Maybe the Dream Knows What’s Real – Part Nine – Novella by Steve Grogan

novella

Steve Grogan is an ongoing contributor to Writer to Writers. He has published several short stories on the site, which can be found on the main page under the heading “Steve Grogan’s fiction.” He has had several poems and short stories published over the years, some of which are available on Amazon. (See the announcement at the end of this post.)

He is the writer and creator of the ongoing, zombie, post-apocalyptic, Romero-meets-Dungeons-and-Dragons webcomic REDemption. Alternatively, Steve describes the comic by saying, “It is to zombie fiction what KILL BILL was to kung fu movies: everything I love about the genre housed under one roof and mixed with my voice.”

********************

Lindsay had the next day off from school. She called and asked if I wanted to hang out. I was in my kitchen all geared up and ready to go out for some target practice. I was so stunned by her inquiry that, before I knew it, I had said yes. All kinds of thoughts ran through my head. Did this mean she still liked me? Had she changed her mind about resuming romance in June? I could hope!

I grabbed my coat, keys, watch, and wallet. It wasn’t until I got in the car that I realized all my target practice gear was still on, but I decided to just head on out for Lindsay’s. Changing would take too long, and I was anxious to get to her house so I could find out what was happening.

Twenty-five minutes later, Lindsay sat beside me. She said her old friends Bob and Joel had invited her to hang out, and she wanted me to meet them. Bob was a familiar name to me; he had known that basket case Joanna. In fact, Bob was the one Joanna had fucked while she was supposed to be with me. However, I had no hard feelings toward the guy because I was glad he’d taken that psychopath off my hands.

Joel was a guy whose name I had heard a few times from Lindsay. Recently kicked out of his house for reasons which were never made clear to me, Joel was now living with Bob and his family. Lindsay said she had been friends with Joel for years and loved him like a brother.

My intuition told me taking her to see these people was a bad idea. However, I didn’t want to seem like a control freak and say no.

“So what are we going to do there?” I asked.

“Joel wants me to give him a makeover,” Lindsay said.

“A what? You mean…”

“He wants me to put make-up on him,” she said with a laugh.

Some guys might have made a big deal out of what she said, but things like that never bothered me. Who was I to judge anyone for being into something that I wasn’t?

Not much longer after the trip started, we reached Bob’s house. His parents were home, and he was drunk. They had quite a time of themselves, laughing at his inebriated antics. (As I said above, I don’t normally pass judgment on people, but I had to wonder: what kind of parent lets their underage child get drunk and then laugh about it?) Bob’s girlfriend Robin was also there, and she quickly proved what kind of woman she was: a jealous control freak. For example, she flipped out on Bob because he admitted to selling a guitar so he could get bus money to go see Joanna, an event that transpired MONTHS before Robin had even met Bob!

And then there was Joel. He was a couple inches taller than me, handsome in an apologetic way, with glasses reminiscent of Rivers Cuomo from the band Weezer. I was hesitant about meeting him but, to my surprise, he seemed like an okay guy.

(I mention this now because I want you, dear reader, to remember that statement so you can appreciate the bitter irony of it later.)

While Lindsay reminisced with Bob and Joel, I tried to get comfortable on the couch. The house was boiling hot because Bob’s parents were old, so they always cranked the heat. I wanted to open my jacket to get some relief, but then my gun and switchblade would have been exposed. I had no choice but to sit there and suffer.

Eventually Lindsay asked Joel to go upstairs with her so she could put the make-up on him. Bob tried to follow, but Robin grabbed hold of him.

“Let them be alone,” she whispered.

As you can guess, this triggered an alarm for me immediately. Excuse me? Let them be alone? What the fuck did she mean by that? Every paranoid neuron in my body started firing off.

I decided to follow Lindsay and Joel. The bathroom was at the top of the stairs. Through the open door I caught sight of Joel and Lindsay. When she noticed me, she gave me a nasty look.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you trust me?” Lindsay asked.

The answer to that question was, “Of course not, you stupid bitch.” Or I could have answered her with a question of my own, which would have been something like, “Why are you asking me that? Are you implying that you are doing something that SHOULD make me not trust you?” But I didn’t say either of those things. In fact, I said nothing; her question took me so off guard that I found myself temporarily mute.

