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A Fable from the 70's

Part Eleven - A Star is Born


First stop was Evan's house. I'd never been there before and it was a lot more impressive than the Hillcrest house. I was surprised, but Christian said, “Would you put good stuff in Hillcrest with assholes off the street like us staying there?”

Evan was there and I got to meet Will, for the first time. They were definitely a couple, finishing each other's sentences. They used the house for entertaining customers of Will's architectural design firm, so the house had to look good. The wood was going to be paneling for a room addition Will was masterminding. We unloaded it and headed to Hillcrest.

“We swim, si?” Ethan pantomimed to Mario.

“Nadamos. Si, bueno,” Mario answered.

Mario emptied his pockets in the garage and gave me about a half dozen joints “para la noche.” He hesitated before stripping but threw his clothes into the washer with the rest. Christian eyed his cock.

“Te gusta mi pinga?” Mario grinned.

“Cuerpo corto; pinga grande,” wide-eyed Christian said comparing Mario's height to his ample cock size.

We showered in the yard and hit the water. Mario was in awe of how well Gringo field hands appeared to live. Other than to tell Mario that the house like the vineyard was Evan's, Christian's Spanish wasn't good enough to explain the living arrangements.

I went to switch the clothes to the dryer and found the two of them on lounge chairs when I got back.

“Terry y Ethan son maricones. No soy yo. Yo soy un … que? Un hombre-puta?” Mario looked unsure of what Christian was saying. “I'm trying to tell him you and Ethan are gay and I'm not, just a hustler.”

“Can't help you, man. My Spanish begins and ends with “gracias.'”

After a little time in the end-of-the-day sun, we got dressed. Mario liked that his clothes were still warm from the 'secadora'. Then after an hour of siesta time, I got pizza delivered. We demolished it and headed for Patriot's.

Cliff and Mark were already there looking like their romance was continuing. Evan was as stern as I'd yet seen him about Ethan not being there, claiming that both brothers were needed to make their attraction special. Cliff, who actually did speak Spanish, explained to Mario the problem.

Mario looked suddenly pleased and said to Christian, “I dance you.”

Evan was skeptical said it was worth a one-show try. It became clear to me that Evan, a very nice guy, was direct and serious when it came to his businesses. Mario and Christian went in the back room to practice and the rest of us went to work serving the early customers.

After Evan's police warning, Cliff, Mark, and I had modified our little act to eliminate any real nudity; it was all tease. Mark would almost touch us, or almost expose us; but the goods stayed under cover. He had a new song called “He's Got the Biggest Aspidistra in the World” for tonight; it was an old British song, Mark claimed. The words cleverly described either the guy's ass or his house plant. He used Mark's and my asses to illustrate the story. We all wore jock straps, which you could clearly see through the thin pants; Mark felt it made us look closer to nude than actually wearing nothing underneath and he was right.

The song was a hit with the patrons and the tip jar was full. When the crowd shifted over to the dance platform, Cliff counted it and was visibly disappointed. It was a good amount, but not as much as we had made other nights. Mark suggested we could make it up in drink tips between dance shows, but Cliff looked desperate. “I needed that extra tonight.”

The show started and the crowd called out “Where's the brother?” “We want the twins!” There was even one nasty comment about Latinos. I winced for Mario and hoped his English wasn't good enough to understand.

Then their jeans came off and the crowd hushed. Christian looked the same as always but Mario looked really hot. He wore Ethan's Speedo, but since it was too big for him, it allowed his cock to move around as he danced. His size was obvious and, while the twins' dancing was athletic and fun, this dance was sexy. The dancers were rubbing against each other and holding each other in ways that implied intimacy. They never explicitly groped each other, but their actions were arousing and it appeared that Mario's cock got bigger as the dance went on. No longed bouncing with his steps, it was stressing the fabric of the loose bathing suit. I was glad I was wearing a jock or my pants would have given away my arousal, too. The crowd responded as the dancers walked around the edge of the platform accepting applause and letting cash be tucked into their suits.

“Shit,” groaned Cliff. “There go our tips.”

The night was a success otherwise, especially for Mario. Gringo-ized Latinos suddenly remembered their Spanish and wouldn't leave him alone. Christian told me it was all Mario's idea and a delighted Evan asked if Mario had any brothers. Jeff arrived for the second show and looked more relaxed and pleased than he had been lately. The only downer of the night was a drunken edition of Mark's Navy friend Casey, who was drinking alone and got obnoxious hitting on me.

