Ridley Uncovered

by Peyton Miller

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ridley Uncovered

  Peyton Miller

  Ridley Uncovered Copyright © 2017 Peyton Miller

  Cover Art Sara York ©Copyright 2017

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, Peyton Miller, authorPeytonMiller@gmail.com. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without permission from Peyton Miller.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $ 250,000. https://www.fbi.gov/about-us/investigate/white_collar/ipr/ipr. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author's rights and livelihood is appreciated. Ridley Uncovered is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  About the Author

  Also by Peyton Miller

  Chapter One

  It wasn’t too late to turn back, was it? I could just hop off this train and pretend my desires weren’t real. But what I felt and how I thought was real. I’d been hiding for long enough.

  The train sped up, taking me further away from home. Sweat popped out on my forehead. I shouldn’t have made these plans or followed through on them. It was too dangerous. My stomach turned as fear ramped up.

  I could have turned around before I got on this train, but was staying at home what I wanted? Could I keep denying who I was, or how I felt?

  It wasn’t just random strangers who would have issues with me. No, this was personal. Dad would be cross—maybe cross wasn’t the right word. Or was it? He was a hellfire and brimstone preacher who pilfered false humility and Bible verses for cash. And he hated gays. The man was a conversion therapy nut-bag, and he had no clue what I was.

  I’d heard of guys who’d been left broken by the treatments. No way in hell would my father, Gregory, allow me to go un-treated—as if that were a real thing. Torture was torture, and the stuff he spewed was bad. I knew deep in my soul he was wrong, but still, he was my father.

  Since he didn’t know I was gay, I wasn’t having any problems with him. Well, not really, unless you count him taking my money. Every time I tried to save my paycheck, he would find out and take what I’d earned. I couldn’t win. Living with Dad did have a few perks, like…um, well…hmmm, there weren’t any perks. Though he said I lived rent-free, he took more than I would pay for rent somewhere else. My biggest roadblock in moving out was I didn’t have enough saved for the security deposit and first month’s payment. If I could only find a way to save, I’d be living on my own.

  Guilt wove through me. How could I abandon him? It was the same argument I had with myself time and time again. I hated what my dad preached, but he’d sacrificed so much after my mom died. He was the only parent I had left.

  Tonight, I was going to push aside the guilt. Tonight was about freedom. My palms were damp and my head buzzed as we left the city and headed towards Manchester. Through the grapevine, I’d heard about a nightclub I’d wanted to visit. My dad would freak out if he knew. A little laugh escaped as I thought about what I was going to do…well, may do if I was brave enough. The club wasn’t subtle with its purpose at all, and I wouldn’t ever be able to say I didn’t know because the club was named G-A-Y. Everyone who went there knew what they were in for.

  The train left the city and picked up speed. It was too late to turn back. I didn’t want to anyway. I wanted this experience, no matter what the night might hold. I was really doing this. A gay nightclub. Me. I could be myself. Holy fuck this was going to be good!

  “Tickets, please,” someone said beside me.

  So deep in my thoughts I jumped a little as he touched my shoulder. “Hmm?” I glanced up to see the train conductor. Lustful thoughts filled my mind and I couldn’t help but continue on the lust train. I almost laughed at my own joke.

  “Tickets, please,” the guy repeated.

  Cute. Blond hair, and green eyes—totally hot. Could he be gay? How the hell could I find out? I’d always been too nervous to ask. And though I might wonder if the guy would ride me, or if I could ride him, I wouldn’t ever be brave enough to take the next step—not with another person on the street—or on a train. Real life was too hard to figure out.

  “Just a second.” I held up one hand and searched through my pack for the ticket. I accidentally pulled out a Batman mask, and the conductor barked out a laugh. I glanced up and shivered at the look in his eyes. My cheeks were hot as I dove back in, searching for my ticket.

  “Ah, here it is.” I pulled my ticket out of my rucksack. The conductor was still staring at my mask. I rubbed the back of my neck as heat filled my face.

  “I’m heading to a fancy dress party in Manchester,” I stammered, trying desperately to explain.

  “Uh huh,” the guy rolled his eyes.

  “I’m Batman,” I said in a deep voice.

  He froze, and his eyes narrowed. “You got the voice wrong. Don’t do that. Don’t try to talk like Batman.”

  He placed my ticket in my hand before he moved away. More heat washed over me. Why did I always do that? I could barely talk like a normal human to the train conductor; how would I manage tonight in a gay club with loads of hot guys?

