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As The World Slept
On June 12th, 2016 many people woke thinking it was going to be just another Sunday. To those in the LGBTQIA community of Orlando, they were enduring a nightmare.Sirens filled the air, bullets ricocheted, screams echoed, and cries and pleas for mercy sounded as those who had gone to Pulse in Orlando, Florida for Latin Night to be themselves, to embrace their truth, to kick off Pride Week, to dance, to love freely, were gunned down in hatred. In fear. In anger.While the rest of the world slept and was unaware, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, partners, husbands and wives, lovers, fathers and mothers, friends, family members, colleagues, mentors, were fighting for their lives. Running for safety. Struggling to escape.
Many of them called for help. Alerted family members, local law enforcement, friends on social media, of what was occurring, in a desperate attempt for help. For safety. While a madman calmly hunted them, shooting them. Killing them. Wounding them. Injuring them.The shooter, for he is not worthy of being named in this post, was “cool and calm�� during negotiations, according to various news outlets. He had no regard for the lives of the people he was attacking. He cared not about the couples he was splitting up, the sons and daughters he was taking away from their parents, the fathers and mothers he was taking away from their children, the brothers and sisters he was taking away from their siblings, the friends he was taking away from their support system.While the rest of the world slumbered, or started their day, the victims of Pulse, tried to get to safety. They barricaded themselves in bathrooms, they ran out the back door, climbed over the fence, helped complete strangers to freedom, tried to patch up the wounded as they ran; all while a shooter intent on taking their lives continued his assault. Many of them escaped. Many of them did not.The shooter’s father apologized to the victims�� families and to the city of Orlando, while in the same breath offered an explanation for the mass shooting, stating that it was seeing “two men kiss�� that led to the hate crime and terrorist attack—because yes, this was both. However, the absurd notion, this bigoted ideology that “gay panic�� can lead someone to commit a heinous violent act is nauseating. The very fact that anyone tries to use it to justify their actions is horrible. What about “black panic�� or “Hispanic panic�� or “white panic�� or “women panic�� or anything else? When just seeing someone who represents something you don’t like, or don’t agree with sends you into a rage, or a “panic�� is suddenly justification for you to attack them or murder them. Will there suddenly be people shooting heterosexual couples? Cisgender, all white couples? What about cisgender, all white, Republican, wealthy, extreme right-wing couples? What if that causes a “panic�� in someone? Will that be justification for them to walk into a country club and start shooting? Will the media and news outlets report that it was a mass shooting in a city, as they reported the shooting in Orlando—erasing the fact that it was in a gay nightclub, on Latin night with POC with trans headliners, or will they report that it was a mass shooting in an “affluent, known Republican, extreme right-wing, country club��?Too long the gay community has been vilified, oppressed, and attacked in public, and now, in our safe haven, our nightclubs, we have another reason to look over our shoulder. To be on alert. To be watchful. While it will not prevent the dance, nor stop our expression of PRIDE, while we still believe (in the words of Lin-Manuel Miranda) “that love is love is love is love is love, and love cannot be killed or swept aside,�� the fear that we live with outside in public, as we hold hands with our partners, our lovers, our boyfriends, our girlfriends, our spouses, our significant others, has now followed us inside the very places where we used to let go of those concerns.As soon as the world awoke, we all watched and listened in horror as details were given. Those who knew someone, who had family, friends, loved ones, etc. in Orlando, around Pulse, or whom they knew were in Pulse at the time, began calling, texting, checking Facebook, hoping for word that they were okay. Hearts in our throats, tears in our eyes, fear clawing away at us. Terror had gripped the LGBTQIA community, our families, our friends, our loved ones, and the city of Orlando. Video after video was played of family members weeping, their tears and sobs burying deep inside those of us who were rooted to the unbelievable, unfolding story. Details unfolded slowly, and still we watched.In denial.In fear.In horror.Parents of LGBTQIA children reacted all over the world. Whether it was to call, text, or see their children, contact was made. Conversations were had, and parents who had accepted their sons and daughters coming out were having to deal with the very real fear, the reality, of what their children were dealing with, were facing, every day, simply for being who they were. For living their truth. Simply because someone didn’t agree with who they were.Then, the names of the fallen began to be released, and those of us who were in denial, who thought—who hoped—that maybe, just maybe, this was all just some horrible nightmare gone wrong, something they just couldn’t wake up from, had to face facts that yes, yes, dear god, this actually. Happened.Tears flowed. Bodies trembled. People clutched each other in sorrow. Some collapsed in grief.Oh god. Oh god. How could this have happened. Again? And why?49 people killed, at least 53 people seriously wounded, and that’s just the numbers that have been reported. Will the death toll rise? Will more of the wounded appear?
And as the world struggled to come to grips with this tragedy, controversy after controversy began to pop up. But then, what did we expect? This was both a hate crime and a terrorist attack on the LGBTQIA community in Orlando, Florida. From media outlets who refused to say “gay nightclub�� or “hate crime�� or “LGBT�� in their broadcast whatsoever, thereby erasing the very real reason why the attack happened. Ignoring our fear, downplaying our suffering, brushing aside the agony of the families, and diminishing the lives of the fallen and the wounded. To politicians who used this tragedy to either push their agenda, or to speak hypocritical words of sympathy to a community they’d vilified, attacked, oppressed, and discriminated against, time and time again. Even to politicians who took the time to congratulate themselves on being “right�� about “Muslims�� and pushing more hateful, Islamaphobic speech and rhetoric, the same kind which led to the LGBTQIA community at Pulse in Orlando in the first place, only by a different party.But then the love poured in. From celebrities. From countries around the world. From the Tonys. From strangers all over social media. From strangers all over the state who stood in line at blood banks for hours to donate blood and plasma, even arguing about the right for gay men to donate blood to gay men. The Tonys handed out silver ribbons. Google put up a black ribbon on their website. There were Pulse icons made. People changed their logos. Hashtags were made for Orlando, for Pulse, for the gay community. When word came that a man had been prevented from attacking the L.A. Pride Parade, though people were shaken, the community was still even more resolved.We would not be deterred. We would not be moved. We would not be driven back into the closet. Forced to live our lives in the way that those with certain extreme religious or political beliefs thinks is “acceptable.�� We would not cower. We would stand strong. We would stand tall. We would have spines of steel. Our brothers and sisters had not died in vain. We would and we will carry their names in our hearts with us forever, we would carry the weight of the wounded on our shoulders as we continued the march forward towards true equality, safety, and freedom.This horrible event, no doubt concocted in the shooter’s mind in an effort to weaken the LGBTQIA’s community, did nothing but strengthen us. We ceased any in-fighting, put a halt to any grudges, and instead of separating into cliques, we joined arms, bracing each other up, becoming stronger, becoming one cohesive unit. We did not yield. We did not fall. We did not bend, nor did we break under the assault of the attacker’s weapons. Instead, we began to breathe in sync with one another, our pulse beat as one, strong, our skin became impenetrable, our backs unbreakable. We supported each other and knew that we would continue to do so. The outpouring of love continued on through the night, from James Corden’s opening monologue at the Tony’s through Lin-Manuel Miranda’s sonnet when he won for Best Original Score to Adele’s heartbreaking dedication as she sang during her concert, and much, much more. We, members of the LGBTQIA, community, knew that while we were often the ones on the front lines of this war, there were others, allies, who stood with us, behind us, to hold us up when we grew weary, and even to stand beside us. We did not have to fight alone.And yes, this was a hate crime. A terrorist attack. Against us. The LGBTQIA community. On Latin Night. While trans POC were on the flyer advertising for the event. We are aware of what this means. We know what’s going on, even if the media wants to pretend that it’s not, but still we embraced our allies because their blood was welcomed at the blood banks, they donated, they offered up support, they held us as we cried, tweeted, retweeted, and marched with us. They stood on the sidelines with us when we needed them to. Pride may be for us, but we still appreciate them.And then, the world slept again.And as the world slept, the victims and the fallen, their families, their loved ones, friends, significant others, partners, etc. continued to suffer. When the news vans pulled away, they stayed, waiting to hear word, waiting for a glimpse of their family member, to see if they had made it, hands clutched around cell phones, tears streaming down their cheeks as fear sank deep into their bones. They waited at the hotel, pacing the floors, walking the sidewalks, smoking outside, walking the streets, checking the posted sheets of those who had been located and were in the hospital, receiving treatment, or in surgery, or waiting to be called by phone or by name by the authorities to be told that they’d lost someone that they loved.As the world slept, 49 members of the LGBTQIA community were lost, and 1 homophobic person snuffed out their lights. 50 lives lost. Over 53 others in the hospital. As the world slept, 49 families had their world’s devastated, whether these were biological families or families by choice, their lives were changed forever.As the world slept, their tears flowed like rain, never ceasing, their grief felt like a heavy cloud in the air here in Florida. As the world slept, more names were added to the list of the deceased. As the world slept, exhausted from the bickering, from the shock, from the politicizing, from the posturing, from the fighting, from the fear, from the anger, from the hatred, from stirring up the phobia, these families, these friends, these loved ones continued to mourn, to wait, to fear, to grieve.And as the world awoke again, some of them returned to their lives, having brushed off the residual dust of the previous day’s explosions and returned to their regular lives. Others were once again plastered to their computers, spewing hate and vitriol at the LGBTQIA community, misquoting and mistranslating a Bible and a religion they claim to believe in. A God who represents love and forgives and hates judging, condemnation, murder, and those who misrepresent him. Others climbed online to offer support, financially, with their words, with their blood donations, or by hosting or attending candlelight vigils all over the country and the world.People cried and wept with the families, mourning with them, mourning for their loss.For while the LGBTQIA community had suffered an attack on a place that was considered a safe haven for us, while we had lost the innocence and belief that the hatred would not follow us into “our sanctuaries�� we had to remember that there were others who lost more.Parents who lost children. Children who lost parents. Spouses and couples who were separated. Friends who lost their support system, siblings who lost their brother or sister (or both) and their grief was palpable. It could be tasted on the air. It weighed down on us all.So, let us all take a moment to remember those who lost their lives, and to remember and have a moment of silence for those who were wounded or injured. Let us remember and thank the first responders, the hospital staff, the staff at the blood bank, and the volunteers. Let us remember that we will not be silenced, we will not be broken, and we will not allow ourselves to be driven by fear. We will be strong and we will stand up and remember those who lost their lives in a nightclub on June 12, 2016 in Pulse Nightclub, Orlando, Florida, a LGBT club in a hate crime and a terrorist attack.
The Names of the Fallen:
Edward Sotomayor Jr., 34 years old
Stanley Almodovar III, 23 years old
Luis Omar Ocasio-Capo, 20 years old
Juan Ramon Guerrero, 22 years old
Eric Ivan Ortiz-Rivera, 36 years old
Peter O. Gonzalez-Cruz, 22 years old
Luis S. Vielma, 22 years old
Kimberly Morris, 37 years old
Eddie Jamoldroy Justice, 30 years old
Darryl Roman Burt II, 29 years old
Deonka Deidra Drayton, 32 years old
Alejandro Barrios Martinez, 21 years old
Anthony Luis Laureanodisla, 25 years old
Jean Carlos Mendez Perez, 35 years old
Franky Jimmy Dejesus Velazquez, 50 years old
Amanda Alvear, 25 years old
Martin Benitez Torres, 33 years old
Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon, 37 years old
Mercedez Marisol Flores, 26 years old
Xavier Emmanuel Serrano Rosado, 35 years old
Gilberto Ramon Silva Menendez, 25 years old
Simon Adrian Carrillo Fernandez, 31 years old
Oscar A Aracena-Montero, 26 years old
Enrique L. Rios, Jr., 25 years old
Miguel Angel Honorato, 30 years old
Javier Jorge-Reyes, 40 years old
Joel Rayon Paniagua, 32 years old
Jason Benjamin Josaphat, 19 years old
Cory James Connell, 21 years old
Juan P. Rivera Velazquez, 37 years old
Luis Daniel Conde, 39 years old
Shane Evan Tomlinson, 33 years old
Juan Chevez-Martinez, 25 years old
Jerald Arthur Wright, 31 years old
Leroy Valentin Fernandez, 25 years old
Tevin Eugene Crosby, 25 years old
Jonathan Antonio Camuy Vega, 24 years old
Jean C. Nives Rodriguez, 27 years old
Rodolfo Ayala-Ayala, 33 years old
Brenda Lee Marquez McCool, 49 years old
Yilmary Rodriguez Sulivan, 24 years old
Christopher Andrew Leinonen, 32 years old
Angel L. Candelario-Padro, 28 years old
Frank Hernandez, 27 years old
Paul Terrell Henry, 41 years old
Antonio Davon Brown, 29 years old
Christopher Joseph Sanfeliz 24 years old


