tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3635903755202734722024-03-21T04:00:32.422-07:00Mark WildyrMark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.comBlogger251125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-66715270513394689202024-03-21T04:00:00.000-07:002024-03-21T04:00:00.256-07:00Tommy<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #261</b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 170.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image courtesy of Freepik:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFbAXVDR5-lqJJ_uSc2ka8Vm5TasetrSHMwRAFiJBgDy2xkl8tSEJ_qbTKZqR6Rf31-XHj49o8RkI-lbN2DPvu6ANSWhiX4GjnAdq6rh99hArJL9WD9EGKptyxWwBh02EAocSaZ1ir8BmUt1mEKwyBK_l-VqfnR4cBEHb4eBNxSXj6-34Rc6ugOlG7vni3/s673/Cutie-Pie%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="673" data-original-width="673" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFbAXVDR5-lqJJ_uSc2ka8Vm5TasetrSHMwRAFiJBgDy2xkl8tSEJ_qbTKZqR6Rf31-XHj49o8RkI-lbN2DPvu6ANSWhiX4GjnAdq6rh99hArJL9WD9EGKptyxWwBh02EAocSaZ1ir8BmUt1mEKwyBK_l-VqfnR4cBEHb4eBNxSXj6-34Rc6ugOlG7vni3/s320/Cutie-Pie%202.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> Hope you had a great St. Patrick’s
Day and didn’t get pinched too often for failing to wear green.<p></p><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p>This week we have an original story
not a rerun or a guest post. I hope you enjoy the story of a youth struggling
to make the conversion from Tommy to Tom.</p><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">* * * * <o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">TOMMY<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">By
Mark Wildyr<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Tommy?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I bristled at the name, but
that was just my mother’s way. I was Tommy here at home but Tom at school.
Except for Marge Whitsock—and I didn’t mind the familiar from her, just like she
didn’t object to being Margie to me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Yes, Mom.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Will you run to the store.
I’ve got so much to do today, it would be a big help.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Sure.” Any excuse to drive my
’85 Mustang. I’ve had it for a whole semester now, but still got a kick out of
buckling into the seat and feeling the power of the beast. “What’cha need?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">It turned out to be quite a
list, but what the heck. The only thing was, I was a little ambivalent about
entering Hawthorne’s Grocery. Mr. Hawthorne was okay, but his son was something
else. Neil was in my senior class at Putnam High, and I had a funny
relationship with him. Relationship? That was a stretch. I wasn’t even a blip
on Neil’s radar. He was the only other kid who still called me Tommy, and that
was because it kept me an inferior to our town’ football running back hero.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">At first, I thought I’d lucked
out, and he wasn’t working this Saturday. But as I left the store, Neil pulled
up in his Camaro and walked over to where I was loading groceries into my
trunk.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Take the cart back in for
you, Tommy,” he offered.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Thanks.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“How you doing? Ready for
graduation?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Wow. He was staying for
conversation. “As much as I can be.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He grinned, going from just
good looking to downright handsome. “Yeah, I get you. Be great getting out of
high school, but that means ripping the old gang to shreds. I hear you’re going
to State too. See you there, I guess”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I hesitated. Might as well get
this over and done with. “Uh… you think you could call me Tom when we get
there?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The grin died. “You don’t get
it, do you?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Get what?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“That’s a term of affection.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He grabbed my now-empty cart
and headed for the store. I watched him until he disappeared through the
automatic double doors… with my mouth hanging open, I’m sure.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Football season ended, spring
arrived, and everyone concentrated on proms and getting ready for tests and
graduation. Finals were a busy time for me, not just preparing for the exams
but also doing some tutoring. I often wondered if I shouldn’t become a teacher
because I liked helping other students prepare for the biggest academic event
of their year.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">This semester, I got a
surprise when our science teacher Mrs. Levy asked me to give Neil Hawthorne a
hand. Neil had never needed help before. I’d had a couple of classes with him
this semester and knew him to be a bright guy. Yeah, he had it all. Looks, athletic
prowess, and brains.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Nonetheless, I swallowed my
surprise and agreed to give him a hand. That very afternoon, he approached me
as I left the school building and headed for my Mustang.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Hey, Tommy, wait up!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I obediently halted until he
reached my side, and then we walked to the parking lot.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Mrs. Levy told me you’d
agreed to help. Appreciate it. When can we get together?"<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“On one condition,” I said as
a brainstorm struck. “You call me Tom from now on.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He gave me a look. “Yeah,
sure. Agreed. Okay?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Okay. When do you want to
start.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“My folks are going to my aunt
and uncle’s house for dinner this evening. How about we grab burgers and meet
for a session.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Sure.” My turn to flash him a
look. “Didn’t know you had trouble in science. In any class, as a matter of
fact.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Not exactly trouble. Just
like to have a firmer footing, I guess you could say.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">We settled on a time, got into
our respective vehicles, and went our separate ways.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I showed up at his house right
on the dot. Per agreement, he’d stopped on the way home from work and got our
burgers and fries. As we sat down and popped lids on our drinks—he was diet Coke;
I was regular Dr. Pepper—he leaned back and spread his legs comfortably. We ate
in silence for a minute or two before he hit me with a question.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“How come you don’t like to be
called Tommy?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“It’s a little boy’s name,” I
came back at him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Or a term of… familiarity, I
guess you could say.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Maybe. But it seems to me
like it’s saying you’re the grown-up and I’m the little kid.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He took another bite and
munched with a thoughtful look on his face before taking it a step further.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“It’s kinda like Pepe being
Pepito.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Yeah. Like Pepe being little
Pepe,” I countered.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He got that cogitating look
again. “Familiarity.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I shook my head. “Dissing.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“So I’m calling you ‘Little
Tom,’ huh?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Yeah.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Are you?” he asked, putting
his greasy napkin on the plate and downing the last of his fries.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Am I what?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Little Tom?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Hell, Neil, you got eyes. I’m
about as tall as you are.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Not talking about how tall
you are.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Then what—” I interrupted
myself with a choking sound. “You mean….”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Exactly.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">My face heated up, and my
cheeks stung. “You suggesting we measure?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Why not, Tom. Or maybe Tommy’s
more appropriate.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I didn’t know what to say,
much less what to do. I wasn’t into sports, so I didn’t spend time in the
locker room like lots of jocks, but word around school was Neil had about the
biggest one on campus. I couldn’t help it; my eyes went south.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Neil was sprawled in his seat,
one foot beneath the chair, the other stretched out in front of him. A
noticeable lump emphasized the fullness of his groin. I’m sure my face got
redder as I realized I was curious about… it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He moved, taking me by
surprise. His hands dealt with his belt buckle in one second flat. Then he hesitated
with his fingers on the top button of his fly. “Well? You chicken?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I… I….”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He redid his belt. “Figured. So
I guess you’ll stay Tommy.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Wait!” I cried. The
desperation in my voice surprised me. “Hell, if it’ll put that crap to rest,
why not.” I tackled my own belt.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Let’s go to my room, you
know, in case my folks come home unexpectedly.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“What?” Now there was panic in
my tone. I hadn’t realized my voice was so expressive.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Just a precaution. They never
come back before nine or ten. They play bridge with my aunt and uncle.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He rose and strode to his
room, me following like a puppy dog. As soon as the door closed behind us, his
belt was undone and his fly popped. Then he hesitated, waiting for me, I guess.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">So I tackled my trousers,
feeling foolish when they fell around my ankles. His did too.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Now the underwear,” he said,
rolling down his jockeys.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I flid down my boxers, and
they joined my trousers on the floor. I stood with my mouth open as he stepped
out of his clothes. Gossip was accurate. Neil was well-endowed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Tom,” he said, “Congratulations.
You’re carrying more’n I thought.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Uh… thanks.” Not knowing what
else to do, I grabbed for my britches.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Wait. I want a better look.
It seems to be growing.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">If possible, my cheeks turned
rosier… all four of them. It was true, my thing started rising like it was hunting
for something. I got even more flustered when his did too. And it was swelling
up a whole lot faster than mine. It finally dawned on me we were standing
bare-assed staring at one another’s bone.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Impressive,” he noted. “Wanna
touch.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I-I guess.” Had my gulp been
as loud to him as it sounded to me?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">My knees almost gave way when
his fist closed around me. He twisted sideways, presenting himself, and I
grabbed on like clutching for a lifeline. Wow! Hard and warm and throbbing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He turned me loose to shrug
out of his tank top before pulling me down on the bed with him. Wow! What a
build. Wow? Was I reduced to a blubbering idiot only capable of wows? No. He
was magnificent. Didn’t know they made chests for eighteen-year-old boys that
rippled like that. The pecs were hard slabs; aureoles big and brown and…
strangely unsettling. Made me want to touch one. So I did.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Ahhh,” he purred, putting a
hand behind my head and pulling me to him. My lips sorta fastened on like I was
three months old and started sucking.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Ahhh,” he said again, adding,
“Tom.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I switched to the other one
without being asked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Ohhh, that gets to me,” he
mumbled. He sounded discombobulated, as well, and that gave me some confidence.
I put a hand to his abs and had the thought everything this guy possessed was
hard as a rock.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Neil lay back on his pillows and
let me root around for a moment before grabbing my head in his hands, centered
it where he wanted and pulled me to him. Can’t say I was exactly surprised—given
what had gone on before—but I was kinda shocked at what I experienced. Wasn’t
disgust or revulsion It was more like a thrill that it was me giving this
great-looking guy what he wanted. So I set to work making it as good for him as
I could.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He panted hard and moaned and
twitched now and then until he finally let out a gasp and called out.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Oh! Tommy… Tommy!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">How about that? I’d gone from
Tommy to Tom and back to Tommy in the span of a single evening. But you know
what? I didn’t mind his “Tommy” this time. Not at all.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Tuned out to be
quite a tutoring session, didn’t it? But seemed to me like the wrong guy did
the tutoring. Depends upon the subject matter, I guess. Wonder if they’ll end
up as roommates at State?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My new anthology,
</span><i style="text-indent: 0in;">Huntinghawk,</i><span style="text-indent: 0in;">was released in February as an Ebook by JMS Books with the
print version to follow soon. Hope you’ll give it a read.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">X: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: </span><i style="text-indent: 0in;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it! </i></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">See you later.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00
a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-88967563875027290952024-03-07T04:00:00.000-08:002024-03-07T04:00:00.214-08:00Coming Out is the Pits (A Repost)<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #260</b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 170.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image Courtesy
of Vecteezy:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLoys3OSZFqF8WpmQ4XQReyZ7H9vt1YvRPfEA-tngmNUfPZ-DkHdiYQVD_06mpTc9_L_yLHHKkwV3MMCQ8EVoCIJ3BCZuR5xOqj4Falcg-ewhhKXbg8L6df4Ud2hOyHT2icWLGYKHa4YE6UNrZpX3tSZTm7udlfFug2PnX33ekOB6FOc8K_MyPmA35HPC6/s400/Coming%20Out.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="374" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLoys3OSZFqF8WpmQ4XQReyZ7H9vt1YvRPfEA-tngmNUfPZ-DkHdiYQVD_06mpTc9_L_yLHHKkwV3MMCQ8EVoCIJ3BCZuR5xOqj4Falcg-ewhhKXbg8L6df4Ud2hOyHT2icWLGYKHa4YE6UNrZpX3tSZTm7udlfFug2PnX33ekOB6FOc8K_MyPmA35HPC6/s320/Coming%20Out.jpg" width="299" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">Well, did hunky Bunny turn out okay?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p>Today, we’ll do a repost, although I
can’t find the original post. It had to be somewhere around January of 2008,
and I’ve revised it, so hopefully, you won’t mind too much.</p><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-indent: 0in;">* * * * <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">COMING OUT IS THE PITS<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">What is it with this “coming
out” crap anyway? It took eighteen years to come out to myself, and only then
because this jock cornered me in the upstairs stacks of the school library. My
stomach dropped nervously, but my toes curled in excitement when he took what
he wanted. When I accidentally—kinda—saw him again, I figured he wouldn’t want
anything to do with me, but I was wrong. I got a kick out of reducing that macho
hunk to absolute putty. After that, the die was cast.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Eventually, I came out to
my best friend and lost a lifelong buddy. My big brother called me a snot-nosed
pansy and threatened to beat me to a pulp. My mother cried herself sick, and my
father swelled up like a puff adder. At that point, I shut down the “coming out”
process.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">My parents sent me to an
out-of-state university rather than the local community college, probably to
get me out of their hair. My name, by the way, is Quentin Utley Ramson, and if
my initials didn’t clue my parents, they aren’t the bright folks the neighbors
believe them to be. So far as I’m concerned, there won’t be any “coming out” at
the U. That’s over. Kaput—except—well, there’s this guy I sorta like. My
dorm mate.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Carlton Easton Eaves
isn’t the snob he sounds. He puts his pants on and laces his sneakers all by
himself like one of the masses. He moves well in the pool, plays a mean set of
tennis, and probably polos okay, too. But he rides rodeo, and that’s a plebeian
sport if there ever was one. We’ve gotten pretty chummy, and that brings me to
the nub of my present problem.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">East asked me to double
date with him tomorrow night. Damn! Why can’t we just go to the movies
together? Why mess it up with a couple of girls?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“Hi, Ram,” he said,
materializing at my side on the quadrangle. That was something else I liked
about him, he calls me Ram, which sounds—well, studly. The main thing I dig
about East is his six-foot, tapered frame with lean hips and a groin to go down
for! Of course, his corn-colored hair and curious blue eyes and broad, laughing
mouth and bronze skin are considerations also. Why the hell he bummed around
with olive-skinned, brown-eyed me, I hadn’t figured out yet. I had quickly learned
to avoid the shower room like a vat of acid when he’s in there lest I make a
fool out of myself. There’s more than one way of coming out, you know.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“Got a date yet?” he
posed the dreaded query.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“Maybe you better get
somebody else to go with you,” I blurted in a moment of weakness. “I don’t know
any girls yet.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“No, way! Get a date. It’ll
be fun. Catch you later!” He gave me a manly punch on the shoulder and peeled
off for his own class.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Mary Quadrill, the girl
who sat beside me in Freshman English, was handy, so I blurted out an
invitation just as the class settled into the pre-lecture silence.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“Well, Miss Quadrill,
please give Mr. Ramson your answer so the class can turn to more mundane
affairs,” our prof said dryly.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">My ears were aflame, and Mary’s
cheeks looked like Bette Davis’s in<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Whatever
Happened to Baby Jane</i><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">.</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“Uh—yeah. Yes, I’d like
to go,” the poor girl stuttered.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Despite that promising
start, things went downhill from there. The movie was okay, but cost too much. My
arm went to sleep over the back of the seat, and afterward, we went to a beer
joint. Frankly, I’m not accustomed to drinking.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">When we left the bar, East
parked on the bluff above the reservoir and turned to his girl, a blonde named
Bunny or Billie or something like that. It wasn’t long before they slid down
out of sight, and I was alone in the back with a girl.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">We smooched, and to my
surprise, I worked up a little steam while listening to the noises from the
front. Mimicking what I thought was going on up there, I dug one of Mary’s
boobs out of her brassiere and, ignoring her protest, went for the nipple like
a newborn babe. I’d just glommed on to the pink little thing when she twisted
my ear painfully. My cries of “Oh—oh—oh!” went nasal when she got my nose
between two fingers!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“Behave now?” she
whispered in a lady-like snarl.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“Yeah—yeah!” I whimpered,
nodding my head and earning more pain. The pressure was suddenly released, and
I straightened up to rearrange my clothing and dignity. Shit! It wasn’t right;
paying with an earache for something I didn’t enjoy. Mary was restoring her tit
to its proper place when East popped up and grinned at me knowingly. Hell’s
bells! He’d hit a home run, and all I got was a sore nose and bruised ear.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">I expected a karate kick
to the groin when we took the girls to their dorm door, but she claimed she’d
had a good time and said we’d have to do it again.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">East was restless and
drove around for a few minutes until he found a place to take a piss in the
bushes. I wanted to go hold it for him, but couldn’t get up the nerve. I
fingered myself through my trousers while watching his broad back and trim
butt—a mistake because I had to work hard to hide a horrendous bone when he got
back in the car.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“Man,” he moaned as he
slammed the door. “I hurt! Haven’t had a nut ache in years.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">I jumped in surprise. He <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hadn’t</i> made it with Bunny or Billie.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“Lucky dog. Mary’s pretty
foxy,” he went on, tearing me away from his nut ache and the mental image that
conjured. “At least you’re not in my shape.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">He thought I’d made it
with Mary! What the hell made him believe that? Probably those “ohs” and
“yeahs” I gave while in Mary’s painful embrace.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">I forgot forswearing “coming
out” and all that crap and blurted what was sitting right there on the tip of
my tongue. “I-I, uh, could help you if you’re suffering that much.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“You’d do that for me
even—you know—even though you made it with Mary?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“Hey, man, what are
roomies for? Gotta take care of one another.” Brave words, but my insides were
fluttering around like crazy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“You sure, Ram?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Not about to let this
opportunity get away, I reached over and touched him where it counted.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">He leaned back in the
seat and breathed an “ahhhh.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">I told my fingers to play
it cool, but they jerked at his belt so hard, he finally pushed my hands away
and freed himself. My dreams were fulfilled when he was exposed to my eyes.
Rigid, rampant, and ready.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">I stroked him for awhile
bringing little moans and groans out of him, but before long I lost control and
did what I wanted. “East,” I said, “this is only for you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">With that, I lowered my
head and was rewarded with the biggest groan of the evening. He enjoyed my ministrations
for a few minutes before speaking.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“R-Ram, uh, why don’t we
go back to the room. We—oh, man, that felt good—we can get naked and go to bed.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">I came up like a shot. “Deal.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">I had to keep telling him
to slow down on the race back to the dorm. Not that I wasn’t in a hurry, but I
damned sure didn’t want a cop to stop us. Writing a ticket and suffering his
lecture would’ve cost too much time.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">And when the door to our
dorm room closed behind me, Carlton Easton Eaves stripped me naked and
inspected every inch of my body before shoving me down on the bed. Then he and rode
me like the rodeo champ he was.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I get the
feeling that Ram’s “coming out” was finally successful. What do you think?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My new anthology,
</span><i style="text-indent: 0in;">Huntinghawk,</i><span style="text-indent: 0in;">was released in February as an Ebook by JMS Books with the
print version to follow soon. Hope you’ll give it a read.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">X: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: </span><i style="text-indent: 0in;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it! </i><span style="text-indent: 0in;">(Don Travis keeps reminding me I stole it from him, but he didn’t
copyright it. His bad.)</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">See you later.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00
a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-88487763770146956472024-02-15T04:00:00.000-08:002024-02-15T04:00:00.173-08:00Li’l Honey Bunny (Part 2 of 3 Parts)<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #259</b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image Courtesy
of Freepik:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM17ckshQzQOf8XcnVJm6AUFDbV-R2cqixDKUXpaC22bNtTshGs7ETIYXFmsnEISpUnu6q6RtqPuUG5LP6oPSb2BQ7OXitsUjUrIGfxQ91f0drWPaWk63CT9m3J3PLmTFfXU26PJ3ueeqiqfyVRzwjEDPWURCGgANV5wFRSOkM21qKpuA-TM2g-3tknkw8/s601/Lil%20Honey%20Bunny-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="601" data-original-width="563" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM17ckshQzQOf8XcnVJm6AUFDbV-R2cqixDKUXpaC22bNtTshGs7ETIYXFmsnEISpUnu6q6RtqPuUG5LP6oPSb2BQ7OXitsUjUrIGfxQ91f0drWPaWk63CT9m3J3PLmTFfXU26PJ3ueeqiqfyVRzwjEDPWURCGgANV5wFRSOkM21qKpuA-TM2g-3tknkw8/s320/Lil%20Honey%20Bunny-3.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">Hunky Bunny’s been on Cliff’s mind so
much he doesn’t know how much more he can stand. Now they’re alone together
drinking beer after a bowling session. Right at the moment, they’re talking
about Bunny’s coming college experience. Is this it? Let’s see.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-indent: 0in;">* * * * <o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">LI’L
HONEY BUNNY<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Well,” I said uncertainly.
“You have your fraternities and your sororities—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I know that.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“And you have your girls’
dorms and your boys’ dorms.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I know that too.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Except there, they’re called
women’s dorms and men’s dorms.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Aw, come on, Cliff.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“And you have those who will
and those who won’t. Women, that is.” I paused and tried to sound slightly
drunken. “Men too, I suppose.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You had much luck?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“About like back here.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Crap. No better’n here?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I grinned at him. “Well, maybe
a smidgeon.” I went on to embellish the two or three liaisons with women I’d
had last year. They were all real, but I probably exaggerated a minor detail or
two. Then I noticed he was getting agitated, so I <i>really </i>threw in some
details. Bunny took it all in while sucking on bottles of beer. By the time the
evening had started growing a beard, it was obvious he was too tipsy to drive
us home.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">When he finally agreed to that
fact, I realized it was gonna be a bust of a night. Oh, I’d enjoyed Bunny’s
company and had fun, but somehow, I’d hoped something might come of it. Something
exciting, out of the ordinary… something exciting.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">My hopes revived when I got
out of the car to switch seats and drive and decided I need to drain the pipe. He
staggered to my side, ripped open his fly and threw his arm around my
shoulders. As a potentially sensual moment morphed into a fraternal one, we
watered the bushes while I peered through the darkness to get a glimpse of him.
