Erotica Harem

Title: ""Pretty Boy Dead"" 

Chapter: "Invalid Item" 

Author: Jon Michaelsen...

Plot: As you know, I read this...wow, a looonggg time ago now. I can't believe it's been over two years, maybe more. Anyway, you and I know what the plot is and this first chapter draws us in, making us wonder if Jason will be able to pull off his plan or if it will all go to hell. How did he get to this point?

Style & Voice: I've always enjoyed the way you write. Your style and voice are clear and all yours.
Referencing: This being the first chapter there isn't much need for referencing anything yet. Though we did get some past info like that Jason's mother is dead and left him a trust. At the end of the chapter Jason thinks about the incident or scheme that got him to the place he's at now.
Scene/Setting: Great job on the scene and setting here. I can picture the gym and locker room. No problems there.
Characters: I think you did a great job with Jason's personality, his feelings, the way he sees things. Great job.
Grammar: See below in the body of the chapter. Only a few little things, missing commas and a missing word I believe was all I found.
Just My Personal Opinion: I can't wait to get further into this story again. I need my Parker fix. I always loved Parker. There are so many more chapters for me to read too.



The target strode across the pavement, head darting left and right snatching glances all around like a jackrabbit checking for predators. The boy didn’t seem to notice the telephoto lens pointed in his direction from across the parking lot keeping pace with him, snapping frames as he hurried to the door of the gym. Moments of his life out in public for the week digitally recorded by a camera wielded by the hired professional with steady hands and focused diligence.

The final frames snapped rapid-fire as the mark reached the entrance and slipped through the glass door. The watcher glanced at his watch, stretched his neck to both sides and slumped behind the wheel of a late model van with dark tinted windows. He settled in for the long wait.

[]

Thursday wasn’t one of his usual workout days, but Jason knew pumping iron would help to calm his nerves. He parked near the front door of the fitness center and, bolted from his vehicle, and rushed ahead. He reached the door and breathed a sigh of relief before pulling the glass frame open.

For several days now, he felt worried that someone was following him and tracking his every move, somebody who wanted to see him dead. He sensed as early as two days ago eyes peeled in his direction and spent most of the time glancing over his shoulder, suspicious of everybody. He wore dark shades to conceal his angst, careful not to loiter in one place long enough to be noticed. He changed his routine to travel several blocks out of the way to any given destination in hopes of evading unwanted eyes skulking out there, anything to avoid the inevitable. They were watching.

Like anyone paranoid of being followed, Jason dealt with his fear like an inexperienced criminal on the run with evidence stacked against him, trusting no one and fearing the consequences of his actions. A few more days stood between dodging the unknown shadows on the street, late night voiceless calls and mysterious dark-glass vehicles around every corner before he’d board a small private plane on a one-way ticket out of this hellhole. He planned to escape the place of his birth, the city he came to loathe over the years. After leaving Atlanta, he aimed to spend the first few months of his freedom lost in the tropical wonderland of the Caribbean islands. He intended to move from island to island and never remain in one area long enough to attract attention. He needed to distance himself far from anything he knew -- and those who knew him -- his family, his friends, a laundry list of adversaries all awaiting their turn at revenge. Leave behind the secrets and lies and purge the incredible fear lodged deep within his gut. The cruel, overwhelming uncertainty of his future plagued his every muscle, weakening his resolve. He had to get far away from the danger that threatened to destroy him, the same threat that had all but consumed his existence for the past two months.

The thought of never again seeing his buddies pained him, what few remained. He possessed a talent for attracting the most skeptical with an easy smile and flare for conversation, so finding new friends didn’t concern him all that much. The thought of leaving Johnny behind, his best bud of late bothered the hell out of him, more than he’d admit. He wished like hell Johnny could come along. He knew they’d have a blast in the beautiful tropical paradise soaking up the rays and blowing wads of cash like spoiled Hollywood starlets. They would drink Margaritas or rum-filled punch with tiny parasols under wind-swept palms on white sand. Better yet, scuba diving in the translucent waters off the coast of Cayman Brac where the brilliant colors of tropical fish resembled a child’s storybook tableau.

Bringing Johnny along would prove too risky though, even for him. Their disappearing together would raise suspicion, perhaps even provoke desperate actions by the very ones determined to see his days numbered. Ferreted out and hunted down like animals, just a matter of time before meeting their ultimate fate. Considering all that he had planned more than a year now, alerting his enemies was not an option.

And there was so much at stake! Wasn’t that the point? Why else spend more than a year planning and setting into motion such a scheme? He created a master plan so incredible, so far-fetched that the timing of events meant the difference between sureness and failure. Yet a scheme only he could evoke and one that he was convinced would work. His life depended on it.

Jason resigned weeks earlier to disappear alone and leave behind the city he once loved as much as his mother. A former Olympic city still trying to bask in the glory days of the past, Atlanta boasted proliferate alluring history and infectious southern charm, all surrounded by waves of emerald beauty and endless tranquility. Hard to believe the town infamous for its rebel heritage and unrelenting southern pride once faced devastation as Sherman lead his men to the sea. With its young history laid bare a century before, the pinnacle of the New South rose from the midst of the northern invasion like the soaring phoenix from Dante’s Inferno. The city’s cultivated, multimillion dollar new image presented an attractive place to live and work, with an adopted motto as contemptuous as the marketing team who conceived it. The “City Too Busy To Hate” campaign paved the way for an award-winning media blitz that pumped through various outlets across the country and worldwide, earning accolades for the designers as businesses and residents alike flocked to the multicultural area.