When the night was over Cliff reminded us that he was unhappy with his earnings. He told Mark he was going out with some guy who made a substantial cash offer. Mark countered, offering Cliff his share of the tips, but it didn't work. “Do I still have a bed in Hillcrest?” a dejected Mark asked me.

So Christian, Mario, Mark, and myself ended up soaking in Evan's pool. Mario shared a joint with us and we relived the highlights of the evening. Trying to translate Aspidistra into something meaningful to Mario became funnier and funnier as the pot worked its wonders. Then the chill of the night hit us and we went inside. Finally Mark retired to the room he had been using and Mario picked one of the sofas.

“Can I sleep with you, Champ?” Christian asked. “Just sleep, nothing else. I miss not having Ethan around.”

Christian opened up the bed and got in with the explanation that it was once his bed. There was plenty of room in the bed to sleep if sleep was what you wanted. “My offer is still good. You passed up a good thing with Ethan.”

I reached over and patted his shoulder. “I like you better as a good brother than as a good fuck.”

“I am, you know.”

“Brother or fuck?”

“Both.”

I puzzled again over Ethan's and Jeff's agreement that Christian was straight. He hustled guys everybody said; but in the weeks that I'd known 'the fucking twins' I'd never seen or heard of him actually having sex with anybody. The house was silent and we dozed off.

There was a banging in my head. When it repeated for the third time, I realized it was the front door. Still dark outside. “What the fuck,” I wondered and walked to the door in my underwear. It was 4 A.M. I could see the shadowy form of Mario sitting up in the sofa.

I opened the door. Damn; it was Casey, weaving from side to side, still drunk. “Hey, Summers. Can I come in, little Terry?” he taunted.

He pushed past me. Little Terry? I was smaller than Casey, but nobody had called me little since I was ten. I declined his suggestion the I could suck his cock and he got belligerent. I took a weak pop to the chest from him and staggered back, getting my balance. I could take him easily in his present condition, I thought. But I didn't need to. Mario quickly moved inside Casey's reach, gave him two in the gut, one to the jaw and down he went. It was fast and quiet.

Now what? Casey was out cold. Knocked out or passed out it didn't matter; he wouldn't wake up for hours. Mario left him in a heap and went back to the sofa. With words and gestures he told me, “Yo lo conozco. Que dormir, Terry.”

I got his meaning and returned to bed wondering how Mario would come to know Casey. Christian put his arm over me and snuggled a little closer. I could feel the inviting heat of his body. He muttered something in his sleep and then returned to deep breathing. After a few minutes he rolled away and left me wanting more.
 
Part Twelve - Mañana

I thought I was the first one up but I was wrong. In the dim morning light Mario was sitting upright on the sofa and Casey was sucking his cock, gagging a little on its length and girth. “No dientes, Gringo,” Mario said to Casey in a firm but not unfriendly way. “Hola, Terry,” he said to me as I went into the kitchen.

I gave him a quick nod and then looked straight ahead as I passed into the kitchen. I busied myself making coffee and heard Mario cum as quietly as he could manage and then pant “Bien.” There was some discussion between Mario and Casey. Then I heard the door close not to quietly.

Shortly, Mario stuck his head in the kitchen and asked, “Baño?” I showed him the way and found him a towel.

Christian was up by then. “What does 'no dientes, gringo' mean?” I asked him as he chugged a glass of OJ. He just looked at me, puzzled. I explained the circumstances and he laughed. “Something like 'No teeth, asshole.' Fuckin' Mario's a comedian. So who's Casey?” More explanation and then Mark joined us.

We were all standing around in boxers and t-shirts. Mario entered the kitchen fully dressed. “Casey es mal hombre.”

I explained the night's activity to Mark, who said, “Weird. The only time I spent with him was a two-week training class. He seemed like the typical mustang, all business and kept to himself.” Mustang was a term for an officer who had risen through the ranks; most of them occupied a kind of no-man's-land of being not quite officers and no longer part of the enlisted Navy, either.

Mario repeated, “Mal hombre.” He knew more but couldn't explain it. Were was Cliff when we needed him?

Evan arrived out of nowhere and offered to take Mario home. He was going to the vineyard and Mario's place wasn't far away. More unexplained comings and goings. That was the strange thing: nobody ever said much about anything in the way of details and I never felt like I should ask. A month ago I was desperate and now I owed Evan everything. Mind your own business and be grateful, I told myself.

