Blog Tour ~ Acing the Game by Carey PW #Giveaway

Acing the Game
Carey PW
Publication date: February 10th 2023
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, LGBTQ+, Romance

Is food really the way into a person’s heart?

Shep Lee thought he had it all. A successful restaurant, a loving husband who understood his asexuality, and most of all, the ability to be himself, a popular chef in the small town of Cloverleaf, Montana. That is, until his husband, Elmer Eshler, began pushing Shep more on sex.

Elmer doesn’t understand why he can’t turn his partner on—aren’t they perfect for each other? And Shep loves him, right? Shep, meanwhile, while confident with his body, is and forever will be sex indifferent. Why has Elmer suddenly changed his tune? But he doesn’t want to lose the man he loves so much. What can they do?</ p>

Shep convinces Elmer to try a polyamorous relationship. Elmer gets to have Shep and the sex life he’s always wanted. Shep gets a cooking buddy and a chance to experience a relationship and even try sex with a woman as his authentic gender. At first, Shep isn’t sure, but finds himself coming around—this feels safer than opening up the relationship. All three of them will be romantically involved, so that should ease any jealousy, right?

But when Willow Saint, a free-spirited, boisterous, and saucy young woman, comes into their lives, neither are prepared for the emotional and sexual rollercoaster that follows. Enthralled by Willow’s charm and kindness, Elmer and Shep struggle to understand what this means for their own bond. Can they become one happy family? Or will this ruin everything?

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EXCERPT

I spent all night thinking about Elmer’s hand. Even when we were

hanging out in the art club, I’d noticed the soft, delicateness of his skin. But

this was the first occasion that I got to touch him for a prolonged period of

time. I remembered every time I’d touched Elmer. The ways our elbows

sometimes brushed against each other than lingered, using the fact that he

was leaning over to read one of my poems as an excuse to get closer. I could

never tell who was initiating the contact. Him or me?

I sunk into my leather couch with my orange cat, Myers, on my lap and

located the few pictures I had of us back in those days. There was one with

both of us smearing purple paint on each other’s faces, and I saw the tears

leaking out from my eyes as I laughed. I was staring up, but Elmer was

gazing right at me with a boyish grin. There was something different

between us.

I had loved Tank. I mourned him daily as I paced up and down the

empty house where he and his mother once indulged in my culinary

masterpieces. Tank let me be myself. But there was a small part of me that

wondered if I’d fallen in love with Tank out of convenience. Yearning for

someone was new to me. To be so enamored that the thought of someone

penetrated my entire being. Infatuation, they call it.

Why had he come to the restaurant? Why had he stayed? Why had he

apologized?

Being transgender and asexual, I surrendered hope easily when it

came to dating. No matter how attractive I was or how much scrumptious

food I cooked, the sex and the genital issue always hovered over me like a

dark cloud even though I was quite satisfied in my own body. After Tank

died, I stared at the life insurance money for months. We had purchased a

two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar policy, not to mention the left-over

funds from when his mother passed.

I’d considered bottom surgery. I had all the money needed to pay a

good surgeon top-price for a pristine phalloplasty, including travel and hotel

stay and paying for a home healthcare worker to help me. In the end, I had

decided against it.

After the top surgery and the continued progress with testosterone, I

finally felt congruent in my own body. My relationship with my vagina had

changed. The clit had doubled or even tripled in size within the initial month

of hormones, leaving me with uncontrollable erections and intensified

orgasms for a while. I had never been shy about masturbating, and of

course, Tank hadn’t complained about my genitals. About a year after he

died, I realized that I didn’t identify fully with cisgender men. I stared in the

mirror and learned to love my masculine figure but feminine vagina. For the

first time, I loved my physique for its unique blend of feminine and

masculine. Bottom surgery was no longer a goal.

I didn’t feel the way that others felt about sex. As a child, I’d watched

movies with sex scenes, assuming that people who cared for each other did

it. Then I entered high school where it seemed like everyone raved about it. I

had planned to lose my virginity in ninth grade to join in the fun. I wasn’t

impressed with the first time, so I found three more partners and tried it

again, just in case the initial one didn’t do it right. Then I’d thought sex must

be good when people were in a committed relationship and knew each other

well. But that didn’t work, either.

I had orgasms. But mostly, I wanted it all to end as soon as possible.

When I dated, I’d spend hours dreading it, knowing that there would be this

expectation for sex hovering over me the entire evening. I tried dodging it by

not being in the mood, having a cold, or being on my period. That only

worsened things because the more time that passed, the more aware I was—

and my partners—that we hadn’t had sex in so long, which made me hate it

more. I’d longed to escape to the bathroom, jerk one out, and be on with my

day if the urge came. Libido wasn’t the issue.

Tank had been a blessing in that sense. His unfortunate medical

condition that had made erections difficult to hold or even painful had

relieved me from that burden. I masturbated in front of him to give him

pleasure and didn’t mind finishing him off with a good hand job or through

the help of a proper sex toy. There had been no pressure.

As I continued to examine the old picture of Elmer and me,

apprehension hung on my shoulders. Until now, dating again hadn’t entered

my thoughts. I’d noticed Elmer from the moment he arrived at the restaurant

because I’d seen his blue SUV parked outside of it for weeks. Like every

other time I was ever in the room with him, I caught him staring at me. Now,

there was no Tank or Luna. I had this urge to touch Elmer’s body with my

hands and search all the delicate crevices, but I didn’t want it to be sexual.

Author Bio:

Carey PW (he/they) is an author, college instructor, and mental health counselor.

Carey currently lives in Montana, and identifies as nonbinary, transmasculine (AFAB) and panromantic asexual. Carey has discovered that writing about his lived experiences is a therapeutic outlet for him and hopes that his readers relate to his own personal struggles and triumphs shared through his characters’ narratives. He has also worked as a high school and college writing instructor, earning a B.A. in English Literature, a M.Ed. in English Education, and Ph.D. in Social Foundations of Education all from the University of Georgia. In 2020, Carey earned his second M.Ed. in Counselor Education and works as a licensed clinical professional counselor, LCPC.

Readers can learn more about Carey from his blog, www.careypw.com. When he is not writing, Carey is busy training for marathons, parenting his six cats, sharing his culinary talents on social media, and serving on the board for the nonprofit Center for Studies of the Person (CSP).

Carey PW loves to hear from readers. You can find his contact information, website and author biography at www.extasybooks.com.

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