I've been away for what feels like forever, and I am sorry. Life is very different these days, but I'm hanging on in there.

Anyway, I've decided to post a snippet from the very, very, beginning of a story to see what people think, whether or not it catches their interest, if it does, then I'll continue posting the rest of it.

So, the basics:

Title: Boy Dexter [note: subject to change, not a definite title, temporary]
Rating: M for cussing, homosexuality, language and possible sexual situations.

Summary: Ivan is left to house sit for his sister, Cassandra, as she and her eccentric husband take off on a several month long honeymoon. Despite being annoyed and generally against the idea, Ivan eventually agrees. He forms a distinct attachment to his sister's cat, Rosie, and is determined that it will be the only attachment he makes. Unfortunately, Cassandra's next door but one neighbour is a slightly eccentric young man with no inhibitions, a penchant for interpretive drama and licorice, and a bizarre liking for Ivan which is almost impossible to ignore. Ivan doesn't want to like Dexter back, but life is life, and Dexter is a rollercoaster, Ivan figures out it's easier to just hold on tight and enjoy the ride.

Ivan was, quite frankly, entirely unconcerned with what his sister did with her free time, as long as it didn’t affect him or interfere in any way with his life. Her announcing that she was getting married, should have not been an issue, had he not been forced to come to the wedding, completely ruining his own plans, which, while not elaborate, had been preferable to the whole pretentious affair.

However, it is not the wedding that Ivan was dwelling on, it was the events following it, the ones which had turned his world upside down and then inside out, then, quite possibly, kicked the remaining debris into the middle of the road to be run over by a large lorry.

A smile touched his lips at the thought. Oh he’d gotten royally fucked in every which way, but he wouldn’t take any of it back, not for a minute. He hurt still, that was inevitable, and sometimes the Friday nights with only Rosie curled up and purring on his lap seemed terribly lonely, but he was fine. Regardless, he’d say it again; he wouldn’t take anything back, none of it, he’d go through everything all over again if he had to - Dexter had been more than worth it.

Let me know if you like the sound of it. :)