Remember by Bryl R. Tyne

Had the immortalized voice of John Lennon not been so compelling, I may not have remembered the moment. But how could I not, with thousands of voices blended in unison inside a square . . . that wasn’t really square. Besides, some outside the square were singing too if I recall. As those thousands in harmony forgot me but recanted, “Remember all the people . . . ,” I also recall the precise depth the steel reached–or maybe it was a letter opener . . . or a pick. My vision had blurred; but yeah, I’m thinking now, the song ended on an ice pick. Though I never actually saw my life’s intruder coming, a definite pang raced through me as the tip of whatever blade scraped a rib. And I remember seeing my pursuer mouth words to the song but can’t for the life of me recall his voice . “Living . . . .” I joined him in unison as his upper lip quirked a smidgen higher to one side and he grinned. Funny what one does remember.

* * * *

Okay, maybe a bit morbid, but I write them as they come. Watching the ball drop last night, this inspiration took hold. Whether or not it becomes anything more is anyone’s guess. However, if you missed my New Year’s Eve free read and need something more on the sunny-side, here’s a little brightness, just for you:  http://bryltyne.com/2009/12/free-holiday-read

* * * *

Better late than never, I always say. . .find myself saying that a lot lately, but anyhoo. Below is the holiday free read I promised you. Enjoy!   

Predictable by Bryl R. Tyne

Predictable©2009 Bryl R. Tyne

All Rights Reserved

December 31, 2009

Home by seven-thirty—in and out of the shower by eight—towel hanging slightly cocked, exposing enough of his left hip to drive a man wild. Ian Maroni, my roommate this year, drives me bat-shit crazy. It’s been a long first month of pure torture and I still don’t know if he’s gay or not; but I don’t care. He’s gorgeous. How many times have I dreamt of telepathic powers? Just once, I’d like to will that towel loose of those narrow hips. Frustrated as ever.

Martin Berman

Ian cocked a brow as he rounded the bathroom doorway and strolled to his side of the closet on the far side of the room. I closed my notebook. He eyed me over his right shoulder. “Didn’t know jocks kept journals.”

Smartass. “It’s not a journal.” I stuffed the notebook into my backpack. “Professor Perkins says—”

“Behavioral Psych Professor Perkins?”

Fuck.

“It’s a journal.”

I ignored the look he threw me as I passed behind him, heading for the bathroom. He’d have dressed and either gone to the library to study or parked on his bed combing over his latest violin ensem when I finished showering. Predictable torture . . .

. . . And there he was cross-legged, back against his headboard, chin to his violin, when I emerged from the bathroom towel-drying my mop. Funny though, no music lay open on the bed before him, he appeared lost in a simple melody. “Not studying tonight?”

Ouch. I fingered my sore ear. Could’ve done without the missed note.

“It’s New Year’s Eve, nimrod.” His glare cut deeper than his words.

Nothing unusual, though. I mean, look at him sitting there on his boney ass all proper-like. He envied me. I knew it. Who wouldn’t be jealous of this quarterback physique? He’d probably never stepped foot inside a gym. His anti-social behaviors weren’t my fault, though. If he wanted to live like a shut-in, he should’ve rented a place off-campus. Without another word, he laid his violin down softly then marched over to his dresser.

Oh great. Out came his Marlboros. He lit one up as he stalked to the sliding glass door then jerked it open. I shuddered as he stepped onto the balcony into an exhaled plume of smoke. Suddenly, that perfect ass concealed by those skin-tight jeans didn’t look so inviting.

I thumbed through my clothes, pulling the first black t-shirt I came to off its hanger. Jerkwad knew I hated smoking. Just the thought of kissing someone with smoker’s breath made me gag. Oh hell, who was I kidding. Like I’d ever get a taste of him. I finished tugging up my jeans. He’d told me before that he only smoked when he was stressed out. Fastening my pants, I wondered if this time, it was my fault he’d felt the need to light up. Barefoot, I padded across the room and stuck my head out the open door.

