Thursday, July 2, 2020

THE CUTIE-PIE MURDERS - Prologue


dontravis.com blog post #396

Courtesy of Pinterest
Enough of the Drama Club for the moment. We’ll leave Jarod basking in the glory of seducing—or being seduced by—his new drama coach.

This past Wednesday, I sent the completed manuscript of my 7th BJ Vinson novel to the publisher. Now comes the long wait for the process to run before a yes/no decision is made. Well, I want some reaction before that. So, I’m devoting the next two postings to Cutie-Pie. Today we’ll see the Prologue to the book. Prologues are important to me because they set the tone of the novel. I’ll let you tell me if it did the job. Warning, an earlier version of the prologue may have been posted, but this is the one that counts.

*****
THE CUTIE-PIE MURDERS

Prologue


Albuquerque, New Mexico, Monday, March 5, 2012

          The curly-haired young man strode up Central east of the university, slipping gracefully past fellow students, merchants, housewives, and giggling children. Intent on the coming assignation, he was oblivious to the admiring looks thrown his way. Had he noticed; he’d have ignored them. After eighteen years of being first cuddly cute and then staggeringly handsome, conspicuous attention failed to elicit a response from him. Not even the rumble of heavy traffic on Route 66—now reduced to an aging, neon-speckled Albuquerque city street—penetrated his awareness. Nor was he distracted by the tempting aromas wafting from a hotdog joint a few doors away or the more pungent odor of a passing homeless man, the sole of his left shoe flapping in imitation of a muffled duck.
          The recollection of what this venture had cost him triggered a misstep, but you only live once, and besides, he hoped to salvage that relationship without giving up his dream. A sudden image of his mother and father jarred him again. How would they look upon this venture? Cray, of course, but, cripes, he was in pursuit of a goal. The script from rendezvous like this would finance the career he was born to pursue. One day soon a client would recognize his potential. Then he’d walk the runways. The big-time runways, turning heads, setting trends, and making the big bucks. He knew it. The bones of his body, the fibers of his being incessantly crooned that lullaby.
          The address he sought appeared to be one of the new apartments in the next block. Cool. Fancy digs meant easy money. He was new to the business, but he’d already learned a few things, and that was one of them. Prime start for an almost spring Monday.
          He dashed across the side street against the light and halted before a set of big double doors. After scanning the communications panel—and with a heart playing pitter-patter in his chest—he reached out a tremulous forefinger to push the proper red button. After a moment, a pleasant baritone reverberated through the speaker.
          “Yes?”
          He moistened dry lips and put some life into his speech. “Hi, this is your—”
          “Fourth floor. Door’s open. I’m getting in the shower but won’t be a minute. Go down the hall to the bedroom on your right and make yourself comfortable.”
          Excited by the timbre of the voice, he couldn’t resist. “How comfortable?”
          “Surprise me.”
         Galvanized by the sound of a buzzer, he hastily pushed through the heavy doors into a vacant lobby, removed his aviator shades, and called up the elevator. His date was a man. He’d been left guessing because the message was simply signed Anxious. This was only his third engagement of a personal sort since starting this new vocation. The first had been an attractive woman a bit older than he liked. Nonetheless, he’d played his part well enough to earn an encore in the near future.
          The second was a good-looking middle-aged man who’d kept himself fit. In a critical review of the two trysts, he judged the second more enjoyable than the first. His client had begged for more and more… until there was no more to give. In all honesty, the second date had been less… heavy.
          Now another man. And wow! If the dude matched the baritone on the intercom, it was full speed ahead.
          As promised, the door to 4201 stood slightly ajar. He eased into the apartment and looked around. Nice! Black diamond floor tiles in the vestibule. A heavy mirror in a gilded frame hanging to the left of the door allowed him a quick inventory of himself. He approved of what he saw… a young man in his prime who belonged in a place like this. He pushed a wayward chocolate brown curl into place and turned to examine the ritzy apartment.
          How long before he’d be able to afford a place like this to moss around in? Probably about a bazillion years. He paused to take in a pleasant blend of bentwood contemporary couches and antiqued ball and claw-foot chairs, all lent a touch of elegance by ornate occasional tables and French ormolu lamps. His mind’s eye saw friends sitting around sipping wine or guzzling beer and engaging in intelligent conversation as they looked down on the busy street. He smiled to himself as he imagined repairing a fractured relationship by nuzzling on the long sofa.
          The only sour note to the Better Homes and Garden atmosphere was the corner of what looked like a big canvas laundry cart visible in the kitchen area. Maybe his host was planning on messing up the sheets big time. Go for it, dude!
          The faint, sensual scent of lavender teased his nostrils as he turned right and headed for the big bedroom at the end of the hall. From somewhere, he heard a shower shut off. How much time did he have before the man with the voice showed? He closed the blond oak bedroom door, wanting his client to open it and get a sudden, stunning glimpse of what he was buying.
          Standing beside the king-sized Tuscan bed, he ran a hand over the satiny yellow and cinnamon spread… or was this a duvet? Whatever, it felt dope against his fingertips. He eased off his loafers while debating over how comfortable to get. He’d heard some clients liked to undress their merchandise, but maybe he should go all the way and display what he had to offer. And without being smug about it, that was considerable.
          He shrugged out of his windbreaker and tugged a polo shirt over his head, careful not to muss his shock of dark hair. After hesitating briefly, he slipped out of his cargo shorts and lay back on the bed. A second later, he kicked off faux leopard skin briefs and lay naked except for socks. After plumping a pillow, he scanned a hairless torso to admire his pecs and abs. How would he look to the guy about to come through the door any minute now? He nodded to himself. Probably hella bad. Everybody said he wore a pretty, girlish face on a toned man’s body.
          When the door opened, he threw up his hands and shouted, “Surprise!” The first sight of his date sent shivers down his back.
           The man with the beautiful voice moved bedside, balancing two glasses of white wine in his hands. “Well, well, aren’t you a cutie.”