  I should have stayed at home. It wasn’t like I’d ever had any real experience dating anyone. Even girls in school hadn’t wanted to go out. I’d kissed Sally Meadows behind the bleachers at a match, but it had felt weird. There’d been too much wetness. She’d pulled back and rolled her eyes before walking away.

  After that disaster, I’d stopped altogether. Because the conductor was cute, I’d acted dumb. Heck, it wasn’t as if I’d see the guy again. I needed to chill. Tonight was all about heading somewhere new. A place where nobody knew me. Somewhere I could be free. The masquerade ball theme would keep me hidden and allow me to be someone cooler than I was. I didn’t have to be Ridley the good boy who was straight and lived with his dad; I could be anyone
. If I were brave enough, I could be someone who kissed a guy by the end of the night.

  A thrill spun through me. I wanted a kiss, heck, I needed a kiss. My real problem was the fantasy kisses in my dreams were so easy, but getting a kiss from an actual guy seemed impossible.

  The world outside the train passed by and I closed my eyes, drifting off. It was so easy to sleep on the train. The soft clack and movement always did me in when I was tired. Dreams of sexy parties in Paris with willing men pleasuring me floated through my fantasies. Only tiny loincloths covered their cocks. One after the other, I’d rub oil over their bodies. Then, I’d yank their loincloths off, revealing their delicious cocks. After carefully inspecting each dick, I selected the one whose length and girth impressed me the most.

  “Yes, you shall do. Bend over,” I said to a guy with green eyes.

  The man obliged, showing his perfect ass. Nodding appreciatively, I pulled back and prepared to thrust in.

  “Viva la France,” I cried with joy.

  I woke with a start to find a firm hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes, confusion still holding me. I wasn’t in France, and there were no sexy guys—scratch that, one sexy guy. The conductor was standing next to me, his brows pinched. Heat washed over me. Had I talked in my sleep?

  “Time to get off. Last stop, Manchester Piccadilly.”

  “Uh, sure.” My cock was achingly hard. When I looked down heat washed over me. There was no mistaking what was going on with my dick. The dang thing was sticking up, making a tent in my pants. I knew I should have worn tight denim, but I’d opted for black slacks to fit the Batman look I was going for.

  “Can I have a minute first?” I asked quietly.

  “No. You need to leave the train. Now.” He barked the last part, and I jumped.

  It was impossible to hide my boner, but I tried by holding my rucksack in front of my body. My face was hot as I made my way down the platform. A child screeched and pointed at me, and I almost died right then of mortification. Then a man ran past me and scooped the kid up. The child hadn’t been looking at me or paying attention to my distress. I glanced around, but no one was staring. By the time I left the station, my cock was soft again. I slung my pack over my shoulder, thrilled to be in Manchester and close to the club.

  The night air was cool, and the city center was alive with the sounds of laughter. People strolled together, holding hands as they made their way past. The joviality of the city was obvious. I needed to get to the bar and start having some fun.

  There was a small part of me that wished I had brought a friend, but who could I have brought? Everyone assumed I was straight which kept me from developing any close friendships. They’d all say things like “Hey Riley, let’s go pick up some girls” and I’d have to turn them down. Eventually their offers became fewer and fewer. Most of the chaps I went to school with had moved away and the people I worked with were a huge NO. Really, there wasn’t anyone I could have come out clubbing with, not if I wanted to get busy with a guy.

  A soft rain fell, and I didn’t want to be soaked, so I headed to the taxi line and entered the car at the front of the queue—a white Skoda which looked like it hadn’t been washed in about a hundred years.

  “Where are you headin’?” the driver asked.

  Oh fuck.

  “Erm…to G-A-Y.” Maybe I should have just given the address. “It’s on Canal Street.”

  The driver rolled his eyes and popped the car into gear. I tried to distract myself with the sights of the town, but it wasn’t working. Fear over what my father would say if he knew where I was headed blossomed. Nothing good would come of my father finding out, that’s for sure. But I was here in Manchester instead of at home where he might see me and realize I was a walking contradiction to his preaching, so I felt fairly safe.

  It didn’t take long for the taxi to enter Manchester’s gay village. I’d thought I’d been daring purchasing a see-through t-shirt for tonight, but looking out of the window, I saw both men and women clad in much more revealing outfits than I was going to wear. People milled about, smiling and laughing. Guys kissed guys and no one did anything. Everyone seemed to be having a great time. I doubted any of them carried as much shame inside as I did. I wished I could feel happy about being gay. Perhaps later tonight I would find someone to help me enjoy the evening. But what if I couldn’t find anyone, or worse, what if no one wanted me?

  The taxi pulled up in front of the club, and it was time for me to hop out. I hesitated, worried I was making a mistake.

