Mainly because my head is fuzz, since I didn't get home till after 2am, and didn't hit the bed till nearly 4. Sometimes Southwest drives me nuts.
Anyway, this is the story of an American businessman, Devlin, who's accused of helping a serial killer who's had 4 victims, in London. He inadvertently mucked up a surveillance operation and is trying to figure a way out of the mess he's in. Currently, he's on bail due to minimal evidence and has had his passport seized. His sister-in-law has come over and taken control of information gathering, and is treating him like an errant child.
-------
I needed to blow off some steam or I'd explode, but I hadn't brought any running clothes with me. Just my sneakers. Fine. I yanked on a pair of briefs, pulled my sleeping shorts on as well as a tee-shirt and hoodie, slipped my feet into my runners, made sure I had my key and NYDL...and that damned note about my passport...and headed out.
It was brisk, but I knew in a few minutes I'd have myself warmed up, so after stretching I decided to circle Heathrow. Talk about stupid? My average run is five-six miles a day, and that damned airport is a good twelve or thirteen, in circumference. Because you can't just run the perimeter; you have to go down this street and across that roadway and around another circle and along a back road and over another thoroughfare and on and on. But the good thing about it was by the third turn I was so focused on just not stopping, I stopped focusing on the turmoil in my brain.
I knew it was Diana’s parting crack that had slammed me -- about me behaving myself. My father’d said crap like that to me too damn many times. Usually accompanied by a slap or a punch or his fucking belt. In fact, the last time I saw him, he tried the same shit, trying to get me back under control.
Now my father was one of those people who won't believe what they don't want to believe. Since I didn't fit into his idea of what a faggot looks like, he never thought I could be one. But then one day he called and demanded I come home. He didn't tell me why, just to get my ass there.
I hopped a train after class on Friday and got to the house about six. Dad was sitting in a chair in the living room, four empty beer cans and half a fifth of bourbon gone. The second I saw those I know he'd be trouble. The second he saw me, he was.
He got up from the chair, unsteady, and glared at me as he said, "It true you suck dick?"
I’d been dreading that question for years, and the words cut deep into me, but all I did was give him a shrug of Yes.
He downed another bourbon and drank some beer, his focus on something I couldn’t see. He was bigger than me by two inches and thirty pounds, but most of it was a gut he was building. Still his hands were solid beef, as were his arms, and just because his hair was more gray than black didn't mean he was too old to be a hard-assed SOB, so I kept my eyes on him, waiting for the first swing so I could duck.
He shifted his glare onto me. Moved closer to me, looking me over like I was something he wanted to buy. "You do this to get at me?"
I snorted. "I do it 'cause it's who I am."
"Fuck.” More beer. “Your brother know?"
"Colin's got nothing to do with this."
"He suck dick, too?"
"What the fuck? He's married and has twins. Where the fuck you get off wonderin' that?"
"You think I'm gonna keep payin' for some faggot’s fancy-ass college and all that shit?"
"I got grants and scholarships; your part makes up about a third of my tuition and half of my living expenses."
"Fuckin' expenses, cocksucker. Convincin' stupid college kids to let you fuck 'em."
I laughed without thinking. "You think I don't get hit on by guys? I'm told I'm pretty hot, a real otter."
"What the fuck's this otter shit?"
"Young. Stocky. Built. Hair on him. Not old enough to be a bear, yet, or even a cub, but gettin' there. Lots of guys want me to fuck 'em, but I only wanna fuck the ones who look like you."
"Me? You fuckin' sayin' you wanna fuck me?"
I smiled and winked and the first punch caught me off-guard. I stumbled around and he roared at me. Landed another punch in my side. My wrestling took over so his next swing gave me the momentum to roll him over me and across the floor into the couch. He wound up sitting half on his ass and half on his side. He was so stunned by the move, he didn't even try to get up; he just looked at me, his face a mass of drunken stupid.
I backed out the door and headed for the subway. I didn't notice my nose was bleeding until I was halfway there. I stopped in a mom and pop and bought a bottle of water and used that to clean myself off. By the time I was on the platform, I looked normal -- as normal as you can when you've disowned yourself and added to your debt load by way too much money. Sure, it wouldn't have to be for the full tuition; I'd been as cheap as I could, so all I had left to worry about was the Spring Semester. But Grad school would be a bitch to pay for. I wondered if I could really afford to go.
I got the call just after I got off the train. From Colin.
"Dad's had a stroke. Get here as quick as you can."
I debated not going but that would leave Colin to handle everything and he was already hard-pressed to take care of his family and company. So I showered and shaved and packed my nose and went back. By the time I got to the hospital, dad was dead.
The doctor called it a stroke. Colin accepted it as a stroke. Diana comforted him as she juggled the twins. I was offered sympathy but I shrugged it off. I also handled the funeral arrangements and probated the will; Colin was pretty shook up. The company was split between him and me, as was dad's life insurance -- a hundred-and-fifty thousand bucks -- and I set up the next semester’s classes so I could come in to help twice a week and weekends.
I know I should’ve felt bad about the passing of my father, but I didn't. All I thought was, his death took care of my tuition. And may have brought justice to mom.
