Hung by the Chimney: Boneyard Books #1

By Dustin Calhoun

Terry's owned The Boneyard for nearly four decades, watching generations of local men move into and back out of the sleepy college town of Wellman, Georgia. He's fostered community and friendships with his loyal staff, but as he tells them, community doesn't pay the rent. Now he has a plan to maximize profits: turn it into a venue for bachelorette parties and make the place friendlier to straights. When his staff joke about "Christmas Caroling" him to show him the error of his ways, then make a half-joking wish for "fairy magic" to see it through, they get more action than they bargained for.

Come meet the guys of The Boneyard as they turn up the sizzle to 11 and find out there are many ways to persuade their boss the bar has value as a bastion of queer pleasure!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dustin Calhoun
• Release date: Sep 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005291457

Dustin Calhoun

Dustin Y. Calhoun writes sizzling stories of queer adventure and magic in the steamy southeastern United States. He believes in diversity, the power of pleasure to overcome, that diversity makes us all stronger, and that black lives matter.Sign up for his newsletter at https://www.subscribepage.com/dustincalhoun if you’d like to hear about new releases or offer feedback.

Book preview

Hung by the Chimney

Boneyard Books #1

Copyright 2021 – Dustin Y. Calhoun

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental.

THIS BOOK IS INTENDED FOR ADULTS.

It contains scenes of consensual sexual activity between adult men.

For more information on Dustin Y. Calhoun, his Boneyard series, or future publications, join Dustin’s newsletter at https://www.subscribepage.com/dustincalhoun .

Visit Jackman Books at https://www.jackmanbooks.com.

Kick back and jack, man!

Table of Contents

About the Boneyard

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

About the Author

About the Boneyard

Small and midsize cities in the American Southeast have a rich history of seedy little gay bars that serve as hearth and home to their clientele. Sometimes they’re named after industry or agriculture: The Paddock, or Power Company. Sometimes they’re named more for suggestively: Scandals or Woody’s or Heretic.

The Boneyard is one of these, located in the fictional town of Wellman, Georgia. Wellman is a midsize city about an hour outside of Atlanta. It’s home to a small public university and a lot of old cotton mills slowly turning into condos.

Perhaps you came of age—or simply came—in a bar such as this yourself. Maybe you’ve only dreamt of joining the local lineup in such an establishment. Either way, you’re always welcome at The Boneyard. Like the sign on the side of the old brick building says:

PARK IN THE REAR

ANY NIGHT OF THE YEAR

Chapter One

The Boneyard

4:15 PM

Christmas Eve

Terry, when are we getting the schedule for January? I need to let the vet clinic know if I can do Saturdays.

Terry raised the hatch with one thickly muscular bicep and stepped behind the bar. His short silver hair and tight black tee-shirt set each other off in the bar’s long mirror as he moved around. The rest of his crew sat or leaned here and there around the surprisingly small room. The Boneyard’s barback, Mo, had his phone in his hand, his eyes up, looking expectant. He reached up to sweep straight black hair from his forehead with one light brown hand.

"I don’t know if he can do Saturdays but he can certainly do me." Brandon stage-whispered this to no one in particular from atop a bar stool pulled off to one side. Brandon held a wig in each hand: one carrot-orange with sweeping curls, the other long and blonde, ironed to within an inch of its life. He seemed to be trying to choose between them.

Mo blushed hard but didn’t take his eyes off the boss.

Frankie settled his tall, athletic frame onto a barstool a few feet from Brandon, reaching out one long arm to turn the old plastic pitcher beside the cash register so that the word TIPS written on a card taped to the side would be visible when they opened. Frankie grinned at Brandon’s comment but didn’t believe in piling on. Mo’s got a point, boss. Normally the calendar for January would be up by now.

Sven, an even six feet in height, skeletally thin, with very pale skin and blond hair gelled into submission, strolled into the bar from the bathroom in the back with a soft sigh. A discreet ten seconds or so later, Luis, who hung around the bar so much they thought of him as staff even though he wasn’t, emerged as well, clearing his throat and wiping his eyes.

Been mopping the bathroom floor with your knees again, Luis? Or just blowing the cobwebs out of the glory-holes? Frankie smirked a little as he said it.

Luis coughed a couple of times and blushed. Frankie laughed.

Brandon, eyes still fixed on the wigs, flipping back and forth from one to the other as though watching a game of tennis, tsked a little. "What’s the big mystery about the schedule? Drag on Thursdays, go-go boys on Fridays, Techno Saturdays. And of course, Thursday is the one that matters. Brandon lifted his eyes now and batted his lashes at Frankie. Brandon was a cubbish Asian-American guy, round-faced and apple-shaped, energetic, and always rushing for the spotlight. Frankie was 6’4 if he was an inch, with a medium build and deep, obsidian-black skin and long hair in box braids pulled into a bun above a close-trimmed fade. The two couldn’t have seemed more different, but the look between them held for a moment longer than necessary - maybe two moments.

Actually, no. Terry’s tenor had a little twang to it, a sign of his growing up not too far outside Wellman in the southern extreme of Appalachia. I’m changing things up. We’re going to be closed the first two weeks of January.

All heads snapped up, and all eyes widened.

Don’t worry, Terry said, hands up already, everyone’s getting paid. Promise.

Frankie