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  1. #151
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Quote Originally Posted by california87 View Post
    Not until later actually! I have read Eric's story, now moving on to the next! The characters make a lot more sense now!
    Glad to hear this criticism. I try to reintroduce the characters as necessary in each story, but I try to repeat only what is needed for that particular story. Obviously Eric and Z are covered much more thoroughly in Eric's Story than they are in 4 Miles.

  2. #152
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Ah, yes, but what you can cover them with . . . How are the baby twins, anyway?


    And I know, if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest . . .

  3. #153

    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    You did a good job of reintroducing them. It was just interesting to hear their pasts and some more physical and age descriptions of some.

  4. #154
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Thirty-Nine


    “Heiko, come inside,” Tom called. “Your bare ass is gonna get us thrown out of here.” Tom had just opened his eyes; he watched the dim silhouette on the balcony, barely visible in the dawn's light.

    Heiko turned and said, “No. You come out here. It's a beautiful time of day.” Heiko watched Tom and waited for his response.

    Tom felt perfectly comfortable in bed under a blanket, all he wanted was Heiko to come back to bed but there was something odd. It took a while to figure it out because the light was so poor. It looked as if Heiko was facing Tom and holding his erection out to him. Tom put his feet on the floor and felt the cold air of morning. He shivered and started to crawl back under the covers.

    “No, you don't. Just do it, Tomi,” Heiko urged. The floor of the bedroom was cold on Tom's feet and the cement deck of the balcony was even colder. Tom hurried to Heiko's side. He put his hand on Heiko's hard cock and felt its warmth. “I was just thinking about you,” Heiko said. “I wanted to make it an interesting morning for you, but you looked so peaceful sleeping.” Heiko wrapped Tom in his arms and pulled him as close as his stiff dick would allow.

    “Do you always get a hardon thinking about me?”Tom teased.

    “Always. Every time. Never fails.” They kissed while Heiko's hands roamed Tom's back, ending up cupping his ass.

    “I love you, baby, but I'm freezing my ass off. Your hands aren't helping.” Tom pulled him inside.

    “CAAAW!” Heiko yelled at the doorway. Two dark shapes flying by cawed back at him. “See. I told you they know me. Smart birds, those pelicans.”

    Tom pulled Heiko into the still-warm bed and rubbed him down. This wasn't how their sex usually began; usually Tom was pushing, not pulling. He kissed his lover and felt the pursed lips smile under his attention. There was a long gentle kiss and then Heiko took over.

    “I want to fuck you this time,” Heiko said.

    Tom nodded. “Ok,” he quickly agreed; it wasn't something that happened often enough.

    “I feel a need to show you how much I've been thinking about you.” Heiko's kisses and touches became more aggressive. He mauled Tom the way a strong animal plays, an animal who knows he is totally in charge. Lubricant didn't eliminate the pain of Heiko's entry, but his words did. “I love you, Tomi.” That was the painkiller and he said that and variations over and over as he fucked Tom into a state of ecstatic oblivion.

    “My beautiful hero,” Tom called him when they were done, referring to the time Heiko had pulled him out of a burning barn.

    “There wasn't any danger,” Heiko insisted, as he always did.

    “You didn't know that. You just went in and saved me.” Tom repeated his praise in German. “Mein schőner held.”

    Their bliss was ruined by the buzz of the alarm clock. Heiko reset it for another half hour and pulled his lover close again. They kissed and napped on and off until the buzz again broke the spell.

    While they waited for the coffee to brew, Tom leaned against Heiko and whispered, “I like it when you fuck me. You can do it anytime you want, you know.”

    “I know, but I like to let the need build up. I like to wait until I'm about to go crazy for you. You're so sweet when you let me, I don't want to disappoint you with a half-assed performance.”

    “I would never be disappointed.”

    “Oh, I don't know. Time goes by .. you get used to my tricks ...” Heiko sounded wistful.

    “I already know all your tricks. And all your jokes. It's your love I can't get along without.”

    Heiko turned serious. “We will be fired today, won't we?”

    Tom didn't answer immediately. He held his hands up and shook his head in hope and then admitted defeat. “Probably.”

    “Maybe I should swim naked in the pool and break our lease. Then we could move to a cheaper place.”

    “We're nothing like broke. All those stock options are valuable. We can sell them.”

    “They're mostly your options, Tom. I don't want to sell them. The company is growing so fast and … If you can get along without selling, you should.”

    Tom knew when Heiko left the I off the end of Tom he was deadly serious. They arrived at work and their performance review like doomed men.

    “We're ready,” Heiko said to Rory, speaking for both of them. “For the performance review,” he added when Rory seemed unaware of any scheduled event.

    “Oh, that. We've had to postpone it. At the moment we need to confirm that the data base can handle glass objects. It turns out that cataloging glass art objects has a number of peculiarities. We may need a few additional data elements to deal with physical properties. The Toledo Museum has a large glass collection, thousands of items, and they want to see if our system would work for them. The curator requested you two for the evaluation. So, if we – and by that I mean you two - work like dogs defining terms, you should be ready to go to Toledo next week.”

    Tom and Heiko stood with their mouths open.

    “What?” Rory questioned. “You weren't seriously worried about that performance review, were you?” They nodded and Rory waved their concerns away. “That was strictly pro forma, so we could defend ourselves in case of a shareholder suit. You'll still have to do it, of course; but it's nothing to be concerned about. I'll conduct it.”

    Heiko burst into a grin. “Toledo? As in Spain?”

    “As in Ohio,” Rory frowned and told them to get busy. He didn't tell them about his conversation with the CEO, about the part when he said if they were fired he would leave, too. Since talent is really all a software company has and their products can be duplicated with relative ease, the CEO promptly decided to go easy on his two ace salesmen and sometime models. He knew better than to challenge Rory; although small, Rory's division was his most profitable.

    He also left out the part about the curator who requested them almost drooling through the phone when he asked. “Could you send those cute boys who were on the Tate posters? That would definitely help sell the system, if you know what I mean.” The CEO was impressed with that also.




    “I can't believe she walked out. She just walked the fuck out the door claiming we were child molesters! What are we going to do with him?” Seth asked in a fierce whisper.

    “Get him some dinner for a start. He's hungry. Always start with the simple things, I say.” Then Andrew asked loudly, “Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson says the jellied partridge have spoiled and we'll have to eat pizza. Do you have a preference?”

    “No anchovies,” Lemuel called from the next room.

    “Why Lestrade? Why isn't he Doctor Watson?” Seth asked.

    Andrew rooted through a messy kitchen catch-all drawer, looking for the pizzeria's menu. “Because we decided Watson was too subordinate, barely better than a servant. Lestrade, successful or not, always operated independently. Ah-ha! Here it is …” He punched in the pizzeria's phone number.

    “What are we going to tell him?” Seth returned to whispering after Andrew ordered dinner.

    “The truth. It works best.”

    “How would you know? When did you ever try that before?” Seth pressed, but Andrew just looked back at him with a patronizing dismay.

    “I'm a parent now. Things have changed.”

    “A parent!!!!! Andrew!!!!”

    “Shhh. You'll get that sweet boy all upset.” Andrew went into the next room and sat with Lemuel, who was playing the hand-held electronic game Andrew had bought him during their afternoon adventure. “Lestrade? Bad news from the home front I'm afraid.”

    Lemuel paused the game and paid attention.

    “Your mother has come and gone. She is worried about you ...”

    “Not worried enough to wait for me?” Lemuel half-asked and half-stated.

    “No, but she told Seth that she plans to report us to the police as kidnappers.”

    “You're not!”

    “Mmmm, but the circumstances do not look good. Your uncle Seth and I are … um ...”

    “Gay, like my dad,” Lemuel filled in.

    “Yes. And some people think that gay men are predators, bad men who do bad things to children. And with you here alone, they will suspect that you might be in danger. So it's possible that the police might come and take you into protective custody so they can return you to your parents.”

    “You are more fun than my parents.”

    “Maybe, but fun isn't always a parent's job.”

    “But you are always fun. Even when you are telling me what to do.”

    “Uncle Seth is going to call your father again to see if he will pick you up.”

    “But you just ordered pizza.”

    “Maybe he will stay and eat it with us, if he comes too soon.” Bad wording, Andrew thought to himself.

    “He won't. He won't. He hates pizza.”

    “Vat? It's like kreplach with cheese on top!” Andrew said in a Jewish accent.

    Lemuel smiled. “Not kosher.”

    “What about you? Do you mind if it's not kosher?”

    “My favorite meat is bacon,” Lemuel answered.

    Seth entered the room. “Did you tell him?” He waited for Andrew's nod. “Well, Jody's father's phone is going straight to voice mail and Lurline hung up on me … so I called the police myself.”

    Both Andrew and Lemuel looked alarmed.

    “They said they can't respond unless they get a complaint, so I guess we just wait for the pizza boy.” Seth's expression showed uncertainty but some hope.

    Twenty-five minutes later they tucked into a veggie pizza. Thirty-five minutes later uniforms were at the door.

    “Mr. Behar?” The policeman asked. “Were you the man who called about the runaway?” Seth nodded. “We got a complaint from the Menlo Park police, filed by Lurline Laven. Is the boy here?”

    Lemuel grabbed Andrew around the waist; he was terrified by the approach of a formidable looking female police officer. “No, Andrew. Tell them no.”




    The helicopter set down gently on the Emeryville rooftop. After the two passengers disembarked, Steve shut down the engine. Without prompting Nash helped him fold the rotors and tie them down. Together they rolled the bird into its shelter and closed the hangar door.

    Steve grinned expectantly and Nash hugged him. “Are you gonna strip me naked and make mad love to me again? Here, I'll help you with this zipper.”

    “No,” Steve laughed. “I mean, that would be great, but I've got work to do. My day isn't over.”

    “Shucks,” Nash complained.

    “I told Mark about breaking the rule and letting you staying overnight. You know what he said?” Steve watched Nash's face. Instead of answering right away he kissed him. “He said, ready for this? He said, 'That's a stupid rule.' And then he introduced me to the passenger, Li Ling, a guy from the Singapore office.”

    “Did he know about what we did while we waited for him to board? About what a good cocksucker you are?” Nash massaged Steve's cock through the layers of the Nomex flight suit; he felt the response immediately. He opened the zipper from the bottom and reached in to continue his stroking.

    Steve groaned his approval. “He may be my boss, but he doesn't have to know everything.” Nash sank to his knees and carefully extracted Steve's hard cock. He was careful not to let it rub against the teeth of the plastic zipper. He licked the head, getting it wet and then took it into his mouth.

    “No, not yet, Nash. I want tonight to be special.” Steve pulled away and wrestled his cock back into his flight suit.

    “It still can be. A little payback bj in the meantime wouldn't hurt anything.”

    “I'm old, Nash. I can't cum three times a day anymore. Not even for a hot guy like you.”

    “Like I believe that ...” Nash grinned. He got out the wiping rags to work on the bird.

    Steve opened the can of anti-corrosion compound and kissed him one more time before they started work. The real drama continued below, in the living quarters.

    Jackson shook hands with Li Ling suspiciously. “The Singapore office ...” he said flatly. “Are you planning to move here?”

    “I already have,” Li replied. ”I'm going to do your job at the upstate facilities.”

    “And the downstate ones?” Jackson questioned.

    “We'll see,” Mark answered for Li. “We need to cut costs a bit. I'm spending too much on personal staff.”

    The comment worried Jackson. Mark's behavior could be capricious when it came to personal expenses. One minute he'd spend a hundred thousand decorating a wall of his office and the next he'd forbid flowers because of their cost, tiny in comparison. His employees knew that it was good to be invisible when Mark was in an economizing mood.

    “Would you show Li around here, introduce him to your purchase sources? We can probably consolidate some of the upstate and Bay area orders.”

    “Sure,” Jackson said to Mark's back. The boss was already walking away. He turned to Li. “We can get you moved into the room next to mine. Are your things still on the roof?”

    “These are my things,” Li answered and indicated with a pat the small satchel he had slung over his shoulder. “And I'll be staying with Mark.”

    “Staying with Mark” struck terror in Jackson. He had said the same thing to the man he replaced ten years ago. “Uh, great,” Jackson temporized. “Is there anything you want to do tonight?”

    “Mark needs some help right now. Is it ok if we start in the morning?” Li gave Jackson a small bow and followed his boss top the master bedroom.

    “Replaced. I'm being superceded. I'm obsolete. Kaputski! Just like that.” Jackson recalled the speed with which he had replaced his aging predecessor. “And he was younger than I am!” Jackson suddenly recalled.

    He rushed to the roof and burst into the mini-hangar. “Steve!” He recounted the story of Li's arrival and introduction. “We're doomed.”

    “Calm down. Nothing has happened yet.” Steve's casual response to Jackson's news was infuriating.

    “Calm down! How can I calm down? He's gonna fire both of us,” Jackson answered. He looked at Nash with disgust but said nothing to acknowledge his presence.

    “Well, it was bound to happen one day. We've always known it. He'll let us work somewhere else in the company.”

    “At half pay!” Jackson glared at Nash in the ensuing silence. His dislike showed and then his eyes narrowed. He dashed down the stairs and banged on the master bedroom's door. “Mark! Mark!”

    “Come in.” Mark was out of breath and lying face down on the massage table. Li stood shirtless, calmly arranging a skimpy towel over Mark's bare butt. It was obvious what they had been doing. “This better be good,” Mark muttered.

    Jackson took in the scene and knew his fate had already been decided. He played his only card. “Mark .. I feel I have to tell you … out of loyalty … Steve broke the rules. He may have endangered your safety. He … he let someone stay overnight! Someone he hardly knows!”

    “Nash? You mean that young fellow Nash?”

    “Yes. He could be a thief … or ...”

    “Cute ass, though.” Mark winked at Li and patted his masseur's pleasingly plump butt. “Steve already told me. Is that all, Jackson?”

    “Yes. I just thought you needed to know.” Jackson bowed his way out of the presence and considered his options. Fuck, he thought; I don't have any options. He trudged to his room and stared at his phone.

    He called Bo. Such a pretty boy. Uncomplicated. Big dick. Reliable. Always hard. And he never fuckin' answers his God-damned phone! Jackson controlled his fury as he listened to the recording and, after the beep, tried to sound cheerfully cool. “Hi. For a good time, call 510-653-2340.”




    “This is the gay version of Lolita, Jeff. I'm the one who is supposed to be obsessed, not you. You are supposed to be indifferent, reluctant, stingy with your favors, stringing me along while you wait for someone or something better.”

    “I think I love you, Jinx.” The naked young man lay on the sturdy new table still sweaty from their energetic fuck. He watched the professor button his shirt and fumble with his tie. He stood up and tried to help. “Here, let me.”

    “Get away,” the professor said. “Your cock is still dripping. You'll get cum on my pants. And get dressed. I have appointments scheduled.”

    “Can I see you tonight?”

    “You know I go into town for dinner on Wednesdays.”

    “Afterwards? Can I see you then?”

    “I don't know. Maybe. I'll call you. Now get dressed.”

    “Are you sure you don't want to ...”

    “No! Get dressed!” Dormeyer knew he was being overly harsh dealing with a student who cheerfully gave him the best sex he'd had in years.

    “I'm sorry,” Jeff said, getting off the table. “I just like what we do.”

    “So do I, Jeff. A lot.” Dormeyer didn't want their arrangement to end. “But I can't have a naked student found in my office. We're not THAT liberal here.” He watched the young man bend over to retrieve his underwear from the floor. I just fucked that ass, was all he could think; I just fucked that sweet ass and he wants more tonight. Do NOT piss this kid off, Jinx, he ordered himself. He could see a bit of his cum still shining on Jeff's ass and then he lost the view as Jeff pulled his briefs up.

    Jeff got back to his room and dumped his books on his desk. “Whew!” he sighed for Ty's benefit. He sniffed the air. “Do I ever need a shower.”

    Ty did his very best to keep his eyes on his book as Jeff stripped. It didn't help that he could smell the signs of sex. He had to look and Jeff caught him.

    Jeff just smiled and in no hurry wrapped a towel around his waist. “You like looking at me, Ty?”

    “Yeah,” Ty gave Jeff the truth and was embarrassed when his voice squeeked. “I do. You're a porn star. Aren't you used to that?”

    Jeff just smiled again. “Tonight's Wednesday. Maybe you'll get lucky.” He winked, grabbed his toiletry kit, and walked out of the room.

    Ty spent the next four hours nervous as a cat. Is he kidding? Isn't he? Do I really get to fuck him? Tonight? When tonight? Should I eat dinner? I probably should have gone to dinner with Jeff. But he didn't ask me. Should I buy some fresh condoms? How many should I get? Shit, where are my old condoms? Even after Jeff came back to the room, Ty continued going crazy and got not a single word from Jeff one way or the other as one minute after the other passed in torture.

    At a little after nine o'clock Jeff got a call. “Yes. Ok.” A two-word phone call. Jeff walked up behind Ty's chair and put his hands on Ty's shoulders. Ty went rigid in the chair and then slumped when he heard Jeff's words.

    “Sorry, Ty. Better luck next week.” Jeff walked out of the room and didn't return until the next morning.

  5. #155
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Rory,
    What an update!

    Tom & Heiko, with You on their side at the office - the CEO needs a good ass fucking to clear the shit out of his system, so he can think straight.

    Toledo is an interesting choice - the Corporate Offices of Owens-Corning.
    But, The Corning Museum of Glass is a bit further East - and has a wonderful glass collection to catalog.

    Andrew, Seth, and Lemuel - with a maniac mama and absent daddy. It will turn out to be a very interesting exchange with the police.

    Then Steve & Nash and Jackson and Mark AND . . . doom, gloom, old at what, 30ish?
    Bo - long time no see.

    Then Jeff and Dormeyer - and ty . . .

    So many people to keep track of - but we enjoy trying - and you do such a great job with them.


    And I know, if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest . . .

  6. #156
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Quote Originally Posted by DonQuixote View Post
    Toledo is an interesting choice - the Corporate Offices of Owens-Corning.
    But, The Corning Museum of Glass is a bit further East - and has a wonderful glass collection to catalog.
    Toledo has a much smaller but high-quality glass collection - about 5,000 items. My thinking was: if I used a seriously bigger job, Tom & Heiko wouldn't be the ones handling it. Rory trusts them to do Toledo right; but he'd have to be involved for a job like Corning's 50,000 items.

  7. #157
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Nah. They could start here: It's what they've already handled. Cakewalk.
    Home Rockwell Museum - Jason Cytacki, James Fox, Nancy Bush, Old City Hall, Western Art, Rockwell Museum, Native American Art, American Association of Museums, Remingtons West, Bob and Hertha Rockwell, Rockwell Museum
    The Rockwell Museum of Western Art is in Corning, too - it's considerably smaller and more traditional art.

    From there, they could make a trip to see the sights, try out the hands on glass crafting and get connected,
    segue into CMoG.

    Tom & Heiko could handle it - they're great. OK, Rory could come, too.
    I'd even make the 200 mile trip South to welcome them to the Southern Tier of Upstate!
    I know a few good food places. You could make the trip North about the same -
    It's Fall Harvest tour time at the Fingerlakes Wineries, too - Riesling - crisp, dry, acidic - flavors people don't expect from a Riesling.

    And from there, it's just a hop, skip. and jump to up here - right up their alley.
    Memorial Art Gallery

    Then here - a bit different of a task for the boys to sell to. Lots of funkiness to catalogue.
    Rochester Museum & Science Center

    And, if you want a real challenge - this might have a "few" items to catalog -
    Home | National Museum of Play
    think of the inner child you can release while doing it!
    They have a butterfly house for fun, too.



    And I know, if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest . . .

  8. #158
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Forty


    “Nicky, why are you looking so worried? I thought the sweater deal was done.”

    “That's just it, Darren. It isn't done and I haven't got a clue to what is going on. Tin-tin is so fucking mysterious about everything. Now he's gone to LA to question the Merwyn brothers.”

    “Yeah, things are strange at my work, too. Rory's talking about a huge job in China - Taiwan, actually. But the lawyers say all we'll get is a tiny sale and then the customer will pirate everything for the rest of the job. Then Tom and Cyril came up with this new algorithm that will make the system run a gazillion times faster, but marketing says the customer will spend big bucks if it's only a couple times faster, so slow it down and save the rest for the next upgrade. And then ...”

    “It was easier when you were a model.” Nicky swallowed the last of his morning coffee.

    “What do you mean? I still am a model.”

    “I wish you weren't. I don't like you being naked on a runway.”

    “I'm not naked. At least we never plan it that way.”

    “But somehow, some way, every fucking time, Andrew's shows always turn into ...” Nicky couldn't come up with a word to describe Andrew's series of disaster-plagued but very sexy and wildly successful fashion shows. “He does it deliberately. Who was that guy from South Bay … the one with the big dick? He's ruined for life!”

    “Asher … and he's not 'ruined for life', as you put it.”

    “He'll never work again! What would you call that?”

    “He never wanted to model; he just wanted to get laid now and then. And I think he got what he wanted. He's smart enough. He'll get along.”

    “In a freak show ...” Nicky groused. “Where is this show going to be?”

    “Milpitas.”

    “There's no money in Milpitas. I tried to sell some sweaters there and they balked at my price. And I was giving them away!”

    “So … nothing can happen then. I go away for a couple of hours, I get paid, I come home feeling sexy, and we have a great time in bed. What's the problem?”

    “I guess.” Nicky acquiesced and gave Darren a quick squeeze. “I'm going to Portola. Is there money in Portola?”

    “More than you would think from the looks of the place,” Darren advised and kissed Nicky goodbye.

    “Little boxes on a hillside, little boxes made of ticky-tacky,” Nicky sang as he drove through Portola. Daly City was the inspiration for the song, but Portola, with the tiniest nod to architectural diversity, could have been. “Where is this place ...”

    The place turned out to be a medium-sized establishment on Mansell Street; from appearances, it was aimed at young and urban buyers. Nahum Chlomsky met him at the door. “Nicky, this is Bidunetta Bonavia. I sold her the store a few years ago. I thought you were bringing Nash along.”

    “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Bonavia. Nash was busy, Nahum.” Nash was spending the day with Steve, but Nahum didn't need to know that.

    “Bidunetta, I just want to say I sold out everything Nicky sent me in two days. His stuff is popular.” Lacking Nash's presence and with the encomium to Nicky's fashion sense delivered, Nahum completed the introduction and departed.

    “This isn't J. Crew, Nicky,” Bidunetta began. “I need the lowest prices and adaptable styles.” Nicky showed her his sweater styles and she countered, “I need them less fitted. No waist at all, essentially. My clientele tend to be on the burly side. Not sloppy fat, but stocky. Even the girls.”

    The best Nicky could promise was a return visit. He would need to see if his Chinese sources could provide the style needed. “I won't take up your time, Ms. Bonavia, but do you mind if I look around the store to get a feel for what you like?”

    The fashions were aimed at a teenaged crowd from the nearby high school, not so different from what was popular in New York, Nicky concluded. The sizing is different, though. Despite Bidunetta's stocky assessment, there weren't so many XXL's on the racks and shelves. Then he noticed two noon-hour shoppers. They both were wearing Burton High School jackets identified with a teal colored B. One was a stocky black boy and the other was a smaller Asian, but both were no more than average height. Nicky listened to them from the opposite side of a rack.

    “So after practice? You want to hang out?”

    “At your house? Will anybody be home?”

    “Naw, my momma works late. Just us.”

    It wasn't the words, it was the way they were said. “Football playing faggots! We're everywhere!” Nicky said to himself and gave a small fist pump. He almost laughed as he listened.

    “This color would look great on you. Hold it up. See how it fits. Yeah!”

    “Don't touch me like that. I'll get a stiffie. Stop, Shawn, stop!”

    Nicky tiptoed to the back of the store and thanked Ms. Bonavia again. He walked out and got a look at the boys. They looked older than their high school jackets would predict. “You guys go to Burton?” he asked.

    “Last year,” the black boy said cautiously. The Asian tried to hide his stiffie, which Nicky pretended not to notice.

    “Like that color?” Nicky pointed at outer jacket in the boy's hands, gray with a faint streaks of blue; the fabric was totally different from tweed but the colors blended in the same way tweed is shaded.

    “Yeah,” the boy said with a defensive note.

    “Thanks, I appreciate your opinion,” Nicky answered with a courtesy that got him a grudging nod in return. Tweed, he thought. How do you make tweed look like something Jay Z would wear?

    He had just begun the drive back to Alameda when Morrie called. “Nicky, where the hell is Nash? I can't get him.”

    “I think he's flying. Probably had to turn off his phone.”

    “Flying? Whatever … I need to talk to him. The Merwyns were blown up.”

    “What? Morrie!!” Nicky pulled to the side of the road. “The brothers or the stores?”

    “Both. Turn on the news. I need Nash to represent me at the funeral tomorrow. If they can find anything to bury.”

    “We'll both go, Morrie. I'll keep an eye on Nash.”

    Nicky tuned his radio to an all-news station and listened to the still-sketchy report from Los Angeles. Two early morning bombings. The fires were still burning after six hours and had spread to adjacent buildings.




    “So just think about it, Jer. That's all I'm asking.” Neil smiled knowing he was rattling Jerry's cage.

    “Why would you want to do that after the last time with Lorica?”

    “Cause you are the best fuck on five continents.”

    “You don't need to marry me for that, Neil.”

    “But marriage is a statement, you know? A statement to the world that I can't get along without you.”

    “I believe you. We don't need a written statement.”

    “The rest of the world should know about you.”

    “Who cares about the rest of the world?” Jerry was agitated.

    “I want to marry you … I want to marry you … I want to marry you ...” Neil interspersed the words with kisses.

    “NO! You're not even gay!”

    “I'm in your bed every night. I'm gay for you.” Neil held Jerry tight enough that Jerry didn't struggle – or want to. They ended up kissing.

    “So when are you going to marry me?” Neil asked.

    “Never,” Jerry vowed and kissed him again.

    Neil stopped arguing. It was a fight he wanted to lose. He always lost it; but the advantage to Neil was that it always inspired Jerry to peaks of sexual performance .

    Not too long later Neil glowed after Jerry's pounding. “You believe I love you?” he asked a panting Jerry.

    “Yes.”

    “You know your the best in the world, right?”

    “If you say so ...” Jerry puffed.

    “You are, Jer. You still fill all the holes in me. Stay in me, baby.” Neil pulled Jerry closer; it felt like his softening dick was about to pop out. He kissed Jerry fiercely until he got an “I love you , too,” out of him. “So now will you marry me?” Neil knew his question was futile.

    Jerry grinned in perfect bliss knowing his answer wouldn't hurt. “No.”

    “Some day you'll say yes, though. I know you will.” Neil punched his pillow, getting ready for sleep. “You know it, too.”

    “Maybe,” Jerry whispered. He snuggled up against Neil's butt. Married or not, he knew he would never leave Neil. He didn't know what would happen if Neil left him. It was too scary to contemplate.




    It wasn't until late afternoon a day later that Bo called Jackson about the promised good time. School was keeping him busier that he expected; sometimes, he had realized, you just have to postpone good times. At his age, you couldn't postpone them for long, however. Just the sound of Jackson's voice was arousing.

    “So what did you have in mind?” Bo asked, as he unzipped his pants. He puled out his cock and looked at it. He couldn't help squeezing some life into his friend, neglected for a couple of days at least.

    “You have to ask? You know damn well what I like, Bo. It's got a lot to do with that big dick of yours.” Jackson heard Bo take a deep breath and continued the tease. “How big is it, anyway? It always feels like a ten incher.”

    Bo looked at his very respectable seven and a half. It was fully erect in his hand, red and pulsing. “No, less than that ...”

    “Well, whatever … It feels great sliding slowly in and out ...”

    “Jackson, can I come over right now?” Bo pulled his hand off his cock in time to prevent coming. “It'll take an hour on the BART.”

    One hour and seven minutes later Jackson sighed as Bo's cock slid into him. Jackson was ready for some sweet and slow fucking. Bo had different ideas, though; he was in a get-it-done mood. Once he got it done, he mellowed and lay next to Jackson.

