All or Nothing By Alp Mortal
Categories: Contemporary Romance | Gay
Word Count: 13,154 Heat Rating: 2 eBook Price: $ .99 Audiobook Price: $5.95 - $6.95 Available here:
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Sam is gay, lonely and depressed and lives next door to closed-book Steve, a practical, god-like motorcycle mechanic. Sam harbours a dream of a happy ever after which is so far from reality it is painful. Things take a decided turn for the worst when Steve announces that he is emigrating to Canada. The separation, loneliness and depression are just about enough to finish poor Sam off.
An invitation to visit Steve after a year of excruciating longing, gives Sam a glimmer of hope. But dare he risk all and admit to his feelings and end up with nothing? I am always very happy to receive your feedback. If you wish to contact me directly, please email me at: [email protected]. Visit the website, www.alpmortal.weebly.com, for updates on the next gay romantic story or crime thriller which I am working on. Thank you, Alp Mortal Audiobook Sample: |
Chapter One – You don’t have to go do you?
“Do you need a hand, Steve?” I called out as I dived into the garden to retrieve some washing off of the line and noticed he was struggling to move a heavy piece of masonry that he was using to create a feature wall.
“Could you?”
“Give me a tick and I’ll be round.”
Steve has lived next door to me for about eighteen months and in that whole time I think we’ve shared a drink maybe twice and rarely said more than a “good morning” or a “hi”. It isn’t that he’s standoffish; just shy I think and prefers his own company. He works for the landscape gardening contractor who cuts all the grass, and when he’s not working, he’s tinkering with an old motorbike in the shed or gardening; single and thirty as far as I can tell.
“Fuck that’s heavy,” I puffed as he levered the stone into its final position.
“There are two more if you don’t mind; I just can’t manage them myself.”
“No problem.” And we manhandled the stones into position and as a reward he asked, “Tea?”
“Love some.”
He went in to make it and I stood outside admiring the garden which was his pride and joy.
“There you go ...” he said as he gave me the mug.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
We sipped and nothing much else was doing but I didn’t want to waste this rare opportunity so ploughed on.
“You going away this year?”
“Camping in France. I wondered if you could water the plants whilst I’m gone; last two weeks of September?”
“Absolutely fine; I’m staying put because I’m having a new kitchen fitted ...”
It elicited no response.
“Thanks; I’ll sort you out a key in case of emergencies.”
Now I have to admit to harbouring some very sleazy thoughts about Steve. He is, after all, all man and quite handsome, actually very handsome, with no pretensions about it. A solid build with not an ounce of fat and silky blond hair that sets off the blue eyes and makes me melt every time I see him get into his work van. For someone who works in gardening, he has very fine hands and square attractive nails that bear no trace of soil. If I didn’t know better I’d say he had them manicured but for all my secret longing there is no way this chap is batting for my team and as far as I can tell, he isn’t batting for any team. In my lustful dreams, he’s a lone wolf.
“This weather looks set to remain; which I imagine is good for the grass and therefore you?” I angled.
“Contract is up for renewal; the boss isn’t very hopeful that he’ll get it ...”
“Shit; what then?”
“I’ll go and work for the guy at the airport; I did before; boring as fuck but well paid.”
“That’s too far to travel every day though isn’t it?”
“Yeah; I’ll stay over and just be back for the weekends ... should know by the time I get back from France.”
This was the longest conversation and by far the most interesting we’d ever had.
“Do you want more tea or maybe something stronger?”
“Just tea; thanks.”
He went back in and the thought of losing him for five days out of seven was a depressing one and I wasn’t even sure why.
He handed over the mug.
“Thanks ... Was that your mum I saw last week, pottering in the garden?”
“Yeah, annual visit; to check up on me. She lives in Stoke and I just don’t get the time to get up there much. I feel bad because she’s on her own ...”
Where’s his dad then I wanted to know.
“Is she widowed?” I asked and as he was thirty it seemed unlikely and his mum only looked sixty.
“Yeah; since I was a boy.”
“Mine too ... since I was two in fact.”
We’d shared something of ourselves and we have something in common but he said nothing.
“Best let you get on,” I ventured and he looked over at me and I swear it was a look that said “do you have to go? I want you to stay but I don’t know how to ask; I’m afraid to ask ...”
“I’m in all day tomorrow if you need another hand,” I said not in the least bit suggestively; just the most friendly.
He smiled and was it a look of resignation; a dream snuffed out, a wish that hadn’t come true; a coin that came up tails?
