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    JUB Addict EasyRory's Avatar
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    In Praise of Hanes

    In Praise of Hanes


    Chapter One


    Did you ever wake up with the feeling that the world was your oyster yesterday, but today it has opened negotiations with someone new? Insidious isn't it? The way the thirties creep up on you. Yesterday I was twenty-nine; and the day before that I was nineteen; and the day before that time had no meaning whatsoever. It stretched like an ocean, infinite in every direction I looked.

    Today, there are limits, walls and ceilings, doors and locks on everything. I have a gnawing doubt that I will receive a permanent appointment at work. This is a theoretical problem which will become acute in the spring when my contract expires. I like molecular biochemistry. I think I'm good at it. My former lab chief agreed. Maybe that was what killed him. No, no, it was just a heart attack, mordant enough since we were researching heart disease

    My new lab chief barely knew my name. Refo Fitzjohn. Refo is a family name. What's so hard about that? He usually calls me Reno or Rollo; one afternoon at a picnic, after a half dozen limoncellos, he called me Rocco. “So, lately ...” as he begins every conversation, he said he read my paper, the paper I had been working on for eighteen months. “Did you know the typist misspelled your name on the title page? R-E-F-O … of all things.” He returned the paper to me for correction. I have to assume he never got past the title page. No paper, no permanent appointment.

    This came on top of yesterday, when I decided that my boy friend is cheating on me and lying about it. I was pretty sure something was up, but the proof came yesterday. The evidence, almost an admission really, was very damning. Frank flat out said, “I fucked that long-haired dude who works at the gym. Know him? The one who always wears the wrist bands? Well, that was a lie and I should know because I had fucked him and he way to passive to go for my boyfriend. So who the hell was Frank really screwing around with?

    On a normal day I could handle this or at least look into it, but today is not normal. It's a travel day. Plus I'm absolutely positive that I will miss my flight which departs in less than two hours from Baltimore, which is NOT convenient to Washington, no matter what name they give the damn airport.

    With these things on my mind, it was only a small victory when the traffic on the Beltway suddenly parted before me and like Moses I led a string of wanderers east. Then, on arrival at the ticket counter, I learned that the flight was operating even later than I was. The boarding process was a pain, since I was carrying a long tube with my presentation in it. It didn't fit in the overhead bin and I was determined not to let it near a baggage handler. We compromised on stuffing it behind the last row of seats, for which I was very grateful and gave the attendant my best smile, which worked. Two drinks later I dozed off for the rest of the flight securing in the knowledge that my presentation and my carry-on were safe.

    The carry-on was almost as important as my presentation, since Charlie had tucked a survival package into it. The last time it was glow-in-the-dark condoms and lube. I told him the glowing condoms were off-putting for some guys but he said to wear them because they were supposed to make your dick look bigger. Telling him “that isn't MY problem” was ungrateful of me, but it was better than calling him Needle Dick. He's not really that small, but he's sensitive about what he calls his shortcoming. He actually has a very nice cock. I know this first hand because we started out messing around and only later morphed into best friends.

    We knew most of each other's secrets and all of each other's weaknesses. “Do NOT let anyone fuck you,” he cautioned tucking the survival kit into my bag. “Remember the last time. You were months getting over it.”

    Ok, I do have a tendency to get a little dreamy over guys who fuck me, but it's not as bad as Charlie thinks. I do not fall in love THAT easily. I'm thirty, for God's sake, not some teenager. The proof of this is my boyfriend. He fucks me sometimes and I'm definitely not in love with him. The fact that he's a lousy fuck doesn't have a whole lot to do with it. It has more to do with the fact he's a selfish prick. So why do I keep him around? Good question.

    Still a little buzzed from the airline's booze, I stumbled through the airport exit process and onto the BART. Inside the crowded, stuffy car I noticed the small headache bound to get bigger if I didn't so something about it. The noise didn't help either. By the time I got to the hotel and faced the crowd attempting to check in I ran for the bar.

    “Alka-Selzer on the rocks, please.” The bartender didn't say a word, just served me the fizzing drink and hid a smile as I chugged it. I declined his offer of another and gave him a good tip. Looking around, I noticed the hotel was already full of people attending my convention. The tell-tale name tags worn around their necks hung from little ribbons that advertised Sigma-Aldrich reagents and gave a distinctive, nerdy look to the wearers. A name tag around the neck can destroy even the most stylish look utterly, not that biochemists are stylish – but even if they were, it wouldn't work with the name tag as fashion-killing albatross.

    The check-in lines were shorter by the time I returned from the bar and within twenty minutes I watched the unavoidable bellboy open the door to my room. He was trying his best to be appealing as he showed me the obvious features of the room. Once I might have responded to the possibilities he offered, but maybe he was just being friendly, I decided, and I'm thirty, for God's sake – way to old for him. Five minutes and a five dollar tip later, he left.

    I put my headache to bed, figuring I'd get in contact with the rest of my lab in a couple hours. I woke feeling groggy and felt even worse when I noticed it was four in the morning. Usually there is something reassuring about a morning hardon, but this time it was just an annoyance.
    After unpacking and showering, it was still only four-thirty. I checked Charlie's kit and found two packs of cheese crackers.

    The only advantage of getting up so early was beating the crowd first to breakfast and then to the Moscone Center. I was even ahead of the event organizers. I took advantage of that fact to “improve” the location I had been assigned to mount my poster. Two booths away from mine was the location of a big name lab. It wasn't hard to switch places with their nearest neighbor; I just made a pen-and-ink change to the master layout. The printed programs would be wrong, but they always were anyway and I'd be close enough that anybody actually looking for me would find me.

    Once the crowd began arriving, I did get a good bit of spill-over foot traffic from my neighbor looking at my poster, but I'm not sure it was any more than I would have seen anyway. The group at my original booth was getting just as much notice. After four hours of explaining my work to strangers, my boss showed up. “You name is still misspelled,” was his first comment and then he looked at my visitor log. “Loewy from Boston, huh? What did she have to say?” She had said a lot and I briefed him. For the first time, he paid attention. “Nice,” was his closing comment.

    I was pretty stoked after that and breezed through the rest of the morning until the very generous two hour lunch break. Lunch would be followed by the keynote speech which almost no one ever attended. I had three hours to myself. I grabbed a couple free sandwiches and one ofr those Coca-Cola half-bottles from the Toshiba display and headed for my hotel room and a chance to pursue my hobby.

    Photography had always fascinated me. I went nowhere without my camera. I added the camera to the name tag around my neck and headed out, looking even nerdier, combining the caricatures of a scientist and Japanese tourist. Half a block from the hotel, everything changed and I was swept up in the allure of San Francisco. Forty-five minutes later I saw him.

    The waterfall was in the Yerba Buena Garden. At its top was a pool that attracted a mix of pigeons and sea gulls. Hunched low and holding out a phone camera was a man trying to take a picture of the birds. The birds were tantalizingly close. Protected by the water, they ignored the man who wanted to photograph them. The man was handsome, what I could see of him displaying an athletic body straining to lean forward over the water to get his phone as close to the birds as he could reach. Without even seeing his face, I found his pose compelling. He was a whole lot more attractive than the birds. He took pictures of the birds and I took pictures of him. As he stretched forward, his jacket rode up. A strip of skin and the band of his underwear appeared in my viewfinder.

    I was shocked by the profound urge I felt to touch his skin. Manly and athletic and somehow vulnerable, as if that little strip of skin was Achilles' heel. So appealing. The moment was over. He stood and watched the birds briefly and then turned to go.

    I walked quickly to his side. “I took pictures of you taking pictures of them,” I blurted and pointed at the birds. “I hope you don't mind.”

    He looked at me uncomprehending at first and then smiled. He put his hand on my bicep and said, “ No, I don't mind.” He laughed at the thought.

    First voice won me; it had an immediacy that made just those four words sound intimate and personal. Then I became aware of the touch of his hand. I couldn't just walk away. Then I noticed his convention name tag. “You want to grab a coffee of something? I'll show you the pictures I took.”

    Please say yes. Please say yes. His face was open and honest. I had never much noticed brown eyes before. His sparkled with warmth and depth and intelligence. Full on, his smile was devastating. Please say yes, I silently begged.

    “Sure. Why not?”

  2. #2
    JUB Addict gingentleman's Avatar
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    You have a nice writing style. Good first chapter...

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    JUB Addict EasyRory's Avatar
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Thanks. I'm thinking this will be a fairly short story.

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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Rory,
    Definitely a bit intriguing.
    I'm guessing Michael Jordan would approve of the underwear, based on the title.

    Happenstance, Karma, Kismet, ? ? ? ? !


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

  5. #5
    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Squee!

    The Sci Con experience. . . Nice!

    Deff another 5 star piece- Please don't forget to rate it.

  6. #6
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Hey Rory, what a nice start to your story. Looking forward to the next episode



  7. #7
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    I enjoyed this and look forward to more.

  8. #8
    JUB Addict EasyRory's Avatar
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Quote Originally Posted by Rickrock View Post
    I enjoyed this and look forward to more.
    You're probably going to like it, Rick. Guess where Carter lives?

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    JUB Addict EasyRory's Avatar
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Chapter Two

    I've heard people make “Sure. Why not?” sound like polite indifference or even disdain. Carter's acceptance of my offer of coffee with those words sounded more like an eager abandonment of society's basic conventions. I looked twice hoping to guess what he was thinking; but he just smiled back. That smile again. We grabbed some free coffee in the lobby of the Moscone, courtesy of Siemans, and sat on tall stools at a tiny table.

    “Danke?” he asked me.

    “I was being polite in case the Seimans barista is actually German.”

    “I think you're actually crazy, Refo F...” He squinted at my name tag trying to read it.

    “I'll show you mine ...” I said, holding the name tag up to him and he showed me his. “Carter, Guerin, Refo, and Fitzjohn. We sound like a law firm.”

    “White-shoe firm. Very downtown,” he commented. “Can I see the your pictures?” I opened the camera's video screen and pulled up the ones of Carter. “They look good, but I'm no judge,” he judged.

    “They're small. If I had my laptop, you could see them better. It's in my room,” I explained.

    He glanced at his watch and asked, “Can we go to your room?”

    In less time than it takes to talk about it, I wrestled with several possible meanings for “Can we go to your room?” I liked all of them. We took our coffee cups and walked the block and a half to the hotel, sipping on the way and eventually throwing the cups into a trash receptacle at the hotel's high-rise elevator bank. We made small talk about photography while the elevator took its time hauling us up to the twenty-eighth floor.

    Carter's proximity made me a little nervous and I had trouble connecting the cable to the camera. “Tiny connector,” I apologized. He smiled and waited. Then I clicked on the wrong icon on the laptop screen. “Oops,” I noted. He smiled and waited. Next I got distracted when the sun broke out of the clouds and splashed the room with light. Light brown eyes, I noticed, almost hazel, with little flecks of yellow. That urge to touch him returned. It took an effort to look away and load the pictures.

    “There,” I announced at last. The picture I selected was a good shot, one I could be proud of. Nicely composed, good distance; I could crop it horizontally and it would look great. Maybe supersaturate the colors to emphasize the man and not the birds.

    He said only, “Hanes!”

    “What?”

    “You can read my underwear. 'Hanes.' I'll be branded for life.” That smile again. I had no idea what he was talking about and said so. “What kind are you wearing?”

    I shrugged and he said, “Let's see. Pull 'em up.” I reached past the waistband of my khakis and tugged on my underwear. “See!” he exclaimed, “Under Armour! A cool brand! And I'm wearing Hanes ...” So teasing me with that smile.

    Laughing was the right response. He was joking. Just joking, but joking about underwear? Now what? How do I push this along. “Do you have boy friend?” I asked. Oh my God, so stupid, totally the wrong thing to ask, too blunt, too direct. I don't even know if he's gay – not for sure. I grasped for words, “I mean ...”

    “No, I don't. Do you?” He wasn't bothered by the question.

    “No,” I echoed. It wasn't a lie. At that instant Frank became my ex-boyfriend.

    “Good,” he said and sounded satisfied. He touched my cheek to turn my head and kissed me. It was a gentle, tentative kiss; he followed up with a longer inviting kiss and then paused for my reaction.

    “I don't have any condoms.” Again, so stupid. Why am I such a social retard today?

    “I come prepared,” he answered, both dismissing and solving the problem.

    Without much of a break in the kissing, we put the laptop aside and undressed each other. He was so skilled, the way he held me, very tactile, as if his fingers wanted their chance to get to know me. He eased me back onto the bed and cradled me in his arms. I sighed heavily. He could do anything he wanted with me and I think he knew it. I didn't look at his body, I didn't want to know anything precisely, but I could feel his cock on my thigh. I knew I was going to like whatever was coming.

    “Don't let anybody fuck you.” Charlie's warning came back. He couldn't have meant Carter; I was positive it didn't apply to Carter. So sure that I pulled him on top of me and wrapped my legs around his waist. Arching his back, he pulled away and I could tell he was staring at me. I opened my eyes. The meaning of his expression was clear. He was asking permission. I pulled his mouth to mine. Oh, God, yes.

