The following story is for adults and contains graphic descriptions of sexual contact between adolescent and adult males and the power imbalance of these relationships. Like so many of my stories, this is a voyage and return.

If you are a minor, then it is illegal for you to read this story. If you find the subject objectionable, then read no further. All the characters, events and settings are the product of my overactive imagination. I hope you like it and feel free to respond.

Fourteen runs through five progressions, with frequent interludes. If you would like to comment, contact me at eliot.moore.writer@gmail.com

Will you join your fellow authors and readers to support Nifty? To contribute discreetly  to the continuing operations of the Nifty Erotic Stories Archive website using a credit card or other methods of donation, go to http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html 

Levi 8

Four days from Bull Shoals Lake, Fourteen is walking off kinks from too much sitting. Blue sign says “Pet Exercise Area” but the teenager seems to be the only one marking the trees. The road map says Hershey is down the road just past North Platte. Fourteen would find this funny, except the last time he was this close to Hershey his ass got shopped by someone he trusted.

The Luxor Winnebago is parked beside a white eighteen-wheeler with Blue Swift stenciled across its blank trailer. Other trailers lie dormant in the sunny parking lot. Their occupants are mysteriously engaged, or not engaged. Some mornings, Fourteen is certain the highways were laid out solely for these sleek engines. They pass the Winnebago with infuriating regularity. Everything does. The drive from Missouri along Interstate 80 has been anything but swift. Three days in a row, Levi has stopped for an afternoon nap. He is collapsing into a Patrick-John nerve-rattling silence. “Are you okay?” Fourteen just asked.

“It’s a headache.” Levi’s clipped response.

“Are you getting rid of me? Is there someone waiting to buy me again?” Fourteen thrust his wrists out. “Are you going to cuff me?” The boy remembers that angry moment and the old man’s response. Walking away from the RV toward the far road, Fourteen wonders why he was crying when he accused Dr. Ed-Harris-Levi-Evil of disposing of him.

“Don’t talk nonsense.” Levi sighed. Then he pushed Fourteen back on the bed for the first time in three days, proving the headache was an excuse for something else. Something real, something deeply Tuan-related on the old man’s mind. Nebraska’s chill wind, or something else, makes Fourteen shiver.

The iron-hard prairie with its endless sweep of wind-cured grass is foreign to Fourteen. Yellow to brown, the Poplar leaves still scuttle across the grass. He knows in so many ways that he has left the familiar behind. This deserted roadside is one with the new wandering familiar. He stops walking. He is not going anywhere really. His shadow stretches West, Far East toward some unexplained Levi-destination. Well past my Valentine birthday present of freedom, Fourteen reminds himself. “That’s me.” He points at the slim shadow. “I’m just a shadow on the side of the road. I’m the only one who knows I am here.” Who am I now?

A dirty soccer ball rolls across his shadow stumbling over the neglected tufts of brown grass. Fourteen surveys the broad boulevard, following the ball’s reverse trajectory. A full-figured woman in pink boots smiles-friendly at him. The constant wind blows wisps of hair across her face. “Come on, kick it back.”

Fourteen steps over to the ball. He puts a toe on its shabby-soft hide, rocking its black and tobacco juice pentagons. They are fenced with new-bright seams of white. With summer-practiced ease, he delivers the ball back to its owner. She kicks it back. After a few exchanges, she starts to dribble it towards a blue rig, then sends it twenty feet beyond Fourteen. He watches it go. “Well you have to run after it!” Happy-exasperation in her mom-voice.

Fourteen is in play. She wants to move and tells him so when he politely sends it back. Up and down the wayside she runs his dogs. The winter-ready trees are winded defenders as Fourteen and the woman roam the field. It’s a silent, friendly sharing with nothing more than wheezy laughter in the Thanksgiving cold.

Catching his breath, Fourteen juggles the ball between his toes, enjoying the cleansing breaths, moist nose, and strong beat of his heart. The woman steals the ball with a playful body check that sends him sprawling backwards. “You can’t be tired!” She taunts. They get physical. An absentee referee is littering the field with warning cards. They are laughing at each other so much they cannot care.

