Guest Post: Hitching

by Cris Kane

Tate was speeding along his favorite back-route to Las Vegas, a desolate stretch of pavement where he could push his red Porsche Boxter to the max without worrying about a lot of traffic or cops.

With the top down, leather driving gloves and Skrillex blasting through his sound system, Tate looked like a consummate spoiled California rich kid with his mirrored sunglasses and his long blond hair blown straight back by the wind. In this case, appearances were not deceiving. He WAS a spoiled California rich kid. He was even driving shirtless in hopes of catching a few more rays to deepen his tan before he hit poolside in Vegas, and was foregoing a seat belt for fear that the shoulder belt would give him a tan line.

Suddenly, a figure appeared at the edge of the roadway: a pathetic-looking man with a raised thumb and a desperately hopeful smile. Tate slammed on his brakes, his tires screeching as they burnt smoking-rubber curlicues onto the pavement. What the fuck was anyone doing hitchhiking on this godforsaken stretch of asphalt in Death Valley?

Tate was terrified that he had hit the guy, when he heard the faint trot of approaching footsteps over the fine-tuned hum of his idling engine. Tate lowered his shades and took a look at the hitcher. No wonder Tate hadn't noticed him, as he was dressed in shades of brown and beige that thoroughly camouflaged him against the barren desert landscape. The guy must be burning up out here in a heavy jacket and corduroys. His floppy tan hat must have offered him a little shade, but in combination with his sappy face, it did give the unfortunate impression that he was auditioning for the lead in "Gilligan's Desert".

"Thanks for stopping for me!", the man said with a grin. Technically, Tate hadn't stopped for the dude, but was just stopping to make sure he hadn't killed anyone. Still, he saw no reason to be a prick and peel away now, leaving the sap in the dust. He had never picked up a hitchhiker in his life, but this guy looked totally harmless. The guy climbed in and was in the process of closing his door when he yelled, "I almost forgot my bag!"

The guy climbed out and jogged over to a gully where he had hidden a black backpack. He returned to the car, tucking the backpack between his legs on the floor. He took off his canvas hat and waved it to create a breeze across his face. Tate noticed the guy's big bald spot and figured he must be in his thirties if not older.

Tate asked his new passenger, "So, where are you heading?"

"I'll get out wherever you stop. I'm just trying to get back to civilization."

"I'm heading to Vegas, if you count that as civilization. What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"Somebody stole my car and abandoned me."

"For serious? Shit, man, that's fucked up."

"I know. If you hadn't come along, I don't know how much longer I would have lasted."

Tate felt much better about rescuing this guy. He extended a hand. "I'm Tate."

"Neil," said the passenger, latching his seat belt. He looked admiringly at the car. "This is a beautiful car. How much did it cost?"

"I dunno. Seventy grand or something. Got it from my dad when I graduated college."

"Wow, cool. So what do you do now?"

Tate flashed a wide grin and said, "Drive my Porsche to Vegas." Neil braced his hands against the dash as Tate peeled out and roared Vegas-ward. Neil's floppy hat blew off and he turned to watch it floating in the air.

Seanday Shorts: Tented

We jogged along the paths, I checked over my shoulder again. Behind Jay I could see a trail of security guys tapping at their radios, I guess the gig was up. We'd managed to get into the concert--over a wall but I guessed we'd been spotted.

I beckoned to Jay and we ducked in behind a tent, "I think they're onto us, we're going to have to find a couple of jerk-offs to use if we going to stay till the end."

"Girls?" Jay smirked.

I sighed, "I wonder about you sometimes Jay."

"Just asking," he muttered looking embarrassed. "I kinda enjoyed it last time."

I gave him a sidelong look. "It was just the once," I growled. "Them or get caught."

He licked his lips. "Fucking laugh though, hooked up with a  couple of guys," he smirked.
 
"I don't want to fucking know."

Jay looked into the tent. "What about those guys?"

I looked over his shoulder, "They're do fine. I really don't give a fuck as to what we end up looking like. They just need to be guys."

We ducked inside, and the two guys looked over. The guy in red looked me up and down and returned to watching the screens. They were both leaning on railings, something I could use. "Step back," I whispered and started to rub my hands together. The air around me started to crackle with energy; sparks of electricity jumped between my fingers as I reached out of the railings. A blue arc grounded itself to the railings, and the screens flickered. The two guys convulsed as the energy flowed through them, then it was over.

Caption This (6th Sep)

Saturdays the readers get a chance to write something, use the picture as inspiration or perhaps suggest something for others to write.  Two pictures, but check in the new comments section you can add pictures now so post your own stories/pictures!

