Jay's Not Gay, You Guys 1

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Power Plays: The Todd Perspective 3

 Listen, y'all. I've written threesomes before. I've even written threesomes in which the reader is supposed to kind hate one of the participants. This one has been a doozy. After a couple of downer chapters I'm pressuring myself to make the November section a barnburner. For the people. Because erotica. Said people have been very opinionated, which made me want to take the parts I'd already written and tweak them. The trajectory it was on didn't connect to the material I had for the aftermath. What could happen during an event, that Jesse was desperate to go well, that would make Chrisette upset? Poor woman. My apologies to womankind stand.

Note to Self: in the future, just make a super long chapter with the sexy stuff as a palate cleanser for the depression, lest the shorter installments be absolutely hammered in the comments.

August

I’m on a job site in Providence, talking to the foreman, when I get a call. He takes a peek at the scene before I silence it.
“How old’s your son?”
“He just turned one,” I say, and because I know Jesse would blow a gasket if I ever claimed Seth as my own, I clarify. “He’s actually my, uh, my girlfriend’s kid, but he’s the absolute best.”

“Cute,” the foreman says. “Mine all hit a switch right around that time. They were all about mom right until around ten, eleven months maybe? And then suddenly my wife was chopped liver and I was the favorite.”
I laugh. “Seth’s probably in that camp. He says ‘Da da da da’ a lot, and you can’t tell me that’s the best a one-year-old could do with my name. Sorry to his dad, who’s a good guy.”

September

“Todd.”

I straighten up from where I’ve been leaning on the shopping cart, letting Seth pull on my hair.

“Sasha. You’re looking well.”

It’s true, she’s as sleek and gorgeous as ever. Her sharp gaze lands on Seth.

“Is this Chrissy’s kid?”

“Da! Da! Da da da da!” Seth babbles. He does love a pretty lady.

“Yeah, this is Seth.”

She nods with a downturned smile that I know means she’s judging me pretty harshly. “Wow.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” I chuckle. It’s a relief to be able to say it out loud. “I live with them. We sleep like the grandparents in Willy Wonka.”

Sasha’s thick red hair cascades behind her when she throws her head back to laugh. “Are you fucking kidding?”

“Nope. I’d love to pretend like you should have regrets, but no. You were right about everything.”

“Including Jesse?”

“Hah. Well. That one’s maybe worse than either of us thought.”

Her eyes go wide. “Oh shit. You like him.”

“Oh, hi!” Seth says, so I don’t have to reply.

Power Plays: The Todd Perspective 2

I'm getting yelled at in the comments of recent installments (not here, obviously. No one reads this) and rightfully so. I apologize to women. I apologize to people with mental health issues, myself included. I apologize to happy throuples and the polyamorous community. I apologize to therapists, mine included. I apologize to the people who wanted to read a little gay porn for a nice fun time and got trapped in a psychodrama.

For this story to work, Todd has to learn and grow. Most folks I know, and Jesse especially, are slow to notice real change in the people around them, especially if their first impression is bad. Since we never leave Jesse's POV, I've been trying to figure out (for years; I cringe to see the publication date for the first Power Plays post) how to make change clear to the reader even if Jesse's can't see it.

In a story where no one is completely honest with themselves, Todd starts out close to Jesse—who does not allow himself much introspection—and lands closer to Chrisette by the end of chapter 6. By chapter 9 Todd will have the self-awareness on par with Sasha. She's my favorite, if it isn't clear from the way I treat her character.

March

Sasha spots Chrissy before I do and waves her to our table.

“How’s our girl?” she asks as Chrissy sits. I signal our server.

“Ya girl is so fucking pregnant.”

We make sympathetic noises. Chrissy looks healthier than ever, if anything, but I don’t know how pregnancy works. She makes it sound miserable.

“Do you know what you’re having yet?”

Chrisette grins. “Guess.”

“Girl,” I say. Sasha guesses the same.

“With all the girls in my family you’d think so, but nope. We’re gonna have a little boy running around.”

“A mini Jesse.”

Sasha and Chrissy both laugh like I’m being mean, but I didn’t intend it any particular way. He’ll probably be a decent dad, actually. He seems to be most comfortable when he’s needed. Chrisette…I can’t really picture her that way. She always bragged about how she could avoid being stuck with her nieces and nephews at family events.

Power Plays: The Todd Perspective 1

*Y'all, I feel like a real sicko every time I publish another section of this story. Folks really hate these characters! Or so I say to myself, full of vicious glee. However, there isn't much point in posting if nobody wants to follow the story; how unlikeable can Jesse, Chrisette, and Todd truly be before people stop clicking on Stay Away from Her altogether? I think I'm about to find out, because Jesse's going to be put through the wringer right when he thinks he won. Also there's barely any sex for at least a couple of chapters which again is not why anyone reads erotica. Trying to get your rocks off and instead you get a first-person description of a panic attack? No thanks. Down vote.