I looked around, desperately trying to find an excuse for why I had come upstairs. There was an open door to my right, through which I saw what had to be Bob’s room. My eyes picked up on the sight of a guitar leaning against the bed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Bob told me he had a guitar, and I wanted to jam on it while you did your thing with Joel,” I said.

I could tell by the look on her face she didn’t believe me, but I didn’t care. I grabbed the guitar and sat down on Bob’s bed. As I began to jam, I heard Bob and Robin come upstairs.

“You two gonna do your thing?” Bob asked.

“Yes,” Lindsay replied, “but nobody can see it until we’re done.”

With that they went into the bathroom and closed the door.

Needless to say, the alarms were going off in my mind again. I put down the guitar and left the room, bumping into Bob and Robin on the way.

“Oh, hey,” I said. “I just saw your guitar and was jamming on it for a bit. Sorry about that…probably should have asked first.”

With a dismissive wave of the hand, Bob said, “Nah, man. That’s okay.”

Bob and Robin headed into his bedroom. They shut the door, and through it I could hear them start to engage in typical relationship hijinks. My eyes were drawn to the closed bathroom door.

I put my ear up to the door and listened…listened as I have never in my life listened to anything or anyone, wanting to know just what was going on in there. Was it all as innocent as Lindsay implied?

Then I heard a noise, casually drifting through the door, nonchalantly making its way to my ears as if it were of no great importance, but that sound was a nightmare come true. It was a cigarette still lit and cast into dry grass. That disturbance in the air started a brushfire that nothing could prevent.

Were my ears playing tricks on me,

or did I

just hear

kissing noises?

I unzipped my jacket. There was a fire burning in my chest, and I needed to cool down. It was probably nothing, I tried to convince myself. Probably just a friendly kiss on the cheek, which she gave Joel once…then again…then again…then again…then again…

but then I knew they were no longer just kissing

when I heard Joel moan.

The next several actions I executed happened in such lightning motion that I can barely remember any of it. I whipped off my jacket and tossed it into a shadow-filled corner of the hall. Before I knew it, the gun was in my hand. My foot delivered a mighty blow to the bathroom door, the feeble lock giving way beneath the brunt of my assault. Lindsay screamed as the door flew open. It hit her, and the force sent her sprawling across the floor. Why had she been close enough for the door to hit her as it opened, you may ask? Well, that was because she had been kneeling in front of the toilet, which was right next to the door.

And why was she kneeling in front of the toilet? That’s another easy question to answer: seated upon the throne, as if he were King Shit, was my good buddy Joel! His sweatpants were around his ankles.

Suddenly it all snapped into place: the wet noises that sounded like kisses, Lindsay kneeling so close to the door that she must have been in front of Joel, his cock exposed and hard and GLISTENING WET WITH SALIVA.

She had been giving him a blowjob,

despite all her promises

and excuses

and complaints that I did not trust her.

This day had come,

fragmented

and fractured, like my ego,

and I found myself

humiliated again by a woman,

my spirit broken because I had been foolish enough to think,

not only think but BELIEVE that this girl was the one,

that this was the real deal.

It had all turned out to be a lie,

and she was a whore,

a filthy, lying whore who did not realize

this was not how it can be!

This was not another time when I was the loser,

not another chance for me to be made a fool of by an immature cunt.

All the humiliation I had suffered at the hands of women…

well, it was time to give

some payback.

I raised my gun. There was no thought involved in my actions; at this point I was being driven by pure emotion.

I pulled the trigger, sending the sex drive from Joel. The bathroom was showered with his blood and shredded genitalia. The blast echoed in the tiny room and mingled with Lindsay’s scream. Joel struggled to make noise as he toppled to the ground, but the most he could manage was a low moan. I heard shouts coming from other rooms in the house, but I ignored them as I stepped into the bathroom.

My eyes connected with Lindsay’s, and I grinned so wide that it must have seemed like my head would split in two. Oh, it’s too bad there are no visuals to allow you to see the classic maniac smile I gave her.

“Try sucking his cock now, bitch!” I wailed.

I heard someone coming toward me from behind. It crossed my mind that Lindsay might attack me if I turned my back on her, so I blew away her left kneecap. Hearing her bone splinter and break brought me immense pleasure.

As I turned around I saw drunken Bob (apparently sobered up a bit by the sound of the gunshots) running at me, holding his guitar upside down like a baseball bat. It was a rather comical sight: this drunken fool running at a man with a GUN while he had only a bludgeoning weapon, and a makeshift one at that! Part of me felt sorry his clear lack of intelligence, but it was such a small part that it was practically nonexistent.

