EasyRory
JUB Addict
There are other less visible structural problems. The place is really just a pile of rocks - never built to withstand earthquakes.
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Four Miles and Counting
- Thread starter EasyRory
- Start date
There are other less visible structural problems. The place is really just a pile of rocks - never built to withstand earthquakes.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Fifty-Six
Walden was determined to find a place to relocate his “office”. The romance of starting a computer company in a garage was ended when his mother opened the garage door to take her super market purchases into the kitchen. Walden had been hard as a rock when the door machinery suddenly started raising the door and she may have seen way too much of his erection. Mothers see everything.
The morning had begun well enough. Walden woke early at five-thirty and went to the garage to see what had happened over night. He was delighted to see that revenues had grown to nearly a thousand dollars for the month and December wasn't even over. He noticed dust on the drive array and decided to clean up while he waited for Brian's usual arrival at eight or so.
Dust being death to drive mechanisms, Walden decided just dusting off the cabinets wasn't enough. The constantly accumulating dirt on the floor was the source of his problem. Sweeping helped, but a wet mopping would be even better he decided. Between the warmth of the garage and the exertion of mopping he worked up a sweat. Then he spilled some water onto his canvas shoes, soaking one of them thoroughly. The solution was to work in his underwear. So boxer-clad, he finished his job. He sat on a garden chaise that had been brought into the garage for the winter and waited for the floor to dry.
His thoughts turned to the idea of a video poker game add-on to the site. They could call it a practice “room” and charge money for entry while still avoiding actual gambling. The users could get a refund if they were the most successful players. The payoff wouldn't be gambling, just a business promotion expense, he reasoned. It's a refund for volume usage, not in any way related to the outcome of card play. Would that work? We need a lawyer, he thought. Maybe Brian would know. Ah, Brian, he smiled. I rattled him last week with that “desperately” comment ... If only he didn't have such a cute ass ... It's absolutely perfect. Walden dozed off, dreaming alternately about poker hands and Brian's ass.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty ...” came a soft voice. “Walden?” A hand gently shook his shoulder.
“Wha? Hm?” Walden sat up with a start. “Oh, Brian. It's you.” He saw Brian walking away from waking him to his work table. “Oh my God!” Walden notice his erection poking out of his boxers. He tried ineffectively to hide it. He got up, hurried to where he had left his clothes, and put the shorts on. More leisurely he pulled a t-shirt over his head. Anyone could see the bulge in his shorts, but Brian wasn't looking. Walden sighed in relief. But he has to have seen me, he thought, so embarrassing.
If he saw anything, Brian said nothing about it. “Wow! Look at the overnight numbers!”
“Yeah,” Walden said, glad to be talking about business. “We're starting to catch on, I think.”
“You know what they say. 'Don't quit your day job' and all, but … a thousand. Not bad partner.” Brian turned to Walden with a smile.
“Your book chapters are a big part of it,” Walden added. “And I was thinking … what about a practice poker game?”
They chewed on that idea for a while, barely acknowledging Walden's mother, who said she was going grocery shopping. “Bye, Mom” and “Bye, Ellen” was all she got. The poker room seemed doable. The money exchange issues were not so easily solved.
“I don't know, Walden. Is it gambling? Is it gambling-related?” Brian shrugged and the conversation stopped. “By the way, why were you sleeping in the garage? You should get yourself a blanket, a least.”
Walden explained about mopping the floor and falling asleep while he waited for it to dry. “I was dreaming about the poker game when you found me.”
“Does poker always give you hard on?” Brian teased.
“You noticed that ...”
“Dude, it was impossible to miss!”
“Yeah, well … It happens, you know.”
“We need to get you a girl … uh, boy friend. How long has it been since you got laid?”
“Since that night in Stockton.”
“No shit? I couldn't go that long.”
“Yeah, well … I never used to, but lately … My old friends are gone and I haven't had time to make any new ones. You know how it is ...”
“Not really. I'm married, remember.”
“Yeah, I remember. It was no problem for you? Shifting gears from prison back to the real world?”
Brian blushed and then he wondered why he was blushing. His prison life was no secret to Walden. “Sex, you mean? No, but my … my performance has been … 'uneven' I guess is the word.” Involuntarily, Walden's eyes went to that specific part of Brian's body, as if he could diagnose Brian's trouble through his clothes. Brian chuckled. “It's nothing that shows, Walden.”
Walden's eyes moved back to Brian's face. “You're so fuckin' perfect, it's hard to believe you're having any problems.”
“Perfect? There are a million things wrong with me. I'm not all that bright, for one major problem. Like I'm kinda stupid, really.”
“No, you're not. You just had a sucky education. You're writing a fucking BOOK, aren't you?”
“A electronic book, if you want to call it that, on gambling, for God's sake, which I am plagiarizing, more or less ...”
With a sob, Walden grabbed Brian and kissed him more from frustration than passion. It wasn't a peck, it was a real kiss. Brian stood with his mouth open as Walden back away. “Quit running yourself down,” Walden said. He took another step back, aware of the growing tent in his shorts.
At that point the garage door began opening. Walden doubted that he sat down quickly enough to hide his erection.
“Want some help, Ellen?” Brian offered.
“Thanks, Brian. Walden, you look like you've seen a ghost.” She walked quickly through the kitchen door. Brian helped carry the many bags into the kitchen and then left for Clorox before they had a chance to say more.
Still frustrated that afternoon, Walden walked into a junk store on Webster. “Collectibles by Cloris,” the sign said. A burly man said hello. “You don't look like Cloris,” Walden smiled.
“Yeah, so Cloris left years ago and signs are expensive. What are you looking for?” The man wasn't unfriendly, just skeptical that Walden was a buyer of collectibles.
“A cheap office. Your upstairs looks empty. Would you want to rent it?”
The man looked at Walden with different eyes, appraising his prospects. “What are you looking to pay?”
“Much less than you hope, I guess.” They concluded their business and Walden returned home.
That night he slept fitfully, not looking ahead to the next day, whereas Brian by the time he slept was completely drained, knocked out as if drugged. Ann, however, slept beautifully after remarking, “Brian, what got into you today? Is Clorox giving out bonuses? Tonight and last Friday … you really hit the old sweet spot.”
Z helped Rory clean up after the dinner for three couples. Tim left for work right after eating while Larry, Cal, and Craig discussed plans for their football camp over another beer. Cleaning up after dinner at Rory's was always easy since Rory didn't actually cook. It was a lot of busy work, mostly packing up left over take-out and washing a few glasses. Larry had called out an offer to help but Rory told him no; it gave him a chance to talk to Z.
“What do you mean, 'He never went home'?” Rory asked puzzled by Z's salacious news.
“Craig came to town for Andrew's show in Milpitas and never left,” Z answered, shrugging his shoulders.
“What's he planning?” Rory persisted.
Z shrugged again. “I have no clue. You know that little place I rented … it's getting crowded. He keeps buying stuff.”
“And you're in love?”
“Oh, no. It's nothing like that, Ror. Nothing like that. We just … get along well.” Z smiled, affirming his own statement.
“Hmph. You're living together. You're having sex aren't you?” Rory waited for Z's nod. “You're laughing at each other's jokes. You're looking into each other's eyes like you just turned sixteen. Every time you say something, you look to him for approval ...”
“No, I don't,” Z insisted. “You're inventing things.”
“You're in love. It's cute. It's very cute, Z, and you deserve it. Eric's miserable, you know.”
“How do you know Eric's miserable?” Z was honestly shocked.
“He told me. I saw him a couple of days ago at your old house.”
“He said, 'I'm miserable?' Literally???” Z didn't believe it; that didn't sound at all like Eric.
“Well, not literally … but it's what he meant.” Rory got on a chair to put some glasses away.
Z looked up. “What did he say? Exactly?”
“He said, 'I miss this place.' He looked heartbroken. And he ran his hand along the porch railing like he was petting a dog.”
“He always did love that old house; but Rory ...” Z cautioned, “You have never been great at reading people. I don't get heartbroken out of that; nostalgic, maybe, but not heartbroken.”
“Suit yourself. He looked miserable to me,” Rory replied, stepping down off the chair. “I'm thinking we'll skip Christmas this year. Just go to Tim's sister's for the day. What are you going to do?”
“I … I don't know. Hadn't thought about it. Craig's going to Nashville to see his kids, if his ex-wife can stay sane around him for a couple of days. Maybe Darren and I will go home. Darren's going to be alone with Nicky in China again.”
