Change at Gallery Place

[EasyRory]

Chapter Sixty-One


“I'm fine. Perfect health,” Alistair lied as he returned to the waiting room. “I tell you, Persephone, the drugs alone are worth the exam.”

“I assume that is the drug talking, Alistair. What did they give you?”

“Not enough. So I took the extras all at once. Three valium, I believe.”

Alistair walked with a spring in his step as Persephone guided him to a taxicab. When they got to his office, Persephone put him in the chair at his desk and ordered, “Sit tight. Don't move. I'll be right back with some tea.”

Alone at last and able to let his smile fade, Alistair considered the blur of the doctor's words. Colon cancer. Quite extensive. Very survivable. Amazing things can be done these days. Just one or two operations. And some very different toilet habits. Chemotherapy treatments. Probably not radiation, though. At least not initially. Limited diet for a while. Perhaps longer. The doctor made it sound very routine, almost a lark. It was the social worker who referred to years of treatment and explained the difficulties.

Persephone returned with the tea and two pieces of shortbread. Alistair put on his party face and thanked her profusely. “I'm going to have this and then go home, I think, Perse. I'll just call Edmund ...” He waved her away and picked up the phone.

“Alistair. How did your procedure go?”

“Beautifully,” Alistair lied again. “I told you no need to come with me. It's good you stayed at school. I miss you, of course; but you weren't required. Actually I miss you very much,” Alistair let slip. His tone concerned Edmund, but Alistair dismissed any concerns. “If you want …” Alistair answered to Edmund's announcement that he would travel to London the next day.

The tea and shortbread tasted wonderful and there was a bit of sunshine coming in the window, a sight that was becoming rarer as the autumn days grew shorter and cloudier. Alistair walked to the window and wanted some fresh air. The window was heavy and considerable effort was needed to open it, but the air was bracing. Alistair smiled, took a deep breath, and wondered if the third floor was high enough to end things. The sight of the downward drop briefly mesmerized him. What an inviting prospect, Alistair mused.

More than the cancer, which perhaps could be managed, worse than that dreary, even fatal diagnosis was the feeling of uselessness that overcame him whenever he attempted anything sexual. He could still give a great blowjob. He had that lad's excited response last weekend to prove it.

Sweet boy, he overcame his initial revulsion the minute I got him in my mouth, Alistair recalled. Even asked if I wanted to fuck him. Polite little lad. Of course I wanted to fuck him. I lacked the ability. When did I last have a spontaneous erection? Has it been months? Is impotence a side effect of colitis? Of cancer? Of the medicines?

Alistair closed the window and left the building. He glanced back up at his office window and decided it probably wasn't high enough for a fall to be assuredly fatal. I'd need the roof for that, he concluded. Later, in the underground, he considered throwing himself in front of a train, but decided that would be a burden on the crowds of train riders. A motorway overpass might be the thing, tidier, fewer involved, nasty press coverage, though. He got home and poured himself a healthy measure of brandy and then laughed at the idea of a healthy measure for a dying man.




Ben Williams lay on his back with his hands folded under his head in the early morning semi-darkness of his dormitory room. With his eyes closed he could remember in exact detail the closeness of that beautiful German, the intimate touches, the strength of his embrace, the softness of his kiss. When he'd let me, Ben thought with annoyance. Two kisses. Why wouldn't he fuck me? Or anything? We were in the perfect position. His cock was hard as steel. The next morning he let me touch him and kiss him a little. He knew I was ready. Shit! He was ready if anybody ever was. Hard in my hand, starting to get wet. I could feel his body wanting to thrust.

Ben's hand went to his own cock. He couldn't help himself. The bedclothes were confining. After a couple of strokes he threw the blanket and sheet aside. He traced his body with his fingers heightening every sensation. He knew his cock would be dripping next time he touched it. I haven't been fucked in years, he told himself. And it could have been years, if you measured days as minutes.

“Hands off you cocks, pull up your … What's this? … Nothing personal, Rufus. Guess I should have spent more time shaving.” Ben's roommate ignored the frantic readjustment of sheet and blanket and continued, “Mass meeting at 8, you know. We plan how East Anglia will take over the world.”

“David … I … uh ...”

“No worries, we all do it. You going to the meeting? I expect it's more minutiae about how brilliantly this University is run.”

“Why do you call me Rufus?” Ben asked as they walked to the meeting.

“My dog was named Rufus. Now don't get insulted, will you? You remind me of him. Not looks. I don't mean you look a dog. I mean you're easy to be around. Like him. And now that I know you indulge in the occasional wank, I won't be upset if you catch me at it.”

“Maybe we should rattle the door handle or something.”

David shook his head. “Let's keep it exciting. Live life on the edge. If you go back to the room after this, I promise I won't be back for at least an hour.”

After the meeting Ben didn't go back to the room. He decided he would track down Edmund. That seemed like an acquaintance he should keep going. Halfway to the faculty offices, he met another dormitory resident. He got a wink and a wave from Gijs, the Dutch boy he had been with the night before. “Been with” was literally a description of their meeting. They flirted and teased, but neither pushed to the point of action or even any explicit talk of possibilities. Seeing him in the shower room will be the deciding factor, Ben decided. No sense being disappointed after we're in bed. Ben smiled back at Gijs' lingering gaze. He's probably thinking the same thing about me, Ben chuckled.

He found Edmund's office and stuck his head in. Edmund set the tone for the meeting. “You should probably call me Mr. Howard here on campus, Williams. It wouldn't do for there to be any possible misinterpretation of our relationship.”

“I just wanted to thank you for the visit. I enjoyed meeting everyone. I wondered if I could have the drawing that Alis … Mr. Dragon made of me. “

“Er, yes … I'll ask him. Sometimes it takes him a while to finish those things. Sometimes he gets impatient and tears them up.”

Edmund was obviously flustered and Ben guessed why. “Maybe having drawings of students floating around isn't such a good idea, Mr. Howard.”

“Yes, thank you. If he finishes it, there may be an appropriate time … to … um, deliver it.” Edmund blushed, something he rarely did; but then rarely did his professional life and personal life ever mesh in a way that involved students.

“Well, thank you again. I enjoyed seeing the coast.”

Ben walked back toward his room feeling an attraction to Edmund. He wouldn't be a bad time, I bet. Probably better than Alistair. Replaying Alistair's blowjob in his mind gave him the beginnings of an erection. Does this sex business ever get any easier, Ben asked himself. Will I ever meet a man without first thing wondering if he's a good fuck? I bet Gijs would love getting fucked. His arse looks comfortable. Not hot exactly … just comfortable. Edmund … shit … I wish he wore clothes that advertised his body more. He looks hot, just plain hot. I bet he has a big cock. Alistair likes 'em big. Who does the fucking in that family, I wonder?

Ben got to his room and quickly climaxed. He didn't even lower his pants, just unzipped. All it took was a couple of strokes. It was fast and completely unsatisfying and then he had to wipe his cum off the floor. He berated himself as he scrubbed and blotted with a dirty sock. I need somebody regular. This is torture. I'm a sex fiend, it seems like. I must be supercharged, over-active glands or something. It can't be this hard for everybody else. The whole world of men can't go around plotting their next fuck all day long.




Phil missed Alex desperately. Trabzon was the most exotic and foreign place he had ever been and now he was alone in this strange, unwelcoming place. Even though Alex expected to be away only overnight, Phil paced their little room. He tried sleeping, but it was early and the empty bed was a lonesome place. He walked down the stairs to the tiny lobby of the hotel. He was still at a loss over how much their Rumanian contact, the so-called Anton Livadaom, looked like Florian Obstbauer with darker hair and a mustache. And Alex just laughed off the whole thing. Damn him. I miss him so much, Phil thought. A voice interrupted his worries.

“Alone? This is kind of forward of me, but care to join me for dinner?” the accented voice asked. The owner of the accent was British and in his late thirties, if time was being unkind to him, or late forties if it wasn't. His thinning hair and paunch were offset by an amiable expression and twinkling eyes. He knew a decent place, he said; and so they went.

The conversation stuck to generalities as Phil and his new friend Neville ate a small Eastern Mediterranean dinner which the Turks call Turkish food and the Greeks insist is Greek. A bit of lamb, a decent salad, and couscous. Or was it bulgur? Phil was never sure, but he liked the Turkish approach of drowning the stuff in yogurt.

