The following story is a work of fiction set in the format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is entirely coincidental in nature, and is not meant to accurately reflect persons in towns, cities, or governmental areas, in which the story is staged. If sexual scenes involving male to male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most states and countries, you are not allowed to read this by law.
"Long Distance Love" 03 (M/M oral) WriTtenby T. Chase McPhee
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Milton stood close to Marc Ambergini, as they entered Maquamat's. He didn't wish to loosen the reins he held on 'Mr. Moneybags', as when they were a duo, it would be easier to reinforce the intensions of 'the play'.
A spiffy water, donned in rather a colorful array of clothing, which resembled a tuxedo, appeared as Milton and Marc led the way through the main double doors of Maquamat's.
"Mr. Ambergini, sir, your room awaits."
Milton suggests to the waiter, "Ah, you can drop the formalties and address my friend here as 'Marc'."
This action, on Milton's, part embarrassed the hell out of Marc. Milton knew the humiliation it would present, in lieu of the formalities Ambergini has been used to.
"Um... ahem... Mr. Ambergini?" The maitre'd questioned.
"Looking back at Milton, Mr. Moneybags decided, for now, to go along."
"Very well. Get on with it."
Seems like Milton wasn't the only one enjoying the spectacle of degradation. If they could only see the painted smile on the face of the maitre'd, as he led the entourage towards their room.
Milton wasn't totally through with the humiliation. His knowledge of pompous asses, like Ambergini, has dotted his long professional career.
Leaning forward, he temporarily stopped Ambergini, as the procession detoured around them. Whispering into Marc's ear, "As we pass by each table, you will stop and greet each person with a smile, handshake and warm, friendly words."
Ambergini, aghast at such a suggestion, showed a tinge of rage. Not that kind, as visible with road rage. Just a pathway of anger, given the humiliating thought presented to him by the music director.
Milton added, "Or there will be hell to pay later," he continued the whisper, so that no other ears could detect the words.
Marc hesitated for a minute or so, staring at Milton, with the sly smile upturning his lips. At this point, he had many conflicting thoughts. One, to haul off and punch Milton's lights out right then and there. Contrasting those feelings, down yonder, he sensed a need to be dominated by this man, this 'master'. A third feeling began to set against the logic. Marc wanted the 'hell to pay later'. All of this summed up to conjuring up some acting skills and see how his performance would add to their after dinner rendezvous.
"I don't think so, Milton."
"Hmm... okay, Marc. It's your hide. I'm trying to keep humored by your continued aggravation, but my patience are wearing quite thin."
'Ooooh', Ambergini woed to himself. If he didn't get to his seat soon, his thick salami would be out in full view. Perhaps his new attitude towards submitting, in opposition to being dominated, became a new mystery to himself. Yet, the force of suggestion, coupled with the epitomy of the character Milton projected, gave him the incentive to comply without question. So, as they traveled between tables, Marc Ambergini let down his pompous attitude, smiling, shaking hands, even introducing Milton as his 'associate', commending him often.
Milton's head didn't swell, but he did feel more of an importance, as Marc introduced him as 'the best musical director that ever lived'. He thought Marc, along with other explanations, sure had the gift to 'bs' people. No wonder he got to be the way he is. Then again Milton chocked all of this up to the great time that he and Marc would be having later on in the evening and who knows where that would lead!
As they entered the diningroom set aside for all those involved with the production of 'Long Distance Lover', Marc Ambergini pictured a side of the production crew he never knew existed. He expected something along the lines of a drunken stupor over most of the men, some swinging from the chandeliers, outlandish sexual acts being committed and the place a shambles. Not so. In fact, they all waited patiently at the bar, enjoying h'orderves and prepared drinks, waiting on Marc's arrival. Michael Fabreve approached Marc personally, representing the lot.
"Marc, this is great! What can I get you to drink?"
Marc knew right then and there he and Milton would be getting along. Just as he was about to answer with a gin and tonic, Milton advises Michael, "Two martini's please, Michael."
As Michael pranced away, Marc turns to Milton and replies, "But I like gin and tonic."
"Yeah, well learn to live with it, 'boy'! C'mon."
Milton slapped Marc hard across the back, which gave him quite a jolt. The sensation not only disturbed his psyche, but caused his relaxed muscle between his legs to constrict. As he followed Milton to the bar, he found his lips with a slight grin. He couldn't possibly be liking this scenario!
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"Nice place, huh Fess?"
"Oh yeah. I've never been in a place like this before. I'm more the burger and pizza man."
