This story contains sexual situations between two males. If material of this nature offends you then you should not read this story. If you are under 18 years of age you are probably not legally allowed to read this story. This story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely coincidental. The author claims all copyrights in this story and no duplication or publication of this story is allowed (except by the web sites to which it has been posted) without the consent of the author.
I'm not sure how long I stood at the door with my mouth open, but I came back to earth with a thud when Tyson Hill cocked his head to one said and said, "You OK mate?".
I just nodded and shook his outstretched hand. "I ... you ... um ... fuck, sorry mate ... come in"
"You were expecting me, yeah?" he asked.
"Yes. Well, no. I was expecting Scott's brother, but I didn't know it was you ... well of course you're you, but I thought Scott's brother was, well ... I thought he wasn't Tyson Hill, and ... shit, I'm rambling." I felt my face reddening.
Tyson grinned. "Sorry Mike. Scotty can be a shithead sometimes. I think he's just had a bit of fun at your expense."
"I thought you were coming by with him?" I asked, as I started to regain my composure.
"He'll be up soon. I let it slip to Mum that he'd had a bit of an accident, and she's on the phone to him now hassling him to come home. I told her he's fine, but she's a bit over-protective because he's the blue- eyed baby."
I was suddenly conscious of the fact I had a Tyson Hill CD playing. As if reading my thoughts, he smirked "haven't you got something a little less obvious to play!"
"Well I didn't know Tyson Hill would be dropping by," I laughed. "I've got some Kings Of Leon or the new Crowded House album ..."
"Nah," he smiled back. "I'm pulling your chain. It's kinda nice listening to me in someone else's place! Nice digs, by the way."
We were moving towards the lounge when the doorbell rang. It was George, armed with a sandwich platter and a six-pack of ice cold beers. I'm sure he was surprised to see me in briefs and looking so flustered, but he didn't bat an eye.
"Here are your items, Mr. Stewart," he said, putting them on the table.
"It's Mike, George, and thank you," I replied. "George, this is Tyson Hill."
This time, George did bat an eye. "Oh, Mr Hill," he gasped. "I didn't know Mr. Stewart knew you!"
"The name's Ty, George, and I've only just met Mike. He knows my brother Scotty, who's staying in my apartment."
"Oh yes sir, and a fine young man he is too," George enthused. "So very well mannered for a teenager. Seeing he was staying in your apartment, I assumed the renovations had been postponed."
"They're just about to start, George," Tyson said.
"Well please let me know if there is anything I can do to help in any way sir," George said. "And by the way, I really enjoy listening to your album."
"You bought my album??" asked Tyson incredulously.
"Yes sir, and I've loaded it on to my iPod as well."
Tyson and I cracked up and as I pushed a $10 note into George's palm, Tyson added, "Seeing it's on your iPod now, bring the album by sometime George, and I'll sign it for you. Then you can flog it on eBay for three times what it cost!"
The remark lightened the moment and George was all smiles as he made his exit. When I walked back into the apartment, Tyson was standing in the lounge taking in the view.
I was equally mesmerized by my own view – Tyson Hill in the flesh, in my apartment! And though I thought he was gorgeous in his magazine spreads and film clips, in person he was absolutely stunning. A little shorter than he looks on screen, but as magnificently built.
I went through the mental check-list that was always in my head, and I just kept ticking all the boxes.
In shape? Was he ever!
Good looking? Try beautiful ...
Friendly? Disarmingly so ...
Confident? Self-assured and relaxed, but seemingly without a hint of arrogance.
Well groomed? My perfect man; Levis that showcased a delectable ass, a black tee shirt that covered his muscled arms. Not too muscled, though. Just right.
Nice face? Long eyelashes, piercing blue eyes, 5 o'clock shadow. I wanted to lick his stubble.
Nice smile? It lights up the room. He has dimples when he smiles, and his perfect white teeth dazzle. Just like Scott's do ...
Gay? Damn! He likes the ladies. And according to the gossip mags, there's no shortage of them.
