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" 04 (M/M oral) WriTtenby T. Chase McPhee
%
"What do you say we take our leave now?"
"If these feet can carry me away, Mike!"
"Just my point, Jase."
"Are you saying I'm drunk outta hic my skull?"
"Now that's putting it mildly," Mike replied, after Jase tried and failed to make his ascent from the padded chair.
Approaching the bar, where he noticed the evening gathering consisted mostly of Milton, Marc Ambergini and the bartender exchanging conversation, Mike inquired if someone could be of assistance in getting his friend curbside.
"Yes, of course Mr. Fabreve. I'll gladly put some in charge of that detail," Amir, Maquamat's chief bartender replied, tearing himself away from the threeway conversation.
"Enjoying the party, I see, Milton?"
"Oh yes and by the way, Michael, looks like I'm going to have to cancel tomorrow evening's engagement with you and Jason."
"I know he'll be deeply disappointed, but we'll let you slide, Milton."
"Perhaps another time, Michael."
"Yes. Um, so what's with you and Ambergini?"
"I think we've both found something in common that turns us on."
"Oh? This why you're letting Jason and I off the hook?"
"Hee heee... I know you two are into kinky stuff, but..."
"Kinky stuff? Into? What put that thought into your head, Milton?"
"Why Clay said that.... oooooh Clay has been a bad boy!"
Milton realizes the distinction between his thoughts of Ambergini and that of the theater tech couple.
"So Clay has his hand in this, does he?"
"Doesn't matter now that I've got two willing players, Michael."
"Hmm... Just the same. I'm happy that you divulged that little tidbit of information, Milton."
"Oh, don't get angry at Clay, even though I know he tried to get himself off the hook."
"Off the hook, huh?"
"Yes and...."
"Mr. Fabreve, your friend is being attended to," Amir interrupts, nodding towards Jason being removed from his chair.
"Oh, yeah..." Mike replied, looking over at his table, seeing two mideastern gentleman helping Jase out of his chair. "Thanks Amir."
"You're welcome, Mr. Fabreve." Mike stuck a ten in his palm.
Mike thanked the two over and over, as they lifted Jase under his pits and helped him to the front door, then the waiting cab.
"I will make sure you get home safely," one of the men, an early twenties looking guy replied.
He told the maitre'd, referring to him as Habib, that they would take it from there.
"Nice of you to help out, um..." Mike fished for an introduction.
"My name is Rafi Abu Bakr, but I am called Rafi."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Michael Fabreve and this is Jason Perry."
"I beg your pardon, I know you already."
Suddenly the cab lurches to a stop. Rafi begins a raised vocal tongue lashing, in his native language.
"I take it you know that driver, Rafi? Hee heee.."
"My friend, Sihr Siraj-Al-Leil."
"HuH? I think you're going to have to spell that one out for me Rafi."
"No matter. You can call him Sihr. I will tell him to be very careful of his passengers in the car."
Sihr jumps out from behind the wheel, opening the rear door on his side. He and Rafi arrange Jason in the back seat. Rafi motions for Sihr to return to the driver's seat, as he climbs in next to Jason. Michael holds up his friend's other shoulder.
"Well, thank you, Rafi. Now, excuse me for putting this bluntly, but just why is it that you are taking very good care of this precious cargo?"
Michael could see the slight blush on Rafi's face.
"You see right through me Mr. Fabreve."
"Call me Michael, Rafi."
"Thank you. I see that you do not get fooled easily Mr. Fabreve. You see, this man driving, is my... my um partner."
"Like in lover type partner, Rafi?"
Looking down, then up, smiling, Rafi replies, "Yes."
"That's nothing to be ashamed of Rafi."
"It is for our people, to be homosexual."
"I see. Well, welcome to the club."
"Club, Mr. Fabreve?"
"Another saying for a group of gay guys, like him and me," Michael refers to Jason and himself. "We are partners, in as much as what I think you are trying to put into words for yourself and Sihr."
