Jason MH

January 9, 2017 "G-Man?" he inquired, so full of surprised expectation. That voice ... It haunts my dreams and waking hours with equal fervor. I'd call him every single day just to hear him talk. Even if it means stagnating rather than advancing? I'm beginning to think so. "Yeah ... It's me, Nate. How are you?" I was breathless, wanting. Damn it! Get a grip, Greg. "I'm good." Hushed, a little breathy, anticipant yet nervous. "How are you?" "Hectic with the busines

December 23, 2016 "Dad!" I wrapped my arms around him and lifted him off the ground. Gavin stood about five eleven and weighed maybe a hundred seventy pounds, but in my excitement I manhandled him like a rag doll. "Put me down!" His deep, robust laughter rumbled through his body into mine as I held him against me. Chuckling, thrilled beyond words, I set him back on his feet without releasing him. I kissed his cheek, pressed my face against him, whispered, "I'm so glad to see you."

December 19, 2016 I found myself approaching Keigan's door a little before midnight. I knew he was home because he'd told me his schedule. Well, that and I saw his car in the lot. I'd pulled my shirt out of my slacks and started unbuttoning it before I reached his apartment. The cold air raised goosebumps on my exposed flesh. It felt good, that feeling, that sensation. My nipples, always hard, seemed to pebble into stone from the chill. Why are you doing this? It's a bad idea. You co

December 16, 2016 "Then he told you?" Uncle Farid asked as he blew out a cloud of smoke, the cigarette dangling from his thin lips. "Yeah." "And what did you think about it?" "Richard conducted psychological warfare on him just like he did with me. That means it's in your area of expertise, not mine." After that declaration, I waited. Mutely, in fact, watching him as he watched me. Eventually, looking as though I'd farted in church, he asked, "That's it? That's the sum total

November 25, 2016 Aunt Jan greeted me with a hug, a kiss to my cheek, another hug, stern silence, and the look: lips mashed together in a frown, eyes narrowed, forehead wrinkled, gaze unwaveringly formidable. Uh-oh. When she held me at arm's length and appraised me, her eyes boring into mine, the look of grim determination she started with slowly melted into loving sympathy. Cupping my cheek she whispered, "You look sad and tired, my darling." My mouth opened but I had no words.

November 21, 2016 I'm somebody's big spoon. I'm holding a man against me, my arms wrapped around him, his arms holding mine, my face nestled in his hair as I breathe his essence, no space between us anywhere from head to foot, legs intertwined and flesh pressed against flesh. It feels perfect. It feels necessary. It feels magical. This is what I want to wake up to every day for the rest of my life. When I floated up out of sleep with a warm muscular body nestled against me, I wanted to d

Chapter 7 Pulling onto Allen Camp Road, leaving Perenson's behind, I hardly touch the gas before braking at Main Street—FM 727 outside King's Hope proper and colloquially named Potisesse Path from the north end of town to the state highway. A smattering of vehicles traverses the north-south road, typical small-town fare such as pickups hauling trailers, pickups with hay in the beds, pickups with dogs in the beds, pickups with livestock feed in the bed, and pickups squeaking their rusty compl

April 26, 1999 "I'd like to talk with you. Before you start on your homework." Nate's forward progress ground to a halt, one foot in the hallway and one in the living room. He preferred to scurry into his room as quickly as possible when he got home from school. The less time he had to deal with Richard, the better his evening would be. The youngster had already started thinking of his father as Richard since the man was nowhere near being a father and wasn't even in the same univers

November 20, 2016 When I heard Nate pull into the driveway and the garage door start rising, utter panic overtook my hectic mood. "Fuck!" He's home early. Pushing boxes and suitcases into corners or back into the large closet, I made the room as presentable as it could be with most of my stuff packed and ready to move. Which of course meant it wasn't presentable at all. Anybody with two brain cells to rub together could look at it and arrive at the same question: Where are you going?

