"Harvard Comes To Montana" - Chapter Twenty-Three
By Griz
umgriz@protonmail.com
Hi, Friends;
Dang! Feast or famine! Deluge or drought! Sorry about that, sincerely.
Feast on this, and let me know what you think.
Griz
*** The following story is a work of erotic fiction. If you are under the age of 18 or if this type of fiction is prohibited in the location where you are reading this, do not read any further.
All characters and names are creations of the author. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Please show your support for Nifty, a great organization that gives opportunities to all types of authors to express themselves. To find out how you can contribute, go to donate.nifty.org/donate.html ***
"Frogman". For fuck's sake.
Of all the inopportune moments to think back five years ago.....but I might as well tell you about it.....and then we'll returned to our special program.
I remembered my freshman-year fuck buddy's delight that I could go down and stay down on her for `I'm-not-kidding-you-were-down-there-FOR-HOURS!', according to her.
We'd been in school only a week, and we'd already had consummated our after-class boredom while waiting for the bus to take us to your homes off the highway. `HOURS'? Nah. Like fifteen minutes. The next day in the hallway, she passed me and said,
"How's it goin', `Frogman'?"
That happened twice more, and increasingly, her friends with her would giggle at me and then laugh after they'd turned the bend in the high school hallway. Then it was the guys who joined in, all laughing, but also, not derisively. That was interesting. One of the rare moments in a young person's life when other genuinely do laugh with, and not at. Still, I was clueless about all of it. Puberty began about a year earlier for me, and one of the first changes was my voice. Maybe that was the impetus for the new nickname.
I heard my actual name from behind me, and the new kid slowly making his way through the between-class crowd. Tom was new to our school that year, having brought from Oklahoma him, his horse and his southern drawl you could walk that same horse right through. He was with me when I'd been called `Frogman' again.
"Why do they keep calling me `Frogman'?! Do I look like a frog or something? Did my skin turn green? Is it my voice?!"
"Nope' to all that, Jeffrey. You really don't know why you're known school-wide, even by the coach and some of the teachers, as Frogman'?"
"I JUST ASKED YOU THAT, ya Pokey Okie!"
(We did that a lot with each other, and it never gets old.)
"Where is a frog's nose?"
"How the fuck would I know?!"
"Well, she and her buddies seem to think THEY know, from experience; and it makes sense, I guess at least to me....."
"So where is a frog's nose?!"
"On the back of its head, ya Polish Pussy-Pleaser! And THAT'S the only other hint I'm gonna give ya, right there!"
"Wait.....why would a frog need its nose on the back of its head......oh, fuck.....'FOR HOURS', she'd said....."
"Well, looky right here who decided to wake up after everyone else in the whole fuckin' school already made the bell!"
"Damn. Wait----the teachers know, too?"
"Apparently. How do you expect `em not to know n' talk about it? We're in a county where maybe one or two other men know what their tongues are for, other than lickin' an ice cream cone, and just our luck, no place to go for ice cream. Poor fuckers have no way to practice......
And then comes you, who just doesn't seem to need to learn anything, yet alone work on ice cream cones to `hone your craft'. You're the stuff of legend, and you're what, Thirteen?"
"Ummm.....no....."
"So you're Fourteen! And already famous!"
"No, not Fourteen, either....."
"Uh, you been held back or something??"
"Nnnno.....kinda `moved forward'....."
"Wait.....am I countin' in the wrong direction here?"
"Welllll....."
"DO YOU EVEN HAVE HAIR ON YER DICK YET?! How old are you?!"
"Umm.....Twelve.....kinda....."
"`Kinda'??"
"I turn Thirteen in October, so might as well be....."
"It's only August.....'FROGMAN'! Holy fuck, wait `til my buddies back home hear about this!"
"NO, NO ONE is gonna hear about this! Too many people already know!"
"Yeah-----the only person who SHOULD know couldn't keep her mouth shut, and is now getting you the rep that'll have doors open and panties dropped for you, for the rest of your life! Hey.....can I ask you a question, though?"
"I'm afraid to ask what your question is, but I'm more afraid to answer it. Oh, go ahead. Get it over with."
"Do you get a headache? You know, when you're.....'down on it'?"
"A headache? No..... Why would I get a headache?"
"Well, now I have the ice cream thing in my brain, so I'm just wonderin' if you get a headache like you do if you lick on ice cream too much."
"UGH!"
Tom just laughed, and for the first time that day, it had nothing to do-----well, not much to do-----with why everyone else was laughing. Tom was never one to sleep through a class, or not have his ear to any wall near him. I appreciated then and ever since that it was Tom who kindly and tactfully told me what was floating around the hallways at school. As you already know from earlier, it was his same insightful awareness that pulled me right out of the closet, and he was just as kind and tactful with that.
Just then, my best friend Kristi caught up with us in the hallway. I saw the smile on her mouth and the twinkle in her eyes."
"K, DON'T."
"WHAAAAAAAAAT?"
She laughed, and I couldn't help it; I joined. Tommy, too.
"Jeffrey, you might be clearing the fog from every female's mind on campus, but I bet your own is getting extra cloudy up in there right now.....you okay? Seriously. You know....."
"Shh! Yeah, well, you're not wrong, K.....This is unwanted attention. I need to focus and know Calculus better and sooner than I need to know Cunnilingus. If I ever need to know it....."
My new friend and neighbor from Oklahoma was having a field day with that.
"Sounds like you already do know it! Maybe you could double-major. You'll graduate with a diploma in CalcuLingus. Imagine THAT on a college application form. You'll have half the student population at any university begging for you to be admitted there."
"NOT HELPING, Tommy! Oh.....do you know Kristi? Kristi, this is Tom Sanger. New to Fergus County. They're our neighbors, out next to the Tuss ranch."
Kristi just smiled and extended her hand to shake Tom's.
"Hi, Tom."
"Hi, Tom. Oh, shit. I mean, hi, Kristi. I'm Tom."
I laughed. `Frogman' was forgotten, at least by we three, at least for the moment. Well, well, well. That was a day of surprises, and the meeting of my two best friends was actually pleasant, and not damaging or deleterious to my own esteemed (and assumed) innocence. All I could hope for was something else new to catch and hold everyone's attention the next day, and all the days that followed.
Unless I was going to be a United States Navy SEAL, I didn't want to hear `Frogman' at LEAST until Graduation. Heh.....who ever heard of a US Navy SEAL in Montana? Even at that age, I'd seen one or two in magazines. If you're gonna wear a uniform, dress white or dress blue, that's the one. One final memory about that day: I got home later than usual, but caught a ride with Tom and his brother, Trace.
Dad was helping Mom get dinner on the table. We were eating early because they had a Grange Meeting they wanted to get to. We ate one of Mom's best: Eggplant Parmigiana! Everything on my plate was grown in our garden, and the mozzarella was actually Mom-made, too; with milk from our own Guernsey.
We had a good dinner together, and they took off. I called my big brother in Bozeman and talked with him while I washed the dishes after dinner. We got caught up on all the news there and here. He was always interested in how I was doing in school.
Homework completed, I was reading a chapter in a book I'd been assigned in Health and P.E. I heard my parents' rig roll up. When they came in, they were both talking about the Grange Meeting. Apparently one of the crop hail insurance companies wasn't writing new policies in Montana. Dad made sure he renewed ours that same night.
For whatever reason, longer Summers and more hail had visited the Eastern side of the state with greater frequency since the 60s. We'd even had some never-before-witnessed tornadoes in Petroleum, Fergus and Wheatgrass counties. Weird. Of course, it makes sense now, but at the time.....everything was new.