“Melanie should be here any minute. Change your mind about the party?” I asked, knowing his answer would be the same as always. He never went anywhere, unless it served a purpose. Social functions, according to him, were what slackers majored in.

He dragged deep on that cancer stick. I couldn’t help stare at the way his lips tightened around it so determined, wishing he’d use that same determination on me someday. Ashtray-breath or not, even in one of his moods, his stance beckoned me to give him the once-over . . . one more time. So damned sexy. “I’ll go,” he said, exhaling the stench-filled smoke through his nose.

* * * * *

Melanie and girlfriend, Sue, rented a house about three miles from campus. Not a long ride, but in the backseat of Melanie’s car, Ian toyed with the stitching of his jeans the entire time. Though she’d picked up a few others along the way, I’d made sure Ian got a window seat in case he needed to smoke. Crammed shoulder-to-shoulder in the backseat of her Hyundai, I knew he was Jonesing for one bad. He didn’t light up though. I found that abnormal—really strange, for him.

As soon as we were inside, he asked where the bathroom was. Whatever. Hungry as always, I snagged a glass of beer and headed for the kitchen.

“Hey, Marty. Does he know?”

Scanning behind me, I turned to find Melanie on my heels. Through the open doorway, I watched the swarm mingle about the living room. Still no sign of Ian. “Give it a rest. Will you?” I found an apple in a fruit bowl on the counter. “I told you. I don’t even know if he’s gay for chrissake.”

“Well, he showed up here, didn’t he? Surely he knows this party is exclusively for Lesbians and Gay—”

“I didn’t tell him.” I took a hearty bite of apple, hoping she’d shut up.

She did, and just in time as Ian hustled into the kitchen looking a bit unsettled. “Sorry,” he said, and turned around. “I didn’t mean to interrupt any—”

“Oh no, sweetie.” Melanie caught him by the arm. Squeezing past him in the doorway, she gave him a shove further into the kitchen. “I was just leaving.”

Ian pinned me with his stare, but it wasn’t his typical glare of distaste or envy. Breaking eye-contact, I lifted the lid on the cooler on the table. “Want a beer?” I handed him a bottle as I looked up to find him still staring. “What?”

As he grabbed the bottle from my hand and his fingers brushed over mine I could’ve sworn I caught him stifle a quick smile. “You didn’t tell me this was a gays only New Year’s Eve party.”

“Well, Melanie and Sue are friends . . . and they asked me.” I cracked open a bottle and held it out in exchange for his. He was still staring as I took the unopened bottle from his hand and replaced it with the one I’d just opened. But before I could open my beer, he was sucking his down. Damnit. Was there anything those lips couldn’t tackle to perfection? “Listen. If you’re uncomfortable—”

“No. I’m cool,” he said, lowering the bottle from slightly swollen lips.

Again, I tried hard not to fixate on that almost smile and turned away. Sipping my beer, I made my way past Ian and into the crowded living room. Catching the game on the big screen or shooting the bull with friends should keep my mind occupied. Anything but worrying about what that smile meant.

One of the reasons I liked hanging out with like-minded buds, at least “Star Quarterback Kisses Man” would be far from breaking New Year’s Eve gossip come Monday morning. Most professors could give a rats ass about who’s schtupping whom, but the students? As quarterback of the football team, I had an image to uphold. I gave Ian one last glance, before disappearing into the sea of people. Still staring, he nodded my direction then raised his bottle in salute sporting a now, huge grin. What had I done by asking him here?

* * * * *

Though I succeeded in avoiding Ian most of the night, he stumbled past me a few times—always on his way to the bathroom. Despite his reaction to my actions tonight, with the help of Melanie, I’d resolved that I was getting a midnight celebratory kiss come hell or high water. If he ratted me out to the entire student body, so be it.