"You say it much better, Mr. Fabreve."
"So now that we've gotten that out of the way, why is it that you are having this conversation, Rafi?"
The way Michael put the details, made Rafi laugh. It also set up the atmosphere for part two of their conversing.
"Sihr and I would like to be a couple. To live together and live life in a gay relationship."
"That shouldn't be so tough to do."
"No, except that we cannot do this, if we are in the employment of Maquamat's. The others do not see things as Sihr and I do."
"Hmm... I think I'm getting the picture, but it's not quite focused yet, Rafi."
Jason, whom is sitting in the middle of the two, in the backseat of the cab, falls towards Michael, as they round a corner. Rafi's native tongue lets loose it's banter on poor Sihr once more.
"Yikes! I almost feel sorry for Sihr!"
Rafi grins, then continues, "I tell Sihr he needs to take some driving lessons."
"You mean we're driving around Manhattan with an unlicensed lunatic at the wheel?"
"He has a license, but not from here. We will be okay."
'Oh my!' Michael smiles, laughing to himself and taking a more significant hold onto Jason's arm.
"So, what are your intentions, Rafi? Do you need some advice?"
"Yes, but... you see, Mr. Fabreve, Sihr and me think that if we can, maybe we can come work for you."
"Work for me? I didn't know I was even in the hiring!"
"We work for hardly anything, Mr. Fabreve. A meal and place to lay down. Floor is okay."
"Hmm... And what kind of services would I be hiring you two for, Rafi?"
"I am good cook. I can have meal ready for you anytime. I be your houseman, too. I can be very polite for you when you have guests."
"Hmm and what about the crazy cab driver?"
"He can take you anywhere free."
"Yeah, but what's there to guarantee that I get there in one piece?"
"We work that out, Mr. Fabreve. What do you say?"
"Hmm... Why pick me, Rafi?"
"Because all night I see what nice man you are."
"And?"
"That is all. I see how you are with Mr., um Mr. Jason. You care about him. Other men are loud and get drunk. You do not, Mr. Fabreve."
"So, you targeted me because you think I'll a nice guy and.."
"Mr. Fabreve, Sihr and me need big break. This is only way we get out of culture and become ourselfs. Sihr, me, love each other. We see how you love Mr. Jason. We want same."
"I'm going to have to think on this, as well as 'Mr. Jason'."
Sihr says something to Rafi.
"What'd he say?"
"Sihr remind me that we.... we don't work at Maquamat's."
"Don't tell me. You gave notice?"
"No, we quit tonight."
"Same difference. So, Rafi, you were so confidant that I'd take you up on your offer that..."
"Please, Mr. Fabreve, we give you no problem. We serve you well and you can trust us."
"Where do you live?"
Rafi and Sihr talk back in forth in the native tongue once more.
"Let me guess. At this moment we're sitting in your bedroom, Rafi?"
Rafi again converses with Sihr. Michael sees the smile in the rearview mirror.
"Oh, so we've landed. I don't recall giving you my address, Rafi?"
"You are all too smart for us, Mr. Fabreve."
Now that they've arrived at Michael's doorstep, he ponders the situation rather diligently, but with haste. He's not sure if this is all the two are after, in light of the information Rafi has been feeding to him. Having dealt with thousands of people of the years, in the theater business, Michael's mental notes are sitting well with him on these two. There might be more than what the two suggest here, but he's willing to take a chance. For sure he knows they are not going to survive on their own in New York, without the possibility of falling prey to vicarious means.
"Alright. For tonight at least you can stay, but we're going to have to talk this out thoroughly, Rafi."
"Thank you Mr. Fabreve," Rafi says wholeheartedly, placing his hand on Michael's.
Rafi says to Sihr, "Open gates, Sihr."
"So, he does know english?"
"Oh yes. We both speak english and have some college."
There seemed to be many mysteries involving both boys and if anything, it piqued Michael's interest to seek some answers here. He didn't think that meeting Rafi and Sihr had happened without a reason. He wondered what his role would be in helping them on their way.
