This Twitter satirizing paperback novels is my new favorite internet find.
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Somewhere along the way, I absorbed my father’s conviction that summer is over by August. He was a teacher, and so he was already thinking about his new classes by then. That preoccupation of his would brood over any family trip taken in that month and only intensify my own foreboding of another school year, filling August with a faint sorrow for lost time that most people only have to suffer on Labor Day weekend. I always looked forward to being rid of that feeling as an adult, but I think it’s only gotten worse. First, there’s my own kids, heading off to school every year, with all the challenges they have to face; and then there’s our yearly trip to Michigan with Patrick and Tiff.
We all went to college together. My wife, Laura, and Tiff were roommates, and Patrick and I belonged to the same musical fraternity–yeah, I know, it sounds gay already. But it wasn’t: we musicians can guzzle beer and seduce women with the best of them (do you know a woman who doesn’t melt a little at a deep baritone?), and I seem to recall Patrick getting cheered once as he carved a notch in the Woody (don’t ask). But like any gathering of men, it had its undercurrents, and one of them ebbed and rolled in my heart for Patrick.
Trick, that’s what they called him–“Trick and Tiff,” when he first started dating her. Now he’s a project manager with three kids and a tattoo he regrets–somewhere, after marriage and before kids, he found religion, of all things. I mean, Laura and I go to church, too, but I don’t think it would make me feel badly about a tattoo. But then, we’re Catholic, and he’s some kind of evangelical-Bible-something-or-other. It makes him hotter, on some days, to look at him and see the strong, upright family man whom I once blew in May 2005.
I don’t think he actually remembers it, and I did not record it on the Woody. He was as drunk as hell, and I was perfectly sober. He called me “Lyssa” once as I was sucking him, and to this day I wonder who Lyssa was and when she got on his cock. Lucky cow, for him to remember her like that. He came from some small town in Ohio, and I figure she was from there–the one who got away, maybe. Who knows. I once almost asked Tiff, on one of our trips, as Patrick and Laura and our kids were in the surf, if she knew a Lyssa, but then I thought: the answer might be “yes,” and she may not appreciate thinking about her. So I kept my mouth shout, just as I never talked to Patrick, ever, about blowing him.
He tasted like coffee, which was strange and endearing at the same time. I only blew two other guys in my life, Nathan Blechman in high school and some dude my freshman year at college when I was only a little tipsy, and they both tasted like detergent. But Patrick was all richness and cream–and yes, I loved him, and I love him still.
I’m not sure what kind of love it is, but it feels a lot like August to me. Maybe it’s just because I always see him every August now–and honestly, it’s mostly the wives who make it happen; Patrick and I hang out and have fun, but it’s mostly as fellow dads and for the sake of a remembered brotherhood than anything else. He mostly talks about some men’s Bible group he attends in Maple Grove; I still sing in a band of other loser-dads on some weekends, just for fun, but he’s given up music entirely it seems. The point is, we don’t have a lot in common anymore, and he doesn’t even know that we once did one of the most intimate acts any two guys could do.
So every August I sit here, on this rocky beach, looking at his back and those gym-toned buns, his body easing slowly into comfortable dad-hood, and it always marks the start of that old August feeling. I don’t want to blow him anymore, not really; I just want us to stand, together, in the sun, on this beach, perfectly naked, embracing. Seriously, I’d be happy with that, once a year. As it is, I just feel this old, familiar, almost fatherly sentimentality, a faint sorrow for who we were and what we’ll never be.
Incredible writing! Well done.
Just met this guy at Hard Summer. Killing it.
“Soo uh you’re the new team assistant huh? Goodness, you are a cute little thing. Didn’t think there were many twinks in the NFL.”
“Um…thank you, Mr. Thompson?”
“Call me Bill.”
“Ok, Bill,” he squeaks. “Yes, I’m the new team assistant, Gideon. Anything I could, erm, assistant you with?”
