Fauquier County Whatever

[Craiger]

Seems Racer and Latham need to sit a while and have some deep discussions. Why is it so hard to communicate with ones love? I hope Latham, like Buddy, decides that his is gay and that Racer is the one for him. But, only time will tell.

So, who is our new Mr. Brandon Eden? It will be interesting to see how he contributes to the "group." Thanks, Rory.

Craiger

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Sixteen - Gus


“I'm just not used to laying it all out there …” It's totally true; I'm not. “Ten years of being terrified of people finding out, five years of 'don't-ask, don't-tell', and five years of 'it's ok,' but it's really not ok, unless you're a lesbian … Oh, yeah, lesbians have it much better in the military. You kind of assume all the chicks are lezzies. Gay guys are still not well-accepted, no matter what the press says. I'm just not used to talking about it.”

“We talk about it because it's therapeutic. It let's us think about stuff out loud and these dudes won't hesitate to tell you how fucked up you are, if you are,” Mac explained. “And speaking for myself, I often am.”

“Mac, you're just obsessed with finding the perfect fuck,” Richard shot back.

“Well, this time I think I have. Except ...”

“See, Gus? There's always an except. Mac is never gonna be satisfied.”

“Except, Richard, my dear, this time I have found TWO perfect fucks and I can't decide which one is the keeper.”

“Well,” I coughed. “That's sort of like me.” I looked at Lonnie on my left and Donley on my right and wasn't sure how much or our story I should tell.

“Ok,” Buddy said. “We give Gus the two minute build up. Go!”

“You're very sexy,” Mac said, looking at me with a real innocence.

Lonnie didn't say anything but held up his hands way far apart and then pointed at my dick, nodding his head vigorously.

“I hope I look as good as you when I'm your age,” Richard added.

“Totally honest. You care about people,” Donley said.

“Did somebody mention sexy? It boils off you like steam,” Buddy said.

Lonnie held his hands farther apart. “Huge!”

“You don't care if I'm part black,” Mac said.

I interrupted him. “There was a black man I cared a lot about.”

“See? You're very accepting.”

“His dick was bigger than mine,” I laughed and then I remembered Mitchell vividly. “He ...” He loved me, was what I was about to say, but I couldn't get it out.

Alright, since Gus won't tell, I will,” Lonnie halted the two-minute session.

“All the gory details?” Donley asked, knowing Lonnie would tell all.

“When my case came to trial, I was scared shitless. Six weeks in the county holding tank wasn't so bad; but guys told stories about Petersburg that weren't nice at all. People go in for two year and never come out. It's like the Soviet gulag! My lawyer was a fucking idiot who got out of school about two minutes before he took my case. He fucked up the filing. I went back to the tank for a another week and then went to court again.”

“Did you have sex in the tank? What are you looking at? Every one of you wants to know,” Mac said looking around the table.

“Yes. But it was … furtive. Guys just wanted to get off and get away from you. Nobody talked about anything afterward. It happened and you shut up about it. So I can't give you any hot stories of action behind bars.”

“Sucking? Fucking?” Richard asked.

“Everything. It just depended. Are we done with that? Anyway, I went back to trial and the lawyer screwed it up again. The judge put an end to things and declared me guilty and sentenced me to time served, unless I wanted to appeal. So a half hour later I was out and on my way back to the apartment.”

“Wait. Time served? What's that?” Buddy asked.

“My sentence was the time I had already served in the tank. Eight weeks. No prison.”

“Awesome! I guess ...”

“Yeah, not so awesome actually. Anyway, quit interrupting … I called on Mrs. Lucketts to get a key ...”

“Did you know she's transsexual?” Buddy couldn't help himself. “That's what Latham said.”

“Duh! I thought everybody knew,” Lonnie said. “Can I finish my homecoming story? Ok, she said she didn't have a key, which was a lie I think, but she said I should ask Donley. You know, Donley, I can't get used to calling you that.”

“Now who's interrupting?” Richard inserted.

“Yeah. I was surprised and asked if he still lived there. BECAUSE HE NEVER VISITED ME IN JAIL. NOT ONCE! And she acted vague and said maybe I should ask upstairs. So I went to the apartment and went upstairs and knocked. 'Just a minute,' I hear and fifty-nine seconds later the door opens and this gorgeous man here ...” Lonnie nodded at me, “... is standing there in a towel, dripping wet. Is Donnie there, I ask, and at that moment Donnie … I mean Donley walks out of the bathroom naked and drying his hair. “Donley, you have a caller,' Gus says; and Donley frantically covers himself with the towel. The casual nudity and maybe the showering-together sort of clued me on the relationship. Plus Donley's dick wasn't totally soft.”

“What? OH! I see,” Mac said and made me wonder how well he was doing in college.

“Do you have to tell them all that?” I asked. It was the first time I had ever showered with another guy, just the two of us, I mean. I'd showered with hundreds of guys in the army, but we weren't playing with each others dicks.

“He doesn't have to, but it makes the story a lot better, don't you think?” I had to admit Buddy was right.

“I asked if he had a key to my old apartment and Donley explained who I was to Gus.
Gus shook hands too enthusiastically and his towel fell off. He didn't scramble to pick it up. He was pretty smooth about it, considering ...” He held his hands apart and mouthed the word huge. I felt my face burning again.

“Nudity in the Army is an every day thing,” I explained.

“So Donley says sure, I'll get it and he goes into the bedroom and I turn to Gus and ask, You and Donley are, uh … And Gus nods, 'He told me about you. In fact that's how we met. He thought I was the cop who arrested you. He tried to video tape us having sex to compromise the cop. But I wasn't the cop.' Gus shrugged and I said, Good because I bet you're a lot better at sex than the cop was. And Donley came back with the key and said, 'He's awesome at sex.' By this time Donley is wearing some jeans, but no underwear.”

“How did you know that?” Donley asked, truly mystified.

“Dude, I'm an expert at indecent exposure. Like Richard, here. I can tell he's wearing very tight briefs that he's probably wishing he wasn't wearing.”

“What brand?” Richard challenged.

“Alexander Christian,” I answered without hesitation. I had no idea, I just guessed.

“Yeah, Richard?” Buddy prodded. Richard reached into his jeans and pulled up a waistband that read 'exander Chri', which was proof enough. He grimaced.

“You're right. They are a little tight.” The table went quiet as Charlette brought another pitcher.

“Have any of y'all seen Latham?” she asked and seemed disappointed at our universal no. “He's late getting' back from Talladega and I'm a little late myself.”

“He said he'd be back for Halloween. We're all going to a party,” Buddy said. A quiet 'oh' was Charlette's answer.

“A little late?” Donley whispered. Now why he'd whisper that after practically calling out my dick size to the whole bar, I'll never know.

“He's not here to defend himself,” Richard said.

“When did that ever stop you from shredding somebody's rep?” Mac asked.

“Pick on Richard why don't you?” Richard replied.

“Ahem.” From Lonnie. “Meanwhile, Donley is walking around in just a pair of jeans hanging low on his waist. And he says to me, 'Did you go on a hunger strike in jail?' And gallant Gus says, 'I think he looks fine. Very Fine.' And he says it with this big smile.”

“I should learn to keep my mouth shut,” I said.

