The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or dead in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons, of continents or islands, in countries, counties, cities, towns, villages, neighborhoods, gingerbread houses, streets, cul-de-sacs, nor governmental or non-governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then you get coal in your stocking! Seriously, if guy-to-guy sex stuff makes you barf or is going to screw up your mind, you should not read this story, unless you're a masochist and have a holiday barf bag handy.
Viewer discretion is advised. Various states, countries and the North Pole have rules regarding reading or viewing adult material'. It is up to the reader to research this subject, abiding by their own laws. The pages of this story contain adult material', intended for an `adult audience'. Bypass this warning at your own risk.
% Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection*.
*Condoms make good stocking stuffers!
Hey dudes, if you have enjoyed reading NiFTy stories as much as I have, over the years, consider adding some support for `internet $pace'. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
^o^ Concluding remarks ~ reading this story could make you stiff or gooey, so I would suggest not reading it with the Santa outfit on, unless you have enough hair to soak it up... jus'-sayin'! :)
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Up oN THe WoOfToP... 02 WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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They became commuting buddies at times, Michael and Dean on the train together. Even when Dean commuted to the warehouse in the Meadowlands, sometimes Michael would hitch a ride, with free time on his hands. Dean had gotten used to catching 40 winks, putting Michael in the driver's seat.
Over time, Michael got used to EZ Pass on the turnpike, of which he was overly conscious of the first 4 or 5 times, slowing down tremendously. With much horn-blowing, it made Dean sink down in the seat, placing a newspaper over his head.
The whole time, Michael wished something would happen, like some Nifty novel, pulling off the road at a secluded spot, but nothing ever came of it. Even though months had passed, Michael was not that comfortable in exploring.
His `edu-gay-tion' did continue, which Michael found out Dean was a talking encyclopedia. Some of the stories Dean told, Michael was glad he had a water bottle to lay over his crotch.
Second time he tried it, being behind the wheel, Dean grabbed the water bottle, removing it, saying more Corvettes had been wrecked by the driver stopping short, an object rolling out from the crotch, then pinned under the brake pedal.
Michael found fault with it, saying he had it lodged in their pretty well.
It left Michael wide open for speculation, Dean commenting, "I doubt that, with your big balls taking up so much room on the seat?!"
Dean, he did notice how Michael showed' he liked the steamy or bizarre dates he's been out on, but not once made mention of the teen's bulging pants, until the water bottle incident. Too, on the pike, Dean knew a driver had to be alert. They weren't the only maniacs on the road!
A regular account for Dean, today he found himself in the city, standing in front Braddock's a client he often called on. He had started playing Santa a few years back, the store Santa having not shown up. Tickled by the job, he didn't need the bucks, but it paid the tolls. Greatest interest was checking out the Manhattan scenery which strolled by. Not wanting to hand out his business cards to every Tom, Dick and Harry, he had special cards made up with only first name and number. It was more expedient and less troublesome, than having to write his number on a piece of paper for some hot dude!
This is the second time Michael had come down to Braddock's to play for the Santa-band'. A little late, having missed the first chorus of Jingle Bells', he took his trombone out, in the little security closet at the front of the store and tuned up. He still had the mouthpiece in his mouth, warming it up, when the door shimmied open.
"Oh, hi. They said I can leave my stuff in here."
Looking up, from sitting on a prop, wooden square apparently used for window display, Michael asks, "Sure. This is the room for the instruments, but I won't tell!"
Having spent the summer, mostly with Dean, Michael had furthered his edu-gay-tion much quicker than working out some hot moves with his best bud, Jeff Pflug. He paid close attention, asked lots of questions, Dean spending much time on `Picking Up Guys 101'.
First thing, Dean had said, when you start talking with a hot guy, keep the conversation going, which Michael did just that, "You can leave your instrument right over here, next to mine, if you want?"
"Um, thanks, but I don't have one. I'm a model for the front window and... damn, I'm sorry about this, but transportation wasn't on schedule and if I don't do this now, I'll be late."
Michael worked his trombone mouthpiece like a warm cock, watching the dude take his jacket off, throw it to the side, kick off his sneakers, unbuckle pants, step out, tore the sweatshirt off overhead, which left him standing there in a tight, red speedo.
"How's my hair?"
Michael was honest, not which he was paying much attention, "Messed up."
Fixing it, he asks again, "How about now?"
"Better, but still a little `torn apart'?" was the best way Michael could explain.
Flustered, because the model knew he had to be in the window 2 minutes ago, "Do me a favor, if you have time, to fix it?"
Other than Dean, in his briefs a couple of times, a speedo when they went swimming in his back yard, Michael had never approached a guy with less clothes on, but treating the situation as if it were Dean, "I could try," he pulls the mouthpiece out with a pop, sets it in the case and stands.
Walking towards each other, like the commercial with two lovers coming together in a field of flowers, they meet, Michael asking, "Like, what do I do?"
"Um," the model stutters, "whatever you think you should do.... I mean, to make my hair look good."
Michael did the best he could, in the time afforded, before some guy pops in the doorway, sternly saying, "What the fuck, Tosh, late again?"
Getting the gist of things, the model, he learns has a name, Tosh, it wasn't his first time tardy. Other things he learns, from conversations with Dean, a guy who talked' gay, not necessarily could be gay, but Michael was sure the suit' was. Nevertheless, he also hears that Tosh is friends with a guy named Karlyle' and from the suit', it's the only reason Tosh is not being fired on the spot!
Tosh left, but came back, saying, "Hey, thanks for fixing my hair!"
Smiling, after Tosh had left, Michael brazenly says something Dean would, "No problem. You can make it up to me later!"
Putting his trombone together, he reported outside. Once there, after saying hello to Dean the second time, he fluttered his eyebrows.
Of course, Dean didn't know what the hell for, until Michael nodded towards the front window.
Smiling, Dean licked his lips, mouthing off a `Woof!'
Michael already knew the difference, between woof' and yummy'.
Michael knew from experience, early on in his studies, it wasn't a good thing when you wanted to laugh at something, having to play the trombone too. It was one of those things, for people who played `blowy' instruments.
After the Santa-band' played their dozen numbers, they retreated to the security room. Waiting to be last, on purpose, it bought Michael some time to talk with Dean, gathering the pot of gold', money for the needy.
"Mighty foxy of you," Dean says.
"What is?" Michael honesty didn't know.
"Positioning yourself at the other side of the band, where you can see behind me?"
He didn't have to admit, stood so he could see Tosh in his red speedo, "Oh, you're just jealous!"
If he had stood by Dean, Michael would have to look around him or through him to see Tosh, standing still as a mannequin, displaying the latest Nouguet Christmas fashion.
"I'm not jealous!"
"By the way," Michael's determined to make Dean even more so, "while I was unpacking my trombone, the window model gave me a free strip show!"
Hand on Santa's hip, he says, "I don't know why I bothered telling you all my gay secrets this summer, when now, you're ripping the carpet right out from under me?"