It took just one bullet to destroy his makeshift weapon. He was unable to slow down his momentum, and he crashed into me. I managed to keep my balance and start my offensive tactics on him. My left hand went to his throat while my right hand pushed the gun into his belly. I felt my skin burn as the point-blank shot ripped his guts wide open. What a thrill it was to be looking in his eyes as the shot went off, to see the light in them suddenly going out. At this point I realize Lindsay and Robin were shrieking, and to me it sounded like mystical chants.

Robin had been (and still was) in Bob’s doorway. He had been blocking her from my sight. As he dropped lifelessly from my hands, I raised my gun and fired several rounds; most of them hit their target. One bullet abused her face, dismantling in a second all that careful work which nature had taken years to create.

I turned around to check on Lindsay and Joel. This was stupid of me, because Bob’s mom and dad were still in the house. They could have been calling the police while I stood there like a fool. Still, I wanted to look at my two enemies to observe their suffering before I missed the opportunity.

Joel had crawled toward Lindsay. She cradled his head in her lap. The scene could have been a tender one if I was oblivious to the way it had come about, but I knew the history that led up to that scene, knew every second by heart. If Lindsay hadn’t spoken, I could have at least kept my cool. But no, she had to look into his eyes and say:

“I love you.”

Of all the things she could have said, why did she have to pick those three words? The same three she had been whispering to me only a week ago?

“THE FUCK YOU DO!” I roared.

I dragged Joel away from her. My gun went into his mouth, reminiscent of the way his cock had passed through Lindsay’s lips several minutes ago. She screamed at me to stop, but I ignored her. I experienced something close to orgasmic joy in watching his brains splatter across the bathroom floor.

Then another shot rang out, but it was not from my gun. This explosion was more powerful than just a handgun. When I turned around, I saw Bob’s dad at the bottom of the stairs holding a shotgun and pointing it at me.

I stood at the top of the stairs, the 9mm still in my hand. Bob’s mom stood behind her husband, sobbing and scared.

“I want you to drop that fucking gun now,” he said, “then put your hands behind your head and come down the stairs slowly.”

I smiled as I complied with the old man’s wishes. As I got closer to the bottom of the stairs, I wondered why he hadn’t just killed me. That would have been the more intelligent thing to do. Maybe Bob’s dad figured I was a dumb youngster, and he had me where he wanted me now.

He wanted to kill me of course; I could see it in his eyes, but it was too late at this stage. His wife talked about calling the police and seeing my ass rotting in jail, and it dawned on me that she had probably encouraged him to shoot above me instead of killing me. (Geez, nagging wives! What are they good for? One thing, and one thing only: screwing up your chance at shooting your son’s killer!)

“That’s it, you bastard. Come down nice and slow,” the old prick said.

He kept the gun trained on me until I was halfway down the stairs. Then Bob’s dad let the weapon rest across his abdomen, confident that he had me right where he wanted me, and the situation was completely under his control.

Perhaps that was why he screamed so loud when I made my move. The element of surprise increased the sense of pain.

He hadn’t noticed me fidgeting behind my head to get the switchblade out. A beautiful throw sent the blade straight through his right hand. It went in so deep that his hand got pinned against his torso. Mom screamed in surprise. They were both trying to yank the blade out while I ran back upstairs and grabbed my gun. Two more bullets tore through the air. Dad and Mom died together, like all married couples should.

I could hear Lindsay whimpering in the bathroom. Now that all the others were dead, I could take my sweet time with her. Fortunately, Bob’s house was out in the sticks where a person’s next-door neighbor was five miles away. There was no danger that the shots could have drawn anyone’s attention.

Momentarily I worried that Bob’s parents had company on the way or someone would show up unexpectedly. However, my fears were all put at ease when I thought about what I had at my disposal: a knife, a handgun, and now a shotgun. Anybody coming here would be caught off guard. They had no reason to think there was an armed psychopath in Bob’s house. Once again I possessed the element of surprise. For once in my life, things were working in my favor.

I moved all the bodies into Bob’s room. I yanked my switchblade out of Dad’s hand. After a bit of a struggle I managed to wrench the shotgun from his dead grip. All the while I was worried that Lindsay was going to die from the pain of her wounds, but when I rejoined her I discovered she was doing better than most people would. (For being a suicidal freak, it turned out she had more of a will to survive than I thought.) Some quick tourniquet work stopped the blood flow. Then I picked Lindsay up off the floor. Her destination: the bloody toilet seat.