"In that case, let me show you how to have a great time, living high on the hog, Fess."
"I could learn to like this treatment, but never on my salary."
"Hey, Fess I want to thank you for lending me the shirt and tie."
"Good thing we're both almost the same size, Rob, huh?"
Fess pokes the man, he considers the 'man of his dreams'. He can't believe that after wearing a pair of headphones for the past three years, he finally picked up on a voice that clicked with the body. At first that's all Fess had been phishing for, then he began to think in different terms.
Fresh out of college, his designing skills prepared him for a career as wardrobe, however things change. Change they did. By chance of literally running into Michael Fabreve at a coffee shop downtown, landed him the job he now fills. Michael didn't have a specific calling in mind for Fess, but later admitted he thought Fess to be 'cute'. So, he became a jack of all trades, wearing as many hats as Michael could come up with. Not that Fess minded. It gave him a chance to travel. All of the backstage, plus the neighborhood. He enjoyed his freedom of being on a long, long lead.
Sexually, Fess Aineislis had been by no means conservative. In fact, the twenty-five year old dirty blonde had wondered by now why he wasn't dead via some sexually transmitted disease. In high school he played around with two other dudes. Upon the college scene, he rarely missed an orgy or other sexual frenzy. There had always been a guy on campus in his dorm room taking an advantage of his awesome oral skills. In fact, Fess grew quite a namesake as the campus 'tongue massager'. One of his best traits had been giving the most awesome tongue-fucks and lots of guys took advantage of his talents.
While a sophomore, he happened upon a frathouse party. All male, he figured there would be some exciting action. Oh, there was, after the gay male population heard that there would be a guest of honor at the party, with the initials 'F.A.'.
Robert Palmieri, from a well bred family, had always been a character of sorts. From elementary school age, he had always sung his heart out, whether in the church choir, a short production or in front of family members, where he rode out the embarrassment of his mom putting him in the limelight, to live out 'her' fantasies of a son becoming a superstar of the musical screen. With the ability and keen sense of memory, he could sing every inch of the score to 'Oklahoma', knowing every spoken and sung line of each character. By his mother's standards, Robert could 'be' a one man production of the show!
She, being a proud Irishwoman, also accompanied him on the piano, forcing the young boy to learn all the standard Irish works; 'Carrickfergus', 'Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms', 'The Last Rose Of Summer', 'Whiskey In The Jar', 'Who Threw The Overall In Mrs. Murphy's Chowder', plus the famous, 'O Danny Boy'. Also, early in life she put her grandfather's fiddle in Robert's hands, but it wound up broken on the parlor floor. Possibly the hand-to-ass action that followed drew out those lovely tones that would be the foundation for Robert's singing career!
However, as Robert grew, the Italian heritage of his father's side of the family became more evident in his appearance. So, the Joe Feeney voice began to wear off, transposing to the more suave, young Sinatra timbre, belting out the standards. If he had a little too much scotch, Rob could swing a raspy Tony Bennett number. Thus began a new era, as he hit his later middle school age.
Not only had the young Rob, bursting through the barriers of puberty, begin to mature both vocally and physically. His mom saw her little 'Irishman' began to bloom into a dark brown haired stallion. She didn't see anything wrong with her 'Sinatra' singing 'O Danny Boy'.
However, when Robert brought home the lead role in the eighth grade talent show and it wasn't an Irish tune, she fessed up to the fact that those memories she built up on her little Robert would be just that. Putting all those Irish numbers away in the piano bench she sat on, she used part of the cookie jar contents to 'raid' the local music store.
Everyday after school, Robert's best friend would be his mom, whom also became his bench partner. They would always warm up with an Irish number.
As Rob sat there with Fess at Maquamat's, he poured out some tales of his mother's nurturing. "Well, at first she would sit down with me at the piano, this ancient Baldwin upright she got second hand, and warm up with a blast from the past. Usually 'Danny Boy'. She made me hold these notes for so long, I thought I'd pass out!"
Fess laughed at the way Robert presented the tale, putting his hands to his throat like he choked from asphyxiation. His original plans had been to try to weasel his way into Rob's life, undress him and get his tongue on that hot, twenty-six year old Italian-Irish body. However, as the weeks passed, those thoughts did too, giving way to other matters of importance.
"So, if it wasn't for your mom, you wouldn't be in the theater today, Rob?"
"Yeah. Mom literally pushed me out onto the stage in eighth grade, at that talent show and after that I helped myself to center stage."
"And she accompanied you?"
"For the talent show, yes. But when she discovered my voice changing, she raided the cookie jar and got me some piano lessons. Then came the voice teacher. Pretty soon she had my father making regular contributions for the cookie jar that didn't go towards the electric bill!"
"Seems like your life was engrossed with your mom."
"Yeah. Seems like dad had busied himself with keeping the house lit and heated. Mom never complained."
"Well, by the way it looks, Rob, you were her whole life."
"I suppose. Being an only child and having such a great gift of song... yeah, I guess you can say that."
"Um, when did you figure out you were gay?"
"Hah! Now that's a whole can of worms in itself!"
Fess and Rob stood there, off to the side of the rather long bar in Maquamat's ballroom, conversing, while sipping their drinks. Other than the face, no one would be able to tell the difference from person to person, as the roomful of tuxedos graced it's perimeters.
"That just 'happened', Fess. At the time of the talent show in eighth grade, I remember the audition. Any student that wished to audition, had assembled in the auditorium. Maybe there were about twenty of us guys and girls. I picked up on playing the piano like nothing, but Mrs. Wheeler wanted to accompany me anyway. So, I didn't want to hurt her feelings. Anyway, I stood up there, cleared my throat and after she played the introduction to 'I've Got You Under My Skin'..."
"Cole Porter. Figures, Rob."
"Hey, at the time I didn't know he was gay and neither did anybody else."
"Just kidding. So, what happened?"
"So, as I'm singing, my attention is drawn to this guy staring at me. I didn't know who the hell he was. I panned the audience, as I'm belting out the lyrics and something totally strange happens."
"What?"
"I forgot the words!"
Fess cracked up, laughing his ass off.
"What's so funny?"
"You are, Rob. You don't know it probably, but the way you say things sometimes, you're a natural born comedian."
"I'm not trying to be."
"So, this kid threw you off?"
"Yeah. I really broke out the acting skills and coughed like I had a legion of frogs down my throat. Poor Mrs. Wheeler almost went into cardiac arrest, thinking I might start turning blue."
"Haa ha ha ha haaa.. oh man are you a funny guy, Rob."
"Yeah, so I get over that, but Mrs. Wheeler said I had auditioned enough anyway."
"Did you get in the show?"
"Fess, bite your tongue!"
Fess stood there with his tongue between his teeth.
"Now who's the comedian?" Rob asked, a grin on his lips.
"Okay, so what did you do?"
"Do? Nothing. I went back stage to get my jacket and bookbag, when this fool that made me mess up walks up to me and introduces himself."
"Ahaaa, and?" Fess asks in a sexy manner, placing his arm around Rob's torso, hugging his hip.
"Hmm..mmmmm..."
"Like that, do you, Rob?"
"Yeah. almost as much as Donny's."
"Donny?"
"Yeah, this guy that came backstage. He apologized for messing up my audition."
"That's nice of him. Where does the touching part come in?"
"Oh, much later that week when he invited me over to his house. He played piano, so fixed it with Mrs. Wheeler for him to accompany me."
"Bet he accompanied you more than on the piano, eh Rob?"
"Fess, can you get your mind out'tov the gutter for a moment?"
"Sorry, Rob."
Fess had withdrawn his hand from Rob's waist, took a sip of his drink and then holding it with two hands, peered down into it.
"Hey Fess?"
"Yeah, Rob?"
"You want to get out of here and go someplace?"
That lifted his spirits immediately.
"Yeah? I mean yeah, sure. Tell you the truth, I'm not really into this scene."
"Well, I think I've had 'enough' of this scene. We can go to my place."
"Okay. Cool!"
"I'll fix it with Michael. Just play like you're a little drunk, Fess!"
Rob took Fess' arm, letting him put on an Academy Award's presentation, as they stumbled over to where Michael and Jason relaxed at a table. As at the theatre, where everyone approached Michael for 'the last word' in their actions, they bid him good night.
"Okay men, take care and we'll see you tomorrow night."
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"I have never been more humiliated in my whole life, Milton!"
"Get used to it Marc. The night is young."
"I think after our party tonight, Milton, you should..."
"Now you listen to me, Ambergini. I don't give a fuck what you think. After tonight it's you and me."
"You? Me? That's preposterous! Why I wouldn't..."
"Hey, Ambergini, shut the fuck up and listen..."
"Why the audacity!"
"Eeeh, cut the crap Ambergini. You love the way I'm treating you. Go over to the bar and get us a couple of drinks and meet me over by Michael and Jason."