Knowing Dean was kidding him, Michael says, "No disrespect, but first come, first served!"
Taking things inside, they waited for the parade of musicians to walk out of the security closet. A store employee relieved Dean of the pot of money, which in turn, Dean rewarded him with an unofficial business card!
Inside the closet, Michael asks, "Have you had an increase in business clients, yet?"
"Not keeping tabs on my front door?" Dean responds.
"Really? When? What did you do?" Michael suddenly worked for the Inquirer!
"Where were you last night?"
"Home. Practicing my trombone," quick to hear a juicy story, "like, who is he? Where's he from?"
"He commutes from Linden into the city five days a week..."
Michael interrupts, "Where's Linden? No, wait... don't bother. I want to hear the juicy parts!"
A tease, prolonging it, Dean gives Michael a geography lesson, "Ever hear of the Rahway Prison?"
"Why, are you moving there?"
"Shuddup. You wanna hear how we made love or what?" Dean steps out of the Santa pants.
"Well, you could save it for later and tell me who is making you hard right now?" Michael gets wise.
The Santa suit was so damn hot, Dean didn't even bother to wear briefs, nor a shirt. Fully stripped down, he exposes his beautiful chest of dark brown hair, the strip cutting right down the furry abs, trimmed pubes... of which Michael had fully memorized, "This? You call this hard? Nah, for me this is more soft," Dean holds his cock, like giving a demonstration.
"I'd suck it!" Michael toys with him.
During the summer, they had plenty of conversation regarding top and bottom, sucking and fucking and other interests which could turn a man on, but not once did either touch each other, except for the occasional bear hugging, or Dean sweetly kissing Michael on the back of the neck.
It was inevitable, Dean stealing a kiss, which caused Michael to literally jump out of his seat!
Smartly, Dean didn't leave himself open for future criticism. For both, holding each other's cock for the joy of another guy jerking each off, didn't constitute as hardcore gay sex.
"You will not!" Dean says blatantly, finding the briefs he shucked earlier. Holding them up, he says, "Damn these don't look like my briefs!"
"Could be Tosh's," Michael again teases, knowing he got one base closer to a hookup than Dean!
"Who's Tosh?"
"Our window stud?" Michael says with a grin.
"Oh, I didn't know you were into threeways, Mikey?!"
"Not, and shuddup with the Mikey-business. You know how I loathe that name!"
He didn't mention further, the `threeway'.
"Have it your way, `Michael'!" Dean replies, the 31-year old using a snotty attitude.
Standing there, at the tail end of their conversation, of which during the heated discussion, Dean made no effort to clothe his nude bod, they are both distracted by a brief knock on the door, it opening.
"Like, oh my god!" Michael yells, covering up more than Dean, hand over his packed briefs, other hand over one pec, hiding his mild nudity.
In the doorway, holding a gym bag, Dean didn't care if he was being surveyed, scoped out, eyes running over his bod like rainwater, "Come in, come in!"
Out of his band uniform, Michael followed Dean's lead. After all, he figured it was the second semester on being gay', his neighbor, tutoring him further, upon a hot dude entering the room, do nothing!'
Door shutting behind him, perhaps the lad didn't know it hadn't a slow-shut mechanism, banging like a gunshot, which made him shudder, removing eyes from Dean for a split-second, exclaiming, "Oh, I hope I didn't shock you!"
Smiling, Dean thought, "Hardly," himself being the motivation behind `shocking', "uh, welcome to the dressing room!"
Michael, knowing Dean would later have claimed first dibs, makes a last ditch effort to steal the competition, "I'm just finishing up changing out of my band uniform," his thumb slips between the elastic of his briefs, dipping the demarcation line south, revealing more mass of his crotch hair.
As comparisons go, discovered shortly after Dean and Michael hooked up, under the guise of finding out how the gay half of the population lived, both realize Dean wasn't the only furry one. Michael claimed, at 18-years old, he was considered an `early bloomer', sporting a full chest of dark brown hair, wavy around his nips, which looked like it was fresh-combed, detailing down his abs, swirling around the navel and then in a swath, showing not much division between stomach and pubes.
Out of luck, even though having high hopes of his hot bod winning any man over, Dean smirked, seeing the gymbag-laden youth gravitate towards his `neighbor'! Seeing his nice endowment wasn't getting him anywhere, Dean slowly dresses. The dude's back to him, as he had walked further into the recesses of the room, at least Dean had the satisfaction all his training had or would pay off.
Having to pass up an opportunity, only to have it bestowed on his protege, at least he was happy for the friendly competition. If he wasn't getting any action for himself, it's not that it would not excite his loins to see another man go for the action!
"Um, I hope you don't mind, I..."
Smiling, Dean could tell what the guy wanted, but as Michael had acted in the beginning of the chapter on `how to pick up men', Michael's learning was way ahead of this one!
"No, I don't mind," Michael jumps the gun, doing what Dean had suggested, freeze, stand there and see what the other dude does.
What Michael didn't count on, the thumb, dragging the elastic on his briefs down, had come in contact with his cock. Coupled with the visual, it was starting to become bloated!
Dean was quite shocked out of his gourd, when the dude drops his gymbag and says, "Damn, I've got to have you!"
In the meantime, Dean is ready to step into his briefs, when the door opens once again.
Michael right in the line of fire, bent backwards over his trombone case by the first dude, he looks right past Dean, which if he did indeed spot `Santa' first, he would have caught him in progress, pulling his briefs up. However, thinking fast, Dean froze, feeling his briefs at his knees.
Because Michael was already preoccupied, Dean figured he would do his friendly neighbor a favor, so he would not have to go to the trouble of juggling two, "Hi there!"
"Oh sorry," the dude turns nonchalantly, gymbag swinging around, "I didn't," he gulps, "see you there."
Sensing it already, Dean says, "I know, but if you come over here, the light is much better than where you are standing?" He didn't giggle, but Dean sensed he could have followed with an evil laugh!
He was a man with a mission, but sometimes things could interrupt that carefully made plan, using words to draw him closer, set upon the lair, "I came to tell Ravi," he was slow with deliberation...
Keeping the conversation rolling, Dean asks, "Ravi? He over there with my friend?"
Gulping, because the closer view made his stick wiggle, he says, "I'm Kevan. I was supposed to relieve Ravi," the poor 24-year old model tried getting it out.
"Well," Dean smiles. Acting like what was going on in this room, the most important thing now, "Kevan, I hope you and Ravi aren't going to get into any trouble?"
Poor Kevan, before the ginger dude could say much more, Dean had let his briefs drop, hands going up, under the shirt.
Dropping his gym bag, Kevan suddenly developed amnesia, both hands going for those hairy pecs, until Dean lifts the shirt off overhead.
"Oh wow!" Dean exclaims, the whole of Kevan's bod covered with ginger fur.
Meanwhile, Michael had discovered something, which made him jump up with exclamation, "Oh my god, my trombone!"
Later, Michael and Ravi would discuss, how many things were more important than pursuing sex, lying on the case of an expensive instrument being one of them!
