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Four Miles and Counting
- Thread starter EasyRory
- Start date
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Sixty-One
“Neil,” the Chief said. “What's going on with you? Are you really marrying a guy?”
“We've talked about it; but we don't have any specific plans.” Neil fidgeted; he wasn't used to career lectures from the Chief.
“ 'We' … you say 'We' as if you're really a couple.”
“We are.”
“You know we try to be tolerant here. I know Tim is – er - gay, but he keeps it low key. VERY low key. A marriage, such as you propose ...”
“Yeah, I did propose.” Neil grinned bashfully. “I was the one who asked.”
The Chief ignored the interruption. “A marriage would be outright public notice to one and all.”
“Exactly. You know, Jerry, that's my fiance, Chief, he had the same problem. He didn't want to do it at first.”
“So one of you has some brains. Neil, I'm going to be straightforward. If you marry a man, I don't see how I can promote you – ever. We won't fire you, but realistically, we're a small force. I couldn't promote you over a married man with a wife and children in the community. I just can't ...” The Chief threw up his hands in exasperation.
Neil joined Tim in their cruiser and told him the story. “That's what he said, Tim. No promotion ever. Is that legal?”
“I don't know, Neil. Last year was the second year in a row I was eligible for promotion to detective and they gave it to Ed Schneider. I don't think I was even considered.”
“Ed's a nice guy and all, but he couldn't detect how to open a paper bag!”
“He's not that bad; but, facing the facts, should I fight it? How? What would it get me? I'm happy with what I got. Are you?” Tim shrugged.
“Yes, but … But it isn't fair, Tim.”
“Ed's got three kids in the Alameda schools, a nice wife who works and volunteers, he goes to church, he cuts his grass, and he's a competent cop. Why should they promote me? He needs it more.”
“You prevent and you solve more crimes than Ed ever will. That's why.”
“How many more? Three? Four? The city doesn't think I'm worth more than Ed. That's the answer.”
“It's not the right answer.” Neil was pissed and tapped his feet impatiently on the floor of the cruiser.
“Cool down, we gotta interview … what's his name?”
Neil scanned the rap sheet. “Canada Weigo. Is that really a name? There's not much data.”
“She thinks she saw a second-story man at the house across the street.”
“On Eagle? Aren't they all one-story houses on Eagle?”
“That's what she called him. That's what I'm calling him.” Tim discussion of promotion opportunities had bothered Tim; he wasn't in a mood for trifling. It turned out that there were a few two-story houses on Eagle, but not the one across the street from Canada Weigo.
“Ms. Weigo? Alameda Police.” Tim announced to the woman who opened the door.
“That's my mother. Come in. I'll go get her. I'm Louise Weigo.” She went into a back bedroom of the tidy bungalow. “MA!” they heard. “ARE YOU AWAKE?” Neil gave Tim his uh-oh look.
An elderly woman preceded her daughter into the room. “Ms. Weigo?” Tim began.
“MRS. Weigo,” she corrected. “I'm a widow, not a spinster.” She glanced at herself in a mirror over the mantle and gave a little start. “My God! What are those marks?”
“CHENILLE BEDSPREAD,” Louise explained loudly. “She's a little deaf. I tell her that every day,” Louise confided to the policemen.
It was a tortured interview, but at length they established that Mrs. Weigo had indeed seen a man on the roof for the house across the street. A workman she initially assumed. “Because every time he bent over I could see his butt crack,” she offered as evidence. Louise giggled and then confirmed that she had seen the man, too.
“He had a tool belt on and started removing roof shingles. Then he cut hole and went into it. Look, you can still see where the roof has been patched with plastic.” She took Tim and Neil to the window and pointed out the black billowing plastic that was crudely nailed to the roof.
“We'll need some particulars,” Neil said. “Weigo is spelled how? … Uh-huh, and, to confirm, your first name is Louise?”
“Actually no. My first name is Lake.”
“But you are called Louise?”
“That's my middle name. Lake Louise Weigo.” She paused. “What? No jokes? And, yes, my brother's name is Banff,” she stated daring Neil to comment.
“Brother's name … Banff,” Neil parroted, printing on his clipboard. “And does he live here?”
No, he lives in Oakland.” She looked his shoulder at the report form. “You have very nice handwriting.”
“Thank you,” Neil said. She stayed close, looking at the form. “Do you know the owner of the property across the street?”
MA, WHAT'S THAT GUY”S NAME?” She jerked a finger in the direction of the house with the hole in the roof.
“Emil Scaramuzzoli. Dead, but the will has not been settled. Dozens of heirs.”
Louise felt that touching Neil's shoulder would help him spell Scaramuzzoli. “Two z's,” she prompted. She sighed loudly and looked into Neil's eyes before breaking away.
“You certainly impressed Lake Louise,” Tim kidded Neil after they returned to the cruiser. “I promise I would tell Jerry.”
“I'll tell him,” Neil grinned. “I tell him all that stuff. She was kinda cute, wasn't she? … Lake Louise … Weigo.” Neil pronounced as a question, why go?
“God damn!” Walden said to himself. “Go-o-o-o-od damn,” he stretched out his amazement. “Who would have thought ….?” He walked to the sandwich shop on the corner for a post-sex bite to eat. “If the website is more successful and Brian can quit Clorox … mmm-mmm ... he won't have to leave at three every day and we can fuck all day long.” He turned to the door set in the corner of the building. “Whoa! Sorry!” he said avoiding a collision with two other patrons.
“Long?”
“Finn? Bo?” He looked at the two young men in his path. “You going in? Go ahead, please.”
They agreed to have lunch together, placed their orders at the counter, got drinks, and sat awaiting the delivery of their sandwiches. Once they finished talking about who would sit where a quiet came over the table.
“Guys,” Walden began, “I have to tell you that I know what an asshole I was to you and I'm a million times sorry. Things are way different now and … what can I say? I'm sorry for being a jerk.”
“So biggie, Long.”
“You want to call me Walden? I don't use Long any more.”
Bo leaned across the table with a look of concern. “Why? Did your dick shrink?”
“No,” Walden said over their laughter. “It's not something I need to advertise any more.”
“Bo's is almost as big. We could call you Somewhat Long,” Finn said to Bo with a telling smile.
Walden coughed and said, “What brings you here anyway? It's the wrong end of the island, isn't it?”
“You want the truth? We were horny and we have no place to go. So we went for a run down the beach and kinda stopped for a bit in the dunes.”
“The dunes by Crab Cove? Jeez, the cops are busting guys there all the time. Be careful!”
“A guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do,” Bo answered. They all waited while a waitress set plastic dishes before them.
“You two are …?” Walden left the operative word unspoken.
“We would be if we ever got a chance to … do it. We can't go to my house. Finn's mom is onto us and she gives us an hour alone now and then; but an hour now and then … that's not much for a couple of health American boys.”
“Yeah, I hear you,” Walden acknowledged. “You could …. no, probably not.”
“Could what?” Finn asked eagerly.
“Well, if you don't mind a mess ...”
“We don't!” Bo answered.
“I have a big couch in my office. I could work in another room while you two 'did it',” Walden smiled broadly, “Whatever 'it' might be.”
A half hour later, Walden heard on of the boys in the next room sing, “On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, the BEST BLOW JOB EVER!” Two sweet guys, Walden remembered. He guessed that the singer was Bo, Finn had always been a little more reserved. Walden wonder if they'd like a beer when they're done.
“Knock, knock! Guys, I'm going out. You want a beer or two?”
One head popped up behind the back of the couch, then another. “Sure!” Bo said; Finn nodded. They had no shirts on. Walden could see that much; but he was pretty sure they were naked. He looked away toward the door.
“Ok, I promise you one hour alone, but then I gotta do some real work. I'll be back with the beer.“
“Stop here,” Nicky said to Nash. They went into the grocery store. It was too small to be called a super market and too big to be a specialty store. It was Scalese's, one of a kind; people knew what to expect. “Antipasti for a dozen,” Nicky requested of the butcher. “Come on, we'll grab some wine and maybe some limoncello and some water.”
“What's this about?” Nash asked.
“Light lunch, light beverages - for the passengers. We'll serve them on the ground while they wait. So nobody has to be the flight attendant. Plus, you don't want the chopper getting cockroaches.” Nicky had a practical side that he generally hid.
Nash and Nicky laid out the antipasti and drinks and welcomed the passengers. Steve explained that he would shuttle them in groups of four to a resort south of Santa Cruz and just north of Monterrey. They were welcome to have a bite and a drink while they waited.
The first group left immediately and the other eight socialized over little plates and drinks. About half drank the wine and half drank water. An expensive-looking woman said to Nicky as she accepted a white wine, “These things used to go a lot better when men weren't afraid to enjoy a good stiff drink at lunch. We're not doing the flying.”
“I can go get you something stronger,” Nicky volunteered. “Won't take but a couple of minutes.”
“Really? Do you live nearby?”
“No, but there's ...”
“Pity,” she interrupted him. “I'd have gone with you.” She gave him a significant glance and Nicky lit up with pleasure. It had been a while since anybody had propositioned him so attractively. “Do you do this all the time?”
“No, I sell opera costumes since about eight-thirty this morning.” Nicky smiled, not caring whether she took him seriously or not.
She looked at him appraisingly. She stared almost rudely. Nicky wished he had dressed better. “Opera costumes,” she stated. “I had no idea that was a booming business.”
“It probably isn't. My partner bought up a failed production of 'The Ballad of Baby Doe' and we're trying to resell it.”
“Willow, where we met together ...” she faked is a shaky soprano.
“You know it!” Nicky smiled.
“More interesting - you know it!” she answered. Nicky preened under her attention, standing a little taller. It no longer bothered him that she was blatantly looking him up and down.
“Laura, you can't have them all,” a man said to her. He gave her name an Italian flavor.
“Puoi avere se ti piace,” Nicky whispered. “You can have me if you want.”
Laura's eyes glistened with understanding. “I don't want to have him, just borrow him for a bit, Joseph,” she challenged him back.
Steve returned for the next four and Laura declined a seat on the flight. She nibbled at some olives and sipped her wine while Nicky carried bags to the helo. “Another glass?” he offered when he returned. She accepted. “Maybe you should have gone on that flight. The party might start without you.”
She shook her head. “The party starts when I get there,” she replied and sipped the wine. “Now tell me how in the world you go about selling opera costumes.”
“I have no clue.”
“Oh, I bet you do. Try selling them to me.”
“I'd probably try to tell you that your company needed to sponsor a new production of the opera to celebrate some event in your company's history. Except for the singers it wouldn't cost that much to mount a production using my ready and available costumes and sets and it would get you national publicity. Free coverage on PBS, NPR, right-thinking, by which I mean left-thinking, newspapers, and a traveling show to promote the company world-wide, if you wanted to go that far.”
“It's a deal. We need to talk seriously. Here's my room number. Come at nine tonight.”
“Ann, I'm sorry I fell asleep last night. Work was exhausting and ...” Jeez! I can't tell her I was exhausted from my session with Walden, Brian told himself.
“Don't worry about it. It was relaxing to have a night off.” Ann snuggled into her pillow in no hurry to rise.
“Do you mean I expect too much?” Brian asked her.
“Not at all, it's just that … as a pregnant woman, I probably need to cut back a little. Not a lot, mind you … just a little, a night off now and then as things progress.”
“P-pregnant? Are you serious?”
“Yes, is that ok with you?”
“Ok? Of course it is! It's wonderful!” He pulled her to him and kissed her soundly. She touched his face just the way Walden had. He was instantly hard.
“Wait a sec … I'll be right back,” she promised and went into the bathroom.
Brian lay back in awe of life. Pregnant. I'm going to be a father. He closed his eyes and Walden's face appeared. He opened his eyes with a start. No! Ann returned and they began making love.
“The doctor said to go easy at first while my body adjusts and gets itself arranged. Then anything goes until close to the end.”
“Lots to worry about.”
“We don't have to worry about getting me pregnant,” she smiled. The lovemaking was beautifully satisfying for Ann.
“You stay in bed,” Brian said. “I'll make breakfast for us.” The lovemaking had not been nearly so satisfying for Brian; it had been disturbing. She touched my face just the way he did. She pulls me closer the way he does. He kisses a little better, but she's so soft … She has never sucked me off, but the way she holds my balls is spectacular. I think Walden would suck me all day if I let him and he's so big, he fills me up. She gets tight when she's all revved up, she grips me just right. Whoa! What am I doing?” Brian had been daydreaming, jacking off in his underwear, and watching his neighbors kiss in their kitchen window the width of a driveway away. He poured some orange juice and willed his cock to go down, glad the neighbors could see only waist up. Wait! Really? Could they see more? No, no way. The window sill was fairly high. He opened the refrigerator to get milk and let the cold air deflate his cock. There. It's down. At last, he thought.
“What are you doing?” Ann asked entering the kitchen and tying her robe tighter.
Brian about leapt out of his skin. He looked at her. She looked different somehow, but, thank God, nothing like Walden. “Nothing like Wa... I mean, getting some milk. If you watch the coffee, I'll see if there's a newspaper. It usually comes on Thursday, but ...” He put on a robe and walked out the door toward the sidewalk.
At the same time Neil came out of his door. He gave Brian a thumbs up and said, “Looking good, Neighbor!”
“Shit! He saw me.” Brian panicked. “No, he couldn't have.” Brian found a slightly damp copy of the Alameda Sun hidden by a bush near the walk. “But he wouldn't have aid that if he hadn't. He saw me jacking off and looking at them kissing.” Brian climbed the stairs to his porch. “No, he couldn't have. He wouldn't have said anything if he had.”
He got back to the kitchen and was greeted by the other neighbor. Brian almost jumped when he saw Jerry.
“Congratulations! Ann just told me the great news!” Jerry extended his hand to shake. “No wonder you're excited.”
“When?” Brian asked.
“When what?”
“When was I excited?”
“Right now!” Jerry said. “I mean, aren't you?”
“Yeah, sure. I was confused.”
“Bewildered,” Ann suggested. “What's the matter with you?”
“Never mind. It's ok,” Jerry said. “Neil should have seen you this morning. He likes you,” he said to Brian. “He thinks you're mysterious.”
“He did see me. In front. Said I'm looking good.”
“Yeah, I'm sorry if he's making jokes about your robe.”
“My robe?”
“Aren't those pansies?” Jerry pointed at the floral pattern.
At that Brian did jump. “Wha ...?”
“You've got MY robe on, sweetie,” Ann laughed.
“Oh … “ Brian started to take it off and then decided underwear was less appropriate than pansies. “I'll change.”
“Nine point four centimeters,” Durstman announced after measuring the third time. “That's about three and three-quarter inches.”
“Soon to be five and three quarter inches,” the older doctor chuffed. “You know, I've always been sort of ashamed of my , uh, shortcoming. Soon, if this all works …” He grunted as Durstman stuck the needle drip into his neck.
“I told Eric to think of women while it went in,” Durstman said.
“Now that will help,” his mentor-patient said jovially. He lay back and closed his eyes. “If this works, the lack of approvals will disappear in all the commotion. What else did Eric do?”
“He played with himself.”
“Makes sense I guess. Wait. I thought he refused to masturbate.”
“He draws fine distinctions. Playing versus masturbating; different expected outcomes, I guess.”
“This Eric is a nut-case. You realize that, don't you.” The mentor tut-tutted. “Big cocks are always wasted on the undeserving.”
A watch was consulted “Ok, now.” Durstman withdrew the needle. "That should be sufficient dosage."
“What else did you do? How did you ascertain the adequacy of his erection?” The older doctor rebuttoned his cuffs and put his suit jacket on.
“I blew him.”
“Really. I almost wish you hadn't told me that. Really, Durstman. Now you'll have to blow ME. I tell you, the things we do for science!” The mentor heaved a huge sigh and unzipped his fly. "Try to be quick about it."
“Neil,” the Chief said. “What's going on with you? Are you really marrying a guy?”
“We've talked about it; but we don't have any specific plans.” Neil fidgeted; he wasn't used to career lectures from the Chief.
“ 'We' … you say 'We' as if you're really a couple.”
“We are.”
“You know we try to be tolerant here. I know Tim is – er - gay, but he keeps it low key. VERY low key. A marriage, such as you propose ...”
“Yeah, I did propose.” Neil grinned bashfully. “I was the one who asked.”
The Chief ignored the interruption. “A marriage would be outright public notice to one and all.”
“Exactly. You know, Jerry, that's my fiance, Chief, he had the same problem. He didn't want to do it at first.”
“So one of you has some brains. Neil, I'm going to be straightforward. If you marry a man, I don't see how I can promote you – ever. We won't fire you, but realistically, we're a small force. I couldn't promote you over a married man with a wife and children in the community. I just can't ...” The Chief threw up his hands in exasperation.
Neil joined Tim in their cruiser and told him the story. “That's what he said, Tim. No promotion ever. Is that legal?”
“I don't know, Neil. Last year was the second year in a row I was eligible for promotion to detective and they gave it to Ed Schneider. I don't think I was even considered.”
“Ed's a nice guy and all, but he couldn't detect how to open a paper bag!”
“He's not that bad; but, facing the facts, should I fight it? How? What would it get me? I'm happy with what I got. Are you?” Tim shrugged.
“Yes, but … But it isn't fair, Tim.”
“Ed's got three kids in the Alameda schools, a nice wife who works and volunteers, he goes to church, he cuts his grass, and he's a competent cop. Why should they promote me? He needs it more.”
“You prevent and you solve more crimes than Ed ever will. That's why.”
“How many more? Three? Four? The city doesn't think I'm worth more than Ed. That's the answer.”
“It's not the right answer.” Neil was pissed and tapped his feet impatiently on the floor of the cruiser.
“Cool down, we gotta interview … what's his name?”
Neil scanned the rap sheet. “Canada Weigo. Is that really a name? There's not much data.”
“She thinks she saw a second-story man at the house across the street.”
“On Eagle? Aren't they all one-story houses on Eagle?”
“That's what she called him. That's what I'm calling him.” Tim discussion of promotion opportunities had bothered Tim; he wasn't in a mood for trifling. It turned out that there were a few two-story houses on Eagle, but not the one across the street from Canada Weigo.
“Ms. Weigo? Alameda Police.” Tim announced to the woman who opened the door.
“That's my mother. Come in. I'll go get her. I'm Louise Weigo.” She went into a back bedroom of the tidy bungalow. “MA!” they heard. “ARE YOU AWAKE?” Neil gave Tim his uh-oh look.
An elderly woman preceded her daughter into the room. “Ms. Weigo?” Tim began.
“MRS. Weigo,” she corrected. “I'm a widow, not a spinster.” She glanced at herself in a mirror over the mantle and gave a little start. “My God! What are those marks?”
“CHENILLE BEDSPREAD,” Louise explained loudly. “She's a little deaf. I tell her that every day,” Louise confided to the policemen.
It was a tortured interview, but at length they established that Mrs. Weigo had indeed seen a man on the roof for the house across the street. A workman she initially assumed. “Because every time he bent over I could see his butt crack,” she offered as evidence. Louise giggled and then confirmed that she had seen the man, too.
“He had a tool belt on and started removing roof shingles. Then he cut hole and went into it. Look, you can still see where the roof has been patched with plastic.” She took Tim and Neil to the window and pointed out the black billowing plastic that was crudely nailed to the roof.
“We'll need some particulars,” Neil said. “Weigo is spelled how? … Uh-huh, and, to confirm, your first name is Louise?”
“Actually no. My first name is Lake.”
“But you are called Louise?”
“That's my middle name. Lake Louise Weigo.” She paused. “What? No jokes? And, yes, my brother's name is Banff,” she stated daring Neil to comment.
“Brother's name … Banff,” Neil parroted, printing on his clipboard. “And does he live here?”
No, he lives in Oakland.” She looked his shoulder at the report form. “You have very nice handwriting.”
“Thank you,” Neil said. She stayed close, looking at the form. “Do you know the owner of the property across the street?”
MA, WHAT'S THAT GUY”S NAME?” She jerked a finger in the direction of the house with the hole in the roof.
“Emil Scaramuzzoli. Dead, but the will has not been settled. Dozens of heirs.”
Louise felt that touching Neil's shoulder would help him spell Scaramuzzoli. “Two z's,” she prompted. She sighed loudly and looked into Neil's eyes before breaking away.
“You certainly impressed Lake Louise,” Tim kidded Neil after they returned to the cruiser. “I promise I would tell Jerry.”
“I'll tell him,” Neil grinned. “I tell him all that stuff. She was kinda cute, wasn't she? … Lake Louise … Weigo.” Neil pronounced as a question, why go?
“God damn!” Walden said to himself. “Go-o-o-o-od damn,” he stretched out his amazement. “Who would have thought ….?” He walked to the sandwich shop on the corner for a post-sex bite to eat. “If the website is more successful and Brian can quit Clorox … mmm-mmm ... he won't have to leave at three every day and we can fuck all day long.” He turned to the door set in the corner of the building. “Whoa! Sorry!” he said avoiding a collision with two other patrons.
“Long?”
“Finn? Bo?” He looked at the two young men in his path. “You going in? Go ahead, please.”
They agreed to have lunch together, placed their orders at the counter, got drinks, and sat awaiting the delivery of their sandwiches. Once they finished talking about who would sit where a quiet came over the table.
“Guys,” Walden began, “I have to tell you that I know what an asshole I was to you and I'm a million times sorry. Things are way different now and … what can I say? I'm sorry for being a jerk.”
“So biggie, Long.”
“You want to call me Walden? I don't use Long any more.”
Bo leaned across the table with a look of concern. “Why? Did your dick shrink?”
“No,” Walden said over their laughter. “It's not something I need to advertise any more.”
“Bo's is almost as big. We could call you Somewhat Long,” Finn said to Bo with a telling smile.
Walden coughed and said, “What brings you here anyway? It's the wrong end of the island, isn't it?”
“You want the truth? We were horny and we have no place to go. So we went for a run down the beach and kinda stopped for a bit in the dunes.”
“The dunes by Crab Cove? Jeez, the cops are busting guys there all the time. Be careful!”
“A guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do,” Bo answered. They all waited while a waitress set plastic dishes before them.
“You two are …?” Walden left the operative word unspoken.
“We would be if we ever got a chance to … do it. We can't go to my house. Finn's mom is onto us and she gives us an hour alone now and then; but an hour now and then … that's not much for a couple of health American boys.”
“Yeah, I hear you,” Walden acknowledged. “You could …. no, probably not.”
“Could what?” Finn asked eagerly.
“Well, if you don't mind a mess ...”
“We don't!” Bo answered.
“I have a big couch in my office. I could work in another room while you two 'did it',” Walden smiled broadly, “Whatever 'it' might be.”
A half hour later, Walden heard on of the boys in the next room sing, “On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, the BEST BLOW JOB EVER!” Two sweet guys, Walden remembered. He guessed that the singer was Bo, Finn had always been a little more reserved. Walden wonder if they'd like a beer when they're done.
“Knock, knock! Guys, I'm going out. You want a beer or two?”