“After dinner, sometimes I go to the bath. Nothing like a Turkish bath, especially if you're in Turkey, what?”

“What?” Phil asked.

“A relaxing post-prandial massage … and if you tip the towel boy extra, you might get a pleasant surprise.” The twinkle never left his eye; an unspoken proposition was on the table.

Phil accepted and Neville looked forward to enjoying the splendors of a much younger man's body. He dismissed the idea of dessert or coffee and hurried Phil a block away to a respectable looking bath. The sign on the building stated simply 'Hamam' as bathhouses are called in Turkey. There was no further identification. As arrangements were made with the desk clerk, Neville's expression and friendly attitude dissolved when Phil insisted on separate changing rooms. The desk clerk, without comment, enjoyed Neville's consternation.

Turkish towels are famous for a reason. Phil discovered that he loved their heft and texture. He wrapped himself in two of them and tipped the towel boy ten lira. The young man's face lit up and Phil decided he had been overly generous. He met Neville in the steam room and was generous with him as well. Neville got to look all he wanted as long as he didn't try to touch. The view was arousing and Neville coyly displayed a hard on of decent length but very modest girth. It would be like sipping through a straw, Phil thought.

Their bodies brushed occasionally as they moved from steam to shower and back, but Phil gave Neville neither encouragement nor hope. The last chance was extinguished when they returned to their changing rooms.

The towel boy entered Phil's cubicle and made some sort of offer with Turkish words and hand gestures.

“How old are you?” Phil asked the young man, who looked back at him uncomprehendingly. The young man's face showed the beginnings of a beard and his body appeared to be well developed, but Phil wanted to know exactly. Phil mimed holding a baby and then raised his hand to various levels indicating growth, ending at the top of his head. Then he pointed to the towel boy. “How old?”

The youth drew with his finger the number 20 on the massage table and then pointed to himself.

I hope that's his age and not the price of the massage, Phil thought as he lay face down on the table.

He needn't have worried. The massage was utterly professional and felt terrific. He rolled over and the young man repositioned the towel draped over Phil. The young man pointed to himself and said, “Mehmet.”

“Philip,” Phil responded.

The young man smiled and resumed his work. When he was finished he spoke again and held out his hand for payment.

Phil was bewildered and got money from his pocket and held it out to Mehmet, who selected a ten and a five and then hesitated. “Girl? You want girl?” Phil shook his head and looked expectantly. “You want Mehmet?”

Then it came to Phil: how to combine his business with Mehmet's hustling trade. “Do you know any fishermen?” He pantomimed working with a rod and catching a fish, then he pointed to himself and to Mehmet. A huge smile spread across Mehmet's face and he held out his hand again. This time he selected a fifty lira note and maneuvered Phil into lying down. More Turkish followed and Mehmet left the room in a hurry.

Phil relaxed and wondered if he was in any danger. Naked, foreign, ignorant, putting myself in the hands of a Turkish hustler who knows how much money I have. I must be nuts, Phil decided. He was almost falling asleep when Mehmet returned with another young man.

Mehmet smiled, said something, and then repeated Phil's pantomime of fishing and pointed to his companion. “Mumtaz,” he said, and repeated a word that Phil decided meant fisherman. “Mumtaz. Mehmet.” He pointed from the other young man and back to himself; and then smiled teasingly as he removed his shirt. More Turkish was aimed at Mumtaz, who then shyly removed his shirt as well.

The two young men approached Phil, Mehmet eagerly, Mumtaz more reluctantly. Mehmet nodded his head vigorously and smiled. “Evet?”

Phil had no difficulty figuring out what Mehmet was saying. “Yes,” he nodded, “Evet.”

Mehmet pulled Phil into a sitting position and sat next to him on the table. Mumtaz sat on his other side. Tentatively, Mehmet put his arm around Phil's waist. “Evet?” Mumtaz lightly touched Phil's bare thigh and looked into his eyes for permission.

“I just wanted to meet a fisherman, not fuck one,” Phil explained uselessly. Mumtaz smiled and shrugged, indicating he understood nothing. As a gesture he leaned slightly forward, offering to kiss Phil.

That drew a rebuke from Mehmet and Mumtaz backed away. Phil decided the rules allowed for sex but no romance. So he leaned back and let the two young, half-naked Turks give him a blowjob. They alternated sucking Phil's cock and teased his balls into tightness. Occasionally they worked his cock together. In the process, they sometimes exchanged kisses between themselves. The kisses were sweet and arousing and sexy, and the young men enjoyed them, but they were fleeting and Phil could only watch.

Twice Mumtaz reached across Phil and caressed Mehmet's cock. Twice Mehmet rebuked him, but the rebukes were gentle. Their own passions were meant to be private. They succeeded in delivering full value for the lira, however, and soon worked Phil into a very satisfying orgasm. Mehmet swallowed most of his cum and Mumtaz cleaned up the rest.

“Could I go fishing with you?” Phil asked and tried to pantomime his request. There was incomplete and imperfect communication; but some germ of an idea got through.

“Evet. Evet.” Mehmet urged Phil to dress, smiling again now that the sex was over.

Once dressed, Phil tipped him another fifty, which he pocketed, and the three of them walked quickly north toward the harbor. Mehmet was quiet but Mumtaz was full of incomprehensible explanations of the sights and buildings they passed until they reached the waterfront. Then he fell quiet, too, as they approached a large waterfront shed. The light was dim and if there was any color to the faded and peeling paint of the wooden building, Phil couldn't tell.

The interior contained tanks and machinery. As they walked around, Mumtaz tried to explain the layout, but, beyond the visually obvious, Phil understood nothing. There were large fish in the tanks and the machinery was part of a cannery operation. The three exchanged lots of smiles and nods but language was hopeless.

And then Philip saw them. Labels. The must have been oval can labels. He couldn't read them; but the characters were Cyrillic, not the Roman alphabet the Turks used. They finished the tour and paused, not sure of what came next.

“Could I take pictures?” Phil asked. Then he showed them his phone with the camera. He took a picture of Mehmet and Mumtaz and showed them the result in the view window.

The young men went back and forth in Turkish while Phil waited. Finally Mumtaz appeared to agree to something and Mehmet held out his hand again. Phil held out his money and Mehmet selected a hundred lira note.

That's almost fifty dollars, Phil thought. He watched Mehmet take the note and show it to Mumtaz. The light level might be a concern, Phil decided as he looked around the shed interior. He hoped his flash sensor was working; it hadn't been necessary for the first shot of the two M's. A sharp word in Turkish got his attention. He turned at see what Mehmet wanted.

The two lay on a fish gutting table, naked and aroused. Mehmet said something reassuring and then began making love to Mumtaz. Phil was shocked at the misinterpretation of his request, and swallowed hard. The two men were very beautiful together. They're lovers, Phil realized, and this isn't their first time. He watched spellbound as the lovers shared their bodies with each other and, once Phil got over his hesitation, with the camera.

He shot various angles, putting as much of the shed into the background as possible. Then he repositioned the his models to another part of the room, which would let him include the machinery in the pictures. Lastly he had them stand against a wall while Mehmet held Mumtaz from the rear. The shelves next to Mumtaz held the Cyrillic labels. Then he returned them to the table and backed away, wondering how to end the session.

They resumed their lovemaking. Mehmet whispered more to Mumtaz and slowly mounted him. Mumtaz whimpered at the first penetration. Mehmet whispered more. They exchanged many kisses and then Mehmet penetrated again. He's probably a virgin, Phil though as he watched Mumtaz's face reflect a mix of pain and determination.

Mehmet saw that Phil was watching and not taking pictures. He spoke sharply to Phil. His words didn't need translation. “You wanted to see us fuck. We're doing it. Now take your damn pictures.”

Mehmet turned back to Mumtaz and tried to make the fuck as painless as possible. His thrusts were gentle and not deep. More whispers, more kisses. Mumtaz kissed back with complete trust and love; he may not have enjoyed it but he pulled Mehmet into himself, holding nothing back. With a cry, Mehmet came and pumped vigorously for a few strokes. He held Mumtaz tightly, while his balls-deep cock emptied itself into his lover. Feeling like an intruder, Phil took a few shots and immediately deleted them. While the boys got themselves back together, Phil photographed the desktop. Maybe contents of the papers on it would be useful. He turned back to the boys and saw them embracing and talking quietly, ignoring him.

