Pinned Beneath You (Gay Erotica)

by Tommy Twist

  It comes for you whether you like it or not. Long hours, hard work. The only thing that the average person who works for her doesn't have to deal with is painful decisions, like the one that she's having to make now.

  They don't have to make any decisions at all, except when to go to their boss to report a problem. That's intentional. They work their asses off down there. She's done it before, and no doubt she'll have to do it again at some point, if something goes really wrong.

  It's because of how hard they work, because of how much effort it costs them, that she doesn't want them having to make hard choices.

  Because God only knows, she's not breaking her back every day, and doing the right thing now is about the hardest thing she's ever had to do.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The new place still fits like someone else's clothing. He wakes up every morning to find that he's in someone else's house. The stuff's all in the wrong place. It's not where he left it.

  Philip Callahan's been working on routine for so long that it's strange and a little bit terrifying to have to deal with a new environment. But there's not much other choice.

  There was some part of him that had, at one point, thought that the new place was going to be an adventure. A new place to explore. New people to explore it with. New work to be done. New horses raised.

  That was a mirage. A fantasy. An illusion, at best.

  He woke with the sun and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. They stung badly. He should have been asleep hours earlier, but he hadn't gone to bed until late. Why would he? What would be the point anyways?

  Deep breath.

  The boys would be there in a minute, and he wasn't going to let them see him in a sorry state like this. They'd been good the past two weeks. The move went well. Randy was healing nicely. No more concerns about hospital expenses meant that the mood had lightened considerably.

  But even still, there was a cloud over everything, and Callahan knew exactly what it was that rained on everyone's parade: it was him.

  It was like he was sucking the life out of the room. He'd been like this before. Worse than this before. Truth was, this was nothing compared to after Sara died. But there was just enough of it there, just a hint that if things went too much worse, then things could go bad.

  He shouldn't have felt so bad. It was just a little fling. She was, what, fifteen years his younger? And he'd already had happiness once. He shouldn't have expected it a second time. He shouldn't have let himself think of it as anything but a physical thing. A way to pass the time.

  The minute that he'd allowed himself to think of it that way, he'd already lost control of everything. He'd already started down the road to this frustration.

  The beat-up truck pulls into the driveway. It's paved, not like his last place, where they'd just pull up on the lawn. Nice and civilized. The property was larger, but so was the house. So was the house, and he got to live in it all by himself.

  It was dark and cold at night. The way he'd expected an old house to end up feeling, really. Like there was nothing there for anyone but the ghosts and the memories of people who weren't living there any more.

  "Morning," he growls.

  James has the gall to look almost concerned.

  "You slept alright, boss?"

  "I slept fine."

  Nobody believed his lie. Randy shouldn't have been in the truck. He's still hurt, and not in any shape to be fooling anyone. But he slips out the side anyways.

  "Mornin' boss."

  "What are you doing here?"

  "Here to work, boss."

  Callahan's jaw tightens. "No you ain't. Go on, sit on the porch or somethin'. Busted ribs, and 'goin to work' he says, Jesus H. Christ."

  "Hey, I told him not to, but he's here anyways." Michael's got his hands up and spread wide, a symbol of his everlasting peaceful attitude. Which is almost certainly horseshit, incidentally.

  "Y'all know what to do. Get to it."

  "Hey boss?"

  Callahan rolls his eyes at the concerned tone in James's voice. "Yeah?"

  "If there's something we can do, don't be afraid to mention it."

  "Fuck off, kid. Go get to work."

  The eldest leans into the bed of the truck and then shifts a heavy-looking leather bag onto his shoulder, starts moving it toward the house.

  "I mean it. You did right by us, I don't want you to think we're ungrateful."

  Callahan grinds his teeth together but doesn't say anything. The boy's already doing what he's supposed to be doing. Now if he could do it without the pity and with his mouth shut, that would be an improvement.

  The truth is, though, that deep down he likes hearing it. The idea that he could actually get past this.

  "You know what you have to do the next couple of days?"

  James turns. He's got one eyebrow cocked up. "Yeah, more or less. Place needs a little work to be back in decent shape, so we'll be getting the stables and the fences repaired. That the long and short of it?"

  "Sure."

  "I got some unfinished business to take care of," Callahan says finally. "I'll be out for a week or so. Don't slack off while I'm gone, and don't let that damn fool brother of yours anywhere near anything heavy."

  "No, sir," James says. He tries to hide the smile as he turns away.

  That kid was always too god damn smart for his own good. Too smart and too involved in other peoples' business.

  There's no way that Callahan can leave things with Morgan. Not the way that they were.

  He was up late last night, after all. Nobody to get him into bed or make him go. The damn computer kept him up later than he'd wanted. Took near two hours to figure out how to get times for plane tickets.

  Now that the boys are settled in, he's going to have to leave soon. The next plane leaves in a little more than three hours, and he's going to have to be in a damn hurry if he wants to get through the security and be on it.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  It's still hard to say whether or not it was worth it. The pain is still there. But hard decisions always hurt. And most of the time, in the end, no matter how much worrying you did about it, it's worth it.

