Fauquier County Whatever

[Autolycus]

Another fine chapter - looking forward to seeing the revenge play out!

 

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
A nasty interlude for sure - Richard can be beneath contempt, but that was rough.
Then again ...

 

[Craiger]

Are we witnessing the beginning of a love/hate relationship??? Will certainly has changed. Of course being married to someone that cavorts with a pig farmer(ess) would change anyone... Thanks, Rory.

Craiger

 

[arogersb]

Good lord. I've campaigned for Will to be more involved in gay shenanigans but didn't think it would take this deterioration to get him there. Will he ever return to the cute teenager he once was? I sure hope Richard's revenge is going to be sexual rather than homicidal! Willis taking it up the ass has always been my favourite.

 

[Kyanimal]

Interesting turn of events. As it's said, "You never know ..."

Great piece of writing there!

Please keep it UP!
Chaz

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Twenty-One - Lonnie


“Rence was reluctant to take you on, Lonnie – the gay part; but Buddy's promise of a work project sealed the deal.” Brandon smiled when he told me I was hired; he looked almost as pleased as I was.

“You don't mind that I'm gay, do you? I swear, NOTHING will ever happen on the job. You'll never be reminded of it.”

“I believe you. It might help if you had a beer with the guys now and then, you know, just to show 'em you're a regular dude.”

“The only thing is … Rence … what kind of name is that, anyway?”

“Clarence, but never call him that. You have a problem with him?”

“He looks at me funny … like he's … I don't know ...” I did know, but I wasn't going to tell Brandon. Rence looks at me like he's secretly imagining I'm doing sex; visions of me engaging in sex would probably make any social activities uncomfortable.

“He's fair, but he won't put up with much. Fires guys all the time. Do your job and he'll do his.” Brandon drove the truck and small trailer skillfully up the long driveway past the Perry's house to Tommy Lynn's property. He was awed by the place. “Do we just go ring the bell?” he asked, looking at the impressive front entrance.

“No, we go 'round back,” I answered. I had only been there once before, to pick up Mac and Euie, but I remembered where the office entrance was. As it turned out, Buddy was already outside pacing off a plot.

“Dude,” Brandon called when he saw him, “WE are supposed to do the work.”

“Hey, y'all,” Buddy greeted us. “I'm just laying out where I'd like to see the beds. I was figuring four would be big enough for what I want to grow; but we need to size them for easy watering and weeding.”

“You're gonna do the watering and weedin'?” Brandon asked. “I thought we'd be doing all that for you?”

Buddy stood up and mopped his brow. “I'm not helpless and besides I can stand to do some work around here.” With that comment he looked over to an older man. “This is Tommy Lynn, my husband.”

“Better than joinin' a gym,” Tommy Lynn joked. “Good to meet you both.”

“Uh … well … we … I mean ...” Brandon's mind seemed stuck in neutral.

“Do you think four beds is enough? I want to grow peas, beans, peppers, and greens. Tomatoes, of course. And maybe one square of corn? The white kind? I was trying some double digging, 'cause the clay is so heavy. Maybe you have a tiller that can do that?”

“We do … Yes, of course. I didn't expect you to be ...”

“Working?” Buddy laughed and wiped his brow of sweat with the t-shirt he pulled out of his back pocket. Brandon was goggle-eyed.

“Here, let me show you where I think we could run a water line,” Buddy said, drawing Brandon to the far end of the plots he had marked out. I waited with Tommy Lynn, not knowing what else to do.

“Lonnie, my friend, I think your boy Brandon there has a little crush on my husband,” Tommy Lynn chuckled.

“Oh, no. He's totally straight. I'm the gay one.”

“So you say; but he sure likes the look of my husband with his shirt off.”

“Well, Buddy has a nice body, but I'm sure Brandon has no intention of ...”

“Nice? SMOKIN' is the current word, I believe. That's one reason I married him.” Tommy Lynn gave smokin' the exaggerated pronunciation kids use and made me laugh. “Laugh it up, Lionel, but I'm not laughin' at all.” Except he had been, not laughing, I guess, but chuckling. I'm sure I heard him chuckle. I couldn't tell if Tommy Lynn was joking with me or serious.

Buddy and Brandon walked back toward us. If Tommy Lynn hadn't said anything, I wouldn't have noticed, but since he had said something, I paid more attention. Was Brandon checking out Buddy butt?

“We could do railroad ties for the raised beds, that's the cheapest way.”

“What's the best looking way?”

“Fieldstone would look natural, rough and native on the outside where it shows, but evened off so it's not hard to dig inside the inside of the bed. That would cost about four times as much. Cheapest of all would be dirt berms. They would look totally natural but they're high maintenance every year.”

“Tommy?” Buddy asked.

“It's your project, Bud, do what you think is best.” Tommy Lynn's tone convinced me Buddy could have anything within reason. Or maybe just anything at all. “I'll be inside with Richard. We want a good job, of course.” He said that last looking at Brandon and me and then he left.

“Even cheaper would be buying vegetables at the store,” I said, which got me a look from Brandon, like I was going to kill the deal.

“The doctor told Tommy Lynn he needs to eat healthier. So that's why I'm doing it. I figure if I grow our own stuff, Tommy'll eat it. He'd just say fuck it to store-bought.” Buddy took a deep breath and the looseness of his waistband gave a quick hint that he wasn't wearing underwear.

Brandon meanwhile relaxed seeing the project was still on. “We could do it all for you, Buddy. Build the beds. Plant, weed, grow, water, fertilize, harvest, if that's what you want.” Look for more work but don't push too hard - Brandon the salesman in action.

“I think produce needs to have a lot of 'me' in it, but I'll remember your offer. For now, just the beds and topsoil fill. I think. What about two stone beds and two berms. That way if the whole thing is a failure, I'll have spent less and only have two empty beds reminding me of my mistake.”

“I don't think you're making a mistake.” With those words, did Brandon's wandering eyes just take a quick peak at Buddy's bulge? Sweaty and wet as he was, the jeans were kinda sticking to him. He looked fuckin' awesome to me, but I'm gay. Would a straight guy think so, too? Straight guys can admire each other without betraying anything, right?

Brandon sketched out a proposal for Buddy's signature. I was shocked at the price, but Buddy signed without a quibble.

We started early the next day, when the coolness of the autumn morning made hard work easier. By ten the sun felt more than warm and shirts came off. Brandon was riding the small Bobcat while myself and Damian, who was a day-hire, followed behind with shovels busting clods. Brandon took the clay soil down about a foot. I admired the way he operated the Bobcat; he was serious and efficient, a much better worker than I had expected, a professional, in other words. He parked the 'cat and joined us tidying up the cuts.

“The stone won't be arriving till this afternoon, so we're a little ahead of schedule. Don't kill yourselves,” he advised. Damian and I slowed our efforts a bit.

One of the things Brandon had advised me about was how to dress for work. “You don't want blisters and you don't want to be uncomfortable. So wear good gloves, thick socks, loose pants, and underwear that gives you support. And a hat … wear a hat.” Yesterday, that was exactly how he was dressed. Today, I noticed snug jeans and, when he sat down on the fender of the 'cat, a lot of skin showing. No underwear. He jumped to his feet when Buddy came out to see how we were doing.

