Distractions ending?

I've begun posting chapters of Taking Nicky on GayDemon.com. Have three up. If you want to read them, you're welcome to. It's free. They just will not be suitable for under 18, at all, and have some serious MM-noncon in them. But I'm using them as my therapy.

I'm going to try and get that novella done before I return to San Antonio. I have 13,300 words done and figure it will be about double that. I'll have access to good WiFi at my brother's apartment; I just don't know what kind of time or focus I'll be allowed.

Once this is done, I'm turning to finishing Blood Angel, my gay vampire series of stories. It's been on a back burner for too long and I want it finished. Now. 

In fact, I feel the need to complete everything I started. No more new stories.

So there's also completing Darian's Point as a book, Dair's Window and The Murder of a Quiet Man. Four total projects...well, five if I include TN...which will take me a while. But it's start now or start never, and never is not really an option.

Be interesting to see how long I can keep to this...

Too much going on...

My brother is at home with hospice coming in 3 times a week to work with him. Make him comfortable. And he seems to have calmed down a lot. He has good moments and bad, but the wild swings seem to have settled except for one thing...he won't eat.

I don't think it's right to make him do what he doesn't want to do. His cancer is terminal. He's not a candidate for chemo or surgery. So my thought is to just handle any pain and let things take their course.

My sister is dealing with this almost completely on her own. She's got some help from her husband and a nephew, but overall it's been on her. I'll do what I can to take over when I go down, giving her a break from it. But I don't know how much I can do. Guess we'll see.

The murder of Alex Pretti is also weighing on me, because the lack of full and complete pushback by Democratic leaders just confirms in my heart and soul that America is morally bankrupt. To allow the ICE thugs who shot that man nearly a dozen times as he lay on the ground...after he tried to help a woman they had attacked...to just walk away is depraved beyond belief.

I can't accept it. I can't handle it. I don't know what to do in response to it. The life I'd taken for granted in America is shattered...and I'm at a loss. The billionaire class has manipulated the MAGAt Cult into becoming their attack hounds, and they seem to be winning the battle. Good does not triumph here. It can't. Not enough people want it to.

I've tried to work on Taking Nicky, and did get a little more done, but finally just gave in, set up my laptop to play some Midsomer Murder mysteries and ironed my shirts and pants from weeks worth of laundry. Kept my mind off everything for a little bit.

It snowed all day, but now the clouds are gone and the half-moon is visible. Whatever happens won't be the end of the world...just the end of our lies about ourselves being decent human beings.

My world is at an end...and restarting...

ICE murdered another civilian in Minneapolis...an RN at the VA who was trying to help a woman they'd shoved to the ground...and Felon47's monsters are lying about it. He was pepper sprayed, pummeled by 6 of them and then shot point blank several times. And the MAGAt Cult is celebrating it...the motherfuckers...

Obviously, none of my screaming on Xitter and Instagram has done a bit of good, nor has contacting my reps. They're all cowards unwilling to do anything...though Schumer, one of my senators, finally said he won't let a funding bill go through, now.

How fucking brave and principled.

American is morally bankrupt. We let things get to this point, where this new gestapo is committing murder with impunity, because it was just too much trouble to stop it...and I don't know if we will be able to rebuild from this.

I shifted a lot of my anger into Taking Nicky and added nearly 3000 words...leading up to a point where Rett is going to show just how he gets even with a man who's wronged him. I'm going to have the target be a MAGAt POS to make it even sweeter.

I'm only going to publish this story for free, on GayDemon. I don't feel the need to spend money on it and just want it out there to be read, when I'm done. I may do that with the rest of Blood Angel, too.

Oh, Neptune Society doesn't work in Buffalo. So I may just ask to have my ashes strewn in the water off Catalina, once I die. Needs a VS-9 permit and has certain regulations to follow, but it's doable. Might even be able to hire a Cremated Remains Disposer to do it for us.

More bullshit to look into.

Shit, shit, and more shit...

This was one of those days where I had to deal with too much shit. Insurance refusing to cover lab work done...that is approved by Medicare, so they can't refuse it. Then changing and telling me they didn't get the doctor to respond to a request for more information. 

Getting the doctor's office to agree to look into it was fun. But it's that or I pay over $1000. All while Quest is ignoring me and won't let me get through when I try to call. I get the We're busy, call back bullshit.

And there's the ongoing saga of that car wreck I had just over a month ago...but which may finally be getting settled.

I'm also trying to get a funeral home to tell me whether or not they will work with the Neptune Society to take my ashes, once I'm gone. Not planning to kick the bucket for a while, but preparation is good. My brother's cremation and internment will cost close to $10,000 once he's gone, half of which I'm paying.

And he's also being difficult to deal with, despite hospice being there. Caused another trip to the ER to reinstate a drainage tube he pulled out of his right kidney. My sister is handling him.

So I went to a grocery store nearby, had an Avocado Roll I like there, got a couple things to take care of me when the next snow storm hits, and toodled home.

I worked a bit on Taking Nicky, mainly reworking what I'd already written and adding to it. I'm now at just over 7500 words, and it's become more vicious than I thought it would be. And fun. Rett is now wondering how he's going to get Nicky, no whether or not he should.

