Cris Kane
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Everything posted by Cris Kane
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The Golden Gate Bridge was socked in by fog again today and the temperature hadn't risen above the fifties since Marc and Zak had arrived in the city, but Zak refused to bow to the weather gods. He was on vacation, dammit, and he was going to dress like it. After all, it was his birthday. Which explains why, on a day when nearly everyone else in San Francisco was bundled up, Zak was seated on the patio of this restaurant in a bright red tank top, floral shorts and leather sandals. He leaned b
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Mr. Lee had become adept at guessing what his customers wanted before they asked for it, but the man who had just stepped through the front door of his shop was a puzzler. He cut an imposing figure: a muscular six-two, arms crossed, hands tucked under rock-solid biceps. From Mr. Lee's vantage point, the man was a study in blackness, with deep ebony skin, a shaved head, impenetrably dark sunglasses, matching black polo shirt (with no logo of any sort to break up the uniformity), sharply crease
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Mike had become very worried. It had been two weeks since his ex-co-worker David had made his presence known anywhere on social media. What made this so worrisome was that social media was the only place that David actually WAS social. Extremely shy and lacking in self-confidence in person, David would only dare to offer his opinions online, whether griping on Facebook about the casting of the latest comic-book movie or posting on gamer message boards the latest video-game cheat codes he had fig
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A mysterious shop in San Francisco's Chinatown draws customers who wish to transform their lives.
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Mr. Lee watched with amusement through the front window of his shop. How many customers had he seen over the years exhibiting exactly the same behavior? First, there was the double-checking of the address. Mr. Lee's shop was on the fringes of Chinatown in San Francisco. Mr. Lee should have relocated somewhere nearer the Castro years ago if he'd been thinking about his primary clientele. But money had never been a major concern for Mr. Lee and, by the time he seriously considered a move, real-
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"21-Year-Old Scotch" by Cris Kane
Cris Kane replied to Cris Kane's topic in Stories Discussion Forum
Not sure. Trying to motivate myself to write a big project. -
Just wanted to promote my story, now that all of the chapters have been posted. I appreciate all the positive feedback I've received so far. This is the first time I've posted a story on this site, after posting quite a few at gayspiralstories.com.
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From chapter 3: "The proprietor's actual last name was Gogola or Galatas or something similarly Greek, but he had been rechristened by his collegiate customers in honor of the Galaga arcade game which was currently bleeping and blooping and pa-kowing as always alongside Scott's favorite pinball game."
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Gradually, faint sounds reached Scott, as if a portable radio was playing a mile away and being flitered through a mixture of caramel and nougat that filled the space between his ears. What at first seemed like the yipping of a distant dog gradually resolved itself into distinguishable syllables, then grew louder and became actual words. "Sir, are you okay?", someone asked. "Scott, can you hear me?" Echoing far in the background, Scott could detect voices singing over a driving beat. He'd
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It began to sprinkle before Scott was a third of the way to his destination, but he didn't pick up his pace. In his current frame of mind, the raindrops on his face and body felt refreshing, even cleansing. Even when it turned into a downpour, Scott continued his leisurely stroll, unconcerned with how wet he got. He didn't fear the storm clouds any more. When he finally reached the entrance of the Rusty Nail, Scott and his wallet were pleased to learn that there was no cover charge on Sundays
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"One...dollar...and...eighty...five...cents...please," said the recorded female voice. "Please...deposit...one...dollar...and...eighty...five...cents...for...the...first...three...minutes." Scott hung up the phone, not having any coins on him. He picked up the receiver and dialed again, this time starting with his finger in the "zero" hole. He couldn't even guess how long it had been since he had made a collect phone call, or used a rotary dial, or even been inside a phone booth. He knew for
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If Scott had learned one important lesson from this trip into the past, it would be "Never eat a huge breakfast while outing yourself to your future wife while the dregs of a random mixture of various types of alcohol are still swirling like a cauldron in your belly." He might have to get that needlepointed on a throw pillow. Scott felt like he had swallowed a bowling ball whole. Weighed down by his breakfast which had turned out to be unexpectedly heavy in more ways than one, Scott had lost
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Scott lay half-awake, his thoughts muddled, his head feeling as if it were stuffed with raw cookie dough. The bed felt incredibly stiff, and so did Scott. Not only was his back killing him, but he had morning wood for the first time in recent memory. He attributed the latter to the rare presence of Amanda's arm draped across his shirtless chest, although it might also have something to do with that long convoluted dream where has was a college student again. Most of the details were fuzzy to him
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Compared to what Scott witnessed as he stepped into Jared's house, the Rusty Nail seemed as tame as a middle-school sock hop. The foyer was dark except for two spotlights trained on two bowls, one full of Skittles, the other stocked with condoms in bright colors identical to the hard-shell candies. Phillipe grabbed a fistful of each and gestured for Scott to do the same. Scott took a few Skittles and popped them into this mouth, then followed Phillipe into the darkened living room. Black ligh
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As he rang the doorbell of Amanda's sorority house, Scott realized he hadn't scrubbed off the hand stamp from the Rusty Nail. He quickly stuffed his hand into his pocket to hide the incriminating evidence, vowing to duck into the bathroom and rub it away as soon as possible. He stood tall and attempted to appear relaxed, having practiced multiple versions of what he would say on the walk over. Lights flicked on in the entryway and Scott heard several latches being unlocked. As the door swung
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Inside the confines of the Rusty Nail, it had been easy for Scott to dismiss what was happening as a hallucination, despite how genuine it felt. After all, he was inside a club where he'd never been before, surrounded by complete strangers. He had no real memories to compare it to. Now that he was outside, he recognized everything -- and it was exactly as it had been 29 years earlier. Billboards advertising cigarettes loomed overhead, as did one of Max Headroom promoting new Coke. Boxy '80s c
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As Scott stepped out of the men's room, the opening notes of David Bowie's "Let's Dance" blared from the sound system. Scott was eager to follow Bowie's advice. He had always been a wallflower, too afraid that he would look silly or undignified if he dropped his inhibitions and let loose on the dance floor. He didn't feel so scared tonight, but as he scoped out the crowd for likely dance partners, he realized a bit of liquid courage couldn't hurt. Scott squeezed his way back to the bar, growi
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The boy through the window.
Cris Kane commented on MythOfHappiness's story chapter in The boy through the window.
Very sweet. I look forward to reading more of your work. -
On a slow Tuesday evening, a nervous-looking man in a white Oxford shirt and relaxed-fit jeans stepped tentatively into the Rusty Nail. He was simultaneously relieved and disappointed that the place was so unpopulated. Relieved, because it reduced the chances that he would be recognized, although the odds of anyone he knew back home being in this place were slim-to-nonexistent to begin with -- and anyone he did recognize would likely have just as much trouble explaining their presence there as h
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Visiting the town where he went to college, a closeted man enters a gay bar on his 50th birthday and is given a special drink with life-changing properties.
