Thursday, March 7, 2024

Coming Out is the Pits (A Repost)

 Markwildyr.com, Post #260

Image Courtesy of Vecteezy:

 


Well, did hunky Bunny turn out okay?

 Today, we’ll do a repost, although I can’t find the original post. It had to be somewhere around January of 2008, and I’ve revised it, so hopefully, you won’t mind too much.

 


* * * *

COMING OUT IS THE PITS

 

What is it with this “coming out” crap anyway? It took eighteen years to come out to myself, and only then because this jock cornered me in the upstairs stacks of the school library. My stomach dropped nervously, but my toes curled in excitement when he took what he wanted. When I accidentally—kinda—saw him again, I figured he wouldn’t want anything to do with me, but I was wrong. I got a kick out of reducing that macho hunk to absolute putty. After that, the die was cast.

Eventually, I came out to my best friend and lost a lifelong buddy. My big brother called me a snot-nosed pansy and threatened to beat me to a pulp. My mother cried herself sick, and my father swelled up like a puff adder. At that point, I shut down the “coming out” process.

My parents sent me to an out-of-state university rather than the local community college, probably to get me out of their hair. My name, by the way, is Quentin Utley Ramson, and if my initials didn’t clue my parents, they aren’t the bright folks the neighbors believe them to be. So far as I’m concerned, there won’t be any “coming out” at the U. That’s over. Kaput—except—well, there’s this guy I sorta like. My dorm mate.

Carlton Easton Eaves isn’t the snob he sounds. He puts his pants on and laces his sneakers all by himself like one of the masses. He moves well in the pool, plays a mean set of tennis, and probably polos okay, too. But he rides rodeo, and that’s a plebeian sport if there ever was one. We’ve gotten pretty chummy, and that brings me to the nub of my present problem.

East asked me to double date with him tomorrow night. Damn! Why can’t we just go to the movies together? Why mess it up with a couple of girls?

“Hi, Ram,” he said, materializing at my side on the quadrangle. That was something else I liked about him, he calls me Ram, which sounds—well, studly. The main thing I dig about East is his six-foot, tapered frame with lean hips and a groin to go down for! Of course, his corn-colored hair and curious blue eyes and broad, laughing mouth and bronze skin are considerations also. Why the hell he bummed around with olive-skinned, brown-eyed me, I hadn’t figured out yet. I had quickly learned to avoid the shower room like a vat of acid when he’s in there lest I make a fool out of myself. There’s more than one way of coming out, you know.

“Got a date yet?” he posed the dreaded query.

“Maybe you better get somebody else to go with you,” I blurted in a moment of weakness. “I don’t know any girls yet.”

“No, way! Get a date. It’ll be fun. Catch you later!” He gave me a manly punch on the shoulder and peeled off for his own class.

Mary Quadrill, the girl who sat beside me in Freshman English, was handy, so I blurted out an invitation just as the class settled into the pre-lecture silence.

“Well, Miss Quadrill, please give Mr. Ramson your answer so the class can turn to more mundane affairs,” our prof said dryly.

My ears were aflame, and Mary’s cheeks looked like Bette Davis’s in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane.

“Uh—yeah. Yes, I’d like to go,” the poor girl stuttered.

Despite that promising start, things went downhill from there. The movie was okay, but cost too much. My arm went to sleep over the back of the seat, and afterward, we went to a beer joint. Frankly, I’m not accustomed to drinking.

When we left the bar, East parked on the bluff above the reservoir and turned to his girl, a blonde named Bunny or Billie or something like that. It wasn’t long before they slid down out of sight, and I was alone in the back with a girl.

We smooched, and to my surprise, I worked up a little steam while listening to the noises from the front. Mimicking what I thought was going on up there, I dug one of Mary’s boobs out of her brassiere and, ignoring her protest, went for the nipple like a newborn babe. I’d just glommed on to the pink little thing when she twisted my ear painfully. My cries of “Oh—oh—oh!” went nasal when she got my nose between two fingers!

“Behave now?” she whispered in a lady-like snarl.

“Yeah—yeah!” I whimpered, nodding my head and earning more pain. The pressure was suddenly released, and I straightened up to rearrange my clothing and dignity. Shit! It wasn’t right; paying with an earache for something I didn’t enjoy. Mary was restoring her tit to its proper place when East popped up and grinned at me knowingly. Hell’s bells! He’d hit a home run, and all I got was a sore nose and bruised ear.

I expected a karate kick to the groin when we took the girls to their dorm door, but she claimed she’d had a good time and said we’d have to do it again.

East was restless and drove around for a few minutes until he found a place to take a piss in the bushes. I wanted to go hold it for him, but couldn’t get up the nerve. I fingered myself through my trousers while watching his broad back and trim butt—a mistake because I had to work hard to hide a horrendous bone when he got back in the car.

“Man,” he moaned as he slammed the door. “I hurt! Haven’t had a nut ache in years.”

I jumped in surprise. He hadn’t made it with Bunny or Billie.

“Lucky dog. Mary’s pretty foxy,” he went on, tearing me away from his nut ache and the mental image that conjured. “At least you’re not in my shape.”

He thought I’d made it with Mary! What the hell made him believe that? Probably those “ohs” and “yeahs” I gave while in Mary’s painful embrace.