To make sense of Todd's arc, ever so often I'd write out a conversation that he'd have when Jesse wasn't around. He's somewhere between Neutral Evil and Lawful Evil, though I maintain that people (and therefore well-rounded characters) rarely think of themselves as bad people, even when they doing heinous things. Writing Todd's perspective has helped me refine the main story so that *you can pick up all the things Jesse misses.

There are spoilers in here if *you haven't read the 5th chapter yet, but I'm clearly not worried about anyone finding this blog. The Todd Perspective begins a month before the main story.

*Still nobody. I can see the blog data and it's very funny.

Power Plays Pt. 3.1

 "Just let him take you while your car's in the shop."

I can barely hear her over the rush of water coming out of the shower. "Shouldn't you be going with me?"

"I've already seen it," Chrisette says dismissively. "Just look at the main ranch house, and then it's only, like, one minute east to see that barn that the owners said we could rent for half."

"Why not just do that?"

"Because it's kind of in disrepair."

"I don't know why you think Todd will be of any help." I don't want to go anywhere with him.

Chrisette pokes her head around the shower curtain to swat my ass playfully. "Since you don't like it when I hang out with him alone…" she teases, then ducks back out when I reach for her.

Dear god, if only she knew. "Just come with, baby."

"I can't, Jesse," she says sympathetically. "I have to go to work. Todd said he'd be here at ten."

Fuck that. "I'll see if Scotty can take me," I reply. "He doesn't have shit to do."

"Whatever, that's fine. I gave Todd your number just in case," she adds as she sails out the door.

"You did what now? Chrisette? Hello?"

Before I'm even dressed I call Scott. When he answers he sounds completely distracted.

"Sorry, dude," he finally tells me after I wasted my breath explaining the situation. "I actually am driving Hannah's car today, and I have to pick her up for brunch as payment."

This must be how the Little Match Girl felt as the last flame went out. "Are you fucking kidding me?" I ask. "Crazy Pussy Hannah? Fucking brunch? You hate her!"

"And she hates me," Scott replies, "but that makes the sex a-fucking-mazing"

Even though he can't see it I shake my head. "This is going to bite you in the ass, man."

He laughs, "Come on, son. Everybody gotta stick they dick in crazy at some point. I'm pulling up, so I gotta go. If Hannah thinks I'm talking about her I won't get any road head. She loves giving road head."

"Fuck off, Scotty," I reply.

"You too, man. Later."

The beep of the ended call feels more final than usual. I wait for some sort of fucked up text for the next hour. Get naked and blindfold yourself at 9:57. Some shit like that. If any idiot has stuck dick in crazy, that would be me. Just me letting Crazy get my dick in his ass, and then Crazy turning around and dicking me. This is unhealthy as shit.

When Todd finally shows up I'm so tense that my balls are trying to retreat into my body. The son of a bitch just pulls up to the curb and honks the horn. Todd takes one look at me and goes, "I'm just doing this for Chrissy," when I hop in.

"Me, too, dumbass," I mutter, turning my cap around so I can pull the brim over my eyes. We spend the next forty-five minutes in silence. It gives me plenty of time to figure out how to tell the charming property owner that we don't want to rent her house or her barn. At least, I don't. Chrisette likes the idea of the mason jar, rustic, homespun outdoor wedding. I like the idea of my mother not complaining the whole day.  

When we reach the ranch I hop out without waiting for Todd. Neither do I introduce him to the woman who answers the door. Todd catches up to us as she’s taking me through the open living room.

It's a nice home, but it's never going to work for all of Chrisette’s ancient aunties and uncles. 

"Is it normal for houses this style to have all these levels?" I ask as the tour comes to a close. 

The lady shrugs. "As old as it is, back when they couldn't just even things out with a bulldozer…"

"Chrisette said that you guys need wheelchair access," Todd reminds me.

The woman nods. "Then in that case I do recommend that you check out the old barn. It's a fair-weather-only location, but the whole thing is flat."

I grit my teeth. I knew all that, which is why I asked about all the levels. Todd is just rubbing my face into how much time he spends with the woman I'm about to marry. I get it; you're besties. "Can I poke around there for a bit?"

"Sure thing, sweetheart," the woman says. "I gotta go feed the horses, but it's just two minutes east of here. Keep going down the road; you'll find it."

“We’ll give you a call,” says Todd, shaking her hand. 

We will not do a fucking thing, I don't say as I follow Todd back out to the car. Instead I shut the door a little harder than necessary and make a dumb comment.

"I'm still waiting for you to be useful, bro." It sounds like I'm trying to start a conversation, which is not the case.

Todd raises his eyebrows. "I'm a building contractor for high-end offices and fancy homes, with a background in structural engineering. Did Chrissy never tell you?"

