Four Miles and Counting

[EasyRory]

Chapter Fifty-Two


“Milpitas … God, the depths to which I have sunk ...” Andrew waited for the phone to complete its ring cycle so he could leave a message.

“Hello,” Craig Grantland answered.

Andrew stumbled. “Uh … Craig … I expected a machine.”

“They used to call me a machine in my college days. I was always good for five - six yards per carry.”

“Yes … this is Andrew calling. I wanted to give you a little update on your modeling career.”

Craig laughed. “I only did that for laughs.”

“Well, we got a lot more than laughs out of it. The company sold more catalogs than clothes. And some guys recognized you. Got some very nice feedback about you. The ambiguous nature of your interest in Z got a lot of comment. Anyway … there is a thought that you would appeal very much to a certain market segment.”

“What segment? Closeted gays?”

“No, guys who are too old for Old Navy and too poor for Abercrombies.”

“Like guys who shop at Target?”

“Or H and M, maybe … that range. I thought maybe you'd like to do another ad campaign. This time we'd use your name.”

“Hmm, well, I'm kind of busy. And the money isn't killer.”

Andrew baited the hook. “Z will be in it. You guys worked well together.”

“Uh, so, when is it?” Craig's level of interest changed radically.

“We're going to try the concept a week from Friday at a local store. See what the reaction is.”

“Just a sec ...” Andrew heard a muffled discussion before Craig came back on the line. “Sure, when exactly would I need to be there?”

“Rehearsal on Thursday, Show at seven on Friday. You want to stay in San Jose? I got a couple of rooms at the Doubletree on the 101.” Seth watched Andrew with interest, hearing only half the phonecall. “Ok, then. Good deal. Remember George Foreman started out this way.”

Seth's eyebrows went up as Andrew ended the call. “Z knows about this?”

“Of course not. The talent never know what's good for them.”

“So you're pairing up Z, the almost famous model of a few years ago, Craig, the almost famous football player of a few years ago, and that stunt dick? What was his name? Asher?”

Andrew looked quizzical. “Can you pair up three people? I thought a pair was just two.”

“Details … you know how touchy Z gets when you mess with his personal life.”

“Sweetie … you know I love you, but you have to trust me on this.”

“I trust you. It's Z I'm thinking about.”

“And It's Z I'm thinking about. I've never seen anybody so miserable. I don't think he's eating. And he works at a restaurant. He's looking gaunt. Plus Darren will be in it.”

“Yeah, but 'gaunt' photographs well.”

“I didn't get Darren a room. He said he'd rather commute. I don't think he trusts Nicky alone.”

“He does, too. Nicky's the one who should worry. Darren's the hot number in that pair.”

“Such a strange couple,” Andrew shook his head in wonder.

“What do you think they say about us?” Seth laughed.

“I told Z the rehearsal might run late. Talked him into staying overnight. And hunky Mr. Grantland will be right next door. Plus Doubletree gave me a deal on two rooms.” Andrew was pleased with himself.

Lem entered the office and announced, “Homework's done.”

“Let me see,” Seth.

“Sweetie … you know I love you, but math isn't your best subject.”

Seth did his best not to laugh; he tried really his best to sound stern. “You don't get to call me Sweetie, Lem.”

Lemuel looked abashed. “I like it when Andrew calls you Sweetie.”

“So do I, but you're not allowed. Ok?”

“Ok. Here's the homework.” Lemuel sat next to Seth and looked on as Seth scrutinized his work. Seth pondered the page.

“What's a Fourier transform?” asked the bewildered new parent. “Isn't this a little advanced for the fifth grade?”

“Sweetie, you're the one who insisted on a new school for him,” Andrew noted.




“Would you mind driving?” Walden asked Brian as they walked toward the closed van. Alladin's Carpets – Tracy's Finest. The faded sign on the side was barely readable.

“Where is Arthur going to be?”

“In the back seat with me,” Walden shrugged. “It's how I got us the ride.”

“You don't need to do that. We're not in prison anymore. We can take another bus.”

“It'll save time. He probably just wants a b.j.”

“Jeez, Walden. I'm supposed to listen to that?”

“Open a window. Turn the radio up. It'll be ok.”

Arthur, who looked a lot older in the daylight than he had under the red glow of the Stardust sign, opened the sliding door to the van. There were no seats, just a carpeted floor. The thick shag of the unappealing green carpet looked as if it had never been vacuumed since it left the loom.

Brian looked at it in disgust. “You'll get crabs,” he said to Walden.

Misgivings aside, they headed south with Brian at the wheel and were on the 205 almost at the 580 junction when the trouble started. Arthur had eased Walden's jeans down to his knees and was sucking his cock. Brian was glad the interior of the windowless commercial van was dark. He got only hints of the action looking in the mirror. The radio was turned up loud enough to mask the sounds of sucking, but not loud enough to cover up everything. Still, Walden seemed to be managing what was going on. It was right after Brian saw the sign saying “Livermore 30 miles” that he heard Walden object to something. There were briefly sounds of a tussle but then things got quiet again; a couple of miles later a yelp of pain sounded like it came from Walden.

Brian jammed on the brakes and pulled to the side of the road. He spun around and took in the scene. Two semi-naked bodies in the doggie position. “What the ...” Brian couldn't tell exactly what was happening. “You said sucking! You said all he wanted was a little sucking!”

Arthur recoiled and Walden quietly said, “What the hell Brian? It's no big deal.”

“You!” Brian pointed threateningly at Arthur. “You know we just got out of prison?” Arthur had his hand on the side door to the van but it didn't open. He frantically wiggled the handle. “You touch him again, I'll fuckin' kill you!” Brian's threat was very convincing.

The handle worked and the door popped open. Arthur flew out of the truck and landed sprawling on the ground. He tugged at his clothes, trying to cover himself. “Take it easy. I ain't hurting the kid.”

The trouble was over almost as quickly as it had started. They resumed the trip with Arthur driving. Brian and Walden sat in the back on opposite sides of the van.

“Nobody ever saved me before,” Walden said in wonder.

“Pull up your pants, Walden,” Brian said in exasperation. He was still breathing heavily and felt shaky from his adrenalin rush.

“Why'd you do that?” Walden asked while he fiddled with his jeans.

“I don't know.” Brian leaned back and zoned out until he felt the van stop. He got out of the van, stretched and stared at Arthur. “I don't want to see you again.” The van spun a wheel in some gravel and Arthur left immediately.

“My fuckin' hero,” Walden said admiringly.

“Where are we? This isn't Alameda.”

“No. I don't live in Alameda. It's Oakland. We're going to my house. It's a short walk. I didn't want Arthur knowing where I live.”

The house was a comfortable-looking one story in the lower part of the hills on a generous lot. The size of the lot said a bunch about the value of the house. They entered the kitchen through the garage and surprised a woman sipping something in a coffee cup.

“Wallie P! My baby! What...? How …?” She flung her arms around Walden and hugged him desperately.

“They threw me out, Mom. The warden didn't like me.”

“Baby!” she continued to hold him in her arms until she spied Brian. She let go of her son and said a wary ”Hello.”

“Mom, this is Brian. We got out together. He needs a ride to Alameda. Can I borrow your keys?”

“Don't you want something to eat first? Something to drink? You look like a prisoner of war.”

“Just a prisoner, Mom. No war. I'll be right back.” Walden took a set of keys off a hook near the door and motioned to Brian to follow. The walked out to the street where Walden pushed a button on the keys. The lights of an silver Escalade flashed and they heard the reassuringly solid sound of door locks opening.

“Nice ride ...” Brian marveled as he entered.

Walden fiddled with the dash. “You want some privacy to call your wife? Just tell it a number,” he said and left Brian alone in the front seat.

“No answer,” Brian called out a few seconds later. Once they were rolling, Brian said, “You don't need to take me all the way. I can walk from the Webster Tubes.”

“Buena Vista near Park is nowhere near the Webster Tubes. I'm taking you all the way. Besides, I don't want to say good-bye yet.”

“It's amazing. I met you at breakfast yesterday and it already seems like years ago. You sure can pack a lot into ...” He looked at his watch. “... thirty hours. Man, is it just thirty hours ago?”

“What are you gonna do?” Walden asked. “Your turn to talk.”

“I don't know. I'm barred from working in the financial industry for five years and that's all I know. Maybe I can do real estate, like my wife. She didn't know anything when she started.”

“You want to do something together? Something to do with a social site for gambling. I think we could trust each other. We got no secrets!”

“What kind of site?”

“I was thinking no real gambling, but a place to talk about it. Tips, systems, that kind of stuff. It wouldn't take much investment and we could start up instantly. Almost instantly. You could be the public face of it. You look honest, like somebody people would want to confide in.”

