William King

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Everything posted by William King

  1. I can't believe Trump said this!

    I'm watching the news and Trump is saying - it took the police eight minutes to get to the school when the shooting started, if the teachers carried guns... Is he really saying that school teachers should carry guns so they can shoot the children? THAT'S INSANE! Maybe I got it wrong, but it came across like that?
  2. Movie Trailer

    Some great lines: "These last few years I feel like you've been holding your breath." "It's not because you're black, I like black people..." Wish they'd had films like that when I was a teenager 😎
  3. More About Boys on Trains

    The story built interest slowly, a chance encounter. Bittersweet is a little strong, more a sense of loss, something planned that never happened and remained unfulfilled. Or was it the realisation of old age that was there like a shadow, only noticed when pointed out by the girl offering her seat. This was more subtle, you might not notice. Perhaps it was bittersweet after all?
  4. Terminus

    More Boys on a Train. Terminus by William King “I fucked things up. I know.” It was hard to even look at Alec. So he didn’t. He avoided his gaze. There was a moment of silence. Not real quiet. The murmur of voices and the clickety-click of the train. Those noises were there. In the background. It was crowded. Packed. Like always. “I treated you badly, very badly.” It was almost as if they were in a bubble. Alone together. The rest of the world was a cocoon. Not like before. It crossed his mind that maybe Alec thought he didn’t remember. As if it was nothing to him. An inconsequential incident. He did remember. He remembered it like it was yesterday. Those words came out of his mouth and they were said. Their whole lives had changed that night. The train was just as crowded. Only it was the weekend. Different people. Made no difference. No difference at all. “I was totally insensitive.” He looked around. All he saw were coats and bags, the sides of bodies. Occasional glimpses of the people sitting opposite. The train stopped. The doors opened. More passengers squeezed on. Shuffling, pushing. Arms outstretched, griping the bar. “I've never forgotten saying it.” He still could not bring himself to look at Alec. He sensed the tension. Feelings re-emerged. Threatened to overwhelm him. Like before. He felt he was suffocating. But before it was different. “Those words came out of my mouth and twisted like a knife in the gut.” His eyes were wet now. It was different. This time. Now he didn’t give a damn who was looking. The train shuddered, squeaked. That metallic noise of metal against metal as it rolled around a curve. The crowd shifted and swayed. They stopped. “There's no excuse.” He felt a knot in his stomach. “I can't justify it.” He thought he would heave. He might be physically sick. There was no air. “Saying sorry now is pretty useless.” They jerked forward. The train moved slowly. Relief. Not really. It was the morning after. When he remembered it, he choked. At the time it happened he also choked, but for a different reason. He had thought about it. Many times. But only with himself. Inside his head. Alec was there. Next to him. They were older. “I can tell you that I was paranoid.” He breathed in. A deep breath. They picked up speed. It was as real now as it was back then. All those people were sneaking glances. Whispering. Joking, making fun. Snide comments. Accusations. Alec had asked the question. The ultimate question. They had made love that night. For the first time. The first time ever. Then there were all the people in the carriage. Going where? To work, out somewhere? Looking. Staring. They knew. Didn't they? The wheels screeched. They shuddered to a halt. If they had only arrived quicker, but it was always slow. Weekday or weekends. Overcrowded. Slow. “I was paranoid.” That was true. He thought everyone was looking. Talking. Accusing. “I thought they all knew our secret.” All those people on the train. Going to work, going out. They knew and were sniggering. Laughing. Whispering. “I projected my total insecurity onto everyone.” He had. He had moulded all those people into a reflection of himself. His inability to accept who he was. “I thought they might actually throw me off the train!” He felt different now. Now it was too late. Looking left, then right. Past Alec. Looking at the people. They had other things on their minds than him and Alec. “For being gay.” He said that like an apology. In a way it was. An apology to Alec. He also realised he never had quite gotten over it. Being gay. He could say it now. Maybe that was something. “I thought I had accepted it, but I had a long way to go. On that train I was barely keeping things together.” That was true. He had been close to breaking down completely. “That is no excuse. I told you, I cannot excuse the pain I caused you.” He hardly noticed as they moved forward slowly. Grinding along the tracks. Clanking over the points. “I told you I didn't love you.” When he repeated those words it was as if he held a knife in his hands. He was a murderer. He'd killed their love. Destroyed it. Before it had a chance. The doors were opening. The carriage was emptying. He hadn’t noticed that they’d arrived. Still, he stayed seated, waiting for the crowds to exit. He noticed two boys, young men. Saw them kiss. He looked over at the seat next to him. It was empty. The carriage was empty. Silent. Alec had gone. Of course he had. A faint voice disturbed him. “Mister! Mister! You all right?” He thought that he felt hands gently rocking him. The carriage doors were wide open. The platform empty. He saw Alec waiting. Waving to him from the platform. Forty years had not changed him at all. He looked just the same. Smiling. He didn’t hesitate one minute. He sprang up and made for the doors. He glanced back briefly. The two young men were crouched over an elderly person alone in the carriage. The yellow letters scrolled across the indicator – Terminus... Tears streamed down his face. He literally jumped through those doors onto the platform. Alec was there to greet him. END
  5. Valentine's Day 2018

