Haints Everywhere (Haints Misbehaving 6)

Haints Everywhere (Haints Misbehaving 6)
J. Hali Steele
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Copyright ©2023 J. Hali Steele

Growing up in a poor neighborhood outside St. Louis, Missouri, Patrick Stevens was used to having nothing. As a young man who found his way onto a holy path, he found solace in God’s service. And the arms of any man I coerced into my bed.

Sinner. Now, Patrick had money. Lots of it. Stolen, pilfered, at this point he didn’t care how he received the almighty dollar. He enjoyed the comfort of lavish living. There was a time he’d have railed against anyone who acted as he did. This was not that time.

The transgressions he’d committed had begun centuries ago when he was a traveling pastor continuing his Godly pursuit. Singlemindedness and restraint were developed. Patrick had discovered early how to compartmentalize. It was as if he packed his base side into a box and carted it from city to city. After each indiscretion, he envisioned placing his dark secret back into a tiny container and shoving it far to the back of his mind.

The symbolism of the box hidden in his mind was the reason Patrick learned to fashion small wooden vessels from a young man in Laurel Bloomery, Tennessee -- one of his favorite places to preach the word. He chose cedar for its scent and because mention of the trees could be plucked from a few holy versus of the bible. As if that would provide a good enough reason for God to forgive me.

Recently, while he’d been in Arkansas visiting a man with whom he occasionally enjoyed relations, Patrick had recognized a haint’s familiar scent. The haint had bedded another of Patrick’s… he thought of the haints as resurrections. When he discovered the scent belonged to Luke, Patrick had been excited. He’d trailed behind Luke since the haint left Arkansas, and now Patrick maintained watch on Luke’s residence.

Although he had known every haint who existed, Patrick had never attempted to contact any of them until now. Tonight, he stood in front of a suite on the eighth floor of the Viceroy Santa Monica Hotel in Los Angeles hoping to set things right. What would he say? He heard a voice near the door and knew he didn’t have long to ponder his question.

“Wake my partner and I’ll slither into your ass, motherfucker, then drop you into la la land.” The door was yanked open. “Who the fuck are you?”

Patrick recognized the man as one of the Philadelphia haints -- his name was Web and he likely traveled with his lover, Casper Wainright, who was probably asleep in the bedroom. His thick cock swung free and, Christ, his shaft was magnificent as it began to jerk between his thighs. Patrick managed to blurt, “Stevens.” He wasn’t ready to divulge everything yet. “I’d like to speak to Luke.”

“Okay, Stevens, how can Luke help you?” A big grin split the good-looking man’s face. “Luke’s uh, resting. With Dallas. Perhaps I can assist your handsome ass.” He turned toward the interior of the suite. “Luke, someone to see you.” Web started stroking his shaft.

Lord help me! Trying not to stare at Web’s dick, Patrick angled to see past him. He observed Luke gently lift a guy who slept in his arms. The carefulness with which he carried the young man out of sight dumbfounded Patrick.

The fact they’d fallen asleep butt ass naked on the sofa came as no surprise, though. Patrick had encountered circumstances like this when he released his woodsy aroma, enticing one, sometimes two men to whatever hotel room he occupied. But I never cared for them or their comfort in such a manner. Goodness sake’s, the spirits inside the room didn’t even bother to mask their scent. Patrick’s cock started a dance in his pants. What the hell? “Long as you’re not going to tone down the cedar, I’m game.” He released his own scent into the air.

The fragrant mist surrounded Patrick and Web, who pivoted and glowered. “Impossible. You’re a… Who the fuck did you say you were?”

“Stevens.” Patrick asked, “You going to leave me standing out here? Our erotic bouquet might wake the whole hotel.”