“Not. That another nice part of you,” Donley told me, with that serious look he gets.

Lonnie answered back, “The the food sucked and they had a workout area. I honestly didn't know what my weight was when I got out but my clothes were real loose. Turns out I lost almost twenty pounds.”

“Look good, doesn't he?” Donley asked the crowd who nodded.

“Back to the story. So then Donley asked me, 'You hungry, Lonnie? Or are you in a hurry? Cause we were about to have breakfast.' And Gus explained that he worked all night.”

“Just for a couple more weeks. I have a job lined up; the paperwork is taking a while.”

“His clearance,” Donley added. “He's gonna be a spy!”

“Donley!” Even I could here the alarm in my voice. “I'm NOT gonna be a spy. Just a security consultant!”

“Spy,” Donley repeated.

“What's there to spy on in Warrenton?” Mac asked. “Mrs. Luckett? And what's all this got to do with me having two boyfriends? ” He looked at Donley and Lonnie and said, “Oh … Oh, yeah ...”

“I love that slow-grinding brain of yours, Mac. Did you know the broker license exams are timed?”

“Bitch, there's a reason people don't like you!” Mac had had enough from Richard.

“He didn't mean it, Mac,” Buddy soothed.

“Everybody likes Buddy,” Mac sighed, looking at me.

“It's 'cause of Buddy's little dick. His has to make up for it somehow,” Richard sneered. Mac stood and grabbed Richard's shirtfront. I've seem some Army brawls in my time and I swear I thought one was about to erupt.

“Not worth it, Mac,” Buddy cautioned and the potential combatant released Richard.

“You're worth it, Buddy; he's not.” Mac sat.

“Yeah, well, to spare Gus the embarrassment of Lonnie describing the seduction scene, I'll be moseying …” Richard sensibly rose and left.

“Again! He didn't pay!” Mac exclaimed and made a what-the-fuck disgusted noise. “You got seduced, Lonnie?”

“Honey, nobody has had to seduce me in years. Donnie and I tried to seduce this handsome Sergeant Major sitting between us ... who resisted … just a little … not enough to discourage us, though. See, he's blushing … Isn't he cute?”

“We did NOT have a threesome,” I emphasized. I knew my face was red again. I could feel the heat of emotion. “I stayed for breakfast and then things got a little playful after my pants just sort of fell off. You know how that goes!” Lonnie said and got an understanding laugh from the table. “No, really, the pants did fall off, cause of the weight loss. I wasn't wearing my trick pants.” That got a bigger laugh.

“Trick pants?” Man, I couldn't keep up with these guys.

“Sweetie, the Army didn't explain it all; we have many things to teach you,” Donley told me. “Did you know ...” He pretended to whispered it, but his voice carried at least around the table if not into the next booth. “...that Lonnie likes two dicks at once?”

“So does Donley,” Lonnie whispered.

I thought civilian life would be boring after the Army. I really thought there was nothing more to learn in the world. I knew it all. And then Mac whispered, “Maybe you'll like two dicks, Gus.” I gasped. Immediately Mac backed off. “I shouldn't have said that. I apologize, Gus. I got carried away. Don't want to ruin anything.”

“Mac, we'll let you know if he does. He may not want a threesome, but we're still working on a two and a halfsome.” Lonnie and Donley had sealed a pact. And I didn't really mind that they were talking about me. I've been in orgies, but they were just twosomes in bunches. I've never done a threesome or a two and a halfsome, whatever that is – and I wasn't gonna ask.
“You have to admit Lonnie's weight loss makes him much more appealing,” Donley teased.

“How would I know? I never saw him before.” I looked at Lonnie and tried mentally adding twenty pounds. I got no result.

“Kinda pudgy,” Mac said and got a few censorious looks. “What? We're telling the truth here, aren't we?”

“Not the whole truth, not unless it's about ourselves,” Buddy smiled. “You know, like my small dick ...”

“It's NOT THAT SMALL,” Mac, Lonnie, and Donley answered together.

I liked Buddy. He's one of those guys you just like instantly. I got the feeling his size wouldn't matter at all. A little bit I envied his husband.

“I have an early shift tomorrow,” Donley said, looking at me. “Coming?”

“I can take you home, if you want another beer,” Lonnie said. His offer so obviously included more than a beer and a ride that everybody laugh. He sang an old song, “One way or another, I'm gonna gitcha, gitcha, gitcha ...”

“No, you're not.” I tried to sound like a court order, but I'm not sure I did. He has a nice body and I do like a man with a few years experience. I was going to need to sort out what I felt about Donley. Fast, I'm guessing.

 

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
Thanks for the perspective from Gus' standpoint - and the banter around the table.

Always enjoyable.

 

[Craiger]

Lonnie was lucky in two ways, time served and loss of weight. I'm surprised Richard couldn't stand the heat and left. Not like him. Fun chapter, Rory, thanks.

Craiger

 

[Kyanimal]

And, I'm eagerly looking forward to MORE, Please!

 

[EasyRory]

"Very interesting" ... wasn't that always followed by "but schtupid!"

 

[Kyanimal]

I purposefully searched for a version that didn't include that last part, because that doesn't apply here.

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Seventeen - Euie


“I'm amazed to see Racer and Latham at the party. I've never seen them together before. Just one or the other at a time,” I told George Brightwater.

“I used to have a thing for Racer,” George mused. “But they're better together than anybody Racer's ever been with.”

“Really? Racer gets around? I thought ...”

“Dude! Look at him! What do you think?”

“Richard said he used to have better body. Like he's getting old.”

“Richard is jealous of anybody who is that good looking, that nice a person, that rich ...”

“Whoa … I'm just sayin' … It sounds like you had more than just a 'thing' for him, George.”

“I think everybody Racer has ever met is a little bit in love with him. Including God-damned Richard.” George composed himself and put a smile back on his face. “I like your costume.” He stared pointedly and directly at my jockstrap before going for another drink.

It was the Bunnies idea, of course, working Buddy and Tommy Lynn's Halloween party wearing devil costumes. Cary was the big devil, wearing a black cape and a black body stocking with red grease paint on his face and big horns. Horns that looked amazingly real coming out of his forehead. The Bunnies and I were wearing orange tights with red jock straps over them and nothing else but red grease paint and small horns. It pisses me off to admit that I got turned on watching the Buddies put the greasepaint on each other. Slow strokes, spreading it around. Special attention to the nipples. Special attention to the neck. Sliding the tights down to paint half their asses. Cary put the grease on me with an efficiency that killed my erection. He couldn't have cared less how I looked. He was watching Spencer, this dude from Washington with a New York accent hired to be bartender. Spencer was conventionally dressed, wearing black pants and a black t-shirt printed to look like a tuxedo. Never get the bartender looking so odd that people won't trust the quality of the drinks, Spencer said when the Bunnies tried to get him into some orange tights. I think Cary is fucking Spencer. In any case he isn't fucking me.

“Euie,” he said when I got to his place, “I'm going to be so busy this weekend … You're welcome to stay of course, but there's so much to do. I'm afraid I won't have much time for ...” At which point Spencer came out of a spare bedroom acting like he was just waking up … at two in the afternoon.

