The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons in towns, cities, or governmental areas, in which the story is staged. If a sexual scene 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 state and countries, you are not allowed to read this story by law. Check with your local laws regarding such. Sexual safety matters. This is fiction. Use protection in real life. `Got condom?'
"The Tidelight Zone" 07 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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As the sun peeked up over the ocean breakers, morning began to turn to it's normal mode, on the island. For some, the island holiday paced itself with a countdown towards the end of rest and relaxation. For Elton, Marc, Anthony and Mehmet, their escapades would be coming to a halt within two days' time.
"And where have you been young man?"
"Sleeping, father."
The nineteen year old could tell he was in deep shit. Part of the proof came, when his father walked over to him.
"Liar!"
Mehmet nearly fell over from the back hand across his face. From the long talk he had with Joaquin, which bolstered his confidence, Mehmet stood right back up, as if a retracting bowling pin, getting back in formation.
"I called your room twice this morning. Elton told me he hadn't seen you since two o'clock. Now, cut the malarkey and tell me this instant, young man, where you have been?"
Already Mehmet could see his father losing control, undoing his belt buckle. Instead of thinking about giving in, confessing his unorthodox lifestyle, in his father's eyes, he began to take on a notch of confidence.
"I don't have to answer to you."
"Watch that tone of voice, Mehmet. I'm warning you."
"I have taken enough warnings from you father. I am nineteen... almost twenty years old. I am a man. I have a right to choose how I want to live."
The leather belt began to slither through the belt loops of his father's pants.
"As long as I am supporting you, Mehmet, you will do as I tell you."
"Maybe it's time that I started to carve out a life of my own, father."
"You? On your own?" His father giggled. "Your mother and I have cared for you since your birth. What do you know about what you want, Mehmet?"
"I know that I'm a gay man. I will not find peace until I am living the life of a gay man!"
It's the exact opposite glib Mehmet's father wanted to hear out of his son's lips. In the past, a good licking of the leather belt across the boy's flesh seemed to take all feelings, all emotions of the gay lifestyle from his son's mind.
"The shirt. Take it off."
"No."
"Mehmet, I'll caution you only once more. The shirt!"
Standing there, letting his father's dictating lines go over his head, the defiant teen stood his ground. Even though he had a shirt on, the belt, winding around his waist, caused him much pain. However, Mehmet had already programmed his mind that this would be the last act of punishment his father dealt out to him.
From the first lash, Mehmet had fallen to the floor, crunching himself up into a little ball. The second lash of his father's belt cracked over his shoulders.
"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!" Mehmet called out.
As his father launched the belt a third time, the door swung open.
"Who the hell are you?" Mehmet's father said of the uniformed man standing in the doorframe.
"Your son's lover!"
Looking up, from his hunched over position on the floor, Mehmet emitted, "Joaquin?"
"Good thing I followed you. C'mon, Mehmet. I'm taking you away from this monster!"
"The nerve. Are you as insuboordinate with your superiors?"
Totally ignoring Mehmet's father, Joaquin reached for the nineteen year old's arm, helping him up. It's then that Mehmet's father made a dreadful error, on his part.
"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkshit! What tha fuck?" Joaquin called out as the leather belt struck the back of his hand.
Mehmet wound up saving his father from getting choked to death, in Joaquin's death grip.
"No, Joaquin... Stop... this is not the way to handle this. You be just as bad as my father."
The death grip around Mehmet's father's throat, pinned to the wall, loosened. Belt dropping from his hands, Mehmet's father dropped to his ass, sitting there, trying to recuperate from the loss of oxygen. Picking up the belt, Joaquin tore open the sliding glass door and tossed it over the balcony. Hours later, the pool company would wonder how a mens leather belt got tangled up in the filtering system!
"C'mon, I'll help you get your things, Mehmet. If you're smart, you'll stay down, pops!"
Mehmet's father played it smart. With two suitcases packed, Joaquin held one, opening the door.
"Where are you going Mehmet?"
In from her morning jog, Mehmet's mother stood, her keycard all ready to swipe the lock.
"Mother... I... have to go."
She looked not at Mehmet, but the latino that held the second suitcase.
"This is Joaquin, mother. He is my lover. I am leaving to stay with him."
"Leaving? But Mehmet."
Setting down the suitcase he held, Mehmet embraced his mom.
"Does your father have anything to do with this?"
Joaquin stepped from hiding Mehmet's father, still sitting on his ass, against the wall. Mrs. DuValier really didn't have to ask, nor guess why Mehmet was leaving. However, when she saw the crumbled up look on her husbands face, it told all. For now, she could see the only recourse for her son.