Post words of condolences to the families of the fallen, their loved ones, and friends, as well as pictures of LGBT Pride (preferably two men/women of color, since this event happened on Latin Night), or of trans women/men of color in solidarity, and to show that we will not be frightened away, and we will not give into defeat or quit, bend or break. We will not give into fear.And don’t forget the hashtags: #WeStandWithOrlando #WeStandWithYou #OrlandoStrong #Pride2016 #Pride #PulseOrlando #Pulse #PrayForOrlando #PrayForPulse #GoneButNotForgotten #LGBT #LoveWins #LoveIsLoveIsLoveIsLove



-Vicktor Bailey, out and proud(aka. Author: Vicktor Alexander)

This is a much more personal blog post than I usually post on my author blog and website. This is because of the fact that many of you have sent emails, Facebook messages, and even messages to my assistant, Melissa, asking about me, wondering where I was, and after finding out about the donation page and the FB auction that was started up for me, I decided to do something that makes me uncomfortable, and that I don’t do with people I don’t know well and don’t extremely trust—I’m going to share my personal business with you all.
First of all, thank you, to all of you who donated or who bid. The nurses at James A. Haley Tampa VA Hospital and I were all extremely touched by your generosity, as were my friends and family. I couldn’t believe the number of authors and artists who donated items, the people who bid, and the people who donated money on the other donation page. Though I wasn’t made aware of anything until much later, I was actually moved to tears—and anyone who knows me can tell you that is a very big thing. I feel extremely loved, and hearing the things that so many people said, well, it was very touching. While this is morbid, it was a bit like being at my own memorial service, and being privy to what might be said by those who would be able to attend. It was nice.
And if I’d said something like that at the hospital I’d be on suicide watch for 24 hours. LOL.
Anyway, so, to stop dawdling, here’s what’s happened. Let me give you background:
Four years ago, after having been in the Army and being injured, I was living in New York, and I starting to have pressure in my head. This wasn’t like a “headache-type of pressure��, whenever I described it to doctors starting with my doctor in NY, up until my doctor in Lakeland, FL, I described it as “an alien trying to pound its way out of my head.�� It didn’t feel as if there was something crushing my head, it felt as if there was something trying to blow out. It was not a very good sensation. Whenever I would have one of these episodes, I would feel out of sorts after. I would have difficulty understanding people when they talked to me, or responding back, and soon after, I started to have vision problems. It started with my right eye and soon spread to my left. Through all of this I told my doctor in the VA Hospital in NY (Dr. S-as she will be referred to since there are forms filed which list her name regarding this matter) who blew me off. First I was told to “stand up slower�� (seriously, that was her diagnosis), then I was told it was vertigo, prescribed new medicine that only made me sleepy but did not take care of the issue, and then my calls were basically ignored, until I had reached a point where the hospital had to assign me a new doctor.
I moved back to Florida soon after, my biological family had come to a “ignore it�� tenuous-type of acceptance with my being a transgender gay man who wrote gay romance and wanted to help take care of me. I was back in the medical care of the doctor who had first taken care of me when I’d first been discharged from the Army, who knew that when I said my pain level was 3, for anyone else that was usually a 6 or a 7. When I went to see Dr. D (as I will refer to her) she asked me if I’d seen a neurologist, I told her I had (since I’d thought I had, or been told I had in NY), when she looked it up in the system, she told me I’d seen a neurosurgeon, not a neurologist. Having obtained the bulk of my medical knowledge from Grey’s Anatomy and Scrubs (and now shows like Chicago Med and The Late Shift) I said that they were the same thing. She assured me that they weren’t and scheduled me an appointment with a neurologist in Tampa, at James A Haley. When I got there I gave the neurologist the same list of symptoms, timeline, etc. as I’d given the doctor in NY. I was given an EEG, and afterwards the neurologist told me I had a seizure disorder that he thought may be the cause of everything. He, of course, told me not to quote him.
I was given new medication (of course) and things seemed to almost get better, though I still had these “episodes�� of pressure, which were now termed “seizure episodes.�� With the medication (if I took them when I was supposed to) they were mostly managed, but the pressure still occurred, the vision problems still occurred, and soon my body “turned�� on me.
Some of the health issues I had weren’t in relation to the big issue, they were problems I had parallel to this, liver disease, kidney problems, neuropathy (no, I don’t have diabetes, though everyone keeps trying to tell me I “give�� it to me. My dad has it, my grandmother has it, I have friends who have it, and I am extremely sympathetic to those who have it, but my doctor repeatedly assures me that I don’t have it: Vicktor, I know that it seems like you have everything under the sun, but you do not have diabetes), etc. but the doctors were focused on the big issue, especially since it had been going on for so long and I just seemed to be getting worse.
I want to stop here and point out something: I’m a fighter. I’m fiercely independent. I have been since I was a kid. I had to help my mother raise my younger siblings because my biological father was always on the ship, deployed, or off at work, then they divorced when I was 10 and I really stepped up to help her out. I didn’t have a childhood, and while there may be a sliver of me that regrets that, I wouldn’t change my actions. I did what I had to do. So, because of that, when all of this was going on, I was getting very little to no sleep, every night, learning how to be independent. Talking to people, walking hallways of unknown places late at night on my own, sitting in unknown places with my back in the corner, against the wall, because I needed some control in my life. There are a lot of things I did and still do that people don’t know about because there is a driving force inside of me that says I can’t be dependent upon anyone or ask anyone for help. And yes, I know, we all need to ask for help sometimes, but for me, this is an extremely tough thing to do.
Anyway, last year, I developed what I like to call “The Never-ending Sinus Infection�� that went on for months. In April, I woke up with such an extreme pain in my left leg that it made me gasp (it felt as if someone had wrapped a rubber band around my thigh and pulled one strand as tight as they possibly could). I could barely walk on it. I started having a tingling sensation in my feet and hands, and for the first time since the pressure started in my years before, I was actually scared. I called my doctor and told her what was going on. Dr. D., knowing me, knew that if I was calling her, telling her that my pain level was at an 8 and I was scared, things were serious. She told me to go to the ER. I did, but not the VA one (which was my error). I was told that I’d just “twisted�� my leg and sent home with a prescription for aspirin even though the doctor never ran any tests or touched my leg or anything.
In July, after attending Rainbow Con in Tampa (which I thoroughly enjoyed) I went to Jacksonville to spend time with my daughter until my apartment the VA was getting for me was ready. I was having dinner with my daughter, her girlfriend, their friend, and her two daughters, when I had a sharp pain in my chest. My left arm went numb and I had difficulty breathing. I gasped and told my daughter what was going on, but tried to tell my daughter I would be fine. I didn’t think it was a heart attack. It didn’t feel like what my father had described and there was the pressure thing in my head again. I thought I was just having a bad seizure episode, but when we got to the hospital, I couldn’t move my left arm and I had difficulty holding anything in my left hand. When they went to admit me into the hospital, they realized that my left leg was dragging slightly. After running tests, they came and told me that I had numerous white patches on my brain and that I’d had a stroke. I was stunned. I knew about my seizure disorder but now I was having to deal with the fact that I’d had a stroke and while they weren’t sure if the ”left side weakness�� was permanent, it was something that I had to deal with in that moment.
Since the hospital I was admitted at was a civilian hospital, they wanted to transfer me to the VA hospital in Gainesville because the neurologist noticed something “odd�� and he wanted me to have in-house physical therapy. They also wanted to run more tests. Knowing that the VA was only going to run the same tests over again that the civilian hospital had and not wanting to go to Gainesville to be in a hospital alone, I chose to leave AMA. I wasn’t back to full-capacity, but I had work to do, writing to complete, I wanted to be with my daughter�� and I really, really hate hospitals.
When I moved into my apartment in September, I still wasn’t back to where I used to be and everyone who knew me well could tell. I slept a lot, I had trouble with speech, difficulty typing, I still had left side weakness, and all of a sudden I started having other problems as well. The pressure in my head started to come on all of the time, my service dog I had at the time (Isadora-I don’t have her anymore, I had to rehome her when I got sicker and she needed to go out, be fed, etc.) who was very sensitive to me, spent most of her time, curled up somewhere near me whining, trying to get me to take my meds, eat, reminding me to shower (oh yeah, me, the guy with OCD forgot to shower-OFTEN) and standing outside of the shower just in case I fell or got weak, pressing her body against the curtain so I could lean against her body. I was consistently going to the bathroom, having stomach pains, pain in my left leg, left arm, weakness in both of them, and having memory issues.
It all came to a head in December when I had a seizure and fell in my apartment alone. Isadora barked like crazy until one of my neighbors came by to find out what was going on. The apartment complex I live in is very close and my neighbors check in on me all the time, when the found me, they called 911 and I was rushed to the hospital, things went from bad to worse over the next five-six months.
I had seizures, mini-strokes, they ran tests, I had anxiety attacks, one of my kidneys had liver damage, I have liver disease, my heart was having issues, I was still having tingling in my feet and hands, ringing in my ears, nausea and vomiting that I’d been suffering from off and on for years as well as the acid reflux that I’d been treating by drinking ginger ale and Sprite; and through it all the doctors kept trying to figure out why I was suffering from these issues as well as why I had the pressure in my head, and what the mass on my frontal lobe and the “cluster of cells�� at the top of my brain meant. I had numerous MRIs, MRAs, EEGs, EKGs, Echocardiagrams, and other tests done and while they did discover some things and started me on new medications, but still the pressure persisted.
Finally, I was given a spinal tap. The first time they attempted it, they weren’t able to do it because of the pain and my scoliosis. Finally, they had to take me down to the IR department rather than doing it in my room, and giving me a monitored dose of morphine (I spent time being sedated and given monitored doses of narcotics because of my wish to not have anything too strong that I can just give to myself) so they can do the test. Before they gave me the test, I talked to the guy doing the check in and he asked me about why I was there and I told him about how everything had started and for the first time since the medical issues had started, I didn’t describe the pressure in my head as “an alien trying to punch its way out of my skull�� I said that it felt like “a pulsing pressure around or in my brain.�� He asked me if anyone had talked to me about the possibility of me having: pseudotumor cerebri. I asked him what it was (ummm�� hello? Neither Grey’s Anatomy, nor Scrubs, nor Chicago Med, or The Late Shift have ever covered a diagnosis like this before. I would know.), and he told me that it was “a brain tumor that’s not a brain tumor.��
Yeah. Right. Thanks.
So the spinal tap was run, and to make a long story even longer (hahaha) the head neurologist, Dr. G., whose like the best neurologist in VA Hospital or the area or something, came in with the resident who had been assigned to me, to let me know that yes, I had pseudotumor cerebri, and that if it hadn’t been for the IR tech nurse, then it was possible that they might not have been looking as closely for that.
I cried.
Like a bitch.
I sobbed.
Hard.
Not because I had something that is defined as: “False brain tumor��: Symptoms mimic a brain tumor, but no tumor is present (Because this condition causes symptoms of elevated pressure in the head �� which is also seen with large brain tumors �� but have normal scans, the condition has been called pseudotumor cerebri, meaning “false brain tumor��). But because finally, finally, FINALLY they knew what the fuck was wrong with me.


