It`s time for Tuesday Tales.
Today we have an excerpt a as yet untitled M/M PNR shifter short story releasing just in time for Halloween.
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!
How I made it to the tiny inlet where a small cluster of nineteen-fifties era camps sat without being murdered I will never know. Four days it took me to walk/hitchhike to my inheritance. Bohemian life sucked walrus nuts. I stank, my feet were sore, and I was cold. But, I had made it. Walking along with my map out because I’d lost my signal about an hour ago, I fumbled along a dirt road lined with dead summer grasses, taking a left at a fork in the road then following that along to the small inlet where the lake lapped lazily on a rocky shore. The smell of the water was pleasant enough. A mossy sort of iron smell that made me think of an ill-fated weekend in Maine with Elon several years ago. He’d met his current spouse on the trip. The thin young one that liked to hike and be spontaneous.
See that, Elon, I could be adventurous. Or maybe it was more desperation…
Whatever, I limped along the overgrown road to the small grouping of camps. Far off in the distance I heard the trumpet of swans. A soft sort of mist began rising from the waters of this private cove. The cold evening air coming in to touch waters warmed by the sun I suspected. Shuffling along, blisters aching, I checked out the tiny rentals. Each of them looked to be desolate, empty of any signs of life, and had been that way for many years. The lawns had gone back to nature, grasses scratching on front windows, birds nesting in the eaves, and several years of vines growing from the rain troughs. It was eerie in the extreme. And hard to fathom. Lakeshore property just going to seed? That was unheard of. Surely some developer would have come along and claimed this charming grotto and flipped all these shacks.
Odd. But possible they were locked down in some sort of perpetuity historical land shit. I didn’t do real estate. Right now all I cared about was getting into cabin fourteen at the end of the horseshoe drive and lighting a fire.
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