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Country Cousins
- Thread starter EasyRory
- Start date
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Sixty-Three - Refo
“Frank, it's lonesome here. Now that Tyler's gone ...”
“Thank God.”
“Yes; but Will and Sarah Fel … Sarah Perry, I should say. They're gone, too. And Mike doesn't come for dinner as often anymore ...”
“What are you saying, Reef?”
“It's just Merle and me most of the time when I'm not working. Do you think we could … I don't know … adopt somebody?”
“You're serious,” Frank said. “Do you have somebody in mind?”
It was an honest question. He wasn't saying no. Of course, he wasn't saying yes either. He put his hand on mine. That was a sort-of yes - Frank is the best man I've ever known.
“No. I don't have anybody in mind. I was just thinkin' it would be fun to have somebody else around. You know … Another set of opinions ... Another set of problems ...”
“Do we have problems?” Frank's brow wrinkled with concern. Even Merle looked up at me, sensing the question mattered.
“No ...” I kissed him. “No, we don't.” I changed the subject to his work and he responded excitedly.
“I think we have a shot at a huge job – a whole season of work, maybe more even. You remember the Smith place, where Mike did those finials?”
“And Otis was ...” I sighed. Otis was such a sweet boy.
“Yes. That place.” He patted my hand again and continued. “Anyway, the place practically burned to the ground. I guess a fire started in the kitchen and – whoosh! - spread all over the house ...” Frank made an enveloping gesture and his eyes got huge; I think he has a secret fondness for calamity. “There's hardly more than a few chimneys left!”
“How many chimneys?” He loves detail and I love watching his enthusiasm,
“Four … Two on the north side, one back at the kitchen … or where the kitchen was, rather … and one on the west side. That one wasn't original. It was added in the nineteen-twenties, I would guess. Originally they would have relied on the sun to heat the west side of the house in the daytime and just not used it at night except for sleeping. But times change … Do you really care about this?”
“Of course, I do.”
Frank held forth on the destruction of and possibilities for Casa Smith through doing the dishes, walking Merle, and watching a local high school play football on public television. He was pretty quiet when we made love, but I could tell somewhere in the background his head was still processing plans for that house. He gave me a final kiss and then surprised me.
“Layton might could live here during the week. What would you think of that?”
Layton was Frank's regular assistant since Mike was spending so much time on his furniture. I tell myself that my first impressions of people are often wrong, and I do try to be kind and give people the benefit of the doubt; but Layton was a dunce. Even Merle would eye him with a standoffish alertness. I say that and I think that, but you never knew with Merle because of his eyes.
“Layton ...” I said. “Does he know we're gay?”
“Yes, of course he does.”
“Does he know what that means?”
“Refo, he's not dense and he's not bad company, either.”
“Compared to a deaf-mute paraplegic?”
“If I recall, you used to say things like that about Mike and now you like Mike.”
“I love Mike. I was totally wrong about him.” And that was true; I was so wrong in Mike's case.
“You weren't totally wrong. There has been a lot of subsequent maturation in Mike's case. Layton's, too. You haven't seen him lately.”
“Subsequent maturation … you mean he finally grew up?”
“Both of you, actually.”
“You're saying I ...”
“I'm saying I love you. Think about Layton, ok? It would save him a lot of travel if he could stay here during the week. Assuming we get the Smith job …”
The next morning I had no time to be lonesome; the hospital had a bunch of work for me involving testing a whole third grade class for cyanide poisoning. It was a false alarm, a false positive for a usually deadly poison; but cyanide, in its nitrile forms is not especially dangerous. It took all morning to convince the parents of that. After that tense meeting, I took a break and stepped outside for a coffee.
“Yoo! Mr. FitzJohn!” came a feminine call. “Is that you? Why, YES, it is. It was SO nice to see you at Willis's and Sarah's wedding. And such a LOVELY present from you and … uh ...”
“Frank. Hello, Mrs. Perry.”
“Oh, honey, call me Marlee. We're almost contemporaries, aren't we? And I hear FRANK may be the one to rebuild poor Luna's house.”
“He's working on a proposal.”
She looked at me conspiratorially. “Tell him to double the estimate. She got a BUNDLE from the insurance company. Don't say I told you ...” She winked coyly. It was not her best expression with so much eye makeup on. “Um … Mr Fitzjohn ...” She moved out of the sun and her looks improved dramatically. She must have been quite a catch thirty years ago.
“Yes?”
“Remember that little DNA business we transacted a while back?”
“Of course. Did I solve the mystery?”
“Solved one and opened another. And speaking of that ...” She handed me two sealed envelopes. “Could you perhaps see if there might be a relationship here? They are hair samples.”
“I should really have the consent of the persons involved.”
“And if I told you they are dead?” She smiled hopefully.
“No need to explain to me. I can't do it for you under hospital rules, but there are other ways … There are commercial companies … reliable, fast, reasonable … in fact they'd be cheaper than the hospital would be.”
“What kind of a story would I need?”
“Nothing much. Just ask if there is a relationship and do say they are people. There have been terrible repercussions in cases where people claimed human samples were animal. You know, 'your dog is related to the Queen of England' – that kind of thing. A typical request is to verify from what part of the world one's ancestors originated. I have some cards in my office, if you'd like a source.”
“Do you? That would be SO SWEET of you and that would mean I'd get to see you again. And it's always SO nice seein' YOU.” Her smile appeared quite genuine.
I'll say this for Southern charm. It may be as phony as a three dollar bill, but it's much nicer that the sort of requests I used to get working in Washington. I started the PCR tests myself since working with hair samples is more challenging than cheek swabs, and before I knew it the day was over and I was driving home.
I was cruising along in the Jeep, wishing I had a beer in hand – lab work can give you quite a thirst – but I didn't. So I was glad to get home and even happier to see Frank's truck already parked. As I approached the barn I saw someone come out of the outdoor shower and it wasn't Frank. The person stood with his head bent down brushing water off his body.
“Layton? Is that you?”
“Oh, hey, Mr. Fitzjohn. How're you today?”
“Call me Refo. I'm fine. And you ...” I pointed vaguely at his nakedness.
“Muddy. The firemen really soaked down the old Smith place. Frank said I should use the outdoor facilities.”
“He could have gotten you a towel ...” I went inside and confronted Frank who was preoccupied with some old blue prints. “Frank, what is Layton doing out there naked as a New Jersey lawn ornament?” I asked quietly so Layton wouldn't hear.
“Really? They have naked lawn ornaments?” He realized his innocent act wasn't working. “He was all muddy and I didn't want to dirty a towel until he got a lot cleaner.”
