Alex starts the engine. “I don’t know how you managed to get Ricky to come to lunch with us,” he says, pulling off. “Ain’t nobody seen his ass in weeks.”
Chance sighs, placing a hand against his forehead. “I told him it would be just you, me, and him. Pulling teeth would’ve been more fun.”
***
Ricky breathes out. “Alex, it’s not that. It’s…just…that I’m going through some things.”
“I got that. But we’re your friends, Ricky. Ain’t nothing that deep that you can’t come to us.”
Ricky takes off his glasses. “Look at these dark circles,” he says.
Alex jumps. “Damn, bitch,” he says, laughing.
“See,” says Ricky, snatching a roll from the bread basket and throwing it at Alex. “Everything is a joke to you.”
Alex shrieks. “Oh, now you’ve done it, Ricky.”
Ricky sits up straight. “Okay, you’re going to read me, right…gir?”
***
Thanks for the encouragement, guys. I needed that. Episode 3-04 is complete. See you on Thursday.
Let's Play Ball
So we arrive at another Thursday, and there is nothing new to post. Actually, I do have five pages written (too much fun in NYC to do anymore; sorry). So...I've decided to let the first three episodes stand--to be edited eventually--until there is a "demand" for more episodes. I know there are readers visiting here daily, but the lack of feedback has me thinking it's all junk. Actually, I was doing a little research on the show, and the cruelty. Oh, the cruelty of some people that cut down this great contribution to queer entertainment history. Sometimes, you shouldn't know too much.
That's all for now. Let me know if you really want more.
noahsarcfanfiction (at) gmail (dot) com
That's all for now. Let me know if you really want more.
noahsarcfanfiction (at) gmail (dot) com
No New Episode This Week
I am going to New York this weekend. I will work on something on the plane, but don't hold me to it. If before Thursday I am done, I will post it. If not, then the new episode will be posted next Thursday. Thank you for reading.
3-03: Back to Life
PLEASE CLICK HERE TO READ THE NEW VERSION OF THIS EPISODE!
Episode three of eight. I'm a little all over the place with this episode. It doesn't feel as tight to me as the others. When in doubt, sell sex, right? See you next Thursday.
Back to Life
“That was amazing,” says Noah, climbing off Wade. “How do you do it?” He reaches for the towel he placed at the foot of the bed and begins wiping off Wade’s chest. “I made a mess.”
“It’s okay, baby.” Wade pulls Noah down to him and kisses him. “I like it messy.”
Noah slowly removes the condom from the Wade. “Damn, Wade, I see all that jerking off hasn’t stopped shit.”
“You know how I do, baby.”
Noah throws the towel in the hamper and the condom in the wastebasket. “I’ll start the shower,” he says.
“Uh-oh,” says Wade.
“What’s wrong?” asks Noah, coming back from the bathroom.
“Look,” says Wade.
Noah walks over to the bed. “You’ve got to be kidding me?”
“What can I say,” says Wade, holding his hard cock by the base. He smiles widely. “You know I can’t control it around you.”
Noah grabs Wade by the hands, pulls him up from the bed, and guides him to the bedroom by his dick. “Time for a dirty shower.”
Daddy Trey
Trey takes a can of chicken soup from the cabinet. “Alex, where are the bowls,” he calls from kitchen. He’s scared to touch anything. Everything is in immaculate order; even the food in the freezer and refrigerator is labeled and arranged alphabetically.
“Trey, they are in the cabinet. Damn,” Alex replies. A fit of coughing catches him before he says, “And don’t cook that in the microwave. On the stove, please. And plenty of black pepper.”
Trey sighs. It’s been two days of this nightmare. Last night he prayed hard, pleading with God to never let Alex get sick again. He’d been running around Los Angeles getting various “comforts” for Alex’s sickroom. Boxes of Kleenex, fresh lemons for him to suck on, Vogue magazine, and some clay masque for his face so, as Alex told him, his skin can refresh from the sickness. Now he is making him chicken soup, which he has never made before. The only thing he knows how to make are his protein shakes. Plus, he also has to meet Anne, Oje’s breastmilk hookup, to pick up today’s milk and take it over to Chance, who was watching Ojew until Alex got better. Last night, he had to change Oje’s cloth diaper, which perplexed him a great deal. “Alex,” he’d dared to ask, “why are we using cloth diapers?” He found out in so many words that commercial diapers contains so many unhealthy chemicals, that he’d rather lose all limbs than put his son in them. He pretended he didn’t mind washing the diapers last night, while Alex directed him on the exact science of laundering a cloth diaper.
“Trey, where are my Motrins?”
“I put them on the nightstand,” Trey yells, turning the flame off and removing the gloppy, bubbly soup from the stove top. He pours it into a bowl. He searches the cabinet, looking for the black pepper. He finds a clear pepper mill and starts shaking it over the bowl. Nothing comes out. He shakes harder. No dice. “This black pepper isn’t coming out,” he yells to Alex.
“You got to turn it Trey!” Alex yells back. “Hurry up and get out my kitchen, Trey.”
Trey turns the mill and finally the pepper releases. He turns until the top of the gloppy sloppy soup is blanketed in black. He puts the bowl on a tray and takes it to his majesty.
A few seconds later, the bowl of soup paints the wall and Trey comes flying from the sickroom, a spoon flying behind his head.
Chicken Soup for the Soul
“No, Kenya, you can’t hold him,” says Chance, boucing baby Oje in his arms. “You’re too young.” Chance places Oje on the blanket spread out on the floor. “You can play with him and help him crawl, but don’t pick him up.”
Eddie walks into the living room. “Noah’s in the kitchen.”