I only snapped out of my reverie when Tyson said, "Man, this is some view. You own this place?"
"I wish!" I laughed.
After a moment Tyson raised his eyebrow and casually remarked, "Most lawyers I've met have been dressed a little more formally ..."
Christ, I was in my briefs and undone shirt. "Yeah, the doorbell rang and I thought it was the grocery stuff being delivered," I chuckled. "Help yourself to a sandwich and I'll throw on some clothes and grab a couple of beers."
In the kitchen, I wondered to myself why I'd been so dumbstruck at the door. It hadn't even entered my mind that the songwriting brother Scott had referred to was Tyson Hill. But it's not like I was a newcomer to meeting famous people. The law firm I worked for acted on behalf of many record companies and television stations and I'd wined and dined some of the world's biggest names over the past few years.
No, it wasn't his fame that left me stammering like a schoolboy. It was, without doubt, his looks. Man, Tyson Hill was the hottest guy I think I'd ever laid eyes on. If a genie offered to conjure up my perfect man, then he'd be standing in my lounge room.
I felt a twitch in the basket of my jeans, but reminded myself that he was a ladies man. Ah well ...
When I returned to the lounge, Tyson was sitting on a couch, chomping on a sandwich. I handed him a beer and sat down opposite him.
"Cheers Tyson," I said, raising my beer.
"Call me Ty, mate," he smiled and again I found myself almost hypnotized by his sparkling eyes. He raised his bottle. "Cheers."
"I wonder what's keeping Scott?" I asked him.
"He'll be dealing with Mum," Ty laughed. "Scotty's 17 and he wants a bit of independence and privacy, but Mum worries about him too much and she's pretty persuasive. She'll be wanting him home so she can feed him some good farm grub! He's a good kid, and he loves Mum and Dad, so there'll be some haggling going on!"
Almost on cue, the doorbell rang.
"Come in," I called out, and a few moments later Scott walked into the lounge.
"Hey Mike," he said, sounding a little flat.
"You OK, mate?" his brother asked.
"Mum says I've gotta go home tomorrow," he said disappointedly. "I told her it was only a bloody fall and I was fine, but she just kept going on and on about how I'm probably eating all the wrong foods and stuff. And now I won't be able to go to your showcase on Bedarra Island."
"Yeah, bummer mate," said Ty sympathetically. "But you know there's no point arguing. Eventually she'll get Dad to call you and then there'll be no negotiating!"
"It's so not fair," Scott replied.
"Hey, `It's So Not Fair' sounds like a good title for a song mate! Can you go get my guitar?"
"Asshole," said Scott, who smirked despite himself.
"You want a sandwich Scott?" I asked, gesturing to the platter.
"Nah, thanks Mike," he replied. "I just wanted to let Ty know I was going to hang out with some of the guys I met at the beach the other day."
"You think that's wise Scotty?" Ty asked.
"Why isn't it wise?"
"Well, that's where you fell, and knowing you you'll get there and you'll wanna have a surf or climb rocks and it's probably best to let your back mend properly before you start doing all that."
"Shit, Ty," Scott shot back. "You're starting to sound like Mum ..."
"Well if that's the case, go to your room!"
Scott laughed. "Man, it's not fair. If I have to go home tomorrow, can't I just hang with the guys for a while? Tomorrow afternoon Mum'll have me hooked up to a life support machine ..."
Ty chuckled. "OK mate, you can go. But no climbing, so surfing, and no mucking around. And take your mobile with you so I can get you if I need to."
Scott stood to attention and saluted. "Yes sir!" he barked.
"Go on, piss off before I change my mind."
"Thanks Ty," Scott grinned. "See ya later, Mike. And thanks for agreeing to meet with my big brother the songwriter!"
It was my turn to say it. "Asshole!"
After seeing Scott out I said to Ty, "You two seem really close. It's nice. If I'd told my little brother to do something he didn't wanna do when he was 17 he'd have told me to perform a particularly primal act with myself."