Ashamed and without looking directly at the boys, Phil gave Mehmet another hundred and left the shed. He walked back to his hotel and sent the photos to Dimitri with a brief text message. Phil went to bed and slept restlessly.

He got up early and dressed. He still felt ashamed of using Mehmet and Mumtaz like sex toys, like commercial property. Phil's conscience wouldn't leave him alone. They're honest-to-God people, loving people, almost innocent, and I bent them with money. Not even very much money. Sleazy, just plain sleazy. Alex never warned me about this part. Danger I can get over, but this sleazy feeling - I don't think it washes off.

Thank God, he thought. At last! There's Alex getting out of that car. Who's he with? Florian? Anton? Or does the son of a bitch have a Turkish name today? What? What? What the fuck!!!

Phil watched Alex kiss the son of a bitch, the God-damned Turk-du-jour. He kissed him gently on the cheek. It was a practiced move. Something he had done before. The fuckers are smiling at each other, Phil raged.

 

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
Some dark twists and turns.

Alistair faces extensive surgery and modified diet in order to stand a good chance at life, but without the anal he loves so much.

Meanwhile, Ben wonders how abnormal he must be - because all guys his age and more can't possibly think about sex non-stop - yeah, right. SURE we do!

Then, our customs boys. The sleaze factor Phil finds himself dealing with, then the betrayal he sees in Alex's actions.

But, what about his own head job?

The disconnects.

 

[EasyRory]

Rory,
Some dark twists and turns.

“The course of true love never did run smooth.” - A Midsummer Night's Dream, Wm. Shakespeare.

 

[DonQuixote]

And THAT is one twisted Mother-humper of a play.
We've got a video of it. I've watched it a few times - still leaves my head spinning.

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Sixty-Two


Even Ben Williams realized his obsession was unhealthy. Every man he saw became inadequate, just an object of comparison. That one's lush, but Heiko has a much better arse … I bet he doesn't have that soft chest hair like Heiko's … Precious and cuddly, but way shorter than Heiko … His cock would never feel like Heiko's … He'd be such an unfeeling fuck, not like Heiko ... Ben's fantasy went all day long.

Finding time to wank was becoming a problem as well. David the Roommate was becoming David the Pest. A quick slap and tickle wasn't nearly good enough for Ben any more, either. Ben wanted enough wank time to lose himself again in the memory of his six hours in the arms of his dream, a misty demigod who was growing quickly apart from any possible reality.

After another interruption by David, just as the dream of Heiko was about to fuck him, Ben decided he had to do something about it. “Alfred … it's Ben. Are you going to London any time soon?”

“Ben Who?”

“Williams. How many Bens are you fucking?”

“None that I know of.” Alfred sounded frosty.

“Mmm, well, I'm sorry about that. School has been keeping me busy.”

“Bullshit, but that's ok. Why do you want to go to London?”

Ben realized a different approach was needed. “Well, I thought it might give us a chance to spend some time … Dorm life doesn't allow ... you know what I mean … and even if it was just a couple of hours with you on the train ...” Even in the silence that followed Ben could detect a softening.

“Why don't I meet you after work? A trip to London isn't as cheap as you think. We can talk about it.”

He just wants to fuck me, Ben thought; but what the hell? He knows where Heiko is. I have to start somewhere. But there must be conditions. I can't be too easy. “Can we meet somewhere near school?”

The prospect of getting together with Ben cheered Alfred's day. George had been hovering again. The puppy dog looks and the too-public warm smiles were tolerable, but the constant hovering about were bugging Alfred. I should never have kept this up, never ought to have got involved with somebody at work, Alfred told himself; no matter how good the sex is.

“Want to have dinner?” George invited at the end of the day. The invitation plainly included the rest of the night.

“Nnnmmmrrr …” Alfred used his undecided noise. “I'm meeting a friend for drinks and then I don't know what we're doing. Snooker, maybe.” Alfred hadn't held a billiard cue since school, but it sounded plausible. After work he began walking in the direction of The Fiveways at Earlham Roundabout to meet Ben and found George tagging along.

“Do you remember two nights ago when ...” George paused and then continued, “... when you told me you loved our sex together?” Alfred conceded the memory. “That was the best night I can remember, Alfred. Best night ever, I think. You made me cum twice. I almost never do that. Not in years.”

“Come on, you're not that old.”

“No, but things change after thirty. Quality starts to be way more important than quantity. The thing is … with you, it's both and it's constant.”

“George, you're about fifteen minutes over thirty. You're not old at all. You're in great condition. Everything's intact and, as you regularly prove, it all works great.” Alfred had no idea how encouraging his words were to George.

“So you liked that night, too?”

“Of course I did.”

“You were very, um, focused. We didn't get much sleep.”

Alfred smiled at the memory. Once George was in bed, and, better yet, once he stopped talking, he was an inspired performer. It had been a very good night. Suddenly George pulled him into a doorway and kissed him briefly.

“Your dick is hard,” George announced triumphantly as he felt the evidence. “I had to know. You DID like it.”

“I told you I did.” Alfred tried to shake George off.

“And talking about it made you hard.” George backed Alfred up against a wall and kissed him again. Alfred's cock swelled in his hand. Another quick kiss and George moved away, allowing Alfred to rearrange his trousers. “I just wanted to make sure.” They resumed walking and George told Alfred a funny story about eating clams in Ipswich. There was no further mention of sex.

They met Ben outside The Fiveways and went in for a drink. Alfred didn't mind having George along; he figured it doubled his chances of a night in bed with somebody. And George was being charming, reminding Alfred that he wasn't just anybody; he was good fun over drinks. Ben was following every word George uttered..

“You studied at East Anglia, too,” Ben commented unbelievingly. “You seem more ...”

“There's nothing wrong with East Anglia. Posher schools may open more doors for you, but once you're inside, the differences fade fast.” George gave Ben some individual examples of the successes of EA graduates.

In the midst of the conversation Ben realized he hadn't compared George to Heiko. They're so different, he thought. No basis for comparison, really. As the one drink turned into two, Ben decided the only important difference between George and Heiko was availability. Then he noticed George's way of licking his lower lip after he took a swallow of his drink. The repeated action made Ben want to lick it, too.

“This is expensive,” George said. He didn't want Ben to feel obliged to pay for the next round. “Why don't we go to my place? It's not far.” He looked from Alfred to Ben and back to Alfred.

“I live to hell and gone across town. If I have another drink, I'll never make it home,” Alfred said. He figured he'd see who wanted him more.

“Well, if you think so ...” Ben said, prepared to say goodnight to Alfred. “But I wouldn't mind another. I'm within sight my room.”

“If you had binoculars and were on the roof maybe.” Alfred tried and failed to make it sound like a joke.

“I have three drinks left in a bottle. You're all welcome,” George was trying to be hospitable. He hoped Alfred would accept. Twenty minutes later sitting before a gas fire George toasted, “Confusion to the enemy!” and three glasses were raised.

“Who's the enemy?” Ben asked.

“Anybody who doesn't fuck on the first date,” George stated.

“I guess I used to be the enemy. Not lately ...” Ben owned up.

“I was never the enemy. For a while I was innocent but I was always willing. Of course, in those days I never had a date.” Alfred sounded glum. The evening wasn't going as he had planned. They sipped again and Alfred commented, ”I guess we have drained your bottle.”

“Turns out, I have another.” George despite being the tallest of the three was showing the effects of the alcohol more than Ben and Alfred. He weaved his way to a kitchen cabinet and returned with a fresh bottle.

“I can't read the label,” Alfred complained.

“Yes … it's not the finest.”

“What's the language? Hungarian?” Ben asked.

“Finnish I believe,” George giggled. “It says...” George squinted closely. “It says who's gonna suck my cock?”

Alfred sat saying nothing and waited for George's performance to drive Ben out the door. Ben was eager, he figured, but not desperate; but Ben surprised him.

“Will I get a bit of snoggin' first? Or is this just about who's a guzzle gut?” Ben giggled as well.

“Oh, for God's sake.” Alfred was disgusted and didn't quiet know why. “Pass me the bottle.” Alfred unscrewed the cap and took a generous swig. He gasped and bent forward. He took deep lung clearing breaths and coughed. “It's like apple-flavored drain cleaner!”

Ben giggled and out his arm around Alfred's shoulders. “Sip it, Alf. That's what Mum says.”

“Fuck your mum.” Alfred instantly regretted his comment. “Sorry.”

