If you were going to make a ‘mix-tape’ of your life’s soundtrack, I wonder what would feature.
Hold me now, 100% Pure Love, I Touch Myself…
These are just some of the songs that form the backdrop of Doing Valentine, the story of two DJs falling inexorably, inevitably in love, one New Year’s Eve.
Setting the story in a popular radio station, there was no question that music was going to make a significant contribution to the setting. So, when it came to choosing tunes, I found myself scrolling through the soundtrack of my own life and selecting recording artists who resonated through my history.
But there were so many! And some of the important ones were left out.
Here’s an example: I am skateboarding up and down the pavement with my best-friend-in-the-world, Alex, whose dad works in the local pub. There’s a van at the kerb – a muso is setting up. We’re pestering him with questions, offering to carry his stuff and listening while he does his sound check. He tells us he has just signed a recording contract. When he sings, we reckon he sounds pretty good. Turns out the rest of the world does, too. Whenever I hear Summer of ’69, I am taken back to Toronto, circa 1980 and hanging with Alex.
This memory is less splashy but no less meaningful: one night, I was finishing take-out Chinese and listening to some old songs with a special friend. He cracked open his fortune cookie, read it and kissed me, saying, ‘Hello love!’ Puzzled, I reached for his fortune, which said, ‘Stop searching – love is right next to you.’ We both cracked up laughing – but I can’t listen to Nik Kershaw without smiling and remembering this cheesy but gorgeous moment.
Some songs just take you places – back to that high school dance; back into your acid wash jeans; back into that special person’s arms… For, nowhere, do songs become more poignant and more profound, than in association with the ones you love.
At the time I was writing Doing Valentine, I played Avicii incessantly. So, for me, Addicted to You will always be Dash and Ivan’s special song.
Blurb: Ivan ‘Valentine’ Vaughan, drive-time chick-magnet shock jock has made a career out of his chauvinist hetero persona. He is hosting a six-hour on-air charity fundraiser on New Year’s Eve.
Dashiell Damon, radio morning show queen–and sucker for a good cause–agrees to fill in for Valentine’s co-host, Macy Cohen, against his better judgment.
Between the serious tension between the men on air, the spiking ratings, the mounting charity pledges, the champagne and Macy’s best matchmaker moves–even in her absence–the two men do their damndest to withstand the powerful attraction between them.
But when a caller offers them a thousand dollars for their fundraiser if they pash and post the New Year’s kiss on YouTube, will their off air fireworks finally fly?
Dashiell Damon slammed his hand down on the snooze button and pulled the pillow over his head. The nipple twisting, neck biting, ass ramming stranger was back in his brain again and Dash was damned if he was going to wake up without finally seeing the man’s face. Enough of the tantalising hints, the shadowed glances, the up-close and pixelated peeks. Dash wanted–needed–to know the identity of the man who had been haunting his dreams, and half his waking life, for a year now. There was a tip of the tongue kind of familiarity about the dream guy–an ‘almost’ connection that drove Dash perpetually, totally and comprehensively crazy.
The more he imagined the guy and the closer he came to joining the dots, the more the man’s identity seemed to elude him.
In Sleepyland, dream dude was roughing him up; gripping his shoulders with big, brutal hands; pumping into him with a massive, throbbing cock; forcing Dash backwards on to the scorching giant rod, making him take the meat deeper than it seemed possible.
Dash’s heart was pounding so hard he thought it might actually rip through his ribs and explode out of his chest. Then, when it felt as though he could take no more punishment, the rhythm of his lover’s demands ratcheted up as though to meet his own body’s insistent beat. Dash moaned his pain and pleasure.
Taut balls smacked the underside of his buttocks; his own testicles felt sore and swollen, and in desperate need of stroking or squeezing for a modicum of relief; but his lover was all selfish resolve. If he were honest, it sent his senses into a tailspin to be used so utterly and so pitilessly; it turned Dash on wildly that his body could provide such absolute enjoyment for the other man.
Dash’s ring was stretched to the limit. The pain was ecstatic, the feeling of being completely filled, exquisite. He could hear the man’s panting, feel the guy’s hot breath against his bitten neck, smell the coffee and spearmint as the tempo picked up. The guy’s rocket was revved up and ready to explode. And Dash knew he would pump out his own primed load at the slightest provocation.
Sweat poured off the pair of them, dripping on to the sheets, flicking from their limbs and hair around the ill lit room. Dash knew that at any moment, the man would climax inside him. There was nothing he wanted more right now than to feel the guy’s hot come jet up his burning hole–except to see his damn face.
Dash attempted to turn his head, tried to twist around for even a quick glimpse, but the man gripped him tighter, pushing his shoulders down onto the bed, constraining his face against the pillow and impaling Dash’s man-cunt against his rocking groin with his engorged prick; forcing Dash to take every last millimetre of the massive organ.
It was almost impossible not to ejaculate and yet Dash wanted badly to wait. He somehow knew if he could suspend his control, ride out the other guy’s ministrations, he would be rewarded with a delicious and thorough blow job that would shred his brain and shatter his build. There was nothing his body craved more than this man’s sweltering tongue wrapped around his engorged cock; this man’s head thrown back in invitation and surrender as Dash propelled himself overpoweringly into his throat; this man’s roasting mouth suckling and swallowing and sucking his manhood dry in a profound act of sexual service.
In his dreams, the guy’s cock was wedged far, far up Dash’s ass now, but the stranger was hardly moving in and out of his canal, only shifting enough to provide them both with the slightest friction. He was drawing out the moment, Dash realised with a rush of steep irritation mixed with mind-blowing craving. If the guy was going to fuck him, he should damn well do it properly.
The Giveaway: THIS CONTEST IS CLOSED