Date: Fri, 14 Oct 2005 07:00:56 -0500
From: ^sHarp Simon-Harper <sharper@inorbit.com>
Subject: "It was sunlight" - Chapter one

"It was sunlight" - Chapter one - gay story - by Simon Harper
sharper@inorbit.com - Please tell me what you think, especially if you
like it ;-)

This story is totally fictional. The (c) copyright belongs to the author.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

It was sunlight, falling on the corpse. The corpse was purple, blotchy
and red - in stripes where the skin had been peeled off - and also white
and blue. Its eyes had been removed, as had its ears and fingers and
toes. It was not wearing any clothes.

I kicked it and it rolled over, the slope of the hill assisting, down
into the water. A duck swam up and stuck its bill into the water
speculatively. The it swam around the body, quacking softly, then it
clambered out to the water and stood sleepily in a place where the
sunlight fell most strongly.

In the days since I had first discovered the body I had not told anyone.
It was my secret. Then I told Michael, my friend. He was confused as I
led him down the trackless slope to where the rotting body now lay.

"Must be the vendetta."

"Who's?"

"The Pascal family versus the Valeri."

"How do you know?"

"He's a Valeri. He's from Coggotti. He's my Uncle Paul. I used to go to
his house when I was little. Wait until I tell them about this! The
Pascals had better watch out!"

"Don't do that."

"Why not? They'll guess sooner or later anyway. What if they find out we
knew?"

I grabbed him and held his arms.

"Just listen to me," I said. "We should stay out of this. We don't want
to be responsible for more deaths! No one knows we found this body here.
No one knows. Just you and I." I was holding his arms in a very tight
grip.

"Let go of me. You're hurting."

He struggled but I didn't let go.

"Promise me you won't say anything!"

He struggled and we ended up tripping over the body, stumbling into the
shallow water.  The duck flapped away, squawking. Michael kept trying to
shake me off him but I held on tighter than ever.

"Let go of me you cunt. Of course we can talk about this. I don't know.
What does it matter? It is none of our business."

"Right: None of our business. Let's not tell anyone. Let's keep quiet
about it. Yeh?"

"Just let go of me. You're really hurting."

I pulled him towards me and repeated myself. "Don't tell anyone." My face
was right up against his and I could feel his chest against mine - his
breathing. His eyes looked straight at me and his body went still.

"If that's what you want," he whispered.

And I kissed him.

When I stopped I said, "That's right. You get it. We can't become
involved. It's dangerous for us."

He nodded and then he put his lips up against mine and I kissed him
again, pulling him by the arms hard up against me.  His body was hard and
strong and I released my grip so that I could put my arms around him and
explore him beneath his clothes - his smooth unyielding skin, his arched
muscular back, his buttocks.

"You are very beautiful," I said.

"Beautiful?"

I kissed him again and pushed my hard against him and between his legs.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

When I heard that Michael was to be tried for the murder of this uncle
Paul, I was vaguely satisfied. There was no way they could argue he could
have done it. The prosecution case was convoluted and implausible. They
said that Michael had tried to make the death look like a vendetta murder
but that in actual fact he had carried it out in revenge for years of
bullying and intimidation against him by Paul.

Witnesses were found who would testify that Paul had chastised Michael
for being effeminate, a mama's boy, a pushover, a pansy who took it up
the arse. But Michael was a strong man physically and his robust
appearance did not match the commonly held conception of a homosexual.
Furthermore, the evidence was really only circumstantial.

The Police smelled a rat. They gradually realised that the case against
Michael was being orchestrated by Pascal sympathisers, aided by Valeri
family members who wanted to take their own revenge, outside the legal
requirements of due process. Michael was arrested and held for a number
of weeks - with much publicity - and then released without charge.
Insufficient evidence. The Police had realised that they were being led a
song and dance, merely to demonstrate to them that they would not be able
to bring a successful prosecution. They were now being obstructed by all
the parties concerned and quietly dropped their investigations. I knew
that Michael now could not be blamed by anyone. The Valeri family weren't
interested in finding the real murderer, just in exacting their revenge
from the Pascals. They would select their victim . . . all in good time.

I went to see Michael whilst he was inside, but he wouldn't talk except
to say, "They'll be sorry for this."

When he got out I went to his house. He was just leaving.

