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Sean J Halford

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About Sean J Halford

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    Cape Town, South Africa
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    pretty much a lot...

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  1. Sean J Halford

    Chapter 1

    Ah yes, the dreaded balancing of one's vocation and avocation. It's hard. Thank you for your confidence in me. I'll try my best not to disappoint you.
  2. Sean J Halford

    Chapter 7

    Aaaah right! You're correct, no, Liam hasn't been hurting Graeme, he just got injured accidentally. I removed the offending sentence. Sorry about that and thanks for pointing it out.
  3. "Dude! It's not what you..." Liam's footsteps thudded down the stairs. "Jesus, Graeme." I reached out towards my friend's face. He winced, but a strand of his congealing blood was already stuck to my fingers, rendered blue in the half-light. "I'm not a—." "A what?" "You know, a—" I put my hand on my forehead. He stared at me. "I didn't say you were, but what the hell have you two been doing behind my back?" Graeme stared at the floor. "I'm sorry." "Fuck that. Has he been hurting you?" "No! In fact Lee has been... he just got a fright." "You're calling him Lee now?" Graeme's eyes were wet. "Please don't tell." "Who the hell am I going to tell, dude? And why would I?" "You don't think it's disgusting?" I screwed my eyes shut. "What I think is disgusting is that nobody bothers telling me anything anymore. Not my mom. Not my dad. Not my best fucking friend that—wait, you honestly think I'd judge you?" "But it's abnormal. Like, it says in the Bible—" I curled my mouth into a sneer. "What the fuck do you know about the Bible?" Graeme's eyes seared mine with a startled gaze. "That's not nice, bru. My people gave you the Bible." "Yeah, and you moan constantly your people cut the top of your dick off without your permission. And now I just insulted your religion twice. I suppose I should take a flight to Nuremberg and have them shoot me at dawn." Graeme wiped his nose. "Three times now, in fact," he said, his voice bleeding into the summer dank. "Cut the drama, you moron. This isn't about you," "Yeah, nothing's about me anymore." "I wanted to tell you, but you've had your own shit, and this—this just sort of happened." "Him forcing himself on you? Taking advantage of you?" "He likes me." "And? You like him?" Graeme paused. "Maybe. I don't know. I mean I like him as a person. Maybe I got a hard-on, but I think I still prefer tits." I barked out a laugh. "I actually believe you. But why did you let him?" "He's, I dunno, unsure. About these things. It felt nice to be... to be wanted. Or useful." I folded my arms. "You mean used." "You're so negative about everything. He trusted me. Told me things he's never told anyone." "So, the jock is actually the faggot here." "Didn't think you'd ever use such a word, Mr I'm-So-Open-Minded-The-Nineties-Are-Too-Ancient-For-Me." My groan was almost subsonic. "Sorry." I flopped onto the bed next to my friend. "I don't know what's going on any more," I said, listing my body from side to side. Graeme reached a wiry arm out to my shoulder, patting it the way my dad would mop up our childhood grazes with cotton swabs. "I'm still here, dude," he said. "And you look like you've got war paint on right now." "Huh?" "You've smeared my blood all over your forehead." "Oh. Crap." "Don't let me give you AIDS now," he said with a leer. "You're an asshole. You know I'd use your toothbrush." "Yeah, and then I'd get rabies from you, because I don't think you're fully human." I elbowed him and he started laughing. It wasn't catching. "Hey, bru, lighten up." I hoped he couldn't see the tears in my eyes. I suppressed the sob that was threatening to climb out my throat with a deep breath. "You're basically my brother," I said. "Can I go kill Liam now?" "Could you please stop the lame-ass superhero routine right now? I don't need you to save me." "Can I kill him tomorrow then?" "No." I curled up the side of my lip. "At least maim him slightly?" Graeme sighed. "Okay, but only if my guilt trip doesn't work." "He doesn't deserve you." "Not now he doesn't." "Was his dick big, at least?" I ventured. "Fuck you," he snapped. "You've seen it." "I meant, you know, hard." "Brody, I need you to shut up now." "I'm sorry." He patted my shoulder again and then got up. "I know you are. I just want to wash my face and go home now. Lee...Liam... can stew in it." The sounds of the party thudded and rumbled underneath the wooden floor. "Let's talk about it in the morning," he said against the noise. I nodded. But I should have been shaking my head. I knew we wouldn't be talking about it tomorrow at all.
  4. Sean J Halford