"Where will you go?"
"I'm going to stay with Joaquin."
Mrs. DuValier approached Joaquin. Not at all like Mehmet's father, distant from the homophobic view, mainly because of her talks with Elton's mom.
The woman, still crude in her gender education, asks, "Are you gay?"
"Yes, ma'am," Joaquin answered, the pitch of his voice much more subdued, understanding.
"How long have you known my son?"
"We met a few hours ago."
"I see."
Very different from Mehmet's father, Joaquin could see the genuine concern the mother had for her son, in her eyes, plus the way she conducted the gentle `interrogation'.
He tried to make the transition for her as soft as possible, telling her, "Ma'am, I like Mehmet very much. It's only been a few hours I've known him, but I'm hoping with time, we can both develop some strong bonds."
"Mother," Mehmet adds, "I like Joaquin. I want to be with him. I cannot live forever with you and father. I have to find my own way."
Tears came to his mother's eyes. She returned to Mehmet, hugging him.
"We have two more days here. You will call and tell me where you are staying, Mehmet, please?"
"I will mother."
Joaquin offers, "You can come and visit us before you leave, Mrs. DuValier."
"I'd like that, thank you."
"We better be going. I have to get to the hospital."
"Hospital? What's wrong."
"Mother, Joaquin works at the army hospital."
Before leaving, toting the two suitcases, Mehmet's mother took out her wallet and offered her son the rest of the spending money for their vacation, five hundred dollars. He took two hundred. Taking off in his 4x4, the two headed for Joaquin's condominium.
Having been there once already, Mehmet already knew that Joaquin shared the spacious condo with Phil Barrduc, whom paired off with Sean Nash, at the hospital. When they walked in, Phil asked to talk with Joaquin.
There wasn't much to say. Joaquin could already see that Sean was making himself at home. Not much new could be conjured up, Phil seeing Mehmet walk in, Joaquin toting one of his suitcases.
Both boys, on pins and needles, yet confident things would come out rosy, lightened up when both house-mates ok'd the clearance for both teens to move in.
"I think we should celebrate, but later. I'm already a half hour late."
It was good news to Phil's ears. His car was in the shop and it saved him taxi fare. Wishing the boys a good day, the two jarheads lit out in Joaquin's 4x4, telling them they'd be back around four.
"C'mon Mehmet, lets see what's in the fridge!" Sean said, making a beeline for the kitchen.
Not knowing where it is, Mehmet called out, "Wait up, Sean."
When the two young men opened the fridge, they looked high and low.
Sean asks, "Want to split an olive?"
"I have idea."
Turning his head to the right, he waited for it to pop from Mehmet's lips.
"Shoot," he replied.
"My mother gave me some money. We can go buy some!"
Liking the idea, rather than starving from the lack of essentials, nor caring to sort through the ten or so Chinese food containers, nor the uncovered, dried out pizza, the two decided to set on their own, for their first food shopping trip.
Exiting the Ko'olani unit, Mehmet and Sean boarded an elevator.
"I just thought of something, Mehmet."
"What's that, Sean?"
"No wheels."
"Wheels?" Mehmet made a looping motion in the air.
"Yeah. Auto... car... jeep... SUV... something. Anything to drive."
"How about taxi?"
Throwing his hands up, Sean replied, "I suppose that's something!"
Mehmet smiled. Sean was a funny guy.
Stepping from the elevator, into the main lobby, the two headed for the door. Sean, the spokesman for the two asks the doorman, "Say, how do we get a taxi?"
"What unit?" The doorman asked.
Poking Mehmet in the ribs, Sean asks, "What unit?"
Mehmet shrugged his shoulders.
The doorman, whom looked to be no more than thirty-five, burst out laughing. Mehmet and Sean looked at him, as if he had two heads.
"Forgive me gentlemen, but I know for a fact that you couldn't have made your way in without being attached to someone living here."
`The guy got that right,' Sean thought for a few sec's. A quick recall had him thinking about his ass attached to Phil's cock last night.
"We're staying with Phil Baraduc," Sean told him.
Mehmet put in the name of his companion, "...And Joaquin Alejandro Fernandez," giving the full recognition.
"Lucky gentlemen. That would put you in penthouse number eleven."
"Yeah, it's up there," Sean responded.
"Sure is," the doorman giggled. "Best damn penthouse in all of Ko'olani."
"Wait, say that again, please?" Mehmet asked.
"What?"
