the gangsta

(Story to come)

the guard

(Story to Come)

thirsty games

(Story to come)

For my friends in Belarus, для маіх сяброў у Беларусі (update)

Асаблівая падзяка 
цудоўнай краіне Беларусь.

У мяне было 59 гасцей з Беларусі ў адзін дзень.

Я спадзяюся, што гэты пераклад з'яўляецца правільным.

Яшчэ раз дзякуй,
B & D.

        This is a special thank you to the wonderful nation of Belarus.  I had 59 visitors from that country in a single day.

Bedside Manners

The Brothers

The Weight Room

The Loser

Servant to the Heir #3 (storyline in progress)

(STORYLINE IN PROGRESS)


        Matt had been a tabloid reporter since graduating from college.  Now, at the ripe age of 30, he had a stable job and paycheck.  Even after breaking out the scandalous exposure of his government's undersecretary of state having secret gay affairs, he was still eaking out a living from paycheck to paycheck.

        All of that changed on quiet evening.  He had just returned to his flat when his cellphone rang.  It was the undersecretary who he had exposed and humiliated.  He wanted to arrange a meeting that very night.

        Matt was rather nervous about the meeting, as he knew this guy had been a ruthless politician who would stop at nothing to defeat his enemies.  Matt set up a hidden mic on his notebook and made his way down to a nearby coffeeshop where the private meeting was to take place.

        Once he got there, the shop owner showed him to a private room where the former undersecretary was sitting at a table, quietly reading the latest edition of the tabloid.

        "Ah, my friend. Welcome."  His greeting was warm and genial.  Not at all what Matt was expecting.

        Even more unsure, Matt took a seat across the table from him.  The politician poured him a cup of coffee out of the pot and cleared his throat.  "How would you like a tip on a scandal even bigger than mine?"

In the surf (stroyline in progress)

This is the story of an American who hated the racism in his own country, so he went to visit his ancestral homeland in Africa.  Things didn't turn out so good for him.

 

     

Shadows of the past

        Michael had lived his whole childhood not knowing about who is real family was.  He had been abandoned at a homeless shelter when he was a newborn, completely unwanted by his birth mother.  

        He spent most of his childhood bouncing from one foster home to another.  The only thing he knew about his family was that his parent were addicts and had been murdered not long after inheriting their grandparents ranch in Montana.  

        When he finally turned 18 and he was out on his own.  He decided to try to find his roots. After some searching, he found that his parents and four siblings had been murdered in the family home in Wyoming.  His uncle had moved into the home a few years later.  Both of his sons were also killed in the home.

         Michael decided to travel out west to the family home.  The journey was long and dull, but he was glad to see the wild American west.  He hitchhiked into the small rural town and went to the town hall to find out more about his family's residence.  He learned that his uncle had just died a few months prior and the house was empty.

         It appears that Michael was the only remaining heir to the estate.  But the mayor warned Michael that the place was cursed.  He told him that Michael's great-great grandfather was infamous for leading a posse to massacre the Indians who used to live on the land.  He told him that the land was an ancient tribal sacred site where the spirits of the Indian warriors still wandered in search for revenge.

 

        Michael pushed this all off as superstitious nonsense.  He decided to move out into the ranch house. 

 
        He hiked out to the old homestead.  It was a large ranch-style mansion.  Sure, it needed a little work, but Michael didn't mind the work.  He spent his first night in the parlor room since that was the only room he had been able to clean up.

 

    During the night, he awoke from his sleep by a noise on the deck outside his window.  He stared out from his chair as he saw what appeared to be an Indian sneaking past his window.

 

       Michael sat still in the chair and pulled up his blanket.  He watched as the Indian stopped in front of the window as if distracted by something ahead of him.

 

       Suddenly, the Indian turned his head  straight at Michael.  He let out a whoop and crashed through the window, leaping at Michael.  Michael screamed out in fear and leaped from the chair where he had been sleeping. He half-expected to fight the Indian, but there was nothing there.  The room was dark, the window was undamaged.

 

       Holy Crap, that was quite the nightmare, Michael thought as he let out a sigh.  His heart was racing from the dream.  "Fuck the Indians."  the young man whispered beneath his breath.

 

         He made his way down the hallway towards the bathroom.  As he got halfway down the hall, a picture fell from the wall.  It was a picture of the old Indian chief and beside him was the warrior who attacked him in his dream.

 

        At first, the site startled him, but he quickly pushed the fearful thoughts aside and again said, "Fuck the Indians."

 

        Out of nowhere, there was a swooshing sound and Michael felt to hard thuds against his lower belly, nearly knocking the wind out of him.  