In their heated confrontation, they hadn't even noticed another bod in the room, Michael first hearing the noise, calling out, "Dean?"
"Oh. Hi," Dean says, a smile on his face.
Ravi on the other hand, confronts his colleague with, "When did you come in, Kevan?"
He couldn't answer right off, having just pulled off Dean's cock, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, "Hey, Ravi," then delivers the message he was supposed to, "uh, Krafft wanted me to take your place. Says he has something else in mind for you."
"What?" Ravi says with high emotion, "Like, how long ago was this?"
"Five minutes at the most," Kevan replies, still licking the juices off his lips.
Grabbing his stuff, looking around for his gymbag, under Michael's clothes, mixed with his own shirt and pants, Ravi rants, "Oh shit, Kevan, you know how Krafft gets. Maybe you don't need the job, but some of us like eating and a place to call home?"
Looking down, already highly disappointed over shooting his load, probably halfway up the spout, Dean says, "I guess you're not into finishing what you started, huh?"
He deserves it, Michael calling over as he dressed, "Dean, you're a moron!"
Calling it, Dean says, "Respect your elders!" Reaching down to his ankles, Dean pulls his briefs up, trying to pack everything away.
Even though Ravi was storming out of there, he quickly thanked Kevan, but didn't mean it!
Standing Kevan grabbed his shirt, began poking his arms through the openings.
"Hey," Dean grabs the shirt in the middle, pulls it right out of the 24-year old's hands.
"What?"
Smiling, Dean says, "I thought you came here to replace the window model?" he gazes down the trimmed, ginger-red bod, taking one last look, though he could anytime, from the sidewalk side of Braddock's!
"I am."
Michael, whom had dressed, picked up his duffle and trombone case, passes by, whispering in Kevan's ear, "He just saved you from putting your shirt on-taking it off?"
Realization, Kevan's mouth o-shaped, he utters, "Oh-h right. I forgot about that!"
There could have been several follow up lines to keep the fish from falling off the hook, Dean choosing, "But if you want, we can meet up later to finish what we started, or... start again, whatever your pleasure?"
Unbuckling his pants, Kevan says, "Yeah, that'd be cool, especially the part about starting again?"
For the next 2 minutes their conversation was about what the other liked, Kevan starting the ball rolling with, "Do you like kissing?"
To cover all bases at once, his eyes on Kevan, stripping down to nothing and then trying to fit his semi-erection into the pocket of a speedo, "I like it all!"
Just as well, Kevan stuffing his speedo till it couldn't fit no more, standing there, lingers, until the door pops open.
"Dammit, where's Ravi?"
Faced out of Braddock's front window, Tosh had to, like many other flunkee's, stand stiff as a board, not moving a muscle. A few before him, who's job it was to flaunt the new `Nouget pouch', in order to draw customers in, to purchase the flimsy underwear, sized according to size, failed, due to a simple thing like a kid making a face at them. Tosh had to admit it tempting to laugh, but in times as that, drummed up a vision of the last guy he was with for a diversion!
"Krafft wanted Ravi to do a different window. He sent me."
"I see," Tosh casts his eyes upon Dean, standing there with shirt in hand.
Crosscut opinion of their superior, Hans Krafft, human resources manager, was that of a sadistic bastard. If they wanted a job there, at the most prestigious department store in the city, a model had to put up with certain stuff, like a slap-tease to their stuffed buns or the 54-year old thinking he was their pal, hanging on a shoulder.
"And who are you?" Tosh asks.
Casually, whether he thought the dude gay or straight, Dean felt this was a good way of finding out, "You're next new boyfriend?"
It might have started up conversation with Tosh, but broke off any self-conscious feelings for Kevan, thinking they had something going, since he was on his knees for Dean, "Uh, I better get going."
Dean made sure Kevan took one of his specially made up cards. Unenthused, he stuffs it in his duffle bag.
However, as Kevan goes for the doorknob, it is turning on the other side, which when open, he freezes up!
He behaved much more milder than usual, Krafft standing there with the owner of Braddock's and the briefs designer, who's product clung to Kevan's torso, ordering, "Window, Kevan. Now?"
For the most part, Stephen Braddock, founder and owner of the upscale department store, skipped right over Tosh, peering over the 20-year old's shoulder, "Aren't you with the Santa band?"
Stepping outside the door, alone with Krafft, Kevan knew he would be up for a tongue-lashing.
Going inside the dimly lit room, Braddock and his friend, set their eyes were on the two, Alex gravitating towards Tosh, asking him how the fit was, Braddock approaching the bearcub, "Tell me, Santa, have you ever thought about modeling?"
Flirting, Dean replies, "For you? No problem, Mr. Braddock!"
With Tosh leaving, Alex Nouguet talking him up, about how he has such a highly underdeveloped modeling career, Dean is left there with the `almighty store owner', "So," he stops, starts, "should I continue to put my shirt on?"
Sending a message, Stephen's eyes already having traveled across the fabric of Dean's bod, utters a simple, "Woof!"
Cocky, not which he wasn't into a little sperm-of-the-moment play with the high man on the totem pole, Dean answers the nature call, "How about yourself," he reaches the middle button of Stephen's shirt.
Grabbing Dean's hand tight, like he's done something wrong, instead the 36-year old store owner stops it from happening, "Not here."
"I suppose you're right," Dean smiles, smoothing out the place where he has mussed with Stephen's shirt.
"But for certain," Stephen shows he's still up for a good time, back of his hand traveling up Dean's abs stripe, "I don't want you to get away. Unfortunately, business supersedes pleasure, for the moment."
Not moving, but left with a smile, Dean's lips crimp up into the same face of humor, "I'll be looking forward to it. Should I contact your personal secretary?"
"I handle my own private business." Conscious of the time, Stephen pulls his cell out of a jacket pocket, looks at it, drops it back in, "I have a meeting with our cafe distributor, then a meeting downtown with..."
"That would be me!"
With expansion of the cafe at Braddock's adding a small volume to the whole of store receipts, it was suggested outsourcing the cafe. "Hmm, so you're the new coffee man?"
Still flirtatious, not which Stephen minded, Dean adds, "Also creme!"
Looking down, unfortunately for Stephen, Dean had already buckled up!
Knowing what Braddock was looking for, "You know, we don't have to stay in the store to do store business?"
It wasn't the first time Stephen Braddock was hit with this line, responding, "I wish my board members could come up with some good ideas as this!"
Guys coming and going, right now Dean was beside himself with all of whom he has met today. Quickly, his mind ran through faces and matching bods, like going through a filing cabinet with a comb and brush. He smiled, thinking of Kevan, which stood out among the many.
"Hey!" he was startled out a daydream by `the boy-next-door'.
Of getting the scare, Dean says, "If I had a weak heart, I'd be dead, you know?"
"From the way I've seen you fuck a dude, hardly the case," Michael sums it up.
