Showing posts with label Gay yearnings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gay yearnings. Show all posts

Thursday, July 28, 2022

Markey (Part 2 of 3 Parts)

 dontravis.com blog post #560

 Image Courtesy of Pinterest.com


 

Last week, Daniel Chamberlain, an ex-seal turned mercenary, had returned home after a fifteen-year absence upon losing his lover in a firefight. The little kid next door who used to idolize him in his teen years, has grown into a handsome, hunky young men. Markey’s vulnerable, but can Daniel get over his loss and become a man again? 15 years to find Marcus Markey, the little kid who’d idolized him, had grown into a handsome, hunky young man. But Daniel, an ex-SEAL turned mercenary had lost his lover, another ex-seal, in a firefight. After a hunt, Daniel and Markey bathe in the river and things get tense. Daniel has just asked Markey if he was thinking of joining the SEALS, and Markey answered with an enigmatic comment that he wouldn’t fit in.

                                                                                                    

*****

Markey

I left that remark where it was, and we sat around languidly nipping at the beer, me relating carefully selected bits and pieces of the last ten years while the night slipped away. I even told him a little about Beet.

“Beet?  How’d he get a name like that?”

“His last name was Borak, and that’s Polak for a beet farmer.” I tried to bleed the emotion from my voice. “He was a great guy.”

“Sounds like he was your bud. You know, your pal.” He paused before adding. “Special.”

“Yeah, he was. I mustered out and turned mercenary with him. That’s how special he was.”

“Guess guys get close like that when they’re living and fighting together.”

“It happens,” I allowed. Had he sensed our true relationship?

“You ever kill anybody with your hands?” Another one from out of the blue.

“Yes,” I answered quietly. This was getting a little intense.

“How did you do it?  Cut the guy’s throat?” I shook my head mutely. “Then how?  Show me.” He looked stricken. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get so personal.”

I tried for some humor. “If I show you, I might get carried away.”

“That’s okay,” he responded. “I absolve you in advance.”

“You might, but the law won’t. Stand up,” I ordered, my voice a little sharper than intended. As he rose, I slipped away from the fire and melted into the trees. A second later, I heard him call to me.

“Daniel? Where are you, man?”

I silently circled the camp. From his occasional shouts, I judged he was growing nervous. This wasn’t the way he had planned for the game to go.

Understanding he would shift his stance continuously to watch for me, I eased behind a fat water oak directly to his left. When he turned to check another direction, I slipped up behind him and threw my left arm around his throat. My right thumb pressed gently against his carotid. He gave a strangled gasp and started to struggle but quit when I pressed harder. His artery pulsed wildly beneath my thumb.

“That’s the way I did it,” I whispered with my lips against his ear. I eased the pressure but was loath to release him from my embrace.

He leaned against me in relief. “You scared the hell out of me, man. But…but it was sort of exciting, too. I didn’t even hear you. I knew you were coming, but I never heard a thing.”

“You weren’t supposed to.” My index finger flexed involuntarily against his cheek, caressing the light stubble of his invisible beard. His hair smelled clean and masculine. The length of his body rested against me, setting my groin afire. Abruptly, I released him and stepped away before any damage was done. “That’s the way I did it,” I said again.

“Awesome!” He rubbed his throat where my arm had been.

“No, it was horrible. It’s an incredible high until you realize the thing lying at your feet had been a living, breathing man. Then the excitement leaches away fast.”

“So you didn’t like the killing part, huh?”

“No sane man likes it, Markey. And I certainly never did except—” I bit down on my tongue.

“Except when?”

“Except when I was killing the animals who slaughtered my…friend. And I wasn’t too sane at the time.” I drew a shaky breath. “Well, I’m turning in.”

“Yeah, me, too. It’s been a full day with my first buck and all. And…well, being with you. You know, hearing about your experiences.”

“For me, too. It was good to see what kind of a man the kid next door grew up to be.”

“A disappointment probably.”

“Why would you say that?  You’re a handsome, healthy young man and a good person as far as I can see.”

“Maybe. Sometimes I wonder.”

“Anything you need to talk out?”

That slight hesitation and shake of the head again. “No. I’m okay.”

Deciding to let him off the hook, I stripped to my skivvies and slipped into a sleeping bag laid out in the back of my SUV. Markey’s white jockeys made his flesh seem even darker as he crawled into his own fart bag beside me. We said our goodnights and a silence grew, broken only by the call of night creatures and the squawk of a loon somewhere at the far end of the lake.