    “Was that ok, Jacks? I really needed to get off.”

    “Not your finest performance,” Jackson complained about their brief but energetic grappling.

    “I'll be better the next time. We can do it whatever way you want,” Bo promised and he meant what he said at the time he said it. Hormones, however, are compelling and forty-five minutes later he railed Jackson again. The image of a long-denied stallion plugging a drugged mare came to Jackson's mind as he absorbed the hard thrusts.

    “Are you done?” Jackson asked when Bo stopped.

    Bo grinned and pumped his still hard dick a few more times. “Do you want me to be?” he challenged with a laugh.

    “You're so unfeeling today.”

    “Dude, we're not boyfriends. We just fuck now and then. I thought you liked it this way.”

    “Sometimes I do,” Jackson admitted. “You want to go again? A little slower this time?”

    “Maybe later … later in the week, I mean. I need to get back to San Mateo. Got an early class tomorrow.”

    Jackson watched Bo leave and experienced another horse metaphor. Ridden hard and put away wet. First the feeling was physical – the emptiness, the ache in his ass, the tightness, almost pain in his balls; then the mental pain came. He doesn't give a shit about me. He's like … nineteen or something. Completely carefree and careless. A hard cock, that's all; a hard cock looking for a hole. I'm always the one who gets messed up. And he's so fuckin' sweet when he wants to be. Jackson poured himself a stiff drink and let the fire in his throat replace the burning Bo had left in his ass. He thought about a second drink, but decided on a Valium instead. Two pills would probably be better. Where the fuck is Steve when I need him, Jackson thought before oblivion took over.




    “What are you doing?” Nash asked.

    “It's called an off-airport landing,” Steve explained over the noise of the engine. The helo slowly settled to the earth in a large meadow. After they shut down and secured the bird, Steve took Nash's hand. “Come on … It's my favorite place.” He led Nash to a rocky windbreak that gave them a view of the broad flats where the Russian River met the Pacific Ocean.

    “Next time, we should bring lunch.” Nash listened to his stomach rumble.

    “Look. Isn't this amazing? Dark clouds clouds that never rain over there. Sunshine right here. Cold ocean breeze. Heat coming off the rocks. It's like all of nature in one place.” Steve put his arm around Nash. “Mark owns it,” he added unnecessarily.

    “He just owns it? That's all? He doesn't do anything with it?”

    “I think he planned to build a management retreat of some kind, but he couldn't get construction approvals. So it's just a bunch of empty acres. I camp here sometimes.”

    “Oh, yeah. Extremely primitive I bet, with an eight room cabin.” Nash didn't believe anything Mark owned would be too basic. Rugged didn't seem to suit Mark's taste.

    “Just a bed roll and some food in a back pack.” Steve looked carefully at Nash. “It would be nice if you were in the bed roll with me.”

    Nash smiled back and let Steve gather him into an embrace. “You're serious? I'm not much of a camper. Could we try out that bed roll thing on the roof in Emeryville?” Steve continued to look at him, making Nash a little nervous. “What?”

    “I just want to hold you and look at you. And maybe kiss you a little.” A little kissing led to a lot of kissing. The cumbersome bulk of their flight suits interfered with the pleasures of touching. Any version sex would have been almost impossible in their situation and it would have definitely been uncomfortable; but the need wasn't great and pleasures of kissing were both magnified and delightful. They felt a closeness that fit with making out in the middle of the countryside in the middle of the day. A lot of kisses, lingering, sometimes teasing, always exciting and at the same time unfulfilling.

    “Let's go back before we make a mess of these flight suits,” Steve said.

    “We could get naked and fuck on the rocks,” Nash suggested.

    “In a half hour we could get naked and fuck in a bed,” Steve answered back.

    “As long as we get naked and fuck,” Nash said before a final kiss.

    It seemed expected and natural and perfect when they finally got out of the flight suits. The pilot's lounge in the company hangar was perfectly adequate. The bed was not much bigger than a cot; but it was comfortable enough. They had waited long enough and were eager for each other. Nash felt only the briefest lack of confidence when Steve whispered a request.

    “I've never fucked anybody before,” Nash confessed.

    “That's ok. We need to do it. I want to do it.” Steve remembered the other time he made the request – to Jackson – how long ago? It had been experimental with Jackson, a first time, something novel and seldom repeated. With Nash it was an ache, a need, a reflection of age perhaps. He'd heard that guys like getting fucked more as they aged; maybe that was it. All he knew was he wanted Nash, only Nash, right now. He thought, he hoped that Nash wanted him.

    As orgasms went, theirs wasn't super spectacular. Perfectly adequate, yes, everything worked the way it is supposed to; but the satisfaction each man felt far exceeded the physical pleasure. The surprise came afterward when they couldn't stop making love. Nash's second orgasm was much better. That was when he told Steve that he loved him.

    With their bodies all wet and sticky, the words exploded out of Nash's mouth the way the sperm had exploded out of his cock. “I love you.” He almost yelled it out.

    Steve pulled Nash close. He felt tears welling in his eyes and didn't want Nash to see. He couldn't talk right away. He just kissed Nash's neck. Finally he responded, “My beautiful lover.”

    “Really?” Steve's three words had made Nash the happiest man alive at that moment. “Did you really just say that? 'My beautiful lover' ...”

    Steve repeated it another way. “I love you, too, handsome.”

    They lay together while what had just happened soaked in. And then with gathering enthusiasm they discussed how they wanted their lives to change. The possibilities were many, but they settled one thing immediately: they would live together. The exact details didn't matter. And with that settled, Nash felt the need Steve had felt earlier. Wordlessly they made love again. This was Steve's turn to come as Nash soaked up every sensation from his own body and every signal he got from Steve.

    “Bodies have a way of talking without words. I feel like I know you better now,” Nash whispered and he touched Steve's neck in a way that Steve liked.

    “Do you know I love you?” Steve asked. Nash nodded and listened to Steve tell him again.

  9. #159
    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    A lot going on in this episode. . . Can't wait for the next installment, Rory!

  10. #160
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Rory,
    Wow. Just Wow. So much happening all over the place.

    Nicky & Morrie and . . . BOOM!

    Bo & Jackson - with Bo being a bit uncaring and just wants to get his rocks off hard and fast and gone.

    Tom & Heiko & Rory - what all will happen there?

    And Steve and Nash - love is blossoming - what about Steve's job security with Mark's new guy?


    And I know, if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest . . .

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Forty-One



    Steve and Nash were totally wrapped up in each other. For a while anyway, nothing else mattered a whole lot. There was a lot of sex, of course; but there were quieter moments, too – moments that convinced them that whatever they were getting into was worth the risks.

    “You have to stop calling me handsome all the time, Steve. My ego isn't that fragile.”

    “Nash, I'm not lying. No, you're not pretty like some teenaged girl's erotic dream, but you are handsome in your own way and you're going to get more handsome as you age. You will look better at thirty than you do today. And you will look better at forty than you did at thirty.” Steve put his arm around Nash. “You have fascinating eyes. And your mouth … I gotta kiss you.” That led to a kiss and another and then erections and then sudden seriousness in Nash.

    “We can't fuck all the time.”

    “Why not?” Steve protested Nash's attempt to get out of bed and pulled him back onto the matress.

    “Because I don't know what's happening in my life. Except for you, of course. That funeral in LA, for example. That was the weirdest thing I've ever been part of.” Nash giggled as Steve kissed his ear.

    “So weird you can't stop laughing.”

    “You know why I'm laughing. 'Cause you're tickling me.”

    “Love me some more,” Steve requested. “Come on. I love the way you love me.” He cradled Nash between his spread legs; his body issued the fuck-me invitation. In the week together, their love-making had slowed down but grown in intensity. With Nash's cock in him, Steve needed only the slightest stimulation to come. “You are so intuitive. You know just what I want,” he said when it was over. “It's like you feel everything I'm feeling.”

    “I feel a lot more. I feel like I'm getting to know you … really know you … really love you.” Nash looked down at Steve and felt confusion from his own words. “I'm saying stupid things to you. I must sound like a soap opera. I can't find the words to tell you what I really ...” Steve silenced him with a kiss. “No, let me talk,” Steve protested. “I've never felt like this. I want to explode I'm so happy. It's deep and all the time and complicated and all I know how to say is I love you. Now let me get up.”

    “No.” Steve pulled Nash close, almost crushing him. “I'm not letting you go. We don't have to do anything right now. Let's just enjoy it before I'm too old to get it up.”

    “You could also ditch the 'I'm-so-old' stuff. You're the one who's still hard.”

    “I know. It's amazing. I haven't felt like this … in a while.” Steve was going to say “in years” but he stopped himself when Nash started licking his dick. He watched Nash lap on it like a lollipop and then swallow almost his entire length. “I used to be all about fucking, but you're changing me.”

    Nash pulled off Steve and looked in his eyes, “Don't change too much. I like that all-about-fucking part.” He went back to sucking and, after a little prostate massage at the base of Steve's balls, got a small mouthful of cum for a reward. He swallowed and said, “I think I drained you.”

    The morning sun had chased all the shadows from the room and brought a new mood to the lovers. They were reluctant to let go of each other, but the brightness of the Emeryville room and the need to piss got them moving. While Steve showered, Nash turned his phone on and saw six texts from Nicky that all basically said CALL ME RIGHT NOW. He called. “Nick?”

    “At last, asshole!!! Where are you?”

    “Emeryville.” He smiled at Steve, who was doing a semi-sexy dance for him while drying himself.

    Nicky ignored the geography. “They blew up your father's office!!!”

    “Who? In New York? Is he ok? What about Uncle Nahum?” Nash listened while his look of horror conveyed the bad news to Steve.

    “Morrie's ok. He was out when the bomb went off - at four in the morning. The cops think the timer was defective. I told them about LA. They think it's related. This ought to get the FBI into it.”

    “What about Nahum?” Nash repeated. “I'm callin' him right now.”

    “Nash, wait!” was the last Nash heard from Nicky before Nahum answered, “Nahum Chlomsky.”

    “Are you alright? Is Aunt Opal alright?”

    “Nash? Is that you? What do you mean alright? Why wouldn't we be?”

    “They blew up my father's office! The same people who blew up the Merwyn's.”

    “Yes, that was too bad about Lew. Not about your Uncle Bugs, though. That putz.”

    “What if they're coming for you next?”

    “Me? Why me?”

    “Something to do with the sweaters.”

    “Feh!. I knew Morris would sell me schlock. Tell Nicky no more sweaters. Did he get the sale in Portola?”

    “Uncle Nahum, you gotta be careful. Maybe call the cops before you open the store. Check the doors for tampering. Your car. That kind of stuff.”

    “You're a good boy, Nashie Rambler. A sweet boy. No wonder Opal loves you. Will you come to dinner on Sunday?”

    “Maybe. I'll call you back,” Nash said. “Did you her all that?” he asked Steve who nodded with concern. He punched more buttons, “Nicky, I'm coming over. Fifteen minutes.”

    About that same time, on a transcontinental flight, Tsien-tsien paid for a wi-fi connection and checked the news reports. He grimaced in disappointment at the mistimed detonation. “Cheap Chinese watch,” he muttered.




    “I don't know about this, Kevin.” Ty was apprehensive.

    “Chill, dude. We're just having a look around. You don't have to do anything.”

    “The lights are so bright.”

    Kevin's response was a leer. “All the better to find your asshole, said the wolf.” Ty reacted badly to that and Kevin soothed him. “I said chill, dude. We're just having a look around. YOU said you wanted to see the place.”

    “Yeah, but right now the porn studio is looking pretty real. I mean … it all happens right here? What's this thing? It looks like a giant wedding cake.”

    “Watch this!” Kevin pressed a switch and the giant wedding cake began to revolve slowly. “It's a stage for multilevel shooting. The layers make it possible to perform almost any act without moving much. Here, hop on.” Kevin sat on the lowest layer and began moving slowly away from the stationary Ty. “Hurry up, idiot!” Ty jumped aboard and crawled to Kevin. “It all happens here. The suckin'. The fuckin'. The luuuuuv makin'.”

    “Where are the camera men?”

    “Various positions. You learn to ignore them. Like they're invisible. And then there are some other fixed cameras here and there.” Kevin was deliberately vague about those cameras.

    “No shit. You do it right here ...”

    “There are other sets, but, yeah, most of it right here. Your hand is probably resting on somebody's dried cum.” Ty picked his hand up instantly and looked at it; then he inspected the carpeting for telltale signs. “Relax,” Kevin continued and leaned back. “The place is actually cleaner than a hospital operating room.”

    Ty managed to relax slightly but remained wary. “So, if I did agree to do something, what would I be agreeing to anyway?”

    “Basically you'd sign away all rights to any image of you for all eternity in return for a small one-time payment. Sounds monumental, huh? What happens is they take pictures and sell them; you get a cash payment.”

    “But about the um … the acts performed. What about that?”

    “A contract that says you agree to have sex for pay is illegal. So you agree to perform to the satisfaction of the director and get fired if you don't. They'll shoot the difficult scenes first, so as not to waste time with you backing out when it finally comes to the sex part.”

    Ty gulped. “Man, I don't know why I even wanted to see this place. Now that I'm here, I kinda wanna get the fuck out!”

    “Dude!” Kevin answered impatiently. “It's just us. Nothing is gonna happen. And I gotta say the money is amazing.”

    “Yeah? What about the sex part?”

    “Very clinical. You hardly know it's even happening. Well, you do, but it doesn't mean anything. You have no investment in the outcome, as long as the director likes it. Outcome ...” Kevin laughed. “Yeah, it definitely helps if it cums out!”

    “Jeez, I dunno, Kevin. Won't this ruin your future chances at ...”

    “At what? Being President? Yeah, a porn past might do that, although Bill Clinton kinda proved otherwise … I bet there are pictures of him somewhere,” Kevin laughed

    “You make it sound so easy … like just another way to kill a couple hours ...”

    “You got a couple of hours to kill?” Total mischief was in Kevin's voice. He grabbed Ty by the waistband of his jeans and pulled him closer. With practiced skill he popped the buttons and had jeans and boxers down in seconds.

    “Jeez! Kevin!” Suddenly modest, Ty tried to move away, but Kevin held him by the butt and swallowed his cock before he could react. It didn't take long to get him hard, and once he was hard it didn't take long to get him purring like a cat. At that point, it was no trick at all to get him completely naked.

    “Oh, man ...” Ty sighed, knowing this was most likely a huge mistake but he wasunable to say stop. He lay back on the next higher tier and let Kevin go to work. It was easy to lie back and let it happen. It was just gonna be a quick blowjob, like the time in the dorm room. Ty felt the pleasure and the tension start to build. He was almost there. “Yeah … Suck it!” he coaxed and thrust his dick deeper into Kevin's warm and wet mouth.

    “Yeah? What's the rush?” Kevin asked. He backed off, leaving Ty's cock pumping in mid air, while he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. “We can make this another lesson.” He started to open his belt but stopped. “You do it,” he told Ty and stood with his crotch almost in Ty's mouth. Ty tentatively reached toward him. “Don't you want to know if I'm hard first?” Kevin licked his lips and added, “Touch me. Feel it.” Ty touched gently and Kevin pressed his hardness against the cupped hand. “Come on, Ty. Do it!” He waited for Ty's response.

    The sounds of their breathing seemed loud. Ty overcame his caution and felt the full extent of Kevin's erection, stroking it through the interfering fabric. He could see the outline of the straining penis through the cloth. He opened the belt and fly and pulled down the light-weight cotton trousers. Kevin wasn't wearing underwear and his cock sprang out with a slight downward bend. “Suck m...” Ty began sucking him before he got the 'me' out. “That's right. Start slow. Nice and slow. Get it all wet.”

    After this introduction, Kevin pushed Ty away and smiled. “My turn.” He pushed Ty onto his back and knelt between his legs. “Don't come,” he cautioned. With his mouth and hands he worked his magic and had Ty gasping. He slowed and let Ty back away from the brink and then resumed, sucking until he had Ty gasping with pleasure again. “You like that?” he asked needlessly.

    “Yeah, that part … the part when you suck my balls ...yeah ...”

    Kevin resumed and eased Ty's legs apart. He pushed Ty's knees up almost to his chest, rolling him up into a ball and exposing his asshole. “Lesson Two. Rimming.” He took his time, getting Ty used to the prodding and pressure of his tongue, opening him up a little. When Kevin paused his rectal assault to stroke Ty's cock, he took it too far. As Ty spurted, Kevin used one hand to stroke his cock and the other to massage his asshole – just an external massage, no penetration – while Ty thrashed about. “You should have warned me,” he said after Ty calmed down.

    “I couldn't. It felt so good, happened so fast ...”

    “So we'll need to continue Lesson Two later,” Kevin said emotionlessly.

    “Can we? When?” Ty was hooked on the sex. He was also preserved on disc. The faint humming of the cameras had been barely audible.

    Back at the school Kevin called Chris. “So what did you think of Ty? Did you look at scene?”

    “He's a natural. His ass looks great. Get him back here as soon as you can,” Chris urged.

    “Right, he likes the sex but he's a little reluctant about the porn part.”

    “That's why you get a commission. Make it happen,” Chris said before hanging up.




    Lurline Laven sat at one table with Lemuel and a lawyer who was not Jody. Seth and Andrew sat opposite at another with Jody. The small hearing room had a center table for the judge and a few chairs for spectators.

    “This is not a courtroom. This is not a trial,” the judge explained. “We are here simply to establish basic facts and see where there may be disputes and where the interests of the parties lies.”

    It turned out that there really weren't any disputes as to the facts. Lemuel had twice run away from home, found refuge with Andrew and Seth, and been returned by the authorities to his parents, once to Lurline and once to Jody. The judge struggled at first with the concept that the boy's father and co-custodian was representing the men accused of pandering and kidnapping by his wife; but otherwise the matter seemed cut and dried.

    “We're not really married, your honor,” Jody apologized.

    “We are, too! The divorce isn't final yet.” Lurline insisted. One point to Lurline. “It's those faggots ...” She glared across the room at Andrew in particular. Minus one for Lurline.

    Eric noisily ahem-ed from a spectator's chair. “Your honor,” Jody noted, “Mr. Eric Malone is a third year medical student with a pressing schedule. Could he speak at this time in favor of my clients?”

    The judge allowed Jody's request and Eric explained that he had known Andrew and Seth for several years both professionally and personally and that they were models of Western civilization, bastions of democracy, and experienced businessmen. He had decided that 'experienced' was a wiser choice than 'honest' in case his testimony came into question later. It was a good but hedged endorsement. Z was much more generous when it was his turn to speak. The third witness was Rory; as a senior executive of a company whose name was becoming known, he was the most impressive witness, although whether it helped was hard to determine.

    The judge asked him how he had come to know Andrew. “At Eric Malone's invitation, I met him at a Mexican restaurant and we had an affair for a year or so.” Even Andrew winced at Rory's honesty. Then the judge asked about Seth. “He more or less broke up my affair with Andrew.”

    “See!” Lurline burst out. “It's a nest of faggots! A coven of ...” The judge silenced her; but she had made her point.

    “So the question of sexuality seems unavoidable,” the judge intoned. He addressed Lemuel. “What do you know of homosexuality?”

    “It's men like my father,” he pointed to Jody, who blushed. “Men who like other men and don't like women like my mother.”

    “They do, too! I have dates,” Lurline spouted out. “Lots of them.”

    “You didn't have to fuck them all!” Jody exploded. “I'm sorry, your honor. She sets me off.”

    “When you visit your 'uncles',” the judge continued, “what do you do there?”

    At that point Lemuel became enthusiastic. “Well, Uncle Andrew has been teaching me photography and photo-editing, and he helps me with my homework and we go on field trips with our cameras, and Uncle Seth is a great cook, except we call him Mrs. Hudson, because I'm Lestrade and Uncle Andrew is Holmes and that was the cook's name.”

    “Do you mind playing the part of Mrs. Hudson?” the judge asked fighting to keep a straight face.

    “We don't use costumes,” Seth was unamused. “It's just a joke.”

    Lurline was out of her chair. “What about the foreskin issue? What about that? Huh?” Lurline's outburst was shushed by her alarmed lawyer. The whole room heard his stage whisper, “What foreskin issue?”

    “Yes, what foreskin issue?” the bewildered judge asked.

    “That … person,” Lurline snarled and pointed at Seth, “has legal custody of Lemmie's foreskin.”

    “That's impossible,” the judge exclaimed.

    “Not so much as you might think, your honor,” Jody answered and tried to explain.

    The judge rolled his eyes. “We'll get back to that.” He instructed the clerk to get the records from the divorce case. “Who is representing the child's welfare? Anyone?” he sighed. A chunky looking black woman signaled her presence. “What say you?”

    “Near as I can tell, no harm has ever come to the child, except when his mother's microwave broke and they ate semi-frozen food for a couple of weeks. Pea and carrot creamsicles she called the vegetables.”

    The judge's brows were tightly knit as he adjourned the hearing. He spoke his final words, “I regret not specializing in bankruptcy cases.” He paused and reconsidered. “Clerk, strike that from the record.”




    “First the Merwyns and now my dad?” Nash asked. He sat next to Steve on Nicky's sofa.

    “Your father wasn't in the office. He's fine,” Nicky answered.

    “Nicky, what's gonna happen next?”

    “I don't know. I can't find Tin-tin. Your father seems unconcerned. Your uncle Nahum IS concerned. And you are … Where have you been anyway?”

    Nash smiled at the memory. “With Steve.”

    “Maybe you should move in here for a while.”

    “I'm ok. Steve's place in Emeryville is a fortress.”

    Nicky wasn't sure how fortresses did these days against dynamite, but the phone kept him from asking. “Hello?” Nicky said. “Nahum … Where are you? It's ok, you can tell me.” Nicky listened intently. “Who bought the sweaters from you? No shit … Ok, plan to stay there for a while.”

    Nicky put his phone back in his pocket and rooted around in a desk drawer. Eventually he found a large calendar with monthly pages picturing various Alameda businesses. He looked at the current month. A smile appeared and he pointed to a lunar symbol on the calendar. “The Best Western in Half Moon Bay. That's where he and Opal are!” He stared at Nash and mulled over the circumstances. Something was different about Nash, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was.

    “Hey, guys!” Darren got home and greeted them. “Nash, you look great. You must be in love or something!” Nash blushed and squeezed Steve's hand. “Good for you. Let's go out to dinner.”

    “Darren … do you think we could stay at your brother's house for a while?” Nicky asked without ado.

    “Z's house? Have you been gambling again? With the rent money?”

    “Don't joke. There's a problem.” Nicky went over the bombing again for Darren's benefit.

    “You know, Nicky - Tim's the one to talk to. He's the cop.”

    Nicky paced nervously. “Maybe. I need to talk to somebody. I've got no clue about anything. Who's doing what … what to do about it ... But I don't want anything happening here. To you.”

    “Well, let's start with dinner and maybe a glass of something,” Darren proposed.

    “Italians,” Nicky threw up his hands. “Food was always my mother's answer to everything.”

    “Mine, too. Jewish, though,” Nash said and looked at Darren.

    “I keep telling you I'm Austrian. Steve, can you come too? We'll go to the Main Sail on the estuary. I'll call Rory and make reservations. Nicky, you can't wear that.” Darren was totally calm, issuing orders, and carrying most of them out himself.

    Rory and Tim got there first, just ahead of Darren and Nicky. A few minutes later Steve and Nash joined the four in the parking lot outside the Main Sail. There was a line to get in the door. Nash made the introductions and noted Steve's occupation.

    “A helicopter pilot is good,” Darren commented. “We just might need an extraction team in Half Moon Bay.” This drew alarmed looks from the couple ahead of them, so they talked about the Raiders chances until they were seated.

    Over a drink, Nicky explained the sweater problem and then the bombings. Everyone was soberly quiet and then Tim offered an opinion, “Sounds professional, probably internationals, Nicky. No threats. No ransoms. Just unexplained fire bombings. Like stuff on the docks in Oakland now and then. Those cases aren't often solved, I'm afraid. You should probably take Nash's uncle's approach and go away for a while.”

    “Steve knows a camp ground near the Russian River,” Nash volunteered.

    “It's primitive. Basically nothing but empty land,” Steve explained.

    “Or … you could go to Toledo with Tom and Heiko,” Rory suggested. Five people frowned at him simultaneously. “Just saying ...”

    “I live in an office building in Emeryville. It's not really residential, but there are living quarters. The boss might agree to let you stay there. He likes a good story.” Steve looked around for approvals.

    The waiter approached the table. “Nicky?” he inquired and Nicky raised his hand. “There a man in the lobby who wants to talk to you.”

    Nicky glanced at the door and scanned the crowd. “It's Tin-tin.” He walked deliberately to the maitre d's podium and greeted the somber man in a black suit. With apprehension he said the name. "Tsien-tsien." It was the first time he pronounced it correctly.

    “Here is the usual room card. Ten-thirty. Bring cherry-flavored condoms.”

  12. #162
    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    OMG!!! *bites fingernails*

    That was quite the episode, Rory- Looking forward to where it gonna lead. . .

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Rory,
    I'd say Rocabar nailed it.

    Tsien Tsien at the restaurant with a room card - and he the one responsible for the "BOOM".

    You've got us by the short hairs on this one.


    And I know, if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest . . .

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Traveling ... it will be two weeks or so for the next chapter.

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Safe Journeys, Rory.
    I'm sure you will discover some tidbits to incorporate into your stories.


    And I know, if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest . . .

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Forty-Two


    “What's got you up so late?”

    “Sex. What else?” Ty laughed as he sat at the six-person table in the student center.

    “Tell me about it,” Rocky joked. Then he added, “Like specifics,” and laughed again.

    “Well, it started when I got talked into making a porno ...” Ty began.

    “Dude! I was kidding!” Rocky quickly inserted.

    “Oh, I thought ...” Ty went back to his paper dish of fried potatoes. They sat in silence for a bit until Rocky looked up.

    “A porno? Really?”

    “Yeah.” Ty didn't offer any more details.

    “Is it online?”

    “I don't know. Maybe. If it isn't, it will be soon, they tell me.”

    “Yeah, like me dancing … I'm online.”

    “Really? Dancing? I'm Ty, by the way.”

    “I think you're in my European history class. I'm Rocky.” They fist bumped. “I dance in a club in town.”

    “Would I know the club?”

    “Probably not, It's a gay club in North Beach.”

    “Yeah, I never go there.”

    “I figured. You seem pretty straight.” Rocky looked into his drink cup.

    “I made a gay porno,” Ty said, to ease Rocky's embarrassment

    And so began a friendship based on a shared interest, if that's the right word, in adult entertainment. When Ty confessed that because of his slight built he was typed a a bottom, Rocky offered to help him with a workout regimen. In time it became an easy, relaxed friendship that both enjoyed. Rocky at last found someone he could talk to about his hangup with Wolf and Ty found a non-judgmental counselor for sorting out his ambivalence over a possible porn career. They were honestly critical of each other and at the same time careful of each others boundaries.

    Ty watched the fuzzy YouTube scene of Rocky dancing.“Your dancing is sexy, Rock, but maybe if you made eye contact more ...”

    “But you haven't seen these guys, Ty. They creep me out, grabbing at me and all. It's like being pecked to death by eighty-year-old pigeons with a appetite for dick.”

    “No worse than being fucked by somebody you just met five minutes before.”

    “Dude, that should end. You're looking pretty buff. Tell 'em you want to top. Demand it. What have you got to lose?”

    So Rocky tried smiling at the customers now and then and his tips doubled; the cause and effect were obvious and unarguable. Ty, however, wasn't so sure about what his approach should be.

    “I want to top, Seth.”

    “Ty, I keep telling you your fans love seeing you bottom. They pay cash money – well actually credit cards - to see it. They dream about fucking you – they jack off watching you - you make them cum.”

    “I'm telling you I want to top.” Ty conceded nothing to financial results or somebody else's orgasm.

    “Alright. I'll talk it over with Chris. Let you know.”