“I figure four rows per bed,” Brandon told him. “Efficient and you'll only need one aisle for working the bed. Less compression of the soil that way. We can pave the aisle with cheap planking, if you want, like an old corduroy road.” Brandon almost held his breath waiting for Buddy's answer to his proposal. Keep building the job, that's what he told me.

“Tommy'll like that. Mention corduroy to him,” Buddy answered. “He likes to think of himself as an old time Virginian.” Brandon laughed a little too hard at Buddy's joke I thought. A smile would have been good enough.

“We're just waiting for the stone to arrive and I think we'll be able to show you the outline of the first bed by the end of the day.”

“Great, I'm gonna be gone this afternoon; but if y'all have time to kill, it's a nice day, use the pool.”

We ate lunch and then walked over to the pool while we waited for the truck. It was a nice setup; the house was connected to the huge garage, a barn almost, by a one story building that was the offices of the business. The mostly enclosed area to the west was a nice deck and pool with a low pool house attached to the garage. It looked really inviting but Brandon said only 'maybe' when we finished work. Richard and Mac were sunbathing and waved to me. “Hey, Lonnie, come on in, the water's wet.”

“No time now. Maybe after work,” was my quick reply, cut short by the arrival of the flatbed with the stone. And that was hard work, getting the stone off the truck in a hurry 'cause the truck would charge extra if it took too long. The driver had an amused look on his face, watching us hustle. He drove off with time to spare and we began laying stone for the first bed. It wasn't as easy as it looked, but we used minimal mortar, relying mostly on gravity to keep the stones in place. We laid out the two beds and Brandon said that was it for the day.

“We'll get Buddy's ok before we cut the stone and then maybe talk him into making the other two beds stone after he sees how nice these are gonna come out.”

While we waited for Buddy we walked over to the pool again. This time Mac was swimming. “I don't actually do this all day,” he called out. I introduced Brandon and Damian who didn't seem bothered by Mac's nudity. Then Richard came out of the pool house, walked to the deep end, slowly, as if he was putting on a show before he dove into the water. Damian was watching the sun go down, but Brandon was watching Richard's dick with his mouth open. I had heard Richard was amply endowed, but I have to say Richard had a lot swinging around.

“Big pole, huh?” I commented. Damian was lost in thought but Brandon was shocked and then embarrassed.

“You know, I think we ought to head along. I'll talk to Buddy tomorrow morning.” He nervously cleared his throat and walked quickly toward the truck.

We drove Damian to his drop off point where he said he'd catch another ride home. He was disappointed when Brandon said, “No work tomorrow, sorry.” I was disappointed, too; Damian did his full share of the job.

“You want to come have a beer?” Brandon asked.

“Sure,” I answered. Why not? The bar was walking distance to Mrs. Lucketts and I had nothing better to do.

“Lonnie, you mind if I ask a question?” Ask away I told him. “Do all gay guys … uh … do you all shave your pubic hair?”

“I think a guy called Racer started it.”

“Racer? Racer Tyree?? The NASCAR dirver???” I nodded and got back a “No shit! He's famous. You know him?”

“I don't directly. He's a customer of Tommy Lynn's. Anyway, he said if your lucky enough to get a blow job, you shouldn't expect the guy – or girl – to be pulling pubes out of his mouth all night.” I chuckled. Racer's theory always seemed perfectly logical to me.

“The regular looking dude, ok, I guess he trims; but that skinny dude! He shaves!”

“Richard likes to show off,” I explained. Brandon just grunted.

“You suppose Buddy trims?”

“I think a lot of guys do. It's getting to be a trend.”

“No shit!” He pulled the truck into the parking lot of the strip mall. Come on, you can meet my friends, Philip, Duncan, and Eddie.”

We went in and paused while our eyes adjusted to the light. Brandon spotted his friends and started walking toward their table. I froze halfway there. “Dude! That one!” I pointed.

“Eddie,” Brandon said.

“He's the cop who put me in jail!!!” I got my ass the hell out of the place and sprinted all the way to Mrs. Lucketts' home for semi-fucked up people, where I heaved a sigh and felt right at home. Eddie. His name is Eddie. The cocksucker's name is Eddie.

 

[Craiger]

Poor Lonnie...he can't seem to loose that cop. There also seems to be some seeds growing in Brandon's mind. Maybe already in sprouting form. Watch him be the next to trim down........ Fun chapter, Rory.

Craiger

 

[DonQuixote]

Another interesting chapter and easing into it induction ritual it would appear...

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Twenty-Two - Euie


Not seeing Cary isn't so bad; but being horny all the time sucks. The only comfort I got was schadenfreude from seeing Mac as fucked up as I was. Poor Mac. He had finally arrived in his version of heaven with two guys chasing him, both his preferred color, one a dedicated bottom and the other a demanding top. For weeks all I heard were coos and sighs whenever I saw him. He wouldn't give details, but he didn't need to.

“You're lookin' good,” I told him at Tommy Lynn's one day.

“I'm in LOVE!” he sighed, drawing a disgusted mutter from Richard. “Or at least I'm so sexually satisfied that I can't tell the difference.”

“See a proctologist SOON, dude,” Richard sniped.

His happiness was excessive. Even I thought so, and I'm a man of universal good will. I wish everybody sweet kisses and happy fucks; maybe not Richard, now that I think of it, but everybody else, even the Bunnies and that slutmeister Cary. Still, Mac was over the top. You can't go around with a huge grin ALL the time. People will think you're an idiot. So it was a relief when the next time I saw him he looked normal again.

“Euie ...” Uh-oh. I was afraid tears were coming next, but no; I think secretly Mac was enjoying starring in his own little drama instead of somebody else's. His eyes got bigger. “Gone ...”

“Yeah, I like NSYNCH or are you talking about that Anna Kendrick thing?”

“Don't joke, Euie. They're gone, both of them. Jay and James.” I was polite and asked why. “It was my sister's fault. Totally her fault. You know how racially conscious Jay is?” He took a deep breath. “Well, as it turns out ...” He stopped and shook his head.

“What? You can tell me.”

“Well ...”

“As it turns out,” I prodded.

“We were at this uptown club in DC, on 14th Street, the three of us, and along comes my sister, who I did not expect to see. Like AT ALL. And she immediately stared at Jay's hand which was on my leg. She just stared until he took it away. And then she stared at James. And then she said, 'This is diverse and inclusive.' And I said, what are you talking about and she said, 'Like a box of mixed chocolates.' So I said, yeah, we're all black to some degree. And she asked what was I talking about and I said you know, Great-grandfather Purvis was black. And she laughs her ass off. 'What?' And I said, that letter Grandma showed me said he was black. Everybody said he was black. And she says back to me, while looking at Jay 'Black-hearted, you moron. Black-hearted, not black! He was a loan shark and took peoples' houses when they couldn't pay!' And she laughs some more and scoffs, 'We're totally white you idiot!' And then her boyfriend comes along, who as it turns out IS BLACK, I guess he was her boyfriend, his hands were all over her and he's nuzzling her neck, and he sighs, 'White as a lily,' And Jay looks sick and says, 'I been giving it up fo' a white boy? You a WHITE BOY?' He usually speaks regular English but he went all ghetto at the news. And James is tender and solicitous patting him on the shoulder and telling him, 'It's all right. Everything gon be a'right, fo' mah boy Jay.' And he gives him a KISS! And they left! Together! And the next day I went and spied on James and Jay's LIVIN' with him! Moved right in!”