No use, not enough light. But I got the impression he was big.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I came off my Bunny high and
went to work the next day in a sour frame of mind until he breezed through the
door and grabbed a soft drink from the cooler. As he paid for his drink, he
gave me a smile.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Really enjoyed hanging last
night. Have to do it again.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Yeah, I enjoyed it too.
Anytime.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He hesitated for a second before
taking his leave, and as usual, I watched him clear out of sight. Fluid grace.
Masculine poetry in motion. Hell, walking sex.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Over the next two days, I
hoped he’d wander back in the store and finish what he’d started by fixing the
time and date for another outing. He didn’t show up until six days later
suggesting that we try the lanes again since it was open bowling that night. I
swallowed my disappointment when I had to decline since I was taking Mom to
Pollytown to see her sister right after work that evening. I spent the next two
days in a surly mood until it occurred to me there was no reason why I
shouldn’t call <i>him</i>. I dialed his father’s store, but Bunny was out on an
errand. I left a message, only halfway expecting it to be answered. But about
four, he called me back.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Hi, Cliff. It’s Bunny. Got a
message you called.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Yeah. You probably already
have plans, but if not, maybe we could do something tonight.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Naw. I was just gonna go down
to the Fountain—” which I knew was a local teen hangout “—and see what was
happening. But I’m game for something. What you have in mind?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I sure couldn’t answer that
question honestly, so I equivocated. “Dunno. You have any ideas?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“It’s open bowl in Pollytown
tonight, we could drive over there.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Aw, I dunno—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I know,” he suggested, “You
can use that ID of yours to get us some beer, and we can drive to the lake and
relax.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Sounds good to me, but it’s a
little chilly for swimming after dark.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Nah. Just hang, like we did
the other night.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You got it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">We made arrangements, and I
spent the rest of the afternoon trying not to screw up whatever my chore of the
moment was.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I went by the liquor store before
I picked him up—figured it was my time to drive—and honked for him at six-thirty,
as agreed. He bounced out the door looking like a million dollars adjusted for inflation
and crawled into the passenger’s seat. We exchanged smiles and greetings, and I
took off like a shot, anxious to get the beer flowing down his throat.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He talked about his day, while
I contributed occasional grunts as we raced toward the lake, a long ten miles
down the highway. When we got there, I had a mild scare when he spotted a few
guys we both knew with their gals and a truckload of alcohol. But I relaxed
when he said he wasn’t in the mood for a party. We motored on down the road
until we found a semi-remote area with a good view of the lake and the moon and
stars. He wasted no time grabbing a couple of cans from the cooler in my back
seat.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Neither of us talked for a few
minutes, just sucked on our beer and admired the view. I turned half sideways
in the seat and admired the view I preferred… the roll of muscle in his arms,
the play of his Adam’s apple, the flat planes of his chest and concave curve of
his belly, and… well, and the shadows and valleys farther south. Bunny had
really turned into an Earthbound Adonis. I could have sat there all night
without saying a word, but soon he got restless.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Tell me more about college,”
he finally said, spearing me with a look. Had he caught me gawking at him?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">So I spent an hour answering
questions and describing Mimi Sawtuck in more detail than she deserved, and he
obviously at it up.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Eventually, I ran out of
things to say when he quit asking questions, and a silence grew. Eventually, he
broke it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Uh, Cliff….”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Yeah?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You said something last time,
but I guess you were just goofing.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“What did I say?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Don’t remember exactly, but I
asked something about sex… meaning sex on camputs, but you said…. Well….”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I’m game if you are. I said I’m
game if you are.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“That’s it. Did… did you mean
it, or were you just horsing—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Every word of it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Meant every word of it?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Yep. Meant every word of it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Why would… Well, you told me
about the women you had, so—” He bit his lip. “Were you making that up?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Not a bit. Every one of them
was real.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Then how come….”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I caught his eye in the bright
moonlight and held it. “Bunny, I’m willing to bet a week’s pay you’re not a
virgin. In fact, I’ll wager you’ve sampled more than one of the town’s girls.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He grinned. “Two. More than
once.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“So how come you’re
interested?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“W-what makes you think I am?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Friday night, and here we are
out on the lakeshore all alone. You’re the one who brought up the subject. Why
would you do that if you weren’t interested?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He shrugged. “Curious, I
guess.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You ever got with a guy?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He shook his head. “Nope. Next
door neighbor and I jerked off together when we were fifteen. That’s all.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“How did you feel about it
then?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“It was okay. Nothing to shout
about.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You must be interested in
something more than jerking off to bring it up now.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Aw, just forget—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I looked him straight in the
eye. “Uh-uh, you said you were curious, so let’s get curious.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I-I dunno, Cliff.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I do. I’ll show you how we do
it in college.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I reached for him. He
flinched, but didn’t bolt. Before the evening was over, Lil ole Honey Bunny had
learned a lot… and he had learned it well. I think I unleashed a tiger. And I knew one thing for sure. I couldn't call him <i>L'il </i>Honey Bunny anymore.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I get the
feeling Cliff got more than he bargained for… turned every way but loose. How
do you see it?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">My new anthology,
<i>Huntinghawk, </i>has been released as an Ebook by JMS Books with the print
version to follow soon. Hope you’ll give it a read.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span> </span>Website and blog: markwildyr.com</p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>Email: markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>X: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: </span><i style="text-indent: 0in;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!</i></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">See you later.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00
a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-53052536961846555432024-02-01T04:00:00.000-08:002024-02-01T04:00:00.187-08:00Li’l Honey Bunny (Part 2 of 3 Parts)<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #258</b></p><p>Image Courtesy of Freepik:</p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ZLasA02NxXnwID3gaMOv7FJFEaH8qy_vtLdecC3izZhKfwyW7_92Smc3ZNQ0n8LaIrKQ4srbqIwGBNUDZkLcnGCa6A-abpUfkB3WhAvbQrYo-g0edVrQkwVx95RhpEA8tWZ5AhLv17RZpkDA9z3jv80cdDn5uO9EETvJmDp3RPp4iCRDQfq244oBm8wF/s601/Lil%20Honey%20Bunny-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="601" data-original-width="563" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ZLasA02NxXnwID3gaMOv7FJFEaH8qy_vtLdecC3izZhKfwyW7_92Smc3ZNQ0n8LaIrKQ4srbqIwGBNUDZkLcnGCa6A-abpUfkB3WhAvbQrYo-g0edVrQkwVx95RhpEA8tWZ5AhLv17RZpkDA9z3jv80cdDn5uO9EETvJmDp3RPp4iCRDQfq244oBm8wF/s320/Lil%20Honey%20Bunny-3.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt center 3.25in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">Well, Cliff’s seen Li’l Honey Bunny
again, and the sight knocked his socks off. What do you suppose is going to
happen next? Let’s find out.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-indent: 0in;">* * * * <o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">LI’L
HONEY BUNNY<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The day went more slowly than
usual, but eventually it passed. After my shift, I rushed home, showered—for
the second time that day—shaved—ditto—and spent too much time deciding what to
wear, eventually settling on a pair of walking shorts I’d been told fit me
nicely in the rear, and a sleeveless polo shirt. As I gave myself a final check
in the mirror, I felt kinda foolish. I hadn’t made such elaborate preparations
for my last date with a girl. Nonetheless, I felt good as I left for the
bowling alley.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Bunny was already at the alley
and looked super in shorts and a muscle shirt that fit like original skin. My
enthusiasm waned when he had two girls in tow. I knew them both, but one,
Eileen Whipper, I’d dated in high school. Disappointed though I was, I had to
admit she looked better than the high school Eileen.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Cliffy!” she exclaimed,
opening her arms to me. Nothing to do but move into them.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Eileen, it’s been too long.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">She held me at arm’s length
and put a scowl on her face. “You promised to write.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“That I did, but even my folks
didn’t get a letter. Thought I’d breeze through my classes like in Eldorado,
but college is a little tougher. Takes more time.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">She cocked an eye. “<i>That’s </i>your
excuse?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Well, that and sloth.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Now I’m starting to believe
you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The other girl was closer to
Bunny’s age, and I knew her only slightly. He reintroduced me to Lila. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Naturally, it was a case of us
against them, me and Eileen against Bunny and Lila. That was okay. Either way,
I got to watch his athletic form do the windup, take the steps, and let go of
the ball, skewing sideways at the end with his hips cocked. Smooth as chocolate
fudge flowing over cherry ice cream. And about as delicious. Strangely, my
licentious thoughts about him made my own butt tingle every time I bowled.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Halfway through the set, I had
a thought that almost made me toss a gutter ball. I’d fooled around with a few
guys before, but it had always been a casual thing… you know, guys helping one
another after striking out on a double date. But here I was actively lusting
after another guy. That was new territory. But there it was. Apparently,
nothing to worry about because we were stuck with two gals for the night, and
from the way Lila clung to her guy, he probably wasn’t going home needy
tonight. Well, crap!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The set was a close one, but Bunny
and his partner aced us out… probably because I bowled right after Bunny did,
and the image of his manly body performing that sexy toss threw me off my game.
I was surprised he didn’t start in on that “make me eat my words” thing right
away, but he didn’t.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">We ate in the alley’s
restaurant afterward, and I put on a good face even though the night wasn’t
gonna turn out the way I wanted, you know, with some one-on-one bonding time
with Bunny.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">At the end of the meal, the
girls excused themselves to go to the powder room, so I took the opportunity to
drain the pipe. As I was finishing, Bunny entered and stepped to the urinal
beside me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I’d never experienced “shy
kidneys” before, but I got an attack of them right then. My stream promptly dried
up, yet I didn’t want to leave. Even though there was a modesty panel between
us, standing side by side holding our private parts in our hands seemed erotic
on its own. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Cliff?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Yeah,” I managed to answer
and sound natural.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I’m not into it tonight. What
say we ditch the girls and get a six-pack.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Dunno why, but somehow I had
to make a joke out of it. “Gotcha. You’re not old enough, so you gotta rely on
me to buy the booze.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Something like that. You
game?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Sure.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The girls had arrived in their
own car, so we didn’t have to take them home. I was gratified to notice that
Eileen seemed as disappointed as Lila. Maybe that boded well for later.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">At any rate, after they pulled
out of the parking lot, I turned to Bunny to find him watching me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You sure you’re okay with
going stag?” he asked. “Eileen seemed interested.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Went with her for a while in
high school. I’m sure we’ll see one another again. Lila looked disappointed
too.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He shrugged. “Getting too
intense. I’ll be leaving for college in a couple of months and need to put some
distance between us.” He held up a hand. “I’m not dumping her, you understand.
Just trying to prepare us both for what’s coming.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Whatever you do, don’t
promise to write her… unless you intend to do it. Things get busy on a college
campus.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Gotcha.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">We agreed on a private place
to demolish a six pack, and I drove to the liquor store to pick up the booze
while he drove on to stake out a spot. I grabbed the first two six packs out of
the cooler I saw, threw money on the counter and broke the speed limit to a
stand of woods just outside of town, holding my breath and praying he’d be
there.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Sure enough, when I pulled
into the grove, there was his Chevy Impala. Grabbing a deep breath and the two
six packs, I scrambled out of my car and slid into the passenger seat of his.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Ah, salvation!” he breathed,
tearing one of the cans out of the container and popping the lid. He took a hefty
draft, smacked his lips, and muttered, “Nirvana.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">With something else in mind, I
blurted, “Not quite but almost.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Huh?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">To cover my blunder, I
explained that by the end of his first semester, he’d have had so much beer
that the bloom was off the lily. Still an enjoyable relief from pressure, but
surely not Nirvana.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He seemed to accept my
explanation, settling himself more comfortably and spreading his legs.
Unconscious or on purpose?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“So tell me about it. Let me
know what to expect?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“It?” I asked. Surely not the <i>it</i>
I had in mind.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You know. College.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">So I blathered on for half an
hour while our supply of beer steadily dwindled. I went easy, leaving more for
him. Devious son of a bitch, wasn’t I?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">At length, he surprised me. “What
about sex?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">My mouth dried up, my stomach
clinched, but I managed to sound halfway normal. “I’m game if you are.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He laughed and slapped the
steering wheel. “No, you goofball. What about sex on campus. Give me some
pointers.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">My stomach dropped down into
my bowels… followed shortly thereafter by my expectations.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">As we all know,
things don’t always turn out the way we plan. Wonder how Cliff’s going to
handle the rest of the summer with Bunny still around? Well, there’s one more
installment, so I guess we’ll find out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">I now have the
cover for the upcoming </span><i style="text-indent: 0in;">Huntinghawk, </i><span style="text-indent: 0in;">but JMS won’t let me give anyone a
peek yet. I like it, and hopefully, so will you. The release date is sometime
in February. I’ll keep you posted.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">X: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it! </i><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">(Don Travis keeps reminding me I stole it from him, but he didn’t
copyright it. His bad.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">See you later.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00
a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-82314646087363567432024-01-18T04:00:00.000-08:002024-01-28T11:01:27.566-08:00Li’l Honey Bunny (Part 1 of 3 Parts)<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #257</b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image Courtesy
of Dreamstime:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHb0odQIMJu5yeBDt4gMCRNajzSjtfJfheIpfxgRcKRBMS-Y8qia-6kDw5pDW7-o-RBlziAowUmvkk9qUiKV7dwh4O0VQrU1xLc9oEpzf_In3enSLhhOxzlTsfw0RfCMWmsgJny9xNX5GbbLtj3ElswpqYhq4L1v0Hmjbwevad2uJfo0Prz0GsQAWVAi9j/s601/Lil%20Honey%20Bunny-3.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="601" data-original-width="563" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHb0odQIMJu5yeBDt4gMCRNajzSjtfJfheIpfxgRcKRBMS-Y8qia-6kDw5pDW7-o-RBlziAowUmvkk9qUiKV7dwh4O0VQrU1xLc9oEpzf_In3enSLhhOxzlTsfw0RfCMWmsgJny9xNX5GbbLtj3ElswpqYhq4L1v0Hmjbwevad2uJfo0Prz0GsQAWVAi9j/s320/Lil%20Honey%20Bunny-3.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">Can you believe it? Here we are well
into 2024, and I was just getting accustomed to writing 2023. Such is life.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p>Hope you enjoyed the story of the Army
brat and the white park bench. This week, we’ll start another story, maybe
pluck some different heartstrings.</p><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">Let’s get right to it. Here’s Part 1.</p><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">* * * * <o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">LI’L
HONEY BUNNY<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I remember the day Greg Parks
was born in the house right beside ours on Mason Street. Or at least I recall
stories about the event… my mom rushing over to help the doctor, excited
whispers, a baby crying. They’re vivid in my mind, although I was only four at
the time. But it seemed that my mother coming back home and loudly pronouncing
that the new baby was a real “Little Honey Bunny” was my recollection, not
someone else’s told so many times it gets mixed up with my own.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">So that’s what I called him from
the time I first laid eyes on the red-faced, squalling bundle of energy more
formally named Gregory Robert Parks. The label worked okay until he reached
Middle School, and then he began to rebel, taking it as a smack-down. Wasn’t
intended that way, but his reaction tickled my fancy, so I kept it up. By that
time, of course, it had simply been reduced to “Bunny,” but I’d use the full appellation
on occasion to watch his face turn red. Needless to say, our childhood
friendship was no longer so close.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I returned home after being
away at college for four years and moved back into the Mason Street house.
Didn’t see much of Bunny upon my return as the Parks had long ago moved to
another part of town. Nonetheless the sight of the white house to the east of
ours kicked off memories… including those of Li’l Honey Bunny.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">In answer to my questions, Mom
let me know Greg had graduated high school and was prepared to leave for
college at State this fall. Hard to believe the gangly fourteen-year-old I’d
last cast eyes on would soon be a college man. No doubt I’d see for myself, as
I was about to start working in my dad’s drug store. The idea of working for a
year at the drug store where I’d started shelving merchandise in short pants before
starting pharmacy school was long ago implanted in my brain. Dad wanted me to
learn the business end of the store more deeply than what I’d already absorbed
by osmosis. He he planned for me to one day replace him as pharmacist… and
ultimately as manager. That was okay with me. I’d found his puttering and
muttering while mixing this and parsing that fascinating, and I probably
already knew more about that end of the business than most pre-pharm students.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">One day as I looked through a
sheaf of credit card charges while searching for a specific one, an unfamiliar
voice called my name.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Clifton? Is that you, Cliff?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I turned to regard an oddly familiar
stranger. A handsome, hunky, totally desirable stranger. My mouth dropped as
recognition dawned.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Greg?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The beautiful young man
laughed, his generous green eyes crinkling merrily. “It’s okay, I’m still Bunny.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You sure are,” I blurted and
grasped the strong hand he thrust at me. “Damn, guy, you’ve grown.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Wee bit. But you look the
same. Guess chasing sorority gals around campus has kept you lean and healthy.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I gave him a return laugh. “It’s
only when you catch them that it can become unhealthy.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I’ll take you word for it.
How long you home for?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I reclaimed my hand, although
I was enjoying the contact. “Gonna work for a year before going back to
Pharmacy School. So I’ll be around awhile.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Not me,” the dreamboat in
front of me said. “Heading out to State this fall.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Try not to tear up campus too
much.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Might need some guidance on
that. Maybe you can give me some pointers.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Happy to… anytime.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He started to move away, but
hesitated. “I’m working at my dad’s lumberyard for the summer… like every other
summer I can remember. Get off around six. If you’re not doing anything, maybe
you can give me some of those pointers.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">A chill ran down my back. “Yeah,
sure. What you wanna do?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You still bowl?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Some. Probably still beat
your ass.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“This isn’t a league night, so
why don’t you meet me at the Fiesta Bowl at eight, and I’ll make you eat those
words.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You’re on.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I couldn’t help but watch as
he moved down the aisle toward the prescription counter where my father was
working. The kid had to be a jock. Way he moved, graceful, self-assured… sexy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Thankfully, the cashier’s
counter shielded me as Mrs. Mooseburn walked up, otherwise it would have been obscenely
obvious how intrigued I was by that Li’l Honey Bunny.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Wonder if Cliff
had explored his own sexuality before Bunny caught his fancy… unexpectedly, it
seems. He has to be… what 22 or 23 to have graduated from college, so surely he
has. But who knows.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">At any rate, now
that he knows, what will he do about it? Assuming, of course, Bunny will permit
him to experiment. What do you think?</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">I now have the
cover for the upcoming </span><i style="text-indent: 0in;">Huntinghawk, </i><span style="text-indent: 0in;">but JMS won’t let me give anyone a
peek yet. I like it, and hopefully, so will you.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">X: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it! </i></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">See you later.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;"> </span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Mark<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00
a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-2745756842581469802024-01-04T04:00:00.000-08:002024-01-04T04:00:00.142-08:00An Army Brat and a White-Vined Park Bench (Part 2 of 2 Parts)<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #256</b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image Courtesy
of Amazon:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif3s7Ns0RvoOsJj3umRt9RO8Ek_SlUaUYnMlfdvFLsDfBxICt2MW7er9Wa9vwTw_WjHNQPBRx4EU3WTcoe_xWgDNVcFFw7d7aaLQ0cWm-fsLEZn-82I1GNPbCpEkNC3tcTS9rPrOiuFVSQfcvA2MfOtDRFLO05UiP6EWtBYZmREENa7qEQ-AzDe4c0dUbF/s832/Bench2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="832" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif3s7Ns0RvoOsJj3umRt9RO8Ek_SlUaUYnMlfdvFLsDfBxICt2MW7er9Wa9vwTw_WjHNQPBRx4EU3WTcoe_xWgDNVcFFw7d7aaLQ0cWm-fsLEZn-82I1GNPbCpEkNC3tcTS9rPrOiuFVSQfcvA2MfOtDRFLO05UiP6EWtBYZmREENa7qEQ-AzDe4c0dUbF/s320/Bench2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">Hope Christmas went well for
everyone. Now we have to get past New Year’s… especially New Year’s Eve. Stay
sane, everyone.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p>The last post saw Layton Dunelton, an
army brat, going through his usual bout of loneliness when his father is
transferred to a different base. A piece of graffiti on the school bathroom
stall set him looking for a particular bench in a nearby park where he observed
a casual pickup.</p><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">This story picks up a week later when he returns to the park
bench and spots one of the college kids involved in last week’s tryst. The kid
boldly approaches Layton, introduces himself as Ken, and asks what Layton thought
about what he saw the previous Monday.</p><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">* * * *</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">AN
ARMY BRAT AND A WHITE-VINED PARK BENCH<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Uh, like what?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Well, what did you think of
my bare butt, for one thing?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Tried not to think of it at
all.” There, that was better. No stuttering that time.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Tried not to? That means you
did. Care to give it a rating?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Uh….” Damn, stuttering again.
