Don Travis: Temptation

Showing posts with label Temptation. Show all posts

Thursday, November 26, 2020

Living Next Door to Adonis, Part 1 of 2 Parts

dontravis.com blog post #4

Photo Courtesyy of commons.wikepedia.org

I no longer understand this world. Anytime I've checked statistics the last two weeks, there were three times as many readers from Hong Kong, than anywhere else. And the second contender was Russia, followed by Germany and Ukraine. The US was 5^th. Go figure.

This week, I’d like to start a two-parter. Hope you like it.

****

LIVING NEXT DOOR TO ADONIS

For a a few months, I lived next door to Adonis… and let me tell you that ain’t easy.

I noticed him the first day I moved into my one-bedroom, third-story apartment in a UNM off-campus dorm. I stowed my things more or less neatly and then walked to the big living room window to take in the view. The view turned out to be the window of the dorm next door. Well, it was a little more than that. It was a good view into the room directly opposite. That’s when I had my first look at Adonis. His wide-open drapes gave me a clear, unobstructed view. I had no idea what his name was, but to me he was Adonis period! Wow! A shock of thick dark hair tumbling over his forehead. Big eyes I was willing to bet were chocolate brown, Cupid’s bow lips that pursed fetchingly as he read the book in his hand.

My eyes moved down. He was sitting at his desk dressed only in denim cutoffs, revealing a deep chest and flat stomach with something akin to a six-pack.

As I stared, he suddenly got up and walked out of sight, giving me a good look at the rest of him. The name Adonis stuck! If his place was a mirror image of mine, he’d just gone into his kitchen, or maybe his bathroom. The mental image that brought was a tingle to my nethers.

Then he reappeared again and caught me ogling. I panicked until he lifted a hand and gave me a wave… plus a devastating smile. My knees went weak, but my arm responded with a wave of its own.

Without even thinking twice, I rearranged my study desk right beneath that window so all I had to do was look up from whatever text I was reading and gaze straight into his apartment. I was to learn he kept those drapes open all the time, day and night. The first night he had a couple of other dudes and three gals over for a mini-party. I say that because they did some studying together before getting down to popping beer cans. Later in the evening some heavy smooching heated me up and made me turn off the lights so they couldn’t see there was a seventh member of their little soiree.

My morning routine became getting up, rushing through a shave and shower so I could go out and check if Adonis was stirring. Usually he was. A week later, he added a new dimension to our routine.

He walked over to his desk still drying off from his shower. I took it all in with my chin flapping. Double wow! The middle section was as impressive as the rest of him.

Like always, he glanced up and caught me gawking. He gave me his usual smile and hearty wave. I think my arm answered back, but I’m not sure. The rest of me was taking it all in. Then he turned around and strolled out of sight. Believe me the back was as intriguing as the front.

After that, Tuesdays and Thursdays became the days I hated most because I had early classes and missed the morning parade of bare flesh. After a month of this, I lifted my mobile phone and pointed to it, hoping he’d write out a number and press it against the glass pane. He made like he was reaching for a piece of paper, hesitated, and then shook his head before walking out of sight to go get dressed.

The next morning when he picked up his books from the desk, I grabbed mine and scooted downstairs without even waiting for the elevator. Our dorms have four entrances, all of them locked. The residents had to use an electronic pass to gain entrance. I bet it all on the front entrance, but after five minutes, Adonis hadn’t appeared, and it dawned on me he probably had a car in the underground parking lot. That explained why I hadn’t seen him on the campus shuttle bus.

I asked all over the place about who he was with no results until I smartened up and checked out last year’s annual. Took me an hour, but I found him. Thomas A. Astroea. Damn! He was Greek. That middle initial must stand for Adonis. Had to! He was a senior majoring in Electronics, and came from Florida. Other than a photo that put all others to shame, there wasn’t much exciting about his write up. No club memberships, no fraternities, no nothing.

The same evening that I discovered his name, he added some spice to the peep show. I was working on my English Lit when I glanced up to see him walk into view bare-assed again. He usually took his showers in the morning, but he must be going out on a date or something, because he was still drying off when he stood squarely in front of the window and patted water from every inch of his magnificent body. I damn near left a nose print on the glass pane.

When I recovered my senses, I caught his eye and pantomimed going down the stairs and going up another flight. He grimaced and shook his head. Then he started drying off his male member, which proceeded to grow and grow and grow.

****

What’s going on here? Adonis—the Greek mortal god was supposed to be something of a snob, but a tease? The local Adonis is about to drive our nameless observer batty. Wonder what will happen 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,

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, January 10, 2019

A Look at the Upcoming The Voxlightner Scandal

dontravis.com blog post #319

TO MY READERS: The “Contact” section has disappeared from my Web Site, so I have no way of reading or responding to your comments. I’ve tried all the corrective suggestions by “experts” to no avail. Please make any comments directly to my personal email, dontravis21@gmail.com, until this situation is corrected. Thanks.