"Yeah, well I'm sure Scotty wants to tell me to fuck myself sometimes, but he's knows I'd smack him in the ear if he did," Ty explained. "He only gets to be away from home and in the `big smoke' if I'm around, so he knows he's gotta play his cards right."
I grabbed a couple more beers and when I sat down again I asked Ty to tell me about the publishing deal he'd been offered. He reached behind himself, pulled a folded document from his back pocket and handed it to me.
"I verbally agreed to this deal before I had a record deal," he said. "Nobody seemed interested and I'd got to the point where I thought the album was never going to come out, so I figured I may as well register the songs with a publisher and maybe someone could record them.
"But now that the album's out and it's been successful, they want to hold me to the verbal agreement. And I've had people telling me I should be getting more than what they offered."
I unfolded the document and smiled the moment I saw the letterhead. "McPhersons," I said.
"You know them?"
"Oh, yeah," I replied. "We're old sparring partners. Old man McPherson is a prick. The last time I went head to head with him was when Mandy McElroy tried to sue him for false accounting, and the bastard won on a technicality."
"So you're saying there's no point even trying?"
"Mate," I said, as I flicked over the pages. "This is a lousy agreement. It gives you $15,000 for the `Love On The Rocks' album. And it's sold ... what already?"
"Well it's triple platinum now, which means 210,000 copies or more," Ty estimated.
"Ty, you should be getting way more than 15 grand. You want me to try?"
Ty seemed genuinely surprised. "I wasn't expecting you to do anything Mike," he said. "I just thought you might give me your professional opinion."
"I'm happy to do it, mate" I said. "I wouldn't mind having another go at the old cunt!"
"Hey! That'd be awesome, Mike," Ty beamed. "I'll pay you of course."
I waved me hand. "Nah, don't worry. This one's gonna be a pleasure."
"But I can't let you do it for nothing."
"OK then," I grinned. "How about letting me take you out to dinner. Anywhere you like. I just wanna be able to go back to work and casually mention that I had dinner with Tyson Hill!"
Ty started to laugh. "That's real nice of you Mike. But I've gotta say that right at the moment, it can be a bit of an ordeal when I'm out in public. I just kinda get swamped and I can't really relax. Scotty said you fixed him a steak on the barbie, and I reckon this apartment is the best joint in town, so how about we just chill out here?"
"Sounds good to me, mate," I said. "What's say 7 o'clock?"
"7 o'clock it is!" Ty smiled. At the door, he slapped me on the back and shook my hand firmly. "Really Mike, I appreciate this. Thanks again mate."
"No worries," I responded, and before closing the door I allowed myself a few seconds to admire his delicious butt as he strode towards the lift.
As I tidied up the bottles and plates, I mentally went over my plan of action. I made a few notes about what my game plan should be and who to ring first, and then scribbled down a list of things I needed for dinner.
I called George and read the list to him, and asked him to make sure everything was delivered by 5pm. And then I took a deep breath ... I had work to do!
My first call was to old man McPherson, and I knew he'd take the call. Normally, he's hard to get but whenever he's had a conquest, he can't resist the urge to gloat. He was, as I expected, pompous and condescending. He seemed a little taken aback when I mentioned Ty's name.
"Since when have you been representing Hill?" he demanded.
"I don't," I replied. "He's a mate and he was very grateful when I pointed out the escape clause in your agreement."
"There's no escape clause in our agreement," McPherson thundered.
"Twice in the document, mate," I said as confidently as I could, "you refer to prevailing circumstances', and at the time the agreement was drawn up the prevailing circumstances' were that Tyson Hill was an unsigned artist. But the agreement wasn't signed, and if he signs it now, the `prevailing circumstances' are that he's a major star with a triple-platinum album on his hands."
"He verbally agreed to the deal," McPherson responded, with a little less certainty in his voice.
"Fifteen grand is an insult and you know it," I snapped.
"So what are you suggesting then?" he snapped back.