“So how does it feel being a white boy?” Richard asked with faux-innocence.

“It totally SUCKS!”

“Aw ...” I didn't know what to say, so I gave Mac a little kiss and tasted actual tears on his cheek. “We need to get your mind off things. You want to wrestle?”

“WHAT?” he said like I'm crazy.

“Wrestle … I pin you for a three count and I win. You know ...”

“Cretins … both of you,” Richard laughs with pepper-laced scorn. “It's what comes from living so far from the sea.”

We didn't wrestle that day. We went back to school where I took a nap, which I decided was better than jacking off because my roommate was due back at any moment. I should insert that my roommate is a decent enough dude. He knows I'm gay and doesn't mind as long as I keep quiet about it; and of course I'm pretty careful not to eyeball him too directly when skin is showing. Not that he observes the same rules! He's always looking at my dick and making remarks about what a waste it is on a gay guy and why can't his body look as good despite going to the gym all the time. His body isn't all that bad, but I guess straight guys have their hangups, too. And then, of course, he gets resentful if I suggest a better diet might help, which it definitely would.

“Stand aside!” Quint shouted as he came in the door. “I have ten minutes to shower, shave, and pack my tux and catch a ride to Mary Washington!” Although he left the room dripping wet, he made it with a minute to spare. His gf went to school at Mary Washington, which used to be an all girls' school but isn't any more. I believe they have enrolled about a dozen men now. Maybe if they called it George and Mary Washington they would do better balancing the load. Anyway, for weekend social purposes, they import lots of guys like Quint, formally known as Jordan C. Harris the Fifth, a little bit overweight and never called Jordan, always Quint.

Quint's escape left me alone. I again decided to postpone jacking off and go for a little run on the track across the street from my dorm. The track's location was handy, since I have some lazy tendencies. I probably wouldn't go very far to find another one. I have good genes or something and don't have to work hard at staying in shape; Richard says that will change as I get older. Maybe he's right, but he's always looking on the dark side. For now a run and doing some cardio reps on the track does it for me. I switched to cut off sweats and a pullover hoodie and hit the cinders. I barely got a little sweat going when another dude, who looked genuinely athletic in that lean, sinewy distance runner way, passed me and then hit the cinders in front of me. Literally. Splat.

“Dude! You alright?” I asked him breathlessly.

“I'm good,” the standard reply for any condition that didn't include the loss of a limb.

“Skinned your knee. How's your foot?” I helped him up. He put weight on his foot and immediately grimaced.

“It's not my foot. It's my leg … still cramping.” He hobbled and tried to straighten his leg. More grimacing. He sat and tried to knead his thigh muscle without much result.

“Here, let me try.” I gripped his thigh with both hands feeling for the knot of muscle. Despite the coolness of the day, his bare leg felt warm. I tried higher up, just under the loose-cut acetate of his shorts. He shifted his position and I felt the pressure of his jock against the back of my hand. I think both of us were aware of the contact, but he was in obvious pain. He stretched his leg out as far as it would go and the pain eased off.

“Electrolytes,” he gasped like a dying man.

“Gatorade?” I questioned and got a nod. I helped him to the robot room of my dorm and he fished a dollar bill out of an inner pocket in his shorts. He chugged down the whole can.

“Curative?” I had no idea how fast acting electrolytes taken orally might be.

“Mentally, maybe. I have no idea if this stuff actually works, but my jock roommate swears it does.”

“You're still a mess. Want to get a little cleaned up?” There was a thin streak of blood running down the front of his calf. “I'm one floor up.”

We went to my room and the best thing I could find for wiping blood off was a clean sweat sock. He sat at my desk chair and we looked at his knee. Ok, I also looked at the bulge of his jock, slightly visible under the shorts. The sock didn't do much good dry.

“Wait. I'll wet it.” I went to the sink near the door and returned with a wet sock. I knelt and carefully wiped around the bloody part of his knee. WHOA! He had pushed the jock aside. That was the only way his dick got exposed. Right in front of me! As I finished wiping off the blood he groaned and kicked his leg out straight. Another cramp. I massaged as I had done before.

“It's higher up,” he moaned. I massaged the knotted muscle. When I felt his cock brush the back of my hand I almost recoiled and looked up. He was looking steadily back at me. We both knew what was happening. Maybe the cramp wasn't so bad this time? Maybe it was a fake cramp this time? “Feels good,” he whispered.

I didn't want to stop. He didn't want me to stop. His dick grew bigger. I took it in my hand and looked at him. No eye contact. He was breathing softly through his mouth, watching only my hand and his dick. I stroked him a little. He slumped down in the chair giving me better access. I pushed the loose leg of his shorts out of the way before putting my mouth on him. He gasped for air. I sucked him gently and then went down deep on him. In about fifteen seconds he came. Five seconds later he was gone, running out my door while his cum was still salty in my mouth.

Easy come, easy go, I figured on at least two levels. Cute kid, nice dick, maybe a little over-responsive, though. I swished out the last of his cum with the dregs from the Gatorade can and got myself cleaned up. By the time I took a look at my statistics text the afternoon was half over. By the time I decided fuck statistics the sun was going down. I pondered what to do about dinner. Friday night. Not many people around. Friday nights the cafeteria, never good, was not at its best. I could walk into town. Or I could … I brightened at the knock on my door. Maybe Mac wanted company, too.

“I .. er … I … uh, I'm sorry I … ran away.” The kid was back.

“Come in.” He nodded and immediately sat down in the chair he used earlier.

“Euie, I'm really sorry ...”

“How do you know my name?”

“You told me.”

“Mmm, no. We never got that far.”

“We got pretty far ...” He smiled at his feeble joke; I didn't. I looked him over. He was dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, which he wore out. Looked like half the guys in the dorm.

“How do you know my name? Do we have a class together?”

“No, you're a senior and I'm a soph ...”

“How much do you know about me?”

He squirmed in the chair. He coughed. He stuttered. “Quite a lot?” he ventured. “I've sort of been stalking you.” He looked worried about my reaction.

I looked at him closely. A flicker of recognition. “You a lacrosse player?”

“Yes. JV team. Um, um ...” He squeezed his eyes shut and blurted out, “I know you're gay. I've been trying to meet you. My name's Rayner. Can I suck you off?”

“No.”

“Why not? You did it to me. Please. This is so ….”

“Mortifying?” He didn't say anything. “That was my grandmother's favorite word. Mortifying. Half the things in life mortified her, apparently.” His expression relaxed, but he was still unsure of what to say. I sat on the bed and he turned his chair to face me. “Do you really want to suck me off?” I unbuttoned that waist of my jeans but went no farther. He knelt between my legs and did the rest. He got my pants down below my knees and I got hard. He did accomplish that much before I pulled him upright.

