Good morning friends and readers! Today I have a special post for you- the much belated beginning of my new Story Orgy story has finally arrived!
Please meet Izzy and Owen, two modestly ambitious archaeology students who are about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime. Look for updates all this week as I write and edit like the wind to get caught up with Hank, who is sharing the fourth episode of his story today. (Link below)
Mum's the Word
Chapter One
Aug 3: "It's my belief we're all crazy."
“What kind of music do mummies listen to?”
“You’re crazy.” Ignoring his roommate’s greeting, Izzy dropped down onto the battered brown sofa beside Owen. He didn’t care that he smelled of gasoline, grass, and sweat from an afternoon of mowing lawns at his landscaping job.
It felt good not to support his own weight, so he let his head fall back and sank into the cushions in a tired sprawl, using the edge of his mother’s old coffee table to pry off his sneakers. If Roberta Waters had seen it she’d have been appalled, but then there wasn’t much about Isaac Waters that wouldn’t have appalled his mother these days, from his threadbare jeans to his raggedy hair to his part-time boyfriend.
Said boyfriend didn’t look up from the tablet he perched on his knee, just shoved a white and red cardboard pizza box on the floor toward Izzy with his toe. “It’s my belief that-”
“We’re all crazy.” Having heard the statement, and various long winded explanations
of Owen’s pet theory many times in the past six years, Izzy finished for him. Stretching his arms toward the ceiling until his bones cracked, he rolled his head. Izzy leaned forward and flipped open the box lid. He scowled at the contents. “I don’t like pineapple on pizza.” His stomach grumbled loudly at the criticism.
“And I don’t like salty fish.”
Anchovies and pineapple. Irreconcilable differences. Just one reason for that part time status. Izzy and Owen made great roommates because of their shared interests in archeology, B-movies, and the male anatomy, but made a lousy couple because as much as they were alike, they had certain quantifiable, unalterable, unacceptable differences.
“You could have at least gotten it half and half.” And that was the biggest difference of all. The one Izzy couldn’t get past. Where Izzy was happy to compromise, Owen wanted his own way all the time and saw only his own point of view.Izzy had seen in his parent’s marriage what happened when one person… his mother… did all the compromising. The other partner turned into a petty tyrant, like his father, who flew off the handle at the least sign of rebellion from his spouse or progeny.
Shrugging off the unwelcome thoughts, Izzy picked up a slice and plucked off a few offending tidbits of fruit. Beggars can’t be choosers. And by hanging out here all summer with Owen instead of going home to Oakwood Crescent, with its shiny three story pseudo-antebellum houses, country club wives and white-toothed, tennis-skirt wearing daughters, he’d chosen to be a beggar, hadn’t he?
At least, that’s how his father had put it.
“Nope. Jose said no more freebies. This is what was leftover at the end of my shift, so this is what I got. Dude called in the order and never showed to pick it up.”
“Free is good.” Spicy tomato sauce exploded on his tongue and his stomach growled again in appreciation. “Mmm.” There was just the slightest tang of pineapple leftover, but the garlic and tomato and cheese… “Mmm.”
Owen flicked his finger at the tablet screen and the television in front of them sparked into life. A damsel let out a distressed scream. The image froze. “You seen this one?”
Izzy snorted in disgust. “The Mummy, 1959, Terence Fisher. Gotta try harder. This one’s a classic.”
“Can’t believe Ernesto retired.” Owen returned immediately to the topic that had haunted their summer. Professor Ernesto Gamez had headed the archeology department at UM since decades before Owen and Izzy had taken their first intro to arch 101 class six years earlier.
“Whatever they say. He didn’t retire. He was forced out.” Izzy eyed his pizza gloomily. The previous spring his… their… favorite professor had been targeted by a hate campaign. “No way he molested that girl. Dude was gayer than a Pride Parade.”
“Way he checked out Peterson’s ass? No doubt.” Owen agreed gloomily, reaching for another slice of pizza.
“When does the semester start again?” Izzy dropped the gnawed crust of his own slice back in the box.
