Chapter 1

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Rodney and Chloe laughed like they’d known each other for longer than Simon had been around.

“That selfie made us laugh,” Rodney said. “Especially as he was covered in watermelon.”

Chloe looked to Simon, who looked back at her as though he knew he was being talked about. She reached into the pram, stroked his wool, then cupped his mouth. He slowly poked his tongue out, eyes half closed.

“He’s totally milking it,” Levi said.

Chloe ignored him. “What’s that, Simon? Oh, don’t say that about Levi, that’s really mean. Deep down he’s a nice guy.”

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Part 1

CONNOR

“You want it? Then open your mouth and take it.”

Graham’s dickhead slid across my lips, smearing precum like lip gloss.

Even after his shower, I could smell his balls and the bitter, basic scent of his precum. It was a little overpowering and knocked me slightly off-kilter.

Graham had finally given in to my advances like I wanted.

So why did I suddenly feel so nervous?

He gripped my hair tightly and yanked my head back a little. “Are you gonna keep being a little tease? Or you gonna suck your stepdad’s cock?”

I made eye contact with him, my heart racing at the sight of his damp, hairy torso. I’d been around naked guys my age before, but never someone like him. Never someone older, rugged, hairy. With muscles they’d earned through hard work, not at the gym, and a belly that came with age and still carried abs underneath.

I slowly opened my mouth, just an inch.

That was all the encouragement he needed. He pushed his dick past my lips, coating my tongue in precum as he slid inside my mouth.

I expected him to go slowly, but he kept pushing until he hit the back of my throat. I gagged.

I tried to push back, but he held me firmly against his cock.

“Breathe through your nose,” he commanded. “And relax your throat.”

I did as he said, though tears were coming to my eyes. For a second, the feeling of his dickhead pressed against my uvula made me think I was going to throw up. But I took a few deep breaths through my nose, and as I did, his dick slid deeper into my throat.

“That’s it,” he said soothingly. “You’re doing so good.”

I felt a weird rush of pride at that. I’d never cared what Graham thought of me before—he was a hillbilly whose opinion wasn’t worth the time it’d take for me to hear it—but to hear him complimenting my first blowjob made me feel good nonetheless.

Still, I needed to focus on drawing this out. I needed Mom to catch us, and if he came too soon, it’d all be for nothing.

“Take a deep breath,” he said, pulling his dick out just enough for me to breathe. “I’m gonna fuck your face, all right?”

I wanted to say no, but at the same time, I was curious what that might feel like. So I took a deep breath and braced myself against his thighs.

He grabbed the sides of my head, then slammed his dick in to the root.

I could feel his dickhead pressing against my throat, and if I could see myself from this position, I’m sure there would have been a visible bulge. He pulled his hips back and slammed in a couple more times, his balls knocking against my chin with a loud slapping sound.

It felt strange, feeling his dickhead slide in and out of the entrance to my esophagus. I could picture it rubbing up against the sides of my throat, and the sounds Graham was making let me know just how good it felt.

“You’re doing so good, Connor,” he said as he humped my face. “So good at sucking your stepdad’s cock. Ohhhh, my little cocksucker…”

I should have told him to go fuck himself. Who did he think he was, calling me a cocksucker? I’d fucked enough pussy over the years to qualify as pretty firmly in the straight camp.

Instead, I grabbed his ass, pulling him in deeper to my throat as I began to take over sucking his dick.

He let go of my head, content to give me the reins. His head tilted back, eyes closed, and a smile on his face as he gave in to the blowjob.

I relaxed my throat, like he’d told me, bobbing up and down on his cock and making sure I went all the way down. His pubes tickled my nose, but the taste of his foreskin was making me seriously hard. I reached down and started stroking myself.

I lost track of how long I’d been blowing him. I’d thought my jaw would get sore, but I was too invested in exploring what sucking a dick was like to notice any discomfort.

Graham’s cock was pretty beautiful, and more than once, I took it out of my mouth to stroke it for a little bit as I studied the long, veiny shaft.

I’d never been with an uncut guy before, and the way his foreskin slid over the head was fascinating. Graham would let out a low, guttural moan as the skin pulled over the head, then slowly retracted, rubbing against the ridge of his dickhead, and I’m sure making him feel fucking fantastic.

When I was blowing him, a couple of times I would stroke the base of his shaft with his dickhead in my mouth, making the foreskin slide back and forth across my tongue. He moaned extra loud then, massaging my scalp and bucking his hips as he leaked down my throat. I had the vague thought that this was probably the only time I’d actually get to explore sucking his dick, if Mom did catch us, so I’d better make the most of it before she kicked him to the curb.

It got to the point where I was so into sucking Graham’s dick that, when he pulled it out of me, I actually whined.

I looked up at him, pouting.

He chuckled. “Turn over.”

I went pale when I realized what he wanted.

I looked down at his cock, which was wet with my saliva and hanging there threateningly.

He hooked his hands under my shoulders and flipped me around on the bed.

“Wait,” I said as I felt his hands on my cheeks.

He inhaled sharply as he spread them. “Fuck.”

I felt his thumb brush up against my asshole. The feeling was so sensitive that it made me shiver.

“Graham,” I said quickly, “I… I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

His cock was already sliding up my taint, dripping precum across my skin. I could feel his foreskin sliding between my cheeks, and when it pressed against my hole, I cried out in pleasure.

“I’ll go slow,” was all he said.

“No, but…”

He was already pushing in.

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In this episode, I talk about cruising, and that one time I met the footballer in the gazebo.

The Gay Erotic

Episode 6-Freckle & Zack Chat with Fox Emerson, One of Our Favorite Gay Erotic Writers

Hello! And let me just jump right into it. Because there’s a whole lot to chat about y’all. On today’s episode of TheSmutStack with Freckleman64 and me, Zack from The Gay Erotic, we welcome our horny writer/friend Fox Emerson…

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9 days ago · 12 likes · 2 comments · The Gay Erotic

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Previous Pantless

I’ve been asked the same question a surprising number of times.

“What is with these Pantless Fridays?”

That’s a question for the pants.

They know what they did.

I can’t discuss the details because there are ongoing investigations. Legal has advised me to remain vague. The pants have retained representation, which honestly tells you everything you need to know.

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I’m not saying they’re guilty, but evidence is... well... evidence.

They turned up with suspiciously deep pockets and an alibi that fell apart after about twenty minutes of questioning.

So now the pants spend Fridays folded neatly over a chair where they can think about their actions while the rest of us enjoy another week of good stories, allegedly straight fictional men, wholesome lambs, accidental erections, poor impulse control, and whatever random story my brain has decided to unleash upon the world.

It’s a system that mostly works.

If you're new here: I'm Fox Emerson. I write gay erotic fiction, absurd and otherwise. Every Friday I write this newsletter pantless. It seemed funny once. Somehow it became tradition.

The more I think about it, the more I realize Pantless Fridays were never really about not wearing pants. They’re about embracing a little absurdity for absolutely no reason whatsoever. Life can be serious enough without us insisting on making absolutely everything sensible.

Besides, it inspires me. It reminds me that imagination rarely comes from coloring inside the lines. It comes from following ridiculous ideas just to see where they lead.

Maybe that’s what Pantless Fridays have become. A tiny celebration of freedom of choice. Read what you want. Wear what you want while you’re doing it.

Or don’t.

For me, that’s taking risks with stories like Under Surveillance, where I’ve explored a genre I’ve loved since before I was able to hold a pencil. Take the pants off, feel free to explore.

Truth be told, I’ve never thought my strength was writing beautiful prose. There are people far better at that than me. What I’ve always wanted to do is take you on a journey and introduce you to characters, worlds and ideas you can’t quite forget. The words are just the vehicle that gets you there.

If I can make you forget you’re reading words and instead leave you feeling like you’ve just spent time with people you know, then I’ve done my job.

Apparently all I had to do was take my pants off for that to happen.

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Under Surveillance is an example of what happens when you finally find the confidence to explore something you never thought you’d write. Suddenly free of pants, and the constraints they bring, I’ve created something that originally felt absurd but has become a story even I’m invested in.

Under Surveillance 19 dropped its pants this week, and there were multiple witnesses, including Lesbian Lisa, who I wish lived next door to me.

Don’t we all want a Lesbian Lisa in our lives? Let’s face it, she clearly wears the pants.

The Captain Goes Missing dropped earlier this week. For those of you following along, Graham and Steve have gone into hiding. To help keep their whereabouts unknown, all pants were removed for their safety.

The Captain’s Front Page was the turning point in this series, but now the story begins to open up, almost as much as Graham has.

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What started as a random idea in my head, pantless and free from the constraints of what’s expected from an erotica writer, became a story about a straight guy being railed in a park. That went sci-fi pretty quickly. Not something I’d planned, or even understood while I was writing it, but I couldn’t be happier with where it ended up.

Deep down, that little geek who grew up obsessed with science fiction never really went away. He just spent years wearing pants because he thought that’s what everyone expected of him.

If you’ve read What Happened After I Railed a Straight Guy in the Park, you’ve got your suspicions about where that’s going. I’m still offering three months free to my subscription if you can accurately guess where that’s going.

Six months if you send me a photo of you writing it pantless.

Those of you enjoying my audio erotica, Episode 15: So Much Gavin dropped. Episode 16 dropped today. Have I really recorded 16 horny stories already?

I have a surprise guest for you next week for episode 17!

Guess what else is happening on this exciting day? Naughty Stepson Part Two dropped! The exciting collab I did with ! Keep an eye out for that.

Part 1 is here in case you’ve been living under a pantless rock.

So wherever you are today, I hope there’s a smile on your face, caffeine within reach, and enough common sense to ignore anyone who tells you there’s only one way to create, one way to live, or one way to wear your pants. Or whether you should wear them at all.

Besides… the investigation is ongoing.

The pants know what they did.

Happy Pantless Friday.

Fox Emerson. G.H.K. ®

The Book is Finally Here!

