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    Wayne Gray
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Bluegrass Symphony - 1. San Diego

"Well, that was fun." The toilet flushed and Robbie, the handsome redheaded man Wren had gone home with, grinned as he swaggered out of the bathroom.

Wren frowned, his green eyes on Robbie, and sat up amongst the sheets and blanket on the bed. "'Was?' Is the night over?"

Robbie stood beside the bed. "Well, we both got off. Usually signals the end for us, right?" He bent to pick up his pants. "I can take you home."

Wren felt a hot stab of disappointment which flickered on his face. Robbie didn't seem to notice. Wren stood, suddenly ashamed of his nakedness. "No. No, I'll take the bus. It's fine." He put on his underwear, then shoved his legs into his jeans.

Robbie had missed his expression, but not the tone in Wren's voice. "What? Did you want to stay over or something?" There was an undercurrent of annoyance in Robbie's words.

"Oh no." Wren buttoned his jeans and pulled his shirt over his head, ruffling his thick black hair as he did. "Nope. Definitely not."

Robbie frowned as Wren tied his shoes. "Man, what's with you?" Robbie cocked his head at him. "You were the one to lay down boundaries, Wren." He shrugged. "You're the one who's too good to settle down. So I'm not gonna pretend that I'm anything but a fuck for you."

Wren felt a sliver of anger, but it swiftly mingled with acquiescence to the truth. "You're not just a fuck," he said weakly. Wren shook his head. "I never wanted you to feel that way."

Robbie snorted, and he slipped his naked legs under the rumpled sheets. "Yeah. You want me to feel like you're giving me the gift of your presence." He stared, his blue eyes hard. "You wanted distance, you got it. And now, what? Now you want me to fawn over you? Spoon and get close, so my brain confuses what this is again?" Robbie set his jaw. "Nope. I'll ride your cock because that's fun. But I've learned my lesson, and that's all you're getting from me."

Wren instinctively leaned back away from him. He looked at Robbie then bit his lip. "Well, okay then." He felt the unmistakable twinge of guilt. It's true - he had been the one to walk away from Robbie's attempt to go beyond "fuck buddy" status. It was also true that Wren had done that because he wanted to remain unattached - free to have sex with whoever he liked, whenever he wished.

What really twisted the knife was that he knew Robbie liked him. He knew Robbie wanted more, and Wren had banked on taking advantage of that to spend the night with the cute young man. Staying with Robbie was a far more pleasant option rather than returning home to his own apartment.

After a grumbled goodbye he gathered his jacket and left Robbie's place, then put the coat under his arm and slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He walked head down in the warm air of the spring San Diego night.

It was early March. Wren hated that the city never had more than two seasons - hot, and not-as-hot. Already, things moved toward the eight-month-long "hot" time of the year. Soon it would be warm, dry, and monotonous. The area hadn't had a summer rainstorm in years, and Wren dreaded the constant sunshine that was just around the corner.

He continued along his way. He got to the bus station, debated a moment and kept walking. He needed to clear his head and the movement helped. The streets of Hillcrest were well lit and there were still people out and about. He wasn't overly worried about safety, not that early into the night.

Though he was still alert. After six years, things about the city began to grate on him, and the amount of crime was one. During his first year, he had been mugged at knifepoint, and he didn't relish that happening again. After that Wren enrolled in a self-defense course and learned a few Krav Maga movements against the most common attacks a man might run into on the street. He was by no means an expert, but he faithfully went to practice every week, did drills on his own, and he slowly improved until muscle memory took over during the practices.

Wren slowed as he got to the corner of University Avenue and 30th Street. He looked at the vast complex of condos which lined both sides of 30th. He had been there before and couldn't help but think of a past acquaintance he knew lived there. "Hrmm. I wonder if Bobby is up." He checked his phone. It was only ten-thirty, and Bobby had always been a little wild. He was probably out and about, but it couldn't hurt to call.

Wren stopped at the corner. Bobby had a beautiful little condo on the second floor near the intersection. Bobby was a newly licensed pharmacist and earned good money, which is how he could afford to buy a place right in one of the most desirable parts of the city. He and Wren had taken a few classes together early in their academic careers at San Diego State University, and they’d had more than one night together between the sheets.

