Answering a Question

Greetings everyone,

Recently I was posed a question. This question begged for one to share the acumen of richness in a few of one's stories. The question was ...

What top three works of yours could you never tire of reading?

To my surprise, but perhaps to no one else's, the answer came from a sole source. Said source being my short story collection, "Syncopation of Ravishing Intensity".

Blurb:

Winter Sensations …

Spring Overtures …

Summer Ruminations …

Fall Inhibitions …

The Syncopation of Ravishing Intensity is four seasons of discovery, lust, love and eroticism. A compilation of short stories that are sure to make you swoon in delight. Through a collection of erotic shorts drenched in whimsical prose, Adonis Mann takes us on a trip through a thrilling and provocative year. Stimulating the reader with stories like “Tyronian Rapture”, “Prismatic Slumber” and “Metamorphosis”, Mr. Mann brings sensual delight to every season. A jewel of an anthology for the LGBTQIA community, Syncopation of Ravishing Intensity is a must read for the lover of Erotica. Covering winter, spring, summer and fall, with one story for every month, Adonis gives you the gift of powerful diction and titillating tales. Come, sink in to SORI.

As luck would have it, the 3 stories that I wanted to mention also happened to be in the blurb. They are: Tyronian Rapture, Prismatic Slumber and Metamorphosis.

In order to answer the question at hand, one is obligated to share excerpts and then elaborate on the reasons why these stories call out to me so fantastically.

Tyronian Rapture
Excerpt

Summer 1841

Victorian England

Cherry Blossom petals from a tree procured in Japan carried adrift with the breeze, the smell of humidity and grass rode past, wafting across beautiful Regina’s face and all I could do was sit and stare. She was lovely in every sense of the limited word, for her resplendence was akin to a celestial being. An angel, to be sure; like none I had ever laid eyes upon. She took my breath away, and I was content to let her.

Her large eyes, chocolatey. Her skin, like the finest grade of caramel. Her unwieldy, black curls pulled to the back of her head in a bun. And the conundrum lie in my desire to see them lose and entangled in my hands. A coveting more trenchant than my knowledge that it was ungodly. I was captured by my dear Regina’s beauty. Her full lips longed to be licked, while I imagined that her smooth skin and voluptuous curves yearned to be caressed.

From a distance, I basked in her allurement, secretly—watching as she picked the wild flowers from the field in order to prepare a centerpiece for our dinner table for tea. If I could walk through the window ajar as a phantom, then as a phantom I would delight in her existence.

The impasse, my predilection. The penchant to fancy the reprobate. And, whilst my heart and mind remained enthralled by my point of desire, my body lay captive inside of this wretched place.

“Meredith,” Mother called, startling me from my hypnosis—Regina. Such was the effect she had on me. In my dreams, I touched every inch of her exquisite dark sheath, then kissed every fraction, ensuring to not miss a spot.

“Meredith, child, come here. Must you always sit there like a proper simpleton, staring upon nothingness? Come here at once!”

“Yes mother,” I replied as I lowered my head to the ground in reverence of her heed. A curtsey followed.

“Mary, do you see this here?” Mother asked Regina’s mother, the head handmaiden of our family home. Their family had been with ours for years, therefore a trusted lot. “This child is so restless and overzealous …” Mother indirectly reprimanded, addressing Mary while speaking of me, then ended her admonition with a tsk. “Meredith, why do you trot about like a boy? ‘Tis not the proper behavior for a lady.”

My reply was a humble shrug, and the lowering of my eyes to the ground. Mother never knew when to vacate a subject, therefore continued with her vexing drivel, concluding her parlance with a “… would you please sew it, darling? Thank you.” the statement was followed by a flip of the wrist in dismissal of sweet Mary whom then left the room.

“I do apologize Mother, I do not mean to cause you dismay-“

Rudely interjecting, Mother cut me off, “Shh, shh, shh, shush child. I’ve heard it all before. Perhaps, if you did not insist on being your father’s pet, and spent more time with the ladies of the house, you might learn how to behave as such.”

Bowing my head, I remained silent.

Why could I never stop reading Tyronian Rapture?

Well, the truth is that I am in love with its simplicity. This is the story about a girl finding herself in an antiquated world that believed that same sex love was a sin. And of course, that interracial love was a taboo affair. Yet, here we have a girl, Meredith, who is in love with a black servant who is also female. How does a love like this survive in a time where both things were so prohibited? Nevertheless, Meredith and Regina find a way.

Prismatic Slumber
Excerpt

I dream in color. Like a vivid, luminescent prism, everything comes to thriving life, and then there he is with me.

Sleigh bells dangling from the edge of the bed jingle whenever I slide deep inside of his scrumptious cleft.

Silver tinsel, tangled around our feet.

How did it get there? When did we play with it? It doesn't matter.

Only partially covered by a Santa Claus fleece blanket, our skin touches underneath—intense heat emanating from it. In the background Bobby Helms “Jingle Bell Rock” plays, only loud enough to drown our elate moaning.

Yet, I want more. I pine for more than just his body and skin, I thirst for the intimacy of his presence; for the puissance of his soul. More than that, I endeavor to monopolize it. Make him, in every sense of the word, mine and mine alone—for the keeping.

Droplets of perspiration trickle down my chest as I drift my manhood in and out of his dewy cavity, then land on his backside and slowly stream onto the blanket.

Even in my state of deep dormancy I can smell the mustiness of our combined scents and it entices every fragment of my being at a cellular level. Every hair on my body stands on end.

Perhaps, it’s the ferociousness of our intimate encounter, perhaps the fact that I’d been longing for this moment for quite some time. Either way, he is mine now, and I am relishing in the satisfaction that only he can bring—my night time companion.

Why is he only with me in my dreams? When did he start visiting me here? Where did he come from?All inconsequential questions. They had no place here in my Holiday Repose.

Why could I never stop reading Prismatic Slumber?

The answer is that I am enamored with the effervescent nature of the story. Is it a dream, is it real? Or, is it a realistic dream? No one can really tell. All we know is that De’marcus' forever love is the one named Holiday, who visits him in the most intimate of moments. And with him, Holiday brings both cheer and ravishment.

Metamorphosis
Excerpt

I am a butterfly.

The beauty of life is found in the mundane matters of evolution. Therefore, I am a butterfly.

When I was an egg, the shell kept me from breaking free. It prohibited me from being whom I was meant to be. Yet, there was a miraculous event occurring; I was developing. Readying for the inevitable exodus which was about to transpire.

I suppose the world was not ready for me then. Perhaps, preparing for the spectacular event which was about to unfold.

I was being born. Born anew. Born from freedom, from evolution, from self.

My development came in stages—each one in the form of a man—every one more powerful than the last. Making me stronger, until it eventually transmuted me into the man I am today.

A Pieridae. Mystical, magical and powerful.

Why could I never stop reading Metamorphosis?

Metamorphosis is a coming of age story. One in which the main character, Adrian, describes his adventure utilizing the terms associated with the evolution of a butterfly. It is an entertaining and fanciful tale of growth, being gay and learning to love himself just as he is.

Well everyone, there you have it. My answer to what stories I could never get tired of reading. I hope you enjoyed reading this blog post as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Have a beautiful day.

Best,

Adonis Mann