It's Written in the Stars

By Jase Hamilton Storm

A story of two men, leading very deferent live, but now looking to survive from their unique lives.

Jake a hard-working man, pushed to lead a life that is not his own. Nearly a thousand miles away, a young man, Remy was living the rich and dreamy existence. Suddenly, he world come to a crashing stop. Now living with deep regret for a time gone by, and a dark desolate future.

One finally building the resolve to break free from the chain that bind his free spirit, while the other, tries to find meaning in a source great than him, the stars.

Making a quest to find himself again, Remy embarks on a long journey. Meanwhile, Jake, living a mute existence longs for something to change is world for the better.

When both men are confronted, an earth moving event is set a foot. Is their hope for either men to find what it is, they think they need or want to survive and live an existing life. That is a question only the stars can provide in, It's Written in the Stars.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marvin Proctor
• Release date: Nov 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386402367

Book preview

Jake’s New Perspective on Life

Jake? yells out a familiar voice from the other side of the editing department floor. Yeah, you, Mr. Hayden! You’re heading down to Joey’s tonight, right? 

The voice catches Jake off guard. With a bereft glare, he turns, acknowledging the smooth telecaster’s voice of his co-worker and dear friend, Flynn White. Jake’s mind was somewhere distant, and, responding with a tilted-head stare, and seeing Flynn in a partylike mood, he’s snapped back into the present. 

Flynn flashes a million-dollar, anchorman-style grin while flexing his chest and biceps to gain Jake’s attention. He undoes the three buttons of his two-piece Armani suit jacket, showcasing his pin-striped, silky, button-down shirt. After adjusting his slacks with a tight tug, he intentionally gives visual awareness to the outline of his genital bulge.

Dude, it’s Friday night! The sweet nectars of life are going to be mega plenty tonight. All the bubbly, plump melons are going to be ripe for the plucking, bro. My magic fingers are eager to explore the buffet. Mmm, my tongue, too—if they’re so lucky! Flynn narrates with sexual hand gestures. 

Seeing Jake’s lack of enthusiasm only seems to ignite Flynn to break out into a happy movement. With no music to aid him, he starts playing air drums on the walls, the file cabinets, and even his outer thighs. 

Happy hour has begun, and Joey’s place is going to be packed tonight, like the past few weekends. Woo-hoo! Jake, my boy! There’s a shot of Ol’ Tennessee Whiskey just a hampering for me to take my fill, and I’m surely aimed not to disappoint, Flynn exclaims, excitedly chipper. 

It is, after all, the first weekend of February, with twelve days before Valentine’s Day and an additional three until Jake’s thirty-second birthday. The weather is a blistery fright, and liquid spirits can do much to warm things up. With such irony, the Gabble HQ building is right next door to Joey McNeal’s Irish Pub and Grill. A go-to landmark for most employees, especially during happy hour, seeing as it’s already dark by five in the evening. It used to be a custom of Jake and Flynn to go there after work, with them being the last two to leave. 

Flynn’s proving to be friskier than normal, him thrusting his forty-year-old booty all about. He’s looping his arm around his head as if an imaginary lasso is in his grasp. He’s galloping in mini circles around the workstations. The image of a deranged, horseless cowboy quickly comes to Jake’s observational mind, except instead of wearing boots, stirrups, and tight, crotch-hugging jeans, this cowboy is draped in Brookstone and a navy-blue, Armani fitted two-piece suit. While he’s gallivanting about, Flynn’s other hand cups the back of his head, as if to keep it from falling off in the raunchy motion.

Desperate for blindness to hit him, Jake is forced to spectate Flynn’s flagrant nature rearing itself. His cocky cowboy gallops, quickly morphing into a slutty, male-stripper routine. Thankfully, the only clothing being removed is his expensive jacket. Flynn is without a doubt an attractively hypersexual man. Jake has no sexual desire to be with him, despite Flynn’s physical allure. He’s feeling awkward viewing his buddy’s homoerotic dance. Plus, there’s the issue of him being his sole audience. Awkwardness nor unease can explain his sexual arousal—Jake knows Flynn is straight and has no physical interest in him. Jake plays along, pretending to be semi-offended, darting half-wicked grins like the man is crazy. 

