I’M HAPPY TO ANNOUNCE THE RELEASE OF SHORT STORY
which is also part of
LOVE, LOSS, LAUGHTER & LUST: A Wayward Ink Publishing Anthology
RULE # 1
KNOW YOUR PREY
MY GAZE rake over him as he enters my bar. He’s looking fine… mighty fine, in fact. Better, even, than he did last night, or the night before that. That’s how long I’ve been observing him.
His jeans are dark and hang low on his hips, neither tight nor baggy. They advertise his package, and that sexy rump of his, without putting it all out on a platter. I like that. I like it a lot.
His T-shirt is charcoal gray, with a design on the front picked out in black, white, and a lighter shade of gray that looks to be a Celtic cross with a hovering dragon. The tee hangs just over the waistband of his jeans, and every time he lifts his arm to garner the attention of one of my barmen, I catch a glimpse of tawny skin. And just like an ice-cream cone begs to be licked, so, too, does his belly.
It might be the beginning of summer, but his hair is autumn. It’s a riot of reds and browns, with the odd bit of gold that glints when he passes directly under one of the bar lights. Unlike most redheads, though, there’s not a freckle to be found on his beautiful face. And his face is, indeed, beautiful. Only the squareness of his jaw and the strength of his cheekbones save it from being feminine.
Gorgeous. The guy is gorgeous. No doubt about it. He knows it, too. He’s only too aware that every chick in the joint is soaking her panties at the thought of taking his cock in her tight little snatch. Their panting after him is a waste of time, of course. The guy definitely prefers cock to cleft. Not that his preference would prove a hindrance, as probably half the guys here would drop their pants for him too. He’s that kind of gorgeous.
He walks with a sexy arrogance that is almost tangible. He’s so fucking sure of himself. I love it. Guys like him are my absolute favorites. They are so much fun to bring to their knees.
He looks to be in his early twenties, and he’s hanging out with friends—a bunch of college dudes, which supports my theory—same as he has for the past two nights. Same as they all do. My bar is the place to go. I make sure of that. When you like to hunt as much as I do, it’s just common sense to bait your lair as attractively as possible. And my joint does attract them, like flies to honey. It’s the same every college break. They come, they hang out, I fuck them, they leave.
And that’s just the way I like it.
The guy’s no idiot. He knows I want him. He’s known it from the first night. It’s not as if I’ve made any attempt to conceal it, and every time he turns to meet my stare, he smiles and winks.
Me, I nod and smile and raise my glass in a silent toast. No words are necessary.
He caught my eye the very first moment he graced my premises. Looks like his are hard to miss, and damn near impossible to ignore. Smiling to myself, I sip my drink and watch my target, recalling that first night. I’d made my move within fifteen minutes of him ordering his first beer. He’d shot me down in flames, with a laugh and a wink. That hadn’t dampened my desire for him, though. On the contrary, it had fanned the flames. I like a good chase. Truth be told, I love one. He’ll succumb eventually. They all do. Doing a bit of chasing makes hearing their pleading, pleasure-soaked whimpers all the sweeter when I finally have my way with them.
Watching him, I’ve no doubt he, too, considers himself a hunter. And judging by what he’s taken home the previous two nights, a very successful one.
The difference is, he’s the undergraduate of hunting… and I’m the PhD.
HUNTER OR HUNTED? is also a part of the LOVE, LOSS, LAUGHTER & LUST Anthology
HUNTER OR HUNTED?
WRITTEN IN THE STARS
AND RECEIVE A FREE COPY OF
LIFE ACCORDING TO BUDDY
(Just email Wayward Ink Publishing at
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Buddy = Jonathon’s Penis
The Colonel = Corey’s Penis
BB (AKA The Twins) = Corey’s Bottom
“WAKEY, wakey, rise and shine! How I love me a morning.” I stretch lazily. “Mm, Egyptian cotton. It’s so soft it has to be at least eight hundred plus thread count.” I twitch again, brushing against the warm, satiny-soft fabric. “Yep, def eight hundred plus.”
How, you might be asking, would a penis know the difference between a two hundred and an eight hundred thread count sheet? Well, let’s just say, I’m a discerning cock. And a smart one too. Well, actually, I’m a genius, as in MENSA material, but I don’t like to boast.
Now, if only I can get Jonny to realize that fact, life will be perfect. The guy has a tendency to overthink everything. And I do mean everything. Don’t get me wrong—I love the dude, I mean, after all, we’re attached—but he’s a pain in the ass sometimes, and not in a good way!
If he’d listened to me, we’d have been in the warm, snug nirvana commonly known as Corey’s ass months ago instead of only a matter of weeks. But no, he had to fight me every step of the way. Every damn time I tried to let Corey know exactly what we had to offer, Jonny just about choked me. God, those tight freakin’ underpants he took to wearing in an effort to hide me nearly killed me. It was almost death by undies. Don’t you worry, though, I said almost. I fought, kicking and screaming the whole way, and at the end of the day they were no match for the Budster. Hahahaha. Budster: 1. Undies: 0. What can I say? I was a cock on a mission…