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  1. #101
    JUB Addict EasyRory's Avatar
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Twenty-Six

    “You think we're clean enough?” Jackson asked. He hugged Bo from behind, grinding his dick into the wet, sudsy asscrack. His hands slid down Bo's chest to grab his cock. “Mmmm … you're looking forward to something.” He nuzzled Bo's neck and stroked slowly, as the warm water of the shower refreshed them.

    Although it took little more than twenty minutes door-to-door, the drive from Alameda to a parking garage in Emeryville had seemed endless after the lacrosse game and the dinner delay. Unable to wait any longer, they began unbuttoning in the elevator of the highrise.

    “What if the elevator stops and somebody sees us?” Bo questioned without trying to slow Jackson's eagerness.

    “It won't,” Jackson answered with assurance. “It's a private elevator.”


    “At this time of day. The building is eighteen floors of offices and two of an apartment,” Jackson explained as the door opened.

    “Oh my G ...” Bo was briefly speechless at the splendor. “Is this yours?”

    “Not exactly, but I live here.” Jackson pulled him by the hand. “Let's get you all clean.”

    They were silent as they disrobed and looked at each other. Bo was briefly embarrassed by his immediate erection but Jackson politely avoided staring, preferring a lingering hug while the water got hot. He looked up at the taller boy. The silence and the look made Bo nervous.

    He started to speak, “Ja ...” Jackson silenced him with a kiss and then resumed looking into his eyes. “Wh ...” Another kiss silenced Bo again and then they grinned at each other before stepping into the steamy shower stall. They scrubbed each other vigorously at first and then after a couple of rinses relaxed in the sensuality of the water's heat and each other's touch.

    The feel of Jackson's cock against him focused Bo's attention. “You want to fuck me?” he both asked and invited, as if the answer wasn't already obvious; but it wasn't.

    “Are you crazy? Look at you,” Jackson insisted. He turned the water off and took Bo to a full length mirror. “Look how we fit together. Your body absolutely dominates me. See the way you hold me? Dude, you are made to do the fuckin'.” Bo kissed him. “Don't stop me,” Jackson ignored the kiss. He held Bo's cock and looked in the mirror again. “See? Look at your cock... it's perfect. Rock hard in my hand ... Just the right size … Standing up like ...”

    “Don't!” Bo called in alarm. “I'm close ...”

    “Good,” Jackson answered and led a still-damp Bo to a generous bed. “First of all, I gotta suck you … Can't resist this gorgeous thing ...” It was a brief blowjob. Jackson held Bo's cock firmly in his fist and worked his mouth and tongue over and then sucked hard on the top few inches. Without much effort, Bo came explosively. Jackson efficiently took his load and then asked, “You're not done, are you?”

    “Uh, I ...”

    “Good. I didn't think so.” Bo straddled him and began kissing, gently, then lovingly, then teasingly, covering Bo's face, neck, and shoulders. Bo's neck was sensitive, Jackson returned to it often. He whispered something.

    “What?” Bo asked.

    “My exact words: I said I like the way your body responds. You send me perfect signals. No confusion about what you like.”

    “No, you didn't.” Bo laughed.

    “Well, actually I said 'Mmmmmnnnnsssch.' ” Jackson made the sound as he kissed Bo's neck. “It means the same thing. I'm gonna suck your cock some more now. You want me to?” Jackson paused. “You have to say so.”

    “Yes … suck my cock some more … um, please.”

    “Polite is nice, but optional in these circumstances,” Jackson commented. “Ummm …” Jackson held Bo's soft cock and looked at it. “It's nice when it's soft, too. I can get more of it in my mouth.” Jackson licked around the head, tasting a residue of spunk. “It's like sucking on a soft pretzel, a nice mouth feel with a hint of salt,” he told Bo and went back to sucking and massaging with his tongue.

    The feeling was great but Bo didn't get hard. “I'm trying,” he told Jackson.

    “Don't try. Just enjoy. There's no rush.”

    “Maybe you should fuck me,” Bo proposed.

    Jackson moved back up so they were lying together. “I will if you want, but there's plenty of time for that. Don't feel like there's a deadline.” He gently kissed Bo and felt a response. “See?”

    Bo relaxed and tried pleasing Jackson, taking the lead in touching, searching with his mouth. He gagged a little trying to deep-throat but got the hang of it. Jackson raised one knee
    and Bo instinctively went lower, kissing inner thighs, sucking cock, mouthing Jackson's loose balls until they tightened hard against the base of his cock. Jackson raised his other knee, leading Bo to go lower still, encountering the funk of rimming. Jackson's gasp at the intrusion of Bo's tongue invited more. He sighed, “So good ...” and taught Bo another lesson in giving pleasure.

    Bo was wholly into the rimming before he realized his own cock was again rock hard and wet. He looked up at Jackson and saw in his face the vision of passion, the need of a man for another. He moved up to kiss Jackson's open mouth and his cock found its home. As Jackson's tongue slid into Bo, Bo's cock slid into Jackson. Instinct took over. Slow fucking, feeling ever nerve come alive, bodies that needed each other, giving and taking equally. At some point Jackson's body surrendered and went limp at the same instant his consciousness demanded more from Bo. The fuck increased in intensity and ferocity. Breathing was difficult; they panted for air. Their sweat made the shower a waste of time. Jackson's first whimpering cry signaled the start of his orgasm and compelled Bo's response, an aching open-mouthed kiss that smashed their mouths painfully together as his cock began pumping with every thrust.

    They lay sweaty and gasping, kissing whatever parts of each other their mouths could find. Bo's dead weight was crushing Jackson but it wasn't until Bo's shrinking cock slipped free that Jackson bothered trying to move him.

    “Oh, I'm sorry,” Bo whispered when he realized what he was doing.

    “Mmmm.” Jackson answered in contentment. He hugged Bo, not wanting to let go. He softly kissed Bo's mouth and got an eager kiss back.

    “Wow!” Bo wanted to talk about it. “That was … that was … awesome!” Awesome. Ouch. The word he had found so unsatisfactory when Finn used it. “No, awesome doesn't begin to describe you.” He kissed Jackson again. “Awesome is totally lacking. What a sucky word! Spectacular! Overwhelming! Mind-blowing! The best thing I have ever known in my life!” He kissed Jackson again and then waited for a response.

    Jackson stretched his arms wide and gave Bo an I-told-you-so look. “So you like topping, huh? I had a feeling you would.” He snuggled back against Bo.

    Bo babbled on about just how much he liked it and Jackson basked in the glow. Such a sweet boy, he thought. He stroked Bo's body enjoying its youth and vigor, and now and then he interrupted Bo's monologue with a kiss. Jackson lay back in utter contentment. With the right inspiration, I really am good at this, That's why they pay me, he told himself.

    He drove Bo back to Alameda and returned to the building in Emeryville. He parked the car and buzzed himself into the building. Steve was waiting as the elevator door opened.

    “You did it again, didn't you?”

    Jackson smiled. The question didn't need an answer.

    “He's gonna chew you up and spit you out, Jackson. Just like the last time.”

    “He's such a sweet boy,” Jackson sighed.

    “They ALL are, idiot!” Steve threw up his hands. “What's his name? You want something to eat?”

    “His name is Bo. Yeah, I think I do.”

    “Bo … Just your kind of name … There's an extra roast beef sandwich here, if you want it. What about a beer?” Steve asked as he got one for himself. “Mark's coming back next week, you know ...”

    “Yeah, Ireland called to let me know. I'm ready.” Jackson still had a dreamy smile on his face.

    “You're a fuckin' idiot, but you know that, Jackson.” Steve's voice conveyed the fond but exasperated concern of an ex-lover.

    “I'm an idiot. Right ...” Jackson chuckled. “You fly deathmobile helicopters and I'm the fuckin' idiot ...”

    Steve shook his head. “You're already in love with him.”

    Tom loved his news. He couldn't wait to get home. Heiko would of course be naked on the balcony and … “Heiko? You're fully clothed ...”

    “Shh,” Heiko said. “I'm listening to this ...” Heiko was sitting on the sofa watching a talking head on television. He pulled Tom down to sit next to him.

    “It's a time to avoid the stock, Maria,” the talking head said. It was a money show on CNBC.

    “One day, they love us and the next they hate us,” Heiko sighed. “Only last Tuesday, this same genius said the company was a screaming buy ...” Heiko chuckled as Tom kissed him. “And today, he says we suck. 'It's not an outright short, Maria',” Heiko mimicked and then kissed Tom back. “ 'But the smart money is avoiding it.' So says the expert. And I just exercised some options ...”

    “I love you,” Tom said, ignoring financial issues.

    “Why?” Heiko shot back.

    “For unknown reasons,” Tom said, pulling at Heiko's belt.

    “Aus unbekannten Gründen! Tomi, that's what you said. You realize you're speaking German to me?”

    “Did I?” Tom has gotten Heiko's belt unbuckled but was having trouble with his zipper. “You know this is all easier when I come home and you're naked on the balcony. There!” The zipper unzipped. “I have to make love to you in English though. I can't say it right in German. It would sound like 'I would urgently like to insert your penile appendage into my oral cavity without encountering any dental protuberances.' How sexy is that?”

    “Sexy enough,” Heiko sighed as Tom's tongue took it's first lick on him He raised his hips up and let Tom pull his jeans down.

    Tom knelt on the floor between Heiko's spread legs and ran his hands over his thighs. “You have the sexiest hair on your thighs.”

    “Uh-oh. Praising my body. I guess I'm about to get fucked,” Heiko grinned, holding Tom's head in his hands and inviting further praise.

    Tom frowned. “Am I that predictable?”

    “Yeah, a little,” Heiko said with a forthrightness someone else might have hidden. “But I love it, Tomi. Every thing you do is exactly right. I could hand over my life to you and know I made the best choice.” Heiko reflected a second. “That's kind of what I did, isn't it? Given you my life, I mean. All yours. No questions.”

    Heiko had a devastating way of looking at Tom, a way that poured out his emotions. It was something in his eyes coupled with his brutal honesty. The depth and breadth of his love always made Tom cry. They had an unspoken deal. Tom pretended he wasn't crying and Heiko pretended not to notice. It left both of them unable to trust their voices, but that was good, too. They made love with their bodies; the words meant less.

    “Zsoooo …” Tom exaggerated the German z-sound, “on the way home I got to thinking … why don't we go to Oktoberfest?”

    “We could … there's a celebration at Pier 48. I went one year and ...”

    “No, I mean go to Munich.”

    Heiko's eyes widened but he didn't say anything. Tom wondered if he had miscalculated Heiko's interest. Maybe he'd be ashamed of me, Tom thought. I'm nothing like a Wittelsbach prince, just a dude from El Cerrito. That's probably it. He thinks I'd embarrass him.

    “Can we afford it?” Heiko asked tentatively.

    “I happened to know the company set records this quarter. Your options are going to pay off.”

    “Really?” Heiko sounded doubtful.

    “Yes, really! We could afford to go a dozen times.”

    “Oh, Tomi!” The clouds parted, the sun shined, and Heiko grabbed Tom so hard something popped.

    “I hope that wasn't anything important, like my back ...” Tom joked to a mouthful of hair as Heiko kissed his chest.

    “You know Oktoberfest isn't in Oktober,” Heiko bubbled. He kissed Tom's cheek. “It used to be, but the weather sucks in Oktober ...” He kissed the other cheek. “I love you so much.” He wiped a tear off Tom's face and kissed him again.

    “Und ...” Tom announced portentously.

    “Was?” Heiko demanded.

    “The Pinakothek Museums in Munich want to install our system.”

    Z was relieved that Craig agreed to the return of the watch but uncomfortable about Craig walking him back to his house after Rory's dinner to get it. He had visions of losing a wrestling match at the front door and getting raped in the hallway. Then he got a semi-chubby at the rape idea and felt even worse about it.

    As it worked out, his fears were needless. Craig was, or at least seemed to be completely absorbed in the exercise of walking the few blocks from house to house. He walked at such a brisk pace, Z was winded keeping up. Then he declined Z's invitation inside and waited patiently on the front porch while Z fetched the watch.

    “Are you sure I can't talk you into accepting it? Andrew has offered me quite a contract and it's because of you.”

    “Knowing Andrew, there are contingencies in the contract,” Z said. “Read the fine print.”

    “See? More good counsel. You have actually earned the watch.” Craig offered the velvet case back to Z.

    “No, really,” Z affirmed.

    “Z, don't be uncomfortable about our night together. It doesn't have to mean anything.”

    “Oh, sure. I know that ...” Z answered quickly.

    “Not that you weren't amazing, in every way,” Craig added. He looked steadily at Z, making a silent offer. “Ah-hem ...” Craig changed the subject. “To find my way to Cal's house, I walk two blocks this way and then turn left ...”

    “Yes, then three more blocks and you're there,” Z finished the directions.

    “I'm going to ask Andrew to put you in my next shoot,” Craig said. Then he turned and left.

    Z felt the tightness in his chest abate as Craig closed the gate at the sidewalk and turned west. He went inside and turned on the hall lights as he went to the kitchen. He sat at the kitchen table and looked at his phone. After a brief pause, he punched the first entry on his dialer. “Eric, it's Z.”

    “Of course it is,” Eric answered. “I knew that. Did you think I'd forgotten? I'm glad you called. I called you earlier, but … Anyway, do you want me to get anything on my way?”

    “Your way where?”

    “Home … I've got Friday off and I thought maybe we could grill something for dinner ...” There was an edginess that was never in their conversation before.

    “Oh … yeah, sure … that sounds good ...”

    Eric interrupted, “I love you, Z.”

    “I know. I love you, too, Eric.”

    “Nothing can change that, Z.” Eric sounded more hopeful than confident.

    “Of course not, Eric,” Z replied.

    “I wish I were there right now.”

    “Me, too.”

    “I want to hold you.”

    “Me, too, Eric.” Z's answer sounded lame and he knew it; but he didn't know what else to say. He wanted to say, “If you love me, get your ass over here right now.” But that was so unrealistic. It was a long drive. It was close to nine at night. Eric probably had an early morning.

    “Can't you say anything else, Z?” Eric sounded pathetic.

    “If you love me, get your ass over here right now!” Z yelled.

    “As fast as I can, baby. I'm already out the door. I love you, Z. Thirty minutes ...” Eric clicked off.

    “Don't get a ticket,” Z said to the dead connection.

    “You are running more than I am,” Jerry commented to Neil.

    “I wasn't running. I was at Tim's, talking.”

    “Rory didn't happen to say what that was for dinner last night, did he? I'd like to try making it.”

    “You can bet Rory didn't make it. He tries, but cooking ...” Neil shrugged. “I'm going to take a shower. Is the A's game on?”

    “There's a rebroadcast of this afternoon's game. I already know how it comes out,” Jerry said glumly.

    “Don't tell me! Don't tell me! La-la-la. I don't want to know ...” Neil laughed as he headed for his room.

    Jerry opened a couple beers and set out a bowl of almonds. Bernice had given him the almonds that day at work. She and Cyril had taken their 'winnings' as they called their stock option profits and bought a small nut tree orchard near Vacaville - for the little nuts, as Cyril called his two children. Jerry smiled to himself. The little nuts were cute and could make 'Uncle Jerry' buy them things.

    Neil came out back weaing shorts and a gray t-shirt with a herd of pink pigs on it. He loved being called a pig by anybody he had arrested. They watched the game with occasional comments on the play. “They won,” Neil said at the end. “Why did you sound so down?”

    “Cause I'd already seen it. Plus now you feel better, expecting that they would lose.”

    “Always thinking of me,” Neil joked with a puzzled look. “Well, bed time.”

    “Yep,” Jerry agreed. He opened the window in his room and got into the bed. The coolness of a summer night by the Bay filled the room. The sounds of traffic were distant. It was a nice night for sleeping. There was a light tapping on his door.

    “Jerry?” It was Neil.

    “I'm awake,” Jerry answered.

    Neil came to his bed. “Slide over, ok?” Jerry was astonished when Neil got in with him. The parts of Neil that bumped him were naked. Jerry had no idea what was going on.

    Neil was very businesslike. “Ok, here goes ...” he cleared his throat. “I love you.” He gave Jerry a very businesslike kiss, long enough that his intention was unmistakeable and short enough that it wasn't sloppy. He handed Jerry something and lay face down resting his head on his folded his arms. “I'd like it if you … if you … fucked me.” Neil lay flat out, expectantly and apparently, as far as Jerry could make out, naked.

    “Neil, what is this?”

    “It's lube. Use a lot, ok?. Are you hard? Didn't I kiss you enough? I'm new at this.” Neil reached for Jerry prepared to kiss him some more.

    “Neil, what the fuck is going on?”

    “I talked to Tim. He decided that I love you. I'm pretty sure that I do. And I can't share you. Not with that guy last night and not with a girl either. For denying you any lovelife, Tim said it's my responsibility to keep you satisfied. So I'm offering myself. Tim said that's a very good brand of lube. But still, use a lot, ok? My first time and all ...”

    “Are you gay all of a sudden?” Jerry asked.

    “No, of course not. Well, kind of. Maybe. For you ... Just you, though ...”

    “Really? No shit?” Jerry was unconvinced.

    “Tim says there is such a thing as situational homosexuality. Like in prison, where guys like each other. Well, I think that's how I am with you. Except for the prison part.”

    Jerry waited for more of an explanation. He got a reaction instead.

    “You don't want to do this … Oh, shit. I should have know … Man, I'm so sorry ...Jeez, what an idiot .. I've made a complete fool of myself.” Neil rolled over ready to go.

    “Wait!” Jerry kissed him. They let it linger and it did get a little sloppy and a little needy.

    “Right now ... as of tonight, you think I'm a fuckin' idiot, don't you?” Neil questioned.

    “I've always thought you were a fuckin' idiot,” Jerry said.

    “You asshole ...” Neil grabbed him and they ended up hugging. They tried another kiss.

    “Do you really want to get fucked?” Jerry asked.

    “Jeez, I don't know … Tim said it's the ultimate act. We'd get to it eventually, wouldn't we? So I thought we might as well start there. Are you saying you're hard?”

    “Why don't you find out?” Jerry answered.

    Neil gently touched Jerry's cock and then held it in his hand. “Man, I've seen you hard before, but … shit … I'm thinking about this thing going in me … suddenly it seems a lot bigger. Use about half the lube, ok?”

    “Neil, we don't have to ...”

    “Yes, we do. I want to do it for you.”

    They did it. It was not a polished performance by either man. Neil gasped in pain at one point.

    “Neil, am I hurting you?”

    “No, no, keep going ...”

    “Bullshit, you're all tense and holding your breath half the time.”

    “Use a little more lube, ok?”

    When it was over, things were very different. Neil, now the veteran, was relaxed and cuddly, a term Jerry never thought would apply to Neil. “Did you like it?” Neil asked.

    “Yeah I did. Did you?”

    Neil didn't answer directly. “I'm going to be so much better tomorrow night. You'll see.”

  2. #102
    Defender of Downtrodden
    DonQuixote's Avatar
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    A night of monument for some, and deep anticipation for others...

    Neil was too uptight to enjoy Jerry deep inside him, but it sounds like Jerry enjoyed their coupling.

    Tom & Heiko - Munchen bound - and it sounds like for a JOB, so the company pays, while they get to play at the same time.
    Wolf, we are coming to see you, mein brother.

    Bo & Jackson - there's a backstory there.

    Z & Craig "just buddies", while Eric is eager but oh so tentative - Lucy still has some 'splaining to do.

    Things are definitely heating up in the greater Bay area.

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

  3. #103
    JUB Addict EasyRory's Avatar
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Twenty-Seven

    The text said 'if u r in Alameda, stop at the store. Bo.' Jackson did his best not to leave immediately for Park Street. Eventually, he spent most of an hour going over the apartment, making sure Mark's Bay Area habitat was ready for his arrival. It wasn't that hard to do and the food items could wait until the day before his arrival. Steve was checking the rooftop helipad looking for anything that could get sucked into turbine inlets or blown about in rotor wash.

    “I'm gonna be out for a bit,” Jackson told him. He took a deep breath when Steve turned to answer. Steve was wearing just a pair of shorts and work shoes. At thirty-five Steve was gorgeous; he was as hot as he had been the day Jackson first met him over five years ago.

    “Make sure you use protection,” Steve cautioned. “We gotta get tested tomorrow.”

    “I always do,” Jackson said which was almost always true. “Besides, there isn't going to be any sex,” Jackson added, something he hoped to be wrong about.

    “Then how come you shaved?”

    “There probably won't be any sex,” Jackson amended. “It's ten in the morning.”

    “We used to make love in the morning. It was your favorite time,” Steve said as he turned back to his inspection of the pad.

    “I don't remember that,” Jackson said, picturing the many mornings they had spent on this very rooftop watching the fog break up and making love. The contrast of the biting cold of the air and the inviting warmth of Steve's body was unforgettable.

    Steve looked hard at him, appearing both hurt and angered by the comment

    “Stevie, of course I remember,” Jackson soothed. “But that was a couple of ice ages ago ...”

    “Three years, to be exact.”

    “Well, I'll be back by one, for sure. You want help restriping these lines?” The bullseye on the helipad had faded.

    “I can do it,” Steve said.

    “Don't do it before one o'clock. I WILL be back to help you. Promise.”

    The sedan had been detailed in preparation for Mark's return so Jackson took a company pickup. Once he was out of the underground garage he felt a preview of the heat of the day and wished he could blast the radio and drink a can of beer as he crossed a high overpass, part of the dish of highway spaghetti where the 880 and the 580 intersected. Shit-kicking music, cold beer, and a hot football player, he mused: that is so NOT me … so why is it exactly what I always go for?

    He parked on a side street and walked to the store. Gale greeted him with “Can I help you?”

    “I was looking for Bo ...”

    “Over here,” Bo called and beckoned to Jackson. “Gale, this is a friend, Jackson Sands. Jackson, my boss Gale Parker.” The men nodded and read each other's interest in Bo.

    “Bo, why don't you show Jackson your work? The new plants … I'll watch the store.” Gale ushered them into the backroom and locked the door with a loud click.

    Jackson looked around the room, filled with lush growth. “They won't bloom here. Not enough light,” Bo explained. He smiled shyly and uncertainly at Jackson. Jackson returned the smile and stepped closer, searching Bo's eyes for a clue to his feelings. Bo put his hands on Jackson's face and waited for some kind of permission. Instead Jackson looked up to the taller youth and kissed him lightly. Bo wouldn't let go and the kiss became more passionate. Their arms held each other and the kiss was repeated. They paused at the sound of Gale's voice.

    “I have that plant, Mrs. Colton, but the back room is being fumigated and I can't get it for you. Would you like me to deliver one? No charge for the delivery ...”

    “He can read my mind,” Bo whispered and kissed Jackson again. “We have a while … And I have something for you.”

    “Let's make the most of the time,” Jackson urged; his hands searched Bo's body. A rigid erection confirmed matching desire. “I want that in me.”

    They made some noise getting undressed. Bo giggled, winked, and made a “Shhh” signal; shortly he heard the masking sounds of a radio coming from the store. They lay on the small bed and made love as carefully, quickly, and quietly as was possible for a randy young man and his equally eager partner. They dressed and tried to act nonchalant when they returned to the store.

    Their act was unsuccessful. The fresh, rumpled, and ruddy signs of sex were everywhere - in their faces, their clothing, their looks at each other. Gale chose not to examine them too closely, busying himself arranging shelves of pottery that were already perfectly arranged.

    “This is for you,” Bo said, handing Jackson a middle sized terracotta pot. The green, wandy foliage didn't actually look very interesting. “The leaves will die soon, but give it a little sun and keep watering it, about a cup every three of days, and watch. Would you, uh, want to play lacrosse again?”

    Jackson accepted the plant and the lacrosse invitation and forced himself to leave the store before he made a fool of himself and went down on one knee. He's the Prince Charming, Jackson told himself, not me.

    Steve had begun masking off the bullseye for painting before Jackson got back and well before one o'clock. “I told you I'd be here. You should have waited.”

    There was a breeze on the roof and Jackson didn't really believe Steve when, without looking up, he said, “Why don't you take a shower? I can smell cum on you.”

    “No, you can't,” Jackson challenged.

    “So you did fuck him,” Steve concluded.

    “So what, Steve? What has that got to do with you? You can't run my life.”

    “No, but I'll have to be the one to put you back together after this one breaks your heart.”

    “Give me the fucking masking tape,” Jackson demanded and went to work on the outer lines of the landing target.

    “You actually think I could play a porn scene?” Cary asked. “Usually people make fun of my red hair.”

    “There's a bunch of guys who would love every strand of it. And pay good money to see if this part ...” Chris patted Cary's head. “... matches this part.” He kissed the base of Cary's cock and cupped his balls. “Mmmmmfffglllpp.”

    “What?” Cary asked.

    “I would pay ...” Chris settled himself between Cary's legs and began a thorough tongue bath.

    “You already do.” Cary spread his legs wider.

    “Sex isn't part of our deal, Cary. I've told you that. You don't have to do this.” Chris resumed sucking Cary's balls.

    Cary's mom hadn't raised an idiot. Sex may not have been part of their original agreement, but Cary knew it had become an essential part of his current work conditions. That was ok, though. He lived at home and wasn't getting anything from anyone else; plus Chris was a decent sex partner who had the added advantage of coming quickly and not needing another session for at least a couple days.

    “What if ...” Cary ventured.

    “What what?” Chris replied.

    “I mean, after the flip videos and all … do you actually like acrobatic sex?”

    “I don't get your question.”

    “Well, I was thinking … what about a swing, a hardon, and you at the peak of the swing's arc?”

    Chris looked skeptical. “The guy on the swing fucks me? But the frequency would be a couple of seconds at least … I'd never get off!”

    “This is porn, right? Who said you'd enjoy it?” Cary pushed Chris off of him and onto his side; he shoved his cock into Chris's mouth and pumped a couple of times while Chris got the shaft wet.

    Chris gagged at Cary's deepest thrust and backed away. “But I do enjoy it. I always have.” He took Cary's cock in hand and went back to sucking the head. With his other hand we probed lower, searching for Cary's asshole; but Cary closed his legs, shutting off that pursuit.

    “But you said it was just a job. That's what you told me. You really enjoy it ?” Cary changed his line of questions. “Do you think Adan is a good fuck?”

    “You're a top. What do you care if he's a good fuck?”

    “What if I was facing one way on the swing and he was facing the other and every time the swing swung ...” Cary laughed at the two words. “ … you were at both ends and got fucked by both of us.”

    “It's physically impossible ...”

    “We'd have to use cuts, but I bet it could be done. Tick-tock, fuck-fuck ...” Cary rolled Chris onto his stomach and spread lube on his asshole. “Tick-tock, tick-tock,” he repeated. “Fuck-fuck, fuck-fuck ...” He penetrated Chris and matched the timing of his words. Chris moaned his pleasure. “See? You like it.”

    “In concept,” Chris panted. “Not in execution … A little faster, Cary. Mmmm, yeah.”

    “So you think Adan would be a good fuck ...” Cary speculated while pumping faster.

    “Ahhhh ...” Chris answered, closing his eyes in ecstacy.

    “My red hair … his dark hair … my pale skin … his brown tones ...” The beat went on.

    “Fuck me!” Chris begged, spreading his legs wider and inviting deeper penetration.

    “My big cock … his big cock ...” Cary pushed as deeply as he could.

    “Harder, harder … Make me cum!” Chris pleaded.

    Cary withdrew and Chris howled in protest. He rolled Chris over, aimed his cock, and drove it in fast and hard.

    “JEEZ!” Chris groaned a couple of times.

    “My big cock … his big cock ...” Cary repeated. “Slow-fuckin' ... deep fuckin' ...” Cary was slamming into Chris, making his body jump with every thrust.

    “I think it would be a good scene ...I think t would make people cum ...” Cary slowed his pace but not his depth. Chris's balls were held tight by leathery folds of skin; even so, they bounced with ever collision of their bodies.

    Chris howled like a wolf and then went rigid. “AHHHHH!!! YES!!! FUCK ME!!!” Chris cried as he began spurting. “Oh man ...” He sighed as Cary kept pounding him, bouncing him gradually across the bed. He stopped at the brink, just before they both fell off. Cary's eyes were closed in pleasure as he held his cock still, deep in Chris, and gradually leaned forward until he was lying on Chris. “Did you like that?” he asked.