    I didn't come while he fucked me, but I was close. His cock filled me up and made me want more. I lost my erection at first, but even so my limp cock was leaking the slick response to prostate pleasure all over my stomach. He slowed his pace and stroked me back to hardness. I didn't want him to stop. It seemed like we were going to come together when he gasped, “No!” and started slamming into me. “Yes,” I answered, happily watching the contortions of his orgasm.

    “I'm sorry. I was trying to ...” he was out of breath. He decided not to make any excuse and backed away; he held me by my hips while he sucked my cock. Then his hands moved, pressing here, tugging there, holding me, touching everywhere. I heaved my body into an arch and came spurting in his mouth, down his throat.

    “Refo,” he said my name; I loved the way he made it sound. “I want to be with you more. There other stuff we need to do. You're so good. How do you know exactly what I want? I want to see you again.” Carter's bewilderment and determination combined in his voice.

    I couldn't talk yet. I just kissed him.

    “I gotta go back to the convention now, but … And then there's a lab dinner tonight … What about after? Can we meet afterward?”

    “Sure. Why not?” I said.

    “Hey, that's my clever line!” He laughed and then grimaced. “I felt so stupid trying to flirt with you. How dumb was I sounding?”

    “You were trying to flirt with me?”

    “I'm not very good at it. You know, I can juggle - I'm a good juggler - but I'm so clutzy at ...”

    “There is nothing clutzy about you, Carter.” I didn't allow any argument on that point. He blushed. He actually blushed. A post-fuck blush. How sweet was that? And he wants more.

    We got dressed and put our numbers in each others phones. “The dinner should be over by ten-thirty and then we can ...” He left what would come next unsaid. “Refo ...” He kissed me again and left.

    I found myself wondering how tall he was. It seemed he was a little taller than I am, but for that last kiss, the standing one, he had shoes on and I was barefooted. So maybe … My phone buzzed and I read the message. “You there? Just checking.”

    The bed was still warm and I snuggled into the blanket. I had to tell Charlie. “Met gr8est guy ever.”

    “Idiot! Tell me u didn't!” he answered.

    “Didn't what?” I knew exactly what he hoped to hear I had not done.

    “O M G!!! Again???”

    I clicked off and lay back on the pillow. A scent lingered, some of it was sex and some of it was Carter. I breathed deeply, trying to capture it. Remember, I told you I get a little dreamy when somebody fucks me right. I lay there with my eyes closed, lost in my dreams. The phone buzzed again. Now what? I wondered if Charlie wanted to lecture me. Wait, maybe it's Carter. I wanted to hear his voice.

    Shit. It was my colleague Sarah. “WTF R U? BOSSMAN PISSED”

    “On my way,” I texted back.

    When I got back to my booth, I saw my boss talking to some older woman. “Here's Refo, now,” he said, including me in the conversation. He was being charming. He almost patted my back. He knew my name. I smiled until I saw Sarah mouth the words 'he's pissed.”

    I peeked at my watch: seven hours until ten-thirty.

    After the august Dr. Loewy left, he asked bluntly, “Where were you? The booth was supposed to be manned at three o'clock.”

    “Uh … I met a guy from the Cleveland Clinic. Hoarley's lab. He was interested in ...” So far, so good. Bossman leaped on the reference to our competition.

    “Are they doing anything with that gene mutation case in Ukraine?” he asked urgently.

    “Not that I know of. We didn't get to that.”

    “Can you see him again and ask? You need to see him again.” It was an order.

    “Yes, bossman,” I smiled.

    “Refo, you don't need to call me that.”

    “Yes, b … Yes, Arnold.”

  10. #10
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    As Emeril is wont to say - Let's Kick it up a notch - and you certainly did!


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

  11. #11
    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Heh. . . Good one, Rory!

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    JUB Addict EasyRory's Avatar
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Quote Originally Posted by DonQuixote View Post
    As Emeril is wont to say - Let's Kick it up a notch - and you certainly did!
    It's a 3-4 day convention - gotta work fast.

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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Ships passing in the night and all that.


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

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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Chapter Three


    No possible demonstration of physical processes can explain how something so good can turn to shit so fast. There has to be some existential element, a Higgs boson, the evil Loki, inexplicable, ineffable, and totally fucked up by all conventional understanding. I would almost blame myself, but experience says that could not be the case. Guilt trips are such needless downers even for the guilty.

    Carter came to my room at eleven. He was dressed for basketball and I asked him if he wanted a pickup game. I'm not sure what I would have done if he had said yes.

    “No. It was the least amount I could wear and still walk through the hotel. Two shoes, silk drawers, and a jersey. Comes off real fast.” He stood close and started unbuttoning my shirt.

    “Wait. Business. Are you interested in that Ukraine kid with the mutation?”

    “One-in-a-trillion Taras? Hoarley says he'll let you guys have Taras the Freak. You can afford to do stuff that leads nowhere.”

    “Well, I wouldn't say nowhere.” I felt defensive for Arnold. “There was that experiment with the five-legged fruit flies.”

    “You took six years to explain why there are no five-legged fruit flies.” He put it bluntly, but it was more or less true.

    “I'd say we explained precisely why they have six, but that was all before I was in the lab.” Why was I making excuses for myself? It wasn't my experiment. What he was doing to my nipples was a huge distraction.

    “But you have the money for it. You're the government. We're beggars; gotta produce useful results.” His hardening cock was pushing out the baggy shorts; he rubbed it back and forth across my thigh.

    “I wouldn't call you beggars with four hundred million in grants …” Before he could respond, I challenged him. “Experiment. How long can you stand naked in front of the window?”

    “Not long, if the choice is being in bed with you.” He was opening my pants; things were moving fast.

    “With a shot of whiskey,” I added.

    “Whiskey? I don't normally drink much.”

    “Special occasion. It's George Dickel No. 12.” There were six of those little bottles in the mini-bar. I liked Dickel; it was a good sipping whiskey. We got naked and opened the first two bottles. I sipped; but he drank it down like a shot of vodka. And then he licked my nipples. His tongue and the chilling breeze coming in the window turned them into hard points. My nipples are sensitive. He seemed to have figured that out intuitively. He moved up to my mouth. He hadn't even touched my dick and I felt like I would come the instant he did. I grabbed two more bottles.

    “Go slower,” I suggested handing him the little bottle. He moved toward me in slow motion with a mad expression on his face. “Carter! What are you doing?”

    “I'm gonna suck your dick very slowly,” he grinned.

    “No, no, drink more slowly! You can suck me any way you want.”

    “Why am I standing here freezing when we could be in bed having a much better time?”

    “Because this will make moving to the bed better,” I explained, watching him drain the second bottle.

    By the time we had each had three, the cold damp air coming in the window was less challenging, in fact it was quite tolerable. “Should we move on to the Scotch?”

    “Let's move on to the bed,” he suggested and gave me a boozy squeeze..

    “One sec.” A sudden vision delayed me. Carter looked amazing partly lighted by the night-time technicolor glare of the city and partly by the simple incandescent white of the bedside lamp. “Can I take a picture of you like that?”

    “Refo, I'm naked. I'm not doing porn.”

    “It won't be porn. The light show on your body is amazing. Just the way you're standing, half turned away from me. Nothing 'frontal', I promise.” I grabbed my camera and shot him a couple of times before he could object. “Look out the window, would you?” He complied. “Now, if you could work up an erection ...”

    He shot me a glance. “No porn!” There was no humor in his tone.

    I put the camera down and turned out the room light. “Joking ...” He tackled me and we fell into the bed. I could taste the whiskey as he kissed me. We got under the bedclothes and warmed each other. At first I thought the drink had made him shy; his love-making was so different from our afternoon session; he was gentle, teasing, and slow. A touch, a kiss, a pause as if he was waiting to see what I would do. Then he would start over again, proceeding only so far.

    It took me a few repeats to figure out that he was offering me his ass; it was time enough to get warm, comfortable, and hard, time enough to want him very much. Once I made some moves, he responded unmistakeably. “There are condoms in my shorts,” he offered.

    “I only need one.” What a dumb fucking remark - I've got to watch my mouth. He laughed and I felt better. And then he rolled onto his stomach. Time to get busy.

    I lay flat on top of him and slowly worked my way into his ass. He cooperated, showing me not a sign of reluctance. The couple twinges he felt on penetration made me slow down, which he appreciated. “Slow … that's right ...” Another wince and I stopped again. “Keep going … just take it slow, Refo,” he urged.

    He made it so imtimate. “I like it when you say my name,” I told him. I felt embarrassed by the sappy admission, but he didn't seem bothered at all..

    He held my hands in his, squeezing and pulling them under his shoulders, as I slowly fucked his ass, pumping my hips in increasingly deeper thrusts. He spread his legs wider under me and sighed deeply. The thrusts became easier and still deeper. The last bit of resistance melted away and I felt his muscles relax. He sighed my name. “Harder now, if you want,” he hinted. I moved my body like a snake, pumping as deeply into him as I could, still keeping it slow. He pulled my hand to his mouth and sucked on my fingers.

    “Let me get up on my knees,” he suggested. We maneuvered carefully, but I popped out in the process. A long expulsion of air from Carter signaled my reentry. “Yessssss. Slow … keep it slow.” We fucked slowly, at his tempo. After that, our bodies told us what to do. Words weren't needed. The feelings, the needs built slowly … I reached under him for his cock.

    “NO!!!!” he groaned. Too late. Instantly he came in my hand.

    “Sorry,” I said as I disengaged.

    He rolled on his back and said, “Put it back in. It's your turn.”

    Missionary is always nice. I kissed him with growing urgency and he kissed back still in post-orgasmic bliss. It was the most perfect orgasm I ever had and I told him so. “Usually I like getting fucked, Carter, but with you ...you make me want to … I think we could have … if I hadn't ...”

    “Don't over-analyze it. I give you a ten,” he said.

    What a nice thing to say. We lay quietly. Why didn't I ever think to say stuff like that? By the time I kissed him again I felt inertia. He was asleep. I lay back and decided to over-analyze. I tried to, but I got only as far as thinking I wanted more of him and soon joined him in sleep.

    I woke early. It was still completely dark out, not a hint of dawn in the east. I went in the bathroom and took care of things, returning to the room in the hotel's handy terry-cloth robe. I sat in the chair and let my eyes readjust to the dark. Carter was still sleeping. I listened to his deep rhythmic breathing and wanted to be next to him. He looked so warm and cuddly; it would be like sleeping with a dog. Just sleep, no sex. Just touches and words, getting to know each other. I jumped a bit when he moved. No, he's still asleep, I thought. The chiaroscuro of the blanket folds played with the lights of the city that bounced off the walls and ceiling. I decided another source would deepen the effect. I turned on the light over the sink and blocked most of it by closing the bathroom door almost completely.

    It took a couple of adjustments, but I finally got the light right, bright enough to show his face and the softened outline of his body, semi-hidden under the blanket. This vision demanded recording. I got my camera and took some pictures. What if? I pulled the blanket aside and took more pictures of Carter under just the sheet. Now there was a shadowy outline of his cock. No details, just the obvious lump of flesh under the white cloth. He stirred again and kicked a leg out from under the sheet. I rearranged the sheet a bit to show just a hint of his pubic hair and cock. More pictures. More adjustments. I couldn't help myself. With a feather's touch, I tease his cock into semi-erection. It swelled and lay heavily across his belly, not hard, but almost fully tumescent. He took my breath away. I actually wanted to suck him, and I'm not a big fan or oral.

    Instead I took pictures. Whew! So hot! I was shaking when I finally closed the camera and plugged it back into the computer for a charge. Might as well, I thought, and I uploaded the new pictures. I looked back to Carter and noted he had moved again, rolling onto his stomach. His ass looked so inviting. I shucked the robe and got carefully back into bed, pulling the blanket over us. I snuggled close and felt him stir. I don't think he was awake, but he reached out for me. I pulled him onto me and kissed him. I didn't care if I woke him – I needed him. He kissed me back.

    “Mmmm. You're nice to wake up to,” he said, “All soft and ...not so soft.” He had found my erection; I could hear his smile even if I couldn't see it. We proceeded to a sweet morning fuck, with me being the passive partner. I didn't give him any hints about what I wanted, I let him figure it out for himself. Either Carter's very good at figuring me out or he's very good at making me like what whatever he's doing.

    After his climax I collapsed back onto the pillow with Carter still on and in me. “Wow! That was a fuck!”

    “We're not done,” he said.

    “You're gonna do it again?” I was amazed but willing.

    “No, we're gonna talk. About what comes next. Because we're definitely not done.”

    “Oh. Yeah. But first give me a second … bathroom stuff to do. Don't start without me.”

    He took a quick pee first and then turned the bathroom over to me. I did the stuff a just-been-fucked guy normally does and then decided a two-minute shower wouldn't hurt. I hurried, wanting to know what Carter thought should 'come next' for us. Whatever you want, Carter, whatever you want.

    I left the bathroom and was shocked to see him dressing frantically. “No porn, I said. You promised, Refo! You promised.” The laptop was playing a slide show of the pictures I had taken. The door slammed. I looked away from the naked images and he was gone.

  15. #15
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Oh, what a sweet night, followed by a very uptight about certain things morning!

    Great read, Rory.


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

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    JUB Addict EasyRory's Avatar
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    What about the shorter chapters? Less complicated, more linear plot? Yes? No?

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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    For me, they're nice - I'm rushing to pack in what I can here with my limited time -especially lately with extra stuff going on in the outside JUB world.

    Not that I didn't love all of our guys in Alameda (and DC and Europe and UK and . . .)


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

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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Ok, suits me. This is much easier to write. I can post updates more frequently. Thoughts, phrasings go to 'paper' far more quickly - less gets lost. No longer need 3x5 cards on the characters. I wonder what 3x5 cards are called in metric countries ... 8x13?

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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Chapter Four


    I ached all day. That pleasant ache from being fucked lingered but made the other ache from missing Carter that much worse. I already missed him. I could still feel his cock in me; I could hear his voice; and I ached to feel his easy, confident touch. The best I could do was talk about him.

    “Arnold, my friend Carter said Hoarley isn't interested in the Ukraine kid. It's interesting, he said, but not splashy enough for them.”

    “I can understand that. They like the headlines. It gets them grants. Who is your friend?”

    “His name is Carter Guerin. He's a post-doc - been there almost two years.” I felt the prickly beginning of a hard on just from saying his name. I worried that my voice went soft in some tell-tale way, but bossman Arnold Bloch was blocked to conversational subtleties in others.

    “Keep in touch with him, ok?” Arnold turned and walked purposefully toward the Olympus booth.

    “So that went pretty well.” Sarah Felsen was puzzled. “I thought he was pissed,” she said after Arnold walked away

    “He didn't use my name. He said 'Uh …' and waved his hand at me.”

    “Don't complain. He didn't call you Rollo.”

    “Sarah?” I watched her bristle. “Would you mind manning the booth for ten minutes. I'll go look for Carter. You know, to keep in touch.” She was skeptical and gave me a half sneer. “Arnold's orders,” I added.

    She grimaced but agreed. She hated being a convention 'booth bunny', as she called it. She termed it a feminist slight, but she wasn't a giver in any case. Manning the booth and answering the same question a dozen times an hour was something we all had to do. As it worked out, I was back in five minutes. Carter had caught a noon plane home. The abruptness of his departure made me want to be alone to curse my luck but instead an unappealing student chewing on something was approaching. I closed my eyes for a second, felt Carter's hands on me, and took a deep breath and pasted on a smile. “Yo! From Baylor, huh?”

    The student momentarily stopped chewing his cud and squinted at my name tag, narrowing his eyes to slits, and pronounced my name as he wrote it in his notebook. “Reno ...”

    “Refo?” I politely corrected him.

    “No thanks, I don't smoke,” he said without looking up. “Fitzjohn,” he completed his notation. “Did you do the paper on ...” He read off the title of my paper word for word. I nodded. “Awesome work.”

    “Thanks, um, Woody Sanchez.” I can read name tags, too, but I do it more stealthily. I wondered if people could say his name without surreptitiously checking out his bulge. What bulge? His trousers appeared to be unoccupied, like stiff new jeans that stood up by themselves. The kid was seriously skinny and must have needed whatever he was chewing. He smiled at my use of his name; at least he had beautiful teeth.

    We discussed the protein chemistry of smooth muscle on a college level while out of the corner of my eye I watch Sarah cultivate an older man. I could hear her talking about Boston hospitals with him. Sarah could see herself living happily in Boston with a practicing physician in the future. Her focus on the older man meant he was a practicing physician at one of those high-paying hospitals. Watching her work was distracting and consequently I agreed too readily when Woody asked if he could visit the lab. “If I ever get to Washington,” he qualified his request. If he ever! I had a strong feeling that the plane ticket was in his pocket.

    “Sure, be glad to show you around.” I tried to sound sincere. Being tour guides was another thing we were all expected to do for budding scientists. That got another smile from him and another view of his bright-white teeth. I watched him walk away – not a hint of buttocks anywhere in those jeans.

    Arnold returned to the booth with an Olympus representative. “Reno?” Uh-oh. He knew my name again. “This is Lucien Oesch.” It was not unusual for a Japanese company to employ European sales people. “He's willing to lend us an experimental endoscope that I'd like to try out. Since your poster has been up for a couple of days, would you mind going back to the lab with him? He wants to set up the scope … that kind of stuff.” It wasn't a request.

    So ended the San Francisco trip. I got a red-eye back to Washington and rolled into my apartment at eight-thirty the next morning with red eyes and a slight headache. I was thinking about Olympus and Carter and my headache and Carter and the cruelties of flying in the back of the plane and Carter. “Frank!” My boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, startled me.

    “Why are you surprised? I live here.” He was wary.

    “Yes, we need to talk about that.”

    “Here we go again.” He had a way of conveying an eye roll while staring unwaveringly at a person. “Can we talk later? I've got an appointment in twenty minutes.”

    “Yeah, sure.” I dragged my roll-on to the bedroom. An appointment? He did look more put together than usual. “What kind of appointment?”

    He looked at me closely. “You met somebody, right?” He assumed correctly, and he didn't wait for my answer. “I got a feeler on painting a barn in Woodstock.” He looked pretty stoked; he always got that way over a chance of work in the countryside. He was also a realist. “Course, it may come to nothin'.”

    “I'm going to bed. I gotta work tonight.” I guess I could have been friendlier, but I was tired. He gave me his quirky smile and left.

    The quirky smile was cute and he knew it. So was his Shenandoah accent. It included a slight drawl, just the trace of a lisp, and some quaint expressions from the seventeenth century. No, it wasn't really a lisp, just a kind of thickening of his voice when he said certain words. So, yeah, he had a rustic appeal, if you liked that kind of guy. In fact, viewed objectively, he was sexy without even trying. Lush was the word he would have used; young, dumb, and full of come was what Charlie called him when he first met him. After you got to know him, you realized he wasn't dumb at all, just unsophisticated. “Unspoiled' became Charlie's modified opinion. If only he wasn't such a selfish prick in bed ...

    I put Frank out of my head and let sad dreams of Carter put me to sleep. At some point my sad dream turned weird. I was in bed and somebody kept trying to pull the covers off me. It woke me up. I wasn't alone. “Frank!”

    “You wanted to talk. So let's talk.” The quirky smile again. And then he kissed me. He didn't just kiss me, he pushed his leg between my thighs. “I got the job,” he said. “So I'll be moving out. Is that enough talk?”

    “You're naked.” Why did hew get naked and climb into bed to tell me he was moving out? Sometimes he was baffling.

    “I'm always naked in bed,” he chuckled. “Sometimes I'm naked in my truck. You ever do that?”

    “Just that once when you ...” He was kissing my throat; it felt good. “What are you doing?” He never kissed me like this, or almost never.

    “Moving out, but I need a couple of days, ok?” His hand traced the contours of my chest. He rolled me onto my back and knelt between my legs. He kissed me before I could answer. The kisses became harder, biting at my lips. His hands kept moving, holding me like I was his prey, probing for weakness. “That barn's a vasty place. Gonna take some time,” he said, taking his time with me.

    I kept waiting for the spoiler, like an order to “Suck my dick!” Instead, he sucked mine briefly. Ok, now here it comes. I waited for him to jam his dick in my mouth. Instead he rolled me up in a ball and ate my ass. He had never done that before, not any time that I remembered. He was good. When did he learn to do this? It felt great, but it was hard to breathe with my knees in my mouth. Just as I was about to complain, he unrolled me and lay on top. He went back to kissing me like he wanted to eat me. Our cocks rubbed together. When he started fucking me, it felt like an minor interruption in a slow process. He just pushed at my hole, without trying to get in. And then he pushed harder, still without entry. Suddenly I was super aware of his cock, it seemed huge. But he's not huge. I can deep throat him easily – I just don't like doing it. He grunted and pushed; I yielded to him. God! It's a fucking monster. What happened?

    “You likin' this?” he asked.

    “Jeez,” I panted, my way of saying yes, and then I sobbed as he entered me fully. The sob was a give-away; he knew how much I was liking this.

    “Yeah, you are,” he confirmed to himself. “Your dick's all wet.” He jacked me off and I came explosively and still he kept fucking me. The relentless motion continued.

    “Squeeze me, Reef. Tighter,” he insisted and I tried to grip his cock with my asshole. “That's right.” He changed his angle of penetration and I felt a new passion grow. I don't think I actually got hard but I came again anyway - just before he did. The orgasm was intense, but not the usual pulsing expulsions. It was like a continuous rumble that left me exhausted. I wasn't crying, but there were tears on my cheeks. He wiped them away carefully and kissed me again.

    “We've never had sex like that,” I sighed still feeling after shocks from my orgasm. “I'm a mess.”

    “If you loved me, even a little bit, we could have had sex like that all the time.” Cold water from Frank.

    “But you just fucked me. That was what I always wanted.”

    “But I never wanted to 'fuck' you, I wanted to 'love' you and I wanted you to love me.” I wanted him to keep talking, to make the moment last; but I didn't like what I heard next. “So this was to show you what you'll be missing, when I'm gone.” He paused to let that sink in and then asked, “Now, what's the new-guy-who-will-never-love-you like?” He pulled out of my ass without warning.

    It was a slap in the face. He wasn't interested in any answer I might make. I started to get pissed and then I started to feel hurt. Then I went back to a rising anger; but, to complete his display of indifference, he defused it.

    “Remember when we first got together, Reef? I do. The sex was almost like that and then it changed. I didn't know exactly what you wanted then. Sorry for being clumsy. I thought you liked giving blow jobs.”

    “I thought you liked getting them,” I explained.

    “Yeah, well, ok if I stay for a few days? I need to look for a place, maybe in Harrisonburg.” He asked the way you would ask an old friend.

    “Take all the time you want. You asked about the guy on the trip? I pissed him off. I think he wanted to burn down the hotel with me in it.”

    He thought that was funny. “No details, Reef. Details would spoil that picture.”

    We relaxed and talked while we dressed. I told him an abbreviated version of Carter walking out.

    “Can I see the pictures?” Frank asked. I showed him the picture of Carter photographing the birds. “You always had good taste,” he said. “Buy him some sexy underwear.”

    I looked at the picture again. Frank was wrong. Hanes was perfect.

    Two nights later I was reminded of what a sweet, horny hillbilly Frank can be. We fucked again. It was my idea. Shouldn't have, I know, but it was raining and there we were with nothing else to do.

    Sarah Felsen says most pregnancies result from having nothing else to do; that was why she took up knitting.

  20. #20
    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Nice one. . .

  21. #21
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Definitely not all work and no play.

    What a messed up "former" relationship.

    Spite is a nasty thing.


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

  22. #22
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Chapter Five


    Lucien Oesch was a good salesman. He arrived on time with his machine, pointed out every feature of the new endoscope, offered to demonstrate its operation, and looked good the whole time. He said he was from Zurich, but when I pressed him he amended that to Appenzell, a very small town to the east.

    “We are a suburb of Liechtenstein,” he explained. I didn't care. He seemed like a good old boy, the Swiss equivalent of my not-yet-departed ex-boyfriend. What is it about accents? His was as sexy as Frank's. I found myself wishing his body wasn't hidden by his suit. And that's another thing – why do salesmen dress so much better than their customers? I felt like I was the hillbilly in jeans and a checkered shirt next to his perfectly tailored blue suit.

    “Doctor Bloch said he would use the scope for rats?” he questioned.

    “He wants to watch the other organs while he controls certain heart functions.”

    “Angiography won't work?”

    “He feels there may be precursor events that angio won't pick up but straight visual will.”

    “So the smallest tubes and lenses would be best,” he nodded, picking out the appropriate accessories. I watched his jacket grow taut across his back as he searched his case.

    “You really shouldn't work in that suit. Do you want some lab gear? I'm sure we've got some scrubs and a coat around here.” My offer was more generous than I could fulfill. “Damn, we always had a bunch of stuff ...” The supply room held only odds and ends that wouldn't do.

    “It won't take long,” Lucian said. “What about the patient robes?” He pointed to a box of disposable garments.”

    “They're paper,” I explained, but to him they were good enough. He changed quickly and I did my best not to look, taking just a few quick peeks. The sound of ripping made me turn, however. Lucien had snagged his shoe on the trousers and torn them down the side. “Here I'll get you another.”

    “That's ok, the drawstring works fine. I'm not going anywhere.” He was correct; the garment was still functional. There was just a little gap at the side that revealed nothing. He had that indifference to exposure common among athletes.

    Garbed in light blue paper that made an odd crackling sound as he moved, Lucien went to work unpacking the machine for its two boxes. His appearance was a picture of efficiency, marred only by the small tear at the waist of his pants. “Uh. Lucien, would you mind if I took pictures of how you set up the machine?”

    I didn't have my camera; but the lab's microscope-adaptable Nikon would be good enough. I quickly set it for normal operation. Lucien had a serious look of economy and competence in his motions, but that almost formal professionalism when combined with the rip in his pants conveyed a sexy insouciance that had me holding my breath as I watched and clicked. The tear grew perceptibly wider as he worked. It was nothing immodest, but there was a glimpse of skin and underwear on view in the upside down triangle formed by the V of the tear and the drawstring holding the trousers in place. It was tantalizing. I took several shots hoping I had captured my vision.