“But what exactly would I do?”

“Be yourself. Talk to people. You can do gambling analysis – isn't it just like investing, except you get the results quicker?”

“And you would …?”

“Be in the background. I can do the webmaster stuff and some of the gambling stuff. Solicit ads. But I gotta warn you. I'm not going back into the closet. I gotta be me. And maybe 'being me' isn't such a big seller if I'm the front man.”

“I'd need to talk to my wife ...” Brian speculated. “It's right there.” He pointed to his house.

“Nice house.”

“It would fit in your garage,” Brian answered.

“Not my garage. My parents' garage.”

The house was locked and Brian had no key. He checked their old hiding place, under a flower pot that used to have a geranium vine in it. The vine was dead and the key was gone. “Ann should be home in a couple of hours,” Brian told Walden to go home..

“I'll wait with you on the porch,” Walden said.

They sat and talked about Walden's website concept. The possibilities were there if not a visible income stream. They would need day jobs. Nothing remarkable about that. Half of the Bay Area had day jobs while they worked on their dreams. The slightly noisy engine of Ann's aging Benz interrupted them. Brian stood as Ann approached.

“Bri?” she gasped and ran to his arms. They hugged and kissed and hugged again. It was a while until they separated.

“Ann, I want you to meet ...” Brian stopped. Walden was gone.




“There he is!” The taller guy said excitedly to his friend. “It's him!” Three young men mini-mobbed Ty as he got back to school. “Dude, your scenes are SOOOO hot.” The taller guy was a little shy and trying to be polite. His friend? Not so much.

“I like the way your fuck scenes go. You just spread 'em and wait for that big schlong! Your asshole must be huge! Do you date fans?”

“I don't have any fans,” Ty said.

“You do. You have a ton of fans. Don't you read the porn sites? There's a huge debate about whether you'll ever top again or are you a bottom slut forever? It's so obvious you love a big one up your ass. But you could still top, I guess. You stay hard all the time. By the way, are you such a cum-guzzler in real life?”

“He could top me,” a third guy said. “Suck a sweet cock.” The kid rolled his eyes in delight and batted his lashes at Ty. “I'll fuck for you. Show you what a real girl can do.”

“But you're a guy,” Rocky said.

“Who the fuck is this? The boy friend?”

“No, he's my work out partner,” Ty explained.

“No shit? Where do you work out? I'm joining that gym.”

Ty grew wary. “It's private.”

“Speaking of privates,” the tall guy waved a Sharpie at Ty. “Would you sign my dick?”

“Hey, guys, back off a little, huh?” Rocky stepped protectively alongside Ty.

“Alright, not my dick. My ass. Would that be ok?”

Ty looked at the three of them in wonder. The effeminate one was putting his head on Ty's shoulder and trying to take a cuddly phone picture of the two of them.

“I got a cute ass,” the autograph hound insisted, unbuckling his trousers.

“What would I sign it?” Ty asked, ready to play along if it got rid of them.

“Whatever you want.”

Ty signed 'World's Biggest Asshole'. The ass's owner didn't see the humor. “You're the fuckin' asshole!” he exclaimed rubbing vainly at the quick drying ink. “I'm never buying your scenes again.”

“Dude,” admonished the effeminate one, “You are kinda huge. A real gaper. I couldn't even get off that time we ...” The offended asshole decked him.

“It's your fault,” the crude one pointed at Ty. “What happened to all the sweet kisses and cocksucking? You're a jerk like all of them.” His voice was shaky from tears.

“I've lost an eyelash! It was mink!” The effeminate one was groveling in the dust looking for his missing enhancement.

“Run,” Rocky said to Ty. They sprinted onto the campus leaving Ty's fans by the roadside. They continued running all the way to Ty's dorm. Seeing no one following, Ty halted and laughed. “You want to come in?” Rocky just nodded, out of breath.

They got to Ty's room and told the story to Jeff. “Not all that funny, guys. They'll rat you out on the Internet. Any pictures they got will be posted and tweeted forever.”

Jeff searched for the hashtag #tysonsaint a name Chris had made up from Ty's name and school. “See! I warned you.” There was a photo of Ty signing the guy's ass and about twenty comments.

“But it just happened about ten minutes ago ...” Ty moaned.

Jeff looked for #istanbulla and showed Rocky pictures of him dancing. “Looking good, Rocky,” he editorialized.

“What about you?” Ty asked.

“Oh, hell yes. There a whole site with me featured. Nothing's private any more. Somebody even posted a picture of me and Dormeyer.” Jeff pulled up a picture of himself and the middle-aged professor. The picture appeared have been innocent enough until Ty read the comments that said the pictured couple was a real couple. “Learn to live with it, guys.”




Nash and Nicky returned from a day of driving feeling tired and dirty. “Couldn't we find customers closer together?” Nash groaned. They had been to independent stores in San Francisco, Portola, Palo Alto, San Jose, and Hayward.

“Until we snag a chain account, we gotta a lot of traveling,” Nicky warned. “And we're won't get a chain account without some buzz. And there won't be any buzz until we get some new stock and sales. So meanwhile, we make contacts and hope something comes of it.”

“Something other than explosions, you mean. That store in Portola knew about us.”

“But she didn't mind. It all counts. All publicity is good publicity in retail. Well, almost all.” Nicky opened a couple of beers. “You and Steve … you're doing ok?”

“”How do you mean?”

“I don't know … Financially? Sexually? Any way you want to talk about. Not that I'm a genius with relationships, but I'm interested in how you're doing.”

Nash smiled. “No regrets yet. We're still having to buy something for the house every day. If you want to sit down, you need to buy a chair. That kind of thing. Suddenly I understand what being poor is like.”

“No you don't. You have some money. That is infinitely better than having no money. Wait 'til that day comes.” Nicky took a swig. “I hope it never does. No-money sucks more than you can believe.”

Nash waited for Nicky to say more, but he didn't. It sounded to Nash as if Nicky knew what he was talking about. Despite Morrie's financial ups and downs as well as his sporadic inattention, Nash had never known real poverty. Nicky on the other hand was in a new venture with Morrie and the outcome was very uncertain.

“My problem,” Nicky said, “is Darren. He's got the world in his hands and I'm holding him back.”

“He doesn't see it that way,” Nash answered.

“But he will. Ten years from now, when I'm groveling for scraps from Morrie's latest scheme, he'll look back and say, 'I could have gone to college' or 'I could have been a supermodel' or 'I could have been a computer genius' or 'I could have picked somebody younger' or ...”

“Nicky, how many beers have you had? He doesn't think like that at all.”

“Just a crappy day, Nash. All that driving. All those assholes.” Nicky drained the bottle. “You want another?”

“Come on, Nicky. Tsien-tsien owes us. He'll come through with new sources. Great designs. Terrific prices.”

“You want another?” Nicky repeated from the kitchen.

“No thanks. I'm good. And I'm sure this is gonna work out. I'm gonna head home.” Nicky appeared at the door of the kitchen to say good-bye. “Nicky, Darren loves you.”

“Maybe that's his mistake.”

 

[EasyRory]

Leaving town again tomorrow - for the Bay Area. Right now it looks as if I'll be in the city the whole time. If I went to Alameda, I'd feel lonesome looking for our friends in the story.

Maybe Oly's for Sunday breakfast. I could probably do that.

 

[rocabar]

Great new update, Rory- Thanks!

Back to the Bay, eh? Lookin' for some inspiration i'd bet; hope to hear more about it in the next installment!

 

[EasyRory]

Inspiration? Maybe ... I'm going to a scientific convention.

 

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
A nice update on the guys. Sorry I missed last night, but I wasn't home.

Have a good trip West and let your mind run free.

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Fifty-Three


“I want to fuck you.” It was a very sexy whisper with just a trace of an accent, delivered by a very sexy young man with just a trace of urgency. The pressure of his cock could be felt through his clothing.

“Again? Already?” Chris stood and tried to shake Adan off, but Adan held him around the waist and pressed up tight against his butt. “Adan! Stop!” he objected to the nibbling Adan gave his neck. “I have work to do!”

“Now I can't even kiss you?” Adan took tiny bites on Chris's ear and pumped his pelvis into Chris's butt. He slid a hand inside Chris's sweats and felt for cock. Chris was wearing nothing under the sweats; Adan connected and felt the early stages of arousal. “See? This little fellow likes it.” Adan squeezed rhythmically and gave Chris's neck another wet kiss. “I saw you bent over and couldn't resist your cute ...”

“Bent over cleaning the platform. Somebody's got to do it.” Chris sounded annoyed, but he gave up trying to get out of Adan's hold.

