T.M. Shannon

Swearing I wouldn’t do a short story until sending the 5th draft off for editing and beta reading (with my bunch of worries as I’ve noticed prose slips), I up and pecked something into my phone last week and got it in my head to submit.

Alas, the lit publication’s submissions were closed until November 1st.

And it’s a good thing, too, as found some lines I hadn’t deleted, other mistakes, tweaked it a bit, read it back through Windows Narrator last when I should’ve started with that, and got 2,949 words, or 17 minutes reading time

And, well, here’s the story, I hope you enjoy.

BTW, that photo is washed out because I took it in the afternoon thus in the Harbour Bridge’s shadow, and I put my trust in my phone’s non-AI photo correction option.

Soz, I will seek better lighting and no correction in the future.

Cheers, T. M.

Chosen Men

© T. M. Shannon 2025
All rights reserved.

1

My phone lit up with a Chosen Man notification, GentleDaddy56 had noticed me.

“Ugh, here we go, another creepy oldie.”

I’d only had men from 45 up either sending a dick pic, objectifying me, or asking if I was a top or bottom into bareback.

I paused Civil War, grabbed and unlocked my phone, and tapped in to see the approachee.

Chosen Man opened with the two male figures holding hands, the processing circle spun, then I saw a man with a thick neck, firm jaw, clean-shaven face, a kind smile, beautiful eyes, tidy salt-and-pepper hair, and went girl-giddy.

I contemplated Notice or Pass, sure he was after a twink with that handle, not a 35-year-old with a short beard who never got asked for ID. But that pic did wonders, and I Noticed to let him see my profile—bisexual, bartender and cellarman, average build, interested in a string of games and movies—and got back to Civil War.

The Check Them Out notification dinged, and I watched Cap and Bucky double-team Iron Man, paused, and tapped in to see a dapper man in chinos, a short-sleeve collared shirt, aviator sunnies, those toned arms naturally haired.

I went through his pics, him at a party with mates, at a business event with two colleagues, at a wedding with the bride and groom, him leant against the nose of a plane with his arms folded, and—“Oh, hell yes.”—in boardies at the beach.

He had that muted, old-school physique, visibly strong but nothing shown off, natural hair, and wore a toothy, genuine-eyed smile that grabbed me—

He messaged me. 56 messaged 35. No, he had to be a creepy oldie. Yet my finger hit the alert and I read his message. “How are you?”

My first no-nonsense, no gushing, no profile comment opening on any app, and I couldn’t tell what was what. I thought of checking his profile, considered blocking, but with a dearth of genuine contact, what was I to lose?

I tapped away. “Not bad, thanks. Yourself?”

He replied at once. “I’m very well.”

Oh, the formality! I put my phone down, let the Hindenburg go up in flames, and returned to the movie.

Chosen Man dinged. “What are you doing this evening?”

I left the movie running. “Watching Captain America: Civil War.”

“Nice.” The app showed him typing. “I saw Marvel Rivals in your game list, are you a big fan?”

Aww, he paid attention to my profile! Here’s five hundred gold, some leather armour, and Meridia’s Beacon.

I grinned. “Not the biggest, but Marvel’s a great braincell killer.” A thought hit me. “Any comic franchises in your viewing?”

“Not since the Tim Burton Batman movies. Comics-wise, I loved The Phantom.”

Was this guy psychic? “I loved the Phantom as a kid, always bought a copy.”

He typed. “‘The Ghost Who Walks.’”

I tapped quick. “‘Can never die.’”

I dove right into his profile. 56, bisexual, charter pilot and instructor—hence the plane and sunnies—with a range of technical and intelligentsia fiction reading tempered by Star Wars, Top Gun, and other mainstream movies.

The next message arrived. “And what brought you to Chosen Man?”

Ooh, going superficially deep, nice. I could probably ask him about ICQ and hear him go, “Uh-oh!”

I sighed. “The unicorn bisexual dream I could meet a guy for something meaningful.” I pictured him nodding and rubbing his chin. “And you?”

He took a moment to type. “In all honesty, it was for someone young, fun, and sexy to be around.”

Not the answer I was hoping for, but this chat didn’t scream twink hookup. Still, I pressed the point. “And your chats with older guys?”