A bright blue heavyweight elbow sends Fourteen’s hoodie featherweight onto the grass again. She snorts at the sight of him bowled over, grass flecked. “Thanks, I’ve been behind the wheel for eight hours. I needed to move, you understand?”

“Sure,” Fourteen replies from the ground.

She offers him a hand. “I have another five hours with this load.” She looks his Target wardrobe over. “Are you with someone?” The Luxor Winnebago is the obvious answer, but the scattering of trucks would do. The familiar aura of a with-benefits travelling companion taints the ever-present tangerine of the boy. Fourteen-fifteen alone, the boy might be trading his fresh face (and other parts) down the road. She has seen this.

“I’m with my grandpa.” Fourteen points at the waiting RV. “Just taking a trip. Mom and dad died.” He realizes it is the shop-worn story. “I’m Kale.”

“Makayla,” it seems. “sorry for your loss. Where are you headed?”

Good question, the boy admits. “We are going to San Francisco. Then we sell the coach and fly back to Boston. Grandad is a doctor. I will start school there after Christmas.” He is babbling on, building a safe story. “Do you have a family?”

She is aunt Makayla, eleven years on the road away from somewhere. The blue eighteen-wheeler is her heavily mortgaged home. “Do you play soccer?”

“Just with friends, gym class, you know.” Fourteen shrugs. Everyone assumes he wants to join a team, be the star. “Did you play soccer for a team?” He asks her back. Makayla has the moves.

“What now?” Makayla is looking past Fourteen toward the parking lot. He turns and there is a black sedan, Nebraska STATE TROOPER closing in on them. It stops between Fourteen and the security of the Winnebago.

What now? His own thoughts. Fingers shuffle through the worn deck flipping out fresh combinations. One hundred days careful, this is the first shades-of-blue Smokey in Fourteen’s long tag-along. He flips the hoodie up over his face, then takes the ball and dribbles it away from Makayla while he thinks things through.

“Please help me officer! I’ve been kidnapped by that man in the RV there.” Tremble-finger-point, “He says this watch will set off a bomb about my neck!” Fourteen pauses, heal pressing into the old leather. He can imagine all of the extra words explaining this Dr. Evil plan. Relief follows. Nightmare-sexcape is over at last as the seductive fullness of a glass dildo and strained-drained boy-flesh still sighs. Fourteen, free-tearful, stands close against Makayla’s comforting arm as State Trooper Joe Blow moves gun-ready toward gentle Levi. This card hand is always weak.

He will be on point, jungle patrol-ready. Tuan-deprived, Dr. Evil has nothing-to-lose. Death is already on his tumour-mind. Levi calmly watches justice closing in and fuck-you-fourteen, I’m dead anyway, ignites the commitment ring. Trooper Joe Blow swings around to witness Makayla blinking bits of faithless Fourteen from her eyes. Tragic ending all around. It is in the cards. Dribbling the ball away, Fourteen could vomit.

A door slams somewhere behind him. Fourteen has dreaded-hoped for this moment. The long arm of the law just has to have been tracking the Luxor Winnebago across America in a Hollywood-Netflix digital omnipresence. The FBI probably caught up with John and Patrick in Hershey, Pennsylvania (Not Hershey, Nebraska). How many Hershey’s are there? Do they all make chocolate? John could never stop Patrick from making new after boys. Had John forgotten him with another boy? Fourteen corals these crazy thoughts. The silver hoop is a sham and tired-hurt-gentle Levi would never blow Fourteen’s head. (Okay, yes, but that’s a given.) Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, free at last!

Fourteen turns to watch the approaching Nebraska Trooper. He can end Levi Fisher’s Nguyen Huu Tuan Vietnam Hadj right here. What does he owe the old man? Fourteen knows there is something eating away at the old man. Every funeral stop screams a painful sorry. The daily prayers over Fourteen’s sweating body would never be answered. Why should I care? Fourteen cares because Levi’s last pilgrimage has somehow become his. Fourteen admits that home’s static safety and the self-aware teenage angst of a repressive high school closeted now will not help him with his own Hadj. Shuffle out a different hand.