What I couldn’t figure out was how dad had found out. He’d called me the week before to bitch about Colin and demand I come help with the business, and not a word. Then a guy I knew named Noel, who was expressing his condolences, revealed he was the one who’d outed me.
Anyway, this is the story of an American businessman, Devlin, who's accused of helping a serial killer who's had 4 victims, in London. He inadvertently mucked up a surveillance operation and is trying to figure a way out of the mess he's in. Currently, he's on bail due to minimal evidence and has had his passport seized. His sister-in-law has come over and taken control of information gathering, and is treating him like an errant child.
-------
I needed to blow off some steam or I'd explode, but I hadn't brought any running clothes with me. Just my sneakers. Fine. I yanked on a pair of briefs, pulled my sleeping shorts on as well as a tee-shirt and hoodie, slipped my feet into my runners, made sure I had my key and NYDL...and that damned note about my passport...and headed out.
It was brisk, but I knew in a few minutes I'd have myself warmed up, so after stretching I decided to circle Heathrow. Talk about stupid? My average run is five-six miles a day, and that damned airport is a good twelve or thirteen, in circumference. Because you can't just run the perimeter; you have to go down this street and across that roadway and around another circle and along a back road and over another thoroughfare and on and on. But the good thing about it was by the third turn I was so focused on just not stopping, I stopped focusing on the turmoil in my brain.
I knew it was Diana’s parting crack that had slammed me -- about me behaving myself. My father’d said crap like that to me too damn many times. Usually accompanied by a slap or a punch or his fucking belt. In fact, the last time I saw him, he tried the same shit, trying to get me back under control.
Now my father was one of those people who won't believe what they don't want to believe. Since I didn't fit into his idea of what a faggot looks like, he never thought I could be one. But then one day he called and demanded I come home. He didn't tell me why, just to get my ass there.
I hopped a train after class on Friday and got to the house about six. Dad was sitting in a chair in the living room, four empty beer cans and half a fifth of bourbon gone. The second I saw those I know he'd be trouble. The second he saw me, he was.
He got up from the chair, unsteady, and glared at me as he said, "It true you suck dick?"
I’d been dreading that question for years, and the words cut deep into me, but all I did was give him a shrug of Yes.
He downed another bourbon and drank some beer, his focus on something I couldn’t see. He was bigger than me by two inches and thirty pounds, but most of it was a gut he was building. Still his hands were solid beef, as were his arms, and just because his hair was more gray than black didn't mean he was too old to be a hard-assed SOB, so I kept my eyes on him, waiting for the first swing so I could duck.
He shifted his glare onto me. Moved closer to me, looking me over like I was something he wanted to buy. "You do this to get at me?"
I snorted. "I do it 'cause it's who I am."
"Fuck.” More beer. “Your brother know?"
"Colin's got nothing to do with this."
"He suck dick, too?"
"What the fuck? He's married and has twins. Where the fuck you get off wonderin' that?"
"You think I'm gonna keep payin' for some faggot’s fancy-ass college and all that shit?"
"I got grants and scholarships; your part makes up about a third of my tuition and half of my living expenses."
"Fuckin' expenses, cocksucker. Convincin' stupid college kids to let you fuck 'em."
I laughed without thinking. "You think I don't get hit on by guys? I'm told I'm pretty hot, a real otter."
"What the fuck's this otter shit?"
"Young. Stocky. Built. Hair on him. Not old enough to be a bear, yet, or even a cub, but gettin' there. Lots of guys want me to fuck 'em, but I only wanna fuck the ones who look like you."
"Me? You fuckin' sayin' you wanna fuck me?"
I smiled and winked and the first punch caught me off-guard. I stumbled around and he roared at me. Landed another punch in my side. My wrestling took over so his next swing gave me the momentum to roll him over me and across the floor into the couch. He wound up sitting half on his ass and half on his side. He was so stunned by the move, he didn't even try to get up; he just looked at me, his face a mass of drunken stupid.
I backed out the door and headed for the subway. I didn't notice my nose was bleeding until I was halfway there. I stopped in a mom and pop and bought a bottle of water and used that to clean myself off. By the time I was on the platform, I looked normal -- as normal as you can when you've disowned yourself and added to your debt load by way too much money. Sure, it wouldn't have to be for the full tuition; I'd been as cheap as I could, so all I had left to worry about was the Spring Semester. But Grad school would be a bitch to pay for. I wondered if I could really afford to go.
I got the call just after I got off the train. From Colin.
"Dad's had a stroke. Get here as quick as you can."
I debated not going but that would leave Colin to handle everything and he was already hard-pressed to take care of his family and company. So I showered and shaved and packed my nose and went back. By the time I got to the hospital, dad was dead.
The doctor called it a stroke. Colin accepted it as a stroke. Diana comforted him as she juggled the twins. I was offered sympathy but I shrugged it off. I also handled the funeral arrangements and probated the will; Colin was pretty shook up. The company was split between him and me, as was dad's life insurance -- a hundred-and-fifty thousand bucks -- and I set up the next semester’s classes so I could come in to help twice a week and weekends.