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The Beginning

Previous

Sometime during the night, as pale moonlight filtered through the blinds, and the quiet around us was both comforting and unnerving, I felt Logan stiffen next to me. His body was pressed into me from behind, his hand reached over me, gripping mine while he slept.

When his body tensed, and I heard and felt his breath catch, I’d just woken up, my hand instinctively going to his, my fingers interlinking with his, which tightened on mine, and I pulled our hands to my chest, while my feet reached down so the top of my foot touched the bottom of his.

Even in his sleep Logan softly kissed the back of my neck, then he sighed, like someone weighed on him.

I closed my eyes again, realizing it was too early and I could sleep longer.

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Previous Chapter

For several days, while a storm raged outside, Graham and I remained in bed. Sometimes we’d cuddle, and sometimes we’d talk, though the talking became repetitive, both of us asking questions neither of us could answer.

Alina and Graham spoke a few times, he’d go into the other room, close the door, voice barely audible beyond the door, not that I was listening. I know the overall content of the conversation, but not all of it.

I’d had one phone call with Maria, an ugly one. She abused me, called me disgusting, a cheat, and then would cry.

We both would.

“I don’t understand why you resigned! How could you do this to us?” Maria cried, her voice sounding shrill through the phone. “The kids are mortified.”

“Maria, I didn’t plan any of this. It just…”

“Don’t you dare say it just happened! Don’t you belittle us by saying that! You and Graham, and whatever the fuck that was, that’s not something that just happens, Steve!”

Eventually, she hung up, saying she needed time to think, but she felt that it would be best if I stayed away for a while, so the dust could settle.

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Previous

It wasn’t until I saw the way Kent’s eyes widen that I felt the enormity of what was happening to us. His shoulders slumped, and he looked down. For a moment, I saw the little boy he once was, stepping back, slowly shaking his head as if to refute what he experienced.

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Things with Gavin got a little complicated. Just as the trauma that was Good Luck Getting Rid of Me began to settle, what happened with Gavin was unexpected.

Luckily, Karen was nowhere to be seen.

Good Luck Getting Rid of Me

Good Luck Getting Rid of Me Ep. 1

🎙️ Welcome to the Good Luck Getting Rid of Me Podcast…

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16 days ago · 1 like · 3 comments · Fox Emerson

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Madrid is currently so hot I watched a pigeon land in the shade, look at another pigeon, and silently mouth, “Fuck this.”

I hope wherever you are, you’re staying cool if you’re in the Northern Hemisphere. And if you’re not... cool.

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They’re calling it a heat dome. I think a more accurate name would be The Gates of Hell. It's so hot I only spotted three Spanish builders today. Normally they're everywhere.

Needless to say, I’m pantless, sweaty, and now officially a stepfather.

Well... not quite an actual stepfather.

and I got a little excited talking about all this heat, so naturally we wrote a collaboration.

Naughty Stepson just dropped! It’s about... well... a stepdad and his stepson. I think the title did most of the work. Part 1 is out today, with Part 2 dropping next week. I’ve never done a collaboration before, I’ve had plenty of threesomes though.

Looking at my publishing schedule this week, you’d be forgiven for thinking I’ve spent the last seven days feeding Simon watermelon while I lay under the air conditioning being fanned by shirtless construction workers.

Tragically, reality was much less exciting.

I’ve been buried in behind-the-scenes work. You know... stuff.

Good Luck Getting Rid of Me Chapter 18 dropped this week too, and after seventeen chapters of steadily ratcheting up the tension, things finally begin to... breathe. While every chapter will remain free forever, I’ve added a paid option for audio chapters and bonus content that lets you go even deeper into me. You’ll find Good Luck Getting Rid of Me Audio Episode 2 here.

Gay Erotica Podcast 14 dropped last week, where I talked more about Gavin and his ex-wife, who I have permanently renamed Karen from Finance. Episode 15 is due today. No delays, I promise it’s cumming.

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After I Railed a Straight Guy in the Park also dropped this week after so many of you demanded a sequel. Unfortunately, it’s sitting on only nine restacks, so there won’t be another part...

...unless someone feels like being number ten. 😉😉😉

I guarantee you won’t guess where that story is going. If you leave a comment with the correct prediction before the next chapter drops, I’ll give you three months of full access to Cerebral Gay Erotica. I’m that confident you won’t guess right.

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Meanwhile, poor Scott and Andy got sweaty and sawdusty in Chapter 21. Family really does matter, and maybe this is finally the kick up the butt Scott needed.

I also had an absolute blast guesting on and ’s podcast, which drops on Monday. Most people ask me to leave, but these two invited me back.

Suckers.

We talked about all sorts of things. Some of them may even have been sensible. You’ll have to wait until Monday to find out.

Until then, stay cool.

And, needless to say...

Pantless, my sweaty foxes. Also known, apparently, as Salt and Vinegar chips. If you know, you know.

Fox Emerson G.H.K.®

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GRAHAM

“Okay honey, see you later,” I called down the stairs.

“Don’t forget what’s in the fridge,” she called back. Moments later, the door closed, then I heard a key in the door.

I screwed the final one into the cupboard, then stood back, holding the drill, catching my breath. But I also admired my handiwork. I tested the door, it opened and closed smoothly, evenly, and sealed correctly.

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I grabbed the vacuum, quickly cleaned up my mess, put all the tools out in the hallway, and closed the guest room door.

He would be staying this weekend.

As I looked around the room one last time, I found myself remembering the last visit and immediately felt stupid for it. I’d caught him watching me while I was fixing the fence out back, his eyes following me every time I moved. When I’d glanced over, he’d looked away so quickly that I’d almost laughed at myself for noticing.

Shaking my head, I picked up the toolbox and headed downstairs. I was reading far too much into a perfectly ordinary moment.

At least, that’s what I’d told myself.

Out in the shed, I stood back, flexing my knuckles, admiring how neat and tidy it all was.

I heard a car pull up.

He can’t be here already?

Sarah’s garden looked like something out of a magazine. Color spread along both sides of the path leading back to the house, the hanging baskets I’d put up overflowing with flowers she’d carefully chosen herself. Little ornaments sat tucked between the plants, and the birdbath was already drawing sparrows and finches despite being barely six months old. There was not a weed in sight, nor a leaf out of place.

The Range Rover Sport engine turned off, I heard crackling as the engine began cooling, while inside some weird shit blared on the speakers.

I’d never understood why a twenty-one-year-old needed a vehicle that looked capable of crossing the Sahara.

One of Connor’s Gucci loafers appeared first, followed by the rest of him. White shorts, a blue polo shirt, Randolph Engineering aviators. He looked exactly like a kid who’d never had to check the price tag before buying something.

He nodded, like I was the hired help.

“Hi Graham, how are you?” his voice smooth, casual, perpetually bored.

“Good thanks Connor, how about you?”

He pushed the door closed, taking one step toward me, then looking behind me. “I’m great. Working today?”

“No. Sarah wanted a few things done before you got here.”

Connor’s lips twitched, then a small smile formed. “Of course.”

“Your mother will be back later, she’s gone to get her nails and hair done. I wasn’t expecting you here so early. There’s plenty in the fridge, if you’re hungry.”

He walked to the back of the car, lifted the trunk, then grabbed his bag.

I walked up past the bed of flowers to the front door, opening it and holding it open for him.

“You been working out, Graham?”

I kept my head down as I walked ahead of him, moving into the kitchen.

I pulled out a soda, then held one out. “No, no, not really. Just my job.”

He dropped his bag by the counter, pulling his sunglasses off, blue eyes exactly like his mother’s, pale enough that they almost looked grey in the kitchen light.

Then he ran a hand through his slightly curly blonde hair as he moved to the kitchen island, pulling out a tall seat.

He reached out, and I passed him a soda, closing the fridge to sip one of mine.

Connor’s eyes lingered for a moment before he nodded.

“Must be doing something.”

I looked away first. The comment was harmless enough, but there was something about the way he’d said it that got under my skin.

I suddenly became aware that we were alone in the house.

“Gail’s not with you this weekend?” I stared past him into the garden, preferring the mix of colors, the order of things outside.

“Gail? Oh no,” he gave a small laugh, like the suggestion was ridiculous, “she’s studying for her finals.”

I swallowed a third of the can, then wiped my mouth. “Well, make yourself at home. I’ve got some chores I want to finish,” I said, moving away from the kitchen toward the back of the house.

“Happy to help,” he called out, but I just lifted a hand to wave him off.

I moved to the laundry, standing back to assess what she’d asked for. I leaned against the washer, arms folded, more distracted than I wanted.

A few minutes later, Connor appeared in the doorway.

“Got nothing else to do,” he said.

I hadn’t heard him approach.

He leaned against the doorway, watching me with that same unreadable expression he’d worn out by the fence.

“Need a hand?”

I kept my eyes on the cupboards, trying to focus. “I’m okay, thanks for the offer. It’s a one man job.”

“Still doing the cabinetry?” he asked me.

“Carpentry, among other things,” I said, thinking I’d start by pulling the doors off, then unscrew the cabinets off the wall.

“Must be nice,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.

I looked up once, caught him staring. I had this weird feeling it was at my ass.

“Yes, riveting,” I said, throwing him a smile, only then realizing he was blocking the doorway.

Which was unfortunate, because the tools I’d just spent ten minutes putting away were suddenly outside again.

I watched him adjust himself out of the corner of my eye, and my eyes darted there quickly, saw him notice it, but I forced myself to look away.

This was no longer my imagination. There was definitely something about her boy that wasn’t quite right.

I turned to him, ready to ask him to move out of the way, but paused, my breath catching.

Connor’s little smile wasn’t so small anymore.

He stared, then his eyes moved down, studying me slowly, while I felt my heartrate double.

The white shorts appeared tighter. His hand moved down again, adjusting, slowly squeezing it. When his hand came away, it was impossible to dismiss the bulging outline in his shorts as anything else.

There was no back door to the laundry, I turned back to the cupboards, sweat beading on my forehead, my lungs tightening, with my pulse pounding in my ears.

