Toutes Bonnes

An Envelope Collection Vignette

By Alp Mortal

Copyright © 2016 Alp Mortal

Written by Alp Mortal - http://alpmortal.weebly.com

Cover Design by The Carter Seagrove Project LLC

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Disclaimer: The material in this book is for mature audiences only and contains graphic content. It is intended only for those aged 18 and older. This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Published by

The Carter Seagrove Project LLC

Indiana, USA

Website:  http://carterseagrove.weebly.com

Email:  thecarterseagroveproject@gmail.com

Twitter:  @carterseagrove

Facebook:  www.facebook.com/thecarterseagroveproject

First Edition 2016

Contents

Contents

Author’s Note

Toutes Bonnes

About the Author

Also by this Author

The Carter Seagrove Project

Author’s Note

Toutes Bonnes is the first story in The Envelope Collection, a collection of short, intense, and largely erotic vignettes written by Alp Mortal, exclusive to the Carter Seagrove website, offered free and available as a mobi and epub download.

I am always very happy to receive your feedback. If you wish to contact me directly, please email me at: alpmortal@hotmail.com.

Visit the website, www.alpmortal.weebly.com, for updates on the next gay romantic story or crime thriller which I am working on.

Thank you,

Alp Mortal

Toutes Bonnes

“Kokey! Come on!”

“John; are you crazy? It’ll be fucking freezing.”

“Don’t be such a girl - come on!”

He runs off towards the surf, to stampede his way into the shallows before wading out a little further, already eyeing the wave that he’ll dive into while I ferret for my ear plugs, putting off the moment a little longer, hoping he won’t see my erection before I too am submerged. A whoop of joy accompanies his dive into the front of the big wave, which very nearly reaches my toes and I haven’t even left the towel. He’s under the water, then, surfacing ten metres out, he cries out in triumph, turning while treading water to wave madly and smile broadly, urging me to join him.

“Come on! It’s not that cold.”

“Seriously?”

“I promise.”

I run in, splashing as much as I can to mask my situation, stumbling and crashing around before finally launching myself forward to thrash my way over to him - I don’t swim very well.

“What did I tell you? Awesome, no?”

“Not bad.”

“Kokey; you really have to get some sun on your skin.”

“I burn easily.”

“Put the cream on then. Talking of red meat, I’ll cook tonight if you want.”

“I don’t mind - let’s light the barbeque.”

“I’ll do steaks and put some chips in the oven. This was such a good idea, wasn’t it?”

“It was. Can we go back and warm up? I’m going numb.”

“Sure ...”

This holiday was John’s idea - I all too easily agreed, albeit knowing that it would be purgatory but not as bad as being separated for two weeks.

“Lay down and I’ll put the cream on your back.”

We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember. I’m sure it was the first day at senior school. That was thirty or more years ago. Even then, I knew he was going to be my pal for life. Three years of absolute bliss as we spent every waking minute in each other’s pocket, doing everything together.

We hit fourteen. Puberty changed the rules.

His hands are like a pair of shark’s fins, effortlessly cutting through the water, hinting at the danger that lurks beneath. Despite the heat of the midday sun, I break out in goosebumps and shudder. He’s none too careful and his fingers stray over the edge of my trunks and skim the very tops of my buttocks.

“Do mine, would you?”

He hands me the bottle and throws himself face down on his towel.

“We could go to the smaller island tomorrow; Geoff said we could use the boat if we wanted to ... What do you think, Kokey?”

Having something to think about is very welcome as I spread the cream over his back, assiduously avoiding the margin of skin next to the waistband of his speedos.

“We could take food ... What about staying over and using the cabin?”

I’m playing with fire, hoping he agrees but sensing the tension already beginning to tighten around my chest, making it harder to breathe.

“Oh, yeah! Good idea. You missed a bit,” he suggests, reaching back to run his fingers over the dry patch next to his waistband, “I don’t want to burn.”

I swallow and force myself to apply the lotion, feeling the heat of his skin; the edge of his swimming costume feels like the edge of a kitchen knife. Tempting as it is to use it to castrate myself, I finish the job and lie down, taking the offered cigarette and one bud of his headphones so that we can both listen to the Evelinn Trouble album he downloaded just before we left the cottage.