The phone rang, and Wren smiled as he thought of Bobby - his strong, dark limbs, deep brown eyes, and bass voice. All were things which Wren found a turn-on when wrapped in the package of Bobby Parson.

"Hello?" A sleepy-sounding voice answered.

He frowned. "Bobby? Hey, it's Wren. I didn't wake you, did I?"

There was a grunt, and Wren heard sheets sliding around as Bobby moved. "Yeah. It's alright." Bobby cleared his throat. "What's up?"

"Shit. Sorry." Wren looked down at the sidewalk as he spoke, one hand on the stucco of the beige building. "Uh, I wondered if maybe you'd be up for a visit. It has been a while. We've not hung out much since we graduated."

There was a hesitation. "Wren, man, I'm paired up. You remember Gregory."

Wren grimaced and worked to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "Ah, that's great. Well, congratulations. Greg is a great guy."

'And a fun fuck,' Wren couldn't help but think.

"Thanks." Bobby paused again. "Though if you wanted to get breakfast or something with us sometime…"

Wren could hear the equivocation in Bobby's voice. Wren knew that in Bobby's eyes, he was just a fun mistake. That sentiment was likely shared by Greg too. Now that they had found someone willing to commit in one another, Wren was no longer in the picture.

Wren played along, knowing Bobby didn't actually want to hang out with him. "Uh, yeah. Sure. Tell you what, I'll email you. We can set up a date sometime."

A short time later he hung up and sighed. There was no avoiding it, he had to go home. Wren blew out a breath, jammed his hands deep into his pockets, and turned up 30th Street. Five blocks later, he was there. He looked up at the darkened windows of his second-floor apartment tucked behind the YMCA.

"Please be asleep. Please be alone." Wren pulled his keys and slowly walked up the stairs to the apartment. He crested the top of the stairs, hopeful, then slumped when he saw the doorknob with the dreaded sock tied around it.

"Company. Awesome." He gritted his teeth and sat down beside the door, his back against the building. Sometimes Travis brought girls home, and in the tiny one bedroom apartment, it meant whatever they were doing was obvious everywhere in the space.

He was also a bit of a homophobe. Wren remembered how Travis had tried to explain his requirement that Wren could never be inside when he had a date over. "I don't have a problem with you being gay, but I don't want you in the apartment when I have girls over. It's weird to think you can hear us banging."

Wren sighed, leaned his head back against the cool building, and waited.

⤱ 

Hours later, the opening of the door startled him awake, and Wren blinked up at the woman leaving his apartment.

Candice jumped when Wren moved. "Holy crap!" She laughed, a hand on her chest, and caught her breath.

"What?" Travis poked his head out the door, his disheveled dirty-blonde hair sticking up everywhere, and frowned at Wren as he scrambled to his feet. "Jeez, dude. What were you doing, just sitting there?" His eyes narrowed. "Could you hear us?"

Wren grimaced and stretched his back. "Well, the sock was on the door. And don't worry, I couldn't hear you."

Candice glared at Travis. "Hey. You said Wren was out all night." She took on a contrite frown and looked at Wren. "I'm sorry. Don't let that sock stop you. It's not like you don't already know what's going on."

Candice was a repeat hookup for Wren's roommate, which in itself was a rarity. She was also nice, which was again a departure from Travis's typical women. Wren almost brought that up, but there was already malice in Travis's eyes, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Okay. Thanks, Candice." Wren checked the time on his phone. "Ugh, it's after one. I have to get to bed. I work in four hours."

Candice made a noise of apology. "Aww. I really am sorry." She gave Wren a quick hug. "Seriously, just come in next time. You pay rent here!"

Wren smiled politely. He bid her goodbye and slipped into the building, past his irritable landlord.

Officially, Wren wasn't on the lease. He paid $700 a month directly to Travis for the use of an old futon, only because that was what he could afford. That had been his living situation for the last two years, and it had gotten old. He yearned for the day when he could get his own apartment, but that wouldn't happen until he could get a better paying job.

He wearily sat on the futon and took off his shoes while Travis and Candice necked a bit outside on the landing. Wren sighed deeply and wriggled out of his jeans, then he stood to fold them.

