Vintage Pulp and Original Gay Erotica
FOREWORD
He didn’t stop cursing me for several minutes, even when I sank down to my knees in the dust. The dogs growled as I moved, then silenced. They moved next to the man and sat, watching, glancing from me to him, waiting for a sign from him to attack me.
I stared at him before lowering my head.
My first impression of him was of dark barely controlled fury. Dark, even tan. Black eyes deep set under heavy black brows. Face framed by black hair, thinning hair; he’d be bald in a few years, I remember thinking, wondering why I was thinking of such triviality at that time. Broad shoulders, powerful arms. Barrel chest, partly revealed by the black leather vest he wore over it. The valley between his pecs was deep and shadowed by the forest of black hair growing there, hair that reappeared peeking out of his armpits.
His belly was washboarded and hairless. His navel was deeply indented. A wide black leather belt encircled his slender waist. His thighs were powerful even under the loose fitting Levi’s, and I sensed rather than saw the power hidden in the crotch. Dusty scarred cowboy boots. He was a couple of years older than I. He stopped cursing. The silence was deafening…
He took one step toward me. High on his left arm at the shoulder I saw a mark, a design. Later I learned this was a tattoo of his first initial, the letter S, for Seth. I found this letter was appropriate for another reason.
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