Four Miles and Counting

[EasyRory]

Chapter Fifty-Two


“Milpitas … God, the depths to which I have sunk ...” Andrew waited for the phone to complete its ring cycle so he could leave a message.

“Hello,” Craig Grantland answered.

Andrew stumbled. “Uh … Craig … I expected a machine.”

“They used to call me a machine in my college days. I was always good for five - six yards per carry.”

“Yes … this is Andrew calling. I wanted to give you a little update on your modeling career.”

Craig laughed. “I only did that for laughs.”

“Well, we got a lot more than laughs out of it. The company sold more catalogs than clothes. And some guys recognized you. Got some very nice feedback about you. The ambiguous nature of your interest in Z got a lot of comment. Anyway … there is a thought that you would appeal very much to a certain market segment.”

“What segment? Closeted gays?”

“No, guys who are too old for Old Navy and too poor for Abercrombies.”

“Like guys who shop at Target?”

“Or H and M, maybe … that range. I thought maybe you'd like to do another ad campaign. This time we'd use your name.”

“Hmm, well, I'm kind of busy. And the money isn't killer.”

Andrew baited the hook. “Z will be in it. You guys worked well together.”

“Uh, so, when is it?” Craig's level of interest changed radically.

“We're going to try the concept a week from Friday at a local store. See what the reaction is.”

“Just a sec ...” Andrew heard a muffled discussion before Craig came back on the line. “Sure, when exactly would I need to be there?”

“Rehearsal on Thursday, Show at seven on Friday. You want to stay in San Jose? I got a couple of rooms at the Doubletree on the 101.” Seth watched Andrew with interest, hearing only half the phonecall. “Ok, then. Good deal. Remember George Foreman started out this way.”

Seth's eyebrows went up as Andrew ended the call. “Z knows about this?”

“Of course not. The talent never know what's good for them.”

“So you're pairing up Z, the almost famous model of a few years ago, Craig, the almost famous football player of a few years ago, and that stunt dick? What was his name? Asher?”

Andrew looked quizzical. “Can you pair up three people? I thought a pair was just two.”

“Details … you know how touchy Z gets when you mess with his personal life.”

“Sweetie … you know I love you, but you have to trust me on this.”

“I trust you. It's Z I'm thinking about.”

“And It's Z I'm thinking about. I've never seen anybody so miserable. I don't think he's eating. And he works at a restaurant. He's looking gaunt. Plus Darren will be in it.”

“Yeah, but 'gaunt' photographs well.”

“I didn't get Darren a room. He said he'd rather commute. I don't think he trusts Nicky alone.”

“He does, too. Nicky's the one who should worry. Darren's the hot number in that pair.”

“Such a strange couple,” Andrew shook his head in wonder.

“What do you think they say about us?” Seth laughed.

“I told Z the rehearsal might run late. Talked him into staying overnight. And hunky Mr. Grantland will be right next door. Plus Doubletree gave me a deal on two rooms.” Andrew was pleased with himself.

Lem entered the office and announced, “Homework's done.”

“Let me see,” Seth.

“Sweetie … you know I love you, but math isn't your best subject.”

Seth did his best not to laugh; he tried really his best to sound stern. “You don't get to call me Sweetie, Lem.”

Lemuel looked abashed. “I like it when Andrew calls you Sweetie.”

“So do I, but you're not allowed. Ok?”

“Ok. Here's the homework.” Lemuel sat next to Seth and looked on as Seth scrutinized his work. Seth pondered the page.

“What's a Fourier transform?” asked the bewildered new parent. “Isn't this a little advanced for the fifth grade?”

“Sweetie, you're the one who insisted on a new school for him,” Andrew noted.




“Would you mind driving?” Walden asked Brian as they walked toward the closed van. Alladin's Carpets – Tracy's Finest. The faded sign on the side was barely readable.

“Where is Arthur going to be?”

“In the back seat with me,” Walden shrugged. “It's how I got us the ride.”

“You don't need to do that. We're not in prison anymore. We can take another bus.”

“It'll save time. He probably just wants a b.j.”

“Jeez, Walden. I'm supposed to listen to that?”

“Open a window. Turn the radio up. It'll be ok.”

Arthur, who looked a lot older in the daylight than he had under the red glow of the Stardust sign, opened the sliding door to the van. There were no seats, just a carpeted floor. The thick shag of the unappealing green carpet looked as if it had never been vacuumed since it left the loom.

Brian looked at it in disgust. “You'll get crabs,” he said to Walden.

Misgivings aside, they headed south with Brian at the wheel and were on the 205 almost at the 580 junction when the trouble started. Arthur had eased Walden's jeans down to his knees and was sucking his cock. Brian was glad the interior of the windowless commercial van was dark. He got only hints of the action looking in the mirror. The radio was turned up loud enough to mask the sounds of sucking, but not loud enough to cover up everything. Still, Walden seemed to be managing what was going on. It was right after Brian saw the sign saying “Livermore 30 miles” that he heard Walden object to something. There were briefly sounds of a tussle but then things got quiet again; a couple of miles later a yelp of pain sounded like it came from Walden.

Brian jammed on the brakes and pulled to the side of the road. He spun around and took in the scene. Two semi-naked bodies in the doggie position. “What the ...” Brian couldn't tell exactly what was happening. “You said sucking! You said all he wanted was a little sucking!”

Arthur recoiled and Walden quietly said, “What the hell Brian? It's no big deal.”

“You!” Brian pointed threateningly at Arthur. “You know we just got out of prison?” Arthur had his hand on the side door to the van but it didn't open. He frantically wiggled the handle. “You touch him again, I'll fuckin' kill you!” Brian's threat was very convincing.

The handle worked and the door popped open. Arthur flew out of the truck and landed sprawling on the ground. He tugged at his clothes, trying to cover himself. “Take it easy. I ain't hurting the kid.”

The trouble was over almost as quickly as it had started. They resumed the trip with Arthur driving. Brian and Walden sat in the back on opposite sides of the van.

“Nobody ever saved me before,” Walden said in wonder.

“Pull up your pants, Walden,” Brian said in exasperation. He was still breathing heavily and felt shaky from his adrenalin rush.

“Why'd you do that?” Walden asked while he fiddled with his jeans.

“I don't know.” Brian leaned back and zoned out until he felt the van stop. He got out of the van, stretched and stared at Arthur. “I don't want to see you again.” The van spun a wheel in some gravel and Arthur left immediately.

“My fuckin' hero,” Walden said admiringly.

“Where are we? This isn't Alameda.”

“No. I don't live in Alameda. It's Oakland. We're going to my house. It's a short walk. I didn't want Arthur knowing where I live.”

The house was a comfortable-looking one story in the lower part of the hills on a generous lot. The size of the lot said a bunch about the value of the house. They entered the kitchen through the garage and surprised a woman sipping something in a coffee cup.

“Wallie P! My baby! What...? How …?” She flung her arms around Walden and hugged him desperately.

“They threw me out, Mom. The warden didn't like me.”

“Baby!” she continued to hold him in her arms until she spied Brian. She let go of her son and said a wary ”Hello.”

“Mom, this is Brian. We got out together. He needs a ride to Alameda. Can I borrow your keys?”

“Don't you want something to eat first? Something to drink? You look like a prisoner of war.”

“Just a prisoner, Mom. No war. I'll be right back.” Walden took a set of keys off a hook near the door and motioned to Brian to follow. The walked out to the street where Walden pushed a button on the keys. The lights of an silver Escalade flashed and they heard the reassuringly solid sound of door locks opening.

“Nice ride ...” Brian marveled as he entered.

Walden fiddled with the dash. “You want some privacy to call your wife? Just tell it a number,” he said and left Brian alone in the front seat.

“No answer,” Brian called out a few seconds later. Once they were rolling, Brian said, “You don't need to take me all the way. I can walk from the Webster Tubes.”

“Buena Vista near Park is nowhere near the Webster Tubes. I'm taking you all the way. Besides, I don't want to say good-bye yet.”

“It's amazing. I met you at breakfast yesterday and it already seems like years ago. You sure can pack a lot into ...” He looked at his watch. “... thirty hours. Man, is it just thirty hours ago?”

“What are you gonna do?” Walden asked. “Your turn to talk.”

“I don't know. I'm barred from working in the financial industry for five years and that's all I know. Maybe I can do real estate, like my wife. She didn't know anything when she started.”

“You want to do something together? Something to do with a social site for gambling. I think we could trust each other. We got no secrets!”

“What kind of site?”

“I was thinking no real gambling, but a place to talk about it. Tips, systems, that kind of stuff. It wouldn't take much investment and we could start up instantly. Almost instantly. You could be the public face of it. You look honest, like somebody people would want to confide in.”

“But what exactly would I do?”

“Be yourself. Talk to people. You can do gambling analysis – isn't it just like investing, except you get the results quicker?”

“And you would …?”

“Be in the background. I can do the webmaster stuff and some of the gambling stuff. Solicit ads. But I gotta warn you. I'm not going back into the closet. I gotta be me. And maybe 'being me' isn't such a big seller if I'm the front man.”

“I'd need to talk to my wife ...” Brian speculated. “It's right there.” He pointed to his house.

“Nice house.”

“It would fit in your garage,” Brian answered.

“Not my garage. My parents' garage.”

The house was locked and Brian had no key. He checked their old hiding place, under a flower pot that used to have a geranium vine in it. The vine was dead and the key was gone. “Ann should be home in a couple of hours,” Brian told Walden to go home..

“I'll wait with you on the porch,” Walden said.

They sat and talked about Walden's website concept. The possibilities were there if not a visible income stream. They would need day jobs. Nothing remarkable about that. Half of the Bay Area had day jobs while they worked on their dreams. The slightly noisy engine of Ann's aging Benz interrupted them. Brian stood as Ann approached.

“Bri?” she gasped and ran to his arms. They hugged and kissed and hugged again. It was a while until they separated.

“Ann, I want you to meet ...” Brian stopped. Walden was gone.




“There he is!” The taller guy said excitedly to his friend. “It's him!” Three young men mini-mobbed Ty as he got back to school. “Dude, your scenes are SOOOO hot.” The taller guy was a little shy and trying to be polite. His friend? Not so much.

“I like the way your fuck scenes go. You just spread 'em and wait for that big schlong! Your asshole must be huge! Do you date fans?”

“I don't have any fans,” Ty said.

“You do. You have a ton of fans. Don't you read the porn sites? There's a huge debate about whether you'll ever top again or are you a bottom slut forever? It's so obvious you love a big one up your ass. But you could still top, I guess. You stay hard all the time. By the way, are you such a cum-guzzler in real life?”

“He could top me,” a third guy said. “Suck a sweet cock.” The kid rolled his eyes in delight and batted his lashes at Ty. “I'll fuck for you. Show you what a real girl can do.”

“But you're a guy,” Rocky said.

“Who the fuck is this? The boy friend?”

“No, he's my work out partner,” Ty explained.

“No shit? Where do you work out? I'm joining that gym.”

Ty grew wary. “It's private.”

“Speaking of privates,” the tall guy waved a Sharpie at Ty. “Would you sign my dick?”

“Hey, guys, back off a little, huh?” Rocky stepped protectively alongside Ty.

“Alright, not my dick. My ass. Would that be ok?”

Ty looked at the three of them in wonder. The effeminate one was putting his head on Ty's shoulder and trying to take a cuddly phone picture of the two of them.

“I got a cute ass,” the autograph hound insisted, unbuckling his trousers.

“What would I sign it?” Ty asked, ready to play along if it got rid of them.

“Whatever you want.”

Ty signed 'World's Biggest Asshole'. The ass's owner didn't see the humor. “You're the fuckin' asshole!” he exclaimed rubbing vainly at the quick drying ink. “I'm never buying your scenes again.”

“Dude,” admonished the effeminate one, “You are kinda huge. A real gaper. I couldn't even get off that time we ...” The offended asshole decked him.

“It's your fault,” the crude one pointed at Ty. “What happened to all the sweet kisses and cocksucking? You're a jerk like all of them.” His voice was shaky from tears.

“I've lost an eyelash! It was mink!” The effeminate one was groveling in the dust looking for his missing enhancement.

“Run,” Rocky said to Ty. They sprinted onto the campus leaving Ty's fans by the roadside. They continued running all the way to Ty's dorm. Seeing no one following, Ty halted and laughed. “You want to come in?” Rocky just nodded, out of breath.

They got to Ty's room and told the story to Jeff. “Not all that funny, guys. They'll rat you out on the Internet. Any pictures they got will be posted and tweeted forever.”

Jeff searched for the hashtag #tysonsaint a name Chris had made up from Ty's name and school. “See! I warned you.” There was a photo of Ty signing the guy's ass and about twenty comments.

“But it just happened about ten minutes ago ...” Ty moaned.

Jeff looked for #istanbulla and showed Rocky pictures of him dancing. “Looking good, Rocky,” he editorialized.

“What about you?” Ty asked.

“Oh, hell yes. There a whole site with me featured. Nothing's private any more. Somebody even posted a picture of me and Dormeyer.” Jeff pulled up a picture of himself and the middle-aged professor. The picture appeared have been innocent enough until Ty read the comments that said the pictured couple was a real couple. “Learn to live with it, guys.”




Nash and Nicky returned from a day of driving feeling tired and dirty. “Couldn't we find customers closer together?” Nash groaned. They had been to independent stores in San Francisco, Portola, Palo Alto, San Jose, and Hayward.

“Until we snag a chain account, we gotta a lot of traveling,” Nicky warned. “And we're won't get a chain account without some buzz. And there won't be any buzz until we get some new stock and sales. So meanwhile, we make contacts and hope something comes of it.”

“Something other than explosions, you mean. That store in Portola knew about us.”

“But she didn't mind. It all counts. All publicity is good publicity in retail. Well, almost all.” Nicky opened a couple of beers. “You and Steve … you're doing ok?”

“”How do you mean?”

“I don't know … Financially? Sexually? Any way you want to talk about. Not that I'm a genius with relationships, but I'm interested in how you're doing.”

Nash smiled. “No regrets yet. We're still having to buy something for the house every day. If you want to sit down, you need to buy a chair. That kind of thing. Suddenly I understand what being poor is like.”

“No you don't. You have some money. That is infinitely better than having no money. Wait 'til that day comes.” Nicky took a swig. “I hope it never does. No-money sucks more than you can believe.”

Nash waited for Nicky to say more, but he didn't. It sounded to Nash as if Nicky knew what he was talking about. Despite Morrie's financial ups and downs as well as his sporadic inattention, Nash had never known real poverty. Nicky on the other hand was in a new venture with Morrie and the outcome was very uncertain.

“My problem,” Nicky said, “is Darren. He's got the world in his hands and I'm holding him back.”

“He doesn't see it that way,” Nash answered.

“But he will. Ten years from now, when I'm groveling for scraps from Morrie's latest scheme, he'll look back and say, 'I could have gone to college' or 'I could have been a supermodel' or 'I could have been a computer genius' or 'I could have picked somebody younger' or ...”

“Nicky, how many beers have you had? He doesn't think like that at all.”

“Just a crappy day, Nash. All that driving. All those assholes.” Nicky drained the bottle. “You want another?”

“Come on, Nicky. Tsien-tsien owes us. He'll come through with new sources. Great designs. Terrific prices.”

“You want another?” Nicky repeated from the kitchen.