    I just finished reading them all. They were each different, each had something to offer, and were surprisingly inventive. I have my little preferences, but you would be hard pressed to say any one story was better than another. For me the best part of reading these themed stories was the inventiveness of the authors, plus the feel good factor!
  6. Is this the future of the Internet? Any site with key words - presumably those words that describe sex, but equally could include "gay" or "homosexual," get blocked - CENSORED! JAKARTA (Reuters) - Indonesia has blocked more than 70,000 websites displaying “negative” content such as pornography or extremist ideology in the first month of using a new system to help purge the internet of harmful material, the communications minister told Reuters. The world’s most populous Muslim-majority country has stepped up efforts to control online content after a rise in hoax stories and hate speech, and amid controversial anti-pornography laws pushed by Islamic parties. The so-called “crawling system” developed by a unit of state-run Telekomunikasi Indonesia Tbk (Telkom) was launched in January, using 44 servers to search internet content and issue alerts when inappropriate material is found. “We just put some sort of key words there, most of them are pornographic,” said Minister of Communication and Information Rudiantara.
  7. London Bridge is Down

    London Bridge is Down. By William King. Buckingham Palace, London – 03:15 Sir Christopher paced back and forth in front of the solid mahogany desk that occupied a prominent place in his rather splendid office. Then he stopped and walked over to stare out through the tall window, framed by heavy embroidered drapes. It was raining, ‘when wasn't it.’ Looked like it was turning to sleet. There was a knock at the door. He turned back to look. Anthony, the young man who had recently joined his staff, walked in. The expression on Anthony's face told Sir Christopher everything. “Get the Prime Minister on the phone,” he instructed, before he even spoke a word. Anthony picked up the phone on Sir Christopher’s desk. Twenty seconds later he passed the phone to Sir Christopher. 10 Downing Street, London – 03:15 After three years in office, the Prime Minister was accustomed to short nights and little sleep. Even being a light sleeper, she was asleep when James, her personal aide, entered the bedroom. A gentle touch on her shoulder was sufficient to wake her. Shaking her head, emerging rapidly from sleep, she looked up. “Just a minute.” She needed a few seconds to feel fully aware. James placed the China cup and saucer carefully on the bedside table. He noticed the small bottle of pills. “Thank you James.” She knew that this was a national crisis. She would only be woken in the middle of the night if something serious had happened. “I have the Queen’s private secretary for you mam.” She took the phone, at the same time sitting up in bed. “Christopher.” “Prime Minister.” There was a slight pause. “London Bridge is down!” “Thank you, Christopher.” Immediately she put down the receiver, she was out of bed. Taking a sip of coffee, she moved barefoot across the thick carpet to get dressed. It’s a cliché that British people only drink tea! Capital FM, Leicester Square, London – 03:53 Bernie was well used to the night shift, 2AM to 5AM. He'd been doing it for the best part of a year now. It was, he hoped, the break he needed. A stepping stone to bigger and better things. Nothing was a mystery anymore, he knew how it all worked. It was still a shock when the blue obit lights started flashing. Alec was mouthing something through the glass window. He took his headphones off. There was exactly two minutes left on the current track. He stood up from the console and walked across to open the studio door. “What’s going on? Is this for real?” Bernie nodded back towards the flashing blue lights. “Mood Two list!” Bernie went to sit back down. The track had thirty seconds left. He picked up the headphones, flicked the microphone switch. “This is Capital FM on 95.8,” he announced, not wanting to play any inappropriate jingle. “We are going straight over to our news channel.” He raised his head to look through the window. Alec was giving the thumbs up. Bernie faded the studio sound and hit the off-air switch. The engineers did the rest. All Bernie knew was tonight his slot had been cut short by some kind of national catastrophe. Flat 3, Carlton Road, London N11 – 03:56 “You’ve got the key!” John wasn't too sure that Adam did