I really enjoyed the third part of my first mini-series. Mainly, I think because it dealt with Greg’s feelings. This is something that a series can really explore, rather than a one-shot short story.
This was my second story to be published by TommyHawksFantasyWorld and the artwork is by Inocentius & Pervertida. After reading it again all these years later I am actually quite happy with it. The premise is simple, a chance meeting on a train, and the story flows quite well. I have always liked the idea of anonymous hook-ups, in writing anyway. I hope you all enjoy it too.
This story starts well with a great sex scene and then delves into the premise of the story, one half of a couple is interested in having a threesome. This stems from me wondering what a threesome might be like and so I thought if I wrote about one then I might get some idea. I still find the idea strange. I find it difficult enough to concentrate on one lover, never mind two. But then I suppose most threesomes are just about sex and not making love. Too many limbs, too many dicks and too many holes, I still don’t know how people manage it.
I found the threesome difficult to write for it to make sense without just saying, Neil did this to Stephen, Stephen did this to me and I did this to Neil, then Stephen did that to me. It’s still got to be erotic and make the reader horny.
If any reader has had a threesome then please let me know what your experience was, good or bad.
This is another semi-autobiographical story, I’m sure you can guess which part is fictional. It is based on an actual motorbike holiday I took down to Spain where I had an accident very similar to what happened. It even took place before the introduction of the Euro and features the old E111 (pronounced E-One-Eleven) which is now replaced by the EHIC – but now the UK has left the EU even that won’t be valid for us Brits anymore. (Hell, this story is really showing his age.)
It would also be unusual for the Spanish guy at the hotel to be circumcised. I don’t actually remember why I decided to circumcise him, I can only surmise that I wanted to write about a different type of dick.
I think that my earlier stories tend to be overlong, too much preamble and this story has quite a bit of post-able (if that’s a word). I like to think that my writing has got a bit tighter with age, but you can be the judge of that.
I remember learning about dew-ponds somewhere, it may have been one of the times I was bored and browsing Wikipedia. I found the idea of them intriguing and the romantic myth of how they came about. As I mention in the story, they are generally man-made and filled by rain. But why stop reality ruining a good legend.
My story is about two young friends who go exploring and come across a dew-pond. This is just the backdrop to their realisation of their greater love for each other. I did notice, on re-reading the story I don’t actually mention how old the boys are. In case any of you are wondering they are about fourteen.
It has been a criticism recently that I don’t describe my characters too much. That has been somewhat deliberate so that reader could imagine the characters to be what they wanted and be who they find attractive. I’d be interesting to see hear from you to see if it works. So please let me know your thoughts. I have been trying to include more description in my recent writing.
It’s a strange experience to read your old writing and this one is particularly interesting and very autobiographical.
Back when I was in secondary school (age 11 to 16 to those who don’t know) I had a major crush on my friend. I never told anyone about it and I never did anything about. Looking back I never remember him having a girlfriend but I think he is now married with children. When we left school, we did go to the same college (age 16 to 18) but we were in different classes so our paths never really crossed much.
It was my crush for him that made me put distance between us. I knew he was straight so there wasn’t any chance of anything happening between us. There was one moment when I nearly kissed him which scared the shit out of me. He didn’t notice, thankfully. My life would have been made hell if anyone knew what nearly happened.
This short poem (or vignette) is about a time when we had showered after our PE class. He was never bashful and I think he even enjoyed letting other boys look at him. This one moment in time is etched in my mind and one of my favourite memories of him. I miss those days.
This story really shows its age. The playground described has all the equipment from the last century with a big metal slide (Does anyone remember those high slides that went about 12 feet high, with a metal cage at the top? It would be a health and safety nightmare in today’s world. And then the old wooden roundabouts. We used to play a silly game where me and a friend would lie down on the wooden lip, drop a stick as you whirled around and then your mate had to pick it up.)
The story is set on a modern housing estate where I used to live as a child. In the UK, our houses are built very close together and we could see into the back garden of the house opposite. I slept in a small box room at the back of the house but I don’t remember the couple that lived at the back of us having any children, so I never really paid much attention to what was going off behind me.
It wasn’t until several years later that I borrowed the scenario and turned it into a story.
As a kid I remember being incredibly bored during the summer six week holidays from school. I didn’t really meet up with any friends so I just tended to entertain myself.
The story itself delves into my mind as a young teenager who had not yet accepted he was gay and that confusion was how Karl was feeling. I remember just wishing that someone like Scott would come into my life and help me come to terms with myself, but alas he never did. At that age I was never very confident and would never make the first move, or even be forward with my feelings or opinions. Oh how I wish that young man was more confident, but back then homophobia was rife, and where I lived, acceptable.
I hope you enjoy the story.
One other thing, how on earth could I think that a fifteen-year-old boy left alone in the house in the morning didn’t have a wank before he got up. Shocking! That boy really needed to give his cock better attention.