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Speedway
- Thread starter EasyRory
- Start date
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Vince and Paul's story was covered in "Country Cousins" and only the essential parts are being repeated in this one. In this story, the last we knew was Paul took a load of chairs to New York just as Racer was going to Louisiana.
Country Cousins was a powerful story, Rory.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Thirty-Eight - Back to the Track
I wondered if my car washing job was over; but two days later Tommy Lynn called and said there had been a mishap with the Mazda and asked if I could check it out. I tried to tell him that an insurance adjuster would be a better choice, but he insisted on me. Even at a reduced rate of pay, with no other source of income, I was in no position to say no.
“My God! How did this happen?” The car was covered in mud and had all manner of undergrowth sticking out of wheel wells and bumpers.
“I let George drive it and it went out of control.” My questioning look drew a shrug and an additional detail. “I was sucking him off at the time.”
“It really needs to be on a lift to assess the damage.”
“Ok, can you get one?”
“Big Boy's Big Toys in Manassas rents them.” Tommy Lynn agreed immediately to a rental. “Ok, meanwhile ...” I lay on the garage floor to see what there was to see. “Actually the damage looks minor … maybe just cosmetic … nothing looks bent ...”
“Good. See me when you're done.”
I went to work, jacking up one corner of the car at a time, pulling weeds and brush out of the undercarriage. I was making a mess of the spotless garage, but that was unavoidable. Lying on my back with my head under the car, I never saw George approaching.
“Hey, cutie,” he said and prodded my dick with his bare foot.
“Aaah!” I banged my head on the bottom of the car. “QUIT IT!”
“Aaw!” he cooed sympathetically. “There's a little blood,” he said as I emerged from under the Mazda. He reached out to touch my forehead but I backed away.
“I'm not messing with you. Tommy Lynn cut my pay in half after that last … encounter.”
“I think he's reconsidered,” George said. “Is the car ok?”
“Probably. Maybe just cosmetic damage.” I was still sitting on the floor looking up at him.
“You want some lunch? A swim?” he asked and he then faked a yawn and stretched his arms out elaborately, in a way calculated to show me he wasn't wearing anything under his sweatpants. Then he stuck his thumbs in the waistband like a cowboy showing me a swath of skin.
“Right now I want to get the undercarriage cleaner so I can tell Tommy Lynn whether he needs to rent a lift. There isn't much more I can do without it.”
“I bet there's lots you could do ...” He pushed the top of the sweats lower, showing me a dusting of pubic hair. “You know, I can see right up those cutoffs you're wearing. Why are you wearing them anyway?”
“George, let's get something straight ...” He grabbed his cock; the clingy jersey weave of the sweats showed me it was engorged and pretty hard. “I can't be coming here and having sex with you every time. You saw how pissed Tommy Lynn was. We'll both get fired.” I stood up to keep him from looking up my shorts.
“No, we won't. He doesn't give a shit what we do as long as he gets what he wants. And trust me, he's getting what he wants.” He thrust his pelvis against my thigh and tried to open my shorts.
“Stop it!” I said.
I went to see Tommy Lynn before I left to rent the car lift and said thanks for the check, which he restored to my former rate. “I was afraid after that last time ...”
“You do good work. Plus, George likes having you stop by. He's, uh, frisky after you've been here.”
So what kind of praise was that? Frisky? He sure was frisky and fuckin' him again was probably a mistake, but it was hard to say no after he untied the drawstring in his sweats. They didn't fall off or anything, but they hung low on his ass, in a way that defied gravity, showing a little cheek, a little crack, and a lot of promise. And then when he handed me the prelubed rubber … He really is willing fuck, much better than Tommy Lynn, for example. But still, I didn't exactly walk away feeling on top of the world. I felt kind of used. Again. Not that there's any crime in random sex. It's just … I don't know what to call it without being dramatic. Sex with B. J. was so nice and sex with George was so icky, I guess, once it was over.
I thought I had every right to feel used, because that's just what George did. He gave me orders for every move I made. “No, angle it down” and then “Go slower” and then “Speed up a little”, “Keep it moving”, “Don't stop” and then when he was cumming, “Keep fuckin' me!” Totally choreographed by George. He came; I didn't. “Take that rubber off” was followed by “I want to try suckin' you.” When that didn't go so well, he complained, “You're big. That's the problem. How come you didn't cum while you were fuckin' me?”
“I was too busy following all your directions.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot.” George actually laughed. “I can get a little bossy, but I really like cumming hands free. I being out of control, despite giving all the orders” He laughed again! “I love gettin' the cum fucked out of me. I found out Tommy Lynn can do it, but he has other problems. Sex is a visual, contextual thing with me. And you're a lot to look at.”
“It's too bad Leo Tolstoy didn't get to meet you.” I was going for humor.
“You do the fuckin'; I do the jokin',” he answered humorlessly.
Anyway, I was dismissed for the day. I guess Tommy Lynn is a lot nicer to his customers than he is to his employees; and it was hard not to conclude that that is all I was – a sex employee. How many Slick Parsons are there in the world? Suddenly I appreciated the moodiness of the guys who got paid to have sex with Slick.
I drove home, showered the ickiness off, and checked on whether there was vodka in the freezer. “Racer?” a voice called in the open front door.
“Vince! Come in,” I welcomed him.
“Have you seen Otis?”
“No, but I just got back fifteen minutes ago. I was out all morning.”
“Right. I don't know where he is. We usually meet at lunch time at work and run ...”
“Did he stay here last night?”
“No. I don't let him stay very often.”
“ 'Cause Paul might come back?”
“I don't see that happening,” he said. I wanted to ask, but whatever was up with Vince and Otis or Vince and Paul was none of my business.
“So … um … Otis said he saw y'all, you and B. J., on the porch the other night.”
“I guess he did. We thought it was totally dark. I apologize if ...”
“Don't apologize to me! I don't care what y'all do. I was askin' because I thought Otis was making it up. I never know what to believe or not believe with him. I didn't even know you dudes were gay – not for sure.”
“I think you should believe everything he says. I do.”
“Has he been talking about me?” Vince asked.
“A little,” I replied, apparently making Vince uncomfortable. My phone buzzed and Vince took that opportunity to duck out.
“Racer, that you? It's Ches.” It was good to hear his voice. “We're getting the team back together. You want to be part of it?”
“Yes. I. Do!”
“Shelbyville, Tennessee, Twin Fountains Track. A week from tomorrow.”
“I'll be there!”
The news hit B. J. like a fish in the face. “Racer, you just got back! Now you're … Where the fuck is Shelbyville?”
“Not far from Bell Buckle.”
“Be serious.”
So I was serious. I could see in his eyes that B. J. was hurt. “Between Chattanooga and Nashville. About 600 miles west of here. I'm not leaving for a few days.”
