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Today we have a snippet from the third Harrisburg Railers MM hockey romance book, Deep Edge, that I’m coauthoring with Rj Scott. In this excerpt, Trent is about to step in front of the cameras for another segment in his reality TV show.
Our word prompt today is “Silver”.
This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!
How wonderful it would be to have someone to scold about silly little social gaffes. I slipped back into that tiny office, closed the door, and spent the next forty minutes watching Deiter on ice. By the time the children were ready for me I was a hot mess but I put on my makeup and my performing smile and I sashayed out onto the ice like the fucking star I was. My skaters – the kids ranging in ages from six to sixteen – all applauded and gathered around me.
“Look at you all,” I gushed, hugging as many as I could. Some, like Scotty the ten-year-old transgender boy, were exceptionally special to me, but I adored them all. “Are you going to give the TV show cameras your best today?” I asked, moving through the adoring fans to get a last-minute costume and make-up check. They all shouted yes. They made me so proud.
It had been decided that I’d do one of my short programs from Sochi and then work with the kids, bringing in the Railers to show how harmonious we all were and how inclusive ice sports now were. Which was a huge pile of steaming shit. I remembered all too well the scathing remarks made about me by TV announcers - who were retired figure skaters - during my silver medal performance. I’d been called many terrible things since I first came out at a tender age but what those announcers had said about me being too feminine and too odd to be associating with young boys still turned my stomach. It made me cry back then and it would today given my state of mind if I’d only let it. But I refused to give shitful people like that the pleasure of seeing my tears. Besides, my skaters needed Trent to be Trent. And so, for them, I was always brave in public and shed the tears in private.
“We need to get this jacket up just a bit more,” I told Gayle. She began pinning the hem of the white short jacket. “If it’s too low it hides the curvature of my ass.”
“Hold still before I jab you.” She worked quickly. I smiled at the children and then found the hockey players lined up on the other side of the boards. I could feel Deiter before I could see him. I knew his eyes were on my ass, which is why I had to make sure that it was viewable. “Are you feeling better?”
“Yes.” I lied. “Thank you for coming over and talking to me this morning. You’re an angelic agent,” I whispered as some tall man with a bun and garlic breath touched up my eye liner and gloss. As if it needed touching up. I knew how to apply, thank you.
“Remember that when the producers of the show ask you to allow them to go on a date with you.” She smiled at me then gave the sparkly white jacket a firm tug. “There. All pinned and high enough to show off that pert ass. Now go show the people at home why you won that silver medal.”
We bussed cheeks and then I skated out to center ice, inhaled, artfully raised my arms over my head, dug my toe pick into the ice and then waited for the music. It was one of my favorite routines, performed to ‘Carmen’ and showcased my flair and strengths. As soon as the music began my mind went to the routine, the jumps, the sass that signaled that Trent Hanson was performing this skate. Through the salchows and lutzs, the toe loops and axels I felt hot steady eyes on me. Knowing Deiter was right there engrossed by my ability and my body, feeling his hungry eyes on me as I worked my magic, made me feel lightheaded and giddy. Combined with the sheer joy of ice and music, when I ended with an impromptu Johnny Weir slide the darkness of the morning had lifted.
Copyright 2017 ©by V.L. Locey
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