"I have never asked," I respond with pride. Fuck Todd if he thinks I have any interest in him beyond how to legally remove him from this earth. But still, no wonder he can afford such nice shit.

"What do you do?" Todd asks like we're at a Christmas party. How come Chrisette never told him? I know she talks about me, because if her mom or sister don’t answer their phones and Chrisette’s mad at me, Todd is who she calls next.

"Graphic design and a little animation," I respond shortly. It sounds cooler if I don’t add that it’s for a microstock firm and corporate app developers. I've been getting into the graphic novel game a little, cleaning pencil sketches and doing coloration on a freelance basis, but I hate explaining what that means so I don't talk about it.

Todd makes a huh face. "I never would have pegged you as an artist," he comments. “You seem like such a frat boy.”

Chrisette thought the same thing until she got to know me. She and Todd both use frat boy as code for idiot. I wear t-shirts and shorts all the time because I work from home. "I never would have pegged you as a functioning adult. So, we're both surprised."

He looks like he's about to laugh but thinks better of it. “You'd be pretty funny if you weren't such a dick.”

“Nobody’s perfect.”

Smug Little Bastard

If you didn't grow up with country relatives, this grammar might not make a lick of sense. 

Bless your heart.

“You like me, don’t you.”

I looked over at the man standing in the kitchen doorway, his arms folded and his feet apart.

“What?”

He tilted his head. “You like me; I can tell,” he said.

I was dumbstruck for a moment while all the blood in my body rushed to my face. “J.D., where the hell’s this coming from?”

The Worst Days 3.6

I can't look at this anymore without taking a red pen to it. I'm posting the version that a kind fan sent to me, but know that when this finally shows up in ebook form (in 2027? I've set a precedent) it will be less…cringey.

I woke up slowly, comfortable in a warm tangle of flesh and linens. I didn't fully awaken until I realized that I was wrapped around my large bedmate instead of the other way around. The sun was barely cresting the horizon, and purple shadows threw themselves across the room.

Someone knocked on the door, and Fen stirred in my arms. I snatched them away from him and he rolled onto his back.

"Who is up at this ungodly hour?" he groaned.

As if reading his mind, a voice came from the other side of the door. "Fenton, old boy, are you in there?" Almus Tobergus.

Fenton sighed, and looked over at me. "Pull the sheets down a little and moan like you're disappointed."

I raised my eyebrows. "Have you been drinking already?"

"Just do it. I don't want to deal with him this early," he grumbled, getting out of bed. He took his pants off and wrapped a robe around himself and held it like he was hiding an erection. I got the idea.

"But Mr. White, please," I whined loud enough for Tobergus to hear, smacked my palm against my bare stomach, then squealed. I might have been overdoing it.

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You're Lucky I'm Drunk Pt. 1

These things always end up being love stories of a sort. I am, I guess, a closet romantic.

Cooper tripped into my apartment as soon as I opened the door. I couldn't stop laughing long enough to work the key out of the lock, so he had to crawl back and help me.

"I am so shitfaced," I confessed, feeling the world turn a little.

"Me too," Cooper sang, stumbling backward to let me shut the door behind us. He took a big breath and sang even louder, "Me tooooo, I am shitfaced!"

"Shut up; my fucking neighbors!" I hushed him. I was going to need to throw up again soon.

"I'll fuck your neighbors," Cooper snickered. My friend wandered to the fridge, poking through the old takeout containers before finding a couple bottles of Gatorade. He tossed one at me and then cracked his open. "It's got electrolytes," he said his best Idiocracy voice.

That reminded me that I still had puke on my shirt. "I gotta shower," I declared, dropping all the shit in my hands so I could pull my coat off. The floor tilted like a ship deck, but I made it all the way to the bathroom without falling over. No use in taking all my clothes off since they needed to be washed, too. The water pounding on my skull felt so good after the club. I was getting too old for all the smoke and fog machines and strobe lights. Ah, fuck, I was going to be that creepy old guy in the club. If Jennifer hadn't gotten a job in Seattle, we could have been the creepy old couple in the club. But no.

"Marshall! Marsh! What are you doing?" Cooper barged into the bathroom without knocking.

"Showering, dumbass."

"With all your clothes on?"

Windshield Incident Pt. 4 Published

It's here on Smashwords.

The part of the year when work swallows me is coming to a close, so I'm looking forward to finishing some of the abundant unfinished stories. The "Power Plays" story has a bunch more to it—I think I just like writing about idiots—and "Will" and "Olive Juice" are almost complete. Then it will be time, yea verily and forsooth, to dust off some of the brain breakers. When Andy's neighbor meets his parents…I managed to make it super boring the first couple of tries. But, godammit, that's got to get done because I promised someone a free copy once upon a time.