“Matter of fact, there is, Gideon,” Bill drawls. “This is a bit embarrassing but my parents weren’t around much when I was a kid. I never learned to tie laces proper. Think you could help secure me before practice?”
Gideon swallowed. “Uhhh yeah. I uh, think i could do that, Mr. Um. Bill Sir. You have the wrong size shoulder pads on too. But I could um, tie your pants there if you want.”
“Sure, boy. Go ahead.”
The assistant glanced at Bill nervously. He took a step forward, hands hesitant to reach out for those laces. Bill had such a bronzed, toned sto-
“You can touch me, you know, if you want.”
Gideon jumped. “I’m not sure that’s ok…”
“No one’s in here. It’s fine. Lotta women like my abs.”
“I’m not a woman,” Gideon.
“But you gotta pussy nonetheless right? I don’t care. Cute is cute.”
Gideon blushed hard at Bill’s vulgar vocabulary. “Mr. Thompson!”
“Sorry, Gideon. I fear I spoke too strongly.”
“A little,” Gideon said shyly, picking up the laces.
Bill smiled at the skinny blond. “Well, to your comfort level then.”
Gideon nodded. He pulled on the laces with one hand, but got distracted with the abs. He ran his palm up Bill’s tight pack of muscle. “Wow,” he murmured.
“You like abs?” BIll asked.
“You have a great body, Sir,” Gideon agreed.
“I do work out a lot to stay at the top of the team. Nice to hear someone noticed.”
“Oh I notice.”
Bill gave a crooked smile. “Do you now? That’s good. I feel like we’ll get along super great this season then.”
Gideon turned pink again. He wasn’t expecting to get hit on by a player so fast! or at all, really. Matter of fact, he was expecting to be bullied. Gideon tucked his head and refocused on Bill’s pant laces when he noticed something…..
“Mr. Thompson!” Gideon cried out, dropping the laces..
“Yes?”
“You are not wearing underwear!”
“Oh shit. I never put on my jock after gym,” Bill replied, and he meant it. “I’m sorry Gideon, I didn’t mean to put my dick in your face the first day.”
Gideon eyed him. “You mean it?”
Bill shrugged. “Well I was hoping to wait until next week…”
Gideon couldn’t help but giggle. “Maybe I’ll want to see it next week. Don’t think I’m going to be team slut from Day 1, though. I don’t give my pussy to anyone so easily.”
“Oh is that so?” Bill asked, stepping forward. “Then I’ll just have something else to work on at practice…”
“Li-like what?” Gideon stammered, feeling hot and bothered.
“Like getting you into the shower naked and letting me fuck you.”
Gideon’s eyes went wide. “Here?”
“Here, my place, a hotel…I don’t care. Just you and somewhere dipping wet.”
“Wow,” Gideon said. “No one has wanted me like that before…”
Bill snorted. “Silly boy. Yes they have. You’re just too naive to know.”
Gideon tried to stammer out a response.
“You hold that thought,” Bill interrupted. “You stay there. I’m gonna go put on a jock. THEN you can tie my pants ok?”
Gideon nodded dumbly. “Yes. Mr. Thompson. I mean, Bill.”
“Atta boy.”
Gideon puffed up a little with pleasure. He was really, really liking his new job. And it would only get better once the other players got here and started changing in the locker room… Gideon wondered what it’d be like to be fucked by Bill in the locker room. His body reacted so fact, he went to splash water on his face to cool down before Bill got back.
If Bill noticed the half chub in his shorts, Bill graciously didn’t say anything.
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Captions are fictional
Shit
On June 28th, I had to put one of my parakeets to sleep because she was very ill. My other bird became very depressed at this loss, so a couple weeks ago I got her friend. Unfortunately, the new bird passed away a few hours ago. This happened exactly one month after I had to put my other bird to sleep. It’s been a very hard past few hours.
Posting will continue Friday.
Outdoor time for puppy.
Spade sniffed the air. Autumn was coming. His backyard was starting to change. It had been a busy summer. There had been barbecues and soccer games, and many fun afternoons running through the sprinklers. Many evenings of romantic picnics on the deck and making love under the stars.
