Sno Ho
Authors: Ethan Day
Sn Ho
by Ethan Day
MLR Press, LLC
www.mlrpress.com
Copyright ©
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Sn Ho
by Ethan Day
CONTENTS
* * * *
Sn Ho
by Ethan Day
sno ho
ethan day
mlrpress
www.mlrpress.com
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Sn Ho
by Ethan Day
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2009 by Ethan Day
* * * *
Published by
MLR Press, LLC
3052 Gaines Waterport Rd.
Albion, NY 14411
Visit ManLoveRomance Press, LLC on the Internet: www.mlrpress.com
Cover Art by Deana C. Jamroz
Editing by Kris Jacen
Printed in the United States of America.
* * * *
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Sn Ho
by Ethan Day
My eyes fluttered open, and the overcast daylight filtering in from the huge picture window slowly came into focus. I was looking out over a panorama of snowy mountains dotted with sprouts of green from the evergreens that poked through the white blanket. The small mountain town of Summit City, Colorado, stretched out along the floor of the valley below.
The light drizzle of snow was softly floating from sky to ground. I heard rustling coming from behind me and I sat up, realizing I didn't know where I was.
I lifted my hand to my forehead as the dull, achy-throbbing began—my hangover waking up with me. How much had I had to drink last night? Not that it took much, but damn. I rubbed my temple and cringed as the swimming in my head began to settle. One more thing I blame Phillip for. I looked down, realizing I was naked, and was startled again by the rustling to my side. Slowly turning my head toward the source of the disruption, my eyes widened taking in the wide, expansive muscular back.
I quietly began to scoot toward the edge of the bed and winced from the twinge of pain coming from my backside.
What the hell had he fucked me with? Christ on a cracker...my ass felt like it had been reamed, but good. I shook my head and continued to crawl over to the side of the massive bed. Probably another bartender, I thought as I finally made it to the edge. This happened every god damn time I drank. Why couldn't I just leave a nice tip like a normal 6
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person? Honestly, Boone, do you really have to offer up your ass? Are you seriously
that
cheap? I reached back and rubbed my ass somewhat thankful I had no memory of last night considering it felt like this dude had seriously fucked the hell out of me.
"
Please
let him have worn a condom," I mumbled as I threw my feet over the side of the bed. I cringed as I looked down to see my foot had landed on used rubber. I made some sort of
ick
noise as I lifted my foot, which now had the condom stuck to it.
"That is so not sexy." I tentatively reached out, touching as little of the condom as humanly possible. I began pulling it off and closed my eyes feeling the skin from the bottom of my foot peel away from the latex which I then tossed back onto the floor as a 'that's-gross' chill swept over my naked body. I looked around, disgusted and feeling 'all class' as I took the edge of the sheet to wipe the sticky off the bottom of my foot.
I stood up too quickly feeling the bed move from behind me. My head was spinning a bit as I turned and looked down at the ass abuser that lay before me. He was massive, whoever he was. I imagined him being like Gaston from
Beauty and the Beast
. He was now on his back and his hairless expanse of a chest was spread out before me. He practically requires his own zip code, I thought as my gaze followed the sinewy trail of muscle down his abs. He was hot at least. I rubbed my head desperately needing coffee and aspirin while scolding myself for being the type of asshole that cared whether or not he was hot. I scanned the room 7
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trying to get my bearings. I spied my jeans on the floor which somehow made me feel less panicky.
I poked around the room and discovered that the bedroom was up in a loft which overlooked the living area below. I got slightly dizzy and nauseous as I peered over the railing.
Knotty pine beams stretched out overhead and I caught a whiff of the fire below, that was now probably just embers. I felt a sudden chill and began to look around for the rest of my clothes. I spied a shoe and my briefs on the floor by the bureau.
I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror as I crossed the room and my mouth fell open. The back of my head looked as if someone had taken a comb and teased the shit out it.
Spotting the huge-ass hickey on the curve between my neck and shoulder, I scowled and turned back to the bed. I was half tempted to chuck my shoe at him. Dirty bastard...all but branded my ass. My eyes widened as I quickly spun around, using the mirror, relieved to see there wasn't a hickey on my ass.
I made a quick scan inspecting the rest of my body to make sure nothing else was...different. I gathered up all my things and crept naked down the stairs, clutching everything in my arms. A flash of the previous night popped into my head and I stopped, leaning against the railing for a moment for balance as I vaguely remembered clinging to Mr. Muscles while we made out, him carrying me up the stairs. I shook my head, feeling my cock stir a bit, almost able to remember what it felt like to have the guy's tongue in my mouth. I let out a disapproving sigh, and continued down the stairs.