Undeterred and seeing no reason to defend his mother's honor, Ben kissed Alfred's cheek and giggled some more. “Pass me the bottle.” He sipped and did some fast breathing, too. “Wha! Don't sit near the fire,” he advised George.

After the bottle made a few more rounds, George drew attention to himself. “This is not getting anybody's cock sucked,” he stated. “How do we get from sitting around the fire fully clothed to all three naked in my bed?”

Confronted with the hard facts of the proposal, Ben's mood changed. His sexual sophistication abandoned him; his comfort with the situation evaporated. What seemed so easy and possible with a Tom or Heiko did not work at all with George. In the shadows cast by the fire George looked much older and now predatory.

Alfred read Ben's mood change and said to George, “You'll have to dream about me tonight. I'm too tired for a wrestling match. I'm going home.”

“Me, too,” Ben said. He was quickly on his feet and looking for his jacket. “Thanks for the drink, George.” He was out the door almost before Alfred could follow him.

Outside in the chilling air, Alfred asked, “Are you good enough to walk back to school? I can walk with you if you want.” Ben assured him he was able to make it back to school without help and quickly headed in the right direction. Alfred watched him go. Despite an occasional stumble, Ben walked swiftly away.

Alfred waited and then returned to George's front door. The chill penetrated; he shivered. It took George a while to answer his knock. He pushed his way in when the door finally opened.

“You're back. Couldn't resist the offer, eh?”

“I don't want you fooling around with Ben,” Alfred stated flatly.

“And you can tell me that because …?”

“He's eighteen, George. And he's not experienced at all, despite the way he acts.”

“I see. And you, who are what? Merely six years older than he is? You are much better for him than old Mephistopheles here. I'm likely to corrupt him in ways that you haven't?”

“I want to go to bed with you.” Alfred abruptly changed the discussion. “Right now.” That surprised and pleased George and he allowed Alfred to lead him to his bedroom. He objected when Alfred tried to help him undress.

“Clothing comes off easier than it goes on, Alf.” He emphasized the 'Alf' in Ben's tone. “Plus I hold my drink better than children do.” George stood naked and laughed when Alfred stumbled getting his own underwear off. “Are you sure you are interested in this antique body?”

“You're very handsome, George. You know that.” Alfred got into the big bed feeling the effects of the brandy.

“Willing and able, too,” George said, poking his erection into Alfred's side. “More than I can say for you.”

“I feel like a total c ...”

“Don't say it. I like you the way you are, limp willie and all.” In masterful fashion George fucked Alfred in every position he could think of. When he came at last, Alfred was mentally and physically overwhelmed; all he could do was hold on as George railed him.

A couple of times in the process Alfred got hard but he never came. Still, he felt completely satisfied. He snuggled against George and slept.




“Come on. Hurry! We have to pack!” Alex brushed past Phil and bounded up the stairs to their hotel room. Phil followed as pissed off as he had ever been.

“You were kissing that guy right in front of me and all you can say is, 'Pack'?”

“Yes. Hurry, Phil, we have less than an hour to catch a bus.” Alex was throwing stuff on the bed, his own and Phil's. “Don't just stand there … help, ok?” Still Phil stood uncomprehendingly. Alex stopped and kissed him. “I love you. There's no time to explain, baby.” After two more quick kisses and Alex began stuffing clothes into a back pack. “Can you do the music and the instruments?”

“I want an explanation!”

“I'll explain, but not now. Please, Phil. Dimitri wants us out of here NOW!”

Phil put the guitar and mandolin in their cases and put some sheet music into the front pouch of his backpack. “What can possibly be so important?”

“Our lives? Would that be important enough?”

After the hurry-up in the room, Alex mystified Phil by slowly questioning the desk clerk about every item on their bill. “Why was the same breakfast a different price every day?” “What is a linen charge?” “Two hundred lira to change the bed?” Phil was embarrassed by Alex's nit-picking; he had never done that before and the bill for one day at the Imperial in Vienna was ten times what this one was.

It was the same thing at the bus station. Alex questioned everything including the experience of the driver and the safety equipment on the bus. Right as they were about to board, at the door of the bus, Alex kissed Phil and said, “I hope this thing makes it to Istanbul.” A public kiss in Turkey was a shocking thing. Finally when they were in their seats and the bus pulled away, Alex heaved a huge sigh in relief.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Phil hissed at him.

“I wanted a lot of people to notice our departure. I want a lot of people to remember exactly when we left Trabzon.”

“They'll remember all right.” Phil honed in on his real problem. “Florian … Anton … Mohammed … whatever his name is … why were you kissing him? Did you spend the night with him?” Phil could hardly say the last few words. His chest hurt. He was close to tears.

“I often kiss him goodbye. He's my father.”

“Your father??” Phil almost jumped to his feet. He was half out of his seat before Alex pulled him back. “Shhh … you never know who is listening.”

“I'm listening and I never know anything. You never tell me shit!”

“I'll tell you everything later. Now please just be a tourist. Take some more pictures of cute Turkish guys.” Alex came close to Phil's ear. “Naked Turkish guys? What were you doing in a cannery with naked Turks? Hmm?” Alex gave Phil the tiniest of pecks on the cheek, leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

“Alex, ...”

“Shut up. I love you,” Alex whispered. Hours later in their hotel room in Yenikoy, a suburb on the European side of the Bosphorus northeast of Istanbul, they made love. Good sex manages to paper over lots of problems. “I'll tell you everything in the morning,” Alex promised and punched his pillow into some sort of comfort.

Phil turned on the television and was horrified. The on-scene news report was from Trabzon. He couldn't make out much since the report was in Turkish; but he recognized some landmarks. It looked as if half the waterfront was on fire.




“Rawson, I'm going to New York for a photo shoot. They're going to put me in a fashion spread. Can you believe that?”

“Yes. Easily. Very easily.”

“The Times doesn't like to use models. They like to use personalities. I'm a personality. Can you believe that?”

“Easily. You've always been a personality. Now you're a better known one. Plus the Times doesn't have to pay you fashion model fees.”

“Yeah, they're paying expenses, but that's all. LaTrella says the exposure is worth it.”

“Is LaTrella going, too?”

Matt nodded. “I'm going to tell Mike. I'll be back before they try to get me to babysit.”

“Why don't we do that more? Babysit for them, I mean.”

Matt looked at Rawson as if he has lost his mind and walked over to the garage. Debbie, looking amazingly put together, waved to him from the newly-painted truck. “Bye, Matt. I'm moving to Middleburg.”

Mike explained. “She claims she wasn't really a drunk. She was just testing us.” He rolled his eyes in disbelief. “She didn't want the baby, she said. She only did it for Al; but she wasn't sure we were good enough to take care of him. I mean, them. But now she trusts us and isn't going to tell Social Services to pick up the kids. Isn't that nice of her? Such a considerate mother.”

“Mike, we've got two beautiful children. What does Debbie have? A new girlfriend in Middleburg? Big deal,” Lucky soothed.

Matt saw the role-reversal. Mike, all his life the easygoing pushover, was pissed off and Lucky, always suspicious of other people's motives, was happy to be taken advantage of. For the first time in his life Matt saw that he wasn't the important man in Mike's life any more. Lucky's the one, just a supporting role for me now, he thought.

“Lucky's right, Mike. You got the good deal out of this.” He hugged Mike and got a needy hug back. “Um, I'm going to New York for a couple of days after the play closes.”

“Really?” Mike perked up.

“A fashion shoot. Can you believe that? And all the directors say I look best naked.”

“You do,” Lucky joked.

Matt accepted their enthusiastic congratulations and answered all their questions minimizing his success. He went back to the dacha thinking his achievement was insignificant compared to being the parent of two babies.

“That's why people like you, Matty. You don't take yourself seriously,” Rawson told him. “You can be … no, you WILL be the King of Broadway and it won't change you at all.”

Back at the garage, Lucky and Mike discussed Matt's future. “He's going to be a huge success, Mike. I've seen guys who were nobodies and made it and they're all like Matt. Underneath what looks like timely good luck, he works harder than anybody thinks; he's more serious than anybody knows; and he is good with people. The common touch they'll call it after he's famous.”

Mike smiled and looked at Lucky and thought of their own circumstances. “Remember when you said we needed to go through some hard times. Well, you know what? I don't think we're ever going to see them. I don't think we're ever going to have any hard times.”

“Some people would say we've already had plenty. Out of work, kind of. Money's tight. Two babies. The problems of being gay parents are just beginning.”