Connor stepped forward, even as I stared at the cupboards, not seeing them, wishing he’d disappear, a foot closer to me, both hands around his crotch.

I didn’t look, tried swallowing.

“Er… Connor,” I began, with no idea what I intended to say.

“...shhhh… nobody will know,” he said, his voice lower, reminding me that we were alone in the house.

I tried swallowing. I turned to him, my fists clenching, throat tightening, but ready to barrel him out of the way.

But his hands were quick, on my waist, pushing me backward, then they were on my bulge. I tried to shift away, but he held tight, gripping my cock.

Then my body failed me.

I faced the wall, Connor reaching around me, his body pushing behind me, I could feel his hard cock pushing through the fabric into my butt.

My cock stirred, rose to the occasion like it misunderstood what was happening.

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice strangely soothing, right next to my ear, the warmth of his breath on my neck and in my ear adding to my sudden reaction.

Connor squeezed my bulge.

“Damn… that’s big,” he near-whispered, fingers squeezing it, gently stroking me through my own shorts.

My cock throbbed from the attention. It didn’t care whose.

But I did exhale. When his fingers gripped, and I felt his palm on my cock, and his body pressed into mine, I closed my eyes, and stood rigid.

Connor’s fingers unbuttoned me, while my mind screamed for him to stop. Even as he pulled my zip down, and the weight of my phone pulled them all the way down, my mouth was caught in that place between refusal and acceptance.

His hand slid into the waistband, and suddenly that warm hand gripped the flesh of my cock and I inhaled sharply. He must have undone his own shorts, because then I felt less fabric, then my underpants came down, and his, and the next thing I felt was his bare cock pushing into my butt cheek.

He jerked me off. Each time his hand moved down to my balls, I’d try and inhale. Then he’d move up, squeezing my shaft, and my breath would catch.

Connor turned me, holding my hips with more force than I thought he was capable of, dropping to his knees, burying his face in my bush, then inhaling loudly, like the air down there was pure.

My back hit the wall, my eyes darted around the room, while my cock throbbed against his face.

I’d gone from praying for her to return early, to hoping she didn’t come back at all.

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CONNOR

Graham’s balls smelled like salt-and-vinegar chips.

Not in a gross way. Kind of in a hot way, to be honest.

He looked so funny right now, braced against the wall, looking around frantically as if Mom might come back any moment. Like he didn’t want what was happening.

He should have told his dick that.

I’d caught a glimpse of it a couple of times before, through his shorts when he was freeballing or when I walked past my mom’s room while he was changing. I’d never been this close to it, though, nor had I seen it hard.

It was massive. Long, uncircumcised, with just a slight curve to the left.

I looked up at him, locking eyes, tongue out like a submissive little slut.

He was breathing heavily, his hairy chest rising and falling underneath that tattered wifebeater he wore whenever he did his little grunt work. He stared at me, and for a moment, I thought he might actually push me away.

But then he grabbed the back of my head, grabbed a fistful of my curls, and slowly pushed his dick into my mouth.

The tip had just landed on my tongue when we heard the sound of the front door slam.

“Honey, have you seen my purse?”

He shoved me back with lightning speed, knocking me on my ass. In a flash, his dick was tucked back into his Wrangler jeans, all evidence of what we were about to do wiped clean.

“Get up,” he hissed.

Then he strode out of the laundry room.

“Did you check the front hall closet, babe…”

I got to my feet, wiping off the bit of dust that had gathered on my white Dolce & Gabbana shorts.

“Fucking redneck,” I cursed under my breath.

Those shorts cost more than Graham made in a month doing his pathetic little blue-collar carpentry work. You wouldn’t catch me dead in a job that forced me to work with my hands. Then again, I was halfway through a degree at Princeton, and Graham never did anything past vocational school.

I still didn’t know what my mother saw in this guy. Sure, he was handsome, and now I knew for sure that he had a really big dick. But he had no money, no education, and, if they ever got divorced, would take half of her fortune and my trust fund right with him.

I hated him. From the moment she brought him home, I wanted him gone.

Mom wouldn’t budge, of course. She’d told me to make an effort, to get to know him.

“He’s a real sweetheart,” she’d said, as if that mattered more than money and reputation.

I was dead set on showing her just how wrong she was about him. And if I had to do it by seducing him and exposing him for the redneck piece of shit he was in the process, then that was just the necessary fallout.

When I got out to the living room, Mom was pulling her purse out from the gap between the side table and the couch.

“Must have knocked it off earlier…”

She looked up and saw me. “Connor! Sweetheart, I thought you were coming back this evening.”

“I took my last class off,” I said smoothly. “Couldn’t wait to get home and see you.”

I kissed her on the cheek, and she smiled.

“Sweet boy. I’ve got dinner reservations for eight. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, so make sure you’re ready to leave by seven thirty, all right?”

“You don’t have to come,” Graham said quickly.

Mom and I looked at him.

“If you’re tired from the drive,” he added sheepishly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “I’m looking forward to it.”

He looked a bit pale as I grinned.

“Wonderful. Well, be good, you two!” Mom turned on her heel, long blond hair swinging in a curve as she traipsed out the door.

The second she was gone, I took a step closer to Graham.

“I thought she’d never leave,” I said, reaching for his bulge.

He grabbed my wrist. “Connor… don’t.”

I frowned. “Come on, Stepdad… why don’t we finish what we started?”

I extended my fingers, trying to brush up against his cock, but he held me tight.

“No,” he said firmly. “You’re my stepson. And you’re only 21. You’re not… not thinking clearly. Your hormones…”

My lips curled slightly. “Oh, I’m old enough to know exactly what I want, Graham.”

He swallowed. His eyes drifted down to my crotch, which was growing tight against my shorts again.

“Mom doesn’t need to know,” I continued. “Just let me put your dick in my mouth.”

His lower lip dropped slightly, the stubble on his jaw growing slick with sweat, even though it wasn’t that warm in here.

Finally, he dropped my wrist.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he said, turning and walking toward the stairs so quickly it was practically a run.

I stared after him, frowning.

Goddammit, Mom. If she had just come back five minutes later…

I needed her to catch me in the act, or to find some evidence of us fucking. Preferably, it wouldn’t have to get that far. I’d jerked off with a few of my lacrosse buddies, and even let one of them blow me, but I hadn’t done much more than that before with a guy. Gail was my current girlfriend, though she was a bit boring, and I was mostly just in it for the easy head.

What I really wanted was for Mom to walk in on me with Graham’s dick in my mouth, or his hand in my pants. Then she’d be furious, throw him out, and they’d be divorced by December. She’d forgive me, of course—I was her darling little boy who could do no wrong—but Graham would be out of our lives forever, and my trust fund would be secure.

But if I couldn’t find a way to seduce him, then my whole plan was toast.

The door to Mom’s bedroom was closed, but not locked. I could hear the shower running from her bathroom when I slipped inside. I crept past the four-poster bed, but when I tried the door to the bathroom, it was locked.

Damn. I guess I’m gonna take a shower wasn’t code for wait two minutes and then come blow me.

I sat on the bed, chewing the inside of my cheek as I tried to strategize.

I knew Graham was turned on by me. His dick told me that much. But how to get him to give in?

Blackmail wouldn’t work. And after our near miss, I couldn’t just jump his bones. I’d have to get creative.

The shower turned off a few minutes later. Then silence, followed by footsteps.

When the door opened, Graham was standing there with one of Mom’s white Egyptian cotton towels slung around his waist. His hairy chest was flushed with red, the little hairs on his slight belly still dripping a few droplets of water. When he saw me on the bed, he jumped.

“Jesus, Connor,” he said. “What are you doing?”

I lay there on top of the covers, naked but for my white Hugo Boss briefs.

“Just getting comfortable,” I said casually. “You don’t mind, do you, Stepdad?”

I ran a hand across my abs, the light dusting of blond hairs glowing golden in the light.

“Connor, this is inappropriate,” he said, his voice husky. “You need to leave.”

“I found something while you were in the shower.” I slipped my hand under the covers and pulled out the thick purple dildo.

His eyes went wide when he saw it.

“Do you use this on Mom?” I asked, running a finger along the edge. “To get her ready for your big cock?”

“Connor–”

“I’ll bet she’s loud,” I continued. I hooked a finger under my briefs, pulling them down to expose a tuft of blond pubic hair. My cock stretched the fabric, and when the head popped out, it slapped loudly against my stomach.

Graham just stared at it, mouth agape. When he looked up at me, I was smiling.

“I’m louder,” I said.

I pressed the dildo against my already-lubed hole, teasing the entrance with the thick purple head. I ran a hand across my chest, pinching one of my pale pink nipples as Graham watched me.

I moaned. “Mm… Love having my nipples played with…”

He swallowed. His hand went to the towel to keep it from slipping, but I noticed him adjust himself with a quick squeeze.

I pushed the dildo half an inch inside my ass. I winced a little at the burning. I’d never played with my ass (aside from the occasional pinky action from Gail), and I was way too tight for something as big as this.

It had the intended effect, however. Graham hadn’t moved from the edge of the bed, and his eyes were locked onto the dildo.

“Fuck,” I moaned as the head popped through my ring. “It’s really big, Graham. I don’t know how Mom takes it.”

“Connor…” he whispered.

My briefs were hanging off one of my ankles. I pulled them off and tossed them playfully at Graham.

They hit him across the face, and his hand automatically went up to catch them.

“Why don’t you come and replace it with something bigger?” I asked, smirking.

He held my underwear up to his face for a moment, and I could tell he was smelling them. But when he lowered them, I could see he looked angry.

He threw them on the ground, then stormed over to the side of the bed.

“Give me that,” he hissed, grabbing the dildo from my hands.

I cried out a little in surprise as he yanked it out of me.

He tossed it behind him, hitting the wall with a loud thumping sound.

I watched it clatter against the carpet. When I looked up he was staring down at me, breathing heavily in anger. For a second, I was afraid he might actually hit me.

“Graham,” I said carefully.

“Shut up, Connor.”

He grabbed the edge of the towel, undoing it and letting it slide off his hips.