Mark said he was going to Cliff's apartment to see if he could retrieve his stuff. Christian offered to drive, but Mark said, “There isn't much; I can carry it.”

That left the two of us. “This place is like a French farce. Doors open and close; people come and go; I have no idea what's going on,” I said to Christian.

“A French what?”

“I mean everything's a mystery.”

“Yeah, it was like that for Ethan and me, too. Like Pete. Pete just disappeared and I thought Pete and Jeff were, you know, real close. I know enough to do my job and I don't ask. Sometimes you don't want to know.”

“I don't even know where you and Ethan live.”

“Oh, ha. That part, I do know. We stay in a guest house at Evan's place; it's just two rooms and a bathroom, really. But it's our own little house. Will - that's Evan's friend - entertains a lot and sometimes we work as waiters and we take care of the yard.”

“That's three jobs you have? Four?”

“Three jobs? Well, basically, we just do whatever Evan wants. We get time off and he pays us for all our hours. We're actually saving money. He doesn't ask us to do anything illegal. It's a lot better than living on the street.”

“I guess.”

“Ethan doesn't like dancing in the bar, but I don't mind. The thing is I get horny – surrounded by guys having sex, wanting to have sex, talking about it all the time, and I never get any.”

“What about your time off? You could meet girls at the beach.”

“I don't really know how to act around girls. No school. No future. If I tell 'em what I do, they go 'eew'. When I'm crawling the walls, I pick up some skanky-assed old chick in a bar and bang her; but that's just to make my dick go down.“

“The two of us could go out. I do more than ok with girls. We could work as a team. I find 'em and you do the rest. Or we can both do the rest. Two couples? Threesome? Whatever you want.”

Christian laughed in a completely open, unguarded way. “Christian's rent-a-dick service.” He gave me a spontaneous peck on the cheek and laughed some more.

“Don't kiss me, though. That would lead to confusion.”

Christian backed me up against the kitchen counter and leaned into me. “I told you, man, I'm all yours, any time you want.”

“You don't really mean that.”

“Terry, I've probably been with more men than women, and, if it's you, one more time wouldn't hurt. Especially if it's you.”

I got away from him and he looked disappointed. I tried to divert him, “A friend once said, 'I'm giving you time to change your mind.' Let's smoke one of Mario's joints.”

“Jeff said that, right?” Christian asked as he slowly let the smoke out. “He said that to me, too. A real caring guy, our Jeff.”

I coughed on the smoke and laughed 'til my eyes watered.

We finished the joint and Christian said pot made him horny. “Me, too” I answered.

“So you want to?”

“Oh, yeah.”

We were naked and hard by the time we got to the sofa. His body was hot to my touch. He was eager and fervent in his kisses, a combination of ardent and yielding that was all new to me. I loved it but I wasn't sure what to do next. Christian was. “Wait.” He got up, ran to the bathroom, and returned with a tube of something. He squeezed some gel out of the tube and slicked up my cock and then his asshole. “You're just the right size, long enough and thick enough. I want you to slow-fuck me 'til I cum.” He kissed me breathless and then knelt before me. “Put it in and keep moving, slowly in and out, don't stop moving.”

I did as he asked. Maybe it was the pot. Maybe it was Christian. Maybe it was the pervasive sexuality in our lives that Christian had talked about. I could hear the Stones playing in the kitchen. Everything was right as I opened him gently, poking in very gradually, massaging his hole with just the head of my cock. The gripping warmth made me want more. As I slowly moved into him, I could feel his body react. His asshole clung to me on the outstroke and relaxed for me on the in. We were breathing together. He pushed back as I pushed forward, a constant sinuous motion. There were moans of pleasure and I wasn't sure who made them. I bent forward, covering his back with my body, still pumping slowly, kissing his neck, wrapping one arm around his chest and reaching with the other for his cock.

“No, don't touch me. I'll cum too soon. Tell me when you're close.”

We kept up the rhythm. Each time I started to speed up he asked me to slow down. I took my time and tried to make it last forever. We were sweaty by then; his sighs of pleasure were constant. He made me feel like I was the best in the world, like our bodies had merged. Finally I couldn't wait, “I'm close.”