Candice left, Travis entered, shut the door and glanced at him. "Ugh. Man." He frowned and looked away. "I could go a lifetime without seeing you in your briefs again." He stalked off and Wren glared at the back of his head as Travis walked into the kitchen for some water.

A perverse spark flared in Wren's mind. He spread the quilt that lay on the back of the futon over his sleeping area, then he quickly shucked his underwear. "Hey, Travis."

Travis looked at him, and his eyes couldn't help but track down and land on Wren's cock. "Fuck! Dude!" He shook his head and shivered, dropping his gaze to the floor. A red flush made his skin look like it was sunburnt and Wren laughed. "It's not funny, man!"

Travis downed the rest of his water, tossed the plastic cup into the sink and walked past a still-naked, smirking Wren to the single bedroom in the dwelling. The door slammed.

"Harrumph." Wren turned down the quilt and got under it. He lay there, already dreading his four-fifteen wake-up, though he worked at a diner so at least he'd have a ready supply of caffeine.

He had already turned in applications for positions at various architecture firms in the city. Wren had completed his masters in architecture in the Fall, and now he eagerly awaited calls for interviews. After six years of school and a well-received thesis on alternative building design, he felt that he had done everything he could to put himself on the path to success. Even with his scholarships, he also accumulated forty thousand dollars of debt. So Wren hoped that it was only a matter of time - he would get calls, and he'd get his pick of workplaces.

That was the idea, at least. It had been three weeks since he had turned in his résumé to all of the major firms in town. At twenty-four, Wren was probably the youngest architect in the city, and his lack of experience hurt him. His emphasis on alternative methods of building did as well. Wren knew the compressive strengths of cob, papercrete, strawbale, and rammed earth while other architects focused on the best way to make a building stand out among the others around it.

Wren didn't want to design trophies, he wanted to design efficient, sensible, yet striking houses. With all of the fires in California, he thought there would be a hunger for the techniques he learned at strawbale and cob workshops. It seemed like madness to him to rebuild with wood when tons of straw were destroyed every year, and when baled tightly straw was as hard to burn as a closed phone book. In short, it made for fantastic building material.

He would have to wait for someone capable of hiring him to realize what he already knew. 'I just need to be patient.' He sighed. Wren scratched his groin, checked the alarm on his phone, then he rolled on his side. Soon, he slept.

⤱ 

The morning's work started with a glut of breakfast patrons. Wren tried to keep a smile on his face as he served customers, but the early hour made that tough. He walked by the table of a regular, a pot of coffee in hand.

"Hello, Wren." The broad, powerfully built man leaned back in the booth and smiled at him. Both of his wide, tanned hands rested on the Formica tabletop, and his brown eyes studied the harried, tired, underslept Wren as he buzzed about waiting tables.

"Oh, hello Mr. Branson." Wren's smile became a little less forced. Despite his need to keep moving, something about Mr. Branson always snagged his attention. There was a significance embedded in that gaze, and Wren had to admit that he found the middle-aged, confident man attractive. Wren made himself stop beside the table. "Ah, is there something else I can get you?" The man always sat in Wren's section, and by now he was nearly sure Branson was interested in him.

Branson's eyes never left Wren's face, and he gently pushed his half-empty coffee mug toward the edge where Wren could reach it. Wren nodded and he poured more coffee into the cup, glancing at Branson as he did. That stare was intense. Branson picked it up, took a gulp, then lowered it once again. A quiet sureness emanated from his customer, and Wren found that the most magnetic thing about him.

He swallowed nervously. "Is, is there anything else you need, Mr. Branson?" Wren pulled the receipt for Branson's breakfast from his shirt. He put the slip of paper on the table. The entire time, Branson had never moved his eyes from Wren's face.

The slight smile on the stout man's lips broadened a bit. "Yes." He pulled out a card and slid it across the surface. "I'd like you to call me. I have a proposition for you that I'd like to discuss in a more," he leaned forward slightly, "private setting."

That was the strangest way Wren had ever been asked out on a date. "Uh, well, if you're interested in getting dinner or something, that'd be fine." Wren picked up the card and tucked it into his pocket.

