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The People in Rossford

Well, why fight over estates when there's so much more to fight about!?! I love Danasia and love Noah getting more friends and getting out of himself. Glad you enjoyed. There will be more tomorrow night, and a whole new chapter.
 
CHAPTER
SEVEN

BEING BORROWED

“That’s it,” Guy said, soothingly. “That’s it.” Then he shut up.
Guy had worked with Jack Corby a long time ago, and on his sets, while the boys were fucking, he talked to them, he interjected, “Go a little harder. Really thrust into him. You’re liking that, aren’t you?”
Every artistic bone in Guy McClintock’s body protested against this. He stopped himself from talking. No one wanted to hear his voice. It was best to not be there, as much as you could. If you were too present, how could they get in the zone? How could Tristan get that look on his face? Something like terror and anticipation, if the cameraman positioned a little above them, zooming onto his face, was too present? You wanted to get every bead of sweat, every whimper, every vein that rose up in his cheeks. You had to be an artist. No one really knew this. No one thought about it. The reality was that increasingly the watchers of gay porn were fat and lonely, or skinny and lonely and the closest thing they ever had to sex was the occasional blowjob. There were the lucky ones who had lives sort of like an episode of Queer as Folk, full of blow and blowjobs and sucking and fucking, but they were not the ones who paid thirty dollars a month for a subscription to Guy McClintock’s Rude Boy’s
“Oh… Oh, God Oh, God!” Tristan whimpered in an increasingly nasal voice. The camera swooped down on the top of Noah’s bent head, on his back, on the softness of his butt cheeks, concentrated on the gentle and insistent drive of his hips as he pressed into Tristan, whose long legs were thrown back. One was hooked around Noah’s waist now.
The sound was up just enough that with the camera on Noah, while his tongue was out a little from his hardly parted lips, you could hear him breathing, quicker and quicker now. He was a professional. The boy was a fucking artist, though he didn’t know it. He knew exactly how to do it so the camera could see his cock, which was thick for a boy so small, pressing into Tristan. Tristan knew what he was doing too. They were deep in the pleasure. His boys were always deep in the pleasure. But after so long a time it was as unconscious as breathing to know how to fuck so the camera got it.
They turned so that Tristan was on his hands and knees and the camera from all angles could see Noah coming into his fuzzy, blond ass. What a perfect ass, like the sun! Guy thought.
Oh, fuck!” Noah caught his breath and pulled out quickly, pulling off the condom. That’s what they needed. Even real amateur porn, the shit that the kids were baking at home now and tossing on the net, knew that this was the pay shot.
“Oh, God! Fuck!”
Noah did it like this, his body rocking, his voice catching in his throat, shooting his load, jerking his body forward like the kick of a gun. Once, twice, in the end five times, when the camera went to Tristan’s back and filmed the progress of Noah’s orgasm.
They lay still for a long time, which Guy filmed, knowing he’d have time enough to edit what he wanted. For the movie he wanted some sense of a long time where they swooned in ecstasy, yet a real long time would bore the clientele, who usually didn’t have the patience required for a real sex life.
Noah lay on his stomach, the camera loving his smooth, firm little body, creamy as a cloud, the curls of his brown hair. Tristan’s hands negligently went into it, stroking it the way he was stroking his own cock.
“That was good, Noah,” he said, with a chuckle. “You ready for me to fuck you, now?”
Looking half asleep, not opening his eyes, Noah nodded.


“Oh, God, fuck me! Oh, fuck me! Oh, God! Uh. Uh. Oh… fuck!”
They had fucked it up. He would have to tell that Danasia girl after they finished up. In a good movie what would have happened was Noah would fuck Tristan until Tristan came, he would do it like a farmer in Vermont tapping a tree until all the sap spilled from him. And then Tristan would do the same to him. The camera would watch his body being fucked like thunder through the sky, and watch the seed shoot out of him, in turn, as he groaned. The flip flop was the best movie. They had not done this. So a few hours would have to pass, to get them good and loaded again, and then they would shoot that. Or, the pieces of this movie would be clipped with the next one and somewhere along the line the desired film would be produced. It was all art.

“Uh! Uh! Awww!” Noah wailed while he heard Tristan’s body slapping against his. He opened his eyes to look up and Tristan’s beautiful, long, innocent face was turning red. Beads of sweat were coming up, his butter colored hair was standing up. A low growl was coming out of his throat that Noah joined with a shout like a Hallelujah.
It was art, but it wasn’t made up. He had been to Pride gatherings and club gatherings, with Paul and Burt usually, where the great unwashed clapped for him like he was Gandhi, and being a pornstar meant something. But there he was largely untouchable. In most of the world he was untouchable. Years ago, he’d developed a scab on the back of his neck. His grandmother had put salicylic acid on it until he could feel it burning, and the skin returned to life. Life was pain. He was pretty much a scab. But right now, this was real. His body shaking, being fucked to the deepest level, Tristan’s cock drilling into the deepest part of him again and again was real. And the more real he was, the more he writhed and wriggled and moaned, the more his teeth chattered and his eyes rolled back in his head while Tristan pushed his legs further back and the cameras moved around him, then more famous he was and the more money he made.
They wouldn’t have to shoot again. Here was the pay load. Noah felt it. To his surprise he felt it. His thick cock, clutched in his fist, his body jerked as the orgasm came up from the depths of him with a groan and a groan and another groan.
As the last of the coming rang itself from him sweat limned his body, semen slicked his hand. It unfastened from his still hard penis and Tristan, pulled out of him, getting ready to shoot his load over him, marveling, “That was beautiful, Noe.”
Tristan throbbed deep inside of him still, Noah tightened himself over the absence of Tristan while, above him, Tristan was bringing himself to orgasm. Yes, it was beautiful.


