Must be I didn't remember all of the action. I thoroughly enjoyed it, if you couldn't tell.
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Four Miles and Counting
- Thread starter EasyRory
- Start date
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Forty-Six
“Let's see … There's Emeryville, of course, the upstate lodge, the Napa winery, the Singapore condo, the New York apartment, the Munich house, that dump of a compound in Shanghai, the Argentine ranch, the Tasmanian … what is that place in Australia?”
“A house, quite a pleasant one, actually; my wife and kids liked Tasmania. Lots of water, no devils ...” the accountant answered.
“And it's used, on average, eight nights a year and never by Mark, right? So the cost per guest there is one hundred forty thousand dollars a night. Is that Australian dollars or American?”
“Australian, but they have traded pretty much at par for the last couple of years.”
“Historically it's over-priced.”
“The house?”
“No, the Aussie dollar. You could see it moving to eighty cents if the Chinese sneeze twice.”
“I thought you were kind of ...” The accountant let his voice trail off.
“A bimbo? A rent boy? A small time hustler with a big dick?”
“Jackson, there's no need to use names like those. I just mean ...”
“You just mean that I'm supposed to be an idiot?”
“You're making it hard, Jackson.”
“Oh please, I have zero interest in you sexually,” Jackson replied playfully
“What? NO!” the accountant sputtered. “That's not what ...”
“Ok, so to sum up, I'd like to see cost and market for all these places. I've got occupancy rates and operating costs from corporate communications. Can you have those by the end of the day?”
“Well ...”
“Sweet, I'll be waiting for them. Thanks, Milt.” Jackson clicked off and knocked on Mark's door. He had listed the properties and the costs associated with them. He listed the comparative costs for high-end resorts in nearby locations.
“That much?” Mark gasped. “That news could affect the stock price if it got out.”
“So I figure we could trim things a bit,” Jackson proposed.
“A bit! Bet your ass, a lot!” Mark used an intercom to postpone lunch with Li Ling. Jackson heard the familiar inflection in Mark's voice; he suppressed a smile knowing Li would not be getting his afternoon fuck that day. “This number, Jacks; I thought Argentina was cheap.” Jackson leaned close for a look and Mark put his hand familiarly on Jackson's back.
“That includes trucking water from the Andes. There isn't enough ground water to support the farm AND the cattle.”
“Farm? I thought it was a ranch.”
“You once admired the kitchen garden the cook was growing and things kind of got crazy from there. It's what you would call a truck farm now, except there's no market for the output. It just rots.” Jackson stood up and Mark's hand slipped down to his ass before he took it away.
“And the property in Munich?”
“I thought the company could transition to something smaller in town coupled with a getaway in the mountains, for bigger gatherings … on the Austrian side, on the water, maybe the Walchsee. Austria is cheaper - not much, unfortunately - but it all counts.”
Mark regarded Jackson with some pride. “See, I told you you'd like running the properties.”
“Yeah, the properties are going to be fun. It's you I miss.” The last comment was almost parenthetical and Jackson turned the talk back to business. “So, if you approve, I'll list these three for sale ...”
“Remember that week we spent in Argentina?” Mark sighed, not so easily turned. His eyes ranged over Jackson's body seeming to recall every inch of it.
“So, we should keep this professional, right? Could you sign this authorization, please, Mark?”
“Jacks … we had some good times. A lot of good times. Don't tell me you have forgotten.”
“No, I haven't. But we're passed that now. No sense stirring that pot.” He waited for Mark to sign the sale authorization. “Thank you, sir. I'll keep you posted on progress.” The 'sir' was not seriously deferential, but it reinforced Jackson's point with Mark. Jackson gathered up his briefing papers and walked to the door, knowing Mark's eyes were on his ass. It was still a fine ass.
Jerry got home from work in a great mood. The bonus announcement had been very promising the night before, but the details as Rory explained them the next day had been even better. Jerry's bonus was modest compared to what Tom and Heiko got, but it was a good deal more than he was expecting. He thought about getting a better house, but he didn't want to overwhelm Neil. He made a lot more money than Neil but he kept quiet about it. Fuck a big kitchen, he thought; I can't cook anyway. I'd rather live with Neil on a shack than live without him in some overpriced monster-house in the Hills. He smile got bigger in anticipation of getting home. And then his face fell. He felt cold terror as he walked up to the porch.
“Tim … is everything alright? Where's Neil? Is he ok?”
“Easy, Jer. He's perfectly fine. He's at Scalese's buying something – to eat, I guess. It's a grocery store last I noticed.” Tim smiled reassuringly.
“Oh! Thank God. Every time I see you without seeing him, I think something's happened. Like you're here to give me the bad news or something.” The danger regularly faced by policemen wasn't lost on Jerry.
“I'm waiting for Rory. Neil invited us to dinner. Darren and Nicky are coming, too.”
In short order the group assembled and Neil put out the best Italian dinner that he could assemble from what Scalese's sold. The hearty red wine had come from a nearby drug store that had a better selection of wines than most of the expensive shops in New York. At least that's what Nicky said.
“Ok, so I can't keep a secret.” Neil stood with glass in hand, about to explode. He didn't make a toast, he just drank it all down. “Jerry and I are getting married,” he said as fast as he could get the words out and then he sat down and looked at Jerry for approval.
There was a five second pause and then the table erupted with simultaneous congratulations. After the flurry of comments and acknowledgments the room got quieter again. Jerry allowed that there were some practical considerations that needed to be worked out and Neil admitted he was scared witless half the time.
And then Rory spoke, “At least you won't have to worry about money.”
Another round of wine and the night ended. Jerry and Neil cleared away the debris of dinner. Everything but the glasses was plastic, so it wasn't a huge clean up.
“You didn't tell me you were gonna make a big deal out of it,” Jerry said as they sipped his wine.
“Do you mind? I mean they had to know eventually.”
“No, I don't mind. I guess my brain was ready to think of us as an engaged couple.”
“Well, that's what we are, aren't we?”
Jerry gave him a fruity, winey kiss. “Yeah; but, when it was just us, it was a manageable thing. Now the world knows, or some of it ...”
Jerry's phone rang. He smiled to Neil and put the phone on speaker. “Asshole,” Bernice exclaimed. “Why didn't you tell us? That would have made the bonus night two hundred percent perfect.”
“Many happy returns,” Cyril shouted in the background.
“That's not what he means,” Bernice explained.
“I know what he means,” Jerry laughed. After a few more words of thanks, he put his phone away and pulled Neil close. “I like making out on the sofa.”
“Jer,” Neil began, “Everybody's talking about this bonus. Just how big is it?”
“Well, it pays out over five years, so it's not so much really. And if I quit, I don't get it. So it's not really anything I can count on.”
“How much?”
“It depends on what the company's stock does.”
“About how much?”
“A million and a quarter. In stock. Not cash. If the stock goes down ...”
“A MILLION AND A QUARTER?”
“More or less … It's not really that much money, Neil.”
“It is when you're making fifty-two thousand a year.” Neil sipped his wine slowly. “Jerry, I put about three thousand to our monthly expenses – and you do, too. How much do you really make?”
“Eight thousand. I put the rest into a mutual fund.”
“We haven't had this talk before,” Neil said quietly.
“We never needed to. Together, fifty-fifty, we already have more than we spend so what difference does the rest make?” Jerry poured the last of the wine in their glasses.
“My genius partner is a millionaire,” Neil said with a sense of wonder.
“My genius partner is the best kisser in the world. Can we go back to making out?”
Neil glanced around the room. “Maybe Ann can see us.”
“So what? When did that ever worry you?”
“I thought we couldn't afford curtains.”
“If she likes watching, she'll be disappointed as hell if we put up curtains.”
Neil giggled and kissed his lover. “Want to give her a better show?”
“At least turn out the lamp over there.”
Even without the lamp, as piece by piece they shed their clothes, their skin glowed in the light coming in from the street and the brighter light coming from the kitchen. The play of light and shadow displayed the ghostly wantonness of Neil's eager touches and Jerry's kisses; no witness could have mistaken the invitation of Jerry's spread legs or the thrusts of Neil's fucking. Fleshy details were obscure but the passion and the climax were plain.
“That was amazing,” Neil sighed. “There is nobody like you, Jer. It must be that millionaires fuck better than us peasant folk.”
Jerry was still in the flush of his orgasm and pulled Neil against his heaving chest. “I told you you don't fuck me enough.”
Neil pulled back. “You're kidding.” He paused; there wasn't enough light to read Jerry's expression. “You're not kidding! … Are you? I thought you wanted it to be, like, special.”
“It is always special, Neil. Every time.”
Ann could barely breath as she watched her neighbors' passion ebb. Her hand almost vibrated on her clit. She had to sit when her climax came. She wondered what her life was becoming. Her voyeuristic sex was so much better than the real thing had ever been for her. No, that wasn't true, she decided. There was a boy, not her first - her third, as she remembered it. He was sweet and gentle and careful. But that was high school. And we only did it twice. And I'm remembering it as being better than it really was, she thought.
What am I going to do when Brian comes home … if he ever does? Five to seven years. And there was that incident that delayed any chance of parole. Fighting! So unlike Brian. Why would he get into a fight? That prison was supposed to be practically a country club. Minimum security. No violent criminals. So Brian's fight meant he would do at least five years and it had been only a little over three. More than half way, but what lay ahead?
Brian, of course, felt the fight had been absolutely necessary. He had to respect himself and he needed others to respect him. Otherwise, his sentence would be five years of victimhood. Despite the relative ease of a prison that wasn't much different from a military boot camp - so much easier than a maximum security facility, victimhood was still victimhood, a daily denial of humanity, a daily subservience, and the psychological disgust of letting yourself be used over and over.
When Brian first arrived he was assigned an upper bunk in a dormitory-like room of a dozen bunk beds. The man in the lower bunk was an uninteresting nobody, a repeat offender named Donald who couldn't stop committing covert crimes of theft, burglaries of empty homes.
After two weeks the routine began to assume boring sameness. Work, eat, and sleep came and went. The exercise periods were just another form of work for Brian. Donald was creepy in the shower, always checking Brian out, but the looks merely creepy. Brian ignored it and otherwise he tolerated the looks. The inmates were non-violent criminals so the prison lacked the drama of sensational movies and television. As far as Brian knew there were no rapes, no knifeings, no gangs. There were some pressures, but those were fairly subtle. The boredom was the hardest part.
On Mondays they changed the bed linen. Donald surprised Brian on his third Monday by saying, “Why don't you take the bottom bunk? I like the openness of the top – you know, no towels hanging down drying.” So with a nod, they swapped positions and made up their new bunks.
Two nights later Brian lay in the bottom bunk with their towels, damp from showering hanging down from the upper bunk rail. The towels afforded a sense of privacy, not actual privacy of course, but there was the feel of a solitary peace behind them. So far, Brian had resisted even thinking about sex in any form. He had heard sounds in the night but did his best to ignore them. This time he could hear the rhythmic squishing of masturbation. He tried to put it out of his head, but resistance is futile, as the Borg says. He felt his own erection growing; he held his dick cupped in his hands as it grew and forced its way through his fingers. A little - he could rub it a little he decided. A little comfort wouldn't hurt. Soon he was stroking as quietly as he could. He tried to minimize his motions, Just concentrate on the tip he told himself.
Before he could react, Donald leapt from the upper bunk and stuck his head into Brian's space. “I can help you with that,” he offered. “You'll like it.”
“Fuck, no,” Brian hissed. “Get back in your bunk.”
Once he was certain that Donald was back in the upper bunk, he rolled on his side and tried to sleep. He had to endure the rocking motion of the bunk and the quiet but obvious sounds of Donald's orgasm. Then he became aware of some kind of sex going on in the adjacent bunk. He wrapped the pillow around his head. Eventually he slept.
In the morning Brian issued a warning to Donald. “Don't try that shit again!”
“What are you talking about?” Donald shoved him away.
That was lesson one in Brian's prison sex education. Nothing happened. There was no sex in prison. In the morning it was all washed away. At least it was never talked about. Every night, however, it was again obvious that half the room was fucking, sucking, or jacking off. Three nights later, Brian gave in to the demands of his erection and began stroking himself as quietly as possible. He heard Donald's bare feet land on the floor. Brian remained lying on his side, facing away and waited. He held his cock and waited for Donald to walk to the toilet; but nothing happened. He refused to turn over to look. Slowly he began stroking his cock again. It felt so good. He sighed almost silently and relaxed, enjoying the solitary pleasure. Fuck Donald, Brian thought. Then he felt something on his ass - just the zephyr of a touch. He rolled over and shoved Donald away. “I told you to stay the hell away!” Brian shouted.
A cautionary warning came from an adjacent bunk. “Fuck him, suck him, or deck him. Just shut the fuck up about it!” Laughter came from two other bunks; but the warning wasn't enough.
Two nights later, when Donald tried it again, Brian burst out of his rack and decked him. The fight caused an uproar and brought the guards. In a bureaucratic procedure designed to minimize the matter for the convenience of the prison administration, Brian was charged with fighting and injuring another inmate without cause. Unprovable sexual assault did not constitute proper cause. The finding cost Brian two things. His first possibility of parole was delayed and he was moved to a more restrictive environment, a regular cell.
The parole delay was devastating. It meant that Brian would perforce do his minimum sentence – five years instead of three. It meant that prisoner life was his life and it awakened him to the fact that he had better learn to adapt. He couldn't close his eyes and hold his breath for five years.
The good news was his roommate. Lex was a virtual copy of Brian. They were the same age and liked the same things; they had the similar backgrounds, they committed almost the same crimes, and they had both punched out their bunk mates. After Lex told the story of his amorous bunk mate's subsequent dental work that caused a whistle when he talked, Brian laughed and felt at ease for the first time since he heard the big doors slam behind him. He could laugh about it for the first time; there was a bitterness in the laugh, but it was a genuine laugh. There was just one matter remaining but it was solved, too. On the second night of their shared sleeping arrangements, they both pretended to ignore the other guy's masturbation.
Porn can be exhausting work. Ty was glad to get into his bed after long hours at the studio, even if those hours had been physically enjoyable. His sex session with Jeff had been easy enough although the exigencies of making porn meant that he didn't get to come when he wanted to and he didn't get to do it the way he liked.
“Was I ok?” Jeff asked from his bed, separated by a shared headboard from Ty's.
“Yeah, you were fine.” Ty answered and then heaved a sigh.
“I didn't want to hurt you or freak you out or anything ...”
“You didn't.”
“I was afraid my dick might be too big.”
“Seriously?” Ty laughed, implying that Jeff's size was nothing to be concerned about..
“Yes, seriously.” Jeff sounded a little offended.
“Thanks for the concern. You were fine.” Ty made amends. “Are we gonna talk all night? Because I was thinking about hiking early tomorrow.”
“I like to talk after a fuck.”
“Yeah, but that was hours ago.”
“But we didn't get to talk hours ago. And there was some stuff I wanted to ask you. This is embarrassing.” Jeff fell silent.
“What? Go ahead. Ask.”
Can I get in bed with you? It's easier to talk that way.” Jeff climbed in with Ty. “I mean we spent the whole day making love. We're not exactly strangers.” They shuffled their bodies around in a bed too small for two and ended up cozily entangled.
“You're naked,” Ty said.
“Well, yeah. You know I sleep that way.”
“Yeah, but … So what did you want to ask? Now that we're so close.” Ty's remark was friendly, not arch.
“Well, I know you kinda had a thing for me ...” Ty didn't say anything so Jeff continued. “And we fucked all today ...” Ty still remained silent. “So … is there any unfinished business left? For you, I mean?”
“Me, no. You're the one with the erection.”
“Yeah, that's why I'm a good porn actor,” Jeff laughed, backing his hips away from Ty's body. “I mean do you still have a thing? Did today make it any … I don't know what to call it.”
“Am I now worse off? Hopelessly in love with you? Is that what you mean? The answer is no. My itch has been scratched. It went away.”
“Great!” In his enthusiasm, Jeff gave Ty a tiny kiss on the cheek. “So can we be friends?”
“We are friends.”
“I mean 'better' friends - now that that stuff is over with?”
“Are you holding my cock?” Ty asked amused by Jeff's illogical concerns.
“Sorry, it's a small bed. I didn't know where to put my hand.” Jeff moved his hand to Ty's thigh. “You're not the only one with a hard on.”
“You don't know what to do with your hand so you jack me off?” Ty laughed harder.
“I wasn't exactly jacking you off ...”
Ty kissed Jeff and said, “Yes, we can be 'better' friends.”
“Good, 'cause I was worried things might get weird. Don't need weird things with my roomie.”
“Are we gonna … mess around?” Ty asked not sure where their coziness was going.
“We don't want to do that,” Jeff said decisively. “Do we?” he asked more uncertainly.
“No, I guess not.”
“Ok, so tell me about hiking. You do that a lot? Where do you go?” Jeff snuggled closer, despite their dueling erections. They talked for a while and then fell asleep in the cramped closeness of Ty's bed. In the morning Ty fucked Jeff.
Of course they fucked. It's what twenty-year-olds do - ones who sleep together. Ty liked it and Jeff liked it so much he sighed, “Why couldn't I love you instead of Dormeyer?”
“You're in 'love' with Dormeyer?”
“Hopelessly.”
“Is it mutual?” Ty got out of bed.
“I don't know. Maybe. Mostly, he treats me like shit.” Jeff stared at Ty's nakedness, drinking in the form standing beside the bed. “And you're so much better looking than he is!”
“Let's see … There's Emeryville, of course, the upstate lodge, the Napa winery, the Singapore condo, the New York apartment, the Munich house, that dump of a compound in Shanghai, the Argentine ranch, the Tasmanian … what is that place in Australia?”
“A house, quite a pleasant one, actually; my wife and kids liked Tasmania. Lots of water, no devils ...” the accountant answered.
“And it's used, on average, eight nights a year and never by Mark, right? So the cost per guest there is one hundred forty thousand dollars a night. Is that Australian dollars or American?”
“Australian, but they have traded pretty much at par for the last couple of years.”
“Historically it's over-priced.”
“The house?”
“No, the Aussie dollar. You could see it moving to eighty cents if the Chinese sneeze twice.”
“I thought you were kind of ...” The accountant let his voice trail off.
“A bimbo? A rent boy? A small time hustler with a big dick?”
“Jackson, there's no need to use names like those. I just mean ...”
“You just mean that I'm supposed to be an idiot?”
“You're making it hard, Jackson.”
“Oh please, I have zero interest in you sexually,” Jackson replied playfully
“What? NO!” the accountant sputtered. “That's not what ...”
“Ok, so to sum up, I'd like to see cost and market for all these places. I've got occupancy rates and operating costs from corporate communications. Can you have those by the end of the day?”
“Well ...”
“Sweet, I'll be waiting for them. Thanks, Milt.” Jackson clicked off and knocked on Mark's door. He had listed the properties and the costs associated with them. He listed the comparative costs for high-end resorts in nearby locations.
“That much?” Mark gasped. “That news could affect the stock price if it got out.”
“So I figure we could trim things a bit,” Jackson proposed.
“A bit! Bet your ass, a lot!” Mark used an intercom to postpone lunch with Li Ling. Jackson heard the familiar inflection in Mark's voice; he suppressed a smile knowing Li would not be getting his afternoon fuck that day. “This number, Jacks; I thought Argentina was cheap.” Jackson leaned close for a look and Mark put his hand familiarly on Jackson's back.
“That includes trucking water from the Andes. There isn't enough ground water to support the farm AND the cattle.”
“Farm? I thought it was a ranch.”
“You once admired the kitchen garden the cook was growing and things kind of got crazy from there. It's what you would call a truck farm now, except there's no market for the output. It just rots.” Jackson stood up and Mark's hand slipped down to his ass before he took it away.
“And the property in Munich?”
“I thought the company could transition to something smaller in town coupled with a getaway in the mountains, for bigger gatherings … on the Austrian side, on the water, maybe the Walchsee. Austria is cheaper - not much, unfortunately - but it all counts.”
Mark regarded Jackson with some pride. “See, I told you you'd like running the properties.”
“Yeah, the properties are going to be fun. It's you I miss.” The last comment was almost parenthetical and Jackson turned the talk back to business. “So, if you approve, I'll list these three for sale ...”
“Remember that week we spent in Argentina?” Mark sighed, not so easily turned. His eyes ranged over Jackson's body seeming to recall every inch of it.
“So, we should keep this professional, right? Could you sign this authorization, please, Mark?”
“Jacks … we had some good times. A lot of good times. Don't tell me you have forgotten.”
“No, I haven't. But we're passed that now. No sense stirring that pot.” He waited for Mark to sign the sale authorization. “Thank you, sir. I'll keep you posted on progress.” The 'sir' was not seriously deferential, but it reinforced Jackson's point with Mark. Jackson gathered up his briefing papers and walked to the door, knowing Mark's eyes were on his ass. It was still a fine ass.
Jerry got home from work in a great mood. The bonus announcement had been very promising the night before, but the details as Rory explained them the next day had been even better. Jerry's bonus was modest compared to what Tom and Heiko got, but it was a good deal more than he was expecting. He thought about getting a better house, but he didn't want to overwhelm Neil. He made a lot more money than Neil but he kept quiet about it. Fuck a big kitchen, he thought; I can't cook anyway. I'd rather live with Neil on a shack than live without him in some overpriced monster-house in the Hills. He smile got bigger in anticipation of getting home. And then his face fell. He felt cold terror as he walked up to the porch.
“Tim … is everything alright? Where's Neil? Is he ok?”
“Easy, Jer. He's perfectly fine. He's at Scalese's buying something – to eat, I guess. It's a grocery store last I noticed.” Tim smiled reassuringly.
“Oh! Thank God. Every time I see you without seeing him, I think something's happened. Like you're here to give me the bad news or something.” The danger regularly faced by policemen wasn't lost on Jerry.
“I'm waiting for Rory. Neil invited us to dinner. Darren and Nicky are coming, too.”
In short order the group assembled and Neil put out the best Italian dinner that he could assemble from what Scalese's sold. The hearty red wine had come from a nearby drug store that had a better selection of wines than most of the expensive shops in New York. At least that's what Nicky said.
“Ok, so I can't keep a secret.” Neil stood with glass in hand, about to explode. He didn't make a toast, he just drank it all down. “Jerry and I are getting married,” he said as fast as he could get the words out and then he sat down and looked at Jerry for approval.
There was a five second pause and then the table erupted with simultaneous congratulations. After the flurry of comments and acknowledgments the room got quieter again. Jerry allowed that there were some practical considerations that needed to be worked out and Neil admitted he was scared witless half the time.
And then Rory spoke, “At least you won't have to worry about money.”
Another round of wine and the night ended. Jerry and Neil cleared away the debris of dinner. Everything but the glasses was plastic, so it wasn't a huge clean up.
“You didn't tell me you were gonna make a big deal out of it,” Jerry said as they sipped his wine.
“Do you mind? I mean they had to know eventually.”
“No, I don't mind. I guess my brain was ready to think of us as an engaged couple.”
“Well, that's what we are, aren't we?”
Jerry gave him a fruity, winey kiss. “Yeah; but, when it was just us, it was a manageable thing. Now the world knows, or some of it ...”
Jerry's phone rang. He smiled to Neil and put the phone on speaker. “Asshole,” Bernice exclaimed. “Why didn't you tell us? That would have made the bonus night two hundred percent perfect.”
“Many happy returns,” Cyril shouted in the background.
“That's not what he means,” Bernice explained.
“I know what he means,” Jerry laughed. After a few more words of thanks, he put his phone away and pulled Neil close. “I like making out on the sofa.”
“Jer,” Neil began, “Everybody's talking about this bonus. Just how big is it?”
“Well, it pays out over five years, so it's not so much really. And if I quit, I don't get it. So it's not really anything I can count on.”
“How much?”
“It depends on what the company's stock does.”
“About how much?”
“A million and a quarter. In stock. Not cash. If the stock goes down ...”
“A MILLION AND A QUARTER?”
“More or less … It's not really that much money, Neil.”
“It is when you're making fifty-two thousand a year.” Neil sipped his wine slowly. “Jerry, I put about three thousand to our monthly expenses – and you do, too. How much do you really make?”
“Eight thousand. I put the rest into a mutual fund.”
“We haven't had this talk before,” Neil said quietly.
“We never needed to. Together, fifty-fifty, we already have more than we spend so what difference does the rest make?” Jerry poured the last of the wine in their glasses.
“My genius partner is a millionaire,” Neil said with a sense of wonder.
“My genius partner is the best kisser in the world. Can we go back to making out?”
Neil glanced around the room. “Maybe Ann can see us.”
“So what? When did that ever worry you?”
“I thought we couldn't afford curtains.”
“If she likes watching, she'll be disappointed as hell if we put up curtains.”
Neil giggled and kissed his lover. “Want to give her a better show?”
“At least turn out the lamp over there.”
Even without the lamp, as piece by piece they shed their clothes, their skin glowed in the light coming in from the street and the brighter light coming from the kitchen. The play of light and shadow displayed the ghostly wantonness of Neil's eager touches and Jerry's kisses; no witness could have mistaken the invitation of Jerry's spread legs or the thrusts of Neil's fucking. Fleshy details were obscure but the passion and the climax were plain.