"Michael," I said, "off out? I'm just coming to see you. Where are you
going? I'll walk with you."

Michael looked at me with suspicion. His shirt was undone at the collar
and I saw a thin gold chain - taut, like it held a medallion or
something.

"That's new," I said.

"My father gave it to me."

"What is it?"

"It's a St. Anthony - Patron Saint of our family. Used to belong to my
Uncle."

"Show it to me."

Michael took the medallion out and held it up, beneath his chin so I
could see. The light caught it and shone on his skin.

"That's lovely," I said, "but why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"All this 'My Family' business. It can't be good. You don't want to get
involved with all that. You know what? You'll end up in trouble. Your
family will get you into trouble."

"My family love me."

"Of course they love you," I said. "You're easy to love. You're an idiot,
and you're pretty. You're and idiot and you're pretty. And everyone loves
a pretty idiot."

He smirked. "That's true. Even the Pascals love me. They said so."

"Said so? When did they say so?"

"One of them visited me in jail and said that I was very popular with the
Pascal girls and that the grandfather wanted my in their family so that
their could be an end to this hatred and killing. Like you said."

"I said?"

"You said there should be an end to this hatred and killing."

"I didn't mean you should get married."

"It's a good idea. I asked my father and he said that once the current
trouble is resolved it might even be a good idea."

"Don't get married," I said.

"It'll be good. I'll bring peace to the villages and we'll be able to
unite against the lower valley."

"Where the hell do you get these barmy ideas from? 'Unite against the
lower valley'? What's that all about?"

"They're always putting us down."

"I never heard such rubbish. This whole area is reliant on them."

"They're reliant on us, my father said."

He looked at me with his big brown eyes and I wanted to hold him in my
arms and kiss him and feel him and press my naked skin against his. He
smiled again, pointlessly, rubbing his chest where the medallion lay
beneath his shirt.

"Wanna go for a walk?" he said. "I'm glad to see you."

"Ok. Where?"

"Down by the lake."

"Where we found the body?"

"Yeh."

So we walked into the woods and when we were out of the way of anybody I
undressed him and he undressed me and we fucked.

Afterwards, with the sunlight sketching a giraffe skin pattern with the
leaves, and the ducks feeding casually at the bottom of the slope, we lay
with my arm around his neck and his leg slung over me so it kept pressed
on my penis, and we slept - or rather we dozed, or I did because I
couldn't stop thinking about him and the way he gave himself to me and
how this might not last forever and how his skin felt, warm and golden in
the sun, and how his Uncle had been right!

"I love you," I said when he woke. He rolled over and on top of me, his
hair in his eyes, guiding my stiff prick between his legs. He gave little
kisses to my lips, my nose, my eyes.

"When I get married," he said, "we can still do this."

"You can't get married. You couldn't . . . do the business!"

"I could! I'd probably be quite good. My father says I'm just what women
look for : I'm fit and strong, well brought up, I don't get angry and
violet, I'm caring . . . "

"What about what your Uncle said?"

"No one believes that. No one at all - except you. And if I was married
it'd all be forgotten anyway."

He got up - golden and marvellous - and walked over to where a strong
branch grew within jumping reach. He hopped and caught it, then started
doing chin-ups, his arms, stomach and chest tightening with each lift. I
lay beneath his feet admiring him.

"I wish you wouldn't do this," I said. "You deserve better."

He grunted.

"It'd be meaningless, a relationship with a woman. You don't care about
women. You're like me. You can't marry. You'll be unhappy. She'll be
unhappy. What's the point of that?"

He grunted.

"We could run away," I said, " to the North or even leave and go to the
mainland. Get work over there. Stay over there. No one would know us. No
one would care. We could work hard and earn lots of money and be together
for the rest of our lives. It'd be good! We'd leave all of this valley
insanity, all of this vendetta insanity behind us."

He grunted.

"What do you think, hey?" I said.

He grunted and dropped down from the tree, panting, his penis stiffening
in a thick mop of pubic hair and a glistening sweat breaking out on his
chest and arms. He stood looking at me and raised his hands high in the
air.

"Look," he said, "I like you. I like having sex with you : Look at me!
You excite me. Look at this," he shook his hips and his torpedo shaped
erection waved in front of him. "See!" he laughed. "That's how I get when
you say how much you want me. You turn me on. You make me hard. I love
that you make me hard. You're great. It's brilliant. You're horney!"

