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

Thursday, June 4, 2020

COVID Closet (Part 3 of 3 Parts)


dontravis.com blog post #392

Courtesy of pixabay.com
We left the two frat brothers last in the gym in the basement of the house. Bruno’s started teaching Harry some exercises. They’re in day 7 of their isolation. How are you betting? Who’s going to get what he wants, and who’s going to his room frustrated? Read on.

*****
COVID CLOSET

          Harry knew Bruno was watching him. There was no mirror in the place, but there were enough shiny surfaces on various machines so that Harry kept track of what his housemate was doing. And right now, he was standing and watching him. His knees reacted as usual, causing him to falter in his steady climbing motion. Before he knew it, he was off balance and falling backward. Before he hit the floor, a pair of brawny arms encircled his chest. His stomach fell away to somewhere unknown as he felt those pecs he admired so much pressed against his back. His buttocks lay hard against Bruno’s groin. The jock’s breath was warm on his neck.
          “Jeez, kid. You okay?”
          “Thanks to you.”
          “You get dizzy? That happens sometimes when you’re just starting out.”
          Take the bone he threw you! “Y-yeah. Took me by surprise.”
          “Just hold still for a moment until you get your equilibrium back, okay?”
          More than okay! Great! “For a minute, maybe.” Oh, crap! I’m getting a hard-on. He’ll kill me.
          They stood in a frozen embrace for a long minute. Just as Harry felt he’d milked the moment for as long as he could, he felt Bruno’s body change… react. Harden.
          “Sorry, I—”
          “Shut up!” Bruno snapped. “Oh, shit. What’s happening to me?”
          “I guess—”
          “Shut up!” Bruno lowered his forehead against the back of Harry’s neck, his breath ragged.
          Harry had knee trouble again when Bruno hunched against his back. He didn’t resist when Bruno clasped his chest firmly and edged them toward a mat on the floor. Then they tumbled, Bruno atop him.
          “What did you do to me?” Bruno moaned, lifting himself to his knees to rip his shorts away.
          Harry took advantage of the moment to squirm around onto his back. He was having a little trouble with his own breathing when Bruno put his hand to Harry’s shorts and slipped them down.
          “Don’t get ideas, kid,” Bruno gasped, the bullying growl completely gone from his voice. “This don’t mean anything. Just relief. A one-time thing, okay?”
           “What… whatever you say, Bruno.”
           Bruno held still and permitted Harry’s hands to roam those fascinating pecs and toy with the off-center nipple. He placed a hand behind the jock’s neck and tugged. Bruno came down to meet his lips.
          One kiss was all it took to make the jock go crazy, but not the way Harry feared. Bruno sat between Harry’s legs and felt of everything he had, sometimes roughly, and sometimes gently. Harry mentally shook his head at the transformation. Bruno worked him like Harry figured he did his women… insistent, persistent, but not forcefully. That came when Bruno lifted his legs and did what came naturally. Intimidated at first by the size, Harry soon found himself almost delirious from the most complete, thorough, and sensual pounding he’d ever taken. Caught up in his own approach to Nirvana, Harry only fleetingly thought of how Bruno would react after this was all over. At… the… moment, he didn’t… give a damn. Oh! Oh! Here it came!


          Harry lay trying to catch his breath and calm excited nerve endings. Finally, he turned his head and saw Bruno sprawled on his back, his sexy chest heaving still, his breath coming in great gasps. A wave of goosebumps swept his entire body as he wondered what Bruno was going to do. Harry’d been in enough situations to know a guy’s reaction post-coitus could be extreme. Especially from an overt heterosexual. He’d had one guy proclaim he was in love. Another was mortified and blamed it all on Harry. Yet another one—who’d seemed to really get a bang out of what they’s been doing—started swinging. Harry had been barely able to grab his clothes before running away. Others tried to pretend it never happened.
          What would this hunky guy do? Bruno hadn’t been the friendliest frat brother around after Harry transferred to the school last semester. Made it clear he thought Harry was contaminated in some way, and sure wouldn’t be in his fraternity of Harry hadn’t already been a Greek when he arrived. Bruno might be worse than the COVID19 virus, at least so far as he was concerned.
          Right now, Bruno was lying naked as a jaybird flat of his back on the wrestling mat fighting for breath, his eyes half closed. Harry almost jumped when Bruno turned his head and met his gaze. Harry waited for the eyes to harden, but they didn’t.
          “Shit, kid,” the jock mumbled. “What’d you do to me?”
          Harry knew enough to keep his mouth shut.
          “That… that was one hell of a workout,” Bruno said. Then he seemed to recover himself. “Like I said, One time thing. Don’t get ideas.”
           Harry smiled. “Don’t worry, Bruno. I’ll let you set the pace.”
          “Not gonna be a pace. Like I said, one time thing.”
          “But you gotta admit. It was a hell of a one time.”
          Bruno pulled in a heavy breath and stared at the ceiling. “Yeah. I’ll give you that.”
          Nobody moved or spoke for what seemed like half an hour but was probably only five minutes.
          “Harry?”
          Harry, not Cooper. That was great! “Yeah?”
          “How many days we got left cooped up in this closet.”
           He couldn’t help himself. “I haven’t been in the closet for two years now.”
          Bruno turned his head enough to glare at him, but otherwise lay like a log. A sexy log, but a log nonetheless. “You know what I mean.”
          “This is day seven.”
          “So three more.”
          “They said ten days at a minimum.”
          “Oh, crap. I gotta go shower. And, Harry….”
          “Yeah.”
          “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to work out together anymore.”
          “Afraid your heart won’t take it?”
          Bruno fought his way to his feet. “Fuck you.”
          Harry waited until his housemate was halfway up the stairs before whispering. “You just did!”


