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Country Cousins
- Thread starter EasyRory
- Start date
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Twenty – Roy
I soooo don't want to be here – stuck, like marooned on the Disney Wonder for six more days of torture with a couple hundred ten-year-olds. No, I don't want to be photographed with Goofy. No, I don't want to play slip and slide on the Fantasy Deck. No, I don't want to make my own mac-'n'-cheese on a bun. I just want to lie in my cabin and jerk off while I think about sucking Mike's dick.
This was my father's idea, originally. Instead of messing with turkeys and all that stuff - see, he knew my Momma wasn't too swift in the kitchen - we'd all go on a cruise for Thanksgiving, which was fine when we were ten, my sister and me. Actually she's a year and a half older and is hating this more than I am. I wonder who she thinks about when she … whatever it is girls do to get off. Anyway, for a few years it was fun until we had figured out that all those islands look alike, all the cruise ships are the same, and most of the chefs aren't a whole lot better than Momma. My dad, however, likes order. Everything calm and predictable and the same every year. So here we are AGAIN on this cruise that nobody enjoys any more, not even my dad. “It gives your mother some time off.” That's his latest excuse.
I wanted to be home. It seems like forever since that Halloween weekend that started out like a horror movie and ended like nothing I'd ever been part of before. I couldn't believe how shitty Mrs. Smith was to Mike and he just took it. The stuff she said about his family was … I mean even if it was true, nobody should say those things. A person can't help what his family is – or was. Mike never said a word back to her. He just walked away. Vicky was pissed when I went with him, but he needed help more than she did. Besides, my clothes were all at Mike's house. I gotta say he drove scary-fast to get there.
“You want to change and then I can take you home,” he half-asked and half-told me when we got to his house.
“I thought we'd be spending the night at Vicky's. Nobody's expecting me home. I don't even know if they're there.”
He looked at me and shrugged. “You can stay here, I guess. The couch is pretty comfortable. I used to sleep on it before I bought the bed.”
“Sure,” I gulped.
“And it's been a long day. So, if you don't mind, I'm just gonna check the chickens and go to bed.”
“Let me get into real clothes and I'll help you … if you want.”
“Sure. The coop is to the right.” He didn't need to tell me that. I had seen the chickens before and even now, in the dark, I could hear them cackle. I changed into my normal clothes and followed him. It turned out I couldn't help. There wasn't much to do.
“I just need to make sure they're safe, that nothing can get at them,” Mike explained as he checked the gate to the yard and the exposed sides of the coop. “We thought about putting a chicken wire top over the yard, but nothing gets in very often. I guess they know if they get in they can't get out.”
“Who are they?”
“Critters ...” he said without enumerating 'them'.
After helping not a lick, I followed him back to the house. He got me a sheet and a blanket. “If you get cold, there's another blanket in bottom of that cupboard. I'm going to bed.”
We took turns in the bathroom and turned in for the night. I tossed and turned. The couch wasn't quite as comfortable as Mike had said, plus, over and over I replayed the evening in my mind. What a bitch Mrs. Smith was! So what if Mike's family was poor. Mine wasn't all that rich, not like some others around here. Not like the Smiths or the Perrys or even the La Gerbilles. That wasn't Mike's fault. And getting married or not … how important was that? His parents took care of him the best they could, I guess. And he was doing ok now, as far as I knew. And … JESUS! WHAT was THAT? A long mournful howl was followed by barking.
I hurried and opened the bedroom door. “Mike! What was that?” I couldn't tell if I woke him or not.
“Oh, just some critter. Maybe a dog. Maybe a fox checking out the chickens. Nothing to worry about.”
I returned to the living room couch and got as comfortable as I could. The blanket had a nice smell, like pine and something else. Then I heard the porch boards creak. And creak again. What was that? A scratching on the door! Jesus!
“Mike, something's trying to get in the door.”
A chuckle came from the darkness of Mike's bedroom. “One of them critters … don't worry, it can't get in.”
“Are you sure?”
He turned on a bedside light and held back the blanket. “You can sleep in here if you want.”
I closed the bedroom door and got a little talkative in my nervousness. “Don't know what I'm worried about. If you're not, I mean … You sure you're ok with this? Me sleeping with you?”
“It's a big bed. God knows we've been in bed together before.”
He was so calm, so self-assured, the way I used to think I was. The blanket smelled the same as the one in the living room. It was a nice smell. I wiggled around getting comfortable. “Mike?” I began.
“Shh. Let's sleep,” he said.
And he did. I heard his regular breathing. There was something good about having him close by. I'm not sure how long it took, but I fell asleep too. There was only one thing that disturbed the night and I wasn't altogether sure about it.
When I woke in the morning, I was alone. The smell of bacon was in the air. A small patch of sunlight high on the wall told me it was early morning. I went to the door.