I eyed the clock—three minutes until midnight. Looking around, I noticed most everyone had paired off and seemed particularly happy with their choices for the evening. Just as I was deciding between Emo Rogers lingering alone in a back corner or goofy Jim, who’d lost himself in table-top dancing all night, I was catapulted forward from a sudden jar to the back.

“Hey!” I caught myself seconds before careening over the back of a winged-back chair and whirled around. “Watch where the fu—”

“Sorry,” Ian said, steadying his balance with the assistance of my outstretched arm.

“You lush.”

“Am not.” With a hiccup, he wiped in vain at his beer-drenched t-shirt, before meeting my gaze.

My attention drifted behind him, and I shook my head. Melanie and Sue stood across the room, giggling.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said, eying the clock as the crowd began migrating closer the big screen behind me. Emo Rogers had disappeared and goofy Jim was down to nothing but his thong. So much for celebrating the New Year. “Come on. Let’s head out. I’ll get a cab.”

Ian’s eyes widened as another wave sent both of us closer to the television which now sported the count-down ball. The noisy room grew louder, trying to drown out the screaming crowd on the TV. With my back against the chair, any space on either side of me was filled with the next wave of partiers and the few remaining steps between Ian and I disappeared just the same.

“Ten!” The crowd reiterated the television’s blare as Ian inadvertently shared the moisture of his t-shirt with mine.

His half-finished bottle teetered as much as he did as he leaned to set it on an end table; I caught him before he made a fool of himself.

“Nine!”

“Hold on before you fall over!” I yelled above the crowd.

He wrapped both arms around my waist, but his gaze locked hard on mine as he found his footing. “I’m not drunk.”

“Eight!”

Yeah. Right. My straight roommate had a death grip on the back of my t-shirt and wasn’t as much as flinching at us being pressed junk-to-junk by the drunken mob. He was sober—my ass. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Seven!”

The intensity of his glare multiplied and if I didn’t know any better, I swore he pulled himself flush against me. “I need a cigarette,” he said.

“Six!”

Well, that was news to me. I’d figured he’d snatched a drag or two each time he disappeared into the bathroom.

“Five!”

“It’s a New Year’s resolution.” His glare softened into a different look, a look I’d never seen on him—a look of hunger. “For you,” he said, leaning closer, filling any remaining distance between us.

“Four!”

At that moment, I must’ve had that deer in the headlight look, but my predictable roommate had thrown me for one helluva loop. “For me?” I stammered as his stubbly jaw scraped across my neck and his hands wandered my back.

“Three!”

“I didn’t know you were gay, until you asked me to the party.”

“Not many people do. I got an image to uphold for chrissake.”

“Two!”

His warm breath rushed over my neck, sending heat coursing through me and pooling down below. He licked a wet trail to my ear, and my cock hardened accordingly as my mind rallied around the fact that my roommate was most likely gay. If it were the beer messing with me or his actions, I didn’t care. I reciprocated his hold, brushing over what could only be one fine boner as I ground against him. “Happy?”

With a chuckle, he adjusted himself. “That’s just my toothbrush and toothpaste, dork.”

“One!”

In that instant, as his lips covered mine, his reoccurring bathroom visits made sense. Wanting to ensure my first taste of him left a pleasant imprint, he had been brushing his teeth throughout the evening. And at that moment, when our tongues collided and I fondled his skinny ass beneath my palms, I realized, I didn’t really care if he tasted like an ashtray or not. My beer-soaked shirt clinging to my chest, Ian clinging to me, I’d happily trade one predictable torture for another.

* * * * *

January 1, 2010

Even the predictable is unpredictable. My New Year’s Resolution: Quit over thinking. Ian’s home—gotta run.

Martin Berman

Check out my poem, I Would be Naive. A 2009 Mother’s Day Tribute to my mom. Down load free from Smashwords.

