Sean J Halford

8 February So I looked at some gay porn. Always kinda wanted to and it wasn’t so bad. Some of the dudes are really into it and look like they’re having fun. Horny is just horny, right? Not sure why I had to quickly load some straight porn afterwards to see if it still got my rocks off. Know a mate from Durban who told me he was so sure he was straight he’d regularly watch dudes get it on to convince himself he didn’t like dick. Yeah right, yeeeeah right. Especially since he g

Update: I have taken the liberty of adding a chapter note to all Chris's diary entries for those who would see it as disrupting the narrative, so they can skip ahead. I hope that will be a good compromise between authorial artistic sensibility and reader's enjoyment.

You’re welcome. I’ve also just posted the music referenced in Chapter 14 (the Rachmaninoff etude) if you’re interested.

I am so sorry to hear of your loss, and very moved by his brother’s reaction to the trauma. I’m glad something hopeful is coming out of this tragedy.

White lions are not albinos-- the colour is due to a genetic mutation. It fortunately doesn't seem to pose them any risk in the wild. They are very rare, but endemic to the northeastern part of South Africa and were in fact considered extinct until the mid-2000s. Jonathan's story is very loosely based about an actual reintroduction project that took place between 1992-2004 but his mini-story arc including the zoo escape is entirely my own invention … you’ll have to see what happens!

School returned with a steady torrent of work. The mid-year exams crept closer and closer. Swimming would be soon culminating in the junior provincial gala. Rugby season was in full swing. The accident had set me back with my piano practice as well; I had a Scriabin prelude to master quickly, to say nothing of the Ravel pavane I'd not even opened. Our second official date was a bright cool Saturday afternoon. We drove down the peninsula, had burgers at a craft brewery and went for a walk on

The Cape Town Herald MORNING EDITION May 3rd, 200– NATIONAL —page 6 Jonathan doing well at Kitty Boot Camp POLOKWANE—Staff at the Predator Reintroduction Project (PRP) in northern Limpopo Province say that Jonathan the white lion—famed for escaping from a Cape zoo last year—looks set to be “a good candidate” for introduction into the wild. Since arriving at the Fitzpatrick Nature Reserve, where the project is based, he has gained weight after a spell of apparent depression at

Hey, don't underestimate the power of an emotional support bro-job... *runs and hides in corner*

Thank you so much! I've tightened up a few things, tied up some loose ends and delved a bit deeper where readers wanted more, so I'm hoping you'll enjoy this "directors cut" version

I recovered quickly. After a few days at my place Chris dragged me into The Thing and drove me to his house. ‘Into your Speedo,’ he said as we walked into his room. ‘We’re going to the pool. I brought your kit.’ ‘Why? It’s freezing out.’ ‘We have solar heating, bru.' 'I don't think I should be getting into a pool any time soon.' 'It will be good for you to move your body a bit, just a little. If you’re good, you get a reward.’ I cocked my head to the side. ‘Wha

I preferred the green Slush Puppies myself, but there's something to be said for brilliant blue fake raspberry ester for cementing memories of one's youth. Even if it comes paired with a blinding headache...

You'll have to wait and see, but I'm glad someone picked up something...😇

Under the bus indeed, ha! As you shall see, there's hopefully a bit of redemption for Devon MacLeod ahead... he's not perfect but I hope he came across as acting more out of fear and ignorance than actual malice.

Colours pulsed. My ears rang. I tried to get up but everything went into spasm. The world willed itself into existence in spite of me. ‘There now, Mr MacLeod, take it easy.' The voice was officious, but friendly. I squinted and made out a nurse standing next to me. ‘What happened?’ I managed, my mouth dry. 'Why am I in hospital?' ‘It's nothing too serious,' she said, silencing an alarm on the monitor. 'You did give your loved ones a big fright, but you're going to be okay.

The Easter weekend was almost upon us. The traditional rugby match between St Francis our ancient rivals, St Dominic’s, fell on Maundy Thursday. School was to finish early and the matches would commence at noon, with the First Team kicking off at three. I was more interested in the Second XV as my man would be playing. St Frank’s hadn’t won the game in over five years and the Wolves were baying for blood. I couldn’t wait for the holiday that followed. For two weeks there would be no school

Ah, this means a lot—one of my chief aims with this story was for Cal and Chris to develop as equals despite the apparent power dynamics of jock/nerd and have/have-not. I find gay fiction (especially erotica) has suffered too much from one party being portrayed as stereotypocally dominant/top/masculine and the other the inverse... Yes, I wrote Chris as the handsome sporty boy next door and Cal as the introverted geek, but with the express purpose of both shedding some of that skin and growing more complex as they learn from each other.