So I'm staying at my parent's house, which delights them, of course. Even my father, who used to seem distant, was asking me questions. Too many questions. Having to do with girls. Hope dies hard I guess. “Daddy, I'm gay,” I reminded him. He thinks being gay is a phase that leads ultimately to a more artistic type of straight person. He cannot conceive of any kind of permanency. Which is endearing, really. He doesn't hate me or anything; he just envisions a different future for me than I do. Which is a long way of saying that I like him. For one thing his jokes are a lot funnier than they used to be and I was surprised to discover he's got a little bit of a dirty mind. Momma's a realist. She worries that I'll get sick. I don't try to push things too far, though. I didn't put my costume on at home; I changed at Tommy Lynn's house in the garage. The Bunnies were impressed with everything and spent a while checking out the cars, the pool outside, the poolhouse, and the offices.

“Lots of places to explore,” Bunny One noted with an appropriately devilish grin. Bunny Two nodded in some kind of unstated agreement.

I have to admit the Bunnies were a little wary of Spencer, something I didn't understand. They seemed disappointed at not getting much of a look at him. He arrived to work the party wearing his black pants, all he changed was his shirt. The rest of us put our costumes on from the skin out. Ok, yeah, I looked. The Bunnies are hot. It was hard to find a fault with either one. And there's nothing they won't do, except kiss you. If you were looking for a trick, you wouldn't pass them bye. Cary is Cary. He's nice but his appeal is more his personality than his looks and I wasn't seeing much of his personality lately. Spencer took his shirt off and exposed a nice chest. I tried not to stare, but it looked like he shaves his chest hair – not off, but to an even length. I wanted to look more, but I forced myself not to. Spencer glanced around at us with a smile that said I know you're lookin', go ahead, look. He knew he was hot.

Once we were dressed we huddled. Spencer almost gave us orders. “Here's the drinks I can make fastest. Recommend them. I don't want to be spending ten minutes looking for the makings of a Long Island Iced Tea. We have OTHER things to do.”

“Territorially, what's off limits?” Bunny One asked.

“Upstairs. Anything on this level goes,” Cary said. I had no idea what he was talking about.

“No serving drinks upstairs?” I asked.

“Or anything else,” Bunny Two laughed. “Dude,” he said to Spencer, “Are you sure this look works for you?”

“Betcha I book more than you,” Spencer shot back.

“Ok, Euie, you start at the front door. Welcome them. Take a coat, if they're wearing one. And ask for a drink order.”

“A coat? In this weather?” A wasted question. I went to the front door and waited. Buddy waited with me. He smiled at my costume but said nothing about it. The bell rang before we had a chance to talk. It did more than ring, it played something peppy and long.

“UVA,” Buddy explained. “The Cavalier Song.” He opened the door to the oldest man I had ever seen. He was wearing a coat.

“May I take your coat, sir?”

“Could I just hang it on your dick?” He stared at my red jockstrap and roared laughing at his joke. “And I haven't had a thing to drink ...” More laughing and coughing. “YET!!” I took his coat and asked for his drink order. He said he'd go with my recommendation and laughed again when I said a lot of bourbon. I turned to go and felt a slight pinch on my ass. I turned to check and got a grin and a wink. “No ice,” he prompted. Buddy rolled his eyes in sympathy and then led the dirty old man to greet Tommy Lynn.

“Lotta bourbon, a little ice,” I told Spencer. “That old guy pinched my ass!” I pointed him out.

“Yeah? I've already had two offers for blow jobs. I guess I'm gonna be busy on my break.” Spencer laughed like it happened every day.

“See if he's good for business,” Cary added. “The Bunnies have already lined up two gigs for Thanksgiving week.”

“That's what we're supposed to be doing?” I questioned, which got me looks from Spencer and Cary. I took the glass of bourbon and went to deliver it to my dirty old man.
“Where'd he go?” I asked Buddy who pointed toward the library. I went in carrying his drink on a silver tray. He was sitting in a chair looking out the window at the last of the sunset.

“It's very pretty here. I told Tommy Lynn he was crazy to build on the west side of the hill, but maybe he was right. Sunset is more useful than dawn at my time of life.” I held out the tray; he took the drink and tasted it without any acknowledgment of its potency.

“May I get you anything else, sir?” He looked up and stared at me.

“Were you blond when you were a little boy?”

“My hair was lighter then, but more red than blond.”

“In the sun it shows glints of gold. Very attractive.” He smiled genially. “As is the rest of you.” He said that as a simple comment; there was no lechery in his tone, no leering at my jock. He sipped and savored his bourbon.

“If that will be all ...”

“In about ten minutes could you please bring me another?” He waved his half-full glass in the air.

“That's Reggie Tarbell,” Tommy Lynn said when I left the library. “He was my first customer after I left the Burke and Herbert Bank. He likes you.”

“How can you tell?”

“He's not yelling at you.” Tommy Lynn coughed politely to change the subject. “I didn't know you would be working as a waiter.”

“I'm helping out Cary. He's trying to work into the theatrical booking business.”

“Is that what you call it?” Tommy Lynn asked with a laugh. “Be careful, Euie. You have more to lose than he does.”

I returned to the bar after getting a request from another guest. “Two dirty martinis, straight up, two olives each, please,” I relayed to Spencer.

“You don't have to say please. I work here.” Spencer sounded annoyed.

“So do I,” I answered not understanding his brusqueness.

“Sorry. Not your fault.” He busied himself making the drinks. “I'm just running out of self-respect at the moment.” And with a sigh he shook the cocktails briefly. “If you chill the glasses first, it helps ice the drink,” he said mostly to himself.

I went to deliver the drinks and saw Cary. “Spencer needs some cheering up,” I advised.

“He's pissed 'cause that old dude with the wizard hat wants to fuck him.” Cary nodded in the direction of the guy in the wizard hat. “I told him yeah, but it's worth a Christmas dinner party in DC. What, Euie? It's big tips. He's a lobbyist or something. When did you get to feeling all special?”

I returned to the bar and got Mr. Tarbell's second bourbon on the rocks. He wasn't in the library. “I think he's walking around out by the pool,” Buddy said. I carried the tray, which was getting heavier by the minute carefully through the hall to the pool house where I got a surprise. It looked like Bunny Two was getting railed by Mr. Tarbell. He signaled me to get the hell out and I withdrew instantly. I found Mr. Tarbell relaxing on a lounge on the pool deck alone with an empty glass.

“Do you know the scandalous behavior that goes on in that pool house?” he asked with mock alarm.

“I do now. I thought it was you in there.” He laughed and shook his head.

“I don't get up to much of that any more. Most excellent bourbon is my limit.” He sipped the new drink. “Do you know what the most excellent bourbon is?” I hesitated, thinking of brand names I had heard of. “Not don't be shocked! I'm not proposing anything.” He watched me with a merry look. “The most excellent bourbon is what you lick off the end of a dick that's been dipped in your drink.” He gave no indication that he expected me to provide the dick. “Are you shocked?” he asked.

“No, but my only experience has been with olive oil. Not bourbon.”

He burst out laughing and then got a fit of coughing, which he soothed with the merely semi-excellent bourbon from his glass, and then laughed some more.

“The possibilities with olive oil almost exhaust the imagination,” he laughed.

“They sure exhausted me,” I smiled back.

“I'm Regis Tarbell,” he offered. “People call me Reggie.”