“No thanks. I'm good. And I'm sure this is gonna work out. I'm gonna head home.” Nicky appeared at the door of the kitchen to say good-bye. “Nicky, Darren loves you.”

“Maybe that's his mistake.”

[EasyRory]

Leaving town again tomorrow - for the Bay Area. Right now it looks as if I'll be in the city the whole time. If I went to Alameda, I'd feel lonesome looking for our friends in the story.

Maybe Oly's for Sunday breakfast. I could probably do that.

[rocabar]

Great new update, Rory- Thanks!

Back to the Bay, eh? Lookin' for some inspiration i'd bet; hope to hear more about it in the next installment!

[EasyRory]

Inspiration? Maybe ... I'm going to a scientific convention.

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
A nice update on the guys. Sorry I missed last night, but I wasn't home.

Have a good trip West and let your mind run free.

[EasyRory]

Chapter Fifty-Three


“I want to fuck you.” It was a very sexy whisper with just a trace of an accent, delivered by a very sexy young man with just a trace of urgency. The pressure of his cock could be felt through his clothing.

“Again? Already?” Chris stood and tried to shake Adan off, but Adan held him around the waist and pressed up tight against his butt. “Adan! Stop!” he objected to the nibbling Adan gave his neck. “I have work to do!”

“Now I can't even kiss you?” Adan took tiny bites on Chris's ear and pumped his pelvis into Chris's butt. He slid a hand inside Chris's sweats and felt for cock. Chris was wearing nothing under the sweats; Adan connected and felt the early stages of arousal. “See? This little fellow likes it.” Adan squeezed rhythmically and gave Chris's neck another wet kiss. “I saw you bent over and couldn't resist your cute ...”

“Bent over cleaning the platform. Somebody's got to do it.” Chris sounded annoyed, but he gave up trying to get out of Adan's hold.

“It's been ages,” Adan sighed rubbing his jean-covered cock against Chris's ass crack.

“Sunday. Since Sunday! You fucked me five times on Sunday!”

“Five times,” Adan dismissed the claim. “I couldn't have. Nobody can do five times.”

“Once when we went to bed. Again in the morning. Right before noon. That time around three at halftime in the Niners' game ...”

“Ah-hah! See! I sucked you off during the game. There was no fucking that time.” Adan had aligned their bodies perfectly. The bulge of his cock was planted precisely in Chris's crack.

“Again that night … Alright four times.” Chris had completely surrendered to Adan's touch. He half turned and kissed his lover while he fumbled with the drawstring on his sweats.

“I could never do five times. I think that's physically impossible. We can try if you want, but I don't think I can. Now sit back and enjoy this.” Adan pushed Chris back onto the platform in a sitting position while he slid his sweats off. He knelt between Chris's legs and held his cock, admiring its hardness. He gave it a few preliminary licks and then devoured it. He pulled at Chris's butt trying to force his whole pelvis into his mouth, an impossibility, but Chris enjoyed the attempt. Adan coughed after deepthroating and pulled back. “I'm getting to be a good cocksucker, huh?”

Chris didn't answer. He grabbed Adan's head and shoved his erection back down Adan's throat. He held it there until he felt Adan's resistance. Adan gasped for air briefly and then Chris shoved his cock back down his throat. Adan resisted and in retaliation shoved Chris onto his back while he shoved his jeans down and freed his ready cock. With only spit for lube he plunged into Chris while he was still gasping for air. Of course it hurt. It always hurts a little, but it was just what Chris wanted.

They were both breathless, Adan from near strangling on Chris's cock and Chris from the pain of the abrupt penetration. Chris called Adan's cock a “tapered beer can”. That wasn't true. It wasn't nearly that big, but it was an amazing tool for stimulating a prostate. Pulses of pressure with every thrust had Chris's cock dribbling in minutes. Fast and furious sex. Chris came the instant Adan tried to stoke his cock. “Don't stop! Don't stop!” he begged, “Keep fuckin' me.” With an animal roar, Adan erupted seconds later.

When they got their breath back, Chris looked at Adan lying back with his shirt pulled up and his pants pushed down, his sagging cock still bouncing a little with every pulse beat. “You're barely civilized. You're a God-damned animal.”

“No I'm not.” Adan's Mexican pride was hurt.

“Yes, you are.” Chris challenged.

“You want sweet love? I can make sweet love.” Adan pulled Chris closer.

“Yeah?” Chris challenged again. “Show me.”

Soft kisses turned into renewed passion; once they were naked gentle loving turned into gentle fucking. Chris didn't come, but Adan did. He came in a gentle but deep way that matched their pace. “See? I can show you what love is.”

“So we only need three more times today for five, right?” Chris looked at his watch and made a rough calculation in his head. “You up for it? You have nine hours left.”

Adan smiled but he felt a little hurt. Who's playing who here, he asked himself. I'm trying to do everything right. I'm doing ok – more than ok, I think. And he wants a fucking circus act. “Are you pissed off at me, Chris?”

“No, baby, not at all. Why would you think that?” Chris gave Adan a lingering kiss. “That was nice,” he added. Faint praise, Chris thought. Just a little. I can't let him think he owns me … even if he does. “I'm fuckin' you next time.” It was a threat Chris uttered regularly but he had never tried to collect on it.

“Sure, Chris,” Adan answered. He had never agreed to that before. He didn't like getting fucked. It reminded him of his mentor and his indoctrination. With one last kiss he sat up.

“That was … amazing!” came a voice from the shadows. “And you got it all on video?”

“Who the hell are you?” Chris asked, holding his sweats modestly in front of himself.

“I'm Rocky. Ty said you were looking for talent. The door was open and I ...came in.”

“Uh … Rocky … yeah … right,” Chris temporized while he stepped into the cut-off sweats.

“And you automatically filmed all that? Amazing. Ty told me about the platform and the cameras.”

“Did we film it?” Chris asked Adan.

“Probably. I loaded the cameras,” Adan answered. “If it's no good we can just delete it.”

“It was good. Trust me,” Rocky said.

“Trust you … I guess,” Chris mused. “There is really nothing like the porn business,” he said to Adan.

“Mexican horse racing comes close,” Adan suggested.




“He was here a minute ago ...” Brian said, wondering what had become of Walden. “I wonder where he went.”

“No matter. Let's go inside,” Ann urged. She pulled at Brian eagerly. “You can figure that out later.

An hour later Brian after Brian had cum twice, he said with satisfaction, “That was a great welcome home.”

Ann smiled warmly and restated her love before taking a shower. She scrubbed thoroughly knowing that was a waste of time and hastened to apply a spermicidal douche. She wondered if she should I have insisted on a condom. Had Brian been tested before being released? It didn't sound like it. Should she ask him to get tested? Maybe he just masturbated. Maybe I'm being overcautious. His technique in bed hadn't improved any. Enthusiastic is the best she could say for it. He wasn't really insensitive. He wasn't really that bad. Well, yes, he was if insensitive means he doesn't pick up on my signals, she thought. I might as well be upfront with it, she decided. I've got to put my doubts to rest. She put on a robe and returned to the bedroom. She paused at the door. Brian lay naked on the bed face in the pillow. His body was never a disappointment. She took a deep breath and walked to her dressed.

“Brian, honey … don't take this the wrong way. And I'm not accusing you of anything … But … Just to be on the safe side … Should you get an HIV test?”

He rolled over and looked surprised. Lots of thoughts went through his head without being spoken. “I will if you want. Of course, I will,” he repeated. It sounded as if he thought it was just a good idea. “I can use condoms in the meantime.”

Ann ended the subject with a quick, “Thanks. On a happy note, I got a prize at work for renting the unrentable house. Dinner at the Islandview. Feel like Chinese?”

“I'm starving.”

“Maybe we should go someplace else, then. Something more substantial. A steak house? I'll shop tomorrow. There's not much in the house.”

“Sure. Whatever. Either way sounds great.”

Suddenly the conversation died. There were things that needed to be said, but when and how needed more thought. Talk about Brian's future? Money? Children? Yes, but not now. Brian showered and dressed.

“I've lost weight,” he said, tugging at his loose shirt and pants.

“You look great,” Ann said.

The left the house at the same time Jerry and Neil left theirs. After introductions and a brief chat Brian suggested they all go to dinner together. It would be easier to talk to total strangers than to Ann. He was relieved to have the pressure off. They have the serious talk later.

After drinks arrived at the table Brian broke the ice. “In case you guys didn't know, this is my first drink in a while. I'm fresh out of prison.” Brian lifted his glass in answer to Jerry's well wishes and Neil's open surprise.

“In case you didn't know, I'm a cop. Welcome back to the world!” Neil toasted back. “And in case you're feeling uncomfortable with the cop part, let me tell you Jerry and I are engaged. Maybe you'll feel … I don't know … What I'm trying to say is don't feel you need to apologize or explain anything.” Neil's words were awkward, but his good intentions were plain.

“You guys are gay,” Brian said. It was half a question and half a statement.

“That's where it gets weird,” Jerry said.

“We never thought we were, until ...” Neil held out his hands.

“So we're gonna get married one of these days,” Jerry said.

“It was my idea,” Neil added. “He didn't want to do it.”

“It's hard to talk about,” Jerry said. “Thanks for listening.”

“We the ones grateful. You just gave Bri and me something to talk about. After the 'I love you' we were stumbling a bit.”

Brian smiled at Ann. “We were,” he affirmed. “So did you give him a ring?”

Neil grinned. “Not the kind you're thinking of.”

Brian choked with sudden embarrassment. It was probably just the kind he had been thinking of. Lex had always worn a cock ring.




Jackson had gone over the proposal for the Singapore property again with Mark, Li, Steve, and Nash in the audience. It seemed like a good idea, but Steve was at a loss to guess why he was in the audience.

Now,” Jackson continued, “Another money saver would be to contract out your helicopter flying, Mark.” Steve was on his feet. “Listen before you hit me, Steve,” Jackson continued. “It expensive to keep the bird and staff full time when you use them less and less. What I propose is you sell the bird to Steve and contract with him for flying. He can do whatever you want and make more money flying for others instead of wasting his time as kind of a butler when you're not here. That way you could reduce your capital costs, save some money on operations, and keep Steve busier doing what he likes, namely more flying. Frankly, this idea isn't a great cash machine, but it will eliminate criticism of the level of personal expenses.”

“What do you think, Steve?”

“I'll have to think about it. You caught me off guard.”

“Ok, we'll talk again when you get back from Hong Kong,” Mark concluded.

“Hong Kong? We're going to Singapore,” Jackson said.

“And Hong Kong. There's a yacht at a dockyard in Kowloon that I want you to look at. See if it's seaworthy.” Mark dismissed them.

“Steve, wait up,” Jackson called. “Sorry to spring that on you, but you haven't been around much lately.” Jackson looked pointedly at Nash. “If you have a minute, let me explain.”

It was a pretty good explanation: tax losses to the company, lowered expenses charged to income, a reduction in personal expenses for the chairman, and a cheap bird for Steve. “You'll get your own helicopter with Mark's trips and other company shuttle runs guaranteed. That will cover all your expenses and anything else you can do will be pure profit. And I can promise you a decent minimum of additional business. You can drum up more by yourself. You're good at that. Drumming things up, I mean.” Again Jackson looked at Nash.

“Jacks, leave Nash out of this.”

“Sorry. It is a good deal, Steve. Well, it is if you don't mind taking some risk. But you don't mind that, do you? You could end up making a good bit of money. You know he's going to make big changes, don't you? You're a big expense item. Things were bound to change for you.”

“Things already have changed.” Steve pondered outcomes in his head.

“You have a while to think about it. Li and I will be away a month at least.” Jackson scribbled something on a piece of paper. “There a guy in accounting, Milton is his name, Milt … call him. He understands the numbers. It's a good deal, Steve. Honest. Trust me.” Jackson laughed at his last suggestion. “Well, you could do worse. You CAN trust me on this one.”

Steve took Milt's name and walked slowly to the elevator. On there way down he looked at Nash and then the piece of paper. He punched “11” and said, “Let's go see Milt.”

A half an hour later, armed with a day's worth of reading and several spreadsheets, Nash and Steve left the building. The left behind Milt who was considering a major life style change. He refiled Steve's numbers in the Jackson Proposals drawer and muttered to himself. “Of course they're gay. The helicopter pilot and his boy friend. Why wouldn't they be gay? Everybody's gay it seems. Everybody in this company who's successful, anyway. My boss. The chairman. His admin assistant. Who is now my co-boss or something like that. Ouch!” The drawer had closed on his fingers. “I'm the straight one, with a wife who knows I'm a failure, a kid who doesn't know shit, that's what the fucking schools are worth, and a cat who couldn't care less if it had a brain. And I'm thirty and I weight ten pounds more than I did when I got married, and I'm starting to lose my hair, and I got zero chance of advancement. Why can't I be gay? I might as well be. It wouldn't make a shred of difference in my life.” He slammed the drawer shut catching the end of his tie in the latch. “Fuck! It's ruined.” He examined a series of fine parallel cuts in the polyester of the tie. “Fuck! I'm goin' out and get my cock sucked!” Milt cried out in frustration.

“I win! Yes!!” Dramatic fist pump. “I win the pool!”

“What's it to you?” Milt snarled at the junior clerk.

“We had a bet and I said you'd come out before Christmas! I win!!”

“Any side bets?”

The clerk looked uncertain of what to say. “Day of the week.”

“And you had …?”

“Thursday … today.”

“You want to win that one too?”

“What do you mean?”

Milt thrust his pelvis forward. “Suck it.” Milt had to unzip and get it out before the clerk believed the offer. “Suck my fuckin' cock, Jeremy.” Then he had to think about the new receptionist with the big tits to get it up but after that Jeremy's skills did the rest.




“Jeff and I were talking, Professor, and he said you'd know.” Darren waited for Dormeyer to nod before he continued. “The same Chinese ideographs work for all the Chinese dialects and some are very different from others. Could we use the same ideographs for English? And thereby be able to read Chinese without actually learning the language?”

Dormeyer smiled. “If we're going to discuss semantics, I need a drink.” Dormeyer rose and went to the kitchen.

“He's nuts about you,” Darren whispered.

“You sure? I never really know,” Jeff whispered back.

“You should see the way he looks at you when you're not looking at him. He's nuts about you,” Darren affirmed and winked at Jeff as Dormeyer returned with three small glasses of sherry.

“It helps you think,” he said raising his glass to Darren and then looking lingeringly at Jeff. “So … you're not the first person to think of this, Darren, essentially writing normal English with Chinese characters. It's been studied and tried and it works – almost. One problem is that Chinese has been moving in a Western direction introducing phonetic characters into their writing. They of course don't call it Westernization, but modernization. And then cultural biases, both Eastern and Western enter into it, but if you want to settle for very basic, unnuanced translation, a grammar school textbook, for example, you could do it.”

“And then, if people would agree at some level that it worked, people could enhance and expand it ...” Darren leaned forward, eager to continue the conversation. From that position he could see that Dormeyer was holding Jeff's hand. He quickly sat back in his chair where the closeness of the two men on the sofa was not obvious. “Maybe ...” he qualified.

“You noticed I'm holding Jeff's hand.” Dormeyer smiled. If that makes you uncomfortable, we can sit apart.”

“No, no. That's fine. I just didn't expect ...” Darren stumbled.

“Neither did I,” Jeff noted. “You've never done that before.”