    “Did you come?” Chris asked in return, nodding yes to Cary's question.

    “Mmmm,” Cary confirmed and rolled his hips a few more times, thrusting his shrinking cock into Chris.

    “Are you wearing a rubber?” Chris questioned.

    “I think so ...”

    “You think so????” Chris frantically twisted out from under and looked at Cary's unsheathed limp cock. He ran for the bathroom and his douche kit.

    Cary walked naked to the desk and punched number three on the dial list. “Adan? It's Cary ... Right, the redhead ... I have an idea. It involves both of us fucking Chris. See what you think ...” He explained his scenario.

    Eric banged on the door impatiently. “I'm coming. Don't you have a key?” Z called as he walked from the kitchen. He opened the door. Eric barged in and then froze for a second. When he saw that Z was standing calmly, he grabbed him and kissed him, interspersing “Z, Baby ...” and “I'm sorry ...” between kisses.

    Eric was bigger than Z and much more physical. He picked Z up and carried him to a sofa. He lay Z on the sofa and then knelt at his side, holding one hand, touching, always touching with the other, and kissing, sometimes gently, sometimes harder. Eric always needed contact; he couldn't even stand in a room without being at Z's side, rubbing, touching, caressing sometimes in a totally innocent way. Despite his bulk and confidence, he needed physical reassurance.

    “I love you, Z.” Eric's eyes pleaded for forgiveness. “I'm sorry … I never should have ...”

    “Shut up, Eric. Let's just make love. It's been a while. We'll talk later.”

    And in the cozy bed of their cold bedroom in the back of the house that's what they did. They both signaled a willingness to bottom, but Eric won, as he usually did. Eric was an excellent top and seemed to enjoy that role completely; but something in him was only satisfied by Z's cock. He needed to be the desired object of love. His family's rejection of their teenaged son no doubt played a role, but whatever the cause was, Eric's need for Z was both physical and much more than physical. He pulled Z on top and wrapped his legs around Z's waist. “Love me, Z.” There was an ache in his voice. They didn't get around to saying much more until morning.

    First up, Z started cooking before Eric joined him. He watched the omelet firm up in its pan, distracted only a little by Eric's embrace. He put it into the oven for the final cooking and turned to his lover. “Right after I left your house, I went to Craig's hotel and fucked him. That's why he gave me the watch, which I returned ...”

    “To the store?”

    “To Craig, dummy. I was hurt and pissed off and had a couple of drinks and we just ...”

    “You're a great fuck, Z. No wonder he gave you the watch. So we both cheated.” Eric was trying to avoid hearing the details.

    Z shrugged and took the omelet out of the oven. “Is cheated the right word? We never made any rules.”

    “Z, I'm married to you. I know, not in law; but in my heart I'm married to you. I cheated on us - just because I was horny and too lazy to drive across the bridge.”

    “I forgive you. Do you forgive me?”

    “Yes. Yes, of course.”

    “Easy to say, isn't it? Will you trust me the same way?” Z asked and Eric didn't answer right away. “See? It's not as easy as we want it to be. How do I know you won't fool around again? And is it even reasonable for me to make a big deal out of it? It's just sex. Right?”

    “It's just sex, but it's also wrong. I WANT to be a big deal to you. I WANT you to care if I ...”

    “I do, Eric, but ...” Z cut the omelet into eighths and put it on a platter. He sliced some bread and poured the coffee. “It's just not that easy, is it? Not when you start looking at the specifics. It this good? It that bad? Is this other thing fatal? Fatal to us as a couple, I mean.”

    “We'll work on it. I want to work on it. I want you and I want you to want me.”

    “I promise I'll call before I drop in on you again,” Z said wanting to end the discussion before they said something too hard to promise and too big to ignore.

    “Drop in any time you want, Z. Great eggs, by the way.” Both were relieved; they shared an eggy, buttery kiss.

    “Awwwwww,” Darren mocked as he came in. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the table. “Moving on to important things, Tsien-tsien is gone, poof, vanished into the heavily polluted night of urban Mongolia. He left lots of traces, apparently, but no sign of his intentions. And Nicky is on his way back. What are you doing home, Eric?”

    “Nothing important,” Z answered for Eric, rising and standing behind Eric's chair.

    “Who's Tsien-tsien?” Eric asked. “I'm not up on things here.”

    “You should come home more often,” Darren said with unwitting clairvoyance.

    Z put his hand over Eric's mouth and kissed the top of his head to prevent any further discussion of that point. “Tsien-tsien is a thorn in several sides. What about the clothing line?”

    “No idea. I guess Nicky will explain when he gets here.”

    “Ok, I'm going to get dressed. Andrew has some ideas he wants to show me.” Z went upstairs leaving Eric and Darren sipping coffee.

    “Nice to have somebody kiss the top of your head.” Darren smiled at his own thoughts, looking forward to Nicky's return, imagining kissing the top of his head.

    “I totally love your brother,” Eric said with an abrupt and strange seriousness Darren didn't understand.

    “I don't need proof of that, Eric.”

    Determination was one of Neil's principal virtues. He meant what he said and he kept his promises. Always. Sometimes, however, the amount of effort it took was obvious. After they had gone to bed, Neil again came into Jerry's room and climbed into bed. The sex was a repeat of the first time. Jerry was painfully aware of how difficult it was for Neil to take a cock up his ass.

    “You're hating this,” he said to Neil who was impaled on his cock, writhing under him, grabbing at the blanket, and holding his breath. To Jerry it seemed worse for Neil that it had been the night before.

    “Fuck me,” Neil ordered and then he took a deep breath and held it waiting for Jerry's next thrust with the same anticipation as for a dentist's drill, suffering for a greater good.

    Jerry tried to get it over with as quickly as possible; but hurrying didn't mean he wasn't into it. Neil's ass held his cock beautifully; the twin mounds of his butt pressed into Jerry's groin perfectly, inviting penetration, pressing spots in Jerry that heightened every pleasure. He came, spurting with every thrust and as he did he felt Neil relax under him, accepting the final moments of their embrace with relief.

    “Sex is supposed to be fun, Neil. This is complete torture for you,” Jerry said, still panting after his withdrawal.

    Neil held him and felt the gradually slowing rhythms of Jerry's breath. “I like it when it's over. It leaves an amazing closeness.” Neil paused and then said, “I like doing it for you. I like that part a lot ... Doing it for you,” he repeated.

    “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

    “Tim said I'll get used to it, maybe get to like it, even. We are definitely going to keep doing it. Every night if you want.”

    “I don't understand what's going on with us,” Jerry said.

    “Do you like it - us living together?”

    “Oh, yes. I like it a lot.”

    “Then let's just go with that feeling.” Neil started to get out of bed to return to his own room.

    “Don't go,” Jerry suggested. “This bed is big. There's room for two.”

    Neil got back in the bed and lay next to him not sure what to do next. Under the covers, Jerry's hand found his. Their fingers interlaced. They lay quietly for a while and then Jerry kissed Neil's cheek.

    “This is good,” Neil pronounced. He didn't use the L-word, not even to himself. In his own mind, the idea of love, which he had expressed the night before but attributed to Tim, was still a huge leap.

    “Are you going to tell Tim about this?” Jerry asked.

    “I tell Tim everything.”

    “He'll tell Rory.” Jerry mulled over the idea of his boss knowing his domestic details.

    “No, he won't. He's my partner,” Neil said with complete confidence. Partners just didn't do that.

    “What am I?”

    “My other partner.”

    Jerry reached for Neil. They separated in the night, of course; but closeness is something you build on. They had a foundation, a strange but sturdy foundation.

  4. #104
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Hi, Rory.
    A nice installment.

    Bo and Jackson revisit their encounter(s) - with some additional insight into Jackson "at home".

    Chris & Cary and soon to include Adan - Lights, Camera, Action - and oh, what action!

    Z & Eric - the big moment - Love conquers a lot . . . ?

    And, Neil & Jerry - Neil definitely needs to learn how to relax, sooner. Maybe Jerry needs to check out other assorted techniques to help in that department - rimming, fingering, frotting - something to enhance the foreplay for our Earnest Neil.

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

  5. #105
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    They separated in the night, of course; but closeness is something you build on. They had a foundation, a strange but sturdy foundation.
    Beautifully written, Rory. Thanks!

  6. #106
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Hey, Roca, good to see you!

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

  7. #107
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Quote Originally Posted by rocabar View Post
    Beautifully written, Rory. Thanks!
    Neil and Jerry are a relationship I truly believe can exist - basically straight guys who fall in love with each other (that part happens all the time) and take it to a sexual level (that part doesn't). The real life examples I have known have been one straight and one gay guy having long[ish]-term relationships, with the straight guy returning to women when it ended, the way it was with Luke and Mark in "Eric's Story". I don't know of an actual example with two straight guys, but what the hell. It has probably happened - every other conceivable possibility has.

    Any thoughts on this topic?

  8. #108
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Situational Homosexuality?
    But not really the same thing - that's more the Prison model.

    Deep caring for another of your sex - maybe military?
    Would ordinarily be Hetero, but they are away from the opportunity for extended periods, move frequently so developing relationships harder?

    I don't know how to classify myself, so . . .
    Of course, I'm in a "conventional" marriage, and am faithful in it, so doesn't apply as such.

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

  9. #109
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Twenty-Eight

    Massive. Kinetic power. Doughty, in more human terms. Her torso reminded Neil of his dragons and dungeons days. Her upper body, now straddling Jerry, was the towering castle keep, squarish and substantial; her breasts were small and firm, projecting protectively like high turrets over an obscured portcullis lower down. Jerry's cock rose like a battering ram … Fuck! The imagery annoyed Neil as he watched the two of them tangle.

    “That's right,” she said. “Put your cock along me, not in me. Not yet … Just rub it along my slit … Get us both ready.” She made grinding motions with her hips and spread her legs wider, exposing moist parts.

    “I'm ready. I'm ready now,” Jerry panted.

    “Well, I'm not,” she pouted and traced around his nipples with the edge on her fingernails, triggering a groan and a hip thrust from Jerry.

    Neil sat next to Jerry feeling useless, watching Jerry's arousal become more and more feverish. He's never that way with me, Neil thought; and she's not even good-looking. Well, she is, but in an odd way, he conceded. Suddenly she locked eyes with him.

    “You wish ...” she said and she ran her fingers along Jerry's cock, making him groan again.

    She returned her attention to Jerry. “I think we're both getting wet, baby,” she said softly. “Hmm? What do you think?” She bent down and kissed him. The changed angle of their bodies gave him access. He thrust into her. “Oh, my,” she cooed. “Not yet ...” She removed herself and looked at Neil again. “I think he's ready, don't you?” she asked.

    Neil was stroking his own cock feeling his precum dribbling freely. He couldn't stand to watch and he couldn't turn away.

    “What's the matter? You want your boyfriend back?” She tossed her head, making bottle-blond hair fly. Jerry got back into her. “Oooooh,” she sighed. “You think you can do better for him?” she continued to tease Neil. “Then show him. Take him back.”

    Neil didn't hesitate. He shoved her off Jerry and took her place. The mixture of juices, coupled with Neil's spit had to be enough. He held Jerry's cock upright and sat on it. The penetration was uncomfortable but not painful. He was too distracted to feel pain.

    She smiled at Neil's discomfort and sighed, “It's harder for guys. You just aren't built right.”

    Jerry was bewildered by the change but was silenced by Neil's fierce kiss, so different from the girl's.

    “See?” she instructed Neil. “The penetration is less that way. You can control it. Rise up and he goes deep, lean forward and it's less … but it makes him want you more.” Neil tried it. “See? He's trying to get in deeper.” Neil rose upright again and Jerry thrust deeply into his ass. “Lean forward again. Kiss him like you want him in you.” Neil had no trouble doing that; he wanted Jerry desperately.

    “Here,” she advised. She took Jerry's hands, which had been on Neil's back and moved them to his ass. “He'll like it if you hold him here … Squeeze a little … That's right,” she congratulated Jerry.

    Neil leaned forward again and kissed Jerry's face in a wet open-mouth way. “Fuck me,” he whispered and then rose letting Jerry penetrate deeper.

    “Wet your thumbs and gently rub his nipples,” she told Neil and chuckled at the electric effect it had on Jerry. Suddenly she tensed. “Jerry,” she ordered, “Stroke Neil off. Don't come first!” she commanded urgently. Jerry barely touched Neil's cock before he triggered a massive groan. “Do it,” she delighted. “Both of you, do it!” Her laughter was drowned out by the groans and gasps of twin orgasms.

    She got off the bed and scooped up her clothes. “Night, guys. That was fun, but I'm gonna go get me a woman.” Jerry and Neil ignored her departure and clung to each other.

    “Jeez, you came a lot,” Jerry whispered.

    “The was the best I've ever ...” Neil didn't know how to finish the sentence. Instead he gave Jerry directions. “Wrap your self around me. I want to feel you against me.” Jerry wasn't doing it right. “No, right up against my butt. I want to feel your cock.”

    “It's soft now,” Jerry apologized.

    “That's ok. I just want to feel it. I want to stay like this 'til we … I don't know ... a long time.”

    “'Til we starve to death?” Jerry suggested. He nibbled on Neil's neck.

    Neil lay still for a time enjoying the feelings. “You know, I could use a little food ...”

    “We need to shower. We're all cummy and sticky and smelly ...”

    “I like being cummy and sticky and smelly with you … Forget the shower, Jer.” Neil hugged Jerry's arms closer to his chest and wiggled his rump against Jerry's pelvis.

    “I was wondering when … if you'd ever cum. I was tired of having all the fun.” Jerry pressed back against Neil.

    “You were amazing … the feeling snuck up on me. You overwhelmed me. I didn't decide anything. I just exploded.”

    “All over me. It was like ...” Jerry groped for a word.

    “Not all over you … just your chest ...”

    “And stomach … and face …”

    “And face?” Neil turned to face Jerry.

    “Right here … and here ...” Jerry pointed out two spots and Neil licked them.

    “Salty,” he commented. “So, about getting' some food … Are you really hungry or should we do this some more?”

    Cary explained his Chris-on-a-swing idea to Adan. Adan wasn't excited at all by the technical problems. He shifted his position on the tiered platform. “What if I swing up against him and miss my target? I'd be broke-dick for the rest of the day.”

    “His ass is pretty hard to miss,” Cary answered. “It's easy to home in on … like a giant funnel … you inevitably end up in the right place.”

    Adan chuckled in appreciation of Cary's circumstances. “I wonder if Andrew would go for it. We could use them like bookends.”

    It was Cary's turn to laugh. “I don't know, dude. You're talking about the big boss. I don't mind fucking the little boss. Besides, Chris likes it.”

    “Andrew likes it, too.”

    “I don't blame him.” Cary gave Adan an appraising look.

    “You hittin' on me?” Adan asked.

    “Uh … I figure if we're gonna be doing a sex scene together, it would help if we had a little chemistry.”

    “We're both tops?” Adan asked, assuming the answer was yes.

    “Gotta be flexible in this biz,” Cary replied.

    “What if the scene was us in a fight over Chris? We could take turns fucking him ...” Adan proposed an alternate scenario; he wasn't looking forward to Cary's interpretation of flexible. The one time his mentor had fucked him was memorable chiefly for a lot of pain.

    “We could argue over who was the better fuck … using shots of Chris blown away – which isn't hard to do, by the way – by both of us. Hmm... that might actually work. You know … I think I could see it with us trying to hook up and both of us wanting to top. 'I'm better than you… No, I am' That kind of thing. We demonstrate our techniques on Chris … You could be sweetness and love … I could be rougher … Chris likes both of 'em.”

    “Why am I the sweet and gentle guy?” Adan wanted to know.

    “Cause you are … I mean … Adan, let's face it - you're much better looking than I am. You'd be more believable.”

    “But we could play against type. Make the sweet-looking guy the brute.” Adan paused. “Sweet looking? You really think that's me?”

    “Yes, it's you. You're probably the most beautiful boy I've ever seen.” After Cary's comment Adan took his shirt off and posed to show off his muscles. He made some grim,scowling faces at Cary, which made Cary laugh. “You still look like a beautiful guy, a little pissed-off maybe, but beautiful.”

    Adan smiled and sat back down. “So what makes you the tough guy?”

    “I can physically show rage without trying … Sex gets me all red-faced and mean looking. It shows up better cause I'm so pale.” Adan took his shirt off and concentrated on mean. His features did redden and darken compared to the whiteness of his chest. His blue eyes looked darker. He stared at Adan and let his mouth go slack. He took two steps forward.

    Adan reflexively moved back against the riser to the next level of the platform. “Ok, I get it. Pretty convincing. You got me feeling nervous already.”

    But I'm a marshmallow underneath,” Cary said and gave Adan a quick kiss, which surprised both of them.

    “So I'm sweet. Ok, but I have a big dick,” Adan said.

    “Dude, I do know. I saw your scene with Chris. I got a hardon editing it. Our sweet boy has one monster of a dick.”

    “I gave you a hardon?” Adan sounded pleased.

    “Duh! You're giving me one now. You better put your shirt back on.” Adan made no move to do so. “Your nipples are so hot! Mine are pink. You can hardly see them. But yours are dark and kinda big … they make me want to … lick 'em.”

    “Yeah?” Adan challenged and leaned back with his arms spread resting on the next level of the platform.

    Cary was on him in a flash, licking and groping Adan's pants. “You got a hardon, too,” he announced.

    “You want to suck it?” Adan unbuttoned the front of his jeans. Cary yanked them and his underwear down letting the big cock flop out. Cary took up the offer immediately.

    “Get naked,” Adan demanded. “We can sixty-nine.”

    Sixty-nining, led to frotting … rubbing their cocks against each other while kissing and groping. Straining for more, they went back to individual sucking, fingering assholes … it led inevitably up to the question of fucking. Who was going to do it? Who was going to take it?

    Neither man wanted to compromise; both wanted to top. Frustrations rose, but their oral and manual stimulation didn't. Both guys were hot and sweaty; both guys wanted more when more walked in the door.

    “Cary are you ...Jeez! Cary!” Chris took in the scene. “What's going on?”

    “We were just talking about you,” Cary said. “Which one of us would you fuck?”

    “Well ...” Chris stammered.

    “Yeah, Chris … say it was a scene … which partner would you want?” Adan asked, bending his rigid cock away from his body, reminding Chris of his endowment. “You've had us both … which one is better?”

    “Well … “

    “Come here,” Cary invited. “Let me refresh your memory of a few things ...” Cary started getting Chris out of his clothes. “Like what a good cocksucker I can be ...”

    Adan in turn unbuttoned Chris's shirt while looking him in the eye. “You know, we could have made that 'Flip' scene a lot more romantic.” He kissed the parts of Chris the opening shirt revealed.

    “Fuuuuck ...” Chris sighed and that was about all he said again and again as the boys worked him over every way they could think of. They took turns fucking and sucking. The took turns being sweet and being forceful. Chris liked the forceful parts better and became demanding as well. “Fuck me,” he ordered Cary as he sat down onto the younger man's cock. “Harder … More ...”

    “That's all I got,” Cary admitted in frustration.

    “Hold still – both of you,” Adan said. He saw his chance. It wasn't easy getting two cocks into Chris. It was more challenging than fun. It wasn't especially sexy. It ended up being hard work; but it was what the improvised scenario called for. They did it. The boys held still and Chris moved around. He couldn't move much or he'd lose one cock or the other. He ended up moving slightly, just enough to vary the pressure on his prostate. Adan touched his cock and set off the climax. Chris shot on Cary; Cary shot into Chris; and Adan didn't shoot at all. He pretended to, and it was convincing as both dicks emerged from Chris's ass slick with Cary's cum.

    Chris was the first to get his breath back. “I wonder how that will look on the monitor?”

    “You shot it?” Adan questioned. “But you never said ...”

    “There are motion sensors in the room. The cameras pick up everything,” Cary confirmed. “We should have had the platform revolving, though. We'd have more angles for editing.”

    Later, when Adan was leaving, he said to Cary, “We said some stuff about Andrew and Chris. Was that picked up too?”

    “I'll tell Chris we scripted it. He believes anything I tell him.”

    “Andrew does, too,” Adan said. “I'll tell him the same thing.”

    They exchanged a conspiratorial fist bump. “You know, it really was kinda like we fucked each other, using Chris as a middleman. I liked it,” Cary said.

    “So did I. I wish I had come,” Adan replied.

    “You didn't? I'm sorry … You will next time. I promise.”

    “There's gonna be a next time?” Adan sounded just as eager as he felt.

    “Oh yeah. Definitely. We're gonna need some reshoots. Probably a lot of reshoots,” Cary promised.

    No more was said. They parted with a plan for the next time in their minds. Adan walked to the truck he had borrowed from Seth knowing he'd let Cary fuck him next time.

    Cary returned from saying goodbye to Adan to find a slightly jealous Chris going over the scene on a monitor. “You look at him like you want him to be fucking YOU, not me.”

    “Next time, I think he will,” Cary mused. He quickly amended, “We couldn't figure out a way to fit it into the story this time. So you got us both. How was that anyway?”


    “Huge good or huge bad?”

    “Yes.” Chris squirmed on his chair. He could still feel the two cocks in him. He felt like a slut, but then he always did after a totally-satisfying moral compromise. He knew it would make a great video.

    “Gone? Just wham-bam-gone off the face of the earth?” Darren queried.

    “I'm sure Tin-tin is in evidence somewhere. Exactly where ...” Nicky shrugged. He didn't want to talk about Tsien-tsien. He wanted to talk about Darren – and look at him – and love him. “There should be pull-off on this bridge for fucking.”

    The San Mateo's seven miles across the Bay was always a tedious trip on one of the most boring bridge-causeway crossing in the history of the world. It had none of the soaring majesty of the double-spanned Bay Bridge, none of the existential moment of being on the Golden Gate, and no sense of the usefulness of the San Rafael. It was mile after mile of mind-numbing sameness, with little sense of motion or change, just the hum of the tires.

    “The beauty of this bridge is no one ever jumps off of it,” Darren explained. “It's too depressing even for suicide. Plus it's faster at this time of day.”

    “Where are we going anyway?” Nicky asked as they reached the Hayward end of the bridge.

    “To a motel in Oakland and then tomorrow to my house. Carolyn said you can stay until the old condo is empty. Is that ok? It will only be another week.”

    “You know we will go nuts in separate rooms of your boarding house.”

    “It's not a boarding house, Nicky. I really like Carolyn, she's like a mother without being a ...” Darren groped for the word.

    “... without being a motherfucker?” Nicky suggested.

    “Mother hen,” Darren countered. “You'll see. She and Monica are both great.”

    “My phone … It's Morrie … Yeah, Morrie … I'm in San Francisco with Darren … Yeah … Uh-huh ,,, Tin-tin's gone … No idea …” There was a long pause while Nicky just listened. “The shipment is due in LA in six weeks. It's supposed to be the whole collection. That's what I watched them pack.” Nicky listened some more and squeezed Darren's leg absentmindedly. “Yeah … yeah ...” He took Darren's hand and kissed it. “I know, Morrie. It matters to me, too.” He put the phone away. “Morrie says he's down to his last couple of millions.”

    “He can have my car back if he wants it,” Darren offered.

    “No, you earned it. Keep the car. He got a deal on them anyway.”

    “Andrew's got an idea for promoting your new line.”

    “Andrew's got an idea for promoting Andrew. If it involves you, I'm already sold.”

    “It doesn't. It involves a retired NFL player, Craig Grantland.”

    “Never heard of him. When do we get to this motel?”

    “A lot of people have heard of him. Cal thinks he's a valuable asset.”

    Craig … Cal … Darren, you have to catch me up on all this stuff.”

    “First things first,” Darren said as he pulled into a parking lot at the San Leandro Marina.

    “This looks pretty decent, Darren. Boats, water, and all. Can we afford it?”

    “We can for one night. I wanted it to be a little special.”

    “You're special enough for me. You know that, don't you? Don't I tell you that?”

    “When you're here, you do. Do you want to get something to eat?”

    “You're kidding, right?” Nicky had other ideas.

    “Nicky,” Darren giggled. “Wait til we get to the room.”

    “It better be the next door,” Nicky said impatiently.

    “It's at the end of the hall. Race you.” Darren the challenger was carrying Nicky's bag and couldn't run fast at all. Nicky easily kept pace and tried to get his pants off on the way. “Stop,” Darren commanded but Nicky ignored him. Darren tried to run with his legs wide apart to keep his pants up, but he tripped. Nicky was laughing and on top of him in seconds with a hand down Darren's underpants.

    “I love you,” Nicky said and kissed him.

    Darren abandoned Nicky's bag and ran to the room before anyone caught them. Nicky was seconds behind, carrying the bag. “Can't forget the bag,” Nicky said. “Your present is in it.”

    Darren melted. “Present?”

    First Nicky gave Darren a proper kiss and then he stripped their clothes off before kissing him again. “Yes, present,” he paused and opened the bag. “Here.”

    Darren looked at the oddly shaped statue of a slightly stooped Asian man. There was something about it he couldn't quite figure out. Nicky prompted him, “It's a dildo.”

    “Who do you plan to use it on?”

    “I was going to leave that up to you.” Nicky grinned and then backed away. “Darren … no … don't ...”

    Darren brandished the tool but didn't actually use it. He set the idle old gentleman on its end on the window sill and named it Tsien-tsien. “It has his eyes, don't you think?” Darren suggested.

    Nicky looked at the thing with a new appreciation. Then he compared it to Darren's cock. There was no contest. “I'll live with your old lady friends. I'll meet your former football player. I'll take out California citizenship. Anything you want. But I gotta have you. You have to be part of it, Darren. I hated Mongolia. I just want you.” He held out his arms.

    In the morning the happily reunited couple drove to the house on San Antonio. “I'm sorry about the separate rooms, Nicky. But it's only for a week. Just a week,” Darren warned as they walked in the door.

    “Morning, boys,” Carolyn called from the kitchen. “Darren, put Nicky's things in your room. You won't mind sharing, will you? I'm having the little room painted.” Nicky's face lit up.

    “I told you you'd like her,” Darren whispered

  10. #110
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Of course Carolyn was having the little room painted. She ain't no dummy!
    Gotta love the house mom. She's one cool lady.

    What a hot night in the old town this was.

    So, Jerry and Neil got a lesbian sex surrogate to help the boys past their awkward interactions, with EXPLOSIVE results!
    Sounds like things might be a whole lot better between our boys from here on out - and fuck the "straight" adjective.

    Cary and Adan - and Chris. With both our "tops" envisioning bottoming, with some joyful? apprehension about it, too.
    Chris will have some interesting editing ahead of himself - can I see the rushes? I'd likely settle for the cutting room floor scraps, lol.

    I'm sorry it took me so long to get to your update to read and comment on it.
    Great update, Rory.

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

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Twenty-Nine

    Seth had to admit that the Adan-Cary-Chris video was hard to improve on. He didn't even try to reedit it. “Great,” he told Chris. “Release it.”

    Andrew was less happy, but his problem centered on Adan's eager participation and willingness to do more. “But … your grandmother … what will she think?”

    “She already knows and she's not suicidal about it,” Adan shrugged. “She said the family had little left to lose after her sister appeared in an 'exposición' in Tijuana that included a burro.”

    “But what about your education?”

    “What about it? Cary thinks we can shoot around my class schedule.”

    “What are you going to do in the next scene?”

    “Whatever the director wants, I guess.”

    “Who is the director?”

    “I don't know. Chris? Cary? Seth? What about you? You have good ideas.”

    “Come here, my little burro,” Andrew said, shaking his head. “You're ...” He didn't want to say 'being corrupted'; that sounded like permanent damage. “... becoming awfully calculating about this. Shouldn't you be more reluctant to see your innocence go down the toilet?”

    “Andrew, I look young to you because I don't have much of a beard. I'm all grown up. I lost my virginity when I was ...”

    “Spare me the sordid tales of your youth,” Andrew said, pulling Adan down onto his bed.

    “Brains count, experience counts; innocence has no value at all,” Adan protested. “If I was really innocent, you wouldn't enjoy sex with me.”