    In the editing room Seth and Chris made the same argument to each other, agreeing basically that Ty on the bottom was worth big money. Ty on the top was an unknown outcome. Would their prime twink sell as a top? Probably not, they concluded.

    Adan came into the room and asked what was up. “Ty wants to top,” Seth answered.

    “What do you mean 'wants to”? He's out there fucking my boyfriend right now. Man, I should have stayed at school.” Adan wasn't anywhere near as upset over the sex as his words indicated.

    Chris realized the cameras were running and put the raw video on the monitor. The three of them watched Jody looking ecstatic, but that was no surprise. Jody was always in ecstasy whenever he was getting fucked. What attracted their attention was the sinuous and experienced motion of Ty fucking him.

    “What do you know ...” Chris sighed.

    “Pretty hot. Too bad about the boyfriend, Adan,” Seth commented without a trace of sarcasm.

    Adan snorted and continued to watch. “Some boyfriend. He turns me on more with somebody else than he does when he's with me.”

    “So why?” Chris asked off-handedly.

    Adan shrugged, “You pay me … he pays me … I'm getting to be an accomplished whore.”

    Seth and Chris exchanged a look over Adan's cynicism and then went back to watching the monitor. They all held a collective breath when Jody came. It was a pretty spectacular cum shot. Then Ty pulled out and snarled, “Take it!” He shot ropes of cum into Jody's face. With a final “Fu-u-u-uck me ...” Jody collapsed happily back onto the turntable set. Chris punched up another camera and got his blissful expression. Another view showed Ty's self-satisfied smirk and his still dripping cock just starting to sag.

    “I guess I can work with that,” Chris noted. He looked at Adan still watching the scene and squeezing the bulge in his jeans. “You ready for your scene, Adan? You mind if Seth fucks you? It'll be a fantasy; nobody will know who's fucking you. We want to concentrate on making it a story of your experience.”




    They walked up the narrow stairs single file. Neil beat a tattoo rhythm on Jerry's ass as they climbed. With undressing and bathroom stuff out of the way, they got into bed together. “Hello,” Neil said as he discovered Jerry's ready erection.

    “I think I like having my ass slapped,” Jerry grinned.

    “ 'Scuse me, I gotta talk to a friend. Be right back,” Neil answered and ducked under the covers. He had intended just to get Jerry's cock slick and wet enough for a fuck, but he stayed at it, enjoying the hardness in his mouth and the softness of Jerry's balls in his hands. Maybe he was exceptionally good that night or maybe he just stayed at it long enough. Whatever the reason, Jerry warned him, “I'm close.” Neil ignored the warning. “Really close!” made him deep throat Jerry's hot hardness waiting for the explosion. He swallowed quickly when it came. He cleaned up Jerry's spent cock thoroughly and emerged from under the blanket. “The friend was happy to see me,” he joked.

    Jerry pulled him in to a kiss. “I love you so much.”

    After a big kiss and some little ones Neil asked, “Do you love me enough to marry me?” His usual question asked, he smiled at his lover and waited for some kind of gentle put off in reply.

    “Eventually.”

    Neil's eyes opened wide. “Eventually? Really? Jerry, 'eventually' is like saying yes. Like yes, I will marry you … eventually.”

    “Yes, I will marry you.” Jerry left off the eventually. “Of course I will marry you. You knew I would say yes eventually. I'm saying yes. I love you. I will marry you. I'm used to the idea. I want to marry you.” After more kissing Jerry added, “Even though I don't know why you want to bother. It won't change anything.”

    “Baby, it changes everything. Now that I know you love me enough to marry me, I'm all in. I can love you completely. I don't have to worry about a boot in the teeth. I don't need to hold back anything. I can be totally yours and love you all out.”

    “Couldn't you do that before?”

    “I wanted to. I tried to. But no, I had to hear it. Say it again.”

    “I love you, Neil, and I will marry you.”

    It took a while until Neil stopped kissing Jerry and looked at him expectantly. “So tell me about that blowjob. You never seemed all that into oral sex before. Am I getting better at it?

    “You won't get pissed off?”

    “Dude, no. You just promised to marry me.”

    “I liked you slapping my ass.” Something was left unsaid.

    “And ...” Neil prodded.

    “And Ann kinda flashed her boobs at me today.”

    “Ado Annie, the girl who can't say no? I warned you about her.” Ann Ado was actually their next door neighbor; Neil liked calling her after the musical comedy character. Her name was actually pronounced ah-doo, not ay-doe. “So did you fuck her?”

    “Neil! Of course not.” Jerry was honestly shocked.

    “But you wanted to, didn't you?” Neil was smiling, almost laughing, picturing Jerry's confused response to a flashing.

    “She didn't actually flash me … not really … The wind kinda got into her blouse and it was open maybe one or two extra buttons and she wasn't wearing a bra ...”

    “Yeah, sure. I don't blame her. I'll flash you, too. I should probably do it in my old cop uniform, though, not plain clothes. Kinkier that way, don't you think?” Neil kissed Jerry some more. “God, I love you, Jerry. You are so sweet.”

    “I thought you'd be pissed … 'cause you know … we are sort of straight. I mean, aren't we?”

    “I don't know. Yeah, maybe. But I don't care anymore. I love you. I love sex with you. And I'm not gonna worry about it.”

    “I know. It's different with us, isn't it?”

    “The only difference I know is when I see a hot chick I want to fuck her and maybe feelings for her come later. With you … I was in love with you, even if I didn't know it, way before I had any ideas about sex. Sex didn't come along until … Do we have to talk about this?”

    “Does sex with me bother you at all?”

    “No, not any more. Not at all. It did at first, but not now, Jer. I love every inch of you. I love everything we do. Sex is all part of loving you now.”

    “You don't fuck me enough.” Jerry watched Neil's reaction to his complaint

    “What? I thought you liked to do the fucking ...” Neil stopped when he saw Jerry's smile. He fucked him slowly and very thoroughly and asked if that was enough.

    “For tonight,” was Jerry's answer.




    “Lestrade, you have to stop running away,” Andrew hugged the sobbing boy. “Your mother can keep you from visiting at all if you don't stop it.”

    “All she does is say stuff about my father. She tries to get me to hate him. At least he likes me, even if he's never there. She's the one who doesn't.”

    “I have to call her. You know I do.”

    Lemuel nodded, ”I know. I'll fix her. I'll get a circle... Circum ... What is it?”

    “We're not going to talk about that. Remember? We agreed. And no threats.” The phone came alive. “Hello, Lurline? It's … Yes. Yes. He's here again.” Andrew's face screwed up when he heard the cruelty of Lurine's reply. “You don't mean that. He's a wonderful boy. Yes. Yes. That's probably not a good idea … Yes. Of course I'm glad to have him stay. Alright, I'll get him to school in the morning.”

    Lemuel's face lit up. He had won. “I get to stay!” he did a youngster's version of a jig.

    “You shouldn't. I should take you home right now,” Andrew admonished; but Lemuel knew he wouldn't do it and fist-pumped.

    “So can we try working the crowds at the Ferry Terminal? They're so different from the tourists.” Lemuel pantomimed taking snapshots.

    “Tired, end-of-the-day San Franciscans or jet-lagged tourists. There's not really that big a difference, you know. Although the San Franciscans tend to dress better.”

    “Can we? Come on. Let's go. Please, Holmes. We can walk. It's good exercise.”

    “Weasel,” Andrew answered with a smile.

    “Aardvark!” Lemuel shot back.

    “Platypus!” Andrew countered.

    “What's a platypus?”

    “Perhaps, Lestrade, we should go to the zoo instead.”

    “Can we?” Lemuel took Andrew's hand, pulling his toward the door. “Could we go now?”

    How could she call him those names, Andrew asked himself. He let the boy pull him outside. “Wait! We need our cameras.”

    Lemuel was eager to leave. “I remember what you say, Holmes. You make better pictures with words.”




    “Hey, Malone,” said a strange voice. Eric turned and looked. It took a second to put the face he saw to an old friend.

    “Spike! You ...” Eric was speechless.

    “... have changed,” Spike finished. “Yes, I have, haven't I?” His face was fuller and he had aged in a good way.

    “You're not ...” Eric struggled for a polite way to put it.

    “Not a screaming queen anymore?” Spike suggested.

    “Well … yeah, I guess,” Eric stammered.

    “Things change and being a screaming queen takes a lot of energy, you know?”

    “Are you here? At the hospital?”

    “Yes, I'm a critical care nurse.”

    “Good for you!” Eric congratulated the former orderly. “And Julie …?”

    “Is history, at least in marital terms. We're friendly. I still see her and the girls. You should see your namesake. She's going to school now. Gonna be a looker, I'd say.” Spike gave a friendly grin.

    Eric looked at Spike and tried to comprehend the new version of his old co-worked from Alameda General. If asked, the average person might guess that the new Spike could be gay; the old one had it written all over him. The new one looked like he was taking care of himself; the old one was painfully skinny.

    “I'd love to see Erica, and Julie, and ...” Eric had forgotten the name of Spike's other daughter. He stopped, leaving one of those gaps in the conversation that demanded something more.

    “Melanie. Why don't we meet for a drink after the shift. I'll fill you in on my exciting life and you can fill me in on yours, Doctor.” Spike emphasized Eric's title.

    “Yeah ... yeah, let's,” Eric agreed quickly.

    Spike knew a quiet bar about two blocks from the hospital and they covered the distance quickly on foot. .One drink led to another and pretty soon Eric was nodding off in the dark bar, trying his best to stay awake and keep up with the details of Spike's conversation. He wasn't succeeding too well. “Sleepy time?” Spike asked.

    “I am tired. Did a double shift in the ER,” Eric admitted.

    “Where do you live?” Spike asked. “Oh, my God,” he replied when he heard the answer. “Why don't you stay at my place for the night? It's only a block away. We can be there in ten minutes. And … if you've got time tomorrow, we could go see Julie and the kids.”

    Eric accepted and in the space of a half hour found himself relaxing in a comfortabler bed in Spike's spare room, welcoming sleep. Spike was still sitting on the bed talking to him as he faded for the night. The next thing he knew, Spike was waking him. “Up and at 'em, Doctor.” His hand lingered on Eric's arm and gently massaged.

    Eric half sat up and then lay back down again. He had a little head ache but he wasn't hung over – he hadn't had that much to drink. But there was something unsettled and unsettling. It felt like he needed to go to the bathroom, but there wasn't any urgency. And then he realized what it was.

    “Did you fuck me?” he asked Spike.

    Spike looked down at Eric's arm and let his finger trace a path in the curly blond hair while he considered his answer. “Do you mind?” Spike asked back.

    Eric thought that over and said, “I guess not.” He put a hand to his forehead and sat up again. He put one leg out and his foot touched the cold floor. He realized he was naked and instinctively stayed under the covers. Why am I being modest with the guy who just fucked me, Eric wondered. He got out of bed and stood up

    “One thing, Spike. Did I enjoy it?”

    “It was more like you needed it.”

    Eric stood there looking at Spike. Spike sat on the bed looking at Eric's piss-hard cock. Finally Eric asked, “When are we going to see Julie? I gotta go back to work at one.”

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Rory,
    You're back, and with quite an update!

    Rocky and Ty sound like they're forming a great friendship.
    And it looks like it's nothing but good, pretty much all around, including for Adan?
    I suspect it certainly will be for the business. . .

    And, Neil and Jerry, our couple of straight except for each other magnificent couple.
    Are wedding bells soon to be heard?

    Lemuel's mom is a quintessential BITCH! Andrew is being a great surrogate father for him. It's too bad his own dad doesn't spend more time with him.

    Spike is doing well, but Eric - oh Eric. Will you and Z ever get back to where you should be, or is this another signal that it's all but over? Sad.

    Welcome back, by the way!


    And I know, if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest . . .

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Thanks. It was a great trip for lots of reasons.

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Forty-Three



    “Whew! That was great!” Bo exclaimed. “You are the best fuck … ever!”

    “And that's out of just how many exactly?” Jackson asked him

    “Three. Ok, that's not a lot, but ...”

    Jackson smiled and ruffled Bo's hair. He knew a sincere compliment when he heard one. “Just don't go falling in love with me? OK?”

    Bo looked startled. “Love? Uh, no, I definitely won't do that. For sure not, Jacks.”

    Bo's answer left Jackson no room for an ego-favorable misinterpretation, which annoyed him. He had been expecting, even looking forward to dealing with a little case of puppy love. “Yeah? Am I that bad?”

    “No, not at all. You're one hundred percent hot and sex with you is … I just said you're the best ever … It's just ...” Bo stopped, not sure if Jackson really wanted to hear any more.

    “Don't tell me ...” Jackson watched Bo blush and tugged on his dick to get his attention. Bo instantly looked up. “You are! You are totally in love with that high school sweetheart of yours, aren't you. What was his name? Fish or something?”

    “Finn.” Bo removed Jackson's hand from his still-sensitive dick. “I don't like being touched right after I come,” he explained.

    “How 'bout being kissed right after you come?” Jackson kissed him and Bo responded eagerly. “And maybe play with your nips a little … Hmm?”

    Bo cradled Jackson's head and pressed his chest against Jackson's mouth and twisting fingers. “Yeah, you can do that, too.” Some involuntary reflex made him spread his legs. He sighed again as Jackson tugged gently on his balls and then squeezed the base of his cock, for the moment avoiding the sensitive head.

    “How long since you've been fucked, Bo?”

    “Uh … summer ...mmm,” Bo's response was muffled by another kiss; he was beginning to respond more ardently to Jackson's renewed attention. His legs spread wider while Jackson massaged below his balls, edging closer and closer to his hole.

    “So don't you think you should stay in practice? Try a little anal massage before your boyfriend gets home for Christmas vacation?” Jackson nuzzled Bo's cock, taking little nibbles.

    “Thanksgiving, I hope,” Bo gasped.

    “All the more reason, baby.” Jackson fingered the area around Bo's hole and got no resistance from the boy as he pressed a spit-wet finger directly on the opening. He pressed harder and got a sharp intake of breath from Bo in response. “Easy … easy ...” He re-wet his finger and tried again, getting in to the first knuckle. He used a rotary motion and got a moan of pleasure from Bo. “Yeah,” Jackson crooned with satisfaction, “You've been fucked before and you liked it, didn't you?” All Bo did was whimper quietly as Jackson pushed deeper.

    “SHIT!” Jackson said in response to the triple buzz. “Jackson,” he said into the phone. “Yes, of course. Be right there.” He looked at Bo, splayed on the bed, so ready for fucking and said, “SHIT!” again. “Don't go anywhere,” he said to Bo. “I'll be right back.”

    Jackson didn't come right back, however. It was an involved conversation with the boss. After some time, Bo got dressed and wondered about leaving. He went into the kitchen and encountered Nash and Steve. They weren't kissing, but they stood close, face to face in conversation and Steve had his hands in Nash's back pockets just as if they belonged there.

    “Oops, sorry,” Bo said.

    “No problem. You didn't interrupt anything,” Nash grinned; he was perfectly content let Bo see him in Steve's arms. “Where's Jackson?”

    “He got a call from Mark, right in the middle of … we were … you know. He said he'd be right back but it's been a while now.”

    Steve took his hands out of Nash's pockets. “You want a beer or something?”

    “Water would be great, Steve.”

    Steve surveyed the huge refrigerator shelves. “San Pellegrino … why not?” Steve said as he opened three bottles. “Glass?” he offered.

    “Bottle's fine,” Nash answered and Bo agreed.

    They enjoyed the fizz quietly until the door burst open. “There you are, bitches,” Jackson snarled. He draped himself dramatically on the door frame and rolled his eyes while putting the back of his hand to his forehead. “Fired. Dismissed. Chewed up and spit out. After years of faithful service.” He paused and looked for a reaction, but the three guys just stared. “The joy I had centered in my work for this house is over. No hope really. No future. No promise. Not even a gold watch. What's left? Oblivion? I will look into the abyss.” He stalked to the sliding doors and opened one to the balcony.

    “No!” Bo watched Jackson move to the edge of the balcony and stand on the lowest rung of the railing; he immediately started running toward him.

    Jackson turned with a silly grin, as Bo grabbed him and pulled him away from the edge. “What? You though I was going to jump?” Bo nodded mutely. “Aren't you sweet? So you do care a little. I was trying to see if that new club on Shattuck was open.” Jackson kissed Bo's forehead with a loud smack. “What's this?” he questioned the hard evidence in his hand. “A whiff of danger gets you all boned up? Bo, my lad, you may be a more complex case than I thought.”

    “I … I thought you might … You frightened me.” Bo realized Jackson was massaging his cock in front of Steve and Nash. “Stop, Jacks. There's people here.”

    “You have a nice dick, Bo. You should be proud of it.”

    “I am, but … Jackson, stop it!” Bo backed away before Jackson got him unzipped, but there was no hiding the mass of his erection with just a layer or two of cloth.

    “Well! What, or should I ask, who have we here?” Mark laughed as he came into the room. His eyes were on Bo's partly open khaki pants.

    “This is Bo,” Jackson said. “I don't believe you've met him.” Bo extended and then quickly pulled back the hand he had just used to rearrange his cock.

    Mark smiled at the awkwardness. “Relax, no ceremony tonight. So Jackson told you the good news?”

    “He said he was fired,” Bo blurted.

    “Mmm, in a way, I suppose. I've asked him to manage all the guest facilities the company owns. He accepted. I'd call it a promotion, but he doesn't.” Mark headed for the door and then turned. “Bo, do you have a minute?”

    Nobody said no to Mark. His polite requests always got him what he wanted. Bo nodded dumbly and followed him out the door.

    Jackson turned to Steve and Nash. “There goes another lamb to the slaughter.” It was hard to tell if he was bitter or jealous.




    “You were right. Totally right. As always.” Jerry hugged Neil. “Saying yes has changed everything. My job is better. The weather is better. Ann's cookies taste better. The whole world is a better place. Even sex is better and I thought that was impossible to improve on.”

    “Ado Annie brought you more cookies? You know she likes you,” Neil kidded as he squeezed Jerry in return.

    “She knows we're a couple. She has no designs on either one of us.”

    “Don't be too sure.” Neil raised his eyebrows in warning. “She got a hot little bod and a lonesome bod, too. Where is her husband again?”

    “Afghanistan or Kazakhstan or something. I think he's a contractor over there.”

    “Uh-huh … and on those cold winter nights, when she ...” Neil burst into giggles as Jerry's teasing fingers crept up his leg.

    “Enough. Get ready. We don't want to be late.”

    “I'll hurry.” Neil answered and he did in fact hurry to shower and change. Tonight was special. He planned to tell his parents that he and Jerry were engaged. It would be dicey. Neither his mother nor especially his father were candidates for PFLAG membership. He dressed somberly.

    “Neil, it's not a funeral,” Jerry criticized.

    He changed in response to Jerry's shouted order to 'dress like we're going over there to watch football.' His second wardrobe selection almost met Jerry's approval. “Maybe leave your shirt out. You don't want to look too gay.”

    “I'm supposed to tell them we plan to fuck each other's brains out for the rest of our natural lives and you worry about looking gay? We are gay, Jer.”

    “We're not, but that's going to be hard to explain.”

    “Especially since we're fuckin' each other's brains out every chance we get.. Don't forget that part. We might as well just say we are.”

    “We are what?”

    “Gay, of course.”

    “But we're not.”

    “It's kind of a technicality, you know? Ma will ask about the sex. Trust me. She will. And I'm gonna tell her.” Neil's voice softened. “I'm gonna tell them I love you and it's a fight to get out of any bed you're in and I need to marry you if I'm going to have a life.”

    “Maybe we should wait, Neil. Marriage isn't even legal here.”

    “We'll go to Iowa, Canada, New York, wherever … We're telling them.”

    “Maybe we should wait until we set a date. At least know the month?”

    “When do you want to do it?”

    “No idea. When do you want to?”

    “I don't really care. I just wanted you to say yes. When doesn't really matter.”

    “What? Now you tell me it doesn't matter.”

    “I needed to hear that yes, Jer. I had to hear you say it. But now that you said it, I can wait. We can do it whenever you want. Whatever we want.”

    “We're back to 'eventually'? How do we explain that?”

    “We're telling them, Jer. And believe me, they won't be asking about guest lists.”

    Neil mother didn't ask about a thing. She cried. Nothing Neil could say helped. She just cried louder. Neil's father asked what the commotion was and Neil told him. “Thank God,” was his reaction. “I thought that bitch Lorica was coming back or something.”

    Between sobs, Neil's mother asked, “Are you two ...doing it? Together? With each other?”

    “Ma,” Neil answered, “Think about what's possible for two men to do. We're doing it. ALL of it.” She wailed again.

    “Jeez, Louise!” Neil's dad groaned at the sound; her name was Karen. “You've sucked a dick or two without your teeth falling out; what do you think they're doing?”

    “Marty!! Hush up!!” Marty knew his audience; it stopped Karen's wailing and it made Neil laugh. The father winked at his son.




    “Mrs. Hudson, hasten into your bombazine. We'll be late!” Andrew admonished Seth, who was lounging on the sofa in his underwear reading a book.

    “What's bombazine?” Lemuel asked in a whisper that with the door open would have carried to Cow Hollow.

    “Would you guys miss me if I stayed here?” Seth asked, sure of the answer.

    “Of course we'll miss you. Who will carry all the packages?”

    “Packages???” Lemuel whispered again, squirming in anticipation.

    “A few essentials for you, Lestrade … nothing exciting. Socks and underwear and pyjamas, since you keep showing up from France unannounced.”

    “Unannounced?”

    “You didn't tell us you were coming,” Andrew explained. “But it's good you told your mother this time.” Lemuel's mother had conveniently provided a list of suggestions and sizes for the shopping expedition but no money.

    “Should I call?”

    “It would be nice.”

    “But you might not want me to come?”

    “Of course we want you to come. You're always welcome.”

    “Then why do I have to call?” Andrew's fixed gaze answered that one.

    “He right about that, Lem,” Seth called from the sofa. “We like having you here.”

    “So why can't I stay here all the time?”

    “It's complicated ...” Andrew wished he had a better answer for Lemuel. “Should we take the cable car or walk?”

    The walk to the cable car was longer than the cable car ride to Macy's, but Lemuel, like every child at heart, liked riding the cable cars; it also was fitting that the old cars were era-appropriate to Andrew's Holmes fantasy. “Bombazine is a cloth woven from silk and wool. It's the best Mrs. Hudson can afford on what I pay,” Andrew explained as they left.

    Soon after they left, Jody arrived. “You just missed your son,” Seth said. “You'd like him if you ever got to know him.” He was being critical in an uncritical way; they subtlety was lost on Jody.

    “I know him well enough. We need to talk about Adan.” Jody stared at Seth's underwear as if he had x-ray vision.

    “Why do we need to do that?“

    “Because he's upsetting things at the studio. He's becoming a prima dona.” Jody shifted his position for a better view.

    “I think he'd say 'primera doña'.”

    “Whatever … he won't fuck me anymore.”

    Seth laughed. “That's all? Who will?”

    “A cute kid named Ty – that's who.” Jody paused at the thought of Ty. “Shit, even you would like him. He's hot-as-a-blow torch and sweet besides. But see, the thing is I was hoping Adan could introduce me to the Hispanic community, professionally, that is.”

    “As a porn star?”

    “No, as a lawyer. It really does pay better.” Jody shrugged. “Not as much fun though. Seriously, Seth, you gotta check out this Ty kid. So young and so eager.”

    “And willing to fuck you.” There was an edge to Seth's remark. Ty would not have been hired without Seth's approval.

    “Man, I never thought you'd carry such a grudge. It was just good - ok, great - sex between us.”

    “Jody,” Seth answered impatiently, “I figured publicly in your divorce. I have a kind of medical custodianship of your son. Your ex-wife – are you finally divorced? - tells me in writing what to buy him. You call that 'just good sex'?”

    “Well, it was good sex. You can't deny that.”

    “I found a school that's closer and better for Lemuel. I want you to pay for it.” Seth struck hard with his financial knife.

    “Me??? Lurline makes good money … why not her?”

    “Because you are not a completely callous asshole. She is. You are merely self-centered … and sex addicted ... and a semi-asshole ... willing to victimize some kid who will fuck you because he doesn't know any better … ”

    “Geez, Seth. You must have loved me, huh? And here I thought you were the detached, ascerbic, indifferent player who was willing to dump me when it suited you.”

    “It started that way … Pay half the school bill and I'll find you some Hispanic clients.” Seth didn't want to continue the discussion.

    Jody looked at him and calculated likely outcomes. “Sweet deal.” He noticed a gap in the fly of Seth's boxers and came closer for a better look. “So I got some time; you wanna mess around for the hell of it?”




    “Finn!” the florist greeted his former employee. “So good to see you!”

    “Thanks, Gale. You, too. I'm home for a little Halloween break, plus we're playing Redwood tomorrow. Is Bo working this afternoon?”

    “Yes, I think so. He usually gets here about four-thirty. I could call him if you want. He'd figure something was up if I did, though.”

    “That's ok, I'll wait. How's he doing?”

    “Well … I don't really know, Finn,” Gale lied. “School keeps him busy.”

    “And what about you. Got anything going with Mrs. Collita yet?”

    “Finn … Really.” A younger man's skin would have shown the bright redness of an intense blush, but Gale was not a young man.

    “Yes, really. The two of you could have a great time together.”

    Gale ignored the last and Finn automatically busied himself arranging shelves and moving boxes to the back room. The daybed was still there. Finn felt his dick harden at the memory of the times he and Bo had spent on that daybed. He was surprised at how narrow it was, amazed that they never fell off of it. The room smelled the same; the dim lighting from the alley-facing window was the same. He was overwhelmed by an ache for Bo and leaned on the work table briefly, not trusting his legs. Then he heard the brightness of Bo's hello through the door.

    “Gale! Genius florist of Alameda! Whooo! Awesome news! I think I just fucked my way into UC Santa Cruz!” In his enthusiasm, Bo picked Gale up in a hug and spun him around. He stopped when he saw Finn standing in the doorway.

    “Hey, Bo.” Finn said quietly; it hurt to smile. “You're transferring to Santa Cruz?”

  20. #170
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Rory,
    WOW. You DO have a knack.

    Bo and Jackson and that whole scenario

    Then our "not gay just in love with each other" guys - loving that one.

    Then Andrew, Seth, and Lemuel, with their assorted cast and crew.

    Finn, poor poor Finn. Aching for Bo, only to hear that crushing line.


    And I know, if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest . . .

  21. #171
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Well. That was quite the episode, Rory. . . Thanks!

  22. #172

    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Great installment! Ann certainly has an interesting background... Sad to see Z and Eric falling apart though.

  23. #173
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Thanks for being tolerant, guys. The typo bug bit hard again. One mention of 'Sokie' is supposed to be Spike. The sentence about the 300 vs the 600 is supposed to have a 'not' in it somewhere. And there's another one ... Grrr....

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Rory,
    That's one of the reasons our friend Autolycus is here.

    You can fix the typo's, then PM him the entire corrected text and he will gladly replace the existing version.


    And I know, if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest . . .

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Or ... I could post the corrected chapter and ask Autolycus to delete the first version - less work for him.

    Maybe I'll try that one.

  26. #176
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    It's a quick copy/paste the one way, and a delete the other.
    Your choice.


    And I know, if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest . . .

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    [Corrected Version]

    Chapter Forty-Four


    Ann woke and looked at her alarm clock. She had forgotten to set it, but there was still time. She put on a robe and waited at the window. The floor was cold and she hurried to find some slippers. When she returned to her vantage point she was too late to see it all, but the kiss was so astonishingly sweet. Living next to Neil and Jerry had been an education. Her new knowledge of how sensitive men can be to each other was more mind-blowing than any drug she had ever tried.

    She couldn't tell because her line of sight was partly blocked, but it looked as if Neil was completely naked and doing his best to convince Jerry to be late to work. Seeing his kisses and touches made her ache for sex with him, with Jerry, with any man. It had been so long since Brian went away. The couple shifted and she could see Neil's body, slim and muscular, so relaxed in Jerry's arms, so comfortable with Jerry's hands familiarly on his ass. They exchanged a few words and then another kiss. Now it was Jerry who was reluctant to break away; there was a question on his face and a smile on Neil's. She could lip read the I love you without any difficulty. There were more words that she had to imagine – the promise of sex, the promise of love. Their goodbyes were always so hot whenever Neil worked nights.

