EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Forty-Seven
“Why did I do it? I shouldn't have accepted the invitation,” Alfred berated himself. “And I definitely shouldn't have ...” He lowered his voice. “… fucked him ...” He took a big swallow from his glass. “... again.” Alfred's prior evening with Curtis, but not Emily, had reached an early and predictable sexual conclusion that left Curtis blissful and Alfred uneasy.
“Alfred, my lad, you're only fulfilling your destiny. The gypsy said you would eventually fuck the entire county,” Dylan chuckled.
“What gypsy? When did she say that?”
“He … Remember that weird Romanian footie instructor we had? He said you had the legs to be great but would eventually disappoint everyone in Norfolk.”
“He meant I had endurance, but no talent.” Alfred glared at Dylan. “For football, Dylan. For football.”
“He meant you are a heart-breaker. And just how did he know about the endurance? Did you fuck him, too?”
“Dylan, we were eight years old, for God's sake.”
But you would have … You were tempted, weren't you? You can't say no. You just lacked the proper equipment at the time. See, that's the pity of being a child. You're forced to pass up so many opportunities.” Dylan signaled for refills. “Last night was you making up for lost time.”
Alfred looked into his glass for answers. “What did you mean I can't say no?”
“Doood, as Tom would say, you fucked ME!”
“We'd been drinking. You, a lot. I didn't think you'd remember.”
“I remember enough to know why Curtis wanted more.” From that remark Alfred got the distinct impression that Dylan wouldn't mind more either. He was glad when the others joined them.
“Alfred, my dear, when's your sweet American friend coming back?” China asked in the voice of a flirty, sinister Fagan.
“I was going to meet him in London. I was supposed to go last night, but I put him off a day. Instead, he's coming here in about an hour.”
“You put him off?” China's mouth opened wide enough to show the fillings in her teeth.
“A mistake!” Cris added. “He's probably found somebody new by now. London's crawling with hungry young men looking for any edge.”
They shared a drink and chat and then rose to go. Dylan, leaving with Cris and China, admonished Alfred, “Try to avoid the group scenes this weekend … what's left of it. That foursome last time was not your best plan.”
“You should talk. Where's your friend the Canaries fan?”
“Daniel.” Dylan said his name but no more before they parted.
Alfred watched the threesome walk away. Cris casually and familiarly patted Dylan's butt to make some point before they laughed and turned the corner. He walked briskly to the train station to meet Tom. Hiring a car was a minor hassle but soon they were on the road. Once they were clear of the city, Tom pulled off the road.
“What?” Alfred asked.
“Let's pretend we're sixteen and desperate for each other.” Tom set the brake and took Alfred into his arms. “I want to hold you, kiss you, feel our dicks get hard ...”
“Wait. I'll get my clothes off.” Alfred looked quickly about and then undid his belt. “This is going to be cramped.”
“I don't want to fuck you … not yet, anyway. I just want you, I want to feel your body right now.” Tom began a sweet but frustrating make-out session with kisses. “I missed you … been thinkin' of you all week … mostly at night … being alone hurts ...”
Alfred sighed and abandoned himself to Tom. It felt so good to have somebody else in charge, somebody else setting the pace, making him hard, making him ache. “Ooooh,” he moaned, feeling Tom's hand squeezing his cock. He tried again to open his trousers.
“No,” Tom insisted as he restrained Alfred. “Plenty of time for that. Let's enjoy each other slowly.” Tom caressed Alfred's face and kissed him again. Alfred pressed himself against Tom, as much as the little car would allow. Tom relished the feel of his body, he scraped his fingernail over Alfred's nipples and felt them harden. His hand wandered down Alfred's side, feeling the narrowness of his waist and the beginning of his hips. He squeezed Alfred's ass, causing another sigh. He felt Alfred's cock straining against his trousers and massaged slowly.
“OH, FUCK!” Alfred cried out and pulled frantically at his clothes.
“Let it happen,” Tom soothed, holding the heaving Alfred tightly in his embrace.
The first thing they did when they got to Alistair's cottage was put Alfred's clothes in the washer.
“Now I've nothing to wear,” Alfred complained as he wrapped himself in Alistair's way-too-big robe.
“I planned it that way,” Tom got up from lighting the fire and smiled as he opened the robe and enjoyed in the view. “I bet Fred doesn't look this good.”
“About that ... I'm sorry I missed the wedding.”
“It was ok, for a wedding, short and sweet. Nice little party afterward. I met some museum people.” Tom's hands were again exploring every precinct of Alfred. “There was nobody like you there.” Tom bent downward and began sucking.
