It’s time for Tuesday Tales!
Welcome back! This week is our picture prompt week and all posts must be 300 words or under and reflect the chosen image. Today we have a snippet from Benoit, Owatonna U Hockey #3, written with RJ Scott. In this excerpt we get to see a little of what Ben’s mindset for his senior year at Owatonna University.
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!
After dinner, I took a walk around campus. Kids were rolling in from all over the country, and Canada, of course. The hockey and football programs here were top-notch. Stopping along the way to the rink, small squirt bottle in my back pocket, I chatted with a few returning students, several inviting me and the guys – Ryker and Scott – to this party or that party. People always wanted jocks at their parties, made them feel popular or something. I smiled politely because I am Canadian, and said we’d see if we could make it.
I had no intention of going to any parties this year unless they were team-sponsored events. Ryker going was doubtful, not without Jacob at his side, and Scott needed to stay as far away from booze and dope as he could get. Plus, Scott was happy at home with Hayne, cuddling on the couch, kissing and touching, whispering as lovers do. A twang of envy flared to life as I strolled around the quad. I swallowed that down like a sour belch. There was no point in dwelling over lost romance. This year I was a monk. Just call me Father Morin. No parties, no sex, no falling in love with this girl’s eyes or that guys lips. Work, study, focus, serenity. Those were my four agreements, my personal guide to making sure life went as I needed it to go.
Passing the massive football stadium, skates draped casually over my shoulder, I slipped into the hockey rink, the warm August air replaced by the snap of artificial cold. I breathed in the cool air, the smell of ice and men, and felt a knot in my shoulders begin to loosen. It had always been this way with me and hockey. The sounds, the smells, the speed, and the competition. It was close to a religious experience or perhaps even a sexual one.
“Brain, you got to stop with the sex shit, okay? We’re Father Benoit Morin this year, remember?” I mumbled to myself, trotting along toward the Eagles locker room then hanging a right to the tunnel that led to the ice. And there it was. Eagles home ice. The screaming raptor already painted into the circle at center ice.
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Copyright 2019 ©by V.L. Locey
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