The group broke up and Z enjoyed the brisk air on the walk to his apartment. Craig tried to hold his hand but he brushed him off; the second time he gave in. In minutes Craig's hard and calloused hand felt comfortable and warm; Z gave a gentle squeeze. “Rory thinks we're in love.” Z felt an answering squeeze.
“Cal and Larry do, too, I think.” They continued walking. Craig was silent but thinking. “What are we in, Z? A relationship?”
“We're … exploring boundaries. How does that sound?”
“It sucks. I love you. I've loved you from the first time I met you.”
“I know. You keep telling me.” Z gave Craig's hand another squeeze.
“I keep thinking, 'Maybe he didn't hear me the last time'. That's why I keep telling you.”
“I hear you every time. I just can't say it back yet. That's all. Give me some time, ok?”
They got to Z's little apartment and went to bed. It was a standard double bed, fine for two people unless one of them is a big ex-football player. Z had trouble trying to get comfortable.
“Do you want me to sleep on the floor?” Craig asked.
“No. I want you right here, all tangled up with me,” Z said and kissed him.
“Let me get a bigger bed.”
“You have to quit buying me stuff, Craig.”
“I love you, Z.” Craig rolled over, away from Z.
“I know, I know.”
Craig found Z's hand and sucked on a finger. He pressed his butt against Z's pelvis. “I like it when you fuck me.”
“I know, but tonight I'm kinda tired. It was a long day at work.”
Craig turned back to Z and asked, “Am I missing something? I was pretty sure we were getting along.”
“We are.” Z stroked Craig's cheek and kissed him. “I like everything we do.” Z kissed him again. “I like you very much – in bed and out.”
After another kiss, Craig smiled. ”Let's see if I can give you some sweet dreams.” He slid lower in the bed and kissed the head of Z's cock, and then licked it, and then deep-throated it, letting it harden in his mouth. Z groaned with pleasure and gradually responded, at first reluctantly and then whole-heartedly.
Craig gasped as Z entered him. Despite his willing invitation, he always found the initial penetration a shock. Was it this big the last time? Yes, it was; the last time and every time; but more and more fucking wasn't a real choice for Craig; Z's cock was something he needed.
The next day Craig bought a more comfortable bed and insisted on delivery that day. Z would protest, he knew, but it would make sex better. He couldn't wait for Z to get home.
“This is so fuckin' weird,” Nicky said to Morrie after the wardrobe manager left the backstage room. “I thought the Japanese did this shit.”
“It's Chinese opera, Nicky, not kabuki . Go with it.”
Nicky's costume was confining and uncomfortable. The makeup was drying and heavy. The mask was even heavier and pinched his Western nose. “If I'm wearing makeup, why do I have to wear a mask too?”
“Shhh. Nicky, quit complaining.”
“You want to know what else they put makeup on? My dick. It's covered with some kind of plaster dildo-thing and it looks like a sword.”
“No one can tell.” Morrie looked expectantly at the door. “Tin-tin said it will wash off.”
“He lies, Morrie. Constantly.”
“They don't think of it as lying.” Morrie stood as the door opened. “Ah, Mr. Ma.”
Mr. Ma entered followed by Tsien-tsien. The two Chinese looked at Nicky and then laughed. “It will do,” Ma said and Tsien-tsien nodded. Either they both wore especially ill-fitting suits or they were armed. Nicky figured that he didn't really want to know as he looked at the bulges in their jackets.
“You know what to do, Nicky. Just follow Quek Kwang's direction.” Tsien-tsien spoke with assurance. “We'll be in the box seats above and to your right. If anything goes wrong, just roar like a dragon and walk off the stage.”
The performance was to be a classic Chinese opera from the Ming Dynasty called The Peony Fan. Nicky was to play a dragon, a non-speaking, non-singing role, all he had to do was roar on cue. Quek Kwang was playing the part of his servant. At least that is what Nicky had been told. In actuality, there was no role for a dragon in the famous opera Peony Fan. There was every other kind of stock character from doomed lovers to warlords, but no dragon. So when Nicky entered in the traditional costume of a dragon, the audience gasped and a murmur of protest spread through the house.
“Roar,” Quek Kwang whispered and Nicky bellowed. The murmurs grew louder; there were boos. The other actors looked shocked. “Roar again, louder,” Quek Kwang urged and Nicky bellowed loud enough that his voice cracked and the bellow ended in a squeak. The audience was incensed; the boos grew into cat calls. Especially in the boxes and the balcony people were on their feet gesticulating rudely. “Again,” Quek Kwang ordered.
The audience essentially rioted, completely masking the sounds of gunfire. At that point Quek Kwang backed away from Nicky in shock and pulled hard on the leash he had been using to guide the 'dragon'. The tug caused Nicky's costume to fall off, leaving him naked. The roar from the audience grew louder and menacing. “Filthy foreigner,” an English-speaking member of the crowd screamed. The elaborately made up mechanical penis erected and Quek Kwang gave a boy's plaintive wail and backed his butt up against it.
Angry Chinese stormed the stage. The nudity was shock enough; the vivid depiction of homosexuality was unprecedented. More gunfire went unnoticed. Then all the lights went out.
Quek Kwang pulled Nicky from the stage. Nicky didn't need any encouragement and he followed blindly into the wings and down a stairway, stumbling against a wall as he went. The impact with the wall caused the hardened makeup on his cock to crack painfully. It was a tearing, intense pain and he screamed.
“Are you shot?” Quek Kwang asked; he pulled Nicky into a room and turned the lights on, he saw the reason for Nicky's pain. “Oh … here ... Let me help.” He removed the fragments of plaster from Nicky's cock piece by piece. “No damage,” he assessed when he was done. “Get dressed. We have to leave.”
They quickly put on some black clothing that was mysteriously available. “It fits,” Nicky remarked in a dazed, idle way.
“Prior planning pays off,” Quek Kwang admitted.
“This was all planned?” Nicky asked.
“Of course,” the young man answered. “Hurry.” Nicky took Quek Kwang's offered hand and followed him again through the darkness. On the other side of a heavy door the atmosphere changed and Quek Kwang slowed. “Ok, we're clear.”
“Clear of what?”
“The opera house.”
“Do I want to know what really just happened?”
“You can read about it in the papers tomorrow.”
“I can't read Chinese.”
“I will read it to you,” Quek Kwang laughed. He took Nicky to a hotel room and cleaned the remains of the makeup off. Then they drank some beer, ate something like beef jerky, and took a long bath in a large hot tub. “Your penis feels better?” Quek Kwang gently squeezed the object in question. Nicky got the strong impression that the evening wasn't over. “I need to wax your chest.”
“Wax my … Why?”
“By morning the police will be looking for a hairy-chested foreigner. I will lighten your hair also. A reddish color would be believable, Morrie said. No fucking until we're done, Morrie said.”
Heiko was worried. He waited for the passengers from the Lufthansa flight from Munich, looking eagerly for his brother but there was no sign of Wolf. He had him paged twice and then gave up. He got to a new SUV and called his parents.
“No, he should have been on the flight. We put him on the flight to Frankfurt ourselves. What could have happened?”
“Frankfurt? I met the non-stop from Munich,” Heiko replied. “I must have met the wrong plane.” Heiko checked his notes. “Here, the non-stop flight was what he told me. I'm sure of it. The same one you're taking on Sunday.”
“He must be finding his own way to your apartment. Or did he go straight to Tahoe? That's what we're planning.” The confusion was very un-German.
Heiko and Tom waited up until midnight, when Tom gave up and went to bed. “Don't worry. He's a big boy, Heiko.” Tom's goodnight kiss provided no comfort. At some point Heiko fell asleep in the chair. He awoke with a start at seven in the morning when the doorbell rang.
“Wolf!!!” There stood his brother looking tired and rumpled, but smiling happily.
“Heiko,” Wolf said and gave his brother a kiss on the cheek.
“I love the way you European guy kiss each other,” a voice said.
“Torrey!” Heiko noticed his bright and perky-looking neighbor standing behind Wolf.
“I, uh, spent the night at Torrey's,” Wolf admitted with a grin that explained everything.
Walden was determined to find a place to relocate his “office”. The romance of starting a computer company in a garage was ended when his mother opened the garage door to take her super market purchases into the kitchen. Walden had been hard as a rock when the door machinery suddenly started raising the door and she may have seen way too much of his erection. Mothers see everything.
The morning had begun well enough. Walden woke early at five-thirty and went to the garage to see what had happened over night. He was delighted to see that revenues had grown to nearly a thousand dollars for the month and December wasn't even over. He noticed dust on the drive array and decided to clean up while he waited for Brian's usual arrival at eight or so.