"Why tha...."
Milton turned and walked away right in the middle of words of disgust of the man whom paid his salary. If he were out of a job, the ax would've fallen by now. However, from the bulge in Ambergini's pants, Milton figured Marc ate up every word dictated from him thus far.
As Marc reported to the bar, the face behind it focused sharply.
"What'll it be Mr. Ambergini?"
"Oh hello, Amir. Make it two scotches, straight-up."
"Nice looking man you are with this evening."
"Um," Ambergini acted a bit flustered, "musical director at my show."
"He attached?"
"To?"
"Well, to you?"
"Oh no. Hardly, Amir. Why? You have an interest?"
Ambergini suddenly saw the light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe he could get Amir interested in Milton and vice versa. Glancing from Amir, over to Milton and back again, he began right away to formulate a plan to get Milton's harrassment off his back.
"Um, Amir?"
"Yes, Mr. Ambergini?"
"We've know each other for awhile, why don't you call me Marc?"
"I couldn't do that, Mr. Ambergini. Against policies."
"Oh. Hmmm."
Ambergini wondered to what lengths he would be willing to go to get Milton out of his life. To explore his new found submission with a younger, hotter master. So, the thirty-five year old began a scheme of things. He eyed up the arab, as he fixed his drinks and thought that possibly Amir might make a good match. At the same time, he knew Amir to be a great top in bed. Not his bed, but another aquaintance's. 'Hmm', his cunning plan started to unravel in his warped brain. Suddenly, he broke from his reverie, as in front of his face, the moustached man appeared.
"Where the fuck is my drink?"
"HuH?" Ambergini began to break from his scheming.
"Oh, Milton, I was just ready to bring it to you."
"Y'know this is going to cost you, Marc?"
However, from behind a voice from the background appeared.
"Excuse me, Sir?"
"Move," Milton said to Marc, pushing his arm.
"Well, hello," Milton spared no theatrics.
"Excuse me, but it's not Mr. Ambergini's fault that the drinks are late getting to your table, Sir and I hold myself fully responsible."
"You do, do you?"
"Yes. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Amir Al-Ahmar."
"Milton Rossini. What time do you get off?"
"When Mr. Ambergini's party is concluded."
Milton took into account every inch of the man know as Amir. He loved the way he received the respectful, 'sir', as addressed.
"Well, I'll go mingle," Ambergini decided to pawn off on Milton.
He grabbed the sleeve of Marc's tux and replied, "We still have our appointment for this evening, don't forget Marc."
Milton could see the plot Marc had started to weave. It might be possible that there would be more than two passengers headed out to Katonah tonight, in the limo!
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"Well Chiz, I have to admit that as far-fetched as your story sounds, whether I believe it or not, is immaterial at this point."
"Frankly, even though it is real and the way it happened, Clay, I think the last hour with you has made every ounce of the effort totally worth it."
"What bugs me, Chiz is that you waited so long to introduce yourself."
"Blame uncle for that."
"Oh?"
"Well, as I told you, mom passed on and father had no interest in me. Uncle Marc has been the only person interested in my welfare. In a way, I grew into seclusion, giving him the response to run my life as he sees fit. Hah! If you hadn't stood up to him this evening, I don't think I would have cracked out of my shell."
"Let me get this straight," Clay begins, moving from straight out on his back, to his side, his hand on Chiz's hairy stomach, "if I hadn't opened my mouth and told your uncle 'like it is', then you would have stayed wound up in your cocoon?"
All Chiz could do is lay there, looking into Clay's face.
"I know this sounds like something from a swashbuckler's movie, Clay, but I didn't care much for uncle's tone with you and something snapped. I wanted to come on the defensive for your sake. I..."
"Don't Chiz."
"Don't what, Clay?"
"Don't get yourself all flustered. I think I can guess why you did what you did. In fact I think I'm more than getting the obvious reasoning."
Clay's actions spoke louder than words, as he bowed over Chiz's bear body and aligned his lips with the man who stood up for him on stage.
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"Oh man you feel so good on my body, Fess."
"Yeah, I've heard a lot that I have a talented tongue."
There, in Robert Palmier's bed, Fess lay naked, his arms woven in and out of his hairy thighs, his tongue slowly licking away at the hairy balls.
"Oh no.... don't touch your cock, Rob. I want to pleasure you there."
"Well, you haven't disappointed me up til now! But there's plenty of time for that, Fess."
Rob forced Fess from his reclining position, where he lay tonguing the rather large orbs and dragged him up so their faces met.
