All posts by Hunter Perez

Story

My Pal Jock and the Pillory

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By Hunter Perez

I rode my bicycle up the driveway to my pal Jock’s home and found his garage was open. Parking the bicycle next to his Mercedes, I ventured into the garage and knocked on the door to the house.

“I’m downstairs, Bingo,” Jock yelled from the basement. “Come on down, I want to show you what I created.”

I came inside and found Jock at the bottom of the stairs to the basement. He was wearing a blue baseball cap that caused the ends of his reddish-blonde hair to curl in the most adorable manner, while his white t-shirt and black shorts hugged his tall muscular body.

“So, what do you want to show me?” I asked as I descended the stairs.

“You’re the first to see this,” he said in an excited voice. “It’s a prototype, but if it works I think I can make a fortune from it.”

I came into the basement and found a large wooden pillory at the center of the space. I pointed to the pillory and asked, “Are you building that for the Renaissance Fair?”

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Story

My Pal Jock and the Chastity Belt

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By Hunter Perez

My pal Jock is the most beautiful man in the world – or, at least I think so. He stands six-foot-five and has wavy reddish-blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin and the body of a muscle god. His voice is deep and soothing, and he’s been successful at everything he’s done.

I’m the exact opposite of Jock in terms of presentation and pursuits. We also have very little in common regarding life experiences or interests. Still, we’re the best of friends. I sometimes feel that his devotion to me is because of an uncharacteristic action on my part – I saved his life the first time I met him. (It’s a long story, which I’ll share with you another time.)

And while I cherish him as a friend, I freely admit that my bond with him has a foundation in unrequited lust. He doesn’t feel that way about me, but I’m fine with that.

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Story

Dear Mr. Cop – Part 04

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By Hunter Perez

The morning sun illuminated the hotel suite, giving the space a bright golden hue. John looked at his wristwatch and saw it was a little before seven. He quietly crawled out of bed and quietly moved to the windows to draw the curtains and darken the room.

John left Lucas alone in the bed, but Lucas was unaware of this – he fell into a deep sleep a few hours earlier, with the slightest of smiles resting on his lips. John sat the edge of the bed and gazed at Lucas, his inner thoughts in combat between exhilaration and panic. The night with Lucas went far beyond the Mr. Right Now encounters he enjoyed in his weekend sojourns, and the last thing that he wanted was to lose the sensation he experienced. But his repeated thoughts of having Lucas as his personal prisoner continued to resonate. He feared being rejected if he broached the subject to Lucas, but he also reminded himself the subject was planted and cultivated in the letters addressed to “Mr. Cop” – the scenario was not of his creation, even though he wanted to see it through.

“I’ll lock you up and throw away the key,” John thought as he studied Lucas.

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Story

Dear Mr. Cop – Part 03

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By Hunter Perez

John needed a plan where he could introduce himself to his neighbor without overtly addressing the pleas in the letters he received. He decided to fall back on a routine that he carried out for years – each summer, he would share the heirloom tomatoes that he grew in his backyard with his immediate neighbors. He figured this would not attract any unusual attention from the elderly folks who lived around him, as they became used to that annual routine and, thus, would not think it odd that he would suddenly choose to visit with the object with attention.

However, time and weather were not his allies. It rained heavily during the days he was off from work, which kept his blond neighbor inside and out of sight – but when the weather was bright and sunny, John was stuck doing double shifts that brought him home exhausted in the early hours of the day.

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Story

Dear Mr. Cop – Part 02

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By Hunter Perez

The following day, John was asked to work a double shift because one of his fellow officers became ill. He didn’t get home until after midnight, but by then the lights were out at the home of his mysterious blond neighbor. The day after that, another officer became ill and John was pressed into another double shift. Again, he came home too late to catch a glimpse of the neighbor.

On that second night, another lemon yellow envelope addressed to “Mr. Cop” was among John’s mail. He tossed aside the magazines, catalogs and bills that accompanied the letter and tore open its envelope.

“Dear Mr. Cop,” the letter began. “Since I found the courage to contact you, I wanted to share my dreams about how our life together could unfold in a captor and captive relationship.”

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Story

Dear Mr. Cop – Part 01

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By Hunter Perez

John was a handsome 30-year-old who lived in a small Connecticut town near the Massachusetts border. He resided in a large Victorian home where he was raised. His parents passed away a few years earlier, and he had no immediate family.

John worked as a police officer in another small town several miles from where he lived. He enjoyed his work and had no problems dealing with public – in fact, he was uncommonly kind and holistic when helping people facing all sorts of tumult. But he took no aspect of the job home with him – not the stress of a police officer’s daily routine, nor the camaraderie of being part of a police force. He was cordial with his co-workers but not familiar – he politely declined their invitations to socialize once he was off duty.

John preferred to live alone and keep to himself in his private time. By choice, he had no close friends, nor did he rue his solitude. He savored his time away from others, to the point that he created his own home gym so he wouldn’t have to be bothered with people while he sought to keep himself in shape.

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Story

A Left Turn at Albuquerque Continued – Part 10

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By Hunter Perez

After the back-to-back craziness of Nicky and his pals plus the O’Dwyer incident, the prison went into lockdown. We had no idea how long it would last – Patterson told me the warden returned from his trip and ordered an indefinite confinement period there was an investigation into how Nicky and his fellow intruders broke into the prison and took guards as hostages, as well as a probe of how O’Dwyer managed to get his hands on dynamite and a horse-drawn wagon that he packed with his fellow prisoners.

Patterson and Charleson spent a great deal of time during the lockdown outside of my cell, speaking with myself and Zeb through the iron bars. Both were deeply appreciative of how we subdued the intruders, and they brought us items to keep us distracted while we were confined – magazines, blank notebooks and pens, cookies, candies and thickly packed sandwiches. The Jones boys also came by the cell to express their thanks for rescuing them, and when we began to converse I realized that my opinion of them was completely wrong – they were not dull and indolent, but were charming and unexpectedly funny once you got to know them. They shared their dissatisfaction with their work and confided they were looking for opportunities elsewhere. They also asked if Zeb and I could give them boxing lessons once the lockdown was over.

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Story

A Left Turn at Albuquerque Continued – Part 09

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By Hunter Perez

Holmgren walked me through unfamiliar corridors within the prison, and as we journeyed I began to develop a very bad headache. I don’t know if it was from the whiskey or if it was a crash from the adrenaline rush I felt in subduing the intruders, but the pain came on quickly. Holmgren had been talking, but in my discomfort I stopped listening to him – which I didn’t realize until he repeated a question twice without my generating an answer.

“You don’t look good – what’s wrong?” he asked.

“I feel like I’m having a migraine headache,” I said. “Do you have aspirin?”

“I don’t think it’s been invented yet,” he said. “But I have something in my kitchen that can make you feel better instantly.”

We walked out into a section of the prison grounds that I didn’t recognize. There were several small stone buildings and a few wooden sheds. A strong wind brought the scent of horse manure that betrayed the presence of the prison’s stables, which Holmgren pointed out to me.

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