“Those are challenges I guess, but they're not hard. We're never going to have the hard times you're waiting for ... I want to marry you, Lucky. I not looking for any ceremony. I want it to be for us and for the kids. Mostly for us.”

Lucky waited before he answered. “I will, Mike. I will marry you and love you and ...” Mike shut him up with a kiss.

“We've got to do one thing first, Luck. We've got to give the kids some names.”

“You don't like Wretched for your handsome son?”

 

[rocabar]

Wonderful update, Rory! Thanks for sharing with us.

I hope Thanksgiving went well for you and yours.

 

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
I agree with Rocabar. A great, in depth catch-up on our casts of characters.

What happens in East Anglia, stays in East Anglia - and hands off the tender young 18YO - especially 30 YO Lothario's.

And, Alex and Phil. Oh, did I forget to introduce you to my FATHER?! Leave QUICKLY, followed by 1/2 the docks being on fire.

Then, our DC Carriage House Connection. Mike and Lucky are getting married, and have two lovely babies, Matt is headed to NYC for a photo shoot - and, they're right - he will be a major talent.

Thanks for the update. I saw it in my e-mail when I checked it at work, but couldn't take the time to read it then.

 

[EasyRory]

As everybody can probably tell, we're coming closer to the end of this story. Is there anybody in the Eric/Rory/Gallery Place collection you'd like to hear more about? Or should I start with a clean page?

Please don't say any of the English guys, because I don't think I could write an all-England story that wasn't full of horrible errors - it was a real stretch trying this one. I don't have much sense for their colloquial speech and thought patterns. The English man I know best is from Lincoln and he is barely sane on his good days.

 

[rocabar]

I thought it seemed as if you're winding it down. I've really enjoyed everything that you've written, so. . . Surprise me ;-)!

xo roca

 

[DonQuixote]

I'd enjoy an update on the guys back home - not to mention a certain football player who headed East.

But, those are just part and parcel of the whole gang.

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Sixty-Three


Rawson took a large bag of carry-out and an eight-pack of Beck's up the stairs. Dinner was going to be a variety of wraps, spinach fritatta, and goat cheese salad from Marvelous Market. Lucky helped set the table while Matt put the babies to bed.

“How about George and Martha? That's a good Washington theme,” Matt smiled as he returned from the bedroom.

“No,” Lucky answered, putting the last napkin in place.

“John and Abigail?”

“That's worse.”

“Abelard and Heloise? They're not Washington.”

Still working on the names?” Rawson asked.

“Yes. Thanks for bringing the dinner, Rawson. Pocahontas and Hiawatha?”

Lucky grabbed Mike in mock anger. “Shut up. No more names tonight.”

Rawson turned away and opened some beers as the fathers shared a kiss. He took the three bottles to the table and sat down. “Cheers,” he toasted alone, raising a long-necked bottle.

“You're getting ahead of us,” Lucky joked as he sat down.

“Yeah, I had a few on the train back to DC,” Rawson smiled. The fathers shared a look. That wasn't like Rawson at all.

“What about Michael Leavitt? That combines your names. And Angela?” Rawson proposed. “You could call Michael Leavitt 'Mel' to avoid confusion. What was Al's Middle name?”

“Alden … a family name. Michael Leavitt Mitchell and Angela Alden Leigh.” Lucky tried out the names and paused to think about it. “We could do worse … like Pocahontas and Hiawatha. That was much worse.” Lucky looked at Mike.

“I can't wait to read them the Song of Hiawatha,” Mike confided to Rawson. “My father read that to Matt and me when we were young.”

“If you want practice, you can read it to me. I love that poem,” Rawson said. He got himself another Beck's.

“Michael and Angela … Mike and Angie … no, Michael and Angela. I like those ...” Lucky then looked up as if that was settled. “Rawson, tell us about your trip to New York.”

“Yeah, I'm dying to hear how Matt's doing,” Mike added.

Rawson washed some salad down with beer and smiled. “He's doing fine, of course. You knew he would. He lives in what Washington people would call a slum but in New York is considered a pretty good neighborhood in Brooklyn.”

“When is the shoot over? It taking forever,” Mike commented.

“Well, the great news is he's had an offer ... from Peter Parker, to actually do the version of Romeo and Juliet they were talking about in Washington. A riff on Shakespeare that would explore a relationship between two actors, Matt, obviously, and LaTrella.”

“When's he coming back to tell us?”

“Uh-huh, that's the thing … Peter wants to start cast readings right away to take advantage of the buzz they generated. The photo shoot is publicity step one while they get the play ready.”

“Did you stay with him?”

“No. I had a hotel. His place in Brooklyn is kind of a pan-sexual frat house. I'm not sure anybody actually sleeps there. They just pass out until the noise level gets them going again.” Rawson meant it as a joke, but nobody took it that way.

“That doesn't sound like Matt ...” Mike said.

“He's adjusting,” Rawson answered.

“It's kind of what you predicted,” Lucky said with concern.

“Not at all. This is so good for him. He's being challenged in a hundred ways he'd never see in Washington. And he looks amazing. One of the guys living with him cut his hair and … he looks like a movie star. People look at him … even in New York. He's got stuff going on all the time.”

“So you didn't get to see much of him?”

“I saw lots of him. Not as much as I would have liked, but he wasn't expecting me and there were things he couldn't get out of.” Rawson shook off some kind of daze. “You know what? Speaking of things you can't get out of, I need to make some phone calls. You mind if I eat and run?”

After Rawson left Mike and Lucky sat chewing on wraps and sipping beer. “Michael and Angela?” Lucky proposed.

“I like those names.” Mike was somber. He took Lucky's hand and played with the hair on his wrist. “Rawson's totally fucked, Luck.”

“I know. Poor guy.” He pulled Mike close, knowing the cries of hunger would come in a couple of hours. Lucky had become skilled at feeding Angela and Michael at the same time. “I got a bunch of shit today from the DC Government over the marriage license. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“What kind of shit? It's perfectly legal.”

“Bureaucracy … just paperwork. Nothing legal.”

“Good. I'm sure I want to do it. Aren't you?”

Lucky answered with another hug and several kisses.




“A parcel … in fact, several for you,” Persephone said to Heiko.

“Tom, it's the drives that Cyril said he was sending. The high capacity 'thinking' machines he called them.” Heiko was opening the boxes as if it was Christmas. “He's got them numbered. I'll install the first two right now.”

“Will I need to read another manual?” Persephone wailed.

“Why is she in tears?” Alistair asked as he blew in the door.

“Crocodile tears, I believe. She's trying to get Heiko to read to her,” Tom joked.

“I don't blame her,” Fred said, picking up on the conversation, as she entered behind Alistair.

“Are you always so rude, Alistair?” Persephone scowled, “Shoving in ahead of Lady Tangent.”

“The Lady was on the phone,” Alistair explained. “What are all the boxes?”

“Super drives, from Alameda,” Heiko gushed. “The latest thing. They do intelligent seeks and updates, speeding up everything. You'll have answers before you finish your questions.”

“Really ...” Fred looked intently at the boxes and then at Heiko's hands, watching him slide a drive into an empty bay of Persephone's terminal.

Tom watched the interplay and stayed silent. Heiko was up to something.

“Well ...” Fred announced with an attention-getting pause. “John and I were wondering if you would all like to visit our place in Wessex on Saturday. He's been working with a dear old horse and wants to show off. Alistair has promised to bring his … catamite. It should be great fun.” She put her hand onto Alistair's arm as she talked, somewhat defusing her comment about Edmund.

With acceptances in hand, Fred and Alistair breezed out to a luncheon meeting with a potential donor. “Alistair likes to take her Ladyship to wow the new donors,” Persephone offered in explanation.

“Catamite?” Tom asked. “What's that about?”

“She and Edmund Howard don't sip the same sherry,” was all Persephone would say.

When Tom and Heiko got to the Museum the next morning, Heiko went immediately to his stock of drives. “Two missing,” he announced proudly. “This should be interesting.”

“Heiko ...”

“These are very special drives. Cyril can control them remotely if they show up anywhere on his net.”

“Should I know more about this? We're almost finished with this installation.”

“Rory approved. I don't know what they have in mind. Cyril clammed up when I asked.” Heiko's huge smile led Tom to believe if he didn't know the precise facts, he had some ideas.