He stood still and then crouched down beside me.

"But you're missing a whole lot," he said confidentially - as if the
mundane facts of his ordinary life were an impolite secret.

"What am I missing?"

"You're missing that I have a family and that I could not simply walk out
on them. They need me. They need me to stay. They need me to work. They
need me to get married. And they need me to get married to Alicia."

"Alicia?"

"That's the Pascal daughter I'm . . . betrothed to."

"Betrothed? Betrothed already? It's that far advanced? It's that
settled?"

"Oh it was decided some while ago."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I've been trying . . . I only found out a while ago myself. It's the
killing."

"What killing?"

"All the fucking killing, you prick. And it's got to stop." He put a hand
on me and stroked my skin. "And that's why I've got to get married."

"That won't stop the killing."

"Oh it will," he said confidently. "You can be sure of that."

He ran a finger over my lips and touched my eyelids and eyebrows and
brushed my hair lightly with his fingertips, watching me and talking to
me distantly, as if he was talking to himself or as if he was talking in
a foreign language no one but he could understand.

"It will." He went on. "The Pascals came to visit us one night, with a
threat. They knew that the Valeri would try to exact their revenge for
the death of my uncle. They warned us off. They made it clear that it
wouldn't stop there and that for every death we caused they would kill
seven, or something. I don't know why they chose the number seven . . ."
He laughed. "But the point is, the truth is that they are stronger,
bigger, better connected . . . they might never give in until the whole
Valeri are gone. Wiped out.

"They have the authorities in the pockets. That's what my arrest was all
about. Don't you see? The arrest was all about the Pascals showing their
strength. They got me arrested, they got the witnesses against me, they
concocted the whole story, they said I was queer and that my Uncle was
ashamed of me and that I was useless to the whole Valeri family, the
whole valley, I was useless and good for nothing, a weak useless pansy.

"It was horrible, what they said. My father was shattered. He cried. He
sat in his chair by the fire and cried and cried and the Pascals went on
about how they killed my Uncle Paul and they concocted the story for the
Police that got me arrested and then, when they had proved what they
could do, and even the Valeri were helping, actually helping them by
themselves obstructing the Police - for their own reasons - then the
Pascals went to the Judges and the Police and told them to go easy and
let me go and throw out the case and drop the investigation . . .

"It was all put up by the Pascals and now we know it and now we know why
: They wanted to corner us, drive us like sheep into a corner where we
would have no option but to cooperate and now . . ."

"And you believe all this?" I said.

Michael's face was red and sweating with anger. His fingers stroking me
had got rougher and harder. He was pressing them into me, poking me.
Punching me, almost, with the tips of his fingers.

His eyes filled with tears and he said, "I know it is true. I am to be
their hostage."

"What the hell . . . What kind of hostage? Hostage?"

"I am to go to marry Alicia and live in the Pascal household and become a
Pascal. It's very humiliating. And if the Valeri do anything to hurt the
Pascals then I will be killed and my children, if we have any, will also
be killed. And Alicia will be killed for laying with me. That way the
Valeri can be trusted not to try anything . . . while I'm alive . . ."

"It's grotesque. They're making her marry you . . . and then threatening
to kill her!?"

"It's not that," he said - and for the first time in a while he raised
his eyes and looked at me, sorrowfully. "We have already been together."

I practically leaped out of my skin.

"You what?"

"It was an experiment . . ."

"Experiment?"

"To see if it would work."

"And did it? Did you get it up?"

"I did. And I did fuck her."

"Is she pregnant?"

"Oh no, silly - nothing like that. But she told them and they . . . used
it. She loves me, I think."

"You're a fucking idiot."

"I know. I'm an idiot. But I know where my duty lies."

"You're an idiot."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeh. I'm sorry too," I said.

He kept looking at me, his hard-on standing up between his legs. I looked
at it and he laughed.

"See?" he said.

"See what?"

"How much I fancy you?"

He lay down and started wanking me and I wanked him, kissing him more and
more passionately until we had come; and the cum mixed together on our
stomachs, like we would always be together; and the cum lay between the
sandwich of our bodies, like we would always be apart.