Dad said folks would do a lot better if they'd learn from history and science so as not to repeat it, but also to respect it. A good scientist will do real research and publish the results. Most others take notes and also manage to get published, but in dubious-at-best `news journals' that you can buy in the grocery store check-out lanes. Just look on page three, above the shocking REAL NEWS that one hundred year old French women are giving birth with sperm from one hundred year old Japanese men----and on the Moon, no less!
I was only barely reading the textbook. Dad saw the big text at the top of the page I was on: "Reproductive Health".
"Ah. So THAT'S what they're teaching you in school these days.....to think I had to rely on my instruction from the Senior boys about girls. And any animals on this farm who were too cheap to get a room."
"This is common sense, at least to anyone who pays attention in Biology. I kind of laugh at the boys who live in town; they're fascinated and sit in shocked disbelief. Clearly never been in a barnyard."
"Yeah, there's really little difference. But on the matter of Show And Tell'.....just how much do we need to have The Talk' that most dads and their sons don't have for another year or so??"
"Well, about this male-female stuff particularly, there's nothing we need to talk about, Dad.....but yeah, I think I want to talk with you. We're going out to check the fences tomorrow, right? Can we, you know, catch up then? I have something important to talk about, Dad."
"Of course, Jeff. Do you want to go out and talk about whatever is bugging you now?"
"No.....tomorrow. And nothing is really bugging me. Just want to, you know, talk."
"Fine. Some of our best talks are when you and I are out on the boys (what we called our horses then), just talking. Um, I want to know now, though: are you in any kind of trouble that can't wait until tomorrow?"
"No, Dad."
"Good. Looks like you're reading. I think your Mom and I are going out to the Jacuzzi for awhile. You can come with us, if you want."
"No, thanks; I'll probably go up and listen to some music and chat online with Tommy or Kristi for awhile."
Dad rubbed the top of my head and smiled. Mom came out in her swimsuit and a bathrobe, and Dad headed into their room to change into hot tub gear. Mom went into the kitchen and found a bottle of wine and two mason jars. Dad was back out, and they were ready to head across the barnyard to crawl into what was one of Dad's best all-family----and often all-neighbor----investments.
"Honey, do you want to come out and soak and with us?"
"No, thanks; I think I'm too tired to walk across the barnyard. So.....you're gonna RELAX-`relax'?"
Mom looked at me with a slightly confused expression on her face. Dad was standing right behind her. His expression was NOT confused, not in the least, because I lifted my book up just a little. Dad was on the same page as my book and me. He smiled and wanted to laugh, but didn't. Mom was clueless, but only temporarily.
"Of course; what else do you do in a hot tub?"
"Well, maybe for starters, you could start me a little brother. Maybe a little sister. Relax afterward."
"JEFFREY!!!"
Dad was howling, and Mom turned red. She pulled Dad out the door. I heard him laughing all the way way across the barnyard, and by the time they were at the hot tub, Mom was laughing, too.
I read awhile longer, laughed at the conversation I just had with my Parental Unit, and wandered up to bed. I hoped tomorrow Dad and I could have some time to deal with other things, but of a similar nature, and laugh as we rode and talked.
Silly school, silly friends, silly me, taking that much time to explain `Frogman' to you.
Anyway, back to Marc and me.....where I'm sure you'd rather be. He was most assuredly liking the oral attention I was administering. He gently thrust his ass back toward my face, and I tried responding in kind----but there's only so far my nose will let me go, dangit. I stayed on my knees, doing all I could to bring my man pleasure.
It surprised me that I was more experienced in some areas of Man-Lovin' than Marc was. He grew up with books and more books, had eleven years on me and a lot more opportunity in Seattle and Massachusetts than I had in Fergus County, where I grew up with books and the barnyard. And a few guys and gals in the area who seemed to have as much extra time as I did, and coincidentally, at the same time. I was an apt pupil, whatever I had open right in front of me, `studying'.
Both Marc and I were hard, and my balls were reminding me they wanted some action, that they were tired of just hangin' around, doin' nothin'. Well, who am I to disappoint or neglect The Twins?
Finally, though by no means out of boredom on my part, I stood back up and reached around to pull Marc against my chest. He covered my arms with his own, and turned his face so we could get and give a nice kiss.
"Babe, I've seen that in porn plenty of times, and it always just seems like unimaginative, two-dimensional sex. You make love to me with that tongue, wherever you plant it. I have never known love-making like yours."
"Ours. Maybe because I've never loved anyone while sharing it."
"Can we have more?"
"I didn't really come down here to buy furniture and a suit; those were just side benefits."
"Oh-HO! And yet, so many people in another county are having wholesome thoughts of you grazing all the free samples at Costco, and me, an Italian-cut, worsted wool, athletic fit pair of something other than denim."
"Whatever keeps them smiling and there, and not here. On the issue of that suit: sooner is better than later, since Jason's closes at 8:00PM. Mom texted me to say they're expecting us, and to give Perry's name when we get there."
"That'll work nicely. Very cool of Marie to literally and figuratively open some doors for me. So I suppose after that, furniture-shopping?"
"Right you are. Look and buy today, and pick up tomorrow. We'll tow the trailer back to the hotel and leave it there while we hit Costco. Then return and drive north again. I'm assuming we'll find something on this trip for the bedroom we both like."
"I have no doubt. Just not a bed so big I have to search in my sleep for you."
I smiled and laughed. The image in my mind was kinda adorable. We toweled off and dressed in fresh clothes. Marc looked so good in a plain pair of Levis and a black t-shirt, both of which he filled out scandalously. I tried to be a reasonably, un-embarrassing accomplice in our retail race during what remained of the day. Jason's was only three blocks away, so it made sense to walk there. I took him by way of Jake's, so he could see where we'd have dinner later, and then past a couple of other buildings of historical note.
When we got to Jason's, the staff were welcoming and courteous. Introductions all the way around, and I guess Mom had described us, because two men approached us and called us by name. The manager was Perry, looking professional and personable. He confirmed the reason (or the main reason) for the trip, and began showing Marc some off-the-rack suits, as well as some incredible-looking yard cloth. Everything looked good. Marc nodded at a few of the suit suggestions, and politely declined two others. I agreed in my head with his thoughts. I could not see him in those two suits, at least not for a job interview with the school board. At a Hollywood red carpet event? Oh, yeah. Or at the foot of our bed, slowly being removed? You don't really need to answer that one. I already know.
With three suits selected, Perry led us to a smaller room with a carpeted round platform. Measurements would be taken there. Perry requested that Marc step out of his Levis, but that he could keep the t-shirt on, if he wanted. Marc demurred, and was soon down to just socks, briefs and a shirt.
"Is that the style of underwear you wear consistently?"
"Well, yes. Although in a suit or dress slacks, I wear boxer shorts, to avoid visible lines."
"And how do you dress?"
"Left."
Marc explained later what that meant. What an elegant way to ask a man you'd never met before, where do you park your dick after you've stuffed it in your pants?'. Of course, Smart-Assed-Me would've been tempted to answer, at either ankle, thanks'. Anyway, where was I.....oh, yeah. Professional Perry, not Jokester Jozef.
"Very well. Let's begin. I'll measure you twice at each location on your body. Louis will write them down, and repeat them back. Jeff, you are welcome to stay, of course; this will take ten to fifteen minutes. You're also welcome to look at other merchandise. Perhaps you'll see something for yourself that we could assist with."
"Thanks, Perry; that's a good idea."
I nodded and smiled at Marc, who returned the simple but meaningful gestures. I returned to the front of the store and made my way specifically to dress slacks and then shirts. I knew I'd grown an inch or so over the past six months to a year, and my arms were longer, too. While wearing nicer dress clothes isn't a regular thing for me, having something updated and fitting in my closet for non-farm stuff would be a good idea.