have the keys, he just hoped so. Feeling in both his pockets; he didn’t have them. “Come on guys, it’s freezing.” “Hold on a minute.” Adam looked from Kiran to John, then back to Kiran. He smiled, putting his arm around Kiran's shoulders and extracting the keys from his coat pocket. Once inside, up the stairs, and through the front door, it was nice and warm. “Coffee anyone?” John called out as he crossed the lounge towards the kitchen. Kiran and Adam flopped down together on the sofa. For some reason they were both giggling. “Please!” Adam exclaimed loudly. That was both a yes to the coffee, and an attempt to get Kiran to keep his hands off him. Although, actually he was quite enjoying being fondled. “Real or decaf?” John looked back into the lounge. “Decaf, I need some sleep tonight.” Kiran's hand was now resting on Adam's thigh. “You think so?” He whispered sexily, his tongue licking Adam’s earlobe. To cool things down, Adam picked up the TV remote and switched on the large screen television. “There's nothing on!” John was carrying the coffees on a tray which he put down in front of them. Adam sat back and flicked over to the radio. Kiran picked up his coffee, popped a sweetener in. “This is the BBC from London. It is with the greatest sorrow that we make the following announcement. In the early hours of this morning, Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II, died peacefully in her sleep.” “Oh my god!” Kiran exclaimed.
  8. London Bridge is Down

    @Merkin I guess that I should answer your questions one at a time. Is this the actual procedure? Yes, but I imagine the code phrase "London Bridge is Down" will have been changed. Worried about the member of staff, Anthony, kicking things off. There is a lot left out of the story, which is the challenge of writing a story in less than 1000 words (this is my first time writing flash fiction). Although Anthony recently joined the team, you don't get his position without being vetted. So no worries on that count. Seems unfinished? No, it's complete. The story is about the announcement of the death of the British monarch, Queen Elizabeth II. It's just a moment in time. One of those moments everyone tends to remember, like other really big global events. Kiran, Adam, and John, barely introduced? True, they are simply returning from a late night out, the silent witnesses to the news announcement of the Queen's death. Am I planning to continue the story? No, as I said, it's complete. Simply the moment we witness an important event. A bit spooked. Let me add a bit more information (set your mind at rest). The flash fiction was inspired by an article written by Sam Knight for The Guardian newspaper (a reputable major UK journal). “London Bridge is Down” is (or was) the code phrase used to inform the government that the Queen is dead. The blue obit lights are a system used to tell commercial radio stations in the UK that a national catastrophe has occurred. When they flash, whoever is in the studio presenting the programme, is instructed to end their programme and switch over to the news channel. The state owned BBC television stations have standing instructions to interrupt all programmes and go off air. Screens will go blank and then some tranquil images will be displayed on a loop, swans on a river, or something similar. BBC radio services, have a separate system known as RATS, dating from the cold war period. This is an emergency channel, which would be used to inform them that there has been a national disaster. Services would combine to a single broadcast with an announcement being repeated every fifteen minutes. The announcement given at the end, "This is the BBC from London..." dates back to the second world war and was specifically chosen. The intention being to inspire a national coming together during a time of crisis or in this instance a dramatic event and the end of an era. There is a lot more information in the original article, I have simply taken a couple of bits to write the story. We often don't think about these sort of events, indeed, often events of a global importance are unpredictable. In the case of Queen Elizabeth II, she is ninety one this year, and, well we will all die some time, so we should not be surprised that processes have been put in place by the powers that be. I hope this answers your questions and goes some way to explaining the background to how the story came to be written. I have to admit I knew nothing about these procedures until I read Sam Knight's piece.
  9. Hava Nagila Boys