I am apt to imagine all sorts of things but I know he likes me. He doesn’t talk to any of the neighbours, ignores them in fact, except me; so that must count for something. He always says “hi” even if that is all he says and I know he sometimes looks at me when I’m in the garden; which isn’t saying a lot because Brian the other side does and he is definitely straight.
There is not a night that I don’t dream about him. He features in every wank I’ve had for the last eighteen months and if I’m truthful then I would say I think about him at least hourly. I guess I love him which is depressing, depraved and pointless but it’s beautiful as well ... like him.
“Do you need a hand, Steve?” I called out as I dived into the garden to retrieve some washing off of the line and noticed he was struggling to move a heavy piece of masonry that he was using to create a feature wall.
“Could you?”
“Give me a tick and I’ll be round.”
Steve has lived next door to me for about eighteen months and in that whole time I think we’ve shared a drink maybe twice and rarely said more than a “good morning” or a “hi”. It isn’t that he’s standoffish; just shy I think and prefers his own company. He works for the landscape gardening contractor who cuts all the grass, and when he’s not working, he’s tinkering with an old motorbike in the shed or gardening; single and thirty as far as I can tell.
“Fuck that’s heavy,” I puffed as he levered the stone into its final position.
“There are two more if you don’t mind; I just can’t manage them myself.”
“No problem.” And we manhandled the stones into position and as a reward he asked, “Tea?”
“Love some.”
He went in to make it and I stood outside admiring the garden which was his pride and joy.
“There you go ...” he said as he gave me the mug.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
We sipped and nothing much else was doing but I didn’t want to waste this rare opportunity so ploughed on.
“You going away this year?”
“Camping in France. I wondered if you could water the plants whilst I’m gone; last two weeks of September?”
“Absolutely fine; I’m staying put because I’m having a new kitchen fitted ...”
It elicited no response.
“Thanks; I’ll sort you out a key in case of emergencies.”
Now I have to admit to harbouring some very sleazy thoughts about Steve. He is, after all, all man and quite handsome, actually very handsome, with no pretensions about it. A solid build with not an ounce of fat and silky blond hair that sets off the blue eyes and makes me melt every time I see him get into his work van. For someone who works in gardening, he has very fine hands and square attractive nails that bear no trace of soil. If I didn’t know better I’d say he had them manicured but for all my secret longing there is no way this chap is batting for my team and as far as I can tell, he isn’t batting for any team. In my lustful dreams, he’s a lone wolf.
“This weather looks set to remain; which I imagine is good for the grass and therefore you?” I angled.
“Contract is up for renewal; the boss isn’t very hopeful that he’ll get it ...”
“Shit; what then?”
“I’ll go and work for the guy at the airport; I did before; boring as fuck but well paid.”
“That’s too far to travel every day though isn’t it?”
“Yeah; I’ll stay over and just be back for the weekends ... should know by the time I get back from France.”
This was the longest conversation and by far the most interesting we’d ever had.
“Do you want more tea or maybe something stronger?”
“Just tea; thanks.”
He went back in and the thought of losing him for five days out of seven was a depressing one and I wasn’t even sure why.
He handed over the mug.
“Thanks ... Was that your mum I saw last week, pottering in the garden?”
“Yeah, annual visit; to check up on me. She lives in Stoke and I just don’t get the time to get up there much. I feel bad because she’s on her own ...”
Where’s his dad then I wanted to know.
“Is she widowed?” I asked and as he was thirty it seemed unlikely and his mum only looked sixty.
“Yeah; since I was a boy.”
“Mine too ... since I was two in fact.”
We’d shared something of ourselves and we have something in common but he said nothing.
“Best let you get on,” I ventured and he looked over at me and I swear it was a look that said “do you have to go? I want you to stay but I don’t know how to ask; I’m afraid to ask ...”
“I’m in all day tomorrow if you need another hand,” I said not in the least bit suggestively; just the most friendly.
He smiled and was it a look of resignation; a dream snuffed out, a wish that hadn’t come true; a coin that came up tails?
I am apt to imagine all sorts of things but I know he likes me. He doesn’t talk to any of the neighbours, ignores them in fact, except me; so that must count for something. He always says “hi” even if that is all he says and I know he sometimes looks at me when I’m in the garden; which isn’t saying a lot because Brian the other side does and he is definitely straight.
There is not a night that I don’t dream about him. He features in every wank I’ve had for the last eighteen months and if I’m truthful then I would say I think about him at least hourly. I guess I love him which is depressing, depraved and pointless but it’s beautiful as well ... like him.
