Jack Ladd

I didn’t open James’s text for at least another minute. Maybe two. I was busy being mesmerised. Mesmerised by the sight in front of me, growing smaller and smaller. Mesmerised by his muscled body, wrapped in a sweaty red t-shirt, and his powerful, beautiful legs pushing further and further along the towering-oak-lined pathway. I found him. Before he was a fantasy. He was fiction. When Adam had told me his secret, a part of me had thought it was too good to be true. I didn’t t

It was the third time that week I’d taken the long way home, and like the previous two evenings, it wasn’t a decision I’d made lightly. Walking home was never fun. I didn’t look forward to the end of the day. Each time the final bell pierced the silence of the classroom, I knew, in ten minutes, I’d be fair game, and when its shrill, metallic cry rang in my ears I knew that there’d no longer be anyone at least contractually obliged to protect me. All I could ever do was hang around unti

Adam didn’t go in to school the next day. Or the day after. But when he did, a chilly, autumn Wednesday, he brought a black eye, two broken ribs and one hell of a revelation with him. ‘Have you heard about Stanmore?’ ‘I can’t believe it.’ ‘What?’ ‘He’s a batty boy.’ ‘Fuck off!’ ‘Seriously.’ ‘Yeah, his dad beat the shit out of him for bumming some lad in their house.’ ‘He’s telling people he’s bi.’ ‘What’s the difference?’ ‘I dare you to say

They say time stands still during important moments in our lives. First kisses. First loves. Births. Deaths. And you’ll always remember what you were doing when you heard about so and so, or where you were when this or that happened. But time doesn’t stand still. It can’t. The universe doesn’t work that way, at least not for us. What happens is, in these moments, our concept of beginning, middle and end goes completely out the metaphorical window because how long doesn’t matter. A

It hadn’t been my intention to stay, even when I’d knocked on Adam’s door to find him standing like my dreams wrapped in muscle. Sleepovers weren’t my style. Leaving cut out the bullshit that came after whoever I was with was done. The fake affection. The forced interest. The meaningless questions. They didn’t care. They didn’t really give a toss about my life. I was a distraction to them. A plaything out of who knows how many other toys they could have picked from a digital shelf. Tha

I got my answer in fifteen seconds. One: he smiled. Two: he squeezed my arse. Three: he took my hand. Four: I followed. Five, six, seven: he led me out of his bedroom. Eight, nine, ten: down the hallway. Eleven: he faced me. Twelve: he winked. Thirteen: he reached behind and grabbed the door knob. Fourteen: click. Fifteen. ‘If your parents could see you now,’ I said. ‘Don't even,’ he said, turning the dimmer switch and filling the room with a faint glow. The room wa

We all have those moments. Moments we wish lasted longer. What happened next, on Adam’s bed is one of them: the split-second moment before his hot tongue sent ripples of ecstasy through my body. It was the look in his eyes. The soft curve of his smile. The gentle dip in room volume as he took a breath and held it. He was no longer just one half of a horny duo. He was that, certainly, but he was more. He was a social anomaly too. Accepted without judgement. He wasn’t just Adam, rug

Boys who like boys like boys who like boys. Sounds simple, right? Think about them for a moment. Eighteen-year-old lads like Adam and myself. Full of energy. Ever-growing creatures of mystery, muscle and testosterone. Going through changes, both mental and physical. Emerging into manhood is normal. It’s natural. Like they’ve done since childhood they’ll question it. What, why, how do we understand these changes in our hair-sprouting, sweaty bodies? We do what everyone must do

Thanks RolandQ! Glad to hear you'll be staying tuned. Next week I'll be uploading my third part so I'll be interested in how you think character progression is coming along. Re: autobiography and fantasy, the line definitely isn't always black and white with Oscar v. Jack. Personally, I have indeed experienced everything Oscar has, but where and how might differ to real life so I can create a more linear and succinct storyline. You also might have to forgive any errors or obvious flaws in my work as I’m writing "Oscar" alongside my series titled "Oscar Down Under". "Oscar" is more of a collection of short stories to give readers a taste of what’s to come when I publish my novellas hopefully sometime next year. Thanks again for taking the time to read and review. It’s wonderful to be a part of a community like this!

Lying on Adam’s bed, his gloopy, salty fingers sliding out of my mouth as hundreds of millions of his finest swimmers plummeted to the depths of my stomach, wasn’t the last time I’d feel the sharp prickle of fear over my body after taking a load. But, it’s up there with the scariest. Straightening himself upright his face became partially hidden in darkness. His body tensed. The room went silent. Something primal inside of me jolted awake. Uh oh. ‘What the fuck are you doing,

I was the first gay kid at my school. The first people knew about. Where I’m from, word gets around quick. People talk: it’s human nature. When someone in my class caught me leaving a bowling alley toilet cubicle with another teenage boy on a Sunday evening, red-faced and with a bulge down my jean leg, even if we’d only been snorting coke the rumours would have spread like wildfire. And boy did they burn. Luckily for the other kid, he went to a different school. A

Oscar is the story of an eighteen-year-old English boy who is done. Done with society, done with pretending to be someone he isn't, and most importantly, done with being alone. But how far will he go to get what he wants? And at what cost?