Defining Us: The Calvin & Eric Story (69 Bottles)
Page 1
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Other Books By Zoey Derrick
Reading Order
Dear Reader
Prologue
1
2
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Epilogue
The End
EDITING: MANDY SMITH of Raw Editing - available at rawbooksbabe@gmail.com.
Cover Design: Parajunkee Design - available at www.parajunkee.net
Cover Art: stock photo purchased through Big Stock, Shutter Stock or similar site.
Copyright © 2015 Zoey Derrick
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-0996896603
The following is a work of fiction, events that transpire may be similar in nature to real life situation, but are portrayed fictionally here. Research has been conducted however, what you read here may not be entirely accurate.
The following my not be resold, reproduced or redistributed without the express written consent of the owner of the copyright, Zoey Derrick, Kinky Panda Publishing or Zoey Derrick Publishing. For further information, please contact Zoey at Zoey@ZoeyDerrick.com for more information.
FOR EMILY -
FOR being there when I need you. For jumping in and taking over even when I don’t think I need you.
This one’s for you!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
RACHEL - I’M truly running out of ways to tell you thank you, for everything. Without you, I couldn’t keep doing this every day. You spark my imagination and fuel my fictional fantasies. Without you, these wouldn’t be possible.
Parajunkee Rachel - You put up with my shit and design some seriously amazing covers and without you, my books wouldn’t look this good.
Mandy - When I need someone to talk to, you’re always there. When you need some one to vent to, I’ll always be here. Thank you for not only being my editor, but a near and dear friend. Thank you for putting up with my bullshit and me leprechauns. **Did that on purpose, just to make her twitch**
Kelley - I know Calvin & Eric aren’t your cup of tea, but I’m glad you’re reading them anyway. Thank you for being my distraction, purposefully and indirectly. I miss our three hour chats… SOOOON we will be back at it. P.S. Thank you for being my Pimp!
Christine - My PimpQueen - My Ear - My Alpha, My Beta - my friend. You’re AMAZING and I cannot thank you enough for all you’ve done to help bring these two to life, not only for me, but for you and the readers too!
XX
Zoey
LOOKING FOR MORE Zoey Derrick?
Check out these other Titles:
Love’s Wings Series
Finding Love’s Wings
Chasing Love’s Wings
365 Days Series:
One Week
Reason Series:
Give Me Reason
Give Me Hope
Give Me Desire
Give Me Love
69 Bottles Series:
Claiming Addison
Craving Talon
Redeeming Kyle
Taming Dex
Devouring Raine
ULTIMATE READING ORDER
While 69 Bottles can be read without reading previous books, for the ultimate fan experience, this is how I recommend you read these books. However, many readers have started with Claiming Addison or even Taming Dex and found themselves returning to the original stories afterward.
Finding Love’s Wings
Chasing Love’s Wings
One Week
69 Bottles Books:
Calming Addison
Craving Talon
Redeeming Kyle
Taming Dex
Devouring Raine
Defining US
DEAREST READERS,
I cannot thank you enough for your purchase of Defining US: The Calvin and Eric Story.
I know that you have been waiting patiently for their story to come out and I am so happy to be sharing it with you finally.
A few notes about this story…
If this is the first book of mine or in the 69 Bottles Series that you’re reading, ENJOY! There is no need to go back and read the first 5 books in this series before diving into this one. I’ve worked very hard to keep these stories all separate and while you will see some of the characters in previous books, I don’t think that anything is ruined by starting here.
If you’ve been waiting on baited breath for this story, don’t let me waste your time, turn the page and get sucked into the world of Calvin and Eric - Mouse & Peacock.
Thank you for all your love and support and most off all, you patience.
Love you ALWAYS,
XX
Zoey Derrick
“You fucking tell anyone about this and I will kick your ass from here to China,” Billy grunted out as he shoved me on a pile of hay on the far side of the barn. It’s not the most secluded spot, but it will do.
“Your secret is safe with me,” I whisper just as Billy’s rough, chapped lips land on mine without preamble.
Though the connection I have with Billy is purely sexual, the passionate kiss doesn’t stop me from getting worked up. My dick gets harder the longer his lips crush against mine.
Billy moans into my mouth and I run my fingers through his hair, holding him to me as he grinds his growing erection against my hip.