I really enjoyed Murder Before Evensong, despite not quite believing the reveal...though it did still affect me. Matthew Lewis was lovely as Canon Clement, and the script nicely paced. The acting on a good level, and the gay subplot well-handled.

I did think a few times the story was edging close to having Daniel and DS Neil Vanloo connect, which probably would have been to much...but I enjoyed their near flirting.

Night off.

 I'm watching a cozy British murder mystery on Acorn -- Murder Before Evensong. It's set in 1988 and is actually very well-done. Matthew Lewis is Canon Daniel Clement and I'm liking him as one of the investigators. It's 6 episodes, each about 40-45 minutes long, so I bingeing it. I need a break from the reality of the world.

Needless to say, Matthew lewis developed quite nicely from being Neville Longbottom in the Harry Potter series.

Rett's psychotic makeup...

I'm going to give Rett free rein to see what he does, thanks to this.

-------

You see, there’s some part of my genetic makeup that sometimes kicks in and takes complete control of me. It’s like a switch that flicks on, starting up a brutal stubbornness mixed with a willingness to use violence to get my way. 

I first really paid attention to it in eighth grade. I used to doodle a lot, and wound up sketching women for the boys in my classes. Beautiful women. Anatomically correct...and very, very nude. I’d sell them for a dollar and did okay business. 

But then two schoolyard bullies...Kenneth and Leon...got hold of one and threatened to turn me into the principal if I didn't give them half of what I made. 

I told them, "Go ahead." 

So they did, and I got into huge trouble. Dragged into the principal's office. My folks were brought in. I was called a pornographer and horrible and needed to rethink my path in life and on and on. Slapped me with a two week suspension, and I was told if I was caught doing it, again, I’d be expelled. As if that would be a punishment. 

I said nothing in response. Wasn’t going to make any difference. 

I loved those two weeks off because I hated that school. We were living in Fontana, at the time, thanks to dad's job at the airport. I had to ride a school bus since my folks were both deep into working and couldn’t take me. 

Half the kids on that bus were complete dicks to me because I wasn’t all that built up, back then, and read a lot. That made me more nerd than they approved of. And the teachers all wanted to make sure I understood that I had lots of potential, even though I was getting As and Bs... 

Well, except in art class. That dick hated everything I did and often used it as an example of what not to do...like a drawing of boots in a desert should minimize the shadows. Cs only, there...which is part of the reason I shifted my focus to writing. Got As in English. 

Anyway, when 1 returned Kenneth and Leon started in on me. Verbal harassment. Physical. They had a pack that included one girl who rode the same bus as me. She and I had ignored each other, since she got on the bus before I did en route to school and had her clique of mean girls to be with on the trip home. 

But then she started getting on after me, at the school, and as she passed would smack me on the head with a ring she wore. It had a large, sharp rhinestone on it which she'd shift around to her palm side, to hide what she was doing. I told her to stop. She wouldn't, so come Friday when she did it, again, I smacked her in the side. She hit me again and I smacked her, again. And again. 

This continued until blood trailed down my face. She quickly moved away to be with her clique, giggling nervously. I just felt for the cut and pressed on it to stop the bleeding. 

Fucking bus driver did nothing about it. 

When I got home, my mother freaked out over the blood, but I wouldn’t tell her what happened. I was locked into anger and revenge mode. And quickly worked out exactly what to do to Kenneth and his pack, on Monday. 

The day came. The pack of bullies surrounded me in a hallway, howling and threatening and snarling until Kenneth shoved me. 

He hadn’t noticed I had a nice, sharp #2 pencil in hand. I jerked my arm up and rammed it into the back of his left bicep. Tore in at an angle, and stuck. 

Blood flew. Screams of pain brought teachers over. A chaos of voices howled over each other as Kenneth showed them his arm and other students freaked out. 

He was carted off to the nurse’s station while I was hauled into the principal's office and told I was going to jail for assault. But this time I played the wide-eyed innocent and said, “It was an accident. He shoved me and my arm jerked, that’s all.” 

The principal didn’t believe me...until one teacher who'd actually seen it but was doing nothing to stop it...was dumb enough to say, "He didn't shove you that hard." Which backed my claim up. 

As did the security cam that caught it all. 

No charges filed. Still a two-week suspension. But after that, the bullies left me alone. Especially when I whispered to Leon the next time I saw him, “Next one goes in an eye.” 

Nicky flicked the switch on that attitude when he pulled his first asshole stunt while zooming past me on the bike pathway. Not overwhelming, yet, but it grew and expanded every time I saw him swooshing past and being a dick...until taking him was my one real focus. 

Oh, I was still able to write and network like other people in the business. But Vance noticed a new edge to my script-work. A tension that wasn’t there, anymore. It’s probably what got my latest script sold and put into production...a revenge thriller with a female protagonist and some very hot sex scenes between her and the man she’s using to get to the assholes who raped and killed her sister. The director is already talking about taking it as close to NC17 as he can without losing an R rating. 

So I was getting ready to take Nicky. Even though I knew once I did I’d be going to hell on the wings of Satan.

Paperwork and bills...