“It's been ages,” Adan sighed rubbing his jean-covered cock against Chris's ass crack.

“Sunday. Since Sunday! You fucked me five times on Sunday!”

“Five times,” Adan dismissed the claim. “I couldn't have. Nobody can do five times.”

“Once when we went to bed. Again in the morning. Right before noon. That time around three at halftime in the Niners' game ...”

“Ah-hah! See! I sucked you off during the game. There was no fucking that time.” Adan had aligned their bodies perfectly. The bulge of his cock was planted precisely in Chris's crack.

“Again that night … Alright four times.” Chris had completely surrendered to Adan's touch. He half turned and kissed his lover while he fumbled with the drawstring on his sweats.

“I could never do five times. I think that's physically impossible. We can try if you want, but I don't think I can. Now sit back and enjoy this.” Adan pushed Chris back onto the platform in a sitting position while he slid his sweats off. He knelt between Chris's legs and held his cock, admiring its hardness. He gave it a few preliminary licks and then devoured it. He pulled at Chris's butt trying to force his whole pelvis into his mouth, an impossibility, but Chris enjoyed the attempt. Adan coughed after deepthroating and pulled back. “I'm getting to be a good cocksucker, huh?”

Chris didn't answer. He grabbed Adan's head and shoved his erection back down Adan's throat. He held it there until he felt Adan's resistance. Adan gasped for air briefly and then Chris shoved his cock back down his throat. Adan resisted and in retaliation shoved Chris onto his back while he shoved his jeans down and freed his ready cock. With only spit for lube he plunged into Chris while he was still gasping for air. Of course it hurt. It always hurts a little, but it was just what Chris wanted.

They were both breathless, Adan from near strangling on Chris's cock and Chris from the pain of the abrupt penetration. Chris called Adan's cock a “tapered beer can”. That wasn't true. It wasn't nearly that big, but it was an amazing tool for stimulating a prostate. Pulses of pressure with every thrust had Chris's cock dribbling in minutes. Fast and furious sex. Chris came the instant Adan tried to stoke his cock. “Don't stop! Don't stop!” he begged, “Keep fuckin' me.” With an animal roar, Adan erupted seconds later.

When they got their breath back, Chris looked at Adan lying back with his shirt pulled up and his pants pushed down, his sagging cock still bouncing a little with every pulse beat. “You're barely civilized. You're a God-damned animal.”

“No I'm not.” Adan's Mexican pride was hurt.

“Yes, you are.” Chris challenged.

“You want sweet love? I can make sweet love.” Adan pulled Chris closer.

“Yeah?” Chris challenged again. “Show me.”

Soft kisses turned into renewed passion; once they were naked gentle loving turned into gentle fucking. Chris didn't come, but Adan did. He came in a gentle but deep way that matched their pace. “See? I can show you what love is.”

“So we only need three more times today for five, right?” Chris looked at his watch and made a rough calculation in his head. “You up for it? You have nine hours left.”

Adan smiled but he felt a little hurt. Who's playing who here, he asked himself. I'm trying to do everything right. I'm doing ok – more than ok, I think. And he wants a fucking circus act. “Are you pissed off at me, Chris?”

“No, baby, not at all. Why would you think that?” Chris gave Adan a lingering kiss. “That was nice,” he added. Faint praise, Chris thought. Just a little. I can't let him think he owns me … even if he does. “I'm fuckin' you next time.” It was a threat Chris uttered regularly but he had never tried to collect on it.

“Sure, Chris,” Adan answered. He had never agreed to that before. He didn't like getting fucked. It reminded him of his mentor and his indoctrination. With one last kiss he sat up.

“That was … amazing!” came a voice from the shadows. “And you got it all on video?”

“Who the hell are you?” Chris asked, holding his sweats modestly in front of himself.

“I'm Rocky. Ty said you were looking for talent. The door was open and I ...came in.”

“Uh … Rocky … yeah … right,” Chris temporized while he stepped into the cut-off sweats.

“And you automatically filmed all that? Amazing. Ty told me about the platform and the cameras.”

“Did we film it?” Chris asked Adan.

“Probably. I loaded the cameras,” Adan answered. “If it's no good we can just delete it.”

“It was good. Trust me,” Rocky said.

“Trust you … I guess,” Chris mused. “There is really nothing like the porn business,” he said to Adan.

“Mexican horse racing comes close,” Adan suggested.




“He was here a minute ago ...” Brian said, wondering what had become of Walden. “I wonder where he went.”

“No matter. Let's go inside,” Ann urged. She pulled at Brian eagerly. “You can figure that out later.

An hour later Brian after Brian had cum twice, he said with satisfaction, “That was a great welcome home.”

Ann smiled warmly and restated her love before taking a shower. She scrubbed thoroughly knowing that was a waste of time and hastened to apply a spermicidal douche. She wondered if she should I have insisted on a condom. Had Brian been tested before being released? It didn't sound like it. Should she ask him to get tested? Maybe he just masturbated. Maybe I'm being overcautious. His technique in bed hadn't improved any. Enthusiastic is the best she could say for it. He wasn't really insensitive. He wasn't really that bad. Well, yes, he was if insensitive means he doesn't pick up on my signals, she thought. I might as well be upfront with it, she decided. I've got to put my doubts to rest. She put on a robe and returned to the bedroom. She paused at the door. Brian lay naked on the bed face in the pillow. His body was never a disappointment. She took a deep breath and walked to her dressed.

“Brian, honey … don't take this the wrong way. And I'm not accusing you of anything … But … Just to be on the safe side … Should you get an HIV test?”

He rolled over and looked surprised. Lots of thoughts went through his head without being spoken. “I will if you want. Of course, I will,” he repeated. It sounded as if he thought it was just a good idea. “I can use condoms in the meantime.”

Ann ended the subject with a quick, “Thanks. On a happy note, I got a prize at work for renting the unrentable house. Dinner at the Islandview. Feel like Chinese?”

“I'm starving.”

“Maybe we should go someplace else, then. Something more substantial. A steak house? I'll shop tomorrow. There's not much in the house.”

“Sure. Whatever. Either way sounds great.”

Suddenly the conversation died. There were things that needed to be said, but when and how needed more thought. Talk about Brian's future? Money? Children? Yes, but not now. Brian showered and dressed.

“I've lost weight,” he said, tugging at his loose shirt and pants.

“You look great,” Ann said.

The left the house at the same time Jerry and Neil left theirs. After introductions and a brief chat Brian suggested they all go to dinner together. It would be easier to talk to total strangers than to Ann. He was relieved to have the pressure off. They have the serious talk later.

After drinks arrived at the table Brian broke the ice. “In case you guys didn't know, this is my first drink in a while. I'm fresh out of prison.” Brian lifted his glass in answer to Jerry's well wishes and Neil's open surprise.

“In case you didn't know, I'm a cop. Welcome back to the world!” Neil toasted back. “And in case you're feeling uncomfortable with the cop part, let me tell you Jerry and I are engaged. Maybe you'll feel … I don't know … What I'm trying to say is don't feel you need to apologize or explain anything.” Neil's words were awkward, but his good intentions were plain.

“You guys are gay,” Brian said. It was half a question and half a statement.

“That's where it gets weird,” Jerry said.

“We never thought we were, until ...” Neil held out his hands.

“So we're gonna get married one of these days,” Jerry said.

“It was my idea,” Neil added. “He didn't want to do it.”

“It's hard to talk about,” Jerry said. “Thanks for listening.”

“We the ones grateful. You just gave Bri and me something to talk about. After the 'I love you' we were stumbling a bit.”

Brian smiled at Ann. “We were,” he affirmed. “So did you give him a ring?”

Neil grinned. “Not the kind you're thinking of.”

Brian choked with sudden embarrassment. It was probably just the kind he had been thinking of. Lex had always worn a cock ring.




Jackson had gone over the proposal for the Singapore property again with Mark, Li, Steve, and Nash in the audience. It seemed like a good idea, but Steve was at a loss to guess why he was in the audience.

Now,” Jackson continued, “Another money saver would be to contract out your helicopter flying, Mark.” Steve was on his feet. “Listen before you hit me, Steve,” Jackson continued. “It expensive to keep the bird and staff full time when you use them less and less. What I propose is you sell the bird to Steve and contract with him for flying. He can do whatever you want and make more money flying for others instead of wasting his time as kind of a butler when you're not here. That way you could reduce your capital costs, save some money on operations, and keep Steve busier doing what he likes, namely more flying. Frankly, this idea isn't a great cash machine, but it will eliminate criticism of the level of personal expenses.”

“What do you think, Steve?”

“I'll have to think about it. You caught me off guard.”