There won’t be any sex, no, we never do that, but I know that eventually he will undo the fly of my jeans and start lavishing my cock with his mouth.
It’s our way, it’s our routine.
The first time we hooked up like this, I got him off first and he freaked out. Screaming and yelling at me in an attempt to make himself feel better about what we’d done. To try and convince himself that he isn’t gay. I shrugged it off, even had a laugh about it, after he’d stormed out of the barn, this barn.
My father hired Billy a couple of summers ago to help around the farm and well, that was where it all started. Though prior to Billy working here, we were not friends. In fact, Billy is the quarterback of our football team. A member of the jock squad at school. You see, in my school, you’re either a jock, a cheerleader or a not. I am a not. Or a ‘not-not’ because I don’t associate with anyone. It’s pretty hard to make friends when you’re pretty sure you’re the only boy in your town that’s gay. At least that’s what you think when you grow
up in small town Iowa.
I’d never made a secret of watching Billy work, in fact, that’s how this whole thing started. He’d set out to stop me, or scare me, and what ended up happening was the start of what’s happening now. Sure, he has a girlfriend, but from the rumors I hear, he’s “celibate” or at the very least, gun shy in bed.
Billy’s fingers fiddling with my zipper, unzipping my jacket pulls me out of the memories of where this all began. I groan into his mouth as his tongue slides along mine.
When we’re in here, in a position such as this, I do my best to stay as clothed as possible. It’s rare that anyone comes in here unless they’re working, but it’s always a possibility.
In fact, the first time my father caught Billy and I right here, I ended up with a broken cheekbone. Luckily for me, that happened at the beginning of last summer, so I never actually had to go to school with the nasty ass shiner I had afterwards.
Billy’s fingers reach the button of my jeans and he makes quick work undoing them and plunging his hand inside. He grabs a hold of my cock and strokes, hard. I groan as the pleasure engulfs me, my head falling back against the hay, my lungs gasping for air.
I open my eyes and watch him lick his lips as he slides down my chest toward his prize and he pulls my dick free of my pants.
My body is vibrating with the anticipation of his mouth wrapping around the tip and sucking me down like a hoover. That is one thing I have to give the boy credit for, he’s damn good at sucking cock.
“Take it all, you filthy slut,” I tell him and I watch as Billy shivers with excitement right before the head of my stiff cock slides past his lips.
My eyes close as he starts sucking, grunting and groaning when whatever he does feels good and my memories slip back to the fall of tenth grade, after spending the summer with a shiner from hell. I remember returning to school and falling right into Billy’s asshole trap. He and his buddies had no problem calling me ‘faggot’, ‘a hose lover’, among other hurtful and derogatory names. I never gave them the satisfaction of knowing that what they were calling me was hurtful, but it killed me every day. Especially when Billy would spew the horse shit at me in school and come to work in the barn with me on the weekends. After a particularly awful week of his friends belittling me, I did my best to ignore him, but his constant staring drove me mad and made my dick hard.
Somehow he’d always manage to make it up to me and I’m naive enough to believe that he has a part to play. We all had our parts to play in school. Play it straight, don’t let them know.
“Hssss...shit, don’t fucking stop,” I growl as his hands and mouth furiously work up and down my rod, enticing an orgasm from me.
Growing up in middle of nowhere, Northeastern Iowa means plenty of farm land, plenty of conservatives and way too many devout Christians who think their shit doesn’t fucking stink. Being gay is the ultimate crime against family and family values.
“Shit. Someone’s coming,” I say as I try and back away from Billy, just enough so that I can…
“What the fuck are you doing?” I hear my father scream from the far end of the barn.
I freeze. Billy casually stands up, all calm and collected, turning toward my father before he strolls right on out of the barn.
“You dirty ass son of bitch, what the fuck are you doing?” my father growls as his face turns as red as a radish. “How dare you force someone to suck your pathetic excuse for a dick.” My father reaches me then, leaning over and pulling me up by my shirts.
“He volunteered,” I say back. Years ago my father intimidated me like no other man, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve grown taller and far stronger than him.
“No wonder none of ‘em girls come ‘round here, you fucking faggot.” My father continues his verbal tirade and I see Billy out of the corner of my eye. The son of a bitch has the balls to mouth “sorry” to me before he takes off for his truck.