“Everything is so nice when you're here. Things go so well. I'm happy. You're happy. You ARE happy, aren't you?”
“Of course, I am.”
B. J. was never good at hiding his tears, but he tried. “Let's go to Clare's for dinner,” he said bruskly.
Clare's was a comfortable place in the old railroad station that hadn't seen a train my lifetime. B. J. and I ordered rib eyes and fries, always a good choice. On the way out we ran into Tommy Lynn and George who were just going in.
“Is that your boyfriend?” George whispered. “He looks like a thug!”
I didn't have time to react when he said it. It's absolutely not true! B. J. is very handsome. Ok, his nose is a little bumpy from where it was broken; but his eyes are beautiful and the scar on his cheek is hardly noticeable. And his body is perfect. I mean he played football, so he's solid; but he's so gentle mannered. The meanness of George's remark didn't sink in immediately; but after I thought about it, George seriously pissed me off.
“I love you, B. J.” I said it in a furious way. Then B. J. smiled at me and I knew it was true. He's a beautiful man. And it was a beautiful night with him. And I loved him even more in the morning.
I wondered if my car washing job was over; but two days later Tommy Lynn called and said there had been a mishap with the Mazda and asked if I could check it out. I tried to tell him that an insurance adjuster would be a better choice, but he insisted on me. Even at a reduced rate of pay, with no other source of income, I was in no position to say no.
“My God! How did this happen?” The car was covered in mud and had all manner of undergrowth sticking out of wheel wells and bumpers.
“I let George drive it and it went out of control.” My questioning look drew a shrug and an additional detail. “I was sucking him off at the time.”
“It really needs to be on a lift to assess the damage.”
“Ok, can you get one?”
“Big Boy's Big Toys in Manassas rents them.” Tommy Lynn agreed immediately to a rental. “Ok, meanwhile ...” I lay on the garage floor to see what there was to see. “Actually the damage looks minor … maybe just cosmetic … nothing looks bent ...”
“Good. See me when you're done.”
I went to work, jacking up one corner of the car at a time, pulling weeds and brush out of the undercarriage. I was making a mess of the spotless garage, but that was unavoidable. Lying on my back with my head under the car, I never saw George approaching.
“Hey, cutie,” he said and prodded my dick with his bare foot.
“Aaah!” I banged my head on the bottom of the car. “QUIT IT!”
“Aaw!” he cooed sympathetically. “There's a little blood,” he said as I emerged from under the Mazda. He reached out to touch my forehead but I backed away.
“I'm not messing with you. Tommy Lynn cut my pay in half after that last … encounter.”
“I think he's reconsidered,” George said. “Is the car ok?”
“Probably. Maybe just cosmetic damage.” I was still sitting on the floor looking up at him.
“You want some lunch? A swim?” he asked and he then faked a yawn and stretched his arms out elaborately, in a way calculated to show me he wasn't wearing anything under his sweatpants. Then he stuck his thumbs in the waistband like a cowboy showing me a swath of skin.
“Right now I want to get the undercarriage cleaner so I can tell Tommy Lynn whether he needs to rent a lift. There isn't much more I can do without it.”
“I bet there's lots you could do ...” He pushed the top of the sweats lower, showing me a dusting of pubic hair. “You know, I can see right up those cutoffs you're wearing. Why are you wearing them anyway?”
“George, let's get something straight ...” He grabbed his cock; the clingy jersey weave of the sweats showed me it was engorged and pretty hard. “I can't be coming here and having sex with you every time. You saw how pissed Tommy Lynn was. We'll both get fired.” I stood up to keep him from looking up my shorts.
“No, we won't. He doesn't give a shit what we do as long as he gets what he wants. And trust me, he's getting what he wants.” He thrust his pelvis against my thigh and tried to open my shorts.
“Stop it!” I said.
I went to see Tommy Lynn before I left to rent the car lift and said thanks for the check, which he restored to my former rate. “I was afraid after that last time ...”
“You do good work. Plus, George likes having you stop by. He's, uh, frisky after you've been here.”
So what kind of praise was that? Frisky? He sure was frisky and fuckin' him again was probably a mistake, but it was hard to say no after he untied the drawstring in his sweats. They didn't fall off or anything, but they hung low on his ass, in a way that defied gravity, showing a little cheek, a little crack, and a lot of promise. And then when he handed me the prelubed rubber … He really is willing fuck, much better than Tommy Lynn, for example. But still, I didn't exactly walk away feeling on top of the world. I felt kind of used. Again. Not that there's any crime in random sex. It's just … I don't know what to call it without being dramatic. Sex with B. J. was so nice and sex with George was so icky, I guess, once it was over.
I thought I had every right to feel used, because that's just what George did. He gave me orders for every move I made. “No, angle it down” and then “Go slower” and then “Speed up a little”, “Keep it moving”, “Don't stop” and then when he was cumming, “Keep fuckin' me!” Totally choreographed by George. He came; I didn't. “Take that rubber off” was followed by “I want to try suckin' you.” When that didn't go so well, he complained, “You're big. That's the problem. How come you didn't cum while you were fuckin' me?”
“I was too busy following all your directions.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot.” George actually laughed. “I can get a little bossy, but I really like cumming hands free. I being out of control, despite giving all the orders” He laughed again! “I love gettin' the cum fucked out of me. I found out Tommy Lynn can do it, but he has other problems. Sex is a visual, contextual thing with me. And you're a lot to look at.”
“It's too bad Leo Tolstoy didn't get to meet you.” I was going for humor.
“You do the fuckin'; I do the jokin',” he answered humorlessly.
Anyway, I was dismissed for the day. I guess Tommy Lynn is a lot nicer to his customers than he is to his employees; and it was hard not to conclude that that is all I was – a sex employee. How many Slick Parsons are there in the world? Suddenly I appreciated the moodiness of the guys who got paid to have sex with Slick.
I drove home, showered the ickiness off, and checked on whether there was vodka in the freezer. “Racer?” a voice called in the open front door.
“Vince! Come in,” I welcomed him.
“Have you seen Otis?”
“No, but I just got back fifteen minutes ago. I was out all morning.”
“Right. I don't know where he is. We usually meet at lunch time at work and run ...”
“Did he stay here last night?”
“No. I don't let him stay very often.”
“ 'Cause Paul might come back?”
“I don't see that happening,” he said. I wanted to ask, but whatever was up with Vince and Otis or Vince and Paul was none of my business.
“So … um … Otis said he saw y'all, you and B. J., on the porch the other night.”
“I guess he did. We thought it was totally dark. I apologize if ...”
“Don't apologize to me! I don't care what y'all do. I was askin' because I thought Otis was making it up. I never know what to believe or not believe with him. I didn't even know you dudes were gay – not for sure.”
