Life is a Stevie Wonder Song
V.L. Locey


Brandon Clay

24,600 words

December 30, 2015

Authors know that their muse is a fickle creature. Best-selling spy novelist
Stephen Ramsey has been in a hate-hate relationship with his inspiration for
months. When Stephen's publisher lays a legal ultimatum upon him, with a
rapidly approaching deadline, he knows he must do something to kick-start his
creativity or face the unemployment line. His daughter comes up with a possible
answer: a summer camp for the creative soul. With nothing to lose, Stephen
packs up his laptop, phonograph and beloved record albums and heads from
Greenwich Village to the Catskill Mountains.

There, among a horde of
college students attending for extra credits, is Declan Pomeroy, a photographer
of fey creatures who is twenty-two years younger than Stephen. The woods are a
magical place, and he quickly finds himself falling under the spell of the
free-spirited photographer. Confusion wars with desire inside Stephen as he
succumbs to the feelings welling up inside. But, sadly, summer camp always has
to end. Can a man who has just found himself really leave the person that makes
his heart sing?

Then he appeared from
the tree line, a lithe, pale creature of the Finnish goddess Mielikki’s woods
if ever I had seen one. Yay for that semester of world mythology back in
college finally paying off. Declan wore nothing but a scrap of linen tied
around his lean waist and a camera around his neck. I swallowed and stepped
down off the porch, anxious to get closer to him. He waited patiently for me.
As I drew closer, I could hear him humming. A smile tweaked my lips. It was
Stevie Wonder’s Signed, Sealed, Delivered.
“You look like you
have too much on,” Declan announced when I stood in front of him. I
glanced down at my attire. Gym shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers sans socks.
“How would you feel about doing this nude?” My sight knifed back from
my clothes to my guide into the Twilight Zone.
“You’re not
naked,” I pointed out once I could speak around the knot of desire
clogging my throat.
“I usually am, but
I figured you’d be far too uptight to not have clothes on, so, I fashioned a
makeshift chiton to cover my goodies.”
“Okay. Yes, I'm
not comfortable with our goodies hanging out.” He glanced up at the fat
moon over our heads, then sighed dramatically. “I can do no shirt and no
shoes, however.”
Declan’s gaze returned
to me from Madame Luna. He made a sort of cooing sound then rose to his tiny
toes to press his lips to mine. It was a soft peck, our mouths touching for a
mere second, but it did things to my perceptions of who Steven Ramsey is that I
still cannot fully explain.
“I think I'd like
to see you without a shirt,” he whispered over my lips.
“What are you
doing?” I croaked. He shrugged a shoulder, then dropped back down to stand
flat-footed. “Stop it, okay? I'm old enough to be your father.”
He smiled then spun
around, his bare back gleaming pure white. I wanted to touch his skin, trace
the knobs of his spine with my tongue. This whole thing was pure insanity, yet
I hurried to strip off my old T-shirt and kick off my sneakers. Declan glanced
over his shoulder, smiled again, and then rushed off into the night, the coquette.
I followed because what else could I do? Not traipsing after the kid was
impossible. The grass was cool and wet under my bare soles. The high whine of a
mosquito zipped past my ear. I would be nothing but a massive bug bite in the
morning. I walked behind Declan, swatting at the air, hoping I didn’t step on
something that would require stitches or a tetanus shot. We stepped into the
woods. I debated going back for my shoes.
“We have to be as
silent as possible,” Declan, standing on my right, whispered.
“Shoes are
quiet,” I replied, my hand resting on the scraggy bark of an old pine.
“Shoes don’t allow
you to touch the earth.”
“They also don't
allow thorns to penetrate your flesh,” I parried. My guide grunted in
consternation then set off once again. A million questions bounced around my
head as I tenderly placed one foot down then the other. What kind of camera did
he use? Was there a special ethereal film for capturing fey? Did I need
therapy? Did I just step on a slug?
We walked deeper into
the woods. The farther we traveled, the more I wanted to speak up or at least
scoff. I was working on a good zinger when I ran into Declan’s bare back. He
threw up a hand to silence me. My body tightened from a weird combination of
fear and desire. The kid felt wonderful pressed against my chest, his clammy
skin resting against mine. I peered over his head, my hand coming to rest on
his left hip. Declan leaned back into me just the slightest bit. My cock began
to swell. My eyelids drifted down as he wiggled enticingly closer still.
“Look at the hazy
ring around the moon,” Declan whispered. My fingers dug into his bony hip.
I opened my eyes and looked up. We were on the edge of a small glen. He lifted
up his camera and snapped several images as I stared at the milky white fingers
of magic tickling the moon. “Now look at the ground.” I did. There,
in the center of the small glen, was a small, perfectly circular ring of
mushrooms perhaps ten feet wide. “That's known as a fairy ring.”
“Huh,” I
grunted, my body trying desperately to take over the show. Declan had to feel
my erection resting against his pert ass. He seemed perfectly as ease with a
hard dick between his buttocks. I, on the other hand, was slowly going mad. I
longed to lower my mouth to his neck and lick the sweat from his skin. I also
wanted to run away screaming to the world that I was not a faggot, but was I?
It certainly looked it. Declan lowered his camera and took a few shots of the
white mushrooms.
“I've heard tales
of the fey blessing those who stand in a fairy ring under a full moon. Would
you like to go stand in the ring, Steven?” he asked. I nodded. He slid out
of my grasp and reached back to find my hand. His fingers were thinner than
mine. He pulled me into the glen. I glanced up, then back. “Are you afraid
that someone will see us cuddling in the fairy ring?”

“At the moment,”
I stepped carefully over several large mushrooms,” I'm afraid of
everything, mostly you.”

Author Pic
V.L. Locey loves worn
jeans, yoga, belly laughs, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology,
the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.)
She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, two dogs, two cats, a flock
of assorted domestic fowl, and three Jersey steers.
When not writing spicy
romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills
of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand. She can also be found online
on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and GoodReads.
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Winner’s Prize: Digital Copy of Life is a Stevie Wonder Song