%
"Could I make a suggestion Clay?"
"Sure Chiz."
"Instead of coming back here to your 'room', could we detour to my place after Maquamat's?"
"Well, sure. If that's what you would like, Chiz."
The two had begun to assemble themselves in neat attire. They both had lifted briefs to their waists, deciding to forgo the tee shirts. After Chiz had sucked Clay's nips almost raw they stayed hard without any teasing. While getting ready, a joke took flight and they both decided to see what looks they would get with their hard nips poking from their tux shirts.
"As long as we're dressing down, why don't we forgo the tie, Chiz?"
"Oh no. You must learn how to tie it, Clay, since you're going to be in high society with me from now on."
"Really now, Chiz? I didn't realize we've come to that conclusion."
"Guess I'm going to have to prove it to you, Clay."
Once again their lips circle each other's, dividing teeth and taking in tongues. The buttons on Chiz's shirt scrape up and down Clay's stomach.
"You're so sexy when you're half-dressed, Chiz."
"Hee heee... yeah, bet you didn't know buttons could be so sensitive, did you Clay?"
"Rather kinky way of playing me up, Chiz, huh?"
"C'mon, let's hurry. I can't wait to wine and dine you, Clay."
"I guess I better hustle for the hustler!"
Chiz left it as that, grinning away, as he stepped into his tux pants, finished buttoning up to hide that matt of chest hair and then whipping into tying the bowtie.
"Hey, how am supposed to learn how to tie this damn thing, if you already have your's tied, Chiz?"
"Turn around, fool!"
Clay loved the feeling of Chiz's hands on his back, as he turned to face the mirror. Then with two arms leaning over his shoulders, taking up the long black fabric, he pressed his ass backwards to massage Chiz's package.
"Mmmm, who knows Chiz?"
"What?"
"Maybe I'll never get the hang of tying a bowtie!"
Chiz, looking straight ahead, into the mirrored reflection, states, "Aha! I figured there would be a way to keep you around, Clay!"
After springing his middle finger against the completed bowtie, Clay replies, "Hmm... nice job if I may say so myself."
"Yeah, you did a good job of holding still, Clay."
"Now, I get to return the favor."
"Huh?"
Standing there, Clay picks up Chiz's two spit-polished dress shoes and offers the chair to him. Taking up his socks, he picks up Chiz's right foot and kisses it.
"Mmmmm...." Chiz gestures at the unique treatment.
For the next fifteen minutes, Clay takes liberties at dressing Chiz's feet, completing the each task with tongue and hand massaging, topped with tying his shoelaces.
"Man, never had done before."
"Like it, Chiz?"
"Let's just say I can't wait to see how you peel them off, Clay."
Placing his hands in Chiz's, Clay pulls him to his dressed feet. They take their last imbibing of each other's lips, before departing for the next phase of their evening.
%
"Five minutes, Milton."
"Excellent, Amir. Looks like Mr. Ambergini might need the help of your strongmen."
"I will alert them."
Amir walks out to the main foyer. In his native tongue, he asks the maitre'd for Rafi's and Sihr's assistance. He reports that they took the liberties of taking Mr. Fabreve and his guest home. This displeases Amir, who sets into a long diatribe of the two. Upset, he reports to the kitchen, having two young men remove their cooking wardrobe and dictate to them to dress themselves appropriately for the duty at hand.
"What's wrong Amir?"
"Nothing that I cannot handle," the thirty-four year old mideastern man replies.
"If you say so," Milton says.
The party has more than wound down, leaving Ambergini sitting at a table, his elbow propped up, affixed to his chin, a hand still around a half empty scotch glass. Milton sits waiting, his lower region in anticpation of the after party party.
In under five minutes, two young men come from the side door and approach the bar. Amir, dressed in a light leather jacket, directs the two to the position of Ambergini and Milton.
"I have had the liberty of your limo parked at the side door, Milton."