“Well, get him inside. It's a cool evening out there.”
Frank invited the still naked Layton in and said, “I put your stuff in the back room on the left.” He pointed down the center hall and Layton followed Frank's directions. I couldn't help but admire his ass, smallish, tight, and very round.
“His stuff?” I questioned.
“Can he stay?” Frank asked. “It'll only be on weekdays.”
“Of course he can. He's gorgeous.”
“I told you he'd matured a lot.”
“No, I don't mean he can stay because he's gorgeous. He can stay anyway. But, apart from that, he is looking ...” I let my eyebrows rise to complete the description.
“He's taking classes at Lord Fairfax, Reef. He's really comin' along.”
Lying in bed that night, one matter still pestered me. “Frank?”
“Mmmm ...” I could tell he was close to sleep.
“Why is his pubic hair blond?” I whispered.
“Who?”
“Layton, of course! Don't pretend you didn't notice. Nothing else is blond.”
Frank heaved a huge sigh before rolling over against me in search of a more comfortable position. “I don't know. Ask him.”
“I can't ask him something like THAT!”
“Yes, you can. You know you will. Thanks for letting him stay.”
Like I had a choice. Frank always gets his way, but he's so NICE about it. And he's nice to snuggle up to. Our bodies fit perfectly. And when I'm close to him, especially in bed, there's this Frank smell that's also nice. Mmmm. And it's almost automatic now, but I still like it when he kisses my forehead. And even limp, I want his dick pressed against me. But all that still doesn't explain why Layton's pubic hair is blond. Could I ask him at breakfast? Is that too abrupt for the morning?
Frank sighed and rolled away from me mumbling. “His pubic hair is white, not blond.”
“Frank, it's lonesome here. Now that Tyler's gone ...”
“Thank God.”
“Yes; but Will and Sarah Fel … Sarah Perry, I should say. They're gone, too. And Mike doesn't come for dinner as often anymore ...”
“What are you saying, Reef?”
“It's just Merle and me most of the time when I'm not working. Do you think we could … I don't know … adopt somebody?”
“You're serious,” Frank said. “Do you have somebody in mind?”
It was an honest question. He wasn't saying no. Of course, he wasn't saying yes either. He put his hand on mine. That was a sort-of yes - Frank is the best man I've ever known.
“No. I don't have anybody in mind. I was just thinkin' it would be fun to have somebody else around. You know … Another set of opinions ... Another set of problems ...”
“Do we have problems?” Frank's brow wrinkled with concern. Even Merle looked up at me, sensing the question mattered.
“No ...” I kissed him. “No, we don't.” I changed the subject to his work and he responded excitedly.
“I think we have a shot at a huge job – a whole season of work, maybe more even. You remember the Smith place, where Mike did those finials?”
“And Otis was ...” I sighed. Otis was such a sweet boy.
“Yes. That place.” He patted my hand again and continued. “Anyway, the place practically burned to the ground. I guess a fire started in the kitchen and – whoosh! - spread all over the house ...” Frank made an enveloping gesture and his eyes got huge; I think he has a secret fondness for calamity. “There's hardly more than a few chimneys left!”
“How many chimneys?” He loves detail and I love watching his enthusiasm,
“Four … Two on the north side, one back at the kitchen … or where the kitchen was, rather … and one on the west side. That one wasn't original. It was added in the nineteen-twenties, I would guess. Originally they would have relied on the sun to heat the west side of the house in the daytime and just not used it at night except for sleeping. But times change … Do you really care about this?”
“Of course, I do.”
Frank held forth on the destruction of and possibilities for Casa Smith through doing the dishes, walking Merle, and watching a local high school play football on public television. He was pretty quiet when we made love, but I could tell somewhere in the background his head was still processing plans for that house. He gave me a final kiss and then surprised me.
“Layton might could live here during the week. What would you think of that?”
Layton was Frank's regular assistant since Mike was spending so much time on his furniture. I tell myself that my first impressions of people are often wrong, and I do try to be kind and give people the benefit of the doubt; but Layton was a dunce. Even Merle would eye him with a standoffish alertness. I say that and I think that, but you never knew with Merle because of his eyes.
“Layton ...” I said. “Does he know we're gay?”
“Yes, of course he does.”
“Does he know what that means?”
“Refo, he's not dense and he's not bad company, either.”
“Compared to a deaf-mute paraplegic?”
“If I recall, you used to say things like that about Mike and now you like Mike.”
“I love Mike. I was totally wrong about him.” And that was true; I was so wrong in Mike's case.
“You weren't totally wrong. There has been a lot of subsequent maturation in Mike's case. Layton's, too. You haven't seen him lately.”
“Subsequent maturation … you mean he finally grew up?”
“Both of you, actually.”
“You're saying I ...”
“I'm saying I love you. Think about Layton, ok? It would save him a lot of travel if he could stay here during the week. Assuming we get the Smith job …”
The next morning I had no time to be lonesome; the hospital had a bunch of work for me involving testing a whole third grade class for cyanide poisoning. It was a false alarm, a false positive for a usually deadly poison; but cyanide, in its nitrile forms is not especially dangerous. It took all morning to convince the parents of that. After that tense meeting, I took a break and stepped outside for a coffee.
“Yoo! Mr. FitzJohn!” came a feminine call. “Is that you? Why, YES, it is. It was SO nice to see you at Willis's and Sarah's wedding. And such a LOVELY present from you and … uh ...”
“Frank. Hello, Mrs. Perry.”
“Oh, honey, call me Marlee. We're almost contemporaries, aren't we? And I hear FRANK may be the one to rebuild poor Luna's house.”
“He's working on a proposal.”
She looked at me conspiratorially. “Tell him to double the estimate. She got a BUNDLE from the insurance company. Don't say I told you ...” She winked coyly. It was not her best expression with so much eye makeup on. “Um … Mr Fitzjohn ...” She moved out of the sun and her looks improved dramatically. She must have been quite a catch thirty years ago.
“Yes?”
“Remember that little DNA business we transacted a while back?”
“Of course. Did I solve the mystery?”
“Solved one and opened another. And speaking of that ...” She handed me two sealed envelopes. “Could you perhaps see if there might be a relationship here? They are hair samples.”
“I should really have the consent of the persons involved.”
“And if I told you they are dead?” She smiled hopefully.
“No need to explain to me. I can't do it for you under hospital rules, but there are other ways … There are commercial companies … reliable, fast, reasonable … in fact they'd be cheaper than the hospital would be.”
“What kind of a story would I need?”
