EPUB Ebooks: Free ebook sample of "Masculinity" by Wendy Coleman

Masculinity

A thirty something with dark hair and a well groomed goatee stabs his fork into a runny fried egg and it bleeds all over the cheap diner plate. He stuffs his face with his over salted breakfast, dipping his burnt wheat toast in the dark yellow egg ooze. An old, faded tribal tattoo covers the left side of his neck, sticks out from his open collared, white dress shirt and whips across his windpipe. He continuously wipes his face not wanting to stain his well fitted Armani suit. He sits next to a foggy window, occasionally looking out onto the cold, dark, early morning street.

“Its way too fucking early,” says a tall, young looking man as he slings a newspaper on the table and plops down hard in the red leather booth. He dons a white Corona t-shirt and an out of place, wrinkled, light brown sports coat. His tattoos come out of his cuffs, trail over his hands and creep up his fingers. His hair is light blonde and wild. His left eye is red and irritated.

The dark haired man breaks away from his breakfast and sips on his pitch black coffee. He exudes coolness and professionalism with every movement but smiles widely as he looks at the young man behind his coffee cup. “Damn,” he says chuckling, “You’re eye is all jacked up.”

“Yeah, you noticed,” the younger man says scratching his scruffy, unshaved baby face while yawning and flipping through a thin, weekday newspaper.

“What happened?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“Well, . . .I jizzed in my eye.”

The dark haired man laughs hard, his second sip of coffee leaking out of the corner of his mouth, “You what?!”

“I jizzed in my eye,” the young man repeats looking at the reflection of his red eye in a spotty diner knife.

“Bullshit!”

“I swear to god! I was lying down on the sofa, rubbing one out and it like fuckin’ arched over my chest and right on my face.”

“You don’t have that kind of range,” the dark haired man says shaking his head.

“Don’t have that kind of range? What are you talking about? Of course I do!”

“It’s a dick, not a fire hose,” the dark haired man says.

“I’ll bet when you whack off, you just rub it out as quickly as you can, huh? The young man says looking across the table at his friend, who seems more interested in chewing his food than listening to the conversation. “You do, don’t ya?” he insists while stealing a piece of half cooked bacon and chewing it.

“Kinda,” the sharp dressed man says, pulling a wad of napkins from the dispenser.

“Yeah, well, stop jacking off like you’re worried mom’s gonna catch you. Damn that’s salty!” the young man says reaching across the table and swiping the other man’s water, taking down a few gulps.

“You can’t just rush it like that. What you need to do is build up the intensity to the point where you feel like your cock is about to explode, and then back off a bit,” the young man says while crunching on ice and casually stretching his neck. “You see the key is to build up the pressure for a more intense orgasm.”

“Yeah, I know how to do it”, the dark haired man says now completely uninterested and digging his spoon into the greasy grits on his plate.

“I made it across the living room the other night. That’s like ten feet”, he says finally throwing his paper to the side and opening a menu.

“Fucking Christ . . . You need to get out more.”

“What I need is a good pair of goggles”, the young man says, flipping through the pages of the old menu.

“So what happened with Jill?” the dark haired man asks not even looking up.

“We broke up”, he says running his hands through his blonde bed head.

The dark haired man just smiles but says nothing.

“What can I get you?” a young waitress says walking up and flipping open a well used notepad, her pen poised and ready, her brunette hair, black eyes and flawless skin noticeable.

“Do you have anything on this menu that’s absolutely, 100% jiz-free?” the young man says with a smirk.

She rolls her eyes annoyed but not the least bit disturbed by his crude question.

“Come on, give her a break,” the dark haired man says.

“You know, in all honesty,” she says looking back at the kitchen, “with that crew, I don’t think so,” she says, matching his ornery grin.

“That’s terrific,” the dark haired man says throwing up his hands.

“What do you eat here?” the young man asks the waitress.

“Fruit,” she says casually twirling her hair with her index finger.

“It’s not on the menu... I looked.”

“I bring it from home.”

“You bring it from home?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any left?”

“Well, I had big banana earlier . . .but I ate it. Sorry.”

“Was it good?”

