It’s time for Tuesday Tales!
Today we have an excerpt from a new book, Safflower, A Tales of Bryant novella. In this snippet we get a peek at our leading man and his new beau having a romantic moment in Bryant Park.
Do bear in mind that these snippets are unedited so 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!
I crossed my arms over my chest, glasses resting under my hands, and let my eyes drift shut. When that happened the world around me came into sharpness. The sounds of the city, the smell of popcorn, the music of the carousel, the feel of Fraser’s strong chest rising and falling as his rough fingertips lighted on my temples. After just a minute I melted back into him, the tension easing in my shoulders.
“I love coming here for the free performances,” he said, his voice low and calming. He could easily record meditation videos. “Since I’m super poor I always hit up the movie and Broadway nights here.”
“Mm, my friends Devon and Isamu had movies here once, for a student filmmaker show, but they are graduated now,” I said, my speech slow and sloppy as relaxation settled over me like a soft blanket. “You are so good at this.”
“Thanks. I took a healing touch class here last summer. I loved it. I think if I don’t get cast by the time I’m thirty I’m going to go back and dedicate myself to completing the training. Do you want me to touch your neck or not?”
“Gentle please,” I replied on a sigh. The dog next to us yipped lightly, the owner hushing it and pulling it back onto the square blanket. “When will you be thirty?”
His fingertips skimmed my jaw, stopping to rub lightly upward then back before ghosting down my neck.
“Eighteen months. Wow, you are super tense. Have you asked the school to accommodate your special needs?” I bit down on my bottom lip angry at myself for whining to Fraser night after night about my problems.
“I don’t have any needs that are special. I can do this without asking for help,” I replied through clenched teeth. His exhalation was huge. “I cannot ask for special help. Already there are people saying I am only there to fill a quota.”
“What? Who’s saying that kind of shit?” Someone on the stage began to speak. I slowly sat up and put my glasses on. Fraser wrapped his arms around me, his chin coming to rest on my shoulder. “We’re not done. Not with the massage or the information about who needs a throat punch.” He pressed a kiss to my earlobe and held me through the entire two hour production.
I had lots of trouble following the play. They were speaking English yes, but not the kind that I knew. Fraser helped me keep up though by whispering translations from Shakespearian English to modern English. The story was sad, poor Othello needed to find better people to serve under him. That Iago dude was bad news.
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