GRAFFITI by Terry O'Reilly

GRAFFITI by Terry O'Reilly

Before the advent of the Internet, men looking to make sexual contact with other men would cruise rest stops, shopping malls, and parks. There they often left messages on the walls of restrooms hoping to meet someone of like interest.

Alan Daniels, a young Vietnam veteran, has recently been questioning his sexuality. He takes a chance and writes a note in the john of his local municipal park.

Handsome, sensual Tom Clarkson, a college student going to school mainly to avoid the draft, is intrigued by a new message he finds in the park bathroom.

Is Tom destined to spend another night indulging in meaningless sex, or could the note lead to something more? Only one way to find out ...

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.



He was just about to leave the restroom when another message next to the mirror caught his attention.

Hey guy from the overlook yesterday. Can you meet me here tonight? 7:30?

Tom stared at the note and then read it again.

“Shit!”

* * * *

Sitting atop his usual table in the park, Tom was frustrated. Ten to eight, he fumed in his mind. Fuck, I rearrange my whole fuckin’ day for this guy and he doesn’t show.

Tom had met John that morning. The man had been horny and hot to trot. They had gone back to the motel. Even though John had sucked Tom’s pecs, usually a big turn on, Tom had been totally distracted by the prospect of seeing the overlook guy again. He knew he hadn’t showed John the best time but hadn’t given a shit. He’d perfunctorily took care of business, giving John a quick fuck and getting him off with a half-hearted blow job. Tom knew John was pissed at him, but Tom knew he wouldn’t see him again anyway so it didn’t matter. Once was Tom’s usual M.O., twice was pretty damn rare and a third round was unheard of.

Tom had called his boss at the bakery and told him he had a cold. That was a sure-fire way to get out of work. The old guy was really paranoid about getting germs on his precious buns and loaves of bread. He told Tom to take good care of himself and not to come back to work until it was completely cleared up. Tom couldn’t afford to miss too much work so he’d tell the old man he had allergies and it had turned out not to be a cold after all.

Tom had probably failed his political science test. What the hell was it about this guy? he’d asked himself, that he could upset Tom Clarkson’s plans. When sexy Professor Barry had said time was up, Tom hadn’t even finished the last question as he found himself staring out the window thinking about the overlook guy’s sweet smile and tight, sensual ass.

Tom checked his watch again. I even pass up two hot tricks here tonight for the bastard. Two very handsome hunks had approached Tom and suggested they’d really be up for including him in a three-way. God damn! Why did I pass that up?

“Screw this,” Tom said, getting up. Maybe I can find those two guys and get in on that action so the day won’t be a total bust.

As he turned to head for the path into the woods, Tom saw a red Mustang pull slowly into the parking lot. He waited. If this was overlook guy he’d let him know that you didn’t fool around with Tom Clarkson if you want to get it on with him. The car door opened and the man he’d been waiting for tentatively emerged. Tom stood with his hands on his hips getting ready to give the guy a piece of his mind.

The man approached. “Hi. I’m really sorry I’m late. I had to work overtime and ...”

Tom opened his mouth to let him have it, but what came out surprised him. “That’s okay. You’re here now and that’s all that matters.”

Who the fuck said that? Tom thought as he looked into the soft warm brown eyes staring into his. He felt his dick twitch and some other sensation that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time stole over him.

“I’m Alan Daniels,” the man said and offered his hand.

“My name’s Tom,” Tom said and then realized he had, for the first time in a long while, given his name to someone with whom he planned to have sex. But somehow that didn’t seem to matter. He took Alan’s hand and enjoyed the feelings the first physical contact engendered.

“Let’s go,” he said, still holding onto Alan’s hand and turning to head for the path into the woods.

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NOT IN THE NFL by Terry O'Reilly

NOT IN THE NFL by Terry O'Reilly

Adam Davis isn’t gay! He can’t be -- he’s a super star NFL quarterback and gay men don’t survive in the NFL. But along comes Brendan Fletcher, an outstanding, Super Bowl-winning linebacker who awakens something in Adam, something Adam hadn’t known was there. And now it’s wakened, the quarterback will never be the same.