“Very new. You’re the second guy I’ve noticed looking for something better.”

I nodded and hmmed at the not-bad answer.

He jumped in again. “I woke up to myself six months ago after too many nights out, too much sex, and too many guys pushing drugs.”

The clubbing and drugging weren’t my thing either, so that boded well. Also, TMI much?

Another message. “Sorry if that’s a bit much. I’m practicing honesty.

That was considered, and what was wrong with a guy angling towards something better in life, which, who knows, could be me? I threw that into the Too Soon bin and matched his consideration. “Thanks for being honest with me, but do you mind if we step back?”

“Absolutely.”

Has a blurt indicating he’s no longer looking for fun, then soberly respects my boundaries? Had to be some nerves for the first and sheepishness for the second, but I’d have to be careful with my things.

His next message arrived. “Can you tell me what you like about the games you play?”

Definitely interested in me, I had to help out with that. “I like RPGs so I can take my time and get better with experience. The shooters, hero PvPs, and action RPGs are for keeping my reaction time up. The MMOs are for story, guild raids, and PvP. And the sims are my chill out games.”

He definitely nodded and rubbed his chin this time, Microsoft Flight Simulator on both of our profiles, and I knew he used it properly for flight hours and experience, which he then told me. “Have you been on it recently?”

“Not for a long time, and I really only played it for Cessna joy flights.” I let that sink in and tapped again. “Do you have a full flight deck at home?”

“I have three wide, curved screens, a yoke, throttle quadrant, Stream deck, rudder pedals, the seat from a Beechcraft King Air, and a very expensive PC with all the bells and whistles.”

I bet he loved gushing about that. “You put my rig to shame.” I tipped my head. “Wonder what my RPGs would look like on yours.”

He didn’t miss a beat, “Maybe you can try that one day…”

Up to a potential meet-up? I couldn’t contain my smile. “That’ll need a coffee-into-lunch date to begin with.”

“How about we get chatting and see if we can discuss that at some point.”

I bet he smiled that beach smile typing that, figured the date talk would come at the week and a half mark if we connected, and went for it. “Let’s do it. What got you flying for a living?”

And he dove into himself with all manner of exuberance and nostalgia.

2

Home suburbs, school, uni and career or lacks thereof, books and movies, food and drinks, pools and beaches, events and to-dos, and first names later, I sat in one of the most craft beer and bespoke spirits of establishments nursing an IPA.

Had to hand it to Greg steering us to this place at one o’clock, out trips to the city blocking a jaunt home to bed, and anyway, our current chat was light flirty and nothing amorous.

I’d gotten in early to suss the place out, check the menu and drink offerings, tried to tie an ale or whiskey to him, and wound up all butterflies and giddiness but calm in the atmosphere.

I finished my beer at 12:48 and idled on Bluesky until all 188 centimetres of Greg walked in, tucked his sunnies into his left shirt pocket, saw me, nodded, and walked to my table with the perfect balance of excited to meet and not in a rush.

I stood, tucked my nerves away, kept eye contact as he met me in a kind, firm handshake, and we sat.

He smiled. “How was your trip in?”

Ooh, small talk, nice and disarming—also, I was supposed to let his hand go two seconds earlier. “Change at Sydenham for the Metro because of trackwork, dodging pedestrians from Gadigal, typical weekend trip.” I remembered the Eastern Suburbs line was buses, too. “Spare you a thought though.”

Greg chortled. “The frequency is frustrating, alright.” He looked at the bar. “What can I get you to drink?”

“A schooner of True Brew IPA thanks.”

His eyebrows rose. “Had one already?”

“I got in early.”

“Let me guess, you’re excited to meet, had to check the place out first, and find your favourite?” I nodded. “Smart dating.”

“What can I say, I’m older and wiser.”

He stood. “I’ll get this round.”

He went to the bar and returned with two schooners and a woodblock table number tucked in his left arm. “I got us a bowl of chips to start.”

Finger food for the first drinks, what a boss move.

He handed my schooner over and sat. “Here we are in the flesh.”

I smiled. “You look good in a collar. Sorry I’m a dag in a Star Wars shirt.”

He drank some beer, and I remembered mine. “It’s Original Trilogy, so I’ll let you off the hook.”