“Really good,” she says with a flirty smile, “It was a Chiquita.”

“Oh, I love those.”

The dark-haired man rolls his eyes.

“If I had another I’d give you one.”

“I know you would, baby, I know you would,” the young man says pulling out a fat money clip and tossing two hundred dollar bills in the menu and closing it.

“I think I’ll just have a coke but,” he says holding onto the menu for just a second longer; “I want you to make it for me.”

Her eyes widen. She grabs the menu excitedly and runs off towards the kitchen.

“Well, that’s just great!” the dark haired man says tearing more sugar packets into his coffee.

“What?”

“Well, apparently, I just had the sperm grand slam.”

“Oh, relax, she was kidding.”

“I hope so.”

“I’m gonna ask her out before I leave”, the young man says leaning back in his booth and casually fondling a straw wrapper.

“Sure.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” he says with a sigh.

“Oh yeah!” the young man says loudly, making the dark haired man jump a little. “Get this, I get a call last week and it’s John and he’s fucking hysterical, right? Crying and just freaking out.”

“Why?”

“Ok, . . his wife was out of town, right, so John invited that secretary, what’s her name?”, he says snapping his fingers trying to jog his memory, “We met her last year at the Christmas party.”

“Michelle,” the dark haired man says leaning back and belching.

“Yeah, Michelle,” he says, his voice excited.

“She’s pretty nice.”

“Just wait, just wait. So anyway, he’s fucking her, right? On his wife’s favorite suede leather couch. You know the one I’m talking about..... Right?” as he reaches over to steal more food from his plate.

“Jesus...order your own.” He says swatting at his hands.

“Anyway, he decides to fuck this chick up the ass, right, and she, . . . she”, the young man starts laughing hysterically, his voice becoming inaudible.

“What?” the dark haired man says.

“She . . .”, the young man laughs uncontrollably.

“What?”, the dark haired man says, smiling and impatiently waiting for the gold nugget.

“She . . . she!”, the young man’s eyes tear up and he tries to get it out but his language is muffled by the laughter.

“SHE WHAT!? Come on, your killing me!”

“She shit all over the couch”, he says before becoming overwhelmed in laughter and slamming his hands on the table. “We’re not talking an ordinary shit either! We’re talking a real mudslide.”

“Jesus!” the dark haired man says smiling and rubbing his forehead in disbelief.

“I just saw the aftermath”, he says finally controlling his laughter. “I came over to help him clean it up but it was no use, man, no use! It looked like the couch had been peppered by a shit colored paint ball gun!”, he says holding up his hands like a machine gun and making firing sounds with his mouth.

“Jesus! What’d his wife do?”

“No, . .No man. I’m not finished yet. I haven’t even got to the good part”, he says stealing a napkin and drying his eyes. “You see, he figured he’d just pin it on the dog, right, you know that big lab of his, Maximus?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, man, but here’s the thing, it worked too well. Linda was so mad; when John went to work, she took the dog to the vet, right, and had him put down. Maximus is dead man! He’s fucking gone!”, the young man says, rolling in laughter once more.

“Holy shit! Really?”

“That bitch fucking murdered his dog!”

“Jesus! I liked that dog.”

“Yeah, well, he did too and he hates that bitch now more than ever. Hell, I was on the phone with him for two hours the other night trying to talk him out of killing her.”

“Pshh, Why?, . .fucking cunt.”

“I don’t know”, the young man says draining out the last bit of laughter and leaning back in the booth, seemingly exhausted from his comedic story. He continues to blot his eyes with the napkin. “Is that a black berry?” he says pointing at the phone across the table.

“Yeah.”

The young man laughs a little.

“What?” the dark haired man says defensively.

“What’s with you lately?”

“What?”

“What’s with you lately? Are you trying to pull off the whole wall street look or something?”

“What are you talking about? This is what you call the professional look. You should try it sometime.”

“Whatever.”

“Look at you. Did you even comb your hair this morning?”

“Hey professional is one thing but you look my Morgan Stanley guy. And why the hell do you need this?” the young man says holding up his smart phone.

“I need it for business”, the dark haired man says quickly snatching it from his hand.

“We’re in the same line of work, seriously, why?”