Spade had also spent many-a-days marking the edges of the property as his territory, and it had been a part time job keeping the squirrels away from the bird feeder. At least, that mean fat raccoon hadn’t come back. The flowers were in full bloom and starting to fade, and Spade had learned to keep distance from them. He had gotten stung last month, and he’d been so itchy afterwards!
With his survey complete, Spade padded across the yard, tamped down a good spot, and rolled onto his back. The sun felt good, making the rubber nice and warm. Spade cherished it. He loved playing in piles of autumn leaves, but he always hated feeling the heat slowly leave the air. Although he did enjoy cuddling with his Master inside by the warm fire as snow fell outside, Spade would always be yearning to romp outside.
Spade a mental note to check for any remaining blackberries growing wild along the back fence – he’d eaten the bush clean last week – when he heard a noise. Spade perked up and uprighted himself. Was it…? He walked up to where the backyard rose upwards. Oh, there it was in the distance! The mail truck! Master was expecting a package!
Spade began to bark and ran up to the back porch, pressing his snout to the glass. Bark bark bark!
Master came out of the back room, looked at him through the glass, puzzled. Spade turned his head. The house was on a corner and he saw the mail truck drive past. Bark bark bark bark!
His Master opened the glass door. “Was is it boy?
Spade whined and wagged his tail.
"Mail truck here?”
Spade barked with a nod.
“Good boy. The guy always leaves me a missed-package note even though I’m right here.”
He closed the door, and Spade waited. He watched through the glass as his Master waited by the open front door, collected his package, and then closed it. His Master went to the kitchen and came to the backyard with something in his hand.
Spade wagged his tail hard. What was it?
Master slid the glass door open with a smile. “I got my package. Good boy. Sit.”
Spade planted his butt on the deck.
“Up!”
Spade sat back on his haunches and put both paws in the air.
His Master placed a bone shaped cookie on his nose.
“Good boy. Wait. Wait. Aaand, eat!”
Spade shook his face so the cookie fell. He landed on his paws and snapped the cookie off the deck with his teeth.
By the time, he was done eating it, Master had gone back inside. It really hit the spot. Spade looked out over the yard. He could see his tamped down spot from here. No need to let it go to waste. It was the proper time for a nap.
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Captions are fictional.
“Son you may be an adult now, but as long as you live under my roof, you will follow my rules. You break the rules and your undies come down”
“Also, you had to have known this was going to happen if you challenged me to table tennis and lost. Silly boy.”
You thought those gala events were boring, but you still went only for the drunk tuxedos and rich cock.
James stood outside of the hotel, waiting for his breathing to regulate. It was cool, nearly cold out here, and it helped take the heat out of his skin. He took the napkin he was holding and wiped his brow with it. It was a bad idea to drink that champagne. He glanced at his watch. His early. Too early. The party was in full swing, but he couldn’t go back in there. He was a walking target for power-hungry women in this industry. James knew everyone in that room knew how much an advisor in the finance industry made. He swore he felt the hands of at least twelve women on his arm tonight. You’re single, James? What are you doing on Friday James? You should stop by sometimes, James, my husband thinks so highly of you… James, did you meet my daughter?
It had been so hot in there. Then, he overheard his boss’s daughter talking to some politician hopeful about how she would donate to help keep the gays from getting power in the city… It was 1994, who in fuck still talked that way?
James exhaled. He wasn’t going back there. Truth was, he didn’t want to go back to work. His doctor said if James didn’t do something, the ulcer in his stomach would get worse.
James had taken a taxi to the hotel like everyone in New York, but trading a stuffy ballroom for a cab made him freak out again. He began to walk. The further he walked, the better he felt. The cold numbed his fingers and fogged his breath, but the panic subsided. He wanted to keep walking forever.
You can’t get far in dress shoes, and even when James began to feel sore, he kept going. When he bothered to look up at the street signs, he was astonished to see he’d walked thirty New York City blocks. Jesus. James sighed. What was he doing? Without a goal, there couldn’t be a journey. As he turned the corner, Jack saw a sign that caught his attention.