“Not good?” I have to say disappointment was one of his cuter expressions.

“Terrible. Pay attention to what I do. If I'm doing something to you, chances are I'd like you to do it to me.” We lay in sixty-nine position and commenced a mutual cock-suck. I stopped right before he was about to come. He correctly figured out I needed to catch up and pretty much attacked me. I'll say the kid was willing, more than willing, eager, desperate, even. I think it was his need that got me off – such a happy cocksucker. He looked really pleased with himself when I was done.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much better, Rayner,” I tried out his name and removed his pants.

“Rayner Reynolds,” he said, helping me by kicking his underwear off his ankles and pulling off his shirt.

“Eustis Fortney,” I answered.

“I know.” His chagrin showed as he helped me get equally naked.

“Ok, Mr. Reynolds, let's get back to the subject of how you know.” I patted the bed, encouraging him to lie next to me. With no hesitation he joined me and our hands began an exploration of unknown terrain.

“A friend of mine is in the same fraternity as you and he said you're gay. You're the first gay dude he's ever met.”

“Probably not true, but who is this friend?”

“He doesn't live in the frat house either, so I bet you don't even know him.”

“Name, please.” I watched him briefly debate betraying his friend.

“Juan Collins.” By the time you're a senior, pledge antics aren't all that interesting. I didn't give a shit about living in the house and was in the frat only because it included other people with the same interest I had in finance. The name Juan Collins rang a tiny bell way in the back of my head.

“He's not Hispanic?”

“Pure Virginia. Blond hair. I mean, it would be ok if he WERE Hispanic … but he's not. His mother just liked the name.”

“Have you sucked HIS dick?”

“God, no! He's totally straight.”

“And it was his idea to hook you up with me?” He was flustered and didn't know what to say, so I let him off the hook and gave him a good hug. Neither one of us was hard. “You want to get something to eat?”

While we dressed he glanced at my desk. “Statistics. Awesome. I'm a math major.”

“It's a course I hate; but it's re-fucking-quired for graduation. I put it off as long as I could.?

“You don't like math?”

“I kind of lost it when they came up with the idea of equations with multiple answers, all of which are right.”

“Describing a curve.” He noted my lack of comprehension. “Did you notice that my cock has an upward curve?”

“Yes, but what has that got to do with ...”

“Let's suppose I could have a cock any length I wanted, but it had to keep the same curve. So how long would it have to be to poke me in the eye? Here, let me draw it.” He did a stick figure of some poor dude getting poked in the eye by his own cock. “So since we know the curve, we just plug in different values … along the length … and stop before eye contact.” He redrew the cock shorter.

“Now it looks like you could suck yourself off.” He looked astonished. “Well, it does in your drawing! “Would you suck yourself off? I mean if you could?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I would! I'd never leave my room!” We laughed. There is something very special about shared laughter. Kind of like sharing blow jobs. It's a nice bond. “See? Multiple answers do make sense.”

“Maybe if I'd had your cock to plot, I'd have paid more attention.”

“About statistics, Euie, there are two approaches. Just memorize the most important formulas. Or ... really understand it and get the concept. I could help you either way.” He paused and added, “If you want, of course.”

After we ate, we went back to my room. We talked about mathematics and other stuff a little, until I explained that my roommate was in Fredricksburg for the weekend. Then other possibilities emerged. We got naked and plotted dick curves for a while. Then he asked me to fuck him except he didn't really ask; he just hinted.

“Have you ever put it in somebody?” He mulled over my yes and then said. “You could put it in me … if you want to, maybe.” Then he admitted never done it before and I explained how first times aren't always the best. “If you want to, I'll try ...” he repeated. I explained about the pain. “Worse than a leg cramp?” he asked. I explained that not knowing how bad it would be is part of what made it bad. “Well, we could try,” he repeted.

We tried. When I saw tears in his eyes, I stopped; but he wanted to continue. “I want to learn, and I want it to be with you.” He was stoic. When it was over I wiped away his tears.

“Rayner? Are you ok?” I held him as tenderly as I could.

“It'll be better next time, won't it?”

“Will there be a next time?”

“Definitely.” I felt him relax. “It's a statistical certainty. A problem with only one answer, Euie. Yes, all along the curve. Within twenty-four hours, I hope. That's if you want to … ” He always left it up to me. I answered him with a gentle but lingering kiss. “Oh my God! You kiss? We're going to kiss?” In time the kisses inspired more fucking, still gentle, easier this time for him.

Most guys have initial complaints about my dick size. It actually frightens some guys away. It must have been Rayner's lack of experience. His difficulties seemed minimal and I think he was starting to like it by the end of our second time. He came after I did, real fast, almost as soon as I started stroking him.

Sleeping together was a first for him also. On Friday night we were both restless, waking each other up a lot. Saturday night was night and day different. We both slept easily. We still woke each other up, but it was a comfortable feeling. Oh, you're still here, kiss-kiss, back to sleep, except for the time we fucked again and then went back to sleep.

By Sunday afternoon I appreciated a lot more about statistics and Rayner had experienced a good bit of sex. He said it was a fair trade. I wasn't going to argue. The best part for me was the smile on his face when I asked if he had any free time on Tuesday. He's cute when he smiles. He's nice looking when he doesn't smile, but the smile is killer. I think he knows it. I think he knows how much I like fucking him.

“You like staying in me after you come?” he asked.

“I do. You mind?” His kiss said no, he didn't mind at all.

I texted Quint to see what time he'd be back. His text read, “You have time for one more fuck and it better not be in my bed.”

It was a nice fuck, more energetic than our earlier sessions. Rayner actually wanted more but left, reluctantly. I got cleaned up, and Quint arrived. He immediately threw open both windows. “It smells like you fucked all weekend!”

“Where do you get the idea that all gay guys are sex fiends?” The room did smell a little funky.

“From you, asshole. And you probably got a lot more than I did. That's what pisses me off. You get laid a LOT more than I do. You want to grab a beer?” Quint was stripping for a shower. I did my best not to look at him and failed. “Ready in five,” he announced with a smile that said go ahead, enjoy the view. Look but don't touch. That was more than fair, actually. Quilt's a good guy. And he's right. He'd get laid a LOT more if he were gay.

 

[DonQuixote]

Oh, this was a FUN FUN chapter.

And a Happy St. Paddy's Day to you, too - even if it isn't in the story line.

 

[Craiger]

Good for Euie! Spontaneous meetings like with Rayner can be erotic and special, however, it seems there was a little clandestine action in play. Nonetheless, how exciting for Euie. Obviously a full weekends worth. Fun chapter, Rory.

Craiger

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Twenty-Three – Gus


“Wow. We got nothin' to match Euie's fuck story. Do we?” I glanced at Donnie and we both busted up laughing.

Donnie, always polite, told Mac, “Sorry about the missing J's, Mac.” And then he looked back at me and laughed our special laugh over again.