    She took a hot shower and then returned to her bed. She had a half hour before she needed to dress. The cool sheets made her nipples contract as she felt them rub on the slight roughness of the inexpensive cotton. I should pay more for bed linen, she thought as she reached for the vibrator. I can afford it. I'm worth it.

    She called the vibrator Vance, in an effort to personalize the experience; but Vance the Vibrator knew only one approach, one speed, and one technique. Inadequate as he was, he was nevertheless the best unsatisfactory sex she had found.

    Brian was inexperienced when they got married. He was nothing close to a virgin, but he didn't know much beyond the basics. Worse yet, he wasn't willing to learn. Her gentle attempts at guidance struck him as a weird diversion from fucking. Less subtle hints went over his head as well. The night she yelled in frustration, “Slower, you fucking oaf!” almost got her a fat lip. Still and all, he was better than nothing, he was faithful, and what he failed to give her in terms of quality, he made up for with frequency. She missed his warm body in her bed.

    Brian wasn't a contractor in Afghanistan or Kazakhstan either, as Ann allowed casual acquaintances to believe; truthfully, he had been a government contract employee once, but currently he was a prisoner in a minimum security facility in Fresno County. She visited him monthly. When he was first imprisoned it had been twice monthly, but the trip was just long enough to be grueling and monthly became the frequency. He was a rogue, but a handsome rogue, with an engaging personality, and so easy to like. Less easy to be married to, but her complaints had been few before their separation. Living alone under the accepted rules of marriage was hard.

    She worked in real estate as so many married women seemed to do, women with a decent income, generally from a spouse, women who wanted 'something' to do. Brian had been a small time swindler, who left her with a modest but paid-for house and a fairly decent income from investments known but untouched by the District Attorney. Ann's assets had been sufficiently distant from the crime to be considered hers and not the forfeit-subject fruits of Brian's crime.

    So she led a decent life, except for the lack of a man's companionship. Her attempts at casual sex had been disastrous from her point of view, although not really bad at all as those things go. The love affair next door had been a revelation. She had no special personal attraction to Neil or Jerry, but she adored watching the progress of their affair. It was like being on a first name basis with soap opera characters as she watched their love develop. She didn't know all the details - actually she didn't know much at all; but she imagined with pretty good accuracy what was going on before her eyes. And she loved to watch such 'pretty boys', as she thought of them. Soft-core porn in the flesh and in the house next door became her obsession. She was getting to know Jerry through cookie diplomacy, but Neil was more of a mystery. A little older, a little more rugged, Neil was a mystery she wanted to solve. Neil, she felt, was the key to the relationship. Neil was also amazing to look at. His back invited touches and promised virile thrusting; his ass was meaty without an ounce to spare; his cock … Well, she tried not to think about that. Seeing his cock would make things too specific, remove the mystery, spoil the fantasy. Jerry was different; hehad a cute cock, she thought, but cute in a boyish way; she loved her occasional views of him. Neil, however … Neil was dream-material. Thinking of Neil, she came and quickly had to remove Vance or she would still be wet when she got to work.

    She dressed and drove to the real estate office on Central in her four-year-old 300 series Benz. It wasn't top of the line, but it was a Benz. No one had to know that she had bought it used. The firm wanted its agents to appear successful, and their cars were important to giving that impression. The Benz was aging gracefully and filled its role adequately. Most of her customers would not have known a 300 from a 600 anyway.

    The day dragged. She hauled a couple of women to look at houses in Harbor Bay that they couldn't afford and then went home at three. Neil should be getting up about then, she figured. She had time to bake. It should be something more adventurous than the cookies Jerry liked. For Neil, she decided on a Linzertorte, more elaborate than cookies, but not treacly.

    Neil charmed her by making coffee and inviting her to join him for a piece of the torte. She was nervous. Jerry was sweet, but Neil's presence was unsettling. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he wants to fuck me, she thought. She squeezed her thighs together and felt the moistness. Neil watched her action. She was shocked by his gaze; he knows exactly what I'm doing, she thought. What kind of gay guys are they coming up with these days?





    “Tell him, Eric, or quit coming over here.” Spike was getting dressed. Eric lay naked and exhausted, totally fucked out and spread across Spike's bed.

    “It's not that easy, Spike. I love him ... Z means so much, more than I can explain.”

    “Then quit coming over. You love him, you say, but you're not being fair to him.” It annoyed Spike to hear declarations of love for someone else from the ungrateful man he had just made come twice.

    “It would hurt him.”

    Spike sighed elaborately. “Noe Valley! Thirty thousand people and three stories will explain them all. Lusty, lucky, or lazy. You, Eric, combine them all.” Spike lived in one of the fringy parts of Noe Valley, a part where a gay nurse could afford to live, provided he didn't mind a generous helping of urban grit in his life.

    “You don't understand, Spike.”

    “Get up and get dressed, Eric. Act interested in your life. You're wasting it.” The second night Eric had spent at Spike's house told Spike how easily led he was. The third night revealed a neediness Spike hadn't seen before. At least he's not wasting his body, Spike thought as he watched Eric walk to the shower. It was a body Spike didn't want to give up, a body Spike had been lusting after for years.

    In the week that had passed since Eric spent his first night at Spike's, Spike had prodded him into demanding – and getting - a better work schedule, drilled into him that he needed to narrow his goals, and sensitized him to the idea that Z was unfinished and neglected business. “Focus, Eric!” That was Spike's advice on both medicine and Z. In the week, Eric had spend three more nights with Spike, interrupted by a weekend in Alameda with Z. The weekend was something Spike endured without comment; he had no confidence that Eric regarded him as anything more than a sexual convenience.

    Eric's weekend with Z had been edgy. They went through the motions of being a couple but avoided the intimacy. Eric spent three hours of each day playing lacrosse, sometimes just working out alone when no one else was available. The first night Z was full of passion and had Eric briefly delirious reliving the memory of their best years, but the second night Z detected a lack of ardor and it degraded his performance to the point that the sex was almost mediocre. At one point Eric lost his erection and they had to start over. That had never happened before unless one of them was sick.

    The only highlight of the weekend for Eric was when Nash and Steve were playing on his team at the park and Steve suddenly realized he had seen Eric before. “That lacrosse movie ...what was it called? You were the coach or something? You were so hot in that movie. I had dreams about you for weeks,” Steve admitted. Eric wallowed in the flattery.

    Later, alone on the field running sprints, Eric thought about his brief Hollywood days. Everything seemed so easy, so simple then. I got a lot of great sex, more than I even wanted. I made a bunch of money. Everybody liked me; I liked everybody. Other people had problems, not me. Eric's memories made the past better than it really was, but that's the nice thing about memories. They exaggerate the highs and diminish the lows.

    “Eric,” Larry called to him. He and Cal were coming back from the beach. “Let us help you carry the equipment.” Walking back to the house on San Antonio, Larry spoke frankly. “Eric, you look like dog shit on a shoe sole. What's up?”

    “I don't know. Everything … nothing ...” That kind of avoidance didn't work with an old friend like Larry.

    “That sounds like none of my business, but I'm gonna butt in anyway. Say whatever it is you need to say; do what you need to do. Don't just brood, Eric. That's what you told me, more or less. Remember? You used to give out the advice; now accept a little.” Larry spoke uncritically, but that wasn't how Eric took it.

    “I don't need advice. I just need time,” Eric answered.

    “Time is what we have the least of,” Cal said.

    “How would you know?” Eric's rudeness was surprising.

    “Yeah, well, I am just a dumb jock, huh, babe?” Cal said to Larry. Larry smiled back at him, silently telling him no. They dropped the gear off at Eric's house and declined Z's invitation to stay.

    “Did you piss them off, too?” Z asked.

    “Don't start,” Eric warned him. He showered and drove back to the city.

    “Did you talk to him?” Spike demanded.

    “Everybody's on me over something ...” Eric answered, ducking the question.

    “Coward,” Spike said as gently as he could; it wasn't the time to press. His disapproval of Eric's actions didn't get in the way of sex. “Such a fuckable ass.” Spike surveyed the body lying on the bed before him. “Relax, Eric. A little massage, a little fuck, a little sleep ...”

    Eric purred under Spike's attention. “I bet you're a good nurse.”

    “I'm a fuckin' great nurse. I make doctors like you look good.” Spike came in Eric's ass and then gave him a blow job. “Now sleep. Tomorrow, you are going to decide to become an ER doc, like Luke.”

    “Luke was a good mentor. You're a lot like him, Spike.”




    “Finn!”

    Gale suddenly remembered he had to go to the drug store.

    “Finn, I didn't think you'd be here until the holidays.” Bo stepped toward his friend and then hesitated.

    “Halloween is a holiday,” Finn smiled back. “Do we shake hands or ...”

    Bo kissed him answering his question. They grappled with each other; just touching wasn't close enough. “I missed you.” “Me, too.” “You feel so good.” “You, too.” they said the predictable and trite things that so inadequately expressed their feelings. The kissing was better than the words. “I wanna fuck you right now,” Finn blurted out; that came a lot closer to their actual feelings.

    The narrow bed in the back room was pressed into service again. The sex went smoothly as if they had never been apart. It wasn't until it was over that Finn acknowledged a huge difference. “I used to be the top. When did you get to be so good?” he asked. Bo had fucked him masterfully.

    “I got lessons from you all last summer,” Bo answered; Jackson's role was not addressed.

    “Uh … maybe you had some outside instruction since then?” Finn asked.

    “Nothing important. You make all the difference.”

    “I was dreaming about fucking you, but, man, that was great.”

    “You don't think we're done, do you? Once is not enough, dude. I want to suck your cock and then you are gonna ...” Bo teased.

    “Shut up and do it, asshole.”

    “Be nice to my asshole,” Bo cautioned.

    Finn was very nice. Gentle and demanding at the same time. Slow-fucking and then pounding, he couldn't get enough. “I love you,” he cried as he came. “I love you, Bo,” he repeated. The sweaty boys kissed.

    “Say it again.”

    “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

    Bo was satisfied with the response. “Love you, too.”

    “Good. Now what's this shit about fuckin' your way into Santa Cruz?”

    Bo rubbed a bit of errant spunk into Finn's belly. “Well, there's this rich guy called Mark who is the head of ...”

    “Guru Systems? No shit????”

    “Yeah. Why?”

    “An upperclassman on the varsity squad got a scholarship from him, too. One drunken night he told me what he had to do to get it.”

    “I haven't actually done anything with him. He hinted at stuff, but we haven't done anything. It was his assistant I fucked. That's how I got to meet Mark.”

    “My unfaithful lover ...” Finn commented.

    “Like you sat in the dorm every night ...”

    “Yeah, I did. Almost every night ...”

    “Doing what exactly?”

    “Fucking that upperclassman.” Finn watched Bo's expression and then laughed with him. “I think a little outside experience just made us better.”

    “A little experience made me want a more comfortable bed,” Bo countered, pulling back from the edge of the daybed.

    “There's mine … if you're not busy tonight.”

    Bo made a kind of gasping, sobbing noise. “I was afraid things would be different. That we wouldn't … that you wouldn't ...”

    “That I wouldn't still love you? Fat fuckin' chance of that, dickhead.”

    “I thought you liked my dickhead,” Bo teased, as he pushed Finn's legs apart with his knee.

    “Want to wait, Bo? My bed will be better.”

    “Finnie, I've been waiting two and a half months – that's a serious fraction of my lifetime!” Bo's maneuver went awry; his lower half slipper off the daybed. They laughed; they kissed; and they went to Finn's house, Finn's bed, actually.

    “If we hurry, we can meet my parents for dinner. They're kind of expecting me,” Finn said before they got far.

    “So we need to get off in … three, two, one ...”

    “Shut up. You're getting it now, Bo.” Finn was a little rougher than he meant to be; neither boy minded.




    “Morrie, explain to me again about Tin-tin. He's straight, married with children, an agent of the Chinese government, who loves getting fucked in the ass enough to betray his country and kill people and risk getting blown up ...”

    “Nicky, you are so obsessive about these things. He's flexible, like all of us. He does what he needs to do.”

    “He gets fucked a lot … He's a transvestite … He's … ”

    “It's what he needs. At least what he thinks he needs, and that's what counts. He never betrayed his country. Why do you say that?”

    “He let that stuff get exported.”

    “They have mountains of it. Rare earths are not especially rare, after all. And it was destroyed before it became useful to anyone.”

    “So now he's ...”

    “Lining up some new suppliers for us. He wants a finder's fee, of course. And he's earned it.”

    “Morrie … in LA, you blew up your own relatives.”

    “My ex-wife's relatives … and schmucks they were. Stupid, cheating … Besides, I didn't think they were going to be blown up.”

    “You knew it was a possibility.”

    “Again, Nicky, dear boy, why so obsessive about fine distinctions? It was also possible they could have been shot in a robbery.”

    “But you wouldn't have been involved in the robbery.”

    “Actually, that was Plan B.” Morrie finished inserting his cuff links and reached for his suit coat.

    Nicky chose not to believe Morrie's Plan B comment, but he could never be sure about Morrie. He changed the subject. “Morrie, nobody wears a suit and tie anymore. They never did in Chinatown.”

    “At my age, Nicky, if I wore jeans and a t-shirt, I'd be mistaken for the dishwasher. You might buff up your own appearance a bit. Look at Darren. He looks like a million.”

    “That's because Darren is gorgeous. It doesn't matter what he wears. He actually looks best naked.” Nicky smiled at his lover.

    Darren smiled back. “I'm thinking of getting a tattoo. One of those sleeves ...” he said running a hand down his opposite upper arm.

    “NO!” Morrie and Nicky screamed simultaneously.

    “Just a passing insanity, tattoos ...” Morrie added.

    “You have one,” Darren pointed out.

    “I was briefly insane. Let's go. Am I going to like this Steve fellow? Is he being good to Nash?”

    The trip to Tsien-tsien's cousin's restaurant took about ten minutes. Tsien-tsien met them at the door and said that Nash and Steve had already arrived. They sat at a table for six and the first of many courses arrived. Tsien-tsien explained that they should eat the meat and noodles in the soup and sip the tepid broth as a beverage throughout the next few courses.

    “So Steve, you fly helicopters?” Morrie asked. “They can't carry much, can they?”

    “They can, but not efficiently. Usually only the government can afford to use them that way.”

    “So what about regular planes? Can you fly them?”

    “Fixed wing … yes, but I'm not current in any. I'd have to retrain.”

    “What about 767-200's? The extended range versions?”

    “I'd need some training, which isn't cheap. But I could do it.”

    “A friend is interested in acquiring a small fleet of them. For cargo. Do you think he can make money on them?”

    “Depends on the cargo. It would need to be high-value. Those aren't the most efficient planes these days.”

    “Dirt cheap to acquire, though,” Morrie mused. “Are you going to do the honorable thing with my only son?”

    “I'm not your only son,” Nash protested.

    “You're the only one who still talks to me,” Morrie noted.

    “Nash is the most impressive man I've even known,” Steve answered when he had the chance.

    “And your prospects?” Morrie continued.

    “Dad, his prospects are great, no matter what he does.”

    “I mean as a private helicopter pilot. Is that a stable career?”

    “It has been so far. Everything can change, though,” Steve answered.

    “Indeed. Well … you have my blessing for the next month.”

    “One month?” Nash protested.

    “It comes with renewable options,” Morrie explained, honestly amazed that anyone would quibble over a good deal.

    Nicky's eyes suddenly got wide. Somebody's hand was groping him. Tsien-tsien on one side looked preoccupied by his soup and Morrie on the other was smiling on Steve and Nash benignly. Nicky jabbed with a chopstick and heard a muffled gasp from under the table and a hard sound, the sound of a skull hitting wood. The table jumped.

    Tsien-tsien instantly ducked under the cloth and urgently gave orders in Chinese. “Sorry. A miscalculation,” he said, sitting up again. There was a shuffling and then silence. Morrie sighed and smiled once the unknown assailant settled on the right dick to suck.

  28. #178
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    Chapter Forty-Five


    The Loft looked terrific, one flight up, bright and airy, with the lights of Oakland looking magical across the estuary at a distance that obscured details. Strictly speaking, the waterway wasn't really an estuary but people liked calling it that and the cut between Alameda and the mainland didn't object. The gathering wasn't a mandatory company function; it didn't need to be. The annual bonuses were always announced at the annual party and nobody wanted to miss that.

    Rory and Tim were at the table with Rory's database group. Cyril and pregnant-again Bernice were early arrivals. Tom and Heiko were back from their successful system installation in Ohio; and Jerry brought Neil, the first time they acknowledged being a couple in public. The new guy Lanny was there with a painfully shy date named Dawn, who sipped something pinkish nervously; an already empty glass stood beside her nearly full one. Darren and Nicky arrived last.

    Some of the almost one hundred people sat at tables and some mingled. A large percentage of the minglers were trying to edge into conversation with Charles, the CEO. “Look at the suck-ups,” Bernice commented and then she quickly stared down into her drink. She had briefly locked eyes with Rhonda, Charles' administrative assistant and didn't want to encourage a chat. Rory said Bernice was too sensitive, but Bernice felt that Rhonda always found a reason to bring up Bernice's children in a way that implied disloyalty to the company.

    “God! Here I am pregnant again. She's coming over here, isn't she? ISN”T SHE, CYRIL?”

    Cyril stood up. “Hi Rhonda,” he said cheerfully.

    Rhonda gave him a nod. “Bernice, you look radiant. Pregnancy so suits you. How many is this? Five?”

    “This will be our third,” Bernice answered, tight-jawed but polite.

    “Good for you, honey. I wish I could fit working into such a busy life.” Rhonda glanced around the table at the standing men. “Where are Tom and Heiko?”

    “They're around,” Rory said, scanning the room. “There's Tom,” he said, pointing toward one cluster of people.

    “Charles looks forward to talking to them,” Rhonda grandly confided, as if announcing a White House invitation. “Rory, dear ...” Rhonda placed her hand on Rory's arm in some kind of farewell benediction before heading in Tom's direction.

    “She did it again! She … did … it … again!”

    “Bernice, baby,” Cyril comforted.

    “She's that way with everybody, Bernice,” Rory said.

    “What a bitch! I had a sergeant like her once. He's dead now,,” Tim laughed, earning a grateful smile from Bernice.

    Dawn was goggle-eyed and took a big swig of her drink, putting the glass down empty. Her eyes implored Lanny for another. “Lance, honey ...” Lanny rose to do her bidding.

    He hated the name Lance. “Such a porn name,” he always said, which always made people check out the front of his trousers. He enjoyed that part and regularly wore clothes a bit tighter than the fashion called for. Cute ass was the consensus on the day he arrived.

    With the efficiency of a border collie, Rhonda traversed the room and cut Tom out of his pack of friends. She propelled him into The Presence. “Charles, this is Tom.”

    “Ah, Tom. So good to see you. I wanted to tell you how proud we all are of your success in Toledo. I don't think even Rory knows this yet, but we got inquiries from four more museums based on your latest job. Truly remarkable. How do you do it?”

    “Thanks, Charles. The secret ingredient is always Heiko. He's brilliant – the customers are in awe of him. They treat him like a God after about ten minutes and he delivers miracles every time.”

    “I wanted you to know your performance has been noticed. I've got four vice presidents who want you transferred to their divisions.”

    “Thanks, but ...” That was all Tom got to say before The Presence moved on.

    Rhonda meanwhile tracked down Heiko, who was on the outside balcony on his phone. “Muss gehen,” he said instead of goodbye and was swiftly conducted to Charles.

    “Ah, Heiko. So good to see you. I wanted to tell you how proud we all are of your success in Toledo. I don't think even Rory knows this yet, but we got inquiries from four more museums based on your latest job. Truly remarkable. How do you do it?”

    “It's all Tom's doing. He's so good at guiding customer expectations and then delivering twice what they asked for. He's a great salesman.”

    Heiko's penetrating eyes, so blue even in the subdued lighting, made Charles pause, knocked off his canned speech. “He says the same about you.” All he got back was the hundred watt glare of a Heiko smile; it was momentarily disconcerting. Rhonda stepped in.

    “Yes, well, whatever … it works,” she said. “Charles, you need to get to the head table ...” She led him away.

    “Rhonnie,” he said. “You know I'm completely straight.”

    “Yeah, I do know that,” she chuckled, recalling the night before.

    “And they're gay ...”

    “Where is this going, Charles?”

    “If I were ever gonna fool around ...” Charles mused.

    “Which one?” Rhonda asked as they got to Charles designated seat..

    “I don't think it matters. Either one. They just suck you right in.” Charles was bemused; like their customers, he had fallen under the Tom-Heiko spell.

    The 'suck you right in' comment worried her; Charles loved a good blow job. “Forget it,” she said. “There's a long line ahead of you.” She felt less threatened when he made no reply.




    The social worker sat primly working her way down a long check list. “The incidents or running away seem to have lessened. How often do you see the child. Rarely? Occasionally? Or often?” Those were the choices the check list proposed.

    “The running away is less because he now asks for permission. He's here a lot,” Seth answered truthfully. “His mother gives him permission. In fact, she provided a list of requirements ...”

    She looked for a way to make that fit her choices and decided on Often. “It's unusual ...”

    “She even wrote down brand names. 'Hanna Anderson Organic Cotton Pajamas.' I had never heard of them.”

    “Mmm ...” the social worked said. She searched for an appropriate box on her check list and gave up.

    Lemuel came in the door and waved to Seth. He went over to a tall padded pole and grabbed it like a tackling dummy. “Hi, Seth.”

    “Hugs back, kid,” Seth answered. “Do you remember Miss ...”

    “Yes, hello.” Lemuel sat on the sofa with Seth. He set his backpack between them. “Lots of homework tonight.”

    “What was that?” the worked asked. She pointed at the pole.

    “That's the hugs-transfer pole,” Lemuel explained. Seth smiled and let him continue when he saw that she wanted to hear more. “Andrew invented it. He and Seth are gay, you know.” Lemuel paused to make sure that sank in. “And he said you might not like it if he hugged me. So he invented the hugs-transfer pole. He hugs the pole and then I hug the pole and his hug transfers to me, see?”

    The civil servant looked flustered. “I don't think a hug on special occasions would ...”

    “But lawyers twist things, Andrew said. So we use the pole. It's got a padded parka nailed to it and an old sweater made of ...”

    “Cashmere,” Seth filled it.

    “Cashmere,” Lemuel echoed. “It's very soft.” He was satisfied with his explanation and watched the social worker to see if she needed more. She was writing furiously on her clipboard.

    Andrew entered and said, “Greetings, fellow philatelists.” He smiled to Lemuel and slammed his foot down. Lemuel jumped to his feet and slammed both feet down in sequence. Andrew did three. Lemuel did four. Andrew gave up. He noticed the social worker. “We're stamp collectors,” he said.

    “Left one on the pole for you,” Lemuel said and watched Andrew hug the hugs-transfer pole. He laughed when Andrew pulled back suddenly.

    “Itching powder?”

    “Talcum,” Lemuel explained. “Gym was last period.” He slid to the center and made room on the sofa for Andrew. Three sets of eyes stared at the social worker.

    “Well … I … er … have had no complaints from Mrs ...” She gestured emptily with her hands and gave up. “Could I see the boy's room now?”

    “Yes,” Lemuel fist pumped. Seeing the room was always the last item on her list.




    Chris and Adan screened the automatic camera captures while the actors dressed and waited for their dismissal. Jeff and Ty shared a glance, a silent comment on Jody's very slow manner of putting his clothes on. The exhibitionism inherent in porn making generated a frisson they all enjoyed, Jody in particular.

    “Hate putting away the tools,” Jody commented. He was having more difficulty than a child of four would getting himself into his pants. After underwear tugs, elaborate cock and ball reseatings, and two accidental exposures, he reluctantly zipped up.

    “Where'd you get the undies?” Kevin asked, winking at his other scene partners.

    “You like 'em?” In two seconds Jody had the jeans back down around his knees again, displaying the floral pattern of the boxers. His dick just happen to flop out of the fly. “Oops ...” He made no attempt to put it away. “Andrew got them from some catalog house. They're really soft. Feel them.” Restricted by his trousers, he waddled a few steps in Kevin's direction; it made his dick flop around

    Chris came into the dressing room, freezing Jody's progress. “Guys we need a couple specific penetration shots. Just entries, not the whole thing. Ok? Jody? Kevin?”

    “Yes,” Jody grinned; he was out of his pants at once.

    Kevin complained. “Chris, I really need to leave. Can you use somebody else?”

    “You guys are differently built. I mean a dick's a dick in most cases, but Jeff curves and Ty's got some of his foreskin left. You're amazingly distinctive.”

    “Dildo,” Adan said. “The red one. It will look lurid – menacing, even - and fit the mood of the scene.”

    “You know ...” Chris was favorable considering the possibility.

    “No,” Jody inserted. “It will destroy the realism.” His dick, growing tumescent in anticipation, betrayed his eagerness.

    “Yes! It'll work,” Chris decided. The three students left and five minutes later Chris had the shots he needed. Jody was left to dress alone.

    Chris looked at the fresh shots, manipulating the light and color. “Oh, yeah … this is gonna look nasty!” A distant door-slam announced Jody's departure.

    The scene Chris envisioned called for Ty and Jeff to portray a teasing, sexy, and fun relationship while Jody and Kevin, performing the exact same actions, were supposed to make sex look edgy, furtive, and dangerous. The initial blow jobs by both couples were easy to edit but the Kevin-Jody fucking was more difficult. The dildo was a perfect addition; The dark and deeply veined redness made it look menacing. The fact that it was bigger than Kevin's actual size helped the illusion. The shot was supposed to be the initial entry from several angles. Then the subsequent penetrations were more dramatic as Jody's asshole opened more and more, finally staying open by itself as the dildo plunged all the way in and out. They intercut some facials of Jody in mock anguish.

    “He's really not a bad actor for porn,” Adan commented. “As much as he loves getting fucked, that's looking real painful.”

    Chris said nothing. He held his breath, enjoying the scene as he manipulated it.

    “You're liking this,” Adan commented, noting Chris's almost constant grabbing at his crotch.

    “If I don't like it, nobody else will,” he answered. He was panting slightly. “I make these things for me; it happens that the public likes 'em, too.”

    “The “Flip Fuck” stuff - you liked that? It looked so ...”

    “I loved making those scenes,” Chris admitted. “The first time, with Larry … I gotta admit I was afraid, but, you know, in person, he's so sexy ...”

    “I've never met him,” Adan reminded Chris.

    “I couldn't get him to come back for another shoot.” The regret was plain. Chris inserted the last of the scene pieces into his electronic version of a storyboard and let the scene play. “God, he was hot ...” He laughed. “Get it? Hot? Larry was a fireman at the time!”

    “Yeah, right!” Adan answered with an big smile he wasn't feeling. Seeing the bulge of Chris's erection in his pants was disconcerting. “Have you ever come up with a scenario for 'Flip Fuck Three'?”

    “I've tried ...” Chris answered. He settled down to watch the scene play at normal speed. “But everything I envisioned was either physically or technically impossible.”

    “I was wondering ...”

    “Shhh,” Chris urged. “Let's watch.” He dimmed the room lights and stared at the monitor. “You mind if I jack it?” He was already unzipping.

    “No. Go ahead.” Adan's peripheral vision detected the emergence of a hard cock in Chris's lap. He stared straight ahead, not wanting to learn any specifics. At least the stroking was silent.

    It was a good flick. Adan felt his own erection grow in response to Jeff and Ty. Jeff stood naked and pushed his erection forward in Ty's direction and just as seated Ty was opening his mouth, he'd pull it away and kiss him instead. The kisses were sweet but Ty's frustration grew. It was a release of physical and dramatic tension when Ty at last grabbed Jeff's torso and pulled the rigid cock with the slight downward curve into his mouth. Jeff's “Ah” the scene matched Chris's in the next chair. Adan had to take a look. Chris was stroking with one hand and playing with his balls with the other.