    yeah... terrific. That's France for ya!
  10. Can you help me find this story?

    If - example - you copy a previous post from this thread which has formatted text, say hyperlinks. The X will preserve the format and keep those hyperlinks, posting as plain text, will get rid of them. Here below is, 1. Plain text option, 2. X Option. 1. OK, so here is a possible solution: Someone could configure away all of the horrible buttons ...and add a whole bunch of new, cooler buttons! Just a bit of visual artistry plus a SMOP, and it's done! :) 2. OK, so here is a possible solution: Someone could configure away all of the horrible buttons ...and add a whole bunch of new, cooler buttons! Just a bit of visual artistry plus a SMOP, and it's done! :) The copy paste in the default template should work like this for everyone.
  11. Can you help me find this story?

    Because AwesomeDude is running the Carbon 4.x - ipsfocus theme and the buttons are all screwed. Go to the bottom left corner of the page and click Theme (the tiny menu title with a little down pointing triangle next to it). Change to Default - hey presto, you got black writing on a white background, but more important the menu for the thread writing/editing is correct. The link button is actually... The link button! Conclusion: the current theme is to blame.
  12. I am pleased to announce my short story Speechless (originally published here) has been published on Nick Campanella's website. A semi-autobiographical story about a library that brings together two boys, reveals some secrets, and leaves them speechless. You can check out my story on Codey's World (link at the end) and read some other great stories by different authors on Nick's site (note to readers - this is not a gay site, simply gay friendly). Nick was enthusiastic about posting this short story, because as he said to me: "You have something really great here. Stories like these should be more mainstream, and I'm really glad I can help make that possible. Every child, gay or straight, remembers how they realized their sexuality, and yet, we (I) never read stories about it." I have to thank Nick for helping me to tidy up and edit the story. I think it's great to be able to bring a gay story to, if you like, a mainstream site. Only I don't see it quite like that anymore - gay and straight - the terms exist, but 'the times they are a changing!' Speechless: http://www.codeysworld.com/william-king/speechless/speechless.php Come and Go (Nick Campanella - short stores and poetry) https://ncampanella.wordpress.com/category/submitted-works/
  13. Editor needed.

    In another thread someone said "I think all the AD authors have editors, beta readers, proofreaders or a combination of the three". I don't. I do have someone editing one of my books and another person editing a second, but essentially, I do not have an editor I can send stories to. So if anyone who edits has read anything I have written (of course you will then see the need for your services), and you have the time to do it. Then get in touch. I can send documents in Word (basic) or possibly another word processor. I write in British English.
  14. You Belong To Me

    I highly recommend this short story by a new author http://www.storylover.us/?t=2R6PCUp1Xdh3fcqX A well written emotional story that won't fail to bring a tear to your eyes - I guarantee it. Take a look, it is a wonderful tale and evokes an image of the past rural America that will live in your imagination as will the history that unfolds.
  15. Neon