I can't believe all that has happened in just two months, going from uptight Army to loose-hangin' civilian. From having sex administered like eye drops – just a little and not often – to spending days in bed fuckin' non-stop. Except there were stops, of course. My thirty-six year-old body can't match Euie's pace. And that's ok, because I think each experience matters more to me. If Donnie and I up and split, the way Euie and Rabbit did, I think I'd be suicidal, not just horny. And here's Euie a couple weeks later taking the plunge again, like nothing ever happened, nothing that he couldn't wash off with one soapy shower.

I'm not with the security service any more. My security clearance transferred from the Army and now I'm working regular and at a pretty good pay grade with International Ventures Consulting, LLC. My expenses are higher than anybody predicted, but still, I'm doing much better than I expected. And I'm not a spy, which Donnie claims every chance he gets. I “consult” which is a fancy word meaning I design security plans for … well, sometimes it isn't always clear just who the customer is. But I'm NOT a spy. I say again I'm NOT … you get the idea.

“Then why do you need the super security clearance?” Donnie asked me when I started.

“Well, sometimes ...”

“I knew it! My boyfriend is a SPY! I'm fucking a SPY!” I tried to make light of it, but I swear I had to fuck him to shut him up.

That made Mac laugh, he said I reminded him of something he had done. I was glad to see him smile even if just briefly.

“So the big deal is ...” Donnie paused draggin' it out and looked to me for permission to continue. I interrupted him.

“First I have to tell you that I came out at work. Totally. The company knew when they hired me, but I made sure everybody from the boss to the janitor knew. Such a relief doing that, all the pressure is gone. A couple of guys treat me different now, but fuck 'em.”

“Congratulations. I myself have never had the nerve.”

“BULLSHIT, Richard. Everybody knows you're gay,” Mac said.

“They assume. I never told them.”

“You've had sex with most of us,” Mac continued.

“Speak for yourself,” Donnie said.

“Doing it doesn't mean anything per se. It's all headgames and artificial labels.”

“New age bullshit, Richard.”

“Richard's got a point,” Donnie said. “Current thinking says self-identification is pretty flexible and can change from day to day especially if you're young, say under twenty-five. Things don't get hard-wired until after that.”

“Will is twenty-six,” Richard said.

“I don't know who Will is, but the timetables are flexible, too,” Donnie added. He held my hand under the table. I think he was reluctant to either support or contradict Richard. Like Richard's a nut case and you just never know sometimes what will set him off. There were guys like that in the Army. Geniuses by themselves but dog shit on a team.

“Will is Tommy Lynn's biological son and I am fucking him. But it isn't sexual. It's power games. I'm training him. Teaching him who's boss.”

“Richard, I've met Will. He could make mincemeat of you,” Euie said.

“I don't have to be the incredible hulk. He's always drunk and he's afraid of my cock. He's afraid I'll fuck him. The fear matters more than the fucking.”

“I can see that, if he's always drunk. Will must be a mess inside. We had a case like that in clinic a couple of months ago. A woman was afraid of vacuum cleaners - you know, the kind with the long hose? There was a sexual component to her fear, but it all kind of boiled down to psychological abuse by her husband getting translated into a vacuum cleaner. Why do you think you have to train Will?”

“Because nobody else ever did. His mother's a ditz. Her husband is withdrawn. And Tommy Lynn keeps his distance, because he has no real connection. Will never knew he was his real father until a couple years ago. Then he married a lesbian thinking what they had was enough to make a marriage. Turned out, no, it wasn't. Then he took to drinking and drugs and messing around with gay sex. Now it's up to me to put him back together.”

“Speaking as a psych nurse, Richard, you're taking on a LOT. Why you?” Donnie nodded emphasizing his words.

“Nobody else wants to do it. Somebody's got to think of his kids.”

“I'm impressed, but, again, why you?”

“Because if I had married Tommy Lynn, instead of that short-dicked pretty boy, it would have been my job. I feel like it still is.”

“So to fix him, you're fucking him.” Euie shook his head mystified.

“You don't understand. I shouldn't have brought it up.”

Nobody knew quite what to say, so I squeezed Donnie's hand and made our announcement. “We're getting married.” Which instantly changed everybody's mood. We ordered another pitcher and started answering questions.

“Well, we're both in our thirties. If we're ever going to do it, now's probably the time,” I said.

“We're stable, feet on the ground people. It's what sane, sensible people do,” Donnie said.

“Tax savings? Joint medical benefits?” I joked.

“We like the same music and movies,” Donnie laughed.

“Donnie is smart around the house, what to buy, what make and model is a good one, that kind of stuff. I don't know shit about that stuff.”

“Yeah, but you can fix a truck,” Donnie laughed.

“Next summer, we think. Don't want to do anything on impulse,” I said.

“Small, civil ceremony. No choir or candles. We both are firm about that,” Donnie nodded. He was starting to look a little misty-eyed, but I think only I could tell. I squeezed his hand again.

“Really? You want to come? We weren't planning on a crowd.”

“No, absolutely not. The reception will not be skinny-dipping in Goose Creek.”

“Honeymoon? We hadn't really thought about that.”

“Live? At Mrs Lucketts, I guess. Till we outgrow it.”

Richard banged his stein on the table. “What about love? Amid all these household arrangements, you two haven't used the word once.”

Donnie was insulted I think; but I wasn't. “I knew I loved Donnie the first time we had breakfast together. I knew in my heart that the sex would get better, that all our jagged edges more or less matched up, and that I loved him more than I thought I ever would love anyone. I knew there would never be anybody else so right for me. I enjoy him and respect him and love him. I will give him my body and my life for as long as he wants me.” That was a VERY emotional outburst for me.

“And that will be forever, Gus.” Donnie wiped his eyes and winked. “I'd kiss you but this is a straight bar.”

“Speaking of which, where's Buddy?” I asked the table.

“Hiding at home.” Richard said. “Buddy's afraid of running into his new gardner who's got the hots for him.”

“Brandon? No way!” Mac said.

“Yes, way,” Richard reiterated.

“I could see it, if you want the truth,” Euie said. “Brandon's personally supervising every spoonful of dirt that goes into those garden beds. Of course, Lonnie's there, too. Who's looking pretty fine these days, by the way. Lonnie would have the answer.”

“Love makes fools of us all, big and little,” Richard sighed in a syrupy voice.

“Shakespeare,” Mac replied.

“Thackeray, actually, Mr. Accounting Major,” Richard corrected. “William Makepeace Thackeray. Don't you think there is something lascivious about that name? Sinuous and dirty. Lubricious … You knew that Makepeace is a codeword describing a particular sexual technique favored by hermaphrodites?”

“Bullshit,” Mac said.

“Speaking for Richard,” Euie said, rising and putting on his jacket, “I think I've had enough for tonight. Congratulations, Gus and Donnie.”

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Twenty-Four - Brandon


I was shocked by Lonnie's comment. Eddie? Not so much the put-him-in-jail part, more the cock-sucking part. Eddie the cocksucker? Eddie was always super straight. That time Duncan was drunk and when challenged over size or some dumb-assed thing just whipped it out in front of everybody? Eddie turned away in disgust. He said, “Put it away or I'll arrest you.” He convinced me! Shit, he scared Duncan so much he was pissing as he put it away.