I know I should’ve felt bad about the passing of my father, but I didn't. All I thought was, his death took care of my tuition. And may have brought justice to mom.
What I couldn’t figure out was how dad had found out. He’d called me the week before to bitch about Colin and demand I come help with the business, and not a word. Then a guy I knew named Noel, who was expressing his condolences, revealed he was the one who’d outed me.
Fucking Noel. Another trust fund baby whose daddy was high up in one of those too-big-to-fail banks and mommy was editor of a national fashion magazine. We’d met in the student union and I’d thought he'd be a fun one-nighter, but talk about a control freak. He started off by telling me how to suck his nice-enough dick, which took all the fun out of it. Then he insisted I eat his ass, which I don't mind doing to the right kind but his was small and boring. The final kicker was, he wouldn't let me fuck him and only gave me a hand-job. I thought about forcing the issue but I'd just started my senior year and didn't want to derail it, so I just blew him off.
Oh, but one didn't do that to Noel. His feeling was, once we shared a bed my life was his and his alone. Like, if I was in class and he texted, he'd toss a fit if I didn't answer and send a long nasty message about how irresponsible and immature I was. Stupid little bitch couldn't accept that I really wasn't into him.
Don't get me wrong, he was good-looking. Brown Hair. Broad shoulders. Ice-blue eyes that were just as cold. One of those taut-bodied Upper East Side boys who would happily pay as much for a shirt as I did rent because it was the latest thing, then would blame the poor for being too lazy to work five jobs to make ends meet. Even if everything had clicked between us, in bed, I’d have blown him off because my dad was the only asshole I’d tolerate in my life.
Once he realized there was no way in hell I was going to pay attention to his sense of entitlement, Noel called dad at the office. Then the little bitch let me know what he’d done by complaining about how much detail he had to go into to convince my father he was telling the truth, and subtly suggested it was my own fault for not being nicer to him. What surprised me is, all I did was shrug.
Yeah, part of me was pissed off, but another part was happy he'd done it. Now I could be completely open about who I was and what I was after. What made it better was, since Noel was still interested in another night together, I decided to, oh, give in.
Till we got to his condo. He started in his directions, again, and that’s when I tore his overpriced designer crap off him, tied his little bitch ass down to the bed, and fucked him for hours. In his ass and his mouth. He kept begging me to stop, but I played with his dick till he was hard and ready and begging me to finish him off, then he went nearly catatonic when I finally did. After which I dressed and left.
He begged me for another night, but I never went near him, again, and when he started his harassment crap up, I had Hamilton file a restraining order in a very public way. That embarrassed mommy and daddy so he vanished into rehab.
Of course, remembering dad’s death and figuring I’d caused it with our fight, that made me wonder if Faure’s bullshit might be a sort of karma against me. But considering the chaos that fucker brought and changes we made for the better in the company, and the fact that I finally got full reimbursement from the little shit, I convinced myself that it didn’t fit the parameters.
Remembering that brought a smile to my face. And even though it took my fourth and fifth wind to make it all the way back to the hotel, I was still on my feet when I stumbled into the lobby. I was pouring sweat and rubber-legged, but I was also feeling the amazing nirvana that comes from a good run.
I was back in control.
Don't get me wrong, he was good-looking. Brown Hair. Broad shoulders. Ice-blue eyes that were just as cold. One of those taut-bodied Upper East Side boys who would happily pay as much for a shirt as I did rent because it was the latest thing, then would blame the poor for being too lazy to work five jobs to make ends meet. Even if everything had clicked between us, in bed, I’d have blown him off because my dad was the only asshole I’d tolerate in my life.
Once he realized there was no way in hell I was going to pay attention to his sense of entitlement, Noel called dad at the office. Then the little bitch let me know what he’d done by complaining about how much detail he had to go into to convince my father he was telling the truth, and subtly suggested it was my own fault for not being nicer to him. What surprised me is, all I did was shrug.
Yeah, part of me was pissed off, but another part was happy he'd done it. Now I could be completely open about who I was and what I was after. What made it better was, since Noel was still interested in another night together, I decided to, oh, give in.
Till we got to his condo. He started in his directions, again, and that’s when I tore his overpriced designer crap off him, tied his little bitch ass down to the bed, and fucked him for hours. In his ass and his mouth. He kept begging me to stop, but I played with his dick till he was hard and ready and begging me to finish him off, then he went nearly catatonic when I finally did. After which I dressed and left.
He begged me for another night, but I never went near him, again, and when he started his harassment crap up, I had Hamilton file a restraining order in a very public way. That embarrassed mommy and daddy so he vanished into rehab.
Of course, remembering dad’s death and figuring I’d caused it with our fight, that made me wonder if Faure’s bullshit might be a sort of karma against me. But considering the chaos that fucker brought and changes we made for the better in the company, and the fact that I finally got full reimbursement from the little shit, I convinced myself that it didn’t fit the parameters.
Remembering that brought a smile to my face. And even though it took my fourth and fifth wind to make it all the way back to the hotel, I was still on my feet when I stumbled into the lobby. I was pouring sweat and rubber-legged, but I was also feeling the amazing nirvana that comes from a good run.
I was back in control.
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