Impressive. Most impressive. “How’d you go with the Sequel Trilogy?”

He turned sour. “Leia should’ve died, Kylo should’ve stayed in charge, and Palpatine was the worst plot twist ever.”

I did the Yes fist-clench. “Ohh, that could’ve been the end of things right there.”

Greg flashed that beach pic smile, and I managed to keep still, sane, and not gulp my beer while I melted onto the floor.

I leant onto the table. “What did you get?”

“Casseman’s Ridge.”

“Oh, the Adelaide Hills ale. Saw the notes, I’ll have to give one a go with lunch.”

We talked about the city, city prices, housing prices, Sydney Trains’ ineptitude, the Melburnian deluge last week, and definitely clicked over the humdrum logistics.

The chips arrived, and Greg asked the runner to leave the number so we could order with it later. Talk about screaming stability, here’s Lydia and the key to Breezehome.

We munched some chips, had some beer, and Greg folded his arms on the table. “When did you figure out you were bi?”

I’d expected this question earlier. “At 19, after I walked out of a cruise lounge.”

He nodded. “Did you go often?”

“There and gay bars whenever I felt right to be attractive to a guy.” I sighed. “It went with being a CSA survivor.”

“CS—ohh.” He breathed careful. “Must’ve been hard realising you’re into guys.”

“Very.” I drank again. “Thought I was in control but I wasn’t, and if I got a guy’s number, total ghosting, afraid of what the world’d think of me. Took some serious therapy and healing to beat that.”

He sat back. “And you’ve moved beyond that?”

“The meds do a lot of heavy lifting, and I’m every six months with my psych and every two with my therapist to keep on top of things. I’m doing alright.”

“Glad to hear it.”

I smiled. “When did you figure it out?”

He ahemmed. “About your age, in the middle of my engagement. I fell into gay porn and wanted to know what a guy was like, so went to a gay bar, picked up, had fun, thought that’d be it and I’d go get married, and wound up with another guy two weeks later.”

His sorrowful eyes met mine, and I knew that had ended his relationship. “It’s okay, mate. I’m not judging.”

He smiled wry then true. “Thanks, Gav.”

“And what are you after now? Friends with benefits? Boyfriend and boyfriend? Or you in it for the long haul, celebrant, tuxedos, vows, and all?”

He chuckled. “Boyfriend and boyfriend.” He blushed then laughed long and honest. “Feels so weird but freeing to say that.”

I smiled back. “You did your soul-searching right.”

“Yeah.”

We went back to the chips and beer.

“Ooh, one thing I meant to ask. How’d that volleyball scene in Top Gun hit you up?”

He grinned wide at that. “There was a lot of physique on display. And you?”

I hmmed and nodded. “It always resonated for me though I couldn’t pick why. And not that I was gonna get my body like that when I hit the gym.”

“You joined one?”

“Misguidedly. I didn’t have the staying power for workouts or strictness for a low-carb diet, so it’s just hefting kegs at work, walking regularly, and eating okay.”

He finished his beer. “I went in my late twenties, kept toned, but started getting pushed to build when I’m already a solid guy, so now it’s just my home equipment to keep fit.”

I snickered. “Gotta maintain that beach bod.”

He laughed as I finished my beer. “You liked that photo.”

“A lot of physique on display.” I got the beach smile once more. “But the old school physique, you’re not built like a brick wall. Reminded me of prime Shatner back on Star Trek.”

He hmmed. “I’ll take your word for it.” He made me smile. “And your lunch order, too.”

I nearly fell off my stool. “Oh, um, medium rare rump, chips, and salad please.”

His eyebrows rose. “You’re a medium rare steak guy too?”

I needed to go buy a Win for Life scratchie, this luck had to be worth the big prize.

He patted the table. “Alright, back soon, but I think you should cover dessert.”

I beamed as he stood. “Gelato it is.”

3

Two steaks and schooners of Casseman’s Ridge later, we walked off lunch towards Circular Quay, and got to my underrated gelato gem of Sydney.

I told Greg about the find after ditching the Messina line. “They’ve got good stuff, but it’s over-popular and I’m impatient, so I wandered around and found this place was quiet, got two flavours, had to go back for two more.”