  That doesn't make it easier in the moment, though. That doesn't mean that sitting in your office feeling self-righteous keeps you warm at night. It doesn't mean that you can take it out to dinner and have a good time.

  But in the end, when you do the right thing, you know you did the right thing, at least. It just takes time for the hurt to dull a little bit and for your head to clear.

  Well, it had been enough time. She should be feeling better by now. But then again, she'd made hard decisions before, but it had rarely had such a personal effect.

  Maybe this was just another growth period. Maybe she'd come out of this stronger, smarter, tougher than ever. The business would thank her. She'd thank herself. In the end, of course.

  Right now, she couldn't see the forest for the trees. That was all it was. If she had a clear head, then she wouldn't be questioning her decision to leave without a word every morning, going to bed kicking herself because she couldn't see a single reason that it couldn't have worked except her fears and Andrea's warning.

  She was a lonely old woman, and as tough as nails, and all the money in the world didn't change that. It wasn't exactly reflective of the life that the Morgan wanted to lead, having a long line of eighteen-year-old cabana boys who were fucking the maid on the side.

  But that was the life that Andrea Neill lead and it was the life she was, apparently, happy with.

  Maybe she didn't know what the fuck she was talking about. Then again, maybe she did. Morgan had to keep reminding herself of that. She had to, because if she didn't, then she'd be heading back to Wyoming right then and there.

  If that was the right decision in the beginning, she was an idiot for having left. And if leaving was the right decision, then she was an idiot for thinking about going back now. Either way, she'd made her bed, and she had to lie in it.


  Which just circled back around to the problem, the one that she'd been dancing around for two weeks now: how to get comfortable with the fact that she already made her decision, and now she's not happy with the result.

  She can't go back. She can't decide to have stayed in Wyoming sixteen days later. That's not how life works. You make decisions, you accept the consequences of your decisions. It's simple, it's straightforward, and it's painful for everyone. She's not special in that regard.

  She takes a deep breath, checks her phone to see the time. There's an hour until she's supposed to make her next report. There's not a whole lot to report. Sales numbers are up, but it's nothing to celebrate. Growth was slowing, and now they're back on course.

  The new factories are getting into things on par with expectations. That's been everything on the business side. Every single thing was 'on par with expectations.'

  Well, that was wonderful for the business side of things, because on the personal side of things, nothing was going nearly so well.

  But that wasn't going to affect her work, because she wasn't going to let it, no matter how bad she might have wanted to. That would be completely unacceptable. That would be exactly what she'd left Wyoming to try and avoid. And then what a fool she'd look like.

  She answers a knock at the door by reflexively calling out to come in, without looking up.

  "You wanted to see me, ma'am?"

  Brad Lang's got his hands stuffed into the back pockets of his jeans, his shoulders hunched. He looks decidedly unlike the overconfident son-of-a-bitch that he'd been up north. Maybe he figured that taking a week-long vacation hadn't gone unnoticed after all.

  "Take a seat," she says. Her voice is even, and to her great pleasure it doesn't sound remotely one bit like she's upset, which makes her a damn fine actor if she might say so herself.

  He takes it without a word.

  "You know what you did."

  "Yes ma'am."

  "And you know I can't just look the other way."

  "No, ma'am."

  "Good luck in your future endeavors, Mr. Lang. You'll get your severance in the mail, and I'd like your office cleaned out by the end of the day."

  He looks like he wants to say something, a little glowing ember of something that might be anger. Then he snuffs it out.

  "Yes ma'am."

  "Go on," she says, nodding towards the door. He stands up and sulks out.

  For a minute she's almost sad that she doesn't feel any special satisfaction at seeing him go. He'd been a good employee for her father. It was rare to see a man that young in the position he was in.

  At least, that was true in Lowe Industrial. Most of the higher-ups were old hands, people who had been working for her father since they were her age and had practically built the place from the ground up with their own two hands.

  The office door opens and Lang steps out, slipping sideways through the door. For a minute, Morgan's almost confused, until she sees him slipping in at the same time.

  "What are you doing here?" She shouldn't sound like such a bitch, not right now. Not with him.

  "I came to see you."

  She takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. Tries to stop her stomach from twisting up and her skin from jumping immediately to over-sensitivity.

  "How's the ranch?"

  Phil Callahan looks the same as he always has. Jeans and a t-shirt and all of it looks like he just finished a wrestling match in it.

  "New. Different. The boys are patching her up."

  "Yeah?"

  "Sure." The silence between them is long. Part of her wants to apologize. Part of her wants to seem like she's not some needy little woman who can't bear to be disliked, though, and that part keeps her lips shut. "You know, about that tour. This place seems a little more complete than the last one I was inside of."

  She can't bring herself to smile at the joke. "You didn't have to do this, you know."

  He steps inside further, closes the door behind him. It seems like it's only another step or two until he's right there, in her space. Until he's standing over her, looking down at her.

  She should feel small, she should hate it. She should feel so many things, and she doesn't feel any of that. Her head leans forward in a moment of weakness and her head presses into his chest. It feels good.