There were two pairs of slacks I liked. One navy blue, and one a color that was just a bit more yellow than khaki. Looked like ripe wheat, which I liked. Both were lined, but mainly constructed of summer-weight wool. I could guess how they'd look on me, and I liked them already.
I don't need to attract anyone----well, not anymore---but I don't want to repel anyone in a college or business setting, either. Clothes, I learned from Mom, do two things: `they cover and they communicate. Make sure clothes do both for you, and appropriately', she'd say. I had no disagreement with that. Jason's could deliver both in spades.
Once I found a couple of nicer athletic, tapered, button-front shirts, I asked to try them on. I was given a big room, covered on the floor and half-way up the walls in thick, deep red carpeting. The room was silent with the door closed. With mirrors all over the place, I could see how the slacks and shirts fit. Well, they didn't. The knock I heard was soft and well-timed. I opened the door just a bit and a man not much older than I stepped forward.
"I'm Les. How're those selections working out?"
"Hi, Les. I'm Jozef. They're not working out. I'm afraid I don't have a very good idea for fit. Can, um, you please get me a better idea of what to look for, for sizes?"
"Of course. May I come in?"
Les came in, and because I wasn't buying a suit, the measurements were taken quickly. And then, I knew that as of that day, I was a 33W x 36L, an 18 collar and 36 sleeve. Well, whoop-de-do; I was going after stuff much smaller than I was. I grew more this past year than I thought. Les asked if I wanted to look at the same clothes, but in the right sizes.
"Yeah, please. But also, um, I don't really have outstanding taste in clothes for myself. If you know of something that would look good, I'll try it."
"Right. I have a couple of ideas, but can I ask, where will you be wearing clothes like this?"
"That's just it; I don't know. I'm about to start college, so maybe there once or twice? Or to do official farm business? Weddings and funerals? I live in Lewistown. It's not like there's a lot there to get dressed up for. Heck, even the president of the bank there wears jeans to work."
"Yes. Remarkable how things have changed. Over the past twenty years, men have been paying more attention to our physiques, and working hard to get them looking good. At the same time, we have been wearing looser and less-defining clothes to ignore the work done in the gym.
You obviously have no reason to hide what you have, nor does anyone, really; but I think we can put together an outfit or two for you to have, if you travel or have ultra-official business right in town."
Les brought back clothes for me to try on, and he inspected all of it. He was candid in his assessment, too.
"The length of these trousers works well with your height, and the waist is cut just a little lower, to sit more naturally on your hips. It works well for you in back, as you can see in the mirror. In front, though, the line is less.....discreet. Does that make sense? I don't want to embarrass either of us."
"Um, sorry, Les; but what `line'?"
"Oh. Well, the line that runs from your navel to the zipper and beyond.....these trousers draw a little too much attention to.....You.....right there."
I knew without even looking (he did enough of that for both of us) what he was talking about. In any other setting and with any other man, what I would've heard was, `you have a really big dick, and even Stevie Wonder would wonder at it.'
"Ah. Um, okay. I get you now. So, what do you recommend?"
Les left and returned with more options until he and I both agreed on two trousers and two shirts. One was ivory-colored cotton and modal, which draped nicely and was tailored to an athletic fit. The other was a classic blue-and-white stripe, which would likely never go out of style. I saw the same shirts in other colors and patterns, and got one of each more, as well. I still had no idea where I'd go that they'd be necessary, but I'd be ready for whatever and whenever. As long as I didn't continue to grow for awhile.
With my own haberdash concerns met and addressed, I got back to Marc's room. When I walked in after knocking, he was on the round platform in a medium-gray suit. It wasn't a polished yarn, but had a brushed, raw texture that spoke, `In Charge But Not An Asshole About It'. With his naturally beautiful skin and hair color, I could only imagine people anywhere standing when he walked into a room. I smiled and Marc caught it.
"You approve?"
"Oh, yeah."
Perry smiled.
"Alterations to cuffs on the jacket and the trousers. Otherwise, it fits well. Oh, Louis; will you show Jozef the other suit?"
It was held up, and looked.....'Paco Perfect'. I think you can guess what that means. If not, here you go: Seeing Marc in the second suit would ruin `The Line' of whatever trousers I'd wearing at the time. Marc dressed like that could ruin the line of a circus tent on me.
"That's good, too."
"Actually, that's only for the cut of the suit. We're talking about building it from the ground up, in this fabric."
Perry showed me a bolt of fabric that was a color somewhere between olive green and grey, with a very faint and single-yarn burgundy running every inch or so. I'd never seen anything so beautiful. Well, except for the man who'd wear that.
"Dang, Marc; both are perfect. You'll slay in that interview."
Perry was politely curious about an interview. I guess it was my pride in Marc, but I answered before he could, telling the title of the job Marc was going after on Wednesday. Perry's mouth widened into a smile.
"Indulge me a moment, please....."
He took off for the front of the store and returned with a shirt, shoes and tie to complement the first suit.
"Since I can't have the fabric built into a suit by tomorrow----though I wish I could---we'll dress you to perfection with the best of what we have."
The tie he selected was deep, dark burgundy. No pattern; just silk. The shirt was not white and not ivory; it was somewhere in between, and it was a more substantial weave than basic broadcloth for shirts. It was also tailored to fit an athletic physique, and when Marc tried it on, the hush in the room was almost reverent.
How such a shirt could be hanging on a rack in Billings, Montana, was inconceivable; and how it didn't hang, but conformed to every curve, every straight plane, every part of Marc's upper body was the stuff of a tailor's dreams. Les expressed what we all were thinking.
"Wow....."
Perry smiled, happy that his `eye' once again worked for him in selecting the right thing for the right customer. Marc smiled, too.
"Um, do you have that in, well, other colors, too?"
"Three, actually."
Again, impetuously and before Marc could answer for himself, I smiled broadly:
"Wrap `em all up."
The others laughed. I think they had us figured out by now, and they were either on the same team, or they were rooting for us from the stands. In either case, Marc and I were given the best in service and merchandise. Marc nodded at Perry, and Louis went off to get the other three and bring them back for Marc's (final, and supercedant to my own) approval. Marc looked at them and nodded and smiled, all while getting pretty fuckin' close to naked again.
"We can have the suit alterations completed by Noon tomorrow. I'd like to send you home with the other suit, but I'd need the rest of the day today, all day tomorrow, a fitting and completion."
"Marc, your interview isn't until Wednesday afternoon. 3:30PM. I'm just realizing this is only Monday. So much has gone on already, it feels like Friday. Do you want to stay around another night?"
Marc smiled and asked if Harvest would conclude well enough without me.
"Of course not, but that won't be your fault. You're not driving the combine. THIS year."
Perry and the others laughed. He was twinkling in his eyes, possibly at the prospect of constructing an entire suit for a man who would not just be wearing----but WEARING---his singular creation. Perry looked right at Les and just nodded once. I saw Les nod back, smiling. And the apprentice joins the master for a late night, I suspected. I had no idea buying clothes, or at least something other than Levis, Carhartts and a jock strap, could be so daggonned much fun.
Perry wanted to be efficient with this.
"Marc, can you come back tomorrow morning? I'm going to use the first suit, as well as your measurements, to create a pattern. It'll always be with us. I can get the basic suit put together early tomorrow, and if you could come at 10:00AM, we could fit it, negotiate anything last-minute in the design, and I'll keep at it. If we are not rushed with business, though that would also be nice, I can have this ready for a second, final fitting tomorrow evening."
"That's fine, Perry. We're staying at the Sheraton, so three minutes here. Oh.....as for a shirt for the built suit.....will one of the four work for that?"
"The same shirt you tried on just now. You'll see. But a different tie, I think.....with your skin and hair, we have options. You'll see. Same shoes for both suits, too. If you liked them."