*****
Interesting enough to continue reading? That’s the entire purpose of a prologue… to catch your attention and give you an idea of what’s coming next. While I write the BJ Vinson mystery book in the first person (I…me), my prologues are written in the omniscient so that the reader knows what the actors on the stage have no way of knowing. Hope that comes through.

Next time, I’ll give you Chapter 1, and then I’ll move on to something different.

The following are buy links for my last BJ Vinson mystery The Voxlightner Scandal.


Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com. PLEASE DON’T USE THAT ONE.)
                                                                                                    
Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter: @dontravis3

Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:


See you next week.

Don

Thursday, June 25, 2020

DRAMA CLUB – The Coach (Part 3 of 3 Parts)


dontravis.com blog post #395

Let me get another little matter out of the way before we start on the Drama Club. I finished my 7th BJ Vinson mystery a couple of weeks ago—The Cutie-Pie Murders. Needs one final read-through before submitting to Dreamspinner Press. Wish me luck.

Now back to the Drama Club. Jarrod’s punishment for getting lost cost him the mattress he had in the loft. Of course, that didn’t stop Bobby from coming around for a second helping. I don’t know about you, but I sense an increasing awareness of Thad Reid the drama coach on Jarrod’s part. Wonder what happens this week.

*****
THE DRAMA CLUB

THE COACH

Jarrod was impressed by Mr. Reid’s audition technique. He not only had the actors read, he had them do some business like, walking to a table and picking up a book or opening a door that was set up in the middle of the stage.
On Friday, Jarrod left his loft early, thinking he’d take in a movie in town. He descended his rope to find Mr. Reid sitting on the edge of the stage watching him. The man had a sheaf of notes from the try-outs in his hand.
“You do that quite well,” the coach said, nodding at the rope.
“Been doing it for three years.”
“It’s helped develop your body,” the man noted approvingly.
Jarrod blushed. The word “body” held a sexual connotation for him.
“Making the final casting selections,” the coach went on. “Have you seen the set designs?” Jarrod nodded. “Can I have a tentative lighting schematic next week?” Jarrod nodded again. “Good.” Coach Reid placed a hand at his back and stretched. “It’s been a trying week. If you still had that mattress, I’d be tempted to sleep here tonight. Probably too tired to climb your rope though.”
“There’s a ladder. And an elevator, too, if you’re that feeble.” Jarrod couldn’t believe he was joking with the man.
Thad Reid looked at him sharply. “What’s your fastest time up the rope?”
“Dunno. Never timed myself.”
“You go up, and I’ll time you”
When Jarrod stepped onto the loft, he looked down, Reid looked up from his wristwatch.
Twenty seconds. All right you time me. Now!”
“Twenty-two.” Jarrod crowed as the man came over the edge.
“Two seconds? You got me by two seconds? Don’t believe it. Your watch has to be wrong!” He insisted on comparing second hands, and Jarrod was keenly aware that they stood with their forearms touching. “Aha! You hit the half-minute mark a second behind mine.
“Okay,” Jarrod conceded, “I only beat you by one second.”
“Mattress still missing, I see,” the coach said looking around.
“Some hard-ass made me lose it,” Jarrod tried to keep the mood light.
“I’ll have to sleep at home because of some hard-ass, I guess,” Thad Reid smiled at Jarrod, almost melting him where he stood.
“It’s in the back. I can get it in five seconds flat.”
“Just kidding, Jarrod.”
“No, really!” he protested, moving swiftly down the catwalk. He halfway expected the coach to be gone when he came dragging the thing back with him. Reid wasn’t. He was standing in the middle of the loft, hands on hips, watching quietly. “Here. See, here it is,” Jarrod stammered, dropping it into place on the floor.
