The concept of this 'Prison School' was the brainchild of Ruben Styles, the gay son of a State Representative, who pushed through a bill to build and operate the school. It was a multi-purpose plan, primarily sold as a means to train non-violent felons in saleable careers, those being building trades, Masonry, Electrical, Plumbing and Carpentry. Also, since...
Revised version copyright 2006 by the author. AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a short, light piece I dashed off based on something that really happened to me. Real life, alas, didn't go nearly as far as this story. KN I never get a haircut until I absolutely have to. I don't like waiting, or making small talk with some blonde with teased hair who's only being nice...
Jacket Lost It was the first time I'd worn the jacket and I'd lost it. I had other jackets, but when I'd gone out the day before, I'd decided this one would be best to wear, and I was right. The temperature in Paris was changing, and there was a great variation between late morning and mid afternoon. It was too nice out to want to go to indoor cafés. The Pa...
Chapter Seven : A Real 'Sub' Man Jake was standing by the sofa when I entered and closed the door. Brody was standing about six feet into the room and staring directly at Jake, who was once again in his little purple g-string. "Jake, this is Brody," I said as I stepped up behind Brody and put my arm around his shoulder. Brody shuddered a little when he fel...
I've submitted this story for the 2017 Valentine's Day Story contest. Currently it's just a short story, but it could easily be extended to novella length. If you'd like to see a longer version, please vote for it in the contest and leave feedback for me as to your wishes. Thanks, Josh =========================== I had finally graduated from high school!!!...
This is a homoerotic story set in an imaginary sultanate called Ras al Shahar located in the south of the Arabian Peninsula. The time is the late ninth century AD and the story starts in the year 870, some three hundred years after the birth of Mohammed, the Prophet of Islam. The place and characters are entirely a figment of the author's imagination whose o...
The barber's hands are quick and sure, sending dustings of red hair down the cutting cape tied around Richie's neck. "And there you are, sir," says Tom, twirling his scissors with a flourish. He holds up a little square mirror. "How's the back look?" Richie squirms as Tom spins him in his chair, prickly hair trickling down the back of his shirt. Even the w...
Dusk was upon me as I pulled into the campground and set up my tent. I had made an early start from back East, changed planes, then drove a hundred miles north and a few thousand feet higher to reach the park. I was wiped out but I had promised myself I would keep my brand new sleeping bag clean for my girlfriend joining me this weekend: no spooge stains on...
I'm traveling again, in western Canada this time. On the way there I stopped at a little "pioneer village" sort of thing in a small town and it was totally deserted except for me walking around by myself. And, as usual, I started to get horny. It never fails; I always start fantasizing when I'm alone outside like this, thinking and hoping that something migh...
Contrary to what you might have heard, life in Canada is far from easy. Especially if you're an immigrant. Actually, make that if you're an immigrant of color. Immigrants from Europe have an easy time here. Everybody else has to watch their backs. The bigotry I run into as a young Black man living around these parts is more subtle than what I'm used to in th...