    I was dry-mouthed and put the camera down. “You want some water?” I asked and left to get us a couple of bottles from the cold room refrigerator. It had a section designed for better purposes that was misappropriated by the staff to hold the water just short of freezing.

    “Wow! Cold!” Lucien remarked after his first swallow. He had finished his set-up and ran the machine through its test routines. “Do you want to try it on a rat?”

    “I don't have any waiting around to die,” I shrugged. “Plus I'm not sure how exactly Arnold wants to use it. It's not my specific area.”

    So the fun was over. Lucien changed back to his street clothes and left me his card. “I can be here on a day's notice. Or … our local tech support guy is available twenty-four seven. This is my cell and this is tech support.” He leaned over my shoulder to point out the two numbers on the brochure he had given me. I wondered if he had any idea how exciting his closeness was. Again, I was holding my breath. I can't help it. It's reflexive. I gasped for air when he finally moved away.

    “Something wrong?” he asked.

    “No,” I panted. He gave me a funny look but ended with a salesman's smile as he said good-night. He made the smile look completely sincere; the best salesmen can do that. I have learned from a few embarrassing rebuffs early in my career that it means nothing.

    With the endoscope secure, I transferred the photos to a memory stick and left the lab. I was eager to see how Lucien's images would come out using a better display screen and software. I got home, grabbed a small bag of almonds for my dinner and plugged in the memory stick.

    Yes, yes, yes, I clicked through the pictures, and then, “Oh my God!” I stared at the image. It was mesmerizing, like that terrific shot of Jose Canseco from twenty-odd years ago, the shot of him in mid-swing, the shot that told me I was gay. I was probably eleven or twelve at the time I first saw that poster; I didn't even know what gay was. All I knew, looking at Jose, was I felt a tightening in my groin and it felt better than anything I had ever felt before in my life. Lucien gave me that same feeling. I was holding my breath again admiring the fluid lines of his body.

    Physiological demands ruled and I gasped for breath, breaking the spell of looking at hot Lucien, bending over, box cutter in hand, slicing open the endoscope's shipping container. That little bit of skin, the black waistband of his underwear, and their medium gray color contrasted with the light blue of the paper garment. It made you want to shred the paper trousers and worship unwrapped Lucien. I traced and retraced every line of his body with my eyes. It was so easy to imagine him naked. Without his Hanes … Hanes!!! I could read the label and was holding my breath again.

    “Hey,” I never heard Frank come in and I jumped. “You're the only guy I know who jacks off to G-rated porn,” he chuckled and closed the bathroom door. You had to pass through my bedroom to get to the only bathroom in the apartment. It was an inconvenience, but what do you expect in Washington for only twenty-one hundred a month?

    What did he mean “jacks off”? I noticed I was gripping my hardon, but I still had my clothes on, pretty much. I didn't remember unzipping, but there it was my old friend, in my hand, with a glistening drop of moisture on the tip. After minor contortions, I got my dick put away and I turned off the computer. I noticed an hour had passed. An hour looking at one image? Well, no, but there was that one spectacular image out of the dozen or so I had shot. It was pretty much unforgettable, at least in my mind. It ranked right up there with Carter and the birds in San Francisco.

    I was totally composed by the time Frank came out of the bathroom. He said nothing, just smiled his quirky grin and left the bedroom to sleep on his inflatable mattress in the living room. After that second post-breakup fuck, which was definitely a mistake, we had agreed that sleeping apart was a good idea, until he finally found a place.

    I felt tired until I got into bed. I lay restless for a while. Feeling horny was a big part of it. I thought about Lucien. I thought about Carter. I tossed and turned some more and gave up. I sat up in bed and saw light coming under the door. I looked out and found Frank lying on his mattress reading. He lmade sleeping on the floor look very comfortable and cozy. “What you reading?” I asked as I walked to the kitchen.

    “The History of Virginia Barns. There's this round one – they think Thomas Jefferson designed it.” He pointed to a photograph in the book.

    “Who thinks?” I asked after taking a slug of OJ.

    “The owners, of course. It would add a lot of value if they could prove it. It copies the design ol' TJ used for the ice house at Monticello.”

    “Weren't ice houses underground?”

    “Yes, sir, but the interior proportions are the same.” Frank always called everybody 'sir' when he was serious about something. “Except … look at this part. The curve of the roof doesn't match the support beams.”

    I sat down next to him and he scooched over to make more room. The blanket shifted and I saw he was wearing underwear. He had always slept naked in our ... in my bedroom.

    “Which makes me think the roof was added later and the design is not eighteenth century.” He grinned and continued, “But, ol' TJ was always messing around and he could have had it rebuilt himself to a modified design. Even during its initial construction. It's hard to tell.” He smiled again and looked to see what I thought. “What?”

    “Would you like a blow job?”

    “Refo, we talked about this. You said we should ...”

    “Is that a yes?” I reached over and turned off the lamp he had placed on the floor. He didn't object, so I took the old book out of his hands and put it carefully aside. I slid my hand down his belly and found his erection. Frank was always ready; that was one of his best features.

    I took it slow, easing his dick out of his underwear. I just played with it at first. Frank was uncut, but he didn't have a lot of foreskin. When he was soft it covered about half his cockhead and when he was hard it almost disappeared. I hadn't noticed it before but his cock had a loose feel, the skin moved a lot. For reasons that were new to me, it was kinda fun to play with and he liked me playing with it. I could feel his breathing change. He put his arm around my shoulders, which I took as a sign of encouragement. We had never fooled around like this before.

    The impulse to suck him was another surprise, it seemed totally natural to taste him. Just a little at first, but then I got into it, licking and sucking. I felt his hand on my head, not forcing anything, just holding me, rubbing my hair. I took his cock deeper in my mouth and felt his breath catch. I did it again and he groaned very quietly. It sounded like he said my name. I took him deeply again, all the way. I couldn't hold him in me long, but again I felt his response. Obviously, he liked it. I pulled away.

    “Let's get these underwear off,” I said and sat up to pull them off his legs.

    “Refo, we ...”

    “Shh,” I said, “Just lie back ...”

    With his underwear off I could do more, like suck on his balls. I think he liked that best if I stroked his cock at the same time. Then I was amazed. He really liked me touching his inner thighs and – I'm not sure how to explain this – pressing on his pelvic bone with my palm. While sucking him, of course. What I liked was licking his dick like a popsicle, but that didn't seem to do much for him, so I went back to deep-throating again. He liked that better and I found the more I did it - the more I got the feel of him, the easier it got to take all of him. He was making more noise, groaning and panting, so I was pretty sure he liked it, too. His hips were thrusting gently, rocking us on the air mattress.

    It was pretty fucking incredible how responsive he was. And I was having an amazing time, doing it. His cock felt great in my mouth. I could take him up to the edge and then back him off and then take him up slowly, and then back him off. Then using my hands pressing on his pelvic bone while sucking, things got out of control. He called my name and thrust his cock down my throat, spewing sperm. It was a little uncomfortable and brought tears to my eyes, but what a sweet climax. I'd never seen Frank so … I don't even know how to explain. He was blown away, literally and figuratively and any other way you could think up.

    “Did you like that?” I asked.

    “Refo ...” he hugged me; he was still breathless. That was all the answer I got.

    You wouldn't believe how good I felt; it was as good as coming myself, I swear. Those were the exact words I used when I told Charlie about it.

    I spent the night on Frank's air mattress. It felt so good when he hugged me and kissed my forehead. That was the way we always ended sex just before we fell asleep. Well, almost the way. Before he would whisper “I love you,” after he kissed my forehead, but that night he didn't.

    In the morning I woke feeling terrific. Frank was already gone. I noticed his underwear still lying where I had tossed them. Hanes again -I should have known. I swear they still felt warm.

  23. #23
    ********* JUB Moderator Autolycus's Avatar
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    A wonderful new chapter - thanks Rory!



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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Rory,
    You always seem to sneak the new chapter updates after I've sauntered off to dream land.
    I caught this before I left this morning and copied it to my e-mail for quiet daytime viewing.

    I'm glad I did.
    It appears our indifferent protagonist is starting to redefine his relationship with his "not" BF.

    However it turns out, he's certainly giving us a rise in all the right places.


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

  25. #25
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Interesting deveopments. . .

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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Chapter Six


    “You say you have broken up; but what has changed exactly? Frank is still living here ... You're having sex all the time … And you're still mooning around over that guy in Ohio.” Charlie was never one to mince words.

    “We're not having sex ALL the time and we sleep in separate rooms ... mostly.”

    “Three times in ten days. Based on how often I get laid, that's ALL the time.”

    “Charlie, you'll find somebody. You're pretty great in bed.”

    “How is anybody supposed to know that? I can't even get 'em in the door. And you … You are taking up two and a half possibilities.”

    “Lucien is not a possibility. As far as I know, I'm pretty sure he's straight.” I stated that firmly while I unwrapped the first of my new acquisitions from Ritz Photo, the picture of Lucien blown up, printed on foam-backed, glossy paper, and ready for hanging. “I decided frameless was the way to mount this; we'll just let the colors bleed into a white wall.” I stuck the photo to the wall temporarily with double-sided sticky tape for Charlie to judge.

    “A little stark that way, but your Lucien guy is awesome. He is the most x-rated, fully-clothed guy I've ever seen.”

    “So you like it?” I began unwrapping the other, the one of Carter.

    “I want to touch him … I want to stick my finger in that hole in his pants and … Brrrr!” Charlie gave a mock shiver and sighed in contemplation. “Refo, are you sure you want to be a biochemist? You should be a pornographer.”

    “And then there's this one ...” I stuck Carter to the wall opposite Lucien so that the men faced each other. Lucien's photo was taller and Carter' was wider, so they weren't an exact match; but they complimented each other well. Charlie just stared, first at one, then the other. I prompted him, “I'm calling them Hanes I and Hanes II, just as if I'm a serious artist.”

    “I wear Hanes,” Charlie said, still staring at the pictures.

    “Why?”

    “Why not? I can't see paying twenty-five dollars for a fancy logo on my drawers.” Charlie moved closer to Carter's picture and studied it. “You shouldn't have let him fuck you, Refo. No wonder you're a mess.”

    His comment set me on edge a little. “If I can't get a little sympathy now and then, I'm gonna stop telling you things. Look at this one ...” I showed him the eight by eleven nude profile of Carter standing against the hotel window. “I don't plan to hang this one.”

    “No wonder you're crazy about him ...” Charlie looked only briefly and turned away, as if the picture embarrassed him.

    “It's art, Charlie; not sex.”

    “It's awfully close to sex.” He took another glance and then looked away again. “He's gorgeous.”

    “He's not that gorgeous – I MADE him look good!” A doubtful Charlie frowned at me. “Ok, he is that gorgeous, but I showed him to his best advantage.”

    At that point Frank came in the door. He took a quick look at the pictures on the wall and commented, “Incredible. Awesome, really. Hey, Charlie, good to see you. And they look perfect there, Reef. I wish I had your taste.” Then he updated us on his life, “ I'm a mess. Gotsta change and call on a customer.” He changed from dirty jeans and a t-shirt to clean jeans and a fresh t-shirt then and there, drawing from a neat pile of clothes he stacked on the floor. He left almost as abruptly as he arrived.

    Charlie watched Frank leave and then stared at the door. “Refo, about Frank ...”

    “So you know what else I did?” I teased him into asking what. “I sent Carter a copy of his picture. Shipped it right from the store. So he'll call me maybe?” I hummed the tune of the popular song about maybe getting a call.

    “Nice gesture, but what's that going to get you?”

    “Charlie, come on ...”

    “I'm not being judgmental, just asking what you expect to happen next.”

    “Well, maybe he'll call or something ...”

    “And tell you what exactly?”

    I couldn't answer him. “I don't know ...” And then I thought fuck it, he was being judgmental. “At least I try, Charlie. You just sit and wait for Prince Charming to knock on your door. At least I get off my ass and do something … At least I work on my two and a half possibilities.”

    “Touché,” Charlie conceded. “So I'll be bold ...” As if he wasn't always. He took a breath. “If you're done with Frank, what if I see if something might work out with him?” He scrunched up his face in anticipation of a blow.

    “Frank? You and Frank? Un-fucking-believable!”

    “You said you broke up. You said it's over. You called him a selfish prick. More than once, Refo. What's wrong with me seeing if he's interested?”

    “You go for selfish pricks now?”

    “As a matter of fact, I think you're wrong about that. I don't think he's a selfish prick at all. If you want my opinion ...”

    “I don't!”

    “You're getting' it anyway. In my opinion, you're the one who needs to work on expanding his viewpoint.”

    “So this is about ME, suddenly.”

    “Refo, I'm only telling you this because I love you.” Charlie's tone became conciliatory. “You're a little self-absorbed, sweetie. Not that that's bad, but you make it hard on people like Frank who are naturally more open and ...”

    “Generous?”