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Sn Ho
by Ethan Day
I stumbled into the living room, spotting my keys and cell phone on the coffee table next to two glasses each of which had a tiny amount of red wine left in them. The room was decorated in what I assumed to be mountain-gay, bachelor-chic with its brown leather furniture, a solid looking wooden rocking chair and dark mission style accent tables. It did actually feel lived in and homey, which was nice after Phillip's sterile, everything-in-its-place condo.
The fireplace was massive, large stacked stones stretching up from the floor all the way up the two-story wall and disappearing into the ceiling. The five foot long mantle consisted of a long, thick rough cut chunk of wood which was shiny from the multiple layers of varnish. I spied a small plasma through a cracked door in one the built-ins, on either side of the fireplace.
I smacked my lips, feeling the fuzz of drink and sex from the night before. God only knows what depraved acts I allowed myself to partake in with the beast. I felt another achy-twinge in my ass as I meandered into the kitchen. I felt the texture and temperature change under my bare feet, going from the wood floors to the stone tile in the open kitchen and dining area. A picture window twice the size of the one upstairs in the bedroom provided another breath-taking view of the mountains which surrounded the valley below. I had to blink a few times in order to tear my eyes away, imagining I could become easily mesmerized by the sight, losing entire days—getting lost in the scale of it all.
That was saying a lot, considering Albuquerque came with its own amazing views, thinking back to the warm, rusty-red 9
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glow of the Sandia Mountains baking in the late afternoon sun.
As my gaze ran over the gourmet looking kitchen with the smoky caramel stained cabinets and stone countertops which appeared to have tiny fossils imbedded in them, I paused at the professional grade looking stainless steel appliances.
Maybe I'd fucked a chef and not a bartender after all? That would be some type of progress. If given a dollar for every bartender I'd woken up with over the past thirteen years of my life, I'd be a rich man. The confusing thing was, I remembered the bartender from last night, unlike the man I'd found myself in bed with. Life really was a twisted bitch sometimes. I was jerked out of my inner thoughts hearing a noise come from upstairs.
I noticed a hallway off the back of the kitchen and headed that direction. I found a bathroom and took the longest piss of my life. It was one for the ages that piss, the kind that gave you chills and goose bumps all over your body from the relief of the release. I flushed the toilet before pulling on my briefs and jeans, then finally looking back over my hair as I yanked on my socks and boots. I turned on the faucet and did my best to dampen my scruffy, shoulder length, light brown hair back into some sort of submission. It was tangled all to hell, another reminder of what a good-time guy I was when I drank.
They didn't call me Low-Tolerance Tommy for nothing.
I usually don't have alcohol unless my friends are around to try and keep me from doing things like this. Unfortunately I was up here in Colorado all by myself, thanks to Phillip.
Happy one year anniversary, you cock sucking piece of man-10
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by Ethan Day
shit. This was what I deserved for dating a surgeon. You think they're all heroic, saving lives—making the big sacrifice. What I realized now was what a controlling, god-complex, piece of scum he was. Why do I never see it until it's over?
I ran my finger tips over the hickey on my neck and let out a long sigh. Thinking back over the past year there had been plenty of signs. Phillip never asked about me or my day. It was as if he never gave a shit who
I
was, only caring that I looked good on his arm and in his bed. That should've been the biggest clue. The fact that I'm a writer, made him seem perfect. He worked long hours which left me with tons of time to work. The sex was incredible. The vain, god-complex worked for the son of a bitch, and his confidence in his abilities in the sack were well warranted. If nothing else
good
could be said about Phillip, he did have a can-do cock.
I laughed at my reflection in the mirror thinking I'd actually convinced myself that Phillip had invited me up here, to the place we'd met a year ago yesterday, because he was going to ask me to move in with him.
"What a dumbass you are, Boone." I said to myself, still worried in the back of mind why it was I hadn't cried. Had I been broken-hearted so many times in the past that I'd now become desensitized to the pain of it? "Am I broken?"
I shrugged and picked up my t-shirt, flipping it inside out.
Nope—Phillip sent me up here because he wanted to dump me, and the really sad part was that he didn't have enough respect for me to do it face to face. He'd called instead, letting me know the cabin was paid up for another week and to stay as long as I liked. That he'd already dropped the few 11
Sn Ho
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things I'd been allowed to leave at his house back off at mine and that my spare key was in the mail.
My response to what he'd said? "Thanks."
I slipped on my shirt and went back out into the living room, trying to avoid the views from the large picture window. I snatched up my phone and dialed information; getting the number to call a cab. I scurried about when they asked where to pick me up, eventually snagging the address from the magazines piled up on the coffee table. I flipped through the stack as I hung up my cell. A
Sports Illustrated
, how butch, I thought. Funny that was on top...trying too hard, perhaps? That slightly critical thought brought a smile to my face. There was also an
Advocate
, an
Entertainment
Weekly
, some skiing catalogues and a
TV Guide
. I read the name, which for some reason sounded familiar. Wade Walker.
