Exclusive Excerpt: The Holiday Home Hotel by Lou Sylvre
Being a wild man but keeping it secret was like walking a tightrope without a balance bar. The danger
filled Gunny with quiet but insistent exhilaration.
By the time Halloween rolled around, conservative, respectable, reserved Gunner Schiller from North
Dakota had gained a reputation as a partier. He’d even had sex with women on two occasions at parties.
He didn’t really remember much about that. The memory lapse might have been about booze, but
truthfully he hadn’t been all that drunk either time, so he thought it was mostly because the act itself
hadn’t been as memorable as he’d expected. The idea of sex excited him, but honestly, the women’s
bodies and efforts just didn’t. Oh well, he’d thought after the second try, you live and learn.
Halloween night was to be one big mobile party. Gunny had bowed to popular opinion and decided he
wouldn’t be any more damned to hell than he already was if he dressed up, so he decided to go all out and
be Satan for an evening. Tall, lithe, Daren would go as Cher, wearing a close copy of one of her signature
racy outfits. Gunny was all for that idea, and he told himself that was because he’d heard music-major
Daren sing Cher songs at Karaoke, and he did it beautifully—the costume just made sense.
They were joined by a pair of their more raucous acquaintances—Johnny Langdon dressed as the Lord of
the Hunt, and his brother Benny, who refused to dress up at all with the exception of donning suspenders
and pretending to smoke a stogie all night. Together they started the evening at a Karaoke bar within
walking distance from their home base. They ordered drinks with their fake ID and maybe the costumes
helped them get away with it. But it was early in the evening, and Daren’s first turn at the mike came up
before he or Gunny—who still tried to pace himself in an effort to reduce guilt over the sin of
drunkenness—hadn’t had more than a sip. Oddly, Daren seemed more self-conscious singing “Love is the
Groove” than Gunny remembered him being the last time he’d done the Karaoke thing. Looking like Cher
—and Gunny had to admit Daren, in many ways, pulled that off quite well—evidently made him self-
conscious about singing like her. Although, honestly, Daren didn’t sing like Cher. He sang like Daren, his
voice tenor but enriched with overtones from all the registers, his style strong like Cher’s but, to Gunny’s
inexpert but attentive ear, perhaps differently nuanced.
Gunny hadn’t really known a lot about Cher until he’d started rooming with Daren, who called the pop
goddess his patron saint. In his new, wild-with-reservations life, Cher’s music seemed to fit right in with
the parties and booze and pot, all of which swirled around a central core of Daren. Gunny knew Daren
was at the heart of his changes, the centrifuge that had sent everything whirling, and that was okay. He
figured he’d give himself a year to spin to the outside, and then settle back down—no doubt without
Daren in his life. Meanwhile he gave himself over.
That Halloween night, when Daren came off the Karaoke stage after “Love is the Groove” looking down
and maybe even embarrassed, Gunny had been mystified by his own need to comfort him. He’d been
schooled all his life to think a man’s emotions were his own problem, and he had no reason to believe—or
sense—that Daren wouldn’t be just fine once he manned-up. But he’d finished a hard drink by then, and
that might have been why he even noticed Daren might need comfort. Not knowing the best way to go
about such a not-so-macho thing, he ordered shots all around and challenged Daren to keep up with him.
Daren didn’t try to do that, but he did drink, and he did loosen up, and by the time his second turn for
Karaoke came up, he was a lot more relaxed. Relaxed enough—or drunk enough—to trip on the top step
of the stage. He recovered with a giggle, though and stood at the mic, gazing out at the audience with
sultry eyes before launching into “Taxi Taxi.” Daren’s performance seemed loose and tight in all the right
places and it mesmerized Gunny.
As he walked back to the table where his friends sat waiting, with applause for his performance echoing
in his ears, Daren felt power coursing through his veins. He was high on it as he’d never been before, and
the feeling so far surpassed the booze that Gunny had tried to get him drunk on that he didn’t even want
to sit back down. He needed to move.
“Let’s go,” he said, looking at Jimmy but oh-so-aware of Gunny’s hungry look. Daren didn’t know what
that look really meant, but he liked it, and he thought he might have just made a discovery about himself
that had been a long time coming.
