This is a work of fiction and has less than no bearing on real life. No one living or dead has any resemblance to the characters here. I don't think you'd want this story anyway, but if you do, ask me first.
This is the first chapter of what will hopefully be a series. It's more about establishing the characters than sex. That will come (no pun intended) in the next chapters. Please read and respond, whether with suggestions on what you want to see next, or on positive or negative comments. I realize this is far from Shakespeare, but I do want to know your responses. Anything is better than no feedback at all.
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"Time to go change the employee recommendations card again."
Fortunately, they didn't hear the muttering under my breath. These employee recommendations never make sense to me. First of all, would you rent a movie just because some pimply-faced 19-year old said he liked it? And how do you know the poor schmuck even likes that movie? I can't exactly put, "I recommend Get Real, and Maurice" because our store does not carry those "objectionable" films. Instead, I have to write in something about that newest thing where Jwhatever shows off her ass.
I'm Alex, a formerly pimply-faced 21-year old. As you can probably tell, I work in a video store. My mother and stepfather kicked me out at 18 and my father died last year. Life in a medium-sized Southern town isn't as difficult as it used to be, but it sure as shit ain't easy. For instance, I got a job even though my hair falls to my shoulders and I have a few gold hoops in one ear. But if I made out with my boyfriend in public, or even held hands with him, we'd be stains on the roadside.
I met Chad a few years ago when I was scrounging up money to try to get into a community college. One of the nearby fast food places was supposedly hiring. They said they'd filled all the positions. When I was leaving one of the guys behind the counter ran up to me. He said I "looked smart" and wondered if I'd help him study for his GED. He was gorgeous in a brooding, overaged rebel way. Short, unkempt black hair, full lips, smoky bedroom eyes with a bleariness which suggested a permanent hangover (actually he's only hung over about half the time), a body chiseled from years of physical labor, and a fearsome bulge even in slightly baggy jeans. Traces of tattoos peeked out from under his uniform sleeves and at the neck. All he needed was a leather jacket and a Harley. Sure enough, when he picked me up at my dad's place that night, he had a souped-up bike between his legs. I got on the bike nervously, helmet plopped on my head and my arms around his waist. A few beers later and I was straddling his naked, gorgeous, ink-stained body just as I'd straddled his other hog a few hours earlier. I'd had a few limited experiences with boys in school, and even more limited experiences with girls, but no one had ever made my body sing the way Chad did. He took away any virginity I had left, and some I didn't know I had. His dick is 10 thick hard inches of steel pipe; I'd have had a spring in my step the next day if I'd been able to do more than hobble. With my long blonde hair and soft features next to him for those nights, he liked to call me "his angel." I guess that made him my devil.
Not long after Chad got his diploma, my dad died. His health insurance barely paid for funeral costs. While I was cleaning up, I found a goodbye note, half-written, saying he knew I was gay and that he was so proud of me no matter who I chose in life. Chad held me in his arms that night, kissed away my tears. I really did love him in that moment. After I sold Dad's house, Chad cleared some space in his studio apartment. Only one bedroom, but we certainly didn't need two. His arms encircling me every night was the type of security I'd never had, more than making up for the trail of empty pizza boxes, beer cans and dirty underwear. Why did that seem like a hundred years ago...
"Chad got your brain?"
The distinctive sound of fingers snapping in my face reminded me I was still in the video store. I put on my best smile for Melanie. She was a few years older than me, 5'7'', short red hair and green eyes, very curvaceous and flirtatious, a true Southern belle. She was also the only one who knew I had a boyfriend, mainly because she kept asking me out and I enjoyed her company too much to let her think I would date any other woman over her.
Brushing my finger across her lips, I matched her saucy grin with one of my own.
"Shhhh, Lanie, someone might hear. Yeah, I miss him. I even miss his ratty old leather jacket."
She patted my hand sympathetically. Between Chad losing his McBurger job (did I mention the hangover part?) and not being able to ever acknowledge our relationship in public or while I'm at work, we'd grown apart in the last 6 or 7 months. He started taking construction jobs out of town, partially because there was nothing available here, and also because, in his words, I was always, "clinging to my dick indoors and shitting in my face outdoors." But I needed this job, needed the money, and part of this job involved working for a very conservative store owner. Yeah, I know stocking videos has nothing to do with who your sexuality, but in this town, if you complain about discrimination, you're likelier to get a long lecture or a fist to the face than pity points. Besides, Bart "Storm" Edwards and the Edwards family own the local video chain, the pizza parlor, the movie theater...everything.
While Melanie and I started to check in the recent returns, Jesse (cute Hispanic hunk, straight but the biggest gossip in the place) barged through the front door, gasping for breath from nearly swallowing his cigarette.
"Heads up, storm troopers on the way!"
Holy fuck, no wonder he'd panicked. Bart and his assistants, or "storm troopers" as we called them behind their backs (poor taste, I know), made periodic checks of each of their businesses. This involved not only discussing the condition of the store, but also very personal criticisms of each employee. I knew I should've taken today off.
The entourage swarmed in first, doing their best impression of the secret service. Better watch out for those snipers behind the popcorn machine! The three of us barely had time to primp and polish ourselves until the big man arrived.
He was big in reputation only, and of course ego. In height he barely cleared 5 and a half feet. He had a bald head I always wanted to rub for good luck, and wore shapeless suits which hinted at a formidable body underneath. The intensity in his dark eyes was both frightening and at times arousing.
After he finished snapping at Jesse for a half-untucked shirt and nicotine breath, then outright ignored Lanie, it was my turn. Those hypnotic eyes stared inside me, as if he was peeling away layer after layer. Maybe he was, because his only comment was:
"Are you queer?"
Flabbergasted would not be the right word for my reaction. In 2003, homophobia is alive and kicking, but usually bigots today have more subtlety. He barely came up to my chest and yet I was made to feel ashamed, degraded. No job was worth this. Steam rising from my ears, I began to speak. I had my best rant prepared.
"Listen, you...MMMPH"
The "MMMPH" wasn't a sign of my great vocabulary skills. I'd pushed out two words before Lanie grabbed the back of my head and kissed me. Deep, hard, and very passionate.
"Alex is just shy, ya'll know how young boys can be sometimes. We've been courting for months and months, right, honey?"
By the time I'd gasped out a response, Bart was gone. I barely noticed the pat on my shoulder, the knowing wink, the door shutting, Jesse telling me he'd always thought I was gay.
When we were all alone, Melanie just winked at me.
"Sorry to interrupt your stand for civil rights. I know how much you need this job, and c'mon, am I that bad a kisser?"
Managing to shake my head, I struggled to formulate a thought. Most of my kisses were from Chad. Manly, dominated by his stubble and insinstence on control. Melanie was giving, yet no less passionate. She smelled of perfume. She let me take over. She was funny and warm and didn't place demands or go away all the time. I don't know why, but something had changed in how I saw her. All I could think of is that I wanted to kiss her again. So I did. This time she gasped, my hands in her hair, sliding down to cup her firm breasts, her hands sliding down my back. I knew I should pull away. Instead, I tasted her tongue. I pressed my growing crotch against her. A woman was getting me hard. What the fuck was I doing?
"What the fuck are you doing?"
Chad, standing in the doorway, helmet in hand, confusion, hurt and anger flashing in his eyes, obviously had the exact same question.
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