Until it wasnt, p.1
Until It Wasn't, page 1
Until It Wasn’t
Amy Robyn & J. Grandison
Cover by Wilde Design
Copyright © 2017
Until It Wasn’t
by Amy Robyn & Author J. Grandison
Cover by WILDE Designs
Editor: Ka Matthews
I Shawn Dominque, am the college baseball MVP, son of not only the mayor of my small town, but one of the most respected southern Baptist preachers in Louisiana. These things are why I must keep my being gay a secret. Until a doe eyed, blonde, artist made me want to end the secrecy. I want to be a better man for him so now my other secrets will be revealed. But one spoiled, little southern belle is out to destroy my love.
My name is Braden and I'm an art student at Louisiana State University. I have never lived in the south and had no idea how bigoted it could be. I have never needed to hide the fact that I'm gay until I moved here. I'm also infatuated with the son of a preacher and the star player on the baseball team. I never imagined he would ever be interested in me. I have never been happier to be wrong. Too bad someone is conspiring against us.
Will our love be enough?
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
About Amy Robyn
About J. Grandison
Other Books by Amy Robyn
Other Books by J. Grandison AKA LJ Sexton
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.
Copyright© 2017 Amy Robyn & J. Grandison. All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the authors.
Chapter 1. Braden
I look down at my sketch as I try to imagine the real thing. Dark hair that falls into his beautiful green eyes when he isn’t wearing his helmet or baseball cap. His chiseled jaw that stands out starkly, emphasized by the sexy little cleft in the center of his chin. The best feature of all is the dimples that pop out in both cheeks when he smiles; however, the detail that keeps steering my attention back to the drawing so much is those full, kissable lips of his. Lips, I have been fantasizing about since I first saw him my freshman year. He is the epitome of male beauty. I have daydreamed about him so many times that his face is practically stenciled onto the inside of my eyelids. I could draw him with my eyes closed.
Of course, this is not the project I should be working on instead of wasting my time on a man I have zero chance of ever being with in any way other than a friend, and even that’s iffy. Make that less than zero.
I earned a full scholarship to Louisiana State University, so I had no choice about moving to the south, knowing my chances of dating would be slim to none Louisiana is not the most cultured of states, and their tolerance for homosexuality is nil. Add that to my dream man being an incredible baseball player, having a preacher for a father, and well, let’s just say, it won’t be happening. My brain knows this, yet I can’t convince my rampant cock. He wants Shawn Dominique.
I grew up in Ohio as an only child with parents that already knew I was gay long before I came out to them. Even as progressive as they were, they had a tough time coming to terms with never having grandchildren. I knew it upset them, but they never let on.
I am grateful I had them and not ultra-religious bigots as my parents. They seem to be prevalent in this state. I don’t appear to fit in here, so I keep my head down and work hard. No sense in drawing too much attention to myself. I have not told anyone yet that I’m gay, but it’s not like it’s hard to tell. I am slender with wavy blond hair and overly large blue eyes. My lips are thick, and if I wore a dress and makeup, you wouldn’t know I was a man.
I’m not confused about my gender; I like being a man. I’m just very effeminate, and I like it that way. I will never change who I am to please anyone. At the end of the day, I’m the only one I need to impress. It’s difficult here to remember that, but I will do what I can.
I lean down and smudge the line in his lips, creating a shadow effect. It still isn’t right. It does nothing to capture the sexy sheen on them after he licks them, making me crave just one bite. I know I’m barking up the wrong tree, but a man can always dream, and every dream I have had for a couple of years now has had him as the star. Shawn is the greatest wet dream walking on two legs. Too bad I’m too shy to say more than two words to him.
I growl at my drawing and crumple it into a ball, throwing it across the room into the garbage can. I need to get over my fixation with him. I had a boyfriend in Ohio, but when it was time for me to leave, I broke things off with him. There is no way I could carry on a long-distance relationship. They never turn out the way anyone wants them to. It’s not like we had a love connection or anything. We had fun, do not get me wrong. I just want someone I click with on a more physical level. We never went all the way. I enjoyed the blowjobs, but we never made it past that and some heavy petting. I do miss having his arms around me the most, though. It was more like a friendship than a relationship.
I pull out another sheet of paper. I realize I should be doing my art project for school; nonetheless, his image will not abate. I start with his eyes, remembering the day we met. I was in the library drawing, as usual, and he came in with his entourage. I kept my head down until they disappeared in the stacks. It wasn’t until he sat down across from me that I realized his friends had left, and he was alone. He smiled at me, causing my heart to race as his dimples made their first appearance.
