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Story: Family Matters, pt 3: Brothers

By
April 13, 2012

Rob was loathe to open his eyes. He rolled onto his side, turning away from the painfully bright light, and threw a pillow over his head. He groaned. There was a mild but pervasive throbbing in his head. His mouth was parched and scratchy, and there was a peculiar sticky aftertaste. "How could I have a hangover?" he thought to himself and groaned again. It wasn't like the excruciating hangovers he had had in his early days at Harvard. Those hangovers were painful enough to make him wish he had died in his sleep. This one was more an annoying mystery than anything, all the more annoying for being the first thing to be confronted with upon awakening. Surely it could have waited till after he had his first cup of coffee. He didn't try to dredge up his memories of the previous night right away. His head hurt too much to attempt to recall events so far removed from the present. Rather, the first thing he tried to wrap his head around was the bed he lay in. It lacked the flowery fragrance and excessive softness of the bed he had shared with his wife, who wouldn't deign to sleep on anything less than 500 thread count sheets. This bed had a clean scent, the comfortable enough sheets recently washed. There was another scent that eluded him. It was reminiscent of something sweet but masculine and also of sweat. The scent was too faint for him to determine. He gave up with a groan and a sigh, just relieved not to be gagging on the sickly perfume that had soaked into the bed he had known for too long. "Must be Don's spare...
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Story: Family Matters, pt 2: Happiness

By
March 4, 2012

Don was at a loss for words.  What is a hairy, muscular, 6’4″, 40-year-old bear of a man to say when his mother greets him at the front door with “Oh, sweetheart, you’re glowing!  If you were a woman, I’d say you must be pregnant!”?  For a fleeting second, he was tempted to say cheekily, “Well, it’s about time!  Stephen’s been breeding me every day for months,” but he knew his mother simply wouldn’t get it.  He opted for “Thanks, mom, I guess.” “Don, your mother is trying to say that you look very happy, that’s all,” his father Norm explained. “I am.  Extremely happy,” Don said, bending down to scoop his little mother into a tender hug. “Happy birthday, Don!  I’m so glad you decided to celebrate your birthday.  I’ve missed celebrating it the last seven years,” his mother Susan said. “Happy birthday, son,” Norm said, stepping up to hug his son when Susan stepped aside. “Stephen, dear, you’re looking handsomer every day.  If only we were both young and single!  Oh what fun we would have!” Susan continued her odd greetings with Stephen. “Indeed, Susan!  But you know, I was hoping to hear that from Norm.  No offense
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Story: Family Matters, pt 1: A Desire Fulfilled

By
February 12, 2012

***Author’s Note:  When I first started writing just over a year ago, the central concept of my first piece, Diaries of a Young Master:  The Beginning, was that of a young man becoming the master of an older and larger man.  I wrote that piece with no idea where it would lead.  Subsequent stories in the series were unplanned and dictated by whim.  Hence, the supernatural and science-fiction elements crept in.  I’ve wanted to re-visit the young master and older slave relationship, but keep it human, down-to-earth, and focused more on the characters and their relationship.  For months I couldn’t quite figure out how to re-create such a relationship, but my mind kept creeping back to Stephen and Don in An Appalachian Trail Romance (even as my mind would look back fondly on my months on the trail) and I decided they were a good couple to be the central characters in a new series.  I wrote The Wedding as a sequel, but more like a segue, to emphasize Don’s submissiveness, to explicitly state his desire to submit to Stephen, and of course to have them tie the knot.  A Desire Fulfilled is the beginning of this new series, entitled
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Story: The Wedding (sequel to An Appalachian Trail Romance)

By
January 30, 2012

“I think we should wait, Stephen.” “Don, they’ll be totally cool with it.  They might even think it’s great news.” “But you can’t be sure.  Let’s just wait till after the long drive.  OK?” “For Pete’s sake, Don!  They’re my parents!  I have to tell them.  They’ve been very supportive with all of my previous relationships.  I can’t imagine they’ll be any different now.  Besides, my parents and I have always been open and honest with each other.  I’m not going to wait, Don.” As they had done once before, Stephen’s parents, Stan and Terri, picked us up on a Saturday morning in Waynesboro, VA.  Stephen had no worries whatsoever about breaking our news to them, but I was nervous, unsure of how they would react.  Gay marriage is not a topic one could bring up lightly; some reactions could be downright belligerent.  But his parents were thrilled when he told them immediately after hugging them, and both began excitedly to contribute ideas for the wedding.  It was the main topic of conversation during the drive from Waynesboro to Manassas, VA, where we stayed at their home for a week. I enjoyed being in the home where Stephen grew up,
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Story: Christmas Wishes