He had told a bit of a lie. There was an usher at the wedding called Owen and Owen was sexy, but not like Alfred at all physically. Owen was taller and darker in a Welsh way. He was stockier, too, with an athletic build. Alistair said he had a thick Welsh accent, but Tom couldn't tell the difference. Tom's curiosity questioned only whether he had a thick Welsh cock. Tom could have found out every detail. Owen made it obvious he was willing; but Tom declined. Owen's potential, however, had faded the instant Tom saw Alfred's welcoming smile on the station platform.
Tom struggled out of his clothes, wondering if he had ever known anyone as hungry for his cock as Alfred was. As they progressed through the evening, first he pleaded and sometimes he demanded, “Fuck me, Tommy.” The second time was more relaxed but the passion ran deeper. “There's nobody like you,” Alfred gasped when it was over.
How many guys is he's comparing me to, Tom wondered as he fell asleep.
Jealousy didn't inspire his wonder; some kind of sadness did. Late on Sunday, Tom boarded the train to London and thought, I have nothing to complain about. Alfred gave himself to me body and soul the whole time I was here. He didn't hold back a thing. The sex was great in every way. I shouldn't expect more. We don't really know each other that well. He's interested in me and likes to listen to what I say. I don't think he's faking that. But something's missing. He likes me, but he doesn't love me. Or maybe he does, but he doesn't need me. Not the way I need him.
London in the dark was a gloomy place. The always impersonal air of the city was even more pronounced at night. Not even the pubs looked inviting. Tom got to his apartment and stared at its bleakness. “I guess I could decorate. Spruce it up some,” he said to a spider that walked jerkily across the window sash. He sat at his desk and looked at the statement of work that described what the museum expected from him. Then he looked at a business card he had been given.
“A lot of people expect things from me, Spider. What are you looking for?” Tom waited for an answer, drummed his fingers on the desk, and looked around for another spider. “You're alone tonight, too.” He felt a thirst and knew there was nothing that would satisfy him in his little refrigerator. He'd have to go out. He procrastinated. He turned his laptop on and then turned it off again. He drummed his fingers some more. PAR-a-did-dle, PAR-a-did-dle, PAR-a-did-dle. He tried a triple paradiddle, but couldn't keep the beats of his two fingers measured.
“Fuck it, spider. You sit home alone. I'm going out.” He picked up his phone and barely hesitate as he punched in the numbers hand-written on the back of the business card. He waited for the answer. “Owen? This is Tom Kearny … Yeah, the American from the wedding … You still up for getting a drink?”
“So we're throwing the lesbians out ...” Marjorie Merridell announced to Lucky at ten o'clock in the evening. Lucky was getting used to her late phone calls.
Why? What have they done? I thought they could actually help with the project.”
“Not your lesbians … The ones who run the school in the main house – the Montessori lesbians,” Marjorie clarified. “All those filthy little beasts were ruining the place anyway. The less restoration we need to do to the house, the new museum, that is, the more we can spend on art to put in it.”
Lucky had hinted at the idea of a new museum and the sisters loved it; in fact, they had become convinced it was their idea. The plan was to install Apartment C in the old ballroom of the main house and then in time add complimentary additions to the 'Merridell Collection', as they already thought of it.
“ 'Your lesbians are quite pleasant,” Marjorie continued. “I'd love to know how they got pregnant. Just how orgasmic is that old garage? Hmm?”
“Sooner or later, I guess, you'll know anyway. Mike and I are the fathers.” Lucky paused hoping for an accepting tolerance.
“Lucky, dear, that's so charming. That garage has inspired many things over the years. My sister Millicent took a boy there once; her first, and possibly her last, I believe. Merrilee and several chauffeurs used to meet in Apartment A, as I recall. Which reminds me ... Merrilee wonders if your friend … Tom, was it? … if Tom would need a new place to live. She has a small house on Prospect Street ...”
“Tom's in London doing something for the British Museum, but when he gets back, I'll ask.”
“Ummm … yes, well it was worth a shot.” Marjorie could take other people's losses very well. “So, as soon as the school closes, we can start more detailed plans. And you, meanwhile, can go find some more money. I'm not paying for the whole damn thing.”
Lucky put his phone down and went into the kitchen. Mike was putting glasses away, shuffling his feet and humming something. “What's that you're humming?”
Mike sang a few lines of 'Papa Don't Preach' for Lucky. “It's a cheesy Madonna song. I was thinking about our children soon-to-be. 'I'm keeping the baby' is a pretty momentous decision.”
“We're not the ones keeping him … her … them. Debbie and Al ...”
“But we're always going to be part of it, aren't we?” Mike continued without waiting for Lucky's agreement. “We've got to be. What if Debbie and Al split up? What if they need more help than that silly contract we signed spells out?”
“You will help them. There's no question. That's why Debbie picked you to be the father.”