A couple weeks worth that needed to be dealt with. Car accident. Insurance screw-up with Quest. Researching charitable organizations that might help with my brother's hospice care. Updating my bank book and figuring I'm pretty screwed. Lovely times.

Tax season is coming up and I'm tempted to just ignore it. I don't want my money going to help that maniac in the White House do Putin's dirty work in destroying what held the world together for decades. What we had wasn't perfect, but wrecking it for a dictator is no way to improve it.

Rett is getting a glimmer of just how crazy his idea is, kidnapping Nicky to use as his own. And realizes he's always had this streak in him of brutal stubbornness mixed with a willing to use violence to fight back.

It stems from a time in 8th grade, when he used to write sexy stories and sell them for a dollar to other boys in the school. Two schoolyard bullies got one of the stories and threatened to turn him into the principal if he didn't give them half of what he made. He told them, "Go ahead."

So they did, and he got into huge trouble. Dragged into the principal's office. His parents were brought in. He was called a pornographer. He said nothing in response. Then he was told if he was caught doing it, again, he'd be expelled instead of merely suspended for two weeks.

He loved those two weeks off because he hated that school, but when he returned the bullies started in on him. A pack that included one girl who rode the same bus as him. Going home, she'd get on after he did then would smack him in the head with a ring she wore. It had a large, sharp rhinestone on it wwhich she'd shift around to her palm side, to hide what she was doing..

He told her to stop. She wouldn't, so come Friday when she did it, again, he smacked her in the side. She hit him again and he smacked her, again. This continued until blood trailed down his face. When he got home, he said nothing about it, even as his mother freaked out of the blood.

Monday, the pack of bullies surrounded him and howled and threatened and snarled until the lead one pushed him...not noticing Rett had a sharp pencil in his hand. He jerked his arm and rammed the pencil into the boy's left bicep. 

Blood flew. Screams of pain brought teachers over. Rett was hauled into the principal's office and told he was going to jail for assault. But this time he said it was an accident. The bully had shoved him and his arm jerked, that was all. And one teacher who'd actually seen...it but was doing nothing to stop it...was dumb enough to say, "He didn't shove you that hard."

Which backed Rett's claim up. No charges filed. Still a two-week suspension. But after that, the bullies left him alone.

Nicky flicks the switch on that attitude, in Rett, when he pulls an asshole stunt while zooming past on the bike pathway. Nothing major...but just enough.

And then it's to hell in a handbasket.

Going home.

Back home, finally, nearly 2 hours late. Snow everywhere. Sub-freezing temperatures. And I was dumbshit enough to listen to a voice in my head tell e to take my car to get to the airport. So it’s been parked for 2 weeks at $15 a day. And I’m already in deep shit financially. 

I had to go home to handle that car wreck’s last legal demands, and get a refill on my medications as well as just decompress. Seems only my sister and one nephew are doing anything about helping in this situation. 

The cancer is spreading faster than expected so that needs to be faced. Meaning the costs of the cremation and burial will be due soon, and my other brother is not willing to put in a penny. He’s been asked; he’s just ignoring it like he did when our mother died.

I hate family, sometimes. I’ve channeled some of my anger and frustration into Taking Nicky. It’s a slow build to the kidnapping and rape of the title character, with little segues along the way. 

One involves Rett nearly raping Ben, who’s just turned 18. He asks for a blowjob =as his birthday present so Rett gives him one, to the hundredth degree and would have forced his dick into Ben’s mouth except he’d put a gag over it. Shakes Ben up...but sets the stage for future situations.

Of which there will be many. This will wind up probably as a long-form novella, like HTRASG did. Just over 50K in wordage.

Still haven’t got a clue as to how it will end, but that’s half the fun, isn’t it?

Rested and repose received...

Okay...I managed to do a bit more on Dylan, which is now called Taking Nicky and focuses the entire story on Rett's obsession with a male model...this guy. To the extent he's open to committing a crime to get his way.

Which is stupid.

Not sure where this will end. It's going to be one of those stories where anything could happen. It's a straightforward kidnap and rape, then release. Nicky could wind up liking what happened and blackmails Rett into continuing the charade. It might even turn around and Rett be the intended target with Nicky as bait. Or both could be.

I'm going to let the story tell itself and see where it goes on its own. Right now, I have about 5000 words in place, with more ready to go. Here's some of them:

-----

I found out his full name was Nicholas McNevin Chase. From some small town in Nebraska that I don’t think is there, anymore. Very corn-fed, middle-American background. Moved to LA straight out of high school and, thanks to his amazing looks, landed modeling jobs, straight off. Even got an agent with connections to the big-dog advertising groups. His casual masculine grace and obvious heterosexual sensuality made him big. Got him on sit-coms and cop shows in a walk-on basis. Not the best of actors, but workable.

What I liked most about him, aside from his Greek-god physique, was how he didn’t shave his body like so many other guys did. He had lovely whispers of hair over his pecs and belly as well as up and down his legs. Nor did he get caught up in the latest male coif-fad but kept himself simple and eternal in look and style.