(note: administrators reserve the right to delete what they consider inappropriate pictures in any comments)

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Costume adventure

by Carlos Palanca


I have been Chris for a year and a half now. I had lived his life the way he usually does: hanged out with his friends, took care of his pet dog, and dated his girlfriend. I learned to love his life but it still was not the one I had in mind because I wanted something that was a mixture of a jock and a comic book geek. I don’t know why but I sort of want something just like one like that.
I went to the gym where Chris works. This is also the opportunity for me to find a potential person for me to be for the next couple of years. I greeted some of his co-workers and they greeted me back enthusiastically especially Nate. He was one of the new part-time employees who was in-charge of lifting the new dumbbells being delivered. He was also a college student. I thought to myself, “Hey maybe him! I might find someone in his university that has the life that I want.”
Nate went to gym’s basement to find some of the new dumbbells. I followed him. Without hesitation, I pushed him to a room which looks like an old shower room that hasn’t been used for a decade or so. Chris was a lot bigger. I used Chris’ strength to knock him out and he went limp on Chris’ arms. I placed him on the floor. I looked at Chris’ body and flexed it a bit since I have the thought of being him for the last time. Chris’ body fell on the ground next to Nate. Chris’ back started to swell as I pulled out of him. I got up and saw a mirror. I went there and checked my reflection and took a selfie using Chris’ phone. I sent a copy to my email and deleted the one on the phone. I noticed my clothes and said to myself, “I can’t believe that I have been wearing this thing for more than a year now! I doesn’t matter. It’s not like anyone is going to notice it when I’m inside someone” I laughed as I walked back to where Chris and Nate were lying.

One Good Man

I was working my typical night shift at a little gas station/store combo not far from where I lived. It was a dead end job but at least it paid enough to take care of the bills and provide me with a roof over my head. The night had been slow and I was getting ready to close up when the roar of a motorcycle pulling up to one of the pumps pierced the quiet night air. The guy unfolded himself off his beautiful metallic midnight blue bike, chrome shimmering under the night lights, and proceeded to run his card through the pump. When the tank was full he took his helmet off and headed my way.

Once inside he introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Kyle. I’m just on my way home for the weekend from the base. I’m a Marine and I’m being deployed oversees next week. I just found out I’m going to be a father and I want to spend some time with my wife.” He was a friendly enough dude but that was information overload. Besides being tall, he was quite well-built, the leather jacket he had on hiding nothing of his rugged torso. Mind you he wasn’t body builder big but he was in good shape. A young man, probably in his mid-twenties, with dark hair and moody dark eyes, he could easily have been a male model that would drive women, and dare I say a few men, into a frenzy. He spied the chair near where I was standing and sat down.

I’m not usually one to be extremely outgoing but there was something so easy going about Kyle that it was like I had known him for years even though he was a few decades my junior. “I’m Roger. It’s nice to meet you Kyle.” We were bantering back and forth when a young skinhead entered. He walked around the store, obviously on edge. Everything happened in the blink of an eye. He drew out a pistol and demanded the money from the register. I was going to open it but he must have thought I was reaching for a gun. Chaos ensued and a gunshot rang out.

Seanday Takeover: Caption This Catch Up

Sean's on holiday and asked me if I would fill in for Seanday. Hope you like!

Collan's Caption This Catch Up (2nd Mar)

2nd March, 2013 - Pic. 2

"Uhh, I don't get it."

I mentally cursed Jason for picking Derek. I should have made him choose someone that either (A) Tomas was already friends with, or (B) had some modicum of intelligence. Derek just would *not* respond to my usual tactics.

I may have owed one to Jason, but after this he would definitely owe one to me.

***********

I had started earlier that morning with my own pick, Tomas, a South African with my favorite type of body – tall, lean, somewhat hairy, with curly brown hair, a handsome face, a sharp wit, and an accent that I found sexy as all get out. I had learned his schedule and was able to snag him as he passed the alley behind the gym where he and Derek both worked as trainers. A quick request for directions to somewhere in the city, our eyes had locked, and in a moment he had followed me without question behind a dumpster where I quickly pushed myself into him and took his body and mind for my own.

Caption This (30th Aug)

Saturdays the readers get a chance to write something, use the picture as inspiration or perhaps suggest something for others to write.  Two pictures, but check in the new comments section you can add pictures now so post your own stories/pictures!

(note: administrators reserve the right to delete what they consider inappropriate pictures in any comments)

**THE STORIES/REQUESTS ARE IN THE COMMENTS**

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Page Views for August 2014

Hi, I thought I'd start to share some stats from the blog on the last Saturday of each month. Just shows the top ten and how many times the story has been viewed.

His Brother’s Keeper

I had been outside mowing my lawn when the moving van had come to the vacant house next door. I watched rather enviously as load after load of expensive furnishings were unloaded and taken inside. I briefly caught a glimpse of the new owner when he was talking with the movers but other than that I had not seen him. He had been in the house for about a week when I decided to take a chance and introduce myself to my new neighbor. The young man who answered my knock was quite good looking. Under his fitted clothing he was well-toned and his hazel eyes beneath a head of dark hair gave him an irresistible charm.

“Um…hi, I’m your next door neighbor Darryl.” I said as I nervously extended my hand in greeting.

“Hello Darryl. Would you care to come inside?” He seemed friendly enough. I had expected dust and cobwebs everywhere but instead was greeted by a very clean foyer. “Please have a seat.” He ushered me into a well-appointed parlor.

“Thank you Mr.?”

“Pardon my manners. Please call me Mark.” He must have sensed my discomfort and did his best to make me feel at ease.