“There you are,” Mike said cheerfully. He was cooking. He waggled his eyebrows. “We're having eggs, of course.”
I used the bathroom and got dressed as quickly as I could. He put a plate of eggs and ham and bread and something green in front of me and then joined me with his own plate. “Hope you like it,” he said as he took a forkful.
The eggs were amazing and I told him so. “Fresh out of the chicken. It makes a big difference.” We ate in silence for a bit and then I had to ask about the night before.
“Mike ... Last night … Did you kiss me?”
He looked briefly perplexed. “Probably. Butch said I used to kiss him in my sleep all the time.”
“Oh ...”
“Sorry. I mean, if ...”
I leaned over and almost panicked. What am I doing? But I was half into it and went ahead. I kissed him. It tasted of eggs and butter and bacon and Mike. I didn't want it to end, but it did. I pulled away and looked down at my plate. “I liked that,” I said to him referring to this latest kiss and then looked up again.
“So did I,” he said and we both relaxed. Some kind of deal had been struck, a pact between us. I wasn't sure about the terms but I wasn't worried. I smiled. He smiled. And we finished breakfast. I even ate the kale and I hate kale. We cleaned up and went back out to the chicken coop.
“See these marks. Something, probably a 'coon tried to beat us to the eggs.” We went into the yard and the birds clustered around for their feed. “”Now we steal their eggs,” Mike said. He collected half and told me to get the rest. I was standing on the ramp to the hen house ready to stick my head in when I looked at him to see if I was doing the right thing. The ramp made our height the same. I couldn't help it. I kissed him again. And then he put his arms around me and kissed me back. “I think I've been wantin' to do that,” he said more to himself maybe than to me.
We returned to the house with the eggs. Then with our hands free we kissed again in the kitchen, then some more in the living room, and then in the bedroom. Despite all we had done with Vicky, it was different being naked with Mike, just the two of us. It was exciting and new. I was afraid to look at him. I buried my face in his chest and then I gave him another blow job. I think I did ok, maybe better than ok. We didn't stop. He reciprocated and we still didn't stop, touching, exploring, kissing. I was awestruck when he said, “Fuck me.” I was still trembling after I came. I couldn't have got out of bed. I was sure my legs would work. And still we continued touching, kissing, and talking a little.
“Who was Butch?” I asked. I felt nervy asking him such a direct personal question.
“Somebody I loved once,” he answered. “Somebody who lived here with me.” We went back to making out for a while. “He was the first real friend I ever had.” I knew he meant way more than just friend.
The early morning patch of sun had moved down the wall and onto the bed. It made Mike's eyes bright. He looked impossibly handsome to me and I think I could have looked at him all day. I think that vision would have been more than enough for me, but what about Mike? I had already come twice, to his once. I could feel that he was hard again and letting me do anything. It was my turn. “Mike, you want to fuck me? I think I'd like that.”
“Too soon,” he said.
“I've never done it before, but I want to do it for you.”
“Too soon,” he repeated and looked at his alarm clock. “We have been in bed all day. You know that?” I nodded vigorously; it had been the best day of my life. “If you want to go to my cousin's for dinner, we need to get a little cleaned up.”
“Too soon,” I said which made him laugh. The blow job I gave him make him groan; I think I was getting good at it. He told me I was, but he would say that – he's just that nice.
So you can see why I ached to be with Mike instead of stuck on this fucking cruise ship. I went up to the Dumbo Deck and watched the waves roll by. Suddenly I caught a whiff of pot smoke. I looked around and saw a guy smoking furtively. I walked over to him and he offered me a hit. It was skankweed, but at least it was something to do. A way to pass the time. There were other ways. Later in his cabin I fucked him. I'm not sure he liked it much, but it was something to do. A way to pass the time. By the end of the cruise I think he got to like getting fucked. He said he did. And, for sure, it did pass the time.
But he wasn't Mike. Not even close.
I soooo don't want to be here – stuck, like marooned on the Disney Wonder for six more days of torture with a couple hundred ten-year-olds. No, I don't want to be photographed with Goofy. No, I don't want to play slip and slide on the Fantasy Deck. No, I don't want to make my own mac-'n'-cheese on a bun. I just want to lie in my cabin and jerk off while I think about sucking Mike's dick.
This was my father's idea, originally. Instead of messing with turkeys and all that stuff - see, he knew my Momma wasn't too swift in the kitchen - we'd all go on a cruise for Thanksgiving, which was fine when we were ten, my sister and me. Actually she's a year and a half older and is hating this more than I am. I wonder who she thinks about when she … whatever it is girls do to get off. Anyway, for a few years it was fun until we had figured out that all those islands look alike, all the cruise ships are the same, and most of the chefs aren't a whole lot better than Momma. My dad, however, likes order. Everything calm and predictable and the same every year. So here we are AGAIN on this cruise that nobody enjoys any more, not even my dad. “It gives your mother some time off.” That's his latest excuse.