"Mmmm... ooooh man. Haven't had a kiss like that in ages."
"So deprived, are you Rob?"
"Yeah."
"I'll have to make up for lost time."
"First I want to hear something."
"What's that Rob?"
"How you got to be such a hot oral man?"
"The whole story?"
"Uh-huh."
"This could take all night."
"Well, we are not obligated to be back to the theater until six pm."
"That might be enough time to cover the whole territory."
"Well, I'm hoping keep your mouth busy at not just talking, Fess."
"Actually Rob...."
"What, Fess?" Rob asked the sulking, twenty-five year old Irish lad, picking up his chin with one finger and turning it to his own.
"I think my life can be summed up in about ten seconds."
"That eventful, huh Fess?"
"Yeah. Totally extensive. Rob, for the past six or seven years I've been an oral whore."
"Oral whore, huh? Hmm, let me see now. Does that fall between a bass and a tenor?"
"Rob, stop being silly."
Fess, a bit embarrassed of the facts of the matter, yet entertained by Rob's understanding, tried to smile.
"I'm not so proud admitting that, Rob."
"Well, here's a question for you then, when did you get off of this oral kick, or are you still on it, Fess?"
"Yes and no."
"Well, I guess that clears things up!"
Laughter filled the rather large interiors of the bedroom.
"What I mean is that I don't regret the good times I've had, but feel that over the past few weeks that maybe I've latched on to something more permanent. Do you get what I mean, Rob?"
"Something permanent like me maybe?"
"Yeah. But I didn't want to tell you about me, because..."
"Because you were afraid that a high falutin', 'on my way up', couth gentleman of the stage, wouldn't be willing to share his life and love with a man that has spent his life whoring around with eighty-eight different men?"
"Wow, you're good, Rob!"
"Hee heee... yeah, well mama done told me I better shop around, but frankly I'm tired of window shopping, Fess."
"Does that mean that you want to maybe start something up with me?"
"Well, I'd like to know where you are right now and where your intentions are headed. From what you've told me, it sounds like you want to kiss the old life goodbye and start out fresh. However, like happens to some, they say what they want, but their heart suddenly takes a leap back in time."
"I know what you're saying Rob."
"So, do you feel that I'm 'the one' or...."
"You're 'not' just a passing thing, Rob. I feel it."
Fess begins stating things that he's never confessed to any man in his life. Like spitting out the preamble to the Declaration of Independence, Fess draws on his past and paves his future, getting his feelings out. Getting up from the bed, it's more of a melodramatic outpouring of feelings, as he tells Rob about his past. The meetings with three to eight men at once and servicing every ass with his tongue or the truckloads of cum he's swallowed in one night or the night he was used by the fraternity brothers as a raunchpig. Each time a fact of Fess' sexual behavior unravels from his mind, Rob begins to feel more pity. At the epilogue of Fess' concerted efforts, he winds up on Rob's bed of hair, tears streaming forth.
"C'mon Fess. That's the past," Rob tries calming him, the bewildered man, who for the last twenty minutes has poured his life out on the table.
"I... I'm tired of that life, Rob. I want a real man. I want to have a real relationship and love a man. But I wanted you to know what I was."
"Yes, what you were, Fess. But I want you to know that you're not in my bed right now, stripped to the buff, crying, your tears on my chest, out of only your love for me. That street goes both ways."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Rob."
"For what, Fess?"
"Here I've thought all of 'my' self only. I'm not even thinking about how you feel."
"That's not entirely true, Fess. For the past half hour you told me how you've felt. In fact I would say that all you've told me, in a way, is a confession of your love for me."
"My love for you?"
"Sure. What other man have you told about your salacious escapades?"
"My what?"
"The way you've explained your lust in regards to your sexual desires?"
"Oh. None. None of those guys wanted to hear anything in the means of a real relationship. Like me, they were out for just a quick suck and fuck session."
"And now you've found me. What makes me so different?"
"Lots. You're not anything like them. I mean, Rob, you're a real kind guy and you don't have sex as the foremost activity in your life. I mean, I've never heard of you rushing off to throw your clothes off and get down with sucking or fucking. When you came to work, you always talked to Michael or Jason, or one of the other guys about some musical opening or a magazine article you've found interesting or even a new restaurant opening down in the village or even about a song your mom sung to you over the phone. Man, Rob, you have 'a life'. That's way more than I have."
"Hmm.."
"What, Rob?"
"Fess, I think you need to 'get a life' and I'm going to help you get one!"
