Oh, How the Mice Play

Our boss prefers Doctor Spencer, though his phD is in Sociology. We keep track of his orders and take dictation as he holds his hands behind his back and stares out onto the city beneath him. Well, Bradley takes notes.

Technically I’m Bradley’s boss, but there’s not enough room—even in nearly seventy feet of office space—for two bosses. It’s my job to coordinate Dr. Spencer’s schedule with the precision of a surgeon and the ruthlessness of a bloodborne pathogen. The job pays well and keeps me in fitted trousers that hug my legs diligently and shirts tight enough to tastefully advertise the work that my trainer and I labor over.

If I seem overly conscious of my appearance, trust me it’s the job. Adam Spencer’s silhouette stretching out against the setting sun looks like the shadow of a titan and his ass, shoulders, and calves are so impressive that some men find it difficult to look directly at him. He expects a certain standard. Some days that standard makes it difficult for Bradley and I to do our jobs. But today, Bradley keeps sneaking looks at me over the tablet that’s permanently attached to his left hand. He takes notes as surreptitiously as ever, but there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips.

He raps out more notes, but this time he swings the tablet in my direction.

I can see whats printed there: Still sore?

Then he’s back to typing out Dr. Spencer’s wordy assessment of the company’s well-being. The shareholders have been restless for years, our market share sits at a frustrating plateau, and our boss smells a coup in every careless word. The environment, if it wasn’t so obscenely lucrative, would be toxic. Bradley and I have taken to cooperative stress relief.

Technically I’m his boss, but we both have keys to the executive bathroom and occasionally he finds me lingering there. More than once has Bradley—whose hair is long nearly to the point of being unprofessional, whose eyes are exactly as soft and perfectly blue as a likeness of Jesus I remember from my youth, who never raises his voice above the companionable—ordered me down on my knees and suggested, rather forcefully, that I “suck his fucking cock. Please.”

I’m technically his boss, and our pay grades reflect that, but, well, we work so closely together that it’s best to operate as equals. Today, for instance, has been stressful so Bradley offered a tantalizing proposition in front of the mirror that runs the full length of the executive bathroom. I found myself on all fours while he fucked me. I stared into my own rapidly reddening face as he wrapped his tie around my throat and pulled both sides like reins. His features twisted into a snarling, haughty parody of his normally obliging expression.

Dr. Spencer continues talking and I use most my restraint to ignore Bradley’s spunk running down my back and ass crack staining my tight, yet tasteful apparel.

Gods: Coming Soon (Seriously!)

gods

So I’ve been working on Gods or God(s) for, well, probably too long.

The good news is that it’s actually coming out soon. I’m so serious about this that I made a gif. That’s basically the same as a blood oath. I mean who makes a gif to advertise a twine game that isn’t even out yet?

-B.

500 Words:

precipice_title

The bonfire was down to cinders. The ash blew across the beach. The sun was close enough to rising that it cast a bluish haze over everything. Victor thought about how the light made his best friend’s hair, so blond it was almost white, seem like an image on an old broken computer screen.

“Kim thinks I’m going to propose to her before we leave,” Sean muttered.

Victor nodded. He looked further down the beach at Kim and Stacey because he didn’t trust himself to look at Sean. They were rolling cigarettes. Kim’s dark hair kept getting in her face. She swore. Stacey laughed.

“It’s fine to do whatever when we’re away, but we still have to think about how things are going to be when we get home. You know?” Sean said, more clearly now.

Victor nodded again. Sean’s shorts were still wet from when they’d all drunkenly ran into the sea. He’d rolled them up his thighs to keep them off of his legs. Victor could see his blond hair there, too. Neither of them were still drunk.

“She loves you,” Victor said.

“I know.”

“You should be with her.”

“You really think so?” Sean asked.

Victor heard Sean shift, saw his legs move as Sean turned toward him, looked at him, but Victor just kept staring at the blond hair on his best friend’s lower thigh.

“If your parents will pay. Why not? It’s not like there’s someone else.” Victor paused. Coughed. “You’ve been dating forever. She’s going to law school. It’s a good time.”

“I thought you’d tell me to wait. To find myself first. You’re always saying gay shit like that,” Sean said.

Victor finally looked up at Sean. His skin was blemished from years of acne and his eyes were muddy brown. Half the time his eyes were dilated from whatever high he was chasing down or running from.

Victor looked down again. Sean’s shirt was too short and it rose at the waist. Naked flesh sat between the bottom of his shirt and the top of his too-low-shorts. The lump where Victor knew Sean’s dick was looked significant.

Sean shifted again. He looked down at the beach where the girls were still rolling the mint-and-anise tobacco that Kim said the locals all smoked.  Victor scooted closer to Sean across the cool sand. They were shoulder-to-shoulder now and Victor could feel his friend’s warmth. He could hear Sean’s breathing quicken then gradually slow again.