WHEN NOAH RILEY was just sixteen—or maybe he told himself it was sixteen, it might have well still been fifteen—Bobby Reinbolt asked him to suck his dick.
When he asked Noah, he went weak in the knees and it was like some perverse bolt shot through him almost making him collapse. Bobby was the track star just like his younger brother was the football star, and Noah was as obsessed with Bobby was the rest of the school was. He had fooled around. He had done things, almost without any sense of why he was doing them, or even from great desire. But this was the first time real desire shot through him and undid him, like atoms flying, like wine evaporating and only leaving that hot, intoxicating smell and Bobby said, tenderly, thickly. “Do it right here. Do against the high school wall.”
He let Noah unbuckle his jeans and pull them down. Noah trembled, not believing this was happening to him. His imagination was slow to catch up with his past experience, and despite all the things he’d done he never felt sexual, let alone homosexual. There really wasn’t much of a word for it in Rummelsville, or at least not in his house. He was like an altar boy in front of the tabernacle, so reverently pulling Bobby’s trunks down, so, tenderly taking his cock in his hands, a heavy, twitching cock, the vein underneath, throbbing with sacred blood. Noah opened his mouth and closed his eyes and took Bobby in.
It ended when Bobyy groaned and Noah coughed a little as Bobby held his head. Noah had tried to pull away at first, but Bobby’s hands holding his head wouldn’t let him, so he didn’t try anymore. Thick and salty, semen flooded his mouth, went down his throat. He tried not to gag. He heard: “Yeah. That’s it.”
And he heard it behind him. Not from Bobby.
“Yeah, make that faggot take it.”
Bobby held Noah’s head firm, his mouth full of dick. He massaged Noah’s head and said, “Take it, faggot. Yeah, take it.”
And then Bobby was reluctantly pulling his cock from Noah’s mouth and slipping it into his shorts. Pulling his pants back up, he said, “Your turn, Nelson.”
And the boy behind Noah was now in front of him, taking his jeans down, and Noah knew there were others, and that it would be foolish to run. So now Nelson, with none of Bobby’s gentleness fucked his mouth, and then Jack Elsener, and then Toby Simpson, and it must have been four of them at least.
Something went off in him, at last. Enough of this nightmare. He got up, mouth full of come, coughing, throat sore.
“Where are you going, faggot?” A hand reached out for him. “We’re not finished yet.”
“I’m,” Noah coughed on his voice, and spat, “finished.”
He tried to walked away. And then he tried to run when one reached out for him. He ran a few feet, terrified, hearing laughter behind before his foot tripped and he felt his chin bumping on the grass on the other side of the blacktop.
“Look, faggot,” the voice behind him said with a jovial chuckle, firmly pinning him down, working his belt and yanking his pants down, “I told you, I ain’t finished with you. And just for making me run, I’m gonna fuck you. All right?”
And then he did. It isn’t true it hurts to be fucked. It hurts when someone doesn’t know what he’s doing, when you don’t know what’s being done to you, and you’ve never opened yourself up before, when you don’t know your own body. That night, his mouth full of grass and dirt, a two hundred pound football player bearing down on him, moaning, groaning, snorting like a bull, full of lust, while the others joined to watch, Noah learned to leave his own body. Sex was a spiritual thing. It would send you right out of yourself.



 
Interesting to read some of Noah's back story. I feel sad for what happened to him during his first time. I wonder if he will ever stop doing porn, I guess I will have to wait and see.
 
You know, I never thought of this as Noah's first time. I thought of it as a rape he couldn't extricate himself from. There will be more of Noah later, and from what you learn, I wonder how you will define his first time?
 
CHAPTER
SEVEN

BEING BORROWED CONTINUED

A FRIEND HAD SAID he looked like California.
“You’ve got the shorts, and the hair, and the… I don’t know,” Daphne said.
There was a mall up in Portage, a half hour away, and by now everyone looked like California. It was as simple as walking into Hollister or one of the many stores full of what his mother wiltingly called “atmosphere” with a roll of her eyes, and buying the cargo shorts, the snug shirt with the logo, the hemp necklaces no self respecting hippie or pothead would ever pay for, the overpriced, and completing the look with thin and impractical leather flipflops.
This was not what Noah thought when he was eighteen. When he was eighteen reality was not a friend. A face pushed into the grass and a rape in the night, surrounded by men he couldn’t see, men who could have been anyone, who made him play sick and skip class, and then turn sick in truth had promptly taught him to escape reality or too much thought. Too much thought terrified him.
So when Daphne said he looked like California, he decided the only thing to do was go to California. He waited until graduation. He’d been saving up money at the store in Michigan City and Billy, who Naomi was living with at the time, sure didn’t want him. It was easy to go. And after a lifetime of Rummelsville, nothing on the streets of LA was that bad.

Guy was working in California then. He had plans for making great films there. When Noah came into the studio, he had already made Pizza Slut. Noah wasn’t sure if that was the type of movie Guy had always longed to make or not, but it was bigger than any movie he’d ever been in. What was more, he had seen it, and to him Johnny Mellow was a star.
For the audition, which Noah wanted to do because he felt confident he could really be a star in this, all he had to do was take of his clothes, stroke himself, show his large cock, stroke it, bend over, and have someone expose his asshole. That was the part that made him shudder. All he remembered was the rape, and no hand but his own and but to wipe had been there.
This was why when Guy asked in another filmed interview, “Do you want to be fucked?” Noah immediately said yes.