Branson sat back again and ran his eyes up and down in open appraisal of Wren until once again he locked eyes with the younger man. "I'm interested in you." Wren stepped back as Branson slid off of the seat and stood to tower over Wren. The faint scent of pipe tobacco and leather came to Wren as they stood close. "I'm interested to see if you'd be … suitable."

Wren frowned. "'Suitable?'" He swallowed, his Adam's Apple bobbing. "For what?"

Branson smirked, the expression handsome on his face. He turned with his receipt in hand and walked to the register.

Wren watched him as he stopped to settle his bill. The khaki pants he wore hugged his ass, groin, and legs in a revealing display, while his light blue button-up shirt barely seemed able to contain his thick chest. Branson never looked at him again. Instead, he paid and left the building, his body striking a virile, strong impression in profile.

Wren exhaled a breath. Everything about Mr. Branson was intense, and Wren felt as if he were constantly scrutinized by those brown eyes.

He cleared the table, and there under the empty plate was a crisp twenty dollar bill. Wren smiled when he saw it. Mr. Branson always tipped well, but that was a lot, even for him. He thankfully took the money and shoved it into his pocket. Wren finished cleaning up, then he moved to seat the next set of customers.

The hours passed quickly and before he really knew it two p.m. had arrived. Wren washed up, tallied his tips, and he left the place.

Usually, he went to a local coffee shop to sit, read, and draw house designs. But, thanks to his lack of sleep, he just wanted to go home and take a long nap. Wren walked, hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped, and a tired frown on his face. He stopped at a corner to wait for the light and felt the edges of Mr. Branson's card as his fingers moved in his slacks.

He pulled the little cardstock rectangle and looked at it.

"Managing Discipline?" Wren stared at the card. In addition to the dark letters of the business name, a black leather wristband with a heavy, attached leather strap lay on a background of pure, glossy white. Wren expected a phone number, but there was nothing listed.

"Ahhh." Wren worked his mouth. "He's a leather daddy or something?" Wren stepped away from the corner and opened the browser on his phone. He typed in the name of the business on the card and soon he was at a site. It warned him it was an adult website, and he accepted the message.

"Whoa." There were pictures of naked men in various positions, states of bondage, and then also a list of services offered with prices as well.

Wren wiped his mouth as he paged through. He stopped on one image. Mr. Branson stood dressed only in a pair of tight leather pants and boots, holding a crop in his hand, while a man prostrated himself before him. There were red marks across the naked fellow's back. "Wow."

Wren looked around, and he adjusted his erection. Pretty quickly the images got him going and he shook his head at himself. He scrolled through and got to the bottom of the page.

'If you hold my card, enter the number embossed on the back here.' A blank field awaited entry.

Wren flipped the card over. Sure enough, there was a six digit number. Filled with curiosity, he entered the number into the field on the website.

On a background of black, stark white letters were the only contents. "You bear my card. And you've seen what it is that I do, and what I am. If you are interested in learning more, call me and we shall explore things further." A local phone number was below the message.

Wren blinked. "Wha …" he rubbed his head. "He wants to do S&M with me?"

Wren knew of S&M, dominants and submissives. Though the lion’s share of his knowledge came from porn and wildly fetishized versions of the dynamic.

He shook his head. Wren walked over to the corner again, and he held the card over the garbage can. He frowned down at it. 'He seems well off. You might not have a choice but to call him.' Wren flinched. His hand wavered, and he bit his lip.

He stepped away, hurrying to beat the crosswalk light and slipped the card back into his pocket.

⤱ 

Blocks later, his mind still turned the offer signified by the card over and over. He had no real idea what Branson intended, and that put a lot of trepidation in his belly.

He started up the stairs to his apartment. Wren dug out the key and he slipped it into the lock.

'Maybe I'll look him up, find out what he's really about. Maybe I'll have an idea of what he expects from me if I accepted his offer.' He turned the key and pushed the door open.

Travis lay naked on the futon, his cock in hand, and he stroked furiously. The other hand pressed Wren's dirty underwear he had removed last night against his face.

He jackknifed forward at the sound of the door and threw the briefs on the floor. Travis stared, wide-eyed, and Wren gaped at him.

"Fuck! What the fuck?!" Travis pulled down the quilt on the back of the futon and covered himself. "You're not supposed to be home, fuck!" A terrific crimson hue made his skin look like it belonged on a lobster.