His cock was thick and hard, the tip glistening with precum from where it peeked out beneath his foreskin. Dark brown hair sprouted from the base and stretched in a treasure trail up his stomach.

He put his hand in my blonde curls again, then grabbed his cock with his other hand and pressed it against my lips.

“You want it?” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Then open your mouth and take it.”

Part Two

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Freckleman64’s Substack

How To Seduce Your Father

We’ve all been there…

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4 months ago · 51 likes · 5 comments · Freckleman64

Previous Chapter

The Start

Sometime during the night, there was a crick in my neck, a cricket too loud near my head, and then Scott’s warm hand jostled me, pulled me out of the hammock, and took me to bed.

I slept, woke up once to go piss, then snuggled up to Scott, the warmth in the cabin making our bodies too warm too quickly, so that didn’t last too long.

When I woke up, Scott stood at the foot of the bed watching me, a coffee in his hand.

“Morning, sleepy head,” he said, a grin on his face. He looked oddly comfortable, like he was watching a favorite TV show. He stood naked, his cock hanging down right over his balls, surrounded by a bush that didn’t bother either of us.

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Previous Chapter

My foxes. I have taken you down the rabbit hole. Far, far down it.

Streetlights blinked on along the road just as the sun disappeared. Darkness settled over the town, and with no sound anywhere around us, the cold feeling creeping up and down my back intensified.

“Kent,” he said, his voice a lot less confident than it had been.

I turned to him and looked further down the road. Lights glowed in houses and shopfronts all along it, but there wasn’t a single person anywhere.

“Huh?” I said, turning back to him. “That where you’re from?”

He smiled, a very likeable smile given the circumstances. “No, my name’s Kent.”

“Oh, shit, sorry!” I said, my palm immediately going to my forehead. “Gregory.”

Our hands met like I hadn’t spent a few minutes with my cock inside him less than half an hour earlier.

“Fancy checking out down there?” I asked Kent, pointing down the road.

Every building looked deserted. We walked along the footpath like two men treading actual eggshells. Like any step might go through and we’d find ourselves plummeting directly to hell.

The betting shop, the cafe, the Indian restaurant, the sandwich shop, the vape store. All looked like they should be open, but were closed.

“What the bleeding hell is going on?” Kent said, the words coming from him as strange as the circumstances we found ourselves in.

I shrugged, walking alongside him, looking to the houses on the left, and then to the businesses to our right.

Kent turned to me, his eyes wide, then he stepped toward the restaurant. From the sidewalk I could see lights on inside. I followed Kent to the door and I watched as he tried to open it.

The door opened. He shot me another look, like every step of his decisions needed my approval.

I followed him inside, the door clanging behind me, echoing loudly.

I sniffed. “Why doesn’t it smell like an Indian?”

Kent shook his head. I could almost see the hairs on his neck stand up.

We walked through to the back.

Lights were on, an extractor fan above the hotplates was on, fresh food was on all the counters, fish, vegetables, meat.

Kent leaned back against the large refrigerator, staring at the empty kitchen.

“Gregory?”

I looked around the kitchen for a while, even stepping to the center, before turning back to Kent.

I simply shrugged. I didn’t trust my voice.

As though he had a plan and hadn’t decided to share it with me yet, he pushed away from the fridge, grabbed my shoulder in a friendly way, then moved back out of the kitchen. We also realized plates were set on many tables, napkins, cutlery.

They’d certainly prepared to open.

The betting shop doors were open, and inside, we found poker machines still on, lights behind counters lit, but not a single person.

All of the doors we tried were unlocked, and inside, we found life in inanimate objects, but no people.

Then we saw the police station. I felt that spark in my chest as Kent picked up speed. We walked to it much faster, both breathing a little heavier when we reached it.

At the door, Kent paused, watched me, his eyes betraying any confidence I thought I’d witnessed, then he exhaled, and opened the door.

This was a typical station, perfect for a town of this size, small.

There was nobody inside the station.

We walked backward. Outside the station, we stood under a streetlamp.

“You were in Brighton, you said. What time did you leave there?”

I tried to think.

“I don’t remember,” I said, thinking back. “I went to Brighton, I had a meeting, and then I left.”

“What details do you remember?” Kent asked me.

I shook my head again. “Just that I got the train, and there was nobody on it.”

I followed him as we crossed the road, walked directly down the path of one of the houses.

Kent opened the door, and strode straight in like he owned the place.

“Hello? Hello!” he yelled.

I moved past him into the kitchen, noticing lights were on, places were set for dinner. Someone had been in the middle of making stew.

Kent moved quickly, racing up the stairs, stomping around, calling out. I didn’t bother to follow him, having an inkling that he’d find what we’d found downstairs.

He didn’t say anything when he walked down the stairs, but his eyes did. As we headed toward the front door, I saw a family picture. A man in a shirt and tie, a woman in a light-blue dress, two kids, a boy and a girl, all smiling at the camera.

There was something wrong with that picture, but I couldn’t really see what it was until I walked away from it.

Their smiles were identical.

I brushed it off.

Outside, we walked toward the station again, at a loss of options.

“I have an idea,” I said, eyeing the cars out front. I walked back into the house, straight to the living room, scouting around, feeling Kent’s eyes on me as I searched it.

I found what I wanted in the kitchen. Keys.

Outside, I clicked the unlock button, and a Kia Sportage blinked. We both ran to it.

I got in, feeling sudden relief, with Kent jumping in next to me. Even as he pulled his seatbelt on, I had a dreaded feeling. When I put the keys in the ignition, my fears were confirmed.

Not even a sound. No ignition trying to start. The car was completely dead.

I got out, leaving Kent sitting in the passenger seat looking confused.

In the house next door the keys were on the coffee table.

That was a Ford Fiesta.

The ignition also didn’t turn.

“Fuck!” I said, slamming the car door, leaving the keys in the ignition.

Kent had gotten out of the Kia and stood between the two cars, a rising panic on his face.

For nearly an hour, Kent tried two cars, and I tried one more, we went into nearly all the houses and stores along that road, and encountered exactly the same thing in all of them.

Back toward the station, shoulders down, both of us kicking the tarmac as we walked along the road, I tried to suppress that darkness that began to rise from the base of my neck.

On the corner, I moved away from Kent and opened the pub doors. It smelled like a pub, spilled beer, stale something, but it was devoid of people.

I went to the kitchen and wasn’t surprised to discover the same thing. Someone had been preparing food, but nothing had actually been cooked yet.

I went behind the bar, grabbed a pint glass, and exhaled, then tried to pour myself a Guinness.

My eyes lit up when the Guinness flowed. I didn’t bother to let it sit, I immediately took a sip.

I threw my head back, and exhaled.

“What?” I heard Kent ask me from the other side of the counter.

I turned to him, putting the pint glass back under the tap, and resuming the pour.

“Sir, we are fully open. All drinks are on the house. What will you have?”

Kent grinned as far as he could given the circumstances, scanning the various labels on each of the taps.

“I’ll have a Peroni thanks sir,” he said, both hands on the table, looking around at the empty bar.

Moments later, they sat opposite one another at a booth by the door, looking around, drinking faster than normal.

“This is fucking crazy. Is someone having a laugh?” I said.

Kent didn’t say anything, he kept his eyes on the pint glass, fingers occasionally tracing lines through the condensation.

“Kent, where exactly was your viewing?”

Kent looked up finally, like he’d been deep in thought.

“What?”

“The viewing. You went to look at a house. Where was that?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, his eyes narrowing. He watched me, eyes widening. “Why can’t I remember?”

He looked at his pint, then back at me, then to the window, then down again.

“I… I don’t… how can I not remember?”

I stared. “You don’t remember where the viewing was?”

He rubbed his forehead, then turned to the window.

Even now, with an entire town apparently missing, I found myself watching him. The pub lighting was kinder than the streetlights outside. It softened everything. The lines around his eyes, the stubble along his jaw, and even the frown sitting permanently on his face tonight.

If I’d passed him in a supermarket I’d have looked twice.

Then probably a third time.

The strange thing was that I could picture his face perfectly, yet I couldn’t remember a single detail about the meeting I’d supposedly attended in Brighton.

“How long have you been married?” I asked, scanning the pub again, the empty tables, the quiet games area, nobody behind the bar making occasional, distracting sounds putting glasses away.

Kent didn’t answer, so I turned back to him.

He stared.

“I don’t know. I can’t remember!” he said, though I knew the aggression wasn’t aimed at me.

I did it the only way I know how. “Do you even have a wife?” I joked, raising my pint and laughing.

But that didn’t calm him. He leaned back, watching me, jaw slack, eyes still very wide.

“I remember having one, I just can’t remember her.”

Those words stuck with me for a few minutes.

We finished our drinks a lot quicker than we would have had we paid for them, but I felt no better. In fact, as Kent’s anxiety continued to bubble up, I found it increasingly more difficult to calm myself.

Kent pushed the empty pint glass away, linked his fingers together, then started twisting them against each other.

I watched him, then reached out and grabbed his hands, forcing him to stop.

“Kent,” I said, keeping my voice low. Just the sound of my own even voice calmed me.

He kept his gaze down at his hands, tried to fight my hand and keep doing it.

I squeezed my hand, brought my other one over and kept his hands down. My voice was a little firmer this time. “Kent.”

He froze, then his hands went flat on the table. I kept mine on top.

“Kent, we can’t unravel, alright? I need you pragmatic. Listen, what do you do for a living?”

Kent paused, and for a minute I thought he was going to tell me he couldn’t remember.

“Operations Manager for a construction company.”

“Good, that’s a start. And you said you work in London.”

“Yeah. London.”

I nodded, almost feeling a sense of normality returning.

“What about you?”

I did have to think for a moment. “Trainer. HR systems,” I said, scratching the back of my neck for no reason.

“Partnered?” he asked me, touching his empty pint.

I shook my head. “Nah, recently separated.” And still getting therapy over it.

I got up. “My round again,” I said, taking the empty glasses for reasons I didn’t understand, and heading to the bar.