Whatever people said about porn, and about the sex business, Noah experienced this. Back in Rummelsville where all the guys had been straight and Christian, and half of those guys had performed sex acts on him building up to rape outside of a parking lot, he had experienced hypocrisy, cruelty, pain and then just the simple truth that nothing he’d ever heard meant anything to him. Daphne and a few other girls said he was cute. Later on the streets men had begged for his cock, his ass or his mouth, with such greed he knew they didn’t see him. He could have been Quazimodo they were in such a state. But here, for the first time, there was attention from Guy. There was acceptance from Burt, strong and buff, and from Johnny who looked all innocence and was also a Hoosier. Guy asked him, simply, if he wanted to be fucked. No chuckling in his ear, no hilbillly son of a bitch yanking his trousers down and telling him ‘Ahm gonna fuck you.”
“Well, try it with this, first,” Guy said. “You gotta practice.”
The practice films of him with the pink gel dildo and the Pyrex dildo fucking himself were all there, of Paul, as Johnny Mellow, inserting fingers in his ass, shocking him into a new pleasure.
“It hurts when someone doesn’t know what they’re doing,” Johnny said. “And when you don’t know what you’re doing, either. When you don’t know how to take someone in. Don’t worry,” he chuckled. “I’ll be easy on you. If it’s too much, just say stop.”
He didn’t say stop. The camera hardly mattered. By now Noah knew Johnny, so it was more or less comfortable talking to him. And this was work, work that allowed him to get other types of work where he wasn’t naked or pimping himself to desperate men on the street. He could never remember what he wore, but Paul—or Johnny—came in, chewing gum, looking country and innocent, his marmalade hair a little spiked, that sweetness and shyness in his green eyes. He had one of those old Cuban shirts from the 50’s white with a black stripe down the middle, but it was snug on him and when it was time, when Guy stopped talking, Paul took the gum out of his mouth and put it in the wrapper like a gentleman, and then he pulled Noah to him. And it was the first time he’d been with Paul, the first time he’d done this. Paul’s mouth was all spearmint. Noah was trembling and Paul was whispering where no camera could hear, “Don’t be afraid. Don’t fall apart. I got you,” He was kissing him and whispering reassurance, making love to him, undressing him slowly, covering his body in kisses, gently inserting his fingers, moving them so that Noah made a music and cried out with joy before, in time, Paul sat him gently down, and meekly, humbly, whispered for permission, and then, pulling him down slowly, entered.
“It can be,” Paul said, as all of Paul filled him and Noah tightened on him in shock of the pleasure, wanting to pull him all in, adjusting to sweet Paul’s rhythm, “the most wonderful thing in the world.”
And so it was.
And so it was.


“HELLO! HELLLOOOO! Is somebody here? Well, I’m coming in—Damn, this is nice! Damn this is… Is this the place where they make them nasty movies? Is this—? SHIT, GODDAMN!”
Noah jumped up from the bed where he was sprawled, and Tristan said, “What the fuck!”
It was Guy who moved away from the camera while his other cameramen looked amazed and came up to Danasia.
“I’m Guy,” he said.
“I’m Danasia,” she said. “So I guess you weren’t playing,” she told Noah, who was placing a towel over himself. “You really do make nasty movies. Do you ever make em for ladies?”
Guy smiled at her, and she said, “Cause I could show you a nasty movie. I could show you some freaky shit, if I had the time.”
The director chuckled and said, “I bet you could,” while Noah, in his shorts, took Danasia by the hand and walked her out of the room.
“I got tired of waiting,” she said.
“I was going to be done in minute,” Noah said.
“You’re not done now.”
“Shit!” Noah broke off. “You’ve taken me out of my zone!”
“You have a zone?” Danasia said. Then, “Well, I guess you’d have to. If you do this. Can I see some of your stuff?”
“No,” Noah said, looking at her strangely.
“Can I stay here and watch, then?”
“No.”
“Why?” Danasia said. “It’s not like it’s private. You got every Tom, Dick and Hairy Ball sitting around watching the shit.”
“Yeah, but I’m not there when they’re watching.”
“Whatever,” Danasia threw up a hand. “I think white folks get worked up about strange shit.”
“Maybe,” Noah said.
Then he said, “You know what? Grab yourself a drink. And some food. And there’s a pool and… I know you won’t be intimidated by anyone here, so, just say hi if you see anyone. I gotta go back and finish some stuff up.”
“You have a really big dick, you know that?”
Noah didn’t know what to do with that, so he said, “Thank… you?”
“Not a compliment so much as it’s an observation,” Danasia said. “I don’t really remember much but that it was big, for such a little guy. And nice. I think.”
“Little guys usually are bigger,” Noah said, clinically and without conceit. He shrugged. “I don’t know why. It just is. It doesn’t really seem to help me out much in life once I walk out of that door.” He pointed to the large front door. “I’ll be done in a bit,” he told Danasia. “I’ll come and get you.”
When Noah walked back in, Guy was shaking his head and chuckling, “New girlfriend, Noah?”
Noah shook his head with a grin while Tristan chuckled doing the same. Tristan was unabashedly and openly gay.
About half of Guy’s Rude Boys had, or alleged to have girlfriends. If they were real and lasting, as opposed to an endless string of pissed off and disappointed virtual beards, and Noah knew some of them were, then he felt a little sorry for them. Noah had never had any type of significant lover, but he strongly suspected any woman who had a man who was being fucked or fucking other men, had something she really didn’t need. Naomi had raised him, or tried, and man after man had caused her pain. He remembered pretending to sleep through his mother sobbing, or choosing to ignore her occasional black eyes. Who knew men, really? Especially the ones who said they were straight? A thousand frustrations and endless blame made them the worthless things Noah really thought they were, which is why he’d never dated one. The only men he ever liked were the ones he met for the night, or he met here. When he was fucking you, or you were fucking him, he was beautiful and happy and satisfied, and all the shit that covered both of you burned away. At least for a little bit.

