Dreaming of Brandon Archer

157 Pages·2016·0.57 MB·English

by  Manly D J

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places and incidents either are products of the author's
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.

Dreaming of Brandon Archer
Copyright © 2005 D. J. Manly
ISBN: 1-55410-657-5
Cover art and design by Martine Jardin

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the
reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in
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without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by eXtasy Books, a division of Zumaya
Publications, 2005
Look for us online at:
www.zumayapublications.com
www.extasybooks.com
The author gratefully acknowledges the
contribution of excerpts from the following
authors at eXtasy books:

Brandon Archer:
Christmas With Wistan.

Gabriella Bradley:
Call Of The Wild.
Stardust, Starlust

Jan Kramer and Cameron Hale:
Tomorrow’s Dawn

Rian Monaire:
Those Hills
Cyber Daemon
Chapter One

“H
ell, thanks Max, you just ruined another
one,” he announced, hurling his jacket to
the floor in frustration.
“I didn’t ruin anything! If I didn’t know you
any better, Eric, I’d say you had shit for brains.”
“Don’t start with me, Max,” he glared at him.
“I’m not in the mood.”
Max folded his arms across his chest. “You
know what your problem is?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“Every time you get a date, you think with
your cock instead of your brain. That guy was an
absolute loser, and from the angle I was at, I could
tell that his cock was about the size of a…”
“Enough!” Eric came toward him, pointing. “At
least he had a cock. At this point, any cock will do.
Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe…” he
narrowed his eyes, “his cock was all I was
interested in?”
“Not wise. You can get yourself into a lot of
trouble that way.”
“I don’t want you coming along on anymore
dates.”
“That should be easy; you don’t have very
many dates for me to come along on. Wasn’t this
the first one since…ah…last June?”
Eric shot him the nastiest look he could muster.
“Looks that kill don’t intimidate me, Eric. I’m
already dead, remember?”
“It’s a damn good thing you’re dead…” he
grunted, “because if you weren’t, I’d kill you
myself.”
“Sticks and stones; you’ll thank me later.”
“Sure, when I’m alone in my bed
masturbating,” he muttered, throwing himself on
the sofa.
“If you’d let me, I could take care of…”
“Don’t even go there. Now, for Christ’s sakes,
go away and leave me in peace.”
Max was sitting in his favourite spot on the
ceiling fan, swinging his dumpy legs off the side
of one of the blades. Eric could make out the faint
outline of his plump little body. His ruddy cheeks
were glowing, casting a reflection off the far wall.
Clad in green pants and a paisley vest, he
resembled a tiny leprechaun. All he needed was
the little hat.
“Personally,” Max was saying now, fingering
his chin, “I think it’s better if I stick around. When
you’re in this mood, you, ah…now, Eric,” he said,
removing his hand from his chin, and watching as
he got up off the sofa, “what do you think you’re
doing?”
Eric was now standing in front of the wall
switch, his hand inching towards it menacingly.
“Don’t turn that on. Don’t you dare!”
He gave Max a grin of pure evil, then flipped
up the switch.
Max let out a shout as he began to turn round
and round on one of the blades, then went
billowing off into the air, only to go splat against
the wall
“There you go, you little creep,” Eric told him
between clenched teeth.
Even though Max was just pretending to be
affected by the fan, at least he’d got rid of him for
now.
Max had attached himself to him around two
years ago when he was out on a routine
poltergeist assignment. He had been called to this
huge house, more like a mansion really, where the
new owners had reported some unusual activity.
It was nothing major; some furniture scrambled
about, sounds in the night. One of those
assignments where you did the job, took your
money, and thought that it was just too easy. After
an initial investigation, he decided that it wasn’t
even worth bringing in the entire team. Getting rid
of the spirits should have been easy. In fact, it
would have been, if it hadn’t been for Max.
As it turned out, the three spirits who had
attached themselves to the house since its erection
in the early eighteenth century were previous
owners. It was an extremely charismatic house.
After some fairly light persuasion, they had
agreed that it was time to vacate the premises, all
except for Max.
Max had been the owner of the house in the
end of the eighteen hundreds. He let him know, in
no uncertain terms, that he had no intention of
leaving. No matter what Eric did, Max resisted. It
came down to a power of wills. Both of them were
determined to win.
During the two weeks he wrestled with Max,
something quite enigmatic occurred; Max grew
attached to him. In fact, when he finally revealed
himself, he declared that he was in love with him.