    “I was going to say 'laid back' … “

    I can't stay mad at Charlie, first of all because he is the best friend I've had since my old dog Wags died when I was fifteen.

    I have to tell you I really had a close relationship with that dog. I told him everything and at some level I know he understood me. As a matter of fact I came out to him first. This is going to sound weird, but he caught me jacking off and he was shocked. I said to him, “I've seen you with a hard on. You lick yourself every chance you get. Why can't I have a little fun?” He didn't exactly say go ahead, but he did leave the room, giving me some privacy. And then when he came back in, I was forgiven. He looked at me expectantly with his tail doing a slow wag and I had to tell him. “I think I'm gay, Wags.” It was a hard to admit and his name caught in my throat. I almost cried. He jumped in my lap and licked me, with that same tongue he used to lick his dick. Isn't that intimate? It's like he was telling me it's ok to be gay. Charlie says all he wanted was food, that licking people is the dog's signal they want some food. But I think he understood. He never criticized.

    So I learned acceptance from Wags and I extended it to Charlie. Second of all, Charlie is usually right about me, but if you want to know, I'm pretty right about him, too. The reason he's alone and not getting much is he is shy. He won't extend himself and, if we're being really honest, he thinks everybody turns him down because he's got a little dick. I tell him if he's a sweet fuck and comes when his partner wants him to, it won't matter that he's a little short where it matters. And lying on your back for everybody – the way he does - makes his shortcoming seem even shorter, if you get what I mean. It didn't help that my dick is a challenge for some guys, including Charlie. I think it was intimidating for him at first. I made a point not to refer to my size but, when we were together, it just seemed to come up a lot. I was about to fuck him one time and, because we had just come from an Italian restaurant, I referred to my big salami and his peperoni.

    Pissed off! I couldn't believe it. He flew out of bed and got a ruler from his desk and measured himself. “Five and three-quarters,” he yelled at me. “Six and a third,” he yelled after measuring me. “We're not talking King Kong and Tiny Tim, here. So, take that and shove it up your buttered tortellini!” Then he refused to continue, leaving me horny and hard most of the night.

    I have to add here that he didn't measure me properly. I checked myself and I'm six and a half, more if I'm really hard.

    So with a little hug and another viewing of my new pictures, we made up and parted best friends as usual. Before he left, he pushed the point with Frank and I pretty much had to say that it was ok with me if anything worked out for them. So much drama. I was glad when Frank got back; it gave me somebody less volatile to talk to.

    “How'd it go?”

    “I think I got the job. It's not a total re-do, but it's a nice old barn that needs attention and the customer has ready cash. That's always good.”

    “Frank, what do you think of Charlie? He's looking for company again.”

    “He shouldn't have any trouble at all, I'd say. Seems like an appreciative and understanding man. He's a couple years older, but he keeps himself in good shape. A handsome package with a brain on top.”

    “Would YOU consider him?”

    “I'd be crazy not to, huh? I bet he's a good lover. Why are you asking?” Before I could answer he added, “Man, am I tired tonight.”

    We went to bed, Frank on the mattress in the living room and me alone in my bedroom. The day had been draining, first at work, then running around town and finally getting upset by Charlie. I felt very alone. “Frank?” I called quietly, but got no answer. Asleep, I guessed.

    Frank and Charlie … I had to consider the possibility. Frank was such a sweet kid. I say kid even thought he was only a year younger. There was something innocent about him. And there was nothing innocent about Charlie. I don't mean to say Charlie was evil incarnate, nothing like that, but he was much more worldly than Frank. That would not be a good match, not good at all, especially for Frank. Charlie would never appreciate Frank the way I did. I had always been very open-handed and free with Frank. For example, I often …

    Well, examples are always hard to come up with. Nevertheless, I instinctively knew Charlie and Frank was a terrible idea. Trouble for both of them. Doomed from the start, in fact. With that problem solved, I still couldn't sleep, I had a hard salami with no buttered tortellini in sight.

    Then through the door I heard Frank's distinctive ringtone, a rooster's crow. “Hello … Charlie? What up? Did you leave something? … Really? … With me? ...You want to? …” Frank's words got progressively quieter, until I could hear only the low rumble of his voice.

  27. #27
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Frank and Charlie - your (Refo's) best friend and (not quite former) lover - is that a shade of Hazel in your eyes, or have they turned Emerald Green - with envy.

    More than a little food for thought.

    Very interesting chapter. A lot of soul/self-searching to be had.


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

  28. #28
    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Beautifully written, Rory. . . This story is starting to gel now. I'm looking forward to where it is going!

    Thanks!

  29. #29
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Chapter Seven

    It was Saturday, normally a day I like for it's easy schedule. Sleep in an extra hour, read the internet news, drink a lot of coffee, walk to the laundry, buy a bottle of wine if I have a dinner invitation, hit the gym, maybe have a little nap before the night begins.

    That Saturday I had nothing to do. Zip shit to do. The news was boring. The coffee I made tasted bitter. Then - how could a simple giggle be so upsetting?

    As I was making the coffee, Charlie arrived all cheery and smiling. “Hey, Sunshine, want some coffee?” I offered.

    “No thanks, I'm kind of in a hurry I want to clear Manassas before the Saturday traffic gets fierce.”

    “What's up in Virginia?”

    “Nothing, really. The destination is Orange, an estate I'm working on, and …” At that point Frank came out of the bathroom. Charlie turned to him and asked, “Ready? It's about a two hour drive ...”

    “Let's roll. If we take my truck, I'll have everything I need.” And like that, they were gone.

    I looked out the window and watched Charlie lean his head toward Frank and say something. Even at that distance I could hear Frank giggle. I swear it was his sex giggle! And the “everything I need” comment made my stomach turn: the only thing I knew Frank to carry without fail in his truck was condoms. I checked my wristwatch. In no more than an hour and a half they would 'clear Manassas', as Charlie put it and then … I didn't want to think about it.

    Do I have to say? I guess I do. Charlie knows this state park near Orange, almost on the grounds of Montpelier, where he said the land and the trees formed a natural love nest. He took me there right after I met him. It was beautiful, everything he said it was, with a view of the westerly mountains that went on forever. Romantic. It was the first place we fucked. I looked again at my watch. By eleven o'clock Charlie and Frank would be spreading out a picnic and by eleven fifteen they would decide to hell with the food and they would be fucking. Maybe it will rain, I thought, as I glanced out at the bright sunshine.

    The morning dragged. I couldn't get interested in anything. At fifteen minute intervals I would look at my watch and calculate the time left until Charlie would use his snake-oil lawyer skills to seduce Frank. And Frank would fall for it. I knew he would. A total line of bullshit about old houses and country life. And Frank would fall for it. I could hear Charlie now telling Frank how handsome he was. And Frank would totally fall for it. “You'd look so amazing standing against that tree with your shirt off.” And Frank would whip his shirt off, he was just that accommodating. And of course he would look amazing - he always did with his shirt off.

    Frank's body was a genuine work of art. He did not deserve a body that perfect; he never went to the gym, never paid any attention to his diet, never did much of anything outside of work; he just looked great naturally. And once Frank's shirt was off, I really couldn't blame Charlie for whatever he did next.

    From shirt removal, it would be so easy to get Charlie out of his pants. Going along with the rest of his selfishness, Frank liked to preen. I could see him, naked in the woods, showing off for Charlie, strutting around with half a hardon.. I hated to think about it. I looked at my watch again. Forty-five minutes left. The worst part was I knew how the day with Charlie would change Frank. No more sweet country boy; he'd be forever jaded and dissatisfied. Charlie had that effect.

    I couldn't just sit and wait for it to happen. I needed a distraction. So I decided to go to work. I could review Sarah's paper, which sat unread on my desk, a job I had rashly promised her I would do weeks ago in order to get her to proof-read mine.

    “You remind me of a black guy I knew once,” she said days later after repeating her request for my help.

    “Please, no sordid tales.”

    “Not sordid – just underhanded. He would get his girl friend to braid his hair by promising that he would do hers. But once his braids were done, there was always an excuse. He was too tired. He had to see a man about a dog. His hands were numb from the cold. His hands were sweaty from the heat. Always something … Like you … Always something.”

    So I got to the lab, plunked down at my desk, and read - the title – it was a start. “Genetic Transference Mechanisms: The Empirical Dynamics of Motivation” by Sarah L. Felsen, Ph.D. It sounded more like psychoanalysis than protein chemistry. I'd need some coffee to get through this one, I decided. I put my red pencil down and grabbed some quarters from my desk drawer.

    “Six Quarters: The Effective Price of Caffeine Motivation” by Sarah L. Felsen, Ph.D., I imagined as I walked down the hall to the coffee machine. Not that funny, but I chuckled to myself. Ahead of me was someone bent over trying to look up into the machine to watch the brewing process. Somebody cute, maybe. I could see a little strip of skin and a bit of his underwear showing above his belt. Don't look, I ordered myself. If he's wearing Hanes, it'll only be upsetting. So I distracted myself and waited patiently wondering what Sarah's 'L' stood for. Laverne. Leonora. Lily. Letitia. Lucinda. Lucien! It was Lucien in front of me.

    “It's going to do it again!” The voice confirmed Lucien's identity as he stood erect and watched helplessly as the machine made grinding noises and then spewed freshly brewed coffee down its collection drain.

    I philosophized. “It saves the inefficiency of drinking and pissing. This way the coffee goes directly into the sewer.” He didn't look amused. “Just being helpful.”

    “Oh, Refo. Sorry,” he recognized me. “That's the second time it's done that.”

    “Let's go to the cafeteria,” I suggested. “The coffee is not just cheaper there; it's actually better.”

    He bent over once more to look at the mechanism in disbelief that it could be so incompetent. I looked, too, almost certain he would be wearing Hanes. He fooled me. “Aqalolgy” the waistband proudly displayed above a wild pattern of multicolored polka dots.

    “What do the Swiss call those polka dots?” I asked him.

    “What?”

    “Polka dots … those dots on your underwear.”

    “Polkapunkten,” he answered warily. I could see him wondering about my interest in his underwear, but something bigger was bothering him.

    “What brings you in on a Saturday, Lucien?” I asked him.

    “Dr. Bloch couldn't operate the scope. I am instructing him.”

    “And it's slow going?” I had seen Bloch with new toys before.

    “Very slow. He was thirty-seven minutes late.”

    “He operates on Washington time.” I could see I needed to explain that. “In Washington, if someone says 'I'll pick you up at three forty-five,' that means you start getting ready around four.”

    “One good point. He will remember everything you tell him. You'll never have to tell him twice. Bloch's memory is airtight.”

    “He calls me Lukas.”

    “Ah, names … He's not so good there. Good at the other stuff, though.”

    We got coffees to go, chatted about cultural differences, and walked back to the lab. “I like your polkapunkten,” I told him. “Sehr lustig,” I added, hoping my words meant something like 'festive' in Swiss-German.

    He stopped abruptly. “Are you calling me gay?”

    “Not you. The polkadots. They're uh … fun, colorful, lively … “ I grasped for synonyms. “The old meaning of gay … I thought 'lustig' meant 'lusty' kind of; does it mean homosexual?”

    “No, but Bloch also made a comment. I thought … Never mind.”

    “What did he say?”

    “He said I wasn't on the straight path to success.”

    “I have no idea what he meant, but he didn't mean homosexual, I'm sure of that.”

    “Are you sure? I worry he might report me to the company.”

    “He won't do that. Trust me. He doesn't care about your private life.”

    Strange conversation. Almost a strange as Sarah's paper. Her argument had a strong psychological foundation, something I knew little about. I shifted critical modes. I corrected all her grammar and spelling errors and noted that her reasoning was out of my field. She'd like that, getting me to admit my incompetence.

    I glanced at my watch and realized that somewhere in Virginia the deed had been done. Charlie had worked his wiles on Frank. I was surprised how much it hurt knowing that. I could have been and should have been more tolerant of Frank's faults. Carter wasn't that much better looking, although he was a lot better in bed. Except lately. How had the sex with Frank improved so much since we broke up? Another mystery. Then, too, strictly from a practical point of view, Frank had been an ideal roommate. Finding somebody else as reliable, responsible, and tidy would not be easy. In my roommate experience, those qualities in combination were found only in Frank. Those qualities were almost ...

    Thank you, Doctor Bloch.” Lucien came into the hall from Arnold's office as I passed.

    Those qualities were almost Swiss! Of course! Obviously!

    “Done? Heading home?” I inquired.

    “He wants to do more tomorrow.” Lucien sounded unhapppy with the prospect.

    “Working Sunday, huh? I don't like that either.”

    “It's not the work. It's the commute. I live northeast of Baltimore, in Essex. I thought Johns Hopkins would be my main customer, but more and more of my work is in Washington.”

    “You need a crash pad, Lucien.” I explained. “A cheap place where you can crash for a night now and then when you need to instead of going all the way home. Lots of people who work here have them.”

    “Really? Isn't it expensive to live near here?”

    “Not if you share.” I felt as snaky as Charlie, convincing Lucien to have a look at my place. I drove him over and tried to minimize the neighborhood's horrendous parking difficulties. “No, no, really, at night parking is a breeze.” Then I airbrushed the costs. “Yes, but you can deduct the rent as a job expense.” Finally I assured him I was out a lot. “I have a pretty active social life. You wouldn't see much of me ...”