I forgot forswearing “coming out” and all that crap and blurted what was sitting right there on the tip of my tongue. “I-I, uh, could help you if you’re suffering that much.

“You’d do that for me even—you know—even though you made it with Mary?”

“Hey, man, what are roomies for? Gotta take care of one another.” Brave words, but my insides were fluttering around like crazy.

“You sure, Ram?”

Not about to let this opportunity get away, I reached over and touched him where it counted.

He leaned back in the seat and breathed an “ahhhh.”

I told my fingers to play it cool, but they jerked at his belt so hard, he finally pushed my hands away and freed himself. My dreams were fulfilled when he was exposed to my eyes. Rigid, rampant, and ready.

I stroked him for awhile bringing little moans and groans out of him, but before long I lost control and did what I wanted. “East,” I said, “this is only for you.”

With that, I lowered my head and was rewarded with the biggest groan of the evening. He enjoyed my ministrations for a few minutes before speaking.

“R-Ram, uh, why don’t we go back to the room. We—oh, man, that felt good—we can get naked and go to bed.”

I came up like a shot. “Deal.”

I had to keep telling him to slow down on the race back to the dorm. Not that I wasn’t in a hurry, but I damned sure didn’t want a cop to stop us. Writing a ticket and suffering his lecture would’ve cost too much time.

And when the door to our dorm room closed behind me, Carlton Easton Eaves stripped me naked and inspected every inch of my body before shoving me down on the bed. Then he and rode me like the rodeo champ he was.

 *.*.*.*.

I get the feeling that Ram’s “coming out” was finally successful. What do you think?

 My new anthology, Huntinghawk,was released in February as an Ebook by JMS Books with the print version to follow soon. Hope you’ll give it a read.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

X: @markwildyr

 Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it! (Don Travis keeps reminding me I stole it from him, but he didn’t copyright it. His bad.)

 See you later.

 

 Mark

 New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.

Thursday, February 15, 2024

Li’l Honey Bunny (Part 2 of 3 Parts)

 Markwildyr.com, Post #259

Image Courtesy of Freepik:


 

Hunky Bunny’s been on Cliff’s mind so much he doesn’t know how much more he can stand. Now they’re alone together drinking beer after a bowling session. Right at the moment, they’re talking about Bunny’s coming college experience. Is this it? Let’s see.

 


* * * *

LI’L HONEY BUNNY

“Well,” I said uncertainly. “You have your fraternities and your sororities—”

“I know that.”

“And you have your girls’ dorms and your boys’ dorms.”

“I know that too.”

Except there, they’re called women’s dorms and men’s dorms.”

“Aw, come on, Cliff.”

“And you have those who will and those who won’t. Women, that is.” I paused and tried to sound slightly drunken. “Men too, I suppose.”

“You had much luck?”

“About like back here.”

“Crap. No better’n here?”

I grinned at him. “Well, maybe a smidgeon.” I went on to embellish the two or three liaisons with women I’d had last year. They were all real, but I probably exaggerated a minor detail or two. Then I noticed he was getting agitated, so I really threw in some details. Bunny took it all in while sucking on bottles of beer. By the time the evening had started growing a beard, it was obvious he was too tipsy to drive us home.

When he finally agreed to that fact, I realized it was gonna be a bust of a night. Oh, I’d enjoyed Bunny’s company and had fun, but somehow, I’d hoped something might come of it. Something exciting, out of the ordinary… something exciting.

My hopes revived when I got out of the car to switch seats and drive and decided I need to drain the pipe. He staggered to my side, ripped open his fly and threw his arm around my shoulders. As a potentially sensual moment morphed into a fraternal one, we watered the bushes while I peered through the darkness to get a glimpse of him. No use, not enough light. But I got the impression he was big.

****

I came off my Bunny high and went to work the next day in a sour frame of mind until he breezed through the door and grabbed a soft drink from the cooler. As he paid for his drink, he gave me a smile.

“Really enjoyed hanging last night. Have to do it again.”

“Yeah, I enjoyed it too. Anytime.”

He hesitated for a second before taking his leave, and as usual, I watched him clear out of sight. Fluid grace. Masculine poetry in motion. Hell, walking sex.

Over the next two days, I hoped he’d wander back in the store and finish what he’d started by fixing the time and date for another outing. He didn’t show up until six days later suggesting that we try the lanes again since it was open bowling that night. I swallowed my disappointment when I had to decline since I was taking Mom to Pollytown to see her sister right after work that evening. I spent the next two days in a surly mood until it occurred to me there was no reason why I shouldn’t call him. I dialed his father’s store, but Bunny was out on an errand. I left a message, only halfway expecting it to be answered. But about four, he called me back.

“Hi, Cliff. It’s Bunny. Got a message you called.”

“Yeah. You probably already have plans, but if not, maybe we could do something tonight.”

“Naw. I was just gonna go down to the Fountain—” which I knew was a local teen hangout “—and see what was happening. But I’m game for something. What you have in mind?”

I sure couldn’t answer that question honestly, so I equivocated. “Dunno. You have any ideas?”

“It’s open bowl in Pollytown tonight, we could drive over there.”

“Aw, I dunno—”

“I know,” he suggested, “You can use that ID of yours to get us some beer, and we can drive to the lake and relax.”