When Dr. G. started to recite the symptoms, I started laughing:·���������������� Moderate to severe headaches that may originate behind your eyes and worsen with eye movement·���������������� Elevated pressure in the head·���������������� Ringing in the ears that pulses in time with your heartbeat (pulsatile tinnitus)·���������������� Nausea, vomiting or dizziness·���������������� Blurred or dimmed vision which can increase over time·���������������� Brief episodes of blindness, lasting only a few seconds and affecting one or both eyes (visual obscurations)·���������������� Difficulty seeing to the side·���������������� Double vision (diplopia)·���������������� Seeing light flashes (photopsia)·���������������� Neck, shoulder or back pain·���������������� Prompt diagnosis and treatment of pseudotumor cerebri is important since it may lead to progressive (and possibly permanent) loss of vision.·���������������� Neck stiffness·���������������� Forgetfulness and/or depression·���������������� Often, pseudotumor cerebri headaches often occur at the back of the head and start as a dull pain, which tends to be worse at night or first thing in the morning.·���������������� Vision problems in pseudotumor cerebri evolve slowly over time, with temporary episodes of visual blurring that can start in the peripheral field of vision. If the pressure continues to build up, the nerves affecting eye movement can also be affected causing double vision.·���������������� The individual may not even notice until later in the clinical course of the disorder when the central field of vision is involved and the symptoms become constant. At this point there is a growing risk of blindness.·���������������� It is increasingly recognized that PTC can also affect memory and cognition.
All of the things he’d described, all of the things above I have gone to the VA hospital for. I’d been treated for, and each time I was told it was something else, something different, something related to something else. To know they were all connected gave me an extreme feeling of relief. So I had an emotional reaction�� and I don’t cry.
I asked Dr. G. what was our next step. He told me that usually people were diagnosed and treated early enough that the medicine: acetazolamide can actually help to either hold off or reverse many of the symptoms above, however, with me, I’ve been suffering from this for over four years now and they just “aren’t sure�� if the medicine was going to help me, but they wanted to try before they had to take more drastic measures (ie, surgical placement of shunt, or special tube, to redirect fluid from the brain and ease pressure, surgery to decompress increased CSF around the optic nerve, and/or placement of a stent in the draining venous sinuses if narrowed, to improve CSF absorption and reduce intracranial pressure.)
So I was sent home, with a skilled nurse (don’t ask me if she’s a LPN, or RN, or CN or whatever, because I don’t know, and I had one really rude nurse at the VA hospital who practically sneered at me when I called her a nurse and she told me that she was a RN: ex-squeeze the fuck out me, I love nurses don’t get me wrong, but your rudeness is uncalled for), a home-health aide, and a physical therapist, as well as a supervisory nurse to make sure everything runs well. The skilled nurse makes sure I take my meds twice a day (because if they aren’t put in my hand, and I’m constantly reminded to take them, I will forget to take them), the home-health aide comes to help out with the cooking, cleaning, laundry, to help remind me to eat, shower, to make sure I’m up and walking around, and then there’s my physical therapist, whom I call the sadist. He, of course, is the one who is trying to help me get full functionality back in my left side. However, since my first major stroke last year,I’ve had two confirmed mini-strokes, and each time one of the nurses come they essentially are watching for the possibility of another stroke, a seizure, or the worsening of any of the PCT symptoms. So I receive vitals constantly, phone calls persistently from them, and every cough, sneeze, or twitch is catalogued. And for someone like me who hates asking for help, or telling people what’s going on with me, or can hardly remember it all, it sort of makes me feel violated.

At the same time, I’m grateful for them. Because I have way too much more to do. And these people, these nurses, physical therapists, aides, etc. are helping me to be able to get them done. They are keeping me around for my daughter, for my family, my friends, and for that I’m grateful.
And for those of you who talked to my friends Ryan and Angel, or who called to reassure, encourage, or offer comfort to my daughter, while I was sick, thank you. To the few staff members of Dreamspinner Press who knew what was going on and who wrote to me and kept me entertained, encouraged, or who gave me something to do when I felt like I was going to go crazy, who let me vent, who supported me and didn’t let me get down on myself when I said I was only writing about 150 words a day, thank you so much.
And again thank you to all of you for your support, your donations, your words of encouragement, support, and everything else. You have no idea what it means to me.
So, for those of you who have asked me when the next book for whatever series is coming, or when a book is going to be coming out on audio, or what I’m working on�� well, I have one book that I’ve been working on for six months and I have two chapters left. That should let you know how hard things are for me as far as writing right now. But I’m still trying, it’s just taking me some time. The ideas are there, the storylines are there, but getting the connection from my brain to my fingers is taking a lot longer. This blog post, which is coming to an end, took me a week to write, and there might be some things which repeat, I don’t know.
Anyway, I wanted to let you all know what was going on, since you were all nice enough to donate and bid to help me, though I had no idea it was going on (-glares at Pat-) I figured I would share it with you. Thank you for your concern. I’m not back completely, and it will still take me a while to be 100% but I’m just happy to be out of the hospital and to know what’s going on with me.

