Manuel García writes of men as they are: virile, silent, sometimes rough, yet always capable of setting fire to desire when least expected. These stories are stripped of sentiment, rooted in real places and real encounters. Tension grows out of conflict, challenge, and the brush of skin—transforming into moments charged with urgency, power, and need. This is not pornography. This is masculine eroticism, raw and unapologetic, where men desire men without restraint.
The title story, In Love with My Neighbor, begins with anger and restlessness, a failed relationship, and the sudden arrival of new neighbors. A family from Argentina, beautiful and magnetic, but it is their son—eighteen, firm in his body yet tender in his gaze—who unsettles everything. A glance, a handshake, the scent of skin too close: enough to ignite something that cannot be silenced.
“He stepped into the room, tall, blond, his eyes the color of the sea. Our hands met—his skin thin, warm, softer than silk—and for a second the world narrowed to that touch. His scent lingered, fresh and young, but charged with something I could not name. When our gazes locked, I felt him pierce straight through me, as if he already knew what I had never dared to admit.”
These are stories that breathe with bodies, sweat, and silence. When you close the book, you will still feel the weight of the unsaid pressing against your skin.