Chances plants a peck on Eddie’s lips. “Thanks, honey. I told Kenya she can play with Oje. Watch her.” Eddie shakes his head.
“Noah!” Chance Hugs Noah. “You’re glowing.” He winks.
Noah blushes. “I am.”
“I take it you and Wade are back on the good foot?”
Noah bounces up and down. “We are. I haven’t written anything since Friday morning.”
“Wow, that good, huh? Two days good!”
Noah sits down at the kitchen island. “Let’s just say, no place in the house is safe from a black light.”
Chance grabs a green apron from the pantry. “Too much information.” He grabs a frying pan and saucepan from the hook. “Noah look in the fridge and get me that bowl of veggies on the top shelf.”
Noah hands Chance the onion. “Did Trey bring the baby over?”
Chance nods. “Yesterday afternoon.”
“Aww, I’ll play with him before I leave.”
“He’s a great baby.” Chance pours extra virgin olive oil into the frying pan, then adds chopped onions, celery, and carrots. “The work is keeping Kenya from trying to hold him.”
“Alex called me this morning.”
“He is running poor Trey crazy.”
“He told me if the sickness doesn’t kill him, Trey’s cooking will,” says Noah, munching on a carrot stick.
“He told me, ‘Bitch, make some soup.”
“Yeah? He told me, “Bitch, go pick up my soup from Chance.’”
“He’s such a sweetheart, isn’t he?”
Chance grabs the egg noodles from the pantry. “He told me about Ricky.”
Noah drops his head. “Did he?”
“He said his eye was blackened, and he was drunk.”
“He left Saturday morning without saying a word,” says Noah.
“I’ve tried calling him, but all I get is his voicemail.”
Chance stops sauteeing the veggies. “Ricky has been acting strange lately, don’t you think?
Noah taps his fingers on the island counter. “Chance…”
Chance starts back stirring the veggies. “Yes?”
“Ricky’s in love with me.”
A long moment passes before Chance says, “I know.”
“You do?”
“I’ve known for a long time, Noah. I’ve never said anything because it’s not my place, but I’ve known.”
Noah eyes are wet. “I don’t know what to do, Chance.”
Chance turns the flame down and lets the veggies and chicken simmer. He joins Noah at the island. They hug. “I know, it’s hard.”
“So hard. Why do things have to be so complicated?”
“It wouldn’t be life without complications. It makes us stronger.”
“Wade hates Ricky. He doesn’t say it, but I can feel it. He threw a fit when he found Ricky sleeping on the couch Saturday.
“Noah, if I knew Ricky loves you, don’t you think your husband knows? He knows Ricky loves you.”
“I just want things to go back to the way they were.”
“No you don’t, Noah. You can’t run from this.”
Noah places his head on Chance’s shoulder. “Help?”
“Nuh-uh, brother. I’m not getting involved.”
Noah pushes him away. “Does Alex know?”
“Who the hell do you think told me?”
Ricky Doesn’t Live Here Anymore
Ricky opens the box of Ginch Gonch underwear that arrived that morning and stocks them neatly by the window display. Normally, his assistant would be doing this, but he’d called Demarcus last night and told him not to bother. He didn’t want to be around anyone on a first name basis. He just wanted to get through the day with minimal human interaction as possible. “Excuse me,” asks a young, built caramel brother, “but where is your bathroom?” On any other day, Ricky would escort him there himself, with a detour to the backroom for a ten minute fuck out of this world, but it was a Monday afternoon, he was depressed, and sex is nothing but trouble.
“Around that corner.”
He places the last of the underwear on the display, noticing the vivid yellow pair with red firetrucks swimming on them. “Junito,” he whispers. He remembered pulling them off Junito one heated August night and laughing so hard, they couldn’t even have sex. He took the pair and placed it underneath the rest. Being reminded of Junito was the last thing he needed today. After going to Junito’s house in Westwood, and being told Junito was in Venice with Travis, on their honeymoon, he felt like he would cry. His first feeling after being told the news was to call Alex and cuss him out for not telling him about Junito. But he resolved himself to just not deal. The night before, he lay on his sofa, eating Panda Express, watching reruns of The Sopranos, and if he’d for one second thought in reality, he’d probably would have slit his wrists. On his coffee table lay his Fuck Book, brimming with hundreds of names, all willing to drop everything and give up the onion just like that. Yeah, he had it like that, but having it like that did nothing for him anymore. It had all started with Junito, but he’d suppressed it, fought it even. Now it was living with him; waking up with him; sitting down to eat with him; waking him up in the middle of night. Love. He hated that motherfucker—that intrusive bitch. The fucked up part was he loved his best friend. Off all the men in his life, why did it have to be Noah?
“Can you ring me up?” the built caramel brother asks.
Ricky mimes a smile. “Sure thing.”
The brother places two pairs of jeans, several colorful pairs of underwear, and a belt on the counter, and hands Ricky his credit card. “Uh…how does one get in touch with you?” he asks Ricky.
Ricky swipes the card. “I’m always here.”
“I mean, outside of here.”
Ricky hands the credit card back to the brother. “I’m always here,” he says. He hands the brother his bag of purchases. “Thanks for shopping with Trade Analysis.”
I Love You, Boy
“I’ll do the dishes,” says Noah.
Wades grabs his husband around the waist, snatching the salad bowl from Noah’s hand. “Leave them until the morning.”
“Okay, Papo.” Noah nuzzles Wade’s neck. He presses his body into Wade’s.
“You feel that?” Wade asks.
“Hell yeah. Do you feel this?”
Wade laughs. “Coin toss tonight?”
Wade sucks the tender flesh of Wade’s neck. “No. You can get it.”