Of course, he had a slavish gay following on YouTube, Tumblr, and a dozen other sites of varying decency and reach. And of course there were all kinds of questions about his sexuality, but nothing absolute. He was seen with women, palling around with men, traveling all over the world to do his job. He was the epitome of impossible expectations.

He was also known to be a real asshole to anyone who recognized him and wanted a selfie or something. I happened to catch one encounter, on the pathway.

I’d set up cameras to record during the time he normally zoomed past and got some fine images of him in all his glory. But on one occasion he nearly ran a woman down. Had to jump into the sand to keep from hitting her. He was pissed, of course. How dare she get in his way? Then she recognized him as he brushed sand off himself and became apologetic and tried to get a photo of him on her cell phone, but he grabbed the phone from her and threw it onto the beach. Then off he went as she scrambled to retrieve it.

Making my lust for him even more glorious.

Of course, Ben and Liam being the observant critters that they were they caught on to my obsession with Nicky and once even let me know when he was using the skate park for his pleasure. After that, I made a point of being close by and, when Nicky did divert himself to rolling and running and jumping and all the attendant nonsense, I’d get some lovely shots of him. Always in shorts. Always shirtless. And never falling. Which I found remarkable. But not one cut or scrape ever appeared on his amazingly smooth skin, that I could see.

I know he noticed my interest. After a couple months of me appearing at the park while he was there, he cast me sharp wary glares and kept on with his business before scooting away. I think he figured I was just paparazzi.

What he didn’t know was...well, I was scoping him out to see the best way into his pants. And I don’t meant just to suck him off; I mean ass and...well, he had the epitome of that infamous movie saying, “You sure got a purty mouth.”

And I didn’t care whether he wanted to do it or not.

Which, of course, begged the question...just how far was I willing to go to get into Nicky’s pants? The answer? To be honest, I had no idea.

For the first time in my life I had money, a career I wanted, respect from people who mattered, nothing worse than a speeding ticket on my record, and access to any number of guys I might want. Even better? I was still young enough to enjoy it.

So why was I obsessing over a man I didn’t even know...and seriously considering the possibility of raping him? Was I being arrogant. Narcissistic? Self-destructive? No idea.

It was a new notion to me and where I knew I should be feeling revulsion at even the thought...I didn’t.

Which I do not understand.

I’ve always thought of myself as an empathetic kind of guy. Sure, I’ve got a temper and attitude, but it’s not the core of my being. Caring about others is. Or was. But my growling need to have Nicky in my bed, no matter what, made me wonder just how serious I was about caring for the well-being of others.

And my head and heart told me flat out, Depends on what you want, just like with anyone.

Blank of mind...

The situation with my brother is taking all of my energy and focus. I finally had to accept nothing will get done until this is finalized...as in he dies or goes into hospice care. Because last night was horrific, and wound up getting him sent back to the hospital.

It's rough watching a sibling or parent or child deteriorate slowly and painfully. Nothing is simple or A-B-C. it's like waves on a shore. Some moments are good, others are bad...and it's never-ending.

It makes you wonder how people handled this in previous times. In I Remember Mama" (1947) Irene Dunne was the Norwegian matriarch of a family in San Francisco not long after the major earthquake. One part had her traveling to the farm of her brother, Chris, and standing watch as he died.

He's in bed, barely messed up, and has a final drink before peacefully drifting into death. All so very clean and neat. But it's rarely like that, really.

My grandmother, Nana, died from bladder cancer. I spent one night caring for her and that was not pretty. It also upset her a lot since I was male, but my mother and aunt needed a break so there I went.

My mother let herself deteriorate because she was ready to die. Stopped eating or drinking and lay in bed sleeping until she passed on.

Neither of them presented me with the challenge of my brother. Full nights spent making sure he doesn't get up to walk or take out his IV or seeing to it he doesn't sit in his shit. Literally.

I don't know how people do it, except you do what you must and put everything else aside till it's alll done. Even as my stories call to me...

Walled in...

I sometimes wonder if one problem I have with being a writer is that I'm too wary about letting my characters go where they want. I like to hold a tight rein, even when I try to pretend I don't. Mainly because I know there is something dark inside of me and I fear if I let it loose I could hurt someone.

I've got this wild dichotome within me, where one half is empathetic to the extent I hate for anyone to be damaged in any way. The other half, however, hates people and would gladly rip a few throats out.

I've let glimmers of it appear in my work, maybe even let it color Dirc and the Dyarvos Bones too much, along with the followup, Dirc and the Dyarvos Cafe. I call those my amoral stories...but in reality they're a hint of how much anger I have dwelling deep inside me, that I keep a tight control over.

I have a good idea of why it's there...and that is something I will never share with anyone. I'm too old to be explaining myself and, to be honest, I'm unwilling to tolerate the reaction it would bring.

I just know I'm really fucked up and have no interest in getting unfucked. I just want to feel free enough to let the demon out...

Which, in the current day and age, would take a lot more courage than I think I have.

Slowly structuring...

My brother is in a skilled nursing facility in hopes of making him capable of coming home to live for a while, till hospice is needed. Seeing him deteriorate...the pain and suffering he's going through...this whole situation has had a profound effect on me. Shown me death is anything but beautiful or kind.

