a world away while watching the news. Thus we can only conclude that where the tragedy hit, people were connected to others that loved them, and once the victims were no longer in the world, that bitter reality created indelible suffering for someone who cared that they were alive.
With that as a premise, rather than wait for a disaster or an act of God to create a glaring media frenzy to show just how human we are, why not embrace love for all people when the skies are clear and calm, when the waters have receded, when the shelling has stopped, and while there is laughter in our midst? Love is joy. Love is freedom. Love is hope. It is something that we all deserve and is provided for in abundance in the universe and on our planet, like air, as an ultimate act of God.
I personally believe in love and light ... and the indomitable human spirit. I believe in hope and grace and caring, and in heroes and sheroes, maybe that's why I write about them ... just as I believe in a Higher Power that levels the playing field, eventually ... and I believe in angels. Most of all, perhaps, I believe in the ability of people to change for the better, to open their hearts and to receive the greatest power in the universe (and to use it for good) ... and that is the power of love.
Peace and Stay in the Light!
~ L.A. Banks
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www.vampire-huntress.com
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The Colors of Us
© Aurora Black
In this bed, we shift and merge,
Light and dark limbs entwining
In a sacred dance.
The primal rhythm of our bodies
Crashing together mesmerizes,
Our passion knows no bounds.
I rejoice in the colors of us,
The contrasts of which I will never tire,
I love you inside of me.
Sweat cooling on flushed skin,
Love's nectar heavy between my thighs,
We celebrate our union.
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whoisaurorablack.com
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At First
© Alessia Brio & Will Belegon
Walking along 17th Street with his mind firmly in the past and oblivious to the historic present, Eduardo Rojas collided with his future. Not metaphorically, but quite literally.
Both his stack of books and the woman in the yellow dress tumbled to the ground.
"Madre de Dios! My apologies, señorita. I did not see..."
His breath caught, and his words drifted into a stammer as the woman turned and he saw her eyes for the first time. Though he considered himself a romantic, Eduardo had never believed in the concept of love at first sight until that moment.
She settled on her elbows, smiling at the slightly open-mouthed stare of her unwitting attacker. Though he had seemed quite determined to keep moving before their impact, he was currently motionless. Torn between wanting to see how long he would stay that way and a desire to get back on her feet, she decided to flip the switch on his internal circuit breaker.
"Usually, it would be considered polite to help a lady up—especially when you're the one who just sent her sprawling.” The harsh content of the words was belied by their light-hearted delivery. Vivian Long was far less upset about being knocked down than she was interested in the man who had done so. He wore a brown suit that was the height of fashion ... decades ago. The collection of books he had been carrying was now split between the pavement and a precarious perch in his crooked elbow, save the one in her lap. She lifted it and glanced at the spine while her handsome assailant stammered another apology, letting the rest of his armload fall in his haste to offer her a hand.
"I am very sorry, señorita. I was trying to make my way through this crowd as quickly and as gently as possible, and I somehow did not notice you, though how that was possible, I truly do not know.” Eduardo blushed as he realized what he had just said. It was, however, exactly what he was thinking. Her creamy skin stood out in a sea of predominantly darker tones. Brown hair in braids, deep eyes of hazel that had trapped him momentarily, and a figure that filled out her summery dress in ways that he had best not consider if he wanted to avoid further embarrassment.
"Perhaps your mind was in the Andes of the 1500s instead of Washington in August of 1963.” Vivian took the proffered hand, pulled herself up, then placed the book, Marriage and Courting Rituals among Classes in Incan Society and Their Effect on Warfare and Politics, in the hand she released after gaining her feet. She retrieved her sign and helped him gather the other scattered volumes, which carried similarly scholarly titles in both English and Spanish. “Do you work at the Smithsonian?"
"No, I am merely a student. I did several years in the field after obtaining my master's degree in Chile and am now working on my doctorate through an exchange program at Georgetown College. I apologize again for my carelessness and would..."
His words were drowned out as the surrounding crowd cheered the comments from the current speaker. The noise quickly died down as the people once again began to concentrate on the speech.