Maybe not stuttering, but pissing around before answering the question. Same
thing. “Not that experienced at rating guy’s asses.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Don’t give me that. Good-looking,
built guy like you? I can tell you’re an athlete. Athletes shower with guys. So
you’ve seen plenty of bare, male butts.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Guess so.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Know so,” he said, clamping
onto my thigh above the knee in a macho, goodwill sorta way. But he left his
hand there, and it burned like his hip against mine did. I dunno why, but I
didn’t push it away. Didn’t do anything.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Ken turned his head to look at
me. “Make you curious about anything else?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“No… uh… I dunno.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He flashed a smile, making him
handsomer than any movie star I’d ever seen… sexier, at any rate. That thought
rattled me some, I can tell you.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Dunno means you’re not closed
to the suggestion. But first, maybe you’d like a feel?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Feel? W-wha’da ya mean?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He moved his hand up my leg. “Oh,
like this, for example.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I clamped my legs together,
trapping his hand.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Relax,” he said in a soothing
voice.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I did, and his hand went to
work. I’ve heard of blind people “seeing with their hands,” and while those
chocolate brown eyes weren’t blind, that hand’s examination was so thorough it must
have known exactly what I looked like beneath my trousers.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He spread his legs, which
pushed his left one hard against my right. “Your turn.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Like it had a mind of its own,
my hand reached out and came to rest on the inside of his thigh. Then it went
dumb.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Go on,” he said. “Take a good
feel.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">So after a good look around to
make sure nobody was nearby, I did. One touch, and that monster beneath his sweatpants
started growing. Before I knew it, I was holding onto a throbbing tube of flesh
yearning to be free.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I was gonna let go, but he
reached for me again, his arm trapping mine where it was. So help me, this
time, I reacted the same way he had. Junior grew and got muscular fast.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Impressive,” Ken said, giving
that loopy grin that made him handsomer than all get out.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Y-yours too,” I heard my own
voice say. Damn, first my hand acted on its own, and now my voice box went independent.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Taking me by surprise, he
removed his hand and yanked down his sweatpants, exposing an excited monster.
It bobbed around like that blind eye at the tip was hunting for a home.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Somebody’ll see!” I
whispered.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Nobody around. Take hold of
it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">My hand became animated again
and obeyed. Man, talk about hot. It was physically warm. My hand, acting
independently again, pumped it a couple of times.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Feels good, Layton. Feels
good. Now yours.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I’d lost the ability to
resist, so I just lay back against the bench and let him do what he wanted. My
trousers had a belt, but it didn’t take him any time at all to overcome that
obstacle. And just like his, mine bobbed and weaved like it was looking for a
fight. His hand around it about sent me out of my senses, especially when that
hand started moving up and down. He sighed as I did the same.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You one good-looking stud,”
Ken said, a sigh in his voice.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Y-you are too. Really
handsome. Bet you could have any girl you wanted. Why’d you want me?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He leaned his shoulder against
mine while both our hands worked like crazy. “You’re prettier than any girl I
know, Layton. You’re sexier than that guy I met here last week, and he was a
real looker, I can tell you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I’m… uh… ah… oh… not.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Ken stretched his legs. “Oh,
but you are. And you’ve got a great touch. Uh-oh. Getting serious here.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You… you do too. Serious… over…
here too.” My legs spasmed. My belly contracted, and Junior let loose with a gush
of hot sperm.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Atta boy!” he breathed. “Spewed
like a volcano! Ungh, oh my. Here… I… come!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">And come he did. For a long
time. Forever, it seemed like.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Finally, we both lolled back
against the bench breathing heavily. After a minute or so, Ken took out a clean
white handkerchief and cleaned me off before tending to himself. I’ll swear
that scrap of cloth was sopping wet by the time he finished. As we restored our
clothing, he glanced over at me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Well, how was it?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Great.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Your first time… with another
guy, I mean?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Uh-huh.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“How do you feel about it?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“How do I feel? Worn out.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“No regrets? No recriminations?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Why would I?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He shrugged, and although I
was sexually sated, I experienced a brief pang of lust. “Some guys feel like it’s
wrong, and they’re mortified afterward. Me, I just enjoy the afterglow.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Afterglow?” I asked. “Yeah,
that’s it. Afterglow.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I like you, Layton.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Me too. I mean, I like you,
Ken.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Wanna meet again? Lots of
things I can teach you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Better than… you know, what
we just did?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">That devastating grin again. “Lots
better.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Seems like the
college boy was looking for more than just telling Layton to keep his mouth
shut. As a matter of fact…. Well, I won’t say more, because we’ll likely see
more of Layton and Ken later.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">As I said in the
last post, JMSBooks is bringing out another short story anthology titled </span><i style="text-indent: 0in;">Huntinghawk,
</i><span style="text-indent: 0in;">An Anthology for publication in February of next year. I’ll keep you
posted.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">X: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it! </i><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">(Don Travis keeps reminding me I stole it from him, but he didn’t
copyright it. His bad.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">See you later.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-7105761746077047502023-12-21T04:00:00.000-08:002023-12-21T04:00:00.243-08:00An Army Brat and a White-Vined Park Bench (Part 1 of 2 Parts)<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #255</b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image Courtesy
of Amazon:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV6xEZ9mr9ibheNFkiFdx8WUYrhSHE-YKy0e9ZNVWgwlDE9aM7PKczArbsot-pW-iZbyLy8QirXJc0vUd5ioF3n4tD9jJuxQrvnJIFb-wXLJb06rc8tdEIaa-HMwAO5Zxn3VDGiffuMHXKxO1M1TGahhYdTYQd8nsAoT3eBGHOC1VLiQwFOP-4mo1lhgUo/s832/Bench2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="832" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV6xEZ9mr9ibheNFkiFdx8WUYrhSHE-YKy0e9ZNVWgwlDE9aM7PKczArbsot-pW-iZbyLy8QirXJc0vUd5ioF3n4tD9jJuxQrvnJIFb-wXLJb06rc8tdEIaa-HMwAO5Zxn3VDGiffuMHXKxO1M1TGahhYdTYQd8nsAoT3eBGHOC1VLiQwFOP-4mo1lhgUo/s320/Bench2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah to
one and all. Please enjoy the holiday season but be careful, there are a lot of
crazies out there.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p>During this busy time of year, I’d
intended to publish a repost for this week. But Layton and the white-vined park
bench he’d stumbled onto in last post prompted so many memories from yore, I
couldn’t let it go. Hope you enjoy the second story.</p><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">* * * *</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">AN
ARMY BRAT AND A WHITE-VINED PARK BENCH<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">My name’s Layton Dunelton, and
I’m one confused son of a gun. An army brat, I had traveled blamed near all
over the world by the time I reached age eighteen. But I’d never seen anything
like what I saw when I arrived at Harthbrow Academy for my senior year in high
school. It started off last Monday after school was over for the day. I’m a
hiker—and a loner, by the way—and went to this park near my house after I’d
seen some graffiti in the boy’s room about a white park bench.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Don’t know if I was looking
for that bench or not, but I spotted it in a little secluded glen screened from
the rest of the park by some trees. All the message said was, “Meet you at the
white vine tonight at eight.” Anyway, my curiosity got the better of me, and I
sat at another bench not far away. Dunno why, wasn’t anywhere close to eight
o’clock. Heck, it was the middle of the afternoon. And I didn’t even know when
the note was put on the wall.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">But I figured things out right
fast when a guy sat down on the white bench and got picked up by another guy. Looked
like college students. They moved back in the trees and started making out. Guess
they were too involved in what they were doing to notice me, but I sure got an
eyeful when one dropped his britches. They left before things got too heated
up, heading for somewhere more private, I guess. But as they left, one of them,
a really handsome guy with dark, curly hair noticed me and gave me a grin and a
thumbs-up behind his buddy’s back. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">What was even stranger was I’d
never even thought about fooling around with guys, but what I’d seen about set
me on fire. I even went back at eight that night to see if anyone answered the
note, but nobody showed, and I felt creepy sitting in the dark watching that
empty, white-vined park bench.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I tried not to give the park
much thought the rest of the week, but the following Monday afternoon, I went
to the head and saw that graffiti again. Somebody’d added the word “Wow!” below
it. That’s all it took to start my imagination racing again, so I left school
after last class and headed straight for the park.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Once I got there, I wondered what
the hell I was doing. There were some kids playing a ball game way down the
green, but nobody was at the path running in front of the white bench. Or on
the other bench farther back in the trees where I’d watched last Monday.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">On impulse, I sat down on the
white bench and spread my legs like I’d seen the guy do the other day. But as soon
as I saw someone approaching, I closed them like I needed to protect my manhood
or something.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">After a few uncomfortable
minutes, I decided sitting on this hookup bench and spreading my legs to bait a
trap wasn’t for me. I stood to leave, but froze when I saw that same
dark-headed college kid striding this way on long, athletic legs. Panicked, I
didn’t know whether to sit down or run away. And I had to do one or the other
because my knees went weak.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">When I saw him turn his head
to look at two girls walking down the path on the other side of the green, I
whipped around the bench and took refuge on the other seat deeper in the trees.
Maybe he wouldn’t notice me. Like last time.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I sat still as a marble statue
as he approached the white bench. Was he going to sit down? Was he meeting his
friend again? Would I see them move deeper in the trees and drop their trousers?
Would….<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Upon reaching the white bench,
he stretched languidly, hiking his short shirt up and giving me a flash of
brown midriff. Wow, he was built. Athletic, I mean. Not like a wrestler; more
like a runner or a swimmer. Long, hard muscles.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I saw the instant he spotted
me. He paused, flashed a smile… and headed my way. My insides shriveled. God!
Would he recognize me as the peeping Tom kid? Before I had time to react, he
stood in front of me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Hello. Wondered if I’d see
you again.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Oh, crap! He recognized me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I came back a couple of times
last week hoping I’d see you,” he went on.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He <i>wanted </i>to see me?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He indicated the bench. “Mind
if I join you?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Y-yeah, sure.” Crap, I probably
sounded like a ten-year-old.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He sat beside me on the small
bench with our thighs touching… scorching my flesh.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He offered a hand. “My name’s
Ken.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Uh….” I verbally stumbled as
I accepted his firm grip. Seemed like there was heat in that touch too. “Layton.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Good to meet you, Layton.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“W-why did you want to see me?”
Gee, he must think I stuttered.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Wanted to get your take on
what you saw Monday.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">*.*.*.*.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Uh-oh, is the
college guy fishing around to see what Layton saw a week ago? Should Layton
confess he’d gotten an eyeful or play dumb? Would Ken be pissed if he’d seen
too much? College boy had been dogged about finding Layton again. What did he
want? To make sure the kid kept his mouth shut? Or maybe something else. Let’s
see next post.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">JMSBooks has
contracted with me for another short story anthology for publication in
February of next year. This one is a series of related stories about Curt
Huntinghawk and his running buddy Grover Whitedeer. It’s called </span><i style="text-indent: 0in;">Huntinghawk,
</i><span style="text-indent: 0in;">An Anthology. Let you know when I get a firm publication date.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">X: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it! </i><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">(Don Travis keeps reminding me I stole it from him, but he didn’t
copyright it. His bad.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">See you later.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-16998602936375215672023-12-07T04:00:00.001-08:002023-12-07T04:00:00.148-08:00The White-Vined Park Bench<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #254</b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image Courtesy
of Pinterest:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUiLmaCEMdgYAStPnE25-gO73W2-eWg7gQaDUIVJpu1VyszUd-zV10k6gRwe3N4fUosuV6XGcQiuMmJ_ZkaZpYILNPikKYNGwqHQ0vrAU1j60cWpZhpyWAQo0xNIDbmu_6N3-QXtglrWv0KNVpercAQmVfdLocBuJoArN4ZnpLiMSo1A6ZM9peumW8bkj0/s832/Bench2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="832" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUiLmaCEMdgYAStPnE25-gO73W2-eWg7gQaDUIVJpu1VyszUd-zV10k6gRwe3N4fUosuV6XGcQiuMmJ_ZkaZpYILNPikKYNGwqHQ0vrAU1j60cWpZhpyWAQo0xNIDbmu_6N3-QXtglrWv0KNVpercAQmVfdLocBuJoArN4ZnpLiMSo1A6ZM9peumW8bkj0/s320/Bench2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">Well, how did you like meeting
Charlie and Red Leg over the last two weeks. Think you might get some interest
up if you met those two?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">Let’s try some flash fiction this
week. Read on and meet a shy, high school senior Army brat and see if you can
share any of his feelings.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">* * * * <o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">THE WHITE-VINED PARK BENCH<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Hi, my name’s Layton Dunelton,
and I’m an army brat who gets transferred around a lot.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">That brought a rumble of
laughter from my new senior class at Harthbrow Academy. I mean to say the class
was new to me, not that the class was new. My dad’s an Army major, and you’d
think I’d grow accustomed to switching schools, but the truth is I’m shy as
hell and have a hard time meeting new people. Sometimes I hate my dad’s
profession, although it’s been good to us. You know, great medical benefits and
respect and all. But it’s hard on the kids, I can tell you.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Anyway, this was my first day
in class at a new school, always the hardest. I could readily spot people I’d
like to get to know but didn’t always make the connection. Guess that’s an
awfully shallow way of picking friends—by the way they look—but nobody’s ever accused
me of being deep.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I made it through the day and
started for home, by foot since we lived no more than four blocks from the
Academy. Before leaving campus, I stopped off in the boy’s room to drain the
pipe for a more comfortable walk. Like lots of places I’d attended, Harthbrow
was not immune from graffiti. I casually read and dismissed them, but one
caught my eye. Obviously old, the ink was faded, it simply read, “Meet you at
the white vine tonight at eight.” I guess it snagged my attention because I
wondered if there was a teen joint in town I hadn’t heard about.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I got my chores and homework done
early, there wasn’t anything else to do. Boredom drove me away from the boob
tube and out looking for something to occupy my time. Not far from the house, I
found a nice city park. At first, I thought it was just a small thing, but as I
wandered around, I found it went on for blocks. The broad swath of green was
fringed by trees as thick as a wild forest and interspaced with heavy, iron
benches with backs fashioned like interwoven vines. A perfect place for
walking. This’d be my hiking spot. I did a lot of hiking, my form of physical
exercise. As I explored, I found little sheltered nooks. A little green space
would open unexpectedly through the trees, and as a dedicated loner, I gravitated
toward sheltered places.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">A little after passing the
obligatory His and Her restroom hut, I came upon a really attractive place.
This little park was almost totally screened from view by trees. Pulled by a
sense of serenity, I entered the little place. No more than twenty-five yards
wide in any direction, the glen felt like another world. Spotting one of those
remote cast iron benches even deeper in the trees, I walked over and sat down.
Surprisingly comfortable, although it probably wouldn’t wear on the butt well.
I sighed and decided to claim the place for my own.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">A few minutes later, a man
walked past the screen of trees, or at least, I thought he was going to.
Instead, he claimed a bench I’d not noticed no more than ten yards in front of
me. One not so deep in this little glen, but still somewhat isolated from the
bigger expanse of green beyond. His back was to me, but he looked a little
older than my eighteen years. Like a junior or senior at the college in town.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">At any rate, he had a sort of—I
don’t know—expectant air about him. There wasn’t much traffic in the park at
this time of day, but there was some. As I observed—a loner’s often a great
observer of life around him—I noticed something. If a woman or girl walked by,
he nodded courteously, but if a man—especially a young man—approached, he
spread his legs and watched the guy approach. Like a hunter watching his prey was
what came to mind. But what was his bait?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">After about ten minutes, a guy
who looked like he was another student walked up and stopped in front of the
bench. I could hear voices but not words. Didn’t need them. The second guy sat
down beside the first and took a long look either way before moving his hand.
Although their backs were to me, I would have sworn he was groping the other
one.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">They got up and moved deeper
into the trees. If they hadn’t been so intent on one another, they would have
seen me, but I remained as still as a stone. When they were well screened from
the public portion of the park—but easily within my sight—one of them, a curly,
dark-headed guy, leaned against the bole of a tree while the other pressed against
him. I could swear they were kissing. They were! Moans reached me. Then the
blond-headed one dropped his britches, baring his butt to me. It looked like
the other one’s trousers drooped, as well. More moans and groans as they
massaged one another.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Damn, if this wasn’t beginning
to get to me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">They halted their activity and
started discussing something. I couldn’t hear plainly but enough to realize
they were compatible—whatever that meant. Then I heard, plain as day. “My
roommate’s gone for the night.” They restored their clothing and started back
to the public area. One looked startled when he spotted me, but grinned and
flashed a thumbs-up behind his partner’s back.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Damned, if that didn’t send
something crawling around inside me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">When they were gone, I got up
and walked to that bench. Sitting—and spreading my legs, I have to admit—I kinda
experimented with the feeling. Then I noticed something I hadn’t before. The
park benches were all painted different colors. This one was white. A white-vined park bench. Could that be what the note on the toilet wall meant?
Yeah. This was a pick-up spot. A meeting place for those people. Those people?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Damn, I had a raging boner.
Did that mean anything? Naw. Well, maybe.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Anyway, I was sure as hell gonna
come back tonight and see what developed. Hell, maybe I’d sit down and spread
my legs now that I knew what the bait was.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">My, my, what do
you suppose he’s figured out the bait was? Will it work? Will it be okay with
him if it does, or will it be a case of the dog catching the car? Figure it out
for yourself. Or… I might write a second story, we’ll see.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Twitter: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it! </i><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">(Don Travis keeps reminding me I stole it from him, but he didn’t
copyright it. His bad.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">See you later.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-10124037853988247452023-12-07T04:00:00.000-08:002023-12-07T04:00:00.147-08:00Red and White (Part 1 of 2 Parts)<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #253</b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image Courtesy
of Craiyon:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiR1Uolej3XF5gnJkl0zsdNVyEAfyiIhlaI4Oo-nU2E8cVdFXBSgPogBkrmDcDWPhBJ7cT1TppOcK1ZGksVAdpPe4A_LelsVXVvk4z-pCS3T7Hq1ecJujd8DiXDgPKV-nzhsLs4linS-TDxl4qnr0q_KBu1hJaTjc5CFXr4Z7XLWrHAIPl8pftsyXd96Bh/s1024/Red%20and%20White.webp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiR1Uolej3XF5gnJkl0zsdNVyEAfyiIhlaI4Oo-nU2E8cVdFXBSgPogBkrmDcDWPhBJ7cT1TppOcK1ZGksVAdpPe4A_LelsVXVvk4z-pCS3T7Hq1ecJujd8DiXDgPKV-nzhsLs4linS-TDxl4qnr0q_KBu1hJaTjc5CFXr4Z7XLWrHAIPl8pftsyXd96Bh/s320/Red%20and%20White.webp" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">Hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving
Day. No one overate, I’m sure.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">Last week, we observed Charlie and
Red Leg breech two different cultures to initiate a growing friendship. Charlie’s
ma took on the task of teaching Red Leg and his sister, but it’s beginning to
look as if Red Leg’s gonna turn out to be Charlie’s instructor. Let’s see.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">* * * * <o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">RED
AND WHITE<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I saw a lot more of Red Leg
and Little Fawn than expected because their mother decided they should join Sissy
and me in Ma’s daily schooling sessions. That brightened those long hours for
me. While I didn’t exactly <i>not </i>like learning, it got awfully tedious at
times. Little Fawn, like Sissy, took to it right away. Red Leg was more like
me, except he sopped up knowledge a little faster than I did. His English, for
example, improved rapidly, although I’m sure he’d have trouble telling what was
a noun and what was a verb.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">After Ma’s class and my farm
chores were done, I got my real education. Once let loose, I’d search out Red
Leg, who became my new instructor in real life events. He taught me how to hunt
with a bow and arrow, how to dress a deer carcass, and what plants were edible
or harmful. Hey, I was learning how to become self-sufficient! That’s a <i>real</i>
education.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">And I got educated in another
way too when we went skinny-dipping in the creek one hot summer day. He dyed
that right leg with something that washed off. He went in the water red-legged,
and came out bronze-legged.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I noticed something else too.
A thick black bush and an impressive set of equipment. Looked more like a man’s
than a lanky, eighteen-year-old kid. Course, out here on the frontier, everyone
considered a seventeen-year-old as a man. I’d just left seventeen behind me,
and I didn’t feel near like a man. Just a big kid.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Anyhow, that day, as we lay in
the grass after horseplay in the stream, my eye kept straying to his private
parts, which made me feel strange. And I do mean strange. I got all
goose-pimply and felt weak in the knees. Then I noticed he was looking at me
too. He might not look a guy in the eye, but he didn’t mind laying an orb
directly on guy’s private parts. But I’d already noticed he was a lot more
direct in his speech and actions than I was. Which, in a way, made him less
sneaky than me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">So I stopped being sneaky, sat
up on my elbow, and took a good look. Immediately, I grew intimidated. That was
a man lying naked in the grass beside me. His mind and heart might be the kid I
knew as Red Leg, but that body was definitely a full-grown man’s. And a whopper
of a man at that.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">First thing I knew, my hand
was on his leg, the one that’d been painted before we went swimming. I thought
it was just a reaction to that missing paint, but as soon as I felt his silken
touch, I knew I was wrong. Flustered, I lay back down.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Red Leg came up on his elbow
and took a look at my privates. Watching his big, black eyes—couldn’t tell
where the iris ended and the pupil began— study me, I felt myself grow.