I wanted to be home. It seems like forever since that Halloween weekend that started out like a horror movie and ended like nothing I'd ever been part of before. I couldn't believe how shitty Mrs. Smith was to Mike and he just took it. The stuff she said about his family was … I mean even if it was true, nobody should say those things. A person can't help what his family is – or was. Mike never said a word back to her. He just walked away. Vicky was pissed when I went with him, but he needed help more than she did. Besides, my clothes were all at Mike's house. I gotta say he drove scary-fast to get there.
“You want to change and then I can take you home,” he half-asked and half-told me when we got to his house.
“I thought we'd be spending the night at Vicky's. Nobody's expecting me home. I don't even know if they're there.”
He looked at me and shrugged. “You can stay here, I guess. The couch is pretty comfortable. I used to sleep on it before I bought the bed.”
“Sure,” I gulped.
“And it's been a long day. So, if you don't mind, I'm just gonna check the chickens and go to bed.”
“Let me get into real clothes and I'll help you … if you want.”
“Sure. The coop is to the right.” He didn't need to tell me that. I had seen the chickens before and even now, in the dark, I could hear them cackle. I changed into my normal clothes and followed him. It turned out I couldn't help. There wasn't much to do.
“I just need to make sure they're safe, that nothing can get at them,” Mike explained as he checked the gate to the yard and the exposed sides of the coop. “We thought about putting a chicken wire top over the yard, but nothing gets in very often. I guess they know if they get in they can't get out.”
“Who are they?”
“Critters ...” he said without enumerating 'them'.
After helping not a lick, I followed him back to the house. He got me a sheet and a blanket. “If you get cold, there's another blanket in bottom of that cupboard. I'm going to bed.”
We took turns in the bathroom and turned in for the night. I tossed and turned. The couch wasn't quite as comfortable as Mike had said, plus, over and over I replayed the evening in my mind. What a bitch Mrs. Smith was! So what if Mike's family was poor. Mine wasn't all that rich, not like some others around here. Not like the Smiths or the Perrys or even the La Gerbilles. That wasn't Mike's fault. And getting married or not … how important was that? His parents took care of him the best they could, I guess. And he was doing ok now, as far as I knew. And … JESUS! WHAT was THAT? A long mournful howl was followed by barking.
I hurried and opened the bedroom door. “Mike! What was that?” I couldn't tell if I woke him or not.
“Oh, just some critter. Maybe a dog. Maybe a fox checking out the chickens. Nothing to worry about.”
I returned to the living room couch and got as comfortable as I could. The blanket had a nice smell, like pine and something else. Then I heard the porch boards creak. And creak again. What was that? A scratching on the door! Jesus!
“Mike, something's trying to get in the door.”
A chuckle came from the darkness of Mike's bedroom. “One of them critters … don't worry, it can't get in.”
“Are you sure?”
He turned on a bedside light and held back the blanket. “You can sleep in here if you want.”
I closed the bedroom door and got a little talkative in my nervousness. “Don't know what I'm worried about. If you're not, I mean … You sure you're ok with this? Me sleeping with you?”
“It's a big bed. God knows we've been in bed together before.”
He was so calm, so self-assured, the way I used to think I was. The blanket smelled the same as the one in the living room. It was a nice smell. I wiggled around getting comfortable. “Mike?” I began.
“Shh. Let's sleep,” he said.
And he did. I heard his regular breathing. There was something good about having him close by. I'm not sure how long it took, but I fell asleep too. There was only one thing that disturbed the night and I wasn't altogether sure about it.
When I woke in the morning, I was alone. The smell of bacon was in the air. A small patch of sunlight high on the wall told me it was early morning. I went to the door.
“There you are,” Mike said cheerfully. He was cooking. He waggled his eyebrows. “We're having eggs, of course.”
I used the bathroom and got dressed as quickly as I could. He put a plate of eggs and ham and bread and something green in front of me and then joined me with his own plate. “Hope you like it,” he said as he took a forkful.
The eggs were amazing and I told him so. “Fresh out of the chicken. It makes a big difference.” We ate in silence for a bit and then I had to ask about the night before.
“Mike ... Last night … Did you kiss me?”
He looked briefly perplexed. “Probably. Butch said I used to kiss him in my sleep all the time.”
“Oh ...”
“Sorry. I mean, if ...”
I leaned over and almost panicked. What am I doing? But I was half into it and went ahead. I kissed him. It tasted of eggs and butter and bacon and Mike. I didn't want it to end, but it did. I pulled away and looked down at my plate. “I liked that,” I said to him referring to this latest kiss and then looked up again.
“So did I,” he said and we both relaxed. Some kind of deal had been struck, a pact between us. I wasn't sure about the terms but I wasn't worried. I smiled. He smiled. And we finished breakfast. I even ate the kale and I hate kale. We cleaned up and went back out to the chicken coop.