“I’d like to point out that the toilet seat you’re on is drenched in your new boyfriend’s blood,” I said.

She didn’t respond. At that point I wasn’t quite sure what to do with her. For some reason, I felt the urge to remove her glasses. It always escaped my memory: was Lindsay near-sighted or far-sighted? Ah well, it didn’t matter either way. A second later the glasses were smashed under my foot. Then I knelt before her.

“So how’s it going?” I asked.

She said nothing. The only sound that escaped her mouth was more whimpering.

“Well, so much for trying to improve the communication level in THIS relationship.” I scratched my upper lip while continuing to address her. “Now, Lindsay, I have a question for you. Clearly what I saw a moment ago was Joel’s cock in your mouth. Well, I didn’t actually see it, but it was more than obvious what you were doing before I burst in. Anyway, my question is related to your technique. When girls give blowjobs, they usually don’t just bob their heads up and down. Sometimes they hold the cock steady in front of their faces so they can lick it all over so my question to you is, did you do that to him? Did you give his cock a tongue-lashing?”

Total silence from her now, not even a sob.

“Answer me, you fucking slut. Did you give his cock a tongue bath?” The silence still hovered in the air between us. “If you can’t say anything at least nod your head for yes or shake it for no. You know what nodding is, don’t you? It’s that up and down motion, like the way you were moving your head while giving Joel his blowjob. Now shaking, on the other hand, does NOT mimic a blowjob, but if you stick your tongue while you shake your head from side to side, then that little muscle produces quite a lovely effect on a boy’s pecker. So what’s the verdict, nod or shake?”

Lindsay slowly, reluctantly nodded her head. In other words, she was saying yes, you sorry sack of shit, I ran my tongue all over his cock while my hand held it steady at its base. I smiled because her response helped me determine what my next course of action would be.

All during this inquiry I had been kneeling before her, right where she had been kneeling to service Joel. Now I stood up, and she made a pathetic attempt to hit me in the groin. Martial arts reflexes saved me. After deflecting the attack, I struck her across the face. Her head whipped to the side with the force of my blow.

“I would not suggest you try that again.” Now I had my switchblade in my hand. With one click it was open for action. “Stick out your tongue.”

“No,” she said, her voice cracking.

(Good, bitch, I thought. Stay scared.)

“I said stick out your goddamn tongue.”

Once again she refused. I grabbed her by the sides of her head and slammed her face into my rising knee. She toppled unconscious off the seat. Yes, out cold at last! To be honest I thought the pain from the destruction of her kneecap would have knocked her out. Once again I was surprised by the fact that Lindsay was much more of a fighter than her paranoid, schizophrenic, suicidal ranting led me to believe. Being that I claim honesty as one of my main traits, I had to admit I was impressed.

So there she lay unconscious upon the bathroom floor, and suddenly I had the urge to not do what had to be done. For so long I had believed that I was the underdog, that I was never meant to be the winner, that things were not supposed to work out for me, and yet look at what had happened today: I had defeated my enemies, those who had tried to humiliate me and even kill me. How was it real? Was it a dream?

Then I had an interesting thought, one that was so amusing I had to say it out loud to the unconscious wench on the floor.

“Maybe only the dream knows what’s real,” I said.

I chuckled at the sound of it, even though it was a statement that had some deep, profound resonance with my life at that moment. For so long I had allowed others to convince me I was a loser. That wasn’t my true station in life, but I had bought it for years because so many people had been selling it: jocks, cheerleaders, teachers, guidance counselors, and even my own parents. The same two people who were supposed to love, support, and look out for me were the same ones who took that trust and then did everything in their power to tear me down.

People like this bitch on the bathroom floor.

And in that moment of clarity, when I realized Lindsay was part of the great conspiracy that kept my life from reaching its full potential, I knew my plan had to be executed. Years of denial and betrayal flooded my memories all at once. The torment caused a veil to fall over my eyes and, as the cliché goes, all I saw was red.