“Do you really spend some nights here?” the man asked.
“Sometimes.”
“Were you going to stay tonight?”
“Yes. Going to get something to eat, then coming back.” Jarrod looked around the place and felt compelled to explain. “Sometimes it feels more like home than the dorm.”
Reid smiled. “That’s a bad sign. It means you have the theater in your blood. And to a special few, that’s more home than home.”
Jarrod swallowed hard. “But you can have it tonight. Or…” He shrugged.
“Sheets? Blankets?” the coach asked. Jarrod scampered to get them and spread the mattress. Jarrod gawked when the man shucked his shirt and trousers. The white jockeys glowed against his dark skin in the semi-darkness.
“D-do you want me to leave?” Jarrod asked around a thick tongue.
“Only if you want to. But tell me I’m not making a mistake, Jarrod.”
“No…no, no mistake. I wouldn’t do anything to…well, hurt you, Mr….uh.”
 “Thad. In private, it’s Thad.
Jarrod shivered in the throes of a delightful tingle. “Why me, Thad?”
“Because you’re the sexiest young man I’ve seen this side of the Mississippi. You’re real, not phony. Your good looks aren’t pretty-boy handsome. Because you’ve got a body that probably needs to be naked to be fully appreciated. And because despite the mattress and what I saw happening on it the other day, I don’t believe you’re promiscuous.”
Jarrod swallowed hard. Nobody had ever described him like that before.
“Now either undress and come to bed or go home,” Thad said, sliding the shorts over his thighs.
Galvanized into action, Jarrod ripped off his clothes with his eyes glued to the coach.
“Turn around,” Thad said when Jarrod stood naked. “Nice,” he breathed. “Very nice. I don’t know what your experience has been, Jarrod, but we’re going to pretend this is the first time. Come here.”
As if in a dream, Jarrod walked to him. The man’s strong arms went around him, drawing him close. Firm muscles. Silken flesh. the hair on Thad’s chest. They all left him woozy. When Thad kissed him, long, sable lashes brushed Jarrod’s cheek, sending an electric charge straight to his groin. Before it was over, Jarrod’s knees threatened to give way. When Thad knelt before him, they almost did. Nobody had done such a thing for him since Kahn some two years back. He almost lost it like a kid on his first time. He couldn’t help himself. He came! When the orgasm hit, Jarrod collapsed on the mattress.
“How was that?” Thad asked, lying beside him.
“Wo…wonderful!” Jarrod responded, fighting for breath.
“You’re a handsome, sexy man, Jarrod. I’ve wondered what that would be like since I first saw you. When I saw you and the Lyles kid, I knew I had to have you. I made up my mind then. Has Bobby been back?”
“Once. But I won’t anymore.”
“It’s okay, Jarrod,” Thad said, turning to him. “We’ll have to work out things as we go. Right now….”
“It’s my turn. Jarrod pushed the man flat on the mattress and played in the light mat of hair, devoting time to the brown nipples until Thad laughingly complained his chest was sore. Then Jarrod moved on down the long torso to his lover’s core. Before long, the drama coach spasmed.
They leaned back on the mattress and sighed in unison. “That was great, Jarrod. You’re good.”
“So’re you. What… what do we do now?”
Thad looked at him. His teeth glowed in the semidarkness as he smiled. “Oh, we’re not finished yet. Not by a long shot.”
Jarrod’s sphincter twitched at the words. A wave of emotion wracked him as he imagined all that Thad’s words implied.

*****
So finally, Jarrod gets his macho drama coach. Or was it the other way round? Thad Reid got Jarrod Gray? Depends upon your viewpoint, right?

Until next week.

The following are buy links for the recently released The Voxlightner Scandal.


Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com. PLEASE DON’T USE THAT ONE.)
                                                                                                    
Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter: @dontravis3

Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:


See you next week.