By
December 21, 2011

Snowflakes swirled and fluttered playfully in the breezy evening air, settling down to rest on paths, streets, lawns, and rooftops.  Just enough snow settled to dust the festively decorated town in pristine white, and no more.  A full-bellied chuckle resounded high up in the air, from which vantage point the town seemed made out of gingerbread coated with confectioners’ sugar.  None of the town’s denizens heard the chuckle for they were lulled to sleep by the lullaby of the wind’s sighs and the white snow that reminded them of their soft downy pillows.  They knew, of course, that a gentle magic was coaxing them to sleep, and they gladly yielded to the magic for they knew Santa Claus was coming.  There was greater magic to be wrought on the Eve of Christmas, and Santa Claus could not work such magic observed by curious eyes. As the clock in the church steeple struck midnight, Santa Claus winked his twinkling right eye.  Time froze, or so it would appear.  He landed his sleigh pulled by a team of reindeer on a flat roof.  With a happy sigh he disembarked, his tall but rotund body covered in his traditional red-white fluffiness.  He patted
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Story: Superman’s Dilemma

By
November 19, 2011

He was getting close, and Lois showed no signs of stopping.  She was riding his sodden shaft like she was riding a bucking bronco, except he lay utterly still.  Her bouncing breasts drove him crazy.  He wanted so much to explode right inside her, but he couldn’t. “Stop, Lois.” “Almost there.  Just a little –” He lifted her off his penis with utmost care and set her down.  Seeing her glaring at him beneath her halo of disheveled hair, he tried to apologize.  “Lois, I’m sorry, but I just can’t.  You’ll get hurt.” “Stow it, Superman!  It’s been a year!  A whole fucking year without satisfaction.  Each time we get close, you pull this you’ll-get-hurt bullshit.  I need a man who can go the distance, a man who’ll stick around till the grand finale.  I’m tired of these mid-show exits of yours.” “Lois, I’m sorry –” “Just go!” In less than a second, Superman was fully clothed and flying full speed northward.  Truth be told, he was angry with Lois.  She was so absorbed with her own frustrated needs she couldn’t consider that the man she claimed to love was beyond frustration.  His balls hurt.  His penis was raw and
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Story: Master Daniel, Chapter 5: The Father, the Son, and the Spirit

By
November 14, 2011

*** The Father *** I am less human than the men I had tortured. I did not consider them human.  They were depraved, a moral infestation on our great civilization that we’ve labored, with God’s help, for nearly a century to rebuild after the last world war.  Many worthy men and women had willingly devoted–and sacrificed–their lives to restore a devastated planet to a semblance of its former glory.  But these depraved abominations, who were not worthy of respect, of the rights due to humans, of God’s love and mercy, could serve no other purpose than as specimens for our scientific endeavors to protect our citizens and improve their lives.  Thus they served, even as I served, the greater good:  the citizens and government of planet Earth. Sacrifices were necessary.  The Depraved were expendable. So I believed … wrongly. I was a fool, a pawn of a government run by a mad but charismatic tyrant, whose insanity infected the entire populous with a power akin to religious and superstitious fervor.   In my service to the government–to him–and science, I had sacrificed my own humanity and thus became a monster. It is painful to look at myself, at my former colleagues,
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Story: Live Again

