Free First Time for Everything by Andrea Speed

hands. “Grandpa, he still loves you. Deep in his heart, no matter where he is in the… the universe, no matter, he loves you. We love you. I love you. Take a deep breath.” He held on tighter. “Hey, come on, I still don’t know everything growing in your garden. What about learning Mvskoke? I need you to teach me. No one else will. Calm down. Breathe. Come back to me. I need you here, Grandpa Sam, I really do. I need you. You understand me. Breathe!”
    As he tried not to cry, Joe held on to Grandpa Sam’s cold hands as if he could cure him through physical contact. He willed his life and warmth into Grandpa Sam, begged for any spirit listening to help him.
    A soft whoosh flew through the room. Startled, Joe looked up but saw nothing…. Wait. Did he see…? No. No.
    His grandpa’s grip tightened against his fingers. He shivered until he sucked in a calming breath. Joe maintained his grip until Grandpa Sam refocused on him.
    “Joe, why are we holding hands?” He paused and shook his head. “I fear I started wandering somewhere I am not ready to go.”
    Joe almost collapsed with relief. “Grandpa Sam, I think you did, but you’re okay now. Do you want hot tea?”
    “Thank you, yes, I’d love Earl Grey.” Grandpa Sam smiled at Joe. “Did Ed like the corn bread?”
    Joe blinked back tears before he could answer. “Yes, he did.” He lunged forward and hugged Grandpa Sam. “Thank you.”
    “For what, the corn bread?”
    Many reasons for numerous “thanks-yous” collected in Joe’s mind. He smiled and shrugged as he rubbed Grandpa Sam’s shoulders. “For everything.”
    Grandpa’s serene smile provided Joe all the joy in the world.
    Two days later, during his eightieth birthday party, Grandpa Sam beamed the same special smile when Joe stood next to him and kissed Ed’s cheek. The sun stayed in the sky. Nothing burst into flame.
    Joe winked at Grandpa Sam before he leaned in for kiss number two.

S.A. G ARCIA started writing gay male romance thirty-five years ago. Her writing remained a secret lest her friends thought her a freak. Writing about men inserting tab A into slot B didn’t seem the norm for a suburban female teenager. Reading Gordon Merrick, John Rechy, and Larry Kramer helped her fill in the serious informational gaps. Of course she read those books in her bedroom.
    As the years progressed, S.A. still wrote gay male romance, although the stories progressed from lurking in notebooks to hiding on the computer. She wrote fantasies, contemporaries, bodice rippers; she chugged along following her muse.
    S.A. never thought any publisher would publish her novels. Now she’s glad she kept the writing faith since three different publishers have placed their faith in her books. When one novel made it onto a few top-ten lists, S.A. kicked aside her doubt.
    All this from a graphic designer guilty of two-finger keyboard abuse. S.A.’s life has turned into a fun quandary of too many stories hindered by slow typing skills. She accepts the silly challenge and blunders onward into more trauma, drama, and humor. Above all, S.A. wants to keep up with sexy men who insist on running off with the plots. Chasing them keeps her mentally active.
    When not obsessing over how to describe romantic encounters, S.A. enjoys cooking for her beloved of twenty-five years; she endures the experiments with grace. Gardening, traveling, arguing politics, and teaching the house bunnies new tricks provide more fun. Unfortunately the bunnies refuse to answer e-mails.
    You can find out more about S.A. at her blog
    http://oscarsbruisedpetals.blogspot.com
    and website http://sa-garcia.macmate.me/S.A_Garcias_World_ of_Words/
    S.A._Garcias_World_of_Words.html

D RESSED TO S WIM
    R ENEE H IRSCH
     
     
     
    F ILLED WITH the sweaty, inattentive bodies of thirty teenagers, the classroom is approximately as damp and uncomfortable as the Amazonian swamp our geography teacher is trying to tell us about. No one is listening. It’s an