“And you? You'll help won't you?” Lucky nodded yes to mike's question. “Then we've got to get married. We've got to guarantee the future for those kids, Lucky. They're about to be born, ready or not. Debbie's due soon.”
“When?”
“September tenth is the due date, but sometimes the first one is late ...”
“No, I mean when do you want to get married?”
“What? Really?”
“When do you want to get married? My schedule is pretty much open, but you probably need more time to ...”
“Don't joke, Lucky.”
“I'm not joking. I'm being practical. When and where? Your family's home? Matt and Rawson should be the best men I guess. Engraved or printed invitations? I've got some savings; but we're not sure of our jobs right now, so economy might be a smart idea.”
Mike wasn't sure of what he was hearing. It wasn't until Lucky actually got down on one knee that he began to believe. Lucky coughed twice and began. “Mike, I love you more than I thought was possible and I believe you love me. I want to spent every day of the rest of my life with you. You satisfy me completely and I think I can make you happy too. I promise you I'll try my best. I know I put you off, but I'm not worried about that anymore. So … will you marry me? Please say yes.”
“Yes, I will.” Mike cried like a girl, dried his tears, and then fucked Lucky like the man he was. He was a little rough. Lucky was sore afterward. They both loved it.
“Who should we tell?” Lucky asked when he woke up the next morning.
“Let's not tell anyone yet, ok? Let's wait until the baby is born.”
“Now who's putting things off?” Lucky asked. He gave his future husband a kiss. “Was last night what married sex is going to be like? You surprised me.”
“I did what I thought you wanted. Did I …?”
“I loved it. I love you, Mike. You can't make a mistake.” Lucky paused then made his pitch. “Mikey,” he asked with a broad wickedness, “you want to try that rear-entry, arm lock thing again? Where I know what's coming, but I can't tell when?”
“Right now?”
“Surprise me. I like the suspense.” Lucky rose and headed for the shower. He pointed at Mike's erection tenting the sheet and winked. “I love your cock.”
“It's not that big.”
“It's plenty big and it's thick. I'm in awe of it. It's perfect.”
Despite the talk of fucking, they didn't fuck. They luxuriated in the hot spray of the shower and jacked each other off with slow, tantalizing strokes.
Phil decided he had never enjoyed himself so much as during the eight days he and Alex took getting to Kufstein. Alex was an attentive and inventive lover working, if you can call it work, without apparent effort to satisfy Phil sexually. His intelligence and education made him a great tour guide as well as they spent time in Nuremberg, Regensburg, and Munich. Medium-sized Nuremberg, left out of American history books, had been an imperial capital for five hundred years and was fascinating; little Regensberg was the perfect university town , and big, brawny Munich was busy and beautiful besides.
There was nothing about his Washington life Phil missed, no if-only's, no temptations at all if you didn't count the handsome soldiers he saw in Nuremberg, the young students in Regensburg, and almost everybody in Munich. The most eye-catching, however, was the Andi, the assistant at the Hotel Gisela in Kufstein.
After a short hour-long ride from Munich, Alex and Phil got off the train in Kufstein and found the Gisela within sight of the station. “Where are the short pants, Alex? Everyone looks perfectly normal.”
“They're traditional. Nobody wears them anymore, except on special occasions.”
A very short walk got them to the Gisela's front desk. Yes, the room for Philip Scott plus one was ready acknowledged the traditionally dressed Tyrolean. The hotel looked clean and comfortable, but not luxurious and definitely not in the best location. Sepi, who was also the owner, registered them and then apologized for the lack of an elevator. “Your room is two flights up. It's a hike, but you two are young and the view is the best.” He rang a bell and called out, “Andi.”
A strapping young man appeared, wearing the lederhosen of Alpine tradition. The shorts came to mid-thigh, showing off the legs of a footballer. The shorts were close-fitting but not dangerously tight, emphasizing his ass; but unfortunately a strange bulge in the leather of the front disguised any bulge that might have been caused by his cock. The leather shorts and suspenders covered a white shirt, pulled snug around his well developed chest.
“Zimmer 15, Andi,” the owner said. “Andi's my nephew. He will help you with anything you need.”
“Follow me, please,” Andi said in lightly accented English. Phil's eyes never left Andi's ass for the entire trip up to the room.
When they got to the room Andi placed their backbacks on the two small beds and walked to the window. He pulled a curtain aside and showed them why the room was worth the walk up. “Festung Kufstein,” he said. “It's the town fortress.” Alex went to the window to look, while Phil kept looking at Andi, who was leaning out the window as he opened it.
“It's a breathtaking view,” Alex exclaimed. The tower and surrounding battlements dominated a slight bend in the river.
“Great view,” Phil said, ignoring the fortress.
“There's something for you. I'll be back in a minute,” Andi said.