And thank you to the authors whose books I was able to read (before my iPad died in a horrible toilet related incident), your words made my stay bearable: Amy Lane, Anya Byrne, Aiden Bates, Wolf Specter, Willa Okati, Haylee Wolf, Stormy Glenn, TJ Klune, Andrew Grey, Abigail Roux, Piper Vaughn & Kenzie Cade, Heidi Cullinan, Kellan Larkin, Elaine White, Grace R. Duncan, Hannah Walker, Roan Parrish, Marcy Jacks, Maggie Walsh, Cree Summer, Renae Kaye, Shannon West, Rebecca James, Jess Buffett, Giovanna Reaves, Terry Poole, T.C. Orton, Shae Connor, Jaime Samms (I read new stuff, but The Foster Family is my go-to comfort read of yours), Mary Calmes (I read your newest release but you know which books of yours are my favorites. I returned to Jin and Logan, and Rand and Stef), Tatum Throne, Antonia Aquilante, Lynn Stark, Erin M. Leaf, Morticia Knight, TJ Cross, A.E. Via, Tara Lain, Melanie Hansen, and Felice Stevens. As soon as I get another iPad I’ll be able to continue reading and enjoying your books and the works of others during those times when all I can do is lay in bed.
I hope you all have a wonderful week, and again, thank you so much.

Keep Reading, Keep Loving, &a Never Stop Fighting For A Better World,
-Vicktor Alexander

“Tackling The Tight End”��By Tara Lain
Tackling The Tight End
(Long Pass Chronicles Series, #3)By Tara Lain
Blurb: Everyone wants the best for SCU student and tight end, Raven Nez—and they know exactly what that is. Enter the NFL draft, become a big football hero, promote his tribe’s casino, and make a lot of money to help people on the reservation. Just one problem. Raven really wants to work with gay kids, and while he loves his tribe and likes football, his visions for the future don’t mesh with theirs. Then the casino board hires a talented student filmmaker to create ads for the tribal business and asks Raven to work with him. But the filmmaker is Dennis Hascomb, a guy with so much to hide and a life so ugly it’s beyond Raven’s understanding. Still he’s drawn to Dennis's pain and incredible ability to survive. Captivated by Raven’s stories of the two-spirited and by the amazing joy of finally having a friend, Dennis knows he has to break free from everything he’s ever been taught was good—but that’s a struggle that could kill him and Raven, too. Is there a chance for “the great red hope�� and the “whitest guy on earth��? A future for the serpent and the raven?



Release Date:��
January 15, ��2016

You can pre-order your copy at

Also available for pre-order in

Excerpt

Dennis’s heart kept pounding in his throat as he crawled out of Walt’s car in the parking lot of the burger place and watched Raven’s long legs emerge from the front seat onto the pavement beside him. Jesus, he was about to go eat with this guy who looked like a god. Man, that was some kind of new milestone. He leaned over and peered in the front seat. “Thanks for driving, Walt. And for including me. Good to meet you.”“Yeah. Same here.�� Walt gave a wave to Raven. “See you later, lover.�� After Raven slammed the door, Walt drove off.“He seems like a great guy.”Raven nodded as he walked toward the door of the diner. “Yeah, he’s the best. Been my friend since we were kids.�� All those strong planes in his face seemed to soften. “Sometimes I’m not sure how I’d get through a day without Walt.�� He pulled his jacket tighter and seemed to shudder against the breeze. Weird that Dennis wanted to wrap his arms around Raven to keep him warm. Weirder since he probably couldn’t get his arms halfway around the guy’s chest.“But Walt’s not your boyfriend?�� He swallowed hard.”Raven seemed to take a breath. “Uh, no. Just friends.”“I heard he was your guy.�� He shrugged. “We exaggerate our friendship a little to keep our families from trying to hook us up. I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself.�� “Sure. No big.�� Why did he want to laugh? Maybe just because Raven Nez trusted him with a secret.They got inside and were given a booth in the back. Walking behind Raven, Dennis got to watch people stare. Women’s lips parted and stayed open like they couldn’t catch their breath. A few people nudged each other, probably recognizing him from TV or the newspapers. The height, the hair, the overall gorgeousness. Hell, who wouldn’t stare? They slid onto the bench seats opposite each other and ordered burgers with fries and Cokes.Raven smiled. “I really enjoyed getting to see that film in a new light. You were right. I’d never noticed the complete lack of law in the film—except for the law of the crooks. But the nihilism thing. I don’t know. The film is so exuberant and full of fun. I don’t think it says that God or meaning is dead, you know?”Dennis grinned. Wow, Raven got it. The waitress brought their food, and Dennis dug in. So great getting to eat something his mother hadn’t cooked, and with another person—kind of like a friend. Of course, Raven wouldn’t be anything like a friend if he knew who Dennis was and what he did. He fought a shudder.Raven took a huge bite, chewed, then tried to talk around his swallow which was kind of cute. “Butch and Jules get away, don’t they? I mean, it seemed like they both found something.”“Yeah, interesting observation. I mean, it’s like one found God.”Raven nodded. “And the other found love.”Together they said, “Same thing.�� Raven laughed and spit some bread on the table. It was fun to see him a little less than cool.Dennis wiped his mouth with his napkin. “You ever been in love?”“Not yet.”“Is, uh, falling in love with a guy the same as falling in love with a girl?�� He snorted. “Sorry. Dumb question. You just said you’ve never been in love.”“And I’ve never been with a girl.”“No kidding? Not even in high school or anything?”“No. I knew I was gay when I was little. My grandfather raised me to accept the idea that some people are two-spirited, so I was actually excited when I realized I was. I rushed to tell my folks.�� He shook his head. “As you can imagine, they weren’t quite so thrilled.”“That must have been tough.”He shrugged, but he didn’t look casual. “My grandfather intervened and told them stories of the old ways.�� He shoved a couple of fries in his mouth.“So your grandfather brought your parents around?”“Not really. They accept my being gay, but they don’t like it.”“Hell. Accepting is huge compared to some people I know.�� Dennis shuddered. “So Indians, I mean, Native Americans accepted, uh, homosexuality?”“Some tribes. It’s not the Native way to deny something out of existence or make laws against stuff that happens in nature. In some communities the two-spirited were actually revered and considered closer to spirit. Of course, often they were more like what we might call transgender. Not just guys who love guys.”“Hell, that seems a lot better than being told you’re bad by your church for something you can’t change.�� Jesus, he should change the subject. This one made him want to cry.Raven shoved back his empty plate and sipped his Coke. “Yeah. I volunteer at the Gay Youth Shelter and, man, between their parents throwing them out and their churches calling them perverts, a lot of those kids barely escape suicide.�� He stared at the dark liquid in his glass. “Some of them don’t escape.��
“That’s crazy.�� So crazy he totally got it.


The Long Pass Chronicles Series






About the Author
Tara Lain writes the Beautiful Boys of Romance in LGBT erotic romance novels that star her unique, charismatic heroes. Her first novel was published in January of 2011 and she’s now somewhere around book 23. Her best­selling novels have garnered awards for Best Series, Best Contemporary Romance, Best Ménage, Best LGBT Romance, Best Gay Characters, and Tara has been named Best Writer of the Year in the LRC Awards. In her other job, Tara owns an advertising and public relations firm. She often does workshops on both author promotion and writing craft. She lives with her soul­mate husband and her soul­mate dog in Laguna Beach, California, a pretty seaside town where she sets a lot of her books. Passionate about diversity, justice, and new experiences, Tara says on her tombstone it will say “Yes��!

You can find Tara at
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Presented By

A Trip to Remember
Meg Harding
Holiday Novella, Sleigh Ride Anthology
17,514 words
Contemporary Romance
Published by Dreamspinner Press
Cover by Bree Archer








Where he ends up might be better than where he was going.



��
Blurb:

Colin wants to spend the Christmas holiday with his family, but a blizzard settles in and his flight is cancelled. Unwilling to accept this, he strikes out on his own and crashes his car. Where he ends up might be better than where he was going, though.

Logan was content to wait out the blizzard and spend the holiday alone, but when a frozen-solid Colin ends up on his doorstep he’s not going to turn him away. He takes him in and shows him Christmas spent with a stranger really doesn’t have to be awkward after all.



Excerpt:

Left alone, and more aware of the situation than he had been since he’d woken up, Colin took the opportunity to look at the room more thoroughly. In the corner stood a large Christmas tree, the lights and ornaments all red and white, and a couple presents scattered beneath. From the mantle above the fireplace hung several stockings, and little glass reindeer were placed on the mantle itself. Christmas knickknacks were spread throughout the room, placed on shelves and tables. A spinning snowflake dangled from the ceiling fan.

“Your family was supposed to come here, weren’t they?�� he asked when Logan came back into the room.

“Yeah.�� He handed the wet cloth to Colin with a small smile. “They’re smart, though, they didn’t try to travel through a blizzard.�� He winked, his smile turning into a pleased smirk.

Colin rolled his eyes and scrubbed the cloth along his neck, hoping he was getting everything. “Are you ever going to let that go?��

“Considering I’ve only been harping on it for about ten minutes, I think you’ve got a ways to go.�� Logan sat down next to him, his hip pressing into Colin’s stomach. “Give me that. You look so pathetic.�� It sounded like he was trying not to laugh. He tugged the cloth from Colin’s grip, leaning over him to start dragging it over his skin.

Colin froze for a second, his neck tilted back vulnerably. He swallowed heavily. Logan was very much in his space, his face hovering right over Colin’s. He could see the striations in his irises, the way his pupils had expanded. If he respired out his mouth, he’d be breathing right into his face. He felt like he was holding his breath.

Get a grip. He tried to subtly exhale out his nose. “I thought you weren’t going to play nurse,�� he said.