Jake’s been particularly familiar with the cocky exploits of Flynn through the years, yet it’s never led to anything remotely physical. His raunchy, sexualized nature always manages to manifest itself at one point or another, which seems suspicious. It’s only when alone does Flynn’s freakish desires to be loose and carefree take place. Flynn glories in his fraternal kind of kinship with Jake, which appears suggestively homosexual by nature, even for Jake. A bro-hood, overstepping into the realms of bro-mantic.

Normally, Jake shakes his head and tells him to fuck off, but with a sense of playfulness. Yet Jake is truly trying not to show his hidden true self to a guy who vocally despises gays yet adores the idea of being with a group of lesbian lovers. It’s moments such as this, Jake wants to tell him who he is inside and that the acts Flynn does affect him. 

Hmm! Why does a straight guy have such a hot, juicy rump, if never to be played with? Surely straight guys would enjoy a little butt play if they were open enough to explore it. Such a waste, really. God, so not fair. The places my tongue could explore if only he would allow me...

Lustful thoughts sprout like wildfire, even while Jake’s aware of how inappropriately self-destructive it is to think in such ways. He doesn’t want someone to purely lust over, like his handsome buddy, Flynn. He wants something real and meaningful. 

Jake self-medicates in his mind: Stop it, you fool. Flynn is your best buddy. You can’t be seeing him like a dessert carousel. Just remember—he thinks you are straight, too. Why he taunts the hell out of me, I’ll never understand.

With a thrust of his outstretched palm, he interrupts Flynn’s dance. Sorry, buddy. Amazing cock-thrusting action there, but, seriously, I simply can’t hang with you guys this week. Too much to get done around here.

Flynn shifts his eyes to meet Jake’s wide, puppy-dog stare. Jake retreats his gaze as he returns his focus to his desk. A few seconds later, the silence becomes deafening. Looking over and catching the waver in Flynn’s eyes alerts him that Flynn is mulling over something being amiss with him. Jake feels he needs to redirect Flynn’s attention from pondering too much. 

You and the guys go. Have a good time, Flynn, Jake says with a false kipper tone, sounding like the sacrifice to be slain for the others’ happiness.

What about you, sport? Don’t you deserve some downtime, too? Flynn maintains his zaniness with a little pelvic action.

Hmm... I need to catch up on some of this madness Greg was so gracious enough to dump in my lap this morning. Jake’s breathing is short and staggered. He’s still flushed from Flynn’s heated performance. 

Meanwhile, something south of the border is gaining activity, filling Jake’s already taupe-tented slacks rather snugly. A development he definitely doesn’t want Flynn to be aware of at all. So, getting him to depart would be ideal at this point. 

He’s never wanted to hide his orientation from Flynn, but he doesn’t want Flynn’s doomsday bomb to erupt on him upon learning he is gay, or for him to know his physical attraction toward him. He’s working hard to keep these two parts of his life very separate, like the fact he and the boss had been in a long sexual affair for the past couple years, and no one knew. None of this is easy to maintain when Flynn becomes uninhibited around him. Flynn means a great deal to him, and Jake admiringly looks up to the man on so many levels. He never wants to jeopardize that, for any reason. So, when issues arise, like his recent break-up, Jake wants so desperately to talk to the only guy on Earth he can talk to anything about, but can’t, out of fear of his prejudice. It becomes tasking to his heart to have a secret he can’t share with anyone, especially Flynn.

Jake’s mental control echoes in his mind; things to distract him, like cars, old woman panties, smashed pumpkins, and so on. Anything to redirect his focus from the blood flow rushing to his awakening, one-eyed Johnson. 

Flynn halts his dance with eager abruptness, unthinkingly delving his hand right inside the crotch of his pants with no shame in Jake seeing. Flynn appears oddly comfortable when he’s with Jake; even fondling himself isn’t a concern to him. Jake is always the spectator to such things and yet can say nothing. He tries earnestly not to stare when Flynn is exhibiting such lewd behavior. Flynn doesn’t seem bothered having Jake as a captive audience. While Jake is mentally gawking at Flynn’s bold self-molestation only a few feet away from him, Flynn’s squarely focused on the contents of Jake’s overworked desk. 