“Oh my God,” Phil held his head in his hands. “I've never been near anybody that … spectacular.” He grinned at Alex. “Of course, he's nothing like you, but … Oh my God!”
“Told you those shorts were hot,” Alex laughed. “Look at this view, Phil. It's pretty nice, too.”
Phil joined Alex at the window and put his arm around Alex's waist. “When I say he's nothing, like you, I mean nothing in the world is like you. You know that, right?” Phil leaned against Alex, gave him a hug, and shared the view of river, mountains, and town.
Andi knocked and entered bringing a bottle and two glasses. If he noticed Phil's arm around Alex's waist, he didn't comment. He opened the bottle with a pop and poured. “Schlumberger Sekt,” he said, telling them the name of the Austrian champagne, “And a note.”
Alex opened the note printed carefully on hotel stationery and read it to Phil. “Enjoy your stay. Don't miss the Heldenorgel concert. Dimitri.” He looked mystified. “Who's Heldenorgel?”
“Not who; what. It's the outdoor organ near the castle. You can't avoid the concert if you're here. Every day at noon you can hear it everywhere. It's just across the river on the castle grounds.” Andi scanned the scene and then pointed. “Dort auf dem Platz … I mean, there, in the little square.” In the local dialect, 'platz' sounded like 'place', more French than German.
Phil stood back and sipped the sparkling wine. It was sweeter than French champagne, but refreshing. There were some cookies on the tray. He wanted to keep Andi talking, but was tongue-tied. “Lebkuchen?” he asked, pointing at the cookies. That was what his mother called them.
“Yes, exactly. If you're cold, there are extra blankets here.” Andi stretched and reached up to the blankets that were on top of the wardrobe. The action displayed his body perfectly. “If you would like a daunendecke, let me know.”
“A daunendecke?” Alex asked.
Andi apologized. “I don't know the word in English. A blanket stuffed with goose feathers. It's warm and light.”
“Down comforter,” Phil said slowly, still eying the young man. Andi nodded and left the room.
After finishing the late afternoon bottle, Phil proposed some site seeing. They walked across the river and found the Heldenorgel, a small shed that enclosed the organ's console. The pipes were in the tower far above it. It was too late to visit the castle but Phil pointed out an open air restaurant that might be a good place to hear the concert. They walked north and away from the river.
“This town could be a model for Disneyland,” Phil commented. “It's spotless, G-rated, and just the right size.”
“Fachhochschule … some kind of upper school, I guess,” Alex said, reading the wall plaque on a large building. There were a lot of young people, mostly women on the street. “Students ...” Alex commented.
“So many females. Where are all the hot guys like Andi?”
“You can't get him off your mind, can you?” Alex joked.
“Alex … come on; he's gorgeous.” Phil looked around. “They all seem to have great bodies.”
“It's the hills. All the up and down walking, I bet. Good for the glutes.” Alex nodded in the direction of one young man crossing the street.
Phil stopped and consulted a map he found in their room. “We're about half way between Salzburg and Innsbruck,” he said mostly to himself. “Do you know, we could walk to Germany. It's that close. I wonder why Dimitri picked this place. It's like our hotel ... nice enough, but not the best of the bunch.”
After a light dinner and a longer exploration, Phil proposed trying out the beds. After a minute and a half of unbearable loneliness, he switched beds and joined Alex. They had to snuggle close; the bed was not built for two.
Phil was awakened the next morning by the sound of Andi entering the room pushing a rattling breakfast tray of fruit juice, rolls, and coffee. Phil adjusted the blanket to cover a few important parts of Alex that were exposed.
“I will leave the tray,” Andi whispered to Phil, trying not to wake Alex. “If you want to eat in the dining room, we serve until nine o'clock.”
The tray was enough. As soon as they were dressed, Phil and Alex continued exploring the town. The tourist literature bragged about the Riedel Glassworks and Kneissl a company that made sporting goods. By eleven forty-five they were back at the Heldenorgel, sitting at the cafe and sipping kaffee mit schlag. The bitter espresso and sweet whipped cream were perfect for the sunny but cool day. The concert began as they sipped a second cup. The organ was amazing, throwing echoes of Bach up and down the valley. It was only a small surprise when Dimitri politely asked if he and another man could share the table.
Under cover of the Bach, Dimitri quickly explained just why they were in Kufstein. There was a company called Voere, located in a nondescript building on Untere Sparchen. This was a company they didn't brag about in the tourist folders. Voere began its life producing bicycle tire pumps. Later, they expanded their product line. They began producing machine guns.
Phil asked the obvious question and got a surprising answer from Dimitri. “No, they're not smuggling guns, not that we know of. The problem is defective parts. We believe someone is buying their defective parts, rejects that should be scrap metal and then using them to build copies ... defective copies that explode after use.”