“Nothing much. Just ask if there is a relationship and do say they are people. There have been terrible repercussions in cases where people claimed human samples were animal. You know, 'your dog is related to the Queen of England' – that kind of thing. A typical request is to verify from what part of the world one's ancestors originated. I have some cards in my office, if you'd like a source.”
“Do you? That would be SO SWEET of you and that would mean I'd get to see you again. And it's always SO nice seein' YOU.” Her smile appeared quite genuine.
I'll say this for Southern charm. It may be as phony as a three dollar bill, but it's much nicer that the sort of requests I used to get working in Washington. I started the PCR tests myself since working with hair samples is more challenging than cheek swabs, and before I knew it the day was over and I was driving home.
I was cruising along in the Jeep, wishing I had a beer in hand – lab work can give you quite a thirst – but I didn't. So I was glad to get home and even happier to see Frank's truck already parked. As I approached the barn I saw someone come out of the outdoor shower and it wasn't Frank. The person stood with his head bent down brushing water off his body.
“Layton? Is that you?”
“Oh, hey, Mr. Fitzjohn. How're you today?”
“Call me Refo. I'm fine. And you ...” I pointed vaguely at his nakedness.
“Muddy. The firemen really soaked down the old Smith place. Frank said I should use the outdoor facilities.”
“He could have gotten you a towel ...” I went inside and confronted Frank who was preoccupied with some old blue prints. “Frank, what is Layton doing out there naked as a New Jersey lawn ornament?” I asked quietly so Layton wouldn't hear.
“Really? They have naked lawn ornaments?” He realized his innocent act wasn't working. “He was all muddy and I didn't want to dirty a towel until he got a lot cleaner.”
“Well, get him inside. It's a cool evening out there.”
Frank invited the still naked Layton in and said, “I put your stuff in the back room on the left.” He pointed down the center hall and Layton followed Frank's directions. I couldn't help but admire his ass, smallish, tight, and very round.
“His stuff?” I questioned.
“Can he stay?” Frank asked. “It'll only be on weekdays.”
“Of course he can. He's gorgeous.”
“I told you he'd matured a lot.”
“No, I don't mean he can stay because he's gorgeous. He can stay anyway. But, apart from that, he is looking ...” I let my eyebrows rise to complete the description.
“He's taking classes at Lord Fairfax, Reef. He's really comin' along.”
Lying in bed that night, one matter still pestered me. “Frank?”
“Mmmm ...” I could tell he was close to sleep.
“Why is his pubic hair blond?” I whispered.
“Who?”
“Layton, of course! Don't pretend you didn't notice. Nothing else is blond.”
Frank heaved a huge sigh before rolling over against me in search of a more comfortable position. “I don't know. Ask him.”
“I can't ask him something like THAT!”
“Yes, you can. You know you will. Thanks for letting him stay.”
Like I had a choice. Frank always gets his way, but he's so NICE about it. And he's nice to snuggle up to. Our bodies fit perfectly. And when I'm close to him, especially in bed, there's this Frank smell that's also nice. Mmmm. And it's almost automatic now, but I still like it when he kisses my forehead. And even limp, I want his dick pressed against me. But all that still doesn't explain why Layton's pubic hair is blond. Could I ask him at breakfast? Is that too abrupt for the morning?
Frank sighed and rolled away from me mumbling. “His pubic hair is white, not blond.”
- Joined
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OMG! Luna's kitchen Really WAS on Fire! 
Of course I'm wondering, even though I think I know, who's hair Marlee brought to Reef.
And, then there's Layton!
Eager to hear what Merle might think of him.
White pubes, huh?
MORE, Please!
Keep Smilin'!!
Chaz
Of course I'm wondering, even though I think I know, who's hair Marlee brought to Reef.
And, then there's Layton!
Eager to hear what Merle might think of him.
White pubes, huh?
MORE, Please!
Keep Smilin'!!
Chaz
Rory,
I do believe Brother Chaz has covered the bases quite well.
Another chapter meant to intrigue and befuddle, lol.
Did he have a traumatic experience in the genital area and that's why his pubes are white?!
I do believe Brother Chaz has covered the bases quite well.
Another chapter meant to intrigue and befuddle, lol.
Did he have a traumatic experience in the genital area and that's why his pubes are white?!
Craiger
JUB Addict
I'm curious about Layton. Could he possibly be wearing a merkin over his male pudendum? They seem to be very popular according to Google. Of course his white pubes may just be a freak of nature.
I, too, thought Luna was exaggerating when she hung up on Marlee. And who is under Marlee's microscope these days. If it's her daughter, I feel sorry for Fairfax. He'll end up childless...... Terrific chapter, Rory.
Craiger
I, too, thought Luna was exaggerating when she hung up on Marlee. And who is under Marlee's microscope these days. If it's her daughter, I feel sorry for Fairfax. He'll end up childless...... Terrific chapter, Rory.
Craiger
EasyRory
JUB Addict
White merkins ... another use for Aussie fleece!
Come to JUB, where you'll get an education like no other!
Craiger
JUB Addict
A friend of mine told me a story about when he was just a teen and had a run-in with a very prudish librarian. To get back at her, he called the library and asked her from the definition of a "merkin." In those days, the librarians were required to look up definitions for a caller. He said she came back on the phone and in an mortified and almost whispering voice defined it as "The false hairpiece for the female pudendum." Oddly enough, it is also the word for a "canon brush."
Craiger
Craiger
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Sixty-Four - Mike
Imagine me – getting measured for a tuxedo. Yes, I wore one a few times at high school, but those were rented and were terrible; they fit like a deep sea diver's suit. This one is awesome. Feels good. Looks good. Woof! He did it again!
“Haven't you measured the inseam already?”
“Measure twice; cut once, that's my motto, Mr. Pierce,” the tailor said.
My motto, too, actually; but he's deliberately touching my balls. I KNOW he is. At last he's done. I stepped off the little platform and started to shed the tux, trying not to jab myself with the pins in it. He's watching me. Well, fuck it. Let him. I handed him the jacket, the vest and then the pants.
“The shirt, please? I think we should take a dart or two in the back, along here ...”
He touched my ass! And Amanda Kellam says he's the best tailor in Richmond. I guess she would know, but I bet he doesn't feel her up when he's taking measurements. I quickly pulled my own clothes back on and tried not to RUN out of the dressing room.
“All done?” Amanda asked. “Trust me he's worth it. He'll have it ready by five. If you want, in the meantime, we could look at some places on Monument Avenue. Some are open and I bet you'd like seeing the furniture.”