“I know. But I figured Darren wouldn't care, and I thought you might like it if we went public a little. Kind of a try-out. In five months you'll be leaving the school and ...”

Jeff explained to Darren, “I'm going to Berkeley next year. It's some whacky program Jinx found – or did you invent it for me? - that counts my porn days as acting credits … You know Berkeley. And I can graduate in three years instead of four. And once I'm at Berkeley, Jinx and I won't have to hide what were doing.” Jeff looked at Dormeyer for corroboration.

“But meanwhile ...” Darren inserted.

“Meanwhile, I could get fired,” Dormeyer said. “Probably for giving you two glasses of sherry; that would be a nicer charge.”

“Not me. I'm twenty-one, I'm legal,” Darren smiled and sipped his wine.

“Me, too, almost,” Jeff said. “I'll be twenty-one in March.”

“So we're back to getting me fired for pederasty,” Dormeyer chuckled and took Darren's glass to the kitchen for a refill.

“Everybody kind of knows about it, Professor. More or less.” Darren wondered if Dormeyer thought his sexual proclivities were actually secret.

“They do??” Dormeyer was honestly astonished. Jeff nodded in agreement. “Really?” his whine was pitiful. “I thought I was being so brave letting you know, Darren.” He looked at Jeff again not knowing what to say next.

“Nobody cares, Jinx,” Jeff said.

“They do, though. The faculty care. I'll be a joke. A campus joke. Jeff, you've got to stay away.” The Professor sounded desperate and determined; he would if he could repair his reputation overnight. “You need to leave now. The two of you. Together.”

[DonQuixote]

Merry Christmas, Rory.
An interesting installment. Chris & Adan - so UPlifting first thing in the morning - and meet Rocky in all your glory, by the way.
A great "here's how it's done" tour, one might say.

Brian and Ann - Hey, Bri, meet the neighbors. Oh, yeah, maybe you should be tested? At least that's being non-judgmental and smart.
I don't know that they'll make it, now that Brian has had an itch he never knew he had, scratched, deep, inside, where it counts.

Jackson's presentation to Mark might have given Steve apoplexy - the security of his job! But, given the expenses, if ego of ownership is removed, it makes great sense, and opens up the possibility of Steve making some nice change. I wonder how Nash felt, being the object of closer scrutiny, if that's the right word.

And the poor, token straight accountant gives it up - not that it's likely to improve his lot in the company, but at least he'll get head out of the deal. Maybe even a split of the pot.

Dormeyer and Jeff -with some candid observations from Darren - how to put panic in Dormeyer's head.

A very nice diversion from the sadder events in our town, yesterday.
Not the way anyone wants to make International News.

Thanks for the holiday distraction.

I hope you have a great day.

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
I just came across this on the net - maybe our collection of boys helped consume this monster after a particularly energetic lacrosse session - or at least provide some of the "special sauce" for it!

This enormous burger was produced at the 99th Annual Alameda County Fair in California, US. It helped to break the record for the world's largest commercially available hamburger in the process, weighing in at a whopping 777 lbs (352 kg). This is what the word 'supersize' was invented for.

(Image: Getty)

[EasyRory]

777 pounds of wasted food. There is probably some kind of law against that somewhere in the Bay Area. The fairgrounds are in Pleasanton, however, far from Nancy Pelosi's epicenter and close to Lawrence Livermore Labs, so the city may not even hear of it. They try to blot things like that out of their minds.

I didn't get to Alameda after all on my last trip, but did have "an experience" that may be worth a short one-chapter story.

[DonQuixote]

As long as we get links, lol.

They usually cut up Guiness Records things like that and feed the fair goers wherever they are made, so it's not a complete waste.

[rocabar]

I didn't get to Alameda after all on my last trip, but did have "an experience" that may be worth a short one-chapter story.

Heh- An 'experience' eh . . . Maybe worth a story- Nice! I've always wanted an EasyRory story for the holidays!!! Squee

Thanks Santa/EasyRory

[EasyRory]

Chapter Fifty-Four


The sound of Walden's belly laugh put Brian in a better mood. The insult of the HIV test persisted. He didn't hold it against Ann - she had a perfect right to ask for it; but the test itself was so demeaning. The entire clinic seemed to know what he was there for. People in the waiting room stared. He got a knowing wink from clerical aide who could only be called a simpering queen. The doctor who insisted on a physical examination wasn't a model of professionalism either, using the exam time to ask if Brian needed any medicine, emphasizing the 'any' in his offer.

“What's so funny, Walden?” Brian asked.

“I am. I'm a fucking laugh riot here.” The website was up and operating out of Brian's garage but users were few. Walden had assumed several identities that he was using to post on other bulletin boards and blogs to try to drum up interest in ToutsBestOdds.com, as they were calling their site. “I just did everything you're not supposed to do playing black jack. Tomorrow I'll post again after getting advice from our site.”

“Laughing at your own jokes ...”

“Try it, you could use a laugh.” Walden got up to stretch and walked up behind Brian.

“I'm trying to paraphrase this how-to book, without getting us sued. Isn't that worth a laugh? We being a fake author?” Brian tensed up when Walden put his hands on his shoulders.

“You're on Chapter Four,” Walden commented, reading over Brian's shoulder. “That's progress.” He felt Brian's tension and took his hands away. “You want some coffee?”

“After you learn how to make it,” Brian answered.

“Mom makes it look so easy,” Walden sighed. “Maybe she could make us a big pot in the morning.”

“Based on revenues from the site, we can't afford the beans. Alright. I'm done.” Brian saved his work and closed the word processing ap. He looked up, “Walden, I gotta ask. How did you manage to … to do what you did with that guy in Stockton?”

“Easy. I pretended he was you.”

Brian's mouth fell open. “You're shittin' me!”

“No. Maybe. A little.” Walden let a smile take over his face.

“I never know when you're being serious. I've said that before, haven't I? Is this website thing really going to catch on? Maybe you can answer that.” Brian let his serious look fade away. “On second thought, don't answer. Save that thought, time go to work.” Brian shut down his terminal.

“Come on, look at the bright side.”

“What bright side?” Brian put on an old jacket, ready to leave.

“You get to work with me. Every day. Doesn't cost you a thing.”

You had to smile at Walden, there was something about him that brought it out of everyone. Of course, his day job isn't kicking boxes for Clorox, Brian thought. His day job is clerking in a sporting goods store. Posing and selling pseudo-jock clothes and a lot of standing around, sipping bottled water, that was what Walden did.

Brian was busting his ass in a warehouse that smelled of enough chemicals to remove layers of lung when they're not blowing up buildings. And it wasn't even a day job, it was swing shift – all the disadvantages of night shift without the extra money. The shop boss had told him that the explosion threat was “wildly exaggerated. Nothing has blown up in a Clorox factory in over two years – and that time was in Georgia, where the plant wasn't unionized.” Brian was not reassured; and the much-discussed, never-seen OSHA inspector had actually appeared only once in the memory of a old guy who hoped he survived long enough to retire.

Walden made it sound so simple. “They hired me because I look good wearing what they're selling, Brian. You could do it. You could work at some place that sells post-preppy stuff. Some place like Ann Taylor.”

“Walden, that's a women's store. I'm not wearing women's clothes.”

“But you'd look good. The customers would eat you up. 'Sir? Does this bra look right on me?' And then you'd say, 'Is that a D cup? It looks a little small.' and they'd giggle, 'It's a B cup, you sexy rascal, you.' And then they'd ask about what time you get off and ...”

“No, they wouldn't. And the warehouse job pays twelve dollars an hour.”

“Of which the government and the union take how much exactly?” Brian shrugged, not sure of the answer. “A lot, Brian. A whole lot. You could take home the same just for looking good for the ladies. And you do look good. Doesn't your wife tell you that?”

That was the thing, Brian thought as he waited for the bus. Ann never told him that. He wasn't even sure she thought about it. Walden was the only one who told him things like that. He's always trying to boost my ego. The arrival of the bus interrupted Brian's thought. He and two women who cleaned house got on. He let them go first and they smiled coyly at him.




“It's more than just taking your clothes off. I guess you're used to that, as a club dancer,” Adan said. “Doing it in front of a camera is totally different.”

“Doing it – the sex part - in front of a camera would be totally different, for sure,” Rocky said, without explicitly admitting his virginity.

“Not everybody can. It's weird. You need to realize that everybody in your life will know. My abuelita, who lives in rural Mexico, even she knows I have gay sex on camera. Everybody knows. There's no going back. No do-over.”

Rocky gulped and moved restlessly in his seat.

“So other than that, it's not so bad. You have to please the director, of course – do what he says and all. Are you still interested?”

“Could I start out slow?” Rocky asked.

“How slow?” Adan countered. “Chris has done some arty nude work, but there's not much money in it. It's by the hour and, with your experience level, the rate wouldn't be much at all.”

“That way – modeling - maybe I could see if I could handle the rest,” Rocky proposed.

“Maybe. Get naked and I'll get Chris.”

Rocky nervously stripped to his underwear and waited for Chris to return. He had to wait a while, there was a delay. He fidgeted and then started to feel cold. His feet especially were cold on the bare concrete floor. He moved over to the platform; the carpet was warmer.

“Ok, sorry for the delay. I was taking a shower.” Chris entered tying a robe around himself. His hair was still wet. “Stand up please. Turn around. Again, slowly.”

Rocky felt uncomfortable under the close scrutinization; he felt a prickly sensation as his balls pulled up close to his body. “Ok?” he asked.

“Drop your drawers, please,” Chris requested.

Rocky did as requested and pulled on his cock trying to stretch it out. “I'm usually bigger than this. It's cold ...” he explained. He tried tugging on his balls, but they stayed tight.

“You're a very good-looking young man,” Chris said. “But … not for straight modeling. We'd be glad to give you a try-out for porn, if you want to do that. Up to you ...” Chris toweled his damp hair as he left the room.

“Can I think about it?” Rocky asked. His teeth were chattering in the cold. He lunged for his clothes and quickly put them on. “Is it always this cold in here?”

“Come here,” Adan said. “Put your arms around me and kiss me.” Rocky put his arms around Adan and hesitated. “Closer, like you love me. Kiss me.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Close your eyes. Pretend I'm someone else. Someone you want to be kissing.”

Rocky tried to comply, but something wasn't right; he tried distracting himself, but thoughts of Wolf wouldn''t come. He chuckled and then looked Adan in the eye. He got an attack of the giggles and the subsequent kiss was both brief and awkward. “I'm sorry, I wasn't laughing at you, I was just laughing. It seemed so ...”

“Right,” Adan said. “That's porn, though. You have to sell the sex as something as close to real as you can make it. It's harder than it looks.”

“It is. I'm sorry.”

“So, give us a call if you want to pursue things. We can start slow, but probably not as slow as you have in mind.” Adan gave Rocky a good-bye salute and watched him leave. “We'll never see that guy again,” he called to Chris. “Cute ass, too.”

“How about getting your cute ass in here?” Chris called back from the editing room. “This scene is pretty hot. You're making me look good.”

“You always look good,” Adan said as he sat next to Chris.

“Are you messing with me?”

“Mess with you? Who? Me?” Adan leaned closer for a kiss and let his hand wander up Chris's thigh. As their lips met he closed his eyes and pictured Rocky's eminently fuckable ass.

“What's making you so hard?” Chris teased. “You want to fuck me again? So soon? Already? No wonder we got so little work done.” Chris was plainly willing to let his editing be delayed once more.

Adan broke the kiss and rearranged the front of his jeans. “You're right. More work, less fucking. Let's see the scene. Is it a stand-alone or do we need to fit it into something longer?”

Chris was left with a hard dick and disappointment. Professional detachment wasn't what he wanted at that moment.




Jeff, want to do something? You want to go out tonight? We could have a couple beers. Go watch Rocky dance. I've always wanted to do that.” Ty asked.

“I'm good,” Jeff answered. He wasn't good at all. Dormeyer's dismissal had been abrupt and devastating; he felt hollowed out, empty, numb. Jeff was the picture of young love in vain. He closed his eyes and imagined the professor bobbing on his cock. Jinx was a great cocksucker. He sat up again, daydreaming wasn't helping.

“Adan and Chris want me to try something new ...”

“Yeah? What?” Ty asked, relieved that Jeff was willing to talk about something.

“Kinky stuff. Leather and toys,” Jeff answered with strict detachment.

“Toys? Like diildos?” Ty followed up.

“Handcuffs. Ropes. Stuff like that.”

“Don't do it. It's not you. I mean it's not the 'you' that your fans like. They like watchin' their fair-haired boy discover how much he likes sex. They don't want to see you in pain. Suffering. Being hurt.” Even as Ty said the words he realized that was precisely the current description of his roommate, so terribly hurt by Dormeyer, who might as well have used a whip to drive Jeff away. “You want to go work out? The gym is never crowded at this time,” Ty proposed.

Jeff seemed to consider the idea but declined. “You go ahead. I'm going to work on a paper for Modern Lit.”

Ty recognized some familiar faces at the gym but worked out alone. Shoulders and arms were his emphasis; for this session he stuck to machines and skipped the free weighs. Exercise was always mood enhancing and sometimes more than that. His body felt totally alive with an athletic freedom of motion that made him feel immortal, invincible, and then, with insidious stealth, incredibly horny. His need seemed like a growing nervous vibration; he felt that odd awareness, that focusing sensation that made his cock swell just enough remind him of its confinement, of its need to stretch out like the rest of his body. He was tempted to jack off during his shower; but he didn't. There was something pathetic about jacking off in the early evening, as if the night held no possibilities whatsoever. The night was full of possibilities for a handsome and horny young porn star with a fake ID and more than a few extra dollars in his wallet.

There was a certain inertia that had to be overcome in order to make the trip into the city. It required a deliberate investment of time and money; but in this instance the time was right and the need was great. Porn studio sex was physically releasing, but it delivered no psychic punch. Tonight Ty needed a real person-to-person connection. Real connections are rarely made with strangers; still, Ty was young. He realized that Istanbulla's bar was probably not the key to a bright future and a lasting relationship; that didn't matter. All he wanted was a hot night tonight. Waiting on the train platform he squeezed his cock; in return it leaked a few anticipatory drops. Shit. He could see the wet spot. It seemed huge to him, like he had pissed his pants. It stood out like a neon sign. So obvious. He was sure he had been busted playing with himself; he glanced around the train platform furtively. Oddly, Ty thought, no one else noticed.

Going to a gay bar for the first time was daunting all by itself. Using his almost brand-new fake ID was a second challenge. The closer he got to Istanbulla's, the slower he walked. Hoping his porn-stardom would go unrecognized was a third unsettling element. Getting past the fantastic drag queen at the door almost made him turn around.

“ID please,” Helena Hahn-Bosquette requested. She looked skeptically at the driver's license Ty presented, the ID that stated his age as twenty-two. “Mr. William …?”

“Thibodeau,” Ty filled in, using English phonetics to pronounce his purported last name.

“Really?” Helena challenged. “I thought that was 'Tib-uh-do' in most parts of the world.”

“Not in Oakland,” Ty replied.

“Oakland?” Helena checked the address. “Poor baby,” she commiserated and waved him through.

Ty ordered a beer. He sipped and had the guilty feeling that every calorie in it was sapping the value of his workout. He cautiously looked around. The early crowd lacked any pretense of glamour. A couple of men approached him, but Ty didn't encourage them. His response to their chat was polite but cool.

