Jay's Not Gay, You Guys 14

Until this story is finished, I want you to imagine me as the meme of Elmo in front of flames. Typing at any opportunity, stuck in a hell of my own making, no longer caring about quality. We're getting this done.

Jay's Not Gay, You Guys 13

“Hey, you been doing okay?”

Dillon looks down at my hand. “Yeah man,” he says like I’m being weird, and shakes me off to follow his friends down the hall.

I know it’s gross to park myself by the door. This isn’t stalking, though. I haven’t kept tabs on him, I haven’t tried to message him, I haven’t, like, triangulated his whereabouts, I haven’t learned his schedule. This is just me keeping an eye on who’s leaving, and being sober at a party for once. The thing about Dillon is that he’s not an all night party guy. He’s said before that he has a strict weekend curfew of two in the morning. “Otherwise it throws off my sleep schedule too much,” he told me once. And I was like, of course, how else do you have time to fuckin’ iron a fresh shirt if you’re not up by eight every fucking day? And Dillon had laughed. So when he packs it in for the night, I’m just like maybe we happen to walk back across the Hill at the same time. It’ll be like a check-in.

Jay's Not Gay, You Guys 12

It’s almost the end of the month when I give in and find fucking Crispin Viera in the student union.

“I need to ask you something real quick.”

He folds his arms, cocks his hip out all queeny. “I’m not going with you to a second location.”

Jay's Not Gay, You Guys 11

Y'all know I'm not having fun unless I'm torturing some characters a little bit.

eBooks A Go Go

Everybody shut up right now. Shut up. I fucking did it. Thanks to a new "clean" "plant based" energy drink that a promoter gave me at a local music festival, I had both the focus and insomnia to finally edit* and publish some shit to Smashwords. Not normally an energy drink kind of guy, I was unprepared for the effects. It started with a cleanup of my files, finding multitudinous copies of things that I'd forgotten about or thought were lost, and then—was it the panax ginseng extract or the acesulfame potassium that sent my synapses firing?—a firm determination to fulfill my mission of getting all this shit out of my brain and onto Beyoncé's internet overtook me. I sat affixed to my laptop, only breaking concentration to take my old dog outside, and even then I plotted which tale to tackle next. 

Y'all should have never let me have access to apps like Canva. The book covers are getting worse and worse and I cackle with every new atrocity. Here are the latest abominations:

As always, my Smashwords author profile is here: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/WalkerCFields

So much of what I write is utter bullshit. You kind souls, ye who read my drivel, are the wind beneath my wings. (You and "proprietary plant-based energy blend.") That some of you stuck with me not just through the torture of Stay Away From Her, but the longwinded ramblings of Bunny and whatever the fuck Shouldn't was; it warms the cockles of my sour little heart. And your reward for such loyalty is…more bullshit! Now that I know where to find some of the real weird shit, it's getting thrown onto this blog.

My brain is on fire. Work is gonna suck so bad tomorrow. 

*"Edit" might be a strong term for "did a brief check for tense continuity." If you read one of these books and find an error, please email me at acerbicscribbler at gmail, because I can and will update them.

Jay's Not Gay, You Guys 10

The holidays are so goddam packed and yet I'm so goddam close to getting rid of this story from my overloaded brain. So I'm going to be posting more here. LFG.

Nothing in the world can get me to stop thinking about it. Sex with Dillon. I fucked him. He liked it. He said it was good. Not ten out of ten, but at least edging up on an eight. I fucked him. Dillon showed me how to fuck him, and I did it. We had sex.

I don't know what to do with this information.

Jay's Not Gay, You Guys 9

Now that the first part is on Literotica I've found all the typos…my truth is that I 'll never, ever fix them because I would have to resubmit the entire story. You can't just edit a sentence or two on that website. So, I correct them in my original document and nowhere else. Maybe I'm the only one who thinks that's kind of funny? So the process is edit, publish here, edit, publish to a site, and then edit and…think about an ebook but probably do nothing.

Side note: I have neither the time nor the interest to figure out why sometimes these posts have different fonts. G'bless for sticking with me, you three.

If you've really enjoyed Concussion Jay, here's one last installment before his recovery. His should-have-been-short story is so, so close to being all the way out of my head and someone else's problem, to the point that I'll be posting here more frequently. This was hard to write, because I kept having to go back and replace my go-to synonyms with more simple, repetitive vocabulary. No metaphors; this dumb dumb doesn't talk like that! Stop making him so self-aware; he isn't there yet! Anyway, here's the sexy bit.