It’s time for Tuesday Tales!
Today we have a snippet from The Good Green Earth, Colors of Love #3.
Our word prompt today is “Christmas”. This snippet shows us where Nate is as he sits through an IDP court-mandated class. A word of warning here… if you’re looking for holiday fluff because of the weekly word choice, you’ll not find it here. Nate’s reflections on his life and his growing relationship with Bran are pretty deep.
This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!
He wanted to say something but he didn’t. He merely inclined his head, touched me on the arm in that reserved way of his, and stepped aside to let me go water peppers. That was how the next few days passed, with me on my knees in dirt or trying to pump information into the heads of teenage hockey players. I skipped the next meeting simply because I couldn’t deal with looking at all those morose faces. Classes I couldn’t skip, so I went, but found myself drifting off as the boredom levels soared. My fingers rested on my journal, the one that I’d not written a word in for weeks. I’d be expected to turn it in at the end of my time in hell…I mean my time in IDP class.
As Monica droned on about Christmas traffic mortality rates I opened my journal and flipped past pages about risk and genetic factors, personal development plans, and a gratitude journal – really?! – I found the blank, lined sheets in the back and started scribbling shit down. It kind of started off with me bitching about how hot it was in the classroom, how boring Monica was, and how this whole thing sucked a big green dick. But, after I got that out, I began to seriously think about shit. First I went back and erased the bit about Monica being boring. At the end of my seven weeks I’d have to turn this in and she’d read that and fail me or something. Erasing like mad I cleared the page, blew the eraser confetti to the floor, and then started writing meaningful stuff. Like how the gardening project had helped me, and how the Pony summer league had helped me, and how Bran had helped me.
I paused when I got to listing examples of Bran’s influence on my life. If this journal made it back to Judge Cavanaugh, I doubted he wanted to hear about his nephew’s love of being fed cock while he rested on his heels in the shower. Yeah, no, we’d need to skip that shit. I glanced out the window, at the basketball court, and tried to pull up something less pornographic about the man who was emptying out his bedroom so that he could invite me into that most intimate space. He’d said he was falling in love with me. I felt the same. Funny, really, that I’d fall for an older man with so much baggage. But we fit. Somehow, in spite of all our issues and losses, Bran and I worked. Hell, maybe we worked because of those issues and losses. We understood the holes that loss left in a man.
Copyright 2018 ©by V.L. Locey
Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the Tuesday Tales authors.