Tag: mushy holiday stuff

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

“Hey Jake, if you’re not too busy later, perhaps you could join us on the beach. We’re having a barbeque, and watching the fireworks they’re setting off on the other side of the bay.”
I tried to focus on the words he was saying and not just the perfect mouth attached to the beautiful face they were coming out of. “Um. Yeah, sure, I’d like that. Are you sure I won’t be intruding with all your friends though?”
Sven pulled down his red swim shorts and out popped the most roundest butt I had ever seen. My jaw dropped. “You’re not intruding at all. Come by later. We’ll have fun.” He then winked, pulled his pants off, and jogged to the sand. “Happy 4th, Jake!”

I stood there, looking pithed. Suddenly, I couldn’t remember what my other plans were for this evening…

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Text is fictional, source is below.

curatedeyeful:

Mick Lovell, photographed for Bel Ami. (Link nsfw.)

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blissfuldominance:

Waiting for Sir is the worst. 

Even more so when he’s late. He promised me he’d get off work early, and we’d go to the Valentines Day party your local kink scene is hosting. Who’d ever heard of a Master working on Saturday morning? Only mine, it seems; there’s always some crisis demanding his attention in the office. Does he love the office more than me? I start to wonder. It’s Valentine’s Day for god’s sake. My mind drifts back to this morning when he rolled over and gave me a plain, stiff fucking – just like any other morning. I was really hoping for something romantic other than an utterance “Happy Valentine’s Day, boy.” Did he really not care at all? I had withheld my gift for him because of that.

Then, I hear it. A car pulls into the driveway. I lift my head, then tilt it. The engine’s cut. A car door shuts. Then the trunk. I’m up on all fours now, wagging my butt even though the tailplug isn’t in cause it’s drying in the bathroom. Habits. I pace back and forth in front of the door until it swings open.

And there’s my Master, holding a big bouquet of flowers and a paperbag. I was so astonished I forgot to bark. My Master smiles.
“What? No greeting?”
I lose it. Full barking mode on! Complete with paws up on his thighs,and butt wiggling. Master grins at me, and sets down the paper bag so he can scritch me and cuff me behind the ears. “That’s a good boy, thatta boy!”
I roll over and offer my belly, and he gives a rub.
“Good boy. You didn’t think I forgot would you? I lied about having to go into work today. Truthfully, I bought most of this yesterday, I was just an idiot and left it in an office drawer.”

My disappointment melts away. Of course, he didn’t forget to get me something. I butt my head against his leg. Master kneels down and offers me the bloom end of the flowers. I stick my face in there and inhale, nuzzling the velvety petals with my nose. The perfume is fresh. After I dry them, I’ll make sachets out of them. I pause, blink, and then sneeze. Master chuckles.
“I’ll go put these in water. Here, here’s one of your presents.”

He takes a small box out of the paperbag, then begins to open it. I watch eagerly. It smells like chocolate. I fucking love chocolate. He presents it; in his hand in one of those chocolate orange things, wrapped in foil. An edible, scrumptious-smelling toy ball. I bounce on my paws and bark at it. He grins and puts it on the wooden floor, then pushes it so it rolls. I go mental and chase after it, batting it with my paw as I go.

He watches me for a moment, before going into the kitchen. I wait for a few moments, distracted with my toy, before I get his gift. I hear him get himself pour a cup of water and figure it’s good timing. I trot in, carrying a red paperbag in my mouth.

My Master looks pleased. “Whatchoo got there boy? Is that for me?”
“Ruff ruff!” I reply although it’s muffled.
He strides over to me and takes it out of my mouth. After beating the staples, he peers inside to see those Japanese gummy candies he likes so much, plus some heart hard candies, heart post-it notes (for the damn office), and strawberry lube. A smile lights up his face. “I love it. Exactly what I wanted.” He kisses my forehead. “Thank you boy.”
I lick him back.

He goes to find my orange ball again, and rolls it with his shoe. I chase it all over the house in a tizzy, until it hits a wall, cracks, and then I feast on its sacchrine insides. After, I make a point of crawling into my Master’s lap and licking his face. He isn’t able to resist kissing me, knowing I smell and taste delicious.

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Text is fictional. Source was deactivated, so no idea.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Being collared will set you free. I could recall the sign word for word, as I saw it often hanging over the door of His dungeon. I pondered the phrase, initially thinking it was a contradiction. How could being owned and being collared result in any type of freedom? The more he trained me and sculpted me, emotionally breaking me down and working me back up to a stronger, more obedient boy, I began to see the genius in my Master.

