Hobbled

By
J
OHN
I
NMAN

N
OVELS

A Hard Winter Rain

Hobbled

Loving Hector

Shy

N
OVELLAS

The Poodle Apocalypse

Published by D
REAMSPINNER
P
RESS

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Copyright

Published by

Dreamspinner Press

5032 Capital Circle SW
Ste 2, PMB# 279
Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886

USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Hobbled

Copyright © 2013 by John Inman

Cover Art by Paul Richmond 

http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com

Cover content is being used for illustrative purposes only
and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Ste 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA.

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

ISBN: 978-1-62380-855-6

Digital ISBN: 978-1-62380-856-3

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition

June 2013

For those who have tumbled into love with only a glance,

and in only a heartbeat. This book is for you.

Chapter 1

S
INCE
his clothes usually hung all over him like a forty-foot flag on a twelve-foot pole, Danny Shay was one of those people who look a whole lot better
out
of clothes than they do
in
them. Unfortunately, Danny was so damned inexperienced and shy that not too many people had found that out yet. Almost none in fact. And they certainly wouldn’t be finding it out for the next six weeks.

Or so he thought.

Danny sat in his upstairs bedroom, sprawled out with the recliner at full tilt, wearing nothing but a cast on his left leg that extended from just below his knee all the way down to his toes, and an electronic ankle monitor, courtesy of the San Diego Police Department, clamped snugly around the
other
leg, just above his right foot.

Smack in the middle of those two extremities lay his dick, and at the moment, it was looking pretty darned depressed and unhappy about the whole thing. It was looking red and exhausted, too, since Danny had just whacked off for the second time that day, for lack of anything better to do to pass the time. A splash of semen was splattered across his chest all the way up to his chin, and another puddle was drying in his belly button because he was too depressed to wipe it away. As the semen dried, he could feel it crisping on his skin.

The ankle monitor had a little green light that flashed continually. It looked totally high-tech and alien down there, wrapped around his ankle, three feet below his dick, like maybe some Venusian scientist from the Outer Nebulae had strapped it on him to track human migratory patterns. It felt heavy too. The cop who attached it to Danny’s leg told him if it started flashing red instead of green, that meant he had gone farther from the house than allowed, and he would immediately find himself in some very deep shit. The way the cop explained it, every policeman from Los Angeles to Baja would converge on the property and haul his ass to jail pronto, and he would quite possibly never see the light of day again. Period.

Danny hadn’t liked the sound of that, so he made up his mind then and there he would try to avoid making the damn contraption flash red at all costs.

But as horrible as it was, the ankle monitor was actually the least of his worries. It was not nearly as annoying and disheartening as the cast on the other leg.
That
was a miserably monstrous thing to have clamped around you, don’t think it wasn’t. It felt like it weighed fifty pounds, although it probably didn’t. It was hot, it was hard, it smelled funny, and his leg was so itchy and sore way down inside it that sometimes Danny just lay there in the recliner and gnashed his teeth.

That was usually when he started beating off. Just to take his mind off the itchy, achy leg.

Danny Shay was eighteen years old. He had wavy brown hair down to his shoulders, big brown eyes like a puppy dog, and a spray of freckles across his nose. His aunt Edna said he was as cute as a cup of butterscotch pudding, whatever the hell that meant. Oy. Relatives.

By the way, Danny wasn’t Jewish. He just liked to say “Oy.”

Danny was tall and lanky, with hairy long legs, a lovely smooth chest with a sprinkling of hair around his belly button, and a beautiful circumcised cock that required a whole lot of attention, as most eighteen-year-old cocks do. Although he was gay, and he
knew
he was gay, he had never had sex with a man in his life, if you discounted the one time Larry Sullivan, back in the eighth grade, stayed at the house overnight and jacked him off.

Larry Sullivan was
really
gay. Danny sort of wished he had him here now. He bet good old Larry could take his mind off that fucking cast.

When his bedroom door rattled, Danny barely had time to yank his bathrobe off the floor and spread it over his come-splattered, naked body before his dad, Daniel Shay Sr., walked into the room.

“What’s up, Son?”

If you’d walked in five minutes earlier, I would have shown you what’s up.
“Nothing, Pop. Jeez, can’t you remember to knock? I could be doing
anything
in here.”