“That was amazing,” Neil sighed. “There is nobody like you, Jer. It must be that millionaires fuck better than us peasant folk.”
Jerry was still in the flush of his orgasm and pulled Neil against his heaving chest. “I told you you don't fuck me enough.”
Neil pulled back. “You're kidding.” He paused; there wasn't enough light to read Jerry's expression. “You're not kidding! … Are you? I thought you wanted it to be, like, special.”
“It is always special, Neil. Every time.”
Ann could barely breath as she watched her neighbors' passion ebb. Her hand almost vibrated on her clit. She had to sit when her climax came. She wondered what her life was becoming. Her voyeuristic sex was so much better than the real thing had ever been for her. No, that wasn't true, she decided. There was a boy, not her first - her third, as she remembered it. He was sweet and gentle and careful. But that was high school. And we only did it twice. And I'm remembering it as being better than it really was, she thought.
What am I going to do when Brian comes home … if he ever does? Five to seven years. And there was that incident that delayed any chance of parole. Fighting! So unlike Brian. Why would he get into a fight? That prison was supposed to be practically a country club. Minimum security. No violent criminals. So Brian's fight meant he would do at least five years and it had been only a little over three. More than half way, but what lay ahead?
Brian, of course, felt the fight had been absolutely necessary. He had to respect himself and he needed others to respect him. Otherwise, his sentence would be five years of victimhood. Despite the relative ease of a prison that wasn't much different from a military boot camp - so much easier than a maximum security facility, victimhood was still victimhood, a daily denial of humanity, a daily subservience, and the psychological disgust of letting yourself be used over and over.
When Brian first arrived he was assigned an upper bunk in a dormitory-like room of a dozen bunk beds. The man in the lower bunk was an uninteresting nobody, a repeat offender named Donald who couldn't stop committing covert crimes of theft, burglaries of empty homes.
After two weeks the routine began to assume boring sameness. Work, eat, and sleep came and went. The exercise periods were just another form of work for Brian. Donald was creepy in the shower, always checking Brian out, but the looks merely creepy. Brian ignored it and otherwise he tolerated the looks. The inmates were non-violent criminals so the prison lacked the drama of sensational movies and television. As far as Brian knew there were no rapes, no knifeings, no gangs. There were some pressures, but those were fairly subtle. The boredom was the hardest part.
On Mondays they changed the bed linen. Donald surprised Brian on his third Monday by saying, “Why don't you take the bottom bunk? I like the openness of the top – you know, no towels hanging down drying.” So with a nod, they swapped positions and made up their new bunks.
Two nights later Brian lay in the bottom bunk with their towels, damp from showering hanging down from the upper bunk rail. The towels afforded a sense of privacy, not actual privacy of course, but there was the feel of a solitary peace behind them. So far, Brian had resisted even thinking about sex in any form. He had heard sounds in the night but did his best to ignore them. This time he could hear the rhythmic squishing of masturbation. He tried to put it out of his head, but resistance is futile, as the Borg says. He felt his own erection growing; he held his dick cupped in his hands as it grew and forced its way through his fingers. A little - he could rub it a little he decided. A little comfort wouldn't hurt. Soon he was stroking as quietly as he could. He tried to minimize his motions, Just concentrate on the tip he told himself.
Before he could react, Donald leapt from the upper bunk and stuck his head into Brian's space. “I can help you with that,” he offered. “You'll like it.”
“Fuck, no,” Brian hissed. “Get back in your bunk.”
Once he was certain that Donald was back in the upper bunk, he rolled on his side and tried to sleep. He had to endure the rocking motion of the bunk and the quiet but obvious sounds of Donald's orgasm. Then he became aware of some kind of sex going on in the adjacent bunk. He wrapped the pillow around his head. Eventually he slept.
In the morning Brian issued a warning to Donald. “Don't try that shit again!”
“What are you talking about?” Donald shoved him away.
That was lesson one in Brian's prison sex education. Nothing happened. There was no sex in prison. In the morning it was all washed away. At least it was never talked about. Every night, however, it was again obvious that half the room was fucking, sucking, or jacking off. Three nights later, Brian gave in to the demands of his erection and began stroking himself as quietly as possible. He heard Donald's bare feet land on the floor. Brian remained lying on his side, facing away and waited. He held his cock and waited for Donald to walk to the toilet; but nothing happened. He refused to turn over to look. Slowly he began stroking his cock again. It felt so good. He sighed almost silently and relaxed, enjoying the solitary pleasure. Fuck Donald, Brian thought. Then he felt something on his ass - just the zephyr of a touch. He rolled over and shoved Donald away. “I told you to stay the hell away!” Brian shouted.
A cautionary warning came from an adjacent bunk. “Fuck him, suck him, or deck him. Just shut the fuck up about it!” Laughter came from two other bunks; but the warning wasn't enough.
Two nights later, when Donald tried it again, Brian burst out of his rack and decked him. The fight caused an uproar and brought the guards. In a bureaucratic procedure designed to minimize the matter for the convenience of the prison administration, Brian was charged with fighting and injuring another inmate without cause. Unprovable sexual assault did not constitute proper cause. The finding cost Brian two things. His first possibility of parole was delayed and he was moved to a more restrictive environment, a regular cell.
The parole delay was devastating. It meant that Brian would perforce do his minimum sentence – five years instead of three. It meant that prisoner life was his life and it awakened him to the fact that he had better learn to adapt. He couldn't close his eyes and hold his breath for five years.
The good news was his roommate. Lex was a virtual copy of Brian. They were the same age and liked the same things; they had the similar backgrounds, they committed almost the same crimes, and they had both punched out their bunk mates. After Lex told the story of his amorous bunk mate's subsequent dental work that caused a whistle when he talked, Brian laughed and felt at ease for the first time since he heard the big doors slam behind him. He could laugh about it for the first time; there was a bitterness in the laugh, but it was a genuine laugh. There was just one matter remaining but it was solved, too. On the second night of their shared sleeping arrangements, they both pretended to ignore the other guy's masturbation.
Porn can be exhausting work. Ty was glad to get into his bed after long hours at the studio, even if those hours had been physically enjoyable. His sex session with Jeff had been easy enough although the exigencies of making porn meant that he didn't get to come when he wanted to and he didn't get to do it the way he liked.
“Was I ok?” Jeff asked from his bed, separated by a shared headboard from Ty's.
“Yeah, you were fine.” Ty answered and then heaved a sigh.
“I didn't want to hurt you or freak you out or anything ...”
“You didn't.”
“I was afraid my dick might be too big.”
“Seriously?” Ty laughed, implying that Jeff's size was nothing to be concerned about..
“Yes, seriously.” Jeff sounded a little offended.
“Thanks for the concern. You were fine.” Ty made amends. “Are we gonna talk all night? Because I was thinking about hiking early tomorrow.”
“I like to talk after a fuck.”
“Yeah, but that was hours ago.”
“But we didn't get to talk hours ago. And there was some stuff I wanted to ask you. This is embarrassing.” Jeff fell silent.
“What? Go ahead. Ask.”
Can I get in bed with you? It's easier to talk that way.” Jeff climbed in with Ty. “I mean we spent the whole day making love. We're not exactly strangers.” They shuffled their bodies around in a bed too small for two and ended up cozily entangled.
“You're naked,” Ty said.
“Well, yeah. You know I sleep that way.”
“Yeah, but … So what did you want to ask? Now that we're so close.” Ty's remark was friendly, not arch.
“Well, I know you kinda had a thing for me ...” Ty didn't say anything so Jeff continued. “And we fucked all today ...” Ty still remained silent. “So … is there any unfinished business left? For you, I mean?”
“Me, no. You're the one with the erection.”
“Yeah, that's why I'm a good porn actor,” Jeff laughed, backing his hips away from Ty's body. “I mean do you still have a thing? Did today make it any … I don't know what to call it.”
“Am I now worse off? Hopelessly in love with you? Is that what you mean? The answer is no. My itch has been scratched. It went away.”
“Great!” In his enthusiasm, Jeff gave Ty a tiny kiss on the cheek. “So can we be friends?”
“We are friends.”
“I mean 'better' friends - now that that stuff is over with?”
“Are you holding my cock?” Ty asked amused by Jeff's illogical concerns.
“Sorry, it's a small bed. I didn't know where to put my hand.” Jeff moved his hand to Ty's thigh. “You're not the only one with a hard on.”
“You don't know what to do with your hand so you jack me off?” Ty laughed harder.
“I wasn't exactly jacking you off ...”
Ty kissed Jeff and said, “Yes, we can be 'better' friends.”
“Good, 'cause I was worried things might get weird. Don't need weird things with my roomie.”
“Are we gonna … mess around?” Ty asked not sure where their coziness was going.
“We don't want to do that,” Jeff said decisively. “Do we?” he asked more uncertainly.
“No, I guess not.”
“Ok, so tell me about hiking. You do that a lot? Where do you go?” Jeff snuggled closer, despite their dueling erections. They talked for a while and then fell asleep in the cramped closeness of Ty's bed. In the morning Ty fucked Jeff.
Of course they fucked. It's what twenty-year-olds do - ones who sleep together. Ty liked it and Jeff liked it so much he sighed, “Why couldn't I love you instead of Dormeyer?”
“You're in 'love' with Dormeyer?”
“Hopelessly.”
“Is it mutual?” Ty got out of bed.
“I don't know. Maybe. Mostly, he treats me like shit.” Jeff stared at Ty's nakedness, drinking in the form standing beside the bed. “And you're so much better looking than he is!”
So, is Jackson really trying to keep it professional, or is he using his power to adjust the situation to his liking?
Mark is about to bottom for Jackson's keen intellect, and possibly other portions of his anatomy.
Neil and Jerry and their big party - with Jerry's quiet bonus being not so quiet. The company's had a very, VERY good year.
Their quiet, backlit, private celebration was very nice, too.
We learn a lot more about Ann and particularly Brian, and his current circumstances.
Jeff and Ty, post coitus professionalis, back at their room . . . That certainly got me hard!
Mark is about to bottom for Jackson's keen intellect, and possibly other portions of his anatomy.
Neil and Jerry and their big party - with Jerry's quiet bonus being not so quiet. The company's had a very, VERY good year.
Their quiet, backlit, private celebration was very nice, too.
We learn a lot more about Ann and particularly Brian, and his current circumstances.
Jeff and Ty, post coitus professionalis, back at their room . . . That certainly got me hard!
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Forty-Seven
“We have a smart phone app that could keep better track of your inventory than that green notebook you use.”
“Now you want to run the rag business?” Nicky answered, betraying some annoyance.
“Of course not, our systems don't run anything. They're just tools.” Darren left for work, leaving Nicky talking to himself while paging through the small hard-covered green notebook he kept in his back pocket. Morrie called it a “wheel book”. He claimed it was a fine naval tradition and insisted that Nicky use it.
“He makes more money than I do. He's smarter than I am. He's a better lover than I am. He doesn't fall for Morrie's bullshit like I do. He wouldn't waste ten minutes looking for a fucking phone number ...” Nicky threw his little green wheel book against the wall out of frustration. A couple of loose pages fell out. They did not contain the number he was looking for but did give him a clue about where to find it. Malcomb Morrison was listed with Morris Lehrman under D because Lehrman married Debbie Downer, whose real name was Duber, but she was always so negative about everything.
“Mal.” Nicky smiled broadly into the phone. He had heard that smiles are reflected in the voice.
“Nicky, jeez … How long has it been?”
“Too long, old buddy. You want to get together?”
“Tonight, aw … I can't. I'm married now, you know.”
“I didn't. Anyone rich and famous?” Nicky asked, hoping it wasn't that asshole what's-his-name that Mal used to be nuts about.
“I don't think so. LaDonna Faber? Worked at Halbeard Faber? The bond house? We have four kids.”
“Wow! The boss's daughter!” Nicky's surprise reflected the fact that Mal used to get fucked by every gay guy on Wall Street - and there are a lot of gay guys on Wall Street. He made a date for drinks the following Wednesday. Nicky's next call was to an airline for tickets to New York on Tuesday. He dressed and headed for the city, hoping he hadn't pissed off Darren. Morrie wanted to review their options at his hotel.
“Oh, for God sake! Ten in the morning and you're still going at it? Call me when you're through!” Nicky stormed out of Morrie's room. The sight of Tin-tin getting fucked by Morrie was more than he could take; Morrie, always robustly proportioned, was verging on freak show fat. Disgusting, Nicky thought as he sipped a coffee in the hotel lobby. He needed something stronger to get the vision of Morrie out of his head, but the bar wasn't open yet. His phone buzzed, summoning him back to the room.
“Morrie … Jeez ...”
“You arrived early, Nicolo. You were supposed to be here at ten. You arrived at nine fifty-seven.”
“You wouldn't have been finished at ten and you know it.”
“Minor details.” Morrie dismissed Nicky's objections with a shoo-ing motion. “Let's get to the important details. How should we size the initial order?”
The bathroom door opened and Tsien-tsien emerged looking masculine and very fit. “Hi, Nicky. Didn't know you were back yet.” He covered his nakedness with a towel. He walked to a dresser and removed the towel. He carefully selected everything but his underwear, which he eventually donned after a couple of minutes.
Morrie smiled at the flaunting display and gave Nicky a wink that said, “All mine.”
Nicky was bothered by the fact that Tsien-tsien's little show had been mesmerizing; it was impossible to look away. Back to business. “Yeah, well, I feel we should go easy. Place a cost-efficient order but phase the shipments at a pace we can sell. I'm gonna see Mal Morrison for financing.”
“Numbers?” Morrie probed.
“The minimum was five thousand the last time. Maybe we can beat that because of the … um, trouble.”
“Yeah, keep talking ...” Morrie went into the bathroom and for once closed the door.
Nicky waited knowing Morrie couldn't hear him unless he shouted. At looked at Tsien-tsien who was finishing dressing in his government-agent black suit. Tsien-tsien looked back.
“We offended you? You never used to mind.”
“Forget about it,” Nicky muttered. The words were distinct; his New York accent had faded into a murky mix of both coasts.
“Could have been you. You were always a good fuck. Better than Morrie, anyway.”
“Well, thanks. You just made my day.” Nicky flipped through his wheel book looking at Chinese addresses.
“Nicky, we don't have to be enemies.”
“We aren't, Tsien-tsien. But we're not friends either.”
“We should be. Morrie's giving me a piece of the company.”
“Morrie gives everybody a piece of the company. You will later find out the 'company' is just a shell. No assets. Just a pass-through.” Nicky wasn't being absolutely factual. The 'company' was structured for specific deals. It would hold assets but only when absolutely necessary and for only brief periods. Brief, as in days.
“So I need to sell faster than you do. Is that what you're saying?”
Nicky looked up. Tsien-tsien was a formidable presence in the dark suit of his government-agent role, handsome, too. “Kind of. That is, if you can find a market to sell into. Nobody wants to be the second holder of Morrie's paper.”
“Package it in a repo with other junk and walk? Chinese banks will take it. You're not the only people I do business with.”
“Do you fuck for them all?” Nicky's question wasn't mean. He was truly curious.
“It depends, as you know.” Morrie emerged from the bathroom mostly dressed. Tsien-tsien, acting as a valet moved to help him with his tie, but Morrie brushed him aside.
“Nicky, what is that thing?”
“It's a wheel book. You ordered me to use it.”
“Oh, for God's sake, get a smart phone.”
Andrew was having fun playing with Seth's balls. Their morning sex ended a half-hour ago and they were spending some lazy, Lemuel-free, quality time in bed. His head lay on Seth's stomach while he gently poked and prodded, watching the balls move about in their sack. “You have beautiful balls, you know that?”
“Mmmm,” Seth answered. He was reading a small joke book about student exam answers. Suddenly he laughed uproariously, making Andrew's head bounce. He read from the book. “Some student wrote, 'Judyism – that's J-U-D-Y – was the first monolithic religion that had one great big god named Yahoo'. What a dick-head!” Seth roared with laughter forcing Andrew to move his head.
“This guy ...” Seth checked the author's name, “Anders Hendriksson, collects student essays. It's hilarious - unless you're worried about the future of the youth of the world.”
“Weren't you listening to me?” Andrew asked, hurt that his compliment had been overlooked.
“You like my balls. You've said that before.”
“But this time, I really ...”
Seth put his book aside and pulled Andrew into a kiss. “Can we stay naked all day? Just lie in bed and fuck?”
“I was thinking we should consult with Chris. About money. We have a tuition payment coming up.” Andrew was being practical. “We could take some money out of the studio.”
Seth sat up and looked concerned. “What about that business, Andrew? What if the social worker finds out we're pornographers?”
“Maybe she models.”
“No, seriously. What if she thinks pornographers are unfit to help raise a child?”
“You're being serious. Where's the fun in that?” Andrew kissed the head of Seth's dick.
“I'm usually being serious, if you haven't noticed.” Seth relaxed and stroked Andrew's hair as his head bobbed on Seth's dick.
“Yrrr ssly rrdd ooo,” Andrew answered with out stopping his slow licking and sucking.
“What?”
“I said you're usually hard, too, like this morning. This morning you're serious and hard and hot and loving and patient while I … Ah, there's my sweet Sethie.” Andrew spoke slowly stringing out the words as he maneuvered his body into position and his cock into Seth. “You know I love you.” He slowly pumped as he stroked Seth's cock. “Those big balls are starting to pull up tight.”
Seth just groaned and pulled Andrew deeper into himself. He bit his lip as the pleasure mounted. Andrew responded more quickly than either of them expected and began to cum. “Don't stop fuckin' me! Don't stop!” Seth demanded when Andrew started to slow down and pulled Andrew's mouth against his own. Andrew's spent cock was already starting to soften before Seth came. “Mmmm,” was all Seth could say as he kept kissing Andrew with an unquenched need.
“We could always work harder at the modeling business,” Andrew said to the panting Seth, who looked confused and continued panting. “Just saying ...”
After a minute Seth chuckled. “You figured that out while you fucked me?”
“It's called multi-tasking.”
“Oh, now I'm just another task to you.”
“Sweetie, you know I love you ...”
“Do you really?”
Andrew began with a kiss. “I love you like my friend and partner. I love you like my lover. I love you like the man who's getting to love Lemmie as much as I do. I love you like ...”
“Stop right there. I am getting to like the kid. I miss him when he's with Lurline.”
“You don't have to tell me. I can see that.”
“And, Andrew? I think I've always loved you. Sometimes I was pissed off, but I still loved you. Sometimes it was a love-on-low, but it never went out completely.”
“I know, sweetie; but you can tell me anyway. I like hearing it.”
“So what about the porn stuff, Andrew? We need to do something about that.”
It was early and the gym was almost empty. With only two other guys working out, Rocky and Ty could proceed through their routines without any waiting for machines. Ty told Rocky pretty much all the details about his last studio shoot.
“So you finally got to do it with Jeff, huh?”
“Do you think that's what? Slutty?”
“Dude, I dance near-naked in a gay bar. I'm not characterizing your actions at all.”
“Characterizing my actions,” Ty repeated. “Are we growing up, you think?”
“We're using bigger words,” Rocky grinned back. “And making more money.”
“Yeah? Really? Playing up to the customers is working for you?”
“Doubled my tips. Some nights more.” Rocky adjusted the weights on the machine.
“What about the yuck factor?”
Rocky shrugged. “Most of the time they're just guys, needy guys. I'm helping them through the night.”
“They dream about you while they beat off,” Ty observed. “I think you give 'em a cleaner image to work with than I do.”
“I don't get naked, but I guess I would, if that's what the boss wanted. She's all about the tease, not the skin.”
“Nice tease, though. You're wet dream material, Rock.” It was a factual appraisal, not a lusty remark.
“I tease. You deliver. I think you're actually being more honest.”
“I don't know. Sometimes I feel used, and not in a good way, if there even is a good way to sell sex.”
“I hear you. The nights they yell stuff at me – specific ways they say they'll make me cum. Man, as if … Those nights suck. It was way more fun when I worked with Wolf. We could laugh at everything. He was so easy to be around. He's the only guy I've ever kissed.” Rocky laughed at the memory.
“Maybe you need another partner.”
“I asked about that. The boss doesn't want to pay anybody else. Maybe during the holidays, she says. Is your place looking for talent?”
“They're always in the market. You interested?
“Not really. Just a thought. Would we work together?”
“I don't know. I don't know if I'd like that. I've never worked with anybody I knew before.
“Jeff's your roommate,” Rocky countered. “You work with him.”
“Yeah, but that was lust. We weren't really that close to him at the time. He wasn't somebody like you - somebody I respect.”
Rocky smiled in appreciation of the nice words. “Spot me?” he asked as they moved to free weights.
“Eric, I talked to your roommates. They said they haven't seen you in a while. Are you sleeping at the hospital?” That was something tired students often did.
“Z ...” Eric began. “Z … I, uh, have been staying at Spike's. Remember him from Alameda General?”
“Of course, Erica's dad. Nice family.”
“They're not together anymore. Julie and the girls have ...”
“Oh, sorry to hear that.”
“Z ...” Eric fidgeted with his shirt collar.
“Say it, Eric.”
“I've been staying 'with' Spike, not just at his place.”
Z continued drying and putting away the dishes Eric had washed. He didn't look at Eric. “Oh,” he said at last.
“Z ...” There was a catch in Eric's voice. “Z, I … love you... but ...”
Z dropped a plate and watched it shatter on the hard tile floor. He counted the pieces until he got to nine. “Clumsy of me ...” he said. “Really, so fuckin' clumsy of me.” He squatted and began to pick up the pieces. “Kind of like pieces of my life, huh, Eric?” He gathered the larger pieces into his hands and dumped them in the garbage. “So we're done? It's over?”
“Z, that sounds so final.” There were tears in Eric's eyes.
“Yeah, well. I guess it is. I'm sitting on my hands in Alameda. You're fuckin' around in the city. We don't see each other much. Couple a days now and then… couple a fucks now and then. For what? Sounds pretty final, doesn't it?
“It doesn't have to be.”
“Really it does, Eric. We're wasting each other's time - trying to live on old memories. They are great old memories, but that's all they are.”
“Z ...”
“I'll stay in the front room and be out of here as soon as possible. It might take a few days. Is that ok?”
“Z, the house is half yours.”
“Not legally. We never changed the deed.”
“Fuck legally, it's half yours. You don't have to move. I want … I want you to stay ...”
“Thanks, that's decent of you.”
“Z, I love you.”
“Not really, you don't. You just haven't figured out that it's over.”
“You're so calm about this. How can you be so calm about this?” Tears were streaming down Eric's cheeks.
“Maybe I've had more time alone to prepare for it.” Z finished sweeping up the last remnants of the broken plate and put the broom and dustpan back in the closet.
“I love you, Z.” Eric's plaintive howl at last broke Z's heart.
“You sure used to.” He kissed Eric's wet cheek and went up the stairs. He sat in the front room in a chair by the window and listened to Eric bang about the house. At last Eric left with the backpack he had brought with him earlier in the day and more clothes over his arm. Z watched Eric drive away and stared at the empty parking space on San Antonio as a feeling of utter bleakness gripped him and broke him. He noted the perfection of the available parking space, so rare in San Antonio, so perfectly sized for an SUV, left so absolutely empty by Eric's departure.
His tears began slowly but were impossible to stop. Then aching sobs crushed his chest; it felt like his ribs were breaking. “No,” he repeated over and over. Exhaustion took forever to come. A version of oblivion unlike sleep finally silenced his pain until the early morning. It was still dark when Z awoke, uncomfortable from sleeping in his clothes, aching generally throughout his body. Then the ache became specific again. Eric was gone.
“We have a smart phone app that could keep better track of your inventory than that green notebook you use.”
“Now you want to run the rag business?” Nicky answered, betraying some annoyance.
“Of course not, our systems don't run anything. They're just tools.” Darren left for work, leaving Nicky talking to himself while paging through the small hard-covered green notebook he kept in his back pocket. Morrie called it a “wheel book”. He claimed it was a fine naval tradition and insisted that Nicky use it.
“He makes more money than I do. He's smarter than I am. He's a better lover than I am. He doesn't fall for Morrie's bullshit like I do. He wouldn't waste ten minutes looking for a fucking phone number ...” Nicky threw his little green wheel book against the wall out of frustration. A couple of loose pages fell out. They did not contain the number he was looking for but did give him a clue about where to find it. Malcomb Morrison was listed with Morris Lehrman under D because Lehrman married Debbie Downer, whose real name was Duber, but she was always so negative about everything.
“Mal.” Nicky smiled broadly into the phone. He had heard that smiles are reflected in the voice.
“Nicky, jeez … How long has it been?”
“Too long, old buddy. You want to get together?”
“Tonight, aw … I can't. I'm married now, you know.”
“I didn't. Anyone rich and famous?” Nicky asked, hoping it wasn't that asshole what's-his-name that Mal used to be nuts about.
“I don't think so. LaDonna Faber? Worked at Halbeard Faber? The bond house? We have four kids.”
