Excerpt for The Cruising Chronicles: Slam Dunk by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

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The Cruising Chronicles: Slam Dunk

Copyright 2018 Harry F. Rey

Published by Harry F. Rey at Smashwords

She snuggled up to me on the bleachers as the basketball game raged beneath. The screeches of Nikes on the polished wooden floor of the court and the smacks of the ball only underscored the relative silence of the crowd who’d bothered to turn up for Ole Miss’ Tuesday evening exhibition match against Georgia State.

“What are you doing?” I asked her.

“What?” Shayla responded, a little hurt. She scooched even closer. “I’m cold.”

“Girl you're from Brooklyn.”

“It’s like sixty degrees outside.” She complained, passing me the popcorn tub.

“And winter in Mississippi is really something to complain about?”

“Look Jonah I’m here, aren’t I? Now do you want to spy on Sam or not?”

I tried to keep my face stern, but it cracked into a wide smile in a matter of moments. She was right. Spying on Sam was the main, no, sole purpose of trekking out on a, let’s say chilly, February evening.

“Which one is he again?” She said chewing a mouth full of popcorn.

“There,” I pointed out as my heart smiled at the sight of his beautifully elongated body. He looked just like a regular man except stretched out another six inches. I hoped for at least eight below those white baller shorts, although something inside me expected close to ten.

“Who? The six three white dude with the brown hair?”

“Yup, that’s him.”

“OK there’s like ten of them. Can you narrow it down?”

I suddenly took in the expanse of the entire court after having only eyes for Sam for the last hour. She had a point. This might be basketball, but it was still Mississippi.

I focused back on Sam as he bolted up the court for the Rebel’s next attack. The contours of his calf muscles visible even fifty feet away. The powerful legs that every night I imagined wrapped around my body pounded the court like some majestic gazelle galloping through the savannah. I imagined myself running with him through some endless grassland; two animals with nothing but freedom in front of them.

The attack seemed to be working. He waved his long, lanky, milk white arms in the air, marking himself open. But I could only see the back of his shirt. I needed that side on view. I needed that edge of armpit, the convex of muscle, smooth skin sprinkled with brown hair and sweat that I just wanted to bury my face inside and never move away.

“That one, number fourteen.”

“White or blue?”

“White vest! Damn, ain’t you paying attention?”

I glanced over and saw her taking in mightiness that is Sam as he leapt into the air towards the ball.

“Well now I am.”

He spun around, his body in orbit around the basketball, guiding it through space and time towards the waiting goal. I felt everything inside me twitch like I’d been spanked with an electric cattle prod. The blood rushed to my dick and it gave an approving burst of energy at the sight of Sam in his utmost prime.

The way he dribbled was pure poetry. Side to side, hands like plates smacking the ball back and forth, clearing a path before the leap of faith. I’d grown up watching my cousins and boys from school playing ball through chain linked-fences as I took myself home from the library, arms wrapped around books. I’d fantasized about so many guys in every color of jersey. I knew the moves, I knew the plays, I knew what to say to the boys at the end of a pick-up game to make them feel big and important. Sam needed none of that. He game was simply effortless.

“Woohoo!” Shayla screamed, throwing herself into the air along with everyone else as Sam dunked the ball straight through the hoop. The popcorn bucket dropped to the floor like a forgotten pair of socks, and I’m forced to flick kernels away as air horns deafen muted cheers celebrating his slam dunk.

“Damn.” She yelled. “You go Sam. We love you!”

“Shh!” I yanked her coat. “Be quiet, I know him.”

She sat back down with the biggest grin on her face and said:“Well you never told me that!”

“He’s in my philosophy discussion group.” I said with a sheepish look. I really just wanted to watch the smile on Sam’s face, not hers. He high-fived the rest of his team and they smacked him approvingly on the back with a few muted woops. The Rebels were still losing, and badly, with only about five minutes to go. Yet he bathed in the adoration. Normally his face looked so long and thin, which I loved, but I think I loved it even more as he grinned with pride, face lit up like he’d just played in the NBA. I pushed out the well-trod thoughts of him picking me up into the air after a championship match. His lover, his friend, his husband.

“So do you ever talk to him?” She asked, but I was distracted because Sam had just lifted up his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead. His exposed abs looked like a legend written in flesh, sculpted silky skin wrapped in brown hair that begged for it to be licked and worshiped from nipple to cock.

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