But beyond the modern glass skyscrapers, the large homes and southern hospitality, the dogwoods and acres of lush evergreens, Atlanta had become a city mired in political scandal, organized crime and racial tension as any other major player in the modern world.

Jason saw little choice than to abandon it and anyone who knew him. Carmine all but guaranteed such fate, no turning back now. He had set the plan in motion.

[]


Entering the gym, Tim, a rather tall and gangling bleach-blond teenager in a black t-shirt and jeans greeted him. The guy always chatted up his cell phone while working behind the counter and today was no exception.

“Hey, man, what’s up?” Tim finally asked, shoving his cell into the front pocket of his oversized pants. The pants hung far below his thin hips to reveal an inch of plaid boxers.

“Not much.” Jason said, sliding his black membership card through the electronic reader atop the counter.

“Nice Porsche. Boxster, right?” Tim said. “Is it yours?”

“Yeah,” Jason said disinterested and not wanting conversation.

“Cool! Wish my old man would buy me something like that.”

“Yeah,” Jason said, with a snort. “Wish my old man would buy you something like that, too.” Glancing through the front window at the sports car glistening in the morning March sun, his thoughts turned to his mother. The proceeds of the trust she left him allowed him to buy the car last year.

He snatched the fresh towel handed him and breezed through the corridor, catching his stride in several mirrors along the way. Like every weekday morning, the dressing room was packed with prudish executive types donning color coordinated gym clothes and gleaming air or jell stocked sneakers, readying themselves for a grueling forty-five minute workout before charging off to their respective corporate offices. His attire was simple: a pair of burgundy sweats left over from his catholic high school days, a faded muscle tank and well-worn sneakers without the benefit of socks.

Unlike most vying for an empty locker in the stuffy room, he didn’t hurry. In fact, he relished pushing iron so early in the morning. The adrenaline rush helped get the day started and his blood flowing, the muscles pumped full of energy. Days of anxiety plagued his body. Why not ease the jitters by tearing down some muscle?

In the center of the room, Jason located a lone locker not sporting a lock. Probably left vacant for those willing to endure silent scrutiny, he thought as he hurried to undress, keenly aware of the eyes cutting his way. No bother. He relished the attention, the probing eyes and leering stares, accustomed to the envious looks as long as he could remember. As a child, he'd delighted in the fuss adults made over him, women, some men, all lamenting him with special little gifts of affection. He enjoyed an abundant supply of chocolate ice-cream or jelly-bellies; his favorite. Through puberty, he grew more aware of his looks, his agile build and the rewards of an infectious smile. It didn’t take long before he came to appreciate his Adonis-like looks and the attention it gained him.

He faced the locker and unbuttoned his shirt, letting the starched oxford slip from his broad, muscular shoulders. He thought again of his endearing plan. Though he rehearsed the lines over and over in his head, he still agonized over the possibilities. It seemed no amount of prep would ever change the fact that something might go wrong and he could not afford another blunder. It would be too disastrous. Those watching his every move the past few days might grow anxious and respond with drastic measures. Time, as the saying goes, was running out for this pretty boy with the angelic face.

He hung the garment on the metal hook provided before straddling a bench to remove his shoes. He sat up and gazed forward, focusing on a tiny crack in the far wall, rehearsing the script in his mind for what must have been the thousandth time. His concentration was shattered when a wave of newcomers replaced the old with hurried frenzy.

He stood and tugged his t-shirt over his head, slipping from the fabric like a snake writhing free of skin. Tossing the undershirt into the locker, he slipped out of a snug pair of button-fly 501’s. He secured them in the locker before dressing in his gym clothes and exiting the room like a rock star on his way to meet his many fans.

The exercise room was long and rectangular, with a high warehouse darkened ceiling divided by a mirrored partition that ran midway through the main floor. To the left were bench weights designed for working the chest and shoulders, a multitude of barbells to work the upper-body, various stair-climbers, elliptical and row machines, digital stationary bicycles and a wall of state-of-the art treadmills. The right side held machines for exercising the arms, legs, back and stomach as well as several traditional pulley devices scattered throughout. After thirty minutes of cardiovascular warm-up, he strode across the gym floor to the free-weights, determined to rid his body of the nervous tension that all but consumed him. He tackled the bench press with vigor, completing four sets of twelve reps each before hitting the incline press. He pushed through another four sets, repeating the same routine on the decline, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He continued the same grueling regiment for well over two hours to the point of exhaustion, succeeding in reducing the tension plaguing his muscles. After grabbing a cold bottle of water from the cooler up front, he headed for the showers.

Jason stripped from the sweaty gym clothes without the leer of an audience and walked naked to the showers, choosing the middle stall. In the white-tiled enclosure behind blurred glass door, he stood beneath the steady stream of hot water, allowing it to cascade across his aching body, soothing the joints and caressing his burning muscles. He found the warmth of the water exhilarating and a relaxed smile formed across his face as he lathered. Steam swirled in the enclosure, engulfing his torso as he rinsed. His body responded, the young muscles relaxing before beginning their cycle of regeneration.

He stood beneath the water several minutes longer, eyes closed, recalling the events he now regretted being a party to. A whirlwind of remembrance surged forward, flooding his thoughts. Sadness mingled with the anger, leaving him disheartened. Why had he become involved? Why had he let himself get suckered into such a crazy scheme? And worst of all, why had he followed along?

He reached out and cut the water, stepping out to towel dry. He crossed to a cubicle in the john of the third stall and latched the door. There, for a few moments, he enjoyed the stimulation of an imaginary lover, recalling a past encounter. He pumped his hand into his groin, further attempting to erase the anxiety creeping back into his soul.