She was taking me to a dinner sponsored by the Daughters of the Confederacy and being held at some museum. I said no, thanks, but she insisted I come. And then there was the business about the tuxedo. “Be happy they don't want you dressed as a Confederate general,” she said. “And a young man can always use a tuxedo.” Well, not this one. I doubt I'll ever wear it again. She's persuasive, though.
Monument Avenue in the late fall looked awesome. There I go using that word again, but it really fits. The leaves are half off the trees and everything is reds and yellows in the sun. It's a broad street, with a wide central lawn, and every few blocks there's a monument in the middle of the road with somebody on a horse. The flanking houses aren't palaces or anything, but they're nice substantial town houses built mostly as Richmond revived after the War Between the States.
“Here, this one's open. Let's go in,” Amanda invited.
“Ok, so this is the kind of furniture I really don't like.” Every piece was massive, dark to the point of being black, and heavy looking, oppressive really. “Amanda, I feel like Queen Victoria is sittin' on my chest.” I looked at her. “It's like I can't breathe.”
She smiled. “Know your enemy! That's why everybody today likes the Federal style you make. But Victorian was the thing in its time. And you should know how to recondition it, at least. It's good business. There's a LOT of it around to recondition.”
“You sound more like my business manager than my ...”
“Your what?”
“My dinner date for tonight.” She smiled at my words. I'd say she blushed, but she didn't, not really. She was probably ten or fifteen years younger than the women I had worked for in Fauquier County but she was still at least ten years older than I am.
“You know I have a boy friend, right?” Might as well get that out in the open, I figured.
“Trudy said she suspected that was the case,” was all Amanda said.
“What did I do to annoy Trudy?”
“You didn't annoy her. Disappointed her is more like it. When I hired her I warned her she was working in a business with a lot of homosexuals.”
“Wow. Is it that obvious?”
“I thought maybe you'd be the exception. Maybe we're both disappointed.” Both her words and her tone got under my skin. I felt a challenge. She pissed me off a little. I looked her right in the eye.
“I'm one of the best fucks you've ever had … or ever will have.”
She sat back on what I think they call a fainting couch and challenged me again. “Prove it.”
“Right here in this … museum?”
“It's my house,” she said. She unbuttoned the top of her blouse.
I unbuttoned my shirt. We matched each other and stripped at the same pace. It didn't take long. I recognized the hunger in her eyes when she saw my dick. I'd seen that look before in a dozen pairs of eyes. I knelt and began kissing her body. Making her ready. Making her wet. Making her moan. She was good for me, but I knew I was better for her. I listened for the rasping and gasping, the constriction of airflow, the telltale signs that I made her come the first time. She stuttered something I couldn't understand.
“We're not done,” I told her. She came again twenty minutes later. I looked around and told her, “We've ruined the couch.”
“See what I told you about repairing it.” She looked at me with a smug air. “I can't believe you don't like women; that was a pretty convincing performance,” she said with a sly glance at my semi-hard dick..
“I love women. I do. I just like men better.” I began dressing.
“I'll tell Trudy that you wouldn't have been a disappointment.”
At five, I tried on the tuxedo again. It fit perfectly. I gave the tailor my credit card and he said, “It's been taken care of. And Mr. Pierce? We'd be delighted to make other clothes for you. We can make anything from overcoats to underwear, every piece custom fitted.”
The words and his knowing look reminded me of the way I always felt after accepting cash from Frank's lady customers. A little used - a little dirty. It wasn't a terrible feeling, just not one to be proud of.
That night at dinner I wasn't seated with Amanda. She was on a raised stage facing the rest of us. I was at a table near the stage sitting with Trudy, who was up and down constantly, preoccupied with errands and things for Amanda. She ignored me; I don't think Amanda had told her anything. I was pretty much left alone trying to make conversation with an older couple who weren't especially interested in getting to know a carpenter in a tuxedo from Rockingham County.
The boring after-dinner speeches began as I toyed with a cardboard piece of cake with melting ice cream and some gloppy yellow stuff on it. Then Amanda got up.
“I'm here to present the annual award for craft excellence to Mister Mike Pierce of Rockingham County. He repaired, reconditioned, and replaced the missing pieces to the furniture set now in dining room of the Executive Mansion.” There was polite applause. “Come up and accept your award, Mr. Pierce.” There was more applause and a few chuckles. There was some kind of joke, but I didn't get it until later, when I saw my picture in the Richmond Times Dispatch. The first picture showed me accepting the award and another one showed Amanda next to me looking up at me like she owned me. From the placement of her arm in the photo, it wasn't hard to imagine her hand was on my ass, which it was.
Frank was polite about it when I showed him the pictures. “You can't really tell she's grabbing your ass.” Well, technically, I suppose, the matter could be called in doubt except for the expression on her face. That expression said we'd fucked. Even Frank admitted it. “But that's just because I know you, Mike,” he added. “Nobody else will give it a thought.”
He was wrong. Roy called. He congratulated me on the award, but I could tell he was hurt, that he knew I'd fucked Amanda. And then the next day the other calls started. I got a half-dozen versions of “Mike, I saw your picture and remembered that I needed some work done around the house. Would you be available?” Yolanda Hamilton actually said to me, “Hersh is away most of the time now and you know how I have always liked your toolwork.”
Like I said, it's a sleazy feeling when sex is part of the deal, nothing to be proud of at all; but I can use the work. Vicki was the only one to notice I was down about something today. She said that rich people never let little things bother them, even if they should; so I should just shrug off whatever was bothering me. It was nice of her not to be specific. She's perceptive, I guess, and she's being really sweet to me. I get why Otis liked her. So I hope she never finds out that her mother had been one of my other callers; in fact she called twice.
Imagine me – getting measured for a tuxedo. Yes, I wore one a few times at high school, but those were rented and were terrible; they fit like a deep sea diver's suit. This one is awesome. Feels good. Looks good. Woof! He did it again!
“Haven't you measured the inseam already?”
“Measure twice; cut once, that's my motto, Mr. Pierce,” the tailor said.
My motto, too, actually; but he's deliberately touching my balls. I KNOW he is. At last he's done. I stepped off the little platform and started to shed the tux, trying not to jab myself with the pins in it. He's watching me. Well, fuck it. Let him. I handed him the jacket, the vest and then the pants.
“The shirt, please? I think we should take a dart or two in the back, along here ...”
He touched my ass! And Amanda Kellam says he's the best tailor in Richmond. I guess she would know, but I bet he doesn't feel her up when he's taking measurements. I quickly pulled my own clothes back on and tried not to RUN out of the dressing room.
“All done?” Amanda asked. “Trust me he's worth it. He'll have it ready by five. If you want, in the meantime, we could look at some places on Monument Avenue. Some are open and I bet you'd like seeing the furniture.”