“Wow! The boss's daughter!” Nicky's surprise reflected the fact that Mal used to get fucked by every gay guy on Wall Street - and there are a lot of gay guys on Wall Street. He made a date for drinks the following Wednesday. Nicky's next call was to an airline for tickets to New York on Tuesday. He dressed and headed for the city, hoping he hadn't pissed off Darren. Morrie wanted to review their options at his hotel.
“Oh, for God sake! Ten in the morning and you're still going at it? Call me when you're through!” Nicky stormed out of Morrie's room. The sight of Tin-tin getting fucked by Morrie was more than he could take; Morrie, always robustly proportioned, was verging on freak show fat. Disgusting, Nicky thought as he sipped a coffee in the hotel lobby. He needed something stronger to get the vision of Morrie out of his head, but the bar wasn't open yet. His phone buzzed, summoning him back to the room.
“Morrie … Jeez ...”
“You arrived early, Nicolo. You were supposed to be here at ten. You arrived at nine fifty-seven.”
“You wouldn't have been finished at ten and you know it.”
“Minor details.” Morrie dismissed Nicky's objections with a shoo-ing motion. “Let's get to the important details. How should we size the initial order?”
The bathroom door opened and Tsien-tsien emerged looking masculine and very fit. “Hi, Nicky. Didn't know you were back yet.” He covered his nakedness with a towel. He walked to a dresser and removed the towel. He carefully selected everything but his underwear, which he eventually donned after a couple of minutes.
Morrie smiled at the flaunting display and gave Nicky a wink that said, “All mine.”
Nicky was bothered by the fact that Tsien-tsien's little show had been mesmerizing; it was impossible to look away. Back to business. “Yeah, well, I feel we should go easy. Place a cost-efficient order but phase the shipments at a pace we can sell. I'm gonna see Mal Morrison for financing.”
“Numbers?” Morrie probed.
“The minimum was five thousand the last time. Maybe we can beat that because of the … um, trouble.”
“Yeah, keep talking ...” Morrie went into the bathroom and for once closed the door.
Nicky waited knowing Morrie couldn't hear him unless he shouted. At looked at Tsien-tsien who was finishing dressing in his government-agent black suit. Tsien-tsien looked back.
“We offended you? You never used to mind.”
“Forget about it,” Nicky muttered. The words were distinct; his New York accent had faded into a murky mix of both coasts.
“Could have been you. You were always a good fuck. Better than Morrie, anyway.”
“Well, thanks. You just made my day.” Nicky flipped through his wheel book looking at Chinese addresses.
“Nicky, we don't have to be enemies.”
“We aren't, Tsien-tsien. But we're not friends either.”
“We should be. Morrie's giving me a piece of the company.”
“Morrie gives everybody a piece of the company. You will later find out the 'company' is just a shell. No assets. Just a pass-through.” Nicky wasn't being absolutely factual. The 'company' was structured for specific deals. It would hold assets but only when absolutely necessary and for only brief periods. Brief, as in days.
“So I need to sell faster than you do. Is that what you're saying?”
Nicky looked up. Tsien-tsien was a formidable presence in the dark suit of his government-agent role, handsome, too. “Kind of. That is, if you can find a market to sell into. Nobody wants to be the second holder of Morrie's paper.”
“Package it in a repo with other junk and walk? Chinese banks will take it. You're not the only people I do business with.”
“Do you fuck for them all?” Nicky's question wasn't mean. He was truly curious.
“It depends, as you know.” Morrie emerged from the bathroom mostly dressed. Tsien-tsien, acting as a valet moved to help him with his tie, but Morrie brushed him aside.
“Nicky, what is that thing?”
“It's a wheel book. You ordered me to use it.”
“Oh, for God's sake, get a smart phone.”
Andrew was having fun playing with Seth's balls. Their morning sex ended a half-hour ago and they were spending some lazy, Lemuel-free, quality time in bed. His head lay on Seth's stomach while he gently poked and prodded, watching the balls move about in their sack. “You have beautiful balls, you know that?”
“Mmmm,” Seth answered. He was reading a small joke book about student exam answers. Suddenly he laughed uproariously, making Andrew's head bounce. He read from the book. “Some student wrote, 'Judyism – that's J-U-D-Y – was the first monolithic religion that had one great big god named Yahoo'. What a dick-head!” Seth roared with laughter forcing Andrew to move his head.
“This guy ...” Seth checked the author's name, “Anders Hendriksson, collects student essays. It's hilarious - unless you're worried about the future of the youth of the world.”
“Weren't you listening to me?” Andrew asked, hurt that his compliment had been overlooked.
“You like my balls. You've said that before.”
“But this time, I really ...”
Seth put his book aside and pulled Andrew into a kiss. “Can we stay naked all day? Just lie in bed and fuck?”
“I was thinking we should consult with Chris. About money. We have a tuition payment coming up.” Andrew was being practical. “We could take some money out of the studio.”
Seth sat up and looked concerned. “What about that business, Andrew? What if the social worker finds out we're pornographers?”
“Maybe she models.”
“No, seriously. What if she thinks pornographers are unfit to help raise a child?”
“You're being serious. Where's the fun in that?” Andrew kissed the head of Seth's dick.
“I'm usually being serious, if you haven't noticed.” Seth relaxed and stroked Andrew's hair as his head bobbed on Seth's dick.
“Yrrr ssly rrdd ooo,” Andrew answered with out stopping his slow licking and sucking.
“What?”
“I said you're usually hard, too, like this morning. This morning you're serious and hard and hot and loving and patient while I … Ah, there's my sweet Sethie.” Andrew spoke slowly stringing out the words as he maneuvered his body into position and his cock into Seth. “You know I love you.” He slowly pumped as he stroked Seth's cock. “Those big balls are starting to pull up tight.”
Seth just groaned and pulled Andrew deeper into himself. He bit his lip as the pleasure mounted. Andrew responded more quickly than either of them expected and began to cum. “Don't stop fuckin' me! Don't stop!” Seth demanded when Andrew started to slow down and pulled Andrew's mouth against his own. Andrew's spent cock was already starting to soften before Seth came. “Mmmm,” was all Seth could say as he kept kissing Andrew with an unquenched need.
“We could always work harder at the modeling business,” Andrew said to the panting Seth, who looked confused and continued panting. “Just saying ...”
After a minute Seth chuckled. “You figured that out while you fucked me?”
“It's called multi-tasking.”
“Oh, now I'm just another task to you.”
“Sweetie, you know I love you ...”
“Do you really?”
Andrew began with a kiss. “I love you like my friend and partner. I love you like my lover. I love you like the man who's getting to love Lemmie as much as I do. I love you like ...”
“Stop right there. I am getting to like the kid. I miss him when he's with Lurline.”
“You don't have to tell me. I can see that.”
“And, Andrew? I think I've always loved you. Sometimes I was pissed off, but I still loved you. Sometimes it was a love-on-low, but it never went out completely.”
“I know, sweetie; but you can tell me anyway. I like hearing it.”
“So what about the porn stuff, Andrew? We need to do something about that.”
It was early and the gym was almost empty. With only two other guys working out, Rocky and Ty could proceed through their routines without any waiting for machines. Ty told Rocky pretty much all the details about his last studio shoot.
“So you finally got to do it with Jeff, huh?”
“Do you think that's what? Slutty?”
“Dude, I dance near-naked in a gay bar. I'm not characterizing your actions at all.”
“Characterizing my actions,” Ty repeated. “Are we growing up, you think?”
“We're using bigger words,” Rocky grinned back. “And making more money.”
“Yeah? Really? Playing up to the customers is working for you?”
“Doubled my tips. Some nights more.” Rocky adjusted the weights on the machine.
“What about the yuck factor?”
Rocky shrugged. “Most of the time they're just guys, needy guys. I'm helping them through the night.”
“They dream about you while they beat off,” Ty observed. “I think you give 'em a cleaner image to work with than I do.”
“I don't get naked, but I guess I would, if that's what the boss wanted. She's all about the tease, not the skin.”
“Nice tease, though. You're wet dream material, Rock.” It was a factual appraisal, not a lusty remark.
“I tease. You deliver. I think you're actually being more honest.”
“I don't know. Sometimes I feel used, and not in a good way, if there even is a good way to sell sex.”
“I hear you. The nights they yell stuff at me – specific ways they say they'll make me cum. Man, as if … Those nights suck. It was way more fun when I worked with Wolf. We could laugh at everything. He was so easy to be around. He's the only guy I've ever kissed.” Rocky laughed at the memory.
“Maybe you need another partner.”
“I asked about that. The boss doesn't want to pay anybody else. Maybe during the holidays, she says. Is your place looking for talent?”
“They're always in the market. You interested?
“Not really. Just a thought. Would we work together?”
“I don't know. I don't know if I'd like that. I've never worked with anybody I knew before.
“Jeff's your roommate,” Rocky countered. “You work with him.”
“Yeah, but that was lust. We weren't really that close to him at the time. He wasn't somebody like you - somebody I respect.”
Rocky smiled in appreciation of the nice words. “Spot me?” he asked as they moved to free weights.
“Eric, I talked to your roommates. They said they haven't seen you in a while. Are you sleeping at the hospital?” That was something tired students often did.
“Z ...” Eric began. “Z … I, uh, have been staying at Spike's. Remember him from Alameda General?”
“Of course, Erica's dad. Nice family.”
“They're not together anymore. Julie and the girls have ...”
“Oh, sorry to hear that.”
“Z ...” Eric fidgeted with his shirt collar.
“Say it, Eric.”
“I've been staying 'with' Spike, not just at his place.”
Z continued drying and putting away the dishes Eric had washed. He didn't look at Eric. “Oh,” he said at last.
“Z ...” There was a catch in Eric's voice. “Z, I … love you... but ...”
Z dropped a plate and watched it shatter on the hard tile floor. He counted the pieces until he got to nine. “Clumsy of me ...” he said. “Really, so fuckin' clumsy of me.” He squatted and began to pick up the pieces. “Kind of like pieces of my life, huh, Eric?” He gathered the larger pieces into his hands and dumped them in the garbage. “So we're done? It's over?”
“Z, that sounds so final.” There were tears in Eric's eyes.
“Yeah, well. I guess it is. I'm sitting on my hands in Alameda. You're fuckin' around in the city. We don't see each other much. Couple a days now and then… couple a fucks now and then. For what? Sounds pretty final, doesn't it?
“It doesn't have to be.”
“Really it does, Eric. We're wasting each other's time - trying to live on old memories. They are great old memories, but that's all they are.”
“Z ...”
“I'll stay in the front room and be out of here as soon as possible. It might take a few days. Is that ok?”
“Z, the house is half yours.”
“Not legally. We never changed the deed.”
“Fuck legally, it's half yours. You don't have to move. I want … I want you to stay ...”
“Thanks, that's decent of you.”
“Z, I love you.”
“Not really, you don't. You just haven't figured out that it's over.”
“You're so calm about this. How can you be so calm about this?” Tears were streaming down Eric's cheeks.
“Maybe I've had more time alone to prepare for it.” Z finished sweeping up the last remnants of the broken plate and put the broom and dustpan back in the closet.
“I love you, Z.” Eric's plaintive howl at last broke Z's heart.
“You sure used to.” He kissed Eric's wet cheek and went up the stairs. He sat in the front room in a chair by the window and listened to Eric bang about the house. At last Eric left with the backpack he had brought with him earlier in the day and more clothes over his arm. Z watched Eric drive away and stared at the empty parking space on San Antonio as a feeling of utter bleakness gripped him and broke him. He noted the perfection of the available parking space, so rare in San Antonio, so perfectly sized for an SUV, left so absolutely empty by Eric's departure.
His tears began slowly but were impossible to stop. Then aching sobs crushed his chest; it felt like his ribs were breaking. “No,” he repeated over and over. Exhaustion took forever to come. A version of oblivion unlike sleep finally silenced his pain until the early morning. It was still dark when Z awoke, uncomfortable from sleeping in his clothes, aching generally throughout his body. Then the ache became specific again. Eric was gone.
Man. I got Rocabar's post via e-mail, and happened to read it before I read your chapter, so I had reinforcement of what was coming.
Can I smack Eric upside the head, or maybe crush the asshole's nuts just for fun? The guy's so fucked up. He's giving up a great guy, who gave up everything for him.
I'm so shot by the last section about Eric and Z I'm having a hard time even thinking about the rest of the chapter right now.
Gut wrenching - really. For so long they were the bedrock - and after Eric's buddy and mentor came down with Lou Gehrig's disease, tearing us apart.
Tsien-Tsien and Nicky and Morrie and company in the apparel business with its interesting twists and turns.
Andrew and Seth get to spend a little quality time w/out Lemuel around - and have interesting discussions while making love to one another at the same time!
And Ty and Rocky at the Gym. Why do I get the feeling that Rocky may make an appearance in the porn industry, while Ty might wind up working for tips at the club.
Can I smack Eric upside the head, or maybe crush the asshole's nuts just for fun? The guy's so fucked up. He's giving up a great guy, who gave up everything for him.
I'm so shot by the last section about Eric and Z I'm having a hard time even thinking about the rest of the chapter right now.
Gut wrenching - really. For so long they were the bedrock - and after Eric's buddy and mentor came down with Lou Gehrig's disease, tearing us apart.
Tsien-Tsien and Nicky and Morrie and company in the apparel business with its interesting twists and turns.
Andrew and Seth get to spend a little quality time w/out Lemuel around - and have interesting discussions while making love to one another at the same time!
And Ty and Rocky at the Gym. Why do I get the feeling that Rocky may make an appearance in the porn industry, while Ty might wind up working for tips at the club.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Forty-Eight
Ann was worried. Brian seemed so different during her visit. She had expected that being released from his cell back to the dormitory would be a step toward freedom, that he would be pleased. Instead he was grumpy and distracted, he seemed indifferent to her. She tried to tell him that his sentence was half over, that he was on the downhill slope, two and a half years done out of five. Instead his mood and outlook were bewildering. Maybe her boss had been right all along.
“Divorce his ass!” Laurette had told her two and a half years ago. “You don't need that millstone around your neck for the next … how long is it?'
“But he's ...”
“I know. He does have a cute ass, but you have to let that go.” Ann was unaware that Laurette had tried to find out just how cute Brian's ass was with a couple of blatant offers that Brian declined. “There are lots of guys around for somebody like you, Anna-Banana. And if you still have a yen when he gets out, you can remarry him. But, trust me, honey, you don't want to be tied down in the meanwhile.” Laurette's advice was affected only slightly by Brian's rejection of her propositions; he had softened the insult by telling her he had a small dick. “Find yourself a dumb guy with plenty of endurance and a big dick. They're around. That's my advice.”
Ann continued north on the Five. She accelerated, wanting to avoid the think tule fog that could turn the drive back to Alameda into a white-knuckle sweat session after sunset. She tried to get Laurette's advice out of her head. “A dumb guy with a big dick” replayed endlessly every time she passed a truck. I've got to quit checking out truck drivers, she told herself. Nine times out of ten, they're old and fat anyway. Neil and Jerry have big dicks. Why did they have to be gay? It just wasn't fair.
Brian's irritability during the visit had nothing to do with Ann; he had been too absorbed up in his own problem to notice his effect on her. His best friend in prison, indeed, his only friend Lex had been released the week before.
It was like the end of the world. Their friendship had developed and deepened with the discovery of shared interests and common goals. The only relaxing thing in the day was to discuss football with Lex. They would lie in their racks and talk about every player they could think of, replay games, invent dream teams, imagine new plays. Simpatico. The Spanish word perfectly described the two of them.
They both worked in the section of the prison that built industrial shelving kits. They paired up and operated the section that packed the kits. It was monotonous work and physical besides. The monotony gave them the opportunity to talk and the physicality let them sleep soundly at night. Their friendship made the restrictions of the shared cell unimportant. The friendship had a fierce adolescent intensity and flourished in the confines of their artificial life.
It was a complete surprise, therefore, when one night right after lights out, Lex suddenly groaned and attacked Brian. Brian was totally unprepared for the assault and slow to react. Lex pinned him to the bunk and bit him. Panic swept through Brian as Lex overpowered him. He's killing me was Brian's only thought. My best friend in the world is killing me.
It seemed unthinkable at first and came as a bigger shock than the assault when Brian at last realized that Lex was kissing him. The kisses weren't sweet; they were crushing and painful. Brian was still confounded as Lex straddled his chest and squeezed his jaw. He gasped for breath and got Lex's cock in his mouth instead. At that point, Brian began to resist seriously, thrashing and twisting under Lex's weight; but Lex outweighed him and the resistance was valiant futility. Lex only had to squeeze Brian's balls once to make him a relatively cooperative cocksucker. He stopped resisting. He still gagged every time Lex plunged deep, but that part was over fairly quickly with three deep thrusts and a gush of semen. Brian lay numb as Lex ripped his boxers off and attempted to suck Brian's limp cock. To Brian's utter amazement, his cock responded and he came explosively. Lex gagged on the cum but swallowed it before he backed off leaving Brian exhausted in the bed.
“Get out of my rack. Sleep in your own,” Lex ordered. Brian rose to comply and once he was on his feet Lex embraced him kissed him again hard but not so brutally this time. There was no tenderness in the action, just reciprocal need and acknowledgment.
“Lex,” Brian began.
Lex brushed off the attempt at talk. “Go to sleep.”
In the morning Lex refused to talk about the night before; in fact he acted as if nothing had happened at all. Then three nights later it happened again. Brian got a visual warning this time. Lex got an erection in the shower and made no attempt to hide it. They exchanged a look. Brian knew what was coming. It was less violent this time and, afterward, they talked about football as if nothing had happened at all. As sleep approached, Lex got out of bed and stood with his face close to Brian's. Brian began to sit up.
“Just lie there,” Lex said. He held Brian's face in his hands and kissed him one more time.
A couple weeks later, Brian the now accomplished cocksucker learned that getting fucked wasn't so bad. The day after that Lex got an abrasion along his arm handling gritty non-skid that covered some of the shelves. The prison doctor gave him some salve for it. Lex ignored his arm; the salve went on his asshole and Brian's cock, and that night Brian learned that fucking was a pretty nice thing to do.
With time and a total lack of discussion, their sex became affectionate and frequent. They tried every conceivable variation and liked most of them. They never used the word love; in fact they rarely even admitted that a special relationship existed. Instead their actions spoke for them. They made love to each other nightly with their bodies and their eyes. The other inmates knew the score but said nothing; they had their own relationships to deal with.
The only explicit recognition was the night before Lex's release. “You got me through this,” he told Brian. “I couldn't have done it without you.” That night was the first night in months that they didn't make love and a handshake ended everything in the morning. A day later Ann came to visit and Brian was still miserable. He felt bad taking it out on her.
“Tell me again.” Nicky was befuddled by his new smart phone.
“You still don't get it? Maybe this class needs more discipline,” Darren said and he jammed his cock playfully against Nicky.
“Would a back rub be harsh enough punishment?” Nicky asked. He gave up on the phone, turned out the light, and rolled face down in the bed hoping Darren would get on top. He wasn't disappointed. “Fuck me, baby,” he whispered a few minutes later. He loved it this way, with Darren's body covering his. It was so languorously sexy. Nicky lay stretched out comfortably letting Darren do all the work first opening him up, then filling him up. It was Nicky's favorite kind of sex for those times when he didn't care if he came himself. “Slow fucking … you're so good at this,” Nicky sighed.
Darren's arousal was just as relaxed as the fuck had been. He continued, deliberatedly slow stroking right up until the point of no return. The continuous, sinuous thrusts warmed them both, raising the measured eroticism by slow degrees. Darren got a little jerky during his actual ejaculation, but the slow stroking and kissing continued for minutes afterward. “Tomorrow night,” he promised, “I'm banging you up against the wall. Remind you who's boss.” Darren listened to Nicky grunt his assent and continued, “Sometimes I'm the boss, right?”
Nicky rolled over. “You know you are.”
“We're perfect,” Darren stated with only a tiny question in his voice.
“Of course we are. What are you getting at?”
“I thought Eric and Z were perfect, too. That they could get through anything together. That they would last forever; but Z's so fuckin' miserable, Nicky. It hurts just to look at him.”
“It takes time. He'll get over it. I don't mean it's gonna be fun, but he WILL get over it.”
“He's going back to work.”
“I didn't know he stopped.” Nicky was thinking of Z's modeling for Andrew.
“No, I mean as a waiter. He said he needs to stay busy. Do something physically tiring.”
“Is he as good a lover as you are?”
Darren chuckled. “How would I know?”
“If he is, Eric's a fuckin' idiot. He'll never get back what he threw away.” Nicky thought a bit and added, “Morrie will need some modeling for the new line. I can get Z some work that way.”
“Thanks. He's a great model; you won't be wasting your money.”
“See ... I was hoping YOU would do it free, but I guess we can afford to pay something.”
“Z's really better than me. He's got a classier look.”
“We're talking Chinese clothes here. Not exactly classy.”
“He'll make them look Italian. You'll see. You'll be glad you hired him.” Darren resumed kissing his lover.
“I'm not tired any more. Does that bangin' against the wall thing have to wait until tomorrow?” Nicky asked. “It's either that or I can play with the new phone.” Nicky reached for the phone and giggled happily when Darren pulled his hand away.
“We want to be completely removed from management, Jody, while retaining some control. Can you do that?” Seth put the challenge to his lawyer.
“Easy. You become directors, set goals, and measure performance. You can micromanage to your heart's content, but at an organizational remove. Essentially nothing changes, except Chris's name goes on more stuff.”
“I can't run the whole business by myself,” Chris complained. “I need help.”
“We can't afford more staff,” Seth countered. “Gotta put the cash into the talent.”
“Some of the talent can help. Adan, specifically. He's actually ...”
“... the brains behind the new Flip Fuck hit,” Andrew filled in.
“Not completely, but he was important. He encouraged me to do it.”
“And now he's fucking your brains out.” Jody sounded testy.
“You can't let that go, can you? I didn't steal him from you; it was his idea.” Chris was blooming under Adan's attention; he looked as if he could have taken Adan away from Jody if he wanted to.
“Speaking of talented dicks …” Andrew commented, calling everyone's attention to Adan's arrival.
“Chris, I finished the editing on the mirror sequence. It's ready to go, I think. Hi everybody. Didn't mean to interrupt.” Adan turned to leave.
“Adan, my former fuck-buddy ...” Andrew called him back. Adan didn't look pleased by the epithet. The rest of the room was taken aback by Andrew's directness. “Seriously, gentlemen, who here hasn't fucked our blushing Mexican rose?” Andrew said in his own defense.
“I haven't,” Seth said.
“Actually, you did … in that scene with Kevin and ...” Andrew stared Adan into silence.
“So,” Andrew resumed, “Adan, sweetie, we're thinking you should be a vice president or something.”
The agreement was concluded. Jody would be the nominal chairman with Andrew and Seth able to outvote him and actually run the studio as directors. Chris was CEO and Adan was named Vice President for Procurement. Andrew relished the licentiousness of the double entendre.
“Revenues from 'Flip Fuck III' went over a hundred thousand yesterday,” Adan reported as an afterthought.
“Cost of production?” Jody asked.
“Essentially nothing. The price of electricity, I guess,” Adan answered.
When the meeting concluded Chris ushered people out the door and turned to his new Vice President. “Didn't I tell you I could make you a vee pee?” Adan stared back and shrugged. “Aren't you satisfied?”
“I'm pleased. I'm never satisfied,” Adan replied. “Vice President for Fucking Procurement. Cute, Chris. You let him make that my title.”
“It won't show on your business cards. They'll just say Vice President.”
“You let me down. I'm hurt and disappointed.” Adan turned a quarter turn away from a suddenly frantic Chris.
“Baby, I'll make it up to you. I will ...” Chris hurried to Adan's side. He tried to kiss him. Adan turned back and put both hands on Chris's throat, holding him firmly but exerting only the slightest pressure. “I will … Please, baby ...” Adan shifted his hands to Chris's face and kissed him firmly but not forgivingly.
“Watch this last scene with me. I've revised it.”
They sat side by side and watched the scene unfold. It began with Jeff and Ty working themselves eagerly into a boy-friend fuck. At the point of insertion, the two lovers glanced into a mirror at the side of the bed and their images morphed into Kevin and Jody, who continued the fuck with brutality in place of affection. Then as Jody was on all fours screaming, the mirror reflection morphed back into Jeff and Ty.
The interplay of images was arousing. “You approve?” Adan asked. He put his hand on Chris's thigh and slid it upward until he encountered his answer. He squeezed and then rubbed Chris's cockhead with his thumb. Chris sighed. He squeezed again and felt a wetness through the cloth of Chris's trousers.“Yes, you approve, alright.”
“Baby, careful. I'll cum in my pants.”
“Take 'em off.”
Chris stood and unbuckled his belt. He started teasingly on the top button of his jeans but Adan was impatient. In a single motion, he opened Chris's jeans and pulled them down to his knees. Chris purred in anticipation as he listened to Jeff's sweet video murmurings and watched Adan suck on his cock.