They went to Rory's little flat for sandwiches. “I can't get used to these long English lunch hours. I like to eat and get back to work,” Tom said, not for the first time.

“Can I have a couple of hours off this afternoon? There's something I need to do … with Zenzi.”

Tom nodded as he threw their sandwich wrappings in the trash. He glanced up as Heiko approached. “What?”

“Can I borrow you for a minute?” Heiko asked.

“What?” Tom looked into brilliant blue eyes at close range. Heiko completely surprised him; he kissed him.

“Could you kiss me back a little?” Heiko asked and then kissed him again. “Thanks,” he said impersonally when it was over.

“You said a minute. That was about ten seconds,” Tom laughed.

“I'm a fast worker.” Just as fast Heiko was out the door.

Why would he do that, Tom wondered. He could still feel Heiko's arms holding him, his lips pressing. Tom touched his cheek where he could still feel the warmth of Heiko. That's a strange wonderful boy; I sure hope he doesn't quit. Which reminds me, I need to ask him about whether the UK installation should have open comm ports.




“Would you consider sucking my cock … ever? I mean, are there any circumstances under which you would do it?” Dave the Roommate asked Ben. They were sitting studying at two desks next to each other.

Ben looked at his roommate in astonishment.

“My ethics professor was discussing behavioral dilemmas and he challenged us to come up with circumstances when we would prefer evil over something profoundly, but merely distasteful - one kind of evil over another. So if somebody came in this room holding a little baby and said to you, 'Suck his dick or this one dies?' Would you do it?”

“Er … I guess so.”

“You guess? So you have flexible morals on the matter of innocent deaths.”

“Alright, I'd do it.”

What if he said, 'Suck his cock, or I'll stab this Michelangelo with a butcher's knife.' Would you then?”

“Mmmmm. Was it my Michelangelo?”

“I don't know ... Let's say any Michelangelo.”

“Ehhhhh. Hard to say. Is there anything in it for me? Other than your fabulous cock?” Ben made it a joke.

“Fabulous ... So you've noticed ...” Dave let that sink in and continued, “Back to the dilemma … would you?”

“I guess I would.” Ben decided to give the generous answer.

“What if I just asked you to suck my cock? The alternative being I'd be unhappy if you didn't. Would you then?”

“You think I'm a cocksucker? Is that what you're saying?”

“We've already established that you're a cocksucker; now we're discussing your motivations.” Dave laughed and thought that was a terrific joke. “The professor was giving us a lesson on honesty. He used being a whore for different amounts of money. He told us to try it on our roommates. So … what did you think at the end? Like you'd been played? How do you feel now?”

“Horny,” Ben said.

Dave wasn't sure if Ben was joking. “That's not supposed to be the answer. You're supposed to say that you feel manipulated by false logic and try to dispute being a cocksucker.”

“Last night I proved to myself I'm not a whore, at least not for the price of a couple drinks. But I didn't get any satisfaction from it; I just felt horny. Still do, since you asked.”

Dave sighed and went back to reading. Later with the lights out, Ben spoke.

“Dave, would you suck my cock if ...” The answer came before he could finish.

“Sure thing.”

Ten minutes later Ben was no longer horny and his last bit of homesickness ended as he welcomed Dave into his bed.

“Now how do you feel?” Dave asked shyly.

“Have you ever tried … bumfucking? It's heaps better than cocksucking.”

“I can't do kissing, Ben.” That answer seemed to establish Dave's only limit.

Twenty minutes later, when they lay in each other's arms, exhausted, Ben gave Dave the briefest kiss imaginable. Instinctively, Dave's arms tightened their hold and he groaned. “Maybe a little kissing.”




“Did you know about that fire?” Phil stirred Alex out of the beginnings of a night's sleep,

“The US Navy isn't the only organization with Seal Teams,” Alex answered.

“You knew?” Phil asked again.

“Not exactly; but I know when Dimitri says get out of a place, he means get out right now.”

“Four people died, Alex. I think that's was the news report. Four dead.”

Alex shrugged. “We don't have anything to do with that part of things. We just report facts. In this case you did. You reported the counterfeit labels to Dimitri.”

“Druji almost died. Jepsen did die in Amsterdam. God knows what happened in Slovakia. Now four dead! I don't like being part of a chain of events that gets people killed all the time.”

“Druji's fine. Jepsen deserved it. You remember being raped? Nothing happened in Slovakia.”

“Nothing that we know of.” Phil countered. “What if those two young men I photographed were in the building? They were generous with me. They didn't deserve to die?”

“So you did mess around with them. They were 'generous' for money; isn't that called hustling?” Alex teased, trying to distract Phil.

“They gave me a blowjob. They loved each other. They didn't deserve to die.”

“You don't even know if they're dead!” Alex answered in exasperation. “We find evidence of crimes. We report facts. That's all we do. We don't kill anybody.” Alex tried to take hold of Phil but Phil shook him off.

“I'm going for a walk,” Phil said curtly as he went out.

“Don't get yourself killed,” Alex snarled back.

A half an hour later Phil returned to their room. Alex took him in his arms and held him. They said nothing for a while, just enjoyed the closeness. Alex gently kissed Phil ans asked, “Do you love me?”

“Yes, I do. You know I do.”

“I love you too. I love you so much, Phil. Give me time to understand you.” That night, Alex did the fucking and Phil had no doubt he was loved and loved well.

The cheap bed groaned as the lovers made up. Alex's cock felt huge and took possession of Phil as he slowly pushed in and pulled out. The constant motion teased and aroused, fulfilled and withheld. Phil whimpered not with pain but with helplessness. He could only lie back and hold on. His legs dangled in the air. His hands clutched at Alex, trying to pull him closer. Alex pumped without stopping driving Phil higher and higher. Then the kisses began. Alex leaned closer and tasted Phil's lips and then demanded more, kissing harder, probing with his tongue.

Phil sighed “Fuck me” helplessly, over and over until he came in an orgasm that seized his whole body. He glowed, he pulsed over and over, as Alex's relentless motion filled and then drained him.

“I love you,” Alex whispered between kisses. “You fill my life.” When the heights of the moment had passed, Phil sighed and noticed Alex was crying. “Because I'm Russian,” Alex answered the unasked question. “I'm emotional. You stir up everything in me.”

“But, Alex, I don't want to be just your lover. I want to be your partner. I want you to count on me and tell me things. I don't want to be treated like an idiot who's a good fuck.”

“Ok. I'll try. I can change,” Alex promised. “This is what Dimitri told me. Tomorrow we should leave for Naples. Dimitri thinks that there is a factory north of town, near a place called Bagnoli, that manufactures aircraft parts and ships them through small shops in the Vomero. The parts are for Kuznetsov engines and supply all kinds of bad guys all over the world. Bad guys, Phil, not caviar buyers or art dealers. Bad guys who are undermining governments, killing women and children … Are they bad enough for you?”

“I'm glad you told me.”

In the morning when Phil awoke Alex was humming a German song and packing his things. “There's the best lover in the world right there in my bed,” Alex greeted Phil. “We should get going ...” He flopped down next to Phil and kissed him. “Unless you want to delay a little … try what we did last night over again … No? Try something else then? Anything you want, baby ...” Alex kissed him.

“No, I'll pack. You're right. We should get going.”

At the airport Alex found the airline. “Turk Hava Yollari. There it is … Dimitri said the tickets are under my name. The flight should be in about two hours ...”

Phil stopped in his tracks and made a sudden decision. “I can't do it, Alex. If we're not killing people, we're going to get ourselves killed … soon. I thought I could, but I can't.” Aas he spoke, tears came to his eyes.

Alex stood unbelieving at first.

“Don't try to talk me out of it, ok?” Phil begged. “I love you, but I can't do this.” He turned and Alex watched him walk away.

 

[Autolycus]

A great new chapter and what a cliff hanger at the end! Thanks, Rory!

 

[rocabar]

OMG


I'm solidly behind Autolycus on this. You never fail to dissapoint, Rory.

Thanks!

 

[EasyRory]

A great new chapter and what a cliff hanger at the end! Thanks, Rory!

"The fiction is out there but so is the truth." Reminds me of a German saying, "Alles hat ein ende nur die Wurst hat zwei." Everything has an end, but the sausage has two. Kind of a reverse of yours.

OMG


I'm solidly behind Autolycus on this. You never fail to dissapoint, Rory.

Thanks!

I always dissapoint? No problem, I know what you meant, I hope.