Mortified, I covered myself with my hands.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Red Leg grunted and brushed
them away. I got hard as a rock under that piercing stare, starting when he ran
his fingers through my pubic hair.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He touched his own bush. “Not
black like mine.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“N-no. Brown.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Like on head.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Y-yeh.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He flipped his long hair.
“Black.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Uh, yeah. Real black.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He flicked my throbbing
member. “Work like mine?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">My mind stuttered over both
the touch and the question. “Uh-huh. Least ways, I guess so.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He lay back down, our hips
pressed against one another. “We find out.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">My heart nearly failed when he
threw a leg over mind, grasped himself, and set up a rhythm, but I wasn’t far
behind him. As we worked, I got a little extra tingle when I looked at him
pumping himself. What did that mean? I didn’t know, but I liked it. I even got
so bold as to slide my free hand onto his muscled chest. He didn’t seem to
mind.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Before long—way before I
wanted it to—things started getting serious. I got that special feeling in my
belly and groin, and even somewhere in my backside that let me know I was gonna
pop the cork… and good!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Then he let out a groan and
started spewing like that Mount Vesuvius I’d read about. Hot, steaming lava,
and lots of it. He kinda turned halfway into me to finish, and I had an
eruption of my own. A long, satisfying one.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I don’t know how long we lay
half entangled in one another, but eventually, he sat up and started cleaning
himself with grass. When he finished, he grabbed another clump and set to
scrubbing me. I almost fainted at the unexpected gesture. Before I wanted him
to, he rose and extended an arm, hauling me to my feet and pushing me toward
the stream. We splashed and played until the awkwardness I’d felt melted in the
glow of friendship.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">When we came out of the creek,
he got behind me and started rubbing water from my back with his hands. That
done, he leaned into me and brushed my chest free of droplets. He felt good,
pressed against me like that.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">When he spoke, his lips at my
ear, I was startled.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Charlie my friend, now.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Uh, thought I already was.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You my special friend.” He
grasped my member and pressed himself against my backside. “That mine now. You
don’t do that with nobody else. Just Red Leg.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I smiled at the thought.
Wasn’t anybody else around to do it with. Nonetheless, I agreed. “Okay. Are we
gonna do it again… sometime?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">His clutch became an embrace.
“Gonna do it. Lotsa times. Gonna do more too.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The warmth of his groin on my buns
gave me a hint of his meaning. Suddenly, I was filled with both dread and
anticipation. Dreadful anticipation!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Well, to be
fair, there aren’t many other young people Charlie’s age in the area. So you
take it where you can get it, don’t you. But is he getting too fond of the
handsome, young Indian? From the inset above, do you blame him?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Email: markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Twitter: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it! </i><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">(Don Travis keeps reminding me I stole it from him, but he didn’t
copyright it. His bad.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">See you later.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-22749359670032829122023-11-16T04:00:00.000-08:002023-11-21T15:01:03.610-08:00Red and White (Part 1 of 2 Parts)<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #252</b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image Courtesy
of Craiyon:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje3BaB7tAL9u9OPJoTWJmjZgt_GVhsA9_tAUjVlpZWmTjVlwphmc2V8VDCK0zXwRanR4pHEahV7SKc6WFUGnZJJmTO4TLDWUy_D6Sqw7CYrxRrdJaDF3unnBvCJwO9aySp8EeUIVnbN7W3tYkhrh_vcpK74OTp8iY2wEI-VJAKVJb-ynPHRtp4Kfp-dryQ/s1024/Red%20and%20White.webp" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje3BaB7tAL9u9OPJoTWJmjZgt_GVhsA9_tAUjVlpZWmTjVlwphmc2V8VDCK0zXwRanR4pHEahV7SKc6WFUGnZJJmTO4TLDWUy_D6Sqw7CYrxRrdJaDF3unnBvCJwO9aySp8EeUIVnbN7W3tYkhrh_vcpK74OTp8iY2wEI-VJAKVJb-ynPHRtp4Kfp-dryQ/s320/Red%20and%20White.webp" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">Well, the tale of Shamus Lazrus
Shuttleford is behind us now. Hope you enjoyed it… and it kicked off some
memories of days gone by.</p><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">Today, we start the story of two
young me, one in an environment totally foreign to him. I’ve elected to call it
Red and White. Here goes.</p><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">* * * * <o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">RED
AND WHITE<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">Pa shaded his eyes as he watched horses approaching across
the meadow that ran down to the creek.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Red Injuns,” he said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">His words sent Ma into a panic, Sissy running for her momma’s
skirts, and a bolt of something right through me. Fear, probably.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“No call to worry,” my father added. “Looks like Walking
Dog’s bringing his brood to say howdy.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">Walking Dog, I knew from Pa’s telling, was a Sioux Pa’d met
when he first came to the Dakota Territory to set up our new homestead nearly a
twelve-month ago. Ma, my sister, and I’d only arrived a few weeks back. About
the last words anybody said to us before we left St. Louis was to “watch out
for Red Indians.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">I wasn’t clear on how they’d met, but apparently the
Indian had been a big help to Pa in getting acclimated to the area. If I
understood it right, Walking Dog’s wife had made the buckskin window coverings
for the house.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“What do I do?” Ma asked, her hands fiddling with her
apron like she did when she was nervous.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“What you always do when company comes calling. Coffee hot?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Fresh brewed. But what do I say to them?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Not much. Walking Dog speaks a little American, but don’t
know about the rest of them.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">We watched silently as the four horses drew near. Walking
Dog—leastways, I figured it was the warrior—was a swamping man. Big. Big in the
shoulders and chest, but lean elsewhere. Dunno where the idea came from, but “wouldn’t
wanna get in a mix-up with him,” was what raced through my head. What held the
two eagle feathers in place at the back of his head without a headband, was my
second. He lifted his right arm and held it aloft, palm to us.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Showing us he’s got no weapon in his hand. Their way of
a friendly howdy,” Pa said before lifting his own hand. Of course, his Henry
rifle leaned against the cabin wall right behind him in case of need. On the
other hand, Walking Dog’s bow and quiver of arrows was at hand, as well.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">A woman, a youth, and a girl drew up in front of the
porch with him. Seemed like our families were a match. I noticed Ma’s eyes on
the other woman and Sissy’s on the girl, before I regarded the youth I
considered a mite older’n my age—probably nineteen or so—and saw lots of his pa
in him. What amazed me was how handsome he was. Never given it an ounce of
thought, but I didn’t equate Red Indians being either handsome or ugly. They
just were.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">But this whole family made an attractive bunch. Didn’t
see coarseness or savagery in a single one. Course, don’t exactly know what
savagery looks like. Oh yeah, like Leroy Pearton, the kid that used to bully me
when I was going to school. He definitely looked savage.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Howdy, John Clanston,” Walking Dog said in a voice that
seemed to come deep down from inside him. Basso, my ma’d called that voice when
we went to a Christmas sing-along one year and heard this famous opera singer
caroling.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Howdy, Walking Dog. Set yourself down and come up on the
porch for a visit.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">The adults talked among themselves as our guests
dismounted and stepped to the porch. Unlike a lot of the cabins you saw out
here in the wilderness, Pa’d insisted on a proper porch. While others stepped
out into the dirt, we exited onto wooden boards with a protective overhang.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">Our two families spent a quarter of an hour getting introduced.
The adults settled into the homemade chairs we dragged out onto the porch while
we kids settled on the stoop, silent as stones as we listened to our elders
make halted conversation. Walking Dog introduced his wife Willow, My dad
dutifully identified my mom as Jenny Clanston. It was quickly apparent Walking
Dog had a better command of our language than his wife, but Ma, who’d been a
schoolteacher until we came to the Dakota Territory was good at nonverbal
communication and soon had something going.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">When Walking Dog indicated his son was Red Leg and his
daughter, Little Fawn, Pa reciprocated with Charley and Sissy. That freed us to
have a go at it with our peers.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Red Leg?” I asked, indicating his right leg which was
dyed red from hip to where it disappeared into his moccasin. At least, I
assumed it was dyed because the other one was bronze like his bare chest. He wore
a a loose, black shirt without sleeves or collar, but vestments were otherwise confined to a
leather apron some called a breechclout and ankle-high moccasins. His visiting duds, I surmised, making
me wonder about that red leg. Was the dye permanent or just applied when he
went visiting?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">He nodded and spoke in a voice that almost matched his
sire’s, “Just so. Red Leg. Charlie?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“It’s really Charles, but everyone calls me Charlie.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">Up close, he was, indeed, strikingly handsome. I’d never
seen eyes quite that shade of brown on a man—well, youth—before. While I
studied him frankly, he never quite looked right at me. That’s not exactly what
I meant. He looked at me okay, but at my left ear or the right. At my chin or
forehead. Never in the eyes. But Pa’d warned us that wasn’t shiftiness. They considered
meeting a man’s eyes as a challenge or something. That made me wonder if I’d
already accidentally challenged Red Leg to a fight to the death.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">I sure hoped not. His shoulders were way broader than
mine, and his arms had muscles mine only pined for. We talked back and forth,
doing a lot of arm waving and pointing, but he had enough English for us to get
by. Of course, I had no Sioux… or Lakota, as I came to understand it, at all.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">Then, as I stared at him while he watched our sisters
struggle to converse, a strange thought popped into my head.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">How would girls back home react to my impressive new
friend? And the answer came back: <i>they’d eat him up</i>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">I sat stunned as some sort of emotion wracked me. What
was that all about?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">New situations
are stressful enough, but total new environments are even more difficult. What’s
going on in young Charlie’s mind? We’ll find out next time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Twitter: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it! </i><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">(Don Travis keeps reminding me I stole it from him, but he didn’t copyright
it. His bad.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">See you later.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-89196347990384190752023-11-02T04:00:00.001-07:002023-11-02T04:00:00.144-07:00Shamus Lazrus Shuttleford (Part 2 of 2 Parts)<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #251</b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image Courtesy
of Masterfile (Royalty-Free Div)</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl4aQUg_xXgc0Ud5FbGGdmKMim0MZJPIwI8OoNVFg5-WsI1weOilHFAWeop-GGhdsB66e1ShihxbpmTG0EcB4-vdG59bImwIgJFHsRmC-wl8Nc-csQRQpxVAC8CucJshwAM8_PhdW1Mmkhk8XNYhapn2R_ODkuztHKfwqI4d-OaZCjAm7rRwPg4D8R6MDQ/s450/Shamus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl4aQUg_xXgc0Ud5FbGGdmKMim0MZJPIwI8OoNVFg5-WsI1weOilHFAWeop-GGhdsB66e1ShihxbpmTG0EcB4-vdG59bImwIgJFHsRmC-wl8Nc-csQRQpxVAC8CucJshwAM8_PhdW1Mmkhk8XNYhapn2R_ODkuztHKfwqI4d-OaZCjAm7rRwPg4D8R6MDQ/s320/Shamus.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">This week, we’ll finish the brief
saga of Shamus Lazrus Shuttleford, an ordinary guy living an ordinary life…
until he sees the neighborhood kid in the back yard engaged in unnatural
activities with another boy. So let’s see what he does about it.</p><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">* * * * <o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>SHAMUS LAZRUS SHUTTLEFORD<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The opportunity to confront
young Timothy about his improprieties didn’t arise until the weekend. Shamus
had just finished mowing the back lawn when Timothy appeared at his fence.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Want me to edge it for you,
Mr. S?” he asked in a pleasant baritone.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I wouldn’t mind if you do,
Timothy. I’ll fix some lemonade we can enjoy afterward.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">A wide grin split the youth’s
handsome features. “Deal.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">As he watched Timothy, clad
only in shorts made from cut-off Levis and canvas slippers, Shamus was struck
by how controlled this young man was. More than most eighteen-year-olds, he
wagered. With that realization, came the understanding that Timothy hadn’t been
seduced the other day, he’d willingly collaborated in his debauchery. That
thought was succeeded by another: did those shorts have a zipper or buttons?
Shamus’ cheeks burned with that question. Why had it even crossed his mind?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Keeping an eye on Timothy’s
progress, he appeared on the back porch with a pitcher of freshly squeezed
lemonade the moment the boy put the edger back into the shed. He’d long ago
learned his offer of monetary payment would be spurned, so lemonade was the
substitute.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The boy rinsed his hands in
the tap at the side of shed and dried them on the seat of his jeans before
taking the lounger beside Shamus and accepting a tall, sweating glass of ade.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Thanks, Mr. S. This’ll go
down easy on a day like this. Hot for May, isn’t it?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Unseasonably.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The boy chatted easily about
school and the Leopards, the high school football team he played for. But he
wasn’t a selfish talker, he laced his description of his days with questions
about Shamus’ family and work at the bookkeeping firm. Pleasant company, Shamus
acknowledged for the ten-thousandth time. Had been since he was in elementary
school. Shamus supposed they’d bonded so well because he was a fair mechanic
and over the years had helped Timothy keep a parade of clunkers running. Likely
why the boy was reluctant to accept payment for his help in the yard.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Eventually, the news of the
week was exhausted, and conversation languished. Now was the proper time to
admonish the lad over his behavior the other day. Even so, Shamus was reluctant
to spoil the pleasant mood.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">After a short silence, the boy
speared him with a look. “Anything you want to say to me, Mr. S”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Beg pardon?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I know you saw me in the back
yard the other day. Saw the blinds on your kitchen window close.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I… well….”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I’ve known for a long time
you could see our hidey spot in the back yard. But I thought you’d be at work
that day.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I took that afternoon off.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“My bad luck, I guess.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Don’t worry, I’ll say nothing
to your parents. But you should refrain from such actions. It’s… it’s
unnatural.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Not according to the research
I’ve read. Lotsa guys do it. Don’t get me wrong. I just let this buddy have his
way every once in a while. Some researchers say masturbation’s healthy.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Shamus felt his eyes widen.
“That was not masturbation.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Timothy grinned at him. “No,
it was better. But I don’t let it get out of control. Bert would blow me every
day if I’d let him, but I only let him in every month or so.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Timothy, I’m not sure such
conversation is appropriate.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Why not? You saw me, so who
else would I talk about it with? Sorry if it offended you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Well… no. Disturbed, maybe.
But offended?” Shamus licked his lips. “I don’t know. My concern was for you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Thanks, Mr S.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">A small silence grew before
Timothy spoke again.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“How about you? What do you
do… you know, for relief? Never see a woman over here. And you don’t go out
much.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Shamus was certain his ears
were a bright red. He should have been in control of this conversation, but
this teen was taking it where he wanted.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“That is definitely not an
appropriate question.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Why not?” Timothy asked. “We’re
friends, aren’t we? Why can’t friends discuss things like that? You know,
intimate things.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You should go to your father
for such advice.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I’m not asking for advice.
I’m asking how you take care of your need. I know Mom and Dad still go at it,
and you’re no older than they are.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Timothy!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Sorry. But don’t get me
wrong, Mr. S. I like girls.” A grin grew on the youth’s lips. “A lot. Have some
hot times, you know, enough to get to aching. But never scored. Not yet. Soon,
I hope. And in the meantime, gotta do something to keep the lid on.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">As the boy fell silent, Shamus
grew aware of a heat building in his loins. He lifted a leg to hide a growing
condition.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Too late,” Timothy said, a
laugh hiding in his voice. “I already saw it.” He indicated the large bulge at
his own groin. “Got to me too. See. Nothing to be ashamed of.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Shamus didn’t know what was
happening to him. Maybe the boy’s voice was hypnotic, his powerful personal
presence too much for Shamus to handle. But whatever it was, he allowed the boy
to talk on. Then he was aware of the boy’s hand touching him. Little Timothy’s
hand—but now, he was big Timothy, a strapping six-footer with wide shoulders,
narrow waist, trim hips and long legs lightly covered in hair.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">As he moved his hand to the
youth’s groin, a long-repressed memory emerged from his fogged brain. The
memory of a golden-haired youth with emerald eyes from his youth. Jimmy. Ah,
the things they’d done. The pleasure they’d shared.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Shamus grunted as Timothy’s
fingers attacked his fly.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes
conversations go awry. I wonder how Shamus will regard this one in the space of
a day or two later. Not certain, but I’m sure of one thing. He’ll remember it
for a long, long time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Twitter: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">See you later.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-63547433685933781352023-10-19T14:01:00.003-07:002023-10-19T14:01:51.453-07:00Shamus Lazrus Shuttleford (Part 1 of 2 Parts)<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #250</b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image Courtesy
of Masterfile (Royalty-Free Div)</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAlk9piDjWmPCCJmTM02F_cMeFan8FMesaryFOL2CCvqkOp0VxEe5Uo6VpicPdvWXmgERx36G1gVhljCDLM9BFKXXVv2NP1zec8FHrgGbQYEGNBCwcywNc3hCUHotvYSOlRSKe2EoMgGR0GDDkqnFee6PHJbCUE4Ho94mdHV1rTcBAny8qGE-FGS4Uwb7Z/s450/Shamus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAlk9piDjWmPCCJmTM02F_cMeFan8FMesaryFOL2CCvqkOp0VxEe5Uo6VpicPdvWXmgERx36G1gVhljCDLM9BFKXXVv2NP1zec8FHrgGbQYEGNBCwcywNc3hCUHotvYSOlRSKe2EoMgGR0GDDkqnFee6PHJbCUE4Ho94mdHV1rTcBAny8qGE-FGS4Uwb7Z/s320/Shamus.jpg" width="213" /></a></div> <p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">First, I have to
apologize for being late with this post. I missed my 5:00 a.m. posting time by several
hours. That hasn’t happened often in my ten years or so of hosting this site. No
excuse… just an apology.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Hope you enjoyed last post’s Dil
Farmer and Thew Miller, a little piece of flash fiction.</p><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">This week, we’ll try a little flash
fiction. Enjoy.</p><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">* * * * <o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>SHAMUS LAZRUS SHUTTLEFORD<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Shamus Lazrus Shuttleford was
a dignified man. Not much else was notable about him, but he was proud and
protective of his propriety, including the lettering of his middle name, which
some considered as misspelled out of ignorance. Shamas was not what many would
count as successful, although he would dispute that. He owned his home and
automobile, had few debts, and had cared adequately for his children until they
grew up and grew away. They were still respectful and kept in touch
appropriately on holidays and birthdays and the like, but they certainly
couldn’t be called clingy offspring.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He'd been close to his wife
before she passed a year ago in her sleep—hopefully without pain. They’d been
close but not demonstrative as some of the other couples they knew. When Violet
left, he had some difficulty coping, but eventually found his way again.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">But the world was changing,
and very frankly, threatened to leave him behind. He’d managed to bridge the
gap between pen and paper to the typewriter, and finally to those electronic
monsters they called computers. In fact, he was adept at typing on the beasts,
finding them infinitely easier to correct errors than either pen or typewriter.
That was the only thing he liked about the forced conversion.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">But of more concern was the
deportment of others these days. Especially, the young ones, and especially
about… well, sex, to be frank. That was a subject that did not claim a great
deal of his attention, but increasingly he found himself facing the subject
whichever way he turned and wherever he went… even in the grocery store, for
crying out loud. They had those magazines in racks right by the cashiers—where
they couldn’t be avoided—literally screaming that short, pungent word.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Shamus believed, all things
considered, he had adjusted to the new “normal,” until yesterday. What he saw
out his kitchen window sent him bustling for the telephone to call his next-door
neighbor until he decided what he’d witnessed was none of his business.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He’d known for years the
neighbor kids thought there was a completely private nook in their back yard.
They’d gotten into mischief since they were toddlers in that private corner
screened from their parents’ prying eyes. But Shamus could see into that bower,
although it probably appeared his lattice of Violet’s climbing roses obscured the
view. No such thing. He saw the spot clearly. And what he saw yesterday rocked
his world.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The older three Gideon
children were away at school or at a job in some remote place, but Timothy was
still in residence. He was a strapping, good-looking lad with honey hair like
his mother and a firm jaw like his father. Always cheerful. Forever playing
sports… first this one and then that one. Respectful as all get out. And
helpful too. Always offering to help when Shamus was in the yard tending to
chores. Downright likeable.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">But what he’d seen yesterday
afternoon after school shook Shamus’ faith in his judgment of others. He had to
swipe his eyes and look again to believe what he was seeing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Timothy was spread out on a
makeshift pallet of some sort in the corner of the yard, his pants bunched at
his ankles, and someone’s head was bobbing up and down in his middle. Shamus
gasped aloud and reached for the kitchen wall telephone when he finally made
himself believe that other head—the one working so hard—actually belonged to
another boy. He couldn’t believe it. Timothy was allowing himself to be abused
by <i>a boy.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Shamus couldn’t believe that
he actually stood there gaping, the phone in his hand, for several minutes
before he came to his senses and slammed the blind on the window closed. Then
he made the conscious decision that what he’d observed was none of his affair
and hung up the telephone. But the image wasn’t that easy to forget, and he
found it disturbing his sleep that evening. Usually, he dropped off when he
went to bed, but the night after he’d witnessed that disgusting scene, he’d witnessed.