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1845

Wrong Trousers

by

Bryl R. Tyne

A Romantic Comedy with a smidgen of man love, a dash of erotica, and a generous helping of absurdity

Contribution to the 3^rd Annual Romance Divas E-Book Challenge

Josh Morgan, two grand in pocket. Dave Tanner, a hot guy, along for the ride, who values comfortable jeans as much as Josh does.

Life couldn’t get any worse.

Where did Dave disappear to wearing Josh’s money-laden jeans? Why is Dave’s phone number not in service? “What do you mean, his name’s not Dave Tanner?”

Download free E-Book, CLICK HERE!

Snow Job

“No way…Dude, it’s Santa!”

“Time to lay off the eggnog, Neil.” Craig whipped open the fridge and snagged another beer. “Besides, according to my sister, if Santa stopped at our house, he’d leave only coal.”

“How many times do we have to go through this? Forget what others think about our lifestyle.” Neil fiddled with the focus. “Here, see for yourself…” He stepped down, leaving Craig the telescope.

“Well?”

“That’s not Santa Claus, moron.”

“Look again, Craig.”

Craig adjusted the view. “Santa doesn’t wear black or leather–”

Neil pushed him back upon the step. “Then explain the rest.”

“Fine! A sleigh…overloaded with gifts…pulled by eight–” Craig rubbed his eyes and resumed spying the night sky. “Oh my god, Neil…It’s a Christmas miracle!”

“I bet you’re wondering why I’m braving the elements. Naked except for my harness, I’m rigged to this sleigh…and leading an eight-man team, who is undressed likewise. Eight rein-men, towering over me, most by half a foot and every one of them, built like a brick shithouse. Why would men, who missed their calling as professional athletes, follow my lead, obey my command, show me any semblance of respect?

“I’m not sure if it’s the joy in the recipients’ faces when we deliver their gifts or their words of gratefulness that keep me, but sometimes, even I pause to reflect on how I ended up here…”

Fed up with waiting in the cold, I’d all but accepted my fate of spending the holidays with Joe and Mike, the overpass our only protection from the elements.

Heavy boots crunched, as they covered the distance on packed snow. “All right, back in line men, straighten up-straighten up. Now! Time’s running short. Let’s get this started.” Cracks in rapid succession cut through the sting of winter air. A heated chill raced up my spine, halting me in my tracks…The allure of a man, leather-bound, cracking orders, and snapping a crop. I quickly rejoined the line of men awaiting audition. Of course, the money would come in handy too. I could feel the ground temperature through the soles of my boots and couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept in a bed.

“Quite the selection we have this year.” Leather groaned, as the man made his way from the first to the second potential hire. Though I tarried twenty men down line, the bittersweet aroma wafting from this man’s attire set me on edge. Mesmerized, I fascinated in his every move.

“My name is Dirk. Though, you may not use my name without my authorization,” he snapped, as I watched him use the crop to lift the chin of a man, who stood inches over my modest five-foot-nine frame. Thankful for the toothbrush and paste I’d lifted not more than three hours ago, I looked on, as he pried the man’s mouth open to inspect his teeth. “In fact, if any of you so much as utter a grunt without my prompting, you will be dismissed.” Dirk stroked the crop along the side of the man’s neck, and I squirmed. “Take off you coat.” Dirk ordered, and the man obeyed. After copping various liberal handfuls of what appeared to be inhumanly layered muscle, he stepped to the next in line.

As he continued his inspections, I briefly pondered changing my mind. Regardless the money or this man’s irresistible aura, the eeriness of the waves reeking havoc through my body, had me reconsidering if the compensation for one night of hard labor was worth the costs.

I shuddered, when two men away, Dirk bellowed toward the front of the line. “I gave none of you permission to redress in your outerwear! You-You-You…” Dirk marched the direction from whence he’d begun. “You-and You…Go! You’re finished. You do not fit our needs at this time.”