“I think you should believe everything he says. I do.”
“Has he been talking about me?” Vince asked.
“A little,” I replied, apparently making Vince uncomfortable. My phone buzzed and Vince took that opportunity to duck out.
“Racer, that you? It's Ches.” It was good to hear his voice. “We're getting the team back together. You want to be part of it?”
“Yes. I. Do!”
“Shelbyville, Tennessee, Twin Fountains Track. A week from tomorrow.”
“I'll be there!”
The news hit B. J. like a fish in the face. “Racer, you just got back! Now you're … Where the fuck is Shelbyville?”
“Not far from Bell Buckle.”
“Be serious.”
So I was serious. I could see in his eyes that B. J. was hurt. “Between Chattanooga and Nashville. About 600 miles west of here. I'm not leaving for a few days.”
“Everything is so nice when you're here. Things go so well. I'm happy. You're happy. You ARE happy, aren't you?”
“Of course, I am.”
B. J. was never good at hiding his tears, but he tried. “Let's go to Clare's for dinner,” he said bruskly.
Clare's was a comfortable place in the old railroad station that hadn't seen a train my lifetime. B. J. and I ordered rib eyes and fries, always a good choice. On the way out we ran into Tommy Lynn and George who were just going in.
“Is that your boyfriend?” George whispered. “He looks like a thug!”
I didn't have time to react when he said it. It's absolutely not true! B. J. is very handsome. Ok, his nose is a little bumpy from where it was broken; but his eyes are beautiful and the scar on his cheek is hardly noticeable. And his body is perfect. I mean he played football, so he's solid; but he's so gentle mannered. The meanness of George's remark didn't sink in immediately; but after I thought about it, George seriously pissed me off.
“I love you, B. J.” I said it in a furious way. Then B. J. smiled at me and I knew it was true. He's a beautiful man. And it was a beautiful night with him. And I loved him even more in the morning.
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That just goes to show that Sex, merely for sex, though it might provide a FUN release at the time, can also be something to regret later, depending on who's involved. 
I'm no longer much of a fan of George.
Beej is a FAR better choice!
Now ... PLEASE ... back to the keyboard, Buddy!
I'm no longer much of a fan of George.
Beej is a FAR better choice!
Now ... PLEASE ... back to the keyboard, Buddy!
Craiger
JUB Addict
George sounds a bit like Randy, however I doubt if George is into drugs. Someone that is really calling the shots whether it be Slick or maybe Tommy Lynn. It will be good for Racer to get back to the track and away from being used for sex. The only problem is B.J. is hurting, but that also makes it nice when Racer returns. Pulling an all nighter always fills the bill. Do we have to worry about Otis? Thanks Rory, great chapter.
Craiger
Craiger
Rory,
A great chapter. I crashed last night and didn't see this until this morning - when I quickly copied it and e-mailed it to myself so I could read it before I was too tired when I got home tonight - and I'm glad I did.
Great interplay - and resumption of full pay - hey, where's the bonus for getting George UP to the next level for Tommy Lynn? That seems appropriate, given the stepped up satisfaction Tommy got.
George is a cocky son of a gun.
Then - the jump start of the racing team. I can't wait to see if Racer truly becomes THE Racer for the team.
Maybe BJ can become the team's exclusive Media Man.
A great chapter. I crashed last night and didn't see this until this morning - when I quickly copied it and e-mailed it to myself so I could read it before I was too tired when I got home tonight - and I'm glad I did.
Great interplay - and resumption of full pay - hey, where's the bonus for getting George UP to the next level for Tommy Lynn? That seems appropriate, given the stepped up satisfaction Tommy got.
George is a cocky son of a gun.
Then - the jump start of the racing team. I can't wait to see if Racer truly becomes THE Racer for the team.
Maybe BJ can become the team's exclusive Media Man.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Thirty-Nine - On the Road Again
“Wow,” I said when B. J. walked in the door. “You look ...”
“You like it? The company told me to buy it. A 'power suit' they call it. I can't wait to get it off.”
“Why? Doesn't it fit right?”
“It's hard to fuck if I'm wearing it and I want to do what we did last night again!” He went in the bedroom and came back out wearing sweats and a hoodie. He ran both hands through his hair and messed it up. He still looked amazing and if he had wanted sex then and there I would have been ok with it; but he didn't. We poured drinks and went out onto the porch. Sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall had become our favorite place. We were closer together than sitting in the chairs.
“This, I think, is what I like best. Night time, sitting on this little porch with you, sipping a drink, and thinking it can go on forever,” he said.
When we're alone and nothing is happening, B. J. says the nicest things to me. He put his arm around me and I leaned my head onto his shoulder. It felt great being together, nothing scheduled, no pressure. I could feel him breathing slowly. I reached and turned his face toward me and kissed him.
“Are you going to fuck?” came a startling voice.
“Otis? Is that you?” I called into the darkness. B. J. chuckled.
“No, not for the next ten minutes at least. Come up and have a drink,” B. J. invited.
Otis came out of the scraggly bushes Mrs. Lucketts called a privacy hedge and came up onto the porch. “What are you drinking?” he asked.
“Vodka. I'll get another glass.”
“Sit down,” B. J. invited while I went for the glass.
When I returned, Otis was saying, “So I'm locked out. I don't know when Vince will be back.”
“Where do you usually stay? We could drive you there,” B.J. offered.
“Over near Harrisonburg with my friends Frank and Refo. It's far.”
“It is,” I acknowledged. “You can stay here with us for the night.”
Otis reacted with great facial surprise to his gulp of vodka. “Oh!” however, was all he said. “Vince has gone to New York, I think. To see why Paul has not sold the chairs. I thought I could stay here anyway.”
“You knew he wouldn't be here?” I asked. Otis apparently felt that his response would be useless information and didn't answer directly.
“He didn't leave the key where he always puts it. I like this.” He held out his glass for more vodka. He watched B. J. toast him and take a sip. Otis imitated the sip and looked from B. J. to me and back. “You are both happy.”
“I'd be a lot happier if Racer wasn't going to Tennessee in a couple of days.”
“I don't like when people go away. I like everything to stay the same.” Otis sipped some more. “Is the ten minutes up? Vince says I should not watch you fuck, but you are very handsome, B. J. and Racer.” He held his glass out for more and sipped after B. J. refilled it.
“Do you watch us a lot?” I asked with some apprehension.
“No. One time on the porch. I was over there waiting for Vince to get home.” Otis pointed to the hedge at the other end of the lot. “I didn't try to see you; but I was there and you were here and I have good eyes and you are very handsome.” That was the most I had ever heard Otis say at one time and he spoke quite distinctly without his usual droning monotone. “I like this vodka.” He sipped again.
“I swear you and Racer are the only two guys who think I'm handsome,” B. J. laughed.