    In a future where it never ceases to rain, Joel finds himself alone on the streets after curfew. How he got there is not clear, his memory is fragmented. Is it being rescued to find yourself in a sex club? Past, present and future are interwoven, somehow there must be an answer? Perhaps, he is the answer? And what about the other boys? What about the planet? Is there a future? This new story starts publishing here today, kicking off with two chapters. Enjoy the atmosphere, take a trip into the future!
  16. Can we say this now? About Frickin time

    The school acts - in loco parentis - meaning they take on the role of the parent whilst the child is under their care. Schools absolutely have the responsibility to detect and deal with bullying, thus ensuring the safety of the children attending the school. I disagree with the ideology that promotes sueing anybody and everybody for a failure in the system, however responibility of schools and educators goes beyond simply providing an education, the well being of the child comes first, and the school should be held accountable and if negligence is proven the principal or the education authority should be sacked. Parents have a responsibility too, but they cannot be in class with their children!
  17. Sex in novels

    I was reading the thread on Brass Balls, a rewrite by Chris James of an earlier work which is toned down, meaning - I presume, less graphic sex scenes. Cole Parker talks about an upcoming work moving in the opposite direction, which he is wondering about the reaction. That discussion got me thinking about sex in novels. Alan Hollinghurst in his book The Swimming Pool Library has one notable graphic sex scene between the protaganist and a hunky cook over the kitchen table, but that is it, and it is only a paragraph or two. I mention this as an example because I am tending towards the - less is more - school of thought. However, as Cole points out there is a place for both kinds of novel, which is good, because I have a lot of sex scenes in what I have written myself. In fact I am rewriting Refugee, my recently published novel, with the help of an editor, and toning down the sex. Perhaps somewhere there is a happy balance to be achieved. I do tend to think that unless the book is a sexual extravaganza á la William Burroughs, then the number of scenes should be limited, but there is no magic formula. I have enjoyed books like Rivers of the Dead, by Cynus (Samuel D Roe) which concentrate on gay relationships with no graphic sex. I have also, despite the immense popularity, been bored by Drummer Boy, by Arthur, which after thirteen chapters has no discernable gay relationships. I could compare that novel with those by Mary Renault, they are both historical fiction, both have zero sex, but the Mary Renault books are all around homosexual relationships. I recently finished reading Naked in Berlin, a first novel by Ba H Luong, it has graphic sex in every chapter, but it's appropriate, because the story is about the Berlin gay scene, bars, clubs, dark rooms, and drag queens. When I first started writing gay themed stories, I thought it was de rigueur to have sex scenes - nobody tells you otherwise, so I thought it was a readership prerequisite. I discovered much later that this was not the case and that historically the trend in online gay publishing has been a move towards what might be deemed more serious fiction with by consequence less or no graphic sex. In the absence of any reader feedback - which every writer craves, but which is as scarce as hen's teeth - we can only guess at whether or not we have got the balance right!
  18. How the Internet changed the way we write

    I agree with Cole that it's hard to keep up, for everybody. I sometimes feel like a kid again when I have to look up words, phrases and abbreviations in the Urban Dictionary - lucky that exists! Then, the BuzzFeed Style Guide, I looked at the UK version, being British. I realised that even though I write British English, it gets more and more mixed up with American, I have no real preference, it is more a question of how you learnt the language, but the edges are getting blurred. Now throw into the mix that I live in France, listen to and speak French, I find myself - believe it or not - someties struggling with English. I've watched British television series in English and found the people spoke so badly it was difficult to understand what they were saying. Flip the audio to the dubbed French and it was clear- what does that say about language development?
  19. Just Hangin - challenge

    Joe Casey's story was very well written, the way he handled the dialogue was superb. Geron Kees story was a little longer, took time to build and turn and twist. Pedro brought back the same characters, I think, to visit the challenge scenario, and was oh so British! I read all three and enjoyed them.
  20. Thank you for a great home page

    I'm writing this here because I don't know where else to say it - Thank You, for making a really great home page for me, I very much appreciate the work put in to do that, so thank you to whoever did that for me 🤗🤗🤗 Will.
  21. A Sci-fi Story

