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    The Jock
    The Jock
    The Jock
    Ebook61 pages50 minutes

    The Jock

    By Blak Rayne

    3.5/5

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Time is evanescent. Memories are forever.
    Stuck in a traffic jam on the highway, in the middle of a record-breaking heat wave, Adrian Greene has more on his fevered mind than praying for rain and getting home. With little else to do, his thoughts stray to a better time in his life - his youth and an adventurous three years spent with his first boyfriend. If there’s one thing he longs for, it’s a chance to relive it all.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherXinXii
    Release dateOct 12, 2017
    ISBN9780988128439
    The Jock
    Author

    Blak Rayne

    A good friend, who is also an author, happened to mention that she likes to read author bios, and when she checked mine, sadly, she was disappointed. The bio I use is generic, blah, and it doesn't tell her anything personal about Blak Rayne. Her suggestion. Change it! What she really meant to say: "I want to read the juicy bits, lady!" Okay, the truth. My life is crazy hectic most days as I divide my time between family, friends, writing and marketing, while running our businesses and household. I spend an average of eight to twelve hours a day on the computer. Some of my favourite things are: cats, tea, anything in purple, yaoi, dragons, watching anime and movies, and listening to my large collection of music. I will read just about anything, but my preferred genres are fantasy, thriller, romance and science-fiction. I'm a member of the RWA & RWA-GVC, I attend conferences and writing groups whenever time permits, and I've taken several creative writing courses. In my spare time I build websites and proof-read for other authors. I also format eBooks, and I'm learning to create book covers. In the near future, I hope to take an editing course. Currently, I reside in British Columbia, Canada with my husband, our daughter and son. Out eldest passed away, so he's with us in spirit. What else can I tell you? Lots of things, but the most important tidbit, I'm passionate about my writing and plan to continue publishing. How many novels? Who knows, I guess until the ideas run dry.

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      Book preview

      The Jock - Blak Rayne

      Chapter One

      Soccer God

      The air was stifling. The pavement and anything metallic caressed by the sun rippled in heat waves. So far, the summer had been brutal. The worst in a decade, with no end in sight, according to local forecasts. The Fraser Valley had gone an entire month, from Vancouver to the agricultural landscape of Chilliwack, without a drop of rain. Lawns were quilted in patches of dead grass. Every tree had brown-tipped leaves.

      As for where I sat, the black leather seats, black dash, and black paint added to the sauna inside my Jetta. The air conditioning felt good on my face and upper torso, but did little to stop the odd trickle of perspiration from sliding down my spine. I didn’t dare open the sunroof for fear the outside hot air would get in.

      Traffic moved at a crawl. The lights changed and a dozen vehicles made it through the intersection, but less than a minute later the green switched to red. Stop and start, that’s all I did for over an hour as the highway appeared in the distance, the forever-elusive carrot dangling in front of my face. The highway meant freedom, a break from the clusterfuck I was fighting and a chance to go home.

      I’d been away for several days on a business trip to Seattle, Washington. My job is to negotiate the export of raw goods to furniture manufacturing plants; to put contracts in place that will bring both sides a profit. Once I’d convinced the CEO to sign, we had dinner followed by a taxi ride to SeaTac Airport and then home. Vancouver International had never looked so inviting; sleeping in a strange bed, not my thing.

      I hooked my fingers around the bottom of the steering wheel and inched the Jetta forward, then stopped, the breaks exhaling a screech. The radio started to play a string of memorable tunes from the eighties, and I adjusted the volume. Singing along did provide a distraction, but eventually my concentration and the music faded into the milieu—the rush of air conditioning and vibration of the engine—my thoughts strayed to a period in time I could never forget. The year was 1986, and I was in grade ten. At that time the school had seen a large influx of new students.

      I’d realized my sexual preference early on. When I’d hit puberty, my attraction to guys matured as my body did. I wanted a boyfriend, and sex, and my first glimpse at a true Adonis happened to be a jock by the name of Timothy McKellen. He’d been the goalkeeper for my high school soccer team, among other sports.

      Perched on the bleachers, I nibbled on chips—a bag of sour cream and onion—and watched the game. After countless attempts, our team had finally scored and the entire sideline roared with cheers. The match had come to an end and we’d won. Everyone was riding the high of the win; the Blazers would head to the Provincial Tournament next. The whole structure quaked with movement, but I remained seated, the wood sinking under my ass as other students jumped down from the higher seats.

      And that’s when I first saw him in all his glory.

      He emerged from the soccer field like a ship through fog, with a slow, confident swagger, laughing and goofing around with his teammates. Tall of stature, with an athlete’s build, longish, light strawberry-blond hair, moss-green eyes and freckle-flecked skin—even his thick lips. He had powerful calves and solid thighs wrapped in knee length satin shorts: a paragon of virgin sex appeal.

      A bunch of the players crowded the stands, and he gaze met with mine, unflinching and cool. I dropped the bag of chips in my lap to hide the growing erection poking my shorts.

      Geek, this is Tim, said one guy, some jerk-off from my math class. He wanted to meet you.

      Hi, I managed to squeak.

      Hey. Tim notched a cleat on the seat directly below me, climbed up and shoved his hand inside my bag. His fingers groped, pushing downward and it brushed my hard cock. I stared nervously at him, hoping he hadn’t felt the physical manifestation of my desire. He grinned and stuffed the chips in his mouth. Cheeks bulging, he cuffed my shoulder hard and

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