“Ok, we'll talk again when you get back from Hong Kong,” Mark concluded.

“Hong Kong? We're going to Singapore,” Jackson said.

“And Hong Kong. There's a yacht at a dockyard in Kowloon that I want you to look at. See if it's seaworthy.” Mark dismissed them.

“Steve, wait up,” Jackson called. “Sorry to spring that on you, but you haven't been around much lately.” Jackson looked pointedly at Nash. “If you have a minute, let me explain.”

It was a pretty good explanation: tax losses to the company, lowered expenses charged to income, a reduction in personal expenses for the chairman, and a cheap bird for Steve. “You'll get your own helicopter with Mark's trips and other company shuttle runs guaranteed. That will cover all your expenses and anything else you can do will be pure profit. And I can promise you a decent minimum of additional business. You can drum up more by yourself. You're good at that. Drumming things up, I mean.” Again Jackson looked at Nash.

“Jacks, leave Nash out of this.”

“Sorry. It is a good deal, Steve. Well, it is if you don't mind taking some risk. But you don't mind that, do you? You could end up making a good bit of money. You know he's going to make big changes, don't you? You're a big expense item. Things were bound to change for you.”

“Things already have changed.” Steve pondered outcomes in his head.

“You have a while to think about it. Li and I will be away a month at least.” Jackson scribbled something on a piece of paper. “There a guy in accounting, Milton is his name, Milt … call him. He understands the numbers. It's a good deal, Steve. Honest. Trust me.” Jackson laughed at his last suggestion. “Well, you could do worse. You CAN trust me on this one.”

Steve took Milt's name and walked slowly to the elevator. On there way down he looked at Nash and then the piece of paper. He punched “11” and said, “Let's go see Milt.”

A half an hour later, armed with a day's worth of reading and several spreadsheets, Nash and Steve left the building. The left behind Milt who was considering a major life style change. He refiled Steve's numbers in the Jackson Proposals drawer and muttered to himself. “Of course they're gay. The helicopter pilot and his boy friend. Why wouldn't they be gay? Everybody's gay it seems. Everybody in this company who's successful, anyway. My boss. The chairman. His admin assistant. Who is now my co-boss or something like that. Ouch!” The drawer had closed on his fingers. “I'm the straight one, with a wife who knows I'm a failure, a kid who doesn't know shit, that's what the fucking schools are worth, and a cat who couldn't care less if it had a brain. And I'm thirty and I weight ten pounds more than I did when I got married, and I'm starting to lose my hair, and I got zero chance of advancement. Why can't I be gay? I might as well be. It wouldn't make a shred of difference in my life.” He slammed the drawer shut catching the end of his tie in the latch. “Fuck! It's ruined.” He examined a series of fine parallel cuts in the polyester of the tie. “Fuck! I'm goin' out and get my cock sucked!” Milt cried out in frustration.

“I win! Yes!!” Dramatic fist pump. “I win the pool!”

“What's it to you?” Milt snarled at the junior clerk.

“We had a bet and I said you'd come out before Christmas! I win!!”

“Any side bets?”

The clerk looked uncertain of what to say. “Day of the week.”

“And you had …?”

“Thursday … today.”

“You want to win that one too?”

“What do you mean?”

Milt thrust his pelvis forward. “Suck it.” Milt had to unzip and get it out before the clerk believed the offer. “Suck my fuckin' cock, Jeremy.” Then he had to think about the new receptionist with the big tits to get it up but after that Jeremy's skills did the rest.




“Jeff and I were talking, Professor, and he said you'd know.” Darren waited for Dormeyer to nod before he continued. “The same Chinese ideographs work for all the Chinese dialects and some are very different from others. Could we use the same ideographs for English? And thereby be able to read Chinese without actually learning the language?”

Dormeyer smiled. “If we're going to discuss semantics, I need a drink.” Dormeyer rose and went to the kitchen.

“He's nuts about you,” Darren whispered.

“You sure? I never really know,” Jeff whispered back.

“You should see the way he looks at you when you're not looking at him. He's nuts about you,” Darren affirmed and winked at Jeff as Dormeyer returned with three small glasses of sherry.

“It helps you think,” he said raising his glass to Darren and then looking lingeringly at Jeff. “So … you're not the first person to think of this, Darren, essentially writing normal English with Chinese characters. It's been studied and tried and it works – almost. One problem is that Chinese has been moving in a Western direction introducing phonetic characters into their writing. They of course don't call it Westernization, but modernization. And then cultural biases, both Eastern and Western enter into it, but if you want to settle for very basic, unnuanced translation, a grammar school textbook, for example, you could do it.”

“And then, if people would agree at some level that it worked, people could enhance and expand it ...” Darren leaned forward, eager to continue the conversation. From that position he could see that Dormeyer was holding Jeff's hand. He quickly sat back in his chair where the closeness of the two men on the sofa was not obvious. “Maybe ...” he qualified.

“You noticed I'm holding Jeff's hand.” Dormeyer smiled. If that makes you uncomfortable, we can sit apart.”

“No, no. That's fine. I just didn't expect ...” Darren stumbled.

“Neither did I,” Jeff noted. “You've never done that before.”

“I know. But I figured Darren wouldn't care, and I thought you might like it if we went public a little. Kind of a try-out. In five months you'll be leaving the school and ...”

Jeff explained to Darren, “I'm going to Berkeley next year. It's some whacky program Jinx found – or did you invent it for me? - that counts my porn days as acting credits … You know Berkeley. And I can graduate in three years instead of four. And once I'm at Berkeley, Jinx and I won't have to hide what were doing.” Jeff looked at Dormeyer for corroboration.

“But meanwhile ...” Darren inserted.

“Meanwhile, I could get fired,” Dormeyer said. “Probably for giving you two glasses of sherry; that would be a nicer charge.”

“Not me. I'm twenty-one, I'm legal,” Darren smiled and sipped his wine.

“Me, too, almost,” Jeff said. “I'll be twenty-one in March.”

“So we're back to getting me fired for pederasty,” Dormeyer chuckled and took Darren's glass to the kitchen for a refill.

“Everybody kind of knows about it, Professor. More or less.” Darren wondered if Dormeyer thought his sexual proclivities were actually secret.

“They do??” Dormeyer was honestly astonished. Jeff nodded in agreement. “Really?” his whine was pitiful. “I thought I was being so brave letting you know, Darren.” He looked at Jeff again not knowing what to say next.

“Nobody cares, Jinx,” Jeff said.

“They do, though. The faculty care. I'll be a joke. A campus joke. Jeff, you've got to stay away.” The Professor sounded desperate and determined; he would if he could repair his reputation overnight. “You need to leave now. The two of you. Together.”

 

[DonQuixote]

Merry Christmas, Rory.
An interesting installment. Chris & Adan - so UPlifting first thing in the morning - and meet Rocky in all your glory, by the way.
A great "here's how it's done" tour, one might say.

Brian and Ann - Hey, Bri, meet the neighbors. Oh, yeah, maybe you should be tested? At least that's being non-judgmental and smart.
I don't know that they'll make it, now that Brian has had an itch he never knew he had, scratched, deep, inside, where it counts.

Jackson's presentation to Mark might have given Steve apoplexy - the security of his job! But, given the expenses, if ego of ownership is removed, it makes great sense, and opens up the possibility of Steve making some nice change. I wonder how Nash felt, being the object of closer scrutiny, if that's the right word.

And the poor, token straight accountant gives it up - not that it's likely to improve his lot in the company, but at least he'll get head out of the deal. Maybe even a split of the pot.

Dormeyer and Jeff -with some candid observations from Darren - how to put panic in Dormeyer's head.

A very nice diversion from the sadder events in our town, yesterday.
Not the way anyone wants to make International News.

Thanks for the holiday distraction.

I hope you have a great day.

 

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
I just came across this on the net - maybe our collection of boys helped consume this monster after a particularly energetic lacrosse session - or at least provide some of the "special sauce" for it!

​

This enormous burger was produced at the 99th Annual Alameda County Fair in California, US. It helped to break the record for the world's largest commercially available hamburger in the process, weighing in at a whopping 777 lbs (352 kg). This is what the word 'supersize' was invented for.

(Image: Getty)

 

[EasyRory]

777 pounds of wasted food. There is probably some kind of law against that somewhere in the Bay Area. The fairgrounds are in Pleasanton, however, far from Nancy Pelosi's epicenter and close to Lawrence Livermore Labs, so the city may not even hear of it. They try to blot things like that out of their minds.

I didn't get to Alameda after all on my last trip, but did have "an experience" that may be worth a short one-chapter story.

 

[DonQuixote]

As long as we get links, lol.

