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Old School New Kid 15

“The Right to Be”

 Guest Writer: W.D. Foster-Graham         

      Indeed, it is exciting to have a new book launched. In writing Never Give Up: A Christopher Family Novel, I wondered in the beginning if I could write a whodunit, given that I love to watch movies and shows like Midsomer Murders, Forensic Files, Sherlock Holmes, Miss Marple, Inspector Morse, Poirot, and the mystery movies of the 1940s. As it turned out, I’m glad I listened to that voice within that said, “Yes you can, in your own voice and style.” It was work, and yet it was fun. And now, the characters of Earl, Juanita, and the rest of the Berry family have taken on lives of their own.

     Still, a novelist’s work is never done, and the next novel in my series will be released tentatively sometime late this year or early next year. I’ve always wanted to write a full-on male/male romance novel, given how much I love reading them. The Right to Be: A Christopher Family Novel is that novel, and in a subgenre that is predominately about white gay men, mine will be about a couple that is rare: two African-American gay/SGL men

     I have read novels about Black gay male couples, but they have been under the subgenre of urban fiction. This work, however, is squarely in the realm of romance, complete with all the passion thereof and a requisite HEA (happily-ever-after); after all, I am certainly one for Black Love and its representation.

     That being said, to Wyatt, to my readers, here’s an exclusive peek at an excerpt of the next Christopher Family Novel, The Right to Be, and Allan Christopher Davis’ journey to true love:


DECEMBER 31, 2005


     The ocean breezes of a tropical evening caressed and cooled Allan Christopher Davis’ body as he trudged along the road to his car, which was hidden by the foliage. He was reluctant to go home, at least not yet, and his identical twin brother Mickey had promised to cover for him should their parents question his whereabouts. He reached the Range Rover in almost no time at all, sliding his muscular, 6’5” body into it with ease. New Year’s Eve was OK, but it could have been much better, he thought as he let out a wistful sigh. No doubt Mickey had found a honey, and he was having a great time at one of the New Year’s Eve parties in town. Not that he was jealous of his brother—he simply wanted that kind of fun for himself. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the way things worked there. Lowering the windows and starting the vehicle, he headed up the road, with the wind blowing through his dreadlocks and having no particular place to go.

     He found himself stopping at a deserted stretch of Viewpoint Beach. Maybe it was because his astrological sign was Pisces, but the water had always been a place where he could go, sit, and work things out in his mind. Although 2005 had been an active hurricane season that included Katrina, Rita, and Wilma, the Bahamas weren’t as hard hit as other parts of the Caribbean and the U.S.; for that, he was grateful. He grabbed a beach towel, locking his car before he strolled down to the sand, ready for a skinny dip in the ocean.

     The water soothed him, the gibbous moon in the sky reflected by the shimmering waves. Later, his body refreshed, Allan stretched out on his beach towel, his “Beckley eyes” drinking in the night scene before him, the calming sound of the water relaxing his mind—somewhat. He and his boyfriend, Thomas Hamilton, had had the same old argument an hour earlier before he left in sheer frustration. They always had to meet in places way below the radar, like tonight. Thomas had been under him for nearly two hours and loved every minute of it, sharing passionate kisses and sweet nothings filled with desire and heat. However, he absolutely refused to be seen in public with Allan, much less entertain the notion of coming out. And Allan sincerely wanted a boyfriend who loved him, someone who wasn’t afraid or ashamed to stand by him, the kind his cousins had.

     Why, why did he have to get involved with a cop? That was one item on the laundry list of reasons Thomas gave him for keeping their relationship secret; after hearing them so often, they sounded more and more like excuses. Another one was Allan’s age, since he was two months shy of his 18th birthday. Then there was Thomas’ family and friends, his position in the community, and so on, and so on, and so on. 

     Topping the list was Allan’s own lineage. He was the son of Michael and Lissa Davis of the internationally acclaimed jazz ensemble Sunrise, winners of multiple Grammys and numerous other music awards, with enough gold and platinum records to give them legendary status in the music industry. He was named after his grandfather, self-made business mogul Allan Beckley Christopher, the founder of Christopher Electronics and the third African American billionaire in the U.S. His aunt, Victoria Christopher Mitchell, was the company’s current CEO, who in turn made it a Fortune 100 company. Elijah Edwards, his first cousin twice removed, was an electronics whiz and instrumental in the expansion of the company back in the 1970s. Elijah’s wife, Donna Gray Edwards—affectionately known in the family as “Madear”–was the queen of Twin Cities society, but she could easily reach across oceans to make things happen.   

