Saturday 28 September 2013

Story Corner #33

This posting is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY.
It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers.

These are parts of stories that are still being written. And therefore haven’t had a BETA read, let alone a editing from me.

Okay, so another time when I’m lacking sex scenes and so instead I’m going to give you the bit I’ve gotten of one of my many WIPs

This one I wrote—hell, I’m going take a guess and say 2012, early, if not the year before, I love the idea that I have for this series, and these boys, but I have a problem. I’m afraid to write crime at the moment.

Remembered Pain
(Forgotten Pain #2)

“He’s out!” Patrick nearly yelled causing everyone in the restaurant to turn and look over at them. At least now Rick knew why they this felt like a dumping lunch. Though it obviously wasn’t, Rick didn’t work for Teddy, and the man was clearly not his type of bed mate, maleness aside, at the tender age of 84, Rick didn’t think Ted should be in anyone’s bed.  It defiantly wasn’t something he wished to ever think about.
     The tone in old Ted’s voice was what had made this lunch feel heavy. The look in his eyes was guarded, and now Rick new why.
     “Yes, it’s been twenty years, son, I don’t know why your surprised, it was going to happen.”
     “That long…” Rick said slumping in his own skin. It felt like it had happened yesterday when he let himself think about it. It wasn’t often. Not in the last ten years, not since he was able to have sex. Stepped past that barrier, that fear.
     “Son?” Teddy asked, somewhat cautions. 
     “Fine,” he snapped, “I’m fine,” more relaxed, “so he’s getting out?”
     “Yes,” was spoken somewhat slowly. “In a day or so, he is being realised. He will have all the restriction, you understand, along with sticked warrants to stay away from you.”
     Since he was the one that got away that was obvious going to happen. At least they thought of him, Rick supposed, being thirty now they might not have bothered, the man wouldn’t know what to do with him now.
     “That all?” Rick asked Ted, his voice a little sharp, he couldn’t stop it.
     “Yeah, son, head off, I’ve got this.” Ted nodded at the table and with a nod of Rick’s head he grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and as he walked away he swung into onto this back.
     Giving his stub from out of his pocket, Rick waited in stunned silence as the boy went and got his car, with a smile and a brush of metal—people didn’t touch unless you made them, especially in this type of job—Rick was in his car and heading off. He didn’t know where. He didn’t know what. But his hands held the steering wheel tight, his feet hit the peddles with unconscious ease.
     He’d been doing in for over ten year, this driving thing, he wasn’t likely to forget.
     Yelling at idiots in other cars as the frustration built up inside him. He drove until he found himself sitting on the side of the road. The car still running. His forehead resting on the top of the steering wheel. His body shaking.
     “Mate? Rick, mate? What’s up? What’s wrong?” Adam’s voice came with a hit of cold as water splattered his side before it was taken away and all that was there was Adam.
     The car was turned off. His fingers were prided off the wheel, painfully. Before he was pulled out, his knees hiding hard on the unforgiving plastic. Rain hit his face like a slap. But it didn’t wake him up, only got him moving.     
     Warmth cocooned Rick, before his body started to lighten. His jacket, his button down top, his pants. Rough cotton soften his fall as he was pushed into Adam’s lounge, the telly held a football game, the Rabbito’s vs. Bulldogs, he remember that was on today, would have been here earlier if he hadn’t gotten the call from Teddy.
     Red and black fought for a ball on the wide screen telly that hung on the wall in front of where Rick sat. It memorised him.
     “Come on, that was clearly in,” Adam said from behind him, moments before a bottle of beer was hung in front his face, as he took it, feeling the cold chill of the bottle in his palm, Adam plonked himself down next to him. “Fuck off. Clearly in. Wanker ref.”
     Rick huffed a small laugh, “you’re so full of shit mate. Clearly it was out. Not the refs fault your teams shit at ball handling.”
     “Come on man, even you’d have to say that was in, he was clearly behind the line with the ball under his belly. Fuck man, he slid in.”
     Rick shrugged, “They said it was out.”
     “Your only on the refs side ‘cause you want me to lose,” Adam aid.
     “Clearly.” Rick smiled.
     There was a pause, the fans cheered. The commentator as animated as every other person watching the refs shit judgement call.
     “You okay mate?” Adam asked with a quick sideways look before his attention was back on the telly.
     “Not really.”
     “Ya wanna talk about it?”
     “Not really,”
     “Fair enough,” Adam grunted before taking a deep drink of his beer. “This ‘bout what Teddy wanted?”
     A pause.
     “How’s the old man doing?”
     “Shit mate, you’re not gonna give up, are ya?”
     Adam shrugged, still looking at the telly, but if Rick wasn’t mistaken he was smiling, “not likely, that’s why I’m a cop.”
     “Yeah, yeah. Shit arse job you’re doing with me.”
     Another shrug, but this time Rick caught the eye lock between them. Slight, fast. Awkward moments with awkward moods and horrid pasts. He didn’t want to do this.
     “Mike Phillips is getting out of jail,” he said, he’s voice embarrassingly small.
     “Ah,” Adam nodded, he didn’t know the details. Couldn’t know them unless Rick told him himself. The records were sealed, mostly because he was a minor at the time.
     The game started back up. A throw, a cheer, and bunch of male bodies fighting over the small ball.

So… what you think?

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