EXCERPT: Closer to Fine, by John Jay Buol

(The following is from the current issue of Wilde Oats. To read the full story by John Jay Buol, go directly to the story HERE.)

My parents arrived for Thanksgiving with my sister in tow and, as a special surprise to me, my grandmother. Cindy confided to me that Grammy had warned her that the folks at home would be burning crosses on her lawn when they found out about me, and that if they could not change my mind with this visit I would be cut out of the family will. I guess she had come to take part in a gay intervention. I hoped the rest of them had slightly less aggressive agendas.

I found them at their Santa Monica hotel the afternoon of their arrival, and I decided to walk them down the Third Street Promenade. It was a perfect, blue-sky L.A. day. After fifteen minutes of strolling, we picked an Italian place that had a table available outside. We-everyone but Grammy, who wasn't ready to face me yet-sat silently and looked over the menu. The waiter came, we ordered, and when the menus had been collected, the conversation turned to the weather and how the local teams had been faring in football. I could tell the "topic of interest" was being politely ignored, and I gathered my strength. It was time to throw down.

"So, Dad," I began. He was sitting directly across the table. "I guess we should talk about me being gay."

Silence. We all sort of tried to look at one another. Clearly everyone was surprised by my outburst.

Dad had not expected to be challenged in such a manner, and I could tell Cindy was looking away, perhaps to stifle a laugh. I looked desperately toward her for support. She looked at my father.

He said, "Well, Jay, all I have to say is: if you're going to do that, you might as well kill somebody."

I think my sister's bread fell out of her mouth. 

****

Against Gay Marriage?

I’d like to respond Byron Edgington’s “Case Against Gay Marriage” from our last issue. Why have I waited so long? I didn’t read it until nearly two weeks after the issue went live. My job at Wilde Oats mostly has to do with the fiction: acknowledging submissions, reading them, sending out acceptance or rejection notices, and editing a few. I also write an occasional review or a rant. As managing editor, I delegate responsibilities to the other members of the team and nag them to keep on task. The rest of the stuff I don’t see until it’s up. Well, after those two weeks, the holidays were upon us, so I made a mental note to write something about the article for the WO blog. Then I forgot. Now I’ve remembered.

Edgington doesn’t make a case against gay marriage; he makes a case against marriage, period. More accurately, he makes a case against contemporary attitudes toward one’s own marriage and people’s commitment to commitment. He makes it very clear that he feels gay couples should be allowed to do anything heterosexual couples can. The question he poses is: “Why would they want to?”

That married couples enjoy a large number of financial benefits and legal protections is only part of the answer. Laws can be changed to grant the same privileges to civil unions. They haven’t, but they could be. The fact remains that, in the United States at least, heterosexual couples rarely enter into a civil union—they get married or they “shack up”. Gay couples may only choose the latter. Moreover, the very term civil union implies that marriage is a religious bond as opposed to a legal one.

In demanding the right to marry, same-sex couples are not only asking for equal treatment; they are making a statement. They’re letting the bigots know they are not promiscuous bed-hoppers who cruise the bars looking for their “trick du jour”. Legalizing same-sex marriage would constitute an official recognition of their integrity and their worth as human beings. It would mean the acceptance of the validity of their relationship. I know many unmarried gay couples who introduce their partners as “my hubby”.

Edgington suggests that qualifying a marriage as “same-sex” is of itself demeaning. But the qualifier will only stay as long as marriage is limited to one man and one woman. How can one propose a law legalizing marriage? It’s already legal. The initiative I voted against last November laid out a definition of marriage that excluded same-sex couples, but nowhere was the word itself used.  Nowhere where two people of the same gender can marry puts “same-sex” on the license; no one ever says, “I’d like you to meet my same-sex husband.” And until marriage is a nationwide right, “civil union” will implicitly contain that qualifier.

Now, if it were ever proposed that gays be required to marry, I’d fight against it tooth and nail.

EXCERPT: Hawk's Flight, science fiction from Brian Holliday

(c) Eve Le Dez

Cruising "off the radar" legally puts Hawk's ship and crew at risk.  Is it worth it?  And is his heart at risk as well?

EXCERPT

Hawk glanced down the table quickly, trying for nonchalance. He always looked, but the view never changed. Either Concho had a locker full of black leather pants and vests, or he always wore the same ones. Hawk knew there'd be black boots under the table, and the belt with its hammered silver circles that echoed the man's name. He wore nothing else, save a silver chain around his neck and a black head scarf that served to keep long, greasy black hair out of his face. A narrow black mustache framed his thin lips, and his dark, almost black eyes were fixed on his bowl.

"Hey, why don't you come sit up here, keep me company while we eat?" he called.

He had to strain to hear the quiet, "Nope."

Hawk slowly finished his sandwich, vowing he wouldn't say anything more, but the pressure of silence was too great, and as he stood to return his plate to the recycler, he asked Concho's slender back and broad shoulders, "Why not?"