Despite the threat to their careers and their personal safety, Adam and Brendan find themselves irresistibly drawn to each other, starting something that grows from gratification of mutual needs to something more. Can these men of strength and power on the gridiron overcome the homophobia of their profession? Can they make what they have found stand for something more important than the fame and fortune of playing NFL football or even becoming Super Bowl champions?

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.



Adam made his way to the john, went in and took a piss. Standing in front of the mirror, he splashed a little cool water on his face. The door opened behind him and Brendan walked in, locked the door and proceeded to the toilet where he unzipped his pants, took out his dick and began to urinate.

“Thanks for the privacy,” Adam said.

“Hey, you're the one who didn't lock the door,” Brendan chuckled.

Adam glanced down at Brendan's cock as it emitted its golden stream. He felt something akin to a swoop in the pit of his stomach at the sight of the man's impressive equipment. He raised his eyes and saw Brendan had caught him looking. He turned back to the mirror, blushed, and pretended to check his face by rubbing his chin.

Brendan walked up behind him. Adam turned to face him. Brendan was taller than Adam's six foot three by an inch or two and probably outweighed him by twenty pounds. Broad shouldered and deep-chested, Brendan was a beautiful specimen of manhood. Right now his handsome face, with its deep brown eyes and ready smile was inches from Adam's. Adam could smell the alcohol on his breath. He felt the swoop again.

Hang on, why am I thinking this? I’m straight!

“No harm in checking out what the competition’s got,” Brendan said in a low husky voice as he reached out and fondled Adam's hardening cock through his khakis. Putting his other hand behind Adam's head, Brendan pulled the quarterback toward him. Before Adam fully realized what was happening, Brendan was kissing him, Adam was opening his mouth, and allowing Brendan's tongue to caress his. At the same time as the men embraced, Brendan's hands slid down and pressed the flesh of Adam's firm, muscular ass.

“Whoa!” Adam cried out, breaking the connection, pushing Brendan back. “What the fuck are you doin'?”

“What I think you want me to do.” Brendan smiled, putting his hand back on Adam's shoulder.

“What the fuck gives you that idea?” Adam said, pushing the hand off of him.

Brendan merely smiled, turned to the mirror and brushed his thick, dark brown hair into place with his hand. “You'll figure that out one of these days.”

Adam was about to ask him what the hell he meant by that when there was a knock on the door.

“Hey, you gonna be in there all night? I gotta go,” a deep voice said that Adam recognized as coming from Ashanti Peters, one of the offensive tackles.

Adam felt a wave of panic sweep over him. This guy was one of the biggest homophobes on the team: always preaching about how faggots would burn in hell, and making disparaging remarks whenever he saw anyone he thought might be a homosexual.

“Keep your pants zipped!” Brendan called out. “It's gonna take as long as it's gonna take, man. Go use the can in the master bedroom.”

“Randy's in there with a couple a groupies, dude!”

“Then politely say 'excuse me' as you walk by,” Brendan told him.

“Fuck!” the lineman said. Adam could hear him retreating down the hall, cursing loudly.

Adam let out a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He was trembling all over, half from the intense sexual arousal that still permeated his body and half from the fear of near exposure.

Brendan, still smiling, kissed him lightly on the cheek and walked to the door.

“Think about it, babe,” he said and left the room.

Adam raised his hand to the place where Brendan's kiss still lingered.

Think about it? What does that mean?

Adam took a steadying breath. After waiting long enough for his hard cock to relax and to make sure no one would see him come out so soon after Brendan, he left the bathroom.

* * * *

Adam lay on his back on the king-sized bed with its satin sheets in the master bedroom of his suite. As an all star QB he was entitled to private quarters. He had left the party shortly after the incident in the john with Brendan. He told everyone to have a good time and thanked them again for their great play. He was in no mood to party anymore after what had happened, and didn’t want to run into Brendan again.

