This anthology debuts twenty gay short stories by accomplished novelist Mark Wildyr.
Among the stories is an altercation with an outlaw biker’s club, a ghost haunting the dream world of an art restorer, and a soldier’s unexpected bus ride of a lifetime. A protective guide dog leads his blind handler to the perfect human companion, and a western movie star introduces a young projectionist to a different kind of life. A tattoo artist strikes a bargain with a new client, a valet serves his Medieval lord, and other men find love and lust with each other in a variety of settings and time periods.
Who knows what will happen in these Wildyr Tales?
EXCERPT FROM "Cowboy Hats and Blowjobs"
The biggest thing I can recall happening in our little town was the announcement that management was bringing in the star of a new western movie to promote the film. I recognized the name, which I will call Johnny West here, and could put a face to it. An interesting, handsome face, I might add, and never more so than when he nodded his head and brushed the brim of his big white Stetson in greeting. He always had that Stetson. Johnny wasn’t in the league with Roy Rogers or Gene Autry or Hopalong Cassidy, but he was coming up fast in the world of western movies. I took a step closer to reality when I longed to see him in person ... maybe even meet him!
When the big day arrived, I was disappointed Johnny wasn’t introduced to the theater staff, at least not to the projectionist, although I saw him at a distance in the lobby chatting with the concessions stand girl. From all the giggling going on, she was getting a full dose of Hollywood charm. Was that jealousy I experienced down in my gut? Of course, not! Impossible.
In those days, at least in our small movie house, most things in the projection room were done by hand, so I was kept busy rewinding the reels, checking the arc lights illuminating the film, and loading the machines. We had two projectors, and the operator had to watch for cues embedded in the film to manually switch machines as one reel ended and the other started. Since I liked to watch movies as well as run them, I scurried around to get everything done so I could stand at the projectionist’s window and watch the film for a few minutes.
Midway through the second showing, after Johnny West had done his little aw shucks routine for the audience at intermission, I was watching through my porthole and enjoying a close-up of the star, impressed anew at the strength and masculinity evident in that handsome face, when there was a knock on the door. I always kept it locked because sometimes, if there was a particularly suggestive scene in a movie, I might slip my cock out of my pants and skin it a few times ... sometimes until I came, but that was only when it was really hot, like Burt Lancaster in a swimsuit on the beach with Deborah Kerr in From Here to Eternity. I got off three times the week we showed that film. I also did it with Montgomery Clift and James Dean and Rock Hudson, although they never knew it. Isn’t it amazing that I never quite snapped it was the guys who aroused my interest? The actresses were just beautiful things on pedestals used to confuse the plotlines.
At any rate, when I answered the knock on the projection room door, I was stunned to find a big cowboy hat there. Beneath it was the tall, rangy form of Johnny West. In the semi-darkness of the upstairs hall of the theater, I demonstrated my dazzling intelligence.
“Oh!” I grunted.
“Hi,” he said ... instead of his trademark, howdy. “I’m Johnny West. You’re Dave, right?”
“Uh ... yeah. D-Dave.”
“Nice to meet you, Dave. Would you unlock the door to the restroom up here? It’s a little more private than the one downstairs.”
“Uh ... sure,” I said, improving my IQ score. I retrieved the key and offered it to him.
“Would you show me where it is and open it for me, please?”
“Uh ... sure. Be happy to.” My power of speech was returning. Pretty soon I’d sound like a high school student instead of a retard.
I made a quick check of the machine and saw there was enough film remaining in the reel for a trip to the john. I snickered. I was escorting Johnny to the john. I successfully maneuvered the half-dozen steps to the bathroom and unlocked the door, offering him the key to lock back up when he was finished. He declined.
“Can you hang on for a minute? I won’t be long.”
“Uh ... sure.” I was rendered mute again, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“You need to use it too? Come on in.”
“Uh ... no, thanks,” I said, but I stepped inside the door anyway.
Johnny West strode over to the commode in manly steps, spread his legs in a male way, and flipped out his thing in an exclusively masculine maneuver. I couldn’t help but watch. He was long and kind of thick, and I’ll swear it was hard ... well, not hard, but halfway there. When he turned his head, I tore my eyes away and blushed furiously.
Johnny laughed. “That’s okay. I don’t mind.”
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