“Daniel, is it true they drown proof you in BUD/S?  How do they do that?”

“They tie your ass up and dump you in the water. The first thing you learn is not to panic. When you get over being afraid, you learn to bob your way to the surface and to the shore.”

“Kinda like a real seal, huh?”

“Yep, just not as graceful.”

He let the silence go on longer this time. “Daniel, I…I missed you, man. Thought about you a lot. Your mom used to let me read your letters.”

“I missed you, too, kid.”

“No you didn’t. You were out there doing all kinds of exciting things. You didn’t think about the pesky little kid back home.”

“You’d be surprised. Mom kept me up on your life. I even have some pictures she sent.”

“You do? Which pictures?”

“Photos of you in your football uniform, your graduation, things like that.”

“Awesome. I thought you’d forgot all about me.”

“No way, kid. You were my little brother, you know.”

“And you were my…” The voice died away.

“Your what?”

“Idol, I guess.”

I turned to face him. “That’s not what you were going to say, is it?”

He dipped his head. “Daniel, if I tell you something, will you hate me?”

I chuckled softly. “I could never hate you, Markey.”

“Don’t be so sure. But never mind.” He flopped over on his side.

I clasped his naked shoulder, pulling him onto his back. “Not so fast, buster. You can’t give an intro like that and then just walk away from it. Say it, Markey, and trust me to handle it, okay?”

“I…” the voice dropped to a mumble. “I have feelings for you.”

“So do I, buddy.”

“No!” he cried in an anguished voice. “Not…not like that. I have feelings for you! I want to do things with you. But…but I don’t know what!”

I swallowed hard. “What are you saying, kid?”

“Kid! Yeah, what are you saying, kid?”

“Sorry, but to an old dog like me, you are a kid.”

A silence grew. Well, you fucked that one, Chamberlain. I was debating pushing him some more when he spoke.

“Daniel, how do you know if you’re….”

“You’re what?”

I sensed rather than saw his shrug. “Different.”

“Everybody’s different, Markey. That’s what makes us who we are.”

“I’m not talking psychology. I’m different.”

I threw back my sleeping bag and came up to rest on my elbow. “Okay, man, it’s time to talk turkey here. Say what you mean.”

“How do you know if you’re…well, gay?”

That one hit me between the eyes. “You try it with another man. If you want to slug him when it’s over, then you’re not. If you don’t give a shit one way or the other, you were probably just experimenting. If you can’t wait to try it again, then you probably are.”

He turned to face me, and even in the faint light, I saw him examine my naked torso. “Who do you try it with?”

“Someone you like. A buddy. Someone who won’t go berserk on you afterward.”

His Adam’s apple moved. “Can I try it with you?”

“Me?” My mouth went dry.

“Sorry,” he backed off. “But I’ve been wanting to try it so bad. And I don’t know anyone safe. I mean—”

“I know what you mean.”

“I love you, Daniel,” he said so softly I wasn’t sure I heard him right.

“That’s kind of fast, man. I just got back.”

“No. I’ve loved you since before you went away,” he said, swiveling his head away from me.”

“You were only eight years old then.”

“Didn’t matter. I still felt that way. Thought maybe you felt it back. Nobody ever treated me like you did. Practically like a grown up…like you were.”

I laughed softly. “Shit, I wasn’t even a grown-up myself.”

“You were to me…the most grown-up guy I knew.”

I put a palm to his cheek and turned his head to me. Silver shafts of light in the onyx corneas made them gleam like black fire.

“I didn’t know,” I whispered.

“Remember how I used to feel your muscles after we worked out? I always hoped you’d feel mine back, but you never did.”

“Didn’t mean I didn’t want to.”

“Did you?” he asked, flopping on his side to face me.

“Yeah, but I didn’t have the nerve. If I had touched you, something would have happened, and you were too young. Hell, you probably didn’t even know anything about things like that.”

“Then how come I’d go home and play with my pecker afterward? The first time I came, Daniel, I was thinking of you.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I kept my mouth shut.

 

*****

It seems some military demonstrations have turned into something quite different. It’s clear that Markey is willing…anxious even, but Daniel?

 See you next week.

 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.