Fourteen glances at the woman. She seems as put out by the intruding Trooper as he is. Nobody is talking yet. Fourteen returns to thoughts of the after. Slavery is freedom, but freedom is also home. There is the paradox. Freedom starts with hug mom, hug dad, fist-bump Shane, “How’s it been?” You don’t have to talk about it. You should talk to someone about it. What you really have to talk about is not your fault. It is not you Jeremy Gates. Gay is an infection they gave you like HIV. Talk yourself empty with some school counselor. Amputate yourself back to the August Fair before. Facing that self-denying after frightens Fourteen. No words, Fourteen kicks the soccer ball at the Trooper.

That breaks the tension. Trooper Joe Blow is a young sort, not too full of himself. He takes the pass and grins High School Information Officer. All he sees is a tangerine teen, playful puppy in the park. He stops the ball awkward, then sidekicks it back to him. Trooper boots or clumsy, the ball heads off toward Levi’s North Platte and Hershey (not chocolate). Fourteen excavates a harmless laugh and chases the ball down. The law leaves him and turns toward Makayla.

Cross field (sort of), and forgotten (hopefully), Fourteen watches the conversation. The script calls for an exit. Fourteen picks up the ball and finds himself walking toward Makayla’s blue eighteen-wheeler, double trailer. He climbs the cab and settles shotgun, like this is his thing. This is not the sex-droid you are looking for. Ignore the 1996 Millenium Falcon with its septuagenarian Han Solo. Clever distraction, if Fourteen does say so himself.

Only smokey and the bandit are walking his way, everything friendly, and Fourteen cannot get out. Make yourself at home, hope Makayla does not say, “What the fuck?”

Fourteen is missing school, but this is an education. Makayla’s Semi-home is Semi-cool. This is Levi’s Luxor Mini-Me, like newly minted. His first thought is to hide in the bathroom-shower. Maybe stretch out on the messy bed over the toilet and sip a coke at the booth dinette. He settles for sitting back down in the passenger seat and playing with an iPod snatched from the dash. It’s locked, so the impulse to steal it is a flash in the pan.

Makayla says nothing about his invasion. Trooper Joe Blow wants to see some paperwork. She is not hauling IKEA west to Portland. Something hazardous it seems. Fourteen is winning an imaginary game, sock feet on the dashboard, teen-tuned-out. Makayla passes some sort of test. Cowboy tip of the hat and the Trooper is on to the next rig. Fourteen stops the charade as soon as the cab is cleared.

Makayla sits looking at him. Fourteen Ignores her curiosity. He is looking through the windshield, willing the police officer away from Levi. It would be best if the woman would forget her questions. Smokey seems uninterested in the real ass-bandit here along the Nebraska highway.

“This place is awesome.” He turns to look at the compact accommodations.

“The bank loves me, so I can’t stop driving. He wanted to see my logs. We can only drive 70 hours in an eight-day stretch. Then I have to take 34 hours off. This beauty cost me about $150,000. He knows I have to keep up with my payments.” Makayla shrugs. “Like I said, this is my home.” She watches Fourteen clutching the iPod fitfully. “What is your story little man?”

“I was just curious about your rig.” Signature Fourteen grin, but there are tears swimming in his eyes.

Makayla’s not convinced. “My dad was a son of a bitch. I ran away when I was thirteen. I wanted real distance. No money to my name. I had to do some stuff. It took a while to get things straightened out for me. So are you okay, Kale?” The voice is gentle.

“It’s not like that.”

“Do you need to come with me?”

Fourteen shakes his head. “He is not my grandfather, but he needs me for a while. He helped me out of a jam and now he is sick. I have a good dad, not a son of a bitch.” Fourteen sighs. “It is complicated.”

“It took awhile for my anger cooled. It took some bad turns to make me realize I could not handle things by myself. I finally figured, I had to straighten out.”