He chuckled. “Careful you don’t talk it up too much.”

“Oh, yeah, I hate being sold on ‘The Best Thing Ever’ only to find it’s mediocre as hell.”

We went in, a couple at ahead of us and half the tables free, and he glanced about. “Very minimal and clean in here.”

I chuckled. “You’re a décor man, too.” I sure picked well.

Served, I went with my favourites Tiramisu and Hazelnut, and he picked Chocolate and Blood Orange, which sent my eyebrows up. “You loved Jaffas, didn’t you?”

“I did, but I’m all for Lindt Intense Orange now.”

The prank guy had to be filming, but when the gelato came with nobody jumping out for a gotcha, I nudged Greg, nodded to the far corner table, and went there hoping he checked me out on the way.

He sat facing the door, I sat on his right, and he knee-nudged me. I looked at him, and we smirked with cheeky eyes before he turned to my gelato. “Do you mind if I try the Tiramisu?”

So smooth and polite. “Only if I can try the Blood Orange. Been eyeing that off since my first visit.”

He smiled. “Go for it.”

I went giddy, shuddered at the scalp and shoulder buzz, and sent my stick-spoon into the ball, teased off a generous piece, and closed my lips around the vibrant orange. “Mmm.”

He chortled and went for my Tiramisu with his knee firm against mine. “That’s so nice.”

I could’ve kissed him, contented myself with a knee shift, caved in to a sneaky hand over his lower thigh, and got the same in return.

He glanced at me after a mouthful of both flavours. “You’ve taken a liking.”

I grinned. “You too.”

He smiled dreamy at the ceiling. “Such a refreshing change from where I’ve been.”

I nodded. “Me too.”

He sighed. “Never thought I’d end up on a date with a romantic man.”

I chuckled. “Play your cards right, and you can kiss me at the movies.”

He winked. “Looking forward to that.”

We dawdled through the rest of the gelato, I talked him into coffees, and we took our flat whites to the Circular Quay wharf, sipped as we went through the crowd, where I let my left hand brush against his right.

He went straight for the handhold, our fingers interlinked. Hello, high school.

We wandered around to the front of the Museum of Contemporary Art, and he nodded to it. “Reckon we can pay a visit sometime?”

“Only if we can pay a visit to the Art Gallery of New South Wales. There’s a painting there I like.” We continued to the wharf side of the Overseas Passenger Terminal. “What art do you like?”

“Abstracts, landscapes, portraits, a bit of everything. You?”

“Mainly landscapes and scenery. I have McCubbin’s ‘The Pioneer’ in my room.”

He was impressed. “All three panels?” I nodded. “How’d you get it?”

“Raffle prize at one of my other jobs.”

Art and artists flowed around the little inlet before the Park Hyatt hotel, around Hickson Road reserve, and we crossed at the lights to go up the grassy incline of Dawes Point Reserve.

We sat in the shade on a flattish concrete strip with our backs to the Harbour Bridge’s southeast pylon.

I smiled at the view of the Opera House between the Hickson Road Reserve’s palm trees, the rest of the harbour ahead on the left.

Greg beamed. “You like good views.”

I nodded. “You need good views when you live in the South West.”

He squeezed my hand. “I’ll show you the views from the sky sometime.”

Ohh, the buzzes and gooiness took a while to settle. “Sounds like you’re asking me out.”

I got the beach smile yet again before his face became deeply interested, and I met his eyes, lids fallen to seductive, noticed his lips, and so wanted to meet them.

Too soon? I preferred second date kisses. Too heady? I loved getting gooey with guys. Ready? I leant in, closed my eyes, and met his lips.

We didn’t disappoint.

So How Did I Go?

I know, I know, it’s a cute and cheesy safe bet of sorts, light on the themes but touching on bi reality – case in point a website that argued the need for guys in relationships with women need sex with men on the side to be bi.

But, gotta start somewhere, and pantsing and bit-part editing this means the next short story needs plotting and dedicated editing passes.

Anyway, if you liked it, disliked it, or are cursing me out to God about it, drop a comment below and subscribe for the blog posts and scant Three Ways updates (see that link below).

And don’t forget I’m home on Bluesky these days, one of my posts will tell you why

Take care all,
T. M.