They usually cut up Guiness Records things like that and feed the fair goers wherever they are made, so it's not a complete waste.

 

[rocabar]

I didn't get to Alameda after all on my last trip, but did have "an experience" that may be worth a short one-chapter story.

Heh- An 'experience' eh . . . Maybe worth a story- Nice! I've always wanted an EasyRory story for the holidays!!! Squee

Thanks Santa/EasyRory

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Fifty-Four


The sound of Walden's belly laugh put Brian in a better mood. The insult of the HIV test persisted. He didn't hold it against Ann - she had a perfect right to ask for it; but the test itself was so demeaning. The entire clinic seemed to know what he was there for. People in the waiting room stared. He got a knowing wink from clerical aide who could only be called a simpering queen. The doctor who insisted on a physical examination wasn't a model of professionalism either, using the exam time to ask if Brian needed any medicine, emphasizing the 'any' in his offer.

“What's so funny, Walden?” Brian asked.

“I am. I'm a fucking laugh riot here.” The website was up and operating out of Brian's garage but users were few. Walden had assumed several identities that he was using to post on other bulletin boards and blogs to try to drum up interest in ToutsBestOdds.com, as they were calling their site. “I just did everything you're not supposed to do playing black jack. Tomorrow I'll post again after getting advice from our site.”

“Laughing at your own jokes ...”

“Try it, you could use a laugh.” Walden got up to stretch and walked up behind Brian.

“I'm trying to paraphrase this how-to book, without getting us sued. Isn't that worth a laugh? We being a fake author?” Brian tensed up when Walden put his hands on his shoulders.

“You're on Chapter Four,” Walden commented, reading over Brian's shoulder. “That's progress.” He felt Brian's tension and took his hands away. “You want some coffee?”

“After you learn how to make it,” Brian answered.

“Mom makes it look so easy,” Walden sighed. “Maybe she could make us a big pot in the morning.”

“Based on revenues from the site, we can't afford the beans. Alright. I'm done.” Brian saved his work and closed the word processing ap. He looked up, “Walden, I gotta ask. How did you manage to … to do what you did with that guy in Stockton?”

“Easy. I pretended he was you.”

Brian's mouth fell open. “You're shittin' me!”

“No. Maybe. A little.” Walden let a smile take over his face.

“I never know when you're being serious. I've said that before, haven't I? Is this website thing really going to catch on? Maybe you can answer that.” Brian let his serious look fade away. “On second thought, don't answer. Save that thought, time go to work.” Brian shut down his terminal.

“Come on, look at the bright side.”

“What bright side?” Brian put on an old jacket, ready to leave.

“You get to work with me. Every day. Doesn't cost you a thing.”

You had to smile at Walden, there was something about him that brought it out of everyone. Of course, his day job isn't kicking boxes for Clorox, Brian thought. His day job is clerking in a sporting goods store. Posing and selling pseudo-jock clothes and a lot of standing around, sipping bottled water, that was what Walden did.

Brian was busting his ass in a warehouse that smelled of enough chemicals to remove layers of lung when they're not blowing up buildings. And it wasn't even a day job, it was swing shift – all the disadvantages of night shift without the extra money. The shop boss had told him that the explosion threat was “wildly exaggerated. Nothing has blown up in a Clorox factory in over two years – and that time was in Georgia, where the plant wasn't unionized.” Brian was not reassured; and the much-discussed, never-seen OSHA inspector had actually appeared only once in the memory of a old guy who hoped he survived long enough to retire.

Walden made it sound so simple. “They hired me because I look good wearing what they're selling, Brian. You could do it. You could work at some place that sells post-preppy stuff. Some place like Ann Taylor.”

“Walden, that's a women's store. I'm not wearing women's clothes.”

“But you'd look good. The customers would eat you up. 'Sir? Does this bra look right on me?' And then you'd say, 'Is that a D cup? It looks a little small.' and they'd giggle, 'It's a B cup, you sexy rascal, you.' And then they'd ask about what time you get off and ...”

“No, they wouldn't. And the warehouse job pays twelve dollars an hour.”

“Of which the government and the union take how much exactly?” Brian shrugged, not sure of the answer. “A lot, Brian. A whole lot. You could take home the same just for looking good for the ladies. And you do look good. Doesn't your wife tell you that?”

That was the thing, Brian thought as he waited for the bus. Ann never told him that. He wasn't even sure she thought about it. Walden was the only one who told him things like that. He's always trying to boost my ego. The arrival of the bus interrupted Brian's thought. He and two women who cleaned house got on. He let them go first and they smiled coyly at him.




“It's more than just taking your clothes off. I guess you're used to that, as a club dancer,” Adan said. “Doing it in front of a camera is totally different.”

“Doing it – the sex part - in front of a camera would be totally different, for sure,” Rocky said, without explicitly admitting his virginity.

“Not everybody can. It's weird. You need to realize that everybody in your life will know. My abuelita, who lives in rural Mexico, even she knows I have gay sex on camera. Everybody knows. There's no going back. No do-over.”

Rocky gulped and moved restlessly in his seat.

“So other than that, it's not so bad. You have to please the director, of course – do what he says and all. Are you still interested?”

“Could I start out slow?” Rocky asked.

“How slow?” Adan countered. “Chris has done some arty nude work, but there's not much money in it. It's by the hour and, with your experience level, the rate wouldn't be much at all.”

“That way – modeling - maybe I could see if I could handle the rest,” Rocky proposed.

“Maybe. Get naked and I'll get Chris.”

Rocky nervously stripped to his underwear and waited for Chris to return. He had to wait a while, there was a delay. He fidgeted and then started to feel cold. His feet especially were cold on the bare concrete floor. He moved over to the platform; the carpet was warmer.

“Ok, sorry for the delay. I was taking a shower.” Chris entered tying a robe around himself. His hair was still wet. “Stand up please. Turn around. Again, slowly.”

Rocky felt uncomfortable under the close scrutinization; he felt a prickly sensation as his balls pulled up close to his body. “Ok?” he asked.

“Drop your drawers, please,” Chris requested.

Rocky did as requested and pulled on his cock trying to stretch it out. “I'm usually bigger than this. It's cold ...” he explained. He tried tugging on his balls, but they stayed tight.

“You're a very good-looking young man,” Chris said. “But … not for straight modeling. We'd be glad to give you a try-out for porn, if you want to do that. Up to you ...” Chris toweled his damp hair as he left the room.

“Can I think about it?” Rocky asked. His teeth were chattering in the cold. He lunged for his clothes and quickly put them on. “Is it always this cold in here?”

“Come here,” Adan said. “Put your arms around me and kiss me.” Rocky put his arms around Adan and hesitated. “Closer, like you love me. Kiss me.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Close your eyes. Pretend I'm someone else. Someone you want to be kissing.”

Rocky tried to comply, but something wasn't right; he tried distracting himself, but thoughts of Wolf wouldn''t come. He chuckled and then looked Adan in the eye. He got an attack of the giggles and the subsequent kiss was both brief and awkward. “I'm sorry, I wasn't laughing at you, I was just laughing. It seemed so ...”

“Right,” Adan said. “That's porn, though. You have to sell the sex as something as close to real as you can make it. It's harder than it looks.”

“It is. I'm sorry.”

“So, give us a call if you want to pursue things. We can start slow, but probably not as slow as you have in mind.” Adan gave Rocky a good-bye salute and watched him leave. “We'll never see that guy again,” he called to Chris. “Cute ass, too.”

“How about getting your cute ass in here?” Chris called back from the editing room. “This scene is pretty hot. You're making me look good.”

“You always look good,” Adan said as he sat next to Chris.

“Are you messing with me?”

“Mess with you? Who? Me?” Adan leaned closer for a kiss and let his hand wander up Chris's thigh. As their lips met he closed his eyes and pictured Rocky's eminently fuckable ass.

“What's making you so hard?” Chris teased. “You want to fuck me again? So soon? Already? No wonder we got so little work done.” Chris was plainly willing to let his editing be delayed once more.

Adan broke the kiss and rearranged the front of his jeans. “You're right. More work, less fucking. Let's see the scene. Is it a stand-alone or do we need to fit it into something longer?”

Chris was left with a hard dick and disappointment. Professional detachment wasn't what he wanted at that moment.




Jeff, want to do something? You want to go out tonight? We could have a couple beers. Go watch Rocky dance. I've always wanted to do that.” Ty asked.

“I'm good,” Jeff answered. He wasn't good at all. Dormeyer's dismissal had been abrupt and devastating; he felt hollowed out, empty, numb. Jeff was the picture of young love in vain. He closed his eyes and imagined the professor bobbing on his cock. Jinx was a great cocksucker. He sat up again, daydreaming wasn't helping.