“I'm pleased to meet you, sir. My name is Eustis.”

“Eustis what?”

“Servants don't have last names, sir,” I tried to look dignified in my ridiculous costume. He just waited. “Fortney. Eustis Fortney.”

“Well, Eustis Fortney, I am trying desperately to think up some reason to see you again.”

“You could ask Tommy Lynn to walk you through your account. I work here in the day time too.”

“My account is very straight forward and there's not much to walk through any more.”

“Umm … you could give a party and hire us all?”

“Can't afford that any more.”

“I could cut your grass?”

“The tenant farmer has goats that do that.”

“What could I do?” I was actually trying hard to think up something.

“You could turn this drink into a most excellent bourbon ...” Mr Tarbell said slyly.

It was impulsive and probably a mistake, letting him lick my dick; but what the hell, you know? I pulled the jock down and then the tights and let him dip my dick in his drink. He was almost shy about licking me, but he overcame that and went to town. I was starting to get a chub when he pulled back. I covered up and grinned; I don't know why I felt so pleased with myself, but I did.

“You never want to gulp a fine vintage,” he explained. “And you are a most excellent one. Now go before I get sentimental,” he ordered.

I went … back to the bar. “Anything?” Spencer asked waking me up.

“Uh, no … let me go solicit something.” I returned promptly. “Scotch and milk, and put these pills into it.”

“Pills, huh? That's the old dude who wanted to fuck me. Zero endurance. Went limp and gave up trying. Maybe the pills do more for him than I did.”

“Euie, what did you get out of that old guy?” Cary asked, as he watched the guests leave.

“Nothing. I asked if he'd like to hire us and he said he couldn't afford it.”

“Then why did you spend so much time with him? I thought you were falling in love or something.” Cary sounded impatient.

Richard always accused me of falling in love. He said I need love more than air. But what does Richard know, his own life being a series of sordid compromises? Mr. Tarbell sucked my dick reverently and with dignity, as stupid as that sounds. He respected me. Ok, he took advantage, but only a little. I didn't HAVE to do anything; it was pretty much my idea. Ok, it wasn't, but still. It was sweet and I felt good about it. Almost like helping an old lady across the street. He's a very nice man. And I did not feel like turning it into some transaction to benefit Cary.

“The Bunnies got three gigs each,” Cary announced triumphantly.

“Two will fall through tomorrow and one will be a lot smaller than promised,” Spencer predicted. “It's so fuckin' sleazy, Rabbit.”

“When you can afford to avoid the sleaze, let me know. Until then, earn your pay.” Suddenly I didn't like Cary much any more. “You comin' home with me tonight, Euie.”

“Wow. Uh … Sorry, I really need to be back at school super-early in the morning.”

Tommy Lynn's comment came back to me. There's a vanishingly fine line between booking talent and pimping.

 

[Craiger]

Good for Euie. He's learning and taking some good advise from Tommy Lynn. The best way to enjoy a party is to be a guest not a trick. Sounds like Cary has worn a bit thin and Euie can be his own man. Interesting lessons in this chapter, thanks Rory.

Craiger

 

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
A very interesting and educational chapter, indeed.

UVA, eh? I've never been but I have attended one of their MOOC's a few years ago.

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Eighteen - Latham


“He doesn't love me, Buddy,” I told him heatedly

“He does … in his way, Latham.”

“But HIS way is not MY way. He'll do anything that asshole wants and NOTHING I want. And I'm not asking for much.”

Ok, That was sounding pathetic again and I'm not pathetic. I'm majorly pissed off and a little bit broken-hearted, maybe a lot broken hearted, but I'm not going to admit that to Buddy, who is probably the most understanding guy I know, which is why I'm telling him at all. The dude who doesn't love me is, of course, Racer. It's not fair that he lead me on, and then essentially said fuck off, I'm back with B. J. Except he didn't say fuck off; he'd never say that. The truth is he said he loves me; he's just not IN love with me, which, when you're the victim, might as well be fuck off.

“Maybe if you tried sex with somebody else, Lath ...”

“Dude, I've been bangin' Charlette, pretty regularly, but she just doesn't do it for me.”

“If you tried a guy maybe?”

“I don't know any guys who would have sex with me.”

“I'd guess you know at least a half-dozen who would be here in fifteen minutes if they thought they had a chance ...” Buddy pointed to the empty seats at the table.

“Yeah, but I don't want to have sex with THEM. Not that there's anything wrong with them … Ok, there IS something wrong with Richard, but you know what I mean. Racer says I'm not even gay.”

“Is he right?”

“I want to get fucked by him every night of my life. I'm happy and about to cum if he just touches me. Does that sound like I'm not gay? And that son of a bitch ...”

“What's his name? B.J.?”

“That son-of-a-bitch treats him like shit! And he just takes it. Nobody else in the world treats him like that, and he just takes it from B. J.”

“George Brightwater is the B.J. Expert, if you want the complete story. He knew Racer the whole time he was with B. J. I think.”

“Racer says he's in love with him. Me, no … he says he loves me but he's not “in” love with me. He loves me like a son or a brother or something.” I think I'm sounding pathetic again.

“Maybe that's why he was so reluctant to let … to encourage you, I guess ...”

“You're trying to say he warned me. Big deal, he also made love to me, a lot, and made me believe ...” Shit, I had to stop talking. I was about to cry. I signaled Charleen for another round.

“You're getting to like this stuff?” she asked, looking at my empty Sam Adams bottle as if it was a used condom.

“Yes. Two more when you have a chance, please.”

Charleen took a deep breath. “I wish you were as nice to Charlette as you are to me, Latham Carsten. You hear me?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“She's home crying her eyes out for you. You know that?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Are you gonna do right by my daughter?”

“What would 'do right' be?”

“Marry her, of course. She's pregnant!”

“It's not mine.” I ducked just in time as she swung at me and wound up to swing again.

“I told her all 'em West Virginia boys was worthless! Full britches and empty heads! Go on ...GIT, you white trash!” she called as we left.

“Well, I guess we don't drink there any more,” Buddy commented calmly. We hastened farther into the parking lot, although there were no signs of pursuit by Charleen.

“It's not mine,” I repeated to Buddy.

“You're from West Virginia? Really?”

“Did you hear me? It's not mine.”

“I believe you. But how do you know for sure?”

“Because I've been fuckin' her for only about three weeks. She wouldn't know yet if it was mine. Plus I used a rubber.”

“A DNA test is what you need.”

“Where do I get one of those?”

“Can't be just you. Have to test the baby, too, and see if you match.”

We drove in our own trucks and met up again at the Frost Diner which is open 24/7. The pancakes were usually pretty good if the night chef was sober.

“Exciting times!” Buddy said. “The last time I was run out of a place, there were cops, I had a fake ID, and thought I'd end up in jail for sure!” Buddy was enjoying himself.

“Last time in Talledega, this old place out on the highway burned down and they tried to blame some of us drivers for torchin' it over some bad meat. For a town that's dependent on the track, they sure treat the drivers like shit.” I laughed at the memory. “Racer had to bail me out!” I laughed again. “He was pissed … middle of the night! Treated me like I was some miscreant high school kid.”

“Miscreant … comin' from a West-by-God-Virginia boy's mouth. And I bet you can spell it right, too.”