Being such an arrogant exhibitionist, and at ease around Jake, his handling of his frontal privates turns from adjusting to full-on masturbation, and still no shame. But witnessing the mess on Jake’s desk turns his euphoric grin into a fraught frown.

What the—! All of that is from this morning? Flynn inquires, still giving no mercy to his genitals. 

Jake is fearful of Flynn willing to whip his sausage out at any moment, a reality he wouldn’t want to challenge. Finding it too hard to hold a conversation with Flynn while he pleases himself so openly, Jake gives an abrupt needed cough, the kind you do when someone has entered the room unexpectedly. 

With a cynical twinkle in his eye and a cheeky grin on his smooth, well-groomed face, Flynn acknowledges the signaled cough. He gradually removes his hand out of the front of his pants, giving way to a fully formed, semi-aroused bulge in its place. Flynn is so cocky and confident, he clearly doesn’t mind Jake seeing his semi-erection. 

With narrowed eyes, Flynn questions him, in total disregard to his bizarre actions. Man, my balls feel like they’re in a mosh pit of ivy. Itchy as hell.

You know there’s this stuff called soap and water? Maybe next time try wearing man-size underwear, instead of your girlfriend’s stripper thongs. Jake means it as a joke, but he subconsciously fears there may be some underlined truth in his sarcasm.

And the tongues of ginger-haired muscle jocks, too, so I’ve heard, remarks Flynn with a wicked stare.

Jake shakes away the comment, not wanting to engage Flynn in such a manner or subject. 

Flynn, smirking cockily, says, Why’s your workload so stacked lately? It’s been f’ing months since we’ve been able to hang and chill. It was light at first when you were dating Mystery Girl, yet, since your breakup, it’s gone down to zero, buddy. The happy hour gang is seriously ragging on me because you don’t come anymore. They think we broke up or something. You are the gang’s token Irish boy, remember?

Pardon? Jake adds bass to his voice. I am nobody’s boy! he says, fully snapping while pinching his nose and narrowing his eyes. 

Flynn gives him a solid stare and chortles. Yeah. You’re right. You’re without doubt one hairy-ass, grown man. But you’ll always be Baby-Boy to me! Flynn ends his statement gingerly. 

As Flynn grazes the loose strings of his usually perfectly groomed hair back into place with his fingertips, Jake is captivated by the glimmer in Flynn’s deep-set brown eyes, with speckles of amber thrown in, confirming his words to be sincere and without question. 

You know the owner, Joey, has been circling the fences about you, too. Even though booze isn’t your thing, he sees you as the heart of the old Irish spirit when you’re there.

Jake, taking his words warmly, adds, You know I don’t drink. But most of the time you guys are too wasted to know I am even there.

We know you don’t drink, babe. You get so bitchy about having too many calories and stuff. You’re such a health nut, Baby-Boy. But we never gave a crap about that! We loved your company. Besides, I don’t care how wasted I get, I will always know you’re there. Your gruff-sissy giggles chuck me the hell-up. It’s killer and fits you.

Jake darts him a wicked eye for calling his giggles sissy, even if it is true, and he’s not sure if he truly means it in jest or whether it’s just his speculative observation.

Purposely overlooking Jake’s wicked eye, Flynn continues emotively, Well, everyone misses you is all I’m saying. Your jokes and wisecracks are legendary. Flynn pauses and becomes more serious, tightening his fists. I don’t know... You have become so standoffish these days, you’ve got me really concerned, that’s all. Why don’t you come and spend some time with your BFF? You know I love you, but it’s like you are cutting me out, babe. 

Flynn’s pleading is working overtime on Jake’s raw affections for him, which is a powerful charm of Flynn’s. Unfortunately, Jake isn’t falling for the ol’ bag of tricks today.

