Tuesday, August 23, 2005


Dion Phaneuf's mind was spinning like a whirlygig.

Lying here with Chris Simon, legs interlocking amongst the starchy hotel bedsheets, Dion knew the game had changed. Things had always been breezy and innocent, whether it be a pat on the head, brotherly wrestling at the practice rink, or something as simple as knees touching while playing the Gamecube. For Dion, flirting had been easy; one could always walk away with a shrug of the shoulders, no harm done. Now, sprawled out on a Atlanta Airport Sheraton king-sized bed, Dion faced for the first time the consequences of his very real, and very homosexual, actions.
"Does this make me gay?" Dion asked meekly, trembling slightly in the bed sheets.
Chris Simon laughed and scooped young Dion tighter in his arms. The only reminder of the outside world was the white noise of cars along the highway. It was a million miles away from 5-4 loss earlier in the evening.
"Dion, the times change. This is the year 2005 and being gay simply isn't a big deal."
But Dion said nothing.
"You wanted it didn't you? It's okay to admit you like dink."
Dion laughed loudly.
"Well, when you put it so nicely..." he said smiling, looking over his shoulder back at Simon.
"Queer theory has come along way," Simon began, "from the Stonewall Riots, the founding of Queer Nation, and the rise of openly gay politicians, being gay has become more and more acceptable..." Simon thumbed and stroked underneath the elastic band of Dion's underwear as he went on, it was a weird German brand with those big 3-inch elastic bands and a dipping, basket-like crotch, and it was probably the first thing Chris Simon noticed about Dion.
"Well as long long as things don't change..." said Dion, "...and as long as the others don't know."
"I just hope you never get traded," Simon replied, smothering young Dion in his 20-inch biceps.


mike w said...

Each morning - every morning - Graham Greene would get up, have some tea and always write 500 words. My muse, beguilingly, visits me at her leisure. Three days since my last blog entry, I offer you a painstakingly meticulous effort: no less than some of the finest hockey Slash Fiction ever produced. I think the key is to stay true to the material. What are your characters thinking? Their fears, their desire?

I thought I'd also offer some conte drawings reminiscent of early "Joy of Sex", which I used to capture the passion and intensity of this Bigtime sexual encounter.


Anonymous said...

Just keep Harvey the Hound out of it.

Chris! said...

"It's okay to admit you like dink"? HA!

Gold, Mr. Winters. Where did you find this?

Garnet said...

On a related note ...


mike w said...

>Gold, Mr. Winters. Where did you find this?

Find this? I wrote it!

Kris M said...

Hmm, this is an interested strategy to get more hits, Mike. I like it. Well-written too - I'm forced to admit to at least a couple twinges of the loins while reading it. Next time, more blowjobs!

case said...


what are your sources on this because i always knew it that they blew it.