"I liked them. Thank you, all of you. I've bought clothes in New York and Boston, but nothing has been as good as this, today. Trust me when I say that everyone back at Harvard in Cambridge will know where to go to look their best."
As Marc continued to get dressed, Les looked at Marc and at me.
"I feel as if I know you both, but I've never been to Lewistown....."
Perry answered for him.
"No, we have not met, but I knew who you both were when you came through the door. Not only was it Marie who alerted us to your visit, but I recognized you both from your social media presence. On behalf of everyone who ever needed or will need someone to stand up for or with us, thank you, Marc."
Les then got it, as did the other two men with them. No one made a big deal about it. Acknowledged gracefully, and everyone moved on. I told Les I'd pick up my own selections with Marc's. Before we left, Perry had Marc's and my phone numbers. Less than an hour, and we'd both been dressed by professionals who wanted only two things: for us to look good, and for them to look good as a result. They succeeded brilliantly.
We walked back to the hotel. It was still early enough, so I unhitched the trailer from the truck and left it there. Marc and I got in, and I entered the coordinates in the touchscreen on the dashboard. Conlin's was two miles away, and through an older part of town. I was familiar with the route. As we drove, I pointed out Billings Senior High, the Billings Diocese co-cathedral, and what has once been the Poor Farm and Poor House. It was now a housing development (for definitely-not-poor people), and the big building was long since demolished.
Reaching the furniture store, it was only when I had to park the truck that I realized Marc and I had been holding hands. When did we begin that? The moment we were in the truck? Somewhere along the way? Regardless, it was nice. Really nice, holding hands with Marc. A simple gesture, but it conveyed affection and territory----even just between the two of us. I raised our joined hands and kissed Marc's.
"You were so beautiful standing there, clothed or not. I certainly mean you were sexy, but it was beyond that. You were just.....Marc. My Marc. I really liked being there with you. Sorry if my `wrap it all up' statement was out of line. I hope I didn't embarrass you."
"Babe, no embarrassment. I loved it, actually. It's nice, really nice, to have moments for the first time in my life when decisions are made with someone I just really, truly care about. Not just `someone'; you, Jozef. Even if I don't get the job, you'll have liked how I looked in a suit. I'd still wear it for you."
"The fringe benefit for me, seeing you in that suit?"
"What's that, Babe?"
"Seeing you take it off, of course!"
We laughed and parked beneath a huge maple tree, providing the huge truck some shade. I don't know if you're aware of it, but the moonroof in those Super Duty trucks run all the way from the front to the back. That, plus the front and rear windshields and the door glass, create quite a greenhouse. Shade is always nice to find, though in Winter, it's kinda nice to get into a truck that's already warm----when the temperature outside is freezing.
Inside the furniture store was like walking into the high school's huge gymnasium. Every farmhouse in rural Fergus County could be outfitted from here. A mature woman dressed in a tweed skirt suit approached us. Dang, Billings; you win the award for seriously well-dressed big-ticket retail workers and tailors.
"Good Afternoon. Welcome to our store."
"Good afternoon, Ma'am. I'm Jozef, and this is Marc. We're here to look at some furniture."
"Oh, how nice. And for which of you?"
"Both of us, Ma'am."
"Ah. Please feel free to look at our inventory. Did you have a specific room in mind?"
"Yes. Bedroom."
"Oh.....we have a nice selection, over here."
The well-coiffed and clothed woman led us through the living room area to where bedroom suites were.
"Now, for which of you and your homes may I offer help first?"
Well, THAT put the B back into `subtle'. Marc side-eyed me. I could tell he was not comparing this store visit favorably with Jason's. He turned to her first.
"Myself, please, Ma'am."
The woman visibly lightened up and smiled just a little. She seemed relieved. Goddamnit. I said nothing, though. I was leaving well enough alone. I'd already had my encounter with Ross Sweeney today. I didn't need another with his older sister.
"And do you have a style in mind?"
"Yes, thanks; my primary home is a very old, timber-frame farm house, built in 1903. The bedroom is about eighteen by eighteen. Not small. I'm not small. I don't want small furniture. Small furniture, to me, is for small minds. So, I'm thinking Stickley, or something of the Railroad Baron style. Heavy. Substantial. Masculine."
"Very well; I understand. Do you have a budget in mind?"
"Yes. But I'll know what I want when I see it. King bed, dresser, chest of drawers, two night stands. Two captain's chairs, high-backed, one ottoman. Yeah, that should do it."
Phyllis Schlafley's Twin excused herself to get a notebook and a measuring tape. While she was gone, Marc and I talked in quiet voices. I smiled just briefly.
"Having fun?"
"I'm about to."
"Is there room for three in this playground sandbox?"
"Come on in; the more, the scarier. Just one thing, Babe. Your taste is your own, and it's your bedroom. After I've dragged the prisoner around the lion's den and grown weary of the sport, you make yourself heard. But I'm saying this right now: no matter what you like, let's find someplace that is more like that tailor and less like this church. That is, if you want."
"I want, Boyfriend."
The saleswoman returned, and attempted a smile that was fairly close, I imagined, to what the `Last Place Loser' Miss America's smile would be, after all the lights are off and the music stops, and everyone has gone home.
"You mentioned Stickley. Over here, this is genuine brand Stickley. The pieces you're interested in are all here, and there's the option of a rocking chair, as well. Perhaps I was mistaken, though; did you say two captain's chairs in your bedroom.....and one ottoman?"
"Yes, that's correct."
"Oh. Um, well.....are you sure you have enough space in that bedroom for a second chair? Both of these lines are substantial, as you said. You also mentioned the Railroad Baron style of furniture. Here's an entire suite, almost all that you wanted, but no chairs on display. However, I can get you one, and as an option, the same style in a rocking chair."
"Ah.....but can you get two chairs? I want two chairs."
"...Yes....."
"So, both of these, I like. The Stickley is light, and this is dark. Either would look good. As for a mattress, I already know the exact brand and model. Sterns & Foster Hepburn Reserve."
"We carry that line. In what size bed and mattress, though?" "You're probably guessing Queen, but I want California King, please."
"Oh, that's going to be large. You'll be possibly crowding that bedroom with a bed that big."
"I'd rather have a crowded bedroom than a crowded bed. California King."
"Uhhhm, I have that.....written down."
"Ah, then. Will you please give me a total price for each suite, including the mattress?"
"Yes."
"Also, you have these floor models, but do you have the same models new?"
"Yes, we do."
"Then I don't think I have any other questions. I'll wander a little and wait for your complete suite prices."
"I'll work on that right now. And then, Young Man, I'll be happy to address your own bedroom interests and concerns."
"Oh, I look forward to THAT, already....."
What the hell, why not? Marc said there's room for three.
We looked casually at the furniture Marc mentioned. Curiously, or not so curiously, I found myself liking what he liked. Both looked good, and either would look good---and fit---in the bedroom. I used my phone and got two shots of each suite, and texted them to Mom. She was almost immediate in her response, but called instead of texting.
"Oh, my gosh.....you have good taste. Prairie Style Stickley. You know, that house in Hingham has Stickley, all built in the 1910s. I suppose the price has gone up since then, but Jozef, I meant it: Happy Birthday Early! You get what you want! Either of those will last to become heirloom pieces for future generations, just like the furniture in Hingham."
"Mom, I'm looking at the price tag on just the bed....."
"Will you stop that? What're you going to do with just a bed? Oh, wait-----I forgot who I was saying that to. DON'T ANSWER THAT!"
We both laughed.
"Jozef. If that's what you want and you don't get it, then I'm going to take my rig and another trailer down there and get it myself."
"Thanks, Mom. Loud and clear, and thank you. We're running into a slight situation....."