Makayla seems to think this speaks volumes to the young teenager. The boy did not have the bruised look of desperation she saw hitchhiking along the margins. There were young people who thought the truckers were a bus service. There were young people who thought the ticket price was worth the ride. Not this boy, the vibe was wrong. Maybe this Kale ran over some trivial pique.

“I can handle things.” Fourteen finds some reservoir of braggadocio to back up the claim.

“Whatever Kale, sometimes you need to have space while you work it out. For me, going home was not much of an option. Maybe it is the same for you. Whatever is eating at you, just remember, it won’t be the end of the world.” Fourteen nods at this adult wisdom. “Say, did you kill someone?”

Fourteen has to laugh. “No, I did not kill someone!” Unconsciously, he starts to slip the precious iPod into his pocket. It would change the deck of cards considerably. He stops himself. He could tell this woman everything, but then what? Out of the confusing now and into the uncomfortable after owned by adults taking charge.

“Do you want that iPod?”

“It’s locked.” Fourteen holds it out to her.

Makayla fiddles with the phone while Fourteen concentrates on deep breaths and the view out the windshield. He imagines thirteen-year-old Makayla hitch-hiking down the highway, maybe dealing with her own Patrick’s and Levi’s. He thinks she would understand. Was driving a rig her lonely after? Fourteen has an image of himself hugging Levi goodbye on a California beach (sun setting to the Far East). Levi hands him the keys, and then Jeremy Gates is driving the Luxor Winnebago back into America, safe in the familiarity of his chosen after. The trouble with normal is it always gets worse. 

“I won’t reset it, you should. You can have this on one condition. Let me know how you are doing.” She hands the iPod back. “You will need the charger I guess.” Fourteen stuffs both into his pockets, along with a scrap of paper with the woman’s email address on it. He will not use it, probably, maybe, something to consider. 

Fourteen can hear the semi’s raw power. It is a Diesel engine willing the twin cars of its tiny train into motion. Fourteen waves, not sure if Makayla has taken a moment to look his way. The iPod is contraband communication with the outside before world. Fourteen-fifteen digital native, has powered it down till who knows when. Levi is a savvy digital settler. The man Macgyvers his old RV, strings smart-bombs around boy’s necks. Odds are his phone will dutifully suggest making Bluetooth-friends with the stowaway in his hoodie. Makayla’s iPod is a brick until it is safe to play with it. Fourteen likes the extra ace in his deck.


♪♫♬ So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin
You're waiting for someone to perform with
And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do
The movement you need is on your shoulder
♪♫♬ Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah yeah
Hey Jude, don't make it bad
♪♫♬
Take a sad song and make it better
Remember to let her under your skin
Then you'll begin to make it
Better better better better better better, oh
♪♫♬
♪♫♬ Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude
Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude
Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude
Nah nah nah nah nah nah,
♪♫♬ nah nah nah, hey Jude
Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude
Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude
Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude
Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude
♪♫♬

“Where are the bolt cutters?” Fourteen wines.

“In the tool box below.” Levi replies scouting out the approaching town. The RV Park is just east of the first houses. He thinks he can see the large white and brown sign floating above the flat office roof. “Why?”

“I’ve had it with your old cassette tapes. Just pull over, let me out and drive away. I’m ready to die.” The old man has been running mix tapes for the last few days. This particular tape has been overplayed.

“This is Hey Jude.”

“Right, I got that.”

“This is the Beatles.”

“Oh God, it’s old.” Fourteen exclaims. “Old like you!” After a respectful pause, the tape hisses into the next track. “Skip to the next one.”

“You know you can’t skip a track on a cassette. This is House of the Rising Sun.” 

The music depresses Levi, but Fourteen’s anguish lightens his mood. He needs the comic relief at he steers directly toward an unavoidable collision. “This was very popular with the guys.” The guys were his lost platoon.

You’ve been the ruin of this poor boy. God knows I’m not the only one. Fourteen rolls his eyes. ♪♫♬ “There must be some way out of here…” ♪♫♬ The boy sings. “That is the next one. Do you want to know what comes after that?” He scratches his scalp furiously with both hands.