 

        He staggered back slightly and stared down at two arrows sticking out of his gut.  He then heard the words, "No, not Fuck the Indians..... Don't Fuck with the Indians"

 

 

        Michael slowly sank to his knees as he watched the ghostly image of the Indian warrior walk up to him.  The warrior grabbed the ends of the arrows and ripped them out of Michael's gut.  The young man writhed on the floor in pain.

 

        The Indian spirit placed his bare foot on Michael's shoulder as he knelt down over his victim.  He rammed his dagger into Michael's bare chest and ripped out the young man's heart.  "You won't be needing this... You didn't have a heart anyway." 

Bastard Son of a Drug-Lord (story/pic)

Davey was the son of a Venezuelan drug lord.  Being the son of an american woman, his father never really cared for him.  Davey spent his childhood growing up in America and decided for his 18th birthday to go visit his father, hoping to get a little bit of inheritance since his father was very well-off.

Davey's reception by his father was not what he had hoped.  His father was irritated that this boy would dare come to see him.  Especially since he had never met him before.  He sent Davey out from his home and told him to return to America.

Davey went back to his hotel room, awaiting his flight home the next morning, however, a rival cartel was alerted to him being in town.  They had not learned about Davey's estranged status from his father, and thought they might be able to score a ransom. 

During the night, several men stormed Davey's hotel room and took him prisoner.  They took him to one of their hideouts and shackled him to a wall.  Davey tried to struggle from the binds, but found himself trapped.

When they explained why he was taken prisoner, Davey told them that his father wanted nothing to do with him.  Though they didn't believe him, (after all, who could trust an American?), they did warn him that he had better hope that was not the case.

After a brief phone call to Davey's father, the kidnappers discovered that what he told them was true.

"Oh, well."  one of them said, "Looks like you are of no value to us either."

Davey tried to plea for his life as the kidnappers aimed crossbows at his chest.  In a single burst, all fired, hitting the young man.

 

 

Davey gasped for air as the arrows pierced through his lungs.  His young body quaked as he sputtered out blood.  His handsome form gave out a final jolt before sagging down.

Meat Market Advertiser (story/pic)

          He came ashore boldly, proudly.  His handsome, muscular chest shimmered in the noonday sun as he waded the final feet to the beach.

        He saw those island natives and knew he was stronger and smarter.  They were all short, scrawny and completely uneducated.  He came with his sword, ready to strike down any one of those savages who dared come against him.

        He puffed out his chest and postured, letting them see his strength, his beauty and most importantly, his confidence.  These were a meek and lowly lot and he half expected them to come out and worship him as a god.

        One of the younger warriors advanced towards him with his head bowed.  The cocky american merely smirked.  He knew he was the better man.

        Then, in an instant, the native chucked his spear at the cocky visitor.  The handsome young man had no chance to react.  The spear shot right through his navel.  All he could do was stand there in shock and disbelief.

        He staggered a little in the ankle-high water.  Dropping his sword, he bent slightly forward, grasping the shaft of the spear in both hands.  

        He felt his heart start pounding in his chest, his bowels burned inside him as he felt himself spewing his seed into his shorts.  The numbing pain transfixed him as he sank to his knees.  The bare white soles of his feet shined in the sun as his toes curled.

        His chest heaved and his handsome face looked up as the young native warrior slowly approached.  His attacker was smaller, younger, weaker.  The native merely stood in front of him and watched his victim struggle with the pain and fear that was slowly overpowering him.

        The muscular young man stared up at the savage.  His eyes were half-pleading and half-refusing to submit.  His expression contorted between a grimace and a glare.  The native made no response, he just patiently stood there as the young man suffered.

        Finally, the young man fell over on his side.  His breathing was much heavier than before and his writhing was weaker.  The native waved for his tribe to approach.

        He grabbed the young man by the shoulders and the group of them carried the visitor to the shade under a palm tree.  The young man could only look up tenderly at the eyes of the warrior who had pierced him.

        The tribesmen gathered around the once strong man who lay on the sand.  They all knelt around him in some sort of a ritualistic prayer circle, with their knees against the young man's body.  The young man could only stare back, wondering if they were trying to heal him, but such was not the case.

        At once, the crowd leaned down to his muscular body and each began tearing into his muscles with their teeth.  He screamed out in pain as his flesh was torn apart by the hungry savages.  

        He writhed and screamed for a few minutes before the lead warrior's teeth tore into his throat.  The natives enjoyed their meaty feast until nothing was left.  

        They were usually friendly towards visitors, but this one, unfortunately, had decided to put on a show and demonstrated just how savory his body was.   They just couldn't resist the way he had displayed his meat for them.