“I had no idea you’d make it look so difficult,�� said Logan, brushing his thumb over the skin he’d just scrubbed, soothing irritated flesh. “It seemed wrong to let you keep trying.��
��

Author Bio:

Meg Harding is a graduate of UCF, and is completing a mastersprogram for Publishing in the UK. For as long as she can remember, writing has always been her passion, but she had an inability to ever actually finish anything. She’s immensely happy that her inability has fled and looks forward to where her mind will take her next. She’s a sucker for happy endings, the beach, and superheroes. In her dream life she owns a wildlife conservation and is surrounded by puppies. She’s a film buff, voracious reader, and a massive geek.

/ / / / / / ŷ������

I am very excited to welcome Tempeste O'Riley here to talk and share all about her newest release: Signs Of Desire from Dreamspinner Press, part of her Desire Entwined series. Make sure you leave a comment below, and pick up a copy!


An Excerpt From Signs Of Desire��

Adrian looked in the mirror as he tugged at the cuffs of his jacket, again. He wasn’t quite certain how Chase had even talked him into going out with him and “some of the guys,�� but he had. Adrian hadn’t even met Chase’s friends, even though they’d been friends now for a while. Well, he’d sort of met Chase’s partner, though that first meeting hadn’t been the best as it had been on his and Chase’s fist and only date. Still, he’d agreed to go, so go he would. Of course, there was also the issue that, as far as Adrian knew, Chase was also the only person that would be there that knew ASL. Adrian could read lips, and he was pretty good at guessing what he couldn’t from the context of the rest of the sentence and conversation, but that didn’t make the evil little butterfly-slash-gremlins in his stomach calm any. It wasn’t as if he didn’t deal with Hearing people all the time, he reminded himself. He taught them all the time in his role as a professor at the University. Of course, his students didn’t care how he sounded outside of class and he didn’t care if they wanted to be friends with him either. Well, he did in the case of his TA, Kelley, but they were friends and had been thrust together out of Kelley needing the TA position, not out of something like tonight. Forcing the worries, as best he could, from his mind, Adrian finished getting ready before he walked around his home to make sure everything was off and locked up. He took one last look around the front room before he exited. He loved his little house, he simply wished he had someone to share it with. Pushing off that thought, he locked up and walked down the steps toward his car, hoping that even if he didn’t have a partner, maybe he could at least expand his friends circle to include those he was meeting tonight.

��*** *** ***

��About Signs Of Desire

��When Adrian set out at the beginning of the story, most don’t realize how hard that was for him. Not because he’s shy, because he’s not. Not really. What he is is a man that’s been burned and one that’s tired of not measuring up with regard to Hearing people. Adrian is Deaf. He was born that way, sees nothing wrong with it, even though his mother sees it as something to hide. He is a college professor and does freelance IT (also what he teaches), he has good friends, a home, and more, but he doesn’t have a partner. That’s something he’s never managed to find and hold on to, sadly. Of course, he doesn’t know what he’s walking into either, lol. But we do... *sing-song voice* You will read where there’s signing and no talking in various places throughout the story and no, that’s not the way ASL is signed. It would be hard for most English readers to read if it were as the sentence structure and “missing�� words would drive my editors if not you lovely readers nuts. ASL isn’t just signed English (though there is that too). ASL is another language with all the quirks, colloquialisms, and such that go along with a language, it’s just not spoken. I did insist on a few things, such as OK instead of okay when in ASL as that’s how it’s signed and a few others, but I tried to maintain the easy readability while still giving you the feel.
When a night out turns into a matchmaking scheme, they thought communication would be their biggest challenge to their happily ever after.... Signs of Desireby Tempeste O’Riley Desires Entwined , #4M/M Erotic Contemporary Romance Publisher: Dreamspinner PressCover Artist: Reese DanteRelease Date: November 30, 2014 (ebook/print)Length: Novel / 200 pages
Order:
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Add to: ŷ������
Description:
Simon Tyler knows his job as a gay romance author makes his lack of faith in love more than a little ironic, but he’s tired of being used for his wallet. When a night out turns into a matchmaking scheme orchestrated by his best friends—though he’s not the target—Simon’s not thrilled, but since he’s sworn off happily-ever-after anyway, he goes along with it�� until he meets the object of their efforts, Adrian, and finds perhaps he hasn’t given up on love after all. Professor Adrian Keys has tried to date hearing men before, but being deaf himself, he’s never had any success at making a connection. After his friends con him into going out and Adrian realizes it’s all an elaborate plan to set him up, he braces for yet another failure, only to discover there is a spark—except it’s not with the man his friends had in mind, but with Simon Tyler instead. Not all their friends have found a way past their romantic failures, but Simon and Adrian might be on the path to happily-ever-after.

�� Resource Links:
Praise:

“I found it a beautiful tale of unhappiness changed to romance and then love with a happy ending.�� —Rainbow Book Reviews, on “Designs of Desire�� ��Designs of Desire is a tough realistic book that is touched by violence countered by the growing love between the two heroes.�� —Sensual Reads, on “Designs of Desire�� “It’s a great book to fall into and enjoy some really good characters.��
—Love Bytes, on “Desires�� Guardian�� “This is my favorite in this series so far. I love seeing how these characters are growing, all of them. As individuals, as couples, as friends, and as a family.�� —MM Good Book Reviews, on “Desires�� Guardian�� “The writer did an excellent job with the characters, they are likable and perfect. Not perfect in the way that they have no flaws, but in a way that they grab you and complement each other.�� —Love Bytes Reviews, on “Temptations of Desire�� Other Works by Author:

�� *+ �� * �� �� �� * �� * + �� �� *shorts in series +shorts in anthologies About the Author:

Tempeste O’Riley is an out and proud pansexual genderfluid whose best friend growing up had the courage to do what they couldn’t—defy the hate and come out. He has been their hero ever since. Tempe is a hopeless romantic who loves strong relationships and happily-ever-afters. Though new to writing M/M, they has done many things in their life, yet writing has always drawn them back—no matter what else life has thrown their way. They counts her friends, family, and Muse as their greatest blessings in life. They lives in Wisconsin with their children, reading, writing, and enjoying life.Tempe is also a proud PAN member of Romance Writers of America®, WisRWA, and Rainbow Romance Writers. Tempe’s preferred pronouns are they/them/their/theirs/themselves. To learn more about Tempeste and their writing, visit .

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Title: Northern LightsAuthor: Asta IdoneaPublisher: Dreamspinner PressRelease Date: 1 December 2015Genre: Short Story / Contemporary / Holiday-ThemedPages: 25
Buy LinksDreamspinner Press: Amazon US: Amazon UK: ARe:
BlurbA dream romantic vacation to Iceland to see the Northern Lights turns into a nightmare when James’s workaholic boyfriend, Richard, again insists on putting his work first. After a call from Richard’s office, an argument ends with the couple splitting up for good. Not only has Richard left James, he’s left him abandoned to explore the park alone, where James quickly gets lost. But just when things seem darkest, the Solstice works its magic, and James finds the guiding light he needs. Or it finds him.
Excerpt“NO. NO, Bob, listen to me. Bob, listen to me. Yes. No. Yes. Bob. Bob. Calm down.�� I turn off the tap, shake my hands over the sink, and reach for towel as I listen to the one-sided conversation drifting through from the next room. I don’t really know why I’m surprised. It’s not as if this hasn’t happened a hundred times before. Richard and I will make plans, and then that damn phone of his will vibrate, emitting the inane, grimace-inducing ringtone I’ve never been able to stand, and everything will unravel. Richard and I met at a Christmas party five years ago, just before he started his job at Robert Preston & Associates. To date, that was the one and only Christmas we’ve managed to spend together. Every year since, something work-related has called him away. He does his best to make it home for dinner on my birthday, which falls during the holidays, but even that is touch-and-go. Some years I’ve ended up celebrating alone, surrounded by fast-cooling, half-eaten slices of pizza and a pile of empty beer cans. For months I’ve been begging him for this overseas trip. We’ve been going through a tough patch, and I thought spending the holidays together—without interruptions, just the two of us—would go a long way toward healing the rift. I’d held out hope that the distances involved would grant us some measure of security, that the fact that we were out of the country would make Bob think twice before dialing. But it appears I was wrong.Audio Excerpt
Author BioAsta Idonea (aka Nicki J Markus) was born in England, but now lives in Adelaide, South Australia. She has loved both reading and writing from a young age and is also a keen linguist, having studied several foreign languages. Asta launched her writing career in 2011 and divides her efforts not only between MM and mainstream works but also between traditional and indie publishing. Her works span the genres, from paranormal to historical and from contemporary to fantasy. It just depends what story and which characters spring into her mind!As a day job, Asta works as a freelance editor and proofreader, and in her spare time she enjoys music, theater, cinema, photography, and sketching. She also loves history, folklore and mythology, pen-palling, and travel; all of which have provided plenty of inspiration for her writing.Website: Twitter:�� Facebook Author Page: ŷ������: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/...

So I suck. Like seriously.

This post was supposed to go up on the 27th, but I forgot, and then it got lost in the shuffle and it's for one of my dearest friends: Grace R. Duncan's newest release: Beautiful boy. She would be completely justified to spank me (though neither of us would be comfortable I don't think. LOL).

Anyway, here it is! And to make up for my error, you should all go buy the book!



There are doms, and then there are Doms
There are a lot of people who find themselves interested in the BDSM lifestyle. Some because they’re really masochists or submissives at heart who’ve never had a chance to explore it.
Some are interested in domination. They like the idea of being the one to call the shots. For my Dom, one thing that he likes, especially when things are out of control for him, is to have this one place where he can control things.
And then there are the ones who think it’s just about being able to push someone around. These guys often think the sub should somehow be able to read the dom’s mind. Sometimes, they even get into the lifestyle for the sole purpose of being an asshole because they think they can.
For the record? That doesn’t make them a dom. That just makes them an asshole.
For the man who respects a sub’s limits, understands they can’t read your mind, doesn’t set them up to fail, these guys earn the capital D. They get to be Doms.
Kyle has a few former “doms�� he’d worked with before Mal. Only one was anything decent—Master Nash—but the rest barely qualify for the word and most certainly don’t qualify for the capital D.

