Jagger’s Revolution book excerpt opening. Jagger sees Garth. The crush.

“JAGGER’S REVOLUTION”

Book Excerpt-

Jagger careens around the corner with a lightening trail blazing behind him onto a street lined with cactus for a block and a half where the foot of the beach starts.  It’s an unusual heat wave in March.  He is consumed with all sorts of mental breakage while yammering away on the phone with his Editor.

He finds a spot between a parked corolla and a small trashcan on wheels that stands in the way.  He battles with reversing his truck into the space available to parallel park.  He is feeling destructive and antsy like he can do anything he wants.  He attempts to back it up trying to pull into the spot around the can.  God forbid he climbs out to move the can.  That’s not his style.  If it is in the way, then he hits it or runs over it.

There is a rough beauty about him that is aloof and attractive.  He oozes sexuality, but he’s a loner and a tough guy with a warrior’s edge.

There are cuts and scars on him all from running and jumping off high objects to temper his occasional unruly aggression.  He’s crashed down onto the street and pavement more than once.  Thirty-two with looks in the mid-20’s, his endless active lifestyle has done him good.

He gets into fights, but is trying to survive standing up for a fair Prince or Princess in a jam.  He doesn’t know why he gives a shit for humankind, as man hasn’t been kind to him or each other.

As a writer and on an intellectual level he hates stereotypes and doesn’t agree with them.  Pigeonholes and labels are both offensive and repetitive in his mind.

He reverses and his back tire hikes up onto the curb.

“FUCK!”  He accelerates forward abruptly slamming on the brakes making a loud echoing skid.  He slams into the trash can with an onlooker in the distance watching it spin around.  He continues to back up banging his tire against the curb.

“What the fuck!”  He says under his breath.  He hits the steering wheel with his palms in a brash manner.

Slamming on the gas he hits the fucking can once more.

“Hold on!”  He shouts into the earpiece then, “Let me call you back!”

He double parks the truck and turns the engine off.  His driver door swings open and a huge beach breeze rushes through.  His foot hits the street pavement hard and with combative movements he climbs out of the car into plain view.

He is about medium height, not ultra short or tall, but to some it’s known as the fun height.  He’s got a classically young looking face and body, a short dark military hair cut and huge killer brown eyes.  He’s aggressive and it radiates off of him.  Although a regular guy he permeates heavy doses of mystery and superiority.   He comes into view sporting black jeans and a camouflage t-shirt with the words “ARMY” on the front and “FUCK” on the back.

His jeans hang casually over his ass which is full, round and sublimely perfect.  His ass makes some heterosexual guys drool and secretly fantasize when he walks past them.  They would never go through with it with another guy.  In their mind they can’t help but to stare for a second at the smoky dude and wonder.  The guy attempts to wipe away the fantasy so as not to grow a hard on and have to explain it to their girlfriends, friends or themselves.  Only when he’s a largely evolved straight guy who is nothing but sure of himself will it rarely bother him.

You can tell when it’s a heterosexual or homosexual guy.  Heterosexual guys tend to stare, but a homosexual guy will glance and look away or not look at you at all.

Jagger marches like a sergeant with frenetic energy grabbing onto the handle of the can.  He drags it away onto the sidewalk.  It makes a deathly echo into the air of the neighborhood.  He is here and making himself known.  A tone about him is intimidating.  Some walking by are uncomfortable and scatter and move quickly.

He hikes back to the truck and stares face forward into the distance.  He draws a horrified look.  Butterflies swarm around in his stomach and his heart begins to pound hard.  He wants to be shot dead right there on the street like a mountain lion that shouldn’t be roaming in the city.  Everything stops around him.  Mesmerized he sees the new guy he’s had a crush on since he moved there.  Getting Jagger to feel any crushing feelings on anyone is impossible, but he feels an uncontrollable connection to him and he can’t explain it.

Garth stands half a block away in his own tracks eyeing him back with his mouth half open in fear and wonderment.  His messy dirty blonde hair blows a little in the wind.  His deep green eyes pierce into Jagger’s heart.  Every shade of Jagger’s face becomes etched into his mind.  He’s a different wild animal than Jagger, but untamed and unruly nonetheless.

Both dudes stand in stillness unable to move in the city jungle wondering if the other is a friend or threat they would fight to death.  There’s no greater feeling than having a hot crush on someone, but there’s no worse feeling when they have no idea.

Jagger’s breath leaves him and the guy’s cavernous eyes pound all over his body.  It’s as if an unknown entity is reaching down his throat with strong fingers and drawing the air out of his shaking soul.  He has a soft spot for this guy, amidst his own menacing aura that people first see.

They both look away, then at each other and then away.

Garth continues on his walk down the slight slope knowing he will pass Jagger from across the street.