Bursting to say it, Dean skips over other matters, "I've been invited to meet with my client and work out the details about coffee distribution, with none other than the man himself, at his private lair, downtown."
Michael asks, "Oh, was that the dude who came out of here?"
"That's him?" Dean shined, like a silver medal awarded to the highest scorer!
"Not to bust your bubble or anything, his eyes were all over me?"
Like, Michael has heard this over and over, it becoming like a drone, Dean saying, "Biting the hand that feeds you?"
And as Dean has heard regurgitated, Michael responds with, "Or your nip?"
Inside joke, it originates from Michael learning how sensitive man-nips could be!
Fully dressed, Dean shares how he hates the winter weather, having to wear so many layers, but aside from that, "So, how do you want to hook up later?"
"At Braddock's place?" Michael smiles.
"I don't even know where that will be," Dean folds his Santa apparel, placing each piece in a duffle.
"Whattsammatter, your cell is broke?" Michael says sarcastically.
That settled, Dean placing a call after he has romped through the sheets with Braddock, Michael heads out.
Dean finishes packing up his Santa-gear and as arranged, would meet his ride out front of the store. Little did Dean know, Stephen's limo, in the guise of a silver Rolls Royce, would be picking him up, transporting him to an unknown location. For all of five minutes he stood there on the curb, until the driver put two and two together, figuring out Dean was his passenger!
Jumping out of the lux vehicle, the driver exclaims, "Oh, I just realized you were my passenger," he holds the door for Dean to get in.
Depending on how a guy looked, Dean would opt out of the rear seating, "If it's all the same to you, I'll ride upfront?"
He could tell he was making the driver think. Hearing a beep from somewhere on the busy street, it woke him up, saying, "Whatever you wish, sir."
As Dean got in, the driver reaches in, to grab a magazine sitting on the seat.
Knowing the situation, Dean plays it for all it's worth, noticing the title, jumping into the seat, "Oops! Sorry about that," he pins the driver's hand under his butt!
Sliding the periodical out, it could be heard, pages tearing.
As the driver climbs in behind the steering wheel, Dean laments, "Hey, sorry about your magazine." It hadn't gone unnoticed, the one visible page, a model with his cock hanging out, "I hope I didn't mess up the view?"
On the ride over to Stephen's emergency' lodgings, Sy Garner Penthouse, top of the Mozambique Hotel, that one incident gave insight into each others' thinking, "How long have you known'?" conversation kicked in, Juan starting it up.
"Well," Dean searches back through memories, "I suppose I found out I wasn't straight in third grade, but didn't know what gay was!"
"Same here," Juan agrees, though for him it was junior high.
"Yet, when I happened upon the phys-ed teacher, half-naked in his office, the day the nurse was giving classes physical exams, it's the first time I had a crush on a guy. Call it luck," Dean clicks his teeth, nods `no', "when I got to high school, the same coach had transferred."
From there, Dean expressed himself in the usual, first high school fuck, first time a guy sucked him off, which happened to be a senior, when he was in his sophomore year. College, much sucking and fucking, Dean's first time a guy asked him to get tied to the bed.
"My first love affair was a disaster. We were both too young, too inexperienced and found we lied to each other. I was more into finding true love and he was into bed-hopping!"
"That's how I would like it to be."
"Bed-hopping?"
"No," Juan looks as best he can away from the traffic, "the other thing."
"Oh," Dean says, even though not getting the gist of what Juan meant.
Right after, traffic became very intense, motorists hopping lanes faster than a guy could hop beds, "Sorry, but I've got to pay attention. This is when it becomes really hairy!"
The mention of it, `hairy', is just what Dean was thinking. Though, he couldn't put together much of the puzzle, what lay underneath Juan's chauffeur uniform. Definitely a big build, wide like a football player, he wondered what size lay in the pants. Given the brief moment to reflect, soon Juan was announcing they were at the hotel.
In leaving, which Juan had jumped out, ran around the car and opened the door for Dean, he says, "Let me know when you get ready to settle down."
Dean looks down at the folded up piece of paper, "What's this?"
"It was almost fully torn out. Has my number on it," Juan replies. Then he had to run around the car, hop in and get out of there quick.
Opening the page, Dean comes across the picture of Derek Yeats, licking his lips at the sight of the fully exposed model. "You little shit!" he calls Juan, his phone number scribbled up the side of Derek's cock!
The Mozambique Hotel was like walking into a Hawaiian health spa, palm trees everywhere and a courtyard with flowing water. Dean was wondering if it was the hotel swimming pool!
At the desk, he told the clerk what Juan had told him to say, "Hi, I'm a guest of Stephen Braddock?"
From strict repose to a wide smile, the clerk says, "Of course. I have your room all ready, sir."
On the way to the elevator, privately escorted, Dean was sure he had met `Luca Ferrano', the name on the tin badge, but in his own career, distributor of coffee and other products, Dean met many people. On the elevator, he didn't want to make it seem like he was trying to pick the guy up - as luck would have it, he would be straight - but was dying to find out...
"Your floor, sir."
One thing, Luca was more than cute, Italian with cocoa skin, a beard like he forgot to shave for two days, tall, dreamy, afraid to go on, because his loins were feeling the strain, "Thanks."
Doors opening, there wasn't any hallway, walking right into a parlor of sorts, which Luca says, "Have you been here before?"
Wiseguy attitude, Dean says, "I'm surprised, Luca. The way I figure it, you would remember a handsome face?"
Trickery, maybe Luca would remember their meeting before, but it didn't play out, "Have we met?"
So, Dean got the royal treatment, covering the kitchen, dinette, dining room large enough to seat a dozen or so, theater room, study, 2 small bedrooms and then opening a double set of doors, "And this is `our' room."
"I beg your pardon?" Dean stood there dumbfounded.
Loosening his bowtie, a pull on one side unraveling the bow, Luca says, "Mr Braddock sends his regrets, he will not be able to meet with you and asked me to `accommodate' you. If not," Luca leaves the tie dangling, "I can retie my tie and you can make another appointment with Mr. Braddock, at another time?"
Frankly, Dean was happy of the alternative, "Don't you dare fix that tie!" he laughs.
"Okay then," Luca pulls the tie through the collar, bunching it up in his hand, "why don't I get you situated in a warm tub and then I'll go fetch some champagne?"
More decisive, Dean answers, "Tub not big enough for two?"
"Have it your way," it's how Stephen Braddock always preferred it, when Luca was entertaining special guests.
Walking past a cabinet, from the bottom, behind a clear, small refrigerator door he pulls a bottle, two flutes from a glass cabinet above, "Straight ahead and then to your left."
Well, Dean has been in some luxury places before, but nothing to match this, "Tell me something, does this take up the entire floor?"
"Two floors," Luca notes, "the reason you see the high ceilings?"
"Right you are," Dean replies, with more interest in things down to earth!
Then, from behind he's met by two hands, weaving between forearms and obliques, a sign of who it could be, had Dean any doubts, are the flutes, one in each hand, "Are we ready for a nice warm tubby?"