She was taking me to a dinner sponsored by the Daughters of the Confederacy and being held at some museum. I said no, thanks, but she insisted I come. And then there was the business about the tuxedo. “Be happy they don't want you dressed as a Confederate general,” she said. “And a young man can always use a tuxedo.” Well, not this one. I doubt I'll ever wear it again. She's persuasive, though.
Monument Avenue in the late fall looked awesome. There I go using that word again, but it really fits. The leaves are half off the trees and everything is reds and yellows in the sun. It's a broad street, with a wide central lawn, and every few blocks there's a monument in the middle of the road with somebody on a horse. The flanking houses aren't palaces or anything, but they're nice substantial town houses built mostly as Richmond revived after the War Between the States.
“Here, this one's open. Let's go in,” Amanda invited.
“Ok, so this is the kind of furniture I really don't like.” Every piece was massive, dark to the point of being black, and heavy looking, oppressive really. “Amanda, I feel like Queen Victoria is sittin' on my chest.” I looked at her. “It's like I can't breathe.”
She smiled. “Know your enemy! That's why everybody today likes the Federal style you make. But Victorian was the thing in its time. And you should know how to recondition it, at least. It's good business. There's a LOT of it around to recondition.”
“You sound more like my business manager than my ...”
“Your what?”
“My dinner date for tonight.” She smiled at my words. I'd say she blushed, but she didn't, not really. She was probably ten or fifteen years younger than the women I had worked for in Fauquier County but she was still at least ten years older than I am.
“You know I have a boy friend, right?” Might as well get that out in the open, I figured.
“Trudy said she suspected that was the case,” was all Amanda said.
“What did I do to annoy Trudy?”
“You didn't annoy her. Disappointed her is more like it. When I hired her I warned her she was working in a business with a lot of homosexuals.”
“Wow. Is it that obvious?”
“I thought maybe you'd be the exception. Maybe we're both disappointed.” Both her words and her tone got under my skin. I felt a challenge. She pissed me off a little. I looked her right in the eye.
“I'm one of the best fucks you've ever had … or ever will have.”
She sat back on what I think they call a fainting couch and challenged me again. “Prove it.”
“Right here in this … museum?”
“It's my house,” she said. She unbuttoned the top of her blouse.
I unbuttoned my shirt. We matched each other and stripped at the same pace. It didn't take long. I recognized the hunger in her eyes when she saw my dick. I'd seen that look before in a dozen pairs of eyes. I knelt and began kissing her body. Making her ready. Making her wet. Making her moan. She was good for me, but I knew I was better for her. I listened for the rasping and gasping, the constriction of airflow, the telltale signs that I made her come the first time. She stuttered something I couldn't understand.
“We're not done,” I told her. She came again twenty minutes later. I looked around and told her, “We've ruined the couch.”
“See what I told you about repairing it.” She looked at me with a smug air. “I can't believe you don't like women; that was a pretty convincing performance,” she said with a sly glance at my semi-hard dick..
“I love women. I do. I just like men better.” I began dressing.
“I'll tell Trudy that you wouldn't have been a disappointment.”
At five, I tried on the tuxedo again. It fit perfectly. I gave the tailor my credit card and he said, “It's been taken care of. And Mr. Pierce? We'd be delighted to make other clothes for you. We can make anything from overcoats to underwear, every piece custom fitted.”
The words and his knowing look reminded me of the way I always felt after accepting cash from Frank's lady customers. A little used - a little dirty. It wasn't a terrible feeling, just not one to be proud of.
That night at dinner I wasn't seated with Amanda. She was on a raised stage facing the rest of us. I was at a table near the stage sitting with Trudy, who was up and down constantly, preoccupied with errands and things for Amanda. She ignored me; I don't think Amanda had told her anything. I was pretty much left alone trying to make conversation with an older couple who weren't especially interested in getting to know a carpenter in a tuxedo from Rockingham County.
The boring after-dinner speeches began as I toyed with a cardboard piece of cake with melting ice cream and some gloppy yellow stuff on it. Then Amanda got up.
“I'm here to present the annual award for craft excellence to Mister Mike Pierce of Rockingham County. He repaired, reconditioned, and replaced the missing pieces to the furniture set now in dining room of the Executive Mansion.” There was polite applause. “Come up and accept your award, Mr. Pierce.” There was more applause and a few chuckles. There was some kind of joke, but I didn't get it until later, when I saw my picture in the Richmond Times Dispatch. The first picture showed me accepting the award and another one showed Amanda next to me looking up at me like she owned me. From the placement of her arm in the photo, it wasn't hard to imagine her hand was on my ass, which it was.
Frank was polite about it when I showed him the pictures. “You can't really tell she's grabbing your ass.” Well, technically, I suppose, the matter could be called in doubt except for the expression on her face. That expression said we'd fucked. Even Frank admitted it. “But that's just because I know you, Mike,” he added. “Nobody else will give it a thought.”
He was wrong. Roy called. He congratulated me on the award, but I could tell he was hurt, that he knew I'd fucked Amanda. And then the next day the other calls started. I got a half-dozen versions of “Mike, I saw your picture and remembered that I needed some work done around the house. Would you be available?” Yolanda Hamilton actually said to me, “Hersh is away most of the time now and you know how I have always liked your toolwork.”
Like I said, it's a sleazy feeling when sex is part of the deal, nothing to be proud of at all; but I can use the work. Vicki was the only one to notice I was down about something today. She said that rich people never let little things bother them, even if they should; so I should just shrug off whatever was bothering me. It was nice of her not to be specific. She's perceptive, I guess, and she's being really sweet to me. I get why Otis liked her. So I hope she never finds out that her mother had been one of my other callers; in fact she called twice.
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Hmmm ... A most interesting look from Mike's perspective. 
I'm hoping Roy isn't TOO hurt! Unfortunately, in spite of Mike's talent, in order for his business to soar, this might be something both of them will have to deal with.
](/images/smilies/bang.gif "Brick wall ](*,)")
I guess ... all the more reasons to ... No Matter What ...
Keep Smilin'!!
Chaz
I'm hoping Roy isn't TOO hurt! Unfortunately, in spite of Mike's talent, in order for his business to soar, this might be something both of them will have to deal with.
I guess ... all the more reasons to ... No Matter What ...
Keep Smilin'!!
Chaz
Craiger
JUB Addict
Poor Mike! That dick is going to get him in some real trouble one of these days. He needs to make it up to Roy pretty quickly or he may have to go back to the "women's department" and all their needs. The work may be needed, but some boundaries also need to be made.
