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Parked at the View

Parked at the View

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Parked at the View

5/5 (4 evaluări)
59 pages
49 minutes
May 27, 2020


About Parked at the View
Tales of erotic passion at the view overlooking a small town valley as only the prolific prince of erotica Guy New York can write.

About Bryant Street Shorts
Bryant Street Shorts is a new publisher specializing in exciting short-form fiction from talented and emerging writers. We’re passionate about creating immersive works that represent our readers and celebrate what matters to them, which is why our catalog of stories reflects a wide range of experiences and voices.
Many Bryant Street Shorts are collections of stories that follow ensembles of characters across multiple storylines. We suggest reading these stories in order to get the most out of your experience. Simply scroll down to “Titles In This Series,” located just below the description of every Bryant Street Short, to find the stories in their correct order.
To find more short stories and novellas on Scribd, simply search for “Bryant Street Shorts."

May 27, 2020

Despre autor

Guy New York is a bestselling erotica author, designer, and degenerate who spends most of his time either writing about sex or having it. Sometimes he does both at the same time, much to the chagrin of his partners. With more than 75 titles to his name — including four full-length novels, ten novellas, and numerous short stories — his books have been widely read and often burned. Visit his author site at www.guynewyork.com.

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Parked at the View - Guy New York


Part One: Best Friends

Things don’t need to be bad for you to need a break.

I’m not saying things are great, but what I mean is, you can slow down, get out of the house, and stop thinking on occasion without feeling bad about it. It took me almost forty years to realize that, and even still, I sometimes get that old familiar guilt sticking its head in and telling me I’m a shit husband, a weak man, and a whole slew of other names you don’t need to hear about.

But I needed a break. The day had been long, arguing constant, and the list of things to do had gone on and on. I felt like I was ready to snap — I never did learn what to do with anger other than hold it in — and so I made the smart choice. I told Kay I was going out, I texted Mark that I was picking him up, and I stuck two joints into my shirt pocket and grabbed the car keys.

Kay was at least partially relieved when I pulled out of the driveway, and I don’t blame her. Neither one of us was worse than the other, but that didn’t mean we were good. Sometimes you don’t need a reason to argue, and sometimes you don’t need to know why. But I learned a long time ago that you can only push through the hard times if you let yourself be, recharge a little, and give yourself — and your partner — a bit of space.

Mark was waiting outside when I pulled up, and unlike me, he was as cool as a cucumber. The old bastard still looked like he had when we were twenty, and while I only managed to hit the gym every few days, he was the kind of guy that might contemplate doing a triathlon on a whim. Oh, I don’t know… I mean, I haven’t biked more than fifty miles in a year or two, but what the hell, I’m long overdue for another marathon anyway.

My jealousy is matched only by my love for the guy, so what can you do? When you’ve been friends for as long as we have, these things just are what they are. Even our teasing one another about it feels routine, and if I didn’t tell him he was an asshole for having a six-pack at least once a week, he’d probably wonder what was wrong.

But he got in, noticed my state of mind, gave me a quick hug, and asked, Where to? Which is just what an old friend should do, and how I knew I had made the right choice. Kay would be OK without me, and if there was one person she didn’t mind me hanging out with, it was Mark. Not only did she think he was a good influence on me, but she also thought he was hot. I’d even let her call me his name in bed once, and we fucked so hard we broke the bed.

Marriage is not what I thought it would be. Good and bad.

I haven’t been up here in years, Mark said when I parked the car at the View. It was a local tradition, especially among teenagers, but it was also one of the prettiest spots around. From the road that slithered up along that old stone wall, you could see halfway to California. Even the old water tower felt familiar and, therefore, comforting.

I think the last time I was up here, it was to make out with Kay in the back seat. Or maybe it was Tammy Baker. Shit, I can’t remember.

Are you doing all right? Your text sounded kind of overwhelmed.

How the hell can a text message sound overwhelmed?

You sent that smiley face. The one that looks nuts. Come on, I knew the second I got in the car anyway. You’re such an open book. You wear your emotions like most guys wear a hat, right there on your big head for everyone to see.

I pushed my seat as far back as it would go, and rolled the window down. I sighed a bit too dramatically, even for me, and thought through a million ways to respond. In truth, there was nothing wrong. Nothing specific, at least. I didn’t have some big point of contention to bring up, and there was no giant crisis that needed an immediate fix. What I was feeling was a combination of loneliness, frustration, and resentment, and I hated all of it. The last one the most.

"Nothing is wrong, Kay and I are just struggling. For no good reason, which makes it even worse. She’s wonderful, and we’re still bickering with each other

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