     Although they retained their U.S. citizenship, his parents had made Nassau their home for many years. Having that level of fame, they said, was often a mixed blessing. Allan had been openly gay as long as he could remember, with the unconditional support of his family. No one on the islands dared to give him a hard time because of this celebrity status. Unfortunately, Thomas threw that fact in his face lately when they argued.

     Not only did their status guarantee attention and stories, but like their parents, Allan and Mickey’s looks never failed to turn heads. They had the sultry “Beckley eyes” they inherited from their grandfather, the aged ivory complexion, nose, and gap-toothed smile from their father, and the height from their mother. Sandy-brown dreadlocks reached to their waists, gracing bodies by Peterbilt with phat bubble butts, supported by size 14 feet. In school, they led the pack as honors students. Their parents instilled in them from an early age that their looks were a gift and to treat them as such, but it didn’t stop the overt female attention Mickey received and the covert male attention given to Allan.

     During summer break, mere months ago, Allan captured Thomas’ attention. Thomas had attended a benefit concert given by Sunrise, all professional and police business—at first. The hot specimen of Bahamas’ finest fell under the spell of Allan’s “Beckley eyes” and subtly asked him out. One thing led to another, and a few dates later Thomas was begging to be taken by Allan. The glow of passion and the desire to be together was good–up to a point. The culture and environment surrounding them, however, was like a nimbus cloud tainted with fear, one that refused to go away.

     Allan’s eyes saddened as he lay there in solitude. He thought it would be different this time, different from the guys in his high school. Thomas may have been older than them, but he was still another boyfriend in a line of boyfriends looking for monsters under the bed. Mom and Dad were concerned about his state of mind, as was Mickey. Will things ever change here? he wondered in disappointment. He’d made previous attempts in speaking up about the state of affairs for LGBT people on the islands along with the very few men and women who were out. Despite being born and raised in Nassau, his concerns were dismissed as being those of an outsider. I want what Mom and Dad have, but I’ll never find that here. And if I leave, Thomas won’t come with me.

     With the remnants of Thomas’ scent washed off by the Atlantic, and the reality of life for him in the Bahamas staring him in the face, a quote from an article he read online came to him: “If he won’t come out, get out.” I have to get out, Allan said to himself, lifting his eyes toward the clear night sky as 2006 rolled in. I can’t stay here any longer…


      © 2020 by W.D. Foster-Graham. All rights reserved.

W.D. Foster-Graham is an independent novelist from Minneapolis, Minnesota.  He received a B.A. in psychology from Luther College, and he was an original member of the multi-Grammy Award-winning ensemble, Sounds of Blackness.  He has also been recognized by the International Society of Poets as one of its “Best Poets of 2003.” 

His tastes in writing run to family sagas and M/M romance, seasoned with his own brand of African-American flavor—at the end of the day, it’s all about the love. He shamelessly admits to a love of romance novels, whodunits and classic movies of old Hollywood.  He was also inspired by the late novelist E. Lynn Harris, who believed that an author should write the books he/she wants to read.

Current works in development are a continuation of his Christopher Family Novel series: Never Give Up, a blend of historical novel/family saga /whodunit, and two M/M romance novels, The Right to Be and To Thine Own Self. 

You may visit W. D. at his online home, wfostergrahamauthor.comand on Twitter, @WDFosterGraham1.  And, email W. D. at  wfostergraham@wfostergrahamauthor.com.


“FRENZY!” Excerpt: “The Interview”

     Greetings!  “FRENZY!” is the brand new installment in my explosively HAWT “Nothing Can Tear Us Apart” series of novels.  “FRENZY!” is all about Wes and ‘Tonio, two star-crossed lovers who must confront severe obstacles that thrown their relationship into dire jeopardy. 

     “FRENZY!”  is chock full of masculine romance, intrigue, danger, twists and turns…and not to mention off-the-hook sexually provocative encounters!  Hell yeah!

     Now, here’s my special treat to you–and it’s in two parts!  First, here’s the 411 on the red-hot “FRENZY!”–

     What would you do after the man of your dreams battered you because he believed you’d been unfaithful?  Could you forgive this man to whom you’ve given every piece of your heart?

