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eBook by Rob Rosen
eBook Category: Erotica/Erotic Romance/Gay Fiction
eBook Description: Queerwolf is outrageous comedy, steamy romance, and heart-pounding adventure... with a bite! When you wake up on a ferry, naked, in a pool of blood, there's nowhere else to go but up. Up, that is, into the arms of your hunky upstairs neighbor. And so starts the comic misadventure of Blake and Ted as they go from San Francisco to Salt Lake City to Las Vegas and back again, collecting their motley pack, not to mention a whole slew of unexpected surprises, along the way. Will good win out? Can different really be better? And can the Queerwolf keep his new breed of pack together and alive? Read on to find out, but better leave the doors locked because this pack travels on its stomach... and you could be next on the menu!
eBook Publisher: MLR Press, LLC/MLR Press, LLC
Fictionwise Release Date: July 2012
Frying Pan, Meet Fire
7 Reader Ratings:
Fine, so waking up naked in a pool of blood doesn't exactly make for a great first date. Memorable, perhaps, but a nice dinner and a goodnight kiss beneath the stars would've been just as memorable. Well, maybe not just as, but still. In any case, and at the very least, the blood didn't appear to be my own. I mean, no gaping wounds or anything. Then again, if it wasn't my blood, then whose was it? And where exactly had my date gone off to? With my clothes? And my wallet? And, for that matter, where exactly was the body that once contained all that blood?
I know, I know; that's a lot of questions. Especially, like I said, when you're naked in a pool of blood. Sadly, there was a whole boatful more of them on the horizon.
And speaking of boats, that's exactly what I was on at that very moment. A ferry, in fact. And as for the horizon, it was just coming to life, bursting in various shades of blue as the sky began to dazzle over the San Francisco Bay. Odd because, last I remembered, it was just barely sunset. Odder still because my dinner date had been in The Castro and I was clearly now at the Embarcadero on a ferry that would soon be headed to Sausalito.
"Hey!" The sudden shout came from the official looking man at the top of the dock. "You're not supposed to be on there!"
Gee, ya think? I thought as he made his way down toward the ferry, huffing and puffing all the while.
"And where are your clothes?"
He unlocked the gate and came rushing toward me. "And what are you lying in?"
Well, it seems to be blood, sir, but, don't worry, it doesn't appear to be my own.
He helped me to my feet as he gave me the once-over (twice). "How did you get past the gate and onto the ferry, anyway?"
I sighed, and then coughed, a flush of red burning across my cheeks. "All good questions," I managed. Then I shrugged and replied, "As to the answers, here you go: I know, no idea, no idea, and no idea. In that order. Oh, and, brrr, it's cold out here." Now please give me a coat and twenty dollars for a cab so I can head on home and wash this mess off of me.
He paused, quickly whipped off his coat, flipped open his wallet, handed me a twenty, and called for a cab. Just like that.
"Huh," I managed, clearly at a loss. And rightly so.
He looked confused as he stood there, scratching his head. "I, uh... good luck with, um, well..." And he pointed to my state of disarray and then turned and walked back up the dock. Again, just like that.
"Thanks!" I yelled after him, exiting the gate as a cab pulled up.
Of course, this being San Francisco, the cabbie wasn't all that shocked that a nearly naked man was getting inside his cab at the crack of dawn. And speaking of cracks, I pulled the coat down to cover mine before giving the guy my address. "And please make it quick," I added. Before this blood gets any cakier on me. Thankfully, that bit of mess was all covered by the coat. I mean, I wasn't all that eager to answer, or not answer, those same questions again.
Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up in front of my apartment building. I handed the guy my twenty and got out. Sadly, it dawned on me, just as the actual dawn was dawning on me, that I didn't have my keys. Since I lived on the third floor, breaking in through a window wasn't an option either. "Fuck," I moaned, plopping my ass down on the front stoop, suddenly remembering to yank my coat down as said ass dropped ten degrees in about two seconds flat. Ironically, it was already the dead of summer. Not that San Francisco was aware this, mind you.
"Blake?" I soon heard, just as the front door to my building creaked open.
