Title: Pax Cymrica: The True History, part 1
Author: Ingela Bohm
Length: 82,000 words
Published: 01/31/2014
Between two passions, which one do you choose?
Michael has never really had any friends, so when Jamie starts spending time with him, he’s suspicious at first. Sure, they share a passion for music, but Jamie’s golden good looks seem destined for something bigger, better. Not that Michael is noticing Jamie’s beauty or anything…
Jamie is the first to realize that something is happening. Spellbound by Michael’s talent and fey-like softness, he’s powerless to resist. The thrill of playing together slowly turns into something else – something that, in 1975, has only been legal for eight years.
They have to stop it. The pleasure of touches as blissful as they’re terrifying can only end in disaster. When things finally start moving for Jamie’s band, it seems like the perfect way out, but the choice he faces is brutal: what’s more important – Michael, or the music?
Angsty and poetic, this slow burn romance charts every push and pull of a young love that isn’t exactly forbidden – just not allowed.
Author’s note: contains a cliffhanger.
Holy wow, this was quite a ride. This is an intense, compelling story which takes us on a heartbreaking journey of self-discovery between the main characters. Readers should be aware that this story features a lot of heavy internalized homophobia. It makes sense, given the era in which it takes place, but it may be a bit much for anyone who has grappled with those feelings. It also ends on a cliffhanger, so readers need to be aware that this is not a happily-ever-after sweet romance.
From the first page, Michael and Jamie had my attention. I loved them right away. It was easier for me to connect to Michael, in his loneliness and insecurity. But I fell in step with Jamie too, the way he so carefully began deconstructing all the lies Michael believed about himself.
I loved the slow pace of their romance and the way they had such different paths of working through what they’d always assumed about themselves. Jamie’s utter loathing for the idea that he is gay is gut-wrenching. Even at the end, he still seems to see Michael as the only person in the entire universe he is attracted to. In contrast, Michael develops enough self-awareness to accept who he is, but he’s afraid of revealing it even to Jamie—and not merely because he’s in love with him. It is achingly real in a way which most “but I can’t be gay!” stories fail to achieve.
For me, the background of the 1970s and the music were icing on the cake. This is a beautifully told love story, for sure, but it’s made even better by recalling an era in which such things were only just entering public consciousness. I would not hesitate to label this as historical fiction, though it is the recent past. The story captures aspects of the era so well, and I’m anxious to see the story progress through the turbulent 1980s.
This book is an emotional roller coaster. From the highs of sexual discovery, new love, and intense pleasure to the lows of denial, self-hatred, and fear, there isn’t a misstep to be found here. Beautifully written, and I’m already longing for the next part.
For intense emotions, a perfect slow-burn friends-to-lovers, and a promise of more to come, this gets 10/10 fountain pens.
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Note: Contains explicit material.
Michael followed Jamie’s movements as he picked up a guitar and started tuning it. The wooden body lay so perfectly in his lap, like a lover waiting to be teased into song. Jamie was born to have an instrument in his arms, under his hands. Was that what the girls saw in him? Did they want to lie draped like that across Jamie’s knees, open and longing for his touch? The image sent a small arrow down Michael’s stomach and it caught fire in his groin. Oh shit. When was he going to get some control over his brain? Now wasn’t the time to think of girls. That was for tonight, for when he was alone in his bed. For when he’d slide his hand down his burning body and grasp himself firmly, exorcise those sinful feelings from his blood with hard fingers…
He crossed his legs. Ice cubes. Grass. Jamie’s sullen sister. Yeah, that worked. The heat died down somewhat, became a slow, dull ache. Soon it would be gone.
The sofa rocked as Jamie threw himself down beside him. He was grinning. “Whatcha hiding there, young man?” he winked at his crotch.
Michael couldn’t stifle an embarrassed giggle. “It’s the fucking heat!”
“Oh, so you’re not overcome by thoughts of my sister?” Jamie said, nudging him in the ribs and waggling his eyebrows.
“Please!” Michael mimed a shudder. “You may have the same genes, but you got all the charm.”
“Oh, so it’s me you’re hot for?” Jamie laughed.
“Can you just shut up about it? I’m trying to beat it down with a stick here, but you’re not helping.”
“Because I’m sooo irresistible,” Jamie goofed in a silly voice. “I’m sorry, I can’t help it!”
“Jamie!”