Wade turns Noah around, so that his chest presses firmly against Noah’s back. He runs his tongue up and down his man’s neck, taking in Noah’s cologne. “I’m ready to explode, boy.” He grips the edges of Noah’s tee and pulls it off. He presses him hard against his chest and runs his hands all over Noah’s hard, quivering body.
“Damn, Papo, let me get ready,” Noah says, trying to free himself from Wade’s grip.
Wade grips him tighter. “Baby, I don’t give a fuck, give it to me right now.” His breathing is heavy, and before he knows it, he is giving Noah a hickey. He unzips Noah’s jeans, and pulls them down. He reaches down the front of his underwear and grips Noah’s hard dick. “Turn around,” he commands. Noah obeys. Wade drags his wet, soft tongue from Noah’s clavicle to the tip of his engorged cock. He fully takes him in his mouth.
Noah throws his head back. He lets the pleasure take over him, and soon he is moaning loudly. Within minutes he is coming. He tries to pull Wade off his spewing dick. But Wade holds tight. “Fuck, Wade.” When he is finished, Wade rises and plants a sloppy kiss on his lips. Noah pushes Wade away. “That’s nasty.”
Wade turns Noah around, bends him over the table, and in few movements he has him lubed up and ready. He aims his raging hard cock at Noah’s opening.
“Condoms!” Noah yells. It’s too late, Wade is in, pumping away. “No, Wade. Take it out.”
Wade can’t hear—he is too horny to care about caution. He yanks Noah’s curls, pulling him hard against his thrusting hips. He is is only brought back to earth by the hard elbow directed to his stomach. It knocks the air from him. “Noah, what the hell?”
Noah reaches back and removes Wade from his ass. “You’re fucking me raw.”
“So. We’re married.”
“I’m just not ready for that yet.”
“Do you know what you’re saying?”
“The only thing I am saying is I’m not ready for bareback.”
“You’re saying you don’t trust me. I would never hurt you, Noah.”
“Wade, I know. But…”
“I love you, boy.”
“I love you, too. It’s just—“
Wade hugs Noah. “I want to feel you the way it’s meant. And I want you to feel me, too.”
Noah stares into his husband’s eyes. “Wade, this is a big step.”
“Look,” Wade says.
Noah looks down. Wade is holding his hand. “Oh, Papo.”
“We’re ready, Noah.”
They kiss for a long time. Noah runs it over in his head the nicest, least accusing way to ask Wade to take an HIV test.
“Umm, Wade…”
Episode three of eight. I'm a little all over the place with this episode. It doesn't feel as tight to me as the others. When in doubt, sell sex, right? See you next Thursday.
Back to Life
“That was amazing,” says Noah, climbing off Wade. “How do you do it?” He reaches for the towel he placed at the foot of the bed and begins wiping off Wade’s chest. “I made a mess.”
“It’s okay, baby.” Wade pulls Noah down to him and kisses him. “I like it messy.”
Noah slowly removes the condom from the Wade. “Damn, Wade, I see all that jerking off hasn’t stopped shit.”
“You know how I do, baby.”
Noah throws the towel in the hamper and the condom in the wastebasket. “I’ll start the shower,” he says.
“Uh-oh,” says Wade.
“What’s wrong?” asks Noah, coming back from the bathroom.
“Look,” says Wade.
Noah walks over to the bed. “You’ve got to be kidding me?”
“What can I say,” says Wade, holding his hard cock by the base. He smiles widely. “You know I can’t control it around you.”
Noah grabs Wade by the hands, pulls him up from the bed, and guides him to the bedroom by his dick. “Time for a dirty shower.”
Daddy Trey
Trey takes a can of chicken soup from the cabinet. “Alex, where are the bowls,” he calls from kitchen. He’s scared to touch anything. Everything is in immaculate order; even the food in the freezer and refrigerator is labeled and arranged alphabetically.
“Trey, they are in the cabinet. Damn,” Alex replies. A fit of coughing catches him before he says, “And don’t cook that in the microwave. On the stove, please. And plenty of black pepper.”
Trey sighs. It’s been two days of this nightmare. Last night he prayed hard, pleading with God to never let Alex get sick again. He’d been running around Los Angeles getting various “comforts” for Alex’s sickroom. Boxes of Kleenex, fresh lemons for him to suck on, Vogue magazine, and some clay masque for his face so, as Alex told him, his skin can refresh from the sickness. Now he is making him chicken soup, which he has never made before. The only thing he knows how to make are his protein shakes. Plus, he also has to meet Anne, Oje’s breastmilk hookup, to pick up today’s milk and take it over to Chance, who was watching Ojew until Alex got better. Last night, he had to change Oje’s cloth diaper, which perplexed him a great deal. “Alex,” he’d dared to ask, “why are we using cloth diapers?” He found out in so many words that commercial diapers contains so many unhealthy chemicals, that he’d rather lose all limbs than put his son in them. He pretended he didn’t mind washing the diapers last night, while Alex directed him on the exact science of laundering a cloth diaper.
“Trey, where are my Motrins?”
“I put them on the nightstand,” Trey yells, turning the flame off and removing the gloppy, bubbly soup from the stove top. He pours it into a bowl. He searches the cabinet, looking for the black pepper. He finds a clear pepper mill and starts shaking it over the bowl. Nothing comes out. He shakes harder. No dice. “This black pepper isn’t coming out,” he yells to Alex.
“You got to turn it Trey!” Alex yells back. “Hurry up and get out my kitchen, Trey.”
Trey turns the mill and finally the pepper releases. He turns until the top of the gloppy sloppy soup is blanketed in black. He puts the bowl on a tray and takes it to his majesty.