Saying so, Dean reaches for the flutes, "Uh, let me help you with that, why don't I?"
Releasing the two glasses, leaving Dean holding them, it frees up Luca's hands. Feeling up Dean's front, finger finally target the buttons of his shirt, "Thanks for making my job easier!"
From undoing each button, Dean waits patiently. There was nothing more he could do, feeling hands pull the shirt from his pants and then, tails slacking to the left and right, senses Luca's next move, unbuckling his belt.
Having received the call from Stephen Braddock, about expecting a visitor, Luca hadn't gotten the whole story, asks, as he rips the belt from Dean's loops, "you must be someone special to Mr. Braddock?"
"We know each other through a mutual friend," Dean doesn't detail it.
Regardless, Luca keeps right on stripping, "I hope you didn't have any plans for the rest of the day or this evening?"
"Oh damn," Dean was honestly disappointed, his briefs already expanded, "my friend came in on the train and I was supposed to drive him home," volunteering, "he's my next door neighbor."
"I see," Luca takes it coolly.
Dean was about to voice an opinion, of how Luca knew of anything regarding such, when that same elevator sound is heard, doors opening, "Um, like, aren't you going to go see who that is?"
Still holding the two glasses, shirt parted in the middles, pants slacking down his legs, he wasn't about to go!
Hearing a loud, loud voice exclaim, "Wow, you weren't kidding, Cubby... this place is awesome!"
"Oh shit!" Dean says, bending over, placing the flutes on the floor and grabbing his pants, pulling them up as he unbends.
Next thing he hears is, "Hey, Dean, what's up?"
It was apparent, Michael knowing Dean was here, but not vice versa, "What are you doing here?"
"Probably the same reason as me. Hey, did you know Cubby and Luca are really pornstars?"
Luca, Dean met, but didn't share the knowledge Michael has acquired, turns and faces Luca, "You're a porn star?"
Smiling, proud of who he is, "A very submissive one at that. Go ahead, test me!"
Looking to his left, where Cubby was standing, Michael asks, "Uh, how about you, Cub?"
"Sorry, total top."
"Oh man," Michael softly laments, "what are we going to do with 3 tops?"
Cubby smiles, he and Luca exchanging glances, "Um, have you two ever had three on one?"
"Oh man, that's so sweet," Luca starts fondling himself.
Seeing it, Cubby walks over, barks at him, "Now cut that out," he punches Lucas hand away from making himself feel good!
"I don't believe you just did that!" Michael says.
Dean, who has had some experience with the `occult', "Hmm, do I sense a little s&m?"
Feeling Michael a little young for it, Dean had skipped over the `chapters' regarding guys owning or being owned.
"Small? Medium? What else could they stand for?" Michael took some wild guesses.
Before Dean could step in, Cubby plows on ahead of him, "C'mon. Let's find a room. I'll explain it to you!"
"Cool!" Michael replies, being led by the hand towards a closed door.
"Um, wait up there, you two," Dean tries to follow them.
Catching Dean by the crook of his arm, Luca explains, "Trust me, you don't have to worry about Cubby. He puts on a show of attitude, but he's really as tame as a kitten."
"Trust you? I don't even know you?"
"Do you trust me, though?"
"So far I haven't any reason not to."
Luca then barters, "Tell you what, whenever you feel the urge, we'll go and check up on them, so you can see for yourself?"
"Okay, but who's checking up on us?"
Undressing, kissing on the neck, chest, stomach, Luca on knees, pleasuring Dean, he couldn't possibly see anything going wrong. In the back of his mind, besides moment to moment thoughts on how all this sucking was going to pan out, Dean figures, whatever transpire, would be a reflection on his client, Stephen Braddock.
It was torture though, Luca suddenly evacuating Dean's cock out from his throat and standing, "Ready for that shower?"
A distressful look, Dean says, "I was ready for much more, until you ruined it for me?"
Responding to Dean's slap to the side of the thigh, Luca smiles, "Mm-mm, love it when a man gets rough with me!"
All Dean was out for, was a nice relaxing time. On purpose he refrained from anymore love taps, but demonstrates some top qualities, "Uh, you ever going to get the taps running?"
Although, all was forgiven, with things progressing along, Luca bending over to adjust the water temperature, switching off from tub, to shower flow. Not being careful, the water fell down his back, when it came out of the shower head, "Oops! Looks like I started showering before you!"
"Indeed," Dean looks upon the 29-year old's hairy front, all wet and dripping, a look he always thought upon as being sexy as hell!
Not waiting for more response, Luca takes Dean's paws and places them on his wet chest fur, "Work me over."
It wasn't tough for Dean to figure things out, what Luca meant by his words, feeling hard nips on the palms of his hands. Knowing part of sex was give and take, and knowing what it was which kept his customers satisfied, follows his instincts, fingers sliding down Luca's water-lubed pecs, until he's able to add a tweak or two to those hard nips, "You like it hard, do ya?"
First time Dean had it done to him, fingers working over his nips, it hurt like hell, but then realized how it could travel through the bod, sending messages of pleasure to the lower extremities, "Feeling anything yet?" he had to laugh at himself.
"Like I say, the harder, the better!"
With mixed reaction, Dean was sure Luca meant both, pulverizing his tiny nips and the outcome, a sudden lurch forwards, getting poked in the pubes, when Luca's stood straight out, as a result of his ministrations.
Not into the rough stuff, Dean could play out a scene with disciplinary emoting, "Really? Touching your cock without permission, boy?"
They never made it into the shower, Dean turning it off without paying mind to the faucet, as he backs Luca up against the wall. One hand still tweaking Luca's right nip, his left hand kept his barrel firm.
Versatile, to whatever a man had it in mind to do to him, Luca got the wrong message, thinking Dean was firming him up for a purpose, "Anytime you want to turn around and bend over?"
"What the fuck?" Dean backs off from kissing, drops both arms to his sides, "No, I think you're getting the wrong impression here, boy. If you think you're going to shoot your wad before me, you have another thing coming!"
In and out of the roleplay, Luca says, "Oh... that's what I thought," he fibbed.
Not shy to the idea of multiple partners, Dean says, "Then again, might be fun gangbanging you with your friend in the other room?"
"Do you want to do a checkup on your friend? I'm sure, by now, Cubby has him tied to the bed?"
So tied up in himself, Dean forgot what he said earlier, reflecting on it, "Shoot! I forgot I was going to check up on Michael!"
Walking out the mens room, Dean is lost, "Uh, which way?"
"To your left."
Hanging a left, Dean comes to a hallway, Luca instructing him, while keeping himself firm, "Second door on your right."
First door was the utility closet, which Dean found out, because Luca's instruction sank in slow!
Opening the door, they both were surprised, most likely Luca more, knowing how Cubby liked to play, finding him, in lieu of Michael, tied foursquare to the bed!
"Hey guys," Michael addresses the two, kneeling between two hairy thighs, "look at the new game Cubby taught me!"