“M-i-s-c … Wait. You just kidding me, right?”

“Well at least you're laughing again. Blueberry or maple?” Buddy asked holding out the two syrups.

“I gotta say West Virginia maple syrup's about as good as I've ever had.”

“It's colder in y'all's mountains than ours; I think that's the secret to good maple. Uh … don't look, but that dude in the dark red plaid shirt is checking you out.” Buddy's eyes told me where to look.

“Martin? That you, boy?” I called over to him. He came to our table calling my name all the way. “Sit down, boy! Where've you been all these years?”

“I could ask the same,” Martin answered. “Latham Carsten, you're a sight for sore eyes!”

“Martin Turner, this here is Buddy Lynn. Buddy, this is my old friend Martin from Martinsburg.”

“Nobody in Martinsburg will admit that without threats,” Martin chuckled. “And that's why I live in Tennessee.”

“Really? Bristol or some place close by?” I was really happy to see old Martin. Course he wasn't old, he was my age. I knew him since we were born pretty much.

“I'm listenin' to you two and I can hear it. The West Virginia is comin' out!” Buddy said good-naturedly.

“We'll try not to drool through the gaps in our teeth,” Martin answered and flashed a perfect smile.

“Tennessee, huh? What's that about?” I followed up.

“Well, I had to go somewhere. I was tired of getting' beat up all the time. West Virginia is not all that tolerant of gays, you know,” he said.

“You're gay?” I had no idea.

“Dude, I sucked your dick. Remember?”

“Yeah, but … we were just …”

“You weren't. I was.”

“I'm gay. Maybe,” I told him.

“There is currently some debate about that,” Buddy mentioned.

“My lover says I'm not gay,” I admitted to mystified Martin.

“Your LOVER!!!! Dude, have we got a lot of catchin' up to do!!!”

“And I got to get home to my husband,” Buddy told us, leaving some money on the table.

Martin said he had a bottle in his motel room. “It's a fleabag motel, walking distance from here,” he said. “Nice truck,” he said as we drove to his motel. “Awesome seeing you,” he said as we sipped our first drink. “Man, does my head hurt,” he said when we woke in the morning at the sound of a big diesel starting up.

No sex, all talk and drinking. That's how the night went. There was just that one, never repeated blowjob in our ancient history. The rest was talking about guys I knew that he had sex with. “Drew Andrews!!!! NO!!!!” and the a confirming “YES!!!!” from Martin. “Todd Hinckley????” from Martin. “YES!!!” from me. I tild him about Todd and Racer and he told me about a couple guys who treated him well and alluded to other guys who didn't. We laughed; we wished we had some weed; and we fell asleep when the bottle was empty.

I had nothing to do in the morning so I said I'd show him Washington. “Let me get changed,” I said after another breakfast at Frost's. We went to my apartment – I guess I should call it Racer's apartment. I introduced him to Racer and B. J. and changed as quickly as I could. I tried to ignore the fact B. J. had obviously spent the night. Again.

“Wow. Awesome roommates,” Martin said as we drove northeast.

“Made for each other, huh?” I acknowledged.

“Sure seems that way. Those two are IN LOVE! Where was your lover? The one who thinks you're straight?” he asked.

“The dark haired one. Racer.”

“Oh … dude … forget I said anything,” Martin apologized.

“Marty, why are you here in a cheap hotel? I meant to ask last night.”

“Cheap motel? That's easy. No money. Here? Not so easy, but life has to begin somewhere. I thought maybe DC might be the place.”

“A lot of people think that. Sometimes it works. Other times ...”

“You gotta take chances, Lath. God damn, it's good to see you!” He slapped my thigh. It wasn't sexy, just friendly. “Now tell me more about you 'maybe' being gay. That sounds like a two hour story at least.”

“Which is about how long it will take to dive into DC at this time of day. You sure you want to know?”

Course I do. And DON'T leave out the sex parts.”

He smiled his old smile at me. I relaxed and smiled back warmed by some pretty good memories. Martin was one of the highlights of my time in West Virginia. I told him everything. “So am I gay or not?” I ended up asking.

“I'd have to fuck you to find out.” At first I thought he was serious. Then we laughed so loud people in the next car stared at us. I warned him about Washington's 'special' sense of humor.

"They don't laugh out loud much here. It's all smirky and stuff."

 

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
That was quite a chapter - and the eventual shift. Damn, I feel for Latham re: Rory and BJ.
But what's on offer in the here and now from the blast in the past?

 

[Kyanimal]

Damn! Racer let B.J. back?

I suppose the Heart wants what it wants, Brain not engaged.

Maybe that is a good thing for Latham. Sounds like he's regained a connection with Martin.

 

[Craiger]

Martin sounds fun and obviously is a good lift for Latham. It's a little hard to understand what's up with Racer. After all the crap that B.J. put him through, it boggles the mind to think he would take him back. I guess love has no conscience. No smarts as well at times. Maybe Buddy's advise will come to past with Martin..... Thanks, Rory.

Craiger

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Nineteen - Brandon


Just a random group of guys having a beer or two, that's all they were,
I thought. What set them apart was it looked like they were having more fun than anybody else in the place and that was a real leg up, since it wasn't much of a place.

One redneck bar is pretty much like any other redneck bar, I guess. Dim lights. Everything is kind of sticky, like they never heard of a clean cloth to wipe the tables down. The whole place smells like spilled beer and cigarettes even though nobody is allowed to smoke. And the music is designed to make you want to get drunk. Even if you sat down in a good mood pretty soon you're either depressed or ready to get in a fight or both. And the girls, if you can call them that, the waitresses are just close enough to being good looking that a couple of drinks will make you believe they're knockouts. A little sway in the walk becomes a fuck-me invite. A ton of makeup becomes subtle beauty. And all of a sudden your dick aches and you want to get cozy with somebody. Then, of course, when you actually GET cozy with somebody, a twisted version of reality makes sex a chore. Yeah, yeah, I know, guys aren't supposed to agonize over this shit; but for me anyway doing it is easy enough, enjoying it takes a combination of booze and a willingness to compromise.

I have standards, right? Which are a waste of time because every girl is a compromise and I've gotten used to compromising. Like two weeks ago, I woke up with this chick who looked like an ad for a punching bag. In natural light, she was a mass of bruises which the scattered neon lights of the bar transformed into dramatic shadowing, chiaroscuro in a wash of slowly changing tones, all of them lurid. She seemed so hot. The thing was I knew she'd be a disappointment before we even left the bar. I knew she was a lot older than I was pretending she was. I knew taut and tight would not describe any portion of her anatomy. Worse, I couldn't say no.

All you have to do to own me is lightly touch my dick. It doesn't matter how light and casual the touch is. The tiniest pressure is all it takes. Somehow she knew that. The touch was feathery light, instantly producing that ache that has only one cure. In the morning light, I came to my senses. I figured she'd claim I beat her up, and with all those weird bruises the cops would believe her. So of course I lent her the money. It wasn't that much. Two hundred and fifty until payday, she said; I told her I didn't have it and she settled for a hundred less. I guess pretending it was a loan let us both have a little self-respect. She managed a genuine smile and said I was a wonderful, caring man. I told her I had fun being with her. Both were lies, but telling them wasn't too degrading for either of us.