    “Go ahead, get comfortable,” Chris suggested and Adan unzipped, too.

    As the scene progressed, Chris got greater pleasure from Kevin's treatment of Jody. Jody looked so vulnerable; his body was gradually revealed as Kevin essentially ripped his clothes off. Jody was a little out of shape, a little soft but he sported a big erection in anticipation of whatever might happen. Kevin grabbed him by the balls and challenged, “You wanna suck me? You want it?” Jody mumbled incoherently. “Tell me you want it! Beg for it!” Jody gobbled his cock and Kevin jerked away. He slapped Jody's face in a way that promised the next slap would be much more painful. “Don't you hear good? Tell me you want it, bitch!”

    Chris stroked fasted as Jody was reduced to begging. Kevin tolerated and then enjoyed Jody's nob licking; finally he speared Jody with his cock. Jody gagged but stayed on it, taking it all repeatedly down his throat.

    “Right there! Stop it!” Adan said. “Jody looks too happy. Gotta cut that smile.”

    “Fuck!” Chris groaned, sorry to stop stroking. After a pause to let his arousal subside, he admitted, “Yeah, you're right. Good eye.”

    Chris zipped up and continued patching the scene until he was satisfied enough to show it to Seth. “Enough for now, I guess.”

    So, about Flip Fuck Three,” Adan jumped in. “I can see it as a serial fuck by clones of one hot guy with you tumbling around on the turntable.”

    “Huh?” Chris didn't immediately share the vision.

    “One hot guy, electronically-cloned to look like an army, fucks you all over the place. Every time you turn around, he's on you … I guess I mean in you ... You spin … do handstands … flips … from one level of the turntable to another and everywhere you go the guy shows up and stuffs your ass. Some times he's teasing, sometimes he loving, sometimes he's just a stunt dick … Sometimes he get rough … You are more and more turned on and come hands-free at the end. A spurting-dick close-up ends the scene.”

    “What about the guy … the army? How does he get off?”

    “Who cares? You're the center of the scene - you're always the center of these Flip Fuck things. The viewers identify with you, not the guy fucking you.”

    “They do? I'm not sure I get all the action transitions.”

    “We could try it … Pace it out,” Adan urged.

    “You want to fuck me?”

    “Chris, be professional. We're just walking through a possibility. It would be a super cheap scene to make. Just two guys and one of them is you. Short – charge a dollar a pop. Give it a try. Where's the harm?”

    So, worst case I get a crick in my neck and a dick in my ass?” Chris sounded willing.

    “Something like that. Best case you get another huge money-maker.”

    Reluctant at the start, once he saw Adan close up and naked, Chris got into it. “You know, you're a lot hotter in person than you are on a monitor.”

    “Everybody is,” Adan answered. “Now do a slow somersault onto my dick.”

    “I can't promise ...”

    “Go real slow … I'll guide you onto it.”

    On the top tier of the huge revolving wedding cake set, Chris did a slow somersault. He missed. He missed the second time. The third time Adan moved him onto his cock; but it was jerky and painful.

    “So maybe if we fuck a little to open you up ...” Adan didn't wait for permission. The fuck was spontaneous. Chris had the rare ability to make people want to take advantage of him.

    Chris's eyes gradually glazed over. “Big … big and beautiful. Do me again,” he sighed when Adan pulled out and left Chris's hole gaping.

    “Somersault, first,” Adan said. On this attempt the trick went well. After more practice runs, the cartwheel ended with a rear-entry standing penetration. The handstand ended with Chris in Adan's arms and impaled. The roll from one level to another was harder to make look real; it involved an actual drop of about a foot. This time Adan was the one in pain, but they made it believable.

    Now roll up in a ball and stuck your butt over the edge. I'll fuck you as you come past.”

    “Let's do the handstand one again,” Chris requested. He wanted the kiss that went with that one.

    They repeated all the moves several times and at the end Chris had no difficulty making his orgasm look hands-free. It almost was. It took just a couple of strokes by Adan. Sitting in Adan's lap with his legs wrapped around Adan's waist, squirming in pleasure, with that thick cock up his ass, Chris erupted. The cum blasted straight up twice in long ribbons and then dribbled out in a third then a fourth pulse. It would be easy to enhance the shot to make it look like a gusher.

    The editing was fast and rewarding. They knew the scene would look hot. The segment where Chris revolved getting penetrated repeatedly by a dozed Adan clones was guaranteed to get the audience off. Just editing almost got Chris off again. They inserted the gang-fuck right before the final cum shot and sat back to watch a second time.

    The viewing left their dicks hard. Without discussion they fucked for real. Chris was completely willing, of course. The surprise was when Adan pulled out of him and spread his legs. The bigger surprise was how much Adan needed a cock. “Put it in me,” he urged and then said something in Spanish when Chris shoved his cock in all the way. Adan came first and Chris followed almost immediately. Their sweaty bodies tangled as they got their breath back.

    “Was it really that good?” Adan asked.

    Chris wasn't sure if he meant the scene or the fuck. “We gotta watch it again,” he said covering both possibilities. Adan smiled at him. “Why are you grinning?”

    “You're nice, Chris.”

    “Well, I respect your judgment on this scene ...”

    “No, I mean the sex part. You like it and your fun-sized. Everybody's usually bigger than me. I liked tossing you around.”

    Chris had experienced enough rejection to think this lead-in was part of some prank. “You just like tossing salad,” he told Adan.

    “Your salad,” Adan answered. “Things could get rougher, if you wanted. I think I'd like that – getting rougher with you. I bet I can make you come hands-free for real.”

    They went out to eat first and had a few beers. Then they returned to the studio. Chris offered no resistance. He followed Adan's lead. It took a good bit of work, but he came absolutely hands-free while Adan slow-fucked him from behind. He collapsed onto the carpet leaving his ass sticking up for Adan to finish. Too good to be true, Chris told himself. Still burning from his orgasm, the sting of Adan's open hand on his ass felt amazing. He wants something, Chris figured as he waited for the next slap. The timing was irregular, the next slap was a surprise. It came a half-a-beat later and harder than he expected. Chris felt the blissful warmth spread. He wants money, he thought. He felt Adan explode in his ass. Fuck it, he's worth it. I'll give him rights to the scene, Chris decided as Adan rolled him over. “Wait! Don't hit me in the face!” Chris pleaded. Instead, Adan pushed his half-hard cock back into Chris's hole and kissed him.

    Then Adan tilted his head to the side and asked, “Did you like that? I loved it.”

  29. #179
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Rory,
    Wow. I saw that you had posted the “corrected” chapter – but I didn’t realize it was so different from what I’d already read – or is my head off that much?! Sorry for not paying closer attention, sooner!

    I can’t blame Ann for her voyeuristic tendencies toward Neil and Jerry, particularly when you describe them so lovingly and sensually. Then there’s your closing line of the section: What kind of gay guys are they coming up with these days? Ah, but we know better, don’t we?!

    Spike, while thoroughly enjoying fucking Eric, is at least being decent and telling Eric to Man Up with Z. Spike doesn’t want to lose the desire of his eye, but he’s at least a realist and knows he’s second fiddle at the moment. Not sure about this at all.
    A short shrift of a weekend for poor Z, with Eric devolving.

    Then, Larry and Cal some upon our shit for brains beau of yore and call him on his disposition/demeanor.
    And memories of Luke, Eric’s mentor and great guy, who drew the short straw of ALS, but left what he had to Eric, with the admonishment that he pursue his studies and become the doctor he could be.

    It’s been a long time. I miss Luke.

    And, back to the Greenhouse with Finn and Bo. That reunion went a lot better than the “dum de dum dum, DUM” cliffhanger left us worrying over. They both got some outside practice and experience in so they could come back to each other, hungrier and better than ever. I’m glad they’re relationship withstood their youthful indiscretions.

    Meanwhile, back with Morrie and the boys, . . .
    And our Chinese Agent still getting his rocks off in the most un-straight of ways. Morrie’s business ethic is certainly an interesting one.

    And on to the next chapter – Annual Bonus announcement time – given their successes, but also the bosses nervousness, how will it turn – guess I should read instead of write!

    I think Rhonda needs to be shown the door – conniving bitch.

    And on to Inspector LeStrade, Holmes, and Mrs. Watson, so to speak.
    They are such good parents for Lemuel – better than his biological matter donors, by far.
    I love the modifications created to ensure caring while being able to divert legal crap.

    Meanwhile, back at the porn studio . . .
    Jody is becoming quite the horny little slut, isn’t he?
    Adan gets his desires, too – Chris’s lovely ass, all his for the fucking, umpteen times – practice makes perfect, after all, AND, the pie’ce de resistance – Chris’s cock deep inside his own ass.

    And, to answer Adan’s question for myself – I’m hard and need some of his loving and attention!



    And I know, if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest . . .

  30. #180
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Wow. I saw that you had posted the “corrected” chapter – but I didn’t realize it was so different from what I’d already read – or is my head off that much?! Sorry for not paying closer attention, sooner!
    I corrected about four typos and while I was at it I added a little bit here and there to (I hope) clarify events and better explain some characters' motivation. The changes were meant for people who hadn't already read it. No differences to events or outcomes. Personally, I don't think Chap 44 is worth rereading just for the changes.

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Must be I didn't remember all of the action. I thoroughly enjoyed it, if you couldn't tell.


    And I know, if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest . . .

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Forty-Six


    “Let's see … There's Emeryville, of course, the upstate lodge, the Napa winery, the Singapore condo, the New York apartment, the Munich house, that dump of a compound in Shanghai, the Argentine ranch, the Tasmanian … what is that place in Australia?”

    “A house, quite a pleasant one, actually; my wife and kids liked Tasmania. Lots of water, no devils ...” the accountant answered.

    “And it's used, on average, eight nights a year and never by Mark, right? So the cost per guest there is one hundred forty thousand dollars a night. Is that Australian dollars or American?”

    “Australian, but they have traded pretty much at par for the last couple of years.”

    “Historically it's over-priced.”

    “The house?”

    “No, the Aussie dollar. You could see it moving to eighty cents if the Chinese sneeze twice.”

    “I thought you were kind of ...” The accountant let his voice trail off.

    “A bimbo? A rent boy? A small time hustler with a big dick?”

    “Jackson, there's no need to use names like those. I just mean ...”

    “You just mean that I'm supposed to be an idiot?”

    “You're making it hard, Jackson.”

    “Oh please, I have zero interest in you sexually,” Jackson replied playfully

    “What? NO!” the accountant sputtered. “That's not what ...”

    “Ok, so to sum up, I'd like to see cost and market for all these places. I've got occupancy rates and operating costs from corporate communications. Can you have those by the end of the day?”

    “Well ...”

    “Sweet, I'll be waiting for them. Thanks, Milt.” Jackson clicked off and knocked on Mark's door. He had listed the properties and the costs associated with them. He listed the comparative costs for high-end resorts in nearby locations.

    “That much?” Mark gasped. “That news could affect the stock price if it got out.”

    “So I figure we could trim things a bit,” Jackson proposed.

    “A bit! Bet your ass, a lot!” Mark used an intercom to postpone lunch with Li Ling. Jackson heard the familiar inflection in Mark's voice; he suppressed a smile knowing Li would not be getting his afternoon fuck that day. “This number, Jacks; I thought Argentina was cheap.” Jackson leaned close for a look and Mark put his hand familiarly on Jackson's back.

    “That includes trucking water from the Andes. There isn't enough ground water to support the farm AND the cattle.”

    “Farm? I thought it was a ranch.”

    “You once admired the kitchen garden the cook was growing and things kind of got crazy from there. It's what you would call a truck farm now, except there's no market for the output. It just rots.” Jackson stood up and Mark's hand slipped down to his ass before he took it away.

    “And the property in Munich?”

    “I thought the company could transition to something smaller in town coupled with a getaway in the mountains, for bigger gatherings … on the Austrian side, on the water, maybe the Walchsee. Austria is cheaper - not much, unfortunately - but it all counts.”

    Mark regarded Jackson with some pride. “See, I told you you'd like running the properties.”

    “Yeah, the properties are going to be fun. It's you I miss.” The last comment was almost parenthetical and Jackson turned the talk back to business. “So, if you approve, I'll list these three for sale ...”

    “Remember that week we spent in Argentina?” Mark sighed, not so easily turned. His eyes ranged over Jackson's body seeming to recall every inch of it.

    “So, we should keep this professional, right? Could you sign this authorization, please, Mark?”

    “Jacks … we had some good times. A lot of good times. Don't tell me you have forgotten.”

    “No, I haven't. But we're passed that now. No sense stirring that pot.” He waited for Mark to sign the sale authorization. “Thank you, sir. I'll keep you posted on progress.” The 'sir' was not seriously deferential, but it reinforced Jackson's point with Mark. Jackson gathered up his briefing papers and walked to the door, knowing Mark's eyes were on his ass. It was still a fine ass.




    Jerry got home from work in a great mood. The bonus announcement had been very promising the night before, but the details as Rory explained them the next day had been even better. Jerry's bonus was modest compared to what Tom and Heiko got, but it was a good deal more than he was expecting. He thought about getting a better house, but he didn't want to overwhelm Neil. He made a lot more money than Neil but he kept quiet about it. Fuck a big kitchen, he thought; I can't cook anyway. I'd rather live with Neil on a shack than live without him in some overpriced monster-house in the Hills. He smile got bigger in anticipation of getting home. And then his face fell. He felt cold terror as he walked up to the porch.

    “Tim … is everything alright? Where's Neil? Is he ok?”

    “Easy, Jer. He's perfectly fine. He's at Scalese's buying something – to eat, I guess. It's a grocery store last I noticed.” Tim smiled reassuringly.

    “Oh! Thank God. Every time I see you without seeing him, I think something's happened. Like you're here to give me the bad news or something.” The danger regularly faced by policemen wasn't lost on Jerry.

    “I'm waiting for Rory. Neil invited us to dinner. Darren and Nicky are coming, too.”

    In short order the group assembled and Neil put out the best Italian dinner that he could assemble from what Scalese's sold. The hearty red wine had come from a nearby drug store that had a better selection of wines than most of the expensive shops in New York. At least that's what Nicky said.

    “Ok, so I can't keep a secret.” Neil stood with glass in hand, about to explode. He didn't make a toast, he just drank it all down. “Jerry and I are getting married,” he said as fast as he could get the words out and then he sat down and looked at Jerry for approval.

    There was a five second pause and then the table erupted with simultaneous congratulations. After the flurry of comments and acknowledgments the room got quieter again. Jerry allowed that there were some practical considerations that needed to be worked out and Neil admitted he was scared witless half the time.

    And then Rory spoke, “At least you won't have to worry about money.”

    Another round of wine and the night ended. Jerry and Neil cleared away the debris of dinner. Everything but the glasses was plastic, so it wasn't a huge clean up.

    “You didn't tell me you were gonna make a big deal out of it,” Jerry said as they sipped his wine.

    “Do you mind? I mean they had to know eventually.”

    “No, I don't mind. I guess my brain was ready to think of us as an engaged couple.”

    “Well, that's what we are, aren't we?”

    Jerry gave him a fruity, winey kiss. “Yeah; but, when it was just us, it was a manageable thing. Now the world knows, or some of it ...”

    Jerry's phone rang. He smiled to Neil and put the phone on speaker. “Asshole,” Bernice exclaimed. “Why didn't you tell us? That would have made the bonus night two hundred percent perfect.”

    “Many happy returns,” Cyril shouted in the background.

    “That's not what he means,” Bernice explained.

    “I know what he means,” Jerry laughed. After a few more words of thanks, he put his phone away and pulled Neil close. “I like making out on the sofa.”

    “Jer,” Neil began, “Everybody's talking about this bonus. Just how big is it?”

    “Well, it pays out over five years, so it's not so much really. And if I quit, I don't get it. So it's not really anything I can count on.”

    “How much?”

    “It depends on what the company's stock does.”

    “About how much?”

    “A million and a quarter. In stock. Not cash. If the stock goes down ...”

    “A MILLION AND A QUARTER?”

    “More or less … It's not really that much money, Neil.”

    “It is when you're making fifty-two thousand a year.” Neil sipped his wine slowly. “Jerry, I put about three thousand to our monthly expenses – and you do, too. How much do you really make?”

    “Eight thousand. I put the rest into a mutual fund.”

    “We haven't had this talk before,” Neil said quietly.

    “We never needed to. Together, fifty-fifty, we already have more than we spend so what difference does the rest make?” Jerry poured the last of the wine in their glasses.

    “My genius partner is a millionaire,” Neil said with a sense of wonder.

    “My genius partner is the best kisser in the world. Can we go back to making out?”

    Neil glanced around the room. “Maybe Ann can see us.”

    “So what? When did that ever worry you?”

    “I thought we couldn't afford curtains.”

    “If she likes watching, she'll be disappointed as hell if we put up curtains.”

    Neil giggled and kissed his lover. “Want to give her a better show?”

    “At least turn out the lamp over there.”

    Even without the lamp, as piece by piece they shed their clothes, their skin glowed in the light coming in from the street and the brighter light coming from the kitchen. The play of light and shadow displayed the ghostly wantonness of Neil's eager touches and Jerry's kisses; no witness could have mistaken the invitation of Jerry's spread legs or the thrusts of Neil's fucking. Fleshy details were obscure but the passion and the climax were plain.

    “That was amazing,” Neil sighed. “There is nobody like you, Jer. It must be that millionaires fuck better than us peasant folk.”

    Jerry was still in the flush of his orgasm and pulled Neil against his heaving chest. “I told you you don't fuck me enough.”

    Neil pulled back. “You're kidding.” He paused; there wasn't enough light to read Jerry's expression. “You're not kidding! … Are you? I thought you wanted it to be, like, special.”

    “It is always special, Neil. Every time.”




    Ann could barely breath as she watched her neighbors' passion ebb. Her hand almost vibrated on her clit. She had to sit when her climax came. She wondered what her life was becoming. Her voyeuristic sex was so much better than the real thing had ever been for her. No, that wasn't true, she decided. There was a boy, not her first - her third, as she remembered it. He was sweet and gentle and careful. But that was high school. And we only did it twice. And I'm remembering it as being better than it really was, she thought.

    What am I going to do when Brian comes home … if he ever does? Five to seven years. And there was that incident that delayed any chance of parole. Fighting! So unlike Brian. Why would he get into a fight? That prison was supposed to be practically a country club. Minimum security. No violent criminals. So Brian's fight meant he would do at least five years and it had been only a little over three. More than half way, but what lay ahead?

    Brian, of course, felt the fight had been absolutely necessary. He had to respect himself and he needed others to respect him. Otherwise, his sentence would be five years of victimhood. Despite the relative ease of a prison that wasn't much different from a military boot camp - so much easier than a maximum security facility, victimhood was still victimhood, a daily denial of humanity, a daily subservience, and the psychological disgust of letting yourself be used over and over.

    When Brian first arrived he was assigned an upper bunk in a dormitory-like room of a dozen bunk beds. The man in the lower bunk was an uninteresting nobody, a repeat offender named Donald who couldn't stop committing covert crimes of theft, burglaries of empty homes.

    After two weeks the routine began to assume boring sameness. Work, eat, and sleep came and went. The exercise periods were just another form of work for Brian. Donald was creepy in the shower, always checking Brian out, but the looks merely creepy. Brian ignored it and otherwise he tolerated the looks. The inmates were non-violent criminals so the prison lacked the drama of sensational movies and television. As far as Brian knew there were no rapes, no knifeings, no gangs. There were some pressures, but those were fairly subtle. The boredom was the hardest part.

    On Mondays they changed the bed linen. Donald surprised Brian on his third Monday by saying, “Why don't you take the bottom bunk? I like the openness of the top – you know, no towels hanging down drying.” So with a nod, they swapped positions and made up their new bunks.

    Two nights later Brian lay in the bottom bunk with their towels, damp from showering hanging down from the upper bunk rail. The towels afforded a sense of privacy, not actual privacy of course, but there was the feel of a solitary peace behind them. So far, Brian had resisted even thinking about sex in any form. He had heard sounds in the night but did his best to ignore them. This time he could hear the rhythmic squishing of masturbation. He tried to put it out of his head, but resistance is futile, as the Borg says. He felt his own erection growing; he held his dick cupped in his hands as it grew and forced its way through his fingers. A little - he could rub it a little he decided. A little comfort wouldn't hurt. Soon he was stroking as quietly as he could. He tried to minimize his motions, Just concentrate on the tip he told himself.

    Before he could react, Donald leapt from the upper bunk and stuck his head into Brian's space. “I can help you with that,” he offered. “You'll like it.”

    “Fuck, no,” Brian hissed. “Get back in your bunk.”

    Once he was certain that Donald was back in the upper bunk, he rolled on his side and tried to sleep. He had to endure the rocking motion of the bunk and the quiet but obvious sounds of Donald's orgasm. Then he became aware of some kind of sex going on in the adjacent bunk. He wrapped the pillow around his head. Eventually he slept.

    In the morning Brian issued a warning to Donald. “Don't try that shit again!”

    “What are you talking about?” Donald shoved him away.

    That was lesson one in Brian's prison sex education. Nothing happened. There was no sex in prison. In the morning it was all washed away. At least it was never talked about. Every night, however, it was again obvious that half the room was fucking, sucking, or jacking off. Three nights later, Brian gave in to the demands of his erection and began stroking himself as quietly as possible. He heard Donald's bare feet land on the floor. Brian remained lying on his side, facing away and waited. He held his cock and waited for Donald to walk to the toilet; but nothing happened. He refused to turn over to look. Slowly he began stroking his cock again. It felt so good. He sighed almost silently and relaxed, enjoying the solitary pleasure. Fuck Donald, Brian thought. Then he felt something on his ass - just the zephyr of a touch. He rolled over and shoved Donald away. “I told you to stay the hell away!” Brian shouted.

    A cautionary warning came from an adjacent bunk. “Fuck him, suck him, or deck him. Just shut the fuck up about it!” Laughter came from two other bunks; but the warning wasn't enough.

    Two nights later, when Donald tried it again, Brian burst out of his rack and decked him. The fight caused an uproar and brought the guards. In a bureaucratic procedure designed to minimize the matter for the convenience of the prison administration, Brian was charged with fighting and injuring another inmate without cause. Unprovable sexual assault did not constitute proper cause. The finding cost Brian two things. His first possibility of parole was delayed and he was moved to a more restrictive environment, a regular cell.

    The parole delay was devastating. It meant that Brian would perforce do his minimum sentence – five years instead of three. It meant that prisoner life was his life and it awakened him to the fact that he had better learn to adapt. He couldn't close his eyes and hold his breath for five years.

    The good news was his roommate. Lex was a virtual copy of Brian. They were the same age and liked the same things; they had the similar backgrounds, they committed almost the same crimes, and they had both punched out their bunk mates. After Lex told the story of his amorous bunk mate's subsequent dental work that caused a whistle when he talked, Brian laughed and felt at ease for the first time since he heard the big doors slam behind him. He could laugh about it for the first time; there was a bitterness in the laugh, but it was a genuine laugh. There was just one matter remaining but it was solved, too. On the second night of their shared sleeping arrangements, they both pretended to ignore the other guy's masturbation.




    Porn can be exhausting work. Ty was glad to get into his bed after long hours at the studio, even if those hours had been physically enjoyable. His sex session with Jeff had been easy enough although the exigencies of making porn meant that he didn't get to come when he wanted to and he didn't get to do it the way he liked.

    “Was I ok?” Jeff asked from his bed, separated by a shared headboard from Ty's.

    “Yeah, you were fine.” Ty answered and then heaved a sigh.

    “I didn't want to hurt you or freak you out or anything ...”

    “You didn't.”

    “I was afraid my dick might be too big.”

    “Seriously?” Ty laughed, implying that Jeff's size was nothing to be concerned about..

    “Yes, seriously.” Jeff sounded a little offended.

    “Thanks for the concern. You were fine.” Ty made amends. “Are we gonna talk all night? Because I was thinking about hiking early tomorrow.”

    “I like to talk after a fuck.”

    “Yeah, but that was hours ago.”

    “But we didn't get to talk hours ago. And there was some stuff I wanted to ask you. This is embarrassing.” Jeff fell silent.

    “What? Go ahead. Ask.”

    Can I get in bed with you? It's easier to talk that way.” Jeff climbed in with Ty. “I mean we spent the whole day making love. We're not exactly strangers.” They shuffled their bodies around in a bed too small for two and ended up cozily entangled.

    “You're naked,” Ty said.

    “Well, yeah. You know I sleep that way.”

    “Yeah, but … So what did you want to ask? Now that we're so close.” Ty's remark was friendly, not arch.

    “Well, I know you kinda had a thing for me ...” Ty didn't say anything so Jeff continued. “And we fucked all today ...” Ty still remained silent. “So … is there any unfinished business left? For you, I mean?”

    “Me, no. You're the one with the erection.”

    “Yeah, that's why I'm a good porn actor,” Jeff laughed, backing his hips away from Ty's body. “I mean do you still have a thing? Did today make it any … I don't know what to call it.”

    “Am I now worse off? Hopelessly in love with you? Is that what you mean? The answer is no. My itch has been scratched. It went away.”

    “Great!” In his enthusiasm, Jeff gave Ty a tiny kiss on the cheek. “So can we be friends?”

    “We are friends.”

    “I mean 'better' friends - now that that stuff is over with?”

    “Are you holding my cock?” Ty asked amused by Jeff's illogical concerns.

    “Sorry, it's a small bed. I didn't know where to put my hand.” Jeff moved his hand to Ty's thigh. “You're not the only one with a hard on.”

    “You don't know what to do with your hand so you jack me off?” Ty laughed harder.

    “I wasn't exactly jacking you off ...”

    Ty kissed Jeff and said, “Yes, we can be 'better' friends.”

    “Good, 'cause I was worried things might get weird. Don't need weird things with my roomie.”

    “Are we gonna … mess around?” Ty asked not sure where their coziness was going.

    “We don't want to do that,” Jeff said decisively. “Do we?” he asked more uncertainly.

    “No, I guess not.”

    “Ok, so tell me about hiking. You do that a lot? Where do you go?” Jeff snuggled closer, despite their dueling erections. They talked for a while and then fell asleep in the cramped closeness of Ty's bed. In the morning Ty fucked Jeff.

    Of course they fucked. It's what twenty-year-olds do - ones who sleep together. Ty liked it and Jeff liked it so much he sighed, “Why couldn't I love you instead of Dormeyer?”

    “You're in 'love' with Dormeyer?”

    “Hopelessly.”

    “Is it mutual?” Ty got out of bed.

    “I don't know. Maybe. Mostly, he treats me like shit.” Jeff stared at Ty's nakedness, drinking in the form standing beside the bed. “And you're so much better looking than he is!”

  33. #183
    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Exellent update, Rory- Thanks!

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    So, is Jackson really trying to keep it professional, or is he using his power to adjust the situation to his liking?

    Mark is about to bottom for Jackson's keen intellect, and possibly other portions of his anatomy.

    Neil and Jerry and their big party - with Jerry's quiet bonus being not so quiet. The company's had a very, VERY good year.

    Their quiet, backlit, private celebration was very nice, too.

    We learn a lot more about Ann and particularly Brian, and his current circumstances.

    Jeff and Ty, post coitus professionalis, back at their room . . . That certainly got me hard!


    And I know, if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest . . .

  35. #185
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Forty-Seven



    “We have a smart phone app that could keep better track of your inventory than that green notebook you use.”

    “Now you want to run the rag business?” Nicky answered, betraying some annoyance.

    “Of course not, our systems don't run anything. They're just tools.” Darren left for work, leaving Nicky talking to himself while paging through the small hard-covered green notebook he kept in his back pocket. Morrie called it a “wheel book”. He claimed it was a fine naval tradition and insisted that Nicky use it.