Dust being death to drive mechanisms, Walden decided just dusting off the cabinets wasn't enough. The constantly accumulating dirt on the floor was the source of his problem. Sweeping helped, but a wet mopping would be even better he decided. Between the warmth of the garage and the exertion of mopping he worked up a sweat. Then he spilled some water onto his canvas shoes, soaking one of them thoroughly. The solution was to work in his underwear. So boxer-clad, he finished his job. He sat on a garden chaise that had been brought into the garage for the winter and waited for the floor to dry.
His thoughts turned to the idea of a video poker game add-on to the site. They could call it a practice “room” and charge money for entry while still avoiding actual gambling. The users could get a refund if they were the most successful players. The payoff wouldn't be gambling, just a business promotion expense, he reasoned. It's a refund for volume usage, not in any way related to the outcome of card play. Would that work? We need a lawyer, he thought. Maybe Brian would know. Ah, Brian, he smiled. I rattled him last week with that “desperately” comment ... If only he didn't have such a cute ass ... It's absolutely perfect. Walden dozed off, dreaming alternately about poker hands and Brian's ass.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty ...” came a soft voice. “Walden?” A hand gently shook his shoulder.
“Wha? Hm?” Walden sat up with a start. “Oh, Brian. It's you.” He saw Brian walking away from waking him to his work table. “Oh my God!” Walden notice his erection poking out of his boxers. He tried ineffectively to hide it. He got up, hurried to where he had left his clothes, and put the shorts on. More leisurely he pulled a t-shirt over his head. Anyone could see the bulge in his shorts, but Brian wasn't looking. Walden sighed in relief. But he has to have seen me, he thought, so embarrassing.
If he saw anything, Brian said nothing about it. “Wow! Look at the overnight numbers!”
“Yeah,” Walden said, glad to be talking about business. “We're starting to catch on, I think.”
“You know what they say. 'Don't quit your day job' and all, but … a thousand. Not bad partner.” Brian turned to Walden with a smile.
“Your book chapters are a big part of it,” Walden added. “And I was thinking … what about a practice poker game?”
They chewed on that idea for a while, barely acknowledging Walden's mother, who said she was going grocery shopping. “Bye, Mom” and “Bye, Ellen” was all she got. The poker room seemed doable. The money exchange issues were not so easily solved.
“I don't know, Walden. Is it gambling? Is it gambling-related?” Brian shrugged and the conversation stopped. “By the way, why were you sleeping in the garage? You should get yourself a blanket, a least.”
Walden explained about mopping the floor and falling asleep while he waited for it to dry. “I was dreaming about the poker game when you found me.”
“Does poker always give you hard on?” Brian teased.
“You noticed that ...”
“Dude, it was impossible to miss!”
“Yeah, well … It happens, you know.”
“We need to get you a girl … uh, boy friend. How long has it been since you got laid?”
“Since that night in Stockton.”
“No shit? I couldn't go that long.”
“Yeah, well … I never used to, but lately … My old friends are gone and I haven't had time to make any new ones. You know how it is ...”
“Not really. I'm married, remember.”
“Yeah, I remember. It was no problem for you? Shifting gears from prison back to the real world?”
Brian blushed and then he wondered why he was blushing. His prison life was no secret to Walden. “Sex, you mean? No, but my … my performance has been … 'uneven' I guess is the word.” Involuntarily, Walden's eyes went to that specific part of Brian's body, as if he could diagnose Brian's trouble through his clothes. Brian chuckled. “It's nothing that shows, Walden.”
Walden's eyes moved back to Brian's face. “You're so fuckin' perfect, it's hard to believe you're having any problems.”
“Perfect? There are a million things wrong with me. I'm not all that bright, for one major problem. Like I'm kinda stupid, really.”
“No, you're not. You just had a sucky education. You're writing a fucking BOOK, aren't you?”
“A electronic book, if you want to call it that, on gambling, for God's sake, which I am plagiarizing, more or less ...”
With a sob, Walden grabbed Brian and kissed him more from frustration than passion. It wasn't a peck, it was a real kiss. Brian stood with his mouth open as Walden back away. “Quit running yourself down,” Walden said. He took another step back, aware of the growing tent in his shorts.
At that point the garage door began opening. Walden doubted that he sat down quickly enough to hide his erection.
“Want some help, Ellen?” Brian offered.
“Thanks, Brian. Walden, you look like you've seen a ghost.” She walked quickly through the kitchen door. Brian helped carry the many bags into the kitchen and then left for Clorox before they had a chance to say more.
Still frustrated that afternoon, Walden walked into a junk store on Webster. “Collectibles by Cloris,” the sign said. A burly man said hello. “You don't look like Cloris,” Walden smiled.
“Yeah, so Cloris left years ago and signs are expensive. What are you looking for?” The man wasn't unfriendly, just skeptical that Walden was a buyer of collectibles.
“A cheap office. Your upstairs looks empty. Would you want to rent it?”
The man looked at Walden with different eyes, appraising his prospects. “What are you looking to pay?”
“Much less than you hope, I guess.” They concluded their business and Walden returned home.
That night he slept fitfully, not looking ahead to the next day, whereas Brian by the time he slept was completely drained, knocked out as if drugged. Ann, however, slept beautifully after remarking, “Brian, what got into you today? Is Clorox giving out bonuses? Tonight and last Friday … you really hit the old sweet spot.”
Z helped Rory clean up after the dinner for three couples. Tim left for work right after eating while Larry, Cal, and Craig discussed plans for their football camp over another beer. Cleaning up after dinner at Rory's was always easy since Rory didn't actually cook. It was a lot of busy work, mostly packing up left over take-out and washing a few glasses. Larry had called out an offer to help but Rory told him no; it gave him a chance to talk to Z.
“What do you mean, 'He never went home'?” Rory asked puzzled by Z's salacious news.
“Craig came to town for Andrew's show in Milpitas and never left,” Z answered, shrugging his shoulders.
“What's he planning?” Rory persisted.
Z shrugged again. “I have no clue. You know that little place I rented … it's getting crowded. He keeps buying stuff.”
“And you're in love?”
“Oh, no. It's nothing like that, Ror. Nothing like that. We just … get along well.” Z smiled, affirming his own statement.
“Hmph. You're living together. You're having sex aren't you?” Rory waited for Z's nod. “You're laughing at each other's jokes. You're looking into each other's eyes like you just turned sixteen. Every time you say something, you look to him for approval ...”
“No, I don't,” Z insisted. “You're inventing things.”
“You're in love. It's cute. It's very cute, Z, and you deserve it. Eric's miserable, you know.”
“How do you know Eric's miserable?” Z was honestly shocked.
“He told me. I saw him a couple of days ago at your old house.”
“He said, 'I'm miserable?' Literally???” Z didn't believe it; that didn't sound at all like Eric.
“Well, not literally … but it's what he meant.” Rory got on a chair to put some glasses away.
Z looked up. “What did he say? Exactly?”
“He said, 'I miss this place.' He looked heartbroken. And he ran his hand along the porch railing like he was petting a dog.”
“He always did love that old house; but Rory ...” Z cautioned, “You have never been great at reading people. I don't get heartbroken out of that; nostalgic, maybe, but not heartbroken.”
“Suit yourself. He looked miserable to me,” Rory replied, stepping down off the chair. “I'm thinking we'll skip Christmas this year. Just go to Tim's sister's for the day. What are you going to do?”
“I … I don't know. Hadn't thought about it. Craig's going to Nashville to see his kids, if his ex-wife can stay sane around him for a couple of days. Maybe Darren and I will go home. Darren's going to be alone with Nicky in China again.”
The group broke up and Z enjoyed the brisk air on the walk to his apartment. Craig tried to hold his hand but he brushed him off; the second time he gave in. In minutes Craig's hard and calloused hand felt comfortable and warm; Z gave a gentle squeeze. “Rory thinks we're in love.” Z felt an answering squeeze.
“Cal and Larry do, too, I think.” They continued walking. Craig was silent but thinking. “What are we in, Z? A relationship?”
“We're … exploring boundaries. How does that sound?”
“It sucks. I love you. I've loved you from the first time I met you.”
“I know. You keep telling me.” Z gave Craig's hand another squeeze.
“I keep thinking, 'Maybe he didn't hear me the last time'. That's why I keep telling you.”
“I hear you every time. I just can't say it back yet. That's all. Give me some time, ok?”
They got to Z's little apartment and went to bed. It was a standard double bed, fine for two people unless one of them is a big ex-football player. Z had trouble trying to get comfortable.
“Do you want me to sleep on the floor?” Craig asked.
“No. I want you right here, all tangled up with me,” Z said and kissed him.