“You are very handsome, especially your penis,” Otis affirmed.
“Well, I guess you and Racer are the guys who are most familiar with that part of me.” B. J. shook his head in amazement. “I never could have had this conversation a year ago.”
“Are you telling me that or Otis,” I asked him.
“Both of you. I am SO different these days.” B. J. gave me a quick kiss. “I'd kiss you, too, Otis, but I don't want to spill your drink.” To B. J.'s total astonishment, Otis put the drink down, leaned over and kissed him. It wasn't a quick peck, either; it was two hands holding B. J.'s face and a nice kiss. “Wow,” he said when Otis pulled away.
“Vince almost never kisses me. Just on the cheek sometimes.” Otis took another sip.
To tell the truth, I know we had another glass or two, but I don't remember much else. I woke in the dim light of the next morning wondering why B. J. felt different. I opened my eyes.
“Otis!” No wonder the king-sized bed felt crowded.
“Good morning,” he answered.
“Otis was feeling lonely on the sofa, so I told him to climb in with us,” B. J. said and then yawned.
“Otis, is that your … It is!” Morning erection was what I left out.
“I like sleeping with you and B. J.” He rolled over facing B. J. “Thank you, B. J.”
“Are you kissing my boyfriend?”
“Mmm ...” B. J. answered. “And he's good at it.”
Before things got too complicated, my own erection and need to piss inspired action. “Who wants to be first into the bathroom?”
“I will,” Otis said and sprang out of bed, uncovering three erections in the process, which he looked over. “We are all handsome,” he said and went into the bathroom.
“Does 'handsome' mean hard to him?” I asked B. J.
“It's not sexual. 'Nature boy' just likes seeing people's bodies.” B. J. scootched across the bed and snuggled up to me. “I have to agree with him.” B. J.'s hands and soon his mouth were all over me. Otis emerged from the bathroom and saw B. J. sucking my cock. He smiled and quietly closed the bedroom door, leaving us alone.
“I don't want to leave you,” I told B. J.
“Then don't.”
“I have to, Beej ...”
That wasn't what he wanted to hear. He got out of bed and took his turn in the bathroom. When he came out it was my turn. I don't think I lingered in the bathroom but when I came out, B. J. had dressed and left.
“He will see you tonight,” Otis explained.
Otis and I had some granola and then he asked me if I would drive him to his work. With nothing else to do, I was happy to oblige. As we walked out into the parking lot I noticed Paul's truck in the lot.
“Look, Vince must be back,” I said.
“And Paul,” Otis said.
“Don't you want to talk to ...” I began.
“I don't want to be late for work,” Otis said and got into my truck. The radio played and we must have gone ten miles down Route 29 before he spoke again. “After Vince I love you and B. J. best today.”
Whatever his exact meaning was, I liked hearing the words. “I love you, too,” I told him; it was impossible not to. I glanced over at Otis. He was smiling, but he look straight ahead at the empty road.
“Wow,” I said when B. J. walked in the door. “You look ...”
“You like it? The company told me to buy it. A 'power suit' they call it. I can't wait to get it off.”
“Why? Doesn't it fit right?”
“It's hard to fuck if I'm wearing it and I want to do what we did last night again!” He went in the bedroom and came back out wearing sweats and a hoodie. He ran both hands through his hair and messed it up. He still looked amazing and if he had wanted sex then and there I would have been ok with it; but he didn't. We poured drinks and went out onto the porch. Sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall had become our favorite place. We were closer together than sitting in the chairs.
“This, I think, is what I like best. Night time, sitting on this little porch with you, sipping a drink, and thinking it can go on forever,” he said.
When we're alone and nothing is happening, B. J. says the nicest things to me. He put his arm around me and I leaned my head onto his shoulder. It felt great being together, nothing scheduled, no pressure. I could feel him breathing slowly. I reached and turned his face toward me and kissed him.
“Are you going to fuck?” came a startling voice.
“Otis? Is that you?” I called into the darkness. B. J. chuckled.
“No, not for the next ten minutes at least. Come up and have a drink,” B. J. invited.
Otis came out of the scraggly bushes Mrs. Lucketts called a privacy hedge and came up onto the porch. “What are you drinking?” he asked.
“Vodka. I'll get another glass.”
“Sit down,” B. J. invited while I went for the glass.
When I returned, Otis was saying, “So I'm locked out. I don't know when Vince will be back.”
“Where do you usually stay? We could drive you there,” B.J. offered.
“Over near Harrisonburg with my friends Frank and Refo. It's far.”
“It is,” I acknowledged. “You can stay here with us for the night.”
Otis reacted with great facial surprise to his gulp of vodka. “Oh!” however, was all he said. “Vince has gone to New York, I think. To see why Paul has not sold the chairs. I thought I could stay here anyway.”
“You knew he wouldn't be here?” I asked. Otis apparently felt that his response would be useless information and didn't answer directly.
“He didn't leave the key where he always puts it. I like this.” He held out his glass for more vodka. He watched B. J. toast him and take a sip. Otis imitated the sip and looked from B. J. to me and back. “You are both happy.”
“I'd be a lot happier if Racer wasn't going to Tennessee in a couple of days.”
“I don't like when people go away. I like everything to stay the same.” Otis sipped some more. “Is the ten minutes up? Vince says I should not watch you fuck, but you are very handsome, B. J. and Racer.” He held his glass out for more and sipped after B. J. refilled it.
“Do you watch us a lot?” I asked with some apprehension.
“No. One time on the porch. I was over there waiting for Vince to get home.” Otis pointed to the hedge at the other end of the lot. “I didn't try to see you; but I was there and you were here and I have good eyes and you are very handsome.” That was the most I had ever heard Otis say at one time and he spoke quite distinctly without his usual droning monotone. “I like this vodka.” He sipped again.
“I swear you and Racer are the only two guys who think I'm handsome,” B. J. laughed.
“You are very handsome, especially your penis,” Otis affirmed.
“Well, I guess you and Racer are the guys who are most familiar with that part of me.” B. J. shook his head in amazement. “I never could have had this conversation a year ago.”
“Are you telling me that or Otis,” I asked him.
“Both of you. I am SO different these days.” B. J. gave me a quick kiss. “I'd kiss you, too, Otis, but I don't want to spill your drink.” To B. J.'s total astonishment, Otis put the drink down, leaned over and kissed him. It wasn't a quick peck, either; it was two hands holding B. J.'s face and a nice kiss. “Wow,” he said when Otis pulled away.
“Vince almost never kisses me. Just on the cheek sometimes.” Otis took another sip.
To tell the truth, I know we had another glass or two, but I don't remember much else. I woke in the dim light of the next morning wondering why B. J. felt different. I opened my eyes.
“Otis!” No wonder the king-sized bed felt crowded.
“Good morning,” he answered.
