Excerpt from "And Then There Were Five"

I've been working on this story since the beginning of the beginning of the summer. 70's, the first book of a four-part series called And Then There Were Five, is about half-way finished, at about 150 pages (yes, I write that much!). The original idea for it came from watching the Live at Wembley Stadium DVD when I thought, "Man, I wish I coulda met Queen." The main characters are: Toby (inspired by Freddie Mercury), Paul (inspired by John Deacon), Ewan (inspired by Brian May) and Teagan (inspired by Roger Taylor). There's also Molly, who's a girl I made up. It's a really good story (or so I'm told!), but I don't want to give too much away...so I got together a pilot, as it were, for 70's. It kinda dumps you in the middle of Chapter 17, but that doesn't really matter! If some of it doesn't make sense, then don't worry about it: it's just supposed to be funny. So, here you go!

“Ewan?” someone called from the couch.
I got up and went to them so they wouldn’t have to shout.
“Yes?”
Toby pulled himself up into a sitting position, “Don’t mean to be rude or anything, but what are you still doing here?” he noticed I was shirtless, “And what, pray tell, are you doing here half naked?”
I punched him lightly on the shoulder. He massaged it, feigning pain.
“For you information, Toby, I have blue jeans on, so I am in no way, shape, or form naked.”
He raised his pointed finger, “Ah, but you have no shirt on, therefore you are not completely naked, per se, buy half naked.”
“…Shut up.”
“Well, somebody has to be the smart one in this outfit.”
“And it’s not me, the one who has a Ph.D. in psychology, skipped several grades, and graduated college early?”
He put the back of his hand to his forehead, gasping, “Oh, darling! You’re making me feel so uneducated.”
I laughed, “You are such a fruit cake.”
He tossed off the afghan he had been lying under, stood up, and ruffled my hair, “And you are the friend of a fruitcake.”
“Which means?”
“Which means that you are guilty by association, love.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, you don’t have to hide it from me!” he proclaimed, moving in front of where I was standing, and throwing his arms around me, pulling me into a bone-crunching embrace that I had no idea a man his size could pull off.
I grunted, “Toby, geroff a’ me—”
He wailed, “Oh, Ewan! It’s useless for us to hide our feelings any longer!”
He released his death grip, and loosely placed his arms around my waist.
I coughed several times, getting my breath back, before asking, “Toby, what are you--?”
He took hold of my hand, and headed towards the bedroom, “Come, Ewan! Let us make sweet love ‘til the sun comes up!”
My eyes widened so much I thought my eyeballs would pop out. I wrenched my hand from his grip and strode resolutely towards the door.
“But Ewan, I LOVE YOU!” he said, swooning.
“Good night, Toby.”
“It’s okay if you’re gay!”
I put my hand on the glass doorknob, turning it while saying again, “Goodnight, Toby.”
He started singing, “If you were gay, that would be okay…”
“Toby, what have you been smoking?”
He continued singing, “If you were gay, I’d love you anyway!”
“…and why aren’t you sharing?”
I started pulling at the doorknob.
And cursed in a very sailor-worthy manor when it didn’t budge.
Molly leaned against the empty doorframe that led into the kitchen with a questioning look on her face, “Um, Toby?”
Toby, who at that moment had been standing on tiptoe so he could put his chin on my shoulder and had put both of his hands in my pockets, looked up, “Yes, love?”
“What’re you doing?”
“Oh, darling, it’s just some of that adult humour. I don’t understand half of it myself.”
The door finally opened, and I yelled, “YAY! THANK YOU JESUS!”
I would definitely be going to church next Sunday.
And I’d put £20 in the offering plate.
I ran out into Toby’s snow covered yard, neglecting the sidewalk, and sprinted as hard and as fast as I could down the street.
“Hey, EWAN?” Toby called.
“WHAT?”
I could barely see him where he stood in the door frame, but I could just make out an innocent, puppy dog pout, “Don’t you want a shirt or something? It’s the middle of February.”
“What?”
“I said, don’t you want a shirt or something’ it’s the middle of--”
“No thank you! I’ll take my chances with the cold!”
And I ran down the road, my bare (and by that point, numb) feet not making a sound.
I leaned forward onto my knees, breathing hard.
And then I fell over onto my side.
In the middle of the road.
Laughing.
And I knew Toby was doing the same.
Just probably not in the middle of a snow-covered street, like some half-starved asylum escapee.
Probably not.
But you never know with fruitcakes like him.

*I had SO much fun writing that! I remember, it was in June or July, I had the whole house to myself, I was bored out of my mind, and I just picked up a pen and started writing. I ended up reading the whole thing to myself in weird accents: a girly American accent, a normal-sounding British one and a...um..."fruity" British one. lol I couldn't read it without laughing! But maybe that's just me...idk maybe it's really dumb...but whateva. I'm just trying to get the word out about my book because, even though it's not finished yet, I really wanna publish it! So HA!