Wren blinked. "I can't -" He shook his head. "Wow. I can't even deal with this right now."

He walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Wren reached inside and pulled out two beers. Travis glared at him from his position on the couch. "Those are mine!"

"Yeah, and you were just snorting the smell of my balls while you were jerking off." Wren cracked the pop top, and he chugged half of the can.

Wren lowered the beverage and he eyed Travis as the man stood up with the quilt wrapped around himself. Travis frowned worriedly. "Uh, you're not gonna," he looked down at the floor, "you're not going to tell anybody, are you?"

Wren chuckled, still processing what was only the latest development in his bizarre day. "What the hell would I say?" Wren waved a hand. "I guess it's none of my business that you like the smell of my nuts." His words were designed to evoke a reaction from the man who so often tormented him.

The blood drained out of Travis's face. He swallowed and looked down. Wren eyed him, took another swig of the beer, then he walked around the kitchen partition. Wren observed Travis as his roommate struggled.

Travis looked up, and to Wren's surprise, there were tears on his face. "Look, I just," he wiped them away, "I just was curious." He cringed. "I like how I smell, so I wondered…"

They both let the statement hang in the air. Then Travis clenched his jaw, turned, and walked down the hall to his bedroom. The door quietly closed behind him.

Wren stared at the closed door. He blinked and shook his head. "Wow." One last swig ended his beer, and he picked up the next one. "Well, I think I'm going to drink until I can't feel my face." He opened the beer, walked to the futon and held the drink up toward the door in a mock toast. "To sexually confused assholes."

Wren stewed and drank. He finished the second beer, got up, and pulled another from the fridge. He stood at the open door of the appliance and downed it. The cold, bubbly alcohol felt good going down, and now it sluiced around in his belly with the rest. Wren grinned at the sensation and closed the fridge.

He stepped to the hallway and glared at the closed door. "Homophobic prick," he muttered. He ran his tongue over his teeth, then slowly smiled, the expression evil. Wren strolled down the hall and knocked gently on the door.

"What?" Travis's voice sounded rough like he had been crying. "Leave me alone."

A delicious finger of malice traced its way down Wren's throat to burn in his chest. He opened the door a crack. "Hey." He had to keep himself from smirking as he pushed his way slowly inside. "I'm sorry." He looked at Travis, who sat up in bed, his legs under his blanket and drawn up.

Travis wiped his face. He looked miserable. For just a moment Wren felt sorry for him. "Dude, why the fuck are you in here?" Travis's voice wavered, but he tried to muster some gruffness. Wren's second of pity evaporated.

Wren smiled his best, most winning attempt at reassurance. He sat on the edge of the bed, and Travis eyed him with a worried expression. "I'm in here to help you." He shrugged. "I mean, if you wondered what I smelled like, then all you had to do is ask."

Travis froze, staring at Wren. He wet his lips. "I..." He shook his head. "I'm not gay."

"I didn't say you were." The alcohol had given him courage, and Wren stood beside the bed and unbuckled his belt. "But you obviously enjoyed the smell of me." Travis stared in a sort of horrified paralysis as Wren pulled down his pants. Just thinking about what he'd planned had given Wren a woody, and it pushed out to create a tent in his briefs. He sat back down and scooted himself onto the bed, then he lay beside Travis. "Go ahead. You can do whatever you want."

Travis gaped, then he shut his jaw. He shook his head once, but his eyes were irresistibly drawn to the bulge in Wren's briefs.

"Go on. I'm not going to tell anybody." Wren watched the internal fight on Travis's face.

Travis audibly gulped. His eyes glanced up, took in Wren's amiable expression, then he bit his lip. After a visible struggle with himself, he stretched out a hand, slowly, tentatively.

His fingertips barely contacted the fabric covered tube of Wren's erection.

"Ah, I changed my mind." Wren rolled up, got to his feet beside the bed, and he pulled up his pants.

As Wren stuffed his turgid cock into the material of his slacks and zipped himself up, Travis gaped at him, a completely uncomprehending expression on his features. Wren grinned, gave a sloppy salute, and he turned on his heel to leave the room. As he did, he slammed the door behind him, his mouth twisted in a smirk.

