My Story Orgy’s superhero book is now available… I'm so excited!
Flyboy’s
First Misadventure
Secrets? Oh yeah, Dean Wades has a doozy. When
he goes up, he doesn’t necessarily come back down. Okay, that’s not true.
Dean’s a master at falling, it’s the landing that could use improvement—a lot of improvement. After thirteen years
of attempting to conquer this gravity defying mystery, he can no longer live
with not knowing what he is anymore. So he heads cross-country to see the two
people who just might be able to give him the answers he seeks…his folks.
Easygoing Gavin Trevor is always willing to
help his family, even when they have ulterior motives…like forcing him to make
up with his annoying older brother. When a simple task at his parent’s house
puts him in a position of danger, he’ll need a lot more than luck to avoid a
serious injury—he’ll need his very own superhero.
And the fates collide, well sort of. It may not
be love at first sight—Gavin was
unconscious in Dean’s arms for their initial introduction…but perhaps these two
men can make it a relationship at first flight?
A threat against Gavin’s family throws a wrench
in their plans, and while Dean gladly offers his amateur talent to help the
mission, Gavin doesn’t want to put his rescuer’s life in jeopardy by risking
exposure of the greatest secret ever.
This proves to be a rescue adventure for the
books. Or is that a rescue misadventure?
Chapter One
Dean Wades watched the bird fly higher
in the late morning sky, his wings spread wide as he soared majestically
through the air.
“That’s the way it’s done.” He sighed,
lifting his cup and stabbing himself in the nostril with the straw.
“What are you mumbling about now?” Tia
Bracker followed his line of sight and snorted. “No kidding. Wouldn’t we all
like to fly like that?”
Dean rolled his eyes, knowing his best
friend was again trying to annoy the hell out of him. “I do fly,” he hissed
through clenched teeth, thankful no one sat close to them in the In-N-Out
Burger.
Tia snagged his chocolate milkshake and
took a long pull of the thick liquid through the straw. “No. What you do could
never be described as flying like that. It’s more like you leap really high
before you crash back down to earth.” She giggled around the straw before
latching on again.
“You’re a bitch,” he stated as he
grabbed her fries. “And that straw went up my nose.” He shoved a handful of the
crispy strips of potato into his mouth and chewed noisily.
Tia yanked the cup away from her and
stared at the guilty piece of plastic. “Don’t waste your time sweet talking me,
precious. Anyway, if you would practice a little more, you wouldn’t kiss the dirt
as often as you do.” She shrugged and continued drinking the shake.
“Ewww…and thank you, I would’ve never
thought of that before. More practice… Check.”
“Hey, it’s already been in my mouth, no
harm anymore.”
Tia continued babbling on about her
immune system and how she ate dirt as a baby so her gastric juices could handle
just about anything as Dean’s attention drifted back out the window of the fast
food joint. The bird—probably a hawk—had since left his line of sight, but a
hummingbird farther to Dean’s right captured his attention. The little bird
beat its wings a mile a minute as he almost floated in one spot, bobbing up and
down.
Dean reminisced over that hummingbird’s
easy movements, allowing it to take him back thirteen years to when he had just
turned twelve and duplicated those simple actions.
He had celebrated his birthday and he
and Tia were climbing the huge oak tree located on the center island in the
cul-de-sac. He was like a monkey, climbing higher and faster than his best
friend, wearing his new tennis shoes he’d gotten from his grandparents for his
birthday. Tia called him names for going so fast but refused to ask him to stop
and help her. She never allowed anyone to assist her. Her stubborn streak ran
deep.
Then it happened. Dean’s foot slipped on
a moss-covered branch and he fell backward. He remembered freaking out and
screaming with his eyes tightly closed. He was at that stage in his life that
his voice was cracking so the scream kept fluctuating octaves.
The pain never came.
Why was there no kerplunk to the ground?
No achy limbs folded at weird angles under his wiry prepubescent torso? No
blood dripping in his eye while he moaned—or wailing like a baby, either
or—from the hurt radiating from his head, butt, side, and back?
They had climbed an awfully large tree,
and he had really scurried high up it pretty fast…but no matter how big and
tall the massive tree appeared, he still should’ve hit the ground by then.