“Sounds good to me, but it’s a little chilly for swimming after dark.”

“Nah. Just hang, like we did the other night.”

“You got it.”

We made arrangements, and I spent the rest of the afternoon trying not to screw up whatever my chore of the moment was.

****

I went by the liquor store before I picked him up—figured it was my time to drive—and honked for him at six-thirty, as agreed. He bounced out the door looking like a million dollars adjusted for inflation and crawled into the passenger’s seat. We exchanged smiles and greetings, and I took off like a shot, anxious to get the beer flowing down his throat.

He talked about his day, while I contributed occasional grunts as we raced toward the lake, a long ten miles down the highway. When we got there, I had a mild scare when he spotted a few guys we both knew with their gals and a truckload of alcohol. But I relaxed when he said he wasn’t in the mood for a party. We motored on down the road until we found a semi-remote area with a good view of the lake and the moon and stars. He wasted no time grabbing a couple of cans from the cooler in my back seat.

Neither of us talked for a few minutes, just sucked on our beer and admired the view. I turned half sideways in the seat and admired the view I preferred… the roll of muscle in his arms, the play of his Adam’s apple, the flat planes of his chest and concave curve of his belly, and… well, and the shadows and valleys farther south. Bunny had really turned into an Earthbound Adonis. I could have sat there all night without saying a word, but soon he got restless.

“Tell me more about college,” he finally said, spearing me with a look. Had he caught me gawking at him?

So I spent an hour answering questions and describing Mimi Sawtuck in more detail than she deserved, and he obviously at it up.

Eventually, I ran out of things to say when he quit asking questions, and a silence grew. Eventually, he broke it.

“Uh, Cliff….”

“Yeah?”

“You said something last time, but I guess you were just goofing.”

“What did I say?”

“Don’t remember exactly, but I asked something about sex… meaning sex on camputs, but you said…. Well….”

“I’m game if you are. I said I’m game if you are.”

“That’s it. Did… did you mean it, or were you just horsing—”

“Every word of it.”

“Meant every word of it?”

“Yep. Meant every word of it.”

“Why would… Well, you told me about the women you had, so—” He bit his lip. “Were you making that up?”

“Not a bit. Every one of them was real.”

“Then how come….”

I caught his eye in the bright moonlight and held it. “Bunny, I’m willing to bet a week’s pay you’re not a virgin. In fact, I’ll wager you’ve sampled more than one of the town’s girls.”

He grinned. “Two. More than once.”

“So how come you’re interested?”

“W-what makes you think I am?”

“Friday night, and here we are out on the lakeshore all alone. You’re the one who brought up the subject. Why would you do that if you weren’t interested?”

He shrugged. “Curious, I guess.”

“You ever got with a guy?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Next door neighbor and I jerked off together when we were fifteen. That’s all.”

“How did you feel about it then?”

“It was okay. Nothing to shout about.”

“You must be interested in something more than jerking off to bring it up now.”

“Aw, just forget—”

I looked him straight in the eye. “Uh-uh, you said you were curious, so let’s get curious.”

“I-I dunno, Cliff.”

“I do. I’ll show you how we do it in college.”

I reached for him. He flinched, but didn’t bolt. Before the evening was over, Lil ole Honey Bunny had learned a lot… and he had learned it well. I think I unleashed a tiger. And I knew one thing for sure. I couldn't call him L'il Honey Bunny anymore.

 *.*.*.*.

I get the feeling Cliff got more than he bargained for… turned every way but loose. How do you see it?

My new anthology, Huntinghawk, has been released as an Ebook by JMS Books with the print version to follow soon. Hope you’ll give it a read.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

    Website and blog: markwildyr.com

    Email: markwildyr@aol.com

    Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

    X: @markwildyr

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

 See you later.

 

 Mark

 New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.

Thursday, February 1, 2024

Li’l Honey Bunny (Part 2 of 3 Parts)

 Markwildyr.com, Post #258

Image Courtesy of Freepik:


 


 

Well, Cliff’s seen Li’l Honey Bunny again, and the sight knocked his socks off. What do you suppose is going to happen next? Let’s find out.

 

 



* * * *

LI’L HONEY BUNNY

The day went more slowly than usual, but eventually it passed. After my shift, I rushed home, showered—for the second time that day—shaved—ditto—and spent too much time deciding what to wear, eventually settling on a pair of walking shorts I’d been told fit me nicely in the rear, and a sleeveless polo shirt. As I gave myself a final check in the mirror, I felt kinda foolish. I hadn’t made such elaborate preparations for my last date with a girl. Nonetheless, I felt good as I left for the bowling alley.

Bunny was already at the alley and looked super in shorts and a muscle shirt that fit like original skin. My enthusiasm waned when he had two girls in tow. I knew them both, but one, Eileen Whipper, I’d dated in high school. Disappointed though I was, I had to admit she looked better than the high school Eileen.

“Cliffy!” she exclaimed, opening her arms to me. Nothing to do but move into them.

“Eileen, it’s been too long.”

She held me at arm’s length and put a scowl on her face. “You promised to write.”

“That I did, but even my folks didn’t get a letter. Thought I’d breeze through my classes like in Eldorado, but college is a little tougher. Takes more time.”