"It was sunlight" - Chapter one - gay story - by Simon Harper
sharper@inorbit.com - Please tell me what you think, especially if you
like it ;-)

This story is totally fictional. The (c) copyright belongs to the author.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

It was sunlight, falling on the corpse. The corpse was purple, blotchy
and red - in stripes where the skin had been peeled off - and also white
and blue. Its eyes had been removed, as had its ears and fingers and
toes. It was not wearing any clothes.

I kicked it and it rolled over, the slope of the hill assisting, down
into the water. A duck swam up and stuck its bill into the water
speculatively. The it swam around the body, quacking softly, then it
clambered out to the water and stood sleepily in a place where the
sunlight fell most strongly.

In the days since I had first discovered the body I had not told anyone.
It was my secret. Then I told Michael, my friend. He was confused as I
led him down the trackless slope to where the rotting body now lay.

"Must be the vendetta."

"Who's?"

"The Pascal family versus the Valeri."

"How do you know?"

"He's a Valeri. He's from Coggotti. He's my Uncle Paul. I used to go to
his house when I was little. Wait until I tell them about this! The
Pascals had better watch out!"

"Don't do that."

"Why not? They'll guess sooner or later anyway. What if they find out we
knew?"

I grabbed him and held his arms.

"Just listen to me," I said. "We should stay out of this. We don't want
to be responsible for more deaths! No one knows we found this body here.
No one knows. Just you and I." I was holding his arms in a very tight
grip.

"Let go of me. You're hurting."

He struggled but I didn't let go.

"Promise me you won't say anything!"

He struggled and we ended up tripping over the body, stumbling into the
shallow water.  The duck flapped away, squawking. Michael kept trying to
shake me off him but I held on tighter than ever.

"Let go of me you cunt. Of course we can talk about this. I don't know.
What does it matter? It is none of our business."

"Right: None of our business. Let's not tell anyone. Let's keep quiet
about it. Yeh?"

"Just let go of me. You're really hurting."

I pulled him towards me and repeated myself. "Don't tell anyone." My face
was right up against his and I could feel his chest against mine - his
breathing. His eyes looked straight at me and his body went still.

"If that's what you want," he whispered.

And I kissed him.

When I stopped I said, "That's right. You get it. We can't become
involved. It's dangerous for us."

He nodded and then he put his lips up against mine and I kissed him
again, pulling him by the arms hard up against me.  His body was hard and
strong and I released my grip so that I could put my arms around him and
explore him beneath his clothes - his smooth unyielding skin, his arched
muscular back, his buttocks.

"You are very beautiful," I said.

"Beautiful?"

I kissed him again and pushed my hard against him and between his legs.

***

When I heard that Michael was to be tried for the murder of this uncle
Paul, I was vaguely satisfied. There was no way they could argue he could
have done it. The prosecution case was convoluted and implausible. They
said that Michael had tried to make the death look like a vendetta murder
but that in actual fact he had carried it out in revenge for years of
bullying and intimidation against him by Paul.

Witnesses were found who would testify that Paul had chastised Michael
for being effeminate, a mama's boy, a pushover, a pansy who took it up
the arse. But Michael was a strong man physically and his robust
appearance did not match the commonly held conception of a homosexual.
Furthermore, the evidence was really only circumstantial.

The Police smelled a rat. They gradually realised that the case against
Michael was being orchestrated by Pascal sympathisers, aided by Valeri
family members who wanted to take their own revenge, outside the legal
requirements of due process. Michael was arrested and held for a number
of weeks - with much publicity - and then released without charge.
Insufficient evidence. The Police had realised that they were being led a
song and dance, merely to demonstrate to them that they would not be able
to bring a successful prosecution. They were now being obstructed by all
the parties concerned and quietly dropped their investigations. I knew
that Michael now could not be blamed by anyone. The Valeri family weren't
interested in finding the real murderer, just in exacting their revenge
from the Pascals. They would select their victim . . . all in good time.

I went to see Michael whilst he was inside, but he wouldn't talk except
to say, "They'll be sorry for this."

When he got out I went to his house. He was just leaving.

"Michael," I said, "off out? I'm just coming to see you. Where are you
going? I'll walk with you."

Michael looked at me with suspicion. His shirt was undone at the collar
and I saw a thin gold chain - taut, like it held a medallion or
something.

"That's new," I said.

"My father gave it to me."

"What is it?"

"It's a St. Anthony - Patron Saint of our family. Used to belong to my
Uncle."

