The Rise of the Leatherwolf, Pt 1 and other things

I wrote a story called [TRIGGER WARNING]. Then, I turned it into a more Amazon-friendly ebook premise. Then I got a great, hot, sexy cover art for it. Then Amazon took it down because of content violations. 

Now I've got a new cover, I put the story back up, and I got started on Smashwords. 

To celebrate, here's the start of my next project, "The Rise of the Leatherwolf". 

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Henry stayed late at work to finish up a simulation test. He kept one eye on his computer screen as virtual gasses flowed around and through the snail shape of a virtual turbocharger destined for a family car. He kept his other eye out the window on the sidewalk one floor below. Several minutes passed before two male figures walked out onto the concrete. They spoke for several more minutes, and one of them gestured back up towards the window. Henry made sure he wasn’t in sight. 

I bet they’re saying, ha ha, Hank’s such a suckup, working late on a Friday night. 

Henry had no reason to work late on a Friday night, at least not from his employer. The simulation needed no tending; the visualization was mesmerizing but mostly useless unless a test parameter went out of range. 

His real reason for staying behind: to make sure no one would possibly follow him where he went after work. The two figures waved and then headed off in opposite directions, one on his phone, the other fishing out keys to retrieve his car parked in the reserved Employee of the Month spot a few feet away. Henry locked his computer, gathered up his backpack, and headed out. 

He had no car parked in the back parking structure and definitely not in the front “better people” spots, and left on foot. Instead of heading towards his apartment, he took a detour towards the center of downtown. After a half hour of walking to burn a little more time, he arrived at his destination: the edgy storefront of Black and Silver Leather. The door sign read “CLOSED” and prominently displayed the hours, which had closing time as ten minutes earlier. Despite the lack of lights, Henry spotted someone inside at the cashier’s desk. He stepped up to the door and splayed his hands on the glass, then thudded his forehead into it several times.

“We’re closed,” the employee called out.

“I’m special,” Henry yelled into the glass. The employee rushed over for a closer look, then mock scowled. 

“Hank, go around back or other people will want to be special, too.” 

Henry headed around the shop and into the alley, where someone cracked the back utility door. He stepped inside, assaulted by the smell of incense and leather. The employee was a thin young man with a jet-black Emo combover and small round glasses, several necklaces with various pagan and occult symbols, black clothing that belonged in a mall goth shop, and black fingernails that belonged at that same shop even harder. “Hey, Steven. You got the goods?”

“You couldn’t be more shady, could you? It’s like you’re doing something illegal. You know we have security cameras.” 

“It’s illegal to sell whip-its and poppers for intoxication purposes. But your security cameras don’t record audio, so who fucking cares?” Henry pushed through the cluttered stock room, past a leather work station jumbled with straps and pyramid studs, and out into the shop proper. The back room was dimly lit with security lights that glittered off glass cases full of whips, floggers, ball gags, medical sex implements, dildos and jackoff sleeves, and wrist cuffs. He pushed further in and started rifling through the consignment leather gear that crowded the passage between sex toy back room and punk goth fetish front racks. 

Steven went back behind the counter and continued closing up his till. “Obviously not you, Mr. Henry Schenke of Applied Engineering.” As soon as he spoke, Henry paused, frozen and instantly cracking a sweat on his face. “You must have had a long day at work, seeing as you left your badge on and you left your backpack unzipped.” 

Henry quickly plucked his ID off his belt and shoved it into his bag, then zipped it up with a huff. “You need to get more shit in here.”

“Maybe if you bought something instead of fondling everything on that rack, there’d be more room for more stock.”

“Maybe if you stocked things people want, like maybe some rubber gear?”

“Rubber is quite niche.”

“Rubber is a fucking fad these days. It’s those dog guys-”

“Pups,” Steven sniffed.

“Whatever, they’re all in rubber and wetsuits and shit. Sell some of that.”

“There isn’t a good margin, you know. Have you ever worked retail? I bet not, mister posh engineer.” Steven spoke with a sarcastic, clipped voice with an accent that was from nowhere.

Henry made his way around to the front of the counter and stared into a small clear plastic display case full of colorful glass bottles. “Margins, tolerances, whatever. You know what I’m here for. Don’t let me get in the way of your precious closing time.”

Steven turned to a shelf full of small cardboard boxes and took two down. He paused, put them back, and picked up two slightly larger ones. “Two 48-count MegaWhips. Now with even more industrial machine grease and metal filings. Do you need another cracker?”

“Nah. I rigged up this thing using one of those emergency bike tire inflator things. You know, you put a CO2 or nitrogen cartridge in it and fffttt into your tire? Turns out these things fit in there great. Really convenient. You can hook it up to all kinds of stuff.”

“Mmm-hmm. You should make friends with a dentist. I of course love that you come in here after I’ve closed so no one sees you, as if you’d run into your boss here and what, find out he buys hooker boots in a men’s size twelve to jack off in or something? But really, these are a terrible ripoff. Dentists get medical gasses and they have oxygen mixers so you don’t, you know, die with a bag strapped over your head.” 

“Do you mock all your customers?”

“I mock everything that has a pulse, and some things that don’t. By the way, you want these,” Steven said, and withdrew a plain brown bottle from the display case. “They aren’t the eyeball-melting shit that’s legal to sell as room odorizer.”

“Gimme two,” Henry said, and dug out several twenty dollar bills from his battered leather wallet. He always paid in cash despite there being no one else to read his credit card bill. 

“You know, The Dawnrazor is having leather night tomorrow. You ought to come by.”

Henry gave Steven a blank look. “What.”

“The Dawnrazor? That goth-club-turned-gay-townie-bar? Oh, that’s right, you don’t get out much. You just sit around huffing hippie crack and jerking off into your Alpinestars.”

“Onto them. And only sometimes. I’d rather wear them and fuck someone, but you know how it is.”

“Quite,” Steven sniffed again, then nudged his glasses up. “Anyway, tomorrow, Dawnrazor, please wear something leathery. If we get clone boys in booty shorts, I think everyone there will cause the second coming of Stonewall.”

Henry dropped the bag into his backpack. “We’ll see.” He then headed back out of the store by the alleyway and made his way home at his usual hurried pace.