“Adan and Chris want me to try something new ...”

“Yeah? What?” Ty asked, relieved that Jeff was willing to talk about something.

“Kinky stuff. Leather and toys,” Jeff answered with strict detachment.

“Toys? Like diildos?” Ty followed up.

“Handcuffs. Ropes. Stuff like that.”

“Don't do it. It's not you. I mean it's not the 'you' that your fans like. They like watchin' their fair-haired boy discover how much he likes sex. They don't want to see you in pain. Suffering. Being hurt.” Even as Ty said the words he realized that was precisely the current description of his roommate, so terribly hurt by Dormeyer, who might as well have used a whip to drive Jeff away. “You want to go work out? The gym is never crowded at this time,” Ty proposed.

Jeff seemed to consider the idea but declined. “You go ahead. I'm going to work on a paper for Modern Lit.”

Ty recognized some familiar faces at the gym but worked out alone. Shoulders and arms were his emphasis; for this session he stuck to machines and skipped the free weighs. Exercise was always mood enhancing and sometimes more than that. His body felt totally alive with an athletic freedom of motion that made him feel immortal, invincible, and then, with insidious stealth, incredibly horny. His need seemed like a growing nervous vibration; he felt that odd awareness, that focusing sensation that made his cock swell just enough remind him of its confinement, of its need to stretch out like the rest of his body. He was tempted to jack off during his shower; but he didn't. There was something pathetic about jacking off in the early evening, as if the night held no possibilities whatsoever. The night was full of possibilities for a handsome and horny young porn star with a fake ID and more than a few extra dollars in his wallet.

There was a certain inertia that had to be overcome in order to make the trip into the city. It required a deliberate investment of time and money; but in this instance the time was right and the need was great. Porn studio sex was physically releasing, but it delivered no psychic punch. Tonight Ty needed a real person-to-person connection. Real connections are rarely made with strangers; still, Ty was young. He realized that Istanbulla's bar was probably not the key to a bright future and a lasting relationship; that didn't matter. All he wanted was a hot night tonight. Waiting on the train platform he squeezed his cock; in return it leaked a few anticipatory drops. Shit. He could see the wet spot. It seemed huge to him, like he had pissed his pants. It stood out like a neon sign. So obvious. He was sure he had been busted playing with himself; he glanced around the train platform furtively. Oddly, Ty thought, no one else noticed.

Going to a gay bar for the first time was daunting all by itself. Using his almost brand-new fake ID was a second challenge. The closer he got to Istanbulla's, the slower he walked. Hoping his porn-stardom would go unrecognized was a third unsettling element. Getting past the fantastic drag queen at the door almost made him turn around.

“ID please,” Helena Hahn-Bosquette requested. She looked skeptically at the driver's license Ty presented, the ID that stated his age as twenty-two. “Mr. William …?”

“Thibodeau,” Ty filled in, using English phonetics to pronounce his purported last name.

“Really?” Helena challenged. “I thought that was 'Tib-uh-do' in most parts of the world.”

“Not in Oakland,” Ty replied.

“Oakland?” Helena checked the address. “Poor baby,” she commiserated and waved him through.

Ty ordered a beer. He sipped and had the guilty feeling that every calorie in it was sapping the value of his workout. He cautiously looked around. The early crowd lacked any pretense of glamour. A couple of men approached him, but Ty didn't encourage them. His response to their chat was polite but cool.

“If you smile a little, you won't have to pay for your beers,” the bartender suggested, setting a fresh one in front of Ty.

Ty smiled at him. “Who's paying for this one?” he asked.

“Me,” the bartender winked.

Ty watched him walk away to check on another customer. He had the remains of a fine ass packing his Levis. Ty wondered how old he was.

“He's about forty,” a guy volunteered, a guy who had followed Ty's gaze. “Not bad for forty.”

“No,” Ty answered. “He isn't.” The two added words took an effort.

“And he seems to like you. But who wouldn't?” The guy paused. “The lighting in here is odd, but I'd say you are blushing. Are you blushing?” The voice was friendly and Ty smiled at him.

“Yeah, a little.”

“In case you're wondering, accepting a beer doesn't constitute a lifetime commitment, but you owe your donor a little friendly talk for his four dollars.”

Ty waited until the bartender was close. “Hey,” he called out. “Thanks for the beer.” Ty gave the bartender his best smile and got one in return.

“Now you've got him eating out of your hand,” the guy next to him said. “See how easy it is?”

“I've never been here before. I don't know the rules.”

“Simple courtesy. Somebody's nice to you; you're nice back. You don't have to go home with him, but somebody as cute as you should probably figure out a couple of dozen clever ways to say no. 'I have to wash my hair' isn't good enough”

“The doctors have advised me to wait at least a month before sex,” Ty said.

The guy laughed. “That may be over-kill.” He laughed again and then said, “You look familiar.” Ty stuttered and was saved by the music and the dimming lights. “Show time,” Ty's new friend said.

A beautiful body side-washed by red strobe lights began dancing. It took a while for Ty to decide the dancer was wearing tight briefs. Ty took a swallow of beer. His throat had gone dry. The guy's body was perfect. It so looked like he was naked and available. Ty was surprised by his immediate physical attraction. 'I want him' was all he could think.

“That's Rocky,” the guy whispered. “Every swingin' dick in this bar is dying for a piece of Rocky.” He sat back and watched the act.

That's Rocky? Ty thought to himself. That's Rocky? Sex on a stick is what that is.

“Take it off,” somebody called out.

“I need it to hold your money,” Rocky called back as he danced up closer to the guy. The guy tucked a bill into Rocky's shorts and copped a feel. Rocky's expression changed as if the cash and the touch was the most sensual thing he had ever felt. He slowly danced away toward the next hand that was waving cash of some unknown denomination.

“Are you holding your breath? It's ok to breath,” the guy joked.

Ty realized he had been staring in suspended animation. He took a deep breath and another sip of beer. He had never seen Rocky like this. Toward the end of the set, Ty moved up to the stage and tucked a dollar into Rocky's shorts. He felt the warmth of the dancing body and a trace of sweat on Rocky's abdomen. A look of recognition passed between them. Ty went back to his barstool and sipped his beer still nervous from the encounter.

“You and every other guy in San Francisco would like a shot at that,” the guy whispered. “You want another beer?” The music stopped and the lights came up.

“Sure. Am I being polite enough?”

“You could do better, I guess. But you're beer-worthy.” The guy signaled for two more.

“Cutting me out, huh, Midget?” the bartender joked as he put the two beers down.

“Why'd he call you Midget? You're as tall as he is,” Ty asked.

“Height isn't my problem ...”

A familiar voice intervened. “What are you giving me money for? You see me naked all the time!” Rocky, in street clothes, looking like his regular self, held out a five dollar bill to Ty.

Ty grinned. “I gave you a one.”

“Yeah? Well, you're the reason I'm doing so well. Wait, I'll be back.” Rocky went to answer a summons from Istanbulla.

“You know him?” the guy asked, freshly impressed.

“We work out at the same gym,” Ty answered, giving a limited version of the truth.

“What did he mean about you being the reason ...” The question was cut off by Rocky's return.

“Somebody ratted you out. Istanbulla want to know if she can introduce you. Would you mind taking a bow?” Ty nodded his ok.

“What does he mean?” the guy asked. An announcement answered his question.

“Some of you may have seen an adventurous Internet actor named Will Thibodeau,” the anonymous, amplified voice announced. “Well, somebody who looks very much like him is here with us tonight. Rocky, get out of the way! You get too much attention already.” Rocky moved aside and shared the spotlight and scattered applause with Ty. Rocky put his arm around Ty and kissed him on the cheek. The applause doubled.

“Now I see why you turn me down, Rocky!” somebody called out.

“They're so cute together!” another patron gushed.

“You two should make a porn together!” a third person suggested.

“Follow me before they start getting personal,” Rocky whispered and led Ty to the break room. “Thanks for being a good sport, Ty,” he sais when they were alone. “Can I have a sip of your beer?”

“Uh, sure. I forgot I was carrying this.” Ty handed Rocky the bottle and watched him take a swallow. “You own this crowd, Rock. They're lovin' you here.”

“Only since I took your advice and started treating them like people. I gotta dance one more time and then we can leave, ok?”

Ty waited until the lights went down again and returned to his barstool. “Are you really a couple?” the guy who bought the beer asked.

“We're friends – we do stuff together – that's all.”

“The Porn Star and the Go-Go Boy. Sounds like the title of a fuck book ... Too bad you're not a couple.”