“Mind if I sit here?” Shawn asked. I couldn’t wrap my head around why he would want to sit with me when so many other tables were available. I shook my head shyly, feeling my cheeks flush. I had forgotten my sketch completely due to the specimen of perfection sitting in front of me.
“Are you new around here?” he asked with his thick southern drawl. It was smooth as silk with the hint of Cajun mixed with it.
“Yeah.” My cheeks had turned even redder as his mesmerizing green eyes focused on me. Never in my life had I responded to a man as I was with this one. My cock grew hard, and my heart started thundering. It became hard to concentrate or form a coherent sentence.
We sat in silence for a while as I tried to draw, without any success, before he said anything else.
“Where are you from?” Shawn startled me out of my fantasies.
“Ohio,” I say, and he lays on me another killer smile. I would have given anything for more of his smiles. Hell, I still would. He is so charismatic that it makes me forget everything else. I might have even forgotten my name at th
I remember the way his eyes sparkled as he watched me try to replicate it. We might have only said a handful of words between us; still, he left such an impression on me that I will never forget him.
I studied the guy the entire time he sat across from me from beneath my lashes. Every breath and every movement, I remember. I can even recollect the way he smelled, like expensive cologne and cinnamon gum. Just thinking of his scent makes my dick as hard as granite.
I breathe out a sigh as I finally set the sketch in the back of my book before starting on my actual project. Shawn is a distraction I should know better than to allow. I need to focus. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to alleviate the tension gripping my body before directing my energy into what needs to be done.
Finally, I can start the very thing I should have been doing this entire time. I visualize the landscape and start my sketch. I always lay out my design before painting. Not all artists do that, but I find it much easier to develop the right image before making it permanent. I push Shawn to the back of my mind to think about later—like the shower or when I’m in bed, and my fantasies can run rampant.
The alarm goes off on my phone letting me know I have fifteen minutes to get to my next class. I quickly rush around, putting my supplies away. Thankfully, I have no roommate to piss off with my messy paints and brushes lying around. Though, I still like to keep things tidy. I have a place for everything. My brushes need to be cleaned and stored back in their cup, and the paint and pallets go in a tub I put under my bed. I keep the easel up with my painting on it to dry.
I look around one more time to see if I’ve forgotten anything before grabbing my backpack and heading out the door. It was a good thing I set my alarm, or I would have forgotten class today. I’d hate to miss anything important. My teacher, Mrs. Haloden, has been giving me examples of other projects used over the years before the big art show at the end of the year, and it would suck missing out on any of her advice. She has helped me so much in the last few months. She believes in my work, and I will forever be grateful for her guidance. It’s not every day you meet someone who isn’t related to you and still encourages you as she does.
I step out into the hallway without looking and run right into a hard, unyielding body as the door slams shut behind me. My backpack falls to the ground, and I look up into the very eyes I have been thinking about constantly. Shawn Dominique.
“Hey, sorry about that,” he says as he grasps my shoulders. The heat of his skin seeps into my body and causes a shiver to race down my spine. The effect this man has on me with such a simple touch should be illegal.
“It’s okay,” I finally respond as he leans down and lifts my backpack off the ground. He slides the strap over one of my shoulders and brushes against me causing an inferno to explode in my groin.
“I’ll see you around, Braden,” he says as his hand slides down my arm and brushes lightly against my fingers. Holy fuck. Is he…Is he hitting on me? No, it can’t be possible. And did he just say my name? I do not remember giving it to him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Yes,” I reply through my panting breath. Oh god, I’m panting. I hope Shawn doesn’t notice. He gives me his famous megawatt smile before stepping around me. I watch as he walks away in his skin-tight jeans. His perfect ass is rising and falling with each step. That man fills out a pair of jeans like nobody’s business. I practically need to wipe the drool from my mouth. I would have loved nothing more than to have dropped to my knees and given him head as I cupped those magnificent globes in my hands. I wonder what he would taste like?
I shake my head to dispel my dirty thoughts before turning away from the view of him as I make my way to class. Thankfully, no one is in the hall to see me as I try to get my cock to behave before I embarrass myself. That man will be the death of me.
Chapter 2. Shawn
Being the son of a Southern Baptist preacher is not a walk in the park. Which is funny since the rest of my father’s family are all devout Catholics. He renounced the faith he was born into because he didn’t agree with some of the practices.
My grandfather used to beat the hell out of my grandmother, and well, the Catholics back then didn’t believe in divorce. They were taught to work it out. That was something my dad couldn’t understand, so when he was old enough, he began attending a little Baptist church in his home town of Foots, Mississippi. He was really drawn into the faith.
My father became close with the members of the church, and they helped him fill out financial aid papers to attend college and receive his Bachelor’s degree in theology.