"Show it to me."

Michael took the medallion out and held it up, beneath his chin so I
could see. The light caught it and shone on his skin.

"That's lovely," I said, "but why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"All this 'My Family' business. It can't be good. You don't want to get
involved with all that. You know what? You'll end up in trouble. Your
family will get you into trouble."

"My family love me."

"Of course they love you," I said. "You're easy to love. You're an idiot,
and you're pretty. You're and idiot and you're pretty. And everyone loves
a pretty idiot."

He smirked. "That's true. Even the Pascals love me. They said so."

"Said so? When did they say so?"

"One of them visited me in jail and said that I was very popular with the
Pascal girls and that the grandfather wanted my in their family so that
their could be an end to this hatred and killing. Like you said."

"I said?"

"You said there should be an end to this hatred and killing."

"I didn't mean you should get married."

"It's a good idea. I asked my father and he said that once the current
trouble is resolved it might even be a good idea."

"Don't get married," I said.

"It'll be good. I'll bring peace to the villages and we'll be able to
unite against the lower valley."

"Where the hell do you get these barmy ideas from? 'Unite against the
lower valley'? What's that all about?"

"They're always putting us down."

"I never heard such rubbish. This whole area is reliant on them."

"They're reliant on us, my father said."

He looked at me with his big brown eyes and I wanted to hold him in my
arms and kiss him and feel him and press my naked skin against his. He
smiled again, pointlessly, rubbing his chest where the medallion lay
beneath his shirt.

"Wanna go for a walk?" he said. "I'm glad to see you."

"Ok. Where?"

"Down by the lake."

"Where we found the body?"

"Yeh."

So we walked into the woods and when we were out of the way of anybody I
undressed him and he undressed me and we fucked.

Afterwards, with the sunlight sketching a giraffe skin pattern with the
leaves, and the ducks feeding casually at the bottom of the slope, we lay
with my arm around his neck and his leg slung over me so it kept pressed
on my penis, and we slept - or rather we dozed, or I did because I
couldn't stop thinking about him and the way he gave himself to me and
how this might not last forever and how his skin felt, warm and golden in
the sun, and how his Uncle had been right!

"I love you," I said when he woke. He rolled over and on top of me, his
hair in his eyes, guiding my stiff prick between his legs. He gave little
kisses to my lips, my nose, my eyes.

"When I get married," he said, "we can still do this."

"You can't get married. You couldn't . . . do the business!"

"I could! I'd probably be quite good. My father says I'm just what women
look for : I'm fit and strong, well brought up, I don't get angry and
violet, I'm caring . . . "

"What about what your Uncle said?"

"No one believes that. No one at all - except you. And if I was married
it'd all be forgotten anyway."

He got up - golden and marvellous - and walked over to where a strong
branch grew within jumping reach. He hopped and caught it, then started
doing chin-ups, his arms, stomach and chest tightening with each lift. I
lay beneath his feet admiring him.

"I wish you wouldn't do this," I said. "You deserve better."

He grunted.

"It'd be meaningless, a relationship with a woman. You don't care about
women. You're like me. You can't marry. You'll be unhappy. She'll be
unhappy. What's the point of that?"

He grunted.

"We could run away," I said, " to the North or even leave and go to the
mainland. Get work over there. Stay over there. No one would know us. No
one would care. We could work hard and earn lots of money and be together
for the rest of our lives. It'd be good! We'd leave all of this valley
insanity, all of this vendetta insanity behind us."

He grunted.

"What do you think, hey?" I said.

He grunted and dropped down from the tree, panting, his penis stiffening
in a thick mop of pubic hair and a glistening sweat breaking out on his
chest and arms. He stood looking at me and raised his hands high in the
air.

"Look," he said, "I like you. I like having sex with you : Look at me!
You excite me. Look at this," he shook his hips and his torpedo shaped
erection waved in front of him. "See!" he laughed. "That's how I get when
you say how much you want me. You turn me on. You make me hard. I love
that you make me hard. You're great. It's brilliant. You're horney!"

He stood still and then crouched down beside me.

"But you're missing a whole lot," he said confidentially - as if the
mundane facts of his ordinary life were an impolite secret.

"What am I missing?"

"You're missing that I have a family and that I could not simply walk out
on them. They need me. They need me to stay. They need me to work. They
need me to get married. And they need me to get married to Alicia."