Thursday, November 12, 2020

The Kid Who Wasn’t There, Part 1 of 2 Parts

dontravis.com blog post #415

Photo courtesy of uplash.com


The guest post last week by Don Morgan of the beginning of his new book Miasma, got a lot of hits but few comments. I’ll be happy to forward any late comments to him, or you can contact him directly at dtm1332@aol.com. As has been true lately, Hong Kong readers have led the pack.

This week I’d like to do a short piece loosely based on what happened on a guy I knew back in school.

****

THE KID WHO WASN’T THERE

 I’d tell you my name, but you wouldn’t remember it. My teachers do, but only because when no one else in the class can answer a question, they call on Old Reliable. That’s me. To everyone else, it’s like I wasn’t even there.

Might sound like I’m on a pity party, but that’s not it at all. Just telling it like it is. The problem is I’m a couple of years ahead of most of the kids in my senior class mentally but a couple of years behind physically. Like PE the coach is always saying, “Bainbridge, you got no body definition. You’re built like a tent pole.” Well, I guess I slipped and gave you my name, but that’s all right. You won’t remember it after five minutes. The coach is right, but him saying it out loud hurts. I live in the classroom and library and exist everywhere else… except the sports fields. I die there. Nobody ever picks me for their team.

That’s not my only problem. I don’t think like most of the rest of them, especially the guys. It always slays me how they can’t retain an algebra formula but can quote the batting average for just about any baseballer you can mention. They live for sports; I don’t give a fig.

And that’s not all, or even the worst. The boys my age spend half their time thinking about sports and the other half thinking about girls. You already know how I feel about sports, but here’s the kicker. I feel the same way about girls… or almost. I know a bunch of girls, but they’re just friends, or maybe acquaintances is a better description. I see them at the swimming pool and they’re who they were in class that day.

But John Llewellyn in swimming trunks is definitely not the same guy who sits behind me in Algebra. Neither is Bob or Joe or Hank… but John is the one who claims my interest most. And he doesn’t even know I’m there. I’m just the guy he has to look around to see the teacher at the head of the class.

So the day John accosted me, I about wet my pants. I usually stayed late at school to do all my homework so I don’t have to lug books home with me, and I was just going out the front door of the school building when I heard a voice.

“Hey, Bainbridge, Wanna ride?”

I blinked like I was slow witted when I saw him leaning across the seat of his red Dodge Charger. “Uh… yeah. If it’s not too much trouble.”

He leaned farther across and opened the door. “Naw. I gotta talk to you, anyway.”

“M-me?”

“Yeah. Hop in.”

So I slid into the passenger’s seat where local lore said every girl in school had placed her butt—many of them bare—this semester. Reason told me if all the stories were true, he wouldn’t have the energy to be the school’s star football player or the basketball jock he was, but reason doesn’t always win out. Hey! The guy knew my name. Offered me a ride home.

My guts churned as I pulled the door closed behind me. I felt moisture on my upper lip. Crap was I sweating or was my nose running? I swiped it. Sweat, thank the Lord.

“How you been?”

My throat was dry, so I nodded my head until I realized he was looking at the road ahead of us. “Uh… okay, I guess.”

He maneuvered his way out of the busy parking lot crawling with members of the football team leaving after practice, waving to some kids and shouting friendly insults to others. A shiver went down my back at knowing they saw me with JL, as everyone called him. Not just with him, but in his car.

Once we were clear of the school, he relaxed a little and shot a quick look my way. “Ms. Walters said I should talk to you.”

“M-Ms. Walters? Damn, I sounded anti-social… no like an idiot. “How come?”

“I’m not doing too good in Algebra. She thought may you could help me?”

“You mean like a tutor?”

“Yeah. You up for it? I mean, I could pay you a little. Not much, but a little.”

“Y-You don’t have to pay me. I’d be glad to help.” Geez, when did I develop a stutter?

“You would?”

“Sure. How would you like to do it, I mean, when and where? We could stay after class, I guess.”

“Naw. I got practice after class. You know, football… like today.”

“Oh.”

“Have to be in the evening sometime. If it doesn’t crash your social life, that is.”

I bit my tongue to keep from asking what social life? “No, that’s okay with me.”

