It`s time for Tuesday Tales.
Today we have an excerpt from The Call Up, a Watkins Glen Gladiators novella.
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!
“No, seriously, which tie?” I asked Tarcy, holding up two choices, a gray one with some little black dots, and a gray one with some little white dots. My boyfriend glanced up from the book he was reading in bed, sexy as all fuck with his new glasses resting on his nose, to check out the choices.
“They look the same to me,” he stated, peeking over the top of his specs as he did when he had to see something far away while reading. “You know I’m not a fashionista. Have you thought of asking Bryn?”
I padded around the bed, freshly showered, in joggers, tee, and thick winter socks, to hold each tie up in front of my throat in the mirror over Tarcy’s dresser. Neither choice was giving off any strong vibes.
“No.” I moved one tie to rest on my chest then the other, clocking Tarcy in bed all nice and warm, sending out those irresistible DILF vibes that made me weak in the knees. The fact that he was not only a dad I loved to fuck but a grandpa I loved to fuck as well was just icing on the gorgeous older man cake that was Tarcy Hayward. “I was hoping to lay out an outfit for Lee and Dottie’s wedding on Saturday without having to ask my uncle for advice. I mean, honestly, I turn to him all the time for everything. I’m a grown man. I should be able to pick a tie without scurrying to Bryn.”
“Wow, that was jampacked,” he said then removed his glasses. “Are you okay?”
I sighed, lowered both ties, and then nodded. Was I okay was a rather loaded question. Mostly yeah, I was okay. But there was a growing need inside me for a deeper commitment with Tarcy that he did not seem to be feeling. He appeared to be content with the status quo, me living with Basky but spending all my home time here with him when he wasn’t racing. I’d been juggling this unbalance for several months, unsure of how to open up a dialog that wouldn’t send the man off to find some other man to be casual with.
“I’m good. Really, just nervous about the season. We’re doing so well that I have this little nugget of fear in the back of my mind that keeps poking me as it whispers that things are going to go to hell in a red-and-gold handbasket.”
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