Comet Light Over Us
My name is Jared, I'm sixty-two years old, and last August I did something completely out of character.
Gay Male stories. Gay Male stories, from quick reads to long series. Reads run 16 to 21 minutes. Writers to know: The Hazel Tale, Timber Archive and Current of North. Readers usually start with “Comet Light Over Us” and “The Listing Party”. Ranked by how many readers finish them. Some are free to read in full; the rest open with a free preview.
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My name is Jared, I'm sixty-two years old, and last August I did something completely out of character.
Ian did most of his thinking while he chopped things, which was one reason he liked being a caterer.
The wall between my apartment and Joe's is about as thick as a wet paper towel, so at 2 a.m.
The last job I lost was at a bistro in the city.
Nelson Duncan was sixty-four years old and his knee had strong opinions about the Swiss Alps before he even got out of the rental car.
The call came in at four in the afternoon, right when the rain went from steady to stupid.
The brasserie on Rue des Trois Rois had maybe nine tables and a ceiling fan that spun like it resented its job.
I've been going to storage auctions for six years now.
*This one came from the idea of two people meeting for a hookup and finding their lives intersect in ways neither planned.
The fake wedding cake had gotten everywhere.
Callum Buckley was twenty-nine years old, and he was wet.
My birthday is in three days, which is a thing I keep forgetting to mention to people, because nobody asks anymore.
I'm Lawrence, twenty-eight, and I work at a bank, which is exactly as fun as it sounds.
Preston had been at his desk since six in the morning, and by nine that night the words on his screen had stopped meaning anything.
I turned forty-seven in March, and by June my company had decided I should move to Denver, effective September first.
The house lacked air conditioning, and the temperature made its feelings known.
Six months since Dev moved out, and I've gotten so used to the quiet that I sort of treat it like a roommate now.
It's been a year now, and I still can't get through the whole thing in my head without stopping somewhere around the balcony.
I woke up at six something in the morning in a bed that wasn't mine, in a room that smelled like cedar and sulfur, and for about four…
The bike was still standing there when Desmond threw the rig in reverse, which in hindsight was the problem.
The Hazel Tale, Timber Archive, Current of North, Delta Route