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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. 

A Wild Daisy - 20. Chapter 20: The Unexpected

The Winner's Circle.

A Wild Daisy

stories/7180/images/willie.eleven.jpgstories/7180/images/daisy.flower.one1.jpgstories/7180/images/daisy.flower.one1r.jpgstories/7180/images/daisy.blue.seven.jpg

Chapter Twenty: The Unexpected

Destiny rides, racing toward? Death. Life. Fate sighs. Is it a choice? And two balance on the fulcrum edge. The smallest moving the greatest. A point in time, a moment turning eternity. A man searches for meaning and never realizes he is meaning. Significant. It all spins just for him.

“Blue. Blue, I’m sorry. God I’m sorry.” The eternal ethereal moment. The tiny little fulcrum. Life pivot Death. Swinging one way. Tipping the other. And at this particular instant the swing was going all the way down to death. This sad drama was ending. And what would death be? The opposite of life? Was life just compressed awareness? And death it’s release. It’s freedom to expand. Would I expand and dissipate? “I love you. Blue.”

Willie was slipping, sliding, soon to be falling with Blue clutching his butt. It’s that hyper awareness. That god moment. Blue sensed it too, Willie could tell. Blue’s face was pressed into his butt crack, in disbelief, looking for comfort? How could Willie laugh now? Blue always made him laugh, especially at the worst times. Plus Blue was naked and Willie had his own head pressed against a naked groin. This would be the first and only time.

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Blue was in a fog. A mind fog. A pain haze. Fugue. Was that Willie calling him? Telling him to hold on. Okay. But only for you. Don’t take that long, okay. It’s no longer up to me. It’s in God’s hands, Willie. Was that Willie looking down on him, his hands reaching for him. At long last, Willie wants me. He can’t keep his hands off me. He thinks I’m irresistible. About time, too. Willie has me, he is lifting me up by my arm. He must be really strong. What? Grab him. Climb him. Well. Kinky. This is so hard though. I wish I could just let go and fall asleep. What? Okay. I’m climbing. The bossy little shit. Wait until it’s my turn. I can give orders too. Is he holding my foot now, pushing me up. Wow! What was that? Like when the floor falls out from under you. Ha! I have my nose in Willie’s ass. I could rest here. What is one moment of rest? I have found perfect peace in Willie’s crack.

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A piercing howl. Two piercing howls. And jerking. Sudden insistent pulling. Backwards. Not falling forwards. Pulling and dragging up and back toward safety. Beauregard and Bonaparte. They had his jeans at the ankles. Caught by his shoes and feet. Each one tugging back. Two hundred and fifty pounds of unbelievable strength and instinctive will. Willie was sliding back over the edge carrying Blue on his back. And he felt the moment. The moment the fulcrum flipped over to Life. Safe. Alive and safe. And grateful. “Beau, Bone stop now. It’s okay now.” The hounds stopped pulling only to begin the licking fest. Willie was laughing. Blue was groaning? “Blue roll off of me, please.” Blue didn’t move. So Willie rolled Blue over on to his back as gently as he could. There was scratches and abrasions and blood and a knot on Blue’s head. Cell phone. Emergency. Ambulance. Ross. Grandmother.

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The first to arrive were Ross, Pinkie and Grandmother. They came together, talking on the cell phone the whole way. Grandmother was also Dr. Day, pediatrician. How grandmother climbed the quarry hill and slid down the slope along with Ross and Pinkie is a testimony to the Day constitution. Ross had brought Blue’s clothes up from the lake. It was getting crowded at the edge of the world. The ambulance arrived and five minutes later, two paramedics where standing on the trail above them talking to Dr. Day. They would pull Blue up the slope on a stretcher. Blue was conscious now after grandmother used one of those ammonia poppers. He seemed confused. But grandmother said everything was going to be alright. She had taken Blue’s hand and Willie’s and said a prayer of thanks. “It’s going to be alright Willie. You can’t steal something that has already been given.”

Blue would have to stay over night in the hospital. After tests in the morning, he would probably be released tomorrow afternoon. He had a mild concussion, a knot on the forehead. Some seriously strained shoulder and arm muscles. And scratches and bruises. Also he had to deal with worried parents. A pissed brother. Concerned friends. Horny nurses, female and male. And Willie.

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Blue didn’t die. Obviously. Willie. Willie had saved him. Or did he. He tried to. But they were falling together weren’t they? And Blue was upset with Willie wasn’t he? The dogs. Everyone was talking about the bloodhounds. They had pulled both of them to safety. Blue lay in the bed. They gave him a shot of something in the butt. That nurse was really friendly. But he was not asleep. Not yet. He was looking at something thru his lashes. It was next to his bed. It was attached to him. Yes, it was holding his hand. But that wasn’t it.

It was touching him. Stroking him. Caressing. Loving. Coaxing. Urging. Peaceful. Sleep. And Blue fell in dream. His arms were wrapped around a strong back and he glided one hand downward across naked skin to a round mound of pounding flesh. Piston and cylinder. An engine of love. They were cruising now. Smooth. A kiss. A wicked grin. A slap demanding. A quick downshift response, now, low gear. Deep and rolling. Stroking the sweet spot. Then quiet. Idle. Motionless. Waiting. Impatience. Go. Don’t stop. Go. Now, short pulsing wiggles, was someone gunning the engine. Frustrating need. Begging. A real slap. A firing start. Sudden thrusting, frantic pumping. Screaming ripping fiction. Heat. Hot fucking. Heads up straining. Give it the gas. All of it. Dick me to the ground. Drag me until we come. Their love roared down the path chosen.

Another beginning.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original art, characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.<br /><br />This story was originally written in late 2009 and early 2010.<br /><br />Transfer to new system on: 12/16/2010<br /><br />© Copyright 2010 by Bugeye. All Rights Reserved.<br /><br />
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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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Chapter Comments

An interesting premise and story that unfortunately misses the mark. The story seems like it is in a rough state and should not be posted on this site yet. The ending alludes to much but is vague perhaps purposely so but I don't like it. What is with chapters that say things like

stories/7180/images/willie.eight.jpg stories/7180/images/willie.five.jpg stories/7180/images/willie.six.jpg

Are there suppossed to be pictures there? With some editing this could be a really interesting story.

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Really? Premise great bad bad writing I finished it means it could have been a great story next time get someone to edit it this was really bad but interesting 

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God Toast, I see what you mean mate !  Maybe rough but a bloody enjoyable read. Forget the haters (I know I'm a bit late... 7 years late... but still, especially in these times... just forget the haters.

Stephen

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