He relocated to Louisiana and became the pastor at Divine Faith Baptist Church. Pastor Benjamin Dominque has made me attend church every Sunday, and on Tuesdays, to teach the teen youth group that sex before marriage will send them straight into the bowels of hell. Believe me, it takes a lot to keep me from busting a fucking gut laughing.
My mother, Celia Busch-Dominque, is the head of every damn committee at the church—hell, even in our small town. She was born and bred here. Her father is a deacon at my father’s church, and he has a lot of pull in this area. They are old money, plantation money. My granddad funded my dad’s campaign.
Oh, did I forget to mention Pastor Benjamin is also the mayor?
I work at my Uncle Louie’s hardware store a few days a week on top of a heavy class load and baseball. Yes, I am the star player on the LSU baseball team. I am the trifecta of the sport. I can strike out the best of batters, my batting average is .240, which is better than most major leaguers, and I can catch almost any ball that comes my way in center field.
But with all those fucking awesome things, I also have a secret. A secret that doesn’t fit well into the persona I project. My secret would have my father throwing holy water on me chanting, “The body of Christ compels you.” My teammates would look at me differently, and well, being from the small town of Merrydale, Louisiana isn’t exactly ideal for a man who prefers the company of other men.
Yes, the MVP of Louisiana State University is gay. I hide my “shame” as the good Reverend calls it. I have had the proverbial heterosexual date a few times, kissed some girls, and then acted like a dick until they no longer showed interest. All, except for Charlotte. Charlotte “Charlie” Pettigrew, the bane of my existence, the thorn in my side. The stacked, tall, blonde thinks because she comes from money—old money—she is entitled to any and everything, including my cock. I took her out a few times. We shared a kiss or two, but when it came time for me to do my thing: the whole “it’s not you, it’s me” speech, she refused to believe I didn’t have feelings for her.
In church, her mother is constantly asking me about when I’m taking her daughter out again, and I always say, “Oh, Mrs. Pettigrew, my schedule is crazy with classes, baseball, and the church. I don’t have time for luxuries such as dating.” She scoffs at me and walks away, every time.
I have dated some guys, even gone all the way. I can be considered a true man whore in some circles.
So, I guess I have two secrets…I’m also an escort.
I have three steady clients: older men, rich older men. Men with wives, children, hiding the real them. Living on the down low. We meet at hotels in cities far enough away from anyone here. They blow me, I fuck them, they pay me…a lot.
My little money venture started out innocent enough. I went on craigslist looking for a hook up because there aren’t many gay guys around here, and if there were, they’re hiding it just like me.
That’s how I found Clyde. He lied on his profile, claiming to be a thirty-something gay man. But, in fact, he was a fifty-something married man still denying his reality. Once I met with him, I was upset with his deceit until he offered me money to suck my cock. I was apprehensive at first, but then I figured if I get to nut and make money for it, hey, who am I harming? I know, his family, but I always put that part it out of my mind. After researching on the interweb, I found a site where men were willing to pay to be fucked. I became a
Yes, I still live at home; hence, the whole escort thing. My father says I can never truly appreciate anything if it’s just given to me. So, I use my paycheck from the hardware store to buy necessities and have been saving my escorting money for the last three years. But I would give it all up for him, Braden Scott.
The short, skinny, blond haired, blue doe-eyed art major I’ve had a hard-on for since the first time I saw him walking on campus. I made it a point, one day, to approach him in the library. We spoke—well, I asked questions; he was shy. I needed to feel him out, see if the vibe I was getting was real. It was. He didn’t say it outright, but I could tell he was into me.
I tried so many times to try to catch him alone, but in a school of thousands of students, it’s not exactly easy. So, I decided I wouldn’t attempt to pursue him. I couldn’t run the risk of anyone learning my secret. Now, I just kinda stalk his social media to see if he mentions going on any dates or if he has a boyfriend. Pretty pathetic, I know.
All he posts is his art. It’s good, really good.
Standing on this field practicing, Braden walks by just like he does every day, with his backpack and arms full of art supplies. We always share a glance then a nod of the head but nothing more.
I walk over to the water cooler to grab a drink because I can get a better look at that sullen face and tight little ass from here. Just as he passes, I feel someone snap my ass with a towel. I turn to see Holston Carter laughing his ass off.
“What the fuck is your problem, Hol?” I ask, crumpling my paper cup and tossing it in the trash can.
“You ready for the game on Saturday? You’re pitching the first inning. They got Miguel Agular batting first. That big son ‘a bitch can hit any ball out of the park,” he says as he crouches down to drink straight from the cooler spout.
by J. Grandison have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes