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Several years ago, I was just sitting around my apartment, and the title “Tales of the Gay Mounties” popped into my head.¬† I started thinking that would be a great name for a book, and I suspected it wasn’t taken yet.¬† I thought about it for a while … while I didn’t really know much about gay sex, I DID know a lot about mounties, or mountie stories anyway, having read all the Silver Chief books.¬† I also have an attraction to anything outre, which I thought this could be.¬†

I resolved to try to write the book.  I was hampered by my general lack of knowledge about sex, and gay male sex in particular.  I petered out (no pun intended) after just one chapter.

I found the story again the last time I was in the US, and brought it back to China with me.¬† I started thinking that it’d be fun to keep working on it — I like pulpy, crappy literature.¬† I even started thinking I could ask my friends to do some sort of collaborative thing, each writing a chapter.¬† It would be like “Naked Came the Stranger,” but in this case it would be “Naked Came the Mountie.”

Again, I got discouraged.¬† I was embarrassed by it.¬† I sent off a bit to a gay friend, who could tell I didn’t know much about the sex department.¬† He tried to send me a dirty gay pirate book, but apparently it never got through customs.¬† I also told myself, “What’s the use of writing this book? It’s just a waste of time.¬† Nobody will want to read about homosexual guys out roughing it in nature.”

Well, of course, the success of Brokeback Mountain proved me wrong.¬† Just for the heck of it, I’m going to print the first chapter of the novel here.¬† Just remember, everyone, I wrote it!¬† It’s copyright ME!¬† Don’t copy it, although I don’t know why you’d want to.¬† So, take a gander (no pun intended there, either), and bear in mind, more innocent readers, that it’s going to be a little dirty (that’s “yellow” to people in China.

Here it is, chapter 1 of Tales of the Gay Mounties:

Mountie Dan bowed down and tried to walk against the wind. It battered him like a prizefighter as he tried to return to the HQ. Turned off their path by the blinding snow, he and his dog team had veered far off their usual course. They ended up on the ice of the Saskatchewan River, plunging through without any warning. Only Dan, being at the very back of the sled, had managed to escape being dragged down to a watery grave.

But he would soon die anyway, his soaked body slowly freezing to death, if he could not find the cabin.

Dan battled exhaustion as he struggled along. At his point, his mind was on only one thing¬†– survival. He shielded his tearing eyes with his mittened hand, and peered about him for a clue where he was¬†– a familiar boulder, any landmark. He looked at the trunks of trees to see if he could use the moss growth to discern which way was north. But not that old, reliable method of finding one’s way, or even the guidance of the constellations, was open to him now. The trees were covered with ice, and nothing was visible¬†but¬†the sharp grains of snow.

Suddenly, he bumped against something solid. He put out his hand and touched something smooth. Was it the window of the cabin, he wondered, his heart leaping. He felt his way along to the right, feeling the smooth surface give way to the rougher texture of wood, and realized he had found the building at last. He continued to edge around the building until he came to the entryway.

The cabin’s rough-hewn door was half buried by a drift of snow, and Dan fell against it heavily as he tried to shove it open. It was stubborn, frozen closed. He threw his weight against it with no success.

It opened from the inside. Another man in a red uniform grabbed Dan and pulled him inside. “Good God!” the man exclaimed. “I thought you were lost out there forever!”

“So did I, Tom, so did I,” replied Dan, and fell unconscious.

 

Dan awoke slowly, hours later. He was not quite sure where he was, but knew he felt warm and safe. He wondered if he was back in his mother’s cottage on the shore of Prince Edward Island, a day of play and love awaiting him.

“Dan? Are you awake, buddy?” ¬†He saw a form in white looming above him. He realized it was Tom. He must just be getting up; he was wearing only his long johns. Groggily, Dan wondered why he felt so weak, and why he had been sleeping so long after the day had started. He saw the look of concern on Tom’s face, and the events of the previous day came back to him.

“Are you up for some breakfast?” ¬†asked Tom. “I’ve got some eggs and some nice back bacon.”

Dan groaned as he pushed himself out of bed. His whole body ached. Even Dan’s taut muscles were not used to exertion like that of the day before.

Slowly, he hobbled to the table, and Tom put a sizzling plate of food and a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. He shoved the food into his mouth, ignoring its scalding heat. Then he looked up. He saw Tom, putting on the red coat of his mountie uniform, watching him tenderly as he ate.

After Dan was finally sated, Tom came over to him, and laid a hand on his leg. “Dan,” he asked with a look of concern, “You came back alone last night. The dogs …?”

Dan shook his head sadly. He knew Tom was anticipating some calamity — nothing else could have led him to abandon his beloved lead dog, Storm King. He had found the dog as a pup, still nearly blind, squirming under the bloodied mess that had been its mother. She was a sled dog gone wild, and had been savaged by a bear while protecting her cub. Dan had scared the bear off with a rifle blast. He raised the pup himself, feeding it from a bottle. The man and the dog had a close bond, and since he was a year old, Storm King had been in the lead position of Dan’s dog team.

Dan sighed. “I got a report from the Indian camp about some more of those traps being put on their paths to cripple them or their dogs. I went out to investigate, and as I was coming to the site, I heard a gunshot. I decided to be tricky — I made an arc to get around the other side of the shooter, to get a look at him from behind, and surprise him. I think I was about to see him when the blizzard hit. It came out of nowhere. You know how blizzards are — those winds, the blinding snow — it disoriented me.” ¬†Dan stopped a moment, in painful recollection, as Tom nodded in sympathy.¬† “I thought I was coming the right way, I thought I was almost to Jackson’s Ford Road. But then my sled broke through the ice. I had come to the river. The dogs were swallowed up in a second. I barely managed to escape.”¬† A far-off look fame into his eyes again. He sat silent.¬† “And here I am, without my dogs, without my sled, without Storm King.”

He hung his head. Tom, a look of tender pity on his face, pulled Dan’s chin up toward his. Their lips made contact, and Tom kissed Dan lingeringly on the lips. Dan signed. Tom stroked the back of his head as they kissed again. Tom continued caressing Dan’s body as gently as he undressed him. Then Tom took off his crimson jacket.

Dan flushed with excitement as Tom continued to undress. Within a moment, his comrade, his lover, was naked. Tom’s arousal was obvious. His penis was turgid and quivering, even as he stripped off his underwear. Intoxicated, Dan brought his lips to Tom’s penis. He briefly enveloped it, and licked the sensitive tip.¬† “Oh Dan, Dan,” moaned Tom,¬† “I thought I had lost you.”¬† He kissed Dan again. The men stood, grasping each other, kissing. “I don’t want to think of anything but your body,” Dan breathed against Tom’s mouth. Tom kissed Dan along his muscled chest, lower and lower. Dan’s penis throbbed with excitement as Tom made his way down. Tom pulled his lover down onto the bed, with its thick ticking mattress. He maneuvered Dan onto his stomach, and stroked his buttocks with a maddening, proprietary air. He laid down across his back, kissing his neck, preparing for their next step. As the winds of the blizzard screamed outside, the two men became lost in each others’ bodies.

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