“See these marks. Something, probably a 'coon tried to beat us to the eggs.” We went into the yard and the birds clustered around for their feed. “”Now we steal their eggs,” Mike said. He collected half and told me to get the rest. I was standing on the ramp to the hen house ready to stick my head in when I looked at him to see if I was doing the right thing. The ramp made our height the same. I couldn't help it. I kissed him again. And then he put his arms around me and kissed me back. “I think I've been wantin' to do that,” he said more to himself maybe than to me.
We returned to the house with the eggs. Then with our hands free we kissed again in the kitchen, then some more in the living room, and then in the bedroom. Despite all we had done with Vicky, it was different being naked with Mike, just the two of us. It was exciting and new. I was afraid to look at him. I buried my face in his chest and then I gave him another blow job. I think I did ok, maybe better than ok. We didn't stop. He reciprocated and we still didn't stop, touching, exploring, kissing. I was awestruck when he said, “Fuck me.” I was still trembling after I came. I couldn't have got out of bed. I was sure my legs would work. And still we continued touching, kissing, and talking a little.
“Who was Butch?” I asked. I felt nervy asking him such a direct personal question.
“Somebody I loved once,” he answered. “Somebody who lived here with me.” We went back to making out for a while. “He was the first real friend I ever had.” I knew he meant way more than just friend.
The early morning patch of sun had moved down the wall and onto the bed. It made Mike's eyes bright. He looked impossibly handsome to me and I think I could have looked at him all day. I think that vision would have been more than enough for me, but what about Mike? I had already come twice, to his once. I could feel that he was hard again and letting me do anything. It was my turn. “Mike, you want to fuck me? I think I'd like that.”
“Too soon,” he said.
“I've never done it before, but I want to do it for you.”
“Too soon,” he repeated and looked at his alarm clock. “We have been in bed all day. You know that?” I nodded vigorously; it had been the best day of my life. “If you want to go to my cousin's for dinner, we need to get a little cleaned up.”
“Too soon,” I said which made him laugh. The blow job I gave him make him groan; I think I was getting good at it. He told me I was, but he would say that – he's just that nice.
So you can see why I ached to be with Mike instead of stuck on this fucking cruise ship. I went up to the Dumbo Deck and watched the waves roll by. Suddenly I caught a whiff of pot smoke. I looked around and saw a guy smoking furtively. I walked over to him and he offered me a hit. It was skankweed, but at least it was something to do. A way to pass the time. There were other ways. Later in his cabin I fucked him. I'm not sure he liked it much, but it was something to do. A way to pass the time. By the end of the cruise I think he got to like getting fucked. He said he did. And, for sure, it did pass the time.
But he wasn't Mike. Not even close.
Rory,
I got this via instant Update e-mail this afternoon. It was an incredible read - cumplete with present to flashback to more recent flashback.
The night that was - here's hoping for much more. Mike is such a lovable guy - he deserves to be truly happy.
And Roy appears to have made the best of an "I don't want to be here" situation. I can't really call it bad because, yeah, a cruise.
The feelings you conveyed between our new pair were palpable. The cruise was a decided diversion and release but nothing more.
"Too Soon", lol.
I got this via instant Update e-mail this afternoon. It was an incredible read - cumplete with present to flashback to more recent flashback.
The night that was - here's hoping for much more. Mike is such a lovable guy - he deserves to be truly happy.
And Roy appears to have made the best of an "I don't want to be here" situation. I can't really call it bad because, yeah, a cruise.
The feelings you conveyed between our new pair were palpable. The cruise was a decided diversion and release but nothing more.
"Too Soon", lol.
Craiger
JUB Addict
Charming and romantic, at least for Roy. I have a feeling Mike enjoyed himself as well. Finally we are finding a couple of "normal" human beings amongst the myriads of phonies. What an awesome chapter, Rory.
Craiger
Craiger
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Twenty-One – Sarah Felsen
“So,” a perfectly reasonable starting point for a question, I think. “What's with the twink you brought to dinner?”
“Who?” asked Mike in return.
“The twink … that child you brought to dinner the other week,” I explained patiently and needlessly. Refo said that Mike hadn't brought anyone to dinner since Butch left, suddenly making the child a significant person in our lives.
“You mean Roy. He's not a child. He's almost twenty.”
“Almost … uh-huh. You know he's in love with you, right? I mean, who wouldn't be? But that kid's a goner.”
“Not. I've only known him a couple months.”
“Did ya fuck him?” I whispered.
“Sarah! No, I didn't fuck him! He got stranded and needed a place for the night. He went back to Williamsburg the next day.”
TMI, that was my assessment. Williamsburg? Who needs to know about that? Mike was being cagy with his answers. In my opinion, that is. And when have I ever been wrong? Ok, I'll change the subject; we'll let the issue of the kid perk for a bit. “How much farther is it? I'm dying to see a horse-hair closet. What is the woman thinking of? Horse-hair walls? Mein Gott!”