“If you smile a little, you won't have to pay for your beers,” the bartender suggested, setting a fresh one in front of Ty.

Ty smiled at him. “Who's paying for this one?” he asked.

“Me,” the bartender winked.

Ty watched him walk away to check on another customer. He had the remains of a fine ass packing his Levis. Ty wondered how old he was.

“He's about forty,” a guy volunteered, a guy who had followed Ty's gaze. “Not bad for forty.”

“No,” Ty answered. “He isn't.” The two added words took an effort.

“And he seems to like you. But who wouldn't?” The guy paused. “The lighting in here is odd, but I'd say you are blushing. Are you blushing?” The voice was friendly and Ty smiled at him.

“Yeah, a little.”

“In case you're wondering, accepting a beer doesn't constitute a lifetime commitment, but you owe your donor a little friendly talk for his four dollars.”

Ty waited until the bartender was close. “Hey,” he called out. “Thanks for the beer.” Ty gave the bartender his best smile and got one in return.

“Now you've got him eating out of your hand,” the guy next to him said. “See how easy it is?”

“I've never been here before. I don't know the rules.”

“Simple courtesy. Somebody's nice to you; you're nice back. You don't have to go home with him, but somebody as cute as you should probably figure out a couple of dozen clever ways to say no. 'I have to wash my hair' isn't good enough”

“The doctors have advised me to wait at least a month before sex,” Ty said.

The guy laughed. “That may be over-kill.” He laughed again and then said, “You look familiar.” Ty stuttered and was saved by the music and the dimming lights. “Show time,” Ty's new friend said.

A beautiful body side-washed by red strobe lights began dancing. It took a while for Ty to decide the dancer was wearing tight briefs. Ty took a swallow of beer. His throat had gone dry. The guy's body was perfect. It so looked like he was naked and available. Ty was surprised by his immediate physical attraction. 'I want him' was all he could think.

“That's Rocky,” the guy whispered. “Every swingin' dick in this bar is dying for a piece of Rocky.” He sat back and watched the act.

That's Rocky? Ty thought to himself. That's Rocky? Sex on a stick is what that is.

“Take it off,” somebody called out.

“I need it to hold your money,” Rocky called back as he danced up closer to the guy. The guy tucked a bill into Rocky's shorts and copped a feel. Rocky's expression changed as if the cash and the touch was the most sensual thing he had ever felt. He slowly danced away toward the next hand that was waving cash of some unknown denomination.

“Are you holding your breath? It's ok to breath,” the guy joked.

Ty realized he had been staring in suspended animation. He took a deep breath and another sip of beer. He had never seen Rocky like this. Toward the end of the set, Ty moved up to the stage and tucked a dollar into Rocky's shorts. He felt the warmth of the dancing body and a trace of sweat on Rocky's abdomen. A look of recognition passed between them. Ty went back to his barstool and sipped his beer still nervous from the encounter.

“You and every other guy in San Francisco would like a shot at that,” the guy whispered. “You want another beer?” The music stopped and the lights came up.

“Sure. Am I being polite enough?”

“You could do better, I guess. But you're beer-worthy.” The guy signaled for two more.

“Cutting me out, huh, Midget?” the bartender joked as he put the two beers down.

“Why'd he call you Midget? You're as tall as he is,” Ty asked.

“Height isn't my problem ...”

A familiar voice intervened. “What are you giving me money for? You see me naked all the time!” Rocky, in street clothes, looking like his regular self, held out a five dollar bill to Ty.

Ty grinned. “I gave you a one.”

“Yeah? Well, you're the reason I'm doing so well. Wait, I'll be back.” Rocky went to answer a summons from Istanbulla.

“You know him?” the guy asked, freshly impressed.

“We work out at the same gym,” Ty answered, giving a limited version of the truth.

“What did he mean about you being the reason ...” The question was cut off by Rocky's return.

“Somebody ratted you out. Istanbulla want to know if she can introduce you. Would you mind taking a bow?” Ty nodded his ok.

“What does he mean?” the guy asked. An announcement answered his question.

“Some of you may have seen an adventurous Internet actor named Will Thibodeau,” the anonymous, amplified voice announced. “Well, somebody who looks very much like him is here with us tonight. Rocky, get out of the way! You get too much attention already.” Rocky moved aside and shared the spotlight and scattered applause with Ty. Rocky put his arm around Ty and kissed him on the cheek. The applause doubled.

“Now I see why you turn me down, Rocky!” somebody called out.

“They're so cute together!” another patron gushed.

“You two should make a porn together!” a third person suggested.

“Follow me before they start getting personal,” Rocky whispered and led Ty to the break room. “Thanks for being a good sport, Ty,” he sais when they were alone. “Can I have a sip of your beer?”

“Uh, sure. I forgot I was carrying this.” Ty handed Rocky the bottle and watched him take a swallow. “You own this crowd, Rock. They're lovin' you here.”

“Only since I took your advice and started treating them like people. I gotta dance one more time and then we can leave, ok?”

Ty waited until the lights went down again and returned to his barstool. “Are you really a couple?” the guy who bought the beer asked.

“We're friends – we do stuff together – that's all.”

“The Porn Star and the Go-Go Boy. Sounds like the title of a fuck book ... Too bad you're not a couple.”

Ty bought the guy a beer making his night special. “A porn star bought me a beer! Wait til that son of a bitch who dumped me hears ... “

About an hour later, after riding back to school with Rocky, Ty crawled into bed and suffered an acute return of his earlier horniness. He listened for Jeff's breathing. Deep and regular sounds said Jeff was deeply asleep. A little JO session wouldn't hurt, Ty decided. He began the familiar motions and nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt another hand on his cock.

“Let me help,” Jeff whispered.

Ty lay back and felt the warm suction of Jeff's mouth. He closed his eyes and imagined it was Rocky sucking his cock - but not friend-from-the-gym Rocky, this cocksucker was his red-lit, dirty-dancing fantasy fuck. He came quickly, pulling hard on Jeff's head, thrusting down his throat, and making him choke on the gush of semen.

“I was thinking of Dormeyer,” Jeff commented, wiping his mouth. “He comes just like that.”

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
Thanks for the update on our two couples, plus . . .

Or, the gonna be two couples, lol.

[EasyRory]

Chapter Fifty-Five


“What ever happened to the Cavendish Number One?” Andrew asked a man in the grocery section who was trying to make something artful out of a jumble of limes. He poked disdainfully at the disappointing banana; it was solitary, detached from its hand, smallish, and already overripe while still in the store's bin.

“Whuh?” the mystified grocer replied.

“The Cavendish Number One - there was a banana, Lemmie. Empires were built on that banana,” Andrew waxed wistfully as the two surveyed the fruit selection.

“Empires?”

“Financial ones … Let's get the pineapple instead. For the future, I suggest that if you ever decide to become a green grocer that you learn something about groceries. The Cavendish banana originated in Asia but found true happiness in the Americas ...”

Later that night, as they lay in bed, Seth told Andrew how impressed Lemuel had been with the banana tutorial. “He recounted the lesson – probably word for word, Andrew.” Seth gave Andrew a smooch on the cheek.

“The boy has a wonderful memory – he soaks up everything,” Andrew commented with a yawn.

“And you're really good for him ...” Seth snuggled closer, throwing a leg over one of Andrew's. He placed his hand on Andrew's chest and slowly traced a pattern that moved lower. After a bit of a tease, Seth's wandering hand arrived at Andrew's cock, which lay limp. He cupped it and then gave a gentle squeeze. “You're really good for me, too … you know that?” Seth followed with a kiss.

“Sweetie, you know I love you; but I'm really tired tonight and we have the Milpitas show coming up. Hauling Lem around is way more exhausting than I ever thought it would be.”

Seth dropped Andrew's still limp cock. “Sweetie,” Seth mocked, “Do you realize we haven't had sex in days?” He reviewed the past week in his head. “Five days, to be exact.”

“I'll make it up to you. He goes to Lurline after school tomorrow.” Andrew yawned again.

“Is this what being married with kids is like? One lousy fuck a week?”

“Now I'm a lousy fuck?” Andrew queried in a voice that lacked any real curiosity.

“No, but … I miss you, Andy. I liked it when we did it more.”

That woke Andrew up. “Do not call me Andy!”

“Yeah? What are you gonna do about it, Andy?”

Seth's ploy worked. Andrew fuck him quite well. A little perfunctory, perhaps, but only in comparison to the spectacular sessions they used to enjoy. And afterward, Andrew was asleep even before his dick dried. Seth sighed and tried to sleep as well; but he really wouldn't have minded a longer love-making session. There was still some unspent energy left in his cock; he played with himself idly and teased it to full erection. Yeah, he thought and spread his legs so he could play with his balls, too. His asshole was still relaxed from Andrew's pounding. Only a couple months ago I could have got him to come twice, Seth remembered; now I'm lucky to get it once a week. Being a parent sucks sometimes. Seth instantly felt guilty. Am I getting jealous of the kid? He pondered the question. No, he decided that the kid wasn't the problem; but by that time his dick was limp. He's a good kid even if he is an erection-killer. “We'll have a good fuck tomorrow,” he whispered to his sleeping partner.




The computer gonged its portentious electronic call. “Walden! Look!” Brian cried. He pointed at the screen; the counter applet showed a positive number. “We're making money!”

Walden rushed to Brian's side and they crowded each other looking at the screen. The small meter in its analog version wavered repeatedly and it's needle bounced off the zero setting. The digital counter echoed the meter and registered 19.23.

“Nineteen dollars,” Walden said. “Better than nothing, huh?”

“But that's just from the view counts. Now we can asked for up-front ad fees.”

“Wait … there's more.” Walden pointed at the meter which now read 22.34. They both watched in anticipation but nothing further happened. The brief excitement faded. Reality, including physical feeling, returned.

Brian chuckled. “Are you humping my arm?” Brian was seated and Walden stood close behind him. There was no question Walden was rubbing against the back of Brian's upper arm.

“Oh!” Walden sprang backward. “Sorry. I guess I got lost in the excitement of seeing our first revenue.”

“You got a little chubby in there,” Brian teased, pointing at the distended front of Walden's cargo shorts.

Walden blushed and said nothing at first. He moved back to his chair and sat. He typed a series of commands. “So the ads are working. The money's from 'The Sporting News' at a quarter of a cent a hit. That's over eight thousand hits. If there are any subscriptions, we'll get more.”

“To tell you the truth, I never really thought we'd make a cent,” Brian admitted.

“Ye of little faith,” Walden entoned. “We should celebrate. Modestly, of course. Can't buy the yacht yet on twenty-two dollars … less taxes … less expenses …”

Two of Walden's father's beers later, they sat in the winter sun in Walden's back yard, sipping a third bottle each. “I guess it's too soon to quit Clorox,” Brian sighed and then he laughed.

“Clorox is funny?” Walden asked. Brian ignored that and responded with his own question.

“What do you supposed half of twenty-two dollars less taxes and expenses is?”

“Some negative number.” Walden stated. “But it's a smaller negative number than it was this morning.”

“Negative nummer ...” Brian speech was slightly slurred. His pronunciation of number didn't include the b. “So what are we gettin' out of this, really?”

“A few laughs and three beers,” was Walden's reply.

“And a chubby,” Brian added. Walden didn't answer. They sipped the beer and thought their private thoughts for a while. “Do you want to have sex with me?” Brian suddenly asked.

“What kind of question is that?” Walden temporized.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Brian repeated with deliberation.

Walden looked back at Brian fiercely and then let a smile creep slowly over his face. “Desperately,” he answered at last.

“No shit?” Brian asked and Walden smiled wider. “See? I never know when you're serious.” They lapsed into silence for a spell. “So … Is working with me trouble for you?”

“No. I can be desperate without being out of control.” Walden was still grinning.

Brian considered how he'd feel. “I'd be going crazy.”

“Let's not talk about it,” Walden finished his beer.

And they didn't. They went back to their desks in the garage and resumed promoting their site. An hour later Walden opened the meter window.

“Forty-six dollars, Bri. That negative number just got smaller.”

Brian went home that night feeling better than he had in a while. Forty-six dollars was a start and he had two days off from Clorox. Instead of transferring to the Alameda bus he walked from Oakland across the High Street Bridge. It was a boring walk through a semi-industrial neighborhood, but it was safer than some other routes. His head cleared from the beers and he stretched out his stride once he crossed the Estuary. He arrived home in the late afternoon and greeted his wife with an invitation.

“How about an appetizer before dinner?” That was their euphemism for afternoon sex.

An hour later Ann lay in bed dazed with a smile on her face. “Wow. What got into you?”

“Desperation,” Brian answered. “You want a drink? I'll make dinner tonight.” That was an extraordinary offer; Brian was a terrible cook.

“Sure,” Ann purred and tugged the sheet over her exposed breasts.

Unfortunately, the magic didn't last. The next night was lackluster. “Running out of pixy dust?” Ann queried. Sunday afternoon was pure frustration. For the first time in his life, Brian had trouble getting it up. He succeeded only after thinking about Walden's chubby.




Mark pointed to himself. “Mark,” he said slowly. He pointed to the young man. “Martin,” he said. Martin pronounced it more like Mar-teen, but at least the communication barrier had a few holes in it. Mark made another gesture involving his hand and his mouth. “Suck cock,” he said. Martin grinned and sucked his cock quite thoroughly.

“Wait!” Mark said, not wanting to come yet. Martin looked up in surprise.

“No good?”

“Very good,” Mark assured his pupil. “But the security system is flashing.” He opened a screen and Martin giggled at the televised report of Steve and Nash fucking on the helo pad. “Those two never quit,” Mark said as he punched the 'save' button and closed the screen.

Martin said something that sounded like pee-ep-tzitch.

“Fuck,” Mark guessed. He pointed to Martin and then himself, “We fuck now.”

After some initial confusion over who would top, Mark got his way and Martin got a cock up his ass. After he came Mark tried to get up but Martin demanded his turn. After decisively losing an unseemly boss-servant wrestling match, Mark was annoyed but gave in. Martin forgot all his minimal English and kept repeating something in Polish as he fucked Mark.

“If you weren't such a promising boy, I'd ship you home for that,” Mark threatened when it was over. He wasn't used to losing but realized Martin's lack of understanding made his threat empty. “I forgive you this once,” he told the uncomprehending and unrepentant boy. Martin sensed the reconciliation and gave Mark an energetic hug and a longer string of Polish that ended with some hip thrusts, an apparent promise to fuck Mark some more later.

“We'll see about that,” Mark promised in return. “But first we see about my pilot. PILOT,” he emphasized for Martin using his hands to simulate airplanes.

“Lotnik,” Martin said making the same hand motions.

Martin was still naked and the hand motions made his cock swing about alluringly. He was taller than average and slim with the grayish blond hair color common in Eastern Europe. His blue eyes were almost hidden by a prominent brow; they weren't especially handsome until you got quite close. Overall, he was a good-looking boy, but his cock was his best feature. Sausage was the perfect word for it. Plump and uncircumcised, it hung heavily, slightly curving inward over his balls. Relaxed and limp, it was a thing of beauty. Aroused, it rose hard and erect but didn't get a lot bigger. He looked good erect, but for pure aesthetics he looked better without an erection.