"Excellent. Uh, will these two gentlemen be accompanying us, Amir?"
"Do you wish them to, Milton?"
"Depends on if they are into playing with us."
"They will do as I instruct them."
The two men look at each other, not happy at the prospects of Amir's instruction, but follow along, entering the limo after they have placed Ambergini inside.
%
Chiz taps on the glass doors of Maquamat's.
"Looks like they're closed, Chiz."
"Looks that way, Clay, but I know some magic that will get them open."
"Full of surprises, aren't you Chiz?"
A medium brown-skinned man arrives, unlocking one of the double doors.
"I beg your pardon sir's but Maquamat's is closed for this evening."
"Maybe this will change your mind?"
Chiz reaches in his pocket, takes out a couple of bills and places them in the maitre'd's hand.
"As you wish, sir. Right this way."
A couple of clicks lock the front entranceway. He escorts the two suave, handsomely dressed men through a maze of diningrooms.
"No, this wouldn't do."
"I beg your pardon, sir?"
"I would like your best seating arrangement, please."
After another bill is delivered from hand to hand, the maitre'd escorts the two in front of an elevator. After entering, they speed upwards. When the doors open, it seems like they are at the top of the world.
"Wow! This is awesome, Chiz."
Chiz instructs the maitre'd, "I'd like a full staff, please."
"But sir, we..."
"Unless I should inform my uncle to seek other dining arrangements?"
It's apparent that the maitre'd knew Chiz's connections, right away adherring to his wishes and bowing to his requests. Within two minutes, a man popped out of the elevator and headed to the bar. Soft music began playing, lights began sparkling in the room, the wooden dance floor became a dim shadow.
"Care to dance, Clay?"
"Sure, Chiz."
Chiz, like a gentleman, directed Clay towards the shiny plywood.
"Hey, this is nice!"
Before they were thirty seconds into their slow number, a waiter appeared with a tray of two flutes of champaynge.
"Sirs, courtesy of Maquamat's."
Clay could see this as the norm for Chiz, but for himself, it seemed all quite elegant.
"This is nice!"
"Tonight is going to be our very special night, Clay."
"Oh? What's so special, besides you?"
"Well, I'm hoping tonight will be the start of every night after this together, for us."
"That's sweet, Chiz."
"I want it to be real special for us."
"You're not wasting any time, that's for sure."
As the waiter actually stood there on the dance floor, he acted as if he were the table, holding their drinks until they decided to take another sip.
"You're a great dancer, Clay."
"Thanks."
"I knew you could be fast on your feet, but you're so much more sensual..."
Clay didn't let Chiz compliment him anymore. Without reservation of whomever 'saw', Clay pronounced a set of lip locks on Chiz.
"Mmmmm..."
The loss of the undershirts afforded Chiz to unbutton the midsection of Clay's tux shirt and move his hands inside, to caress the smooth sides of his body. Clay followed, but placing his hand inside the jacket and massaging Chiz's shirt against his fine physique.
"Hungry?"
"Depends on what the menu is!"
Chiz got Clay's inference, but knew that 'that' menu wouldn't be ready for serving until much later. Most likely in the early morning hours. They proceeded to their table. The only table located in the vast expanse of dining pleasures, located near the rather large plate glass wall that took in the whole Manhattan skyline.
"Why don't you order for us Chiz. I take it you've been here before."
"Many times, but only once a year."
"Oh? How does that go, Chiz?"
"Every year since I was twelve, Uncle brings me here for my birthday."
"I suppose you want me to do the math?"
"Yes, before I cloud it with too much champaynge and my loving?"
"Hee heee... you're something alright, Chiz."
The waiter must've picked up on the 'bubbly' word. >From a tray of freshly poured flutes, he set one of each on their table.
"To us!" Chiz proclaimed.
"To you and I!" Clay followed up, grinning, a special glint in his eye.
%
"Um, this sofa opens up, if you and Sihr would like to sleep in it, Rafi."
"That is kind of you. We accept, but first we prepare you for rest."