It's not just his situation that's brought me to this thought, but the death of the country I live in thanks to an inhuman beast elected to the highest office in the land. He has made the world reveal she is populated by monsters. Howling beasts. Rabid dogs. Creatures reveling in the pain and suffering of others.

People used to be able to divorce the reality of that from themselves thanks to distance and lack of honest information, but that's no longer possible. Social media has blasted light on all dark corners and proven civilization is based on a flat out lie.

Maybe 1% of the world's population is honestly trying to do good. The rest either love the idea of wreaking havoc on others or else do not give a shit when it happens. Look at how easy it is for some rich pedophiles to keep people from finding out who they are. And how white boys are being excused from rapes because their futures are more important than the girls they damaged.

That belief is what's informing me on Dylan. In my past books, I've mitigated the evil being perpetrated by some of my MCs. Hunter redeems himself. Dirc was murdered by a cop, giving him a roundabout excuse for raping a killing men. Devlin uses his dick to get even with men who've wronged him. Léonidès only feeds on men who deserve it. That sort of bullshit.

Rett will have no excuses. He'll be wealthy, successful, good-looking, at an age where his self is formed and his meaning known, with a sense of morals...and he will still deliberately kidnap and rape a man because he wants to. Just to see if he can get away with it.

I'm reminded of how the ending of the French/Dutch version of The Vanishing tore me apart. A man who did a heroic act commits two acts of pure evil and then sits in the garden of his country home, reading a newspaper article about it as his wife and daughters play on what is probably the graves of his victims. And you know he'll do it, again.

That is the world in a nutshell. Hide your evil until you're ready to do it, again.

New Question on Dylan...

Which is...how far am I willing to go with the story? I was going to make a straightforward (no pun intended) story about kidnapping a straight guy who gets off on being forced to enjoy himself with another man. A big gay fantasy...especially if he looks lilke Thor or Captain America from the Marvel Universe.

But then came the possibility it's a double-cross. That Vance really wants Rett and gets Dylan to help get him. Which was so trite it made me cringe.

Until...my tendency towards sexual slavery of a more romantic sort came floating up, without the romanticism. Maybe Dylan and Rett, both, are the targets of a wealthy man who wants to train them to be obedient to him and with each other.

Meaning whips and chains and restraints and even implants to maintain control of them. Pain therapy.

I did a hint of that in Hunter but never really detailed it till a completely innocent guy named Tony Hunter had kidnapped and sold confronted him with how he had been trained and controlled. Hunter feels guilt and helps return him to his life.

This time? No outs. No romance. No decency. Total master/slave and forced pleasure involved, with no HEA...as of now. That could change. Or could be even darker.

I never know where my mind is going to go, from one day to the next.

More of Dylan...

Lots of back and forth with no resolutions, today, so here's some more of Vance. and Rett, in Dylan.

-------

Now Vance had been over to my condo a few times, since I bought it, and loved to make a big deal about how spacious it was. Even marking off the sizes of the rooms with his feet.

“I’m a size ten,” he’d told me, once, “so eighteen of my feet equals fifteen actual.”

“I prefer a tape measure,” I laughed. 

He was helping me get ready for a party for some other writers I knew, and actors and crew and such. I threw them as a way to make and maintain connections, network, that sort of thing. And that had worked out. Got me my first mainstream paying gig. The rest had fed off that bit of luck. 

“Just a note to settle my brain.” 

I didn’t care. He was good at parties, so having him as a guest helped get things rolling. He could talk about film, history, literature, porn, gossip in the political world...though no actual politics. 

“Too many land mines for that shite,” he’d said when asked. 

And on more than one occasion he’d snuck off with some good-looker...either male or female. 

Funny thing is, after his first attempt he never came on to me, again. And that’s even after I noticed he was very Catholic in his tastes for companionship. I didn’t care. He wasn’t my type, at all. I go for guys who populate the main heroes of the Marvel Universe. Cap. Thor. Even Loki, once I saw him dance to Rasputin. Vance was too ghostly for that. 

I didn’t have a steady guy, right then. I’d broken up with wannabe superstar Craig six months before buying the condo. He’d felt the need to focus on high-profile females to further his career path, and I’d grown tired of his preening...even though it was justified. 

I’d hooked up with a couple other writers and another actor who was so paranoid he killed all the fun of the night. But overall I liked being alone in my place and felt no need for companionship.

I let Ben and Liam join my parties once they turned eighteen, and while Ben is on the young side for me, I did indulge him in his one birthday wish. 

“Blow me,” he’d said. “Pull off my shit and suck me dry.” 

“Wow...I never thought you’d ask me that," I said. "And don’t tell me Georgie did it; I don’t want to know.” 

He’d given me a lovely sneaky grin and said, “There’s lots you don’t wanna know.” 

We were in the living room, at the time, just him, me...and Liam, whom I looked at, a bit taken aback. 

He almost smirked, in response, and said, “We just give each other hand jobs. Georgie’d watch and...” 

“I said I don’t want to hear it. You were both underage...” 

“You put a pedophile in office and...” 

“I didn’t vote for him.” 

“Georgie did,” said Ben. “Liked his tax breaks.” 