    Inside, once he looked around, his reaction was positive, even about sharing the bedroom. “No problem, there's room for another bed. Lots of room.” No lie, there was; it was a huge bedroom.

    Naturally I had a few doubts about what I was doing. No matter how good looking he was, I'd be surrendering a big hunk of privacy to a straight guy. What, for instance, would he think of Charlie swanning around, pouring drama on his breakfast cereal? What would he think if I wanted some private time in the bedroom? As it turned out, we never got to that part.

    “That's me.” He noticed the photograph.

    “Hope you don't mind. I thought it had a look worth capturing.”

    “No, that's ok. You make me look very ...” He took notice of Carter's picture; he stared; then he pointed. “This is...?”

    “A guy I met in San Francisco. I liked his pose.”

    He became agitated and quickly ended our negotiation. “On second thought, I'm afraid it just wouldn't work. I'm not sure the company would reimburse me for expenses and I don't want to commit long-term ...” I offered to drive him back to the lab, but he volunteered to take the Metro and left before I could talk him out it.

    I was disappointed; but the day wasn't over. Saturday afternoons always leave room for further disaster. Frank arrived and confirmed my worst suspicions.

    “I never knew what a great guy Charlie is,” Frank said, looking at me with the last dying shred of his innocence shining in his eyes. “We had such a great time, Reef. He knows so much about … well, everything really. He knows about barns and estates and ...”

    “He better know about estates. He's a trust lawyer.” I tried to keep the edge out of my voice. When Frank smiled at me with a heart rending look of complete bliss, I seriously considered killing Charlie.

    “I thought he'd be different, you know, 'cause he's a lawyer and smart, and all I did was two years at Lord Fairfax Community College; but he's so easy to talk to. About anything … everything … We had the best day! The weather was perfect and he knows this state park, near Montpelier ...”

    I tried to stop listening, just shut the details out; but Frank kept talking like an awestruck idiot.

    “He even found me this outbuilding that I could live in. It's not ready, but they're working on it. And he said I could stay with him in the meantime … And I think his client is going to hire me to do a pool house … I can get my cousin Mike to help. What a perfect day!” Frank sighed with satisfaction. It was a sigh I had heard before, mostly right before he'd kiss my forehead and tell me he loved me. I'd miss hearing that sigh.

    My only consolation was knowing that Frank's cousin Mike would drive Charlie crazy. That boy was so dumb. Pretty, but dumb. Charlie hates the dumb ones.

  30. #30
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    A very interesting installment - our salesman got stage fright when he figured out exactly what den of iniquity he had entered?!

    And, love moves on . . . or at least lust.


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

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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    [Select tease mode] You think?

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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Methinks you are having WAY too much fun with us.


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

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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    But, if you can guess all the plot angles, I wouldn't be telling much of a story.

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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Chapter Eight


    Saturday wasn't over, it was only early evening. “Where are you going?” I asked Frank. He was dressed up. Ok, for Frank, he was dressed up. Dark trousers and an almost matching dark shirt. When Frank wore light colors his hair looked dark brown, but when he wore dark colors it looked considerably lighter. In the right light you could see blondish streaks, remnants of his youth. At the moment the light was just right. I couldn't resist. His hair was a little messed up. I smoothed it for him.

    “I'm taking Charlie to Kinkaid's. They've got shad roe and on the menu and the season is almost over.”

    “Really?” I had no idea Frank had even heard of Kinkaid's. It was a very expensive restaurant that featured seafood. And how did he know what was on the menu? I had never been there, although I longed to go.

    “What's up for you tonight?” Frank asked back, as he brushed non-existent lint from his shirt. I listened closely but could not detect the tiniest hint of including me in his Kinkaid plans.

    “Oh, you know, I'll hit the gym and then maybe Cobalt.” I could not believe how lame that sounded.

    “Cobalt? Really? I thought you hated dancing.” He looked me in the eye and I almost melted. I couldn't believe how hot he looked. It was a different look for Frank; I could see a new maturity in his eyes. Frank would still be a handsome man at sixty.

    “Yeah, well … You know … Every now and then ...” Again, so lame. I sounded pathetic to myself. It nagged at me also that I didn't really hate dancing; I just wasn't any good at it. I looked like a total fruit dancing.

    Ok, then. Have a great night.” With that Frank left. For a second I thought he was going to kiss me goodbye, but I must have dreamed that up. He didn't.

    The gym was pretty much a body shop out on Rockville Pike, the patrons were not serious body builders. There was a veneer of glitz at the door and economy from there on. It was a cheap place and attracted twenty-somethings looking for love or at least a hook-up. Usually not a pick-up, though, it was a no sex until the second date kind of place. As long as I went early enough, I could pretend that I had something set up for later. Not that anybody cared, really; it was almost certain they had nothing going on either. The Saturday crowd was semi-fit, semi-attractive, but not even semi-gay. Very straight acting, most of them.

    There he was at the front desk, the long-haired guy with the wrist bands. “Hey, Jawan,” I acknowledged as I signed in.

    “Refo, my man! Where you be hangin'?” Jawan wasn't black but liked to pretend he was. He said using black slang gave him 'street cred' with the black guys who came to the gym. Well, the black guys who came to the gym were pretty much like the white and Asian guys who came to the gym – mostly nerds trying to jock it up a little to add to their own 'street cred'.

    “Work is taking up my time lately,” I told him. Our eyes met. Is it possible to encounter a past one-nighter and not wonder if the two of you could happen again? Tonight it looked more than possible. Jawan had a hungry look.

    “You know, Refo, you could do a lot if you took your work outs more seriously.” He was checking out my body. I could feel his eyes on me. They lingered on my zipper.

    “Yeah?” This was getting interesting.

    “We've got a special going. Personal training sessions. Just $59.95 for three hours introductory. You can pick your trainer.”

    “Yeah, well, I'm not sure I can commit to the time, Jawan.” Shit. Getting my hopes up and then pitching gym lessons at me. Was that why he hooked up with me in the first place? To get a sale later? Do I look that desperate?

    “It could be very special training, tailored to your personal needs,” Jawan whispered confidentially. I looked up at him to verify what I had heard. His sales pitch had veered close to prostitution. His eyes said you know exactly what I'm saying. Gulp. Now what? Do I or don't I? “My schedule is very flexible,” he added in a normal tone.

    “Uh, ...” I was stuck. I wanted to say yes. I was afraid. I decided no. But he was tempting.

    “Tell you what. If you're here at nine, find me. I'll give you a free lesson.” He signaled to the guy behind me in line that he was next.

    I want into the locker room in a daze. I looked back to the desk to see if Jawan was making the same pitch to the next customer. I couldn't tell. It looked like a normal conversation. Wow. I tried to stop holding my breath; my hands were shaking. I screwed up the combination of my lock a couple of times, trying to get the locker open, drawing a curious glance from the guy a couple of lockers away.

    “Are you sure you have chosen the right locker?” he asked in precise and practiced English.

    “Oh! You're right.” I moved one locker closer to him and popped the lock on the first try. I turned to him and asked, “Is your accent Vietnamese?”

    “Laotian,” he answered. By then he was naked and deliberately wrapped a towel around himself, covering up a slim but attractive body. He look was mixed. He could have been Central American as easily as Asian. “My name is Tay.” He extended his hand. We shook and he went to the showers.

    I changed to workout clothes and was tying my shoes when he returned. We exchanged smiles and continued with our business. He dropped his towel and my business instantly became checking him out. His cock looked considerably larger than it had before his shower. He rubbed himself with his towel pushing his balls around and making his cock swing slowly from side to side. Slowly and invitingly. I guess I've told you I'm not really into oral, and yet I really wanted to suck him. He caught me staring and I turned back to tying my shoes.

    Asian guys are so hard to read. They all seem to me to be asexual, except for the ones who are more or less drag queens. Tay was no exception. I was pretty sure he was straight - not interested in me, in any case. I stood.

    “Nice meeting you, Tay,” I said and walked to the track. A dozen or so laps would loosen me up. After a couple of laps I noticed another guy that I was slowly closing in on. It's Frank, I thought, as I watched the familiar motions of his ass. I passed him. No, it wasn't and I was disappointed that it wasn't. Frank is sitting down right now at Kinkaid's ordering shad roe, I told myself.

    The rest of my workout was routine. Exercise machines. Free weights. Not enough of either, probably, but enough to get me sweating. I went back to the track and tried more laps, extending my stride. It felt good. I picked up the pace a bit.

    I heard a loud female voice trying to be cute. “Attention members: Excelsior Gym will be closing in fifteen minutes. Please leave on time: your dedicated staff has plans for tonight, too.”

    I looked at the wall clock on my next lap. Eight forty-five. Should I look for Jawan? I was tempted. How weird would it be, I wondered. Last time, I had fucked him, but it seemed so mechanical, a fuck by the numbers, as if he timed every action to somebody's idea of perfection. His body was awesome, I had to admit; but still there was something missing. Maybe we just needed more time together. On the other hand, he was a little freaky, like when they put him together there were a few parts left over …

    “Refo, my man!” He had found me. “You waited. Ready for your lesson?”

    “Uh, sure, John,” I said, unsure of whether I was doing the right thing here. He ignored my use of his real name.

    “Come on, let's get some baseline info,” he said, brandishing a clipboard in my general direction and beckoning me to a 'staff only' room. He held the door for me and locked it after I entered. He sat at a desk and began. “Height?” Five eleven and a half. “Weight?” One hundred sixty-four. “That's pretty precise,” he commented. “What is your goal? Body mass? Specific muscle development?”

    “Taller,” I suggested; that got me a look.

    “Take your shirt off,” he ordered. He began taking measurements. Neck. Biceps. Arm length. Chest. He played with my nipples while he was doing that. He wasn't even subtle; he was smiling as he teased them to peaks. Waist. He did it from the front and put his arms around me. Our pelvises touched. He didn't even ask when he pulled my shorts down. “Step out of them,” he ordered. I was left in sneaks and a jock strap. “Not bad,” he said, sliding his fingers in my waistband to test the tightness.

    “John ...” Things were getting uncomfortable; I started to protest.

    “Hips,” he commented and began measuring again. His hands were busy feeling my bare ass and cupping my jock. I was getting hard. “Thighs.” He measured some more, nudging my package repeatedly as he adjusted the tape. “Calves.” Finally, he was finished and so were the preliminaries. He pulled my jock down and I sprang to attention.

    “Let's quit fooling around,” he said and pulled off his exercise jacket and pants. “Time to fuck, huh?” His naked body was genuinely awesome.

    Ok, I'm not kid. I could see this coming from the time I signed in at the front desk. I knew what was going to happen. Not the details, but I knew it was gonna be sex. And still I wasn't sure if I wanted to do it; but he was proceeding. He wasn't really giving me a choice. It wasn't rape. I couldn't scream like a girl. But I really didn't want to do it. You've had this happen, right? You didn't want to ... but you did it anyway? I was trapped and it was my own fault.

    He started sucking my dick. And then he stopped. He took off one of his wrist bands.

    “Just like a cock ring,” he commented as he fitted the elastic cloth around my cock and balls. “Too loose,” he observed and doubled the loop. “That's better.” He resumed sucking me. It felt much better than I expected. “Yeah, you're liking this,” he said after I groaned in pleasure. “Your turn, now.” He stood and shoved his cock into my mouth.

    I sucked him for a time before he pulled out. He took off the other wrist band and handed it to me. “Put it on me.” I complied, double looping it as he had done to me. “Now rub my balls with the palm of your hand while you suck me.” It didn't take long. “Yeeee-aah, baby. Suck it! Suck yo' daddy!” His accent was becoming blacker.

    With few preliminaries, minimal lube, and no rimming, he fucked me on his desk. “Yeee-aah, baby. Gonna make you ma' bitch.” He was plugging me to the best of his abilities, which fortunately weren't long in either depth or duration. “Fuck … that … tight … white … EEEEEAAAH.” A couple more strokes and he was done and got off of me.

    In a businesslike manner, he stroked my cock. I was surprised how quickly I came. Almost immediately, he assumed the manner of a car salesman pointing out features. “See how the wrist bands keep you hard? We could go another round … if you want to sign up for personal training from me – Jawan, with the Hard On.” He made it rhyme and waved his cock at me.

    Depressed by the sex, I skipped going to Cobalt. Driving home I never felt so used and dirty in my life, although I have to admit I got a good night's sleep. Frank woke me at about eight in the morning, trying to tiptoe through the bedroom to use the bathroom. He gave me one of his big, sweet, shit-eating grins when he saw I was awake. He looked happy as a clam; but his clothes were more rumpled than I had ever seen.

    Charlie, that asshole, must have fucked him right in the truck before they even got to Kinkaid's. More than once from the look of things. Frank was his appetizer, his dessert, and his morning eye-opener.

  35. #35
    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Interesting developments, Rory. . .

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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    An interesting night at the gym, indeed.

    Mistakes we make.

