Blonds

By John Stewart Wynne

BLONDS is a new story by John Stewart Wynne, Lambda Literary Award nominee for Best Gay Novel for THE RED SHOES.  It is a deceptively simple love story between Hank, a shy, socially awkward carpenter living in the hedonistic gay resort of Provincetown, and Erik, a nineteen-year-old runaway. Hank feels he has finally found true love, but all is not what it seems.  Dark threads of suspicion, jealousy, and betrayal unexpectedly weave their way into the relationship, as the story builds to a devastating, unthinkably horrific conclusion.

 

John Stewart Wynne's novels and stories have been praised for their audacious originality and chiseled, precise prose.  As Details magazine said about his collection of stories THE OTHER WORLD:  "In pages that tremble with beauty, Wynne gracefully reveals the darker side of human possibilities."  Wikipedia notes that "His writing often depicts characters in extremis, outsiders adrift in a conformist landscape, in plots that juxtapose the surreal and naturalistic.  He has been hailed as the heir apparent to the tradition of 'outsider art' exemplified by Tennessee Williams, Carson McCullers and Truman Capote."

 

In 2023, in addition to BLONDS, Tree Line Books has published in Ebook format three other stories by John Stewart Wynne:  LOUISE, DON'T GO; NARCISSIST; and THE SIGHTING. They will also bring out new editions of THE RED SHOES and THE OTHER WORLD in Ebook and print formats in early 2024. The author is currently completing a new novel and a new collection of stories.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tree Line Books
• Release date: Aug 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9780931476037

Book preview

Hank opened his legs, and between his suntanned thighs Provincetown Harbor was born. A precise miniature, a nature watercolor on a fan.

Sailboats made their way past the lighthouse toward the sea, a few red rocks still rose above the swelling tide, a gull circled slowly in the air. All this under the auspices of a molten sun. Though it was only ten in the morning, everything was a bitter white. Hank could hardly catch a breath.

Six-foot-four, with a wide chest and muscular arms, Hank overpowered the deck chair he was lying on. There was no room to keep his arms at his sides, so he let them dangle onto the wooden planks. The suntan oil he’d rubbed over his body was running in rivulets into his belly button and down his arms, making a sizzling sound when it dropped on the deck.

Because of the blinding sunlight, he kept his eyes shut most of the time, but occasionally he’d open them for a peek at the harbor between his thighs. It fitted so nicely there, the whole of the bay. It was soothing to know that even if he couldn’t squeeze comfortably through every doorway or fit onto every piece of furniture, he had control over the entire landscape.

He heard the glass doors slide open, then the sound of bare feet thumping on the deck.

Opening his eyes, he found Erik kneeling at his feet. Had it been only one week that the boy had been here? They were so comfortable with each other, he’d already taken Erik’s presence for granted and nearly lost track of time.

No need to get up yet, Hank insisted.

Ten o’clock already. The boy yawned. Don’t we have to go to Francisco’s this morning?

Hank shrugged. I’ve got a hunch it might rain pretty soon. It’s so humid. We’ll probably have to postpone. He stroked Erik’s cheek. Why don’t you go back in and try to get some more sleep? You could use it. We were playing poker till four in the morning.

Then how come you’re up so early?

That’s just me.

It’s too hot to sleep. That’s what woke me up. It was stifling.

Not much better out here, baby...

Just beyond a kneeling Erik, Hank saw three young men drifting past the deck in an inner