He disengaged and rolled over, missionary position. “Put it back in and fuck the hell out of me.” I pumped him as hard as I could. His legs went out straight and stiff and he thrashed. “Oh, make me come, make me come!” he cried out. A few more seconds and I saw his cock pulse, pulse again and begin spurting all by itself. “Sweet Terry, fuck me!” That set me off and I flooded his ass. I could feel the sperm flowing through me 'til I felt my insides pucker and still I couldn't stop thrusting. He clung to me, arms around my neck, legs around my ass, his body off the sofa. I rose upright with him still clinging to me, kissing me, and my cock popped out of his ass. He groaned with painful need as I lowered him back to the sofa and thrust my still hard cock back into him. “Ahhh.”

No words – just the revelations of physical senses. The taste of his mouth. The scent of his cum. The beauty of his body. The sounds of his breath. The sense that all of me was joined to all of him. Total bliss.

And then I remembered this was just a payback for being easy on Ethan. I kissed him one more time and sat up. “Sit tight,” I told him and got the hint of a smile in return. I got a towel out of the kitchen and returned. I started to wipe the cum off his stomach and then found more on his chest. He pointed to a big drop on his shoulder and as I reached for it he embraced me and wouldn't let go. No kissing, no words. Just the ardor of his learning about every inch of me by his touch.

I couldn't stand it any longer. “Christian ...”

He put his finger on my lips. “Too soon to talk.”

We showered together. That was amazing, sensual, and all his idea. We got dressed and as we walked toward the kitchen, he held my hand. All he did was hold my hand and it felt as intimate as anything else we had done. “I like holding hands,” he said.

Inside the kitchen he nodded when I held up the orange juice container. We sipped and he said, “OK, now you can spoil it by talking.”

“I don't know what to say.” Well, that was a lie because I could have said a lot.

“Don't spoil it then.” He just stood next to me with his arm casually around my waist sipping his orange juice. We heard the sound of Mark returning. It had to be Mark, he was whistling that Aspidistra song. Christian moved away and stood across the room.

Mark came in with a small cloth bag barely big enough for a bowling ball and a bigger paper bag. He had been to a store. “I got fiberglass cold patch material. Looks like a good day for repairing surfboards.”
“Did you see Cliff?” I asked.

“Yes, he begged, he pleaded, he promised. They all do. Fuck him.”

“What's wrong?”

“He's a gambler and I guess a lousy one. He owes a bunch of money and is getting threats. I'm not the answer to his problems. Like I said, fuck him.” Then he sniffed the air. “You two have been smoking. Any left for me?”
 
I just noticed the guidelines say no drug abuse. I hope a couple of marijuana joints isn't abuse. It's hard to write this story set in the 70's without a little pot in it.
 
I hope they don't give you trouble about the pot, because this is a GREAT story.

I especially love the last chapter. The sex with Christian is one of the most erotic things I've ever read. I think he's probably not as straight as he makes out.
 
Part Thirteen – Testing the Waters



“Well, we could smoke now. Or Mark could stay unfucked up, fix the boards, we all go to the beach, and then smoke,” suggested Christian.

“Good plan,” Mark agreed. “Except that it will take a couple of days for the boards to be ready. I have to sand down and re-coat the surface a couple of times.”

“We could go to the beach anyway – without the boards. Christian wants to meet some girls.”

They agreed to my plan with one exception. “You two can play any games you want with the damsels but I'm through pretending to be straight. If the subject comes up, I'm Mark, your harmless, gay friend.”

So we killed a couple of hours while Mark worked on the boards. Christian cut the grass and took care of the yard. I did a couple loads of laundry and general cleaning. At the end of that time the boards looked smooth again, but Mark said it still wasn't good enough. A couple more coats of resin were needed. He was applying one when Cliff drove up.

Christian and I made ourselves scarce and went into the kitchen. We did our best not to listen. There were apologetic noises in Cliff's voice, silence from Mark, more soothing noises from Cliff and finally Cliff asked loud enough that we could hear, “Well, when can I see you again.”

Mark replied, “Come on a Wednesday - any Wednesday - later, in the summer - any summer.”

Christian was shaking with laughter holding his hands over his mouth. Cliff left and Mark came in looking pissed off.

“Come on a Wednesday?” Christian could hardly speak from laughing. “What the fuck was that?”

In spite of himself, Mark let a thin smile twist across his mouth. “Bette Davis.”

“Bette who?”

“You know, Christian, your education sucks.”

“Well, that's true,” Christian answered thoughtfully.

“I don't understand anything about any of you,” was my comment.