“I can let you go now,” Guy was saying. “We got enough for two movies and for two movies, my friends, you’ll both get paid, and bottoming prices too, both of you!”
“All right,” Tristan said with a thumbs up and a goofy laugh.
“Oh, Noah,” Guy called him over. “I’m not going to need you for awhile. But you’re getting paid well, and I’ve referenced you out to Corby.”
Noah opened his mouth to protest.
“I know,” Guy cut him off. “Corby’s a shit. And you’ll probably have some bullshit dialogue, but he pays well, and it’s folks you know. He has respect for you. Has respect for me.” Guy shrugged. “The work’s good and,” Guy slapped him lightly on the cheek, “I’m seeing too much of you, kid. It’s too much of your perfect baby soft ass. I need some more Johnny Mellow.”
“Yeah, well that’s finished,” Noah said.
“Fuck him!” Guy said, not really meaning it.
“I really don’t want to go to Florida,” Noah said. That’s where Corby was.
“Well,” Guy thought. “You can do camera and stuff. Direct a little. That’s all I got for you.”
“I don’t need it all the time. Just… when I come around here.”
Guy nodded while Tristan, naked, walked away in the direction of the showers.
“I never asked you why you didn’t need the money?” Guy said in a lower voice.
“Huh, what’s that?”
“Don’t ‘huh-what’s-that?’ me.”
“Joe Callan was at that party where this house got busted.”
“The one where I passed out on the drug overdose.”
Guy nodded.
“He never came back, never told me personally. But I heard from someone who heard from someone that he was upset about missing money. He swore the police didn’t take it.”
Noah opened his mouth. But Guy held up a hand.
“Now I swear to God I don’t give a fuck what happened to that money, or what happened to Joe. But I heard, I heard from that Mexican guy you fucked when you came back into town, that Joe was after you. That’s all. And I worried. But then he dropped off the face of the earth. I didn’t know if he was still after you, or if he was ever after you, or if… someone was after him.”
Noah thought very carefully before speaking, and then he said: “I have heard. I have heard,” he repeated. “That Joe Callan is no longer in the land of the living, and not a threat to anyone. And I know that. And so no one needs to worry.”
“And no one needs to know that you know?”
“No one needs to know that you know either,” Noah said.
Guy cleared his throat and went back to polishing his camera lens.
“What do you need me to do, Noah?” he said.
“I need you to pretend we never had this conversation.”
 
I am glad Noah had that experience with Paul. I think that that was his real first time, you were right. Sounds like Noah might be in trouble again over the money. Hopefully in the future he can cover up the fact that he has money better. Great portion and I look forward to more!
 
There are so many surprises to come, and even though I wasn't posting Tuesday nights for a while, there will be another portion tomorrow night.
 
CHAPTER
SEVEN

BEING BORROWED CONTINUED

Tristan was smoothing moisturizer onto his face while Noah was toweling off from his shower when Noah said, “You consider you’re self to be gay, right?”
“Dude,” Tristan said with a laugh. “Everyone here is gay. You don’t stick cocks in your mouth and fuck guys in the ass if you’re not. It’s just you’re in denial, or you’re not.” Tristan shook his head, scooped out some hair gel, began rubbing it into his hair and said, “But man, it’s miserable to be in denial.”
“Well, yeah,” Noah said.
“I’m not trying to make you agree with me,” Tristan said, messing his hair up, spiking it.
“No,” Noah said. “It’s just… I think you’re right. No one here is really straight. I mean, if they are that’s sort of pushing the boundaries of what straight means. I know I’m not, but like, you’ve had boyfriends, right?”
“I had boyfriends,” Tristan said. “I’m not very good at it. I don’t know how to make shit work. And no one half way worth anything wants a boyfriend that says, ‘I get fucked for a living.’” Tristan shrugged.
“But I never have,” Noah said. “In fact outside of these movies I’ve never even had real one-on-one sex with a guy. Well, almost never,” he said. Suddenly he remembered being in Fenn and Todd’s house, sleeping with Paul. The memory made his cheeks hot. It made him totally forget about fucking Jorge that one time here. It was also so personal, he couldn’t bring it up to Tristan.
“And I’ve never been in love.”
Tristan cocked a grin.
“I bet you have, young Noah,” he said.
And then Noah said, “That reminds me.”
He discarded the towel and came back a moment later with his clothes bundled under one arm and an article in another. He gave the article to the half dressed Tristan while he pulled his own clothes back on.
“A church bulletin?”
“Just look at the pictures,” Noah said, pulling on his tee shirt.
“Father… What the fuck!”
“Yeah,” Noah said.
“That’s not a priest,” Tristan said.
“He’s the new priest at this church up in Rossford everyone I know goes to.”
“You know people who go to church?” Tristan said.
“Yes, and I’ve gone a time or two myself, but you’re missing the point.”
“Yeah,” Tristan agreed, his brow still furrowed. “The point is this little monsignor nailed me good a couple of times! There is no doubt this is Bick Throbbing.”


“I just don’t know what else to do,” Barb said.
“How about you just sit,” Father McDonald said. “He’s asleep upstairs and you’ve done everything you can.”
Fenn nodded and said, “I’ll get you something to drink. Water?”
“Scotch,” she said, as Fenn rose. “And you know just how I like it.”
“Whaddo you want?” Fenn said to Father McDonald.
He smiled and said, “I think I will limit it to water, today, Fenn. Thanks.”
“I feel like…” Barb said, opening her hands, and closing them, “I should… light another candle. Or anything. Say another rosary. Just…”
“Barb,” Keith put a hand on hers. “Look. Are you looking at me?”
Fenn came out of the kitchen with the water and the Scotch and sat down.
“Well, then you both listen to me,” Keith said seriously, adjusting his collar.
“God is not… magic. And he’s not waiting for you to do all of these backflips. You’ve done everything you can. Now let him do everything he wills, all right.?”
Barb nodded.
“I want him to do my will, though,” Barb said, sullenly.
“Well,” the priest said. “I’m not going to be God’s press secretary today. I’m not going to spin it all right. But I think—and I know this because I lost my mom a few years ago—in a time like this we need to do the hardest thing in the world. Let go. Just admit we don’t have the control and just give it up. And love each other. And give it up, that’s all you can do. You just place it in God’s hands,” Father Keith said. “And you realize it was there all along anyway. Everything is. And sooner or later, after the pain,” he said, looking at Fenn, “you look back and you realize it’s all right. And more than all right.”
He smiled tiredly.
“That’s all I got for you guys, but it’s the truth.”
Barb nodded. She knew she could light candles until the house burnt down, but what was going to happen was going to happen.
“Father,” she said, tiredly. “It’s the truth I needed to hear.”