I've always thought the worst part is afterward, in the shower. You wash your dick and then wonder should I wash it again? So you soap up and wash it again and then you wonder if twice was really enough and wish you had some potassium permanganate to pour on and maybe drink, too. The feeling of sleaze goes away eventually and a couple nights later, I'm back at the bar hoping some sweet chick touches my dick. And then the compromises start. Sweet becomes cheerful becomes not-pissed-off becomes alive and breathing.

I asked my old uncle once if it's easier at his age. He said no and the regrets are worse. Not a lot of encouragement from those words.

So there, across the barroom, sits that table of dudes who don't seem too worried about anything. Somehow they stand out a little in the crowd and I'm not sure why. Ok, Buddy is very good looking, anybody would admit that; but the rest of them are just genial looking. Now and then I can hear laughter but they keep their voices low and talk leaning in a little, like they were conspiring. Not at all like the guys I'm with, who are pretty loud, louder than they need to be, and lean back in their chairs with spread legs like they're gonna fall over if they're not careful. It's happened before, the falling over, but that's usually after more drinks.

“What ya lookin' at, Brandon? Them gay boys?”

“Gay? They're gay?”

“I'd say so,” Eddie drawled slowly and loudly. “Specially that skinny one with the tight jeans.”

“How can you tell they're tight? He's sitting down.”

Eddie groped for an answer and then said, “He seems all squeezed in. Look at his face.”

I couldn't tell a thing from the dude's face but pretty soon he got up and his jeans were pretty tight. “See. I told you so,” Eddie comented. Who was I to argue? Eddie was a cop trained to notice things that other people miss.

“You really think they're all gay?”

“Take your dick out and watch 'em line up.” As he said that I noticed Eddie reach down and for a second I thought he was gonna pull his own dick out. It was a relief when all he did was adjust himself.

“So who's up for getting' laid tonight?” Duncan asked, rhetorically I'd say, because there was some doubt Duncan had ever been laid. His pursuit of prospects was always regular and persistent though. If it was me, I'd just give up I think.

“Duncan, who you kiddin'? You still have the same rubber in your wallet that your daddy gave when you was fifteen. That thing's gotta be YEARS past its use-by date.” Philip joked with some assurance; if anybody at the table was getting anything regular, it was probably Philip. Regular didn't mean good, mind; it just meant regular, something like weekly I'd say, because he always went over to his ex-wife's place for Sunday dinner to see his kid and she missed him sometimes.

Duncan pulled out his wallet and flashed a Trojan Magnum XL. “Brand new,” he announced.

“XL!!! Who are you kiddin? That thing would fall right off you.” Eddie said.

“Now just how would you know, Eddie?” Duncan said in an accusing tone that shut Eddie right up. “As a matter of fact, I'm goin' over to the Recovery Room and find myself somebody, a nurse maybe. They're always hot. Anybody want to come?” Eddie agreed he would go to the bar over near the hospital in Manassas and they left together.

“You know, Brandon,” Philip sighed and laughed, “they're more likely end up jackin' it in the truck than getting' laid. How you doing for yourself?”

I knew what he was asking about my sex life. I shrugged and told him the truth, “Payin' for it when I can afford to.”

“That's the best way. Trust me. And it's the cheapest way, too. Night.” Philip finished his glass and left me sitting alone with half a glass of beer to go unless I ordered more.

My friends weren't really bad dudes, but nothing too exciting was going on in any of our lives. We were getting by. Duncan probably had the best job working as lead mechanic at a Toyota dealership. He'd probably be service manager in a couple of years. Philip was a route salesman for a food company that sold to truck stops and gas stations. He got good commissions but that was it. No prospects for advancement and no retirement plan; just keep on working 'til the day you die he says. Which was a lot like my job. I told myself I was a landscape architect based on a pretty certificate I got from Lord Fairfax Community College; truth is I'm a laborer at a landscape company. I don't design anything, but the pay's ok and I go home tired every day. Plus I am learning a lot of practical stuff about what makes genuine sense to grow in the heavy clay of northwestern Virginia.

Eddie was the mystery. He was a cop and you'd think he had a pretty good deal with the city and I heard it was easy to move over to the county sheriff's department if you wanted to and then the Virginia Patrol. At the state level was the real good money. He could do it. Probably. The odd thing was cops usually hang with other cops and Eddie always hung with us. Once I heard Philip ask him if he was ever going beyond “meter maid” but I never heard his answer.

There was more laughter from Buddy's table. Maybe I should go join them. He invited me last time and I really wouldn't mind one more beer. Should I? What about that gay thing? I couldn't believe it. They all looked totally straight except maybe the skinny guy. Maybe Eddie was right about him. I sipped my beer and watched three of them get up and leave and that included the skinny guy. It was just Buddy and one other left and they had a half pitcher sitting in front of them. What the hell, I thought.

“Hey, Buddy, mind if I join y'all.” He said sure so I sat down. I could tell he didn't remember my name. “I'm Brandon Eden,” I said to the other guy.

“Lionel Sutphin, call me Lonnie,” he replied and we fist-bumped.

“Lionel? I never knew you were Lionel,” Buddy said. I think he was relieved he didn't have to ask me my name. Lonnie shrugged and smiled. “It's good to see you again, Brandon,” Buddy said to me. “You want to help finish this beer?”

“You know, I wouldn't mind a top up,” I said pretending my glass wasn't almost empty. I poured but didn't quite fill it up. It seemed like the polite way to do it.

“Hard day at work?” Lonnie asked me.

“They're all hard, or all easy; I'm not sure. You?”

“I'm lookin'.”

“Pretty good times. That shouldn't be too hard. What are you good at?”

“Suckin' cock?” Lonnie replied and looked at Buddy.

“Don't look at me!” Buddy answered with a laugh. “I'll take your word for it.”

“Uh … any other skills?” My face felt hot; I think I was blushing. Maybe they are all gay.

“Sorry, I'm joking. Sort of … I have a special problem. I just got out of jail.”

“Ok, that's not so ...”

“It gets worse. My crime was indecent exposure and soliciting sex. I'm a registered sex offender.”

“Well … That's … a lot to deal with ...” He was about to interrupt me. “But,” I continued, “my company has employed ex-cons before. Maybe not with your background exactly. More like small time theft and stuff. But I could ask. No harm in asking, right?”

“Before I kiss you and say yes, could I ask what it is you do?” I'm ninety percent sure Lonnie was kidding about the kiss.

“Landscaping. A lot of manual labor. Start at twelve dollars an hour.”

“Yes!” Lonnie said, before I even got to the pay part. “I'm desperate. And I don't know how to repay you. And, based on the look you gave me, I won't kiss you.” Instead he took my hand and pressed it with both of his in gratitude.

“Lonnie, I didn't know you were that worried. Tommy and I could have helped you out.”

“How to lose a friend: ask him for money.”

Buddy smiled and drained his beer. He was getting ready to leave. Lonnie didn't have a phone, so we promised to meet tomorrow night at the same bar about the job. We went outside and Lonnie headed off walking while Buddy and I headed toward the parking lot.

“That was really good of you to offer to help Lonnie. I don't know him too well, but everything I do know says he's a good honest worker.” Buddy pressed my hand and didn't let go right away. “You mind if I come tomorrow night, too? Maybe I will have something to add to the deal.” He was still holding my hand.