Craiger
Craiger
Rory,
You never disappoint. Mike in a custom fitted tux - can I be the tailor's apprentice?
I'll be discreet. Honest.
Seriously, I like Mike. I feel bad that the side jobs have to be a part of him growing his furniture business.
I hope he and Roy can get past it. They did start out with their menage a trois situation, so maybe Roy can join in the fun.
Just so they can make love to each other while raising revenue.
You never disappoint. Mike in a custom fitted tux - can I be the tailor's apprentice?
I'll be discreet. Honest.
Seriously, I like Mike. I feel bad that the side jobs have to be a part of him growing his furniture business.
I hope he and Roy can get past it. They did start out with their menage a trois situation, so maybe Roy can join in the fun.
Just so they can make love to each other while raising revenue.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
The regular dilemma arises: there are things these characters NEED to do and yet we're up to Chapter 65 and they remain undone. I NEED a disciplined editor.
I'm available - my area tends to be more straight proof-reading, but I can try to do more if you round out my head for me.
Chaz, Really? It hasn't even been a full week?
The story (All three, actually) completely engross me.
Chaz, Really? It hasn't even been a full week?
The story (All three, actually) completely engross me.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Sixty-Five - Roy
“Look at it, Tony! Just look at it! It's everywhere!”
IT was the picture of Mike and Amanda Whats-Her-Name that was showing up every place I looked. Now it was on the 100-inch television set hanging over the outdoor bar at Chownings Tavern. “A vodka shot, please. And put a couple more in the freezer, ok?” I told the bartender, a W&M student I knew slightly.
“So, we're not eating tonight?” Tony was looking over the bar menu. “I'm told the Brunswick Stew isn't really made from rats.”
“We've both been DUMPED and you want to eat rat burgers?”
“Not burgers, it's a thick stew, like a chowder. And I wasn't dumped, I think Vince just moved on. He never promised any commitment.” I signaled for another shot as Tony rambled on. “Of course, it WAS made from rats at least once, they say, during the Civil War.”
“Does that look like they're fucking?” I pointed at the TV screen and asked the bartender.
“Mike and Amanda! They were here last weekend with a bunch of people.”
“Mike and Amanda?” He said it as if he knew them well. “Here?”
“We have a couple rooms we save for special customers.” He put my shot on the bar and moved on to handle a waitress's order. I knocked the shot back and pondered. I pulled out my phone.
“Don't do it,” Tony cautioned, still perusing the menu.
“I'm gonna ask him why he didn't at least call when he was here,” I punched in a brief text, waivered over hitting SEND, and hit CANCEL instead.
“Good decision,” Tony commented and looked around at the empty bar stools. “Why are we the only ones outside? I'll tell you why! It's fucking freezing, that's why.”
“Have a vodka, it helps. I don't want to be inside with all those assholes laughing at their stupid jokes.”
“Maybe they're smart jokes. Snappy repartee, mon vieux, and all that.” Tony signaled the bartender and pointed at my shot.
“How come you can say shit like that and not sound like a faggot? If I said shit like that people'd be waving limp wrists at me for days.” Two glasses appeared in front of us. “Don't hesitate or you'll choke. Just take it all at once.” I was referring to the vodka.
“That's sort of what Vince said the first time he fucked me.” Tony downed the shot and gasped for breath. “He's not THAT big, for God's sake,” he said to nobody in particular. “You sure you don't want something to eat?” I shook my head. “So we're just gonna get hammered?” I nodded. “Ok,” he answered and drained the last few drops from the small glass.
“I like you, Tony.” He didn't say anything. “I didn't at first, 'cause I believed Tyler's bullshit about you raping him … but now … you're easy to be around.”
“Tony, the friendly rapist – you trying to say?” In reply to my no he said, “I think there's a little of that in me. You know? Being a little demanding, a little forceful?”
“With Vince?”
“Hell, no. He'd pound me into the ground. Vince puts up with no shit. I meant with Tyler.”
“Ok, sip this one,” I advised as the next two glasses appeared. We sipped in silence.
“You know that feeling?” Tony asked out of nowhere. “That feeling when your dick is super sensitive? Not hard, but one psi of blood pressure away from it? When you're acutely aware of it? You know exactly how it's lying in your pants? Exactly how tight your clothes are? I feel that way right now.”
“It's called being horny.” I sipped.
“I guess. Vince makes me feel that way all the time.” Tony sipped.
“I come a lot when Mike fucks me. More than usual.” I laughed at myself. “But I guess Mike fucking me IS pretty usual.”
“I used to be a top pretty much,” Tony sighed. “Now I just lie there with my legs in the air.”
“I lie on my side mostly. When I'm close to coming, my legs shake too much if I'm flat on my back.”
“This talk is not making me any less horny. My dick has gone way beyond the super sensitive point.”
We sat in silence for a bit. The bartender came and offered to get us another round. I shook my head no and Tony acquiesced.
“Want to go back to my room?” he asked. “It'd be cheaper and I got a bottle of Tito's.” While he waited for my answer his phone buzzed. Tony showed me the text from Vince. “Gr8 nu bed. Even Racer sez ok.”
“Who's Racer?”
“This incredible hunky kid who wears cutoffs and no underwear Vince's probably fucking by now.”
Pleasantly buzzed is how I would describe us. Despite the west wind picking up, we enjoyed the walk to the dorm. Tony sloshed some Tito's into glasses that were much bigger than shot glasses and we sipped. Warmish vodka is way different from frozen shots. We went slower.
“I like you, too,” Tony said.
“Too? I didn't say anything.”
“Back at the bar you did. I like you, too.” He poured a bit more into my glass. “I guess I knew you were gay so I kind of stayed away at first. Being a drama major … I didn't want to get totally branded a faggot.”
I laughed. “Glad I didn't ruin your reputation.”
“But now I think fuck it, you know? Especially with Tyler's 'art' and me showing up all over the place.”
“You look great in those paintings. You know that, right?”
“Not as great as Vince.”
“Blonds always get all the attention. Hanging Vince on the wall would be making a statement. Hanging you on the wall would be a more nuanced thing. Like saying I like the male form - not I jerk off to this when no one's around.”
“It would be ok if you … if people jerked off to me. I wouldn't mind that. The art dealer said my stuff sells. Not as much as Otis and Vince, but it sells. He said the pose of me masturbating is disturbing. People really like it as art, but they're afraid to buy it; it would say too much about THEM.”
“Ok if I open the window? This stuff is making me hot.” The small room rapidly cooled down. “Now maybe it's too cold.”
“Here, sit here. We can share the cover.” He pulled the spread off the bed and draped it over us. “There, cold on the face and warm on the rest. I like to sleep in the cold.”