“Maybe we should remain clear-headed,” I heard him say, but I was already moving around the bar to pour us both another round of drinks.

I watched Kent play with his phone while I waited for the Guinness to settle. I pulled my phone out, which still had the SOS at the top.

When I brought the drinks back, I sat opposite him again, then pushed his Peroni to him.

“Anything?” I asked him, picking up my Guinness, and tapping his glass.

He didn’t respond, but looked out of the window.

“This makes no fucking sense. Where the fuck is everyone?”

I took a big drink of my Guinness, starting to feel the calming effects.

“Bet you’re missing your wife. I’m sure she’s okay,” I said, studying him again.

Kent stared at his phone as if he was reading something, but he didn’t say anything for a long time, nor did he touch his pint.

Eventually, he looked up, finally grabbing his drink and sipping it.

When he spoke, it was in a low voice, almost a whisper, like he was making a revelation.

“I’m not. I’m trying to think about my wife, picture her, feel something… but I’m not.”

I stared, a cold tingle dropping down my spine.

We drank that second pint mostly in silence, occasionally one of us would repeat the obvious, our frustration, the same question, or simply just to hear each other speak.

Kent drained the rest of his second Peroni fast, then got up and went to the bathroom.

He came back, a look on his face that worried me even more.

“What?”

He simply shook his head. “I need to be outside. I don’t know why.”

I drained the rest of mine, then went out with him, the pub doors closing behind us echoing on the street.

“Can you hear that?”

I strained to listen, but I heard nothing.

I shook my head.

“That’s the problem. Nothing at all. No birds, no wind, no anything.”

I had that sound in my ears like after I’d been in a loud club all night. Afterward, when everything is quiet compared to the loud music.

We walked to the middle of the road, looking around us, where we’d started earlier.

“Let’s go back to the park and fuck again,” I said, partly joking, but also because at least in the park we weren’t acutely aware of how fucked up this whole situation was.

He laughed. “Why? We could just fuck here.”

I laughed, and nodded, looking around.

I unbuckled, dropped my pants and my briefs, turning in a circle. “Hello!” I yelled, my voice echoing off buildings. “Public indecency over here, got my cock out!”

Kent’s face screwed up, like he was concerned, but his eyes were drawn to my cock.

I felt my cock harden, even while my whole body screamed for me to put my clothes back on, like suddenly people would reappear, and I’d be caught with my pants down.

Kent stood with his hands on his hips, looking past me, then back to my cock, then to the pub where we’d just sat, then back to my cock, then back across the footbridge to the park, then back to my cock.

If I’d seen this in a photograph, I would call it perfect. Everything was exactly right, lights on in houses, cars parked neatly outside houses on streets, businesses looked open, and the streetlights had all come on right when they should.

“You’re right. We could just do it right here. Keep fucking until someone comes along,” I said, not even sure if I was joking anymore.

“You’re standing in the middle of the road with your dick out, and nobody’s come running out,” he said, unbuckling.

As he unbuckled, his gaze drifted to the pub we’d just left. Warm lights glowed behind the windows. Empty.

I followed his gaze, hearing him unzip, looking toward the sandwich shop, the betting shop, the police station, the houses we’d entered without permission, and the useless cars still parked where we’d left them.

A dog should have barked, someone should be shouting, a curtain should have twitched.

The only thing twitching was my cock when the suited man next to me dropped his pants, and I saw his cock, and his ass as he continued turning in a circle.

He turned to me, looking ridiculous with his pants around his ankles, eyes flicking past me one more time, as if expecting something to change at any moment.

“You know what?”

I shook my head. “What?”

“If nobody’s appeared by now,” he said, shaking his head, “I don’t think they’re about to.”

We both laughed, and I realized it was because the alternative would have driven us back to the pub, except this time we wouldn’t stop at two pints.

I shuffled forward a step toward Kent, and he shuffled toward me, his cock hardening as I reached him.

I dropped to a crouch, grabbing his cock, enjoying the feel of something real in my hand.

It throbbed, leaked precum, and was hot to touch.

It was even hotter when I put it in my mouth.

I waited, but there were no shouts, no sudden alarms from anywhere as I sucked Kent’s cock in the middle of the street.

On the corner, past his waist, I saw a stop sign.

No, I thought, I won’t stop.

Even that stop sign felt wrong somehow. But I couldn’t work out what exactly.

His cock tasted great, a bit of precum, clean, like he’d just come out of a shower. It throbbed as I sucked it to the base, feeling his balls on my chin, his hands going to my head and fingers gently massaging my scalp as if he wanted me to know he was enjoying it.

Then his hands gently pushed my head away, then pulled me up.

I came up, thinking he was going to turn around, or drop to suck me, but instead, his face moved to mine, and our eyes locked.

Then Kent kissed me. His lips were so soft, warm, fleshy, pressing into mine tentatively, as if waiting for permission.

My arms reached around him, and I kissed him harder, my tongue pushing through his lips to find his, which was eager for mine.

The kiss became passionate, like all of our fears were in it, transformed into need, and the other might hold the answers. His body pushed into mine, the heat of our cocks pressing into the other’s hips, arms moving around each other to grip, massage, make sure there were no gaps between us.

Even while we kissed, I was still aware of the wrongness of it all, not of us half-naked in the street, but the lack of sound.

Kent pulled away, but his eyes stayed on me, studying my face, then he turned, spitting into his fingers.

I spat in mine, put it on my cock, and rested a hand on his lower back, ready to guide myself into him.

He was still a little relaxed from our fuck in the park, so pushing it in wasn’t the issue. But balance was.

Standing in the street without something to lean on was the issue.

As I drove my cock into him, he nearly stumbled forward, we both shuffled, a laugh escaped him, then we stabilized and resumed.

“He’s fucking me over here!” Kent shouted.

I laughed, but still looked around, waiting for someone to shout or something.

Given we’d already gotten far more intimate with the kiss, I leaned into his neck and licked, then sucked the side of his neck. He threw his head back, his hand reaching to grab my head and hold it there, while my hips pushed my cock into him repeatedly.

Both of us breathing loudly, fucking, the sound of skin slapping on skin echoing even louder than our breath.

We fucked for a while, listening out for sounds. Slowly at first, then I built momentum, my fingers reaching up his chest and playing with his chest hairs, tweaking his nipples, then moving down to grab a handful of flesh from his stomach.

He moaned, groaned, exhaled, and did that whispering thing again which I didn’t catch.

Then he blew his load without warning.

I heard it hit the tarmac. I moved my hand to his cock, my hand going over his as he continued to jerk himself off, feeling the stickiness coming off him.

I let myself go, suddenly feeling it explode into him.

He whispered something again, and I kept going, kept sliding my cock into him, enjoying how much more relaxed his ass muscles were by the end.

We weren’t in a hurry, so we stayed on the street, my hands moving up to hug him, as if I was afraid he might run off and leave me alone with my pants down.

“We should find some food,” he said.

I laughed. “Typical man, shoot, then start talking about food.”

He laughed. “Yeah, sorry.”

I pulled out, laughing. “Don’t be. I was thinking the same thing as I blew my load into you, gee, I could do with a burger right about now.”

We pulled our pants up laughing, still looking around us like we expected something to change.

“You’re quite the character,” he said, shaking his head.

“Yeah, ex-wife calls me a barrel of laughs. So, I hear this pub does a pint and a burger tonight for under a tenner.”

We entered the pub laughing, then walked around the bar to head out back to the kitchen.

Kent went to the large refrigerator, while I scouted the counter, and the shelving, to evaluate our options.

I thought about sizzling burgers and my stomach rumbled.

A large lettuce was on the counter, along with some tomatoes, and some pickles. Kent handed me some buns from the cabinet, so I grabbed some as he went off to find burgers.

I held the burger buns in my hands, something about them felt wrong. They were a bit heavy, and the texture was all wrong. I studied them, digging my finger in, but I couldn’t.

“What the fuck?” I said, lifting up the bun to my nose.

No smell.

“What?”

I licked one of the buns.

No taste.

“What’s wrong?”

I turned to him, holding out the burger bun. “Try that, tell me I’m going crazy.”

Kent took it from me, and I picked up the lettuce.

The lettuce was too heavy. I took a sniff, then put it on the chopping board and grabbed the knife.

“What the fuck is this?” I heard Kent say, just as I put the knife on the lettuce, and began to cut into it.

Let me just say it was more like I had to saw through it.

Bits of what looked like lettuce came off it as I sawed through it, like I was going through wood.

I picked up the bits, and played with them between my fingers.

This was plastic.

“Okay, we’ve officially gone batshit crazy. Either all this food is plastic, or we’re fucking crazy,” I said, dropping the knife and stepping away from the counter, moving my back to the shelving.

Whatever pretense we’d had that this would be okay, that we would get through it, all vanished the minute he confirmed what I’d just discovered.

Kent held the burger bun out, his face looking horrified.

“This is fucking plastic.”

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Previous Episode

Hey my horny foxes,

Gavin’s having some problems with Karen from finance, and of course I was there for him.

In this episode, I go deeper into Gavin, well, not litera…

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Previously Pantless

I spent the better part of yesterday railing a straight guy against a tree in a park, while people around me had gone missing, phone network stopped working, and he and I were the last two people around. And he was ridiculously hot. Sounds like the beginning of a good story.

It is, I hope. It got restacked over 10 times, which means at some point in the coming days, we’re about to find out where all the people went.

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Tap tap tap.

Excuse me a moment, I just have to go feed this watermelon to a very demanding lamb in a pram, but if that tapping doesn’t ease up soon, there will be a shortage of watermelons in Madrid.

At this point I’m fairly certain Simon has figured out cause and effect.

Tap tap tap.

Watermelon appears.

Tap tap tap.

More watermelon appears.

We’re about three days away from him opening a hedge fund. Another week and he’ll own the farm. A month after that, Levi and Rodney will be asking his permission to stay there.

“Excuse me, Don Simon Corleone,” they say as they approach the pram, heads bowed, holding up slices of watermelon while he files his hooves.