One head popped up behind the back of the couch, then another. “Sure!” Bo said; Finn nodded. They had no shirts on. Walden could see that much; but he was pretty sure they were naked. He looked away toward the door.
“Ok, I promise you one hour alone, but then I gotta do some real work. I'll be back with the beer.“
“Stop here,” Nicky said to Nash. They went into the grocery store. It was too small to be called a super market and too big to be a specialty store. It was Scalese's, one of a kind; people knew what to expect. “Antipasti for a dozen,” Nicky requested of the butcher. “Come on, we'll grab some wine and maybe some limoncello and some water.”
“What's this about?” Nash asked.
“Light lunch, light beverages - for the passengers. We'll serve them on the ground while they wait. So nobody has to be the flight attendant. Plus, you don't want the chopper getting cockroaches.” Nicky had a practical side that he generally hid.
Nash and Nicky laid out the antipasti and drinks and welcomed the passengers. Steve explained that he would shuttle them in groups of four to a resort south of Santa Cruz and just north of Monterrey. They were welcome to have a bite and a drink while they waited.
The first group left immediately and the other eight socialized over little plates and drinks. About half drank the wine and half drank water. An expensive-looking woman said to Nicky as she accepted a white wine, “These things used to go a lot better when men weren't afraid to enjoy a good stiff drink at lunch. We're not doing the flying.”
“I can go get you something stronger,” Nicky volunteered. “Won't take but a couple of minutes.”
“Really? Do you live nearby?”
“No, but there's ...”
“Pity,” she interrupted him. “I'd have gone with you.” She gave him a significant glance and Nicky lit up with pleasure. It had been a while since anybody had propositioned him so attractively. “Do you do this all the time?”
“No, I sell opera costumes since about eight-thirty this morning.” Nicky smiled, not caring whether she took him seriously or not.
She looked at him appraisingly. She stared almost rudely. Nicky wished he had dressed better. “Opera costumes,” she stated. “I had no idea that was a booming business.”
“It probably isn't. My partner bought up a failed production of 'The Ballad of Baby Doe' and we're trying to resell it.”
“Willow, where we met together ...” she faked is a shaky soprano.
“You know it!” Nicky smiled.
“More interesting - you know it!” she answered. Nicky preened under her attention, standing a little taller. It no longer bothered him that she was blatantly looking him up and down.
“Laura, you can't have them all,” a man said to her. He gave her name an Italian flavor.
“Puoi avere se ti piace,” Nicky whispered. “You can have me if you want.”
Laura's eyes glistened with understanding. “I don't want to have him, just borrow him for a bit, Joseph,” she challenged him back.
Steve returned for the next four and Laura declined a seat on the flight. She nibbled at some olives and sipped her wine while Nicky carried bags to the helo. “Another glass?” he offered when he returned. She accepted. “Maybe you should have gone on that flight. The party might start without you.”
She shook her head. “The party starts when I get there,” she replied and sipped the wine. “Now tell me how in the world you go about selling opera costumes.”
“I have no clue.”
“Oh, I bet you do. Try selling them to me.”
“I'd probably try to tell you that your company needed to sponsor a new production of the opera to celebrate some event in your company's history. Except for the singers it wouldn't cost that much to mount a production using my ready and available costumes and sets and it would get you national publicity. Free coverage on PBS, NPR, right-thinking, by which I mean left-thinking, newspapers, and a traveling show to promote the company world-wide, if you wanted to go that far.”
“It's a deal. We need to talk seriously. Here's my room number. Come at nine tonight.”
“Ann, I'm sorry I fell asleep last night. Work was exhausting and ...” Jeez! I can't tell her I was exhausted from my session with Walden, Brian told himself.
“Don't worry about it. It was relaxing to have a night off.” Ann snuggled into her pillow in no hurry to rise.
“Do you mean I expect too much?” Brian asked her.
“Not at all, it's just that … as a pregnant woman, I probably need to cut back a little. Not a lot, mind you … just a little, a night off now and then as things progress.”
“P-pregnant? Are you serious?”
“Yes, is that ok with you?”
“Ok? Of course it is! It's wonderful!” He pulled her to him and kissed her soundly. She touched his face just the way Walden had. He was instantly hard.
“Wait a sec … I'll be right back,” she promised and went into the bathroom.
Brian lay back in awe of life. Pregnant. I'm going to be a father. He closed his eyes and Walden's face appeared. He opened his eyes with a start. No! Ann returned and they began making love.
“The doctor said to go easy at first while my body adjusts and gets itself arranged. Then anything goes until close to the end.”
“Lots to worry about.”
“We don't have to worry about getting me pregnant,” she smiled. The lovemaking was beautifully satisfying for Ann.
“You stay in bed,” Brian said. “I'll make breakfast for us.” The lovemaking had not been nearly so satisfying for Brian; it had been disturbing. She touched my face just the way he did. She pulls me closer the way he does. He kisses a little better, but she's so soft … She has never sucked me off, but the way she holds my balls is spectacular. I think Walden would suck me all day if I let him and he's so big, he fills me up. She gets tight when she's all revved up, she grips me just right. Whoa! What am I doing?” Brian had been daydreaming, jacking off in his underwear, and watching his neighbors kiss in their kitchen window the width of a driveway away. He poured some orange juice and willed his cock to go down, glad the neighbors could see only waist up. Wait! Really? Could they see more? No, no way. The window sill was fairly high. He opened the refrigerator to get milk and let the cold air deflate his cock. There. It's down. At last, he thought.
“What are you doing?” Ann asked entering the kitchen and tying her robe tighter.
Brian about leapt out of his skin. He looked at her. She looked different somehow, but, thank God, nothing like Walden. “Nothing like Wa... I mean, getting some milk. If you watch the coffee, I'll see if there's a newspaper. It usually comes on Thursday, but ...” He put on a robe and walked out the door toward the sidewalk.
At the same time Neil came out of his door. He gave Brian a thumbs up and said, “Looking good, Neighbor!”
“Shit! He saw me.” Brian panicked. “No, he couldn't have.” Brian found a slightly damp copy of the Alameda Sun hidden by a bush near the walk. “But he wouldn't have aid that if he hadn't. He saw me jacking off and looking at them kissing.” Brian climbed the stairs to his porch. “No, he couldn't have. He wouldn't have said anything if he had.”
He got back to the kitchen and was greeted by the other neighbor. Brian almost jumped when he saw Jerry.
“Congratulations! Ann just told me the great news!” Jerry extended his hand to shake. “No wonder you're excited.”
“When?” Brian asked.
“When what?”
“When was I excited?”
“Right now!” Jerry said. “I mean, aren't you?”
“Yeah, sure. I was confused.”
“Bewildered,” Ann suggested. “What's the matter with you?”
“Never mind. It's ok,” Jerry said. “Neil should have seen you this morning. He likes you,” he said to Brian. “He thinks you're mysterious.”
“He did see me. In front. Said I'm looking good.”
“Yeah, I'm sorry if he's making jokes about your robe.”
“My robe?”
“Aren't those pansies?” Jerry pointed at the floral pattern.
At that Brian did jump. “Wha ...?”
“You've got MY robe on, sweetie,” Ann laughed.
“Oh … “ Brian started to take it off and then decided underwear was less appropriate than pansies. “I'll change.”
“Nine point four centimeters,” Durstman announced after measuring the third time. “That's about three and three-quarter inches.”
“Soon to be five and three quarter inches,” the older doctor chuffed. “You know, I've always been sort of ashamed of my , uh, shortcoming. Soon, if this all works …” He grunted as Durstman stuck the needle drip into his neck.
“I told Eric to think of women while it went in,” Durstman said.
“Now that will help,” his mentor-patient said jovially. He lay back and closed his eyes. “If this works, the lack of approvals will disappear in all the commotion. What else did Eric do?”
“He played with himself.”
“Makes sense I guess. Wait. I thought he refused to masturbate.”
“He draws fine distinctions. Playing versus masturbating; different expected outcomes, I guess.”
“This Eric is a nut-case. You realize that, don't you.” The mentor tut-tutted. “Big cocks are always wasted on the undeserving.”
A watch was consulted “Ok, now.” Durstman withdrew the needle. "That should be sufficient dosage."
“What else did you do? How did you ascertain the adequacy of his erection?” The older doctor rebuttoned his cuffs and put his suit jacket on.
“I blew him.”
“Really. I almost wish you hadn't told me that. Really, Durstman. Now you'll have to blow ME. I tell you, the things we do for science!” The mentor heaved a huge sigh and unzipped his fly. "Try to be quick about it."
rocabar
Contra Spem Spero
Banff, Lake Louise, Canada. . . Someone must have enjoyed Alberta's natural wonders- A lot 
Nice to see the Bo and Finn make an appearance, again!
Hopefully Nicky will get his mojo back soon. . .
I really enjoyed the story arc this episode, Rory- Thanks!
Nice to see the Bo and Finn make an appearance, again!
Hopefully Nicky will get his mojo back soon. . .
I really enjoyed the story arc this episode, Rory- Thanks!
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Leaving town again - it'll be a week or so for the next chapter. You can see I'm behind my schedule. I had hoped these Christmas chapters would be ready around Christmas, but it didn't happen. 
Rory,
I enjoyed the not-too-subtle references to the Great Wilderness up North, too.
And the vignettes were definitely more than a little intriguing.
Bo and Finn meet up with one of their old football mates, and find he's a changed man - and quite helpful to their cause, too!
I enjoyed the not-too-subtle references to the Great Wilderness up North, too.
And the vignettes were definitely more than a little intriguing.
Bo and Finn meet up with one of their old football mates, and find he's a changed man - and quite helpful to their cause, too!
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Sixty-Two
It was late in their shift when Neil announced the results of his research. “Tim, there's no such person as Banff Weigo. At least not in the state of California.”
“What-ff?”
“No joke. No Banff and no Lake Louise, either. And Canada's real name is Candy; Candy Rapper. There's a Ben Weigo – owns a business on Webster, no home address; but there's no Banff.”
Tim puzzled a bit and decided, “Maybe we ought to pay a call on Ben.”
Twenty minutes later, Ben Weigo willingly answered Neil's question, “That's my ex-wife, Louise; Rapper was her maiden name. She's the 'Cloris' in 'Collectibles by Cloris'. Hard time settling on a name I guess. Her mother, a real whack job, by the way, claimed her honeymoon was in Alberta - that place in Canada - you know? If you want to believe that. When we got married her mother took my name. Can you blame her? Who wants to be called Candy Rapper? Anyway, that's where Lake Louise came from. I never liked being called Banff.”
“She called you her brother.”
“She always did. Don't ask me! I guess running a junk store with an African wasn't her idea of a marriage. It seemed harmless compared to some of her other kinks.”
“Occupation?”
“Me? Isn't it obvious?” He held out his hands to indicate the store. “I run a junk store. I live in the store.”
“No, Louise.”
“She travels ...” Tim looked at Ben Weigo for more. “Around town. That's why we split. That and she kept calling me … the n-word. I'm part African and she kept making a huge deal out of it. Every time we … you know … she called it an attack of jungle fever.”
“Did you live with her on Eagle?” Ben nodded. “And did you know the neighbor across the street?”
“Old guy. Dead now, I think.” Tim explained their interest in the house and Ben was dubious of the theft angle. “There was nothing to steal. The house was almost completely empty for a couple of years after the old guy went to the nursing home.”
“Do you live here alone?”
“I got tenants upstairs; but they don't live here. They just fuck here. It's annoying. I can hear everything.” Tim kept a straight face; he had heard every story twice. “Otherwise it's just me.”
They left the store shaking their heads over yet another Alameda story, wondering how this one might make sense, a crime kind of sense.
“I never would have guessed he was part African … Long?” Neil spotted Walden exiting the side door of the building. “Didn't we used to play lacrosse sometimes at Rittler?”
“Right!” Walden recognized the faces but couldn't remember their names. “I remember. I'm going by Walden now. 'Long' was high school.”
“You rent the place above Ben Weigo's store?”
“Yeah. For a couple of weeks now. It's a website called ToutsBestOdds-dot-com. Look us up,” Walden waved and left.
“I bet he's got a hot partner,” Neil observed, as they watched Walden cross the street and head for a lunch spot.
“So you're checkin' guys out now?” Tim teased. “I thought it was just Jerry who interested you.”
“A cute ass is a cute ass,” Neil shrugged.
“And that's a cute one,” Tim added as Walden entered the sandwich shop.
Five minutes later they cruised slowly down Eagle, looking at the Weigo house and the abandoned property across the street. “This place is no palace,” Tim said, “But why would you leave it empty with a hole in the roof?”
An unhappy customer can rarely fight his doctor over lack of results. The doctor usually wins any dispute; but, aside from academic reviews, Dr. Durstman wasn't used to dealing with his mentor. “Give it more time,” he said. “You've had just two treatments.” His mentor's penis showed no sign of a growth spurt. “Actually, I think it's a millimeter, two, perhaps, longer.”
“Your 'perhaps' is insignificant,” the senior doctor sniffed. “A random variation in the measurement. It's no bigger. Your subject's penis grew after one treatment. ONE, Durstman. Recheck your procedures.” Durstman complained he had checked everything three times already. “Then do it AGAIN,” his mentor insisted.
After a fourth review, Durstman began the stem cell drip and watched with disdain as his mentor began manipulating his trousers like a horny schoolboy. The drip was completed in less than ten minutes. Durstman hoped he could sell a change in the usual procedure. “Here,” he said, handing an apparatus to his recumbent subject. “It's sort of like a milking machine. It will make you come better than a blowjob.”
The apparatus failed for technical reasons. It depended on the penis having sufficient girth to allow a suction to develop. “You're just to small. Maybe, to expand the circumference, we could wrap your penis with ...”
“Suck it!”
“Maybe we could try something like Play-Doh. Don't you think? You would feel it and ...”
“Suck it!” the senior doctor repeated.
After performing three blowjobs, one for Eric and two for his mentor, Durstman had overcome most of his gagging problem, but the taste was still a stumbling block. For such a small dick, his mentor produced sizable loads.
“Oh, for God's sake,” the senior doctor sneered when it was over. “Get your head out of that wastebasket. Maybe you'd rather be bum-fucked.”
“Bu-bum-fucked?” Durstman queried nervously.
“Don't act so innocent. That's what my roommate in med school called it. I told him he needed a better descriptive term.”
“Term for what?”
“He was verifying the survivability of non-native bacteria in the colon. It was purely for medical reasons, you see.”
“You fucked him?” Durstman grabbed for the wastebasket again.
“Repeatedly. And I didn't vomit every time. We were clinical about it, completely scientific.”
Durstman's eyes were saucer-sized. He averted his gaze and placed his briefcase over the top of the wastebasket to enclose the odor.
“Perhaps the degree of sexual excitement is a variable you haven't accounted for, Durstman. Have you considered that? Perhaps if I were more excited … We can consider that for the next time.”
Durstman resisted the suggestion adamantly. “I'm not getting fucked.”
“Of course not. You're so ...” The mentor made a face at the idea of fucking Durstman. “Old,” was the description he selected . “Perhaps you have a graduate assistant?” The mentor's growing interest was evident. “Someone more appealing? Either sex would do.”
Now there was a suggestion Durstman could work with. The answer burgeoned in his mind. “Hah!” he grunted aloud, attracting the attention of his mentor. “Eric would be the perfect subject.”
“The same person … with the newly elongated penis.”
“The very same,” Durstman said with total satisfaction. “And you can ask him about his experience with the treatment first hand.”
“Indeed.” The mentor seemed delighted. “Show me the pictures of him again.” He examined the various shots of Eric, face on, in profile, erect, flaccid at some length. “He's quite a specimen … Would you mind if I took these home?” His breathing seemed labored. “And the rest of the report, too, of course. I'll reread everything.” He couldn't take his eyes off the pictures of Eric.
Durstman was overjoyed and invented a Christmas carol on the spot. He perverted a traditional melody and danced about his small lab singing, “ 'Tis the week before Christmas and all through the casa, Eric's getting fucked, Caramba! Que Pasa!”
“You look like shit!” Ty told Rocky. “What's wrong?”
“The usual ...” Rocky came into the break room and grabbed a small bottle.
“I thought you were meeting Wolf after the show. So what's the problem?” Ty asked.
Rocky drank a swig of 5-Hour Extra Strength and grimaced. “Wolf and Torrey,” he said before drinking the rest of the small bottle.
“You know that stuff is like mainlining caffeine,” Ty cautioned, looking at the bottle . “And who is Torrey? Trouble?”
“I had to cancel the date. Istanbulla wants three shows tonight,” Rocky explained, blinking widely as the energy drink went down. “Torrey is Wolf's girl friend. Wait,” he quieted Ty's objections. “It gets worse. She's really cute, and they're obviously fucking.”
“A threesome?” Ty suggested skeptically.
“If only … He's hopelessly straight. I must have read all the signs wrong. Man, I feel like such an idiot.”
“Don't beat yourself up. Mistakes get made and I still love you,” Ty offered.
Rocky grinned. “You do?” And then he sobered. “Did I hurt you like Wolf hurt me?”
“No, don't worry about it. You could have I guess, 'cause I definitely was crushing on you, but I figured out it wasn't gonna happen.”
“You want to? You want it to happen?” Rocky looked willing. “We could make it happen.”
“You'd be disappointed, Rock. I'm not Wolf.”
“Nobody is. Unless I'm gonna spend me life alone, I need to get over that.
“You will.” Ty's smile was forced; he wasn't completely over his crush. Rocky didn't notice, however, being too wrapped up in his own heartache.
“You sure you don't want to mess around?” Rocky gave Ty another willing look as he got ready for his next set.
“Quit it,” Ty answered with a laugh. “Besides, I can't have you draining me; I'm shooting porn tomorrow and the director wants multiple cum shots. See you tomorrow night.”
Rocky went out for his third set and did his best, but his performance was a little forced and he allowed the customers to get a little too grabby. He heard about it from Istanbulla when he was finished.
“I've told you before - it has to be a tease. We're not running a whore house here. That last guy almost pulled your jock off.” Istanbulla tried to be severe with him; she was doing a good job of it until she ended with a wink. “If you weren't so cute, I'd fire you. What are you doing for Christmas? Want to come to a little get-together at my place?”
“Thanks, I've got an invitation,” he replied; he didn't tell her it was one he couldn't accept. No way was he going to Tahoe with Wolf and Torrey. He dressed and left the break room. At the end of the bar was the terrified kid who had asked him for coffee. The kid was still terrified; he looked away the instant he and Rocky locked eyes. Poor guy, Rocky thought.
“You still interested in getting some coffee?” he asked.
The kid was speechless. “I … er … what?”
“Coffee. I'm off for the night and I'm still a little wired. Decaf, I guess. You interested?”
“Y – y – yes. Coffee.” The kid nodded vigorously.
It turned out to be a wasted chance. They stopped at a Starbucks and got drinks, exchanged names, made a bit of small talk, and then discovered neither one of them had a place to go.
“I'll walk you to the BART,” Jess said, over most of his bashfulness. They walked down Columbus and through Chinatown. Occasionally amid the jostling Asian crowds of they would bump into each other and sometimes their hands would brush. The crowds disappeared when they got closer to the financial district. Jess spoke up, “You know my favorite place in town? Willy Woo-Woo Wong Park.”
The name made Rocky laugh and Jess mustered his courage. He pushed Rocky into a dark doorway and kissed him. In his sudden boldness he miscalculated his move. It was a sloppy kiss, half on and half off their lips; but it was passionate and real. Jess was back to being bashful when they separated. Rocky smiled and hugged him. Carefully he pulled Jess's face toward himself and executed a deliberate, perfectly-placed, and lingering kiss. When it was over they were reluctant to part; they hung onto each other enjoying an overdressed and semi-public embrace.
“If we had a place to go,” Jess whispered, “I'd do anything you want, Rocky.” He pushed his pelvis forward, hoping Rocky could feel his erection through the thickness of his quilted jacket.
Rocky guided Jess's hand to his own erection. “I wish ...” was all he said before they kissed again.
They unzipped their jackets which allowed them to put their bodies closer together. They leaned against each other, sharing their warmth in the chilly night air. Through layers of denim they felt each other's cocks, yearning and straining in frustration.
“I want to do everything for you,” Jess gasped. “I'm not that experienced, but I … I dream about you, Rocky.”
In the distance Rocky could hear footsteps approaching their doorway alcove. It was over. They walked quickly to the Montgomery Street BART. Rocky boarded an eastbound train and Jess waited on the opposite platform for a train to San Bruno.
“I need to go out tonight, Darren.” Nicky made the statement sound like a question.
“Sure. Of course. I'll sit by the fire and wait for your return, my knight errant.”
“We don't have a fireplace …” Nicky began. “Oh, you're kidding me.”
“I could burn that chair,” Darren commented, looking at a monstrosity upholstered with orange leather that wasn't even comfortable. “I could pretend we have a fireplace ...”
“What did you mean about 'errant'?” Nicky hoped Darren wasn't referring to his recent behavior.
“A hackneyed phrase. I'm reading Duns Scotus, who wrote when knighthood was in full flower. He taught a concept called 'univocity of being' that implies Godliness in men.”
“University?” Nicky asked.
“No, univocity.”
“Yeah, whatever … I'm gonna see a woman about a dog of an opera ...” Nicky left without kissing Darren goodbye. He returned to their living room and remedied his mistake. “I'm giving you a quiz on 'univocity in the bedroom' when I get back.” He left again feeling better, less neglectful.
The sale of Morrie's opera collection was probably hopeless, but he planned to meet Laura Oldfield as promised. After getting laughed at by the imperious Ms. Oldfield, he planned to meet his 'likes it rough' customer and make a quick five hundred. I can still be home by midnight, he told himself. I just hope Darren isn't planning on any sexcapades; I should be pretty wiped out by then.
The drive into town was brief, going against the flow of the grim-faced late commuters who wondered if they'd ever get home. At least Laura wasn't staying at Morrie's favorite Marriott. She had written a room number at the Fairmont on her card. He waited at a traffic light and admired her card. Chairman and CEO - so much more impressive that just a single title. Oldfield Global Investments was less impressive. He wondered just how global Laura's interests were. What the hell, he smiled, I'm gonna demand a title from Morrie. He immediately frowned. He guessed Global Asshole would be his title.
He gave his name to the desk clerk at the Fairmont and added, “Could you tell Ms. Oldfield I'm here, please.”
“No need, sir. Ms. Oldfield left a message for you. Could you wait for her in the bar and order her a Sazerac?”
Nicky sat at the bar located in a corner of a huge and mostly empty room that was an adjunct to the lobby. He sipped one of the two Sazeracs and made a face that made the bartender chuckle.
“We don't get many requests for that one,” he joked. “It's supposed to taste fiery sweet.”
“It's neither. It tastes like ...”
“Ms. Oldfield,” the bartender nodded to the new arrival.