I began to see, like the difference between the grass and the sky, that some men were naturally born to dominate and lead where was others were not. There was no situation my Master could not handle with grace and his own charm; there was nothing he couldn’t fix with a certain facial expression and corresponding body posture; there was no mystery in life he had not pondered and solved. I felt mentally weak and inferior to his brilliance, in awe of the clarity in which he saw the world. With his training I gained manners, then I learned to check my pride and my ego. Just because I was a male, it did not mean things were owed to me. My Master taught me this, and a great deal more things, and through pain and love, helped me gain a stronger foothold in life. A deeper, appreciation, so to speak, for things I could change and the things I had to accept as is.

One of those things, was that He would always be a superior and an alpha in my life, even though we were cut from the same a template of the same bone and muscles. In my early years, I found him aggravating and his opinions frustrating, but now there was only an odd sort of peace in being content with my status. I had an open window to his knowledge. I often felt deep reassurance in knowing he would always be there to keep me in check, to keep me on a straight path, and to discipline me when I had faulted. I could always ask him for advice. I pitied those who were left to discipline themselves.

I tore my eyes away from the handsome black and silver collar in his manicured, outstretched hand, and looked beyond it to my Master’s hopeful face. My silence had perplexed and worried him. I could read his expressions like an open book these days.

I cupped the soft leathery collar in my hands and knelt, offering it back up to him. My Master stepped forward – I could hear the creak of his leather pants – and took it out of my palms. I felt his fingers unhitch the silver chain around my neck – my training collar. My neck felt light without it. The buckle jingled as He handled it, then He wrapped the real collar around my neck. I bowed my head as it was fixed in place. Even after one second, it felt as if it had been there all my life.
“Lift your head,” my Master said.
“I did.”
He smiled, looking dazzling. “Look at that.” I was surprised to detect a bit of emotion in his voice.
I raised my hand and felt the material around my neck. I couldn’t wait to see it in a mirror.
“Thank you Sir,” I said, “Thank you for this fine gift, and for allowing me to serve under you.” My Master nodded, then to my surprise, he responded: “Thank you for being a fine pupil. I saw enormous potential in you, but I am surprised you gave me the honor of staying with me and allowing me to teach you for so long. There were so many times I was sure your machismo would get in the way and you would break. You have exceeded all my expectations.”
At that moment, my throat was so tight, I couldn’t say a word or even cry.
“Merry Christmas, boy,” He said.
I broke my form. I leapt to my feet and embraced him in a huge hug. To my relief, he crushed me back instead of chiding me for it. I was shocked to feel a sob go through him. “God, I love you,” he whispered in my ear, barely audible. I wanted to tell him the same words back, but “I love you” did not seem to convey enough the adoration I felt for him. Instead, I said, “I will always be yours.”

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Text is fictional. Cannot believe I forgot to post this yesterday. It had been sitting in drafts since November.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

This is the sequel to this.

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Ethan and I sat in a pile of wrapping paper and small boxes, sipping hot cocoa with vanilla vodka in it. He was dangling a ribbon for Mrs. Fluffington to swat at. We had spent the morning playing in the snow and going sledding on a golf course hill by the house, then came home to a nice lunch and gifts. Sweaters. Books. Sex toys. Sarcastic post-it notes. A shaving kit for Ethan. Hockey stuff for me. The climax of Christmas was over…or so Ethan thought.

“Ethan?” I began.
“Hm?”
“This Christmas has been magical. I mean, I’m sitting here, by the fire, with medicated hot chocolate, with no place to go and no one making demands on me at work. It’s snowing beautifully outside, and we’re all warm and toasty in here. It’s cliche, but it’s magical, and every Christmas I spent with you, I find this intense happiness that I never knew possible. More than anything, I feel just so incredibly happy with you, and am just far too pleased with the idea that I get to spend a whole ‘nother year with you.”

Ethan smiled at me. “Honey that is so sweet of you to say.” He leaned over and we shared a chaste kiss. I could see the suspicion in Ethan’s eyes. He was no doubt wondering if this was in fact The Time, or if he was reading into things too much. “Jesus christ, I can’t even begin to express how I feel about you..” He worked his jaw, trying to make words come out, but I put a finger over his soft lips so he’d hush.

“Now, I know being with me over the years has been a strange journey for you. We started off as friends. You were dating a girl. Then, you came out to me as bisexual, and then you confessed you had a crush on me-”
Ethan groaned and blushed, much to my delight.
“Which was one of these most wonderful things that has ever happened to me, as I was going insane with my unrequited feelings for you.”
“…You were?”
“Absolutely,” I admit. “I didn’t want to be ‘that creepy gay guy’ but, even then, I knew you were special. I loved your scruffy look. I thought you were so handsome. I was selfish, just looking at the surface. You taught me what it really means to be *in* a relationship, and I never wanted to work so hard for love in my life. You are so ambitious, so forward thinking, that I was – am – constantly amazed by all your kinetic energy. Being with you has made me like… jolt free, and move with intent, to improve and better myself, and grow up.  I wanted -” at this point, my voice cracked -“ I wanted so very much to be worthy of your love, and your approval, to be someone you didn’t consider below you. I want to live in a house with you, and share your bed, and listen to you mutter in your sleep and put jelly on your toast. I love you, and I hope, I really, really hope, that you love me too. So, Ethan Richard Norwich, will you marry me, and let me have you forever?”