“All along the watchtower.” Levi’s mood is subdued. “Over there, we did not know why we were fighting after a while. All the protests back home seemed to tell us what we were doing was not right. The song’s about being truthful, valuing life. I understood that too late. After 1968, the song seemed to signal we were all heading for a confrontation. Maybe Dylan meant something totally different, something personal.” A teenager like Fourteen would probably Google an answer to that question.

“If I had my phone, I could play you some decent tunes.”

“A vomit of forced rhyme punctuated by obscenities, no doubt.” Levi snorts derision. “This sixties top 40 is not really my time, you know?” Levi gets ready for the exit. “Bobby Rydell, Elvis Presley, Chubby Checker, Roy Orbison; those are the ones grew up to. Hits from when I was a teenager like you, before the British Invasion.” Levi sighs.

“Did you have a ducktail?” Fourteen needles Levi with a grin.

“James Dean, kid.” Levi’s face looks like it slipped into the before-before.

“Who?”

“That brain of yours is totally useless without an Internet intravenous, isn’t it?” Everyone wanted to be James Dean. Sadly, young Levi Fisher kept his (lost) hair like Pat Boone or Rock Hudson. Rock Hudson, Levi decides. What a shame he left it to the end to come out. Levi Fisher could have used the role model when it mattered.

“Maybe Tab Hunter.” Spoiled rich kid from Boston, joins the French Foreign Legion during World War One. Lafayette Escadrille, young Levi Fisher watched that more than once. Christ, Tab Hunter!

“Who?”

Levi plots ways to get even with the boy. It takes his mind off visiting North Platte. “Thanks, Fourteen.” Levi takes the turn. “Marlin Brando?”

“Yeah, I know him!” Fourteen scans the road ahead. “No pool open.” Fourteen complains. “You promised after Michigan it was going to be warmer.” Beyond the off-season sleepy office, Fourteen can see the inevitable slots of empty sites separated by tall poplars. It was another sheltered harbour, barring the usual selection of stranded fifth-wheels and extravagant trailers. More affluent retirees passing through to some place interesting (warmer) than North Platte, Nebraska.

“North Platte is going to be colder for me than it will be for you, trust me.” Levi breaks level with the campsite office. The nostalgic music stops, leaving Fourteen wanting to Google Bobby Rydell. He has an ear worm. All Along the Watchtower’s opening line is looping in his head.

Levi thinks regretfully of the antique Jeep from the Ozark campsite. He does not regret passing the purchase by. It was not about the money. A newer RV would have bruted the extra weight behind it, but the old 1996 Luxor is doubtful, so Levi abandoned the idea. This leaves him no choice but to negotiate the long Winnebago through a small Nebraska suburb.

There is a sprawling red brick sameness to this neighbourhood, but the house he is looking for is yellow. It lies on the corner beneath a bare bone poplar. Levi sees too many vehicles. Newish silver Ram and an unfashionably Hershey-brown sedan in the open garage. Two dull extras match Levi’s vehicular expectations for this visit. A powder blue hers, thrifty four door Sunday drive Oldsmobile on the driveway, blocking the truck. A brown and white his truck on the street. That would have been bought in the 1970’s blush of freedom. My dad’s garage, yelled to each fresh face in the chopper, when I am out of this shit show. I’m gonna get me a truck and make money.

Fourteen is silent beside him. The boy has become a competent chef. Levi admits his companion-captive has little else to occupy his time. Chicken-Fourteen on a bed of Wild Rice with some concocted chutney lingers in the air. Levi ate little of it, drank more than a little. “This is the only guy left above ground?” Asked and answered when they pulled away from Bull Shoals Lake, Missouri days ago.

“Well, there is me.” Levi reminds his young companion. For now, he reminds himself. “Malcolm King in Arizona, he was with us for a while.” Levi turns the ignition off, but does not pull the key free. Fast getaway, perhaps.“Stay here for now.” Fourteen foot up on his seat, Tuan and an Ohio boy shifting back and forth before his eyes. Then it is all Fourteen. A mature man-child lover one moment, and then a frightened boy waiting for betrayal. “We may not be long.”