Of course, Mark wasn't mad at us and wasn't even very good at staying annoyed at Cliff. He explained about the surfboards,“You know the old beat-up cars people have - the kind where one of the doors doesn't match the rest of the car? That's what these boards are going to look like, but they'll still cut the water as good as new.” Mark paused. “You two seem to have some kind of vibe going. You want me to stay here? I don't mind.”

“No way,” Christian said. “Gotta have our gay friend Mark along to drive the girls away.”

I protested, too. “No, you have to come.”

“You know, me being gay won't really hurt anything. There's always one girl who just wants company anyway; and the others get kind of intrigued, from a safe distance, of course.”

“Never heard that theory before.”

We piled in the twins' truck and headed for Encinitas, about twenty-five miles north. I had heard it was a good surfing beach but had never been there. Christian thought maybe we could borrow a board. Mark found a radio station that played decent rock with occasional Beach Boys oldies and we fired up another of Mario's joints.

It was a beautiful day with the combination of warm sun and cool breeze that makes Southern California what it is and the beach was nicely populated without being crowded. We saw two girls and three towels and figured the third one would be back soon. We sat near them and I started chatting. I'm actually pretty good at that. They were responding in a friendly way and why not? There weren't any better prospects around. The third girl returned from their car with a radio. We exchanged names and jobs. Two of them worked in retail and one worked as a chef. We were equally non-specific about our jobs, just bartenders. Things were going well and even Mark was enjoying the conversation better than he thought he would when a guy came up kind of breathless.

“You guys ...you guys work at Patriot's? Am I right? You do! Oh man, I am such a fan.” Turning to Christian specifically, he said, “I thought you were actually gonna do it right on the stage with that Latin dude. SO hot!!! And you look just as good wearing clothes. Anyway I just had to say hi. See you at the bar.”

The guy was more than a little effeminate and that killed it with the girls. They exchanged looks and suddenly had to go get ready for their dates.

Mark and I were more disappointed than Christian, who took the strike out without saying a word. He went into the chilly ocean water and rode the waves body surfing. Mark and I joined him. Coming out feeling salty and cold, we headed for the truck. Christian shivered in the breeze and his only comment was “My dick is so shrunk up I couldn't fuck anybody anyway.”

We drove out of the parking lot with the windows rolled up sharing another joint. Smoke filled the cab. We must have looked like a Cheech and Chong poster. As we drove south, the mood mellowed, the air warmed up, and the windows went down. When we got back to the house, Christian let Mark walk ahead and said, “I want to stay with you tonight.”

“Sure.”

We washed the salt and sand off in the outdoor shower and lay drying under a warmer sun than the sun we left at the beach. After Christian went inside to get us some water, Mark commented “How could you not love that boy? I just wanted to kiss him and make it better when the girls left.”

More firmly than I intended, I told Mark, “He's almost twenty-one. He doesn't think of himself as a boy, you know. He never had time to be a boy. He has demonstrated he can take care of himself and his brother. And he'd be pissed off if he heard you say that.”

“You're absolutely right. Stupid thing for me to say. I'd apologize if he were here.” Marks urgency to make amends convinced me I had said too much. Christian wouldn't like it if I were talking about him either.

“You're forgiven, Donkey Dick.”

Mark regarded himself. “It is kind of big, isn't it?. Fits Cliff perfectly, you know. That asshole. You think I can trust him?”

“What would it cost you to find out?”

“Oh, money, nights alone, strangers at the door ...”
 
Part Fourteen – Kodachrome


Lying in the sun and feeling the buzz fade, a Simon and Garfunkel oldie reminded me that it was the first of the month and, despite the fact it was Sunday, I thought about calling what-was-his-name? the photographer who gave me a ride and a job offer. I went into my bedroom and checked my wallet. I found the card. Hillcrest Photography. Philip Romano. What could it cost me? Less than Mark's projections.

“Mr Romano? This is Terry Summers. You gave me a ride to a couple of weeks ago. You said I could call today to see if you had a job available.”

“I was hoping you'd call, Terry. Jeff Lord called and said Evan Grunthal recommended you. Small world, isn't it?” I'd never heard Evan's last name before.

It turned out he did get a contract for a customized equipment installation and test and would be glad for some help. The money offer wasn't great but it was better than I hoped for. He wanted to see me on Monday.

Christian and Mark congratulated me on the news and made plans to spend my first pay on a celebration. Christian's very basic concept was wildly expanded by Mark. “In your dreams,” I said.

Christian looked at me with a heart-stopping earnestness. “They're nice dreams, Terry.”