“Honeyed panther piss, my mother used to call it,” Laura responded. Good evening, Nicholas,” she said to Nicky. “Carlo,” she included the bartender. She sipped her drink appreciatively. “It has to be rye. No bourbon substitutes.” She drank off about half the glass. “You clean up nicely,” she said to Nicky.
“The uniform … all black. Freshly cleaned,” Nicky noted.
“Enough small talk. About the opera ...”
“You're serious about the opera?” Nicky said with an expectation of quick disappointment.
“Of course. I need complete specifications by piece. Include a total weight and cube and you may have yourself a deal. Could I have that tomorrow?” She was used to getting what she wanted.
“I'm sorry, no. I don't have any information on the scenery. It will take me two days.”
She stared at him. The silence became uncomfortable.
“Laura? Are you ready?” The questioner was an older version of Nicky. Laura's escort for the evening had the same dark good looks as the younger man. Very expensive looking. Very professional looking.
“Nicky, this is Lawrence ... Lawrence, this is probably your replacement.” Laura finished her drink and stood ready to leave.
“Good luck, Nicky,” Lawrence smiled.
“Can I have those specifications in two days, please? Same time, same place,” was Laura's parting shot.
Nicky was left with his mouth slightly agape. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and closed it. He sent a quick text to Morrie asking for the details of the opera scenery. “Morrie, I may have a sale. What's the total package price?” He finished his drink and ordered another. “Vodka rocks this time, please,” he requested. “Make that a double,” he added, thinking of his next appointment. “And could you make one to go?” he further requested.
“No,” the bartender answered with a laugh. “I used to be in your business, if you can believe it,” the bartender said, sucking in his belly and puffing out his chest.
“What's my business?” Nicky asked.
“Making things happen,” the bartender winked.
The Sazerac and the vodka more than warmed him. Nicky drove carefully back to Alameda conscious of a slight alcoholic buzz. The big house on Seaview loomed. Fred, his client of the other night, answered the door. “Come in,” he said abruptly. He looked Nicky over and said, “Strip.” He left the room and returned with a scowl. “I said, strip, asshole. Put this on.”
Asshole was not what Nicky wanted to hear. “Hey, listen ...”
“Just do it. My friend will be here in a couple minutes.”
“I don't even know how this stuff works,” Nicky complained.
“Do your best,” Fred said and left Nicky to figure out how the elaborate leather harness fitted. The hardest part to figure out was what part of the arrangement of straps was supposed to cover his cock. “Nothing covers you. It's supposed to make your dick stick out,” Fred explained when he got back. “Here ...” He adjusted some straps that pulled the harness tighter and indeed made Nicky's cock stand out without an erection. Nicky looked in a mirror and saw his cock lewdly sticking out of the web of leather.
“I'm not even hard yet,” he said mesmerized by his reflection. Fred got overly friendly, adjusting the costume. “Are you gonna pay, too?” Nicky asked, warning Fred off.
“Maybe,” Fred replied ambiguously and left the room again. He returned in a few minutes outfitted like Nicky. He led a naked man in on a leash. The man's eyes remained downcast; he wore only a studded collar to which the leash was attached. Out of shape but not over the hill, the naked man cupped his cock shyly.
“This is Nicky,” Fred explained to the naked man and then he became severe. “Take your hands away from your cock,” he ordered. “Show your approval.” The naked man removed his hands and his cock sprang out half hard. “Nicky won't be pleased if that's the best you can do.” In response, the naked man stroked his cock, never taking his eyes off Nicky.
“What's his name?” Nicky asked.
“His name is not important. He wants to be fucked until he comes. He can come multiple times if you're good. Try to be good. He gives big tips if you're good.”
The naked man nodded at Fred's words; he had worked his cock up to a full erection and seemed to be awaiting orders.
“Kneel,” Nicky ordered; he felt slightly ridiculous pretending to be a leather daddy. “Suck it!” he ordered, thinking he sounded like a bad porn flick. The naked man responded eagerly, too eagerly. He gagged and backed off. “What's your name?” Nicky asked before the man resumed.
The naked man quietly replied, “Banff.”
“We need to settle the cash part, Banff.”
“Wallet's in my pants.” Banff pointed through the door to another room. “I'm good for it.”
“I like to see the cash. I like it right in front of me in a neat pile,” Nicky insisted. “It makes me cum better.” He knocked Banff's grasping hand away from his cock. “Get it.” He watched the naked man scuttle out of the room with the leash trailing behind him. A feeling of power infused Nicky. He was liking this more than he expected.
“You're pretty good,” Fred said. “Make it last as long as you can.”
“So … I fuck you first?”
“You don't fuck me at all. We both fuck him.” Fred wasn't in a mood to compromise.
“I don't know about that,” Nicky snarled. He pinched and twisted a nipple, making Fred kneel in pain.
“Yes!” Banff hissed with pleasure watching Fred's pain. He placed a small stack of bills on a table where Nicky could see it. The top bill displayed a picture of Benjamin Franklin with a silly, toothy grin hand-drawn on his face in green ink. Nicky almost laughed.
“I'm gonna like this,” he told his two subjects.
“Twist his nipple again,” Banff asked as he pinched Fred's ass hard enough to make him squeal.
“Asshole,” Fred replied and tried to knee Banff in the balls, but Banff turned away avoiding the knee. With Fred on one foot, it was easy to knock him over.
Nicky grimaced as he watched Fred go down, hard dick leading the way. “That had to hurt,” he said to nobody in particular. Fred's howl came a few seconds later. The naked man went into a crouch and jumped on Fred before he could recover. Fred howled again.
“Shut up, Fred, that's only two fingers,” Banff yelled. “Wait for the whole fist.” He turned to Nicky and in a polite and rational tone said, “Twisting his tit was genius.” And then he laughed as he roughly tried to get a third finger into Fred's asshole.
Fred sobbed in real pain, saying only, “Use some lube, baby.”
Banff complied, squirting a slick liquid half way up his arm. He eyed Nicky again and added, “Come on, kid. Earn your money. Fuck me.”
The final configuration ended up being Nicky fucking Banff who was fisting Fred who was sucking Banff. When it was over, Banff helpfully explained that Fred was much tighter since his surgery. “Too bad they couldn't have added all that asshole to your dick!” he laughed at Fred.
“Fucker!” Fred aimed a kick and connected this time.
Banff was still sucking wind as he nodded goodnight to Nicky. “You're coming back, right?”
It was late in their shift when Neil announced the results of his research. “Tim, there's no such person as Banff Weigo. At least not in the state of California.”
“What-ff?”
“No joke. No Banff and no Lake Louise, either. And Canada's real name is Candy; Candy Rapper. There's a Ben Weigo – owns a business on Webster, no home address; but there's no Banff.”
Tim puzzled a bit and decided, “Maybe we ought to pay a call on Ben.”
Twenty minutes later, Ben Weigo willingly answered Neil's question, “That's my ex-wife, Louise; Rapper was her maiden name. She's the 'Cloris' in 'Collectibles by Cloris'. Hard time settling on a name I guess. Her mother, a real whack job, by the way, claimed her honeymoon was in Alberta - that place in Canada - you know? If you want to believe that. When we got married her mother took my name. Can you blame her? Who wants to be called Candy Rapper? Anyway, that's where Lake Louise came from. I never liked being called Banff.”
“She called you her brother.”
“She always did. Don't ask me! I guess running a junk store with an African wasn't her idea of a marriage. It seemed harmless compared to some of her other kinks.”
“Occupation?”
“Me? Isn't it obvious?” He held out his hands to indicate the store. “I run a junk store. I live in the store.”
“No, Louise.”
“She travels ...” Tim looked at Ben Weigo for more. “Around town. That's why we split. That and she kept calling me … the n-word. I'm part African and she kept making a huge deal out of it. Every time we … you know … she called it an attack of jungle fever.”
“Did you live with her on Eagle?” Ben nodded. “And did you know the neighbor across the street?”
“Old guy. Dead now, I think.” Tim explained their interest in the house and Ben was dubious of the theft angle. “There was nothing to steal. The house was almost completely empty for a couple of years after the old guy went to the nursing home.”
“Do you live here alone?”
“I got tenants upstairs; but they don't live here. They just fuck here. It's annoying. I can hear everything.” Tim kept a straight face; he had heard every story twice. “Otherwise it's just me.”
They left the store shaking their heads over yet another Alameda story, wondering how this one might make sense, a crime kind of sense.
“I never would have guessed he was part African … Long?” Neil spotted Walden exiting the side door of the building. “Didn't we used to play lacrosse sometimes at Rittler?”
“Right!” Walden recognized the faces but couldn't remember their names. “I remember. I'm going by Walden now. 'Long' was high school.”
“You rent the place above Ben Weigo's store?”
“Yeah. For a couple of weeks now. It's a website called ToutsBestOdds-dot-com. Look us up,” Walden waved and left.
“I bet he's got a hot partner,” Neil observed, as they watched Walden cross the street and head for a lunch spot.
“So you're checkin' guys out now?” Tim teased. “I thought it was just Jerry who interested you.”
“A cute ass is a cute ass,” Neil shrugged.
“And that's a cute one,” Tim added as Walden entered the sandwich shop.
Five minutes later they cruised slowly down Eagle, looking at the Weigo house and the abandoned property across the street. “This place is no palace,” Tim said, “But why would you leave it empty with a hole in the roof?”
An unhappy customer can rarely fight his doctor over lack of results. The doctor usually wins any dispute; but, aside from academic reviews, Dr. Durstman wasn't used to dealing with his mentor. “Give it more time,” he said. “You've had just two treatments.” His mentor's penis showed no sign of a growth spurt. “Actually, I think it's a millimeter, two, perhaps, longer.”
“Your 'perhaps' is insignificant,” the senior doctor sniffed. “A random variation in the measurement. It's no bigger. Your subject's penis grew after one treatment. ONE, Durstman. Recheck your procedures.” Durstman complained he had checked everything three times already. “Then do it AGAIN,” his mentor insisted.
After a fourth review, Durstman began the stem cell drip and watched with disdain as his mentor began manipulating his trousers like a horny schoolboy. The drip was completed in less than ten minutes. Durstman hoped he could sell a change in the usual procedure. “Here,” he said, handing an apparatus to his recumbent subject. “It's sort of like a milking machine. It will make you come better than a blowjob.”
The apparatus failed for technical reasons. It depended on the penis having sufficient girth to allow a suction to develop. “You're just to small. Maybe, to expand the circumference, we could wrap your penis with ...”
“Suck it!”
“Maybe we could try something like Play-Doh. Don't you think? You would feel it and ...”
“Suck it!” the senior doctor repeated.
After performing three blowjobs, one for Eric and two for his mentor, Durstman had overcome most of his gagging problem, but the taste was still a stumbling block. For such a small dick, his mentor produced sizable loads.
“Oh, for God's sake,” the senior doctor sneered when it was over. “Get your head out of that wastebasket. Maybe you'd rather be bum-fucked.”
“Bu-bum-fucked?” Durstman queried nervously.
“Don't act so innocent. That's what my roommate in med school called it. I told him he needed a better descriptive term.”
“Term for what?”
“He was verifying the survivability of non-native bacteria in the colon. It was purely for medical reasons, you see.”
“You fucked him?” Durstman grabbed for the wastebasket again.
“Repeatedly. And I didn't vomit every time. We were clinical about it, completely scientific.”
Durstman's eyes were saucer-sized. He averted his gaze and placed his briefcase over the top of the wastebasket to enclose the odor.
“Perhaps the degree of sexual excitement is a variable you haven't accounted for, Durstman. Have you considered that? Perhaps if I were more excited … We can consider that for the next time.”
Durstman resisted the suggestion adamantly. “I'm not getting fucked.”
“Of course not. You're so ...” The mentor made a face at the idea of fucking Durstman. “Old,” was the description he selected . “Perhaps you have a graduate assistant?” The mentor's growing interest was evident. “Someone more appealing? Either sex would do.”
Now there was a suggestion Durstman could work with. The answer burgeoned in his mind. “Hah!” he grunted aloud, attracting the attention of his mentor. “Eric would be the perfect subject.”
“The same person … with the newly elongated penis.”
“The very same,” Durstman said with total satisfaction. “And you can ask him about his experience with the treatment first hand.”
“Indeed.” The mentor seemed delighted. “Show me the pictures of him again.” He examined the various shots of Eric, face on, in profile, erect, flaccid at some length. “He's quite a specimen … Would you mind if I took these home?” His breathing seemed labored. “And the rest of the report, too, of course. I'll reread everything.” He couldn't take his eyes off the pictures of Eric.
Durstman was overjoyed and invented a Christmas carol on the spot. He perverted a traditional melody and danced about his small lab singing, “ 'Tis the week before Christmas and all through the casa, Eric's getting fucked, Caramba! Que Pasa!”
“You look like shit!” Ty told Rocky. “What's wrong?”
“The usual ...” Rocky came into the break room and grabbed a small bottle.
“I thought you were meeting Wolf after the show. So what's the problem?” Ty asked.
Rocky drank a swig of 5-Hour Extra Strength and grimaced. “Wolf and Torrey,” he said before drinking the rest of the small bottle.
“You know that stuff is like mainlining caffeine,” Ty cautioned, looking at the bottle . “And who is Torrey? Trouble?”
“I had to cancel the date. Istanbulla wants three shows tonight,” Rocky explained, blinking widely as the energy drink went down. “Torrey is Wolf's girl friend. Wait,” he quieted Ty's objections. “It gets worse. She's really cute, and they're obviously fucking.”
“A threesome?” Ty suggested skeptically.
“If only … He's hopelessly straight. I must have read all the signs wrong. Man, I feel like such an idiot.”
“Don't beat yourself up. Mistakes get made and I still love you,” Ty offered.
Rocky grinned. “You do?” And then he sobered. “Did I hurt you like Wolf hurt me?”
“No, don't worry about it. You could have I guess, 'cause I definitely was crushing on you, but I figured out it wasn't gonna happen.”
“You want to? You want it to happen?” Rocky looked willing. “We could make it happen.”
“You'd be disappointed, Rock. I'm not Wolf.”
“Nobody is. Unless I'm gonna spend me life alone, I need to get over that.
“You will.” Ty's smile was forced; he wasn't completely over his crush. Rocky didn't notice, however, being too wrapped up in his own heartache.
“You sure you don't want to mess around?” Rocky gave Ty another willing look as he got ready for his next set.
“Quit it,” Ty answered with a laugh. “Besides, I can't have you draining me; I'm shooting porn tomorrow and the director wants multiple cum shots. See you tomorrow night.”
Rocky went out for his third set and did his best, but his performance was a little forced and he allowed the customers to get a little too grabby. He heard about it from Istanbulla when he was finished.
“I've told you before - it has to be a tease. We're not running a whore house here. That last guy almost pulled your jock off.” Istanbulla tried to be severe with him; she was doing a good job of it until she ended with a wink. “If you weren't so cute, I'd fire you. What are you doing for Christmas? Want to come to a little get-together at my place?”
“Thanks, I've got an invitation,” he replied; he didn't tell her it was one he couldn't accept. No way was he going to Tahoe with Wolf and Torrey. He dressed and left the break room. At the end of the bar was the terrified kid who had asked him for coffee. The kid was still terrified; he looked away the instant he and Rocky locked eyes. Poor guy, Rocky thought.
“You still interested in getting some coffee?” he asked.
The kid was speechless. “I … er … what?”
“Coffee. I'm off for the night and I'm still a little wired. Decaf, I guess. You interested?”
“Y – y – yes. Coffee.” The kid nodded vigorously.
It turned out to be a wasted chance. They stopped at a Starbucks and got drinks, exchanged names, made a bit of small talk, and then discovered neither one of them had a place to go.
“I'll walk you to the BART,” Jess said, over most of his bashfulness. They walked down Columbus and through Chinatown. Occasionally amid the jostling Asian crowds of they would bump into each other and sometimes their hands would brush. The crowds disappeared when they got closer to the financial district. Jess spoke up, “You know my favorite place in town? Willy Woo-Woo Wong Park.”
The name made Rocky laugh and Jess mustered his courage. He pushed Rocky into a dark doorway and kissed him. In his sudden boldness he miscalculated his move. It was a sloppy kiss, half on and half off their lips; but it was passionate and real. Jess was back to being bashful when they separated. Rocky smiled and hugged him. Carefully he pulled Jess's face toward himself and executed a deliberate, perfectly-placed, and lingering kiss. When it was over they were reluctant to part; they hung onto each other enjoying an overdressed and semi-public embrace.
“If we had a place to go,” Jess whispered, “I'd do anything you want, Rocky.” He pushed his pelvis forward, hoping Rocky could feel his erection through the thickness of his quilted jacket.
Rocky guided Jess's hand to his own erection. “I wish ...” was all he said before they kissed again.
They unzipped their jackets which allowed them to put their bodies closer together. They leaned against each other, sharing their warmth in the chilly night air. Through layers of denim they felt each other's cocks, yearning and straining in frustration.
“I want to do everything for you,” Jess gasped. “I'm not that experienced, but I … I dream about you, Rocky.”
In the distance Rocky could hear footsteps approaching their doorway alcove. It was over. They walked quickly to the Montgomery Street BART. Rocky boarded an eastbound train and Jess waited on the opposite platform for a train to San Bruno.
“I need to go out tonight, Darren.” Nicky made the statement sound like a question.
“Sure. Of course. I'll sit by the fire and wait for your return, my knight errant.”
“We don't have a fireplace …” Nicky began. “Oh, you're kidding me.”
“I could burn that chair,” Darren commented, looking at a monstrosity upholstered with orange leather that wasn't even comfortable. “I could pretend we have a fireplace ...”
“What did you mean about 'errant'?” Nicky hoped Darren wasn't referring to his recent behavior.
“A hackneyed phrase. I'm reading Duns Scotus, who wrote when knighthood was in full flower. He taught a concept called 'univocity of being' that implies Godliness in men.”
“University?” Nicky asked.
“No, univocity.”
“Yeah, whatever … I'm gonna see a woman about a dog of an opera ...” Nicky left without kissing Darren goodbye. He returned to their living room and remedied his mistake. “I'm giving you a quiz on 'univocity in the bedroom' when I get back.” He left again feeling better, less neglectful.
The sale of Morrie's opera collection was probably hopeless, but he planned to meet Laura Oldfield as promised. After getting laughed at by the imperious Ms. Oldfield, he planned to meet his 'likes it rough' customer and make a quick five hundred. I can still be home by midnight, he told himself. I just hope Darren isn't planning on any sexcapades; I should be pretty wiped out by then.
The drive into town was brief, going against the flow of the grim-faced late commuters who wondered if they'd ever get home. At least Laura wasn't staying at Morrie's favorite Marriott. She had written a room number at the Fairmont on her card. He waited at a traffic light and admired her card. Chairman and CEO - so much more impressive that just a single title. Oldfield Global Investments was less impressive. He wondered just how global Laura's interests were. What the hell, he smiled, I'm gonna demand a title from Morrie. He immediately frowned. He guessed Global Asshole would be his title.
He gave his name to the desk clerk at the Fairmont and added, “Could you tell Ms. Oldfield I'm here, please.”
“No need, sir. Ms. Oldfield left a message for you. Could you wait for her in the bar and order her a Sazerac?”
Nicky sat at the bar located in a corner of a huge and mostly empty room that was an adjunct to the lobby. He sipped one of the two Sazeracs and made a face that made the bartender chuckle.
“We don't get many requests for that one,” he joked. “It's supposed to taste fiery sweet.”
“It's neither. It tastes like ...”
“Ms. Oldfield,” the bartender nodded to the new arrival.
“Honeyed panther piss, my mother used to call it,” Laura responded. Good evening, Nicholas,” she said to Nicky. “Carlo,” she included the bartender. She sipped her drink appreciatively. “It has to be rye. No bourbon substitutes.” She drank off about half the glass. “You clean up nicely,” she said to Nicky.
“The uniform … all black. Freshly cleaned,” Nicky noted.
“Enough small talk. About the opera ...”
“You're serious about the opera?” Nicky said with an expectation of quick disappointment.
“Of course. I need complete specifications by piece. Include a total weight and cube and you may have yourself a deal. Could I have that tomorrow?” She was used to getting what she wanted.
“I'm sorry, no. I don't have any information on the scenery. It will take me two days.”
She stared at him. The silence became uncomfortable.
“Laura? Are you ready?” The questioner was an older version of Nicky. Laura's escort for the evening had the same dark good looks as the younger man. Very expensive looking. Very professional looking.
“Nicky, this is Lawrence ... Lawrence, this is probably your replacement.” Laura finished her drink and stood ready to leave.
“Good luck, Nicky,” Lawrence smiled.
“Can I have those specifications in two days, please? Same time, same place,” was Laura's parting shot.
Nicky was left with his mouth slightly agape. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and closed it. He sent a quick text to Morrie asking for the details of the opera scenery. “Morrie, I may have a sale. What's the total package price?” He finished his drink and ordered another. “Vodka rocks this time, please,” he requested. “Make that a double,” he added, thinking of his next appointment. “And could you make one to go?” he further requested.
“No,” the bartender answered with a laugh. “I used to be in your business, if you can believe it,” the bartender said, sucking in his belly and puffing out his chest.
“What's my business?” Nicky asked.
“Making things happen,” the bartender winked.
The Sazerac and the vodka more than warmed him. Nicky drove carefully back to Alameda conscious of a slight alcoholic buzz. The big house on Seaview loomed. Fred, his client of the other night, answered the door. “Come in,” he said abruptly. He looked Nicky over and said, “Strip.” He left the room and returned with a scowl. “I said, strip, asshole. Put this on.”
Asshole was not what Nicky wanted to hear. “Hey, listen ...”
“Just do it. My friend will be here in a couple minutes.”
“I don't even know how this stuff works,” Nicky complained.
“Do your best,” Fred said and left Nicky to figure out how the elaborate leather harness fitted. The hardest part to figure out was what part of the arrangement of straps was supposed to cover his cock. “Nothing covers you. It's supposed to make your dick stick out,” Fred explained when he got back. “Here ...” He adjusted some straps that pulled the harness tighter and indeed made Nicky's cock stand out without an erection. Nicky looked in a mirror and saw his cock lewdly sticking out of the web of leather.
“I'm not even hard yet,” he said mesmerized by his reflection. Fred got overly friendly, adjusting the costume. “Are you gonna pay, too?” Nicky asked, warning Fred off.
“Maybe,” Fred replied ambiguously and left the room again. He returned in a few minutes outfitted like Nicky. He led a naked man in on a leash. The man's eyes remained downcast; he wore only a studded collar to which the leash was attached. Out of shape but not over the hill, the naked man cupped his cock shyly.
“This is Nicky,” Fred explained to the naked man and then he became severe. “Take your hands away from your cock,” he ordered. “Show your approval.” The naked man removed his hands and his cock sprang out half hard. “Nicky won't be pleased if that's the best you can do.” In response, the naked man stroked his cock, never taking his eyes off Nicky.
“What's his name?” Nicky asked.
“His name is not important. He wants to be fucked until he comes. He can come multiple times if you're good. Try to be good. He gives big tips if you're good.”