 

[rocabar]

OMG


I'm solidly behind Autolycus on this. You never fail to dissapoint, Rory.

Thanks!

Rory-

*sigh* My bad.

What I meant to say, was that you never disappoint.

Please accept my humble apologies. I meant no offence.

-Rocabar.

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Sixty-Four


The doctor's detailed report was pessimistic. Alistair probably faced more than one surgery which would only slow the inevitable. Worse, his decision needed to be immediate. Every second seemed to count in the mind of the surgeon. Alistair took out his personal folder of finely laid paper and began a letter. He loved the feel of an old ink pen in his hand. “My darling Edmund,” he began.

“Shall I become a medical plaything? Or shall I deny myself some few agonizing months - perhaps even a year - and go out with all flags flying? Poor old Masterson spend the end of his life running from one medical event to another, marching to some governmental drumbeat of best practices and affordable outcomes. To what avail? He was worn ragged in an empty pursuit. At the end they gave him an unlimited supply of morphine and he buzzed happily off like a good old boy. Why didn't they just give him the morphine in the first place? That would have been a far kinder thing.”

At the sound of a light knock, Alistair closed the folder. He put the letter into a drawer and a smile on his face. “Tom, delighted to see you. How can I help?”

“As you know, Alistair, we're close to finished with the installation. I hope you'll like it; and - here I'm becoming a salesman – maybe you will show it off to your colleagues. I can't speak for the joint venture with Lady Tangent's company, but I personally would love to expand the project.”

“I'll take every action to see that that happens. No guarantee, you understand.”

“I can ask for more.” Tom smiled at Alistair with affection. “And I'd like to thank you for making my personal life a lot more exciting. From that first drawing you did to the visits in Little Snoring ...”

“Dear boy, say no more. Your life would have been exciting in any case. My contribution was no more than your skills and accomplishments deserved.” Alistair rose from his chair. “My, my, don't we sound like a couple of old major generals, pinning medals on each other. Would you like a drink? I'm having one.”

“No, thank you. Heiko and I are driving to Lady Tangent's place this afternoon and I'm not used to driving on the C roads. The A and B roads are easy, but I don't think I'll ever get used to the C roads.”

“No one does. That's where a drink is useful. Helps you keep your speed up on thickly-hedged, one-lane paths with sudden turns. They're suicide, sooner or later.” Alistair took a large swallow of something darkly alcoholic.

“As a foreigner, I don't want to face any breathalyzer tests. They'd put me in the Tower as an example to the other tourists.”

“Abstinence is right choice, I'm sure.” Alistair drained his glass and poured half as much more. “We'll see you tomorrow for the plowing then.”

As Tom closed the door behind him, Alistair took out the leather folder Edmund had given him and resumed writing, distracted only occasionally by visions of what Tom and Heiko might get up to.

In the outer office, Persephone was sitting very close to Heiko with her hand on his arm as he guided her through his revisions to the manual. They appeared very comfortable with each other in a familial sort of way and Tom reluctantly disturbed them.

“Couldn't we have taken a train all the way?” Heiko asked as they rode in a crowded train to Croydon.

“Maybe, but John suggested a car for a getaway in case we got bored or something. He seems very negative on the whole thing. And I don't want to drive much inside the M-25.”

“You don't want to drive outside it either.” Heiko's comfort zone was further invaded when he saw the Kia Tom had rented.

“I wanted the narrowest car I could get for country driving,” Tom explained as the two set off in what looked like a borrowed circus clown car.

“Two more drives were missing from the pile today,” Heiko noted as he watched the Croydon's density thin into country expansiveness. “Things could get interesting. On the right terminal, Cyril would have access to everything BFL has.”

“Is he looking?”

“I hope so. Knowing Cyril, he probably owns their data by now.”

“He is tenacious. An amazing cocksucker.”

“Cocksucker??? I thought he was married to Bernice. Babies and all that.” Heiko had not known Cyril well outside of work.

“He is, but there was some initial confusion.”

“So you mean he … How come I never get to suck your cock?”

Tom chose to treat Heiko's question as a joke. “Can't expose the company to harassment lawsuits. So … why'd you kiss me the other day?”

“To compare you to Zenzi. I told her I was going back to Stanford to get my degree and that I'd marry her in two years, if - by then - she still wanted to. I figure two years will give her time to find somebody else if she's in a hurry and me time to … um, finish school. Maybe a Master's.”

“Yeah, but why compare us?”

“I think I could marry her, Tom. The sex isn't bad at all. But, sex with you, say, would be ten times better. I needed to confirm that before I talked to her.”

“And I'm the standard for comparison? Jeez, Heiko … it was just a kiss.”

“You're as good as anybody. Better, probably. No, better, for sure.”

Tom was uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. “Want to check the map? This is not looking like someplace Fred would want to live.”

“Let's see ...” Heiko said, opening the large map in the tiny car. “We just left Surrey … and entered Hampshire … yes, you're on the right road. It'll be a left in about ten miles. For what it's worth, my cousin said Wessex is not the way you would normally describe where we're going. Wessex isn't a real place anymore.”

The C-class road Tom was dreading turned out to be a wide, paved truck route leading to a large agricultural processing plant. Beyond the large industrial site the road narrowed for the remaining hundred yards to Fred's estate.

“So much for baronial splendor,” Heiko said, seeing the farm house. It was a large place, but nothing like the stately homes of England that Fred's title and demeanor hinted at. “Put the tweeds away and get your coveralls out, Tommy.”

Tom opened the rear hatch of the Kia and pulled out two bags. Damn, I like it when he calls me Tommy, he thought.

John met them and showed them to a small bedroom, smaller by two-thirds than the upstairs room in Alistair's cottage.

“It'll be fine,” Heiko assured John. “I've always wanted to sleep with Tom.”

“It's not that small, Heiko,” Tom said as an apology to John. He opened the window and a blast of air scented by the nearby processing plant filled the room.

“In late afternoon, usually, the wind shifts,” John explained. “You want to come and meet my horse? I'm getting to like her a lot.”

“I hope so. You married her.”

“Heiko!” Tom cautioned and couldn't avoid bumping into the outspoken young man as he turned around. Heiko just smiled as he steadied Tom to keep him on his feet.

“John knows I'm joking.”




“You're getting married?” Brent said, expressing a disbelief he tried quickly to cover up. “Well, why not? I'll be glad to dance at your wedding.”

“We're not having one. I mean, not a big public one. We're just going to go to the Clerk of Court's Office and do it. Just the two of us,” Lucky explained. “We don't really have the time … or the money … the kids need us and all.”

“I understand small, but you can't just have nothing. Marriage is a huge event in your life and cannot go unrecognized. I'm giving the reception. It'll be fun. I'm already excited. Charles, party time!” he called to his unseen companion.

Lucky switched ears with his phone and continued diapering Angela. “We don't have a baby sitter and we don't ...”

“Nonsense. I'll get you one. Or Charles and I will take care of the babies ourselves.” They discussed the pros and cons for a few minutes and then Brent said, “Lucky, you sure about this? Really sure?”

“I love my life with Mike and the kids. Yes, I'm sure. Absolutely sure. Maybe Matt could come down from New York … and with his friend Rawson, that would be six. But no more, Brent.”

“What about the girls who lived there? I forget their names.”

Lucky agreed to add Ann and Debbie to the list and then told Brent to do nothing until he checked with Mike. “I do nothing without him, Brent. Weird, huh? And I like it that way.”

“No so weird. Charles has wormed his way into my affections. He's indispensible these days.”

“What does he do?”

“A fabulous blow job.”

“No, no … I mean work.” Lucky chuckled.

“Yes … he did work on it. It took him a while to get the pace right.”

“His employment, Brent. Get serious.”

“He's working with Gantry on an IT project at American U.”

“Still, huh? I thought that would be over by now.”

“It keeps growing. Now they're incorporating all the retail campus stores.”

“I wonder if Tom knows that ... Brent, somebody's trying to call. Gotta go.”

Lucky pressed some buttons and managed to disconnect whoever was calling. He called up a 212 area code and pressed redial. He heard a familiar voice. “Hello, Mike? Is that you?”

“It's Matt, Lucky. Could you go to the dacha and see if Rawson is ok? I was talking to him and he doesn't sound right.”

“Sure. It'll take a couple of minutes to pack up the kids ...”

“Please hurry ...”

“Should I call 911? Are you that worried?”