"I think 300 thousand is more fair and reasonable, considering his sales record and future potential."
I swear McPherson coughed and spluttered so much, he was on the verge of a coronary. "You have to be fucking kidding me?"
"No, I'm serious McPherson. There's a queue a mile long wanting this guy so you've got until 4.30 to email me an amended agreement for signing. If not, consider the offer declined."
I took enormous pleasure hanging up the phone.
My next call was to Ben Chappell, a mate of mine whose company The Song Factory looked after the publishing catalogues of a few of Australia's best known songwriters. We spent a few minutes catching up on each other's news and reminiscing about the last time we saw each other, on a chartered ferry for the launch of the last Mainstay album.
"So Benny," I asked. "You got any interest in Tyson Hill?"
"Fuck, we'd have killed to get him, but McPhersons have stitched him up."
"Actually, they haven't, mate," I replied. "And after 4.30, he's quite possibly up for grabs."
"You representing him now, Mike?" Ben asked.
"Not officially," I explained. "Just for this one agreement."
"What's the price?"
"300 grand, and first right of refusal on the next two albums," I said confidently.
"Well, he's certainly worth that, and the majors would probably pay it gladly. It's a bit more than we'd usually pay, even for an artist as big as Tyson Hill. But I'll put it to our business guys. When do you need to know?"
"5pm if you can, mate" I said.
"Don't think I can pull anything together that quickly, Mike."
"OK, but I need to know sometime tonight. If not, no sweat. I'll try Warners in the morning. I just wanted to give you first bite."
"Thanks Mike, you're a mate," Ben enthused, as we ended the call.
I couldn't help but smile, knowing that one way or another Ty was gonna get a whole lot more money than he expected. And the best part was, it was so easy. He obviously has no real grasp on how marketable he is.
My thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell, and much earlier than I expected, George had arrived, pushing a trolley with all the items I asked for.
"George, you're a legend," I smiled. "In the kitchen if you would."
I helped George unpack ... a fillet of beef, two bottles each of excellent red and white wine, another 6- pack of beer, tomatoes, butter, herbs, five star olive oil and balsamic vinegar, eggs, chocolate, cream, honeycomb and a selection of breads.
"What do I owe you George?" I asked.
"I ordered it all from Dockendorfs, Mr Stewart," he replied. "I had them charge it to your room. It came to $124, but I'm entitled to a 40% discount because of their contract with the Grand, so I applied my discount card and it came down to $74.40."
"You're the best, George!" I grinned, and handed him a $50 note.
"That's very generous sir, but it's too much," said George quite earnestly.
"Remember you once told me George that you always endeavored to make sure the Grand's guests were happy?"
"Yes sir," George replied.
"I'll be unhappy if you don't take this," I smiled.
George accepted the note graciously. "You're always so very kind Mr Stewart," he said softly.
I rolled my eyes. "It's Mike," I laughed. "I keep telling you, Mr Stewart is my Dad!"
I saw George out and returned to the kitchen, going over the meal in my head. If there's one good thing to say about Aaron, my ex, he was a damn good cook and I'd picked up a lot of great tips from him. Knowing now what a taste he had for rough trade, I'm grateful that's all I picked up from him.
So, it was fillet of beef with tomato concasse, roasted garlic and herbed butter, and for dessert, a chocolate and honeycomb mousse. I reminded myself again that I wasn't setting the scene for seduction, but I did want to serve my favourite singer a great meal.
I went about the preparation, resisting the temptation to check my email until 4.30. Sure enough, old man McPherson was festering in my Inbox, with an attachment. I clicked on it and the message was simple and to the point: "It's our final offer, Stewart. Tyson Hill is morally obliged to accept it."
Yep, and a whole lot you know about morals old man, I thought to myself as I clicked on the attachment. I scrolled through the agreement to find the `remuneration clause' has been amended from an advance of $15,000 to $100,000. I chuckled. This time, McPherson, you lose.
