Spiritual Whispers by V.L. Locey

Author:V.L. Locey [Locey, V.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: V.L. Locey
Published: 2022-10-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Eason

I bought stuff at the sale.

An Amish buffet, a toy box, a child’s record player/radio combo that wasn’t exactly antique, but it was set in a gorgeous hickory case that read Victrola on the inside of the lid. Obviously, the woodworker who lived here had refurbished the old record player case and placed a more modern sound system inside it while adding knobs and dials that looked a great deal like the old radios at Afterlife Antiquities. It looked the part nicely enough, according to Tally, and would serve any children who visited the playroom well. There were quite a few kids’ records that we also bought as well as some box lots that had candy dishes that would “Look amazing sitting around the rooms!” according to my boy. Oh, and a set of four hobnail Boopie dessert glasses to set on the sleigh buffet thing. I had no clue why anyone would call a sherbet dish a Boopie but hey, what did I know? I used to wear the same cap every time I was on the mound. The same unwashed cap because if you washed the grime and sweat off it would have also washed away the luck. I wore that cap for six years. Nader refused to let me bring it home after year two. I had to keep it in my locker at the ballpark. So I had no room to talk about weird shit. But really? Boopie?

None of that mattered though. All that mattered was that Taliesin and I had crossed some sort of bridge or boundary or whatever poetic wordage someone wanted to use. We were going to get all over each other. There. I simplified it as I was known to do.

The drive home with our treasures took for-fucking-ever. My dick was so hard during that ride, it ached. My balls felt near to bursting. And every time I would glance his way, he was looking at me with simmering, verdant eyes. Eyes that were hot yet wary all at once. It was a potent mixture that had me waffling between wanting to fuck him into whatever padded—or unpadded—surface I could find or cradling him close and making tender love to him on a fat, feathered down mattress. Maybe with crushed flower petals scattered over the bedding. Would that itch? Maybe. Dried flowers could be scratchy on tender pale skin like his was. I’d seen that ivory belly of his. The thin red treasure trail which led into a tight pair of briefs. The only abrasion I wanted on his delicate skin was from my beard.

And cue another wet spot in my shorts.

Damn this man was making me more than slightly buggy. I’d never been happier to see anything than I was Couton-on-the-River. Main Street was hard to navigate. Sitting at the turnarounds and crosswalks made me grumpy. Did these people not realize that I had an unassuming, adorable, hot as Beelzebub’s peppers boy in need of some loving? Stupid people. Running them down might be the only recourse if they didn’t stop gawking at the gorgeous mountains.

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