"Uh, I beg your pardon?"
Michael stood there in the large room, facing the sofa, where the knocked-out frame of Jason lay, snoring.
"Sihr and I will help you take Mr. Jason to your room."
"Oh sure. Okay. Just wondering what you meant."
Rafi figured it would be easier to show Michael his and Sihr's intentions, rather then go into the explaining. In this case, actions would be speaking much louder than the two's words.
Leading the way up the wide staircase, he kept looking back to make sure Rafi and Sihr took good care of Jason. Michael stood amazed at how gracefully they had placed him in a position, arms locked behind his back and their other set of arms, making a seat for him, as they ascended the stairs.
"This way Rafi."
"You lead. We follow," Sihr said.
It's the first sentence Michael heard from Sihr's lips. In fact he had to giggle to himself at the manner in which it came out.
"Here we are. You can place him right on the bed and I'll..."
"Would you direct us to your washroom, please, Mr. Fabreve?"
"Um, you don't have to.... yeah, okay, it's right this way."
Michael, a bit tired from the evening, didn't feel like giving a song and a dance. Besides he figured the guys wanted to give a little 'payback' for the evening, after extending his kindness.
"Very nice, Mr. Fabreve," Rafi replied of the rather large room.
Both took Jason and set him on a wooden bench, that lay against he wall.
"Okay, I think I can...."
Before Michael could get a word in edgewise, he found Rafi behind him, removing his tux jacket.
"Really, I think that I..."
"We would like to show you our thankfulness, Mr. Fabreve."
"Well, okay."
Michael kind of liked the treatment and being this late hour of the night, almost two hands together on the clock, he decided to let matters proceed.
From his perspective, watching Sihr slowly work Jason out of his glad rags, gave him quite the strip show. At first he tried looking around Sihr, to catch glimpses of Jason's barechest. Then Rafi said something to Sihr and he moved to the side.
"Hmm, is this part of the everyday service rendered upon us, Rafi?"
"If you wish it. Sihr and I will serve you well, Mr. Fabreve."
"Michael," he replies to Rafi, at adressing, while undressing him.
Michael is down to his briefs, as Jason lays out lengthwise on the bench, his arms at his sides. Sihr gets up, walks to the bathtub and turns on the faucets.
"Hmm, this one of the ways you're going to weasel your way into our lives, Rafi?"
"Sorry, Mr. Michael?"
"Um, nevermind."
For now, Michael is playing it by ear.
Rafi knows Michael is loving this, as he ponders the question on how to remove his briefs over the rather large erection. He looks down over Michael's shoulder, then catches Sihr's eyes, as he rises up from squatting near the faucets. Sihr makes a whistling noise, his index finger flicking through the air.
Michael looks down as two hands surround his torso and fingers slip under the elastic on his briefs. Rafi's hands project forward to account for the bulge, unpacking the cotton lingerie. He moves them down the hairy thighs. Similar to removing the dress slacks, Michael turns to Rafi, rests his hands on the mideast man's shoulders and lifts each leg to remove the briefs.
From behind him, he hears a splash. With his mouth open and gaping, he watches as Sihr's hairy ass is lowering Jason into the tub. Before he can grasp on the situation, he feels a bare body next to himself.
"After you, Mr. Michael?"
Right now, Michael is not up to arguing. At least that's what all his senses are telling him.
%
"Chiz, this is great."
"Do you like the food, Clay?"
"It's great. I'm not use to eating this good."
"Clay, I want to talk to you about something."
"Um, the dessert?"
"Nooooo." Chiz chuckles. "I just want you to know that I don't normally throw my money around to get places."
"Hmm.."
"I don't."
"Chiz, you don't have to explain yourself. I don't have the right to have to know what you do with your money."
"You do, Clay, if I want to share it."
"OKay, how about we take off for Aspen and we stop and get a couple of diamond rings on the way and....."
"Clay, stop it, damn it!"
Clay realizes he struck a wrong nerve.