“Phone numbers, contacts, Jesus! What do you think?” the dark haired man says wrestling the small dessert menu out from behind the napkin dispenser.

“Uh huh.” The young man scans across the room and then quickly looks at his watch. “So, how long do we wait?”

“We wait until it’s time.”

“How long is that gonna be?”

“When they tell us it’s time.”

“That sucks.”

“It could always be worse. You could be that guy over there”, the dark haired man says, pointing with his eyes towards a janitor preparing to clean the restrooms. “You could be cleaning up shit at four in the morning.”

“At least I wouldn’t be bored.”

“Do you realize how much you complain?” the dark haired man sighs.

“So, I like to express myself”

“Well, stop.”

“Why?”

“Because your whining gives me the shits, that’s why.”

The young man picks up his smart phone again. “You got any games on this?”

“Give me that before you break it”, the dark haired man says jerking it out of his hand again.

The young man leans back and looks around impatiently watching the dark haired man grab the menu again. “Ok. I got a joke for you” he says sitting back up in his booth with excitement.

“I wonder if they have any pie here?” the dark haired man says ignoring him and flipping through the menu.

“Man, you don’t need dessert, now listen. This one’s gold.”

“What do you mean I don’t need dessert?” he says looking at him intensely.

“You don’t need it.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean “why”? You just ate that monster breakfast.”

“Are you saying I’m fat?”

“Well, no, but you are carrying some extra weight.”

“I’m actually losing weight, for your information.”

“Really?” he says his face scrunching up, not believing him.

“I’ve been controlling my carbs.”

“Well, control them harder. Anyway, this priest and this rabbi walk into a barmitsfa, right? This little boy drops a toy, bends over to pick it up right in front of the priest and the priest goes “Damn, I’d like to screw that” and the Rabbi goes “Outta what?” He waits for a laugh.

The dark haired man just smirks.

“What, not funny?”

“It was alright.”

“Oh come on. That was funny.”

The man keeps looking at his belly and adjusting his outfit.

“What?”

“You just called me fat.”

“I didn’t call you fat. I said you’re carrying some extra weight.”

“Same thing.”

“No it’s not”

“It’s just, . .you know, I’ve been working real hard on this diet thing and you don’t seem to give a shit.”

“Oh come on”, the young man says rolling his eyes, “don’t start getting all ultra-sensitive on me.”

“This is just like the third time this week you’ve mentioned my weight.”

“It is not.”

“Yes, it is!”

The two awkwardly quiet down.

“Look, I’m sorry” the young man says sincerely.

“You know . . . I’m not Jason”

“Hey! I’m not making that comparison. You are”, the young man says defensively. He looks around the room, clearly uncomfortable.

“Jesus, No one’s listening cause no one cares”, the dark haired man says.

“Here you go” the young cute waitress says as she sets a cold, sweaty glass of coke in front of him.

“You guys need anything else?”, she says not taking her eyes off the young man.

“I need my ticket.” The dark haired man says.

“Sure. I’ll go ring you up”, she says and briskly walks away

“I’m so going to ask her out”, the young man says, watching her head towards the ancient register.

“You keep saying that. Go do it.”

“I will.”

“You’re . . .”

He is interrupted by the loud sound of gunfire.

A large black male wearing dark sunglasses and an Oakland Raiders ball cap fires a couple of deafening rounds into the ceiling with a shotgun making the breakfast joint snow pieces of ceiling tile and sheet rock. Several screams of terror are heard as people dive out of their seats under tables and to the ground. The two tattooed men barely flinch. Both casually look over, around the corner of the tall booth to see the commotion. Another armed robber, a tall dark-skinned male with panty hose over his face runs across the diner and holds a large revolver to the cute waitress’ head while telling her to unload the cash register. She freezes in panic and he pulls on her hair aggressively. A third, very large gunman who is also wearing panty hose over his face and a dark leather jacket nervously holds a pistol and watches the door.

“I SWEAR BITCH! YOU BETTER MOVE FASTER OR I’M GOING TO FUCK YOU WITH THIS GUN!!!!” the skinny robber says twisting on the waitress’ hair as she desperately throws the cash in the robber’s white trash bag.