“If it pleases the lamb.”

Yes, The Farmhand: Home dropped, and thankfully, Chloe’s role has been more defined. She’s no longer a badly written side-plot, or yet another pretty blonde with big tits.

She’s now aunt Chloe to Simon, and the reason Levi and Rodney finally got a moment of peace. And ass.

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Then, if things hadn’t already been chaotic, just to make things even more confusing, what did Josh go and do? Yeah, that. I think Daddy’s Boy might be sowing his seeds a little wide, and a little close to home. Again.

Let’s just hope neither parent finds out.

Who the fuck is he going to rail next? Starting to think Josh is a bit of a slut, like my alter ego or something…

At this point if Josh joins a bowling league, I’m worried for the bowlers.

And their fathers.

The Male Muse

I got a new job, super excited, fresh out of college, trying to get to know my new colleagues, but as I’m sitting in this open-plan office, starting to realize that things are not as they seem, it’s my turn to get called into the office.

I’m straight, definitely straight, have a girlfriend and all that shield. Until the Senator did what he did, and now I’m not so sure. I was so excited about this direction in my life, but did I really need the Coercive Politics? And will I tell my girlfriend about what he did to me in that office?

This whole week has been a little… unusual. Something as simple as trying to buy watermelon in Spanish in Madrid, with my voice still being a little rough after the mugging last week, turns into the supermarket guy slipping me his number.

Like, no. I’m not trying to husk my way into your bed, this is just how I talk now.

As a result of that screaming for the Polizia at the top of my voice last week, I have not been able to record my podcast which ALL of you are simply super excited to hear. Calm down, please, just calm down. I know the excitement is too much, but I will drop it today/tomorrow.

Actual good news everybody, Night Shift in the Cell is about to drop earlier.

Right this second, as you read this, it is 99c. This weekend, as I release it early, it will jump up to full price. So, love a discount? Why are you still reading this and not preordering it?

Fox Is Worth The 99c

I’d like to thank the beta readers who helped me reshape the book so it would be the best version of itself it could be.

Why should you spend 99c on a book you may or may not read? Because it’s important to me. All presales get calculated into some weird Amazon algorithm, the more of them there are, the higher chance that gets visibility. The more money I might make from that after release (because I’m not making a single cent at 99c), the more likelihood there is I’ll write more free stories here.

For 99c, you get more free stories, each of which takes me about a day to write. If that’s not a bargain for you, then I suspect your name is Karen, which means you’ll probably end up in one of my stories very soon.

And that’s also the reason paid subscribers are so important. It means I can write more.

You’re not just feeding my ego, you’re contributing to my rent and food so I can continue to write pantless from home.

God forbid I end up in an office, asking Karen and Nick how their weekends were.

“Oh, pretty good thanks. I did boring breeder things, tidied up the house, gardening… “

“...zzzz.”

“Fox? Did you just fall asleep?”

Meanwhile I’m wondering if Nick secretly disappeared between Brighton and London, got trapped in an empty town, seduced a senator, adopted a lamb, and now runs a watermelon trafficking operation from a farm in Georgia.

The worst part is I wouldn’t be able to write any of it down because I’d be in a fucking office. With my PANTS ON.

Nobody wants that.

Least of all me.

I want to say a quick thanks to Freckleman64. Not because he wrote The Curse of 100 Bottoms, which I binge-read, or whatever my version of bingeing is, which was incredible, funny, well-written and a journey I’m really glad I went on, but also because he gave me an idea. Well, two ideas. One of which you’ll find out about in coming weeks. You might want to hit Freckles up and see if he’ll tell you, or simply wait until we do that thing. You know the thing.

The idea he gave me goes along the lines of The Curse of the 100 bottoms. If you’ve read that, you’ll know why Fox Emerson with that idea is a really bad idea.

Be very careful Simon, one more tap and I’ll…

Tap tap tap.

“Never mind.”

One last bit of good news. I mentioned how I self-proclaimed myself the Glory Hole King (I had a whole ceremony, yes it was weird, I was the only attendee etc..) well, Google still definitely considers me the number one authority on glory holes 🎉.

Oh, and now for the heavy shit. Good Luck Getting Rid of Me chapter 18 is finished, Fontana LePoint is polishing it, so it will be posted as soon as that’s done. Those of you following along, the intensity will peak. And end. Finally.

What an achievement. What a victory.

Fox Emerson G.H.K. ®

As always, a huge thank you to The Male Muse for letting me use images from his impressive photographic collection. The Male Muse is also here on Substack.

I love these warm evenings, when the sun’s just dropped, things cool just enough, shadows begin to form, and I’m not in a hurry to be somewhere.

I mean, I’ve got somewhere to be, I just don’t need to rush.

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The station was pretty dead, across the road the park was empty, which makes sense, given I’m out in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere between Brighton and London, I looked across the platform and was a bit surprised I didn’t see anyone.

Nor was I pissed off I missed the train. I checked the board again, an hour and forty minutes before the next train to London.

I sighed, shook my head, but then forced myself to laugh it off.

I could get a pint. There’s a pub that looks decent across the road. I could take my sneakers off and go walk through the park. The thought of my toes sinking into the dry grass was appealing.

As I deliberated, a man rushed in, suited, looking panicked, running toward the overhead sign. He slowed, then stopped, carrying his backpack, out of breath.

“Fuck!” he just about shouted, shaking his head, face screwing up and his cheeks turning rosy.

I turned away, half-smiling, covering my mouth just in case.

He walked away from me, then back to the sign as if by checking it again, the train times might change in his favor. He cursed, though quieter this time.

As I finally made my decision, I headed toward the exit, quite a few feet away from him.

But as I neared the exit, looking across the road, wondering where the fuck everyone had gone in this bum-fuck-nowhere town, I scanned him one more time.

Our eyes locked for a second.

“You okay?” I said, giving him a small nod, then puffing my lips, letting him know I felt his pain.

“Yeah. No, not really. Can’t believe I missed it,” he said, dark eyes studying me. “An hour and forty minutes. That’s fucked!”

I nodded, slowing, then turning to half-face toward him. “Yeah, nothing we can do about it though. Figure I’d grab a pint. Might as well. Might even squeeze in three.”

For just a flicker of a moment, his eyebrows raised, then he clenched his jaw and tried to smile. The only good thing that came out of that was the dimples.

Proper cute. Definitely a northerner too. From his accent, I was guessing Leeds. Somewhere in Yorkshire anyway.

I stopped then. We wouldn’t see each other again, so why did it matter?

I’d just had therapy the day before, her words repeated in my head like she was still in there. “Seize opportunities,” or “Put your confidence first,” and other shit that sounded practical, but was difficult in practice.

“It was either that, or a quick scout around the park. Nice evening for a cruise, really,” I said, my toes curling, that spike going down my neck because I wasn’t sure if I’d pushed it.

“Cruising?” he said, nearly stepping back, scanning me from head to toe again.

I simply nodded. “Yeah, why not? An hour and some is plenty of time,” then I shrugged, and headed out.

Even as I rounded the corner, I could feel him staring back at me, like I’d just said the unthinkable.

But fuck it, right? If he knew what I’d meant, he’d be into it. If he didn’t, then he’d have no idea.

I walked up the ramp past the station, headed over the small bridge, then down into the park on the other side. Up there, looking around me, it was like a ghost town.

“Where the fuck is everyone?” I asked myself, stepping off the off-ramp, and finally entering the park.

It was warm, especially in the park, even if the sun hadn’t dipped enough to cool anything properly. I made my way along a worn path in the grass, contemplating taking my shoes off.

I cast my eyes back over to the station, the platform on the other side, but the cute guy had gone. What was he? Probably around forty. Guaranteed he’d decided to cab the rest of the way.

As I walked, I carried the same relaxed, calm, not-giving-a-fuck energy still around me, though as I scouted ahead, I knew two things.

This was clearly not a cruising park, and two, nobody was cruising anyway. Hell, nobody was even in the park.

Shame, the first clump of bushes proved to be the ideal spot for a bit of rumple in the bushes. I entered the shaded, shrouded, cool spot, marveling how serene, private, and quiet it was.

I breathed in, the air was perfect. I stretched my arms out, exhaled, slowly inhaled.

My therapist’s words filtered through my head again. “Be in the moment.”

A path led away from that incredible spot, but the woods where it went were thicker, following the trainline fence. I was about to start walking that way, when I heard a twig snap, and the air felt different.

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I turned. He walked in, backpack over his shoulder, watching me, then looking around, as if he’d entered a store, and hadn’t quite decided what he was going to buy.

I nodded. “Hey,” wishing I hadn’t. That’s not how these things worked.

He nodded back, but didn’t say anything, still scouting around, taking in what I’d just been watching.

He stopped near a tree, looking back toward the station. Where he stopped was even more secluded, slightly deeper in the shadows.

Fuck. Is he actually cruising? He must be. He didn’t just walk over that bridge, walk right by that pub on the corner, see the cafe down the road, probably even the chip shop, and then come here after I suggested cruising.

I looked around again, which was pointless. I could see for miles, and there’d been nobody anywhere.

He slowly walked to a tree, stood facing it, like there was a sign there giving him instructions. Then, casually turned to face me, his hands in front of him, like he was peeing or something.

I stayed back, not quite sure what was happening, but liking the way he looked from behind too, fit, a bit muscular, and judging by the bag, he was one of those guys who went at lunchtime.

Trying to be cautious, though feeling my legs tremble, something in my chest shuddering as I tentatively walked around, I got more of a view of him.

His cock was out, but if he was peeing, he hadn’t started yet. It was so quiet, I would definitely have heard it.

I slowed, stood a few feet away, staring beyond the trees in front of us and beyond, out into the actual park. From the corner of my eyes, I saw him angle himself.

I turned, and got a better look at all of him. He looked a lot less pissed off than he’d been on the platform. His face was more relaxed. His eyes watched me, not as dark as I’d first thought, maybe navy blue. Button nose. Stubble catching the early evening sun slipping through the trees.

His cock was dangling, and hardening. That much was obvious.