So where was his boom?
That was the first time Tia cussed—but
definitely not the last time she let out an f-bomb.
He slowly unclenched his eyelids and
screamed again. He floated—there really was no other way to describe it—in the
air about ten feet from the ground…upside down.
It didn’t take him long to realize he
could right himself and fly back up to the slippery limb he’d fallen off
of…though he quickly learned he didn’t have to kick his feet and stroke with
his arms as if he was swimming in a pool. Tia got a good laugh from that sight.
Soon, he learned how to lift off from
the ground, without the need to climb to higher places and throw himself over
the edge. But without having someone else who also had this ability, it was
darn hard to train in the art of flying. Not something you could run to your
science teacher and ask for a private tutorial on.
Tia—the only other person who knew about
his gift—tried to teach him how to practice, but without being able to do it
herself, the lessons fell flat. Much like Dean did on a regular basis. Tia’s
description of him jumping high before face-planting in the ground really
wasn’t too far off the mark.
He got fairly decent at the take off and
the actual flight, but that damn landing eluded him every time.
And that was why they were now sitting
in a greasy fast food joint eating damn good burgers and fries while making
silly small talk about birds, nose goop, and stomach acids. They were on a road
trip to find answers about Dean’s past.
It would help if they had an idea where
to start looking…
***
Gavin Trevor grumbled under his breath
as he threw his Jeep into gear and squealed out of the police station parking
lot. He’d had it up to his eyeballs with his older brother—Deputy Melvin
Trevor—and his brother’s damn idiot cop friends.
Not just friends…old high school
buddies. Melvin was three years older than Gavin and hung with the rowdy bros
in school. They were always the ones getting busted for underage drinking, or
tearing up Mrs. Macenally’s front yard with their dirt bikes, and sneaking
girls in their houses while their parents were away. Well, all the other
friends were caught doing that last one, poor Mel never got away with that
thanks to his pipsqueak, tattletale younger brother.
And damn, did Mel and his cohorts
delight in making Gav pay for his decade old sins. No one in this town was
pulled over more than Gavin was. Damn assholes.
He wouldn’t have even come to the
station today if he didn’t need to get the money Mel owed him. Didn’t that set
Gav up for a word of unsolicited advice.
“You
know, li’l bro, if you got a steady job you wouldn’t have to ask for money like
this.”
Gav
gritted his teeth while responding. “I’m not asking for money, I’m getting the
money owed to me for when I bought that ticket for you…remember…you forgot your
credit card.”
“But if
you had a real job, you wouldn’t have to race over here for money, period.”
No matter how many times Gav explained
his job to his brother, Mel never listened. All Mel heard was the word
apprenticeship and equated that with something less than real work. Truth was,
Gav made better money apprenticing than he’d ever made at any of his other
jobs. But when he reminded Mel about that little fact, he would switch gears
and claim being a tattoo artist wasn’t a real job. In his mind, it amounted to
nothing more than grown people playing connect the dots. Who cared if the state
of Florida forced a person to jump through all kinds of fucking hoops just to
be certified and licensed, that didn’t prove you needed skill to ink someone’s
skin. Mel constantly berated him for wasting time on a mindless hobby that
would never be a true career.
Like law enforcement.
That was what he and his friends had
harassed Gav about today, signing up at the police academy. Gavin actually
wanted to give the assholes props. They simultaneously dissed his choice in
career while attempting to stroke his ego to enroll and follow his big bro’s
footsteps. Really, it was poetic to listen to.
And completely irritating and
frustrating. He swore he didn’t grow up with just one older brother. Naw, that
would’ve been too easy on him. He got a whole fucking group of older brothers
who all knew what was best for Gavin Trevor…and it was a good thing too since
Gav was obviously screwing up his life something fierce.
Didn’t matter that he had a prestigious
apprenticeship with Gunnar—one of the most sought after ink masters in the
southeastern region. Not only did Gunnar have an appointment book filled out
six months in advance, he also had a clientele of A-class celebrities and big
bucks wealthy people who requested his services.
A part of Gavin couldn’t blame his
brother for his opinions—a severely small part of him, that was. Before this
job, Gav was doing absolutely nothing with his life, jumping from pathetic job
to pathetic job to pay the bills on his ramshackle one bedroom apartment on the
wrong side of the tracks. He had no aspirations and never thought about the
future.
