Title: Ansariland
Author: J. Alan Veerkamp
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 08/23/2021
Length: 114300
Genre: Science Fiction, LGBTQIA+, Sci-fi, Gay, alternate universe, family-drama, futuristic, alpha males, bonded, sex industry, prostitution, PTSD/post-traumatic stress, space pirates
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Description
Corporations control every sector of society from law enforcement to automated manufacturing. The economic and social divides are chasms.
Jobs are scarce for an undocumented slug like Arad Ansari, and life on Earth’s Grey District A-5 colony is even harder. With no other options, he plies his youthful looks to hustle enough money to stay fed even without a roof over his head. So when Captain Torrins of the Midas Ascending offers him employment as his personal cabin boy, Arad takes the opportunity despite his reservations. Because what other choice does a desperate, poverty-stricken man with no prospects have?
When corporate military forces demand payment for Torrin’s and the crew’s sins, Arad is left alone and adrift in unknown space. After years of smothering on the crowded streets of Grey District, a ship of his own should be an unexpected windfall, but it doesn’t take long to discover what—or rather, who—were originally being smuggled on board.
More than human, more than an animal, Roku is a blend of both, a marvel of genetics and highly illegal. His past is a mystery, even to himself, a story told only through his nightmares. Despite a dubious introduction, an unspoken bond forms between him and Arad while they try to repair the ship before supplies run dry or corporate forces track them down.
Time is not on their side.
Overcoming their pasts and learning to trust one another are the keys to Arad and Roku’s survival, and they have to succeed to find their place together in the universe.
Anisariland
J. Alan Veerkamp © 2021
All Rights Reserved
“Stay the night.”
Davis brushed his knuckles along Arad’s shoulder. Holding back a shudder, Arad smoothed his hair, still damp from the shower. The dingy, once white sconces embedded in the wall were calibrated in automatic night mode, bathing the one-room flat with a meager level of illumination. In the poor light, Davis’s pleading eyes were dilated with barely any visible color left. He meant the words now, but when the drug wore off, the morning would be painfully awkward for them both.
Like every other time.
“I need to go.”
Davis’s shoulders sagged as if sadness were a physical thing. “You always say that.”
A strobe of harsh light from a passing trawler swept through the window slats, highlighting Davis’s sturdy, naked body in moving stripes of brightness. While not fit and pristine like a holographic advertisement, his skin shined with sex and sweat, covering a meaty frame built for power.
Arad had to turn away. “Because it’s true.”
It wasn’t the first version of this exchange. Temptation was a seductive creature. Having a bed to sleep in, being a kept man with access to funds, food, and shelter made for a powerful enticement.
But the price…
Arad didn’t need reminding of how they’d spent the last few hours, rutting in a Syn-fueled frenzy. PnP was Davis’s preferred scene, giving his appetites a voice he wouldn’t have otherwise. His addiction for companionship outweighed his decency. Arad shouldn’t have followed through again, but in the end, credits were credits and jobs were hard to come by. He didn’t have any more leads, since getting into the tech yard this morning fell apart.
Davis was always more emotional until the Syn wore off. It lowered inhibitions and induced a nice sexual euphoria, making for a fun time. It was also cheap enough for even a slug to get their hands on. Tricks often liked it, but Arad left it alone. It wasn’t a case of judgment. Stoned hustlers were likely to be rolled, raped, or worse.
The script played out the same each time. Arad would prepare to leave. Davis would beg. Arad would politely refuse, holding out his hand, waiting for payment. Like now. Brow crinkled in embarrassment and frustration, Davis slipped the fund tokens into Arad’s hand. For a moment, he hesitated, like he might take Arad’s hand and make some kind of overt gesture but drew back instead.
“Be safe out there. Let me know if you need anything.”
Shirt barely buttoned, Arad slung his satchel over his neck before he did something stupid, like change his mind. Davis would never be an option for one glaring reason.
“Tell your wife and kids I said hello.”
And there was the price.
He heard the soft gasp, picturing the hurt flinch. Stepping onto the landing, Arad didn’t look back, knowing Davis would be standing there, high and undressed in the doorway, oblivious to his neighbors, until he was out of sight like all the times before. It might have been a cruel jab, but Arad couldn’t afford to get too close to Davis for far too many reasons, and the man needed a dose of reality. Arad was many things, but he wouldn’t be the tool to break a family, purposefully or not. Also, the nagging whisper Davis had tanked him to set up this encounter in the first place wouldn’t get out of his head. A near lifetime of distrust and suspicion on the street would never let him forget it.
In the end, Davis had to be a customer. No more, no less. Nights with Davis were business, not romance. He vowed not to land in Davis’s bed again. Even if everything turned hopeless.
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While spending years more focused on visual arts, J. Alan Veerkamp never let go of his innate passion for storytelling, wanting to write and draw comic books when he grew up. Once he discovered M/M fiction, a whole new world opened filled with possibilities. Why couldn’t you have fantastic and dynamic sexy tales with an M/M cast? He started reading the online tales of authors like, Night Tempest, Rob Colton, and Alicia Nordwell, which only fueled his need to create. Eventually he found GayAuthors.org, and with a little coercive nudge, started sharing his tales with an unexpected level of positive response. The experience and support gave him the courage to cross his fingers and aim for the world of M/M publishing.
Born and raised in Michigan, J. Alan continues to type away, wishing it was practical to use an noisy, old fashioned keyboard that clacks with each strike, if just to annoy his loving partner and spoiled miniature dachshund.
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