Jagger wants to die.  ‘Fuck me.  I have to complicate things by falling for someone.’

Garth senses Jagger’s eyes burning deep into him as he gets close enough to plant the grenade.  He looks at Jagger, “Hey.”  He’s got the voice of an angel.  It’s gritty and rough.  He could talk a man into turning himself into the law and starting his life over in a better way.  His voice sounds like he is hanging onto what’s left of his teenage puberty, but he’s twenty-four years old and this is his voice.  He’s pushing six feet, six one.  He’s only been in America for two years.  He was born and raised in Brisbane, Australia.  He has a noticeable Aussie accent.  He’s the most stunning creature Jagger has ever seen.  He no longer has to worry about trying to write about love he has when he doesn’t have any.  He’s found his damn inspiration.

Jagger remains cool, low and raspy when he responds, “Hello.”  His voice soothes Garth’s world and cradles it.   Garth trembles slightly with a nod and he passes him and continues on down to the crowded beach.  The white sands and blue sea up ahead is the spot that Garth would make love to Jagger every day all day if he could.

Jagger climbs back into his car to back it up again.  He sits for a moment exhaling then looks up without lifting his head.  He sees Garth up ahead in the distance for a split second then feels guilty for looking.  He puts his hands on the steering wheel leans his head over and exhales again.  “Dammit.”

Garth is one of the hottest lifeguards on the beach.  Jagger uses every free second available to be consumed with thinking about him.  He wonders about this guy to help him sleep throughout the night with sweet images of the two of them together.  Daydreaming of what it would be like to have him as part of his life.  This could be the Father of his kids.  The way he moves.  The discipline he conveys inside and out that very few guys have in his eyes.

Sometimes Garth goes for a run and his well-built body, his tight and toned legs, chest and arms seep through his shirt and his shorts.  Jagger’s eyes make out every inch and shape of it all.   His arms.  His ass.  He wonders what his cock would look like.  What he would look like naked.  He wants to run his fingers through the little dark blonde hairs on his legs and let all of them stand up and take notice of him.

Jagger goes running too and every now and then the boys near pass each other while on their walk or jog, but those moments are far and few between.  It is all set up on divine timing.  They already have a common ground.  They both like to take care of themselves physically.  He doesn’t have to worry about some dude who enjoys getting sloshed all night at clubs on a daily basis destroying his health and his looks and his whole aura and being.

Garth watches Jagger with his mouth-opening ready to take his lips in.  He stands there like a dude in heat holding a fork and knife ready to go to town.  Sometimes he catches Jagger when he is outside or on his balcony on the street that commands the neighborhood as if he secretly owns it, but tells no one.  Garth looks over and stares at him, gaping in heavy teen love angst, like their both fifteen, horny and in love.  He searches for the push to make his voice heard in his direction.  If he weren’t so damn good looking, he would be blended into the wall, an observer, a solid, quiet one with an active spirit.

Jagger knows Garth is the fucking ultimate babe, but tries desperately to get back to planet earth and snap out of it.  He’s tired of hallucinating.  He has this nasty twinge in his side that is telling him that Garth doesn’t know he exists.  He’s left with feeling like the daily idiot he’s perfected so well whenever around him.  He wants to be hosed down with cold water and maybe it’ll go away.  Alleviate it off his body the way a car’s radiator steams out of the sides of the hood when it’s used every ounce of liquid it has.  Yet, he loves the way Garth watches him.  It seems like he’s in love with him.  It seems like he’s never seen anyone like him before.  He sees him.  He sees who he is.  He sometimes catches him watching him, then turn his glance away and it drives him nuts.  He masturbates to thoughts of him with the Summer night breeze rushing into the living room of his home and enveloping his body.

Jagger gets out of the car bummed out that he can’t have him.

Other cars pull up and park with surfboards sticking out of their trucks and trunks or strapped onto the top.  Hot guys and the occasional girl pull their surfboards out of their vehicles.  One by one they catch a glimpse of Jagger.  They wave captivated.  They know this is his home too.  Jagger shuts the door to his truck smiling at Trezner, one of his local surf buds.

Jagger hi-fives Trezner with a fist bump, “Hey man, you know they don’t let faggots surf here.”

Trezner wraps his arm around tight around Jagger, “What’s up bitch?  I’m taking a break from the Malibu swells.  How have they been here this week?”

“In Hermosa baby, they’re never any disappointments.  The waves have been blowin’ up the last couple days.”  Jagger’s eyes drift out to sea on the sidewalk in the distance where Garth was.  The sidewalk path sparkles with light.  An angel had passed.


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Posted on April 13, 2012, in Dating (Social Customs), Dude Lit, Gay, Kevin Hunter Author Writer, Love and Relationships, Romance, Sexuality, Trashy Beach Reads, Young Adults and tagged . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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