 

 

The next night after supper, I walked over to the Llewellyn house, which was only a few blocks from where I lived. JL’s mom answered the door and directed me up the stairs to his room. My bowels turned over when I saw him sitting in the middle of his bed in a tank top and short shorts, his dark brown hair tousled. He glanced up from the laptop in front of him, green eyes flashing.

“Hi, guy. Come on in and take a chair. Be with you in a minute.”

My eyes feasted on every inch of bronzed flesh I could see while he finished talking with some girl. I guess it was a Zoom thing because he was glued to that screen until he signed off. His groin sure looked full when he closed the little computer and slid to the edge of the bed.

“Well, let’s get started.”

It didn’t take long—after my heart quit going pitter-patter at him sitting so close and breathing over my shoulder—to figure out that JL was smart. But he had the same problem most folks had. He thought logically about numbers but had little concept of computing with numbers. He thought arithmetically, not algebraically. It was like starting all over with him. At the end of an hour, he threw up his hands.

“Enough for today! I need a Coke. You want one?”

“S-sure.” Crap. What was the matter with me? I’d talked almost nonstop for an hour, and when he went social, I started stuttering again.

I trailed his manly form to the kitchen refrigerator where he collected two colas and went out the back door onto a covered patio. We popped the tabs and took a good swig before he put his down on a table and picked up a football.

“Wanna toss a few?”

“I wouldn’t know how.”

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

I figured after a few minutes he’d give me up as a lost cause, but fifteen minutes later, he was still working with me. In time, I was able to catch two out of three passes, but I couldn’t get the hang of leading him when it was my turn to toss the pigskin back. But all in all, the exercise went well. Heck, it went great! It was me and JL in his backyard with nobody else around. How could it be better?

A month of lessons went by before he started catching on to what Algebra was all about and his grades showed improvement. And a month of lessons went by before I fell head over heels in love. With a guy. With a hell of a guy. With John Llewellyn.

****

What is it with shy kids and jocks. A love-hate relationship? Let’s find out how the kid who feels invisible fares in the final installment next week.

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

 The following are buy links for my BJ Vinson mystery The Voxlightner Scandal. The next one, The Cutie-Pie Murders, is in production.

 Dreamspinner: https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/books/the-voxlightner-scandal-by-don-travis-11285-b

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/the-voxlightner-scandal-by-don-travis-537-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Voxlightner-Scandal-Vinson-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B07VL33P99

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-voxlightner-scandal-don-travis/1132632844?ean=9781640809260

iBooks: https://books.apple.com/ca/book/the-voxlightner-scandal/id1473985039?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=H3ilDwAAQBAJ

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/the-voxlightner-scandal

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/4AxPDo

 My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com.

 Email: don.travis@aol.com.

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

Twitter: @dontravis3

 Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:

 https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-486-b

https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-487-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Abaddons-Locusts-Vinson-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B07JLHKJLY

Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/ca/book/abaddons-locusts/id1439968525

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/abaddon-s-locusts

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=R0Z0DwAAQBAJ

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/abaddons-locusts-don-travis/1129769593

 See you next Thursday.

 

Don

 

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

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, May 28, 2020

COVID Closet (Part 2 of 3 Parts)


dontravis.com blog post #391

Courtesy of pexels.com
Does it seem a little chilly in the frat house to you? It does to me. Well, let’s see what happens next.

*****
COVID CLOSET

          The first two days weren’t too bad. Bruno nearly wore out his iPhone talking to everyone he knew while the queer kept to himself. The kid was quiet as a dormouse. That suited Bruno just fine.
          But by day three, that was old hat. He filled the next eight hours playing computer games, twelve sleeping or catnapping, one in the weight room, and three doing things he didn’t even remember. He figured his mistake came on day four. He began thinking about his last night with “the former Cherry.” That’s the way he thought about her now. He was gonna have to come up with a moniker for her. He wasn’t sure he could call her given name without breaking into a smirk. Maybe “Honey Dew.” He liked the melons, and melons made him think of breasts, and breasts seemed appropriate. Yeah. Honey Dew it would be.
          By day five, he was wondering what Harry was doing to keep busy. Hadn’t seen much of the guy. He spent his time in his room or in the library. Probably pounding his pud and thinking of hunky guys. Hell, maybe Harry was thinking of him while he beat it off. His back pimpled at that thought. The rat bastard better not be!