Noah and Tristan followed the laughter to Danasia who was sitting by the pool surrounded by half naked white guys, rubbing one down with oil and saying, “Now what yawl really need is a scriptwriter. I never saw one of your movies, but the ones for straight people—I was about to say regular folks, but I realized that was ignorant—are so bad. What you need is a really good writer. Like my dad. I bet he could really do some shit for you. I’m on my way to visit him.”
Devin, sitting on the edge of the pool smoking a cigarette, looked up with a grin and a sexy squint in his eye and said, “You think you know someone who could write a script for me?”
Danasia looked at him and said, “Devin, I could write a script for you.”
She looked up from Brock, whom she was rubbing, and said, “You ready, Noah?”
“If you want to get back to Rossford before nightfall.”
“Brock, baby, I gotta let you go,” Danasia said while Brock chuckled and Danasia wiped the last of the oil off on his towel. “It’s been lovely meeting you all.”
“If you ever come to Corby Studios down near Fort Lauderdale,” Devin said, as she left, “tell him you’ve got a script and Devin says it’s killer.”
“Are you a really big star?” she said.
“If you watch gay porn, I’m huge,” he said.
Brock, in his blue Speedo got up and headed inside the house saying, “He’s a fucking Denzel Washington.”
“Only paler,” Noah, noted as they headed out.

“You know,” Danasia said, “it looks like a fun life. I could kind of get with that.”
Noah readjusted the rear view mirrors, and his eyes were inscrutable from his shades.
“Really?” he said, chewing his gum.
“Yeah,” Danasia said. “I mean, everyone’s friendly. Everyone’s at ease… You know what they say, ‘living like a pornstar!’”
“But I am a pornstar. You wanna live like me?”
“I like you enough,” she said. “You don’t seem to be hurting. Financially, I mean.”
“But I look really hurt and fucked on the inside,” he cheesed at her.
“I don’t know what you look like on the inside,” Danasia said. “But I just mean everybody has shit. I mean we’re all scarred.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Noah said. “Well, take my word for it. Everybody you just met is really scarred. And straight porn is like… five times worse from what I know.”
“Really?”
“Like, in gay porn, you’re with another guy. Everything you’re doing to him, if you want to make the big money, sooner or later is going to be done to you, so it makes you a little nicer about it, a little more gentle. Leastways I think. And like our stuff, I think, there’s sort of…like when I did it, I felt like I needed to do it. I know that sounds fucked up, but I really wanted to do it. You can see the need. For some of these guys this is their only outlet and so you’re a little nicer here. At least at Guy’s studio.
“But you’ve still got drugs and shit. Hell, Guy’s place got raided last year. All sorts of drugs, I OD-ed. Almost died. Everyone you just met has like…. Mega depression. You’re all high and happy when you’re fucking, then you crash.
“In other studios folks are always fucked up, or you’re screwing without condoms and you don’t know where folks are coming from, or what you’re catching. In the straight studios, fuck, you got girls just being plowed to death, just fucking high out of their minds, almost being abused.”
Noah shook his head. “That’s the part that pisses me off. Girls just… they do girls so bad.”
And then, suddenly, Noah began to sniff.
“Noah?” Danasia said.
“They just—” Noah began, and his face crumpled up, and then, on the way to Rossford, he burst into sobs.
Danasia tried not to watch for a moment, but she had suddenly come to like this boy, and what was more, he was driving on the highway, and crying, which couldn’t be safe. So she spoke.
“Noah, please. Noah, what’s the matter?”
Noah had long dispensed with his shades. He stopped crying now and sniffling, tears running down his reddened face, he wailed:
“I LOVE my mother!”
And so they drove on.


“It’s just really sort of unbelievable,” Keith McDonald said, sitting down and sighing while Dan handed him a Scotch. “I’ve never been this close to death.”
“Then Bob really is dying.”
Keith nodded. “Dan, it’s certain. And I don’t know what else to say without being corny.”
Dan plopped down in the old easy chair on the other side of the bay window.
“All I ever wanted to do was help people,” Keith said. “Since I was a little boy. I… I used to look up at that cross and think, I want to be like that. I want to be like Jesus. And when I saw the priest at Mass. I knew that would be me. I knew that’s what I should be doing? How many people know?”
“I still don’t know,” Dan said.
“Com’on,” said Keith. “How can you not know? This parish loves you. You are a great priest.”
“I’m a priest who makes a lot of mistakes,” Dan said. “I have made a lot of mistakes. I can’t believe myself sometimes.
“I was a slow listener. God never spoke to me clearly. I never absolutely knew what to do,” Dan admitted. “For me, everyday is a hint. I think, alright, I’m a priest today.” He shrugged. “It worked out today. It worked out yesterday. Let’s hope it works out tomorrow.”
Keith McDonald laughed and said, “Well, I’ve done some things. I’ve made some mistakes too. But…” he shook his head. “I always knew. Some people don’t believe in God, but for me it’s not even a matter of belief. Sometimes he pulls you. He pulls you so strong. He shouts at you. You can’t resist the pull.”
Dan watched the passion on Keith’s face and said, “I envy you so much.”
“Don’t.”
“No,” Dan shook his head. “For you…. God is this great, shouting, dynamic force. This fire.”
“Dan, you’re not like any other priest I’ve known,” Keith said. “I know God is alive to you.”
Dan laughed and spread out his hands.
It was a while before Dan admitted, “Yes. But for me he’s a consistent, nagging voice, muttering to me, and I,” he said lifting the heavy Scotch glass and swirling the fluid slowly, “am a very stupid, lazy boy who is slow to listen.”
Dan took a sip of Scotch and frowned.
“Damn, when I first went into seminary, I didn’t even drink. Look at the reprobate I’ve become.”
 
