Battlefields: Everyone has battles

  >>BATTLEFIELDS>>

  Werner Klopper

  Copyright © 2017 Werner Klopper

  >>>BATTLEFIELDS>>>

  Copyright © 2017 Werner Klopper

  Kindle Edition

  Editor: Leon van Nierop

  Copy Editor: Anumeha Gokhale

  Self-Published: Amazon

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, business establishments or organizations is entirely fictional.

  All rights are reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book only. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form whatsoever without prior written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language that may offend some readers. This book is for sale to adults only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase.

  Disclaimer: Neither the publisher nor the author will be responsible for any loss, harm, or death resulting from the use of the information contained in this book.

  first novel >>>weRner klopper

  Author’s Note

  Dear reader,

  Every author has a story, waiting to be told.

  My very good friend, bestselling South-African author, script writer, producer and my editor—Leon van Nierop, always told me that some of us have a special story, we are burning to share, while others have more stories waiting to make their way onto a blank piece of paper.

  This is my first novel and I definitely have more to share with the world. So let’s hope this is the beginning of many more.

  This novel is very close to my heart. I planned and worked on BATTLEFIELDS over a period of six months.

  We went on a cruise holiday and I wrote this novel all over Asia; from Shanghai to Hong Kong to Japan, and finally Singapore.

  As a third-year psychology student, I am fascinated with the internal and external conflict we all experience daily on all levels of our existence.

  Now and then, we all may feel the need to wave the white flag and receive the love that we all think we deserve.

  Enjoy!

  Chapter one

  Adam found himself in the middle of his past and slap-bang in the center of his future. Hours of counting endless white lines almost gave him white-line fever. And yet, there were so many more to count before he reached his new destination. His gut feeling told him that Bozeman was the only possible place, where he could find comfort and freedom from the past.

  Every mile felt like an eternity. Every thought rolled through his head like a bad migraine; something Adam occasionally suffered from. Doubt, regret and excitement tumbled through his mind like an avalanche.

  Miles to go—937. This would give him enough time to consider his next move before point zero. Bozeman!

  There was no escaping his past, no matter how many spellbinding white lines he counted. This reflected where his life was at the moment! Spread out like a never-ending series of lines, stretching through the night and right into eternity. And even though he tried to concentrate, he couldn’t even begin to make peace with what happened between him and Peter—his ex, who’d left him without so much as a goodbye.

  There was no chance of an amicable cease-fire.

  The only good memory he had of his ex—they had mind-blowing sex. He had to admit it. Sex with Peter had been great in the beginning. How could it not be, with that huge cock? And, another memory he had to reflect on: Peter knew exactly how to use it.

  Adam still remembered those intimate kisses; the long hours of cuddling, during which they didn’t even speak—they’d just lay there, listening to the hum of the traffic, as if the city was trying to communicate with them. Occasionally sirens would interrupt the sweltering nights, but that only seemed to add extra spark to the sex.

  How could he forget that first blessed moment when he’d seen Peter’s cock? Of course he’d been aware of the huge bulge in his pants—who could miss that? But nothing could have prepared him for what jumped out when he unzipped Peter for the first time. Adam’s first thoughts being—how was he going to accommodate Peter’s swollen member?

  He’d slowly rolled down Peter’s foreskin. He could still recall the jolt of pleasure that went through the younger man, when Adam rolled his tongue around Peter’s penis’s head. He could still smell that delicious hint of musk, sweat and excitement which had made his own cock strain against his jeans. He’d almost come prematurely while he sucked Peter off; his own cock moving impatiently against his jeans.

  It took no more than a minute to bring Peter to a huge climax, but the force of his ejaculation took him by surprise. First, there was the pushing of his thighs against Adam’s mouth, as if he were trying to push his massive cock right through him. Adam had desperately tried to keep his balance. Peter’s deep groans had turned him on even more as he’d thrust his cock one final time into his mouth; a shudder going through his muscled body, almost gagging Adam.

  The orgasm had seemed to last forever. When Adam had finally come up for air, Peter had made noises of lasting pleasure until his cock was finally free again. Adam couldn’t help himself. He pulled the foreskin back over Peter’s exposed cock as if he was going to jerk him off for a second time.

  “Down, boy, down,” Peter had grinned as Adam had ripped open his own jeans. He didn’t have to work too hard. His orgasm had exploded through him within seconds as he’d brought himself to a big-relief-climax. That was what he would always remember about their sex life—the ever-increasing impact of Peter’s massive orgasms, which seemed to change with every new encounter. That was when he’d realized that he couldn’t keep up with a sex machine.

  It wasn’t long before the orgasms had turned into a one-sided affair—Peter climaxing; and Adam losing his erection; feeling inferior to his lover’s intense performance.

  Peter quickly turned into a selfish lover who was only concerned with his own pleasure, neglecting Adam’s needs and desires, and even laughing when he lost his erection.

