V.L. Locey: #figureskater

Showing posts with label #figureskater. Show all posts

Monday, July 31, 2017

Tuesday Tales - Box

It`s time for Tuesday Tales.

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 having some troubles trying to come to grips with this wild new passionate thing growing between himself and Deiter.

Our word prompt today is “Box”.

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!

“He sent me a text that said, ‘It’s done’. Just that. Just those two words. What the flying fuck does that mean? Is he in rehab? In the hospital? Hockey players,” I huffed and gave the ceiling of my rink a sour look as I kept talking. “So, I called Adler Lockhart who tells me that he’s having surgery. Which is good, he needs to attend to his knee, but what about the pain afterward? He looked sober when he was here yesterday but…well, yeah, but. And now I’m even more lost and confused because every damn fiber of my being is screaming at me to go to Harrisburg and see him, you know?”

The Tennant Rowe bobblehead Layton and the Railers had presented me with bobbled its head in reply. Wonderful. So helpful. I should shove it back into its box.

“Do you think I should?” I lifted the tiny resin figure from my lap and shook it. It just bobbled as any good bobblehead should. I sighed and set it down on the cold, plastic seat beside me, right next to the check I’d also gotten from the Harrisburg Railers in attendance. The players who’d come to this debacle of a training session/reality show had handed me a personal check for ten thousand dollars for the rink, the real Tennant Rowe trying to put the check into my palm just two hours ago, before they’d left to return to their lives for the rest of the summer.

“What you’re doing here is important,” he’d said as I tried to gracefully not take their money.

“Showing a bunch of orangutans how to shave a few milliseconds off their time?”

The group gathered around me had chuckled.

“No, what you’re doing with the kids. Giving them a haven, a place to train without being judged or hated on. That’s the important thing.” He pressed the check into my chest. And held it there, right over my fluttering heart. How had I gotten so attached to this pod of apes so quickly? They’d certainly showed me that not all hockey players were lumbering cretins bent on humiliating the little figure skater with the perfectly applied eyeliner and gloss. Imagine that. Giving people a chance and not judging on past experiences. What a novel concept.

“And turning us all onto Pilipino food,” Arvy chimed in.

“Good Pilipino food,” Stan enthused. Another round of laughter.

“I’ll be happy to take this for the children. Thank you.” I hugged Tennant and Jared then went down the line, giving each of them a hug and a soft kiss on the lips. Not a sexual kiss just a friendly one. The sexual kisses were reserved for the Railer that wasn’t here.

*~*~*

Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the Tuesday Tales authors.

Tuesday Tales

Monday, July 24, 2017

Tuesday Tales - Silver

Welcome back for more Tuesday Tales!

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.

*~*~*

Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the Tuesday Tales authors.

Tuesday Tales

Monday, July 10, 2017

Tuesday Tales - Earth

It`s time for Tuesday Tales.

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, we get to meet one of the two leading men, Trent Hanson, a famous figure skater who has fallen on hard times.

Our word prompt today is “Earth”.

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!

Gayle sat down behind her desk, smiled at me yet again, and folded her hands in front of her. I raised a freshly plucked eyebrow. She was still trying to get a handle on me. Tobey & Troy was the largest athletic representation firm in Philly. They handled most of the Eagles, Sixers, and Flyers as well as several tennis players. And now they had me. Trent Lawrence Hanson. Famed gay figure skater and next in line to be a Dickens character in real life. Please, Sir, can I have more? Ugh. As if I’d eat gruel. What if I had too? What on earth would I do? The thought was too much to bear.

“I think that now that the legal issues with your father—”

“Stepfather,” I quickly reminded her.

“Yes, sorry, stepfather. Well, now that he’s been convicted and is serving his time I think it’s time we start working on marketing you in a positive light.” She smiled again, nervously, and leveled light blue eyes at me. “Where are you in terms of returning to competitive skating?”

I glanced out the windows at Ben Franklin standing atop City Hall. I began running my hands over the flaps of thin cotton lying over my thighs.

“I have no money, my professional reputation is shot, and my rink and my mother’s house are both two months away from foreclosure. Do you honestly think that I could find the mental clarity and focus to skate again?” As soon as I heard how bitchy I sounded I placed a hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry,” I mumbled into my fingers.

“It’s quite understandable,” she replied. She was far too nice to be saddled with a miserable cow bag like me. I wanted to cry but didn’t. I’d do that later when I visited Mom and Lola. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Water would be lovely,” I coughed into my fingers. She rang her receptionist. “I’m better now. See.” I lowered my hand and smiled brilliantly at her.

Gayle nodded but melancholy lingered in her gaze. A tiny blonde hurried in with a bottle of water and handed it to me. I was about to ask if she could possibly find a cold one but I bit my tongue. Bitchy Trent had already escaped once today.

“Thank you.” She nodded and scurried out, closing the door behind her slim backside. Her shoes were terrible. Who wears black flats with a peach dress in late June? Honestly women, learn how to dress. I took tiny sips of the tepid water. Gayle waited. I capped the bottle and balanced it in my left hand so my coat didn’t get watermarked. I was a beggar now. I had to keep my wardrobe in good shape. Tears threatened again. Gayle broke into the building weep fest.

“I understand that you’re not mentally ready to return to figure skating. To that end, we need to find you something to do that will bring in good money so you can get your assets back in sound fiscal shape.”

“You mean pull my rink and my mother’s house out of the snapping jaws of foreclosure?”

“Well, I’d not have been quite that dramatic…”

“Few are,” I sighed as I returned to working out the crinkles in my duster.

“Right, well, I’ve been approached by GLBTQtv about a reality show with you as the star.”

My mouth dropped to my chest. “Get. Out.”