Wren sat on the futon and glanced one more time down the hall at the door. "Dick."

I'm switching off writing this story, and Silverwolf. The goal is to update them both every week. That's about 8,000 - 9,000 words a week, so we'll see if I can maintain that. There's more to come.

Stick with me on this one. Things change drastically by chapter three. Thanks for reading, commenting, and rating. I don't blame you for rating this chapter as a reflection of how you feel about Wren. He's a bit of a bitch!

Copyright © 2019 Wayne Gray; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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Just now, Thorn Wilde said:

Yay! The awesomeness is here! :heart: 

LOL, Thorn.  🙂
Might as well put the reason for the lag on Silverwolf on GA too, eh?

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Interesting start, but Wren is a bit of a dick, even if he had a hard past we still don't know about. Still hope we doesn't enter something dangerous or difficult for him with Me Branson, just because he needs money.

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33 minutes ago, Sweetlion said:

Interesting start, but Wren is a bit of a dick, even if he had a hard past we still don't know about. Still hope we doesn't enter something dangerous or difficult for him with Me Branson, just because he needs money.

He sure is!  Feeling the pressure to conform to something he’ll never be is hard on him, and it bleeds through.  Though it’s funny - often that pressure is self-made.

Thanks for reading/commenting!

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11 minutes ago, starboardtack said:

You've got me hooked -- yet again. 👍👍👍

Great to hear!  There’s more on the way.  Thanks for reading/commenting.  😊

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You’ve got me hooked. Great start. Wren seems a bit of a dick/bitch. I hope he doesn’t do something bad with Branson just for money, Travis is an interesting character. Looking forward to reading more.

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13 minutes ago, Mikiesboy said:

straight guys ... i always did wonder why they came to us for oral ... nice start.

Hehe.  Thanks, tim.  Things change a lot down the line, so just hang on.  Thanks for reading/commenting!

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12 minutes ago, chris191070 said:

You’ve got me hooked. Great start. Wren seems a bit of a dick/bitch. I hope he doesn’t do something bad with Branson just for money, Travis is an interesting character. Looking forward to reading more.

I agree, Wren is being a bitch!  Branson made an offer.  It’s up to Wren if he accepts or not.  Though, if he does it through a selfish motivation, then Branson would be the one with the bum deal.

More to come!  Thanks, Chris!

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17 minutes ago, Mikiesboy said:

if that's the case, Branson should see through that boy in a heartbeat ... we shall see

You're right.  It wouldn't go Wren's way if he turned out to be a user.  But, that might be beyond even Wren.  Let's hope.

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3 minutes ago, Mikiesboy said:

Mr.  Branson is a Dom ... He isn't dangerous, real ones aren't. And if he is that well organized and set up, he is real.  Players don't go to all that trouble.

Nailed it.  Branson's Life is built around gaining trust, and his business is geared toward the pleasure of pain.  Thanks for offering your perspective, tim.  I appreciate it.
Though, again, things change drastically in the story by chapter three.

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7 minutes ago, Parker Owens said:

Seems like there are several antiheroes here. I’m not sure who I like or why. Yet this first chapter piqued my interest. Looking forward to more. 

I really don't like stories with "perfect" characters.  NONE of my folks are perfect.  They're all flawed and messed up, and they make mistakes that the reader watches occur with a hand on their forehead, and a disappointed sigh.  "What the hell are you DOING?  I get it, but you are being such an ass right now."  That's a thought I want people to have.  😋

Wren is so flawed.  He's struggling, frustrated, and at a crossroads of sorts.  A young guy trying to figure out which way he's going can be someone who is really difficult to deal with.  That's my goal with this chapter.  I hope it came through.

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Well, I can say I really like the setting! I used to live in East San Diego (near University & 54th) and graduated from Crawford High. We moved just before the PSA crash near University & I-805 in 1978 – just in time for the People’s Temple mass suicide followed by the Moscone/Milk assassinations in the Bay Area.