Then the scene morphed the assault on Jody. Adan roughly bent Chris over the table in front of them and, using a combination of pre-cum and spit for lube, fucked him. The entry was abrupt, causing Chris to gasp. Adan went deep. With only a few preliminary strokes to spread the make-do lube around, he began pumping deep and hard. Chris's whimpers turned to sighs and Adan slowed his motion, becoming even more gentle when the scene morphed back to Jeff and Ty.
“Do you like me like that?” Chris asked feeling a tenderness in Adan's touch.
“I like you every way,” Adan answered as the scene changed again. The fuck accelerated and Adan's slamming mimicked Kevin's. Jody's cries matched Chris's and then three men began begging, “Fuck me.” Ty begged with tenderness, Jody with desperate need, and Chris first like Ty then like Jody. Chris came first. Then the screen partners shared their climaxes.
“Did you come?” an uncertain Chris asked Adan.
“Yes. I came in you,” Adan replied, but Chris was unsure. He could never tell just how pleased Adan was with their relationship.
“So, I'm the keeper of Eric's lacrosse equipment?” Cal asked.
“You're the logical one, Z said, and I have to agree with him. If the games in the park end, you can donate it all to the school.” Larry looked at the collection of sticks, masks, pads, and goals assembled in their front hall.
“I can't believe they're broken up.” Cal's bewilderment showed on his face.
“I know,” Larry said, hugging his partner around the waist. “They were the model. They showed us all how to do it.”
“We really owe them everything,” Cal agreed. “Remember when we lived in their house and everybody thought we were just friends?” He kissed Larry's forehead as they walked to the kitchen.
“Z knew better, I think,” Larry suggested.
“And Eric eventually figured it out, sort of.” Cal laughed. “We had everybody fooled for a while, didn't we?”
“Shit, you even had me fooled. I couldn't believe you really cared.”
“Neither could I. But I was so crazy about you. I couldn't live without you. Not then and not now. It just took a while for me to realize it. Late bloomer doesn't describe me. How about stupid?”
“You're not stupid. And you never were. 'Dumb jock' isn't you, Cal.”
“A little bit it is. Sometimes I do need a ton of bricks to fall on me – or you to fuck me.”
“I see I'm going to have to fuck some sense into you again,” Larry joked.
“Right now? You want to right now?” Cal sounded eager. “We haven't gone sex crazy in a while.” Cal was thoroughly conservative; he called anything other than vanilla sex in bed at night 'sex-crazy'. He never said no, but it was always up to Larry to think the crazy stuff up.
If you just met them and had to decide, you would say that Larry was the bottom. He was slightly shorter and leaner. He was a little older, too, but you couldn't tell that from their looks. Being outdoors almost constantly and getting physically beaten up during years of playng football, Cal had a ruggedness that added a few years while Larry had a freshness that took a few years off his appearance. You would have to get to know them to see beyond appearances, to see how much Cal looked to Larry for leadership. Cal the Coach, always a leader on the field, loved Larry with all his heart and was a follower in bed. There was one other matter as well. The two of them would tell you it didn't matter, but Larry had a very nice cock, bigger than Cal's, and Cal had come to love feeling that cock in him. Their mental preferences suited and enhanced their physical match.
“We could, Lar. We don't have anything to do right now. You want to?” It was plain Cal wanted to.
“I was gonna wash my hair ...”
For an instant Cal looked heart-broken and then he laughed and swept Larry into his arms. “You can wash my cum out of it in an hour or so.”
“It wouldn't be the first time.” Larry referred to Cal's occasional ability to shoot good distances. “I love it when you come like that.”
“Lar, Eric's a fuckin' idiot.” Cal had a sweet expression meaning he was serious about something. “I will never leave you. Never,” he repeated.
Ann was worried. Brian seemed so different during her visit. She had expected that being released from his cell back to the dormitory would be a step toward freedom, that he would be pleased. Instead he was grumpy and distracted, he seemed indifferent to her. She tried to tell him that his sentence was half over, that he was on the downhill slope, two and a half years done out of five. Instead his mood and outlook were bewildering. Maybe her boss had been right all along.
“Divorce his ass!” Laurette had told her two and a half years ago. “You don't need that millstone around your neck for the next … how long is it?'
“But he's ...”
“I know. He does have a cute ass, but you have to let that go.” Ann was unaware that Laurette had tried to find out just how cute Brian's ass was with a couple of blatant offers that Brian declined. “There are lots of guys around for somebody like you, Anna-Banana. And if you still have a yen when he gets out, you can remarry him. But, trust me, honey, you don't want to be tied down in the meanwhile.” Laurette's advice was affected only slightly by Brian's rejection of her propositions; he had softened the insult by telling her he had a small dick. “Find yourself a dumb guy with plenty of endurance and a big dick. They're around. That's my advice.”
Ann continued north on the Five. She accelerated, wanting to avoid the think tule fog that could turn the drive back to Alameda into a white-knuckle sweat session after sunset. She tried to get Laurette's advice out of her head. “A dumb guy with a big dick” replayed endlessly every time she passed a truck. I've got to quit checking out truck drivers, she told herself. Nine times out of ten, they're old and fat anyway. Neil and Jerry have big dicks. Why did they have to be gay? It just wasn't fair.
Brian's irritability during the visit had nothing to do with Ann; he had been too absorbed up in his own problem to notice his effect on her. His best friend in prison, indeed, his only friend Lex had been released the week before.
It was like the end of the world. Their friendship had developed and deepened with the discovery of shared interests and common goals. The only relaxing thing in the day was to discuss football with Lex. They would lie in their racks and talk about every player they could think of, replay games, invent dream teams, imagine new plays. Simpatico. The Spanish word perfectly described the two of them.
They both worked in the section of the prison that built industrial shelving kits. They paired up and operated the section that packed the kits. It was monotonous work and physical besides. The monotony gave them the opportunity to talk and the physicality let them sleep soundly at night. Their friendship made the restrictions of the shared cell unimportant. The friendship had a fierce adolescent intensity and flourished in the confines of their artificial life.
It was a complete surprise, therefore, when one night right after lights out, Lex suddenly groaned and attacked Brian. Brian was totally unprepared for the assault and slow to react. Lex pinned him to the bunk and bit him. Panic swept through Brian as Lex overpowered him. He's killing me was Brian's only thought. My best friend in the world is killing me.
It seemed unthinkable at first and came as a bigger shock than the assault when Brian at last realized that Lex was kissing him. The kisses weren't sweet; they were crushing and painful. Brian was still confounded as Lex straddled his chest and squeezed his jaw. He gasped for breath and got Lex's cock in his mouth instead. At that point, Brian began to resist seriously, thrashing and twisting under Lex's weight; but Lex outweighed him and the resistance was valiant futility. Lex only had to squeeze Brian's balls once to make him a relatively cooperative cocksucker. He stopped resisting. He still gagged every time Lex plunged deep, but that part was over fairly quickly with three deep thrusts and a gush of semen. Brian lay numb as Lex ripped his boxers off and attempted to suck Brian's limp cock. To Brian's utter amazement, his cock responded and he came explosively. Lex gagged on the cum but swallowed it before he backed off leaving Brian exhausted in the bed.
“Get out of my rack. Sleep in your own,” Lex ordered. Brian rose to comply and once he was on his feet Lex embraced him kissed him again hard but not so brutally this time. There was no tenderness in the action, just reciprocal need and acknowledgment.
“Lex,” Brian began.
Lex brushed off the attempt at talk. “Go to sleep.”
In the morning Lex refused to talk about the night before; in fact he acted as if nothing had happened at all. Then three nights later it happened again. Brian got a visual warning this time. Lex got an erection in the shower and made no attempt to hide it. They exchanged a look. Brian knew what was coming. It was less violent this time and, afterward, they talked about football as if nothing had happened at all. As sleep approached, Lex got out of bed and stood with his face close to Brian's. Brian began to sit up.
“Just lie there,” Lex said. He held Brian's face in his hands and kissed him one more time.
A couple weeks later, Brian the now accomplished cocksucker learned that getting fucked wasn't so bad. The day after that Lex got an abrasion along his arm handling gritty non-skid that covered some of the shelves. The prison doctor gave him some salve for it. Lex ignored his arm; the salve went on his asshole and Brian's cock, and that night Brian learned that fucking was a pretty nice thing to do.
With time and a total lack of discussion, their sex became affectionate and frequent. They tried every conceivable variation and liked most of them. They never used the word love; in fact they rarely even admitted that a special relationship existed. Instead their actions spoke for them. They made love to each other nightly with their bodies and their eyes. The other inmates knew the score but said nothing; they had their own relationships to deal with.
The only explicit recognition was the night before Lex's release. “You got me through this,” he told Brian. “I couldn't have done it without you.” That night was the first night in months that they didn't make love and a handshake ended everything in the morning. A day later Ann came to visit and Brian was still miserable. He felt bad taking it out on her.
“Tell me again.” Nicky was befuddled by his new smart phone.
“You still don't get it? Maybe this class needs more discipline,” Darren said and he jammed his cock playfully against Nicky.
“Would a back rub be harsh enough punishment?” Nicky asked. He gave up on the phone, turned out the light, and rolled face down in the bed hoping Darren would get on top. He wasn't disappointed. “Fuck me, baby,” he whispered a few minutes later. He loved it this way, with Darren's body covering his. It was so languorously sexy. Nicky lay stretched out comfortably letting Darren do all the work first opening him up, then filling him up. It was Nicky's favorite kind of sex for those times when he didn't care if he came himself. “Slow fucking … you're so good at this,” Nicky sighed.
Darren's arousal was just as relaxed as the fuck had been. He continued, deliberatedly slow stroking right up until the point of no return. The continuous, sinuous thrusts warmed them both, raising the measured eroticism by slow degrees. Darren got a little jerky during his actual ejaculation, but the slow stroking and kissing continued for minutes afterward. “Tomorrow night,” he promised, “I'm banging you up against the wall. Remind you who's boss.” Darren listened to Nicky grunt his assent and continued, “Sometimes I'm the boss, right?”
Nicky rolled over. “You know you are.”
“We're perfect,” Darren stated with only a tiny question in his voice.
“Of course we are. What are you getting at?”
“I thought Eric and Z were perfect, too. That they could get through anything together. That they would last forever; but Z's so fuckin' miserable, Nicky. It hurts just to look at him.”
“It takes time. He'll get over it. I don't mean it's gonna be fun, but he WILL get over it.”
“He's going back to work.”
“I didn't know he stopped.” Nicky was thinking of Z's modeling for Andrew.
“No, I mean as a waiter. He said he needs to stay busy. Do something physically tiring.”
“Is he as good a lover as you are?”
Darren chuckled. “How would I know?”
“If he is, Eric's a fuckin' idiot. He'll never get back what he threw away.” Nicky thought a bit and added, “Morrie will need some modeling for the new line. I can get Z some work that way.”
“Thanks. He's a great model; you won't be wasting your money.”
“See ... I was hoping YOU would do it free, but I guess we can afford to pay something.”
“Z's really better than me. He's got a classier look.”
“We're talking Chinese clothes here. Not exactly classy.”
“He'll make them look Italian. You'll see. You'll be glad you hired him.” Darren resumed kissing his lover.
“I'm not tired any more. Does that bangin' against the wall thing have to wait until tomorrow?” Nicky asked. “It's either that or I can play with the new phone.” Nicky reached for the phone and giggled happily when Darren pulled his hand away.
“We want to be completely removed from management, Jody, while retaining some control. Can you do that?” Seth put the challenge to his lawyer.
“Easy. You become directors, set goals, and measure performance. You can micromanage to your heart's content, but at an organizational remove. Essentially nothing changes, except Chris's name goes on more stuff.”
“I can't run the whole business by myself,” Chris complained. “I need help.”
“We can't afford more staff,” Seth countered. “Gotta put the cash into the talent.”
“Some of the talent can help. Adan, specifically. He's actually ...”
“... the brains behind the new Flip Fuck hit,” Andrew filled in.
“Not completely, but he was important. He encouraged me to do it.”
“And now he's fucking your brains out.” Jody sounded testy.
“You can't let that go, can you? I didn't steal him from you; it was his idea.” Chris was blooming under Adan's attention; he looked as if he could have taken Adan away from Jody if he wanted to.
“Speaking of talented dicks …” Andrew commented, calling everyone's attention to Adan's arrival.
“Chris, I finished the editing on the mirror sequence. It's ready to go, I think. Hi everybody. Didn't mean to interrupt.” Adan turned to leave.
“Adan, my former fuck-buddy ...” Andrew called him back. Adan didn't look pleased by the epithet. The rest of the room was taken aback by Andrew's directness. “Seriously, gentlemen, who here hasn't fucked our blushing Mexican rose?” Andrew said in his own defense.
“I haven't,” Seth said.
“Actually, you did … in that scene with Kevin and ...” Andrew stared Adan into silence.
“So,” Andrew resumed, “Adan, sweetie, we're thinking you should be a vice president or something.”
The agreement was concluded. Jody would be the nominal chairman with Andrew and Seth able to outvote him and actually run the studio as directors. Chris was CEO and Adan was named Vice President for Procurement. Andrew relished the licentiousness of the double entendre.
“Revenues from 'Flip Fuck III' went over a hundred thousand yesterday,” Adan reported as an afterthought.
“Cost of production?” Jody asked.
“Essentially nothing. The price of electricity, I guess,” Adan answered.
When the meeting concluded Chris ushered people out the door and turned to his new Vice President. “Didn't I tell you I could make you a vee pee?” Adan stared back and shrugged. “Aren't you satisfied?”
“I'm pleased. I'm never satisfied,” Adan replied. “Vice President for Fucking Procurement. Cute, Chris. You let him make that my title.”
“It won't show on your business cards. They'll just say Vice President.”
“You let me down. I'm hurt and disappointed.” Adan turned a quarter turn away from a suddenly frantic Chris.
“Baby, I'll make it up to you. I will ...” Chris hurried to Adan's side. He tried to kiss him. Adan turned back and put both hands on Chris's throat, holding him firmly but exerting only the slightest pressure. “I will … Please, baby ...” Adan shifted his hands to Chris's face and kissed him firmly but not forgivingly.
“Watch this last scene with me. I've revised it.”
They sat side by side and watched the scene unfold. It began with Jeff and Ty working themselves eagerly into a boy-friend fuck. At the point of insertion, the two lovers glanced into a mirror at the side of the bed and their images morphed into Kevin and Jody, who continued the fuck with brutality in place of affection. Then as Jody was on all fours screaming, the mirror reflection morphed back into Jeff and Ty.
The interplay of images was arousing. “You approve?” Adan asked. He put his hand on Chris's thigh and slid it upward until he encountered his answer. He squeezed and then rubbed Chris's cockhead with his thumb. Chris sighed. He squeezed again and felt a wetness through the cloth of Chris's trousers.“Yes, you approve, alright.”
“Baby, careful. I'll cum in my pants.”
“Take 'em off.”
Chris stood and unbuckled his belt. He started teasingly on the top button of his jeans but Adan was impatient. In a single motion, he opened Chris's jeans and pulled them down to his knees. Chris purred in anticipation as he listened to Jeff's sweet video murmurings and watched Adan suck on his cock.
Then the scene morphed the assault on Jody. Adan roughly bent Chris over the table in front of them and, using a combination of pre-cum and spit for lube, fucked him. The entry was abrupt, causing Chris to gasp. Adan went deep. With only a few preliminary strokes to spread the make-do lube around, he began pumping deep and hard. Chris's whimpers turned to sighs and Adan slowed his motion, becoming even more gentle when the scene morphed back to Jeff and Ty.
“Do you like me like that?” Chris asked feeling a tenderness in Adan's touch.
“I like you every way,” Adan answered as the scene changed again. The fuck accelerated and Adan's slamming mimicked Kevin's. Jody's cries matched Chris's and then three men began begging, “Fuck me.” Ty begged with tenderness, Jody with desperate need, and Chris first like Ty then like Jody. Chris came first. Then the screen partners shared their climaxes.
“Did you come?” an uncertain Chris asked Adan.
“Yes. I came in you,” Adan replied, but Chris was unsure. He could never tell just how pleased Adan was with their relationship.
“So, I'm the keeper of Eric's lacrosse equipment?” Cal asked.
“You're the logical one, Z said, and I have to agree with him. If the games in the park end, you can donate it all to the school.” Larry looked at the collection of sticks, masks, pads, and goals assembled in their front hall.
“I can't believe they're broken up.” Cal's bewilderment showed on his face.
“I know,” Larry said, hugging his partner around the waist. “They were the model. They showed us all how to do it.”
“We really owe them everything,” Cal agreed. “Remember when we lived in their house and everybody thought we were just friends?” He kissed Larry's forehead as they walked to the kitchen.
“Z knew better, I think,” Larry suggested.
“And Eric eventually figured it out, sort of.” Cal laughed. “We had everybody fooled for a while, didn't we?”
“Shit, you even had me fooled. I couldn't believe you really cared.”
“Neither could I. But I was so crazy about you. I couldn't live without you. Not then and not now. It just took a while for me to realize it. Late bloomer doesn't describe me. How about stupid?”
“You're not stupid. And you never were. 'Dumb jock' isn't you, Cal.”
“A little bit it is. Sometimes I do need a ton of bricks to fall on me – or you to fuck me.”
“I see I'm going to have to fuck some sense into you again,” Larry joked.
“Right now? You want to right now?” Cal sounded eager. “We haven't gone sex crazy in a while.” Cal was thoroughly conservative; he called anything other than vanilla sex in bed at night 'sex-crazy'. He never said no, but it was always up to Larry to think the crazy stuff up.
If you just met them and had to decide, you would say that Larry was the bottom. He was slightly shorter and leaner. He was a little older, too, but you couldn't tell that from their looks. Being outdoors almost constantly and getting physically beaten up during years of playng football, Cal had a ruggedness that added a few years while Larry had a freshness that took a few years off his appearance. You would have to get to know them to see beyond appearances, to see how much Cal looked to Larry for leadership. Cal the Coach, always a leader on the field, loved Larry with all his heart and was a follower in bed. There was one other matter as well. The two of them would tell you it didn't matter, but Larry had a very nice cock, bigger than Cal's, and Cal had come to love feeling that cock in him. Their mental preferences suited and enhanced their physical match.
“We could, Lar. We don't have anything to do right now. You want to?” It was plain Cal wanted to.
“I was gonna wash my hair ...”
For an instant Cal looked heart-broken and then he laughed and swept Larry into his arms. “You can wash my cum out of it in an hour or so.”
“It wouldn't be the first time.” Larry referred to Cal's occasional ability to shoot good distances. “I love it when you come like that.”
“Lar, Eric's a fuckin' idiot.” Cal had a sweet expression meaning he was serious about something. “I will never leave you. Never,” he repeated.
Rory,
I have to agree. Interesting adjustment of management and day to day responsibilities at the Porn studio.
Adan needs to understand that VP of Procurement ain't all that bad - he gets to find the hotties!
Brian and Ann. He had an unspoken relationship in prison, a bond beyond what Ann could begin to understand, and now he's out of sorts, because he's alone, again. This time will he be subject to the advances of other guys, now that he's not in a more confined environment?
Larry & Cal, our jocks extraordinaire and lovers of simple but complete character.
Z, Z, Z. And the dumb fuck Eric. As everyone learns of the dissolution of the "unshakeable" love.
I have to agree. Interesting adjustment of management and day to day responsibilities at the Porn studio.
Adan needs to understand that VP of Procurement ain't all that bad - he gets to find the hotties!
Brian and Ann. He had an unspoken relationship in prison, a bond beyond what Ann could begin to understand, and now he's out of sorts, because he's alone, again. This time will he be subject to the advances of other guys, now that he's not in a more confined environment?
Larry & Cal, our jocks extraordinaire and lovers of simple but complete character.
Z, Z, Z. And the dumb fuck Eric. As everyone learns of the dissolution of the "unshakeable" love.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Forty-Nine
“What do you think?” Nash asked.
Steve curled his lip. “I guess I was spoiled living in that high-class boarding house Mark runs.” He looked hard at the small house in far western Alameda; it had once been Navy housing and needed lots of TLC. “I don't know, Nash ...”
“Yeah … but it's what we can afford if you think you might be out of a job.”
“So … If we lived here, I'd get to spend every night with you,” Steve smiled as the entered the front door.
“Yeah, you would. And you could also ...” Nash's comment was abbreviated by Steve's crushing embrace.
“What would we need? Beyond a mattress, I mean.” Steve continued, a little breathless.
“Everything.” Nash answered, looking at a round dent in a kitchen wall. “How do you suppose that happened?”
“Somebody tested a cake by throwing it against the wall?”
Nash's expression of hopefulness gradually faded as he looked at the rooms. “The house is terrible, isn't it?” Nash turned to Steve with a look of defeat. “It's awful.”
“It's got you in it. That makes it better than any other place I can name.”
After opening the door for her clients, Ann Ado had returned to her car. She figured she had about thirty seconds to wait for them to come screaming out the door shouting, “No! No! God! No!” Instead they walked slowly and deliberately up to her open window.
“We'll take it.” Nash said.
“We're nuts, but we'll take it,” Steve confirmed. “Do you know how soon we can move in?”
“Well, the water's running, but we'll need to get the lights turned on … So, I'd say ...”
“Today?” Steve asked.
“Uh ...”
“We can live with candles for a while,” Nash said.
“Really?” Ann couldn't believe what she was hearing.
“The sooner the better,” Steve added, looking at Nash for his approval.
Ann handed them the keys, afraid they would change their minds. The house had been vacant for over a year. “It's yours. Stop by the office today or tomorrow and we'll sign the lease and give you the other set of keys.”
“Do you know where we could by an emergency mattress?”
“There's a place on Webster, between Santa Clara and Central ...”
“Thanks,” Nash said over his shoulder. They were already walking back to the little house with the barren trellis at the front door. One of the trellis supports was broken. “Just cracked, really,” Steve pointed out. “I can fix that with some speed tape from the helo.”
They closed the door and watched Ann drive away. “We don't HAVE to have a mattress, do we?” Steve asked. Nash was already taking his shirt off. “Nash, we won't be as poor as you think. As long as I'm working, I'll get more money because I won't be living at Mark's place.”
“Yeah, but I'll be getting less. I'm not sure what my dad's business is doing. Or what I'm doing either.”
“I know what you're doing right now.” Steve pulled Nash to the floor and hugged him.
“Fuck!” Nash exclaimed. His eyes were popping.
“Well, yeah, that's what I had in mind.”
“No! No! I mean … look at that thing!”
Facing a wild animal when you're naked has an extra feel of vulnerability to it – even if the animal, on closer inspection, turned out to be just a domestic cat. This one looked dodgy, however; fortune had not smiled on this animal in a long time. It approached with a diffident walk and then sniffed. The way Nash's erection was bouncing must have reminded it of some kind of prey. It focused and stalked closer.
“No way!” Nash protected himself with his hands, stood, and put his jeans on as quickly as possible.
“Add a can of cat food to the shopping list,” Steve said. “In his favor, this guy has probably kept other four-footed things away.”
“What goes around, comes around,” Donald observed when Brian returned to the barracks-like room filled with more bunk beds than formerly. ”Got my old bunkmate back.”
Brian shrugged his acceptance. It was the only available bed in a room that offered less privacy and personal space than his cell. “Truce, ok? You stay in your bed and I'll stay in mine,” Brian proposed.
“Tell you what. I'll even give you the bottom bunk,” Donald offered. He quickly stripped the bottom mattress and began remaking the top bunk with his used sheets while Brian made up the lower bunk with the fresh sheets he had been given when he got out of the cell.
“There are a bunch more people in here,” he noted.
“They moved in six more bunks after you left and they're all full. It's a cozy place at night.”
“What do you mean?”
“You'll see.”
After the evening meal, the inmates spread out, some in the weight room, some watching television, some reading or playing cards, some walking an exercise yard; but as lights out came closer they moved to their bunkrooms. Thirty-six men filled the room that Brian thought was crowded when it had twenty-four. The windows barely opened and the room became first warm and then hot. People slept in their underwear without blankets. Brian lay on his back staring upward at the sagging bottom of Donald's bunk. Before long the sounds of furtive sex filled his ears, solitary masturbation apparently in the closest bunk. The sounds multiplied and it became obvious there was more than self-pleasuring going on. Brian lay still and did his best to ignore the activity. That was impossible, of course. His next task was to ignore his own erection that ached for some attention. His succeeded at that and before too long a series of orgasms put an end to the bustling business of prisoner sex. The room even became a bit cooler. It the middle of the night, Brian actually felt chilled and pulled the blanket over himself.
Alright! Day two! How was your night?” Donald asked. Brian didn't remember so much cheerfulness so early from Donald.
“Ok ... once the room quieted down.”
“Yeah, guys have needs,” Donald answered.