A few seconds later, the bowl of soup paints the wall and Trey comes flying from the sickroom, a spoon flying behind his head.
Chicken Soup for the Soul
“No, Kenya, you can’t hold him,” says Chance, boucing baby Oje in his arms. “You’re too young.” Chance places Oje on the blanket spread out on the floor. “You can play with him and help him crawl, but don’t pick him up.”
Eddie walks into the living room. “Noah’s in the kitchen.”
Chances plants a peck on Eddie’s lips. “Thanks, honey. I told Kenya she can play with Oje. Watch her.” Eddie shakes his head.
“Noah!” Chance Hugs Noah. “You’re glowing.” He winks.
Noah blushes. “I am.”
“I take it you and Wade are back on the good foot?”
Noah bounces up and down. “We are. I haven’t written anything since Friday morning.”
“Wow, that good, huh? Two days good!”
Noah sits down at the kitchen island. “Let’s just say, no place in the house is safe from a black light.”
Chance grabs a green apron from the pantry. “Too much information.” He grabs a frying pan and saucepan from the hook. “Noah look in the fridge and get me that bowl of veggies on the top shelf.”
Noah hands Chance the onion. “Did Trey bring the baby over?”
Chance nods. “Yesterday afternoon.”
“Aww, I’ll play with him before I leave.”
“He’s a great baby.” Chance pours extra virgin olive oil into the frying pan, then adds chopped onions, celery, and carrots. “The work is keeping Kenya from trying to hold him.”
“Alex called me this morning.”
“He is running poor Trey crazy.”
“He told me if the sickness doesn’t kill him, Trey’s cooking will,” says Noah, munching on a carrot stick.
“He told me, ‘Bitch, make some soup.”
“Yeah? He told me, “Bitch, go pick up my soup from Chance.’”
“He’s such a sweetheart, isn’t he?”
Chance grabs the egg noodles from the pantry. “He told me about Ricky.”
Noah drops his head. “Did he?”
“He said his eye was blackened, and he was drunk.”
“He left Saturday morning without saying a word,” says Noah.
“I’ve tried calling him, but all I get is his voicemail.”
Chance stops sauteeing the veggies. “Ricky has been acting strange lately, don’t you think?
Noah taps his fingers on the island counter. “Chance…”
Chance starts back stirring the veggies. “Yes?”
“Ricky’s in love with me.”
A long moment passes before Chance says, “I know.”
“You do?”
“I’ve known for a long time, Noah. I’ve never said anything because it’s not my place, but I’ve known.”
Noah eyes are wet. “I don’t know what to do, Chance.”
Chance turns the flame down and lets the veggies and chicken simmer. He joins Noah at the island. They hug. “I know, it’s hard.”
“So hard. Why do things have to be so complicated?”
“It wouldn’t be life without complications. It makes us stronger.”
“Wade hates Ricky. He doesn’t say it, but I can feel it. He threw a fit when he found Ricky sleeping on the couch Saturday.
“Noah, if I knew Ricky loves you, don’t you think your husband knows? He knows Ricky loves you.”
“I just want things to go back to the way they were.”
“No you don’t, Noah. You can’t run from this.”
Noah places his head on Chance’s shoulder. “Help?”
“Nuh-uh, brother. I’m not getting involved.”
Noah pushes him away. “Does Alex know?”
“Who the hell do you think told me?”
Ricky Doesn’t Live Here Anymore
Ricky opens the box of Ginch Gonch underwear that arrived that morning and stocks them neatly by the window display. Normally, his assistant would be doing this, but he’d called Demarcus last night and told him not to bother. He didn’t want to be around anyone on a first name basis. He just wanted to get through the day with minimal human interaction as possible. “Excuse me,” asks a young, built caramel brother, “but where is your bathroom?” On any other day, Ricky would escort him there himself, with a detour to the backroom for a ten minute fuck out of this world, but it was a Monday afternoon, he was depressed, and sex is nothing but trouble.
“Around that corner.”
He places the last of the underwear on the display, noticing the vivid yellow pair with red firetrucks swimming on them. “Junito,” he whispers. He remembered pulling them off Junito one heated August night and laughing so hard, they couldn’t even have sex. He took the pair and placed it underneath the rest. Being reminded of Junito was the last thing he needed today. After going to Junito’s house in Westwood, and being told Junito was in Venice with Travis, on their honeymoon, he felt like he would cry. His first feeling after being told the news was to call Alex and cuss him out for not telling him about Junito. But he resolved himself to just not deal. The night before, he lay on his sofa, eating Panda Express, watching reruns of The Sopranos, and if he’d for one second thought in reality, he’d probably would have slit his wrists. On his coffee table lay his Fuck Book, brimming with hundreds of names, all willing to drop everything and give up the onion just like that. Yeah, he had it like that, but having it like that did nothing for him anymore. It had all started with Junito, but he’d suppressed it, fought it even. Now it was living with him; waking up with him; sitting down to eat with him; waking him up in the middle of night. Love. He hated that motherfucker—that intrusive bitch. The fucked up part was he loved his best friend. Off all the men in his life, why did it have to be Noah?
“Can you ring me up?” the built caramel brother asks.
Ricky mimes a smile. “Sure thing.”
The brother places two pairs of jeans, several colorful pairs of underwear, and a belt on the counter, and hands Ricky his credit card. “Uh…how does one get in touch with you?” he asks Ricky.
Ricky swipes the card. “I’m always here.”
“I mean, outside of here.”
Ricky hands the credit card back to the brother. “I’m always here,” he says. He hands the brother his bag of purchases. “Thanks for shopping with Trade Analysis.”
I Love You, Boy
“I’ll do the dishes,” says Noah.
