Encounters

By Harold C. Jones

Five stories of gay love, from young lovers to fantasy spanning time and space. Hot reads from the pen of Harold C. Jones.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harold C. Jones
• Release date: Oct 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781927957295

Harold C. Jones

Harold C. Jones does professional landscape design and is an avid sports fan. He started writing as a hobby. He began taking it seriously when he realized he had something to say. His work has helped him to come to terms with himself, or perhaps explore himself would be more accurate. Harold believes that homo-erotica is valid as literature, and that it can be written in such a way that real stories of real people takes precedence over mere prurience. It can still be a hot read.

Book preview

Encounters

Harold C. Jones

Copyright 2014 Long Cool One Books

Design: J. Thornton

ISBN 978-1-927957-29-5

The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person living or deceased, or to any places or events, is purely coincidental. Names, places, settings, characters and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. The author’s moral right has been asserted.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Accidental Encounter

High Stakes

The Appointment

Whatever Happened to Davey?

A Perfect Fit

About Harold C. Jones

Accidental Encounter

Act One

Wesley was around here. Barker was out front watering his hedges, which tended to dry up this time of year. He was asking for you.

Tony suppressed a smile as the curtains twitched behind Barker’s homely figure, revealing a face right out of American Gothic. The old lady kept a sharp eye on Barker. It was only one of many reasons why Tony had never gotten married. He’d even had the chance, once, but a bad case of cold feet had saved him from a fate worse than death.

What?

Wesley was looking for you.

Wesley? Tony stopped dead in his tracks. He stared at Barker, who scratched the lanky white hair on his chest and kept playing the water on the base of his newly planted cedar hedge, the one he kept calling a box hedge. The first time Tony ever caught a glimpse of Barker, he thought the man’s beard started an awful long way down his neck. But it was three-inch chest hairs, white, curly and out of control, coming up out of the top of his tee-shirt.

However, they were good people and good neighbours. Tony pretty much took things as he found them. He’d had a long day, sitting in the backhoe with the constant noise, and the heat, and the flies, and the sheer boredom. There were times when fifty bucks an hour seemed small compensation.

What in the hell are you talking about?

Wesley! Wesley was here.

Who the fuck is Wesley?

Barker’s wide face swung to take in Tony. The man was as dumb as two sticks, as the saying went, mostly Barker’s saying but he’d heard something similar from others. Tony couldn’t remember anything for five minutes, or so it seemed.

Barker pointed, arm straight out, and Tony turned to see what he was pointing at. All he saw was his vehicle, and so what?

Remember? Barker’s shoulders twitched in silent humour. He rammed into you the other day.

Tony’s jaw dropped.

Oh. He looked back and forth, from the punched-in passenger doors on the old Dodge Caravan to Barker’s impassive face. What did he want?

Barker shrugged, and studied the neighbour.

I don’t know. He said he would call you later. He might have left a note. Does he have your number?

There was some implied commentary there.

Tony blushed furiously. His heart skipped a beat or two as he chewed on that one for a while.

He looked casually at Barker.

We had to exchange information for the insurance.

Ah. Somehow that word said it all, as Tony was fifty or damned close to it and Wesley and his friend couldn’t have been twenty.

Tony, with the weight of the lunch-bucket in his hand, plus the fact that his boots were sodden inside from perspiration and the sheer heat of the day, the temperature still not dropping much even now, abruptly nodded and started for the side door of his bungalow.

He turned his head for one final nod at Barker and had a sudden thought. He couldn’t help it, it just came out.

Was his friend with him?

Barker turned and leered appreciatively.

The black-haired one? Yep.

There was indeed a note pinned to the side door. He took it down, and tried very hard not to imagine Barker’s thoughts. The old fucker had probably already read it…he could smell it from arm’s length, the envelope had a light scent. He had a tidy little envelope and everything.

Tony had Barker’s eyes on the back of his neck and the heat of his own flushing face to contend with as he turned the key and went on in.

#

Tony kicked off his boots, never tied this time of year. He just put them on and shoved the laces down inside beside his feet. He sat in the cab of the backhoe eight hours a day, so what did he need to lace them up for? The house was dark and cool inside. He opened the curtains all the time in winter, in the summer but rarely. He had central air, but he liked to keep the costs down and sock as much as he could away for retirement. Tony wondered if he’d make it that far sometimes.

Probably not, he decided.

He threw the note on the kitchen table, and opened up the lunch box. The garbage went in the receptacle, and the snap-lid containers went into the sink. He filled them up with water and then went down the hall.

He peeled off his grubby jeans and old tee-shirt and went for a shower before confronting any issues.

He had a pretty good idea of what it was about. Wesley had called his dad from the accident scene while waiting for a cop to arrive. Tony and his dad had chatted a bit. At the time they had agreed to go through the insurance. They were probably having second thoughts. With limited experience as a driver, and now with his first accident, the insurance rates would skyrocket.

Tony had evolved his daily routine, over much time as a bachelor. He hung up his pants on the back of a door and put everything else in the dirty laundry basket.

He padded naked to the bathroom and within thirty seconds had steam rising and hot water cleansing away the grime and frustration of sixteen tons, and what do you get?

Another day older, and deeper in debt.

#

Dear Mr. Steadman,

I am so sorry for what happened. I was wondering if you had an estimate yet for the repairs. If it’s not too much, maybe I could just pay if it’s not too much. Of course, it’s up to you what you want to do.

Please call and let me know.

Wesley.

Wesley’s phone number was there, although he already had it on the accident report, plus his old man had given him the phone number.

Ah, shit.

Tomorrow was Friday. He had the afternoon off and sooner or later, he was planning to get an estimate, which was exactly what the insurance adjuster had told him to do.

He still had some time to think about it, but he’d only had the vehicle for a year now. He was kind of planning to buy another one next year, in late spring or early summer. Tony didn’t have any information to go on without an estimate. He looked at the phone number and shook his head.

Opening the fridge, he took out a beer and then looked in the freezer. There was nothing in there but meat patties, a half a pound of bacon and a frozen dinner. Any hamburger buns he might have had were long stale…

Frozen dinner it is. He could go uptown and get some French Fries later.

He put it all out of his mind and focused on getting some food. After that, he went out on the deck, stretched out on a lounge chair, and with the rays of the setting sun coming in sideways through the maples in the neighbour’s yard, Tony promptly fell asleep.

Act Two

Friday at work was predictable enough. Why they called it Happy Friday was anyone’s guess.

After fours hours of digging trenches for foundations, just Tony and a couple of labourers, they knocked off.