But, a great big but ... Lonnie had no reason to lie. None at all.

I was totally stumped and sat down with a quiet, “Hey, y'all.”

“Brandon, you look like shit. Get this man a shot and a beer,” Philip yelled to the waitress who ignored him.

“Just a beer,” I said quietly and Charleen the lip reader nodded from two tables away. “Hard day,” I said to the table.

“Rence abusin' the labor laws?” Duncan asked.

“It's a bitch bustin' clods at this time of year. The soil's heavy and compact. The sun is still hot enough to bend a Ka-Bar. And carrying water … Jeez … it's the twenty-first century, for God's sake, why are people carrying water?” I complained more than I usually do.

“Plus you're horny, right?” Philip grinned as Charleen brought me a Heineken.

“You still drinking that fag beer?” Eddie asked. I growled in reply.

“Now this isn't like the old bar,” Philip said, changing the subject, going onto one of his nostalgic rants. “In the old bar ...”

“Yeah,” Duncan agreed. “In the OLD bar they only had one kind a beer and one kind a whiskey. PBR and Jack.”

“Plus, they had Vertical Sandra. Remember her? Awesome woman.”

“Why was she called Vertical Sandra,” I asked after a soothing swallow. Everybody laughed.

“That was to tell her from Red Sandra, who had red hair of a color you never saw before on a woman's head,” Eddie said with a straight face.

“Actually ...” Philip began.

“Don't need more, Philip,” Eddie warned.

“Actually, Vertical Sandra liked things vertical,” Philip said with a hint of tease.

“Yeah?” I prompted.

“Didn't she, Eddie?” Philip guffawed. He got a threatening glare from Eddie.

“She likes a man who … uh … stands right up for himself, if you know what I mean.” Duncan made a hand gesture that made his meaning clear enough. He shifted to a whisper, “And she liked to do it standing up, Brandon.” He grinned like he thought he shocked me or something.

“Didn't she, Eddie?” Philip asked and laughed before Eddie could answer.

“Eddie failed his qualification test, if you know what I mean,” Duncan helpfully added.

“Fuck you people,” Eddie said. He got up from the table so fast his chair tipped over. He left it where it landed and left. I set it upright again.

“He's always so touchy on that subject.” Duncan shook his head and drained the shot glass he had been sipping. “Just cause he couldn't perform that once.”

“It was more than once, as I recall,” Philip added.

I sighed, glad the little show was over. “Where's Vertical Sandra when you need her?”

“Why, she still works at the old bar.” I didn't know about the old bar, only this one; I guess my ignorance showed on my face. “Tiny's, on the road over to Orlean,” Duncan explained.

“She's a sweet gal, Brandon, if you treat her right,” Philip said with a twinkle in his eye.

We talked about Philip's sales route for a while and different places he got to see. Then we talked about how sad the Redskins were again this year. Then we talked about whether an aluminum truck was really a good idea, mileage not being the point of a good truck. I liked talkin' about non-personal stuff, just sharing views, and learning something now and then. When it came time to leave, I groaned getting up. My back ached from all the digging.

“Vertical Sandra gives a nice rub down, Brandon. She's not a lot older than you. Just a couple years, I'd say,” Philip winked.

I was gonna go home and flop down. Rest my weary bones, right? Maybe grab a bite on the way? Just go home and sleep; but I hadn't even worked a full day, despite my aching back. I had got to Tommy Lynn's place about ten in the morning, thinking Buddy wouldn't be up at dawn. Boy, was I wrong. Lonnie was already there. He and Buddy were smoothing the last section of one bed.

“Here, let me do that,” I said, holding out my hands for Buddy to give me the bow rake.

“Mornin' Brandon. Thanks, I accept your offer. Lonnie and I were just talking about how to overwinter the plots.”

“Rye grass is easy for holding the soil. It'll still sprout this year and you can just plow it under in the spring for a bonus fertilizer. Plus it needs no maintenance, no chemicals, nothing but a little rain really.” Buddy looked uncertain. “Plus-plus, it's super cheap.” That convinced him.

“Lonnie basically agrees, so that's what we'll do,” Buddy said and walked toward the house.

“What did you tell him?” I asked Lonnie.

“Same thing, mostly. I also gave him a straw option. But you sold him on the rye.”

“Good. I was afraid we'd be talking at cross-purposes.”

“You're pretty smart about business, Brandon. I sure don't want to undercut you; so I'd never sell him on something without you being here.” Lonnie looked at me like he was afraid I'd fire him. I'd never had somebody that dependent on me before. I told him he did the right thing and saw him smile with relief. I nodded to him with the sudden relization that I actually AM the boss!

We started on bed two and got about half way done when Buddy came out to the field again. “Hey,” I told him, “Scrape the dirt off and you clean up real nice.”

He had on a black suit with a dark gray tie; his hair was combed and shining in the sun, so black it was almost blue. Even his shoes shined, like he was going to a wedding or a funeral or something. He was just about the best looking man I'd ever seen dressed up like this. For some reason, don't ask me why, I wondered if he trimmed his pubes like the other dudes around here.

Buddy grinned at my compliment. “We're meeting some customers. Gotta look my best.” I guessed the other part of the 'we' was Tommy Lynn; and then I wondered if Tommy Lynn trimmed anything. Jeez! Stop it! I shook my head like there was a swarm of gnats buzzing. “Don't work all day, it's Saturday,” Buddy said with a wave.

“You're working on Saturday,” I countered.

“I guess we have a lot in common,” he grinned again and left.

Oh man, I have nothing in common with Buddy Lynn, not even the dirt under my fingernails. He's on a completely different planet. Maybe I could get my hair to look more like his, though. Grow it just a little bit longer so's it would stay in place more. I should think about that.

So Lonnie and I finished half the second bed and knocked off at three. The night before I got to the bar with Lonnie about seven, when he went tearing out of the place. This time, after I got cleaned up it was about six. It was weird, but there was a wind that night and I swear I could feel it through my jeans. Maybe trimming my pubes was a mistake. Well, mistake or not, it was done; and somehow I felt neater for it but maybe a little self-conscious, like people could tell just by lookin' at me.

I walked into the bar and the special feeling went away; nobody was lookin' at me. It was early for serious drinking, but I was pretty sure Duncan and Philip had come right from work. We went through the weird scene with Eddie and then talked and I guess it wasn't more than nine o'clock when I left. No wonder I wasn't tired. I looked at my phone 9:37PM pulsed with an eerie green light. Tiny's wasn't really that far away.

It was farther away than I thought, however. It wasn't 'on the road over to'; it was almost in Orlean. Inside it was hardly different from the bar in Warrenton, just busier. I sat at the bar and watched the bartender work. He was pressed keeping happy a decent crowd for this time of night. He never looked my way.

“Peter's real busy. I can get you something, hon.” She was nice looking and dressed in a tight black skirt and a red plaid shirt with a couple buttons open. I couldn't tell exactly what color her hair was because of the lights. The look on my face must have pleased her. She grinned back at me.