I knew I was taking a risk turning McPherson down before I had something else in place but I couldn't resist that urge to shoot the fucker down in flames before he finished work for the day. I made sure my email was as courteous as his was:
McPherson, I acknowledge receipt of your revised offer of a publishing advance for Mr Tyson Hill, which has been declined. I thank you for your interest, Regards, Michael Stewart.
Pushing send gave me the greatest joy, and I quickly followed it with an email to Ben Chappell:
Hey Benny Boy, Tyson Hill is yours if the price is right by the end of the night. Go tiger, Mike.
It was now in the laps of the Gods, and if there was no new deal on the table tonight, there would be tomorrow or the next day at the latest.
I put it out of my mind and returned to my preparations. This time, I would serve dinner at the table, which I laid simply, making the best use of the apartment's Wedgewood crockery and Waterford wine glasses. It had been a scorcher of an afternoon in Coolangatta but the late afternoon sea breeze was pleasant so I opened the sliding doors leading to the balcony and let fresh air fill the place.
I started to prepare my tomato concasse and suddenly remembered what a fiddly fuck of a dish it was. Blanching the tomatoes, peeling them, chilling them, quartering and deseeding them ... I was starting to regret the choice, but I ended up with a respectable looking side dish. I made my herbed butter, roasted the garlic and tied the fillet with string to help it hold its shape.
By comparison, the chocolate and honeycomb mousse was a cinch. Just four ingredients, and no cooking. I poured the mixture into parfait glasses and put them in the fridge to set. I opened a bottle of red and let it breathe, and all was ready.
It was 6.30 which gave me 30 minutes to freshen up. I showered quickly, slapped on a little of Kenneth Cole's Black', put on a pair of clean jeans, a dark green, long-sleeved Make Poverty History' tee shirt ... and turned the radio to Triple J. After firing up the barbeque, I poured a glass of Coldstream Hills Chardonnay and watched the end of the news.
It was about five past seven when the doorbell rang and on opening it I was confronted with Ty wearing a beanie pulled down over his head and forehead, and wearing sunglasses at the wrong end of the day. He noticed my surprise.
"Hey Mike," he grinned. "Sorry about the clobber. There's a rumor around this place that Tyson Hill is staying here and there are chicks hanging around in the lobby."
"Really?" I laughed. "Wanna go looking for him and get his autograph?"
"Nah," Ty grinned back. "I know his brother and apparently he's a wanker!"
As Ty walked in he again stunned me, this time by handing me a bottle of 1976 Grange Hermitage Cabernet Sauvignon.
"Mate, you didn't have to do this," I exclaimed. "This must've set you back around $600!"
"Yeah, I'd like to say I paid for it," he smirked. "But it was a gift from my record company when the album went to Number One. I was saving it for a special occasion!"
I gently pulled its cork and set it aside to breathe. I picked up my Coldstream Hills and held it up for Ty. "This is probably gonna taste like cat's piss by comparison," I chuckled.
"How about we have a beer first, mate," he replied. "Then the cat's piss and then we'll have the Grange."
I grabbed two beers and we wandered to the balcony to watch the sunset. Far below us, I could see a horde of girls and young women chattering excitedly, obviously expecting Tyson Hill to walk into their lives any moment. I smiled to myself; he's not going anywhere soon, girls!
I excused myself and went to the kitchen to seal the beef in a frypan before putting it on the barbeque and setting the timer for 20 minutes. Back on the balcony, I stood looking out to sea and told Ty I'd made a call to McPhersons and given them an ultimatum, and that they'd come back to me with an offer I consider wasn't good enough so I'd declined it.
Ty seemed surprised. "Really?", he asked. "How much did they offer?"
I took a deep breath and replied, "A hundred grand."
Ty looked startled. "Fuck, you turned it down??" he asked, incredulously.
"I did mate," I replied. "He's a prick. He knows your catalogue is worth much more than that. Just trust me – I'll get you a proper deal."
