Be one of the first 10 readers to post a rating of Soldier Boy on Amazon and receive an advanced copy of the pre-publication, A Pride of Lions, book two of the Adventures of Bryce Tyconnel! Here is an excerpt from chapter 2 of Soldier Boy: March 2000 Snow had fallen heavily over the last three days, blanketing the slopes of the Snow Bowl ski resort with a thick carpet of pristine powder. It was an unanticipated gift that had the boys dragging their gear back out of storage. As evening transitioned to night, Bryce finished layering a coat of wax on his 120 cm Head skis, set them next to a packed gym bag, picked up the phone and dialed. “Hey, Isaac, you ready!” “You bet! What time are you coming over tomorrow morning?” “I was thinking now. We could get an early start from your place in the AM and beat the rush.” “That’ll work. Don’t forget your snow chains.” Isaac Townsend lived a couple of miles or so away, on the south side of Flagstaff. Bryce parked in the circular drive and marched through the snow where he knew the walk to be, to the front of the house. Bryce could see Isaac’s mother and father sitting in the living room in front of a glowing TV, watching a Carol Burnett special. Three Great Danes lay in a cluster in the middle of the room. At Bryce’s steps, one drowsy dog’s head lifted to survey the out-of-doors and then plopped back down indifferently. What a perfect picture, Bryce thought. There was a fire in the fireplace beneath a massive trophy laden mantle. Most were awarded Mr. Townsend for golfing, from all over the United States. A respectable number of the trophies were Isaac’s marksman’s awards, and all except one were for first place. Both Isaac and Bryce were into shooting. It started when Isaac got a BB gun for his 14th birthday. Bryce remembered the fun they had in the field behind the Townsend home, target practicing. That Christmas, Bryce bought a .22 caliber rifle with money earned mowing lawns and delivering papers. The boys supplemented stationary targets with more challenging moving targets: squirrels. The Townsends were inundated with them. Mrs. Townsend called them rats with furry tails. She hated squirrels with a passion because of what they did to her bulbs. “Kill them all,” she had told the boys. But squirrels were hard to kill with the BB gun and Isaac raised a clamor for a real gun. On Isaac’s 16th birthday, his father stunned him with the gift of a Springfield .30-06 rifle. Bryce’s parents helped him with the purchase of his own rifle, a Winchester 300. The boys were in the big time now, and the squirrels and long forgotten. By their senior year in high school both boys had scopes and were competing in sharpshooting competitions all over the state and the region, and Bryce was collecting almost as many trophies and ribbons as Isaac. Bryce tapped the window and waved. Mr. Townsend got up and came to the door. “Hello, Bryce. How are you?” “Fine, sir, did Isaac say anything to you about going skiing tomorrow. The powder’s got to be out of this world!” “Yes, he did. Wish I could go with you.” “You should, sir.” “I’m getting a little old for powder these days, but you two go ahead. Have fun and be careful, the roads are hazardous. Isaac is in the coach house, upstairs.” “Thank you, sir.” Bryce walked around back to the coach house with his Head skis on his shoulder and yelled Isaac’s name. “Dude, that was fast! We were on the phone a minute ago.” Isaac stood at the top of the stairs to his apartment, in cut off sweat pants, smiling eagerly. He was already two inches taller and twenty pounds heavier and still growing. Up until a year and a half ago, late in their sophomore year they had been almost the same size. People used to mistake them for twins all the time. Bryce reached the top of the stairs and Isaac wrapped his buff arms around him in a fierce grip and lifted him off his feet. “Show off.” Bryce was blushing. He pushed his way inside, set the Heads by the door and tried to close it on Isaac, but Isaac was ready. “Oh no you don’t, turkey lips.” Isaac launched himself into the room at Bryce, reaching for a headlock that missed. The ensuing wrestling match, interspersed with silly giggling, hard breathing, jostled furniture, cries of, “Uncle,” “Fooled you,” and more laughter, lasted more than half an hour. Isaac was on offense throughout and he was a tough opponent, though not quite tough or fast enough to pin Bryce. After years of friendship, Bryce knew his moves too well. In any case, Isaac had no need or desire to go that far. This was more than wrestling to him, and it was more than wrestling to Bryce, as well. They both knew that it was fine…as long as nothing dishonorable occurred. Legs crossed, they lay on the floor at the foot of the bed and Bryce began to wheeze. “Damn, I forgot my Albuterol inhaler.” “You left one here the other night, Bryce. It’s in the bedside table…on your side.” “Thank you, dear.” “Homo!” Isaac made as if to sniff his buddy. “Hey you stink, man! Don’t you dare crawl into my bed without taking a shower!” With that, Isaac stood. Sweat beaded his chest and a rivulet trickled between two pectoral slabs, down the furry valley at the center of his abs. He pulled the strings of his sweatpants shucked them onto the floor, and a handsome penis bounded into view. The trickle of sweat found its base and began traveling along the turgid shaft. Bryce laughed. “Isaac, you’re hard all the time. Get that thing out of my face!” The boys competed in everything from arm wrestling, to who ran the fastest, to sharpshooting skill. They measured height, weight, bicep circumference, cock size, and who could ejaculate the farthest. Consequently, seeing Isaac naked and semi-hard was nothing new to Bryce. “Hard, this guy isn’t hard…yet!” Bryce got up and began shucking clothes as Isaac disappeared into the bathroom. The shower came on. Bryce found the Albuterol and inhaled a dose, then went into the bathroom and fell to examining his war wounds in the mirror: a scraped elbow and a rug-burned shoulder. “I demand reparations,” he said. “Sorry, can’t hear you with this ear infuction.” Isaac opened the cubicle door and reached for his buddy. “Get in here, hero.” Bryce let himself be drawn in, and Isaac said, “Soap my back dude.” Bryce soaped Isaac’s shoulders, back, and ass with as much care and intimacy as he would his own, grasped Isaac’s shoulders and turned him around under the shower. Chests brushed and two stiff cocks collided as the hot water cascaded down in the steamy cubicle. It was indescribably sensual and exciting. “Okay, Isaac, you’re squeaky; my turn.” They did a 180 and now Bryce was under the shower head. He took his hands off Isaac’s shoulders and their eyes held a moment more. Not for the first time, Isaac felt butterflies in his tummy. In in a tender, stammering voice he said, “Thank you,” and stepped out of the shower, dizzy from the heat and desire.
Posted on: Fri, 12 Jul 2013 17:17:41 +0000
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