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Blake needs to blow off some steam.

Photo by Ben Warren on Unsplash

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Part 2

The sun was piercing through the slit in the curtains. The morning brought a cool breeze through the half-opened window, it danced along Blake’s half-naked body as he lay in bed. A white sheet wrapped around his muscular, tanned, and hairy body, as he lay motionless, fighting the urge to stay in bed.

“Fuck, it’s 10 AM already?” groaned Blake, rolling over to look at the time.
Brad had already gone to work, and Blake was still in bed with a raging hard cock. He was also dealing with the guilt of knowing that Brad was working while he was being lazy. No matter what Blake tried, he couldn’t get back to sleep. His mind took over with thoughts of finances before his imagination led him back to the hot young kid from the gym that he’d been fantasizing about.

“Well, there’s no one here to do it for me so I might as well…” Blake mumbled to himself, grabbing his fully erect eight-inch cock in his hand. Blake started to imagine the young kid he’d been fixated on from the gym. The kid had to be in his early twenties. His sexy toned body, nice six-pack abs, and cute round bubble-butt made a beautiful fantasy. Spreading his legs while playing with his nipples, Blake let out a loud moan, shooting thick rope after thick rope of sweet cum all over his chest and neck.

“Damn, that was hot!” Blake muttered. Now cum-soaked, Blake knew he had to hit the shower and get his day started. Blake had a lot of editing work to do in his photography studio, and he didn’t want Brad to think that he’d been lazy all day. Getting up from the bed and slowly walking into the bathroom, Blake turned on the water for the shower and got in. As he washed off the cum that was mangled in his chest hair, his mind started to wonder again about finances. Ever since he’d been laid off that always seemed to be on his mind.
“How are we going to pay the bills with me not working?” muttered Blake while washing his hair.

Photography was something that Blake had always loved since he was a teenager. Over the years, his skills improved drastically, and he had several showings of his photography around town. He did both landscape and model photography. Landscape photography brought in the most money, but his new passion was photographing models. After Blake and Brad’s last vacation to Utah, he had a couple of hundred photos to go through and edit for a series he wanted to do about National Parks of America.

Blake threw on some gym shorts and a white t-shirt and headed into his studio. Sitting down at his desk, he turned on the computer. While waiting for everything to load, his mind again got fixated again on finances, which led to him to feel unmotivated.
“Fuck it…” said Blake suddenly shutting down the computer. “I need to go to the gym to clear my mind and blow off some steam.”

Can I call you Uncle?

Can I Call You Uncle? is the first in the Coyote Tales series of erotic gay fiction written by Coyote and Gareth Johnson.

We’re currently serialising the story. This is the second instalment — read earlier episodes here.

Read more from Gareth Johnson

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Arts & Culture

Hoxton Street

London. Life.

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“Why are you limping?” asked Hamish, as he met Charlie for drink after work. They met in Howl At The Moon – it was busy with the after-work crowd.

“It’s a bit embarrassing…” mumbled Charlie, taking the pint of Guinness that Hamish had bought for him.

“A fisting accident?” asked Hamish.

“Nothing like that…” dismissed Charlie. “I’ve got a new job.”

“That’s great news!” said Hamish. “Why is that embarrassing? How is this related to you limping?”

“Um… well, I’ve taken a job with Sweatbox…” explained Charlie.

“Sweatbox?” repeated Hamish. “Sweatbox in Soho? Sweatbox the sauna?”

“Yes, exactly…” nodded Charlie. “They’re renovating at the moment. They called me in for what I thought was some training before they re-opened, but it turned out that the place is still a total building site so I spent the day lugging heavy boxes up and down stairs. Obviously, I’m not really used to manual labour, so now everything hurts. Everything.”

“Back it up…” said Hamish. “What do you mean you’ve taken a job with Sweatbox? What sort of job?”

“Um, just a general kind of team-member job…” shrugged Charlie.

“What the fuck?” laughed Hamish. “Why would you take a job like that? Are you that desperate for money?”

“Pretty much…” nodded Charlie, taking a long drink from his pint of Guinness. “It’s not just that – I thought it would be good for my writing and stuff, but mostly it’s for the money.”

“You are full of surprises…” grinned Hamish. “Wait, isn’t that going to be kind of awkward if I go to Sweatbox and I see you working there?”

“Why would that be awkward?” asked Charlie.

“Because I’m going to be in a towel, about to get my rocks off, and you’re going to be swishing around with a mop and bucket!” exclaimed Hamish. “It’s going to kind of kill the vibe a bit if I know that it’s you who’s going to have to wipe up my cum.”

“When you put it like that, it is a bit awkward…” agreed Charlie. “How often do you go to Sweatbox?”

“Not that often…” shrugged Hamish. “But probably more than you might expect. When do you start?”

“Not sure, to be honest…” replied Charlie. “I think they’re hoping to have it all open by the start of February. Anyway, how was your day?”

“Not bad…” said Hamish. “I spent most of my time working on Brexit-related stuff. Then, this afternoon, I had a meeting – I guess he’s technically my client, but he feels more like my boss. Without the money I get from him, I wouldn’t be able to pay my bills.”

“He’s definitely your boss…” decided Charlie. “How did the meeting go?”

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“I don’t know, it was weird…” shrugged Hamish. “He just kept saying how tired he was. How stressed he was. I’d gone in there thinking that I was pitching for more work and more money, but he just spent 30 minutes talking at me, telling me things that I already knew. After 30 minutes, he stopped, like he’d run out of things to say. So I said, is there anything else that you need from me today? And he said no. Total waste of time.”

“That’s probably how Theresa May feels…” said Charlie.

“Do not compare me to Theresa May!” declared Hamish, slapping the palm of his hand down onto the bar to emphasise the point. “Are you going to be able to get me a friends and family discount at Sweatbox?”

“I don’t know, to be honest…” shrugged Charlie. “I guess so. They give free entry if you’re under 25.”

“Are you suggesting that I could possibly pass for being younger than 25?” laughed Hamish. “You’re as delusional as Theresa May!”

This is the latest episode of the serial, Hoxton Street.

Read more from Gareth Johnson

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