My momentary distraction is what my father was waiting for as I feel the sharp sting of a slap right across my face. My head jerks to the side and before I can compose myself enough to fight back, he manages a kidney shot. I double over from the blow. My vision swims in red and I fight to breathe, calling on all my strength before I finally manage to fight back.
The next day, walking into school is a total disaster. My face is bruised, though nowhere near as bad as I expected it to be, my rib cage is a mess. He refused to take me to the doctor when we were done, but it didn’t stop him from running off to the bar for the night, the same place he’s gone every night since Mom died. Regardless, I cleaned myself up and crawled into bed. I’d heard him come home somewhere around four in the morning, but I paid him no mind.
As I strolled through the halls of our little K-12th grade school, I could hear the comments and commotion about my appearance. When I hit the jock squad, one of the running backs says, “Well, would you look at that, he really is a pussy if he looks like that.”
Then someone else said, “The faggot probably hit on the wrong guy.”
“Shut up,” I hear Billy say. “For fuck’s sakes, how old are you idiots? Grow the fuck up.”
Despite the swollen, cut up lip, I manage a small smile as I pass by them. Being thankful that it was about time Billy finally stood up for me.
The weeks passed and I started to heal up once again. The bruises faded away into ugly ass green and yellow splotches. Everyone knew that it was my father who beat me, but in a town like this, in this day and age, it’s not at all uncommon. After that fight, I’d managed to stop looking at Billy when we were working together. Though I could feel him staring at me regularly, neither one of us advanced it beyond that. I had a hard time forgiving him for running away, not once, but twice, and I wasn’t going to go back down that road again.
So I got my hands on a fake ID and would drive about forty five minutes into another small college town called Decorah. It was far enough away from home where no one would know me and I could easily blend into the college scene.
It became a great stomping ground and I managed to find myself hooked up with a few really great looking guys. Most of them knew I was a minor, but they never seemed to care. I didn’t turn into a slut by any means, but here seemed to be the one place I could be myself. So I was.
“It isn’t something I can just turn off.”
“Bullshit. You can and you will, or you will get the fuck out of my house.”
Those were the last words I heard before my father knocked me the fuck out, breaking his hand and my jaw with one punch. It would be the last time my father would hit me. At that point in my life, everything changed. Years of confusion, years of frustration and misunderstanding finally came to fruition, only to be beaten out of me at regular intervals by my father.
After that, I tried to suppress my natural desires and turned them into false ones in order to please him, but it proved to be too difficult.
That was until he caught me kissing a boy I’d met at one of the many bars I frequented.
It was at that point that he realized his fist was no longer punishment enough and his own right wing views were aided by doctors of a similar mind. Doctors who believed that being gay was a choice and that, with intensive therapy, they could “cure” the gay from who I was.
FOR me, picking up girls has never been easy. Hell, I was lucky if I could manage to carry on a conversation with them, let alone get in their pants.
Until I joined 69 Bottles.
Whether we were performing in a bar in the middle of some Podunk town or some major arena somewhere, the chicks threw themselves at us. Picking up chicks became easy for an awkward, sexually repressed man like me. It was easy enough that I could manage to talk very little and get what I was after, though ninety percent of the time, I ended up in the bathroom spewing my guts out into the toilet when it was over.
“What about her?” Eric says to me as he points out some chick. I shrug it off like I’m not interested. In fact, I’m not interested, not tonight.
> “What’s crawled up your ass and died?” Dex shoulder checks me.
“Forget it,” I grumble and put my hands in my hair. In an exasperated huff, I get up from the couch and head for the back door. I feel trapped inside this bar. Trapped inside myself.
Something about today has triggered this uncertainty. Something about today has me on edge, and I don’t quite understand it. I feel like beating the shit out of something, or forgetting my name with pussy or drugs.
I rub vigorously at my arms, attempting to scrub away the creepy, ants under my skin feeling, but it’s pointless.
I’m restless and I’m itching…twitching, desperate to wash the memories of the past away.
I’m gay.
I’m gay… Eric’s words when we were in New York continue to ring through my head. The words that I somehow desperately needed to hear him say without knowing that I needed to hear them. Words that have brought back everything that I’ve ever desired, along with the reasons why I can’t have it.
Eric and I had talked that night, after the concert. He pulled me into a quiet room at the bar we were in and…