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Coming to Gay Authors next weekend...

A revised and expanded version of a flash piece I posted years ago in response to a weekly prompt.

Spoiler

“Man, that was in sane! I love these late summer storms. Best surfing in New Jersey!” I shouted out, collapsing onto the wet sand with water lapping at my feet. Rolling over on my stomach, I stared at my cousin. “You ready to go in?”

“Hell, yeah! Wind and waves I can deal with, lightning scares the crap out of me.” This was new. Dante was a couple of inches shorter than I but outweighed me by about twenty pounds. My fireplug of a cousin often crowed about his fearlessness; I had never heard him admit he was scared.

“Pussy!”

“Yeah, well. I’m not the one who spreads his legs for other guys. I’d say you’re more pussy than I am.” Laughing, he grabbed his board and ran towards the house.

We had spent Labor Day Weekend with the Martellini family at our grandfather’s beach house on the Jersey Shore. Dante and I remained behind when the others left Tuesday morning. Days we spent riding waves, nights we partied at the bars lining the boardwalk. Unfortunately, we would miss the Friday night crowds today. Grandpa had summoned us. When Don Vittorio Martellini invited you to lunch, you showed up. And you did so on time. Maybe Dante and I could hit a club in Chelsea or Brooklyn for happy hour after we were done.

 

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  • 5 months later...

Coming soon, the second installment in the Chelsea Tales series. in PRIME, we explored Tony opening is club. In WOOF, we follow Colt as he works on developing a gym.

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Spoiler

I finished wiping the sweat off my face, opened my eyes, and looked at the guy asking for a spot. “Yeah, give me a minute.” I replaced the two forty-five pound dumbbells I’d been doing alternating curls with on the rack against the gym’s mirrored wall. Reaching for the disinfectant spray bottle, I spritzed the seat and back of the bench.

“Where do you want me?” I tried to keep my tone casual. The guy was borderline scary. He had to be around six and a half feet, had hair curling over his muscle-shirt neckline, and I was not about to venture a guess on his weight. His damn biceps were nearly the size of my thighs.

“One arm shoulder press to exhaustion.” He pointed at the sixty-five pounder on the floor between his legs. The bright smile he flashed me looked incongruous, shining through the dark, heavy beard. It did somewhat soften his brutish appearance.

“You got it.” Standing behind him, I readied myself to help. Considering the size of his lats, shoulders, and guns, I did not think I would have to step in. At some point, I lost count of his reps.

After a while, he panted with effort and switched the iron to his left hand again. “One more set. I can tell I’m near the end.” He wiped his forehead with his free hand and flicked sweat drops to the floor. The concentration on his face as we locked eyes in the mirror was evident.

When his arm trembled and he appeared to run out of gas, I placed a hand on his triceps and helped him push. “Damn, man. You’re a beast!” I shook my head in disbelief. If I had tried the same exercise with the same weight, I would have been lucky to squeeze out a handful.

 

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2 hours ago, Daddydavek said:

Ya know, ya post, I'll read it.  I may complain if the chapters are too short though....

Right? He doesn't need to put out bait!

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