By
June 15, 2011

Craig was studying for his finals when the front door opened and slammed shut.  He felt the floor vibrate through his bare feet a split second before his books shook on the dining table.  He sighed and closed his big blue eyes, running his curved fingers through his long blond locks.  Though he could feel his step-father’s heavy steps stomping ever closer, he kept his head bowed and eyes closed. “Fuckin’ day!” his step-father, Nate, proclaimed as he stomped past the dining table, reeking of grease and sweat.  He grabbed a couple of cans of cold beer from the fridge and stomped past again, dumping himself onto the couch. “Must you walk like a dinosaur?” Craig muttered through gritted teeth.  “I was studying for my finals.” “It’s my fuckin’ house!” Nate roared.  “I had a lousy day!  Gimme a break!”  He chugged his first can of beer and scowled sullenly as he popped open the second can. Craig choked back his angry retort.  He wanted to speak candidly with Nate about their feelings, but his step-father always shied away from such talk.  It had been three years since Craig’s mother, Nancy, had been killed in a car accident during an
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Story: A Leather God

By
April 25, 2011

“I can’t,” Chris said glumly.  He kept his gaze cast down, head slightly tilted toward his right shoulder.  “He’s your uncle, Greg.” “You gonna have to start seeing men eventually.  You’re twenty-three!  I’ve been looking after you since our sophomore year; you’re like my kid brother.  I won’t let just any horny man take you out on a date.  Now my uncle Bill, he’s a lecherous old bastard, but I trust him to take good care of you.  I know you dig older man, and he’s really into young Asian boys.  I know: you’re half-Asian.  Actually that makes it even better.  He loves black dudes.  You’ve got both genes.  That’s the beauty of this whole thing, Chris!” Greg laid his big paws gently on his roommate’s wispy arms and crouched down to look into his almond-shaped face.  “It’s time to come out of your shell, Chris.  Just one date?  He’s promised to go easy on you.” Chris nodded, turning his dark slanted eyes away. Greg’s uncle arrived early Friday evening.  Tall and heavily built with neatly clipped dark hair like his nephew, he sported a glossy leather jacket, unzipped, over a white tank top, a pair of jeans, fastened with
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Story: Control

By
April 14, 2011

Tough, form-fitting leather, metallic black, shiny in the light from overhead, crunched and screeched as he stepped forward.  The rubber soles of his boots banged against the cold, hardwood floor.  He kept his helmet and oversized sunglasses on.  Stroking his blond mustache that draped down on either side of his mouth, thick lower lip exposed, he unzipped the fly of his tight leather pants and proudly pulled out his jewels.  He rather liked the feel of the zipper’s teeth biting into the smooth, taut sac of his balls.  Whipping out his nightstick, he tapped it against the fleshy bulb of his cock, beckoning it to harden and rise, inch by inch.  Straight, long, thick, and tapered for penetration, his cock was better suited to subdue his prey than the thin nightstick. His prey straddled a wooden chair, his muscular back and glutes spread out like a work of art begging to be appreciated.  The leather straps of a harness dug into his shoulders and lats and converged at a metal ring.  His hands were cuffed behind his neck, forcing his head down and exposing his hairy armpits.  A studded leather armband, just below the right shoulder, accented his bulging biceps
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Story: An Appalachian Trail Romance

By
April 11, 2011

The sun scorched the hiker as he crossed Fontana Dam.  It was late morning, and though it was only the middle of May, the heat and humidity were already unbearable.  Sweat drenched the hiker’s red bandanna wrapped around his head.  His mid-weight boots plodded on the asphalt.  Despite his discomfort, he stopped for a moment to snap off a couple of photos of the man-made lake and the surrounding mountains, the famed Smokey Mountains.  Tucking the digital camera back into the pocket on his waist-strap, he pushed on across the dam and hurried into the cool shade of the trees. The climb up to the first shelter in The Great Smokey Mountains National Park seemed interminable.  Nine long miles he climbed, stopping often to catch his breath and sip from his two-liter reservoir.  He had taken a longer break at a cascading stream to fill up his reservoir and rinse the sticky grime from his face, chest, arms, and legs.  Other hikers passed him along the way, giving him words of encouragement.  He envied their bodies, fit compared to his over-three-hundred-pound blob of wobbling flesh.  Breathing hard, struggling with each step, dripping with sweat, heart pounding with threats of an
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Story: Ken & Matt: Little Asian Daddy