  That might’ve been to the reason for their break-up—Adam’s inability to perform. As if Peter’s orgasms were big enough for both of them without Adam being fulfilled by their encounters.

  One-sided gratification. Never again, Adam decided as he continued counting the white lines. Never mind the white-line fever—this was non-erection-fever!

  Yet he continued to be haunted by the intimate kisses in the beginning; the long hours of cuddling and snuggling up to Peter’s hairy chest during the honeymoon phase. But in the end that wasn’t enough. Peter had been too selfish. It was now Adam’s turn to look after his own needs.

  So, those were his memories of New York, the city that never slept. Most people dreamt of living in New York. Now he missed those luscious nights in the clubs near SoHo where he’d met Peter. The younger man wanted to be an actor and would’ve given anything for a break into the industry.

  Of course Adam became aware of the plump movie director who promised Peter walk-ins that could eventually lead to bigger roles—but during this phase he allowed Peter his freedom—unfortunately to his own detriment.

  Adam vividly remembered the night Peter returned home, got into bed and promptly turned his back on him. That’s when Adam had realized that things were changing. He didn’t even wait to listen to his lover’s boasting about first small role in an Off-Broadway production, which had lasted all of five nights. Peter’s massive cock led to that part, but
Adam paid the ultimate price.

  The alienation and cold-wars got worse, and Adam had no more purpose in Peter’s life.

  But then came the straw that broke the camel’s back and pushed Adam to leave New York—the dreaded rehearsal schedule that Adam found on Peter’s iPad. Obviously, the rehearsals didn’t stop on stage. They continued into Manhattan’s more exclusive gay clubs, into the small hours of the morning.

  So now Adam only had the wide, open road—leaving his spoilt existence in New York, behind. A lot of Adam’s friends thought he was being silly in leaving the comforts of the big city; but he couldn’t stay. Of course, his break-up with Peter had been the deciding factor, but there were other reasons too.

  A dead-end job as a psychologist to wealthy people, whose only complications being their puppy’s health; his friends moving away from the big city and an ever-increasing impatience.

  There must be something more to life!

  Adam lifted his eyes from the road and looked at himself in the mirror. His deep blue eyes were tired. Dark circles of regret and exhaustion were evident since his break-up and the traces of gloom were evident on his face.

  He hadn’t shaved in two days. The stubble was now irritating his skin, giving a slight itch that at least kept him awake. Also, the cross around his neck, which he kept playing with.

  His mother had given it to him when he’d first moved to New York, ten years ago, with a warning—‘if ever desperation takes over your existence, the cross would save you. Now that you are moving so far away from me, I can’t watch over you anymore. So always know this—I will be with you, my dearest boy. This cross will protect you from any harm, but most importantly, it will help you in making the right choices.’

  His mom—Darlene. How he missed her now.

  Adam had been raised according to strict religious rules, most of them homophobic, of course

  He still remembered his dad—Bill, fondly.

  “Why do you have only one name?” he’d asked one day.

  His dad had chuckled. “It makes filling the forms easier.” His mom always said that Adam had inherited Bill’s tall physique, blue eyes, and dark hair.

  Adam had been ten years old when his dad had passed away—a heart attack. After that Darlene had become a paranoid mother, always fearing the worst. She started forcing Adam to eat healthy food and participate in sports. No matter how hard he rebelled—she insisted on a rigid gym routine, sports practices and a healthy life style.

  Fortunately, he’d excelled at athletics. During his final year in school, he’d broken the national hurdles records. That’s when he’d realized that Darlene seemed more concerned with his fitness than his grades. Fortunately, he got great grades, making life at school, a little easier for him.

  Mercifully, the kids hadn’t suspected that he was gay, otherwise his life would have turned into a living hell and he had enough to cope with already.

  But that all ended when Adam—barely seventeen years old—had confessed to his mom that he was gay.

  She’d freaked out. He didn’t so much as tumble out of the closet, rather smashed out of it with the speed of a ricocheting bullet. (Her words again!) He hadn’t been surprised when his mother had called a priest—a trusted family friend. And to complicate matters even further, Father Nick had been one of his dad’s trusted colleagues. He had also been notorious for his anti-gay stance and belief that homosexuality could be cured.

  The priest had started his cruel treatment in the name of god by sprinkling holy water over Adam’s head. And then the pièce de résistance! According to Father Nick, an exorcism had been the only cure for Adam’s ‘revolting behavior’ and that Adam’s body had been infested with gay demons.

  Father Nick had continued with his harsh treatment. Adam remembered the long hours of exorcism that had ensued—pouring holy water onto his head; the long bible verses he’d been forced to recite. Father Nick had suggested shock therapy too, with one of his trusted Christian psychologist friends. Thank god, mom didn’t have any money for those treatments. His mom had harbored the belief that Adam wouldn’t make it to the pearly gates, let alone beyond them.

  “Same sex attraction is unnatural and against God’s will”, she’d shrieked when she’d caught him jerking off in the bathroom with his favorite gay magazine. That had been the end of that secret subscription.