“Let me get a bigger bed.”
“You have to quit buying me stuff, Craig.”
“I love you, Z.” Craig rolled over, away from Z.
“I know, I know.”
Craig found Z's hand and sucked on a finger. He pressed his butt against Z's pelvis. “I like it when you fuck me.”
“I know, but tonight I'm kinda tired. It was a long day at work.”
Craig turned back to Z and asked, “Am I missing something? I was pretty sure we were getting along.”
“We are.” Z stroked Craig's cheek and kissed him. “I like everything we do.” Z kissed him again. “I like you very much – in bed and out.”
After another kiss, Craig smiled. ”Let's see if I can give you some sweet dreams.” He slid lower in the bed and kissed the head of Z's cock, and then licked it, and then deep-throated it, letting it harden in his mouth. Z groaned with pleasure and gradually responded, at first reluctantly and then whole-heartedly.
Craig gasped as Z entered him. Despite his willing invitation, he always found the initial penetration a shock. Was it this big the last time? Yes, it was; the last time and every time; but more and more fucking wasn't a real choice for Craig; Z's cock was something he needed.
The next day Craig bought a more comfortable bed and insisted on delivery that day. Z would protest, he knew, but it would make sex better. He couldn't wait for Z to get home.
“This is so fuckin' weird,” Nicky said to Morrie after the wardrobe manager left the backstage room. “I thought the Japanese did this shit.”
“It's Chinese opera, Nicky, not kabuki . Go with it.”
Nicky's costume was confining and uncomfortable. The makeup was drying and heavy. The mask was even heavier and pinched his Western nose. “If I'm wearing makeup, why do I have to wear a mask too?”
“Shhh. Nicky, quit complaining.”
“You want to know what else they put makeup on? My dick. It's covered with some kind of plaster dildo-thing and it looks like a sword.”
“No one can tell.” Morrie looked expectantly at the door. “Tin-tin said it will wash off.”
“He lies, Morrie. Constantly.”
“They don't think of it as lying.” Morrie stood as the door opened. “Ah, Mr. Ma.”
Mr. Ma entered followed by Tsien-tsien. The two Chinese looked at Nicky and then laughed. “It will do,” Ma said and Tsien-tsien nodded. Either they both wore especially ill-fitting suits or they were armed. Nicky figured that he didn't really want to know as he looked at the bulges in their jackets.
“You know what to do, Nicky. Just follow Quek Kwang's direction.” Tsien-tsien spoke with assurance. “We'll be in the box seats above and to your right. If anything goes wrong, just roar like a dragon and walk off the stage.”
The performance was to be a classic Chinese opera from the Ming Dynasty called The Peony Fan. Nicky was to play a dragon, a non-speaking, non-singing role, all he had to do was roar on cue. Quek Kwang was playing the part of his servant. At least that is what Nicky had been told. In actuality, there was no role for a dragon in the famous opera Peony Fan. There was every other kind of stock character from doomed lovers to warlords, but no dragon. So when Nicky entered in the traditional costume of a dragon, the audience gasped and a murmur of protest spread through the house.
“Roar,” Quek Kwang whispered and Nicky bellowed. The murmurs grew louder; there were boos. The other actors looked shocked. “Roar again, louder,” Quek Kwang urged and Nicky bellowed loud enough that his voice cracked and the bellow ended in a squeak. The audience was incensed; the boos grew into cat calls. Especially in the boxes and the balcony people were on their feet gesticulating rudely. “Again,” Quek Kwang ordered.
The audience essentially rioted, completely masking the sounds of gunfire. At that point Quek Kwang backed away from Nicky in shock and pulled hard on the leash he had been using to guide the 'dragon'. The tug caused Nicky's costume to fall off, leaving him naked. The roar from the audience grew louder and menacing. “Filthy foreigner,” an English-speaking member of the crowd screamed. The elaborately made up mechanical penis erected and Quek Kwang gave a boy's plaintive wail and backed his butt up against it.
Angry Chinese stormed the stage. The nudity was shock enough; the vivid depiction of homosexuality was unprecedented. More gunfire went unnoticed. Then all the lights went out.
Quek Kwang pulled Nicky from the stage. Nicky didn't need any encouragement and he followed blindly into the wings and down a stairway, stumbling against a wall as he went. The impact with the wall caused the hardened makeup on his cock to crack painfully. It was a tearing, intense pain and he screamed.
“Are you shot?” Quek Kwang asked; he pulled Nicky into a room and turned the lights on, he saw the reason for Nicky's pain. “Oh … here ... Let me help.” He removed the fragments of plaster from Nicky's cock piece by piece. “No damage,” he assessed when he was done. “Get dressed. We have to leave.”
They quickly put on some black clothing that was mysteriously available. “It fits,” Nicky remarked in a dazed, idle way.
“Prior planning pays off,” Quek Kwang admitted.
“This was all planned?” Nicky asked.
“Of course,” the young man answered. “Hurry.” Nicky took Quek Kwang's offered hand and followed him again through the darkness. On the other side of a heavy door the atmosphere changed and Quek Kwang slowed. “Ok, we're clear.”
“Clear of what?”
“The opera house.”
“Do I want to know what really just happened?”
“You can read about it in the papers tomorrow.”
“I can't read Chinese.”
“I will read it to you,” Quek Kwang laughed. He took Nicky to a hotel room and cleaned the remains of the makeup off. Then they drank some beer, ate something like beef jerky, and took a long bath in a large hot tub. “Your penis feels better?” Quek Kwang gently squeezed the object in question. Nicky got the strong impression that the evening wasn't over. “I need to wax your chest.”
“Wax my … Why?”
“By morning the police will be looking for a hairy-chested foreigner. I will lighten your hair also. A reddish color would be believable, Morrie said. No fucking until we're done, Morrie said.”
Heiko was worried. He waited for the passengers from the Lufthansa flight from Munich, looking eagerly for his brother but there was no sign of Wolf. He had him paged twice and then gave up. He got to a new SUV and called his parents.
“No, he should have been on the flight. We put him on the flight to Frankfurt ourselves. What could have happened?”
“Frankfurt? I met the non-stop from Munich,” Heiko replied. “I must have met the wrong plane.” Heiko checked his notes. “Here, the non-stop flight was what he told me. I'm sure of it. The same one you're taking on Sunday.”
“He must be finding his own way to your apartment. Or did he go straight to Tahoe? That's what we're planning.” The confusion was very un-German.
Heiko and Tom waited up until midnight, when Tom gave up and went to bed. “Don't worry. He's a big boy, Heiko.” Tom's goodnight kiss provided no comfort. At some point Heiko fell asleep in the chair. He awoke with a start at seven in the morning when the doorbell rang.
“Wolf!!!” There stood his brother looking tired and rumpled, but smiling happily.
“Heiko,” Wolf said and gave his brother a kiss on the cheek.
“I love the way you European guy kiss each other,” a voice said.
“Torrey!” Heiko noticed his bright and perky-looking neighbor standing behind Wolf.
“I, uh, spent the night at Torrey's,” Wolf admitted with a grin that explained everything.
Wolf is back - and Torrey's a happy boy - Wolf, too, from the looks of it!
The sagas continue to arouse our interest - and other parts, too.
There was a lot there - thanks.
No news on a certain couple - one of whom we thinks got sacked.
The sagas continue to arouse our interest - and other parts, too.
There was a lot there - thanks.
No news on a certain couple - one of whom we thinks got sacked.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Author's fault for not reminding you: Torrey is a girl. 
LOL. I forgot. So many in the story favour men, what can I say.
Wolf is still happy with the "traditional" role, then.
Wolf is still happy with the "traditional" role, then.
arogersb
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I, for one, hope he will soon divest himself of that role, and take up with Rocky...
I have been eagerly awaiting Wolf's return ever since he left ... glad to see him back! Thanks Rory.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Steve and Nash sat across the acres of mahogany-topped desk from the pinstripe-suited banker. Steve was fidgety, wishing he was anywhere else. Nash was more relaxed; he had memorized the business plan, which was not much of an accomplishment considering that he had written it.
“You're the pilot and the majority owner?” Mark asked Steve. Steve nodded mutely. And you're the … what?” he asked Nash.
“I'm his partner.”
“More than that,” Steve added. “He's everything but the pilot and owner.”
Mark smiled and tried to put Steve at ease. “I used to be straight before I became gay before I became straight again.” That only served to panic Steve.
“Maybe we should go ...”
“He means that we don't need a big loan,” Nash inserted. “Just some working capital. Our fixed costs are covered by the guaranteed flying for Steve's former employer. Our capital investment is secured by the aircraft and an investment by my father.”