With puberty came the usual soup of hormones and the no doubt about it realisation that I was gay. I’d fantasised about my Action Man figure long enough to know that my fixation with bulges was not a passing fancy. A fact reinforced one Friday afternoon after school in my bedroom while mum and dad were at the garden centre. We were sitting cross-legged on the bed, listening to some music on the radio. He says, “Do you think Wayne was telling the truth?”

“About what?” Knowing very well what he is referring to, feeling my skin redden slightly.

“About wanking ... making yourself cum.”

“Suppose; you didn’t try it yet?”

“No; did you?”

“No ...”

Without another word, he unzips himself and plucks out his meaty little todger, which is already swelling.

“I’m gonna try it, Kokey; you try too ...”

While he begins in earnest to beat himself off, I fumble and finally liberate my slimmer and longer schlong, which is as hard as a house brick.

“Bloody hell! Kokey; it’s amazing! Jesus Christ ...”

With my eyes fixed on the blur of his cock as it disappears and re-emerges from the confines of his fist, I beat off, feeling alternately hot and cold, woozy and six inches from bursting into a thousand pieces of glass.

“Oh, shit! I think I’m gonna cum,” he admits through gritted teeth.

“John; what’s happ-”

“Keep going! Oh, shit!”

Like someone had fired three bullets into his back, he spasmed and shot his first load - it was like a geyser. Struck by a few gobs of it on the cheek, it was enough to catapult me over the edge of all I knew to be real - I shot a huge load into the air, gulping like a fish out of water, feeling as if I was going to pass out.

And that fucking Wayne got there first!

Only the giggles saved me from certain death. But for all of the newness and animated dissection of the technique that came afterwards, I had only one true recurring thought - I’d wished it had been his hand wrapped around my cock. And it’s been like that ever since.

Oh, yeah ... one of those virgin, made it out of the gate gobs landed on my lips, and I licked it up without John seeing - he was so out of it, anyway - and that pretty much confirmed the I am gay hypothesis because one taste and all I wanted was to be fed by his dick for the rest of my life.

***

“This was such a good idea, Kokey. Did you pack the gas lamp?”

“Yeah. If it gets any warmer, we’ll be sleeping outside.”

“Got a call from Matthew’s ...”

“You got the job?”

The news I have been fearing. A job that will take him away for weeks at a time, and the possibility of a relocation to the far flung reaches of the Universe - may as well be.

“I did; but they won’t pay what I asked for so I turned it down.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah; I’ll use their offer to convince Bert to up my basic and put me forward for more training ... I didn’t really want to move anyway ...”

“Thank you, God, for listening to my prayers - I will be so good from now on.”

We moor at the small wooden jetty, which Geoff installed last year when he got the boat. It takes us half an hour to move our stuff to the cabin, which is at the back of the cove, framed by the eucalyptus trees and fronted by a wide, covered deck, to the side of which, is the fire pit. Not that we’ll need it because the temperature hasn’t dropped below 80 degrees day or night since we arrived.

Lugging our stuff brings on a sweat, and John strips off to his birthday suit, taking a quick plunge before opening up the cabin to air the place. Meantime, I collect water from the spring-fed cistern, and unpack the lamp, hanging it up under the awning, which protects the deck from the sun and the rain. It’s six o’clock and there are still a few hours before we lose the sun completely. John lights a single use barbeque and sorts out the fish that we bought in town before we left.

“Open the wine, Kokey, would you?”

“Sure ...”

He hasn’t put his shorts back on, and I wonder if he plans to remain in the buff for the entire time we are here - three days as it happens, to make the most of it.

I hand him a glass of the slightly warm, white Bordeaux; we chink and toast our amazing good luck and rude health.

“I think you’re right about sleeping outside, Kokey.”

Sitting side-by-side, watching as the sun slips down behind the edge of the headland, I have to use every trick in the book to blank out the heat and scents emanating from his body - years of practice brought into play. There is a cruelty in having a straight friend as tactile as John - always hugs me rather than shaking my hand, always throwing his arm around my shoulder, always patting me, frequently dabbing his finger on his tongue to wet it before capturing a stray eyelash that has landed on my cheek - I think it’s all his way of getting the reassurance that his dad never gave him. Such a cold, hard-hearted man - a widower, admittedly.

“I’ll set up the mozzie net then ... fish smells like it’s nearly done.”

We pig out and clear up before having to enclose the deck in the netting, which is absolutely essential once the gas lamp gets lit. Kicking back with an espresso, laced with rum, diluted by an ice cube, we share a cigarette.