    Meanwhile, the grass is looking a lot greener on the other side of the fence.


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

  37. #37
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Interesting, huh? See, that's the trouble with these shorter chapters. If it's a downbeat episode, there's no mood mitigation possible until the next one; but Refo is going to have some tough times, I think.

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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Life can be like that.

    (Meanwhile, what's happening with our boys in DC and the babies? lol)


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

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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Chapter Nine


    The sound of Frank taking a morning shower was soothing; I semi-dozed in the shaded light and fresh air coming in the window and dreamed a waking dream. Jawan. John. Wrist bands – I couldn't help but wonder if he tossed them in the washing machine along with his regular clothes or did they stay cum-soiled with the result of dozens of encounters. I watched Jawan strip off standing in front of a washing machine. In my vision his body was better than in real life; smooth, taut, flawless skin, bulging with youthful vigor. He looked right at me as he pulled off the wrist bands. He held them above the machine and hesitated.

    “We could do this again, Refo,” he told me, his black accent gone. “Twenty bucks … cheaper than a bar bill. Guaranteed happy ending.” He winked at me. The wink was a little creepy and I adjusted my dream vision. I mentally deleted the wink and had him turn his attention to the wash. The wrist bands went into the machine and he stood naked watching the action of the agitator suck them under. I wished a camera could capture this dream image.

    “You look good with a hard on. You want me to take a picture of you?”

    “Frank!” I opened my eyes and quickly pulled the blanket over the tent I had created in the sheet.

    “Seriously, you want me to take a picture? I always liked waking up and looking at you.” He stood smiling, looking me over, and waiting for an answer. “You could be up on the wall with your Hanes buddies.”

    It was a poignant moment. Frank standing taking in a view of me he obviously liked and me looking at him wearing just a towel, every fold highlighted in the light. I wanted so much to pull him into my bed. Not for sex. Just for him. Just to be close to him. “Ok, you had your chance,” he said and walked out of the room. I swung my feet to the floor and felt a drop of precum spill onto my thigh.

    “Reef?” Frank called for the living room. “I'm going to be late tonight. Don't get up if you hear me coming in around midnight. Course if it isn't me, you better get up, I reckon.” He chuckled his other chuckle, not the sexy one.

    Why was he staying out late on a Sunday? He always liked going to bed early on Sundays. Probably going somewhere with Charlie. Why didn't he just spend the night at Charlie's? Was Charlie giving him blow jobs? I wasn't sure if Charlie had ever expressed a preference for oral. Were Charlie's blow jobs were as good as mine. Frank had loved that last one.

    Fuck it. I got back under the covers and closed my eyes. My dick was almost limp but still wet on the end. I spread the slick dew around and enjoyed the warm response. Should I have a little dream about Frank? Jawan? Carter? Lucien the unattainable? I reviewed the images in my mind. Jawan lost out in the first cut. Frank had the best butt, but Carter knew how to fuck – yes, he did. Unbidden, an image of Sarah Felsen unhooking her bra popped into my head. Dark nipples. If I weren't mostly gay, she'd be worth a try. Lucien … Ah, Lucien … I could project almost anything I wanted onto his so-far unknown image. That little tear in his paper pants was so compelling. Made me want to …

    The sound of loud knocking shattered my reverie. Fuck! Maybe they'll go away. The knocking stopped and my phone buzzed insistently. It was Charlie. “Get up and open the door” was the message.

    I dressed quickly hoping I wouldn't make a wet spot in my jeans. Charlie would notice and I would never hear the end of it. I opened the door and let him in. He spoke to his point. “Put something better on. Like a blazer and a tie. You're coming with me to a brunch on the lawn at the Veep's house. Don't make that face. It won't ruin your whole day.”

    I stared hard at him. “Do you like oral sex?”

    “Getting or giving?” he asked impatiently. I jerked my head, meaning just answer the question. “Getting is ok. Giving depends on the person.” He offered no further information. “So get dressed,” he insisted. A few minutes later he yelled into the bedroom, “Don't wear that puke green tie.”

    I put my favorite tie back on the rack and selected one of several he had given me, tiny checks of dark gray and muted maroon. If I could trust the mirror, the tie as well as the rest of me looked – I gotta say it - good. I presented myself and asked, “Ok?”

    “My God, you look Republican.” He was disgusted and began messing with my hair.

    “Quit it. I am republican … little 'r' … in theory, anyway.”

    “You never told me.” He recoiled in horror.

    I shrugged. “It's ok. Neither party likes me; and I don't like them.”

    Charlie remained aghast. “How do you vote?”

    “With the majority - I don't vote. Voting only encourages them.” He reached again for my hair and I warned him off. “J'y suis, j'y reste.”

    Charlie drove to Admiral's House, the vice presidential residence ever since some admiral got dispossessed in favor of Nelson Rockefeller, who refused to move in. You couldn't blame him; it wasn't much of a house, as political palaces go.

    “Why are we doing this?” I asked.

    “I have a new client. A real estate investment trust. They need a favorable ruling.”

    “Now you're a lobbyist?”

    “One makes donations here and there. Even small ones will get you an audience.”

    “With the Vice President?”

    “Of course not. I'm seeing an assistant. Or perhaps an assistant's assistant.”

    Charlie's limo-sized Benz was waved through the gates upon presentation of some impressive looking invitation. He was inordinately proud of the car, obsessed really, his very own 'powerful Kramler'. We parked on a designated section of roughly mown lawn well away from the house and walked toward the festivities. Charlie's last words of advice before the grips and grins started were, “It's ok to be gay, just don't camp it up too much.”

    “When have I ever 'camped it up too much'?”

    My words were lost with the first grip and grin. Someone in a dark suit shook hands with Charlie, posed automatically, and waited for the photographer to snap. Once the picture was taken, the dark suit barely nodded at me and moved on to another arrival.

    “That was Ed Pettigrew,” Charlie hissed. Charlie's awed tone made it plain Mr. Pettigrew was someone I should have heard of. “He's the Veep's special assistant for legislative affairs.”

    “Your client needs a law passed?” My question drew a withering look from Charlie.

    “Here's who we want,” he said and made a bee line to another dark suit, leaving me alone and ignored. It must have been the way I was dressed. Everybody else was dressed for a ranch cookout with Cambridge, Massachusetts replacing the Texas flavor. I wished I had brought my camera, even a phone camera, which the security rules made me leave in the car. Maybe a drink, I thought, and looked for a bar. A Bloody Mary would be just the thing.

    “Don't get your hopes up. All they have is soft drinks and beer.” Sarah Felsen made a Mr. Yuck face .

    “Sarah!” She explained she was there because of some young scientist outreach program the Democrats were lately pursuing. She sipped a glass of something clear and fizzy. “I read your paper. Left it on your desk.”

    She smiled. “I had a bet with Kee Lin that you would never do it. I lose.”

    “Nothing big I hope.”

    “Like my virginity or something?” Her laugh sounded forced. “No, nothing major.” Whatever she was drinking may have been more alcoholic than it looked. “You're looking very … Republican, kind of like a reformed UVa grad. It's not a bad look, Refo.” The vision of her unhooking her bra popped back into my head. Here in the morning sun, her eyes had a softer look.

    “Gotta confess. I couldn't make much out of your paper. I slept through my psychology course.”

    “What?” Sarah was confounded.

    “Genetic Transference Mechanisms: The Empirical Dynamics of Motivation,” I quoted.

    She laughed like a horse whinnying. People turned, looked, and sneered; it was not a Washington noise. “Wrong paper,” she choked out. “You are so fucked up, Refo – in such a benign way.” The 'so fucked up' part was heard by everybody within twenty feet. She shook her head and walked away.

    “It's a bitch being a straight guy, isn't it?” The man next to me watched Sarah walk away. “They treat you like shit in front of everybody and if you say one word back ...” He made a strangling noise. “Randy Krol.” He offered his hand and a sunny smile. He was Polish, maybe, almost white-blond, hulking, and hunky. I wished again I had brought my camera. In the right light, Randy Krol would stop traffic.

    “Refo Fitzjohn,” I answered.

    “Wow. You sound like an archbishop.”

    “Biochemist,” I answered.

    “I'm a Delaware farmer,” he answered. “The Democrats have this outreach program, aimed at young farmers … and I thought it's a Sunday, why not?” I noticed his blue eyes. “If you want to get a Mountain Dew, I have a flask.” His low whisper was infectiously friendly, openly conspiratorial, and sexy. And let's go heavy on the sexy.

  40. #40
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Well, Refo pulls off "Straight" well-enough, doesn't he?

    Mucking it up with the hoy paloi (sp?) Are our old friends around somewhere?

    I know - one track mind lately. Too much other stuff happening outside the cyber walls of JUB, lately.
    Fun read - interested yes.


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

  41. #41
    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Hmmm. . . Well- let's see how this goes.

    Nice chapter, Rory!

  42. #42
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Chapter Ten


    “What's in the flask?” asked the black-suited, sun-glasses-on- a-cloudy-day guy.

    “A little corn mash,” Randy replied with a grin. “Want some?”

    “Can I see your invitation, please,” the guy followed up without cracking a smile. Apparently he could read; he continued, “Stay here, please, Mr. Krol.”

    “I guess he noticed Biden's autograph,” Randy chuckled. “Us Delaware guys gotta stick together. Cheers, Refo.” We drank off the fire water and Mountain Dew cocktail before the agent and an older but otherwise identical man returned to announce how sorry they were, but we would have to leave.

    I glance around as we were being escorted out of the party area and spotted Charlie, who watched with alarm. I gave him a shrug and figured I could catch a bus home or even walk, it wasn't that far.

    “Where do you want to go?” Randy asked. “I can at least drive you home.” I agreed and he opened the doors to the biggest, fanciest pickup truck I had ever seen. “Let's have a drink to the Mothers Annoying Drunk Drivers,” he suggested and took a swig from his flask. He didn't seem reckless or drunk either so I went ahead and took a pull. Straight, the stuff had a mild kick, but nothing that would take skin off your throat. “It's only a little stronger than wine,” he commented. “Like it?”

    “Yes. What is it?”

    “Got no name, I make it from corn and apples. Delaware apples aren't the best for eating.” We arrived at the Massachusetts Avenue gate and stopped for the guard, who waved us out without formalities. “Where to?”

    “You could go up Connecticut and drop me. That way, you'd be almost to the Beltway.” I directed him up Reno before we cut over to Connecticut. He spotted a restaurant I'd seen but never entered before.

    “You hungry? Let me buy you lunch.” He looked at his watch. “Does brunch go until two?”

    It did on Sunday. We ordered non-alcoholic Bloody Marys. After the waiter left, Randy adjusted the drinks from his flask. It tasted amazingly good. I began to feel a little buzz after three, but Randy seemed untroubled. He was much bigger than me, not fat, just massive, like a football lineman. He suggested asparagus fritattas and I agreed again. We talked about my work, life in DC, and how much better than Biden's brunch the fritatta was. We left at four; I never notice the two hours pass.

    “You can drop me at Jenifer Strteet,” I told him. “I'll walk the rest of the way.”

    “I'll take you home, if you don't mind. I'd like to fill my water bottle for the rest of the trip.”

    I couldn't disagree with that. I left him waiting in the living room while I took his bottle to the kitchen. I filled it with some Deer Park out of the fridge and took it back to him.

    “Awesome pictures,” he commented, looking at Carter and Lucien on the wall.

    “I call them Hanes One and Hanes Two.” He didn't immediately see why. “Because you can read the brand of underwear they're wearing,” I explained.

    He nodded at that. “You have a fine appreciation for men.”

    No use dancing around the subject, I decided. “Yes, I should tell you I'm gay.” That embarrassed him.

    “Yeah, well … thanks for the water and the company. I enjoyed the afternoon.”

    “Thanks for the lunch,” I replied.

    We walked to the door and it seemed over. He paused. “Um, Refo, here's my card. If you're going to Rehoboth or something this summer, give me a call. Maybe we can get together.”

    If you drew a line due east from Washington, you would hit Rehoboth Beach, a Delaware beach resort on the ocean. On weekends, the drive is fiendishly jammed with traffic, but it's worth it on a hundred degree day. I looked at the card after he left. Randy Krol, President, Krol Farms, Incorporated. It listed a post office box in Denton, Delaware and a phone number.

    Minutes later, after two knocks, the door opened. “Well, Little Miss Muffet, what the fuck happened today?”

    I was in no mood for taking shit from Charlie. “Along came a spider and sat down beside me and frightened the Secret Service ...”

    “That spider is apparently a personal friend of Hunter.” Charlie was huffy.

    “Who Hunter? Hunter who?”

    “Hunter Biden, you idiot! The vice president's son. They went to Georgetown – not at the same time - and worked together on civic stuff in Delaware.”

    “Do you also know his birth sign? I bet he's a Libra.”

    Charlie scowled some more and then asked, “Where's Frank?”

    “How would I know? How your 'thing' with him going, anyway?”

    Charlie softened at once. “He's so much … smarter than you ever said. He got good basic business sense and he's serious and he's … HARDLY the selfish prick you called him.”

    I shrugged. “I've been wrong before … You didn't mention what a hot body he has.”