Stomping, he swiped a hand over his brow, skipped the next two prospects, and stood before me. “Whom do we have here, hmm…?”

I dropped my gaze to Dirk’s black-as-soot boots. I was young, but far from stupid. “A runt if ever I’ve seen. What, are you afraid, little boy? Do I scare you?” Head remaining down, I tightened my muscles and reined in my breathing, slower and deeper. Dirk’s warm breath grazed the outer shell of my ear. “I asked you for answers. Now, speak!”

Apprehension vanquished, I accepted his challenge with concealed enthusiasm. “My name is Randall. I am twenty-two years old, a man of little means simply looking for work, sir. I don’t compare in stature to most others here, including you sir, but I can assure you, I am afraid of nothing or no one, not even you, sir.“

From the corner of my eye, I caught him raising a skeptical brow. My cheeks felt flushed, as leather caressed, and he tilted my clenched jaw skyward. “You’ll do.”

“David, Danny, Patrick, Victor, Carlos, Calvin, Donald, and Bryan, join Randall and head to the barn.” Dirk turned to those still in line. “Thank you for your time, gentlemen, maybe next year. You are dismissed.”

Dirk tugged the six-foot wide, metal-banded wood door closed behind him. We stiffened to attention, as he eyed our huddle around a bricked in firebox centered on the floor of the twenty-by-thirty foot barn. Chuckling, he gazed over the other men, hesitating when his eyes met mine. I looked away. “Get warm while you may. We’ve our work cut out for us, men.” He disappeared into a stall off to the left, as we exchanged puzzled glances, wondering what we’d missed.

Not five minutes later, Dirk returned, arms laden with leather harnesses. He dropped them into a mangled pile at our feet. “Strip down and strap up. I’ll be back.”

Mouths open, none took the initiative to intervene, as Bryan stepped forward. “Excuse me, sir. What do you–?”

Gloved hand clamped at his throat, feet hovering inches off the floor, Bryan struggled for oxygen. “You were not given my permission to speak, boy!” Dirk stayed his hold without a quiver until Bryan’s face turned purple. Dirk lowered him to a stand and eased his grip. With chest heaving, Bryan focused anywhere but on Dirk.

“Did the agency not inform you men of the job’s detail?” Dirk scanned our faces. “Apparently not,” he said, with a sigh. “It appears there has been an oversight. I will explain this once and only once, so listen well.

“As you know, this position is temporary. I requested eight youthful and strong men not afraid of hard work to help me with my duties for this evening. I am under employ of one, Mr. Claus, and assigned to head the North American branch of Christmas adult toy distribution.

“I need unshakable, sturdy, will-driven rein-men, unafraid of hard labor to pull my sleigh. You will experience biting cold, wind, rain, sleet, and snow. But, with a little magic, after fifteen minutes, your bodies adjust to the atmosphere. No harm will befall you, as long as you do exactly as instructed. Your assignment should last no longer than six hours. Upon returning, you will undergo a complete health check, be handed your pay-in cash, and be home before sunrise.”

Dirk turned to Bryan. “Now, answer me this question. Is three thousand dollars adequate compensation for six hours of your time?”

“Yes, sir, more than enough, sir,” Bryan said.

From the darkest of flesh to the palest, eight men with haltered, naked bodies of brawn gathered behind me. Between the jeering and whispering I tried hard to ignore, I heard it all. Why am I here if he needs only eight? And, why are they shoving me to the front?

“I’m not putting that thing on.” The others argued. From palm to palm, a leather-strapped invention passed between them. “Neither am I. Here, you wear it.” Attempting to remain calm, I inhaled the dark smell of my harness, as one of the eight men pressed the handful of leather into my palm.

“Oh, I see you’ve found your purpose, Randall,” Dirk said, strolling toward the group. I met his eye this time, only to rein in shock and focus on the contraption in my hand. As if reading my mind, Dirk retrieved from my grasp the modified cock harness. “Watch carefully Randall. I will illustrate how this works.”