Jamie chuckled and started unbuttoning his jeans. Michael’s eyes snagged on the unexpected sight, widened in shock. “What – what are you doing?”
“As you said, it’s the heat. Let’s take care of it. You’re not too much of a prude to jerk off, are you? Then afterwards we can play and you won’t be all over the place.”
Michael stared at him, uncertain. Was he joking? He didn’t seem to be. He was already digging in his underwear for what looked like a half-swollen cock. Christ, I can’t… not with him watching!
But Jamie wasn’t watching. He was leaning his head on the backrest, eyes closed, fingers wrapping around himself. “Come on, Mike, just do it,” he murmured. “We’ll both feel better afterwards.”
That was true – if he even managed to come with an audience. But as his mind returned to the insistent pulsing between his legs, that particular hurdle didn’t seem to be much of a problem. Even with Jamie present, his cock was still up for it. Moving slowly, hesitantly, Michael uncrossed his legs and began fumbling with the zipper. Jamie had already started stroking himself languidly, breath coming in deep and even waves. Face burning with equal parts mortification and excitement, Michael dipped a hand beneath his waistband and pulled himself out. Despite the summer sweat on his hand, it still felt strangely cool against his throbbing cock. Stealing a look at Jamie, he was startled to see his eyes open now, ogling him. Reddening deeper, Michael closed his fingers on his shaft, determined to see this through, to not be a prude. He could feel Jamie smiling. “See? No big deal?”
Michael snorted. “I don’t know… you’re packing some heat.” His skin tingled at saying something so inappropriate, but Jamie beamed at the praise.
“Not to toot my own horn, but…” He stopped, their eyes met, and then they both burst out laughing. “Oh God,” Jamie groaned and lay back again, forehead creased in concentration. “This won’t work if you’re going to be like that. Shut up for a minute, will you?”
Michael smiled and shook his head, but lay back too and tried to get back in the mood. It wasn’t difficult. The early summer seemed to be simmering through his veins like a golden drug, sparking new life into everything it touched. When he started stroking himself it felt like electricity. He closed his eyes and coaxed the image of that guitar back into his mind, lying like a sexy blonde in Jamie’s lap. Urged on by Michael’s seething imagination, the instrument transformed into an actual girl, sighing under the expert touch of the guitarist. Maybe Michael should be ashamed for his voyeuristic fantasies, but what was there to fantasize about where himself was involved? Kate? His cock seemed about to wilt at the mere thought. Better to conjure the lovely lady-moths attracted to the flame of Jamie. Imagining them – and all the things Jamie would do to them – that would certainly do the trick.
Breath speeding up in time with his strokes, he zoomed in on those enticing caresses, the way calloused fingertips trailed lightly over yearning skin. Beside him in the real world, Jamie was breathing faster too, lending a glow of truth to the dream. In Michael’s mind, phantom hands pulled at fabric, slowly undressed a faceless beauty, plucked her secrets from her smooth body like notes from a set of strings. Jamie’s fingers slipped down between parted legs and drew honey from the deepest well. Eyes coming half open, Michael saw the fuzzy outline of Jamie’s real hands work his own flesh. He was fast: he was close. Michael squeezed harder. He didn’t want to finish after Jamie. Matching his rhythm to his friend’s, he soon felt the build-up begin and bit back on a moan. Jamie’s face was flushed pink and his damp hair stuck to his temples as he gulped open-mouthed and greedy at the air, thrusting into nothing. Picturing that cock disappearing between a pair of thighs, Michael’s stomach clenched and he felt the warm fountain shoot out and sprinkle his stomach. At the sound he couldn’t censor, Jamie’s eyes flew open. He took in the wreckage, managed a trembling grin and then went into an athletic arch as his own orgasm took him. Michael stared as the droplets landed in mother-of-pearl constellations all over Jamie’s hot skin.
And then it hit him what they had done. Overcome with shame, he hurriedly tucked himself back inside his pants and zipped it all into place. When Jamie recovered, he wiped himself in silence. A few minutes passed before they could meet each other’s eyes again.
“So… think you can play now?” The flippant question was a hollow horse, carrying the real message: we’re okay, aren’t we?
So Michael flexed his fingers, pretended to test their strength. “I’ve still got a lot to give,” he deadpanned, and Jamie snorted a grateful laugh.
“Then what are you waiting for?”