    Desirable, wealthy gay/SGL African-American celebrity Wesley (Wes) Laurence Kelly yearns for a gratifying and enduring love.  Unfortunately, it has slipped through his fingers.  Repeatedly.

    Enter Antonio (‘Tonio) Miguel Rios, a deliciously muscular gay/SGL Puerto Rican whom Wes has hired as his bodyguard.  He, too, has failed at love.  Miserably.

    But without warning, that magical, irrefutable and irresistible force known as chemistry totally engulfs the pair!  They forge a strong bond. However, they’re still too afraid to act on their escalating romantic feelings and sexual urges.

    Soon though, Wes and ‘Tonio break down and profess their love!

    However, a mysterious individual throws their monogamous relationship in dire jeopardy!  This vicious entity manipulates ‘Tonio into believing that Wes is being unfaithful.

    Taking the bait, the FRENZY!-ed bodyguard physically brutalizes his soul mate!  This results in Wes kicking ‘Tonio to the curb.

    And that–along with childhood sexual abuse–cause Wes to split, to become another personality: “Walker”!  The polar opposite of Wes, Walker has a heart of ice!  And, Walker’s deadly to the very core.

    Does Wes reclaim himself?  And, what secrets are buried deep inside ‘Tonio?

    But, most importantly: can Wes and ‘Tonio work their way back to one another?  And, can they still vow that “Nothing Can Tear Us Apart?”

      Part Two is the extended version of the excerpt, “The Interview.”  Freakin’ enjoy!


     Celebrity and entrepreneur Wesley Laurence Kelly meets Antonio (‘Tonio) Miguel Rios, Jr. for the very first time when he interviews him for his Chief of Security position.

     Y’all, Rios was a fuckin’ sight to behold!  A ruggedly handsome brickhouse, he was 6’4”, 280 muscularly immense pounds. 

     Massively built and exquisitely proportioned, Rios was, hands down, a bodybuilder’s bodybuilder.  Powerful, wide neck.  Barn door shoulders. Bowling ball biceps.  Horseshoe triceps.  Chiseled, expansive, impeccable pecs.  Narrow, firm waist. 

     And the way his jeans fit.  Daymn!  I could detect that he owned humongous glutes and calves…and (gleefully) something else.  Sumthin’ else, indeed. 

     The stud was clad entirely in blackshirt, jazzy (but tasteful) tie, formfitting jeans, and kick-ass cowboy boots.  Masculinity with touches of sensitivity oozed outta him!  I was fuckin’ taken aback– which usually doesn’t happen often.   I felt I was losing control.   I had to regain it.  Like yesterday.    

     “It’s a ‘pleasuah’ (pleasure) ta meet’cha, Mr. Kel-lee,” Rios smiled, broadly.  That 100-watt grin could’ve lit up all of Washington, D.C.  

     Immediately extending his power-packed mitt, he followed with, “Thanks so much for dis opportunity!”  “Stud Man” had this syrupy, so sensual, low baritone with a full heapin’ helpin’ of Latin accent stirred in for good measure.

     And his eyes!  A liquid blue-green, they appeared to be as endless as an ocean… sucking you right in!  They peered deep inside, searching for the real you.  I swore they seemed to have a life of their own… 

     Rios had a caramel-tinged complexion, and short, curly, jet-black hair.  His sideburns connected to a neatly trimmed goatee, which in turn merged into his ‘stache.  He had these full lips, which begged you to kiss them.   Mos’ def!

     And his handclasp!   Gawd.  It was warm.   Supremely confident.  Well-manicured, those hands were like meat cleavers–so thick, so sturdy, and so powerful.   His touch, his grasp, made my whole freakin’ body tingle through and through!   Nobody—and I do mean nobody—had touched me that way in what seemed like fuckin’ eons!   I swallowed hard. Dang!  Hot in here.         

     Floating back to earth, I responded, “I…I’m sure the pleasure is ALL MINE, Mr. Rios.  Welcome.”  Not to be outdone, I returned a formidable clasp of the palm myself.  

     Then, without warning, our eyes seemed to zoom into each other, like heat-seeking missiles!  After reaching their final destination, they settled into the lockdown position.  And all of a sudden, that ole magical thang called chemistry burst forth, spinning around– totally engulfing us!  The sensation was electric, hard-hitting, exciting…though downright scary!