At the same time Evan arrived with Ethan in tow. Christian lit up at the sight of his brother and took him to the garage to show him Mark's work on their surfboards. I had a chance to mention my call to Mr. Romano to Evan, “Thank you and Jeff for the recommendation. It seems like your always there to help.”

Evan got serious, “Gays are on the fringe of society. Here and there some mother worries about us, maybe; but basically nobody gives a damn whether we live or die. Each other is the most we have and by looking out for each other, we look out for ourselves.”

“You sound like St. Augustine.”

Evan smiled and said, “Augustine didn't think we have free choice; I believe we do.” He looked a little pleased with himself. “Philosophy major.”

The twins returned praising Mark's work and Evan said he had come to pick up Christian, if Christian didn't mind; he needed them tonight to work an impromptu party of Will's. Christian looked at me and shrugged. “Glad to, Evan.”

After they left, Mark said “I like Evan more and more. New subject, dude. No more pizza. I'm going to Ralph's for real food.” I walked along with him and got educated on the quality of Ralph's produce. Mark was incredibly domestic for an ex-naval officer. “I've always been this way,” he said; “Now I can let it show.” He made what he called the perfect bachelor dinner, steak, asparagus, and a salad. “Fuck the carbohydrates.”

I went to bed thinking that if the carbohydrates are getting fucked they're better off than I was. That kind of got me pissed off at myself - for feeling sorry for myself. Then I decided I was just feeling horny. My welfare for at least the next day of two was assured.

The next morning the twins came by to pick up their truck and offered Mark what he called an unrivaled opportunity to fry in the sun while eating grapes. He leapt at it and I headed off to my job interview.

I was surprised when I got to Hillcrest Photography to find Jeff and Evan present.

Mr. Romano insisted I call him Phil. “I'm not that old, Terry. Wait, yes, I am.”

So the three of them invited me to sit and Evan began speaking. “Remember I told you yesterday that we live on the fringes of society? We'll we also make our living on the fringes of society. I run a gay bar. I run a dirty book store. And I'm thinking about producing pornographic films for sale.” My eyes got wider.

“Films? We call them videos now, Evan.” Phil injected.

“Yes, we do,” Evan continued, “and we have some other new concepts in mind. Philip has been working on them for a couple of years, as money has been available. Now, we have a couple of new investors and more money is now available. What we have done is turn the Hillcrest house into a studio without the obvious look of a studio. Various lenses and mikes are hidden which feed remote tape capture equipment that is in Jeff's house. The action is triggered by sound and heat, detecting the presence of people. Everything that happens in the living room is automatically filmed.” He paused, “You are blushing. I take it you are on some of our films?”

“Videos, not films, Evan.”

“Y-yes. You probably have a few performances of mine.”

“Well, relax. Nobody has seen them and the videos are all kept in Jeff's house. They are long and unedited. That is where we thought you might come in, as editor under Phil's direction.”

Jeff spoke up, “I knew about it, Red; but loved what we did in that room; I never planned to trick you. No one has seen the tapes and they never will. We just want to improve the concept and then use professional 'actors' if that's the word in the future.”

“All right, let him get over his shock,” Phil said. “Here's how we did it.” Phil launched into the technical details of lens placement, focus, data relay, and tape management. “Even in the two years we have been working on it, the technology has changed. Jeff isn't quite right. I've seen some of the tapes to verify the operation and the success of the changes we have made to the gear. That Canon you saw in my car is the first camera that combines manual and auto-focus; we have adapted that technology to our last modification.”

“I wondered why you kept that house, Evan. I figured it was too valuable to just be a home for wayward boys.”

“I'm sure you have a lot more questions and we will answer them; but the house will always be for 'new projects' whether the studio aspect works or not. The house is Will's contribution, not mine.”

“You want to think it over, Terry?” Jeff asked.

“I'm in. Do the other subjects of your what? study? know about it.”

“Not exactly, although most of them have given Evan, Hillcrest Photography actually, blanket rights to photograph them. The twins, for example, know that we routinely tape their stage performances in the bar. Cliff and some others you don't know have also agreed. We will destroy the videos after you and Phil are through with them.”

“Whew. That's a lot to digest. Do I start right now?”

“Tomorrow. I'm going to cover a flower show today.”

“I can help with that.”

Phil was happy. Evan was happy. And Jeff said, “I told you he was perfect.” Turning to me he added,
“In every way.”

Phil said he'd pick me up at the house at one o'clock and Jeff gave me a ride back. “Are you pissed at me, Red?”