Mark looked again at the business plan's addendum covering the investment . “Morrie Chlomsky is your father? Oh my God …. Such a small fucking world. I remember when Darren Alvinzi was his … uh, his associate. If I can have kids, I guess Morrie can have kids, too.” Mark shook his head in amazement. “See, I used to be Luke's lover after Luke and Eric Malone split and Eric hooked up with Z, Darren's brother … And then after Luke died, I married Laurie, who was Cal Rockridge's sister … Do you know all those guys? From the old lacrosse game at Rittler?”
“I know Darren pretty well; the others only slightly,” Nash answered.
Mark smiled at the memories. “We'll give you the loan; you can draw it down in monthly installments, according to your cash schedule, subject to achieving these revenue predictions you have made. If after six months things are still on plan, we can look at looser terms. Morrie's son … yeah, I can see it a little when you're not smiling.”
“Need helicopter services?” Nash asked.
“No, but we have some other clients who might. Send me a brochure, if you have one.”
Five minutes later, Steve was tapping his feet on the floor of the pickup as they entered the Alameda-bound Webster Tube. “Can't you go any faster?”
“No. Traffic. Traffic cops. Alameda.”
“We got the loan,” Steve said for the fifth time. “Thanks to you.” He squeezed Nash's thigh and checked on whether he had an erection. “Can't you go a little faster? I want to get home.”
“What's your hurry?” Nash teased.
“We gotta feed Nero before he eats the lemon tree again.” Steve had grown fonder of the lemon tree that perfumed their bedroom than of their inherited cat that had an opposite effect.
“Really? Nero, huh?” Nash increased the speed of the truck, but only because Steve's massaging was working magic on his cock. “Stop. You know how sensitive I am.” Nash grabbed Steve's hand before things got too hot.
Once they got home Nash could only giggle as Steve frantically undressed him. “You want me to stop?” Steve asked.
“Fuck, no,” a naked Nash replied. He reached for the lube while Steve shucked his own clothes.
“I can't leave you alone,” Steve almost apologized for his eagerness. “I barely need this lube, my dick is so wet.”
As sometimes happened, they started fucking before they started kissing. They stared at each other looking for any sign of pain or pleasure and adjusting for it. Steve noticed a wince and slowed, but Nash urged him to keep going.
“I like it when you hurt me a little.” Nash's eyes said he meant it.
“I never want to hurt you,” Steve answered and they began kissing. “I just want to fuck you and make you love me.” His long strokes had Nash moaning quietly. Steve barely took hold of Nash's cock before it began spewing. He thrust faster, rode the same wave, and pumped his own cum into his lover. With sweet murmurs they told each other of love and passion and satisfaction.
It was Nero who grew bored with the performance. He leapt from his perch on a broad window ledge and began stalking the lemon tree. “Look at him,” Steve whispered in Nash's ear. “He's begging the lemon tree to make a threatening move. He so wants to kill it.”
When Nero got within striking distance, Steve threw a pillow between the stalker and his victim. Nero instantly shifted his attention to an invisible spot on the wall and walked slowly around the pillow and out the bedroom door.
“That's cat is such an asshole. How dumb does he think I am?” Steve muttered.
“Dumb enough to keep feeding him,” Nash answered. “He plays with you.”
“Just like you played with that banker.” Steve smiled in admiration. “You had him eating out of your hand. Do you think Morrie will actually make good on his loan promise?”
“Probably not,” Nash admitted, “But it looks good on paper. We should probably get some lunch and them go to the hangar.”
“I'd rather just lie here with you.” Steve ran a finger through the hair on Nash's chest.
“You can do that any time.”
“But I want to do it all the time.” Steve watched Nash get up and look for his clothes. What a sweet ass, he thought. He hated to see Nash get dressed.
Telepathically Nash looked at the dresser top an instant before his phone buzzed. “Hello … Dad? Louder, I can barely hear you. What? No! … No! For how long? Of course I'll call him. Right now … Ok … Yeah we got the loan ... Thank you. Yes, he's right here ... I love him, Dad ... Ok, bye.” Nash found his underwear and then decided he had better shower before putting them on.
Steve was impatient. “So???? What did he say?”
“He wants me to call Darren before it makes the papers. Nicky's in some Chinese jail for inciting a riot in a theatre. Serious shit apparently.” Nash walked toward the bathroom.
“Aren't you going to call him?”
“You know Morrie. He always exaggerates.” Nash closed the door and ran the water.
Steve turned on the midday news and shooed Nero away from inspecting his nakedness. “Nash?” he yelled into the steamy bathroom. “Morrie isn't exaggerating!!”
A dripping wet Nash watched the rest of the report. He immediately called Darren, ignoring Nero who was sampling drops of water on his calf.
Once was a fluke, Brian told himself. Twice was real, he concluded, as the bus slowly climbed Broadway into the Oakland hills. He is cute, Brian thought, more than cute, he's handsome and sexy. Looks older and more experienced than his age. Prison will do that to people. How is it, he wondered, that just messing a little with Walden produces spectacular sex with Anne? She's way more responsive than ever before. His dick started to harden at the memory of the night before. And the night before his dick had hardened at the memory of Walden's kiss. The one equals the other? The one leads to the other? The two sexy bodies lay before his mind's eye. Which was sexier? Which was more compelling? His swollen dick ached in his confining pants as the bus bounced along the irregular pavement. Riding in a bus always gave him a hard on but this one was more than just the motion of the bus. He pictured Anne's curves. He almost felt Walden's hard body under his hands. What a choice.
Lex was sexy, but I never really got to see much of him. The lights in the cell were always out; I could only see shadows of him from the lights in the passageway. He looked good in the shower, but I never really saw his cock hard. Not like Walden's. That's a big dick Walden's got. His asshole tightened reflexively as he recalled Walden in the garage. Daily sex with LEX had made him an obsession. Was he more than that? Did I really love him? I sure as hell thought I did. Already, the sting and punch of my memories of Lex are fading. Had faded, really. I can hardly picture his face, Brian thought. But Walden. He springs to life in front of me all the time. How could I let that guy in Stockton fuck him? If I had known … Maybe they didn't really do it. Maybe he was just making the story better. But … can you really get all that money without putting your ass on the line?
Arthur, now that fuckin' creep was not sexy. He must have been forty-something. He raped me. Kind of … I could have stopped him. Why didn't I? I was horny, that's why. All those nights with Lex. I needed the sex. And Arthur. Jeez, why is it I can picture Arthur – that skinny dick - in every detail and I can't remember Lex? And now I know exactly how Walden's cock curves. How would that feel in me? Curving just right to hit my prostate … Man, where did that thought come from? I can't … Can I? A vision of Walden fucking him came unbidden to Brian's eyes. Hot guy, big fuckin' cock … I gotta forget about this, he told himself. But his mind lingered on the vision. 'Long' they called him. Long! I guess … he felt a puckering sensation in his asshole. He realized he was holding his breath. His sudden, loud gasp drew glances from other passengers. One woman - somebody's cleaning woman, for God's sake - got up and moved to a seat two rows farther away. Am I really that creepy, Brian wondered.
The bus rolled along Mountain Boulevard and at last came to Brian's stop. He could feel the wetness in his underwear as he got up. A quick glance told him only the hint of a bulge was visible. Dicks can be so embarrassing. He gradually relaxed as he walked the couple of blocks to Walden's house. All back to normal, he thought as he got to the side door of the garage and entered. Except I gotta talk to him about that kiss.
“Walden,” he began. Walden turned and looked up from the back of a drive array. “We need to talk ...”
“Yes, but not now,” Walden said without permitting any argument. “Right now we have two and a half hours to move all this shit to our new office. That's how long the remote servers can handle our traffic without dumping to our drives.”
“Our new office?”
“Yeah, we've outgrown the garage. Help me load this stuff into Mom's car.”
“Ok, we can talk on the way.”
“No, you need to ride in the back with the machinery. Keep it from shifting – getting damaged … I think Ninety-Sixth Street will be the best way … past the airport, you think?”
Two hours later they had obtained the keys from Cloris's ex-husband, moved the SUV load of computer machinery up one flight of stairs, and got it running. “Now we have to wait for the phone company to hook up the T-1 line,” Walden said.
“Good, now we have time to talk,” Brian began, but the telephone installation man arrived on schedule cutting short that potential conversation. And when the phone guy was finished, Walden needed to return the SUV to his mother; forty-five minutes elapsed before he returned in his own car. That left a scant half hour before Brian needed to leave for Clorox.
“Walden, we gotta talk. Now,” he insisted.