    Here below is the first part of chapter one, a new story in the Sci-fi genre. I have never written Sci-fi, so it is an interesting challenge to get into this. The story is set in the future, a future where things have gone wrong - it's raining, all the time, it never stops. Except one day someone tries to fix it... Any and all comments, observations, good, bad, and ugly, are welcome. If you don't like it, that's fine, just say why, because that helps (obviously). Now I'll shut up and let you read It! Chapter One - Reticular Formation The neurons of the reticular formation all play a crucial role in maintaining behavioural arousal and consciousness. Part I – Danger Contamination - making or being made impure by polluting or poisoning. The neon light glowed in the darkness, reflecting washed out colours that reverberated off the sidewalk. The tall glass buildings he hugged gave no protection from the incessant rain that streaked in cords from an unseen sky. “Join us for a new dawn...” the smiling face, ten times larger than reality, announced from the red and blue electric billboard, so far up towards the invisible sky that it towered over the street. “Watch It!” The loud voice jarred him back to earth. He bumped into the figure of a man dressed in a grey hat and overcoat, the collar turned up, his face obscured. The man walked quickly on, ignoring him, mumbling something that was lost in the noise. He stopped, looked down from the giant billboard which was now saying, “life has never been this good...” and turned, watching the figure disappear. He was soaked through to the skin, the clothes he had on offered no protection from the torrential downpour. The loud screaming hum of an electric vehicle zoomed past, a mist of water swirling and scattering behind it. His attention was drawn to watching the rear lights recede down the street. He jumped, startled at the touch of a hand on his shoulder. Turning rapidly to look behind him, he was staring directly into the face of a boy. Another dark figure, cloaked in a hoody, about his own height. “You can’t be on the street during curfew.” The boy offered a half smile, as if he wasn’t sure what the reaction would be. “Curfew?” He questioned. A quizzical expression crossed the stranger’s face, but was gone almost in the same instant. Perhaps he had decided something? His hand gripped Joel’s upper arm. “Come on, let’s go.” He pulled him back along the sidewalk, back in the direction he had started from. Any resistance was momentary. Joel followed the boy. Walking side by side they turned into a small alley between the tall buildings. Suddenly Joel stopped. The boy turned to look at him. They faced each other silently. The rain was dripping from his hair and from the hood covering the boy in front of him. Joel watched, distracted by a glistening rain drop on the tip of the other boy’s nose. “I can’t stay here,” the boy broke the silence. The whirring of another car passing along the main street added a sort of highlight to that statement. Joel was torn, undecided, was it safe? “Come on! “ There was an urgency in the boy’s voice, but Joel didn’t move. The rain bounced off the buildings and pooled in a dark puddle around their feet. The darkness was deeper in the ally, only a faint red glow shed any light, and that was at the far end, almost obscured by the gloom. “Where are we going?,” Joel had found his voice. And now the boy pulled his arm, urging him forward along the alley. Once again he didn’t resist, although his question just hung in the night, unanswered. They stopped below the red glow of an electric sign hanging above the door at the far end of the alley. The dim light it provided washed out by the rain. It flickered, grew momentarily bright, then faded and came back alight. The neon inside buzzed and crackled in rhythm with the flickering light, but looking up it was still clear enough to read the name – ‘BB Club.’’ The boy tapped a code, pushed the door open, and virtually shoved Joel inside. He closed the door behind them. Joel perceived the closing door like another statement in a long series of events. The images crossed his mind one after the other of closing doors, their apartment, the car, the train, the centre. The boy’s hand had moved down Joel’s arm, and his hand found Joel’s hand. The warmth of the boy’s touch was as if a switch had been flicked – this was the first human touch since the door closed at the centre. He was led down a dimly lit corridor, only tiny leds at floor level marked the passage. They moved right, along some stairs which turned, twice, ninety degrees. Now it seemed they were in some kind of basement, below