Ingela Bohm lives in an old cinema, tucked away in a northern Swedish forest where she can wander around all day long and dictate her books. She used to dream of being an actor until an actual actor asked, “Do you really need to do it?” That’s when she realized that the only thing she really needed to do was to write. She has since pretended to be a dietician, a teacher, a receptionist and a cook, but only to conceal her real identity.
Her first imaginary friend was called Grabolina and lived in her closet. Nowadays she has too many imaginary friends to count, but at least some of them are out of the closet. Her men may not be conventionally handsome, but they can charm your pants off, and that’s all that matters.
Ingela’s more useless talents include reading tarot cards, killing pot plants and drawing scandalous pictures that no one gets to see. She can’t walk in heels and she’s stopped trying, but she has cycled 12 000 miles in the UK and knows which campsites to avoid if you don’t like spiders. If you see her on the train you will wonder what age she is.
Bibliography:
The Pax Cymrica series:
Standalone novels:
Short stories:
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Today I’m chatting with Ingela Bohm about writing, life, and her current project. Welcome! Let’s talk a little about Just Playing.
What inspired you to write this story?
Oh, wow… Well, the short answer is: the seventies. 😀 I was introduced to seventies rock music by my husband, and it was love at first hearing. Not only the actual songs, but the way it all felt so real back then. How the music wasn’t necessarily perfect, but it was alive, and it came from the heart. More than that, it was the way those bands interacted. I love solo artists, too, but there’s something about a band that is so fascinating. How it becomes like a small, close-knit family on the road. How they bicker and argue, but also depend on each other.
AM says: Ah, yep, the 1970s. I was only a kid, but I grew up around people who were very much a product of the times.
Is there a character you feel especially connected to? Why?
Oh, Michael, to be sure. Not that I am like him, exactly, but I identify with some of his hang-ups. Also, there’s sort of a real-life person I based him on, someone I really like, so it makes me extra happy when people feel a connection to him or find him endearing. I find him endearing, too! He wouldn’t hurt a fly, and yet he’s so hard on himself.
AM says: Michael is just so wonderful. I have a real soft spot for sweet, sensitive types.
What was the hardest part of writing this?
Actually, the hard part was cutting stuff. I had a lot of scenes in my first edition that were scrapped for the second one, because they didn’t push the story forward. (For the abnormally interested, those scenes found a second life on my blog. :D)
AM says: I’ll have to check that out because I would happily have read more!
Choose a favorite line or short passage. What do you like about it?
Maybe this is a strange favorite, but when I think about it, this passage stands out:
The setting sun painted Michael’s face and hair in copper shades, and when he looked up, his eyes burned with an elusive lion tawny colour.
Thiiiis is weird…
It’s the last line that does it. It’s Jamie’s internal reaction to seeing Michael lit up by the golden evening light, and I don’t know, I just identify with him so much here. That feeling when you look into someone’s eyes and the world just comes loose from its moorings, you know?
AM says: That’s an excellent snippet. I remember being really captivated by that moment when I read it.
Tell us a little about any upcoming projects.
I’m currently outlining the fifth and final book in the series that began with Just Playing. This one will hopefully be the cherry on the cake. It’s the book I’ve been looking forward to writing ever since I started putting the first one together. It’s the “riding into the sunset” book, and I will probably cry when I type the last words.
AM says: Oh, man. If the rest of this series is as good as the first one, you’ll have ME in tears at the end. Now I’m wondering if I should do that to myself! Eh, who am I kidding…of course I will.
Who do you write for (your audience or who you hope to reach)?
People who think they feel too much, or feel the wrong thing.
AM says: Definitely a good audience to aim for. There are a lot of us out here.
What do you wish people knew about your books or characters?
I wish they knew what Michael’s voice sounds like.
AM says: Yeah, I wish that too! Also wish I knew what he looks like—he’s so sure he’s not attractive, but other people seem to disagree.
Are there any common themes you see in your work?
Self-acceptance – and the lack thereof!
AM says: That’s probably why I loved it. So many of us have been there.
Word Sprints!
- Do the people in your life know about your writing? Yep, everyone knows.
- What makes you unique? Living in an old cinema.
- What’s one of your hobbies? Photography
- What’s on your playlist? Kaiser Chiefs.
- What superpower do you wish you had? Being invisible.
Thanks for stopping by, and I’m looking forward to reading the rest of the series!