‘It’s not like you’re going to meet the Queen,’ said Bella as we sat down on a bench in the quad outside the hall. ‘You just need a nice shirt and jeans. And make sure you shave your five o’clock shadow. By the way, what does your dad know?’ ‘He thinks we’re going to the movies, which is technically true.’ ‘You’re going to have to tell him at some stage, my friend.’ ‘What if he freaks out and I can’t see Chris any more?’ ‘Your dad is old school but I don’t think he’s a bigot.

Thank you; I appreciate this.

Thank you for your comments and opinions. I feel duty-bound to reply given that you took of your time to do so; I always appreciate feedback from readers whether positive or negative. I have not included these paratexts lightly or without careful thought. The newspaper articles were always, and always will be, part of the larger story, in all versions, and appear at set points throughout. This is for various reasons, notably structural and plot-related but I don't want to let the cat (or lion as it were) out of the bag for now. It may make more sense if you read back and recall what Call’s mother did for a living. Perhaps I've read and studied too much experimental fiction but I've never had an issue with multiple points of view or paratexts, provided these are clearly marked and voiced (things that particularly influenced me were the multiple narrators in Virginia Woolf's The Waves, the nameless first-person plural narration of Jeffrey Eugenides's The Virgin Suicides, the hyperlinks to hidden chapters in Stephen Hall's The Raw Shark Texts, the footnotes of David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest and the layer-cake of frame narratives that set up Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness). I have to add that alternating first person narrators has a well-established tradition in both standard literary and romantic fiction. In The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald devotes an entire chapter of a very short novel to a different narrator (Jordan Baker) to establish Daisy's backstory, so that Nick the main narrator doesn't come off as unrealistically omniscient. Barbara Kingsolver's The Poisonwood Bible and Jodi Picoult's My Sister's Keeper juggle several first-person narrators. It is the de facto standard for most of Sierra Riley's gay erotica, though, as far as high school gay romance goes, the finest example I've seen is in Lauren Shippen's gorgeously textured The Infinite Noise, told from both boys' point of view. I am by no means a literary master but I did study literature formally, and it is hard to outrun influences, especially with a first novel. Chris’s diary entries are certainly more stream-of-consciousness and not so essential to the story, but part of my reason for writing them was to avoid massive info dumps in the main narrative which could make dialogue stilted and to create some foreshadowing. I wanted to give readers a window into his thoughts. (And yes, I just wanted to get to know this character a bit better myself; authors do get attached to their creations and yes it’s not always a good thing.) Having spent many hours considering the opinions of a professional editor and a professor of literature on all these very matters—they were kind enough to offer me detailed guidance—the paratexts were given a thumbs up, but I think it also comes down to taste. As mentioned in the story description, I consider this my “director’s cut” and am therefore offering it to the folks at GA for free. I am, however, happy to send you a free PDF or epub without the “extras”, once I’ve completed this anniversary edition project. Hopefully you can ignore the paratexts and still enjoy the story, they are at least clearly marked and occur in different fonts. Thank you for your support and input. Sean

‘Maybe I should’ve gotten suspicious when Dad started going away on all these “business trips”,’ said Chris as we sat in my bedroom later that night. He took a loud slurp of his hot chocolate and tickled Einstein under the chin. Einstein responded by purring at full blast. ‘A kid at high school shouldn’t have to be suspicious of their father,’ I offered. ‘How were you supposed to know?’ He shrugged. ‘We were so happy, bru. I was enjoying Matric. I was a prefect and had made the

Happy to change the font if that helps. And don't worry, what happened will be revealed. But first, I must torture my readers. ;)

(Author's note: most of Chris's diary entries were cut from the Kindle version, but I have decided to resurrect them after several readers requested their return.)

19 December Dear Fuckin' Diary I guess I better start using this laptop Mom got me. Who would think I end up writing a diary on it? Well, the therapist said it would be good for me to keep a journal, even if that was months ago. It's now day 3 after moving to Cape Town and we're sitting in this huge house. I mean it's nice but it's not going to feel like home. Ever. I know Cape Town is where Mom grew up, but... Maybe she’s feeling guilty about the whole divorce and moving awa

Why thank you. It's a trick I learned from reading Joan Didion back at university—a professor pointed out how she often starts one of her essays with a seemingly random phrase and then repeats it at the end subtly altered. (Yes, writers steal each other's techniques shamelessly I'm afraid—often without realising it—glad the effect worked!)

PART TWO Of Strangers and Sojourners It had been two weeks since the world had changed forever, and yet, somehow, not ended. School was agony. I learned quickly what "stolen moments" meant. At break times we nipped into the pine forest behind the cricket fields to hold hands. We cast silent glances across desks and hallways. We tried to make out behind the gym once, then got spooked as we heard footsteps. Even in the relative safety of our houses, we couldn't gather up the courage