“I brought my Kindle but I don’t feel like reading. What do you want to do tomorrow, John?”

“Go hiking? Geoff says that there’s a trail to the other side of the island where you can see the wreck ...”

“Okay; sounds great.”

“Jesus! It’s hot. Fancy a dip?”

“Now?”

“Why not? I’ll never get to sleep if I don’t cool down a bit ...”

He scrambles to his feet and slips out of the net. I watch him as he runs towards the water, and moments later, I hear his cries as he belly flops into the shallows. At a more sedate pace, I join him, confining myself to the surf just to get my legs wet up to my knees, not wanting to get my shorts wet.

“Oh my God! This is amazing ...”

In the gloom of dusk, I can still make out the perfect contours of his muscular body, which he hones through a strict diet and exercise regime. The dark patch of hair that sprouts out of his groin and the ruddy-hued fleshy stump that, in the relatively cooler water, has shrunk and looks like a fat, over-sized pearl, draws my eye despite promising myself not to look. I think he caught me sneaking a peek.

Strange; he never asks the awkward, searching questions about my love life. I might casually mention the name of someone - perhaps a new secretary at work - and I think he assumes that I date occasionally. He has the odd girlfriend who might last a few months before the thing fizzles out - I am never plagued by any woes or analysis. Whenever we go out - usually to the pub - I make sure that Geoff is with us so that, as happens from time to time, if John decides to chat someone up, I have a distraction - and Geoff is obsessed with his lovely wife Belinda and their twins, so it’s easy to submerge myself and ignore the courtship display taking place at the edge of my field of view. If things work out, I see John a little less, and when he starts coming around again more often, I know they’ve broken up.

Throughout our lives, he’s been my security blanket, never needing to worry about the bullies when we were at school, who just left me alone because John was my pal - and he never had to say a word or raise his fist. I wonder if people see me through the opaqueness of his aura and maybe assume I am just his shadow - I do struggle sometimes with the thought that I might not actually exist at all.

John is very real.

He splashes me, yanking me back into the present.

“Bastard!”

“Got ya!”

“My shorts are wet.”

“They’ll dry quickly enough ...”

Back on the deck, I slip my shorts off and find a pair of thin, cotton trousers to put on, hanging the shorts up to drip dry.

“I’m going to turn in soon, Kokey; I expect we’ll wake up early.”

“Okay ...”

He heads off to the standpipe to clean his teeth while I sort the airbeds and our thin sleeping bags - which we probably shouldn’t have bothered to bring but you never know. When he returns, I hop over to the spigot and clean my teeth and wash my face. By the time I get back, he’s tucked up.

Turning out the lamp, I crawl into my bag and wish him a goodnight.

“Goodnight, Kokey; sleep tight.”

***

At around three o’clock, the breeze coming in off the water is rather cool, and whereas we had both unzipped our bags not long after we’d said goodnight and had spent half an hour tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable, now, I really appreciate it and zip up, shivering uncontrollably, which I assume is as much to do with the chill as it is to the reaction to the slight sunburn I can feel on my back.

“Cold?”

“A bit,” I chattered through my teeth, convinced that I must also have a bit of sunstroke.

A muscular and incredibly warm body makes its way to my side; his hand finds my forehead.

“Yeah; a touch too much sun. Let me get you something to cool you down and a drink ...”

The gas lamp gets lit and I can see John ferreting in the cool box for the ice packs, after which he fills our pitcher and brings it all back, immediately insisting that I drain the jug, which I do in steady gulps. Once he’s placed the coldish packs on the back of my neck, he relaxes, suggesting that a dip might not be a bad idea to cool me down more quickly.

“I feel so cold!”

“Your body is struggling to adjust; you need more water.”

I feel a fraud and hardly at death’s door, but I appreciate his ministrations, and even take the dip suggested, after which he buffs me gently with a towel before giving me a couple of Nurofen and another jug of water, which I struggle to drain this time - finally, I feel able to lie back and close my eyes.

I think a moth made it through the net because I could swear I could feel it flutter next to my cheek just before I dropped off but I was too tired to swat it away.

***

The strong dawn light, albeit tempered by the voile, brings a number of things into very sharp focus - I feel better - though I have a slight headache, and I am wrapped up in John’s arms and legs like he’s an overgrown koala, clinging onto me. His gentle breathing is escaping from between his barely parted lips and fanning my chest, causing my nips to stand proud ... along with my morning wood. In focusing my attention on that, I immediately detect the blunt end of his wood poking me in the thigh.

