As usual, I’m writing a half-dozen stories simultaneously, but one really hit home for me. The fourteen-year-old kid and his dad will likely spend the rest of their lives in prison for what? The latest school shooting in Georgia only confirms that we’ve become a nation of loons.

As a kid who grew up in a small town in East Texas, I’ve been around guns my entire life. I like to kid that they put a bottle in one hand and a 22 in the other. In my case, it was a single-shot Remington rolling block 22 caliber rifle passed down from generation to generation. In truth, I had no bottle as I was born on the farm and breastfed, but it was a different time.

Back home, it is still somewhat familiar to see someone with a hog leg strapped to their side, but no one has thought much about it until lately. We didn’t go around shooting people.

One of the stories I’m working on involves Foxy and Larry stopping a school shooting. I started this story in reaction to the Uvalde, Texas, school shooting, where local law enforcement apparently failed to respond quickly to an incident with tragic consequences.

As a self-proclaimed gun nut, I hunted with my father and family members until I was about fourteen, when I realized that I didn’t want to kill things. Today, I only shot target and “steel plate competition.” I believe in the Second Amendment, but we need limits.

AR-15-style weapons are for one reason, and that’s to kill someone. It’s not a good choice to take out Bambi’s mom and dad. This is not the type of gun you buy your thirteen-year-old, already troubled son. Being a multi-generation Texan, we’ve always had guns around the house, but with the craziness lately, I’m starting to question that rationale.

AR-15s are also a poor choice for self-defense as you’re more likely to kill someone across the street than the burglar. If you need a weapon for home protection, consider a shotgun. At three AM, when you’re scared, in the dark, a shotgun is much better to protect yourself, and the pellets will not travel to your next-door neighbors like a high-velocity FMJ round.

Over the last couple of days, it struck me that an element that I incorporated into an erotic romance story was playing out on every television network. And I’m sure nothing will be done about it as usual. The Republican vice presidential candidate claimed that school shootings are “a fact of life.”

I’m sorry, but school shootings are not “a fact of life” and must be stopped at all costs. As an engineer and writer of porn stories, I don’t have the answers, but we need to all take a collective breath.

If you have kids, tell them you love them and keep them safe. After all, one of these days, they will be taking care of us.

Below is the first chapter of my story, written before the Georgia school shooting.

I’m Larry Archer, a simple writer of smut stories in print, electronic, and audiobook formats. Foxy and I are swingers in real life, and I write about the things we do and see. While the Lifestyle is not for everyone, it’s been fun for us. My smut is explicit and hardcore but with a somewhat plot. My porn stories are generally positive and fun as this reflects how enjoyable swinging has been to us. If you’re interested in checking out my stories, I publish at all the typical outlets.

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Draft Chapter One of a New Larry Archer Erotic Romance Story

No real warnings if you’ve managed to make it this far without clutching your pearls. Some dirty words, but they are not terribly explicit. Approximately 2,700 words.

Laughing, Larry told his story of growing up on a farm and getting up at the crack of dawn to milk the cows and feed the chickens and hogs. His wife, Foxy, was sitting in the front passenger seat of Larry’s huge armored 3500 series Suburban that he usually drove. Typically on the edge, Foxy had dialed back her usual clothing selection to a sleeveless blouse and short A-line skirt. The off-white top allowed a hint of her darker nipples to show through and was only unbuttoned to show a slight amount of cleavage.

Foxy had twisted around in the seat, with one leg crossed under the other so she could speak to Sherry and the camera girl in the back seat. At six feet, Foxy had a lot of leg to show, but she attempted not to expose too much of her gorgeous limbs to the camera.

Larry’s girlfriend, Sherry, worked as a news reporter for the Channel Twelve news team and finally got approval to shoot a documentary of Larry Archer and The Fox’s Den Gentleman’s Club. The Den had burst upon the strip club scene a few years back. It had taken over a surprising amount of business from the other clubs in Las Vegas, earning it the dubious title of the top strip club in Sin City in addition to all of the charity fundraisers he ran.