ground. Across the far side of this underground space, the boy opened a door and they went inside. This time as the door clicked shut behind them the light came on with a click and a flicker, the neon tube came alive, buzzed that insane electric noise, like it was gasping for breath. Blinked one final time, as if saying to them with some satisfaction – I’m alive again – the white light finally broke the darkness. Joel looked around. There was little furniture apart from one large bed and a dark brown leather armchair, the material of which was cracked and broken. So much so that the stuffing was trying to escape in several places. The boy stopped in the middle of the room and started to take off his clothes. Joel stared, he didn’t know what to do. What was happening? “Take your clothes off,” the boy told him, looking up as he removed his jeans. Joel didn’t react immediately, he was looking at the boy who now almost completely undressed stood up and stared at him. Hands on hips, with only his underpants on, the boy waited. “Like what you see?” The boy smirked, turned and opened a cupboard door, then removed a towel. Joel didn’t reply, just watched the boy. He threw the towel at Joel. It hit him and dropped to the floor. “For God’s sake, get out of your clothes and get dry.” The boy turned back to the cupboard to get another towel and began drying himself. Joel slowly got undressed. It wasn’t that he was shy, or that he was in any way concerned, the boy had only been nice, but his head was fuzzy. It was hard to get coherent thoughts together. Joel was not at all sure that he had not suffered something, maybe he’d been contaminated? He did as he had been told, removed all his soaking wet clothes, bent down and picked up the towel to dry himself off. It was then he saw the boy was naked. He looked at him standing with his back to Joel picking clean clothes from the cupboard. Something stirred inside Joel as he observed the boy. His eyes rested glued to the figure in front of the cupboard, and in particular to the fine rounded cheeks of the boy’s arse. The boy knew that Joel was looking at him, he could sense the gaze of Joel’s eyes staring into him. He didn’t have to look, he felt it. He pulled on some clothes. He thought to himself – ‘this could work out.’ Once dressed in shorts and t-shirt, he turned around to look at Joel who was standing naked next to a pile of wet clothes, with the towel held in both his hands in front of him. “We’re about the same size,” the boy said. “Come here and pick something to wear.” Joel walked over to stand next to him by the cupboard, but still clutching the towel. The boy turned back and they accidently brushed shoulders. He smiled at Joel. It was definitely a smile, not a smirk, a genuine smile. As Joel reached out to take a t-shirt from the cupboard his towel dropped a little. The boy moved away to sit on the bed, but still watching Joel. To pull the t-shirt on Joel had no alternative than to let the towel drop completely to the floor, and now it was his turn to feel that sensation of someone’s eyes staring. Once the t-shirt was on he picked out some underpants and turned back towards the boy on the bed. “Can I take these?,” Joel asked, holding them up. “Yeah,” the boy replied. “Everything’s clean.” For some weird reason Joel was getting hard. He had no idea why. Joel could look at a person and admire beauty, and the boy was a fine example, but he had never been predisposed to any sort of attraction towards another boy. This was a first! Joel realised that his head was clearing. He got dressed, choosing a pair of jeans, then closing the cupboard and taking a seat in the armchair, which clanged metallically as he lowered himself into it. “It’s a worn out bit of shit,” the boy told him. Joel smiled back.
  22. Notes

    Where? You didn't add any link!
  23. Article of interest to all writers

    Not true Cole. I have read good stories, well written, on Niffty. They don't appear here or on other US sites because of the restrictions.
  24. Buffalo Wild Wing Disappointment

    I should be talking about Buffalo Wild Wings, but you have a habit of slipping in casual little asides, which by the way, make your blog ever so interesting, not to mention the entertainment factor. Well your little aside in this instance reminded me how when I was that age I had a thing about finding a black boy. Why? It was something along the lines of wondering what black and white looked like together, or perhaps a simple curiosity about black boys - I did find a nice guy - sort of - that is to say he was engaged with someone else. So all we did together, was talk, c'est la vie!