He had trouble reconciling it with the pleasant youngster he’d known for years.
But he finally managed to clear his mind and fall asleep after deciding he’d
brace young Timothy and admonish the lad for his lapse in proper behavior.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes
kitchen windows see things that ought not be seen. But see, Shamus did. Does he
owe Timothy’s parents a call, or is he decision the proper one?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">We’ll see next time,
and I’ll try to be prompt.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Twitter: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">See you later.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-80654963136614336652023-10-05T04:00:00.001-07:002023-10-05T04:00:00.159-07:00The Farmer and The Miller<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><b>Markwildyr.com,
Post #249<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><b> </b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image
Courtesy of Depositphotos</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzMnKhbMoc6T_4hRqdXQJC8dRMGLd39oFyv10ELaIrLiLqhCWV56WYneF_aq8KIqQjgI8mAZpjeNLg97xxmPtQDloyuTMoDmz1YD6RKaTzDlJ6xVzai76S0Z9Qd2j6c7XPnhfFDVj344zjYFMO-IK_QRLgF1zKYonla5fzho5iy69YTlN9M0MJnh99gqZT/s600/Farmer%20&%20Miller.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzMnKhbMoc6T_4hRqdXQJC8dRMGLd39oFyv10ELaIrLiLqhCWV56WYneF_aq8KIqQjgI8mAZpjeNLg97xxmPtQDloyuTMoDmz1YD6RKaTzDlJ6xVzai76S0Z9Qd2j6c7XPnhfFDVj344zjYFMO-IK_QRLgF1zKYonla5fzho5iy69YTlN9M0MJnh99gqZT/s320/Farmer%20&%20Miller.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><o:p><br /></o:p><p></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p>Last week’s look at <i>Echoes of the
Flute </i>got a slew of hits but little comment.</p><p class="MsoHeader"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader"><o:p> </o:p>This week, we’ll try a little flash
fiction. Enjoy.</p><p class="MsoHeader"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">* * * * <o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"> THE FARMER AND THE MILLER<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I don’t remember a day in my
life without Dillyn. I’m sure there were some, you know, vacations, illnesses,
and the like, but my mom has pictures of us crawling around in the same play
pen and sleeping in one another’s arms.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Our families were next-door
neighbors—still are, by the way—when both our mothers gave birth in the same
month, almost on the same day. I was a day older than Dillyn… or Dil as I’ve
called him for years. He calls me Thew… a habit he hasn’t broken since early
childhood when he couldn’t pronounce Matthew. His last name’s Farmer, and
mine’s Miller. Nowadays, our friends referred to us as the Farmer and the
Miller and claimed you rarely see one without the other. Dynamic Duo, they called
us, although no one’s sure who’s Batman and who’s Robin.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Those roles changed over the
years. Mom said in our playpen days, I was dominant. That remained true
throughout grade school but began to change in our middle school years. Dil started
making decisions formerly left to me. By the time we hit our freshman year, to
my mind he was the boss, although our peers sometimes felt otherwise.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Don’t get the wrong idea. We
were buddies, but not to the exclusion of others. We both had a wide set of
friends, mostly overlapping, not always. For example, I got along with a kid
called Bud, who was universally considered the school sissy. Dil didn’t. He
fraternized with a football bully named Zack, while I couldn’t stand the guy. But
when push came to shove, it was still the Farmer and the Miller.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Our junior year, Dil got a lot
more interested in girls than I did, although I dated and enjoyed female
companionship. To be honest, that was likely because after dates—usually but
not always double dates—I got a kick out of discussing them with Dil in the darkness
of the car parked somewhere quiet. There were lots of near “moments,” but we
always kept our hands away from where they wanted to wander. Dil got as big a
kick out of these late-night talks as I did. I’m sure of that because after a
while, neither of us tried to hide our erections. Of course, we didn’t take
care of them either. Not until each was alone in his own bedroom later… or at
least that’s the way I handled things.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">After a while, I noticed
something kind of odd. At the moment I reached orgasm, it wasn’t the date of
the night I envisioned, it was an image of Dil suffering a boner in the car
earlier that night. Whoa. What was going on?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">It took until my senior year
to figure that out. I’m a slow learner, sometimes. Book smart, but life but
life dumb. It finally dawned on me I wanted to do something with Dil. Something
personal, intimate. Something I’d never dream of doing with anyone else. I
wasn’t exactly sure of what that was, but it had something to do with us
sitting in a dark car with dongs trying to bust through our trousers.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Okay, problem identified, but
how did I want to satisfy that urge… no, that need? Did I want us to simply
watch one another masturbate? Uh-uh. That wasn’t enough. Did I want to take
care of his erection? Well, yeah, if he’d take care of mine. How? Jerking off
was the obvious answer. But I knew from teen talk there were other ways of
satisfying a guy. But I was afraid of those because of what he might think of
me afterward. But if he reciprocated, wouldn’t we be in the same boat? This
would take some thought. Some planning.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">And thought, I did. Not much
planning, but lots of hot, frustrated thinking. And those thoughts and mental
images brought some of the most satisfying orgasms I’d had to date. Those could
be laid squarely at Dil’s door. He was the one claiming my carnal thoughts and
desires. So what could I do about it?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Our after-date discussions in
a dark car parked in private places started to become torture for me. A hundred
times—an exaggeration, I’m sure—I started to touch him. And I did, in fact. I’d
reach for his groin, lose my nerve, and end up gripping his shoulder and saying
something stupid like “hang in there, Dil” or a more bold “I’m here for you,
guy.” I was usually in pain by the time we went home.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">One night when we met after our
respective dates, I crawled in Dil’s Dad’s pickup, and figured he had tales to
tell. If he’d borrowed the pickup, which had a camper on the back, that meant he
was pretty sure he’d score. As soon as I settled in the seat, I knew it hadn’t
happened.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Man, I almost got there
tonight,” he groaned. “I was this close! When she put her hand on me, I knew it
was gonna happen.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“But it didn’t.” I hoped my
elation didn’t show.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Everything but! Man, I hurt.
I need to poke <i>something.</i>”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“So take care of it.” I think
a dare hid in my voice.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Right now?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Why not? I’ve seen you naked
in the boy’s locker lots of times.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He glanced down at himself.
“Not like this.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I laughed. “Dil, how many
nights have we sat in a car like this eyeballing one another’s hard-ons? Slide
your jeans down and take care of it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Not… not unless you do too.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I reached for my belt. “Not a
problem.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Not here,” he said. “In
back.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">When I followed him into the
camper, I knew how confident he’d been about getting in his date’s pants. An
air mattress and blankets cushioned the hard steel bed. He even had pillows. I
started to make a smart-ass remark, but Dil was already spread out and shoving
his britches down around his ankles. His impressive manhood reached for the sky
and pulsed, announcing it was ready for action.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Now that my moment had arrived,
I didn’t know what to do.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Come on,” Dil said,
impatience evident.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I made sure the door was
latched and scooted over beside him to do what I’d always wanted, I took him in
hand.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Man, that feels good,” he
said. He pushed me away to kick out of his trousers and shuck his shirt. “You
too. You promised.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Yeah, sure.” In a moment, I
was as naked as he was, my need as evident as his.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Good boner, bro,” he said,
grasping me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I almost fainted from sudden
elation. “Oohhh.” I think that came from me. I grabbed him and started flailing
away. After a few moments, he said up.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“That’s not… what I wanted.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“What do you want?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“What does Bud do for you?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Bud? What do you mean, what
does he do for me. He doesn’t do anything for me. We’re casual friends, that’s
all.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I always figured he… you
know, took care of you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Never.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Well, jerking off’s not what
I need.” With that announcement, he crawled on top of me and started hunching
my belly. Felt sort of good… in an odd way.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Better,” he said, his cheek
on mine, his lips at my ear. “But not quite right. Turn over and let me spoon
against you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Dil, I don’t wanna—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I know,” he panted. “I won’t,
but just wanna see how it feels.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Obediently, I turned on my
side, and I had to admit his hard, buff body spooned against me felt good.
Better than anything ever had. He began moving, and that felt good as well. He
reached around and took me in hand, and that felt even better. After a few
minutes of pure heaven, he paused to move a way a bit, and then a hot poker
rammed my insides.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Oh!” I yelled, struggling to
move away. But he held me tight and continued to move against me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Oh, yeah!” he said with
feeling.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">After a minute, the pain
subsided and I echoed his feelings.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Ohhh, yeahhh!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;">Does this remind
anyone of some incident in his/her life? Bring back memories of days gone by? I
can think of one such moment in my life… well, it was similar, at any rate. Enough
so that I’ll relive it tonight.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Until next time,</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt;">Twitter: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i>Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">See you later.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i> </p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-89063008437914879882023-09-21T04:00:00.003-07:002023-09-21T04:00:00.160-07:00Prologue of the Novel, Echoes of the Flute<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #248</b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image: Book
Cover</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaykbDraQmNEIg4ZNWyaaItnDv5bzFMpEH4doi9k4EM57VaeMSSrc5PzVAtmDljGFbtHOiIJbQ47zDbSXNsD9BmHhOLxg40jJPk47U7AqodpzpL1cMX_UZiKq7TQ25uQfxg7jTZ1q_cEorBQBQlnXgKEpcdfxWhT1pvqJ6MnzOz6T-rQ1Bo-moKT19AR8i/s928/Echoes%20of%20the%20Flute%20Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="928" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaykbDraQmNEIg4ZNWyaaItnDv5bzFMpEH4doi9k4EM57VaeMSSrc5PzVAtmDljGFbtHOiIJbQ47zDbSXNsD9BmHhOLxg40jJPk47U7AqodpzpL1cMX_UZiKq7TQ25uQfxg7jTZ1q_cEorBQBQlnXgKEpcdfxWhT1pvqJ6MnzOz6T-rQ1Bo-moKT19AR8i/s320/Echoes%20of%20the%20Flute%20Cover.jpg" width="207" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">The Singaporeans are still with
us. So far they’ve checked out the site 3,300 times in the first half of this
month alone. Keep it up, guys. \<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">This week, I want to return to my Cut
Hand series novels, and selected the prologue to my third novel in the series,
Echoes of the Flute. I find it a powerful tool to set up the tone of the novel.
In this third novel, John Strobaw, who becomes better known later as Medicine
Hair, was the grandson of Cut Hand, last chief of the Yanube <i>tiospaye</i>,
although oral family history has him the grandson of Billy Strobaw, Cut Hand’s lover.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">At any rate, here’s the offering for
this time.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">* * * * <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.65pt;">“Be civilized and prosper.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.65pt;">Yet fortune never smiles. Only wretched pain.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.65pt;">Warriors, forced into trousers and called by alien names.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.65pt;">Drums remind of yesteryear.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.65pt;">Flutes lament what was.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><i>Stanza from the
poem “Echoes of the Flute” by Mark Wildyr</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none;">PROLOGUE<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-align: left;"><i>Dakota Territory, June 1878<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left;">A mob surged across the wooden bridge like a primordial organism in
search of food. Torchlight punched flickering holes in the black night as people
with the look of farmers and merchants and housewives and mothers churned restlessly
in front of a cabin on the north bank of the crick. Moments later, a white-stockinged
blue roan pulled a buckboard into their midst.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left;">A hook-nosed man, clad in black, bellowed from the driver’s bench, “Come
out, sinners. Atone to these good people and the Lord God Almighty!” Despite a
thin frame, his voice was deep and sonorous.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 27.35pt;">The cabin door opened, flooding the porch with lantern glow.
A tall man with thumbs hooked into his braces walked out to face the group.
“What’s going on here? Why’re you tromping around in my yard this time of
night? You there, get out of that flower bed.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 27.35pt;">“You are abominations in the sight of God!” the man in the
buckboard thundered. “The judgment of Leviticus 20:13 shall be upon you this
night.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 27.35pt;">“I have sinned against no one, Preacher. Your words are
farts in the wind.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 27.35pt;">“Did you hear? Profanity! Yes, you <i>have sinned</i>, brother.
Grievously. ‘Mankind shall not lie with mankind as he lieth with womankind,’”
the Preacher intoned. “Confess and beg forgiveness lest the Almighty rain fire
and brimstone upon us all.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 27.35pt;">“Stop acting the fool and get out of here. Go home and
leave me in peace.” He turned and started back into the cabin.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 27.35pt;">“He’s goin’ for a gun!” someone yelled.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 27.35pt;">As the man turned to protest, a bullet caught him in the chest.
He stumbled against the doorjamb. A second slug broke his shoulder and propelled
him through the cabin’s threshold. He managed to close the door and drop the
bar to barricade it behind him before collapsing onto the floor.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 27.35pt;">When demands to fire the building rose, the black-frocked preacher
flicked his reins and turned the rig around, scattering members of his flock. Torches
hurled against the cabin walls had little effect, but brands landing on the
roof kindled a hungry fire.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 27.35pt;">A pinto charged out of the tree line into the pack, the rider
yelling and firing his rifle into the air. After a shocked silence, the mob
rushed the newcomer. Hands snatched him from the saddle before he could bring
his weapon to bear.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 27.35pt;">By the time the maddened horde hoisted a rope over a
cottonwood branch and left the horseman kicking and gasping his life away, the buckboard
raced for Yanube City.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">*.*.*.*.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">This mindless
mob action, promoted by the bitter preacher in black, ignites events that will
test the Strobaw family’s ability to survive and prosper and results in young
John Strobaw taking the road that will eventually earn him the names of Night
Sky Hair and Medicine Hair. Ultimately, he is awarded the name of American
Killer by one Lakota chieftain.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">I hope this will
incentivize some of you to read the series of five historical books: Cut Hand,
River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, Medicine Hair, and Wastelakapi… Beloved. The sixth (and probably last), Ides, is slowly taking shape.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">I also have
three contemporary books: The Victor and the Vanquished, Johnny Two-Guns, and Charlie
Blackbear. In addition, there are three anthologies: Wildyr Tales, More Wildyr
Tales, and Gabacho and Other Wilder Tales.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Until next time,</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Twitter: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">See you later.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-78413110997830413332023-09-07T04:00:00.001-07:002023-09-07T04:00:00.139-07:00Cee One Eff One (Part 2 of 2 Parts)<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #247</b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image
Courtesy of Depositphotos:</span><span style="text-indent: 0in;"> </span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJWsx-X9O3MYI6u7RKgEUKb6HMl68STTGaShobTX-kvCCmofkvHOLtCd1UVfT4EoFzouok9SgkiSZMql9mT5hbnQagr8wroLk949XjTsUqBKHo1fruhNXhnPZyJdiNmV44Y-_5W7OPn-QQa81A99s88LHRb6HFrdgRksr-iGq7wEm0m5X3qxPoiMxZ8RTq/s600/Cee1Eff1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJWsx-X9O3MYI6u7RKgEUKb6HMl68STTGaShobTX-kvCCmofkvHOLtCd1UVfT4EoFzouok9SgkiSZMql9mT5hbnQagr8wroLk949XjTsUqBKHo1fruhNXhnPZyJdiNmV44Y-_5W7OPn-QQa81A99s88LHRb6HFrdgRksr-iGq7wEm0m5X3qxPoiMxZ8RTq/s320/Cee1Eff1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">Got more hits than usual on last week’s
post—the first half of this story—but not many comments. Have you figured
things out yet? Well, let’s get to it. Here goes, the finale.</p><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">* * * * <o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">Cee
One Eff One<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I popped a lid off a brew and
retreated to my recliner to watch the news or a comedy or just to get some
noise in the room. Memories from my youth intruded too much for serious TV
watching, so it was probably the noise thing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Four of us had bummed around.
Dave and Hal and Robert and me. And the hanger-on, Bug. A couple of years
younger</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>than we were, he was a skinny kid who didn’t get along with his own
peers and tried to attach himself to us. Got picked on a lot if I remembered
correctly. Gus was… <i>That’s it! His name was Gus. Gus… Gus… </i>Dammit the
last name wouldn’t come.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">At any rate, Gus had been
kinda an oddball. Not exactly a mama’s boy, but not far from it. Guess maybe
that’s why he seemed to attach himself to me rather than my buddies. Come to
think of it, he always seemed to get along better with Dave and Hal and Bob
than with me. Seemed like he was trying too hard or something.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">From the vantage point of
today, I looked back to wonder if he’d sensed in me what I didn’t know until
later. Not until college. That’s when I found out I was gay. Fought it, denied
it like crazy, but finally had to admit it when the school’s hunky quarterback
picked me up in a college bar one night and turned me every which way but
loose. After that, I knew the truth about myself. The jock came back for
refills occasionally, but not as often as I would have liked. That’s when I
learned the other side of the coin. Whenever the footballer came around, it was
just for one thing, to be serviced, and nothing else. At times, he acted
downright hostile. I didn’t realize until later he was angry with himself. In
his eyes, I was a weakness he succumbed to. By the time he graduated—a couple
of years ahead of me—I was glad to see him go… although I missed him terribly.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Had Bug—or Gus—seen my future
clearer than I had? Or was he struggling to face his own. Now, ten years later,
I regretted the disdain with which I’d treated the kid. I should have looked on
him as someone to mentor, not torment. And torment him, I did. I locked him in
restrooms, stole his clothes at the swimming hole and left him to cover himself
as best he could while walking home. I was a real bastard to him. Why? I don’t
know. Perhaps subconsciously I knew I was going to be bullied, so wanted to get
in a little of my own while I could. God! How petty can a man be?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I was so moved by my belated
recognition of how I’d treated Bug… no, he’d be Gus from now on… that I sent
him a long email apologizing for my behavior. I got no reply.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">A few days later,
my phone beeped a text alert, but before I could answer it, the phone rang. I
recognized Gus’ blocked number and forgot all about answering the text. “Hello,”
I said, likely a little too breathlessly. “Glad you called.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“So you’re
remembering the old days, huh?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“Yeah. Notice
you didn’t say the ‘good old days.’”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“Not for me
they weren’t. In that whole town, there was only one guy I thought could
understand me. What I was going through. That was you. But instead of
understanding, you were the biggest bully in school.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“I know that
now. Used you to slay my dragons, although I didn’t even know there were
dragons at that point. Slow developer, I guess. At any rate, I apologized in my
email, and do so again in person. Sorry, Gus.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“Not Bug?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“No. You’re Gus
from now on.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“Oh, I have
been for years. I left ‘Bug’ behind when I left that little town.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“So where
are you?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“Here.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“Here? You
mean in Dallas?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“Yep. Not
half a mile away.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“Great! Visiting
or permanent?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“Permanent.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“Wonderful. I’d
like to see how little Bug morphed into Gus.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“Oh, you
can. Just open your text. I sent you some photos. I’ll call you back after you’ve
had a chance to look at them.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“Wait! I can….”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">But he was
gone. So I opened the text and drew a sharp breath.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">The first
photo was a bust of a shirtless, buffed, curly haired young man who was not
only downright handsome, but sexy, as well. You know what I’m talking about.
Some handsome guys look too perfect to even think about earthy things. This guy
not only made you think about them, but lust to accomplish them.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">The second
photo made me gasp aloud. Full frontal nude of the same guy, only without his
head showing. I understood. Didn’t want to be subject to blackmail, but that
mole was there, silently testifying this was Bug… Gus. And he wasn’t just
buffed. He was tennis court buffed, distance runner buffed. And equipment that
would make any man proud.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">The third
photo took the wind out of my sales. Gus and an equally attractive young man
stared at me through the camera lenses, both naked, arms thrown over one
another’s shoulders. The look of intimacy was obvious. This was his boyfriend.