She cocked an eye. “That’s your excuse?”

“Well, that and sloth.”

“Now I’m starting to believe you.”

The other girl was closer to Bunny’s age, and I knew her only slightly. He reintroduced me to Lila.

Naturally, it was a case of us against them, me and Eileen against Bunny and Lila. That was okay. Either way, I got to watch his athletic form do the windup, take the steps, and let go of the ball, skewing sideways at the end with his hips cocked. Smooth as chocolate fudge flowing over cherry ice cream. And about as delicious. Strangely, my licentious thoughts about him made my own butt tingle every time I bowled.

Halfway through the set, I had a thought that almost made me toss a gutter ball. I’d fooled around with a few guys before, but it had always been a casual thing… you know, guys helping one another after striking out on a double date. But here I was actively lusting after another guy. That was new territory. But there it was. Apparently, nothing to worry about because we were stuck with two gals for the night, and from the way Lila clung to her guy, he probably wasn’t going home needy tonight. Well, crap!

The set was a close one, but Bunny and his partner aced us out… probably because I bowled right after Bunny did, and the image of his manly body performing that sexy toss threw me off my game. I was surprised he didn’t start in on that “make me eat my words” thing right away, but he didn’t.

We ate in the alley’s restaurant afterward, and I put on a good face even though the night wasn’t gonna turn out the way I wanted, you know, with some one-on-one bonding time with Bunny.

At the end of the meal, the girls excused themselves to go to the powder room, so I took the opportunity to drain the pipe. As I was finishing, Bunny entered and stepped to the urinal beside me.

I’d never experienced “shy kidneys” before, but I got an attack of them right then. My stream promptly dried up, yet I didn’t want to leave. Even though there was a modesty panel between us, standing side by side holding our private parts in our hands seemed erotic on its own.

“Cliff?”

“Yeah,” I managed to answer and sound natural.

“I’m not into it tonight. What say we ditch the girls and get a six-pack.”

Dunno why, but somehow I had to make a joke out of it. “Gotcha. You’re not old enough, so you gotta rely on me to buy the booze.”

“Something like that. You game?”

“Sure.”

The girls had arrived in their own car, so we didn’t have to take them home. I was gratified to notice that Eileen seemed as disappointed as Lila. Maybe that boded well for later.

At any rate, after they pulled out of the parking lot, I turned to Bunny to find him watching me.

“You sure you’re okay with going stag?” he asked. “Eileen seemed interested.”

“Went with her for a while in high school. I’m sure we’ll see one another again. Lila looked disappointed too.”

He shrugged. “Getting too intense. I’ll be leaving for college in a couple of months and need to put some distance between us.” He held up a hand. “I’m not dumping her, you understand. Just trying to prepare us both for what’s coming.”

“Whatever you do, don’t promise to write her… unless you intend to do it. Things get busy on a college campus.”

“Gotcha.”

We agreed on a private place to demolish a six pack, and I drove to the liquor store to pick up the booze while he drove on to stake out a spot. I grabbed the first two six packs out of the cooler I saw, threw money on the counter and broke the speed limit to a stand of woods just outside of town, holding my breath and praying he’d be there.

Sure enough, when I pulled into the grove, there was his Chevy Impala. Grabbing a deep breath and the two six packs, I scrambled out of my car and slid into the passenger seat of his.

“Ah, salvation!” he breathed, tearing one of the cans out of the container and popping the lid. He took a hefty draft, smacked his lips, and muttered, “Nirvana.”

With something else in mind, I blurted, “Not quite but almost.”

“Huh?”

To cover my blunder, I explained that by the end of his first semester, he’d have had so much beer that the bloom was off the lily. Still an enjoyable relief from pressure, but surely not Nirvana.

He seemed to accept my explanation, settling himself more comfortably and spreading his legs. Unconscious or on purpose?

“So tell me about it. Let me know what to expect?”

“It?” I asked. Surely not the it I had in mind.

“You know. College.”

So I blathered on for half an hour while our supply of beer steadily dwindled. I went easy, leaving more for him. Devious son of a bitch, wasn’t I?

At length, he surprised me. “What about sex?”

My mouth dried up, my stomach clinched, but I managed to sound halfway normal. “I’m game if you are.”

He laughed and slapped the steering wheel. “No, you goofball. What about sex on campus. Give me some pointers.

My stomach dropped down into my bowels… followed shortly thereafter by my expectations.

 *.*.*.*.

As we all know, things don’t always turn out the way we plan. Wonder how Cliff’s going to handle the rest of the summer with Bunny still around? Well, there’s one more installment, so I guess we’ll find out.

 I now have the cover for the upcoming Huntinghawk, but JMS won’t let me give anyone a peek yet. I like it, and hopefully, so will you. The release date is sometime in February. I’ll keep you posted.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

X: @markwildyr

Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it! (Don Travis keeps reminding me I stole it from him, but he didn’t copyright it. His bad.)

 See you later.

 

 Mark

 New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.

Thursday, January 18, 2024

Li’l Honey Bunny (Part 1 of 3 Parts)

 Markwildyr.com, Post #257

Image Courtesy of Dreamstime:

 



Can you believe it? Here we are well into 2024, and I was just getting accustomed to writing 2023. Such is life.