“Why did I do it? I shouldn't have accepted the invitation,” Alfred berated himself. “And I definitely shouldn't have ...” He lowered his voice. “… fucked him ...” He took a big swallow from his glass. “... again.” Alfred's prior evening with Curtis, but not Emily, had reached an early and predictable sexual conclusion that left Curtis blissful and Alfred uneasy.
“Alfred, my lad, you're only fulfilling your destiny. The gypsy said you would eventually fuck the entire county,” Dylan chuckled.
“What gypsy? When did she say that?”
“He … Remember that weird Romanian footie instructor we had? He said you had the legs to be great but would eventually disappoint everyone in Norfolk.”
“He meant I had endurance, but no talent.” Alfred glared at Dylan. “For football, Dylan. For football.”
“He meant you are a heart-breaker. And just how did he know about the endurance? Did you fuck him, too?”
“Dylan, we were eight years old, for God's sake.”
But you would have … You were tempted, weren't you? You can't say no. You just lacked the proper equipment at the time. See, that's the pity of being a child. You're forced to pass up so many opportunities.” Dylan signaled for refills. “Last night was you making up for lost time.”
Alfred looked into his glass for answers. “What did you mean I can't say no?”
“Doood, as Tom would say, you fucked ME!”
“We'd been drinking. You, a lot. I didn't think you'd remember.”
“I remember enough to know why Curtis wanted more.” From that remark Alfred got the distinct impression that Dylan wouldn't mind more either. He was glad when the others joined them.
“Alfred, my dear, when's your sweet American friend coming back?” China asked in the voice of a flirty, sinister Fagan.
“I was going to meet him in London. I was supposed to go last night, but I put him off a day. Instead, he's coming here in about an hour.”
“You put him off?” China's mouth opened wide enough to show the fillings in her teeth.
“A mistake!” Cris added. “He's probably found somebody new by now. London's crawling with hungry young men looking for any edge.”
They shared a drink and chat and then rose to go. Dylan, leaving with Cris and China, admonished Alfred, “Try to avoid the group scenes this weekend … what's left of it. That foursome last time was not your best plan.”
“You should talk. Where's your friend the Canaries fan?”
“Daniel.” Dylan said his name but no more before they parted.
Alfred watched the threesome walk away. Cris casually and familiarly patted Dylan's butt to make some point before they laughed and turned the corner. He walked briskly to the train station to meet Tom. Hiring a car was a minor hassle but soon they were on the road. Once they were clear of the city, Tom pulled off the road.
“What?” Alfred asked.
“Let's pretend we're sixteen and desperate for each other.” Tom set the brake and took Alfred into his arms. “I want to hold you, kiss you, feel our dicks get hard ...”
“Wait. I'll get my clothes off.” Alfred looked quickly about and then undid his belt. “This is going to be cramped.”
“I don't want to fuck you … not yet, anyway. I just want you, I want to feel your body right now.” Tom began a sweet but frustrating make-out session with kisses. “I missed you … been thinkin' of you all week … mostly at night … being alone hurts ...”
Alfred sighed and abandoned himself to Tom. It felt so good to have somebody else in charge, somebody else setting the pace, making him hard, making him ache. “Ooooh,” he moaned, feeling Tom's hand squeezing his cock. He tried again to open his trousers.
“No,” Tom insisted as he restrained Alfred. “Plenty of time for that. Let's enjoy each other slowly.” Tom caressed Alfred's face and kissed him again. Alfred pressed himself against Tom, as much as the little car would allow. Tom relished the feel of his body, he scraped his fingernail over Alfred's nipples and felt them harden. His hand wandered down Alfred's side, feeling the narrowness of his waist and the beginning of his hips. He squeezed Alfred's ass, causing another sigh. He felt Alfred's cock straining against his trousers and massaged slowly.
“OH, FUCK!” Alfred cried out and pulled frantically at his clothes.
“Let it happen,” Tom soothed, holding the heaving Alfred tightly in his embrace.
The first thing they did when they got to Alistair's cottage was put Alfred's clothes in the washer.
“Now I've nothing to wear,” Alfred complained as he wrapped himself in Alistair's way-too-big robe.
“I planned it that way,” Tom got up from lighting the fire and smiled as he opened the robe and enjoyed in the view. “I bet Fred doesn't look this good.”
“About that ... I'm sorry I missed the wedding.”
“It was ok, for a wedding, short and sweet. Nice little party afterward. I met some museum people.” Tom's hands were again exploring every precinct of Alfred. “There was nobody like you there.” Tom bent downward and began sucking.