The naked man nodded at Fred's words; he had worked his cock up to a full erection and seemed to be awaiting orders.
“Kneel,” Nicky ordered; he felt slightly ridiculous pretending to be a leather daddy. “Suck it!” he ordered, thinking he sounded like a bad porn flick. The naked man responded eagerly, too eagerly. He gagged and backed off. “What's your name?” Nicky asked before the man resumed.
The naked man quietly replied, “Banff.”
“We need to settle the cash part, Banff.”
“Wallet's in my pants.” Banff pointed through the door to another room. “I'm good for it.”
“I like to see the cash. I like it right in front of me in a neat pile,” Nicky insisted. “It makes me cum better.” He knocked Banff's grasping hand away from his cock. “Get it.” He watched the naked man scuttle out of the room with the leash trailing behind him. A feeling of power infused Nicky. He was liking this more than he expected.
“You're pretty good,” Fred said. “Make it last as long as you can.”
“So … I fuck you first?”
“You don't fuck me at all. We both fuck him.” Fred wasn't in a mood to compromise.
“I don't know about that,” Nicky snarled. He pinched and twisted a nipple, making Fred kneel in pain.
“Yes!” Banff hissed with pleasure watching Fred's pain. He placed a small stack of bills on a table where Nicky could see it. The top bill displayed a picture of Benjamin Franklin with a silly, toothy grin hand-drawn on his face in green ink. Nicky almost laughed.
“I'm gonna like this,” he told his two subjects.
“Twist his nipple again,” Banff asked as he pinched Fred's ass hard enough to make him squeal.
“Asshole,” Fred replied and tried to knee Banff in the balls, but Banff turned away avoiding the knee. With Fred on one foot, it was easy to knock him over.
Nicky grimaced as he watched Fred go down, hard dick leading the way. “That had to hurt,” he said to nobody in particular. Fred's howl came a few seconds later. The naked man went into a crouch and jumped on Fred before he could recover. Fred howled again.
“Shut up, Fred, that's only two fingers,” Banff yelled. “Wait for the whole fist.” He turned to Nicky and in a polite and rational tone said, “Twisting his tit was genius.” And then he laughed as he roughly tried to get a third finger into Fred's asshole.
Fred sobbed in real pain, saying only, “Use some lube, baby.”
Banff complied, squirting a slick liquid half way up his arm. He eyed Nicky again and added, “Come on, kid. Earn your money. Fuck me.”
The final configuration ended up being Nicky fucking Banff who was fisting Fred who was sucking Banff. When it was over, Banff helpfully explained that Fred was much tighter since his surgery. “Too bad they couldn't have added all that asshole to your dick!” he laughed at Fred.
“Fucker!” Fred aimed a kick and connected this time.
Banff was still sucking wind as he nodded goodnight to Nicky. “You're coming back, right?”
Rory,
So, is THIS Banff the same Ben the junkyard man?
My head is spinning a bit from all of the action and players today.
Tim and Neil reconnect, briefly, with Walden, FKA Long - while talking to the Great Canadian Confusion Weigo.
And poor, poor Dr. Durstman, having to give head and be in fear of getting butt-fucked - until he has "inspiration" in suggesting Eric's ass for the exercise - and it's apparent the mentor is all for that.
Fred, Nicky, Banff - and whatever Mrs. Oldfield's leachery has in mind. While Darren sits at home.
Our little CUMmunity of mayhem . . .
So, is THIS Banff the same Ben the junkyard man?
My head is spinning a bit from all of the action and players today.
Tim and Neil reconnect, briefly, with Walden, FKA Long - while talking to the Great Canadian Confusion Weigo.
And poor, poor Dr. Durstman, having to give head and be in fear of getting butt-fucked - until he has "inspiration" in suggesting Eric's ass for the exercise - and it's apparent the mentor is all for that.
Fred, Nicky, Banff - and whatever Mrs. Oldfield's leachery has in mind. While Darren sits at home.
Our little CUMmunity of mayhem . . .
My heads been stuck back in the '60's w/ BS&T a bit lately.
Spinnin' Wheel, got to go round . . .,
Spinnin' Wheel, got to go round . . .,
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Sixty-Three
'Twas the night before Christmas and things were a mess. The senior Kearnys and Wittelsbachs were like oil and water. Everybody tried but they just didn't mix. Heiko's parents were totally at home skiing; Tom's just wanted to have a glass or two around the fire. And it seemed as if Wolf and Torrey rarely came out of the bedroom.
“Wolf, you've got to help out. We need a little fun here,” Heiko insisted; but Wolf just yawned impressively and said he needed a nap.
They exchanged Christmas presents at midnight. The first embarrassment was nobody had anything for their surprise guest Torrey. Heiko wrapped a glass Christmas ornament for her. It was pretty enough, but obviously make-shift. Then Tom's father compared a pair of elaborate antique beer steins from Heiko's parents to something he had once won at a church bazaar. To cap it off, Wolf and Torrey were sharing an ottoman that wasn't made for two and Wolf's erection, as framed by his light tan trousers, stood out in the glow from the fireplace. Nobody knew where to look. Unbeknownst to Wolf, the outline of his cock positively loomed in the room.
“It was a beautiful idea, Tom,” Heiko said when at last everybody said good night and they got into bed.
“And now everybody knows what Wolf is workin' with,” Tom joked. Heiko just grimaced at the thought. “You're bigger,” Tom whispered in his lover's ear. “You're better.” He kissed Heiko. “We can't let Torrey be the only one getting fucked tonight.”
She wasn't. While Wolf's anatomy was not discussed by the two sets of parents, it was noticed. Indeed, it proved to be inspirational. At breakfast four couples at last relaxed in the afterglow of a very pleasant night for all. Suddenly, the talk was easy; they joked about everything. Heiko's dad brought up the subject of a pet rooster that Wolf had when he was young. Just as with 'cock' in English the German word for rooster can also refer to a penis. The ribaldry was subtle but it turned Wolf's face as red as the bows on the Christmas tree. And suddenly they were a sort of family, a distinctly modern version of a family.
Darren called and was instantly invited to Z's place for Christmas eve. Since Craig was spending Christmas with his children, Z had planned to be alone and was glad to have Darren for company. They began with childhood reminiscences but then turned to more recent events over the food.
“Terrine de boeuf en gelee,” Z announced as he set the dish down. “In English, potted beef.” He cut slices and poured glasses of pinot noir.
“Potted beef sounds terrible, tastes great,” Darren complimented his brother.
“It's really more of an appetizer, but with bread and some cold relishes, I figured ...”
“It's perfect, Z.”
“I was glad when you called. Nice to have company on a holiday eve,” Z said, leaving the question of where Nicky was open. He sipped his wine and waited.
“Z, when did you know your thing with Eric was over?”
“The day it started? No, not really.” Z pondered an answer. “It totally shocked me when he left; but the signs were there. We got interested in different things. The sex got to be routine and then less frequent. Then there were nights apart when we could have been – should have been together. I blame Eric, but it wasn't totally his fault. ”
“I have no idea where Nicky is tonight. He just said, 'I'm going out. Business.' That was his only explanation. He just walked out right before I called you and I don't know when he's coming back.”
“Darren, that was a real ordeal he went through in China. Maybe he's not over it. Maybe he's ...”
“Maybe he's feeling sorry for himself - is what I think.” Darren took a big swallow of wine. “Suddenly he's resentful of me making more money than he does.”
“Darren, you make a LOT of money. I'm almost resentful of you making so much money, while I'm slaving away in a mediocre restaurant. Nicky's just going through a rough patch. He'll get something going and then your success won't bother him.”
“But I figure my income will last only for a while. What I really want to do is be a philosopher. One of these days I'm going quit working for Rory and we know philosophers don't get paid much.”
“Do they get paid at all?” Z asked.
Darren grinned. “I don't know. That's why I'm saving my money. So why are you slaving away? Isn't Craig doing ok?”
“I can't ask him support me, Darren. We don't have any kind of understanding about stuff like that.”
“But ...” Darren pursued.
“But ...” Z continued, “He wants us to get a bigger place. And I'm gonna work for Cal's sports camp. They swear that was Rory's idea, but I'm not so sure. Maybe it's because Craig put up some money to finance the camp.”
“I don't think so,” Darren inserted. “Rory put up more. He said Cal's football camp last summer was very profitable – in absolute terms the profit was small but it was a huge return on Cal's investment. Can I have more wine?”
Z poured. “Still, I don't want to lean on Craig. He's got money, but he's supporting his kids and I don't even know how much he has.” Z cleared away the dinner plates.
“He's so sweet around you. Like he's afraid you'll break in his hands if he isn't super careful. Do you love him?”
“Not like Eric – there will never be anything like that. But, in a way different way, I do. I really do. At least I keep telling myself that and I'm starting to believe it.” Z smiled at the thought.
“And I'm starting to think Nicky is history.”
“Poires Cardinal!” Z said, putting the dish of bright red pears on the table.
“My God, Z! Who ever thought you'd be a such a good cook?”
“I made the terrine for whenever Craig gets back and the pears were easy. Skin 'em and dump some raspberries on top.”
“I don't think so,” Darren said, tasting a forkful of the poached pear. “It's a perfect combination and I bet it was a lot of work.”
“A good host would probably give you port with the pear, but I don't have any.”
“Should we go see Mom and Dad tomorrow, do you think?”
“Do they want to see us, do you think?” Z asked back.
“Maybe, Mom would.”
Z raised his glass. “Where would the world be without moms.” They drank. “Yeah let's do it. Around one? You drive, huh? The Audi still pisses Dad off.”
“I earned that car the hard way,” Darren laughed. “Fuckin' an old fat guy.”
“Yeah, but you shouldn't have told Dad.”
“He asked. Don't ask if you don't want to know the answer.” The brothers laughed.
“Can't we take it easy? Who's going to be gambling on Christmas eve? Your program seems to be working well. Take a day off.” Walden was surprised by Brian's early morning arrival at the office.
“I'm not here to work on the program,” Brian answered.
“Oh, yeah? Why are you here then? Take the day off.”
“Um, that's ok. How did we do last night?” Brian asked, looking over Walden's shoulder. While Walden opened the meter applet Brian rubbed his pelvis against the back of the seated man's upper arm. The meter shower good usage. “Nice,” Brian commented.
“Brian you're rubbing against me. It's hard to type.”
“You want me to stop?” Walden turned in his seat and looked up into Brian's eyes. “I was hoping you might want to do more,” Brian continued. “Like the other day. I liked what we did the other day.” Brian stood at Walden's side without moving, so tempting, the front of his jeans looking so full. “Go ahead, Walden,” he coaxed.
With a half gasp - half sob, Walden extended his hand and touched the front of Brian's jeans. The material felt soft from frequent washings; the cock inside felt hard. His nervous hands opened the waist and tugged apart the fly. The buttons made a soft popping sound as they slipped out of their eyelets. Walden pushed past the denim and felt the softness of Brian's underwear. Brian pressed his cock forward into Walden's hand. He sighed as Walden squeezed.
“Hurry up,” Brian said with impatience. He pushed the interfering clothing down to mid-thigh, letting his cock spring out. And then, “Ahhh!” as Walden sucked the eager man's cock into his mouth, continuing until it was fully lodged in his throat. “Yesss!” Brian approved. “You're so fuckin' hot, Walden.”
It continued with a hard and hurried fuck on the dusty old sofa and ended with a few sneezes generated by the dust they raised.
“I liked that, Bri,” Walden lay back with his wet cock deflating, still feeling the glow of orgasm.
“Yeah, sure. I did, too.” Brian was already fastening his jeans. “Where's my shirt?” he asked himself. “Ah, here it is. Aren't you getting dressed?” he asked Walden. “Somebody might come in.” He tossed the rag he used to wipe the cum off himself to Brian.
“Like who?” Brian threw the rag away.
Brian shrugged. “I don't know. Anybody. The mail man.” Brian put his socks on and looked for his shoes.
“What's your hurry, Bri. A quickie and you're gone again?”
“Basically, yes. I like getting off and getting on with it.”
“On with what?” Walden asked.
“On with life. Whatever. You think I could take a cash draw? I want to get Ann a present.”
“Yeah, I guess we can do that. Two-fifty each?”
“How about four hundred? I want to get her a nice ...” Brian wasn't specific about the gift.
“Yeah, sure,” Walden said and tried to hug Brian.
“Walden, we can't be getting sloppy about this.” Brian pulled away. In response to Walden's crestfallen look, Brian said, “I told you this wouldn't be fair for you.”
“Well, you were right.” Walden changed the subject. “I'm gonna put the poker on-line and see how we do. It should be a quiet night. If it bombs, nobody will notice.”
Two hours later, when Bo and Finn arrived, Walden recounted his morning to them. They shook their head while they took off shoes and socks. “Pretty unfeeling,” Finn sympathized. “Kinda the way you used to be,” Bo added.
“Pay back,” Walden admitted, shaking his head. He left the office to his horny young friends and went for a walk. He stopped in his landlord's store, said hello, and looked around. He was surprised to hear the rhythmic noises coming from above.
“Is it that noticeable?” Walden asked Ben.
“Yep. No secrets here.”
“Sorry.”
“'S ok. I never have any customers anyway,” Ben replied while he continued to leaf through a magazine for antique collectors. “I'll say this. You and the other guy are quick about it. These dudes can go for hours.” The groaning of the ceiling beams got louder.
“How do you survive on no customers?”
“I get a nice price for what I do sell.”
“What about that sofa? How much for that? It looks ...” He paused while someone overhead climaxed in a rat-a-tat beat. “... quieter.”
Ben grinned at Walden's choice of word. “Two and a quarter. The upholstery is almost perfect. Just one stain on the back of a cushion.”
Walden walked toward the front of the store and inspected the sofa. While he checked it out, the bell announced the arrival of another customer. The arrival walked directly to the back of the store, held a brief conversation with Ben, and then left just as quickly.
“I'll take it,” Ben said. “For one seventy-five?”
“You drive a hard bargain, kid. It's yours. See? Two customers in ten minutes. Merry Christmas to me.”
The groaning of the ceiling beams began anew overhead. “Uh, as soon as these guys are done, I'll get 'em to help me carry it upstairs.”
Ben cocked his head and listened. “This guy is a maestro. Steady beat and then he varies it. Hear that? You kids have it so easy. When I was your age, finding a place to fuck was impossible.”
Walden appreciated the tolerance of his landlord. The trouble was spending Christmas eve alone on a sofa in a bleak office warmed mainly by heat coming off the electronics.
Nicky offered refreshments and helped with baggage handling for Nash and Steve. There were fewer passengers coming back from Monterrey, just one flight; Steve a tacked on leg to SFO for people flying red-eyes home for Christmas morning in the east. As demeaning as it was, Nicky didn't refuse any tips.
“They don't tip me,” Nash complained. “They assume I'm management. What about that sale of Morrie's stuff? Can I help you with that.”
“Thanks.” Nicky was surprised by gratuitous Nash's offer.
“The loyal son of a lousy father,” Nash grinned.
“I gave Laura Oldfield the details of the merchandise and the price, which, for your never-generous father, seems pretty cheap. At least I thought so, but what do I know?” Nicky's qualifier made it sound as if he doubted his ability to price anything.
“Don't run yourself down, Nick. It'll get better.”
Nicky wanted to pour it all out to Nash, but there wasn't time. “Thanks, you're pretty sweet considering what an asshole I was when we first met.” Nicky cringed; his own words sounded pathetic to him.
“Yeah, well, you put up with a lot,” Nash left it at that and then smiled to Steve who had finished up the flight logs. “Done?” he asked. Steve's answer was a kiss.
“Thanks, Nicky, have a merry Christmas,” Steve called out as Nicky left the hangar.
“Twenty bucks an hour for two hours,” Nicky calculated as he drove down Doolittle, “plus twenty-five in tips. Chump change,” he thought, “But at least I don't feel dirty when it's over.” He looked at his grimy hands on the wheel and his smudged face in the mirror. He was dirty, but he didn't feel dirty – an important difference. He parked in front of the big house on Seaview and walked to the door.
“Dirty … scruffy … You look hot!” Fred said approvingly, ushering Nicky in the door. He sniffed the air. “You smell like motor oil, but that's ok, I guess.”
“Better than smelling like stale beer and drying cum,” Nicky said as he accepted a cold beer.
“So tonight, I thought we'd do a rerun of last time ...”
“That didn't work out so well for you - last time,” Nicky observed. “Your balls ok? He kicked you pretty hard.”
“He gets riled up sometimes. Hard to predict.”
“But you love it,” Nicky commented.
“I love him, if that's what you mean.”
“Different strokes ...” Nicky said without judgment or understanding.
Banff was hard to predict. This Christmas eve, he wanted to dominate. He fucked Nicky in a more or less gentlemanly manner without cumming and then, leaving Nicky hard and horny, he turned his attention to Fred and pounded Fred into the floorboards in a variety of positions. “Jack off,” he ordered Nicky. “Spread 'em more. Let me watch you stroke it. Stick a finger up your ass. I'm getting close … Cum with me. Shoot in his face.”
Nicky shot in Fred's mouth while Banff shot in his ass. The five hundred made the dirty feeling tolerable. The odor of shit, beer, cum, and motor oil filled the truck as Nicky drive home. He shivered. It was cold with the window open.
“We're Jewish, that's why,” Seth told Lemuel. “It's just another night.”
“Well, I'm going to hang my socks in the kitchen. You never know ...”
“Don't tell me you believe in Santa Claus.”
“No, but … you just never know … hoping doesn't hurt.” Lemuel went to bed. His light stayed on for a while. He was reading 'The Hunger Games' and was old enough to enjoy scaring himself.
“I know exactly how he feels. It sucks to be Jewish at Christmas. But he's got to learn,” Seth said quietly to Andrew.
“Well, I'm not Jewish and I don't see why he has to learn any more about things being sucky. His parents are lesson enough.” Andrew got up and quietly opened a closet door. He got out bag after bag. One was marked Macy's, one Toy's R Us, one Old Navy, one Abercrombie and Fitch. There were more.
“Abercrombie and Fitch!” Seth laughed quietly.
“He's a very good looking ten-year-old and he's going to be an even handsomer young man. A little preppy influence never hurt anyone. Start him early.” Andrew unrolled a large lithograph of a beautiful Christmas tree and taped it to the wall, behind the presents.
“You're right. He doesn't look Jewish at all.”
“I don't know about Jewish. I think he looks smart and aware and eager and ...” Andrew sat down.
“Are you crying?” Seth asked.
“I love that boy and nothing bad is going to happen to him.” Andrew sounded fierce and determined.
Seth pulled him close. “You're the best father I've ever seen. You give him everything without spoiling him. You make him work for it. He has to measure up.”
“He DOES measure up.” Andrew had to stop talking before his speech turned to sobs.
“I know, baby. I love him, too.” Seth was soothing, stroking, and petting his lover.
“You're not sorry?”
“No. Not sorry at all. Let's go to bed,” Seth suggested. He got up and busied himself with checking the lock on the door, turning out lights, and putting a few things away. He was surprised by a knock on the door.
“Seth Behar?”
“Yes.”
“I have a court order to remove Lemuel Laven from this house. You and your partner are charged with conduct contributing to ...” Seth's head spun hearing the words.
“No, it a lie!” Andrew insisted.
Lurline stood behind the court official and made herself known. “He's the one, Officer. He did perverted things to Lemmie with a banana. I have the evidence!”
“No!” A Christmas Eve of horror began for Seth, Andrew, and most of all for Lemuel.
Neil had an irrepressible grin on his face. “What?” Jerry kept asking but got no answer, just more smiles. “Neil ...” he tried impatience. That didn't work either.
“Not telling,” Neil said. “Come on; get ready, or we'll be late,” he admonished.
They went to Christ Church on Santa Clara Avenue. “Because Episcopalians always have the best music,” Neil had insisted. They spent the next two and a half hours walking the neighborhood singing Christmas carols and now and then getting their mugs refilled with a variety of warming drinks. Another hour of good fellowship at the church and their Christmas Eve was over.
“Don't you want to stay for the midnight service?” Jerry asked.
“I like the music, not the preaching,” Neil said. They went home. And still Neil was grinning. The grin came from more than a couple of mugs of wassail.
“You've been crazy as a loco bug all night,” Jerry said. “What's up?”
“What's a loco bug? Neil teased.
“Something like you with more legs,” Jerry laughed and gave up. Maybe Christmas morning would bring him the sun glasses he had been hinting for. They went to bed and made love. The wassail did improve that part of the night. As they lay quietly, from different directions bells began ringing on the island.
“It's Christmas,” Neil said. “You want your present?”
“Sure,” Jerry agreed, feeling sleepy for the first time that night.
“Here,” Neil said and gave him a piece of paper.
“What is it ?”
“Turn the light on, dummy.”
Jerry reached for the side table and the light switch. His bare ass peaked out of the blankets and Neil kissed it. Jerry giggled and snuggled back into the covers. He read the paper and drew in his breath in awe. “It's a marriage license.”
“Yep, got it a couple of days ago.”
“Didn't you need me to go with you?”
“Apparently not,” Neil said with pride.
“Are we going to use it?”
“Of course. It cost ninety-six dollars.”
“When?” Jerry whispered.
“Groundhog Day, my handsome lover and soon to be husband. Are you happy? I couldn't afford sun glasses.”
“Neil … I don't know what to say ...”
“Say yes again. I like it when you say yes.”
'Twas the night before Christmas and things were a mess. The senior Kearnys and Wittelsbachs were like oil and water. Everybody tried but they just didn't mix. Heiko's parents were totally at home skiing; Tom's just wanted to have a glass or two around the fire. And it seemed as if Wolf and Torrey rarely came out of the bedroom.
“Wolf, you've got to help out. We need a little fun here,” Heiko insisted; but Wolf just yawned impressively and said he needed a nap.
They exchanged Christmas presents at midnight. The first embarrassment was nobody had anything for their surprise guest Torrey. Heiko wrapped a glass Christmas ornament for her. It was pretty enough, but obviously make-shift. Then Tom's father compared a pair of elaborate antique beer steins from Heiko's parents to something he had once won at a church bazaar. To cap it off, Wolf and Torrey were sharing an ottoman that wasn't made for two and Wolf's erection, as framed by his light tan trousers, stood out in the glow from the fireplace. Nobody knew where to look. Unbeknownst to Wolf, the outline of his cock positively loomed in the room.
“It was a beautiful idea, Tom,” Heiko said when at last everybody said good night and they got into bed.
“And now everybody knows what Wolf is workin' with,” Tom joked. Heiko just grimaced at the thought. “You're bigger,” Tom whispered in his lover's ear. “You're better.” He kissed Heiko. “We can't let Torrey be the only one getting fucked tonight.”
She wasn't. While Wolf's anatomy was not discussed by the two sets of parents, it was noticed. Indeed, it proved to be inspirational. At breakfast four couples at last relaxed in the afterglow of a very pleasant night for all. Suddenly, the talk was easy; they joked about everything. Heiko's dad brought up the subject of a pet rooster that Wolf had when he was young. Just as with 'cock' in English the German word for rooster can also refer to a penis. The ribaldry was subtle but it turned Wolf's face as red as the bows on the Christmas tree. And suddenly they were a sort of family, a distinctly modern version of a family.
