David McLeod
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Roger walked into the coffee shop, dogged by Arnold. Samantha tightened her lips. Roger was eighteen, nearly nineteen. Arnold was perhaps fourteen. If they were having sex, Roger was breaking the law…as well as the firmly established customs of Samantha’s coffee house. There was no evidence, though, and whatever else he was, Roger was careful. Roger sprawled, half-in and half-out of a booth. Arnold placed an order for coffee, and paid for it with a pair of wrinkled bills. The boy walked car
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“Four Four Golf, this is Seven One Victor. I’ve lost oil pressure.” Toby’s voice was calm, but tense. ***** Gary was standing on the porch when Larry drove up. Larry shut down the engine and then opened the door. Gary stood by the car; his face expressionless, a mask. “Toby’s dead, isn’t he?” “Yes,” Larry said. “His plane crashed. Uh, how did you know?” “I felt it. Damn it! I felt it!” Gary lowered his voice, and then added. “He was afraid. Then he was excited. It was a happy
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“Hey, Lewis, listen to this!” Brad turned up the radio volume. The announcer’s voice held a note of alarm. “…know that the phone company is using your long-distance dollars to pay for the work of Satan? Do you know that twenty cents of every dollar in phone company profits pays for abortions? Do you know that the phone company hires homosexuals, and that more than half the time, when you or your child talks to a telephone company operator you are talking to a homosexual? “Do you want y
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Samantha stood on a stepladder erasing and re-writing prices. Lucy stood beside the ladder reading the prices. They were all going up. “That’s really high,” Stephen said as Lucy called out the price of a latte. “Still cheaper than Warbucks,” Lucy said. “And ain’t none of their baristas as cute as me.” “None of their baristas are as cute as I am,” Samantha said. “Honestly, Lucy, you’re never going to pass the Comps unless you start thinking in correct English.” “Who’s minding the s
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“Coffee, please, and then about ten minutes to get my thoughts together—and to wake up.” Joe looked at the waitress to gauge her reaction. She looked around the diner and then nodded. Her lips were tightly compressed. I know what she’s thinkin’: how long am I going to take up her table? Will I leave a tip? Joe understood the woman’s concern. He’d waited tables at fine restaurants and family restaurants, at diners and at dives. He’d earned big tips and he’d been stiffed. As the failure of the eco
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“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Gary muttered to himself as he rode home from the LGBT Alliance meeting. He peddled faster. The wind whipped his words away, but left his stomach tumbling and his breath smoldering. “He wanted to talk to you. You know you felt something. You know he did, too. But you were too stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” Gary yelled the last two words into the darkness of an autumn night, and pulled into the driveway of his home. “What’s stupid?” The lights mounted on the garage, trigger
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The J’ville LGBT Alliance filled the back room of the coffee house. Lucy went from table to table, stuffing blue and yellow packets of chemical sweetener among the brown packs of unrefined sugar, and eavesdropping. There was only one topic of conversation: what would happen to Marty? He had broken the Prime Directive: “If you out somebody, you’re out.” There were two questions in everyone’s mind: Will Marty come to the meeting? Will Larry really call for his expulsion—and ostracism? It all start
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Everybody was looking at Larry; Larry was looking at me. I gave him the pilot’s signal to “pull the chocks” and allow the plane to taxi for takeoff. Larry understood that I meant, get on with it. He grinned, glanced at the papers in his hand, and started talking. “Hi, everyone, and welcome to the organizational meeting of the Jacksonville, Wyoming Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgendered Alliance. We are going to be the most inclusive club in Jacksonville and perhaps the most tolerant of differ
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Jacksonville, WY isn't the first place you'd look for an LGBT Alliance. Will it work? Follow the lives of the boys and girls who try to promote tolerance, and of those who attempt to stop them
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Paiolo and Kyrie snuggled under the stars. The weather was good, and after the battle, they didn’t want to be confined under a wagon. Kyrie felt Paiolo shaking. “What’s wrong? Please, you must tell me.” He paused, and then added, “You know I don’t have your talent for seeing others’ feelings. You must tell me.” “I killed that man,” Paiolo said. “I know that, now. It was my voice, my…my power.” “Did you try to kill him?” “No, I just wanted him to run away, like those two m