November 4, 2016 "I'm glad we had that session," I told Nate as I loaded dishes into the dishwasher. "I guess I'd been struggling with that for quite a while." Giving him a compassionate look I explained, "Like I said, I've never blamed you. But I can see how you would've felt guilty anyway. In your shoes I'd've felt the same." He smiled over his shoulder as he put leftovers in the fridge. "It's all good now, G-Man. Working through it with Uncle Farid has helped, and finally comi

October 28, 2016 "That Hippocratic hypocrite! I didn't think that vile inhuman bastard could sink lower than he already had, but again I find myself appalled by the depths of his calculating malevolence." Uncle Farid had shed his professional façade and settled into his uncle-protecting-his-family persona. Anger colored his caramel skin until it darkened like a burn as he pursed his thin lips and squinted his eyes, smashing his spent cigarette in the ashtray with violent abandon. Lea

@Sweetlion: Yes, unfortunately Richard's impact on Greg and Nate (and therefore the story) is more heinous and widespread than just the assault, although that was tragic enough. This interlude doesn't conclude Richard's manipulation of the boys. There are at least two more interludes, although the last one is the feel-good part of those flashbacks. (Try imagining a feel-good scene with Richard...) I say "at least two more interludes" because I removed one thinking it unnecessary, but now I'm vacillating between leaving it out and including it. I'll make a final decision about that when I reach the appropriate part of the story. (It's the interlude that focuses on Greg waking up in the hospital.) @Marty: Don't fret, my friend. Keigan didn't have a role to play in the last few chapters, but he's back in Chapter 19. His part in this tale is still as important as ever (being the third vertex of the romance triangle that has Greg at its center). And to titillate your interest in his character, he and Greg have a scene a few chapters after that in which they'll "see" more of each other than they have thus far. But let me muddy the waters of salacious expectation by pointing out that things in this tale don't always unfold according to ordinary expectations. Oh, I'm sure some will be happy to know Teresa's back in Chapter 18 and she's still a force of nature! Also in the next chapter: Greg tells Kyle what happened to him on his fifteenth birthday, so you'll finally hear his side of the story. It's not a pleasant tale, although I've worked hard to (hopefully) avoid sharing something offensive. And thank you for your comments! Although I can't respond to all of them (part and parcel of living and working on a ranch where livestock come before writing), I'm always thrilled and enlightened by what people have to say. The conjecture is entertaining and thought-provoking. Though I write for the sake of writing and never have written for an audience, I'm thankful this tale is already complete because sometimes you folks make guesses or voice opinions that easily could have swayed the direction of the story because it's stuff I never considered.

April 23, 1999 The Fiend had never before felt such rage, such utterly omnipresent and incredibly manifold anger, a profound wrath the likes of which he never believed himself capable. Emotions, he knew, were the folly of the weak, directionless chemical responses that, unless controlled, served no purpose save to befuddle and bedevil and bewitch, an infliction of the weak. But Richard was strong, thus he smothered his emotions, subjugated them, allowing only the useful to serve his purposes

October 28, 2016 While I sat at the butterfly machine, my chest burning with each rep, sweat climbing down my body and rappelling from my hair, Kyle stood to the side and slightly behind my position. Using that particular machine didn't require a spotter, so it left Basketball Boy loitering nearby waiting for me to finish. Working toward the end of the last set, the sensation of being watched settled over me. It's a gym, dude. You can't help but do a little people watching. Of co

October 17, 2016 "You look positively radiant," I cooed. Aunt Jan ducked her head and smiled. "Stop, you," she giggled. "Your cheeks have the nicest bit of color." "It's from the chill morning." "And the frisky breeze," I added. She smiled. Then I said, "Your hair's tousled into the epitome of style." Her hands jumped up but I caught them. "No, leave it like that, Aunt Jan. It looks wonderful on you." Trying her best for a disconsolate tone but sounding like someone bitin