  “Eight quid,” the driver said.

  “Oh, yeah, sure.” I pulled out my wallet and handed over the money. I stepped out of the car and grabbed my bag.

  “Fucking poof,” the driver spat out as he rolled his eyes. I barely had the door shut before he sped away as if the Devil himself was pursuing. Perhaps the driver feared if he stayed in the gay village for too long, he too would become gay.

  I’d heard worse things about gays from my father—of course he didn’t know to direct his insults at me—so I brushed off the driver’s slur and turned to face the club. My heart sped up as I stared up at the three big letters claiming what type of people were inside. Pop music drifted out, circling around me. I did a little jig step, happy to be there.

  It was only then that I thought about the fare. I’d probably been overcharged. Eight pounds was fairly steep for such a short journey.

  Well, shit.

  Before entering the club, I pulled off my more conservative t-shirt and stuffed it into my pack. I tugged on the see-through top, looking down at myself. My upper body was slim but well-toned. I worked out, doing sit-ups and push-ups to maintain my almost six-pack. Sometimes I wondered what the point of doing all that exercise was since there was nobody to appreciate it. Well, tonight would be different. Maybe I’d find someone to appreciate my hard work.

  I put on my Batman mask before I approached the door. The bouncers nodded as I walked past them. Was that a look of approval?

  After I handed my bag in at reception and purchased my ticket, I pushed open a set of double-doors and entered the main dance floor. The club was heaving. To my dismay, I saw that I wasn’t the only person who had decided to come as Batman. In fact, there were dozens of them, a couple in the same see-through shirt I was wearing. The other guys looked better than I did. God, what an idiot I was.

  Geri Halliwell’s cover version of “It’s Raining Men” blared and an appreciative crowd lapped it up, singing along as they danced.

  “I need a drink. I’m not ready for this,” I whispered to myself.

  I made my way through the crowd toward the bar. On the way over, someone pinched my ass. I was too nervous to turn around and see whose hand was on me. Should I be annoyed or flattered? I was on overload, that was for sure.

  The barman’s smile warmed me. “What can I get you, Bats?”

  “Something strong,” I replied.

  The guy’s smile broadened. “First time?”

  I nodded, worried I stood out too much. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Yep. I’m Brent, by the way. And I’ve got one Zombie coming up.”

  “Thanks, Brent.”

  “That’s two pounds.” Brent winked as he held out his hand.

  “Thanks.” I gave him a fiver, hoping the drink got me very drunk. I needed some liquid courage to face this crowd. The change in my pocket from the drink jingled as I danced a little.

  “Hold up there, mate.” Brent reached under the counter and pulled out a sticker with a number on it. He stuck it to my chest.

  “What’s that for?”

  “You should’ve been given one when you entered,” Brent replied. “But the receptionist is a muppet. Listen, if somebody likes you, they’ll write down the number from your ticket on that board over there.” He pointed to a tall whiteboard in the corner of the room. “They’ll also write down their ticket number next to it. It makes it easier to break the ice if you know somebody already thinks you’re fucking hot.�
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  “Do you think I’m fucking hot?” I shouldn’t have asked, but God, I needed the boost.

  Brent smiled. “I’ve seen worse. But—” His lips curved up and he winked again as he held up his hand to reveal a ring. “I’m already spoken for. Don’t worry though, Buttman, I’m sure you’ll meet somebody nice. You may not be the hero the world wants, but you’re the hero this club needs.”

  I rolled my eyes and grimaced at the reference. “Thanks.”

  “No worries.”

  I turned before I took a big swig of the Zombie and almost choked. “Wow.” The drink was much stronger than I’d expected.

  I sipped as I casually walked around. Of course, I didn’t know anyone, that was the point of coming here. I moved to the beat of the music, drinking and watching as I took in the crowd. Once I finished the drink, I was halfway between tipsy and drunk. Happiness lifted the weight from my shoulders. I could breathe again.

  My swaying had turned to bigger movements, and I most likely looked awkward, or the tunes were all cheesy as fuck, I didn’t care. I felt alive—free—in a way I’d never felt before.

  One hour, thirteen songs, and three Zombies later, I staggered over to the whiteboard. A few people had written down the number from my ticket. I was lucky number 218. I looked at the numbers that they’d written beside mine and began to scan the dance floor, searching for the guys who thought I was hot.

  OMG, someone thinks I’m hot!

  Chapter Two

  Hot or not, I searched the crowd, which may have been easier if I’d not been drunk, but I endeavored to find someone I could get busy with. I giggled because I was looking for number 69. My brain went fuzzy as I thought about the number and the act.