Wayne Gray

Maybe the date will continue. 🙂

I think the writing challenge of using every word in this string is now officially dead. 😳. Hehe

Hi AC, Thanks for the welcome. I appreciate it. I think we've all got our gifts. Mine are brutal misuse of commas and making people cry with words. I guess brutal misuse of commas could make some cry, so, win-win? Okay, I'm done now. I've got editing to do. I look forward to more interaction with you, AC. Have a great one.

Thanks for the comments. And I suppose so. This isn’t very imaginative of me, I’m afraid. It really happened.

As I stumble along and try to find a way to be respectful in my work things like this help a lot. Thank you for sharing your journey with us.

It was 1997, May. I was a U.S. Sailor, twenty-two years old, in excellent condition, and a fantastic mood. I walked down the streets of Seattle - Broadway, specifically. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and I was out for my standard, debaucherous weekend in Hillcrest, the queer part of the Emerald City. It was still early for a Saturday, only around nine a.m. There were people seated outside various breakfast spots at tables on the sidewalk, thanks to the popularity of the eateries in that part of town. Additionally, the weather was just amazing; it'd have been crazy to not take advantage of it. I walked past most of the popular breakfast spots, catching a few appreciative glances as I went. Don't look so surprised. I used to be a hot number. Anyway, there was a little cafe I loved, and I headed straight for it. It was often uncrowded - a tucked away undiscovered gem of coffee, eggs, bread, and bacon. Simple fare, but I'm a simple guy. That's when I saw him. He was across Broadway, but he stopped, his wild gaze piercing me, even from there. He didn't look, he started across the six lanes of traffic, striding with purpose. I couldn't help but stare as he approached. I thought for sure he would die, hit by someone on the road. Somehow, he made it all the way across. I had enough time to get a good look at him while he transfixed me with both his manner and his appearance. He was only a little over a hundred and forty pounds, though he was almost as tall as me, at 5'10" — knobby joints, the skin was drawn over them thanks to his lack of proper nutrition and food. His brown hair was wild on his head, tangled and long, but those eyes were what I really remember. Those eyes were so sure — Brown, wide, certain. He pointed at me. "You! You'll burn in His fire for what you are!" Spittle flew from his lips, and he stepped closer. "Repent! REPENT!" He swung. It was a wild execution of an attack, and my arm came up automatically. I intercepted it easily, and I realized that this man posed no threat to me at all. He was so enraged and addled by a combination of religion, mental illness, and drugs that my safety from him wasn't in question. Three men saw what occurred. They had just exited the gym, and they pounded down the sidewalk like a male Flight of the Valkeries, all with deadly serious expressions. They'd not get there in time. My attacker swung again, and a pure, burning, white-hot rage replaced any fear I may have had. I stopped the latest blow with my forearm, and I viciously stomped down on the side of his knee with my steel-toed boots. Something gave in the limb, and he crumpled to the ground. He landed on his front, wailing in pain, and I pulled his arms back. Then I sat on him so that he was pinned to the sidewalk like a stricken bug. My three would-be saviors arrived, and one of them possessed one of those cell phones that were beginning to become popular. As I heard him call the police, I had a terrible realization. 'It's over. My career is over.' I was a U.S. Sailor during Don't Ask Don't Tell. A homophobic bible-thumper just attacked me in the gay part of Seattle. The police report would be my undoing. I sat there, while venom and bile came from the lips of my wiggling captive. The police arrived a few minutes later. They took statements from everyone gathered who had witnessed the attack, and once they realized he was actually injured, my assailant was escorted by an officer in the back of an ambulance they called to the scene. The remaining officer was a tall, broad, dark-haired fellow. His hair was cut into the high-and-tight calling card of a U.S. Marine, and he eyed my nervous face. "You're active, huh?" he asked, and I nodded mutely. He sighed. "Well, we've got to submit a copy of the report to your command." He reached and put a warm hand on my shoulder. "That's the limit of our responsibility." I frowned and looked up at his dark eyes. He smiled. "Is there anybody you trust there?" My story done, I leaned back and took a sip of my wine. My date stared at me, his mouth slightly open. He finally shut his jaw. "Uh, so, so what happened? With your command? Did they throw you out?" I smirked. "You asked why I didn't want to hold your hand in public, and I told you." Knowing I was a bastard made it all the sweeter to deny him the rest of the story. "Maybe I'll tell you the rest on our next date."

Liam was actually 5'4". He's what I lovingly and lustfully refer to as "a pocket gay." He'd definitely have been fun to throw over a shoulder.

Hey, I just missed it! Go read chapter 6! 😀

Keep on reading. You're alllllmost there. 😀

Yeah, I dove into it after this guy emailed me. He had more than a passing knowledge of how it all worked. It was ... uh, disturbing. 😳 I guess I'm glad he liked my work!

That's very true. Men who work that closely with one another often overlook such things as sexuality. A lot of them grew up with Paul as well. Small towns can work for us if we're well regarded. Paul seems to be.

Corbin held the strange little device against his ear. "Tell me what happened," Harris said calmly. Paul sat back down on the couch and watched Corbin as he spoke on the phone. The blonde man swallowed and rubbed his face. Paul could see the stress and worry. 'I wish I could help you,' Paul thought. He didn't even know what was wrong, but helping people was what he did. His whole life was built around it, and there before him was someone he liked, who obviously struggled with something.

I missed the mark on that one. 😖

I think you've captured the quintessence of the chapter well. 😎 Though, you're likely right about the lack of defenestration in Corbin's life. Thanks for commenting. And for the very subtle use of a fabulous word.

This one gives me chills. I've heard it so many times now, but, damn.

It helps, yes. I've come at it backward in my story, but the men involved weren't quite sure what they wanted at first. This helps. I can make it work now, and stay true to the dynamic (or, truer at least).

It’s a good thing. It takes a lot, but I could feel this.

Quintessence. I like this one. I've never used it, and I want to. https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/quintessence

So, I'm sensing a pattern here. Are any of you lawyers?

I updated the initial thread with all that we've come up with so far. I might take a stab at writing a chapter or short story with all of them. I wonder at the coherence possible in such a work. Oh, and no Scrabble game allowed! 🤪

The longer this goes, the more I feel like this may have to be a new scene somewhere buried in "Guarded."

I know of that one, but how the HELL do you USE it? It's a noun but watch me mess this up. Harlan grinned. What Corbin didn't understand was that he had a little something special in mind. Defenestration always livened up a party. Edit: Huh, that actually works.

Oh, you little brat! 😋

CHEATING! Though, damn, that's pretty awesome. You could even have a doubter at the table, looking up words in a dictionary so the reader doesn't have to. LOL

Those bastards. 😉 Let's use a word to describe such a travesty. Lamentable. Another good one that I use quite a bit. Not rare, really, but good and crunchy in the right spot.