“Oh come on…you got to be kidding me”, the young man says reacting to the scene laughing nervously.

“Relax”, the dark-haired man says in a loud whisper, not the least bit worried. “It’ll all be over in a second. Just let them grab the measly hundred dollars and go” he says watching the robbers closely.

“Oh, come on!”

“Hey you’re a professional now, remember?” the dark haired man says

“This is bullshit!” he says in a loud whisper.

“Relax.”

“No, you relax”. You’re the one who looks nervous!”

“Because you’re making me nervous!”

“So we’re just supposed to let them get away with this shit?”

“Yes!”

He looks over to see the robber getting very violent with the staff, pistol whipping the fat restaurant manager in the face, breaking his nose and beginning to grope the pretty waitress.

“All right. That’s it.” He says taking off his sport’s coat off, revealing muscular arms, submerged in solid black body art.

“Don’t man . . . Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Too late” he says.

The young man jumps up from the booth and, with his hands clasped behind his back, timidly approaches the big man holding the shotgun.

“What the fuck?!” the big black guy says pointing his shotgun at him. The other robbers take notice and point their weapons as well.

“Please, I have to leave........ Please, I have to leave”, he says, his legs and voice shaking, doing his best to fake a mentally handicapped person. The other robbers laugh and continue their assault.

“Are you crazy? Sit the fuck down before I blow your fucking head off!”

“Momma? Momma?” the young man says, pretending to cry.

“Would someone sit this stupid retard down before I blow his head off?”

As the young man holds his hands up high, two Glock 9mm strapped in custom leather holsters, peek out of the back of his slacks.

“YOU FUCKING RETARD! SIT DOWN NOW!!!”

The black man gets close and tries to hit him with the shotgun stalk. He anticipates this move and, with psychic-like reflexes, he blocks the strike with his forearm and grabs the base of the shotgun. He flashes a sinister smile before drawing his pistol and pressing the barrel hard against the man’s solar plexus. He fires five quick rounds in the robber’s chest, dropping him to his knees. He then scoots back, squats down and fires three more rounds right into his forehead.

The big robber positioned at the door shoots at him but misses by a long shot.

The young man quickly drops to the floor, flattens out and rolls to the side, then shoots at the doorman, hitting him four times in the midsection, not killing him but fatally wounding him. The sounds of screams, gunfire and breaking glass fill the diner as the young man quickly throws the empty gun down and draws his second weapon.

The third shooter shoves the waitress to the floor and slowly aims his revolver, getting the young man in his crosshairs but before his finger even touches the trigger, the dark-haired man suddenly appears right next to him with his Hk 45 caliber pressing against his temple. He pulls the trigger blowing bloody brain fragments all over the cash register and the pretty waitress.

The manager runs over to call the police but the sharp dressed man points his gun at him. “What the fuck do you think your doing? He says walking over to him and pressing his gun barrel against his cheek. “Do we look like fucking cops...huh?”

Everybody screams in panic as the young man runs over to the wounded robber by the door.”

“Please...... please!”, he says begging for mercy, looking up at the young man.

The young man flashes a smile before shooting him three more times in the chest and twice in the face.

The two men look around the breakfast joint. The frightened patrons quietly stare from the floor. The waitress sits on her knees, her body saturated with blood and brain. She looks up at him, crying and in shock. The young man retrieves his empty weapon and sports coat from the ground and both men quickly walk out of the door.

*******

A brand new Cadillac Escalade speeds down a quiet, still dark, early morning street. The dark haired man drives, gritting his teeth and gripping the steering wheel.

“Damn, did you see the look on their faces? They were like this”, the young man says, his face making a shocked look, trying to replicate the surprise of the would-be assailants.

The dark haired man says nothing, his knuckles white and his face beat red with anger.

“SHIT! DID THEY PICK THE WRONG GUYS TO FUCK WITH OR WHAT?! YOU TELL ME!” He says clenching his fist and hitting the roof, completely pumped up while examining a scratch on his face in the visor mirror.

