Legs by Ian Cooper

Legs
     
    Ian Cooper
     
    This Smashwords edition published by
Ian Cooper
    Copyright 2014 Ian Cooper
    Design: J.
Thornton/ Long Cool One Books
    ISBN 978-1-927957-20-2
     
    This ebook is licensed for your
personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given
away to other people. If you would like to share this book with
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the hard work of this author.
     
    The following is a work of fiction. Any
resemblance to any person living or deceased, or to any places or
events, is purely coincidental. Names, places, settings, characters
and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. The
author’s moral rights to the proceeds of this work have been
asserted.
     
     
    Table of Contents
     
    Act One
     
    Act Two
     
    Act Three
     
    About the Author
     
     
    Legs
     
    Ian Cooper
     
     
    Act One

     
    Slam Richmond grabbed Brandon’s
arm.
    “ Oh, my, Gawd …”
    Brandon wasn’t sure if there was a
question mark on the end of that or what.
    Brandon Davison turned to see what
Slam was looking at.
    Less assertive than Slam, he tried not
to stare. Unfortunately, it was kind of hard not to. The most
dazzling blue eyes swept past his gaze, taking in the
room.
    The face turned away and that left
only…
    Legs. And a jacket and not much
more.
    Legs that started at the
ground, just as all legs did, but then they went up like a
beanstalk, all the way up to an ass that could only be described as
tight. Clad in sheer black stockings with the smallest of lines up
the back, a pair of legs that didn’t even seem to stop there, but
just kept on going, way up high. This mental image was reflected in
the slender arms, hands and wrists, long arms, and a neck that was
graceful, slim and very smooth-looking.
    Brandon took another look. She towered
there, shoulders in, a natural tall-girl response, and he wondered
what she was thinking. She turned again and caught him looking,
like a deer frozen in the headlights. Brandon hurriedly looked
away, knowing he shouldn’t by the classic rules of the
game.
    His heart was racing madly, but of
course this was why they came out in the first place, action,
excitement, escape.
    Holy, shit.
    Wow.
    Very tight, or toight, as Slam would say
in another drink or two.
    A woman very seldom did that to him.
She looked different even for this place. It’s one reason why his
heart was never in it these days, no matter how Slam berated him or
tried to buck him up. The trouble was that he couldn’t convince
himself. No matter how badly he might want to. It’s like he knew
his role too well.
    No, he was meant to suffer.
    To grin and bear it, for
fuck’s sakes.
    Chic, European disco music
blared over the speakers at the Cock and Bull, a hip little alternative
bar where Facebook’s fifty different shades of gender option could
meet, mingle, and pick each other up, or put each other down,
whichever mood one might be in.
    Up until now, that last
option had been the most often exercised by the two prowlers. When
in doubt, snark.
    It was good for a laugh if nothing
else, and the cheese-and-mushroom potato peels were cheap, filling
and good. The vodka was the same anywhere. The beer likewise, they
agreed.
    Slam was always prowling, but Brandon
was just looking for somebody nice. That’s what he kept telling
himself, although performance anxiety might have played a role in
his remarkable lack of success to date. He could hardly live by
Slam’s example. He didn’t really want to, not even under the best
terms of reference as they called it. The guy would make love to a
potato sack if all else failed—Brandon wasn’t quite sure how he did
it, or what he told himself while he was doing it, but Slam had
made it with some remarkable dogs. Slam hadn’t