I presented a small box from the pocket of my bathrobe and opened it with two trembling, hands.

At this point, I must have entirely mesmerized Ethan because his pupils were dilated and his lids were wide open. It should have been entirely obvious that I was proposing minutes ago, but when he saw the ring Ethan made this high pitched noise, the end of which was smothered by his hands covering his mouth. Mrs. Fluffington fled for the nearest box. Ethan’s palms over his chin were the only things keeping his jaw from falling off his face.
“Holy shit is this really happening…?” he asked, hesitating.
“Yes, it is,” I replied, swallowing hard.
Yes!” he squeaked, a loud voice coming out of a tight throat. “Yes oh my god yes! Yes yes!” He threw his arms around me and squeezed me so hard, I couldn’t breathe. He then peppered me with his kisses.
“Oh my god! Did I just get engaged?” he said, his eyes overflowing with tears.
I was laughing with bliss and happiness, high off adrenaline as the nervousness faded away.
“Yes, it’s happening. I’d been planning this for months.” I showed him the ring.
“Shit, it’s beautiful. And yet, masculine. Shit.” He was openly crying now.
I took it out of the box and slid it into his ring finger. Ethan exhaled audibly. ‘Oh god it fits perfectly. Look at it, it’s just…shit, Joel.” He wiped tears away with this shirt. We embraced and rocked and cried together. The snow continued to fall outside. I piped up. “You know when you came back in from cleaning the gutters and found your dad’s ring gone? I lied. I had taken it to measure for this.”
“What…? Ah you crafty bastard! How did I – how did I not see it? You’ve been planning this for months! You told me we had to put it off!”
I grinned. “That is true. I wanted you to be surprised.” I examined his trembling hand, sniffling too. “God it looks perfect.”
“I’m engaged,” Ethan announced, his eyes red, his voice light with disbelief. “I’m going to get married. Holy shit. This is the best Christmas ever.” He gazed up at me. “I love you so much, Joel. Don’t ever think you’re not worthy of me. I spent so many years worried that you get frustrated or impatient with me and leave. So sure you would assume I’d find a woman and eventually leave. Coming out as bisexual was the hardest thing I ever did because I risked your friendship. Now I’m marrying my best friend, and I think I might be dreaming.”

The tears, the hugging, and the kissing continued until we needed tissues. Ethan’s disbelief melted into excitement, and he fetched his laptop so we could Skype his mother in Florida.
When she saw the ring, she made the exact same noise as her son, and punctuated it with a: “Well it’s about fucking time!”
I left them alone for a moment so they could talk about how much Ethan’s father would have loved to see this moment.

After we called our respective families, I took Ethan out for a walk in the snow which had blanketed the neighborhood. I looked behind us and saw our footprints recede into the distance, and I realized that we had always been sharing the same path. We would be officially starting a new life as one. I squeezed Ethan’s hand.
“I will always love you.”

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Text is fictional. The source and maker of the ring is here.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

“Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house; not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse….or your cock for example, because I locked it up. In its plastic cage you can see how cute and small it is compared to mine, which is allowed to go free and get hard when it wants. Your little inferior one is where it’s belongs because it’s too distracting for you. Just a little bit of flesh there, but you could not stop playing messing with it…

Aw, you better not pout. You better not cry. You’ve been such a good boy this year, and I’ll tell you why. You’ve pleased me so much this year, satisfied me so many times when I needed a boy the most… I’m sure Santa is going to be bring you lots of presents this year. I know your wish list is long. He might even bring you an orgasm. You don’t want Santa to peer through your window and see you jacking off do you? He’s going to think if you just want those boring kinds of orgasms and cannot control yourself, then he won’t need to bring you all those fun toys in his bag…

I know, it’s difficult. Why not come play with my cock and whittle away the time? Christmas morning is still a day away.

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Text is fictional. Borrowed some lines from "Twas the Night Before Christmas” and “Santa Claus is coming to town”.

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Getting dressed for Thanksgiving Dinner is taking forever. Your family is probably wondering what is taking so long. You were just gonna throw on any comfy shirt and some nice jeans, but then your sister brought over a friend from college… a male friend. A hot Australian male friend, and not only that, but a hot bisexual Australian male friend. So of course, he out-dressed you just by showing up looking handsome and striking. All six feet of him in pressed slacks and cashmere. You never felt so juvenile in your life; first impression ruined in an instant.