 Hope you enjoyed the story of the Army brat and the white park bench. This week, we’ll start another story, maybe pluck some different heartstrings.

Let’s get right to it. Here’s Part 1.

 

 


* * * *

LI’L HONEY BUNNY

I remember the day Greg Parks was born in the house right beside ours on Mason Street. Or at least I recall stories about the event… my mom rushing over to help the doctor, excited whispers, a baby crying. They’re vivid in my mind, although I was only four at the time. But it seemed that my mother coming back home and loudly pronouncing that the new baby was a real “Little Honey Bunny” was my recollection, not someone else’s told so many times it gets mixed up with my own.

So that’s what I called him from the time I first laid eyes on the red-faced, squalling bundle of energy more formally named Gregory Robert Parks. The label worked okay until he reached Middle School, and then he began to rebel, taking it as a smack-down. Wasn’t intended that way, but his reaction tickled my fancy, so I kept it up. By that time, of course, it had simply been reduced to “Bunny,” but I’d use the full appellation on occasion to watch his face turn red. Needless to say, our childhood friendship was no longer so close.

I returned home after being away at college for four years and moved back into the Mason Street house. Didn’t see much of Bunny upon my return as the Parks had long ago moved to another part of town. Nonetheless the sight of the white house to the east of ours kicked off memories… including those of Li’l Honey Bunny.

In answer to my questions, Mom let me know Greg had graduated high school and was prepared to leave for college at State this fall. Hard to believe the gangly fourteen-year-old I’d last cast eyes on would soon be a college man. No doubt I’d see for myself, as I was about to start working in my dad’s drug store. The idea of working for a year at the drug store where I’d started shelving merchandise in short pants before starting pharmacy school was long ago implanted in my brain. Dad wanted me to learn the business end of the store more deeply than what I’d already absorbed by osmosis. He he planned for me to one day replace him as pharmacist… and ultimately as manager. That was okay with me. I’d found his puttering and muttering while mixing this and parsing that fascinating, and I probably already knew more about that end of the business than most pre-pharm students.

One day as I looked through a sheaf of credit card charges while searching for a specific one, an unfamiliar voice called my name.

“Clifton? Is that you, Cliff?”

I turned to regard an oddly familiar stranger. A handsome, hunky, totally desirable stranger. My mouth dropped as recognition dawned.

“Greg?”

The beautiful young man laughed, his generous green eyes crinkling merrily. “It’s okay, I’m still Bunny.”

“You sure are,” I blurted and grasped the strong hand he thrust at me. “Damn, guy, you’ve grown.”

“Wee bit. But you look the same. Guess chasing sorority gals around campus has kept you lean and healthy.”

I gave him a return laugh. “It’s only when you catch them that it can become unhealthy.”

“I’ll take you word for it. How long you home for?”

I reclaimed my hand, although I was enjoying the contact. “Gonna work for a year before going back to Pharmacy School. So I’ll be around awhile.”

“Not me,” the dreamboat in front of me said. “Heading out to State this fall.”

“Try not to tear up campus too much.”

“Might need some guidance on that. Maybe you can give me some pointers.”

“Happy to… anytime.”

He started to move away, but hesitated. “I’m working at my dad’s lumberyard for the summer… like every other summer I can remember. Get off around six. If you’re not doing anything, maybe you can give me some of those pointers.”

A chill ran down my back. “Yeah, sure. What you wanna do?”

“You still bowl?”

“Some. Probably still beat your ass.”

“This isn’t a league night, so why don’t you meet me at the Fiesta Bowl at eight, and I’ll make you eat those words.”

“You’re on.”

I couldn’t help but watch as he moved down the aisle toward the prescription counter where my father was working. The kid had to be a jock. Way he moved, graceful, self-assured… sexy.

Thankfully, the cashier’s counter shielded me as Mrs. Mooseburn walked up, otherwise it would have been obscenely obvious how intrigued I was by that Li’l Honey Bunny.

*.*.*.*.

Wonder if Cliff had explored his own sexuality before Bunny caught his fancy… unexpectedly, it seems. He has to be… what 22 or 23 to have graduated from college, so surely he has. But who knows.

 At any rate, now that he knows, what will he do about it? Assuming, of course, Bunny will permit him to experiment. What do you think?

 I now have the cover for the upcoming Huntinghawk, but JMS won’t let me give anyone a peek yet. I like it, and hopefully, so will you.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

X: @markwildyr

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

 See you later.

  

Mark

 New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.

Thursday, January 4, 2024

An Army Brat and a White-Vined Park Bench (Part 2 of 2 Parts)

 Markwildyr.com, Post #256

 Image Courtesy of Amazon:

 


Hope Christmas went well for everyone. Now we have to get past New Year’s… especially New Year’s Eve. Stay sane, everyone.

 The last post saw Layton Dunelton, an army brat, going through his usual bout of loneliness when his father is transferred to a different base. A piece of graffiti on the school bathroom stall set him looking for a particular bench in a nearby park where he observed a casual pickup.

This story picks up a week later when he returns to the park bench and spots one of the college kids involved in last week’s tryst. The kid boldly approaches Layton, introduces himself as Ken, and asks what Layton thought about what he saw the previous Monday.

 * * * *

AN ARMY BRAT AND A WHITE-VINED PARK BENCH

“Uh, like what?”