Vivian smiled again as she pieced together what she thought he had said. “I'm sorry, are you asking me on a date? I don't even know your name!” She struggled to keep a straight face as the man's handsome features contorted in shame, and he immediately began a new apology.
"No, no. I simply meant that I felt I should make amends and would like to...."
"Hush.” Vivian placed a finger on his lips. A visible shiver passed through him at her touch, but he did not withdraw. “Have you a specific meeting that you were hurrying to reach?” She lifted her finger slightly to allow his reply, and his tongue darted, subconsciously sampling the site of her touch. Vivian felt the imaginary rasp of it against a distant part of her body.
"Well, no. I simply had not anticipated the immensity of this event and..."
With the heat of his breath brushing her fingertip, she realized he was not the only one stunned by an inexplicably powerful connection. In that moment, it became more necessity than amusement to maintain contact.
Once again, Vivian placed the finger on his lips. “Then you can make amends by standing with me and listening to the next speaker. Witness some history as it happens instead of reading about it hundreds of years later. Then you can take me for that cup of coffee, señor...” Her voice trailed off in an interrogatory tone.
"Rojas. Eduardo Rojas Aguilar."
"What a mouthful! Eddie, it is. Please, call me Vivian. Now, stand here and listen with me. Then you can buy me that drink, and I'll consider your debt repaid. Deal?"
Eduardo started to correct her undignified shortening of his name, but thought better of it. There would be time for that later, he realized, still shocked both at his own forwardness and that he had put himself in a situation where it could come into play. He decided that it would be a more interesting evening than he had expected, although he still had reading to do. Hearing the name of the next speaker and realizing it was familiar from the newspaper, he decided that he would indeed listen. Afterward, the companionship promised to be, at the very least, intellectually stimulating.
Vivian watched the conflict play across Eddie's face before he quieted. She thought she recognized it, both from her own experiences and those of acquaintances. She also noticed the quiet intensity that took over as he glanced down at her sign then turned his attention toward the stage erected on the monument steps. He might not be up to speed on current events, but he knew something of the struggle, she realized. While his clothes were out of date, there was a fierce
intelligence in those eyes. She was very interested to hear his reaction to the speech which, by all accounts, would be similar to one she'd heard the speaker deliver months ago.
"Very well, miss ... Vivian,” he finished, looking at her and stammering over her given name as if it was an inappropriately glimpsed undergarment. Since she'd not supplied her surname, he had no choice but to use the more personal form of address. There was something titillating about the man's discomfiture, she realized. He made her feel like a forbidden fruit, ripe and juicy and begging to be...
"I take it this is a cause about which you are passionate?"
Vivian cocked an eyebrow, causing him to blush at his use of a word with such sexual overtones.
"I mean,” Eduardo continued, “with which you are intimate?"
She smiled.
"Erm, involved? It is important to you. Yes?"
"Yes, justice and equality are very important to me."
A loud cheer erupted, quickly followed by an expectant hush. From the far end of the reflecting pool, Vivian could barely see the figure at the podium. She well knew, though, whose voice would emerge from the sound system. A man near her own age. A man over a decade younger than the one sitting in the Oval Office a short distance away, yet one who shared comparable leadership qualities. A charismatic man who drew people to him by the sheer strength of his vision. When Eddie opened his mouth to speak, she once again placed a finger over his lips. “Listen closely,” she mouthed, recalling the earlier scramble to repair a sabotaged sound system.
For the next fifteen minutes or so, they stood side-by-side in the hot sun with over two hundred fifty thousand others and drank the verbal elixir of hope. Eduardo watched its power wash over and through the audience, and he was not immune to its heady effect. Coupled with the undeniable attraction to the woman standing next to him, he felt intoxicated, giddy. He'd no doubt history was being made in that moment—in more ways than one.
He believed the current of his life had just joined far deeper waters and every second that passed swept him further from the banks with which he was familiar. Around him, a majestic river of purpose. Beside him, a whirlpool of desire. Inside him, the roar of shifting paradigms.