“John ... John ...”

A grunt in response, and he grips me tighter and presses against me harder.

I should just throw his arms and legs off and dive out of the tent and run for the water, hoping that he doesn’t even realise that anything was amiss.

But I can’t because I want this so much that I am prepared to risk a very awkward moment when he wakes up - which he is bound to soon. I count the flips in my stomach and decide it’s ‘heads’ and not ‘tails’ - I’ve waited since that day we put Wayne’s instructions to the test.

“M-o-r-n-i-n-g ...”

“Morning, John ...”

I’m expecting a dawn of realisation, a hasty uncoupling, a garbled apology, a cough, a rapid withdrawal to a safe distance, the burning face of embarrassment and maybe even wild eyes. I was definitely not expecting to get a kiss on my cheek.

“How are you feeling?”

“Bbb ... better ... John; you just kissed me. Wh-”

“Have been wanting to do that for a very long time.”

“Yy ... you have?”

“You were mumbling and thrashing about - I thought maybe you were having a bad dream ... it felt so much better than I imagined it would and I couldn’t let go.”

“But ... but you’re not-”

“Gay? I have no idea. I don’t think this would have happened with anyone else.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that it - you - is special ... Does it have to have anything to do with being gay?”

“Nn ... no; but you didn’t know, did you?”

“That you were gay? Are you?”

“Yes; why haven’t you asked me before?”

“Because it didn’t matter; I’ve always loved you for who you were - are ...”

“Yyy ... you’ve always loved me? Did you know how I felt about you?”

“I think I did - maybe denied it for a time - I couldn’t tell you until I felt confident about how I felt - you were feeling poorly and I hated the thought that you were suffering, even just a little bit ... When I put my arms around you, it all clicked into place.”

“Fuck ...”

***

“I’m not going to go out in the sun today, John; I don’t need the sun cream.”

“I haven’t got anything else to use as lube.”

“You want to fuck me?”

“No - well, yes - but I want you to fuck me first ... make me whole, Kokey ...”

After everything had clicked into place, I’d rolled him off onto his back and sat up, turning to look down into his eyes, hoping all the answers would be found there. He’d held out his arms and I allowed myself to be dragged into his embrace, ending up lying full-length on top of him, propping my head on my hands, my elbows resting on his chest, which is like a kitchen counter and well able to support my weight.

“This is real?”

“You were a little delirious last night but I can assure you this is real.”

“After all this time, John - I never had the slightest inkling.”

“I guess as much as anything else, I was afraid of how I felt - you’re my best friend and I didn’t want to screw anything up between us.”

“That’s exactly how I felt ...”

I don’t know where to begin; he’s like a set of bedroom furniture - all hard surfaces and soft furnishings. A kiss can never be the wrong place to start. Until this moment, every time he spoke, I had to make myself concentrate on his eyes and not his lips ... and his beard hid his dimples, though when he did shave, I’d have to work twice as hard not to betray myself.

Now, I can savour those pin-cushion lips and use my nose to ferret for his dimples, making him smile, and in that moment of pure joy, I dive in with my tongue, feeling him instantly suck me in as his hands slip up my back to my neck, and as gentle as a lamb, he twists my curls about his fingers and grips a little tighter, moaning and visibly relaxing into the moment. My hands frame his face, until I need to breathe, when I pull back and place them palm down on his pecs, squishing his buds flat, tracing a line with my tongue between my hands, down through his fur to his sternum, which I kiss, before raising my eyes, begging the question.

“Suck me, Kokey ... please ...”

Nibbling my way across the deeply ridged plain that is covered by his silky, glossy pelt, I inch towards the base of his cock, which is itself trapped beneath my chest. Liberating his spring, I allow it to rise, and swipe it with my tongue as it arcs before coming to rest against his abdomen. He smells of shea butter and something a little tarter like the little orange fruits that I think are called physalis. I find the source of that and suck the very tip of his member, extracting a few drops, licking my lips, before gobbling him up until I can take no more, getting off on the mere fact that my lips are encircling his tool and his glans is pulsing against the roof of my mouth. With one fist wrapped around the base of his cock to steady it, and the other cupped under his plums, I suck his crown and tease his taint simultaneously, sensing his pelvis begin to corkscrew before he has no choice but to thrust a little, being careful not to push too deep - but for that, his lust is barely contained, judging by the breaths that sound like wheezy old bellows and the ever-increasingly pressure of his hands that have my head in their vice-like grip.