* * *

Mal

Before I could get up, though, a conversation to my right caught my attention.
“��.Can’t believe he’d show up like that,�� one guy said. I didn’t know who the voice belonged to, and looking around didn’t clue me in, except I thought it came from a group of guys with their backs to me. The Doms I didn’t know.
“I’d bet he did that to his ass himself,�� another guy said.
“Handprints and all?�� the first guy said.
Are they talking about Kyle?
“Why not? Plenty of hand-shaped paddles out there.��
“Possible. And that collar. I wonder what dollar store he bought it at.��
“Yeah, ’cause ain’t no one gonna collar him.��
“Not a spoiled l’il rich pretty boy like him.�� I could hear the sneer on his face all too clearly.
My blood was approaching the boiling point fast. I had no doubt they were talking about my boy. I took a few deep breaths and glanced at Cam, who was looking at me. By the look on his face, I knew he’d heard. Cam raised his eyebrows, and I gave a slight nod to confirm the silent question.
Cam’s eyes darted to the group of guys next to me, then back to me. I considered what to do, but if I got up and went to Kyle, that’d probably just upset him and tip him off to something being wrong. If I stayed, they might just shut up, and Kyle wouldn’t know. I decided to stay put and do my damnedest not to let the dickweasels get to me.
I wasn’t going to avoid listening, though. I wanted to know everything I could before I eviscerated them.
“You ever play with him?�� the first guy asked.
A new voice answered. “Once. Couldn’t take a damned thing. Started whining after a few hits.��
I was well familiar with Kyle’s sounds when I took the paddle—or flogger or cane—to him. They got me diamond hard every time.
One of the other guys snorted. “Didn’t react worth a damn for me. Acted more like a dead fish than a sub.��
I couldn’t fathom what these asswipes were talking about. Kyle’s reactions were as beautiful as he was. I’d never had a sub go into subspace the way Kyle did for me. Not even Cam, who did, but it wasn’t nearly the same.
“Had to tell him to do everything,�� the first guy said. I saw him shake his head. “Couldn’t figure out a damned thing.��
I wondered what that was about. How was Kyle supposed to know what to do if we didn’t tell him?
“O��?��
“Yeah. Even had to tell him to open my pants.��
Duh, dipshit, I thought, shaking my head. He’s a submissive, you fucktards. Of course he’s not going to do it without orders.
Kyle was crossing the room at this point, and I prayed the douche nozzles next to me shut their mouths. But I couldn’t get that lucky.
“Here he comes. Maybe we ought to show him what it feels like when someone spanks him instead of himself?�� Their words were somewhat quieter, but still way too easily heard.
I tensed, waiting, but Kyle walked around the room the other way, away from them. He’d obviously seen them and was giving them a wide berth. I didn’t blame him.
* * *

If Kyle can get past his fears, he could see what his beloved Master Mal does: a beautiful boy that deserves his collar--and heart.

Blurb:

Malcolm Tate hung up his flogger when his submissive sought out another Dom and landed in the hands of a serial killer. Convinced his lack of dominance sent his sub away, Mal has spent two years blaming himself for what happened. But when his best friend finally convinces him to go back to the local dungeon, Mal’s grateful. Especially when he wins beautiful, submissive, firmly-closeted Kyle Bingham in a charity slave auction.
College grad Kyle hasn’t earned enough to move out of the loft his conservative, homophobic parents bought, much less to buy any of the other things still in their name. When he’s won at auction by the hot, amazing Mal, he’s shocked that anyone would want him. No one else seemed to—not his parents, his former Doms, or any of his disastrous dates.
But Mal does want him and Kyle lets his guard down, only to be outed to his parents. With his world crashing down, he must find a way to trust Mal—and their developing relationship—or risk losing everything.

Buy links:










* * *
Grace Duncan grew up with a wild imagination. ��She told stories from an early age �� many of which got her into trouble. ��Eventually, she learned to channel that imagination into less troublesome areas, including fanfiction, which is what has led her to writing male/male erotica.
A gypsy in her own right, Grace has lived all over the United States. ��She has currently set up camp in East Texas with her husband and children �� both the human and furry kind.
As one of those rare creatures who loves research, Grace can get lost for hours on the internet, reading up on any number of strange and different topics. ��She can also be found writing fanfiction, reading fantasy, crime, suspense, romance and other erotica or even dabbling in art.

Find Grace here:
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How to DealAn All Cocks Story Book #3
Jon Brennan comes from a long line of men in uniform; all born and bred to both bleed and wear blue. His family and the majority of his co-workers support him every step of the way, so he doesn’t need to hide the fact that he prefers men over women. Between the job and his larger than life, loud and rowdy half Irish, half Italian family, there isn’t much time for dating, much less finding a guy that can deal with the stress and demands placed on the shoulders of an NYPD Detective.
Kory White is cocky and abrasive with most people, but it is all a mirage, a façade he hides behind to keep his heart safe. As a child, Kory lost his mother to an act of violence. Soon after, he and his baby sister Kassandra were separated by the system. Kassandra was immediately adopted, but Kory spent the next ten years cycling through foster homes before moving to the Big Apple. In an effort to keep everyone at a distance, Kory has meticulously built himself an alter ego: Hayden Cox, All Cocks�� cockiest model.
These two strong willed men definitely prove opposites do attract. Both are stubborn and hard headed to a fault, Kory more so than Jon. But Jon is used to being in control, the one calling the shots, and Kory fights him at every turn. Just when it seems they have found a way to navigate the unchartered territory that is love, tragedy knocks on Kory’s door yet again. Volatile and strong, even in the face of adversity, both men refuse to give up on each other - or their love.
Buy links: | | | | |




Gay for Pay Buy links: | | | | | Fame and Fortune buy links: | | | | | ��
A military brat born and raised at Ft. Benning Georgia; Smith is an avid reader, reviewer and writer. She now calls Texas home from her small town on the outskirts of the DFW Metroplex. Most days you can find her curled up with her kindle and a good book alongside a glass of something aged and red or a steaming cup of coffee!

At 44 years young, she's decided to enter the next phase of her life by adding the title of "author" to her list of accomplishments. Smith is a single mom of three disturbingly outspoken and decidedly different kids, one of which is Autistic. Besides her writing, Smith is passionate about Autism advocacy and LGBT rights.


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I am soooooo excited about the release of The Servant Duchess Of Whitcomb tomorrow: November 27, 2015!! I have a blog tour happening with Pride Promotions and the information is from their website below (thank you Will Parkinson, you ROCK! He totally pulled everything together in like 9-10 days). There's a HUGE giveaway also.��

And on Saturday, November 28th, from 1-3pm, I'll be on the Dreamspinner Facebook Page from 1-3pm having a chat about the book, the characters, the series, my writing, etc. So buying the book (reading it) would probably be a good idea so you could ask all your questions on Saturday.

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Author Name: Vicktor Alexander
��Book Name: The Servant Duchess of Whitcomb
Series: The Scandalous Whispers of the Remmington Realm
��Release Date: November 27, 2015

Blurb:
Orley Garrick is known throughout Angland not only as the man with two dukedoms but also as the hero who survived a brutal kidnapping at the hands of Nafoleon’s army, never once betraying the secrets of His Majesty. Still haunted by his memories, Orley pushes his crippled body to dangerous limits, all in an attempt to run from the demons of his past.
Until he meets Chester Boland, a maid in his friend’s household. Orley is besieged by desire for this gorgeous male woman, and by a connection he cannot ignore. But there are those within the Remmington Realm who take issue with the Duke’s choice—especially given Chester’s Tafrican lineage.
Having stared death in the face and won, Orley proposes they steal away and elope. However, before they can begin their new life, they uncover dangerous secrets that go deeper than they could ever imagine—involving those they trust the most.
Orley and Chester must discover exactly how deep these secrets run before their enemies make sure Chester is removed from Orley’s arms�� forever.
Pages or Words: 304 pages
��Categories: Alternate Universe, Fantasy, Gay Fiction, Historical, M/M Romance, Mystery, Romance, Science Fiction, *Trans, Interracial, Military