Wades grabs his husband around the waist, snatching the salad bowl from Noah’s hand. “Leave them until the morning.”
“Okay, Papo.” Noah nuzzles Wade’s neck. He presses his body into Wade’s.
“You feel that?” Wade asks.
“Hell yeah. Do you feel this?”
Wade laughs. “Coin toss tonight?”
Wade sucks the tender flesh of Wade’s neck. “No. You can get it.”
Wade turns Noah around, so that his chest presses firmly against Noah’s back. He runs his tongue up and down his man’s neck, taking in Noah’s cologne. “I’m ready to explode, boy.” He grips the edges of Noah’s tee and pulls it off. He presses him hard against his chest and runs his hands all over Noah’s hard, quivering body.
“Damn, Papo, let me get ready,” Noah says, trying to free himself from Wade’s grip.
Wade grips him tighter. “Baby, I don’t give a fuck, give it to me right now.” His breathing is heavy, and before he knows it, he is giving Noah a hickey. He unzips Noah’s jeans, and pulls them down. He reaches down the front of his underwear and grips Noah’s hard dick. “Turn around,” he commands. Noah obeys. Wade drags his wet, soft tongue from Noah’s clavicle to the tip of his engorged cock. He fully takes him in his mouth.
Noah throws his head back. He lets the pleasure take over him, and soon he is moaning loudly. Within minutes he is coming. He tries to pull Wade off his spewing dick. But Wade holds tight. “Fuck, Wade.” When he is finished, Wade rises and plants a sloppy kiss on his lips. Noah pushes Wade away. “That’s nasty.”
Wade turns Noah around, bends him over the table, and in few movements he has him lubed up and ready. He aims his raging hard cock at Noah’s opening.
“Condoms!” Noah yells. It’s too late, Wade is in, pumping away. “No, Wade. Take it out.”
Wade can’t hear—he is too horny to care about caution. He yanks Noah’s curls, pulling him hard against his thrusting hips. He is is only brought back to earth by the hard elbow directed to his stomach. It knocks the air from him. “Noah, what the hell?”
Noah reaches back and removes Wade from his ass. “You’re fucking me raw.”
“So. We’re married.”
“I’m just not ready for that yet.”
“Do you know what you’re saying?”
“The only thing I am saying is I’m not ready for bareback.”
“You’re saying you don’t trust me. I would never hurt you, Noah.”
“Wade, I know. But…”
“I love you, boy.”
“I love you, too. It’s just—“
Wade hugs Noah. “I want to feel you the way it’s meant. And I want you to feel me, too.”
Noah stares into his husband’s eyes. “Wade, this is a big step.”
“Look,” Wade says.
Noah looks down. Wade is holding his hand. “Oh, Papo.”
“We’re ready, Noah.”
They kiss for a long time. Noah runs it over in his head the nicest, least accusing way to ask Wade to take an HIV test.
“Umm, Wade…”
Editing in Motion
I am constantly editing the episodes, so if you come back and read something different, don't be alarmed. All the episodes are not complete until I release them all on PDFs. I will no longer be offering single episode PDFs for download. Instead, I will offer the entire collection of eight episodes for download when they are finalized.
Thanks for reading.
Thanks for reading.
A Little Gem
My favorite line: "Monogamy, my ass! Everybody cheats. I'm fuckin' with somebody as we speak who's creeping around on his boyfriend."
Oh, that Ricky.
Oh, that Ricky.
3-02: I Drive Alone
The second episode of eight is here. Don't forget to listen to the soundtrack located to your left. See you next Thursday.
Click HERE for the NEW VERSION of this episode
I Drive Alone
“Can't move on... but I can't go home
and I'm not so strong... but I'll make my way to the place I know
inside my heart, where I used to go to get brave
and I don't want to be lost anymore”
Driving along Mulholland Drive, Ricky is only half interested in the mediocre head he is receiving from a blurry-faced twink whose name he can’t remember. Does it even matter? He wonders. Getting head while driving used to be one of his favorite things in the world, second only to rimming. He realizes he hasn’t been truly satisfied in almost a year. He admitted it to himself last night when the young piece of chicken he picked up from the Spa got in more positions than a Mongolian contortionist. Oh, he’d went at it with wild abandon, telling himself all the while that he was handling it just right. Get ‘em sprung handling. But when his bedroom walls yawned and the greasy chicken took a cell phone call in the middle of the reverse cowboy, he gave up that ghost.
At 1:43 in the morning, he found himself naked in his kitchen, eating a rubbery cheese sandwich, when usually he would be directing his latest trick to the box of Fleet under the bathroom sink. Afterward, in the shower, he tried to work himself by over thinking of past conquests. Remember the triplets from Black Knight? Remember how you triple dipped them? He laughed. By the time you were finished, condoms carpeted the back room, among other things. He couldn’t get hard. He was too wound up and tense, ready to stomp those thoughts he feared more than anything. He was tired of wearing the mental fatigues and war paint he donned in order to deal. Sure, his feelings were out in the open, but there was nothing he could do about them. Nothing would come of them. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, he finally admitted to himself he was fucked up.
“Can you drop me off on Pico?” asks the nameless mouth, popping his head up from Ricky’s lap, letting the limp organ slide from his unimpressed mouth. “Anywhere, really. I need to get off.”
Ricky slams on the brakes, his red Audi screeching to a halt. “Get the fuck out of my car,” he spits.
Nameless Mouth sits there, mouth open, jaw elongated. Twenty seconds of silence follows before he says, “But we’re damn near at the top of the mountain.”
“I don’t give a shit. I want you out of my car.” Ricky reaches across the passenger seat and opens the door. He starts pushing the guy out the seat.