Mine twitched, so my hands went to it, still not convinced this was actually happening, even though he was turned toward me, cock out, watching me. My hands fumbled for my zipper, thought I’d bring it out anyway, pretend I needed to coincidentally take a piss right here, a few feet from him.

By the time I’d navigated my cock out of my underwear, and pulled it out, any uncertainty about his intentions disappeared.

His cock was rock-hard, angling himself toward me more, so I could see all of it. Balls were out of the zipper too, dangling there, a bit hairy.

I stepped forward, feeling mine catch up, begin to throb in my hand.

Then he stepped toward me, looking around, slightly frowning, probably also wondering why it was so quiet.

The quiet was perfect. I checked him out again, this time a couple of feet away, the only sound was my breathing, and probably my heartbeat.

We finally stood facing each other, I reached out then and slowly put my hands under his shaft, and then gripped it. He closed his eyes, exhaled, like this was exactly what he’d needed. When he opened his eyes again, his hand came out to mine, slightly cooler than I expected, but felt good when he gripped my cock, and then squeezed it. Then both hands came out, one cupping my balls, gently squeezing then, the other moving up and down my cock, slowly jerking me off.

The handsome guy turned his head behind him, then looked behind me, which made me turn to check. By the time I turned back, he was already dropping to his knees, mouth open, facing my cock, studying it.

Then he put it in his mouth, and I inhaled, and held it.

Damn that felt good.

His mouth was hot, compared to his hands, his tongue immediately licked under it, then his mouth tightened on it, and I moved my hands to his shoulders, resting them there.

Fuck.

He sucked my cock, while I closed my eyes, turned my face up, feeling every part of my body alight with it.

And he did it for a while. I got close, then he’d slow down, like he could tell, his hand would jerk me slowly, while his tongue licked around the head, then disappeared under again, then he’d swallow it all again.

I unbuttoned, deciding to pull my jeans down, let it all out, and give him full access.

He paused, then stood, unbuckling his belt, his button, dropping his pants, revealing his white Calvin Klein underpants, then dropping those too.

I was about to crouch down, and give him what I thought he was preparing for, watching that cock, the foreskin bunched up around the tip.

Then he spat in his fingers, stepped to the tree, leaned against it with one hand, while putting spit up his butt.

This guy’s ass had definitely been in the gym for a long time. Round, pale, and only lightly hairy, like somebody had built it in a laboratory specifically to test my self-control.

My chest pounded, and I even felt a little bit of sweat form around my temples as I shuffled forward, made difficult because my jeans had just dropped around my ankles.

I moved up behind him, pushing my cock to touch his ass, press it into his butt crack, while I spat in my hand, lubed my cock, then pushed it into that delicious butt.

He braced himself, spreading his legs, bending over slightly to give me better access.

“Go slow, will ya?” he said, the accent thicker this time, masculine, deep voice, probably someone who requested things only once in the workplace.

I couldn’t stop looking at him.

The shirt looked expensive, and his hair had that annoyingly effortless look people paid barbers good money to achieve.

Everything about him suggested somebody with a calendar full of meetings and an inbox full of problems.

Then again, most of those people weren’t usually standing half-naked in a park waiting for a stranger to rail them.

Even when I put my hand on his waist, and felt how tight it was, while my cock pushed into that crack, finding its way to his hole, as if that space alone wasn’t enough to make me wanna nut.

I found it though, first time, the tip of my cock pushing into him, while I felt him tense a little, before leaning forward a little more, relaxing.

Probably not enough spit to rail this guy here, right beside a tree, in a space I’d only moments earlier decided was the ideal place to fuck someone on the downlow. But seconds later, my cock slid into him. I had to pause, wait, just in case he screamed, backed out, changed his mind, maybe even run back to the station, opting to wait for the train patiently instead.

But all I heard was his controlled breathing, maybe he whispered something I didn’t catch out of those full lips, and then my cock slid all the way inside him.

My hips pressed into his back, my balls gently knocking his as I began thrusting into him, each time waiting for him to tell me to slow down, and each time being surprised as he closed his eyes, bowed his head further, and let me rail him.

That’s when I started pounding him, realizing that’s what he wanted, pushing it in deep, feeling it hit his prostate. Each time I felt like I was close, I’d slow down, pull out slightly, then push it in again, concentrating on making this last.

After all, we both had plenty of time.

I heard him whisper again, this time I thought I heard him say, “please.” I didn’t say anything, so I bucked myself into him repeatedly, watching as his body shook. He put both hands against the tree, his body almost parallel with the ground, while I grabbed both sides of his waist and fucked him harder.

He grunted then, or maybe it was a growl, too low to tell what it was, but somehow it made it harder not to cum.

I tried slowing down, but then a hand came out to grab me, push me back into a faster momentum. I knew I wouldn’t last much longer, and we still had plenty of time.

That whisper again. “Harder,” I think he said.

I fucked him again, then again, then so hard that the slapping of flesh echoed around us. Somewhere a bird flapped and flew off.

“Eugh,” he grunted, and I felt his ass tighten, then I looked around, and realized he was blowing his load all under the tree.

That was all I needed to let myself go.

“Fuck!” I grunted, feeling myself unload into him, my breath wheezing in my chest as my balls slapped against his.

I kept fucking him, not quite sure when he’d stopped blowing his load, even after I’d long finished.

Then I did stop, and slowly let it slip out of him.

“Damn,” I said, hands going behind my head as I relaxed for a moment, catching my breath, realizing I’d built up a sweat.

The hot guy stood, pulling his clothes up, and slowly getting himself together, while he slowly turned to me.

This is the point they normally run. In cruising, once the deed is done, it’s an awkward smile, nod, then flee.

But he didn’t. He stood, buckling up, then mimicking me and stretching.

“Thanks, that was a good way to pass the time,” his eyes watched me, like they were laughing too.

I smiled. “Yeah, figured if we had such a long time, might as well…”

I got my jeans up, then we both pulled our phones out to check the time.

We still had over an hour. I started wondering if he’d be up for a round two.

“Fucking shit towns. No reception.”

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“You need data?” I said, unlocking my phone and checking it. I had plenty of reception walking into the park.

The top of my phone simply read SOS.

“That’s odd! Never seen that before,” I said, lifting my phone up, as if an extra couple of feet would make a difference.

“Yours say SOS too?”

I nodded.

“What network you with?” he asked me, restarting his phone.

“Vodafone, you?”

“Orange.”

“That’s not a network problem,” he said, turning to look back behind us.

“What?”

“If one phone loses signal, sure. Two? Different networks?” He shook his head. “Something’s wrong.”

I exhaled, then turned to head back to the station, with the guy right behind me, keeping my phone out, and checking the reception as we walked.

Even as we crossed the footbridge back to the other side, my phone still showed that strange SOS, so I turned my phone off, and restarted it.

I turned back, and slowed, so he could walk alongside me. “Where are you from?”

“Live in London, just had a viewing near here.”

“Looking to buy?” I asked him, wondering if he was about to tell me to mind my own business.

Back on the other side, we walked along the path, back toward the station.

“Yeah, we’re looking at something in this area. Close to the station, but with plenty of space.”

“You and the husband?” I asked him, relying on my therapist’s advice about being more forward.

He smirked, turned to me, like what I’d said was funny.

“Wife.”

“Oh,” I said, turning to him.

“Assume you’re not open,” I asked him, rounded the corner and entering the station again.

He shook his head, moving ahead of me to the platform train times. He turned once, eyes looking down. “Like to keep it.. Downlow.”

I nodded.

He reached the readout, but it was dead.

“What the actual?” he said, looking up and down the tracks.

I stepped back, then looked out to the road.

“Don’t you think it’s weird?” I listened around me, and realized we hadn’t heard a single sound.

He stared, like I’d said something shocking, but I could tell he was listening too.

“No sound.”

I nodded. I walked backward, then onto the road, looking up toward the pub.

“Might just check in the pub, see if something’s happened.”

“Good idea,” he said, moving to walk with me, which surprised me.

I guessed he figured standing around in a station all by yourself wasn’t that exciting.

The pub was just past a hardware store, which was closed, and a laundromat, also closed.

Something felt off, and I couldn’t shake it.

“You do this often?” I said, smirking at him.

He laughed. “God no.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Mate, an hour ago I was looking at property with my wife on a zoom call.”

We reached the pub, and both stopped outside.

Closed.

No sign, no lights on, no apologies.

We both turned to each other.

“What the fuck is going on? How can the only pub in this town be closed?” I said.

We both instinctively walked around the side, and there was nobody along there, no sign of life inside the pub, and no one on the street.

I looked down back along the road, then back to the station.

“When was the last time you saw anyone?” I asked him.

He shrugged. “When I left the viewing. Agent got in his car, drove off. Come to think of it…” he scratched his head. Then turned to look back at the pub. “This was closed earlier. Just realized. Never thought much of it.”

I nodded. “I think when I got the train here, and stopped, I was the only one on the carriage, which I thought was odd, given it’s peak time.”

We both stood in the middle of the town, a new feeling erupting inside me that had nothing to do with the guy I stood next to. As the realization dawned on us that something strange was happening, we both moved closer, our shoulders pressed together, as we looked out in every direction, both of us speechless.

Thanks for the 10 restacks. This got a sequel.

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Chapter 1

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All characters are over 21+. Adult content.

This is part of the Railing Series.

The Beginning

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I lay on the bed in Lenny’s guest room naked, in the dark, the only light coming from my phone.

“What are you into?”

Fucking sick of that question, though I shouldn’t be. It was logical, necessary, but also showed me they didn’t bother to read my profile.

“Stuff,” I said, considering giving up and getting some sleep.

“Oh yeah? Saw you’re vers, like older guys, into oral… what else?”

Oh, so he can read.

I straightened slightly, feeling a little less tired. “Kissing, body contact, masculine.”

“Sounds like we’re a match,” he said. I checked his pics again, late forties, slight stomach, hairy, greying, cute dimples, dark eyes, and dark skin.

“It does,” was all I could think to say.