His father actually blushed as he cast his eyes over Danny, lounging there in the recliner with his naked legs poking out from under the bathrobe he had so obviously just pulled over himself. Danny’s dad decided to stare out the window for a while. He had been eighteen once. He knew what it was like, beating off every two minutes. Being ruled by your pecker. In fact, sometimes Danny’s father thought, even at forty-two, he was still being ruled by his pecker. Maybe all men were, regardless of their age.

“Christ, Son, I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat and looked even more uncomfortable than he had already. “So—just got off the phone with your mom.”

“The bitch?”

“Now, Danny, I won’t have you—well, yeah. The bitch.” And they both chuckled.

Danny’s chuckle was actually pretty perfunctory. He was wishing his dad would get the hell out so he could wipe the come off himself. It felt a little awkward, holding court with his old man while a puddle of come coagulated in his navel. He could feel it getting harder and harder and harder. Pretty soon he’d have to chip it out with a chisel. Or stick a firecracker in there and blast it out. Come on, Pop. Scram.

But his dad wasn’t scramming. “I’m going to be going in a few minutes, Danny Boy. I just want to talk to you for a minute first.”

Danny hated it when his father called him Danny Boy. It was like everybody should suddenly start singing in a high Celtic tenor and prancing around barefooted with fucking fiddles under their chins, like they did on PBS every Saturday night.

His pop was still rattling on, looking out the window. “I’ve left you some money in the kitchen in case you decide you can’t live without having a pizza delivered.” He gave a wry chuckle and turned away from the window to give Danny’s ankle monitor a sly glance. “No pizza
pickups
, boyo. Delivery only. If you need groceries, call the number by the phone and the store will deliver. I left you a credit card for that. Don’t be ordering a truckload of stuff off the Internet with that credit card either. It’s strictly for food and emergencies. And no beer! Got it?”

“Got it.”

“No trips to the mall, either. Guess you know
that.
And stay the hell away from your car. I parked it around the corner on the street so you won’t be looking at it out front and getting all tempted to hop inside and take off for parts unknown. They’ve temporarily revoked your license, remember. If they catch you behind the wheel, they’ll probably just take you out behind the police station and shoot you for being a pain in the ass. I’m taking the keys with me just in case you still get tempted. I think the cops left you enough leeway on your electronic leash to keep the grass mowed while I’m gone, and keep the hedges trimmed. I’ll be back in exactly three weeks. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll make damn sure that little light stays green. The judge said he’d throw your ass in jail in a heartbeat if you don’t pony up and do this thing right.”

“I know, Pop. Sorry.”

“I hate leaving you alone, but I don’t have a choice. This business trip is important. The judge would probably throw
me
in jail if he knew I was leaving.”

“I know, Pop.”

“Your mom threw a conniption fit when I told her.”

“The bitch.”

His father gave a nod as if he couldn’t have stated the facts better himself. “Bitch indeed.
I’m sorry you share her DNA, Son. I was thinking with the little head at the time I porked her, not the big one.” He glanced at the bathrobe Danny was tucked under. “Guess you know what that’s like.”

And finally, his father got the smile he was shooting for when Danny laughed. “Porking my mother, no. Being ruled by the little head, hell, yeah.”

They grinned and giggled for about fifteen seconds; then suddenly his father started looking uncomfortable again. “Got the bill for the ice machine you destroyed when you threw your little tantrum at the burger joint. Care to know what it’s going to cost?”

“I’ll pay you back, Pop, I promise. As soon as I get out of this thing, I’ll—”

“Nineteen hundred bucks.”

Danny almost jumped out of the chair. If he hadn’t been naked and splattered with come, he would have. “What! That’s robbery!”

“No, Son. You’re getting your felonies mixed up. That’s destruction of property and vandalism. Robbery would be if you sneaked the thing out the back door of the restaurant and rolled it home. The owner said if I paid promptly, he would call off the lawsuit. So I paid.”

“The peckerhead.”

“Yes, well, be that as it may. We’re pretty well strapped into doing whatever the guy wants. You did tear up his place of business pretty good.”

“He was a dick.”

“Yes, well, that’s no excuse to—”

“He cheated me on my time card. We even proved it to the judge.”

His father sighed. They had been through this a hundred times. “And the guy said it was a simple arithmetical mistake. And even if it
wasn’t
a mistake, and the guy
had
tried to cheat you out of some of your wages, it was still no excuse for flipping over the ice machine and throwing all the hamburgers out the window, although I keep expecting a shitload of thank-you cards from all the homeless people in the neighborhood who got free sandwiches out of your little snit.”