I went up into the mountains to seek solitude to finish my novel. And then I met Henry.
What does it take to write a prize winning novel? The right man, the right inspiration, but is it really love, or just a means to an end? It may not be the happy ending Henry has to worry about, but what comes after it.
Ebook ISBN: 5058_1188
lyd Category: His and His
Length: 30 pdf Pages / 4316 words
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I had just dozed off when I heard odd sounds nearby. They came from outside the door. Definitely not the come and go noises of the hills. The sounds were deliberate and increased in intensity, and were getting closer. There was silence and then a load rumbling noise. Immediately followed by a loud smashing sound. I nearly shit on myself when the door broke free of its locks and swung dangerously off of its hinges. Unable to reach for the light or my crutches, I began wondering how I was going to outrun a bear. For that was what it certainly had to be.
By the time my shock had worn down, my eyes had adjusted to the figure in the doorway. He looked like some demented mountain man, standing at the door, trembling. His long dark beard and shoulder-length hair was dripping wet. In his hand he held a small gun. I put up my hands defensively.
"Hey - it's OK - please don't shoot."
What was OK!? It wasn't OK. I had the feeling of being trapped in a bad movie.
He looked at me a little puzzled but defiant, he wasn’t going anywhere. "Alone?" he asked.
I nodded as he kicked the broken door shut. He turned to adjust the hinges so the door would shut. It would have been my moment had I known what else to do. He limped unsteadily toward me. In the semi darkness I could feel his eyes sweeping over my nakedness.
"...American...?" He asked.
I nodded not sure if that was the right answer. He stood still for several seconds, his eyes sweeping around the cabin then back to me again. The rain had stopped and the light of a full moon dully illuminated the interior of the cabin. Our eyes adjusted in the gray white light and I could tell that with a little imagination, and a razor he wasn’t bad to look at. His eyes rested on my cock that was now strangely responding to earlier stimuli. Repeatedly his gaze traveled the length of my body. Finally he stopped to investigate my plastered limb.
I reached over to get my jeans to cover my nakedness and my embarrassingly hard cock. For a man with a limp, he moved quickly. With his good leg he kicked my pants out of reach.
We stared at each other through the muted darkness, neither of us moved. I cautiously reached for the light switch. I wanted a better look at him, and he obviously wanted to see me better or at least more of me. He didn't try to stop me as I flipped the switch and bathed the room in a yellowish light. I could see him clearly now. His eyes were steely ice blue. I could see that his right sleeve was pinned inward.
He wore a plaid shirt that was open to the waist revealing a broad hairy chest and a sculptured stomach that glistened from the rain. Completely soaked, his cargo pants clung to his body accentuating his thighs and highlighting the contours of his own generous endowments.
Cain Berlinger has published innumerable short stories in various gay publications throughout Europe and America. His self published books include essays on Black America, a book on meditation, a series of fitness books (under RD Cain) and several illustrated, as he describes them as “pure JO fiction”
He has lived in Holland, Germany and Switzerland for over a decade and now resides in New York City where he works as a life coach, fitness trainer, interfaith minister and party promoter. “I have no discipline for 9-5,” he says. His website is www.cainberlingers.com