Martin's sexual orientation was unclear, perhaps not in his own mind, but certainly in Mark's. If the circumstances called for sex, Martin was willing and he didn't seem to care what the circumstances were. In Mark's observations of Martin's performance, the boy enjoyment was unabashed and thorough with men as much as with women. He needed only a better sensitivity to what his partners were experiencing.

“Get dressed,” Mark said. “We'll pay a call on our lovebirds.” He watched Martin dress and loved what he saw. Martin had a collection of gauzy, body-hugging clothing; he looked as if he should be lounging by a pool even if he was wearing a wool suit. The shorts he put on gave generous hints of the outline of his cock as he moved. Pornography on the hoof, Mark thought. Mark couldn't help himself; he had to touch that sausage. Martin tolerated the tactile inspection and was willing to let things go farther, but Mark was satisfied with triggering an arousal.

“Later,” he promised. “We need to fire an employee.”




“Z, it's Craig.” Z took a deep breath, not sure where this call would go. “I'm at this motel Andrew recommended in Milpitas.” Craig mangled the town's name.

“Mill-PEA-tuss,” Z corrected him. “You're early, aren't you? The shoot isn't until next week.”

“Yeah, well. I was out of things to do and I just thought … Do you want to get together? Practice some poses?”

“I have a day job now. I'm a little bit tied down, but I have Monday and Tuesday off.”

A day job? What do you do?”

“A night job actually. I'm a waiter at a local restaurant.”

“So you're free during the day?”

“Kind of. Pretty busy though. Moving into a new place and all.”

“Let me help. I can carry stuff.”

Z was hesitant. If they got together in advance of the shoot, the possibility of renewing their sexual connection would be ever present and Z wasn't sure he wanted that entanglement. Craig's expectations had been almost overwhelming the last time. Now with Eric gone, Z was sure Craig would want and expect more. Too much, maybe. I need some space, Z thought. The counter to that was Z needed some sex, too; but he was afraid Craig would be smothering. I can't really tell him no, Z thought. Thank God I didn't hock the watch he gave me.

“Well, there isn't that much to move. Most of it was Eric's.”

“Eric is ...” Craig began.

“Not in my life anymore,” Z finished. “You want to come over around ten? If nothing else, we can go for a run.” Craig accepted immediately. Z clicked off and called Darren.

“You've got to come over tomorrow morning at ten.”

“Z, I can't. Not until the afternoon. Nicky has got a shipment of samples coming in and I promised I'd help him. I could see you around one in the afternoon.”

One in the afternoon would have to be good enough, Z thought. Maybe Craig will be late getting here. Traffic on the 880 on a Saturday … Yeah, he could easily be late.

He wasn't. Craig arrived at two minutes to ten. At two minutes after ten they were in bed. It was so easy to just let it happen.

“Wow, that was quick,” Z said, surprised at how eager he was. “I was kinda thinking ...”

“What were you 'kinda thinkin'?” Craig asked without stopping his kissing.

“That we should take it slow ...”

“Fine with me,” Craig answered. “I like it when you fuck me slow.” He bent forward and took Z's cock into his mouth.

“Have you been practicing?” The blowjob felt amazing.

“Only in my head, thinking about how I'd do this.” Craig went back to sucking; his ardor was urgent, but his mouth was slow, making Z moan aloud.

“This feels so good,” Z purred. He played with Craig's hair, feeling the unexpected softness of the stubbly brushcut in his fingers, so different from the feel of Eric's longer hair.

“I can taste you. You're salty,” Craig murmured, licking the tip of Z's rigid cock. He pulled off and milked it, drawing forth and licking up another salty drop. “Want me to keep doing this? Or do you want to fuck me?” Craig kept sucking on Z's cock while Z considered the choice.

“What do you want?” Z asked.

“You know what I want.” Craig left it up to Z. He smiled his approval as Z rolled him over onto his back. Another preliminary kiss. “Yeah, that's what I want,” Craig said as he spread his legs and pulled his knees back. “Can you get me ready some?” Craig asked hesitantly.

Z lapped gently on Craig's hole getting it thoroughly wet before probing deeper with his tongue. Craig sighed repeatedly as Z coaxed him open and the penetrations became deeper.
A sharp intake of breath came with the initial penetration by Z's cock. Craig held his breath as Z pushed slowly in. It wasn't easy at first; they needed more lube-spit; they needed time to adjust. They needed to kiss. And then they needed to fuck. Faster and harder came automatically. Craig pulled Z into himself as the pain changed to pleasure; he opened and relaxed and wanted more. “Fuck me, baby. Pound me. Yeah, like that.”

Z jacked him off as he lay back taking it. Their orgasms were close together and nearly matching in intensity. Craig wouldn't let Z pull out when it was over. He wrapped his legs around Z and held him tight, kissing any part he could reach.

Z looked down. There were tears on Craig's cheeks, but he wasn't crying. Z wiped them away. “I figured we'd do this. I never figured it would be so good.”

They spent time in each others arms, talking, catching up, kissing, and talking some more. Craig's stomach rumbled.

“Are you hungry?”

“Starving. I didn't eat … You know, in case we ended up doing this, I didn't want food to get in the way ...”

“You want to get something? There are lots of places nearby. Or I can make cereal and toast?”

“No, I'm happy starving. I just want to keep holding you.” Craig kissed Z for the millionth time that morning.

This feels so good, Z thought. It's not love; but, whatever it is, it's the next best thing. He kissed Craig back feeling happy for the first time in weeks. I want to say I love you to him, but it wouldn't be true and it wouldn't be fair. But I gotta say something.

“Craig, this morning with you is the best morning I can remember.”

Craig's face lit up with delight.

Their eyes locked as they heard the door open. “Oops,” Darren said. Craig looked in amazement at from one brother to his near look-alike and back.

“Craig Grantland, this is my brother Darren. Could you give us a couple of minutes, Darren?” One room apartments can be so inconvenient.

[rocabar]

Uhh- ohhh. . . Somebody's gettin' canned?

. . . And yes, one room apts can be inconvenient

Thanks for the update, Rory!

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
I started reading this last night, but I was too dog tired - I stopped just shy of Mark's earth shattering statement re: Firing.
And his new employee cum fucking partner, Martin, who wants to TOP more than bottom, much to Boss Man's chagrin.

Z and Craig making mad, passionate love - or at least super hot sex - we'll have to see. Poor Z. Still hurting, badly.

Andrew has a very interesting teaching style with their ward, Lemuel.
As a parent, I relate all too well with the tuckered syndrome.

Brian, Walden, and Anne. Anne's already lost that "war".

Thanks for the update.

[EasyRory]

Brian, Walden, and Anne. Anne's already lost that "war".

Do you think so? I'm not so sure.

[DonQuixote]

Well, you're the author - I suppose a three way is always a possible path to "rehabilitation."

I see you can now get married at the National Cathedral - if you were so inclined.

[EasyRory]

Well, you're the author - I suppose a three way is always a possible path to "rehabilitation."

I see you can now get married at the National Cathedral - if you were so inclined.

I'll wait until the roof is fixed. That earthquake we had caused some problems that they are still working on.

[DonQuixote]

I saw the Washington Monument is in need of some repair, too.

I do remember seeing some of the damage at the time.

[EasyRory]

There are other less visible structural problems. The place is really just a pile of rocks - never built to withstand earthquakes.

[EasyRory]

Chapter Fifty-Six


Walden was determined to find a place to relocate his “office”. The romance of starting a computer company in a garage was ended when his mother opened the garage door to take her super market purchases into the kitchen. Walden had been hard as a rock when the door machinery suddenly started raising the door and she may have seen way too much of his erection. Mothers see everything.

The morning had begun well enough. Walden woke early at five-thirty and went to the garage to see what had happened over night. He was delighted to see that revenues had grown to nearly a thousand dollars for the month and December wasn't even over. He noticed dust on the drive array and decided to clean up while he waited for Brian's usual arrival at eight or so.

Dust being death to drive mechanisms, Walden decided just dusting off the cabinets wasn't enough. The constantly accumulating dirt on the floor was the source of his problem. Sweeping helped, but a wet mopping would be even better he decided. Between the warmth of the garage and the exertion of mopping he worked up a sweat. Then he spilled some water onto his canvas shoes, soaking one of them thoroughly. The solution was to work in his underwear. So boxer-clad, he finished his job. He sat on a garden chaise that had been brought into the garage for the winter and waited for the floor to dry.

His thoughts turned to the idea of a video poker game add-on to the site. They could call it a practice “room” and charge money for entry while still avoiding actual gambling. The users could get a refund if they were the most successful players. The payoff wouldn't be gambling, just a business promotion expense, he reasoned. It's a refund for volume usage, not in any way related to the outcome of card play. Would that work? We need a lawyer, he thought. Maybe Brian would know. Ah, Brian, he smiled. I rattled him last week with that “desperately” comment ... If only he didn't have such a cute ass ... It's absolutely perfect. Walden dozed off, dreaming alternately about poker hands and Brian's ass.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty ...” came a soft voice. “Walden?” A hand gently shook his shoulder.

“Wha? Hm?” Walden sat up with a start. “Oh, Brian. It's you.” He saw Brian walking away from waking him to his work table. “Oh my God!” Walden notice his erection poking out of his boxers. He tried ineffectively to hide it. He got up, hurried to where he had left his clothes, and put the shorts on. More leisurely he pulled a t-shirt over his head. Anyone could see the bulge in his shorts, but Brian wasn't looking. Walden sighed in relief. But he has to have seen me, he thought, so embarrassing.

If he saw anything, Brian said nothing about it. “Wow! Look at the overnight numbers!”

“Yeah,” Walden said, glad to be talking about business. “We're starting to catch on, I think.”

“You know what they say. 'Don't quit your day job' and all, but … a thousand. Not bad partner.” Brian turned to Walden with a smile.

“Your book chapters are a big part of it,” Walden added. “And I was thinking … what about a practice poker game?”

They chewed on that idea for a while, barely acknowledging Walden's mother, who said she was going grocery shopping. “Bye, Mom” and “Bye, Ellen” was all she got. The poker room seemed doable. The money exchange issues were not so easily solved.

“I don't know, Walden. Is it gambling? Is it gambling-related?” Brian shrugged and the conversation stopped. “By the way, why were you sleeping in the garage? You should get yourself a blanket, a least.”

Walden explained about mopping the floor and falling asleep while he waited for it to dry. “I was dreaming about the poker game when you found me.”

“Does poker always give you hard on?” Brian teased.

“You noticed that ...”

“Dude, it was impossible to miss!”

“Yeah, well … It happens, you know.”

“We need to get you a girl … uh, boy friend. How long has it been since you got laid?”

“Since that night in Stockton.”

“No shit? I couldn't go that long.”

“Yeah, well … I never used to, but lately … My old friends are gone and I haven't had time to make any new ones. You know how it is ...”

“Not really. I'm married, remember.”

“Yeah, I remember. It was no problem for you? Shifting gears from prison back to the real world?”

Brian blushed and then he wondered why he was blushing. His prison life was no secret to Walden. “Sex, you mean? No, but my … my performance has been … 'uneven' I guess is the word.” Involuntarily, Walden's eyes went to that specific part of Brian's body, as if he could diagnose Brian's trouble through his clothes. Brian chuckled. “It's nothing that shows, Walden.”

Walden's eyes moved back to Brian's face. “You're so fuckin' perfect, it's hard to believe you're having any problems.”

“Perfect? There are a million things wrong with me. I'm not all that bright, for one major problem. Like I'm kinda stupid, really.”

“No, you're not. You just had a sucky education. You're writing a fucking BOOK, aren't you?”

“A electronic book, if you want to call it that, on gambling, for God's sake, which I am plagiarizing, more or less ...”

With a sob, Walden grabbed Brian and kissed him more from frustration than passion. It wasn't a peck, it was a real kiss. Brian stood with his mouth open as Walden back away. “Quit running yourself down,” Walden said. He took another step back, aware of the growing tent in his shorts.

At that point the garage door began opening. Walden doubted that he sat down quickly enough to hide his erection.

“Want some help, Ellen?” Brian offered.

“Thanks, Brian. Walden, you look like you've seen a ghost.” She walked quickly through the kitchen door. Brian helped carry the many bags into the kitchen and then left for Clorox before they had a chance to say more.

Still frustrated that afternoon, Walden walked into a junk store on Webster. “Collectibles by Cloris,” the sign said. A burly man said hello. “You don't look like Cloris,” Walden smiled.

“Yeah, so Cloris left years ago and signs are expensive. What are you looking for?” The man wasn't unfriendly, just skeptical that Walden was a buyer of collectibles.

“A cheap office. Your upstairs looks empty. Would you want to rent it?”

The man looked at Walden with different eyes, appraising his prospects. “What are you looking to pay?”

“Much less than you hope, I guess.” They concluded their business and Walden returned home.

That night he slept fitfully, not looking ahead to the next day, whereas Brian by the time he slept was completely drained, knocked out as if drugged. Ann, however, slept beautifully after remarking, “Brian, what got into you today? Is Clorox giving out bonuses? Tonight and last Friday … you really hit the old sweet spot.”




Z helped Rory clean up after the dinner for three couples. Tim left for work right after eating while Larry, Cal, and Craig discussed plans for their football camp over another beer. Cleaning up after dinner at Rory's was always easy since Rory didn't actually cook. It was a lot of busy work, mostly packing up left over take-out and washing a few glasses. Larry had called out an offer to help but Rory told him no; it gave him a chance to talk to Z.

“What do you mean, 'He never went home'?” Rory asked puzzled by Z's salacious news.

“Craig came to town for Andrew's show in Milpitas and never left,” Z answered, shrugging his shoulders.

“What's he planning?” Rory persisted.

Z shrugged again. “I have no clue. You know that little place I rented … it's getting crowded. He keeps buying stuff.”

“And you're in love?”

“Oh, no. It's nothing like that, Ror. Nothing like that. We just … get along well.” Z smiled, affirming his own statement.

“Hmph. You're living together. You're having sex aren't you?” Rory waited for Z's nod. “You're laughing at each other's jokes. You're looking into each other's eyes like you just turned sixteen. Every time you say something, you look to him for approval ...”

“No, I don't,” Z insisted. “You're inventing things.”

“You're in love. It's cute. It's very cute, Z, and you deserve it. Eric's miserable, you know.”

“How do you know Eric's miserable?” Z was honestly shocked.

“He told me. I saw him a couple of days ago at your old house.”

“He said, 'I'm miserable?' Literally???” Z didn't believe it; that didn't sound at all like Eric.

“Well, not literally … but it's what he meant.” Rory got on a chair to put some glasses away.

Z looked up. “What did he say? Exactly?”

“He said, 'I miss this place.' He looked heartbroken. And he ran his hand along the porch railing like he was petting a dog.”

“He always did love that old house; but Rory ...” Z cautioned, “You have never been great at reading people. I don't get heartbroken out of that; nostalgic, maybe, but not heartbroken.”

“Suit yourself. He looked miserable to me,” Rory replied, stepping down off the chair. “I'm thinking we'll skip Christmas this year. Just go to Tim's sister's for the day. What are you going to do?”

“I … I don't know. Hadn't thought about it. Craig's going to Nashville to see his kids, if his ex-wife can stay sane around him for a couple of days. Maybe Darren and I will go home. Darren's going to be alone with Nicky in China again.”

