Habitat, a Short Story

 dontravis.com blog post #617

Image Courtesy of Flaticon:

Hope you enjoyed my “Tricky” story. Just proves things don’t always turn out the way you intended them to.

Today, we’ll try another short story. A one-parter, this time.

                                                                                       

         

                                                                        

****

HABITAT

I often wondered if I hadn’t hit old age when I turned thirty. I can see similarities with my late father’s life as he approached sixty. Comfortable in his own skin. Insular in some ways… many ways, actually. Mildly irritated at change, no matter how trivial.

“Hick,” Clark Baer was always saying, “you gotta act your age. You’re in the prime of life, man. Don’t throw it away hiding behind four walls.”

Now that takes some explaining. First, my name is Jonathan Fielders, but I’m not handy with tools and gadgets, and I was always saying something like “what’s the doohickey I need for this job?” So Clark dubbed me Doohickey, and that morphed into Hickey, and then he took the lazy way and simply called me Hick.

That out of the way, who’s Clark Baer? He’s the guy who moved into the apartment next to mine three years ago and overnight became my best friend. Four years younger than I am, Clark was a good-looking, gregarious, jock type always on the go. He had loads of friends, both male and female, but somehow, we bonded when I rang his doorbell and asked to borrow some doohickey I needed at the moment.

From that time on, this raven-haired, sloe-eyed woman chaser used me to decompress. At the end of a frantic, social engagement-packed weekend, he’d knock on my door, breeze in, grab a beer or a soda, shuck his shoes, and plop down to recount his week. A homebody by choice, I enjoyed our intimate talks. And they did become intimate. He wasn’t a screw-and-tell sort of a guy, but I heard enough of his exploits to know he was regarded as a cocksman among the distaff set.

After letting off enough steam, he’d pick up his shoes and head across the stairwell to his place and retire, usually leaving me chuckling at some of the predicaments he got himself into.

Don’t want you to get the impression I was anti-social, far from it. I liked people. But I was a free-lance journalist who usually worked from my home doing research by phone or by internet, and then writing my articles. So I got tired of talking to strangers. Sometimes it was easier to settle down with a book in the evenings than to get dressed and go out.

There was no lady in my life at the moment, but, once again, don’t get me wrong. I liked women and have had my share. But in all honesty, I guess my sex drive was substandard. When the time came in a relationship where intimacy was expected, I’d find myself looking at sex as “paying my dues.” Don’t know another guy my age with that attitude. Even so, I was totally comfortable in the space I’d created for myself. In my environment… my habitat.

When Caroline Carlo moved into the apartment complex a couple of stairwells down from us, it was no surprise to see her walking past my place on Clark’s arm. He usually moved fast. One Sunday afternoon, they returned from somewhere and saw me sitting on my patio reading James Lee Burke’s Creole Belle. They stopped, and I met Caroline.

After that, she caught me on the patio a couple of times and waved or said hello. Pretty woman, but awfully blonde. Nonetheless, she was pleasant, and before you know it, I was sitting in her dining area having coffee and a very good cherry tart. After that, of course, I had to respond with tea and blueberry muffins… although mine came from Kroger’s, not my own oven. But mostly, I saw Caroline going here, there, and yon with Clark.

Things had a way of moving at their own momentum, and somehow, I ended up inviting her to the Little Theater. Pleasant evening. Good play; good company. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered if Clark was aware I’d stolen Caroline for the night. Then I mused over his reaction to that fact.

And I got one. Negative. He failed to pop in that evening to recount his weekend. First time that happened in a long time.

My habitat seemed threatened, but the following weekend, Clark seemed to be over it and recounted his date with a new brunette of his acquaintance. Apparently, quite an athletic one… at least in the sack. So when Caroline called the next day to say a friend had given her tickets to Oppenheimer, I agreed to go.

I enjoyed the three-hour movie, although it deviated from the way my father had described the period. But I wasn’t around at the birth of the atomic bomb, so who knows? Mostly, the movie brought home to me the fluidity of facts, how they—or the interpretation of them—changes with time. I had no doubt that dropping those two bombs on two Japanese cities saved lives in the long run, but today, you could get into a heated argument over that opinion..