“Otis was feeling lonely on the sofa, so I told him to climb in with us,” B. J. said and then yawned.
“Otis, is that your … It is!” Morning erection was what I left out.
“I like sleeping with you and B. J.” He rolled over facing B. J. “Thank you, B. J.”
“Are you kissing my boyfriend?”
“Mmm ...” B. J. answered. “And he's good at it.”
Before things got too complicated, my own erection and need to piss inspired action. “Who wants to be first into the bathroom?”
“I will,” Otis said and sprang out of bed, uncovering three erections in the process, which he looked over. “We are all handsome,” he said and went into the bathroom.
“Does 'handsome' mean hard to him?” I asked B. J.
“It's not sexual. 'Nature boy' just likes seeing people's bodies.” B. J. scootched across the bed and snuggled up to me. “I have to agree with him.” B. J.'s hands and soon his mouth were all over me. Otis emerged from the bathroom and saw B. J. sucking my cock. He smiled and quietly closed the bedroom door, leaving us alone.
“I don't want to leave you,” I told B. J.
“Then don't.”
“I have to, Beej ...”
That wasn't what he wanted to hear. He got out of bed and took his turn in the bathroom. When he came out it was my turn. I don't think I lingered in the bathroom but when I came out, B. J. had dressed and left.
“He will see you tonight,” Otis explained.
Otis and I had some granola and then he asked me if I would drive him to his work. With nothing else to do, I was happy to oblige. As we walked out into the parking lot I noticed Paul's truck in the lot.
“Look, Vince must be back,” I said.
“And Paul,” Otis said.
“Don't you want to talk to ...” I began.
“I don't want to be late for work,” Otis said and got into my truck. The radio played and we must have gone ten miles down Route 29 before he spoke again. “After Vince I love you and B. J. best today.”
Whatever his exact meaning was, I liked hearing the words. “I love you, too,” I told him; it was impossible not to. I glanced over at Otis. He was smiling, but he look straight ahead at the empty road.
Another great chapter, Rory. Otis was such a lovable character. Everybody loved him for his innocence. BJ and Racer now join the Otis fan club. Based on what happened in Country Cousins, I am almost teary eyed to think of what you might write, regarding the Otis incident, in this story. Regardless of the outcome, you have us all hooked on whatever you write. It is all fantastic. Keep up the great work.
Rory,
The others have said what we all feel. Otis is such an anomaly to us - but so absolutely lovable.
The others have said what we all feel. Otis is such an anomaly to us - but so absolutely lovable.
Craiger
JUB Addict
Just having Otis back in the picture warms the cockles of my heart. This gives us all another bit of communion with him. His energy and love still as strong as ever. Thank you Rory for bringing him into this awesome sequel of your ever enjoying collections of characters. Hopefully he will be able to share some of that companionship with B.J. while Racer is gone.
Craiger
Craiger
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Forty - Evil Companions
I left early for Tennessee. Six hundred and fifty miles was doable in a day, of course; but it's still a haul and it isn't fun. B. J. was sleeping when I got up but he was at the door to say goodbye, which turned out to be more emotional than I expected. I know B. J. cries easily; but I don't, not usually. It was a cool morning and the feel of his lips and my tears warmed my cheek as I fired up the truck. He's the only boyfriend I've ever had, so it's hard to compare; but I'm pretty sure there are lots of people who wish they had someone like B. J. to come home to.
Whew! Emotion is exhausting. I could have taken Route 211 over to New Market, but it was morning and there would be lots of slow-moving local traffic on that road. I toughed it out on 17 until it joined I-66. Everybody else was heading into Washington and I was heading west to the mountains. I pulled off a couple of exits later for gas at a place I knew would be cheaper than the stations in Warrenton. Twenty-five cents a gallon savings mounts up. I grabbed a coffee and a couple of sausage biscuits and left the station headed back to the highway. At the entrance ramp I saw a hitchhiker who looked to be about my age. A little company wouldn't hurt.
“Where you headed?” he asked. I thought that should have been MY question. I told him Tennessee and he answered, “That'll do.”
“Shelbyville, near Nashville. Does that do you any good?” He nodded and threw a backpack into the bed of the truck.
“Gettin' away from a busted romance,” he said. “Doesn't much matter where I go. 'You can take the high road, the low road, the back road, the rail road … as long as you keep goin'.' Those were the partin' words.”
“Ouch! Hope you don't mind me eatin' these biscuits. I didn't get breakfast before I left.”
“I'm good. I'm gonna catch some z's. If you want help drivin', wake me up.” He balled up his jacket into a pillow and leaned against the window. Low music from the radio didn't seem to bother him at all.
I glanced over at him a couple times, just to check him out a little. On closer inspection, I decided he was a few years older than me, not bad looking except for the bushy sideburns that went down to his jawline. The curious thing was … Ok, I have to admit I check out guys' bulges. He didn't have one. Nothing. Not the tiniest hint of a dick going on in those jeans. Could have been a girl. He shifted position and still nothing and the jeans weren't especially loose-cut. Oh well, eyes back on the road.
I-81 is a good road; nothing like I-95. It's the way interstates are supposed to be. Good, polite drivers and not too many of them. If you want to go fast, they'll get out of your way. If you want to go slow, the slow lane is easy driving with nobody on your bumper. Normally I like going slow because the Blue Ridge is a pretty part of the country, but today I was on a mission and held it at seventy-five and more covering the miles. As we were approaching Roanoke and slower traffic, I cut the speed, waking up my passenger.
“You need to stop?” I asked him.
“Far side of Roanoke'll be ok. I used to have a delivery business. You always want to be on the far side of Roanoke – whichever way you're goin'.” A little joke; I laughed politely.
“What kind of delivery business?” I asked.
“Oh, this and that ...” My daddy always said 'this and that' meant don't ask; you likely didn't want to know the answer. My rider's mood changed abruptly. “God damn it! It plain sucks getting' dumped. You know?” He smacked one fist into the other.
“I don't know. Never been dumped. Had a thing or two that never got started, but never dumped.”
“Trust me, it sucks. You think everything is going good and then pow! He dumps you.”
“He?” I questioned.
He stumbled and stuttered a few words and then said, “Fuck it. Yes, 'he' … I … I'm gay. That bother you?”
“No.”
“I guess I always was, but I just admitted it to myself lately … If talkin' about this makes you uncomfortable, just say so ...” He didn't wait for my answer, just charged ahead. “Fuckin' B. J. - that was his name - he played me and played me and then bang. Suddenly it's over 'cause HE says so.”
B. J.??? My antenna went up. I looked at my passenger again. “I'm Brendon, by the way,” I told him.
Brendon? Why did I say that? I never used my real name, except on government forms and stuff like that. Something told me that if he was talkin' about my B. J., then 'Racer' might mean something to him.