    “He makes more money than I do. He's smarter than I am. He's a better lover than I am. He doesn't fall for Morrie's bullshit like I do. He wouldn't waste ten minutes looking for a fucking phone number ...” Nicky threw his little green wheel book against the wall out of frustration. A couple of loose pages fell out. They did not contain the number he was looking for but did give him a clue about where to find it. Malcomb Morrison was listed with Morris Lehrman under D because Lehrman married Debbie Downer, whose real name was Duber, but she was always so negative about everything.

    “Mal.” Nicky smiled broadly into the phone. He had heard that smiles are reflected in the voice.

    “Nicky, jeez … How long has it been?”

    “Too long, old buddy. You want to get together?”

    “Tonight, aw … I can't. I'm married now, you know.”

    “I didn't. Anyone rich and famous?” Nicky asked, hoping it wasn't that asshole what's-his-name that Mal used to be nuts about.

    “I don't think so. LaDonna Faber? Worked at Halbeard Faber? The bond house? We have four kids.”

    “Wow! The boss's daughter!” Nicky's surprise reflected the fact that Mal used to get fucked by every gay guy on Wall Street - and there are a lot of gay guys on Wall Street. He made a date for drinks the following Wednesday. Nicky's next call was to an airline for tickets to New York on Tuesday. He dressed and headed for the city, hoping he hadn't pissed off Darren. Morrie wanted to review their options at his hotel.

    “Oh, for God sake! Ten in the morning and you're still going at it? Call me when you're through!” Nicky stormed out of Morrie's room. The sight of Tin-tin getting fucked by Morrie was more than he could take; Morrie, always robustly proportioned, was verging on freak show fat. Disgusting, Nicky thought as he sipped a coffee in the hotel lobby. He needed something stronger to get the vision of Morrie out of his head, but the bar wasn't open yet. His phone buzzed, summoning him back to the room.

    “Morrie … Jeez ...”

    “You arrived early, Nicolo. You were supposed to be here at ten. You arrived at nine fifty-seven.”

    “You wouldn't have been finished at ten and you know it.”

    “Minor details.” Morrie dismissed Nicky's objections with a shoo-ing motion. “Let's get to the important details. How should we size the initial order?”

    The bathroom door opened and Tsien-tsien emerged looking masculine and very fit. “Hi, Nicky. Didn't know you were back yet.” He covered his nakedness with a towel. He walked to a dresser and removed the towel. He carefully selected everything but his underwear, which he eventually donned after a couple of minutes.

    Morrie smiled at the flaunting display and gave Nicky a wink that said, “All mine.”

    Nicky was bothered by the fact that Tsien-tsien's little show had been mesmerizing; it was impossible to look away. Back to business. “Yeah, well, I feel we should go easy. Place a cost-efficient order but phase the shipments at a pace we can sell. I'm gonna see Mal Morrison for financing.”

    “Numbers?” Morrie probed.

    “The minimum was five thousand the last time. Maybe we can beat that because of the … um, trouble.”

    “Yeah, keep talking ...” Morrie went into the bathroom and for once closed the door.

    Nicky waited knowing Morrie couldn't hear him unless he shouted. At looked at Tsien-tsien who was finishing dressing in his government-agent black suit. Tsien-tsien looked back.

    “We offended you? You never used to mind.”

    “Forget about it,” Nicky muttered. The words were distinct; his New York accent had faded into a murky mix of both coasts.

    “Could have been you. You were always a good fuck. Better than Morrie, anyway.”

    “Well, thanks. You just made my day.” Nicky flipped through his wheel book looking at Chinese addresses.

    “Nicky, we don't have to be enemies.”

    “We aren't, Tsien-tsien. But we're not friends either.”

    “We should be. Morrie's giving me a piece of the company.”

    “Morrie gives everybody a piece of the company. You will later find out the 'company' is just a shell. No assets. Just a pass-through.” Nicky wasn't being absolutely factual. The 'company' was structured for specific deals. It would hold assets but only when absolutely necessary and for only brief periods. Brief, as in days.

    “So I need to sell faster than you do. Is that what you're saying?”

    Nicky looked up. Tsien-tsien was a formidable presence in the dark suit of his government-agent role, handsome, too. “Kind of. That is, if you can find a market to sell into. Nobody wants to be the second holder of Morrie's paper.”

    “Package it in a repo with other junk and walk? Chinese banks will take it. You're not the only people I do business with.”

    “Do you fuck for them all?” Nicky's question wasn't mean. He was truly curious.

    “It depends, as you know.” Morrie emerged from the bathroom mostly dressed. Tsien-tsien, acting as a valet moved to help him with his tie, but Morrie brushed him aside.

    “Nicky, what is that thing?”

    “It's a wheel book. You ordered me to use it.”

    “Oh, for God's sake, get a smart phone.”




    Andrew was having fun playing with Seth's balls. Their morning sex ended a half-hour ago and they were spending some lazy, Lemuel-free, quality time in bed. His head lay on Seth's stomach while he gently poked and prodded, watching the balls move about in their sack. “You have beautiful balls, you know that?”

    “Mmmm,” Seth answered. He was reading a small joke book about student exam answers. Suddenly he laughed uproariously, making Andrew's head bounce. He read from the book. “Some student wrote, 'Judyism – that's J-U-D-Y – was the first monolithic religion that had one great big god named Yahoo'. What a dick-head!” Seth roared with laughter forcing Andrew to move his head.

    “This guy ...” Seth checked the author's name, “Anders Hendriksson, collects student essays. It's hilarious - unless you're worried about the future of the youth of the world.”

    “Weren't you listening to me?” Andrew asked, hurt that his compliment had been overlooked.

    “You like my balls. You've said that before.”

    “But this time, I really ...”

    Seth put his book aside and pulled Andrew into a kiss. “Can we stay naked all day? Just lie in bed and fuck?”

    “I was thinking we should consult with Chris. About money. We have a tuition payment coming up.” Andrew was being practical. “We could take some money out of the studio.”

    Seth sat up and looked concerned. “What about that business, Andrew? What if the social worker finds out we're pornographers?”

    “Maybe she models.”

    “No, seriously. What if she thinks pornographers are unfit to help raise a child?”

    “You're being serious. Where's the fun in that?” Andrew kissed the head of Seth's dick.

    “I'm usually being serious, if you haven't noticed.” Seth relaxed and stroked Andrew's hair as his head bobbed on Seth's dick.

    “Yrrr ssly rrdd ooo,” Andrew answered with out stopping his slow licking and sucking.

    “What?”

    “I said you're usually hard, too, like this morning. This morning you're serious and hard and hot and loving and patient while I … Ah, there's my sweet Sethie.” Andrew spoke slowly stringing out the words as he maneuvered his body into position and his cock into Seth. “You know I love you.” He slowly pumped as he stroked Seth's cock. “Those big balls are starting to pull up tight.”

    Seth just groaned and pulled Andrew deeper into himself. He bit his lip as the pleasure mounted. Andrew responded more quickly than either of them expected and began to cum. “Don't stop fuckin' me! Don't stop!” Seth demanded when Andrew started to slow down and pulled Andrew's mouth against his own. Andrew's spent cock was already starting to soften before Seth came. “Mmmm,” was all Seth could say as he kept kissing Andrew with an unquenched need.

    “We could always work harder at the modeling business,” Andrew said to the panting Seth, who looked confused and continued panting. “Just saying ...”

    After a minute Seth chuckled. “You figured that out while you fucked me?”

    “It's called multi-tasking.”

    “Oh, now I'm just another task to you.”

    “Sweetie, you know I love you ...”

    “Do you really?”

    Andrew began with a kiss. “I love you like my friend and partner. I love you like my lover. I love you like the man who's getting to love Lemmie as much as I do. I love you like ...”

    “Stop right there. I am getting to like the kid. I miss him when he's with Lurline.”

    “You don't have to tell me. I can see that.”

    “And, Andrew? I think I've always loved you. Sometimes I was pissed off, but I still loved you. Sometimes it was a love-on-low, but it never went out completely.”

    “I know, sweetie; but you can tell me anyway. I like hearing it.”

    “So what about the porn stuff, Andrew? We need to do something about that.”




    It was early and the gym was almost empty. With only two other guys working out, Rocky and Ty could proceed through their routines without any waiting for machines. Ty told Rocky pretty much all the details about his last studio shoot.

    “So you finally got to do it with Jeff, huh?”

    “Do you think that's what? Slutty?”

    “Dude, I dance near-naked in a gay bar. I'm not characterizing your actions at all.”

    “Characterizing my actions,” Ty repeated. “Are we growing up, you think?”

    “We're using bigger words,” Rocky grinned back. “And making more money.”

    “Yeah? Really? Playing up to the customers is working for you?”

    “Doubled my tips. Some nights more.” Rocky adjusted the weights on the machine.

    “What about the yuck factor?”

    Rocky shrugged. “Most of the time they're just guys, needy guys. I'm helping them through the night.”

    “They dream about you while they beat off,” Ty observed. “I think you give 'em a cleaner image to work with than I do.”

    “I don't get naked, but I guess I would, if that's what the boss wanted. She's all about the tease, not the skin.”

    “Nice tease, though. You're wet dream material, Rock.” It was a factual appraisal, not a lusty remark.

    “I tease. You deliver. I think you're actually being more honest.”

    “I don't know. Sometimes I feel used, and not in a good way, if there even is a good way to sell sex.”

    “I hear you. The nights they yell stuff at me – specific ways they say they'll make me cum. Man, as if … Those nights suck. It was way more fun when I worked with Wolf. We could laugh at everything. He was so easy to be around. He's the only guy I've ever kissed.” Rocky laughed at the memory.

    “Maybe you need another partner.”

    “I asked about that. The boss doesn't want to pay anybody else. Maybe during the holidays, she says. Is your place looking for talent?”

    “They're always in the market. You interested?

    “Not really. Just a thought. Would we work together?”

    “I don't know. I don't know if I'd like that. I've never worked with anybody I knew before.

    “Jeff's your roommate,” Rocky countered. “You work with him.”

    “Yeah, but that was lust. We weren't really that close to him at the time. He wasn't somebody like you - somebody I respect.”

    Rocky smiled in appreciation of the nice words. “Spot me?” he asked as they moved to free weights.




    “Eric, I talked to your roommates. They said they haven't seen you in a while. Are you sleeping at the hospital?” That was something tired students often did.

    “Z ...” Eric began. “Z … I, uh, have been staying at Spike's. Remember him from Alameda General?”

    “Of course, Erica's dad. Nice family.”

    “They're not together anymore. Julie and the girls have ...”

    “Oh, sorry to hear that.”

    “Z ...” Eric fidgeted with his shirt collar.

    “Say it, Eric.”

    “I've been staying 'with' Spike, not just at his place.”

    Z continued drying and putting away the dishes Eric had washed. He didn't look at Eric. “Oh,” he said at last.

    “Z ...” There was a catch in Eric's voice. “Z, I … love you... but ...”

    Z dropped a plate and watched it shatter on the hard tile floor. He counted the pieces until he got to nine. “Clumsy of me ...” he said. “Really, so fuckin' clumsy of me.” He squatted and began to pick up the pieces. “Kind of like pieces of my life, huh, Eric?” He gathered the larger pieces into his hands and dumped them in the garbage. “So we're done? It's over?”

    “Z, that sounds so final.” There were tears in Eric's eyes.

    “Yeah, well. I guess it is. I'm sitting on my hands in Alameda. You're fuckin' around in the city. We don't see each other much. Couple a days now and then… couple a fucks now and then. For what? Sounds pretty final, doesn't it?

    “It doesn't have to be.”

    “Really it does, Eric. We're wasting each other's time - trying to live on old memories. They are great old memories, but that's all they are.”

    “Z ...”

    “I'll stay in the front room and be out of here as soon as possible. It might take a few days. Is that ok?”

    “Z, the house is half yours.”

    “Not legally. We never changed the deed.”

    “Fuck legally, it's half yours. You don't have to move. I want … I want you to stay ...”

    “Thanks, that's decent of you.”

    “Z, I love you.”

    “Not really, you don't. You just haven't figured out that it's over.”

    “You're so calm about this. How can you be so calm about this?” Tears were streaming down Eric's cheeks.

    “Maybe I've had more time alone to prepare for it.” Z finished sweeping up the last remnants of the broken plate and put the broom and dustpan back in the closet.

    “I love you, Z.” Eric's plaintive howl at last broke Z's heart.

    “You sure used to.” He kissed Eric's wet cheek and went up the stairs. He sat in the front room in a chair by the window and listened to Eric bang about the house. At last Eric left with the backpack he had brought with him earlier in the day and more clothes over his arm. Z watched Eric drive away and stared at the empty parking space on San Antonio as a feeling of utter bleakness gripped him and broke him. He noted the perfection of the available parking space, so rare in San Antonio, so perfectly sized for an SUV, left so absolutely empty by Eric's departure.

    His tears began slowly but were impossible to stop. Then aching sobs crushed his chest; it felt like his ribs were breaking. “No,” he repeated over and over. Exhaustion took forever to come. A version of oblivion unlike sleep finally silenced his pain until the early morning. It was still dark when Z awoke, uncomfortable from sleeping in his clothes, aching generally throughout his body. Then the ache became specific again. Eric was gone.

  36. #186
    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Hmmm- sad about Eric & Z. . . but that's life, I guess.

    . . . And, yet the beat goes on.

    Thanks, Rory.

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Man. I got Rocabar's post via e-mail, and happened to read it before I read your chapter, so I had reinforcement of what was coming.

    Can I smack Eric upside the head, or maybe crush the asshole's nuts just for fun? The guy's so fucked up. He's giving up a great guy, who gave up everything for him.

    I'm so shot by the last section about Eric and Z I'm having a hard time even thinking about the rest of the chapter right now.
    Gut wrenching - really. For so long they were the bedrock - and after Eric's buddy and mentor came down with Lou Gehrig's disease, tearing us apart.

    Tsien-Tsien and Nicky and Morrie and company in the apparel business with its interesting twists and turns.

    Andrew and Seth get to spend a little quality time w/out Lemuel around - and have interesting discussions while making love to one another at the same time!

    And Ty and Rocky at the Gym. Why do I get the feeling that Rocky may make an appearance in the porn industry, while Ty might wind up working for tips at the club.


    And I know, if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest . . .

  38. #188
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Forty-Eight


    Ann was worried. Brian seemed so different during her visit. She had expected that being released from his cell back to the dormitory would be a step toward freedom, that he would be pleased. Instead he was grumpy and distracted, he seemed indifferent to her. She tried to tell him that his sentence was half over, that he was on the downhill slope, two and a half years done out of five. Instead his mood and outlook were bewildering. Maybe her boss had been right all along.

    “Divorce his ass!” Laurette had told her two and a half years ago. “You don't need that millstone around your neck for the next … how long is it?'

    “But he's ...”

    “I know. He does have a cute ass, but you have to let that go.” Ann was unaware that Laurette had tried to find out just how cute Brian's ass was with a couple of blatant offers that Brian declined. “There are lots of guys around for somebody like you, Anna-Banana. And if you still have a yen when he gets out, you can remarry him. But, trust me, honey, you don't want to be tied down in the meanwhile.” Laurette's advice was affected only slightly by Brian's rejection of her propositions; he had softened the insult by telling her he had a small dick. “Find yourself a dumb guy with plenty of endurance and a big dick. They're around. That's my advice.”

    Ann continued north on the Five. She accelerated, wanting to avoid the think tule fog that could turn the drive back to Alameda into a white-knuckle sweat session after sunset. She tried to get Laurette's advice out of her head. “A dumb guy with a big dick” replayed endlessly every time she passed a truck. I've got to quit checking out truck drivers, she told herself. Nine times out of ten, they're old and fat anyway. Neil and Jerry have big dicks. Why did they have to be gay? It just wasn't fair.

    Brian's irritability during the visit had nothing to do with Ann; he had been too absorbed up in his own problem to notice his effect on her. His best friend in prison, indeed, his only friend Lex had been released the week before.

    It was like the end of the world. Their friendship had developed and deepened with the discovery of shared interests and common goals. The only relaxing thing in the day was to discuss football with Lex. They would lie in their racks and talk about every player they could think of, replay games, invent dream teams, imagine new plays. Simpatico. The Spanish word perfectly described the two of them.

    They both worked in the section of the prison that built industrial shelving kits. They paired up and operated the section that packed the kits. It was monotonous work and physical besides. The monotony gave them the opportunity to talk and the physicality let them sleep soundly at night. Their friendship made the restrictions of the shared cell unimportant. The friendship had a fierce adolescent intensity and flourished in the confines of their artificial life.

    It was a complete surprise, therefore, when one night right after lights out, Lex suddenly groaned and attacked Brian. Brian was totally unprepared for the assault and slow to react. Lex pinned him to the bunk and bit him. Panic swept through Brian as Lex overpowered him. He's killing me was Brian's only thought. My best friend in the world is killing me.

    It seemed unthinkable at first and came as a bigger shock than the assault when Brian at last realized that Lex was kissing him. The kisses weren't sweet; they were crushing and painful. Brian was still confounded as Lex straddled his chest and squeezed his jaw. He gasped for breath and got Lex's cock in his mouth instead. At that point, Brian began to resist seriously, thrashing and twisting under Lex's weight; but Lex outweighed him and the resistance was valiant futility. Lex only had to squeeze Brian's balls once to make him a relatively cooperative cocksucker. He stopped resisting. He still gagged every time Lex plunged deep, but that part was over fairly quickly with three deep thrusts and a gush of semen. Brian lay numb as Lex ripped his boxers off and attempted to suck Brian's limp cock. To Brian's utter amazement, his cock responded and he came explosively. Lex gagged on the cum but swallowed it before he backed off leaving Brian exhausted in the bed.

    “Get out of my rack. Sleep in your own,” Lex ordered. Brian rose to comply and once he was on his feet Lex embraced him kissed him again hard but not so brutally this time. There was no tenderness in the action, just reciprocal need and acknowledgment.

    “Lex,” Brian began.

    Lex brushed off the attempt at talk. “Go to sleep.”

    In the morning Lex refused to talk about the night before; in fact he acted as if nothing had happened at all. Then three nights later it happened again. Brian got a visual warning this time. Lex got an erection in the shower and made no attempt to hide it. They exchanged a look. Brian knew what was coming. It was less violent this time and, afterward, they talked about football as if nothing had happened at all. As sleep approached, Lex got out of bed and stood with his face close to Brian's. Brian began to sit up.

    “Just lie there,” Lex said. He held Brian's face in his hands and kissed him one more time.

    A couple weeks later, Brian the now accomplished cocksucker learned that getting fucked wasn't so bad. The day after that Lex got an abrasion along his arm handling gritty non-skid that covered some of the shelves. The prison doctor gave him some salve for it. Lex ignored his arm; the salve went on his asshole and Brian's cock, and that night Brian learned that fucking was a pretty nice thing to do.

    With time and a total lack of discussion, their sex became affectionate and frequent. They tried every conceivable variation and liked most of them. They never used the word love; in fact they rarely even admitted that a special relationship existed. Instead their actions spoke for them. They made love to each other nightly with their bodies and their eyes. The other inmates knew the score but said nothing; they had their own relationships to deal with.

    The only explicit recognition was the night before Lex's release. “You got me through this,” he told Brian. “I couldn't have done it without you.” That night was the first night in months that they didn't make love and a handshake ended everything in the morning. A day later Ann came to visit and Brian was still miserable. He felt bad taking it out on her.




    “Tell me again.” Nicky was befuddled by his new smart phone.

    “You still don't get it? Maybe this class needs more discipline,” Darren said and he jammed his cock playfully against Nicky.

    “Would a back rub be harsh enough punishment?” Nicky asked. He gave up on the phone, turned out the light, and rolled face down in the bed hoping Darren would get on top. He wasn't disappointed. “Fuck me, baby,” he whispered a few minutes later. He loved it this way, with Darren's body covering his. It was so languorously sexy. Nicky lay stretched out comfortably letting Darren do all the work first opening him up, then filling him up. It was Nicky's favorite kind of sex for those times when he didn't care if he came himself. “Slow fucking … you're so good at this,” Nicky sighed.

    Darren's arousal was just as relaxed as the fuck had been. He continued, deliberatedly slow stroking right up until the point of no return. The continuous, sinuous thrusts warmed them both, raising the measured eroticism by slow degrees. Darren got a little jerky during his actual ejaculation, but the slow stroking and kissing continued for minutes afterward. “Tomorrow night,” he promised, “I'm banging you up against the wall. Remind you who's boss.” Darren listened to Nicky grunt his assent and continued, “Sometimes I'm the boss, right?”

    Nicky rolled over. “You know you are.”

    “We're perfect,” Darren stated with only a tiny question in his voice.

    “Of course we are. What are you getting at?”

    “I thought Eric and Z were perfect, too. That they could get through anything together. That they would last forever; but Z's so fuckin' miserable, Nicky. It hurts just to look at him.”

    “It takes time. He'll get over it. I don't mean it's gonna be fun, but he WILL get over it.”

    “He's going back to work.”

    “I didn't know he stopped.” Nicky was thinking of Z's modeling for Andrew.

    “No, I mean as a waiter. He said he needs to stay busy. Do something physically tiring.”

    “Is he as good a lover as you are?”

    Darren chuckled. “How would I know?”

    “If he is, Eric's a fuckin' idiot. He'll never get back what he threw away.” Nicky thought a bit and added, “Morrie will need some modeling for the new line. I can get Z some work that way.”

    “Thanks. He's a great model; you won't be wasting your money.”

    “See ... I was hoping YOU would do it free, but I guess we can afford to pay something.”

    “Z's really better than me. He's got a classier look.”

    “We're talking Chinese clothes here. Not exactly classy.”

    “He'll make them look Italian. You'll see. You'll be glad you hired him.” Darren resumed kissing his lover.

    “I'm not tired any more. Does that bangin' against the wall thing have to wait until tomorrow?” Nicky asked. “It's either that or I can play with the new phone.” Nicky reached for the phone and giggled happily when Darren pulled his hand away.




    “We want to be completely removed from management, Jody, while retaining some control. Can you do that?” Seth put the challenge to his lawyer.

    “Easy. You become directors, set goals, and measure performance. You can micromanage to your heart's content, but at an organizational remove. Essentially nothing changes, except Chris's name goes on more stuff.”

    “I can't run the whole business by myself,” Chris complained. “I need help.”

    “We can't afford more staff,” Seth countered. “Gotta put the cash into the talent.”

    “Some of the talent can help. Adan, specifically. He's actually ...”

    “... the brains behind the new Flip Fuck hit,” Andrew filled in.

    “Not completely, but he was important. He encouraged me to do it.”

    “And now he's fucking your brains out.” Jody sounded testy.

    “You can't let that go, can you? I didn't steal him from you; it was his idea.” Chris was blooming under Adan's attention; he looked as if he could have taken Adan away from Jody if he wanted to.

    “Speaking of talented dicks …” Andrew commented, calling everyone's attention to Adan's arrival.

    “Chris, I finished the editing on the mirror sequence. It's ready to go, I think. Hi everybody. Didn't mean to interrupt.” Adan turned to leave.

    “Adan, my former fuck-buddy ...” Andrew called him back. Adan didn't look pleased by the epithet. The rest of the room was taken aback by Andrew's directness. “Seriously, gentlemen, who here hasn't fucked our blushing Mexican rose?” Andrew said in his own defense.

    “I haven't,” Seth said.

    “Actually, you did … in that scene with Kevin and ...” Andrew stared Adan into silence.

    “So,” Andrew resumed, “Adan, sweetie, we're thinking you should be a vice president or something.”

    The agreement was concluded. Jody would be the nominal chairman with Andrew and Seth able to outvote him and actually run the studio as directors. Chris was CEO and Adan was named Vice President for Procurement. Andrew relished the licentiousness of the double entendre.

    “Revenues from 'Flip Fuck III' went over a hundred thousand yesterday,” Adan reported as an afterthought.

    “Cost of production?” Jody asked.

    “Essentially nothing. The price of electricity, I guess,” Adan answered.

    When the meeting concluded Chris ushered people out the door and turned to his new Vice President. “Didn't I tell you I could make you a vee pee?” Adan stared back and shrugged. “Aren't you satisfied?”

    “I'm pleased. I'm never satisfied,” Adan replied. “Vice President for Fucking Procurement. Cute, Chris. You let him make that my title.”

    “It won't show on your business cards. They'll just say Vice President.”

    “You let me down. I'm hurt and disappointed.” Adan turned a quarter turn away from a suddenly frantic Chris.

    “Baby, I'll make it up to you. I will ...” Chris hurried to Adan's side. He tried to kiss him. Adan turned back and put both hands on Chris's throat, holding him firmly but exerting only the slightest pressure. “I will … Please, baby ...” Adan shifted his hands to Chris's face and kissed him firmly but not forgivingly.

    “Watch this last scene with me. I've revised it.”

    They sat side by side and watched the scene unfold. It began with Jeff and Ty working themselves eagerly into a boy-friend fuck. At the point of insertion, the two lovers glanced into a mirror at the side of the bed and their images morphed into Kevin and Jody, who continued the fuck with brutality in place of affection. Then as Jody was on all fours screaming, the mirror reflection morphed back into Jeff and Ty.

    The interplay of images was arousing. “You approve?” Adan asked. He put his hand on Chris's thigh and slid it upward until he encountered his answer. He squeezed and then rubbed Chris's cockhead with his thumb. Chris sighed. He squeezed again and felt a wetness through the cloth of Chris's trousers.“Yes, you approve, alright.”

    “Baby, careful. I'll cum in my pants.”

    “Take 'em off.”

    Chris stood and unbuckled his belt. He started teasingly on the top button of his jeans but Adan was impatient. In a single motion, he opened Chris's jeans and pulled them down to his knees. Chris purred in anticipation as he listened to Jeff's sweet video murmurings and watched Adan suck on his cock.

    Then the scene morphed the assault on Jody. Adan roughly bent Chris over the table in front of them and, using a combination of pre-cum and spit for lube, fucked him. The entry was abrupt, causing Chris to gasp. Adan went deep. With only a few preliminary strokes to spread the make-do lube around, he began pumping deep and hard. Chris's whimpers turned to sighs and Adan slowed his motion, becoming even more gentle when the scene morphed back to Jeff and Ty.

    “Do you like me like that?” Chris asked feeling a tenderness in Adan's touch.

    “I like you every way,” Adan answered as the scene changed again. The fuck accelerated and Adan's slamming mimicked Kevin's. Jody's cries matched Chris's and then three men began begging, “Fuck me.” Ty begged with tenderness, Jody with desperate need, and Chris first like Ty then like Jody. Chris came first. Then the screen partners shared their climaxes.

    “Did you come?” an uncertain Chris asked Adan.

    “Yes. I came in you,” Adan replied, but Chris was unsure. He could never tell just how pleased Adan was with their relationship.




    “So, I'm the keeper of Eric's lacrosse equipment?” Cal asked.

    “You're the logical one, Z said, and I have to agree with him. If the games in the park end, you can donate it all to the school.” Larry looked at the collection of sticks, masks, pads, and goals assembled in their front hall.

    “I can't believe they're broken up.” Cal's bewilderment showed on his face.

    “I know,” Larry said, hugging his partner around the waist. “They were the model. They showed us all how to do it.”

    “We really owe them everything,” Cal agreed. “Remember when we lived in their house and everybody thought we were just friends?” He kissed Larry's forehead as they walked to the kitchen.

    “Z knew better, I think,” Larry suggested.

    “And Eric eventually figured it out, sort of.” Cal laughed. “We had everybody fooled for a while, didn't we?”

    “Shit, you even had me fooled. I couldn't believe you really cared.”

    “Neither could I. But I was so crazy about you. I couldn't live without you. Not then and not now. It just took a while for me to realize it. Late bloomer doesn't describe me. How about stupid?”

    “You're not stupid. And you never were. 'Dumb jock' isn't you, Cal.”

    “A little bit it is. Sometimes I do need a ton of bricks to fall on me – or you to fuck me.”

    “I see I'm going to have to fuck some sense into you again,” Larry joked.

    “Right now? You want to right now?” Cal sounded eager. “We haven't gone sex crazy in a while.” Cal was thoroughly conservative; he called anything other than vanilla sex in bed at night 'sex-crazy'. He never said no, but it was always up to Larry to think the crazy stuff up.