Darren called and was instantly invited to Z's place for Christmas eve. Since Craig was spending Christmas with his children, Z had planned to be alone and was glad to have Darren for company. They began with childhood reminiscences but then turned to more recent events over the food.
“Terrine de boeuf en gelee,” Z announced as he set the dish down. “In English, potted beef.” He cut slices and poured glasses of pinot noir.
“Potted beef sounds terrible, tastes great,” Darren complimented his brother.
“It's really more of an appetizer, but with bread and some cold relishes, I figured ...”
“It's perfect, Z.”
“I was glad when you called. Nice to have company on a holiday eve,” Z said, leaving the question of where Nicky was open. He sipped his wine and waited.
“Z, when did you know your thing with Eric was over?”
“The day it started? No, not really.” Z pondered an answer. “It totally shocked me when he left; but the signs were there. We got interested in different things. The sex got to be routine and then less frequent. Then there were nights apart when we could have been – should have been together. I blame Eric, but it wasn't totally his fault. ”
“I have no idea where Nicky is tonight. He just said, 'I'm going out. Business.' That was his only explanation. He just walked out right before I called you and I don't know when he's coming back.”
“Darren, that was a real ordeal he went through in China. Maybe he's not over it. Maybe he's ...”
“Maybe he's feeling sorry for himself - is what I think.” Darren took a big swallow of wine. “Suddenly he's resentful of me making more money than he does.”
“Darren, you make a LOT of money. I'm almost resentful of you making so much money, while I'm slaving away in a mediocre restaurant. Nicky's just going through a rough patch. He'll get something going and then your success won't bother him.”
“But I figure my income will last only for a while. What I really want to do is be a philosopher. One of these days I'm going quit working for Rory and we know philosophers don't get paid much.”
“Do they get paid at all?” Z asked.
Darren grinned. “I don't know. That's why I'm saving my money. So why are you slaving away? Isn't Craig doing ok?”
“I can't ask him support me, Darren. We don't have any kind of understanding about stuff like that.”
“But ...” Darren pursued.
“But ...” Z continued, “He wants us to get a bigger place. And I'm gonna work for Cal's sports camp. They swear that was Rory's idea, but I'm not so sure. Maybe it's because Craig put up some money to finance the camp.”
“I don't think so,” Darren inserted. “Rory put up more. He said Cal's football camp last summer was very profitable – in absolute terms the profit was small but it was a huge return on Cal's investment. Can I have more wine?”
Z poured. “Still, I don't want to lean on Craig. He's got money, but he's supporting his kids and I don't even know how much he has.” Z cleared away the dinner plates.
“He's so sweet around you. Like he's afraid you'll break in his hands if he isn't super careful. Do you love him?”
“Not like Eric – there will never be anything like that. But, in a way different way, I do. I really do. At least I keep telling myself that and I'm starting to believe it.” Z smiled at the thought.
“And I'm starting to think Nicky is history.”
“Poires Cardinal!” Z said, putting the dish of bright red pears on the table.
“My God, Z! Who ever thought you'd be a such a good cook?”
“I made the terrine for whenever Craig gets back and the pears were easy. Skin 'em and dump some raspberries on top.”
“I don't think so,” Darren said, tasting a forkful of the poached pear. “It's a perfect combination and I bet it was a lot of work.”
“A good host would probably give you port with the pear, but I don't have any.”
“Should we go see Mom and Dad tomorrow, do you think?”
“Do they want to see us, do you think?” Z asked back.
“Maybe, Mom would.”
Z raised his glass. “Where would the world be without moms.” They drank. “Yeah let's do it. Around one? You drive, huh? The Audi still pisses Dad off.”
“I earned that car the hard way,” Darren laughed. “Fuckin' an old fat guy.”
“Yeah, but you shouldn't have told Dad.”
“He asked. Don't ask if you don't want to know the answer.” The brothers laughed.
“Can't we take it easy? Who's going to be gambling on Christmas eve? Your program seems to be working well. Take a day off.” Walden was surprised by Brian's early morning arrival at the office.
“I'm not here to work on the program,” Brian answered.
“Oh, yeah? Why are you here then? Take the day off.”
“Um, that's ok. How did we do last night?” Brian asked, looking over Walden's shoulder. While Walden opened the meter applet Brian rubbed his pelvis against the back of the seated man's upper arm. The meter shower good usage. “Nice,” Brian commented.
“Brian you're rubbing against me. It's hard to type.”
“You want me to stop?” Walden turned in his seat and looked up into Brian's eyes. “I was hoping you might want to do more,” Brian continued. “Like the other day. I liked what we did the other day.” Brian stood at Walden's side without moving, so tempting, the front of his jeans looking so full. “Go ahead, Walden,” he coaxed.
With a half gasp - half sob, Walden extended his hand and touched the front of Brian's jeans. The material felt soft from frequent washings; the cock inside felt hard. His nervous hands opened the waist and tugged apart the fly. The buttons made a soft popping sound as they slipped out of their eyelets. Walden pushed past the denim and felt the softness of Brian's underwear. Brian pressed his cock forward into Walden's hand. He sighed as Walden squeezed.
“Hurry up,” Brian said with impatience. He pushed the interfering clothing down to mid-thigh, letting his cock spring out. And then, “Ahhh!” as Walden sucked the eager man's cock into his mouth, continuing until it was fully lodged in his throat. “Yesss!” Brian approved. “You're so fuckin' hot, Walden.”
It continued with a hard and hurried fuck on the dusty old sofa and ended with a few sneezes generated by the dust they raised.
“I liked that, Bri,” Walden lay back with his wet cock deflating, still feeling the glow of orgasm.
“Yeah, sure. I did, too.” Brian was already fastening his jeans. “Where's my shirt?” he asked himself. “Ah, here it is. Aren't you getting dressed?” he asked Walden. “Somebody might come in.” He tossed the rag he used to wipe the cum off himself to Brian.
“Like who?” Brian threw the rag away.
Brian shrugged. “I don't know. Anybody. The mail man.” Brian put his socks on and looked for his shoes.
“What's your hurry, Bri. A quickie and you're gone again?”
“Basically, yes. I like getting off and getting on with it.”
“On with what?” Walden asked.
“On with life. Whatever. You think I could take a cash draw? I want to get Ann a present.”
“Yeah, I guess we can do that. Two-fifty each?”
“How about four hundred? I want to get her a nice ...” Brian wasn't specific about the gift.
“Yeah, sure,” Walden said and tried to hug Brian.
“Walden, we can't be getting sloppy about this.” Brian pulled away. In response to Walden's crestfallen look, Brian said, “I told you this wouldn't be fair for you.”
“Well, you were right.” Walden changed the subject. “I'm gonna put the poker on-line and see how we do. It should be a quiet night. If it bombs, nobody will notice.”
Two hours later, when Bo and Finn arrived, Walden recounted his morning to them. They shook their head while they took off shoes and socks. “Pretty unfeeling,” Finn sympathized. “Kinda the way you used to be,” Bo added.
“Pay back,” Walden admitted, shaking his head. He left the office to his horny young friends and went for a walk. He stopped in his landlord's store, said hello, and looked around. He was surprised to hear the rhythmic noises coming from above.
“Is it that noticeable?” Walden asked Ben.
“Yep. No secrets here.”
“Sorry.”
“'S ok. I never have any customers anyway,” Ben replied while he continued to leaf through a magazine for antique collectors. “I'll say this. You and the other guy are quick about it. These dudes can go for hours.” The groaning of the ceiling beams got louder.
“How do you survive on no customers?”
“I get a nice price for what I do sell.”
“What about that sofa? How much for that? It looks ...” He paused while someone overhead climaxed in a rat-a-tat beat. “... quieter.”
Ben grinned at Walden's choice of word. “Two and a quarter. The upholstery is almost perfect. Just one stain on the back of a cushion.”
Walden walked toward the front of the store and inspected the sofa. While he checked it out, the bell announced the arrival of another customer. The arrival walked directly to the back of the store, held a brief conversation with Ben, and then left just as quickly.
“I'll take it,” Ben said. “For one seventy-five?”
“You drive a hard bargain, kid. It's yours. See? Two customers in ten minutes. Merry Christmas to me.”
The groaning of the ceiling beams began anew overhead. “Uh, as soon as these guys are done, I'll get 'em to help me carry it upstairs.”
Ben cocked his head and listened. “This guy is a maestro. Steady beat and then he varies it. Hear that? You kids have it so easy. When I was your age, finding a place to fuck was impossible.”
Walden appreciated the tolerance of his landlord. The trouble was spending Christmas eve alone on a sofa in a bleak office warmed mainly by heat coming off the electronics.
Nicky offered refreshments and helped with baggage handling for Nash and Steve. There were fewer passengers coming back from Monterrey, just one flight; Steve a tacked on leg to SFO for people flying red-eyes home for Christmas morning in the east. As demeaning as it was, Nicky didn't refuse any tips.
“They don't tip me,” Nash complained. “They assume I'm management. What about that sale of Morrie's stuff? Can I help you with that.”
“Thanks.” Nicky was surprised by gratuitous Nash's offer.
“The loyal son of a lousy father,” Nash grinned.
“I gave Laura Oldfield the details of the merchandise and the price, which, for your never-generous father, seems pretty cheap. At least I thought so, but what do I know?” Nicky's qualifier made it sound as if he doubted his ability to price anything.
“Don't run yourself down, Nick. It'll get better.”
Nicky wanted to pour it all out to Nash, but there wasn't time. “Thanks, you're pretty sweet considering what an asshole I was when we first met.” Nicky cringed; his own words sounded pathetic to him.
“Yeah, well, you put up with a lot,” Nash left it at that and then smiled to Steve who had finished up the flight logs. “Done?” he asked. Steve's answer was a kiss.
“Thanks, Nicky, have a merry Christmas,” Steve called out as Nicky left the hangar.
“Twenty bucks an hour for two hours,” Nicky calculated as he drove down Doolittle, “plus twenty-five in tips. Chump change,” he thought, “But at least I don't feel dirty when it's over.” He looked at his grimy hands on the wheel and his smudged face in the mirror. He was dirty, but he didn't feel dirty – an important difference. He parked in front of the big house on Seaview and walked to the door.
“Dirty … scruffy … You look hot!” Fred said approvingly, ushering Nicky in the door. He sniffed the air. “You smell like motor oil, but that's ok, I guess.”
“Better than smelling like stale beer and drying cum,” Nicky said as he accepted a cold beer.
“So tonight, I thought we'd do a rerun of last time ...”
“That didn't work out so well for you - last time,” Nicky observed. “Your balls ok? He kicked you pretty hard.”
“He gets riled up sometimes. Hard to predict.”
“But you love it,” Nicky commented.
“I love him, if that's what you mean.”
“Different strokes ...” Nicky said without judgment or understanding.
Banff was hard to predict. This Christmas eve, he wanted to dominate. He fucked Nicky in a more or less gentlemanly manner without cumming and then, leaving Nicky hard and horny, he turned his attention to Fred and pounded Fred into the floorboards in a variety of positions. “Jack off,” he ordered Nicky. “Spread 'em more. Let me watch you stroke it. Stick a finger up your ass. I'm getting close … Cum with me. Shoot in his face.”
Nicky shot in Fred's mouth while Banff shot in his ass. The five hundred made the dirty feeling tolerable. The odor of shit, beer, cum, and motor oil filled the truck as Nicky drive home. He shivered. It was cold with the window open.
“We're Jewish, that's why,” Seth told Lemuel. “It's just another night.”
“Well, I'm going to hang my socks in the kitchen. You never know ...”
“Don't tell me you believe in Santa Claus.”
“No, but … you just never know … hoping doesn't hurt.” Lemuel went to bed. His light stayed on for a while. He was reading 'The Hunger Games' and was old enough to enjoy scaring himself.
“I know exactly how he feels. It sucks to be Jewish at Christmas. But he's got to learn,” Seth said quietly to Andrew.
“Well, I'm not Jewish and I don't see why he has to learn any more about things being sucky. His parents are lesson enough.” Andrew got up and quietly opened a closet door. He got out bag after bag. One was marked Macy's, one Toy's R Us, one Old Navy, one Abercrombie and Fitch. There were more.
“Abercrombie and Fitch!” Seth laughed quietly.
“He's a very good looking ten-year-old and he's going to be an even handsomer young man. A little preppy influence never hurt anyone. Start him early.” Andrew unrolled a large lithograph of a beautiful Christmas tree and taped it to the wall, behind the presents.
“You're right. He doesn't look Jewish at all.”
“I don't know about Jewish. I think he looks smart and aware and eager and ...” Andrew sat down.
“Are you crying?” Seth asked.
“I love that boy and nothing bad is going to happen to him.” Andrew sounded fierce and determined.
Seth pulled him close. “You're the best father I've ever seen. You give him everything without spoiling him. You make him work for it. He has to measure up.”
“He DOES measure up.” Andrew had to stop talking before his speech turned to sobs.
“I know, baby. I love him, too.” Seth was soothing, stroking, and petting his lover.
“You're not sorry?”
“No. Not sorry at all. Let's go to bed,” Seth suggested. He got up and busied himself with checking the lock on the door, turning out lights, and putting a few things away. He was surprised by a knock on the door.
“Seth Behar?”
“Yes.”
“I have a court order to remove Lemuel Laven from this house. You and your partner are charged with conduct contributing to ...” Seth's head spun hearing the words.
“No, it a lie!” Andrew insisted.
Lurline stood behind the court official and made herself known. “He's the one, Officer. He did perverted things to Lemmie with a banana. I have the evidence!”
“No!” A Christmas Eve of horror began for Seth, Andrew, and most of all for Lemuel.
Neil had an irrepressible grin on his face. “What?” Jerry kept asking but got no answer, just more smiles. “Neil ...” he tried impatience. That didn't work either.
“Not telling,” Neil said. “Come on; get ready, or we'll be late,” he admonished.
They went to Christ Church on Santa Clara Avenue. “Because Episcopalians always have the best music,” Neil had insisted. They spent the next two and a half hours walking the neighborhood singing Christmas carols and now and then getting their mugs refilled with a variety of warming drinks. Another hour of good fellowship at the church and their Christmas Eve was over.
“Don't you want to stay for the midnight service?” Jerry asked.
“I like the music, not the preaching,” Neil said. They went home. And still Neil was grinning. The grin came from more than a couple of mugs of wassail.
“You've been crazy as a loco bug all night,” Jerry said. “What's up?”
“What's a loco bug? Neil teased.
“Something like you with more legs,” Jerry laughed and gave up. Maybe Christmas morning would bring him the sun glasses he had been hinting for. They went to bed and made love. The wassail did improve that part of the night. As they lay quietly, from different directions bells began ringing on the island.
“It's Christmas,” Neil said. “You want your present?”
“Sure,” Jerry agreed, feeling sleepy for the first time that night.
“Here,” Neil said and gave him a piece of paper.
“What is it ?”
“Turn the light on, dummy.”
Jerry reached for the side table and the light switch. His bare ass peaked out of the blankets and Neil kissed it. Jerry giggled and snuggled back into the covers. He read the paper and drew in his breath in awe. “It's a marriage license.”
“Yep, got it a couple of days ago.”
“Didn't you need me to go with you?”
“Apparently not,” Neil said with pride.
“Are we going to use it?”
“Of course. It cost ninety-six dollars.”
“When?” Jerry whispered.
“Groundhog Day, my handsome lover and soon to be husband. Are you happy? I couldn't afford sun glasses.”
“Neil … I don't know what to say ...”
“Say yes again. I like it when you say yes.”
Wow, very poignant.
Lurline is a fucking piece of work. She'll do anything to fuck her poor son's life up.
That section is just so strikingly nasty.
As for Tom & Heiko - and company - glad Wolf was able to help stimulate the intimacy of parents and brother all, lol.
Darren and Z - and life history - lol
Brian & Walden, and Bo & Finn, and Ben getting the sound effects!
And then Neil & Jerry getting ready to go to the chapel and get married . . .
Lurline is a fucking piece of work. She'll do anything to fuck her poor son's life up.
That section is just so strikingly nasty.
As for Tom & Heiko - and company - glad Wolf was able to help stimulate the intimacy of parents and brother all, lol.
Darren and Z - and life history - lol
Brian & Walden, and Bo & Finn, and Ben getting the sound effects!
And then Neil & Jerry getting ready to go to the chapel and get married . . .
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Rory,
Don't worry about the time shift - it was more than just a routine installment.
Lent is only a couple weeks on - so the Christmas season isn't all that old.
Don't worry about the time shift - it was more than just a routine installment.
Lent is only a couple weeks on - so the Christmas season isn't all that old.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
On the road again ... sorry for the delay.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Sixty-Four
One week was all it took. Rocky was a changed man. After his enjoyable but frustrating first encounter with Jess, he accepted Jess's offer the next night.
“I got a room, Rocky. After your second set, we could ... if you want to, that is ...”
“Yeah! Really? Yeah, I want to!”
Rocky couldn't wait for the second set's music to end. His eagerness showed; as he danced his jock swelled fuller than usual. He stared at Jess while he let the customers take their time tucking a bill into his brief costume. At last the set ended.
“What the fuck, Rocky?” the bartender queried. “You giving it away tonight?”
Rocky ignored the question, “You can close up with out me, right?” He gave the bartender a twenty and ten minutes later met Jess on the street outside the club.
They walked two blocks and turned a corner. In front of them, surprisingly well-lit, was the door of the Bayview Apartment Hotel. It's quiet contrasted with a noisy bar next door. The desk clerk barely glanced up from his discussion of payment terms with a potential resident.
“You need a City certificate to qualify for that rate,” he explained a down-but-not-quite-out older woman. The woman's protest was drowned out by the noise of the elevator machinery. Jess pushed the button again and then, impatient for the door to open, said, “Fuck it. It's only two flights.” At last at the door to their room, he giggled while he fiddled with the key. “Can't you wait 'til we're in the room?”
“No.” Rocky held Jess against him and ground his pelvis into Jess's slim ass. “You got ten seconds to get the door open or we're doing it right here.” Rocky nimbleness got Jess's pants open. He slid into the underwear and felt the wetness of Jess's cock head. Once inside the room, he pushed Jess gently onto the bed and pulled at the bottom of his pants legs. The jeans came off easily and pulled the underwear halfway off as well.
Jess removed his shirt by himself and lay back on the bed. He left his underwear around his thighs, making no attempt to pull it back up. He watched, ready for whatever Rocky wanted to do. Rocky stripped and then hesitated. “Um ...” Rocky's uncertainty came through in his hesitation. “Now what? I'm not actually very experienced at this.”
Jess reached over and turned out the bedside lamp. It took a moment to adjust to the dim light seeping into the room around a curtain too small for its window. “Come here. Lie next to me,” Jess said. “What do you want to do?” he asked after Rocky got settled. His fingers closed lightly around Rocky's hard cock, tracing its outline, feeling its contours.
Rocky groaned and pushed his hips forward, fucking into Jess's hand. He stuttered and Jess took over. “Last night you liked kissing. You want to do that some more?” Jess gently kissed Rocky, giving him a sample of where that would go.
Rocky kissed him back and felt for his cock. “Wow. Your dick is bigger than I thought.”
“It's no bigger than yours,” Jess suggested. “Want to taste it?”
Rocky followed the suggestion and licked the heat, tasting the saltiness of precum. He did what seemed natural, what seemed as if it would feel good to him. He took the swollen head in his mouth and then a couple inches of shaft. And then, after he got used to that, a couple more inches. He gagged and backed off.
“Easy,” Jess said. “Take your time. Get used to it. Let me show you ...” Jess had sucked more than a few cocks and tried several methods on Rocky. Deep-throating and ball-tugging worked best. Rocky quickly and without giving any warning came in his mouth. Jess didn't slow down, he kept sucking until Rocky pulled him away.
“Stop! Wow! I'm so sensitive!” He gasped for breath and groaned a few more wows before he calmed down. “That was amazing!”
“I've heard that before,” Jess answered, as he kissed Rocky's neck.
“Not too original, huh? Let me try you again.”
“A for effort, D for technique,” Jess commented. “Don't let me feel your teeth and don't actually suck hard. Think friction, not suction.”
“Sorry I'm a huge disappointment.”
“Oh, Rocky,” Jess almost melted. “You're not a disappointment at all. I've dreamed of this.”
A more experienced man would have been wary of Jess, but Rocky was flattered and tried again with more success. He soon had Jess cooing with satisfaction until Jess pulled him up for a kiss. “But you didn't come,” Rocky commented on the obvious.
“That's ok; I liked it, though. You're getting the idea. I don't usually come from a blow job anyway.”
“How do you like it? How can I make you come?”
“You're not done? You want to try more?” Jess asked. Rocky put Jess's hand on his revived erection as an answer. “Mmmm,” Jess responded. “I guess you're not.”
“What do I do?” Rocky asked again.
“Do you maybe want to fuck me? That's what I really like.” Jess waited for Rocky's answer and waited and waited. “Did I scare you off?”
“No. I'm just not sure how to do it.”
“Dick goes in asshole. Pretty much the usual after that.” Jess made it sound so ordinary.
“I get that, but what position? How do we start?”
“Lie back,” Jess ordered. He got something from the drawer of the nearby table and soon Rocky felt an encompassing coolness on his cock, as Jess spread the lube around. “And then the rubber ...” Jess continued. He opened the ack and rolled the protection onto Rocky's erection. “And then some more lube ...”
“Lube inside and out?” Rocky questioned.
“Yeah. Some guys don't like condoms. This way it feels better, just don't let it slip off. Get it in and then try to fuck the condom, not me. I'll still feel it the same, but you'll like it better. Ready?” Jess straddled Rocky and kissed him. The hook up was fairly smooth. Jess held Rocky's cock and slowly sat down on it. The darkness was enough that Rocky couldn't see the occasional winces of pain on Jess's face. All he could hear were the moans of satisfaction as his cock went in. “Ok, go slow. Try not to come too soon.”
Rocky proceded slowly and carefully for a few strokes and then nature took over. Jess was soon bouncing like a rag doll as Rocky thrust hard and fast up into his tight warmth. Jess knew it couldn't last long and stroked himself frantically, trying to keep up with Rocky. Rocky grabbed him, immobilizing Jess's body, and fucked with all his might. Jess went limp in Rocky's iron grip; he let out a long whimper as Rocky came convulsively.
Jess's whimper came from two causes. First, the fuck felt so good; it was total possession by the man of his nightly dreams, total fulfillment of his need to be mastered. His hand was wet from the evidence. It was wet but not wet enough. He hadn't come. Almost, but he hadn't. And then he whimpered because he knew Rocky's second orgasm, something this explosive would wipe out Rocky for the night. “You didn't go slow,” Jess observed trying not to be overly critical – there could be other nights.