  Ninety-three white lines, ninety-four . . . ninety-eight. Did I skip three lines?

  “Beep!” Suddenly, red lights started flashing on the dashboard, followed by a muffled alarm that reminded Adam of the warning sounds when the captain turned on the seatbelt sign in a plane, during turbulence.

  Fuck! He was running out of gas.

  He tried to remember. The next gas station was about forty eight miles ahead. Adam realized that he could still drive for forty five miles once the warning light flashed. Perhaps, with some luck, he could last another three miles. But his instinct told him that his luck would run out . . . just as it did with Peter.

  He wasn’t going to make it.

  Adam slowed down to save gas. All he could do now to divert his attention was turn the radio on, but that damn flickering light was like an approaching migraine—constantly in the background, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. Damnit! He knew that he should’ve filled up sixty miles ago when he’d passed a gas station.

  “Ah, well. Too late for tears now . . .,” or as Peter used to say, ‘Too late for spilt semen’, once he finished climaxing and left Adam high and dry, he would rush off into the shower.

  Those words now returned to haunt him. He started twitching. This always happened when he got nervous. He started rubbing his belly. His left hand moved under his T-shirt and felt his hard abdominal muscles moving nervously.

  What the hell was he going to do?

  As he searched for some radio stations, he heard Kings of Leon’s Sex on Fire. Oh no! Adding fuel to his misery, he remembered that this was Peter’s favorite song, about which he’d fantasized having sex with Adam in a public place, without anybody noticing what they were doing. This was going to be the ultimate turn-on.

  In spite of the memories, he continued to listen.

  Five . . . ten . . . twenty . . . thirty miles. Seconds felt like minutes, and minutes like hours. Then the radio station fell silent as he lost signal. So now there was nothing more to distract him. All he could do was count the few remaining miles and hope that by some miracle he was going to make it.

  This felt just like his breakup with Peter. During those final few weeks he also counted down the minutes and hours to a solution for their problems, but to no avail.

  Twenty miles. Shit! He would probably have to phone roadside assistance if he didn’t make the final three miles.

  Ten miles to go. Adam looked at his cell phone. No signal. Fuck! No radio and no signal. He found himself in his own scary movie. Something like Wrong Turn or Jeepers Creepers gone wrong.

  Eight miles. Six miles. Five miles. He started praying. “Please, please, please . . .”

  The vehicle was still moving. He could already see the lights of the next town on the horizon. So close and yet so far.

  Four miles . . .

  Could he perhaps . . .

  Suddenly there was the dreaded shudder, as if the vehicle had finally given up.

  “Please, please, please . . .”

  Three and a half miles. He grabbed his tummy as if he wanted to squeeze some gas out of his skin.

  “Shit!”

  The vehicle came to an abrupt halt. He freewheeled until he reached a small bridge, but then it stopped completely.

  The road was as quiet as the awkward silences between him and Peter during those final weeks.

  Adam sighed. He loosened his seat belt and got out of the car.

  Fuck, it was hot. And the silence was getting to him. All he could hear was the sound of mosquitoes. There was no sign of any other traffic, probably because it was so late and nobody in their right mind would be on this road at
this ungodly hour.

  To top it all, now he wanted to take a leak too.

  He walked up to one of the bushes to relieve himself. The only course of action was to walk the last few miles, until he reached the small town. He could at least do so with the luxury of an empty bladder.

  As he started to relieve himself, he heard a noise. He strained his ears to listen above the sound of his stream on the grass. Could it be . . .?

  Then the lights were upon him. He pulled up his jeans and spun around. Yes! He could see another vehicle approaching.

  Adam rushed back to his car. What should he do? Wave his arms? Jump into the middle of the road? It could be the last thing he’ll ever do, depending who the driver was. So he decided to switch on his hazards and hope for the best. Who was behind the wheel? It could be some hideous psychopath, like the one he’d read about in a novel the other day! He could very easily find himself in a similar position.

  Just as he switched his hazards on, the lights fell on him. For a moment he thought that the driver was going to ignore him. But then the truck stopped.

  “Thank you. Thanks a million.” he said out loud.

  A big, sturdy truck driver with several tattoos on his forearm leant out of the window. “Need help, boy?”

  Adam walked toward him. “I ran out of gas.” What else could he say?

  “Sure?” asked the truck driver; slight smile on his face.

  “What do you mean?”

  The man gestured toward Adam’s crotch. “No emptiness there?”

  Adam glanced down at his jeans. Shit. He had forgotten to zip up! Fortunately the driver couldn’t see him blushing in the dark.

  He zipped up hastily.

  “Uhm . . . well. . . I . . . you know? I took a leak and . . .” There was nothing more to say.

  “Yes. I know.”

  The man got out. He had a slight paunch protruding from under his shirt; probably from too many hamburgers at truck stops. He walked over to the back of his truck, got a can of gas and walked over to Adam’s car. Forget the slight paunch. This man had a cute masculine ass.