| Author: | Charles Harvey | ISBN: | 9781516340248 |
| Publisher: | Wes Writers and Publishers | Publication: | August 14, 2015 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Charles Harvey |
| ISBN: | 9781516340248 |
| Publisher: | Wes Writers and Publishers |
| Publication: | August 14, 2015 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
A Short Story
Is the party over at thirty-nine? Cleon doesn't think so. He's about to turn forty and desires to hold onto his youthful days. He buys a new computer, downloads the latest dating apps, and goes on a quest to find the love that has eluded him. Will he find love or disappointment?
This is the tale of many gay men trying to hold onto those party days. It is our story--the slings and arrows we have suffered and our triumphs. Yeah, tricky tricks are just the beginning. Black Queen is funny. It's for mature audiences. Just imagine that scene of Rucker watering his tomatoes in his special way.
Excerpt
You offer wine, soda, beer, and water. All declined with a "nah I'm cool." For a sense of propriety to prove you're not not trying to be a slut, you sit on the chair next to the sofa. You offer your name—Cleon, which you hate. You've thought of adding something in the front or back of it like Ra or Mac. Cleon has always sounded so sissyish. But Cleon Mac, that means something.
"And did I catch your name?" regretting you sound like someone from a cocktail party scene in an old black-and-white movie. You need to butch it up, you're thinking to yourself when he answers, "Diesel, nigga. Everbody calls me Diesel."
Your mind whirls, Now did he just call me a nigga?' But you catch yourself just before the indignant girl in you speaks up. You realize he's treating you like one of his homeboys. You're Cleon Mac, baby. "Cleon Mac is that really you," you ask yourself. After a moment, it's clear "Diesel" has nothing else to say. You make small talk about how quickly he got there, what a cute wife beater he's wearing (it looks like any other athletic T-shirt) and you're about to ask for the third time if he wants anything to drink, when he cuts you off and asks why are you sitting "way over there?" His legs by now are opened as wide as the couch. You ponder for a moment as a list of rules and mantras about sex on a first date flow through your head like water and go down the drain. Your pipes gurgle. You sit by him. He takes your hand and places it on his crotch and croons, "How does it feel?"
****
You may enjoy these books and stories by the author:
Boy For Hire
Coming Home Tomorrow
The Smoke Detector
Roommates
A Short Story
Is the party over at thirty-nine? Cleon doesn't think so. He's about to turn forty and desires to hold onto his youthful days. He buys a new computer, downloads the latest dating apps, and goes on a quest to find the love that has eluded him. Will he find love or disappointment?
This is the tale of many gay men trying to hold onto those party days. It is our story--the slings and arrows we have suffered and our triumphs. Yeah, tricky tricks are just the beginning. Black Queen is funny. It's for mature audiences. Just imagine that scene of Rucker watering his tomatoes in his special way.
Excerpt
You offer wine, soda, beer, and water. All declined with a "nah I'm cool." For a sense of propriety to prove you're not not trying to be a slut, you sit on the chair next to the sofa. You offer your name—Cleon, which you hate. You've thought of adding something in the front or back of it like Ra or Mac. Cleon has always sounded so sissyish. But Cleon Mac, that means something.
"And did I catch your name?" regretting you sound like someone from a cocktail party scene in an old black-and-white movie. You need to butch it up, you're thinking to yourself when he answers, "Diesel, nigga. Everbody calls me Diesel."
Your mind whirls, Now did he just call me a nigga?' But you catch yourself just before the indignant girl in you speaks up. You realize he's treating you like one of his homeboys. You're Cleon Mac, baby. "Cleon Mac is that really you," you ask yourself. After a moment, it's clear "Diesel" has nothing else to say. You make small talk about how quickly he got there, what a cute wife beater he's wearing (it looks like any other athletic T-shirt) and you're about to ask for the third time if he wants anything to drink, when he cuts you off and asks why are you sitting "way over there?" His legs by now are opened as wide as the couch. You ponder for a moment as a list of rules and mantras about sex on a first date flow through your head like water and go down the drain. Your pipes gurgle. You sit by him. He takes your hand and places it on his crotch and croons, "How does it feel?"
****
You may enjoy these books and stories by the author:
Boy For Hire
Coming Home Tomorrow
The Smoke Detector
Roommates