He responded in kind. “I'm Todd. Todd Hinckley.”
TODD FUCKING HINCKLEY!!!!! I tried not to show any reaction to hearing the name; but I couldn't keep myself from taking another look at him. Sandy colored hair, clear gray eyes, good build, except for the sideburns; he was not at all the genetically challenged hayseed B. J. made him sound like.
“Todd Hinckley …” I chewed on the name thoughtfully. “Did you have kin got run up a flag pole one time near Strasburg?”
“You know about that?”
“I heard about that. Don't know anything first hand...” Which was a lie.
“That was my dick-head brother,” he chuckled. “Cops gave us all kinds of shit. I had to lie real low after that, but my brother was stupid and … well, he's in jail for a while. Where are you from?”
“Outside Warrenton.”
“So maybe you know B. J. Carteret.”
“Matter of fact I do. Small world.”
“That part of Virginia is small and it ain't the world ... as I'm hopin' to find out. You know why B. J., the son of a bitch, threw me out? He said my dick was too small.” My mouth dropped open. I felt his eyes on me. “I know!” he exclaimed.
“Todd …” I figured he'd find out anyway. “I gotta tell you, B. J. is my roommate.”
“I thought his roommate's name was Racer.”
“Yes. Brendon is my real name. People call me Racer.”
“No shit,” he said in amazement. “No shit ...” he repeated. I waited for a reaction. Is he going to hit me? Curse me? Was there going to be trouble? “He said you were good lookin'. He sure didn't lie about that. Racer, huh?”
“Racer Tyree,” I filled in the gap for him.
Roanoke is way bigger than Warrenton, but it's not that big. In little time we were on the far side of the city and the traffic began to thin. I pulled off the interstate and into a Travel Centers of America truck stop in Petro Glade Spring. I headed for the men's room and Todd followed. We stood next to each other pissing and staring at the wall saying nothing, the way guys do. When we were done I sensed motion. He craned his neck to look at my dick and then stood away from the urinal.
“So is this cock so small?” He held his dick in his hand. “It's smaller than you … but it gets bigger when it's hard.”
What do you say to that question? Do you lie and say it's big, when it isn't? His dick wasn't huge by any means; in fact it barely protruded beyond the three fingers he had wrapped around it to hold it out. Still, it was a real dick, not the 'micro-mini' that B. J. had called it.
“A dick's a dick, Todd. It looks ok to me.” I avoided looking in his eyes and went to a basin to wash my hands. We bought a few snacks and got back in the truck. We were silent while I got back on the road. I took a bite of my ham sandwich.
“He let's you fuck him,” Todd bitterly announced. “He never even let me try. He never even ...” Todd looked away from me and out the window, getting' himself under control.
“He fucked ME plenty though. Every day at work. We'd go through the mail and the phone messages and then he'd want me. Like clockwork. Like I was just another part of his morning. Do the mail. Do the messages. Do Todd. Return the important calls. Go to lunch.” He lapsed into silence for a while. “Then lately, he'd make me beg for it. And I DID! I begged him. 'What?' he'd tease. 'Fuck me,' I'd beg.” Todd fell silent again and ate a big chocolate chip cookie.
“I don't even know what it's like in a bed. He'd fuck me right on my desk. And make me clean up the cum.” He ate a small cherry pie.
“Payback he called it. Payback for making him blow me a couple of times in exchange for pot. I shouldn't be telling you all this stuff. It's not your fault.” He drank a Coke. “I just need to talk to somebody.” He stuffed the Coke cup and the other wrappers into a plastic bag.
“I hate driving around with a truck full of junk. You want to pull into a rest stop, Racer? Ok if I call you Racer? You can fuck me if you want. Your boyfriend liked doing it.”
I let him dump his trash at a small picnic area in a pull-off rest area near the Tennessee line. There were a good number of other people around and no possibility for sex, which was a relief. He dozed off again and woke when we got onto I-40. With about a hundred miles to go, we talked about what I was doing. He had a decent knowledge of NASCAR and talking about auto racing was easier for both of us than talking about B. J.
We parted company at my motel. I went to check in with Ches and he went to wherever he was going. Ches was a comfortable presence and seemed to have the reformed team semi-functional already. Lucas was a younger version of Howard and seemed like a competent business manager. Another mechanic named Latham would be my coworker. The surprise was seeing Slick.
“My conviction was overturned on appeal,” he said. “They decided I was stupid, not complicit. Which, I guess, is the truth. Maybe not the stupid part, but I had no idea that Randy and Howard had a connection. Live and learn. You want to get a massage tonight, lucky Racer?”
The 'lucky' handle raised questions in my mind, but it didn't sound menacing. “Sure, maybe; let's see how it goes.” Was that a yes or a no? I meant it to be discouraging, but Slick didn't take it that way.
“Excellent-o, compadre!” he grinned.
“He learned a little Spanish in jail,” Ches commented. “Racer, can I see you before you go?”
“You can see me now,” I said. Slick took the clue and left us alone.
“Maybe you can do a little driving. If Slick … has any er, problems. You won't be the name driver for the team, but everybody has backups. Latham is another possibility,”
“Sure, Ches. I'm willing.”
“Good. We'll give the cars a tryout tomorrow.”
I went back to the motel ready for a shower. Maybe I'd have time to figure out a reason to ditch Slick. A real massage would feel good after a day of driving, but with Slick, it's never a real anything.
“Hey, Racer ...” Todd Hinckley was sitting at my door. “I thought I had a contact in Nashville, but … it didn't work out? Could I … just for the night … bunk with you?”
It seemed certain to me that a night with Todd Hinckley could be as hazardous to my health as a night with Slick. I wanted to say no. There was no possible win in saying yes. More like certain disaster ahead. I mean, I really couldn't even call B. J. with Todd around, could I? What would B. J. think? 'I'm spending the night with your ex-fuck buddy, Beej.' How would that go down?
“Sure, Todd.” I watch his face light up. He really wasn't bad looking. Inside we both wanted a shower and I got to see why B. J. had anything to do with Todd. He had a great ass to make up for any shortcoming in the dick department. He caught me looking.
“Not bad, huh?” he said in a fairly calculated way, pausing in the bathroom door. At that point Slick knocked and entered. Apparently the door hadn't locked when we closed it.
“Racer, there's no massage place in Shelb … Whoa! Who's this?”
“Slick Parsons, this is Todd Hinckley.”
Todd held a clean pair of underwear in front of himself but otherwise made no move toward modesty. “THE Slick Parsons?” he asked in real or perhaps fake awe.
“In the flesh,” Slick answered. “Would you like to see my trophies?”
“You definitely have ONE I'd be interested in.” Todd leered at Slick's bulge.
