It’s time for Tuesday Tales!
Welcome back! This week is our picture prompt week and all posts must reflect the chosen image.
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!
“My last girlfriend was a total text pickup,” Gary replied. I checked my Rolex again. Jesus fucking Christ did this man not realize I had a business to run and sports stars to sign?
“And that’s why your generation can’t forge lasting relationships. You don’t woo a woman with a text and a dick pic. You take her to dinner, send her flowers and candy, and write her sexy love poems.”
“I took her to dinner,” he argued as he jogged. On his lunch break. What kind of lunatic jogged when he could be sipping a martini and enjoying a good steak?
“McDonald’s doesn’t count. My point is that sometimes you have to use a personal touch. I want you to track down Gloria and see if she’s willing to travel to Sweden to wine, dine, and get this kid signed to Toras and Mills before Jamison lands him.”
‘Right. I’ll see what she’s involved in.”
“Tell her whatever she’s got going can be sent to Boom. He can tie up any loose ends she may have contractually. I want her on this one. She’s got legs that—” The door opened and my physician strolled in, my file in his hands. He did not look happy. “Pretend I didn’t even start to say that about Gloria’s legs but yeah, her legs are selling points. Find her and get her on this. See you back at the office.”
Dr. Sugarman gave me a once over. “You could have gotten dressed,” he said as he lowered himself to a little padded rolling stool, crossed his legs, and opened my file. I usually like the tall Black physician. He was right around my age and a straight shooter. I dealt with enough bullshit ass-kissing in my profession. I did not want to have a doctor fawning over me like I was a prized teacup Chihuahua. I’d lived through a childhood that had forged me into a junkyard dog. I didn’t need coddling as so many of my clients did. Jocks could be tender little buttercups at times.
“I got a business call,” I explained, laying my phone down on the exam table to lift my slacks from a wall hook then step into them.
“And the call couldn’t wait until you covered your backside?” He pulled a thin pair of wire-rim glasses from the front pocket of his white coat then placed them on his wide nose.
“Actually, no.” I zipped with flair. “I’m trying to get this upcoming superstar to sign with Toras & Mills. He’s a wily thing though. Reluctant to leave the little fishing town he grew up in to come to America to make millions. Can you fucking imagine passing up fame and fortune to sit on the dock of the bay?”
“Maybe he likes watching things roll away.” I gave him a short salute then shrugged into my light pink Dior shirt. Mm, the cotton was like a lovers caress as it slid up over my lean arms. “Sitting by the ocean might do you some good. Your test results are not good, Arn. Your cholesterol is close to three hundred, your blood pressure is one eighty over one forty, and your blood glucose is wavering dangerously close to high as well. Also, there’s this new issue of your severe reflux which I have to assume is due to stress.”
“I’m a sports agent. Stress is like air to us.”
“Well, that air is going to kill you. You have got to take your health issues seriously, Arn. Your family history scares the shit out of me. You’re a heart attack waiting to happen.”
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Copyright 2022 ©by V.L. Locey
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