The Hobby Section (Miserable Tales)

The autumn cleaning continues! It’s quite interesting finding things I’d forgotten I’d written. As soon as I started reading The Hobby Section I remembered writing it one evening to my friend – the dashing Mr Fisher. I don’t really recall how it all came about but as so many other things I’ve written, it was a joke. I figured I might as well throw it in with the other stories in the Miserable Tales series so anyone who wants to can share in dear Walter’s dilemmas.

The Hobby Section

Walter inhaled the scent of old books and stale air. The days Subject five worked downstairs were his favourites. Libraries simply weren’t what they used to be—kids screaming, students lazing about, not to mention the computers littering the place. Libraries were made for books, but people had clearly forgotten that. The level below ground was all right, though. The archives to his right, a reading room to his left, and straight ahead was Subject five stacking and rearranging books on a bookshelf.

Subject five bent and reached for something on the bottom shelf showing off his pert arse. Walter groaned as his cock started to fatten. It was time to bring Subject five home.

He took a few steps farther into the hobby section, reaching down to rub himself through his tailored trousers with a trembling hand. Soon he would have Subject five struggling and whimpering underneath him.

Walter squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to remove his hand before he gave in to the urge of releasing himself from the shrinking cotton prison.

Subject five was making it harder than it should be. He was, of course, aware of Walter watching, the little tease. Why else would he fall to his knees and wiggle that fine arse in the air? His muttering and reaching for something behind the books on the bottom shelf was all for show. Walter knew Subject five was toying with him and yet he found himself panting like a mindless teenager.

There would be payback once they got home.

Subject five didn’t know it yet, but Walter had prepared a room for him. It was right next to Subject two’s. He had decorated Subject two’s room in bright colours, shelf after shelf of children’s books. It was perfect for him since he’d worked in the children’s section before Walter had the chance to fetch him. Subject five deserved something altogether different. The shelves in his room were filled with crafting books—the hobby section, that was where he’d first laid eyes on Subject five, that was where he belonged.

“Erm, excuse me.”

Walter whirled around and saw a young woman completely dressed in black with blood red hair and dramatic makeup. He scowled as she looked him up and down. How dare she interrupt?

Subject five got to his feet with a smile on his face. “Yes?”

“Did you know that old dude was watching your butt while stroking himself?”

Subject five gave him a horrified look, his eyes dropping to Walter’s tenting trousers before he took a hurried step away.

“Just thought I’d let you know.” The woman shrugged and reached for a book about knitting before turning to leave. “Check the surveillance tape; I’ve seen him here before.” She nodded towards a camera in the ceiling and slipped away. Walter started sweating, his erection dwindling at the sight of the camera. When had they installed cameras?

He needed to get out of there. A perfectly nice library ruined! Subject five would have to wait. He’d dreamt about collecting him from within the library, but he’d have to rethink his plan. Walter would simply have to wait for a day he could take him from the car park.

He hurried away, taking the stair two steps at a time until he reached ground level. There, he took a right turn as soon as he made it out the doors.

Subject six’s library didn’t have cameras.

Apart From You – A Horror Flash (Miserable Tales)

I was doing a bit of an early autumn cleaning on my laptop and found a flash. Apart From You was part of Queer Sci Fi’s Annual Flash Fiction Contest (ended up in a fifth place) 2015. And since it’s such a happy little tale I thought I’d throw it in among the other happy tales in the Miserable Tales Series.

It’s only 300 words long so I won’t bother putting it up on any retailers, but if you want to you can read it here.

Apart From You

Don felt light, free. He hit the button on the radio and danced along with the pop tunes. In the middle of a pirouette, he opened the fridge door but stopped short as he saw a bowl of minced meat. Not even meatloaf could ruin this fine day; it might even make it better. Travis loved meatloaf.

He took out the bowl before glancing at the clock. Where had this day gone? He couldn’t remember doing anything. His heart sped up. Apart from getting up this morning, he couldn’t recall any part of the day.

Don tried to shrug it off, but the lightness in his chest was gone. He forced himself to breathe and went to get the dried bread crumbs out of the pantry.

The handle was sticky in his hand. He pressed it down, ignoring the way the hairs on his neck stood on edge. The light flicked on, and he steeled himself.

His shelves were discoloured. A dark brownish red liquid was everywhere. The pantry resembled a butcher’s shop. Cuts of meat were hanging from the ceiling. The rusty smell made him wrinkle his nose. Don’s eyes fell on Travis wedding ring. It shone brightly in the light of the lamp, still attached to a hand—Travis’ hand.

The sharp taste of bile took over Don’s mouth; he had to swallow it down. What was Travis’ hand doing there?

He took a step back, closed the pantry door, and raised his hand to rub his forehead. His fingers were stained, his nails dirty. Sweat coated his skin. How could he have missed how soggy his clothes were? A splatter of dark red was all over him.

Then he started laughing. What had he been thinking? Meatloaf? There was already a steak in the oven.


The Porcelain Santa


The Flash Fiction Holiday Blog Hop is here! The stories should all fit under the GLBTQ umbrella, and they should include three things:

A winter holiday theme

A “bad boy” character

A gift of some kind

To read the other authors’ stories, click on the blue frog above and you’ll be taken to their links.


The Porcelain Santa

Sprawled on the window seat, I watched the snow falling outside. I love this time of year, love the preparations, the anticipation, and the serenity that comes with Christmas. The cup in my hand warmed my skin, and my flat smelled of candles and holiday biscuits. Even the normally depressing courtyard outside my window could’ve starred as a motif on a Christmas card with the glistening snow that clung to every surface. I closed my eyes with a content sigh…and heard the all too familiar noise of a snowmobile. Flying up into a sitting position, I made the tea in my cup spill over the rim and onto my fingers. The snowmobile was skidding over the yard—messing up the untouched snow. That fucking idiot! Why did he always have to destroy everything?