I started to get miffed so rose to my feet and said, “Georgie was a dumbass backstabbing son-of-a-bitch.” 

They both laughed. “No shit.” 

Then Liam got up and came up to me and kissed me, long and deep and far more gentle than I’d thought possible. After which he murmured, “My birthday was last month and I’d love the same present. Belated.” 

Belated? He knew how to use that word? I’d been thinking these two were on the lower end of intelligence, but now felt I better re-evaluate. Then he winked at me, gave Ben the thumbs up and left.

Ben was wearing a neat button-up shirt that fit loose around his neat torso and cargo shorts with a precise hem. His feet were in deck shoes, for a change, which seemed to enhance the lovely form of his legs. He scooted deeper into his chair, scrunching his shorts tighter around his crotch so I could see the outline of everything. 

“It’s a birthday wish,” he chuckled. “Gotta honor it.”

I decided to work more on Dylan...dealing with Vance, a friend of Rett's who's on the skeezy side but has all kinds of connections.

--------

Vance was an anomaly. Long, lean and always in casual designer things that kept him almost completely dressed from head to toe so you couldn’t really make out what he looked like. Aside from his face, which was sharp and intelligent, even when half-hidden by a thousand-dollar hoodie or specialty cap. 

He was always striking to look at when you first saw him, but to this day I don’t know his age or even the color of his hair. It’s like he wanted to be well-seen and invisible. 

We’d met years ago on a no-budget project being mangled from my less-than-stellar script about a serial killer on the loose. Yeah, real original. But it had lots or pretty girls and obnoxious boys being slaughtered, so it got made and used as midnight filler on a cable network that shall remain unnamed. 

He was second camera for a couple of slaughter scenes, and he made no secret about his interest in me, while I made no secret of my disinterest in him. Especially after I noticed how he really got off on one bit where a wannabe James Dean was strangled in a shower. Totally naked, of course. 

I’d written it for a female but Vance’d suggested the sex change and the director, who was a long-term buddy hadn’t cared. The guy they chose as the victim was pretty hot-looking, and he thought it might be his big break so went right along with it all. 

The killer was one of those big, buff, butch, biker boys in a balaclava who stripped down to a black jockstrap to do the deed...which was NOT in the script. Then he got a serious hardon doing it while the victim struggled...tight against him...water pounding down on them both in a way that was so fucking homo-erotic, I found my breath going shallow. Kept up until he passed out. 

Literally. 

Sent the set into shock mode. He came back quickly, but had serious bruises around his neck. Meaning he’d really been strangled. Big, buff, butch, biker boy was lectured about safety as the kid was tended to...and paid extra for nearly being killed. And the scene stayed in thanks to how realistic it was...and despite there being some serious views of the kid’s dick as it flopped around.

Last I heard, that scene had nearly twelve-million views on YouTube.

Funny part is, the kid went on to be big in a sitcom, and whenever he was asked about that scene he’d respond with a shrug and, “I did what I agreed to do. I keep my promises. End of story.” Which shot his reputation up into the clouds. 

And I'm sure the fact that his dick was seriously impressive had nothing to do with it, oh, no. 

Now just between you, me, and the rest of the world, I’m ninety-nine percent certain Vance arranged for that near death experience for the kid. I caught a glimpse of him talking with the big, buff, butch, biker boy after the uproar had settled, as he was pulling his clothes back on, and patted him on his naked ass without so much as a flinch, in response. And I’d swear a couple of fifties were stashed under one of the jock’s straps.

Of course, Vance never admitted to it, nor did I see any clips anywhere of any other footage that was shot that might have been more explicit. But maybe he hadn't done it. While he seemed the type who’d love to sneak shit past everyone, in this business there’s no such thing as dick shots flying under the radar. But I’d also heard he asked to be second camera after he read the script. Which only added to my wary sense of him. 

So did I ghost Vance? Hell, no. He had connections out the ass. I’d just kept contact to a a minimum and wound up with two more rewrite jobs and my second script sale, thanks to him.

Ups and downs

So many shifts and redirections regarding my brother's illness, it's been difficult to keep up. Right now, we're trying to find him a situation in a Skilled Nursing Facility, but many won't take the insurance he has and even though he's eligible for Medicaid they're refusing to assist him. That...is being appealed.

I haven't been able to focus much on any of the stories I plan to write, during this situation. But if we can ensconce him in an SNF this week, I can return home and get to work by this weekend.

Dylan has taken on a twisty-turny life of its own, already, and I was able to write another 2200 words. Introducing Vance, Ben and Liam...all of whom figure into what happens with Dylan. It's not really very good, yet, but does manage to set the stage.

I spent last night in my brother's hospital room, and tonight is my sister. If he's kept till Tuesday, I'll be on the hook for tomorrow night. We've been alternating like this since I came back down.

It's not fun because it's hard to get any sleep, but the hospital has killer wifi and I'm able to stream murder mysteries off Acorn. Got season 25 of Midsomer Murders and ten episodes of season 4 of My Life is Murder.