Sorry, buddy. No can do. I got to get this crap done. Jake shifts his eyes, avoiding Flynn’s compelling gaze. He knows with a peculiar squint from Flynn’s devilish eyes, he will melt like butter and do whatever the man would ask of him, and it’s clear how Flynn marvels on such knowledge, while fully aware of the power he holds over him. 

Being eight years younger than Flynn, Jake stands proudly at six-three, while Flynn stands a mere six foot. Bigger and thicker than Flynn, Jake is rather soft inside, which Flynn says he adores. Ironically extolling Flynn with great brotherly pride, Jake bypasses Flynn’s perversions—most of the time. Flynn is very popular with all the female demographics in the office. He’s been crowned the sexiest male anchorman by the network. Nonetheless, Jake is hip to the persuasive ways of Flynn and his uncanny ability to navigate himself into his personal life very easily.

Now, not fully paying attention to Flynn at first, Jake hears Flynn dismissing someone. Jake’s head and ears perk spryly up. Who the–? Who was Flynn addressing? Jake can’t see anyone from his seated vantage point. A shockingly moot point pops into his consciousness...

Who the hell is that? Crap! Did they see Flynn do that stupid dance? How must that have looked, Flynn’s solo dancing for me? A sense of worry fills him as he searches aimlessly for the disembodied male voice that responded to Flynn’s call. Flynn flags Jake with his hand, telling him not to get up.

Flynn advances several steps toward Jake’s desk after the unknown person has departed. It’s clear that Flynn senses his tentative fears by the half-witted smile and the twinkle in his eyes as he slowly shakes his head, subliminally saying, don’t worry.

Once reaching his desk, Flynn confirms what Jake had suspected. Don’t worry, Baby-Boy. That was only Tony and Brennon from production upstairs. They were pointing out the time to me, with their watches. Jake releases a sigh of relief.

So no panic attacks, please... Besides, they didn’t see anything. The things I do around you are only privy to your eyes, Baby-Boy. I don’t dance or act that silly for no meatheads.

Jake frowns.

Please... You aren’t any run-of-the-mill meathead. You are my sweet buddy, whom I know won’t judge me for what I do. Flynn sounds confidently assuring.

Jake gives a half-witted smile, expressing his fear and relief at the same time. Oh, thanks—I guess?

Flynn jeers at him, like a parent catching their child sneaking in the cookie jar. Come on, Baby-Boy. You know when it’s only you and I, I can be myself. I know I can be butt-ass naked around you and feel completely comfortable. I never worry what you are thinking about me. You are the greatest guy a friend could ever have. You never judge my wild sexual mishaps. That’s what makes me so damn crazy about you, kiddo. I don’t have to hide who I really am. I just pray you feel the same comfortability with me. If you ever want to strip off all your clothes, dance around naked, or bust a hairy nut right there on the desk, I wouldn’t say a word. I’d have no problem with it at all. You’re my brother, my Baby-Boy...don’t ever forget that.

Jake examines the sereneness of Flynn’s stare. Flynn appears to be studying him likewise, maybe for signs of a reaction to his confession. This brings Jake uneasiness and a greater understanding of Flynn, who doesn’t have a fear of being completely sexual around him, even though he’s not gay. 

Jake, I do need to get something off my chest.

If Jake could produce sweat at this moment, he would surely be drenched all over, hearing such words coming from Flynn. 

I’m concerned about you. Flynn addresses Jake with the serenest sincerity, as cascading chills drape Jake’s super-tensed body. 

He understands one thing about his ten-year buddy, Flynn. He’s a cut-to-the-chase kind of guy. Although, when it’s only them, Flynn tends to be more suggestive for a straight guy, in ways Jake doesn’t understand. He isn’t an emotional conversationalist at heart, yet hearing his seriousness coming forth sends shock-waving signals of warnings to Jake’s subconscious. This isn’t going to be one of those fun-go-happy conversations.

Sinking his head deeper into his work, Jake prays for Flynn to simply change his mind and remember how much he needs to leave...and simply give up asking for him to join him for a drink while displaying a lack of willingness to commit to