“You did not bother to tell this guy you were coming?” Fourteen touches a spot on his blemish-free forehead where he is certain a shame-pimple resides. Poor kid, Fourteen ’s casual perfection has been his downfall. Acne dared not sully FourteenLevi imagines some inner fire will always burn the impurities out of the boy. “Leave the key, if I hear gunshots, I will start the motor.”

“What makes you think that?” Levi has to smile.

“You brought your gun out.” Levi frowns. “No, seriously. It’s right there next to the bed. You are either getting rid of me, or planning to shoot someone.” Fourteen does the kissable mouth side twitch and bites his lip. Levi has not reassured him. There is no time.

Levi must have taken the Beretta Nano out unconsciously. It has not appeared since he retired an unsuspecting goat. Small wonder the boy is imagining things. “No, I don’t know why I took that out.”

False assurances, the automatic was one path down the road. Along with the obvious need to atone for what he did, the idea of Tuan sharing it with him was comforting. Levi had not understood Tuan at all. Tuan’s betrayal left him angry. Hurt and angry, Levi wanted to end it all. Take the gun inside, then come back out here to Tuan’s young stunt double, go reconciled together. End it here, not in Vietnam. End it with Fourteen. The gun is better left where it is.

Levi walks past the dent-fender Oldsmobile to the white screen door shielding a fleshy coloured door. There are extra-vehicle voices beyond the fake stained glass oval. Somehow, this was always going to be the two of them alone. Levi is unprepared for extras. He tries the doorbell, then sets the vinyl screen door rattling with some added raps. Not Fourteen’s excrible top 40 Rap (mercifully abandoned on the road in the way-back), but Levi’s improvises muttered obscenities to build his courage. Last word from the private investigator put Neil at this address, still breathing.

He is ready to pound the door a second time when it swings open. It’s a forty-something Neil-clone. The man yelling back into the house is so close-to-the-tree-Neil that Levi feels disoriented. Neil’s son swings back around and Levi gets a you-forgot-the-pizza look. The Luxor Winnebago registers next. “So, yeah? How can I help you? (Back to the highway)”

“Is your father home?” Son, two granddaughters, divorced wife and divorced daughter-in-law. Easy for Levi to imagine, knowing Neil. “Tell him it’s an old friend from the Marines. Tell him Doc wants to talk..”

No invitation to step in, Levi turns away while the usual confab drifts back his way. Fourteen is checking a tire on the RV, curious about the visit. He is all in the hood shy, always caught in the struggle between escape and playing Bonnie to his Clyde. Fourteen points to his own eyes, then shoots the two fingers Levi’s way. I’m watching you. 

Stupid little prick, a hand slides up across his groin lifting the folds of his sweatshirt free. Gang-banger Fourteen has Levi’s holstered Beretta Nano tucked into his pants. There is a shit-eating side-twitching, tangerine smile pasted on his face that lets Levi know this is all in fun.

Levi watches pantomime rap moves, wanting to drag the little ass back into the RV and forget this scab-ripping exercise. Fourteen abruptly stops. Levi knows it is time. He turns back to the door to face the before. Two hundred sixty pounds of MAGA suet, trailing an oxygen bottle loom over him. He can smell the stale cigarette smoke, taste the emphysema-ash of death walking. Neil young and cocky no more. Da Nang is a long way away. Da Nang is suddenly too close.

“Well look what the fucking, cock sucking cat dragged in.” Deep loathing, it is mutual. Half a century, last man standing (barely). To quote a line, well, ain’t we a pair, raggedy man? Levi wants the gun now. He has hopscotched headstones across America drinking Fourteen’s elixir of life just so he could finally face this old fart. “You should be dead.” Fucking Jardine adds.

“Right back at you.” Levi replies bitterly.