    If you just met them and had to decide, you would say that Larry was the bottom. He was slightly shorter and leaner. He was a little older, too, but you couldn't tell that from their looks. Being outdoors almost constantly and getting physically beaten up during years of playng football, Cal had a ruggedness that added a few years while Larry had a freshness that took a few years off his appearance. You would have to get to know them to see beyond appearances, to see how much Cal looked to Larry for leadership. Cal the Coach, always a leader on the field, loved Larry with all his heart and was a follower in bed. There was one other matter as well. The two of them would tell you it didn't matter, but Larry had a very nice cock, bigger than Cal's, and Cal had come to love feeling that cock in him. Their mental preferences suited and enhanced their physical match.

    “We could, Lar. We don't have anything to do right now. You want to?” It was plain Cal wanted to.

    “I was gonna wash my hair ...”

    For an instant Cal looked heart-broken and then he laughed and swept Larry into his arms. “You can wash my cum out of it in an hour or so.”

    “It wouldn't be the first time.” Larry referred to Cal's occasional ability to shoot good distances. “I love it when you come like that.”

    “Lar, Eric's a fuckin' idiot.” Cal had a sweet expression meaning he was serious about something. “I will never leave you. Never,” he repeated.

  39. #189
    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Great new update, Rory- Thanks!

  40. #190
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Rory,
    I have to agree. Interesting adjustment of management and day to day responsibilities at the Porn studio.

    Adan needs to understand that VP of Procurement ain't all that bad - he gets to find the hotties!

    Brian and Ann. He had an unspoken relationship in prison, a bond beyond what Ann could begin to understand, and now he's out of sorts, because he's alone, again. This time will he be subject to the advances of other guys, now that he's not in a more confined environment?

    Larry & Cal, our jocks extraordinaire and lovers of simple but complete character.

    Z, Z, Z. And the dumb fuck Eric. As everyone learns of the dissolution of the "unshakeable" love.


    And I know, if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest . . .

  41. #191
    JUB Addict EasyRory's Avatar
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Forty-Nine


    “What do you think?” Nash asked.

    Steve curled his lip. “I guess I was spoiled living in that high-class boarding house Mark runs.” He looked hard at the small house in far western Alameda; it had once been Navy housing and needed lots of TLC. “I don't know, Nash ...”

    “Yeah … but it's what we can afford if you think you might be out of a job.”

    “So … If we lived here, I'd get to spend every night with you,” Steve smiled as the entered the front door.

    “Yeah, you would. And you could also ...” Nash's comment was abbreviated by Steve's crushing embrace.

    “What would we need? Beyond a mattress, I mean.” Steve continued, a little breathless.

    “Everything.” Nash answered, looking at a round dent in a kitchen wall. “How do you suppose that happened?”

    “Somebody tested a cake by throwing it against the wall?”

    Nash's expression of hopefulness gradually faded as he looked at the rooms. “The house is terrible, isn't it?” Nash turned to Steve with a look of defeat. “It's awful.”

    “It's got you in it. That makes it better than any other place I can name.”

    After opening the door for her clients, Ann Ado had returned to her car. She figured she had about thirty seconds to wait for them to come screaming out the door shouting, “No! No! God! No!” Instead they walked slowly and deliberately up to her open window.

    “We'll take it.” Nash said.

    “We're nuts, but we'll take it,” Steve confirmed. “Do you know how soon we can move in?”

    “Well, the water's running, but we'll need to get the lights turned on … So, I'd say ...”

    “Today?” Steve asked.

    “Uh ...”

    “We can live with candles for a while,” Nash said.

    “Really?” Ann couldn't believe what she was hearing.

    “The sooner the better,” Steve added, looking at Nash for his approval.

    Ann handed them the keys, afraid they would change their minds. The house had been vacant for over a year. “It's yours. Stop by the office today or tomorrow and we'll sign the lease and give you the other set of keys.”

    “Do you know where we could by an emergency mattress?”

    “There's a place on Webster, between Santa Clara and Central ...”

    “Thanks,” Nash said over his shoulder. They were already walking back to the little house with the barren trellis at the front door. One of the trellis supports was broken. “Just cracked, really,” Steve pointed out. “I can fix that with some speed tape from the helo.”

    They closed the door and watched Ann drive away. “We don't HAVE to have a mattress, do we?” Steve asked. Nash was already taking his shirt off. “Nash, we won't be as poor as you think. As long as I'm working, I'll get more money because I won't be living at Mark's place.”

    “Yeah, but I'll be getting less. I'm not sure what my dad's business is doing. Or what I'm doing either.”

    “I know what you're doing right now.” Steve pulled Nash to the floor and hugged him.

    “Fuck!” Nash exclaimed. His eyes were popping.

    “Well, yeah, that's what I had in mind.”

    “No! No! I mean … look at that thing!”

    Facing a wild animal when you're naked has an extra feel of vulnerability to it – even if the animal, on closer inspection, turned out to be just a domestic cat. This one looked dodgy, however; fortune had not smiled on this animal in a long time. It approached with a diffident walk and then sniffed. The way Nash's erection was bouncing must have reminded it of some kind of prey. It focused and stalked closer.

    “No way!” Nash protected himself with his hands, stood, and put his jeans on as quickly as possible.

    “Add a can of cat food to the shopping list,” Steve said. “In his favor, this guy has probably kept other four-footed things away.”




    “What goes around, comes around,” Donald observed when Brian returned to the barracks-like room filled with more bunk beds than formerly. ”Got my old bunkmate back.”

    Brian shrugged his acceptance. It was the only available bed in a room that offered less privacy and personal space than his cell. “Truce, ok? You stay in your bed and I'll stay in mine,” Brian proposed.

    “Tell you what. I'll even give you the bottom bunk,” Donald offered. He quickly stripped the bottom mattress and began remaking the top bunk with his used sheets while Brian made up the lower bunk with the fresh sheets he had been given when he got out of the cell.

    “There are a bunch more people in here,” he noted.

    “They moved in six more bunks after you left and they're all full. It's a cozy place at night.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “You'll see.”

    After the evening meal, the inmates spread out, some in the weight room, some watching television, some reading or playing cards, some walking an exercise yard; but as lights out came closer they moved to their bunkrooms. Thirty-six men filled the room that Brian thought was crowded when it had twenty-four. The windows barely opened and the room became first warm and then hot. People slept in their underwear without blankets. Brian lay on his back staring upward at the sagging bottom of Donald's bunk. Before long the sounds of furtive sex filled his ears, solitary masturbation apparently in the closest bunk. The sounds multiplied and it became obvious there was more than self-pleasuring going on. Brian lay still and did his best to ignore the activity. That was impossible, of course. His next task was to ignore his own erection that ached for some attention. His succeeded at that and before too long a series of orgasms put an end to the bustling business of prisoner sex. The room even became a bit cooler. It the middle of the night, Brian actually felt chilled and pulled the blanket over himself.

    Alright! Day two! How was your night?” Donald asked. Brian didn't remember so much cheerfulness so early from Donald.

    “Ok ... once the room quieted down.”

    “Yeah, guys have needs,” Donald answered.

    Except for his sleeping location, Brian's life remained the same. He was grateful that his metal factory work tired him out. He had rarely had trouble sleeping - rarely, that is until Lex left. He soon realized that sex with Lex was more than a normal pleasure, it marked the end of a day, the final hurdle before sleep. Now Brian found himself tired but sleepless, sleepless and lonely. There's magic in a hug or even a touch when you have nothing else. The sounds of sexual satisfaction surrounding him after lights out made it worse, of course. His persistent erection nagged at him. He considered punching out Donald again to get back to the relative peace of his cell. Even without Lex, the cell seemed a haven.

    By the fourth night, he ached. He couldn't help it. His hand strayed to his cock. He just held it for a while, enjoying the feel of engorgement. Then he began the familiar motion. The springs squeaked. He stopped and the squeaking stopped. He resumed and the squeaking resumed, giving away what he was doing. Fuck it, Brian decided; everybody does it. He resumed stroking. His cock stood erect straight up out of his baggy boxers. He gave it long strokes, up and down; soon he felt a sticky wetness spreading over the head He felt eyes on him from the next bunk, but he ignored them. He spit in his hand and added his own lube to his cock. Now the springs were squeaking and his hand was making squishy noises. But it felt good. It felt great. He breathed harder and licked his lips in anticipation

    His eyes were shut and he didn't notice Donald leap lightly to the floor. “I can help with that,” Donald whispered. Brian froze and looked at the side of his bunk. Donald knelt there and reached for his cock. Brian remained frozen. Donald brushed Brian's hand away and replaced it with his own. Brian ordered himself to put a halt to the proceedings. Right now. Immediately! But he didn't. It felt too good. It felt even better when Donald began sucking. Soon the sucking seemed fabulous. Donald slipped his hand into Brian's boxers and played with his balls, gently cupping and tugging. Brian opened his legs for better access; he was breathing deeply and made strangling sounds when he came. Donald swallowed his mouthful and then without a word climbed back into his upper bunk. Brian went to sleep almost at once.

    The next night it was the same thing, except Donald slipped Brian's boxers off. “We don't want to rip them,” he whispered. It greatly improved the blowjob, letting Donald suck on Brian's balls as well as his cock. He probed farther down under the scrotum, feeling how the root of Brian's hard cock extended into his body, feeling its rigidity as it extended closer to Brian's asshole, where it turned inward. Yes, Donald said to himself, that's the place. He pressed and massaged until he found the right spot, the spot that made Brian gasp. Oh, yeah! Donald thought, Lexie broke this one in right. Donald continued to massage, gradually including the puckering asshole in his fingering. Brian's legs opened wide. Donald whistled under his breath. Good boy! I give it five more days and I'll be fuckin' you. He resumed treating Brian to his best blowjob technique.

    In one part of his brain, Brian's ego knew exactly what Donald was up to. In another part, Brian's superego told him that he was in charge and Donald would only do what he permitted. In a third part, Brian's id screamed, “This is so hot! I wanna get fucked!”

    It didn't take five days. It only took one more night. Donald got Brian warmed up and shoved his cock in. Brian gasped in shock and pain. “Take deep breaths,” Donald told him. “I'm bigger than Lex.” He pulled out, put more spit on his dick and shoved it back in.

    Donald's greatest skill, what he prided himself on, was his ability to gauge exactly when his partner was going to come. He liked to come at the same time. He fucked Brian hard, getting himself ready and then he backed off from the edge, while his stroking got Brian to catch up. They came together noisily. When the peak had passed, Brian pulled Donald down and tried to kiss him. Donald yanked himself away, leaving Brian with his arms outstretched.

    “Poor puppy, you're looking for love and all I got is a big dick.” The words hurt and they were louder than they should have been.

    One. Two. Still there was silence. On three, the comments began. “A big dick is good” …”I like a big dick” ... “I got a big dick” ... “In your dreams you got a big dick” … “Dutch has a big dick” … “Shut up about my dick” … “Ooooowie! Don't piss off the Dutch-ess” … “Shut up, faggot!”

    The lights came on and a guard knocked his billy stick against the metal frame of a bunk. “Keep it down in here!” he demanded. He tried not to notice how many top bunks were empty.

    Brian wasn't sure what he felt. The sex was great. The post-orgasmic brush off was harsh. The fact the whole room knew he bottomed willingly for Donald - that might be a problem. But it felt so good; he was more relaxed than he had been since Lex left. The regrets didn't come for a while. I'm now a prison punk and everyone knows it. I'm Donald's punk. Donald! I fucked for the biggest femme inside the fence. Now I'm a target. Who's gonna want me next? Two more years … at least. The glow of sex faded. The ache came to his asshole. Donald's cum leaked out onto the sheet. A mix of odors, the odors of anal sex, seemed to envelope him. What a mistake!




    Eric sat up and stretched, reaching for the ceiling. He loved waking up in Spike's room. The bed was comfortable. Spike was a considerate lover, except is wasn't love, of course. “Spike, wake up.” Eric nudged the sleeping nurse next to him. Which is it you are supposed to let lie? Dogs or nurses?

    “What the fuck, Eric? What's the matter?” Spike was predictably grumpy in the morning.

    “If we're not lovers, what are we? Sexers?”

    “Fuuuuuck ...” Spike wailed and buried his head in the pillow.

    “Yeah. That's what I mean. Are we gonna fuck or should I just take a shower?”

    “Let me sleep. You know I worked a double shift.”

    “You said that always makes you horny.”

    “What? When did I say that?”

    “You have a hard on.” Eric confirmed his statement by groping.

    “I always have a hard on in the morning. Go away.” Spike shifted his torso away from Eric's hand but Eric's hand followed him. “Shelter, food and sex. That's what you are getting out of this ? What's in it for me? I can't even get a good night's sleep. Leave me alone.”

    “What do you get? Some of the food paid for, a lot of good sex, and me … that's what you're getting out of this,” Eric countered. “It was your idea, remember.”

    Spike acquiesced and let Eric play with his cock. Then he let him suck it. And then he got fucked. Eric was a good fuck when he put his mind to it. Spike sighed happily when it was over. “Nice having YOU do the work for a change,” he chided.

    “Fucking isn't work. Z used to say that half the fucking in the world was ...”

    “Z! You had to spoil it! Z this! Z that!” Spike got up and stalked into the bathroom.

    “Z had a lot of good things to say,” Eric answered defensively.

    “You can't forget him, can you?”

    “No. I spent almost five years with him. How could I forget?” Eric was talking to a closed door. Soon he heard the sound of the shower. He got up and began dressing. Life with Spike wasn't so bad. His clothes were cleaner than when he was living with the other med students. His diet was much better. The sex was regular. The downside was Spike was bossy.

    “Eric, you need to stop at the cleaners on your way to work. You mind? It's mostly your stuff,” Spike said as he dried his hair. “And on the way home … Shit! You think I'm losing my hair?” Spike pulled a single brown hair off the towel and held it out for examination.

    “No, you're not losing your hair.” It was Eric's turn in the bathroom. He shaved and then out a t-shirt on.

    Spike eyed him in the clingy shirt. “You, on the other hand, are losing definition. You're looking kinda fat in that shirt.”

    “I miss playing lacrosse in Alameda,” Eric admitted.

    “Oh, for God's sake.” Spike rolled his eyes. “Here we go again. It's Z you miss, isn't it?”

    “Five years, Spike. Yes, I miss him.” Eric changed the subject. “Could you go back there? Work at Alameda General, I mean?”

    “Dude, I'm a nurse. I can work anywhere. Alameda was boring. Predictable cases; the same stuff all the time. Here, in the city, we get variety.”

    “I could work there. I liked it in the ER.”

    “So be an ER doc. You're wondering what to specialize in.”

    “You know … that just might ...”

    “Eric, asshole! I'm kidding. ER docs are … fucking gypsies. They come; they go. They're on salaries, for God's sake! They don't get paid shit compared to almost anybody else.”

    “They have fun, though. Lot a laughs in the ER.”

    “Unless you're a nurse. Not so funny then. It's one tiny step up from 'Clean up on Aisle Three!' It's drudgery.”

    “Isn't most nursing drudgery? Unless you're into the patients, I mean. Then it gets interesting.”

    “Then you end up in tears all the time, 'cause they're dead.”

    “Not all of them. Most recover.”

    Spike ended the conversation. “Oh … and on your way home, would you mind getting some of that bread with the almonds on top.”

    “Take the laundry. Buy some bread. Talk about drudgery!” Eric was joking, at least it sounded like he was joking.

    “Yeah, but I'm a hot fuck. I'm worth it,” Spike shot back.

    Eric smiled in reply as he left with his arms full of laundry. You're an available fuck, he thought. You're a pretty good fuck. I guess that means hot. Eric wasn't in a mood to analyze the pros and cons of living with Spike. The sex was more than good enough and he didn't really have any desire to invest the time and effort that love required.




    Andrew looked hard at Z. He adjusted the curtain to reduce the light level and checked his meter again. “Are you eating? Your cheeks have shadows they never had before.”

    “Yes, I'm eating. That's one of the benefits of being a waiter. Free food.”

    “Well, from my point of view, it's fine. You look a lot more dramatic, but not so boyish any more.”

    “Good. I'm not a boy any more.”

    “Dude, aging is never 'good' if you're a model. That was why you played off Craig Grantland so well; it was the contrast in your ages, sort of a master and protege look. Let me see the rest of your body.”

    Z stripped to his underwear and did a slow turn. “Ok? Any weird shadows appearing?”

    “No. You look fine. Would you mind showing me your ass?” Z turned and pulled his underwear down. “You're amazing. I don't know how Eric could have ...”

    “Andrew, keep the Eric comments to yourself.” Z pulled his underwear back up. “So, am I good enough to do your show in Milpitas?”

    “Yeah, sure. You're way too good for Milpitas. They won't appreciate you.”

    “I need the job, Andrew. I'm not 'too good' if I'm not getting paid.”

    “With a bad haircut, you could look Mexican … you're dark enough … except for the blue eyes, of course.” Andrew mused. “That's what we're going for in this show, a Hispanic look.”

    “Speaking of … Darren said Nicky is looking for a model to show their new line. I'm available, right?”

    “Sure. Does he need a photog?”

    “He can't afford you or Chris. They're just starting out. No sales yet.”

    “Is that so? Maybe they could afford Adan ...”

    “Are you and Adan still ...”

    “Z, sweetie, you are soooo out of date. Adan is just an employee these days. Could I see your cock?”

    “What am I now? A condom model? No.”

    “Jeez, so touchy. I was just asking.”

  42. #192
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Rory,
    An interesting panoply of scenes - Steve and Nash renting in the Alameda Military almost(?) slums, instead of living at the rent boy estate (for lack of a better phrase). And loving each other - complete with their own "Mister" (if you're a Jim Butcher fan, you get the reference).

    Brian, having "served his bad boy in-house time" is now back in the ass to elbow dorm room of down and dirty deeds. For two more years, with Donald doing the deed, daily.

    Eric - fucking lazy Eric - at least when it comes to relationship work. What is wrong with this not-so-kid? Is he just brain fried from med school and residencies? At the rate he's going, Spike is going to say he's too high maintenance and show him the door - "good fuck" or not.

    Meanwhile, Z is looking for work to pay the bills, and Andrew is lustily checking Z out as much as he can.

    It just hit me what this reminds me of (not in a bad way, mind you. Life is just messy.)



    And I know, if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest . . .

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Thanks for the update, rory.

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Fifty


    “He's happy at your place, and, frankly, I'm happy he's gone. The other kid is work enough.”

    “Well, Lurline, I'm happy he's happy, and I'm happy you're happy, and I'm happy they're happy, and ...”

    “Oh, shut up,” the judge told Jody. “Gentlemen,” he said, turning to Andrew and Seth, “I can't grant you formal adoption, but plainly the boy's welfare is your highest concern. I can award you court-monitored custody as foster parents.” He glanced back at Lemuel's parents. “So long as all parties to the case have no objection, it is so ordered. We will review the arrangement annually, at the recommendation of the Department of Human Services.”

    After a brief walk and trolley ride home, Seth sat down at his desk, somewhat awed by what had happened. “Parents, Andrew. We're parents.”

    “Not really. We're more like camp counselors. That's how I see it. In loco parentis, and all that shit.”

    “Andrew, he's ours. We're responsible for how he turns out. What if …?”

    “What if the Big One comes tomorrow? What if we're mowed down by disgruntled tourists? What if, what if, what if … I can't deal with that, sweetie; but I can deal with tonight's homework, which is his science project. We'll start with that. One day at a time and all that bull shit.”

    “But, Andrew! The responsibility is awesome!”

    “We talked about this. You agreed, didn't you?”

    “I did, but all of a sudden ...” Seth held his face in his hands. “I'm a father, kind of.”

    “And you're going to be a good one. You're methodical and careful. You love him.”

    “I do.”

    “You're smart. You're not outrageous in your expectations ...”

    “But I want him to do well. He better apply himself to school and all.”

    “He will. He'll see you as his example.”

    “He'll see me as a pornographer, a college drop-out – not even – a college-never-went, a ...”

    “Hard working man who cares about his family and his friends.”

    “Family? My mom doesn't need me. My father is remote. I'm an only child.”

    “Seth, wake the fuck up. I'm your family and Lem is your family. You love us and we are your family.”

    Seth looked at Andrew in wonder. “You are kind of ...”

    “No 'kind of'. We are. And we love you back. And ...” Andrew checked his watch. “We have time for an hour's worth of hot sex before Lem gets home.”

    “You really do love me,” Seth said as if trying to convince himself during the brief walk to their bedroom.

    Andrew rolled his eyes. “How can a man who is so confident in business be so tentative in love?”

    “I'm not tentative about sex,” Seth challenged.

    Andrew smiled to himself. “After that, I suppose you're gonna want to be on top.”

    “I was thinking along those lines ...”

    “Well, that, my darling husband, would be fabulous, fuckin' fabulous.”

    Seth was shocked again. “Husband? We're not married.”

    “We don't need to be, sweetie. Are you gonna stand there? Or are you gonna fuck me?”




    The 'morning after' was a problem for Brian. He was constantly reminded of his night with Donald. First by Donald, who called him “Sweet Cheeks.” That was the most mortifying thing Brian had ever heard. Then by the guy in the next bunk who confided that he liked big dicks too. “As long as you're getting it, you might as well get it good,” he said. “That's how I feel.” That wasn't how Brian felt.

    The third time happened in the breakfast line. A young man leaned close to Brian and whispered, “You're Brian?”

    “Yeah,” Brian acknowledged. “What about it?”

    The kid swallowed and said, “I got a big dick.”

    “Like I give a shit,” Brian answered gruffly. The kid was bigger than Brian but he didn't seem threatening; he seemed apologetic.

    “Sorry, I didn't mean ...” the kid said. “I thought … Sorry,” he repeated and started to go to the back of the line to avoid further embarrassment.

    “Forget it.” As an afterthought Brian asked him usual prison stuff, “What's you name?”

    “Emerson. Walden Emerson. Some guys call me Long.” The kid shrugged about the nickname not offering any explanation.

    “What are you in for?”

    “Gambling. Three to five for Internet gambling.”

    “Jeez, jail for that?”

    “I pissed off the wrong people. Can I sit with you?”

    Brian nodded. “You're big. You play sports?”

    “Football. Alameda High.”

    “No shit! I'm from Alameda. Or I was. My wife lives there. I'm actually from Lafayette.” Brian just told Long a lot in Bay Area code. Lafayette was a Contra Costa suburb over the hills from Oakland that sort of was and sort of wasn't. It had nice parts and it had some very basic housing that benefited from location, location, location. The way Brian said Lafayette told Long the he was from the lower end of Lafayette's fluid economic scale. In Long's case, saying he was from Alameda instead of Harbor Bay diminished his own background. Not that it mattered much, prison was a leveler; backgrounds didn't have much bearing on the immediacy of a fenced-in present. Nevertheless, they had stuff in common; it was something to talk about. There was no talk of sex.

    Throughout the day Brian got looks; some announced and some threatened: “When Donald's done with you, I'm next.” Some of his admirers were guys who without question could get whatever they demanded. Brian became self-conscious when the looks didn't stop, wondering if he was walking funny. Do I swing my hips or something? The more he thought about it, the worse it got. By the afternoon he was walking as if he was crippled, trying to look as sexless as possible.

    He ate his dinner with Long and was able to relax briefly. By the evening, Brian decided that he needed to make a stand or he would be mincemeat for the rest of his sentence. He decided to say no to Donald and fight him if he needed to. He'd get put back in a cell, but that would at least limit the lineup of guys checking him out to one. After lights out he lay in his bunk not knowing what to expect.

    He waited. Nothing happened. He could hear other furtive encounters, but Donald stayed in his bunk. He waited, listening to orgasms in nearby bunks, sighs of satisfaction, unintelligible whispers that sounded affectionate. God damn it! His cock was getting hard. He could feel Donald's mouth on him; the twenty-four hour old memory of the warmth and the wet was erotic and vivid. Then, almost silently, Donald leapt out of his upper bunk, landing softly on his feet. Shit no! Brian thought. He forgot the plans he had worked out, precise plans for how to deal with Donald. What now? Donald knelt at Brian's side.

    “Hey,” he whispered softly. “You awake?” His hand enclosed Brian's cock, testing the hardness. “Yeah, you're awake ...” Donald cooed. “Look at me,” Donald whispered. He kissed Brian gently. “Is that the kind of stuff you like? Sweet stuff like that?” Donald stroked Brian's cock. “I can be sweet.” Donald shifted his position and licked Brian's cock before taking it in his mouth.

    Damn it! Fifteen minutes later Brian lay alone again, feeling the cold trail of his own cum working its way down his belly. I should have stopped him. I should have said … He put his pillow over his mouth to stifle a sob. What the fuck is wrong with me? I didn't even try to stop him. He could have fucked me. I would have let him. Why didn't he? He was hard. I was wide open with my fuckin' legs in the air. Brian tried to forget his need for Donald's cock in him; but how do you forget asking for it?. I asked for it! Fuck me! I said fuck me to him. He was ready. And then he didn't. He just didn't. Shit! He jacked us both off. Brian pulled the blanket over himself, trying not to let it touch the wet cum.

    Donald explained in the morning. “Gotta let the need build in you, Brian. Gotta let you realize how much you need dick. Maybe tonight. But maybe not.” It looked like a casual conversation, but to Brian Donald's explanation and grin were ominous and evil, exactly as Donald intended.

    The guy in the next bunk said, “Don't let him tease you like that. You should be running the show. You got a sweet ass. Make him beg for it. He's the one who should be begging. I would be.”

    The suggestions were appalling. Brian was losing control of everything in his life. “Football? Who gives a fuck about football?” he almost yelled at Long and the other guys at the breakfast table.

    “Sorry, I thought you did,” Long answered. Long's raised eyebrows almost closed the matter.

    “Tough night, huh Bri?” the guy at the end said. It was the public address system closed further comment.

    “The following inmates, report to medical ...”

    “What's this about?” Long asked as he and Brian waited in line at the nurse's station. One by one, prisoners were admitted to the office but they didn't come out. Finally Brian entered when his name was called.

    An administrator was direct. “Because of overcrowding in California prisons, the court has ordered the release of certain prisoners. Because of the non-violent nature of your crime, you have been selected for early release. You will be seen by a doctor and then released.”

    “When?” Brian asked.

    “Now. Through that door. Next,” the suit called out to the men waiting in line.

    A little over an hour later, Brian stood blinking in the sunshine outside the gate waiting for the bus into Fresno. He wore the clothes he had worn on the day of his admission. They had not been washed, but that didn't matter.

    “In-fucking-credible!” Long shouted to the world, hands in the air, exulting in his freedom. “You have a ride to Alameda?” he asked Brian.




    “Can I stay tonight, Jinx?”

    Professor Dormeyer had just bid goodnight to the last guest at his collegial party. It was expected that each professor would over the course of the semester hold at least one such gathering. The parties had a sameness. The mediocre quality of the brown sherry prevented much drinking. The staleness of the paté prevented much eating. Finally, the viciousness of the gossip prevented anyone from staying away. Miss one of these parties and your personal and professional reputation would be tatters by the morning.

    Academics are nasty folks; but they are so polite about it. Jeff had acted as a waiter. Dormeyer had been distant but respectful to him in a way that called attention to their status difference.

    “Do you want to stay?” Dormeyer munched on the last of the water crackers.

    “Of course I do.” Jeff always stayed, but he had to ask. Dormeyer never invited him.

    “You were working all night. I thought you might be tired.”

    “Ok, if you want me to go, I'll just finish the dishes and ...”

    “Did I say that? No, I don't want you to go.”

    While they completed the clean up, they discussed the death of Richard Rorty, and its impact on American political philosophy. Jeff loved these discussions, when Dormeyer treated him as an equal. He said that he felt that Rorty's prose style would be missed the most; there were plenty of people who shared his thinking. “I always get what he's saying; he doesn't hide behind unique and unexplained definitions,” Jeff said. “Like you, Jinx. I always get what you say.”

