Jeffrey clutched his ticket in sweaty palms. He didn’t like flying. Whenever he had a choice, he took a train, or a bus. This was a transcontinental flight on a DC-10 from Los Angeles to New York.  He could choose between three days of solid discomfort or six hours of terror…each way. But the meeting was tomorrow, so he really had no choice. 

Jeffrey ducked into the restroom for a quick pee before the boarding began. He groaned when he saw the urinal, a single trough. He hated other men looking at his depressingly tiny penis. He scanned the stalls to see if a private toilet was available; all full. His short pause caused a gentleman to bump into him.

“Ey, are you going or not”?

I’ve written four stories about Shamus, and this is a fifth – but it’s the first, chronologically – a prequel if you will. It’s called “Little Shamus” It’s told in first person, a little different from the other Shamus stories like “Muscle Beach” or “Dirty Cop.”

Here’s an excerpt from the novella:

One day, I was doing squats, and I seen Coach Hurley standing in the doorway watching me. He was looking at my legs, I figured. But he wasn’t.

He said, “Shamus, after this, come see me in my office.”

I thought I was in trouble, but when he smiled, I felt something funny going on in my gut.

“Hey Coach, what’s up?”