“Well, what did you think of my bare butt, for one thing?”

“Tried not to think of it at all.” There, that was better. No stuttering that time.

“Tried not to? That means you did. Care to give it a rating?”

“Uh….” Damn, stuttering again. Maybe not stuttering, but pissing around before answering the question. Same thing. “Not that experienced at rating guy’s asses.”

“Don’t give me that. Good-looking, built guy like you? I can tell you’re an athlete. Athletes shower with guys. So you’ve seen plenty of bare, male butts.”

“Guess so.”

“Know so,” he said, clamping onto my thigh above the knee in a macho, goodwill sorta way. But he left his hand there, and it burned like his hip against mine did. I dunno why, but I didn’t push it away. Didn’t do anything.

Ken turned his head to look at me. “Make you curious about anything else?”

“No… uh… I dunno.”

He flashed a smile, making him handsomer than any movie star I’d ever seen… sexier, at any rate. That thought rattled me some, I can tell you.

“Dunno means you’re not closed to the suggestion. But first, maybe you’d like a feel?”

“Feel? W-wha’da ya mean?”

He moved his hand up my leg. “Oh, like this, for example.”

I clamped my legs together, trapping his hand.

“Relax,” he said in a soothing voice.

I did, and his hand went to work. I’ve heard of blind people “seeing with their hands,” and while those chocolate brown eyes weren’t blind, that hand’s examination was so thorough it must have known exactly what I looked like beneath my trousers.

He spread his legs, which pushed his left one hard against my right. “Your turn.”

Like it had a mind of its own, my hand reached out and came to rest on the inside of his thigh. Then it went dumb.

“Go on,” he said. “Take a good feel.”

So after a good look around to make sure nobody was nearby, I did. One touch, and that monster beneath his sweatpants started growing. Before I knew it, I was holding onto a throbbing tube of flesh yearning to be free.

I was gonna let go, but he reached for me again, his arm trapping mine where it was. So help me, this time, I reacted the same way he had. Junior grew and got muscular fast.

“Impressive,” Ken said, giving that loopy grin that made him handsomer than all get out.

“Y-yours too,” I heard my own voice say. Damn, first my hand acted on its own, and now my voice box went independent.

Taking me by surprise, he removed his hand and yanked down his sweatpants, exposing an excited monster. It bobbed around like that blind eye at the tip was hunting for a home.

“Somebody’ll see!” I whispered.

“Nobody around. Take hold of it.”

My hand became animated again and obeyed. Man, talk about hot. It was physically warm. My hand, acting independently again, pumped it a couple of times.

“Feels good, Layton. Feels good. Now yours.”

I’d lost the ability to resist, so I just lay back against the bench and let him do what he wanted. My trousers had a belt, but it didn’t take him any time at all to overcome that obstacle. And just like his, mine bobbed and weaved like it was looking for a fight. His hand around it about sent me out of my senses, especially when that hand started moving up and down. He sighed as I did the same.

“You one good-looking stud,” Ken said, a sigh in his voice.

“Y-you are too. Really handsome. Bet you could have any girl you wanted. Why’d you want me?”

He leaned his shoulder against mine while both our hands worked like crazy. “You’re prettier than any girl I know, Layton. You’re sexier than that guy I met here last week, and he was a real looker, I can tell you.”

“I’m… uh… ah… oh… not.”

Ken stretched his legs. “Oh, but you are. And you’ve got a great touch. Uh-oh. Getting serious here.”

“You… you do too. Serious… over… here too.” My legs spasmed. My belly contracted, and Junior let loose with a gush of hot sperm.

“Atta boy!” he breathed. “Spewed like a volcano! Ungh, oh my. Here… I… come!”

And come he did. For a long time. Forever, it seemed like.

Finally, we both lolled back against the bench breathing heavily. After a minute or so, Ken took out a clean white handkerchief and cleaned me off before tending to himself. I’ll swear that scrap of cloth was sopping wet by the time he finished. As we restored our clothing, he glanced over at me.

“Well, how was it?”

“Great.”

“Your first time… with another guy, I mean?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“How do I feel? Worn out.”

“No regrets? No recriminations?”

“Why would I?”

He shrugged, and although I was sexually sated, I experienced a brief pang of lust. “Some guys feel like it’s wrong, and they’re mortified afterward. Me, I just enjoy the afterglow.”

“Afterglow?” I asked. “Yeah, that’s it. Afterglow.”

“I like you, Layton.”

“Me too. I mean, I like you, Ken.”

“Wanna meet again? Lots of things I can teach you.”

“Better than… you know, what we just did?”

That devastating grin again. “Lots better.”

*.*.*.*.

Seems like the college boy was looking for more than just telling Layton to keep his mouth shut. As a matter of fact…. Well, I won’t say more, because we’ll likely see more of Layton and Ken later.

 As I said in the last post, JMSBooks is bringing out another short story anthology titled Huntinghawk, An Anthology for publication in February of next year. I’ll keep you posted.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

X: @markwildyr

Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it! (Don Travis keeps reminding me I stole it from him, but he didn’t copyright it. His bad.)

 See you later.

 

 Mark

 New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.

Thursday, December 21, 2023

An Army Brat and a White-Vined Park Bench (Part 1 of 2 Parts)

 Markwildyr.com, Post #255

Image Courtesy of Amazon:

 



Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah to one and all. Please enjoy the holiday season but be careful, there are a lot of crazies out there.

 During this busy time of year, I’d intended to publish a repost for this week. But Layton and the white-vined park bench he’d stumbled onto in last post prompted so many memories from yore, I couldn’t let it go. Hope you enjoy the second story.



 * * * *

AN ARMY BRAT AND A WHITE-VINED PARK BENCH

My name’s Layton Dunelton, and I’m one confused son of a gun. An army brat, I had traveled blamed near all over the world by the time I reached age eighteen. But I’d never seen anything like what I saw when I arrived at Harthbrow Academy for my senior year in high school. It started off last Monday after school was over for the day. I’m a hiker—and a loner, by the way—and went to this park near my house after I’d seen some graffiti in the boy’s room about a white park bench.

Don’t know if I was looking for that bench or not, but I spotted it in a little secluded glen screened from the rest of the park by some trees. All the message said was, “Meet you at the white vine tonight at eight.” Anyway, my curiosity got the better of me, and I sat at another bench not far away. Dunno why, wasn’t anywhere close to eight o’clock. Heck, it was the middle of the afternoon. And I didn’t even know when the note was put on the wall.

But I figured things out right fast when a guy sat down on the white bench and got picked up by another guy. Looked like college students. They moved back in the trees and started making out. Guess they were too involved in what they were doing to notice me, but I sure got an eyeful when one dropped his britches. They left before things got too heated up, heading for somewhere more private, I guess. But as they left, one of them, a really handsome guy with dark, curly hair noticed me and gave me a grin and a thumbs-up behind his buddy’s back.

What was even stranger was I’d never even thought about fooling around with guys, but what I’d seen about set me on fire. I even went back at eight that night to see if anyone answered the note, but nobody showed, and I felt creepy sitting in the dark watching that empty, white-vined park bench.

I tried not to give the park much thought the rest of the week, but the following Monday afternoon, I went to the head and saw that graffiti again. Somebody’d added the word “Wow!” below it. That’s all it took to start my imagination racing again, so I left school after last class and headed straight for the park.

Once I got there, I wondered what the hell I was doing. There were some kids playing a ball game way down the green, but nobody was at the path running in front of the white bench. Or on the other bench farther back in the trees where I’d watched last Monday.

On impulse, I sat down on the white bench and spread my legs like I’d seen the guy do the other day. But as soon as I saw someone approaching, I closed them like I needed to protect my manhood or something.

After a few uncomfortable minutes, I decided sitting on this hookup bench and spreading my legs to bait a trap wasn’t for me. I stood to leave, but froze when I saw that same dark-headed college kid striding this way on long, athletic legs. Panicked, I didn’t know whether to sit down or run away. And I had to do one or the other because my knees went weak.

When I saw him turn his head to look at two girls walking down the path on the other side of the green, I whipped around the bench and took refuge on the other seat deeper in the trees. Maybe he wouldn’t notice me. Like last time.

I sat still as a marble statue as he approached the white bench. Was he going to sit down? Was he meeting his friend again? Would I see them move deeper in the trees and drop their trousers? Would….

Upon reaching the white bench, he stretched languidly, hiking his short shirt up and giving me a flash of brown midriff. Wow, he was built. Athletic, I mean. Not like a wrestler; more like a runner or a swimmer. Long, hard muscles.

I saw the instant he spotted me. He paused, flashed a smile… and headed my way. My insides shriveled. God! Would he recognize me as the peeping Tom kid? Before I had time to react, he stood in front of me.

“Hello. Wondered if I’d see you again.”

Oh, crap! He recognized me.

“I came back a couple of times last week hoping I’d see you,” he went on.

He wanted to see me?

He indicated the bench. “Mind if I join you?”

“Y-yeah, sure.” Crap, I probably sounded like a ten-year-old.

He sat beside me on the small bench with our thighs touching… scorching my flesh.

He offered a hand. “My name’s Ken.”

“Uh….” I verbally stumbled as I accepted his firm grip. Seemed like there was heat in that touch too. “Layton.”

“Good to meet you, Layton.”

“W-why did you want to see me?” Gee, he must think I stuttered.

“Wanted to get your take on what you saw Monday.”

 

*.*.*.*.

Uh-oh, is the college guy fishing around to see what Layton saw a week ago? Should Layton confess he’d gotten an eyeful or play dumb? Would Ken be pissed if he’d seen too much? College boy had been dogged about finding Layton again. What did he want? To make sure the kid kept his mouth shut? Or maybe something else. Let’s see next post.

 JMSBooks has contracted with me for another short story anthology for publication in February of next year. This one is a series of related stories about Curt Huntinghawk and his running buddy Grover Whitedeer. It’s called Huntinghawk, An Anthology. Let you know when I get a firm publication date.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

X: @markwildyr

Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it! (Don Travis keeps reminding me I stole it from him, but he didn’t copyright it. His bad.)

 See you later.

 

 Mark

 New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.

Thursday, December 7, 2023

The White-Vined Park Bench

 Markwildyr.com, Post #254

Image Courtesy of Pinterest:


 


Well, how did you like meeting Charlie and Red Leg over the last two weeks. Think you might get some interest up if you met those two?