I had a mission, and if I ever wanted to defeat the system and prove to them (and, more importantly, to myself) that I was NOT the underdog, then I had to see it through to the end. To a certain extent, I had already proven myself. That instant when I had pulled the trigger of my gun to relieve another human being of their life was the same moment when I had said, “Fuck you and your goddamn rules too!” Now that I had broken the most taboo restriction, that of taking a life, all other rules fell flat. If I felt no guilt over killing someone, then I certainly wouldn’t feel bad about stealing food or running red lights or jaywalking. From that moment on, I vowed the sensation of guilt would never turn my conscience against me again. No more!

I had no guilt when I took Lindsay’s unconscious form and propped it up against the wall, no guilt when I fished into her cock-flavored mouth and pulled out her tongue to

hold it tightly between my thumb and pointer finger, no guilt when I kissed my blade, no guilt when I lowered the weapon to her mouth, no guilt when the metal negotiated its way through her flesh, no guilt when I saw blood flowing over her chin, no guilt when I freed her tongue from her mouth and it twitched as if alive between my fingers.

After flushing Lindsay’s tongue down the toilet, I went about fixing the new wound; otherwise she would have choked on her own blood, and what fun would that have been? Then I searched the house for some rope, finally finding some out in the garage. I used it to bind her hands and feet. Then I dragged her over to the bathtub and put her in it.

Lindsay was still unconscious. I decided to take advantage of that and searched Bob’s house. The refrigerator was my focal point. I ransacked their supply of food and beverages. Once a good inventory had been assembled, I put it all in my car.

Halfway through the loading process I heard some fidgeting from the bathroom. I dashed upstairs because I wanted to see Lindsay’s face when she realized her tongue had been cut out. I got there just as the truth hit home. Oh, how I wished I had a camera to capture her expression, so I could relive that moment when her dull eyes widened with surprise as the truth reached her brain, and let’s not forget the pathetic primitive grunting and moaning noises she made!

Lindsay started squirming. I’d bound her up with a good tourniquet, but I had no pain killer. The only sensation which her state of consciousness would let her feel was anguish. Good, bitch, get to know how it feels when the tables are turned and you are the one caught in the throes of suffering.

I went into the bathroom and sat on the toilet. She looked at me with a gaze that projected nothing but pure hatred. My God, it felt wonderful.

“You knew what I would do if you stuck out your tongue, so I had to knock you out to make you more compliant,” I said. “But you have been a very naughty girl, Lindsay, and I’m still not done punishing you for your behavior.”

A moment later I had Lindsay draped over my shoulder. She kicked and grunted while I took her into the parents’ bedroom. I tossed her face-down on the bed. Then I quickly scanned the room looking for a belt; I found one hanging off the end of the bed. While I took hold of it, I realized I should have tied Lindsay’s hands BEHIND her back. What the hell had I been thinking? Now she could pull herself up on the bed. Of course, she couldn’t get far, but this mobility could prove to be a nuisance. That would have to be taken care of later, though, because now I had an ass-whuppin’ to deliver.

She gave me a bit of difficulty when I tried to remove her jeans, but I was not going to give up anymore. Soon her slender legs and firm ass were mine to view, as well as her shaved pussy. There was no stirring in my loins when I saw her. All my lust had exploded when Joel’s cock entered her mouth. My love for life and my trust in anyone had erupted with his dick as well.

As I stared at Lindsay, my plans for her started to change. Initially I wanted to torture and kill her right on the spot. Why kill her now, I asked myself, why not let her live? Yeah, load her in my car and drive, drive, drive.

This brought on another question: if I did that, where should we go? An idea hatched in my head, but I’m not going to reveal what it was just yet.

I pinned Lindsay down, and the belt started to whistle a happy tune. Her ass turned a wonderful hue of red as the belt struck home. It was a glorious sight. To my surprise, I found myself getting hard while I whipped her ass, and I almost came every time I hit her. This kind of activity has never made me horny before. Whips and chains had never turned me on, so just what the hell was going on here?

After about the twentieth strike, I realized the truth: power was the force that made me rock hard. Soon it got to the point where I could not take it. Something had to be done, so I yanked my pants down to my knees and slammed my hard-on into her. She writhed beneath me in agony.

“Does that hurt, you bitch?!” I bellowed.

Of course, with a missing tongue she couldn’t answer the question, but I knew what she would have said.

I started humping her like a jackhammer. There was something warm and wet flowing over my cock and matting down my pubic hair. Almost immediately I realized it was her blood. My entry had made her bleed!

This revelation made my cock start to spasm. Hot semen flowed into her cunt. When I finished, I collapsed on top of her.