Fuck it! I push my hand between his thighs, parting his high-riding cheeks and find his furry well, pressing it to test the strength of his muscle, getting myself a throatful of cock as he bucks in response to my intrusion. The dam of control bursts and he can’t help himself, and he fucks my throat until the exquisite moment of release, when he’s held in stasis, though I can feel the base of his cock swell, readying itself to deliver an almighty load of jizz straight down my throat. And when it comes, I have to swallow hard and rapidly to keep pace or drown.

“FUCK!”

I’d let him feed me for eternity if I didn’t have to breathe, and back off slowly, slurping up the dregs, allowing the slick shaft to slip out of my mouth to a final exclamation.

“GOD!”

Drenched in sweat, we collapse side-by-side, panting heavily, with inane grins plastered across our faces.

“Kokey; damn! I never came so hard ... it - you - were - that was ... incredible ...”

Finding no ready reply, I lift my head and rest it on his chest to listen to his heartbeat, which is pounding like a bass drum.

“... tell me you are still gonna fuck me.”

In lieu of a nod, I slid my hand down over his abdomen, slipping in between his sack and thigh, rummaging to get a fingertip on his button. Lubricated with just sweat, I ease in past the tight ring and find the walnut-sized lump of wax of his prostate and gently probe it until his whimpers become pitiful.

“Turn over ...”

Wrenching himself out of my arms, he flips onto his stomach. Before anything else, I want my tongue in that furry crack. I lick until the hair is plastered against his skin; it all tastes of sea salt, sweat and after sun lotion. In the process, my fingertip has widened the entrance and I can get two fingers just inside to pull apart and get my tongue far enough in to experience the oyster shell smoothness. Instinctively, he tilts his pelvis to give me better access. Lapping at the thimble-sized divot gets me to a state of painful arousal - like my cock is expanding within a sleeve of steel. Dragging myself up, knowing I can go back after I’ve bred him, I take a few deep breaths, feel the rush and wiggle between his thighs until my meat is poised, resting it against the tender rosette, waiting for him to unclench and for his hole to tip me the wink.

“F-U-C-K ... go in slow, Kokey ... oh dear God ...”

He’s tight but yielding; my piston finds its sleeve, and, lubed on spit and sweat, we begin our journey. Very slowly at first, to ease him open all the way; it also gives me a chance to watch as his lips begin to slide more easily up and down my shaft, polishing it to a high shine. Reaching forward and curling my fingers over his shoulders, I pull him back and tilt and thrust to get buried to the hilt, where I stop and squirm until I feel ready to fuck all my wet dreams into reality.

He rocks as I thrust; our sweaty slap like a wave lapping the shore. He raises his upper back and arse, propping himself up on outstretched arms with his fists buried in the bunched up sleeping bag, aping the pose of a gorilla on the high reaches of some mountain top in Kenya - and I’m riding the brute who has a heart of gold and arse of silk. He throws his head back and I yearn to bit down on his shoulder - I kiss his neck instead and bury my nose in his loose curls that smell of his custard apple-scented shampoo.

Plateauing for a while, I am in danger of losing the edge, but recalling the thousand times I watched his tackle swinging between his thighs as he stepped out of the shower at the gym or the squash club and padded over to his spot on the bench to raise a leg and plant a foot on it to dry his toes, gets me back to the dead centre of the zone. I sense he might be boiling over, and slide my hands to his waist to steady him while I bang out a rapid, savage tattoo, grabbing the moment, when cumming is a certainty, to then slip my hands into his groin and grab his stalk with both fists, wanking him off as I surge to a climax, in fear of wearing his nub down to a shadow of its former self, hoping he cums with me.

“Kokey!”

Oh, yes; I want to see his seed splash against the satin fabric of the sleeping bag and his sweat spring from his brow as I breed him, wishing I could simultaneously feed him and seed him in both ends-

“Holy FUCK!”

I’m brimming over but it’s like trying to push a melon through the eye of needle until he reaches beneath himself, grabs my sack and pulls forward - the exquisite pain opens a channel and I pump in time to his grunts as he spills his own load over my fingers.

“JOHN!”