“It doesn’t have to mean everything, you know? Me and Kim. I mean, shit, you and me, we’ve been friends forever. It’s different with us. That’s something.”

“I know. I know.”

Sean put a hand on Victor’s leg. It was warm, but rough, scratched from a long week of rough play and hard partying on the beaches of Ibiza.

Sean didn’t look at Victor when he said—”I’m going to propose to Kim”—but his hand, rough and warm, slid between Victor’s thighs anyway.

Not Perfect

So the new design isn’t perfect yet. It’ll be a while yet before I’m done tinkering, but this is the general idea. I think it’s a little more focused on the fiction and it looks pretty decent on tablets, too! Again, I’ll be messing around with it a bit in the coming days (the background, for example, needs some alignment love) but for right now I think it works. Feel free to lodge your complaints with the Official Complaints Department (my email, I guess?)

-B.

Pending

So I’m working (ever so slowly) on a lot of things, not the least of which is an overhaul of this site. The design frustrates me on a regular basis. I think it could be a lot neater, cleaner, and lovelier, so I’m trying to put my opinion where my mouth is. Or something.

As for fiction, I know I keep promising that it’s coming, but it’s for real, seriously coming. I have stuff in the pipeline, but my day job is a miserable, soul-sucking piece of…let’s say that I have not so nice things to say about it at the moment.

In a perfect world I’d be able to launch the redesign with a ton of new fiction, but if the visual/design end of things ends up taking longer than I’m planning then I won’t make you wait for it.

If you find yourself missing me and the messy, nonsensical noise that I consider my “aesthetic” then feel free to follow me on my more frequently updated (but far less rigorous. Ha! Rigor…please) mediums:

Twitter: @benji_bright

or

Tumblr: benjibright.tumblr.com

(p.s. I’m also on Facebook, but with their recent real name policy shenanigans that may not last long.)

Dispatches from Wherever

I went to St. Louis to sell books (people liked the cover!)  took a vacation (in Boston, of all places!), had a friend visit (we toured the wonderful, mysterious streets of Chicago!), and drank far more than a body should. It’s been a wild, interesting summer and that’s not including the hours I threw into game development (in my other life) or my day job.

It’s totally understandable that this space feels a little neglected by comparison. But you know, dear reader, I shan’t keep you waiting overlong. At least not intentionally. I’m working on new stuff: games, fiction, etc.

Hopefully some of this shit will make its way to you through the unwieldy tubes sooner rather than later, but I’m playing a mean game of catch-up-quick. I do have a question for you though:

Would you rather play through a short demo of an upcoming twine project or just play it when it’s released and finished? 

Poll Closed. Thanks for your responses, y’all!

Least Valuable Player

Micky pushed open the front gate and looked around the yard. There were pink begonias blooming in flower boxes on either side of the stoop. They were fat-petaled, lovely. The garden surrounding the house was healthy, too: roses, tulips, even a few clutches of impatiens here and there. Micky climbed the stoop and dropped his baseball bat by the door. He fumbled around for the key in his pocket and unlocked the door. Cool air greeted him, it took the edge off of the summer night.

Dad was in the living room, sitting with one leg across the other, reading through the town ledger. His dangling foot bounced metronomically. Micky pulled his hood down and waved. Dad looked over the paper and smiled. He folded it precisely and tucked it into the side of his recliner.

“How’d the game go?” Dad asked.
Continue reading “Least Valuable Player” »

Twenty Days?!?

It’s been twenty days since my last update. Utterly shameful. I’ve never been particularly hot on the whole “consistency” thing, but I will attempt to make an effort for what remains of the summer. Unfortunately there are only so many hours in the day and so very many projects to wrap up, but for you fine folks I make the effort.

Expect another (real) update tomorrow. Til’ then!

-B.

PS. Friend me on Facebook, bro!

https://www.facebook.com/benji.bright.5

Release Party: Boy Stories

GDP011-BoyStories_Cover300My flash fiction collection, Boy Stories, is out now via Go Deeper Press. You can read “Bartalk,” the first story in the collection. Also, stream the June 30th episode of Literature for the Halibut on KDHX St. Louis where I read “Paul” from the collection.

You can buy the book on Go Deeper’s website, or Amazon, or Barnes & Noble.

Just remember to email your receipt to benijbright [at] gmail dot com, because I’m writing custom 500 word stories for the first ten people to send in their proof of purchase.

I hope you end up loving these stories as much as I do.

-B.

Yeah yeah, I’m a perv

That awkward moment when you go looking for fuel for your kink and you get your own website in the google search results.

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