After the movie, my world turned more cataclysmic than that super bomb. When I took Caroline back to her apartment, Clark ran into us in the parking lot, and although his words were civil, I saw sparks in his eyes. At the door, I took the expected goodnight kiss, but allowed Caroline to talk me inside. Tea turned into a cocktail, which turned into a session in her bed. She was just as lovely—and as blonde—sans clothing as she was fully dressed. And, she proved to be a sexual athlete, turning me every which way but loose. Stimulating and enjoyable… but enough was enough. When I finally stumbled around getting dressed, the clock read three a.m. Thank goodness I didn’t have a deadline tomorrow, or I’d have been in trouble.

Caroline kissed me as I left and murmured, “I do like older men.”

That puzzled the hell out of me because I couldn’t be more than three or four years older than she was. I shrugged it off and walked to my stairwell, key in hand. Clark stood in his doorway with a look on his face I could only call disappointed. He closed the door without acknowledging my greeting.

That night changed my habitat forever. Caroline surprised me by moving out of the apartment complex a couple of weeks later. New job in Dallas, was her hurried explanation. Boom! She was gone.

Clark avoided me totally. He changed his habits so that we seldom ran across one another. I made deliberate efforts to be on the patio when he left for work—which was a fixed pattern—but he rushed down the sidewalk without even responding to my cheerful good mornings. As I watched him get into his car in the parking lot one day, I noticed his trim body and graceful movements, and belatedly understood Caroline’s murmured comment that she liked older men. Older than Clark. She was hung up on my best friend and neighbor, but he wasn’t moving fast enough for her. So she used me to prompt him along. Backfired. Big time. For both of us.

By the time Clark’s lease on his apartment expired, we were exchanging insincere “good mornings” and good evenings,” but that was all. Then I saw him moving items out of the apartment. I had no opportunity to question him about his intentions before some of his buddies showed up in a Pensky truck, and my fears were confirmed. The laughter and frivolity of the group working to load my friend’s furniture into the van nearly broke me. After a couple of hours the nature of the activity changed, cluing me that they were about finished loading his things. I was struggling to deal with my loss when the doorbell rang. When I opened the door, Clark stood there looking handsome, although there was a hurt look lurking behind his eyes.

“Wanted to say goodbye,” he said. “And thought you might like to have this.”

He handed over a Bavarian stein with Viking markings and a pewter cap I’d drunk many a beer from over the years, and was gone. I watched from the patio as he rejoined his friends as they closed up the van, bundled into their cars, and drove off in a procession.

I dropped into a chair, the stein clutched in my arms as it struck me how much my comfortable environment, my habitat was changed. Destroyed, was likely a better words. Destroyed by a bedroom romp that hadn’t meant that much to me. Certainly not as much as the friendship it cost.

 ****

What do you know, another story about actions and intentions gone wrong. I must be in a “frame of mind.”

 What do you think? Was Hick too insular by restricting his close friends to just one? What would have happened if Caroline hadn’t entered his and Clark’s life? Was a broach of their friendship simply destined to happen, and she was merely the catalyst? Or could have the friendship become closer. On both their parts, or just on Hick’s? Just like life: all those unanswered questions.

 Hope you enjoyed the story.

Stay safe and stay strong.

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

A link to The Cutie-Pie Murders:

https://www.dropbox.com/s/ambxgy7e5ndmimk/CutiePieMurders%5BThe%5D.zip?dl=0

My personal links:

Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

See you next Thursday.

 

Don

New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time. 

Tricky (Part 3 of 3 Parts)

 dontravis.com blog post #615

Image Courtesy of Freepik

 

Well, Dru finally got together with Alene. Now will there be blowback from her twin brother Sam? Let’s find out.

                                                                                                

****

TRICKY

I encountered no Big Brother hostility, so either Alene hadn’t told Sam about our intimate hours or he figured that was her business. In fact, the week went well.

I was recovering from the loss of my wife well enough to start work on another project I’d had in mind for the last year or so. My sister and brother-in-law’s computer system wasn’t as elaborate as mine at home, but I’d brought a pretty stout laptop with me, and between their equipment and mine, I had what I needed. California wasn’t calling, at least not yet. I wanted some more of the luscious next-door neighbor, but she stayed close to home other than weekends. School work, I imagined.