Excerpt:
THE SHARP retort of gunfire exploded around Orley Garrick, Duke of Whitcomb, and he ducked, trying to avoid the debris and the bodies of fallen soldiers around him as he surged forward. The smoke from the countless rifles burned his eyes as he desperately looked for the person who had caught his eye. He heard the cries of the dying calling out to him as he rode his horse farther into the thick of battle. Using his sword, he cut down an enemy soldier who raced toward him, mouth open as he let out a battle cry. Orley closed his eyes against the spray of blood across his face and blocked out the sound of the man’s death gurgle as he fell to the ground beneath his own horse.
Orley raced on toward the figure in white who didn’t belong on the battlefield. He called out a warning, telling the woman to be careful, because there was no way a man would be on a battlefield wearing a long, flowing white chemise, free of dust and bloodstain, appearing almost angelic among the crowd of soldiers. The woman didn’t stop. Instead she walked straight toward the commander of the enemy soldiers, and fear filled Orley. He wasn’t sure why; he didn’t know the woman, and yet he could not let anything happen to her.
At that moment, the woman turned to look at him, and Orley gasped when he realized the woman in front of him was not female as he’d suspected but male. Why in the world was a lady on the battlefield?
“You should not be here!�� he yelled, trying to warn the male, but just as he got close enough to lift the woman onto the back of his horse, an enemy soldier plunged his sword through the woman’s back and out through his chest. Orley watched helplessly as the woman’s eyes widened moments before he collapsed to the ground, and a grief unlike aught he’d ever experienced ripped through him.
He was not sure how he knew, but the dying woman belonged to him, and someone had just taken him away.
Tossing his head back, Orley let out an anguished shout at the heavens.
ORLEY WOKE, panting and sweating, in the home of his friend, Heathcliff.
Holy. Shit. That one had been very different from his other nightmares. He rubbed his face with his hand and groaned as pain raced through his leg—the one that would never be the same. All because of war, a battle. All because of��.
Orley shook his head. No, he wasn’t going to think about that.
Someone knocked lightly on the door, and Orley winced as he realized his plan to come to his room and take a quick nap after his taxing journey out of Tlondon had turned into a deep sleep and a brand-new nightmare.
God, he hated sleeping.
“Enter,�� he called out as he sat up and swung his legs off the bed he was borrowing while visiting Heathcliff and Lucien for their country-house party. The door opened, and Orley turned to address the person standing there. He stopped short, almost swallowing his tongue as he took in the vision of the most beautiful creature to have ever been born.
Orley had been privileged to see many beautiful people in his life. Male and female, he was a lover of aesthetically pleasing images and didn’t discriminate. However, all of them paled in comparison to the lovely light-brown-skinned woman in front of him. Orley’s stomach clenched, his groin tightening as he inhaled sharply. The lovely scent of jasmine wafted up to his nostrils, and his eyes slid closed as he relished in the delightful fragrance emanating from the male who had just entered his room.
“Forgive me, Your Grace. I was sent to bring you a light repast and perhaps something to wash up with? His Grace the Duke of Pompinshire thought that perhaps you would like to freshen up before joining the rest of the guests downstairs.�� The woman’s voice was soft and lyrical, with a slight lilt to it, and Orley wondered if perhaps he sang. He would have no problem lounging around on the settee listening to him sing or even just talk. Of course, as he took in the male’s appearance, he felt the desire to do much more than just listen to him.
“Your Grace? Are you ill?�� the servant asked, and Orley swallowed, shaking his head.
“N-no. I’m fine. Just a bit out of sorts, I’m afraid. I appear to have overslept during my nap, and now I am feeling quite peckish,�� he lied.
The woman nodded, his hazel eyes lighting with relief. Orley wondered at that. Was his well-being really of great concern, or was it just because the maid had been sent to look after Orley?
Orley allowed his gaze to rove over the young male’s form again, taking in every detail intently. He would like to have something to conjure up in his mind’s eye later on that evening when he put his hand to his already burgeoning erection.
Wearing the female black dress with a white apron, which was the maid’s uniform that was standard in most homes of the gentry, the young woman had honey blond hair that was currently pulled back in a very luscious chignon at the nape of his neck, and Orley could only imagine how long and thick it was. An image rose to his brain of that hair hanging down over his face as the young woman slid up and down his cock, and he pressed a hand to the sheets covering his waist. The young male’s skin was almond colored, and all Orley wanted to do was spend hours licking every inch of his body. He was not overly tall, only a few inches taller than Lucien, Heath’s husband, but still much shorter than Orley. And where Orley was all hard, thick muscles, the male maid before him was slender, though still with a lovely, toned body.
His slim-fingered hands held a covered silver tray, and Orley gestured him forward with a beckoning wave.
“Well, far be it from me to refuse such generosity from His Grace. You can just place it there on the nightstand,�� he directed, watching the sway of the servant’s hips beneath the skirt of his maid’s gown as he walked toward the cherrywood nightstand. Orley shoved his fingers through his blond locks, messing up his hair and throwing his queue into disarray. He was unnerved as the vestiges of the nightmare faded from his mind, wreaking havoc with the lovely, distracting image of Heathcliff’s maid, whose form even now was causing a pleasurable ache in his balls.
“Is there anything else that I can do for you, Your Grace?�� the maid asked, his voice hushed, eyes downcast, and a slight tinge of red to his light brown skin.
Orley prided himself on being a man of honor, integrity, and character. As a matter of fact, his grandfather, Charles Edrick Garrick I, the former Duke of Whitcomb, had more than once given him lessons and lectures on the way a gentleman was to behave. Anyone can strut around and use his physical strength to try and prove his brawn. But it takes honor, patience, gentleness, character, integrity, fortitude, knowing when to fight, knowing when to walk away, knowing when to love, how to love, and when to let go, and most importantly, knowing when to use your physical strength and when to be humble, that makes you a man.
Orley had always believed those words from his grandfather, had in fact lived by those words for his entire life. He’d only strayed from them when he’d served in His Majesty’s military and on those rare occasions when he’d allowed Blaine, Heathcliff, and Quincy to talk him into traveling down into the Lower East End to partake of the wares of the light-skirts. And while his grandfather’s words usually guided him, right now he was seriously considering doing something illicit.
He couldn’t believe the images that were passing through his mind. Flashes. Quick, as if they were memories like his time spent on the battlefield rather than the salacious, hopeful yearnings of a desirous, dry, fruitless attraction. However, the longer he spent in the company of the object of his mind’s current musings, the more it seemed his “dry, fruitless attraction�� was soaked in hope and possibility. And perhaps it was for that reason that rationality and his grandfather’s words of character, honor, and integrity grew softer and softer until they were suddenly silent. All he could concentrate on was how lovely Heathcliff’s maid was. How round the male woman’s derriere was. How slim his shoulders were. How graceful his neck was.
How full his lips were, and how much Orley desperately wanted to kiss them.
“I think I would really like to know your name,�� he heard himself saying.
The maid’s eyes widened, and he gasped softly. “Me, Your Grace?��
Orley chuckled. “Of course you. There is no one else in the room but you and I, and I assure you that I already know my own name. Unless it has changed in the time I have been asleep. It hasn’t, has it?��
The maid giggled and covered his mouth, shaking his head. Orley found himself even more enchanted. When was the last time he’d heard someone allow themselves to be so free that they just giggled? His life was constantly surrounded by danger, drama, gossip, backstabbers, and intrigue. He had a very small group of people he could trust, and they didn’t often have the time to smile, much less giggle. Being around someone who could giggle was a relief. It was like a bright ray of sunshine. Orley absolutely had to have the maid’s name.
“No, Your Grace. Your name hasn’t changed.�� The maid glanced away for a moment, as if embarrassed, and then looked back. “My name is Chester.�� He executed a flawless curtsy, and Orley rose from the bed and bowed low, smiling at Chester’s gasp. He knew Chester was surprised that a member of the gentry, and a duke no less, would bow to him, but he would soon learn that Orley was unlike every other duke out there.
“It is an honor to meet you, Chester. I am extremely happy to be in your presence and very happy that you will be serving me, and now��.�� Orley stepped close to Chester, looking down into the young woman’s hazel brown eyes. His heart was pounding, and his leg, for the first time in years, was not throbbing in pain—perhaps that was because only one thing on his body could be throbbing at a time, and his cock already had that covered. “I would very much like to kiss you.��
“Y-you would?�� Chester stammered.
Orley nodded, lifting his hand to brush his fingers against the side of Chester’s cheek.
“Is that okay, Chester? I find you to be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and I would really like to kiss you. May I?��
“You’re asking me?�� Chester looked confused. “I was told that men of your standing didn’t ask, that you just take.��
Orley shook his head, saddened by what Chester thought of men of the ton, but he knew Chester’s assumptions came as a result of dealing with “men�� of a certain ilk. He would be speaking with Heathcliff about those matters later that week, but at that moment, all of his energy and attention was focused on Chester.
“Of course I am asking you. You always have a choice. Not just with me, but with every single man in the world. You do not have to do anything you don’t want to do. At least, that is the way it should be in a perfect world. So if you don’t want to kiss me, we don’t have to.�� Orley would be disappointed, he would be haunted for days, perhaps a fortnight, by the fullness of Chester’s mouth, but eventually he would get over it.
Chester nibbled on his bottom lip and then grinned. “I would love for you to kiss me, Your Grace.��
Orley wanted to let out a loud yell of triumph, but he held back and lowered his lips to Chester’s full, pillow-soft mouth. He was fully expecting the surge of lust that spread through his limbs. Maybe he was even expecting the tingle that spread through his fingers and toes. However, the lightheaded feeling that drowned him in peace and yet simultaneous excitement, and the way his heart sped up, were completely unexpected. He growled and pulled Chester to him, as close as he could possibly get the woman. He felt a bit like a ravenous beast, wanting to devour Chester whole.
He lifted his lips to take a breath, opened his eyes, and gazed down into Chester’s dazed ones. Chester smiled slowly up at him. Orley grinned back, rubbing his hand up and down Chester’s back and already preparing for the next round of kissing.
So he was surprised when he went to lower his head for another kiss and was met with nothing but air and the sound of his bedroom door closing.
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��Meet the author:
Vicktor “Vic�� Alexander wrote his first story at the age of ten and hasn’t stopped writing since. He loves reading about anything and everything and is a proud member of the little known U.N. group (Undercover Nerds) because while he lives, eats, breathes, and sleeps sports, he also breathes history and science fiction and grew up a Trekkie. But don’t ask him about Dungeons & Dragons, because he has no idea how to play that game. When it comes to writing he loves everything from paranormal to contemporary to fantasy to BDSM to historical and is known not only for being the Epilogue King but also for writing stories that cross lines and boundaries that he doesn’t know are there. Vic is a proud father of two daughters one of whom watches over him from Heaven with his deceased partner Christopher. Vic is a proud trans* and gay man, and when he is not writing, he is hanging out with his friends, or being distracted by videos of John Barrowman, Scott Hoying, and Shemar Moore. Vicktor has published numerous bestselling novels and has a WIP list that makes him exhausted just thinking about. He knows that he will be still be writing about hot men falling in love with each other, long after he is living in an assisted living facility, flirting with the hot, male nurses.
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��ŷ������ Link: /book/show/27422380-the-servant-duchess-of-whitcomb
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Cover Artist: Anne Cain

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This year marks the 16th anniversary of the .