Body of Work

If you are here on the midway then you have come to the carnival seeking entertainment, company and of course excitement. There are a dazzling array of rides suited your every mood. There are gentle rides that conjure up soft memories of youth and rides that lift you from the dreariness of your grind and send you flying ageless through the night. There are also the side shows…

If you are here then you are in the house of mirrors captivated by the reflections around you. They are all curved in some way. Every mirror is imperfect and every mirror draws your attention to something new. The mirrors magnify or diminish parts of what we think is real. Sometimes you like what you see and sometimes you don't. Sometimes you believe what you see and sometimes you can't be sure what has been distorted. The distortions are intentional and we flatter ourselves into believing the mirrors only stand arrayed like this in such places as the midway. Before you go back to the mirrors of your life step closer to this one.

Eliot Moore, 2007

Here is a summary of the wide variety of other stories I have published.

Dark Thoughts Rising: This story was posted to Nifty in April 2017. Keegan Bressler (14) and his best friends Rey and Davon rape Keegan’s stepbrother Rowan Pense (12) during the course of a drunken party. The three boys embark on a desperate struggle to keep the shattered and confused Rowan from revealing their crime. As events unfold, Keegan and Davon fail to fight their inner demons. Rowan begins his own journey, hiding the truth from his closest friend, Hayden, until he reaches the breaking point.

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/dark-thought-rising/

Awakenings: This ghost story was posted to Nifty in November 2016. Middle aged divorcee Jake begins renovating a 1900’s Craftsman home in an old neighbourhood. He becomes entangled with Will, the 18-year old ghost of a Great War veteran and Chris, a 15-year old homeless addict on a desperate quest. As Jake’s failed life is rejuvenated by his love affair with Will, he slowly pieces together the hundred-year-old connection that has brought the three of them together.

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/awakening.html

For Your Eyes Only: This novella was posted to Nifty in November 2010. Simon meets Glyn and his younger brother James one August evening during a neighbourhood game. Simon and Glyn become fast friends but it is Simon's secret game with James Fleming that helps Simon accept his hidden self.

http://west.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/for-your-eyes-only/

A Fragile Light: This story was posted to Nifty December, 2009. Graham (28) goes to the Christmas Eve service to be with his husband John. He is alienated from his deeply religious family and detached from the warmth of the service. He identifies a kindred spirit teenage Theo and learns they have more in common than he thought as Theo is joined by Jesse. Graham leaves strengthened by the encounter.

http://www.dabeagle.com/stories/eliotmoore/afl/afl.htm

Janus: This story was posted to Nifty July 2009. Michael (18) is coaxed into attending a summer party by his older sister. He is college bound and uncertain about the choices he has made. At the party, his encounters with Lauren (19) and Scott (20) help him discover himself and make a decision about his future.

http://www.dabeagle.com/stories/eliotmoore/janus/janusdh.htm and

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/bisexual/college/janus.html

Hound: This story was first posted to Nifty the summer of 2008. The first draft was completed in 2005 and in truth I sat on it a long time before I decided to post it. Six-year-old Ethan Yates is abducted off the streets by a pedophile ring. Cast into a nightmare world he struggles to hold on to his identity. Isolated and confused, he clings to fourteen-year-old Peter. As the years pass their mutual need develops into an indestructible bond.

http://www.nifty.org/nifty/bisexual/authoritarian/hound/


Turbulence: This novel was first posted on Nifty between February and June of 2007. Fourteen year old Daniel Murrell finds the hazing at Riverview High School as freshie a serious challenge. He negotiates it with the help and hindrance of his friends. After a long year of discovery, he comes to terms with his bisexuality.

http://west.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/turbulence/ (first edition) and

http://www.dabeagle.com/storymainpages/turbulence.html (second edition)

Recovery: This story was first posted to Nifty in January 2007. Sixteen year old Greg Cox reluctantly joined his father in a small rural village in Saskatchewan. There his life becomes entwined with fourteen year old Seth Patterson. As he is slowly drawn closer to Seth he struggles with the memories and guilt associated with the loss of his mother, brother and sister while coming to terms with his promiscuity.

http://west.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/recovery/ and

http://www.dabeagle.com/storymainpages/recovery.html