 

Let’s try some flash fiction this week. Read on and meet a shy, high school senior Army brat and see if you can share any of his feelings.

 


* * * *

THE WHITE-VINED PARK BENCH

“Hi, my name’s Layton Dunelton, and I’m an army brat who gets transferred around a lot.”

That brought a rumble of laughter from my new senior class at Harthbrow Academy. I mean to say the class was new to me, not that the class was new. My dad’s an Army major, and you’d think I’d grow accustomed to switching schools, but the truth is I’m shy as hell and have a hard time meeting new people. Sometimes I hate my dad’s profession, although it’s been good to us. You know, great medical benefits and respect and all. But it’s hard on the kids, I can tell you.

Anyway, this was my first day in class at a new school, always the hardest. I could readily spot people I’d like to get to know but didn’t always make the connection. Guess that’s an awfully shallow way of picking friends—by the way they look—but nobody’s ever accused me of being deep.

I made it through the day and started for home, by foot since we lived no more than four blocks from the Academy. Before leaving campus, I stopped off in the boy’s room to drain the pipe for a more comfortable walk. Like lots of places I’d attended, Harthbrow was not immune from graffiti. I casually read and dismissed them, but one caught my eye. Obviously old, the ink was faded, it simply read, “Meet you at the white vine tonight at eight.” I guess it snagged my attention because I wondered if there was a teen joint in town I hadn’t heard about.

I got my chores and homework done early, there wasn’t anything else to do. Boredom drove me away from the boob tube and out looking for something to occupy my time. Not far from the house, I found a nice city park. At first, I thought it was just a small thing, but as I wandered around, I found it went on for blocks. The broad swath of green was fringed by trees as thick as a wild forest and interspaced with heavy, iron benches with backs fashioned like interwoven vines. A perfect place for walking. This’d be my hiking spot. I did a lot of hiking, my form of physical exercise. As I explored, I found little sheltered nooks. A little green space would open unexpectedly through the trees, and as a dedicated loner, I gravitated toward sheltered places.

A little after passing the obligatory His and Her restroom hut, I came upon a really attractive place. This little park was almost totally screened from view by trees. Pulled by a sense of serenity, I entered the little place. No more than twenty-five yards wide in any direction, the glen felt like another world. Spotting one of those remote cast iron benches even deeper in the trees, I walked over and sat down. Surprisingly comfortable, although it probably wouldn’t wear on the butt well. I sighed and decided to claim the place for my own.

A few minutes later, a man walked past the screen of trees, or at least, I thought he was going to. Instead, he claimed a bench I’d not noticed no more than ten yards in front of me. One not so deep in this little glen, but still somewhat isolated from the bigger expanse of green beyond. His back was to me, but he looked a little older than my eighteen years. Like a junior or senior at the college in town.

At any rate, he had a sort of—I don’t know—expectant air about him. There wasn’t much traffic in the park at this time of day, but there was some. As I observed—a loner’s often a great observer of life around him—I noticed something. If a woman or girl walked by, he nodded courteously, but if a man—especially a young man—approached, he spread his legs and watched the guy approach. Like a hunter watching his prey was what came to mind. But what was his bait?

After about ten minutes, a guy who looked like he was another student walked up and stopped in front of the bench. I could hear voices but not words. Didn’t need them. The second guy sat down beside the first and took a long look either way before moving his hand. Although their backs were to me, I would have sworn he was groping the other one.

They got up and moved deeper into the trees. If they hadn’t been so intent on one another, they would have seen me, but I remained as still as a stone. When they were well screened from the public portion of the park—but easily within my sight—one of them, a curly, dark-headed guy, leaned against the bole of a tree while the other pressed against him. I could swear they were kissing. They were! Moans reached me. Then the blond-headed one dropped his britches, baring his butt to me. It looked like the other one’s trousers drooped, as well. More moans and groans as they massaged one another.

Damn, if this wasn’t beginning to get to me.

They halted their activity and started discussing something. I couldn’t hear plainly but enough to realize they were compatible—whatever that meant. Then I heard, plain as day. “My roommate’s gone for the night.” They restored their clothing and started back to the public area. One looked startled when he spotted me, but grinned and flashed a thumbs-up behind his partner’s back.

Damned, if that didn’t send something crawling around inside me.

When they were gone, I got up and walked to that bench. Sitting—and spreading my legs, I have to admit—I kinda experimented with the feeling. Then I noticed something I hadn’t before. The park benches were all painted different colors. This one was white. A white-vined park bench. Could that be what the note on the toilet wall meant? Yeah. This was a pick-up spot. A meeting place for those people. Those people?

Damn, I had a raging boner. Did that mean anything? Naw. Well, maybe.

Anyway, I was sure as hell gonna come back tonight and see what developed. Hell, maybe I’d sit down and spread my legs now that I knew what the bait was.

 *.*.*.*.

My, my, what do you suppose he’s figured out the bait was? Will it work? Will it be okay with him if it does, or will it be a case of the dog catching the car? Figure it out for yourself. Or… I might write a second story, we’ll see.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

Twitter: @markwildyr

Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it! (Don Travis keeps reminding me I stole it from him, but he didn’t copyright it. His bad.)

See you later.

 

Mark

New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.