Don

Thursday, June 18, 2020

DRAMA CLUB – The Coach (Part 2 of 3 Parts)

dontravis.com blog post #394

Theatrical Spot Lights
Last week, Jarrod Gray got caught servicing a freshman in the lighting loft at Casa Verde College’s Thespian Hall. This week, we’ll see the price he has to pay for such shenanigans.

*****
THE DRAMA CLUB

THE COACH

Nothing happened for three days except that Bobby didn’t come around to bother him. On Friday, the drama coach sent for him.
“Hello, Jarrod,” Thad Reid responded cordially to his knock. “Have a seat.” Jarrod sat and waited wordlessly. He was impressed by the coach’s cool. “I’m taking Bobby Lyles out of the booth and assigning him to sets, okay?”
“Fine,” Jarrod said calmly. “Who are you sending upstairs?”
“Let’s get through the first production and worry about that later.”
“Sure. Whatever.” Jarrod hesitated. “He ask to be reassigned?”
“Well, yes. Felt he’d do better backstage on the sets. Guess one of his buddies is on sets and scenery.”
“Yeah, sure. That all?”
“No. When someone does his job well, I don’t like to interfere… but I’d like you to remove that mattress. Probably the easy chair, too. Give the loft more of a professional air.”
“They’ve been there for three years, Mr. Reid. I spend a lot of time up there working on control panels, setting up new lights. Sometimes I need to study, so I use the chair. When I need to rest, I use the mattress.” Jarrod clamped his jaws shut. “You tell me to bring them down, I will. But I’m asking you not to. I need them.”
“Son,” the term didn’t fall from Thad Reid’s lips gracefully, “college is about more than just classes. You need to develop socially, not just academically. There’s more to your world than the lighting of a stage production."
“I don’t care about any of that stuff.”
“Someday you will. Thanks for stopping by.”
Jarrod left the coach’s office confused. He was certain Reid had seen him servicing Billy Lyles. Yet all he’d done was reassign the freshman and ask him to remove the mattress from the loft. It didn’t look like he was going to make a federal case out of what he’d witnessed.
Figuring he was lucky to have gotten off so lightly, Jarrod went about his business. Then one day, as the club began working on the first play, he ran across Reid on the Thespian Theater’s stage. They exchanged greetings before Jarrod ascended to the loft by the rope.
A few minutes later, he noticed the rope going taut and beginning to jump as someone on the other end ascended. In no time, Coach Reid stepped onto the stage.
“Neat way to get up here.” Reid wasn’t even puffing hard.
“Quickest too.”
“Thanks for getting rid of the mattress. You understand why, don’t you?”
“I just stowed it away in a closet at the back. If I’m gonna sleep over, I’ll haul it out temporarily,” Jarrod responded a little defiantly
“No reason to sleep in the theater, is there?”
“Sometimes when there’s a play on, I work on changing the lamps at night. It’s easier to sack out there. Wrestling them around and getting them bolted in place is hard work sometimes.”
“And you do it all alone?”
Yes, sir. Always have.”
‘Well, if you need assistance, let me know.” Coach Reid changed the subject. “Have you read the play yet?”
“Few times. Blocked out some ideas for lighting although I gotta see the sets before I can bring anything to you.”
“Good. Tryouts start next week, and I want the stage backlit softly with a highlight halo in the foreground. No spot. No filters. Just plain light.” The man rushed on in front of Jarrod’s objection. “I know, you usually work the lights and make everyone look as good as you can. And I understand you’re scrupulously fair about it. But I want to judge the raw material. I’ll narrow the field and have a second round of tryouts. Then you can do your thing. Okay?”
 “Makes sense. Sure, I’ll do that. You’re the boss.”
Reid left shortly after that, departing the way he came. Jarrod watched him cross the stage, noting the power and grace of the man’s movements. A little shiver ran down his back.
An hour later, he looked up from rewiring a portion of the control panel to see the rope dancing again. His heartbeat increased at the thought of Reid paying him a second visit. To his surprise, Bobby Lyles stepped onto the loft platform. Jarrod smiled. The kid had made the climb easier this time. He nodded his greeting as Bobby stood there uncertainly.
“Hi. You doing okay?”
Jarrod nodded. “Fine. What are you up to?”
“Just wanted to check the place out. Haven’t seen much of you lately.”
“See you in class,” Jarrod said.
“Yeah. Look, Jarrod, I didn’t fink on you. Mr. Reid found out about what we did some other way.”
“I know. He came up the ladder and saw us.”
Bobby’s fair skin reddened. “He… he saw us?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry. All he had me do was remove the mattress. That’s the price I paid.”
“So you don’t have any place to….” Billy turned scarlet again. “You know.”
Jarrod indicated the worn overstuffed chair. “Sure I do. He asked me to remove the chair too, but I didn’t. Apparently he’s okay with that because he was up here and didn’t say anything.”
An awkward moment passed before Jarrod spoke up. “You plop that trim butt of yours in the chair, and I’ll know what you really came up here for.”
Billy met his gaze briefly before his glance slid away. But he covered the distance in three steps and settled into the chair.
Jarrod stood in front of him. “Take your shirt off.”
“W-what if he comes back.”
“He just left. He won’t be back. If he does, he’ll just make me get rid of the chair.”
Billy licked his lips before shimmying out of his shirt.
Nice. Good pecs. No six pack, but the belly was trim.
“Now the pants.”
“But what if someone else comes up?”
“No one else has come up here in three years unless I asked them up.”
Billy stood and dropped his trousers, revealing he was ready.
Jarrod knelt and gave the frosh what he wanted so desperately.