Kept my mind off the fact that getting cremated and buried in this day and age will cost just over $10,000. And that's the K-Mart Special version. If he was to be buried, that would add over $8,000 to the cost. Jesus, I'm going to talk with someone at a funeral home in Buffalo and start planning and paying for my cremation and hand over to The Neptune Society, it that's still an option.

Pay off my non-funeral in installments.

AI Art

AI is here to stay, whether we like it or not, and I am not completely unhappy about it. I won't use it to write, though I know some who have. And what comes out is...okay enough, but obviously not top level construction.

However, knowing the reading public's demands, they won't care. I've read books that were much praised which I felt were pieces of shit, written. by real people, and they were best-sellers.

But when it comes to art, I have to admit one of the joys of AI is you can envision any kind of person or situation you want, and it will work that up in a visual. Without hurting anyone or causing undue distress.

I still prefer real artwork to fake, but sometimes you just want a quickie to get you through a rough patch...like I'm going through, now.

Could these be any more fun?

It helps in tough times to have access to something wicked that couldn't be construed as illegal.

Just...just moments of beauty and grace...from those whose art I have admired, for a long time...

A bit more...

In San Antonio for who knows how long, so here's a bit more of Dylan...and of PickedAPeck's artwork:

--------

Of course, I was standing there, gazing after him with my mouth open, like an idiot, when another sk8er rolled up to say, “Don’t pay attention to dick, there.” 

I jolted and looked around at a kid well under the legal age, and blinked. He had a fine-looking face on a nice tight body under a loose t-shirt and lovely legs half-hidden by cargo shorts. And, of course, Converse high-tops. 

“That his name?” I asked. 

“Naw, he’s Dylan. We just call him dick because he acts like he owns the whole fuckin’ boardwalk.” 

Another kid, a bit older but not by much, but leaner and with a more angelic aura about him, rolled up, grinning at the first kid. “He got Dylan’d?” 

First one nodded. “First time’s always the best.” 

“Where you from?” asked the second kid. 

Now while both were on the cute side, they were too young for me. So I shifted into polite mode and said, “California. I was born and raised in Laguna Beach.” 

“Shit. Native. Ain’t many of you around.” 

“Yeah. You kids around here, much?” 

Both gave me wary shrugs, so I smiled and added, “I’m thinking of buying a condo in that building.” I pointed to a long, low, white beast with solarized windows and fake tile along the roof. 

They looked at it and their expressions softened. “Georgie’s place,” whispered from one of them. 

“You knew the guy who lived there?” I asked. 

They both gave that knowing look that means far too much. 

“It’s nice inside.” 

“Lots of space,” said the other. 

“Good insulation.” 

“Always cool in summer and warm in winter.” 

“Georgie was nice.” 

Meaning, to us...and enough said about that. 

“But you’ll have to deal with Dylan,” said number one. 

“Does he cause problems?” I asked, actually getting to be intrigued. 

“Naw, he just owns this area,” said number two. 

“Don’t say it; just acts it.” 

“You gotta stay outta his way.” 

“But he’s only down here three-four days a week.” 

“Including weekends.” 

“And just for a couple hours in the afternoon.” 

“When the sun’s still high.” 

“Shows him off at his best.” 

“He thinks.” 

Then they gave me that knowing look, again, and number two asked, “So what’d you think of him?” 

I’d decided in high school I would never lie about who or what I was, so I snarled in the direction Dylan had gone, “He’s exactly what I’d like to fuck.”

New story...

Started work on this new bit of mm/non-con erotica and am already having fun with it. Calling it Dylan, right now. But that may change. (Artwork is by pickedapeck, whose work I've long admired...and is mainly NSFW.)

---------

Is it just me who gets bent out of shape about thirty-odd year-old men running around on skateboards like they’re still fifteen? Shirts off and tucked into cut-offs or belted cargo shorts that are rolled up to just below the knee. Beat-up Converse sneakers with a flumpy bit of sock showing. Scooting along the boardwalk like they own it and don’t have a care in the world? 

I got nothing against sk8er boiz. Some are pretty damn cute. Especially when they’ve got well-formed legs, back and ass, and a cap on backwards to hold their hair out of their face. My favorites are those with full pecs, trim belly and hair glinting in the sun as they race past. I’ve had a few of them. Guys who got nothing against doing it with whoever. 

But those were college-age, maybe mid-twenties, when the skateboard world was already beginning to recede from their focus...like it had, for me. They’d be out hitting the parks to just keep up their skills, show the younger guys some tricks, even help the kids who just starting out. Them, I appreciated. 

Guys past thirty? 

Like Dylan? 

Fucking Dylan. 

Perfect fucking Dylan. 

Who I know for a fact is thirty-two, even though he looks ten years younger. And has one of those bodies that looks like it was formed by AI. And clean, crisp features under a steady bit of scruff. Deep brown hair where it counts. Legs to die for. An ass from heaven. Still scooting along the boardwalk like he’s a kid. 

And ignoring me. 

Fucking ignoring me! 

Sk8er boiz don’t ignore me, I don’t give a fuck who they are. I’m Rett, short for Garrett. Just hit thirty-four, and look it. Which I don’t mind because I’ve got those Irish good-looks that make it work for me. Dark hair slightly sun-bleached. Taut body and legs from running and using the monkey-bars on the beach. A guy who’s always good for a chat and honest feedback on your form...and, as mentioned, maybe a one-on-one party in his condo overlooking the ocean...if you’re cute enough...and old enough. 