So hence, why you were in your bedroom making these important decisions. You finally picked a pair of pants, and had moved onto the underwear. This was your best jockstrap, and the most expensive. It lifts your ass and turns your sloping cheeks into round globes. It makes you feel instantly sexy, much like you imagine a pair of heels does for a woman. You examine yourself in the mirror and cannot find a bad angle. God, it makes your cock look twice as big! You tuck in a ball that’s escaping and nod. Good, this will work under your best slacks.

However, you cannot help but puff your cheeks and sigh. This will only work if he actually gets your pants off. If he doesn’t, he’ll never see it your package on display like this. That’s going to be the challenge. You have a loose plan – get him a little tipsy, be friendly, and try your best not to make metaphors about “stuffing his turkey”. You cringe. That won’t work. You want him to fuck you anyway. You want that hot Australian guy to pin you to the bed and boss you around with that incredible accent.

Shit! Look you down. You can’t get an erection this early. You dig out your plastic chastity device and slip it on, securing it with a plastic tie. You can always slip into the bathroom to take it off before anything sexy happens.

You pull on the pants and pick out a shirt. Much better. You look good. Your ass looks great. You come downstairs to greet a flurry of relatives. In the mess of everything, you don’t get to talk to the Australian guy until later. You’ve missed the dark looks he’s been giving you all night. He knows there’s something about you he likes, he just can’t figure out what it is. Your confidence, your assertiveness. Your ass in those slacks. He’s never been so bothered by an American boy before, and he doesn’t know why it’s happening.

You are relieved that you chose to put on that chastity cage because you’re now suddenly horny for no reason. Every time you look at his chiseled face and frame in that sweater you just want to pounce on him. Not being able to get a hard-on is making you even hornier, and as the dinner marches on, you feel sluttier and sluttier. You know after everyone leaves that you’re going to be spending the evening with your dildo.

Except that never happens…cause when everyone is busy with coffee and pie, you excuse yourself to use the bathroom. The Australian says to the table he’s going to go too, just to know where it is, and no one is any wiser to his plan. He catches you in the bathroom and the tensions explode. There isn’t any time to unlock the chastity device, but it doesn’t matter. Once he finds it in your jockstrap, his hormones pulse at full blast. He pins you down with your hands behind your back, and teases your straining dripping cock with his fingers. He is fascinated and uncontrollably aroused by the sight of you. You were never allowed to remove your device, neither the first or the second time he fucked you against that counter. …

Nor the third, fourth, or fifth time he had you overnight. You two barely got any sleep, and he left you barely able to walk by the time he left with your sister, back to their college. What was most frustrating at all was that you were only allowed to cum hands free, and it was somehow the most infuriating and satisfying sex you’d ever had in your life. When your hole recovers, you plan to use it as a masturbation fantasy for weeks.

You remember the instructions he gave you – to keep your cock locked, and to send him pictures. Updates. You were going to obey. It was too hot not to. They were coming back for Christmas, and you wanted to show that hot Australian guy what a good American boy you could be. You knew you were probably supposed to feel a little shame about being such a whore for a guy you barely met, but when such a tempting cock is attached to such a fine specimen, your legs just fall open. As long as he kept bossing you around, they would stay open long past New Years.

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Text is fictional.

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Harris Phelps unlocked and opened the front door. He initially would have been suspicious about a knock on the door at 8 pm, but he was almost sure he knew who was on the other side.

“Hello Daniel.”
“Hi,” he said sheepishly, clutching his backpack against his slim, pigeon chested form like a shield.
“Things bad tonight?”
He nodded, looking at his feet. “Lotta screaming. He punched me pretty hard in the shoulder, I can feel the bruise forming already. I am so behind on my homework, I don’t know if I can catch up during the Thanksgiving break. I really want to graduate this year. So I was um…hoping…for tonight…”
“I understand. Come in.”
“It’s ok?”
“Yes, it’s always ok.” Harris stepped back and gestured into their two-story home.
Daniel sighed in relief. “Thank you Mr. Phelps. Is Shane ho-”
“Danny?”
He looked up the stairs for the source of the voice. Harris’s son rushed down the steps at the sight of him, his face furrowed in concern.
“Aww Danny. Is everything alright?”
He shook his head and sniffled. “No, it’s not. We’re short again this month. He said it’s my fault we can’t have Thanksgiving.” He began to weep and Shane swept him into a hug. “Shh shh it’s not your fault.”

Debra Phelps came out of the living room to see what was going on. “Oh it’s Danny again. The poor dear.” She put her hand over her mouth, and looked at her husband with a questioning eyebrow. Harris nodded. She tsked and shook her head, standing back to let Shane comfort his boyfriend.

