Harold C. Jones
Harold C. Jones and Long Cool One Books
Design: J. Thornton
The following is a
work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person living or deceased, or
to any places or events, is purely coincidental. Names, places,
settings, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s
imagination. The author’s moral rights to the proceeds of this work
have been asserted.
Table of Contents
Harold C. Jones
Harold C. Jones
A tiny, fringed
buckskin purse dangled on its strap. Inside was everything she
needed, a driver’s license, a compact.
gum and a little money, plus her usual five dollars tucked away for a
taxi in an emergency. A handful of French safes, the key to the back
door and that was about it.
When Mickie saw the
two cute guys in the red Fairlane, she didn’t hesitate. She stepped
forwards into the brighter light and gave them a cute little wave,
bringing smiles and causing quick mutual looks between them.
A long wolf whistle
came from the driver’s side as the passenger stared. There was
music going in there and the light was about to turn. It was Crimson
and Clover, one of her favorite songs.
Not for one minute
did she hesitate.
“Hi, guys! You,
The one in the
passenger seat looked astonished and then grabbed the driver’s arm.
The light turned green and they were about to pull away. He looked
back, eyes a bit wide. She was a vision of wholesome American
loveliness in her handkerchief-sized cut-off jeans, faded and fringed
all around the edges. The halter top, thin cotton and hot pink
besides, revealed her nipples, her tummy and a lot of bare skin
everywhere else. He stared into those big, baby-blue eyes.
“Hi.” She waved
again, bobbing up and down slightly, as if she was in a hurry and
needed to get to the bathroom.
The driver hurriedly
hit the right blinker, gave it some gas, and neatly turned hard right
into the curb.
The boys stopped
right at her feet where she stood at the crosswalk. She stepped up to
the door, putting her hand on the edge. She leaned forwards and the
passenger’s eyes refocused hurriedly.
The desert night was
warm to begin with, but it was rapidly cooling.
The driver leaned
over to look her in the eyes through the window.
“Hi. Nice car.”
“Uh, yeah. Thanks.
Uh, can we help you with something?”
Flynn to my friends and this is Herman.” Flynn to his friends and
Alvin to anyone looking for a beating was what he almost said,
although he knew that women weren’t interesting in that sort of
Talk was cheap, as
Nice meeting you, Flynn.”
The one in the
passenger seat bobbed his head and risked a quick look up from her
feet, which were a sight in the dark brown sandals with the thong
straps tied calf-high. He took his time over her breasts and
honey-tanned cleavage, but he came back to her.
“Uh, hello. Hi,
She was about to
speak, but Herman seemed a bit brighter. That Flynn sure had big
arms, though. Herman was pale but cute, and definitely still more boy
“Would you like a
ride somewhere, ah, Miss Mickie?”
She smiled from ear
to ear, hands on her hips and her long blonde hair framing her face
in a manner she had always thought of as elfin when looking at
herself in the mirror. She tilted her head as if considering the
possibility for the first time.
She stabbed Herman
with a look.
practically read my mind there, Herman.” She gave Flynn another
kind of look, as if to say, my,
what a smart boy, that Herman.
He stared into those
eyes with parted lips, heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings.
They both did.
years old and blushing like a dewy rose in morning sunlight, hastily
hopped out after a jab in the short ribs from Flynn.
“Why sure, Miss
Mickie.” Flynn had been dreaming of a girl like this for about his
entire life as far as he could recall.
They both had. They
had sure as talked about it something awful as well—on almost any
given night like this, perhaps they had even talked or fantasized
just such an eventuality as this.
They had read a few
stories and looked at a few pictures in magazines.
Herman, with a mop
of thick brown hair, dark eyes, six-foot-one and all of one hundred
fifty pounds, got out and held the door for her. It was cute. He was
looking up and down the sidewalk, checking as if to see if anyone in
particular had witnessed this noteworthy event. She clambered in and
it looked like Herman, perhaps not so bright after all, was going to
get in the back. He looked a bit lost as he contemplated the open car
door and Mickie within. She took another look at the blonde Flynn
character, the upper leg hard and bulging up against her own.
“Hop in, Sugar.”
Mickie squeezed over, ever further inwards, leaving her lean and
tanned legs trailing over into his side as he got back in.
She sat up
straighter, her left hand as she reached between his legs, brushing
Flynn’s thigh as she braced herself, giving Herman a nice smile and
then feeling around under his left hip, looking for the seatbelt but
there wasn’t one there. Herman sucked air and looked away even as
some of the rigidity left Flynn’s body.
Sugar.” Mickie lifted Flynn’s big arm, and casually draped it
around her shoulders as Herman stared fixedly at her knees, her
calves, her bare toes and drinking in the heady wine that was her
His lips framed
silent words, anyone listening to the wind in the palms might guess
what they were.
Oh, my, Gawd!!!
“So. Where did you
want to go, ah, Miss?” Herman sounded pretty cool, although it
wasn’t his car. “Flynn and Herman to the rescue!”