Except for his sleeping location, Brian's life remained the same. He was grateful that his metal factory work tired him out. He had rarely had trouble sleeping - rarely, that is until Lex left. He soon realized that sex with Lex was more than a normal pleasure, it marked the end of a day, the final hurdle before sleep. Now Brian found himself tired but sleepless, sleepless and lonely. There's magic in a hug or even a touch when you have nothing else. The sounds of sexual satisfaction surrounding him after lights out made it worse, of course. His persistent erection nagged at him. He considered punching out Donald again to get back to the relative peace of his cell. Even without Lex, the cell seemed a haven.
By the fourth night, he ached. He couldn't help it. His hand strayed to his cock. He just held it for a while, enjoying the feel of engorgement. Then he began the familiar motion. The springs squeaked. He stopped and the squeaking stopped. He resumed and the squeaking resumed, giving away what he was doing. Fuck it, Brian decided; everybody does it. He resumed stroking. His cock stood erect straight up out of his baggy boxers. He gave it long strokes, up and down; soon he felt a sticky wetness spreading over the head He felt eyes on him from the next bunk, but he ignored them. He spit in his hand and added his own lube to his cock. Now the springs were squeaking and his hand was making squishy noises. But it felt good. It felt great. He breathed harder and licked his lips in anticipation
His eyes were shut and he didn't notice Donald leap lightly to the floor. “I can help with that,” Donald whispered. Brian froze and looked at the side of his bunk. Donald knelt there and reached for his cock. Brian remained frozen. Donald brushed Brian's hand away and replaced it with his own. Brian ordered himself to put a halt to the proceedings. Right now. Immediately! But he didn't. It felt too good. It felt even better when Donald began sucking. Soon the sucking seemed fabulous. Donald slipped his hand into Brian's boxers and played with his balls, gently cupping and tugging. Brian opened his legs for better access; he was breathing deeply and made strangling sounds when he came. Donald swallowed his mouthful and then without a word climbed back into his upper bunk. Brian went to sleep almost at once.
The next night it was the same thing, except Donald slipped Brian's boxers off. “We don't want to rip them,” he whispered. It greatly improved the blowjob, letting Donald suck on Brian's balls as well as his cock. He probed farther down under the scrotum, feeling how the root of Brian's hard cock extended into his body, feeling its rigidity as it extended closer to Brian's asshole, where it turned inward. Yes, Donald said to himself, that's the place. He pressed and massaged until he found the right spot, the spot that made Brian gasp. Oh, yeah! Donald thought, Lexie broke this one in right. Donald continued to massage, gradually including the puckering asshole in his fingering. Brian's legs opened wide. Donald whistled under his breath. Good boy! I give it five more days and I'll be fuckin' you. He resumed treating Brian to his best blowjob technique.
In one part of his brain, Brian's ego knew exactly what Donald was up to. In another part, Brian's superego told him that he was in charge and Donald would only do what he permitted. In a third part, Brian's id screamed, “This is so hot! I wanna get fucked!”
It didn't take five days. It only took one more night. Donald got Brian warmed up and shoved his cock in. Brian gasped in shock and pain. “Take deep breaths,” Donald told him. “I'm bigger than Lex.” He pulled out, put more spit on his dick and shoved it back in.
Donald's greatest skill, what he prided himself on, was his ability to gauge exactly when his partner was going to come. He liked to come at the same time. He fucked Brian hard, getting himself ready and then he backed off from the edge, while his stroking got Brian to catch up. They came together noisily. When the peak had passed, Brian pulled Donald down and tried to kiss him. Donald yanked himself away, leaving Brian with his arms outstretched.
“Poor puppy, you're looking for love and all I got is a big dick.” The words hurt and they were louder than they should have been.
One. Two. Still there was silence. On three, the comments began. “A big dick is good” …”I like a big dick” ... “I got a big dick” ... “In your dreams you got a big dick” … “Dutch has a big dick” … “Shut up about my dick” … “Ooooowie! Don't piss off the Dutch-ess” … “Shut up, faggot!”
The lights came on and a guard knocked his billy stick against the metal frame of a bunk. “Keep it down in here!” he demanded. He tried not to notice how many top bunks were empty.
Brian wasn't sure what he felt. The sex was great. The post-orgasmic brush off was harsh. The fact the whole room knew he bottomed willingly for Donald - that might be a problem. But it felt so good; he was more relaxed than he had been since Lex left. The regrets didn't come for a while. I'm now a prison punk and everyone knows it. I'm Donald's punk. Donald! I fucked for the biggest femme inside the fence. Now I'm a target. Who's gonna want me next? Two more years … at least. The glow of sex faded. The ache came to his asshole. Donald's cum leaked out onto the sheet. A mix of odors, the odors of anal sex, seemed to envelope him. What a mistake!
Eric sat up and stretched, reaching for the ceiling. He loved waking up in Spike's room. The bed was comfortable. Spike was a considerate lover, except is wasn't love, of course. “Spike, wake up.” Eric nudged the sleeping nurse next to him. Which is it you are supposed to let lie? Dogs or nurses?
“What the fuck, Eric? What's the matter?” Spike was predictably grumpy in the morning.
“If we're not lovers, what are we? Sexers?”
“Fuuuuuck ...” Spike wailed and buried his head in the pillow.
“Yeah. That's what I mean. Are we gonna fuck or should I just take a shower?”
“Let me sleep. You know I worked a double shift.”
“You said that always makes you horny.”
“What? When did I say that?”
“You have a hard on.” Eric confirmed his statement by groping.
“I always have a hard on in the morning. Go away.” Spike shifted his torso away from Eric's hand but Eric's hand followed him. “Shelter, food and sex. That's what you are getting out of this ? What's in it for me? I can't even get a good night's sleep. Leave me alone.”
“What do you get? Some of the food paid for, a lot of good sex, and me … that's what you're getting out of this,” Eric countered. “It was your idea, remember.”
Spike acquiesced and let Eric play with his cock. Then he let him suck it. And then he got fucked. Eric was a good fuck when he put his mind to it. Spike sighed happily when it was over. “Nice having YOU do the work for a change,” he chided.
“Fucking isn't work. Z used to say that half the fucking in the world was ...”
“Z! You had to spoil it! Z this! Z that!” Spike got up and stalked into the bathroom.
“Z had a lot of good things to say,” Eric answered defensively.
“You can't forget him, can you?”
“No. I spent almost five years with him. How could I forget?” Eric was talking to a closed door. Soon he heard the sound of the shower. He got up and began dressing. Life with Spike wasn't so bad. His clothes were cleaner than when he was living with the other med students. His diet was much better. The sex was regular. The downside was Spike was bossy.
“Eric, you need to stop at the cleaners on your way to work. You mind? It's mostly your stuff,” Spike said as he dried his hair. “And on the way home … Shit! You think I'm losing my hair?” Spike pulled a single brown hair off the towel and held it out for examination.
“No, you're not losing your hair.” It was Eric's turn in the bathroom. He shaved and then out a t-shirt on.
Spike eyed him in the clingy shirt. “You, on the other hand, are losing definition. You're looking kinda fat in that shirt.”
“I miss playing lacrosse in Alameda,” Eric admitted.
“Oh, for God's sake.” Spike rolled his eyes. “Here we go again. It's Z you miss, isn't it?”
“Five years, Spike. Yes, I miss him.” Eric changed the subject. “Could you go back there? Work at Alameda General, I mean?”
“Dude, I'm a nurse. I can work anywhere. Alameda was boring. Predictable cases; the same stuff all the time. Here, in the city, we get variety.”
“I could work there. I liked it in the ER.”
“So be an ER doc. You're wondering what to specialize in.”
“You know … that just might ...”
“Eric, asshole! I'm kidding. ER docs are … fucking gypsies. They come; they go. They're on salaries, for God's sake! They don't get paid shit compared to almost anybody else.”
“They have fun, though. Lot a laughs in the ER.”
“Unless you're a nurse. Not so funny then. It's one tiny step up from 'Clean up on Aisle Three!' It's drudgery.”
“Isn't most nursing drudgery? Unless you're into the patients, I mean. Then it gets interesting.”
“Then you end up in tears all the time, 'cause they're dead.”
“Not all of them. Most recover.”
Spike ended the conversation. “Oh … and on your way home, would you mind getting some of that bread with the almonds on top.”
“Take the laundry. Buy some bread. Talk about drudgery!” Eric was joking, at least it sounded like he was joking.
“Yeah, but I'm a hot fuck. I'm worth it,” Spike shot back.
Eric smiled in reply as he left with his arms full of laundry. You're an available fuck, he thought. You're a pretty good fuck. I guess that means hot. Eric wasn't in a mood to analyze the pros and cons of living with Spike. The sex was more than good enough and he didn't really have any desire to invest the time and effort that love required.
Andrew looked hard at Z. He adjusted the curtain to reduce the light level and checked his meter again. “Are you eating? Your cheeks have shadows they never had before.”
“Yes, I'm eating. That's one of the benefits of being a waiter. Free food.”
“Well, from my point of view, it's fine. You look a lot more dramatic, but not so boyish any more.”
“Good. I'm not a boy any more.”
“Dude, aging is never 'good' if you're a model. That was why you played off Craig Grantland so well; it was the contrast in your ages, sort of a master and protege look. Let me see the rest of your body.”
Z stripped to his underwear and did a slow turn. “Ok? Any weird shadows appearing?”
“No. You look fine. Would you mind showing me your ass?” Z turned and pulled his underwear down. “You're amazing. I don't know how Eric could have ...”
“Andrew, keep the Eric comments to yourself.” Z pulled his underwear back up. “So, am I good enough to do your show in Milpitas?”
“Yeah, sure. You're way too good for Milpitas. They won't appreciate you.”
“I need the job, Andrew. I'm not 'too good' if I'm not getting paid.”
“With a bad haircut, you could look Mexican … you're dark enough … except for the blue eyes, of course.” Andrew mused. “That's what we're going for in this show, a Hispanic look.”
“Speaking of … Darren said Nicky is looking for a model to show their new line. I'm available, right?”
“Sure. Does he need a photog?”
“He can't afford you or Chris. They're just starting out. No sales yet.”
“Is that so? Maybe they could afford Adan ...”
“Are you and Adan still ...”
“Z, sweetie, you are soooo out of date. Adan is just an employee these days. Could I see your cock?”
“What am I now? A condom model? No.”
“Jeez, so touchy. I was just asking.”
“What do you think?” Nash asked.
Steve curled his lip. “I guess I was spoiled living in that high-class boarding house Mark runs.” He looked hard at the small house in far western Alameda; it had once been Navy housing and needed lots of TLC. “I don't know, Nash ...”
“Yeah … but it's what we can afford if you think you might be out of a job.”
“So … If we lived here, I'd get to spend every night with you,” Steve smiled as the entered the front door.
“Yeah, you would. And you could also ...” Nash's comment was abbreviated by Steve's crushing embrace.
“What would we need? Beyond a mattress, I mean.” Steve continued, a little breathless.
“Everything.” Nash answered, looking at a round dent in a kitchen wall. “How do you suppose that happened?”
“Somebody tested a cake by throwing it against the wall?”
Nash's expression of hopefulness gradually faded as he looked at the rooms. “The house is terrible, isn't it?” Nash turned to Steve with a look of defeat. “It's awful.”
“It's got you in it. That makes it better than any other place I can name.”
After opening the door for her clients, Ann Ado had returned to her car. She figured she had about thirty seconds to wait for them to come screaming out the door shouting, “No! No! God! No!” Instead they walked slowly and deliberately up to her open window.
“We'll take it.” Nash said.
“We're nuts, but we'll take it,” Steve confirmed. “Do you know how soon we can move in?”
“Well, the water's running, but we'll need to get the lights turned on … So, I'd say ...”
“Today?” Steve asked.
“Uh ...”
“We can live with candles for a while,” Nash said.
“Really?” Ann couldn't believe what she was hearing.
“The sooner the better,” Steve added, looking at Nash for his approval.
Ann handed them the keys, afraid they would change their minds. The house had been vacant for over a year. “It's yours. Stop by the office today or tomorrow and we'll sign the lease and give you the other set of keys.”
“Do you know where we could by an emergency mattress?”
“There's a place on Webster, between Santa Clara and Central ...”
“Thanks,” Nash said over his shoulder. They were already walking back to the little house with the barren trellis at the front door. One of the trellis supports was broken. “Just cracked, really,” Steve pointed out. “I can fix that with some speed tape from the helo.”
They closed the door and watched Ann drive away. “We don't HAVE to have a mattress, do we?” Steve asked. Nash was already taking his shirt off. “Nash, we won't be as poor as you think. As long as I'm working, I'll get more money because I won't be living at Mark's place.”
“Yeah, but I'll be getting less. I'm not sure what my dad's business is doing. Or what I'm doing either.”
“I know what you're doing right now.” Steve pulled Nash to the floor and hugged him.
“Fuck!” Nash exclaimed. His eyes were popping.
“Well, yeah, that's what I had in mind.”
“No! No! I mean … look at that thing!”
Facing a wild animal when you're naked has an extra feel of vulnerability to it – even if the animal, on closer inspection, turned out to be just a domestic cat. This one looked dodgy, however; fortune had not smiled on this animal in a long time. It approached with a diffident walk and then sniffed. The way Nash's erection was bouncing must have reminded it of some kind of prey. It focused and stalked closer.
“No way!” Nash protected himself with his hands, stood, and put his jeans on as quickly as possible.
“Add a can of cat food to the shopping list,” Steve said. “In his favor, this guy has probably kept other four-footed things away.”
“What goes around, comes around,” Donald observed when Brian returned to the barracks-like room filled with more bunk beds than formerly. ”Got my old bunkmate back.”
Brian shrugged his acceptance. It was the only available bed in a room that offered less privacy and personal space than his cell. “Truce, ok? You stay in your bed and I'll stay in mine,” Brian proposed.
“Tell you what. I'll even give you the bottom bunk,” Donald offered. He quickly stripped the bottom mattress and began remaking the top bunk with his used sheets while Brian made up the lower bunk with the fresh sheets he had been given when he got out of the cell.
“There are a bunch more people in here,” he noted.
“They moved in six more bunks after you left and they're all full. It's a cozy place at night.”
“What do you mean?”
“You'll see.”
After the evening meal, the inmates spread out, some in the weight room, some watching television, some reading or playing cards, some walking an exercise yard; but as lights out came closer they moved to their bunkrooms. Thirty-six men filled the room that Brian thought was crowded when it had twenty-four. The windows barely opened and the room became first warm and then hot. People slept in their underwear without blankets. Brian lay on his back staring upward at the sagging bottom of Donald's bunk. Before long the sounds of furtive sex filled his ears, solitary masturbation apparently in the closest bunk. The sounds multiplied and it became obvious there was more than self-pleasuring going on. Brian lay still and did his best to ignore the activity. That was impossible, of course. His next task was to ignore his own erection that ached for some attention. His succeeded at that and before too long a series of orgasms put an end to the bustling business of prisoner sex. The room even became a bit cooler. It the middle of the night, Brian actually felt chilled and pulled the blanket over himself.
Alright! Day two! How was your night?” Donald asked. Brian didn't remember so much cheerfulness so early from Donald.
“Ok ... once the room quieted down.”
“Yeah, guys have needs,” Donald answered.
Except for his sleeping location, Brian's life remained the same. He was grateful that his metal factory work tired him out. He had rarely had trouble sleeping - rarely, that is until Lex left. He soon realized that sex with Lex was more than a normal pleasure, it marked the end of a day, the final hurdle before sleep. Now Brian found himself tired but sleepless, sleepless and lonely. There's magic in a hug or even a touch when you have nothing else. The sounds of sexual satisfaction surrounding him after lights out made it worse, of course. His persistent erection nagged at him. He considered punching out Donald again to get back to the relative peace of his cell. Even without Lex, the cell seemed a haven.
By the fourth night, he ached. He couldn't help it. His hand strayed to his cock. He just held it for a while, enjoying the feel of engorgement. Then he began the familiar motion. The springs squeaked. He stopped and the squeaking stopped. He resumed and the squeaking resumed, giving away what he was doing. Fuck it, Brian decided; everybody does it. He resumed stroking. His cock stood erect straight up out of his baggy boxers. He gave it long strokes, up and down; soon he felt a sticky wetness spreading over the head He felt eyes on him from the next bunk, but he ignored them. He spit in his hand and added his own lube to his cock. Now the springs were squeaking and his hand was making squishy noises. But it felt good. It felt great. He breathed harder and licked his lips in anticipation
His eyes were shut and he didn't notice Donald leap lightly to the floor. “I can help with that,” Donald whispered. Brian froze and looked at the side of his bunk. Donald knelt there and reached for his cock. Brian remained frozen. Donald brushed Brian's hand away and replaced it with his own. Brian ordered himself to put a halt to the proceedings. Right now. Immediately! But he didn't. It felt too good. It felt even better when Donald began sucking. Soon the sucking seemed fabulous. Donald slipped his hand into Brian's boxers and played with his balls, gently cupping and tugging. Brian opened his legs for better access; he was breathing deeply and made strangling sounds when he came. Donald swallowed his mouthful and then without a word climbed back into his upper bunk. Brian went to sleep almost at once.
The next night it was the same thing, except Donald slipped Brian's boxers off. “We don't want to rip them,” he whispered. It greatly improved the blowjob, letting Donald suck on Brian's balls as well as his cock. He probed farther down under the scrotum, feeling how the root of Brian's hard cock extended into his body, feeling its rigidity as it extended closer to Brian's asshole, where it turned inward. Yes, Donald said to himself, that's the place. He pressed and massaged until he found the right spot, the spot that made Brian gasp. Oh, yeah! Donald thought, Lexie broke this one in right. Donald continued to massage, gradually including the puckering asshole in his fingering. Brian's legs opened wide. Donald whistled under his breath. Good boy! I give it five more days and I'll be fuckin' you. He resumed treating Brian to his best blowjob technique.
In one part of his brain, Brian's ego knew exactly what Donald was up to. In another part, Brian's superego told him that he was in charge and Donald would only do what he permitted. In a third part, Brian's id screamed, “This is so hot! I wanna get fucked!”
It didn't take five days. It only took one more night. Donald got Brian warmed up and shoved his cock in. Brian gasped in shock and pain. “Take deep breaths,” Donald told him. “I'm bigger than Lex.” He pulled out, put more spit on his dick and shoved it back in.
Donald's greatest skill, what he prided himself on, was his ability to gauge exactly when his partner was going to come. He liked to come at the same time. He fucked Brian hard, getting himself ready and then he backed off from the edge, while his stroking got Brian to catch up. They came together noisily. When the peak had passed, Brian pulled Donald down and tried to kiss him. Donald yanked himself away, leaving Brian with his arms outstretched.
“Poor puppy, you're looking for love and all I got is a big dick.” The words hurt and they were louder than they should have been.
One. Two. Still there was silence. On three, the comments began. “A big dick is good” …”I like a big dick” ... “I got a big dick” ... “In your dreams you got a big dick” … “Dutch has a big dick” … “Shut up about my dick” … “Ooooowie! Don't piss off the Dutch-ess” … “Shut up, faggot!”
The lights came on and a guard knocked his billy stick against the metal frame of a bunk. “Keep it down in here!” he demanded. He tried not to notice how many top bunks were empty.
Brian wasn't sure what he felt. The sex was great. The post-orgasmic brush off was harsh. The fact the whole room knew he bottomed willingly for Donald - that might be a problem. But it felt so good; he was more relaxed than he had been since Lex left. The regrets didn't come for a while. I'm now a prison punk and everyone knows it. I'm Donald's punk. Donald! I fucked for the biggest femme inside the fence. Now I'm a target. Who's gonna want me next? Two more years … at least. The glow of sex faded. The ache came to his asshole. Donald's cum leaked out onto the sheet. A mix of odors, the odors of anal sex, seemed to envelope him. What a mistake!
Eric sat up and stretched, reaching for the ceiling. He loved waking up in Spike's room. The bed was comfortable. Spike was a considerate lover, except is wasn't love, of course. “Spike, wake up.” Eric nudged the sleeping nurse next to him. Which is it you are supposed to let lie? Dogs or nurses?
“What the fuck, Eric? What's the matter?” Spike was predictably grumpy in the morning.
“If we're not lovers, what are we? Sexers?”
“Fuuuuuck ...” Spike wailed and buried his head in the pillow.
“Yeah. That's what I mean. Are we gonna fuck or should I just take a shower?”
“Let me sleep. You know I worked a double shift.”
“You said that always makes you horny.”
“What? When did I say that?”
“You have a hard on.” Eric confirmed his statement by groping.
“I always have a hard on in the morning. Go away.” Spike shifted his torso away from Eric's hand but Eric's hand followed him. “Shelter, food and sex. That's what you are getting out of this ? What's in it for me? I can't even get a good night's sleep. Leave me alone.”
“What do you get? Some of the food paid for, a lot of good sex, and me … that's what you're getting out of this,” Eric countered. “It was your idea, remember.”
Spike acquiesced and let Eric play with his cock. Then he let him suck it. And then he got fucked. Eric was a good fuck when he put his mind to it. Spike sighed happily when it was over. “Nice having YOU do the work for a change,” he chided.
“Fucking isn't work. Z used to say that half the fucking in the world was ...”
“Z! You had to spoil it! Z this! Z that!” Spike got up and stalked into the bathroom.
“Z had a lot of good things to say,” Eric answered defensively.
“You can't forget him, can you?”
“No. I spent almost five years with him. How could I forget?” Eric was talking to a closed door. Soon he heard the sound of the shower. He got up and began dressing. Life with Spike wasn't so bad. His clothes were cleaner than when he was living with the other med students. His diet was much better. The sex was regular. The downside was Spike was bossy.
“Eric, you need to stop at the cleaners on your way to work. You mind? It's mostly your stuff,” Spike said as he dried his hair. “And on the way home … Shit! You think I'm losing my hair?” Spike pulled a single brown hair off the towel and held it out for examination.
“No, you're not losing your hair.” It was Eric's turn in the bathroom. He shaved and then out a t-shirt on.
Spike eyed him in the clingy shirt. “You, on the other hand, are losing definition. You're looking kinda fat in that shirt.”
“I miss playing lacrosse in Alameda,” Eric admitted.
“Oh, for God's sake.” Spike rolled his eyes. “Here we go again. It's Z you miss, isn't it?”
“Five years, Spike. Yes, I miss him.” Eric changed the subject. “Could you go back there? Work at Alameda General, I mean?”
“Dude, I'm a nurse. I can work anywhere. Alameda was boring. Predictable cases; the same stuff all the time. Here, in the city, we get variety.”
“I could work there. I liked it in the ER.”
“So be an ER doc. You're wondering what to specialize in.”
“You know … that just might ...”
“Eric, asshole! I'm kidding. ER docs are … fucking gypsies. They come; they go. They're on salaries, for God's sake! They don't get paid shit compared to almost anybody else.”
“They have fun, though. Lot a laughs in the ER.”
“Unless you're a nurse. Not so funny then. It's one tiny step up from 'Clean up on Aisle Three!' It's drudgery.”
“Isn't most nursing drudgery? Unless you're into the patients, I mean. Then it gets interesting.”
“Then you end up in tears all the time, 'cause they're dead.”
“Not all of them. Most recover.”
Spike ended the conversation. “Oh … and on your way home, would you mind getting some of that bread with the almonds on top.”
“Take the laundry. Buy some bread. Talk about drudgery!” Eric was joking, at least it sounded like he was joking.
“Yeah, but I'm a hot fuck. I'm worth it,” Spike shot back.
Eric smiled in reply as he left with his arms full of laundry. You're an available fuck, he thought. You're a pretty good fuck. I guess that means hot. Eric wasn't in a mood to analyze the pros and cons of living with Spike. The sex was more than good enough and he didn't really have any desire to invest the time and effort that love required.
Andrew looked hard at Z. He adjusted the curtain to reduce the light level and checked his meter again. “Are you eating? Your cheeks have shadows they never had before.”
“Yes, I'm eating. That's one of the benefits of being a waiter. Free food.”
“Well, from my point of view, it's fine. You look a lot more dramatic, but not so boyish any more.”
“Good. I'm not a boy any more.”
“Dude, aging is never 'good' if you're a model. That was why you played off Craig Grantland so well; it was the contrast in your ages, sort of a master and protege look. Let me see the rest of your body.”
Z stripped to his underwear and did a slow turn. “Ok? Any weird shadows appearing?”
“No. You look fine. Would you mind showing me your ass?” Z turned and pulled his underwear down. “You're amazing. I don't know how Eric could have ...”
“Andrew, keep the Eric comments to yourself.” Z pulled his underwear back up. “So, am I good enough to do your show in Milpitas?”
“Yeah, sure. You're way too good for Milpitas. They won't appreciate you.”
“I need the job, Andrew. I'm not 'too good' if I'm not getting paid.”
“With a bad haircut, you could look Mexican … you're dark enough … except for the blue eyes, of course.” Andrew mused. “That's what we're going for in this show, a Hispanic look.”
“Speaking of … Darren said Nicky is looking for a model to show their new line. I'm available, right?”
“Sure. Does he need a photog?”
“He can't afford you or Chris. They're just starting out. No sales yet.”
“Is that so? Maybe they could afford Adan ...”