          Bruno returned to the room he’d selected after his roommate came down with the virus but didn’t have the strength to shower. He just cleaned up and fell onto his bed, still naked. What in the hell had he done? Screwed Harry Cooper, that’s what. Just like he’d done Honey Dew. And you know what? It wasn’t half bad. Hell, it was more than that. It was better than with Cherry. His heart skipped a beat with that thought, but on sober reflection, it was true.
          Cherry… Honey Dew had just laid there and let him have his way. Like she was doing him a big favor. Then afterward, she started moaning that they shouldn’t have done that. She even cried a little, making him feel like shit. Hell, if she didn’t want to do it, she should have said no before it was over and too late.
          Harry now… well, Harry was up for it. Didn’t push for it, but he was game. Belatedly, Bruno wondered if the dizzy spell had been a ploy to trap him. Bruno laughed aloud. Wasn’t any trap. Just hormones and what did they call those little things… pheromones? Not only was Harry game, he also participated in it. Wasn’t any lying still with an arm over his eyes like Honey Dew. His eyes never left Bruno’s. And he moved and squirmed and made it clear he was getting a bang out of it. It was a happy drunk, not a one-sided drunk. They were both drunk on those little pheromone things.
          Sensing sleep, Bruno turned on his side and allowed Morpheus his way… just as he’d allowed Harry his.


          Bruno woke about the time the evening meal was delivered. He followed his usual practice, going to the kitchen to spoon up the grub and take it back to his room. He passed Harry on the stairs as his housemate came down for his share. They exchanged a “hi” and no more.
          He ate his meal and watched some CSI and FBI on the TV in his room for a while, but tonight that just wasn’t doing the job. His legs twitched. Restless, he couldn’t stay still on his bunk. He got up and snapped off the set. He hadn’t had his shower yet. Maybe that was the problem.
          Bruno spent a long time in the shower, unable to get enough of the warm water. He seemed to hunger for it. He was aware of it running down his back and over his buttocks. Strange, he’d never had that conscious thought before. So he soaped and rinsed and soaped and rinsed again. He took a long time drying off and brushing his teeth. Then he shaved, which surprised him some because he’d shaved this morning. After dawdling as much as he could, he tucked the bath towel around his waist and walked down the hall. Pausing before Harry’s door, he leaned close to see if he could hear anything. Silence.
          After shuffling halfway down the hall, Bruno stopped abruptly, did an about face, and returned to Harry’s door. He rapped on it firmly, forcefully. After a moment, Harry opened it.
          “Look,” Bruno said, glowing a little as Harry’s eyes roamed his naked torso. “This is the way it’s gonna be. We got three days left here.”
          “At least.”
          “So we gonna do it once a day till we leave.”
          Harry’s smile was so bright it hurt his eyes. “Twice.”
          “Well, maybe.”
          “At workout time. And before we turn in for the night.”
          Bruno shook his head. “Like I said, we’ll see. And then after that, we’re done. We don’t never do it again and we don’t tell anybody about it. Deal?”
          Harry reached out and pulled him inside by the towel. “Deal. But I’m going to conduct the show tonight.”
          Bruno felt the towel swirl away. “We’re sure not keeping six feet away from one another, are we?”
          “Harry grabbed him. It’s big, but it’s not that big.” Still hanging onto Bruno’s handle, he pulled him over onto the bed.
          Somewhat wary over Harry’s declaration that he’d be the “conductor” tonight, Bruno was a little tense. But soon he relaxed as Harry went to work in earnest. Before long, Bruno was jumping and bucking to sensations he’d never experienced before while submitting to ministrations he’d only heard whispered about.



          Unlike the first seven, the next three days sped by. Sometimes Bruno felt like he hadn't even recovered before Harry was back for more. Where'd the guy get all his stamina. They'd done it twice a day... and three times yesterday. But tonight would be the last time.
          An hour later, he lay gasping and exhausted in the middle of Harry’s bed. He couldn’t muster the energy to move, but even so, he heard his own voice speaking, taking him a little bit by surprise..
          “Harry, I got a camper at home.”
          “Yeah?”
          Bruno took a breath. “You only live a couple of hours away from me.”
          “That’s right.”
          “So I could hitch up the camper, and we could meet about halfway in between. Maybe once a month.”
          Bruno couldn’t believe it when Harry turned his brown-eyed gaze on him and slowly shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think so.”
          His disappointment caught him by surprise. These last few days had been fantastic, earth-shattering. And he knew Harry had enjoyed their COVID isolation.  “W-why not?”
          “You said it yourself. This is a one-time thing, remember. It was your rule, and I think we’d better stick with it:
          “B-but—”
          “Yeah, it’s been great, hasn’t it? By the way, the doc’s office called this afternoon and said we could leave anytime.”

*****
Don’t know about you, but I was blindsided. Harry had his way with the biggest, baddest jock on campus and then just walks away. Why? Maybe to teach the biggest, baddest jock a lesson. Or maybe after he got him, he didn’t want him. What do you think?

Next week? Who knows? We’ll see when it gets here.

Until then.

Don

New Posts at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.

The following are buy links for the 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:




Blog Archive