The group broke up and Z enjoyed the brisk air on the walk to his apartment. Craig tried to hold his hand but he brushed him off; the second time he gave in. In minutes Craig's hard and calloused hand felt comfortable and warm; Z gave a gentle squeeze. “Rory thinks we're in love.” Z felt an answering squeeze.

“Cal and Larry do, too, I think.” They continued walking. Craig was silent but thinking. “What are we in, Z? A relationship?”

“We're … exploring boundaries. How does that sound?”

“It sucks. I love you. I've loved you from the first time I met you.”

“I know. You keep telling me.” Z gave Craig's hand another squeeze.

“I keep thinking, 'Maybe he didn't hear me the last time'. That's why I keep telling you.”

“I hear you every time. I just can't say it back yet. That's all. Give me some time, ok?”

They got to Z's little apartment and went to bed. It was a standard double bed, fine for two people unless one of them is a big ex-football player. Z had trouble trying to get comfortable.

“Do you want me to sleep on the floor?” Craig asked.

“No. I want you right here, all tangled up with me,” Z said and kissed him.

“Let me get a bigger bed.”

“You have to quit buying me stuff, Craig.”

“I love you, Z.” Craig rolled over, away from Z.

“I know, I know.”

Craig found Z's hand and sucked on a finger. He pressed his butt against Z's pelvis. “I like it when you fuck me.”

“I know, but tonight I'm kinda tired. It was a long day at work.”

Craig turned back to Z and asked, “Am I missing something? I was pretty sure we were getting along.”

“We are.” Z stroked Craig's cheek and kissed him. “I like everything we do.” Z kissed him again. “I like you very much – in bed and out.”

After another kiss, Craig smiled. ”Let's see if I can give you some sweet dreams.” He slid lower in the bed and kissed the head of Z's cock, and then licked it, and then deep-throated it, letting it harden in his mouth. Z groaned with pleasure and gradually responded, at first reluctantly and then whole-heartedly.

Craig gasped as Z entered him. Despite his willing invitation, he always found the initial penetration a shock. Was it this big the last time? Yes, it was; the last time and every time; but more and more fucking wasn't a real choice for Craig; Z's cock was something he needed.

The next day Craig bought a more comfortable bed and insisted on delivery that day. Z would protest, he knew, but it would make sex better. He couldn't wait for Z to get home.




“This is so fuckin' weird,” Nicky said to Morrie after the wardrobe manager left the backstage room. “I thought the Japanese did this shit.”

“It's Chinese opera, Nicky, not kabuki . Go with it.”

Nicky's costume was confining and uncomfortable. The makeup was drying and heavy. The mask was even heavier and pinched his Western nose. “If I'm wearing makeup, why do I have to wear a mask too?”

“Shhh. Nicky, quit complaining.”

“You want to know what else they put makeup on? My dick. It's covered with some kind of plaster dildo-thing and it looks like a sword.”

“No one can tell.” Morrie looked expectantly at the door. “Tin-tin said it will wash off.”

“He lies, Morrie. Constantly.”

“They don't think of it as lying.” Morrie stood as the door opened. “Ah, Mr. Ma.”

Mr. Ma entered followed by Tsien-tsien. The two Chinese looked at Nicky and then laughed. “It will do,” Ma said and Tsien-tsien nodded. Either they both wore especially ill-fitting suits or they were armed. Nicky figured that he didn't really want to know as he looked at the bulges in their jackets.

“You know what to do, Nicky. Just follow Quek Kwang's direction.” Tsien-tsien spoke with assurance. “We'll be in the box seats above and to your right. If anything goes wrong, just roar like a dragon and walk off the stage.”

The performance was to be a classic Chinese opera from the Ming Dynasty called The Peony Fan. Nicky was to play a dragon, a non-speaking, non-singing role, all he had to do was roar on cue. Quek Kwang was playing the part of his servant. At least that is what Nicky had been told. In actuality, there was no role for a dragon in the famous opera Peony Fan. There was every other kind of stock character from doomed lovers to warlords, but no dragon. So when Nicky entered in the traditional costume of a dragon, the audience gasped and a murmur of protest spread through the house.

“Roar,” Quek Kwang whispered and Nicky bellowed. The murmurs grew louder; there were boos. The other actors looked shocked. “Roar again, louder,” Quek Kwang urged and Nicky bellowed loud enough that his voice cracked and the bellow ended in a squeak. The audience was incensed; the boos grew into cat calls. Especially in the boxes and the balcony people were on their feet gesticulating rudely. “Again,” Quek Kwang ordered.

The audience essentially rioted, completely masking the sounds of gunfire. At that point Quek Kwang backed away from Nicky in shock and pulled hard on the leash he had been using to guide the 'dragon'. The tug caused Nicky's costume to fall off, leaving him naked. The roar from the audience grew louder and menacing. “Filthy foreigner,” an English-speaking member of the crowd screamed. The elaborately made up mechanical penis erected and Quek Kwang gave a boy's plaintive wail and backed his butt up against it.

Angry Chinese stormed the stage. The nudity was shock enough; the vivid depiction of homosexuality was unprecedented. More gunfire went unnoticed. Then all the lights went out.

Quek Kwang pulled Nicky from the stage. Nicky didn't need any encouragement and he followed blindly into the wings and down a stairway, stumbling against a wall as he went. The impact with the wall caused the hardened makeup on his cock to crack painfully. It was a tearing, intense pain and he screamed.

“Are you shot?” Quek Kwang asked; he pulled Nicky into a room and turned the lights on, he saw the reason for Nicky's pain. “Oh … here ... Let me help.” He removed the fragments of plaster from Nicky's cock piece by piece. “No damage,” he assessed when he was done. “Get dressed. We have to leave.”

They quickly put on some black clothing that was mysteriously available. “It fits,” Nicky remarked in a dazed, idle way.

“Prior planning pays off,” Quek Kwang admitted.

“This was all planned?” Nicky asked.

“Of course,” the young man answered. “Hurry.” Nicky took Quek Kwang's offered hand and followed him again through the darkness. On the other side of a heavy door the atmosphere changed and Quek Kwang slowed. “Ok, we're clear.”

“Clear of what?”

“The opera house.”

“Do I want to know what really just happened?”

“You can read about it in the papers tomorrow.”

“I can't read Chinese.”

“I will read it to you,” Quek Kwang laughed. He took Nicky to a hotel room and cleaned the remains of the makeup off. Then they drank some beer, ate something like beef jerky, and took a long bath in a large hot tub. “Your penis feels better?” Quek Kwang gently squeezed the object in question. Nicky got the strong impression that the evening wasn't over. “I need to wax your chest.”

“Wax my … Why?”

“By morning the police will be looking for a hairy-chested foreigner. I will lighten your hair also. A reddish color would be believable, Morrie said. No fucking until we're done, Morrie said.”




Heiko was worried. He waited for the passengers from the Lufthansa flight from Munich, looking eagerly for his brother but there was no sign of Wolf. He had him paged twice and then gave up. He got to a new SUV and called his parents.

“No, he should have been on the flight. We put him on the flight to Frankfurt ourselves. What could have happened?”

“Frankfurt? I met the non-stop from Munich,” Heiko replied. “I must have met the wrong plane.” Heiko checked his notes. “Here, the non-stop flight was what he told me. I'm sure of it. The same one you're taking on Sunday.”

“He must be finding his own way to your apartment. Or did he go straight to Tahoe? That's what we're planning.” The confusion was very un-German.

Heiko and Tom waited up until midnight, when Tom gave up and went to bed. “Don't worry. He's a big boy, Heiko.” Tom's goodnight kiss provided no comfort. At some point Heiko fell asleep in the chair. He awoke with a start at seven in the morning when the doorbell rang.

“Wolf!!!” There stood his brother looking tired and rumpled, but smiling happily.

“Heiko,” Wolf said and gave his brother a kiss on the cheek.

“I love the way you European guy kiss each other,” a voice said.

“Torrey!” Heiko noticed his bright and perky-looking neighbor standing behind Wolf.

“I, uh, spent the night at Torrey's,” Wolf admitted with a grin that explained everything.

[DonQuixote]

Wolf is back - and Torrey's a happy boy - Wolf, too, from the looks of it!

The sagas continue to arouse our interest - and other parts, too.

There was a lot there - thanks.
No news on a certain couple - one of whom we thinks got sacked.

[rocabar]

An action packed episode, Rory. . .

[EasyRory]

Author's fault for not reminding you: Torrey is a girl.

[DonQuixote]

LOL. I forgot. So many in the story favour men, what can I say.

Wolf is still happy with the "traditional" role, then.

[arogersb]

LOL. I forgot. So many in the story favour men, what can I say.

Wolf is still happy with the "traditional" role, then.

I, for one, hope he will soon divest himself of that role, and take up with Rocky...

I have been eagerly awaiting Wolf's return ever since he left ... glad to see him back! Thanks Rory.

[EasyRory]

Chapter Fifty-Seven


Steve and Nash sat across the acres of mahogany-topped desk from the pinstripe-suited banker. Steve was fidgety, wishing he was anywhere else. Nash was more relaxed; he had memorized the business plan, which was not much of an accomplishment considering that he had written it.

“You're the pilot and the majority owner?” Mark asked Steve. Steve nodded mutely. And you're the … what?” he asked Nash.

“I'm his partner.”

“More than that,” Steve added. “He's everything but the pilot and owner.”

Mark smiled and tried to put Steve at ease. “I used to be straight before I became gay before I became straight again.” That only served to panic Steve.

“Maybe we should go ...”

“He means that we don't need a big loan,” Nash inserted. “Just some working capital. Our fixed costs are covered by the guaranteed flying for Steve's former employer. Our capital investment is secured by the aircraft and an investment by my father.”

Mark looked again at the business plan's addendum covering the investment . “Morrie Chlomsky is your father? Oh my God …. Such a small fucking world. I remember when Darren Alvinzi was his … uh, his associate. If I can have kids, I guess Morrie can have kids, too.” Mark shook his head in amazement. “See, I used to be Luke's lover after Luke and Eric Malone split and Eric hooked up with Z, Darren's brother … And then after Luke died, I married Laurie, who was Cal Rockridge's sister … Do you know all those guys? From the old lacrosse game at Rittler?”

“I know Darren pretty well; the others only slightly,” Nash answered.

Mark smiled at the memories. “We'll give you the loan; you can draw it down in monthly installments, according to your cash schedule, subject to achieving these revenue predictions you have made. If after six months things are still on plan, we can look at looser terms. Morrie's son … yeah, I can see it a little when you're not smiling.”

“Need helicopter services?” Nash asked.

“No, but we have some other clients who might. Send me a brochure, if you have one.”

Five minutes later, Steve was tapping his feet on the floor of the pickup as they entered the Alameda-bound Webster Tube. “Can't you go any faster?”

“No. Traffic. Traffic cops. Alameda.”

“We got the loan,” Steve said for the fifth time. “Thanks to you.” He squeezed Nash's thigh and checked on whether he had an erection. “Can't you go a little faster? I want to get home.”

“What's your hurry?” Nash teased.

“We gotta feed Nero before he eats the lemon tree again.” Steve had grown fonder of the lemon tree that perfumed their bedroom than of their inherited cat that had an opposite effect.

“Really? Nero, huh?” Nash increased the speed of the truck, but only because Steve's massaging was working magic on his cock. “Stop. You know how sensitive I am.” Nash grabbed Steve's hand before things got too hot.

Once they got home Nash could only giggle as Steve frantically undressed him. “You want me to stop?” Steve asked.

“Fuck, no,” a naked Nash replied. He reached for the lube while Steve shucked his own clothes.

“I can't leave you alone,” Steve almost apologized for his eagerness. “I barely need this lube, my dick is so wet.”

As sometimes happened, they started fucking before they started kissing. They stared at each other looking for any sign of pain or pleasure and adjusting for it. Steve noticed a wince and slowed, but Nash urged him to keep going.

“I like it when you hurt me a little.” Nash's eyes said he meant it.

“I never want to hurt you,” Steve answered and they began kissing. “I just want to fuck you and make you love me.” His long strokes had Nash moaning quietly. Steve barely took hold of Nash's cock before it began spewing. He thrust faster, rode the same wave, and pumped his own cum into his lover. With sweet murmurs they told each other of love and passion and satisfaction.

It was Nero who grew bored with the performance. He leapt from his perch on a broad window ledge and began stalking the lemon tree. “Look at him,” Steve whispered in Nash's ear. “He's begging the lemon tree to make a threatening move. He so wants to kill it.”

When Nero got within striking distance, Steve threw a pillow between the stalker and his victim. Nero instantly shifted his attention to an invisible spot on the wall and walked slowly around the pillow and out the bedroom door.

“That's cat is such an asshole. How dumb does he think I am?” Steve muttered.

“Dumb enough to keep feeding him,” Nash answered. “He plays with you.”

“Just like you played with that banker.” Steve smiled in admiration. “You had him eating out of your hand. Do you think Morrie will actually make good on his loan promise?”

“Probably not,” Nash admitted, “But it looks good on paper. We should probably get some lunch and them go to the hangar.”

“I'd rather just lie here with you.” Steve ran a finger through the hair on Nash's chest.

“You can do that any time.”

“But I want to do it all the time.” Steve watched Nash get up and look for his clothes. What a sweet ass, he thought. He hated to see Nash get dressed.

Telepathically Nash looked at the dresser top an instant before his phone buzzed. “Hello … Dad? Louder, I can barely hear you. What? No! … No! For how long? Of course I'll call him. Right now … Ok … Yeah we got the loan ... Thank you. Yes, he's right here ... I love him, Dad ... Ok, bye.” Nash found his underwear and then decided he had better shower before putting them on.

Steve was impatient. “So???? What did he say?”

“He wants me to call Darren before it makes the papers. Nicky's in some Chinese jail for inciting a riot in a theatre. Serious shit apparently.” Nash walked toward the bathroom.

“Aren't you going to call him?”

“You know Morrie. He always exaggerates.” Nash closed the door and ran the water.

Steve turned on the midday news and shooed Nero away from inspecting his nakedness. “Nash?” he yelled into the steamy bathroom. “Morrie isn't exaggerating!!”

A dripping wet Nash watched the rest of the report. He immediately called Darren, ignoring Nero who was sampling drops of water on his calf.




Once was a fluke, Brian told himself. Twice was real, he concluded, as the bus slowly climbed Broadway into the Oakland hills. He is cute, Brian thought, more than cute, he's handsome and sexy. Looks older and more experienced than his age. Prison will do that to people. How is it, he wondered, that just messing a little with Walden produces spectacular sex with Anne? She's way more responsive than ever before. His dick started to harden at the memory of the night before. And the night before his dick had hardened at the memory of Walden's kiss. The one equals the other? The one leads to the other? The two sexy bodies lay before his mind's eye. Which was sexier? Which was more compelling? His swollen dick ached in his confining pants as the bus bounced along the irregular pavement. Riding in a bus always gave him a hard on but this one was more than just the motion of the bus. He pictured Anne's curves. He almost felt Walden's hard body under his hands. What a choice.

Lex was sexy, but I never really got to see much of him. The lights in the cell were always out; I could only see shadows of him from the lights in the passageway. He looked good in the shower, but I never really saw his cock hard. Not like Walden's. That's a big dick Walden's got. His asshole tightened reflexively as he recalled Walden in the garage. Daily sex with LEX had made him an obsession. Was he more than that? Did I really love him? I sure as hell thought I did. Already, the sting and punch of my memories of Lex are fading. Had faded, really. I can hardly picture his face, Brian thought. But Walden. He springs to life in front of me all the time. How could I let that guy in Stockton fuck him? If I had known … Maybe they didn't really do it. Maybe he was just making the story better. But … can you really get all that money without putting your ass on the line?

