Sexy Gay Stories - Volume One - three m/m short stories

place to go. I drove to the English professor’s house and found it surrounded by police. I talked my way inside.
    A shotgun blast had removed the back of the professor’s head and had spread it across the bedroom wall. Two detectives showed me the body.
    ‘Looks like suicide,’ said one of the detectives. We had known each other for years, our paths crossing more often than either of us cared to admit. ‘Hell of a time to kill himself, though, what with the new book and all.’
    ‘But these pretty much tell the story,’ said the other detective. He indicated a dozen colour photographs of the English professor’s current graduate assistant taking his oral exams from the professor. The photos had been scattered about the room.
    ‘One thing bothers me, though,’ said the first detective. ‘If he killed himself, wouldn’t blood be on top of the photographs, not under them?’
    The second detective looked closer. ‘Someone threw these here after he died.’
    They both looked at me. I told them about Jeremy, about how he’d hired me, how I’d taken the photos of the dead professor, and how my client had spent the night in my house. I didn’t tell the detectives what we’d done all night, letting them believe my client had slept in my spare bedroom.
    And I told them about my missing .38.
    With nothing left to tell, I promised I’d make a formal statement whenever the detectives were ready, and then I drove to my office.
    I’d barely unlocked the door when the phone rang.
    I recognised Jeremy’s voice immediately, and told him about the scene at his home.
    ‘It’s not my home any more. Home is where the heart is, and there hasn’t been any heart there in a long time.’
    ‘You used me last night.’
    ‘We used each other,’ he said. ‘I needed you and you wanted me, wanted me so bad you didn’t care about the consequences.’
    I swallowed hard, and then asked, ‘What now?’
    ‘When you live in a world without hope,’ he said, ‘you try to find a reason to go on. Last night, with you, just delayed the inevitable.’
    He disconnected the line and I sat with the phone pressed against my ear, listening to the buzz.

    A week later, two college students found the ass end of Jeremy’s Lexus jutting out of the river just south of campus. When the police arrived, they discovered his body inside the car, one hand still gripping my .38, and a slug from my .38 embedded in the roof of the car. It had first travelled through the roof of his mouth and out the back of his head.
    Police closed both cases promptly, the university encouraged a graduate student in the English department to seek educational opportunities elsewhere, and, between visits to the police department, I exposed the false claims of the worker’s comp claimant.
    During the many months since then, when I sit in my darkened living room and my only company is a few fingers of Jack, I think about the consequences of desire and about cases that should remain closed.

Tumble Dry 
by Heidi Champa

    I had just slammed the dryer shut when I heard Jake crash through the door. He was inside for three seconds and had already created a puddle of mud and water. The rain hadn’t let up all day, but his team decided to practice anyway. Every inch of him was covered in filth. His tiny footy shorts clung to his thighs, stuck with water and clumps of the oval he was just playing on. 
    He smiled at me like a happy little boy; clearly enjoying the mud that clung to every inch of him. He stepped towards me, trailing dirty water with him. I put my hands up to keep him still, trying in vain to control the damage.
    ‘Stop! You’re making enough of a mess. I’ll get you a towel.’ 
    He just grinned and kept inching towards me, arms outstretched like Frankenstein. I backed away, but he kept moving.
    ‘Aw, come on. Just one hug, Kevin. I’ve missed you.’
    He held out his muddy hands and I was out of room to back away. I stood in the doorway, his muddy face dripping just inches from my perfect white carpet. I stared into his laughing eyes, trying to get him to be serious. But, there seemed to be no chance of that. Despite the mess, he was adorable. 
    ‘It’s your choice. Let me hug you, or the carpet gets it.’
    ‘You’re crazy, you know that?’
    He eased forward, letting his fingers dangle over the carpet. I saw the drops of silt and water forming, clinging to the tip of each finger. One fat drop sat swollen, ready to fall from his thumb. He