"How are you going to do that?"
"Do you know of the musical, 'My Fair Lady'?"
"I've heard of it. Isn't that from a Shakespear play?"
"Yeah. Hey, you do know something, Fess!"
"Thanks for the compliment, Rob."
"Hey, I didn't mean anything by that, Fess. Sorry if I insulted you."
"Well, I might have stunk in college, but I do remember some things."
"Okay, here's a test. What Shakespeare play is 'My Fair Lady' derived from?"
"Taming of the Shrew!"
"Right."
"Okay, a tougher one, um... Arthur Miller just died. A composer by the name of Robert Ward wrote an opera based on one of his works entitled, 'The Crucible'. Describe the Arthur Miller's work that this opera was based on."
"Oh wow. That's a tough one. Do I get a hint, Rob?"
"Yeah, um... which witch is which?"
"Which which is what?"
"Witch. You know like at Hallowe'en time?"
"Oh! That kind of witch. Okay so, hmm... witches... I think it's probably about the Salem witch trials."
"Good enough for me. See, you're a smart guy, Fess."
"I guess."
"Your problem is that your brain has been in hibernation. I bet you could be and do more than sitting under a set of headphones and trying to play nursemaid to Clay Hawkings."
"Oh, but I like Clay."
"Me too. I think the world of him, however."
"Whatsamatter, Rob?"
"I have a feeling that I'm not going to be playing Clay's understudy for very long."
"Where are you going? You're not leaving the show are you Rob?"
"Hey, don't get all bent out of shape, Fess. If I were going someplace, I'd pack you up in my suitcase and take you along."
That became a cue for Rob to renew his efforts, both at building up Fess' self esteem and reinforcing his relationship intentions. It's Fess whom broke off the long lip lock, showing concern.
"Then what's all this talk about, Rob, if you're not leaving the show?"
"My radar suggests to me that Clay and Francisco are going to be riding off into the sunset."
"You think that Clay and Francisco are going to hit it off?"
"Think about it Fess. What did you tell me after you poked your head into Clay's dressing room after the stage party?"
"Yeah. I getcha. Hard to miss the point with Francisco stripped down to the buff and Clay halfway there."
"So, what do you think, stud?"
"Stud? Nobody's called me that before."
Rob knew what he wanted, even if Fess had been sketchy on the details. At the mention of his feeling for Fess, he pulled him down, mashing their bodies together. Their semi-erections blossomed, growing into tall stalks.
"Fess?"
"Yeah, Rob?"
"Fuck me."
"What?"
"Fuck me."
"I can't fuck you."
"Why not, Fess?"
"Because.... I've never fucked a guy. I'm a bottom."
"So? Just because somebody stuck a label on you doesn't mean you have to stick with that position."
"Gee, I don't know Rob."
"Besides, Fess. I've never been fucked and..."
"Wait. What about with that guy at the talent show."
"We went on to have some innocent lying in bed and kissing. After that I had one slight college fling, but wrapped myself up in my work to become oblivious to the gay scene."
"And you didn't fuck around with this college guy?"
"Okay. I fucked him, but I've been keeping my ass locked up for that special man."
"Wow! Are you saying that that special man is me, Rob?"
"Fess Aineislis," Rob looks into the Irish eyes that are smiling, "I didn't just spill my guts to you to have you ride off into the sunset, solo. What I'm saying is that I want you. Do you think that you are the only one that has been having a heatwave for the past few weeks?"
"Do you mean that you've had your eyes on me too, Rob?"
"Damn, Fess. I thought I threw enough hints your way."
"Wow! Hee hee..."
"What?"
"And I figured that that... that all of that eye contact and flirting had been all my own doing. In fact I figured you weren't even getting the hint, Rob."
"Hint, Fess? I didn't need any hint. All I needed was this!"
Fess' seven inches become once again melded with Rob's dark pubes, their stomachs, Rob's dark trail and Fess' blondish trail, their chests, Fess' lightly covered and Rob's dark, hairy one, as their lips prey upon each other's. They kiss passionately, tonguing and licking, until Rob turns Fess over, completely in the bed, lying him out on his back, like a smorgasboard.
"But?"
"Uh-huh, Fess. Time for me to give 'you' an oral massage. You're life is about to take a turn for the better, Fess. Get ready for a roller coaster ride!"
continued......
Copyright 2005 T. Chase McPhee All Rights Reserved.
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dont strike a fault, unless you can admit you've slipped..T Chase McPhee