Cupping my sac, Dirk rolled and pinched my skin until my testicles could no longer see each other across the room. I watched, as he circled each nut with leather then snapped it onto a thicker strap around the base of my dick. One jerk of his wrist took my breath away, literally, and I tried not to wince as my blood rushed south, engorging my cock.

I registered his eyes on me seconds before he delivered a sharp, leather-covered palm to my face. “Calm down, boy! You are well suited for this position, but this position only. With your girth, if you fail to dull your senses and your harness no longer fits, you’ll be out the door on your ass.” Reversing the blood flow to my smacked cheek compensated his command and he hurriedly cinched two strips of leather from the base ring to another, which he fastened just under the head of my cock.

Feeling gravity’s effect, I reached to examine the object dangling from the end of my cock. A burn like no other surged from tip to base and radiated throughout my body, as Dirk, cock whip in hand, more than dusted the head. “No touching unless I give the okay.” I dropped my hand to my side. “You, my dear man, have been assigned the most important task for this evening. My duties, the teams’ drive, safety, and ability to persevere, rely entirely on your performance. You fail, we all fail.” Like a cap, Dirk hooded the suspended object over the head of my cock, while flipping a switch.

Emanating from the cap, a blinding red glow lit up the darkness. Gasps and murmurs from the other men pulled me from my awe to join them. “Silence!” Gripping my chin, Dirk lowered his pointed stare to me and whispered. “You light my way, Randall. With the sensors under those straps, you control the beacon’s brightness. You won’t fail me, will you Randall?”

Dirk’s nod was all I needed to offer a tentative reply. “No, sir. I-I will make you proud, sir.”

He flipped off the switch and gripped the back of my neck. In shadows, he captured my bottom lip in between his. Unsure how to respond, I waited on edge. Part of me longed to taste this man in black, while my brain’s logical side warned of the certainty of pain if I acted or reacted undirected.

Dirk rolled my jutted flesh between his teeth. Holding steady, he fixated me with a hypnotic gaze seconds before clamping down, nipping, lacerating the inside of my lip. Warm, coppery flavor floated over my tongue, and Dirk pulled off with a start, shielding his eyes, as the beacon flared. “You understand, now?”

“Sir.” Impressed, I nodded.

Pretty much, that’s my story. I’ve been nodding for Dirk ever since, among other things, but at least I’ve slept in a warm bed for the last two years.

“Oh! How is it, the others have grown to respect me? Return year after year to audition for an opportunity to pull Dirk’s sleigh on Christmas Eve? Well, according to David and Calvin, the men were stunned by my ability to control the bondage master.

We’d noticed master Dirk had lightened his demeanor a bit, as we pranced and dashed about the snowy ground, trying to accustom our bare feet. David, Danny, and Patrick fastened in place, Dirk hollered for Victor. Snapping the lead onto his collar, he fed the leather line through the metal ring at his side. “Better to get used to the cold now.” Dirk commented shaking his head, as the bridled men danced from foot to foot blowing into their cupped hands. “You other four…Drop and roll!” He checked the straps of Victor’s harness, while mumbling. “It’s for the best.”

With the eight-man team harnessed to the sleigh, Dirk confronted me. I was nibbling a handful of freshly fallen snow. “Defeating your purpose,” he said, leading me to the head of the team. Dirk surveyed the men’s dispositions, noting emotions, informing me that everything from anxiousness to excitement showed in their stances. “You’ve got your work cut out for you tonight, Randall.” He threaded the lead through my harness and latched the lines to the rings on either side of my collar. “You ready to shine, my boy?” he asked, with a cocky grin and a leer in his eye.

Without permission, nor retribution for my forwardness, I said, “Hit me, sir.”

Hey all!

New freebie, Open My Eyes, is up. Enjoy! Just click on over to my Freebie page! http://bryltyne.com/freebies/

Bryl