Harris shifted on his feet, feeling awkward, watching his teenage son embrace and lovingly pet another teenage boy. He was trying to be accepting but it was so foreign to him. He coughed. “Um, did you get dinner Danny?”
He shook his head, still buried in Shane’s neck.
“I’ll fix you a plate.” Before Danny could answer, he was gone.
Debra rolled her eyes. “There he goes. Are you two going to go upstairs for a bit after this, or do you want the living room to yourselves?”
Shane gave his mother a look of gratitude. “We’re gonna go upstairs I think. Danny’s worn out. I think he needs a meal and some rest.” He was rocking Danny side to side as he said this.
“Make sure you check him for bruises. Take pictures of whatever you find. This is the last straw. After the holiday weekend, we’re going down to the police and settling this.”
Danny lifted his head. “Mrs. Phelps, I really appreciate all your family does for me, but I’m going to be 18 in April. I just want to get over this and move on.”

She pursed her lips. “You can’t let him get away with hurting you.”
Shane interrupted. “Let’s talk about this later alright?”
Debra pressed her lips together but didn’t reply. Harris came back into the room with a plate and a cup of iced tea.

“Thanks so much, Daddy. We’re gonna go upstairs for a bit.”
“Alright now. The guest room should be prepared.” He passed the plate and glass to Shane, and clapped Danny on the shoulder. “Get some rest.”
Danny nodded.
Shane carried the items upstairs with Danny at his heals.

Mrs. Phelps had a lot to say to Harris after they went to bed.

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Upstairs, Shane and Danny camped out in Shane’s room for a bit. Shane checked him over, took a picture or two. He was alarmed to find Danny shaking and his skin cold.
“Why didn’t you wear your coat over here silly?”
“It doesn’t fit well anymore,” he explained, smoothing his shirt down. “God, I can’t believe how much homework I have to do. I just wanted to do my homework, how hard could that be?”
“Shhh…. you don’t have to fuss over that now. We don’t have school until Monday.”
“I’m so behind!” Danny cried, his hands trembling as he went for his backpack. “I just wanted to do my homework and graduate and and -” he was beginning to hyperventilate.
Shane took the backpack out of his hands. “Danny – Daniel! Stop. Stop. Look at me.”
Danny was so surprised to hear an adult voice come out of Shane that he forgot to hyperventilate. It was so reassuring to hear him be firm with him, to be in control of things. Shane was his rock.
“ Look at me. Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. It’s ok. Your homework is going to get done. I’ll help you. The library is open on Saturday.”
Danny nodded. Shane noted the bags under his eyes, the sallow hue to his skin. He gave Danny the cup of iced tea to sip, and coaxed him into eating some porkchops by hand-feeding him with the fork. It wasn’t long before his appetite reared up, and he devoured everything on the plate, much to Shane’s satisfaction. It was easy to coax him into the guest bed for a long night’s rest.

They let Danny sleep in the next morning. Shane made pancakes and bacon for everyone. It was a simple morning, but for Danny the domestic stability was a soothing balm to his jittery soul. He ate as much bacon as he wanted and felt like a prince. He joined Shane outside to rake leaves, and they ended up playing in the piles. Shane was delighted to hear him laughing. After, when they tumbled into the house with red cheeks, they were given tea and ended up helping Debra peel apples for pies and potatoes for the mashed spuds for Thanksgiving dinner. Harris prepped and stuffed the bird.

As the late morning faded into early afternoon, Danny began to feel increasingly out of place. An aunt was on her way for the feast. The grandparents were coming in an hour. Shane was looking devastatingly handsome and grown up in fitted tan corduroy slacks and an oatmeal and navy sweater. Danny felt ugly next to him in ripped jeans and an old T-shirt. When the family was distracted by a situation involving a shortage of water glasses, Danny slipped upstairs.

He returned a moment later with his old backpack off one shoulder. He stood in the entryway to the kitchen, shuffling his foot against the carpet.
“Um,” he said.
Shane straightened and looked up at his boyfriend. “Danny?”
“I um – it’s getting late. I don’t want to be in your way when your family comes. I bother you guys too much and overstay my welcome as is, so I’m gonna go. Thank you for everything. Again,”
Before anyone could answer, he made his way to the door.
“Danny!” Shane called after him.
“Daniel wait.” This time it was Harris.
The young man froze in the hallway. “What?” he asked, suspicious.
Harris caught up to him, Debra behind him.

“It’s ok if you stay,” said Debra.
“But I’m not part of your family…it’s a family holiday,” he said weakly, his arms tightening around his backpack.
Debra took his arm and walked him to the dining room. “Come here a second. "Look at the table. There’s ten chairs. It’s me, Harris, and our son. Then it’s Harris’s parents, my parents – that’s 7. Aunt Megan, and cousin Reyna is 9. The other one is for you. We set a place for you.”

Danny just stared at the chairs. He worked his jaw a few times, then looked at Shane for support. Shane was giving him a warm smile, obviously in on it.
“I – I-.. I-”
“Dammit Danny, you helped make the pie you at least gotta eat that,” Shane said in an exasperated tone. His quip broke the tension and they all shared a laugh. Danny brushed tears out of his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Well, there’s a little more than eating pie.” Harris put a large hand on his wife’s shoulder. We were going to ask you later, but I think it’s appropriate now.“ He glanced at Debra. Debra nodded and put her slimmer hand over her husband’s. Confusion formed on Shane’s face. He wasn’t in on this.

Harris cleared his throat. "We would like to invite you to stay with us for the rest of the school year. We’re not going to be using our guest room for the time being, as Patricia is off studying abroad for the year, and it’s obvious you need some stability in your life. Plus, Shane likes you, and I think it’d be good for you.”
“Oh Daddy do you mean it?” Shane gasped. “You really mean it? Mom? Is he telling the truth, Danny can stay with us?”
“Yes,” she said with a nod. “It’s the best thing. I can’t sleep knowing that his daddy is going to put Daniel in the hospital one of these days. We’ll set the deadline at May, and we’ll go from there. Daniel? How do you feel about this?”
Danny’s face was blank. He walked over to the table in a daze and ran his fingers over the rim of the plate with his name card on it. His lower lip began to tremble and he collapsed into a squat and buried his face into his backpack. His entire body shuddered, wracked with sobs. “Yes,” he said, the words thickly muffled.
Shane dropped to his kneels and put a supporting arm over him.
“Yes, a million times yes!”
Debra sniffled and even Harris had a hard time swallowing his emotions.
Shane got Danny to stand up again by offering more hugs.
“Seriously, thank you guys,” he blurted out, hiccuping. “You have been so amazing. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you all.”
Debra found herself opening her arms for a hug too and Danny was eager for the love.
“You just thank us by getting good grades.”
“And uh,” Harris coughed and gestured to Shane. “You two keep it appropriate ok? I know you’re um, dating, but we do mean it when we say separate rooms.”
“Dad!” Shane hissed, turning bright red. Danny groaned and wiped his face on his shirt.
“We’ll be good Mr. Phelps. I swear. Shane is so important to me, I wouldn’t risk it. I just want to graduate, and try to figure out what I’m doing after high school.”
He clapped Danny on the back. “Good. That’s what I want to hear. Now put your backpack away, I need your help in the kitchen with-… Megan, how long have you been standing there?”
“…Am in the middle of something?” she asked, her daughter peering around her legs.
“No,” Debra insisted, putting on a winning smile. “Not at all. We were just having a family moment. Shane, go find something for Danny to wear. Meet us in the kitchen.”
He nodded and stole a sniffling Danny away.

“Who is that?” the stray aunt asked.
“One of Danny’s friends. He’s going to be staying with us for the time being. Problems at home.”
“Oh, is he? Such a sad-faced boy. Poor lost lamb.”
Debra nodded sympathetically and went to get her a glass of wine and some juice for Reyna.

Upstairs, Danny was trying on one of Shane’s button up shirts. Shane had taken a few minutes to allow Danny to wash his face and then he himself combed Danny’s hair back into a ponytail. Danny eyed his clean-cut self in the mirror as he got the top button done on the shirt. He turned around and looked for Shane’s approval. Shane beamed.
“You look handsome. Now let’s find you a belt so my pants stay up on you…”
“Wait, Shane…seriously. I really need to thank you first. Your family is awesome. I just want to say that I really appreciate this. I love them and you so much.”
“You love me?” Shane repeated, flushing prettily.
“Yes. I really do. You’ve shown me such kindness, how could I not?”
Shane cupped Danny’s freckled cheek. They leaned in toward each-other and shared a sweet, light kiss. Danny swallowed a lump in his throat. He hadn’t felt anything so wonderful in a very long time.
“Happy Thanksgiving Danny.”
“Happy Thanksgiving to you too Shane. You know, for the first time since my mother died, I actually feel like I have something to be thankful for this year.”
Shane couldn’t hold it in anymore and finally had to wipe away tears too. Danny kissed them all away.

