Deer Dancing (Tales of the Reluctant Shaman) Real Story Safe Sex Project
Fiction & Literature, LGBT, Gay, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fantasy
| Author: | Ty Nolan | ISBN: | 9781311745484 |
| Publisher: | Ty Nolan | Publication: | December 20, 2013 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition | Language: | English |
| Author: | Ty Nolan |
| ISBN: | 9781311745484 |
| Publisher: | Ty Nolan |
| Publication: | December 20, 2013 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition |
| Language: | English |
The unique Native American Two-Spirit hero from Memoir of a Reluctant Shaman is back in a stand alone tale. He’s in the Big City to visit his old friend Otter as they start to explore sexuality. Otter has discovered attending a monthly safe-sex workshop is the best place to find a date who is already interested in “love with a glove.” They’ll have a chance to hear new legends—like the Dancing Deer Woman and more about Coyote than our Reluctant Shaman would ever want to know—from the Workshop leader, Professor Comesflying.
Warning: this story uses explicit language and is sexually graphic. But it also might tell you a few things you didn't know.
This free tale is part of The Real Story Safe Sex Project dedicated to using entertainment and popular culture to spread the word about HIV/AIDS and safe sex to gay and bi male teens and twentysomethings.
Excerpt:
“Have some potato juice,” Otter said, handing me an old silver thermos.
“What's potato juice?” I took the battered thing and shook it. Liquids sound pretty much alike.
“It's what we Kiowas call vodka, 'cause it's traditionally made from potatoes.”
“Nah,” I said, handing it back. “I don't drink.”
“Wussie-pussy,” he laughed, opening it up and taking a mouthful. His eyes squinted from the sensation and the sharp stink of cheap liquor hit my nose.
“It's not that—I found if I try to drink, dead people start talking to me and that always creeps me out. Scorpio is the one who's supposed to deal with the Dead, not me.” Otter's grandfather is a medicine man, so I didn't have to worry about explaining anything. He nodded and put the top back on his thermos.
“Bummer, bro. That would really freak me out. What do the Dead want to talk about?”
I hesitated. I had been dumped on my Uncle Feeney's pig farm by my family for sort of, kind of abusing the whole “spiritually gifted” thing by seducing a new student. How was I to know what I had done would turn him into a zombie sex slave? Whoops. And such a waste of my time. Turns out he would have wanted to date me anyway. All I really ended up doing was speeding up his Coming Out process. Go me. During my formal initiation the real chatty-cathy Dead was my brother Scorpio, and he kept nagging me to resurrect his ass. Whatever. And I thought I had gotten in trouble for the sex slave stuff...
Aloud I answered, “If they're on this side of the Doorway, they're usually begging you to help them do something. Then there was this real perv one who kept trying to sex up sleepers. My Aunt Pork called him an ‘Incubus wannabe’ and used some Ghost Medicine to get rid of him.” I glanced over at Otter's “potato juice” and added, “I get enough of the Living expecting me to do stuff without the Dead trying to ride my ass.” I shuddered from certain memories and tried to focus on my friend. Otter and I had fooled around some after my first official lover went home to Italy. But then his father got hired for a new job and his family had to move to Portland. We kept in touch and now I was spending a few days with him. He had cut his hair off and looked a little taller since I had last seen him. Life in the Big City.
The unique Native American Two-Spirit hero from Memoir of a Reluctant Shaman is back in a stand alone tale. He’s in the Big City to visit his old friend Otter as they start to explore sexuality. Otter has discovered attending a monthly safe-sex workshop is the best place to find a date who is already interested in “love with a glove.” They’ll have a chance to hear new legends—like the Dancing Deer Woman and more about Coyote than our Reluctant Shaman would ever want to know—from the Workshop leader, Professor Comesflying.
Warning: this story uses explicit language and is sexually graphic. But it also might tell you a few things you didn't know.
This free tale is part of The Real Story Safe Sex Project dedicated to using entertainment and popular culture to spread the word about HIV/AIDS and safe sex to gay and bi male teens and twentysomethings.
Excerpt:
“Have some potato juice,” Otter said, handing me an old silver thermos.
“What's potato juice?” I took the battered thing and shook it. Liquids sound pretty much alike.
“It's what we Kiowas call vodka, 'cause it's traditionally made from potatoes.”
“Nah,” I said, handing it back. “I don't drink.”
“Wussie-pussy,” he laughed, opening it up and taking a mouthful. His eyes squinted from the sensation and the sharp stink of cheap liquor hit my nose.
“It's not that—I found if I try to drink, dead people start talking to me and that always creeps me out. Scorpio is the one who's supposed to deal with the Dead, not me.” Otter's grandfather is a medicine man, so I didn't have to worry about explaining anything. He nodded and put the top back on his thermos.
“Bummer, bro. That would really freak me out. What do the Dead want to talk about?”
I hesitated. I had been dumped on my Uncle Feeney's pig farm by my family for sort of, kind of abusing the whole “spiritually gifted” thing by seducing a new student. How was I to know what I had done would turn him into a zombie sex slave? Whoops. And such a waste of my time. Turns out he would have wanted to date me anyway. All I really ended up doing was speeding up his Coming Out process. Go me. During my formal initiation the real chatty-cathy Dead was my brother Scorpio, and he kept nagging me to resurrect his ass. Whatever. And I thought I had gotten in trouble for the sex slave stuff...
Aloud I answered, “If they're on this side of the Doorway, they're usually begging you to help them do something. Then there was this real perv one who kept trying to sex up sleepers. My Aunt Pork called him an ‘Incubus wannabe’ and used some Ghost Medicine to get rid of him.” I glanced over at Otter's “potato juice” and added, “I get enough of the Living expecting me to do stuff without the Dead trying to ride my ass.” I shuddered from certain memories and tried to focus on my friend. Otter and I had fooled around some after my first official lover went home to Italy. But then his father got hired for a new job and his family had to move to Portland. We kept in touch and now I was spending a few days with him. He had cut his hair off and looked a little taller since I had last seen him. Life in the Big City.