“No, just hurry … and call me back, ok?”

It took Lucky a while to get the kids into clothes and pack them into one stroller. They didn't seem thrilled with the travel arrangement so he padded them with a couple of small blankets and then carried them and the stroller down the stairs. It was awkward, but he managed. When he got to the dacha he knocked.

“Come in. It's open,” Rawson called out ion a cheerful voice. He was cooking something for lunch; it smelled like an omelet.

“Rawson … Uh … I got a call from Matt. He was afraid you were sick or something … I kind of expected to find you on the floor.”

“Maybe you should get a double stroller, Lucky,” Rawson said, not touching Lucky's comment. “They look a little smooshed.” Rawson was kneeling next to the kids trying to get them to smile.

“I should mind my own business, you mean?”

“No, of course not. I'm fine. Matt and I were discussing his plans and I got a little emotional, that's all. No big deal.” Rawson tried to get Angela to grab his finger.

“Except it is a big deal,” Lucky countered.

“Was a big deal.” Rawson succeeded in getting both kids to grab a finger. “Other things just got in the way. Don't worry. I'm not going to jump off Key Bridge or anything. I don't think it's high enough any way. Do you want part of an omelet?”

“No thanks. Now I feel like an idiot running over here ...”

“Don't. I appreciate your time and trouble. I'd do the same if Mike called me.”

Lucky smiled at the man who had almost been his almost brother-in-law and headed back to the garage feeling a little foolish for being over-concerned. Of course, he's ok. Rawson's not an emotional kid. He's not going to do something stupid.

As soon as he got the kids resettled into their playpens he called Matt. “He's fine, Matt.”

Matt was silent and finally “Good. I'm glad to hear that.”

“Are you ok?” Lucky asked.

“Maybe not. I thought I could … have ...”

“A lover and a career, both?” Lucky filled in.

“Is that unreasonable?” Matt asked.

“No, but it's very hard. Even harder when distance is involved.” Matt didn't respond, so Lucky continued. “Are you going to come for the wedding?”

Matt caught his breath. “What wedding? Are you and Mike …? Yes, of course I'll be there! Really? Oh, that's such good news!” Lucky thought he could detect tears in Matt's delight.




Phil was numbed by his own decision. He wanted to put some distance between himself and Alex immediately. He walked out of the terminal and took the first dolmuş that came along. He shared the taxi with two other people and asked if it went to the train station.

The driver shrugged indicating non-comprehension but the male passenger replied, “There are three stations. Where are you going?”

“I don't know. Bucharest, maybe.”

“The Bosphorus Express leaves from the Sirkeci Terminal. But you are perhaps too late. I don't think you can get it until tomorrow. The train splits. One section goes to Bucharest and the other section goes to Belgrade, if that would be more convenient.”

“Thank you. If I've missed the train, I'll look for a hotel.”

“I can recommend a place.”

Forty minutes later Phil said, “This doesn't look like a hotel.” And five minutes after that he said, “Maybe I should take a shower first.”

Erhan joined him in the shower and they washed each other's backs, something he had never done with Alex. Erhan was slimmer than Alex, he was sinewy and athletically trim. His chest was smooth but his legs were hairy. His pubic hair almost hid his cock, but with touches it soon grew to a good size.

Their hands were all over each other sensuously, getting into every crack and caressing every curve. Their cocks seemed intrusive, now poking here, now there. The touches brought forth moans as their need grew.

“Come,” Erhan invited, taking Phil to his bed.

Erhan was a gentle lover, insistent until he got his cock into Phil, but affectionate once he did. He touched and carressed in a soothing way, allowing their passion to build slowly. He stayed slow and gentle until he surprised Phil and experienced his orgasm without any dramatics. As they relaxed, Phil felt almost refreshed instead of fucked.

“Will you play your guitar for me?” Erhan asked after they had finished.

Phil copied Billy Joel's style singing 'Leave a Tender Moment Alone' and surprised himself when he found himself thinking of Erhan and not Alex. Thoughts of Alex stayed away until later, toward morning, when, after his second orgasm in Phil's ass, Erhan lay back and invited Phil to top him. Phil, who hadn't come yet, was eager and began kissing Erhan's body.

Erhan, who had been a pleasant top, proved to be a lousy bottom as far as Phil could tell. It seemed as if everything Phil tried was exactly not what Erhan expected or wanted. Then the thoughts of Alex came flooding back.

Alex was so compliant and responsive, Phil thought. Entering him slowly drove him crazy; his cock would start leaking the minute I slid my leg between his knees. He would open up for me so beautifully, so completely. He needed me so much, Phil remembered. Erhan was utterly different and nothing Phil tried drew much response. Everything was right and wrong at the same time.

After varied versions of thrusting, Phil was nowhere close to coming and finally gave up trying, lying alongside Erhan panting from the effort. He thought about resisting when the still-needy Erhan mounted him for the third time, but instead he closed his eyes and let it happen. He was again surprised when he found it arousing. He called Alex's name as he came in response to Erhan's stroking.

“Alex is a lucky man,” Erhan commented, as he wiped them both off. They slept for a couple of hours until the morning light shone directly on the bed puting an end to sleep. Phil noticed that Erhan looked older than he thought the day before. Phil stayed for a small breakfast and then Erhan drove him to the train station. Phil thanked Erhan for his hospitality.

“The prophet commands kindness to strangers,” Erhan said with a pretend religiosity he didn't actually feel.

“Does the prophet suggest fucking them?” Phil asked.

“He is silent on that point,” Erhan smiled and remained silent, too, as Phil got out of the car..


Fifteen hours later, more or less, he got off the train in Bucharest. He killed a day there waiting until he could get a plane ticket home. The trip required a connection in Frankfurt and another in New York, but after another fifteen hour trip he walked through the door of his apartment on Wisconsin Avenue.

He was exhausted. The apartment looked familiar and strange at the same time. It was messier than he thought he had left it, but at the same time looked undisturbed. Everything was dusty in the way that happens when diesel trucks drive by all day for six months. He removed the dust-darkened bed spread and got into bed. He sighed and waited for sleep. On the bedside table was a braided bracelet that Alex had given him. It looked as forlorn as Phil felt. Phil's heart shattered, but he couldn't cry. He could only hurt. His throat hurt; his chest hurt; and his balls ached.

In the morning he rose and cleaned up a bit. He was about to go out for breakfast when he noticed a to-do list Alex had written. There was a little check mark by each item but that last one. Check passport. Take warm clothes. Practice the German lyrics. Memorize contact's number. Tell Phil you love him every day.

Then Phil felt the full extent his loss. Crying hurt much worse than not crying, but he couldn't stop.

 

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
Wow. Just, wow.
I feel the small tumbleweed rolling, picking up mass and speed.

Our elder English gent and perv artist facing his final mortality and writing his closing thoughts to his partner, his lover.

The approaching confrontation with Fred and her treachery.

Tom and Heiko - be like the fucking Nike ad - Just DO IT!

Matt and Mike and Lucky and Rawson - and the kids, of course!

Phil - Oh, Phil. Alex.

Heartache abounds, with a smattering of love and light.

 

[arogersb]

Thanks for all the updates since I last posted in this thread, Rory.

I absolutely love this story and am sorry to find it coming to an end. Speaking as a Brit, let me assure you that your writing of the English blokes was without noticeable error. I do like that set but understand why you would not feel comfortable giving them a story of their own, so in lieu of that I hope they will get a conclusive ending within this one.

As for the other lads, Tom and Heiko need to end up together already! I've been rooting for them for quite a while now. I wasn't too fond of Phil at the beginning, but he's grown on me and I dearly wish he will end up reuniting with Alex. Mike and Lucky's wedding plans and their little family - how far the latter has come from his early days as a mostly heterosexual playboy! And finally, I hope Matt and Rawson can work something out.

 

[EasyRory]

I ... am sorry to find it coming to an end.

Thanks for the kind remarks.

The trouble is I keep thinking of new directions to go with these guys; they are so adaptable. But you gotta end it, I tell myself. If you have to shoot them all, do it; it's time.

I had dinner with an Australian tonight. I listened to him and tried to figure out how to write out the Oz accent. Mmm ... and there I was thinking 'English' English was hard.

 

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
Have you ever ventured into Kulindahr's Fit for Life saga?
Once you get past the first few chapters of "to be revealed", it's epic.

Don't feel you have to knock them off on our account!