He had told a bit of a lie. There was an usher at the wedding called Owen and Owen was sexy, but not like Alfred at all physically. Owen was taller and darker in a Welsh way. He was stockier, too, with an athletic build. Alistair said he had a thick Welsh accent, but Tom couldn't tell the difference. Tom's curiosity questioned only whether he had a thick Welsh cock. Tom could have found out every detail. Owen made it obvious he was willing; but Tom declined. Owen's potential, however, had faded the instant Tom saw Alfred's welcoming smile on the station platform.
Tom struggled out of his clothes, wondering if he had ever known anyone as hungry for his cock as Alfred was. As they progressed through the evening, first he pleaded and sometimes he demanded, “Fuck me, Tommy.” The second time was more relaxed but the passion ran deeper. “There's nobody like you,” Alfred gasped when it was over.
How many guys is he's comparing me to, Tom wondered as he fell asleep.
Jealousy didn't inspire his wonder; some kind of sadness did. Late on Sunday, Tom boarded the train to London and thought, I have nothing to complain about. Alfred gave himself to me body and soul the whole time I was here. He didn't hold back a thing. The sex was great in every way. I shouldn't expect more. We don't really know each other that well. He's interested in me and likes to listen to what I say. I don't think he's faking that. But something's missing. He likes me, but he doesn't love me. Or maybe he does, but he doesn't need me. Not the way I need him.
London in the dark was a gloomy place. The always impersonal air of the city was even more pronounced at night. Not even the pubs looked inviting. Tom got to his apartment and stared at its bleakness. “I guess I could decorate. Spruce it up some,” he said to a spider that walked jerkily across the window sash. He sat at his desk and looked at the statement of work that described what the museum expected from him. Then he looked at a business card he had been given.
“A lot of people expect things from me, Spider. What are you looking for?” Tom waited for an answer, drummed his fingers on the desk, and looked around for another spider. “You're alone tonight, too.” He felt a thirst and knew there was nothing that would satisfy him in his little refrigerator. He'd have to go out. He procrastinated. He turned his laptop on and then turned it off again. He drummed his fingers some more. PAR-a-did-dle, PAR-a-did-dle, PAR-a-did-dle. He tried a triple paradiddle, but couldn't keep the beats of his two fingers measured.
“Fuck it, spider. You sit home alone. I'm going out.” He picked up his phone and barely hesitate as he punched in the numbers hand-written on the back of the business card. He waited for the answer. “Owen? This is Tom Kearny … Yeah, the American from the wedding … You still up for getting a drink?”
“So we're throwing the lesbians out ...” Marjorie Merridell announced to Lucky at ten o'clock in the evening. Lucky was getting used to her late phone calls.
Why? What have they done? I thought they could actually help with the project.”
“Not your lesbians … The ones who run the school in the main house – the Montessori lesbians,” Marjorie clarified. “All those filthy little beasts were ruining the place anyway. The less restoration we need to do to the house, the new museum, that is, the more we can spend on art to put in it.”
Lucky had hinted at the idea of a new museum and the sisters loved it; in fact, they had become convinced it was their idea. The plan was to install Apartment C in the old ballroom of the main house and then in time add complimentary additions to the 'Merridell Collection', as they already thought of it.
“ 'Your lesbians are quite pleasant,” Marjorie continued. “I'd love to know how they got pregnant. Just how orgasmic is that old garage? Hmm?”
“Sooner or later, I guess, you'll know anyway. Mike and I are the fathers.” Lucky paused hoping for an accepting tolerance.
“Lucky, dear, that's so charming. That garage has inspired many things over the years. My sister Millicent took a boy there once; her first, and possibly her last, I believe. Merrilee and several chauffeurs used to meet in Apartment A, as I recall. Which reminds me ... Merrilee wonders if your friend … Tom, was it? … if Tom would need a new place to live. She has a small house on Prospect Street ...”
“Tom's in London doing something for the British Museum, but when he gets back, I'll ask.”
“Ummm … yes, well it was worth a shot.” Marjorie could take other people's losses very well. “So, as soon as the school closes, we can start more detailed plans. And you, meanwhile, can go find some more money. I'm not paying for the whole damn thing.”
Lucky put his phone down and went into the kitchen. Mike was putting glasses away, shuffling his feet and humming something. “What's that you're humming?”
Mike sang a few lines of 'Papa Don't Preach' for Lucky. “It's a cheesy Madonna song. I was thinking about our children soon-to-be. 'I'm keeping the baby' is a pretty momentous decision.”
“We're not the ones keeping him … her … them. Debbie and Al ...”
“But we're always going to be part of it, aren't we?” Mike continued without waiting for Lucky's agreement. “We've got to be. What if Debbie and Al split up? What if they need more help than that silly contract we signed spells out?”
“You will help them. There's no question. That's why Debbie picked you to be the father.”