    “I guess you're right about that,” Andrew answered and helped Adan off with his shirt. “Did your grandmother say just how big the burro was?” Andrew fed Adan his cock before Adan had a chance to answer. Adan was a good cocksucker but Andrew didn't take much pleasure from it and he took even less enjoyment from fucking him.

    Adan, for his part, didn't really like getting fucked, but Andrew proceeded without giving him a choice. It wasn't rape by any means, but Andrew left no room for discussion. He wasn't looking for any form of permission. The initial entry hurt, but it was manageable; and so what, really? It wasn't his first time, or his twentieth, either. He got used to Andrew's cock and tried to cooperate. It surprised him that Andrew didn't acknowledge his efforts; he was trying his best. More surprisingly, Adan came when Andrew jacked his cock. A moment or so later, Andrew came with minimal fuss. Adan wanted a post-climax cuddle but Andrew wasn't having it.

    “Ok, that was a competent fuck,” Andrew assessed as he got out of bed. “I guess you can manage to do whatever the director wants. Maybe I will direct. It's always fun teasing Chris. He gets so into it.” Andrew smiled at Adan politely and went into the bathroom.

    Adan lay on the bed feeling used. It wasn't a terrible feeling, certainly not the end of the world, but the emptiness resulting from the act left him unsatisfied. Mechanical sex. Stick it in, wave it around, and squirt. He wiped his own cum off his stomach and onto the sheet and tugged at his balls. His own hand felt ten times more comforting than Andrew had been. He got out of bed and began pulling off the soiled sheets off for washing.

    “Ah, good. They needed changing anyway,” Andrew said. He had showered and walked naked to his closet looking for something to wear. He ignored Adan's looks while he selected his clothes. He dressed quickly and left the bedroom.

    “A morning delight?” Seth asked, when Andrew got downstairs.

    “More of a farewell appearance,” Andrew said. “I'm thinking about directing the next video. I can see a tease-Chris epic, everybody has great sex except him, drive him crazy, make him jack himself off. He can be a stand-in for the audience, a sympathetic but frustrating role. 'Jerk Along with Chris' we could call it.”

    “Who pissed in your Cheerios?” Seth asked. “Never mind, I can guess.”

    “I swear, Seth, you are the only constant in my life. No wonder I love you.” Andrew swallowed two aspirin down with half a glass of orange juice and then gargled with the other half.

    “Speaking of that, I'm kind of getting to like my custodial relationship. We're going to Alcatraz today.”

    Seth, sweetie, Jody and his ex-wife are bat-shit crazy. The kid has probably inherited it, too. Be careful ... I'm just saying ...” Andrew gave Seth a quick kiss and announced he was taking the pickup. “Gotta do a sales job on Nicky.”

    “Andrew?” Seth called. “We need more catalogs printed. They're popular.”

    “Of course they are. Z and the football player looked fabulous. Thanks to ...” Andrew left the sentence hanging, while waving a hand in the air.

    “I know. Thanks to you,” Seth filled in. He watched his partner leave and then turned his attention to Adan, who came downstairs with his arms full of sheets and clothes.

    “Laundry,” Adan announced.

    “Adan, you don't need to do that,” Seth answered.

    “ 'S ok,” Adan answered. He got some quarters out of a desk drawer and went out. There was a laundromat in the next block.

    “You're Steve? I'm Bo.”

    “I know.” Steve didn't respond to Bo's offer of a fist bump. He stood back and tapped his palm with the clipboard he held in the other hand.

    “You don't like me.”

    “I don't know you. What I don't like is what you're doing to Jackson.”

    “I'm not doing anything to him.”

    Steve stared hard at the young man. What he saw was a very young and unsophisticated kid. Knowing Jackson, he has a big dick, Steve concluded, although Bo's clothing didn't give him the slightest hint. His muscular build and strong arms went with playing ball. Jackson's type. That's how it had been always been with Jackson. Hot young guys. Sometimes too young..

    “You're fucking him,” Steve stated, like an accusation. He set the clipboard down and took a step toward Bo.

    “That was his idea. I would have ...”

    “He's falling in love with you.” Steve wasn't giving Bo a chance to answer.

    “That's news to me ...”

    “You'll dump him,” Steve charged.

    “How could I? There's nothing to ...”

    “If you make him suffer, I'll mess up your knees.”

    “Hey, dude … I'm not doing a thing here.” Bo was ready to leave.

    “Dude.” Steve made the word sound dirty. “Just a warning ...” Steve stared hard at the worried boy.

    Jackson interrupted the staring contest. “Wow. Sorry to be late. Have you two met?” Getting no answer, Jackson continued, “Steve, this is my new friend Bo.” As an aside, he said to Bo, “He knows were fuckin'.” Then he continued, “Bo this is Steve, my old, old, old friend, who I trust with everything.” As an aside, he said to Steve, “If you mess with him, I'll get you fired.”

    Still there was no response. “So ...” Jackson said louder, “He's already messed with you.”

    “He said you love me,” Bo said quietly.

    “He's got a big fuckin' mouth.” Jackson glared at Steve. “I do NOT love you, although it's possible I could in the future.” Steve was disgusted and turned to go. “Bo and I are going to fuck now, Steve. You have no idea how good he is,” Jackson taunted his one-time lover and current coworker.

    “Like I give a shit,” Steve answered and left with a loud click of the automatic lock on the door.

    “Did he tell you he'd mess up your knees?” Jackson asked and Bo nodded. “He won't. He's basically harmless. Come here. I want to show you something.”

    “What?” Bo looked about the room and saw nothing remarkable.

    “The plants!” Jackson pointed at various examples of indoor greenery. “They've never looked so healthy before. That soil of yours must be really good, because nothing else is different.”

    Bo approached each plant, testing the soil with his finger for moisture, looking for signs of new growth. He stopped suddenly and Jackson ran into him, which was a good excuse for Jackson to grab Bo around the waist. He didn't let go.

    “Jackson, I'm not in love with you. I like you and I definitely like what we're doing, but I don't love you.”

    “I know that,” Jackson dismissed the notion as absurd. “I don't love you either … well not all of you.” He hand slipped lower and felt Bo's cock. “I love this part, though. This part drives me crazy.” He felt the beginnings of Bo's erection and used his other hand to hold Bo by the ass. Bo took a deep and shaky breath. “Why are we talkin' when we could be fuckin'?” Jackson asked.

    Bo just smiled as Jackson led him by the hand to a comfortable sofa. He continued smiling when Jackson shoved him backwards onto the cushions and knelt at his feet, pushing in between Bo's legs. The denim pants opened easily enough and Jackson pulled until the waistband was down around Bo's thighs. Then the shoes came off. Bo hadn't bothered to wear socks. Bo pulled his t-shirt off himself, which left his hair messed up. The boy lay back, mostly naked, looking aroused and ready for sex; he groaned as Jackson played with his cock and spread his legs wider so Jackson could suck his balls.

    “Oh, for fuck sake!” Steve spat out when he saw Jackson's progress in seducing Bo. “I forgot my clipboard.” He did his best not to look, picked up his missing clipboard and left the room.

    Inside of an hour Bo came twice, first in Jackson's mouth and then in his ass. They parted after agreeing to meet again the next day. “I don't love you, Jackson,” Bo cautioned

    “I don't love you, too, Bo,” Jackson answered. “Except for this part … and maybe this part … and sometimes this part ...” He couldn't let go and Bo was eager for his touches. They kissed.

    “Can I stay some night?” Bo asked.

    “Yeah, sure. Some night ...” Jackson promised and watched the young man walk away. He double checked the building locks and went up to the penthouse kitchen. The lights were dim and Steve sat sipping from a glass.

    “He's fucking beautiful, Jackson. Just your type ...”

    “What are you drinking?”

    “Bourbon.” Steve took a long sip.

    “Bourbon! Jeez … Are you suicidal?” Jackson poured himself a beer.

    “No. Are you? He's gonna fuck you up to a fare-thee-well.” Steve tipped a bottle toward his glass and watched it fill a third of the way.

    “Cute though, don't you think? Did you see his cock? Don't tell me you wouldn't give him a test run.”

    “Why do you do it?”

    “Cause our beloved boss doesn't give a shit any more and I might as well enjoy myself while I still have a job.”

    “He won't fire you. He likes you, the way you manage things for him.”

    “He likes a personal assistant he wants to fuck a lot better. He's done with me.”

    “I'm not done with you.” Steve's statement was almost whispered.

    “Stevie ...” Jackson sighed. “Don't make it hard.”

    “I'm never going to be done with you.” Steve downed the last of his drink. Jackson consoled him with a pat on his shoulder. He grabbed and held Jackson's hand. Finally Steve stood up and crushed Jackson's body against his own. “I love you, baby.”

    Jackson could have resisted. He knew Steve would never force anything, but sometimes the feeling of being in someone else's power, the feeling of just letting it happen, especially after the work of teaching a cute but ignorant kid the basics of how to please a man – sometimes passivity is just what a man needs.

    Steve got their clothes off and asked, “Is that the kid's cum I smell?”

    Jackson answered with a sigh. Steve would fuck him right. Unlike Bo, Steve could always make him cum. Sometimes Steve was just what he needed. These little episodes fucked Steve up, tortured him really, but Jackson couldn't help that.

    Jerry got home from half a day's work at noon on Saturday. He did odd household jobs until the A's game came on. He sat and watched, trying his best to pay attention, but he couldn't keep a smile off his face. My lover is a lunatic, he thought and then smiled wider at the memory of the night before.

    They were watching the game just the way they often did, mostly quiet, sometimes talking over a play. The game was a snoozer; the A's were out of it by the third inning and Jerry's mind began to wander. He was restless and moved to the floor where he could stretch his legs out. He leaned against Neil's leg and enjoyed the closeness. Then he turned and positioned himself between Neil's legs and said, “I have an idea.” He placed his hands on Neil's thighs and slowly moved them higher.

    “What?” Neil asked in apparent innocence.

    “I think ...” Jerry said, “... that you need ...” He unfastened Neil's belt. “... a blow job.” He opened the fly of Neil's pants.

    “A blow job???” Neil recoiled and would have scaled the wall if he could have. He pulled his pants together and held onto them desperately.

    “Yeah. Why not?” Jerry asked, annoyed by the reaction.

    “A blow job???” Neil repeated, wide-eyed, completely astonished by the idea. “But that would make you a ...”

    “A what?” Jerry demanded.

    “A cocksucker,” Neil whispered and then looked around the room for witnesses as if the word alone could kill. He edged away from contact.

    “Neil!” Jerry demanded his attention. “What does fucking you every night make me?”

    “Shhhh! Well ...” Neil sputtered. “That's different. We're not actually … Not exactly ...”

    “Yes, we are!” Jerry insisted and went back to watching the game in disgust. After a half hour he decided to skip the rest of the game and go to bed. He was surprised when Neil joined him almost immediately. “What?” he asked as Neil got in with him.

    “We can't go to sleep mad,” Neil said. He approached Jerry in his usual way, signaling his willingness for sex, but Jerry was unmoved. “Come on, Jer … Please?”

    The sex was hot, spiced up by their difference in the living room. Neil came spontaneously while Jerry fucked him and then insisted that Jerry finish inside him. He was especially cuddly after they were done.

    “Aw, Jer … Man, that was so hot. I came right after you told me you loved me.” Neil kissed Jerry with a warmth that was unusual.

    “I never told you that.”

    “Yes, you did. I heard you.”

    “You're dreaming. I would never say that because … because I know you'd freak out, the way you did over the blow job.”

    “I didn't 'freak out'. I just kind of ...”

    “You freaked out. You still can't face what we're doing.”

    “Yes, I can … I just need time to adjust.” Neil hugged Jerry close, pulling his body around his own, disturbed by the way the conversation was going. “Umm?” he began.


    “Do you love me?” He lay tense in Jerry's arms, holding his breath.

    “Yes,” was Jerry's one word answer.

    “It's ok to tell me, Jer.” Neil stayed tense waiting for Jerry's response.

    “I love you. Ok?” Jerry felt Neil relax immediately and kiss his fingers that way he always did after sex.

    Jerry smiled again at the memory and sighed, “Never a dull moment ...” He continued watching the afternoon game and replayed their sex of the night before in his head. He spent the next hour with a semi-erection that came and went according to how distracting the ballgame was.

    About three-thirty the game was in the bottom of the seventh and Neil came in looking rumpled. “Sit tight,” he said to Jerry. “What a hot fuckin' day! I gotta take a shower. I'll be right back.”

    Jerry listened to the shower run and then waited for Neil to join him. The delay was unusually long. When Neil appeared at last, Jerry's mouth fell open and he watched in amazement.

    Neil walked slowly and deliberately past the television set and sat next to Jerry on their sofa. He leaned back and read the score aloud. “Six to two.” The ensuing silence lengthened.

    Finally Jerry couldn't stand it. “Neil, why are you naked?”

    “It's almost fall. The weather's getting hotter.” The weather comment made sense if you lived in Alameda. Neil continued watching the game. After a couple of minutes he continued, “I was on a stake out today. Three hours of total boredom, sitting in the car, watching ...”

    “I know what a stakeout is,” Jerry prompted and watched Neil give his balls a scratch.

    “Yeah, well, I got to thinking how great it would have been with you in the car with me. It's always fun talking to you. You know, about your work, and sports, and stuff ...” Neil paused and took a deep breath. “Then I got to thinking … if you had been there … we could, you know, fool around a little ...”

    Jerry stole a glance. Neil was squeezing his cock, stroking it a little; he was getting a hardon.

    “Maybe you would even, like, give me a blow job … I mean, if you wanted to … I would let you … I bet it would feel great … if you wanted to … Do you still want to, Jer?”

    “Do you want me to?”

    “Jerry, don't leave me hangin' here. You don't know how hard it was to walk across the room in front of you … Your body is so great and mine ...”

    “Yours is near perfect.” Jerry moved closer to Neil.

    “I'm a lot older than you. I look it.”

    “Is that what's worrying you?” Jerry laughed and began kissing Neil. He brushed Neil's damp hair off of his forehead and looked into his eyes. “You're five years older. That only matters when you're a kid.” He did suck Neil's cock but he didn't get to complete a blow job. He moved to Neil's balls and then went lower yet. Together, they discovered rimming, which turned out to be more compelling for Neil than cocksucking; rimming led to fucking, which led to cumming, which led to total relaxation. Neil held Jerry's hand and kissed his fingers.

    “What's with you and fingers?” Jerry asked him.

    “That was what I first noticed about you. Your hands are so strong. Good looking hands.” Neil sucked on Jerry's index finger briefly and then kissed it again. “I love your hands.”

    “Just my hands?”

    “Don't tease me. It's hard for me to say this stuff. I'm trying to be better.”

    “You're succeeding, Neil. Now you have to tell me what I need to do to make it better for you. Maybe I should be the one getting fucked for a change.”

    Neil was shocked. “Jerry! Jeez! I mean ...” Every time Neil tried to complain, Jerry silenced him, sometimes with a kiss, sometimes just with a stare. “Jer … really?”

    “Come here. I'm not scraping you off the ceiling again. We're gonna do it, Neil. Maybe we won't like it all, but we're gonna try EVERYTHING.”

    “Yeah,” Nicky said into the phone. “Here's the container number ...” He scanned the bill of lading in front of him. “NX332455-40. That one should have duplicate shipping papers in it covering the other containers – the whole shipment.”

    “Yeah, that's what my paperwork says.” The freight forwarder's representative read back the number. “So you better get down here. We opened that container and it also contains a dead body.”

    “A body? I watched it get stuffed. There was nothing but cases of clothing. I put the car seals on myself,” Nicky sputtered.

    “Car seals wouldn't stop a Girl Scout. A girl apparently, the body, I mean. The coroner has taken it now for analysis.”

    “I'm on my way,” Nicky said while looking at Darren in apology for having to leave town again.

    “Tsien-tsien?” Darren asked, after Nicky related the details.

    “A girl, the guy said. Tin-tin was kind of flirty but he was all man underneath.”

    The next call was to the airline and the one after that was to Morrie. Morrie had two things to say. “Take pictures, Darren – I want pictures of everything. I'm sending my son out there.”

    “Morrie – really? Your son? Isn't he like fifteen or something?”

    “He's a Hofstra graduate and it's time he got into the business.”

    “Hofstra?” Nicky queried; he was sure the kid was younger.

    “It was his safety school,” Morrie apologized. “He wanted to go to Brown. Nicky, dear boy, get lots of pictures … of everything. Where are you staying?”

    “In San Pedro. The All Star Inn on Pacific.”

    “Nicky, that sounds ….”

    “Affordable, Morrie. It's affordable.”

    “I'll tell Nash.” Morrie's voice trailed away.

  12. #112
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Well, that was quite an update- Thanks Rory!

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting


    An extensive update, indeed.

    Things are definitely looking up for Jerry and Neil.
    Bo & Jackson & Steve . . . That's definitely a fucked up relationship or two.

    And, to be honest, Andrew can be a real DICK, at least as it pertains to Adan. Or is there an alternative reason for being so passionateless and perfunctory in his fucking of Adan?

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

  14. #114
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Thirty

    “You can't make love like that and just walk away from me.”

    “Stevie,” Jackson wriggled out of his grasp and his bed. “It's like this every time. I'm sorry. It wouldn't happen if you weren't such a good fuck.” Jackson sighed at the sight of the breath-taking but bereft man and his heart ached for him; he tried to think of something positive. “A picture of you looking like that would sell a million magazines.” Wrong thing to say.

    “Fuck the magazines!” Steve swung his feet to the floor and hung his head in his hands. “You can't make love like that and not feel something. Nobody can fake what we just did.”

    “It wasn't fake. Sex is ALWAYS great with you. Why do you think I keep coming back for more?”

    “But I love you.” Steve was anguished and like many rejected lovers couldn't believe that the feelings he found so overwhelming weren't shared.

    “I love you, too. Just not the same way ...” Jackson answered.

    “You're already planning to meet that kid again. I know it.”

    Jackson didn't have the heart to tell him that he already had a date with Bo for the next night. Instead he complicated Steve's life in another way. “Well, you can think of me when Mark wants to get fucked and I'll think of you when he fucks me. Maybe that will keep us hard.”

    “I'm done with this shit. I can get a job in the Gulf, flying pizzas out to oil rigs. Fuck it. I'm done ...”

    That got Jackson's attention. “Steve! Don't be crazy! This is the sweetest deal on three continents. For three months a year we take care of a billionaire and for the other nine we live almost as well as he does. And we work so well together. I couldn't do it with anybody else. Another year and you can buy your own helicopter.”

    “There's fifty pilots in the Bay Area who would be just as good.”

    “No. They wouldn't! I know they wouldn't ...”

    “Cause you've already fucked forty-eight of them? Well, you still got two to go. Maybe you'll get lucky.”

    “Steve! Stay! Just one more year … Then ...”

    “Then what? What's at the end of that rainbow? As soon as Mark approves a new pilot, I'm gone.”

    Jackson rushed up to Steve and hugged him. “No! You can't go.” He wasn't shedding actual tears, but his face was red. “We can try again when Mark leaves. It might work. I'll try. You know how good the sex is ...” Jackson planted several small kisses on Steve's face. “Please, baby ...” He pressed his body against Steve's and touched him in ways he knew Steve liked.

    Steve made a noise between a cry and a croak. They went back to bed. The sex was as good as before. Steve didn't want to stop, even after he was completely spent. His kisses stayed passionate. “Just knowing my cock is against yours is enough,” he whispered to Jackson. “I love you so much ...”

    “But I have work to do … You know that. We need to lay off the sex for now, to get ready for Mark. You know he likes 'em fresh!” Steve ended with a lilt. After one more kiss, Steve reluctantly let him go.

    Jackson got to his own room and sighed. “Every fuckin' year! Why is MY life is so full of drama queens?” He punched Bo's number and waited for an answer. As if a tempermental Steve wasn't enough he got more trouble from Bo. “But Bo, I can't let you stay here tomorrow night. Yes, I want to spend a whole night with you, but … There are things going on. Things I ... Tell you what - we can get a motel. It's not sleazy! No I don't think you're just a … There are nice motels … Yes, with a swimming pool … Yes … yes …”

    Bo was mollified; Jackson changed his tack. “So, is that sweet dick of yours hard? No? Take it out for me … Stroke it … Now is it hard? … You know how good it feels in me? … Yeah? You think? … How good? … That's a hot description … Now you're making me hard ...I wish you were here … Of course I mean right now … So close I could feel how hard you are … Feel you pressing ...”

    Jackson tried not to giggle at the strangling sounds he heard on the other end of the connection. He paused and waited. “Bo? You there? … You came? … Gallons? Ha-ha … Just 'cause of me? … Ok, see you tomorrow.” More complains. “YES, it will be a decent motel! Wipe your laptop off before that stuff dries.”

    Jackson went to bed smiling, thinking of Bo wiping cum off his laptop. The early stages of love were so sweet. He was convinced this time would be magic. I think that kid is starting to love me, he thought.

    “Get the fuck out of my bed!” Nicky sounded angry enough to kill.

    “Take it easy, for God sake ...” Nash moved quickly back to the other bed in the All Star Inn's cheapest double room. “Morrie said he used to pop you all the time.”

    “You're not Morrie.”

    “Alright! Alright! I get it!” Nash whined. “I thought it was a standard deal.”

    “Here's the standard deal! Get the fuck out of this room!” Nicky was seriously pissed and Nash had the strong impression that he was about to get beaten beyond recognition if he lingered long. He could barely protest when Nicky shoved him out the door naked. A shirt and trousers followed and then the door slammed.

    “What am I supposed to do?” Nash complained as he grabbed up the clothes.

    “Sleep in the fuckin' car!” Nicky's muffled voice ordered.

    So things were a little testy the next morning at breakfast. “You could have just said no,” Nash continued complaining. “I can take no for an answer.”

    “Fuck you,” Nicky said and sipped a steamy mug of coffee. He glanced at the sports page of the local free paper.

    “I'm the boss here,” Nash insisted. He tilted his head from side to side, trying to get the kinks out from his night in the car.

    “The fuck you are!” Nicky answered without looking up.

    “Morrie said so.”

    This time Nicky stared at him. “Fuck Morrie.”

    “Is 'Fuck' all you can say?”

    “No, dickhead. It isn't.” Nicky signaled the waitress for another cup of coffee.

    “Nicky,” Nash ventured, “I think we kinda got off on the wrong foot ...”

    “You got in the wrong bed.” Nicky looked up again. “Your father said you were straight.”

    “Ehhhh,” Nash said, holding out his hand and rocking it like an airplane.

    Nicky's stern facade collapsed and he burst out laughing. “I should have known. Fuckin' Morrie couldn't draw a straight line let alone produce a straight son!” Nash smiled cautiously at Nicky's joke and then watched in silence as Nicky got serious again.

    “So here's how it is. I'm in charge on this coast and you are here to help and observe. You may ask questions but never interrupt. You may offer advice but never in front of anyone. And you will always sleep in your own bed, preferably in your own room, preferably nowhere near me. Otherwise we got dozens of flights to New York every day.”

    “Sure. Whatever ...” Nash's toast arrived and he reached for a jam pot.

    Nicky shook his head. “It's the same jam as yesterday. Ask her for honey. It comes in a little individual jar.”

    “Thanks,” Nash said.

    After breakfast they returned to the motel room to change into business suits. They were meeting with a buyer for Merwyn's. There was once a chain called Mervyn's, a successful West Coast operation that aimed at the middle market but the times changed and Mervyn's didn't. Two of the stores in central Los Angeles emerged under new ownership and the name Merwyn's; changing the v to a w was the cheapest thing they could do to the outdoor electric signs. The new owners were distantly related to Morrie through his first wife, Nash's mother.

    “So! You're Becky's boy,” the greeter said to Nicky. “I can see it. You look like her.”

    “I'm Becky's boy,” Nash countered. “Hello, Uncle Lew.”

    “Really? You don't look like her at all. Sheesh! Probably a good thing ...”

    Eventually, it was agreed that Merwyn's would take half the shipment on consignment and in accordance with other terms that basically sucked. All the risk would be borne by Morrie. “But think what you're saving on freight,” Uncle Lew consoled before he went to find his brother.

    “Nicky,” Nash whispered. “Let's propose that Merwyn's be responsible for damaged merchandise. That way, when the sweaters turn purple, we can at least get that part covered.”

    “Why are you whispering?” Nicky whispered back.

    “Bugs,” Nash replied and then stood. “Uncle Bugs! Good to see you again.”

    “So! How is your father?” Bugs inquired politely, eyeing Nicky with suspicion.

    “Farbisene,” Nash answered in Yiddish and Bugs laughed.

    “That's what your mother said the day she met him.” The slight change in terms was agreed upon and the meeting concluded with neither side thinking much of the other.

    They next met with the LA Police and a federal Customs official. It was a very different meeting. Nicky produced his copies of the bills of lading and they matched the contents inventoried by the police. Customs was prepared to release the shipment when the police added one comment.

    “The body was dressed in some kind of costume. Like a Vegas showgirl. Feathers and beads … did you know?”

    Nicky shrugged. “Our line is very conventional clothing.”

    “And the corpse had been mutilated, which confused the initial examining officer. The corpse was male. The sex organs were excised after death.”

    The color drained from Nicky's face. “Maybe … maybe it was a company employee who has been missing.”

    “Missing? Why didn't you tell us earlier?” The officer was aggressive.

    “You never asked. This is the first time I've been questioned.” Nicky explained what he knew about Tsien-tsien's disappearance including that fact that the Mongolian authorities had been informed.

    “Here are photos of the corpse. Can you identify him?”

    Nicky examined the gruesome shots of the naked corpse. Finally he said, “I'm ninety-nine percent sure it isn't him. Tsien-tsien's face wasn't as round and I think his nose was ...different.”

    “Swelling could account for the roundness. What do you mean by 'his nose was different'?”

    “Tsien-tsien's nose wasn't … isn't so wide. And maybe it is a little more prominent. I think … that's my impression. Could I have copies of these photos for our New York office? That was where he worked mostly.”

    The interview ended and Nicky and Nash headed for the container yards. Conducting their own inventory in business suits was torture. Hours of sun on metal containers had turned them into ovens. They were quickly soaked with sweat and worked shirtless in dress pants alongside two employees of the drayage firm Nicky had hired. Half the goods were sent to Merwyn's and half were sent to Oakland.

    “Now we need a Bay area buyer before the goods get there. To avoid warehousing and reship costs,” he explained for Nash's benefit.

    They returned to the motel eager for showers and dry clothes. There was a moment when they were both naked and Nash's glance was openly admiring. Nicky noticed. “Next thing, you get your own room for tonight,” Nicky said.

    “I thought you wanted to save money,” Nash said.

    “Some expenses are unavoidable,” Nicky insisted.

    “Seriously, Nick. I'll behave. We leave in the morning anyway. Just a couple hours away. It'll save much?”

    “Forty-five dollars plus tax.”

    “Forty-five dollars is forty-five dollars,” Nash said. He tried not to smile when Nicky relented.

    That night, Nicky sat just in boxers in a rickety chair at the tiny desk in their room and called Morrie. He explained the day's events and ended, “Yeah he's here. Want to talk to him? Ok. I'll let you know when we find another buyer.” He put the phone down and turned to Nash. “He says hello. Said he didn't want to bother you with conversation.”

    “Yeah,” Nash acknowledged. “He likes me better in theory than in the flesh.”

    Nicky felt a little sad at that and wondered why Nash was looking at him strangely. “What?” he asked.

    “You have a really hot body.” Nash continued to stare.

    “Go to sleep, Nash.” Nicky turned out the light and got into his bed.

    “That wasn't so great, was it?” Eric sounded unhappy as he got out of bed and went toward the bathroom.

    “You're just tired,” Z said after the most unexciting fuck he and Eric had ever shared. He waited for Eric to finish in the bathroom and wondered what he could say when Eric came back to bed. “You should have let me do the work,” he said, hugging Eric. “Working all day … the long drive and everything ...” He kissed Eric's cheek and held his cock gently.

    “We used to do it twice sometimes … I should be hard for you right now,” Eric said, embarrassed by his limp cock.