“Yeah, sorry. I couldn't help it. I'll go slow next time.” Rocky sensed Jess wasn't ecstatic with that reply. “What? You don't think we're done yet, do you?”
Christmas came every night that week for Rocky and Jess. The sex was as varied and imaginative as possible within the limitation of Jess's always passive role. The trouble started on New Year's Eve. Jess wanted to be loved and Rocky wanted to be fucked. “Jess, I barely know you,” was painful for Jess to hear; and “I just don't want you that way,” left Rocky with an itch that needed scratching.
“OW!” Nicky cried out in serious pain.
“Oh! I'm sorry!” Darren quickly pulled his cock out of Nicky. “What did I do?” Nicky loved getting fucked; he had never reacted that way.
“I don't know. It just really hurt. I mean REALLY HURT.”
“Maybe you should see a doctor. Have you noticed any bleeding?” Darren asked.
Nicky thought of the huge dildo Banff had used on him the night before. “No, it's nothing,” he told Darren. Then he winced under Darren's casual stroking of his chest; Banff had twisted the hell out of his nipples.
“Sorry, I'm doing everything wrong tonight.” Darren was confused by Nicky's sudden aversion to things he had liked so well for so long. “I'll make a drink. You want to try that single malt Z gave us for Christmas? He said it's popular at the restaurant.”
“Yeah … that would be good. Sorry for being so touchy tonight. Maybe I'm off my game a little.” Maybe the money from Banff isn't worth it, Nicky thought to himself. Doubling the usual fee in exchange for a little pain had seemed harmless enough. And it made up for the kiss-off phone call that hadn't even come from Laura.
He could still hear the professional tone of dismissal. “Miss Oldfield has reconsidered.” Nicky asked himself if fucking her would have made any difference; he decided it would have depended on the quality of the fuck. “And I'm not much good with girls,” he said out loud.
“What?” Darren chuckled. “When has that started mattering?”
“Since I lost a sale to someone I probably should have fucked.”
What are you selling? A sweater? I'll buy. The fucking is up to you.” Darren tried to be light-hearted. “Here.” He handed Nicky the scotch and watched him drink it down.
“That tasted good,” Nicky said as the burn of the liquor mellowed to a warm glow in his throat.
He held his glass out for more.
“Maybe I should pour some on your ass,” Darren joked as he took the glass.
“What's that supposed to mean?” Nicky suddenly snarled.
“Nothing. Just joking.”
“Some fuckin' joke. See how you like getting railed by a battering ram.”
Darren was shocked by Nicky's reaction. “You need to tell me when you don't like things, Nicky. I thought you liked it or I wouldn't have done it.”
“Yeah, well things change. Things change,” Nicky repeated. He got up and started dressing.
“You want to hit a club? This long after midnight, we could probably get in anywhere.”
“Happy fucking New Year,” Nicky said and walked out, slamming the door.
Darren was at a loss to figure out what had changed. Sex sucked. Simple conversations had become minefields. He picked up his phone and waited for the answer. “Is a bad time, Z?”
“No. A little. Yes.” Z sounded still half asleep. “But fortunately I'm alone. 'S up? And happy New Year, while we're at it.”
”Jeez, I hope so.” Darren recounted most of Nicky's words, leaving out the specifics of sex. “I feel like he's a total stranger these days.”
“Well, don't blame yourself too much. If he won't talk, it's probably not something to do with you. Don't be too nice either. Just ride it out. He's wrestling with some inner demon that has nothing to do with you. Be there. Encourage him. Don't push too hard.”
“I've never been good at putting up with much in the way of bull shit,” Darren said.
“I know. That's why I'm suggesting you don't try to get him to talk about it. It sounds as if he's resentful. Things get said in anger. You know how that goes. You could just make it worse.”
“He's starting to piss me off, Z. I mean seriously ...”
“Easy, Darro,” Z answered, using his childhood name for his brother, before he could pronounce Darren.
“Get away,” Steve told Nero. “No threesomes.” There was no room for compromise in his choice.
Nash giggled and purred in imitation of the cat. “He's horny and he knows you're a good lover.”
“Yeah? Am I?” Steve snuggled in post-sexual bliss.
“I think so.”
“And that fucking cat is never going to find out,” Steve laughed. “Why is he always rubbing up against us when we're … You think he's gay?”
“I don't know. You'll have to ask him. It seems like he gets aroused when we get aroused. Animals are pretty tuned into a lot of things. More than we know, I bet.”
“Now what's he doing?” Nero was belly down on the rug pulling himself across it with his front legs.
“Masturbating? I don't know. If it didn't feel good, he wouldn't do it.”
“So ends another year. I've got a beautiful man, a crazy cat, and an uncertain future. I'm glad about the first part.” Steve kissed Nash and then kissed him again. “Very glad about the first part.”
“It's going to be a great new year, Steve. I can feel it. Great things are going to happen for you, for me, maybe for Nero.”
“You hear that, Cat. 'Maybe.' Keep that in mind.”
“Now he wants to be let out,” Nash assessed.
Steve got up and walked naked to the front door in the darkness. They still needed curtains. He opened the front door and heard the cat past. Barely was Nero through the door than he hissed. Someone was in the doorway. Steve overcame his initial alarm when the body didn't respond to the cat's hiss. He turned the outside light on and the figure took recognizable form.
“Nicky? What are you doing?”
“Sleeping.” Nicky sounded drunk. He roused himself to a sitting position and looked at the scotch bottle in his hand. “Want a drink?”
“No. Come inside.” Steve opened the door wider.
“Now I see why Nash likes you,” Nicky commented as he tried to rise.
Steve ignored his nakedness and helped the wobbly man rise. He pushed Nicky onto the sofa and said, “I'll be right back.” In the bedroom he pulled on a pair of jeans and told Nash, “It's Nicky. Drunk as a skunk.” The two hastily dressed men left the bedroom to find their late night visitor. They found him passed out on the sofa with the whiskey bottle in his hand.
Nash took the bottle and looked at it. “Nice choice. I think Morrie drinks this brand.”
“Nicky?” Steve called.
“Lemme sleep,” Nicky answered grouchily.
“Now what?” Steve asked Nash.
“Let him sleep,” Nash suggested.
They heard Nero call from the window. Steve opened the door and Nero ran for the sofa. He curled up in Nicky's face and settled himself, licking his front paws. He glanced up to Steve and Nash as if to ask, “What?”
“You think he can breathe?” Steve asked.
“If he can't, he'll move,” Nash answered.
“Nicky or Nero?”
“Either way, he'll move,” Nash assured. “I don't think he'll make much of a stewardess.”
“I've seem lots of 'em in this exact condition. Wait ... You serious? About his working for us.”
“The other day the pax loved him. He seems to know exactly how far to go being helpful without being phony. He doesn't weigh a lot.”
“Which proves the passengers have no taste,” Steve snorted. “Like Nero.” Like Nicky, the cat was fast asleep.
It's ok. Nothing to worry about,” Andrew soothed. “Nothing at all.” He held the terrified boy and tried to make the nightmare go away. “Seth and I have permanent custody of you now. Nothing can happen.”
“It was so real. The policeman even looked like my mother.” Another night, another bad dream.
“That's how you know it was a dream. No real policeman would want to look like your mother.” That got a tentative giggle. “He could never get his hat over all that hair.” That got a full out laugh.
“All I said was you liked the Cavendish kind of banana.”
“And your mother thought it meant something rude. A possible mistake, I suppose.” Andrew was being generous, much more generous than the judge had been, although calling Lurline a 'one-man freak show' could easily be grounds for appeal. Lurline had in fact tried it, but no lawyer would take her case without an up-front fee.
“Why did she do it?” Lemuel asked for the hundredth time.
“She loves you and she thought she was doing the right thing.” Andrew was being very generous. “And with supervised visits, you can just take the good part ... she does love you, Lemmie … and not worry about anything else.”
“I won't be alone with her?”
“No, that is the supervised part. The social worker will be there and I will be if you want.”
Lemuel jumped in Andrew's arms. “What's that?”
“Just New Year's fireworks. That's all. Happy New Year, my man.”
“I love you, Andrew.” Lemuel relaxed again.
“Seth, too,” Andrew added.
“Yes, Seth, too. But I can't tell him ... not the way I can tell you.”
It didn't look right, the house on Eagle. Something just didn't ring true. The roof had been repaired. How had that happened – essentially overnight – and during the Christmas holidays?
“They got Jewish roofers,” Tim told Neil.
“Bullshit,” Neil replied. “Something's fishy, Tim. Drive around the block again.”
On the next pass, the front door opened and bright light spilled out onto the walkway. There was no light in any of the windows, however. “They've got the windows blacked out completely,” Neil said as he watched a dark figure get into a car and drive slowly away. “Let's follow him.”
They stayed a good distance behind the car; the marked police car would make their interest too obvious. They almost lost him at Otis but the driver was doing predictable things, using his turn signals, and making no erratic moves.
“He's going to Harbor Bay. He must live there.” They followed across the bridge and passed the shopping center. Tim watched the driver turn onto Aughinbaugh Way. There was no traffic to mask them; he stayed farther back until the car turned onto Seaview. Tim accelerated to the corner and watched the driver turn carefully into a driveway. The garage door was closing as the cruiser drove slowly past.
“I got the number. Let's see what's what.” He read the address to the radio operator and asked, “Who's the owner?”
It took a while for the answer to come back. “Thanks for an exciting New Year's Eve guys,” the operator said. “Three drunk reports and now this. The owner is Banff Rapper. You get that … b-a-n-f-f it's spelled. And Rapper like a hip hopper.”
“And somebody's still in that house on Eagle. You think we should pay them a visit?” Neil asked Tim. “Tell them we got a noise complaint.” Tim agreed and they recrossed the island as speedily as no-siren would allow.
“I'll just knock and inquire,” Neil volunteered. He left Tim in the cruiser and approached the door. There was no light showing and no sounds from within. He pressed the bell but heard nothing. He knocked firmly four times.
“I told you I'd handle it. Go home,” a voice said through the door.
“Open up please. Police.” Neil said. This was always a tense moment. You just never knew what would come next.
Silence for a heart beat. Then the noise shattered the night. Neil slumped on the porch railing.
“Officer down. Request immediate backup,” Tim yelled into the radio. The operator could hear his panic.
One week was all it took. Rocky was a changed man. After his enjoyable but frustrating first encounter with Jess, he accepted Jess's offer the next night.
“I got a room, Rocky. After your second set, we could ... if you want to, that is ...”
“Yeah! Really? Yeah, I want to!”
Rocky couldn't wait for the second set's music to end. His eagerness showed; as he danced his jock swelled fuller than usual. He stared at Jess while he let the customers take their time tucking a bill into his brief costume. At last the set ended.
“What the fuck, Rocky?” the bartender queried. “You giving it away tonight?”
Rocky ignored the question, “You can close up with out me, right?” He gave the bartender a twenty and ten minutes later met Jess on the street outside the club.
They walked two blocks and turned a corner. In front of them, surprisingly well-lit, was the door of the Bayview Apartment Hotel. It's quiet contrasted with a noisy bar next door. The desk clerk barely glanced up from his discussion of payment terms with a potential resident.
“You need a City certificate to qualify for that rate,” he explained a down-but-not-quite-out older woman. The woman's protest was drowned out by the noise of the elevator machinery. Jess pushed the button again and then, impatient for the door to open, said, “Fuck it. It's only two flights.” At last at the door to their room, he giggled while he fiddled with the key. “Can't you wait 'til we're in the room?”
“No.” Rocky held Jess against him and ground his pelvis into Jess's slim ass. “You got ten seconds to get the door open or we're doing it right here.” Rocky nimbleness got Jess's pants open. He slid into the underwear and felt the wetness of Jess's cock head. Once inside the room, he pushed Jess gently onto the bed and pulled at the bottom of his pants legs. The jeans came off easily and pulled the underwear halfway off as well.
Jess removed his shirt by himself and lay back on the bed. He left his underwear around his thighs, making no attempt to pull it back up. He watched, ready for whatever Rocky wanted to do. Rocky stripped and then hesitated. “Um ...” Rocky's uncertainty came through in his hesitation. “Now what? I'm not actually very experienced at this.”
Jess reached over and turned out the bedside lamp. It took a moment to adjust to the dim light seeping into the room around a curtain too small for its window. “Come here. Lie next to me,” Jess said. “What do you want to do?” he asked after Rocky got settled. His fingers closed lightly around Rocky's hard cock, tracing its outline, feeling its contours.
Rocky groaned and pushed his hips forward, fucking into Jess's hand. He stuttered and Jess took over. “Last night you liked kissing. You want to do that some more?” Jess gently kissed Rocky, giving him a sample of where that would go.
Rocky kissed him back and felt for his cock. “Wow. Your dick is bigger than I thought.”
“It's no bigger than yours,” Jess suggested. “Want to taste it?”
Rocky followed the suggestion and licked the heat, tasting the saltiness of precum. He did what seemed natural, what seemed as if it would feel good to him. He took the swollen head in his mouth and then a couple inches of shaft. And then, after he got used to that, a couple more inches. He gagged and backed off.
“Easy,” Jess said. “Take your time. Get used to it. Let me show you ...” Jess had sucked more than a few cocks and tried several methods on Rocky. Deep-throating and ball-tugging worked best. Rocky quickly and without giving any warning came in his mouth. Jess didn't slow down, he kept sucking until Rocky pulled him away.
“Stop! Wow! I'm so sensitive!” He gasped for breath and groaned a few more wows before he calmed down. “That was amazing!”
“I've heard that before,” Jess answered, as he kissed Rocky's neck.
“Not too original, huh? Let me try you again.”
“A for effort, D for technique,” Jess commented. “Don't let me feel your teeth and don't actually suck hard. Think friction, not suction.”
“Sorry I'm a huge disappointment.”
“Oh, Rocky,” Jess almost melted. “You're not a disappointment at all. I've dreamed of this.”
A more experienced man would have been wary of Jess, but Rocky was flattered and tried again with more success. He soon had Jess cooing with satisfaction until Jess pulled him up for a kiss. “But you didn't come,” Rocky commented on the obvious.
“That's ok; I liked it, though. You're getting the idea. I don't usually come from a blow job anyway.”
“How do you like it? How can I make you come?”
“You're not done? You want to try more?” Jess asked. Rocky put Jess's hand on his revived erection as an answer. “Mmmm,” Jess responded. “I guess you're not.”
“What do I do?” Rocky asked again.
“Do you maybe want to fuck me? That's what I really like.” Jess waited for Rocky's answer and waited and waited. “Did I scare you off?”
“No. I'm just not sure how to do it.”
“Dick goes in asshole. Pretty much the usual after that.” Jess made it sound so ordinary.
“I get that, but what position? How do we start?”
“Lie back,” Jess ordered. He got something from the drawer of the nearby table and soon Rocky felt an encompassing coolness on his cock, as Jess spread the lube around. “And then the rubber ...” Jess continued. He opened the ack and rolled the protection onto Rocky's erection. “And then some more lube ...”
“Lube inside and out?” Rocky questioned.
“Yeah. Some guys don't like condoms. This way it feels better, just don't let it slip off. Get it in and then try to fuck the condom, not me. I'll still feel it the same, but you'll like it better. Ready?” Jess straddled Rocky and kissed him. The hook up was fairly smooth. Jess held Rocky's cock and slowly sat down on it. The darkness was enough that Rocky couldn't see the occasional winces of pain on Jess's face. All he could hear were the moans of satisfaction as his cock went in. “Ok, go slow. Try not to come too soon.”
Rocky proceded slowly and carefully for a few strokes and then nature took over. Jess was soon bouncing like a rag doll as Rocky thrust hard and fast up into his tight warmth. Jess knew it couldn't last long and stroked himself frantically, trying to keep up with Rocky. Rocky grabbed him, immobilizing Jess's body, and fucked with all his might. Jess went limp in Rocky's iron grip; he let out a long whimper as Rocky came convulsively.
Jess's whimper came from two causes. First, the fuck felt so good; it was total possession by the man of his nightly dreams, total fulfillment of his need to be mastered. His hand was wet from the evidence. It was wet but not wet enough. He hadn't come. Almost, but he hadn't. And then he whimpered because he knew Rocky's second orgasm, something this explosive would wipe out Rocky for the night. “You didn't go slow,” Jess observed trying not to be overly critical – there could be other nights.
“Yeah, sorry. I couldn't help it. I'll go slow next time.” Rocky sensed Jess wasn't ecstatic with that reply. “What? You don't think we're done yet, do you?”
Christmas came every night that week for Rocky and Jess. The sex was as varied and imaginative as possible within the limitation of Jess's always passive role. The trouble started on New Year's Eve. Jess wanted to be loved and Rocky wanted to be fucked. “Jess, I barely know you,” was painful for Jess to hear; and “I just don't want you that way,” left Rocky with an itch that needed scratching.
“OW!” Nicky cried out in serious pain.
“Oh! I'm sorry!” Darren quickly pulled his cock out of Nicky. “What did I do?” Nicky loved getting fucked; he had never reacted that way.
“I don't know. It just really hurt. I mean REALLY HURT.”
“Maybe you should see a doctor. Have you noticed any bleeding?” Darren asked.
Nicky thought of the huge dildo Banff had used on him the night before. “No, it's nothing,” he told Darren. Then he winced under Darren's casual stroking of his chest; Banff had twisted the hell out of his nipples.
“Sorry, I'm doing everything wrong tonight.” Darren was confused by Nicky's sudden aversion to things he had liked so well for so long. “I'll make a drink. You want to try that single malt Z gave us for Christmas? He said it's popular at the restaurant.”
“Yeah … that would be good. Sorry for being so touchy tonight. Maybe I'm off my game a little.” Maybe the money from Banff isn't worth it, Nicky thought to himself. Doubling the usual fee in exchange for a little pain had seemed harmless enough. And it made up for the kiss-off phone call that hadn't even come from Laura.
He could still hear the professional tone of dismissal. “Miss Oldfield has reconsidered.” Nicky asked himself if fucking her would have made any difference; he decided it would have depended on the quality of the fuck. “And I'm not much good with girls,” he said out loud.
“What?” Darren chuckled. “When has that started mattering?”
“Since I lost a sale to someone I probably should have fucked.”
What are you selling? A sweater? I'll buy. The fucking is up to you.” Darren tried to be light-hearted. “Here.” He handed Nicky the scotch and watched him drink it down.
“That tasted good,” Nicky said as the burn of the liquor mellowed to a warm glow in his throat.
He held his glass out for more.
“Maybe I should pour some on your ass,” Darren joked as he took the glass.
“What's that supposed to mean?” Nicky suddenly snarled.
“Nothing. Just joking.”
“Some fuckin' joke. See how you like getting railed by a battering ram.”
Darren was shocked by Nicky's reaction. “You need to tell me when you don't like things, Nicky. I thought you liked it or I wouldn't have done it.”
“Yeah, well things change. Things change,” Nicky repeated. He got up and started dressing.
“You want to hit a club? This long after midnight, we could probably get in anywhere.”
“Happy fucking New Year,” Nicky said and walked out, slamming the door.
Darren was at a loss to figure out what had changed. Sex sucked. Simple conversations had become minefields. He picked up his phone and waited for the answer. “Is a bad time, Z?”
“No. A little. Yes.” Z sounded still half asleep. “But fortunately I'm alone. 'S up? And happy New Year, while we're at it.”
”Jeez, I hope so.” Darren recounted most of Nicky's words, leaving out the specifics of sex. “I feel like he's a total stranger these days.”
“Well, don't blame yourself too much. If he won't talk, it's probably not something to do with you. Don't be too nice either. Just ride it out. He's wrestling with some inner demon that has nothing to do with you. Be there. Encourage him. Don't push too hard.”
“I've never been good at putting up with much in the way of bull shit,” Darren said.
“I know. That's why I'm suggesting you don't try to get him to talk about it. It sounds as if he's resentful. Things get said in anger. You know how that goes. You could just make it worse.”
“He's starting to piss me off, Z. I mean seriously ...”
“Easy, Darro,” Z answered, using his childhood name for his brother, before he could pronounce Darren.
“Get away,” Steve told Nero. “No threesomes.” There was no room for compromise in his choice.
Nash giggled and purred in imitation of the cat. “He's horny and he knows you're a good lover.”
“Yeah? Am I?” Steve snuggled in post-sexual bliss.
“I think so.”
“And that fucking cat is never going to find out,” Steve laughed. “Why is he always rubbing up against us when we're … You think he's gay?”
“I don't know. You'll have to ask him. It seems like he gets aroused when we get aroused. Animals are pretty tuned into a lot of things. More than we know, I bet.”
“Now what's he doing?” Nero was belly down on the rug pulling himself across it with his front legs.
“Masturbating? I don't know. If it didn't feel good, he wouldn't do it.”
“So ends another year. I've got a beautiful man, a crazy cat, and an uncertain future. I'm glad about the first part.” Steve kissed Nash and then kissed him again. “Very glad about the first part.”
“It's going to be a great new year, Steve. I can feel it. Great things are going to happen for you, for me, maybe for Nero.”
“You hear that, Cat. 'Maybe.' Keep that in mind.”
“Now he wants to be let out,” Nash assessed.
Steve got up and walked naked to the front door in the darkness. They still needed curtains. He opened the front door and heard the cat past. Barely was Nero through the door than he hissed. Someone was in the doorway. Steve overcame his initial alarm when the body didn't respond to the cat's hiss. He turned the outside light on and the figure took recognizable form.
“Nicky? What are you doing?”
“Sleeping.” Nicky sounded drunk. He roused himself to a sitting position and looked at the scotch bottle in his hand. “Want a drink?”
“No. Come inside.” Steve opened the door wider.
“Now I see why Nash likes you,” Nicky commented as he tried to rise.
Steve ignored his nakedness and helped the wobbly man rise. He pushed Nicky onto the sofa and said, “I'll be right back.” In the bedroom he pulled on a pair of jeans and told Nash, “It's Nicky. Drunk as a skunk.” The two hastily dressed men left the bedroom to find their late night visitor. They found him passed out on the sofa with the whiskey bottle in his hand.
Nash took the bottle and looked at it. “Nice choice. I think Morrie drinks this brand.”
“Nicky?” Steve called.
“Lemme sleep,” Nicky answered grouchily.
“Now what?” Steve asked Nash.
“Let him sleep,” Nash suggested.
They heard Nero call from the window. Steve opened the door and Nero ran for the sofa. He curled up in Nicky's face and settled himself, licking his front paws. He glanced up to Steve and Nash as if to ask, “What?”
“You think he can breathe?” Steve asked.
“If he can't, he'll move,” Nash answered.
“Nicky or Nero?”
“Either way, he'll move,” Nash assured. “I don't think he'll make much of a stewardess.”
“I've seem lots of 'em in this exact condition. Wait ... You serious? About his working for us.”
“The other day the pax loved him. He seems to know exactly how far to go being helpful without being phony. He doesn't weigh a lot.”
“Which proves the passengers have no taste,” Steve snorted. “Like Nero.” Like Nicky, the cat was fast asleep.