“Are you and Adan still ...”
“Z, sweetie, you are soooo out of date. Adan is just an employee these days. Could I see your cock?”
“What am I now? A condom model? No.”
“Jeez, so touchy. I was just asking.”
Rory,
An interesting panoply of scenes - Steve and Nash renting in the Alameda Military almost(?) slums, instead of living at the rent boy estate (for lack of a better phrase). And loving each other - complete with their own "Mister" (if you're a Jim Butcher fan, you get the reference).
Brian, having "served his bad boy in-house time" is now back in the ass to elbow dorm room of down and dirty deeds. For two more years, with Donald doing the deed, daily.
Eric - fucking lazy Eric - at least when it comes to relationship work. What is wrong with this not-so-kid? Is he just brain fried from med school and residencies? At the rate he's going, Spike is going to say he's too high maintenance and show him the door - "good fuck" or not.
Meanwhile, Z is looking for work to pay the bills, and Andrew is lustily checking Z out as much as he can.
It just hit me what this reminds me of (not in a bad way, mind you. Life is just messy.)
An interesting panoply of scenes - Steve and Nash renting in the Alameda Military almost(?) slums, instead of living at the rent boy estate (for lack of a better phrase). And loving each other - complete with their own "Mister" (if you're a Jim Butcher fan, you get the reference).
Brian, having "served his bad boy in-house time" is now back in the ass to elbow dorm room of down and dirty deeds. For two more years, with Donald doing the deed, daily.
Eric - fucking lazy Eric - at least when it comes to relationship work. What is wrong with this not-so-kid? Is he just brain fried from med school and residencies? At the rate he's going, Spike is going to say he's too high maintenance and show him the door - "good fuck" or not.
Meanwhile, Z is looking for work to pay the bills, and Andrew is lustily checking Z out as much as he can.
It just hit me what this reminds me of (not in a bad way, mind you. Life is just messy.)
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Fifty
“He's happy at your place, and, frankly, I'm happy he's gone. The other kid is work enough.”
“Well, Lurline, I'm happy he's happy, and I'm happy you're happy, and I'm happy they're happy, and ...”
“Oh, shut up,” the judge told Jody. “Gentlemen,” he said, turning to Andrew and Seth, “I can't grant you formal adoption, but plainly the boy's welfare is your highest concern. I can award you court-monitored custody as foster parents.” He glanced back at Lemuel's parents. “So long as all parties to the case have no objection, it is so ordered. We will review the arrangement annually, at the recommendation of the Department of Human Services.”
After a brief walk and trolley ride home, Seth sat down at his desk, somewhat awed by what had happened. “Parents, Andrew. We're parents.”
“Not really. We're more like camp counselors. That's how I see it. In loco parentis, and all that shit.”
“Andrew, he's ours. We're responsible for how he turns out. What if …?”
“What if the Big One comes tomorrow? What if we're mowed down by disgruntled tourists? What if, what if, what if … I can't deal with that, sweetie; but I can deal with tonight's homework, which is his science project. We'll start with that. One day at a time and all that bull shit.”
“But, Andrew! The responsibility is awesome!”
“We talked about this. You agreed, didn't you?”
“I did, but all of a sudden ...” Seth held his face in his hands. “I'm a father, kind of.”
“And you're going to be a good one. You're methodical and careful. You love him.”
“I do.”
“You're smart. You're not outrageous in your expectations ...”
“But I want him to do well. He better apply himself to school and all.”
“He will. He'll see you as his example.”
“He'll see me as a pornographer, a college drop-out – not even – a college-never-went, a ...”
“Hard working man who cares about his family and his friends.”
“Family? My mom doesn't need me. My father is remote. I'm an only child.”
“Seth, wake the fuck up. I'm your family and Lem is your family. You love us and we are your family.”
Seth looked at Andrew in wonder. “You are kind of ...”
“No 'kind of'. We are. And we love you back. And ...” Andrew checked his watch. “We have time for an hour's worth of hot sex before Lem gets home.”
“You really do love me,” Seth said as if trying to convince himself during the brief walk to their bedroom.
Andrew rolled his eyes. “How can a man who is so confident in business be so tentative in love?”
“I'm not tentative about sex,” Seth challenged.
Andrew smiled to himself. “After that, I suppose you're gonna want to be on top.”
“I was thinking along those lines ...”
“Well, that, my darling husband, would be fabulous, fuckin' fabulous.”
Seth was shocked again. “Husband? We're not married.”
“We don't need to be, sweetie. Are you gonna stand there? Or are you gonna fuck me?”
The 'morning after' was a problem for Brian. He was constantly reminded of his night with Donald. First by Donald, who called him “Sweet Cheeks.” That was the most mortifying thing Brian had ever heard. Then by the guy in the next bunk who confided that he liked big dicks too. “As long as you're getting it, you might as well get it good,” he said. “That's how I feel.” That wasn't how Brian felt.
The third time happened in the breakfast line. A young man leaned close to Brian and whispered, “You're Brian?”
“Yeah,” Brian acknowledged. “What about it?”
The kid swallowed and said, “I got a big dick.”
“Like I give a shit,” Brian answered gruffly. The kid was bigger than Brian but he didn't seem threatening; he seemed apologetic.
“Sorry, I didn't mean ...” the kid said. “I thought … Sorry,” he repeated and started to go to the back of the line to avoid further embarrassment.
“Forget it.” As an afterthought Brian asked him usual prison stuff, “What's you name?”
“Emerson. Walden Emerson. Some guys call me Long.” The kid shrugged about the nickname not offering any explanation.
“What are you in for?”
“Gambling. Three to five for Internet gambling.”
“Jeez, jail for that?”
“I pissed off the wrong people. Can I sit with you?”
Brian nodded. “You're big. You play sports?”
“Football. Alameda High.”
“No shit! I'm from Alameda. Or I was. My wife lives there. I'm actually from Lafayette.” Brian just told Long a lot in Bay Area code. Lafayette was a Contra Costa suburb over the hills from Oakland that sort of was and sort of wasn't. It had nice parts and it had some very basic housing that benefited from location, location, location. The way Brian said Lafayette told Long the he was from the lower end of Lafayette's fluid economic scale. In Long's case, saying he was from Alameda instead of Harbor Bay diminished his own background. Not that it mattered much, prison was a leveler; backgrounds didn't have much bearing on the immediacy of a fenced-in present. Nevertheless, they had stuff in common; it was something to talk about. There was no talk of sex.
Throughout the day Brian got looks; some announced and some threatened: “When Donald's done with you, I'm next.” Some of his admirers were guys who without question could get whatever they demanded. Brian became self-conscious when the looks didn't stop, wondering if he was walking funny. Do I swing my hips or something? The more he thought about it, the worse it got. By the afternoon he was walking as if he was crippled, trying to look as sexless as possible.
He ate his dinner with Long and was able to relax briefly. By the evening, Brian decided that he needed to make a stand or he would be mincemeat for the rest of his sentence. He decided to say no to Donald and fight him if he needed to. He'd get put back in a cell, but that would at least limit the lineup of guys checking him out to one. After lights out he lay in his bunk not knowing what to expect.
He waited. Nothing happened. He could hear other furtive encounters, but Donald stayed in his bunk. He waited, listening to orgasms in nearby bunks, sighs of satisfaction, unintelligible whispers that sounded affectionate. God damn it! His cock was getting hard. He could feel Donald's mouth on him; the twenty-four hour old memory of the warmth and the wet was erotic and vivid. Then, almost silently, Donald leapt out of his upper bunk, landing softly on his feet. Shit no! Brian thought. He forgot the plans he had worked out, precise plans for how to deal with Donald. What now? Donald knelt at Brian's side.
“Hey,” he whispered softly. “You awake?” His hand enclosed Brian's cock, testing the hardness. “Yeah, you're awake ...” Donald cooed. “Look at me,” Donald whispered. He kissed Brian gently. “Is that the kind of stuff you like? Sweet stuff like that?” Donald stroked Brian's cock. “I can be sweet.” Donald shifted his position and licked Brian's cock before taking it in his mouth.
Damn it! Fifteen minutes later Brian lay alone again, feeling the cold trail of his own cum working its way down his belly. I should have stopped him. I should have said … He put his pillow over his mouth to stifle a sob. What the fuck is wrong with me? I didn't even try to stop him. He could have fucked me. I would have let him. Why didn't he? He was hard. I was wide open with my fuckin' legs in the air. Brian tried to forget his need for Donald's cock in him; but how do you forget asking for it?. I asked for it! Fuck me! I said fuck me to him. He was ready. And then he didn't. He just didn't. Shit! He jacked us both off. Brian pulled the blanket over himself, trying not to let it touch the wet cum.
Donald explained in the morning. “Gotta let the need build in you, Brian. Gotta let you realize how much you need dick. Maybe tonight. But maybe not.” It looked like a casual conversation, but to Brian Donald's explanation and grin were ominous and evil, exactly as Donald intended.
The guy in the next bunk said, “Don't let him tease you like that. You should be running the show. You got a sweet ass. Make him beg for it. He's the one who should be begging. I would be.”
The suggestions were appalling. Brian was losing control of everything in his life. “Football? Who gives a fuck about football?” he almost yelled at Long and the other guys at the breakfast table.
“Sorry, I thought you did,” Long answered. Long's raised eyebrows almost closed the matter.
“Tough night, huh Bri?” the guy at the end said. It was the public address system closed further comment.
“The following inmates, report to medical ...”
“What's this about?” Long asked as he and Brian waited in line at the nurse's station. One by one, prisoners were admitted to the office but they didn't come out. Finally Brian entered when his name was called.
An administrator was direct. “Because of overcrowding in California prisons, the court has ordered the release of certain prisoners. Because of the non-violent nature of your crime, you have been selected for early release. You will be seen by a doctor and then released.”
“When?” Brian asked.
“Now. Through that door. Next,” the suit called out to the men waiting in line.
A little over an hour later, Brian stood blinking in the sunshine outside the gate waiting for the bus into Fresno. He wore the clothes he had worn on the day of his admission. They had not been washed, but that didn't matter.
“In-fucking-credible!” Long shouted to the world, hands in the air, exulting in his freedom. “You have a ride to Alameda?” he asked Brian.
“Can I stay tonight, Jinx?”
Professor Dormeyer had just bid goodnight to the last guest at his collegial party. It was expected that each professor would over the course of the semester hold at least one such gathering. The parties had a sameness. The mediocre quality of the brown sherry prevented much drinking. The staleness of the paté prevented much eating. Finally, the viciousness of the gossip prevented anyone from staying away. Miss one of these parties and your personal and professional reputation would be tatters by the morning.
Academics are nasty folks; but they are so polite about it. Jeff had acted as a waiter. Dormeyer had been distant but respectful to him in a way that called attention to their status difference.
“Do you want to stay?” Dormeyer munched on the last of the water crackers.
“Of course I do.” Jeff always stayed, but he had to ask. Dormeyer never invited him.
“You were working all night. I thought you might be tired.”
“Ok, if you want me to go, I'll just finish the dishes and ...”
“Did I say that? No, I don't want you to go.”
While they completed the clean up, they discussed the death of Richard Rorty, and its impact on American political philosophy. Jeff loved these discussions, when Dormeyer treated him as an equal. He said that he felt that Rorty's prose style would be missed the most; there were plenty of people who shared his thinking. “I always get what he's saying; he doesn't hide behind unique and unexplained definitions,” Jeff said. “Like you, Jinx. I always get what you say.”
“Am I that simple?”
“Not simple. Just clear. In the classroom anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“I never know what you're thinking outside of the classroom. I never even know if you like having me around.”
“Jeffrey … of course I like having you around.”
“You might say so now and then.”
“A declaration of love? Well, that's not me, really.”
“Not a declaration of love. Just 'I like having you around.' That would be a great start.”
“I like having you around. I like having you in my bed. I'm afraid if I blink, you'll leave.” Dormeyer surprised Jeff with his direct answer.
“I like it too. Haven't you figured that out, Jinx?”
“You don't actually say much either, Jeff.”
“'Cause I'm afraid to.” Jeff stood on his tiptoes and put the last glass in the cabinet over the sink.
Jinx stared at Jeff's body, straining to reach the top shelf. “Why in the world would you be afraid? You're so gorgeous, Jeff. You take my breath away.”
“There you go. I like hearing that.”
Jinx pulled the slimmer youth into his arms and hugged him fiercely. They hurried to the bedroom. Jeff was shedding clothes along the way, but Jinx waited for the darkness to mask his nakedness.
“Come on, hurry up,” Jeff called from the bed. “I had my clothes off before we came in the room.”
“I'm not as attractive as you. I need a little mystery ...” Jinx said, trying to cover his reluctance to show his body with a tease.
“You look great,” Jeff lied a little. The truth was he did admire Dormeyer's middle-aged build.
“That's a nice compliment to somebody who's twenty-five years older than you.”
“Thirty-four years older. I looked you up. I like an experienced man.”
“My body isn't as hard as it used to be.”
“It's plenty hard where it needs to be.”
They progressed quickly from kissing to fucking. It was unusually gentle, a tender reflection of their words to each other. Their lovemaking reflected a new consideration and respect from Dormeyer and open affection in Jeff; but just for a while. “Jinx, I'm not gonna break. You can give it to me harder, if you want,” Jeff suggested.
Dormeyer stepped up his performance. Deep thrusting backed up with his full weight was jolting the whole bed. Jeff bounced with pleasure every time Dormeyer slammed into him; but he wanted more. “Now you can kiss me,” Jeff suggested; but Dormeyer didn't, he just pumped harder. It was good for Jeff but not enough.
“Kiss me when you fuck me!” Jeff demanded and Dormeyer complied. Jeff got what he wanted: kissing, fucking, and cumming all mixed together. “Don't you know I love you,” he asked when it was over.
Jinx was astonished. “You …?”
“... love you. I love you.” Jeff pulled Jinx closer, keeping the softening cock inside his ass.
Jinx looked at Jeff. The younger man had the wantonness of fresh sex on his face, the blush, the bloom of deep satisfaction. With renewed ardor, youth kissed away the disbelief of age.
Jackson was absent-mindedly humming 'Satisfaction' as he went over his proposal for the compound in Singapore. It hadn't cost much when it was acquired, but it's value had grown substantially in the last ten years. Using it as a private residence was near-criminal waste. The numbers all worked, Jackson decided, but is the concept actually feasible.
“I can't get no-oh satis ...” His attention narrowed. “Li,” he questioned, “Is the strait between the Singapore Island and Maylasia a good location for a residence.”
“The Sultan of Johor lives there, in Johor Baru, right on the water. There is a breeze almost all the time. Westerners find it much cooler than the island.” Li was flattered that Jackson was asking his opinion on something other than cooking.
“Do you think a helo pad would be allowed?”
“I guess if it wasn't right next to the palace. Rubber trees make good baffles.”
“Do they grow quickly?”
“Three meters quickly. Slower after that. Why?”
“I'm thinking about a barrier hedge, so to speak, but with greater utility. Something that would be a deductible expense, not a garden decoration.”
“Like a rubber plantation?”
“On a small scale.” Jackson looked at Li's jeans when he said “small scale”. Li's jeans revealed no bulge whatsoever, even his thighs were lost in the folds of denim.
“Scale is relative,” Li said as he watched Jackson spread his legs wider. Where was this going, Li wondered. He could see the outline of Jackson's cock almost perfectly.
“And small scale isn't bad at all, if it accomplishes its mission.” Jackson knew Mark rarely liked getting fucked, so the measure of Li's cock was academic. He wondered when Mark last required Steve's services.
“Would you live in Johor Baru?”
“Of course. I'm a native of Johor - Singaporean by convenience.”
“Very flexible, Li. You can go either way?” Jackson knew exactly what he was saying.
“Legally I am Singaporean, but Malaysia isn't sticky about that.”
“Flexibility is a very attractive quality. You're a very attractive man,” Jackson said. “Mark must appreciate that. I think you please him, Li.”
“Do I? He doesn't say much.”
“I can tell what he's thinking. In my experience, he likes you. I bet you're good at that interior massage business he likes?”
“What interior massage?”
“You know … when he's fucking you he likes it when you massage him. He thinks he's making you cum.”
“Massage him? With hands?”
“No,” Jackson giggled with a just-between-us-girls conspiracy. “With your ass muscles, of course. He loves that.”
“I don't know exactly how to do that?”
“Really, oh it's easy. You really don't know? I thought it was a Chinese invention.” Jackson giggled again. Jackson didn't really have a motive for what he was doing. It was a quiet morning; he was just curious and he was horny from Mark's neglect. He wanted to see what Mark found so attractive. He wanted to fuck Li.
“We wouldn't actually be fucking, you know, not really; it's part of the training program,” he told a reluctant Li. “You need to learn this trick.”
With minimal discussion they decided that they weren't actually fucking; well, technically perhaps they were if you consider the mere insertion of a dick into an asshole to constitute fucking. They told themselves otherwise.
“This isn't fucking,” Jackson insisted as he lay supine on his desk. Li got on top and entered him. “Fucking has to involve desire. This is like a gym workout, Li. It's part of your profession. See how I can milk your cock?” He rhythmically squeezed his ass and rotated his hips. “That's what Mark likes. Doesn't it feel good?”
“Jackson, it feels great!” Li was panting; his thrusts were erratic in rhythm but hard and driven by his pleasure.
“And your dick isn't small at all. I can feel it in me ... sort of.” Jackson twisted in a way that made Li's dick pop out. “Ooow, put it back in,” he demanded, moving his ass so that Li had difficulty finding his hole. “Is it in?” Jackson asked when after some effort Li reconnected. “Are you sure?” he responded to Li's affirmative. He let Li pump away, careful to stop him before it was too late. “So let's have you try it.”
Jackson got carried away and ignored Li's questions and comments. He fucked him in every position he knew, which came to a few more than more sex manuals provide. “Ok, try the massage,” He prompted and Li did his best to imitate Jackson's earlier motions. “Pretty fuckin' fantastic,” Jackson commented evenly; then he came immediately. “Oh my God, I wasn't ready for that!” He thrust until he was spent and then composed himself. “Well … whew! Ok, did you get the idea?” Jackson gasped, regaining his professional tone.
“No, not completely,” Li said coyly. “Let's try it again. I want to see if I can work the whole length of your cock.” After several attempts Jackson gave up trying for entry; he wasn't quite hard enough.. “Oh, come on. Can't get it up?” Li commented. “Those big dicks can be so hard to operate when you need them. All that wasted bloodflow. It's amazing you don't pass out. What did you do when Mark wanted a second or a third time?”
Li was hard as a rock. Jackson smiled in defeat; the contest part was over. “I tried my best. Not as good as you.”
“You're a great fuck. You should have tried topping Mark more, Jackson. You're really good at it. I bet you could have got him to like it better. He always says good things about you. He would have tried it for you.”
“I don't know, Li. He hired me for my ass, not my cock. And he sure shifted his attention to you in a hurry.” Jackson stroked Li's face, tracing his lips.
Li licked at Jackson's fingers and giggled. “That tickles.”
A quick kiss ended the training session and they dressed. It isn't in professional training manuals, but the fact is there is nothing like a casual fuck to cement a strained working relationship.
“He's happy at your place, and, frankly, I'm happy he's gone. The other kid is work enough.”
“Well, Lurline, I'm happy he's happy, and I'm happy you're happy, and I'm happy they're happy, and ...”
“Oh, shut up,” the judge told Jody. “Gentlemen,” he said, turning to Andrew and Seth, “I can't grant you formal adoption, but plainly the boy's welfare is your highest concern. I can award you court-monitored custody as foster parents.” He glanced back at Lemuel's parents. “So long as all parties to the case have no objection, it is so ordered. We will review the arrangement annually, at the recommendation of the Department of Human Services.”
After a brief walk and trolley ride home, Seth sat down at his desk, somewhat awed by what had happened. “Parents, Andrew. We're parents.”
“Not really. We're more like camp counselors. That's how I see it. In loco parentis, and all that shit.”
“Andrew, he's ours. We're responsible for how he turns out. What if …?”
“What if the Big One comes tomorrow? What if we're mowed down by disgruntled tourists? What if, what if, what if … I can't deal with that, sweetie; but I can deal with tonight's homework, which is his science project. We'll start with that. One day at a time and all that bull shit.”
“But, Andrew! The responsibility is awesome!”
“We talked about this. You agreed, didn't you?”
“I did, but all of a sudden ...” Seth held his face in his hands. “I'm a father, kind of.”
“And you're going to be a good one. You're methodical and careful. You love him.”
“I do.”
“You're smart. You're not outrageous in your expectations ...”
“But I want him to do well. He better apply himself to school and all.”
“He will. He'll see you as his example.”
“He'll see me as a pornographer, a college drop-out – not even – a college-never-went, a ...”
“Hard working man who cares about his family and his friends.”
“Family? My mom doesn't need me. My father is remote. I'm an only child.”
“Seth, wake the fuck up. I'm your family and Lem is your family. You love us and we are your family.”
Seth looked at Andrew in wonder. “You are kind of ...”
“No 'kind of'. We are. And we love you back. And ...” Andrew checked his watch. “We have time for an hour's worth of hot sex before Lem gets home.”
“You really do love me,” Seth said as if trying to convince himself during the brief walk to their bedroom.
Andrew rolled his eyes. “How can a man who is so confident in business be so tentative in love?”
“I'm not tentative about sex,” Seth challenged.
Andrew smiled to himself. “After that, I suppose you're gonna want to be on top.”
“I was thinking along those lines ...”
“Well, that, my darling husband, would be fabulous, fuckin' fabulous.”
Seth was shocked again. “Husband? We're not married.”
“We don't need to be, sweetie. Are you gonna stand there? Or are you gonna fuck me?”
The 'morning after' was a problem for Brian. He was constantly reminded of his night with Donald. First by Donald, who called him “Sweet Cheeks.” That was the most mortifying thing Brian had ever heard. Then by the guy in the next bunk who confided that he liked big dicks too. “As long as you're getting it, you might as well get it good,” he said. “That's how I feel.” That wasn't how Brian felt.
The third time happened in the breakfast line. A young man leaned close to Brian and whispered, “You're Brian?”
“Yeah,” Brian acknowledged. “What about it?”
The kid swallowed and said, “I got a big dick.”
“Like I give a shit,” Brian answered gruffly. The kid was bigger than Brian but he didn't seem threatening; he seemed apologetic.
“Sorry, I didn't mean ...” the kid said. “I thought … Sorry,” he repeated and started to go to the back of the line to avoid further embarrassment.
“Forget it.” As an afterthought Brian asked him usual prison stuff, “What's you name?”
“Emerson. Walden Emerson. Some guys call me Long.” The kid shrugged about the nickname not offering any explanation.
“What are you in for?”
“Gambling. Three to five for Internet gambling.”
“Jeez, jail for that?”
“I pissed off the wrong people. Can I sit with you?”
Brian nodded. “You're big. You play sports?”
“Football. Alameda High.”
“No shit! I'm from Alameda. Or I was. My wife lives there. I'm actually from Lafayette.” Brian just told Long a lot in Bay Area code. Lafayette was a Contra Costa suburb over the hills from Oakland that sort of was and sort of wasn't. It had nice parts and it had some very basic housing that benefited from location, location, location. The way Brian said Lafayette told Long the he was from the lower end of Lafayette's fluid economic scale. In Long's case, saying he was from Alameda instead of Harbor Bay diminished his own background. Not that it mattered much, prison was a leveler; backgrounds didn't have much bearing on the immediacy of a fenced-in present. Nevertheless, they had stuff in common; it was something to talk about. There was no talk of sex.
Throughout the day Brian got looks; some announced and some threatened: “When Donald's done with you, I'm next.” Some of his admirers were guys who without question could get whatever they demanded. Brian became self-conscious when the looks didn't stop, wondering if he was walking funny. Do I swing my hips or something? The more he thought about it, the worse it got. By the afternoon he was walking as if he was crippled, trying to look as sexless as possible.
He ate his dinner with Long and was able to relax briefly. By the evening, Brian decided that he needed to make a stand or he would be mincemeat for the rest of his sentence. He decided to say no to Donald and fight him if he needed to. He'd get put back in a cell, but that would at least limit the lineup of guys checking him out to one. After lights out he lay in his bunk not knowing what to expect.
He waited. Nothing happened. He could hear other furtive encounters, but Donald stayed in his bunk. He waited, listening to orgasms in nearby bunks, sighs of satisfaction, unintelligible whispers that sounded affectionate. God damn it! His cock was getting hard. He could feel Donald's mouth on him; the twenty-four hour old memory of the warmth and the wet was erotic and vivid. Then, almost silently, Donald leapt out of his upper bunk, landing softly on his feet. Shit no! Brian thought. He forgot the plans he had worked out, precise plans for how to deal with Donald. What now? Donald knelt at Brian's side.
“Hey,” he whispered softly. “You awake?” His hand enclosed Brian's cock, testing the hardness. “Yeah, you're awake ...” Donald cooed. “Look at me,” Donald whispered. He kissed Brian gently. “Is that the kind of stuff you like? Sweet stuff like that?” Donald stroked Brian's cock. “I can be sweet.” Donald shifted his position and licked Brian's cock before taking it in his mouth.