"Oh... sorry Chiz. Just fooling around."
Chiz took his napkin out of his lap and placed it over his half-eaten plate.
"No, I'm sorry Clay."
"Nah. I guess I just spoiled our evening."
"No, it's my fault, Clay. Sometimes I let my sensitivity get the best of me."
"I got an idea, Chiz."
"What?"
"Can we finish up here and go somewhere else?"
"You're not comfortable here, Clay? I thought you would enjoy it."
"I am, Chiz. But I don't need all this fancy stuff to be with you."
"Okay."
Clay smiled when Chiz snapped his fingers and a waiter came over.
"What's so funny, Clay?"
"You."
"Picking on me again, huh?"
"It's just like in the movies when the rich guy wants something and at the snap of fingers, it happens."
"Did I just do that?"
"Yeah."
"Oh man, I hated it when uncle did that!"
"Hee hee... picking up on bad habits, huh Chiz?"
"C'mon, let's get outta here."
"What about the tab?"
"Ever hear of 'buy now, pay later'?"
"Yeah, that's what's wrong with the whole fuckin' economy!"
"It works here, so don't knock it!"
The two make their guided descent via the elevator, are escorted to the door.
"May I call a cab for you Mr. Caramallo?"
"Um, no I think we'll walk."
"Very well sir."
As they make their exit, the maitre'd allows another lad out with them.
"Hey, Chiz?"
"Yeah, Clay?"
"Don't look now, but we're being followed!"
"Hee heeee... yeah. Kind of a habit that uncle started. It's called plainclothes security."
"You're kidding?"
"No. I kid you not. Don't worry. Whoever it is will mind his own business."
"Got an idea."
"What?"
"Why don't you ask him to come walk with us."
"Why Clay?"
"I don't know. Show the guy a fun night. You know, like one of your big tips."
"He is kind of cute."
"Hey, but don't get any ideas about replacing me, Chiz."
"Never. Okay, let's do it! Hey, kid!"
"Me, Sir?"
"Yeah, come here a minute."
"Something wrong, sir?"
As the young guy approached, couldn't have been more than nineteen, twenty, Clay and Chiz have him stand between them.
"What's your name?"
"Shaheen."
"Shaheen," Chiz states, "we want you to be our friend tonight."
"Friend?"
"Sure. Enjoy having fun with us."
"I am not supposed to do that. Boukra says I should follow you until you are home safely."
"You leave Boukra to me. For tonight..." Chiz assures Shaheen.
Clay butts in, "It's morning, Chiz."
"Okay, for whatever time it is that we are having a good time, you are going to accompany us."
"I will need to be at work tomorrow afternoon."
"Not if you're still following us, Shaheen!"
Shaheen's face looks skeptical, as the three buds walk on down the boulevard. They board the subway and travel for about ten blocks, getting out and riding the escalator to the main floor.
"Grand Central Station?"
"Yes, Shaheen and I can guarantee that you wouldn't be at work tomorrow afternoon."
"Um, Chiz?"
"Yes, Clay?"
"I have to be at the theater at six. Remember?"
"Clay, why do you think you have an understudy?"
"No way. Rob's there in case I'm sick or something."
"Oh come on. Missing one performance is not going to kill the ratings."
"On the contrary. Rob might steal the show!"
Clay waits for Chiz's reaction and then begins laughing. Shaheen smiles, watching Chiz give Clay a noogie.
"So, where are we going?"
"Kennedy."
"Why are we going to Kennedy, Chiz?"
"Why else do people go to an airport?"
"Dah, Chiz!"
Shaheen is going along with the two's antics. The dark haired jock-type twenty year old watches the two interact, smiling where he thinks they show off their hilarity. Sometimes he is not sure that they are trying to be funny or are serious. After awhile he sees that the two can be both and laugh a lot.
"I am glad I came along with you Chiz."
"You are, Shaheen?"
"Yes."
"We need to get you more comfortable."
"I am happy with my waiter's uniform."