     Hmmmm…I could swear he was checkin’ me out, scopin’ me, as wellAnd I noticed him noticing my erection.  (Yo!  I’ve got a “Big Whopper”–and I ain’t talkin’ Burger King!  LOL.)  The muscle stud’s eyes stretched wide for more than just a few seconds… 

      “Mr. Kel-lee,” Rios offered, “Puleeze…call me Antonio.”   

     “Thanks, ah, Antonio,” I responded.  Geesus, his name sounded so divine falling off my lips.  He was marinating in Givenchy’s Grey Flannel (the light blue liquid version), one of my favorites.  Not too much, just enough to tease, to tantalize.  And Lawd, he had this pleasant cinnamon-spearmint breath!

    As I chatted with Mr. Man, the chemistry between us was becoming red hot, deliciously intense.  It had gripped me so tight it made me wanna holla!  Antonio radiated such pure animal magnetism…along with enticing, sensitive masculinity.  This attraction, although irrefutably appealing, was intoxicating, bordering on the overwhelming!

     In other words, these sensations were exhilarating, dizzying; but at the same time, somewhat unnerving.  And daymn!  Our eyes were still bearing down on one another. 

     “Oh, Lawd,” I thought, “was he feelin’ what I was feelin’?  He had to be!  Well…wasn’t he?”

     Breaking eye contact for a few seconds, I announced, “Antonio (Whoa!  Once again, that name sounded sooooooo good dripping from my lips.), let’s adjourn to the library.”  Walking side by side, we reached the room.  Opening the doors, I ushered him in. 

    Glad I did, because I was rewarded with an absolutely mouthwatering sight!  Antonio had this phine “basketballbubblebuttazz!”  Pushing through his pants.  Perfectly round.  Beefy and meaty.  Bootylicious.   Ready to be squeezed…and PLUNDERED!  (Ya see, as an “azz connoisseur,” I’m an expert on these affairs.  LOL.)                                              

     I was teased even further when he sauntered into the library.  His musclebootybutt jiggled ever so slightly, ever so nicely, in his tight black jeans. Meanwhile, I had to quickly adjust Mr. Woody in an attempt to conceal my burning, growing arousal.  (You do know what part of the anatomy to which I’m referring, right?  Sho’ ya do.)

     “Antonio, please have a seat,” I invited, motioning to the sofa opposite the mahogany desk.  I climbed into the leather chair behind it, picking up his resume. 

     As I scanned his resume, I became aware of “BigGuy’s” (my later nickname for him) eyes inspecting, dissecting, and analyzing me.  He was trying to read me, workin’ to figure out what I was thinking…about him.  Meanwhile, the mounting, swelling sensations (Hell, in more ways than one, if you catch my drift!) I was experiencing were inflaming my potent, pent-up desires.

     I became lightheaded!  Beads of sweat formed on my forehead.   My left wrist, with the Rolex wrapped around it, began to sweat and itch.  And, the chilled Evian I was sipping in earnest couldn’t seem to wash away the parched feeling that had stubbornly claimed my throat.

     Then, all of a sudden, in that moment, my mind stumbled into a dense fog.  I began to fantasize, have “NASTEE” thoughts about Antonio, which went sumthin’ like this:

     Ahhh, yes…both of us butt nekkid, him doggy style, perched on my broad mahogany desk.  Ahhh…me kneeling, with his bubblebuttbootyliciousazz all up in my face…me swathed in delicious anticipation while I’m stroking, fondling and squeezing that marvelously round, voluptuous treasure. 

     Me, salivating, as I’m slowly, so deliberately parting the tepid, lusciously solid muscle cheeks…squeezing them, prying them W-I-D-E open!  Him enthralled in passion, vocalizing erotic murmurs. 

     Me, after thoroughly licking and lapping the entirety of that musclebooty, for what seemed like forever–and two days…me skillfully and leisurely delving my tongue so deeply in and out, in and out of the tight, lush, moist “valley” of that bubblebuttbootyliciousazz!   Me, becoming even more aroused by the exquisite sensations inspiring and driving Antonio to grunt and groan, shake, rattle and roll…him forcing my head ever closer into his glorious “musclebootytreasuretrove” (The Butt!  The Bum!  The Posterior!  Dat azz.)… 

     Me, after finishing my delectable, tasty feast and at the zenith of my nasteeness, carefully and totally lubing up the entrance to BigGuy’s valley, which had the heat and moisture you could liken to a tropical rain forest.  Next, me slipping on a black latex “raincoat,” and…