“And you? You'll help won't you?” Lucky nodded yes to mike's question. “Then we've got to get married. We've got to guarantee the future for those kids, Lucky. They're about to be born, ready or not. Debbie's due soon.”
“When?”
“September tenth is the due date, but sometimes the first one is late ...”
“No, I mean when do you want to get married?”
“What? Really?”
“When do you want to get married? My schedule is pretty much open, but you probably need more time to ...”
“Don't joke, Lucky.”
“I'm not joking. I'm being practical. When and where? Your family's home? Matt and Rawson should be the best men I guess. Engraved or printed invitations? I've got some savings; but we're not sure of our jobs right now, so economy might be a smart idea.”
Mike wasn't sure of what he was hearing. It wasn't until Lucky actually got down on one knee that he began to believe. Lucky coughed twice and began. “Mike, I love you more than I thought was possible and I believe you love me. I want to spent every day of the rest of my life with you. You satisfy me completely and I think I can make you happy too. I promise you I'll try my best. I know I put you off, but I'm not worried about that anymore. So … will you marry me? Please say yes.”
“Yes, I will.” Mike cried like a girl, dried his tears, and then fucked Lucky like the man he was. He was a little rough. Lucky was sore afterward. They both loved it.
“Who should we tell?” Lucky asked when he woke up the next morning.
“Let's not tell anyone yet, ok? Let's wait until the baby is born.”
“Now who's putting things off?” Lucky asked. He gave his future husband a kiss. “Was last night what married sex is going to be like? You surprised me.”
“I did what I thought you wanted. Did I …?”
“I loved it. I love you, Mike. You can't make a mistake.” Lucky paused then made his pitch. “Mikey,” he asked with a broad wickedness, “you want to try that rear-entry, arm lock thing again? Where I know what's coming, but I can't tell when?”
“Right now?”
“Surprise me. I like the suspense.” Lucky rose and headed for the shower. He pointed at Mike's erection tenting the sheet and winked. “I love your cock.”
“It's not that big.”
“It's plenty big and it's thick. I'm in awe of it. It's perfect.”
Despite the talk of fucking, they didn't fuck. They luxuriated in the hot spray of the shower and jacked each other off with slow, tantalizing strokes.
Phil decided he had never enjoyed himself so much as during the eight days he and Alex took getting to Kufstein. Alex was an attentive and inventive lover working, if you can call it work, without apparent effort to satisfy Phil sexually. His intelligence and education made him a great tour guide as well as they spent time in Nuremberg, Regensburg, and Munich. Medium-sized Nuremberg, left out of American history books, had been an imperial capital for five hundred years and was fascinating; little Regensberg was the perfect university town , and big, brawny Munich was busy and beautiful besides.
There was nothing about his Washington life Phil missed, no if-only's, no temptations at all if you didn't count the handsome soldiers he saw in Nuremberg, the young students in Regensburg, and almost everybody in Munich. The most eye-catching, however, was the Andi, the assistant at the Hotel Gisela in Kufstein.
After a short hour-long ride from Munich, Alex and Phil got off the train in Kufstein and found the Gisela within sight of the station. “Where are the short pants, Alex? Everyone looks perfectly normal.”
“They're traditional. Nobody wears them anymore, except on special occasions.”
A very short walk got them to the Gisela's front desk. Yes, the room for Philip Scott plus one was ready acknowledged the traditionally dressed Tyrolean. The hotel looked clean and comfortable, but not luxurious and definitely not in the best location. Sepi, who was also the owner, registered them and then apologized for the lack of an elevator. “Your room is two flights up. It's a hike, but you two are young and the view is the best.” He rang a bell and called out, “Andi.”
A strapping young man appeared, wearing the lederhosen of Alpine tradition. The shorts came to mid-thigh, showing off the legs of a footballer. The shorts were close-fitting but not dangerously tight, emphasizing his ass; but unfortunately a strange bulge in the leather of the front disguised any bulge that might have been caused by his cock. The leather shorts and suspenders covered a white shirt, pulled snug around his well developed chest.
“Zimmer 15, Andi,” the owner said. “Andi's my nephew. He will help you with anything you need.”
“Follow me, please,” Andi said in lightly accented English. Phil's eyes never left Andi's ass for the entire trip up to the room.
When they got to the room Andi placed their backbacks on the two small beds and walked to the window. He pulled a curtain aside and showed them why the room was worth the walk up. “Festung Kufstein,” he said. “It's the town fortress.” Alex went to the window to look, while Phil kept looking at Andi, who was leaning out the window as he opened it.
“It's a breathtaking view,” Alex exclaimed. The tower and surrounding battlements dominated a slight bend in the river.
“Great view,” Phil said, ignoring the fortress.
“There's something for you. I'll be back in a minute,” Andi said.