"My songs are worth more than 100 big ones?" he asked, eyes wide.
"Of course they are Ty," I smiled. "You're handing any publisher a goldmine. Please trust me"
We finished our beers just as the timer on the barbeque sounded, so I sat Ty at the table, and set about dishing up the beef fillet topped with herbed butter and the tomato concasse.
"This looks pretty fucking good, mate," he grinned. "You a chef in a former life?"
"No mate, I just picked up a few hints along the way! Enjoy!"
Over dinner, we talked about our backgrounds, our families and how we ended up with the careers we now pursued. Ty was as interested in my own journey as much as I was fascinated by his. The only time we wandered from the topic was when he commented that the chocolate and honeycomb mousse was "magic". So too was the vintage Grange Hermitage, which we savoured through dessert.
After the meal, we retired to the lounge to continue our chat about our respective pasts and when the bottle of Grange was finished, Ty stretched his arms and said "that hot tub on the balcony looks mighty inviting!"
"I can turn it on and it'll be ready in about 15 minutes," I replied. "I can find you a pair of Speedos if you like."
Again I melted when Ty cocked his head slightly and looked at me with a sardonic grin. "Who wears swimmers in a hot tub?" he asked innocently. He was right, the hot tub was designed for nudity. It was more than I might ever dream of, to soak naked with Tyson Hill.
I wandered on to the balcony and switched on the hot tub motor, returning to the lounge room and offering Ty a cleansing ale. "Give it 15 minutes or so and the water should be perfect."
We finished our beers, and Ty needed to take a leak. When he returned, I was feeling the water in the hot tub and let him know we were ready to go.
Without any awkwardness, Ty began to shuck his clothes and I followed suit. Trying not to be obvious, I kept one eye on his disappearing clothes and finally, he was standing on my balcony in his naked glory. He was perfect. Broad chest, superb pecs, a killer six-pack and beneath, a generously sized flaccid cock and even lower, a set of bollocks that looked like ping pong balls in a bag.
We were naked simultaneously and I sensed his eyes doing a sweeping glance of my gear before we turned and hopped into the tub. Instantly I felt relaxed as the warm pumping jets did their thing on my muscles. I was mellow from the beer and wine, I'd been well fed, and I was naked in a hot tub in my apartment with Tyson Hill; was 2010 being good to me or what?
As we soaked in the swirling water, Ty told me the story of his musical odyssey and his determination to share his lyrics and tunes with the world. I found myself touched by his earnest goals, and entranced by his naivety about the music business. I also found myself wanting to take him under my wing.
Oh, who was I kidding? I found myself wanting to push my head under the bubbles and suck his cock until he exploded in my mouth, and then I wanted to slide my rock hard cock into his guts and fuck him non-stop for a week.
Can someone tell me why the most perfect guy in the world for me has to be straight? I inwardly smiled at the irony of Ty's brother Scott's earlier remark, "it's so not fair."
No, it's not. But that's how it is.
Ty went on to tell me that tomorrow night, he would be performing a private showcase on Bedarra Island for the rock media, acoustically singing his hits to date as a thank you, and previewing a couple of tracks from his forthcoming second album.
Out of the blue, he remembered that because Scott was returning home in the morning, he wouldn't be with him for the private performance.
"Why don't you come with me, mate?" he asked.
"Hey, thanks Ty. But how would you explain me away? The record company's paying and I'm not part of the music media."
"They booked some pretty good accommodation and they knew someone was coming with me. Now instead of my brother, it's my lawyer mate! Man, I'd love to have you there."
I thought about it for oh, 10 seconds, before replying, "OK mate, if you're sure? I'd love to."
We'd been in the tub for more than half an hour when the phone rang. And rang. Eventually, I knew I had to answer it. I stood up and climbed out of the tub, feeling once again that Ty's eyes were roaming my body. Or was that wishful thinking?
I padded naked to the lounge and picked up the phone to find George apologizing for the interruption, but an urgent fax had come through from The Song Factory. You beauty! I asked George to bring it up immediately.