Arthur, now that fuckin' creep was not sexy. He must have been forty-something. He raped me. Kind of … I could have stopped him. Why didn't I? I was horny, that's why. All those nights with Lex. I needed the sex. And Arthur. Jeez, why is it I can picture Arthur – that skinny dick - in every detail and I can't remember Lex? And now I know exactly how Walden's cock curves. How would that feel in me? Curving just right to hit my prostate … Man, where did that thought come from? I can't … Can I? A vision of Walden fucking him came unbidden to Brian's eyes. Hot guy, big fuckin' cock … I gotta forget about this, he told himself. But his mind lingered on the vision. 'Long' they called him. Long! I guess … he felt a puckering sensation in his asshole. He realized he was holding his breath. His sudden, loud gasp drew glances from other passengers. One woman - somebody's cleaning woman, for God's sake - got up and moved to a seat two rows farther away. Am I really that creepy, Brian wondered.

The bus rolled along Mountain Boulevard and at last came to Brian's stop. He could feel the wetness in his underwear as he got up. A quick glance told him only the hint of a bulge was visible. Dicks can be so embarrassing. He gradually relaxed as he walked the couple of blocks to Walden's house. All back to normal, he thought as he got to the side door of the garage and entered. Except I gotta talk to him about that kiss.

“Walden,” he began. Walden turned and looked up from the back of a drive array. “We need to talk ...”

“Yes, but not now,” Walden said without permitting any argument. “Right now we have two and a half hours to move all this shit to our new office. That's how long the remote servers can handle our traffic without dumping to our drives.”

“Our new office?”

“Yeah, we've outgrown the garage. Help me load this stuff into Mom's car.”

“Ok, we can talk on the way.”

“No, you need to ride in the back with the machinery. Keep it from shifting – getting damaged … I think Ninety-Sixth Street will be the best way … past the airport, you think?”

Two hours later they had obtained the keys from Cloris's ex-husband, moved the SUV load of computer machinery up one flight of stairs, and got it running. “Now we have to wait for the phone company to hook up the T-1 line,” Walden said.

“Good, now we have time to talk,” Brian began, but the telephone installation man arrived on schedule cutting short that potential conversation. And when the phone guy was finished, Walden needed to return the SUV to his mother; forty-five minutes elapsed before he returned in his own car. That left a scant half hour before Brian needed to leave for Clorox.

“Walden, we gotta talk. Now,” he insisted.

“Alright. I suppose you want to talk about yesterday. Sorry about that. I got carried away. I should have minded my own business. You are who you are. I shouldn't be giving you lectures.”

Brian tried to interupt but Walden was rolling.

“You know better than I do how to run your life. I'm happy with what your doing here. The clients like talking to you ...” He used his fingers to put quotation marks around the 'talking'. “Your book chapters are being read. We're making money. Did you see today's number?”

Walden allowed Brian to say no.

“Well, it's impressive. It means we can afford the rent, which is pretty small, by the way, because Cloris's ex-husband - what's his name by the way? - doesn't drive a very hard bargain, and the rent needs to be small because the phone line costs a grunch of bucks for the first month – it includes installation, next month it will be less and maybe we can afford to ...”

Brian grabbed Walden's biceps. “Walden! You kissed me!”

“You're pissed about that; I can tell ...” Walden paused to face the inevitable.

“When are you going to do it again?”

“When?” Walden's eyebrows rose slightly. He tilted his head, not sure he had heard right. He looked very young; he was irresistible. Brian had to stand on his tiptoes to kiss him. They sat on a packing box and kissed several more times.

“I gotta go to work,” Brian said and kissed him one more time.

Walden skipped a lot of things he wanted to say; he got right to the hard part. “You're married.”

“Yes.” Brian rose to go. The conversation had solved nothing.

Walden continued to hold his hand, hoping for more; then he let it go. “I'll give you a ride to Clorox.”

“I couldn't handle that right now. I'll take the bus,” Brian said and left.

“You couldn't handle it? What does that mean?” Walden looked so hurt.

“I gotta go to work.” Brian left without looking back.




Z got home from work and looked at the huge bed in the little apartment. Craig waited for the expected protest. Instead Z slipped off his shoes and jumped onto the bed. The frame groaned ominously but held. He stretched and then relaxed.

“Ok?” Craig asked.

“How long am I gonna lie here by myself?” Z countered.

Craig carefully, so as not to challenge the construction of the bedframe, joined Z on the deep mattress. He lay alongside the smaller man and sat half up leaning his head against his hand watching Z stretch again. “How does it feel?”

“Great,” Z answered. “Couldn't be better. I love it.”

“It isn't too big for the room?”

“It's way too big. It's perfect.” He welcomed Craig into his arms. “I probably smell of marinara sauce. Can you stand it? Lasagna was the luncheon special.”

“You're making me hungry,” Craig said. He began licking Z's face to see if he could get the taste. “You need a little oregano.” They leisurely broke in the new bed with shared oral pleasures.

Z got up first and Craig watched him finish undressing. “That was the best sex I ever had with my clothes on,” he said and Craig chuckled. “I'm going to scrub the tomato sauce off and then make you a high protein dinner..”

A half an hour later they sat and ate Z's version of an eight-egg artichoke frittata. Z ate about a quarter of it and Craig ate the rest. Z could picture Craig in another ten years weighing another twenty or thirty pounds; somehow the vision wasn't objectionable. Z glanced at the mail.

“Ah-hah! Our checks from Andrew,” he commented and opened his envelope.

Craig put his aside unopened and asked, “What did he pay that other guy?”

“Asher? If I know Andrew, he found some way to pay him nothing. That's ok, though. Asher has a day job. He just models for the exposure.”

“He got that,” Craig chuckled. “I never expected that kind of audience to go for porn.”

“It wasn't porn. Not exactly. Well, a little, maybe. The señoras liked it. I think the men pretended it never happened. Asher always finds a way to expose himself. It always looks accidental, but it happens every time. What was the story? The video feed was accidentally routed live? Sure, if you want to believe that. Like Andrew's an idiot who makes that kind of mistake.”

“It looked accidental,” Craig insisted. “I was fooled.”

“All I can say is I've been in four of Andrew's Christmas shows and every one has involved major nudity, mostly featuring Asher's dick.”

“Well, Z … the kid was innocent.”

“Lemuel may not have known what would happen, but I'd bet Andrew put him up to messing with the junction box. A multiscreen with sixteen views of Asher's dick!”

“I thought you looked better,” Craig laughed.

“Nobody was looking at me,” Z promised.

“I was.”

That night in the big new bed Z was close to sleeping when Craig gave him a little kiss and then lay back and yawned. “Night, Z,” he mumbled.

“Aren't you going to tell me you love me?” Z asked.

“Maybe tomorrow or the next day. I'll still love you then,” Craig said and rolled onto his side.

Z was awakened in the middle of the night. Craig, who wasn't more than semi-awake, grabbed him and hugged him. Z tried to escape those big arms but gave up. He went back to sleep in the calm security and love of Craig's embrace.




“Stop it. There are probably hidden cameras.” Nicky shoved Quek Kwang away. “Get in your own bunk. Isn't sex illegal?”

“Of course not. Where do you think all the Chinese people came from?” Quek Kwang moved reluctantly to his bunk.

“Gay sex, I mean.”

“The law is silent on that matter. Prohibitions were repealed years ago. You are already accused of raping me. It would help to demonstrate my willingness.”

“You're underage. Willingness doesn't matter.”

“I'm not underage. I just look young.”

“How old are you?”

“I was born in the year of the goat two cycles ago. I'm twenty-five.”

“Goat shit! What complete load of goat shit. You're no more twenty-five than ...”

“The government believes me. What's your problem? Tsien-tsien said I should be good to you. Why don't you let me?”

“The government is holding us prisoner because we did what a government agent told us to do. What a fucking country!”

“The government is holding us because so many people died, some the government had not planned on dying.”

“Tsien-tsien shot them. He and his goons shot up half the dress circle.”

“Not the ones in the orchestra pit. Somebody else shot them.”

“Must have been a music lover,” Nicky countered. “Now go to sleep.”

The sound of the massive door being unlocked woke Nicky. He was annoyed to find Quek Kwang sleeping in his bunk again. Nicky was wearing boxers. Quek Kwang was naked. The guard who entered took no notice.

“Come,” he said, motioning in case his English wasn't clear.

Quek Kwang pulled Nicky's blanket over himself preparing to go back to sleep. “He means you,” he said and closed his eyes.

Nicky dressed quickly and followed the guard to another metal reinforced doorway. The guard gestured and Nicky entered the near bare room. Tsien-tsien sat at a chair on one side of a plain wooden table. He pointed to the other chair, inviting Nicky to sit.

“Tin-tin, what's going on? When do I ...”

Tsien-tsien put a finger to his lips and Nicky fell silent. “I expected you to be released already, but the unplanned deaths are a problem.”

“The planned ones were ok, but the unplanned ones upset your bosses?”

“More or less. You don't need to know.” Tsien-tsien lowered his voice to a confidential level. “Are you enjoying Quek Kwang?”

“Fuck no! He's probably fifteen and not my type anyway.”

“Nicky … he's twenty-five and he's exactly your type. He even looks a little like Darren. Besides, we need to establish that you are a corrupt, deviant foreigner.”

“Corrupt, deviant foreigner. Cool. What will that get me? Twenty years in prison to get to know Quek Kwang better?

“It will get you a quick flight home, idiot. And a contract with a premium clothing manufacturer.”

[rocabar]

Nice to meet up with Mark again. . . Small world indeed!

Hopefully the wheels of "justice" in the 'Peoples Republic' will not get bogged down.

An enjoyable episode, Rory!

[EasyRory]

Thanks, Roc. Are you keeping warm up there?

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
That's a heckuva way to have a flashback to the distant past.
At least, distant for our Alameda Athletes.

What a great update!
(Even from the ancient laptop I'm on while my not quite as ancient one gets a new hard drive.)

[EasyRory]

Rory,
That's a heckuva way to have a flashback to the distant past.
At least, distant for our Alameda Athletes.

I always liked our friendly banker. It was hard to write a bigger role for him though.

[DonQuixote]

You have a cornucopia of characters.

We'd like to seen some more of all of them - but that's hard to do when you're focusing on a set of characters in one story.

It's nice to be able to tie some of the others back now and again.

[rocabar]

Thanks, Roc. Are you keeping warm up there?

Heh- Yep. The weather just turned warm again. It was 10C (50F) today! Last week it was -27C (-16F). . . Who knows what next week'll bring.

[DonQuixote]

Where exactly are you?
I thought E-town was Elizabethtown, NJ, and I know it didn't get to -16F there last week.

[EasyRory]

Our cold-nosed, warm-hearted cowboy friend is from Edmonton.

[DonQuixote]

Ah, Alberta - The Canadian Prairie land.

[rocabar]

Rory's got it.

The only Elizabeth most folks would know any thing about, is this one-




http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/story/...cy-canada.html





. . . She is the patron saint of atms

[DonQuixote]

Ah, yes, HRH Grandmum of Captain "What happened in Vegas didn't stay in Vegas" Wales.

I do believe her predecessor, QE I is the one honoured by E-Town, NJ.

[EasyRory]

I don't think she's an HRH; I think she's an HM. Maybe Auto can help with this if he's reading.

[rocabar]

^ Rory's right again. Two for two!

Donny. . . O for O. Must be "The windmills of your mind" or somethin'


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of...n_Elizabeth_II







*removes hat- inclines head* . . .Ma'am.

[DonQuixote]

One does apologize for the faux pas.

Apparently Prince Charles and Princess Anne are HRH, but the monarch is addressed as HM.
I knew Your Grace was more correct than Lord or Lady.

I thought I was extending the appropriate courtesies.
I meant no disrespect to Her Majesty.
I am a simple knight errant of simple and tired mind, lol.

[EasyRory]

Chapter Fifty-Eight



“The great thing about Asher is, he's not your typical glitzy, greasy model. He connects with people on a personal level.”

“Anybody with a dick like that would obliterate people on a personal level.”

“You say that because you're gay, Seth. Others, women, can see him in a more speculative light. Would I or wouldn't I?” Andrew worried that Seth's comment would not be helpful.

“Whatever the magic is, it worked,” the manager of Target said. “There were two remarkable things after that show. One, sales of the featured men's items were fifteen percent higher, which is about what we hoped. The second thing was sales of high-end lingerie were thirty percent higher than usual for a Thursday night.”

“That's good to hear … The margin on lingerie is good,” Andrew smiled and waited for the next comment.

“Good? It's almost criminal. So we're thinking we'd like you to do a show for us seasonally. The thing is … I say we're thinking about it, because the results seemed to hinge on the nudity and that's not something we want to be associated with. Not directly anyway. We're a family store, you see.”

“Why do you think the nudity was accidental? Give me some credit. It may have seemed accidental, but there's always nudity at my shows. Always. But it's never salacious, just a tease. It is never “part of the plan”; it just happens. It's brief. It's never blatant. The models are sexy without flaunting it. Even Asher always acts a little chagrined by his exposure. They do it without embarrassing themselves or the audience.”

“But won't the audience come to expect it? Asher is pretty memorable and after you've seen him once, you'd recognize him the second time.”

“We're an agency. We have an abundance of Ashers,” Andrew explained.

“A passel of penises,” Seth added, drawing a admonitory look from Andrew.

“A corral of cocks,” the assistant store manager chimed in, drawing a similar look from his boss.

“A bushel of balls,” an inventory clerk added.

“Marla!” The store manager was shocked by the comment from the quiet clerk.

She smiled sweetly, “Those Alvinzi brothers have very handsome balls.”

“They weren't nude in the show!”

“They were when I dressed them,” she added. “That football player was nice, too. We sold out of everything he wore. I listened to the talk in the lady's department. They were very pleased with the show.”

“What were you doing in the lady''s department?”

“Buying a bra.” Her answer draw attention to her breasts, which she always minimized with her usual choice of loose clothing. On closer inspection, she showed the promise of a very attractive figure. The assistant manager was still admiring her when the meeting broke up.

“Many happy endings,” Andrew said to Seth as they left the store.

“Andrew, you've used over-exuberant models, collapsing dressing room walls, a riot in the audience, and now an accidental TV shot of the dressing room. How are you going to keep Asher flashing the goods?”

“Hunger and imagination. Drive fast, ok? We need to be there when Lem gets out of school.”

“I signed him up for track team try-outs. We have plenty of time.”

“Well, go fast anyway. Nothing good ever happens on the 880.”

“You know what I'd like?” Seth's voice had an evil edge. “I'd like it if you got naked and jacked off for me.”

“Seth!”

“Really. I'd like to see how you do it. Show me. You're not that much smaller than Asher, you know. I want to see that thing spurt.”

“What's gotten into you?” Andrew protested as he unbuckled his belt. “You really want to watch?” He paused only briefly before sliding his pants down.

“Turn toward me. Lean back on the door. I want to see your balls bounce.”

“If I fall out ...you'll have to explain the half naked corpse.”

