Rough Canvas by Joey W Hill
If you need a cure for a bleeding stomach ulcer, get a Dom to call you up for phone nookie.
If you need a cure for a bleeding stomach ulcer, get a Dom to call you up for phone nookie.
Homo-bore-ya should be a hate crime.
The author sets up a back story, and then ends the story after the sex scene. Am I missing something here?
This creepily sentimental and artificial tale of a gay man who cries at and over-dramatizes everything is all I have dreamed of.
One of the swan songs of the Kimani line, and it has to be this messy gibberish. Of course.
The dude’s bank account better be worth it, because I can’t feel a thing.
This is what happens when you attempt to have a Harold Robbins novel that focuses on the story and not the sleaze.
A two-oogie review on Christmas Day. Look what she made me do.
Here’s another installment in the ennoblement of bad parenting and children behaving badly.
Suburbia is terrible, but put in an ice cream truck and it’s terrifying. But this isn’t that movie, sorry.