Then, as we neared the weekend, my brother-in-law organized a fishing trip. An associate of his at work had a secluded cabin on a lake not far away, and he insisted Sam and I accompany him. Sam had a Saturday class, according to Alene, so I counted on him to put a hole in that boat, but he apparently thought it was okay to skip the class. Once I was lassoed, I tried to salvage things by inviting the distaff side, but neither Bonnie nor Alene was interested. Nor was Lynne when she found shed be the only girl on a male fishing trip.

So here I was, going on a fishing trip I had no interest in. Never been a fisherman… nor a hunter for that matter. But on Friday afternoon a couple of hours before we were to leave, things got better. Chuck’s firm had a crisis on one of their projects, and he had to cancel. But instead of letting things die a natural death, he insisted Sam and I proceed with the trip as planned. Sam, it seemed, knew where the lake, and indeed, the cabin were. Apparently he’d been there before.

So about four that afternoon, I climbed in a SUV with a guy whose sister I had shagged… and who provoked erotic thoughts in my head himself, to head off into the mountains with rods and reels, and two pistols as snake guns.  In my mind, they appeared to be dueling pistols. Talk about testy!

****

Actually, the trip to the lake was rather pleasant. Sam didn’t initiate much conversation, but he answered questions fully and easily when they were put to him. As this was totally foreign country to me, I had plenty of questions. As we headed north to Santa Fe and beyond on the way to some lake called Cochiti, the landscape constantly changed from high-desert panoramas to narrower, more restricted mountain views, but it was all interesting.

The cabin turned out to be a two-bedroom log affair perched near the lake on some high ground. Somewhere during our afternoon-long dialogue, I picked up the information that the land was owned by a local Indian tribe who, in turn, leased the ground beneath these cabins for something like ninety-nine years. The fact that the property reverted to the control of the tribe, buildings and all, at the end of the lease set my teeth on edge, but it wasn’t anything for me to worry about.

We arrived too late to do any fishing, but used an excellent butane stove to cook ourselves a couple of fillets we found in the freezer. After that, we retired to the veranda overlooking the water and studied the shimmering lake by moonlight. After a while, we lapsed into a comfortable silence until Sam asked a question.

“What time do you want to get up to start fishing?”

“Dunno. Hadn’t given it any thought.”

Then he shook me. “Do fish get up early?”

“You’re asking me? Aren’t you a fisherman?”

“Nah. Last time I came up with Chuck, I spent most of the time hiking.” He eyeballed me through the moonlight. “Aren’t you?”

“Maybe once in my life when my old man dragged me on a trip. Crap, maybe we oughta head back to Albuquerque.”

“I dunno. It’s nice up here, and there’s some good hiking. We can go back tomorrow, if we decide that’s the thing to do.”

“Sounds good to me.”

We sat in some more comfortable quiet, occasionally broken by the cry of a loon—isn’t there always a loon on lakes?—until the temperature dropped enough to send us back inside.

Sam gravitated to a phonograph and started shuffling through albums. “Mind if I put on some music?” he asked.

“So long as it doesn’t blast my eardrums.”

He laughed. “I like show tunes, oldies, that kind of thing.

“More my type.”

The record he selected was a Perry Como album, slow and mellow., causing me to blurt out that his sister was a good dancer.

Better put a halter on my tongue. No telling where that would lead.

“Yeah, she is. Says you are too.”

“That so? From what I saw while you and Lynne were on the floor, so are you.”

He held out his arms and danced with himself for a moment, prompting me to lose my head.

“As a matter of fact, I wondered what it would be like to dance with you.”

He halted and smiled. “Won’t have any better opportunity to find out than right now.” He walked into my arms, but I noticed he reversed things so that he led.

At first it was stiff and awkward. Finally, he cuffed my chin and told me to relax. Then he pulled me close, and I don’t remember much after that except it felt right and natural to be in this young man’s arms. He moved smoothly to the beat of the music and hummed along with Como, carrying me right along with him.

The song ended, and he held me tight until the next one—even slower and mellower—began. I laid my head on his broad shoulder and relaxed even more, allowing our groins to press together. There was magic in the moment.