The dark haired man quickly pulls off the road in an alley way, slams on his brakes and gets out of his car. He walks over to the passenger side, opens the door and pulls the young man out of the car slinging him like a rag doll against a metal building.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The young man says pushing him back.

“You stupid fuck!”

“What?!”

“Did you leave your car there?”

“What?!”

“DID YOU LEAVE YOUR FUCKING CAR THERE?!”

“It was stolen, it doesn’t matter!”

“It doesn’t matter”, the dark haired man repeats, ripping off his blood drenched dress coat and slinging it back in the vehicle.

“Hey, you need to relax.”

“You stupid fucking cowboy!”

“Don’t take it out on me just because you pussied out!”

The dark haired man’s anger boils over and he explodes, punching the younger man in the mouth. He falls to the ground, rattled from the blow. The dark haired man then kicks him in the stomach. “You dumb shit! Your cowboy attitude pisses me off and it’s gonna get us killed! I am a professional and you better start acting like one or you’re gone! You understand?!”

The young man slowly crawls back up the wall to his feet, his bloody lip dripping down his shirt and his vision still blurry. In a desperate attempt, he puts his hands up in a defensive fighting position.

The dark haired man just looks at him and smirks, “You’re pathetic.”

Desperately trying to salvage any pride, the young man throws an emotionally charged, frantic haymaker, but the dark-haired man moves like deadly lightning, evading his strike and getting his arm in a lock behind his back, nearly snapping it. Chest to chest, he grabs the young man’s windpipe and squeezes hard, not completely cutting off his air but enough to make him struggle for it. He then slams him back against the metal building hard; the sound echoing loudly down the dark alley. He looks at him right in the eye. “You got way more balls than you got brains, kid.”

The young man just looks at him frustrated and vulnerable, his eyes glassy like he wants to cry from the helplessness.

“A stupid fucking cowboy.”

The dark haired man comes in close and kisses him very sexually, smearing the blood from his busted lip.

The young man’s arms flex and strain. He fights and pushes him away. “Don’t do that again, you faggot!” he yells, out of breath, spitting saliva and blood on the pavement.

The dark haired man comes back in and kisses him again. The young man again tries to push him away but with noticeably less motivation. He spins the younger man around effortlessly, and slams his face and chest against the metal building. Grabbing a fistful of his blonde hair and pinning him hard, he leans close and says with a sinister whisper, “Don’t move.”

“Get the fuck off, . . .me,” the young man makes an insincere plea. Blood continues to flow from his lip, and his mind begins to cloud with confusion.

The dark haired man undoes the young man’s belt buckle and his slacks fall to the pavement. He reaches down and begins stroking his cock. His hot breath warms the young man’s ear and his strong hands stroke him with debilitating experience until his eyelids become heavy. The young man is helpless, crippled by his undeniable sexual pleasure.

The dark-haired man quickly pulls down his own pants. The sweat allows him to enter from behind quickly and aggressively. He wraps his arm across the young man’s chest, gripping his shoulder and begins to fuck him hard.

The young man moans. His hands now reach back to grip his lover’s hips.

The dark haired man finally comes loudly, closing his eyes tightly and widening his mouth to its limits. The young man comes soon after. The dark haired man rests his head on the kid’s muscular, defined shoulders and for a long few seconds, they remain clasped together and out of breath.

******

It’s still early and dark but the sun is beginning to creep up and the sky has started to illuminate. They pull into an exclusive, upscale neighborhood. The dark haired man quickly alternates his eyes back and forth from the road to an address on a wrinkly piece of torn notebook paper.

They slowly roll up to a beautifully maintained, three story house and look at it. They then drive past and park several houses down. The awkward silence between the two is deafening.

The young man looks out the window in deep thought.

The dark haired man notices his phone vibrating on the dash board. He picks it up and answers it, “Yes”, he says, “Yes, absolutely. Consider it done.”

He slings the phone back on the dash and they both look at each other.

“I’m still going to ask that waitress out.”

“Ok.”

“I mean it”

“I know.”

Both of the men slip on ski masks and wrestle on latex gloves. They quickly check the status of their pistols, making sure they’re loaded and ready. With masked faces, they look at each other for a moment, then without a word and with lightening speed, they exit the vehicle.

The End

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