“Sure. That suits me.”

He dropped my hand and walked toward a big black SUV while I got into my old Toyota that Philip had got me a deal on. Wow … I'm guessing Lonnie might actually be gay. But, Buddy, no. I mean come on – he's married to somebody? Tammy was it?

I got to my place and suddenly felt a bit of a buzz. Good I wasn't stopped driving home, I thought. Took a quick shower and put on some fresh boxers. Bed always felt good on work days. I lay back, closed my eyes and the whole night in the bar replayed in my head. Fuck! I'll never get to sleep, I thought. Might as well jack off; that usually works.

I slipped off my boxers and felt the coolness of the sheet against my body. In the dim light from the window all I could see was contours. I ran a hand over my chest and realized I was more muscular than I used to be; landscaping work was good for more than plants. The light dusting of hair was interrupted by the nub of a nipple. That was a surprise. I thought my nipples were barely visible, now I'm feeling a soft circle and a nub. Whoa! A nub that reacts! Puckers and stands up, like a small version of a chick's. Another little pinch was echoed with a prickly feeling in my dick. Little Brandon was wanting some attention, starting to push up against the weight of the sheet. Yeah!

I like my dick. Some guys want more, you know, thicker, longer, harder, whatever. Mine was ok. It looked maybe a little small when it was soft but it grew nicely. I don't know a whole lot about what other guys are like, real guys, I mean, not porn freaks; but I'd say my dick measures up. With my fist around it, there's still a good bit showing. I kind of wish I wasn't circumcised; I bet stroking is more fun with all that skin sliding around. But like I said, I'm happy with what I've got. Like now, just after stroking a little, I feel a drop of dew on the tip. Slick and slippery, fun to spread around, get things moving. Not enough tonight. I spit in my hand and resumed. Ahhh! Better … One hand strokin' and the other on my balls. That's the way I liked it. I used to like all cock action, but lately my balls are adding to the pleasure. I can feel them tightening, the sack getting all wrinkly. Tug on 'em a little. Mmm … I don't want to go too fast … don't want to come yet … slow strokes … more spit ... nice … pump my hips … force my cock into my fist ...out again … mmm … getting close … try to picture that last chick lying under me … bad image … all I could see was her checking her wrist watch … something else …

Wham! The image came unbidden. In my vision, there were Buddy's eyes looking right into mine! I felt the touch of his hand on me. FUCK! I'M CUMMING!

 

[DonQuixote]

And another one bites the dust - or will, soon enough.

Fun chapter, Rory. Self-realization in all its glory and angst - to come...

 

[Craiger]

Conversion for sure. All it takes is a friendly smile and the touch of a hand. Thanks, Rory.

Craiger

 

[Autolycus]

Another great chapter, and written so well that the story leaps from the screen. As for the penultimate paragraph - it has far more than a ring of reality for many of us I reckon!

Well done Rory and thanks for continuing to share your story with us

 

[Kyanimal]

What a fantastic different perspective. A view from "the other side", so to speak.

I'd have to venture this might be one of the best written chapters you've let trickle from your fingertips!

And, speaking of finger tips, and trickling, well ...

MORE, Please!

Thank You!
Chaz

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Twenty – Richard


Horny is a busted word. Totally wrong. Horny does not begin to describe the condition. There isn't a hint of the vast emptiness, the deep ache, the compulsion for sex. And I should know. Since Buddy got married to MY fiance, pickings have been slim. Slim would be great, actually. One or two would be great, actually, skinny or not. I have not been having sex. That's the long and the short of it. No sex.

Except for that one time, in the men's room of a shopping center, for God's sake, which was actually worse than no sex. Do not act from desperation, I told myself. The guy is a troll. Twice my age. Out of shape. Sleazy circumstances. The whole place smelled of garbage in dumpsters that hadn't been emptied in weeks. The anchor store of the strip mall was a Dollar Store! I should have known better. Married, I suppose, based on his driving a Subaru wagon, which looks cavernous in the ads but is not big enough to lie down in. This became obvious only after I got my clothes off. He spent about fifteen seconds sucking me and then rolled me over and did it. I was supposed to be the top, he promised. He lied and was much stronger than he looked. Bent me like a pretzel and fucked me with that short fat dick of his. He came, at least I think he did, really fast, before I even got to liking it, and then said get dressed, I'm late getting home and would I like to meet again next week?

Fuck no, Jose!!! Since then it's been Mickey Mouse Club reruns. MAS. TUR. BA-TION. It almost scans if you sing the BA part fast. I hate jacking off. But I do it. It's that or explode. Honestly, I've never heard of balls actually exploding; but, damn, you know the feeling. And I know the feeling. Like right NOW! And I got no prospects. Zero. Unless you count George Brightwater. Sitting out there reading something by the pool. Fully clothed. What a waste. He's got a pretty decent body, which he hides in ugly clothes. Why? He used to be a pretty sharp dresser at school. Now, yecht! If he'd leave his shirt out and let it drape over his torso … If he'd wear his pants a little lower, emphasize his butt … But he doesn't and he's got a nice butt.

“George,” I called out to him. Without realizing it I squeezed my dick.

“What?” He noticed the squeeze and scowled at me.

“You wanna fuck?” No, I didn't say that. What I said was, “I'm done with the Perry accounts. I think I'll shine the cars.”

“Sure,” he answered in a “whatever” tone and went back to reading some report.

“Have you eaten lunch yet?” I asked him that even though I could see the empty plate and glass on the table next to him. Keeping the convo going gave me time to pull off my shirt.

He watched. I knew he would. A gay guy can't help it. I pulled off my shoes while waiting for his answer. “Yeah,” he called out and he kept watching. I unzipped.

“Tommy Lynn still wants this done nude, I guess.” I slid my jeans down, which pulled my briefs half off in the process. I was standing in the doorway and the coolness of the air told me my butt was hangin' out. He watched spellbound. I slid the briefs off next and tugged at my cock, freeing it up to stretch a little. On full display, I stared at George.

“Wash the cars, Richard. I ain't fuckin' you.” He picked up the plate and glass and went inside to his office.

“I ain't askin', George.” I called to the already-closed door. What's all this hillbilly 'ain't' stuff? We're both educated. Sex brings out the basic, I guess.

But I was askin'. I knew it. He knew it. And there's nothing like getting' turned down to pick up the mood, right? My dick, which hadn't yet realized the possibility of George had vanished, continued getting harder. I ignored it and decided to start with the Miata. It was the smallest and the easiest to buff up.

Soon I heard an outside door slam. It was George leaving for the day. That left Mac still in the office. Euie wasn't there today. Sweet, sexy Euie. Yeah, I'd let him do me. He could do anything he wanted with me. Course, I'll never tell him that. Mac, however, hmmm … Mac was a possibility, especially since his diversity-themed threesome had blown up in his face. He must be as horny … stupid word … as fuck-needy as I am. And he loves taking a big one. Once he admitted he was built for it. I'm not sure what that means. A big asshole? A loose asshole? A prostate right at the entry? Once, when he was new at Tommy Lynn's we had sex and as I recall it was nice. I had had a few drinks, so the memory isn't one hundred percent; but I don't remember anything BAD about it.