“Wait a fuckin’ minute…” The guy reaches over and pops Ricky in the left eye before hitting the pavement. The door slams and Ricky starts the car just as dramatically as he stopped it, leaving a shirtless caramel mess laying damn near at the top of the mountain.
“I don't know where I go
But I know I drive alone”
Mama Alex
“Noah, Ricky just showed up at my house, drunk, with a black eye. This bitch done lost his mind,” says Alex, holding his phone to his right ear, while washing Oje’s cloth diapers in the bathroom sink. “Trey is tearing my freezer up looking for shit to put on Ricky’s eye. Child, I ain’t had no sleep in two days; Oje’s sick; I’m ‘bout to kill somebody in a quick minute. Y’all better be thankful I know Jesus, ‘cause wouldn’t nothing be left in this house but me and the evidence!”
“ALEX!” Noah shouts into the phone. “Breathe.” Noah flicks the television off, and sits up on the couch. He checks the time. 11:34 pm. He had been asleep after a marathon session of writing. He hears Wade flush the toilet upstairs, then the slamming of the guest bedroom door, a sound as familiar as the silence between him and Wade. He wipes sleep from his eyes and tries to organize his thoughts. “Alex, calm down and tell me what happened,” he finally says.
Alex pours another capful of Dreft detergent into the sink and throws another pile of diapers in. “Girl, Ricky is on my couch holding a bag of frozen peas over his eye last I checked.” Alex opens the bathroom door, looks out, and sees Ricky vomiting into a wastebasket Trey is holding under his chin. “Now the bitch is throwing up. Let one drop get on my new couch. Ooh, Jesus. I got too much on my plate. You gon’ have to come get his ass. Some trick probably busted his eye.”
Noah swallows hard. “Um…I can’t, Alex.”
“Why not? I got a sick baby over here, and Noah you know the world stops for me when my son is sick.”
“Why can’t Ricky just crash on the couch until morning?”
Alex pulls the phone away from his ear and looks at it for a few seconds. “Y’all doing stunts and shows!” He walks to the living room, pushes Trey out the way, bends down at side of the couch, and turns Ricky face toward his. “Ricky, boo-boo, I really feel for you right now, but you gotta go.” Alex looks at the phone. “Noah will be here SHORTLY to pick you up.”
Noah is already out the door, sitting in his car. “Here we go,” he says. With a sigh, he starts the engine.
What Happens to a Dream Deferred?
Chance removes the lasagna from the oven, sprinkles the top with parmesan cheese. “Eww, “he says. He opens the kitchen window and searches under the counter for a can of Oust. “How can something so smelly taste so good?”
“Honey,” Eddie calls from the top of the stairs, “I just finished talking to baby-sitter, and she says she’ll keep Kenya the whole night.”
Chance peeks out the kitchen door. “That’s great, babe. Dinner is almost done.” He sprays more Oust. Chance tries to remember the last time he and Eddie sat down to a candlelight dinner. Since Eddie was promoted at work, dinner has been a foil wrapped plate on the counter waiting for Eddie when came home. Earlier in the day, he found himself at Bed Bath and Beyond buying candles for their candlelight dinner. He bought even some for the bedroom time. And he resolved then to tell Eddie—the man he loves—that this whole band thing was silly and not practical. You know, stop the train before it derails. After all, he would want Eddie to tell him when he was being silly and not practical.
“You look amazing by candlelight,” says Chance, feeding Eddie a cherry tomato from the salad. “It’s been so long since we’ve had a candlelight dinner. I was trying to think of the last time.”
Eddie grabs Chance’s hand. “I remember.” He smiles wide. “You ordered Indian food and pretended to cook it. “
Chance eyes lights up. “Oh, yeah. And you found the containers in the morning. God, that was, like, a year and a half ago.”
“We’ll have a million more, honey. I’m so happy, Chance.” He leans forward and looks into his husband’s eyes. “You complete me,” he says.
Chance gets lost in Eddie eyes for a moment. An overwhelming feeling of protection comes over him. “Eddie,” he says, snapping out of his dreamy state. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Uh…can we talk about something?”
“First, kiss me.” Eddie pulls Chance close to him. They kiss until their lips go numb.
“Eddie,” Chance finally says. “Are you sure you’re not over taxing yourself these days?”
“No. Why? “ He never lets Chance’s hand go.
“Listen…uh…I-I…know this band is your dream…but—“
“What happens to a dream deferred?” Eddie asks.
After a swollen pause, Chance smiles. “Uh…Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?”
Eddie throws his head back and laughs. “That’s our new piece.”
Chance looks into Eddie eyes again. He breathes out. “I can’t wait to hear it.”
Fight or Fuck
“What the hell?” Wade finds a shirtless, black-eyed Ricky sleeping on the couch. He marches back upstairs and knocks on the master bedroom door. “Open up, Noah.”
“It’s open.”
Wade inches the door open to find Noah lying naked on his stomach on the bed, typing. In less than a second, his dick is hard. Like a magnet, he is pulled inside the room by no doing of his own. He grips the doorknob to steady himself. “Hey, uh, why is Ricky sleeping on the couch?”
Noah looks up. “He was drunk and sick last night. I had to pick him up from Alex and Trey’s.”
“Why didn’t you take him home?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yeah, it matters. I don’t like waking up finding your fucked up friends on my couch.”
Noah closes his laptop. “That’s just it, Wade. MY friends. I help MY friends. I wasn’t taking him home drunk to be by himself. He was vomiting. People choke to death on their vomit.”
Wade rolls his eyes. “I don’t want Ricky in this house.”
Noah stands up. “Is that so?” He walks up to Wade, gets in his face.
Wade hunches his shoulders. “Yeah.”