    “Relax. I liked it. Just having you here made this the best night of the week.” Z hugged Eric and his erection rubbed against Eric's thigh. “I think you're the most exciting guy on the planet,” Z whispered.

    “See! You're hard!” Eric complained. “You need more from me, Z. And I owe it to you. You want to fuck me? You should do it. Right now.” Eric tried to pull Z on top of him.

    “Shut up, idiot. I'm happy having you here … loving you … feeling your body against me.”

    “Fuck me, Z, please,” Eric insisted. “I need you , baby.”

    Z relented when he felt Eric's legs wrap around him. He penetrated quickly and delighted in the feel of Eric kissing his neck as he slowly thrust into his lover. Eric's kisses became more gentle and eventually they stopped. It took a minute for Z to realize Eric had fallen asleep. He thrust more vigorously and got no response. Eric was an inert lump, whose legs dangled loosely and then sagged onto the bed. Z remembered other nights,the good nights of sex and love; the memories made him come but it was as unsatisfying as it had been when Eric was fucking him less than an hour earlier. He withdrew from Eric and watched his once ardent lover sigh and roll over onto his side.

    Still Z couldn't keep from touching Eric. Just putting his hand on Eric's back, feeling the underlying muscles and the warmth excited him, reminding him of their first days together. He kissed Eric's shoulder and felt suddenly abandoned. He wanted to cry but couldn't. The ache grew terrible. He got carefully out of bed and dressed quietly. He went downstairs to the kitchen to finish cleaning up. Standing alone with his hands in dishwater, the tears began. He tried to shake off the feeling of emptiness. He told himself it was just a rough spot in a great relationship. He decided it was as much his fault as Eric's. Then he sobbed out loud; it felt like his throat was being ripped apart.

    “Z, Z, what's wrong?” Darren rushed up to him. Z could only make an anguished sound and Darren hugged him protectively. “I saw the light and I wasn't asleep, so I came over … What's wrong, Z?”

    Z shook his head as much as Darren's hug would allow. “Nothing ...”

    “I've never seen you cry over nothing. I've never seen you cry since you were … how old were you when you broke your arm?” Darren held him and felt a single sob. “Sit down. Let me get you ...” Darren wasn't sure what to suggest.

    Z shook off Darren's embrace and went to the dining room. He returned to the kitchen with two balloon glasses. “You want a brandy?” he asked. “I like a brandy now and then.”

    “Sure,” Darren answered. “As long as it isn't Peppermint Schnapps.”

    “I use it for cooking, but it's not rot-gut.” Z got a bottle off the second shelf of a cabinet near the stove and poured two generous draughts. “Bright in here,” he complained and dimmed the light.

    “Nicky's in LA,” Darren began. He explained the problem of Tsien-tsien's disappearance and the body in the container in lengthy detail, giving Z a change to get himself together.

    Z cleared his throat. “That's terrible,” he commented and let Darren go another five minutes with speculations and possibilities.

    “So … that's life in the dry goods business,” Darren concluded.

    Z chuckled. “My little bro' … all grown up. Do you want some rye crackers?” Z opened a bag on the counter and pulled out a box of Rye Crisps. Then he noticed another bag.

    “What's that?” Darren asked.

    “I don't know,” Z said. He pulled a box from the bag and then, when he got the outer wrapper off, the box looked familiar. “Oh, shit ...” He opened the box and admired its contents.

    “Whoa! Put it on!” Darren was standing and leaning closer for a better look. Z did and held his arm out to Darren. “That is the most impressive watch I've ever seen!” Darren exclamed.

    “It is, isn't it?” Z said. The watch glistened seductively in the lowered light of Z's kitchen.

    “Why didn't I listen to Andrew?” Seth was exasperated as he tried to reach through the bars of the prison cell. “Get out of there, God-damn it!” A nasty cackling laugh was all he got in return. He managed to get hold of the kid's shoe, but it came off in his hand. The kid was struggling harder than a hooked coho.

    “He's trying to touch my foreskin! He's trying to touch my foreskin!” the kid wailed.

    Seth recoiled in horror. “Never!” he said to the shocked and gawking tourists.

    A crisp new picture of Andrew Jackson finally silenced the kid and got him to squeeze through the bars back out into the prison corridor. The boat ride back to the Embarcadero seemed endless and the taxi trip back to Jody's house was worse.

    “Here! Take him!” Seth snarled at Jody. “I'm getting a lawyer … NOT YOU! ... and renouncing the custody deal!”

    Jody admitted his child to the house all very calmly. “Why? What happened? Why is he scratching?”

    “He probably got fleas from the bed he was in at Alcatraz.” Seeing no reaction from Jody, he continued. “He's a fiend. A little monster. Heiko has a word for him ...”

    “Who's Heiko?” Jody asked innocently. He glanced around to see if any neighbors were watching and then pulled Seth inside. “Calm down. What happened? He's still scratching.”

    Seth snorted in contempt. “The little asshole.” The kid stuck out his tongue and then ran upstairs.

    “Calm down,” Jody repeated. “Can I give you a blowjob or something?”

    “You're not kidding, are you?” Seth shook his head in disbelief. “Fruit cakes! The whole family!”

    Jody glanced furtively about the room. “Let me show you something.” Before Seth could object he lowered his trousers and underwear. “See!”

    “You had wings tattooed to your dick????”

    “When I get hard it looks like ...”

    Seth never heard the rest. He ran out the door to his waiting taxi. “If you ever get in a custody battle,” he told the driver, “make sure you lose.” He had barely cooled off by the time he got back to the office.

    “Hi, custodian. How was Alcatraz?” Andrew inquired not waiting for Seth's answer. “Look at this magazine. The guy has wings tattooed to his dick. It looks like a really weird duck or something. You could put a bill on the dickhead and his balls kind of look like feet. I think we could use a little more freakiness in the next video. What do you think? Know anybody with a tattoo like this?”

    “Fuck a duck!” Seth replied, exasperated.

    “No, that would be kinky. I'm thinkin' more freaky. Just a hint, you know? Just a little flavor of the truly bizarre ...”

    “Andrew, will you marry me?”

    “Sure, sweetie. You know what? Two tattoos. Maybe three. That's what we could use. And Chris could digitally turn them into a flock of flying dicks … What do you think? Gets your attention, huh?”

    Seth laughed and gave Andrew an impressive kiss. He laughed again and went upstairs to his room.

    “Were you serious about the marriage proposal?” Andrew called after him. “ 'Cause I met a guy who's a caterer and ...” Andrew heard Seth's door close and he went back to his storyboard, making soft duck sounds as he imagined the dick duck scene. Andrew's quacking grew more frantic as he choreographed an elaborate and intense three-man tangle.

  15. #115
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    You're having lots of fun fucking with our minds over the guys.
    Our Helicopter pilot and co-worker - as you start to flesh out exactly what it is that they do - service a billionaire for three months out of the year - whatever he wants, whenever he wants, by the sounds of it.

    The Keystone Kops of Drygoods, Who is that emasculated male corpse, any way?

    Followed by the tear-jerking Eric and Z -

    And Seth and Andrew, along with a custodial foreskin attached to an absolute terror on two feet.

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

  16. #116
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Quote Originally Posted by DonQuixote View Post
    ...You're having lots of fun fucking with our minds over the guys ...
    Really? Too unbelievable? Maybe this is getting like the fifth season of a TV show you once liked. I'll try to tone it down.

  17. #117
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Did I say to do that? I just mean our characters are finding some more than rough patches in their lives.
    All can't be a bed of roses or the storylines get too sappy. I understand that.

    But, but, but, lol.

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

  18. #118
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Ok, I can take a hint. The parts where Jerry gets pregnant, Adan discovers oil, and Tom/Heiko figure out a way to fuck each other simultaneously have been deleted from the next chapter. You can only push credulity so far.

  19. #119
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    LOL - Pictures on a few of those.

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

  20. #120
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Thirty-One

    A man always knows what his penis is doing. It may not always be controllable and it certainly isn't always predictable, but the feedback mechanism is instantaneous. In every normal circumstance, a man knows his precise degree of tumescence, extension and angular rigidity. A man and his penis constitute the most intimate and instinctual relationship in the world; and the broadband communication skills involved are rarely appreciated.

    Craig Grantland's penis was right at that point of maximum engorgement and minimal erection. Another second would give it all away. His penis was jammed firmly against Z's ass, intent on exploration. The only restraint was the thin spandex of the compression shorts they both wore.

    “I'm getting an erection,” Craig whispered.

    “I can tell,” Z chuckled.

    “Come on!” Andrew pleaded. “This isn't a booty ballet. You're supposed to be wrestling. Hold him tighter. Let's see muscles popping.”

    The shoot went on for hours. Clothing came and went. Craig's erection came and went. It was work and the accompanying sexual tension was torture. “Come on. Get closer,” Andrew urged. “I want straight guys uncomfortable and guy guys drooling over these pictures.” At a break Craig got to ask some questions about Andrew's 'vision' for the shoot.

    “We want a catalog that will sell clothes, but - with the last one - the manufacturer made more money on the catalog than he did on the clothes. Soooo, my dears, I'm looking for a lot of sex but not porn.”

    “What's the difference?”

    “Edgy but not raunchy. Bulges but no dicks. Sexy but not savage. All disguised under the mask of manly sport. Like those skin tight pants you football guys wear.”

    “They're tight so there's nothing to grab onto,” Craig explained.

    “Right. Like there was only one way to do that,” Andrew scoffed. “Ok? Back to work.” They shot for another hour and were left only with some hats left to do. “Mmmmm. Nude, I think. Totally nude except for the hats.”

    “I thought you said no frontals,” Craig hesitated. Z was already naked.

    “The picture won't show anything, but your naked awareness will show on your face. Trust me.” Craig complied but Andrew wasn't quite satisfied with the look. “Craig, you've had a hardon half the day. Where is it when we need it? Isn't Z making you happy any more?”

    It wasn't Andrew's taunt that did it; it was Z's smile and certain memories that had been in Craig's head all day. “That's got it,” Andrew approved. “Turn toward each other … Closer … I want no more than two molecules of air showing between you. Now frown at each other. Fiercer … Good.” Andrew shut off the camera and dimmed the spots. Adan began folding up the diffusers and packing gear. “I think we're gonna sell a bunch of books,” Andrew said.

    Z and Craig were still nude. Craig was no longer ashamed of his erection. “I wish I got you as excited as you do me,” he said. He put his hand on Z's waist as they walked to where they had left their clothes.

    “I used to be hard all the time at these shoots, but I got used to it,” Z answered. “Now it takes the immediate prospect of sex to get me aroused.”

    “Want to come to my hotel?” Craig asked quietly.

    Z nodded, “Yes.” Z had to dress quickly before his rapidly expanding cock outgrew his pants. They hurried out of the studio space Andrew had rented and began walking east. It was about five blocks to the W Hotel. They were fairly short blocks. It wouldn't take long.

    “Fuck this walking,” Craig said. He hailed a cab. He gave the driver some money. Z couldn't tell the amount but the driver ran two lights on Mission getting them to the hotel. Craig barely nodded at the desk clerk's welcome and smiled nervously as the elevator climbed. “Z,” he gasped as he closed the door to his room. They couldn't get out of their clothes and into each other's arms fast enough.

    Craig, oddly, showed signs of getting chatty. “Z,” he sighed again; but Z was impatient and silenced him with sex. Craig let it happen. He winced at the first penetration and then welcomed it. Z wanted to be the masterful lover and Craig responded eagerly, but needs outran technique. Z came way too soon. “Shit,” Z moaned. “I didn't mean to do that. It's just the whole day was … being with you was … kind of …

    “Don't worry. I liked it.” The bigger man cradled Z in his arms and pulled him into the closeness Andrew had been demanding all day. “I liked it a lot.”

    “Did you come?” Z asked. He felt a wetness.

    “Kind of, I think. It was like I was cumming a little all the time, all the time you were fucking me. Not a big deal, but a bunch of little zings. I don't know how to explain … It was great.”

    Z accepted Craig's kiss and said, “We're not done.”

    “No?” Craig sounded hopeful but unsure.

    “No. Not even close.” Z squirmed out of Craig's hold and slid down in the bed. He sucked Craig's limp but wet cock into his mouth. The salty flavor confirmed Craig's earlier arousal. He lapped it up and continued coaxing a response. It didn't come until Craig lay out flat on the bed, as his body stretched so did his cock. Z took his time and worked slowly nibbling here, sucking there, licking and kissing everywhere, until he had Craig frantic for more. He held Craig's cock in his hand and looked up. “We're not done ...” He licked the length of Craig's cock and heard the answering moan. “We have lots more to do ...” He licked the underside of Craig's balls. “Stuff we haven't tried yet ...” He went down on Craig, taking all of his cock. Z felt tremors in Craig's thighs.

    “Z! Z! Let me suck you too,” Craig demanded. “Switch ends!”

    Craig tried his best, but he wasn't a practiced cocksucker. Z moved back to his first position, sucking and spreading Craig's legs for better access. Little bites on Craig's inner thighs got the right response. Craig raised his knees and spread his legs. Z went lower, pushing upward on Craig's knees. The big torso rolled upward and Z went lower still, probing with his tongue. Pushing, prodding, tasting remnants of his own cum from earlier. Craig relaxed and tried to open himself for more. Soft moans grew louder. “You like this?” Z asked.

    “Yes,” was all Craig could say as he panted louder.

    And still Z kept it up, first using his hands to spread Craig's cheeks to get more access, then using his shoulders to hold Craig's legs, to keep them from trembling. He paused and kissed his way up to Craig's lips. “Want more?” he teased. Craig was rolled almost into a ball.

    “Fuck me,” Craig begged.

    Z kissed Craig and pushed his hips forward. Craig helped, moving Z's cock to its target. “You're big,” burst out of Craig as Z pushed forward, downward, inward, slowly, inches forward, then an inch back, and then forward again. When Craig relaxed, thinking Z was fully in him, Z thrust farther - as far as he could, drawing a gasp and then a sigh. Fucking and stroking, their ardor increased. Z got to the peak of his arousal and said, “Tell me when you're gonna cum.” After just a couple of strokes more by Z's hand, Craig yelled, “Now! Now!”

    Z's hips pumped and his hand stroked and they came together, locked in a kiss, eating each other, fucking each other, lost in the amazing feeling of perfectly timed sex.

    After a few minutes Craig spoke first. “I love it when you fuck me. I'm turning into such a girl.”

    “There's nothing girly about men fucking,” Z corrected him and then kissed him.

    “I guess not. It's totally different for me.”

    “For me, too. Totally different. You're nothing like a girl. Not in any way.”

    “For one thing,” Craig suggested, “Girls don't get hungry after sex.”

    “They do,” Z countered and then grinned. “Just not as fast. What do you have in mind?”

    “Let's see what's in the minibar ...”

    Not a lot it turned out. They downed a couple of shots, drank a couple of beers, and snacked on pretzels and something else that was salty while they watched a basketball game. Kisses followed snacks, and sleep followed kisses.

    A very loud TV ad for a cleaning product woke Z at one-thirty in the morning. He looked at Craig. The reflected light of the television cast flattering shadows that made the retired footballer look very young. He's handsome, Z thought; I noticed it before, but he's really handsome. He kissed Craig's cheek and woke him.

    “Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I couldn't resist.”

    Craig laughed and pulled Z into a hug. “I can't either,” he said. “Z, you've gotta keep the watch.”

    “No, I can't. I brought it with me to give back...”

    “You're keeping the watch. That's an order.” Craig's kiss took the sting out of the gruff order. With little effort he rearranged Z's body on the bed and straddled him. “I think I'll keep on kissing you.” And he did and he surprised himself. “I'm hard again. Jeez, Z, you make me feel like I'm a teenager.”

    “It that a bad thing?”

    “Are you kidding?” Craig laughed. He turned the sound down on the TV and went back to kissing under the flickering light. He was as tender as he knew how to be, but there were definitely some clumsy moments; he fucked Z gently, feeling a whole new version of sex. When it was over he was in awe of what they had done. “You're right. It's nothing like with a girl. Nothing at all.” They slept some more.

    Z woke and saw the early light of dawn in the cloudless fall sky; he felt a comforting peace. Craig held Z protectively, like something precious. A fragile and rare moment, an intimacy, a co-dependence that the two men had missed for some time.

    “Are you awake?” Craig whispered. Z turned his head and kissed him. “You know what I like best? Seeing you come. Watching the world in your eyes. I've never known anything like a night with you, Z.” He kissed Z, trying to make the bubble they occupied last a little longer, afraid that one wrong move would burst it. “Z? What are you doing next week? Want to come to Japan with me?”

    Z was shocked by his reaction. He wanted to say yes.

    “The NFL is sponsoring a promotional tour,” Craig continued. “Six days of boredom. The other guys will have their wives along. All they ever do is shop – in the same damn stores all over the world. It would be a lot different if you were there.”

    “You don't know how much I want to say yes, but ...” Z couldn't think of any honest excuse. Craig helped him out.

    “I figured you'd say no. Worth trying though.”

    “Well, there's an easy answer to that problem. Now that we have the condo back, he can live with us while he's here.” Darren looked from a frowning Nicky to a nodding, smiling Nash.

    “The hell he will,” Nicky said. “He can stay with Carolyn. She won't mind, will she?”

    “Who's Carolyn?” Nash was visibly disappointed.

    “A much nicer landlady than you deserve,” Nicky replied. Darren had to agree; Carolyn could use the money. “The first thing we have to do is unload the rest of the shipment.”

    “The city's full of funky stores. That shouldn't be hard,” Darren said.

    “Unloading is easy. Unloading at a profit, not so easy,” Nicky said. “So, Nash, you need to fill out this California tax declaration form for working here,” Nicky handed him a pen and the form. He waited while Nash filled in the blanks. He scanned the result. “You can't put 'R' . They want your whole middle name.”

    Nash hesitated but added some letters to the block.

    Nicky laughed louder than he should have. “Nash Rambler? You were named after an old car?”

    “Place of conception,” Nash answered; it was obviously a sensitive point. “I don't see what's so funny.”

    “Nash Rambler Chlomsky ...” Nicky chewed on the name. He stopped laughing but his smile was wide. “Morrie has such a weird sense of humor.”

    “Wait, you're not old enough. Those cars were … what? Gone by the 70's?”

    “Not Morrie's. He got it used. He always said a new car in New York is just a target. The other drivers think they can intimidate you.”

    “I like the name Nash … sounds honest,” Darren said, aiming for something positive.

    Nicky's phone buzzed. “Nicky,” he answered. It was Morrie. Nicky couldn't hold it too close to his ear. To Darren and Nash, the words were indistinct, but the sound level filled the room. “Yeah … yeah ...” A pause. “Yeah … Got it … Oh, Morrie? You named him Nash Rambler?”

    Nash had a slightly disgusted look as Nicky listened to a long explanation from Morrie. Shortly Nicky clicked off. “He said the Rambler's seats folded down into a bed. It was very comfortable. I spared him knowing that you fold down into a bed, too.”

    “Nicky ...” Darren shamed him, not getting why Nicky was being so hard on Nash..

    “Morrie also said he has cousins in the city. We should peddle the clothes to them.” He nodded at Nash, “His relatives, this time, not your mother's.”

    The relatives and a store named 'Sky's' were in Daly City. They parked angled in from the street and got out of the truck. An amply proportioned woman came immediately out the door. “Little Nash Rambler,” she cooed with her arms held wide. She enveloped the lower half of Nash's torso with arms and bosom. “So tall you are,” she cooed craning her neck up.

    “Hello, Aunt Opal,” Nash said, hugging her back and confining some of the vast bosom within his embrace.

    “Wait 'til your uncle Nahum sees you!” She rushed ahead leading the way to the rear of the store and calling her husband's name.

    Unlike Morrie, his brother Nahum was a small, tidy man with precise mannerisms and speech. He was carefully dressed in the trouser half of a suit, keeping the white shirt and tie but skipping the jacket. “Nash,” he acknowledged. “And you are Nicky?” He shook hands with both visitors. When the preliminaries were over, Nicky began a sales pitch emphasizing the quality and appeal of the goods.

    “I'm Morrie's brother,” Nahum interrupted. “Historically, he's not going to be doing me any favors. Here's the deal.” Nahum laid out terms which permitted a slight profit to Morrie, provided Nahum sold the goods at full retail; the brothers would share any markdowns. Nicky agreed at once, knowing the freight and storage bill would put them at a loss with even a day's delay.

    “The clothes really are pretty good,” Nicky assured him. “I watched the cutting and assembly myself.”

    “Made in China,” Nahum announced as if that would end all discussion.

    “Mongolia, actually. It's a little cheaper there, even after the freight,” Nicky answered.

    “What does the label say?” Opal asked, with narrowed eyes.

    “IT says 'Made in M.U.' It stands for Mongol Uls, the formal name of the country. A focus group of likely buyers confused it with Missouri fifty-two percent of the time.”

    “At least I'll have an answer for the other forty-eight percent of my customers,” Nahum said with dead seriousness. And then he smiled a very small smile. “Can you stay for lunch? There's a good take out place two doors down.”

    “No, but we'll stay to help unload the container. We can save the demurrage.”

    “I like you, Nicky. Morrie could always find talented boys.”

    Nicky decided Nahum was referring to only his salesman's skills. He smiled at the compliment but concluded there was no sense bringing up the business about the corpse. It had no bearing, not really.

    “Did you know I speak Chinese?” Nahum tossed off the information casually.

    “Guys!” Lynne called out and waved. Jerry and Neil ignored their assigned seats and sat with her a couple of rows closer to the field in the less-than-half-full Coliseum. They could move if they needed to.

    “Where's Mara?” Jerry asked.

    “Ah-hah! You're interested?” pretty blond Lynne joked and Jerry immediately blushed.

    “Just asking ...” Jerry said. The conversation shifted to baseball and the A's sagging chances.
    At the seventh inning stretch, Jerry went to get three beers and a plate of nachos.

    Lynne took her chance. “Neil … I don't stand a chance, do I?”

    “What do you mean?” asked an honestly puzzled Neil.

    “Well, you … both of you look at me the way a man looks at a woman. I know that look, ok? But something else is going on. You're never going to ask me out or anything, are you?” She ended hopefully, despite her words, hoping for a date. Her expression faded when Neil stumbled over his answer. “That's ok. I was just asking.” She brushed off the incident and returned to an animated discussion of earned run averages when Jerry returned.

    Driving back to Alameda, Neil brought the subject up. “You think people know about us?” he asked.

    “I hadn't thought about it. Maybe. I guess some of them might. Who exactly?”

    “Lynne, for one.” He told Jerry about the conversation.

    “ 'Something else', she said?” Jerry mulled it over. “You could tell her that you're recently divorced and not ready to start something.”

    “I think she was more or less hinting at sex. No strings sex. No normal guy would turn that down.”

    “You never do turn it down. We're fucking every night. Oh … I see … I was thinking about us, not ...”

    Neil smiled at Jerry's brief confusion. He grabbed Jerry's hand and squeezed it, keeping it out of the view of other drivers who might be looking. “You always think about everything in terms of us.”

    “Well, we're the ones who matter, don't we?” Jerry squeezed back.

    “When we get home, I'm gonna get you naked and hug you and kiss you and give you the best fuck of your life,” Neil promised. He glanced around; there were no other vehicles nearby. He raised Jerry's hand to his mouth and kissed it twice.

    Neil kept his promise to Jerry that night but two afternoons later urge and opportunity came together. He met Lynne for lunch and afterward they fucked.

    Sex with Lynne was just what he remembered. Sweet, everything lined up perfectly, no physical contortions, automatic lubrication, an irresistible compulsion to fuck hard, and an explosive, consuming, and short orgasm. Lynne liked it - at least she said she did - and she was soaking wet to prove it. Neil liked it, he felt a sense of accomplishment and pride doing what he was built to do. Best of all, the whole thing was over in a lot less than an hour. It was a perfect afternoon, except for one thing.

    Driving back to Alameda, he ached body and soul for Jerry. He should have been part of it, Neil thought. Is he going to feel betrayed? No, I bet he won't. I'll make it up to him. We can try something new. He's so cute when he comes. Of course Lynne was cute, too, Neil thought. He tried to picture Lynne's expression at their climax but all he could see was Jerry's face. God, I love that man, Neil mused. I can't wait to tell him about this.

  21. #121
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    I saw that you had posted, but waited until I had enough time to do the read justice - I didn't want to wait a whole day, though, so I made sure I read it tonight after we got home.

    It's late for me - I should be up in bed - and will be, soon - and taking care of a need you helped get started.

    Lots of interesting stuff going on there - still worried about Z and Craig (vs. Eric) - how did their conversation on lack of fidelity end?!

    Jerry and Neil - and an opportunistic lady fuck!

    And the Keystone Kops of the fashion imort business, lol.

    Well, enough of the high praise - I need to head on up to bed - I have to be up in 4.5 hours!

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

  22. #122
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    A beautifully written episode, Rory!

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Thirty-Two

    “You want to? Don't you think it's getting … I don't know … kinky? Like stuff that shows up in tabloids” Kevin asked.

    “Kinky? It's just an academic discussion of porn, and it's a course I need an A in. And Dormeyer would kill for a shot at guys like us.”

    “Kill? Jeff, you're not serious. Are you?”

    “Figure of speech. 'Student fucks Professor' never makes the news. It's only the other way around. Why? Because professors don't talk. Or kill. Usually. Wear those polyester basketball shorts. You look hot in those. And no underwear. We'll give him a little preview.”

    “We'll give everybody a preview!” Kevin was reluctant.

    “Dude, you're a porn star. Everybody's already seen the whole show. Do I have to give you a blowjob?” Jeff's question was aimed at Kevin's quickness at achieving an erection.

    “It wouldn't hurt. You know how easy I get hard.”

    “He'll like that. You can pretend it was an accident.”

    “Dormeyer's creepy ...” Kevin objected.

    “You think everybody but Darren's creepy!” Jeff argued.

    “He's old and fat and creepy, the way he looks at guys. If he tries anything, I'll probably puke,” Kevin put his finger down his throat.

    “You say that about almost everybody.”

    “Not true. Rocky's not creepy.” Kevin knew that would piss off Jeff, whose unrequited lust for Rocky grew exponentially each time Rocky told him to pound sand.

    This time Jeff ignored the goad. “Put the shorts on. We're going. His office hours end at four.”

    Dormeyer made them wait ten minutes in the hall and then admitted them to his book-filled office. “Wellllllll, gentlemen, what brings two of you at once?” He checked their progress in his class book. “You're both passing, I see.”

    “That's just it professor. We've been listening to what you have said and are trying to apply it to life.”

    “Life?” Dormeyer was intrigued.

    “Is it acceptable to participate for moral purposes in an activity that is immoral?”

    “Like the state executing a criminal? Something like that?” Dormeyer had been through a few of these arguments.

    “Kind of. Specifically, could we make a pornographic video in order to pay our school bills?”

    Dormeyer was silenced. Kevin flexed a knee and Dormeyer's eyes instantly went to the polyester shorts and the visible outline of his penis. Kevin flexed that special muscle and his penis moved, setting off a fit of coughing in the professor.

    “It's what we had to do,” Jeff explained. “In my case, I need a grade point higher than I've got to keep my scholarship or else I need money I haven't got to pay the school.”

    “I just need the money, period,” Kevin said. He spread his legs and the shorts road up his thigh a few inches. He watched Dormeyer slump lower in his chair, trying to see up the shorts. Kevin shot Jeff his I'm-gonna-throw-up look.

    “You BOTH have made these videos?” Dormeyer asked. He wet his lips repeatedly.

    Jeff tapped the palm of one hand with a CD jewel box. “Yes,” he said ruefully.

    “Is that … the, um, video?” Dormeyer squeaked.

    “Yes,” Jeff admitted. “It's all of them.”

    “ALL? How many are there?”

    “Well, only three,” Kevin said, looking at the floor.

    Jeff turned to him and put his hand on Kevin's inner thigh. “It's not the end of the world, Kev,” he consoled. He patted Kevin's leg and gave it a final squeeze before turning back to the professor. “Kevin is taking this really hard.”

    Dormeyer took a deep breath. “Yes … well … The first consideration, I suppose, is was your act illegal?”