“Friday. You think we still have jobs?” It had been a long, hard summer. They’d managed to scrape by with a collection of low wage jobs by canceling everything except their internet services, not running the air conditioning and eating a lot of pizza from Owen’s delivery job.
“I’m going to assume so until I hear otherwise.” Professor Gamez had hired them as his TA’s for the coming year, which should have allowed for plenty of time to complete their dissertations, gain some classroom experience, deliver a few lectures, grade a few papers. When the professor had lost his job, they’d lost their internships for the summer, and the much needed field work. Losing the teaching positions would be devastating.
“They’d have called.” Owen muttered. They sat together in morose silence, staring at Isobel Banning running from the horrible Mummy’s embrace. The chirp- chirp of Owen’s phone broke the silence.
Prophetic. Please let it be the bursar’s office. Izzy crossed his toes and reached for another slice of pizza. “Answer it.” He muttered through his bite.
“Nichols.” Owen put on a cheerful, professional tone. His expression stilled, eyes widening. “Yes sir. Yes, we’re still available. Early? Tomorrow morning?”
Izzy let the pizza fall. Tomorrow? He had to work tomorrow. “I have a shift at the nursing home.”
Owen shook his head frantically, covered Izzy’s lips with a pizza scented finger. Effectively hushed, Izzy decided to take his revenge by nipping and sucking.
“Eight o’clock. We’ll be there. Thank you sir.” Owen disconnected the call and tossed his phone onto the floor, expression a mix of elation and arousal. “We still have our jobs!” he shouted, then toppled them both to the floor by tackling Izzy.
“Awesome,” Izzy murmured, distracted by the weight of Owen’s sturdy body… the lust that instantly burned away his tiredness and the ache of his muscles from hours of mowing lawns. That ridiculous second job that had helped pay the rent all summer.
“Mega awesome…” Owen’s hands dug under Izzy’s shirt, reaching for his nipples, as though he needed any foreplay. Then again, he did enjoy the pinch and pull.
“Ahh.” He sighed, arching, rubbing his firming cock against Owen’s thigh, his roommate’s thin athletic shorts scant barrier to the growing heat of his erection.
What followed was quick, dirty and just the sort of thing he needed to loosen up after a hard day of physical labor. They twisted and contorted themselves in the narrow space between sofa and table until they were able to get the kind of pressure that escalated sensation to the breaking point. Grunting and grinding their way to sticky, messy satiety was a matter of minutes.
***
“So…” Owen peeled himself away from the tangle of limbs with a grimace.
“Hm?” Izzy mumbled sleepily.
“You never answered. What kind of music--”
“Pfft. Wrap Music, of course.” Izzy blinked at him, and Owen almost got lost again in the depths of those blue eyes. Sometimes, he felt like there was more Izzy hiding in there than the whole world knew about, and if he could just stare long enough without feeling like a creep, he’d find out something real important. But staring was creepy, and uncomfortable, so he jumped back to a familiar topic.
If you enjoyed my post, click on over to the rest of the Orgiasts and read more!
Good news is, I finally
have a blurb for A Man of Unusual Talent. I won't share it all- after all the
editor hasn't seen it yet, but here's a bit I'm especially fond of:
The thing I'm most
excited about is that it's nearly September. The year just zoomed by, and now I
get to work with Havan Fellows again. Last year we co-wrote a great book,
Christmas in His Heart. It was an amazing experience- we had some kind of
creative synergy going on. I never got stuck once or had a day where the words
weren't there when I needed them to be. I'm looking forward to replicating that
experience as we write a second holiday story- this one featuring two characters-
Chaz and Sprocket- who were introduced in Christmas in His Heart. Chaz has been
talking to me, and apparently he's not pleased with the leisurely pace we've
taken in writing his story. It seems he has a master plan. You know the sort?
Own your own restaurant by the time you turn thirty, get married at thirty-two…
etc. He's got an internal clock ticking for some reason. I'll keep you posted
on that. 