One day just over two years ago, he
happened on a bad situation. This little bit of a girl was being really roughed
up by a couple of greasy jerks. The girl—who couldn’t have been older than
sixteen—tried to defend herself with some wild swings and pretty strong kicks,
but it was no use. No matter how much she wanted to get away, she really wasn’t
much taller than five foot and the two guys outweighed her by at least fifty
pounds each.
Gav didn’t have a choice. He wasn’t an
asshole and he had a sister. Even though she was older, if something like this
had happened to her… He couldn’t even contemplate it. Not to mention he had a
tendency to always act first, worry about the consequences last.
So Gav headed into the alley and
thoroughly got his ass handed to him on a silver platter. Oh yeah, he got his
butt whooped good. He wasn’t a fighter per se, just a kid that grew up
roughhousing with his older brother and his friends. So he did manage to get
some good shots in, but again…it was him against two formidable opponents, the
odds weren’t in his favor. While he distracted the guys by blocking their
access to the girl with his face, the little twerp disappeared. At least she was
safe, now all he had to do was get his own self the fuck outta there.
That was about when a badass mother
walked around the corner with a baseball bat. Gavin seriously figured his time
was up. The man was tall and built, but not so much bulky as streamlined. This
had to be the man in charge of this little ragtag gangbang Gav had broken
up…thank god the girl was long gone.
When she stuck her head around the
badass, Gav realized she wasn’t long enough gone. He yelled at her to get the
fuck out of there, right before another fist pounded against the side of his
neck. Jesus F. Christ, was the jerk aiming for his face or shoulder and
drastically missed? He teetered to the side, spitting blood. The girl screamed
as she ran around the monster with the wood—not the type Gav liked, either.
Completely ignoring the three threats in the alley, she ran straight to Gavin,
dropping to her knees next to him and throwing her body over his torso as a
human shield.
God, she was crazier than he was. He
wrapped his hand around her slim body and whispered in her ear, “Honey, you
need to get the hell outta here.” But before any of the thugs got a chance to
harm her, the baseball bat wielding psycho started…well, he started wielding
the baseball bat. Three thunks and the two guys were down for the count, Gav
wasn’t even sure if they were breathing anymore, and honestly, he didn’t care
either way at that point. He fucking hurt.
When the guy stalked over to him, Gav
couldn’t hide his cringe. He was on the ground in a dirty alley already
bloodied up and this over six foot guy loomed over him preparing for batting
practice. Yeah, wincing was the least of Gav’s worries.
“This him?” a really low growly tone
asked.
The girl nodded continuously as she
cried, wiping her runny nose on her shirtsleeve.
“Damn, they got you good.” He chuckled
as he reached down and hooked his free hand under Gav’s armpit, hoisting him up
with just the strength in his back and shoulder.
And that was when Gav met Gunnar and his
niece, Sabbie. In appreciation of Gav protecting Sabbie, Gunnar offered him a
janitorial position in his tattoo parlor, paying way more than any mop and
bucket person ever made. It wasn’t a prestigious job, but the paychecks were
double his norm and the talk around the shop about him doing something more
with his life, well, it was infectious. Nothing like when Mel and his friends
belittled Gav into thinking he was hopeless. The people at the tattoo parlor
really liked Gav, and not just because he saved the boss’s only niece from god
knew what.
Then one day Gav did a little drawing on
one of the many sketchpads found around the place. It was no big deal; he was
on a break and bored. When a walk-in client saw it and loved it, asking to
purchase the original design so Detra, one of the artists, could ink it on his
bicep, that stirred something deep down in Gav. It motivated him to doodle even
more and share his work. The rest was pretty much history. Gunnar saw raw
talent in Gav’s designs and encouraged him to explore it, taking him under wing
and leading him through the not so easy steps of becoming first a licensed
tattoo artist…and maybe someday an ink master like Gunnar himself.
Two years later and Gavin had achieved
the first half of that goal. He even had a few regular customers, slowly building
up his own clientele list. Plus, lots of the artists in the shop came to him
for artwork. Gav excelled at life-like features. He was a work in progress,
Gunnar said.