Damn it! Fifteen minutes later Brian lay alone again, feeling the cold trail of his own cum working its way down his belly. I should have stopped him. I should have said … He put his pillow over his mouth to stifle a sob. What the fuck is wrong with me? I didn't even try to stop him. He could have fucked me. I would have let him. Why didn't he? He was hard. I was wide open with my fuckin' legs in the air. Brian tried to forget his need for Donald's cock in him; but how do you forget asking for it?. I asked for it! Fuck me! I said fuck me to him. He was ready. And then he didn't. He just didn't. Shit! He jacked us both off. Brian pulled the blanket over himself, trying not to let it touch the wet cum.
Donald explained in the morning. “Gotta let the need build in you, Brian. Gotta let you realize how much you need dick. Maybe tonight. But maybe not.” It looked like a casual conversation, but to Brian Donald's explanation and grin were ominous and evil, exactly as Donald intended.
The guy in the next bunk said, “Don't let him tease you like that. You should be running the show. You got a sweet ass. Make him beg for it. He's the one who should be begging. I would be.”
The suggestions were appalling. Brian was losing control of everything in his life. “Football? Who gives a fuck about football?” he almost yelled at Long and the other guys at the breakfast table.
“Sorry, I thought you did,” Long answered. Long's raised eyebrows almost closed the matter.
“Tough night, huh Bri?” the guy at the end said. It was the public address system closed further comment.
“The following inmates, report to medical ...”
“What's this about?” Long asked as he and Brian waited in line at the nurse's station. One by one, prisoners were admitted to the office but they didn't come out. Finally Brian entered when his name was called.
An administrator was direct. “Because of overcrowding in California prisons, the court has ordered the release of certain prisoners. Because of the non-violent nature of your crime, you have been selected for early release. You will be seen by a doctor and then released.”
“When?” Brian asked.
“Now. Through that door. Next,” the suit called out to the men waiting in line.
A little over an hour later, Brian stood blinking in the sunshine outside the gate waiting for the bus into Fresno. He wore the clothes he had worn on the day of his admission. They had not been washed, but that didn't matter.
“In-fucking-credible!” Long shouted to the world, hands in the air, exulting in his freedom. “You have a ride to Alameda?” he asked Brian.
“Can I stay tonight, Jinx?”
Professor Dormeyer had just bid goodnight to the last guest at his collegial party. It was expected that each professor would over the course of the semester hold at least one such gathering. The parties had a sameness. The mediocre quality of the brown sherry prevented much drinking. The staleness of the paté prevented much eating. Finally, the viciousness of the gossip prevented anyone from staying away. Miss one of these parties and your personal and professional reputation would be tatters by the morning.
Academics are nasty folks; but they are so polite about it. Jeff had acted as a waiter. Dormeyer had been distant but respectful to him in a way that called attention to their status difference.
“Do you want to stay?” Dormeyer munched on the last of the water crackers.
“Of course I do.” Jeff always stayed, but he had to ask. Dormeyer never invited him.
“You were working all night. I thought you might be tired.”
“Ok, if you want me to go, I'll just finish the dishes and ...”
“Did I say that? No, I don't want you to go.”
While they completed the clean up, they discussed the death of Richard Rorty, and its impact on American political philosophy. Jeff loved these discussions, when Dormeyer treated him as an equal. He said that he felt that Rorty's prose style would be missed the most; there were plenty of people who shared his thinking. “I always get what he's saying; he doesn't hide behind unique and unexplained definitions,” Jeff said. “Like you, Jinx. I always get what you say.”
“Am I that simple?”
“Not simple. Just clear. In the classroom anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“I never know what you're thinking outside of the classroom. I never even know if you like having me around.”
“Jeffrey … of course I like having you around.”
“You might say so now and then.”
“A declaration of love? Well, that's not me, really.”
“Not a declaration of love. Just 'I like having you around.' That would be a great start.”
“I like having you around. I like having you in my bed. I'm afraid if I blink, you'll leave.” Dormeyer surprised Jeff with his direct answer.
“I like it too. Haven't you figured that out, Jinx?”
“You don't actually say much either, Jeff.”
“'Cause I'm afraid to.” Jeff stood on his tiptoes and put the last glass in the cabinet over the sink.
Jinx stared at Jeff's body, straining to reach the top shelf. “Why in the world would you be afraid? You're so gorgeous, Jeff. You take my breath away.”
“There you go. I like hearing that.”
Jinx pulled the slimmer youth into his arms and hugged him fiercely. They hurried to the bedroom. Jeff was shedding clothes along the way, but Jinx waited for the darkness to mask his nakedness.
“Come on, hurry up,” Jeff called from the bed. “I had my clothes off before we came in the room.”
“I'm not as attractive as you. I need a little mystery ...” Jinx said, trying to cover his reluctance to show his body with a tease.
“You look great,” Jeff lied a little. The truth was he did admire Dormeyer's middle-aged build.
“That's a nice compliment to somebody who's twenty-five years older than you.”
“Thirty-four years older. I looked you up. I like an experienced man.”
“My body isn't as hard as it used to be.”
“It's plenty hard where it needs to be.”
They progressed quickly from kissing to fucking. It was unusually gentle, a tender reflection of their words to each other. Their lovemaking reflected a new consideration and respect from Dormeyer and open affection in Jeff; but just for a while. “Jinx, I'm not gonna break. You can give it to me harder, if you want,” Jeff suggested.
Dormeyer stepped up his performance. Deep thrusting backed up with his full weight was jolting the whole bed. Jeff bounced with pleasure every time Dormeyer slammed into him; but he wanted more. “Now you can kiss me,” Jeff suggested; but Dormeyer didn't, he just pumped harder. It was good for Jeff but not enough.
“Kiss me when you fuck me!” Jeff demanded and Dormeyer complied. Jeff got what he wanted: kissing, fucking, and cumming all mixed together. “Don't you know I love you,” he asked when it was over.
Jinx was astonished. “You …?”
“... love you. I love you.” Jeff pulled Jinx closer, keeping the softening cock inside his ass.
Jinx looked at Jeff. The younger man had the wantonness of fresh sex on his face, the blush, the bloom of deep satisfaction. With renewed ardor, youth kissed away the disbelief of age.
Jackson was absent-mindedly humming 'Satisfaction' as he went over his proposal for the compound in Singapore. It hadn't cost much when it was acquired, but it's value had grown substantially in the last ten years. Using it as a private residence was near-criminal waste. The numbers all worked, Jackson decided, but is the concept actually feasible.
“I can't get no-oh satis ...” His attention narrowed. “Li,” he questioned, “Is the strait between the Singapore Island and Maylasia a good location for a residence.”
“The Sultan of Johor lives there, in Johor Baru, right on the water. There is a breeze almost all the time. Westerners find it much cooler than the island.” Li was flattered that Jackson was asking his opinion on something other than cooking.
“Do you think a helo pad would be allowed?”
“I guess if it wasn't right next to the palace. Rubber trees make good baffles.”
“Do they grow quickly?”
“Three meters quickly. Slower after that. Why?”
“I'm thinking about a barrier hedge, so to speak, but with greater utility. Something that would be a deductible expense, not a garden decoration.”
“Like a rubber plantation?”
“On a small scale.” Jackson looked at Li's jeans when he said “small scale”. Li's jeans revealed no bulge whatsoever, even his thighs were lost in the folds of denim.
“Scale is relative,” Li said as he watched Jackson spread his legs wider. Where was this going, Li wondered. He could see the outline of Jackson's cock almost perfectly.
“And small scale isn't bad at all, if it accomplishes its mission.” Jackson knew Mark rarely liked getting fucked, so the measure of Li's cock was academic. He wondered when Mark last required Steve's services.
“Would you live in Johor Baru?”
“Of course. I'm a native of Johor - Singaporean by convenience.”
“Very flexible, Li. You can go either way?” Jackson knew exactly what he was saying.
“Legally I am Singaporean, but Malaysia isn't sticky about that.”
“Flexibility is a very attractive quality. You're a very attractive man,” Jackson said. “Mark must appreciate that. I think you please him, Li.”
“Do I? He doesn't say much.”
“I can tell what he's thinking. In my experience, he likes you. I bet you're good at that interior massage business he likes?”
“What interior massage?”
“You know … when he's fucking you he likes it when you massage him. He thinks he's making you cum.”
“Massage him? With hands?”
“No,” Jackson giggled with a just-between-us-girls conspiracy. “With your ass muscles, of course. He loves that.”
“I don't know exactly how to do that?”
“Really, oh it's easy. You really don't know? I thought it was a Chinese invention.” Jackson giggled again. Jackson didn't really have a motive for what he was doing. It was a quiet morning; he was just curious and he was horny from Mark's neglect. He wanted to see what Mark found so attractive. He wanted to fuck Li.
“We wouldn't actually be fucking, you know, not really; it's part of the training program,” he told a reluctant Li. “You need to learn this trick.”
With minimal discussion they decided that they weren't actually fucking; well, technically perhaps they were if you consider the mere insertion of a dick into an asshole to constitute fucking. They told themselves otherwise.
“This isn't fucking,” Jackson insisted as he lay supine on his desk. Li got on top and entered him. “Fucking has to involve desire. This is like a gym workout, Li. It's part of your profession. See how I can milk your cock?” He rhythmically squeezed his ass and rotated his hips. “That's what Mark likes. Doesn't it feel good?”
“Jackson, it feels great!” Li was panting; his thrusts were erratic in rhythm but hard and driven by his pleasure.
“And your dick isn't small at all. I can feel it in me ... sort of.” Jackson twisted in a way that made Li's dick pop out. “Ooow, put it back in,” he demanded, moving his ass so that Li had difficulty finding his hole. “Is it in?” Jackson asked when after some effort Li reconnected. “Are you sure?” he responded to Li's affirmative. He let Li pump away, careful to stop him before it was too late. “So let's have you try it.”
Jackson got carried away and ignored Li's questions and comments. He fucked him in every position he knew, which came to a few more than more sex manuals provide. “Ok, try the massage,” He prompted and Li did his best to imitate Jackson's earlier motions. “Pretty fuckin' fantastic,” Jackson commented evenly; then he came immediately. “Oh my God, I wasn't ready for that!” He thrust until he was spent and then composed himself. “Well … whew! Ok, did you get the idea?” Jackson gasped, regaining his professional tone.
“No, not completely,” Li said coyly. “Let's try it again. I want to see if I can work the whole length of your cock.” After several attempts Jackson gave up trying for entry; he wasn't quite hard enough.. “Oh, come on. Can't get it up?” Li commented. “Those big dicks can be so hard to operate when you need them. All that wasted bloodflow. It's amazing you don't pass out. What did you do when Mark wanted a second or a third time?”
Li was hard as a rock. Jackson smiled in defeat; the contest part was over. “I tried my best. Not as good as you.”
“You're a great fuck. You should have tried topping Mark more, Jackson. You're really good at it. I bet you could have got him to like it better. He always says good things about you. He would have tried it for you.”
“I don't know, Li. He hired me for my ass, not my cock. And he sure shifted his attention to you in a hurry.” Jackson stroked Li's face, tracing his lips.
Li licked at Jackson's fingers and giggled. “That tickles.”
A quick kiss ended the training session and they dressed. It isn't in professional training manuals, but the fact is there is nothing like a casual fuck to cement a strained working relationship.
Rory,
This made for a great late afternoon read while on a short break - I love it when the e-mail notifications on subscriptions work right!
Andrew and Seth - officially court-sanctioned foster parents for Lemuel - because biological mom and dad are essentially worthless pieces of shit. What a life changing event - but I think for the good for them - as "Husband" becomes part of their vernacular.
Jeff & "Jinx" - and the big "L" word. Didn't necessarily see that one coming, but maybe in the back of my mind.
Jackson checking out Li, Mark's latest "personal ASSistant". How does this play with Bo? Isn't he still part of the picture, or are they really just fuck buddies - since he's back at the shop and in love with his real main squeeze?
Brian and "Long" - did we see Long back in the HS days with Cal and company? Fucked then sprung, unexpectedly. What will Brian do with his new found freedom? Go home to his wife, or home with Brian and a night or three of bottoming?
The endless sea of questions about our guys.
This made for a great late afternoon read while on a short break - I love it when the e-mail notifications on subscriptions work right!
Andrew and Seth - officially court-sanctioned foster parents for Lemuel - because biological mom and dad are essentially worthless pieces of shit. What a life changing event - but I think for the good for them - as "Husband" becomes part of their vernacular.
Jeff & "Jinx" - and the big "L" word. Didn't necessarily see that one coming, but maybe in the back of my mind.
Jackson checking out Li, Mark's latest "personal ASSistant". How does this play with Bo? Isn't he still part of the picture, or are they really just fuck buddies - since he's back at the shop and in love with his real main squeeze?
Brian and "Long" - did we see Long back in the HS days with Cal and company? Fucked then sprung, unexpectedly. What will Brian do with his new found freedom? Go home to his wife, or home with Brian and a night or three of bottoming?
The endless sea of questions about our guys.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Bonus chapter this week. 
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Fifty-One
“So what's it like being a porn star?” Rocky asked.
“I don't know. I'm not a star.”
“You're getting to be. I heard a couple guys talking about you in the bar.”
Ty got interested. “Really? What did they say?”
“Uh … I don't know. I just heard them talking about “the guy at St. Mary's.” Rocky had in fact heard graphic details about Ty's anatomy and very specific descriptions of what the guys would like to do to Ty. He decided Ty wouldn't enjoy hearing the exact words. “You're gonna have fans waiting at the school gates.”
“Chris told Kevin that sales were good for the mirror scene. He's already asking about a sequel.”
“How many guys do you think jack off watching your videos every night?”
“About as many as are stuffing cash down your pants every night,” Ty responded.
“No way. Mondays and Tuesdays always suck. The customers are all home watching you.”
Their good-natured banter masked the nagging uneasiness generated by working in the 'adult entertainment industry', as their work was sometimes called by the fastidious. Porn sounded bad, gay porn sounded worse. Adult entertainment sounded inane, but harmless.
“I got a text from Wolf,” Rocky volunteered. “He's coming for Christmas. Gonna stay at his brother's.”
“Alright! Rocky's dream comes true!” Ty congratulated his friend.
“Not so fast, Ty. His text was pretty random. The kind of thing you'd say to anybody. And ...”
“And what?” Ty prodded.
“And … Jeez, I can't even say it.”
“Rock, you can tell me anything.”
“I mean what if he wants to … not that he would … but what if he wants to 'do stuff'.” Rocky's emphasis made it clear the stuff he was talking about was sexual.
“What if he does? Isn't that what you want?”
“I don't know, Ty. I … I ...”
“Spit it out.”
“I'm a virgin, Ty. I've never gone all the way with a guy.”
“A guy like you … dancing naked in front of hundreds of guys … didn't anyone ever offer to ...”
“All the time! I'm always getting hit on! But ...” Rocky shrugged. “You know … they're creepy, kinda scary, even. The ones I might want to try something with … they never ask.”
“Maybe they're intimidated. You're pretty awesome, you know. Have you thought about asking them?”
Rocky looked surprised. “Then I'd be the creepy one.” Ty could only smile at his friend. “The thing is – I don't even know what I want to do. I know I like being around Wolf and I ..” Rocky voice went to a whisper. “...like looking at him. His body is just about perfect ...” He resumed a conversational volume. “But beyond that … I don't know.”
“You'll know when the time comes. Don't over-analyze it.”
“I get so fuckin' horny, Ty!”
“We all do. Want to spot me?”
“People think I'm some kind of all-knowing genius. I'm not. It just depends on good intelligence.” Mark pressed some buttons and an array of video monitors rose out of the huge desk in his bedroom. “I can watch anything in real or historic time. Here or anywhere in the company.” He selected a view of the building lobby. “I can tell the guard is nodding off.” He pulled up a view of the helo hangar and quickly shut it off again. “Steve and Nash can't keep their hands off each other,” Mark chuckled.
“The tracking system is meant for intruders, but it works on anybody.” Mark opened a view of Li's bedroom and followed him out the door, into the kitchen area, and down a hall, where he stopped and knocked on a door. Jackson opened it, kissed Li and pulled him inside. “I guess we don't need to follow that scene any farther,” Mark said. “Especially when you're standing there looking your best.”
Looking-your-best was Mark's way of saying naked. Bo blushed at the compliment and tensed briefly when he felt Mark's hand on his waist. The tension was pure reflex; they had already fucked in a way they both liked. Basically, Bo fucked Mark until he was close to coming and then they switched positions and Mark fucked Bo until they both came. Sometimes, fucking by itself wasn't enough to get them off and manual stimulation was needed, but not tonight. Bo had come explosively; but he was disappointed when he realized that Mark hadn't come at all.
“I don't need to come every time,” was Mark's only comment before he invited Bo to watch the demonstration of his surveillance system. “So that's the system. Have you decided if you want to go to Stanford or Santa Cruz?”
“I think Santa Cruz. Mainly because I can't afford all the extra expenses at Stanford.”
“Bo, I told you not to concern yourself with that. Stanford's got the better football team – no question. And football is your objective, isn't it?”
“Yes, but … You know I work at a florist's on the weekends. Well, it's got me interested in botany.” Bo laughed at Mark's look. “No, not flower arranging. Real science; breeding plants. Santa Cruz has an earth sciences major that could include a lot of plant science.”
“Wouldn't Davis be better for that?”
“You didn't offer Davis. Yes, it would.”
“And they have a football team,” Mark continued.
“They do, but you never mentioned Davis.”
“Wouldn't you rather be an Davis Aggie than a Banana Slug?” Mark pulled Bo onto his lap. They weren't much different in height, but one was a football player and the other a computer nerd. They both enjoyed the juxtaposition of their unusual matchup.
“Could you get me into Davis?”
“Getting you in is the easy part. The work is staying in and that's all up to you. I'm only risking a semester's tuition at the in-state rate.”
“I feel like a whore.”
“You shouldn't. I made the offer. It wasn't contingent on anything. We were already - what do you want to call it?”
“Close friends?” Bo suggested.
“We were already close friends before I made the offer. Not sex related. I help out lots of promising young people – both sexes, by the way.”
“Well, Davis would be the better choice ...”
“Good. New subject. How was the weekend with Finn?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Of course. I have to warn you, I'm half hard already with you sitting in my lap like this. So don't make it too graphic unless you want me too ...”
“You wouldn't believe the blow job he can give. The way he teases and then follows through. Drives me fuckin' crazy. I never used to like oral much, but Finn's mouth, the way he puckers up and sucks me in ...” Bo giggled feeling Mark's cock poking him.
An hour later Mark said goodnight to a freshly-fucked Bo, sending him back to San Mateo in a company car. He went back to his desk and watched Li and Jackson. It was obviously not their first night together, Mark concluded. The next morning he listened to Jackson's presentation on the Singapore property.
“Good thinking. Did you know Li is Singaporean? Why don't the two of you go and wrap this deal up? Minimize the Johor commitment until I can see the property ... Uh, Jackson? When you leave, there should be a young man waiting. I believe he speaks only Polish. His name is Martin. Would you send him in please?” Mark shifted his attention to his phone, ending the session.
There were eight men standing outside the prison, waiting for the van ride into town and not quite believing they were free. Their names all began with letters from A to E. Brian Ado and Walden Emerson were the only Northern Californians in the group. At the bus station they learned the last bus to the Bay Area had departed. They would have to wait until morning.
“Does anything go north? I want to leave today.” Brian wanted to put some miles between himself and the prison.
“We have one to Sacramento; and you could change to another bus at 4:35 AM to Oakland ...”
Brian looked for Walden's nod. “We'll take it.” A little over an hour later, the bus pulled out taking Route 99 northbound. Brian chose a seat in the back of the bus and opened the window. The air was cool and soon felt cold, but he didn't care. He wanted to get rid of the prison smell that clung to everything including his companion.
“I don't know how long I can go without a shower,” he told Walden. “Does everybody call you Walden?”
“Nobody calls me Walden except my mother. People call me Long.”
“Why do they call you that?”
“Uh, my dick is ...”
“Ok, enough of that.” Brian's voice overrode the other. “Walden's good enough for the couple of hours we'll be together.”
“My parents were hippies and liked Emerson. No relation, by the way. So they called me Walden Pond Emerson. Could have been worse ... Like Ralph Waldo ...” he threw out as an example of worse.
“Mmm,” Brian said, watching at the outskirts of Fresno pass by and hoping to discourage conversation.
“So prison pretty much straightened me out,” Walden offered. Brian ignored him. “I mean it made me gay.”
Brian looked at him in annoyance. “Lots of guys did stuff in prison. It doesn't 'make you gay'.”
“You're right. I didn't say that right. I was already gay. Prison made me admit it.”
“Mmm,” from Brian.
“It's like Alcoholics Anonymous. Now I feel like I need to go apologize to people I offended. Before, when I was in school, I was pretty shitty to some really nice guys. See, that was the thing that changed in prison. There, I was really nice to some pretty shitty guys. That was what opened my eyes, I guess. I was doing it for the sex and I liked it. The sex, that is; not the shitty guys I was doing it with.”
“Dude, you don't have to tell me all this stuff.”
“Sorry. I was talking too much, huh? I feel like I need to tell somebody, though.”
“How long were you in?” Brian asked.
“Three and a half months.”
“Months!!! You experienced this psychic catharsis of yours after three and a half months of lousy sex?”
“See … I don't know what that means, Brian.”
“Forget it, Walden. Neither do I.”
The bus pulled into Merced. The best thing about Merced was that it was half way to Modesto, which was half way to Sacramento. “You want anything? I'm going for a Coke.”
Brian accepted Walden's offer and enjoyed the cold drink as they pulled out again. The sugar jolt improved his mood.
“So now you're a happy homo?” he asked.
“I was always a happy homo, except now I realize it,” Walden chuckled. “Denying it was my problem.”
“Yeah? I guess,” Brian said, not sure if he really agreed. “Meanwhile tell me about Internet gambling. How'd you get caught?”
“I took bets from a cop. Once they figured out I wasn't part of some crime syndicate, they shut me down. I plead guilty and got two years with a possibility of parole after six months.”
“Six? You were half way there. You could have avoided the 'shitty guys' as you call 'em for that length of time.”
“I was experienced with gay sex and I get crazy horny if I go without. It was no big deal to do it. I just couldn't find anybody I wanted to do it with. So I settled for what was available.”
“Uh, yeah. What kind of gambling? Poker or something?”
“Football. I thought I hid my identity through an offshore site, but the cops were smarter than me. They didn't object to what I was doing, and I didn't owe any taxes yet. They got me on letting minors bet. I didn't have any way to check ID's. I was just taking credit cards and assuming the bettor was legal.”
“Why'd you pick football? Seems competitive.”
“I played in high school. Thought I knew what I was doing – started with arena football last spring. It almost worked.”
“You gonna try it again?”
“I don't know. I could I guess. Or I could go to school. My parents want me to do that.”
“That's what parents always say. Like it's imprinted in their brains.” In spite of himself, Brian was enjoying the conversation. They kept talking about how a new site might work out until they got to Modesto. This time Brian offered to get Walden something to eat. “Plus, I want to call my wife. Let her know. She should be home from work by now.”
Walden noticed the troubled look on Brian's face when he returned. He accepted the Snickers bar telling Brian, “Yeah, that's all I want.” He paused and asked, “Did you get your wife?”
“No. Not a working number.”
“She probably is using a cell. Lots of people don't use landlines any more.”
“She could have told me,” Brian complained. “And her office is closed for the day. I left a message, but I don't know if that's gonna work. I guess I want to give her some notice. You know, give her time to get the other guy moved out.” Brian echoed the bitter humor of prison wisdom: never surprise your wife.
“Do you know that? Or are you joking?”
“Joking, I think. We should have taken the train. This fuckin' bus is ...”
“We couldn't afford the train. This 'fuckin' bus' is gonna get us there, Bri.” Walden hoped he sounded reassuring. It didn't really matter. The 'fuckin' bus' broke down outside of Stockton. It was midnight when the hired van dropped the passengers at the unattended bus station.
“Now what?”
“Now, we stay positive and we look for a place to sleep,” Walden said.
“We don't have enough money.”
“We stay positive and get creative, that's what we do. We check out that motel.” He pointed to a luridly lighted sign in the next block.
Stockton had a reputation as a rough-and-ready town ever since the Hell's Angels had moved in. Expecting something upscale would have been a mistake even if it hadn't been in walking distance of the bus station. “Stardust,” the sign promised. Better yet, it said, “Vacancy.”
“Stardust … isn't that what they call cocaine?” Brian asked.
“PCP, I think,” Walden replied. He knocked on the thick glass window. There was no visible door to the office. An older man appeared from some inner sanctum and yawned. “Hello, our bus broke down and we ...”
The man grinned. “Yep. They do that. Just you? Where are the other passengers?”
“I don't know. There weren't many. We need a room. If you have any available ...”
“Uh-huh, so that will be sixty-nine dollars for the night. You want a king-sized bed?” he speculated, leering at them.