“You’re close, where exactly?”

“I can’t host,” I said, picturing Lenny across the hall, probably on his phone, if not asleep already.

“Oh. I have guests, so I can’t either. Damn tho! Your pics made me real horny,” he messaged back.

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Strictly 18+, coercive themes, and all characters are adults over 18. Any resemblance to actual politicians is purely coincidental, defamatory, and almost certainly the product of an overactive imagination.

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The office was a lot more modern than Luke expected, the smell of expensive aftershaves and perfumes coming from every desk, women in power suits, men in expensive ones, the anxiety or expectation coming from around him, like the entire open plan office was holding its breath.

The security guard processed him like he’d just been handed a life sentence, then gave him a badge, grimly walked him through to human resources, nodded to Kelly, then left.

“Welcome Luke,” Kelly said, a lot less friendly than she’d been in the interviews. She clicked, hit the return a little too hard, shook her chestnut curls, then finally looked into his eyes.

She smiled.

“Here’s your welcome pack,” she said, sliding over a thick folder across the mahogany desk, “your logins are in there. When you do log in, you’ll find a few requests to run through some mandatory training. Health and Safety, Policies etc.. you’ll need them all done by Friday.”

She stood, walked around the desk, and finally smiled, though Luke was struck by the restraint in that smile, like she pitied him.

“I’ll take you to your desk, introduce you to your colleagues. You’re our first graduate. We don’t normally take grads,” she said, side-eyeing him like he needed to appreciate that.

Luke nodded, straightening his back, pushing his shoulders back, hand involuntarily reaching up to push back his neatly parted, short, dark-blonde hair.

Kelly led Luke through a maze, then into an open plan office.

“Hi everyone, can I borrow you for just a moment? This is Luke, he’s our new grad, filling in the new position we advertised recently. Please make him feel welcome.”

She led him to an empty desk, adjoining the desk of a slightly older guy, dark hair, slightly thinning, green eyes that scanned Luke from head to toe before settling back to Kelly.

“Mike, can you help Luke get setup? Let me know if you need anything,” she said, tapping Luke on the shoulder.

She turned and left.

Just like that.

Luke stood, twenty desks were strategically placed around the office, and all of them had someone sitting in them.

All eyes were on him. A pretty blonde in the corner leaned immediately to the guy to her right, hand covering her mouth as if that made her invisible, eyes on Luke, voice in the other guy’s direction.

Luke swallowed, moved to the empty desk, then dropped his backpack.

He turned to Mike, and thrust out his hand. “Hi Mike, nice to meet you.”

Mike quickly tapped something on his keyboard, as if Luke hadn’t spoken, then finally glanced his way.

“Oh, nice to meet you too,” he stood then, and walked over to Luke and shook the extended hand. “Let me show you where the bathrooms are, the kitchen, and then we’ll get you setup.”

As they walked away from the open plan office, Mike spoke efficiently, like he did tours like this all day long.

“The bathrooms are there, then just over here is the kitchen, then on the right are all the meeting rooms,” he said, his athletic frame wearing the clothes well.

By the time Luke got back to his desk with a coffee a few minutes later, he knew less about Mike than when he’d started.

He sat down, opened the folder, and began leafing through the documents, looking primarily for his logins.

That day, Luke customized his desktop, read all ninety emails, including the broadcast ones that had been sent in the past two weeks since his account had been created, including the one where apparently if you left food in the communal kitchen over a weekend, you’d be publicly shamed on Monday morning.

By six, he’d completed three induction courses, noting he still had eighteen to go.

He looked around the office, realizing nobody was packing up, getting ready to leave.

A phone rang and a stunning woman picked it up, she said something, then put the phone down, stood, adjusted her blouse, took a notebook and pen, and headed to the big double doors in the center of the office.

She knocked, while Luke watched her. He noticed others looked up, watching her, something in their eyes that he couldn’t read, but made him pause.

The woman was slim, had an incredible ass, big tits, too much makeup, and the tallest heels Luke had ever seen anyone wear.

When the woman entered, Luke caught a brief glimpse of her face before she disappeared inside.

Fear.

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Hey my pantless foxes.

I didn’t expect to spend Thursday evening sprinting through the streets of Madrid, like an inappropriately dressed Olympic athlete, or a man fleeing bears, or a gay man who has accidentally found himself in the vicinity of a vagina.

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My lungs were on fire, my knees were trying to remind me that I’m a middle-aged man, and a voice somewhere behind me was shouting, echoing off buildings all around me.

It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize the voice was mine.

“POLICIA!”

“POLICIA!”

“POLICIA!”

Like I was apparently auditioning for Taken 4: The Middle-Aged Gay Writer Edition.

After a really fun evening at my local bar/restaurant, I turned the corner onto my street and a man snatched my phone straight out of my hand and knocked me over.

One second I was texting and minding my own business, then the next the police found me, threw me in the back, then drove me around asking, “is that him?” “What about him?” “Is it that guy?”

And I’m in the back of this cop car, regaining my breath, realizing the cop staring back at me looks a little too much like Officer Anders. He had a cute button nose, blue eyes, tanned skin, and lips that would match my cock perfectly. Fit, uniformed, and looking at me with the kind of patient concern that I usually invent. Whoever is recruiting cops in Madrid is one horny bitch. I’m bleeding from the palms, my knees look like I’ve been auditioning for a very different kind of floor work, and my first coherent thought in the back of that car was that I’d give him my number, but we were chasing the guy who had my phone.

I really hope a short time later, when driving around aimlessly was helping nobody, I gave them my address in Spanish. I’m a little concerned that I may have instead asked him if he’d like to audition for Officer Needs a Warm Hole season 2.

You really can’t tell with my current level of Spanish.

What I did catch was a collection of bruises, scraped palms, damaged knees, a voice that now sounds like I’ve spent the last thirty years smoking unfiltered cigarettes, and a valuable reminder that I am considerably less athletic than the version of myself that exists in my imagination.

I carefully inspected my knees this morning as I stood in the police station filing an official report, and was a little concerned that it does look like I’ve been kneeling in a public bathroom all night instead.

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They may or may not believe my official account of what happened to my phone. In fairness, after looking at my knees, I wouldn’t blame them.

For those of you that were looking forward to, or those of you dreading it, this week’s podcast will be a little delayed because my voice currently sounds like a distressed chainsaw.

And apparently my contribution to crime prevention in Madrid was providing local residents with several minutes of unexpected entertainment as I thundered down the street screaming for the police.

Tap tap tap.

If you’re new here, that probably sounds like the beginning of a horror movie, but if you’ve read The Farmhand: Tap Tap Tap, you’ll know it’s considerably worse.

It’s Simon.

Yes, the lamb.

The one currently recovering in a pram while manipulating the entire farm like he’s Simon the Pernicious Ram-lamb, also now known as Don Simon Corleone.

At this point, Levi and Rodney aren’t raising a lamb. They’re being managed by a great fleecy godfather. They’re one missed watermelon slice away from receiving a strongly worded letter from his attorney.

Tap tap tap means Simon wants something.

Water, watermelon, apple, attention, a better view, or an explanation for why breakfast is thirty-seven seconds late.

Nobody really knows.

What starts as a gentle tap eventually becomes a formal complaint lodged with management.

I’ve spent months creating complicated characters, emotional story arcs, romantic tension, family drama, and enough unresolved feelings to keep a therapist employed for years. Yet somehow the breakout star of the series is a sheep repeatedly hitting a pram with his splint.

I respect it.

After the week I’ve had, I’m considering climbing into the pram myself and tapping for snacks.

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Speaking of tapping someone against a cabin wall, Andy and Scott made the right choice. We all thought it would go one way, and it didn’t. Andy said something a little too in the moment. But why didn’t Scott say anything back?

Sweat and Sawdust 20 dropped sometime between demands for watermelon slices and Marathon Fox 1.

This week we left our solar system, turned left, continued forward for about four thousand light-years, and took Under Surveillance in a whole new direction.

Two very hot, very much in love FBI officers are not just inside each other physically, but also mentally.

Under Surveillance 18 dropped, and it was too much fun to write.

After dinner and drinks with Leandro several days ago, I got parts two and three of his story. I wrote I Railed a Married Man and Blew Up His Life the next day, and I’ll write part three as soon as I have time.

There’s been an awful lot of running and chasing this week, hasn’t there?

Podcast Episode 13: Richard Part 2 and More of Steve dropped too. If you’ve listened to that one, you know why it took me so long to finish that story, and why I almost didn’t.

I’ll record podcast 14 this weekend as soon as I can, but I might do one that’s not erotica, or not a hot story. What does the fox community say?

At some point in the coming weeks I’ll be looking to replace the phone I apparently donated to Madrid’s small-business community with something slightly more advanced than the abacus I’m currently using.

I’ve recently started taking commissions for stories. So if you want to feature in your own Gay Mission Impossible or similar, reach out.

So in essence, I’m thundering down a Madrid street like a middle-aged gazelle. Tap tap tap is morse code for Simon now runs the farm in The Farmhand. Josh and Logan took communication to some truly alarming extremes in Under Surveillance 18. Andy and Scott didn’t do the thing, fell off a hammock, but then did do another thing against a cabin wall in Sweat and Sawdust 20. While Leandro ran from a married man, or into him, depending on which part of the story we’re in.

Everyone’s running, nobody’s getting anywhere, totally relatable content.

Scratched, bruised, phone-less and pantless.

Fox Emerson G.H.K.®

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Previous Chapter

Chapter 1

Tap tap tap.

Rodney looked over at Levi, sweat dripping down the sides of his face, eyes reflecting the hours of work he’d put in on a large portion of the fence. Levi looked past him. The fence disappeared around a small hill, and all of it was ready to be painted. Rodney leaned against a pole, hammer in one hand, the sun darkening his bare chest.

Tap tap tap.

Levi’s own sweat dripped off him and thudded to the soil below. He hoisted one more hay bale onto the back of the truck, then wiped his brow.

“I’ve got it,” Levi said, turning toward the porch.

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