“We're almost there. I think Yolanda sees Virginia as closer to Texas than we really are.”
“We're nothing like Texas. Zero. Not the accent. And definitely not the weather, thank you, Jupiter.”
“How does a planet affect the weather?”
“The god, not the planet. Let's get back to Roy. You like him?”
“I haven't thought of him in those terms.”
“Bullshit, Mikey, m'love. But we'll leave it at that for now.” Mike turned in the driveway. It was a couple hundred yards to the house. “Wow. It looks like the Treasury Department or something.” The house was a serious mansion, north shore of Long Island serious.
“Wait until you see the closet. It's bigger than my house.”
A servant of some sort, not an old servant, an agency hire probably, met us at the door and followed us to the upstairs bedroom. She left when we met Yolanda.
“Mrs. Hamilton, I hope you don't mind. I brought my friend Sarah Felsen. She's a doctor, actually, who likes old houses.”
“Pleased ta meetcha, Dr. Felsen. I'm Yolanda Hamilton.” Yolanda eyed Sarah suspiciously.
I said nothing immediately, the woman was fascinating, almost beautiful, and yet ... “Mrs. Hamilton, excuse me for asking but who did your eyes? I can barely detect the surgery, and I'm an expert.”
She was taken aback but recovered. “Uh … Dr. Gregyerov, in New York.”
“Aram Gregyerov, at NYU! I know him! Let me look! Can I?” She could hardly say no. “Beautiful work! And it's a perfect look for you!” I watched her preen under my praise. Aram must have done her boobs, too; but not the chin. Somebody else did the chin.
“Uh, Sarah, the closet's over here.” Mike opened a door.
The closet was an honest-to-God marvel and I said so. “Look at this! They had such a sense of proportion in the nineteenth century. The cabinetry is beautiful. And the horse hair … it actually seems to work well with the wood.”
“The horse hair was my idea,” Mrs. Hamilton said, “but the cabinets are all Mike's work.” She spoke as if she were chewing gum without actually doing it.
“They're new? But they look so … old.” The built-in cabinets were masterpieces of craftsmanship. I looked over at Mike who was studying the carpet. “Mike? Really? You did all this? Where did you get the wood?”
“Harrisonburg,” he answered matter-of-factly. “Jody reclaimed it from an old JMU building they gutted.”
“The drawers open like they weigh nothing.” I observed, operating one.
“Uh, Mike? Will you be staying after Docta Felsen leaves?”
“No, ma'am. I need to get some supplies for that last rank of wardrobes. I'll be back tomorrow. We'll finish the wardrobes and then we'll be done.”
“Done?” It sounded as if that thought had never occurred to Yolanda. She spoke in low tones and I tried not to eavesdrop, but sound carried in the largely wooden room. “I'll think of something else for you to do. Can you come early tomorrow? Please?”
I know the sound of a desperate woman and that woman was barely holding on. Not even Aram Gregyerov could fix this Humpty Dumpty the next time she crashed. And it looked as if Mike was her last and best hope in the meantime. Poor thing. I may not be getting laid at the moment, but she was confronting a permanent dry spell, as if there was some phantom bartender calling out, “Last fuck, ladies, last fuck.”
As we drove slowly away from the house, I tried again. “You do like him don't you?”
“Yes,” was Mike's first word. “Who?” was his second. I had my answer; I didn't need any follow up questions.
“I wish I were a gay guy. I'd be so all over you, Michael, you'd never see the end of me. Instead I get to watch what happens with Roy. He's very cute. Outright appealing. You just want to squeeze him, right? And of course the fact that he worships you means ...”
“Sarah, could we talk about something else?”
I patted his thigh. “Ok, then we're gonna talk about you? When did you get to be such a great cabinetmaker? I thought you were Frank's apprentice. Who knew you had this gigantic talent?”
“I like working with wood. I always have.”
“You don't work with it; you transform it; you make it beautiful. How much are you charging Yolanda?”
“Eighteen dollars an hour. It's the most I've ever asked and got. You think I'm cheating her?”
“Mike. I'm being totally serious. You could charge a hundred an hour and you would be a bargain. And don't smile at me like that. You'll get me all moist.”
In reply he gave me a laugh as infectious as his beautiful smile. He was fucking Yolanda; that was obvious. I wondered if Frank knew. I couldn't help but ponder whether I could get him to fuck me. That is a substantial bulge in his jeans. He would be so nice. Just feeling his weight on me would probably be enough. And a little motion, of course. A gentle rocking in the groove. Feeling his hands on me. If he paced it right, I'd come before he even got it in. And then he'd slide in and we'd do it some more.
“I've been thinking about making some furniture, you know, to sell.”