While Ty continued to soak in the tub, I wrapped a towel around my waist and paced the foyer until George rang the bell. I took the papers, tipped him and walked into the kitchen.
The fax header had a handwritten message from Ben:
Mike, The guys are stoked to get first dibs with this one – thanks so much. Unfortunately the best we can do is $250K. I know you can probably get more from the majors, but if you go with us, you know we'll look after him. Thanks again mate, and fingers crossed, Ben
I punched the air. It was just how I hoped it would be. A quarter of a million bucks!
I tried to play it cool as I walked back out to the balcony where the rock world's most gorgeous rock star was toweling his glorious body. We slipped back into our clothes and Ty followed me to the laundry where we dropped off our wet towels.
"A beer?" I asked.
"It's getting late," Ty sighed. "I've got the show tomorrow night, so maybe it should be a coffee?"
Ty wandered around the apartment as I brewed the coffee and I called him when it was ready. We both stood sipping the brew until the moment was right. "There's been an offer since I knocked McPhersons back," I said. "They just faxed."
"Really?" Ty asked. "Better than what McPhersons upped it to?"
"Yeah, a little bit better, mate," I replied, before handing him the fax. He flicked the pages quickly, clearly not taking in any of the details.
"So how's this better than the McPhersons deal?" he asked, sounding a little confused.
"Page 2, Clause 4," I smiled.
He rummaged through the pages until he found the relevant passage and I wallowed in the tension of the moment until the penny dropped.
"Oh fuck," Ty exclaimed. "Fucking Jesus. Are you shitting me?? Two hundred and fifty thousand fucking dollars?? OH MY GOD! ..."
For a fleeting moment, I thought of how his reaction mirrored my own when I opened the door the previous day to find my musical hero waiting. I tried not to have a shit-eating grin on my face, but I just couldn't help it.
"You don't have to accept it, Ty," I said. "It's the first call I made. You might be worth more. The reason I'm showing you this one is because Ben Chappell's a mate, and I know The Song Factory will look after you. But it's totally your call."
Was I imagining it, or where there tears in Ty's eyes? "Mike, this is way more than I ever even dreamed of. If you say it's good, I'm in. Thank you, man. Seriously, I was resigned to accepting 15 grand and I'd earmarked $10K of it to help mum and dad with the farm."
I smiled. "Well I guess now you can help them a whole lot more!"
Ty's face was still a picture of shock and elation. "Man, fair dinkum, I don't know what to say! I could just about fucking kiss you ..."
"Well why don't you?" I thought. Well, I thought I thought the thought. But I realized from the look on Ty's face that I'd actually said those words out loud. I cringed.
Our eyes locked and for a couple of moments, when suddenly he raised his right arm and I thought maybe he was going to punch me in the face. Instead, his hand wrapped around the back of my head and pulled my face to his, closing his lips to mine. His mouth was soft and sweet. The world seemed to stop. This was no ordinary kiss, rather a deep, probing, heart-stopping kiss, unlike any I'd ever had.
In that moment, Tyson Hill took from me a piece of my soul, a piece I willingly gave. The kiss ended, and Ty was looking straight at me. His beautiful blue eyes were sparkling and he smiled.
"Mate, I can't find the words to thank you. I just never expected this."
In shock, I wondered whether he didn't expect a quarter of a million bucks, or didn't expect to kiss me. He stood back, raised his hands in a prayer pose and said, "thank you Mike. Thanks so much."
Before heading to the lift, he reached out a hand, touched the side of my face and said, "I owe you big time, mate..."
As I closed the door and leaned against it, my hand popped the buttons on my bulging jeans and my rampant cock was in my hand. Seconds later my balls erupted, propelling several ropes of scalding cum across the foyer tiles.
As I lay in bed that night, I relived that kiss over and over. And Ty's parting words were on constant replay in my mind ... "I owe you big time, mate ..."
Please feel free to email me your comments. marcusis32@live.com.au