“Uh, Tony … are we gonna ...” Fuck? Suck? Sleep together? I didn't know how to finish my question.
“We could, I guess. If you wanted to ...”
“It wouldn't be weird?”
“It probably would be. Potentially very weird. It depends on how horny you are.” We shared a laugh.
“What would we do?” We seemed to be more or less dedicated bottoms for Mike and Vince. I had no real idea what Tony liked.
“Any thing we wanted?” Tony asked back.
“I mean, would you want to … suck? Or ...” I laughed before I could get the f-word out.
Tony laughed too and poured another half inch of Tito's into our glasses. “You know it's always the logistics that get in the way. Exactly how do we get from here and now to naked and fuckin'?” He smiled and then he laughed. I laughed. We laughed together. We finished the Tito's. We laughed some more.
“I do like you, though,” Tony said. “In a good way, of course.”
The way it often does, the moment for sex had come and then passed us by. The what-might-have-been wasn't going to be. And I was left with that super sensitive feeling Tony had described at Chowning's bar. I smiled at my almost sex partner and he smiled back.
“We're gonna stay friends, right? Even after school?”
“I hope so,” Tony answered. His gentle kiss seemed appropriate. The symbol of a promise made in friendship. I turned to him to say I was glad and somehow his hand touched me. “You're hard,” he noted, taking his hand away. He kissed me again, less gently and then pulled back.
Yes? No? Maybe? Fuck it! I grabbed his hand and put it back on my dick and kissed him this time. Not gently at all. Tony was right about the logistics. We tried undressing each other but gave up. In the cold air of the room we stripped and then hurried back into his bed. We started out enthusiastically but things were a little awkward. Who was gonna do what to whom? I tried sucking him, but he didn't seem thrilled by that. He tried fucking me, but lost his erection in the attempt. We did make out, though. I know I really liked kissing him and I think he liked it, too. And then we slept.
“Do you feel weird?” he asked in the morning. He padded naked to the wash basin and then came back to bed. He handed me two aspirin and motioned to put them in my mouth. Then he kissed me and passed some of his mouthful of mouthwash to me.
“No, not weird at all, just a little hung over,” I told him after swallowing.
“We didn't really have sex or anything.”
“I think we had a lot of 'or anything', just not the main event.”
“The 'or anything' was nice. You have a bangin' body hidden under those loose jeans you always wear.”
“So do you,” I told him.
“I'm too hairy,” he said.
“No you're not.” I stroked the hair on his chest.
“I had some on my back but I had it fried off.”
“Ouch!” and then “Fuzzy butt,” I told him as I patted his ass.
“Are we gonna talk about grooming or ...” He pushed closer to me and I could feel his erection.
“Wait. I gotta take a piss,” I told him. Taking a piss meant borrowing his bathrobe and walking about fifty feet down the corridor. When I came back to the room it was his turn to go. I slipped my underwear on and waited for his return.
“Eddie, the math major, commented that you and I have the same bathrobe.”
“Is he hangin' out in the john again?” We both laughed. Once more the moment for sex had passed.
“You know that eventually he's going to figure out it is the same bathrobe.” Tony mimicked Eddie's voice. “The statistical probability of you two having the identical Halo 3 bathrobe in one in eighteen thousand four hundred six point three dormitories; it is my near-irrefutable conclusion that it is the same bathrobe and you two are sleeping together.”
Some days laughter is better than sex and fun is better than fucking. Kissing, however, is appropriate almost any time. I kissed him once and once wasn't enough. After a second we dressed.
“You going to Mike's for Thanksgiving?” he asked me.
“I guess. You going to Vince's?”
“I guess. Maybe we can have a threesome with Racer.” His laugh was bitter.
“Look at it, Tony! Just look at it! It's everywhere!”
IT was the picture of Mike and Amanda Whats-Her-Name that was showing up every place I looked. Now it was on the 100-inch television set hanging over the outdoor bar at Chownings Tavern. “A vodka shot, please. And put a couple more in the freezer, ok?” I told the bartender, a W&M student I knew slightly.
“So, we're not eating tonight?” Tony was looking over the bar menu. “I'm told the Brunswick Stew isn't really made from rats.”
“We've both been DUMPED and you want to eat rat burgers?”
“Not burgers, it's a thick stew, like a chowder. And I wasn't dumped, I think Vince just moved on. He never promised any commitment.” I signaled for another shot as Tony rambled on. “Of course, it WAS made from rats at least once, they say, during the Civil War.”
“Does that look like they're fucking?” I pointed at the TV screen and asked the bartender.
“Mike and Amanda! They were here last weekend with a bunch of people.”
“Mike and Amanda?” He said it as if he knew them well. “Here?”
“We have a couple rooms we save for special customers.” He put my shot on the bar and moved on to handle a waitress's order. I knocked the shot back and pondered. I pulled out my phone.
“Don't do it,” Tony cautioned, still perusing the menu.
“I'm gonna ask him why he didn't at least call when he was here,” I punched in a brief text, waivered over hitting SEND, and hit CANCEL instead.
“Good decision,” Tony commented and looked around at the empty bar stools. “Why are we the only ones outside? I'll tell you why! It's fucking freezing, that's why.”
“Have a vodka, it helps. I don't want to be inside with all those assholes laughing at their stupid jokes.”
“Maybe they're smart jokes. Snappy repartee, mon vieux, and all that.” Tony signaled the bartender and pointed at my shot.
“How come you can say shit like that and not sound like a faggot? If I said shit like that people'd be waving limp wrists at me for days.” Two glasses appeared in front of us. “Don't hesitate or you'll choke. Just take it all at once.” I was referring to the vodka.
“That's sort of what Vince said the first time he fucked me.” Tony downed the shot and gasped for breath. “He's not THAT big, for God's sake,” he said to nobody in particular. “You sure you don't want something to eat?” I shook my head. “So we're just gonna get hammered?” I nodded. “Ok,” he answered and drained the last few drops from the small glass.
“I like you, Tony.” He didn't say anything. “I didn't at first, 'cause I believed Tyler's bullshit about you raping him … but now … you're easy to be around.”
“Tony, the friendly rapist – you trying to say?” In reply to my no he said, “I think there's a little of that in me. You know? Being a little demanding, a little forceful?”
“With Vince?”
“Hell, no. He'd pound me into the ground. Vince puts up with no shit. I meant with Tyler.”
“Ok, sip this one,” I advised as the next two glasses appeared. We sipped in silence.
“You know that feeling?” Tony asked out of nowhere. “That feeling when your dick is super sensitive? Not hard, but one psi of blood pressure away from it? When you're acutely aware of it? You know exactly how it's lying in your pants? Exactly how tight your clothes are? I feel that way right now.”