They left with Todd barely having time to pull on a pair of jeans and that made for a quiet night for me. I had a little dinner and called B. J. I told him all with as much detail as I could remember.
“Racer … things didn't go quite the way Todd told you.”
“Do you love me, Beej?”
“You know I do, Racer. Or should I call you Brendon?”
“I don't know how to tell you how much I miss you.”
“Don't you want to hear about my thing with Todd?”
“Not especially. Did I tell you I might be driving?”
“Really! Awesome! But that's dangerous, right? I don't want anything happening to you.”
We talked some more. His voice is a real tonic, makes me feel good all over. Of course I wanted more, but his voice would do.
I left early for Tennessee. Six hundred and fifty miles was doable in a day, of course; but it's still a haul and it isn't fun. B. J. was sleeping when I got up but he was at the door to say goodbye, which turned out to be more emotional than I expected. I know B. J. cries easily; but I don't, not usually. It was a cool morning and the feel of his lips and my tears warmed my cheek as I fired up the truck. He's the only boyfriend I've ever had, so it's hard to compare; but I'm pretty sure there are lots of people who wish they had someone like B. J. to come home to.
Whew! Emotion is exhausting. I could have taken Route 211 over to New Market, but it was morning and there would be lots of slow-moving local traffic on that road. I toughed it out on 17 until it joined I-66. Everybody else was heading into Washington and I was heading west to the mountains. I pulled off a couple of exits later for gas at a place I knew would be cheaper than the stations in Warrenton. Twenty-five cents a gallon savings mounts up. I grabbed a coffee and a couple of sausage biscuits and left the station headed back to the highway. At the entrance ramp I saw a hitchhiker who looked to be about my age. A little company wouldn't hurt.
“Where you headed?” he asked. I thought that should have been MY question. I told him Tennessee and he answered, “That'll do.”
“Shelbyville, near Nashville. Does that do you any good?” He nodded and threw a backpack into the bed of the truck.
“Gettin' away from a busted romance,” he said. “Doesn't much matter where I go. 'You can take the high road, the low road, the back road, the rail road … as long as you keep goin'.' Those were the partin' words.”
“Ouch! Hope you don't mind me eatin' these biscuits. I didn't get breakfast before I left.”
“I'm good. I'm gonna catch some z's. If you want help drivin', wake me up.” He balled up his jacket into a pillow and leaned against the window. Low music from the radio didn't seem to bother him at all.
I glanced over at him a couple times, just to check him out a little. On closer inspection, I decided he was a few years older than me, not bad looking except for the bushy sideburns that went down to his jawline. The curious thing was … Ok, I have to admit I check out guys' bulges. He didn't have one. Nothing. Not the tiniest hint of a dick going on in those jeans. Could have been a girl. He shifted position and still nothing and the jeans weren't especially loose-cut. Oh well, eyes back on the road.
I-81 is a good road; nothing like I-95. It's the way interstates are supposed to be. Good, polite drivers and not too many of them. If you want to go fast, they'll get out of your way. If you want to go slow, the slow lane is easy driving with nobody on your bumper. Normally I like going slow because the Blue Ridge is a pretty part of the country, but today I was on a mission and held it at seventy-five and more covering the miles. As we were approaching Roanoke and slower traffic, I cut the speed, waking up my passenger.
“You need to stop?” I asked him.
“Far side of Roanoke'll be ok. I used to have a delivery business. You always want to be on the far side of Roanoke – whichever way you're goin'.” A little joke; I laughed politely.
“What kind of delivery business?” I asked.
“Oh, this and that ...” My daddy always said 'this and that' meant don't ask; you likely didn't want to know the answer. My rider's mood changed abruptly. “God damn it! It plain sucks getting' dumped. You know?” He smacked one fist into the other.
“I don't know. Never been dumped. Had a thing or two that never got started, but never dumped.”
“Trust me, it sucks. You think everything is going good and then pow! He dumps you.”
“He?” I questioned.
He stumbled and stuttered a few words and then said, “Fuck it. Yes, 'he' … I … I'm gay. That bother you?”
“No.”
“I guess I always was, but I just admitted it to myself lately … If talkin' about this makes you uncomfortable, just say so ...” He didn't wait for my answer, just charged ahead. “Fuckin' B. J. - that was his name - he played me and played me and then bang. Suddenly it's over 'cause HE says so.”
B. J.??? My antenna went up. I looked at my passenger again. “I'm Brendon, by the way,” I told him.
Brendon? Why did I say that? I never used my real name, except on government forms and stuff like that. Something told me that if he was talkin' about my B. J., then 'Racer' might mean something to him.
He responded in kind. “I'm Todd. Todd Hinckley.”
TODD FUCKING HINCKLEY!!!!! I tried not to show any reaction to hearing the name; but I couldn't keep myself from taking another look at him. Sandy colored hair, clear gray eyes, good build, except for the sideburns; he was not at all the genetically challenged hayseed B. J. made him sound like.
“Todd Hinckley …” I chewed on the name thoughtfully. “Did you have kin got run up a flag pole one time near Strasburg?”
“You know about that?”
“I heard about that. Don't know anything first hand...” Which was a lie.
“That was my dick-head brother,” he chuckled. “Cops gave us all kinds of shit. I had to lie real low after that, but my brother was stupid and … well, he's in jail for a while. Where are you from?”
“Outside Warrenton.”
“So maybe you know B. J. Carteret.”
“Matter of fact I do. Small world.”
“That part of Virginia is small and it ain't the world ... as I'm hopin' to find out. You know why B. J., the son of a bitch, threw me out? He said my dick was too small.” My mouth dropped open. I felt his eyes on me. “I know!” he exclaimed.
“Todd …” I figured he'd find out anyway. “I gotta tell you, B. J. is my roommate.”
“I thought his roommate's name was Racer.”
“Yes. Brendon is my real name. People call me Racer.”
“No shit,” he said in amazement. “No shit ...” he repeated. I waited for a reaction. Is he going to hit me? Curse me? Was there going to be trouble? “He said you were good lookin'. He sure didn't lie about that. Racer, huh?”
“Racer Tyree,” I filled in the gap for him.
Roanoke is way bigger than Warrenton, but it's not that big. In little time we were on the far side of the city and the traffic began to thin. I pulled off the interstate and into a Travel Centers of America truck stop in Petro Glade Spring. I headed for the men's room and Todd followed. We stood next to each other pissing and staring at the wall saying nothing, the way guys do. When we were done I sensed motion. He craned his neck to look at my dick and then stood away from the urinal.
“So is this cock so small?” He held his dick in his hand. “It's smaller than you … but it gets bigger when it's hard.”
What do you say to that question? Do you lie and say it's big, when it isn't? His dick wasn't huge by any means; in fact it barely protruded beyond the three fingers he had wrapped around it to hold it out. Still, it was a real dick, not the 'micro-mini' that B. J. had called it.
