Product Description
...author of the darkly provocative DANCING WITH THE DEVIL, answers the question: What is Cheesy Porn? "Well, first off, it's the title of one of the stories in the collection - where Dante recalls his first encounter with a porno theatre when he was only sixteen. The tsunami of sensations he experienced and later described as his "very first high" sent Dante on a decades-long pursuit of that high. Snippets from those decades are in Dancing with the Devil, the book that introduced the obsessive and horny Dante to the world. Cheesy Porn...and other fairytales peeps Dante in grammar school, the whimsical birth of his obsessive nature and the suspicion that one day he just may keep a hot boy chained in his basement."
About the Author
...author of the darkly provocative DANCING WITH THE DEVIL, EXCERPT: "Fine," I said, "I ain't scared of Monsters." They let us inside in small groups. I was with some fat woman and her four boys, all older than me with crazy wild hair. They didn't notice as I slipped in behind them. I'd instinctively gone into stealth mode, like when me and Pepper hunted rats down by the train tracks. Besides, I wasn't Danté, the little Joe Rockhead Witness Boy with coke-bottle glasses and Ethiopia knees. I wasn't me at all. I'd transformed in an instant. Now, I was Danté-Fearless Monster-Hunter-and I always got my ghoul. I slipped past the tall dead guy at the door like vapor, barely rustling his cloak. He didn't even blink; never had a clue. Sometimes I amaze myself. The Mansion was dark, damp, the air heavy with the stench of graves, maggots and, weirdly enough, White Castle burgers. My eyes adjusted to the gloom and I realized the fat lady and her troupe were getting ahead of me down a narrow, cob-webbed corridor that she could barely fit through. Us Monster Hunters work best alone, but I didn't wanna leave them unprotected. It just didn't seem right. So I scurried after them, silently, of course. I heard a moan from one direction, a growl from another. Foot-steps pounded on a floor over us, someone was running, stumbling, yelling. One of the fat lady's boys screamed like a girl. I scowled at him, thinking-faggot. As big as he was, he should be ashamed. I hate fags. Dean said they all should die. I didn't argue with him. It's hard to argue while he's sticking your head in the toilet. But I knew he was wrong. He didn't know the real me. He just knew the 'me' who he loved to hit in the head in Dodge-Ball. But if he saw me now, in stealth mode, confronting hideous life-forms like these, then he'd know I'm much too fearless to be a fag....
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