People found it difficult to accept the fact that a club owner whose dancers ran around naked would raise money for abused women or support no-kill pet shelters. The quiet, unassuming man from Texas had a lot of supporters in high places as he managed the hottest club in Sin City.

Larry had reluctantly agreed to a Day in the Life Of video shoot so Sherry could collect some B-roll footage to supplement the main story. The camera girl, Angelica, was a grad student at the university and also shot video for Larry’s partner Jack’s gangbang side gig. Sherry had enlisted her help, knowing that Angelica or Angel would not be offended by any off-color or x-rated content.

Foxy reached across the console to rub Larry’s neck and smiled for the camera as the red light clearly showed she was being recorded. She looked across, and out of the armored glass, she saw several people standing outside a school. What grabbed her attention was that they were in tactical gear and holding long guns. Glancing around, there were no obvious police vehicles that she could see.

“Larry!” She shouted. “There are guys outside that school with long guns! I don’t think they are police!”

Standing on the brakes, Larry quickly stopped the eight thousand-pound vehicle. Snapping his head around, he stared at the group of men in tactical gear. It appeared that they were about to enter the school. The memory of the last school shooting in his beloved Texas was still fresh in his mind as he turned to Foxy, “Call 9-1-1 and stay in the car. Nothing can hurt you in this vehicle. If you see any gas, turn on the internal atmosphere system, but do not exit the car until the Sheriff’s people tell you it is safe!”

He reached into the door pocket and pulled out three loaded magazines for his Springfield Armory XDM 9mm carry weapon that he kept holstered at his back. Taking a second to touch the button that confirmed a round was in the chamber, Larry quickly opened the car door and walked across the street to the school.

A cold chill ran down Foxy’s spine as she watched her husband’s eyes go dead, and she knew what was coming. Reptilian survival mode always lurked under his East Texas easy-going demeanor and could take over instantly. She grabbed her cell phone and called 9-1-1 as she looked for the school’s name.

“Gunmen with long guns and tac gear in front of Cheek Elementary. My husband, Larry Archer, is moving to intercept them. He is armed with a semi-auto. Please don’t shoot him!” Foxy calmly spoke into the phone. “Sherry, you and Angel stay in the car. Remember, the Suburban is fully armored and will protect you from anything up to an RPG. Get on the phone with Doug and tell him what’s happening!”

Pushing the heavy car door open, Foxy slipped out, and as she quietly closed the door, she looked across the hood to see Larry crouched behind a trash bin as he studied the men standing in front of the school’s double doors. Luckily, she was wearing tennis shoes and not her usual high heels.

Walking to the back of the Suburban, Foxy opened the rear door and lifted the hatch to the gun safe hidden underneath the floorboards. Reaching in, she pulled out the twelve-gage Mossberg 500 tactical shotgun with an extended magazine. Pressing the slide release button on the trigger guard, she racked the slide and loaded a double-aught shell into the chamber. In the gun case, there were six individual shells, and taking one, she quickly inserted the shell into the magazine to replace the one now in the chamber. Out of habit, she grabbed a pair of 3M Shotgunner II active ear muffs and put them on. The ear muffs would allow normal sounds to come through but would block the sounds of gunfire.

Hearing the click-clack of the pump shotgun being chambered, Sherry spun around and watched Foxy. Her eyes were wide with fright, as she usually arrived at a crime scene after everything was over, not during. Watching Foxy as she rapidly prepared made Sherry fully aware of the darker side of the couple she lived with.

“Stay in the car and keep an open line to 9-1-1,” Foxy shouted from the rear before closing the rear hatch of the Suburban.

Sherry pointed out the window to Angel and said, “Keep shooting. No matter what!” Pressing the speed dial for Doug, the sheriff, she impatiently waited for the call to go through. “Doug, this is Sherry. Larry and Foxy are trying to intercept several gunmen about to enter Cheek Elementary. Please send help!”

In disbelief, Doug stared at his cell phone for a split second, then punched a button on his desk phone.

“Tactical,” came the instant response over the phone.

“This is the sheriff. There are armed men at Cheek Elementary. Foxy and Larry Archer are on scene, watch out for them!” Doug ordered and then punched the hangup button. Pushing back from his desk, he drew his Sig Sauer P229 and pushed the slide back slightly to ensure a .40 caliber S&W shell was in the chamber. Then he holstered his weapon.

“Violet,” he yelled at his admin. “Have my car brought out forthwith and mobilize all on-duty officers. I’ll brief them from the car!” Running past, he touched her shoulder with his fingertips and headed down the hall.

Larry watched as the young men approached the entrance to the school. Everything seemed to be in slow motion as he heard the crunch of gravel beneath Foxy’s shoes as she knelt beside him. The short barrel of the shotgun was in his peripheral vision.

“Stay down,” he quietly ordered his wife. “I thought I told you to stay in the car.”

“You can’t take them on by yourself,” she replied. “Start with the guy on the left, and I’ll take the one on the right, then we’ll finish the guys in the middle.”

Larry stepped out to the left and shouted, “Drop the guns and get on your knees!”

As the middle gunman reached for the door handle, the others spun around and raised their AR-15 assault rifles. Larry was already in a modified Weaver stance as the sights of his Springfield XDM 9-mm pistol centered on the chest of the man. He saw the man’s finger tightening on the trigger as he gave him a double-tap. He watched the man’s eyes widen as the two spots appeared on his chest, causing him to stagger back.

The shooter’s dying reflex was to trigger off a shot, which slammed into Larry but didn’t slow him down. He could feel his left arm going numb as he tried to ignore it and focus on the gunmen.

The twelve gauge went off right beside him, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other shooter’s midsection eviscerated by the double-aught buckshot as he was flung backward from the force of the blast. With his ears ringing from the shotgun, Larry gave his guy another double-tap for insurance as he fell face forward on the ground.

Swinging to the center, Larry watched over his front sight as the door swung closed. He looked at his wife as she pumped the spent casing out and chambered a new round. Standing there with smoke still wafting from the barrel, he realized how much he loved her.

“You look ridiculous,” Larry nervously laughed. “The ear muffs don’t do justice to your outfit!”

“Asshole,” Foxy replied. “Let’s get the last guy.”

Then she stopped and exclaimed, “Larry, you’re hit. You’re bleeding like a stuck pig.”

“It’s mearly a flesh wound,” He replied grimly.

“Don’t quote Monty Python to me while we’re getting shot at,” Foxy replied calmly, but he could see the fear in her eyes.

“Stay low,” Larry said, pulling the door open with his left hand and duck-walking into the school. Swinging his gun from side to side, he saw the empty hallway. Suddenly, from down the hall came the high-pitched crack of .223 rounds being fired, accompanied by the screams of children.

Running down the hall towards the shooting, Larry quickly located the classroom. From the side, Larry slowly turned the door handle and confirmed it was unlocked. Pulling it open slightly, he wedged his foot in the doorway and crouched. As he pulled the door open, shots rang out, and he could feel the fractured glass from the door window falling on him.

The shooter was in the middle of the room when he grabbed a replacement magazine and slammed it into the rifle. Before Larry had time to take the shot, the man grabbed a young girl by the ponytail and lifted her in front of him.

Larry slowly stood as he kept his pistol centered on the young man’s forehead. The man’s eyes were wide open and crazed as he pointed the assault rifle toward a group of children huddled in the corner with their teacher attempting to cover them with her body.

“I’ll kill them all,” the man mechanically stated as his rifle was aimed at the terrified group. He was holding his little hostage up until all Larry could see was the top of the man’s head. He knew that the only option was a shot to the brain or his spine to keep him from pulling the trigger. Larry knew he was hurt and afraid he would hit the hostage if the effects of being shot altered his aim.

“Hey, asshole,” he heard his wife suddenly say.