“A dick's a dick, Todd. It looks ok to me.” I avoided looking in his eyes and went to a basin to wash my hands. We bought a few snacks and got back in the truck. We were silent while I got back on the road. I took a bite of my ham sandwich.
“He let's you fuck him,” Todd bitterly announced. “He never even let me try. He never even ...” Todd looked away from me and out the window, getting' himself under control.
“He fucked ME plenty though. Every day at work. We'd go through the mail and the phone messages and then he'd want me. Like clockwork. Like I was just another part of his morning. Do the mail. Do the messages. Do Todd. Return the important calls. Go to lunch.” He lapsed into silence for a while. “Then lately, he'd make me beg for it. And I DID! I begged him. 'What?' he'd tease. 'Fuck me,' I'd beg.” Todd fell silent again and ate a big chocolate chip cookie.
“I don't even know what it's like in a bed. He'd fuck me right on my desk. And make me clean up the cum.” He ate a small cherry pie.
“Payback he called it. Payback for making him blow me a couple of times in exchange for pot. I shouldn't be telling you all this stuff. It's not your fault.” He drank a Coke. “I just need to talk to somebody.” He stuffed the Coke cup and the other wrappers into a plastic bag.
“I hate driving around with a truck full of junk. You want to pull into a rest stop, Racer? Ok if I call you Racer? You can fuck me if you want. Your boyfriend liked doing it.”
I let him dump his trash at a small picnic area in a pull-off rest area near the Tennessee line. There were a good number of other people around and no possibility for sex, which was a relief. He dozed off again and woke when we got onto I-40. With about a hundred miles to go, we talked about what I was doing. He had a decent knowledge of NASCAR and talking about auto racing was easier for both of us than talking about B. J.
We parted company at my motel. I went to check in with Ches and he went to wherever he was going. Ches was a comfortable presence and seemed to have the reformed team semi-functional already. Lucas was a younger version of Howard and seemed like a competent business manager. Another mechanic named Latham would be my coworker. The surprise was seeing Slick.
“My conviction was overturned on appeal,” he said. “They decided I was stupid, not complicit. Which, I guess, is the truth. Maybe not the stupid part, but I had no idea that Randy and Howard had a connection. Live and learn. You want to get a massage tonight, lucky Racer?”
The 'lucky' handle raised questions in my mind, but it didn't sound menacing. “Sure, maybe; let's see how it goes.” Was that a yes or a no? I meant it to be discouraging, but Slick didn't take it that way.
“Excellent-o, compadre!” he grinned.
“He learned a little Spanish in jail,” Ches commented. “Racer, can I see you before you go?”
“You can see me now,” I said. Slick took the clue and left us alone.
“Maybe you can do a little driving. If Slick … has any er, problems. You won't be the name driver for the team, but everybody has backups. Latham is another possibility,”
“Sure, Ches. I'm willing.”
“Good. We'll give the cars a tryout tomorrow.”
I went back to the motel ready for a shower. Maybe I'd have time to figure out a reason to ditch Slick. A real massage would feel good after a day of driving, but with Slick, it's never a real anything.
“Hey, Racer ...” Todd Hinckley was sitting at my door. “I thought I had a contact in Nashville, but … it didn't work out? Could I … just for the night … bunk with you?”
It seemed certain to me that a night with Todd Hinckley could be as hazardous to my health as a night with Slick. I wanted to say no. There was no possible win in saying yes. More like certain disaster ahead. I mean, I really couldn't even call B. J. with Todd around, could I? What would B. J. think? 'I'm spending the night with your ex-fuck buddy, Beej.' How would that go down?
“Sure, Todd.” I watch his face light up. He really wasn't bad looking. Inside we both wanted a shower and I got to see why B. J. had anything to do with Todd. He had a great ass to make up for any shortcoming in the dick department. He caught me looking.
“Not bad, huh?” he said in a fairly calculated way, pausing in the bathroom door. At that point Slick knocked and entered. Apparently the door hadn't locked when we closed it.
“Racer, there's no massage place in Shelb … Whoa! Who's this?”
“Slick Parsons, this is Todd Hinckley.”
Todd held a clean pair of underwear in front of himself but otherwise made no move toward modesty. “THE Slick Parsons?” he asked in real or perhaps fake awe.
“In the flesh,” Slick answered. “Would you like to see my trophies?”
“You definitely have ONE I'd be interested in.” Todd leered at Slick's bulge.
They left with Todd barely having time to pull on a pair of jeans and that made for a quiet night for me. I had a little dinner and called B. J. I told him all with as much detail as I could remember.
“Racer … things didn't go quite the way Todd told you.”
“Do you love me, Beej?”
“You know I do, Racer. Or should I call you Brendon?”
“I don't know how to tell you how much I miss you.”
“Don't you want to hear about my thing with Todd?”
“Not especially. Did I tell you I might be driving?”
“Really! Awesome! But that's dangerous, right? I don't want anything happening to you.”
We talked some more. His voice is a real tonic, makes me feel good all over. Of course I wanted more, but his voice would do.
Craiger
JUB Addict
Smart move Racer. The less you know about Todd and B.J. the better. Besides, it sounds like Slick has a new "boy toy." So....we finally get to meet Brendon Tyree. I think I like Racer better, but hell, Brendon's kind of cute. Even B.J. thinks so... Thanks Rory.
Craiger
Craiger
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"Evil Companions"? More like "Unexpected Left TURN, NOW!" 
Wow! What were the odds? Picking up Todd, as a hitch hike ride. Though not an actual "Pick Up", per se.
Seems things aren't always as they seem, seemingly!
Definitely prefer "Racer" over Brendon. As far as names go, still not all that bad, and rather kinda good. I have an "adopted" nephew, college bud's son, by the same name.
Don't really care all that much about Todd, and what Slick might be doing with/to him. I am a bit concerned about what Beej was doing with Todd, and not being completely transparent about that with Racer.
Sincerely hoping that won't be something that might come between my two Favorite guys!
All the more reasons to keep typing, Buddy!
And, Yeah! ...
Keep Smilin'!!
Chaz
Wow! What were the odds? Picking up Todd, as a hitch hike ride. Though not an actual "Pick Up", per se.
Seems things aren't always as they seem, seemingly!
Definitely prefer "Racer" over Brendon. As far as names go, still not all that bad, and rather kinda good. I have an "adopted" nephew, college bud's son, by the same name.
Don't really care all that much about Todd, and what Slick might be doing with/to him. I am a bit concerned about what Beej was doing with Todd, and not being completely transparent about that with Racer.
Sincerely hoping that won't be something that might come between my two Favorite guys!
All the more reasons to keep typing, Buddy!
And, Yeah! ...
Keep Smilin'!!
Chaz