By
April 11, 2011

The chicken pho was a welcome balm for the two men who had endured the cold wind and rain to visit a new museum exhibition centered on traditional Korean houses.  Matt Bowden had remarked on the simple designs that were inspired by the low mountains of the Korean peninsula, to which Ken Cho had smiled and nodded.  Their visit over, they had driven a few miles to a Vietnamese restaurant they had found online.  “You’ll love chicken pho, Matt.  Think of it as an Asian version of chicken noodle soup,” Ken had said.  “Sounds wonderful, especially today,” Matt had replied. Two large bowls were laid down before them.  The chicken broth seemed too thin and too clear to Matt.  There were generous servings of rice noodles and strips of chicken floating in the broth, sprinkled with scallions, roasted onions, and some bok choy.  Ken saw the squinted eyes and creased forehead on his date’s round and ruddy face. “Try the broth, Matt.” The young man picked up the plastic soup spoon with his thick fingers and gingerly sipped the broth through his pursed lips.  His lips, like the profile of a bird in flight gently cupped from below, spread into
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Story: Kenny & John: A Romance

By
April 11, 2011

Kenny Cho arrived at the Korean restaurant just as the other members of the group arrived.  The group comprised of mainly gay Asian men of various ages and nationalities and some of their invited, non-Asian male friends/partners.  Once a month the group would dine out at an ethnic restaurant of their choosing.  Last month was Vietnamese. Many of the members were single and used these social gatherings to find potential dates.  Kenny wasn’t interested in dating, though.  He had recently broken up with his boyfriend and needed an excuse to get out.  A gay dining club sounded fun and safe. The guys were assigned a private room with a long table, silverware and dishes set out for twelve.  Three butane gas grills sat neatly in cavities built into the table, vents above each.  Plates of raw beef and pork were spread around the grills.  The rest of the table was covered by dozens of little bowls containing side dishes of seasoned vegetables, especially the Korean staple, kimchee.  The members who were familiar with Korean barbeque began piling meat onto the grills, giving tips to the novices on how to determine if the meat was done. Kenny was mostly a vegetarian. 
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Story: Georgie (pt 3): The New Man

By
April 11, 2011

Georgie laid on his back on the floor, hands and feet raised casually in the air.  He stuck his tongue out and panted, gazing up at Mark, who leaned down from his seat to pet Georgie on the stomach.  ”Good doggy!  I’m so proud of you, Georgie.  Yes, I am!  Good boy!”  Georgie panted gleefully, his bent legs trembling.  He looked adorable in his red and white Santa Claus suit, his round cheeks rosy and blue eyes twinkling.  He had removed the fake white beard, which he had worn since his own natural white beard was too well groomed. For the past week, Georgie had made both scheduled and impromptu appearances as Santa Claus, his deep HO!HO!HO! his only announcement.  He had handed out tiny toys and candies to children and shopping coupons to adults.  Customers had flocked to the store.  His jolly, good humor infected both his staff and customers, though not even Mark truly understood the source of his disposition.  To top it all off, Georgie had handed out $500 checks to his staff days before Christmas with a promise of another bonus check on New Year’s Eve. And so, two nights before Christmas, having just closed the
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Story: Georgie (pt 2): The Pervert

By
April 11, 2011

“Maybe tonight, Georgie,” George Ford whispered to his reflection.  He sat down at his desk and tried to focus on the sales figures.  The store had fared well in the last two weeks, better than his forecast.  He wished he could say the same about himself.  Outwardly, he appeared fitter and healthier.  Inwardly, he was a maelstrom of unassuaged urges.  He channeled the excess energy to running the store, working long hours without rest.  He hardly saw his wife anymore to no one’s displeasure.  Their relationship has been one of cool cordiality the last few years. In another hour, Mark will close the store and enter the office.  George tallied the receipts and plugged numbers into the computer, waving and saying good night as his staff began departing.  He struggled to be sincere, to truly wish each a good night.  It took great effort.  But his swollen cock reminded him that he had to be good, otherwise he might never get another treat.  When the last person besides Mark marched by his office and the backdoor slammed shut, George sighed in relief.  He gave up on the figures.  He pulled out a gift-wrapped box and laid it on the desk. 
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