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Breakfast had been cleared. All the tweens had donned tabards and swords, and left for the market where they would perform duty. The boys were cleaning weapons and equipment in the arms room or performing other chores. Paiolo had done all the necessary shopping the day before. He was free until supper. Rather, he was free only until Will stuck his head into the kitchen. “Hay-low, Pay-low,” the boy grinned. “Someone at the gate to see you.” The boy was gone almost before his words reached Pai
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Paiolo had free reign in the kitchen, now. He was happy with the arrangement. Not only did the work keep him busy—too busy to dwell on his thoughts—but also it allowed him to do things his way, without criticism or interference. And, the boys seemed to like the change in diet. The improvement in the meals and the additional work had not gone unnoticed. The centurion had quietly raised Paiolo’s salary. This market day, Paiolo had finished the morning’s cleaning. He scanned the shelves to see w
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Paiolo’s world had ended. The caravan master had been kind, but resolute. “We travel east to Dundee and thence to the coast. The caravan is smaller, and the danger from trolls and brigands is much less than on our route through Arcadia and the Gray Mountains. I have dismissed half the guards, and no longer need a cook’s assistant.” He paused, and then continued, “You are a fine lad and a hard worker. You will have no trouble finding work. I will tell Master Margulis at the warehouse about you. Y
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A silver haired elf and a redheaded human find that their destinies are intertwined. This story is only for those who enjoy medieval, magical fantasy starring boys and teens. It is from The Book of Heroes, the source of “The Translator,” “The Paladin,” “Dragon’s Treasure,” “George of Sedona,” and other stories.This particular story begins in the elven city of Barbicana.
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Initiation at St. Anselm © 2009 David McLeod boh.translators@gmail.com “Initiation is a tradition. Common experience creates a common bond.” Brian watched his father stuff his pipe with Virginia tobacco and set it afire. When the pipe was drawing to the man’s satisfaction, he continued. “Besides, it’s been years since anyone died.” Three hundred miles and two weeks later, Brian summoned his courage to face the first night of initiation. The Abbey School of St. Anselm had been cre
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An initiation at a British boys’ school leads to an encounter in a cemetery.
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“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Gary muttered to himself as he rode home from the LGBT Alliance meeting. He peddled faster. The wind whipped his words away, but left his stomach tumbling and his breath smoldering. “He wanted to talk to you. You know you felt something. You know he did, too. But you were too stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” Gary yelled the last two words into the darkness of an autumn night, and pulled into the driveway of his home. “What’s stupid?” The lights mounted on the garage, trigg
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Coffee and a concussion; a dishwasher and a doctor. Okay, a doctor-wannabe. Politics isn’t the only thing that makes strange bedfellows. This became a chapter in "Pilots," published separately.
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The Story of Joe © 2010 by David McLeod “Coffee, please, and then about ten minutes to get my thoughts together—and to wake up.” Joe looked at the waitress to gauge her reaction. She looked around the diner and then nodded. Her lips were tightly compressed. I know what she’s thinkin’: how long am I going to take up her table? Will I leave a tip? Joe understood the woman’s concern. He’d waited tables at fine restaurants and family restaurants, at diners and at dives. He’d earned big t
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Ditto. On the other hand, and I've said this before, I think the readers' imagination is probably much better than anything I can write. For the most part, therefore, I skip the explicit ("Recoil" was an exception) and try to set the stage to allow the reader to fill in the blanks. It is very hard to write an explicit sex scene well, IMHO. Sounds as if we need some sort of survey or poll.
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Perhaps not the most elegant answer, but the one that makes the most sense, intellectually and morally.
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What a great line-up. I'm going to have to spend the next few hours on imdb.com trying to answer the questions. The odds are, however, I'll get distracted and not get back to this site.
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Yeah, Jughead and not Archie. Archie's just too...too straight. Jughead, on the other hand, has the energy to really rock.
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Damn, James, you do have a heart, after all. And, it's in the right place.