Being a transgender, gay man of color, living in the South, I am perpetually aware of the danger my life is constantly in if the wrong person takes offense to my living my truth. While I was emotionally hurt that me living my life, and transitioning into the man I was born to be, led to me being banned from attending Thanksgiving dinner with my biological family because there are those who have a problem with it, I am aware that there are those who have to deal with the daily, hourly, weekly, and yearly fear that someone out there, that every person they meet, will see them as being an "abomination" to get rid of.

Unfortunately, transgender women of color are more likely to be beaten and killed than other transgender women, and more than trans* men. Many TDOR events do focus on trans* women, but there are trans* men who are beaten and sometimes killed as well. () () ()

Today, let us honour and have a moment of silence for our trans* brothers and sisters who lost their lives in this past year. The following information was gathered from :

Image from Advocate.com
��According to Advocate.com, there have been 23 murders of transgender persons in 2015 in the U.S.:

Keyshia Blige (33 years old), in Aurora, Ill., on March 7, 2015.Tamara Dominguez (36 years old), in Kansas City, Mo., on August 15, 2015.Kandis Capri (35 years old), in Phoenix, on August 11, 2015.Amber Monroe (20 years old), in Detroit, on August 8, 2015.Ashton O’Hara (25 years old), in Detroit, on July 14, 2015.Shade Schuler (22 years old), , found dead in a field in Dallas, on July 29, 2015.K.C. Haggard (66 years old), in Fresno, Calif., on July 24, 2015.India Clarke (22 years old), ��in Tampa, Fla., on July 21, 2015.Mercedes Williamson (17 years old), in Rocky Creek, Ala., on May 30, 2015.Penny Proud (21 years old), in Tremé, New Orleans, on February 10, 2015.Taja Gabrielle DeJesus (36 years old), in San Francisco, on Feburary 8, 2015.Bri Golec (22 years old), in Akron, Ohio, on February 13, 2015.Lamia (30 years old), in Norfolk, Va., on January 17, 2015.Papi Edwards (20 years old), in Louisville, Ky., on January 9, 2015.Elisha Walker (20 years old), in Smithfield, N.C., on August 14, 2015.Jasmine Collins (32 years old), ��in Kansas City, Mo., on June 23, 2015.London Chanel (21 years old), in North Philadelphia, on May 18, 2015.Ty Underwood (24 years old), in North Tyler, Texas, on January 26, 2015.Yazmin Vash Payne (33 years old), in Los Angeles, on January 31, 2015.Kristina Gomez Reinwald (46 years old) in Miami, Fla., February 16, 2015.Zella Ziona (21 years old),�� in Montgomery Village, Md.,��October 15, 2015.Maya Hall (27 years old), in Fort Meade, Md., March 30, 2015.Kiesha Jenkins (22 years old), in Philadelphia, October 6, 2015.That number increases as you venture out into the rest of the world.

Image from Advocate.com

In Brazil, there were 56 murders of transgender persons.

C.N. Alves de Matos Jr. (21 years old), in São Paulo, Brazil, on September 25, 2015.L.A. de Souza��(22 years old), in Campinas, São Paulo, Brazil, on September 30, 2015.Waleska Rayala (21 years old), in Rio Grande do Norte, Brazil, on September 2, 2015.Paulinha, in Rio Grande do Norte, Brazil, on September 8, 2015. (39 years old), in Parintins, Amazonas, Brazil, on August 27, 2015.V.H.A dos Santos (25 years old), in Campos dos Goytacazes, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, on August 24, 2015.Patricia (29 years old), , body thrown into a bush in Santa Terezinha, Piracicaba, Brazil, on August 3, 2015.Unidentified (45 years old), in Alta Floresta d’Oeste, Rondônia, Brazil, on July 25, 2015.Gabi (26 years old), in Valparaíso de Goiás, Brazil, on July 19, 2015.Erika Aguilera (25 years old), in Dourados, Brazil, on July 16, 2015.India Nascimento (29 years old), in Pernambuco, Brazil, on July 12, 2015.L.R.O. Dorta (26 years old), in Pernambuco, Brazil, on July 12, 2015.Vanessa Calaça (27 years old), in Goiânia, Goiás, Brazil, on July 12, 2015.Unknown woman, in Manaus, Amazonas, Brazil on June 30, 2015.Unknown woman, in Cacoal, Rondônia, Brazil, on July 5, 2015.Bruna J. Mendes (27 years old), in Itapebi, Bahia, Brazil, on June 29, 2015.Sidney Araújo Claudino (19 years old, in Dourados, Mato Grosso do Sul, Brazil, on June 23, 2015.Laura Vermont (18 years old), in São Paulo, Brazil, on June 20, 2015.Kauane da Silva (35 years old), in Santa Maria, Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil, on June 13, 2015.Unknown woman, , buried in a shallow grave in Serra, Espírito Santo, Brazil, on June 9, 2015.Kelly Silva (31 years old), stabbed in neck and arm in Uberaba, Minas Gerais, Brazil on June 9, 2015.Andréia Amado (29 years old), in Porto Alegre, Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil, on June 4, 2015.Carol Melo (30 years old), in Manaus, Amazonas, Brazil on June 3, 2015.Priscilla da Silva (23 years old), in Dois Riachos, Alagoas, Brazil, on May 30, 2015.Barbara Sodre (29 years old), in Sergipe, Brazil, on May 25, 2015.Jean Waltrick (27 years old), in Lages, Santa Catarina, Brazil, on May 23, 2015.Vandressa Vinnitt, in Realengo, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, on May 18, 2015.Ticiane Abravanel (21 years old), in Recife, Pernambuco, Brazil, on May 18, 2015.La Monique de Roma��(43 years old), in Butantã, São Paulo, Brazil, on May 14, 2015.Unidentified woman, in Curitiba, Paraná, Brazil, on May 3, 2015.Stefanny, in Caucaia, Ceará, Brazil, on April 30, 2015.Job Rodrigues da Silva (46 years old), in Porto Velho, Rondônia, Brazil, on April 17, 2015.Unidentified woman, in Manaus, Amazonas, Brazil, on April 17, 2015.Bruna (47 years old), in Vitória, Espírito Santo, Brazil, on April 16, 2015.Bruna Quércia (15 years old), in Vila Velha, Espírito Santo, Brazil, on April 15, 2015.Victória Camargo (29 years old), in Venâncio Aires, Brazil, in April 13, 2015.Bruna Michele (20 years old), in Belo Horizonte, Brazil on April 13, 2015.Vanessa Ganzaroli (18 years old), in Petrolina, Pernambuc, Brazil, on April 3, 2015.Debora, in Mogi Mirim, São Paulo, Brazil, on��April 2, 2015.Lotinha, in Manaus, Amazonas, Brazil, on March 29, 2015.Adriana (22 years old), in Campo Grande, Mato Grosso do Sul, Brazil, on March 22, 2015.Bianca Araujo (21 years old), in Fortaleza, Ceará, Brazil on March 20, 2015.Michael Lucas de Almeida Reginald (13 years old), in Araraquara, São Paulo, Brazil, on March 18, 2015.Natália Ferraz (21 years old), in Caçapava, São Paulo, Brazil, on February 27, 2015.Ygor Fernando Oliveira Santos (20 years old), in Marechal Deodoro, Alagoas, Brazil, on February 27, 2015.Keity��(23 years old), in Salvador, Bahia, Brazil, on February 24, 2015.Lara��(16 years old), in Parauapebas, Pará, Brazil, on February 22, 2015.Unidentified woman, in Salvador, Bahia, Brazil, on February 20, 2015.�鲹í������ (19 years old), in Campina Grande, Paraíba, Brazil, on February 16, 2015.Capitú Santos (31 years old), in Manaus, Amazonas, Brazil, on February 16, 2015.Joyce Akira (teen), in Mangabeira, Joao Pessoa, Brazil, on February 8, 2015.Pata (35 years old), in Macapá, Amapá, Brazil, on February 7, 2015.Didinha��(18 years old), in Vitória de Santo Antão, Pernambuco, Brazil, on February 1, 2015.Unidentified woman, in Lorena, São Paulo, Brazil, on March 17, 2015.LÉO��(26 years old), in Vitoria da Conquista, Bahia, Brazil, on January 26, 2015.Piu da Silva��(25 years old), in Nilópolis, Rio de Janeiroa, Brazil, on January 22, 2015.In the rest of the world the number of reported deaths were fewer than in the U.S. and Brazil, but even one death is one too many.

Image from Advocate.com��There were 11 deaths of transgender persons in the rest of the world:

Nephi Luthers (20 years old), in Georgetown, Guyana, on July 21, 2015.Diosvany Muñoz Robaina (24 years old), in Pinar del Río, Cuba, on April 26, 2015.Unknown (41 years old), in Alicante, Spain, on July 21, 2015.Unidentified woman, in Peshawar, Pakistan, on April 6, 2015.Unidentified woman, in Peshawar, Pakistan, on April 6, 2015.Diana Sacayán (39 years old), in Buenos Aires, on October 11, 2015.Marcela Chocobar (26 years old), in Río Gallegos, Santa Cruz, Argentina, on September 4, 2015.Francela Méndez, in Las Palmeras, Sonsonate, El Salvador, on May 31, 2015.Fernanda “Coty�� Olmos (59 years old), ��in, Argentina, on September 25t, 2015.Yoshi Tsuchida (38 years old), inside his apartment in Fussa, Japan, on November 12, 2015.��Vanessa Santillan (33 years old), , England, on March 28, 2015.While today is the day we all set aside to remember these people who lost their lives in this past year, let's remember them always.

-Vicktor Alexander