CHAPTER
SEVEN

BEING BORROWED CONTINUED


- You really like—THAT—SHIT!

With each word he fucked him harder.

- Oh yeah.
- Call me Daddy.
- Give it to me, Daddy.
- Tell me ‘Daddy you need me to fuck you!’
- Daddy I need you to fuck me
- Tell me you need me to bust my nut in you!
- Bust it! COME IN MY ASS!

“I don’t believe it,” Kirk said.

- COME IN MY ASS! COME IN MY ASS! COMEINMYASSSSS! OHHHHH!

The brunette drilled him harder and harder, his mouth slack, his eyes vacant, but his ass muscles flexing, pumping when the camera went back to them. But when the camera went back to his face, it was completely unmistakable.
“I’m grossed out now,” Kirk said sadly.
“I just feel sick and sad,” Paul said. “And I don’t have a right to. Why do I feel sick and sad?”
“Cause you were a kid who has a past, and this guy’s a priest.”
“I’m trying to make it someone else,” Paul said. “I’ve been trying to.”
“Nope—” Kirk said, taking up a handful of popcorn.

- OH SHIT! LET ME SEE THAT COCK! COME ALL OVER ME NOWWWWW!

“—that’s definitely Father McDonald.”

 
Wow confirmation that the priest was definitely a porn star! Interesting. I look forward to seeing where this storyline goes next. Great portion!
 
Well, confirmation for Kirk and Paul. Noah would tell you, "Duh!" BTW, if you have time go all the way back to the very first scene of The Houses in Rossford and see if you notice something.
 
CHAPTER
SEVEN

BEING BORROWED CONCLUSION

THE KITCHEN DOOR flew open and Fenn, at the table, complained: “No one ever knocks. Noah, what the hell are you…?”
And then he stopped.
“Danasia!”
Todd looked at Fenn and Tom looked at all of them.
The birdlike girl in glasses with bag over her shoulder entered the kitchen, strode around the table and then put her arms around Lee’s waist.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m glad to see you too you old bastard. Noah, over here found me on the side of the road.”
“It was wild,” Noah said, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s been a wild day.”
“Look,” she said, sitting on the counter. “I’ve got some serious shit to deal with, and only you can help me.”
“Have you talked to Lemonade?”
Danasia crossed her arms over her chest and said, “Please.
“The best thing you ever did was adopt me.”
“Uh…” Tom began.
“Oh, yes,” Lee turned to him. “Tom… you know how you wanted a kid…? Surprise!”
Tom looked as if he still didn’t get it. Because he didn’t.
“This is my daughter,” Lee said, finally. “Danasia.”


When Noah came into the apartment it literally smelled grey with the residue of Benson and Hedges, and there was a large ashtray filled with old cigarettes. Naomi jumped up, the cigarette hanging from her mouth.
“I was meaning to clean all this shit up,” she said, smoothing her ash blond hair back.
“Naomi,” Noah said, “are you wearing my housecoat?”
“I showered,” she said. “I showered, you know, and it was what I found. I didn’t want to wear Paul’s cause I don’t know him… and…”
Noah shrugged, and moved past his mother to pick up the ashtray. He moved to the kitchen.
“I haven’t cleaned. Noah, I promise, tomorrow, I’ll…”
Noah had dumped the ashtray, and now, quietly he turned on the water and reached under the sink for the soap.
“Noah…”
She stood beside him, waiting for him to say something, but he was strangely peaceful and quiet. He reached under the sink again for the dish rack, kissed her on the cheek and then set the rack beside the sink of running water. Noah began scrubbing the cups and rinsing them and Naomi, reaching for the towel, started drying.



AND SINCE THIS IS THE WEEKEND AND THERE WILL BE NO POSTING TOMORROW NIGHT.....



CHAPTER
EIGHT

WE GET TO GO TOGETHER

There was a four week period where Brendan never saw Kenny McGrath. All he could do was make phone calls. And then, finally, Kenny was coming home. The whole time Brendan waited for the phone call that would say he had arrived, there was something a little sweet about his misery.
Their love had started out so precarious, and Brendan wondered if they would be able to sustain it. He had been afraid, and he knew this now, that maybe distance would not make the heart grow fonder. Maybe distance would just make the love fainter. He looked back on that first day, when he had driven Kenny to campus, and then they’d had desperate, hard sex in Kenny’s dorm room, and he had driven back crying the whole time. What he had been afraid of was that he would stop loving Kenny. After all he screwed things up so well. What if there was something deeply treacherous about him, something cold and perverted about his heart that killed his loves? But there wasn’t, and as time passed he was miserable without his lover.
Kenneth McGrath surprised him by not calling, but instead knocking on the door. He had driven that same car he used to drive Brendan from work in earlier that spring, and he came with a package in hand.
Brendan, parting from him—no one was at home—closed the door to keep in the heat, and standing back ran his hands over Kenny’s shoulder, caught his waist, marveled at how blue his eyes were, grey-blue, sometimes ice blue, pale blue, took in the red brownness of his curly hair, the slight chapping of his freckled skin, the set of his full mouth.
“It’s you,” he said, taking him by the hand and pulling him toward the kitchen. “It’s really you.”
Kenny smelled like the cold, like November, and Brendan took off his coat and took it to the closet, shaking his head and babbling about everything that had happened in town.
“You’re so cold,” Brendan scolded. “Mom got hot cider. Well, it’s actually cold, of course. But I mean she got cider, and when you heat it up, then it’s hot. I’ll make us some. I mean, if you want it. Maybe you want cocoa?”
“I’m not really hungry, Bren. Mom just gushed all over me when I came in and babied me, but I told her I had to see you.”
“Well cider isn’t food,” Brendan pointed out, hefting the gallon of cider out of the Frigidaire and setting it in on the shiny island his stepfather had bought earlier that year.
“And it’s too cold not to have anything.”
“I’m fine…” Kenny began to say, and then shut up and let Brendan prepare the cider.