“Alright. I suppose you want to talk about yesterday. Sorry about that. I got carried away. I should have minded my own business. You are who you are. I shouldn't be giving you lectures.”
Brian tried to interupt but Walden was rolling.
“You know better than I do how to run your life. I'm happy with what your doing here. The clients like talking to you ...” He used his fingers to put quotation marks around the 'talking'. “Your book chapters are being read. We're making money. Did you see today's number?”
Walden allowed Brian to say no.
“Well, it's impressive. It means we can afford the rent, which is pretty small, by the way, because Cloris's ex-husband - what's his name by the way? - doesn't drive a very hard bargain, and the rent needs to be small because the phone line costs a grunch of bucks for the first month – it includes installation, next month it will be less and maybe we can afford to ...”
Brian grabbed Walden's biceps. “Walden! You kissed me!”
“You're pissed about that; I can tell ...” Walden paused to face the inevitable.
“When are you going to do it again?”
“When?” Walden's eyebrows rose slightly. He tilted his head, not sure he had heard right. He looked very young; he was irresistible. Brian had to stand on his tiptoes to kiss him. They sat on a packing box and kissed several more times.
“I gotta go to work,” Brian said and kissed him one more time.
Walden skipped a lot of things he wanted to say; he got right to the hard part. “You're married.”
“Yes.” Brian rose to go. The conversation had solved nothing.
Walden continued to hold his hand, hoping for more; then he let it go. “I'll give you a ride to Clorox.”
“I couldn't handle that right now. I'll take the bus,” Brian said and left.
“You couldn't handle it? What does that mean?” Walden looked so hurt.
“I gotta go to work.” Brian left without looking back.
Z got home from work and looked at the huge bed in the little apartment. Craig waited for the expected protest. Instead Z slipped off his shoes and jumped onto the bed. The frame groaned ominously but held. He stretched and then relaxed.
“Ok?” Craig asked.
“How long am I gonna lie here by myself?” Z countered.
Craig carefully, so as not to challenge the construction of the bedframe, joined Z on the deep mattress. He lay alongside the smaller man and sat half up leaning his head against his hand watching Z stretch again. “How does it feel?”
“Great,” Z answered. “Couldn't be better. I love it.”
“It isn't too big for the room?”
“It's way too big. It's perfect.” He welcomed Craig into his arms. “I probably smell of marinara sauce. Can you stand it? Lasagna was the luncheon special.”
“You're making me hungry,” Craig said. He began licking Z's face to see if he could get the taste. “You need a little oregano.” They leisurely broke in the new bed with shared oral pleasures.
Z got up first and Craig watched him finish undressing. “That was the best sex I ever had with my clothes on,” he said and Craig chuckled. “I'm going to scrub the tomato sauce off and then make you a high protein dinner..”
A half an hour later they sat and ate Z's version of an eight-egg artichoke frittata. Z ate about a quarter of it and Craig ate the rest. Z could picture Craig in another ten years weighing another twenty or thirty pounds; somehow the vision wasn't objectionable. Z glanced at the mail.
“Ah-hah! Our checks from Andrew,” he commented and opened his envelope.
Craig put his aside unopened and asked, “What did he pay that other guy?”
“Asher? If I know Andrew, he found some way to pay him nothing. That's ok, though. Asher has a day job. He just models for the exposure.”
“He got that,” Craig chuckled. “I never expected that kind of audience to go for porn.”
“It wasn't porn. Not exactly. Well, a little, maybe. The señoras liked it. I think the men pretended it never happened. Asher always finds a way to expose himself. It always looks accidental, but it happens every time. What was the story? The video feed was accidentally routed live? Sure, if you want to believe that. Like Andrew's an idiot who makes that kind of mistake.”
“It looked accidental,” Craig insisted. “I was fooled.”
“All I can say is I've been in four of Andrew's Christmas shows and every one has involved major nudity, mostly featuring Asher's dick.”
“Well, Z … the kid was innocent.”
“Lemuel may not have known what would happen, but I'd bet Andrew put him up to messing with the junction box. A multiscreen with sixteen views of Asher's dick!”
“I thought you looked better,” Craig laughed.
“Nobody was looking at me,” Z promised.
“I was.”
That night in the big new bed Z was close to sleeping when Craig gave him a little kiss and then lay back and yawned. “Night, Z,” he mumbled.
“Aren't you going to tell me you love me?” Z asked.
“Maybe tomorrow or the next day. I'll still love you then,” Craig said and rolled onto his side.
Z was awakened in the middle of the night. Craig, who wasn't more than semi-awake, grabbed him and hugged him. Z tried to escape those big arms but gave up. He went back to sleep in the calm security and love of Craig's embrace.
“Stop it. There are probably hidden cameras.” Nicky shoved Quek Kwang away. “Get in your own bunk. Isn't sex illegal?”
“Of course not. Where do you think all the Chinese people came from?” Quek Kwang moved reluctantly to his bunk.
“Gay sex, I mean.”
“The law is silent on that matter. Prohibitions were repealed years ago. You are already accused of raping me. It would help to demonstrate my willingness.”
“You're underage. Willingness doesn't matter.”
“I'm not underage. I just look young.”
“How old are you?”
“I was born in the year of the goat two cycles ago. I'm twenty-five.”
“Goat shit! What complete load of goat shit. You're no more twenty-five than ...”
“The government believes me. What's your problem? Tsien-tsien said I should be good to you. Why don't you let me?”
“The government is holding us prisoner because we did what a government agent told us to do. What a fucking country!”
“The government is holding us because so many people died, some the government had not planned on dying.”
“Tsien-tsien shot them. He and his goons shot up half the dress circle.”
“Not the ones in the orchestra pit. Somebody else shot them.”
“Must have been a music lover,” Nicky countered. “Now go to sleep.”
The sound of the massive door being unlocked woke Nicky. He was annoyed to find Quek Kwang sleeping in his bunk again. Nicky was wearing boxers. Quek Kwang was naked. The guard who entered took no notice.
“Come,” he said, motioning in case his English wasn't clear.
Quek Kwang pulled Nicky's blanket over himself preparing to go back to sleep. “He means you,” he said and closed his eyes.
Nicky dressed quickly and followed the guard to another metal reinforced doorway. The guard gestured and Nicky entered the near bare room. Tsien-tsien sat at a chair on one side of a plain wooden table. He pointed to the other chair, inviting Nicky to sit.
“Tin-tin, what's going on? When do I ...”
Tsien-tsien put a finger to his lips and Nicky fell silent. “I expected you to be released already, but the unplanned deaths are a problem.”
“The planned ones were ok, but the unplanned ones upset your bosses?”
“More or less. You don't need to know.” Tsien-tsien lowered his voice to a confidential level. “Are you enjoying Quek Kwang?”
“Fuck no! He's probably fifteen and not my type anyway.”
“Nicky … he's twenty-five and he's exactly your type. He even looks a little like Darren. Besides, we need to establish that you are a corrupt, deviant foreigner.”
“Corrupt, deviant foreigner. Cool. What will that get me? Twenty years in prison to get to know Quek Kwang better?
“It will get you a quick flight home, idiot. And a contract with a premium clothing manufacturer.”
Steve and Nash sat across the acres of mahogany-topped desk from the pinstripe-suited banker. Steve was fidgety, wishing he was anywhere else. Nash was more relaxed; he had memorized the business plan, which was not much of an accomplishment considering that he had written it.
“You're the pilot and the majority owner?” Mark asked Steve. Steve nodded mutely. And you're the … what?” he asked Nash.
“I'm his partner.”
“More than that,” Steve added. “He's everything but the pilot and owner.”
Mark smiled and tried to put Steve at ease. “I used to be straight before I became gay before I became straight again.” That only served to panic Steve.
“Maybe we should go ...”
“He means that we don't need a big loan,” Nash inserted. “Just some working capital. Our fixed costs are covered by the guaranteed flying for Steve's former employer. Our capital investment is secured by the aircraft and an investment by my father.”
Mark looked again at the business plan's addendum covering the investment . “Morrie Chlomsky is your father? Oh my God …. Such a small fucking world. I remember when Darren Alvinzi was his … uh, his associate. If I can have kids, I guess Morrie can have kids, too.” Mark shook his head in amazement. “See, I used to be Luke's lover after Luke and Eric Malone split and Eric hooked up with Z, Darren's brother … And then after Luke died, I married Laurie, who was Cal Rockridge's sister … Do you know all those guys? From the old lacrosse game at Rittler?”
“I know Darren pretty well; the others only slightly,” Nash answered.