    Glad you liked it! I think I may expand it into a novel...
  5. Sean J Halford


    Haha, I'm not sure even I know what happened. What did you think happened?
  6. Sean J Halford


    Thanks was a little diversion to get rid of some writer's block. I was challenged to write erotica without a single expletive and keep it oblique. Never underestimate the importance of negative space, as it were, I guess...
  7. Sean J Halford


    As Alfred Hitchcock said, "Torture the audience as much as possible". 😂😂 Thanks for reading.
  8. Sean J Halford


    You like me when I'm on you without warning. You like me raw, rough, unbidden. You like me straight after I’ve come back from a run, from a game, from a day in the fields, the sweat still streaming down my face, so that when my skin touches yours there is that second where our bodies are in free-fall, sliding, slowing, stiffening, sticking together. You like me folding my arms around you. I like that too. But lately you don’t let me explore the way I like to, tracing the veins trailing down your neck down to the crevasse where your throat plunges into your chest. You don’t let me plough my thumbs across your curves into the little empty pool of your navel, halting there as my fingers reach down without thinking to read the parts of you I cannot see. No. You curl your fingers into my palms so fiercely your nails leave marks for days. My hands are pushed to your sides, all I can do is hold, and hold I do, because even as you push yourself against me I feel something pulling you away. I cannot caress. I cannot touch. I cannot stroke or play or cuddle. Even when I lean in to kiss, you only let me brush against your cheek, the rasp of my stubble marking you like a stain as your skin flushes. All you want is the rhythm, the rhythm, the awful rocking rhythm, it’s an infernal gallop to a place that’s at once hell and heaven and no-one knows who is the horse or the rider. It’s then when I sense her on you. Sometimes its a phantom scent of the strangest of things: ink and chalk; a teacher, did you say? But you’re so clever, you’ve got me; even as the thought begins to me paralyse you’ve guided me into that space where I might as well never feel anything ever again. Harder, you say. Faster, you cry. Don’t let up. Don’t stop. I don’t want it like this, but I want you more, so I do what you say. I close my eyes and imagine it’s slower, and softer, and still, so still, like the very first time, all those years ago... but now I have to latch on for dear life onto this thing we’ve become, this thing that’s bigger and uglier and can break apart into so many pieces at any moment. It’s then when I find my hands travelling up again, up, up, up, until they’re again around your neck, and I know I could squeeze right now and all this rush would come to an end... there, just as the horror starts to gnaw at me you’re crying do it, do it, do it, and I know there’s no point but to yield to the rush because you’re already gone, arching and screaming and shuddering as my knees give in and I slump into a pool of sweat and drool on the damp cement floor, and then—and only then—am I the way you love me.
  9. Sean J Halford

    Chapter 6

    I'm as interested as you are lol as I have no idea where it's going to go! But that's part of the joy (and terror) of writing... very chuffed though that people seem to be enjoying things!
  10. Sean J Halford

    Chapter 5

    Thank you, I'm glad you like it. I was worried my style has been a bit more experimental with this story—I've been trying to achieve a balance between stream-of-consciousness and deep point of view, which may seem two conflicting approaches, but can dovetail very effectively in some of the YA novels I've loved. Stephen Chbosky does this really well in "The Perks of Being A Wallflower" for example. Put it this way: Jake has a lot of growing up to do, but his default narrative voice is set as an adult one who is looking back, if that makes sense.
  11. Sean J Halford

    Chapter 4

    Glad you were able to follow the breadcrumbs! It's always a balance to keep it subtle and not too obvious.
  12. Sean J Halford

    Chapter 6

    Thank you. Jake has a lot of growing up to do, as I'm sure you've surmised. Now to sort out plot threads before I write myself into a corner!
  13. Sean J Halford

    Chapter 6

    Probably two weeks *runs and hides* perhaps. I'll PM you the reason why.
  14. Sean J Halford

    Chapter 6

    Not too long, I promise. But I need to sort out a few plot threads. Besides, don't all good seasons of a TV series end on a cliffhanger to entice viewers to watch the next one? 😂
  15. Hey there... it's been a while :)

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