But your description of the weather is a little off. From winter into June or so, there is almost always fog in the morning, burning off mid-day, and returning in the late afternoon or evening – just as it does all the way up the coast past the Bay Area. The cold California Current flows from the Gulf of Alaska down to Mexico. The hot air inland pulls the cooler air from the Pacific Ocean as it rises. The fog gets pulled in along with the cooler air. And summer tropical storms happen once every couple years or so. But the summer humidity is normally low, dropping down to 5% during the notorious Santa Ana Conditions where the High is centered over the Four Corners region and the air flows counter to the norm out to the coast, losing humidity as it passes over deserts and up & over mountain ranges. Temperatures in the 90–110°F range are more bearable since the humidity is low, allowing your sweat to evaporate efficiently and cooling your body naturally – unlike the summertime high humidity in most of the central and eastern US! The temperature usually drops in the evening too. (I remember seeing a sign in Chicago that said 90°F, 90% humidity, at midnight, one August night.)

Most of San Diego’s water comes from either the Colorado River or the Sierras via the Sacramento Delta. Very little is sourced locally. San Diego (and even mores, Los Angeles) could never have grown as large without massive aqueduct projects. Unfortunately, semi-arid desert coastal Southern Californians waste more water than Northern Californians. Actual-desert inland Southern Californians waste even more water with their enormous swaths of green grass lawns, grass-covered golf courses, and swimming pools.
 

I think the processed and cleaned wastewater from Northern California should be pumped over the coastal range and shipped to the farmlands in the Central Valley – and to Southern California!
;–)

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I am not certain Wren can hold my interest. He does not seem very likeable based on one chapter. However, I really enjoyed "Guarded" and I am enjoying "Silverwolf" so I will give his story some time. Thanks for sharing this.

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15 minutes ago, droughtquake said:

Well, I can say I really like the setting! I used to live in East San Diego (near University & 54th) and graduated from Crawford High. We moved just before the PSA crash near University & I-805 in 1978 – just in time for the People’s Temple mass suicide followed by the Moscone/Milk assassinations in the Bay Area.

But your description of the weather is a little off.

 

When I was in San Diego 2003-2004 it rained once.  The rest of the precipitation (all five inches all year) was from the marine layer.  I HATE that city.  lol

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5 minutes ago, JeffreyL said:

I am not certain Wren can hold my interest. He does not seem very likeable based on one chapter. However, I really enjoyed "Guarded" and I am enjoying "Silverwolf" so I will give his story some time. Thanks for sharing this.

Yep.  I know.  He's not a very likable guy right now.
Give him a chance.  Under stress, many of us are not pleasant to be around.  And, have no doubt ... he's stressed.

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9 minutes ago, Wayne Gray said:

When I was in San Diego 2003-2004 it rained once.  The rest of the precipitation (all five inches all year) was from the marine layer.  I HATE that city.  lol

How can you not love America’s Finest City?
;–)

That was clearly a drought year since San Diego averages 9–13" (230–330mm). Historically, SD has had more than 24” (610mm) and as little as 3.2” (80mm) in a single year. In 1976–77, when the rest of the state was dealing with mandatory rationing during the statewide drought, SD only had voluntary rationing since SD hadn’t yet started receiving water from Northern California – it was all either locally sourced or imported from the Colorado River.
 

San Diego is not a horrible city, but it’s politics are too right-wing for me. It’s not as bad as it used to be, but the city is dominated by the US Navy, Marines, and retired vets. There are LGBTQs representing SD, including Toni Atkins, but they aren’t as common as in the Bay Area (even my small city has had a Lesbian Councilmember). But SD is not as bad as Los Angeles.
 

I remember back in the ‘70s when Tijuana-based XETV 6 ironically was the ABC (American Broadcasting Company) affiliate for San Diego. But KCST 39 (now KNSD) took the affiliation. When ABC hit the top of the ratings in 1977, greedy, longtime NBC-affiliate KGTV 10 stole the affiliation from KCST and ABC promptly returned to its normal, lower ratings*. Channel 39 was eventually purchased by NBC. San Diego has one of the highest rates of cable subscription in the US because the numerous hills and canyons make antenna reception difficult.
 

* ABCs ad theme song the following year was Orleans’ Still the One.
;–)

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What a character.

Tho he is imbued with shades of loathsome, Wren is still compelling, as are the cast of characters around him.  It will be interesting to see what comes of his future interactions with Branson (‘cause you just know there will be).

Looks like another winner, Mr. Gray.

Edited by FanLit
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