"Cubby?" Luca was surprised, first time seeing the 22-year old bearded, wide-shouldered muscle-cub tied down, secured at the wrists and ankles, stretched out, subject to Michael's mercy or might!
Well-informed about how this could go, experience from watching it done, getting hard over the erotic aspect of it, Dean says, "Um, is there a reason why this little noose is around Cubby's shaft?" he picks up the end of the lace, dragging Cubby's long, but half-semi erect cock towards the ceiling.
It didn't do any good for Luca to interrogate Cubby, mouth gagged, but did it anyhoo... "How did you get yourself into this?"
Dean had to smile, giggle to himself, seeing Luca still hard, which was tossup, whether still experiencing the euphoria from moments ago or a new act of stimulation. Regardless, whichever, it's Michael who is in control, "Why don't you remove the gag and plug his mouth, Luca?"
"Wow," Dean says to Michael, "you're really getting into this domination thingy, aren't you?" Not to mention, he could see how hard it was making his friend!
He was and no stopping him, Michael dictates, "Hey, how about sucking Cubby off, while I fuck him?"
`That was strange,' Dean thought. They had had this talk, about fucking every guy you lay with, "Fuck him?"
"Yeah. You wouldn't happen to have a condom handy?"
Sarcastically, Dean replies, "Um, I don't have any clothes on, give you a hint?"
Like he didn't mention it at all, Michael shares, "Cubby says, guys who talk like that should get punished!"
"So," Dean leans an arm on Lucas' shoulder, much like a cowpoke chewing on straw, casually asks, "what did Cubby do, to deserve this punishment?"
Cubby couldn't speak for himself, one of Michael's socks stuffed in his mouth, Michael answering for him, "Nuttin'!"
"Nuttin', huh? But you just said..." Dean trails his words off, a little disappointed, like a mystery with no ending.
"I said what Cubby said. Cubby tied up like that, well it was either him or me!"
Softly, Lucas clues Dean in, "Which is very unusual for Cubby. Every time I peeked in, he always had the other guy tied to the bed. If you ask me, something mighty peculiar is happening here."
"All I know," Dean says, turning and taking Lucas' hand, to lead him away, "I for one don't want to be the one to unleash him when I'm done!"
"Leave him," Lucas volunteers, "and I'll take care of untying him!"
Out in the hallway, as the two walk back to the other room, "Nice of you to volunteer, Lucas. Of course you're going to take advantage of the situation before you untie him?!"
Holding the door for Dean, Lucas replies, "And if you're still around when Michael leaves, you're welcome to join in?!"
"Hmm, that would mean my balls would be running on overtime!"
With Dean and Lucas out of the way, Michael whips his sock out of Cubby's mouth and with a bright, toothy smile, "Looks like we fooled them two fools, huh?"
Voicing opinion, after the fact of saying so already, "I can't wait until Lucas starts spreading false rumors about me," 22-year old muscle-cub agrees. "Now, how about removing these wrist and ankle bracelets?" he laughs, still riding on the euphoria of putting a big one over on his friend.
Able to make up mischief on second's notice, Michael, after having splayed his bod over Cubby, reaches a hand down, by their crotches, "What if I were to tell you this is a double-cross, that Lucas got to me after you did, offering more booty?"
From happy smiles to happy mistakes, Cubby loses the wide grin, "Tell me you didn't?"
"I didn't!" Michael, hands placed faced down along the ridge of Cubby's very hairy chest, projects the feeling, `fooled ya!'
"Great," Cubby repeats unenthused, "now, you want to lose the ropes?"
Michael didn't move, feeling the pulse of Cubby's heart and horse-meat, still with chin propped up on folded hands, "Why hurry?"
Right now, Cubby Hinton was in a fix, thinking maybe he wasn't out of the woods yet with this bondage stuff. Though, as with Lucas, instruction from Stephen Braddock, as with store business, keeping the customer satisfied, with this particular patron, he wasn't so sure how much he would have to do to `keep busy,' "So, what's your game plan?"
Sitting up, Michael almost sat on Cubby's spoke, feeling the tip at his oven door, "Hmm," he reaches behind him, finding half-an-erection, "tell me, Cub?"
"What?" he felt uneasy, what wind blew over the bed, intermittent with Michael's handiwork, "Um, I take it you're not going to loosen these ropes?"
"Not just yet. Y'know," Michael brings up food for thought, knowing it might leave a sour taste in Cubby's mouth, "it's always been, I watch Dean's back and Dean watches mine, and..."
Thinking of an intervention upon him, Cubby inserts, "Okay, so what is it you and your friend are going to do to me before you untie me?"
"You make it sound like we're going to rape you," Michael has second thoughts, "unless maybe you might like that?" he sits with a silly smile, conscious of Cubby's 9c beckoning at his door, when Michael's hip flexors go too relaxed!
"What I'd really like is to have you lean back a foot or so?"
After straightening out his legs behind him, falling, literally slapping hairy chests together, Michael says, tapping on Cubby's lips, "Why are you being so mean to me?"
"Um, like," the cub says, "why aren't you untying me?"
Michael throws it back at him, "Do you feel threatened, Cubby?"
Soft-spoken sound out of Michael's lips, Cubby knew how he could be, tables turned, having a dude tied to the bed, "Um, `no'."
"Okay," Michael does a pushup off of Cubby's two hard, worked-out pecs, sitting up on his knees, which displayed his teen bod with full frontal assault on the eyes, "so, it's inevitable, if I know Dean," he could see Cubby still hazed over with wonder, "he'll be doing it anyway and why shouldn't we have a little entertainment too. So..." Michael places hands on his own torso, still at attention to Cubby, "how would you like to see `Santa' land his sleigh on Lucas' rooftop?"
Whatever anxiety Cubby was having, not which he wasn't scared shit, pinned down and looking up, being given the means to escape his bindings, reads right into Michael's tale, adding a few details of his own to hopefully brighten the outcome, "And go right down his chimney?"
Standing up straight and tall, from his knees, Michael shares in the excitement of Cubby on his A-team, "I love it when a plan comes together!"
Cubby was just liking it, Michael's cock and balls bouncing up and down. It's not which he didn't like sucking, to him, fucking was much more invigorating'. Happens when a dude is primarily top!'
Having watched the bouncing balls hop around, Michael stepping from the bed to solid grounding, "Where are you going?"
"Dah, to get Santa and his elf?!"
While lying there in bed, Cubby did wonder, if he was ever going to lay a tongue on that floppy cock or, one at a time, bathe those big all-day-suckers. Then, he wondered why he was doing it to himself, keeping his own shaft hard, thinking about things, when... who-knows-what was about to explode on him...
"Here they are!"
Dean knew something was up, but apparently Lucas had no clue, asking, "So, Cub, ready for some hardcore torture?"
Lucas drags his fingertips up Cubby's left leg.
Michael stands at the foot of the bed, his Santa-friend with him. Gesturing, finger to his lips, to maintain silence, he taps Dean on the shoulder, to do what he is about to do.