Pop! There went my little fantasy. “Yes, that would be a great idea. I've got some cousins in New York who could move it for you.”
“New York? Really. I was thinking just for local folks.”
“The locals can't afford you. You're too good.”
There's that mellow laugh again! “Sheraton or Hepplewhite style, I think. Something with clean lines that let's the wood do the talking,” he added.
“You know about them? Sheraton and Hepplewhite?”
“You think I'm an idiot? Of course I know about them.”
“Sort of, I did, I guess … not that you're stupid or anything. Nothing like that. More like 'uneducated'.”
“I know about wood and woodworkers.”
“You do.” And, sweet Mike with that big bulge in your pants, I bet you know a lot about fucking. Of course, I couldn't tell him that part.
When Mike dropped me off, I stormed into the barn and ripped into Refo. “Why didn't you tell me how sweet Mike is? And do you know … do you fucking KNOW??? ... what an incredible woodworker he is? And how women throw themselves at him? Frank has no right – none at all - to blame Mike! It's not his fault. He's honest and considerate and ...”
“And he has a big dick. Jeez, Sarah, now you've fallen under his spell.” Refo rolled his eyes, something guaranteed to irritate me and he knew it. “What about the woodworking? I didn't know that part.”
“He's an artist, Refo. He makes fabulous furniture. He's a wonderful man. Even his hands are beautiful. And I'm jealous because I think he likes that kid he brought to dinner.”
More condescension from Refo: “Now you know why we all love him.”
It so pisses me off when Refo is right.
“So,” a perfectly reasonable starting point for a question, I think. “What's with the twink you brought to dinner?”
“Who?” asked Mike in return.
“The twink … that child you brought to dinner the other week,” I explained patiently and needlessly. Refo said that Mike hadn't brought anyone to dinner since Butch left, suddenly making the child a significant person in our lives.
“You mean Roy. He's not a child. He's almost twenty.”
“Almost … uh-huh. You know he's in love with you, right? I mean, who wouldn't be? But that kid's a goner.”
“Not. I've only known him a couple months.”
“Did ya fuck him?” I whispered.
“Sarah! No, I didn't fuck him! He got stranded and needed a place for the night. He went back to Williamsburg the next day.”
TMI, that was my assessment. Williamsburg? Who needs to know about that? Mike was being cagy with his answers. In my opinion, that is. And when have I ever been wrong? Ok, I'll change the subject; we'll let the issue of the kid perk for a bit. “How much farther is it? I'm dying to see a horse-hair closet. What is the woman thinking of? Horse-hair walls? Mein Gott!”
“We're almost there. I think Yolanda sees Virginia as closer to Texas than we really are.”
“We're nothing like Texas. Zero. Not the accent. And definitely not the weather, thank you, Jupiter.”
“How does a planet affect the weather?”
“The god, not the planet. Let's get back to Roy. You like him?”
“I haven't thought of him in those terms.”
“Bullshit, Mikey, m'love. But we'll leave it at that for now.” Mike turned in the driveway. It was a couple hundred yards to the house. “Wow. It looks like the Treasury Department or something.” The house was a serious mansion, north shore of Long Island serious.
“Wait until you see the closet. It's bigger than my house.”
A servant of some sort, not an old servant, an agency hire probably, met us at the door and followed us to the upstairs bedroom. She left when we met Yolanda.
“Mrs. Hamilton, I hope you don't mind. I brought my friend Sarah Felsen. She's a doctor, actually, who likes old houses.”
“Pleased ta meetcha, Dr. Felsen. I'm Yolanda Hamilton.” Yolanda eyed Sarah suspiciously.
I said nothing immediately, the woman was fascinating, almost beautiful, and yet ... “Mrs. Hamilton, excuse me for asking but who did your eyes? I can barely detect the surgery, and I'm an expert.”
She was taken aback but recovered. “Uh … Dr. Gregyerov, in New York.”
“Aram Gregyerov, at NYU! I know him! Let me look! Can I?” She could hardly say no. “Beautiful work! And it's a perfect look for you!” I watched her preen under my praise. Aram must have done her boobs, too; but not the chin. Somebody else did the chin.
“Uh, Sarah, the closet's over here.” Mike opened a door.
The closet was an honest-to-God marvel and I said so. “Look at this! They had such a sense of proportion in the nineteenth century. The cabinetry is beautiful. And the horse hair … it actually seems to work well with the wood.”
“The horse hair was my idea,” Mrs. Hamilton said, “but the cabinets are all Mike's work.” She spoke as if she were chewing gum without actually doing it.
“They're new? But they look so … old.” The built-in cabinets were masterpieces of craftsmanship. I looked over at Mike who was studying the carpet. “Mike? Really? You did all this? Where did you get the wood?”
“Harrisonburg,” he answered matter-of-factly. “Jody reclaimed it from an old JMU building they gutted.”
“The drawers open like they weigh nothing.” I observed, operating one.