"Alicia?"

"That's the Pascal daughter I'm . . . betrothed to."

"Betrothed? Betrothed already? It's that far advanced? It's that
settled?"

"Oh it was decided some while ago."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I've been trying . . . I only found out a while ago myself. It's the
killing."

"What killing?"

"All the fucking killing, you prick. And it's got to stop." He put a hand
on me and stroked my skin. "And that's why I've got to get married."

"That won't stop the killing."

"Oh it will," he said confidently. "You can be sure of that."

He ran a finger over my lips and touched my eyelids and eyebrows and
brushed my hair lightly with his fingertips, watching me and talking to
me distantly, as if he was talking to himself or as if he was talking in
a foreign language no one but he could understand.

"It will." He went on. "The Pascals came to visit us one night, with a
threat. They knew that the Valeri would try to exact their revenge for
the death of my uncle. They warned us off. They made it clear that it
wouldn't stop there and that for every death we caused they would kill
seven, or something. I don't know why they chose the number seven . . ."
He laughed. "But the point is, the truth is that they are stronger,
bigger, better connected . . . they might never give in until the whole
Valeri are gone. Wiped out.

"They have the authorities in the pockets. That's what my arrest was all
about. Don't you see? The arrest was all about the Pascals showing their
strength. They got me arrested, they got the witnesses against me, they
concocted the whole story, they said I was queer and that my Uncle was
ashamed of me and that I was useless to the whole Valeri family, the
whole valley, I was useless and good for nothing, a weak useless pansy.

"It was horrible, what they said. My father was shattered. He cried. He
sat in his chair by the fire and cried and cried and the Pascals went on
about how they killed my Uncle Paul and they concocted the story for the
Police that got me arrested and then, when they had proved what they
could do, and even the Valeri were helping, actually helping them by
themselves obstructing the Police - for their own reasons - then the
Pascals went to the Judges and the Police and told them to go easy and
let me go and throw out the case and drop the investigation . . .

"It was all put up by the Pascals and now we know it and now we know why
: They wanted to corner us, drive us like sheep into a corner where we
would have no option but to cooperate and now . . ."

"And you believe all this?" I said.

Michael's face was red and sweating with anger. His fingers stroking me
had got rougher and harder. He was pressing them into me, poking me.
Punching me, almost, with the tips of his fingers.

His eyes filled with tears and he said, "I know it is true. I am to be
their hostage."

"What the hell . . . What kind of hostage? Hostage?"

"I am to go to marry Alicia and live in the Pascal household and become a
Pascal. It's very humiliating. And if the Valeri do anything to hurt the
Pascals then I will be killed and my children, if we have any, will also
be killed. And Alicia will be killed for laying with me. That way the
Valeri can be trusted not to try anything . . . while I'm alive . . ."

"It's grotesque. They're making her marry you . . . and then threatening
to kill her!?"

"It's not that," he said - and for the first time in a while he raised
his eyes and looked at me, sorrowfully. "We have already been together."

I practically leaped out of my skin.

"You what?"

"It was an experiment . . ."

"Experiment?"

"To see if it would work."

"And did it? Did you get it up?"

"I did. And I did fuck her."

"Is she pregnant?"

"Oh no, silly - nothing like that. But she told them and they . . . used
it. She loves me, I think."

"You're a fucking idiot."

"I know. I'm an idiot. But I know where my duty lies."

"You're an idiot."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeh. I'm sorry too," I said.

He kept looking at me, his hard-on standing up between his legs. I looked
at it and he laughed.

"See?" he said.

"See what?"

"How much I fancy you?"

He lay down and started wanking me and I wanked him, kissing him more and
more passionately until we had come; and the cum mixed together on our
stomachs, like we would always be together; and the cum lay between the
sandwich of our bodies, like we would always be apart.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

"It was sunlight" - Chapter one - gay story - by Simon Harper
sharper@inorbit.com - Please tell me what you think, especially if you
like it ;-)

This story is totally fictional. The (c) copyright belongs to the author.

Keep wood and stay sharp^^
My other stories :
/gay/sf-fantasy/i-am-not-interested
/gay/authoritarian/one-thing-i-might-do
/gay/authoritarian/as-a-postman
/gay/sf-fantasy/some-holiday
/gay/authoritarian/how-we-met