And Concho replied, as he always did, "Because I don't like you," then went on spooning up his soup.

Read more at http://www.wildeoats.com/fiction_hawksflight.html.

About the author

Brian once tried to live a normal life, but was unable to figure out what it was. Now, when not writing down the stories characters insist on whispering in his ears, he photographs the beautiful Oregon coast, as well as his friends and family when they will hold still for it. Brian reads almost anything, loves listening to jazz and pop, and sings along when he remembers the words. The rest of his time is spent in trying to keep his multiple personalities happy - or at least not fighting one another. Brian believes that his writing would still exist only in a dusty pile of spiral-bound notebooks if it weren't for the dedication and encouragement of some great online friends and his writing group, the WordCrafters.

Illustration:  Eve Le Dez

EXCERPT: The Year One, by Richard Natale

Art by Charlie Cochet - see below.

 

In wartime Korea Tom, bored and lonely, is astounded when a much superior officer shows him the sort of attention he never could have dreamed of.

Excerpt

Tom closed his eyes and lay back in his seat, feeling relaxed and exhilarated at the same time. The colonel's hand reached across and stroked the back of his head. Tom didn't react fearing that if he did, the colonel might stop. Then he leaned in and loosened Tom's tie and gently unbuttoned his shirt. The sensation of Dore's sweat against his face and the taste of his warm, thick saliva made Tom's head reel.

Dore said things to him that afternoon no man should ever say to anyone but his wife. Later, in the colonel's musty, dimly lit office, Dore ordered Tom to take off his clothes. He obediently disrobed, but fumbled with the khaki shorts that would reveal his arousal. In one swift motion, the colonel yanked them down around his ankles, undid the buttons of his fly and forced himself on Tom. The pain frightened him, less because of the brutal discomfort than the blinding desire that accompanied it.

Read the story in its entirety on Wilde Oats.

About author Richard Natale.

Richard Natale is a Los Angeles-based writer, reporter and columnist for such publications as the Los Angeles Times, L.A. Weekly, Buzz magazine and Variety. His play "Shuffle Off This Mortal Buffalo" won the National Playwrights competition and was staged in Los Angeles and Kansas City. His feature film "Green Plaid Shirt", which he wrote and directed, premiered at L.A.'s Outfest, was a closing night selection at the Palm Springs Film Festival and was shown at more than 20 film festivals around the world. It remains a best-selling DVD through Wolfe Video. Natale recently completed a novel, Junior Willis, set in Los Angeles in summer, 1969. He is at work on a second novel, Café Eisenhower, set in Eastern Europe following the fall of the Berlin Wall, the first chapter of which was excerpted in Wilde Oats under the title "Refrigeration Blues.

Review of The City of Lovely Brothers by Anel Viz and an interview with the author

 

Our readers are all familiar with Anel Viz’s stories. He has contributed to all our issues so far— and we’ve accepted another for our April issue.

This morning, Lloyd Meeker posted a review of his The City of Lovely Brothers on Jessewave and also an interview on his blog, in which they talk more about how Anel came to write the book and his ideas on writing in general. All  very meaty and well worth checking out.

City of Lovely Brothers is available from Silver Publishing, also Amazon and other distributers of ebooks.

Wilde Oats is on the Monday Morning Excerpt Blog!

For this week’s excerpt, Eric Spector posted the opening chapter of Anel Viz’s story from our current issue, “An Island Interlude”.  He also provides some basic information on our zine, and Anel tells why he submits a story to us every issue. The reasons he gives are very flattering.

Eric’s blog has a lot of loyal followers and gets lots  of hits. Great publicity for the zine you love to love!

http://glfictionexcerpts.blogspot.com/?zx=b5f2e46cae374634

EXCERPT: Ghost in the White House, by Christopher T. Moss

The following is from "Ghosts in the White House" by Christopher "Kit" Moss. You can read it in its entirety in our current issue of Wilde Oats.

The ball was still well underway when the President managed to slip out. He hurried away knowing that if she caught him leaving, Harriet would come after him. He thought he would fall asleep the moment his head touched the pillows in that big canopied bed. He hoped he would dream, dream not of Nikolai but of Rufus, the love of his life.

But instead he lay on his accustomed side of the bed, this time in the Presidential quarters of the White House exhausted but far too keyed up to sleep. He had heard the clock chime the three o'clock hour, knowing that morning was both too long and too short a time for his weary mind and body. He congratulated himself on his promise, in his inauguration speech, not to run for a second term. He did not think he could take another day like the past one.

"Ah, Rufus," Buchanan sighed aloud. He patted the counterpane next to him. "I don't imagine they would have let us share this bed. But I still miss you and wish you were here."

As he lay on his back with his hands folded prayerfully on his chest he thought he felt the edge of the bed sink under some pressure.

"But Jamie, I am here."

James stiffened. He dared not turn his head toward the familiar drawl. "Rufus?" he croaked.