          Harry put down the book he was reading and stretched his back before glancing at his watch. Two o’clock. Bruno should be heading down to the little gym in the frat house basement any time now. That was nice. Harry liked to sneak out onto the landing at the top of the stairs and watch his frat brother work out in nothing but a skimpy pair of gym shorts. The guy had an amazing body. Harry especially liked his pecs. They were like flat slabs with an intriguing dark spot centered in the middle of each. Well not quite. The jock’s right nipple was slightly off center. Harry didn’t know why, but that sent erotic messages to his groin. Ant that butt. And trim waist. And innie belly button. And… well, everything. He shivered at the thought of another free show coming up.
          Catching a glimpse of Bruno passing the library door, Harry closed his book without taking the time to mark his place and scrambled to his feet. Not too quick. Had to time it right. If Bruno caught him watching, no telling what might happen.
          By the time he eased the basement door open, Bruno was already at one of the machines that clanked a lot but showed off the jock’s biceps wonderfully. He got the door closed successfully, but brushed against the banister, making the keys in his pocket jangle. Bruno glanced up and glowered a moment but didn’t go off on him as expected.
          “Where you been hiding out?” Bruno asked in a halfway civil tone.
         Crap! He was caught. He might as well make the most of it. “My room and the library mostly.” He tripped down the stairs. “But even I do a little exercise… walking mostly. So reading and sleeping’s not doing the job. Thought you might show me how to do some of those curl things or weights or squats or whatever.”
          “Sure, but you’re not dressed for it. You got any sweats?”
          “Yeah. I’ll be right back.”
          Harry rushed up to his room and wasted half a minute wondering what to put on. He had short sweats and long sweats. He chose the shorts, decided the sneakers he wore were appropriate, and gulped audibly before foregoing a shirt and racing back to the gym.
          He slowed when he hit the stairs. Wouldn’t do to go running like a little boy chasing after a popsicle. The analogy made him smile. As he cleared the bottom step, he halted in his tracks to see Bruno eyeing him critically.
          “Not bad, guy,” the jock said. “Better’n I thought. You put some time and effort in it, and you’ll buff up okay.”
          He thought his knees would give way. “That right?”
          “Make a muscle.”
          Boy, if he could only pick the muscle! Obediently, he raised his arm and tensed. His knees did buckle slightly when Bruno reached out and squeezed his upper arm.
          “A little work and that’ll pop right up.”
          Wouldn’t take any work at all to make the muscle he was thinking of pop up. “Can you show me what I need to know?”
          “Yeah, we can work out a routine for you. Not too tough a one at first, but it’ll condition you.”
          Harry’s heart raced at the thought of working alongside the nearly naked hunk. Did he have on one of those jock strap things under those thin shorts? “Thanks, Bruno.”
          Harry noticed they overstayed the hour Bruno usually put in down in the basement. Understandable, his new mentor spent a lot of time showing Harry how to do this or that or the other. He didn’t give a damn about the exercise, but he went goose-pimply every time Bruno touched him to correct this stance or put his knees in the right position or whatever. Later, while Harry was lying abed taking care of the condition caused by his proximity to Bruno, it occurred to him that the jock had touched him just about everywhere except for the muscle he was exercising at the time. Hell, was it a muscle or an organ? And then the moment came, and his mind ceded rational thought to a detonation of exquisite sensations.


          As they worked out the next day, Bruno came to understand Harry had put himself into his hands. The kid knew nothing about workouts. Bruno was constantly correcting a stance or showing the guy something new. His chest swelled. Hell! He was a mentor. A teacher. A coach. Felt kinda good. He glanced over at Harry working hard on the frat’s cheap-ass, unstable stair stepper, frowning, concentrating… working.
          The kid wasn’t as scrawny as he’d thought. Good muscles on a slight frame. Hell, give him the summer, and he’d have Harry Cooper as beefed as any jock in school. His eyes roamed the figure.
          Christ! Why was he eyeing Harry’s butt? And the muscles playing in his back and thighs. Damn, what was happening. He needed another night with Honey Dew. But Bruno had to admit Harry was behaving himself. Hadn’t come on to him at all. Acting decent. Maybe he’d been too hard on the guy. Maybe Harry wasn’t a fag at all.

*****
Do you perceive some changing attitudes in this story? They say that in good fiction, the characters change and evolve. But wow! We’re only seven days into their isolation, and some changes do seem to be taking place.

Until next week.

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See you next week.

Don

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