“A little, I guess; but I'll get over it.”

“You're the only part left of my first life. I always want to be your friend. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you about the studio sooner and give you the choice to avoid the camera.”

“You could have told me; I wouldn't have freaked; but if you'd given me the choice about being taped, I'd have said no. But … it's done. I don't feel any pain. And ...”

“And what?”

“I kind of like showing off at the bar. It's not a fuck scene, but it's erotic and I like the effect I have on people.”

“I have created a monster.”

Abruptly I questioned him. “Pete fucked you over, huh?”

“Completely. I'll tell you about it some time.”
 
Part Fifteen – A Tisket A Tasket

Phil picked me up and we went to a flower show at a country club in La Jolla. I learned a lot about color that day. Greens and yellows were comparatively easy to shoot, blues and reds not at all. You have to get the color as close as you can because people buy out of catalogs and don't want surprises when the actual plants bloom. I don't know how much I helped but Phil said I got him some business. One rose breeder whose catalog job he had been chasing without success for years said he'd like Phil to do some shots next week at his greenhouses. “And bring along that assistant, you old rascal.”

“Now don't get all annoyed, Terry. You have to take advantage of your natural gifts. There's no harm in that. I, myself, years ago, … well, never mind.”

We finished early because I had saved him time in the set ups, Phil claimed. He asked if I wanted to stop at Jeff's house and look at the set up. “Jeff won't be there. He's probably out finding investors for Evan's next bright idea, mail order condoms.”

The set up was awesome. Multiple cameras - well, sort of cameras; the lenses were remote, splicing equipment, duplicating equipment, transfer decks, and rack after rack of tapes archived by date. Phil chose the latest one and displayed it on the monitor.. There were Mario and Casey engaged in their blowjob. Even in the dim light, the picture quality was unlike anything on television. You could read the letters on Casey's tattoos.

“That young man has quite a penis,” Phil remarked.

“Amazing. The picture is so defined.”

“We can capture and display video quite well, these days,” Phil explained. “The definition gets lost in broadcasting the signal over the air for home reception.”

He let the tape run and there were Christian and yours truly. After a moment, “Oh my. Oh my. Terry, this is art. You and Ethan.”

“No, it's Christian.”

“Oh my. Do you mind me watching? It's Christian, you say.” He pulled off that tape and put on another shot of the same scene from a different angle and direction. “It's Christian. I always thought Ethan was the sensitive one. Oh my.” Phil was in a dither. He took the tape off. “That is potentially a breath-taking video. Am I embarrassing you?”

“Yes, my whole life is embarrassing lately; but I'm getting used to it.”

“Dear Terry, I don't want to make things worse. We'll put these tapes away. I've never seen anything so sensual except in still photography. If you, a participant, the driver of the scene, could edit them, it would have an immediacy and an authenticity we could never get any other way.”

I couldn't answer him; conflicting thoughts wrestled in my head.

“Is this too personal for you? It's plain you two are more than casual partners.”

“That was the first and only time we ever ... Phil, I can't answer you. And I don't know what Christian would say, either. I need to think about it. Can I tell him about the tapes?”

“Er, I think so. Yes, tell him.” Phil selected some earlier tapes. “Just to show you how we have progressed. This was done on our original equipment.”

The scene showed two young men just sitting on a dark sofa. The background was also dark and you really couldn't tell the men were wearing shorts until they stood up. I had seen better home videos shot by my father when he was drunk.

“Now you know why the house is mostly shades of white. Evan just about canned the project right then. Now look at this. We got better at managing light levels.”

The second scene showed two guys kissing. Their clothing was distinct and I could tell one was Jeff, but only, I think, because I knew Jeff. They undressed each other and their bodies showed up well defined in detail and shading. Jeff leaned back and the other man began giving him a blowjob.

“Is that Pete with Jeff?”

“Yes,” Phil replied, removing the tape and inserting another. “Do you know Pete?” I shook my head and he continued, “He had or has, I suppose, amazing talents but he was difficult to work with.”

The next tape was a big quality improvement and included respectably good sound. It was Jeff and Pete again. Jeff sat naked with his head hanging and his face covered by his hands. Pete knelt next to him slapping him with his erection. “Come on Jeff, let's fuck. What's your problem? You never minded before. I won't charge you. And you're only the third one today.” Jeff turned to him to say something and Pete jammed his cock in Jeff's mouth.