Or maybe several discoveries, all because he liked that look. A lot. He liked knowing he’d affected
Gunny by his drag Karaoke—by his look and his voice and his walk, all of which were different from, but
somehow part of, everyday Daren. He liked that it made him want to get up next to Gunny and move, and
he loved the feeling—the certainty—that Gunny would want that too. And that particular desire was all
about sex.
I’m gay, he thought.
He laughed a little because how the hell had he not known that? Although… maybe he had. And then,
biting his full, red-painted bottom lip and wiggling his ass a bit just for the joy of it, he thought it again.
I’m fucking gay…
And that’s fabulous!
The rest of the festivities that night went by in a blur. Daren sang at a couple of parties, played a racy
board game, and yes, drank too much, all the while getting close to Gunny whenever he could. He never
got quite so drunk that he wasn’t in control, but perhaps, he admitted, he was a little past the point of good
sense, because he knew Gunny was basically an innocent—or at least a naïve soul. Gunny was drunker
than was strictly healthy, and right then Daren had some power over him. For a while, he enjoyed playing
him like a fish on the line.
But when they’d left the last party, said goodbye to Ronnie and Jimmy outside their residence hall, and
walked halfway back to their dorm in a steady, cool rain, Daren sobered and he didn’t feel like toying
with Gunny anymore. He wondered for a moment if Gunny really did want him, but then he realized
wondering that was a little dishonest. He could see Gunny’s desire, feel it. He could damn well smell it.
But then he asked himself a more honest question. Would Gunny want him with his clothes off the same
way he did when he was in drag?
Because if the answer was no, then Daren didn’t want to want Gunny.
Being a wild man but keeping it secret was like walking a tightrope without a balance bar. The danger
filled Gunny with quiet but insistent exhilaration.
By the time Halloween rolled around, conservative, respectable, reserved Gunner Schiller from North
Dakota had gained a reputation as a partier. He’d even had sex with women on two occasions at parties.
He didn’t really remember much about that. The memory lapse might have been about booze, but
truthfully he hadn’t been all that drunk either time, so he thought it was mostly because the act itself
hadn’t been as memorable as he’d expected. The idea of sex excited him, but honestly, the women’s
bodies and efforts just didn’t. Oh well, he’d thought after the second try, you live and learn.
Halloween night was to be one big mobile party. Gunny had bowed to popular opinion and decided he
wouldn’t be any more damned to hell than he already was if he dressed up, so he decided to go all out and
be Satan for an evening. Tall, lithe, Daren would go as Cher, wearing a close copy of one of her signature
racy outfits. Gunny was all for that idea, and he told himself that was because he’d heard music-major
Daren sing Cher songs at Karaoke, and he did it beautifully—the costume just made sense.
They were joined by a pair of their more raucous acquaintances—Johnny Langdon dressed as the Lord of
the Hunt, and his brother Benny, who refused to dress up at all with the exception of donning suspenders
and pretending to smoke a stogie all night. Together they started the evening at a Karaoke bar within
walking distance from their home base. They ordered drinks with their fake ID and maybe the costumes
helped them get away with it. But it was early in the evening, and Daren’s first turn at the mike came up
before he or Gunny—who still tried to pace himself in an effort to reduce guilt over the sin of
drunkenness—hadn’t had more than a sip. Oddly, Daren seemed more self-conscious singing “Love is the
Groove” than Gunny remembered him being the last time he’d done the Karaoke thing. Looking like Cher
—and Gunny had to admit Daren, in many ways, pulled that off quite well—evidently made him self-
conscious about singing like her. Although, honestly, Daren didn’t sing like Cher. He sang like Daren, his
voice tenor but enriched with overtones from all the registers, his style strong like Cher’s but, to Gunny’s
inexpert but attentive ear, perhaps differently nuanced.
Gunny hadn’t really known a lot about Cher until he’d started rooming with Daren, who called the pop
goddess his patron saint. In his new, wild-with-reservations life, Cher’s music seemed to fit right in with
the parties and booze and pot, all of which swirled around a central core of Daren. Gunny knew Daren
was at the heart of his changes, the centrifuge that had sent everything whirling, and that was okay. He
figured he’d give himself a year to spin to the outside, and then settle back down—no doubt without
Daren in his life. Meanwhile he gave himself over.