Sean spoke for him, saying, "Ko'o-whatever."
"Ko'olani?"
"That's it. Kind of fancy place, I'd say."
"Fancy, you say? I suspect that Misters Baraduc and Fernandez didn't fill you in on the real estate values?"
"The what?" Sean asked, not understanding.
However, Mehmet comprehended, saying, "I think we are staying at expensive place."
"You think?" Sean asked, now turning his attention towards his friend.
"So, where is it that you young men are headed?"
"Shopping."
"Very well."
"Hey, where's he going?" Sean asked.
"I don't know," Mehmet replied.
"Kinda rude of the dude."
In seconds, the doorman came back.
"Your limosine will be arriving in seven minutes. Would you care to wait in the lounge, sirs?"
"Sirs?" Sean questioned. "We're college jocks. I'm Sean Nash and this here is Mehmet."
Mehmet, realizing he never told Sean his last name, shook the doorman's hand, saying, "Mehmet DuValier."
"Not one of `thee' DuValier's?"
Mehmet shrugged his shoulders. The only two DuValiers he knew had been his father and mother.
"I don't think we're related," Mehmet informed him, not knowing whom he even referred to.
However, Sean wasn't letting this slide.
"Who you talking about, um...."
"Jerry's the name. Anytime you need anything, you pick up the phone and ask for me."
"Cool!" Sean replied.
Mehmet, wanting badly to fit into `any' scene, mimiced, "Cool!"
It didn't come across as natural as Sean's endeavor, but it was `cool'!
"As for the DuValier's... well, the plural no longer applies, since the parents passing. Regis DuValier. Penthouse number ten, which would put him in your neighborhood and `your' age bracket."
Jerry chuckled for the umpteenth time.
"Cool!"
"Oh, there's Mr. DuValier now."
Mehmet and Sean swung around, looking in the direction Jerry faced.
"Where?" Sean asked, seeing no one distinguished.
"Just a moment. I'll introduce you two."
Watching Jerry walk away, the two saw him approach a highly unlikely candidate, matching a distinguished, French gentleman.
"What a fuckin' hottie!" Sean said out loud.
Agreeing, Mehmet tried to be natural replying in the same manner, "He is sure a fuckin' hottie!"
The two could tell that the guy was giving Jerry a hard time, until he pushed his sunglasses down, looking over the top, at the two, standing on the other side of the lobby door. Neither knew whom Regis talked about, but Sean made out Regis' lips, saying, `Fuckin' hot!'
"He's coming over. How do I look?"
"You look fine, Sean. How do you know he's coming over?"
"I just know. Let me do all the talking. We don't want to blow this."
"But..." Mehmet could guess why Sean wanted to do all the talking.
He didn't figure himself out as much the cool dude' that Sean could be. Even Phil could be cool'. Then, his mind began wandering away from the cool dudes. He thought about Joaquin. He wasn't at all like the other two. True, he could fake a `cool' attitude when around Phil and Sean, but when the two had been alone, he was more down-to-earth.
The closer Regis DuValier came, the more Sean's cock twitched. He immediately picked up on the good looks, the hot looking bod, lusting to see what was hidden underneath the threads.
"Gentlemen, Mr. Regis DuValier of penthouse suite number ten, meet Misters Sean.."
Jerry had a memory lapse for last names.
"Hi! I'm Sean Nash and this is Mehmet.. um, DuValier."
"Jerry was telling me. How wonderful to meet you."
A bit on the fem side, Sean's testoronic rate still measured him right up there around the perfect ten mark. However, Regis' rating began to drop, as he sideswiped the nineteen year old, light brown-haired jock.
"Mehmet, is it? Where are you from?"
"Originally Egypt. My father is part French and part Egyptian. My mother is French."
"How interesting," Regis spoke rather flamboyantly. "So, where is it that you are headed today?"
"Grocery shopping," Mehmet let on.
"Grocery?" Regis looked kind of queerly at the two. Then, turning to Jerry, he more less dictates the order, "Handle it Jerry."
"Yes, Mr. DuValier, sir."
"But, he doesn't know what to buy," Mehmet relayed.
"Do you have a list?"
Mehmet smiled, saying, "Yes. Here," he pointed to his forehead.
Again, Regis snipped, "Pen... paper, Jerry."
"Right away, sir."
From his pocket, Jerry whipped a paper and pen.
"Jot down whatever you would like."
"It might take some time," Mehmet replied.
By this time Sean began to get bored. Looking around the lobby, he spotted something very interesting. Wandering away from the little group of grocery list writers, he mosied on over to a ladder, with a man atop it.