I found Mark to be an intriguing young man as we carried on a conversation. Despite my shyness we bonded quickly and soon were chatting like long lost brothers over snifters of a very fine brandy Mark brought out. I was so comfortable with him that I hadn’t noticed the time slipping away until the grandfather’s clock in the foyer chimed midnight. I said my good nights to Mark and promised to come over tomorrow to help him finish what remained of his unpacking.

Bakery Blues

I’d seen him come into my work every day after his daily work out, and I couldn’t ever keep my eyes off of him. I was jealous—envious of his muscles. I had worked out for a couple months straight and I had no success. So to see this big, buff man in all of his masculinity made my crotch twinge a little every time that I saw him. I asked if he wanted anything and he just managed to mumble out that he shouldn’t even have had the donuts that he had eaten yesterday with his diet, in between the handfuls of samples he was stuffing into his mouth.

Caption This (23rd Aug)

Saturdays the readers get a chance to write something, use the picture as inspiration or perhaps suggest something for others to write.  Two pictures, but check in the new comments section you can add pictures now so post your own stories/pictures!

(note: administrators reserve the right to delete what they consider inappropriate pictures in any comments)

**THE STORIES/REQUESTS ARE IN THE COMMENTS**

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Guest Post: No Shirt, No Service

By Cris Kane

Staring out the front window of the art gallery, Simon Blake noticed the two studs as soon as they emerged from the surf. It was hard not to notice them, with their nearly identical gym-rat physiques and their swimwear color-coordinated with their hair. The one with slicked-back black hair was perhaps an inch taller than his companion and wore square-cut black trunks, while his pal with abundant red curls sported a red Speedo. Both had now slipped on their flip-flops and were toweling themselves dry as they walked across the sand.

When he had his job interview, Simon had found the location of this fine-art gallery peculiar. Although the beach certainly attracted its share of upscale visitors, Simon thought the shop would be far more successful if it were located slightly inland, among the other prestige boutiques which were frequented by the moneyed classes, rather than along the boardwalk with its t-shirt stores, hot-dog carts and Sno-Kone stands. Even so, Simon didn't think it was his place to question the gallery owner's business sense, and it certainly seemed unlikely that such second-guessing of his prospective boss's wisdom would be helpful in getting him hired.

Once he started working at the gallery, Simon discovered just how right his instincts were. The place got almost no foot traffic. Tourists in tank tops and baggy shorts occasionally peeked through the windows or, on rare occasions, swung open the front door and glanced around before quickly realizing that this wasn't their kind of place. Simon could go hours or even days between serious customers. Frankly, Simon had come to appreciate the peace and solitude of the job. Inside the store's undisturbed cocoon, he could munch on his packed lunch of fruits and veggies and listen to Mozart all day, drowning out the moronic hip-hop which was as ubiquitous in the air outside as the salt in the ocean's breezes. As a former art history major, Simon was relieved that the less sophisticated passersby didn't bother coming inside, as it meant fewer times he would have to educate the yokels on why some of the artwork on the walls merited a five-figure price tag.  Since Simon was paid a salary and didn't work on commission, he really didn't care that the gallery might go a week without a sale. How to keep the doors open on such little income was the owner's problem. If the owner hadn't found some sucker with no life like Simon to waste his days here, the place would likely have gone belly-up months ago. But having so few customers sure made the time drag.

Simon spent most of his days gazing out the floor-to-ceiling front windows at the passing parade of humanity. It was like watching a never-ending episode of "Baywatch" on the world's largest hi-def TV screen. He once tried to estimate how many square feet of exposed skin he saw on the average day. Unfortunately, the most out-of-shape tourists often chose to conceal their bodies the least. A decent share of those walking past were attractive young women in bikinis, but their assets were wasted on Simon. The two buddies strolling off the beach were much more Simon's type...aesthetically, if not intellectually.

Simon operated under the assumption that anyone who spent that much time perfecting their body was not spending it developing their mind. On the few times he had dared to try chatting up a particularly well-built hunk, they proved to be dumb and/or straight, seemingly dooming Simon to a life of being attracted only to men he didn't want and/or men he couldn't have. Simon just wanted to find one hot guy with whom he shared one crucial common interest -- that being an interest in getting Simon laid.

If he was trying to figure out the reasons for his near-constant celibacy, a quick look in any mirror should have given Simon a hint. His work uniform of a blue dress shirt, khakis and brown shoes didn't differ much from his usual wardrobe. On the job, he was required to wear a necktie, but he seemed incapable of making the skinny end shorter than the fat end. He typically rolled the sleeves of his shirt above his elbows, exposed thin, bone-pale forearms which could scarcely be termed an asset. He completed his nerd/preppy look with a pair of gold-framed glasses and a haircut so tidy and unmoving, it resembled the plastic hair you might stick on a Mr. Potato-Head.

As Simon's eyes lingered on the two studs' muscles shifting and bulging as they walked across the sand, he assumed they would eventually veer off to buy smoothies or something, but they continued on their course straight for the gallery's front door. When SImon finally realized that the one with the red curls was gripping the door handle, he rushed toward the entrance with the sad realization that he would need to turn them away.