I’ve nailed it - him. Crucified all the robbers of my happiness. My cock is a rod of joy, finally free of the bindings of decades of subjugation, and running wild.

***

“What now, Kokey?”

“You mean back home?”

“Yeah ...”

“Up to us, John; I don’t want anything to change but I want everything to be different.”

“I think I know what you mean ... it’ll take a little while for everything to work out.”

“And we have to come out.”

“No ... we can just let everyone find out as and when - I don’t actually think too many people will be that surprised. Joanne always calls us an old married couple.”

“Can I say I love you?”

“Do you?”

“Since the day we turned fourteen ...”

“We’ve known each other for more than thirty years, Kokey.”

“Thirty ... that’s the pearl anniversary.”

“We had those-”

“Sleazy fucker!”

“Seriously; I prayed every day that I would get my shit together eventually and make my move, praying even harder that I didn’t lose you to someone else in the meantime - I’m so grateful for the chance to love you back.”

I’m never gonna pass up an invitation to kiss him on the mouth and grind my cock against his - and we’re gonna fuck every chance we get.

“Fuck me, John ...”

About the Author

I'm English by birth from the Isle of Wight, living in Newport, spending part of the year in France in the stunningly beautiful department of Haute-Saône in the Franche Comté region. It is heavily forested and very tranquil but the winters are pretty harsh and my home is 820 metres above sea level so I get plenty of snow.

I am also spending increasing amounts of time in the USA, co-managing The Carter Seagrove Project LLC - an independent publishing house, incorporated in the State of Indiana.

I will be 50 years old in 2015. I only started writing in 2009, proving, I suppose, that it is never too late. I didn't think about self-publishing until late 2012, now, more than two years later, I'm even more energized by the process than ever before.

I'm a qualified English teacher, specializing in teaching English as a second language (TEFL), though I don't do much of that now. In the distant past, I taught software skills. In the very distant past, I was a project manager on big IT projects and at the very beginning of my career, I was an Internal Auditor. I have degrees in Internal Auditing, Computer Auditing and Project Management. I'm studying for my degree in Sustainable Development at the moment. Renewable energy is what really interests me and I generate my own power at home via a solar panel.

I'm a member of The Society of Authors, The Society for Editors and Proofreaders and The Independent Author Network.

I grow some of my own food and from Easter to the end of October, I'm outside for the largest part of the day, tending the garden. I write in the evening and during the winter when there is very little else to do. I have no great philosophy except "energy follows intention" and "honour your gifts". These two principles keep me sane, very happy and exceedingly busy!

I am always very happy to receive your feedback. If you wish to contact me directly, please email me at: alpmortal@hotmail.com.

Visit the website, alpmortal.weebly.com, for updates on the next gay romantic story or crime thriller which I am working on.

Together with Chambers Mars, I am half of Carter Seagrove, author of Dust Jacket and The Inspector Fenchurch Mysteries.

Alp Mortal, Chambers Mars and Shannon M. Kirkland are The Carter Seagrove Project LLC - an independent book publisher. Find us at www.carterseagrove.weebly.com, on Twitter @carterseagrove and on Facebook www.facebook.com/thecarterseagroveproject.

Also by this Author

Thank you for choosing to read this story. You may be interested in reading other stories which I have written.

Click the Book Cover to view on The Carter Seagrove Project book gallery where you will find the link for all of the eBookstores where it is currently available.

Some of the titles written with Chambers Mars:

The Carter Seagrove Project

The Carter Seagrove Project LLC, created by authors, Alp Mortal and Chambers Mars and Shannon M. Kirkland is a creative space within which authors and artists are invited to collaborate ... any project is considered which furthers the boundaries of the indie dream. Whether you are an artist/illustrator, author/poet, editor, cover/text designer, webmaster or involved in independent film-making, there are limitless opportunities to get involved and do something amazing.

The Carter Seagrove Project LLC is also an independent book publisher, publishing eBooks, print and audiobooks - available through all leading eRetailers.

The Carter Seagrove Project LLC was incorporated in the State of Indiana on 4th February 2015 and is a member of the Independent Book Publishers Association.

Find Us

On the web: www.carterseagrove.weebly.com

On Twitter: @carterseagrove

On Facebook: www.facebook.com/thecarterseagroveproject

Contact Us

Via email: thecarterseagroveproject@gmail.com

Proud supporters of

Jake Robbins

ASPD Films

Executive Producers of

Tonight It’s You