That Halloween night, when Daren came off the Karaoke stage after “Love is the Groove” looking down
and maybe even embarrassed, Gunny had been mystified by his own need to comfort him. He’d been
schooled all his life to think a man’s emotions were his own problem, and he had no reason to believe—or
sense—that Daren wouldn’t be just fine once he manned-up. But he’d finished a hard drink by then, and
that might have been why he even noticed Daren might need comfort. Not knowing the best way to go
about such a not-so-macho thing, he ordered shots all around and challenged Daren to keep up with him.
Daren didn’t try to do that, but he did drink, and he did loosen up, and by the time his second turn for
Karaoke came up, he was a lot more relaxed. Relaxed enough—or drunk enough—to trip on the top step
of the stage. He recovered with a giggle, though and stood at the mic, gazing out at the audience with
sultry eyes before launching into “Taxi Taxi.” Daren’s performance seemed loose and tight in all the right
places and it mesmerized Gunny.
As he walked back to the table where his friends sat waiting, with applause for his performance echoing
in his ears, Daren felt power coursing through his veins. He was high on it as he’d never been before, and
the feeling so far surpassed the booze that Gunny had tried to get him drunk on that he didn’t even want
to sit back down. He needed to move.
“Let’s go,” he said, looking at Jimmy but oh-so-aware of Gunny’s hungry look. Daren didn’t know what
that look really meant, but he liked it, and he thought he might have just made a discovery about himself
that had been a long time coming.
Or maybe several discoveries, all because he liked that look. A lot. He liked knowing he’d affected
Gunny by his drag Karaoke—by his look and his voice and his walk, all of which were different from, but
somehow part of, everyday Daren. He liked that it made him want to get up next to Gunny and move, and
he loved the feeling—the certainty—that Gunny would want that too. And that particular desire was all
about sex.
I’m gay, he thought.
He laughed a little because how the hell had he not known that? Although… maybe he had. And then,
biting his full, red-painted bottom lip and wiggling his ass a bit just for the joy of it, he thought it again.
I’m fucking gay…
And that’s fabulous!
The rest of the festivities that night went by in a blur. Daren sang at a couple of parties, played a racy
board game, and yes, drank too much, all the while getting close to Gunny whenever he could. He never
got quite so drunk that he wasn’t in control, but perhaps, he admitted, he was a little past the point of good
sense, because he knew Gunny was basically an innocent—or at least a naïve soul. Gunny was drunker
than was strictly healthy, and right then Daren had some power over him. For a while, he enjoyed playing
him like a fish on the line.
But when they’d left the last party, said goodbye to Ronnie and Jimmy outside their residence hall, and
walked halfway back to their dorm in a steady, cool rain, Daren sobered and he didn’t feel like toying
with Gunny anymore. He wondered for a moment if Gunny really did want him, but then he realized
wondering that was a little dishonest. He could see Gunny’s desire, feel it. He could damn well smell it.
But then he asked himself a more honest question. Would Gunny want him with his clothes off the same
way he did when he was in drag?
Because if the answer was no, then Daren didn’t want to want Gunny.
Being a wild man but keeping it secret was like walking a tightrope without a balance bar. The danger
filled Gunny with quiet but insistent exhilaration.
By the time Halloween rolled around, conservative, respectable, reserved Gunner Schiller from North
Dakota had gained a reputation as a partier. He’d even had sex with women on two occasions at parties.
He didn’t really remember much about that. The memory lapse might have been about booze, but
truthfully he hadn’t been all that drunk either time, so he thought it was mostly because the act itself
hadn’t been as memorable as he’d expected. The idea of sex excited him, but honestly, the women’s
bodies and efforts just didn’t. Oh well, he’d thought after the second try, you live and learn.
Halloween night was to be one big mobile party. Gunny had bowed to popular opinion and decided he
wouldn’t be any more damned to hell than he already was if he dressed up, so he decided to go all out and
be Satan for an evening. Tall, lithe, Daren would go as Cher, wearing a close copy of one of her signature
racy outfits. Gunny was all for that idea, and he told himself that was because he’d heard music-major
Daren sing Cher songs at Karaoke, and he did it beautifully—the costume just made sense.