*****
What was the punishment? Stowing away the mattress Jarrod had had in the loft for three years. How will he survive without the mattress? Oh, yeah. There was the easy chair, wasn’t there? But the tale isn’t finished yet. Check it out next week.

Until then.

The following are buy links for the recently released The Voxlightner Scandal.


Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com. PLEASE DON’T USE THAT ONE.)
                                                                                                    
Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter: @dontravis3

Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:


See you next week.

Don

Thursday, June 11, 2020

DRAMA CLUB – The Coach (Part 1 of 3 Parts)


dontravis.com blog post #393
  
Hope the reader who prompted me to write something about the pandemic enjoyed my story, COVID Closet. Doubtless he’ll let me know soon enough. The last I heard from him after the prior installment is that I was a “tease.” Okay, I admit it. I am.

I’ve had some requests for more of Jarrod Gray and the Drama Club at Casa Verde College, In
earlier posts, we’ve seen Jarrod with the football rough who thought he could dominate, with Kahn, the lithe Asian with whom Jarrod could have fallen in love, and with the Chameleon. Alas, they only last so long as they are in college. This year, it’s Jarrod’s senior year, so he’s the one who’ll be leaving at the end of the term. So let’s take a look at Jarrod and the new Drama Coach, Thad Reid.

*****
THE DRAMA CLUB

THE COACH

Upon his return to Casa Verde College for his senior year, Jarrod Gray learned Ms. Atherton, his Drama Club coach, had retired. Downer! He’d earned his place as Lighting Director under Ms. Atherton and wasn’t interested in breaking in a new drama teacher.
He was sitting third row center in Thespian Hall Theater at the Drama Club’s first meeting when he got the second shock of the term. The new coach was a man. A handsome man. A drop-dead, handsome young man. Thad Reid probably hadn’t even seen thirty. What was going on? Casa Verde was a small, expensive college with a strong drama department built by people like Ms. Atherton. Why risk that reputation with a kid barely older than the students?
Thad Reid stood five-eleven and weighed in at around one-seventy-five. His shaggy, sable hair, which sometimes looked black, kept falling over his forehead like a damned kid’s. But his voice wasn’t a kid’s; it was deep and booming as if always projecting from a stage. Broad in the shoulder, trim in the waist, the coach looked like a darker version of Barbie’s Ken. But he didn’t move like Ken; GI Joe was more like it, graceful but loaded with testosterone. Big brown eyes swept the gathered members of the club, captivating every female in the group.
After dismissing the meeting, the new coach called for Jarrod and a couple of others to remain behind. Once the set decorator and cue coach were dispensed with, Reid turned the force of his personality on Jarrod. “Ms. Atherton had great things to say about you. You’ll continue lighting for the club this year again… unless there’s something else you want to try.”
“No, sir. That’s my bag.”
“So I understand. However, this is your senior year, and we need to provide for the future. I’m assigning you an assistant so you can show him the ropes.”
Jarrod frowned. Accustomed to running his own show from the control panel, he feared another student in the loft would complicate… things. “Uh, nobody taught me, that is—”
“I know. But you had high school and amateur summer stock experience. No one in the group has a similar history. At any rate, I wanted you to know you’ll have company in the attic this year.”
“Uh… thanks,” Jarrod responded, trying not to notice the light sprinkle of hair that showed at the coach’s open collar. A lot of body hair was a turn-off, but a little was nice. But he didn’t want to be turned on by a guy converting him into a babysitter.
Reid’s method of teaching was different too. The students spent more time in the classroom and less in the theater. Unimpressed by the changes, Jarrod did approve of the three plays selected for production this season: a drama, a dark comedy, and a mind-piece. Shoot, did the club have enough talent to pull them off? He was not enamored of his peers.