September 24, 2016 The three of us laughed uncontrollably. We were watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail while passing around our second fatty of the night. Sitting on the couch, Kyle to my left with a bottle of water and Nate to my right, the two of us sipping beer, we passed the joint up and down the line without looking away from the television. Despite the cool weather outside, Basketball Boy had removed his shirt the moment I started rolling the first joint. "Don't wanna go h

You're absolutely right about the "doing good" thing, @Will Hawkins, because it technically connotes doing a good thing. I'm a bit of a language snob, so had I been party to this conversation I would've automatically corrected Greg's statement. And there are times later in the story where someone corrects someone else's abuse of proper grammar. But in the interest of realism, I have to cringe through writing things like that as part of dialog since people don't always use language correctly when talking. For that matter, these days they rarely use it correctly at all, whether in writing or in speech, but that's another diatribe for another day... Yes, I think you hit the nail on the head with your overview of Greg and Nate and The Fiend, though I see you've moved through a good deal of the story by now and you've had your understanding reinforced and expanded by future revelations. Thank you so much for reading and commenting! And please don't hesitate to point out any language mishaps you stumble across (or any other issues you might find). Hopefully, like this one, they'll be intentional, but I've found a few typos that got through my editorial filter, so I suspect there are other mistakes lurking about waiting to be discovered.

Chapter 5 Since I don't need more than the convenience supplies Perenson's can provide, The Food Bin won't receive my business this day. Sweets are all I need to the novel. I can't successfully finish a new book if I'm not powered by vices. That's true for me and I believe it's true for any artist. Sugary foods happen to be my weak spot. For the last pages of a tale, Twinkies, Hostess CupCakes, Mrs. Baird's Apple Pies—Or was the name changed to Fruity Apple Pies?—and a short list of othe

I'm always loath to give away anything until the appropriate time, though I considered adding this as a chapter note somewhere (and still might), but I should point out something: The fact that this story is told as a first-person narrative from Greg's point of view is no accident; in fact, therein rests the biggest piece of information that's been hidden in plain sight (an example of "the forest for the trees"). Everything you know and think you know has come from someone with a distorted view of the world and the people around him. To assume that Greg's impressions of the motivations and thoughts of others are given without flaw is to engage in incautious acceptance. Aside from what other characters say and do directly, everything else has been filtered through Greg's blind spot, including what they're thinking or feeling, or why they did what they did. Now that he's finally made inroads toward dismantling the blind spot, I think you'll see some things differently just as he will. Does that add more confusion to your conjecture? Honestly? I hope so! All of that said, you'll have an answer soon for Uncle Farid's question. With it you'll also learn some things that'll make you question some of what you've already assumed. And, of course, you'll also get more reasons to hate The Fiend/Richard--or maybe just reasons to be so angry with him that you'd like to hunt him down and kill him. Three more chapters and then the third interlude, after which the story gets as real as it can. I said in an early comment that the three main characters each had a need; I never said those needs would be satisfied, but neither did I say they wouldn't be. But there are big changes and problems coming up for each of them. Oh, and you still need to know what Richard did on Greg's fifteenth birthday as well as what ultimately happened to Richard. Those are mysteries for which more clues are forthcoming and that'll ultimately be solved once the story moves forward from the next interlude. That's precisely my response, @Marty. My characters are formed from a mold when I start a story, but after that they're free to develop and grow as circumstances and experiences warrant. More often than not, I'm surprised by what they become as a tale progresses. I like to think I give birth to them then run along behind them with a pen and paper recording their lives as they exist within the world I've written for them. One of my biggest pet peeves is when an author forces characters to do what they want them to do after the characters have already developed into people who'd do no such thing. As they respond to the story, as they say and do things, they become more than the author's creation. To then tell them "you have to do this" when it's obvious they'd rather go in a different direction makes the story unreadable IMHO. I start with some inspiration and start writing. If I know where I want the story to go (which I don't always) and the characters I have won't get me there, I go back and add more so we can arrive at the proper destination without feeling like it's all been a charade.