Ty bought the guy a beer making his night special. “A porn star bought me a beer! Wait til that son of a bitch who dumped me hears ... “

About an hour later, after riding back to school with Rocky, Ty crawled into bed and suffered an acute return of his earlier horniness. He listened for Jeff's breathing. Deep and regular sounds said Jeff was deeply asleep. A little JO session wouldn't hurt, Ty decided. He began the familiar motions and nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt another hand on his cock.

“Let me help,” Jeff whispered.

Ty lay back and felt the warm suction of Jeff's mouth. He closed his eyes and imagined it was Rocky sucking his cock - but not friend-from-the-gym Rocky, this cocksucker was his red-lit, dirty-dancing fantasy fuck. He came quickly, pulling hard on Jeff's head, thrusting down his throat, and making him choke on the gush of semen.

“I was thinking of Dormeyer,” Jeff commented, wiping his mouth. “He comes just like that.”

 

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
Thanks for the update on our two couples, plus . . .

Or, the gonna be two couples, lol.

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Fifty-Five


“What ever happened to the Cavendish Number One?” Andrew asked a man in the grocery section who was trying to make something artful out of a jumble of limes. He poked disdainfully at the disappointing banana; it was solitary, detached from its hand, smallish, and already overripe while still in the store's bin.

“Whuh?” the mystified grocer replied.

“The Cavendish Number One - there was a banana, Lemmie. Empires were built on that banana,” Andrew waxed wistfully as the two surveyed the fruit selection.

“Empires?”

“Financial ones … Let's get the pineapple instead. For the future, I suggest that if you ever decide to become a green grocer that you learn something about groceries. The Cavendish banana originated in Asia but found true happiness in the Americas ...”

Later that night, as they lay in bed, Seth told Andrew how impressed Lemuel had been with the banana tutorial. “He recounted the lesson – probably word for word, Andrew.” Seth gave Andrew a smooch on the cheek.

“The boy has a wonderful memory – he soaks up everything,” Andrew commented with a yawn.

“And you're really good for him ...” Seth snuggled closer, throwing a leg over one of Andrew's. He placed his hand on Andrew's chest and slowly traced a pattern that moved lower. After a bit of a tease, Seth's wandering hand arrived at Andrew's cock, which lay limp. He cupped it and then gave a gentle squeeze. “You're really good for me, too … you know that?” Seth followed with a kiss.

“Sweetie, you know I love you; but I'm really tired tonight and we have the Milpitas show coming up. Hauling Lem around is way more exhausting than I ever thought it would be.”

Seth dropped Andrew's still limp cock. “Sweetie,” Seth mocked, “Do you realize we haven't had sex in days?” He reviewed the past week in his head. “Five days, to be exact.”

“I'll make it up to you. He goes to Lurline after school tomorrow.” Andrew yawned again.

“Is this what being married with kids is like? One lousy fuck a week?”

“Now I'm a lousy fuck?” Andrew queried in a voice that lacked any real curiosity.

“No, but … I miss you, Andy. I liked it when we did it more.”

That woke Andrew up. “Do not call me Andy!”

“Yeah? What are you gonna do about it, Andy?”

Seth's ploy worked. Andrew fuck him quite well. A little perfunctory, perhaps, but only in comparison to the spectacular sessions they used to enjoy. And afterward, Andrew was asleep even before his dick dried. Seth sighed and tried to sleep as well; but he really wouldn't have minded a longer love-making session. There was still some unspent energy left in his cock; he played with himself idly and teased it to full erection. Yeah, he thought and spread his legs so he could play with his balls, too. His asshole was still relaxed from Andrew's pounding. Only a couple months ago I could have got him to come twice, Seth remembered; now I'm lucky to get it once a week. Being a parent sucks sometimes. Seth instantly felt guilty. Am I getting jealous of the kid? He pondered the question. No, he decided that the kid wasn't the problem; but by that time his dick was limp. He's a good kid even if he is an erection-killer. “We'll have a good fuck tomorrow,” he whispered to his sleeping partner.




The computer gonged its portentious electronic call. “Walden! Look!” Brian cried. He pointed at the screen; the counter applet showed a positive number. “We're making money!”

Walden rushed to Brian's side and they crowded each other looking at the screen. The small meter in its analog version wavered repeatedly and it's needle bounced off the zero setting. The digital counter echoed the meter and registered 19.23.

“Nineteen dollars,” Walden said. “Better than nothing, huh?”

“But that's just from the view counts. Now we can asked for up-front ad fees.”

“Wait … there's more.” Walden pointed at the meter which now read 22.34. They both watched in anticipation but nothing further happened. The brief excitement faded. Reality, including physical feeling, returned.

Brian chuckled. “Are you humping my arm?” Brian was seated and Walden stood close behind him. There was no question Walden was rubbing against the back of Brian's upper arm.

“Oh!” Walden sprang backward. “Sorry. I guess I got lost in the excitement of seeing our first revenue.”

“You got a little chubby in there,” Brian teased, pointing at the distended front of Walden's cargo shorts.

Walden blushed and said nothing at first. He moved back to his chair and sat. He typed a series of commands. “So the ads are working. The money's from 'The Sporting News' at a quarter of a cent a hit. That's over eight thousand hits. If there are any subscriptions, we'll get more.”

“To tell you the truth, I never really thought we'd make a cent,” Brian admitted.

“Ye of little faith,” Walden entoned. “We should celebrate. Modestly, of course. Can't buy the yacht yet on twenty-two dollars … less taxes … less expenses …”

Two of Walden's father's beers later, they sat in the winter sun in Walden's back yard, sipping a third bottle each. “I guess it's too soon to quit Clorox,” Brian sighed and then he laughed.

“Clorox is funny?” Walden asked. Brian ignored that and responded with his own question.

“What do you supposed half of twenty-two dollars less taxes and expenses is?”

“Some negative number.” Walden stated. “But it's a smaller negative number than it was this morning.”

“Negative nummer ...” Brian speech was slightly slurred. His pronunciation of number didn't include the b. “So what are we gettin' out of this, really?”

“A few laughs and three beers,” was Walden's reply.

“And a chubby,” Brian added. Walden didn't answer. They sipped the beer and thought their private thoughts for a while. “Do you want to have sex with me?” Brian suddenly asked.

“What kind of question is that?” Walden temporized.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Brian repeated with deliberation.

Walden looked back at Brian fiercely and then let a smile creep slowly over his face. “Desperately,” he answered at last.

“No shit?” Brian asked and Walden smiled wider. “See? I never know when you're serious.” They lapsed into silence for a spell. “So … Is working with me trouble for you?”

“No. I can be desperate without being out of control.” Walden was still grinning.

Brian considered how he'd feel. “I'd be going crazy.”

“Let's not talk about it,” Walden finished his beer.

And they didn't. They went back to their desks in the garage and resumed promoting their site. An hour later Walden opened the meter window.

“Forty-six dollars, Bri. That negative number just got smaller.”

Brian went home that night feeling better than he had in a while. Forty-six dollars was a start and he had two days off from Clorox. Instead of transferring to the Alameda bus he walked from Oakland across the High Street Bridge. It was a boring walk through a semi-industrial neighborhood, but it was safer than some other routes. His head cleared from the beers and he stretched out his stride once he crossed the Estuary. He arrived home in the late afternoon and greeted his wife with an invitation.

“How about an appetizer before dinner?” That was their euphemism for afternoon sex.

An hour later Ann lay in bed dazed with a smile on her face. “Wow. What got into you?”

“Desperation,” Brian answered. “You want a drink? I'll make dinner tonight.” That was an extraordinary offer; Brian was a terrible cook.

“Sure,” Ann purred and tugged the sheet over her exposed breasts.

Unfortunately, the magic didn't last. The next night was lackluster. “Running out of pixy dust?” Ann queried. Sunday afternoon was pure frustration. For the first time in his life, Brian had trouble getting it up. He succeeded only after thinking about Walden's chubby.




Mark pointed to himself. “Mark,” he said slowly. He pointed to the young man. “Martin,” he said. Martin pronounced it more like Mar-teen, but at least the communication barrier had a few holes in it. Mark made another gesture involving his hand and his mouth. “Suck cock,” he said. Martin grinned and sucked his cock quite thoroughly.

“Wait!” Mark said, not wanting to come yet. Martin looked up in surprise.

“No good?”

“Very good,” Mark assured his pupil. “But the security system is flashing.” He opened a screen and Martin giggled at the televised report of Steve and Nash fucking on the helo pad. “Those two never quit,” Mark said as he punched the 'save' button and closed the screen.

Martin said something that sounded like pee-ep-tzitch.

“Fuck,” Mark guessed. He pointed to Martin and then himself, “We fuck now.”