Mark smiled at the memories. “We'll give you the loan; you can draw it down in monthly installments, according to your cash schedule, subject to achieving these revenue predictions you have made. If after six months things are still on plan, we can look at looser terms. Morrie's son … yeah, I can see it a little when you're not smiling.”
“Need helicopter services?” Nash asked.
“No, but we have some other clients who might. Send me a brochure, if you have one.”
Five minutes later, Steve was tapping his feet on the floor of the pickup as they entered the Alameda-bound Webster Tube. “Can't you go any faster?”
“No. Traffic. Traffic cops. Alameda.”
“We got the loan,” Steve said for the fifth time. “Thanks to you.” He squeezed Nash's thigh and checked on whether he had an erection. “Can't you go a little faster? I want to get home.”
“What's your hurry?” Nash teased.
“We gotta feed Nero before he eats the lemon tree again.” Steve had grown fonder of the lemon tree that perfumed their bedroom than of their inherited cat that had an opposite effect.
“Really? Nero, huh?” Nash increased the speed of the truck, but only because Steve's massaging was working magic on his cock. “Stop. You know how sensitive I am.” Nash grabbed Steve's hand before things got too hot.
Once they got home Nash could only giggle as Steve frantically undressed him. “You want me to stop?” Steve asked.
“Fuck, no,” a naked Nash replied. He reached for the lube while Steve shucked his own clothes.
“I can't leave you alone,” Steve almost apologized for his eagerness. “I barely need this lube, my dick is so wet.”
As sometimes happened, they started fucking before they started kissing. They stared at each other looking for any sign of pain or pleasure and adjusting for it. Steve noticed a wince and slowed, but Nash urged him to keep going.
“I like it when you hurt me a little.” Nash's eyes said he meant it.
“I never want to hurt you,” Steve answered and they began kissing. “I just want to fuck you and make you love me.” His long strokes had Nash moaning quietly. Steve barely took hold of Nash's cock before it began spewing. He thrust faster, rode the same wave, and pumped his own cum into his lover. With sweet murmurs they told each other of love and passion and satisfaction.
It was Nero who grew bored with the performance. He leapt from his perch on a broad window ledge and began stalking the lemon tree. “Look at him,” Steve whispered in Nash's ear. “He's begging the lemon tree to make a threatening move. He so wants to kill it.”
When Nero got within striking distance, Steve threw a pillow between the stalker and his victim. Nero instantly shifted his attention to an invisible spot on the wall and walked slowly around the pillow and out the bedroom door.
“That's cat is such an asshole. How dumb does he think I am?” Steve muttered.
“Dumb enough to keep feeding him,” Nash answered. “He plays with you.”
“Just like you played with that banker.” Steve smiled in admiration. “You had him eating out of your hand. Do you think Morrie will actually make good on his loan promise?”
“Probably not,” Nash admitted, “But it looks good on paper. We should probably get some lunch and them go to the hangar.”
“I'd rather just lie here with you.” Steve ran a finger through the hair on Nash's chest.
“You can do that any time.”
“But I want to do it all the time.” Steve watched Nash get up and look for his clothes. What a sweet ass, he thought. He hated to see Nash get dressed.
Telepathically Nash looked at the dresser top an instant before his phone buzzed. “Hello … Dad? Louder, I can barely hear you. What? No! … No! For how long? Of course I'll call him. Right now … Ok … Yeah we got the loan ... Thank you. Yes, he's right here ... I love him, Dad ... Ok, bye.” Nash found his underwear and then decided he had better shower before putting them on.
Steve was impatient. “So???? What did he say?”
“He wants me to call Darren before it makes the papers. Nicky's in some Chinese jail for inciting a riot in a theatre. Serious shit apparently.” Nash walked toward the bathroom.
“Aren't you going to call him?”
“You know Morrie. He always exaggerates.” Nash closed the door and ran the water.
Steve turned on the midday news and shooed Nero away from inspecting his nakedness. “Nash?” he yelled into the steamy bathroom. “Morrie isn't exaggerating!!”
A dripping wet Nash watched the rest of the report. He immediately called Darren, ignoring Nero who was sampling drops of water on his calf.
Once was a fluke, Brian told himself. Twice was real, he concluded, as the bus slowly climbed Broadway into the Oakland hills. He is cute, Brian thought, more than cute, he's handsome and sexy. Looks older and more experienced than his age. Prison will do that to people. How is it, he wondered, that just messing a little with Walden produces spectacular sex with Anne? She's way more responsive than ever before. His dick started to harden at the memory of the night before. And the night before his dick had hardened at the memory of Walden's kiss. The one equals the other? The one leads to the other? The two sexy bodies lay before his mind's eye. Which was sexier? Which was more compelling? His swollen dick ached in his confining pants as the bus bounced along the irregular pavement. Riding in a bus always gave him a hard on but this one was more than just the motion of the bus. He pictured Anne's curves. He almost felt Walden's hard body under his hands. What a choice.
Lex was sexy, but I never really got to see much of him. The lights in the cell were always out; I could only see shadows of him from the lights in the passageway. He looked good in the shower, but I never really saw his cock hard. Not like Walden's. That's a big dick Walden's got. His asshole tightened reflexively as he recalled Walden in the garage. Daily sex with LEX had made him an obsession. Was he more than that? Did I really love him? I sure as hell thought I did. Already, the sting and punch of my memories of Lex are fading. Had faded, really. I can hardly picture his face, Brian thought. But Walden. He springs to life in front of me all the time. How could I let that guy in Stockton fuck him? If I had known … Maybe they didn't really do it. Maybe he was just making the story better. But … can you really get all that money without putting your ass on the line?
Arthur, now that fuckin' creep was not sexy. He must have been forty-something. He raped me. Kind of … I could have stopped him. Why didn't I? I was horny, that's why. All those nights with Lex. I needed the sex. And Arthur. Jeez, why is it I can picture Arthur – that skinny dick - in every detail and I can't remember Lex? And now I know exactly how Walden's cock curves. How would that feel in me? Curving just right to hit my prostate … Man, where did that thought come from? I can't … Can I? A vision of Walden fucking him came unbidden to Brian's eyes. Hot guy, big fuckin' cock … I gotta forget about this, he told himself. But his mind lingered on the vision. 'Long' they called him. Long! I guess … he felt a puckering sensation in his asshole. He realized he was holding his breath. His sudden, loud gasp drew glances from other passengers. One woman - somebody's cleaning woman, for God's sake - got up and moved to a seat two rows farther away. Am I really that creepy, Brian wondered.
The bus rolled along Mountain Boulevard and at last came to Brian's stop. He could feel the wetness in his underwear as he got up. A quick glance told him only the hint of a bulge was visible. Dicks can be so embarrassing. He gradually relaxed as he walked the couple of blocks to Walden's house. All back to normal, he thought as he got to the side door of the garage and entered. Except I gotta talk to him about that kiss.
“Walden,” he began. Walden turned and looked up from the back of a drive array. “We need to talk ...”
“Yes, but not now,” Walden said without permitting any argument. “Right now we have two and a half hours to move all this shit to our new office. That's how long the remote servers can handle our traffic without dumping to our drives.”
“Our new office?”
“Yeah, we've outgrown the garage. Help me load this stuff into Mom's car.”
“Ok, we can talk on the way.”
“No, you need to ride in the back with the machinery. Keep it from shifting – getting damaged … I think Ninety-Sixth Street will be the best way … past the airport, you think?”
Two hours later they had obtained the keys from Cloris's ex-husband, moved the SUV load of computer machinery up one flight of stairs, and got it running. “Now we have to wait for the phone company to hook up the T-1 line,” Walden said.
“Good, now we have time to talk,” Brian began, but the telephone installation man arrived on schedule cutting short that potential conversation. And when the phone guy was finished, Walden needed to return the SUV to his mother; forty-five minutes elapsed before he returned in his own car. That left a scant half hour before Brian needed to leave for Clorox.
“Walden, we gotta talk. Now,” he insisted.
“Alright. I suppose you want to talk about yesterday. Sorry about that. I got carried away. I should have minded my own business. You are who you are. I shouldn't be giving you lectures.”
Brian tried to interupt but Walden was rolling.
“You know better than I do how to run your life. I'm happy with what your doing here. The clients like talking to you ...” He used his fingers to put quotation marks around the 'talking'. “Your book chapters are being read. We're making money. Did you see today's number?”
Walden allowed Brian to say no.
“Well, it's impressive. It means we can afford the rent, which is pretty small, by the way, because Cloris's ex-husband - what's his name by the way? - doesn't drive a very hard bargain, and the rent needs to be small because the phone line costs a grunch of bucks for the first month – it includes installation, next month it will be less and maybe we can afford to ...”