Bobby Lyles, the baby-faced, blond freshman from the Midwest that Jarrod was given as an assistant, acted like he was hot shit because he’d been in a couple of high school plays. The guy was impressed by the setup on his first visit to the loft, but Jarrod soon figured out that was because of the easy chair, mattress, small refrigerator, and stereo Jarrod had collected over the years. When Jarrod showed the kid the lighting panel he’d largely constructed himself, Billy stared at it like he’d never seen one before.
Because Jarrod spent most of his time in the theater when not in class, Bobby—shit, he even sounded like a kid—took to hanging around. Jarrod grudgingly admitted the blond with the pretty face and trim butt asked reasonably intelligent questions. Within a week, Bobby had dropped the attitude and opened his mind to learning. He even got to be halfway likeable. Within a week, Jarrod figured the kid was frantically looking for a girlfriend but was so picky few could meet his standards. As a result, he was beginning to show signs of frustration.
“How about it, Jar?”—Bobby insisted on shortening Jarrod’s name.—“How many gals you laid on this?” The freshman patted the mattress he was sitting on.
Jarrod looked up from his English Lit text. “None.”
“Come on, bro! Then why’s it here?”
Jarrod looked over and met the big blue eyes. “It’s where I give blowjobs to a select few.” Although it was perfectly true, he said it in a flippant tone.
Bobby’s frowned. “No crap! You give many?”
“Enough,” Jarrod returned to his text, leaving the guy frowning.
Over the course of the next week he almost got used to the freshman, but every once in a while, Bobby would manage to get to him. One afternoon he came up behind Jarrod as he was walking across the stage.
“You’re shitting me about the mattress, aren’t you?”
Jarrod stopped and turned to face the fresh-faced kid, noticing that his biceps looked pretty good. In fact, so did the rest of him. Bobby’s slight frame hid a good physique. “Why are you so interested? You angling for one?”
Bobby’s eyes bugged. “Well…no. Hell, no! What do you think I am, a pansy?”
“I don’t know what you are.” Jarrod spun on his heel and walked to a rope hanging from the ceiling. A hand-over-hand climb was his way in and out of the lighting booth, even though there were two ladders and a freight elevator available. After climbing—using just his arms—Jarrod looked down on Bobby standing on the stage below.
When the kid saw Jarrod was watching, he grabbed the rope and made it to the loft, but it was obviously an effort. He collapsed on his back atop the mattress and lay panting. Jarrod was suddenly interested.
“You find a girlfriend yet?” he asked.
“These college chicks are so snooty, you wouldn’t believe it. How about you? You got a girlfriend?”
“Got better things to do than waste time on them.” Jarrod moved over beside the freshman sprawled on the mattress. “You getting all hot and bothered remembering what I said the other day?”
“Hey, man! I’m no queer.”
“You think every guy looking for a little relief is queer?” Jarrod asked.
Bobby didn’t answer. He just swallowed hard and laid a forearm across his eyes. Jarrod knelt and ran his hand up the kid’s legs. Bobby flinched. Jarrod froze… until the kid relaxed. Then he went about pursuing what he wanted, moving slowly so as not to panic his partner. Bobby kept still and silent for ten minutes, then he let out a loud moan and went into a frenzy of muscular contractions.
As Bobby worked through his orgasm, Jarrod heard a slight noise but stayed with the boy until it was over. Then he turned toward the ladder behind him in time to see a dark head disappear.
After it was over, Bobby scrambled to cover himself. His eyes moved restlessly, not focusing on anything. He acted like he didn’t know what to say. Within minutes, he scampered down the ladder. Jarrod took the rope and was standing on the stage when the boy reached the bottom, damned near scaring Bobby out of a year’s growth.
After the freshman fled, Jarrod searched the building. No one there. But there had been, and Jarrod thought he knew who.

*****
Did Jarrod get caught blowing a freshman? It certainly looks like that’s the case. Will there be repercussions?

Until next week.

The following are buy links for the recently released The Voxlightner Scandal.


Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com. PLEASE DON’T USE THAT ONE.)
                                                                                                    
Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter: @dontravis3

Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:


See you next week.

Don

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