    “I don't need to tell you that.” Charlie was as testy as I was.

    “Is Frank going to make us not friends?” I asked him evenly; at once I realized I was indifferent to his answer.

    “It's up to you,” Charlie said and left. It would have been funnier if he had 'spun on his heel' but he was rarely that demonstrative - just verbal by the bushel.

    Fuckin' drama queen, I thought. Do I really need that? I'm the one not getting laid … if you don't count Jawan … and why would you count something so blatantly commercial? On the other hand, twenty dollars a pop was a huge bargain … even if it was just an introductory rate. I wondered what the regular price would be. I guess it wouldn't hurt to find out.

    “Three hundred dollars!!!!” I almost broke the phone in my hand.

    “The thing to remember is it doesn't have to be at the gym. I make house calls,” Jawan answered. “Think about it, Refo. A personally tailored exercise program in the privacy of your home. Not to mention the convenience. And maybe we could work out something on the price if you were a regular. You're easy to work with … Responsive … I got the idea you liked it … Of course, we can vary the program, if you want … I can be versatile ...”

    “Three hundred, Jawan ...”

    “I said it's negotiable … Think about it … Your own personal trainer – on your schedule … results guaranteed ...”

    “I'll think about it,” I told him and put the phone down.

    It annoyed the hell out of me that I got a huge erection while talking to him. Jeez, he's not even that attractive … if his dick was any bigger it would be torture … it wasn't though … and with that ass of his it would be a nice soft cushion for screwing him … it hadn't occurred to me that he would be willing to take it ... yeah, I liked bottoming, but a little variety never hurt.

    The phone buzzed. Area code 216. Where's that? “Hello.”

    “Refo? It's Carter Guerin. I wanted to call and thank you for the … Photograph isn't a good enough word. It's really a work of art.”

    “Glad you like it, Carter.” I squeezed my Jawan-inspired erection and felt a surge of heat.

    “I even got an offer. Somebody wanted to buy it. You're that good!”

    “Listen, about those other shots ...”

    “Forget it. I over-reacted.”

    “But you have to know that they'll never show up on the Internet or anything. I'll delete them. I just haven't got around to it yet, but I will. I promise, Carter.”

    “Ok, thanks. I appreciate that. And thanks again for the gift. The picture really is wonderful.”

    We ended by telling each other the usual, vague 'if you're ever in Cleveland/Washington' lines about being sure to call. It was never going to happen, but, God, it was good to talk to him. San Francisco memories came flooding back. I turned on my computer and called up the folder of his pictures. Seeing his face, I ached to kiss him. The next picture displayed his sheet-draped body and I wanted to touch him. Seeing his erection made me want to suck him. So what if I don't like oral, the sucking was only to get him ready, get him primed. The slideshow of pictures looped again, it got me thinking back to that first day, when he didn't ask, he just fucked me. I rolled back on the bed and fingered my asshole, imagining it was Carter.

    Thirty years old and I was jacking off to porn. Carter was right. Yes, it was porn except I had real memories to go with it. Carter was no fantasy; I had the pictures as proof. I licked my lips, watching his hard dick and tight balls, . He was real and hot and … It happened fast. My sperm almost hit the keyboard. I quickly got naked and wiped it up with my underwear. Then I had time for a leisurely second go around. It took longer, of course, and gave me time to relive every minute of the time in San Francisco, gave me time for slow stroking, time to play with my asshole, my nipples, my balls … The second time was draining but less messy. I cleaned up and was ready to take a shower when the phone rang again. Carter calling back. I answered without looking.

    “Refo? It's Woody Sanchez … I met you in San Francisco? At the convention?”

    “Right. I remember.” Woody's nasal whine killed the last hint of hardness in my already wilting dick.

    “I'm coming to Washington and ...” Woody was coming on a school-sponsored trip, he explained, the trouble being the group was staying at some to-hell-and-gone cheap motel near Dulles airport and he wondered if he could spend a night at my place to see the lab over two days.

    “Woody, my place is really small, one bed, ...”

    “I can sleep on the floor. Just one night. Please, Refo ... It's my only chance ... “

    I'm such a sucker for sob stories. So now Charlie hates me and this kid is going to sleep on my floor, what next? Doesn't bad luck come in threes?

    I showered, got into bed, and picked up a biography of Linus Pauling. I heard Frank get home. He transited my bedroom being very quiet – just a wave to me on his way to the bathroom. He looked freshly fucked and blissful and it pissed me off.

    That snake Charlie is fuckin' my boyfriend. But he wasn't my boyfriend, I told myself. Doesn't matter, I answered myself. It just isn't right for Charlie to do it. I couldn't get interested in the biography of a scientist whose reputation was more dubious with every passing year. I turned off the light and tried to sleep, wondering if, when Frank was done in the bathroom, he would stumble into my bed in the dark. He didn't.

  43. #43
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Am I the only one liking this story? It doesn't seem to be attracting many readers.

  44. #44
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Well, I hope that you'd enjoy writing this- It's somewhat different for your other pieces. . .

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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Hi, Rory.
    I'm enjoying your story very much. I've had a bit of a stressful last couple of weeks.
    You don't frequent the F&G threads I haunt, or you'd have had a better idea about it.

    My mom had brain surgery yesterday. She's doing so well they're kicking her out of the hospital tomorrow.
    Short term great; longer term probably not so great.

    And, I just found out tonight that Lefty - one of our JUB fixtures, passed away at 23:30PDT yesterday.


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

  46. #46
    JUB Addict EasyRory's Avatar
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Oh, how sad for you, both events.

    I always enjoyed Lefty's posts.

  47. #47
    JUB Addict EasyRory's Avatar
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Chapter Eleven


    “Lasciate ogni speranza …” Hell's motto should have been carved over the door I stared at.. How did it come to this? Well, it was easy – a slippery slope, as they say.

    My euphoria over Carter's call didn't last, leaving me with renewed and resharpened Carter-withdrawal pains. Then it didn't help that Frank seemed to be disgustingly happy with whatever was going on in his life, the details of which could only be depressing – for me, not for Frank. I didn't ask and he didn't tell except he was being bubbly and cute all the time. So annoying. The only break in the gloom was finding a package at my door a couple of days ago after work. It was a chocolate cuckoo clock from Lucien; it came with a handwritten note thanking me for the offer of a crash pad. So fucking polite, those Swiss. Finally the visit by Woody Sanchez loomed. Just what I didn't need: forty-eight hours of nerdy collegiate enthusiasm. So was it any wonder I called Jawan? Jawan was weird, yes; complicated, no.

    Except here I was facing his door and losing my nerve and ready to abandon my $59.95 plus tax. Could anything that started with a dry mouth and dread possibly have Jawan's promised happy ending? Twice I raised my hand to knock and twice I held fire, eventually knocking on his nose when he opened the door unexpectedly.

    “Refo! I was just coming to look for you.” With an odd glance at my raised fist he ushered me into his office.

    “Is this ok?” I gestured to my workout outfit, which was voluminous basketball shorts, a t-shirt, and high tops.

    “Doesn't matter. Anything your comfortable in that gives you freedom of movement is good.” He was being very clinical and professional, consulting the data he had collected from me last time. “Your weight's good, so I think you should aim at building up your shoulders and arms to give you a better overall proportion.”

    “You're the doctor,” I answered.

    “Actually, you are!” No black accent. He laughed at his joke about my PhD. “Let's go to the weight room.”

    We began with some easy stretches, abdominal crunches, and back extensions; then we moved on to curls and bench presses. Jawan explained how to accomplish the same thing without weights. I expected some effort to sell me a set of weights but it never came.

    “I'm trying to sell my services, not weight sets, but if you want weights, go to a discount store. Start with ten-pound hand weights and a hundred and ten pound bar set. Shouldn't cost you more than a hundred and fifty tops. No need to pay more unless you decide to get serious.”

    His advice sounded reasonable and professional. I kept listening for some sexual innuendo and heard none. He took me through different sets emphasizing the variety of things possible with a limited equipment suite. He did touch me now and then, but there was no sexual component to it. He merely pointed out what I should feel in different muscle groups as the workout continued.

    “You can do all this on your own, but some people need the structure and discipline of a program to keep with it and a cash commitment doubles the bond.”

    “Do you think I need a little discipline?” I couldn't resist a tease. It was the only time he responded; I got the bare hint of a smile back. And then, on time, the session was over. “Where's the happy ending?” I asked when we were back in his office.

    “How do you feel?” he asked.

    “Great! Ready for anything!” And that was a fact, I felt better than I had in days.

    “There's your happy ending, Refo. You'll sleep better and feel great tomorrow, too.” He was dismissing me.

    “Where's the black accent, John?”

    “I figured you didn't need it.” He explained further. “Being a salesman is like being an actor. I do what I think will work depending on my audience.” My session was plainly over.

    “You kind of hinted that ...”

    “I'm off on Mondays. You want to see a movie?” He was asking me out on a date.

    “I can't on Monday. This kid is visiting the lab and ...” He cut me off with a shrug.

    “Ok, maybe another time, then. See you next week for lesson two.”

    Wow. Not what I was expecting at all. I went over his sales pitch. He had almost promised sex. I mean, he all but said we'd fuck. “But you said ...”

    “I'm sorry if you misinterpreted my offer. I'm a personal trainer, not a prostitute. See you next Wednesday.”

    I walked to my locker planning to change and get out of the club fast. Tay changed my mind. He had just come in and was getting ready for his workout. For some reason, well, I guess I know the reason: he was cute, I wanted to see if he wore Hanes underwear. We talked about the club, mostly about the fact that nobody used the pool. I slowed down changing because he was going even slower. Finally he took off his pants and I immediately learned he wasn't wearing Hanes - he wasn't wearing any underwear. Once he took his pants off he quickly shed the rest. He remained naked and talking, making no move to put on workout gear.

    I think I avoided staring, but it wasn't easy. His complexion was light but without any hint of Western ruddiness, a pale cocoa; and like many Asians his body was almost hairless except for an explosion of dense pubic hair surrounding an uncut cock and big but tight balls that were much darker in color than his skin. I wanted to explore his body at leisure but settled for stolen glances.

    At a loss for something else to say, I told him I had just finished a training session with Jawan. His face lit up and he came close, so close his cock grazed my thigh. “Did you fuck him?” he whispered in my ear.

    I was shocked by the question - ok, not so much by the question as by his asking it. “No!” I could hear the astonishment in my voice. Tay recoiled. I quickly added, “I mean, I would have, but … Is that part of the session?”

    “I think so. With Jawan, it is, ” he said shyly, not sure how much he should say to me. I noticed a bit of arousal. A pink head was peeking out of Tay's foreskin. He quickly pulled on a pair of gym shorts to cover himself and then the rest of his gear.

    We walked out of the locker room together like fellow conspirators, splitting up near the exit. An farewell exchange of smiles sealed a bond.

    I showered at home and climbed into bed. Jawan was right about sleeping well; I'll give him that. I overslept the next morning and was late getting to work, which fired perverse delight in Sarah Felsen.

    She relished my failures and elaborately looked at her watch. “Good MORNING, what's left of it.”

    “Um, yeah … Can I get you a coffee?” My peace offering was rejected, but at least she was nice about it.

    “What did you do with the cowboy on Sunday?”

    “He's a farmer. Nothing. We had a drink.”

    “You're slipping. I figured you'd ...”

    “We didn't,” I cut her off. She had figured out I was gay after being in the lab a month but we had never discussed it.

    “Too bad. You always miss out on the good ones.” That was a more pointedly personal remark than she had ever made before. “I guess we have that in common.”

    “Yeah?” She had my interest. “Who is missing from your life?”

    “Thousands, but at the moment that cute guy from Olympus, Lucien. Have you heard him speak German? It sounds …” She struggled for a comparison and settled for, “Nothing like German. Nice build though, must be walking up and down all those mountains.”

    “He lives in Baltimore … Essex.”

    She rolled her eyes. “Baltimore is the only city where the slums are water-front property.”

    “Is Essex is a slum area?” Except for going to a few baseball games at Camden Yards, I didn't know Baltimore at all.

    “Well … it's … miscellaneous.” She made the word sound pejorative. “I could get him a better place,” she speculated. “Much closer to Washington.” I could see the wheels of her mind trying different gears.

    “I offered him a crash pad arrangement. He said no. Why don't you try?”

    “Refo, you're such a genius, sometimes, once or twice a … season.”

    I went for my coffee pitying Lucien. A guy in front of me dropped a quarter trying to feed the machine. He bent to pick it up. He had a beefy ass and was wearing Joe Boxers. He was wearing them very high; they couldn't feel comfortable at all. No little strip of skin showed to tempt me. Then I noticed he was a girl. She pressed the buttons for vanilla-hazelnut with extra cream. No taste at all.

  48. #48
    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    Nice one. . . Thanks, Rory!

  49. #49

    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    great story. I can see a lot of people here, including me, may relate themselves to Refo one way or another.

  50. #50
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    Re: In Praise of Hanes

    I concur. What is going on w/ Jawan?

    Maybe he wants more on a personal level, so Fucking's not going to be part of their "professional" arrangement.


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

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