They were joined by a pair of their more raucous acquaintances—Johnny Langdon dressed as the Lord of
the Hunt, and his brother Benny, who refused to dress up at all with the exception of donning suspenders
and pretending to smoke a stogie all night. Together they started the evening at a Karaoke bar within
walking distance from their home base. They ordered drinks with their fake ID and maybe the costumes
helped them get away with it. But it was early in the evening, and Daren’s first turn at the mike came up
before he or Gunny—who still tried to pace himself in an effort to reduce guilt over the sin of
drunkenness—hadn’t had more than a sip. Oddly, Daren seemed more self-conscious singing “Love is the
Groove” than Gunny remembered him being the last time he’d done the Karaoke thing. Looking like Cher
—and Gunny had to admit Daren, in many ways, pulled that off quite well—evidently made him self-
conscious about singing like her. Although, honestly, Daren didn’t sing like Cher. He sang like Daren, his
voice tenor but enriched with overtones from all the registers, his style strong like Cher’s but, to Gunny’s
inexpert but attentive ear, perhaps differently nuanced.
Gunny hadn’t really known a lot about Cher until he’d started rooming with Daren, who called the pop
goddess his patron saint. In his new, wild-with-reservations life, Cher’s music seemed to fit right in with
the parties and booze and pot, all of which swirled around a central core of Daren. Gunny knew Daren
was at the heart of his changes, the centrifuge that had sent everything whirling, and that was okay. He
figured he’d give himself a year to spin to the outside, and then settle back down—no doubt without
Daren in his life. Meanwhile he gave himself over.
That Halloween night, when Daren came off the Karaoke stage after “Love is the Groove” looking down
and maybe even embarrassed, Gunny had been mystified by his own need to comfort him. He’d been
schooled all his life to think a man’s emotions were his own problem, and he had no reason to believe—or
sense—that Daren wouldn’t be just fine once he manned-up. But he’d finished a hard drink by then, and
that might have been why he even noticed Daren might need comfort. Not knowing the best way to go
about such a not-so-macho thing, he ordered shots all around and challenged Daren to keep up with him.
Daren didn’t try to do that, but he did drink, and he did loosen up, and by the time his second turn for
Karaoke came up, he was a lot more relaxed. Relaxed enough—or drunk enough—to trip on the top step
of the stage. He recovered with a giggle, though and stood at the mic, gazing out at the audience with
sultry eyes before launching into “Taxi Taxi.” Daren’s performance seemed loose and tight in all the right
places and it mesmerized Gunny.
As he walked back to the table where his friends sat waiting, with applause for his performance echoing
in his ears, Daren felt power coursing through his veins. He was high on it as he’d never been before, and
the feeling so far surpassed the booze that Gunny had tried to get him drunk on that he didn’t even want
to sit back down. He needed to move.
“Let’s go,” he said, looking at Jimmy but oh-so-aware of Gunny’s hungry look. Daren didn’t know what
that look really meant, but he liked it, and he thought he might have just made a discovery about himself
that had been a long time coming.
Or maybe several discoveries, all because he liked that look. A lot. He liked knowing he’d affected
Gunny by his drag Karaoke—by his look and his voice and his walk, all of which were different from, but
somehow part of, everyday Daren. He liked that it made him want to get up next to Gunny and move, and
he loved the feeling—the certainty—that Gunny would want that too. And that particular desire was all
about sex.
I’m gay, he thought.
He laughed a little because how the hell had he not known that? Although… maybe he had. And then,
biting his full, red-painted bottom lip and wiggling his ass a bit just for the joy of it, he thought it again.
I’m fucking gay…
And that’s fabulous!
The rest of the festivities that night went by in a blur. Daren sang at a couple of parties, played a racy
board game, and yes, drank too much, all the while getting close to Gunny whenever he could. He never
got quite so drunk that he wasn’t in control, but perhaps, he admitted, he was a little past the point of good
sense, because he knew Gunny was basically an innocent—or at least a naïve soul. Gunny was drunker
than was strictly healthy, and right then Daren had some power over him. For a while, he enjoyed playing
him like a fish on the line.
But when they’d left the last party, said goodbye to Ronnie and Jimmy outside their residence hall, and
walked halfway back to their dorm in a steady, cool rain, Daren sobered and he didn’t feel like toying
with Gunny anymore. He wondered for a moment if Gunny really did want him, but then he realized
wondering that was a little dishonest. He could see Gunny’s desire, feel it. He could damn well smell it.
But then he asked himself a more honest question. Would Gunny want him with his clothes off the same
way he did when he was in drag?
Because if the answer was no, then Daren didn’t want to want Gunny.
