Posts

The Benefactor

The museum was closed for the night, its vast Neoclassical façade gleaming under the sodium haze of streetlamps. Inside, the hush was total—a cloistered silence broken only by the slow, uneven echo of footsteps and the sharp tap of a cane on marble.   “Watch the floor,” came the gravel-edged voice of Mr. Cecil Braddock, longtime curator of the Royal Museum of Antiquities. “These flagstones predate your last merger, I suspect, and I’ll not have them cracked by careless shoes or perfume-soaked loafers.”   The benefactor in question—a tall, silver-haired man named Edmund Lyle—offered a mild smile. He was no stranger to Braddock’s bark, but tonight it carried more vinegar than usual. After all, the curator had not volunteered to give this tour. He had been goaded into it by the Director herself, who’d reminded him of the funding shortfall in the new acquisitions wing and of Lyle’s considerable pockets. That it involved a midnight walk-through with “an industrialist and his boy sec...
Post a Comment
Read more

Coitus Interruptus

In a cozy apartment gently scented with lingering curry spices, Harold—mid-50s, with a warm roundness and a distinguished thinning of hair—relaxed on a couch that had become a trusted companion over the years. He wore a cherished Mega Quest III T-shirt that lovingly hugged his middle, and sweatpants that told stories of many joyful evenings with microwave enchiladas. Today, however, was special. Harold’s personal day of reflection and joy. He had orchestrated everything with the precision of a maestro preparing for a grand symphony. The blinds were half-drawn, casting a gentle, inviting mystery across the room. His laptop was fully charged. A fresh bag of cheese puffs stood poised, accompanied by a loyal roll of paper towels. And his browser? A thoughtfully curated array of bookmarked videos, queued perfectly to match his desires. Harold stood and took a deep, satisfying breath. It was time. With the grace of someone who had watched Magic Mike and embraced its spirit in his own unique ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Confessional

"So, was it everything you imagined?" Marcus lay back against the pillows, still catching his breath. His thick fingers absently smoothed over his stomach, a gentle motion, like he was settling himself back into his body after having given it over to something raw and urgent. The man beside him, whose name he had already half-forgotten—Dan? Don?—turned on his side, propping himself up on one elbow. Marcus chuckled, his voice still hoarse from exertion. "Yeah. Yeah, you were good." He patted the man's thigh, a gesture meant to be reassuring, though it probably came off as absentminded. "Just good?" The younger man smirked. He was younger, though not by much—maybe late forties, a bit leaner but with a softness around the middle that suggested he, too, had long since given up on the rigid expectations of youth. Marcus exhaled, shifting his weight on the mattress. "I don't hand out gold stars, kid." The man laughed. "Fair enough." H...
Post a Comment
Read more

A Toast to the Years Between

The sun was too bright, the speeches too long, and Leonard Blackstone was beginning to regret not wearing a hat. He sat in the fifth row of folding chairs, surrounded by a sea of parents, grandparents, and the glossy-eyed graduates of Grayson University’s Class of 2025. His grandson, Eli, would be walking soon — smart, confident, out in a way Leonard had never dared to be at his age. The ceremony dragged on. He adjusted the collar of his linen blazer and let his gaze drift toward the campus buildings beyond the lawn, their red-brick faces nearly unchanged since he himself had studied here in the spring of 1969. Those years clung to him like smoke, not quite dissipated — his hand still remembered the texture of certain dorm walls, the smell of dust and desire caught between the pages of borrowed library books. “Lenny?” The voice was hesitant, softened by time but instantly recognizable. Leonard turned. There he was. Warren Delaney. Same eyes — slate-blue, sharp at the corners, a little ...
Post a Comment
Read more