“I’ve decided to let you win, Eric,” he said, in a
voice laced with an Irish accent. “You’re a
beautiful and charming lad, and I’m in love with
you.”
He had been stunned. Recovering himself, he
ignored the loving him part, and concentrated on
the fact that Max had agreed to leave. “A good
choice, Max,” he told him.
Max stood there in plain view, rubbing his chin
thoughtfully, then said quite simply, “I’ve decided
you need me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You need my guidance. You are quite good
with ghosts, but probably not so good with the
living. I’m leaving the house, and coming with
you.”
Eric laughed. “I don’t think so. Your spirit is
attached to this place, Max. You can’t leave it.”
“Those people who knew me in life, Eric,
realised that I did exactly what I wanted. It’s no
different in death.”
“Scientifically, your spirit is…”
“To hell with science. I’m coming with you.”
“Max, don’t be ridiculous. Your spirit can’t
leave this house.”
“Wanna bet?”
If he would have bet, he would have lost.
“Besides,” Max said, “I told you. I love you,
Eric.”
Great. The only guy who was in love with him
was a tiny little Irishman, and he was dead.
And that was that. Eric had walked out of that
house, and Max had come with him. Since then, it
had been an absolute nightmare. Not only did
Max interfere with everything he did, from dating
to dressing; he made it next to impossible to
appear sane. Being a spirit hunter was weird
enough, but having a ghost follow him around
everywhere, was even worse. Talk about bringing
his work home with him!
It was true that his last date was over six
months ago. Max had come along on that one, too.
The guy practically ran out of the restaurant when
Max decided to pick his plate off the table and
bang it back down again, not once, but three
times.
He sighed now, thinking about the guy he had
almost brought home tonight. Jake was handsome,
a little shy, very interested in spirits. In fact, he
didn’t seem too disturbed when he told him what
he did for a living. Everything was going well
until Max kept emptying the guy’s glass every
time he wasn’t looking. The first time, Jake
accepted his explanation that he had drunk it
already. The second time, he looked sceptical. The
third time, downright hostile. It didn’t help either,
that every few seconds Eric was turning around to
hiss admonishments at Max, who was sitting on a
stool next to him at the bar. After Jake saw him do
that a couple of times, he was out of there. Who
could blame him?
So, basically that was his life; chasing ghosts
and trying to keep Max from getting him locked
away somewhere. Neither of those things
encouraged the gorgeous men to come clawing at
his door. Both his career and his constant
companion were stressful enough; couple that
with an empty bed, and you would have had a
recipe for severe depression if not for Ruby Red.
Eric had always been an avid reader. When he
became an adolescent and the visions became
unmanageable, he often was able to keep them at
bay by losing himself in a good story. As he grew
older, he became fond of romantic fiction with a
heavy twist of the erotic. The one highlight of his
life was the editing he did for Ruby Red, an e-
publisher on the Internet. This company published
everything from traditional romance to the super
steamy hot stuff. This is when he truly relaxed and
forgot about everything. Words had always
seduced him. There was one scene out of a book
called Stardust, Starlust by Gabriella Bradley, a
particularly beautifully written passage that he
always read whenever he felt especially stressed
out. He had practically memorized it. It began:

Glancing down at her skin, she noticed it glowed
with a soft brilliance. Carefully, she reached out and felt
the bark of a tree. A branch reached out and encircled
her waist. Another branch stroked her long dark hair,
her face, touched her breasts. She drew in her breath
when she felt a probing between her legs. Looking
down, she noticed a branch touching her legs, pushing
to pry her legs apart.
A wanton feeling of abandonment entered her. These
trees were alive, they reached out for her, wanted to
examine her body…The strangeness of her
surroundings and the thought of a tree’s branches
wandering over her body excited her. She leaned
forward and hugged the trunk pushing her body hard
against it. Its bark was very smooth, silky soft, as if the
trees were covered with velvety fabric. Spreading her
legs, she allowed the probing of her clit. Something
entered her vagina. It felt slippery, comforting, as it
stroked the inner walls, twirled around, and sent her to
the heights of ecstasy.
She trembled and felt her flesh pucker as a fire slowly
started within her and brought her to heights of sexual
pleasure. When she climaxed, the branches released her.
She looked down at her inner thighs and watched the
pearly juices of her release flow down her silken skin to
her knees. She sighed with pleasure and ached for more,