Contemporary – MC Houle

Three Musketeers and a Jester

MC Houle — Mon, 05 Oct 2015 21:35:18 +0000

Jesse Dewitt’s long day just got worse when he came home, feeling dirty and smelling of used engine oil, to find five empty pie plates in the sink. The tasty blueberry and lemon pies he’d made with love only yesterday; all gone. He tried to centre himself, but even after a few deep breaths, he couldn’t contain his anger. “Brandon Bradford!” Bran’s face popped out of his bedroom door. “What did I do?” “You’ve eaten my pies.” “Not me.” Jesse’s glare said, “Yeah, sure.” “I swear I didn’t touch your pies.” Brandon had a cocky smile on his face. “I’d ask Hanson if I were you.” No way Lloyd ate a whole pie, let alone five. Unless… “Bran! You dared him? I can’t believe this.” “It’s just a few pies. Why are you being so anal, dude?” “You know how important tonight is for me.” Recognition passed over Bran’s face. “Shit! It’s tonight?” “Yeah.” Jesse pinched his lips to stop himself from saying something he’d regret. Brandon slumped with guilt. “I’m sorry. I should have wondered why we had fresh homemade pies.” Jesse rolled his eyes. He’d worked hard on those and made some extra just in case Brandon took some before tonight. He figured Brandon would take a piece or two. He should have known better. “It’s too late now, but could you at least clean the kitchen while I’m in the shower?” Jesse didn’t wait for an answer and made his way to the bathroom. He threw the greasy overalls and his work T-shirt into the washing machine and turned on the water. He stepped into the shower and let the warm water wash away the disappointment and relax his muscles. He squeezed the back of his neck as water ran down his face. When his father’s cold had turned into pneumonia, Jesse had been made responsible for the family business for the first time. And as if the new responsibilities weren’t stressful enough, Jesse had chosen this weekend to invite Felix-Antonin to meet his best friends. Jesse really wanted it to work out with FA, more than with any other boyfriend before.

A Million Truths

MC Houle — Fri, 05 Dec 2014 12:40:09 +0000

I flexed my knee at the correct angle on my skateboard, when I noticed Ryan Beaulieu stretching in his front yard. His white T-shirt with the large red-and-yellow dinosaur from the University of Calgary’s team logo moulded the form of his every muscle. My feet knocked on each other, and I crashed to the street. Of course, he looked up at that exact moment. He flashed his now brace-free teeth at me as if I hadn’t just made a fool of myself. I jumped back on my skateboard. I wanted to prove I wasn’t a dork, but as I attempted my jump again, he stretched back. His T-shirt slid up and gave me a sweet view of his belly. My eyes lingered at the dark happy trail, and I missed my jump again. This time, I landed on my feet, my board knocking on the sideway at Ryan’s house. I jogged to it, embarrassed. Ryan leaned on his elbows and watched me approach. He had to know I had done those jumps a million times. He stood as I got there, stretching his arms in the air, giving me a closer look at his belly. Damn his lower ab muscles were defined. “Aaron.” The way he said my name, low and sweet. I forced my eyes away.

Lucky Panties

MC Houle — Sun, 30 Nov 2014 14:40:58 +0000

Byron Leighten’s grin could have reached the sky, if he weren’t walking on clouds already. He’d woken at peace, something that hadn’t happened in months. His first day at MeShoes had gone well. And after that, when he went to Pink Laces to buy a pair of lace panties for a non-existent girlfriend, he hadn’t stuttered to the clerk over there. Nothing could compare to that feeling of pure happiness. Silence reigned when he arrived home, as his calls for his sister went ignored. He assumed she was with friends or listening to loud music. Two years had been enough to change his sweet little sister into a twelve-year-old rebellious teenager. Then his father appeared from the kitchen, holding Byron’s washed-out black backpack. The last time his father had looked that red and puffy Byron had broken the window of his father’s beloved car. He was seven at the time, and that face still scared Byron to the bones. “Dad?” “Don’t you fuckin’ call me Dad.” Byron stepped back. His voice was smug and confident, but he didn’t feel as such. “What have I done this time?” One twist of fate and the day had turned sour. The slap stung, but not as much as the act itself. His father was known to anger easily and violently, but never against them. The wall, sometimes, but never Byron, Amber or their mother, while she still lived. “Get out of my house.” “What? Dad!” Byron stopped listening to his broken pride and implored him. They had moved after his mother’s death, just before college. He had nowhere to go, knew no one in the neighborhood. His father got very close, very fast, and his breath smelled strongly of bourbon. Byron’s body tensed in expectation of a slap that didn’t come. “Get out of my house, faggot.” His first reflex was to deny it. He wanted to deny it. He did it for twenty-two years, one more wouldn’t hurt. Hell, two days ago he would have denied it. The words stuck in his throat. That morning, for the first time in months, years, he had accepted he was gay. And now he was forced out of the closet. He closed his mouth without saying anything. His father leaned in. Byron’s reflexes kicked in, and he squeezed against the wall. If he hadn’t moved, the edge of the door would have hit him in the shoulder when his father opened it. His father grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him outside. Byron stumbled out the door where he was able to stand in the wild garden instead of crashing onto the cement. His father slammed the door. Byron knocked furiously, calling for his dad, even calling him “Daddou” like he hadn’t done in years. “Please, let’s talk about it.” After a while, he accepted that his father wasn’t going to answer. He stepped back and caught Amber looking at him. Her hand rested against the window as if she wanted to reach out. He blew her a kiss for comfort, as tears began to pour down her face. She opened the window. “Don’t go. Please don’t go.” “I’m fine, Gem.” He even used her childhood nickname, hoping to make it better. “Don’t worry about me.” He saw his father go into her room and force the window closed. Just before he lost contact, he heard his sister yelling that she didn’t care, and that she loved him.

Reluctant Romance

MC Houle — Sun, 30 Nov 2014 14:37:04 +0000

Sometimes true love is reluctant to blossom and needs a little bit of coaxing in order to come out. But a strong will and a heart filled with determination will triumph every time! The authors of the Bigger Briefs present to you these m/m tales of lovers who just need a gentle prod to push them into the relationship they’ve been yearning for.