I don’t know how many tunes played before the album ended. But as the played-out record went round and round with a scratching noise, we stood looking at one another. Those green eyes reminded me of fire opals, and I felt myself succumbing to them.

“W-what happens n—” He cut me off with his lips, and I felt the kiss right down in my bones.

He came up for air and stared some more. “I dunno. What do you—”

I shut him up with my lips and pressed myself against his hard, lean body.

When we parted, he had a loopy grin on his handsome face. “You know this is gonna be tricky when we go home, don’t you?”

“That’s then. This is now.”

The grin grew broader. “Where.”

“Bedroom.”

Actually, the tricky part was figuring out who did what to whom. But we managed. In fact we managed several times over that magical weekend.

 

****

Guess Dru’s not going to have any trouble. Unless it’s deciding which twin he wants. Or can he keep both? Should he return to California or stay in Albuquerque. Like he said… it’s Tricky.

 Hope you enjoyed the story.

Stay safe and stay strong.

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

A link to The Cutie-Pie Murders:

https://www.dropbox.com/s/ambxgy7e5ndmimk/CutiePieMurders%5BThe%5D.zip?dl=0

My personal links:

Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

See you next Thursday.

 

 Don

 New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time. 

 

Tricky (Part 2 of 3 Parts)

 dontravis.com blog post #613

 Image Courtesy of Freepik

Last week we met Drufus (thank goodness he’s called Dru), a twenty-seven-year-old widowed techie who’s gone to his sister and brother-in-law’s in Albuquerque after the loss of his wife. He’s introduced to the neighbors named Drake, whom he assumes are husband and wife. Not so. They are twins. He immediately foresees a tricky situation on the horizon.

 

Let’s see what happens this week.

                                                                                                

****

TRICKY

I had the opportunity to visit with Alene the next morning when I saw her clipping rosebushes in her front yard and moseyed on over.

“Morning,” I called. “Where’s Sam?”

“Hello, there,” she said with a bright smile. “He had an early class. How are you enjoying your stay in Albuquerque?” She frowned, apparently remembering why I was here.”

“I’ve visited the state a few times, and always enjoyed my stay.”

“What brought you here?”

“First Santia Labs, and then Los Alamos.”

“Oh yes, you’re an electronics wizard, aren’t you?”

“Don’t know about the wizard part, but, yes, that’s my field. But tell me about you. Is this your home?”

She eyed the red brick house and motioned with the arm not holding a basket of cuttings. “Yes, and yes. Albuquerque’s my home, and this house is where I grew up.”

“Is there a Mr. and Mrs. Drake?”

Her smile faded. We lost our parents years ago. Our grandmother raised us, but she passed on a couple of years back. So it’s just the two of us on our own.”

Hoping to bring back a lighter air, I raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you two be living in a dorm or something?”

It worked. She beamed. “We did, as undergraduates. But we’d had enough of the social life by the time we got our bachelors. And, since the house is ours and paid for, moving back seemed the thing to do. It’s worked out well. I don’t have overnight girlie parties, and Sam doesn’t have drinking parties with his buddies.”

“Sound like a slow social life.”

Alene grinned wryly. “Yes, it does, doesn’t it?”

On impulse, I said. “Well, let’s spice it up. Not much notice, but I understand they have dancing at this spot down on Central called the Caravan. I’m not much for country and western, but music is music when it comes to dancing. What do you say?”

She absolutely dimpled. “I say I’d like that.”

“Great. They serve meals, so may I buy you dinner and give you a spin or two around the dance floor?”

“That sounds good, thank you, sir.”

With a date under my belt, I went back to let Bonnie know her devious plans might be working out a bit.

****

The Caravan was cavernous, loud, and rocking. On weekends, they had live bands, and this one was pretty good… meaning, they played enough slow tunes so we could close dance, and that’s what I wanted with this budding beauty. After a rare ribeye with potato and all the trimmings, we spent most of the rest of the night on the floor. Alene was a good dancer. Fit naturally in my arms, and made me proud to be seen with her. I almost missed a step when a stray through flitted across my mind. What would it be like to dance with her brother?