I glared at Zach through the window, he knew I was there of course, and he turned to give me a cheeky smile before heading for the front door. Bastard! I blew out the candles and stomped out to the kitchen where I poured the remaining tea down the sink. Since the day he’d moved in he’d ruined things for me. Always loud, always there, always so fucking handsome. I wanted to strangle him.


CC0 Public Domain

I might have stayed a little longer than usual in bed the following morning, and I might have taken a little longer to eat my breakfast, but no matter how much I delayed it, I had to go to work—my last workday before the holiday.

Zach always went before I did, about eight minutes before. But today he was late. I sighed, making the glass in the peephole fog. Finally I saw his door open on the other side of the hallway. I closed my eyes and counted to a hundred before I opened my door, sauntered down the eight steps, and went outside with a quick look around. Zach was nowhere to be seen, I could’ve sagged in relief.

“Hey, Benji! Wait up!” Where the hell had he been hiding? I gave him an icy stare. His confident grin made me want to smack him. Or kiss him. Either or. Those warm dark eyes glowed, and I just loved the way his black hair became a curly mess when it got a little too long. The knitted cap he wore today hid most of his curls, and it infuriated me that I felt disappointed for being unable to see them.

“You shouldn’t be walking in this weather. Come on let me drive you to work.”

“I’m not getting on that snowmobile,” I exclaimed appalled.

His lips twitched as he fought a laugh. “I do have a car, you know.”

I hadn’t known that, he was on that damned Ski-Doo all the time. “Then why do you ride that thing?”

“Because you’re pretty when you’re angry.” I gaped at him. The nerve! I was not pretty, and I did not get angry. I was hardly ever angry! “See, like that,” he said, and I swear his eyes twinkled. “Come on, I drive past your work anyway.”

“How would you know where I work?”

Zach raised a brow. “You work at Simon’s, everyone knows that.”

Everyone did not know that, hardly anyone knew that. Of course people knew that I worked there, it’s a café and people aren’t blind, but…

We reached the garage, and it turned out Zach did have a car. “Here, let me take your bag.” He took it and held the passenger door open. I squinted at him before climbing in. He took an awfully long time walking around the car, and once he started driving he was looking more at me than on the traffic. “So, Benji, where will you be spending Christmas?”

“At home,” I grumbled.

“Not going anywhere?”


“Not having anyone over?”

“No.” I didn’t look at him. Since he kept looking at me, I felt the need to keep my eyes on the road.

“Why don’t you talk to me?

“Have nothing to say.”

Zach nodded. “We’ll change that.”

I snorted, relieved that we’d reached Simon’s. Jumping out of the car I noticed Zach doing the same. I frowned as he handed me my backpack. I can’t believe I forgot it.

“See you later,” Zach said with a kind of smile I hadn’t seen before. What was he up to? His eyes were soft, but that grin made me cautious. I nodded and went to work.


The smile that had played on my lips the entire way home from work, died when I unlocked the front door. My hand-painted porcelain Santa Claus was crushed, there were tiny pieces all over the hallway floor.

Someone had been in my flat! My stomach clenched as I peered into the living room. No one there.

That’s when I noticed a box of chocolate on the hall table where the Santa had been. A note was sticking out of it. I took it and read, “I have a gift for you. Love Zach.”

I stared at it, stared at the broken Santa, and swung around. That fucking bastard! I stomped over to his flat and banged on the door. He opened it, a look of uncertainty flitted across his face before his usual confident grin took over.

“What the fuck did you do?”

“I…er…I was gonna leave you a box of chocolate.”

“So you picked my lock?”

“Well, yeah. You really should get a tumbler lock.”

“What the fuck, Zach!”

“Yeah…but, I wanted to give you something tonight, so when I had the chance by the car this morning, I slipped your calendar out of your bag—only to make sure you’d be free. I picked your lock to leave the note, I never meant to break the china thing!”

“Why would you do such a thing?” My jaw ached from how hard I was grinding my teeth.

“To make you come over here,” he answered as if obvious.

“Why would I come over here?”

“To have dinner with me.” He stepped aside to show a beautifully set table with candles and white lilies. “But now I realize that we need to go down to the novelty shop to get you a new porcelain thing.”

“Was my calendar the gift you were referring to in the note,” I groused, annoyed with myself for not being angrier with him.

His nose crinkled. “Of course not! That was just to check if you were free.”

“So…dinner is the gift?”

“Yeah…well, I was thinking…kinda like…er…I’m the gift.”

I felt my eyes go wide. “You’re the gift?”

“Yeah, look I have a ribbon and everything.” He started to unbutton his jeans.

“Zach!” He looked up and winked. “That’s so fucking lame,” I breathed and felt my face warm.

He smiled and shrugged. “Yeah, but I’m serious. I’m yours if you’ll have me.”

“What the hell are you playing at?”

“Oh, come on, baby. You’re not that blind, are you? I like you. I want you.”

“But, you’re always making me angry.”

“Noo, I always make you notice me.” He leaned in, his breath ghosted over my skin. He lingered there, his lips almost touching mine. I heard myself whimper. He kissed me then, holding me close while exploring my mouth. I moaned, and his lips stretched into a smile. “Come on, let’s go buy you a new figurine.”

I nodded, a little dazed. He blew out the candles, grabbed his jacket, put his hand down the front of his jeans, and pulled out a red ribbon that he tossed into his flat before closing the door behind us.


The End