And if a little cash changes hands? It’s no big deal. 

I’m pretty well-off, even for LA. Sold a couple screenplays and done some rewrites, and stayed smart with my money. I have a couple projects in the works and have potential deals for more. 

As for Dylan, he models underwear. Which makes sense, considering his buff beauty, perfect ass and a basket filled to the brim. Done it for all the big names. Billboards along Sunset. Even a fair amount of catwalking. Which I’ve seen, thanks to a friend of mine who always has tickets. 

Oh, that wasn’t when I first saw Dylan. It was as I was looking at my condo and wondering about offering a bid. The real estate agent was letting me wander about to think it over...as he called three other potential buyers, I’m sure. 

I was on the boardwalk looking out over the Pacific and had almost talked myself out of it. The price was hefty. So I’d turned to go inside with the bad news when Dylan came roaring past at probably forty miles an hour and yelled, “Watch it, asshole!” 

At me. 

I jolted and caught a look at him as he roared on down the pavement, being a complete dick to everyone in his way. And revealing what was, as already mentioned, the world’s most perfect ass under a pair of white onion-skin shorts over white athletic boxer-briefs. Giving his board another kick while flexing his amazing back and showing off his perfect legs...

And I fell in lust, right then and there.

Questionable considerations...

I have finally realized that the world will not stop its headlong dash into catastrophe until two men die -- Felon47 and Putin. If they leave this mortal coil, soon, we might have a chance to avert disaster. But I don't see that happening, and nothing I have done or screamed about has made one damned bit of difference, so far.

I'll continue to support Ukraine as best I can, and keep up on the news, but the majority of my time will be better used learning to to promote the books I've published...and finish writing the books I want to write.

I only have a half-dozen in the works.  Darian's Point. Dair's Window. Blood Angel (parts 4-7). And the fact is, I may not have that many years left in which to do it.

I'm not making resolutions. I know I'll slip back into my old habits, now and then, but for now I have to move forward and let the world handle itself. No one's willing to rein in two of the worst humans to exist and there's nothing I can do to change that...believe me, I've tried with my reps and other Democrats.

So like ending contact with an addict who is not interested in addressing their disease, you just have to let go and back away. I've done that a couple times, before, and it's hard...but it saved me. You cannot help someone who does not want to be helped; they will only drag you down with them.

Life's roughest lesson.

Plans changed.

His cancer is terminal. Months to live. Chemo might extend that a little bit, but it's up to him if he wants to. He'll need to be in better shape than he currently is, for that, so it may not be a real option.

Hospice or home care are next aspects to consider. So much to decide and prepare for...and once again it looks like my sister and I will pay for the funeral, like we did for our mother. Maybe cremation and then internment of his ashes next to her grave.

I'm heading back to San Antonio on Wednesday. Used up the last of my points for a one-way plane trip and 3 nights of a hotel. No car. I think I'll stick to Uber.

After that, we'll do what needs to be done. If I return through Austin, I have points enough left on Jet Blue, if I'm careful...so we'll see.

As noted, it wasn't an unexpected prognosis. He looked bad and the fact they'd already wondered about the cancer's spread indicated this. Still the family is shook up.

Me? I'm ten years older than him so it seems wrong. But then I never smoked. Never drank much. Never thought about it for health matters; just...didn't...

Anyway, this means no writing, for now. Life has decided to toss a blanket over Dair's Window...because all I want to do is write or draw something vicious, erotic, and violent...which will be difficult to work up, at the moment.

But we'll see what happens at 2am in a hospital room.

Shifts ahead...

I returned home, last night, not so much because I had things to do here but because I had reached the limit of the medications I'd brought with me. I allowed for 12 days, thinking I was staying 10. I wound up at 2 weeks, so skipped two complete doses.

Of course, the pathology reports came in today, after I was home. My youngest brother has cancer of the bladder and prostate. May also have some in his bones and sinus area; they're still checking on those areas. 

I'll need to go back down once we have a more complete diagnosis in place. Decide what to do next. Chemo? Surgery? Hospice? No telling.

This outcome was not unexpected. When I saw him in the hospital after arriving in San Antonio, he looked like he was completely wasted away. Skin and bones personified. Shook me up, so as I was heading to check into my hotel had a wreck from not paying attention.

Totally my fault, which is turning into another headache because the rental company is being stupid about it, as is the woman I hit. I was only going 5-7 MPH when I hit her so the damage is minimal and no one was hurt, but it's still an embarrassment...and I do not need more chaos added to this mess. Which is why I didn't tell anyone in the family.

What'll make this hard is, my brother can be difficult to deal with, at times. A niece said he was on the spectrum, just undiagnosed, and that makes sense. He's extremely good at some things and unable to handle even the simplest tasks in others. He's smoked for 50 years. Used to drink but not anymore; can't afford it. He hasn't been to a doctor for a checkup in decades...so this is going to be real fun.

I know death comes to us all, but sometimes it is a mean motherfucker.