While Lucas was chatting up Cubby, Michael began to unlace the right ankle, signaling Dean to do the same to Cubby's right ankle.
Silently, Dean mouths the words, Oh!' Right!' His own hands untying knots. Undoing the rope, Dean could tell Michael was never a boy scout!
Like slapstick comedy, Michael, his rope laid to waste, hanging off the side of the bed, literally pushes Dean out of his way, mocking in a whisper, "Here, lemme do that!"
In reality, Dean loved the contact, thinking, `You made the mess, you clean it up,' Though, from behind Michael, the view was priceless!
On second thought, of Dean's opinion, Lucas and Cubby carrying on like this all the time, Lucas lying half on Cubby, both making out, Michael says, "Kind of reminds of the first time you tried kissing me?"
"Yeah," Dean scratches his head, could laugh about it now, "almost put my balls out of commission for a week!"
Whereas Dean was a failure, Michael had his handiwork with ropes all untied. Upon hearing the word, `balls', it was like a cue on the stage, Lucas turned, partially propped up, hand on Cubby's midchest region, "So, what are you two up to?"
Michael knew he better think quick, churn out a script, like pronto, Lucas noticing they have untied Cubby's ankles, "Um, uh," he stutters, "we want to watch Cubby fuck you," turning to his partner in crime, "ain't that right, Dean?"
Dean has known from almost the beginning of their first meetings, Michael, even though he lied about fucking a boy in high school, has never gone that far. Still, trusting him, that he hasn't done it, waiting for that special boy, "It's now or never, Mikey!"
"I loathe that name!"
"I know," Dean says, smiling!
Still fuckin' serious, Michael condones, "Well, how many fuckin' times do I have to tell you not to call me that?!"
It was a stalemate, no real anger behind either of their words, Dean resolving it, "I'll keep trying not to provoke your anger."
They are both called to attention, Lucas standing there, "So, what's your plan? Are you going to fuck me all at once or one at a time?"
Like himself, when Dean first lay eyes on the 29-year old, it softened his approach, all that brown fur starting, where the beard left off, cascading down Lucas' muscled bod. More leaner than Cubby, Dean loved feeling up all that taut skin, like himself, soft to the touch, which is why now, he was gravitating in that direction.
From the bed, Michael already going to work on Cubby's right wrist-rope, the cub says, "Don't go and spread those ass-cheeks too far?"
"Trust me," Michael says, untying Cubby in a jiffy, "Santa might be long, but not as fat as you!"
On at least one account, Michael was totally inaccurate, Dean about 2-inches shorter and after climbing over Cubby's chest to reach the left wrist-rope, silently he adjusts his calculations.
Untied, Cubby could not move. He could, if he really wanted to, but Michael splayed across his bod, kissing him was much different with Lucas' pretentious lips, kissing just to kiss. Too, with his arms free, he could grab Michael up in his muscled biceps...
"Uh, Cubby," Michael weasles his way out of the hold on him, "like, do you mind, not cutting off the circulation so much?"
Relaxing, Cubby remembers this the bedroom and not the wrestling space down at the gym, "Oh, I'm so, so sorry," he loosens his arms, instead massaging Michael's back, down to the small part, before the crack.
"Feels good now, but," Michael turns his head after hearing a grunt, "I think Santa's on the rooftop, ahead of us?"
When he turned his face back, Michael thought, coupled with the handsome face and beard, "You know, you have such a sweet smile?"
"No one has ever told me that before!" Cubby exclaims.
Surprised, because he made Cubby come out with the comment, Michael says with excitement, "Really?"
Of course, having already evened things off a bit, Michael sliding fully on top of his hands-free bedfellow, both were feeling the excitement!
"No, not really," Cubby says, blaming himself, "truthfully, I get that a lot!"
Having heard tales of Dean's roleplaying experiences, Michael relates, "You're such a bad boy!"
"Cub," Cubby calls himself.
Not a dumb-bunny, Michael realizes, "Oh, right... cub and Cubby," but also foggy on the subject, "like, what's that about?"
Hearing some more grunts and groans, the two turn to see Lucas, on the floor, doggie-style, Dean on top of him.
Knowing they were up against the wall, both wanting to fuck each other, Cubby skips over the `bear & cub' scene, "How about going shopping?"
Even before starting music school in Manhattan, Michael had made trips to the city to buy his mom Christmas presents, always Braddock's, "Sure. I have yet to find the perfect present for mom."
Michael sat, slid down Cubby's thigh, stood up.
Cubby swings around, moans from the stiffness of lying there, eagle-spread, but then feels stiff from other forces beyond his control, grabs Michael's forearm, "Here. Sit a minute."
Forced, but going with the flow, Michael sits next to Cubby, asking, "Like, what's this about?" fully knowing why his own hand is not around his cock.
"You do me," Cubby takes Michael's hand and places it on his own pubes, "and I do you?"
Michael has had plenty of hands-on experience, some oral, but has always refrained from fucking around, "Yeah, I can do that," he prided himself with waiting for the right dude.
Together they made sweet music, flopping their backs down on the bed.
"No, not yet," Cubby instructs Michael's hand from leaving his slimy pubes.
"We're done," Michael claims, having felt Cubby's shaft erupt, hand all messy and gooey.
"It's not over till the fat cub sings!"
Michael smiled, but thought both Cubby's joke and laugh were lame, "And then what?"
"Make like you're trying to make me hard again."
"Like," Michael asks, like he's trying to avoid wasting time, "are you going to get hard again?"
Answering a question with a question, Cubby asks, "Have you ever tried getting hard, right after?"
"No," Michael was suddenly lost, Dean not bringing up that facet of gay man's sex, "I haven't."
Too, Dean hadn't ventured off onto the subject of kinky-related, other than a little tying up and tantalizing.
Not with knowledge of this, Cubby says, "You've really been deprived!"
The means by which Cubby delivered, Michael was thinking Dean must've missed some really important thing, saying, "Maybe you can explain it to me," both feeding feet into briefs.
Noticing the room void of any moaning, groaning, they hear something loud, men talking loudly in unintelligible soundings...
"Oh shit! Was that thunder?"
"More like lightning," Cubby giggles.
Pants still open, Michael says, "I've got to find where that came from."
Grabbing his shirt, Michael hightails it out of there and last location he thought to be the room Dean and Lucas were sequestered away.
Cubby, he took a shirt, but softly tread, feeding his arms into it and pulling it over his head.
Michael comes out of the room, saying, "Trust me, you don't want to go in there."
"Oh?" Cubby watches Michael's cute bod walk past him, "Why? What happened?"
"I'm having second thoughts over Dean being my friend!"
From the sound, Cubby knew it wasn't thunder, nor lightning, but something all too familiar, "Wait a minute," he pulls on the collar of Michael's tee shirt, as he walks away.
Either he had to stop, or have the shirt torn off his back, Michael hesitant, "What's there to explain? My good, neighborly buddy has a belt in his hand and is whipping `your' good friend Lucas, on the ass. Doesn't that make you mad?"