“Oh my God,” Phil held his head in his hands. “I've never been near anybody that … spectacular.” He grinned at Alex. “Of course, he's nothing like you, but … Oh my God!”
“Told you those shorts were hot,” Alex laughed. “Look at this view, Phil. It's pretty nice, too.”
Phil joined Alex at the window and put his arm around Alex's waist. “When I say he's nothing, like you, I mean nothing in the world is like you. You know that, right?” Phil leaned against Alex, gave him a hug, and shared the view of river, mountains, and town.
Andi knocked and entered bringing a bottle and two glasses. If he noticed Phil's arm around Alex's waist, he didn't comment. He opened the bottle with a pop and poured. “Schlumberger Sekt,” he said, telling them the name of the Austrian champagne, “And a note.”
Alex opened the note printed carefully on hotel stationery and read it to Phil. “Enjoy your stay. Don't miss the Heldenorgel concert. Dimitri.” He looked mystified. “Who's Heldenorgel?”
“Not who; what. It's the outdoor organ near the castle. You can't avoid the concert if you're here. Every day at noon you can hear it everywhere. It's just across the river on the castle grounds.” Andi scanned the scene and then pointed. “Dort auf dem Platz … I mean, there, in the little square.” In the local dialect, 'platz' sounded like 'place', more French than German.
Phil stood back and sipped the sparkling wine. It was sweeter than French champagne, but refreshing. There were some cookies on the tray. He wanted to keep Andi talking, but was tongue-tied. “Lebkuchen?” he asked, pointing at the cookies. That was what his mother called them.
“Yes, exactly. If you're cold, there are extra blankets here.” Andi stretched and reached up to the blankets that were on top of the wardrobe. The action displayed his body perfectly. “If you would like a daunendecke, let me know.”
“A daunendecke?” Alex asked.
Andi apologized. “I don't know the word in English. A blanket stuffed with goose feathers. It's warm and light.”
“Down comforter,” Phil said slowly, still eying the young man. Andi nodded and left the room.
After finishing the late afternoon bottle, Phil proposed some site seeing. They walked across the river and found the Heldenorgel, a small shed that enclosed the organ's console. The pipes were in the tower far above it. It was too late to visit the castle but Phil pointed out an open air restaurant that might be a good place to hear the concert. They walked north and away from the river.
“This town could be a model for Disneyland,” Phil commented. “It's spotless, G-rated, and just the right size.”
“Fachhochschule … some kind of upper school, I guess,” Alex said, reading the wall plaque on a large building. There were a lot of young people, mostly women on the street. “Students ...” Alex commented.
“So many females. Where are all the hot guys like Andi?”
“You can't get him off your mind, can you?” Alex joked.
“Alex … come on; he's gorgeous.” Phil looked around. “They all seem to have great bodies.”
“It's the hills. All the up and down walking, I bet. Good for the glutes.” Alex nodded in the direction of one young man crossing the street.
Phil stopped and consulted a map he found in their room. “We're about half way between Salzburg and Innsbruck,” he said mostly to himself. “Do you know, we could walk to Germany. It's that close. I wonder why Dimitri picked this place. It's like our hotel ... nice enough, but not the best of the bunch.”
After a light dinner and a longer exploration, Phil proposed trying out the beds. After a minute and a half of unbearable loneliness, he switched beds and joined Alex. They had to snuggle close; the bed was not built for two.
Phil was awakened the next morning by the sound of Andi entering the room pushing a rattling breakfast tray of fruit juice, rolls, and coffee. Phil adjusted the blanket to cover a few important parts of Alex that were exposed.
“I will leave the tray,” Andi whispered to Phil, trying not to wake Alex. “If you want to eat in the dining room, we serve until nine o'clock.”
The tray was enough. As soon as they were dressed, Phil and Alex continued exploring the town. The tourist literature bragged about the Riedel Glassworks and Kneissl a company that made sporting goods. By eleven forty-five they were back at the Heldenorgel, sitting at the cafe and sipping kaffee mit schlag. The bitter espresso and sweet whipped cream were perfect for the sunny but cool day. The concert began as they sipped a second cup. The organ was amazing, throwing echoes of Bach up and down the valley. It was only a small surprise when Dimitri politely asked if he and another man could share the table.
Under cover of the Bach, Dimitri quickly explained just why they were in Kufstein. There was a company called Voere, located in a nondescript building on Untere Sparchen. This was a company they didn't brag about in the tourist folders. Voere began its life producing bicycle tire pumps. Later, they expanded their product line. They began producing machine guns.
Phil asked the obvious question and got a surprising answer from Dimitri. “No, they're not smuggling guns, not that we know of. The problem is defective parts. We believe someone is buying their defective parts, rejects that should be scrap metal and then using them to build copies ... defective copies that explode after use.”
