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WARNING: This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. Contains M/M scenes, graphic language, and anal sex, and great gay fun and arousal, all of which may be considered offensive by some readers.
All sexually active characters in this work are at least 18 years of age.
This book is copyright © Sabb 2010
Published by BarbarianSpy in 2010 at Smashwords.
Cover design by S Bush © 2010
Cover Photo © 123rf
ISBN Ebook ISBN 978-1-921879-11-1
All rights reserved.
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All characters in this book are the product of the author’s imagination and no resemblance to real people, or implication of events occurring in actual places, is intended.
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Not all books listed below may currently be on release.
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Wrong Man
Loyal to his King
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Barbarian Tales - Book Two - Journeys Begin
Barbarian Tales - Book Three - The Inheritance
Barbarian Tales - Book Four - Road to Persepolis
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by
Sabb
It was Wednesday and I was parking my car in Ultimo when I first saw him. It was a short narrow back street, almost a laneway, on the edge of the city centre, with a couple of backpacker hostels in it and a few small, cheap hotels nearby. There were also quite a few reasonably priced places to eat in the area, which was why I was there. As I turned away from the car, I looked up for some reason, and I saw him. He was standing at the side of an open window, on the second floor of the backpacker’s hostel on the corner, looking down at me, or in my direction anyway. And my immediate thought was “hot, but not for me.”
He was in grey camouflage pants and a body-hugging white T-shirt highlighting his golden skin, and he had thick, black, wavy hair hanging halfway to his shoulders. I only glanced up, but he stood out. He captured me right then. He was what I’d like to have, and never would. He was all those things I had missed. I ached for him even as I turned away, ached for all he represented. Youth, vigour, confidence, and freedom. Most of all freedom. Freedom from what had become my life.
The young backpackers I saw around that area always seemed like they came from another world. They looked fresh and free, with no responsibilities or worries, and as if they owned the world. The young Latin-looking guy I had glimpsed looked as if he not only owned it, but knew exactly what a big chunk of it he owned and wasn’t worried about a mortgage.
I was in my suit and tie, between visits to nearby clients and planning to have lunch at the Drovers Dog pub around the corner that served good cheap meals—and it wasn’t a gay pub, but there were always a few men around who were “interested”. I ate there fairly often and sometimes in the evenings it provided me with more than just a meal. But not at lunchtime; I was always on a tight schedule during the day. After I saw him, though, I ached for more. But I told myself I didn’t have the time.