Alene had a Saturday class, so we didn’t stay too late, but I had a great time with her. She was smart and witty, not to mention drop-dead gorgeous. Pleasant company all around. I didn’t push things, settling for a deep kiss as I delivered her at her front door. I couldn’t help but wonder if Sam was in there watching through a window. If so, he didn’t make his presence known.

Before I left, Alene accepted another date, but told me she wanted to pick the venue and told me to wear something athletic. Then she slipped inside, leaving me to walk the twenty-five yards to my sister’s front door.

Of course, Bonnie was waiting to hear all the details and was ecstatic that we had something on for the following afternoon. She tipped Alene’s hand, cluing me that her neighbor was an avid tennis player, as was Sam, apparently. Did that mean Sam would accompany us? Wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Tricky.

Nonetheless, the next afternoon, I dressed appropriately for a tennis court and picked Alene up at the appointed time. Sam didn’t show, so that relieved my mind a bit.

She ran me ragged. I’m not a bad player—in fact, have a pretty damn good serve, especially in the right court—but I had to hustle to hold my own. After she beat me three games to one in singles, Sam and a pretty blonde showed up to take us on at doubles. Lynne, his date, was about a match for me, so the real load was carried by brother and sister. They were fierce competitors. I have to admit, I likely missed more than one shot watching Sam’s athletic figure rather than the ball. Alene was clearly displeased when they bested us in a hard-fought set.

I wondered if that hard-fought bout had cost me the rest of the evening, but Alene readily agreed to shower, change, and go with me to the Caravan again.

After we ate at the nightclub, I spotted Sam and Lynne on the crowded dance floor, but they kept their distance. Sam seemed too wrapped up in his blonde to pay us any attention.

When I kissed Alene on the porch about one o’clock that night, she held my hand and fixed me with those green eyes.

“Care to come in for a drink.”

I laughed. “Not unless it’s coffee. I’ve had my quota for the night.”

She smiled. “That can be arranged.”

“What… uh, what about Sam?”

“When he’s with Lynne, he seldom comes home until the middle of the next day… providing, of course, he doesn’t have classes.”

I beamed at her. “Lead the way!”

The coffee was delicious, and so was Alene. Sam hadn’t come home by the time I tiptoed into my sister’s front door around three a.m.

****

Sounds to me like he’s interested in Alene but curious about Sam. But Sam seems perfectly content with his blonde girlfriend. Stay tuned.

Stay safe and stay strong.

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

A link to The Cutie-Pie Murders:

https://www.dropbox.com/s/ambxgy7e5ndmimk/CutiePieMurders%5BThe%5D.zip?dl=0

My personal links:

Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

See you next Thursday.

 

 Don

 New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time. 

 

Tricky (Part 1 of 3 Parts)

 dontravis.com blog post #613

Image Courtesy of Freepik

 

Enough about AI. Apparently no one is bothered about it outside of me and the actors and writers who’re on strike.

 At any rate, here’s my latest story (no help from AI—and damned little from DTI). Hope you enjoy it.

                                                                                                

****

 TRICKY

My name’s Drufus (that’s a whole ’nother story) Lane. Don’t worry. Everyone knows me as Dru, a recently widowed, twenty-seven-year-old, former techie who hit it big. Sold a patent to a Silicon Valley firm for a whopping sum plus royalties, which meant I no longer slogged away my life at a desk answering to someone else’s cocked finger or arched eyebrow.

My wife Marianne and I had done anything and everything we wanted… except have children. We came up dry in that department, despite spending copious amounts on tests and treatments. The fault, apparently, lay with me, not her. Despite that giant vacuum in our life, we had a reasonably good marriage. In fact, you might say we were on top of the world.

That came to an abrupt and tragic end two months ago when I stopped to fill up my Caddy Escalade at a self-service gas station in a suburb of Los Angeles. While I was inside paying the bill and picking up a couple of bottles of iced tea, a gunfight broke out between two rival gangs that chanced to meet up at that station. With one car on either side of my vehicle, many—make that most—of the shots ended up piercing my Caddy… and taking my Marianne’s life.

After endless interviews with the police, the district attorney’s office, medics, and the press, I found myself totally lost and reached out to my best friend, a civil engineer named Bill Ganderston who lived in San Francisco. Unfortunately, Bill’s firm had posted him to Japan for a six-month stint, so I could only pour out my anguish over the telephone. He offered to cut short his stay, but I refused to let him make such a sacrifice. So I tried coping on my own, but that didn’t work out well. Finally, my sister heard the desperation in my voice and insisted I join her and her husband in Albuquerque… at least for a brief period.

I had no intention of taking up residence with Bonnie and Chuck—my younger sister and her husband—but they were good for me in the interim. Their two children were of an age that I found enchanting. The boy young enough to want to play horsey holding onto my bouncing crossed leg, and the girl old enough to ask tactless but interesting questions about her Uncle Dru.

I vividly recall the first time I set eyes on Alene and Sam Drake, the next-door neighbors Bonnie spoke so highly of. A couple of days after my arrival, she answered the doorbell and ushered in a stunning brunette with a magnificent smile and intriguing green eyes.

“Oh, Alene,” Bonnie gushed, “I’m so glad you could come over. I want you to meet my big brother. Dru, this is my next-door neighbor, Alene Drake. She’s a grad student at the University about to get her Masters in child philosophy or something like that. Alene… Dru.”

That sunburst smile brightened even more as the vision reached out a hand. I took it and sensed the warmness went beyond the mere human temperature.

“Please to meet you, Alene. Been looking forward to it since you’re all Bonnie can talk about.”

Aleen colored slightly and dimpled. “Heard a few things about you too… most of them complementary.”

“You know you can only believe about fifty percent of what she says, don’t you?”

My brother-in-law Chuck entered the room. “Where’s Sam? Isn’t he coming over?”

Alene moved past me toward the living room. “He’s taking some brownies out of the oven. Said we all needed a snack. He’ll be along in a minute.”

We took seats, and I gave this enchanting creature a little more attention than I probably should have, given her husband would pop through the door at any moment bearing sweets and good cheer. That latter probably wouldn’t last long if my thoughts hung all over my face.

Sure enough, the doorbell rang, and Chuck answered, walking back into the room a moment later followed by a young man who nearly knocked me loose from my sanity. I looked back and forth between the newcomer and Alene. They weren’t husband and wife; they were twins. Now my sister’s insistence that I meet Alene made more sense. She was already match-making, even though my wife had only been gone something short of three months.

I rose as Chuck introduced us. Nothing more than “Dru, Sam. Sam, Dru.”

Sam’s handshake was every bit as warm as his sister’s. “Heard a lot about you, Dru. Good to finally meet you.”

“Same. I got a little of Alene’s background, but not yours.”

“Huh? Oh. I’m also at the U. Getting my Masters in finance.” He lifted his hand, fingers a millimeter apart. “This far from the Masters.” He moved the fingers farther apart. “Once I get past the thesis.”

“In?” I asked.

“International finance.”

He was dark-haired, like his sister, but his green eyes were more opal. By that, I mean, an iridescence to them his sister’s lacked. In taking brother and sister in, each had what he or she needed in the eye department. They were identical, exactly alike except Alene was thoroughly and totally feminine, while Sam employed the same features in a completely masculine way.

There was something I didn’t tell you earlier. Remember, I characterized my marriage as “reasonably good. Actually, it was good… except for a couple of times a year. Bill would come down from San Francisco for a few days once or twice a year. And we… well, we got together, just as we had on occasion from way back in our college years.

Don’t get me wrong. Sex with Marianne was great. Fourth of July fireworks great. But Bill? Well, like a special anniversary of the Fourth… like the 200th or some such. Can’t tell you why. That’s just the way it was. No one suspected a thing… except for Marianne. I don’t know how she knew, but she always regarded Bill as a threat. She’d have nothing to do with him and resented the time I devoted to his visits. But there it was. I got something from each of them. Something precious. If I’d had to choose between them, I honestly don’t know what I’d have done.

And now, sitting in my sister’s living room, looking back and forth from twin to twin, I sensed a situation arising. Didn’t know exactly what it’d be yet. But I knew one thing for sure. Unless I headed back to California, things would turn tricky.

****

Sounds to me like Dru’s reached a mid-life crisis at the ripe old age of twenty-seven. Have you ever experienced such a powerful impact upon a first meeting? I have, and found myself confused.

 How will Dru handle things? Run off with his tail between his legs or stay and try to sort out his feelings? We only have two more installments to find out.

 Stay safe and stay strong.

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

A link to The Cutie-Pie Murders:

https://www.dropbox.com/s/ambxgy7e5ndmimk/CutiePieMurders%5BThe%5D.zip?dl=0

My personal links:

Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

See you next Thursday.

 

 Don

 New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time. 

Soldiers’ Secret Embrace (An AI-Generated Short Story)

 dontravis.com blog post #612

 Image Courtesy of Freepik

 

Hope you all enjoyed Chapters 3 and 4 of Don Morgan’s The Eagle’s Claw. If so, let Don know at dtm1332@aol.com

 

For some reason, I’m hung up on what AI can mean for the future of writers. As a further exercise, I asked ChatGPT to create a story according to the following story according to the instructions you will see at the beginning. It also titled the story, all in about 30 seconds. Please, please, give me your reactions.

                                                                                                

****

SOLDIERS’ SECRET EMBRACE

An AI-Generated Story

Instructions: Create a mildly erotic about Jake and Chuck, two young soldiers who find themselves becoming involved emotionally:

 Jake and Chuck were young soldiers, both serving their country with unwavering dedication. They were stationed at a remote military base, surrounded by the rugged beauty of nature. Days were long, and the nights felt even longer. The constant adrenaline of their work brought them close together, forging a bond that transcended their camaraderie.

 One evening, after a particularly intense mission, they found themselves sitting alone under the starlit sky. The night was calm, and a soft breeze rustled through the leaves of nearby trees. As they shared their deepest fears and dreams, they discovered an emotional intimacy they had never experienced before.

 Chuck's eyes, usually fierce and focused, softened as he spoke about his family back home. The vulnerability in his voice made Jake's heart ache with compassion. Without realizing it, Jake reached out and placed a comforting hand on Chuck's shoulder. Chuck turned to look at him, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

 Their eyes met, and something shifted between them. There was an unspoken understanding, a connection that went beyond words. In that moment, they both felt a longing, an attraction that they had never acknowledged before.

 As days turned into weeks, their bond only deepened. They found solace in each other's presence, seeking comfort after difficult missions, and sharing laughter during rare moments of respite. The line between friendship and something more became blurred, and they both hesitated to address the growing feelings within.

 One evening, after a particularly grueling day, they found themselves alone in the dimly lit barracks. The air was charged with tension, and they could feel the electricity between them. Without saying a word, Jake moved closer to Chuck, their bodies drawing together as if pulled by an invisible force.

Their lips met in a tender, hesitant kiss. It was a moment they had both yearned for, yet feared. But as their lips melded, they felt a surge of passion that swept away any doubts or hesitations. Their hearts raced, and the world around them faded into the background.

As the night wore on, they explored each other's bodies with a mix of passion and tenderness. It was an intimate dance of two souls finding solace and passion in each other's arms. They discovered a deep connection, both emotionally and physically, that left them breathless and hungry for more.

In the days that followed, their relationship blossomed into something beautiful and unique. They continued to serve their country with dedication and honor, but now they had something precious to hold onto during the darkest of times - each other.

Their love remained a secret, known only to them, as they navigated the complexities of military life. But they found strength in their shared moments, their stolen glances, and the comfort of knowing they were not alone.

Jake and Chuck's journey was one of emotional discovery and love amid the chaos of war. They were soldiers, bound by duty, and yet their hearts had found a home in each other. Together, they faced the uncertainty of their future, knowing that their love would endure, no matter where life's path might lead them.

 ****

Not certain why this AI-generated story bothers me so much. Am I looking into the future where there’s no longer room for writers? This story certainly doesn’t do it. It’s too pat, too soulless, but this is early in the AI game. Likewise, you can edit these stories, so perhaps someone who’s not particularly skilled could insert a little human feeling and action and convert a machine’s story into an acceptable narrative. I don’t know. But I think this will be my last AI story for a while.

 Stay safe and stay strong.

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

A link to The Cutie-Pie Murders:

https://www.dropbox.com/s/ambxgy7e5ndmimk/CutiePieMurders%5BThe%5D.zip?dl=0

My personal links:

Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

See you next Thursday.

 

 Don

 New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.