Seth drove in the slow lane so he could watch without killing both of them. “Nice … That's one sweet dick. I wish you were fucking me.” He mostly watched the road, but kept stealing glances.

“I feel like an idiot,” Andrew said as he stroked his cock slowly.

“You look hot. Now go faster,” Seth requested.

Andrew drew a deep breath and his eyes closed as his fist pumped.

“No, open your eyes and look at me. That's right. Think about what you're missing not fucking me much any more. I'm a good fuck, right?”

“You're a great fuck,” Andrew panted. “You know you are.”

“Slow down. I don't want you cumming yet. Slow strokes, coax some cum out.”

Andrew stroked slowly; he squeezed the swollen tube along the bottom of his cock and a generous dribble of clear cum oozed out of the tip of his cock. He smeared it in his hand and stroked some more. “Oh, shit!” he groaned feeling the slickness of nature's lube. “Mmm. MMM!”

“Stop! Don't you cum yet!” Seth grabbed Andrew's balls and tugged enough to cause pain. “Slow, I told you.”

“I'm so close ...” Andrew complained.

“No cumming.” Seth glanced over to make sure Andrew had himself under control. “Now suck on me while we cross the bridge. Make it last all the way across.”

Andrew opened Seth's jeans and worked his cock out of his underwear. He tasted the cock and complained. “You're kinda ripe.”

“Do it, Andrew. Yeah, that's right …” Seth spread his legs as much as his jeans would allow. “Finger my ass, ok? AAH! No don't stick it in, just play around.” Seth waited. “Ok, that's better. Nice … Some more.”

Andrew was getting into the blow job and doing a good job of it. Soon Seth was the one panting. “Mmmm. Yeah … Sweet … Ok, stop, I'm getting close. I said STOP!” Seth pulled Andrew's head off his cock. They grinned at each other. “Now, go back to jacking off.”

Andrew leaned back against the door and stroked his cock. It was dripping wet, wet enough that his hand made slurpy noises as it slid up and down. “Ooooh yeah, “ Andrew cooed. His cock was red and veiny, so hard, so ready.

“Don't you cum, you hear me? Don't do it! Suck me some more.”

Andrew put his head in Seth's lap and resumed sucking slowly on his cock. Seth ran his hand through Andrew's hair. Soft, thick, a little wavy, it felt good in Seth's fingers. He glanced down at the mousy blond-brown head bobbing in his lap. “Andrew, you have nice hair. Why don't you try a little lightener? Put some highlights in it.”

“Because I'd look like a drag queen in civilian clothes. I don't want to look like that. I'm swishy enough without that.”

“You're not so swishy,” Seth said as he continued playing with Andrew's hair. “Stop a second ...” He needed Andrew to wait while he maneuvered onto the 101 northbound. “Ok, back to sucking, slave.” Seth's tone was joking.

“I am your slave, Seth. You know I'd do anything for you.” Andrew resumed licking Seth's erection and then took in in his mouth.

“We need to have sex more, Andrew. I'm missing you lately. Oh! Wait! Stop!” Seth pulled Andrew off his cock again. By the time his near-orgasm retreated, the traffic got more congested. They passed through Brisbane and the sexy teasing ended.

The sex resumed the instant they got home. They had an hour at least until Lem would get there.




“Jeff, what are you doing for the holidays?”

“Going home, I guess. I don't have anything else to do.”

“You could … if you wanted, that is … you could stay here with me for a few days and still be home for Christmas.”

“I thought you wanted to end everything.”

“Jeff, you make everything so hard.” Jeff looked at his dick and Dormeyer quickly regretted his choice of words. “Not that. Well, of course, that. You do make me hard, but I mean you take me so literally. As if I know what I'm doing. I don't. I'm as confused as a teenager whenever I think about you.”

“Really? 'Get out' was what you said, I believe. How open to interpretation was that?”

“I didn't mean it. You know I didn't.” Dormeyer opened a desk drawer and withdrew a package. “Close the door,” he requested.

Jeff closed the office door and refrained from making any obvious remarks.

“Here. This is for you. Open it.”

Jeff fumbled with the ribbon and finally used shear force to pull it off, nearly breaking the box. He opened the box and saw the glint of gold. It was a bracelet, very masculine, machined gold links with a central section that spelled out his name in subtle lettering that matched the texture of the links.

“I tried to think of something to write on a card. Nothing worked. I didn't know what to write. I can't get along without you, Jeff.”

“What about the school? The gossip? I've been thinking, too. You are right to worry about it.”

Dormeyer held out his hands, palms up. “I don't know. I'm not sure I care.”

“Yes, you do,” Jeff insisted and then offered a solution. “What if we're very careful. Nobody ever sees us together. We go for walks by ourselves. Go into the city where nobody would see us.”

“When do we make love? I'm too old to do it in the woods.”

“I bet you're not.” That got no response from Dormeyer so Jeff coontinued. “Ok, so we get a sleeping bag. We get a motel room. We sneak into my dorm room. It will only be until May. Then I won't be a student any more.”

Dormeyer's longing was overpowering. He had trouble breathing evenly. “Jeff ...” His voice squeaked. “Come here.”

Jeff lay on top of him in his desk chair, tilting the chair and forcing the older man back. It was uncomfortable for both of them but neither wanted to separate. Dormeyer ran his hands over Jeff's body, tracing the familiar contours. He couldn't get enough and tugged at Jeff's clothes futilely.

Jeff got up and shucked his shirt. “I want you in me right here, right now!” He loosened his pants and let them drop to the floor. “Fuck me, Jinx.”

They grappled on the table, knocking papers and books to the floor. At last Dormeyer was in Jeff and pumping frantically. They clung to each other from a need that was part sexual and part balancing act. At that moment they needed physical release, not passion. When the moment approached, Dormeyer was getting there first.

“Do it, Jinx. Come for me,” Jeff begged. His hands pulled Dormeyer into him.

Dormeyer slowed and then paused at the sound of footsteps in the hall. “Did you lock the door?” he whispered.

Any answer would have been too late. A colleague, a professor who specialized in medieval scholasticism, opened the door and stuck his head in. “Jinx, by any chance … Oh … Oh, my ...” He closed the door quietly. They listened to his footfalls as he walked quickly away.

Dormeyer slumped in defeat. Then he withdrew his hard cock from Jeff and began organizing his clothing and the room. “Oh, my ...” he echoed his colleague. “Oh, my ...”

“Jinx, I'm sorry ...” Jeff began.

Dormeyer ignored Jeff and began a monologue. “I'll have to face up to it. I'll have to talk to him. Confess. Yes, it was A student, I'll tell him, but not my student. It wasn't MY student. Well, he was MY student last year, and he is MY student in the sense that we are lovers; but he's not taking my course at the moment. He's near graduation. It was consensual. Foolish, I suppose; but we're all foolish sometimes, don't you agree?” Dormeyer turned to Jeff. “Do you think he'll understand? Do you think he's ever known temptations? His field is so rigid, so filled with strict distinction and rigor. He will judge me harshly. And then what? What will he do? He will act. What shall I do? With my career in ruins. With my life over.”

“Jinx, don't say that. Don't think that.”

“It wasn't your fault, my beautiful Jeff. You did nothing wrong. I could not have wished for a better lover. Your were the model. I was the poor maquette. My sweet boy ...” He stroked Jeff's cheek with a finger. “You should go now. I'll conceal your identity as long as I can. How I love you, but you have to go … Here, take the bracelet ...”

“Jinx, I'll call you later, at home, after you've had a chance to think. We can work something out. No matter what happens. It's not the end of the world.”

It was, though. The end of the world for Dormeyer came later, a bit before Jeff called and after some excellent pills he kept to treat sciatica had a chance to work. He began with what remained of a bottle of single malt Scotch. It was the Macallan 18, most suitable for the occasion, although he preferred a drier Glenlivet. The muscle relaxants were calming and soothing and took effect as he sipped a second tot of the Macallan. He recalled the look of pure astonishment as his idiot colleague Lawrence slowly comprehended what he was seeing in a school office. Jinx had to laugh. What did he think we were doing? Correcting papers? He tried just two of the opiates and waited until he felt the pleasant itchiness of morphine on his nose. Such a beautiful boy, almost a man, was my Jeff. The stereotypical porn star with a heart of gold. I'm glad he's not here now. Dormeyer took the rest of the pills in a couple of handfuls and washed them down with more Scotch. Very pleasant. Just like drifting off to sleep.




Quek Kwang looked up expectantly. “I'm supposed to fuck you,” Nicky said when he returned to the cell. “On advice of counsel.” Quek Kwang just nodded. “Where is the hidden camera? I want to make sure they get a good view. They need physical evidence of my deviant, foreign ways.”

Quek Kwang rose and began disrobing.

“You don't have to be so willing,” Nicky said. He lay back on his bunk fully clothed making no moves. “In fact, you should probably try to resist my overpowering advances.” He looked at Quek Kwang closely. There was a little of Darren in the shape of his jaw. But Darren was taller, with those bright blue eyes made more startling by his dark hair. Model-slim, though, just like Darren.

“How do you want me?” Quek Kwang asked when he got down to his underwear.

“I want you in front of the camera.”

“I'm not sure where the camera is.” Quek Kwang glanced about the room while edging closer to Nicky. He sat on the bunk and groped for Nicky's cock.

Nicky folded his hands behind his head and allowed Quek Kwang to ascertain that Nicky was willing but not ready. A gentle massage did nothing to change the situation. Quek Kwang was persistent, however, and continued a rhythmic effort.

“You are too young to be so uninterested,” Quek Kwang commented. “Don't worry. I know other ways.” He unzipped Nicky's fly and inserted his hand.

“You are too young to be interesting at all,” Nicky countered.

Quek Kwang just smiled and slipped his underwear off. He knelt over Nicky, straddling his thighs and slowly began stroking his own cock, which responded promptly, growing and stiffening. The head turned a deep red, almost purple as it engorged.

“A young boy doesn't have this.” Quek Kwang bent his cock down to Nicky's lips and rubbed it from side to side. “No? Still not interested?” Quek Kwang milked his cock and drew forth a glistening droplet which he rubbed off onto Nicky's dry lips. Nicky's tongue flicked out and Quek Kwang pushed into his mouth and then withdrew. “Ah-ha! Now you're hard.” The satisfied seducer went back to his task of getting Nicky's clothes off. It wasn't difficult. He gave Nicky a preparatory blow job, getting him wet and ready and then attempted to sit on Nicky's cock.

“Come on, Nicky. You're not cooperating,” Quek Kwang complained as he attempted to cram Nicky's cock into himself.

“Shit,” Nicky muttered and overcame his reluctance. “Get on all fours,” he ordered.

“I don't know what 'on all fours' means.”

“Kneel.” Nicky entered him from the rear and let nature work out the rest. Right before he came, he said, “Smile for the camera.”

Nicky told himself that technically he had been faithful. There was no lust in what he had done, no drive, no pleasure. Well, ok, there was pleasure; even bad sex isn't so terrible. He felt a little dirty, but otherwise he felt that Darren would understand. Darren probably would have done the same thing, he thought. Darren is always a very practical person.

Their dinner came and it was surprisingly tasty, a huge improvement over what they had been eating. The cup of water wasn't water. It was some kind of sake like wine, not great, but not bad either, and it was a big cup. Very warming. Some kind of a signal, Nicky assumed. They have whatever they wanted from me, he figured. Tsien-tsien must have been right.

The next morning with no ceremony, not even a piece of paper for his trouble, he was released. Tsien-tsien waited in a car outside the doors of the building. Nicky looked back. There was nothing to identify the building, no government plaque over the door, no street number, nothing.

“I brought you some clothes,” Tsien-tsien said as they drove into a better part of town.

“Your people got what they wanted?”

“They did. Your afternoon sex scene was perfect. Uncaring, semi-brutal and detached, mechanical. Genuine fuck-him-and-forget-him style.” Tsien-tsien laughed.

“Wasn't that what you wanted?”

“Exactly,” Tsien-tsien confirmed. “But then you went and fucked him all night long. That almost got you rearrested for perversion. I had to do a lot of talking to get that overlooked.”

“Must have been the wine,” Nicky said.




“You still have an empty bedroom?” Eric asked.

“Yeah, sure. Same one you left,” his former roommate answered.

“So, Mitch, I was thinking if it's alright, I'd move back?”

His roommate shrugged. “Yeah, why not? Things didn't work out with the nurse?”

“When I'm in practice, I want to hire him to run my office. Man, talk about bossy! Nothing I did was ever right.”

“See, a straight guy wouldn't have minded that. A straight guy would have been so pussy-whipped that he'd have agreed to anything for one more night! Anything for one more fuck!” Mitch laughed his ass off and choked on his next swig of beer.

“I've still got a key. So it's ok if I just move back tonight?”

“Saturday night? You want to waste it moving?”

“Yeah, Spike's working and I won't have to annoy him while I pack.”

“Eric, you're too considerate. If I weren't straight, I think seriously about marrying you.”

“Actually, I don't want to listen to him bitch at me for another two hours.”

“Ah, now there's a real guy talking. Sit your ass down and have a beer with me.” Mitch signaled the waitress for another pitcher.

“You think there's anything to that turning straight business? Being straight has got to be easier than this,” Eric said as he poured himself a glassful.

“Are you serious?”

“About looking for something easier?”

“No, about turning straight. Because I know a psych post-doc who has theories about it. About it being a matter of rewiring your brain using stem cells.”

“Sounds like a natural lobotomy,” Eric laughed.

“He's looking for volunteers.”

“For stem cell injection? Human volunteers? How'd he ever get that protocol approved.”

“I don't think he's up to the cell work yet. He's just examining patient motivation and conditioning so far. Building up base line data.”

“It couldn't hurt, I guess. To talk to him, I mean.” Eric refilled his glass. “Man, I'm not even out of Spike's place yet and already I feel a hundred percent better.”

[rocabar]

HOLY S--T!!! That was. . . Unexpected!

I wonder if the jail time will have any long term effects.

And the good doctor- Still searchin', I see.

An all-round interesting episode, Rory!

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
This was certainly a filled chapter.

Target more than liked the results of their last show - nudity and mayhem notwithstanding - love than lingerie profit margin.
With some decided rekindling of hot lusty love between Andrew and Seth - while the kids away the cats will play . . .

Jeff and Dormeyer - it's horrific that Dormeyer felt he had no other option - I have some real issues with suicide. And poor poor Jeff - he loved the asshole. He's young, passionate. He'll be crushed.

Then there's Nicky's foreign mis-adventure. Was it really jail, or just a way for them to get some porn videos for the black market?!

Eric, Eric, Eric. What the fuck? I get that things with he and Spike weren't paradise. Now he's pondering becoming straight? And being a guinea pig in a study?

My poor tired head is swimming in the myriad assorted plot twists and turns. And my other head was nicely aroused at the outset, too.

[EasyRory]

I'm ready to post some weekend reading, but have delayed while seeking our wise moderator's advice on something. You'll know it when you read it.

[EasyRory]

Auto sez "No no!" So there will be a delay. I think he has forced me into a better story, however, so following the rules pays off again.

[rocabar]

Dun Dun Dun. . .

Things are gettin' curiouser and curiouser now

[DonQuixote]

I sent a PM with my guess as to the direction the no-no was headed.

[EasyRory]

I sent a PM with my guess as to the direction the no-no was headed.

Nope ... Lem is straight as an arrow. Nice try though.