    “Not according to the studio. The video is perfectly legal and we're over eighteen. Nobody forced us to do it.” Kevin put his hand on his shorts to try to hide the partial erection caused by Jeff's touch. Dormeyer's eyes kept darting to it, Kevin was hiding nothing.

    “So ...” Dormeyer stopped and cleared his throat nervously. “So ...” He wet his lips again, unable to keep his eyes off Kevin's fiddling with his shorts. “The next consideration should be did your actions harm anyone?” His voice squeaked on the word harm.

    “Harm? Nobody was injured,” Jeff answered quickly.

    “Jeff,” Kevin corrected, “That older guy who got fucked claimed you hurt him. A little.”

    “Older guy?” Dormeyer asked. “How much older? Was he taking advantage of you?”

    “Probably about your age, professor. About thirty, I guess.” Dormeyer, who was much closer to fifty than thirty, couldn't hide his delight at Jeff's apparent miscalculation. “And anyway, I only did what he wanted. I didn't intend to hurt him.”

    “What did he want?” Dormeyer almost whispered.

    “This is embarrassing … he wanted me to fuck him really hard. And then when I did, he screamed and I quit.”

    “You didn't,” Kevin insisted. “You didn't quit until you came. Of course, that was pretty quick. He's got a hair trigger, professor,” Kevin confided.

    ”Only the first time,” Jeff countered. “I lasted a long time on the reshoot.”

    “The reshoot?” Dormeyer asked.

    “We had to do it again,” Jeff explained. “I was ready but the older guy needed some private time to get ready.” Dormeyer looked puzzled so Jeff continued, “He used this huge dildo on himself to keep his ass open.”

    “Yeah, and I had to do the dildo-ing,” Kevin rolled his eyes. He gestured with his hands and his cock stood up in the shorts. He quickly covered himself again. “So fuckin' sleazy.” Dormeyer couldn't tell if Kevin meant the dildo-ing or the present discussion.

    “So … that was the only harm caused?”

    “Well, this other guy, the owner, I think, said, 'You're killing me,' but I think he meant financially because Kevin and the older guy really got into the dildo-ing and it took time away from the production.” Jeff laughed. “Kevin loved teasing him.”

    Dormeyer wasn't completely taken in. “Why are you worried about the question of morality? It wasn't illegal. Not permanent harm seems to have been done. It probably wasn't the best use of your time, but ...”

    “It's the money issue, professor. Should we have done it for money when it was so much fun? I think we shouldn't have sold ourselves like … like you know. Kevin is bothered by what we did, but I'm bothered by the money.”

    “Money versus what? Emotions?”

    “Yeah, I kinda got to like the older guy ...” Jeff admitted.

    “Did you see him again?” Dormeyer asked.

    “Yes, several times, and I took money from him.”

    “Jeff could have financed a Porsche with the money he got,” Kevin commented.

    “Not true. I never asked him for it. Anyway, Professor, I feel like I really need to make up for it. Is that a moral solution?” Jeff asked.

    “What do you mean 'make up for it' ?”

    “I think I should offer myself to someone absolutely free.”

    “There's no moral need to do that,” Dormeyer answered quickly.

    “I think I need to; it just seems like I have to do it,” Jeff said insistently.

    “Gentlemen, I'm out of time, but we can continue this discussion later if you want. It really is a modern twist on an old dilemma.” Dormeyer was plainly dismissing them and the boys left.

    Dormeyer took a deep breath as the door closed. Thank God, he thought; what a mess that could turn into. First he imagined newspaper headlines, but decided that was old-fashioned thinking. Internet – that's what would happen. Me splashed all over the Internet. Visions of Anthony Weiner's semi-attractive dick sprang to mind. So sleazy. Thank God, he told himself, this time I kept control of myself. Then his breath caught. He saw it on the chair: the jewel box containing the CD. His hands shook as he inserted the disc into his computer. He stopped the playback and locked the door. He pressed play and opened his zipper.

    The conversation didn't go as Neil had expected. Jerry didn't enjoy hearing about Lynne at all. In fact he acted hurt. “It's no big deal, Jer. I just needed to try it. I had to answer her challenge. And to tell the truth, I wanted to see what I would think.”

    Jerry just nodded and sat in the chair, fingering the remote, surfing through the sports channels. He wouldn't look at Neil.

    “It was fun and all, but it was pretty mechanical.” Neil didn't know what else to say.

    Jerry turned to him. “Do you want to leave? Move out?”

    “No! No! Absolutely not! Why would you think that?”

    “I just wanted to know.” Jerry got up and tossed the remote to Neil. “I'm going to bed.”

    Neil checked the front and back doors, turned off the TV and the lights and went into the bedroom. Jerry was already in bed with the light off. Neil undressed in the dark, brushed his teeth and stuff, and crawled into the bed. “Jer?” He reached out.

    “Huh?” Jerry answered.

    “I want to kiss you.”

    “I'm kinda tired, Neil ...”

    “Tim says if you live together, you gotta make love every night.”

    Jerry turned to him and they made love. It wasn't their best night and both men were glad for sleep. When Jerry woke in the morning, he saw Neil in the dim light standing naked in front of the dresser mirror looking intently at himself.

    “What are you doing?”

    “Oh … morning. I had the strangest dream last night.” Neil shifted his gaze to Jerry and then returned to looking at himself. “I dreamed I was standing right here, naked, in front of the mirror. Come here, would you?” Neil waited for Jerry to get out of bed and approach. “Hug me the way you do ...”

    Jerry came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Neil's chest, first loosely and then tighter until he heard Neil sigh at the pressure of their naked bodies. They held the pose looking in the mirror and then Neil kissed Jerry's fingers.

    “I was standing here and I noticed I was full of holes … like I took a couple dozen bullets or something … but it wasn't bloody or anything … just holes, like I was a Swiss cheese.” He paused and kissed Jerry's hand again. “And then you came up behind me and held me like we're doing … and I could see your body behind me, I could see you through the holes. And then you kissed me on the neck and I closed my eyes ...” Jerry mimicked the action described and Neil closed his eyes. “And when I opened my eyes, all the holes in me were filled in. Strange, huh?”

    Jerry gave Neil a little squeeze but didn't interrupt.

    “It was like you had filled in all the holes. The easy explanation is … the dream was telling me that I like it when you fuck me. And I do... I love it when you fuck me. But it was saying more, I think. It was saying parts of me are missing, and you fill in those holes … that you're part of me … you make me whole, Jer …. you're half my brain, half my heart ...” Neil turned in Jerry's arms so he was facing him. He held Jerry around the waist. “What you said last night … I don't want to leave you.” He buried his face in the warmth of Jerry's neck. “Don't think that.”

    “Are you saying you love me?”

    “Yes I love you. More than love you. I can't get along without you.”

    “You could tell me. That would be ok. I wouldn't have to wonder what you're thinking ...”

    Neil knew he was forgiven. He pulled Jerry back into bed and they made love like lovers. There was nothing tentative or experimental, nothing held back, no reservations left. For Neil it was a driven kind of sex, a new need in him that Jerry completely filled. He came soon after they started but wouldn't let Jerry stop until he had come, too. It was messy but that's how love is.

    With Eric in Alameda for a long weekend, Z successfully put Craig out of his mind. Eric seemed more like his old self rather the student-zombie and neglectful lover he had been over the past year.

    “It's over Z,” he said. Z's look of horror made Eric quickly add, “Med school, I mean - the grind part is over. I'm in cruise mode now … This last year is going to be easy. The hours will still be long, but not so killer, I hope.”

    Eric was still tired that night, but their love-making showed improvement, enough improvement that Z felt guilty over his dalliance with Craig. It was a limited guilt, however, really just a sense of regret, not a cause for unnecessary drama. “Don't lie; but you don't have to tell them every last thing, either,” as Rory always said. And it was Rory's counsel that Z relied on.

    “Japan? What could you do in Japan you can't do here?” had been Rory's reaction to Z's breakup news. “I wish you hadn't told me, Z. I thought you were so solid. Now you are just another human like the rest of us.”

    “I had to tell somebody, Rory; and you are the only one who reliably keeps his mouth shut. Plus, you give good advice.”

    “Tim keeps his mouth shut,” Rory replied, remembering how long Tim had known about Jerry and Neil and said nothing. “Anyway, I wouldn't do the Japan thing … going away with somebody would be an irrevocable wedge between you and Eric and you admit you don't know what to do. You need to give Eric more time. He's not somebody you want to give up on easily.”

    So Z skipped the confession and forgiveness scene, cooked Eric a pretty good dinner, made pretty good love, and looked forward to lacrosse in the park the next day. Sex was always better after physical exertion.

    They found the field dusty at Rittler Park. Fall's sunny and hot weather had arrived a little early. Everybody was sweating and enjoying it. Nash Chlomsky was the day's new addition; his mediocre ability was exceeded by his energy expenditure. “He tries really hard,” was Cal's observation. “He'll catch on to the stick work.”

    Nash moved well. He got to the right place at the right time reliably. It was the stick, catching and passing, that confounded him. Bo helped him out with some pointers and it was democratically voted on that Nash could use a goalie's bigger-webbed stick for his first afternoon. “Man, that was a workout,” a sweat-soaked Nash exclaimed at the end of the day.

    “That's what the bay is for: cooling down,” Bo said. “Let's go.”

    The rest of the group went to Rory and Tim's, while Nash, Bo, Nicky, and Darren walked the long block to the beach. There were families still on the sand down near Park Street, but otherwise only a few runners and solitary beachcombers were around the Grand Street section.

    Everybody was going to swim in the shorts they had worn for lacrosse, but Bo said he needed to take off the compression shorts he was wearing underneath. With a preliminary glance around to ensure some version of privacy, he quickly shucked his outer shorts and peeled down the tight inner garment. He was briefly naked before he put the outer shorts on again. Nash watched with his mouth open, amazed as much by the public nudity as by Bo's body; if this were Brooklyn, he thought, the nude body would either be eight or eighty, not eighteen. He felt it again, that uneasy sense of falling in love with an image, an unattainable dream.

    After a brief swim in the wake-you-right-up cold water, Bo went home, leaving the three others behind. Nash couldn't contain himself. “I don't know if I've ever met anybody THAT good-looking.” Darren smiled. “There's nobody, NOBODY in Brooklyn who looks like that.” Nicky frowned. “You just want to dip him in chocolate and ...,” Nash enthused.

    Nicky was disgusted. “Nash, have you ever had sex with anybody? Anybody at all?”

    “Of course I have!” Nash answered instantly. “Lots ...” They walked silently for a bit until Nash asked, “Hand jobs count, don't they?” Neither Nicky nor Darren commented. “It's Friday night … what do you think he's doing?”

    “Who?” Darren asked with pretended innocence and got a glare from Nicky.

    “Bo ...”

    “He's probably got a boy friend or three,” Nicky said, trying to end the discussion.

    “Boy friend? Really? You think he's gay?”

    “Everybody's gay!” Nicky said.

    “He means everybody who was playing lacrosse today,” Darren explained.

    “No shit? NO SHIT???” Nash stopped in his tracks. “That blond guy?”

    “Eric? Yes,” Darren answered. “He and my brother Z ...”

    “Your brother? You're shittin' me.”

    “Shitting you? Darren and Z look like twins, numb-nuts.” For some reason Nicky was annoyed by Nash's innocence.

    “Everybody?” Nash repeated.

    “Everybody!” Nicky repeated. “Except maybe Neil and Jerry. The jury's still out on them; but they're up to something.”

    “No shit ...” Nash said again in quiet wonder. He was reviewing in his head the guys he had met and stumbled on a bump in the sidewalk. He lurched forward and grabbed Nicky to keep from falling. He regained his balance and then, when he realized where his hands were, he yanked them off Nicky.

    “Touch me like that again and you're on a plane. Got it?”

    “Yeah, sorry, Nicky. Sorry.”

    They split up, Darren and Nicky heading for their place and Nash walking to Carolyn's house with lots to think about. Two gay cops, he thought. Neil and what-was-his name? They looked like cops, but there was something else about them. They had a humanity, sensitivity, and sexiness that didn't seem to fit the cop image. And the computer guys … not nerds at all. The doctor-guy. Z and his brother. That amazing football coach and his friend. He thought about each of the guys in turn but his thoughts kept returning to the insistent vision of Bo, changing on the beach. He savored the vision in his head, trying to recall every detail. It took a while to put words to what he felt: I gotta suck that cock. There was nothing casual about the feeling; it was a biological imperative.

  24. #124
    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    A great instalment, Rory- beautifully written, and I very much enjoyed the range of emotions expressed. Thanks for sharing!

  25. #125
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    This was a great mid-afternoon treat when I saw it come in to my e-mail.

    A lot continues to happen.

    Kevin and Jeff - playing the prof - cumplete with leaving the DVD behind.

    Neil and Jerry - FINALLY getting down to serious coupledom and acceptance of WHO and WHAT they are to each other.

    And, Eric & Z - Where's the Hallelujah Chorus when you need it - thanks, Rory, for your sage counsel to Z.

    And then, the coupe de grace at Lacrosse. Nicky, Nash, Bo, and Darren. Nash's eye opener of his sport mates' aggregate sexuality.

    Super Installment.

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

  26. #126
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Thirty-Three

    Dormeyer took his hands off himself and wiped up a bit. He had been masturbating almost non-stop for over twenty-four hours. The CD was over an hour long and Dormeyer had memorized every action and sound on it. He had made two copies, afraid that keeping only one risked irrevocable loss. The following day he called the phone number on the original case. “Yes, this is Professor Dormeyer. You left a CD in my office. Did you want it back?”

    “Oh … yes, I'll pick it up. I'll be right over.”

    After the call was concluded Dormeyer slipped the CD into his computer again. It wouldn't hurt to make a third copy, he decided. One for the office, one for home, and a spare. After making sure his office door was locked he pulled his pants down and began playing with himself teasingly. He couldn't decide which boy looked better. Their guilt was a troubling notion. They look so eager and experienced, he thought; why are they suddenly feeling moral qualms about it? It's not like they're being exploited or molested. What a strange term: molested. How can you actually molest someone who is so eager to be molested? Yes, the age thing … but they're legal, more than legal … He almost came watching Kevin take the small but rock-hard cock of some unknown actor. Maybe I should go after that one, not … what was his name? … Jeff.

    He fast forwarded to scene where Jeff and Kevin fuck each other. Yeah, I think Kevin is the better prospect, he decided. It was, however, Jeff who knocked on his door ten minutes later. Dormeyer quickly checked his office and his appearance before opening the door. Except for a slight scent of exertion, everything seemed proper. “Come in, Jeff. Here's the CD.”

    Jeff accepted the jewel box and then asked. “Did you watch it?”

    “No, of course not,” Dormeyer insisted.

    “Well then you missed the Easter egg.”

    “The what?”

    “The surprise. There's an extra scene of me hidden in the second scene.”

    “I don't understand.”

    “Here, I can show you ...” Jeff put the disc into Dormeter's computer and fastforwarded to the second part. “Ok … watch … I hope you don't find this disgusting, Professor.”

    Dormeyer's eyes were glued to the screen watching Kevin get out of his clothes. “What? No, no … purely academic. No reason to get judgmental. That part is up to you and Kevin.” Dormeyer reached out toward the screen as if to touch Kevin's image, but pulled his hand back.

    “Good … ok, it's coming … wait for it … ok, NOW! Click on Kevin's asshole!” Jeff urged. Dormeyer clicked and a tunnel opened up visually sucking the viewer in. The view transformed into a shot of Jeff talking to 'the older guy' played by Jody. “Isn't he about your age, Professor? This is what I feel bad about ...”

    In the scene Jeff teasingly stripped both himself and Jody, charging ten dollars a garment. Jody tried to negotiate the socks being called a single item, but Jeff demanded ten for each. Eventually they were naked and Jeff's character said, “You're hard. That will cost you twenty-five.” Jeff lightly traced his finger along Jody's cock. “Isn't a good hardon worth twenty-five?”

    “No,” Jody said. “It's free. For twenty-five, I should get to give you a hardon.” Jody tentatively grasped Jeff's cock and stroked. Jody quickly worked Jeff into arousal and leaned forward to taste the result.

    “We didn't know this part was being filmed. I was taking his money for real,” Jeff whispered to Dormeyer, pulling a chair up close so they could watch together.

    In the computer screen, the image of Jeff pulled back. “Sucking's extra.”

    “I'll give you everything I have,” Jody said. “What will that get me?”

    “How much have you got?” Jeff asked and pondered Jody's answer. “Two fifty, plus what you've already given me … well ...” he teased.

    “What? What?” Jody demanded.

    “That'll get you whatever you want.” Jeff's character leaned forward toward Jody when Jeff clicked the scene off.

    “There's more, but you don't want to see that.” Jeff whispered. “So there it is … it wasn't supposed to be in the release. The thing is I actually kept the guy's money. And that's what I feel bad about. I don't want you to see the rest of the scene. I did some terrible things to that man. But when it was over, he said I was worth it.” Jeff popped the disc out of the drive. “I still feel bad about it though. And … the worst part, Professor … I kinda liked what we did. He was pretty hot, in fact. I just had no idea they were recording it.” Jeff cast his glance down in mock remorse and noticed Dormeyer's erection showing in his trousers. Yes! He thought to himself. “So that's why I think I should try to make up for … what I did.” Jeff spoke uncertainly, as if he couldn't put a name to his hustling.

    There was a small drop of spittal at the corner of Dormeyer's mouth, which he licked away. “Jeff, did you see that actor again?”

    “Yes. For several weeks, until he ended it. He felt he was a bad influence on me. You wouldn't guess this, professor, but that guy is a lawyer, a professional, making lots of money. He actually asked me if I was going to try to blackmail him.”

    “Wh-what did you say to that?”

    “I was shocked. I'd never betray him. And not just because the sex was so good, he was really nice to me. Not many people are.” Jeff was worried about his last comment, worried that he might be overplaying things with Dormeyer.

    “How was he 'nice' to you?” Dormeyer asked. “In your relative positions, almost anything he would do could be considered coercive.”

    “He carved my name in a bench. Right at Crissy Field. There's a bench that says, 'Jeff got fucked here.' And he was very romantic about it. He had some wine … I told you I liked him.”

    “Jeff got fucked?” Dormeyer was incredulous. “He took you to Crissy Field, fed you wine, and fucked you?” Dormeyer laughed.

    “More than once. I liked it. It was dark. People were watching but they couldn't see much.” Dormeyer laughed again. “Don't laugh, Professor. I'd do it for you ...” Jeff bit his lip nervously in a Clintonian way. “I'm sorry. Did that offend you? I noticed you're a little hard and all.” Jeff pointed directly at the wet spot on Dormeyer's khakis; Dormeyer quickly reseated himself at his desk to hide his condition. “That's ok, Professor. I'm flattered you'd even be interested. I'm kinda … you know, I'm a little turned on, too.” Jeff pulled his pants tight showing his cock snaking down his right pant's leg. He giggled nervously, “More than a little, I guess. I'll be dripping like you in a minute. I come real easy. Watch ...”

    A loud groan came from the restarted computer. In the scene, Jody had just penetrated Jeff. “I thought … I thought … that you were the top,” Dormeyer gasped.

    “Yeah, that was in the main scene. In this one I got so turned on that … listen … you'll hear it.” Jeff paused while his on-screen character begged to get fucked. Dormeyer was watching transfixed and breathing audibly. “I was supposed to top him, but I couldn't help it. He knew just what to do to me. I guess that's why I like older guys.” The on-screen Jeff shouted out a couple of fuck-me's and then demonstrated with his legs in the air just how eager he was. “There's almost no acting in this scene. That's how into it I was … See? Look at the sweet fuck he's giving me! How can I reduce this kind of connection to money?” Jeff rhythmically squeezed his cock.

    “NO! NO! AAANNNGGHHH!” Dormeyer came in his pants and was mortified.

    “Did you just come, Professor? Awww, that's so cute. Really?” Dormeyer didn't or couldn't answer. “Did I make you do that?” Jeff continued. “Jeez … Imagine what we could do if we really tried … Would you maybe want to?” Jeff patted Dormeyer's trembling thigh reassuringly.

    The call came at work. “Hi, this is Tom. ...Yes, Edmund. Of course I remember. How is Alistair? Oh ... Oh … I'm so sorry. Yes … Is there a charity or some kind of remembrance fund? Yes, yes of course, we can do that. I'll do it today. I'm so glad you called. Again, I'm so sorry for your loss.”

    Heiko followed the half of the call he could hear. “Is Alistair dead?”

    “Yes, over a month ago. Edmund called to see if we would let him include the drawings Alistair did of us in a retrospective. I told him yes, but I should have asked you first. You're in them, too. Do you mind being nude in some small English art show five thousand miles away?”

    “I guess not,” Heiko smiled, remembering the day the British Museum curator had sketched them at his little cottage near the North Sea coast. He and Tom were just newly lovers, still exploring each other. Heiko gave Tom a look that explained what he was thinking about.

    “Quit it,” Tom whispered, doing his best to hide a grin. “We're at work.” Tom's eyes promised sex the minute they got home.

    “I saw that!” Bernice groaned. She was pregnant again and complaining about everything. “You're sending those filthy pictures to a show? Nasty … just plain nasty …”

    “You just wish it was you and Cyril,” Tom shot back.

    “Hah! This is what being sexy gets you!” She held her belly swollen by baby number three. “Unless of course you're in a special relationship.” She was teasing; special was Bernice's word for homosexual. “What are you going to insure the pictures for?”

    “Insure them … hmmm … I guess they are worth something,” Heiko said.

    “We'll need to get them appraised, Heiko. Wonder what that costs ...”

    “One percent, typically. It gives the appraiser incentive to overestimate the value,” Bernice answered.

    “How does a poor person like you know stuff like that?” Tom prodded Bernice. Nobody in Rory's increasingly successful office was anything remotely close to poor, but they regularly joked about their earlier days when eating lunch out was a rare and special event.

    “You pick up stuff along the way,” Bernice answered while pointedly admiring the large sapphire in her engagement ring. “Would it be ok if I called the baby Hendryk?”

    “Sure, but what if it's a girl,” Heiko answered, flattered that Bernice wanted to use his name.

    “It's a boy. I can tell. Boys give me gas,” she answered.

    Finding an appraiser delayed shipping the drawings by a day. The appraiser had never seen anything like the Alistair Dragon drawings. He tried to remain professional.

    “They're utterly unique. There is no comparable piece on the market.” He looked from the drawings to Tom, obviously trying to guess if the nude drawing was at all an accurate representation. “You were the model?”

    “One of them. We had no idea he was drawing us at the time.”

    “I have no idea what they might be worth especially in an English market, but for insurance purposes, you can unquestionably claim ten thousand each. I'll write up my appraisal and mail it to you.”

    Tom decided that the post office was probably not the way to go and he shipped the drawings through a commercial service. When he got home he told Heiko that value he declared.

    “Really? Wait until my father hears that! The nudity will appall him; but the value will fix all that. Besides, the drawings are small. It's not like we'll be hanging on a museum wall somewhere.” Heiko changed the subject to their German travel plans. “Are you looking forward to the trip?”

    “You know I'd go anywhere with you. You know that, right?” Tom held Heiko in his arms. “But seeing your home will be the best trip ever. Plus I love beer.”

    “The entire shipment sold out in two days,” Nahum explained. “It sold to several customers who all bought multiple items and size didn't seem to matter. Strange, Nicky. Very strange.”

    “Yes. The LA buyer said the same thing. So, you want more?”

    “Of course, I already promised my customers. Are you sure there's nothing fishy here?”

    “Totally legitimate, every I dotted, every T crossed,” Nicky promised.

    “So,” Nahum delayed. “Ah-hem … So, Opal wonders if you and Nash would come for brisket next Sunday. She knows two lovely girls ...”

    “Thank you. I can't speak for Nash, but I'd be delighted. Can I bring my boyfriend?”

    “Your … um, yes, sure, I suppose so. Just a second.” Nahum only muffled the mouthpiece; Nicky could hear Opal shreak “His what?” After a brief pause Nahum was back on the line. “We'd love to meet your boy friend. So … three of you?”

    Next Nicky spoke to Morrie. “Sold out, Morrie. The whole container. Not a great profit, but a profit. More than enough to finance another buying trip.”

    “Not necessary, dear boy. Just reorder and accept up to three containers this time – I think I found another buyer. We can do the financing on a negotiable bill. Anything else?”

    “Well, your sister-in-law wants to fix me and Nash up with some 'nice girls'. She choked a little when I asked if I could bring Darren along.”

    “She's a good cook; go for the brisket. The girls will probably be a lot older than the wine.” Morrie chuckled. “She never gives up … Er, Nicky? What do you know about niobium?”

    “I'm not going to Africa, Morrie. Mongolia was bad enough.”

    “So, nothing, I assume. It's a metal, not a country. From Brazil, where the nuts come from.”

    “Lay off whatever you're taking. I think you're a little nuts.”

    “That's a famous laugh line. Try to get out more, Nicky.” Morrie clicked off.

    Nash was much more excited. “Brisket? She must really like you, Nicky. Her brisket is famous. Yes, I'll go. Of course ...”

    “Morrie didn't say anything about you … Shouldn't you be going back to New York?”

    “He wants me to learn from you. If he wants me in New York, he'll say so.”

    “What are you going to learn from me?”

    “How do I get a date with Bo?”

    Nicky stared at Nash. “You're serious.” He stared some more. “Call him. Ask him.”

    “He won't even remember me.”

    “Remind him.”

    “Nicky ...” Nash wheedled.

    “Call him. Tell him you're new in town. Do NOT say you're from New York. Ask him if he'll show you around some time. People around here love showing off the place. Then pin him down to a time and place.”

    A half hour later Nash burst in on Darren and Nicky, bubbling with anticipation. “Friday night, Bo said. We're meeting some people in Emeryville!”

    “Emeryville? There's nothing in Emeryville,” Darren said.

    “Well … maybe we'll go on from there ...” Nash answered, his high spirits sagging.

    “Andrew, what is going on with you and Adan?” Seth was tired of the tense atmosphere in the office and decided to get to the bottom of things.

    “He disappointed me.” Andrew's answer did not invite further inquiry.

    “Eventually everybody does. What were you expecting?” Seth wasn't going to give up.

    “I thought he liked me.”

    “He does. Plainly.”

    “I thought he liked me as much as I like him.”

    “Ahhhh, I see. He thought the two of you were just messing around. You thought more … and I guess Adan didn't.” Andrew didn't answer. “Andrew, look at me,” Seth demanded and studied his partner's face. “You love him – I mean seriously – you really love him!”

    “So?” Andrew asked defiantly.

    “Poor baby. Now you know what the rest of us are constantly going through.” Seth was gentle with his chiding.

    “It's partly the sex … Nobody else ever made me want it so much. But there's more, Seth. He's really sweet and open and smart and interested in everything. I thought he was interested in me ...”

    Seth smiled tolerantly, trying not to take any pleasure from Andrew's pain. It was hard not to. “I'm not going to tell you that you deserve this ...”

    “You just did,” Andrew replied.

    “I won't mention how many people you have hurt over the years ...”

    Andrew looked down, saying nothing.

    “How utterly callous you have been, knowing you were hurting them ...”

    “Seth, please ...”

    “How I swear you took pleasure knowing you hurt some of them ...”

    Andrew looked at Seth, his eyes begging him to stop. He relented and held his arms out. Andrew hugged him. “And now somebody's doing it to you.”

    “It hurts so much ...” Andrew admitted. “I don't know if I'll ever ...”

    “You'll get over it. It takes time, though.” Seth soothed and patted Andrew's back.

    “That's why I love you, sweetie. You always stand by me.” A couple of sobs interrupted Andrew's speech.

    “I love you, too, partner. Tough it out. You'll get over this. I promise.” Seth felt Andrew's wet cheek against his own.

    Adan entered the room and the partners backed away from each other. Andrew wiped his face with the back of his hand.

    “Andrew, mio Dios! What's wrong?” Adan asked. To Seth his concern sounded completely genuine.

    “Death in the family,” Andrew answered and went upstairs.

    “Adan,” Seth began, “What are your goals here?”

