Bite a Weenie: A sneak peak from DIGNITY TAKES A HOLIDAY

My so-called romantic comedy, Dignity Takes a Holiday, has been released by Dreamspinner Press! Below is a little taste from the book, showing the twisted humor the book delivers and the rather thwarted relationship between Pete Thickwhistle and his mom, which is at the heart of the novel.


Enjoy! And do let me know what you think.

Read an exclusive interview with me about the book.

Pete spent the next two weeks in a fruitless job search. No one wanted to hire him (“Personally, I can't blame them,” Helen told him). He was feeling particularly tense when he emerged, looking guiltily up and down the street, from L'Amour Adult Playhouse. He wore a trench coat bought at Goodwill, giant sunglasses and a beat-up fedora he had hung on to from the 1960's. Concealed beneath the trench coat was a #36, The Kamikaze, dildo. The dildo was eight inches long and six inches around. Pete both feared and desired the object. He prayed Mother would never discover its existence.

A few days later, Pete was starving as he watched Helen at the stove, stirring a big, steaming pot. He wiped away a line of drool that had formed at the corner of his mouth.

“There ya go!” Helen had done the plate up beautifully: with a sprig of parsley and a pat of butter positioned just so on Pete's heap of corn. Steam rose from the hot dog, hidden beneath its toppings, and Pete breathed it in, savoring the aroma of the warm roll and all the trimmings. “I made it just like at the restaurant. I hope you like it...honey.” Helen was grinning.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Pete picked up the warm bun, opened wide, bit down and found he could not bite through the hot dog. Brushing aside all the trimmings, Pete discovered that there was not a hot dog encased in the bun, but the dildo he had so carefully hidden. There still remained the impression of his teeth in the flesh–colored rubber.

Pete covered his mouth, eyes wide and staring. He suppressed a gag at the back of his throat. And yet again, heat radiated upward from his neck to envelope his face and ears. The heat was not from the steam.

Helen stood at the stove, watching her son and snickering.

“Mother, how could you?”

“I was cleaning your room.”

“You had no right.”

“I had every right. This is my house and I intend to keep it clean.”

Pete was flabbergasted. “I'm entitled to a little privacy, don't you think? I am 47 years old.”

“You're sick. If that's what you need your privacy for, then you're sick.”

“Mother! I'm a grown man and I have my needs.”

Helen waved her son's remarks away. “There are plenty of men around if it's fucking you need.”

“Mother! I never told you I liked men!”

“Well...” Helen snickered, ignoring Pete’s ‘coming out’ remark. He supposed, dejectedly, it hadn’t needed saying. “Where'd you get that thing, anyway?”

Helen was still chuckling to herself as Pete rushed from the room in tears.

Helen doubled over in renewed laughter when she heard the slam of her son's bedroom door. She picked up the dildo, shaking her head and staring at it. “Christ Almighty.”