Returning to his own room he had showered and gone to bed, all the while trying not to think about what had transpired in the penthouse bathroom. Was the thing he was trying to avoid thinking about the very thing Brendan had wanted him to think about? And why had he called him ‘babe’? Wasn’t that some sort of term of endearment among gay men?

“Fuck!” he said aloud as he tossed and turned.

He had thought about jacking off. That usually relieved the tension after a game if he didn’t have Brenda with him to get him off. But, as soon as he had started, the only images that came to mind were those of Brendan and what they had done.

Adam couldn’t let himself think of stuff like that. Gay guys didn’t survive -- not in the NFL.


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DON'T GO BACK by Terry O'Reilly

YOU DON'T GO BACK by Terry O'Reilly

What do you do when the past comes walking through your front door?

That’s what Rick Jensen and Ed Doherty have to decide when Jerry Taylor, Ed’s former lover, long thought dead, comes knocking on their door the night of their sixth anniversary. Will Jerry’s re-emergence in Ed’s life bring the end to the happiness Rick has found with him? Or will Rick’s love for Ed be strong enough to supersede the memory of what Jerry and Ed shared?

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.



Rick opens his eyes. For a moment he is disoriented. Then he remembers. He looks around the living room of the cabin on the mountain. He and Ed had built this cabin just a year earlier. He sighs deeply and realizes he still holds a glass in his hand as he sits hunched down in the overstuffed chair in which he had fallen asleep. The glass is empty and the stain on his jeans reveals he has spilled his third glass of whiskey probably as he had drifted off. He pushes himself upright, sets the glass on the table next to his chair and puts his head in his hands and rubs his eyes. Rick has to piss. He gets up and walks to the bathroom and relieves himself. He turns and looks at his reflection in the mirror over the sink.

“How did this happen? How could this happen?” he asks himself out loud. “How could this fuckin’ happen?” he says again, pounding his hand on the vanity, causing the mirror to shake.

Rick walks back into the living room and to the big bay window. He looks out on the lake with the sun glistening on the water: 7:23 by his wristwatch. He stares vacantly at the lake and lets the sparkling ripples mesmerize him. Scenes from the previous night come back to him.

* * * *

He and Ed came home to their house in the valley after dinner and were in bed. They turned in early, eager to celebrate their anniversary. They had been together for six years: six happy, fulfilled years. Ed lay on his back smiling up at him. Rick was between his legs, they pressed their lips against each other. Rick was just about to complete their union when the doorbell rang.

“Damn,” he exclaimed.

“Ignore it,” Ed said pulling him down and arching his back.

“What if it’s Becky?”

Ed replied, “Becky would just come on in and yell, ‘Hey Daddy, Rick, ready or not, here I come.'”

Now there was knocking -- not loud but persistent.

Rick sighed. “Don’t go away.” He kissed Ed on the nose, got out of bed, slipped on a pair of pajama bottoms and slippers and padded out of the bedroom.

“Git rid of the son of a bitch whoever it is and git back here.” Ed growled.

Rick switched on a light in the living room that was semi-dark in the summer twilight. “Hold on, hold on I’m coming.” The knocker had continued its persistent pounding. It was getting louder now.

He opened the door and switched on the porch light. “Yeah?”

The man on the porch looked totally perplexed. “Oh,” he stammered, “I must have the wrong house. Sorry I bothered you.” He turned to walk away.

“Who the fuck was that?” came Ed’s gruff voice as he walked up behind Rick.

The man on the porch froze. He turned around.

“Ed?”

Rick looked at the man and then over his shoulder at his partner. Ed’s eyes were wide and the color was draining from his face.

“O ma God.” Ed staggered backward and lost his balance on the ottoman behind him. Rick turned and grabbed his arm to steady him. “O ma God!” he said again. “Jerry ... Jerry ... you’re supposed to be dead!"

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