Author Feature: Pender Mackie

Author Info:

 Pender Mackie is the author of several shorter stories as well as two novels, both for Loose Id Publishing. STAGE FRIGHT and SINGLE USE ONLY, her latest release, are set in Las Vegas and feature the men who work at The Erogenous Zone, an all male revue.

pender mackie sf 200x300 Author Feature:  Pender MackiePender lives in Canada though she spent her childhood years in England. An imaginative child, Pender wasn’t a willing student and didn’t learn to read until age nine when her father—deciding some incentive was needed—promised her a pony as soon as she could read a newspaper.

Properly motivated, Pender picked up a book and discovered the joys of fiction. Though her infatuation with ponies didn’t last, she still loves a good story. When she’s not doing what seems like endless laundry, she’s busy coaxing another story into shape.


Recent Release Title: Single Use Only

Author: Pender Mackie

 pender mackie suo 200x300 Author Feature:  Pender Mackie

Single Use Only Tagline:

Mike’s tired of the hook-up scene, Chris hasn’t even been to a real gay bar, but when the two men meet they discover they have much more in common than a mutual friend.



Mike Strenton is tired of the hook-up scene. All the men he meets in the Las Vegas gay bars are interested in one thing only and only one night. Been there done that. About to turn thirty-eight, Mike avoids casual sex until his need for contact is too great to ignore. He secretly longs to meet someone who sees beyond his laugh lines and broad shoulders to the sensitive lover underneath. A man who will choose him over the early morning walk of shame.

Twenty-something Chris Bennington has never even been to a gay bar though he’s into men as well as women. He sees the funny side of just about everything, including his first time with Mike. Chris wants a lover who doesn’t have a problem with his quirky sense of humor, his inability to cook or his bisexuality and he thinks Mike fits the bill. All he has to do is convince the big guy he’s not just sticking around for breakfast.



Mike stumbled down his hallway, hitching up his boxers and rubbing sleep from his eyes. Last night’s hookup was fiddling with the locks on the front door.

At Mike’s shuffling approach, the twink turned. “Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.”

Mike reached around the smaller man. He flipped the dead bolt, then scratched his belly idly. “Probably not a good idea to stomp around cursing, then. For a guy your size, you make a lot of noise. I woke up thinking there was an elephant playing hacky sack in my hallway.”

The twink hesitated as if trying to decide whether he’d been insulted. He hadn’t been, at least not intentionally. Sometimes Mike just said the wrong thing at the wrong time.

The man opened the door, squinting in the harsh sunlight, one foot on the welcome mat, the other still in Mike’s hallway. Daylight revealed what the bar had hidden. Dark roots in bleached-blond hair, which Mike had almost expected, and fine lines around those baby blues, which he had not. Those character-giving crow’s-feet could be from too much time spent in the Las Vegas sun, but more likely… What the hell was his name? Cody? Kade? It was Cody, Mike decided. Most likely Cody got his allover tan the same place he got his boyzilian.

Cody wasn’t as young as Mike had first thought, though the poor guy was fighting like hell to look like he was on the right side of thirty. Mike understood the compulsion; in the bar scene over thirty was over-the-hill, and anyone past forty might as well be six feet under that same hill.

Even so, Mike preferred men with some life experience. Hell, it wouldn’t be long before he was pushing up daisies, figuratively speaking, but he didn’t really care how old a guy was as long as he could legally drink and didn’t qualify for the seniors’ discount at any of the Vegas buffets. Most gay men in Las Vegas weren’t quite as flexible.

The number of men interested in a guy with a few prematurely gray hairs and a ponytail—albeit a short one—seemed to get smaller every day. And the ones who might consider sticking around after the lovin’ was over? Smaller still.

Mike sighed and thought longingly of coffee. “It’s pretty early. Not even the worms are up. Why don’t you come back inside? I’ve got stuff for breakfast, and I’m willing to share my newspaper.” He smiled. “I’ll let you read the comics first.”

Cody stepped onto the front walk. He turned and said, “Look, it was good, but I’m not interested in breakfast. Or anything else. I’m not into big guys.”

Ouch. “That’s not the impression I got last night.” They’d talked at the bar, shared a few beers, laughed at each other’s jokes, groped each other a bit. Cody was the one who’d decided he wanted more. No one had forced him.

“You know how it is when you’ve been drinking.” Cody shrugged. “You’re not really my type.”

Mike’s gaze narrowed. They hadn’t had that much to drink. “You could have fooled me. Especially when you were clawing my back and grunting my name.”

Cody rocked on his heels and sucked air through his teeth.

Okay, maybe that was a little harsh, but Mike was barely awake. He didn’t fire on all cylinders until he was properly caffeinated. He stepped forward, hands held out in a placating gesture. “Look, Cody, I didn’t mean that to sound so—”

“It’s Kade, asshole.”

Well, hell. That had done it.

Kade turned on his heel and stomped down the path. He marched across Mike’s tiny, graveled front yard, then spun, his hands on his hips.

“And you were a boring fuck too! One hundred percent pure vanilla.”

Mike’s cheeks burned. Kade’s voice carried loud and clear in the peaceful Sunday-morning air.

Next door Mrs. Weatherbee stood on her porch, her morning newspaper clutched in a tanned hand, her golf bag over one shoulder. A retired schoolteacher in her late sixties, and fitter than Mike had ever been, she’d probably already played an entire eighteen-hole round of golf. At the sound of Kade’s raised voice, she turned to face them.

A warm desert breeze sprang up to tease Mike’s hair. Behind him his front door closed, and the spring-loaded latch engaged, locking him out with a quiet snick.


Mike watched as Kade dug car keys out of his too-tight designer jeans and threw himself into his car.

Kade executed an angry two-point turn, almost hitting Mike’s Norton motorcycle, still parked in the driveway where he’d left it last night.

Kade didn’t miss Mrs. Weatherbee’s ceramic donkey. His front bumper clipped the little garden ornament, which made an almost musical tinkle as it broke.

The Prius buzzed down the quiet street, sounding like an irritated bee, and it looked like Kade flipped Mike off as he sped away. Nice. The guy might be closer to thirty than twenty, but he had the cocky-young-guy attitude down pat.


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