In his room, Brendan sat with Kenny and their hot mugs of cider, telling him about Bob Affren, and about Layla going to synagogue now that Will had turned out to be a Jew. Claire had pretended to sleep with a gay guy at her school, and then Brendan said:
“I’m talking too much.”
Kenny smiled at him.
“You’re so cute when you talk too much. But hold still now.”
Kenny took the mug from Brendan’s hand and set I on the nightstand beside his own. He took Brendan’s narrow face in his hands and kissed him. Brendan closed his eyes for it and Kenny murmured, “Now that’s nice, isn’t it? That’s what I wanted to do since I got in the door.”
Brendan put his head against Kenny’s.
“Why didn’t I have the sense to do that?” he murmured. “The first thing I could think was ‘he needs cider’. How romantic is that? And you don’t even know how badly I’ve wanted to kiss you, or be kissed, or touch you, or feel you, Ken…”
“You’re the most romantic person I know,” Kenny said, kissing him on the top of his head. “Except maybe me. Take this,” he handed it to Brendan.
“Oh, a present, Yay!” Brendan took it and tore of the wrapping quickly.
“Wow!” Brendan said, lifting it up.
“It’s not for everyone,” Kenny said as Brendan put the hat on his head. “But I think it’s for you, Bren.”
Brendan colored. It was a sky or powder blue stocking cap with a white pom pom on the end and earflaps.
“You can carry it off,” Kenny said. “I don’t know who else can.”
Brendan grinned and pulled off the cap, and then said: “Kenny, I’ve been thinking. I mean, I’ve been missing you bad.”
“And I’ve missed you too,” Kenny gripped Brendan’s hand twisting it.
Brendan said: “I want us to make love.”
“When?”
“Right now.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. Your folks?”
“Won’t be back for awhile.”
“All right,” Kenny twisted himself, turning to face Brendan. “Why am I shaking like this? We’ve done this before.”
“Your teeth chattering?”
Kenny nodded.
“Mine too. And Ken?”
“Yeah?”
“This time I want you inside of me. If you want to do that?”
Kenny looked at him strangely. They’d never done that.
“I… practiced,” Bren said. “So it won’t hurt me or anything. Besides, I never hurt you. So… I mean, I really want it.”
“All right,” Kenny said. “We’ll work our way slowly, and then we’ll do it. You got anything?”
“Not real lube. But I swiped some olive oil. That’s close enough. And it’s Greek, so…”
“Greek?”
Brendan shrugged. “I dunno.”
Kenny kissed him quickly, and then he kissed him deeply, not letting go, his tongue deep in Brendan’s mouth, his hands almost melting into Brendan’s cheeks.
“Bren, I’ve been wanting to do this a long time. I’ve been wanting us to switch sides a long time. I love it when you do it. I love it,” Kenny said, painting hard and pulling off his sweater.
Brendan nodded and pulled off his tee shirt.
“But I really want to fuck you,” Kenny said, working with his shirt, stopping, unbuckling his belt and unsnapping his jeans, then going back to his shirt.
The blood was pumping in Brendan as he slid out of his jeans, leaned forward, hugged Kenny’s naked waist and then lay back down.
“I want you to fuck me,” Brendan muttered, and he didn’t think he’d been more excited, or felt freer in his life.
 
Wow! I can't believe Danasia is Lee's daughter! A great surprise. I am glad Noah is getting along better with his Mum. A very romantic scene between Brendan and Kenny. I am glad they are making things work. Great writing and I look forward to the next part in a few days.
 
It's all coming together now. This is the last third of the story. Glad you enjoyed and I'm glad to see Brendan and Kenny again myself. More in a few days. Thanks for reading. Cheers!
 
CHAPTER
EIGHT

WE GET TO GO TOGETHER CONTINUED


The first time Brendan had tried it on himself, in fact the first twenty times, he’d been afraid. And when he’d seen it in the pornos, the whole time he’d wanted to do it, and have it done to him, he’d winced with imagined pain, especially in the movies where they announced: THIS IS HIS FIRST TIME!!!—the boy screamed like a pig while being fucked, his face turning red, and gritting, tears coming to his eyes even while he moaned with the need for it. And of course, the first time with Kenny he’d been afraid he was hurting him, and he was, actually.
But Brendan was surprised by how much he wanted it, and how it bruised at first, burned a little, but not enough to make him not want it, and then Kenny found entry, and it felt good to have him there. He was amazed by the hollow place now filled with Kenny, all of that firmness entering him, beginning to shuttle in him, touching him in the deep place, was Kenny.
“You… all right?” Kenny began, trying to say something solicitous, thinking he should speak. But that was all he said. Brendan’s legs went around him, his thighs drew him in. He ran his hands over Kenny’s back, trying to pull him in more and more, kissing his face over and over again, running his hands to the small of Kenny’s back, to smoothness of his ass. They came closer and farther, Brendan pulling him in more and more, murmuring:
“Oh, God, oh yes. Yes. Kenny.”
“I’m here Bren, I’m here,” he murmured over and over again, his jaw slackening now, his body slamming into him harder now, now that Brendan could take it, now that Brendan wanted it, his voice coming up in sharp little cries.
“Yes Ken, oh, oh, God oh, God Oh…oh no. Oh, no. Stop! Stop. Oh, God, oh, my God!”
Somewhere in that, Kenny slowed down. They were ecstatic sometimes, but Brendan’s sudden wailing, his, “Oh, my God. Oh stop… Oh, no…” of course, made Kenny do just that.
He pulled out of Brendan, whose arms loosed on his waist, and whose legs fell now. And Brendan was crying, and he was saying over and over again, “Oh, my God!”
There was nothing wrong with him, which was the first thing Kenny checked, and then he turned around dumbly, following Brendan Miller’s expression.
And while Brendan continued crying and reaching for his clothes, covering his genitals, Kenny beheld Liane Miller, Brendan’s mother.