    “My benefactor, Señor Peralta, told me to work hard, study hard, and learn American ways. I'm trying to do that.”

    It was the first time Seth had heard the name from Adan. “Tony Peralta?”

    “Yes, my family works for him.”

    Tony Peralta! A couple dozen wheels began spinning in Seth's head. This could be good or this could be very bad, he thought. “Andrew's in love with you. Did you know that?”

    “I worried that would happen. I think maybe that happened with Señor Peralta, too.”

    “Be careful with Andrew, ok? Probably the sex should stop.”

    Adan looked up. “The sex is very good, Seth. Andrew likes it.”

    “The sex needs to stop, Adan.”

  27. #127
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Another name or three from the past.

    Sorry to hear about Alistair, but I guess we knew it was just a matter of time.

    The boys are really working their dirty old man prof, aren't they?!

    Man, it's another great chapter, and I didn't get home til late, so I feel like I'm rushing through the chapter before I head on up to bed - to sleep, lol.

    So much activity, so little time to appreciate it all!
    But i do!!!

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

  28. #128
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Thirty-Four

    Nash stood outside an anonymous office building in Emeryville thinking Darren was right. A few workers in a hurry to get home drove past him in inexpensive vehicles or one kind or another; otherwise nothing was happening in Emeryville. Nash wondered if he was in the right location.

    “Hey, you made it!” Bo called out, walking swiftly closer and surprising Nash. He was dressed down, just jeans and a T, not ready for a night of clubbing.

    “Where did you come from?” Nash watched as Bo came up to him, disappointed that the t-shirt covered any visible bulge in his jeans

    “The Ashby BART Station. You look ready for whatever the night brings.”

    “Too much?” Whatever Nash looked like, he didn't look local.

    “Way overdressed for swimming.”

    “Swimming? I thought maybe clubbing or a rave or ...”

    “Come on … We'll see what happens.” Bo entered the building and said hello to the security guard as he and Nash walked to the elevators. Nash pushed the up button. “Not those, this one.” Bo pressed a button on the door and it opened.

    Jackson was waiting when the door opened. He immediately thought of Beauty and the Beast. Hiding his opinion fairly well, he said, “Bo … ah, and a friend.”

    “This is Nash. He's new in town. I thought we could show him Berkeley. Nash, this is Jackson.”

    “Berkeley?” Jackson made it sound like Mars. “Why would we go there?”

    “It's close. It's lively. It's new to Nash.”

    “And then come back here for the orgy? Are you up for an orgy, Nash?” Jackson leered at him.

    “Orgy …?” A look of panic crossed Nash's face. “You're joking, right?”

    “Maybe … Yes,” Jackson smiled.

    “Probably not,” Bo added with a conspiratorial smile. There was a thump from above and he looked at the ceiling.

    “Helicopter,” Jackson explained. “Ok … let's start with something soothing ...” Jackson took the boys to the balcony and went for drinks. He returned with a beer for Nash, a Mountain Dew for Bo, and a glass of something murky for himself. “Confusion to the enemy,” he toasted. “You are twenty-one, aren't you, Nash? I'd hate to corrupt you with something as trivial as a beer.”

    “Corrupting another one?” Steve said, looking down from the roof. He didn't wait for an answer. “I left Larry at SFO; we're off for the night. I'll join you, if that's ok.”

    “New to town, Nash?” Jackson asked, looking at his clothes. He moved in front of Bo and backed into him, forcing Bo to put his arms around him to keep his balance. Jackson snuggled in the involuntary embrace.

    “Yes, I was transferred here to … Actually, I'm not sure why I was transferred here.”

    Steve joined them, still wearing his flight suit but now sipping a beer. Introductions were made. “So this is pure accident? You didn't plan an orgy, Jackson?”

    “What's all this talk of orgies?” Nash asked, looking confused.

    Steve decided his problems with Jackson weren't Nash's fault and turned charming. “Sorry. Just an old joke. What are you looking for tonight? Just about anything is available. No helicopter rides, though. I gotta do a little work on it.”

    “Really? A helicopter?”

    “Yeah, one floor up, on the roof. Want to see it?”

    After Steve and Nash left, Jackson pulled Bo into a comfortable chair and kissed him. “Please tell me you don't really want to go to Berkeley tonight.”

    Bo snuggled closer and said, “He's new. I have to show him something.”

    “Steve is solving that problem for you.” Jackson pulled Bo's shirt off. “We can go out if you want.” He kissed Bo's nipple and then wrapped his tongue around the puckered nub. “Do you want?”

    Bo spread his legs inviting Jackson's touch. When Jackson didn't respond quickly enough, he grabbed Jackson's hand and put it on his bulge. “No. I'm so fuckin' horny. I didn't do a thing but study all week and I feel like I'll explode.”

    “Come on,” Jackson said. He led Bo to a large, low ottoman in front of a fireplace. “Want a fire? Or am I hot enough?”

    On the roof Nash was getting the tour. It seats six if we're not going too far, like the airport or Napa – someplace local. Only three if we go to Sac'to or Tahoe. The boss has a place at Tahoe. One at Mount Shasta. Shit! He's got places everywhere,” Steve smiled. “Come on, sit in the cockpit with me.”

    Getting into the cockpit from the passenger compartment meant a short but steep climb up two stairs. It was easy once you got used to it. Nash wasn't used to it and slipped. Steve saved him from a fall at a small cost to Nash's dignity. He blocked his fall, catching him by the ass.

    “I've got you,” Steve said, pushing up on Nash's butt while he put his feet back in the recessed steps and climbed into the cockpit. “Don't step on any pedals.” Nash sat in the right seat and Steve climbed up and sat in the left. “Comfortable? Don't worry. Nothing will happen. Then grab the collective … with your left hand and the controls with your right … Here, like this ...” Steve brushed against Nash's crotch and he chuckled. “Do you have a hardon?”

    “I … er … uh …”

    “Don't worry about it,” Steve joked. “When I was a student in flight school, I got hard every time I sat in a plane. I still do somethimes.” Their eyes locked and even in the darkness Steve could tell Nash was blushing. He checked out Nash more thoroughly. “You got a nice one … You mind me doing this?” He was squeezing and rubbing Nash's growing cock

    “No.” Nash's shaky voice broke boyishly.

    “Maybe there's better place, though,” Steve suggested. They exited the cockpit through the normal side doors. It was much easier. Steve joined Nash at the edge of the pad and they looked back at the chopper. “She's a nice one,” Steve said. He pulled Nash against him and explored his body with both hands. “You're a nice one, too. Compact. Tight. Hard.”

    Nash's brain was in overload. I'm standing on the roof of a skyscraper, he thought, with this guy opening my zipper. He flinched as Steve's hand got into his underwear. He's stroking my cock! Man … I can't believe this. He's got me half undressed. Can anybody see? He glanced around; the fact that there weren't any other buildings close by was not reassuring.

    Nash hesitated only when Steve pulled his pants off and tossed them aside. The wind caught them and blew his trousers off the roof. Pants, wallet, money … Then the magic of Steve's mouth on his cock changed his priorities and he decided to go along for the whole ride. In a little less than an hour, Steve transformed Nash from near-virgin to near-slut. It was finally Steve who paused; Nash was ready for more.

    “You're not too experienced with this, huh?” Steve asked.

    “Pretty much this is my first time for a lot of stuff,” Nash admitted. He put Steve's hand back on his cock, signaling his readiness for more

    “You're good at it,” Steve complimented before he took at few licks on Nash's cock.

    “Really? I liked it a lot. I liked it all - way more than I expected …. Oooooh … Like cocksucking. You're so good at it.” He raised his hips off the rooftop, pushing his cock deeper into Steve's throat. He shivered in the wind.

    “Maybe we ought to go inside,” Steve suggested. He pulled Nash closer to share their warmth. He felt delicate kisses on his neck. “We better get dressed.”

    “Uh, you threw my pants off the building.” Nash pointed in the direction he had last seen his pants.

    Steve kissed him again, thinking what a sweet kid. “Sorry about that; they're on a balcony, one flight down. Let's go get 'em.”

    They carried their clothes and were glad to be out of the open air. Their feet absorbed the relative warmth of the stairs as they padded down the two half-flights to the even more comfortable and warming carpet that led to the balcony door. Steve stopped and took a good look at Nash, a lingering, appraising look, leaving nothing out. “You aren't really handsome ...”

    “Gee, thanks,” Nash said.

    “And your body could use some toning up ...”

    “Again, semi-insulting ...”

    “But overall, a pretty nice package.” Steve smiled as he completed his survey. He slid the balcony door open and retrieved the trousers. “Here you go. You don't have to put them on right away, though. The fire will work faster if we're naked.”

    “What fire?”

    “Next room … I'll show you.” He opened another door. Outlined by the flickering light, they saw the silhouette of Bo fucking Jackson in front of a roaring fire. “Oops. The fireplace is in use.” He gently closed the door without disturbing the scene. “How about a jacuzzi?”

    The churning water of the small pool warmed them instantly. Nash sat shyly until Steve made the invitation. “Come here.” He moved quickly into Steve's waiting arms and all but purred as Steve explored his body.

    “Steve?” Nash waited a beat or two, he felt Steve's hands cupping his ass cheeks. “Do you want to do what Bo was doing?”

    “Fuck you?” Nash nodded. “It's too soon; you're too new to this. Take it go slow.”

    “But it's gonna happen sooner or later. I want to do it,” Nash protested. “And I trust you … and you didn't get to come yet.”

    Steve hesitated. So tempting. Such a tight little ass. Such a hard cock. He felt more little kisses on his neck and he was a sucker for little kisses on his neck. And so far, the night had been all about Nash. “Are you sure?” He felt more little kisses in answer.

    They moved to a lounge. Steve got lube and a condom out of a cabinet. “Always prepared,” he joked. “Lie face down. It'll be easier for you.” Steve began a massage that gradually included more concentration of Nash's ass, rimming, lubing, and finally a testing finger, which Nash didn't seem to like.

    “Use your cock,” he said, moving away from the intruding finger.

    Steve lay on top of him and slowly penetrated part way. Nash took some deep breaths and held the last one until nature forced him to breath again. Steve began little motions, thrusting gently and fluidly, taking care not to go too deep. Nash's breathing was raggedy, he groaned a couple of times, he found one of Steve's hands and squeezed it. Steve in turn kissed his cheek and Nash turned as much as he could for a kiss on the lips. Steve felt his climax coming. He tried to keep it gentle, but in the end he thrust his spurting cock fully into Nash. He heard a whimper of pain, but only one. He back off some, leaving his cock in Nash as it deflated. Nash lay perfectly still, which concerned Steve. “Ok?” he asked.

    “Mmmm,” Nash answered and they lay unmoving until Steve's cock slid out of Nash. A shapr intake of breath was Nash's reaction.

    “Ok? Really?” Steve asked again. Steve moved to the side to let Nash roll over.

    Nash's assessment was straightforward. “It was worse when you took it out than when you put it in.” Steve watched a little smile grow. “I made you come.” Nash searched Steve's face for an idea of Steve's reaction.

    “You sure did,” Steve confirmed and followed with a kiss.

    They moved back to the pool and after a soothing and sensual half hour making out in the churning bubbles, Nash said, “It's getting late … unless you want me to spend the night.”

    “That's the one rule here. Only the boss gets to invite people to spend the night. You want a ride home?”

    “In the helicopter?” Nash was excited again.

    “No-o-o-o. In a pickup.” Steve smiled when he saw that Nash seemed to like pickups, too.

    The Munich trip was a success in several ways. The software installation and training went flawlessly; the German system operators learned rapidly; Heiko's family were extremely hospitable; and Wolf came home for an overnight visit, saying how much he was looking forward to Christmas. They were on schedule until the museum administration asked they to stay an extra day to demonstrate the system to another potential user. With one day to go, Tom and Heiko were congratulating themselves with a late afternoon drink at the Königlicher Hirschgarten, a huge outdoor beer garden. It was on the way to the Schloss Nymphenburg, where they were going for a formidable family dinner.

    “You look very handsome in your smoking, Tomi. Very princely,” Heiko commented, raising his stein to his lover.

    “I can't believe I'm going to dinner with a real prince.” Tom brushed some imaginary lint off his tuxedo.

    “I keep telling you he's not a real prince. That ended almost a hundred years ago and it's not coming back.”

    “He's called Prince of Bavaria.”

    “That's his last name, not a title. Nobody takes it seriously.”

    “And he's your uncle.”

    “More like a cousin of a great uncle,” Heiko corrected. His expression changed. “Phone call. I hope nothing serious … Wittelsbach,” he spoke carefully into the phone. “Hello, Edmund,” Heiko smiled reassuringly at Tom. “Yes … yes … The Tate Modern? That's inmpressive … Wait, please. He's right here.”

    Heiko put his hand over the mouthpiece and explained. “The retrospective for Alistair is opening to the public and Edmund wonders if we could attend. What do you think?”

    “We're done here. You mean go to London for a day instead of home?” Heiko nodded. “I guess so,” Tom nodded back.

    Heiko's frugal side showed. “Well, we'd like to, Edmund, but it would be quite expensive … Oh? … Really? … In that case, fine. I'm looking forward to seeing you.” Heiko put the phone away and grinned. “They're paying for everything. That's generous for sending a few little drawings.”

    The rest of the night was as frothy as a Vienese waltz. Great uncle's cousin, the prince, was charming and even a little fey in his appreciation of Tom and Heiko, calling them princes of 'Silikontal', a joky translation of silicon valley. His admiration seemed to go beyond what their achievement in automating the Alte Pinakothek Museum warranted. “He's never been married,” Heiko whispered to Tom.

    The next day was a blur, packing, confirming with London details with Edmund, flying to London City Airport instead of Heathrow, and checking into Tom's one-time residence the Mad Hatter Hotel. It wasn't posh, but Tom had an odd affection for the place and it was near the south end of Blackfriars Bridge, an easy walk to the Tate Modern. The threat of rain made them walk quickly; they were still catching their breath as they entered the main hall of the Tate.

    “The Alistair Dragon exhibit?” Tom inquired.

    “Straight ahead …” the attendant replied; and then she looked up. “No! … You're them!”

    “What? Are we dressed wrong? Tom asked. He wore a jacket but no tie.

    “It's amazing you're dressed at all! … Moira! It's them!” she called to her coworker.

    Another uniformed attendant, Moira apparently, cooed in admiration. “Straight ahead, gentlemen.”

    These comments made sense after a walk of a hundred yards. The walls of the old powerhouse were tall, the equivalent of perhaps three stories. There, on the walls, blown up to at least thirty feet tall, were Alistair's drawings of Tom and Heiko.

    “You look very handsome, Tomi,” Heiko said, while he looked about at a dozen version of their lovemaking. In the ambient light, the drawings were merely sexy. In the occasional light of the panning UV spots, all of Alistair's magic skills were revealed.

    ”Your uncle should see this,” Tom said, looking from one monster display of lovemaking to the another.

    “I'm sure he will,” Heiko chuckled.

    Eric eyed the large wristwatch on their dresser. “I thought you gave this back.”

    “I did. It keeps showing up.” Z picked it up and looked at the faceted jewels. “I don't know where to wear it. It shouts out 'Vegas, Baby!'; but we never go anyplace like that.”

    “We could,” Eric offered.

    “I don't think they have nickel slots any more. That's all I can afford.”

    “They do, I think. Quarter slots, anyway, in some of the old places downtown. We could go.”

    “When did you become an expert on Vegas?”

    “Hearsay. The nurses go all the time.” Eric picked up the watch and looked at it. “Wear it tonight. What the hell, Z.”

    “To a fashion show in Larkspur? Jeez, Eric ...”

    “You can be part of the scene in Larkspur,” Eric joked.

    “There is no 'scene' in Larkspur. Not at the high school.”

    “It's Marin County… you never know ...” Eric teased.

    “It's Andrew. You always know.” Z slipped on the watch and felt the heavy expansion band close on his wrist. “I could do forearm curls wearing this thing,” he commented to himself. Despite his disparaging remarks, the watch did confer a kind of cachet, like driving an expensive car. There was a feeling that went with wearing it. Z wasn't immune; it made him feel good.

    The scene at the high school dissipated Z's high spirits. Throngs of pimply, underaged wannabe-predators roamed aimlessly. Moms ranging from MILF to matronly acted like border collies trying to keep a lid on things. Couples tried to sneak away for ...what? Sex? Drugs? Maybe just escape. Raucous urban hip-hop alternated with metal bands. “Boom Chicka Wow Wow” seemed to repeat more frequently than random odds would predict.

    “This doesn't seem like a 'preppy' crowd,” Eric observed. He looked from the presumed audience to the tables featuring a lot of plaid and pastel clothing Andrew and a helper had laid out for the models.

    “Maybe they clean up,” Z opined. He admitted the look of the audience was a lot more South San Francisco than Marin.

    “Welcome to hell,” Andrew greeted them. “They paid in advance,” was his only editorial comment. He pointed at a topless tent arrangement. “Girls to the right, boys to the left. Take your pick, Z.”

    Z picked up his assigned pile of clothes and went into the male changing area. Eric went to the auditorium, where a couple with the classic look of principal and guidance counselor paced the stage like panthers who couldn't remember if they had eaten or not.

    There was a deafening roar from outside and Eric noticed a few security guards speaking urgently into phones. The roar slowly died as one after another the motorcycles were parked. Only the roar was authentic, Eric decided as the cyclists and their mostly-girl friends entered the room.

    The principal strode to center stage and tapped the microphone. “THUMP, THUMP, THUMP,” echoed through the room. “AH-HEM,” he broadcast much too loudly. He stepped back from the mike. “I'm going to ask that people who are not students or parents of students kindly leave the auditorium.” He scanned the crowd and saw no one moving toward the doors. “We're not going to begin unless there is compliance.”

    The guidance counselor pressed her arms into her hips, as if to rearrange an imaginary holster around her waist. The straight skirt of her severely plain Navy suit rose an inch above her knees. “Boom Chicka Wow Wow” blared anew from the very high fidelity speaker system. The guidance counselor glared at the high mounted speakers wishing she had laser vision.

    Not looking good, Eric thought. He scanned the room for exits, just in case.

    The principal pressed a phone to his ear, straining to hear. His face fell as he listened. He spoke urgently to the guidance counselor, who then mirrored his gravity. An announcement of the end of the world seemed pending.

    “I must insist on compliance with the attendance rules. Only students and parents ...” He was drowned out by boos. He spoke louder. “I've been informed by Mrs. Pelosi's people that because of gate crashers, she will not attend this evening's ...” Louder boo's silenced him. He gestured to the security guards. Eric could read the “What?” on their lips.

    The melee was triggered by a finely-knit pink wool sweater in which the facial piercings of one of the women the principal presumably wanted removed from the auditorium became entangled. The first howl of pain almost silenced the room. “WOW WOW!” the music echoed her cry.

    The wearer of the sweater, a zaftig bottle blond - from Sausalito, the news later reported – tried to run. The entangled victim screamed, “STOP BITCH!” Assistance, too much assistance, was rendered and it looked like a brawl. It wasn't, but it sure looked that way.

    A large boy wearing a letter jacket tried to help in a generous John Wayne approach. “Take it easy ...” Neither female responded well to the assistance.

    “Leave her alone, Lady,” a black jacketed man angrily demanded. The school's athletes never took well to the 'Larkspur Ladies' slur and the youth popped the motorcyclist in the jaw. Ineffectually, it turned out. He was decked by the motorcyclist boyfriend instantly. Others joined the fight.

    Eric ducked behind the stage. He spotted Z incongruously dressed for the beach, in floral board shorts and a striped hoodie waiting for the show to start. “Z, I think we should go.” Z failed to react as quickly as Eric hoped. “NOW, Z. Right now!” Noise from the auditorium rose to a level they the models could hear.

    Z grabbed his street clothes from the make-shift dressing room and they left ahead of the arrival of the police. An hour later they were home, Z still wearing the board shorts. They turned on the news and saw Andrew's angry face protesting to a policewoman. A voiceover informed the audience that the school principal blamed everything on the event promoter, while pointing out the the fire that had caused most of the damage broke out only after the promoter had been taken into custody. The segment closed on a shot of Andrew being led in handcuffs to a police car. The announcer and his co-anchor agreed that it was a fortunate thing that Nancy Pelosi had stayed away.

    They turned off the TV and fell into each other's arms. Z felt that their sex was much improved that night, probably as good as ever; but he had always liked the times they took turns topping each other best. Watching Eric morph from dominant top to needy bottom always made him come buckets. By some unknown agency seeing the big watch against Eric's fair skin made it even hotter.

    For Eric the insecurity engendered by being thrown out of his house at nineteen never left him. Subconsciously he felt that getting fucked was a necessary proof beyond words that Z loved him; the physical sensation was pretty great, too. “Fuck me, Z,” were his three favorite words.

    The larger man held the smaller man in his arms and kissed him over and over. “Wanna fuck me again?” he asked. “We've missed a lot of nights, babe.”

    “Eric?” Z was suddenly thoughtful. “Maybe we should see if Andrew needs help. Bail or something?”

    “That's what he's got Seth for,” Eric answered as he stroked Z's cock back to life.

  29. #129
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    A rip-roaring great chapter.

    30' blow-ups of Tom and Heiko - with the UV accents. No wonder the ladies were enthralled when they arrived.
    Talk about your well endowed . . .

    Nash, Bo, Jackson, and Steve - not necessarily in that order.
    HOT passions and raw sex.

    How the fuck did a high school fashion show turn into such a brawl? The principal and guidance counselor really handled the situation well. At least Eric and Z are back on track - How to get Eric PAST his insecurities, though.

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

  30. #130
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    AAArrgh. More than my usual quota of typos and spelling errors. Why is it so easy to see them on JUB and not on my word processor? The old JUB editor gave me time to proof read on line, but with this one I press 'Post' and hope for the best.

  31. #131
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    I didn't notice them, and I normally would - kind of like having the text editor mode on at all times.
    So, either I was too tired/distracted by Olympics,
    OR, I was too engrossed in the story line to notice.

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

  32. #132
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    I just finished a book so good and inventive that I'm ashamed to type another word.

    For those interested: "The Debt to Pleasure" by John Lanchester. It's not new, but I just got around to it.

  33. #133
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Don't let that deter you.
    Not everyone is a Tolstoy - that doesn't mean it's not worth reading.

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

  34. #134
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Thirty-Five

    It was a convenience for the Alameda guys, not so much for the Emeryville duo. The four of them, Steve and Nash in the front and Bo and Jackson in the back, were quiet as Steve drove the expanded cab pickup through an industrial section of Oakland. Once on the 880 Steve headed for the airport and doubled back on Doolittle to drop Bo in Harbor Bay. Jackson got out with him and they spoke briefly.

    While they waited Nash made a request, “Can I see your phone?” Steve fished it out of his pocket and watched while Nash punched at the screen.

    “What are you doing?”

    Jackson got back in the truck as Nash answered. He said, “I'm putting my number in your directory so you can call me if you want to …”

    Steve just smiled back and started the truck. The drive to Nash's took just a few minutes Before he got out he took a long look at Steve and said, “I had a great time.”

    “You'll be hearing from me,” Steve promised.

    With Nash gone Jackson moved to the front seat and slammed the door unnecessarily hard. “O-M-G, Steve! He isn't even good looking ...”

    “Yes, he is. In his way ...” Steve answered mildly. “He has a very nice, tight little body.”

    “Tight, huh? That means you fucked him! Right? Tell me you didn't! Oh, for God's sake ...”

    “Jackie, why do you care? What does it matter to you? It was just little fun.” Steve used his old nickname for Jackson.

    “Don't call me that. We can never go back to that.”

    “We can be friends, can't we?” Steve briefly looked at Jackson. At least he wasn't crying.

    “I guess ...”

    “So dial back the drama, old fuck buddy.” Steve gave Jackson's hand a friendly squeeze. That started the tears. Shit, Steve said to himself, I need to get another job; I can't keep going through this stuff.

    “Tell me you're not seeing him again,” Jackson demanded.

    Steve didn't answer right away; he waited until they were back on the freeway. “Jackson, you always ignore me until somebody shows an interest and then you want me back. Then after you get me, phase two, you find somebody like Bo and ignore me again. I'm done with that.”

    They drove silently back to the office tower and went to their rooms after a brief review of the boss's schedule for the next day.

    Steve lay back in his bed relaxing after his first session of easy, fun sex in a long time. The memory of Nash's awkward eagerness brought a smile to his face. He reached for his phone and called up his dialing list. 'Nash Chlomsky' ... there it was. He tapped the entry and listened to the electronic beeps. “Hi, it's Steve.”

    “Steve ...” Nash sounded as embarrassed as he had been when he got his erection in the helicopter. “I was just, uh, thinking about you.”

    “Did you have your hand on your cock, thinking about me?” Steve teased.

    “You must be able to read my mind.”

    “I can and I predict your answer to my question will be yes.”

    “What question?”

    “Want to go flying with me tomorrow?”

    “Yes! Where? When?”

    “I'll pick you up at seven. The rest is a surprise … Um, Nash? Is your hand still on your cock?”

    “Yes,” Nash admitted.

    “So's mine.”

    Darren arrived at school for his final. He actually missed Dormeyer's lecherous leer as he walked to his desk. Instead, Dormeyer looked unusually self-possessed, arranging a stack of papers. He looked up and exchanged a glance with Jeff when he saw his arrival with Kevin. The two roommates split up and took seats some distance apart. Dormeyer's eyes followed Jeff, who sat and arranged his desk for the exam with a bluebook in the center and two pens at the ready.

    Then, abruptly, Jeff got up and approached the professor. Dormeyer stared blatantly at the bulge in his jeans as he approached. They whispered something. Then Dormeyer stared at Jeff's ass as he walked into the hallway.

    “I guess we know who's getting the A,” the girl behind Darren whispered to the people around her.

    “Big price to pay,” somebody whispered back.

    Dormeyer checked his watch and announced, “We'll begin in five minutes.” He walked out of the classroom.

    Seven minutes later Jeff returned to the room with a smirk on his face. A minute after that Dormeyer returned to the room red-faced and slightly out of breath. “Alright. Let's begin.” He passed out the test questions.

    An hour later, with thirty minutes still to go, Darren closed his bluebook, put the question sheet inside, and walked up to Dormeyer, who was sitting on the edge of his desk watching his students. “Finished, Mr. Alvinzi?”

    “Yes, sir,” Darren relpied. He put the exam booklet on the desk and then leaned close to the professor. “There's a big blob of cum on your shoe,” he confided.

    With a look of panic, Dormeyer checked his shoes. There was something on his shoe, but cum was not a logical assumption. He looked back at Darren who winked and walked out of the test.

    Later in his office he almost attacked Jeff when he entered.

    “He knows, Jeff. That Alvinzi kid knows about us!”

    “Of course he knows. I bet every gay guy on campus has figured us out. And every fuckin' one of them envies me.” He walked right up to the professor and playfully rubbed his jeans in Dormeyer's face.

    “I can't help myself,” Dormeyer cheerfully admitted.

    “Want me to help grade the papers?” Jeff ground his denim-covered cock into Dormeyer's open mouth.

    “Sure, sit at the table.”

    They had done it before. Jeff sat at the table and opened his pants. Dormeyer got under the table and, once he pulled Jeff's pants to his ankles, went to town. Jeff gave himself and Kevin A's; he gave Darren a B+. “That's for turning me down,” he muttered. His writing was shaky as he spurted into Dormeyer's mouth. “You sure can suck cock,” Jeff told the unseen mouth that was licking up the last of his spunk.

    They agreed to meet later. Dormeyer glanced through the test papers, he pulled out three that seemed wrongly graded. He raised Darren to an A without looking at his answers. He read the other two for laughs and changed Jeff's C's to D's.

    Parker's Poseys faced the southeast and basked in the generous sun of the September Saturday morning. Bo had set up a display of cactus outside the door. He put a sign on the rack noting the plants were “Seasonally Appropriate.” Actually cactuses were always appropriate in desert-like California, but the especially dry autumns called attention to them. Although local attempts at xeriscaping were bleak looking islands amidst conventional greenery, Alameda gardens could always accommodate another cactus somewhere. Gale predicted robust sales.