As I wrote last week’s post, flakes of snow feathered lightly to the ground outside my patio door. Some of the cursed stuff is still there, especially in shady parts of the parking lot. Unusual for snow to last this long in Albuquerque.

Another matter of potential interest. Once or twice a year, the site gets 3,000 or so hits from Israel, usually all on one day. For last week’s posting, I noticed a new phenomenon: 1,700 hits from Russia. They can’t all be spies, can they? Even so, I encourage them to continue reading my blog.

Last week, we looked at my most recent novel (release date January 22), Abaddon’s Locusts, the fifth in the BJ Vinson mystery series. This week, I’d like to give you a peek at my latest, and as yet, unreleased novel, The Voxlightner Scandal. The story begins when BJ’s young companion Paul Barton, a budding investigative journalist, decides to look into the murder of an Albuquerque author. That leads to reopening one of the state’s largest scandals. The excerpt that follows is set in BJ's and Paul’s home on Post Oak Drive NW in Albuquerque in July 2011.

Alas, no artwork yet exists on Vox, rendering this week’s post pictureless.

*****

THE VOXLIGHTNER SCANDAL

Chapter 1

If this was the year of the Arab Spring, this morning’s Albuquerque Journal neglected to mention it. The international lead story—above the fold—reported the bombing of the government quarter in Oslo and the subsequent murder by gunfire of sixty-eight youth activists of the Labour Party by a native Norwegian terrorist.

The below-the-fold story told of the death of local author John Pierce Belhaven in a garage fire mere blocks from my home. What snagged my attention was that the terrorist attack in Norway took place today. The local tragedy occurred two nights ago. Our paper reported foreign events faster than local ones.

Paul strode into the kitchen where I sat at the table munching an English muffin slathered with cream cheese and dusted with ground black pepper. He brought with him the aroma of his shower. He was using a new aftershave lotion… Axe, possibly.

He halted at the sight of me. “Whoa, Vince, I was gonna fix omelets.”

The rest of the world called me BJ. This young man, my companion and the love of my life, preferred Vince, a pet name derived from my family moniker of Vinson.

“My stomach wouldn’t wait. By the way I know why we heard all those sirens Wednesday night. Garage fire just down the street.”

“Where?”

I checked the news article. “Forty-eight eighteen.”

“Belhaven’s place?”

“I’ll admit you’re more neighborly than I am, but how do you know who lives four blocks down the street?”

A minute later he plopped a bowl of instant oatmeal on the table, apparently abandoning the idea of an omelet. “I know him from SouthWest Writers.”

Paul joined the professional writing association a year ago when he got his Master’s in journalism from the University of New Mexico and decided a membership would provide him some valuable contacts. He was probably right, although I never considered journalism as writing until he pointed out that’s exactly what it was.

“Can I see the article when you’re finished?” he asked.

After I commandeered the sports section and handed over the rest, his voice startled me out of a story about the Lobo baseball team.

“This can’t be right.”

“Uh.” I refused to be distracted.

“Vince.” He shoved the newspaper in front of me. “I didn’t know Belhaven well, but I know one thing for sure. He wouldn’t repair his lawn mower. He’d have the kid who mowed his lawn do it or else buy a new mower.” He paused. “The rest sounds right. Belhaven would probably spill gas all over himself and somehow manage to light it up. But I’m telling you… he’d never even try it.”

“A klutz, huh?”

Paul nodded. “You could say that.”

“I’ll tell you what I can’t believe. This happened two days ago, and Mrs. Wardlow hasn’t broadcast the gory details all over the neighborhood.”

Gertrude Wardlow, the septuagenarian widow living across the street, was a retired DEA agent and the grande dame of our local neighborhood watch. But I had no gripes coming. She’d saved my bacon a couple of times when suspects tried to bring grievances to my home. More importantly she’d warned me Paul was in trouble when a gang kidnapped him a few years back.

“Can I assume you smell a story?” I asked.

“I smell a rat. But you’re right, I’m going to look into it. Who do you know in the fire department?”

I gave him the name of the AFD Arson Squad commander I’d worked with a couple of times. “You can call Gene Enriquez if you want to know if there’s a police case working.”

“You call Lieutenant Enriquez, okay? He’ll talk to you. You’re the confidential investigator, not me.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. Way I figure it, an investigating journalist is simply a confidential investigator without a license.”

*****

And so it opens, reeling backward in time to 2003 and 2004 when a gigantic scam took $40,000,000 out of the local economy and resulted in multiple deaths. I hope you found this teaser interesting.

I encourage reader feedback on all my novels, and if you do read one, please post a review of the book on Amazon. Each one helps… as do letters to the publisher.

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

My personal links:

Email: dontravis21@gmail.com.