“Are you Ver ... uh ... Sandra?”

Her grin turned a little naughty. “Who you been talkin' to?”

“A couple o' boys who said you're about the prettiest thing in the county. “

“Two counties would have been too much, but I'll accept one county. What are you havin', hon?”

“Heineken?”

“No, your choices are beer, never mind what kind, or a shot. Peter can throw some fruit in the shot if you want, but you don't look like that kind.”

“I'm a fine upstanding man. Get me what a fine upstanding man would drink.” Was I laying it on too thick? I didn't think so.

She laughed and went behind the bar, drawing me a tall glass of something yellow and foamy. You could see immediately why some call it horse piss. She was quick and the beer was cold. I tipped her one hundred percent of the tab. When she came back to see if I wanted another, she pressed her tits against me briefly and told me she got off at midnight. Two hours and two beers later we were back at her place. Small but clean, it had only a single narrow bed.

We sat on the sofa and I sipped another beer; she had ice water. “You got something for me, sugar?” I offered her a hundred. “That'll get you a hand job.” Another hundred got me a smile and a helping hand unfastening my jeans.

I may not be the biggest hillbilly in the holler, but I do get hard and I'm big enough. She stroked it and then sucked on it. Nice ... I groaned as we got my jeans off.

“Hard work today. Bit of a back ache,” I explained.

“I'm good with back aches,” she promised. And she was. I lay naked on the bed and she massaged me. I rolled over and my hard dick sprang up. I told her Philip said she was good at massage.

“Philip Langdon?” I nodded. “That old billy goat!” She smiled at some memory or other. “You know I used to be his sister-in-law.” She went down on me with a couple of ice cubes in her mouth.

“Used to be?”

“Yeah, I believe he liked me better than my sister. They did get married, but it didn't last.”

She had a very nice smile and even nicer tits. I got to the point. “I want to fuck you.” Not in a demanding way, I was smoother than that. I said it in a a needy way.

“Sweet boy ...” She stripped to just a short black slip and tossed her panties in my face. The slip looked more than a little sexy. She got off me and the bed as well and swung her hips provocatively making the little black slip sway. We ended up doing it with her against the wall, sticking her butt out. I had no trouble figuring out what to do. I liked it that she didn't try to hurry me. None of that get-it-over-with hustle. A sweet slow fuck. She acted like she enjoyed it, and, as wet as things got, I think maybe she did. I know I did. Fucking standing up is not a bad workout, actually; my back felt fine when it was over.

That was nice, sweetie,” she said, wiping her face with a cloth. And then she surprised me by pulling off her hair. “Whew. Nice to get that thing off. The dudes in the bar like long hair. Do you?” I was about to say yes as I watched her comb her real hair into waves close to her head. Shiny black waves. I took a breath and held it. She looked almost like Buddy, except for the tits, of course. She gave me a very affectionate kiss and it shocked me to think I was kind of kissing Buddy. It flustered me quite a bit and I gave her a more generous tip than I had planned.

She pulled a shirt on and walked me to the door. “Come back, any time,” she said softly. I looked back and saw her outline. The light was coming from behind her, making her shiny dark hair sparkle. The resemblance was amazing. Not in every detail, obviously, but, my God, it could have been Buddy standing in the doorway, watching me leave and looking a little sorry I was going. It could have been Buddy, but it wasn't. It was Vertical Sandra and I figured I'd be seeing more of this gal.

 

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
You've had a productive week writing. Been a hectic one for me - lonnngggg.

We continue to get to know our boys better and better, in the most intimate of ways.

 

[EasyRory]

Rory,
You've had a productive week writing. Been a hectic one for me - lonnngggg.

We continue to get to know our boys better and better, in the most intimate of ways.

Brandon's story came to me in a dream. It wrote itself.

 

[DonQuixote]

Sounds like it might have left you a bit moist in parts when you woke up.

 

[EasyRory]

Brandon's story came to me in a dream. It wrote itself.

DQ, I wrote that for Kyanimal's eyes. NOTHING writes itself.

 

[Kyanimal]

DQ, I wrote that for Kyanimal's eyes. NOTHING writes itself.

Oh, wow! For ME?

TOTALLY dug that chapter!

Now I'm all verklempt!

 

[EasyRory]

Oh, wow! For ME?

I figured that you would appreciate "nothing writes itself."

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Twenty-Five - Latham


“I don't know what to do,” I told Buddy. That admission was probably a good sign. I was glad he had invited me to the party for Tommy Lynn's customers, although I had no idea why I was there.

“Just be yourself, Latham. You are the famous one, not them.”

“I'm not famous; I'm just lucky.”

“And cute. And hot. And young. Which most of these guys are not. You have a future. They just have a past.”

“Are you sure this suit looks good on me?” I'd never been so nervous before. I'm supposed to talk to a group of Washington big shots who are all rich, connected, and couldn't care less about me.

“You're supposed to picture them in their underwear; but, look at them! That wouldn't be calming. That would be frightening. So think of it this way. THEY envy YOU. They wish they could BE you.” Buddy looked as unconvinced by his pep talk as I was. As I headed out to the podium, he whispered, “Lath, remember you get laid WAY more than they do.” A nice thought, except I'm not sure it's true. I tapped the microphone and an electronic squeal filled the room. I laughed nervously.

“Now that I have your attention, let me introduce myself. I'm Latham Winstead, Tommy Lynn's newest customer. Mr Lynn said to give you my background. Well, there isn't much. I'm from West Virginia, living in Warrenton now, where I go to Lord Fairfax Community College and I crash cars for a living. I used to be on Racer Tyree's team, but he's on his own now. I … uh, I don't know what else to tell you, except I'm glad to be here.”

“How about giving us your phone number?” someone called out.

“Seven oh three, six five … oh, wait. You're kidding, right?” That got a laugh and then some applause. Tommy Lynn took the microphone and rescued me.

“Latham's a NASCAR driver, if that wasn't clear, introduced to us by his friend and fellow driver, Racer Tyree, whom you all know. And he doesn't crash ... too much.” Tommy Lynn gave a little cough and went on to the purpose of the night. “So, we're here to celebrate. It's been a good year for us, investment wise … Where you trusted me, you're up eighteen percent, as opposed to fifteen on the Dow and fourteen on the S&P. Where you went with your own investments results varied, but it's fair to say we're all better off than we were a year ago.” He got a hearty round of applause and continued with details and projections. I left the stage and got a drink, still jittery from giving my little speech.

“Congratulations,” a white-haired gentleman said to me. “I remember when I had to give that speech. I was a twenty-something legislative aide, fresh out of law school and scared to death.” He told me his name and I'm pretty sure he was a senator from one of the Carolinas. “I hear NASCAR pays pretty well.”

“Well enough for me, that's for sure.” I didn't know what else to say to a senator.

“Latham! Rodney.” Racer clapped me on the back and nodded at the senator.

“IS NASCAR really about driving or is it a beauty pageant?” a woman who turned out to be the senator's wife asked as she looked from me to Racer and back.

“I could show you scars ...” Racer teased her.