“Uh, Mike? Will you be staying after Docta Felsen leaves?”
“No, ma'am. I need to get some supplies for that last rank of wardrobes. I'll be back tomorrow. We'll finish the wardrobes and then we'll be done.”
“Done?” It sounded as if that thought had never occurred to Yolanda. She spoke in low tones and I tried not to eavesdrop, but sound carried in the largely wooden room. “I'll think of something else for you to do. Can you come early tomorrow? Please?”
I know the sound of a desperate woman and that woman was barely holding on. Not even Aram Gregyerov could fix this Humpty Dumpty the next time she crashed. And it looked as if Mike was her last and best hope in the meantime. Poor thing. I may not be getting laid at the moment, but she was confronting a permanent dry spell, as if there was some phantom bartender calling out, “Last fuck, ladies, last fuck.”
As we drove slowly away from the house, I tried again. “You do like him don't you?”
“Yes,” was Mike's first word. “Who?” was his second. I had my answer; I didn't need any follow up questions.
“I wish I were a gay guy. I'd be so all over you, Michael, you'd never see the end of me. Instead I get to watch what happens with Roy. He's very cute. Outright appealing. You just want to squeeze him, right? And of course the fact that he worships you means ...”
“Sarah, could we talk about something else?”
I patted his thigh. “Ok, then we're gonna talk about you? When did you get to be such a great cabinetmaker? I thought you were Frank's apprentice. Who knew you had this gigantic talent?”
“I like working with wood. I always have.”
“You don't work with it; you transform it; you make it beautiful. How much are you charging Yolanda?”
“Eighteen dollars an hour. It's the most I've ever asked and got. You think I'm cheating her?”
“Mike. I'm being totally serious. You could charge a hundred an hour and you would be a bargain. And don't smile at me like that. You'll get me all moist.”
In reply he gave me a laugh as infectious as his beautiful smile. He was fucking Yolanda; that was obvious. I wondered if Frank knew. I couldn't help but ponder whether I could get him to fuck me. That is a substantial bulge in his jeans. He would be so nice. Just feeling his weight on me would probably be enough. And a little motion, of course. A gentle rocking in the groove. Feeling his hands on me. If he paced it right, I'd come before he even got it in. And then he'd slide in and we'd do it some more.
“I've been thinking about making some furniture, you know, to sell.”
Pop! There went my little fantasy. “Yes, that would be a great idea. I've got some cousins in New York who could move it for you.”
“New York? Really. I was thinking just for local folks.”
“The locals can't afford you. You're too good.”
There's that mellow laugh again! “Sheraton or Hepplewhite style, I think. Something with clean lines that let's the wood do the talking,” he added.
“You know about them? Sheraton and Hepplewhite?”
“You think I'm an idiot? Of course I know about them.”
“Sort of, I did, I guess … not that you're stupid or anything. Nothing like that. More like 'uneducated'.”
“I know about wood and woodworkers.”
“You do.” And, sweet Mike with that big bulge in your pants, I bet you know a lot about fucking. Of course, I couldn't tell him that part.
When Mike dropped me off, I stormed into the barn and ripped into Refo. “Why didn't you tell me how sweet Mike is? And do you know … do you fucking KNOW??? ... what an incredible woodworker he is? And how women throw themselves at him? Frank has no right – none at all - to blame Mike! It's not his fault. He's honest and considerate and ...”
“And he has a big dick. Jeez, Sarah, now you've fallen under his spell.” Refo rolled his eyes, something guaranteed to irritate me and he knew it. “What about the woodworking? I didn't know that part.”
“He's an artist, Refo. He makes fabulous furniture. He's a wonderful man. Even his hands are beautiful. And I'm jealous because I think he likes that kid he brought to dinner.”
More condescension from Refo: “Now you know why we all love him.”
It so pisses me off when Refo is right.
Rory,
I got this via e-mail at work, and read it in between tasks, as I ate my lunch.
There is something about this chapter that really pulls at my heart strings.
Mike's expanded persona - the vulnerable, hurting, loving man - and his huge artisan ability with woods and craftsmanship.
I see two somewhat divergent paths - does Mike become more closely involved with Roy sans their shared cock sheath, or will school ultimately keep Roy away too much for them to get to the next level?
Will the ladies continue to enlist Mike to scratch their itches - now that he has Roy, will he decide he's done in the Don Juan/Gigolo job?
And, if Sarah helps Mike to realize his true potential, and sends him up the express elevator of Artisan Craftsman Masters, will he become successful enough - in his own mind - to feel he is finally on an equal footing with his true love - Butch?
There are so many possibilities right now - successes and sadnesses.
I await the master tale teller to reveal all.
In the mean time, I really want to give Mike a hug - whether it went anywhere from there or not.
Yeah, it struck me that powerfully.
I got this via e-mail at work, and read it in between tasks, as I ate my lunch.