I turned. It was my neighbor, Ted. And by the looks of his rather skimpy shorts and tank top, he was headed out for a jog. Honestly, in the two years I'd lived there, I couldn't recall saying more than a few words to him. Ogle, yes. Chitchat, no. And now, here I was, locked out of the building and nearly naked, and a little bit of conversation seemed suddenly necessary. "Um, morning, Ted."
He shot me a wry grin. "Well then, care to explain or do I even want to know?"
I stood up, matching his wry grin with one of my own. "Trust me, I would if I could. In any case, I'm, uh, well, I'm locked out. No keys, no cell phone, no money." I neglected, of course, to mention all the well-concealed blood.
"No way," said he, the grin rising northward on his handsome face.
"Way," said I. "I don't suppose I could come up and use your phone, could I? To call the landlord?" Who, thankfully, didn't live too far away. Meaning, at least the key problem could get resolved. One dilemma down, a dozen more to go, I figured.
He thought about it, then obviously relented, backing into the building as I followed him inside, my eyes glued to his stellar ass as we climbed the stairs to his second floor apartment. How I failed to notice a rump like that was beyond me, but he was usually in his work clothes when I saw him (ogling from afar), and I was usually running out or running in. Talk about the need to stop and smell the roses.
He let me inside and pointed to the phone. I walked over, dialed, and got my landlord's voicemail. Par for the day's course, right? Then again, it was early yet; guy was probably still asleep. Him and me both I wished at that very moment. In any case, I left him a message to please come and unlock my door as soon as he could; I'd be out in the hallway waiting for him.
Ted was watching and listening, the wry gin growing that much wryer. "No luck?"
"Gross understatement," I groaned, all sad-puppy-face. "I'll just, um, go wait for him upstairs."
I headed for the door. "Wait," he said. "Can I loan you some clothes at least?"
I didn't answer right away. After all, if he saw me out of my coat, he'd also see all the dried blood. And that, I figured, wasn't such a wise idea. I mean, I wasn't ready for a police interrogation just yet. At least not before my first cup of coffee. "Thanks," I replied. "And, if it's not too much of an inconvenience, I could really use a shower, too. I'm, well, sort of a mess under here, and Lord only knows how long it'll take for the landlord to bring the keys over."
He squinted at me and tilted his head. If the bewildered look on his face meant anything, I believe he thought he was being punked. Still, as with the phone call, he relented. Thank goodness. "Down the hall and to the right. I'll leave you some clothes on my bed."
I sighed. "Thanks. I owe you one."
He chuckled, which made my cock suddenly pulse from within my coat. "Just one? You sure about that?"
I shrugged and hightailed it down the hall, through his bedroom and behind the closed door of his bathroom. Once inside, I finally removed the coat and stared at my arcing cock. "Down, boy," I admonished it. "We're in enough hot water already."
And speaking of which, it took about a hundred gallons of it to wash all that blood away. That and a whole bar of soap. Lemon verbena, by the way. Twice milled. Nice. As was Ted, apparently. And just one flight down from me, usually. Alone. In those skimpy nylon shorts.
Oh sure, like I mentioned, I'd noticed him before then. He was, after all, hard to miss. Tall and lean, dark hair, blue eyes, with a smile that put the twinkling heavens to shame. Still, like they say, you don't shit where you eat. In other words, dating the neighbors is generally a no-no. Because if things go wrong, as they have a tendency to do, especially in queer-thick San Francisco, then you still have to see said neighbor, skimpy shorts or no skimpy shorts. Then again, those same shorts were looking pretty darn hot right about then.
I smiled, this time letting the beast have its way as it began a steady rise up again, soapy in my hand as I gave it a stroke, daydreaming about my neighbor, wishing that he'd walk in, drop the shorts, hike up the tank, and join me in the shower.