“Now Lindy, don't be molesting these boys. Come on, we need to talk to Fenton before he has a third drink and is gone for the night. Welcome to the Gang, Latham,” the senator said and led his wife away. That's Gang with a capital G; it's what Tommy Lynn's group called themselves.

“Lindy WILL try to nail you,” Racer warned and then beamed. Impulsively, he gave me a brief hug. “How have you been? You're looking great!” I'm sure he meant my suit; I looked like my usual self.

“Tommy Lynn sent me to a tailor. I have a couple of these now.” I wasn't sure what to say. I wanted to kiss him one minute and punch him out the next.

“Latham, my man,” came an unfamiliar greeting.

“Latham, you know B.J.?”

“Yes, we met a couple times briefly. Good to see you, B.J.” I lied beautifully, I thought. It was not good to see B.J. acting so possessive with Racer, touching him, and I swear if he got any closer they'd be rubbin' cheeks.

“What a great night! With all these gay guys, this is the ONE place in town where I won't run into my ex-wife!” B.J. crooned. “Lathan, you comin' to the after party?”

“What after party?” I said to B.J.'s back. He was walking purposefully over to a different group. From nowhere a waiter appeared at my elbow and gave me a fresh drink.

“All these guys are gay? Half of them are married!” I said to Racer.

“Well, who knows? Most of Tommy Lynn's customers have gotten around in their time. See that dude over there? He's the Secretary of something or other. He said to me, 'What I hate about gay liberation is it forces people to declare themselves. Life was a lot easier when labels didn't exist and you could just do what felt good.' Maybe he's right. That's his wife in the green dress.”

The same waiter showed up with another great tasting drink. “What is this?”

“It's from River Hill, a distillery in Luray, specially made for Tommy Lynn,” he answered.

“It's good,” I said to Racer, taking a sip.

“Careful, it sneaks up on you.”

“Yes, Dad.” Racer always loved giving me advice.

“I wish I were your dad, Lath I'd be so proud of you.”

“I guess being my lover wasn't enough.” I tried to keep my voice steady; it wasn't easy.

“Let's not do that. You know I love you. Things didn't end the way they should have. I'm so sorry.”

“Right. Sorry. That says it all, I guess.” Thank God for the whiskey. I don't think I would have made it through that last sentence without it. Suddenly it hurt to be near Racer.

Racer wandered away and I found myself glad to be talking to Richard. “Easy on the drinks, sweetie, or you'll end up going home with me!”

“How bad would that be?” I parried, knowing I shouldn't have said it, because I sure didn't mean it. It was genuinely decent talking to Richard though. He knew everybody and all the gossip covering the last thirty years. And by the end of the night I heard it all, too.

“You're coming to my place, right?” a distinguished looking man said to Richard. “And bring your friend,” meaning me.

“Car?” I asked Richard.

“No, I left it in Virginia at the end of the Metro. We can walk. It's in the same building.” So we walked from a private party room at the Watergate Hotel to the Watergate apartments, which were monumental You could fit Mrs. Lucketts whole place into the lobby.

“Wow!” I was truly impressed.

“Play your cards right, Latham, my boy, and all this can be yours.” Richard guided me to a private elevator. After a brief rise, the door opened onto what seemed like the same party, the same people, even the same waiter, offering me the same drink.

“And that's pretty much it, Buddy. That's the last I remember. I woke up alone in a huge bedroom with a fuzzy tongue, a slight headache, a feeling like I'd had sex, and no idea where to look for my clothes.”

“That's terrible! I can find out where you were.”

“Wait. It gets better and then it gets worse. I turned out my clothes were neatly hung in a closet; but I went into the bathroom and saw a hickey on my neck. And then I had a dim memory of sex. Very dim. No idea who with. Or even what we did. So I swished out my mouth with something purple, got dressed, and went out the door of the bedroom. I could hear conversation down the hall. That waiter, the one I kept seeing all night, was there and asked if I found everything. I apologized and thanked him if he had put me to bed. 'It was my very great pleasure, sir,' he said and had a wicked smirk on his face. Oh shit, I thought, did I do it with him? What exactly did I do?”

Buddy said he was sorry and I continued.

“So I went into this dining room that was set with about six small tables. I saw Richard sitting alone and sat down with him. He gives me this huge, shit-eating grin and asks how my night was. Oh shit, did I do it with him? So I asked him if we had sex.”

“No, my little dove, we did not. Unless you count a little grope-and-grab as being sex. Personally, I wouldn't, but if you're scrupulous about these things ...”

“Right then, B.J. sat down and Richard left. And B.J. waggles his eyebrows and says, 'How you doin' this beautiful morning?' And he says it in a way that made me wonder. Did we … I started out to say. And he interrupts and says, “It was my fault, Latham. I'd had a few, you know? And Racer is always saying these great things about you. And so I sorta, kinda, a little bit … I mean there you were naked and all … it was just a blow job. I hope you don't mind. And I have to say, no wonder Racer thinks the world of you. You are one sweet package. If you ever want to stop by some night, I'd be more than into it. You, Racer, and me.”

Buddy's mouth fell open. “I know! I know!” I said to him. “Could it get any worse? YES, it could and it DID. I went to the buffet to get some eggs and came back to the table. B.J. was gone and in his place was the gray-haired guy. The host. I thanked him for letting me spend the night and he said, 'I hope I can make amends for the rudeness of the help. I heard a tussle in your room and had to pull young Charles off of you. That NEVER should have happened. I'd fire him, but he's such a good waiter and in this town a good waiter is ... well, you know how it is. You were very nice about it last night – in fact, I got the idea you didn't mind at all what had happened. And then! When you held out your hand! I couldn't believe you wanted ME! And after we were done? Believe me YOUR invitation was one I'll treasure. You are one beautiful young man, Latham. Were you serious about wanting to come back?' And, Buddy, he blushed! He's gotta be fifty! What did I say to him? He said I should go back next Wednesday. Thank God I'll be driving in North Carolina next week!”

“Latham! My God! I've never heard a story like that in my life. Wait a sec. You have to tell Tommy Lynn.” Buddy punched his phone and asked Tommy Lynn to come to the office. I was too mortified to repeat the story so Buddy recapped it, making it sound even more lurid that it was. I mean no harm was done when you get down to it. The astonishing part was Tommy Lynn laughed his ass off.

“They're always doing stuff like that to the new guys.” And he laughed some more. “I didn't know B.J. was in on it. In fact I hadn't even met B.J. before then, He was Racer's friend and somebody with the Redskins vouched for him.” And then he laughed even more. “Just a prank, Latham. Don't worry. It's just a prank. I'm going to call that old racal right now and tell him he went too far this time.” Tommy Lynn walked away chuckling and Buddy looked relieved.

“My Lord! You must be glad that's solved, Lath. Not the best joke in the world but ...”

“Buddy, I'm not gonna say Tommy Lynn is lying, but something happened. Something real. I've got a hickey on my neck to prove it” I opened the top button of my shirt and showed him. “So just what the hell happened?”

“He's not a senator, by the way,” Buddy said quietly. “He's some kind of media person.”