Wayne Gray

Oh, you can do it. It's just a step by step process. You're a writer! That's wayyyy more painful than cooking!

I have a feeling that was a quote.

If you like bluegrass (it's newer stuff, clean and pretty sound) at all then listen to this one.

Saturday afternoon arrived, and with it came a distinct eagerness. Corbin smiled as the big white truck drove toward him. He waited at the intersection of the highway, his, and Paul's roads. The sun shined bright on him and the day had warmed nicely. The big machine came to a stop in a hiss of hydraulics and the crunch of wheels on gravel. The driver side window descended. "Howdy." The driver, a rough-shaven forty-something man, nodded to Corbin. "You're the one who paid for this load, and f

Ahem. https://www.thefreedictionary.com/preceptive Edit: God, I'm such a bitch!

"Okay, are you seriously not going to tell me?" I lay in bed with Greg. He hadn't planned to end up tangled in sheets with me that night, but I can be terribly convincing if a man let me kiss him. I chuckled, and his hand rubbed my chest gently. "Come on." He tried to work me, but it wasn't necessary. I had wanted sex, he gave it to me, so I'd reward him. "Fine." I took a breath, and he grinned. Greg wriggled a little closer, and now his forehead was under my arm, while the limb draped around him. ___________________________ I left for the ferry terminal immediately after the officer released me from the scene. My weekend was over, there was no way that I could have a good time after what had happened. I boarded the ferry, and I stood at the very front of the boat. It wasn't a popular spot. Even in May, the water was cold, and the fog which lay over it made everything clammy and uncomfortable. I stared out over the water as the ferry cut through the bay, back toward Bremerton, where I had left my car. An hour later I got into my car, and I drove to Bangor sub-base. I parked, and walked up the stairs, up the hill to my BEQ. Oh, sorry. That's short for Bachelor Enlisted Quarters. It's where all of the single enlisted folks lived if they chose to stay on base. I went inside, sat on my bed, and let my mind circle around what had happened in Seattle. I didn't move until my back began to hurt. I looked at the window, and it was dusk. I had sat there for hours. I hadn't eaten at all, and yet I wasn't hungry. I felt sick with stress, assured of my future discharge. I picked Senior Chief Coleman when the officer gave me the choice. Senior was the highest-ranking enlisted sailor in my command - a man who didn't take any sort of shit from anybody. He was harsh but fair - a by the book NCO. Ugh, I keep doing that. A non-commissioned officer. Anyway, he would do what I knew needed doing. I chose Senior, because I knew, deep down, that man in Seattle was right. I should repent. I should be punished. I should suffer. I didn't have the right to be in the US Navy, I didn't deserve it. Sunday came and went. I don't remember much of it. I think I ate something, just because I started to feel weak and shaky. Monday arrived. I showed up early, and I sat right in front where we held our morning muster. Senior Chief led it, and I awaited his judgment. 'I wonder if he'll say something in front of everyone.' My eyes were blank as I thought. 'Probably. They're all going to find out. They'll know, you're a liar, a faggot, and not worth being a sailor. You deserve it.' People began to show up, and they took seats around me. I interacted only when I had to, returned greetings, and nodded hello. Senior Chief entered, the room settled - even the commissioned officers who officially outranked Senior quieted in his wake. 'Straighten up. Fucking look at him.' I took a breath, and I sat up, put my shoulders back, and raised my eyes. Senior Chief had these fantastic, ice blue eyes. They glanced at mine when I moved, but then he looked over the room. "Good morning. First thing, there were four calls last night, and our on-duty EMT and EVO are exhausted. I'm sending them home to rest. Cane, Gray, you two are filling in on the rig. Gray, you've got EMT, Cane is driving." He looked at petty officer Cane, got an affirmative nod, then one from me as well. The rest of the muster passed with minor business, and messages from the weekend duty crew. Then we were dismissed. 'Oh shit. Maybe they didn't send it. Maybe the report was lost.' I wet my lips, stood up to leave and turned toward the door. "Gray." I stopped, my back still to Senior Chief. My heart hammered in my chest, and I faced him. "Yes, Senior?" "My office." He strode from the room, all business. A few of the departing enlisted looked at me, curiosity in their eyes. Dread crawled like a cold snake down my spine to settle, and twist in my gut. I walked down the hall, stopped at Senior's door, and I knocked on the doorframe. He motioned me through the open portal, those pale eyes stayed on mine. "Close the door." I did. "Sit, Gray." His voice was strange. It had a tonal quality I had never heard him use. There was both softness and iron in it, all at once. I sat in the extra chair, my gaze on his desk. There, a carbon-copy of the police report lay, and I closed my eyes against the nausea I felt. He leaned forward. "Gray, I have some questions. Can you handle that right now?" I frowned and looked at him. I didn't expect him to ask my permission to question me. I nodded. He looked down at the paper, then back up to me. "First, are you all right? Did he hurt you?" I blinked. "I'm fine, Senior. He didn't hurt me." "Good." Senior's eyes narrowed, and half of his lips lifted in a dangerous smirk. "I read the report, but I want to hear it from you." His countenance became eager. "I want to hear it from your lips, how you took down that strung out bastard." I gaped. "Uh, I ..." I swallowed. "Senior, aren't you going to report me?" He never looked away from my face. His hand crumpled the yellow copy of the report, and he threw it into the garbage. "Report you for what?" I floundered. "Senior, I," there was no comprehension possible in that moment. "You'll get in trouble if anybody finds out." He set his jaw and stood up. "Fuck em." Senior shook his head. "You do a good job. I don't fucking care where you dip your wick." He stood there until I met his eye. Then he sat down in his seat. "Now," he leaned back in his chair, "tell me how you kicked that motherfucker's ass."

I don't think I can say this better, so I'll just echo tim.

Man, it's worth posting stuff on GA just to read the comments. 😋

Corbin's strange little phone lay on his nightstand and began chirping its alarm at six a.m. Paul woke and turned off the machine. He eyed Corbin, but the blonde man slept through it. He smiled. 'Good. You need the rest.' Paul lay back down and scooted up against the smaller man. The air in the cabin was chilly, but there next to Corbin and under the blankets he was toasty and warm. He knew the fire had died down, and that it would need to be revived. He'd get to that in a bit. For now, he w

https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Pluviophile There it is. The exact, unambiguous word to describe my love of the rain. Also, you're a brat @droughtquake!

Thanks, Mac. I think there are some things that just stick to us, and they help make us who we are. Everything does, but this had an outsized effect on me. It made me cautious, suspicious (in certain situations), and observant.

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.