“Twin beds,” Brian insisted.
“Whatever … Let's see the cash.” Between them they had sixty-six and some coins.
“It's late. You aren't getting any more business. Please?” Walden looked as pitiful as he could while the man considered the offer.
“I guess ...”
The room was clean and complete, the best that could be expected. A quick shower later, Brian was in bed and asleep, while Walden lay and watched the ceiling periodically flash red echoing the Stardust sign outside their door. Complimenting Brian on his ass had been a mistake, Walden decided. Maybe it was the way I did it. Watching Brian towel off and telling him, “No wonder half the prisoners wanted to fuck you,” had been totally accurate but way too direct. Plus, the vision of that ass in his head was making him horny. He dressed and went back to the office.
“You have a TV schedule?” he asked the night clerk. “I can't sleep.”
“The reception is lousy in your room,” the clerk answered flatly.
“So what's there to do? You have a pool table or something?” Walden made sure the guy notice him slowly scratch his balls. He squeezed his ample package before taking his hand away, revealing a bulge in his pants.
“I got a TV in here,” the guy quickly offered. He stared at Walden's bulge and then blatantly licked his lips. “You can watch here if you want. The door's marked 'Office' in the back of the building.”
There were no preliminaries. The man grabbed a feel the minute Walden came through the door. He liked what he felt and began eagerly opening Walden's fly. “Oh, yeah,” he sighed when he saw his prize.
“One thing ...” Walden said. “I usually get a little money for doing this.”
“Twenty bucks.” The guy reached for Walden's cock.
“Fifty,” Walden countered. “Fifty, now.” The guy hesitated. “I'm the best thing you've seen in a long time and you know it.” It wasn't much of a negotiation. The guy reached in his pocket and pulled out two crumpled twenties, a five, and five ones.
“For that, I want you naked on the bed,” the guy demanded in return. “Hurry up!” The guy was impatient with Walden's teasing strip. “Oh, man … Jeez ...” the guy said when he saw Walden's erection. “Sit on the bed,” he said and buried his face in Walden's bush.
He gave a good blow job, the right tempo and good tonguing. His hands were busy, tugging on balls and stroking cock. He took his time and enjoyed himself, not caring much about coming himself. He paused when Walden said he was about to come, hoping to prolong the session.
“You interested in something else,” Walden asked. “Maybe we go a little farther?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“What are you interested in?” Walden answered.
“How 'bout I fuck you?” The guy braced himself, expecting an adverse reaction.
“That would cost more ...” Walden suggested.
“A hundred.”
“Two hundred,” Walden said. The guy attempted to kiss him. “We didn't talk about kissing. With kissing, three hundred.”
The guy walked to a desk drawer. His cock protruded out of his open zipper, leading the way. He counted out the cash where Walden could watch and tucked it in the pocket of Walden's discarded jeans.
What's your name?” Walden asked. “I don't kiss strangers.” It was a friendly tease; it made the session a little more personal.
“Arthur.”
“Come here, Arthur.” A half hour later, Walden slipped his jeans back on and carried his shirt. “Arthur, I wold like to wash some clothes, you got some quarters for the machines?”
The sex and laundry had turned it into a long night. Walden was happy when he could finally get back to bed. It seemed like only minutes later when Brian awakened him.
“Where the fuck are my clothes? All there is is cash on the dresser. Did you sell them?” Brian hovered over Walden's bed, naked and pissed off.
“They're in the dryer. You really need them right now?”
“Right now!” Brian confirmed.
Walden wrapped himself in a sheet and peaked out the door into the dim light of pre-dawn. “All clear,” he said to himself and returned quickly with all their clothes. Brian had cooled off.
“That's a lot of cash,” he commented accepting his still warm clothing back.
“And … I got us a ride home,” Walden added as he counted out two hundred dollars for Brian.
“Hello! Heiko? Where are you? You sound like you're underwater.” The phone went dead in Tom's hands. He checked the screen but the caller wasn't identified. A few minutes later his phone buzzed again. The connection was perfect. “Wolf … how are you? Wie geht es ihnen? Heiko's out.”
“I want to tell you when I will … angekomme.”
“Arrive,” Tom prompted. “When, Wolf?”
Wolf gave him his plans in Germanic detail, starting with the bus from Freiburg. Later Tom relayed them to Heiko. “And … and ...” Tom strung out the suspense. “He said to be sure to tell Torrey.”
“Torrey?”
“That cute little nymphette he was chasing around before he left. The one with those puffy, perky tits.”
“He did more than chase her, Tomi. Maybe mein bruderlein is a little bit in love with her. You think?”
“Why not? She's tempting enough.”
“Maybe his identity problem is over. What will the gypsy do for advertising?”
“It'll be fun to see him,Heiko. See how his first semester has changed him. See if he's the big, bad university student now.” Heiko smiled and opened a couple beers. Tom sipped and continued, “You know what? We could invite all the in-laws. Your parents, too. What do you think? We could rent a lodge at Tahoe … freeze our asses off in the snow … skiing … have a nice old fashioned Christmas … What do you think?”
“You have already planned it.”
“No, honest. I just thought it up.”
“I know you, Tomi. How much are you paying for the lodge?”
“It was a real bargain, Hendryk. Even your uncle would approve. We could invite him, too.”
“He won't come. How much?”
“Forty-five hundred a week, but it includes a Range Rover.”
“Is it big enough for your parents, too?”
“They wouldn't come in a million years, Heiko. I've told you that.”
“Don't be too sure. I already invited them here for Christmas. We'll just vary the location.”
“Here? My father? Here?”
“He loves you, Tomi. He's wants his family back.”
“He's got one. My sister ...”
“He wants you, Engine. He even called you that. He misses you.”
“Well …” Tom was flabbergasted, near speechless. “Vroom-fucking-vroom!”
“Your sister, I'm still working on.”
Tom pulled Heiko close and hugged him. Heiko started to say something, but Tom silenced him. “Shut up. You know I hate to cry. Just don't say another word.” He kissed his lover and then wiped his cheeks. “I must be allergic to something.”
Heiko opened the top button of Tom's shirt. “It's all those clothes you're wearing.”
“So what's it like being a porn star?” Rocky asked.
“I don't know. I'm not a star.”
“You're getting to be. I heard a couple guys talking about you in the bar.”
Ty got interested. “Really? What did they say?”
“Uh … I don't know. I just heard them talking about “the guy at St. Mary's.” Rocky had in fact heard graphic details about Ty's anatomy and very specific descriptions of what the guys would like to do to Ty. He decided Ty wouldn't enjoy hearing the exact words. “You're gonna have fans waiting at the school gates.”
“Chris told Kevin that sales were good for the mirror scene. He's already asking about a sequel.”
“How many guys do you think jack off watching your videos every night?”
“About as many as are stuffing cash down your pants every night,” Ty responded.
“No way. Mondays and Tuesdays always suck. The customers are all home watching you.”
Their good-natured banter masked the nagging uneasiness generated by working in the 'adult entertainment industry', as their work was sometimes called by the fastidious. Porn sounded bad, gay porn sounded worse. Adult entertainment sounded inane, but harmless.
“I got a text from Wolf,” Rocky volunteered. “He's coming for Christmas. Gonna stay at his brother's.”
“Alright! Rocky's dream comes true!” Ty congratulated his friend.
“Not so fast, Ty. His text was pretty random. The kind of thing you'd say to anybody. And ...”
“And what?” Ty prodded.
“And … Jeez, I can't even say it.”
“Rock, you can tell me anything.”
“I mean what if he wants to … not that he would … but what if he wants to 'do stuff'.” Rocky's emphasis made it clear the stuff he was talking about was sexual.
“What if he does? Isn't that what you want?”
“I don't know, Ty. I … I ...”
“Spit it out.”
“I'm a virgin, Ty. I've never gone all the way with a guy.”
“A guy like you … dancing naked in front of hundreds of guys … didn't anyone ever offer to ...”
“All the time! I'm always getting hit on! But ...” Rocky shrugged. “You know … they're creepy, kinda scary, even. The ones I might want to try something with … they never ask.”
“Maybe they're intimidated. You're pretty awesome, you know. Have you thought about asking them?”
Rocky looked surprised. “Then I'd be the creepy one.” Ty could only smile at his friend. “The thing is – I don't even know what I want to do. I know I like being around Wolf and I ..” Rocky voice went to a whisper. “...like looking at him. His body is just about perfect ...” He resumed a conversational volume. “But beyond that … I don't know.”
“You'll know when the time comes. Don't over-analyze it.”
“I get so fuckin' horny, Ty!”
“We all do. Want to spot me?”
“People think I'm some kind of all-knowing genius. I'm not. It just depends on good intelligence.” Mark pressed some buttons and an array of video monitors rose out of the huge desk in his bedroom. “I can watch anything in real or historic time. Here or anywhere in the company.” He selected a view of the building lobby. “I can tell the guard is nodding off.” He pulled up a view of the helo hangar and quickly shut it off again. “Steve and Nash can't keep their hands off each other,” Mark chuckled.
“The tracking system is meant for intruders, but it works on anybody.” Mark opened a view of Li's bedroom and followed him out the door, into the kitchen area, and down a hall, where he stopped and knocked on a door. Jackson opened it, kissed Li and pulled him inside. “I guess we don't need to follow that scene any farther,” Mark said. “Especially when you're standing there looking your best.”
Looking-your-best was Mark's way of saying naked. Bo blushed at the compliment and tensed briefly when he felt Mark's hand on his waist. The tension was pure reflex; they had already fucked in a way they both liked. Basically, Bo fucked Mark until he was close to coming and then they switched positions and Mark fucked Bo until they both came. Sometimes, fucking by itself wasn't enough to get them off and manual stimulation was needed, but not tonight. Bo had come explosively; but he was disappointed when he realized that Mark hadn't come at all.
“I don't need to come every time,” was Mark's only comment before he invited Bo to watch the demonstration of his surveillance system. “So that's the system. Have you decided if you want to go to Stanford or Santa Cruz?”
“I think Santa Cruz. Mainly because I can't afford all the extra expenses at Stanford.”
“Bo, I told you not to concern yourself with that. Stanford's got the better football team – no question. And football is your objective, isn't it?”
“Yes, but … You know I work at a florist's on the weekends. Well, it's got me interested in botany.” Bo laughed at Mark's look. “No, not flower arranging. Real science; breeding plants. Santa Cruz has an earth sciences major that could include a lot of plant science.”
“Wouldn't Davis be better for that?”
“You didn't offer Davis. Yes, it would.”
“And they have a football team,” Mark continued.
“They do, but you never mentioned Davis.”
“Wouldn't you rather be an Davis Aggie than a Banana Slug?” Mark pulled Bo onto his lap. They weren't much different in height, but one was a football player and the other a computer nerd. They both enjoyed the juxtaposition of their unusual matchup.
“Could you get me into Davis?”
“Getting you in is the easy part. The work is staying in and that's all up to you. I'm only risking a semester's tuition at the in-state rate.”
“I feel like a whore.”
“You shouldn't. I made the offer. It wasn't contingent on anything. We were already - what do you want to call it?”
“Close friends?” Bo suggested.
“We were already close friends before I made the offer. Not sex related. I help out lots of promising young people – both sexes, by the way.”
“Well, Davis would be the better choice ...”
“Good. New subject. How was the weekend with Finn?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Of course. I have to warn you, I'm half hard already with you sitting in my lap like this. So don't make it too graphic unless you want me too ...”
“You wouldn't believe the blow job he can give. The way he teases and then follows through. Drives me fuckin' crazy. I never used to like oral much, but Finn's mouth, the way he puckers up and sucks me in ...” Bo giggled feeling Mark's cock poking him.
An hour later Mark said goodnight to a freshly-fucked Bo, sending him back to San Mateo in a company car. He went back to his desk and watched Li and Jackson. It was obviously not their first night together, Mark concluded. The next morning he listened to Jackson's presentation on the Singapore property.
“Good thinking. Did you know Li is Singaporean? Why don't the two of you go and wrap this deal up? Minimize the Johor commitment until I can see the property ... Uh, Jackson? When you leave, there should be a young man waiting. I believe he speaks only Polish. His name is Martin. Would you send him in please?” Mark shifted his attention to his phone, ending the session.
There were eight men standing outside the prison, waiting for the van ride into town and not quite believing they were free. Their names all began with letters from A to E. Brian Ado and Walden Emerson were the only Northern Californians in the group. At the bus station they learned the last bus to the Bay Area had departed. They would have to wait until morning.
“Does anything go north? I want to leave today.” Brian wanted to put some miles between himself and the prison.
“We have one to Sacramento; and you could change to another bus at 4:35 AM to Oakland ...”
Brian looked for Walden's nod. “We'll take it.” A little over an hour later, the bus pulled out taking Route 99 northbound. Brian chose a seat in the back of the bus and opened the window. The air was cool and soon felt cold, but he didn't care. He wanted to get rid of the prison smell that clung to everything including his companion.
“I don't know how long I can go without a shower,” he told Walden. “Does everybody call you Walden?”
“Nobody calls me Walden except my mother. People call me Long.”
“Why do they call you that?”
“Uh, my dick is ...”
“Ok, enough of that.” Brian's voice overrode the other. “Walden's good enough for the couple of hours we'll be together.”
“My parents were hippies and liked Emerson. No relation, by the way. So they called me Walden Pond Emerson. Could have been worse ... Like Ralph Waldo ...” he threw out as an example of worse.
“Mmm,” Brian said, watching at the outskirts of Fresno pass by and hoping to discourage conversation.
“So prison pretty much straightened me out,” Walden offered. Brian ignored him. “I mean it made me gay.”
Brian looked at him in annoyance. “Lots of guys did stuff in prison. It doesn't 'make you gay'.”
“You're right. I didn't say that right. I was already gay. Prison made me admit it.”
“Mmm,” from Brian.
“It's like Alcoholics Anonymous. Now I feel like I need to go apologize to people I offended. Before, when I was in school, I was pretty shitty to some really nice guys. See, that was the thing that changed in prison. There, I was really nice to some pretty shitty guys. That was what opened my eyes, I guess. I was doing it for the sex and I liked it. The sex, that is; not the shitty guys I was doing it with.”
“Dude, you don't have to tell me all this stuff.”
“Sorry. I was talking too much, huh? I feel like I need to tell somebody, though.”
“How long were you in?” Brian asked.
“Three and a half months.”
“Months!!! You experienced this psychic catharsis of yours after three and a half months of lousy sex?”
“See … I don't know what that means, Brian.”
“Forget it, Walden. Neither do I.”
The bus pulled into Merced. The best thing about Merced was that it was half way to Modesto, which was half way to Sacramento. “You want anything? I'm going for a Coke.”
Brian accepted Walden's offer and enjoyed the cold drink as they pulled out again. The sugar jolt improved his mood.
“So now you're a happy homo?” he asked.
“I was always a happy homo, except now I realize it,” Walden chuckled. “Denying it was my problem.”
“Yeah? I guess,” Brian said, not sure if he really agreed. “Meanwhile tell me about Internet gambling. How'd you get caught?”
“I took bets from a cop. Once they figured out I wasn't part of some crime syndicate, they shut me down. I plead guilty and got two years with a possibility of parole after six months.”
“Six? You were half way there. You could have avoided the 'shitty guys' as you call 'em for that length of time.”
“I was experienced with gay sex and I get crazy horny if I go without. It was no big deal to do it. I just couldn't find anybody I wanted to do it with. So I settled for what was available.”
“Uh, yeah. What kind of gambling? Poker or something?”
“Football. I thought I hid my identity through an offshore site, but the cops were smarter than me. They didn't object to what I was doing, and I didn't owe any taxes yet. They got me on letting minors bet. I didn't have any way to check ID's. I was just taking credit cards and assuming the bettor was legal.”
“Why'd you pick football? Seems competitive.”
“I played in high school. Thought I knew what I was doing – started with arena football last spring. It almost worked.”
“You gonna try it again?”
“I don't know. I could I guess. Or I could go to school. My parents want me to do that.”
“That's what parents always say. Like it's imprinted in their brains.” In spite of himself, Brian was enjoying the conversation. They kept talking about how a new site might work out until they got to Modesto. This time Brian offered to get Walden something to eat. “Plus, I want to call my wife. Let her know. She should be home from work by now.”
Walden noticed the troubled look on Brian's face when he returned. He accepted the Snickers bar telling Brian, “Yeah, that's all I want.” He paused and asked, “Did you get your wife?”
“No. Not a working number.”
“She probably is using a cell. Lots of people don't use landlines any more.”
“She could have told me,” Brian complained. “And her office is closed for the day. I left a message, but I don't know if that's gonna work. I guess I want to give her some notice. You know, give her time to get the other guy moved out.” Brian echoed the bitter humor of prison wisdom: never surprise your wife.
“Do you know that? Or are you joking?”
“Joking, I think. We should have taken the train. This fuckin' bus is ...”
“We couldn't afford the train. This 'fuckin' bus' is gonna get us there, Bri.” Walden hoped he sounded reassuring. It didn't really matter. The 'fuckin' bus' broke down outside of Stockton. It was midnight when the hired van dropped the passengers at the unattended bus station.
“Now what?”
“Now, we stay positive and we look for a place to sleep,” Walden said.
“We don't have enough money.”
“We stay positive and get creative, that's what we do. We check out that motel.” He pointed to a luridly lighted sign in the next block.
Stockton had a reputation as a rough-and-ready town ever since the Hell's Angels had moved in. Expecting something upscale would have been a mistake even if it hadn't been in walking distance of the bus station. “Stardust,” the sign promised. Better yet, it said, “Vacancy.”
“Stardust … isn't that what they call cocaine?” Brian asked.
“PCP, I think,” Walden replied. He knocked on the thick glass window. There was no visible door to the office. An older man appeared from some inner sanctum and yawned. “Hello, our bus broke down and we ...”
The man grinned. “Yep. They do that. Just you? Where are the other passengers?”
“I don't know. There weren't many. We need a room. If you have any available ...”
“Uh-huh, so that will be sixty-nine dollars for the night. You want a king-sized bed?” he speculated, leering at them.
“Twin beds,” Brian insisted.
“Whatever … Let's see the cash.” Between them they had sixty-six and some coins.
“It's late. You aren't getting any more business. Please?” Walden looked as pitiful as he could while the man considered the offer.
“I guess ...”
The room was clean and complete, the best that could be expected. A quick shower later, Brian was in bed and asleep, while Walden lay and watched the ceiling periodically flash red echoing the Stardust sign outside their door. Complimenting Brian on his ass had been a mistake, Walden decided. Maybe it was the way I did it. Watching Brian towel off and telling him, “No wonder half the prisoners wanted to fuck you,” had been totally accurate but way too direct. Plus, the vision of that ass in his head was making him horny. He dressed and went back to the office.
“You have a TV schedule?” he asked the night clerk. “I can't sleep.”
“The reception is lousy in your room,” the clerk answered flatly.
“So what's there to do? You have a pool table or something?” Walden made sure the guy notice him slowly scratch his balls. He squeezed his ample package before taking his hand away, revealing a bulge in his pants.
“I got a TV in here,” the guy quickly offered. He stared at Walden's bulge and then blatantly licked his lips. “You can watch here if you want. The door's marked 'Office' in the back of the building.”
There were no preliminaries. The man grabbed a feel the minute Walden came through the door. He liked what he felt and began eagerly opening Walden's fly. “Oh, yeah,” he sighed when he saw his prize.
“One thing ...” Walden said. “I usually get a little money for doing this.”
“Twenty bucks.” The guy reached for Walden's cock.
“Fifty,” Walden countered. “Fifty, now.” The guy hesitated. “I'm the best thing you've seen in a long time and you know it.” It wasn't much of a negotiation. The guy reached in his pocket and pulled out two crumpled twenties, a five, and five ones.
“For that, I want you naked on the bed,” the guy demanded in return. “Hurry up!” The guy was impatient with Walden's teasing strip. “Oh, man … Jeez ...” the guy said when he saw Walden's erection. “Sit on the bed,” he said and buried his face in Walden's bush.
He gave a good blow job, the right tempo and good tonguing. His hands were busy, tugging on balls and stroking cock. He took his time and enjoyed himself, not caring much about coming himself. He paused when Walden said he was about to come, hoping to prolong the session.
“You interested in something else,” Walden asked. “Maybe we go a little farther?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“What are you interested in?” Walden answered.
“How 'bout I fuck you?” The guy braced himself, expecting an adverse reaction.
“That would cost more ...” Walden suggested.
“A hundred.”
“Two hundred,” Walden said. The guy attempted to kiss him. “We didn't talk about kissing. With kissing, three hundred.”
The guy walked to a desk drawer. His cock protruded out of his open zipper, leading the way. He counted out the cash where Walden could watch and tucked it in the pocket of Walden's discarded jeans.
What's your name?” Walden asked. “I don't kiss strangers.” It was a friendly tease; it made the session a little more personal.
“Arthur.”
“Come here, Arthur.” A half hour later, Walden slipped his jeans back on and carried his shirt. “Arthur, I wold like to wash some clothes, you got some quarters for the machines?”
The sex and laundry had turned it into a long night. Walden was happy when he could finally get back to bed. It seemed like only minutes later when Brian awakened him.
“Where the fuck are my clothes? All there is is cash on the dresser. Did you sell them?” Brian hovered over Walden's bed, naked and pissed off.
“They're in the dryer. You really need them right now?”
“Right now!” Brian confirmed.
Walden wrapped himself in a sheet and peaked out the door into the dim light of pre-dawn. “All clear,” he said to himself and returned quickly with all their clothes. Brian had cooled off.
“That's a lot of cash,” he commented accepting his still warm clothing back.
“And … I got us a ride home,” Walden added as he counted out two hundred dollars for Brian.
“Hello! Heiko? Where are you? You sound like you're underwater.” The phone went dead in Tom's hands. He checked the screen but the caller wasn't identified. A few minutes later his phone buzzed again. The connection was perfect. “Wolf … how are you? Wie geht es ihnen? Heiko's out.”
“I want to tell you when I will … angekomme.”
“Arrive,” Tom prompted. “When, Wolf?”
Wolf gave him his plans in Germanic detail, starting with the bus from Freiburg. Later Tom relayed them to Heiko. “And … and ...” Tom strung out the suspense. “He said to be sure to tell Torrey.”
“Torrey?”
“That cute little nymphette he was chasing around before he left. The one with those puffy, perky tits.”
“He did more than chase her, Tomi. Maybe mein bruderlein is a little bit in love with her. You think?”
“Why not? She's tempting enough.”
“Maybe his identity problem is over. What will the gypsy do for advertising?”
“It'll be fun to see him,Heiko. See how his first semester has changed him. See if he's the big, bad university student now.” Heiko smiled and opened a couple beers. Tom sipped and continued, “You know what? We could invite all the in-laws. Your parents, too. What do you think? We could rent a lodge at Tahoe … freeze our asses off in the snow … skiing … have a nice old fashioned Christmas … What do you think?”
“You have already planned it.”
“No, honest. I just thought it up.”
“I know you, Tomi. How much are you paying for the lodge?”
“It was a real bargain, Hendryk. Even your uncle would approve. We could invite him, too.”
“He won't come. How much?”
“Forty-five hundred a week, but it includes a Range Rover.”
“Is it big enough for your parents, too?”
“They wouldn't come in a million years, Heiko. I've told you that.”
“Don't be too sure. I already invited them here for Christmas. We'll just vary the location.”
“Here? My father? Here?”
“He loves you, Tomi. He's wants his family back.”
“He's got one. My sister ...”
“He wants you, Engine. He even called you that. He misses you.”
“Well …” Tom was flabbergasted, near speechless. “Vroom-fucking-vroom!”
“Your sister, I'm still working on.”
Tom pulled Heiko close and hugged him. Heiko started to say something, but Tom silenced him. “Shut up. You know I hate to cry. Just don't say another word.” He kissed his lover and then wiped his cheeks. “I must be allergic to something.”
Heiko opened the top button of Tom's shirt. “It's all those clothes you're wearing.”
Rory,
A GREAT update! Heiko and Tomi - und Wolfie, too! Haven't heard about them for a bit.
Brian and Long - Long is really a decent guy - and knows how to turn a trick or two to their benefit.
Rocky and Ty's conversation was very enlightening, too. A Star is born!
And, Mark, the perv, apparently isn't all that bad a guy - he knows what's going on with his staff and former/current sex partners and seems quite laid back about it - even to the point of making circumstances to help further the fuck fest along. Bo seems to have fallen into a good situation.
Thanks for the update!
A GREAT update! Heiko and Tomi - und Wolfie, too! Haven't heard about them for a bit.
Brian and Long - Long is really a decent guy - and knows how to turn a trick or two to their benefit.
Rocky and Ty's conversation was very enlightening, too. A Star is born!
And, Mark, the perv, apparently isn't all that bad a guy - he knows what's going on with his staff and former/current sex partners and seems quite laid back about it - even to the point of making circumstances to help further the fuck fest along. Bo seems to have fallen into a good situation.
Thanks for the update!