Clay says to Shaheen, "If what I think Chiz has in mind for us, Shaheen, you're going to look mighty out of place in those duds!"
"And what is it you think I have planned for us, Clay?"
"I dunno, but whatever it is, it better be loose!"
"Hmm... just might be at that, Clay."
Shaheen notices how Chiz puts his arm around Clay when he talks. They walk and talk quite close to one another. At the same time, Shaheen feels his sexual organs twitching at the contact.
"Mr. Caramallo?"
"Oh my God, Shaheen, it's Chiz and this is Clay."
Clay kids, "I can't believe that we've know you for an hour already Shaheen and we didn't introduce ourselves. How come you didn't do that, Chiz?"
"Me?"
"Yeah. You're the host!"
"Shaheen, I'm wholeheartedly sorry that I didn't introduce you to this dufous!"
"Dufous huh?"
Shaheen gets a kick out of watching the two cut up. He laughs out loudly when he views Clay pinch Chiz's ass, then hightails it across Grand Central Station, with Chiz in hot pursuit. They run around the almost vacant seating arrangement, people watching the melee. That is, until Clay plows into a security guard.
"Oh, sorry sir."
"A little too grown up for kids play, aren't we?"
"Yeah, sorry."
"You look familiar."
"Oh, yeah. My name's Clay Hawkings."
"Aren't you the guy in 'Long Distance Loving'?"
"Love."
"Yeah, whatever. Well, it's a pleasure to meet you."
By this time, Chiz and Shaheen have gathered around the security man and Clay, eavesdropping. Chiz, leans with his arm on Shaheen's shoulder.
"Clay, you going to introduce us?"
"Oh yeah. Um, who are you anyway?"
"Oh, sorry about that. Nice to meet you. I'm George Kapono."
"Nice to meet you George," Clay rubs it in, shaking his hand.
"Yeah, well sorry. I guess I got too wrapped up in you."
All the time the conversation is warming up, George's eyes are warming up in Shaheen's direction.
"Hey, what are they doing over there with all those cameras, George?"
"The reason I'm here. To keep guys like you from tripping over the equipment."
Clay apologizes, "Oh, then sorry we gave you a hard time, George."
"We?" Chiz directs, "If you hadn't pinched.."
Chiz gets a wallop in the tummy with the back of Clay's hand.
"This is my boyfriend..." Clay realizes he's slipped, but then figures it's water under the bridge, "Chiz Caramallo and our friend, Shaheen."
"Nice to meet you."
Chiz looks at Clay and they smile at each other, as George's hand goes right to Shaheen's.
"Excuse me, George!" Chiz says sarcastically, as George side-swipes him.
"Oh, sorry about that. Yes, it's good to meet you too, Chess."
"Chiz."
"Oh yea, pardon me."
Both can see that the young guy doesn't seem to be much older, if that, than Shaheen. Though Clay and Chiz, now standing together, about two feet from the other two see that George is kind of the mannerly man about.
"Dying breed."
"What is, Chiz?"
"Chivalry."
"Oh, George you mean?"
"Yeah, you weren't even that polite."
"I beg your fuckin' pardon, Chiz?"
"Hee heee... tearing off stage and leaving me there with my uncle to fight your battles, Clay?"
"Fuck that, Chiz. I did that on purpose so that it would give you the guts to stand up to him... but I can see you're still the little wimp!"
"Wimp, eh? I'd start tickling your privates, only I don't want George here to have fifty conniptions."
"Huh?"
"Nothing George. Just telling Clay here that you're not interested in having him autograph your chest."
"Whaaaaat?"
"He's joking George! Chiz is a real joker."
"Oh. Okay. Not that I wouldn't be against it, but it is kind of forward of you Clay."
"Hmm... you wouldn't be adverse to it, huh George?"
"Um, listen guys, I've got another fifteen minutes to kill and Shaheen tells me that you're off on some adventure. Mind if I tag along?"
"No, not at all George. Where should be wait for you?"