His phone buzzed on the passenger seat
as he took the next turn a bit too fast. A quick glance showed his mother
calling. His damn brother narced him out to Mama? What the fuck? Well, wasn’t
that a mature thing for a twenty-nine-year-old adult to do?
Gavin entertained the thought of not
answering, but he’d been raised better than that. Certain rules you followed to
your grave: no cussing in the family home, take out the trash on Monday, always
stand up for your siblings, and if Mama calls, you answer.
Sighing loudly to abso-fucking-lutely no
one, Gavin slowed his roll as he reached for the phone. A quick glance away
from the road allowed him to properly swipe the screen and he lodged the phone
between his ear and shoulder, keeping an eye out for a side street or parking
lot he could pull over in.
“Mama, don’t listen to anything that
crag-faced brother of mine said.” He hurriedly stated his case to his mother.
“You watch your language, young man.
You’re not too old for your mama to use the board on you.”
The Board
of Education—those were the words engraved in the side of a three-fourths
inch thick, roughly one and a half foot long, highly lacquered piece of
verawood. Before its many coats of polish were applied, Papa engraved the
special play on words name into one side of the paddle right above a very vague
classroom scene of two boys and a single girl sitting at those old-style school
desks with a stern-looking man standing behind them. The scene was obviously
sketched on the wood by an amateur with minimal detail, but Gavin and his
siblings—Melvin and Olive—didn’t find anything lacking with that board growing
up.
Hell, truth be told, that board probably
kept them out of trouble more than any other punishment his parents could’ve
handed out.
“Crag-faced isn’t—”
His mother cleared her throat.
“Sorry, Mama.” Gavin pulled into a
convenience store driveway and quickly parked the Jeep. “He’s just busting my
ba— He started up with me again about work. Can’t you or Papa talk to him?”
“You come home tonight and eat. We’ll
discuss it with dinner. But no more disrespecting your brother at the
station…you undermine his authority and he’s sensitive.”
A snort escaped through Gavin’s nose.
His asshole brother was sensitive? He loved Mama, but damn, she was out of
touch with reality sometimes. If she weren’t so, well, her…he’d think she was
hitting the hooch.
“Don’t you make that noise with me,
young man. You may be an adult, but you’re still the baby.”
And there was the rub. He would always
be the baby. A freaking twenty-six-year-old baby. Olive was the oldest, Melvin
was the snotty fucking middle kid, and then there was baby Gavin with the
pinchable cheeks and three dimples—two on the right side and one on the left.
Thank god he didn’t inherit Papa’s curly hair or else his humiliating life
would know no bounds.
“Sorry, Mama.” He ate crow and
apologized again to his mother.
“Tonight. I’ll make ziti. You love my
ziti.”
Gavin couldn’t help but smile. Damn it,
he did love her ziti. She baked it in the oven with plenty of ricotta and
mozzarella until the top was brown and bubbly. Even though she didn’t make her
own noodles anymore, she still insisted on making her own sauce from scratch,
and damn, did it make a difference. For Mama’s ziti, he’d watch his mouth and
listen to Papa lecture him on the pecking order of the kids.
“Yes, Mama, I love your ziti. I’ll be
there at six. Yes?”
“Yes. Your brother and sister will be
here by then. Be a good boy and don’t be late. Mama loves you.” And she hung
up, not giving him a chance to even show any annoyance about being duped into
dinner with the shithead of the family.
Some people would think that Martha
Trevor was perhaps a bit naïve to the goings on around her. Maybe she lived in
her own little world thanks to old age. But ask any one of her children and
they’d tell you that that woman was a shrewd and cunning adversary who knew
exactly what she was doing…and would do it with a smile on her face and a pasta
in the oven.
Well, it looked like he’d be taking a
drive to The Countrysides—a community that grew from a small subdivision back
in the fifties to a full-fledged town all their own with a grid pattern of
roads for the residence and the outskirts housing all kinds of retail outlets.
They were completely self-contained with their own shopping centers, post
offices, and police station. He couldn’t wait to drive there tonight and engage
in witless conversation with his asshole brother while dodging his parent’s
attempts to put him to work fixing something that shockingly just broke.
God, he needed a drink.