  His arms wrap around her shoulders and squeeze tight. That feels good, too. "But I wanted to anyways."

  She can't do this, but she can't say no again.

  "I'm sorry," she says. She's supposed to be strong. She's supposed to be so tough nobody can say a damn thing about her. Her voice sounds weak and afraid and it's not half as bad as she feels.

  "You don't have to apologize. Just don't run away again."

  Her eyes feel hot, but her arms wrap around his thick chest. "No," she agrees.

  She can't hurt like that again.

  "I love you."

  "I love you, too."

  Miss Witch

  Seduction, Witchcraft and Romance

  Wren Winter

  I'm standing in the middle of a wooden shack. The boards are far enough apart that from the East side slats of light shine in.

  A circle drawn in red paint rests partially below my bare feet. I step into the circle, carrying my sword, my Athame, with me. Inside the circle closed, I kneel on my naked knees, sweat dripping down my breasts and glistening in the morning light.

  I take a deep breath and raise the knife to the sky, then to the ground. I trace the circle with it, reaching around my leather-bound black book and unlit rainbow of candles. I draw the circle closed, and then I sit. I sit in the silence, and simply exist.

  This is my morning meditation, before I head to work every day. I've been a pagan since I was 15, though I wasn't really serious about it until I turned 18. I'm a solitary practitioner, devoted to the goddess Lilith.

  Even though it feels like I was only kneeling for a few breaths, my alarm brings me back to reality. 30 minutes gone, and and my soul is steady. I stand, break the circle, and cover up with my robe before walking up the path from my little slice of the forest and into my house.

  I'm a professor of Folk English at a local community college. It's small enough that I have the chance to really get to know some of my students, which is a great joy for me. For a while I taught high school, but it was too wild for me. The first time I burst out of my classroom crying was also my last.

  I was lucky that I found a job at a college as easily as I did. Most of my day is spent reading, since that's how most of my classes are spent as well. Folk English is a class about the spiritual and magical writings of Europe, mostly Britain. It's a personal obsession of mine, and I try to give each of my students that same excitement.

  My classroom is on the second floor of the three story building. I carry copy of an ancient spell book in my right hand, my purse and keys in my left. All three are thrown onto my desk as I prepare for my first class, which will arrive in a half hour.

  On the white board, I write 'Welcome to Folk English', then my name. Eleanor Dogwood. Today I'll be greeting a new class, a new group of bright eyed youngsters eager to learn. Or at least, willing to pay to learn.

  With all my papers set up and the whiteboard filled up, I pull out a huge box of books from the closet. These I set on one of the desks. My classes are never full, so I usually have room to spread out.

  Glancing at the clock, I smile. People will start filing in any moment. Opening up my laptop, I glance over the attendance sheet. 14 students this time. Not bad! Last semester I only had 10.

  Over the next 15 minutes, young men and women start shuffling into the room with me. I'm not exactly old, I'm only 30 after all. It's just that facing 18 years olds every day tends to leave you feeling like you're 80, especially when they talk about their parties and sex lives.

  That last one is especially painful for me. In my youth, I had my fun. I even almost got married! But then he found someone else and 5 years later, here I am. Celibate, eternally sexua
lly frustrated, and tempted every night to go to a bar for a one night stand. Of course, I wouldn't ever do that because I'm too shy, but I want to.

  I glance over the room. A small group of people have clumped together at the front, towards the door. They laugh and talk, texting their friends. There's always a few people who join just to have a class with their friends. I'm sure it gets around that Folk English is an easy class with no homework, since that's exactly what this is. It's basically quiet time for adults.

  The rest of the students have spread themselves out evenly, none of their desks touching and none of their eyes meeting. I do a quick count of heads. 13. Class is about to start. No reason to wait for that last person.

  “My name is Eleanor, thank you all for joining me for Folk English. Each class will be spent reading and discussing the spiritual traditions and folk stories of Europe. I'll introduce myself, but since you'll never have any group assignments I'll skip the awkwardness of forcing you all to introduce yourselves.” I pause and smile. That's when I notice the dark figure standing in the doorway, blocking out the sun streaming in from the big glass windows in the hallway.

  It's a young man, maybe 20 years old. His hair is short and brushed back. Dark sunglasses cover his eyes. He's leaning his body against the door frame.

  “Yes?” I ask, playing with the hem of my skirt.

  “Sorry, I'm late,” he says. His voice is deep and soulful, almost powerful. “I didn't want to interrupt while you were talking, but since you stopped I'll take a seat.”

  I watch him as he gives me a half smile and enters the room. I watch his hips sway as he chooses a desk near the back, and then when he takes off the sunglasses I'm stunned by the beautiful icy blue eyes that were hidden beneath them. Who knows how long I end up staring at him before I realize how awkward I'm being, standing in front of the silent class with my mouth hanging open.

  “Anyway, I'm a pagan and have been for a long time now. If you ever want to discuss my beliefs, let me know, I'm always happy to educate others.” The man's eyebrows raise. I wonder why. “Uh... well, anyway, you can all come up and take one of the books in this box and start reading the first chapter. We'll stop in a half hour to discuss it, and then you can all head home.”