And then, click, the door popped open and in he walked. I gulped as I stared at him from behind the glass shower door. He stared back as he kicked off his sneakers and rolled down his socks. And I kept right on staring as his shorts hit the ground, revealing sinewy, hairy legs and a bulging jockstrap. My cock was now pointing at him, also clearly eager to see the rest of the show. Next came his tank, lifted up and over and dropped to the ground, his etched, hairy chest rising and falling, taught belly, too, as he slipped out of his jock, until he stood there, naked, hard, and Stunning. And, yes, the capital S was well-deserved. Heck, let's go full-throttle here: STUNNING. (Fuck it, let's through in an exclamation point for good measure: STUNNING!)
Then he walked up, opened the shower door, and joined me inside, his mouth on mine before I could say a word. Like, well, hello, or something. But who was I to argue? And so I kissed him back, our tongues doing an oral tango as the water poured over us, our cocks grinding together, my hands on his magnificent ass, his on mine, our moans and groans ricocheting around the tiled room.
"Wait," I suddenly said, realizing that, okay, a hello would've actually been nice. Call me a hopeless romantic, but come on. Plus, well, I was still somewhat in shock from the morning's events, truth be told. And, for all I could remember, I had just been on a date, in what seemed barely an hour earlier, even though it really wasn't. A date, needless to say, that was missing, for all I knew. And there was, of course, that big-ass gap in my memory to contend with. So, yeah, wait.
He pulled an inch away, eyelids fluttering open. "Wait?" he asked, dreamily.
I nodded, my hand moving from his rump to his chest, running my fingers through his soft, damp matting of hair. "Yeah, um, what gives?"
He blinked, once, twice, his mouth going slack. Then he dropped his hands from my ass and leaned against the back of the shower wall. "I'm... I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know what came over me. Really. I was just... just drawn to you all of a sudden."
Which was nice to hear. I think. Or plain, old weird. As if the day could get any more of that, right? "It's okay, it's just, well, this is the longest conversation you and I have ever had, is all."
He shook his head, seemingly wiping the cobwebs from his brain. "I know, I know. Again, sorry." And then he hopped out of the shower, billy club of a cock swinging to and fro. And, suddenly, my wait seemed premature. I mean, I just wanted a hello, not a goodbye.
I hopped out as well, then toweled myself off and found the clothes he'd left me. Plaid sweats. Ralph Lauren. Nice. Then I followed him to the living room, bloody coat folded over my arm, bloody blood, thankfully, out of sight. Though clearly not out of mind.
"I didn't mean to offend you, Ted," I said to him. "It's just been a strange day. My body wants to, really, but my head is sort of, um, not operating at full capacity right at this moment. Like the two are in some sort of fight, if that makes any sense."
He nodded, but didn't look my way. "No sweat," he said. "My bad." He looked up, briefly. "That wasn't... that back there wasn't... wasn't me. Honest. I mean, I like you and all, but..."
"I get it," I interrupted, heading for the door, the tension in the room suddenly palpable. That and my raging boner, which seemed to be raging all the more at me right at that very moment. What the fuck? It was saying. Did you see that ass? "Thanks again, Ted. For everything." And with that, I was gone, the door closing behind me.
"Sorry," I said down to my dick, once in the hallway. "But the big brain is in charge of the little brain today. At least until I can get my shit together." Good luck with that, I figured.
And then, "Uh, hello? Who are you talking to, Blake?" It was my landlord, the spare key dangling from his hand.
I forced a smile. "Practicing for a play." Sounded good.
"But aren't you an accountant?" Figures he'd remember something like that.
"A community theater play." Phew. Two for two. Not wanting to try for three, I grabbed the key, said my thanks, and took the stairs two at a time, not looking back.
And then I counted to ten, willed my heartbeat back down to normal, and shoved the key in the lock. Of course, that's when I wished I'd stayed back downstairs, or in the cab, or on the ferry, blood or no blood. See, it appeared that a cyclone had hit my apartment. From the inside out. I slowly walked into my entryway and shut the door behind me. "Frying pan, meet fire. Fire, meet frying pan." And then I added, "What the fuck is going on around here?"