"Oh shit!" Came the first words out of the guy's mouth. Looking down, he realized a resident stood, looking up. "Hey, sorry about that."
Sean, looking up, not only up-up, but up the guy's gray shirt, replied, "What the fuck!"
Shrugging his shoulders, the guy's face lit up with a bright smile. He began descending the ladder.
"Last time I cursed in front of a resident, it went on my record."
"What are you trying to do?"
Hopping off the last step, the guy said, "I thought it might be the bulb, but the whole unit needs replacing." Then, wiping his hand on his shirt, he offered his hand, saying, "I'm Kip Sholten, by the way."
"Sean Nash. Cool to meet you."
"Same here. Cool. I haven't seen you around here before."
"Only moved in yesterday."
"Oh? Which unit, if I'm not being too nosy?"
"Not at all. Penthouse, number eleven."
"Whooaaaaa," Kip replied, taking his baseball cap off, then replacing it back on his head, whistling.
The number impressed Kip, but didn't mean anything to Sean.
"Why is it that people do that, Kip?"
"Do what?"
"Act like it's a big deal?"
"Well, no disrespect intended, Mr. Nash, but you've gotta have a big bankroll to live in one of those penthouses."
Sean and Mehmet already knew that, figuring Joaquin and Phil must have to pool about $1500 a month, to rent the condo.
"We're actually staying with two guys."
"I know who you mean. But who's the `we'?"
"My friend over ther, Mehmet."
Kip glances over toward the three, Mehmet busily writing.
"Oh, next to that freak, DuValier."
"My friend's not a freak!" Sean defended, before realizing he must've meant the `other' DuValier.
Too late, Kip thought he was in deep shit, opening his big mouth.
"Hey, look. I didn't mean anything about your friend there. It's just that..."
Sean starts laughing his ass off. Kip then keys his attention in to the nineteen year old. For the first time he has a chance to really study him up close.
"Sorry, Kip."
"No, I'm the one who should be apologizing."
"You already did, but it's okay."
"It is? You know your friend's a jerk?"
"Kip, my friend's name is Mehmet DuValier. He's the darker skinned guy over there with Jerry."
"Whew! You had me going there for awhile, Sean."
Sean could see that. Kip seemed to get all clammy, sweaty, plus Sean already noticed the bulge in his pants, his hand in his pocket, trying to push it to the side.
"I know."
"Know what?"
"I got you going?"
Looking down, Sean's glance could tell more than words could say, at the moment.
"Yeah, um... well..." Kip stuttered.
Making sure no one was in earshot, Sean told Kip, "If I wasn't headed out with my friend, I'd take care of that for ya!"
"Um, you're gay?"
"No more or less than you are!"
"Cool!" Kip exclaimed.
"What time you get off?"
"I get that a lot around here."
"Oh, sorry," Sean giggled. "But I mean it."
"Tell you the truth, I haven't made it with a guy in awhile. Could use the relaxation."
"Oh? No chance of that when you're in bed with me!"
"I get off around two, but I got a class."
"Class?"
"Yeah. At the community college. Five minutes up the road. Off of Dillingham."
"I'm not from the area."
"Where from?"
Sean didn't want to say the `hole-in-the-wall' room his mother rented by the month, so alluded to, "Waikiki".
"Up there in the big bucks."
"Yeah, well," Sean brushed it off, changing the subject to, "What do you study?"
"Art."
"Art?"
"Yeah. I just change light bulbs to pick up extra money." With a quick glance over to the other side of the lobby, then back to his conversation with Sean, Kips alerts, "Oh, your friend is trying to get your attention."
"Okay. Hey, will I see you again, Kip?"
"I'm counting on it," He returned, with a smile.
"Cool," Sean responsed.
Before Sean left Kip's presence, he warned, "Stay away from DuValier."
"Why? What's wrong with him. He looks harmless."
"He's into that bdsm shit!"
"Into what?"
"Bondage, Discipline, Sadism and Masochism. You know, getting pleasure out of hurting guys?"
"I think I've heard of it. What do they call it again?"
"Bds&m. Take my word for it. He tried to get me `interested'. He'll do the same with you and your friend."
"Yeah, thanks. I'll let Mehmet know."
"See you around, Sean." Kip thought he said it to himself, `I gotta hit the jon and take care of this!'
Sean laughed, yelling back over his shoulder, "Yeah, me too!"
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7 Continued....
Copyright 2006 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold or made part of any collection without prior written permission.
The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness!