Please welcome Seodonia Guillone, who's joining us today to talk about her new release from Loose Id, FLYING FISH.
Genji Sakura is one such flying fish, yet he dreams of the day he'll find the man he can give his heart to and leave the loneliness of his itinerant life behind. Though he loves theater, he doesn't love every part of his profession, especially some of the patrons. So when a handsome ronin, or masterless samurai, comes upon him stealing some solitude for a bath in a hot spring and their encounter turns passionate and profoundly erotic, Genji's surprised and delighted.
Daisuke Minamoto's past fills his life with a bitterness that grips his soul and makes him dangerous. Yet his passion takes him when he spies on a graceful young man bathing naked in a hot spring. He has always loved women but he can't deny the call of his heart or his baser interests.
After an afternoon of sexual bliss, his heart and soul are tormented and torn. Keeping this miraculous lover will require giving up the one thing that has kept him alive for years: his hatred for the lord who murdered his wife. If he loves another, how will he go on and who will he become?
Tell us about your recent publication.
FLYING FISH is an historical m/m that takes place in feudal Japan between a masterless samurai and a travelling kabuki actor. The samurai, Daisuke Minamoto is a man torn up by grief and the thirst for revenge on the lord who murdered his wife five years earlier. When he comes upon Genji bathing in a hot spring and is drawn to him, the course of Daisuke’s life begins to change.
The twist in this story is that previously, Daisuke has always been with women so it’s a transformation for him to fall passionately in love with Genji even though Genji is feminine in certain ways. However, there is something in Daisuke’s nature that craves a certain kind of companion, someone sweet and kind the way Genji is as well as physically beautiful and graceful. Daisuke and Genji fit together in a unique way, a way that gives Daisuke back something he’d felt was lost in his heart, and so the dramatic change for him in a female to male partner is softened, I feel.
What gave you the idea for this story?
First off, I just love learning about feudal Japan. I became entranced with it when my boyfriend turned me on to the films of Akira Kurosawa. Of course, I became enamored also of Kurosawa’s star actor, Toshiro Mifune who was incredibly handsome. Since then my favorite films are Seven Samurai, Yojimbo and Sanjuro.
When I began to write fiction with samurai as well as writing m/m, some research revealed to me that homosexuality was a common practice among samurai as it was with the Greeks, a very similar structure and so samurai culture lends itself very easily to m/m erotic romance. Everything fell into place inside me and a voice rose up which gives way to stories like FLYING FISH.
As for the exact idea of the relationship between Daisuke and Genji, I’m not sure. The only thing that is clear is that Daisuke’s character is very influenced by the historical figure of Kansuke Yamamoto. I’m not saying that Kansuke was in love with a man, but his story, the kind of man he supposedly was held the passion, commitment and loyalty that makes for a fascinating, sexy alpha hero.
What do you like about m/m?
I enjoy so many things about writing m/m! It's a wonderful genre to write in as well as quite the addictive genre. From the first m/m I ever wrote (Danny's Dragon) I was absolutely hooked. Aside from the fact that writing about two beautiful men loving each other is so erotic and arousing, I love writing about the emotional relationship between the characters. There is a bond between the heroes that emerges when I write m/m that doesn't happen for me in the same way when I write m/f. It's very difficult to put into words, but the way that comes to me to phrase it is a burning love in the heart that just needs to be written out.
What is your favorite guilty pleasure?
I have a few, actually. Reading m/m erotic romances and murder mysteries is one. Listening to Gackt’s music is another.
My other favorite guilty pleasure has been watching Fuurin Kazan, a 50 episode historical drama from Japan about the political career of a famous samurai, Kansuke Yamamoto.
To what/whom do you credit your success?
I credit my success to the man in my life. In spite of the fact that I put in the work, constantly writing, critiquing, improving it and all that, I wouldn’t even have had the confidence or discipline to go for it without his support. He’s the inspiration for all my heroes and the love I have with him is my muse.
If there were one misconception about m/m that you could clear up forever, what would it be?
That m/m is porn. Yes, it’s highly erotic and that’s a good thing, believe me. But the emphasis is so much on the emotional romance between the two (or more) heroes and that’s what makes m/m compelling.
What kind of impact do you hope your work will have on readers?
Really the primary impact I would hope for is that readers will come away from a story I’ve written feeling that they’ve had a worthwhile experience reading it. I know that the genre I write in doesn’t gear itself to reaching large numbers of people with a message the way that literary fiction does, but in my own way, I write about the things I feel matter in a human life, friendship, love, passion, loyalty, and if that comes through and touches a reader’s heart, then, that’s the best I could possibly hope for.
(Extra because I had to answer this. LOL) Kirk, or Spock?
Absolutely, unequivocally: Kirk!
For an excerpt from FLYING FISH, please click the link below. (Please note, the following excerpt is for mature readers only. By
clicking the link below, you certify that you are 18 years of age or
older)
Genji's eyes shot open. Sunlight flooded them, blinding him for a moment. All the nerve endings along his skin crackled to life. He strained to hear, and his body tensed, ready to spring from the water for his knife an arm's length away.
Another crackle of twigs.
He sat bolt upright. "Who's there?" he growled.
Silence.
Genji might have thought it was an animal in the brush, but his inner voice told him otherwise. It whispered to him that he shared this tiny oasis with another human being. Someone who'd been spying on him, watching him wash his hair.
Genji leaned over, slipped his hand within the folds of his kimono, and wrapped a hand around the hilt of his tanto, a gift from a high-ranking samurai, one who had patronized Genji's talents in the past, both on and off the stage. "Answer me," Genji said, his voice tight. Years of acting had taught him how to infuse his tone with whatever emotion was needed for effect. In this instance, he sought for threatening. "I'm armed. I know how to use this knife." Indeed, he could follow his threat with action. That same samurai had taught him some basic swordsmanship, in between sessions of intense lovemaking.
Silence still answered him, yet the sense of another human presence remained.
Genji slid the tanto from its scabbard.
"If you don't show yourself on the count of three," Genji went on, gaze trained on the rocks that hid part of the brush, "I will climb from this pool, seek you out, and gut you. Don't think I won't do it." Though slim and narrow in build, with finely etched muscle and not the brawn of a highly trained samurai or laborer, Genji had speed and agility. As a dancer, he'd found the principles of movement were the same.
"Relax, peasant," a voice said suddenly from behind the brush. "I'm obeying your order."
Genji's insides jumped. The voice, deep and male, held a hint of mockery tinged with admiration. Though the owner of the voice hadn't threatened his safety, Genji continued to hold his knife at the ready, should the stranger indeed mean him harm.
The leaves and branches of the brush rustled and snapped, and within seconds, a figure emerged. He came to a stop at the edge of the rocks.
Genji stared, blinking, not so much because the glare of the sun made a halo of blinding light around the stranger's broad figure, but because when the man moved so as to block the sun from Genji's eyes, the vision before Genji was that of a wild warrior.
Darkness. The word rose in Genji's mind as the stranger moved a few steps closer. Dark eyes, swarthy skin, jaw and cheeks covered with more than a few days' growth. And though his abundant black hair was pulled back, much of it had escaped its tie and rioted about his rugged face.
The man, obviously a samurai of some sort, would have been handsomely imposing had his clothing not been ragged and desperately in need of washing, even his rope sandals, though Genji felt certain that the blades of his weaponry, long sword, short, and knife, were polished to perfection within their woven scabbards. The hands that handled those weapons were large, fingers thick, and his legs in their gaiters below the hem of his kimono were also thick, muscled limbs of coiled strength.
Genji's tanto and his limited ability to use it were a mere joke in the face of this obviously skilled warrior, however ragged and dirty his state. His fear must have shown, for the stranger gave him a sudden lopsided grin and began to untie his belt, lowering his weapons to the rocks.
"I apologize for coming upon you the way I did, like a sneak thief," the samurai said. His hands went to the tie of his kimono and worked it open. "I thought you were a woman when I saw you from a distance, washing that hair."
Genji exhaled a tiny bit. But only a bit. He set his tanto onto the rock behind him, an excuse to avert his gaze from the thickly muscled torso being revealed. For some reason, the man's growing nakedness made Genji feel testy. "So you would have continued to spy on me, taking advantage of my undress had you not seen I'm a man?"
The samurai didn't answer, though his dark gaze shifted away from Genji in a way that appeared guilty. He removed his gaiters, unwrapped his loincloth, dropping everything on top of his other ragged clothing, and Genji got an eyeful of the samurai's musuko. Even in its softened state, the member hinted at delicious thickness when erect. The sac beneath it was equally abundant-looking, heavy and full.
The samurai leaned down, turning halfway as he began to lower himself into the water. His meaty leg and ass muscles flexed as he climbed down into the pool and settled on the other side. Genji didn't know if there was a rock ledge to sit on over there, but he didn't offer the space beside him in spite of this warrior's handsome appearance. He entertained enough samurai already, nearly every evening after the day's performances. His life was not his own, and it was a blessing for him that he loved the theater, otherwise he would have gone mad and committed hara-kiri long ago with his own knife.
Without meaning to, Genji caught a glance of the way the waterline lapped at the samurai's chest and gleamed on the golden hue of his skin, just beneath the large, dark rounds of his nipples.
"To answer your question," the samurai said finally, "yes, I would have continued to spy on you, as crude as that may be."
Genji blinked again, struck at the man's honesty. That, at least, was refreshing. Not all samurai were as noble as their warrior's code demanded they be.
"Even after you first spoke," the samurai went on, "I wasn't sure of your sex. Your voice is soft and gentle even though you tried to sound fierce. It took many moments of debating whether to show myself. Only when you turned around and I saw your male chest did I knew I could come out without making you scream."
Genji continued studying him as he spoke. The samurai's voice was deep, each word saturated with emotions. The explanation made some of Genji's apprehension ebb, and he nodded. "I see."
The samurai cupped some water and splashed his face. Shiny droplets clung to the heavy, dark stubble on his cheeks and jaw. "You must be a boy, then, by your smooth appearance."
"No." Genji lifted his chin. "I'm in my twenty-fifth year." Truthfully, he'd not been a boy since the invasion, a violence that had ripped him from childhood and thrown him into the constant struggle for survival.
His bathing companion looked doubtful for a moment but then nodded and continued to wash himself. He came away from the edge to the center of the small pool and dipped underneath the surface, scrubbing at his skin when he rose. His large hands slid over his arms and chest, making the water stream off his skin.
Genji tried not to watch him while that testy feeling intensified. He shifted in his seat. "I'm not a peasant either," he said to the man's back. Water soaked the man's thick hair, making it shine in the sun, and those thick back muscles flexed and bunched as he washed himself. Genji had nothing against peasants, of course. His parents had been peasants who'd served the lord of their province within the grounds of the castle keep before the invasion. But Genji hadn't had the chance to grow up as a peasant once he'd been sold into service of Shizu, the theater troupe's director. And so, his occupation, the very thing that had formed his identity as a human being, was of utmost importance to him and would be known. Even to this bedraggled-looking warrior.
The samurai turned and regarded him. More water beaded off his broad chest and down his taut abdomen. "What are you then?"
Genji squared his shoulders a bit. "An actor."
The samurai's eyes widened with a look of amazement. "Ohhhh," he said in a hushed whisper, as if a great honor were being conferred on him. Then he bowed, his face nearly touching the surface of the water.
Genji's cheeks burned. Was the samurai mocking him?
But when the other man straightened, his expression seemed sincere. "You must be famous," he said.
"You don't need to make fun of me just because I am part of a traveling troupe."
The samurai's brow furrowed. "I make fun of no one." He bowed again. "I have never met an actor before."
Genji studied him as his indignation faded. Judging from the wild look of the man, it was certainly possible he didn't patronize the theater as so many of his class did. Then Genji understood his own agitation. "I apologize," he said softly. "I see you weren't mocking me. I'm not accustomed to a…response such as yours."
"Oh." The samurai bowed again, and Genji felt his cheeks tingle a bit. In spite of their strange introduction, the warrior seemed to possess the sense of honor exhorted by the samurai code, a quality Genji found attractive.
"My name is Genji," he said, feeling his heart open a bit toward the samurai. Politeness went quite far with him since so many patrons saw his occupation as an excuse to make him an immediate object of their carnal appetites without regard for his feelings. "Sakura Genji." Sakura was a surname he'd given himself, not only because he found cherry blossoms beautiful, but as a stage name, it had a touch of romance to it. He also felt it would honor his parents. They'd have been proud to know their son had earned the honor of a surname, even if he had to confer the honor upon himself as he grew older and earned his promotion from stagehand to understudy to first performer.
The samurai bowed yet again. "Minamoto," he said, "Minamoto Daisuke."
"Pleased to meet you." Genji paused before speaking again. "Which lord do you serve?" he asked and immediately regretted his question.
Minamoto's face darkened, and the wildness Genji had first seen came forth in his look.
"I serve no lord," he said quietly. "I'm a ronin."
A masterless samurai. There were many of those in the world. For various reasons, these warriors roamed the countryside, using their skills for their own purposes, never swearing fealty to one lord. Indeed, the status explained Minamoto's unkempt state. The occupation of ronin never held the promise of steady employment, especially in a time as relatively peaceful as this one, when a swordsman's skill was not so much in demand.
Genji sought to lighten the sudden mood. There was something underneath the ronin's demeanor that made Genji uneasy in spite of the man's apparent honorability. "Well, then, we have something in common," he said.
"What is that?" Minamoto looked genuinely curious.
"Neither of us stays long in one place. You're a ronin, and I'm a tobiko."
Minamoto broke into a grin. He laughed then, a deep, rich laugh that did, indeed, release the darkness of the previous moment.
Genji found the laughter infectious and joined him. Their combined voices echoed into the air, Minamoto's deep sound and Genji's higher, melodious one, blending into the sweet summer air and the birdsong in the surrounding trees. Life held some truly pleasant moments for Genji at times, and this was one of them.
When their mirth had passed, Minamoto regarded him with a thoughtful expression. "I wouldn't have thought of such a comparison, but you're right, after all. The world holds great uncertainties for both of us."
Genji nodded, then saw the samurai's look shift, as if his own words had made him think of something he'd left behind while laughing. Feeling suddenly shy, Genji shifted his gaze to the water. "This is certainly a beautiful spot," he said. The mood had darkened again, and Genji understood. Minamoto carried this darkness with him. It was part of him, like a precious treasure to which he clung for survival. Being an actor had sensitized Genji to the inner workings of human beings. After all, he needed to access the depths of human existence in order to portray it effectively onstage through song and dance.
"It is beautiful," Minamoto agreed. "I've soaked here many times."
"Oh, so you've been in the province before."
The darkness seemed to close in like a shadow over Minamoto's handsome face. "I lived here for some time, years ago."
"I see." Genji remained quiet. It wasn't his way to pry into others' lives. He'd learned long ago to mind his own affairs. Yet it often didn't matter. For whatever reason, he had a way about him that made people feel able to bare their souls to him and so had often learned more than he wanted to know of others' depravities and secrets.
A tormented look tightened Minamoto's features. "It's no secret why I lived here and why I left. No doubt you'll hear the gossip once people see I've returned."
Genji's insides jumped. Apparently, the ronin sensed this thing in Genji as well. It was inescapable. "I never pay heed to gossip," he said. "It's belittling. Unworthy of even the lowliest peasant."
A moment of silence passed, and Genji thought his response had ended their conversation, but Minamoto spoke again.
"Five years ago, the lord of this province murdered my wife," he said quietly. "Shot her with an arrow while he was out hunting. She was collecting flowers. They were still in her hand when she was brought to me."
Genji stared at him. It occurred to him perhaps the lord had been hunting and mistook the woman's movement for a game creature, but deep inside, he knew it wasn't true. The act had been committed in cold blood. The truth was in Minamoto's eyes.
"I was a threat to him," Minamoto continued. "The aid I gave to certain of his vassals made him distrust me. He did it to rid the province of me. He succeeded. I could not stay here after that…and be reminded of her. Everywhere I looked."
"I'm truly sorry," he said softly. Clearly the ronin still grieved. The woman's death had obviously been a loss from which Minamoto felt he could never return. Perhaps that was the cause of the darkness Genji had sensed in the man.
Minamoto's stricken eyes went to him. The sympathy he read on Genji's face seemed to soothe him, for his look shifted to something softer. He nodded an acknowledgment of Genji's kindness to him. "Since then, I've traveled every inch of Japan, been to every province, and studied with the greatest swordsmen of each fiefdom."
The samurai's voice took on an edge as he spoke. There was a hunger in his eyes Genji had seen before in the warriors of his class. So many of them possessed fighting skills beyond anyone's imagination, and in this peaceful time, they had no outlet other than to challenge each other to duels or to protect villages from gangsters and bandits. From the way Minamoto spoke, and from what he'd just revealed about his past, Genji felt certain as to the destructive course this man actually followed. Minamoto was a man consumed, devoured from the inside by his own life. The understanding formed in Genji's mind and heart as he watched the steam rise from the water's surface around Minamoto's damp torso. Minamoto was a living, breathing figure of tragedy.
The understanding softened Genji a bit more toward the man. As much as he ever wanted to remain aloof from anyone for his own protection, he was never able to do so, as if some sort of natural barrier that other people had was missing from him. "Perhaps it's none of my business," Genji began gently, "and please tell me if it is not, but what brought you back to this province?" Something gave him the feeling it wasn't to revisit the place where he had lived with his wife.
That darkness settled over Minamoto again. "I have unfinished business here."
The answer confirmed his suspicions. Yet Minamoto's intentions were none of Genji's affair. Genji's existence was devoted to playing the Flower Maiden, a role for which Shizu had meticulously trained him since buying Genji off the platform.
Genji nodded and remained respectfully quiet. The slant of the sun told him it was time to return to the village. His troupe had just arrived the previous day, and their stage would be near completion. Rehearsals would go on this evening, and then when the news of their arrival had spread, there would be the usual wandering in of samurai looking for an evening's companion. Genji sighed. "I must return. I have a few moments to dry out on the bank, and then I will go back."
The ronin started as if given a shock. He bowed to Genji. "I'll accompany you," he said. "It's safer not to travel alone."
Genji hovered on the verge of refusing the offer. After all, he had his tanto and wasn't afraid to use it…he believed. However, he found Minamoto's company oddly comforting, showing Genji how lonely he actually felt in spite of his busy life. His fellow tobiko could never really be true friends, even Aoki. Especially Aoki, who coveted Genji's position in the troupe. Aoki would not want to remain an understudy indefinitely, and so there was always an undercurrent of tension among the troupe members. With a sigh, Genji climbed from the pool, retrieved the pile of his things from the rock, and went to the grass. Retrieving the small bottle of sesame oil from his things, he poured some into his hand and smoothed it into his wet hair. The long strands would comb out much more easily when dry if he worked any tangles out beforehand.
Peripherally, Genji saw Minamoto recline on the grass roughly an arm's length away. He kept his back turned so as not to steal glances at the samurai's magnificent, naked physique stretched out on the grass in the sun. Working his fingers down the fall of his hair, Genji turned slightly and caught a glance of Minamoto's lower body. The man's musuko was no longer soft between his muscular thighs but stretched halfway erect, blooming with reddish color.
A jolt went through Genji's body, sending in its wake a series of tingles that concentrated in his own member. He'd thought himself jaded after serving so many samurai with his body, but for some reason, life now infused his male parts, even his nipples, which began to tighten into small, hard peaks. He looked back down, pretending to concentrate on his hair with all his will.
"Your hair is so beautiful."
Minamoto's deep voice behind him made a spike of heat through Genji's middle.
Genji pulled in a small breath. With his fingers still engaged in untangling his hair, he turned. "Thank you," he said softly.
The samurai had turned onto his side, propped on his elbow, watching Genji tend to his hair as if he were watching something of beauty unfold before him. "I didn't know a man could move so gracefully…like a swan."
Heat tingled mercilessly now in Genji's cheeks. Such praise was a far cry from having his ass grabbed lustfully by a ribald admirer. The occasional riot that had broken out among audiences over Genji's favors wasn't nearly as flattering as this simple poetic admiration.
Unfortunately, it didn't matter. There was no use in entertaining the attention. He had only his survival to think of and would only think of that…until he met the one man in the world he could surrender his heart to. As flattered as he felt, Genji accepted the praise with a mere gracious nod of his head and a smile, then went back to the task of undoing the tangles in his long hair, still vividly aware of the samurai's admiring gaze on his bare skin.
"Are you spoken for?"
Now, Genji's heart lurched. He turned again. "Spoken…for?"
Minamoto nodded, his eyes shining toward Genji like a love-starved youth. The samurai's musuko had stretched fully now and wept a glistening droplet from the tip.
Genji swallowed hard. Many emotions roiled within him at the question. Minamoto was naive, a quality Genji found endearing. If Genji had wanted to, he could have fabricated a lover, or even perhaps a wife waiting in a far-off province for his return. But he found he didn't wish to lie to this samurai as he sometimes lied to others in order to keep them away. He cleared his throat again. "No. I'm not spoken for." When the samurai didn't answer, Genji looked down at the grass, pretending once again to concentrate deeply on combing his fingers through his hair. Sudden movement made his body tense. He froze, waiting.
"Genji." Minamoto's voice was closer now. The heat of the larger man's body whispered over Genji's skin. A large hand hovered above his shoulder, and the samurai's breath, harsh and tight, pulsed close to Genji's face. Genji dared to look up.
And met the samurai's now-fevered gaze. "May I…touch you?"
Genji's body began to tremble. No one had ever asked his permission before touching him. The newness, the sweetness of it, made shivers pass through him. "Yes," he said before thought could intrude.
"Thank you." The samurai's voice was husky, tight. His fingers dropped lightly onto Genji's bare shoulder.
Genji's heartbeat sped wildly. His eyelids fluttered briefly at the wonder, the need coiled in that small touch.
Minamoto explored Genji's skin with the most delicate touch, as if it were made of silk. "Softer than I'd imagined," he said in that same heavy voice, hushed with wonder.
Genji heaved a breath with difficulty now that his heart pounded. His look dropped to the other man's broad, heaving chest. Minamoto made him feel virginal, new, just by the look in his eyes.
Minamoto's hand closed more firmly over Genji's shoulder. Sheer need came through in the light grasp. "Genji, I…want you."
The man's other hand encased Genji's other shoulder, and Genji could only tilt his face upward, imprisoned as he was in that firm yet impassioned grasp.
"Genji," Minamoto repeated, his voice as tight as his breathing. His musky scent radiated in the warm summer air between their naked bodies. "I want you. Please."
Oooh, what happens next?
Thanks for coming by today, Sedonia, I really enjoyed your interview. Even if you are a Kirk fan. Kirk... really? ;P
Posted by: Jessica Freely | August 19, 2009 at 09:47 AM
Thanks for having me Jessica. As for Kirk - OMG! He was sooooo handsome!
Posted by: Sedonia Guillone | August 19, 2009 at 01:20 PM
Genji swallowed hard. Many emotions roiled within him at the question. Minamoto was naive, a quality Genji found endearing. If Genji had wanted to, he could have fabricated a lover, or even perhaps a wife waiting in a far-off province for his return. But he found he didn't wish to lie to this samurai as he sometimes lied to others in order to keep them away. He cleared his throat again. "No. I'm not spoken for." When the samurai didn't answer, Genji looked down at the grass, pretending once again to concentrate deeply on combing his fingers through his hair. Sudden movement made his body tense. He froze, waiting.
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