Pretty much all the damage had happened in the living room. Everything that could be knocked off a shelf or a table was knocked off, scattered and/or shattered on the floor. The couch pillows were ripped to shreds and flung to the four corners of the room. And the window to the back of the building was smashed out, the shards hanging menacingly from the top of the pane. Luckily, if such a word was even possible by that point, the rest of the place seemed fine. And empty. No date or traces of said date.
I lifted the phone to call the police, but then thought better of it. I mean, for all I knew, I had done the damage to the place. Or to someone else, considering the state I'd found myself in. Bloodied, that is. Pooled in it, in fact. And my memory being what it suddenly was, I had a feeling the police weren't going to be much of a help.
Still, I lifted the phone and dialed the last number I'd called the night before. Namely, my date's. "Um, hello, Jeff?" I said into the recording. "It's, uh, Blake. I was just wondering if, well, you were okay? Could you please call me back when you get this message?" Then I hung up, feeling my heart beat out a mad samba in my chest.
I walked over to the window, terrified to look through the gash and down below. I stared at the ceiling, fists at my sides. Please don't be down there, Jeff. Then I sighed and forced myself to look down. Though there was nothing there to see. Just darkened alleyway. "Phew," I managed, my eyes suddenly spying a jagged shard, a tuft of hair hanging off of it, black, long, fuzzy. I grabbed for it, holding it close to my face. "Not Jeff's," I said, he being blond and buzz-cutted. Then again, it didn't look or feel like a man's anyway. "This is so fucked," I finally said, tossing it to the ground. "Fucked. Fucked. Fucked." And royally so. Without any lube. Or that ever so nice coming that usually happens at the tail end of things.
The phone rang just then, causing me to jump. I ran for it, heart pounding yet again. "Jeff!" I shouted into the receiver.
"Guess again," said a voice I didn't quite recognize. Not quite, but there was something there just the same. Like a magnet was pulling, yanking at some middle part of me.
"Please, it's not a good time for guessing games."
The man on the other end laughed, deep and husky. "Apartment a mess, huh?"
I paused, gulped. "Who is this? How do you know about my apartment?" That pounding heart of mine was suddenly an entire rhythm section. Gloria Estefan's back-up band.
The laughter abruptly stopped. "You know who this is, Blake. Just feel for me; I'm there."
My head jerked from side to side, free hand over chest. "Where? You're in my apartment?"
He sighed. "Was, not is, my friend. Was."
A trickle of sweat dripped down my forehead as my stomach tied further in knots. Strong enough to dock a tanker, in fact. "You... you did this?"
"Nope," he quickly replied. "Well, tangentially. But nope."
"You're giving me a headache," I grunted into the receiver. "Please, just tell me what's going on."
Again he laughed, the sound worming its way through my brain. "Well, since you said please," he practically purred, my cock unexplainably going rigid. "I'll be over there tonight. Just after sunset. All will be explained, Blake. All will be explained."
I set the phone down and found a swatch of couch that wasn't shredded. I plopped my ass down and willed my heart back to semi-normal as I tried desperately to clear my head, to remember even an iota of what had happened the night before. "Okay," I said to myself. "I remember getting ready for my date. Showering, shaving, getting dressed." My head pounded just remembering that much. Still, there was more there, working its way toward my consciousness. "I... I met Jeff at his house before we walked to Toad Hall for a drink, then we were going to go to dinner." See, the flowing wall of water behind the bar relaxes me. And then gives me a wicked need to pee. "The restroom. Jeff and I sat at the bar and then I excused myself to go to the restroom."
It was coming back to me now, though as foggy as Twin Peaks in June. Again, stupid San Francisco summers. "I went to the can... I went to the can and... damn it, nothing. That's where the trail goes dead." And where that blanket of fog obliterates everything in its path. "Fuck." Only, there was something else there, lurking in the farthest recesses of my much-addled brain. "A man," I managed. "There was another man in the restroom." I willed myself to see him again in my mind's eye, but all I could remember were his eyes. Blue. Blue as a cloudless sky. And damn if my cock didn't pulse at seeing them, even if only in my head.
"What's going on with you down there?" I asked it, leaning back against the barely there cushion. "Or me, for that matter? Or fucking me?"