    Gale Parker had something else in mind. He was looking at a photo spread of lush green gardens and humming something under his breath. “The Luxembourg Gardens, Bo,” he pointed out. “Exceptional at every season.”

    “Where are they?”

    “Paris ...” Gale's thoughts were plainly thousands of miles away. “Once very formal … now more contemporary, more relaxed ...” Gale's humming matched his comment. “La Vie en Rose ...”

    “I don't see any roses … those look like dahlias,” Bo noted.

    “The 'rose' refers to color, not flowers. Life in the pink … the way we say 'in the pink of health'.”

    “We do?” Bo asked.

    “We did,” Gale answered. “A million years ago when I was young and dinosaurs roamed.”

    The bell above the door tinkled and Marian Collita entered. “Good morning, Gale, Bo. I thought you were going away to school, Bo.”

    “I did. Not very far, thought. I come home on weekends.” Bo went into the back room while Gale and Mrs. Collita discussed a floral arrangement for a dinner she was planning.

    Bo looked at the daybed and memories of Finn flooded back. He snorted, impatient with himself, thinking that he hadn't had so much as a one-line text from Finn in over two weeks. That was just a summer thing, he told himself. He stood at the workbench and replanted a variety of things into mixed arrangements that Gale had designed. He did his best to shove the memories of Finn out of his head, but in this room, where the two of them had learned so much from one another, it was impossible.

    I want to get fucked, Bo thought, the way Finn did it. Why won't Jackson even try? It's nice topping him and all, but – it's like these plants. How about a little fuckin' variety, Jackson? You make me do all the work! He was brought back to reality but Gale's voice.”

    “Bo? Can you help Mrs. Collita get these flowers to her car?”

    A few minutes later Bo returned to the store, grinning. “She likes you, Gale.”

    “Nonsense. She knows I'm an old queen. She's just friendly.”

    “Doesn't mean she doesn't like you … I'm just sayin',” Bo winked.

    “We were talking about the Gardens. She's quite the expert on the statuary and the palace. Not so much the flowers, though.”

    “So there you go. Why don't you take her to Paris?”

    Gale looked away from the magazine and directly at Bo. “Are you crazy?”

    “No. You'd both like it. Why not?”

    “A million reasons, that's why not. Her late, thank God, husband never liked me. It costs a ton of money to go to Paris. The busy season is coming up. There's no time. Plus … why would she go with me?”

    “She's got nobody else. She said the people coming to dinner are all her kids and their kids and she's tired of young people all the time.”

    “That's what happens when you get old. Everybody else is young. You have to face it.”

    “She'd go if you asked her,” Bo insisted.

    “Are you all right?” Seth asked again. Andrew had not spoken since being released from the holding cell in San Rafael. The only sound he uttered was an explosion of breath as they passed the forbidding bulk of San Quentin Prison on their left. The rest of the drive back to the office was quiet.

    “Were they abusive? Were you raped?” Seth asked when they got inside.

    “Oh for God's sake … I was there for only a few hours. I didn't even get a kiss.”

    “Andrew, I'm just trying to ….”

    “I know, sweetie. And I love you for it. I will survive.”

    “You were on all the channels. Good pictures of you. They got your name right.”

    “Is Adan here?” Andrew asked without emotion.

    “No, he ...”

    “I just want someone to hold me … Jail is ...”

    Seth hugged him and kissed his cheek. “I know ...”

    “You don't know … not really. It's much worse in ways you don't think of ...They never turn the lights out. It's always noisy. It smells of piss ...”

    Seth walked him to his room, which - oddly for Andrew - was almost as austere as a jail cell. He watched him lie down wearily on his bed, looking inconsolably forlorn. Seth lay next to him and pulled Andrew back into his arms. “Don't think about it. You're not being charged. There was video of the start of the fight. Not your fault at all.” Seth kissed his cheek again. “We got paid,” Seth reminded Andrew, trying to be cheery; but there was no cheering Andrew up. Within minutes he fell asleep and Seth got up, trying his best not to disturb the exhausted man. He got a blanket and tucked it in around him. Andrew stirred, kissed his hand, and said, “Thanks, sweetie.”

    Seth was deeply disturbed by Andrews ordeal without knowing any details at all. Andrew had always seemed so confident, a solid rock of determination despite his sometimes flighty approach to business. To see him suddenly jailed was more than surprising. The fact that he had called Seth was almost terrifying. I'm all he's got, really, Seth thought. Me! And I'm nobody to rely on. His thoughts were interrupted by a buzzing.

    “Yes? … No, I don't want to talk about it!” he said to a young voice that wanted to discuss whether circumcision might not be a bad thing. He was annoyed enough to make another call to Jody. “I'm gonna tell HIM to talk to the kid ...” Seth muttered as he punched up the numbers.


    Seth was shocked. “Adan?”

    Before the speaker could answer he heard another voice demanding the phone. “Hello,” Jody said brusquely.

    “Jody,” Seth began, “Your kid called again and ...”

    “Call back when I'm not fucking!” Jody shouted. The electronic click Seth heard had the sound of finality.

    He returned to Andrew's bedroom and looked at his sleeping partner. He nudged him. “Move over, Andrew.” After slipping off only his shoes, Seth climbed in with him.

    Andrew accommodated Seth and whispered. “It gets better.”

    Seth whispered back, “No, sometimes it gets worse.”

    “What do you mean? Did something else happen?” Andrew was suddenly awake.

    “I'm glad you called me. I'm glad I could help you this morning.”

    Andrew rose up on an elbow. “Sweetie, you help me every morning. Just by being here.” Andrew gave Seth a reassuring kiss. “More than that. You really are half the business. More some days. You know I love you.”

    Seth smiled. “You do, in your way. No, wait, that doesn't sound right. You love me … in a special way.”

    “Sweetie, I love you the way I love the only person in my life I can trust. The only person who has stayed with me. And we've had some bad times, emotionally, financially … And we've had some good times … and here you are, worrying about me more than I deserve.”

    “Then I might as well tell you … Adan and Jody are fucking.”

    Andrew burst out laughing. He hugged Seth and kissed him and laughed some more.

  35. #135
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Another great episode, Rory- Thanks!

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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    That was quite a series of installments on the various groups of guys.

    The plots thicken in very interesting ways.

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

  37. #137
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Thirty-Six

    “How ...” Nash cleared his throat. “How do you know you're in love?”

    Nicky eyed him in the rear view mirror. “Somebody fucked you,” he concluded, leaving the question alone.

    “Nicky …” Darren chided while he fished some money out of his pocket for the bridge toll. “What's up, Nash?”

    “Well, I met this guy in Emeryville ...”

    “And he fucked you,” Nicky stated in an exasperated tone.

    “Good for Emeryville,” Darren said, turning to Nash with a smile. “Are you going to see him again?”

    “I already did. He's a helicopter pilot and I spent the day with him yesterday. Flying!” Nash was enthusiastic and eager to tell somebody what was going on. “First we flew a couple people to Napa ...”

    “Where he fucked you,” Nicky said almost to himself.

    “And then we took their bags to a cabin on Lake Shasta ...”

    “Where he fucked you again ...” Nicky rolled his eyes.

    “... they called it a cabin, but it was more like a hotel. Then we had lunch and swam. And then we came back and he went with me to play lacrosse and after that we went back to Carolyn's to get cleaned up ...”

    “He fucked you at Carolyn's?” Nicky asked.

    “... and we went to dinner on the estuary. He offered to drive me back to Carolyn's but I wanted to walk. And now he's kind of on my mind and I want to see him again.” Nash was breathless from his own tale.

    “What a day!” Darren commented. “Lake Shasta is spectacular.”

    “Tell me, Nash, when, at the times I indicated, did he not fuck you?” Nicky asked innocently.

    “Well ...” Nash began. “That's not really a fair question. It had nothing to do with ...”

    “So he fucked you ...” Nicky made an elaborate show of counting on his fingers. “He fucked you four times in less than twenty-four hours?” This time there was a hint of admiration in Nicky's voice. “What a man! What a man!”

    “At Carolyn's he offered to let me fuck him, but I didn't think there was enough privacy. Especially since I've never … ” Nash didn't think his half-virginity needed explaining.

    “I don't know about love, but that sounds like a great beginning. Nicky and I started out with a lot of sex.” Darren smiled familiarly at Nicky.

    “What?” Nicky challenged. “We started out with you fucking Morrie all the time. That's how we started!”

    “Nicky, we weren't in love then. I didn't realize I loved you until after you drove me out of that house in Brooklyn.”

    “Drove you out? You fuckin' abandoned me! And it wasn't Brooklyn, it was Rockaway.”

    “Like there's a difference. How could I abandon someone who was never there?” Darren answered testily.

    “I was working my ass off. You knew that! I was doing it for you!”

    Nash dropped out of the conversation; he slumped down in the back seat and watched the bridge railings zip past his window. All he could think about was lying in the sun on that wooden dock at Lake Shasta while Steve slowly lowered the long zipper of the big baggy flight suit Nash was wearing. Every inch was followed by kisses which marched slowly down Nash's chest to the softer hollow of his belly and onward to the nest of pubic hair. In his eagerness for Steve's mouth, he scraped his hard cock painfully on the zipper getting it out. The pain was replaced by a melting pleasure as Steve sucked him. They paused to struggle out of the flight suits and resumed with a lingering kiss as they pressed their naked bodies together. Nash trembled in Steve's arms, aching with the need for sex. He pulled at Steve with his hands, trying to get closer, and begged him with his kisses. “We don't have any lube,” Steve had cautioned. “Please … just do it. Put it in me.”

    Nash mouthed the words quietly again to himself. “Fuck me.” Again, in the cramped back seat of Nicky's car he felt Steve's need answer his own; it seemed to infuse every cell of his body. The day with Steve had been the best day of Nash's life.

    Abruptly Nash sat up aware of his painful erection. The car had stopped a couple of houses away from Uncle Nahum's house. Nicky and Darren were speaking only for each other. “I always loved you,” Nicky whispered and Darren smiled back.

    Nash took his time getting out of the car. He was glad he was wearing dark trousers and was certain no one would notice the telling wet spot located in such a give-away location. He got out of the car ans smoothed his clothes.

    “Jesus, did you cum in your pants?” Nicky chuckled and Nash blushed. A minute later when Nahum opened the door to welcome them Nash was certain Nahum saw the spot as well.

    “Girls,” Opal addressed the trio of females, “This is my Little Nash Rambler ...”

    “Opal, he's a man now,” Nahum cautioned.

    “And his business partner Nicky,” She stressed the word business. “And ...”

    “Darren Alvinzi,” Darren inserted.

    The girls, Becki, Palmer, and Fern Anne, nodded as they were introduced. “Pleased to meetcha. It's Becki – with an i.”

    “B-I-C-K-Y?” Nash questioned but she just looked at him in confusion.

    “Call me Palsy,” said the next one and a cute giggle followed from Fern Anne.

    Becky was attractive in a conventional way Nicky thought. His attention shifted to the second girl and found himself checking her for signs of muscle spasms; but, at first glance anyway, 'Palsy' seemed totally in control of all her body parts. The two seemed to be assessing the probable health and wealth of the three men; you could almost see their considerations shift at lightspeed back and forth from pluses to minuses.

    It was Fern Anne, however, who was the answer to the question 'Which of these three doesn't belong?' Her dramatically made up Asian features said that Jewish was not likely her religion and something about her overall appearance was just slightly off. She's got it almost right, Nicky thought. He wondered if her feet hurt or something.

    They all politely sipped some cloyingly sweet wine that Nahum said he bought by the case and tried to make conversation. Nahum's mention of Nicky and Nash's fashion importing business got the girls into the conversation. They wanted detailed information.

    “I have just one sweater left. The rest sold out so fast you wouldn't believe it,” Nahum explained. He went to another room and returned with the single remaining example of Mongolia's export trade.

    “It's ...” Becky was at a loss for words. “Interesting,” she decided to say.

    “One of a kind,” Palsy agreed with a vigorous nod before raising her eyebrows skeptically.

    “Not one. Actually there were dozens,” Nahum contradicted.

    “Mmmmm,” was all Fern Anne said.

    The sweater, so oddly streaked with color, didn't tempt any of the girls to model it and was left folded on the coffee table when they answered Opal's call and went to the dinner table. “Boy-girl,” Opal called out from the kitchen and the guests shuffled from chair to chair to comply with the seating plan.

    Nicky found himself seated next to Fern Anne. He attempted conversation. “Is Fern Anne the English translation of your Chinese name?”

    Fern Anne politely giggled and said in a girlish voice, “No.”

    Nicky tried again, “Just a name you liked? It's a pretty name.” More giggles and no words discouraged his efforts. But there was something nagging. It wasn't until after the soup course that Nicky realized her secret. Amidst the hubbub of clearing the soup and bringing in the brisket, he leaned close and challenged her.

    “Tin-tin,” he whispered a fierce accusation.

    Tsien-tsien's rigid expression told him he would have to wait for an explanation.

    Dormeyer was surprised by his visitor. “You got your 'A'. What brings you back?” He took in the clingy basketball shorts Jeff was wearing.

    “I wanted to know what you really thought of my test, what my real grade would have been,” Jeff replied.

    “To tell you the truth, I didn't read it.” Dormeyer's gaze lingered on the soft curly hair of Jeff's legs.

    “Oh.” Jeff was disappointed. “I had hoped ...”

    “If you have time to wait, I'll read it now,” Dormeyer suggested.

    Jeff sat, fully aware that Dormeyer was trying to look up his shorts, while the professor pulled the blue book from a stack. Jeff spread his legs a bit to make the inspection easier. As the professor read the test answers his eyes kept returning to Jeff. Under the professor's heated gaze, Jeff's cock began to respond. That wasn't Jeff's plan but it was happening anyway. Jeff turned away in embarrassment and pretended interest in a book lying on the table.

    After a few minutes Dormeyer put the test down and commented, “You would have gotten an 'A' on your own. You didn't need to … butter me up, so to speak.”

    Jeff got out of the chair and leaned against the table. “It was kind of paying back … you know, I felt bad about the guy at the porn studio, so ...”

    “I was the pay back?”

    “Uh … I guess. Yes. But ...”

    “But?” Dormeyer pursued.

    “But we did it more than once, so ...”

    “So you overpaid? Are you feeling cheated?” the professor chuckled. He touched the satin-like combed polyester of Jeff's shorts that draped so attractively over his legs. He stroked Jeff as he might stroke the fur of dog, pleasing himself as much as the dog.

    Jeff took the older man's hand and placed it directly on his bulge; his cock flexed involuntarily under the touch. “You don't have to be shy.”

    Dormeyer wasn't. He slid Jeff's shorts down and nuzzled his underwear briefly. Then he pulled the underwear down and began a blowjob. Jeff kicked the shorts and underwear off his feet and pulled his shirt up inviting whatever the professor expand his attentions. Things progressed rapidly to the point where Jeff was lying back on the table inviting penetration.

    “Come on, Philip,” he told the professor.

    Dormeyer stopped in surprise. “Nobody calls me Philip.”

    “What do they call you?” Jeff asked impatiently.

    “Jinx,” Dormeyer answered, as he pushed his hardness gently against Jeff's asshole.

    Jeff took a deep breath and left out the name. “Do it.” Dormeyer came fairly quickly; he didn't get to fuck cute young guys very often any more and the act was arousing in a way he hadn't felt in way too long. He fell against Jeff when it was over and hugged him in grateful silence, afraid to spoil the moment with an old man's kiss.

    “Jinx,” Jeff sighed - a half a second before the table collapsed. The collapse was noisy but the fall was minimal. Jeff said two things. He picked up part of a shattered table leg and held it out to Dormeyer.

    “Never take anything for granite, especially when you know it's wood.” Dormeyer chuckled silently and hugged him. Jeff hugged him back and kneaded Dormeyer's back with both hands. “Have you been working out?”

    Seth and Andrew experienced a private era of good feelings through the day that culminated with them in bed ready for each other, about to renew an old sexual relationship.

    “This isn't going to work, is it?” Seth asked at the last minute.

    “Nothing like a little reality to spoil the moment. It would be nice sex. You've always been hot.” Andrew remained willing.

    “But ...” Seth continued.

    “But it probably would end with the usual disappointments, that's what your 'but' means.”

    “Yes.” Seth sighed and relaxed. He kissed Andrew with feeling. “I do love you, Andrew. But it's not the way a lover loves; it's the way a business partner loves. I love you and I trust you and I admire you and I enjoy working around you … And every now and then I want to kiss you a little ...” Seth kissed him again. “But that's just because we're so close, not as a prelude to sex.”

    “Alright, but before we become eunuchs to each other, let me tell you you are hot and sexy and if you ever want to try again, I'm one hundred percent willing. Ok to tell you that?” Andrew gently rubbed the nubs of Seth's nipples.

    “Of course it is. You will notice my dick kind of agrees with you.” Seth drove his erection between Andrew's thighs as a demonstration.

    Andrew held Seth's cock in the grip of his legs. “Sweetie, you know one more time wouldn't really hurt anything ...”

    Seth grinned and groaned. “I guess. I have a feeling I'll regret this.”

    “You do the fuckin'? OK, sweetie? I'll pretend we're in my jail cell and you're the big baddie and I'm your bitch ....”

    Afterward, they admitted the sex had been impressively hot. They slept long and well that night; and that might truly have been the end of it, except in the morning Andrew woke up horny and fucked Seth the way he used to, from the rear, with more biting than kissing, full of raw need, and hard. Seth knelt and took the pounding, reminded with every thrust just how big Andrew's cock was. He could see himself soon after they had met, bent over Andrew's kitchen counter getting railed. The pressure built inside Seth; all he would have to do was touch his cock to explode. Instead he waited for Andrew's orgasm and came with him. Seth happily collapsed on the bed in a puddle of his own cum when it was over, totally satisfied.

    “Sweetie ...”

    “Shut up,” Seth said and pulled Andrew against him. “Damn it.” He kissed Andrew. “I already regret this, and I still can't say no to you.”

    “Sweetie, will you marry me?” Andrew was glowing from their sex and sounded as sincere as Seth had ever heard.

    “FUCK NO!” Seth laughed.

    “I don't see what's so funny.”

    Seth tried to restrain his bubbling mirth. “Think about it. Maybe something will come to you.”

    “We have never interfered in our employees private lives,” the CEO said to Tom and Heiko. “But the notoriety of the Tate exhibit is worldwide. And every mention includes the company's name. It's not a good association,” he said.

    “Charles,” Rory intervened. “Let's sit on it a bit. It will blow over in a week and be forgotten. Tom and Heiko have brought a lot of business to the company.”

    “I don't know, Rory. This seems very different from ...” Words failed him. Nothing in the company's ten-year history came close to the public relations disaster the Tate exibition was causing. Suddenly he looked at Heiko. “Are you really a prince?”

    “No,” Heiko said, waiting for the axe to fall.

    “We'll give it a week,” the man said briskly. “Then, if we're still in the news on a daily basis, we'll have to reconsider.” He was being as fair as his consideration of the company's priorities would allow.

    “Adverse actions would generate their own bad publicity,” Rory cautioned. “You could end up with demonstrators in the parking lot.”

    “I know, I know ...” Charles dismissed them.

    “Thanks for trying to help, Rory,” Tom said as they walked to their offices in the next building.

    They took their accustomed seats in a funk. “Where did you get that?” Rory asked Bernice when he noticed her shirt.

    “At a farmers' market in Berkeley.” She pulled the shirt tight to show an R-rated version of one of the Tate posters. “They have other styles,” she informed the office, clearly implying there were X-rated alternatives for sale.

    “If worse comes to worse, I guess the drawings will be worth something,” Cyril suggested.

    “Worse is not going to come to worse,” Jerry insisted. “This will work out.”

    “How?” Heiko asked.

    “Happily ever after. You'll see,” Jerry said.

    “Midwestern optimism,” Tom groused. He looked at Heiko and mouthed the words 'I love you.'

    “Maybe you could work in Europe. They take a broader view of these things,” Bernice suggested. “Naked duchesses and all that stuff on display.”

    “Dead duchesses who scandalized their contemporaries” Heiko responded.

    “How many dead duchesses does it take to change a light bulb?” Cyril asked and drew a glare from his wife who donned a sweater to cover the t-shirt's image. It was no time for jokes, but Cyril had little feel for that sensibility.

    “Jerry's right,” Darren insisted and the conversation lapsed as people busied themselves with trivial jobs waiting for some guidance from Rory.

    “We'll tough it out,” Rory affirmed. “Jerry IS right,” he said with an assurance he didn't feel.

    After work Tom and Heiko hurried home to change for lacrosse. “The exercise will do us good. Get our minds off things,” Heiko stated as he pulled off his clothes.

    Tom looked at him standing in the afternoon sun that filtered through their bedroom windows. The light and shadows played over his body and made highlights in Heiko's dark blond hair blaze. “Stand just like that,” Tom requested.

    Heiko smiled, both pleased and embarrassed by Tom's attention. He moved only to slip off his underwear and then stood still.

    “You are the most beautiful man I've ever seen.” Tom approached his lover. They embraced. “And nothing will ever make me regret loving you, Heiko. You're my whole world.”

    “Tomi,” was part of Heiko's answer. The rest was physical.

  38. #138
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    I saw the post Friday afternoon, but got sidetracked and then it was marked as read.

    Just got through the chapter - and what a chapter it was.

    Nash & Nicky & Darren with the "blow by blow" side commentary as Nash tried to tell his tale of love/lust enroute to Uncle Nahum and Aunt Opal's, where they meet an old business acquaintance, in drag. The tales he has, I'm sure.

    And Jeff certainly gave Dormeyer a lot more than he needed to.

    Andrew and Seth, Andrew and Seth. What are we going to do about Andrew and Seth?

    We hear from the CEO of "Getting Obscenely Wealthy due to Tom and Heiko's European and Domestic Efforts, inc." and in a typically gutless wonder way.

    There's no such thing as bad publicity - especially when one of your prime products relates to museum cataloguing.
    And, I'd love to enjoy the majesty of Heiko's nude form backlit by the setting Sun.

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

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    Chapter Thirty-Seven

    “Jeff!” Darren was surprised to see his former classmate coming out of Dormeyer's office.

    “Hey, Darren. 'S up?”

    “I should ask you. You look like a truck hit you.” Jeff was disheveled and breathing hard. His hair was wild. He shrugged calmly and pulled at a sleeve, which was partly turned inside his t-shirt

    Dormeyer stuck his head out of the door and called, “Jeff, here.” He handed Jeff something small enough to pass from one hand to the other without being seen. Darren watched with a quizzical expression.

    “My underwear. I couldn't find it,” Jeff explained, as if professors handing students their lost underwear was an everyday event at St. Mary's. “He likes me to wear thongs.”

    “You and Dormeyer are ...”

    “Yeah, we are. There's more to him than I expected.” Darren said nothing and Jeff felt a need to justify his actions. “He treats me like a real person. And he's encouraging me to take more philosophy.” Jeff didn't need to add that Dormeyer was fucking him almost daily.

    “No harm in philosophy, I guess. That's all I'm taking.” Darren's observation left the impression that there might be something wrong with the sexual part of Jeff's relationship, if 'relationship' was what it was; but Darren left that topic alone. “Have you read Jurgen Habermas? I like him. I don't think he's as Marxist as some people claim. And the beauty of that is you can ask him. He's not dead.” Darren grinned hoping Jeff would like the humor.

    Jeff looked hard at Darren. “I should stick with students. Sex with a professor is complicated.”

    “Well, there you go. Habermas would say it's incumbent on you to study the professor's point of view. How does he feel, ethically, I mean?”

    “He says I have a supremely fuckable ass. Is that ethical enough for you?” The bitterness in Jeff's tone was new to Darren.

    “You want to talk some more, Jeff? You want to go have a beer or something? I'm done with classes tonight.” Darren felt Jeff needed a friend.

    “Thanks. I'm going to bed early. Kevin and I are working tomorrow. You know what it is we do, right? We make pornography.” Jeff snorted and looked at the skimpy bit of black cloth in his hand. “Plus I think my new roommate has creepy plans of his own for me. I'm ethically challenged all over town lately. And I thought Joanne and Peter were weird.”

    “Jeff, they were weird. Don't doubt yourself on that.” Darren gave a parting wave and walked to the parking lot.

    Jeff walked toward his dorm without looking back. When he got there he pushed open the door to his room and his roommate walked into it. He laughed at the perpetually klutzy young man. “You really could fuck up a wet dream, Ty.”

    Ty pushed his glasses back on his nose and took two steps backward letting Jeff enter the room. “I can manage when I need to,” he answered, glancing at the tennis trophies he used as bookends. On the court he was the picture of efficient grace. Off the court, his coordination vanished.

    “I'm going to sleep. If you're out late, can you keep it down when you get back? I'm working tomorrow.” Jeff had never discussed the details of his 'work' with Ty in the two weeks they had been rooming together; they had not shared any beery heart-to-hearters yet. Still, since his porn acting was pretty commonly known, Jeff assumed Ty was aware of what he did.

    “Sure, I'm just going to the library for an hour or so.”

    “You can read here if you want. The light won't bother me.”

    “Uh … ok.” Ty sat at his desk and tried to keep his eyes on his book, which was impossible while Jeff undressed and wrapped himself in a towel before going to take a shower. He read a page and a half before Jeff returned and got into bed. Ty watched his roommate get into bed. His distraction caused him to knock two books onto the floor. “Sorry,” he said and he thought he heard a chuckle from Jeff. “Um ...” He HAD to ask. “Do you always sleep nude?”

    “Does it bother you? I can put some underwear on.”

    “No, that's ok.” Ty stared at Jeff's sheet-draped body as long as he dared and then returned to reading history. Once he heard the deep, regular breathing of sleep, he looked back and imagined he could see through the sheet covering Jeff. He wondered whether the next day's 'work' would require Kevin to fuck Jeff or the other way around. He angled his laptop away from Jeff's line of sight and called up his favorite Jeff video. For an instant the sound blared and Ty worried that Jeff would recognize the studio theme music, but the real Jeff remained on his side, facing the wall, and never stirred.

    The video Jeff couldn't wait to fuck Kevin. With his pants around his ankles, the video Jeff stared at his scene partner and stroked himself to hardness. Ty carefully unzipped his fly and mimicked the screen actions as quietly as possible. As video Jeff worked himself up, so did Ty. Their erections grew in tandem. Video Jeff approached Kevin and offered his cock. Kevin licked his lips in anticipation.

    Ty's eyes were glued to the screen. He stiffled a groan wishing Kevin's mouth were in front of his own cock. He rubbed his thumb over the end of his cock; something internal reacted and he felt a wet slickness ooze out. He inhaled raggedly and tried to free his balls. Ty loved playing with his balls while he stroked. He raised his ass off the chair and reached into his pants. Some part of his scrotum got caught in the zipper and he flailed in pain, nearly screaming. The commotion roused Jeff.

    “Jeez, Ty! Jack off in the bathroom, for God's sake.”

    Darren got home in darkness to find Nicky getting dressed in a dark suit. “That's a good look on you, Nicky. Late date?”

    “I'm meeting Tin-Tin in Morrie's room. I don't know what we're doing after that.”

    Darren fished around in his pocket and pulled out two familiar packets. “Here,” he said. “Just in case.”

    Nicky was astonished. “Do you always carry condoms? 'Just in case?' What case are you planning to encounter exactly?”

    “Nicky ...” Darren smiled coyly.

    “It's a reasonable question, don't you think? To ask my lover why he's prepared to fuck around? 'With whom?' would be prying, of course. I'd never ask that.”

    “Just in case means just in case. Nothing planned; no one on tap.” Darren pulled Nicky into his arms and gave him a long kiss. He felt Nicky's cock stir. “I'll be here whenever you get home. Wake me up if you want.”

    “I never know when you're teasing.” Nicky pressed up against Darren. He shoved his hands down the back of Darren's jeans and squeezed. “I am going to wake you up. Plan on it.” He kissed his lover back and didn't want to leave him.

    “I'm almost never teasing,” Darren said, pulling free. “Now finish dressing. Say hello to Morrie for me. Tell him I like Nash.”

    “He'll think you're fucking Nash.”

    “No, he won't. He's not as cynical as you pretend.”

