Gay Indeed—SAMPLE

This story is no longer available here and it's now published and available as eBook through Amazon or my website, or as paperback through Amazon.

Only six chapters are available here as a preview.

Yes, this is your typical poor girl/rich guy story. But with two penises instead of just one.

Let’s see how it all started.

I can’t believe I did it!

Everyone dreams of moving to New York City, Chicago, or anywhere in California. Me? I’ve always wanted to live in Boston. And here I am.

I was raised to pursue my dreams, and yes, the circumstances that pushed me to this day weren’t the best, but at the end of the day, I know I’m meant to be here. This will be the beginning of my independence, the beginning of a new life, the beginning of my happiness, the beginning of my—

“Phone, wallet, and your backpack. Give me all of it, now… Scream, and I’ll stab you to death with this rusty old knife.”

The beginning of a shitload of trouble.

“I don’t have all the fuckin’ time in the world, man! Hurry the fuck up!” I try to reason with the punk that is currently robbing me in plain daylight, since I’ve heard that this helps.

“Hold on, man! I just moved to the city; let me at least keep some of it. I don’t even know where I’m going!”

“Not my problem... Give me all of it,” the knife he mentioned, digs a little deeper on my damn side and I let it all go, “Ok, ok! Take it!”

“Welcome to the city, dumb-ass!” He shouts with a laugh as he walks away from me, leaving me to wonder if I will make it in the city after being a town boy my whole life. So, that’s how I ended up here, three days later, begging for food. Anyway, how about I give you a bit of back story first?

Here it goes.

My name is Tobias Amell Spencer. I’m twenty-four years old, and I come from a very closed-minded family that doesn’t understand that I may like women and men. Since we were kids—my brother Ahmed and I—we were told we had to find a nice lady like my mother, marry her, and have kids. Guess who wasn’t that great of a lady when she found out I liked men? That’s right… my mother.

I’ve worked since I was fifteen and my father always taught me to save at least ten percent of my paychecks. That was terrific advice; I got to save enough money to move to the city, but guess what? The guy that robbed me took most of that money.

I still have some of it saved, but with no debit card, no ID to go to the bank, nothing to prove my identity, and no family to ask for a favor, it is like having nothing.

“Listen, man! I just want soup or whatever the cheapest thing you have on the menu. I swear I’m not homeless, I’m new to the city and was robbed on my first day.”

Now I’m at a restaurant entrance, begging the host for something to eat, “They took everything!”

“Well, I’m sorry, honey, but I don’t see how that’s my problem. This is a five-star restaurant; people don’t pay to sit next to a bum like yourself. Go to a burger joint or something... now shoo!”

“I don’t need to sit at one of your tables,” I continue to beg, “I can wait outside, or if you call the manager, I can even wash the dishes or something. I need a job anyways.” No matter how much I beg, the peppy guy refuses to give me even a piece of old bread.

“Sir, with all due respect—not that you deserve it, you need to leave.”

“Good afternoon!” A powerful voice calls from behind me, making me feel small. Smaller than I already felt two seconds ago.

“Welcome to Andreas’ Cuisine,” says the host, “table for one?”

“Oh please, finish with the gentleman first.” The man says from behind me, asking the guy to continue helping me.

“Pff! Gentleman! Please sir, this man was just leaving.”

“Are there no tables available?”

“No, sir, he is just... he doesn’t belong here with a crowd such as yourself, sir.” I hear him suck up to this guy so much, so I decide to look back to the stranger and holy shit! This man is hawt! And he looks just as fancy as this restaurant. He is tall, muscular, blue-ish green eyes encapsulated in those thick-framed black glasses giving him a sophisticated look that screams money and class. But what caught my attention the most? Those broad shoulders that would look marvelous if only he could ride me into the sunset.

“So, table for one?” I hear the host ask, taking me out of my fantasy.

“Table for two, please.”

“Wonderful! We can have a table for you now, or we can wait for your companion. Whichever works best for you, sir.”

“My companion is here,” the man directs his words to me, extending a bizarre invitation, “what’s your name, man?”

I look right and left before realizing he is talking to me.

“Me? I’m Spencer, Tobias Spencer, Sir.”

“Great!” Says the stranger, then he goes back to the host. “Mr. Spencer and I would like a table across from the kitchen exit if possible.”

The restaurant employee laughs to his face, “I’m so sorry, sir, but I can’t let this man in here. Have you seen his clothes?”

“Considering I’m not blind, yes.”

“I apologize, mister, but if you insist, I’m going to have to deny entry to both of you.”

“Why? Is there some kind of policy or dress code here, that would prevent Mr. Spencer from going in with me?”

I’m embarrassed, and honestly kind of pissed off at the guy. I’m moderately clean, considering I’ve slept in the streets these few days, and I don’t smell bad. I washed a guy’s car and use the money to get a day pass at a gym and get a shower.

“Sir, you don’t have to do that.” I tell the stranger. “I’m leaving, please enjoy your meal. I do appreciate the offer.” I don’t even get to turn around when he speaks.

“No, Mr. Spencer! You are staying.”

“Oh no, he isn’t!” The restaurant guy is quick to add, and hot guy answers to his attitude with a question.

“You didn’t answer my question. Is there a dress code or policy stating he is not welcomed?” The host begins to talk, but the guy stops him, “Does the owner of this place know that you are rejecting people for their looks?”

“Oh, please!” Says peppy host, “That pompous asshole couldn’t care less as long as he gets revenue.”

“Interesting, an owner that doesn’t give a fuck about people. Anyway, can I have your name?”

“My—my name? Eh, Chris.” The attitude Mr. Peppy carried this whole time banishes knowing he is about to get in trouble with the manager.

“Chris what?” The guy’s confidence is gone and in its place is terror.

“Chris Daniels.”

Then the stranger says something that would have blown my brain if I was Chris Daniels. “Nice to meet you, Chris Daniels. I’m Mr. Pompous Asshole, the owner that couldn’t care less.”

Well damn! I think I’m in love.