I went inside to look for him. “Mac,” I said surprising him.

“Eeeyah! Richard! Why are you naked?” He recoiled in surprise.

“Working on the cars. Do you know if there's any more carnauba wax?” I wasn't close to running out, but I needed an excuse to hit on him. He looked horrified. “What? You've seen naked guys before.” Play it casual I decided.

“Yeah, but ...” He turned his head away.

“You're no blushing virgin. We've even ...”

“And THAT was a mistake, Richard. Don't remind me! God!” He physically turned away from me. “It was the only time I've ever topped a guy and felt like I'd been the one who got fucked.”

“You topped ME???” I must have really been drunk.

“I'm outta here!” Mac said, grabbed his jacket, and almost ran for the door. Really. That is NOT the reaction I'm trying to inspire in people. Still, it was fun to know he was once interested enough to fuck me. He returned suddenly. “Forgot my keys,” he said and then gasped, “Oh, God!” and left again. My dick was chubbin' up a little. I can't help it. Another dramatic exit.

Which left me alone, my nakedness wasted without any audience. I considered jacking off, but instead finished the Mazda and started on the Seville. What a monstrosity of a car. What were they thinking? My marketing professor called the Seville the sword that killed Cadillac. Not that he ever owned one. The huckster drove some kind of Kraut-mobile as my accounting professor called BMWs. The bean counter himself drove an old Peugeot until he learned that the French had been pretty bloodthirsty, too, knocking off his tribesmen left and right. Then he started walking to school. Smart with numbers, but pretty stupid otherwise. And yet, I had this nagging feeling he had a big one.

What kind of car should I get with my next bonus? What typifies me? Rather what extends the meaning of me? Something a little blatant maybe. A Maserati? No … A Mustang with racing stripes? No, too blatant; I could never pull off a Mustang. Then I giggled. I have to stop doing that. Giggling. It would be as impractical as shit, I suppose, but that Oscar Meyer wiener truck I swear has the exact same curve to it as my dick. What if I got one? Would anybody else get the symbolism? Would the raunch factor be as funny if I'm the only one who gets the joke? My laugh echoed in the empty garage.

“Racer used to do that.”

I just about jumped out of my skin. Who the hell … I didn't recognize him at first and then the vivid image came back to me. The first time seeing sex really burned into my brain was the image of Will Perry getting fucked by Racer at Goose Creek.

“Tommy Lynn still makes you do it naked?” he chuckled. “The old perv … By the way, you look like shit naked.”

“Will, uh, can I do something for you?”

“Put some clothes on.”

He was staring at my cock! He stared too long. “Can't. Gotta finish the car.” I suddenly felt nervous and stretched across the wide front hood of the Cadillac, rubbing on more fresh wax.

“I wonder if Tommy still keeps his stash in the back storage compartment.” Will opened the car's rear door and stuck his head in, rooting around for something.

A stash? Some kind of dope? Coke? Weed? Twenty year-old weed? How good could really old weed be? What's taking him so long? He emerged with a small bottle, clear glass with a big black plastic top, sort of like a perfume bottle. LSD? Ecstasy?

Will held the bottle with his thumb on the bottom and his index finger on the top. He gave it a few shakes. “Looks good enough to drink,” he commented. Shit. Some kind of booze. Well, that was Will's specialty, but not mine. I resumed applying wax to the hood. What's he doing with it, I wondered.

I got my answered when I felt the cold liquid dribble onto my back. I sprung upright as soon as I felt Will's hand guiding the oil down to my asshole.

“Stay down and stretch out,” he demanded. Almost immediately I felt his cock poking into me. I turned around. It looked like he was still fully clothed. “Stay down, I said,” he banged my head down onto the hood. Instant pain in my head. The tentative thrust of his cock turned into penetration. Instant pain in my ass.

“AHHH!” I gasped. Pain increased and ripped through my ass. I hadn't felt anything like that since the first time Buddy just jammed it in raw.

“Shut … the … fuck ...up,” Will demanded, punctuating each word with a harder thrust getting in deeper.

He had me. Heavier than me. Bigger than me. And deep in my ass. When the pain started to ease off, he kicked at the inside of my ankles, making me spread my feet farther apart. Deeper thrusting renewed the pain. He muttered. Nothing sweet. Variations on “Take it, bitch!” Never loud, just quietly snarled. After a frenzy of fucking, he stopped, panting heavily. I guess he came. I started to disengage.

“I hope your satisfied,” I said. I was shaken and close to tears, which surprised me. I could hear my voice waver, which made things worse.

“Oh, we're not done,” he replied. He lead me to the trunk of the car and leaned me back against the sloping metal. “I want to see your face. Watch the pain. See the hurt.” He pulled my legs up and placed them over his shoulders. He still hadn't even undone his jeans, just unzipped them. He reentered me fast and hard. I cried out. He wasn't that big. How could he hurt me so much? I was sobbing. Finally he came, saying, “Fuck yeah!” over and over until finally his thrusts slowed and stopped. Roughly he put me on my feet, but my knees wouldn't support me. I collapsed onto the floor, looking up just in time to take the last drool of his cum on my face. Again, even looking up, his cock, still veiny and bobbing with his pulse, didn't look all that big.

“It's not the dick that hurts. It's the distain.” He spoke without emotion, without even much interest. He walked away from me and, never looking back, entered the house.

It took a minute, but I realized the ridiculousness of my position, sitting naked on the garage floor and crying. The sobs hurt my chest more than anything else. I gradually got myself under control. My knees were still wobbly but I walked over to where I had left my clothes. I pulled on my underwear and cringed when I heard the door open. Will come out holding a whiskey bottle.

“Want some? Some of Tommy Lynn's Whistlepig? Sweet rye. Nothing but the best.” He held out the bottle more or less in my direction and then took a swig when I ignored him. “You feelin' ok, sport? What's your name again?”

“What? Now you want to be friends?” I was astonished by his nonchalance, as if nothing had happened.

“I figured that was what you'd want. Did I make it too memorable? Was the pain too real?”

“You're not that big, you know. That's not a killer cock.” I pointed at his jeans.

“I told you, it's not the dick. It's the distain that hurts. A carefully cultivated indifference. A total unconcern for whether you liked it or not. A situation wherein you matter not at all. Nothing about you. All about me.” He took another swig.

“Gimme that.” I took a swig from the bottle. Instant warmth flooded my mouth and throat.

“And then my distain mixes with your cum and turns to disgust. Cum comes off easily, but you need a lot of water to wash that disgust off.” He chuckled and took back the bottle.

What cum? I never came.”

“Yeah? What's that stuff on your belly? My cum's in your ass. You came. You loved it.”

I was shocked to see the splotched remains of an orgasm on my abs and chest.

“Friday, come by the store. Five thirty.” He walked back into the house. He didn't wait for my “Fuck You.”

The next I heard from him was Friday at five twenty-five. “I knew you'd come,” he said with a kind of punk sneer on his face. “Rerun time.” With a smile to himself, he chuckled and I briefly saw the remains of what must have been a cute teenager.

I hadn't come for a rerun, though. I came for revenge. Against Will. Against Buddy. Against Tommy Lynn. Against the whole fucking world! Not today, though. My plan would need a little time. Today we fuck.