"Well, you haven't tried to pay for it yet, so I know it's not the AmEx. Don't they have it in stock?"
"Oh, yeah. Or at least that's what we're told. It's just that the person working with us is living in an era more closely aligned with the 1910s Stickley.....she's.....well, to each their own, but why make it obvious?"
"Oh? She has a stick up her ass about selling Stickley to the `Sick People', does she?"
"Something like that. Marc told her we were together three times, in one word or phrase or another, and the displeasure is thick with This One."
"You're right, Honey; to each their own. Their own and our own. You do what's right for you. And just so you know: there is also the option of buying from other stores, or from the factory directly, wherever that is."
"Well, she's gone to add up a price for each complete suite. Do you want to know them when we get them?"
"Do you want me to come down there and get it myself?"
"No....."
"Then you have your answer, Jozef. I'll be happy if you're happy. Gotta go now; Aleksy has a paper cut or something. Maybe he's trying to take his foot off again. Have a nice evening with Marc. Bye, Honey."
"Bye, Mom."
I turned to Marc and smiled.
"I told you this is my birthday gift, right?"
"Yeah, I remember.....am I going to get chewed out by Marie?"
"No, I think at this point you can expect only to be elevated to sainthood by Marie. She likes them both, but she's staying out of this. She also said what you said: `this ain't the only saloon in Dodge City, Marshall'."
"Ah. Well, then what really matters here is which you like. And you should also try mattresses. You're going to spend one-third of your life on it, you know."
"Heh.....you Townies, thinking farmers get anywhere near eight hours of sleep each night. If we're lucky, we get one-fourth of our life sleeping. But your point is well-taken. I see the mattresses over there. You told `Cruella' something about the Stephen Foster-Katharine Hepburn model?"
"HAHAHAHA!!! Yeah, that's close! You just keep those names in mind and go see if you can find something close to them. Then try it out."
"Okay; I'll look for you."
As I walked away, I could see the saleswoman still working on facts and figures. No computer for her; she had books open in front of her, and a desk phone receiver at her ear. A Ticonderoga #2 was also making notes. Well, I guess if her attitudes and behaviors were going to be 1950s, her office skills should be the same. At least I'd have some time to check mattresses. I didn't want to miss the second act of Marc's show.
And there was the mattress he had talked about. I laughed at my slight malformation of the brand and model, but I suspected Mr and Mrs Taylor would've approved of me knowing who Stephen Foster and Katharine Hepburn were. I laid down and was, quite honestly, readily, and happily to not move or get up again until I'd reclaimed all those lost sleep hours.
My gosh. Incredible. How did Marc know about that mattress?! What other gems of Wisdom were cavorting around in his cranium? I didn't want to be away from that man for even one minute; I might miss something good. I almost did, too. I looked up to see the saleswoman approaching Marc from the front sales desk area. I leapt up, with a little regret that my preschool nap was already over, and returned to where Marc was sitting. I arrived just in time for the Extemporaneous Exposition Of Numerical Calculations.
"Thank you for your patience. Oh, Young Man; you're back here, too. I have the figures you were interested in. Shall we start with the Stickley, as that is the first we discussed?"
"That's fine."
She gave the total of the suite, and I stopped breathing. So did the AmEx card in my wallet. It probably wanted to crawl up my ass to hide. For that price, we could buy another one hundred or so acres. Then she itemized it. Marc listened to her to the very end.
"So, the final price is off by $2,500.00."
"Pardon me? Did I err in the addition?"
"No, you got it right, but you're quoting only one chair. I asked for two. So I'll assume unless you correct me, that adding another chair, bringing the total concurrent with what we discussed, and the sum total up by $2,500.00."
"Ahum, well, yes, you did say that.....didn't you.....so, yes. If you insist on two chairs in a single man's bedroom, the price for the entire suite would extend by $2,500.00. Of course, a young man like you will marry----a woman---someday. THEN you'll need that chair. Now.....would you like to discuss the second suite?"
"As long as it includes two chairs, yes."
The saleswoman looked over her glasses at Marc for a moment, and added another figure to the Railroad Baron suite's sum total. Well, still up there, but not as high as the Stickley. No good, solid, American-built furniture is inexpensive. In furniture, you get what you pay for. It'll last you the rest of your life, and well into those future generations I'm always going on about.
"Are there any other designs I could show you? It seems you know of these two lines by name. You know what you want."
"I know what a consumer pays for, Ma'am. It's for not only product, but for service, as well. On that issue: are both of those the delivered price to Lewistown, in Fergus County?"
"Yes, we deliver in a 200 mile radius at no extra charge."
"And what is the discount if we take it ourselves?"
"Oh. Well, I'd have to ask the district manager for an exact amount, but I believe there would be a discount, yes."
"If we purchase, we'll take it back ourselves."
"It's nice of your FRIEND to come all this way to help his FRIEND move furniture......"
"Isn't it just? Ma'am, please sit for a moment and join us. I feel the communication can use some clarity."
"Sir, I am not able to negotiate prices on the pieces themselves. We are known for prices below other stores for the same merchandise."
"It's not about price."
"Oh.....well, then; you have me at a disadvantage."
"On the contrary; it's we who are at a disadvantage. Since we've been in here, you've worked explicitly and implicitly to divide us. I've used the plural forms, we' and us', in reference to this visit for the prospect of buying furniture----and spending a substantial amount of hard-earned American-made money to do it.
Now. I'm going to be candid with you, and then I want you do decide if this transaction moves forward or not. This man is my partner. My boyfriend. Known to me as Babe', but you can call him Jozef. In fact, I'd prefer if you did not call him Babe'. This furniture is for the bedroom I described in the big, old farmhouse. It's our room, and I count myself very lucky, indeed, to share that house, that bedroom, and possibly that bed right there with him, for a long, long time to come. Oh---and he's the reason for the additional chair.
Our union seems to be distasteful to you, and we can't do anything natural to change that, since it would require us to change, and we're just not going backwards down that path. So get down to the sum total of your time and ours: are you going to sell us the Stickley today? The entire suite, including two chairs?"
I had held my breath throughout Marc's statement and question. It was-----well, this is too easy, but it's true-----breath-taking. In comparison with my Ross Sweeney meeting earlier, Marc came across as polite and polished. I came across as Polished with Ross Sweeney. See the difference? It was glaringly obvious to me.
"Thank you for your candor. I appreciate your approach to this distasteful subject by not flaunting your.....sinful, chosen lifestyle. I believe you possible can buy the furniture, but neither of those are in stock here, after all. They'd have to be ordered. It would take three months to manufacture, and right now, there's a long waiting list of over six months. However, if you still want to pursue, you can enquire if anyone else feels willingly comfortable transacting with.....you people. My deeply-held beliefs and convictions forbid me from assisting you further."
She stood and walked away. Back at the front desk, she conferred with a man in his (I imagine) 50s, and a young woman who looked in her 20s. They all huddled, and I had no doubt we and this transaction were the topic of disgusted conversation. No one turned to talk with us. Marc shook his head and side-eyed me again. He approached the front counter, pulling me along, my hand in his.
"So, you've been given all the 411, I'm sure; or a very creatively edited version of it. WE want to buy new, unopened pieces of Stickley furniture for OUR bedroom. This.....person.....compiled a complete list. There's a total price. WE have no issue with price, other than the discount for taking it OURSELVES back to OUR home. There is apparently the issue of our money versus anyone else's money.
Is that true for everyone in here? WE understand you had all the pieces we want, in your warehouse, until about ninety seconds ago. I'll be very interested to know if then' was correct, or if now' is. So: who wants to earn American-made money for American-made furniture, from The Americans? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?"