His date the other night that left him drained.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">The phone
rang before I’d recovered from the last snap. My answer wasn’t as breathy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“What do you
think?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“I think a
bug morphed into a butterfly,” I said. “You’re one hell of a good-looking guy,
Gus.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“And I could
have been yours.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">My breath
caught in my throat. “What do you mean?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“I would
have done anything for you, Mars… back in the day. Anything you wanted. Top,
bottom, anything in between. I hung in there to the bitter end, putting up with
your bullying, your cruelty, hoping you’d look inside and see the real me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“Bug… Gus, I—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 121.2pt;">“Too late,
bro. Doesn’t matter if you’re a semi-famous author some of the world admires. I
know who you really are. So go to bed tonight knowing I’m within walking
distance, naked and in bed with a hunky, wonderful guy who wouldn’t bully a
soul. By the way, I’m changing my phone number, and as far as the email
address, it was created just for you. A little lesson you should have learned back
when we were younger. If you see one who’s willing, you better fuck him while
you can… but in the right way.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Guess I was
wrong. It’s not “Poor Mars.” It’s Mars, the bastard. But you know, the
subconscious is a powerful thing. As I writer, I have to wonder how often Bug
showed up in his novels in some form or the other. Lots, would be my guess <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Until next week,</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Twitter: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">See you later.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-65553992036521392002023-08-17T04:00:00.001-07:002023-08-17T04:00:00.168-07:00Cee One Eff One (Part 1 of 2 Parts)<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #246</b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image
Courtesy of Depositphotos:</span><span style="text-indent: 0in;"> </span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiREfC2jtTYPMTOLFs7M2NkQXy7IgxDED2SWLLdkMcqHS3WFplSGqP1WUzp0jtgBP4BpAGGLuOyd6iIxNcph43-MptirIZ20Duu8fBy2NCWFd6Z1hm0P9u1w7YzkhVzktb0F3dBB0gFcmFDT0LOn_4DTXqV07bRqZKwzxOI1MQ_AMPMwgfDh2-qhJsGDqTu/s600/Cee1Eff1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiREfC2jtTYPMTOLFs7M2NkQXy7IgxDED2SWLLdkMcqHS3WFplSGqP1WUzp0jtgBP4BpAGGLuOyd6iIxNcph43-MptirIZ20Duu8fBy2NCWFd6Z1hm0P9u1w7YzkhVzktb0F3dBB0gFcmFDT0LOn_4DTXqV07bRqZKwzxOI1MQ_AMPMwgfDh2-qhJsGDqTu/s320/Cee1Eff1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">Does last week’s story of lost
opportunities ring any bells. It rang a big one for me. It freaking <i>tolled. </i>Maybe
I’ll write a story about it one day. Oh, I believe I did already. Think it was
called “Jimmy.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">This week, let’s insert an air of
mystery in our two Part story. Maybe this one will stoke some memories, as
well. Here goes.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">* * * *</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">Cee
One Eff One<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">When the
phone rang at one a.m., I automatically glanced at the clock on my computer
screen. Friends know I usually work until two in the morning, but few of them
phone me after midnight. I was at a crucial point in my latest murder mystery
novel—the third in the series—and didn’t really want an interruption, but I
succumbed to my curiosity and picked up my cell.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">“Hello,” I
said, hoping my voice held just enough irritation but not too much. After all,
it could be an emergency call. “Mars Thraxton here. Who is this?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">A voice that
seemed to come up out of some hunky guy’s testicles robbed me of my irritation.
“See if you can guess.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">My pique
returned. “Not up to playing guessing games… or robo calls. Tell me who this
is, or I’m hanging up.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">“A friend.
Someone who really likes your novels. Devoted reader, you might say.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">That <i>voice.
</i>It grabbed me where it counted. “You sound interesting but not familiar.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">“You write
detective stories. You’ll figure it out.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">“No games,
guy. Tell me or I’m ending this.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">“If you
think hard enough, you’ll—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">I’d no
sooner punched the button to hang up on him than I regretted it. That was quite
a voice. Somewhere between a growl and a purr. I hit the redial before I
overthought my action, but got a non-responsive number like you sometimes get
with spam calls you don’t answer but try to call back.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">That should
have been that, yet I was snared, but good. I sat before the computer with my
mind reviewing everyone I knew. Couldn’t begin to figure out who my mysterious
caller had been.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">I’m not
ashamed to admit that I went to bed that night physically aroused by the
recollection of that sexy voice. But I will swear to this day that I kept my
hands off myself.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">The next
morning, my agent phoned me, and for a brief moment, I thought he might be my
mysterious caller of the previous night. Caddo Damon’s voice was deep and
interesting in its own right, but it didn’t have the vibrato quality I’d
detected. Could he disguise it? I dunno.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">“Caddo,” I
said right in the middle of his description of a pitch to one of the big five
publishers, “you have a deep voice. How much deeper can you make it?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">“What?
What’re you talking about.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">“Humor me.
Make your voice deeper.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">“For crying
out loud, I’m trying to talk business here. But I guess you’re not the wackiest
client I’ve got. You experimenting for a scene in your book? Disguising voices?
Well, if I was gonna do that, I’d go higher.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">“Just do
it, Caddo.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">“Like I
say, I’d go higher,” he said in a voice lower in pitch than his normal speaking
voice. Interesting, but not the same. I’d never met Caddo, but I’d seen his
picture. He was a decent looking guy, and I might could have gotten up some
interest, but he was all business and married with a couple of kids… plus, he
was way off in New York somewhere. But I digress. He wasn’t my mystery caller.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">Determined
to complete a difficult scene in my novel before the day was out, I turned my
mind to writing. Was making decent progress too, until my computer warned me that
I had an incoming email. Sometimes I regretted setting the thing to go “bong” upon
the arrival of each new message, but for some reason, I was loath to kill the
alert.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">My ire
prickled when I checked and saw an email from an aol.com with the odd name of
Cee1Eff1. Crap. Belonged in the Spam folder most likely, but I opened it anyway
and read the following:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><i>If
you won’t talk to me over the phone, maybe you’ll read what I have to say.
Still no clue? Think back. Way back. We were close then, although perhaps I was
closer than you were. Attached are a couple of photos. Nothing you haven’t seen
before, but perhaps changed a little.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">I opened
the first attachment and stared at a torso with chiseled abs, interesting pecs
with a light sprinkling of hair between two large, brown aureoles. Rib cage
tapered to trim waist with an interesting “innnie.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">The second
snap was of a groin covered by bathing trunks. Good thighs with a downright
fascinating bulge hiding behind the material. Who was this guy?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">I scrambled
to open the third attachment and discovered an oblique view of a guy’s exposed
behind. Wasn’t exactly a bubble butt, but it was full and round and interesting
as all get out. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">I grabbed
my phone and hit redial, but the call still didn’t complete. I know some phones
have settings that can block numbers, but I didn’t know how they worked.
Dropping the cell on my desk, I swiveled to my computer.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><i>Okay,
you got my attention. But stop playing games. Who are you, and stop being coy. You
know how to use a camera, so give me the rest.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">My novel
forgotten, I waited impatiently to see if there was anyone on the other end to
reply to my message. A few minutes later, my desktop went “bong” again.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><i>Thought
that might pull you out of your book. They’re good, by the way. I wasn’t
kidding when I said I was a reader. But I’m not ready to reveal all. I have a
date in a few minutes, so will be leaving. In the meantime take a look at those
photos. There’s something in there that might kick off a memory or two.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">“No, no!
You can’t leave me like this!” I muttered aloud. “A clue, you said.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">I copied
the three photos and spread them on the desk atop pages of my forgotten mystery
novel. Getting out a magnifying glass, I poured over those three images like
Sherlock Holmes in his proverbial deerstalker seeking to uncover dastardly
secrets. I imagined the task was harder for me because I kept getting
distracted by a downright sexy male torso, an intriguing groin hidden by a
skimpy swim garment, and a delicious butt that kept putting my libido between
me and my primary task.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">But
finally, I did find something that ticked a memory. An inch or so above the
left nipple, a small brown mole triggered something. A mole. Why would that be
meaningful?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">Because I’d
seen it before. Or one like it in approximately the same place. Did that mean
this was a former lover?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">I shook my
head. No. That memory—as ill-formed as it remained—wasn’t salacious. I’d seen that
mole in my younger days in Paris, Texas when we kids ran around like a wild
pack. One of my buddies had a mole like that.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">No, that wasn’t
right. I could clearly remember the four kids I regularly palled around with
back then. No, this was a hanger on. A younger kid. A pest. Always trying to
run with us. He’d gone to the swimming hole with us a couple of times. That’s
where I’d seen that mole.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">What was
his name? Gary, Larry, Harry? None of those seemed right. I stared at that mole
perched on that luscious chest like a brown bug and…<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">Bug! That
was it. I’d called the kid Bug because of that mole—when I wasn’t calling him Three-titty-Monte.
What was his name? Didn’t matter. I had my way in now. I composed a message to
Cee1Eff1.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><i>Okay,
I got it now. Long time, no see, Bug. From what I can see, you grew up good. Wouldn’t
mind a look at more… if you know what I mean.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">I hit send
and tried to return to work, but it didn’t go well. All I could think of was
that round, brown mole on that well-shaped trunk above that intriguing groin.
And that didn’t even mention the fantastic naked behind.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">Crap. He’d
said he was leaving for a date. So he was out having a good time while I was
home stewing. Who was he with? Guy… or gal. Somehow, that was important to me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">*.*.*.*.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Poor Mars. He’s
trying to create, and some guy’s jerking him around—and not in a good way. He
seems to be a decent detective. He’s picked up the trail from just a single
brown mole. Wonder what happens next?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Until next week,</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Twitter: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">See you later.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-6675108293474149872023-08-03T04:00:00.001-07:002023-08-03T04:00:00.152-07:00What Could Have Been<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #245</b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image Courtesy of Freepik:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Ueg8lBLIC0xMcXyICcbw_rEXRCfduzg2kUKu9t_r7thsiFfYOrkIzr4jY1fGWLJmNX3AEbOyNcMn0qEAolg_r8jrUtAg67Yqar0N2Yt5SC2iLly1bCzCJCjALacibqOZyPA3yz5bl-xAM7fD_D2BkYxcmmdx0EOO8NKgJ6ou8Q3hzAVEwUuhZSL2DBjL/s275/What%20Could.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Ueg8lBLIC0xMcXyICcbw_rEXRCfduzg2kUKu9t_r7thsiFfYOrkIzr4jY1fGWLJmNX3AEbOyNcMn0qEAolg_r8jrUtAg67Yqar0N2Yt5SC2iLly1bCzCJCjALacibqOZyPA3yz5bl-xAM7fD_D2BkYxcmmdx0EOO8NKgJ6ou8Q3hzAVEwUuhZSL2DBjL/s1600/What%20Could.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><p></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Last week’s post about
an AI-created story didn’t generate much in the way of comments. I’m not as
panicked about it as my buddy Don Travis. I understand his post this week is an
AI story written to his specifications. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in;">This week, I went nostalgic. We all
play the “what could have been” game on occasion. Let me know how you like this
one. (AI had nothing to do with this one.)<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoHeader" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">* * * *</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">WHAT
COULD HAVE BEEN<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I’d known Jason Muldavid
forever. Through all the stages of my life: from Johnny Boy to Johnny to John. One
of my earliest recollections is the two of us digging in a sandbox with toy
shovels at the little park only a block from our houses… which sat side by side
on Elderberry Street. In fact, that’s what the neighbors called us, the
Elderberry twins, even though Jason was dark-haired and dark-eyed while my hair
was sandy, and my eyes an uncertain green… hazel, I think they call it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I’m not sure that, as toddlers,
we knew which was our own home, the red brick or the blonde brick. Just to be
clear, the red brick was the Hogan household—mine. But neither of us bothered
to knock when visiting the other. We just barged in and expected to be welcomed
in those halcyon days when no one locked the front door.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Looking back, I believe we
were in love in an innocent way. I fretted when Jason—or Jase as he became to
me—wasn’t at my side. I’ve heard his mother complain he was a different kid
when he wasn’t with Johnny. I never grew out of that stage. I thought of him
the first thing in the morning and the last thing before bed. In my nightly
prayers, he was the first person I asked the Lord to take care of.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">We were likely eleven or
twelve when things began to change. I distinctly recall the first time we
played softball on opposite teams. We’d been waiting for someone to drop out of
a sandlot game, and when one did, Johnny was called. When the next kid had to go
home, I ended up on the other team. At the time, I couldn’t put a name to my
internal rage when Jase kibbitzed with his team’s second baseman and razzed me when
my turn at bat came. I got a double and managed to kick the second baseman in
the ankle as I slid safely on base. After the game, as we walked home, he threw
his arm around my shoulders and blathered on like nothing had happened, but it
sure did feel like something had gone awry to me. At midnight, my eyes popped
open, and I identified my anger for what it really was. Jealousy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">That was the beginning of my
ordeal.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Simply put, over the next few
years, Jase matured physically and emotionally. I only managed the physical
part of it. Emotionally, I remained tethered to my childhood buddy. That wasn’t
fatal, unless I tried to hang on too tightly… which I did a few times. Jase
always pushed back, tactfully, at first, but when I refused to adjust to the
inevitable changes, he got a little firmer about it. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">And I don’t think he was the
only one who saw things. Jason, as I said, became Jase, and was always referred
to that way, while I was Hogan. I know, it’s a little thing… but it says a lot.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Middle school was rocky but
not unbearable, but when high school rolled around, the changes were so
profound, my base, my foundation seemed to be crumbling beneath me. And all the
trouble came down to one thing… girls. Or that’s the way it was in my mind, at
any rate.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">When Jase discovered them, I
was left at home hurting. It got a little better when he suggested we double
date some, so I found a girl I could muster a little interest in and tagged
along when I could. We both lost our virginity one night when he parked his
Chevy convertible on a country lane. I still recall the absolute shock—despite
prior clues—when I realized I’d rather be up in the front seat with him doing
what he was doing to his date than being in the back doing what I was doing
with mine.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">But nothing was as shattering
as his wedding night. I was, of course, his best man, and it took every ounce
of self-control I could muster to keep from running out on him in tears. But I
went numb and held on. Shaking his hand at the conclusion and kissing the new
Mrs. Jase on the cheek—instead of biting her—and tossing rice with the rest of
the well-wishers got me through that hell. But that night was even worse. It
put an end to the fantasy that one day we’d put all this foolishness behind us
and discover—really discover—one another.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The agony continued through
college. We went to the same college and roomed together for a couple of
semesters before he moved into the dorm reserved for jocks—he was a decent halfback
for the team. We both remained in our hometown, although we moved from the
adjoining red brick and blond bricks to different neighborhoods. Both of us pursued
successful careers… me as the owner of the local deli, and Jase as a banker. In
time, I became Uncle John to his son and his daughter. Their bachelor uncle
because I never married. Eventually, I learned to accept what part I had in
Jase’s life and let go of the dream of what could have been.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Contrary to romantic fiction,
I never met another “Jase” or Jase’s successor in my dream fantasy.
Unfortunately, I’m a guy who mates for life—even if we never got around to
mating. But eventually, I put my obsession in the proper place and learned to
live with it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Until last week.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Last Friday, we met for lunch
and were joined by a couple of other friends, one of whom was a coach at the
local high school. Toward the end of the meal, the coach told us of a situation
at the school—without revealing names—of a couple of guys on the basketball
squad were found masturbating one another in the locker room after they thought
everyone had gone. The coach laughed at the boys utter embarrassment and
humiliation, apparently deeming those appropriate punishments. I quietly shriveled
inside.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">After lunch, we walked up the street
together, me to my shop and him to his bank, when he turned serious.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You know, I didn’t really
appreciate it how Coach got a laugh out of catching those two boys. They’re
just going through growing pains. Everybody does things like that when he’s growing
up.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Jase stopped and stared at me.
“I often wondered why we didn’t do anything like that.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I must have reacted in some
way, because he grasped my arm.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I don’t know about you, but I
thought about it at times. Lots of times.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I managed to speak through a
dry throat. “Why didn’t you do anything?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He released my arm and
shrugged. “Kept waiting for <i>you</i> to do something. But you never showed
any interest, not even when we were rooming together. If you’d given me a clue,
who knows?” He grinned. “Might have ended up marrying you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I failed to laugh the way he
expected me to. I just glared at him. “Jason Muldavid, sometimes you can be one
stupid son-of-a-bitch.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">In some perverted way, it felt
good to walk away imagining the glories that could have been while he stood
there with eyes like quarters and his mouth hanging open. Couldn’t help
wondering if he even got it <i>now</i>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Probably not. He’d have to
think outside the box for that, and Jase wasn’t very good at thinking outside
of boxes.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I don’t know
about you, but this resonates with me. I vividly remember the guy I fantasized
about for years. Wonder how he’s doing these days.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Until next week,</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Twitter: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">See you later.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-19231976636811687702023-07-20T04:00:00.001-07:002023-07-20T04:00:00.137-07:00Artificial Intelligence in Writing - A Sample<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><b>Markwildyr.com,
Post #244<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image Courtesy of Freepik:</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNUVzU9hvByI76dFIeUNnvtDU3QsRmJx1i3tbEo83bw1RIFA7BNkvJm_J1AyKxbvBoVMZVEAXX90z5mEs5OvJIMTnLzXUcfZfHkhmvZEYDfW49qNNqU6AcVvsaZ3lJs1qcnwCvgv4L4CqIJBwbeefLBckTahvOwx4ALsWmqUjzPNq3glVl9_vOP_D0y9fV/s300/AI.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNUVzU9hvByI76dFIeUNnvtDU3QsRmJx1i3tbEo83bw1RIFA7BNkvJm_J1AyKxbvBoVMZVEAXX90z5mEs5OvJIMTnLzXUcfZfHkhmvZEYDfW49qNNqU6AcVvsaZ3lJs1qcnwCvgv4L4CqIJBwbeefLBckTahvOwx4ALsWmqUjzPNq3glVl9_vOP_D0y9fV/s1600/AI.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">I hope you liked the story
of Tai over the last two posts.</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">This week, I’m teaming
up with my buddy Don Travis to take on the issue of Artificial Intelligence in
writing. Although he may be a little more smoked about the subject than I am, the
presence of AI is of interest. His post on dontravis.com on June 13 featured an
AI generated story about a post-apocalyptic world and a video that went viral
written in the style of William Faulkner.</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My post this week, is
the same story written in the style of Ernest Hemmingway, created by the same
unidentified AI source. I would appreciate your comments on the story… and its
source.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"> * *</span><span style="text-align: center;">* *</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 208.2pt center 3.25in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">AI WRITTEN STORY OF A POST-APOCALYPTIC
WORLD IN THE STYLE OF ERNEST HEMMINGWAY<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">In the barren aftermath of an apocalyptic world, a video
emerged—a relic that reverberated across the desolate landscape. No one knew
where it came from, nor how it had endured the cataclysm that obliterated
everything in its wake. But its impact was undeniable, its resonance piercing
through the hearts of the few who remained.</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">The video spoke without words, its imagery a stark contrast to
the bleak reality surrounding it. It depicted a woman, her delicate figure
gliding through the skeletal remains of what was once a vibrant city. She
danced with an ethereal grace, a silent tribute to a forgotten time. Her steps,
infused with a raw elegance, painted a portrait of a world that had been lost—a
world where laughter flowed freely and joy knew no bounds.</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">As the video circulated among the survivors, tales of its
transformative power spread like wildfire. Men and women, battered by the
harshness of their existence, found solace in the woman's fleeting presence on
the screen. She became their muse, a flicker of hope amidst the pervasive
despair. In her movements, they glimpsed the indomitable spirit of the human
race—a stubborn refusal to surrender to the darkness.</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">The video became a rallying cry, an emblem of resilience in a
landscape plagued by desolation. It brought people together, fostering a sense
of unity in the face of insurmountable odds. Communities, once fractured and
isolated, banded together under the shared belief that life could rise from the
ashes.</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">No one knew the origin of the video, and speculation fueled
the whispers that echoed in the winds. Some claimed it was a divine
intervention, a message from the heavens to guide humanity through its darkest
hour. Others saw it as a stroke of artistic brilliance—a testament to the power
of visual storytelling. But amidst the uncertainties, one thing remained clear:
the video had become a beacon of hope, a testament to the unyielding spirit
that lay dormant within every survivor.</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">And so, as the remnants of civilization clung to their fragile
existence, the video endured—a silent reminder of the beauty that once thrived.
It spoke volumes without uttering a single word, evoking a longing for the past
while kindling a fire of determination for the future.</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">In this world of ruin and despair, the video whispered a
simple truth: that even amidst the wreckage, the human spirit would endure. It
held the power to ignite a flame, to remind those who watched it that life was
still worth fighting for. And as the survivors huddled around the flickering
screens, they found solace in the unspoken promise—the promise that one day,
against all odds, the dance of life would resume, and the echoes of the past
would guide them towards a new beginning.</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;">To me, the story
reads more like an excessively long preface to a sci-fi book than a story on
its own It’s a narrative of events, not a living of them. Am I worried? Naw.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">On the other
hand, as Don points out, AI hasn’t reached its adulthood yet. Maybe, as authors
and readers, we should worry as it grows up. I’d appreciate any thoughts on the
subject you might have. I also encourage you to read Don’t blog posting of the 13</span><sup style="text-indent: 0in;">th</sup><span style="text-indent: 0in;">.</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Next week, I’ll
try to have a short story for you. Until then.</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt;">Twitter: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i>Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">See you later.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i> </p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-82078113080308901422023-07-06T04:00:00.001-07:002023-07-06T04:00:00.148-07:00Tai – Part Two of Two Parts<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #243</b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image Courtesy of Clipart
Library</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOo8bBtM8l0tinwNFjTGx4C6HiOZrUfcsGlPllYTE17a8a3bWwN5HrlS1zPvz7PpndhP3JagzQCbO1fd4Fi71WjE6ygTnAYrXQSRCf16Hy_vdIAqKfWLnWjNF6D9gnmgkmSmKcFc57yILaoqIuPypnCVlk_2SiNbaCh2CcggTSzwXipTVC_DjQeTtM6jr-/s800/Tai.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOo8bBtM8l0tinwNFjTGx4C6HiOZrUfcsGlPllYTE17a8a3bWwN5HrlS1zPvz7PpndhP3JagzQCbO1fd4Fi71WjE6ygTnAYrXQSRCf16Hy_vdIAqKfWLnWjNF6D9gnmgkmSmKcFc57yILaoqIuPypnCVlk_2SiNbaCh2CcggTSzwXipTVC_DjQeTtM6jr-/s320/Tai.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Last week, we met Mark
and his buddy Tai, both straight, teenaged Soccer athletes. Only thing is, Mark
spends the summer after high school graduation getting horny while Tai’s back
east visiting his mother’s family. Now it’s time for college.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Read on.</span></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in; text-indent: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">* * * * <o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="tab-stops: 208.2pt center 3.25in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>TAI<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Nobody else from my town was
going to State, so I’d be among strangers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I squared my shoulders and figured most of the
other freshmen would be in the same boat. So when I learned Tai Briggs had
landed a soccer scholarship to the college, as well, I perked up a bit. Maybe
we could room together.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Didn’t happen that way but he did
live in the same dorm. Good seeing him, and from his reaction he felt the same
way. He looked great. He’d put on ten pounds and another couple of inches.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">We gravitated toward one
another and soon became joined at the hip, so to speak. But as we grew our
respective circles of friends, we sort of drifted apart. Except on the soccer
field. Tai and I carried our weight there, and then some. This was gonna work
out just fine.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Before long, Tai hooked up
with a gal named Ginny, and I started a rocky relationship with a chick named,
curiously enough, Suzy Sue Manford. Suzy Sue, or SS, as I called her, liked me
just fine, but she courted the reputation of a rebel. That shoulda been great,
right? Rebels defied convention. Convention said teens—even teens on the edge
of being twenties—ought not go to bed together. So if she defied convention…
well, you see where I’m going with this.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Didn’t work out that way.