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Text is fictional. Source is OP. Happy Thanksgiving~

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I yawn, ruffling my hair as I amble into the kitchen. I pause in the doorway, slightly startled to see a slightly older man cooking in the buff. His focus is on a pot on the stove. I tilt my head and rub my eyes. I didn’t think anyone else was home. George didn’t mention he had a houseboy. Well, some men don’t think to, they get so used to having them around.
“Morning, how about some coffee?” I say, sounding sluggish.
He glances in my direction, but doesn’t say anything back. I shrug it off, figuring he’s a silent type, then go about pouring some cereal into a bowl. I add the milk and sit down to read the paper. Halfway through on article on an all male ballet revue, I realize I still don’t smell coffee.
“Hey, do you mind making some c-” I tilt the paper back. The houseboy isn’t there. I look left and look right. I began to feel odd and the hair on the back of my neck is standing up. The stove is clear; the towel is hanging on the oven.

I put the paper down and glance out of the window toward the driveway; not a soul. I wander around the house, hoping to find him there or in the backyard. Feeling slightly frightened, I launched myself up the stairs to George’s room and find him safe and shaving in the bathroom.

“Hey um, George?” I pant.
“Hey is everything alright?” he asks, mid stroke.
“I …I don’t know. I ran into your houseboy downstairs and now he’s vanished. I was wondering if maybe I was wrong in thinking he’s your houseboy and someone broke in the house and….George why are you looking at me that way?”
He swallows hard. “I don’t have a houseboy.”
“….What?”
George’s eyes are wide. “Well, I mean…I did, but he…he passed away a couple years ago.”
“Christ,” I gasp and lean against the door-frame. “I swear, there was a guy I saw downstairs. He was cooking something on the stove.”
George finishes shaving as quickly as he can. He washes his face off and we scramble downstairs to the kitchen. The towel is on the floor when we get there.

George kneels and picks it up. “Ivan always used to wear this over his shoulder when cooking. I used to chide him when it fell off, which was often…” his voice catches in his throat.
“Jesus, George.”
George walks to the living room, clutching the towel, and gestures to a photo on the mantel. “That was us.”
My skin breaks out in small bumps. “That’s him!” I squeak, “That was him. He looked at me!”
“His name is Ivan,” George says, sniffling. “Oh god, why is this happening. Ivan passed away two years ago. He had cancer, it got into his brain. Why did he show himself to you and not me?”
Suddenly, George is crying and I’m embracing him, trying to comfort my new boyfriend. I’m soothing him and stroking the back of his head as he mourns when I smell it.

I sniff the air. George holds his breath and sniffs too.
“Do you smell that?” he asks, hesitant.
“Yeah I do,” I reply, swallowing my fear in my throat again. “It’s the smell of fresh coffee.”

We both look at each other and bolt to the kitchen. The scent is fading. There aren’t any full cups on the counter. No steam comes from the pot. However…the cupboard revealing the cups is open.

George and I are speechless.
“I …I think he wants me to make coffee,” I volunteer.
“Why would he want you to do that?”
I think. “Maybe he wants me to take care of you.”
George face lights up. “You think so? You think it’s his way of approving of you?”
“Perhaps so,” I say with a smile. I go about making coffee and a nice breakfast, looking over my shoulder the entire time.

George and I were on edge all morning, but there were no other traces of Ivan on that day or any other day. I kept dating George and eventually moved into his house. I mostly assumed Ivan had moved on. Although, once in a while, I would come into the kitchen to make dinner and find the towel on the floor, and I would wonder…

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Text is fictional. Happy Halloween. Be nice to have a source for this.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I came into the room holding a white box in my hands. My boyfriend didn’t notice me at first. Flint was draped over the sofa like an over-sized Great Dane, his eyes glued to the muted TV. I heard him sigh in lament as he watched the clips KCAL News were broadcasting of firework shows from the East Coast. The sun hadn’t yet set here in Los Angeles, but on the other side of the country it was over.

“Flint,” I said softly. He lifted his head and glanced over at me with a mournful, uninterested expression on his face.
“What?” he sulked.
“I have a present for you.”
“…But my birthday isn’t until August.”
“I know baby.” I smile. “This is a just-because present.”
He glanced over at the bright colors on the screen before sitting up. I took a seat next to him and offered the box. Flint carefully peeled off the white butcher paper; the box was blank and held no clues to its contents. He popped the tape and opened it. When he saw what was inside, his brow furrowed.
“Headphones?” he inquired.
“They’re gun-range earmuffs, and there’s some high end earplugs in there too. I know how badly you wanted to go see fireworks this 4th of July, and this will help dampen the sound so it won’t trigger your PTSD.”

Flint’s face softened and he traced his fingers over the padding on the left ear cup. “But…are you sure it will be enough so I don’t have an anxiety attack?”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “Yes. I found a place up in the hills, called the Baldwin Hills Overlook. It’s in Culver City. It’s way up in the hills and not directly below any fireworks shows, so you can see them at a distance without being in direct range of the loud bangs and explosions.”
He bit his lip. I could see Flint badly wanted to believe me. Before he was deployed to the Middle East, we would go down to Dockweiler Beach and light bonfires and set off illegal firecrackers and just generally act like drunk hooligans. As a child, Fourth of a July was a family affair for little Flint and he felt a strong pull to carry on the tradition of flag cakes, cook-outs, and things that go boom. Being stuck at home made him miserable, especially because he was a military man and felt pressure to participate.