It just said ,”Boots”. It appeared to be a bar. A bar with a lot of hot men mingling outside. Jack recognized how they dressed from the magazines he kept in secret. Tight jeans. Tight tanktops. Jack swallowed. Was this where he was meant to be? Was this his destination? Only one way to find out. He walked past the men who were looking at him and went inside.
“Woah did he just run off from a wedding?” one asked.
“He has a nice ass,” another said.
The bar was dim and dance music was playing. Hungry eyes considered him from the bar. James’ head spun at the smell of machismo and leather and suddenly he had to throw up all of that champagne. He ran to the bathroom and made it to the sink just in time, emptying his gut into the sink. “Shit,” he muttered. He instantly felt better though. He washed out his mouth and splashed water on his face. His knees felt like jelly. James stumbled into a stall, put the lid down on the toilet, and sat on it. He closed his eyes and heaved a huge sigh. Things couldn’t stay the same.
As James was thinking, the bathroom door opened and closed. Someone walked into the stall next to him.
“Someone in there?” a low male voice said.
“Uh, yeah,” James said, surprised.
“You wanna be a friend?” the man asked.
James wasn’t sure how to answer – when all of a sudden, a rather large cock thrust through a hole in the wall. James startled. It was so weird to just seeing a bare cock just sticking out of a wall! It was a really nice looking cock though…
The man pushed his balls through. James just stared.
“I’m looking for company tonight,” the man on the other side said again.
“You feel alone too?” James asked the cock.
“Yeah,” the man said.
“What do you do about it?” James followed up.
There was a pause. “You can choose to be alone, but if I chose that, I’d just kill myself. I’m happy to be gay, because I can always go make friends. It helps hold me over until I can find someone to be with.”
James found himself unable to tear his eyes off the man’s erection. “Being gay doesn’t impact your work life?”
“I build stages and sets. In my line of work, it doesn’t matter who you fuck as long as you do your damn job.”
“I need a job like that,” James muttered.
“Well, go get one. Stand up for yourself. You’re a queer in the big city. You fuck who you want, and do what you want. This city is ours as much as is it’s the straights. Succeeding will only piss off the haters and make us stronger.”
“Yeah,” James said, coming to a realization. “It will. I shouldn’t sacrifice myself to appease those people. I am in control of my own destiny, and I shouldn’t choose to be miserable.”
“That’s the spirit. See, you need more gay friends.”
“Yeah, I do…” James murmured. He bent his head and pressed his lips to the stranger’s cock.
He made a noise of surprise and jumped. “Woah!”
James reached up and cupped those impressive balls, suddenly wanting to give in to all of his curiosity. He slid his lips down the man’s shaft, exploring, not wanting to push himself too fast.
“Oh that’s good,” the man murmured. “I think we’re going to be good friends…”
James had to agree. This was actually pretty nice. This guy smelled kind of musky and it was making him horny. Soon he had as much of this guy’s cock stuffed in his mouth as possible and he was jacking off on the toilet. The release was one of the most cathartic experiences he’d ever had, and it seemed to flush all of the irritation out of his system. James didn’t even care that it got on his suit. He didn’t plan to wear it again anyway.
As his jaw was sore, James jerked the other man off until he too spurted. The guy grunted as cum flew. James petted him until soft, then helped cleaned up.
“You’re going to be a very good friend,” the man said.
“Can I see you?” Jack asked.
“Sure. Let me buy you a drink at the bar. You drink?”
“Anything but champagne.”
The next day, Jack marched into his boss’s office to put in his two day notice. He didn’t have things figured out quite yet, but he couldn’t figure things out working 50 hours a week. He wanted to be free. Right now, he only had a new friend, but it was a very good start.
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Captions are fictional.
Slap that faggot. HARD!
Asserting the chain of command
“It’s rude to stare. And why aren’t you on your knees already??”
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Captions are fictional.