“Brendan, stop it,” his mother ordered, tiredly.
Brendan and Kenny were both standing in the kitchen, Kenny’s face white, his body cold and his hands jammed into his pockets. Brendan stood beside him with his face in his hands crying.
“Brendan,” his mother repeated.
“I’m gay, Mom,” Brendan sniffed. “Kenny’s my boyfriend.”
His mother looked to Kenny, and then looked back to her crying son and said, “I had figured that out, Bren. Mostly.”
She shook her head.
“Go wash your face,” she told him.
Brendan nodded, and then, still sobbing lightly, left the kitchen, and Mrs. Miller, looking at Kenny standing there awkwardly, said, “And you go with him.”
“This is awful,” Brendan was saying as he ran cold water over his face. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were supposed to be gone all day…”
“Well, it’s done now,” Kenny said shutting off the water for Brendan who turned around to towel his face. “And it could have been worse. It could have been your dad.”
“Oh, my God!” Bren said. “Still, to have your mother walk into your bedroom while… Kenny, it was so perfect. I was so in the moment, and then door opened and over your head, there she was. It was a nightmare. I’ll never forget it. I…” Brendan stopped, touching his stomach.
“Wha?” Kenny said.
“I wanna throw up.”
“Save it for later.”
“How do I look?”
Brendan Miller’s face was green white except for around his eyes and nose where he was completely red.
“Terrible, baby,” Kenny told him, and led him back to the kitchen.
“When I woke up this morning, and left this house, I thought you were still a virgin,” his mother said, at last. “I thought you still had to learn about sex. And now it turns out you’re not even a heterosexual. I… This is what the whole Dena thing was about, wasn’t it?”
Brendan nodded. He didn’t feel like telling his mother he’d been sleeping with Dena. This was enough. If he could have he would have told her that right now was his first time. He could. Technically it was. He almost thought of blurting that out.
Instead he said, “What are you going to do, Mom?”
“I…” she looked at a loss. “What am I supposed to do? If you come home too late, you’re grounded. If you use drugs, you’re grounded, but this is the big one, honey.”
“I know, Mom.”
“I mean this is the big one that’s supposed to be the… no-no. And it is a no-no Bren, on so many levels. And… I don’t know what to do. You’re my son, you’re my baby.”
Kenny felt awkward. This was the woman who had seen him fucking her son, and he felt like this was not the place for him. She didn’t even know he was there. But if he moved to leave, then she would know, and then he would be in a position he did not want to be in.
“I can’t do anything. There is nothing for me to do,” she said.
“You can’t tell Dad,” Brendan said.
“No,” his mother agreed. “I can’t.
She added, “And I’m not sure you can either, right now.”
“I didn’t want to tell either one of you,” Brendan said. “This is…”
“Yes,” his mother said. “It is.”


“This is bad,” Will observed.
“It sure in the shit is,” Layla said. “Why didn’t you dummies have the sense to lock the door?”
“We…” Brendan began. “Mom wasn’t supposed to... We…”
“We really should have locked the door,” Kenny said.
“It’s really one of those things that it’s too late to change now,” Will told them.
Layla nodded.
“Have the two of you…?” Kenny said.
“Two of us what?” Layla said. Then, “Oh, no! Hell, no!”
“Hell no?” Will said, looking at her.
Layla looked at him.
“Oh,” she said. “Well, Will, it’s not that I don’t love you. Or that I don’t want to... But… I just don’t see the point in everybody throwing down. I’m not ready for that. Mind you—” she put up her hands, “I’m not judging. I’m just saying… I’d like to keep the mystery a mystery a little longer.”
Brendan nodded.
“I thought I’d be a virgin till my wedding night,” he said.
“Well, I never said that,” Layla said.
“Oh, good,” Will said.
“Whaddo you mean good?” she looked at him.
Will shrugged and Kenny said, “You mom’s not going to like… call my mom or anything? Is she?”
Brendan shook his head. “She’s not like that. I just hope she doesn’t want me to talk about it. This is the most embarrassing day of my life. I’ll never be able to… do it again without thinking of my mom.”
“I hope,” Kenny said, touching Brendan’s hair, “that’s not true.”
“It is sort of funny,” Layla said.
At the look from Brendan and Kenny she amended: “From a distance.”
“Distance plus tragedy,” Will observed, “equals comedy.”
“Well, I need a little more distance,” Brendan said, sharply.

“Do you want to stay the night?”
“That’s not even an option,” Brendan shook his head. “Mom’s going to be wondering what we’re doing. I mean, if she said yes.”
“Well, then I could spend the night at your place.”
“That’s definitely out now.”
“I wasn’t exactly serious. Howabout,” Kenny said, “you stay with Will and Layla. I mean, you tell your mom that. And then you just come home with me.”
In the darkness of the car, outside the Klaskos’ house, Kenny leaned into Brendan and murmured: “I’ll have the sense to close the door.”
Brendan snorted and shook his head after kissing Kenny’s mouth.
“No, we can’t do that, Ken.”
“Why not?”
“Mom’ll…”
“Fuck your mom,” Kenny said. “Which is, incidentally, not nearly as exciting as you fucking me. Or me fucking you.”
“You liked it,” Brendan said.
“I loved it.”
“I liked it too,” Brendan said in a small voice.
Kenny kissed his throat, sucked on it till Brendan moaned. He leaned forward and around so that he kissed Brendan on his mouth, and his hand went to his jeans.
“You thinking of your mother, now?”
Brendan, still caught in his kiss, shook his head.
Kenny touched him, and stroked him.
“What about now? Even when I bring her up.”
Brendan moaned and Kenny said, “I see I brought something else up. Whaddo you say?”
In a thick voice, Brendan said, “Hurry up and try not to run any red lights. Let’s go to your house.”
 
Hot scene with Brendan and Kenny till his Mum interrupted lol! That was one way to come out to her. I am glad Brendan's first time bottoming did not hurt too much. Great writing and I look forward to more soon!
 
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