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June Classic Author Excerpt: Everybody's Wounded by Duncan Ryder



Did you catch Monday's feature with the ad for this month's Classic Author feature, Everybody's Wounded by Duncan Ryder? I have to say, I really liked the model for that one! What did you think? ;) If that didn't entice you to read the story, maybe this excerpt will! 



The form was so beautiful I could only stare at it. It was some minutes before I noticed the model’s face, which was in profile. His expression was hard to read. It could have been anguish. It could also have been enormous joy. I studied it, feeling the force of the emotion, until --.

“Fuck,” I said softly. “That’s you,”

“Yeah,” said Josh, and there was a strained, tight harshness in his voice. “Let’s just say it’s a very much idealized me. What can I say? The guy who painted said I was his muse.”

I looked at him in surprise.

“Don’t go there, Scott,” he said, and there was real pain in his voice. “He’s been gone a long time. Toronto, Paris, New York, San Fran – fuck, I don’t even know any more. I don’t want to know. This --,” he waved his hand at the painting, “This was more important to him than anything. Than us. Than me. Obviously.”

“This must really freak out the guys you bring home,” I said, still studying the painting.

Josh didn’t say anything for a while.

“I don’t bring guys home,” he said finally. “In over two years, you’re the first person I’ve invited up. I don’t even invite my parents here.”

He laughed. “How could I, with this hanging on the wall? It’s the only thing Graham left behind, and it’s not like I can stick it in the closet when guests pop over. He painted it in here. It’s too big to go out the door. I’m going to have to get a gallery to come in and unmount it. I probably should have done it already – but I just can’t seem to bring myself to have it taken down.”


We talked until well after midnight, when Josh said we really should go to bed. I felt pretty much as I had since Thursday: tired, exhausted even, but not sleepy. In fact I’d hardly slept at all the last four nights. Every time I closed my eyes I saw David, heard his final goodbye, felt his mouth moving down over my body, remembered how I’d stopped him from that final intimate act. I didn’t cry about it. I’d done that, when David was actually leaving me. But I couldn’t seem to let go of it either.

“There’s only one bed, Big Guy,” said Josh. “But I promise to be good.”


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Gary L

Posted (edited)

Thank you Cia. I’ve spent the holiday (St John the Baptist Day in Spain) locked inside hiding from a heatwave and awful hot wind.  This claustrophobic  setting here seems perfect for reading this beautiful story with so much claustrophobic feeling needing to escape and see the light.  
this person is one great writer.  

Edited by Gary L
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