The same woman was red in the face with rage, and just turned and walked away to the far side of the store where she exited a door to I had no idea where. Off the top of my head, I could think of a place right where I'd like to suggest she should go, but that would not be very nice of me, so I stayed silent. This was a good time for both Marc and me to let anyone else do the talking.
For a moment, neither the older man nor the younger woman spoke. He stood up straight and directed his comments right to Marc.
"It is not our policy to force the associates here to conduct themselves with people living chosen lifestyles not in accordance with the deeply-held beliefs they were raised to embrace. It is also not our policy to prohibit other less-convicted associates to exercise their judgment, good or poor, and conduct a transaction-----if they are willing to compromise themselves and their faith to do it."
"Ah! You must be the manager. So you'll be helping us. Good! How much off for us taking the furniture ourselves?"
"I elect not to participate in this transaction."
With that, he walked away, through the same door, to somewhere in the Matrix. Taking the red pill didn't help; I hope they'd give the blue pill a chance. The sole associate remaining began crying. Damn. This was now officially awful. I don't like making people cry, particularly when they've done nothing personally to me or us to warrant crying. Marc was kind, though.
"Miss, we don't mean to cause you to be upset. We don't want anyone to be upset. We just hoped for equal, respectful treatment in exchange for our money. We didn't say we were going to come in here and throw a Pride parade with ten thousand drag queens. We just wanted to buy furniture. I sincerely did not mean for you to be upset and react this way. I apologize."
She drew the backs of her hands against her eyes, smudged all that mascara and eye liner, and attempted a smile.
"You guys did nothing wrong. Those two have lost more sales for their treatment of gay people, brown people, black people, Asian people, and even anyone coming in here without wedding rings, but saying they live at the same address. That's kind of what you got, but much more targeted against you. I'M the one who is sorry. Neither of them is the manager here. I'm not, either. I just work here."
"What's your name?"
"Teigan."
"Teigan, I'm Marc, and this is my boyfriend, Jozef. We live in Fergus County. We drove here specifically to buy furniture. THAT furniture. I'll ask you, too: will you work with us to buy it?"
"Of course I will! It's my pleasure! I saw you when you came in, and I wanted to get over to you, but Grace was already moving in for the kill', as she and James call it when anyone walks through the door who looks like they have more than a hundred dollars to spend. I was looking over and admiring your taste, and running up prices in my head. I was also just admiring you, and even thought, If those two could make babies together, they'd be one hot family'! Sorry, but damn!"
"Thanks for that compliment, Teigan. We think you'd have beautiful babies, too. So, time is on our side today. We have nothing left of importance to do after this. But here's our plan: select it today, pay for it, and return Wednesday and pick it up. Probably around 10:00AM. Are you working then?"
"I am. Um, Marc and Jozef, I need to be honest with you guys about something, though. First, we have multiple sets of those suites in the warehouse. You don't have to wait months. That was Grace being.....`Grace'. Ours is a regional distribution center, and both Stickley and Railroad Baron are popular in the Rocky Mountain states.
Also.....she didn't exactly tell you how pricing works here. We have three tiers of pricing that we use as references. Grace was quoting the highest. The straight-off-the-list price. The one published for anyone to see. The lowest tier is the 20% off price. We don't need to wait for an advertised sale for that. It's the level we offer if someone buys and entire suite, or at least a minimum of five pieces----which you did.
So, Grace's price comes in at $35,000.00, and that includes the heretical second chair. The third tier discount takes $7,000.00 off that, so the entire suite is now $28,000.00. You get another discount, though; you're taking it with you, so another five percent off the adjusted price. That would be $1,400.00. So your price for the suite, with you hauling it yourself, comes to $26,600.00. $8,400.00 less than what she wanted from you---until her personality came in to play with the adults. And she'd have got it, if you hadn't asked her point-blank if she was going to work with a gay couple."
"Teigan, I'm going to ask you something you don't have to answer. You're getting paid to be here, but do you work on commission? Will you get anything for your efforts today?"
"That's nice of you to ask, and yes, I get a nominal commission. The truth of the matter is, I'm saving my commissions and as soon as I can, I'm leaving this store. I don't want to stay working in furniture retail. Some of the stuff we pass off to poor people is such crap, it doesn't last them an entire year----but they paid well for it. I get the privilege of working with good, informed consumers like you, maybe twice a year."
I like to hear about folks' goals.
"What do you want to do instead of this?"
"Get out of here. My family are all out of state. I came to Billings from Wyoming on an academic scholarship. I haven't finished, but I can. I just want to relax backwards to a less hectic life with a better boss, and time off so I can study and finish my degree."
"Which is in?"
"Special Needs Education."
"You say you're not finished; how much longer do you have to go?"
"Two years. I started here at MSU-Billings, but there are other schools. I just wish there were universities in small towns, but they become big towns eventually because of universities."
I nodded and smiled.
"Teigan, my best friend is doing her undergrad degree in Elementary Education through University of Montana. And it's all distance learning. She only needs to attend for tests."
"Oh, wow. Where does your friend live, though? Is she working while she's going to school?"
"She lives in Lewistown with her parents. We live near there. They are delighted that she'll stay with them while she goes after her BA. It's a win-win. She's also going to work for a member of my family at `Common Grounds', Eva's coffee and fresh baked goods shop on the highway. That place only gets busier and busier, but Kristi will have some flexibility in her schedule so school can remain the priority."
"So pulling shots for folks in a drive-through?"
"That's right; you're familiar with the lingo? 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Tips are not split with others, unless two people work a shift together."
"Before this job, I worked a Mountain Mud hut. They're all over down here. I did that in high school. I've been through Lewistown a few times. It's a cute town. A little like the Mayberry fantasy, but lots of cute guys there. Although not as many today."
Marc looked at Teigan and then me.
"Why not today?"
"I meant you two. You're here, so Lewistown has a deficiency of Hotties. Um, now that I've made us all red, do you want to buy the furniture, and at the discounted price we discussed?"
"We do, and, um, thank you."
"Oh----geez, I almost forgot to tell you: another discount if you pay in cash. We're trying to cut out the interest rates and fees, if we can. Five percent, again off your final price. Total comes to $25,270.00."
Marc was not willing to let Grace go. Not yet.
"So, she figured that suite was $35,000.00. You came to the same conclusion, but then offered and applied the same reductions and discounts as the store owner's policies dictate, and now the price is almost $10,000.00 less. Grace had no intention of providing that level of service. Just when I thought I'd seen all kinds of human behavior.....Jozef, there's my fourth book: "The History Of Lost Minds And Lost Revenue That Followed Them".
I smiled and nudged into him. I was amazed at the discount, though they were logical. What amazed me the most was how professionally and personably Teigan brought them to our attention. She was working down her commission, but with a sense of integrity and fair obligation to her customer. She would make a good barista at `Common Grounds', and a great teacher. I reached for her hand to shake it.
"Will you take a check?"
Both she and Marc just smiled.
Teigan told us she was going in the warehouse right now with the big neon-orange SOLD tags to place on all the crates of the pieces we bought. She voluntarily initiated hugs with us, which we were eager to return.
That's two-for-two, although the first inning of the second game faltered a bit. Once a new player was rotated on, though, the game finished with everyone on both sides of the field (or sales counter) cheering. We walked back to the truck and saw a number of religious tracts under the windshield wipers, in the door window gaskets, and taped to any glass the vandals could reach.
Nope, not very subtle here, either. I looked behind the building, and there were the other two who decided such a transaction was beneath them. They sat at a small picnic table and with what looked like an open bible between them.
I'm not well-versed----yet----on the different texts of different World religions, but I think I read once that they share in common the directive to `treat others how you want to be treated'? Maybe James and Grace hadn't heard that, and maybe that day was a good opportunity to set myself up in a little momentary evangelizin', but who am I to tell someone how they should live their lives, based simply on how it would make me feel better about myself? Doesn't sound American to me.
