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Goldilocks and His Three Bears
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Goldilocks and His Three Bears
by Sean Michael
Torquere Press
Copyright ©2007 by AM Riley
First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2007
NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser
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Goldilocks and His Three Bears
by Sean Michael
Chapter One
Oh my God, he was so dead.
Brian gauged the distance from the bed to the door. And
then the distance from the door to the window. And then he
pulled the coverlet up to his nose. "Hi fellas," he said.
"Well what do you know?" Six foot three of pure muscle
towered over the bed; Paul folded thick, tattoo-laden arms
across his chest.
Jim came around the other side, pulling in a meditative
way at his beard. It was hard to tell, most of the time, if Jim
was smiling or frowning under that thick, curly mass, but
Brian was pretty sure that this time Jim was not smiling.
"Hmmm?" Brian sat up, clutching the coverlet to him, and
looked down at the man lying in bed beside him. He couldn't
help but lick his lips. Because that? Was some midnight
snack.
"Grrrr," Scott growled into the pillow and turned sleepily
towards Brian. Those stubby, gold lashes barely lifted above
honey colored eyes. "What's goin' on, babe? Who turned on
the lights?" His eyebrows lifted as he caught sight of their
company. "Hey?" he said.
Paul and Jim exchanged looks across the California King-
sized bed.
And then they both looked down at Brian again.
Oh yeah. He was dead. And in that moment, Brian's short
life flashed before his eyes.
Well, okay, not his entire life. Because that would have
been uber-boring and Brian was lying in bed with a naked
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Goldilocks and His Three Bears
by Sean Michael
hunk beside him while two more leather daddies glared down
at him, and he really didn't have time to review the second
grade or his sweet sixteen party.
Actually, his first thought was 'how did I get into this mess'
and then of course he remembered. Daddy. It had all begun
with Daddy and the Faultline bar.
* * * *
Funky, unpretentious, and oh-so-affordable, the Faultline
was inarguably the best leather bar in the Silverlake area.
Brian came regularly. He had a fascination for the big,
leather-clad men, and had found that they liked his slim,
youthful body and curly, blond hair. It was a good place for
cheap beer and harmless flirtation.
Truth was, since Brian had landed in L.A. he'd been a little
lost, a little blown away. When they had said "Big City" back
home they had somehow managed to not mention how big.
Or how much like a little speck a guy could feel there.
Somehow, at the Faultline, surrounded by that forest of
manly men, he felt just a tad safer.
He was enjoying the Faultline's traditional Tuesday night
happy hour when a hand appeared on the bar a couple of
customers down.
The hand was like one that might have been seen on the
Roman god Vulcan; callused, muscled, and thick across the
middle. It slid money across the bar and received a longneck
in return. Brian's eyes fixated on that hand, then traveled
past a three inch wide studded wrist band to follow a
complicated nest of snakes twining and winding their way up
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Goldilocks and His Three Bears
by Sean Michael
a muscular arm, over shoulders as thick and succulent as a
roast ham, to an inked neck.
Trying to get a closer look, Brian squeezed his way past
two guys who reeked of new leather, looked up, and saw a
tattoo ad spraypainted over a body building commercial.
Six foot three at least. Bald as an egg and inked on every
inch of exposed skin. His Roman god stood out from the
crowd, even in a room full of big, burly men.
The man took a long drag on the bottle of beer and thick
throat muscles worked. There was a black adder tat that
started at the back of his shaved head and circled his thick
neck until it ended just below his earlobe, venom dripping
fangs gaping wide.
The man twisted his torso away from the bar and Brian
saw the tat that undulated over the man's six pack.
"D.A.D.D.Y. it proclaimed in letters four inches high.
Brian's fingers itched to trace it.
And then that vision from Olympus looked down and
noticed Brian's measly self.
"Hi there," he said, in one of those voices that carry across
a room full of noise. And he just reached out and fondled
Brian's head, his big fingers gentle in the curls. "Aren't you a
pretty little thing."
Brian melted. Something came out of his mouth. It
sounded suspiciously like"tee hee", and his head pressed up
into the caress, just like a puppy.
And that was it, really. Well, of course there was a beer or
two shared. The requisite flirtations. The man—Paul—reached
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