It`s time for Tuesday Tales.
Today we have an excerpt from The Bachelor and the Cherry, Campo Royale #2.
Please do bear in mind that these snippets are unedited so please be kind if you find any mistakes.
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!
Every damn time I looked there he was, showering or shaving or fixing that ghastly Goodwill wig of his. He’d smile, ask me some inane question about our craft, and then vacate when I snapped like a turtle. Heckle had taken to Yampier with far more grace than myself or Babacar. Wherever Yampier went there was my cat. It was traitorous to the extreme. I’d pondered sullenly on locking the cat into my bedroom when the sweet little guppy, cradling the purring Bombay to his cheek, informed me that they’d never had pets as children. Something to do with a younger sister, allergies, and pet dander. What could I do? I let them adore each other as I sucked down another fucking bottle of sports drink and sipped on my cup of salty beef broth.
Getting old sucked.
“Yampier,” I called from outside his door, his tacky white BVD’s dangling off my finger. “I’d like to have a word with you.” When I got no reply I hammered loudly. Babacar was in the kitchen rattling pans and singing Bobby Darin’s “Mack the Knife” at the top of his basso cantate voice. “I insist you wake up immediately!”
Something thumped on the other side of the door then it cracked open. He looked rough yet breathtaking. All at once. How did the young do that?! How did they roll out of bed after a late shift looking so damned edible? It was dreadfully annoying. His hair was a tangled mop, his eyes hooded, his cheeks rough with new whiskers, and his upper torso bare. His gray shorts hung off his hips, one side dangerously low, exposing a hip bone that sorely needed a kiss. Or twenty.