“It's called being horny.” I sipped.
“I guess. Vince makes me feel that way all the time.” Tony sipped.
“I come a lot when Mike fucks me. More than usual.” I laughed at myself. “But I guess Mike fucking me IS pretty usual.”
“I used to be a top pretty much,” Tony sighed. “Now I just lie there with my legs in the air.”
“I lie on my side mostly. When I'm close to coming, my legs shake too much if I'm flat on my back.”
“This talk is not making me any less horny. My dick has gone way beyond the super sensitive point.”
We sat in silence for a bit. The bartender came and offered to get us another round. I shook my head no and Tony acquiesced.
“Want to go back to my room?” he asked. “It'd be cheaper and I got a bottle of Tito's.” While he waited for my answer his phone buzzed. Tony showed me the text from Vince. “Gr8 nu bed. Even Racer sez ok.”
“Who's Racer?”
“This incredible hunky kid who wears cutoffs and no underwear Vince's probably fucking by now.”
Pleasantly buzzed is how I would describe us. Despite the west wind picking up, we enjoyed the walk to the dorm. Tony sloshed some Tito's into glasses that were much bigger than shot glasses and we sipped. Warmish vodka is way different from frozen shots. We went slower.
“I like you, too,” Tony said.
“Too? I didn't say anything.”
“Back at the bar you did. I like you, too.” He poured a bit more into my glass. “I guess I knew you were gay so I kind of stayed away at first. Being a drama major … I didn't want to get totally branded a faggot.”
I laughed. “Glad I didn't ruin your reputation.”
“But now I think fuck it, you know? Especially with Tyler's 'art' and me showing up all over the place.”
“You look great in those paintings. You know that, right?”
“Not as great as Vince.”
“Blonds always get all the attention. Hanging Vince on the wall would be making a statement. Hanging you on the wall would be a more nuanced thing. Like saying I like the male form - not I jerk off to this when no one's around.”
“It would be ok if you … if people jerked off to me. I wouldn't mind that. The art dealer said my stuff sells. Not as much as Otis and Vince, but it sells. He said the pose of me masturbating is disturbing. People really like it as art, but they're afraid to buy it; it would say too much about THEM.”
“Ok if I open the window? This stuff is making me hot.” The small room rapidly cooled down. “Now maybe it's too cold.”
“Here, sit here. We can share the cover.” He pulled the spread off the bed and draped it over us. “There, cold on the face and warm on the rest. I like to sleep in the cold.”
“Uh, Tony … are we gonna ...” Fuck? Suck? Sleep together? I didn't know how to finish my question.
“We could, I guess. If you wanted to ...”
“It wouldn't be weird?”
“It probably would be. Potentially very weird. It depends on how horny you are.” We shared a laugh.
“What would we do?” We seemed to be more or less dedicated bottoms for Mike and Vince. I had no real idea what Tony liked.
“Any thing we wanted?” Tony asked back.
“I mean, would you want to … suck? Or ...” I laughed before I could get the f-word out.
Tony laughed too and poured another half inch of Tito's into our glasses. “You know it's always the logistics that get in the way. Exactly how do we get from here and now to naked and fuckin'?” He smiled and then he laughed. I laughed. We laughed together. We finished the Tito's. We laughed some more.
“I do like you, though,” Tony said. “In a good way, of course.”
The way it often does, the moment for sex had come and then passed us by. The what-might-have-been wasn't going to be. And I was left with that super sensitive feeling Tony had described at Chowning's bar. I smiled at my almost sex partner and he smiled back.
“We're gonna stay friends, right? Even after school?”
“I hope so,” Tony answered. His gentle kiss seemed appropriate. The symbol of a promise made in friendship. I turned to him to say I was glad and somehow his hand touched me. “You're hard,” he noted, taking his hand away. He kissed me again, less gently and then pulled back.
Yes? No? Maybe? Fuck it! I grabbed his hand and put it back on my dick and kissed him this time. Not gently at all. Tony was right about the logistics. We tried undressing each other but gave up. In the cold air of the room we stripped and then hurried back into his bed. We started out enthusiastically but things were a little awkward. Who was gonna do what to whom? I tried sucking him, but he didn't seem thrilled by that. He tried fucking me, but lost his erection in the attempt. We did make out, though. I know I really liked kissing him and I think he liked it, too. And then we slept.
“Do you feel weird?” he asked in the morning. He padded naked to the wash basin and then came back to bed. He handed me two aspirin and motioned to put them in my mouth. Then he kissed me and passed some of his mouthful of mouthwash to me.
“No, not weird at all, just a little hung over,” I told him after swallowing.
“We didn't really have sex or anything.”
“I think we had a lot of 'or anything', just not the main event.”
“The 'or anything' was nice. You have a bangin' body hidden under those loose jeans you always wear.”
“So do you,” I told him.
“I'm too hairy,” he said.
“No you're not.” I stroked the hair on his chest.
“I had some on my back but I had it fried off.”
“Ouch!” and then “Fuzzy butt,” I told him as I patted his ass.
“Are we gonna talk about grooming or ...” He pushed closer to me and I could feel his erection.
“Wait. I gotta take a piss,” I told him. Taking a piss meant borrowing his bathrobe and walking about fifty feet down the corridor. When I came back to the room it was his turn to go. I slipped my underwear on and waited for his return.
“Eddie, the math major, commented that you and I have the same bathrobe.”
“Is he hangin' out in the john again?” We both laughed. Once more the moment for sex had passed.
“You know that eventually he's going to figure out it is the same bathrobe.” Tony mimicked Eddie's voice. “The statistical probability of you two having the identical Halo 3 bathrobe in one in eighteen thousand four hundred six point three dormitories; it is my near-irrefutable conclusion that it is the same bathrobe and you two are sleeping together.”
Some days laughter is better than sex and fun is better than fucking. Kissing, however, is appropriate almost any time. I kissed him once and once wasn't enough. After a second we dressed.
“You going to Mike's for Thanksgiving?” he asked me.
“I guess. You going to Vince's?”
“I guess. Maybe we can have a threesome with Racer.” His laugh was bitter.
Roy & Tony - an interesting journey of almosts and what happened's.
The dialogue and (non-) happenings is so captivating.
Are they the "Rodney Dangerfields" of the group?
Somehow, I can relate to them - perhaps a bit too closely.
The dialogue and (non-) happenings is so captivating.
Are they the "Rodney Dangerfields" of the group?
Somehow, I can relate to them - perhaps a bit too closely.