It's ok. Nothing to worry about,” Andrew soothed. “Nothing at all.” He held the terrified boy and tried to make the nightmare go away. “Seth and I have permanent custody of you now. Nothing can happen.”
“It was so real. The policeman even looked like my mother.” Another night, another bad dream.
“That's how you know it was a dream. No real policeman would want to look like your mother.” That got a tentative giggle. “He could never get his hat over all that hair.” That got a full out laugh.
“All I said was you liked the Cavendish kind of banana.”
“And your mother thought it meant something rude. A possible mistake, I suppose.” Andrew was being generous, much more generous than the judge had been, although calling Lurline a 'one-man freak show' could easily be grounds for appeal. Lurline had in fact tried it, but no lawyer would take her case without an up-front fee.
“Why did she do it?” Lemuel asked for the hundredth time.
“She loves you and she thought she was doing the right thing.” Andrew was being very generous. “And with supervised visits, you can just take the good part ... she does love you, Lemmie … and not worry about anything else.”
“I won't be alone with her?”
“No, that is the supervised part. The social worker will be there and I will be if you want.”
Lemuel jumped in Andrew's arms. “What's that?”
“Just New Year's fireworks. That's all. Happy New Year, my man.”
“I love you, Andrew.” Lemuel relaxed again.
“Seth, too,” Andrew added.
“Yes, Seth, too. But I can't tell him ... not the way I can tell you.”
It didn't look right, the house on Eagle. Something just didn't ring true. The roof had been repaired. How had that happened – essentially overnight – and during the Christmas holidays?
“They got Jewish roofers,” Tim told Neil.
“Bullshit,” Neil replied. “Something's fishy, Tim. Drive around the block again.”
On the next pass, the front door opened and bright light spilled out onto the walkway. There was no light in any of the windows, however. “They've got the windows blacked out completely,” Neil said as he watched a dark figure get into a car and drive slowly away. “Let's follow him.”
They stayed a good distance behind the car; the marked police car would make their interest too obvious. They almost lost him at Otis but the driver was doing predictable things, using his turn signals, and making no erratic moves.
“He's going to Harbor Bay. He must live there.” They followed across the bridge and passed the shopping center. Tim watched the driver turn onto Aughinbaugh Way. There was no traffic to mask them; he stayed farther back until the car turned onto Seaview. Tim accelerated to the corner and watched the driver turn carefully into a driveway. The garage door was closing as the cruiser drove slowly past.
“I got the number. Let's see what's what.” He read the address to the radio operator and asked, “Who's the owner?”
It took a while for the answer to come back. “Thanks for an exciting New Year's Eve guys,” the operator said. “Three drunk reports and now this. The owner is Banff Rapper. You get that … b-a-n-f-f it's spelled. And Rapper like a hip hopper.”
“And somebody's still in that house on Eagle. You think we should pay them a visit?” Neil asked Tim. “Tell them we got a noise complaint.” Tim agreed and they recrossed the island as speedily as no-siren would allow.
“I'll just knock and inquire,” Neil volunteered. He left Tim in the cruiser and approached the door. There was no light showing and no sounds from within. He pressed the bell but heard nothing. He knocked firmly four times.
“I told you I'd handle it. Go home,” a voice said through the door.
“Open up please. Police.” Neil said. This was always a tense moment. You just never knew what would come next.
Silence for a heart beat. Then the noise shattered the night. Neil slumped on the porch railing.
“Officer down. Request immediate backup,” Tim yelled into the radio. The operator could hear his panic.
Welcome Back, Rory.
It started out as an interesting installment with our boys from the bar getting into some horned up activities - sadly Jess "The Groupie" was looking a bit more obsessively than Rocky the good time Charlie.
Nicky and Z - with Nicky's inner turmoil and feelings of inadequacy in the capital contribution campaign.
With the fallout resolution for Lemuel, Seth, and Andrew.
And then you have to shatter our hearts - I knew that was a bad scene waiting to happen - Neil shot with the ass holes still inside.
Not Tim & Neil.
Damn, you DO know how to pull at us.
(Welcome back, by the way. I think. )
It started out as an interesting installment with our boys from the bar getting into some horned up activities - sadly Jess "The Groupie" was looking a bit more obsessively than Rocky the good time Charlie.
Nicky and Z - with Nicky's inner turmoil and feelings of inadequacy in the capital contribution campaign.
With the fallout resolution for Lemuel, Seth, and Andrew.
And then you have to shatter our hearts - I knew that was a bad scene waiting to happen - Neil shot with the ass holes still inside.
Not Tim & Neil.
Damn, you DO know how to pull at us.
(Welcome back, by the way. I think. )
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Sixty-Five
Jerry always expected that the bad news would come from Tim. He dreaded the thought of coming home and seeing Tim waiting for him on the front porch. Seeing Rory made him think there was some kind of emergency at work. He walking up the stairs wondering what role he could play in a software emergency.
“Neil's at Alameda County Medical Center. Let's go. I'll drive,” Rory said in a very business-like tone. He took the Park Street bridge and East 23rd instead of 14th. Running the lights on 23rd was less dangerous than running them on 14th. “Neil was shot twice, but Tim said the bullets missed his vitals. He should recover without any problem, Jer. Tim's with him now.” Rory honked at a car blocking his way.
The way Rory drove it was a short ride to the regional trauma center. In those twenty minutes Jerry decided his future. “We're going to get married right away, Rory. As soon as Neil is out of the hospital. It will be a small ceremony. In fact it will be no ceremony. Who needs ceremony? We'll just find a judge or something … We don't even need a marriage … A civil union will be fine … We can do that right in California … A notary public can do it for all I care ...” A sob stopped him. No tears, just that terrible chest-ripping pain of grief. “What if he's not all right? What if ...”
They found Tim at Neil's bed in the critical care unit. Neil was inexplicably smiling.
“It's the morphine,” Tim whispered mostly to Rory. Jerry ignored him and went straight to Neil's side. “They got the slugs out. They were small caliber – didn't do much damage. And closed him up. He can probably go home tomorrow,” Tim continued. He watched Jerry whispering to Neil and stepped back so as not to hear. “Can you hold the fort here, Rory? I have work to do. The shooter and another accomplice are in custody at the station house in Alameda.”
“Go. I love you, Tim,” Rory said.
The station house was buzzing with activity. Two suspects were held for questioning. Fred was apprehended at the Eagle Avenue house and presumed to be the shooter; and Banff, picked up at the house on Seaview, was a related party. Neither man was talking, but an inspection and search of the house on Eagle explained a lot. Supplies and the apparatus for brewing crystal meth were found, along with a small amount of product. That part of the crime was a fairly straightforward drug deal. But the findings on Seaview were different.
Captain Parr, the shift supervisor, pulled Tim aside and into his office. “Tim, this is a little strange. Since you are, um, gay, I thought we might talk about some evidence.” The captain closed the office door and motioned Tim to a chair. He handed him a police folder and waited for Tim to examine the contents. The photographs weren't especially good; call them salacious but not sexy. There was one surprise however that left Tim with his mouth open.
“I know this one guy. His name is Nicky Afragola. He's a clothing salesman, lives in Alameda. I had no idea he was into this kind of thing. I know where he lives; we could bring him in for questioning.” Tim looked at other photos and felt sickened. Child pornography is very hard for most people to see. “These others … I have no idea about them.”
“Let's go get this Afragola guy,” the captain stated. He picked up his badge, gun, and car keys.
Ten minutes later Darren answered the door. By then it was after two in the morning, he looked like he had just got out of bed. He began with a friendly, “Tim ...” Then his face fell when he saw the captain. “Uh, you're here on business, I assume.”
“Is Nicky here? We'd like to talk to him.”
“He's not. We've been having a little trouble lately and he left sometime before midnight. He hasn't been back. I don't know where he is.” Darren looked at his watch, confirming the early morning hour. “What's going on?”
“We'd like to talk to him is all.” Tim gave out no extra information. “If he comes in, would you ask him to call me?” Tim handed Darren his card.
“Sure. Is there anything I can do?”
“Not at this time. Thanks Darren.” Tim and the captain left.
Darren immediately called Z, who called Rory and got the details. He relayed the story back to Darren. And so the news that Neil had been shot began to spread.
Z was appalled by the disaster for his friends. He had thought of them as just about the ideal couple. Marriage seemed to make such good sense in their case. He was suddenly terrified by Craig's hints to him on the subject of marriage.
Tom and Heiko were celebrating both the happy holiday week in Tahoe and the subsequent departure of Heiko's parents and brother. As much as they had enjoyed the Christmas season, it was good to get back to a routine. The only casualty of the season had been the loss of a cocktail shaker that was special only because Heiko liked using it. There was nothing special about the cocktail shaker; it wasn't expensive, just pressed glass made to look like crystal with a chrome top and it had failed to survive hitting the floor after being washed one night. Heiko bought a replacement but with the Tahoe trip and the Christmas disruptions, he hadn't had a chance to use it until now
Tom was putting together a little plate of munchies while Heiko mixed their six o'clock drinks.
Tom watched Heiko mix the martinis. Step one, two glasses with two olives each were placed into the freezer. Heiko felt that the chief function of olives was to act as non-diluting green ice cubes. Then he put exactly five ice cubes into his new shaker and measured out one and a third cups of gin. Heiko liked a generous drink. Then he splashed enough vermouth into the shaker to 'take the edge off the gin', as he put it. Tom knew the routine. He carried his plate to the balcony and the waiting sunset view and waited for Heiko to bring the drinks. An explosion of German from the kitchen put a smile on his face. Some tiny thing must have gone wrong with Heiko's procedure.
Tom's German was getting better all the time, but this explosion included words he had never heard before. He could make out the occasional 'shit' and 'pig-dogs'; but the rest was a mystery. He went to see.
“Heiko? 'S up?” he asked.
“The fuckers ...” Heiko raved. The martinis had spilled. “It's a simple machine, a seal is just a wedge, really. How do you fuck up a wedge?” His normally cool blue eyes were fiery. “I should have paid more! I check it out when I bought it. I said to myself 'Not even the Chinese could screw this up.' But they did, Tomi. They totally fucked up a simple machine!”
Tom smiled at his lover. Even the distortion of anger couldn't diminish Heiko's handsome appeal. Tom tried to kiss him but got brushed away.
“Tell me. If you were going to fuck up a cocktail shaker, how would you do it?” Heiko demanded. “You're an engineer. Tell me exactly how you could totally pervert a cocktail shaker!” Tom tried smiling again. “If you shake it, it leaks! It leaks, Tomi! The fuckers designed it to leak!”
It took a full body take-down followed by tickling to distract Heiko. “This is absurd,” he finally giggled. “Here we are making love on a gin-sloshed kitchen floor.”
“Are we making love? I thought I was using you to mop up the gin.”
“We're making love. And let's not use the floor,” Heiko insisted. He picked up Tom and carried him to the bedroom. “You're better than a drink, anyway.”
“How much did the cocktail shaker cost?” Tom asked while Heiko pulled his clothes off.
“Fifteen dollars and sixty-eight cents,” Heiko answered with a renewed scowl.
“We're pretty well off, Heiko. I think we could blow sixteen dollars on a mistake without courting financial ruin.”
“Sixteen here, sixteen there - pretty soon we'll be on welfare. Besides you are contributing a lot more to 'us' than I am.”
“We're both contributing everything we have. I'd call that equal. Plus your dick is bigger.”
“Tomi, you always joke. Even sixteen dollars is serious.”
“Yes, it is.” Tom sighed as Heiko slowly penetrated him. “Oh ...” was all he could say once he was impaled, until he got used to Heiko being in him. Then he was ready. “You can be a little rough if you want.” For the past ten days their lovemaking had been subdued by the presence of so many house guests in Tahoe. “I like it when you get a little rough.”
Heiko got a little rough and kept it up until Tom came, then he gently completed fucking his breathless lover until he got off. It was a nice addition to their cocktail hour.
They showered but they didn't bother dressing and returned to the kitchen naked and unable to keep their hands off each other. “What are you doing?” Heiko asked when Tom broke away.
“Making some new drinks, if you'll stop kissing me for a minute.”
“Don't use that cocktail shaker.”
“I'm using it, Heiko. I like my martini stirred, not shaken.”
“Since when? Stirred? Really?” Heiko was shocked.
“Since you bought this fucking worthless cocktail shaker,” Tom replied. It took some convincing until Heiko could take the remark as a joke. They sat naked, sipping their drinks, kissing, and laughing about disappointing Chinese merchandise.
“Remember that Chinese barbeque grill?” Tom chuckled.
“So does the fire department,” Heiko smiled.
Tom flipped on the tv news and they were horrified by an extensive report of the shooting on Eagle.
“We should get married, Tomi,” was Heiko's frightened reaction.
“Such a sweet boy,” Andrew commented on the news broadcast. “I can't believe it.”
Seth stopped watching the news report and called Rory. “I don't have Jerry's phone number. Is there anything we can do?”
“I don't think so. The medical reports are good. Neil should recover. Jerry's with him now. They're planning on moving up their wedding.”
“That's so good to hear. Call us if we can help.” Seth hung up and relayed the news to Andrew and Lemuel. “So maybe we should get married. What do you think?”
“I think you're nuts,” Andrew answered.
“Could I be the ring bearer?” Lemuel asked.
“Forget that, Lem. We're not going to do it,” Andrew assured the boy.
“Yes, you will, Andrew,” their charge said in reply with a grin. “You always do what Seth wants.”
“I … I ...” Andrew sputtered. He didn't want to say he didn't – that would insult Seth. He didn't want to say he did – that would imply passivity in himself.
“You do, Andrew. You always do what Seth wants.” Lemuel wasn't really arguing; he was just stating a fact.
“There are real advantages to it, being married, I mean,” Seth continued. “Like providing for Lemuel and each other. Like having rights we wouldn't have otherwise. What if you get hospitalized? I couldn't even visit.”
“You could, too. Don't over-dramatize it.” Andrew answered reasonably.
“Think about it. There's also the fact I love you. Plus Lem approves, don't you?” Seth smiled cryptically.
“I do. I do approve. My dads are getting married!” Lemuel's smile split his face.
“Lem, we're not your dads. Your dad is Jody ...”
“I know,” Lem interrupted, “but you're better than he is.”
“That may be, but he's still your father. He loves you.” Andrew would not say a bad word about Jody and Lurline.
“Like he loves a trophy on his mantle,” Seth added, getting a glare from Andrew. “So, you want to marry me or not?”
“Not. Not that I don't love you. We just need to think it out more,” Andrew was only being reasonable.
“We're getting married, Andrew,” Seth insisted.
The three of them looked at each other. They each knew Lemuel was right. Andrew always did what Seth wanted.
From the minute he first plowed Jess's ass, Rocky wallowed in sex. He couldn't get enough. Every night was barely satisfied him. He wanted more.
“I think I was born to fuck you. I swear I get headaches if we go more than half a day without sex,” he told Jess. “You ought to let me pay for the room some nights.”
Jess in turn was just as hungry. “No problem,” he said, pulling Rocky on top. “I've got an arrangement with the management. Are you ready to go again?” He smiled as he felt Rocky's erection test his ass crack. “Yeah, you are.”
“I'm always ready for you,” Rocky said. You want to try doggie this time? I think you almost came the last time we did it that way.” Without any more prompting, Jess was face down on the mattress with his ass in the air. “Let me try it slow … see how you like it ...” Rocky said.
“Do you like me?” Jess asked between the gasps of insertion.
“Course I do. You're the best bed partner I've ever had. And I'm not just saying that 'cause you're the only one. Owwwwwiiieee! So sweet going in slow. I can feel you gripping every inch of me. Let me do that again.” Rocky withdrew and repositioned his cock at Jess's hole.
“No. I mean really like me – like a boyfriend.” Jess grunted as Rocky entered him again.
“Shhh … Don't think about that now. Just feel this …” Rocky kept a steady pace slowly pumping his hips. “Can you feel me … Can you tell how hard I am?”
“It feels great ...” Jess said and then he gasped again as Rocky reached under his belly for his cock.
“Man, you're leaking like a sieve,” Rocky said, as he slicked Jess's precum all over his cock, making it slip easily in and out of his fist. “You like it when I fuck you and stroke you at the same time?”
“Of course I do. Slow down, you're gonna make me cum.” Jess purred as the sex continued at Rocky's already slow pace. “You know, if we were boyfriends, we could live together.” Rocky ignored the comment and pumped a little faster. “Would you ever want to do that?” Jess's question went unanswered.
“I think I can feel your insides grabbing my dick, Jess. Are you squeezing or something? It's so … fuckin' ... hot ...” He pumped even faster and much harder, forcing Jess's whole body slowly across the mattress. “Man, I love doing this ...”
“Do you love me?” Jess asked.
“Oh, shit! ... Fuuuck, baby! … I'm cumming!!! … Oh, man, take it!!! NNNNNGGGHH!” Rocky repeated his grunt with every stroke. “Yeah!!! Whew!!” He collapsed onto Jess's back and the bottom boy collapsed onto the bed, still impaled.
“Man, you're a great fuck,” Rocky enthused. “So perfect … I can't think of anything better.” Rocky softening dick slipped out; he rolled Jess over and held him in his arms. “Well, maybe fucking missionary is better. I get to kiss you all the time that way.” He covered Jess's face in sloppy, devouring kisses and Jess responded, kissing him back with an open-mouthed, wiped-out languor, the way freshly fucked guys do.
“Two friends of mine are kinda like us,” Jess sighed. “They're perfect matches in bed, they say.”
“No shit? You mean somebody else is perfect just like us? Are you telling me I'm a pretty good fuck?” Rocky was only semi-serious.
“You're more than that and you know it. You're a pretty great lover all around.” Jess waited for Rocky's reaction to the word lover.
“But you don't really know me all around. Mostly we just fuck … and suck … and make out.”
“I want to get to know you.”
“Well, to start out, you know I dance in a bar. You know I'm not that good at it. You know ...”
“You are good at it, Rocky. You're beautiful dancing. You're sexy and amazing and half the guys in that bar are in love with you.”
“Including you?” Rocky was smiling but the question called for an answer.
“Yes, including me.”
There. It was said. No pretending it was just good sex. No pretending it was a casual connection. Rocky felt an unexpected pressure in his chest. He didn't know what to say next.
“The two friends of mine? They're talking about marriage.”
The pressure in Rocky's chest built until he realized he was holding his breath. “To each other?” The idea sounded totally foreign.
“Yeah, that's what a lot of lovers do.”
Suddenly Rocky didn't want to be lying in bed with a kid he hardly knew. He wanted to put his clothes on and run. Except … Jess was running his tongue around Rocky's nipples, switching from one to the other, teasing them with little nibbles, squeezing them with his lips. He groaned. Jess inserted his body between Rocky's spreading legs. His kisses moved to Rocky's thighs, and then his balls. Jess gagged a little taking Rocky's cock, still ripe from their last session. Rocky told himself run, but his cock responded stay. Soon Jess was bobbing up and down, bobbing on the slowly engorging cock. Rocky held him tightly and rolled them into missionary position, a friendly position, where they could kiss and fuck and watch each other's pleasure build. There was no question: Rocky loved fuckin' Jess – couldn't say no.
“Fuck me like you're my lover,” Jess demanded and Rocky complied, performing exactly as Jess wanted. “Fuck me like you want to marry me.”
That remark caused Rocky to get off his rhythm. His dick bent painfully as he aimed the wrong way. “Ooow!” He paused. He dick deflated. He finished Jess by hand and left as soon as he could.
Adan took advantage of the Christmas break from school to play Chris like an erotic violin. He drove him nearly crazy by letting Ty and a couple other actors fuck him repeatedly in front of the cameras and then complaining he was “too tired” or “all fucked out” when Chris wanted his turn. He was affectionate in Chris's bed until it came to actual sex. Kisses and hugs, a little mutual masturbation, those were fine; but no fucking. It was working just the way it had with Andrew.
“I don't get it,” Chris said with some annoyance. “You got fucked three times in the last the three days by Ty and Jody. But when I want a little, you're too tired again.”
“Four times,” Adan corrected. “Jody blew the money shot the first time.”
“He also blew YOU. A lot.”
“But I didn't come. What's wrong, Chris?” Adan knew exactly what was wrong. “My God, you're hard,” he added as he held Chris's straining cock.
“Adan! Wait! Don't …!” Too late. Chris came all over himself and the sheet. “Damn it! I wanted to fuck you.”
“Baby, why didn't you say so? I thought you were the one who always liked taking it.” Adan didn't let Chris see his smile as he wiped his dripping hand on Chris's belly. “Don't you like it when I fuck you?”
“I do like it, but you aren't fucking me much lately. So I thought maybe ...”
“Maybe what?” Adan asked. He carefully kissed Chris's cheek, trying to avoid the blob of cum that had landed close to Chris's mouth.
“I thought maybe you wanted me to top for a change …”
“Awww. I didn't know. I've been working so much lately. That session with that new muscle guy – what's his story anyway? I thought after the mess with those other bears you were gonna leave that stuff alone.” Adan paused for effect. “He hurt me.”
Chris was horrified. “He hurt you! What did he do? Tell me!” For a very gay photographer, Chris sounded fiercely protective.
“He didn't mean to. He's big, you know? He didn't use enough lube. I still hurt afterward.”
“I'm sorry,” Chris said with concern. “No wonder you don't want to get fucked. I'm sorry for being so insensitive, baby.” Chris hugged Adan.
Like you're ever gonna fuck me, Adan thought. Always keep 'em wanting more. That was lesson one from his Mexican mentor. And now he's got cum all over me; it's disgusting. Adan extricated himself from Chris's embrace and went to take a shower. “Could you change the bed before I get back?” he called to Chris.
“Sure, sweetie. Be glad to ...” For fresh sheets Chris had to go to the laundry room which was part of the studio. He shivered as he walked down the metal stairs, thinking that a robe or at least something on his feet would have been a good idea. He pulled a couple of sheets and pillow cases out of the pile and headed back up the stairs, regretting his decision to live in what had been a warehouse. There weren't many comforts.
“Ahhh.” Adan's satisfied sigh as he got into the freshly made bed was Chris's reward. “That feels so good. You really know how to please, Chris.” He snuggled into Chris's arms and kissed him.
“Anything else, master?” Chris joked.
Adan stroked his body. “Don't tease me, please. You know I have no security here. It worries me sometimes.”
“You have a contract.”
“Yeah, but you can end that. That's the one thing I envy about straight people. They have security.” Adan gave Chris an encouraging hug and then let his hand wander down to Chris's cock.
“I don't know what you mean,” Chris said. He thrust his hips forward, pushing into Adan's fist. “Mmmm, that feels good.”
“They can get married. We can't.”
“Wha...??? They can get married??? Do you want to get married???”
“Don't even think about it. It's impossible in California,” Adan dismissed the idea
“But … married? Us? You and me? You would consider marrying me?” Chris was surprised, intrigued, and flattered all at once.