“You bitch…you goddamn sexy, tongueless cunt. I just came inside you, you fuckin’ whore. You liked it, didn’t you? You nasty slut. Now I probably have AIDS or some other disease, don’t I?” I moaned. “Well, no matter.”

I had fucked her from behind like a dog mounting his bitch. What a coincidence that she actually WAS a bitch. Before pulling out I licked her face (once again, like a dog). She still hadn’t learned her lesson, though. Despite all the hell through which I had put her, it was still not enough. Lindsay had not been fully humiliated. By degrading her, I was hoping to let her know how I had felt when I had seen her and Joel. Then she would know how wrong and hurtful her actions had been.

I left Lindsay on the bed and went out to my car. For a while I stood there debating what I should do. Eventually an idea came, and I went back inside to put this new plan into motion.

I decided to invest the time in tying Lindsay’s hands behind her back. It wasn’t easy: she was fucked up but not out of fighting spirit. Perhaps fifteen to twenty minutes, later, I had her hands bound again. Then I dragged her into the bathroom and cleaned her bleeding snatch. As I looked at the sight of it, I became aroused by the damage I’d caused. It took quite a bit of willpower to keep myself from assaulting her again.

Once the clean-up was done, I took Lindsay out to the car. I turned it on and started driving. A few moments later we were back on I-87 (known around these parts as the Northway). It dawned on me I had no idea where we should go. Then a brilliant idea popped into my head. In fact, it was so brilliant that it would have been a crime to not share it with the mute bitch next to me.

“I have a plan, Lindsay. Let’s go visit your family!” I cheered.

Terror flooded the whore’s face, and it warmed my heart. She didn’t know exactly what I was going to do, but she knew things were not going to turn out well for anyone who crossed paths with me.

“You know, Lindsay, I have come to discover more than one unpleasant thing about you within the last hour. Not only are you a lying cunt, but you are also selfish! The only time you have shown yourself to be scared or worried is right now…in other words, when something might make life inconvenient for YOU. Well, dammit, I am your teacher. I am going to TEACH you how to care. By acting with total disregard for the way you feel, by doing what upsets you, I will show the hell that life becomes when a boy like me loves a girl like you…in other words, a fucking cunt. I’m going to show you that you can’t go through life doing what you want, hurting people and not giving a second thought or feeling the slightest bit guilty. Now it’s fucking payback time, you slut. And I don’t care how bad it makes you feel. You should have thought of that before you decided you would treat me like shit. You thought you’d get away with it, didn’t you? Well, life is full of surprises, bitch.”

I spit in her face. She recoiled but could not avoid the projectile. The gob hung from her cheek. She moved her head from side to side but could not shake it off. Laughing rolled up from my toes to my mouth, and I had to sit down until I could recover from it. I’m sure no one else would have found the situation funny; it strikes me as one of those “you had to be there” kind of things.

A few minutes later, I had another brilliant idea; this one involved pulling off on to the shoulder of I-87. Lindsay gave me a puzzled look as if to say, “What the hell are you doing now?”

“Gotta take a piss,” I said.

I got out of the car and went around to the passenger’s door. Then I dragged Lindsay out and threw her on the ground. She landed on her back. My zipper went down, and my cock came out.

Then I began to piss on her. I moved my penis back and forth, distributing the urine equally across her body.

“Now this is a waste of good piss,” I said.

When I finished, I loaded her back in the car, and we were once again on our way.

********************

If you like what you have read and would like to purchase this serialized novel as one complete PDF, then please send $2 to Steve via PayPal: wcman1976@yahoo.com

Also, don’t forget to check out his other writing at the following links below:

REDemption

Steve’s Amazon Author Page

Steve’s Writer to Writers Publications

Author: Redemption Comics

Steve Grogan was born in the often-filmed city of Troy, NY. He has written in a variety of formats (novels, short stories, poems, screen and stage plays, blogs/articles) and genres (horror, science fiction, fantasy, mystery, drama).

Steve is also a father, a boyfriend, a musician, a fitness fanatic, and a martial artist. He has been studying Wing Chun Kung Fu since 1995, and he maintains a blog/YouTube channel that describe his training habits, epiphanies, and advancement. It also candidly discusses his stumbling blocks, such as his struggle with nutrition and mental health issues.

He is no relation to the New England Patriots quarterback from the 1980’s.

What are your thoughts on this?