I couldn't watch. “Turn it off, Phil”

“I didn't know we had anything like that. I'm sorry you had to watch Pete being Pete. But as far as the video goes you can see our progress over the past two years. I think if you can edit any of the recent scenes into a fifteen to twenty minute scenario, we can demonstrate a commercial product the public would buy. What's the matter, Terry?”

“I just don't understand Evan telling Jeff I'm just like Pete. I heard him say that the first night I worked at Patriot's.”

“He said something similar when we discussed hiring you for the video test. He meant only your looks and willingness to work. You had to give Pete those two qualities, and some other good points as well, at first. Jeff was crazy about him. I think it was the first time Jeff knew the difference between love and sex.”

It was easy to talk to Phil. “I'm not sure I know the difference either.”

A smile of remembrance came over Phil while he enjoyed a private thought. “Sex is a pain, usually in a very specific place; it's easily cured but it comes back. Love is a pervasive, consuming and oh-so-pleasant ache; you feel it in your whole body. If you're careful, it never goes away.” He put the tapes back in their places enjoying his memories. “That's enough for today, my dear Terry. I'll finish here.”

I crossed the street unsure of the time, wondering if I could squeeze in a shower before going to Patriot's. Mark, Mario, Carter and the twins were sitting at the table and on the sofas looking serious and listening to Evan and Jeff. “Tell Terry!” they said almost in unison.

“Mario told me that your visitor “Casey” isn't in the Navy at all. His name is actually Raul Osorio and he used to turn Latinos in to the border police unless they paid him off. He disappeared from the Latino community after some Mexicans knifed him. I tapped some sources of my own and found out he is now an undercover civilian cop working for the Navy. Some other sources said he lures sailors into sex and then sells them out to the Navy unless they pay him off. So you and Mark were two potential victims who got away, which must have pissed him off. We were talking about what we could do.”

“I think I know exactly what you can do. Do you mind it I tell everybody why you hired me as a video editor.” Evan and Jeff looked uneasy, but didn't say no. So I told all about the studio arrangements. “We have a tape of Casey that should solve the problem, if Mario doesn't mind risking his reputation.”

Evan translated for Mario and laughed. “Mario said make the tape public, it should increase business at Patriot's.”

Christian and I had no chance to talk before work began at the bar. Evan got everybody together after closing for a celebration. “They kept it a secret, but I want everybody to know this is Christian's and Ethan's twenty-first birthday.” Champagne popped, glasses were poured and the party began. When it came time to really shut the building down, Evan announced some changes. “Ethan is giving up his fabulous dancing career and moving to the farm and Mario is moving to town and bringing his dancing shoes.“

Christian moved to my side and held my hand while people crowded around Ethan and Carter. “What about Christian?” somebody asked and the crowd turner to face us. “What are you going to do?”
Christian said nothing, just held up his hand holding mine.

“What?” “He's straight!” “How...?” “Who …?”

Christian yelled, “Do you people have to worry everything to death?” Silence. “All I know is I want to spend tonight with Terry. Isn't that enough?”

I felt his hand in mine again; I squeezed it. It was enough for me.




U.C.S.D. Research Project 2007-152C
Title: Gay Entrepreneurship in the Post-Christopher Street Era
Accession Nr. 1644 Oral and Textual History
By: Mr. Terence Summers
Told to: Dr. Charles Montoya, PhD


Charlie – this is amazing. Do we know what happened to these people? Any happy endings? - Javier.


Javie – as with all the subjects in these histories, HIV took an appalling toll. When Mr. Grunthal died in 2003, he left half of Patriot Winery, Hillcrest Studios, and his other businesses to their managements and half to Fund for the Homeless. Some of these people cannot be traced; but after his last interview, Mr Summers was met by another man and they walked to his car. I believe they were holding hands. - Charlie M.


Charlie – the editorial board says this history is overly detailed and unverifiable. Abstract factual business data and discard the rest. - Javier.


Javie – I can't do that. - C. M.
 
Thank you for the praise. While I can see many things wrong with this effort and should have spent more time revising, I wanted to get something on a page and see what people think.
 
harry113 (or any British reader), out of curiosity, how disruptive do you find Americanisms in this sort of story. I mean ass vs. arse, pants which are not underwear, etc.
 
Hey Rory....I had read the first half of this, but not the conculsion....just finished it....great read as ever....I absolutely love your writing style....I could read your stuff all day!
 
Rory,
A very interesting and sensual/Hot story, with a poignant ending.
 
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