"Right here is good. Let me inform the camera crew."
Before either of them can acknowledge, George is history.
"So, Shaheen. You and George have something going?" Clay interrogates the mideastern jock.
"Going?"
In a row of ten unoccupied chairs, the three take up space.
"Shaheen, are you gay?" Chiz asks right out.
Looking down, the twenty year old picks at his fingernails.
Clay responds, his hand on the boy's shoulder, "You don't have to answer if you don't want to Shaheen."
"I'm not allowed to be gay."
Chiz and Clay glance at each other, looking between the troubled lad.
"But, Shaheen 'are' you gay?"
"I like men."
"Then you're gay."
"But..."
Clay takes the helm, "Shaheen, you can't fight what you are. If it's a disease, yes, you fight it. But somebody whom you are deep down inside you have to let it out. Let it blossom."
"Clay's right, Shaheen. If you put all your forces behind hiding the truth to what you are, it's only going to twist you up and make you unhappy."
"I want to be who I am. I kind of like Keoki."
"Keyoaki? What's that?"
"George. His name is really Keoki. He is Hawaiian."
"Hmm, I was wondering with a lastname like Cabono."
"It's Keoki Kapono."
Chiz kids, "Wow! You got that much out of George?"
Clay directs his way, "Shut up pencilneck!" Clay says to Chiz, then back to Shaheen, "If you like George... Keyoaki, then you should cut loose and go for him, Shaheen."
"It is not that simple. My brothers will not allow that."
"Your brothers?"
"At Maquamat's."
"I didn't know it was a family business."
"It's not a family business, Chiz. I call them my brothers, because we are of one people."
"Hmm... well, if they are not letting you be who you are, then I wouldn't call them exactly family."
"Chiz is right, Shaheen. 'Family' makes other family members happy and sticks by them."
"This is all so very hard to understand."
"Yeah, I know Shaheen."
"What's hard to understand?" The enclosing voice replies.
"Oh, George, you're back!"
George sure was back and nothing as pictured before, in his black unform. Even Shaheen had to stand and look at him dressed in the polo shirt, open at the top, showing off a mass of black hair that one could only speculate where it began and ended. The boot cut jeans showed off his rounded torso and the strap boots looked like they cost a pretty penny.
"Keoki, you look..." Shaheen took down a gulp, "very nice."
"Thank you Shaheen. Well, here I am. Where are you guys headed?"
After the initial shock wears off, Clay says, "Chiz is the one keeping us in suspense."
"Then Chiz, where are we headed?"
"I thought maybe we'd take a quick trip to Ft. Lauderdale."
Clay almost hits the dirt.
"Ft. Lauderdale, Chiz? That's like way down yonder!"
After registering with Shaheen, "Oh, that's way out of the question. I'll never get back to my job by four."
"I think it sounds cool," George says nonchalantly.
"At least somebody's with me," Chiz responds, giving Clay the evil stare.
"Don't look at me like that, Chiz Caramallo. This is all totally absurd."
George adds, "Of course we all pay our own way."
"Count me out," Shaheen replies.
"What I meant," George continues, "is I pay for Shaheen and myself and you, Chiz are responsible for your date."
That sounded totally agreeable to Chiz. He liked George's style, even though his intentions were to pay for all four of them. From the look at George's wardrobe, whether the other's recognized it, Chiz knew that if George could afford the Lacoste polo shirt, the Cavalli jeans and Ferragamo boots, he could most likely afford a trip around the world sixty times! Though on a security guard's salary, kind of bothered his curiousity.
For Shaheen, he didn't want to accept it, but he fell back on Chiz's and Clay's words from their chat. Plus the fact that he already had been treated to feeling the electricity of Keoki's arm around his shoulder made him want to explore his impulses.
"So, are we going to stand around and waste time or go waste some loot?"
"Chiz you know you're crazy?"
"I know Clay. Crazy times demand craziness!"
The two walked off towards the shuttle to Kennedy.
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