“Aren't we lovers?” Adan asked, as if Chris's questions had only one answer.
“But ...” Adan tried to prevent Chris from saying more with a kiss. “Wait, Adan. Seriously. We've never talked about this. Do you love me?”
“Of course I do. I'm in your bed every night. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you.” Adan omitted that fact that he hadn't done much of anything for Chris in over a week. “I need you, Chris.” Adan held Chris's knee between his thighs.
“But … I thought it was just … kind of ...” Chris responded to Adan's melting warmth. “I love you, too.” He looked at Adan with a mix of love and astonishment. “I never expected … Married? Really?”
“I would if you want. We could go to Seattle or something.” Adan let the thought play out. “You want to?” Adan pulled Chris closer and opened his legs suggestively.
“I … I …” Chris was dumbfounded and confused when Adan rolled to one side. He watched in wonder as Adan rolled back to their embrace with a bottle of lube from the night stand. “Oh ...” he sighed as Adan spread the lube on his cock. “You want to?” he asked back.
“Fuck me,” Adan requested with an almost virginal shyness he had never shown before. I guess I can make an exception, Adan told himself. What's one fuck when it will get me one-half of one-half of a very profitable porn business? One-two-three … He began counting Chris's strokes, everyone representing another percent of the business. At twenty he began moaning. “Chris … ohhhh … Fuck me ...” Chris came at twenty-five. Adan didn't cum at all, but the overly generous application of lube that dripped on his belly made Chris think he had.
“Do you really want to marry me?” Chris asked still in awe of the idea and the sex.
Adan turned Chris's query into a proposal. “Yes, I will. I was afraid you wouldn't ask. Yes, I will marry you.” They kissed and Adan added. “Let's go to Seattle next weekend.” Chris's eyes got wide and Adan wondered if he had pushed too far too fast. “Tell me you love me, Chris, and then put your big cock in me again.” Chris was silent. This time Adan wondered if calling Chris's cock big had ruined things. “Please, baby,” he appealed.
“I love you with all my heart,” Chris answered; his nice looking medium-sized cock was hard and ready.
“Maybe I should fuck you this time,” Adan said, leaving no doubt that was what would happen.
Jerry always expected that the bad news would come from Tim. He dreaded the thought of coming home and seeing Tim waiting for him on the front porch. Seeing Rory made him think there was some kind of emergency at work. He walking up the stairs wondering what role he could play in a software emergency.
“Neil's at Alameda County Medical Center. Let's go. I'll drive,” Rory said in a very business-like tone. He took the Park Street bridge and East 23rd instead of 14th. Running the lights on 23rd was less dangerous than running them on 14th. “Neil was shot twice, but Tim said the bullets missed his vitals. He should recover without any problem, Jer. Tim's with him now.” Rory honked at a car blocking his way.
The way Rory drove it was a short ride to the regional trauma center. In those twenty minutes Jerry decided his future. “We're going to get married right away, Rory. As soon as Neil is out of the hospital. It will be a small ceremony. In fact it will be no ceremony. Who needs ceremony? We'll just find a judge or something … We don't even need a marriage … A civil union will be fine … We can do that right in California … A notary public can do it for all I care ...” A sob stopped him. No tears, just that terrible chest-ripping pain of grief. “What if he's not all right? What if ...”
They found Tim at Neil's bed in the critical care unit. Neil was inexplicably smiling.
“It's the morphine,” Tim whispered mostly to Rory. Jerry ignored him and went straight to Neil's side. “They got the slugs out. They were small caliber – didn't do much damage. And closed him up. He can probably go home tomorrow,” Tim continued. He watched Jerry whispering to Neil and stepped back so as not to hear. “Can you hold the fort here, Rory? I have work to do. The shooter and another accomplice are in custody at the station house in Alameda.”
“Go. I love you, Tim,” Rory said.
The station house was buzzing with activity. Two suspects were held for questioning. Fred was apprehended at the Eagle Avenue house and presumed to be the shooter; and Banff, picked up at the house on Seaview, was a related party. Neither man was talking, but an inspection and search of the house on Eagle explained a lot. Supplies and the apparatus for brewing crystal meth were found, along with a small amount of product. That part of the crime was a fairly straightforward drug deal. But the findings on Seaview were different.
Captain Parr, the shift supervisor, pulled Tim aside and into his office. “Tim, this is a little strange. Since you are, um, gay, I thought we might talk about some evidence.” The captain closed the office door and motioned Tim to a chair. He handed him a police folder and waited for Tim to examine the contents. The photographs weren't especially good; call them salacious but not sexy. There was one surprise however that left Tim with his mouth open.
“I know this one guy. His name is Nicky Afragola. He's a clothing salesman, lives in Alameda. I had no idea he was into this kind of thing. I know where he lives; we could bring him in for questioning.” Tim looked at other photos and felt sickened. Child pornography is very hard for most people to see. “These others … I have no idea about them.”
“Let's go get this Afragola guy,” the captain stated. He picked up his badge, gun, and car keys.
Ten minutes later Darren answered the door. By then it was after two in the morning, he looked like he had just got out of bed. He began with a friendly, “Tim ...” Then his face fell when he saw the captain. “Uh, you're here on business, I assume.”
“Is Nicky here? We'd like to talk to him.”
“He's not. We've been having a little trouble lately and he left sometime before midnight. He hasn't been back. I don't know where he is.” Darren looked at his watch, confirming the early morning hour. “What's going on?”
“We'd like to talk to him is all.” Tim gave out no extra information. “If he comes in, would you ask him to call me?” Tim handed Darren his card.
“Sure. Is there anything I can do?”
“Not at this time. Thanks Darren.” Tim and the captain left.
Darren immediately called Z, who called Rory and got the details. He relayed the story back to Darren. And so the news that Neil had been shot began to spread.
Z was appalled by the disaster for his friends. He had thought of them as just about the ideal couple. Marriage seemed to make such good sense in their case. He was suddenly terrified by Craig's hints to him on the subject of marriage.
Tom and Heiko were celebrating both the happy holiday week in Tahoe and the subsequent departure of Heiko's parents and brother. As much as they had enjoyed the Christmas season, it was good to get back to a routine. The only casualty of the season had been the loss of a cocktail shaker that was special only because Heiko liked using it. There was nothing special about the cocktail shaker; it wasn't expensive, just pressed glass made to look like crystal with a chrome top and it had failed to survive hitting the floor after being washed one night. Heiko bought a replacement but with the Tahoe trip and the Christmas disruptions, he hadn't had a chance to use it until now
Tom was putting together a little plate of munchies while Heiko mixed their six o'clock drinks.
Tom watched Heiko mix the martinis. Step one, two glasses with two olives each were placed into the freezer. Heiko felt that the chief function of olives was to act as non-diluting green ice cubes. Then he put exactly five ice cubes into his new shaker and measured out one and a third cups of gin. Heiko liked a generous drink. Then he splashed enough vermouth into the shaker to 'take the edge off the gin', as he put it. Tom knew the routine. He carried his plate to the balcony and the waiting sunset view and waited for Heiko to bring the drinks. An explosion of German from the kitchen put a smile on his face. Some tiny thing must have gone wrong with Heiko's procedure.
Tom's German was getting better all the time, but this explosion included words he had never heard before. He could make out the occasional 'shit' and 'pig-dogs'; but the rest was a mystery. He went to see.
“Heiko? 'S up?” he asked.
“The fuckers ...” Heiko raved. The martinis had spilled. “It's a simple machine, a seal is just a wedge, really. How do you fuck up a wedge?” His normally cool blue eyes were fiery. “I should have paid more! I check it out when I bought it. I said to myself 'Not even the Chinese could screw this up.' But they did, Tomi. They totally fucked up a simple machine!”
Tom smiled at his lover. Even the distortion of anger couldn't diminish Heiko's handsome appeal. Tom tried to kiss him but got brushed away.
“Tell me. If you were going to fuck up a cocktail shaker, how would you do it?” Heiko demanded. “You're an engineer. Tell me exactly how you could totally pervert a cocktail shaker!” Tom tried smiling again. “If you shake it, it leaks! It leaks, Tomi! The fuckers designed it to leak!”
It took a full body take-down followed by tickling to distract Heiko. “This is absurd,” he finally giggled. “Here we are making love on a gin-sloshed kitchen floor.”
“Are we making love? I thought I was using you to mop up the gin.”
“We're making love. And let's not use the floor,” Heiko insisted. He picked up Tom and carried him to the bedroom. “You're better than a drink, anyway.”
“How much did the cocktail shaker cost?” Tom asked while Heiko pulled his clothes off.
“Fifteen dollars and sixty-eight cents,” Heiko answered with a renewed scowl.
“We're pretty well off, Heiko. I think we could blow sixteen dollars on a mistake without courting financial ruin.”
“Sixteen here, sixteen there - pretty soon we'll be on welfare. Besides you are contributing a lot more to 'us' than I am.”
“We're both contributing everything we have. I'd call that equal. Plus your dick is bigger.”
“Tomi, you always joke. Even sixteen dollars is serious.”
“Yes, it is.” Tom sighed as Heiko slowly penetrated him. “Oh ...” was all he could say once he was impaled, until he got used to Heiko being in him. Then he was ready. “You can be a little rough if you want.” For the past ten days their lovemaking had been subdued by the presence of so many house guests in Tahoe. “I like it when you get a little rough.”
Heiko got a little rough and kept it up until Tom came, then he gently completed fucking his breathless lover until he got off. It was a nice addition to their cocktail hour.
They showered but they didn't bother dressing and returned to the kitchen naked and unable to keep their hands off each other. “What are you doing?” Heiko asked when Tom broke away.
“Making some new drinks, if you'll stop kissing me for a minute.”
“Don't use that cocktail shaker.”
“I'm using it, Heiko. I like my martini stirred, not shaken.”
“Since when? Stirred? Really?” Heiko was shocked.
“Since you bought this fucking worthless cocktail shaker,” Tom replied. It took some convincing until Heiko could take the remark as a joke. They sat naked, sipping their drinks, kissing, and laughing about disappointing Chinese merchandise.
“Remember that Chinese barbeque grill?” Tom chuckled.
“So does the fire department,” Heiko smiled.
Tom flipped on the tv news and they were horrified by an extensive report of the shooting on Eagle.
“We should get married, Tomi,” was Heiko's frightened reaction.
“Such a sweet boy,” Andrew commented on the news broadcast. “I can't believe it.”
Seth stopped watching the news report and called Rory. “I don't have Jerry's phone number. Is there anything we can do?”
“I don't think so. The medical reports are good. Neil should recover. Jerry's with him now. They're planning on moving up their wedding.”
“That's so good to hear. Call us if we can help.” Seth hung up and relayed the news to Andrew and Lemuel. “So maybe we should get married. What do you think?”
“I think you're nuts,” Andrew answered.
“Could I be the ring bearer?” Lemuel asked.
“Forget that, Lem. We're not going to do it,” Andrew assured the boy.
“Yes, you will, Andrew,” their charge said in reply with a grin. “You always do what Seth wants.”
“I … I ...” Andrew sputtered. He didn't want to say he didn't – that would insult Seth. He didn't want to say he did – that would imply passivity in himself.
“You do, Andrew. You always do what Seth wants.” Lemuel wasn't really arguing; he was just stating a fact.
“There are real advantages to it, being married, I mean,” Seth continued. “Like providing for Lemuel and each other. Like having rights we wouldn't have otherwise. What if you get hospitalized? I couldn't even visit.”
“You could, too. Don't over-dramatize it.” Andrew answered reasonably.
“Think about it. There's also the fact I love you. Plus Lem approves, don't you?” Seth smiled cryptically.
“I do. I do approve. My dads are getting married!” Lemuel's smile split his face.
“Lem, we're not your dads. Your dad is Jody ...”
“I know,” Lem interrupted, “but you're better than he is.”
“That may be, but he's still your father. He loves you.” Andrew would not say a bad word about Jody and Lurline.
“Like he loves a trophy on his mantle,” Seth added, getting a glare from Andrew. “So, you want to marry me or not?”
“Not. Not that I don't love you. We just need to think it out more,” Andrew was only being reasonable.
“We're getting married, Andrew,” Seth insisted.
The three of them looked at each other. They each knew Lemuel was right. Andrew always did what Seth wanted.
From the minute he first plowed Jess's ass, Rocky wallowed in sex. He couldn't get enough. Every night was barely satisfied him. He wanted more.
“I think I was born to fuck you. I swear I get headaches if we go more than half a day without sex,” he told Jess. “You ought to let me pay for the room some nights.”
Jess in turn was just as hungry. “No problem,” he said, pulling Rocky on top. “I've got an arrangement with the management. Are you ready to go again?” He smiled as he felt Rocky's erection test his ass crack. “Yeah, you are.”
“I'm always ready for you,” Rocky said. You want to try doggie this time? I think you almost came the last time we did it that way.” Without any more prompting, Jess was face down on the mattress with his ass in the air. “Let me try it slow … see how you like it ...” Rocky said.
“Do you like me?” Jess asked between the gasps of insertion.
“Course I do. You're the best bed partner I've ever had. And I'm not just saying that 'cause you're the only one. Owwwwwiiieee! So sweet going in slow. I can feel you gripping every inch of me. Let me do that again.” Rocky withdrew and repositioned his cock at Jess's hole.
“No. I mean really like me – like a boyfriend.” Jess grunted as Rocky entered him again.
“Shhh … Don't think about that now. Just feel this …” Rocky kept a steady pace slowly pumping his hips. “Can you feel me … Can you tell how hard I am?”
“It feels great ...” Jess said and then he gasped again as Rocky reached under his belly for his cock.
“Man, you're leaking like a sieve,” Rocky said, as he slicked Jess's precum all over his cock, making it slip easily in and out of his fist. “You like it when I fuck you and stroke you at the same time?”
“Of course I do. Slow down, you're gonna make me cum.” Jess purred as the sex continued at Rocky's already slow pace. “You know, if we were boyfriends, we could live together.” Rocky ignored the comment and pumped a little faster. “Would you ever want to do that?” Jess's question went unanswered.
“I think I can feel your insides grabbing my dick, Jess. Are you squeezing or something? It's so … fuckin' ... hot ...” He pumped even faster and much harder, forcing Jess's whole body slowly across the mattress. “Man, I love doing this ...”
“Do you love me?” Jess asked.
“Oh, shit! ... Fuuuck, baby! … I'm cumming!!! … Oh, man, take it!!! NNNNNGGGHH!” Rocky repeated his grunt with every stroke. “Yeah!!! Whew!!” He collapsed onto Jess's back and the bottom boy collapsed onto the bed, still impaled.
“Man, you're a great fuck,” Rocky enthused. “So perfect … I can't think of anything better.” Rocky softening dick slipped out; he rolled Jess over and held him in his arms. “Well, maybe fucking missionary is better. I get to kiss you all the time that way.” He covered Jess's face in sloppy, devouring kisses and Jess responded, kissing him back with an open-mouthed, wiped-out languor, the way freshly fucked guys do.
“Two friends of mine are kinda like us,” Jess sighed. “They're perfect matches in bed, they say.”
“No shit? You mean somebody else is perfect just like us? Are you telling me I'm a pretty good fuck?” Rocky was only semi-serious.
“You're more than that and you know it. You're a pretty great lover all around.” Jess waited for Rocky's reaction to the word lover.
“But you don't really know me all around. Mostly we just fuck … and suck … and make out.”
“I want to get to know you.”
“Well, to start out, you know I dance in a bar. You know I'm not that good at it. You know ...”
“You are good at it, Rocky. You're beautiful dancing. You're sexy and amazing and half the guys in that bar are in love with you.”
“Including you?” Rocky was smiling but the question called for an answer.
“Yes, including me.”
There. It was said. No pretending it was just good sex. No pretending it was a casual connection. Rocky felt an unexpected pressure in his chest. He didn't know what to say next.
“The two friends of mine? They're talking about marriage.”
The pressure in Rocky's chest built until he realized he was holding his breath. “To each other?” The idea sounded totally foreign.
“Yeah, that's what a lot of lovers do.”
Suddenly Rocky didn't want to be lying in bed with a kid he hardly knew. He wanted to put his clothes on and run. Except … Jess was running his tongue around Rocky's nipples, switching from one to the other, teasing them with little nibbles, squeezing them with his lips. He groaned. Jess inserted his body between Rocky's spreading legs. His kisses moved to Rocky's thighs, and then his balls. Jess gagged a little taking Rocky's cock, still ripe from their last session. Rocky told himself run, but his cock responded stay. Soon Jess was bobbing up and down, bobbing on the slowly engorging cock. Rocky held him tightly and rolled them into missionary position, a friendly position, where they could kiss and fuck and watch each other's pleasure build. There was no question: Rocky loved fuckin' Jess – couldn't say no.
“Fuck me like you're my lover,” Jess demanded and Rocky complied, performing exactly as Jess wanted. “Fuck me like you want to marry me.”
That remark caused Rocky to get off his rhythm. His dick bent painfully as he aimed the wrong way. “Ooow!” He paused. He dick deflated. He finished Jess by hand and left as soon as he could.
Adan took advantage of the Christmas break from school to play Chris like an erotic violin. He drove him nearly crazy by letting Ty and a couple other actors fuck him repeatedly in front of the cameras and then complaining he was “too tired” or “all fucked out” when Chris wanted his turn. He was affectionate in Chris's bed until it came to actual sex. Kisses and hugs, a little mutual masturbation, those were fine; but no fucking. It was working just the way it had with Andrew.
“I don't get it,” Chris said with some annoyance. “You got fucked three times in the last the three days by Ty and Jody. But when I want a little, you're too tired again.”
“Four times,” Adan corrected. “Jody blew the money shot the first time.”
“He also blew YOU. A lot.”
“But I didn't come. What's wrong, Chris?” Adan knew exactly what was wrong. “My God, you're hard,” he added as he held Chris's straining cock.
“Adan! Wait! Don't …!” Too late. Chris came all over himself and the sheet. “Damn it! I wanted to fuck you.”
“Baby, why didn't you say so? I thought you were the one who always liked taking it.” Adan didn't let Chris see his smile as he wiped his dripping hand on Chris's belly. “Don't you like it when I fuck you?”
“I do like it, but you aren't fucking me much lately. So I thought maybe ...”
“Maybe what?” Adan asked. He carefully kissed Chris's cheek, trying to avoid the blob of cum that had landed close to Chris's mouth.
“I thought maybe you wanted me to top for a change …”
“Awww. I didn't know. I've been working so much lately. That session with that new muscle guy – what's his story anyway? I thought after the mess with those other bears you were gonna leave that stuff alone.” Adan paused for effect. “He hurt me.”
Chris was horrified. “He hurt you! What did he do? Tell me!” For a very gay photographer, Chris sounded fiercely protective.
“He didn't mean to. He's big, you know? He didn't use enough lube. I still hurt afterward.”
“I'm sorry,” Chris said with concern. “No wonder you don't want to get fucked. I'm sorry for being so insensitive, baby.” Chris hugged Adan.
Like you're ever gonna fuck me, Adan thought. Always keep 'em wanting more. That was lesson one from his Mexican mentor. And now he's got cum all over me; it's disgusting. Adan extricated himself from Chris's embrace and went to take a shower. “Could you change the bed before I get back?” he called to Chris.
“Sure, sweetie. Be glad to ...” For fresh sheets Chris had to go to the laundry room which was part of the studio. He shivered as he walked down the metal stairs, thinking that a robe or at least something on his feet would have been a good idea. He pulled a couple of sheets and pillow cases out of the pile and headed back up the stairs, regretting his decision to live in what had been a warehouse. There weren't many comforts.
“Ahhh.” Adan's satisfied sigh as he got into the freshly made bed was Chris's reward. “That feels so good. You really know how to please, Chris.” He snuggled into Chris's arms and kissed him.
“Anything else, master?” Chris joked.
Adan stroked his body. “Don't tease me, please. You know I have no security here. It worries me sometimes.”
“You have a contract.”
“Yeah, but you can end that. That's the one thing I envy about straight people. They have security.” Adan gave Chris an encouraging hug and then let his hand wander down to Chris's cock.
“I don't know what you mean,” Chris said. He thrust his hips forward, pushing into Adan's fist. “Mmmm, that feels good.”
“They can get married. We can't.”
“Wha...??? They can get married??? Do you want to get married???”
“Don't even think about it. It's impossible in California,” Adan dismissed the idea
“But … married? Us? You and me? You would consider marrying me?” Chris was surprised, intrigued, and flattered all at once.
“Aren't we lovers?” Adan asked, as if Chris's questions had only one answer.
“But ...” Adan tried to prevent Chris from saying more with a kiss. “Wait, Adan. Seriously. We've never talked about this. Do you love me?”
“Of course I do. I'm in your bed every night. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you.” Adan omitted that fact that he hadn't done much of anything for Chris in over a week. “I need you, Chris.” Adan held Chris's knee between his thighs.
“But … I thought it was just … kind of ...” Chris responded to Adan's melting warmth. “I love you, too.” He looked at Adan with a mix of love and astonishment. “I never expected … Married? Really?”
“I would if you want. We could go to Seattle or something.” Adan let the thought play out. “You want to?” Adan pulled Chris closer and opened his legs suggestively.
“I … I …” Chris was dumbfounded and confused when Adan rolled to one side. He watched in wonder as Adan rolled back to their embrace with a bottle of lube from the night stand. “Oh ...” he sighed as Adan spread the lube on his cock. “You want to?” he asked back.
“Fuck me,” Adan requested with an almost virginal shyness he had never shown before. I guess I can make an exception, Adan told himself. What's one fuck when it will get me one-half of one-half of a very profitable porn business? One-two-three … He began counting Chris's strokes, everyone representing another percent of the business. At twenty he began moaning. “Chris … ohhhh … Fuck me ...” Chris came at twenty-five. Adan didn't cum at all, but the overly generous application of lube that dripped on his belly made Chris think he had.
“Do you really want to marry me?” Chris asked still in awe of the idea and the sex.
Adan turned Chris's query into a proposal. “Yes, I will. I was afraid you wouldn't ask. Yes, I will marry you.” They kissed and Adan added. “Let's go to Seattle next weekend.” Chris's eyes got wide and Adan wondered if he had pushed too far too fast. “Tell me you love me, Chris, and then put your big cock in me again.” Chris was silent. This time Adan wondered if calling Chris's cock big had ruined things. “Please, baby,” he appealed.
“I love you with all my heart,” Chris answered; his nice looking medium-sized cock was hard and ready.
“Maybe I should fuck you this time,” Adan said, leaving no doubt that was what would happen.
Marriage is in the air - some good, some devious.
Adan is turning out to be a really conniving cunt.
It's too bad that Neil got shot - but good that they didn't hit anything vital.
The wires are heating up and spreading the bug - the love bug.
How about a mass ceremony for (almost) all of them!
Adan is turning out to be a really conniving cunt.
It's too bad that Neil got shot - but good that they didn't hit anything vital.
The wires are heating up and spreading the bug - the love bug.
How about a mass ceremony for (almost) all of them!