    “Am I that simple?”

    “Not simple. Just clear. In the classroom anyway.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “I never know what you're thinking outside of the classroom. I never even know if you like having me around.”

    “Jeffrey … of course I like having you around.”

    “You might say so now and then.”

    “A declaration of love? Well, that's not me, really.”

    “Not a declaration of love. Just 'I like having you around.' That would be a great start.”

    “I like having you around. I like having you in my bed. I'm afraid if I blink, you'll leave.” Dormeyer surprised Jeff with his direct answer.

    “I like it too. Haven't you figured that out, Jinx?”

    “You don't actually say much either, Jeff.”

    “'Cause I'm afraid to.” Jeff stood on his tiptoes and put the last glass in the cabinet over the sink.

    Jinx stared at Jeff's body, straining to reach the top shelf. “Why in the world would you be afraid? You're so gorgeous, Jeff. You take my breath away.”

    “There you go. I like hearing that.”

    Jinx pulled the slimmer youth into his arms and hugged him fiercely. They hurried to the bedroom. Jeff was shedding clothes along the way, but Jinx waited for the darkness to mask his nakedness.

    “Come on, hurry up,” Jeff called from the bed. “I had my clothes off before we came in the room.”

    “I'm not as attractive as you. I need a little mystery ...” Jinx said, trying to cover his reluctance to show his body with a tease.

    “You look great,” Jeff lied a little. The truth was he did admire Dormeyer's middle-aged build.

    “That's a nice compliment to somebody who's twenty-five years older than you.”

    “Thirty-four years older. I looked you up. I like an experienced man.”

    “My body isn't as hard as it used to be.”

    “It's plenty hard where it needs to be.”

    They progressed quickly from kissing to fucking. It was unusually gentle, a tender reflection of their words to each other. Their lovemaking reflected a new consideration and respect from Dormeyer and open affection in Jeff; but just for a while. “Jinx, I'm not gonna break. You can give it to me harder, if you want,” Jeff suggested.

    Dormeyer stepped up his performance. Deep thrusting backed up with his full weight was jolting the whole bed. Jeff bounced with pleasure every time Dormeyer slammed into him; but he wanted more. “Now you can kiss me,” Jeff suggested; but Dormeyer didn't, he just pumped harder. It was good for Jeff but not enough.

    “Kiss me when you fuck me!” Jeff demanded and Dormeyer complied. Jeff got what he wanted: kissing, fucking, and cumming all mixed together. “Don't you know I love you,” he asked when it was over.

    Jinx was astonished. “You …?”

    “... love you. I love you.” Jeff pulled Jinx closer, keeping the softening cock inside his ass.

    Jinx looked at Jeff. The younger man had the wantonness of fresh sex on his face, the blush, the bloom of deep satisfaction. With renewed ardor, youth kissed away the disbelief of age.




    Jackson was absent-mindedly humming 'Satisfaction' as he went over his proposal for the compound in Singapore. It hadn't cost much when it was acquired, but it's value had grown substantially in the last ten years. Using it as a private residence was near-criminal waste. The numbers all worked, Jackson decided, but is the concept actually feasible.

    “I can't get no-oh satis ...” His attention narrowed. “Li,” he questioned, “Is the strait between the Singapore Island and Maylasia a good location for a residence.”

    “The Sultan of Johor lives there, in Johor Baru, right on the water. There is a breeze almost all the time. Westerners find it much cooler than the island.” Li was flattered that Jackson was asking his opinion on something other than cooking.

    “Do you think a helo pad would be allowed?”

    “I guess if it wasn't right next to the palace. Rubber trees make good baffles.”

    “Do they grow quickly?”

    “Three meters quickly. Slower after that. Why?”

    “I'm thinking about a barrier hedge, so to speak, but with greater utility. Something that would be a deductible expense, not a garden decoration.”

    “Like a rubber plantation?”

    “On a small scale.” Jackson looked at Li's jeans when he said “small scale”. Li's jeans revealed no bulge whatsoever, even his thighs were lost in the folds of denim.

    “Scale is relative,” Li said as he watched Jackson spread his legs wider. Where was this going, Li wondered. He could see the outline of Jackson's cock almost perfectly.

    “And small scale isn't bad at all, if it accomplishes its mission.” Jackson knew Mark rarely liked getting fucked, so the measure of Li's cock was academic. He wondered when Mark last required Steve's services.

    “Would you live in Johor Baru?”

    “Of course. I'm a native of Johor - Singaporean by convenience.”

    “Very flexible, Li. You can go either way?” Jackson knew exactly what he was saying.

    “Legally I am Singaporean, but Malaysia isn't sticky about that.”

    “Flexibility is a very attractive quality. You're a very attractive man,” Jackson said. “Mark must appreciate that. I think you please him, Li.”

    “Do I? He doesn't say much.”

    “I can tell what he's thinking. In my experience, he likes you. I bet you're good at that interior massage business he likes?”

    “What interior massage?”

    “You know … when he's fucking you he likes it when you massage him. He thinks he's making you cum.”

    “Massage him? With hands?”

    “No,” Jackson giggled with a just-between-us-girls conspiracy. “With your ass muscles, of course. He loves that.”

    “I don't know exactly how to do that?”

    “Really, oh it's easy. You really don't know? I thought it was a Chinese invention.” Jackson giggled again. Jackson didn't really have a motive for what he was doing. It was a quiet morning; he was just curious and he was horny from Mark's neglect. He wanted to see what Mark found so attractive. He wanted to fuck Li.

    “We wouldn't actually be fucking, you know, not really; it's part of the training program,” he told a reluctant Li. “You need to learn this trick.”

    With minimal discussion they decided that they weren't actually fucking; well, technically perhaps they were if you consider the mere insertion of a dick into an asshole to constitute fucking. They told themselves otherwise.

    “This isn't fucking,” Jackson insisted as he lay supine on his desk. Li got on top and entered him. “Fucking has to involve desire. This is like a gym workout, Li. It's part of your profession. See how I can milk your cock?” He rhythmically squeezed his ass and rotated his hips. “That's what Mark likes. Doesn't it feel good?”

    “Jackson, it feels great!” Li was panting; his thrusts were erratic in rhythm but hard and driven by his pleasure.

    “And your dick isn't small at all. I can feel it in me ... sort of.” Jackson twisted in a way that made Li's dick pop out. “Ooow, put it back in,” he demanded, moving his ass so that Li had difficulty finding his hole. “Is it in?” Jackson asked when after some effort Li reconnected. “Are you sure?” he responded to Li's affirmative. He let Li pump away, careful to stop him before it was too late. “So let's have you try it.”

    Jackson got carried away and ignored Li's questions and comments. He fucked him in every position he knew, which came to a few more than more sex manuals provide. “Ok, try the massage,” He prompted and Li did his best to imitate Jackson's earlier motions. “Pretty fuckin' fantastic,” Jackson commented evenly; then he came immediately. “Oh my God, I wasn't ready for that!” He thrust until he was spent and then composed himself. “Well … whew! Ok, did you get the idea?” Jackson gasped, regaining his professional tone.

    “No, not completely,” Li said coyly. “Let's try it again. I want to see if I can work the whole length of your cock.” After several attempts Jackson gave up trying for entry; he wasn't quite hard enough.. “Oh, come on. Can't get it up?” Li commented. “Those big dicks can be so hard to operate when you need them. All that wasted bloodflow. It's amazing you don't pass out. What did you do when Mark wanted a second or a third time?”

    Li was hard as a rock. Jackson smiled in defeat; the contest part was over. “I tried my best. Not as good as you.”

    “You're a great fuck. You should have tried topping Mark more, Jackson. You're really good at it. I bet you could have got him to like it better. He always says good things about you. He would have tried it for you.”

    “I don't know, Li. He hired me for my ass, not my cock. And he sure shifted his attention to you in a hurry.” Jackson stroked Li's face, tracing his lips.

    Li licked at Jackson's fingers and giggled. “That tickles.”

    A quick kiss ended the training session and they dressed. It isn't in professional training manuals, but the fact is there is nothing like a casual fuck to cement a strained working relationship.

  45. #195
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Rory,
    This made for a great late afternoon read while on a short break - I love it when the e-mail notifications on subscriptions work right!

    Andrew and Seth - officially court-sanctioned foster parents for Lemuel - because biological mom and dad are essentially worthless pieces of shit. What a life changing event - but I think for the good for them - as "Husband" becomes part of their vernacular.

    Jeff & "Jinx" - and the big "L" word. Didn't necessarily see that one coming, but maybe in the back of my mind.

    Jackson checking out Li, Mark's latest "personal ASSistant". How does this play with Bo? Isn't he still part of the picture, or are they really just fuck buddies - since he's back at the shop and in love with his real main squeeze?

    Brian and "Long" - did we see Long back in the HS days with Cal and company? Fucked then sprung, unexpectedly. What will Brian do with his new found freedom? Go home to his wife, or home with Brian and a night or three of bottoming?

    The endless sea of questions about our guys.


    And I know, if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest . . .

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Bonus chapter this week.

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Very enjoyable read- Thanks for the bonus, Rory!

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Fifty-One


    “So what's it like being a porn star?” Rocky asked.

    “I don't know. I'm not a star.”

    “You're getting to be. I heard a couple guys talking about you in the bar.”

    Ty got interested. “Really? What did they say?”

    “Uh … I don't know. I just heard them talking about “the guy at St. Mary's.” Rocky had in fact heard graphic details about Ty's anatomy and very specific descriptions of what the guys would like to do to Ty. He decided Ty wouldn't enjoy hearing the exact words. “You're gonna have fans waiting at the school gates.”

    “Chris told Kevin that sales were good for the mirror scene. He's already asking about a sequel.”

    “How many guys do you think jack off watching your videos every night?”

    “About as many as are stuffing cash down your pants every night,” Ty responded.

    “No way. Mondays and Tuesdays always suck. The customers are all home watching you.”

    Their good-natured banter masked the nagging uneasiness generated by working in the 'adult entertainment industry', as their work was sometimes called by the fastidious. Porn sounded bad, gay porn sounded worse. Adult entertainment sounded inane, but harmless.

    “I got a text from Wolf,” Rocky volunteered. “He's coming for Christmas. Gonna stay at his brother's.”

    “Alright! Rocky's dream comes true!” Ty congratulated his friend.

    “Not so fast, Ty. His text was pretty random. The kind of thing you'd say to anybody. And ...”

    “And what?” Ty prodded.

    “And … Jeez, I can't even say it.”

    “Rock, you can tell me anything.”

    “I mean what if he wants to … not that he would … but what if he wants to 'do stuff'.” Rocky's emphasis made it clear the stuff he was talking about was sexual.

    “What if he does? Isn't that what you want?”

    “I don't know, Ty. I … I ...”

    “Spit it out.”

    “I'm a virgin, Ty. I've never gone all the way with a guy.”

    “A guy like you … dancing naked in front of hundreds of guys … didn't anyone ever offer to ...”

    “All the time! I'm always getting hit on! But ...” Rocky shrugged. “You know … they're creepy, kinda scary, even. The ones I might want to try something with … they never ask.”

    “Maybe they're intimidated. You're pretty awesome, you know. Have you thought about asking them?”

    Rocky looked surprised. “Then I'd be the creepy one.” Ty could only smile at his friend. “The thing is – I don't even know what I want to do. I know I like being around Wolf and I ..” Rocky voice went to a whisper. “...like looking at him. His body is just about perfect ...” He resumed a conversational volume. “But beyond that … I don't know.”

    “You'll know when the time comes. Don't over-analyze it.”

    “I get so fuckin' horny, Ty!”

    “We all do. Want to spot me?”



    “People think I'm some kind of all-knowing genius. I'm not. It just depends on good intelligence.” Mark pressed some buttons and an array of video monitors rose out of the huge desk in his bedroom. “I can watch anything in real or historic time. Here or anywhere in the company.” He selected a view of the building lobby. “I can tell the guard is nodding off.” He pulled up a view of the helo hangar and quickly shut it off again. “Steve and Nash can't keep their hands off each other,” Mark chuckled.

    “The tracking system is meant for intruders, but it works on anybody.” Mark opened a view of Li's bedroom and followed him out the door, into the kitchen area, and down a hall, where he stopped and knocked on a door. Jackson opened it, kissed Li and pulled him inside. “I guess we don't need to follow that scene any farther,” Mark said. “Especially when you're standing there looking your best.”

    Looking-your-best was Mark's way of saying naked. Bo blushed at the compliment and tensed briefly when he felt Mark's hand on his waist. The tension was pure reflex; they had already fucked in a way they both liked. Basically, Bo fucked Mark until he was close to coming and then they switched positions and Mark fucked Bo until they both came. Sometimes, fucking by itself wasn't enough to get them off and manual stimulation was needed, but not tonight. Bo had come explosively; but he was disappointed when he realized that Mark hadn't come at all.

    “I don't need to come every time,” was Mark's only comment before he invited Bo to watch the demonstration of his surveillance system. “So that's the system. Have you decided if you want to go to Stanford or Santa Cruz?”

    “I think Santa Cruz. Mainly because I can't afford all the extra expenses at Stanford.”

    “Bo, I told you not to concern yourself with that. Stanford's got the better football team – no question. And football is your objective, isn't it?”

    “Yes, but … You know I work at a florist's on the weekends. Well, it's got me interested in botany.” Bo laughed at Mark's look. “No, not flower arranging. Real science; breeding plants. Santa Cruz has an earth sciences major that could include a lot of plant science.”

    “Wouldn't Davis be better for that?”

    “You didn't offer Davis. Yes, it would.”

    “And they have a football team,” Mark continued.

    “They do, but you never mentioned Davis.”

    “Wouldn't you rather be an Davis Aggie than a Banana Slug?” Mark pulled Bo onto his lap. They weren't much different in height, but one was a football player and the other a computer nerd. They both enjoyed the juxtaposition of their unusual matchup.

    “Could you get me into Davis?”

    “Getting you in is the easy part. The work is staying in and that's all up to you. I'm only risking a semester's tuition at the in-state rate.”

    “I feel like a whore.”

    “You shouldn't. I made the offer. It wasn't contingent on anything. We were already - what do you want to call it?”

    “Close friends?” Bo suggested.

    “We were already close friends before I made the offer. Not sex related. I help out lots of promising young people – both sexes, by the way.”

    “Well, Davis would be the better choice ...”

    “Good. New subject. How was the weekend with Finn?”

    “Do you really want to know?”

    “Of course. I have to warn you, I'm half hard already with you sitting in my lap like this. So don't make it too graphic unless you want me too ...”

    “You wouldn't believe the blow job he can give. The way he teases and then follows through. Drives me fuckin' crazy. I never used to like oral much, but Finn's mouth, the way he puckers up and sucks me in ...” Bo giggled feeling Mark's cock poking him.

    An hour later Mark said goodnight to a freshly-fucked Bo, sending him back to San Mateo in a company car. He went back to his desk and watched Li and Jackson. It was obviously not their first night together, Mark concluded. The next morning he listened to Jackson's presentation on the Singapore property.

    “Good thinking. Did you know Li is Singaporean? Why don't the two of you go and wrap this deal up? Minimize the Johor commitment until I can see the property ... Uh, Jackson? When you leave, there should be a young man waiting. I believe he speaks only Polish. His name is Martin. Would you send him in please?” Mark shifted his attention to his phone, ending the session.




    There were eight men standing outside the prison, waiting for the van ride into town and not quite believing they were free. Their names all began with letters from A to E. Brian Ado and Walden Emerson were the only Northern Californians in the group. At the bus station they learned the last bus to the Bay Area had departed. They would have to wait until morning.

    “Does anything go north? I want to leave today.” Brian wanted to put some miles between himself and the prison.

    “We have one to Sacramento; and you could change to another bus at 4:35 AM to Oakland ...”

    Brian looked for Walden's nod. “We'll take it.” A little over an hour later, the bus pulled out taking Route 99 northbound. Brian chose a seat in the back of the bus and opened the window. The air was cool and soon felt cold, but he didn't care. He wanted to get rid of the prison smell that clung to everything including his companion.

    “I don't know how long I can go without a shower,” he told Walden. “Does everybody call you Walden?”

    “Nobody calls me Walden except my mother. People call me Long.”

    “Why do they call you that?”

    “Uh, my dick is ...”

    “Ok, enough of that.” Brian's voice overrode the other. “Walden's good enough for the couple of hours we'll be together.”

    “My parents were hippies and liked Emerson. No relation, by the way. So they called me Walden Pond Emerson. Could have been worse ... Like Ralph Waldo ...” he threw out as an example of worse.

    “Mmm,” Brian said, watching at the outskirts of Fresno pass by and hoping to discourage conversation.

    “So prison pretty much straightened me out,” Walden offered. Brian ignored him. “I mean it made me gay.”

    Brian looked at him in annoyance. “Lots of guys did stuff in prison. It doesn't 'make you gay'.”

    “You're right. I didn't say that right. I was already gay. Prison made me admit it.”

    “Mmm,” from Brian.

    “It's like Alcoholics Anonymous. Now I feel like I need to go apologize to people I offended. Before, when I was in school, I was pretty shitty to some really nice guys. See, that was the thing that changed in prison. There, I was really nice to some pretty shitty guys. That was what opened my eyes, I guess. I was doing it for the sex and I liked it. The sex, that is; not the shitty guys I was doing it with.”

    “Dude, you don't have to tell me all this stuff.”

    “Sorry. I was talking too much, huh? I feel like I need to tell somebody, though.”

    “How long were you in?” Brian asked.

    “Three and a half months.”

    “Months!!! You experienced this psychic catharsis of yours after three and a half months of lousy sex?”

    “See … I don't know what that means, Brian.”

    “Forget it, Walden. Neither do I.”

    The bus pulled into Merced. The best thing about Merced was that it was half way to Modesto, which was half way to Sacramento. “You want anything? I'm going for a Coke.”
    Brian accepted Walden's offer and enjoyed the cold drink as they pulled out again. The sugar jolt improved his mood.

    “So now you're a happy homo?” he asked.

    “I was always a happy homo, except now I realize it,” Walden chuckled. “Denying it was my problem.”

    “Yeah? I guess,” Brian said, not sure if he really agreed. “Meanwhile tell me about Internet gambling. How'd you get caught?”

    “I took bets from a cop. Once they figured out I wasn't part of some crime syndicate, they shut me down. I plead guilty and got two years with a possibility of parole after six months.”

    “Six? You were half way there. You could have avoided the 'shitty guys' as you call 'em for that length of time.”

    “I was experienced with gay sex and I get crazy horny if I go without. It was no big deal to do it. I just couldn't find anybody I wanted to do it with. So I settled for what was available.”

    “Uh, yeah. What kind of gambling? Poker or something?”

    “Football. I thought I hid my identity through an offshore site, but the cops were smarter than me. They didn't object to what I was doing, and I didn't owe any taxes yet. They got me on letting minors bet. I didn't have any way to check ID's. I was just taking credit cards and assuming the bettor was legal.”

    “Why'd you pick football? Seems competitive.”

    “I played in high school. Thought I knew what I was doing – started with arena football last spring. It almost worked.”

    “You gonna try it again?”

    “I don't know. I could I guess. Or I could go to school. My parents want me to do that.”

    “That's what parents always say. Like it's imprinted in their brains.” In spite of himself, Brian was enjoying the conversation. They kept talking about how a new site might work out until they got to Modesto. This time Brian offered to get Walden something to eat. “Plus, I want to call my wife. Let her know. She should be home from work by now.”

    Walden noticed the troubled look on Brian's face when he returned. He accepted the Snickers bar telling Brian, “Yeah, that's all I want.” He paused and asked, “Did you get your wife?”

    “No. Not a working number.”

    “She probably is using a cell. Lots of people don't use landlines any more.”

    “She could have told me,” Brian complained. “And her office is closed for the day. I left a message, but I don't know if that's gonna work. I guess I want to give her some notice. You know, give her time to get the other guy moved out.” Brian echoed the bitter humor of prison wisdom: never surprise your wife.

    “Do you know that? Or are you joking?”

    “Joking, I think. We should have taken the train. This fuckin' bus is ...”

    “We couldn't afford the train. This 'fuckin' bus' is gonna get us there, Bri.” Walden hoped he sounded reassuring. It didn't really matter. The 'fuckin' bus' broke down outside of Stockton. It was midnight when the hired van dropped the passengers at the unattended bus station.

    “Now what?”

    “Now, we stay positive and we look for a place to sleep,” Walden said.

    “We don't have enough money.”

    “We stay positive and get creative, that's what we do. We check out that motel.” He pointed to a luridly lighted sign in the next block.

    Stockton had a reputation as a rough-and-ready town ever since the Hell's Angels had moved in. Expecting something upscale would have been a mistake even if it hadn't been in walking distance of the bus station. “Stardust,” the sign promised. Better yet, it said, “Vacancy.”

    “Stardust … isn't that what they call cocaine?” Brian asked.

    “PCP, I think,” Walden replied. He knocked on the thick glass window. There was no visible door to the office. An older man appeared from some inner sanctum and yawned. “Hello, our bus broke down and we ...”

    The man grinned. “Yep. They do that. Just you? Where are the other passengers?”

    “I don't know. There weren't many. We need a room. If you have any available ...”

    “Uh-huh, so that will be sixty-nine dollars for the night. You want a king-sized bed?” he speculated, leering at them.

    “Twin beds,” Brian insisted.

    “Whatever … Let's see the cash.” Between them they had sixty-six and some coins.

    “It's late. You aren't getting any more business. Please?” Walden looked as pitiful as he could while the man considered the offer.

    “I guess ...”

    The room was clean and complete, the best that could be expected. A quick shower later, Brian was in bed and asleep, while Walden lay and watched the ceiling periodically flash red echoing the Stardust sign outside their door. Complimenting Brian on his ass had been a mistake, Walden decided. Maybe it was the way I did it. Watching Brian towel off and telling him, “No wonder half the prisoners wanted to fuck you,” had been totally accurate but way too direct. Plus, the vision of that ass in his head was making him horny. He dressed and went back to the office.

    “You have a TV schedule?” he asked the night clerk. “I can't sleep.”

    “The reception is lousy in your room,” the clerk answered flatly.

    “So what's there to do? You have a pool table or something?” Walden made sure the guy notice him slowly scratch his balls. He squeezed his ample package before taking his hand away, revealing a bulge in his pants.

    “I got a TV in here,” the guy quickly offered. He stared at Walden's bulge and then blatantly licked his lips. “You can watch here if you want. The door's marked 'Office' in the back of the building.”

    There were no preliminaries. The man grabbed a feel the minute Walden came through the door. He liked what he felt and began eagerly opening Walden's fly. “Oh, yeah,” he sighed when he saw his prize.

    “One thing ...” Walden said. “I usually get a little money for doing this.”

    “Twenty bucks.” The guy reached for Walden's cock.

    “Fifty,” Walden countered. “Fifty, now.” The guy hesitated. “I'm the best thing you've seen in a long time and you know it.” It wasn't much of a negotiation. The guy reached in his pocket and pulled out two crumpled twenties, a five, and five ones.

    “For that, I want you naked on the bed,” the guy demanded in return. “Hurry up!” The guy was impatient with Walden's teasing strip. “Oh, man … Jeez ...” the guy said when he saw Walden's erection. “Sit on the bed,” he said and buried his face in Walden's bush.

    He gave a good blow job, the right tempo and good tonguing. His hands were busy, tugging on balls and stroking cock. He took his time and enjoyed himself, not caring much about coming himself. He paused when Walden said he was about to come, hoping to prolong the session.

    “You interested in something else,” Walden asked. “Maybe we go a little farther?”

    “What do you have in mind?”

    “What are you interested in?” Walden answered.

    “How 'bout I fuck you?” The guy braced himself, expecting an adverse reaction.

    “That would cost more ...” Walden suggested.

    “A hundred.”

    “Two hundred,” Walden said. The guy attempted to kiss him. “We didn't talk about kissing. With kissing, three hundred.”

    The guy walked to a desk drawer. His cock protruded out of his open zipper, leading the way. He counted out the cash where Walden could watch and tucked it in the pocket of Walden's discarded jeans.

    What's your name?” Walden asked. “I don't kiss strangers.” It was a friendly tease; it made the session a little more personal.

    “Arthur.”

    “Come here, Arthur.” A half hour later, Walden slipped his jeans back on and carried his shirt. “Arthur, I wold like to wash some clothes, you got some quarters for the machines?”

    The sex and laundry had turned it into a long night. Walden was happy when he could finally get back to bed. It seemed like only minutes later when Brian awakened him.

    “Where the fuck are my clothes? All there is is cash on the dresser. Did you sell them?” Brian hovered over Walden's bed, naked and pissed off.

    “They're in the dryer. You really need them right now?”

    “Right now!” Brian confirmed.

    Walden wrapped himself in a sheet and peaked out the door into the dim light of pre-dawn. “All clear,” he said to himself and returned quickly with all their clothes. Brian had cooled off.

    “That's a lot of cash,” he commented accepting his still warm clothing back.

    “And … I got us a ride home,” Walden added as he counted out two hundred dollars for Brian.




    “Hello! Heiko? Where are you? You sound like you're underwater.” The phone went dead in Tom's hands. He checked the screen but the caller wasn't identified. A few minutes later his phone buzzed again. The connection was perfect. “Wolf … how are you? Wie geht es ihnen? Heiko's out.”

    “I want to tell you when I will … angekomme.”

    “Arrive,” Tom prompted. “When, Wolf?”

    Wolf gave him his plans in Germanic detail, starting with the bus from Freiburg. Later Tom relayed them to Heiko. “And … and ...” Tom strung out the suspense. “He said to be sure to tell Torrey.”

    “Torrey?”

    “That cute little nymphette he was chasing around before he left. The one with those puffy, perky tits.”

    “He did more than chase her, Tomi. Maybe mein bruderlein is a little bit in love with her. You think?”

    “Why not? She's tempting enough.”

    “Maybe his identity problem is over. What will the gypsy do for advertising?”

    “It'll be fun to see him,Heiko. See how his first semester has changed him. See if he's the big, bad university student now.” Heiko smiled and opened a couple beers. Tom sipped and continued, “You know what? We could invite all the in-laws. Your parents, too. What do you think? We could rent a lodge at Tahoe … freeze our asses off in the snow … skiing … have a nice old fashioned Christmas … What do you think?”

    “You have already planned it.”

    “No, honest. I just thought it up.”

    “I know you, Tomi. How much are you paying for the lodge?”

    “It was a real bargain, Hendryk. Even your uncle would approve. We could invite him, too.”

    “He won't come. How much?”

    “Forty-five hundred a week, but it includes a Range Rover.”

    “Is it big enough for your parents, too?”

    “They wouldn't come in a million years, Heiko. I've told you that.”

    “Don't be too sure. I already invited them here for Christmas. We'll just vary the location.”

    “Here? My father? Here?”

    “He loves you, Tomi. He's wants his family back.”

    “He's got one. My sister ...”

    “He wants you, Engine. He even called you that. He misses you.”

    “Well …” Tom was flabbergasted, near speechless. “Vroom-fucking-vroom!”

    “Your sister, I'm still working on.”

    Tom pulled Heiko close and hugged him. Heiko started to say something, but Tom silenced him. “Shut up. You know I hate to cry. Just don't say another word.” He kissed his lover and then wiped his cheeks. “I must be allergic to something.”

    Heiko opened the top button of Tom's shirt. “It's all those clothes you're wearing.”

  49. #199
    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Beautiful update Rory- Looking forward to the next one!

  50. #200
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Rory,
    A GREAT update! Heiko and Tomi - und Wolfie, too! Haven't heard about them for a bit.

    Brian and Long - Long is really a decent guy - and knows how to turn a trick or two to their benefit.

    Rocky and Ty's conversation was very enlightening, too. A Star is born!

    And, Mark, the perv, apparently isn't all that bad a guy - he knows what's going on with his staff and former/current sex partners and seems quite laid back about it - even to the point of making circumstances to help further the fuck fest along. Bo seems to have fallen into a good situation.

    Thanks for the update!


    And I know, if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest . . .

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