When my first novella, Candy G (under C. Zampa pen name) was released, I sincerely thought I'd have a boat load of stories to follow it. It was not to be. Instead---partly due to life and its obstacles and partly due to the simple fact I am a hopelessly slow writer---I have just now written the words The End in a story for the second time. Nevertheless, I'm ecstatic. I feel as high on having completed this one short novella as I would be having a hundred stories under my belt.
My first story under the Vastine Bondurant pen name turned out to be a m/m historical. When I envisioned the title, I envisioned a male/female couple but these guys took over the story and...well...here they are.
Since this is a shorter work, I'm taking the opportunity to self-publish it (with help of a professional editor and formatter), and it will be released soon.
So today, let me introduce you to my newest characters, Purly and Lucky in Pearly Gates.
Here's a peek at the boys.
Blurb
Eventually soul mates
meet, for they have the same hiding place.
---- Robert Brault
A lonely stretch of beach becomes a hiding place for two men
who are determined not to be ships just passing in the night.
Purlman “Purly” Gates—dark, brooding, mysterious, hiding from
his past and the hefty price on his head—is hopelessly attracted to the young
man who strolls the beach every morning. At the risk of his own exposure and
its deadly consequences, Purly succumbs to his desire and sets out to lure the
beautiful enigma into his lair.
Lucky Cleary wants the swarthy stranger who watches him from
the shadows of the cottage deck. His morning promenades finally pay off when
the man steps out onto the beach and into Lucky’s life in a move to bring their
paths together.
But Lucky has a secret as well—a past mistake following
close behind him, promising certain death if it catches up with him. And when
he discovers Purly’s identity, not only does Lucky want the man more than
ever but he sees the loner as a shelter, an escape to safety.
Is the meeting of these two souls a beautiful destiny or
merely a cruel twist of fate in which their desire is nothing more than the
kiss of death for them both?
Excerpt
It
had been one week. Seven days to be exact. Lucky had not returned for his
morning walks.
Daily
Purly gazed along the shore, halfway hoping to see the man with the
honey-colored curls. It was wrong to wish it, he knew that. But he hadn’t
anticipated the ache at seeing that Lucky’s path in the sand, the only sign the
beautiful enigma ever even existed, had faded with the tide.
It
was for the best. Yes, as surprisingly painful as it had been to watch Lucky
leave that day with his shoulders slumped—to see him cast a sad smile at his
dogs then follow them onto the beach and out of Purly’s life—there was no way
Purly could deny it had to be.
It
was for the best, but…
Damn! How the hell had Lucky managed to
possess him—lock, stock and barrel—in the span of one week? A pinhead of time
in the big scheme of things. A complete stranger at that! And only thirty
minutes of that week, if even that much, had been spent face to face.
Loneliness.
Of course. That was all it had been. An eternity without having touched
another, slept with them, tasted their lips. Longing pent up inside him,
miserable and swelling, torturing him for release.
Yes.
The shy man with the eyes of crystal green had just happened to cross Purly’s
ravenous path and stood right before the jaws of this hungry beast. It could
have been anyone, any man, and the effect would have been the same.
It
sounded logical, but…
Purly
placed a recording on the spindle, wound the crank on the phonograph and rested
the needle carefully where the Moonlight
Sonata was to begin.
The
music—rich and beautifully gloomy—filled the area and shards of moonlight pierced
through the dilapidated blinds to paint silvery stripes on the floor and walls.
The perfect setting for a man determined to brood.
Plucking
his ever-present cigarette from the ashtray, Purly headed for the deck and
stepped out into the balmy night air. The ocean’s roar, rolling then subsiding,
blended with the melancholy sonata.
Beyond
the shore a wide ribbon of moonlight split the endless black horizon. To the
west, lightning illuminated a cluster of clouds and seconds later the rumble of
thunder echoed in the sky.
And then he spotted them. There on the beach,
silhouetted against that wide smattering of sparkles on the waves, stood three
figures—Lucky and his two dogs.
Before
Purly could pull the lever of reasoning and caution, waves of warm, exquisite,
excruciating heat rushed through his body. And, abandoning the damn internal
warning sirens altogether, he tossed his cigarette, bolted down the rickety
steps and out onto the cool sand toward Lucky.
What
he’d say when he reached Lucky’s side, he didn’t know nor did he care. He only
knew he did have to reach his side.
Standing
within several feet of him, Purly said nothing, just gazed at Lucky’s back—at the
wind dusting through his curls and rippling the loose-fitting white shirt and
trousers about his limbs.
The
dogs galloped from the tide to pounce on Purly as though running into a
long-lost friend and, thrusting their wet paws on his chest, sent him sprawling
onto the sand. Only then did he realize he’d stepped outside in his thin
undershirt and shorts.
Lucky
turned to face the commotion. With his hands deep in his trousers pockets, he
studied the scene through those dark lashes and rested a serene smile on Purly.
He shrugged, tilted his head and sighed. “Purly.”
Struggling
to his feet in spite of the eager dogs, Purly searched Lucky’s face,
registering every smooth inch of it, before looking into his eyes.
A
lie formed in Purly’s mind, an excuse for being out on the beach at this time
of night in his undershorts. But Lucky’s gaze, although so languid and cool,
somehow managed to shoot fire straight to Purly’s soul, melting the budding
falsity.
Instead
of the bogus story he’d planned, the truth issued from his lips. “I’m sorry,
Lucky, about the other day.”
Lucky
bent to ruffle the white fur at each dog’s neck. Since their meeting, all the
boyish nervousness seemed to have vanished from his eyes, his bearing.
He
said nothing, just continued to lavish his attention on the canines.
The
silence prompted Purly to step nearer, determined—hoping to God the chance
hadn’t passed forever—to draw some sort of response from the man. “I’ve missed
seeing you in the mornings.”
Still
no reaction from Lucky.
Stubbornness
in his resolve now, Purly boldly closed the space between them and stooped to
rest his hand on Lucky’s. To demand his attention. The touch of the man’s skin
sent heat rushing from Purly’s fingertips straight through his body. “I’ve
missed you.”
The
sentiment spewing from him was so foreign to his ears—the unfamiliar concept of
missing, longing out loud—he might as well have been speaking in tongues.
Finally
Lucky straightened, gently withdrew his hand from beneath Purly’s and brushed
the sand from his own palms. His voice, wafting on the ocean’s breeze, seemed
to have drawn the thought from Purly’s very mind, “Do you want me?”
And Purly knew he’d utter the tiny word—the
lone syllable possessing the power to shatter the huge boulder on his shoulders
with the force of a hundred earthquakes. The answer that would plunge him into
a dark, horrifying unknown and yet set him beautifully free.
“Yes.”