Sending a message, Cubby tells him, "If it's not making Lucas feel bad, then why me?" he dusts hands, like ridding himself of any guilt!
Standing there, Michael says, "I don't get it." Though, he didn't get it either, when Dean told him right off, that dudes liked to get tied up or tied down, reason enough to wonder and seek out answers.
As he thought, Cubby was telling him right out, "You shouldn't judge without getting the facts?"
Willing to go along, Michael wanted to backdown, "I don't want Dean, not to be my friend."
"I like him too. I think right now, Lucas is `loving' him!"
"Not gonna happen," Michael says.
Thinking of Michael `in the dark' where it comes to things, not which he hasn't experienced everything in life. At 22-years old, though has had his shares of ups and downs of loves and life, "There's a difference between loving a man," Cubby closes in, into Michael's dancing space, "and loving what a man can do for you."
Raising one eyebrow, it was Michael's signature pose, telling someone it was `weird', which in this case he states, "Weird."
"C'mon," Cubby, not about to turn Michael loose on the city, by himself, just yet, "let's walk."
Grabbing hoodies, the two head out, via the private elevator, Michael changing the subject, "How does a man like Braddock come to own a place like this?"
"Are you joking? This isn't the only pad he has in the world, nor New York City and trust me, he can afford it!"
"Equipped with all the furnishings, eh?" again that cocky eyebrow stares Cubby down.
"You look on it as prostituting, but tell me where vacuuming, dusting and cleaning out the dishwasher fits into all that!"
Naming his duties, Michael thinks of it, "More like the frills of being a butler or maid?"
Laughing, Cubby says, "That's the way I like to explain it."
"Especially for family sake, huh?"
"If I needed it, but I don't have any, at least in this part of the world!"
Digging for his own benefit, because Michael started liking Cubby beyond the bed scene, "We can be friends, if you want?"
Other than the few instrumentalists and singers he acquainted at music school, Michael knew hardly anyone in the city.
"I'd like that," Cubby replies.
Misinterpreting Cubby's tone of voice, Michael says, "Um, but I know we both like ass, so..." he leaves it upended.
"So, when we're together," Cubby has all the answers, "we have to make sure there are a couple of other boys with us?"
Picture clearing, Michael wises up, "With tight asses?!" Though, immediately following, he had flashbacks of self-proclaimed principles, wanting to abstain from making any babies just yet!
Out of the elevator and into the lobby, Cubby places a hand over Michael's shoulders, "I've got to hold onto you... there's not many guys who think like me!"
`Definitely,' though Michael was thinking, how many guys are bulked up with muscle and have the same personality to go with such a physique?
"Hey," Cubby nods to the man who has done likewise, short greeting of `hey'.
"Who's that?" Michael asks, still watching the rather extravagantly dressed `suit' walk past them.
"I take it you've never met Stephen Braddock?"
Turning fully around, walking backwards, and even though Stephen is dwarfed in size, far end of the lobby, Michael says, "Yeah. Once. Today, but I forget what he looks like."
Cubby could have said something, but filled with some Holiday magic, let it happen...
"Oh shit!"
Both exclaimed the same, Michael, walking backwards, still keyed in to Braddock's fancy suit pants, butts his butt up against a bellhop's butt, bending over to pick up a piece of luggage to put on his cart!
Cubby, he stood there and laughed like a bowl of jelly, except his jello didn't wobble too much, most of it clinging together by muscle, "Aren't you going to excuse yourself, Michael?"
"No, you ass," Michael replies, having gotten to his feet and now bent over what he interprets as the pawn in Cubby's prank, "You okay there?"
Pushing his chest up off the piece of luggage, the bellhop says, "I think."
Still, Michael felt obligated to helping him up. As Dean always put it, base your feelings on if a dude is `hot'. Later you can find out if he's gay, or not!
Twisting Dean's words of wisdom to meet his own conscience and skipping the step of wooing a dude for a chance of securing a pair of lips for a hot blow job, Michael approaches with more caution. More out for romance and not the quick trick, reason he didn't fuck the living daylights out of Cubby, when he very well could, he dusts the dude off, "Hi, I'm Michael!"
"Renzo," was all the dude said, other than a quicky followup, "thanks."
Michael took Renzo's hand, shaking it and then the lobby changed quickly, a large entourage entering, like the population of Brooklyn was dumped in the lobby, Renzo scurrying off.
Unfazed by Renzo, not which Cubby did not know him, he tells Michael, "I've for the longest time, have wanted to get Renzo and his twin brother into my bed. Imagine?"
"Well, I don't know what his twin brother is like, but for certain, I don't picture Renzo as being `that' type."
Unlike a guy he didn't know too well, rubbing him the wrong way, Cubby takes the comment lightheartedly, "Are you judging me or something?"
At first, Michael had thought he overstepped boundaries, after realizing what it looked like, but seeing Cubby's dark brown beard turn up in the right places, could tell he wasn't ready to get his lights punched out, or worse, his balls imploded, "Uh, thanks for being understanding."
"Forget it," Cubby did too, the two on their way to a late lunch.
Not ready to erase him from his mind, Michael asks, "So, what's Renzo's story?"
"That's an easy one: two boys born with silver spoons in their mouths, 17 years later come out, dash the hope of their parents ever having grandchildren..."
"That's not true. Gay partners can..."
"I know, I know, but it's how you look at it. Renzo and Nico's folks had hoped for a traditional, hetero-wedding, you know, with all the trimmings, and..."
Michael butts in once more, "How come they couldn't do the same for Renzo?"
"And Nico?" It bought Cubby some time to once more get the point across.
"Yeah. Anyone with brains would know, it doesn't matter. There's always adoption?"
"Right," Cubby agreed, "but some would rather project hate, instead of thinking it out. Rage first, forgiveness later, if the person ever wakes up and realizes what they are thinking and how they are ruining someone else's life, by their own bigotry!"
Realizing he opened a Pandora's box over this issue, Michael places a hand to Cubby's shoulder, says, "I didn't mean to get you all riled up over this?"
"It's nothing. It's just me," Cubby laments.
"Maybe over lunch I can find out what's up with the `nothing'?"
"You had me right there, tied down. You could have tried getting something out of me?"
Suspect of something he didn't detect before, since tying Cubby down to the bed was a prank, for Lucas' benefit, "Did you really want me to try to get something out of you?"
A little smile, signs Cubby was cheering up, little did Michael know, "No, but I figured, if you kept on sliding your ass down my stomach, I would sure have felt something!"
Dropping his arm off Cubby's shoulder, Michael says in a blaming tone, "Lucky for me, your `fur' added resistance. Don't ever shave!"
His joke set off a wildfire of protest with Cubby mouthing off his desire to never part with any of the hair on his bod, with exception, of possibly trimming up the beard!
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©2014 T. Chase M©Phee
`Up oN THe WoOfToP...' and developing segments of this story, may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author, or Santa Bear and his little cubs don't visit you next year.