Although she liked to make out, I hadn’t gotten to third base before she took
me home—she was a local—to meet her folks. Her dad, an avid car restorer, and I
bonded as soon as he he found I was a mechanic. That didn’t sit well with SS. We
continued to go together, but like I said, it was rocky.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Halfway into the semester, I
got itchy with that itch that’s hard to scratch without the cooperation of
someone else. First thing I know, thoughts of Billy Belwine and what he’d done
to me—for me—in the park’s men’s room last summer intruded on my consciousness.
Billy’s lips would feel pretty good right now, but Billy was off to school in
another state, giving relief to his new classmates, I presumed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Strangely, the thought of
Billy made things worse. Just about every public men’s room I’ve ever been in
had little notes scribbled on the stall walls, and I started paying attention
to them. This school had it’s own Billy, but I didn’t know how to identify him.
His notes were provocative but didn’t provide contact information.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I’d seen what somebody called
“glory holes” in lots of public rest room, but dear old State’s stalls were
made out of steel. Not only that, but the janitorial staff had perfected a
method for effectively eliminating notes that were left, even those scratched
into the metal. They buffed those out.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">But one day, as my need rose
almost to the desperation level, I saw a fresh note from someone who labeled
himself as DZ saying he’d located an out of the way spot at Burnt Wood. What
the hell was Burnt Wood? Too embarrassed to ask anyone, I went on the hunt in
the library. Local maps showed a park by that name clear across town.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Probably a men’s room at the
park. Bingo. But with no car, it would be a chore to get there. I’d put all my
savings into my college fund to make it easier for the folks. I had a jalopy at
home, but it wasn’t up to the cross-state travel to my present location.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The inane thought struck me
that Tai had a car, but I couldn’t quite see me asking for a ride to a park to
get my rocks off in some public bathroom. <i>Although</i>, I got a bit of a
tingle in my groin by just thinking about it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Well, think about it I did.
About getting to Burnt Wood, that is. I located the city bus route that would
take me close, and decided I’d give it a try Saturday. No classes and no soccer
game, so that would be an ideal time. I came close to taking care of my own
need Friday night, even with my roommate sleeping just across the room, but
managed to keep my hands off myself.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Saturday morning was warm and
sunny and inviting. Mid-morning, I boarded a city bus convinced that everyone
on board, including the driver, knew where I was heading and what my mission
was. Irrational, I know.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I transferred where I was
supposed to, got off the second bus, and found I still had a quarter of a mile to
hike. Well, what’s a quarter of a mile to a soccer player? When I arrived at the
park, the first thing I saw was a bus stop. If I’d taken the proper route, a
damned bus would have dropped me right at the park. Oh well….<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The park was big… with lots of
trees. A nice park, actually. Full of wholesome families having autumn picnics…
and at least one sex-starved student looking for a tryst. Once again, as I trod
the graveled walks in search of a secluded men’s room, I felt everyone’s eyes
on me. Knowing eyes. Sneering eyes. Condemning eyes. Eyes that knew a guy
looking for a blowjob when they saw him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Finally, I found that secluded
men’s room off in the trees where it was easy to miss. My back puckered as I
approached the brown-painted shack. The door let out an ungodly shriek when I
pulled it open. My heart about stopped, but I soldiered on.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">One urinal. One stall. Side by
side. With a big glory hole between them. This was the place, all right. Hookup
messages were everywhere, but the place was deserted. I took a seat in the
stall to read sometimes erotic and sometimes disgusting notes from one guy or
another to the gay universe. That hauled me up short. Gay universe? Did that
include me?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Naw. These were messages from
gay guys to the <i>male </i>universe, and that’s part of what I was. Male
universe. A needy member of the male universe. Must be because my member reacted
something fierce. My male member. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I froze as the outside door
squeaked open. Footsteps, and then someone was at the urinal. I peeked. Nice,
from what I could see, which was confined to the groin area. What did I do now?
Stick my thing through the glory hole and hope for the best? What if the guy
was offended and whacked me where it hurt. Can you break a dick? Dunno, but I
wasn’t about to take a chance.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Then the dude unzipped his trousers
and flopped out his dong. A nice dong. He lifted his shirt a bit. Flat belly,
black bush. Probably had a six-pack if he exposed more of himself.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Geez, the guy wasn’t taking a
leak. He was playing with himself. What should I do now?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He didn’t leave it up to me. He
turned and shoved himself through the glory hole. I gulped. I knew what he
expected, but that wasn’t what I was here for. Even so, I took him in hand and massaged
him. He thrust himself against the wall, and I knew he was urging me to take
him in my mouth. No way. That wasn’t me. I wasn’t here to take care of some
dude, I was here to be taken care of.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He withdrew, and started to
bend over to look through the hole. I leaned back and gave him a good view of
my own need. He hesitated a moment and then disappeared. Was he leaving?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">No! He was at the door to the
stall. He tugged on it. I’d locked it, of course, so I was safe. He rapped
softly. For some reason, I’ll never really know why, I reached up and freed the
lock.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">A long moment passed before he
pulled the door open and gave me the shock of my life. I might have been taken
by surprise, but he wasn’t.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Mark. I thought I recognized
your senior class ring.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Tai Briggs, looking sexier
than anyone I’d ever seen, grinned, a crooked, lop-sided, lascivious smile and
walked straight into me. I gulped, and took him the way he wanted.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">It’s always nice
when something works out better than you ever expected, isn’t it. I wish Mark
and Tai four long years of happy college life together. After that? Who knows.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Twitter: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">See you later.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-30860949221354409552023-06-15T04:00:00.001-07:002023-06-15T04:00:00.143-07:00Tai – Part One of Two Parts<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #242</b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image Courtesy of Clipart
Library</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyUUWZcGbci0dhEUTWEtXpfUXMH2IS5HCoi_bFPtYFlVA0DzBWJDZz4LWbmJctbTYEDM_7pQNLeYjVQgx08sXOet5wLkLfXhF47QvO6xwdL0m29Hy3bauTCJChkJgWrR1LvDZ5jKYwSkGMnUW0YdL3MKkkhREvU-UCxH14ZkDYG5-YBLVvJOltky-q9Q/s800/Tai.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyUUWZcGbci0dhEUTWEtXpfUXMH2IS5HCoi_bFPtYFlVA0DzBWJDZz4LWbmJctbTYEDM_7pQNLeYjVQgx08sXOet5wLkLfXhF47QvO6xwdL0m29Hy3bauTCJChkJgWrR1LvDZ5jKYwSkGMnUW0YdL3MKkkhREvU-UCxH14ZkDYG5-YBLVvJOltky-q9Q/s320/Tai.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Thanks to Don Morgan
for his guest posts. Hope you enjoyed them. Readership was up sharply last week—mostly
due to large Singapore readership. My buddy, Don Travis told me his blog had
multi-thousand hits from Singapore. Don’t know what that’s all about.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">At any rate, here’s my
latest effort. Read on.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in; text-indent: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-indent: 0in;">* * * * <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="tab-stops: 208.2pt center 3.25in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>TAI<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">For some reason, our town wasn’t
much for sports. Except for soccer. Our Hochitown Side-Kickers were about the biggest
thing around—except maybe for hunting and fishing—and as a fair—well, a little
better than that—soccer player, I was sitting pretty. Decent appearing—handsome
some of the girls said—and looking good in soccer shorts. Able to get decent
scores in my classes, things were pretty good. Mark Heidlemann had things
pretty much his way. Mark Heidlemann, that’s me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">My senior year, Lt. Col.
Briscoe Briggs retired from the Air Force and returned to his boyhood home,
bringing his Chinese wife and teenage son Tai with him. And wouldn’t you know
it? Tai was a soccer player. And a damned good one too.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I’ll admit I saw him through the
green veil of jealousy at first, but Tai was such a downright good guy that I
lost that pretty quickly. Besides, with the addition of his skill, the
Side-Kickers stopped being pretty good and shot to the top of the league. After
we stopped being wary of one another, we quickly became an effective one-two
unit. My goal kicks were harder, but his were more accurate.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Our little town was—to be
charitable—somewhat insular. Col. Briggs was accepted, his wife Mai and son,
Tai, not so much. And I’ll take credit for helping break through those
prejudices. When I accepted Tai on the field, the rest of the team did, as
well. And when I invited Tai to bum around with me, the rest of the school fell
in line. Parents sometimes take cues from their kids, and it wasn’t long before
Mrs. Briggs participated in the town’s civic and social affairs alongside
everyone else.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">It rankled a little when he
was selected team captain, but what the hell. I still had my share of
acclimation. So while I let it go, I began to take more notice of Tai… you
know, Tai, the individual.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He had his father’s physique—5’10’,
165 pounds—and his mother’s complexion. His dad’s cheekbones; his mother’s
eyes. When I really looked at him, he was damned handsome. Handsome, plus—if you
know what I mean. His looks combined with a sensual, feline grace made him
downright sexy. And if I realized that, what must the girls think? Apparently,
they agreed, because they hung all over the guy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Maybe that was why I backed
off a little. We were still friends, but not buddies. He moved in his circle,
and I made my way through mine. Didn’t seem to affect us on the field, so we
won state in our class that year.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">After graduation, Col Briggs
took his family back east for a long visit with his wife’s family in Maryland.
Seemed that he hadn’t met her in China, or anywhere in the orient, They’d met at
the Pentagon in Washington, D.C where they both worked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">So I worked my Tai-free summer
as a grease monkey at the local Chevrolet dealer by day and pursued Misty Penrose
by night. I got good marks for my mechanical skills, but not so much as a
Lothario. Misty—as a prize—continued to elude me, although we both enjoyed the
unstated duel.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Don’t get me wrong. I’d
managed to snag a couple of girls, starting in my freshman year. So I wasn’t a
virgin, but for some reason Misty seemed a special prize. Her slipping the hook—as
my brother would say—sometimes left me aching. And Billy Belwine found me in
that condition one day after Misty left me at City Park, and somehow, we ended
up in the men’s toilet with him kneeling before me, providing me some relief. I
couldn’t believe the eruption I had.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I was still recovering when
Billy stood, swiped his mouth, and grinned. “Awesome, man. Anytime you need to
get it off, just let me know.” Then he barreled out of the toilet leaving me
with my trousers around my ankles.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">After restoring myself to decency—at
least in the appearance department—I wandered around the woody area of the park
mulling things over. Was I queer? I rolled my shoulders. Course, I wasn’t. That
was just relief. And lots better relief than doing it to yourself. How did I
feel about it? Okay, I guess. No guilt or shame or mortification. Well, maybe a
little concern that Billy’d shoot off his mouth, and some of the kids would
find out their soccer star got a blowjob. Naw. I hadn’t heard anything about
Billy, so he didn’t go around blabbing. Maybe I’d look him up the next time I
got really needy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">That left me with just one
question. Why had I closed my eyes and thought about Tai Briggs while Billy did
what he did so well?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Well, well,
well. Jealousy turned to friendship, turned to resentment, turned to…. Who
knows. Let’s see what develops next week.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Twitter: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">See you later.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-63172712146769956022023-06-01T04:00:00.001-07:002023-06-01T04:00:00.152-07:00Judas (A Guest Post)<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #241</b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image Courtesy of Pexels:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl23-d049hzNne8wP-KA-i6VNA-M3g0yiUeGcYhoyq5BgGPERN93_9S9t1_yhdjOpr_yy8V75J3dFOQaDDcD9IlkC-BUr9G_BVH5WkClGYiBxeehktK5zvK2vaBbN29qaiTy1FCfSWpVYEAwWXQqWFS58szn5jQrpag-euOiMoG8VRzSc-as56RsnNdA/s275/Judas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl23-d049hzNne8wP-KA-i6VNA-M3g0yiUeGcYhoyq5BgGPERN93_9S9t1_yhdjOpr_yy8V75J3dFOQaDDcD9IlkC-BUr9G_BVH5WkClGYiBxeehktK5zvK2vaBbN29qaiTy1FCfSWpVYEAwWXQqWFS58szn5jQrpag-euOiMoG8VRzSc-as56RsnNdA/s1600/Judas.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Hope you enjoyed Don
Morgan’s story with the long title last week. Sort of reflected life at some
point for each of us, didn’t it. Well, here’s the second story he wanted to
post on my site. Horse of a different color. Here we go.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">* * * * <o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="FluteText" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">JUDAS<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="FluteText" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0in;">By Donald T.
Morgan</span></p>
<p class="FluteText"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 27.0pt;">The l<o:p></o:p><span style="text-indent: 27pt;">ittle dog was one of them butterfly beasts. A Papillion, or something like
that. Cute little tyke. Mostly white with black markings. Long snout, perky
ears, and a bark somewhere between a yip and a yap.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 27.0pt;">“Hello,
guy.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 27.0pt;">He
turned and trotted off toward the woods before halting and facing me again.
When I hadn’t budged, he dashed back to yip/yap in earnest. Damned if the fur
ball didn’t want me to follow him. Maybe I oughta steal the bugger. Expensive dogs
from what I’d heard.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 27.0pt;">Nah, I
was a bad ass, not a dognaper. The little guy trotted across the barrow ditch
and disappeared into the trees. I paused a moment before following. Wasn’t any
problem locating him; he kept up a constant yammer like he wanted me to hurry.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 27.0pt;">I
pushed my way through a thick clump of mulberry bushes into a small glade and found
him standing beside a body. The mutt’s bug eyes seemed to plead for help.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 27.0pt;">“Wha’da
we got here?” I knelt beside a young man lying face down, his left hand flung
out. A big ruby set in yellow gold on his ring finger caught my eye. His other
arm was beneath him. “You okay, fella?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 27.0pt;">I
wasn’t much interested in his answer because dead or alive, I was gonna have
that ring. I poked the shoulder of his soft suede jacket. Expensive. This guy
might turn out to be a treasure trove.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 27.0pt;">I
recoiled when he rolled over onto his side, exposing a black revolver hidden
beneath him. “Just stay nice and still,” he said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 27.0pt;">The
good-looking guy with a pleasant voice got to his feet. He shoulda been playing
soccer on the other side of the big park, not waylaying suckers in the wooded
section. A trickle of sweat rolled down my left side. Excitement … not fear.
Amateurs. This guy had just made the biggest mistake of his life.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 27.0pt;">“Take
it easy, fella. You got no trouble from me. But I ain’t got nothing worth
stealing. You picked the wrong mark this time.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 27.0pt;">The
kid waggled the revolver. “It’s not a robbery, man.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 27.0pt;">I
frowned. Maybe I oughta be worried. “Damned good imitation. I like the way your
dog brought me to you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 27.0pt;">The
bastard’s smile got even bigger. “Neato, huh? Took a year to train him. He
helps me get my kicks. My thrills.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 27.0pt;">My
eyebrows climbed like I was scared. “No, man! I … I got a family. Wait, let me
get my wallet. I got something in it you’ll like.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 27.0pt;">With
my left hand stretched in front of me as if to ward off a bullet, I slowly
reached behind me. But it wasn’t a wallet I whipped out. It was my trim little
.25 semi-automatic. It barked twice, and two spots appeared in the middle of
that fine suede jacket. Crap. It was ruined.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 27.35pt;">The kid’s mouth gaped. His eyes went round like he
couldn’t believe it. Then they went as dead as the rest of him. I went over to
slip that ruby off his finger and check my marksmanship. Two heart shots. Had
to be with a little .25, else he’d be able to yank the trigger on that big
cannon.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 27.0pt;">A
whine drew my attention to the dog at my feet. Maybe I oughta take him along to
lure suckers for me. I examined the tag on his collar. JUDAS. A hell of a name
for the little guy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 27.0pt;">I
heard a strangled gasp and whirled. The kid stood with two cups of coffee in
one hand and a big six-shooter in the other. No, that wasn’t right. The yokel
lay sprawled on the ground, still dead. But there he was, standing wild-eyed and
pointing a revolver at me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 27.0pt;">“You
killed my brother to steal his dog?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">I raised
my .25 … but I wasn’t fast enough.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">*.*.*.*.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Win some, lose
some. But to lose the big one?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Twitter: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">See you later.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-82201729369634156032023-05-18T04:00:00.001-07:002023-05-18T04:00:00.146-07:00A Nothing Gone to Nothing in No Time at All (A Guest Post)<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #240</b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image Courtesy of Dreamstime:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqtcVtWOVebmR-QQ8aVUPbU5P5x1Dd9s6X0ihWy4r3Fp6TYZxdQnCN1rf9rSyLJNWiwgUgFwyyPOAs57oUCaNv1yLObPnanIvqc0Ziulb3n0ATomPhPZKCxf3gEyGpHX6jMekzh83k8-C1aUbbi2LhSBvncbBAssIL7DQ-u30QjP-cKyafgrZHo3-71Q/s800/Nothingness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqtcVtWOVebmR-QQ8aVUPbU5P5x1Dd9s6X0ihWy4r3Fp6TYZxdQnCN1rf9rSyLJNWiwgUgFwyyPOAs57oUCaNv1yLObPnanIvqc0Ziulb3n0ATomPhPZKCxf3gEyGpHX6jMekzh83k8-C1aUbbi2LhSBvncbBAssIL7DQ-u30QjP-cKyafgrZHo3-71Q/s320/Nothingness.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">One of my Okie buddies
asked if he could put up two of his stories. Therefore, for the next two weeks,
we’re having some of Donald T. Morgan’s works. The first one is a short story
with a long title: A Nothing Gone to Nothing in No Time at All. I asked him
what that meant. He said to read the story. So here goes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in; text-indent: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">* * * * <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">A NOTHING GONE TO NOTHING IN NO
TIME AT ALL<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">By Donald T. Morgan</span></div><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">He sprawled on a cheap
towel spread over warm sand. Cool sea breezes, lightly perfumed with the scent
of hydrangeas, fought the heat of the sun to a standstill, making the
atmosphere just about right. The wind dried the light sheen of sweat on his
brow as soon as it popped out. But he stared out over the calm expanse of blue-green
water, listened to the lap of wavelets against the shore, and felt … nothing.
Despite the clean, clear air, he found it hard to breathe, gulping oxygen
through his mouth like a beached bass.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Thirty-five and washed
up. A piece of flotsam deposited on the beach by an errant wave. Driftwood
abraded bone-white and brittle by sea brine, stripped of blood and nerves.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Great job. Gone in a
flash. “Sorry, Cal, we’re having to cut back. This depression’s hit us hard.
You’re young and a great programmer. I’m sure you’ll find something fast.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Yeah, right.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“Sorry, Cal, you’re
over-qualified for this little job we’ve got. But your resume’s solid. I’m sure
you’ll latch onto something more appropriate pretty soon.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Translation: You’re too
old. Won’t fit into our corporate culture.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Fantastic marriage swamped
by a sea of debt. “I can’t take it anymore, Cal. A friend of mine in Iowa has
offered me a job. It’s not much, but at least I can pay my bills.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Yeah. Her bills. What
about the ones she’d run up when times were good? And that friend was a
recently divorced old <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">boy</i>friend. How
could she? They’d been so involved, so wrapped up in one another … until his
job disappeared.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">At least she’d left him a
twenty-five hundred square-foot brick with pool and exercise room. In nine
months, that was gone, too. Sold to cover a delinquent mortgage. Car hadn’t
lasted much longer than the house. And the banker had been a golfing buddy too.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">His entire world in
ruins, he’d cashed in what few assets Marilee, the bank, and the mortgage house
had left him and headed south. South to Florida, but that wasn’t south enough.