Once in the de-vandalized truck, we sighed and held hands again. The visit there wasn't one to remember fondly, but it did get better and conclude with having made a friend and get a reduced price on the furniture that will look perfect in our room. I took a different route back, showing Marc the stockyards where millions of cattle and pigs had moved over the years.
Billings once had a very particular aroma, but such has not been the case for 50 or so years. Not all cattle going to market in Illinois pass through Billings. Some, yes, and it still smells some, yes. But nothing like Grace's and James' neighborliness. Oh, well. That was them and their issues; not us and ours.
We appreciated, actually, that we ultimately worked with Teigan----and not just for the nearly 33% total of discounts she gave us. She was a good person, and good in her attitude toward us. We had given her our phone numbers and my email, suggesting that she send her resume for me to give to Eva. There was no doubt in my mind that Teigan would work well with the others, and certainly for the customers. I hoped she would connect with Kristi, since they're about the same age and pursing Education professionally. Billings had a decent downtown scene, but for me, I'd seen and participated in enough for the day. I wanted just to get horizontal with my man and sleep. Well, maybe some love-makin', too. Before sleep. Because love-makin' during sleep would be awkward.
We walked into the lobby and there was Les from Jayson's. That's curious.
"Hi, Marc; hi, Jozef! Coincidence, and a good one. Perry sent me over with this, just for you to try on. I didn't think I'd see you; I just wanted it to get to you sometime. There's no rush or anything; it's the rough cut of the suit. Baste-stitched together. Fragile, really. All it is: an opportunity for you to see the fit and the fabric. Perry suggested you might try it tonight so you could see, and then we'd get back to work on it first thing Tuesday."
"Les, come on up. I'll try it on, and you're the tailor, not I. It would look like a Frankensuit to me, but not to you. Do you have time?"
"Really? Thanks; that would actually be really good."
We rode the elevator up, Les holding the suit in a carrier. We got to the room, and I pulled a bottle of water out of the little fridge and handed it to Les. Marc got down to nothing much at all while Les and I talked about my own selections earlier today. Once Marc was in briefs and socks, Les unzipped the garment bag and handed the trousers to Marc. Yeah, they weren't very handsome-looking at that point, but I could see already what Perry was looking for: rudimentary fit at this stage in the process. Marc then took the jacket from Les and gently put that on, too.
As suits go, it was butt-ugly, but anyone---even those of us with challenged-to-no-taste---could see it would eventually be a great suit. Even at that point, it looked good on Marc, and the three of us could see how it was fitting him. Although Les had not planned on seeing us this evening, we met, and the tailor's chalk that probably lived in his trouser pocket came out. He made a few slashes on the jacket while Marc was wearing it, indicating where it was snug and where it was loose. He did the same on the side seams of the trousers, at the hips. Les explained that the pocket material could become visible if the pants were too snug in that area.
"Ultimately, we want this suit to fit you so well that no one could imagine you wearing anything else. The goal is not to notice the suit, but the man wearing it."
I thought of Mom and her `cover and communicate' comment about clothing. I don't think she and Les would have any argument about what fabric on a body was supposed to do. After maybe ten minutes, Les stood back and said we had shaved off at least a couple of hours of time by being downstairs when he was.
"I'm going to take this back now. Perry is still there, tidying up the day. I can show him the chalk lines. He will not have counted on this, so he'll find it as helpful as I did."
"Les, we're not ready for bed; you're doing a lot to help us. Do you want me to go back with you? I'll put the suit on again, and then both you and Perry can see what needs to be seen."
When Marc said that, I'll admit there was a little bit of me inside that felt uncomfortable with him being `seen' anymore than he had been today. I realize this was all necessary, either tonight or tomorrow; I guess I just wasn't wanting Marc to be Montana's version of an Emporio Armani ad. I had nothing to be concerned about. I knew furniture and suits were just part of the day, and Marc was part of my life. Not anyone else's; just mine.
Marc re-dressed and the three of us rode back down, and walked the three blocks to the store. Les unlocked the door and we walked in behind him. With the door locked again, we walked to the back to find Perry bend over a huge table, with the chosen fabric rolled out over it. He was looking closely for any defects in manufacturing. Perry saw us and smiled.
"I inspect fabric three ways: with my eyes, with my fingertips, and with my ears. All three combined can tell me what I'm working with."
I found part of that curious, and he explained how running a hand over bolt goods will indicate what sizing was used, if any, and he could hear that. He also could tell the fabric content. Wool, he said, feels different from silk, from rayon, from cotton. He said he could tell what he was feeling under his hand if all the lights were out and he was blindfolded. Fascinating. All just to cover my man so he can communicate his intellect and capacity to do a job for the school district.
Marc tried the suit on again, and Perry went over him inch by inch. He had his own tailor's chalk out, in a different color from Les'. He held it ready to make slashes, but by the time he finished, he'd made not one mark on Marc to correct Les' work. That made the younger one smile, and the older one just look at him and nod his approval for the job done well.
Marc was turned around slowly a few more times, and both Perry and Les manipulated the fabric with Marc in different poses of motion.
"Athletic men walk differently from most. Hips are forward more. The glutes, or the ass as it's most commonly known, work with the hip flexors to set the legs in motion. That's why some men seem like they're swaggering, but most are not; they're just using their muscles in a more precise coordination. A confident man, muscular or not, commands a room by his very carriage. Marc, you can do that without moving a muscle below your neck. This suit will just frame you nicely while you do it."
Both Marc and I smiled. I wanted to use my phone to get a photo of Marc standing on the circular platform a foot off the ground. Perry's voice was not to be mistaken, nor his comment contradicted.
"No. No photos. You'll forgive me my arrogance in comparison, but there's a reason why Michelangelo's Statue Of David was not seen until it was completed. Don't deny me the same opportunity to present Marc in this suit for people to stare at and wonder, `How did Perry do it??'"
I put my phone down, and although he was smiling at me, I could tell Perry was serious, and I respected both his prohibition and the logic behind it. Plus: he compared favorably my man with the most famous sculpted figure in History. Until my dying day, I would try to remember that, and it would certainly be better than a photograph of Marc in a Frankensuit.
"Marc, thank you. Jozef, you, too. It is now 9:00PM. This lucky, chance meeting with Les, and your subsequent trip here, has resulted in a time savings of at least a couple of hours. Seeing how the fabric drapes on you has spoken volumes, and now I can really get to work. May we meet tomorrow at 10:00AM, as originally planned?"
I nodded, as did Marc. He redressed in his non-suit clothes, and Les walked us to the door. Perry retreated to his production studio, pulling the heavy red velvet curtain across the doorway. Les smiled back in Perry's direction, and then at us.
"`Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!', said the Wizard Of Worsted Wool!"
Marc and I laughed and commented how interesting the process had been thus far. Les agreed.
"Most of the time, we dress men who are deep into their careers; not those just beginning one. Very few of them will indulge themselves the quiet luxury of having a suit crafted the same way a man wants a car to be built; with accuracy, great design, and absolute care and attention to the smallest details. We're glad you are doing that, and we are happy to be on this career journey with you."
Les shook our hands at the door, and we made our way back to our temporary room on the 20th floor. Oh.....whaddya know about that: we hadn't eaten yet. With all the excitement of the day and the tighter-than-anticipated work toward the end of it, we just forgot. Once I realized that, my stomach gave its highly informed agreement. I mentioned it to Marc.
"Boyfriend Marc. I think we were so busy saving money and time that we forgot to spend some on calories. All we've had were those cookies."