Noah hunches his shoulders. “This isn’t just your house.”
They stare.
“What are you going to do about it?” asks Noah.
Wade furrows his brow, bites his lower lip. “Are you up in my face like that?”
“I sure am.”
“You wanna fight me?”
“I asked you what are you going to do about it?”
They stare harder.
Wade gently places his left hand on Noah’s chest then slides it up to his throat. He grips him. “I’m going to fuck you.”
“The heat of passion is such
a beautiful thing as it overflows
Pleasure grows; all the dreams it can bring
Ooh, your lips and my eyes and gentle sighs
With body talk, body talk
Cool and calm, so soft and pure, a touching moment
Heated feelings once explode, but have melted
We were two souls torn apart with bitter ages
Through expression not aggression, we have become one”
Downstairs, Ricky wakes up to the sound of Noah moaning and Wade grunting. He jumps to the sound of what sounded like ass slapping. His head feels like two heavyweight boxes are battling for the title at both sides of his head. He looks down and wonders where his shirt is.
“FUCK ME!” he hears from upstairs. He gets up and tiptoes upstairs. He sees the door to the master bedroom open. He dares himself to look. Taking tiny, quiet steps he finds himself just outside the edge of the open door. Noah moans grow louder. He can’t. He won’t. He doesn’t.
Back downstairs, he calls a cab, and waits outside for it to arrive. He pulls his Sidekick out and starts scrolling through the address book. The cab pulls up eight minutes later. “Where to?” asks the driver.
Ricky sighs and looks at his Sidekick. He hesitates for a second before telling the driver to take him to an address in Westwood. Junito’s address.
- (noahsarcfanfiction [at] gmail [dot] com)
Lyrics used in this work belong to Esthero and Imagination and are used without permission.
Click HERE for the NEW VERSION of this episode
I Drive Alone
“Can't move on... but I can't go home
and I'm not so strong... but I'll make my way to the place I know
inside my heart, where I used to go to get brave
and I don't want to be lost anymore”
Driving along Mulholland Drive, Ricky is only half interested in the mediocre head he is receiving from a blurry-faced twink whose name he can’t remember. Does it even matter? He wonders. Getting head while driving used to be one of his favorite things in the world, second only to rimming. He realizes he hasn’t been truly satisfied in almost a year. He admitted it to himself last night when the young piece of chicken he picked up from the Spa got in more positions than a Mongolian contortionist. Oh, he’d went at it with wild abandon, telling himself all the while that he was handling it just right. Get ‘em sprung handling. But when his bedroom walls yawned and the greasy chicken took a cell phone call in the middle of the reverse cowboy, he gave up that ghost.
At 1:43 in the morning, he found himself naked in his kitchen, eating a rubbery cheese sandwich, when usually he would be directing his latest trick to the box of Fleet under the bathroom sink. Afterward, in the shower, he tried to work himself by over thinking of past conquests. Remember the triplets from Black Knight? Remember how you triple dipped them? He laughed. By the time you were finished, condoms carpeted the back room, among other things. He couldn’t get hard. He was too wound up and tense, ready to stomp those thoughts he feared more than anything. He was tired of wearing the mental fatigues and war paint he donned in order to deal. Sure, his feelings were out in the open, but there was nothing he could do about them. Nothing would come of them. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, he finally admitted to himself he was fucked up.
“Can you drop me off on Pico?” asks the nameless mouth, popping his head up from Ricky’s lap, letting the limp organ slide from his unimpressed mouth. “Anywhere, really. I need to get off.”
Ricky slams on the brakes, his red Audi screeching to a halt. “Get the fuck out of my car,” he spits.
Nameless Mouth sits there, mouth open, jaw elongated. Twenty seconds of silence follows before he says, “But we’re damn near at the top of the mountain.”
“I don’t give a shit. I want you out of my car.” Ricky reaches across the passenger seat and opens the door. He starts pushing the guy out the seat.
“Wait a fuckin’ minute…” The guy reaches over and pops Ricky in the left eye before hitting the pavement. The door slams and Ricky starts the car just as dramatically as he stopped it, leaving a shirtless caramel mess laying damn near at the top of the mountain.
“I don't know where I go
But I know I drive alone”
Mama Alex
“Noah, Ricky just showed up at my house, drunk, with a black eye. This bitch done lost his mind,” says Alex, holding his phone to his right ear, while washing Oje’s cloth diapers in the bathroom sink. “Trey is tearing my freezer up looking for shit to put on Ricky’s eye. Child, I ain’t had no sleep in two days; Oje’s sick; I’m ‘bout to kill somebody in a quick minute. Y’all better be thankful I know Jesus, ‘cause wouldn’t nothing be left in this house but me and the evidence!”
“ALEX!” Noah shouts into the phone. “Breathe.” Noah flicks the television off, and sits up on the couch. He checks the time. 11:34 pm. He had been asleep after a marathon session of writing. He hears Wade flush the toilet upstairs, then the slamming of the guest bedroom door, a sound as familiar as the silence between him and Wade. He wipes sleep from his eyes and tries to organize his thoughts. “Alex, calm down and tell me what happened,” he finally says.
Alex pours another capful of Dreft detergent into the sink and throws another pile of diapers in. “Girl, Ricky is on my couch holding a bag of frozen peas over his eye last I checked.” Alex opens the bathroom door, looks out, and sees Ricky vomiting into a wastebasket Trey is holding under his chin. “Now the bitch is throwing up. Let one drop get on my new couch. Ooh, Jesus. I got too much on my plate. You gon’ have to come get his ass. Some trick probably busted his eye.”
Noah swallows hard. “Um…I can’t, Alex.”