There is something about this chapter that really pulls at my heart strings.
Mike's expanded persona - the vulnerable, hurting, loving man - and his huge artisan ability with woods and craftsmanship.
I see two somewhat divergent paths - does Mike become more closely involved with Roy sans their shared cock sheath, or will school ultimately keep Roy away too much for them to get to the next level?
Will the ladies continue to enlist Mike to scratch their itches - now that he has Roy, will he decide he's done in the Don Juan/Gigolo job?
And, if Sarah helps Mike to realize his true potential, and sends him up the express elevator of Artisan Craftsman Masters, will he become successful enough - in his own mind - to feel he is finally on an equal footing with his true love - Butch?
There are so many possibilities right now - successes and sadnesses.
I await the master tale teller to reveal all.
In the mean time, I really want to give Mike a hug - whether it went anywhere from there or not.
Yeah, it struck me that powerfully.
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Unless I've missed something, which is entirely possible ... 
Who is Sarah, and where did she come from? I mean ... she's obviously an old friend of Mike's, but when did she enter his life, how, and what is her base relationship?
All I know is, I like her!
All the more reasons to ... No Matter What ...
Keep Smilin'!!
Chaz
Who is Sarah, and where did she come from? I mean ... she's obviously an old friend of Mike's, but when did she enter his life, how, and what is her base relationship?
All I know is, I like her!
All the more reasons to ... No Matter What ...
Keep Smilin'!!
Chaz
Chaz,
Sarah used to work with our primary protagonist, Refo, at the University Lab.
She had a couple of guys sleeping with her, doing the DP deed and such - until they decided they liked each other better.
She got pregnant from a dalliance, and wanted Refo to marry her for her child's legitimacy at one point, then had an abortion, which about killed Refo.
Then she was going to undergo a sex change operation.
She got involved with Refo and Frank about furnishing the barn - she had a relative who could get them carpeting - and did an excellent job.
Somewhere along the line, I think she told the Uni Lab head Doc to stuff it where the Sun didn't shine, and showed up in Northern Virginia, where she's become a bit of a fixture.
I know I missed a lot in between, but that's the gist of the relationship.
All clear now? That was from the precursor story to this one.
I'm trying to remember -Butch and Mike weren't the two guys who lived with her, right?
Sarah used to work with our primary protagonist, Refo, at the University Lab.
She had a couple of guys sleeping with her, doing the DP deed and such - until they decided they liked each other better.
She got pregnant from a dalliance, and wanted Refo to marry her for her child's legitimacy at one point, then had an abortion, which about killed Refo.
Then she was going to undergo a sex change operation.
She got involved with Refo and Frank about furnishing the barn - she had a relative who could get them carpeting - and did an excellent job.
Somewhere along the line, I think she told the Uni Lab head Doc to stuff it where the Sun didn't shine, and showed up in Northern Virginia, where she's become a bit of a fixture.
I know I missed a lot in between, but that's the gist of the relationship.
All clear now? That was from the precursor story to this one.
I'm trying to remember -Butch and Mike weren't the two guys who lived with her, right?
Craiger
JUB Addict
I'm with you Chaz. I wondered where Sarah came from, but, the more the merrier. I loved her excellent surveillance of Yolanda's nips and tucks. She' plucky that's for sure, but aren't they all.... She's also not going to let Mike off the hook.
Craiger
Craiger
Here is where we meet most of the men, and Sarah, of our current tale.
http://www.justusboys.com/forum/threads/400940-In-Praise-of-Hanes
http://www.justusboys.com/forum/threads/400940-In-Praise-of-Hanes
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Don Q, my literary agent, has answered most of your questions.
Stay tuned, more will be revealed.
Stay tuned, more will be revealed.
Where's my commission check - I know, I get 100% of the proceeds from the sale of your literary talents here at JUB, quit my bitching.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
As soon as JUB pays me, you'll get yours.
That's why I said what I did - I'm already getting 100% of your income. Now, as for me getting mine - maybe "in kind" services. . .
I am excited you shared a link to a previous story written by Rory. This is some of the most excellent writing I have ever read. I can't wait for the next chapters. Thanks for sharing the link to the precursor. Keep up the excellent work, Rory. Wow!
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Thanks, bigcannon.
There is a bunch of my stories in the archive - some better than others.
And, sadly, one that isn't in the archives, for want of an "oops" regarding age . . .
EasyRory
JUB Addict
That particular story had other problems, too; can't say I was all that sorry to see it go.
The problem, specifically: an underage person (17, a couple of weeks away from being 18) was throwing himself at the hero, begging for it. Auto didn't let me get to the part where our hero would have manfully resisted the kid.
The problem, specifically: an underage person (17, a couple of weeks away from being 18) was throwing himself at the hero, begging for it. Auto didn't let me get to the part where our hero would have manfully resisted the kid.