September 10, 2016 Simple white CK boxer briefs. A long-sleeved sea green fitted V-neck cotton shirt, snug across my chest and shoulders before tapering quickly into the waistband of my faded carpenter jeans that hung from my hips and hugged my ass. Thick brown socks and a pair of tan steel-toed work boots. A thigh-length brown leather jacket with a zipped-in Realtree camouflage hoodie. Hair lightly gelled and mussed for that just-out-of-bed vibe. I stood in the large walk-in closet look

September 8, 2016 I sat against the sofa's armrest with Nate's head in my lap. In my hand I held a copy of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, although I couldn't have said what words were on the page. Hell, I couldn't have said what page I was on. "A penny for your thoughts." Nate's voice startled me, but at least I didn't drop the book. "I'm reading." Liar. "Liar," he parroted. He rolled onto his back and looked up at me, nestling his head more comfortably on my lap and pushi

Thank you both so much for your comments! Feedback, whether supportive or critical, is important and appreciated. Not to give away my age, but I've been writing for well over thirty years, so I have quite a collection of works, some meant for public consumption and others meant only for personal reflection. And, admittedly, I'd not spent a great deal of time wondering where or how to share those that can be shared, at least not until very recently when that thought became a byproduct of searching for good fiction in the LGBT+ market. Finding GA was enlightening because I thought, Hey, I might be able to offer something to this community. You're right that this story isn't for everyone. I knew that when I started to share it. But I think more people would enjoy it than have given it a chance because it is a story of healing, of self-discovery, and certainly of romance, though again I realize the unpleasant darkness running parallel to Greg and Nate's lives might disturb some readers. And you've offered me some very high praise, Cris, for which I thank you sincerely and humbly! This is written in one of many styles I use. (Nope, I don't have a single writing voice but instead use what's appropriate for each specific tale). Also, the structural mechanics are intentional because... Well, let me respond to everett's comment to explain that. That's profoundly accurate and delightfully gracious, everett. Thank you! Given the meaning of this story and given each character's needs and history, rushing all the revelations at the beginning and making a straight shot toward the finish line would've been unrealistic and a disservice to the story, not to mention to the characters themselves. One of my basic requirements for writing fiction is the need to be true to my characters and to be as realistic as possible. In this case, people don't just talk about a major trauma and its varied repercussions and then move on, at least not when they've spent years hiding from the past. As Uncle Farid might explain, sometimes it's necessary to sneak up on the truth in order to achieve the healing that's needed. To let you in on a little secret, there are major revelations working their way into the light throughout the next five chapters that then culminate in the third interlude, a very revealing yet troubling bit of work. (Once again be prepared to delve into the mind and machinations of The Fiend/Richard, but also be prepared to discover... Well, let's just leave that for the interlude, shall we?)

September 4, 2016 Keigan flagged me down as I entered Starbucks. He was nursing a venti coffee at a table nestled against the shop's front windows. "Care to join me?" he asked cheerfully. "Of course! Let me grab my go juice," I replied with a smile. And it did sound good. Since that first morning encounter a month before, we'd met for coffee two or three times each week, sometimes more and sometimes less if our schedules didn't mesh. All it came down to was whether or not he arri

August 4, 2016 I'd rushed Kyle out of the gym without time for either of us to shower. I'd told him I had something important to do. Like lie in wait for my best friend to come home. We're gonna have a talk about his meddlesome chitchat with Keigan, telling him my morning schedule. "What the hell was he thinking?" I mumbled as I bounded down the stairs, freshly attired in a pair of cargo shorts and feeling somewhat more clearheaded, the heat and steam from my shower having relaxed my

I've only been in the garage for a minute, long enough to drop my keys, pick them up, lock the door, hit the button to open the garage, and walk to the IS 350. Oh, I also pressed the right button on the key fob to unlock the Lexus. So little time and so little activity, yet sweat beads over my entire body, rivulets drawing lazy patterns down my back and sides and chest, one lonely drop ready to leap from the end of my nose. "I'm sweating like a nervous farm animal," I tell the automobiles. T