"Hmmm.....right you are, Babe. Well, I'll be honest; I need something to eat, but I'm too tired to go someplace nice. Would you be okay splitting a pizza, or seeing if there's a greasy spoon somewhere around here?"
"I like both of those. Oh---`The Athenian', on 29th. Two blocks in the other direction we were walking. Greek food, and pizza. I know they're open late; I've been there closer to Midnight, actually."
"Are we dressed okay as we are? I hope so, because I'm about to start drooling."
"We're fine. We're in downtown Billings, not Beverly Hills."
"Jozef, let's go, already!"
We laughed and took off for what ended up being lighter fare, and not even intentionally. George was the older man taking care of us, and he would not let up on Marc.
"You are GREEK! I know from people! No other country grows men like you!"
Marc laughed and thanked George, but contradicted his geography only slightly.
"You are close, George!"
He had the kitchen staff out looking at Marc like he was the human Sebastian for the evening. My gosh. Well, there's no denying my man is a beautiful man.
After things calmed down and we finished dinner, we took the longer walk to the hotel. What a day. We wasted no time in getting cleaned up and ready for bed. I did not write, sleep'; just bed'. More men had seen my man undressed today than I had. I need to keep the score imbalanced to the home field advantage.
After some time in the bathroom, we wrapped our arms around each other and dove in for a much-needed, long-delayed dose of mutual passion. I directed Marc to move backward while I moved forward, never breaking the kiss. Finally we were against the end of the bed, and I pushed one last time so we fell onto it. We both laughed. Marc's hair was in his eyes, so I moved it out and smiled at him. He just ran his fingers across my forehead, since I had no hair there to move.
"Babe, are we really alone, you and I? Finally? Or did someone else push us across the room and onto the bed?"
"We are really alone, and I did the pushing. You did pretty well, moving backwards. Maybe you were Ginger Rogers in another lifetime."
"I will go to my grave wondering how three or four full and comprehensive sets of encyclopedias were crammed in your head so tightly, but not so tightly that you can't turn all the pages, and lightning-fast, too."
"Oh, THAT. Well, my great-grandmother loved Early Hollywood, and some of it might've rubbed off on me."
"Hmmm.....tell me more about `rubbing off on you'....."
"Oh, okay; well, Grandma used to sit on the sofa, and I'd sit...."
His eyebrows shot to his hairline and he shook his entire head. I laughed at Marc. I was having fun at the expense of his attempted vulgarity.
"Can we please leave your Grandma out of that phrase?!"
"She made many sacrifices for me when I was a kid. This'll be just one more. Later, Granny; my man and I need to rub."
I moved my face down over Marc's and kissed him. He held me steadily on him, chest to chest, his arms wrapped around my shoulders and hips. I felt so safe in Marc's arms, although there was no threat to me that day. There hadn't been since we'd met. Even when the sky was still dark, and he was running toward me on the highway. I had no idea who or even what he was two Sundays ago, but somehow, fear never entered my mind. Several days and nights later, we'd been through a lot together already.
Marc kissed me, and accepted my kisses back in his direction. We were still being tender, and in our passion, we focused all the love-making on just our mouths, for the time being.
Within only a few minutes, I could feel we were both hard, and someone was lubricating someone else, or we both were evacuating precum at an alarming rate. If only precum were all the lube men needed for each other! Nothing else works as well, but having a liter of its closest imitation available more than makes up with quantity what we gave each other in natural quality. And precum tastes so much better than lube, too.
I sat up, straddling Marc's hips, his cock now behind my balls and me riding back and forth on it. Marc was involuntarily humping up at me. Amazing how that instinct will not be denied. My own cock was terminating at Marc's fuzzy navel, and precum was pooling in its recess. I moved my hands to his chest. Not so much for balance----we were pretty well balanced already----but because the tactile sensation of his hair beneath my hands charged me.
I thought about what Perry had said, about being able to identify a fabric's content with his hands if all the lights were out. I closed my eyes, turning out the light in my mind, and enjoyed feeling Marc. My Harvard professor, my rescued runner, my lover, my man. What I was feeling, I knew already, was what I wanted to feel for the next eighty years.
Animal instinct sat on one of my shoulders and my great-grandmother on the other. Kidding, but actually, not kidding so much. She watched movies to enjoy the happy ending. The movies she loved always had them, and no matter how many times she watched, the ending never changed, so she was never disappointed. While she might not recognize me as the same little kid now grown up, I felt confident she'd still want me to have my own `happily ever after'.
I wanted one thing at that moment, bowing my better judgment before the entity on the other shoulder: to finally feel Marc within me, taking me for himself, and marking me forever his. Just the thought made precum drool more from my dick. Marc noticed.
"I'd offer a penny for your thoughts, but I'm not sure I could stop you sharing them once you get started.....who knows what THAT final price would be, or if any discounts would be available."
"Danged right about that one."
"I think my accuracy in guessing is matched only by the accuracy with which you're grinding that soft, blond-colored furry hole against me."
"Yup."
"A Man Of Few Words now?"
"Don't want to expend any energy that is better focused right where you think it is."
"Are you ready?"
"All clean."
"That's not what I meant. Kiss me."
I leaned forward, keeping my eyes on Marc's until ocular focus was fucked for both of us. My kiss was now, while passionate, also crazed with lust for Marc. And boy, did he get that message. I moved my hands from his chest to either side of his face and held him in place while we kissed. Marc kept his hands on my hips, steadying me while I rode and ground against him. The barest of light in the sky was all the illumination we had to see each other. It was a perfect sunset. Had I the means, I'd have frozen Time right there, at least for an hour.
We were not in his house, not in my house, but on fully neutral territory; a rented room whose history we'd never know---nor care about. From the sheer excitement I was feeling, I could sense perspiration on my skin. Marc wasn't exactly dry, himself.
I leaned forward and parked my nose right between his pectorals, and inhaled slowly, so as not to miss any volatile atomic particle That Was My Marc. We may have evolved away from sensing pheromones, but Science assured us we still produced and shared them. I was smelling something, but the C-H-O chain composition didn't mean a daggonned thing to me. Only Marc Taylor and his wild-man scent mattered at that moment, and I was greedily getting it all.
I resumed kissing Marc, and when we broke to take a breath, he looked with such love and respect at me.
"I didn't mean, `are you clean'; I meant, are you ready in every other regard?"
"I believe so. I don't `know' so. I've never done this before. Not on this side of the equation. I've never loved anyone, and while I've done just about everything else, I've been saving this so I could have this exact conversation with a man I love. You, Marc, are that man."
"Babe, same here. I have never been inside anyone, and if we do this...."
"When we do this....."
"When we do this, we cross a threshold together."
"Ah.....'threshold'. Now you're revealing yourself to be a traditionalist. Be careful with your back; I weigh 211 pounds."
"That's nothing."
Marc flexed his arms and my body reacted by just grinding harder onto his hips. I remained silent, well, except for that moan that sounded like an oncoming locomotive, and let every one of those 211 pounds do all the talking. He got the message.
"Why'd you bring up your weight?"
"Because you said `threshold'."
"Yeah, I know, but....."
"Think happy endings of old Hollywood movies."
Marc knitted his brows and moved his eyes side to side. Then he got the BFO (Blinding Flash of the Obvious).
"Oh! Now I get it."
"Not tonight. I `get it', Marc. Got it? Good."
"Sounds like you're ready."
"Mmm-hmm....."
"Babe, since we're at that threshold.....will you....."
I moved a fingertip to his mouth.
"Don't ask it if you don't mean it, because if you ask that question now, you'll get an answer now."
"So, Jozef.....I'm asking RIGHT now.....will you do me the honor of....."
"Lubing us both up?"
"Yup."
The best word a Man Of Few Words can have.