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Aroused
Taboo
Eight Inches
Hard and Fast
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
Hard and Fast
SEAN WOLFE
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2011 by Sean Wolfe
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eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-6787-0
eISBN-10: 0-7582-6787-8
First Kensington Trade Paperback Printing: January 2011
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Printed in the United States of America
Contents
Books by Sean Wolfe
Introduction
The Good Boy Part 1
Pool Party
The Collar
Camp Quaker Haven
They Call Me Mr. Tripp
The Good Boy Part 2
The Plantation
Flying High
Nightingale
Lone No More
Guardian
The Good Boy Part 3
About the Author
All my life I’ve been called a Good Boy. Even to this day I’ve never done a single drug—not even pot. I’ve never touched a cigarette. I drink a little, but even at … thirty … yeah, we’ll go with that… I’ve only been “drunk” five times. All of those, with the exception of one, were when people close to me died, and so I give myself a little wiggle room on those. The one exception was during a game of Quarters while living in Mexico, in which the entire group of fifteen of my friends and fellow teachers ganged up on me and forced me to drink shot after shot of Tequila, the official Welcome-To-Hell drink personally presented by Satan himself upon arrival. I try very hard not to think about that exception.
Because I’m a Good Boy.
I grew up in a very small Texas Panhandle town and was every teacher’s pet. I started a lifelong love of volunteering while in high school. I went to a Christian (Quaker/Friends) University in Wichita, Kansas, and developed a solid foundation of faith and good works. I was a camp counselor and a youth leader all through high school and college. I was so angelic and perfect that when I finally came out to my mother and told her I was gay, her response was, “Oh, thank God. You’re not perfect.”
It was not quite the educated response I’d hoped for—because I never have equated my gayness as the “imperfect” part of me; in fact, it’s the one quality of my life that lifts me closer to perfect. My mother was—and still is—a biker chick whose daily existence relies upon lots of cigarettes, alcohol, and drugs, and she never hesitated to remind me of the difficulty of parenting a perfect Good Boy. So, though her response was much more positive than stories I’ve heard of other gay young people coming out to their parents, and it was her own special way of saying she accepted me and loved me, her response demonstrated it was still all about her rather than being about me.
When I moved to Denver eighteen years ago, I began a career in nonprofit that continues today. I have a very strong need to help those less fortunate and to make a difference in my community. I’ve had a very public life, always in front of large communities and audiences, with public speaking appearances, myriad trainings and workshops presentations, and community activism. People know me for this.
Because I’m a Good Boy.
And that has been presenting a problem for me recently. Up until seven years ago, I was in quite possibly the most magnificent thirteen-year relationship with Archangel Gabriel himself. His name was actually Gustavo, but in my eyes he was God’s favorite angel—and His undeserved gift to me. Though it wasn’t perfect, it was amazing. While in that relationship, Gustavo and I were the poster children for strong, healthy gay relationships.
Gustavo passed away in 2003, and it’s been a difficult time for me getting back into the swing of meeting people and moving deeper into relationships with them. I’m sure psychotherapists across the nation could expound upon my issues endlessly, and I’m no doctor, but even I can tell you the root of them. But that doesn’t make it any easier to overcome them and to move on.
The problem isn’t meeting people, really. I’m “meeting” plenty. But I seem to scare them away really quickly these days. Though it might not be the singular reason, a big part of the reason they run screaming like madmen is that I have a … healthy … appetite for sex. My friend Gary calls me a whore—I say that I’m polyamorous. My friend Kyle calls me a slut—I say that I’m sexually expressive. You get the picture.
This presents a problem for people who have a preconceived idea of who I am, and in a city the size of Denver, it’s hard not to have that preconception. How can a Good Boy visit a bathhouse a few times a month? Good Boys don’t blindfold themselves and crawl up into a public sling for hours on end for the pleasure of the masses! Can we give a Good Boy card to someone who likes to be tied up and roughed around by complete strangers on a semi-regular basis?
Not that I do any of those things!!
< looks around nervously >
But they make excellent examples of my point. “Good” and “Bad” are all relative, and subjective to our individual culture, upbringing, social environment, and experiences. And just because others express themselves a little differently from what we might come to expect from them, for whatever reason we’ve come to expect it from them, it doesn’t mean they aren’t Good Boys at heart.
The stories in this book deal with guys most people would easily identify as Good Boys—preachers and their kids, teacher’s pets, camp counselors, even a real Angel. Though the characters seemingly walk on water to all those around them, the stories show that as humans, we all struggle with living up to those images of perfection imposed upon us by others. And sometimes