“Why not? I got a sick baby over here, and Noah you know the world stops for me when my son is sick.”
“Why can’t Ricky just crash on the couch until morning?”
Alex pulls the phone away from his ear and looks at it for a few seconds. “Y’all doing stunts and shows!” He walks to the living room, pushes Trey out the way, bends down at side of the couch, and turns Ricky face toward his. “Ricky, boo-boo, I really feel for you right now, but you gotta go.” Alex looks at the phone. “Noah will be here SHORTLY to pick you up.”
Noah is already out the door, sitting in his car. “Here we go,” he says. With a sigh, he starts the engine.
What Happens to a Dream Deferred?
Chance removes the lasagna from the oven, sprinkles the top with parmesan cheese. “Eww, “he says. He opens the kitchen window and searches under the counter for a can of Oust. “How can something so smelly taste so good?”
“Honey,” Eddie calls from the top of the stairs, “I just finished talking to baby-sitter, and she says she’ll keep Kenya the whole night.”
Chance peeks out the kitchen door. “That’s great, babe. Dinner is almost done.” He sprays more Oust. Chance tries to remember the last time he and Eddie sat down to a candlelight dinner. Since Eddie was promoted at work, dinner has been a foil wrapped plate on the counter waiting for Eddie when came home. Earlier in the day, he found himself at Bed Bath and Beyond buying candles for their candlelight dinner. He bought even some for the bedroom time. And he resolved then to tell Eddie—the man he loves—that this whole band thing was silly and not practical. You know, stop the train before it derails. After all, he would want Eddie to tell him when he was being silly and not practical.
“You look amazing by candlelight,” says Chance, feeding Eddie a cherry tomato from the salad. “It’s been so long since we’ve had a candlelight dinner. I was trying to think of the last time.”
Eddie grabs Chance’s hand. “I remember.” He smiles wide. “You ordered Indian food and pretended to cook it. “
Chance eyes lights up. “Oh, yeah. And you found the containers in the morning. God, that was, like, a year and a half ago.”
“We’ll have a million more, honey. I’m so happy, Chance.” He leans forward and looks into his husband’s eyes. “You complete me,” he says.
Chance gets lost in Eddie eyes for a moment. An overwhelming feeling of protection comes over him. “Eddie,” he says, snapping out of his dreamy state. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Uh…can we talk about something?”
“First, kiss me.” Eddie pulls Chance close to him. They kiss until their lips go numb.
“Eddie,” Chance finally says. “Are you sure you’re not over taxing yourself these days?”
“No. Why? “ He never lets Chance’s hand go.
“Listen…uh…I-I…know this band is your dream…but—“
“What happens to a dream deferred?” Eddie asks.
After a swollen pause, Chance smiles. “Uh…Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?”
Eddie throws his head back and laughs. “That’s our new piece.”
Chance looks into Eddie eyes again. He breathes out. “I can’t wait to hear it.”
Fight or Fuck
“What the hell?” Wade finds a shirtless, black-eyed Ricky sleeping on the couch. He marches back upstairs and knocks on the master bedroom door. “Open up, Noah.”
“It’s open.”
Wade inches the door open to find Noah lying naked on his stomach on the bed, typing. In less than a second, his dick is hard. Like a magnet, he is pulled inside the room by no doing of his own. He grips the doorknob to steady himself. “Hey, uh, why is Ricky sleeping on the couch?”
Noah looks up. “He was drunk and sick last night. I had to pick him up from Alex and Trey’s.”
“Why didn’t you take him home?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yeah, it matters. I don’t like waking up finding your fucked up friends on my couch.”
Noah closes his laptop. “That’s just it, Wade. MY friends. I help MY friends. I wasn’t taking him home drunk to be by himself. He was vomiting. People choke to death on their vomit.”
Wade rolls his eyes. “I don’t want Ricky in this house.”
Noah stands up. “Is that so?” He walks up to Wade, gets in his face.
Wade hunches his shoulders. “Yeah.”
Noah hunches his shoulders. “This isn’t just your house.”
They stare.
“What are you going to do about it?” asks Noah.
Wade furrows his brow, bites his lower lip. “Are you up in my face like that?”
“I sure am.”
“You wanna fight me?”
“I asked you what are you going to do about it?”
They stare harder.
Wade gently places his left hand on Noah’s chest then slides it up to his throat. He grips him. “I’m going to fuck you.”
“The heat of passion is such
a beautiful thing as it overflows
Pleasure grows; all the dreams it can bring
Ooh, your lips and my eyes and gentle sighs
With body talk, body talk
Cool and calm, so soft and pure, a touching moment
Heated feelings once explode, but have melted
We were two souls torn apart with bitter ages
Through expression not aggression, we have become one”
Downstairs, Ricky wakes up to the sound of Noah moaning and Wade grunting. He jumps to the sound of what sounded like ass slapping. His head feels like two heavyweight boxes are battling for the title at both sides of his head. He looks down and wonders where his shirt is.
“FUCK ME!” he hears from upstairs. He gets up and tiptoes upstairs. He sees the door to the master bedroom open. He dares himself to look. Taking tiny, quiet steps he finds himself just outside the edge of the open door. Noah moans grow louder. He can’t. He won’t. He doesn’t.
Back downstairs, he calls a cab, and waits outside for it to arrive. He pulls his Sidekick out and starts scrolling through the address book. The cab pulls up eight minutes later. “Where to?” asks the driver.
Ricky sighs and looks at his Sidekick. He hesitates for a second before telling the driver to take him to an address in Westwood. Junito’s address.
- (noahsarcfanfiction [at] gmail [dot] com)
Lyrics used in this work belong to Esthero and Imagination and are used without permission.