The following is a blurb and excerpt from my new erotic short, which is available to read for free on Amazon with a Kindle Unlimited subscription. Amazon only lets me post the first 10 percent of the story while I'm exclusive to their Kindle Unlimited program, so it ends when the two men are introduced. My apologies. I plan to create a series of books related to straight-gay sexual encounters. I also have a Christmas-themed "Holiday Extra" to the series uploaded to Amazon. You can find them by searching "Buck Sheridan." Cheers!

Marty is a gay college student who has a thing for alpha-male muscle bears and rough trade. Luckily, he has a new, burly neighbor named Woody. He’s a recently divorced, butch, blue-collar straight guy who is open to new experiences. Can Marty score a hot, heteroflexible new lover? Will Woody discover a side to his rugged masculinity he never considered before? How long will it take for them to cross the thin line from erotic to romantic? Dive into this sexy, testosterone-driven short story to find out!

The heat suffocated that August day. The thick Texas air wrapped you like a cloth pulled from boiling water. Marty Davis had been running his ass off serving customers at Jimmy’s Pancake House since 5 a.m. He was ready to get home, crank up the AC, and hop into the shower after working breakfast and lunch with little money to show for it. I must work at the only restaurant in Fort Worth where people still tip in coins and think 10 percent is good, he thought. Marty barely made rent last month, and this month didn’t look much better. Thankfully, fall student financial aid was on the way.

Marty whipped his white Hyundai Accent from Woodhaven Boulevard into his apartment complex’s parking lot. The little car was 10 years old and showed its age, but it was paid for, and it did its job. The color white helped reflect the intense heat of the summer sun. Fortunately, he wouldn’t have to jockey for a parking spot since most 9-to-5 workers were still slaving away. He lived in a cookie-cutter mega-complex called Whispering Oaks. It was bustling with young, active tenants who enjoyed its three pools, two tennis courts, two playgrounds, volleyball court, and fitness center. There were apartments like this all over the sprawling Dallas-Fort Worth metropolitan area, but the sweet smell of petunias and other assorted flowers coloring its landscape set it apart from the rest.

He noticed an older, beat-up silver cargo van parked in front of his building. A ramp tilted from its back end. A new neighbor, he thought. That was fast.

The apartment next to his had been vacant only a week. The young woman who lived there graduated from college in May. She was a pretty Latina and a quiet, pleasant neighbor. Last Christmas, she knocked on his door holding a pan filled with homemade tamales. “My mom brought too many,” she told him. “I’ll get fat if I eat them all.”

They were delicious, and he didn’t gain an ounce. He was lucky that way.

Marty parked under one of the summer-baked oak trees flanking the blacktop parking lot. As he shut off the engine, he heard the rustling of trees, the songs of meadowlarks, and the distant roar of the Landry Freeway a mile away. When he opened his car door, he saw a big, burly man walking around the corner of his building. The guy was huge, but not fat, and not ripped like a bodybuilder, but he sure could toss iron if he wanted. He was what another generation might have called husky—thick, but solid as marble. He must have been 6’3”. This wasn’t the kind of build you get just by going to the gym. No way. This guy worked. He had the physique of someone who does a lot of heavy lifting, squatting, reaching, twisting, and pushing. His sandy blond hair was clipped into a buzz cut. You could see it was beginning to thin a little at the top, but he wasn’t bald. His angular, square-jawed face had a full but properly shaped beard. His left, football-sized bicep sported a tattoo of a bull digging its hooves into puffs of dirt as it charged toward his broad chest. The summer had cooked his body to the color of desert sand. A bit of chest hair peeked above his tank top. He wore loose, gray gym shorts revealing moderately hairy legs thick as the trunks of the surrounding oak trees, with calves that could kick through concrete. The man definitely worked outdoors. He went into the back of the van.

Is this my new neighbor? thought Marty. He’s a fucking stud!

The neighbor removed the ramp and shut the back of the van as Marty got out of his car. “All done?” said Marty.

“Yep. It doesn’t take long to furnish a studio apartment.” The man smiled at Marty through playful, steel-blue eyes. “That’s what I like about ‘em. I get to keep life simple, which is what I need after a divorce.” He chuckled a little.

“So you’re in apartment 182F?” asked Marty.

“Yep, that would be me.”