Gay Pack: Three Sizzling Shorts
Erika L. Foster
Copyright 2012 by Erika L. Foster
Table of Contents
Ever since I was a little boy, I wanted nothing more than to run a cake shop. My family lived in a cramped apartment right above a bakery, inundating our home with smells of baking bread and pastries all day long. I became a constant hovering presence in the kitchen of the place by the time I was seven, spent my evenings at home practicing my craft, made my parents sick with piles upon piles of pure carbs. The moment I turned eighteen I became an official staff member of the Bakin’ Buns Bakery (I did not come up with the name). I was ecstatic; for the first time I was actually able to use the industrial-sized ovens, the mixers I could practically sit in, the massive tables upon which I could roll dough paper-thin. Even in the stifling heat of summer, I was home.