So he caught a berth on a trawler probably engaged in smuggling drugs into—and
whatever was in short supply—out of the US. Somehow, he’d found himself
deposited on a small, thinly populated island somewhere short of South America
billed as a “tropical paradise.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">He shook his head. Where
the hell was he? Nowhere. With nothing but a few dollars in his pocket. Maybe
if he sat in the sun long enough, he’d shrivel and die, a withered, forgotten
mummy. <i>A nothing gone to nowhere in no time at all.</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">He was about to close his
eyes and sink farther inside himself to maybe commence the dying process when
he caught something at the edge of his vision. Someone walking. Someone with an
inadequate bra and a sarong-like scrap tucked around her waist. Someone with a
long, graceful stride.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">She subtly altered her
steps so she’d pass a little nearer. He took inventory as she approached. Dark
skin. Mexican? Certainly Latin. Narrow waist. Broad hips. Barefoot. Long dark
hair falling below her shoulders and bouncing as she walked. Big gold hoops in
tiny earlobes. Green eyes. He couldn’t see them yet, but he was willing to bet
on it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Then she was close enough
to discern features. Broad nose, wide mouth, smooth brow. She glanced his way.
And smiled.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Cal sat up straighter,
hesitating only a moment before scrambling to his feet and starting after her.
He’d do that mummification thing later.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">What can I say.
Life does tend to go on despite our intentions.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">By the way, I
don’t think I’ll do any “simultaneous” postings again. While Don Travis’s
readership held up during my Yip, Yap, and Yup three parter, mine dropped to
zilch. Must mean we have mutual readers. And since I post twice a month while
he posts weekly… well, you know.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Twitter: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">See you later.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-35744084142316916652023-05-04T04:00:00.001-07:002023-05-04T04:00:00.140-07:00Yip, Yap, and Yup (Part32 of a Story in 3 Parts)<p> <b style="text-indent: 0in;">Markwildyr.com,
Post #239</b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image Courtesy of Freepik:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuiXVv8L28pG9mg1iQFDfWMdDNi2wz5iNxZINJGG4cNBs9zliO6a5f_vCUZZ_RHbA8t4H1nd-v5Mowx78GnMgaKDqsUly92vaj6jJQyWtQU8bToq7wtqh7vcysUOOmcoV5ely_2se9mLdi_4VqA250m66ZqWieVKw5yQt1x82kSmnqkZVEwn95_T54dQ/s626/Yip,%20Yap,%20Yup.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="626" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuiXVv8L28pG9mg1iQFDfWMdDNi2wz5iNxZINJGG4cNBs9zliO6a5f_vCUZZ_RHbA8t4H1nd-v5Mowx78GnMgaKDqsUly92vaj6jJQyWtQU8bToq7wtqh7vcysUOOmcoV5ely_2se9mLdi_4VqA250m66ZqWieVKw5yQt1x82kSmnqkZVEwn95_T54dQ/s320/Yip,%20Yap,%20Yup.webp" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 9.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Well, today, comes the final
installment of our story… from Yup’s point of view. Hope the trip was
entertaining.<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">* * * * <o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">YIP,
YAP, AND YUP<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0in;">YUP<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I don’t believe it. One of the
two guys I shared the womb with has a problem with me. And I do mean a problem.
Last week he picked a fight with me by talking trash about a girl I know he
likes. Just because she picked me over him. Okay, so I do believe it. I just
don’t understand it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">We used to get along, all
three of us, like the triplets we were. Went everywhere together. Did
everything together. Buddies… buds… brothers. Now it’s me against Yip with Yep
standing in the middle trying to figure out which way to dodge. That fight I
mentioned? It was a real fight. I merely defended myself at first, but when it
was clear he was out to hurt, I started slugging it out with him. Dunno where
it’d have ended if dad hadn’t stepped in.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Things went from bad to worse
last semester when he got thrown off the basketball team for trying to provoke
a fight with me during a practice game. But worse went to worst last Friday
when the soccer coach threw him off the field for bad sportsmanship. Kept
trying to hurt me with the ball while I was playing goalie. I felt sorta bad
over that one because soccer is Yip’s game. Pretty good at it when he plays the
game instead of plays to hurt.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Tomorrow, I’m gonna try to see
if I can’t work things out with my brother. Families oughta hang together, not tear
one another apart. Tonight, I just want a good night’s sleep, and in the
morning, I’ll say whatever I have to to set things straight.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I tried to still my mind—you
know, rehearsing what I was gonna say tomorrow—but it wasn’t easy. I’d about enticed
the sandman through the bedroom door, when a “whomp” brought me wide awake.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The night outside my window
lit up like Christmas. It took me a minute to figure out something was on fire.
I pulled open the curtain and found it was my car. I’d been low on gas, and
that sound I heard was the fumes in my tank going off. Now the back end was
burning away merrily.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I pulled on trousers and loafers
and raced outside, but there wasn’t much I could do. Both my brothers showed up
in the yard, and Dad wasn’t far behind, already on his cell to 911. The fire
truck arrived first with the police not far behind.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The fire department was
efficient, the police… not so much. There’d been a couple of similar incidents
on the other side of town, but nobody’d been busted for it. The cops decided
the miscreants—their word—had moved to this neighborhood. But I knew better.
All I had to do was look at Yip’s smug kisser, and I knew. Still, I couldn’t
accuse my brother of arson, not even when he mouthed “how do you like them
apples,” when nobody else was looking.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The car was a total loss.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Don’t worry, insurance will
take care of it,” Yip said in a consoling tone of voice when we all went back
in the house to try and get some sleep after all the responders left.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Yeah right. Whoever came out
ahead when dealing with an insurance company?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Jerry, I can’t see you
anymore.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Cindy was the only person
alive who called me Jerry. To the rest of the world, I was Yup. I sorta liked
being Jerry, but I didn’t like what I was hearing. With my blood running cold
in my veins, I put a hand to her cheek and forced her to look at me. Other kids
swirled around us as we stood in the school’s hallway.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“What are you saying? We get
along great. I… I love you, Cindy.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">She clasped my hand and pulled
it away. “I have feelings for you too, but… but I can’t take the pressure. I
hate getting up in the morning anymore.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Why?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Yip calls me every day. Tells
me I’ve gotta break up with you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You can’t let him tell you
what to do.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I even told my folks, and
they called your folks, but it didn’t do any good. He quit for a day and
started back up.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Tell your dad again.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“It won’t do any good.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Call the police and tell them
you’re being harassed.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Oh, I couldn’t do that!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You’d break up with me before
you’d go to the police?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">She was silent for a long
moment, head bowed, her long brown hair shielded her face, denying me the
opportunity to study her big, brown eyes. Her eyes were her best feature.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“He… he said you were queer…
uh, gay. That you went to Lincoln Haverson after our dates and… and….”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“And you believe him?” I
demanded in a harsher voice than I intended.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">She glanced up, those fabulous
eyes troubled. “I… I don’t know. We just need to cool it for a while.” After
those words, Cindy ran for the exit.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I’ll take care of it!” I
yelled after her.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Yip was waiting for me when I
got home. He sat on the front porch with his beach bag between his feet. I knew
it held his swimsuit, a brightly colored beach towel, and some sun lotion. But
I didn’t know what else was in there, and these days I suspected he was toting.
Our dad was a gun rights activist, and saw that all three of us had a Ruger’s
pistol and a Winchester .30-.30 rifle.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">“Hello,
Yup, you don’t look happy,” he said with a shit-eating grin on his face.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">“You son-of-a-bitch,
what lies have you been telling Cindy?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">“Cindy?”
he asked with a smirk on his face, letting me know it wasn’t just Cindy he’d spread
his filthy rumors to. “Just wondered why you and the town queer were so close,
that’s all. Thought maybe she’d ask you and clear it up.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">“Lincoln
and I are acquaintances, not friends.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">“Seem friendly
to me. But then, you’re a friendly guy.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">“I don’t
treat him like dirt, like the rest of the school does.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">He
spread his hands. “There you go. Friends. Does he give a good blowjob?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">“I
wouldn’t know,” I said. “But you probably do.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">Yip gave
that smile that made him so handsome and so infuriating all at the same time. “Matter
of fact, I do. He gives a great one when a guy gets hard up. Gotta run. Meeting
the guys at the school pool.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">He
grabbed his beach bag—which seemed awfully heavy to me—and brushed past me on
the way to his car. I sat on the porch for thirty minutes to think things over.
Maybe I should go to Dad. In the past he’d just tut-tutted his way around a
problem between us, blamed everybody and done nothing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">Mom was
a little more effective, but I didn’t want to get her in the middle of this,
especially if he was throwing the “queer” word around.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">The
cops? Sibling rivalry. Plus, they tended to be unsympathetic to anyone labeled
gay, true or not.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">The coaches
at school? Possibly, because they already knew how he acted toward me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">After
some more thought, something became clear. I needed to handle this on my own.
Man up, Yup, man up. I went to my room for a moment before starting for the pool…
hiking because I hadn’t been able to replace my car yet. That was okay, it wasn’t
a long walk. It would give me time to get in the proper frame of mind for what I
had to do.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">With
that thought, I wondered if anyone thought it strange I wore a windbreaker this
time of year. But I needed a jacket to conceal my Ruger.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Looks like Yup’s
gonna make some of those terrible, senseless headlines we’re all living with
today. Surely, there’s another way.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: 373.2pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Twitter: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">See you later.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Mark<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-92214766582609507982023-04-20T04:00:00.001-07:002023-04-20T04:00:00.233-07:00Yip, Yap, and Yup (Part 2 of a Story in 3 Parts)<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><b>Markwildyr.com,
Post #238<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image Courtesy of Freepik:</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmYobYCWCxhg_i8mDtw8KEwQNWwFZcQku3QypriFw5MGD41AbCb5-82bD7hsT78f9XdDin2-ghp9KdQY_o4N9kMVKR5eM-QKRgjODp0i9FQ6EndXoVqj-yC2Hdi4yGQ_WAiLRoswMZWdOdzKinHnkOQnsTkMSIuPfDyxMT-bfLWaASeVp0IM7fuF7ocw/s626/Yip,%20Yap,%20Yup.webp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="626" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmYobYCWCxhg_i8mDtw8KEwQNWwFZcQku3QypriFw5MGD41AbCb5-82bD7hsT78f9XdDin2-ghp9KdQY_o4N9kMVKR5eM-QKRgjODp0i9FQ6EndXoVqj-yC2Hdi4yGQ_WAiLRoswMZWdOdzKinHnkOQnsTkMSIuPfDyxMT-bfLWaASeVp0IM7fuF7ocw/s320/Yip,%20Yap,%20Yup.webp" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader">Last time, we got started the story of a
set of triplets, two identical, and one fraternal. Unfortunately, our three
peas are not resting comfortably in their pod. Part 1 gave us Yip’s take on
things. Today, we’ll get his identical’s viewpoint.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoHeader" style="tab-stops: .5in; text-indent: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">* * * * <o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">YIP,
YAP, AND YUP<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0in;">YAP<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I dunno what’s going on with
Yip and Yup these days. Seemed like everything was okay, and then Yip went off
on a tear. I know identicals—IDs, I call us—are supposed to finish one
another’s thoughts, but maybe if the thought processes involve the “three peas
in a pod,” the magic doesn’t work.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">All I know is, Yip’s turned
nasty lately. Last night, when Yup suggested he and I go on a double date, I
thought my ID was gonna go gorilla on us. Made threats that didn’t even make
sense. I know the thing with Cindy’s a thorn between them, but seems like I’m
getting to be one too. Don’t want any part of that. They’re both my brothers,
and that’s the end of it. I’d give up my life for either of them. Not
willingly, you understand, but in a pinch. Aw, you know what I mean. We’re
close… or were.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Mae Lin takes up a lot of my
time these days. I never thought of girls as “delicate” until I caught sight of
Mae Lin when she transferred in last year. She’s from one of those families
that came over after the Korean War way back in the 1950s. So she’s as
Americanized as any of us, but with a difference. She still managed to stay
“delicate.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Native-born American girls have
their own delicious way about them, but I don’t believe delicate has any part
in it. I didn’t say that right. Mae Lin’s native-born like all the rest of
them, but she still has her ethnicity, I guess you could say.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Anyway, Mae and I finally <i>did
</i>go on a double date with Yup and Cindy. Had a good time at the movie, the
soda shop afterward, and a really good time parked out on the mesa after that.
Almost—but not quite—made it to Nirvana that night. At any rate, when we pulled
into the driveway, Yip was waiting with a baseball bat. He whacked on Yup’s car
a couple of times, and I really believe he was working up to applying it to our
brother when Dad came outside to see what the ruckus was and put an end to it
all.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Now I’m—along with Mom—known
as the family peacemaker, but there wasn’t a thing I could do to calm Yip down.
He went to bed seething that night. Yup, up till then, was just puzzled over
it, but he’s beginning to get his back up too.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I think that was the night I
started to believe there was something more to it than just sibling rivalry…
even sibling rivalry of the romantic kind. Triplets are supposed to be closer
than the three musketeers, right? All for one and one for all. And we were for
a long time. When I tried to pick the puzzle apart, it became clear right off
the bat that Yip and I had no problem between us. Same goes for Yup and me. I
love—and like—both my brothers equally, or as well as I can judge something
like that. You know how it is. One or the other of your bros does something to
tick you off and you momentarily move closer to the other, but the thing
generally balances out. I’m beginning to wonder if this one will.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Can it be something as simple
as Yup doesn’t look exactly like Yip and I do? He used to, but as we’ve grown
up, his features took their own path. Yip and I can still fool other people
into thinking we’re our brother—our ID brother. Everyone except family and Mae
Lin and Cindy, of course. But why would Yup looking different put Yip’s nose
out of joint?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Then I had a thought that
jarred me right out of my sneakers. Maybe Yip’s jealous because Yup looks like
his own person, whereas Yip looks like… well, me. If he’s jealous of Yup, is he
resentful of me because my kisser mirrors his own?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Yip almost got thrown off the soccer
team because every time Yup played goalie, my ID’d kick the ball straight at
him, not even pretending to be trying for a score. We used to have great fun
playing driveway basketball till Yip started playing dirty. He’d stomp on Yup’s
toes, kick his shins, butt him into the brick wall. He put a dent in the garage
door a week ago when he shoved—not butted—Yup into it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Things are escalating, and,
dammit, I don’t know what to do about it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;">It doesn’t look
as if Yip’s identical has things figured out, but it’s clear he’s worried. Let’s
see what Yup, the fraternal, has to say about the situation in our next post.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt;">Twitter: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i>Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">See you later.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i> </p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363590375520273472.post-417698958599113032023-04-06T04:00:00.007-07:002023-04-06T04:00:00.215-07:00Yip, Yap, and Yup (Part 1 of a Story in 3 Parts)<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><b>Markwildyr.com,
Post #237<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><b> </b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Image Courtesy of Freepik:</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_LYWuRLLXQmry_nFZKqSaqK87rZf38iNjYOzpuQz-rlByIsBzWDMAvUYWjSHKsjeMmhqRtOZOctbPm2TFlLKutHU_q6zYe_Nh1j5U783lsiDhDLcXPhcjsgHIJhbABzFeZ6bxtwxXZ3NWiXUeV7TEt9Dx7-ukAnLwnz9C6dwGzYwfG4czhyP4j7Pu5g/s626/Yip,%20Yap,%20Yup.webp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="626" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_LYWuRLLXQmry_nFZKqSaqK87rZf38iNjYOzpuQz-rlByIsBzWDMAvUYWjSHKsjeMmhqRtOZOctbPm2TFlLKutHU_q6zYe_Nh1j5U783lsiDhDLcXPhcjsgHIJhbABzFeZ6bxtwxXZ3NWiXUeV7TEt9Dx7-ukAnLwnz9C6dwGzYwfG4czhyP4j7Pu5g/s320/Yip,%20Yap,%20Yup.webp" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">A friend and I were
talking the other day, and he mentioned his cousin who has triplets… two of
which are identical and on of which is fraternal. That possibility had never
occurred to me before, even though I have twin brothers who are fraternal. That
started me thinking….</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">When I start thinking,
I sometimes go off the rails. And this is possibly one of those times.
Nonetheless, it did start me thinking of three peas in a pod… one of which goes
awry. This is the result. We’ll take them one at a time.</p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span></span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>* * * *</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">YIP,
YAP, AND YUP<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">YIP</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I should tell you right away
that we’re triplets… or so our parents insist. I think we’re twins with an
add-on. Yap and I are identical, Yup might not even be a member of the family,
much less the third triplet. That’s given me some heartburn over the years, I
can tell you. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Our first photograph showed
three peas in a pod. Dressed alike and looking alike... that is to say,
wrinkled up little faces without any definition. The second one, a year later
would get a passing grade. Dressed identically with pretty much the same
kisser. By the third one, something was off. The duds were still the same, but
one of the faces looked to be taking a different path toward maturity. Not a
bad path… just a different one.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">By the time we entered
kindergarten, the difference was plain. That’s when we picked up our nicknames.
Actually, we’re John, James, and Joseph Karlosian, but when Mom’s brother saw
us for the first time, he shook his head and pronounced me as Yip, my identical
as Yap, and the other as… well, Yup. Why those monickers? I have no idea, but that’s
been who we’ve been ever since.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">It’s not just the family who
gets thrown for a loop by the physical difference. The kids in our group tend
to treat me and Yap as a pair and Yup, well, not so much. And maybe that’s the
source of the heartburn I mentioned earlier. I’m a part of a team, whereas Yup’s
his own individual. He doesn’t even dress like us. Course, Yap and I have
different tastes in clothing styles now that we’re seniors in high school, but,
dammit, you know what I mean.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">To be honest, it’s gotten to
me this year more than earlier because Cynthia Sharpe started seeing both Yup
and me. When I tried to put a stop to that, she looked me right in the eye.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I know it’s weird. Yip. I like
you and all, but when I’m with you, it’s like I’m dating Yap too. If you
couldn’t make it one night, and Yap stepped in to cover for you, would I even
know?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Course you would. We’re not <i>that
</i>much alike.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">She fed me a line I’d come to
hate. “Two peas in a pod. When I’m with Joey, I don’t feel like that. I’m
seeing one guy, not two.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Geez! She didn’t even call him
Yup. He was Joey. But I was still Yip and my identical was still Yap. I tried
to salvage things. “Hey, we have a good time when we go out, don’t we?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">She nodded. “When I’m not
feeling weird.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Come on, Cindy, let’s go
steady. Look at it this way. With me, you get two for the price of one.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">She just glared at me. “That’s
sick, Yip.” With that, she walked away, leaving me to watch her graceful gait,
a sight that left me hungry for more and totally pissed at my disparate
brother.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">It got worse. We all made the
basketball team, but Yap and Yup get playtime while I warm the bench. Once, Yap
and I switched uniform tops so I wore his number and played without the coach
knowing. Did okay too, until I fowled out. And when “Yip” did a better job,
coach tumbled. We never tried that again.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">But soccer is what really
fried my fanny. That one sport I’m pretty good at. I surpass my identical in
that sport. That’s great, right? Would be if Yup didn’t play goalie on the
opposite team every time we practice. He really busts his butt blocking my
shots, more’n any other player’s. I mean he really goes the extra mile to see I
don’t score. He’ll literally eat dirt, leaping for my ball and taking hard
falls to keep me from scoring. It’s gotten so, half the time I aim for his
midriff hard as I can kick the ball. Giving him a good bruising every once in a
while did wonders for my blood pressure.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Then Yup did the unforgivable.
He started getting in between my identical and me. Dunno what Yap’s thinking, but
he’s letting it happen. That was the last straw. I went from neutral to
negative.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Butt out, asshole,” I started
my onslaught one day when Yup asked Yap what he was doing that evening. “We’ve
got plans. And you’re not included.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Yup got sort of a hurt look on
his alien face—which sent a thrill up my spine—and stammered, “Why not? We used
to do things together all the time.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“That was before you left the
family.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“What the hell you talking
about?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Before you started looking
like a frog instead of a human being.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Now, Yip—” Yap started.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Shut up. Don’t encourage him.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Yup turned red in the face.
“If I look like a frog, how come Cindy goes out with me?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Figured a kiss would turn you
into a prince, I guess. Didn’t work, did it?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“What brought this on?” Yup
asked. “What’d I ever do to you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Besides Cindy, you mean? Go
away, man, you don’t belong here. You don’t even look like the rest of us.
You’re parked in the wrong family.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">It went downhill from there.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">*.*.*.*.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;">Well, the die
seems to be cast. Now to see where it ends up, seven or snake eyes? Any
guesses? However it turns out, this seems to be a different kind of story than
I usually write. Stick with me, please.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt;">Website and blog: markwildyr.com<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt;">Email:
markwildyr@aol.com<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt;">Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 3pt;">Twitter: @markwildyr<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Now my
mantra: <i>Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">See you later.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Mark</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i style="text-indent: 0in;">New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i> </p>Mark Wildyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626438611615104536noreply@blogger.com0