In the meantime, enjoy the end of Grant and Ryder's tale. Feel free to leave comments here; I miiiiiiiiiight have been drunk while I was proofreading it. Allegedly.

The Worst Days 3.2

I got distracted by my job, a dog, and a little Watching Him Back spinoff. To read part 3.1 click here, or start from the beginning. Again, thanks to Luz for sending me a copy of this lost tome.

I woke the next morning to hear Mrs. Cupps pounding on my door. "Wake up, Tamlin, honey," she called. "The seamstress will be here in half an hour!"

"Ugh," I moaned to no one. The fancy duds were on their way. I did want breakfast, however, so I levered myself out of bed and trudged downstairs for some eggs and breakfast porridge. I was even sorer today now that the bruises had their chance to settle in, and on one wrist it looked as if someone had bitten me. Maybe someone had, and I had been too high on adrenaline to notice. I hoped I didn't have rabies.

Read the rest at https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/WalkerCFields

The Worst Days Ch. 3.1

Some more train wreck for you patient souls. To read the part 2.4 click here, or start from the beginning. Again, thanks to Luz for sending me a copy of this lost tome.

When I roused myself from my nap it was dusk and my stomach was growling. I hopped in the shower to loosen my sore muscles and sluice off the dried sweat. After pulling on a shirt and jeans I wandered downstairs to hear Fen talking with the woman I had heard the night before, the one who had suggested they treat me gently. I wondered if she knew what had happened in the park. Or what we had been doing afterward. I could smell something delicious cooking, so I wandered towards the kitchen.

It was a tad awkward when I shuffled into the room and found Fen and a matronly figure there, interrupting their conversation. Fen was leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, and when he saw me he got a languid, smug look on his face that made me want to hit him, especially when the hum in my head turned sybaritic. I wondered how he could communicate facial expression without moving his mouth. I was going to have to learn that trick. The Nitkani woman, who looked older than my mother but spry nonetheless, stared at me with her mouth open.

"Er, hello, ma'am," I offered in Nitkan, shoving my hands in my pockets. I felt five years old under her scrutiny.

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New Ebook: The Windshield Incident Pt. 2

It is now on Smashwords here. More shit happens to Grant, because he's the kind of guy to whom shit happens. Moreover, since the nature of Grant's weird relationship with the resident bad boy is sexual, shit that happens is fucking. Guaranteed.

FYI, all Smashwords prices are set according to word count. It tells you how hard I worked, and for every dollar Smashword receives I earn fifty cents. Someday I'll be able buy myself a cup of fancy coffee.

Yes, Sir pt. 1

I know an update is long overdue, but I have been swamped like Prince Humperdinck. Nothing in real life is letting up, so blogging is on the back burner. Strange Bedfellows wallows in the mire of edits, the Windshield Incident Pt. 2 needs to be formatted and the cover made, and in the meantime I wrote a nasty little short that I will post in pieces. Now you've been updated. Bye.

Caleb walked in when I was reading the newspaper. I heard him say goodbye to Archer, but I had reckoned they were both going out the front door. Otherwise I might have put on a pair of shorts and a shirt, rather than sit there on the couch with my dick half-hanging out of my boxers. Then again, since Caleb’s footsteps stopped a full minute before I peered over the paper at him, I might not have.

“Hey, Caleb.”

He seemed to remember himself then, lifting his gaze quickly and giving me a nervous smile. “Hey, Mr. Kelly. I was just putting my glass in the kitchen.”

“All right.” I crossed my leg and turned a page. Caleb knew where everything was. The kid had practically grown up in this house, though as a long-haul driver I didn’t see much of him. My wife, Brittany, said he was a good kid. Quiet, a good friend to our rowdy son.

Caleb hadn’t moved.

Without lowering the paper I asked, “Do you need something, Caleb?”

“Uh, yes sir. I mean, no, sir.”

I really looked at him then. He was probably close to nineteen now, with a typical teenager’s lean build. Average height, with light brown hair that he parted on the side, straight nose and slightly ruddy cheeks, Caleb was the fresh-faced boy scout type who probably kept fit by mowing old ladies’ lawns. He was cute because he managed to be free of acne at his age, and had big, soulful eyes that I was just noticing because they seemed fascinated by my crotch. And just think: until two minutes ago I would have described Caleb as boring.

The Worst Days Ch. 2.4

More of this hot mess, because I'm definitely stalling. To read the part 2.3 click here, or start from the beginning. Again, thanks to Luz for sending me a copy of this lost tome.

Fen's mouth turned up a bit more. "If I didn't know better, I would have thought you'd done that before," he sighed. Had he been feline, he would have purred. 

I snorted. "I do not consider that a compliment."

"Mm, you should," he murmured. "I can't move."

"So now would be a good time to make a run for it?" I said sarcastically.

Fen opened a grey eye at me. "You want to run around this place with a stiff dick after what you saw today? Be my guest."

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