Larry watched as the man glanced to the side and lost his concentration. The little girl slipped down and gave Larry the opportunity. The first round tore through the man’s neck and demolished his spine. The man’s hands and fingers relaxed when the connection was lost from his brain. As he started to slip to the ground, Larry recentered his pistol from the recoil and shot the man between the eyes.

Grabbing the hostage, Larry spun around to protect her just in case. That’s when he realized that his wife had ripped her shirt open to expose her braless breasts. That was the diversion he had needed to take the man out.

“Nice tits,” Larry chuckled.

“Asshole,” Foxy laughed in return.

Just then, the classroom door burst open, and a flood of SWAT team officers in full body armor charged into the room.

“Careful, everyone calm down,” Larry said as he let his pistol swing out of his hand and hang by his finger looped in the trigger guard. Slowly, he lowered the gun and laid it on the floor. Then, standing up, he clenched his hands behind his head and waited. Looking at his wife, her shotgun was yanked out of her hand by an officer as another held her in a bear hug.

After a quick survey of the scene, the sheriff entered and said, “They are on our side. Everyone relax!”

“Foxy, Larry, are you okay?” the sheriff asked. “What the hell was this all about?”

“Damned if I know,” Larry replied. “Luckily, Foxy noticed the gunmen as we were driving by. We took care of two outside, but you need to get paramedics in here to check the students.”

“They are coming in now,” Doug replied as he holstered his pistol. Sure enough, teams of medics entered the room and began attending to the wounded.

That was when Larry noticed his girlfriend and the camera girl in the corner of the room. He started to yell at her, but the red light on the camera reminded him to bite his tongue. It was bad enough that my wife was in danger, much less my girlfriend, he thought to himself. I can’t lose them, no matter what.

“Larry, I’m going to have to take your weapons. You know that,” Doug said as one of the officers picked up the pistol and shotgun. “Take my off-duty weapon until we get yours back,” The sheriff continued as he lifted his pant leg, pulled out a Kel-Tec pocket nine from his ankle holster, and handed it to Larry.

He knew their weapons would be returned after the ballistics testing and the case closed. “Thanks for the offer, Sheriff, but I have plenty of guns at home,” Larry said as he felt the sudden rush of exhaustion after being overloaded with adrenalin.

“Sargent, take Mister and Mizz Archer out of the crime scene and get their statements. Then see if you can sneak them out before the paparazzi show up,” Doug instructed. “Larry, I’ll need you and Foxy to come to the headquarters and make a full statement later. His Honor, the Mayor, will be here in a few minutes to shake your hand. He’ll probably want to loan you one of his showgirls as a thank you,” The Sheriff continued as people flooded the room.

“This is now a crime scene. Everyone except crime scene analysis should exit now,” Doug shouted. Then, pointing towards the classroom door, he escorted Foxy and Larry out.

“Thank you from the bottom of my heart,” Doug quietly said to Foxy and Larry. “We can’t stand another mass shooting after the October one event and the last one at the college. I don’t know how we’ll get a handle on this craziness, but it’s got to stop.”

Foxy’s hand was shaking as Larry held it while they walked out of the classroom. She leaned against him, and he put his arm around her. “Baby, I’ve never shot anyone before. Is it always like this?” Foxy remembered Larry’s arm, “Let me look at your arm. We need to stop the bleeding.”

The sergeant looked at Larry’s arm and said, “I’ll get a medic from the classroom.”

“Stop,” Larry said. “The kids are more important. I can wait until we get to the hospital.”

Larry heard a ripping sound and looked over to see Foxy tearing up her shirt into strips. She looked so beautiful standing there topless in just a miniskirt. As the adrenaline load dropped, Larry could feel exhaustion and blood loss overtaking him.

“This is going to hurt, but we need to staunch the blood loss,” Foxy said as she wrapped the strip of cloth around his arm and pulled it tight. Larry let out a groan as the sharp pain hit him, and he struggled to remain conscious.

The Sheriff stepped out of the classroom and realized that Larry had been shot. Sticking his head in the shot-out door window, he barked, “Medic, now!” Rushing over, he grabbed Larry as he slid to the floor.