He leaned over and
gave a thoroughly-stunned Herman a quick grin.
shot Flynn a dark look, an exaggerated look, and Mickie snickered,
patted his knee and got him grinning in gratitude again. “Oh. Ah,
It wasn’t exactly
Flynn’s car either, it belonged to his dad, but he had permission
to use it while the folks were away at his aunt’s in Chicago. This
was no time to point that out, Herman decided.
Flynn was a full
year older than Herman. While Herman had his beginner’s permit, it
might be a while yet before he had wheels of his own, working
evenings and weekends jerking soda for ninety cents an hour.
Flynn helped his dad
build houses on weekends and in the summer for more like a
buck-forty, hence the wheels on occasion. It was more usual to get
the pickup truck.
really.” She reached over and gave Herman’s hand a quick squeeze.
“”I’ve got a little money. Maybe we could get some beer.”
You had to be twenty-one to buy liquor and beer, thought Flynn, mind
racing with the implications. “Whatever your little heart desires.”
There sure were a
lot of implications, and yet she was so pretty, so fresh and young
She sure had a lot
of confidence for what was a mere slip of a girl.
Herman’s hand was
a bit moist, but when she squeezed, he squeezed right back, not
looking at her exactly, but sneaking a look at the rear-view mirror
in the center of the windshield.
He was trying to get
a glimpse of her face, failing that he snuck a look across at Flynn,
looking fairly bemused as he drove at a sedate thirty-three miles per
hour down the wide boulevard street, lined with tall still palm trees
and the bright neon lights of the city that never slept.
forward and turned up the radio just a little bit.
This was going to be
There was a pounding
in his head. At first he thought someone was at the door.
The phone was
Eyes blinking in the
glare, he rolled over and looked at the alarm clock.
His mind went back
to last night, a jolt of something went through him, and he swung his
feet to the floor.
Alone in the house,
he padded naked to the living room where the phone was. He ran his
hands through his tousled mop, still marveling at his luck. His face
felt like a glazed donut, but oh, well.
“Yeah, yeah. Shit.
“Can you believe
It really happened,
Flynn felt like saying. Something stopped him. What, he couldn’t
He laughed, and
Flynn just stood there with the phone in his hand. What he wanted to
do was to go and open up the front curtains and put the coffee on.
But Herman was there too.
“So how are you
morning, Herman?” The grin faded in recollection.
While the image of
Mickie spread-eagled on the trunk of the Fairlane down that deserted
dead-end road would stick with Alvin Flynn for the rest of his life,
there had been something funny about Herman’s begging off at the
last minute, pleading a little too much beer.
Something about not
liking sloppy seconds, not that Herman had actually said anything
like that. Not last night—maybe he was jealous of Mickie plastered
all over him like that.
For crying out loud,
someone had to go first—it was up to Mickie, really.
The answer finally came as Flynn savored the taste in his mouth,
convinced that it had all been real and no fluke either—there was
more where that came from. “Like, wow, man.”
Yeah, me too.
What were you
supposed to say? And yet you had to say something.
Herman would never
be able to tell Flynn how it felt.
But the stab of
jealousy to see Mickie in Flynn’s arms and to wish it was him—and
to know that it was over, and you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore,
and that for the love of God why couldn’t it be me?
Oh, God, why
couldn’t it be me.
“So, what are we
doing tonight, little buddy?”
Herman repressed a
“Oh, I don’t
Flynn stood there
looking at the curtains, holding the warm set up to his ear and
grinning just like a Cheshire cat.
Guess who ain’t
a virgin no more.
A thought struck
Flynn was home alone
and why not?
let out a rebel yell sure to shock the dog and maybe even lift an
eyebrow next door.
Flynn was still
young, still full of piss and vinegar, and to hell with them anyways.
The phone was very
quiet after that little outburst.
I will be damned.
“Day-am it all,
little buddy, we got laid!”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m
happy for you, Buddy.”
That’s me, and
so cool, too.
Flynn laughed and
laughed and laughed.
All recollections of
Herman’s half-hearted efforts, finally begging off due to a blasted
headache of all the things—oh, how they had chuckled about women
and their headaches during many a bull-session over the long, lean
Flynn had forgotten
Herman lowered the
He felt sick to his
stomach, knowing that for the rest of his life, he would be living a
Flynn would remember
last night till the day he died, and so would Herman.
Flynn was gone. He
knew that now.
All of those girls,
it was not just Mickie. The hair, the eyes, the teeth, the tits and
They had the scent.
They had the legs and the mouths and the lips, the cute little
up-turned noses, the pussies and the belly-buttons and everything in
He only wished he
could hate her for it.
He hated himself
is everything I will never be.
About Harold C.
Harold C. Jones does
professional landscape design and is an avid sports fan. He started
writing as a hobby. He began taking it seriously when he realized he
had something to say. His work has helped him to come to terms with
himself, or perhaps explore himself would be more accurate. Harold
believes that homo-erotica is valid as literature, and that it can be
written in such a way that real stories of real people takes
precedence over mere prurience. It’s still a hot read.