Bob Belcher Mustache Novels & Stories

My mother and father, as well as my two elder brothers, reside here. While out doing some errands one day, I saw Boris strolling by the front door. A peculiar Mohican hairstyle with eyebrows shaped like a scythe. His cheekbones were shaped like half domes, and he had a Roman nose set on top of his strong jaw. The shoulder-baring style of his wrestling outfit contributed to the overall impression of his ripped physique. In point of fact, they were Saturns. His outspoken personality and loud baritone voice contributed significantly to the formation of his forceful demeanor. He was attractive to look at and had an alluring aroma.

He looked up at me and fixed the reading glasses on his nose. He was in his late fifties. Anya was their miracle daughter, and luckily, she was born healthy. Mr. Bello looked decent and had that mature aura around him. The thing that stood out the most was his genuine, warm smile. I could only imagine the countless girls who swooned over him in his younger days. Mrs. Bello had told me that her husband used to be one of the most popular guys in high school. And that was still evident despite the wrinkles that lined his face now. He had an elegant posture, and he looked so much like a gentleman.

I said, a smile pulling at my mouth. Even as my inner bitch cringed, she shook her hair back and gave a little finger wave. The lead guy, his bald head shiny under the light, laughed. This guy had all of his teeth. The crop of closely trimmed salt and pepper hair outlined his mouth. Old tattoos looked like bleeding green snakes around his neck. "The suka has fire." His lean, beef jerky body, shook under his laughter. Baldy apparently had at least a passing sense of humor.

"Come, Bella Donna, have a seat." I complied with his request, but instead of perching on the stool beside him, I chose to stand opposite, leaning against the bar, fixing him with an unyielding stare. His appearance was as immaculate as the first day I laid eyes on him—his shirt tailored to accentuate his muscles and lean form, his hair meticulously styled with a few rebellious strands framing his forehead, all contributing to the façade of a charming, attractive, and well-mannered man. Yet, it wasn't his outward perfection that seized my attention; it was the reality lurking beneath—a grotesque visage, concealed beneath layers of deception. This was the true Tyler Ricci— rotten to the core.

He has a mustache on his lips and jaw that gives a unique charm to the man. He has deep brown eyes, thick eyelashes, and thick eyebrows. Even his nose is perfectly shaped. His lip is reddish and only moderately thin. Dhalia can clearly see his even and white teeth. His dark complexion, which was her type of man, caught her attention even more. Dhalia's eyes stopped traveling in the man’s entirety when suddenly he faked a cough and held out his hand. “Hi lady, I'm Rodel . . .”

His face could be seen clearly after he took off the black fedora hat he was wearing. The man with a non-Archipelahian face smiled at the king and the four regional heads. But unlike King Rocky, the four regional heads seemed unhappy with his presence, especially Governor Alistair. “Bob Shermann...” ***

“Who wants to know? “I replied, raising my chin. Gabby said that a chin movement expressed insubordination, and I always felt more confident when I did. I don't think the stranger thought that way, because he ended up laughing softly when he looked directly into my face. The man tilted his head slightly and the movement made me notice the baldness between his hair. His body could easily be called chubby, but he wasn't exactly fat, just too burly. The shoulders were very wide and the waist was not thin, so it seemed that there was no room to separate his trunk from his hip. He stretched out a wide hand with hair on my fingers, and said: “I’m Anthony Blackmore.”

“What do you charge for a head job?” “And you, sir, are an arsehole.” The man on the phone set it down on the bar and turned to face them. He rose slowly to his feet. He was an absolutely giant of a man, Aislen thought, her head tilting back as he reached his full height. A gorgeous bearded masculine mountain of muscle, clad in denim and leather, topped by a head of flaxen hair bound back into a man bun. A scar carved deeply into his cheek, adding to the overall effect of delicious danger.

replied the one holding the trunk door. Another man came. He was tall and bulky than the rest and had a trimmed mustache sitting on top of his lips. He crouched over her body and dared to tilt her head and inspect her face. “Damn, she’s hot.” “Boss will have a lot of fun with her.” The one with a cigarette remarked. “Hell yeah, now I’m jealous of that old fart.” The mustache man agreed, and the three of them laughed. That cruel old bastard has all the young females in the bunch. Having his fill and fun with them, they thought this chick right here would be added to his growing lists soon.

I pleaded, gripping onto his wrist to stop the sting on my head but he raised me higher still, forcing me to meet his gaze once more. His unpleasant body odour flooded my nostrils, and his heavy breathing made me shudder with disgust. His unkempt face was covered with a large wire-like beard and his unruly salt and pepper hair, along with the deep-set lines engraved in his face gave away his age. His bulbous nose dominated his face, and his menacing smile revealed many missing teeth. “Who is that?” He turned me around to face Bobby. “Fuck you!” I spat. “WHO IS HE?” He demanded again, placing the gun against my back.