    “Why would you think that after being his ...”

    “Rent boy?” Darren suggested.

    “Yes. Why would you think that?” Nicky finished tying his tie. “I survive by never trusting him completely.”

    “Not even when you were his rent boy?”

    “Especially not then. I won't be too late, I hope.”

    Darren kissed him good-bye with the parting advice, “Take the condoms.”

    When Nicky entered Morrie's favorite room of the Marriott he was struck by the family resemblance between Morrie and Nash. Poor Nash, he thought, doomed to look like Morrie all his life. A third man, tall and bulky, faced the window.

    “Nicky! And don't you look healthy!” Morrie exclaimed with his usual and totally insincere bonhomie. “Is Darren a good cook, too?” Nash nodded his greeting to Nicky.

    The tall man turned and said gruffly, “Hello, Nicky.”


    “Inspector Tsien, Economic Crime Investigation Branch of the Ministry of Public Security.”

    “No shit! Are you armed?”

    Tsien-tsien opened his jacket and let Nicky see the holster. “It's an NP-22. Does it's job well enough.” He closed his jacket and rebuttoned it, hiding the pistol.

    “Tin-tin, you're ...” Nicky wasn't sure how to take note of Tsien-tsien's new persona without insulting him. He looked him up and down without detecting a hint of effeminacy.

    “I am what I need to be to get the job done.” Tsien-tsien replied in a gruff official voice.

    Morrie smiled benignly. “Inspector Tsien, show him the picture of your family. Charming children, Nicky. And you just know that they're well behaved!”

    “Yeah, we can skip that part. What's going on, Morrie?”

    “We're looking for niobium. Or possibly tantalum. Inspector Tsien knows the difference, I don't. It's probably why our sweaters discolor.”

    “Tantalum turns from gray to blue when exposed to light. In connection with the copper sintering, you get purple,” Tsien-tsien explained.

    “Well, obviously. I should have known,” Nicky answered, completely bewildered and not even trying to hide it.

    “We think the sweaters were treated with tantalum to disguise the more important presence of rare earth minerals.”

    “Yes, that makes perfect sense.” Nicky looked to Nash and saw equal incomprehension.

    “Nicky, let him finish,” Morrie cautioned.

    “The earths are mixed with a slurry of tantalum, which carries a magnetic charge, disguising the presence of the rare earths. It makes sense if you are trying to avoid export restrictions and smuggle minerals with some cheap, disposable sweaters as cover.”

    “But how could you smuggle much in sweaters?” Nicky was thinking in terms of ounces.

    “A little goes a long way. There was probably a ton in the combined shipment. Didn't you wonder at the weight of the sweaters?”

    “They were cotton-wool. That's a pretty heavy blend,” Nicky rationalized.

    “Not as heavy as these sweaters were.”

    Morrie nodded his agreement to Tsien-tsien. “What we don't know is whether the relatives in LA and here are involved or just serving as a conduit.”

    “Why aren't American police involved?” Nicky asked Tsien-tsien.

    “They don't care. No American law has been broken. You imported sweaters. You sold them as sweaters. They were colored with a chemical wash. No crime in that.”

    “So what are we going to do?” Nicky asked.

    “We're going to dinner first,” Morrie announced. “I'm not the only one with convenient relatives. Inspector Tsien's wife's cousin runs an excellent restaurant. Chinese, of course. Where is it, Inspector?”

    “Grant Avenue. Ready?”

    On the way Nicky and Tsien-tsien lagged behind Morrie and Nash, who were having a father-son conversation. Nicky had the chance to ask, “Tin-tin, you're straight? What about all the sex we had?”

    “I am what I need to be. Plus, you are very good in bed, Nicolo. What are you doing later?”

    Nicky fingered the condom packs in his pocket. He couldn't be sure if Tsien-tsien was serious. His throat felt dry. Anticipation? Revulsion? Curiosity?

    “Police inspectors get horny, too,” Tsien-tsien said. He squeezed Nicky's ass briefly. “I'm a hot top, I've been told.”

    Once seated in the restaurant Tsien-tsien returned to business, grilling Nicky and Nash on every aspect of the sweater shipment and transactions. By the fifth course he seemed satisfied that he had all the information his subjects could give him.

    “What happens next?” Nicky asked. “Will it go to court in China?”

    “Probably not,” Tsien-tsien answered.

    “But how will you deal with it?” Nicky pressed.

    “Do you really want to know?” Tsien-tsien asked again without emotion.

    “Do you have a minute?” Cal asked Bo when the lacrosse scrimmage broke up. “Would you be willing to give a testimonial for my football camp?”

    “Wouldn't it help if I was still playing football?”

    “Mmmm, I see what you mean. But none of the other first class guys are around.”

    “Finn's coming home at Thanksgiving, I pretty sure. He's playing with the Bulldogs in Fresno. Not varsity yet, but at least he's playing.”

    “What about that other guy? Long?”

    “He was only in it to meet guys. He likes football players.”

    “What? Are you shitting me? Why would …? That was a lot of money for a dating service.” Cal shook his head in wonder. “I never expected that.”

    “He thought that … I don't mean to offend you with this ... He thought that with your reputation for being gay and all – he thought that the camp would attract lots of guys who … Let's just say it, huh? Gay guys. He thought you'd attract gay guys.” Bo hoped he wasn't saying the wrong thing.

    “Gay guys. Really?” Cal's disappointment showed. “Is that what everybody expected?”

    “Not everybody. Only Long, I think. But there were some gay guys. Me, Finn, and Long, for three. Although Long claims he's straight; but that's two trainloads of bullshit.”

    “Gay guys,” Cal said a second time, shaking his head.

    “Hey, it was a good camp. Nothing wrong with the camp or the coaching. All the guys thought so. Actually, I think that guy Carlton, remember him? The huge nose tackle from Hayward? I think he was gay, too; but I'm not sure. He's playing at San Jose State. I bet he'd give you an endorsement. He loved every day at the camp.”

    “Why aren't you playing, Bo?”

    “No money for a football college. Not good enough for a scholarship.”

    “But you are good enough. Or you could be,” Cal proposed.

    “Yeah, maybe. But not when I needed to be.” Bo didn't harbor any hopes that would change.

    “Really? Where are you going to school?”

    “College of San Mateo.”

    “No team, huh?”

    “They had one, but, with all the budget cuts, it devolved into a club sport.”

    “Man, nothing and I mean nothing is ever easy is it?”

    Bo wished he could do something for his old coach. There didn't seem to be anything, but at least now he had an excuse to text Finn. “Coach Cal needs endrsmnt. u willing?” He pressed send and put the phone in his pocket. He felt the vibration of the phone before he got to the florist shop. “Whats an endrsmnt?” He chuckled and sent back, “dont they teach u nuthin at that college?” It buzzed again as he got to the store. “haha i miss u special guy”

    Gale saw Bo's sunny grin, a grin that had been missing for a while. “Talked to Finn lately?” he asked innocently.

    “How'd you guess?”

    Seth wondered what had inspired Andrew to cook. The kitchen was rudimentary. The basic appliances had sat unused for months. Only the microwave ever got a workout, rewarming cups of coffee and plates of takeout.

    Andrew hummed to himself as he whipped the eggs to a froth with a fork. “ Asparagus frittata, anyone?”

    Seth, the only possible respondent to the question, looked at the ingredients in front of Andrew and said, “Sure. What's a frittata?”

    “It's all I can make with what's at hand. I wonder where the asparagus came from?”

    “Probably Adan. He liked making smoothies.”

    “Asparagus smoothie?” Andrew made a face. “Maybe with vodka in it. Which reminds me … a little glass of icy encouragement might be just the thing while I cook.”

    “I'll make it,” Seth volunteered.

    Forty-five minutes later, after a couple shots each of icy encouragement, a crisp white wine, the eggs, and half a sour dough baguette, they relaxed, sipping the last of the wine and feeling a pleasant buzz. A hug led to a kiss. It was inevitable they would end up in bed again.

    “You can fuck me tonight,” Seth offered.

    “No, I want to take it,” Andrew answered. “It'll be like the final course of the meal I made you.”

    “Andrew, why are you being so charming?”

    “Mellowing, I guess. Plus you deserve it.” A tiny dribble of wine ran down his chin. Andrew was about to wipe it away, but Seth intervened.

    “Let me,” he said and he licked it away. “Tasty.” He followed with a soft kiss.

    “You know I love you sweetie,” Andrew said.

    Seth waited for the “but ...” that never came. It seemed like a real declaration of love. He kissed his partner again, warmly, lingeringly.

    “Fuck!” Seth groused at the sound of the doorbell.

    “Get rid of 'em,” Andrew smiled.

    The caller was a very small young man. It was Jody's son. “Uncle Seth?” he asked, uncertain of his reception. “I'm afraid.” Tears followed immediately.

  40. #140
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    The twists and turns. . . An enjoyable instalment, as always, Rory- Thanks!

  41. #141
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    You never cease to amaze. Rare earth illegal exports - yes, China does have a lot of rare earths used in the computer trade.

    Andrew and Seth - interruptus - the story of their lives on occasion.

    And more and more - but I have to run!

    Thanks for the update!

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

  42. #142
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Chapter Thirty-Eight

    Seth was grateful that Andrew consented to babysit while he called Jody. In fact, Andrew had given the boy a camera and they had gone out into town “see what we can see” in Andrew's words.

    “Jody! Get your ass over here and pick the kid up!” Seth demanded, squeezing the phone as if it were Jody's neck. “He spent the night, for God's sake!”

    “Seth, it's not a good time. Gotta be in court in an hour. Call my wife. She'll pick him up.” Jody clicked off before Seth could protest. He punched buttons and waited.

    “Dewey, Cheatham, and Howe!” a chirpy voice answered.

    Seth frowned. “I thought this was Midpeninsula Staffing and Temps.”

    “It is. I always wanted to try answering that way.”

    “Don't do it again, that would be my advice. Is Lurline Laven there, please?”

    After a pause, Seth heard, “This is Mizz Laven.” The voice wasn't unpleasant.

    “Mizzzzz Laven?” Seth hit the z's hard. “I have your son Lemuel and I was wondering if you could pick him up.”

    “Is this a joke? Who are you?”

    “I'm Seth Behar. Your husband Jody ...”

    “You!!!” Lurline sputtered. “If you harm one millimeter of Lemmie's foreskin, I'll have you in jail forever. FOREVER!!! Do you hear!”

    “He ran away and showed up here last night. Could you just pick him up?”

    “LAST NIGHT!!! He spent the night? In a nest of vampire faggots???”

    “He's perfectly safe. If you could just pick him up … Or I can drop him off even ...”

    “I'll be right there!” she said and continued uncertainly, “Where is 'there', anyways?” she asked sheepishly and then didn't like Seth's answer. “South of Market??? That's thirty miles away …”

    “Your son made it. It's not gonna be your daily commute,” Seth noted.

    “Well … You might at least ...”

    “Might what? I took care of him. I'm trying to get him home safely. I'm not the criminal here.”

    “Hmmph.” She clicked off.

    Andrew and Lemuel returned after an hour. “And so, Lestrade, now we'll put the pieces of the puzzle together. Or mix them up. It's the same thing really.” Andrew sounded very conspiratorial.

    “His name's Lemuel,” Seth told Andrew. “And your mother will be here soon,” he told Lemuel.

    “He doesn't get it, does he, Holmes?” Inspector Lestrade said in his deepest possible voice, followed by a giggle.

    “Mrs. Hudson,” Andrew aimed at Seth, “Would you get us a Mountain Dew?”

    “How about some chocolate milk?” Seth compromised. “Except you will have to imagine the chocolate.”

    “Two drops tincture of opium, if you please,” Andrew added, waggling his eyebrows at Lestrade.

    Seth returned with milk and Oreos to find Lemuel in stitches in front of Andrew's computer. “We took the street car to the wharf and took pictures of the tourists and now Andrew, I mean Holmes ...” he switched to his deep voice, “... is mixing them up.” He pointed at the top half of a fat man in a straw hat and Hawaiian shirt attached to the mismatched and mini-skirted bottom half of a female form.

    “Nice gender identity lesson, Holmes,” Seth commented, putting down the milk and cookies.

    “Too much opium, Mrs. Hudson,” Andrew said, examining the white milk with disdain.

    Seth tried to work but the constant intrusion of raucous cackling from the next room at first annoyed and then intrigued him. He stood at the door and watched the two working at Andrew's computer. It was hard to tell who was enjoying it more. He returned to making calls and waited for Mizz Laven, hoping there wouldn't be too much drama in front of Lemuel. Eventually, he checked his watch. It was 2PM, more than enough time to drive up from Menlo Park.

    “Lemuel, I don't know where your mother is, exactly. Do you know her cell number?” Seth asked.

    “That's ok, Uncle Seth. She's always late and never remembers to carry her phone anyway.”

    “In that case, Lestrade, we need more material, don't you think? We could try Union Square this time. More natives, but equally bizarre. What say you, sir?” Andrew mouthed the words “an hour” to Seth.

    Seth watched the two of them leave with cameras around their necks. Automatically, at the corner, Lemuel took Andrew's hand as they crossed the street.

    Seth punched more buttons on his phone. “What?” Jody whispered in answer.

    “She's late. It's been three hours.” Seth whispered back.

    “I'm in court. Why are you whispering?” Jody asked.

    “Fuck it, Jody!” Now Seth wasn't whispering. “Don't either one of you give a damn about your kid?”

    Jeff and Kevin got back from the studio shoot tired; making porn is hard work after all. “I think we should have tried to show more of a connection,” Kevin said as they entered Jeff's room. “Oh, hi Ty,” he added.

    “It wasn't supposed to be love, dummy. It was supposed to be raw. Just sex. No emotion.”

    “But how can you have sex without any emotion?” Kevin persisted.

    “Rape. Huh? Ever heard of rape? No emotion. Supposedly it's not even physically fun for the rapist. It's all about power.”

    “So you should have been more powerful then. You weren't. Chris noticed. Fucking that professor is warping you, Jeff. You need to get more into the scene Chris is trying to shoot.” Kevin sensed his words weren't meaning much to Jeff and turned his attention across the room. “You into making porn at all, Ty?”

    Ty nearly fell off his bed. “Me?”

    “Sure. Why not?” Kevin appraised the body before him.

    “Uh, I gotta go,” Jeff said. He was nervous; meetings with Dormeyer weren't getting any easier.

    “You have anything left for the professor? You were pretty much fucked out at the studio.”

    “I just lie back and relax. He does the work,” Jeff sounded more hopeful than assured..

    “So, Ty, seriously. You interested?” Kevin watched Jeff go before turning his full attention to the roommate.

    “Um, what exactly does it involve?”

    “Not much. Just being naked and having sex with somebody you hardly know in front of a few strangers.” Ty stammered and said that sounded like a lot. “No, not really,” Kevin affirmed. “Once you do it once, it gets easy. Let's see what you got.” Ty appeared confounded by the request. “I mean let's see the goods. Take off your clothes.”

    “Kevin, I can't just … I mean you're fully dressed and …”

    “Is this gonna be I'll-do-it-if-you-will?” Kevin sighed. He pushed his pants down to his knees, pulled his shirt up to his armpits, and slowly pivoted. “Ok? Nothing too remarkable, huh? All the usual parts in the usual places. Now you.” Kevin stood exposed waiting for Ty; there was no sexual component to his display. They could have been a doctor's office.

    Well ...ok.” Ty stood and exposed himself.

    “Turn around,” Kevin ordered. By the time Ty completed his pivot his cock was half erect. “So getting it up won't be a problem,” Kevin noted. “Nice balls. Is that as big as it gets?”

    “No. It gets a little bigger ...” Ty gasped as Kevin took hold of his cock.

    “Yeah, it does,” Kevin grinned as he gave Ty a few strokes and felt expansion.

    Ty's cry of “Stop!” came too late. He was a while getting over his orgasmic convulsions. He held onto a chair to keep from falling over as his dick pumped a huge load all over an amused Kevin.

    “That's a lot of cum, dude.” Kevin watched a major shot drip down his stomach and onto his dick.

    “Oh shit,” Ty gasped trying to get his breath. He pulled his t-shirt off and did his best to wipe his semen away. He was suddenly embarrassed by the realization that he was holding Kevin's cock and wiping it, causing an erection. He dropped it like flaming charcoal. “OH! I'm sorry! I didn't know ...”

    “You might as well finish the job, Ty.”

    “Uh, sure ...” He wiped Kevin's belly and then finished cleaning off his dick. With every swipe of the t-shirt Kevin's dick got bigger.

    “See what you've gone and done,” Kevin said in mock dismay. “You could suck it, I guess. You want to try?” Kevin pushed Ty to his knees and then thrust his dick forward into Ty's face. He noted Ty's reluctance and prodded. “It's just your own cum you'll taste. It won't hurt you. Think of it as recycling protein.”

    Ty gagged and knob-nibbled, holding Kevin's cock cautiously with thumb and forefinger, as if it might explode the way his own had. He was being overly fastidious and was about to stop when Kevin grabbed his head and with a quick thrust forced his whole length in. Ty gagged again and succeeded in pulling away.

    Kevin still held Ty's head in his hands. “I tell you, Ty, if you're gonna be a cocksucker, you might as well be a good one. Try it again.” He pushed his cock against Ty's unwelcoming lips. “Come on, open up ...” It took a semi-serious slap in the face to get Ty's jaws open. “Lips and tongue. No teeth,” Kevin instructed. “That's better. A little suction. Up and down, like I'm fucking your face. Mmmm. That's much better.”

    Ty worked on Kevin's cock as best he could. He was hugely relieved when Kevin pulled his erection back. “Thanks. I thought you might cum in my mouth,” he gasped. He was out of breath and teary.

    “Naw. I'm gonna cum in your ass,” Kevin told him and watched the panicked expression develop instantly on Ty's face. “But that's not a lesson for today.” Puppy dog gratefulness replaced the panic, as Ty stood. Kevin then shocked the neophyte by kissing him. “You were pretty good for a noob, Ty. So what about the porn business?”

    “I don't think I'm ready for that.”

    “Need more lesson, huh? I figured you would. We can take it at your pace.”

    Ty breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't until Kevin had left that he decided the relief was not so much over not getting fucked as the fact he would be getting another lesson. What should I try next, he wondered. I really wasn't very good at sucking. And fucking!!! Wow! I'd thought about it, but … really doing it? Holy sh … His thoughts were ended by Jeff's return.

    “Man, I tell you, messing with a professor is probably a major mistake. When he's done I feel like I could shit for days.” Jeff was walking very carefully to his bed. He stretched out on his back and looked over at Ty. Something strange about Ty, he thought. “Did Kevin mess with you?”

    “A little.”

    Jeff laughed heartily. “Here's a secret. Massage him down between his balls and his asshole. He'll be on his back with his feet in the air in two seconds yelling, “Fuck me, Ty! Fuck me!” That image of Kevin, who had been so masterful moments before, made Ty laugh and then laugh harder. “No shit, Ty. He loves getting fucked. Do you have a big dick? Never mind, he likes 'em all.” Jeff lapsed into silence and thought a bit. “So do I,” he added as he pictured Dormeyer's cock. “I gotta quit fuckin' him,” he said aloud.

    “Fuckin' who … whom?” Ty asked.

    “All of 'em. I'm gonna be a monk. Whip myself every time I get an erection. That is the answer.”

    “No. You're too cute. You owe it to the world to share.” Jesus, what did I just say, Ty asked himself.

    “Ok, you can fuck me. That's all. Nobody else.”

    “You're kidding, right?”

    “ 'Clearly yes', the sex addict replied,” Jeff replied. “Except on Wednesdays. Dormeyer goes to dinner in town on Wednesdays.”

    “Seriously, you're kidding, aren't you.”

    Jeff calculated. “You'll have to wait five days to find out.” He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.

    Tsien-tsien showed his cousin a bill of materials asked how to obtain them. His cousin scrutinized the list carefully; his face expressed surprise, but he said only, “That's a special order, for sure. I'm not sure. Give me a day. Dynamite isn't carried by many restaurant supply houses.”

    “I can't wait any longer,” Tsien-tsien answered firmly. “It gets risky after that.” He drummed his fingers impatiently waiting for his phone to ring. They sipped tea in silence. At last the phone buzzed.

    “It took me forever to get rid of Nicky and Nash. You can come to the hotel now.”

    Tsien-tsien rose from the table and thanked his cousin for services rendered to the People's Republic. He hoped his cousin didn't actually want to get paid for the four dinners he had served. He walked out the door and looked for a cab. He practiced walking with shorter steps and swinging his hips. For some reason Morrie liked Tsien-tsien to act girlish. He pursed his lips and half-closed his eyes. “I'm Anna May Wong. I come from old Hong Kong. But now I'm a Hollywood star,” Tsien-tsien whispered. A man on the street reacted as if Tsien-tsien was trying to pick him up. He chuckled to himself. It wasn't a bad impersonation. All he'll want is a blow job, Tsien-tsien decided. Nicky always wanted to fuck. But Morrie likes blow jobs. At least tonight will be an easy night, Tsien-tsien told himself.

    A cab stopped and he got in. “The Marriott, please. The one on Fourth,” the breathy voice of Tsien-tsien's hustler persona requested. He removed his dark tie and jacket and pulled his shirt out of his trousers. He opened one button at the bottom and two at the top. He withdrew a florid silken cloth from his jacket pocket and opened it up before tying it around his neck. “Thank you,” he whispered to the driver and entered the hotel. He had a magnetic card to open Morrie's room

    “Morrie ...” he said quietly, to announce his arrival.

    Morrie turned to greet him. His open robe displayed that he was wearing nothing else. He put his hands on his hips and said, “Get me hard. I want to fuck you all night.”

    Tsien-tsien smiled bashfully and knelt in front of Morrie. I should have gone with Nicky, he thought. At least Nicky is a sweet fuck. Maybe if I give Morrie a good b. j. I can talk him out of the fucking part. Five minutes later, with Morrie's cock up his ass, Tsien-tsien admitted to himself that his Meritorious Service Medal (Second Class) had come at a high price.

    “Are you awake?” Nash asked.

    “I am now,” Steve answered.

    Nash snuggled against him. “Thanks for letting me spend the night.”

    “Your line was irresistible,” Steve answered. “No one ever texted me that I remind him of dim sum.”

    “Eating a dim sum is just like sucking on your cock when it's soft and chewy.” Nash turned his head to give Steve a kiss and gently stroked Steve's not completely soft cock.

    “Sorry the night was disappointing for you.”

    “It wasn't. Not at all. I got to sleep with you. I could kiss you and touch you whenever I wanted. Wherever I wanted.” Nash giggled. “I kissed you a lot. Touched you, too.”

    “Man, I must have slept right through it. I'm getting old.”

    “A couple of times, in your sleep, you kissed me back,” Nash informed him. “Sleeping with you is NOT a waste of time, Steve.” He kissed his host again.

    “I must have morning dragon breath … just a second.” They took turns in the bathroom and then hopped back into bed with each other and exchanged a minty kiss.

    “You hold me like you own me.” Nash snuggled as close to Steve as he could.

    “Wow. I don't want you to think …”

    “I like it,” Nash interrupted. “I like everything we do.” Wordlessly, Nash's body invited Steve's possession. “Everything ...” Nash tensed slightly as Steve entered him.

    Steve's slow, sinuous motions, arousing Nash, didn't last long. He shifted to faster, harder thrusts and soon to a jarring, out-of control pounding. Nash softly wailed and held on to whatever he could grab trying to pull Steve deeper into himself. Steve's groans said he was coming, but his pounding didn't stop. He fucked Nash until his dick softened and slipped out.

    Nash groaned at the withdrawal and pulled Steve into hungry kisses. He was totally blown away by the sex; he kissed Steve over and over; he couldn't stop and couldn't get enough.

    “You're all wet,” Steve whispered. “Did you come?”

    “Kind of … not exactly … yes, maybe,” Nash answered. “In a way I never felt before.” He continued kissing Steve, more relaxed this time. They never heard the door open.

    “Isn't that cute! A sunrise special,” Jackson muttered.

    “Don't you knock? Get out of here,” Steve demanded.

    “The aging pilot and the ugly troll ...” Jackson commented, making no move to leave. “We have to report this of course. No overnight guests, Stevie. You broke the only rule.” Jackson came closer. “And what a way to go. The magic failed, huh? You kissed the ugly troll and he's still an ugly ...” Steve's fist silenced Jackson.

    Jackson reeled backward, barely keeping his balance. He was accusatory. “Don't tell me! You love him!”

    “I probably do,” Steve shouted back. Jackson left the room, slamming the door; and Steve turned to Nash. “We better get dressed. Just ignore him.”

    “Ugly troll ...” Nash echoed as he got out of bed.

    Steve rushed to him and held him. “You're not. Ignore that asshole.”

    Nash ventured a small grin. “You probably love me?”

    “Ignore that, too,” Steve said. “I was pissed off at Jackson ...” Nash kissed him and didn't press the matter.

    “In one month, more has happened to me here than in twenty-two years in New York. Can I take a shower?”

    “What are you doing today?” Steve asked when Nash came out of the shower. “You want to hang out for a while? I'll introduce you to my boss.”

    “Do I get to put on some clothes first?”

    “You have to go and spoil everything ...” Steve rooted around in a dresser and tossed Nash some essentials. They were too big for him, but the alternative of Nash's black suit from the night before wasn't right for hanging out.

    The truth was, as Steve told him, he looked cute in rolled up jeans, a droopy t-shirt, and no socks. “It shows off your body,” Steve commented. “I like your body … a lot. Come here.” They hugged while Steve's hands examined some favorite parts of Nash's body.

    “You probably love me?” Nash questioned again.

    “It's not fair asking me compromising questions while I'm squeezing your ass and dying to kiss you some more.” They kissed and squeezed some more.

    “Let's grab a bite and then we're flying. Gotta go pick up the boss.”

  43. #143
    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Great update, Rory. . . Thanks!

  44. #144
    JUB Addict EasyRory's Avatar
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Quote Originally Posted by rocabar View Post
    Great update, Rory. . . Thanks!
    I'm going to be out of touch in half of October. Debating about whether to wrap this up or leave people hanging for a while.

  45. #145
    Defender of Downtrodden
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    It was a great chapter - lots going on.
    I loved the Holmes, Watson, and Mrs. Hudson routine for Seth, Andrew, and Lemuel - there's a whole lot more to explore there.
    The kid is growing up, complete with the complex legal arrangement regarding Lemuel's foreskin.

    Then the overly business transaction turning a warmer relationship potentially sour of Jeff & Kevin - and now Ty?!
    (Who's hot to trot. Gotta be careful about the shy ones. lol)

    Then there's Tsien-tsien and . . . This group has always been more than a bit whacked in its relationships. And how is Tsien-tsien, the "straight" Chinese intel officer doing?! We know how the rest of them are.

    Then Nash and Steve, and the also aging jealous of the budding love that he can't have Jackson.

    No, I don't want you to end, yet, not by a long shot.

    There's still the whole Tom & Heiko and and and and and . . .

    I'm OK with being left hanging for awhile - you might find some down time while you're away to craft lots more material for us!

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

  46. #146
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Great story! I finally caught up this weekend. Love the different characters and plots. Please keep it going!

  47. #147
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Hi, CA87! Have you read all of Rory's stories leading up to this one?

    He has an extended family of guys, doesn't he?!

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

  48. #148
    JUB Addict EasyRory's Avatar
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Quote Originally Posted by california87 View Post
    Please keep it going!
    Thanks for the response, I'm glad you cared enough to post.

    I wasn't going to stop. (I seem unable to stop. ) I was going to end this story in Sept. and perhaps start another one in Nov. But I can keep it going. I was just looking for a way to allay the frustrations I always feel when a story dies or an update is unduly delayed.

  49. #149
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    We are a patient lot. We will wait for you.

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

  50. #150
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    Re: Four Miles and Counting

    Quote Originally Posted by DonQuixote View Post
    Hi, CA87! Have you read all of Rory's stories leading up to this one?

    He has an extended family of guys, doesn't he?!
    Not until later actually! I have read Eric's story, now moving on to the next! The characters make a lot more sense now!

    Glad it's not going to stop!

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