After some initial confusion over who would top, Mark got his way and Martin got a cock up his ass. After he came Mark tried to get up but Martin demanded his turn. After decisively losing an unseemly boss-servant wrestling match, Mark was annoyed but gave in. Martin forgot all his minimal English and kept repeating something in Polish as he fucked Mark.

“If you weren't such a promising boy, I'd ship you home for that,” Mark threatened when it was over. He wasn't used to losing but realized Martin's lack of understanding made his threat empty. “I forgive you this once,” he told the uncomprehending and unrepentant boy. Martin sensed the reconciliation and gave Mark an energetic hug and a longer string of Polish that ended with some hip thrusts, an apparent promise to fuck Mark some more later.

“We'll see about that,” Mark promised in return. “But first we see about my pilot. PILOT,” he emphasized for Martin using his hands to simulate airplanes.

“Lotnik,” Martin said making the same hand motions.

Martin was still naked and the hand motions made his cock swing about alluringly. He was taller than average and slim with the grayish blond hair color common in Eastern Europe. His blue eyes were almost hidden by a prominent brow; they weren't especially handsome until you got quite close. Overall, he was a good-looking boy, but his cock was his best feature. Sausage was the perfect word for it. Plump and uncircumcised, it hung heavily, slightly curving inward over his balls. Relaxed and limp, it was a thing of beauty. Aroused, it rose hard and erect but didn't get a lot bigger. He looked good erect, but for pure aesthetics he looked better without an erection.

Martin's sexual orientation was unclear, perhaps not in his own mind, but certainly in Mark's. If the circumstances called for sex, Martin was willing and he didn't seem to care what the circumstances were. In Mark's observations of Martin's performance, the boy enjoyment was unabashed and thorough with men as much as with women. He needed only a better sensitivity to what his partners were experiencing.

“Get dressed,” Mark said. “We'll pay a call on our lovebirds.” He watched Martin dress and loved what he saw. Martin had a collection of gauzy, body-hugging clothing; he looked as if he should be lounging by a pool even if he was wearing a wool suit. The shorts he put on gave generous hints of the outline of his cock as he moved. Pornography on the hoof, Mark thought. Mark couldn't help himself; he had to touch that sausage. Martin tolerated the tactile inspection and was willing to let things go farther, but Mark was satisfied with triggering an arousal.

“Later,” he promised. “We need to fire an employee.”




“Z, it's Craig.” Z took a deep breath, not sure where this call would go. “I'm at this motel Andrew recommended in Milpitas.” Craig mangled the town's name.

“Mill-PEA-tuss,” Z corrected him. “You're early, aren't you? The shoot isn't until next week.”

“Yeah, well. I was out of things to do and I just thought … Do you want to get together? Practice some poses?”

“I have a day job now. I'm a little bit tied down, but I have Monday and Tuesday off.”

A day job? What do you do?”

“A night job actually. I'm a waiter at a local restaurant.”

“So you're free during the day?”

“Kind of. Pretty busy though. Moving into a new place and all.”

“Let me help. I can carry stuff.”

Z was hesitant. If they got together in advance of the shoot, the possibility of renewing their sexual connection would be ever present and Z wasn't sure he wanted that entanglement. Craig's expectations had been almost overwhelming the last time. Now with Eric gone, Z was sure Craig would want and expect more. Too much, maybe. I need some space, Z thought. The counter to that was Z needed some sex, too; but he was afraid Craig would be smothering. I can't really tell him no, Z thought. Thank God I didn't hock the watch he gave me.

“Well, there isn't that much to move. Most of it was Eric's.”

“Eric is ...” Craig began.

“Not in my life anymore,” Z finished. “You want to come over around ten? If nothing else, we can go for a run.” Craig accepted immediately. Z clicked off and called Darren.

“You've got to come over tomorrow morning at ten.”

“Z, I can't. Not until the afternoon. Nicky has got a shipment of samples coming in and I promised I'd help him. I could see you around one in the afternoon.”

One in the afternoon would have to be good enough, Z thought. Maybe Craig will be late getting here. Traffic on the 880 on a Saturday … Yeah, he could easily be late.

He wasn't. Craig arrived at two minutes to ten. At two minutes after ten they were in bed. It was so easy to just let it happen.

“Wow, that was quick,” Z said, surprised at how eager he was. “I was kinda thinking ...”

“What were you 'kinda thinkin'?” Craig asked without stopping his kissing.

“That we should take it slow ...”

“Fine with me,” Craig answered. “I like it when you fuck me slow.” He bent forward and took Z's cock into his mouth.

“Have you been practicing?” The blowjob felt amazing.

“Only in my head, thinking about how I'd do this.” Craig went back to sucking; his ardor was urgent, but his mouth was slow, making Z moan aloud.

“This feels so good,” Z purred. He played with Craig's hair, feeling the unexpected softness of the stubbly brushcut in his fingers, so different from the feel of Eric's longer hair.

“I can taste you. You're salty,” Craig murmured, licking the tip of Z's rigid cock. He pulled off and milked it, drawing forth and licking up another salty drop. “Want me to keep doing this? Or do you want to fuck me?” Craig kept sucking on Z's cock while Z considered the choice.

“What do you want?” Z asked.

“You know what I want.” Craig left it up to Z. He smiled his approval as Z rolled him over onto his back. Another preliminary kiss. “Yeah, that's what I want,” Craig said as he spread his legs and pulled his knees back. “Can you get me ready some?” Craig asked hesitantly.

Z lapped gently on Craig's hole getting it thoroughly wet before probing deeper with his tongue. Craig sighed repeatedly as Z coaxed him open and the penetrations became deeper.
A sharp intake of breath came with the initial penetration by Z's cock. Craig held his breath as Z pushed slowly in. It wasn't easy at first; they needed more lube-spit; they needed time to adjust. They needed to kiss. And then they needed to fuck. Faster and harder came automatically. Craig pulled Z into himself as the pain changed to pleasure; he opened and relaxed and wanted more. “Fuck me, baby. Pound me. Yeah, like that.”

Z jacked him off as he lay back taking it. Their orgasms were close together and nearly matching in intensity. Craig wouldn't let Z pull out when it was over. He wrapped his legs around Z and held him tight, kissing any part he could reach.

Z looked down. There were tears on Craig's cheeks, but he wasn't crying. Z wiped them away. “I figured we'd do this. I never figured it would be so good.”

They spent time in each others arms, talking, catching up, kissing, and talking some more. Craig's stomach rumbled.

“Are you hungry?”

“Starving. I didn't eat … You know, in case we ended up doing this, I didn't want food to get in the way ...”

“You want to get something? There are lots of places nearby. Or I can make cereal and toast?”

“No, I'm happy starving. I just want to keep holding you.” Craig kissed Z for the millionth time that morning.

This feels so good, Z thought. It's not love; but, whatever it is, it's the next best thing. He kissed Craig back feeling happy for the first time in weeks. I want to say I love you to him, but it wouldn't be true and it wouldn't be fair. But I gotta say something.

“Craig, this morning with you is the best morning I can remember.”

Craig's face lit up with delight.

Their eyes locked as they heard the door open. “Oops,” Darren said. Craig looked in amazement at from one brother to his near look-alike and back.

“Craig Grantland, this is my brother Darren. Could you give us a couple of minutes, Darren?” One room apartments can be so inconvenient.

 

[rocabar]

Uhh- ohhh. . . Somebody's gettin' canned?

. . . And yes, one room apts can be inconvenient

Thanks for the update, Rory!

 

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
I started reading this last night, but I was too dog tired - I stopped just shy of Mark's earth shattering statement re: Firing.
And his new employee cum fucking partner, Martin, who wants to TOP more than bottom, much to Boss Man's chagrin.

Z and Craig making mad, passionate love - or at least super hot sex - we'll have to see. Poor Z. Still hurting, badly.

Andrew has a very interesting teaching style with their ward, Lemuel.
As a parent, I relate all too well with the tuckered syndrome.

Brian, Walden, and Anne. Anne's already lost that "war".

Thanks for the update.

 

[EasyRory]

Brian, Walden, and Anne. Anne's already lost that "war".

Do you think so? I'm not so sure.

 

[DonQuixote]

Well, you're the author - I suppose a three way is always a possible path to "rehabilitation."

I see you can now get married at the National Cathedral - if you were so inclined.

 

[EasyRory]

Well, you're the author - I suppose a three way is always a possible path to "rehabilitation."

I see you can now get married at the National Cathedral - if you were so inclined.

I'll wait until the roof is fixed. That earthquake we had caused some problems that they are still working on.

 

[DonQuixote]

I saw the Washington Monument is in need of some repair, too.

I do remember seeing some of the damage at the time.