Brian grabbed Walden's biceps. “Walden! You kissed me!”
“You're pissed about that; I can tell ...” Walden paused to face the inevitable.
“When are you going to do it again?”
“When?” Walden's eyebrows rose slightly. He tilted his head, not sure he had heard right. He looked very young; he was irresistible. Brian had to stand on his tiptoes to kiss him. They sat on a packing box and kissed several more times.
“I gotta go to work,” Brian said and kissed him one more time.
Walden skipped a lot of things he wanted to say; he got right to the hard part. “You're married.”
“Yes.” Brian rose to go. The conversation had solved nothing.
Walden continued to hold his hand, hoping for more; then he let it go. “I'll give you a ride to Clorox.”
“I couldn't handle that right now. I'll take the bus,” Brian said and left.
“You couldn't handle it? What does that mean?” Walden looked so hurt.
“I gotta go to work.” Brian left without looking back.
Z got home from work and looked at the huge bed in the little apartment. Craig waited for the expected protest. Instead Z slipped off his shoes and jumped onto the bed. The frame groaned ominously but held. He stretched and then relaxed.
“Ok?” Craig asked.
“How long am I gonna lie here by myself?” Z countered.
Craig carefully, so as not to challenge the construction of the bedframe, joined Z on the deep mattress. He lay alongside the smaller man and sat half up leaning his head against his hand watching Z stretch again. “How does it feel?”
“Great,” Z answered. “Couldn't be better. I love it.”
“It isn't too big for the room?”
“It's way too big. It's perfect.” He welcomed Craig into his arms. “I probably smell of marinara sauce. Can you stand it? Lasagna was the luncheon special.”
“You're making me hungry,” Craig said. He began licking Z's face to see if he could get the taste. “You need a little oregano.” They leisurely broke in the new bed with shared oral pleasures.
Z got up first and Craig watched him finish undressing. “That was the best sex I ever had with my clothes on,” he said and Craig chuckled. “I'm going to scrub the tomato sauce off and then make you a high protein dinner..”
A half an hour later they sat and ate Z's version of an eight-egg artichoke frittata. Z ate about a quarter of it and Craig ate the rest. Z could picture Craig in another ten years weighing another twenty or thirty pounds; somehow the vision wasn't objectionable. Z glanced at the mail.
“Ah-hah! Our checks from Andrew,” he commented and opened his envelope.
Craig put his aside unopened and asked, “What did he pay that other guy?”
“Asher? If I know Andrew, he found some way to pay him nothing. That's ok, though. Asher has a day job. He just models for the exposure.”
“He got that,” Craig chuckled. “I never expected that kind of audience to go for porn.”
“It wasn't porn. Not exactly. Well, a little, maybe. The señoras liked it. I think the men pretended it never happened. Asher always finds a way to expose himself. It always looks accidental, but it happens every time. What was the story? The video feed was accidentally routed live? Sure, if you want to believe that. Like Andrew's an idiot who makes that kind of mistake.”
“It looked accidental,” Craig insisted. “I was fooled.”
“All I can say is I've been in four of Andrew's Christmas shows and every one has involved major nudity, mostly featuring Asher's dick.”
“Well, Z … the kid was innocent.”
“Lemuel may not have known what would happen, but I'd bet Andrew put him up to messing with the junction box. A multiscreen with sixteen views of Asher's dick!”
“I thought you looked better,” Craig laughed.
“Nobody was looking at me,” Z promised.
“I was.”
That night in the big new bed Z was close to sleeping when Craig gave him a little kiss and then lay back and yawned. “Night, Z,” he mumbled.
“Aren't you going to tell me you love me?” Z asked.
“Maybe tomorrow or the next day. I'll still love you then,” Craig said and rolled onto his side.
Z was awakened in the middle of the night. Craig, who wasn't more than semi-awake, grabbed him and hugged him. Z tried to escape those big arms but gave up. He went back to sleep in the calm security and love of Craig's embrace.
“Stop it. There are probably hidden cameras.” Nicky shoved Quek Kwang away. “Get in your own bunk. Isn't sex illegal?”
“Of course not. Where do you think all the Chinese people came from?” Quek Kwang moved reluctantly to his bunk.
“Gay sex, I mean.”
“The law is silent on that matter. Prohibitions were repealed years ago. You are already accused of raping me. It would help to demonstrate my willingness.”
“You're underage. Willingness doesn't matter.”
“I'm not underage. I just look young.”
“How old are you?”
“I was born in the year of the goat two cycles ago. I'm twenty-five.”
“Goat shit! What complete load of goat shit. You're no more twenty-five than ...”
“The government believes me. What's your problem? Tsien-tsien said I should be good to you. Why don't you let me?”
“The government is holding us prisoner because we did what a government agent told us to do. What a fucking country!”
“The government is holding us because so many people died, some the government had not planned on dying.”
“Tsien-tsien shot them. He and his goons shot up half the dress circle.”
“Not the ones in the orchestra pit. Somebody else shot them.”
“Must have been a music lover,” Nicky countered. “Now go to sleep.”
The sound of the massive door being unlocked woke Nicky. He was annoyed to find Quek Kwang sleeping in his bunk again. Nicky was wearing boxers. Quek Kwang was naked. The guard who entered took no notice.
“Come,” he said, motioning in case his English wasn't clear.
Quek Kwang pulled Nicky's blanket over himself preparing to go back to sleep. “He means you,” he said and closed his eyes.
Nicky dressed quickly and followed the guard to another metal reinforced doorway. The guard gestured and Nicky entered the near bare room. Tsien-tsien sat at a chair on one side of a plain wooden table. He pointed to the other chair, inviting Nicky to sit.
“Tin-tin, what's going on? When do I ...”
Tsien-tsien put a finger to his lips and Nicky fell silent. “I expected you to be released already, but the unplanned deaths are a problem.”
“The planned ones were ok, but the unplanned ones upset your bosses?”
“More or less. You don't need to know.” Tsien-tsien lowered his voice to a confidential level. “Are you enjoying Quek Kwang?”
“Fuck no! He's probably fifteen and not my type anyway.”
“Nicky … he's twenty-five and he's exactly your type. He even looks a little like Darren. Besides, we need to establish that you are a corrupt, deviant foreigner.”
“Corrupt, deviant foreigner. Cool. What will that get me? Twenty years in prison to get to know Quek Kwang better?
“It will get you a quick flight home, idiot. And a contract with a premium clothing manufacturer.”
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Thanks, Roc. Are you keeping warm up there?
Rory,
That's a heckuva way to have a flashback to the distant past.
At least, distant for our Alameda Athletes.
What a great update!
(Even from the ancient laptop I'm on while my not quite as ancient one gets a new hard drive.)
That's a heckuva way to have a flashback to the distant past.
At least, distant for our Alameda Athletes.
What a great update!
(Even from the ancient laptop I'm on while my not quite as ancient one gets a new hard drive.)
EasyRory
JUB Addict
I always liked our friendly banker. It was hard to write a bigger role for him though.
You have a cornucopia of characters.
We'd like to seen some more of all of them - but that's hard to do when you're focusing on a set of characters in one story.
It's nice to be able to tie some of the others back now and again.
We'd like to seen some more of all of them - but that's hard to do when you're focusing on a set of characters in one story.
It's nice to be able to tie some of the others back now and again.
rocabar
Contra Spem Spero
Heh- Yep. The weather just turned warm again. It was 10C (50F) today! Last week it was -27C (-16F). . . Who knows what next week'll bring.
Where exactly are you?
I thought E-town was Elizabethtown, NJ, and I know it didn't get to -16F there last week.
I thought E-town was Elizabethtown, NJ, and I know it didn't get to -16F there last week.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Our cold-nosed, warm-hearted cowboy friend is from Edmonton.
Ah, Alberta - The Canadian Prairie land.
rocabar
Contra Spem Spero
Rory's got it.
The only Elizabeth most folks would know any thing about, is this one-
[video]http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/story/2012/05/31/queen-currency-canada.html[/video]
. . . She is the patron saint of atms
The only Elizabeth most folks would know any thing about, is this one-
[video]http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/story/2012/05/31/queen-currency-canada.html[/video]
. . . She is the patron saint of atms
Ah, yes, HRH Grandmum of Captain "What happened in Vegas didn't stay in Vegas" Wales.
I do believe her predecessor, QE I is the one honoured by E-Town, NJ.
I do believe her predecessor, QE I is the one honoured by E-Town, NJ.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
I don't think she's an HRH; I think she's an HM. Maybe Auto can help with this if he's reading.