“Tovy…I’m not …but what if it’s not enough?” he said softly.
“Parking is free, and we can leave at any time. It’s not far from our apartment here in West Hollywood, just down La Cienega then we turn on Jefferson. Easy peasy. Worse comes to worse, Brotman Medical Center is like right there.”

Flint took the items out of the box. “You’ve thought of everything,” he said in awe. He looked away but I saw that his eyes were wet.
“Yes, because I know it means a lot to you. Oh – one more thing.”
Flint blinked. “There’s more?”
“Yes,” I said. I got up and vanished into the kitchen, then returned holding some rectangular in metal tin.
“A flag cake!” he squealed.
“Made with Cool Whip and everything,” I beamed.
“Oh Tovy baby,” his voice cracked as he threw his arms around me. “You’re the best goddamn boyfriend. I’m so excited.” He punctuated that with a kiss. I watched him put the earmuffs on. “How do I look?”
“Dorky,” I chuckled.
“What?” he said.
I pulled them away from his ears. “Adorkable, but I like you that way. Now grab your sweater while I pack us some drinks.”
Flint smiled at me, then turned off the TV and was up the stairs in a flash.

We got lucky and found parking at base of the park, then began the upward climb up switchbacks to the baseball fields above; from there, we then continued up a steep driveway to the Overlook. Flint paused to stare at the panorama of Los Angeles spread out below us. “This is fantastic,” he breathed. “You can see all the way from the Pacific Ocean to Downtown…and beyond. I had no idea this was up here! Goddamn, the sunset is gorgeous, setting behind the hills like that. Oh, I can see the 10!”
I let him gush, then we found a spot and sat down. By the time we cut the cake, people were lighting off things down below and Flint dived for the earplugs and headphones. People stared at us, but Flint ignored them in favor of being hand-fed cake by me. We drank our sodas until the sun set, and firework shows began legally -and illegally- all over the city. Flint and I eventually packed up our stuff back into my backpack and stood to see over everyone else. As the night deepened, more and more neighborhoods began to shoot off their pyrotechnics. I watched Flint carefully, but he was transfixed.

When a community college close to the Overlook began their show, Flint reached for my hand and squeezed it hard.
“Do you wanna go?” I asked.
Flint didn’t respond. He couldn’t hear me, and he wasn’t paying attention. I watched the colors reflect in his eyes and I realized he was crying. I wrapped my arms around him and he clung to me, sniffling. “You know why I love fireworks so much?”
I shook my head.
“Because even if we fucked up in the Middle East, and even if the US sometimes does dumb shit, fireworks allow us to be patriotic without being political. I think we need that, now more than ever. I never thought I’d get to see them again because of my stupid PTSD.”
I kissed his cheek and rested my head on his shoulder.

As the finales came on, Flint had started to tremble from their bombastic displays. We made it through the Culver City finale, and then he told me he wanted to go in a harried voice. Truthfully, it was a smart move. We got out of there before traffic began and we were home in record time.

I was the first in the door with Flint trailing behind me. He barely shut the door when he grabbed my wrist and spun me around. I gasped in surprise as he came at me pelvis first, then pinned me to the wall with a deep kiss. His hands roved up my arms and my shoulders as he rubbed his half-hard erection into my hip. My hands instantly went to his ass. When we broke, I was panting and my lips felt slightly bruised.
“What was that?”
“A thank you,” he murmured, trailing kisses up my jaw. “You are just the most wonderful, fantastic thing to happen to me, Tovy. I haven’t felt so wonderful in a long time, and watching you feed me cake made me ridiculously horny.”
I lifted my hips off the wall to meet him, and I was pleased to hear him groan. “You wanna go create some fireworks of our own?”
I saw a flicker of amusement cross Flint’s face. “Fuck yeah I do. I’m going to make love to you so hard you’re gonna sing the Star Spangled Banner.”
I laughed and Flint couldn’t help but join me. I paused to put the rather smushed cake remains back into the fridge, then ran to join Flint in the bedroom. He was naked and waiting for me, and tasted deliciously of strawberries and Cool Whip.

I didn’t dare tell Flint, but he was a screamer and he made more noise than any explosion we heard from Baldwin Hills that night.

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Text is fictional. Can’t find the source. The Baldwin Hills Overlook is a real thing on Jefferson Blvd in Los Angeles (not to be confused with the Kenneth Hahn Recreation area on La Cienega Blvd) and a great place to see fireworks.